Resuming the history of events, we find that early in the year 1632 the
printing of the Dialogue was completed. The author caused some copies
to be bound and gilt and sent to Rome. It was not easy to pass them,
on account of the quarantine; yet some amongst them found their way,
and great was the sensation caused in the ecclesiastical world by their
appearance.
There were a few admirers of Galileo who approved warmly; but there
was the School of Aristotle, as in these enlightened days there is the
School of Darwin,[14] and they could not bear that anything should
be published reflecting on the scientific infallibility of their
great philosopher. Thus we find that Father Scheiner, writing to
Gassendi, observed that Galileo had written his work “contra communem
Peripateticorum Scholam.”
The agitation against the book was successful, and a report arose
forthwith that it would be condemned. The report was no mere _canard_,
as the subsequent proceedings soon showed. In the month of August
of this same year the Master of the Sacred Palace gave orders to the
printer at Florence to suspend the distribution of the copies, and
he also sent for those which had been brought to Rome. Nor was this
all. In the following month the Pope ordered that a letter should be
written to the Inquisitor of Florence, enjoining him to direct Galileo
to present himself in Rome in the month of October, in order to explain
his conduct.
The book had already been examined by special Commission--a step taken
with the view of pleasing the Grand Duke of Tuscany, so as to avoid
bringing the affair before the Inquisition.
The Pope, from whatever cause, was much displeased. This appeared in
a conversation with Niccolini, the Tuscan Ambassador, in which His
Holiness said that Galileo had entered on ground which he ought not
to have touched, and that both Ciampoli and the Master of the Sacred
Palace had been deceived. Still it seemed that, so far, there was no
intention to do more than censure the book and demand a retractation.
The special Commission, of which mention has just been made, after a
month’s interval, reported that Galileo had been disobedient to orders
in the following respects: Affirming as an absolute truth the movement
of the Earth instead of stating it as a hypothesis; attributing the
tides to this cause--_i.e._ to the revolution and movement of the
Earth; deceitfully keeping silence as to the order given him in 1616
to abandon the opinion that the Earth revolved, and that the Sun was
the centre of the universe.
Another memorial (drawn up about the same time), after enumerating
the facts of the case, stated eight heads of accusation against the
philosopher:
1.--Having, without leave, placed at the beginning of his work the
permission for printing, delivered at Rome.
2.--Having, in the body of the work, put the true doctrine in the
mouth of a fool, and having approved it but feebly by the
argument of another interlocutor.
3.--Having quitted the region of hypothesis by affirming, in an
absolute manner, the mobility of the Earth and the stability
of the Sun, etc.
4.--Having treated the subject as one that was not already decided,
and in the attitude of a person waiting for a definition, and
supposing it to have not been yet promulgated.
5.--Having despised the authors who were opposed to the
above-mentioned opinion, though the Church uses them in
preference to others.
6.--Having affirmed (untruly) the equality supposed to exist, for
understanding geometrical matters, between the divine and
human intellect.
7.--Having stated, as a truth, that the partisans of Ptolemy ought
to range themselves with those of Copernicus, and denied the
converse.
8.--Having wrongly attributed the tides to the stability of the Sun
and mobility of the Earth, which things do not exist.
It must be observed that all this was merely of the nature of an
accusation, and was in no way an ecclesiastical decision.
It appears, too, that some apprehensions were entertained in Rome that
false philosophical and theological doctrines might be drawn out of the
opinion put forth by Galileo. No. 6 of the above-mentioned accusations
points in that direction.
At any rate, no time was lost in summoning the philosopher to Rome,
there to answer for his offences. A message to that effect was
communicated to him by the Inquisitor at Florence, on the 1st October.
Upon this, Galileo, anxious to gain time, and to excuse himself
from going to Rome, if it were possible to do so, wrote to Cardinal
Barberini, and sought the powerful advocacy of the Grand Duke of
Tuscany; he urged his infirm health, and advanced age, nearly seventy
years, as grounds for consideration. It was intimated to him, however,
that although some little time would be allowed him on the ground of
health, yet to Rome he must come; and a threat was added, through the
Inquisitor at Florence, of bringing him fettered as a prisoner if it
turned out that his health was not really such as he represented it to
be. So at last he yielded, and started for Rome on the 20th January,
1633, and, travelling very slowly, arrived on the 13th February, when
the Tuscan Ambassador, Niccolini, who had sent his litter for him,
received him at his Palace. This, with all the freedom it implied, was
indeed an unusual indulgence to persons situated as he was. After a
short time, during which no official steps were taken, he was conveyed
to the office of the Inquisition, and lodged there, but well and
commodiously, by the Pope’s order.
On the 12th April he appeared for the first time before the Court;
he admitted the authorship of the Dialogue; he admitted, too, that
the decree of the Index had been notified to him; but stated that
Cardinal Bellarmine had informed him that it was allowable to hold the
Copernican doctrine as a hypothesis. He maintained further that he
had not contravened the order given him, that he should not defend or
support this doctrine; and he declared that he did not remember having
been forbidden in any way to teach it.
It would seem that this latter prohibition was meant to include
teaching by implication, such as one may do through the medium of an
interlocutor in a dialogue.
It is startling that Galileo should have said among other things on
this occasion, that he had not embraced or defended in his book the
opinion that the Earth is in motion and the Sun stationary; but, on the
contrary, had shown that the reasons produced by Copernicus were feeble
and inconclusive.
After this examination he was well lodged, though treated as a
prisoner, being placed in the apartments of the “Fiscal of the
Holy Office,” instead of in the ordinary chambers appropriated to
accused persons; moreover, he had leave to walk in the garden, and
was attended by his own servant. He said himself, in a letter to his
friend Bocchineri, that his health was good, and that he had every
attention shown to him by the Tuscan Ambassador and Ambassadress. It
is well to note these things, because they dispose of the popular
accusations of cruelty which have been made by ignorant or malicious
controversialists, although the antagonists with whom I am dealing are
too well informed to resort to them.
A slight indisposition from which our philosopher suffered about this
time, illustrated still further the desire which existed to treat
him with _personal_ kindness; the Commissary and the Fiscal charged
with the process, both visited him and spoke encouragingly to him. As
soon as he had recovered he requested to have a further hearing. This
took place on the 30th April; but meanwhile, three theologians, who
had been consulted, Augustin Orezzi, Melchior Inchofer, and Zacharias
Pasqualigo, had each separately presented a memorial to the effect
that Galileo had taught in his book the motion of the Earth and the
immobility of the Sun. At the hearing on the 30th April, being asked
to say whatever occurred to him, he stated that he had read his
Dialogue again--not having seen it for three years previously--in
order to ascertain if there was anything--“se contro alla mia
purissima intenzione, per mia inavertenza”--by which he had been at all
disobedient to the order imposed on him in 1616; and he had found there
were some arguments, notably about the solar spots and the tides, which
he had put too forcibly, and which he thought could be refuted. As
regards the latter of these two points we may, I think, cordially agree
with him in his retractation: but it had been a favourite argument with
him. He also stated on this occasion--not having, I fear, the courage
of his convictions--that he had not held as true the condemned opinion
as to the Earth’s motion, and was ready to write something fresh in
order to refute it, if the time to do so were allowed him.
On this same day (30th April) the Commissary-General of the
Inquisition, with the Pope’s sanction, allowed Galileo to be
imprisoned, under certain conditions, at the Palace of the Tuscan
Ambassador, this favour being conceded on account of his age and health.
He was again called before the Court on the 10th May, and he then
presented a written statement, to which was appended the original of
Cardinal Bellarmine’s injunction, laid on him in 1616. It contained
certain prohibitions, but not the word “teach.”
He pleaded also that he had done his best to avoid all fault in his
book, which he had himself submitted to the Grand Inquisitor. Now
follows what seems like more severe treatment, whether because he had
not impressed his judges with a belief in his candour and sincerity,
or from other reasons. However, the Pope, on the 16th June, gave orders
that he should be questioned as to his _intention_; then, after he
had been _threatened_ with torture (apparently without any view of
putting the threat into execution), and made to pronounce an abjuration
full and entire, that he should be condemned to prison according to
the discretion of the Inquisition; also that his treatise should be
prohibited, and himself forbidden to treat, either by word or writing,
on the subject of the Sun and the Earth.
Yet, with all this, the Pope, two days afterwards, said to Niccolini,
the Tuscan Ambassador, that it was impossible not to prohibit this
opinion (Copernicanism) as it was contrary to the Holy Scriptures,
and that Galileo must remain a prisoner for some time for having
contravened the orders given him in 1616, but that he (the Pope) would
see if the condemnation could be mitigated.
It appears that he was thinking of sentencing him to a temporary
seclusion in the Monastery of Santa Croce, at Florence.
When, in pursuance of the Pope’s order, Galileo was questioned (21st
June), he was asked how long it was since he had held the opinion
that the Sun, and not the Earth, was the centre of the universe; to
which he replied that long before the decree of 1616 he held that the
two opinions could equally be sustained; but that since the decree,
convinced as he was of the prudence of the superior authorities, all
uncertainty in his mind had ceased, that he had then adopted, and still
held, the opinion of Ptolemy on the mobility of the Sun as true and
indubitable. Certain passages in his book were then put to him as being
irreconcilable with the statements he was making; and yet he maintained
that, though he had stated the case _pro_ and _con_ in his work, he did
not, in his heart, hold the condemned opinion. “Concludo dunque dentro
di me medesimo ne tenere ne haver tenuto dopo la determinazione delli
Superiori la dannata opinione.”
Threatened with torture if he did not tell the truth, he persevered
in his answer as already given; upon which the tribunal, after making
him sign his deposition, dismissed him. On the next day, the 22nd
June, he was taken to Santa Maria Sopra Minerva, and brought before
the Cardinals and Prelates of the Congregation, that he might hear his
sentence and pronounce his abjuration.
The accusation was that he had openly violated the order given him not
to maintain Copernicanism; that he had unfairly extorted permission to
print his book, without showing the prohibition received in 1616; that
he had maintained the condemned opinion, although he alleged that he
had left it undecided and as simply probable--which, however, was still
a grave error, since an opinion declared contrary to Scripture could
not in any way be probable.
His sentence was to the effect that he had rendered himself strongly
suspected of heresy in believing and maintaining a doctrine false and
opposed to Holy Scripture in respect of the motion of the Sun and the
Earth, and in believing that one might maintain and defend any opinion
after it had been declared to be contrary to Holy Scripture. He had,
therefore, incurred the censures in force against those who offend in
such ways; from which, however, he would be absolved provided that,
with a sincere heart and unfeigned faith, he would abjure the said
errors and heresies; but, as a penance and as a warning to others,
he was to undergo certain inflictions. The book was henceforth to be
prohibited, he himself was to be condemned to the ordinary prison of
the Holy Office for a time the Holy Office would itself limit, and he
was to recite the seven Penitential Psalms once a week for three years.
The Holy Office reserved to itself the power to remit or change part
or all of the above-named penances. Galileo abjured, accordingly, as
directed.
The well-known legend that after his abjuration he stamped on the
ground with his foot, saying: “E pur si muove” (And yet it, _i.e._
the Earth, _does_ move), is not found in any contemporary author, and
first appears towards the end of the eighteenth century. It is also
to the last degree improbable; Galileo was in far too great dread of
his judges to provoke them by openly perpetrating such an action; and
if he did it _sotto voce_, who heard it, and who testified to it? The
late Dr. Whewell in his “History of the Inductive Sciences,” suggests
that it was “uttered as a playful epigram in the ear of a Cardinal’s
secretary, with a full knowledge that it would be immediately repeated
to his master.” This writer is eminently fair, though naturally he
writes from a Protestant point of view; but he takes the extraordinary
line of maintaining what I think no one who knows all the facts could
possibly suppose, namely, that the whole thing was a kind of solemn
farce, and that the Inquisitors did not believe Galileo’s abjuration
to be sincere, or even wish it to be so; thus he says: “though we may
acquit the Popes and Cardinals of Galileo’s time of stupidity and
perverseness in rejecting manifest scientific truths, I do not see how
we can acquit them of dissimulation and duplicity.” That is, he thinks
the process was a piece of decorous solemnity, adopted to hoodwink
the ecclesiastical public. I do not think it necessary to discuss so
improbable a theory. And the story of “E pur si muove,” as also that of
bodily torture or any personal cruelty being inflicted on Galileo, may,
I venture to think, be dismissed into the realm of fable.
The Pope, without delay, commuted the sentence of imprisonment to
one of seclusion in the Palace of the Tuscan Ambassador, on the
Monte Pincio, after which Galileo was allowed to retire to Sienna,
to the Palace of the Archbishop of that place, Piccolomini, one of
his warmest friends, from whom he received every possible attention.
Indeed, the Archbishop seems to have gone beyond the limits of
prudence, considering the peculiar circumstances of the case and the
temper of the times, in the enthusiasm of his admiration for the great
astronomer, and to have hinted to various persons that, in his opinion,
he had been unjustly condemned, that he was the greatest man in the
world and would always live in his writings, even those that had been
prohibited; such, at least, was the report that found its way to Rome,
and it caused great prejudice to Galileo. He had received permission to
go to his country house at Arcetri, near Florence, on condition that
he lived there quietly, receiving only the visits of his friends and
relatives, in such a way as not to give umbrage; and the report, to
which allusion has just been made, coupled with the accusation that,
under the encouragement of his host the Archbishop, he had spread
opinions that were not soundly Catholic in the city of Sienna, caused
some additional strictness to be enforced as to the manner of his
seclusion.
Thus he was detained for four years in his villa, and was refused
permission to go to Florence for medical treatment, it being, however,
apparent that the villa was sufficiently near to the city to enable
physicians and surgeons to go _to him_ when required. Later on, in
1638, when his sufferings had increased, and he had become (wholly or
partially) blind, permission was given him to reside in Florence, on
condition that he should not speak to his visitors on the subject
of the movement of the Earth. Of this concession he availed himself,
and lived for his few remaining years in Florence, occupying himself
with scientific pursuits. In this same year he published at Leyden a
work entitled, “Dialoghi delle Nuove Scienze”; this, in fact, was his
last work of importance, and he died on the 8th January, 1642, in his
seventy-eighth year.
It is not easy to form an accurate estimate of the character of
Galileo, so far, at least, as affected by the proceedings just related.
By some he has been called a “Martyr of Science”; but a martyr, unless
the word be used in a loose and inaccurate sense, ought, above all
things, to have the courage of his convictions, and as we have seen,
that was hardly the case with Galileo. I will here again quote Dr.
Whewell’s work on the “History of the Inductive Sciences,” and this
time in agreement with his words: “I do not see with what propriety
Galileo can be looked upon as a martyr of science. Undoubtedly he
was very desirous of promoting what he conceived to be the cause of
philosophical truth; but it would seem that, while he was restless
and eager in urging his opinions, he was always ready to make such
submissions as the spiritual tribunals required.... But in this case
(_i.e._ the case of his refusing to abjure) he would have been a martyr
to a cause of which the merit was of a mingled character; for his own
special and favourite share in the reasonings by which the Copernican
system was supported, was the argument drawn from the flux and reflux
of the sea, which argument is altogether false.”
Yet though we deny him the credit of having been a hero or a martyr,
we must not be too severe in condemning him. He was old and enfeebled
by bad health; moreover, his friends had advised him to submit fully
and unreservedly to the tribunal of the Inquisition. And to this we
may add the following considerations. There can be little doubt that
he held the Copernican theory as a very probable opinion; how, indeed,
with his knowledge of astronomy, and with his own discoveries before
his eyes, could it be otherwise? But it is very possible that he had no
fixed, absolute conviction on the subject; he was a sincere Catholic,
and had a deep respect for the Pope and for the Church, and, unlike
modern scientific men, he probably allowed some weight to the decisions
of ecclesiastical authorities. Remembering all this, we may well admit
that there is much to palliate his conduct, though not fully to justify
it.
But his want of candour evidently prejudiced his judges against him.
They accepted his reiterated denials of belief, even a qualified
belief, in Copernicanism, but they did not credit them as being
true. I incline to hold that he would have done as well and given
more satisfaction to the tribunal if he had made a straightforward
defence in some such way as this: that he could not help believing
Copernicanism to be a probable hypothesis on purely scientific
grounds, and _more than this_, the then-existing state of astronomical
knowledge would not have justified him in saying: that he left to
the ecclesiastical authorities henceforth the entire question of
reconciling the theory with Holy Scripture, and that he would not in
future teach it even as a hypothesis, or publish any work so teaching
it, without permission. A statement of this nature, coupled with an
apology for any indiscretion connected with the publication of the
Dialogue, might have availed him better than the line he adopted, and
would at least have had the merit of candour.
A few words may here be added on the scientific character of Galileo;
in this respect he was, with the exception of Kepler, the first man of
his age.
He has the credit of being the discoverer of the first law of motion;
but whether he fully realised this all-important law, or whether it
was one of those happy guesses which we sometimes find to have been
made by men who are the precursors of great discoverers, but who do not
perceive the full scope and the ultimate bearing of the truths on which
they have lighted, I need not here discuss. He did, however, state the
law in a Dialogue on mechanics, published in 1638, in these words:
“I imagine a movable body projected in a horizontal plane, all
impediments [to motion] being removed; it is then manifest from what
has been said more fully elsewhere, that its (the body’s) motion will
be uniform and perpetual upon the plane, if the plane be extended to
infinity.”
This of course involves the principle of the first of the three laws
of motion, the Newtonian laws, as they are frequently called, because
the man whose name they bear was the one who used them clearly and
consistently as the basis of a great astronomical theory. The law, as
now usually stated, is fuller and more explicit than that given by
Galileo, and may be enunciated thus: “Every body perseveres in its
state of rest, or of uniform motion in a straight line, unless it is
compelled to change that state by forces impressed on it.”
It is, however, greatly to the scientific credit of Galileo that
before the close of his life he should have emancipated himself from
the erroneous idea that circular motion alone is naturally uniform,
and should have stated in the language just quoted the true mechanical
doctrine, unknown to his predecessors, unknown even to Kepler,
a doctrine which involved nothing less than a revolution in the
conception of the laws of motion. Nor was this his only contribution
to the science of mechanics; he it was who first understood the law
that regulates the velocity of falling bodies; he perceived that they
were acted upon by an uniformly accelerating force, that of terrestrial
gravity, and that the velocity at any given point is proportional to
the time of descent.
The principle of virtual velocities is said by some persons to have
been discovered by Galileo, and it appears that he stated it fully and
clearly; but he can scarcely be said to be the discoverer of it, as
it had been known to others, and had even--at least as exemplified in
the case of the lever--been noticed by Aristotle. There is, however,
no doubt that Galileo was the greatest man of his day in mechanical
knowledge, whether we attribute more or less weight to the light he
threw on particular details.
In astronomy he was necessarily a discoverer, for the all-important
reason that, as already stated, he was the first man that ever used the
telescope for investigating the phenomena of the heavens. He thus saw
what no one previously had seen,[15] the satellites of Jupiter, the
spots on the Sun, and the moon-like phases of the planet Venus, besides
the greatly increased number of stars, so many of which are invisible
to the naked eye.
The first-mentioned of these discoveries, that of the satellites of
Jupiter, seems to have created an immense sensation among the _savants_
of that day. It _suggested_ that the theories of Ptolemy were anything
but complete or correct, and yet it _proved_ nothing, excepting against
those _à priori_ reasoners, who would not believe that a body round
which a moon circulated could itself be in motion; but the phases of
Venus were simply conclusive against the Ptolemaic system, and for
this reason: According to that system Venus was a planet revolving
round the Earth in an orbit outside that of Mercury, but within that
of the Sun. Now the phases of Venus did not correspond with any
supposed period of her revolution round the Earth, as the phases of
the Moon obviously do, nor did any one ever imagine that the Earth
went round Venus. They did, however, correspond with the time of a
probable orbit in which either Venus revolved round the Sun or the Sun
round Venus; and here again this latter alternative was inadmissible.
There remained, therefore, the one only reasonable solution of the
phenomenon, namely, that Venus travelled in an orbit round the Sun.
This was further confirmed when, in December, 1639, our own countryman,
Horrox, at that time a young curate residing in the north of England,
but gifted with a knowledge of astronomy which would have done credit
to a man of double his age and experience, observed a transit of
the planet across the Sun’s disc. This occurred some few years after
Galileo’s condemnation; but it may be remarked that Gassendi had
already, in November, 1631, witnessed a transit of Mercury. Thus it
appeared that these two planets revolved round the Sun, contrary to
what Ptolemy had supposed. And yet this was not conclusive in favour
of Copernicanism, for the theory of Tycho Brahé was precisely to this
effect: that the planets revolved round the Sun, and that the Sun in
his turn circulated round the Earth. This hypothesis was of the nature
of a compromise, and it has been said that Tycho was led to it by his
interpretation of Scripture rather than of Nature; yet he was one of
the best astronomers and best observers of his age, and had Kepler for
one of his pupils. He had a reason, too, for rejecting Copernicanism
which in his time seemed to have considerable weight, namely, the
incredible distances at which the fixed stars must be supposed to be
placed if the theory were true, since no sensible motion could be
detected among them--apparent motion, that is--such as would result
from the annual motion of the Earth if the stars were at any distance
approaching to that of the planets. We know now how futile this
objection is, but in that age there was an idea that Nature could never
allow of such a waste of space as is implied in these vast distances.
If Tycho had lived longer, we may well doubt whether he would have
adhered to his system. Kepler saw its weakness, and was the first to
discover the true nature of the curves which both the Earth and the
planets describe in their respective orbits; and this, although he did
not know the first law of motion. His books, published in 1619 and
1622, stated not only the elliptic form of the orbits, which no one
previously had found out, but also the important law connecting the
distances of the planets with their periods of revolution.
It is necessary to bear in mind how gradually these various items of
knowledge dawned upon the scientific world, and how imperfect was the
state in which the study of astronomy remained until the discovery
of that great law of gravitation, which binds together and regulates
the physical universe. Men of mature years had not then learnt the
lesson now taught to youths at college, that in natural science we must
discard _à priori_ arguments, and trust to the experimental method
for guidance. It has been said contemptuously that the Cardinals who
condemned Galileo and the Copernican system were not only ignorant of
the science of the present day (which was inevitable), but even of that
of their own day. If that means merely that they were deficient in that
far-reaching intelligence which enables some gifted men to foresee the
future effect of recent discoveries and hypotheses scarcely emerged
from a state of embryo, we may readily grant it.
We may allow also that some of the recent discoveries of Galileo, as,
for instance, that of the phases of Venus, were not at first fully
appreciated, nor their bearing on the controversy perfectly understood,
excepting by professed astronomers. It required careful observation to
perceive that this planet’s phases were only to be explained on the
theory of her revolving round the Sun.
On the other hand, if these ecclesiastics were wise enough to see the
futility of Galileo’s argument drawn from the tides, it is certainly
not for us to blame them; the tides have nothing to do with the
questions then at issue.
And it is only fair to remember that supposing Ptolemy completely
overthrown, as in reality he assuredly was, by the observations on
Venus and Mercury, there remained the system of Tycho Brahé, as has
been remarked already, and this system partly met the case of those
phenomena that Ptolemy failed in accounting for; and although we can
easily see now that it was something of the nature of a makeshift, at
that time there was no clear or conclusive evidence against it.
I proceed now to state what appears to have been the ecclesiastical
force of the two condemnations by the Roman tribunals--that of the
Index prohibiting certain books, and that of the Inquisition punishing
Galileo individually, and forcing him to abjure his real or imputed
opinions on the Copernican system of astronomy. I trust I shall not
lose sight of my position as a _lay theologian_ (in the sense I have
defined the term), or trespass upon strictly ecclesiastical preserves;
but I may surely say at once, that it is evident no decision was
pronounced on any matter of faith. The first case, that of the Index in
1616, I have already discussed; and as for the latter one, that of the
Inquisition, it seems hardly credible that any one should maintain that
the sentence of a Roman tribunal on an individual, however eminent,
could constitute an _ex cathedrâ_ decision on a question of faith. Mr.
Roberts, however, seems to maintain something very like this; but he
does so by taking some strong, and perhaps extreme, statements made
by theologians, such as M. Bouix and Dr. Ward, when writing on some
totally different point, and by urging that if these things are true,
then Galileo’s condemnation was tantamount to a definition _de fide_.
I do not feel called upon to answer arguments of this kind. But there
is another which is more relevant, drawn from the Brief addressed by
Pope Pius IX. to the Archbishop of Munich, about twenty-five years
ago, when the congress of philosophers, of whom Dr. Döllinger was the
leading spirit, had been held in that city. In that Brief, the Pope
states that it is requisite for good Christians to subject themselves
in conscience to decisions pertaining to doctrine that are put forth by
the Pontifical Congregations; and also to such heads of doctrine as are
held to be theological truths by the common consent of Catholics, even
when the denial of these does not involve heresy, but deserves some
other censure.
Theologians, I believe, are not agreed as to whether this Brief is
strictly _ex cathedrâ_, and therefore to be treated as infallible. But
let us assume that it is so. Does the expression, “subject themselves
in conscience,” mean necessarily anything more than a respectful
acquiescence, as distinguished from a full interior assent? And,
allowing that it does even mean this latter, it is for _doctrinal_
decisions that such authority is claimed; and what I am maintaining is,
that the decrees in the case of Galileo were purely disciplinary.
I do not of course deny that the line of demarcation between doctrinal
and disciplinary is sometimes hard to define. But surely the putting
of books on the “Index Librorum Prohibitorum,” whatever be the reasons
stated for doing so, is essentially an act of discipline; and so
also is the condemnation of any individual man for having disobeyed
injunctions laid upon him by authority, or for having disregarded the
principles laid down by the same authority for the regulation of its
practical conduct, so long as they were in force, and not repealed by
any subsequent act.
And this leads me to touch upon another argument of Mr. Roberts, who
says, truly enough, that the authority of Rome is greater than that
of individual theologians, and that Rome must know her own mind. And
because the decision of the Inquisition in 1633, condemning Galileo
personally, referred in strong and marked language to the decree of
the Index in 1616, therefore he infers that the latter is thereby
proved to have been, in the judgment of Rome herself, a doctrinal
decision in the strict sense of the words. It is quite true that the
Inquisition said that Galileo had done wrong in treating Copernicanism
as a probable opinion, since by no means could an opinion be probable
that had been declared and defined to be contrary to Holy Scripture;
they also said in allusion to the decree of the Index that the books
treating of the doctrine had been prohibited, and the doctrine--_i.e._
Copernicanism--had been declared false and altogether contrary to
sacred and Divine Scripture. But a stream cannot rise higher than its
source; and the Inquisition itself, having no other powers but those
entrusted to it by the Pope, had no authority to put any more stringent
interpretation on the decree of 1616 than what it already bore. So
far as its actual wording goes, it is palpably a disciplinary decree,
though founded on a doctrinal reason; and when the Inquisition cited
it as if it were more than this, their language must be interpreted in
accordance with the facts of the case; that is, as meaning that for the
_purposes of discipline_, and for all practical intents and purposes,
it had been defined that such a theory as that of Copernicus was
inadmissible, and on the ground that it was contrary to Scripture as
hitherto understood. But a decision of that nature is not irrevocable;
it holds good as long as the ecclesiastical authorities determine it
should do so, and no longer.
Rome must know her own mind, Mr. Roberts says; and she has shown her
own mind, and borne out the construction I am putting on her acts, by
further and subsequent action; for, after suspending the prohibitions
against Copernicanism--or modifying them--in 1757, a distinct
permission was given in 1820 to teach the theory of the Earth’s
movement; and again, in 1822, the permission was repeated in a more
formal manner, and with the express sanction of the Pope, Leo XII.
Now we know that doctrinal decrees, once fully sanctioned and
promulgated by the Holy See, are irreversible; but disciplinary
enactments are changed according to the needs of the time and the
circumstances of the Christian world.[16] If, then, these decrees
against the Copernican theory of astronomy have been practically
repealed by a decision no less formal than that which called them
originally into existence, it is certain that Rome, who knows her own
mind as well after the lapse of two hundred years as after that of
seventeen years, considered them as appertaining to the province of
discipline and not to that of dogma.
Moreover, Pius IX., when addressing the Archbishop of Munich, must
have been well aware of the above-named facts, and when he enunciated
the simple rule that good Catholics ought to submit in conscience to
the doctrinal decrees of the Roman Congregations--indeed, how can any
one imagine the _rule_ to be anything else?--he must in common sense
be understood to be speaking of decrees wholly different in scope and
character from those relating to the case of Galileo and the system of
Copernicus.
It must, nevertheless, be observed that an argument has been adduced by
Mr. Roberts, and repeated even by so eminent a writer as Mr. Mivart,
as if it were something that threw a new and important light on the
subject. It is that Pope Alexander VII., on the 5th March, 1664,
published a Bull--known as the Bull “Speculatores”--approving a new
and authentic edition of the Index of prohibited books, which Index
contained the decree of 1616, and also the monitum of 1620, ordering
certain corrections in the work of Copernicus, so that the theory he
advocated should be stated merely as a hypothesis--in the preamble of
which monitum, however, it is stated that the principles of Copernicus,
relating to the movement of the Earth, were contrary to the true and
Catholic interpretation of Holy Scripture--and contained also an
edict, signed by Bellarmine, prohibiting and condemning Kepler’s work,
“Epitome Astronomiæ Copernicanæ;” an edict of August, 1634, prohibiting
Galileo’s Dialogue; and in fine, a prohibition of all books teaching
the movement of the Earth and the immobility of the Sun.
In the year following this Bull another Index was also published,
in which the following words occur, under the head Libri, as being
forbidden to the faithful: “Libri omnes, et quicumque libelli,
commentarii, compositiones, consulta, epistolæ, glossæ, opuscula,
orationes, responsa, tractatus, tam typis editi, quam manuscripti,
continentes et tractantes infrascriptas materias, seu de infrascriptis
materiis... De mobilitate terræ, et immobilitate Solis.” This, of
course, is very sweeping, as it includes all pamphlets and letters, and
even writings in manuscript, advocating Copernicanism.
Now, in reply to all this, I think I may remark that even lay
theologians know, or ought to know, that Papal Bulls are divided into
two distinct classes--dogmatic and disciplinary. The first, according
to the doctrine of the Catholic Church, are held to be infallible, but
still only as regards the decisions on faith or morals therein laid
down, and not in respect of the reasons alleged; the second stand in
a totally different position, and are not considered, as a general
rule, to be in any way infallible--in fact, they are liable at any
time to be modified or recalled, as in the instance before us has
actually happened. The Bull “Speculatores” is plainly a disciplinary
one. But I may perhaps be allowed to quote one who is professedly a
theologian--the Reverend Jeremiah Murphy, an Irish ecclesiastic of
learning and ability--who, replying to Mr. Mivart in _The Nineteenth
Century_ of May, 1886, explains, at some length, the real nature of
this Bull. He says: “This Bull, so far from being a special approbation
of each decree contained in the Index to which it is prefixed, is not a
special approbation of even one of them.... It is a re-issue, by public
authority, of all these decrees (those of the Index), but it leaves
each decree just as it was.... The Pope, after referring to the origin
of the Index, says that at that time there was no catalogue, issued by
public authority, embracing the prohibited books and condemned authors,
on which account great confusion has arisen. Accordingly, with the
advice of the Cardinals, the Pope, as he states, has decreed to issue
a new Index. This was done in order that people should ‘have a clear
knowledge of all that was done from the beginning in this matter,’ also
to facilitate references for readers and especially for booksellers.
The Pope goes on to say that he ‘confirmed and approved this same
general Index as aforesaid, composed and revised by our order, and
printed at our apostolic press.’”
Mr. Murphy adds: “No new decree is issued, no new obligation imposed,
no change in the character of any of the decrees is made by this
Bull.... No Catholic theologian would for a moment regard this Bull
as equivalent to an approbation, by special mandate, of any decree
contained in the volume to which it is prefixed.... The Bull is a
purely disciplinary act, perfectly valid until it is cancelled by an
authority equal to that which issued it, but it condemns no new error,
and defines no new truth.”
It may no doubt be urged that there have been certain indiscreet
controversialists who have maintained that the Popes had nothing to do
with the condemnation of Galileo or of the Copernican theory--that, in
fact, it was all the work of the Cardinals.
The Bull “Speculatores” is a good _argumentum ad hominem_ addressed to
such persons, but no one who knows the facts of the case can take up
or ought to take up such a position. As a matter of discipline, the
Popes did give their sanction to the condemnation in question. The
Congregations of the Index and of the Inquisition have no authority at
all except so far as the Pope confers it on them; and whether he gives
them the authority beforehand, or confirms their acts by subsequent
approval, the principle is essentially the same. He delegates to them
certain disciplinary powers, but he does not delegate, and has not the
power to delegate, his prerogative of defining dogma, and enforcing its
belief on the whole Catholic world.
I should not have dwelt at so much length on this particular point
had it not been urged, with what I fear I must call much perverted
ingenuity, by Mr. Roberts that the Copernican theory was condemned _ex
cathedrâ_, as if it were a heresy, by the Pope himself; nor, again, is
it willingly that I quote so frequently the same author’s arguments
with a view to their refutation. He has, however, stated the anti-Roman
case with ability, and without descending to vulgar claptrap. If,
then, his arguments are satisfactorily answered, there is no need of
combating other antagonists.
But I do not at all shrink from considering another and most important
question. I have shown clearly and conclusively that the decrees
against Copernicanism were not definitions of faith; but I am bound to
state now what I believe to have been the effect of them in their own
undoubted sphere, that of ecclesiastical discipline. And here there are
two distinct questions to deal with, which are perhaps sometimes mixed
up together, but which ought to be kept separate.
One is this: What should have been the conduct of contemporary
Catholics, supposed to be scientific men, during the period that the
decrees were in force? The other: What opinion ought _we_ now to form
upon the whole transaction, viewing it retrospectively?
To begin with the first of these two. I have little doubt as to what
ought to have been the conduct of such Catholics--viz., implicit
obedience to the disciplinary rules of the Church so long as the
superior authorities thought fit to enforce them. Thus no good Catholic
could have read the forbidden books, whether by Galileo or by any
other author, without obtaining the requisite permission--a permission
which in these days, at any rate, is given with great readiness to
well-educated persons. Still less could a conscientious Catholic
publish a work advocating the Copernican theory as the true one, or
as most probably the true one. What I think he might have done is to
publish a treatise stating any purely astronomical or mathematical
arguments which seemed to favour Copernicanism as a hypothesis, and, at
the same time, professing his entire submission to the ecclesiastical
authorities, and explicitly disclaiming any attempt to meddle with the
interpretation of Scripture. A protest of some such nature as this
was inserted in an edition of the “Principia” which was allowed to be
published by two Fathers of the order of Minims, Le Seur and Jacquier,
in the year 1742, when the decrees were still in force.
But the first step, and that the most fitting and becoming, would have
been to submit privately to the Roman authorities all the scientific
arguments which the Catholic astronomer--supposing such to be the
case--had discovered as throwing fresh light on the question. No one
has a right to infer from the instance of Galileo, whose arguments were
not all of them sound or convincing, that such an astronomer as I have
imagined would have been treated with contempt or neglect, especially
if he made it evident that he was wholly submissive to the decrees of
the Index, or other Roman Congregations.
Some writers, and notably the late Dr. Ward, have maintained that
besides outward submission, a certain “interior assent” was due to the
decision of the Congregation of the Index--such assent, however, being
different in kind from that given to an article of Faith.
I submit, however, that although the fact of a book being placed on the
forbidden list requires from all good Catholics a respectful assent
to the _principle_ that the Church has a right to enact these rules
of discipline, it does not require an interior act of intellectual
approval. It is said that Bellarmine’s great controversial work was for
a short time placed on the Index on account of some unpalatable opinion
expressed in it. Did he think it necessary to make an interior act of
assent to the decree?
It is true that in the case of the works of Copernicus and others,
the grounds for prohibiting them were stated; but I would ask, are we
obliged to assent interiorly to the grounds alleged for such acts?
In saying this, I do not wish to contradict the opinion of those
theologians who hold that the non-scientific Catholics of Galileo’s age
were bound, by what is termed “the piety of Faith,” to give a certain
interior assent to the pronouncements of the Roman Congregations; and
that on the ground that such persons had no better evidence to act
upon. Their assent then would be very much like that given by dutiful
sons, not yet of age, to the opinions of their father; similar in kind
though stronger in degree.
I am of course assuming the contemporary Catholics, whose case I am
considering, to be men of an obedient and dutiful disposition.
I have confined myself so far to the decrees of the Index. The sentence
of the Inquisition on Galileo affected himself alone. It was no doubt
held up as an example _in terrorem_ for the benefit of others; but
strictly and immediately it concerned Galileo alone, and when he died,
it died with him.
I now pass to the all-important question, what ought we to think of the
whole proceeding, with all the light that has been thrown on it by the
two centuries and a half that have since elapsed? Here, then, I have
to steer a middle course between what I hold to be extreme opinions on
opposite sides, each held by men of note, and men whose principles and
character demand that they should be heard with respect. One opinion
is that of the late Dr. Ward, whom I take as a representative man on
his side, though he is not the only writer who has taken the view to
which I allude, and it is to the effect that the Roman Congregations
acted not only fully within their rights, not only within their
legitimate sphere, but that, considering all the circumstances of their
time, they acted wisely and prudently; that the fault was on the side
of Galileo and his followers, and the Cardinals could not have done
otherwise than they did.
The other and opposite opinion has been stated by no Catholic writer
with greater force than by Mr. Mivart; and it amounts, so far as I
understand it, to this: that the Church has no authority to interfere
in matters relating to physical science, and that the issue of the
Galileo case has proved the fallacy of her attempting to do so; that
without entering into the discussion of what ought or what ought
not to have been done in former times, we of the present generation
have evidence sufficient to show us that scientific investigations
should by right be free from the control of ecclesiastical authority.
The distinguished author to whom I allude has somewhat modified his
original statements, and so I am in some danger of misrepresenting
him, but I think the above is a fair epitome of his views on the
subject; and at any rate I feel myself justified in dealing with him
as he appeared in the widely circulated periodical in which he first
enunciated his opinions, excepting so far as he may have explicitly
retracted what he then said (which I do not believe to be the fact).
I regret that it is my lot to differ from both these able writers. As
against Mr. Mivart, I venture to maintain that the Church has a full
right to control the study of physical science; as against the late
Dr. Ward, that we are not called upon to defend the action of the
Congregation of the Index or of the Inquisition in this particular
instance.
I take Mr. Mivart first, and I may be permitted to say that had it not
been for his somewhat aggressive article, I should not have ventured
to publish my own views on the subject. I call it aggressive because,
though the writer would doubtless disclaim such intention, it seemed
as though he were determined, so to speak, to drive the ecclesiastical
authorities into a corner, and leave them no honourable mode of exit;
letting his readers infer that, because certain untenable decisions
were once promulgated, it results that no further respect need now be
paid to the same authorities when touching on similar questions. Now,
it need scarcely be pointed out that no one would presume to treat
the decision of secular courts--assuredly fallible as they are--in so
contemptuous a way; and if any one practically did so, the executive of
the country where it occurred, unless it had fallen into a condition of
hopeless impotence, would speedily vindicate the rights of the courts
so impugned. But if it should be urged that the two cases are not
parallel, I prefer to confine my argument to ecclesiastical tribunals
only. I maintain, then, that--always assuming the truth of the Catholic
standpoint, which, with Mr. Mivart, I am justified in doing--the Church
has an obvious right to interfere with and to regulate the study of
physical science and the promulgation of scientific theories. It would
be more consistent and more intelligible to deny the right of the
Church to proscribe any theories whatever, or to forbid the reading of
any books, however profane, than to admit it in all other matters, but
deny it in the one case of physical science.
I yield to no one in feeling a deep interest in science generally,
and especially astronomy, the Queen of Sciences, as it is sometimes
called; many sciences, and astronomy in particular, well deserve to
be studied for their own sake, and for the intellectual profit and
pleasure they convey to the mind, putting aside all questions of
practical utility. And yet if we are to measure all the advantages
derivable from the study of natural science against the mighty and
momentous issues which Religion brings before us, it seems to me that
in so doing we are measuring some finite quantity with that which
transcends all our powers of comparison because it is not only vast but
simply _infinite_. If you do not believe Religion, or at least revealed
Religion, to be true, then I understand your worshipping science, or
like the Positivists worshipping Humanity, or any idol you choose to
constitute; but I do not understand a Christian’s doing so, that is,
a Christian in the strict and legitimate sense of the word. Pursue
science by all means, as you pursue literature, art, or any other
innocent human study, but do not make it such an idol as to obscure
your perception of spiritual truths.
And to take the Copernican theory in particular: profoundly interesting
as it is, let us ask ourselves not merely whether it is so important
as to require that all religious considerations should give way before
it, but whether the knowledge of its truth, which we now possess, adds
very materially to the sum total of human happiness. Let us then, for a
moment, think how many men among the millions that people this Earth,
or if we please to limit our inquiry, how many among the civilised
nations of the Earth understand anything whatever about the motions
of the heavenly bodies. No doubt, in England, and probably many other
countries, the elementary books that are taught to children state in a
rough general way that the Earth, like other planets, goes round the
Sun in the space of one year, and revolves on its axis in twenty-four
hours. So far, so good. Suppose you asked those, who as children have
learned these facts, a few ordinary questions in astronomy--I do not
mean things relating to celestial distances, or anything that can
be learnt by heart, but questions requiring thought--how many would
be able to answer you? How many, for example, could explain such a
familiar phenomenon as the harvest moon?--though that has nothing to
do with the Copernican theory. How many could explain the precession of
the equinoxes? Suppose yourself in a room full of educated persons, but
not specially instructed in science, how many could state correctly the
first law of motion?[17]
It is unnecessary to multiply instances; astronomy is obviously
a science adapted not to the multitude of mankind, but to the
comparatively few, who reflect and think. If, then, some check were
given in the seventeenth century, by the action of the ecclesiastical
authorities in Rome, to the progress of physical astronomy, we must
surely allow that the injury to human welfare and human happiness was
so small that we need not dwell upon it.
Mr. Mivart tells us that Descartes was deterred for some time from
publishing his work. Now Descartes, as a pure mathematician, stands in
the highest rank. The method which he invented of applying algebraical
analysis to geometry has facilitated calculation to an extent
impossible to over-estimate; notwithstanding the discovery and adoption
of other and rival methods, that of Descartes still holds its own, and
will probably do so as long as the science of mathematics is cultivated.
But as an astronomer, Descartes can be allowed no such pre-eminence;
his work on Vortices was actually a retrograde step, and in France
it even hindered for a considerable time the reception of the true
doctrine of universal gravitation. So that we may well say if Descartes
had never published his book at all, physical astronomy would have been
the gainer rather than the loser.
Mr. Mivart writes as if he were under some apprehension that the Church
would interfere with his favourite study of biology. I believe his
fears are unfounded. The Roman ecclesiastical authorities are doubtless
conscious of the fact that there is a great moral chasm between the
Europe of the seventeenth century and the Europe of this day. The means
that were adapted for contending against error, real or supposed, two
hundred and fifty years ago, are inapplicable in the present age.
Experience has shown that false scientific theories are pretty sure
to be demolished, time enough being allowed, either by the internal
dissensions of their own supporters, or by the sharp criticism of the
supporters of some antagonistic theory; or, perhaps, the triumphant
progress of new discoveries. Works of a particularly offensive or
irreligious character may from time to time be put on the Index of
prohibited books; but the Church will probably leave purely scientific
hypotheses of all kinds to find their own level, and to stand or fall,
as the case may be.
There remains one objection, brought forward by Mr. Roberts, which I
may notice. It is one of the condemned propositions recited in the
well-known “Syllabus,” that the decrees of the Apostolic See and the
Roman Congregations hinder the free progress of science. But can any
one honestly say that they do? It is one thing to admit that the Church
may for certain reasons put an occasional and temporary check on the
study of some particular science; another, to accuse her of generally
and systematically hindering the progress of knowledge; for be it
observed that the Latin word, _scientia_, from which the above is
translated, does not merely mean physical science.
The Catholic Church has put strong restrictions on the use of
vernacular translations of Holy Scripture--restrictions which, though
greatly modified in practice, are not yet abolished--but a proposition
stating broadly that the Church was opposed to the study of Scripture
would be condemned, and very justly so.
I now come to deal with the other extreme opinion, if I may venture so
to call it--that maintained by the late Dr. Ward, and others--to the
effect that not only has the Church a right to condemn this or that
scientific theory, but that the exercise of such right, as practically
exemplified in the prohibition of certain Copernican works, and in
the condemnation of Galileo, was sound and prudent, and what might
reasonably have been expected. I am not sure whether Dr. Ward goes
quite so far as regards the condemnation of Galileo by the Inquisition;
but he does so in respect of the previous decree of 1616. His ground is
that at that period the Copernican doctrine was, even scientifically
speaking, improbable; while it gave a shock to those who venerated the
traditional interpretation of Holy Scripture. Few men have a greater
respect than myself for the memory of the able writer whose views I
am about to criticise; but physical science was not his strong point.
His knowledge of metaphysical philosophy was great; so, too, was his
knowledge of dogmatic theology; but he does not appear to have been
well versed in natural science, and with that modesty which is a
characteristic of sound and solid learning, he was careful never to
pretend acquaintance with any particular branch of knowledge, unless he
really possessed it.
He was at times even scrupulous in expressing his acknowledgments
for the assistance he had received from others in matters outside
the limits of his own studies; as also in admitting an error if he
felt really guilty of one; showing therein a candour and honesty of
purpose that we do not always meet with. So much I say in tribute to
an honoured memory. I now proceed to state why I cannot follow his
views. It is surely paradoxical, to say the least of it, to maintain
that an opinion is theologically false but scientifically true; or
to state the case more accurately, to maintain that it was right to
condemn as contrary to Scripture what has since turned out to be
true--assuming, of course, this latter to be the fact, which Dr. Ward
fully admitted. It may doubtless be pleaded in mitigation that the
Cardinals only meant that the opinion was contrary to the _traditional_
interpretation of Scripture, and that it was just conceivable that the
method of interpretation would have to be revised hereafter; and we
have seen that Bellarmine’s letter to Foscarini points decidedly in
that direction. Nevertheless, the decree on the face of it appears to
imply more than this, and when coupled with the subsequent condemnation
of Galileo, and strengthened by the repeated prohibition, even in more
stringent terms, of all works favouring the Copernican theory, it
obviously dealt as heavy a blow at the doctrine of the Earth’s diurnal
and annual movement, as could well have been done, short of a dogmatic
decision. It may be quite true that if Galileo had been more prudent
and judicious, much of this would have been averted, and possibly
the decree of 1616 might have been modified or suspended a century
earlier than it actually was so. But without discussing imaginary
possibilities, we take the facts as they stand.
Now to give one or two specimens of Dr. Ward’s mode of writing on
this subject. He says (after stating correctly the Catholic principle
that books theologically unsound should be kept from persons who
are not specially qualified to read them without injury): “In
Galileo’s time all books which advocated the truth of Copernicanism
were theologically unsound. And a most important service was done
by preserving the Catholic flock free from the plague; free from a
most false, proud, irreverent, and dangerous principle of Scriptural
interpretation.”--_Dublin Review_, October, 1865.
I have already said that Galileo would have been wiser if he had
entirely left alone the question of the interpretation of Scripture;
but it must always be remembered that it was not he but his opponents
who commenced the discussion on that particular head. They were weak in
the astronomical argument; and they tried to damage their opponent by
attacking him on Scriptural grounds. It is difficult to understand what
Dr. Ward means by the forcible language I have just quoted, nor how a
principle of Scriptural interpretation, adopted at the present day by
every one, could have been in Galileo’s time false, proud, irreverent,
and dangerous.[18] Dr. Ward grounds his argument, however, on an idea
that he had, to the effect that the Copernican system in Galileo’s day
was “scientifically unlikely:” this, however, is just the reverse of
the truth. It was _unproved_; and, as I have repeatedly said, it is not
even now proved to absolute demonstration.
It is also true that certain most powerful arguments for it were not
then available, as I shall hereafter have occasion to show at more
length; but it was not scientifically unlikely. Galileo had indirectly
damaged the cause by using a certain erroneous argument in its favour;
but then his discoveries had simply pulverised the great rival system
of Ptolemy, and no astronomer, who knew what he was about, could do
otherwise than choose between Copernicus and Tycho Brahé, each of these
being of course somewhat modified in detail. Now the theory of Tycho
Brahé was a new one, still newer than that of Copernicus, and had all
the appearance of a temporary makeshift; it was not probable that it
would receive much approbation in the long run, as in fact it never
did. Probability (I mean, of course, in a purely scientific sense)
pointed strongly to the Copernican theory even in Galileo’s time; and
after Kepler’s celebrated laws had been published, far more strongly
still than before. Of course, as Dr. Ward points out, there _may_
be other reasons of so cogent a nature as to outweigh _scientific_
probability; but that is not now the question: he denies even the
existence of this latter at the period we are treating of; and on this
point he was evidently misinformed.
It is said that the Cardinals of the Index or Inquisition consulted
some astronomers before formulating their decrees, and this is likely
enough; as there is _odium medicum_ in these days, there was doubtless
_odium astronomicum_ in those days.
And we may easily imagine how the philosophers who believed in the
infallibility of Aristotle looked with horror and perhaps contempt on
the School of Galileo. If people once persuade themselves that physical
science is to be learnt merely from tradition, or from _à priori_
arguments, they will naturally have an antipathy to the discoveries
made by actual observation and experiment. If men such as these were
called in to advise the Cardinals, we may well admit it as a mitigating
circumstance, forbidding us to pass a severe judgment on the conduct
of the ecclesiastical tribunals. It is no part of my contention, and
indeed the very reverse, to lay excessive blame on the Congregations
of the Index and Inquisition; but neither, on the other hand, do I
understand why we should give them our unqualified approval.
I feel that the opinion I have expressed above, and which might
otherwise be considered by some persons as presumptuous towards the
ecclesiastical authorities, receives great confirmation, and at the
same time what is tantamount to an acquittal from all disrespect to
the Church and her authority, by the following extract which I give
from the article entitled, “Dr. Mivart on Faith and Science,” published
in the October number of _The Dublin Review_ (1887), by the Bishop
of Newport and Menevia, the Right Rev. J. C. Hedley. Not only does
the high character of the author, both as a theologian and a man of
scientific knowledge, give a sanction to all that is contained in the
article, but the Review in which it appears, having for its proprietor
another Bishop and an able ecclesiastic for its acting editor, carries
with it a stamp of Catholic authority such as few periodicals possess.
After some other remarks the Bishop of Newport proceeds thus:
I do not by any means wish to deny that the case of Galileo has
had an important effect on the action of Church authorities.
It seems quite clear that it has made them more cautious
in pronouncing on the interpretation of Scripture when the
sacred text speaks of natural phenomena. The reason of this
is not so much the fact that science has proved authority
wrong in one case, as because that case, taking it with all
its circumstances, was one the like of which can never happen
again. The Galilean controversy marked the close of a period
and the opening of a new one. The heliocentric view was the
first step in modern scientific expression. Before the days
of Galileo men spoke of what they saw with the naked eye, and
on the surface of things; thenceforth they were to use the
telescope and the microscope; they investigated the bowels
of the earth and the distances of the heavens. It was a
far-reaching and most pregnant generalisation when men first
took in the idea that the arrangements which their books had
hitherto called by the expression “nature” were merely a very
few of the most obvious aspects of a vast organisation, which
could be, and which must be, searched into by observation. At
once a multitude of familiar phrases lost their meaning, and
many accepted truths had to be dethroned.
And the effect of the discussion in the days of Galileo was not
only to make men revise their formularies about the earth’s
motion, but to impress them most forcibly with the possibility
that such a process might have to be gone through about a very
large number of other things. The prevailing views were held
by the Church authorities as by every one else. They were not
really a part of the Divine revelation. Some people thought
they were, and (we may admit it was a misfortune) the very
authorities who had to pronounce, used language which was
to some extent mistaken in the same direction. On the other
hand, it is clear now that men of mark and standing asserted
over and over again, that the new theories need not in any
point contradict Holy Scripture. It was a matter which was not
clear all at once. It is often not immediately evident that
novel scientific views do or do not contradict Revelation.
They have to be made precise, to be qualified, to be analysed,
and that by fallible men. During the process many Catholics
will naturally make mistakes, and there is no reason why, now
and then, Church authority itself should not make a mistake
in this particular matter. When the requisite reflection has
had time to be made, then it is seen, as it was in the case
of the views under discussion, that what was held by Catholic
persons was something quite apart from Catholic faith. And we
have no objection to admit that reflection was quickened, and
caution was deepened by the case of Galileo. In this sense,
and not in any other, that case may be called “emancipatory.”
If the Church authorities ever feel themselves called upon to
pronounce on the dates or the authorship of the Hexateuch, or
on the formation of Adam’s body, they will proceed--we may say
it without suspicion of undutifulness--with more enlightened
minds than the Congregations which condemned Galileo.
The teaching Church is composed of fallible men, who must
sometimes, in certain departments, make mistakes, and who
must learn by experience as other men learn. The part of a
dutiful Catholic is to lessen the effect of mistaken decisions
by prudent silence or respectful remonstrance in the proper
quarter, and not to make scandal worse by inept generalisations
and unnecessary bitterness.
Further on, the Bishop says:
I do not decline to face the difficulty of Galileo’s compulsory
retractation. It seems to me that either Galileo had
sufficiently strong reasons to prevent his mind from making
the retractation or not. I think it possible he had not. It
does not seem that he had anything like evidence that the earth
moved. If he had not, there was no reason why he should not
assent to a strong expression of authority, that authority
being one to which he owed filial obedience.... Still, if
Galileo had present to his mind strong proof of the correctness
of his own teachings, I do not hesitate to say that he was
wrong, and, indeed, committed sin, in making the retractation
demanded.
On the purely astronomical question whether Galileo had evidence that
the Earth moved, I presume that the Bishop means _conclusive_ evidence;
for evidence of some kind he surely had; not conclusive, it is true,
but good as far as it went. Long before Galileo was tried by the
tribunal of the Inquisition, his contemporary, Kepler, had published
those important astronomical laws which still bear his name, and which
tended powerfully to corroborate the theory of the Earth’s motion.
Apart, however, from this, as I have already intimated, I think there
was good ground for the opinion in question.
This, however, is to some extent a digression. I have quoted the Bishop
principally in order to strengthen, by his high authority, the line
of argument I have ventured to pursue, which, in effect, is this:
that the principle on which the Roman Congregations acted in Galileo’s
case was sound, but the application of it in the particular instance
mistaken and injudicious.
I may also be permitted to cite, as confirming my own opinion, the
words of the distinguished writer to whom, in common with all students
of the Galileo case, I am so much indebted, M. Henri de l’Épinois. They
do not, of course, possess the same theological authority as that of
the prelate I have just quoted, but, coming from a learned Catholic
layman, they are well worthy of attention. These are his words:
Galilée, en établissant les principes de mécanique qui sont ses
titres de gloire, comme en soutenant la doctrine de Copernic,
a rencontré pour adversaires déclarés les partisans de la
philosophie d’Aristote, qui combattaient aussi bien Képler
à Tubingue, et Descartes en Hollande. Ils appelèrent à leur
aide des textes de l’Écriture, les opposèrent aux affirmations
de Galilée. Pour se défendre celui-ci voulut expliquer ces
textes. Dès lors, il changeait l’interprétation jusque-là
admise par l’Église et éveillait les justes susceptibilités des
Catholiques. Avait-il raison? Avait-il tort? Il avait tort dans
plusieurs de ses propositions, et sa conduite manqua souvent
de prudence; il avait évidemment raison dans sa doctrine
fondamentale. En fait le tribunal s’est trompé en condamnant
comme fausse et contraire à l’Écriture une doctrine vraie et
qui pouvait s’accorder avec les textes sacrés. Il a manqué de
prudence en se montrant trop circonspect, et a ainsi dépassé le
but. Il faut toutefois le remarquer. Aujourd’hui il est facile
de dire: le tribunal a eu tort; mais en 1616, en 1633, la
plupart des savants, les Universités et les Académies disaient:
il a raison....
Tous les témoignages contemporains nous montrent que deux
pensées, deux opinions, deux influences étaient en présence:
d’un côté les Aristotéliciens acharnés contre Galilée,
détestant ses principes, voulant les anéantir; de l’autre les
papes, les cardinaux, pleins d’estime pour Galilée, mais qui
voulaient prévenir les fâcheuses conséquences de sa doctrine.
Selon que l’une ou l’autre de ces influences domina dans les
conseils, on tint une conduite différente: tantôt sévère et
rigoureuse, tantôt douce et indulgente. Mais il n’y eut point
là, comme on le prétend encore, de lutte entre la science et
le Catholicisme: la question fut débattue entre la science et
l’Aristotélisme.[19]
It was not till the year 1757 that any authoritative step was taken to
relax the prohibitions imposed by the Index on the works advocating the
Copernican system. This was more than a century after the condemnation
of Galileo, seventy years after the publication of the “Principia,”
and thirty years after the discovery of the aberration of light. Even
Dr. Ward allows that it might have been more prudent to remove the
prohibitions some forty or fifty years sooner than was actually the
case. No one, he observes, supposes the Church to be infallible in
mere matters of _prudence_, and I think that in making this statement,
which, I presume, every theologian would at once endorse, he half
admits the principle for which I contend; for if the Roman authorities
could err in point of prudence in leaving the censure so long in force,
might they not err--I mean, of course, as to the prudent administration
of discipline--in inflicting those censures at all, or at any rate in
applying them so rigorously in practice as was done in the instance of
Galileo?
However, be this as it may, in the year 1757 the relaxation of the
censures took place; in 1820, on the 16th August, a distinct permission
was given for teaching the movement of the Earth; and again on the
17th September, 1822, a re-examination of the whole subject having
taken place, a decree appeared, sanctioned by the Pope, Leo XII.,
in which the Inquisitors General, in conformity with the decrees of
1757 and 1820, declared that the printing and publishing at Rome of
works treating of the movement of the Earth and the immobility of the
Sun, according to the opinion of modern astronomers, was henceforth
permitted. Thus the decree of 1616 was practically abrogated.
Mr. Mivart, among other remarks on the proceedings in Galileo’s case,
says that no amends were ever made by the authorities of the Church
for the injustice done to the philosopher, but he does not state what
kind of amends or what sort of apology he expected. If he means that
no personal reparation was made to Galileo, that is doubtless true;
nor was any sacrifice ever offered to his Manes. Indeed, it must be
allowed that the ecclesiastical authorities hindered the erection,
after his decease, of a monument in his honour. Nor is this a matter
for surprise; it may be taken for granted that the object of those who
desired to erect the monument was to pay an especial tribute of respect
to the deceased astronomer as one who had suffered unjustly; and that
was precisely what the Pope and Cardinals of that age would not for a
moment admit.
No personal amends, then, were made to Galileo in life or in death; but
I think this was not the point to which Mr. Mivart intended to allude.
I believe he had in his mind a different sort of reparation--that,
namely, supposed to be owing to the injured cause of Science. If that
be so, then I can only say that he must have been unaware of the facts
above mentioned, of the proceedings taken in Rome in 1757, in 1820, and
in 1822.
The adjustment of the relations of revealed Religion with physical
Science is often perplexing, owing partly to mistaken zeal in
insisting on particular interpretations of certain passages in Holy
Scripture, and partly to the prevalence, at different times, of
doubtful scientific theories, which flourish for a time, and then fade
away because they fail to stand the test of continued and rigorous
investigation.
Instances of both these will readily occur to the mind, and the
Copernican theory in the seventeenth century will be a prominent one,
as coming under the first of the two heads. But it is not fair, as
I have already argued, to be too severe upon the men who clung with
tenacity to the old traditional interpretation of Scripture. It is,
in fact, only right so to cling until some just reason is shown for
introducing a fresh interpretation. In this case there were some good
reasons, no doubt; but there were also bad reasons alleged, and, as we
have seen, Galileo, with all his great ability and mechanical knowledge
so far beyond his age, could yet damage his cause with unsound
arguments.
Such being the case, amidst the whirlpool of good and bad
arguments--that drawn from the tides being by no means the only one of
the latter class--it is not astonishing that even able and intelligent
men were misled.
The antipathy to adopting a new system of the universe--a system
which demolished many cherished ideas and traditional opinions--was
overwhelmingly strong; the reasons uncertain, or, at least,
inconclusive. The discoveries of Galileo had, no doubt, overthrown the
system of Ptolemy, but they had not established that of Copernicus, so
long as there remained what may be called the tentative theory of Tycho
Brahé, who was one of the greatest observers of his day. Though he
did not unravel the true cause of the motions of the heavenly bodies,
and went, in fact, in a wrong direction, we must never forget the
important services he rendered to science. He was the first to employ
refraction as a correction to the apparent positions of the celestial
bodies; his collection of instruments, on which he had expended the
whole of his private fortune, was the finest that had ever yet been
seen; and, in fact, his observations, utilised by others, had a great
share in leading to the discovery of the real nature of the planetary
movements.[20] Small blame, then, must be meted out to those who held
on for a time to the system excogitated by so enlightened a man. I do
not mean to deny what I have already stated--that the Cardinals who put
on the Index of forbidden books the works of Copernicus and others, and
those who condemned Galileo, were unable, astronomically speaking, to
read the signs of the times. All I am asserting is that there was much,
even from a scientific point of view, to excuse their inability.
They put forward as their main objection that the new theory
contradicted Holy Scripture, and adhered to that rigidly literal
interpretation of it, which has since then been necessarily given up,
and which seems somewhat strange to us, accustomed as we now are to
a far greater latitude of interpretation than they even dreamed of.
We who have learned that the six days of Creation are not to be taken
in their strict sense;[21] who have sound reason for holding that the
Deluge was only universal in the sense of covering that part of the
earth then inhabited by the human race; and who are told by some
people, including learned ecclesiastics, that it was more restricted
in its operation even than this; and who finally hear it said by men
of undoubted orthodoxy that the evolution of man from some lower
animal, so far as his _body_ is concerned and so long as you do not
include his soul and his rational faculties, is consistent with the
Christian faith--we, I say, who are familiar with these non-literal
interpretations of Scripture, find it difficult to comprehend the
standpoint adopted and maintained with such tenacity by the Cardinals
of the seventeenth century.
There were, moreover, other very cogent reasons which, though not put
prominently forward, may well have worked upon their minds; reasons,
indeed, which must strike the really thoughtful man. Let us consider
this one point. In old times, when the Earth was believed to be the
actual centre of the physical universe, it was easy to suppose that
it was the sole abode of life. But if you believe that the Earth, far
from being such a centre, is only one amongst many planets revolving
round the Sun; and, further, that the Sun himself is only one of a
mighty host of stars, some of which may have planets revolving round
them, you naturally ask yourself immediately, are none of these worlds
inhabited except our Earth? Truly Scripture says nothing to contradict
the opinion that there are inhabitants and rational creatures to be
found elsewhere; but, nevertheless, the history of the Creation and
Redemption of the human race reads as if such creatures, intelligent
beings like ourselves, lived upon this Earth, and nowhere besides.
I know not how far thoughts and speculations of this nature passed
through the minds of the ecclesiastics, and other men of religious
feeling, in the age of Galileo. They have since then been sifted more
or less by scientific men, and various opinions have been suggested.
Some went so far as to think it possible that the Sun was inhabited.
So able an astronomer as Arago, to say nothing of others, thought
such might be the fact. No one thinks so now. The tendency of modern
thought, strictly speaking _modern_ (that is, the most recent), is
rather to discredit such imaginations. The various observations made
upon the Sun, including those made by the use of the spectroscope, have
shown that the supposition of his being inhabited is simply incredible.
For other reasons the same result has been reached with regard to
the Moon. Then as to the planets, although there are no such cogent
reasons, we may fairly say that the probability is against any one of
them being at the present moment fitted for the habitation of such a
creature as man. Some persons would make an exception in favour of
Mars, where a recent French observer imagines he has detected signs of
work as if by human hands--a stretch indeed of imagination.
But the planets are probably not all in the same stage of what may be
termed geological history. Some may very possibly be in the same state
in which the Earth was a few millions of years ago, long before it was
fitted for the reception of man on its surface, or, indeed, for that of
any of the higher mammalia. The Earth had had a long history, and had
undergone vast changes, ranging perhaps over many millions of years,
before man appeared on the scene; and the period that has elapsed
since that event, whatever the date of it may be, is simply nothing in
comparison of the ages that had previously rolled by since the first
moment when the darkness gave way, and the light appeared. It is, then,
far from unlikely that our own Earth is the only planet in the solar
system which at the present time is suitable for the habitation of man,
or creatures resembling him.[22]
Passing then from our own system, we come to the myriads of suns, some,
we may well believe, far greater than our Sun, which are spread through
the realms of space.[23] Many of these we may reasonably suppose are
surrounded by planets, and in one or two cases there are special
reasons for thinking that some opaque body intervenes occasionally
between the star and ourselves. But the conditions under which several
of the stars (we know not how many) exist, is very different from that
to which we are accustomed here with our own Sun. There are double
stars which appear to revolve round a common centre of gravity, a
system of two suns. Have each of them, or have both of them in common,
a set of planets moving round them? Who can tell? And where there
are stars with planets accompanying them, does any one know in what
state those planets are? The whole subject, however interesting as a
speculation, is shrouded in impenetrable mystery.
From all this it follows that although there certainly may be rational
and intellectual inhabitants on some or other of these distant worlds,
yet, on the other hand, there _may not_ be. And it is perfectly
possible that our Earth, minute little object as it is, comparatively
speaking, may still be the great and favoured life-house of the
universe, the _moral_, though not _material_, centre. That the Earth
is not the physical centre of the universe we now are well aware; nor
is the Sun the centre; nor, indeed, do we know whether there is any
such centre at all. There is good reason for thinking that the Sun,
with his attendant planets, is in motion in a certain direction in
space; and I may observe that this direction is not in the plane of the
Earth’s orbit, or anything near it; so that though the Earth describes
an elliptical orbit with regard to the Sun, its path in space is some
kind of spiral curve, that is as it would appear to a being poised for
a time in some point of space far away outside our orbit, having the
necessary powers of vision, and having a plane of reference from which
he could take his observations.
What else this gifted being might see--whether he would observe some
great central body round which the whole of the heavenly bodies
revolve, or, as seems more probable, would detect, instead of one,
many centres, each with its own group--all this we do not and cannot
know, and we must be content, at least so long as our life here below
continues, to remain in profound ignorance.
Seeing, then, how wide in extent and how difficult of solution are some
of the speculative problems, originating in the Copernican theory, it
can be no matter of surprise that the ecclesiastics of the seventeenth
century recoiled from it with more than common aversion.