Albert Einstein’s final interview, two weeks before his death in 1955, was preoccupied with Isaac Newton, whose physics Einstein revered, next only to that of James Clerk Maxwell. But when the interviewer, an American academic historian of science, touched on Newton’s personality, and particularly Newton’s notorious refusal to publish any acknowledgement of the ideas of Robert Hooke in the preface to his Principia Mathematica (1687), Einstein responded: “That, alas, is vanity. You find it in so many scientists. You know, it has always hurt me to think that Galileo did not acknowledge the work of Kepler.” Later in the interview, Einstein added with a booming laugh that a man might often say that he had no vanity, but this too was a kind of vanity because he took such special pride in the fact. “It is like childishness,” said Einstein. “Many of us are childish; some of us more childish than others. But if a man knows he is childish, then that knowledge can be a mitigating factor.”

Florian Freistetter, once an academic astronomer in Germany and Austria and now a science writer, would surely agree with Einstein about Newton’s vanity. He does not, however, refer to this conversation in his brief new book – Isaac Newton: the Asshole Who Reinvented the Universe – which focuses on Newton’s personality. “I worship Newton more than almost any other scientist of the past,” Freistetter comments in his introduction, “even though he was such a jerk.” At the end, the author sums up Newton as “an eccentric, an egoist, a troublemaker and a mystery-monger, who tolerated no criticism; was uncompromising, vengeful and conniving, but was also the greatest genius ever to have lived.” According to Freistetter, “No other scientist has had such an important, wide-ranging and enduring influence on the entire world as Newton did. Sometimes, it would seem, if you want to change the world, you have to be both a genius and an asshole.”

Plenty of evidence for this portrait is cited in the book. Much of it will be familiar to those interested in Newton, though it is freshly written and engagingly presents the state of scientific ignorance about the world, pre-Newton. One chapter deals with Hooke, and Newton’s arrogant indifference to making the Principia comprehensible to non-mathematicians. Another looks into Newton’s manipulative dispute over access to the astronomical data of the astronomer royal, John Flamsteed. Yet another covers his long and devious battle with Gottfried Leibniz as to which of them first invented calculus.

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Newton and his non-Newtonian mind

Then there is Newton’s ruthless pursuit of counterfeiters, when he was warden and master of the Royal Mint, which led to the hanging of William Chaloner in 1699, despite Chaloner’s letters begging Newton for mercy. And, of course, his perplexing fascination with theology and alchemy, which occupied far more of Newton’s time than is generally recognized, even today. He wrote some 650,000 words on alchemy. This was far from being merely a hobby, notes Freistetter: “If anything, it would be closer to the truth to call Newton’s research into physics a ‘hobby’ that he fitted in between his theological and alchemistic studies” – as demonstrated in Rob Iliffe’s erudite study, Priest of Nature: the Religious Worlds of Isaac Newton (2017), which goes surprisingly unmentioned by Freistetter.

The most original aspect of Freistetter’s book is its regular comparison of Newton’s methods of doing science with those of today’s scientific world. Clearly, Newton’s pathological solitariness (echoed by Einstein at his scientific best in 1905 and 1915–1916) has little relevance to today’s collaborative groups.

Could Newton have settled his quarrels with colleagues more constructively?

What about his lifelong disputatiousness? Could Newton have settled his quarrels with colleagues more constructively? “One thing is clear: it’s impossible to avoid disputes in science,” writes Freistetter. “Science isn’t democratic. What happens isn’t necessarily what the majority wants, and the truth is not always to be found in the middle. Even if all of your colleagues and peers are ranked against you, it is still possible that you are right.”

Vigorous scientific discussion is both inevitable and desirable. “You just don’t need to take this to extremes as Newton did,” Freistetter points out. As for Newton’s unwillingness to interact with the public or even the Royal Society, “He would still get along very well in the world of science today. But I still wouldn’t recommend basing oneself too much upon him in this regard.” Better, thinks Freistetter – who has published more than 5000 articles on his science blog – for scientists to find time to educate society about what they are doing.

But is Newton accurately described as an “asshole”? That is, “a stupid, irritating or contemptible person”, according to the Oxford English Dictionary. If he was a genius who reinvented the universe, by definition he was not stupid. On the other hand, his behaviour was frequently irritating and sometimes contemptible. Like many a genius, these characteristics originated in his childhood. Without doubt, Newton had a troubled upbringing. Sent to his grandmother at the age of three by his mother after his father’s premature death and her subsequent remarriage, he noted in a youthful diary: “What shall become of me? I will make an end of it. I can only weep. I do not know what to do.” As Einstein perhaps intuited – maybe thinking of his own introverted childhood and adolescence – the adult Newton was probably still a self-absorbed child, dependent on lifelong academic research for preserving his sanity.