worlds, is it any wonder that a Christian of the early seventeenth century should have been unable to face such a hypothesis? For a dozen centuries Europeans had been growing accustomed to the world of the Biblical and Ptolemaic imagination; this was for all practical purposes now their world, in which they had built their home and laid their plans, and which was endeared to them by every tradition and association. Surely, whatever the Inquisition may have been guilty of, it was not sheer brutality; for it was the instrument with which this age thought to protect itself and every good thing which it owned.

When I bring myself to feel the force of these considerations, I am convinced that the tragedy of Galileo is not so simple as is sometimes supposed. Neither he nor his accusers could have enjoyed an undivided mind. As they were not merely the wicked enemies of truth, so he was not merely a reckless iconoclast forced to keep silence from fear of physical torture. For both must have felt the conflict between loyalty to the existing order and assent to theoretical truth. The difference lay rather in the relative strength of the two motives. The officers of the church were in a position of responsibility; Galileo, in the quiet and isolation of the Belvedere, could free his mind from the thought of social consequences, while dealing with "natural effects brought under our eyes by the experience of our senses.'

After his first trial Galileo attempted to avoid the charge of disturbing the common belief, by publishing his astronomical studies in the form of "a Dialogue in which are discussed the two most important world-systems, . . . without any decision being arrived at between them." In these dialogues the merits of both systems are argued, with the result that, while the advocate of the traditional system is the nominal victor, the evidence for the Copernican system is actually more convincing to any one qualified to judge. This was undoubtedly an attempt

1 Published in 1632. Cf. H. Höffding: History of Modern Philosophy, trans. by B. E. Meyer, Vol. I, p. 175.

to satisfy the general public by proclaiming in a loud voice, "The earth does not move," while at the same time whispering to his fellow-augurs, "but we know that it really does move." Galileo was by no means incapable of such a stroke, and it was their resentment at what they regarded as a bold trick that inspired Galileo's accusers with the bitterness which they manifested at his second trial. But taken in the light of the real conflict of motives which Galileo must have felt, and in the light of the policy pursued by other men by no means so witty and adroit as he, may we not believe that these dialogues were in part conceived as a serious attempt to reconcile theory and belief? Galileo was not a revolutionist, but he was jealous of his scientific reputation. He wished to be true to the standards of exact research and at the same time avoid disturbing the public peace. And so he proposed to regard his scientific conclusions as "hypothetical," meaning that they were abstracted from belief. He thought that science might be permitted to go its own way, and freely entertain any idea that might recommend itself on purely theoretical grounds, provided that society could be protected from the premature attempt to put such ideas into practice. Society believes, the scientist affirms; they do so for different motives, and with different values at stake. It would be wise, then, to separate the theoretical and believing processes. They cannot, it is true, be absolutely separated, nor would that be desirable even if it were possible; but they can be regarded as different functions of society and prevented from directly interfering with one another.

Descartes's

§ 6. If I am mistaken in attributing such reflections as these to Galileo, there can at least be no doubt in the case of Descartes.1 The news of Galileo's convicReconciliation tion in 1633 reached Descartes just as he was of Theory and in the act of publishing his De Mundo, in maintained the doctrine of the Although, as Descartes himself

Belief

which he motion of the earth.

1 1596-1650.

afterwards affirmed, this doctrine was essential to his whole philosophy of nature, he at once abandoned the project. And when he returned to the topic in his Principles of Philosophy, he had found a way to reconcile his theory with the accepted belief. He defined motion as "the transporting of one part of matter or of one body from the vicinity of those bodies that are in immediate contact with it, or which we regard as at rest, to the vicinity of other bodies." Now, according to the Cartesian theory of planetary motion, the planet is embedded in a fluid which sweeps vortex-fashion round the sun. It follows that, while the vortex does move, the planet, in this case the earth, does not move, since it remains fixed in relation to the matter immediately adjacent to it.

Now why should Descartes attach importance to what we do not hesitate to call a quibble? Is it merely a proof of timidity and disingenuousness? Descartes was not, it is true, of the stuff of which martyrs are made; but he was nevertheless a man of more than average courage, and of eminent intellectual honesty. The explanation lies elsewhere. He did not pander to his age for purposes of private advantage; but he did sympathize with his age, and he did desire practically to identify himself with it. The motion of the earth meant to his age much what the abandonment of the institution of marriage or of the principles of democracy would mean to ours; it was a symbol of failure and of return to chaos. That Descartes was profoundly concerned at the conflict between theory and belief, between that intellectual freedom which was the condition of truth and that uniformity of sentiment. which was the condition of social stability, is proved beyond doubt by the most personal of his writings, the famous Discourse on Method. There he concludes that just as when we propose to rebuild the house in which we live, we must nevertheless occupy some quarters while the work is going on, so it is necessary to believe practically, even when the

1 Descartes: Principles of Philosophy (1644), trans. by Veitch, p. 245.

theoretical judgment is suspended. Descartes proposes, therefore, to regulate his practice conformably to the opinions of those with whom he has to live. And since neither society nor the individual can make progress if they are forever examining the ground at their feet, he proposes for practical purposes to adhere steadfastly even to doubtful opinions, once they are adopted; "imitating in this the example of travellers who, when they have lost their way in a forest, ought not to wander from side to side, far less remain in one place, but proceed constantly towards the same side in as straight a line as possible, . . . for in this way, if they do not exactly reach the point they desire, they will come at least in the end to some place that will probably be preferable to the middle of a forest." 1

Galileo and Descartes were divided against themselves through feeling the weight of two great human motives, rationalism and conservatism. Bruno, Campanella, Ramus, and Vanini, having identified themselves more uncompromisingly with the first of these motives, antagonized the second and were overwhelmed by it. The history of these six men testifies, not so much to the cruelty and duplicity of human nature, as to the almost unconquerable resistance of an idea which society has built into its foundations.

87. It may be inferred from the fate of these intellectual pioneers that established belief is capable of taking care of itself. Without doubt there is a heavy inertia in Conservatism of belief, that saves it from being too easily overBelief. Present thrown. Not only are new ideas distrusted by Tendencies those whose enterprises they threaten to dis

The Natural

credit; but they have difficulty even in gaining access to the mind. They must always meet and overcome the charge of "absurdity" that bespeaks the settled habits of common sense. The author of the Religio Medici shows a charming indifference to the absurdities of his day. They are so remote from common sense that they may be tolerated without 1 Descartes: Discourse on Method (1637), trans. by Veitch, p. 25.

fear of any consequences for life. "Some," he says, "have held that Snow is black, that the earth moves, that the Soul is air, fire, water; but all this is Philosophy, and there is no delirium." A recent writer tells us that “all men who have lived to a certain age have learnt that there are certain facts, certain experiences not at all connected with the supernatural, which they dare not tell of for fear of being put down as inventors. . . . Just as the old woman was ready to accept her travelled son's yarns of rivers of milk and islands of cheese; but when he deviated into the truth she stopped. 'Na, na!' she said, 'that the anchor fetched up one of Pharaoh's chariot wheels out of the Red Sea, I can believe; but that fish fly! Na, na! dinna come any o' your lies over yer mither.' ” 2

But it is worthy of remark that common sense is not to be conjured with as it once was. We have grown first accustomed to absurdities, and then fond of them. I am not sure that in our day the burden of proof does not lie with the familiar fact. We expect to be surprised, and are suspicious of a theory that lacks novelty. This has doubtless always been the case with intellectual radicals, but it is fast becoming a general state of mind. Many reasons may be offered for the change. First of all, it is due to the high conductivity of modern society. The mood of one individual is transmitted with incredible rapidity to the entire community. The doubts, conjectures, and conclusions of theorists are promptly communicated to the public, which straightway itself strikes a theoretical attitude. Again, the general triumph of democratic principles has made a difference here. Intellectual exclusiveness does not suit the temper of liberal societies. It must be share and share alike with knowledge as with other commodities. The best is none too good for every man; hence there can be no living on the paternalistic bounty of a class of wise men. It was once thought that if the eyes of a few were 1 Sir Thomas Browne: Religio Medici (1646), Temple Edition, p. 115. • H. Fielding: Hearts of Men, pp. 274-275.