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Galileo Galilei Linceo—for such was his name in full—was born at Pisa, the 18th February, 1564. When about seventeen years old he commenced studying mathematics and physical science at the University of Pisa, and later on, in 1585, he came to Florence, in order to go through a mathematical course.

He seems to have been wholly free from the sceptical and irreligious spirit which unhappily warps the judgment of some scientific men in our own day. His moral conduct, however, in early life was not irreproachable, and it is recorded of him that he had a liaison with a lady named Maria Gamba, who became the mother of three children; but this illicit attachment did not last very long, and a separation took place, after which he saw Maria Gamba no more, and she was subsequently married to some other person. He then entered the celebrated monastery of Vallombrosa, where he was a novice for a short period; but, having apparently no vocation for the religious life, he left the monastery, and resumed his former pursuits. At the age of twenty-five he was appointed professor of mathematics at Pisa, the Grand Duke of Tuscany having invited him there on the recommendation of Cardinal del Monte. Here it was that he first excited hostility by attacking the theories of Aristotle on physical science, a thing not to be done with impunity in that age.

I have already alluded to the telescope constructed by Galileo, and it is scarcely necessary to say that such an instrument, however simple and rudimentary in its construction, could not fail to reveal to an intelligent observer truths hitherto unknown. It was discovered that the planet Jupiter had satellites, that Saturn had a ring, that Venus passed through phases like the moon, that there were spots on the Sun; this last discovery having been made about the same time by the learned Jesuit, Father Scheiner, and by Fabricius. It was not, I think, until the year 1610 that Galileo published his work called “Nuntius Siderius,” in which he recounted the results he had obtained. This work seems to have provoked some considerable opposition, but Galileo was supported by the approbation of his patron, the Grand Duke of Tuscany. In the following year, 1611, he went to Rome, and here he was well received and treated with distinction by prelates of high position, and even by the Pope then reigning, Paul V. Moreover, when, in the year 1612, he published another work, which he called “Discorso sui Gallegianti,” he met with general approval, and no less a person than Cardinal Maffei Barberini, who afterwards became Pope under the title of Urban VIII., is stated to have declared that he was in all points of the same opinion as Galileo.

Now it is quite true that incidental conversations, passing, perhaps, through the hands of two or three persons, are not to be greatly relied upon. It is also to be remarked that men in the position of Cardinals or ecclesiastics of high rank may often look with toleration and even favour on opinions stated in a guarded and hypothetical way, and yet, if called on to pronounce an official judgment on such opinions, would feel it a duty to pronounce against them. Nevertheless, there appears considerable reason for thinking that since Galileo’s reputation stood so high, and his ability was so manifest, he would have escaped all censure if he had confined himself strictly to stating his views on the Copernican system as a scientific hypothesis, and had firmly resisted the temptation (strong as it was) to allow himself to be drawn into the Scriptural argument.

This, however, it must be remembered, was mainly the fault of his opponents. Unable to grapple with the question in its purely scientific aspect, some zealous anti-Copernicans turned to Holy Scripture for support—Scripture in its most rigid and literal interpretation; an interpretation, however, it must in fairness be stated, enshrined in the traditions of successive generations.

It is said that a monk named Sizi went so far as to maintain that the Bible contradicted the existence of the satellites of Jupiter. If this be true (which one cannot help doubting), we may well say that amongst all the perversions of Scripture in which human fancy has indulged, there is scarcely any one more monstrous; and we must not imagine that all the Biblical arguments used against Galileo and Copernicus were so unreasonable and exaggerated.

It was in 1613 that our philosopher published at Rome another work, entitled “L’Istoria e Dimostrazione Intorno alle Macchie Solari.” It was, generally speaking, well received, though he drew a conclusion in favour of the Earth’s rotation on its axis.

The controversy, however, became still keener on the all-important point of the interpretation of Scripture. Now that we can look back on the events of that day with all judicious calmness, we may well blame Galileo for having let himself fall into so dangerous a snare; but there was some excuse for him, attacked as he was on this very ground of the supposed incompatibility of his hypothesis with the teaching of Scripture; and so he unfortunately committed a grave error of judgment in grappling himself with a religious difficulty which, if wise, he would have left entirely to theologians. It may be said that this is not what we should naturally expect. We should suppose that the ecclesiastical authorities would welcome any attempt to prove that new scientific theories were not irreconcilable with the Scriptural narrative, and possibly such would be the case at the present day; but in those times it was certainly otherwise, and I am not quite sure whether the tone and tendency of Rome (that is to say, Rome as the centre of ecclesiastical tradition and authority) is not still, as it was then, in favour of the same rule of conduct—that, namely, which keeps a scientific man to his own province, and leaves to the authorities of the Church the duty of reconciling physical theories and speculations with the teaching of Holy Scripture. On this last-named point I need not say I speak with the utmost diffidence; but on the historical question, as to whether that was the feeling which animated Popes and Cardinals in Galileo’s day, I think there can be very little doubt.

Now, as the controversy became embittered, a certain Father Cassini, a Dominican, preaching in the Church of Santa Maria Novella at Florence, attacked the Copernican doctrine as taught by Galileo; this aroused the wrath of the philosopher, and he wrote (on the 21st December, 1612) a letter to a Benedictine monk, Father Castelli, protesting against the interpretation of Scripture which Father Cassini had used; and while so protesting, over-stepping, it appears, the limits of prudence. The result was that this unguarded letter was denounced by Father Lorini to the Cardinal Prefect of the Congregation of the Index.

The consequence of this was that in the early part of the year 1615 there commenced a process which in the following year had an important issue. It is said that in the month of March, 1615, Cardinal del Monte and Cardinal Bellarmine had a conversation on the subject of Galileo and his teaching, the result being that they both agreed on this one point: that Galileo ought to avoid entering on the interpretation of Scripture, this being a matter reserved to the ecclesiastical authorities.

Galileo was not then at Rome; and two influential friends of his, Mgr. Dini and Prince Cesi, advised him to be quiet and silent; such advice, however, was not to his taste, and he, on the contrary, thrust his head into the lion’s mouth, confident of ultimate success. He came personally to Rome, mixed in society, and endeavoured by the use of such arguments as occurred to him in conversation to refute the ancient opinions. Several of his friends, including some of the Cardinals, advised moderation, but in vain; and such was his confidence in his cause, that in the early part of the year 1616 he actually began to complain of the delay in the process.

The Pope looked upon his conduct with evident displeasure, and it is stated in a letter of Guicciardini that on one occasion Cardinal Orsini spoke to him in favour of Galileo, and he answered that the Cardinal would do well to persuade his friend to abandon his opinion—adding that the affair was placed in the hands of the Cardinals of the Holy Office. After this incident, it is said, the Pope sent for Bellarmine, talked the matter over with him, and agreed that Galileo’s opinion was erroneous and heretical. A decided step was now taken: on the 19th February, 1616, there was sent to certain theologians belonging to the Congregation of the Inquisition—technically called the Qualifiers—a copy of the propositions, the censure of which had been demanded: 1st, That the Sun was the centre of the world, and consequently immovable locally; 2nd, That the Earth was not the centre of the world, nor immovable, but moved round itself by a diurnal rotation.

The Qualifiers of the Congregation met on the 23rd February, and on the next day, in presence of the eleven theologians who had been consulted, the censure was pronounced. All declared that the first proposition was foolish and absurd, philosophically speaking, and also formally heretical, since it expressly contradicted numerous texts of Holy Scripture, according to the proper meaning of the words, and according to the ordinary interpretation and the sense admitted by the holy Fathers and theological doctors. All declared that the second proposition deserved the same censure philosophically, and regarding theological truth, that it was at least erroneous in point of faith. The next day, 25th February, Cardinal Mellinus notified to the Commissary of the Holy Office what had taken place, and the Pope desired Cardinal Bellarmine to send for Galileo, and admonish him to abandon the opinion in question; if he refused to obey, the Father Commissary, in presence of a notary and witnesses, was to enjoin upon him a command to abstain wholly from teaching such doctrine and opinion, from defending it, or treating of it; if, however, he would not acquiesce, that he should then be imprisoned. On the following day, 26th February, this was accordingly done, and Galileo was warned “ut supra dictum opinionem... omnino relinquat, nec eam de cetero quovis modo doceat teneat aut defendat verbo aut scriptis,” with the threat already mentioned in case of disobedience. Galileo promised to obey.

In the beginning of the month of March there appeared a printed decree of the Congregation of the Index prohibiting five works; and here we arrive at the curious fact that no work whatever of Galileo was prohibited by name. The feeling in the high ecclesiastical circles of Rome seems at that time to have been very much to this effect: “Let us stamp out the obnoxious opinion, but let us spare Galileo individually.” The final result (including what took place in after years) is strikingly contrasted with such expectations, if they existed. Galileo had to suffer personally, not bodily torture or incarceration, but humiliation and failure; whilst the dreaded doctrine of Copernicanism, purified from incidental error and taught in an enlightened form, has triumphed and reigns supreme. The decree of the Index is particularly noteworthy, for it is the principal matter with which we have to deal. After prohibiting certain Protestant books, the decree proceeds as follows: “And since it has come to the knowledge of the above-named Sacred Congregation that that false Pythagorean doctrine, altogether contrary to Holy Scripture, concerning the movement of the Earth and the immobility of the Sun, taught by Nicolas Copernicus in his work on the Revolutions of the Heavenly Orbs, and by Diego di Zunica in his work on Job, is already spread about and received by many persons, as may be seen in a printed letter of a certain Carmelite Father, entitled ‘A Letter of the Rev. Father, Master Paul Anthony Foscarini, on the opinion of the Pythagoreans and of Copernicus respecting the mobility of the Earth and the stability of the Sun, and the new Pythagorean System of the World,’ printed at Naples by Lazzaro Scorrigio, 1615, in which the said Father endeavours to show that the aforesaid doctrine of the immobility of the Sun in the centre of the universe and the mobility of the Earth is consonant to the truth, and is not opposed to Holy Scripture: Therefore, lest any opinion of this kind insinuate itself to the detriment of Catholic truth, [the Congregation] has decreed that the said [works of] Nicolas Copernicus on the Revolutions of the Orbs and Diego di Zunica on Job should be suspended until they are corrected. But that the book of Father Paul Anthony Foscarini the Carmelite should be altogether prohibited and condemned; and that all other books teaching the same thing should equally be prohibited, as by the present decree it prohibits, condemns, and suspends them all respectively. In witness whereof the present decree has been signed and sealed by the hand and seal of the Most Illustrious and Most Reverend Lord Cardinal of Santa Cecilia, Bishop of Albano, on the 5th day of March, 1616.”

Here follow the signatures:

“P. Episc. Albanen. Card. Sanctæ Cæciliæ.

“Locus sigilli. “F. Franciscus Magdalenus Capiferreus, “Ord. Prædicat., Secretarius.”

There followed a somewhat remarkable episode: some opponents of Galileo having spread a report that he had been compelled to make an abjuration, and also had had certain salutary penances inflicted on him, Cardinal Bellarmine gave him a certificate to the effect that nothing of the kind had taken place, but only that the declaration made by the Pope and published by the Congregation of the Index had been communicated to him; in which declaration was contained the statement that the doctrine attributed to Copernicus on the movement of the Earth round the Sun, and the stability of the Sun in the centre of the world without its moving from east to west, was contrary to Holy Scripture, and so could not be defended or held. It appears that the abjuration alluded to was a solemn act demanded only from those who were suspected of unsoundness in the faith, and carried with it some disgrace. Galileo was naturally anxious to be cleared from such imputation, and the authorities in Rome willingly met him so far, and avoided all acts casting a personal slur on him. It is noteworthy that the interview between Cardinal Bellarmine and Galileo took place after the answers had been returned by the Qualifiers of the Inquisition, but before the publication of the decree of the Index. The certificate given by the Cardinal, to which I have just alluded, was subsequent, and bears date the 26th May, 1616.

And here we may pause in the narrative, to inquire briefly what was the effect, in an ecclesiastical point of view, of the decree just quoted, and of the admonition given by Papal order to Galileo. On the mere face of it, it cannot surely be maintained that there was any doctrinal decision, strictly speaking, at all. I do not wish to undervalue the importance of the disciplinary decision, I think it most momentous; moreover, the reason alleged for it was that the opinion, the publication of which was to be forbidden, was contrary to Scripture; but I fail to see how this last-mentioned fact can possibly convert what is avowedly a disciplinary enactment, prohibiting the circulation of certain books, into a dogmatic decree.

I should submit it to the judgment of theologians whether this would not be true even if the Pope’s name had been explicitly introduced as sanctioning the decree; as it stands, however, the decree appears simply in the name of the Congregation of the Index.

It would, I think, scarcely be necessary to argue these points at length, were it not that the contrary view has been maintained in a work entitled “The Pontifical Decrees against the Doctrine of the Earth’s Movement, and the Ultramontane Defence of them,” by the Rev. William W. Roberts, a work written with ability and moderation as well as considerable knowledge of the subject, since the author, though determined to make all the controversial capital that is possible out of the case of Galileo, rises superior to the vulgar atmosphere of fable and false accusation; never alleges anything like personal cruelty or ill-treatment as against the Pope or the Inquisition, and scarcely alludes to the mythical story of “E pur si muove.”

Moreover, even were the intrinsic value of the work less than it is, attention has been publicly drawn to it by a writer whom, both from a religious and scientific point of view, we feel bound to treat with respect—Professor Mivart—although he has formed, on the other hand, an exaggerated estimate of the importance of Mr. Roberts’ facts and arguments.

Here I wish to introduce an observation, as a sort of anticipatory self-defence, which is that I do not feel bound to enter into all the theological minutiæ which learned disputants have introduced into this case. Those who wish to sift such arguments in detail can read the articles in The Dublin Review by the late Dr. Ward (since republished) on the one hand, and Mr. Roberts’ book on the other. I myself venture to look at the question as a lay theologian, employing this expression not by any means in the sense of one who, having read two or three theological treatises, presumes to discuss the sacred science, himself an amateur, with men whose profession it is to teach theology; for, to use a familiar expression, I hope I know my place better. I employ the word in the sense of a man who seeks to know what the Church teaches as requisite for a layman, that is an educated layman, to understand: thus the lay theologian, as I consider him, ought to be able to discriminate between what the Church teaches him as matter of faith and what she enjoins or encourages him to hold under a less solemn sanction. He ought also to distinguish clearly between matters laid down by the Church as parts of her definitive teaching both on faith and morals—points, that is to say, laid down as of principle, and therefore irrevocable—and on the other hand matters of discipline which, whether intrinsically important or not, may and do vary from age to age. He may of course make mistakes, as even theologians may do, in applying his principles to particular cases; but he ought to understand what the principles are.

Now applying such plain principles to the Galileo case, I do not understand how any one can come to any other conclusions than these: first, that the decree of the Index and the other proceedings in 1616, though founded on reasons of doctrine, that is of the correct interpretation of Scripture, were purely disciplinary in their nature; secondly, that this being so, they were not infallible or irreformable, as the term is; thirdly, that they were, however, real acts of discipline, and intended to be enforced more or less stringently according to circumstances. This last-named aspect of the case is a matter of importance, and I shall return to it hereafter; but the attempt to impugn the doctrinal infallibility of the Catholic Church on the strength of such decisions as that of the Index in 1616, seems to me so groundless that I should not discuss the question further were it not that I think it right to notice some of Mr. Roberts’ arguments.

It appears that certain theologians have held that decrees of the Roman Congregations are to be considered infallible, provided they contain a statement in so many words that the Pope has approved them, and provided also that they have been published by his explicit order. This, it may be mentioned, does not necessarily imply that such decrees concern matters which are strictly and technically matters of faith, other less momentous issues being frequently involved.

The decree of the Index in 1616 had no such statement about the Pope’s approbation, nor any notice of his express order for its publication, although, in reality, it was undoubtedly approved by him. Mr. Roberts argues that this distinction is a worthless one, because, at that time, the custom, since adopted on certain important occasions, of bringing in the Pope’s name and authority explicitly, had not come into being.

As an argumentum ad hominem against certain writers who have suggested that such an omission in the Galileo case was a remarkable instance of Divine Providence, Mr. Roberts’ answer may stand; but it has nothing to do with the main argument. It only shows that whereas the Popes of more modern times have employed the Roman Congregations as instruments for conveying to the world their own decrees on certain doctrinal subjects, the Popes of the early part of the seventeenth century had no such custom. They used the Congregations for various disciplinary purposes, founded sometimes, no doubt, on reasons of doctrine, and they sanctioned the proceedings so taken; but they did not give them the explicit impress of their own name and authority. Even when this latter has taken place, it is not every theologian who holds that such decree is infallible. Cardinal Franzelin, a writer of the highest authority, whose words I give in a note,3 held that it was not infallibly true, but only infallibly safe. His language is not quite clear to the non-theological mind, but he probably meant that the doctrine conveyed in such a decree was safe, so that it might certainly be held without injury to any one’s faith, and that it was not safe to reject it. But it is clear that he was not speaking of such decrees as took place in the Galileo case, but only of those which bear on them the marks of Papal authority in the strict sense.

His own words are pretty plain proof of this. They are extracted from his work, “De Divina Traditione et Scriptura,” and follow the other words to which I have alluded:

Coroll. D. Auctoritas infallibilitatis et supremum magisterium Pontificis definientis omnino nihil unquam pertinuit ad causam Galilei Galilei, et ad ejurationem opinionis ipsi injunctam. Non solum enim nulla vel umbra definitionis Pontificiæ ibi intercessit, sed in toto illo decreto Cardinalium S. Officii, et in formula ejurationis ne nomen quidem Pontificis unquam sive directe sive indirecte pronuntiatum reperitur... pertinebat omnino ad auctoritatem providentiæ ecclesiasticæ cavere, ne quid detrimenti caperet interpretatio Scripturæ per conjecturas et hypotheses plerisque tum temporis visas minime verisimiles.

We are not, however, I think, obliged to endorse the opinion conveyed in the last sentence that I have quoted, though certain theologians of great weight have held that the ecclesiastical authorities of Galileo’s day were only acting with proper prudence in the then existing state of astronomical knowledge. I shall hereafter state why I feel it difficult to follow their judgment.

But the words I have quoted from Cardinal Franzelin show plainly that the decrees he had in his mind, when he wrote that they were infallibly safe, were of a nature quite different from anything that took place in the processes connected with Galileo; and although he alludes principally to that which passed in 1633 before the Inquisition, he appears to include the whole affair in the judgment he passes upon it; indeed, the sentence of the tribunal in 1633, and the abjuration enjoined upon Galileo at that time, were made to depend on the decree of the Index in 1616, and the admonition then given to Galileo by Cardinal Bellarmine. Cardinal Franzelin’s opinion, then, whatever weight we may give to it, is clear enough.

I give one more extract from the work of this learned author on the subject of the Pope’s infallibility, showing that he was of opinion that doctrinal definitions must be clearly and unmistakably intended as such, and must carry with them some manifest signs to that effect.

Extract from the same on the subject of the Pope’s infallibility, pp. 108 and 109:

Neque enim Cathedra Apostolica aliud est, quam supremum authenticum magisterium, cujus definitiva sententia doctrinalis obligat universam Ecclesiam ad consensum. Intentio hæc definiendi doctrinam seu docendi definitivâ sententiâ et auctoritate obligante universam Ecclesiam ad consensum debet esse manifesta et cognoscibilis claris indiciis.

In the case we have before us, I should say that the “clara indicia” were all the other way; and indeed, were it not for the dust which controversialists have tried to throw in our eyes, I should be disposed to add that we might fairly drop this part of our subject—I mean the part which raises the question whether there was not some decision or definition, such as Catholics are bound by their principles to admit as infallible, given against the Copernican doctrine.

It is right, however, to notice one or two other arguments urged by Mr. Roberts.

Some of these consist in bringing forward supposed parallel cases, in which the Pope has insisted on a full and complete assent being given to the decision of some Roman Congregation. One case is that of a “distinguished theologian and philosopher, Günther,” whose works were condemned by a decree of the Index, having, however, the notice that the Pope had ratified the decision and ordered its publication. This was in 1857. Günther and many of his followers submitted, but others contended that a merely disciplinary decree was not conclusive. On this Pope Pius IX. addressed a brief to the Archbishop of Cologne, in which he intimated that a decree sanctioned by his authority and published by his order should have been sufficient to close the question, that the doctrine taught by Günther could not be held to be true, and that it was not permitted to any one to defend it from that time forward.

I extract the words as given by Mr. Roberts:

Quod quidem Decretum [that of the Index] Nostra Auctoritate sancitum Nostroque jussu vulgatum, sufficere plane debebat, ut questio omnis penitus dirempta censeretur, et omnes qui Catholico gloriantur nomine clare aperteque intelligerent sibi esse omnino obtemperandum, et sinceram haberi non posse doctrinam Güntharianis libris contentam, ac nemini deinceps fas esse doctrinam iis libris traditam tueri ac propugnare, et illos libros sine debita facultate legere ac retinere.

Mr. Roberts, it must be remembered, is not simply investigating the history of Galileo, but is contending, for other reasons, against certain opinions on the subject of Papal infallibility held by an able foreign theologian, M. Bouix, and by Dr. Ward, and he uses Galileo as a weapon (and, in his estimation, a most formidable weapon) in the controversy. Now, in the capacity I have assumed of a lay theologian, I do not feel bound to discuss whether the decree in Günther’s case was merely disciplinary, or whether it was dogmatic; whether it came within the category of strictly infallible pronouncements, or whether it did not; and supposing the former alternative, whether it was infallible in virtue of the Pope’s sanction and command to publish in the first instance, or whether it only became so in virtue of the brief addressed to the Archbishop of Cologne. All these questions, interesting in themselves, I feel myself at liberty to pass over, and to leave them, with the most profound respect, to be sifted by professed theologians; I merely venture to remark, without attempting to argue the matter, that, to my uninstructed intelligence, the whole thing, including the Pope’s brief, appears to have a disciplinary character rather than anything else.

What, however, I would say is this—the questions above mentioned, which in the Günther case are doubtful, are in that of Galileo clear enough; the clause stating that the Pope had sanctioned the decree, and ordered it to be published, on which the doubt alluded to is founded, did not appear in the decree against the Copernican books; nor did the Popes of that day issue any brief, such as Pius IX. addressed to the Archbishop of Cologne.

Mr. Roberts, it is true, thinks he has a clenching argument in a Bull of Pope Alexander VII., of which I will speak hereafter, and which in my humble judgment has the least force of any that he has adduced.

The case of Professor Ubaghs, of the University of Louvain, which Mr. Roberts thinks still more to the point, seems, I confess, to me even weaker than the other for our present purpose. Here, again, I leave it to theologians to decide whether the decree was or was not infallible; but it undoubtedly appears, in point of form, to be a doctrinal one, and emanated from the United Congregations of the Index and Inquisition, to whom the Pope had expressly entrusted the examination of the subject, and it was as follows: “Wherefore the most eminent cardinals have arrived at this opinion: that in the philosophical works, hitherto published by G.C. Ubaghs, and especially in his Logic and Theodicea, doctrines or opinions are found that cannot be taught without danger” (inveniri doctrinas seu opiniones, quæ absque periculo tradi non possunt). “Which judgment our most Holy Lord Pope Pius IX. has ratified and confirmed by his supreme authority.” Even then some persons maintained that the decree was disciplinary and not doctrinal. Cardinal Patrizi, however, writing in the Pope’s name to the Primate of Belgium (if I mistake not), intimated that the dissentients must acquiesce ex animo in the judgment of the Apostolic See. Consequently all the professors who had committed themselves to the proscribed opinions were required to make an act of submission to the effect just mentioned. The decree was treated as strictly doctrinal, and if so was, I maintain, essentially different from the one we have now before us.

In the case of Galileo, it is true that the opinion given in 1616 by the Qualifiers of the Inquisition was a doctrinal one; the action taken upon the strength of that opinion by the Pope in desiring Cardinal Bellarmine to admonish Galileo, as well as by the Congregation of the Index in prohibiting certain books, was simply disciplinary.5

It remains for us to inquire what was the value of the decree of the Index on certain works, written in favour of the new astronomical doctrines, as appreciated by contemporary feeling and opinion. We naturally find that there were two views on the subject: one of those who wished to magnify the effect of the decision, and one of those who desired to minimise it.

Galileo himself said that his opinion had not been accepted by the Church, which, however, had only declared that it was not in conformity with Holy Scripture; from which it followed that only books attempting ex professo to prove that the opinion is not contrary to Scripture were prohibited. Whether Galileo was right or wrong in his estimate of the scope of the decree, it seems evident that he considered the whole matter as a question merely of discipline.

It is said that Father Melchior Inchofer, S.J. (afterwards one of the Consultors of the Holy Office), endeavoured to prove that the decision proceeded from the Pope speaking ex cathedrâ. Mr. Roberts gives a quotation to that effect from a work of Professor Berti; the original, however, does not appear, and is probably not now extant.

Mr. Roberts also quotes Caramuel, “the acute casuist,” who, in answer to the supposed objection that the Copernican theory might hereafter be shown to be true, says that it is impossible that the Earth should hereafter be proved demonstratively to be in motion; if such an impossibility be admitted, other impossible and absurd things would follow.

Caramuel, however great as a theologian, was evidently not endowed with much scientific foresight. But he is not wholly wrong, for it has never yet been possible to prove by absolute demonstration the motion of the Earth.

One of the most important witnesses on the point we are here considering is Cardinal Bellarmine, who was a very zealous anti-Copernican, and had probably a great share (perhaps the principal share) in bringing about the practical condemnation of Galileo’s opinions in 1616. So far as I know, the only explicit statement bearing on the question that we have of Bellarmine’s, is a letter to the Carmelite Father Foscarini, dated April 1, 1615, though he has been quoted as if he had expressed the opinion stated in the letter at a later date. Mr. Roberts takes exception to the inference drawn from this letter because it was written before the decree of the Index, and we may add, about seven months before the referring of Galileo’s writings to the Consultors of the Inquisition.

Now we may admit that there would be some force in this argument if Cardinal Bellarmine, instead of being what he was, had been a private individual, having nothing to do but to listen submissively to what his ecclesiastical superiors decided, whether in doctrine or discipline. He was, however, one of the most trusted advisers of the Pope; he had no small share in bringing about the censure of the Copernican theory, such as it was; and it is almost certain that at the time when he wrote the letter he foresaw that some proceedings of that nature would follow, if indeed the proceedings had not already begun. We have no sort of intimation that he ever afterwards changed his opinion, and the way in which he was quoted by subsequent writers points to this conclusion. I have thought it better to answer the objection made by Mr. Roberts before stating what Bellarmine’s letter contains. I must leave my readers to judge the value of the argument. All I say is, that my own belief is that Cardinal Bellarmine’s opinion, as recorded in this letter to Father Foscarini, represents his permanent judgment. It is a most curious letter, and is a singular illustration of the danger that a man, however able and learned, may incur by attempting to grapple with subjects of which he knows absolutely nothing. Bellarmine, when writing on theological or controversial subjects, though he might make an occasional mistake, was one of the clearest, ablest, and (may one not add?) fairest of writers; but on a subject such as this, some of his reasoning strikes us as very curious.

The substance of it is as follows: After admitting that so long as the Copernican doctrine is stated hypothetically, “ex suppositione,” there is no objection whatever to it, he goes on to say that to state it positively and as a reality is contrary to the principle laid down by the Council (i.e. of Trent), that Scripture should not be interpreted contrary to the common consent of the Fathers; and, he added, not only that, but the universal opinions of modern commentators. In answer to the objection that it is not a matter of faith, he says: “if it is not so ex parte objecti, it is so ex parte dicentis,” meaning apparently that a man who impugned the truth of the Scriptural narrative in any respect would be heretical. Then follows the paragraph which has given occasion to quote the letter, and it is to this effect:6 When there shall be a real demonstration that the Sun stands in the centre of the universe, and that the Earth revolves round it, it will then be necessary to proceed with great consideration in explaining those passages of Scripture which seem to be contrary to it, and rather to say that we do not understand them, than say that a thing which is demonstrated is false. But for his own part, until it had been shown to him, he would not believe there could be any such demonstration, for it was one thing to prove that if the hypothesis were true all things would appear as they actually do, and another thing to prove that such is actually the fact; and in case of doubt one ought not to leave the interpretation of Scripture as given by the Fathers. Then comes what is really an extraordinary argument, as we modern thinkers would view it. The text, “The sun arises and sets, and returns to his own place,” was written by Solomon, who was not only inspired by God, but was also the wisest and most learned of mankind in human sciences, and in the knowledge of created things, and it was not likely he could be wrong. Nor was it sufficient to say that Solomon speaks according to appearances; for though in some cases erroneous impressions, arising from appearances, can be corrected by observation and experience, it is quite otherwise as regards the motion of the Earth.

It is certainly remarkable that it does not appear to strike Bellarmine that the Fathers and commentators, not having this question before them, naturally interpreted Scripture according to the ideas generally entertained in their day. While to suppose that, because Solomon wrote certain inspired works, and, moreover, was a great naturalist—the greatest of his day—he was, therefore, infallible in his personal views on astronomy, shows a state of mind so different from what we find amongst even non-scientific men in our own day, that we are almost startled and bewildered when we meet with it. The truth, however, is that Bellarmine was a sort of link between the mediæval and modern thinkers; in theology and controversy, and in appreciation of the change that had taken place in Europe owing to the religious revolution of the preceding century, in all that, he was, I imagine, in advance of his age; in physical science he was a simple mediævalist. But it was not for some time that even able men came to recognise the principle that in the search for truth, so far as the works of Nature are concerned, the opinions of the ancients and the traditions of forefathers count but for little; and observation and experiment are the true and only key to knowledge. It is otherwise, of course, with theology and kindred studies; and it required some mental grasp, or in default of that it required a long, very long, experience before the human mind drew the distinction between the two.

But this is a digression. I have quoted Bellarmine to show what he thought of the necessity, from an ecclesiastical standpoint, of putting down Copernicanism, at least until it should be proved to demonstration. He did not appear to contemplate a dogmatic decision against it, but what he did desire, and succeeded in obtaining, was a disciplinary prohibition of the obnoxious doctrine. As a theologian he well knew that such a prohibition would not be an irrevocable act; it might be withdrawn when the conclusive proof of the forbidden opinion should be established. He probably thought that the certain demonstration of the opinion would only take place, as mathematicians would say, at an infinitely distant date; nor was he wholly wrong, as has already been remarked, for the absolute demonstration of the Copernican doctrine is not, from the very nature of the case, a thing to be achieved.

Yet, if he had lived at a later period, I do not doubt that he would have been satisfied with the moral evidence, the mass of indirect proof, on which Copernicanism rests. Many years later, the Jesuit Father Fabri, who appears to have held the office of Canon Penitentiary of St. Peter’s, expresses himself in much the same way as Bellarmine. He was replying to the arguments of some Copernican correspondent, possibly an Englishman, since his reply was inserted in the Acts of the English Royal Society in 1665, and he says: “There is no reason why the Church should not understand those texts in their literal sense, and declare that they should be so understood so long as there is no demonstration to prove the contrary. But if any such demonstration hereafter be devised by your party (which I do not at all expect), in that case the Church will not at all hesitate to set forth that those texts are to be understood in an improper—i.e., non-literal—and figurative sense, according to the words of the poet, ‘terræque urbesque recedunt.’”

As a further illustration of the position thus taken by Bellarmine and others as to the interpretation of Scripture, I may here mention that some few years after the prohibition of Copernican works by the Index (probably about 1623), it is said that Guidacci had an interview with Father Grassi, at the suggestion of the Jesuit Father Tarquinio Galluzzi, and that F. Grassi’s words were as follows: “When a demonstration of this movement [that of the Earth] shall be discovered, it will be fitting to interpret Scripture otherwise than has hitherto been done: this is the opinion of Cardinal Bellarmine.” It is not intended to deny that there were those who magnified the effect of the decree of the Index; the devotees of Aristotle, who had gained what was to them a great triumph, were sure to make the most of it.