Voices of History： Ada Lovelace

I think birds are the most fascinating creatures. They swoop, they soar, they fly, all because the shape of their wings is perfect for taking them into the air. As a child, I spent a lot of time studying birds. I grew up in the country, and in the early 1800s, one of the best ways to stay busy and healthy in the English countryside is to be outdoors. My father, Lord Byron, was a very famous poet. He and my mother, Annabella, didn't get along well. He was a dreamer, where my mother was very practical. He lived for romance and adventure, while my mother loved facts and structure. She was very serious, and he was not. They didn't agree on how to raise me, and so my mother and I moved to the countryside, and my father stayed in London. My mother is very proper, and has very specific ideas about how young ladies should act. She was the model of our time, the new industrial age. She believed the only way to achieve her goals was analysis, facts, and objectivity. She loved math, and wanted me to as well. She was such a gifted mathematician that my father's pet name for her was the Princess of Parallelograms. I didn't know my father, but he gifted me with imagination, and a passion for life. I saw music and poetry all around me, even in science and math. My mother wanted me to ignore the parts of my mind that reminded her of my father, but I embraced them, and they made me a better mathematician. I called my work Poetical Science, which means putting imagination and science together. I once thought of math and science as a duty, but combined with poetry and imagination, math and science became my joy and passion. My mother never saw the connection between the two, and we fought about it my entire life. My mother was very busy, as most high society ladies are, and so outside of my lessons, I filled my days on my own. I loved all animals, but especially horses and my cat, Mrs. Puff. Mrs. Puff was my best friend, constant companion, and one of my first teachers. I would watch her closely, and vividly describe her activities in my journals. She loved to chase birds, and the birds loved to fly away, or at least try to. My tutors were teaching me Greek myths. My favorite was the one about Daedalus. He made wings out of wax and feathers. And watching the birds fly away from Mrs. Puff made me think about making wings myself. I wanted nothing more in the world than to fly. So, young scientist and mathematician that I was, I made a plan. I went about the project methodically, thoughtfully, but with imagination and passion. Not just science, poetical science. The first step, wings. I tried all sorts of materials, paper, oil silk, wires, feathers. When Mrs. Puff found herself lucky enough to catch a bird, I studied how it was built, its anatomy, so I could understand how big a bird's wings are compared to its body, so I could know what size my wings needed to be. I drew pictures and diagrams, I calculated facts and figures, and I put them all in my first book, Flyology. To use my wings, I knew I would need tools, for example, a compass, so I could cut across the country by the most direct road, to overcome mountains, rivers, and valleys. I even deduced a way to combine steam with the art of flying. And this was more than ten years before Mr. Henson designed his aerial steam carriage. I was on the path of grand scientific discovery. And then I got the measles. In 1829, any illness, especially the measles, was very serious. I was stuck in my bed for two years. No riding horses, no following Mrs. Puff and studying the birds, no flying. Being bedridden made me nervous and anxious and angry. Eventually I felt better and could start studying math again. I also started going to fancy parties. They weren't much fun, but I did meet some very interesting people. One of them was Mr. Charles Babbage, or as I called him, Sir Alphabet Function. He was so different from all the other stuffy, boring, proper adults that I knew. He was one of the greatest minds of our time. He was fascinated by everything from mechanical dolls to mechanical machines. He studied probability and games of chance and moves in a chess game. He viewed politics, science, technology, and mathematics in an unusual way. The same way I did. Finally, another mind that thought like mine. Another person who understood poetical science. He designed a calculating machine called the Difference Engine. It was a huge machine of numbered gears, wheels, and levers that could quickly and accurately compute astronomical and mathematical tables. It added, subtracted, multiplied, and divided huge numbers and complex equations just by cranking a handle. Not only were Mr. Babbage's engines useful and practical, I believed they would lead to a deeper understanding of maths and science. It was a beautiful invention. It was poetical science. Mr. Babbage's ideas were the threshold of a new world. I was captivated by thoughts of where mathematics might lead. Because I questioned basic assumptions, my approach to mathematics was out of the ordinary. I was as interested in the process of scientific discovery as much as in the result of the discovery. To many people, science just means the facts, but to me, it is much more. It is imagination and metaphor, the language of unseen relationships between things. My dear friend, Mr. Babbage, was creating a new calculating machine, one that could do much more than the Difference Engine. He called it the Analytical Engine. Not only could it do complex math problems like the Difference Engine, the Analytical Engine could take the numbers and mathematical operations calculated by the Difference Engine and put them into the same cycles and new operations over and over and over again. The Analytical Engine could remember the numbers and use them in new ways. I saw not only how the Analytical Engine worked, but what it could mean for math and science. And I could write. I understood description and metaphor and poetry in a way that Babbage didn't. I helped him develop the mathematics that would make the Analytical Engine work, and wrote the steps that would bring his invention to life. We spent years writing back and forth, agreeing and disagreeing, arguing and questioning. Together, we further developed the Analytical Engine and deepened what it could do. I imagine that the Analytical Engine can move beyond calculating numbers. The ability of the engine to act on an if statement, without the intervention of a human hand, separates it from all mere calculating machines. Perhaps the engine might compose elaborate, scientific pieces of music. Since it weaves numbers the way a loom weaves beautiful pictures in cloth, perhaps high truths can be discovered. Our engine is poetical science. I have great hopes for the future of a world in which Babbage's imagined mission to build an Analytical Engine might materialize. But for now, we will have to trust our writings on the great machine to development in future generations. Babbage and I fought over how to appeal to the British government for the funding to build the Analytical Engine. Insurmountable disagreements and my failing health forced me to walk away from this work after I completed my writings and revisions. Babbage continued to work toward building the engine, and I focused on my health and my family. My husband, William, and our three children, Byron, Annabella, and Ralph. I kept in mind the loveless family motto, labor ipse voluptas. Labor is its own reward. I searched to make my own way with new scientific pursuits but was constantly thwarted by ill health. Instead of moaning and groaning for sympathy, I decided to use it as an opportunity to understand physiology. After all, when one is walking around in a molecular laboratory, when I have an experimental laboratory always about me and inseparable from me, what should I do but study it? I know this brain of mine is something more than merely mortal, as time will show. I found myself at a critical juncture in my life. My body was ill, but my mind was still strong. I wanted just to be a wandering gypsy, avoiding any kind of stress. When I felt strong enough, I went out for short excursions. Being out of doors has always soothed my mind. During my final months, I found a new love. Kaleidoscopes. If I was not going to be able to fly, feeling the warmth of the sun on my face as I soared through the air, I would bring light and shifting sunlight down to me. The word kaleidoscope means to observe beautiful forms. Kaleidoscopes use geometry and physics to play with light and color. They are majestic. They are poetical science. My goal is to leave for mankind in my footsteps a little of that brightness from beyond. For surely to sow a single seed of truth in the mind of another is the noblest of deeds. We may never know its results here, but how inestimable they may be. This is my idea of all the real use and object of all graces and accomplishments in woman. I wonder what others see as political science. What inventions are held in your imagination? Can you bring to life something new with a touch of creativity and a splash of science? What ideas are nesting in your mind, waiting to fly?