Showing posts with label famous trials. Show all posts
Showing posts with label famous trials. Show all posts

Wednesday, March 28, 2018

The Trial of Jesus

In 63 B.C.E. the Roman general Pompey captured Jerusalem, and in so doing put an end both to the independent Jewish state of Palestine and eight decades of rule by the Hasmonean dynasty of high priests. Rome began appointing the high priests that served the Temple in Jerusalem. High priests from then on juggled the religious interests of Jews and the political interests of Rome, at whose pleasure they served.


Seven decades after Rome assumed control of Palestine, in 6 C.E., growing Jewish opposition to Roman laws relating to the census, taxation, and heathen traditions boiled over. Especially despised was the Roman imposition of a census of property for tax purposes. Ancestral land held an exalted position in Jewish ideology and many Jews feared that the new laws would lead to its appropriation by Rome. Jewish uprisings in protest of the laws led to the crucifixion of over 2,000 Jewish insurgents and the selling into slavery of perhaps 20,000 more. The most intense opposition to Rome came from an area of Palestine called Galilee, which was the center of an armed resistance movement called the Zealots.


The riots of 6 C.E. and recurring outbreaks that followed caused Roman officials to see Jewish nationalism and religious fervor as threatening to law and order. When Herod Antipas, the Roman ruler of Galilee, constructed a new capital city, Tiberius, on the western shore of Galilee in 19 C.E., he might have expected trouble from the peasant population forced to meet heavier tax burdens to pay for it. In any event, trouble came, as two significant Jewish religious movements were born in the next decade in the region of northern Palestine under his rule.


The first important movement to arise in Galilee was led by the apocalyptic visionary, John the Baptist. The Baptist called upon his followers to confess their sins, live an ascetic lifestyle, and prepare for the imminent coming of an avenging God. To the purification process offered in the Temple, he presented a radical new alternative: a ritual immersion in the waters of the Jordan River.


John the Baptist's growing popularity among the peasant population alarmed Herod Antipas, who likely feared that the new movement, with its promise of apocalyptic intervention, could lead to rioting. Antipas made a preemptive strike. He arrested and executed--beheaded, according to Biblical accounts--the Baptist. The execution of John the Baptist may have deeply influenced one of his early disciples, a young man from Nazareth that he had baptized in the Jordan river (Mark 1:9-11), Jesus.


The execution of John the Baptist is likely to have had a profound effect on Jesus. God's non-intervention might have caused Jesus to modify the apocalyptic vision of John the Baptist--which was probably a product of the perceived hopelessness of the peasants' plight--to one that emphasized change in the structure of political and religious institutions. The teachings of Jesus, who began his ministry around 28 or 29 C.E., describe an ideal world, a world that might exist if God--and not Caesar or the high priests--had his way. Jesus spoke primarily of the need to change the here and now, and less of need to ready oneself for the arrival of an avenging God. Needless to say, a religious program of the sort presented by Jesus would likely be seen as threatening by powerful beneficiaries of the status quo, from Roman leaders to Temple officials.


Antipas might well have preferred Jesus dead, but he had to balance that desire against popular resentment related to his execution of the popular John the Baptist. For that reason or some other, Antipas did not move to suppress the Kingdom of God movement led by Jesus.


To understand the crime which likely led to the arrest of Jesus, it is first necessary to understand the role of the Temple in first-century Jewish life. The Temple in Jerusalem served dual purposes. It was both the revered center of religious life--a place for prayers and sacrifices--and a central bank, a place for taxes and tithes.


Nothing provoked greater anger among observant Jews than acts perceived to be defilements of the Temple, as other dramatic incidents in the two decades following the death of Jesus make clear. In 41 C.E. for example, Emperor Caligula ordered Petronius, the new Syrian governor, to install statues in the Temple depicting himself as Zeus incarnate. Thousands of unarmed Jews responded by lying prostrate and offering themselves to Roman soldiers for a mass slaughter. Other Jews threatened an agricultural strike. Petronius backed down and Caligula's timely assassination ended the matter. Less than ten years later, a soldier watching over Jews celebrating the Passover at the Temple (according to historian Josephus, writing in about 90 C.E.) "raised his robe, stooped in an indecent attitude, so as to turn his backside to the Jews, and made a noise in keeping with his posture." This disrespectful gesture led to a riot and stampede that killed vast numbers of people: "Troops pouring into the porticoes, the Jews were seized with irresistible panic and turned to fly from the Temple and make their escape into town. But such violence as was used as they pressed around the exits that they were trodden under foot and crushed to death by one another; upwards of 30,000 perished, and the feast was turned into mourning for the whole nation and for every household into lamentation" (Josephus, Jewish Antiquities).


Roman leaders paid close attention to Temple activity. Any threat to Roman power over the Temple--even a symbolic threat--was dealt with harshly, as seen by the response to an incident around 5 B.C.E. When a group of about forty young men climbed to the roof of the Temple and began chopping down a golden eagle, seen by them as a symbol of Roman control, the men were (according, again, to Josephus) arrested "with considerable force." Those observed on the Temple roof were burnt alive and the others merely executed.


It seems clear that the primary cause of the trial and execution of Jesus was his role in an incident at the Temple in Jerusalem. The incident occurred in April, 30 C.E. (or possibly in 33 C.E.) during Festival time, the period including the Day of Passover leading into the week of the Unleavened Bread. The Festival brought huge numbers of Jews into the city to celebrate the Exodus, the leaving of Egyptian oppression and the arrival in the Promised Land. Romans had to understand the special risks presented by such a commemoration: large concentrations of Jews celebrating their former freedom in a time of new oppression--this time by Rome, not Egypt.


Jesus probably came to Jerusalem about a week before the Passover, most likely for the purpose of carrying his message of the imminent coming of the Kingdom of God into the heart of Israel--though possibly, like so many thousands of other Jews, simply to celebrate the highest of religious days.


Gospel accounts describe the participation of Jesus in a protest directed at some of the commercial practices associated with the Temple. The practices offended many Jews. According to Matthew, Jesus had complained, "My house shall be called a house of prayer, but you have made it a den of robbers" (Matthew 21:13). Mark and John tell of Jesus overturning the tables of money-changers, those persons who converted coins bearing images of the emperor into Tyrian silver coins, the only form of coin acceptable for donations. The Gospels also describe Jesus driving the pigeon-sellers (the birds were used as sacrifices by worshipers) from the Temple. It is hard to imagine that such a dramatic action would not have brought an immediate response from armed Temple guards, so it is likely that the gospels exaggerated Jesus' actions. Whatever the precise nature of his actions, they were almost certainly accompanied by words--perhaps including a prediction that the Temple would fall unless reforms were instituted to bring the Temple back to its central religious mission.


At a time of high tension such as the Passover festival, it is likely that any subversive action in the Temple--even action of a symbolic nature--would provoke a strong response from high priests and Roman officials. It did.


The four gospels place the time and scene of the arrest of Jesus as night in the garden of Gethsemane, an olive grove just west of Jerusalem on the Mount of Olives. The arresting party most likely consisted of Temple police dispatched by Caiaphas, the high priest. The party may also have included, as John reports, a Roman cohort under its commanding officer--but it is hard to believe that deployment of so large a force (a cohort consisted of about 600 men) would be seen as desirable to effectuate the arrest of a single individual.


The role in the arrest of Jesus of Judas, a follower of Jesus, is a matter of historical debate. Jesus Scholar Bart Ehrman, author of Jesus: Apocalyptic Prophet of the New Millenium, notes that prior to the disturbance at the Temple, nothing Jesus had said suggested he thought himself the Messiah or "King of the Jews." Asking the question, "So where did the authorities get the idea that he did?," Erhman suggests an answer: Judas. As a motive for his betrayal, Erhman identifies two theories. The first theory holds that Judas became disillusioned when he realized that Jesus "had no intention of assuming the role of a political-military messiah." The second theory holds that Judas "wanted to force Jesus' hand" and believed that his arrest would lead to a call for an uprising against Roman rule. Other scholars such as John Crossan, author of Who Killed Jesus?, have a somewhat simpler explanation. Crossan speculates that Judas may have been captured in the incident at the Temple--and that he might have been pressured to tell authorities who had caused the Temple trouble, not just where the guilty party might be found.


The gospels provide three very different accounts of the trial of Jesus. Peter, possibly writing as early as the 40s C.E., describes a single trial scene involving Jewish, Roman, and Herodian officials. Mark, writing in the 60s C.E., describes two separate proceedings, one involving Jewish leaders and one in which the Roman prefect for Judea, Pontius Pilate, plays the key role. Matthew and John's account generally support Mark's two-trial version. Finally, Luke--alone among the gospels--adds a third proceeding, having Pilate pass the buck (for jurisdictional reasons) and sending Jesus to Herod Antipas.


Figuring out what really happened in the trial of Jesus is enormously difficult. Two surviving non-Christian accounts, one by Roman historian and another by a Jewish historian, confirm that Pilate ordered the execution of Jesus--but beyond that, offer few details. Writing in the late first-century, Tacitus offered this comment:


Christus [Jesus], from whom the name had its origin, suffered the extreme penalty during the reign of Tiberius at the hands of one of our procurators, Pontius Pilate, and a most mischievous superstition, thus checked for the moment, again broke out not only in Judaea, and the first source of the evil, but even in Rome, where all things hideous and shameful from every part of the world find their centre and become popular.

The Jewish historian, Flavius Josephus, writing in the 80s or early 90s C.E., indicated that both Jewish leaders and the Roman prefect played roles in the crucifixion of Jesus:


About the same time there lived Jesus, a wise man for he was a performer of marvelous feats and a teacher of such men who received the truth with pleasure. He attracted many Jews and many Greeks. He was called the Christ. Pilate sentenced him to die on the cross, having been urged to do so by the noblest of our citizens; but those who loved him at the first did not give up their affection for him. And the tribe of the Christians, who are named after him, have not disappeared to this day.

Josephus would have no reason to attribute a non-existent role to "the noblest of our citizens," so it is probably safe to assume that Jewish leaders did encourage Pilate to crucify Jesus. Questions remain, however, as to what form that encouragement took--and how willingly or unwillingly Pilate responded to their encouragement.


The gospels report that Jesus was brought before high priest Joseph Caiaphas and the Sanhedrin, the Jewish supreme governing council and court. Mark and Matthew report a trial at night in the house of Caiaphas, whereas Luke explicitly states that Jesus was tried in the morning before the Sanhedrin. Some scholars doubt the accuracy of of the gospel accounts. They note that Jewish law prohibits both capital trials on the eves of a festival and trials by night. (Other scholars answer that Jewish law might have been different then.)


The gospels point to different sources of initial concern among the Jewish authorities. Mark suggests that the Jewish authorities were concerned primarily with the confrontation Jesus had with traders in the Temple, while Luke's account identifies their primary concern as his teachings in the Temple. John, meanwhile, points to a fear among Jewish authorities that Jesus' rising popularity could lead to an uprising that would provoke a violent response from Rome.


All four Biblical accounts agree, however, that Caiaphas and the Sanhedrin ultimately condemned Jesus for blasphemy. The gospels record that when Caiaphas asked Jesus whether he claimed to be the Messiah, he replied, "I am" (Mark 14:62) (or "You have said so" (Matthew 26:64) or "If I tell you, you will not believe" (Luke 22:67-8) or "You say that I am" (John 19:7)). Although the Mishnah, the Jewish lawcode assembled around 200 C.E., defined blasphemy more narrowly as speaking the sacred name of God (YHWH), the gospel writers suggest a looser first-century construction of the term, one that includes a variety of serious theological offenses.


After his condemnation by Jewish authorities, Jesus was brought--under all but Peter's account--to the Roman prefect of Judea, Pontius Pilate. The reason, according to John, was that the death penalty was not an available option for the Sanhedrin under Roman law. There is, however, strong reason to believe that Jewish authorities could, had they so desired, executed Jesus. The well-substantiated executions--by stoning--of two first-century Christians, Jesus' brother James in 62 C.E. and Stephen show that capital punishment was--at least within a few decades of Jesus' trial--practiced by Jewish authorities. Moreover, Temple inscriptions from the period warn of death to Gentiles that pass into certain restricted areas.


Biblical accounts of the trial before Pilate are largely fictional, according to most scholars. It is unlikely that any supporter of Christ would have been in a position to record any questioning of Jesus by Pilate that might have taken place.


Whatever their basis, the gospels portray a Pilate initially unpersuaded of Jesus' guilt. For example, in Mark, after Pilate asks Jesus about "the many charges [the chief priests] bring against you," Jesus makes "no further answer" and "Pilate wondered." Later, Mark reinforces his suggestion of a reluctant executioner when he writes, "For [Pilate] perceived that it was out of envy that the chief priests had delivered him up." Finally, Mark makes Pilate's doubts explicit by having him almost beg the crowd to release Jesus over the (almost certainly invented) prisoner Barabbas. Pilate asks the crowd there thirst for the blood of Jesus:"Why, what evil has he done?" Pilate allows the crucifixion of Jesus, in the gospel accounts, not out of a conviction that Jesus did anything wrong, but only to "satisfy the crowd." If there were still any doubt about Pilate's doubt, the gospels report that after authorizing his execution, he "washes

his hands."


The gospel accounts so transparently attempt to present the chief priests--and not Pilate--as the more blameworthy party that scholars have raised numerous questions about their accuracy. Scholars have paid special attention to the incentives of Mark because he wrote the earliest of the four gospel accounts in the Bible, and Matthew, Luke, and (to a lesser extent) John based their accounts on his. The scholars point out that Mark--writing at a time of Roman prosecution of Christians and for a largely non-Jewish audience--had incentives to present a story that would minimize the risk of condemnation by Roman authorities and maximize his prospects for winning converts to Christianity from among the Romans in his audience. How could Mark, these scholars ask, possibly have known what Pilate "wondered" about Jesus' guilt or what he "perceived" about the purposes of high priests?


Pilate was a powerful figure. If he had reservations about killing Jesus, he certainly could have taken him back to Caesaria for trial or referred his case back to the Sanhedrin for possible punishment under Jewish, not Roman, law. The fact that he did not suggests that Pilate was pleased to accede to the urgings of Jewish leaders and crucify Jesus. Anyone calling himself "King of the Jews" would been seen as trouble by Roman officials. Further evidence that Pilate bore primary responsibility for the execution of Jesus comes from Paul in his letter to the Corinthians, written in the early 50s C.E., where he says that Jesus had been crucified by "the princes of the world"(I Cor. 2:8).


It is altogether possible that there not only was no trial before the Sanhedrin, but none before Pilate either. Pilate and Caiaphus worked long--and probably therefore--and well together. They very likely might have had standing arrangements for dealing with subversive action during festival time. These arrangements could have included, according to Biblical scholar John Crossan, "instant punishment with immediate crucifixion as public warning and deterrent." Crossan argues, "There would be no need to go very high up the chain of command for a nuisance nobody like Jesus, no need even for a formal interrogation before Caiaphas, let alone a detailed trial before Pilate." Ehrman agrees, writing, "If someone was perceived to be a troublemaker, there was no need to follow anything that would strike us as due process, at leat for the non-Roman citizens of the provinces." Ehrman adds, "There would have been no reason to conduct a criminal investigation out in the open and ask for the crowds' opinions."


Pilate had little concern for Jewish sensibilities. During his ten-year tenure (from 26 C.E. to 36 C.E.) as prefect, Pilate had numerous confrontations with his Jewish subjects. According to Jewish historian Josephus, Pilate's decision to bring into the holy city of Jerusalem "by night and under cover effigies of Caesar" outraged Jews who considered the images idolatrous. Pilate provoked another outcry from his Jewish subjects when he used Temple funds to build an aqueduct. His lack of feeling was accompanied, according to Jewish philosopher Philo writing in 41 C.E, by corruption and brutality. Philo wrote that Pilate's tenure was associated with "briberies, insults, robberies, outrages, wanton injustices, constantly repeated executions without trial, and ceaseless and grievous cruelty." Philo may have overstated the case, but there is little to suggest that Pilate would have any serious reservations about executing a Jewish rabble-rouser such as Jesus.


In some particulars, Biblical accounts of Jesus' punishment are consistent with what would be expected under first-century Roman law. Most obviously, the form of execution used--crucifixion--was a common one at the time when the convicted criminal was a slave, Jew, or other foreigner. (Romans were exempt from crucifixion, which was thought to be the most painful and humiliating of all punishments.) Crucifixion also establishes conclusively that Jesus was condemned as a violator of Roman, not Jewish, law. A capital sentence under Jewish law would have meant stoning.


Other aspects of the Biblical accounts of the execution that match common Roman practice include the flogging Jesus received at the hand of Roman soldiers before his execution, his carrying of the cross to the place of execution, and the guarding of the execution site by a unit of four Roman soldiers. The execution site identified in the gospels, Golgotha (meaning "place of the skull" in Aramaic), is probably accurate--although which of two possible hillsides north of Jerusalem might have been "Golgotha" is a matter of current dispute.


Unfortunately, horrific details of the crucifixion account, such at the nailing of the hands and feet of Jesus to the cross, also are probably true. In 1968, a nail-pierced heel bone of a first-century crucifixion victim was found near Jerusalem providing fresh evidence of Roman cruelty. The stripping of prisoners seems also to have been standard Roman practice, with the clothes and other small possessions of execution victims divided among the executioners. The humiliation of being hanged nude in a prominent place added to the punishment's intended deterrent value.


The Gospel of John reports that "the Jews did not want the bodies left on the cross during the sabbath...so they asked Pilate to have the legs of the crucified men broken." This reference, obscure to most modern readers, is to what was considered a merciful act. Crucifixion is normally a painful and long death, with victims sometimes remaining alive on the cross for days. Leg breaking speeds the process by causing a rapid onset of asphyxiation or fatal shock. John's account indicates that Jesus was already dead when the soldiers arrived to break his legs. That may indeed have been the case, but Jesus' reportedly quick death--accounts vary from about three hours in John to six hours in Mark--would have been unusual.


Many other details in the gospel accounts appear to be added by early Christian writers to show the passion story as a fulfillment of Old Testament prophesies concerning the coming of Messiah. For example, four accounts (Mark, Matthew, Luke, and Peter) describe a three-hour period of darkness falling over the land beginning at noon on the day of crucifixion of Jesus. Luke refers specifically to a solar eclipse that lasted until three in the afternoon. It is possible to calculate backwards the dates and locations of solar eclipses, and it is clear that no eclipse occurred in Jerusalem at the time of the crucifixion. It is also clear from other sources that solar eclipses were, in the first-century, associated with human events of great significance. Josephus, Plutarch, and Pliny the Elder each report, for example, that midday darkness followed the assassination of Julius Caesar on March 15, 44 B.C.E.--although, again, it did not. Thus, a writer seeking to impress readers that the crucifixion of Jesus was the fulfillment of an historic prophesy would have been tempted to add the fictional element of a solar eclipse to his account. The reported words of Jesus on the cross are believed to also fall into the category of prophesy historicized rather than history remembered.


Several early sources indicate that crucifixion victims were typically left on their crosses, their bodies to be eaten by vultures and dogs. Friends of Jesus doubtless would have preferred a kinder fate for him, and it is possible that some of his supporters, or Jewish religious authorities believing "enough is enough," succeeded in obtaining permission to remove Jesus from his cross. If this happened, he likely would have been buried in a rock tomb, most likely one belonging to his family. It is also possible, however, that what happened to the body of Jesus is what happened to most victims of Roman crucifixions: it was devoured on the cross by animals. John Crossan, author of Who Killed Jesus?, finds the latter outcome the more likely:


I keep thinking of all those thousands of Jews crucified around Jerusalem in the terrible first century from among whom we have found only one skeleton and one nail. I think I know what happened to their bodies, and I have no reason to believe that Jesus' body did not join them....The burial stories are hope and hyperbole expanded into apologetics and polemics. But hope is not always history, and neither is hyperbole. In this case, as so often before and after, horror is history.

Within six years of the crucifixion of Jesus, Syrian governor Vitellius removed from power both of the men men--Joseph Caiaphas and Pontius Pilate--most responsible for his execution. Pilate's repeated difficulties with his Jewish subjects was the apparent cause for Vitellius' decision to remove him. Rome ordered Pilate home to face complaints of excessive cruelty, which eventually led to his exile in Vienne, France.


Meanwhile, the followers of Jesus began to split into two branches. One branch, based in Jerusalem and led by the brother of Jesus, James, portrayed Jesus as a martyr for Jewish nationalism. The other branch, the so-called "Gentile branch," was led by the Apostle Paul who rejected the historical Jesus and largely created the version of Jesus found in the Bible today. In place of the historical Jesus, Paul--who had relatively little knowledge of the real Jesus--substituted a heavenly redeemer who emphasized transformation through love and inward faith. Paul spread his message among the Gentiles, winning converts to his brand of Christianity which did not require full observance of traditional Jewish law.


While the very earliest Christian writings saw the trial and execution of Jesus as the rejection of the Messiah, soon writings began portraying the execution has having a deeper meaning: It was part of God's plan to save humanity as prophesied in writings now comprising the Old Testament.


In 62 C.E., James was stoned to death. Eight years later, Rome captured and destroyed Jerusalem marking the end of the four-year First Jewish War. The "Jerusalem branch" of Jewish Christianity was effectively crushed (although small sects survived until around 300 C.E.), leaving Paul's "Gentile branch" as the Christian torch-carrier.


Over the next twenty-five years, the four Biblical passion accounts were written. Marks' version came first, and the Gospels of Matthew and Luke derived largely from his. John's version was written last, probably around 80 to 95 C.E. John, too, relied heavily on Mark, but is much more creative in his presentation than Matthew or Luke. All three non-Markan gospels also rely, most likely, on a now-lost second account of the trial and crucifixion story.


Most significantly, all four Gospel accounts, written to appeal to Gentiles in Rome and elsewhere, manipulate their stories to make Jewish authorities--not Roman authorities--primarily responsible for Christ's death. In so doing, these early Christian writers undoubtedly contributed to the growth of anti-Semitism with all of its tragic consequences. They also, however, made possible the long-term survival of the Christian faith, with all of its positive messages of love, hope, and faith.


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Saturday, November 18, 2017

The Trial of Galileo

The debate over whether scientific teaching ought to conform with literalist interpretations of the Bible did not begin, as many assume, with the trial of John Scopes in 1925. Three centuries earlier in Rome, Galileo Galilei faced trial before the Holy Office for promoting in a book his idea that the earth did not sit at the center of the universe--as Pope Urban had concluded through his interpretation of Scripture--but, rather, revolved around the sun. The tragedy of Galileo's trial and sentence to house-arrest is seen by marking the end of the Italian Renaissance.


The trial of Galileo is fascinating both for what it reveals about the very different minds of two remarkable seventeenth-century figures and for what it tells us about the dangers of a bureaucracy intent on preserving its own power.


* * *


In the 1633 trial of Galileo Galilei, two worlds come into cosmic conflict. Galileo's world of science and humanism collides with the world of Scholasticism and absolutism that held power in the Catholic Church. The result is a tragedy that marks both the end of Galileo's liberty and the end of the Italian Renaissance.

Galileo Galilei was born in 1564--the same year that Shakespeare was born and Michelangelo died. From an early age, Galileo showed his scientific skills. At age nineteen, he discovered the isochronism of the pendulum. By age twenty-two, he had invented the hydrostatic balance. By age twenty-five, Galileo assumed his first lectureship, at the University of Pisa. Within a few more years, Galileo earned a reputation throughout Europe as a scientist and superb lecturer. Eventually, he would be recognized as the father of experimental physics. Galileo's motto might have been "follow knowledge wherever it leads us."

At the University of Padua, where Galileo accepted a position after three years in Pisa, he began to develop a strong interest in Copernican theory. In 1543, Nicolaus Copernicus published Revolutions of the Celestial Orbs, a treatise that put forth his revolutionary idea that the Sun was at the center of the universe and that the Earth--rotating on an axis--orbited around the sun once a year. Copernicus' theory was a challenge to the accepted notion contained in the natural philosophy of Aristotle, the astronomy of Ptolemy and the teachings of the Church that the sun and all the stars revolved around a stationary Earth. In the half-century since its publication, however, Copernicus' theory met mostly with skepticism. Skeptics countered with the "common sense" notion that the earth they stood on appeared not to move at all--much less at the speed required to fully rotate every twenty-four hours while spinning around the sun.

Sometime in the mid-1590s, Galileo concluded that Copernicus got it right. He admitted as much in a 1597 letter to Johannes Kepler, a German mathematician who had written about planetary systems: "Like you, I accepted the Copernican position several years ago and discovered from thence the cause of many natural effects which are doubtless inexplicable by the current theories." Galileo, however, continued to keep his thoughts to a few trusted friends, as he explained to Kepler: "I have not dared until now to bring my reasons and refutations into the open, being warned by the fortunes of Copernicus himself, our master, who procured for himself immortal fame among a few but stepped down among the great crowd."

Galileo's discovery of the telescope in 1609 enabled him to confirm his beliefs in the Copernican system and emboldened him to make public arguments in its favor. Through a telescope set in his garden behind his house, Galileo saw the Milky Way, the valleys and mountains of the moon, and--especially relevant to his thinking about the Copernican system--four moons orbiting around Jupiter like a miniature planetary system. Galileo, a good Catholic, offered "infinite thanks to God for being so kind as to make me alone the first observer of marvels kept hidden in obscurity for all previous centuries." Galileo began talking about his observations at dinner parties and in public debates in Florence, where he has taken up a new post.

Galileo expected the telescope to quickly make believers in the Copernican system out of all educated persons, but he was disappointed. He expressed his discouragement in a 1610 letter to Kepler: "My dear Kepler, what would you say of the learned here, who, replete with the pertinacity of the asp, have steadfastly refused to cast a glance through the telescope? What shall we make of this? Shall we laugh, or shall we cry?" It became clear that the Copernican theory had its enemies.

Galileo's first instinct was turn to acquiring more knowledge for those few open minds he was able to reach--disciples such as monk Benedetto Castelli. Galileo wrote to Castelli: "In order to convince those obdurate men, who are out for the vain approval of the stupid vulgar, it would not me enough even if the stars came down on earth to bring witness about themselves. Let us be concerned only with gaining knowledge for ourselves, and let us find therein our consolation."

Soon, however, Galileo--flamboyant by nature--decided that Copernicus was worth a fight. He decided to address his arguments to the enlightened public at large, rather than the hidebound academics. He saw more hope for gaining support among businessmen, gentlemen, princes, and Jesuit astronomers than among the vested apologists of universities. He seemed compelled to act as a consultant in natural philosophy to all who would listen. He wrote in tracts, pamphlets, letters, and dialogues--not in the turgid, polysyllabic manner of a university pedant, but simply and directly.

The Admonition and False Injunction of 1616

In 1613, just as Galileo published his Letters on the Solar Spots, an openly Copernican writing, the first attack came from a Dominican friar and professor of ecclesiastical history in Florence, Father Lorini. Preaching on All Soul's Day, Lorini said that Copernican doctrine violated Scripture, which clearly places Earth, and not the Sun at the center of the universe. What, if Copernicus were right, would be the sense of Joshua 10:13 which says "So the sun stood still in the midst of heaven" or Isaiah 40:22 that speaks of "the heavens stretched out as a curtain" above "the circle of the earth"? Pressured later to apologize for his attack, Lorini later said that he "said a couple of words to the effect that the doctrine of Ipernicus [sic], or whatever his name is, was against Holy Scripture."

Galileo responded to criticism of his Copernican views in a December 1613 Letter to Castelli. In his letter, Galileo argued that the Scripture--although truth itself--must be understood sometimes in a figurative sense. A reference, for example, to "the hand of God" is not meant to be interpreted as referring to a five-fingered appendage, but rather to His presence in human lives. Given that the Bible should not be interpreted literally in every case, Galileo contended, it is senseless to see it as supporting one view of the physical universe over another. "Who," Galileo asked, "would dare assert that we know all there is to be known?"

Galileo hoped that his Letter to Castelli might foster a reconciliation of faith and science, but it only served to increase the heat. His enemies accused him of attacking Scripture and meddling in theological affairs. One among them, Father Lorini, raised the stakes for the battle when, on February 7, 1615, he sent to the Roman Inquisition a modified copy of Galileo's Letter to Castelli. He attached his own comments to his submission:
All our Fathers of this devout convent of St. Mark are of opinion that the letter contains many propositions which appear to be suspicious or presumptuous, as when it asserts that the language of Holy Scripture does not mean what it seems to mean; that in discussions about natural phenomena the last and lowest place ought to be given the authority of the sacred text; that its commentators have very often erred in their interpretation; that the Holy Scriptures should not be mixed up with anything except matters of religion....When, I say, I became aware of all of this, I made up my mind to acquaint your Lordship with the state of affairs, that you in your holy zeal for the Faith may, in conjunction with your illustrious colleagues, provide such remedies as may appear advisable....I, who hold that those who call themselves Galileists are orderly men and good Christians all, but a little overwise and conceited in their opinions, declare that I am actuated by nothing in this business but zeal for the sacred cause.In fact, Lorini's letter appears more charitable than he in fact was. He would stop at almost nothing to destroy the "Galileists," as is shown from his alteration--in certain key places--of the text of Galileo's Letter to Castelli. For example, where Galileo had written: "There are in Scripture words which, taken in the strict literal meaning, look as if they differed from the truth," Lorini substituted: "which are false in their literal meaning." However unscrupulous his methods, Lorini's denunciation succeeded in setting the machinery of the Catholic Church in motion.

Lorini had allies, such as Father Tommaso Caccini. Caccini traveled to Rome to appear before the Holy Office and expose, as he saw it, "the errors of Galileo." Called for examination on March 20, Caccini said that Florence was full of "Galileists" publicly declaring God to be an accident and doubting miracles. Caccini placed full blame for the sorry state of affairs on Galileo. Asked the basis for his report, Caccini credited Lorini and a Father Ximenes. Overall, the condemnation was hardly convincing. Giorgio de Santillana, author of The Crime of Galileo, wrote of Caccini's testimony: "The whole deposition is such an interminable mass of twists and innuendoes and double talk that a summary does no justice to it."

Matteo Caccini, Tommaso's brother, fumed when he learned of his brother's denunciation of Galileo. He described his brother as "lighter than a leaf and emptier than a pumpkin." In an April letter he wrote of his Tommaso's action: "As to F. T., I am so angry that I could not be more, but I don't care to discuss it. He opened up with me in private the other day, and he revealed such dreadful plans that I could scarcely control myself. In any event, I wash my hands of him forever and ever."

Aware of the move against him, Galileo wrote to a friend, Monsignor Dini, asking that his letters be forwarded to the influential Cardinal Bellarmine, the Church's chief theologian, and--if it could be arranged--Pope Paul V. Unfortunately for Galileo, the seventy-four-year old Cardinal Bellarmine "was no friend of novelties" (although, unlike some of Galileo's other detractors, he had at least looked through a telescope and given--in 1611--an audience to Galileo). In his innate conservatism he saw the Copernican universe as threatening to the social order. To Bellarmine and much of the Church's upper echelon, the science of the matter was beyond their understanding--and in many cases their interest. They cared about administration and preserving the power of the papal superstate more than they did getting astronomical facts right.

Bellarmine stated his views on the Galileo controversy in an April 12, 1615 letter to Father Foscarini, a highly-respected monk from Naples. He indicated that Galileo could speak about the Copernican model "hypothetically, and not absolutely." Bellarmine wrote that "to affirm that the Sun, in its very truth, is at the center of the universe...is a very dangerous attitude and one calculated not only to arouse all Scholastic philosophers and theologians but also to injure our faith by contradicting the Scriptures."

With "nineteen centuries of organized thought piling up to smother him," Galileo pleaded--in a powerful summary of thoughts on Scriptural interpretation and the evidence concerning the nature of the universe--his case in his Letter to the Grand Duchess. He asked that his idea not be condemned "without understanding it, without hearing it, without even having seen it." Galileo's eloquent Letter was forwarded to Rome where, in the words of one historian, "it sank out of sight as softly as a penny in a snowbank."

When depositions in the Galileo matter concluded, the Commissary-General forwarded two propositions of Galileo to eleven theologians (called "Qualifiers") for their evaluation: (1) The Sun is the center of the world and immovable of local motion, and (2) The Earth is not the center of the world, nor immovable, but moves according to the whole of itself, also with a diurnal motion. Four days later, on February 23, 1616, the Qualifiers unanimously declared both propositions to be "foolish and absurd" and "formally heretical." Less than two weeks later, Pope Paul V--described by the Florentine ambassador as "so averse to anything intellectual that everyone has to play dense and ignorant to gain his favor"--endorsed the theologian's conclusions. The Pope, according to the Inquisition file, "directed the Lord Cardinal Bellarmine to summon before him the said Galileo and admonish him to abandon the said opinion; and, in the case of his refusal to obey, the Commissary of the Holy Office is to enjoin him...to abstain altogether from teaching or defending this opinion and even from discussing it."

Summoned before Bellarmine on February 25, 1616 and admonished, Galileo--according to a witness, Cardinal Oregius--"remained silent with all his science and thus showed that no less praiseworthy than his mind was his pious disposition." Oregius' account, and Galileo's own writings, indicate that Galileo did not "refuse to obey" the Church's admonition. It is assumed, therefore, that Galileo was not formally enjoined. Yet, surprisingly, in the Inquisition file there appeared the following entry:
At the palace, the usual residence of Lord Cardinal Bellarmine, the said Galileo, having been summoned and being present before the said Lord Cardinal, was...warned of the error of the aforesaid opinion and admonished to abandon it; and immediately thereafter...the said Galileo was by the said Commissary commanded and enjoined, in the name of His Holiness the Pope and the whole Congregation of the Holy Office, to relinquish altogether the said opinion that the Sun is the center of the world and immovable and that the Earth moves; nor further to hold, teach, or defend it in any way whatsoever, verbally or in writing; otherwise proceedings would be taken against him by the Holy Office; which injunction the said Galileo acquiesced in and promised to obey.Many things about the entry are suspicious. It appears in the Inquisition file where one would expect the actual Bellarmine injunction (if it existed) to appear. Moreover, the entry appears on the same page as the entry for the previous day--and every other report, legal act, and entry in the entire file begins at the top of a new page. It is widely believed by historians that the reported injunction of Galileo was "a false injunction": the injunction never happened, but a false report was maliciously planted in the file by one of Galileo's enemies. Seventeen years later, Galileo would stand before the Inquisition charged with violating an injunction that was, in all likelihood, never issued against him.

The Trial of 1633

Galileo's admonition stopped the Copernican movement dead in its tracks. For Galileo, his admonition marked the beginning of a period of silence. He busied himself with such tasks as using tables of the moons of Jupiter to develop a chronometer for measuring longitude at sea. He endured his rheumatism, enjoyed the attention of his daughter, Maria Celeste, and adjusted to a world which elevated mindless conformism over scientific understanding.

In 1623, Galileo received some hopeful news: Cardinal Maffeo Barberini had been elected Pope. Unlike the dull and mean-tempered Pope Paul V, the new Pope Urban VIII held a generally positive view of the arts and science. Writing from Rome, the Pope's private secretary, Secretary of the Briefs Ciampoli, urged Galileo to resume publication of his ideas: "If you would resolve to commit to print those ideas that you still have in mind, I am quite certain that they would be most acceptable to His Holiness, who never ceases from admiring your eminence and preserves intact his attachment for you. You should not deprive the world of your productions."

In the early years of his reign, Pope Urban VIII held long audiences with Galileo. Encouraged by a Pope who seemed open to renewed debate on the merits of the Copernican system (so long as the arguments fell short of purporting to be a definite refutation of the Earth-centered universe), Galileo began work on a book that would eventually prove his undoing, Dialogue Concerning the Two Chief World Systems.

On December 24, 1629, Galileo told friends in Rome that he had completed work on his 500-page Dialogue. The Dialogue has been described as "the story of the mind of Galileo." The book reveals Galileo as physicist and astronomer, sophisticate and sophist, polemicist and polished writer. Unlike the works of Copernicus and Kepler, Galileo's Dialogue was a book for the educated public, not specialists. Although using the form of a debate among three Italian gentleman, Galileo marshals a variety of arguments to lead his readers to one inexorable conclusion: Copernicus was right. The character Salviati, a person of "sublime intellect," clearly speaks for Galileo in arguing for a Sun-centered system. Sagredo is a Venetian nobleman, open-minded and hesitant to draw conclusions--a good listener. Simplico is the straw man of the debate, a stubborn, literal-minded defender of the Earth-centered universe.

Early news from Rome gave Galileo reason for optimism that his book would soon be published. The Vatican's chief licenser, Niccolo Riccardi, reportedly promised his help and said that theological difficulties could be overcome. When Galileo arrived in Rome in May 1630, he wrote: "His Holiness has begun to treat of my affairs in a spirit which allows me to hope for a favorable result." Urban VIII reiterated his previously stated view that if the book treated the contending views hypothetically and not absolutely, the book could be published.

Reading the book for the first time, chief licenser Riccardi came to see the book as less hypothetical--and therefore more problematic--than he expected it to be. Riccardi demanded that the Preface and conclusion to revised to be more consistent with the Pope's position. In August 1630, in the midst of his required revising, Galileo received a letter from his friend Benedetto Castelli in Rome urging him, for "weighty reasons" which he "not wish to commit to paper," to print the Dialogue in Florence "as soon as possible." Galileo's Jesuit opponents in Rome were aiming to block publication.

Riccardi seemed paralyzed with indecision. Caught between two powerful forces, he did nothing as Galileo fretted that his great work might never see the light of day. "The months and the years pass," Galileo complained, "my life wastes away, and my work is condemned to rot."

Finally, reluctantly ("dragged by the hair," according to one account), Riccardi gave the green light. The first copy of Galileo's Dialogue Concerning the Two Chief World Systems came off the press in February 1632. The book, which quickly sold out, soon became the talk of the literary public.

By late summer, Galileo's hopes turned to fears when he learned that orders had come from Rome to suspend publication of his book. On September 5, the full scope of Galileo's problems became clearer when Pope Urban told Francesco Niccolini, who had come to the Vatican to protest the suspension decision, "Your Galileo has ventured to meddle in things that he ought not and with the most grave and dangerous subjects that can be stirred up these days." Jesuit enemies of Galileo had convinced the Pope that the Dialogue was nothing but a thinly-veiled brief for the Copernican model. The Pope complained that Galileo and Ciampoli deceived him, assuring him that the book would comply with papal instructions and then circumventing them. The Pope seemed especially embittered by Galileo's decision to put the Pope's own argument concerning the tides into the mouth of the simple-minded Simplico--an attempt, as he saw it, to ridicule him.

The Pope swung the machinery of the Church into motion. He appointed a special commission to investigate the Galileo matter. Riccardi, the chief licenser, was severely lectured. Ciampoli was exiled to obscure posts, never to return to Rome.

Galileo, too, became angry. His noble goal of spreading scientific awareness to the public was being frustrated by a narrow-minded bureaucracy intent on preserving its own power. He believed he had done no wrong. He had been authorized to write about Copernicanism, had followed the required form, revised his work to meet censors' objections, and obtained a license. What more could authorities expect? How could the law reach him when he had acted with such care?

The water in which Galileo found himself soon became even deeper. The special commission's report to the Pope outlined a series of indictments against Galileo. On September 15, the Pope turned the matter over to the Inquisition. Eight days later, the General Congregation declared--in what would come as a shock to Galileo--that he had violated the 1616 (so-called) injunction against teaching, holding, or writing about Copernican theory.

On October 1, 1632, the Inquisitor of Florence showed up at Galileo's house with a summons to present himself to the the Holy Office in Rome within a month. In despair, Galileo expressed regret for involving himself with the Copernican cause: "I curse the time devoted to these studies in which I strove and hoped to move away somewhat from the beaten path. I repent having given the world a portion of my writings; I feel inclined to consign what is left to the flames and thus placate at last the inextinguishable hatred of my enemies." The fire left his belly. He declined urgings to escape to the Venetian territory and instead asked that proceedings against him be moved to Florence. His request was denied: the Pope insisted that the old man, weak and ill though he was, make the two-hundred mile wintertime journey to Rome.

On February 13, 1633, Galileo completed his twenty-three day trip to Rome and took up lodging in the Florentine embassy. It was not a good time. The Grand Duke reported that Galileo "for two nights continuous...cried and moaned in sciatic pain; and his advancing age and sorrow." His only consolation during his stay at the embassy seemed to be that soon he would finally have a chance to defend his science and theology.

On April 8, Niccolini informed Galileo that he would stand trial before ten cardinals. A more difficult chore for Niccolini was to break the news to him that the merits of his case--as a practical matter--had been decided already; all he could do was submit.

Four days later, Galileo officially surrendered to the Holy Office and faced Father Firenzuola, the Commissary-General of the Inquisition, and his assistants. Firenzuola informed Galileo that for the duration of the proceedings against him he would be imprisoned in the Inquisition building. After putting Galileo under oath, the Commissary deposed Galileo concerning meetings he held with Cardinal Bellarmine and other church officials in 1616. Galileo seemed to have trouble remembering who might have been present with Bellarmine on that fateful February day seventeen years earlier, as well as exactly what restrictions--if any--had been placed upon him. Firenzuola told Galileo that he had been commanded to "neither hold, defend, nor teach that [the Copernican] opinion in any way whatsoever." Galileo quibbled with the language--suggesting "I do not remember...the clause "in any way whatsoever"--, but accepted most of what the Commissary said. After a series of questions concerning the licensing of the Dialogue, Galileo signed his deposition in a shaking hand.

Three counselors to the Inquisition, driven especially by Galileo-hating Melchior Inchofer, prepared a seven-page evaluation of the Dialogue. The report concluded that in the book Galileo taught, defended, and showed that he held Copernican theory, and that--while claiming to discuss world models hypothetically--he gave the Copernican model "a physical reality."

Weeks past as internal debates raged over what the Inquisitors should do with their old scientist. Finally, Cardinal Francesco Barberini, a moderating influence on the panel of ten judges deciding Galileo's fate, persuaded the Commissary to meet with Galileo and convince him to admit error in return for a more lenient sentence. In a letter written by the Commissary (and not discovered until 1833), Firenzuola described his April 27 discussion with Galileo: "I entered into discourse with Galileo yesterday afternoon, and after many arguments and rejoinders had passed between us, by God's grace, I attained my object, for I brought him to a full sense of his error, so that he clearly recognized that he had erred and had gone too far in his book."

Some historians have seen Galileo's decision to admit error as a "final self-degradation." Others, including Giorgio de Santillana, have seen it as the only rational move open to him: "He was not a religious visionary being asked to renounce his vision. He was an intelligent man who had taken heavy risks to force an issue and to change a policy for the good of his faith. He had been snubbed; he had nothing to do but pay the price and go home. The scientific truth would take care of itself."

The trial by the Congregation moved to its conclusion. Several of the ten cardinals apparently pushed for Galileo's incarceration in prison, while those more supportive of Galileo argued that--with changes--the Dialogue ought to continue to be allowed to circulate. In the end, a majority of the cardinals--rejecting much of the Commissary's agreement with Galileo--demanded Galileo "even with the threat of torture...abjure in a plenary assembly of the Congregation of the Holy Office...[and] then be condemned to imprisonment at the pleasure of the Holy Congregation." Moreover, the cardinals declared, the Dialogue "is to be prohibited."

The grand play ran its course, with the Pope insisting upon a formal sentence, a tough examination of Galileo, public abjuration, and "formal prison." Galileo was forced to appear once again for formal questioning about his true feelings concerning the Copernican system. Galileo obliged, so as not to risk being branded a heretic, testifying that "I held, as I still hold, as most true and indisputable, the opinion of Ptolemy, that is to say, the stability of the Earth and the motion of the Sun." Galileo renunciation of Copernicanism ended with the words, "I affirm, therefore, on my conscience, that I do not now hold the condemned opinion and have not held it since the decision of authorities....I am here in your hands--do with me what you please."

On the morning of June 22, 1633, Galileo, dressed in the white shirt of penitence, entered the large hall of the Inquisition building. He knelt and listened to his sentence: "Whereas you, Galileo, the son of the late Vincenzo Galilei, Florentine, aged seventy years, were in the year 1615 denounced to this Holy Office for holding as true the false doctrine....." The reading continued for seventeen paragraphs:
And, so that you will be more cautious in future, and an example for others to abstain from delinquencies of this sort, we order that the bookDialogue of Galileo Galilei be prohibited by public edict. We condemn you to formal imprisonment in this Holy Office at our pleasure.

As a salutary penance we impose on you to recite the seven penitential psalms once a week for the next three years. And we reserve to ourselves the power of moderating, commuting, or taking off, the whole or part of the said penalties and penances.

This we say, pronounce, sentence, declare, order and reserve by this or any other better manner or form that we reasonably can or shall think of. So we the undersigned Cardinals pronounce.Seven of the ten cardinals signed the sentence.


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