to the noblest discoveries of modern times, is this strictly true?
Galileo made his discoveries in the heavens before Bacon died. Physical
improvements must need follow such inventions as gunpowder and the
mariners' compass, and printing and the pictures of Italy, and the
discovery of mines and the revived arts of the Romans and Greeks, and
the glorious emancipation which the Reformation produced. Why should not
the modern races follow in the track of Carthage and Alexandria and
Rome, with the progress of wealth, and carry out inventions as those
cities did, and all other civilized peoples since Babal towered above
the plains of Babylon? Physical developments arise from the developments
of man, whatever method may be recommended by philosophers. What
philosophical teachings led to the machinery of the mines of
California, or to that of the mills of Lowell? Some think that our
modern improvements would have come whether Bacon had lived or not. But
I would not disparage the labors of Bacon in pointing out the method
which leads to scientific discoveries. Granting that he sought merely
utility, an improvement in the outward condition of society, which is
the view that Macaulay takes, I would not underrate his legacy. And even
supposing that the blessings of material life--"the acre of
Middlesex"--are as much to be desired as Macaulay, with the complacency
of an eminently practical and prosperous man, seems to argue, I would
not sneer at them. Who does not value them? Who will not value them so
long as our mortal bodies are to be cared for? It is a pleasant thing to
ride in "cars without horses," to feel in winter the genial warmth of
grates and furnaces, to receive messages from distant friends in a
moment of time, to cross the ocean without discomfort, with the "almost
certainty" of safety, and save our wives and daughters from the ancient
drudgeries of the loom and the knitting-needle. Who ever tires in gazing
at a locomotive as it whirls along with the power of destiny? Who is not
astonished at the triumphs of the engineer, the wonders of an
ocean-steamer, the marvellous tunnels under lofty mountains? We feel
that Titans have been sent to ease us of our burdens.
But great and beneficent as are these blessings, they are not the only
certitudes, nor are they the greatest. An outward life of ease and
comfort is not the chief end of man. The interests of the soul are more
important than any comforts of the body. The higher life is only reached
by lofty contemplation on the true, the beautiful, and the good.
Subjective wisdom is worth more than objective knowledge. What are the
great realities,--machinery, new breeds of horses, carpets, diamonds,
mirrors, gas? or are they affections, friendships, generous impulses,
inspiring thoughts? Look to Socrates: what raised that barefooted,
ugly-looking, impecunious, persecuted, cross-questioning,
self-constituted teacher, without pay, to the loftiest pedestal of
Athenian fame? What was the spirit of the truths _he_ taught? Was it
objective or subjective truth; the way to become rich and comfortable,
or the search for the indefinite, the infinite, the eternal,--Utopia,
not Middlesex,--that which fed the wants of the immaterial soul, and
enabled it to rise above temptation and vulgar rewards? What raised
Plato to the highest pinnacle of intellectual life? Was it definite and
practical knowledge of outward phenomena; or was it "a longing after
love, in the contemplation of which the mortal soul sustains itself, and
becomes participant in the glories of immortality"? What were realities
to Anselm, Bernard, and Bonaventura? What gave beauty and placidity to
Descartes and Leibnitz and Kant? It may be very dignified for a modern
savant to sit serenely on his tower of observation, indifferent to all
the lofty speculations of the great men of bygone ages; yet those
profound questions pertaining to the [Greek: logos] and the [Greek: ta
onta], which had such attractions for Augustine and Pascal and Calvin,
did have as real bearing on human life and on what is best worth
knowing, as the scales of a leuciscus cephalus or the limbs of a
magnified animalculus, or any of the facts of which physical science can
boast. The wonders of science are great, but so also are the secrets of
the soul, the mysteries of the spiritual life, the truths which come
from divine revelation. Whatever most dignifies humanity, and makes our
labors sweet, and causes us to forget our pains, and kindles us to lofty
contemplations, and prompts us to heroic sacrifice, is the most real and
the most useful. Even the leaves of a barren and neglected philosophy
may be in some important respects of more value than all the boasted
fruit of utilitarian science. Is that which is most useful always the
most valuable,--that, I mean, which gives the highest pleasure? Do we
not plant our grounds with the acacia, the oak, the cedar, the elm, as
well as with the apple, the pear, and the cherry? Are not flowers and
shrubs which beautify the lawn as desirable as beans and turnips and
cabbages? Is not the rose or tulip as great an addition to even a poor
man's cottage as his bed of onions or patch of potatoes? What is the
scale to measure even mortal happiness? What is the marketable value of
friendship or of love? What makes the dinner of herbs sometimes more
refreshing than the stalled ox? What is the material profit of a first
love? What is the value in tangible dollars and cents of a beautiful
landscape, or a speaking picture, or a marble statue, or a living book,
or the voice of eloquence, or the charm of earliest bird, or the smile
of a friend, or the promise of immortality? In what consisted the real
glory of the country we are never weary of quoting,--the land of Phidias
and Pericles and Demosthenes? Was it not in immaterial ideas, in
patriotism, in heroism, in conceptions of ideal beauty, in speculations
on the infinite and unattainable, in the songs which still inspire the
minds of youth, in the expression which made marble live, in those
conceptions of beauty and harmony which still give shape to the temples
of Christendom? Was Rome more glorious with her fine roads and tables of
thuja-root, and Falernian wines, and oysters from the Lucrine Lake, and
chariots of silver, and robes of purple and rings of gold,--these useful
blessings which are the pride of an Epicurean civilization? And who gave
the last support, who raised the last barrier, against that inundation
of destructive pleasures in which some see the most valued fruits of
human invention, but which proved a canker that prepared the way to
ruin? It was that pious Emperor who learned his wisdom from a slave, and
who set a haughty defiance to all the grandeur and all the comforts of
the highest position which earth could give, and spent his leisure hours
in the quiet study of those truths which elevate the soul,--truths not
taught by science or nature, but by communication with invisible powers.
Ah, what indeed is reality; what is the higher good; what is that which
perishes never; what is that which assimilates man to Deity? Is it
houses, is it lands, is it gold and silver, is it luxurious couches, is
it the practical utilitarian comforts that pamper this mortal body in
its brief existence? or is it women's loves and patriots' struggles, and
sages' pious thoughts, affections, noble aspirations, Bethanies, the
serenities of virtuous old age, the harmonies of unpolluted homes, the
existence of art, of truth, of love; the hopes which last when sun and
stars decay? Tell us, ye women, what are realities to you,--your
carpets, your plate, your jewels, your luxurious banquets; or your
husbands' love, your friends' esteem, your children's reverence? And ye,
toiling men of business, what is really your highest joy,--your piles of
gold, your marble palaces; or the pleasures of your homes, the
approbation of your consciences, your hopes of future bliss? Yes, you
are dreamers, like poets and philosophers, when you call yourselves
pack-horses. Even you are only sustained in labor by intangible rewards
that you can neither see nor feel. The most practical of men and women
can really only live in those ideas which are deemed indefinite and
unreal. For what do the busiest of you run away from money-making, and
ride in cold or heat, in dreariness or discomfort,--dinners, or
greetings of love and sympathy? On what are such festivals as Christmas
and Thanksgiving Day based?--on consecrated sentiments that have more
force than any material gains or ends. These, after all, are realities
to you as much as ideas were to Plato, or music to Beethoven, or
patriotism to Washington. Deny these as the higher certitudes, and you
rob the soul of its dignity, and life of its consolations.
AUTHORITIES.
Bacon's Works, edited by Basil Montagu; Bacon's Life, by Basil Montagu;
Bacon's Life, by James Spedding; Bacon's Life, by Thomas Fowler; Dr.
Abbott's Introduction to Bacon's Essays, in Contemporary Review, 1876;
Macaulay's famous essay in Edinburgh Review, 1839; Archbishop Whately's
annotations of the Essays of Bacon; the general Histories of England.
GALILEO.
* * * * *
A.D. 1564-1642.
ASTRONOMICAL DISCOVERIES.
Among the wonders of the sixteenth century was the appearance of a new
star in the northern horizon, which, shining at first with a feeble
light, gradually surpassed the brightness of the planet Jupiter; and
then changing its color from white to yellow and from yellow to red,
after seventeen months, faded away from the sight, and has not since
appeared. This celebrated star, first seen by Tycho Brahe in the
constellation Cassiopeia, never changed its position, or presented the
slightest perceptible parallax. It could not therefore have been a
meteor, nor a planet regularly revolving round the sun, nor a comet
blazing with fiery nebulous light, nor a satellite of one of the
planets, but a fixed star, far beyond our solar system. Such a
phenomenon created an immense sensation, and has never since been
satisfactorily explained by philosophers. In the infancy of astronomical
science it was regarded by astrologers as a sign to portend the birth of
an extraordinary individual.
Though the birth of some great political character was supposed to be
heralded by this mysterious star, its prophetic meaning might with more
propriety apply to the extraordinary man who astonished his
contemporaries by discoveries in the heavens, and who forms the subject
of this lecture; or it poetically might apply to the brilliancy of the
century itself in which it appeared. The sixteenth century cannot be
compared with the nineteenth century in the variety and scope of
scientific discoveries; but, compared with the ages which had preceded
it, it was a memorable epoch, marked by the simultaneous breaking up of
the darkness of mediaeval Europe, and the bursting forth of new energies
in all departments of human thought and action. In that century arose
great artists, poets, philosophers, theologians, reformers, navigators,
jurists, statesmen, whose genius has scarcely since been surpassed. In
Italy it was marked by the triumphs of scholars and artists; in Germany
and France, by reformers and warriors; in England, by that splendid
constellation that shed glory on the reign of Elizabeth. Close upon the
artists who followed Da Vinci, to Salvator Rosa, were those scholars of
whom Emanuel Chrysoloras, Erasmus, and Scaliger were the
representatives,--going back to the classic fountains of Greece and
Rome, reviving a study for antiquity, breathing a new spirit into
universities, enriching vernacular tongues, collecting and collating
manuscripts, translating the Scriptures, and stimulating the learned to
emancipate themselves from the trammels of the scholastic philosophers.
Then rose up the reformers, headed by Luther, consigning to destruction
the emblems and ceremonies of mediaeval superstition, defying popes,
burning bulls, ridiculing monks, exposing frauds, unravelling
sophistries, attacking vices and traditions with the new arms of reason,
and asserting before councils and dignitaries the right of private
judgment and the supreme authority of the Bible in all matters of
religious faith.
And then appeared the defenders of their cause, by force of arms
maintaining the great rights of religious liberty in France, Germany,
Switzerland, Holland, and England, until Protestantism was established
in half of the countries that had for more than a thousand years
servilely bowed down to the authority of the popes. Genius stimulates
and enterprise multiplies all the energies and aims of emancipated
millions. Before the close of the sixteenth century new continents are
colonized, new modes of warfare are introduced, manuscripts are changed
into printed books, the comforts of life are increased, governments are
more firmly established, and learned men are enriched and honored.
Feudalism has succumbed to central power, and barons revolve around
their sovereign at court rather than compose an independent authority.
Before that century had been numbered with the ages past, the
Portuguese had sailed to the East Indies, Sir Francis Drake had
circumnavigated the globe, Pizarro had conquered Peru, Sir Walter
Raleigh had colonized Virginia, Ricci had penetrated to China, Lescot
had planned the palace of the Louvre, Raphael had painted the
Transfiguration, Michael Angelo had raised the dome of St. Peter's,
Giacomo della Porta had ornamented the Vatican with mosaics, Copernicus
had taught the true centre of planetary motion, Dumoulin had introduced
into French jurisprudence the principles of the Justinian code, Ariosto
had published the "Orlando Furioso," Cervantes had written "Don
Quixote," Spenser had dedicated his "Fairy Queen," Shakspeare had
composed his immortal dramas, Hooker had devised his "Ecclesiastical
Polity," Cranmer had published his Forty-two Articles, John Calvin had
dedicated to Francis I. his celebrated "Institutes," Luther had
translated the Bible, Bacon had begun the "Instauration of Philosophy,"
Bellarmine had systematized the Roman Catholic theology, Henry IV. had
signed the Edict of Nantes, Queen Elizabeth had defeated the Invincible
Armada, and William the Silent had achieved the independence of Holland.
Such were some of the lights and some of the enterprises of that great
age, when the profoundest questions pertaining to philosophy, religion,
law, and government were discussed with the enthusiasm and freshness of
a revolutionary age; when men felt the inspiration of a new life, and
looked back on the Middle Ages with disgust and hatred, as a period
which enslaved the human soul. But what peculiarly marked that period
was the commencement of those marvellous discoveries in science which
have enriched our times and added to the material blessings of the new
civilization. Tycho Brahe, Copernicus, Galileo, Kepler, and Bacon
inaugurated the era which led to progressive improvements in the
physical condition of society, and to those scientific marvels which
have followed in such quick succession and produced such astonishing
changes that we are fain to boast that we have entered upon the most
fortunate and triumphant epoch in our world's history.
Many men might be taken as the representatives of this new era of
science and material inventions, but I select Galileo Galilei as one of
the most interesting in his life, opinions, and conflicts.
Galileo was born at Pisa, in the year 1564, the year that Calvin and
Michael Angelo died, four years after the birth of Bacon, in the sixth
year of the reign of Elizabeth, and the fourth of Charles IX., about the
time when the Huguenot persecution was at its height, and the Spanish
monarchy was in its most prosperous state, under Philip II. His parents
were of a noble but impoverished Florentine family; and his father, who
was a man of some learning,--a writer on the science of music,--gave him
the best education he could afford. Like so many of the most illustrious
men, he early gave promise of rare abilities. It was while he was a
student in the university of his native city that his attention was
arrested by the vibrations of a lamp suspended from the ceiling of the
cathedral; and before he had quitted the church, while the choir was
chanting mediaeval anthems, he had compared those vibrations with his
own pulse, which after repeated experiments, ended in the construction
of the first pendulum,--applied not as it was by Huygens to the
measurement of time, but to medical science, to enable physicians to
ascertain the rate of the pulse. But the pendulum was soon brought into
the service of the clockmakers, and ultimately to the determination of
the form of the earth, by its minute irregularities in diverse
latitudes, and finally to the measurement of differences of longitude by
its connection with electricity and the recording of astronomical
observations. Thus it was that the swinging of a cathedral lamp, before
the eye of a man of genius, has done nearly as much as the telescope
itself to advance science, to say nothing of its practical uses in
common life.
Galileo had been destined by his father to the profession of medicine,
and was ignorant of mathematics. He amused his leisure hours with
painting and music, and in order to study the principles of drawing he
found it necessary to acquire some knowledge of geometry, much to the
annoyance of his father, who did not like to see his mind diverted from
the prescriptions of Hippocrates and Galen. The certain truths of
geometry burst upon him like a revelation, and after mastering Euclid he
turned to Archimedes with equal enthusiasm. Mathematics now absorbed his
mind, and the father was obliged to yield to the bent of his genius,
which seemed to disdain the regular professions by which social position
was most surely effected. He wrote about this time an essay on the
Hydrostatic Balance, which introduced him to Guido Ubaldo, a famous
mathematician, who induced him to investigate the subject of the centre
of gravity in solid bodies. His treatise on this subject secured an
introduction to the Grand Duke of Tuscany, who perceived his merits, and
by whom he was appointed a lecturer on mathematics at Pisa, but on the
small salary of sixty crowns a year.
This was in 1589, when he was twenty-five, an enthusiastic young man,
full of hope and animal spirits, the charm of every circle for his
intelligence, vivacity, and wit; but bold and sarcastic, contemptuous of
ancient dogmas, defiant of authority, and therefore no favorite with
Jesuit priests and Dominican professors. It is said that he was a
handsome man, with bright golden locks, such as painters in that age
loved to perpetuate upon the canvas; hilarious and cheerful, fond of
good cheer, yet a close student, obnoxious only to learned dunces and
narrow pedants and treadmill professors and bigoted priests,--all of
whom sought to molest him, yet to whom he was either indifferent or
sarcastic, holding them and their formulas up to ridicule. He now
directed his inquiries to the mechanical doctrines of Aristotle, to
whose authority the schools had long bowed down, and whom he too
regarded as one of the great intellectual giants of the world, yet not
to be credited without sufficient reasons. Before the "Novum Organum"
was written, he sought, as Bacon himself pointed out, the way to arrive
at truth,--a foundation to stand upon, a principle tested by experience,
which, when established by experiment, would serve for sure deductions.
Now one of the principles assumed by Aristotle, and which had never been
disputed, was, that if different weights of the same material were let
fall from the same height, the heavier would reach the ground sooner
than the lighter, and in proportion to the difference of weight. This
assumption Galileo denied, and asserted that, with the exception of a
small different owing to the resistance of the air, both would fall to
the ground in the same space of time. To prove his position by actual
experiment, he repaired to the leaning tower of Pisa, and demonstrated
that he was right and Aristotle was wrong. The Aristotelians would not
believe the evidence of their own senses, and ascribed the effect to
some unknown cause. To such a degree were men enslaved by authority.
This provoked Galileo, and led him to attack authority with still
greater vehemence, adding mockery to sarcasm; which again exasperated
his opponents, and doubtless laid the foundation of that personal
hostility which afterwards pursued him to the prison of the Inquisition.
This blended arrogance and asperity in a young man was offensive to the
whole university, yet natural to one who had overturned one of the
favorite axioms of the greatest master of thought the world had seen for
nearly two thousand years; and the scorn and opposition with which his
discovery was received increased his rancor, so that he, in his turn,
did not render justice to the learned men arrayed against him, who were
not necessarily dull or obstinate because they would not at once give up
the opinions in which they were educated, and which the learned world
still accepted. Nor did they oppose and hate him for his new opinions,
so much as from dislike of his personal arrogance and bitter sarcasms.