A Cosmic Coincidence, Part 2: Tycho the Gregarious Dane

A fortunate circumstance—in Tycho’s eyes—was his noble birth in Denmark in the middle of the 16th century. Being a male in the ruling class in his time meant that one would study at the finest universities all over Europe, and later assume the envied and cozy position of rich landowner, statesman, and plotter of intrigues at royal court. As it turned out, however, Tycho would dance down another path.

He was enamored of the heavens as a child. The regular passage of celestial bodies fascinated him. In his teens he watched a partial eclipse of the sun and he became hooked. A couple of years later he witnessed a conjunction of Jupiter and Saturn. He was stunned to find out that the popular stellar data tables (all based on an Earth-centered perception) had predicted this conjunction, but with errors of as much as a month. That simply was an unacceptably sloppy result! He knew he could do better.

In his teens Tycho perceived an insult from his cousin, that led to a sword duel; during which Tycho lost most of his nose, and nearly his life. (He fashioned a silver nose that he wore the rest of his life.) Then in his middle twenties (while still in college) a life-changing event happened to him: a new star appeared, which he named Nova Stella. It was the first nova observed on Earth in some 1700 years and maybe the first of our story’s cosmic coincidences.

In the minds of 16th century astronomers (and for 2000 years before, for that matter) the firmament of stars was unchangeable. Thus the nova could not be in the firmament, but it must be like a planet or comet: changing and wandering weirdly in the sky, close to Earth. Tycho swung into action and took more precise measurements of the nova than anyone else (even being a rank amateur). He proved that the nova was a member of the firmament. His reputation soared.

Buoyed by this accomplishment Tycho rebelled against his noble destiny; refusing to live the dull life of court intrigue. He was going to become a new kind of astronomer. He caught the eye of the king of Denmark, who set Tycho up on his own island near Copenhagen and generously agreed to underwrite the costs of his astronomical experiments.

Tycho was a measurement freak. He couldn’t care less about the reality of those celestial points of light—he just wanted to build accurate tables that others could use. Europe’s sea explorers were needing the kind of accuracy he could provide for their locations at sea; and he’d show the world that those eclipses could be accurately predicted!

Over the next three decades and more, Tycho built and brilliantly used the finest astronomical instruments ever seen. (This was all before the first telescope got pointed heavenward.) He created many volumes of superb data—his legacy to the world of science. Many students flocked to study under him. His ego grew without bounds.

Tycho lived hard and large. When not quite 55 years old, he drank copious amounts of wine at a party, but refused to pee as he partied on. For the next two days he couldn’t urinate and painfully died a couple of days later from sepsis: complete internal infection. His extraordinary body of work was to pass into the able hands of Johannes Kepler, who aptly used the data to forge a new astronomy. His story next time.