Kitabı oku: «The Freedom of Science», sayfa 17
Comments on the Galileo Case
The above is a brief history of Galileo's conviction, and of the occurrences leading to it. An event regrettable to all, a stumbling-block for not a few; for others a welcome event to make the Church appear in the light of an enemy of science. Let us now give more particulars of the merits of the case.
We have before us two decisions of Roman Tribunals: the Index decree of 1616, announcing the rejection of the Copernican doctrine and prohibiting books maintaining it, and the conviction of Galileo in 1633 by the Congregation of the Inquisition. It is freely admitted that these Roman Tribunals committed an error in advocating an interpretation of the Bible which was false in itself, and is to-day recognized as false.
Well, does this confute the infallibility of the Church? It does not. The matter in point is merely an error of the Congregations, of bodies of Cardinals, who were responsible for the transactions and decisions. The Congregations, however, are not infallible organs. There is no Bull or Papal decree designating the Copernican doctrine as false, much less is there extant a decision ex cathedra. Neither in 1616 nor in 1633, nor at any other time, has the Holy See ever manifested its intention of declaring, by a peremptory, dogmatic decision, the new system to be against Scripture.
It was thus the general understanding of that age that in the present case there was no irrevocable dogmatic decision given. For instance, the Jesuit Riccioli, wrote not long after the decision: “Inasmuch as no dogmatic decision was rendered in this case, neither on the part of the Pope nor on the part of a Council ruled by the Pope and acknowledged by him, it is not made, by virtue of that decree of the Congregation, a doctrine of faith that the sun is moving and the earth standing still, but at most it is a doctrine for those who by reason of Holy Writ seem to be morally certain that God has so revealed it. Yet every Catholic is bound by virtue of obedience to conform to the decree of the Congregation, or at least not to teach what is directly opposed to it” (Almagestum novum, 1651, 162). Descartes, Gassendi, and others of that time expressed themselves similarly (Grisar, 165, seq.). There is an interesting letter of the Protestant philosopher Leibnitz, written to the Landgrave Ernest of Hessia, 1688, begging him to work for the repeal of the condemnation of the Copernican theory, because of the growing verification of this theory: “If the Congregation would change its censure, or mitigate it, as one issued hastily at a time when the proofs for the correctness of the Copernican theory were not yet clear enough, this step could not detract from the authority of the Congregation, much less of the Church, because the Pope had no part in it. There is no judicial authority which has not at times reformed its own decisions.”
But have we here not at least a wilful attack on science? or a manifestation of the Congregation's narrow-mindedness and ignorance, which are bound to deprive it of all respect and confidence of sober-minded people?
This harsh judgment overlooks two points. In the first place, the error of the judges was quite pardonable. Could the liberal critics of to-day, who so harshly denounce the Cardinals of the Congregation, be suddenly changed into ecclesiastical prelates, and transferred back to the years of 1616-1633, and placed in the chairs of the tribunal which had to decide those delicate questions, it may be feared that, did they carry into the decision but a part of the animosity they now show, they would disgrace themselves and compromise the Church even more than the judges of Galileo did. It is true that were we to judge the handling of the question by the knowledge of to-day, we might be astonished at the narrow-mindedness of the judges, trying to uphold their untenable views against the established results of scientific research. But it would be altogether unhistorical to look at the matter in that way. When the Copernican theory entered upon the battlefield, it was by no means certain and demonstrated.
The real arguments for the rotation of the earth were not then known. There were no direct proofs for the progressive revolution of the earth around the sun. Galileo advanced three main arguments for his theory. First, he advanced the argument from the phenomenon of the tides, which, he said, could not be accounted for but by the rotation of the earth: an argument rejected as futile even at that time. Next he argued from certain observations of the spots on the sun: another worthless argument, which others, like Scheiner, looked upon as proof of the older theory. The third argument was that the new theory simplified the explanation of certain celestial phenomena; but the scope of this argument, valid though it was in the abstract, could not be expressed or grasped at the time, especially since the corrections of Tycho de Brahe had removed the greatest objections to the Ptolemaic system. The Copernican theory could not be considered certain till the end of the seventeenth century, after Newton's work on gravitation.
Then there were difficulties, the greatest of which was probably the old idea of inertia, which at that time meant only that all bodies tend to a state of rest; hence it seemed impossible that the earth could ceaselessly execute two movements at the same time, around the sun and around its own axis. This notion of inertia had not been doubted in 1616; even Kepler adhered to it. Later on Galileo came very near to the new idea of inertia: that bodies tended to retain their state of repose or motion. But this new notion, like everything else new, gained ground but slowly. Then it was only with great difficulty that he could dispose of the objection that were the earth to speed through space, as the new theory claimed, the atmosphere would take a stormlike motion. Lastly, the philosophical objection had to be met: the sun and other celestial bodies, as far as we can know by observation, are moving; if they do not move, then we must admit that we can know nothing by observation.
Thus the new doctrine was not at all proven at that time, as could be easily shown by its opponents; although it cannot be denied that they did not always enter into the discussion with impartiality. The astronomer, Secchi, testifies that “none of the real arguments for the rotary motion of the earth was known at Galileo's time, also direct proofs for the progressive movement of the earth around the sun were lacking at that time” (Grisar, 30). Another famous astronomer, Schiaparelli, writes: “In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries the Ptolemaic as well as the Copernican system could serve for the description of phenomena; geometrically they were equivalent to each other and to Tycho's eclectic system” (Schiaparelli, Die Vorläufer des Copernicus im Altertum (German, 1876), 86).
Hence no direct evidence could be pleaded against the decision of the Congregation, not even Galileo had that evidence. At any rate no judge who observed his demeanour at the trial could have suspected Galileo of coming in conflict with his conscience by swearing off the theory.
For this reason it would be wrong to call Galileo a martyr for science, because he did not suffer any martyrdom. He has seen neither rack nor prison. But he was not a martyr chiefly for the reason that he could not have had any scientific conviction, apart from the fact that he did not claim any such conviction, even denied it expressly.
No wonder, then, that the heliocentric system had considerable opponents at that time; no wonder the opposite view was even the prevalent one. A. Tanner wrote in 1626: “Ita habet communis ac certa omnium theologorum ac philosophorum naturalium sentia” (Theol. Schol. I, disp. 6, q. 4., dub. 3). Had valid argument been brought forth there never would have been a Galileo case. In this respect a passage from a letter of Bellarmin deserves attention: “If it could be really demonstrated that the sun be in the centre of the world … then we would have to proceed quite cautiously in explaining the apparently opposite passages in the Scriptures, we would rather have to say that we do not understand them, than to say of things demonstrated that they are false” (to Foscarini, April 12, 1615). The Cardinals of that time could not be expected to anticipate the knowledge of a later period. They had to consult the judgment of their contemporaneous savants. When seeing the majority of them sharply rejecting the new theory and refuting the arguments of their opponents, it is little wonder that the Cardinals could not overcome their theological scruples.
The scruples arose from the opinion, then prevalent, that the Holy Scripture taught that the earth stood still and the sun moved; that the words of the Scripture must be taken literally till the contrary is demonstrated. The unanimous explanation of the Christian centuries was also cited. As a matter of fact, however, the Christian past had not taught this to be the only true sense of the words, but at that time the words were understood that way, because no one could arrive at any other sense in those days.
Under these circumstances, an error was hardly avoidable, if a decision was required. And a decision seemed to be urgent, and this is the second point we must not overlook, if we wish to judge fairly. It was a time eager for innovations, full of anti-religious ideas. A renaissance, sidling off into false humanism, was combating religious convictions, false notions were invading philosophy; in addition, Protestantism was trying to invade Italy. All this caused suspicion of any innovation apt to endanger the faith; interpretations of the Scriptures deviating from the accustomed sense were particularly distrusted. The Galileo quarrel happened at an inopportune time. Indeed a sudden spread of the Copernican theory might have been accompanied by great religious dangers. Even now, after nearly three hundred years, the leaders of the anti-Christian propaganda are still pointing out that the progress of natural science has proved Holy Scripture to be erroneous, and many are impressed by the argument; many thousands would have been confused in those days by the sudden collapse of old astronomical views that were connected with unclarified religious ideas – dreading that victorious science might shatter all religious traditions. Now, if one is convinced that the damage to religion is to be estimated greater than any other, then one may also have the conviction that it was better for the nations of the new era to have their scientific progress a little delayed, than to have their most sacred possession endangered. Of course considerations of this kind will have no weight with representatives of the naturalistic view of the world. Then it can only be emphasized that a science that has no appreciation of the supernatural character of the Catholic Church cannot be in a position to render a fair judgment on many facts in the history of that Church.
What we have said shows sufficiently that the condemnation of Galileo was not due to any hostility to science.
The idea that the Church's attitude towards Galileo and the Copernican theory was a result of her antipathy to science is entirely in contradiction with the character of that strenuous period. In Catholic countries, especially in Italy, intellectual life was zealously promoted by the Popes and their influence. It was developing and flourishing even in the natural sciences. When reading the correspondence of Galileo one must be surprised to see how popular astronomical, physical, and mathematical studies were in the educated circles of the period. These studies belonged to the curriculum of a general philosophical education, and it was a matter of honour for many ecclesiastical dignitaries to remain philosophers in that sense, notwithstanding their official duties. We recall to mind the scientific discussion carried on with Galileo in Rome in 1611 and 1616, by Cardinals Del Monte, Farnese, Bonzi, Bemerio, Orsini, and Maffeo Baberini, and by clergymen like Agucchi, Dini, and Campioli. Similarly in France we meet with names like Mersenne, Gassendi, and Descartes. And in Italy, after Galileo and at his time, we meet with a long list of eminent naturalists like Toricelli, Cassini, Riccioli, and others. In 1667 Gemiani Montanari could write that in Italy there were continually forming new societies of scientists. The advance in knowledge of truth was made on safe grounds; at Naples, Rome, and elsewhere science was enriched by a great variety of new experiences, inasmuch as the scientists were making progress in the observation and the investigation of nature. Targioni-Tozzetti writes: “Astronomy with us, about the middle of the sixteenth century, was a very diligently cultivated branch of science” (Galileistudien (1882) 338 f.). The Church was by no means hostile to this newly awakened life, not even holding aloof from it; on the contrary, it flourished especially in ecclesiastical circles; a proof that narrow-minded disappreciation of natural science did not prevail, and that there was a different explanation for the Galileo case.
Copernicus on the Index till 1835
And what of the fact that Copernicus remained on the Index until the nineteenth century? Does it not show a rigid adherence to old, traditional method and opposition to progress? The fact is true: The work of Copernicus, and other Copernican writings, remained on the Index until 1835. But it is also true that a great deal connected with this fact is not generally known or ignored. Let us mention here some of these facts.
To begin with, it must not be forgotten that we owe the new world system, and with it the turning-point in astronomy, first of all to representatives of the Catholic clergy. After the learned Bishop Nicholas Oresme had expressed with fullest certainty the most important point of the Copernican system as early as 1377 (in a manuscript hitherto unknown, discovered a short time ago by Pierre Duhem in the National Library at Paris. Cfr. Liter. Zentralblatt (1909), page 1618), and after the learned Cardinal Nicholaus von Kues (d. 1474) adopted a rotary motion of the earth in his cosmic system, it was Copernicus, a canon of the diocese of Ermland, who became the father of the new theory, in his work “De evolutionibus orbium coelestium.” He published it at the urgent request of Cardinal Nikolaus Schoenberg. But the most zealous promoter of his work was Bishop Tiedemann Giese of Kulm. Enthusiastic over the novel idea, he incessantly urged his friend to publish his work, took care of its publication, and sent a copy to Pope Paul III., who accepted its dedication. Again, it was a prince of the Church, Bishop Martin Kromer, who, in 1851, dedicated a tablet in the cathedral at Frauenberg to “The Great Astronomer and Innovator of Astronomical Science.” All these men knew that Copernicus defended his work not as an hypothesis or as fiction, but as true. Before Copernicusissued his great work, Clement VIII. showed a lively interest in his system and had it explained to him by the learned Johann Widmannstadtin the Vatican Gardens (Pastor, Gesch. der Päpste, IV, 2 (1907) 550).
The first attack against the new system, as being contrary to Holy Writ, came not from Catholic but from Protestant circles. Among the latter the opposition against Copernicus was being agitated, while peaceful calm reigned among the former. Twelve Popes succeeded Paul III., and not one interfered with this doctrine. Luther, even in Copernicus' time, hurled his anathema against the “Frauenberg Fool,” and six years after the publication of Copernicus' chief work, Melanchthon declared it a sin and a scandal to publish such nonsensical opinions, contrary to the divine testimony of the Scriptures. In fear of his religious community the Protestant publisher Osiander smuggled in the spurious preface already mentioned, “On the hypothesis of this work.” The Protestant Rheticus, a friend and pupil of Copernicus, got into disfavour with Melanchthon and had to discontinue his lectures at Wittenberg. The genial Kepler, finally, was prosecuted by his own congregation, because of his defence of the theory. And when on the Catholic side the Index decree of 1616 was already beginning to be regarded as obsolete, Protestant theology still held to the old view even up to the nineteenth century: a long list of names could be adduced in proof.
Certainly no fair-minded person can see wilful hostility against astronomy in this procedure. Likewise there should not be imputed dishonourable intentions to Catholics, if in the course of history they rendered tribute to human limitation.
But did not the decrees of 1616 and 1633 do great harm to research? Not at all. That this was hardly the case with Galileo himself we have shown above. Soon after we find in Italy a goodly number of distinguished scientists; the Church in no way opposed the newly awakened life, nor even held aloof from it. Galileo himself was honoured in ecclesiastical circles. Soon after Galileo's conviction the Jesuit Grimaldi named a mountain on the moon after him.
Nor was there any considerable harm done to the development of the Copernican theory. Although after Galileo the occasions were not lacking, still no further advocate of his theory was ever up for trial. Nor was any other book on the subject prohibited. Freedom was quietly granted more and more. In the edition of the Index of 1758, the general prohibition of 1616 of Copernican writings was withdrawn; it was an official withdrawal from the old position. But not until 1822 were the special prohibitions repealed, although they had long since lost their binding force. The occasion was given by an accidental occurrence. The Magister S. Palatii of the time intended to deny the Imprimatur to a book on the Copernican theory, on account of the obsolete prohibition. An appeal was made, which brought about the formal repeal of the prohibition. Of course there had been no hurry to revoke a decision once given. But according to the astronomer Lalande's report of his interview with the Cardinal Prefect of the Congregation of the Index, in 1765, the removal from the Index of Galileo's Dialogue had been postponed only on account of extraneous difficulties. Leibnitz, while in Rome, worked for a repeal of the decree. According to Eméry, there are extant statements of Leibnitz vouching for the fact that he very nearly succeeded (Eméry, Pensées de Leibnitz, 1, 275). The name of Copernicus, too, was omitted in the next edition of the Index, which appeared in 1835.
But even while the prohibition was still in force, the works of Galileo and Copernicus were read everywhere. As early as 1619 John Remus wrote from Vienna to Kepler that the Copernican writings may be read by scientific men who had received special permission, and that this was done in all Italy and in Rome itself. Besides, it was allowed at any time to make use of the doctrine as an hypothesis. Thus it advanced continually nearer and nearer to the position of an established truth.
Soon after the publication of the decree, according to the report of Kepler, it was the general conviction in ecclesiastical and civil circles of Austria “that the censure was no obstacle to the freedom of science in the investigation of God's work.” In 1685 we are assured by the Jesuit Kochansky, that any Catholic was free to “look for an irrefutable, mathematical, and physical demonstration of the movement of the earth.” It was also known that the condemnation of the theory had been aided by the supposition that there were no valid arguments in support of the new theory. Hence the Congregation's decree had in the eighteenth century for the most part lost its force. The Jesuit Boscovich, a celebrated physicist and astronomer, wrote in 1755: “In consequence of the extraordinary arguments offered by the consideration of Kepler's laws, astronomers no longer look upon his theory as a mere hypothesis, but as an established truth” (Grisar, 347, 350).
Thus in the light of history the condemnation of the Copernican theory appears quite differently from the picture presented by the superficial accusation that Rome up to the nineteenth century condemned this theory. There is no trace of callousness and oppression, but only submission to legitimate authority, in so far and as long as one deemed himself obliged. It was a science enlightened by Christianity, which, in questions not yet clearly decided, laid down upon the altar of the Giver of all wisdom the tribute of humble submission, for the sake of higher interests.
We shall have to class with St. Augustine the uncertainty of human judgments and tribunals among the “troubles of human life,” and say with him: “It is also a misery that the judge is subject to the necessity of not knowing many things, but to the wise man it is not a fault” (De Civ. Dei, IX, 6). May we therefore infer that the teaching authority is an evil? Were that true, we should have to abolish the authority of the state and of parents, because they also make mistakes. We should have to conclude that there had better be no authority at all on earth. Where men live and rule, mistakes will certainly be made. The physician makes mistakes in his important office, yet patients return to him with confidence. Every pedagogue, every professor, has made mistakes, yet they still command respect. The state government is subject to mistakes, yet none but the anarchist will say that it must therefore be abolished. “That the judge is subject to the necessity of not knowing many things, is a misery, but to the wise man not a fault.”
