The Warfare of Science

by Andrew Dickson White

ASTRONOMY.

The next great battle was fought on a question relating to the position of the earth among the heavenly bodies. On one side, the great body of conscientious religious men planted themselves firmly on the geocentric doctrine—the doctrine that the earth is the centre, and that the sun and planets revolve about it. The doctrine was old, and of the highest respectability. [18] The very name, Ptolemaic theory, carried weight. It had been elaborated until it accounted well for the phenomena. Exact textual interpreters of Scripture cherished it, for it agreed with the letter of the sacred text. [19]

But, most important of all, it was stamped with the seal of St. Thomas Aquinas. The sainted theologian—the glory of the Mediæval Church, the "angelic doctor"—he to whom it was believed an image of the Crucified had spoken words praising his writings—had shown in his treatise on the Heaven and Earth, by philosophy, theology, and revelation, that the position of the earth must be in the centre. [20]

Still the germs of the heliocentric theory [21] had been planted long before, and well planted; it had seemed ready even to bloom forth in the fifth century, from the mind of Martianus Capella, and in the fifteenth from the mind of Cardinal de Cusa; but it could not be forgotten that St. Thomas had elaborated the opposite view; the chill of dogmatism was still over the earth, and up to the beginning of the sixteenth century there had come to this great truth neither bloom nor fruitage. [22]

Quietly, however, the soil was receiving enrichment, and the air warmth. The processes of mathematics were constantly improved, the heavenly bodies were steadily though silently observed; and at length appeared, afar off from the centres of thought, on the borders of Poland, a plain, simple-minded scholar, who first fairly uttered to the world the truth, now so commonplace, then so astounding, that the sun and planets do not revolve about the earth, but that the earth and planets revolve about the sun, and that man was Nicholas Kopernik. [23]

Kopernik had been a professor at Rome, but, as this truth grew within him, he seemed to feel that at Rome he was no longer safe. [24]

To publish this thought was dangerous indeed, and for more than thirty years it lay slumbering in the minds of Kopernik and the friends to whom he had privately intrusted it.

At last he prepares his great work on the Revolution of the Heavenly Bodies, and dedicates it to the pope himself. He next seeks a place of publication. He dares not send it to Rome, for there are the rulers of the older Church ready to seize it. He dares not send it to Wittenberg, for there are the leaders of Protestantism no less hostile. It is therefore intrusted to Osiander, of Nuremberg. [25]

But, at the last moment, Osiander's courage fails him. He dares not launch the new thought boldly. He writes a groveling preface; endeavors to excuse Kopernik for his novel idea. He inserts the apologetic lie that Kopernik propounds the doctrine of the movement of the earth, not as a fact, but as an hypothesis; he declares that it is lawful for an astronomer to indulge his imagination, and that this is what Kopernik has done.

Thus was the greatest and most ennobling, perhaps, of scientific truths—a truth not less ennobling to religion than to science—forced, in coming into the world, to sneak and crawl. [26]

On the 24th of May, 1543, the newly-printed book first arrived at the house of Kopernik. It was put into his hands; but he was on his death-bed. A few hours later he was beyond the reach of those mistaken, conscientious men, whose consciences would have blotted his reputation, and perhaps have destroyed his life.

Yet not wholly beyond their reach. Even death could not be trusted to shield him. There seems to have been fear of vengeance upon his corpse, for on his tombstone was placed no record of his life-long labors, no mention of his great discovery. There were graven upon it affecting words, which may be thus simply translated: "I ask not the grace accorded to Paul, not that given to Peter; give me only the favor which thou didst show to the thief on the cross." Not till thirty years after did a friend dare write on his tombstone a memorial of his discovery. [27]

The book was taken in hand by the proper authorities. In due time it was solemnly condemned; to read it was to risk damnation; and the world accepted the decree. [28] The earnest theologians of the period immediately wheeled their batteries of sacred learning to support the Church in its effort to beat back the terrible doctrine that the earth revolves about the sun. Among the most vigorous of them in Northern Europe was Fromundus. From the shadow of the Cathedral of Antwerp he sent forth his famous treatise, the Anti-Aristarchus, full of the strongest arguments against the new theory. His very title-page was a contemptuous insult to the memory of Kopernik, since it paraded the assumption that the new truth was only an old and exploded theory of Aristarchus. He declares that "sacred Scripture fights against the Copernicans." To prove that the sun revolves about the earth, he cites the passage in the Psalms which speaks of the sun "which cometh forth as a bridegroom out of his chamber." To prove that the earth stands still, he quotes the passage from Ecclesiastes, "the earth standeth fast forever." To show the utter futility of the Copernican ideas, he indulges in scientific reasoning as he understands it—declaring that, if the hated theory were true, "the wind would constantly blow from the east; we should with great difficulty hear sounds against such a wind;" that "buildings, and the earth itself, would fly off with such a rapid motion;" and, greatest weapon of all, he works up, by the use of Aristotle and Thomas Aquinas, a demonstration from theology and science combined, that the earth must stand in the centre, and that the sun must revolve about it. [29]

Doubtless many will at once exclaim against the Roman Catholic Church for this. Justice compels me to say that the founders of Protestantism were no less zealous against the new scientific doctrine. Said Martin Luther: "People gave ear to an upstart astrologer, who strove to show that the earth revolves, not the heavens or the firmament, the sun and the moon. Whoever wishes to appear clever must devise some new system, which of all systems is, of course, the very best. This fool wishes to reverse the entire science of astronomy. But Sacred Scripture tells us that Joshua commanded the sun to stand still, and not the earth."

Melanchthon, mild as he was, was not behind Luther in condemning Kopernik. In his treatise, Initia Doctrinæ Physicæ, he says: "The eyes are witnesses that the heavens revolve in the space of twenty-four hours. But certain men, either from the love of novelty, or to make a display of ingenuity, have concluded that the earth moves; and they maintain that neither the eighth sphere nor the sun revolves.... Now, it is a want of honesty and decency to assert such notions publicly, and the example is pernicious. It is the part of a good mind to accept the truth as revealed by God, and to acquiesce in it." Melanchthon then cites passages from the Psalms and from Ecclesiastes which he declares assert positively and clearly that the earth stands fast, and that the sun moves around it, and adds eight other proofs of his proposition that "the earth can be nowhere, if not in the centre of the universe." [30]

And Protestant people were not a whit behind Catholic in following out these teachings. The people of Elbing made themselves merry over a farce in which Kopernik was the main object of ridicule. The people of Nuremberg, a great Protestant centre, caused a medal to be struck, with inscriptions ridiculing the philosopher and his theory. [31]

Then was tried, also, one piece of strategy very common formerly in battles between theologians themselves. It consists in loud shoutings that the doctrine attacked is outworn, and already refuted—that various distinguished gentlemen have proved it false—that it is not a living truth, but a detected lie—that, if the world listens to it, that is simply because the world is ignorant. This strategy was brought to bear on Kopernik. It was shown that his doctrine was simply a revival of the Pythagorean notion, which had been thoroughly exploded. Fromundus, as we have seen in his title-page and throughout his book, delights in referring to the doctrine of the revolution of the planets around the sun, as "that Pythagorean notion." This mode of warfare was imitated by the lesser opponents, and produced, for some time, considerable effect. [32]

But the new truth could neither be laughed down nor forced down. Many minds had received it; only one tongue dared utter it. This new warrior was that strange mortal, Giordano Bruno. He was hunted from land to land, until, at last, he turns on his pursuers with fearful invectives. For this he is imprisoned six years, then burned alive and his ashes scattered to the winds. Still the new truth lived on; it could not be killed. Within ten years after the martyrdom of Bruno, [33] after a world of troubles and persecutions, the truth of the doctrine of Kopernik was established by the telescope of Galileo. [34]

Herein was fulfilled one of the most touching of prophecies. Years before, the enemies of Kopernik had said to him, "If your doctrines were true, Venus would show phases like the moon." Kopernik answered: "You are right; I know not what to say; but God is good, and will in time find an answer to this objection." [35] The God-given answer came when the rude telescope of Galileo showed the phases of Venus.

On this new champion, Galileo, the war was long and bitter. The supporters of what was called "sound learning" declared his discoveries deceptions, and his announcements blasphemy. Semi-scientific professors, endeavoring to curry favor with the Church, attacked him with sham science; earnest preachers attacked him with perverted Scripture! [36]

I shall present this warfare at some length, because, so far as I can find, no careful outline of it has been given in our language, since the whole history was placed in a new light by the revelation of the trial documents in the Vatican Library, published for the first time by M. de l'Epinois in 1867.

The first important attack on Galileo began when he announced that his telescope had revealed the moons of the planet Jupiter; the enemy saw that this strengthened the Copernican theory, and gave battle immediately.

The whole theory was denounced as impossible and impious. Professors, bred in the mixed science favored by the Church, [37] argued that the Bible clearly showed, by all applicable types, that there could be only seven planets; that this was proved by the seven golden candlesticks of the Apocalypse, by the seven-branched candlestick of the Tabernacle, and by the seven churches of Asia: [38] theologians showed the destructive consequences which must logically result to fundamental Christian truths: bishops and priests uttered impressive warnings to their flocks; and multitudes of the faithful besought the Inquisition to protect the fold by dealing speedily and sharply with the heretic.

In vain did Galileo try to save the great truths he had discovered, by his letters to the Benedictine Castelli and the Grand-duchess Christine, in which he argued that literal Biblical interpretation should not be applied to science; it was declared that by making such an argument his heresy was only rendered more detestable; that he was "worse than Luther or Calvin."

In vain did he try to prove the existence of satellites by showing them to the doubters through his telescope. They either declared it impious to look, or, if they did see them, denounced them as illusions from the devil. Good Father Clavius declared that to "see satellites of Jupiter, men had to make an instrument which would create them." [39]

The war on the Copernican theory, which up to that time had been carried on quietly, now flamed forth. It was declared that the doctrine was proved false by the standing still of the sun for Joshua; by the declarations that "the foundations of the earth are fixed so firm that they cannot be moved," and that the sun "runneth about from one end of heaven to the other." [40]

The Dominican father, Caccini, preached a sermon from the text, "Ye men of Galilee, why stand ye gazing up into heaven?" and this wretched pun was the first of a series of sharper weapons; for before Caccini finishes, he insists that "geometry is of the devil," and that "mathematicians should be banished as the authors of all heresies;" and, for this, the Church authorities gave Caccini promotion. [41]

Father Lorini proved that the doctrine was not only "heretical," but "atheistic," and besought the Inquisition to intervene. The Bishop of Fiesole screamed in rage against the Copernican system, and proposed to denounce Galileo to the grand-duke. The Archbishop of Pisa secretly sought to entrap Galileo and deliver him to the Inquisition at Rome. The Archbishop of Florence solemnly condemned the doctrines of Kopernik and Galileo as unscriptural.

But by far the most terrible champion who appeared against him was Bellarmin, one of the greatest of theologians, and one of the poorest of scientists. He was earnest, sincere, learned, but made the fearful mistake for the world of applying to science, direct, literal interpretation of Scripture. [42]

The weapons which men of Bellarmin's stamp used were theological. They held up before the world the dreadful consequences which must result to Christian theology were the doctrine to prevail that the heavenly bodies revolve about the sun, and not about the earth. Their most tremendous theologic engine against Galileo was the idea that his pretended discovery "vitiated the whole Christian plan of salvation." Father Lecazre declared that it "cast suspicion on the doctrine of the Incarnation." Others declared that it "upset the whole basis of theology; that, if the earth is a planet, and one among several planets, it cannot be that any such great things have been done especially for it, as the Christian doctrine teaches. If there are other planets, since God makes nothing in vain, they must be inhabited; but how can these inhabitants be descended from Adam? How can they trace back their origin to Noah's ark? How can they have been redeemed by the Saviour?" [43]

Nor was this argument confined to the theologians of the Roman Church; Melanchthon, Protestant as he was, had already used it in his attacks upon the ideas of Kopernik and his school. [44]

In addition to this prodigious engine of war, there was kept up a terrific fire of smaller artillery in the shape of texts and scriptural extracts.

But the little telescope of Galileo still swept the heavens, and the next revelation announced was the system of mountains and valleys in the moon. This was a signal for another attack. It was declared that this, coupled with the statement that the moon shines by light reflected from the sun, was a contradiction of the statement in Genesis that the moon is a "great light" like the sun. To make the matter worse, a painter, placing the moon in a religious picture in its usual position beneath the feet of the Blessed Virgin, outlined on its surface mountains and valleys; this was denounced as a sacrilege logically resulting from the astronomer's heresy.

The next struggle was aroused when the hated telescope revealed spots upon the sun, and their motion, which indicated the sun's rotation. Monsignor Elci, head of the University of Pisa, forbade the Professor of Astronomy, Castelli, to mention these spots. Father Busaeus, at the University of Innspruck, forbade the astronomer Scheiner to allow the new discovery to be known there. At the College of Douay and the University of Louvain it was expressly placed under the ban, and this became the general rule among the Catholic universities and colleges of Europe. The Spanish universities were specially intolerant of this and similar ideas, [45] and up to a recent period they were strictly forbidden in the most important university of all—that of Salamanca. In 1820 the Abbé Settele, professor at the College of Rome, having announced a work on Optics and Astronomy, the master of the sacred palace, under the authority of the old decrees against the teachings of Kopernik and Galileo, forbade the publication, and it was not until 1822 that Pope Pius VII. sanctioned a decision of the Inquisition permitting such teachings. [46]

Such are the consequences of placing the instruction of men's minds in the hands of those mainly absorbed in the work of saving men's souls. [47] Nothing could be more in accordance with the idea recently put forth by the Bishop of Montpellier, that the Church is alone fully empowered to promulgate scientific truth or direct university instruction; but science gained the victory here also. News came of observations of the solar spots, not only from Galileo in Italy, but from Fabricius in Holland. Father Scheiner then endeavors to make the usual treaty; he promulgates a pseudo-scientific theory—a statement based on a "religious science"—which only provokes derision.

But the war grew more and more bitter, and the principal weapons in it are worth examining. They are very easily examined; you may pick them up on any of the battle-fields of science; but on that field they were used with more effect than on almost any other. These weapons are two epithets: "Infidel" and "Atheist."

The battle-fields of science are thickly strewn with these. They have been used against almost every man who has ever done anything new for his fellow-men. The list of those who have been denounced as infidel and atheist includes almost all great men of science—general scholars, inventors, philanthropists. The deepest Christian life, the most noble Christian character, have not availed to shield combatants. Christians like Isaac Newton and Pascal and John Locke and John Milton, and even Howard and Fénelon, have had these weapons hurled against them. Of all proofs of the existence of a God, those of Descartes have been wrought most thoroughly into the minds of modern men; and yet the Protestant theologians of Holland sought to bring him to torture and to death by the charge of atheism, and the Roman Catholic theologians of France prevented the rendering of any due honors to him at his burial. [48]

These epithets can hardly be classed with civilized weapons. They are burning arrows. They set fire to great masses of popular prejudices; smoke rises to obscure the real questions; fire bursts forth at times to destroy the attacked party. They are poisoned. They go to the hearts of loving women, they alienate dear children; they injure the man after life is ended, for they leave poisoned wounds in the hearts of those who loved him best—fears for his eternal happiness—dread of the Divine displeasure. Of course, in these days, these weapons, though often effective in disturbing good men and in scaring good women, are somewhat blunted. Indeed, they not unfrequently injure assailants more than assailed. So it was not in the days of Galileo; they were then in all their sharpness and venom.

Yet far more vile than the use even of these weapons—vile indeed beyond belief—was the attack by the Archbishop of Pisa.

It is a remark made by one of the most moderate and judicially fair of modern philosophic historians, that, of all organizations this world has known, the Roman Church has caused most undeserved woe and shed most innocent blood; but, in the whole terrible succession of Torquemadas and Arbues and Granvilles, the vilest enemy of the human race is probably this same Archbishop of Pisa.

This man, whose cathedral is more truly consecrated by the remembrance of Galileo's observation of the lamp swinging before its altar, than by all the church services of a thousand years, began a siege against the great philosopher.

Galileo, after his discoveries had been denounced as contrary to Scripture, had been induced to write to the Duchess Christine and to his friend Castelli two letters, to show that his discoveries might be reconciled to Scripture. The archbishop saw his opportunity: he determined to get hold of these letters and exhibit them as proofs that Galileo had uttered heretical views of theology and the Scriptures, and thus to bring the astronomer hopelessly into the clutch of the Inquisition. The archbishop begs Castelli, therefore, to let him see the original letter in the handwriting of Galileo. Castelli declines; the archbishop then, while, as is now revealed, writing constantly and bitterly to the inquisitors against Galileo, professes to Castelli the greatest admiration of Galileo's genius, and a sincere desire to know more of his discoveries. Castelli is seduced by this; but Galileo sturdily forbids sending the letter, and the archbishop is obliged to resort to open attack.

The whole struggle to crush Galileo and to save him would be amusing were it not so fraught with evil. There were intrigues and counter-intrigues, plots and counter-plots, lying and spying, and in the thickest of this seething, squabbling, screaming mass, priests, bishops, archbishops, cardinals, and even the future Pope Urban VIII. himself. It is most suggestive to see in this crisis of the Church, on the eve of the greatest errors in church policy the world has known, in all the efforts and deliberations of these consecrated leaders of the Church, at the tomb of the Prince of the Apostles, no more sign of the guidance or presence of the Holy Spirit than in a caucus of New York politicians.

But the opposing powers were too strong. In 1615 Galileo is summoned by the Inquisition to Rome, and the mine, which had been so long preparing, was sprung. Pope Paul V. and the cardinal inquisitors order eleven theologians of the Inquisition to examine these two propositions which had been extracted from Galileo's letters on the solar spots: First, that the sun does not move about the earth; secondly, that the earth does move about the sun. The eleven theologians solemnly considered these points, and in about a month rendered a solemn decision that "the first proposition, that the sun is the centre, and does not revolve about the earth, is foolish, absurd, false in theology, and heretical, because expressly contrary to Holy Scripture; and that the second proposition, that the earth is not the centre, but revolves about the sun, is absurd, false in philosophy, and, from a theological point of view, at least opposed to the true faith." [49]

The pope himself, Paul V., now intervenes; he orders that Galileo be brought before the Inquisition. Then the great man of science in that age is brought face to face with the greatest theologian: Galileo is confronted by Cardinal Bellarmin. Bellarmin shows Galileo the error of his opinion, and orders him to renounce it. De Lauda, fortified by a letter from the pope, ordering the astronomer to be placed in the dungeon of the Inquisition should he refuse to yield, commands him to "abandon entirely the opinion that the sun is the centre of the universe, and that the earth moves, and to abstain from sustaining, teaching, or defending that opinion in any manner whatever, orally or by writing." [50]

Galileo bowed to this order, was allowed to retire, and the whole proceeding was kept secret.

About ten days later, on March 5, 1616, the Congregation of the Index, moved thereto, as we have seen, and as the letters and documents now brought to light show, by Pope Paul V., solemnly rendered their decree: that the doctrine of the double movement of the earth about its axis and about the sun is false and entirely contrary to Holy Scripture; that this opinion must neither be taught nor defended. The same decree condemned the writings of Kopernik, and all writings which affirm the motion of the earth. The great work of Kopernik was interdicted until corrected in accordance with the views of the Inquisition; and the works of Galileo and Kepler, though not mentioned by name, were included among those implicitly condemned as "affirming the motion of the earth."

The condemnations were inscribed upon the Index, and to the Index was prefixed the usual papal bull giving its monitions the papal sanction. To teach or even read the works denounced or passages condemned, was to risk persecution in this world and damnation in the next. Human science had apparently lost the great decisive battle.

For some time Galileo remained at Rome perfectly submissive. [51] Pope Paul V. petted him, and all seemed happy in the ending of the long war.

But, returning to Florence, something of his old scientific ardor stirred within him; and at last Cardinal Barberini, who had seemed liberal and friendly, having been made pope under the name of Urban VIII., Galileo conceived new hopes, and again in a published work alluded favorably to the Copernican system. New troubles ensued. Galileo was induced to visit Rome again, and Pope Urban tried to cajole him into silence, and personally took the trouble to try to show the astronomer his errors by argument. Other opponents were less considerate. Works appeared attacking his ideas—works all the more unmanly, since their authors knew how Galileo was restrained by force from defending himself; and, as if to accumulate proofs of the fitness of the Church to take charge of advanced instruction, his salary as professor at the University of Pisa was taken from him. Sapping and mining began. Just as the Archbishop of Pisa some years before had tried to betray Galileo with honeyed words to the Inquisition, so now Father Grassi tried it; and after various attempts to draw him out by flattery, suddenly denounced his scientific ideas as "leading to a denial of the real presence in the Eucharist."

And here science again loses ground. Galileo had announced his intention of writing upon the theory of the tides, but he retreated, and thus was lost a great treatise to the world.

For the final assault, the park of heavy artillery was at last wheeled into place. You see it on all the scientific battle-fields. It consists of general denunciation; and Father Melchior Inchofer, of the Jesuits, brought his artillery to bear well on Galileo with this declaration: that the opinion of the earth's motion is, of all heresies, the most abominable, the most pernicious, the most scandalous; that the immobility of the earth is thrice sacred; that argument against the immortality of the soul, the Creator, the incarnation, etc., should be tolerated sooner than an argument to prove that the earth moves. [52]

But this state of things could not be endured forever. Urged beyond forbearance, Galileo prepares a careful treatise in the form of a dialogue, exhibiting the arguments for and against the Copernican and Ptolemaic systems. He then offers to submit to any conditions the Church tribunals may impose, if they will but allow it to be printed. At last they consent, imposing the most humiliating condition of all, which was a preface written by Father Ricciardi and signed by Galileo, in which the whole work was virtually exhibited as a play of the imagination, and not at all as opposed to the truth laid down in 1616 by the Inquisition.

The new work met with prodigious success; it put new weapons into the hands of the supporters of the Copernican theory. The preface only embittered the contest; it was laughed at from one end of Europe to the other as ironical. This aroused the enemy. The Jesuits, Dominicans, and the great majority of the clergy, returned to the attack more violent than ever; and Pope Urban VIII., his personal pride being touched, after some halting joined the clerical forces.

The first important piece of strategy was to forbid the sale of the work; but the first edition had already been exhausted and spread throughout Europe. Urban now became angry, and both Galileo and his works were placed in the hands of the Inquisition. In vain did the good Benedictine Castelli urge that Galileo was entirely respectful to the Church; in vain did he say that "nothing that could be done could now hinder the earth from revolving." He was dismissed, and Galileo was forced to appear in the presence of the dread tribunal without defender or adviser. There, as was so long concealed but as is now fully revealed, he was menaced with torture by express order of Pope Urban, and, as is now thoroughly established by documentary evidence, forced to abjure under threats, and subjected to imprisonment by command of Urban, the Inquisition deferring in the most servile manner to the papal authority.

The rest of the story the world knows by heart; none of the recent attempts have succeeded in mystifying it. The whole world will remember forever how Galileo was subjected certainly to indignity and imprisonment equivalent to physical torture; [53] how he was at last forced to pronounce publicly, and on his knees, his recantation as follows: "I, Galileo, being in my seventieth year, being a prisoner and on my knees, and before your eminences, having before my eyes the Holy Gospel, which I touch with my hands, abjure, curse, and detest the error and the heresy of the movement of the earth."

He was vanquished indeed, for he had been forced, in the face of all coming ages, to perjure himself; and, to complete his dishonor, he was obliged to swear to denounce to the Inquisition any other man of science whom he should discover to be supporting heresy—the "heresy of the movement of the earth."

Nor was this all. To the end of his life, nay, after his life was ended, this bitter persecution was continued, on the supposition that the great truths he revealed were hurtful to religion. After a brief stay in the dungeons of the Inquisition, he was kept in exile from family, friends, all his noble employments, and held rigidly to his promise not even to speak of his theory. When, in the midst of intense bodily sufferings from disease and mental sufferings from calamities in his family, he besought some little liberty, he was met with threats of a recommittal to his dungeon. When, at last, a special commissioner had reported to the ecclesiastical authorities that Galileo had become blind and wasted away with disease and sorrow, he was allowed but little more liberty, and that little tempered by the close surveillance of the ecclesiastical authorities. He was forced to bear contemptible attacks on himself and on his works in silence; he lived to see his ideas carefully weeded out from all the church colleges and universities in Europe; and when, in a scientific work, he happened to be spoken of as "renowned," the Inquisition ordered the substitution of the word "notorious." [54]

Nor did the persecution cease with his death. Galileo had begged to be buried in his family tomb in Santa Croce; the request was denied: his friends wished to erect a monument over him; this, too, was refused. Pope Urban said to the embassador Niccolini that "it would be an evil example for the world if such honors were rendered to a man who had been brought before the Roman Inquisition for an opinion so false and erroneous, who had communicated it to many others, and who had given so great a scandal to Christendom." [55]

In accordance, therefore, with the wish of the pope and the orders of the Inquisition, Galileo was buried ignobly, apart from his family, without fitting ceremony, without monument, without epitaph. Not until forty years after did Pierozzi dare to write his epitaph. Not until a hundred years after did Nelli dare transfer his remains to Santa Croce and erect above them a suitable monument. Even then the old conscientious hostility burst out: the Inquisition was besought to prevent such honors to "a man condemned for notorious errors;" and that tribunal refused to allow any epitaph to be placed above him which had not first been submitted to its censorship. Nor has that old conscientious consistency in hatred yet fully relented; hardly a generation since has not seen some Marini, or De Bonald, or Rallaye, or De Gabriac, suppressing evidence, or torturing expressions, or inventing theories, to blacken the memory of Galileo and save the reputation of the Church. [56]

The action of the Church authorities corresponded well to the spirit thus exhibited; not until 1757, over one hundred years after his condemnation, was it removed, and then secretly; not until 1835, over two hundred years after his condemnation, was the record of it expunged from the Index.

But this is by no means the only important part of this history. Hardly less important, for one who wishes to understand the character of the warfare of science, is it to go back over those two hundred years between that fearful crime and its acknowledgment, and study the great retreat of the army of the Church after its disastrous victory over Galileo.

Having gained this victory, the conscientious believers in the Bible as a compendium of history and text-book of science exulted greatly. Loud was the rejoicing that the "heresy," the "infidelity," the "atheism," involved in believing that the earth revolves about its axis and moves around the sun, had been crushed by the great tribunal of the Church, acting in strict obedience to the expressed will of one pope and the written order of another.

But soon clear-sighted men saw that this victory was a disaster. From all sides came proofs that Kopernik and Galileo were right; and although Pope Urban and the Inquisition held Galileo in strict seclusion, not allowing him even to speak regarding the double motion of the earth; and although the condemnation of "all books which affirm the motion of the earth" was kept on the Index; and although the colleges and universities under Church control were compelled to teach the opposite doctrine, it was seen that the position gained by the victory over Galileo could not be maintained for ever. So began the great retreat—the retreat of the army of Church apologists through two centuries of sophistry, trickery, and falsehood.

The first important move in the retreat was a falling back upon the statement that Galileo was condemned, not because he affirmed the motion of the earth, but because he supported it from Scripture. For a considerable time this falsehood served its purpose; even a hundred and fifty years after Galileo's condemnation it was renewed by the Protestant Mallet du Pan, [57] in his wish to gain favor from the older Church; but the slightest critical examination of the original documents, recently revealed, show this position utterly untenable. The letters of Galileo to Castelli and the Grand-duchess Christine, in which he spoke of the Copernican theory as reconcilable with Scripture, were not published until after the condemnation; and although the Archbishop of Pisa had endeavored to use them against him, they were but casually mentioned in 1616, and entirely left out of view in 1633. What was condemned in 1616 as "absurd, false in theology, and heretical, because absolutely contrary to Holy Scripture," was the proposition that "the sun is the centre about which the earth revolves;" and what was condemned as "absurd, false in philosophy, and, from a theologic point of view at least, opposed to the true faith," was the proposition that "the earth is not the centre of the universe and immovable, but has a diurnal motion." [58]

What Galileo was made, by express order of Pope Urban and by the action of the Inquisition under threat of torture, to abjure, was "the error and heresy of the movement of the earth." [59]

What the Index, prefaced by papal bulls binding its contents upon the consciences of the faithful, for two hundred years steadily condemned, were "all books which affirm the motion of the earth."

Not one of these condemnations was directed against Galileo's private letters to Castelli and Christine affirming the possibility of reconciling his ideas to Scripture.

Having been dislodged from this point, the Church apologists sought cover under the statement that "Galileo was condemned not for heresy, but for contumacy," and for "wanting in respect for the pope." [60]

As to the first point, the very language of the various sentences shows the falsehood of the assertion; they speak of "heresy," and never of "contumacy." As to the last point, the display of the original documents settled that forever. It was proved by them that from first to last he had been toward the pope most patient and submissive. He had indeed expressed his anger at times against his traducers; but to hold this the cause of the judgment against him, is to degrade the whole proceeding, and to convict the pope, Bellarmin, the theologians, and the Inquisition, of direct falsehood, since they assigned entirely different reasons for their conduct. From this, therefore, the apologists hastily retreated.

The next rally was made about the statement that the persecution of Galileo was the result of a quarrel between Aristotelian professors on one side and professors favoring the experimental method on the other, and that at first Pope Urban favored Galileo. But this position was attacked and carried by a very simple statement. If the Divine guidance of the Church is such a sham that it can be dragged into a professional squabble, and the pope made the tool of a faction in bringing about a most disastrous condemnation of a proven truth, how does the Church differ from any human organization sunk into decrepitude, managed by simpletons and controlled by schemers? If the argument be true, the condition of the Church is worse than its enemies have declared it. Amid the jeers of an unfeeling world the apologists sought new shelter.

The next point at which a stand was made was the assertion that the condemnation of Galileo was "provisory;" but this proved a more treacherous shelter than the other. When doctrines have been solemnly declared, as those of Galileo were solemnly declared, "contrary to the sacred Scriptures," "opposed to the true faith," and "false and absurd in theology and philosophy," to say that such declarations are "provisory," [61] is to say that the truth held by the Church is not immutable; from this, then, the apologists retreated.

While this retreat was going on, there was a constant discharge of small-arms in the shape of innuendoes, hints, and small sophistries, by small writers; every effort was made to blacken Galileo's private character; the irregularities of his early life were dragged forth, and stress was laid on breaches of etiquette; but this succeeded so poorly, that in 1850 it was thought necessary by the Roman court to cover their retreat by some more careful strategy.

The original documents of the trial of Galileo had, during the storms of the early part of the century, been transferred to Paris; but after several years, in 1846, they were returned to Rome by the French government, on the express promise by the papal authorities that the decisions should be published. After various delays, on various pretexts, in 1850 the long-expected publication appeared. The ecclesiastic charged with presenting them to the world was Monsignor Marini. This ecclesiastic was of a kind which has too often afflicted the weary earth—fox-like in cunning, cat-like in treachery. Despite the solemn promise of the papal court, the wily Marini became the instrument of the Roman authority in evading the promise; by suppressing a document here, and interpolating a statement there, he managed to give plausible standing-ground for nearly every important sophistry ever broached to save the reputation of the Church and destroy the reputation of Galileo. He it was who supported the idea that "Galileo was condemned not for heresy, but for contumacy," and various other assertions as groundless.

The first effect of Monsignor Marini's book seemed favorable in covering the retreat of the Church; aided by him, such vigorous writers as Ward were able to throw up temporary intrenchments between the Church and the indignation of the world.

But some time later came an investigator very different from wily Monsignor Marini. This man was a Frenchman, M. de l'Epinois. Like Marini, de l'Epinois was devoted to the Church, but, unlike Marini, he could not lie. Having obtained access, in 1867, to the Galileo documents at the Vatican, he published fully all those of importance, without suppression or piously-fraudulent manipulation. This made all the intrenchments based upon Marini's statements untenable. Another retreat had to be made.

And now was made the most desperate effort of all. The apologistic army, reviving an idea which popes and Church had spurned, declared that the pope, as pope, had never condemned the doctrines of Kopernik and Galileo; that he had condemned them as a man simply; that therefore the Church had never been committed to them; that they were condemned by the cardinals of the Inquisition and Index, and that the pope had evidently been restrained from signing their condemnation by Providence. [62] Nothing could show the desperation of the retreating party better than jugglery like this. The facts are, that from Pope Urban downward, among the Church authorities of the seventeenth century, the decision was spoken of as made by the pope and the Church. Urban VIII. spoke of that of 1616 as made by Pope Paul V. and the Church, and of that of 1633 as made by himself and the Church. [63]

When Gassendi attempted to raise the point that the decision was not sanctioned by the Church as such, a great theological authority, Father Lecazre, rector of the College of Dijon, publicly contradicted him, and declared that it "was not certain cardinals, but the supreme authority of the Church," that had condemned Galileo; and to this statement the pope and the Church gave consent, either openly or by silence. [64] The suspected thinkers, like Descartes and others, who attempted to raise the same point, were treated with contempt. Father Castelli, who had devoted himself to Galileo, and knew to his cost just what the condemnation meant and who made it, takes it for granted, in his letter to the papal authorities, that it was made by the Church. Cardinal Querenghi in his letters, the embassador Guicciardini in his dispatches, the historian Viviani in his biography of Galileo—all writing under Church inspection at the time—take the view that the Church condemned Galileo. The Inquisition itself, backed by the greatest theologian of the time, Bellarmin, took the same view; [65] and if this were not enough, we have the Roman Index, containing the condemnation for nearly two hundred years, prefaced by a solemn bull of the reigning pope, binding the condemnation on the consciences of the whole Church, and reiterating year after year the condemnation of "all books which affirm the motion of the earth" as damnable. [66] To attempt to face all this, added to the fact that the Inquisition condemned Galileo, and required his abjuration of "the heresy of the movement of the earth" by written order of the pope, was soon seen to be impossible.

In spite, then, of all the casuistry of de l'Epinois and all the special pleadings of M. Martin, the sturdy common-sense of the world proved too strong; and now comes to view the most astounding defense of all—that hinted at by Viscount de Bonald and developed in the Dublin Review. This was nothing less than an attempt to retreat under a charge of deception against the Almighty himself. The argument is as follows: "But it may well be doubted whether the Church did retard the progress of scientific truth. What retarded it, was the circumstance that God has thought fit to express many texts of Scripture in words which have every appearance of denying the earth's motion. But it is God who did this, not the Church; and, moreover, since He thought fit so to act as to retard the progress of scientific truth, it would be little to her discredit even if it were true that she had followed His example."

With this, the retreat of the army of apologists is complete; further than this, through mazes of sophistry and into depths of contempt, they could not go. [67]

Do not understand me here as casting blame on the Roman Church at large. It must in fairness be said, that some of its best men tried to stop this great mistake. Even Pope Urban himself would have been glad at one time to stop it; but the current was too strong, and he weakly yielded, becoming a bitter persecutor. [68] The whole of the civilized world was at fault, Protestant as well as Catholic, and not any particular part of it. It was not the fault of religion; it was the fault of the short-sighted views which narrow-minded, loud-voiced men are ever prone to mix in with religion, and to insist are religion. [69]

But the losses to the earth in the long war against Galileo were followed by losses not less unfortunate in other quarters. There was then in Europe one of the greatest thinkers ever given to mankind—Réné Descartes. Mistaken though many of his theories were, they were fruitful in truths. The scientific warriors had stirred new life in him, and he was working over and summing up in his mighty mind all the researches of his time; the result must make an epoch in history. His aim was to combine all knowledge and thought into a "Treatise on the World." His earnestness he proved by the eleven years which he gave to the study of anatomy alone. Petty persecution he had met often, but the fate of Galileo robbed him of all hope, of all energy; the battle seemed lost; he gave up his great plan forever. [70]

But champions pressed on. Campanella, full of vagaries as he was, wrote his Apologia pro Galileo, though for that and other heresies, religious and political, he seven times underwent torture. [71]

And Kepler comes. He leads science on to greater victories. Kopernik, great as he was, could not disentangle his scientific reasoning entirely from the theological bias. The doctrines of Aristotle and Thomas Aquinas as to the necessary superiority of the circle, had vitiated the minor features of his system, and left breaches in it through which the enemy was not slow to enter. Kepler sees these errors, and, by wonderful genius in insight and vigor in thought, he brings to the world the three laws which bear his name, and this fortress of science is complete. He thinks and speaks as one inspired. His battle is severe; he is sometimes abused, sometimes ridiculed, sometimes imprisoned. Protestants in Styria and at Tübingen, Catholics at Rome, press upon him; [72] but Newton, Halley, Bradley, and the other great leaders follow, and to science remains the victory.

And yet the war did not wholly end. During the seventeenth century, in all France, after all the splendid proofs added by Kepler, no one dared openly teach the Copernican theory, and Cassini, the great astronomer, never declared it. [73] In 1672 Father Riccioli, a Jesuit, declared that there were precisely forty-nine arguments for the Copernican theory and seventy-seven against it; so that there remained twenty-eight reasons for preferring the orthodox theory. [74] Toward the end of the seventeenth century, after the demonstration of Sir Isaac Newton, even Bossuet, the "eagle of Meaux," among the loftiest of religious thinkers, declared for the Ptolemaic theory as the Scriptural theory; [75] and in 1724 John Hutchinson published in England his Moses's Principia, maintaining that the Hebrew Scriptures are a perfect system of natural philosophy, and are opposed to the Newtonian theory of gravitation. [76] In 1746 Boscovich, the great mathematician of the Jesuits, used these words: "As for me, full of respect for the Holy Scriptures and the decree of the Holy Inquisition, I regard the earth as immovable; nevertheless, for simplicity in explanation, I will argue as if the earth moves, for it is proved that of the two hypotheses the appearances favor that idea." [77] And even at a date far within our own nineteenth century, the authorities of the Spanish universities vigorously excluded the Newtonian system, and the greatest of them all, the University of Salamanca, held it under the ban until a very recent period. [78]

Nor has the opposition failed even in our own time. On the 5th of May, 1829, a great multitude assembled at Warsaw, to do honor to the memory of Kopernik, and to unveil Thorwaldsen's statue of him.

Kopernik had lived a pious, Christian life. He was well known for unostentatious Christian charity. With his religious belief no fault had ever been found; he was a canon of the church of Frauenberg, and over his grave had been written the most touching of Christian epitaphs.

Naturally, then, the people expected a religious service. All was understood to be arranged for it. The procession marched to the church and waited. The hour passed, and no priest appeared; none could be induced to appear. Kopernik, simple, charitable, pious, one of the noblest gifts of God to the service of religion as well as science, was still held to be a reprobate. Five years after that, his book was still standing on the Index of books prohibited to Christians; and although, in 1757, under Benedict XIV., the Congregation of the Index had secretly allowed the ideas of Kopernik and Galileo to be simply tolerated, it was not until 1822, as we have seen, that Pius VII. allowed the publishing of them at Rome; and not until 1835 did the prohibition of them fully disappear from the Index. [79]

The Protestantism of England was little better. In 1772 sailed the famous English expedition for scientific discovery under Cook. The greatest by far of all the scientific authorities chosen to accompany it was Dr. Priestley. Sir Joseph Banks had especially invited him; but the clergy of Oxford and Cambridge intervened. Priestley was considered unsound in his views of the Trinity; it was suspected that this would vitiate his astronomical observations; he was rejected, and the expedition crippled. [80]

Nor has the warfare against dead champions of science been carried on only by the older Church.

On the 10th of May, 1859, was buried Alexander von Humboldt. His labors were among the greatest glories of the century, and his funeral one of the most imposing that Berlin had ever seen; among those who honored themselves by their presence was the prince regent—the present emperor. But of the clergy it was observed that none were present save the officiating clergyman and a few regarded as unorthodox. [81]

Nor have attempts to renew the battle been wanting in these latter days. The attempt in the Church of England, in 1864, to fetter science, which was brought to ridicule by Herschel, Bowring, and De Morgan; the Lutheran assemblage at Berlin, in 1868, to protest against "science falsely so called," in the midst of which stood Pastor Knak denouncing the Copernican theory; the "Syllabus," the greatest mistake of the Roman Church, are all examples of this. [82]

And now, what has been won by either party in this long and terrible war? The party which would subordinate the methods and aims of science to those of theology, though in general obedient to deep convictions, had given to Christianity a series of the worst blows it had ever received. They had made large numbers of the best men in Europe hate it. Why did Ricetto and Bruno and Vanini, when the crucifix was presented to them in their hours of martyrdom, turn from that blessed image with loathing? [83] Simply because Christianity had been made to them identical with the most horrible oppression of the mind.

Worse than that, the well-meaning defenders of the faith had wrought into the very fibre of the European heart that most unfortunate of all ideas, the idea that there is a necessary antagonism between science and religion. Like the landsman who lashes himself to the anchor of the sinking ship, they had attached the fundamental doctrines of Christianity, by the strongest cords of logic which they could spin, to these mistaken ideas in science, and the advance of knowledge had wellnigh engulfed them.

On the other hand, what had science done for religion? Simply this: Kopernik, escaping persecution only by death; Giordano Bruno, burned alive as a monster of impiety; Galileo, imprisoned and humiliated as the worst of misbelievers; Kepler, hunted alike by Protestant and Catholic, had given to religion great new foundations, great new, ennobling conceptions, a great new revelation of the might of God.

Under the old system we have that princely astronomer, Alfonso of Castile, seeing the poverty of the Ptolemaic system, yet knowing no other, startling Europe with the blasphemy that if he had been present at creation he could have suggested a better ordering of the heavenly bodies. Under the new system you have Kepler, filled with a religious spirit, exclaiming, "I do think the thoughts of God." [84] The difference in religious spirit between these two men marks the conquest made in this, even by science, for religion.

But we cannot leave the subject of astronomy without noticing the most recent warfare. Especially interesting is it because at one period the battle seemed utterly lost, and then was won beautifully, thoroughly, by a legitimate advance in scientific knowledge. I speak of the Nebular Hypothesis.

The sacred writings of the Jews which we have inherited speak literally of the creation of the heavenly bodies by direct intervention, and for the convenience of the earth. This was the view of the Fathers of the Church, and was transmitted through the great doctors in theology.

More than that, it was crystallized in art. So have I seen, over the portal of the Cathedral of Freiburg, a representation of the Almighty making and placing numbers of wafer-like suns, moons, and stars; and at the centre of all, platter-like and largest of all, the earth. [85] The lines on the Creator's face show that He is obliged to contrive; the lines of his muscles show that He is obliged to toil. Naturally, then, did sculptors and painters of the mediæval and early modern period represent the Almighty as weary after labor, and enjoying dignified repose.

These ideas, more or less gross in their accompaniments, passed into the popular creed of the modern period.

But about the close of the last century, Bruno having guessed the fundamental fact of the nebular hypothesis, and Kant having reasoned out its foundation idea, Laplace developed it, showing the reason for supposing that our own solar system, in its sun, planets, satellites, with their various motions, distances, and magnitudes, is a natural result of the diminishing heat of a nebulous mass—a result obeying natural laws.

There was an outcry at once against the "atheism" of the scheme. The war raged fiercely. Laplace claimed that there were in the heavens many nebulous patches yet in the gaseous form, and pointed them out. He showed by laws of physics and mathematical demonstration that his hypothesis accounted in a most striking manner for the great body of facts, and, despite clamor, was gaining ground, when the improved telescopes resolved some of the patches of nebulous matter into multitudes of stars.

The opponents of the nebular hypothesis were overjoyed; they sang pæans to astronomy, because, as they said, it had proved the truth of Scripture. They had jumped to the conclusion that all nebulæ must be alike—that if some are made up of systems of stars, all must be so made up; that none can be masses of attenuated gaseous matter, because some are not.

Science, for a time, halted. The accepted doctrine became this: that the only reason why all the nebulæ are not resolved into distinct stars is because our telescopes are not sufficiently powerful. But in time came that wonderful discovery of the spectroscope and spectrum analysis, and this was supplemented by Fraunhofer's discovery that the spectrum of an ignited gaseous body is discontinuous, with interrupting lines; and this, in 1846, by Draper's discovery that the spectrum of an ignited solid is continuous, with no interrupting lines. And now the spectroscope was turned upon the nebulæ, and about one-third of them were found to be gaseous.

Again the nebular hypothesis comes forth stronger than ever. The beautiful experiment of Plateau on the rotation of a fluid globe comes in to strengthen if not to confirm it. But what was likely to be lost in this? Simply a poor conception of the universe. What to be gained? A far more worthy idea of that vast power which works in the universe, in all things by law, and in none by caprice. [86]