Chapter IV (2)

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.