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 cathedr 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.