The Warfare of Science

I purpose to present an outline of the great, sacred struggle for the liberty of science—a struggle which has lasted for so many centuries, and which yet continues. A hard contest it has been; a war waged longer, with battles fiercer, with sieges more persistent, with strategy more shrewd than in any of the comparatively transient warfare of Cæsar or Napoleon or Moltke.

I shall ask you to go with me through some of the most protracted sieges, and over some of the hardest-fought battle-fields of this war. We will look well at the combatants; we will listen to the battle-cries; we will note the strategy of leaders, the cut and thrust of champions, the weight of missiles, the temper of weapons; we will look also at the truces and treaties, and note the delusive impotency of all compromises in which the warriors for scientific truth have consented to receive direction or bias from the best of men uninspired by the scientific spirit, or unfamiliar with scientific methods.

My thesis, which, by an historical study of this warfare, I expect to develop, is the following: In all modern history, interference with science in the supposed interest of religion, no matter how conscientious such interference may have been, has resulted in the direst evils both to religion and to science—and invariably. And, on the other hand, all untrammeled scientific investigation, no matter how dangerous to religion some of its stages may have seemed, for the time, to be, has invariably resulted in the highest good of religion and of science. I say "invariably." I mean exactly that. It is a rule to which history shows not one exception.

It would seem, logically, that this statement cannot be gainsaid. God's truths must agree, whether discovered by looking within upon the soul, or without upon the world. A truth written upon the human heart to-day, in its full play of emotions or passions, cannot be at any real variance even with a truth written upon a fossil whose poor life ebbed forth millions of years ago.

This being so, it would also seem a truth irrefragable, that the search for each of these kinds of truth must be followed out on its own lines, by its own methods, to its own results, without any interference from investigators on other lines, or by other methods. And it would also seem logical to work on in absolute confidence that whatever, at any moment, may seem to be the relative positions of the two different bands of workers, they must at last come together, for Truth is one.

But logic is not history. History is full of interferences which have cost the earth dear. Strangest of all, some of the direst of them have been made by the best of men, actuated by the purest motives, and seeking the noblest results. These interferences, and the struggle against them, make up the warfare of science.

One statement more, to clear the ground. You will not understand me at all to say that religion has done nothing for science. It has done much for it. The work of Christianity has been mighty indeed. Through these two thousand years, despite the waste of its energies on all the things its Blessed Founder most earnestly condemned—on fetich and subtlety and war and pomp—it has undermined servitude, mitigated tyranny, given hope to the hopeless, comfort to the afflicted, light to the blind, bread to the starving, joy to the dying, and this work continues. And its work for science, too, has been great. It has fostered science often. Nay, it has nourished that feeling of self-sacrifice for human good, which has nerved some of the bravest men for these battles.

Unfortunately, a devoted army of good men started centuries ago with the idea that independent scientific investigation is unsafe—that theology must intervene to superintend its methods, and the Biblical record, as an historical compendium and scientific treatise, be taken as a standard to determine its results. So began this great modern war.

GEOGRAPHY

The first typical battle-field to which I would refer is that of Geography—the simplest elementary doctrine of the earth's shape and surface.

Among the legacies of thought left by the ancient world to the modern, were certain ideas of the rotundity of the earth. These ideas were vague; they were mixed with absurdities; but they were germ ideas, and, after the barbarian storm which ushered in the modern world had begun to clear away, these germ ideas began to bud and bloom in the minds of a few thinking men, and these men hazarded the suggestion that the earth is round—is a globe. 1

The greatest and most earnest men of the time took fright at once. To them, the idea of the earth's rotundity seemed fraught with dangers to Scripture: by which, of course, they meant their interpretation of Scripture.

Among the first who took up arms against the new thinkers was Eusebius. He endeavored to turn off these ideas by bringing science into contempt, and by making the innovators understand that he and the fathers of the Church despised all such inquiries. Speaking of the innovations in physical science, he said: "It is not through ignorance of the things admired by them, but through contempt of their useless labor, that we think little of these matters, turning our souls to better things." 2

Lactantius asserted the ideas of those studying astronomy to be "mad and senseless." 3

But the attempt to "flank" the little phalanx of thinkers did not succeed, of course. Even such men as Lactantius and Eusebius cannot pooh-pooh down a new scientific idea. The little band of thinkers went on, and the doctrine of the rotundity of the earth naturally led to the consideration of the tenants of the earth's surface, and another germ idea was warmed into life—the idea of the existence of the antipodes, the idea of the existence of countries and men on the hemisphere opposite to ours. 4

At this the war-spirit waxed hot. Those great and good men determined to fight. To all of them such doctrines seemed dangerous; to most of them they seemed damnable. St. Basil and St. Ambrose 5 were tolerant enough to allow that a man might be saved who believed the earth to be round, and inhabited on its opposite sides; but the great majority of the Fathers of the Church utterly denied the possibility of salvation to such misbelievers.

Lactantius asks: "… Is there any one so senseless as to believe that there are men whose footsteps are higher than their heads?—that the crops and trees grow downward?—that the rains and snow and hail fall upward toward the earth?… But if you inquire from those who defend these marvelous fictions, why all things do not fall into that lower part of the heaven, they reply that such is the nature of things, that heavy bodies are borne toward the middle, like the spokes of a wheel; while light bodies, such as clouds, smoke, and fire, tend from the centre toward the heavens on all sides. Now, I am at loss what to say of those who, when they have once erred, steadily persevere in their folly, and defend one vain thing by another."

St. Augustine seems inclined to yield a little in regard to the rotundity of the earth, but he fights the idea that men exist on the other side of the earth, saying that "Scripture speaks of no such descendants of Adam."

But this did not avail to check the idea. What may be called the flank movement, as represented by Eusebius, had failed. The direct battle given by Lactantius, Augustine, and others, had failed; in the sixth century, therefore, the opponents of the new ideas built a great fortress and retired into that. It was well built and well braced. It was nothing less than a complete theory of the world, based upon the literal interpretation of texts of Scripture, and its author was Cosmas Indicopleustes. 6

According to Cosmas, the earth is a parallelogram, flat, and surrounded by four great seas. At the outer edges of these seas rise immense walls closing in the whole structure. These walls support the vault of the heavens, whose edges are cemented to the walls; walls and vault shut in the earth and all the heavenly bodies. The whole of this theologic, scientific fortress was built most carefully, and, as was then thought, most scripturally.

Starting with the expression, Το ἁγιον κοσμικὁν, applied in the ninth chapter of Hebrews to the tabernacle in the desert, he insists, with other interpreters of his time, that it gives a key to the whole construction of the world. The universe is, therefore, made on the plan of the Jewish Tabernacle—box-like and oblong.

Coming to details, he quotes those grand words of Isaiah, "It is he that sitteth upon the circle of the earth, … that stretcheth out the heavens like a curtain, and spreadeth them out like a tent to dwell in," 7 and the passage in Job, which speaks of the "pillars of heaven." 8 He turns all that splendid and precious poetry into a prosaic statement, and gathers therefrom, as he thinks, treasures for science.

This vast box is then divided into two compartments, one above the other. In the first of these, men live and stars move; and it extends up to the first solid vault or firmament, where live the angels, a main part of whose business it is to push and pull the sun and planets to and fro. Next he takes the text, "Let there be a firmament in the midst of the waters, and let it divide the waters from the waters," 9 and other texts from Genesis. To these he adds the text from the Psalms, "Praise him, ye heaven of heavens, and ye waters that be above the heavens," 10 casts that outburst of poetry into his crucible with the other texts, and, after subjecting them to sundry peculiar processes, brings out the theory that over this first vault is a vast cistern containing the waters. He then takes the expression in Genesis regarding the "windows of heaven," 11 and establishes a doctrine regarding the regulation of the rain, which is afterward supplemented by the doctrine that the angels not only push and pull the heavenly bodies, to light the earth, but also open and close the windows of heaven to water it.

To find the character of the surface of the earth, Cosmas studies the table of shew-bread in the Tabernacle. The dimensions of that table prove to him that the earth is flat and twice as long as broad; the four corners of the table symbolize the four seasons. To account for the movement of the sun, Cosmas suggests that at the north of the earth is a great mountain, and that, at night, the sun is carried behind this; but some of the commentators ventured to express a doubt here; they thought that the sun was pushed into a great pit at night, and was pulled out in the morning. Nothing can be more touching in its simplicity than Cosmas's closing of his great argument. He bursts forth in raptures, declaring that Moses, the prophets, evangelists, and apostles, agree to the truth of his doctrine. 12

Such was the fortress built against human science in the sixth century, by Cosmas; and it stood. The innovators attacked it in vain. The greatest minds in the Church devoted themselves to buttressing it with new texts, and throwing out new outworks of theologic reasoning. It stood firm for two hundred years, when a bishop—Virgilius of Salzburg—asserts his belief in the existence of the antipodes.

It happened that there then stood in Germany, in the first years of the eighth century, one of the greatest and noblest of men—St. Boniface. His learning was of the best then known; in labors he was a worthy successor to the apostles; his genius for Christian work made him, unwillingly, Primate of Germany; his devotion afterward led him, willingly, to martyrdom. There sat, too, at that time, on the papal throne, a great Christian statesman—Pope Zachary. Boniface immediately declares against the revival of such a terrible heresy as the existence of the antipodes. He declares that it amounts to the declaration that there are men on the earth beyond the reach of the means of salvation; he attacks Virgilius; he calls on Zachary for aid; effective measures are taken, and we hear no more of Virgilius or his doctrine.

Six hundred years pass away, and in the fourteenth century two men publicly assert the doctrine. The first of these, Peter of Abano, escapes punishment by natural death; the second, known as Cecco d'Ascoli, a man of seventy years, is burned alive. Nor was that all the punishment: that great painter, Orcagna, whose terrible works you may see on the walls of the Campo Santa at Pisa, immortalized Cecco by representing him in the flames of hell. 13

Still the idea lived and moved, and a hundred years later we find the theologian Tostatus protesting against the doctrine of the antipodes as "unsafe." He has invented a new missile—the following syllogism: "The apostles were commanded to go into all the world, and to preach the gospel to every creature; they did not go to any such part of the world as the antipodes, they did not preach to any creatures there: ergo, no antipodes exist." This is just before the time of Columbus.

Columbus is the next warrior. The world has heard of his battles: how the Bishop of Ceuta worsted him in Portugal; how at the Junta of Salamanca the theologians overwhelmed him with quotations from the Psalms, from St. Paul, and from St. Augustine. 14 And even after Columbus was triumphant, and after his voyage had greatly strengthened the theory of the earth's sphericity, the Church, by its highest authority, was again solemnly committed to the theory of the earth's flatness. In 1493 Pope Alexander VI. issues a bull laying down a line of demarkation upon the earth as a flat disk; this line was drawn from north to south, west of the Azores and Canary Islands; and the Pope, in the plenitude of his knowledge and powers, declared that all lands discovered east of this line should belong to the Portuguese, and all discovered west of it should belong to the Spaniards. This was hailed as an exercise of divinely illuminated power in the Church; but in a few years difficulties arose. The Portuguese claimed Brazil, and, of course, had no difficulty in showing that it could be reached by sailing to the east of the line, provided the sailing were sufficiently long-continued. The bull of Pope Alexander quietly passed into the catalogue of ludicrous errors. 15

But in 1519 Science gains a crushing victory. Magalhaens makes his famous voyages. He proves the earth to be round, for his great expedition circumnavigates it; he proves the doctrine of the antipodes, for he sees the men of the antipodes; 16 but even this does not end the war. Many earnest and good men oppose the doctrine for two hundred years longer. Then the French astronomers make their measurements of degrees in equatorial and polar regions, and add to other proofs that of the lengthened pendulum: when this was done, when the deductions of science were seen to be established by the simple test of measurement, beautifully, perfectly, then and then only this war of twelve centuries ended. 17

And now, what was the result of this war? The efforts of Eusebius and Lactantius to deaden scientific thought; the efforts of Augustine to combat it; the efforts of Cosmas to stop it by dogmatism; the efforts of Boniface, and Zachary, and others to stop it by force, conscientious as they all were, had resulted in what? Simply in forcing into many noble minds this most unfortunate conviction, that Science and Religion are enemies; simply in driving away from religion hosts of the best men in all those centuries. The result was wholly bad. No optimism can change that verdict.

On the other hand, what was gained by the warriors of science for religion? Simply, a far more ennobling conception of the world, and a far truer conception of Him who made and who sustains it.

Which is the more consistent with a great, true religion—the cosmography of Cosmas, or that of Isaac Newton? Which presents the nobler food for religious thought—the diatribes of Lactantius, or the astronomical discourses of Thomas Chalmers?

ASTRONOMY

The next great battle was fought on a question relating to the position of the earth among the heavenly bodies. On one side, the great body of conscientious religious men planted themselves firmly on the geocentric doctrine—the doctrine that the earth is the centre, and that the sun and planets revolve about it. The doctrine was old, and of the highest respectability. 18 The very name, Ptolemaic theory, carried weight. It had been elaborated until it accounted well for the phenomena. Exact textual interpreters of Scripture cherished it, for it agreed with the letter of the sacred text. 19

But, most important of all, it was stamped with the seal of St. Thomas Aquinas. The sainted theologian—the glory of the Mediæval Church, the "angelic doctor"—he to whom it was believed an image of the Crucified had spoken words praising his writings—had shown in his treatise on the Heaven and Earth, by philosophy, theology, and revelation, that the position of the earth must be in the centre. 20

Still the germs of the heliocentric theory 21 had been planted long before, and well planted; it had seemed ready even to bloom forth in the fifth century, from the mind of Martianus Capella, and in the fifteenth from the mind of Cardinal de Cusa; but it could not be forgotten that St. Thomas had elaborated the opposite view; the chill of dogmatism was still over the earth, and up to the beginning of the sixteenth century there had come to this great truth neither bloom nor fruitage. 22

Quietly, however, the soil was receiving enrichment, and the air warmth. The processes of mathematics were constantly improved, the heavenly bodies were steadily though silently observed; and at length appeared, afar off from the centres of thought, on the borders of Poland, a plain, simple-minded scholar, who first fairly uttered to the world the truth, now so commonplace, then so astounding, that the sun and planets do not revolve about the earth, but that the earth and planets revolve about the sun, and that man was Nicholas Kopernik. 23

Kopernik had been a professor at Rome, but, as this truth grew within him, he seemed to feel that at Rome he was no longer safe. 24

To publish this thought was dangerous indeed, and for more than thirty years it lay slumbering in the minds of Kopernik and the friends to whom he had privately intrusted it.

At last he prepares his great work on the Revolution of the Heavenly Bodies, and dedicates it to the pope himself. He next seeks a place of publication. He dares not send it to Rome, for there are the rulers of the older Church ready to seize it. He dares not send it to Wittenberg, for there are the leaders of Protestantism no less hostile. It is therefore intrusted to Osiander, of Nuremberg. 25

But, at the last moment, Osiander's courage fails him. He dares not launch the new thought boldly. He writes a groveling preface; endeavors to excuse Kopernik for his novel idea. He inserts the apologetic lie that Kopernik propounds the doctrine of the movement of the earth, not as a fact, but as an hypothesis; he declares that it is lawful for an astronomer to indulge his imagination, and that this is what Kopernik has done.

Thus was the greatest and most ennobling, perhaps, of scientific truths—a truth not less ennobling to religion than to science—forced, in coming into the world, to sneak and crawl. 26

On the 24th of May, 1543, the newly-printed book first arrived at the house of Kopernik. It was put into his hands; but he was on his death-bed. A few hours later he was beyond the reach of those mistaken, conscientious men, whose consciences would have blotted his reputation, and perhaps have destroyed his life.

Yet not wholly beyond their reach. Even death could not be trusted to shield him. There seems to have been fear of vengeance upon his corpse, for on his tombstone was placed no record of his life-long labors, no mention of his great discovery. There were graven upon it affecting words, which may be thus simply translated: "I ask not the grace accorded to Paul, not that given to Peter; give me only the favor which thou didst show to the thief on the cross." Not till thirty years after did a friend dare write on his tombstone a memorial of his discovery. 27

The book was taken in hand by the proper authorities. In due time it was solemnly condemned; to read it was to risk damnation; and the world accepted the decree. 28 The earnest theologians of the period immediately wheeled their batteries of sacred learning to support the Church in its effort to beat back the terrible doctrine that the earth revolves about the sun. Among the most vigorous of them in Northern Europe was Fromundus. From the shadow of the Cathedral of Antwerp he sent forth his famous treatise, the Anti-Aristarchus, full of the strongest arguments against the new theory. His very title-page was a contemptuous insult to the memory of Kopernik, since it paraded the assumption that the new truth was only an old and exploded theory of Aristarchus. He declares that "sacred Scripture fights against the Copernicans." To prove that the sun revolves about the earth, he cites the passage in the Psalms which speaks of the sun "which cometh forth as a bridegroom out of his chamber." To prove that the earth stands still, he quotes the passage from Ecclesiastes, "the earth standeth fast forever." To show the utter futility of the Copernican ideas, he indulges in scientific reasoning as he understands it—declaring that, if the hated theory were true, "the wind would constantly blow from the east; we should with great difficulty hear sounds against such a wind;" that "buildings, and the earth itself, would fly off with such a rapid motion;" and, greatest weapon of all, he works up, by the use of Aristotle and Thomas Aquinas, a demonstration from theology and science combined, that the earth must stand in the centre, and that the sun must revolve about it. 29

Doubtless many will at once exclaim against the Roman Catholic Church for this. Justice compels me to say that the founders of Protestantism were no less zealous against the new scientific doctrine. Said Martin Luther: "People gave ear to an upstart astrologer, who strove to show that the earth revolves, not the heavens or the firmament, the sun and the moon. Whoever wishes to appear clever must devise some new system, which of all systems is, of course, the very best. This fool wishes to reverse the entire science of astronomy. But Sacred Scripture tells us that Joshua commanded the sun to stand still, and not the earth."

Melanchthon, mild as he was, was not behind Luther in condemning Kopernik. In his treatise, Initia Doctrinæ Physicæ, he says: "The eyes are witnesses that the heavens revolve in the space of twenty-four hours. But certain men, either from the love of novelty, or to make a display of ingenuity, have concluded that the earth moves; and they maintain that neither the eighth sphere nor the sun revolves.... Now, it is a want of honesty and decency to assert such notions publicly, and the example is pernicious. It is the part of a good mind to accept the truth as revealed by God, and to acquiesce in it." Melanchthon then cites passages from the Psalms and from Ecclesiastes which he declares assert positively and clearly that the earth stands fast, and that the sun moves around it, and adds eight other proofs of his proposition that "the earth can be nowhere, if not in the centre of the universe." 30