Tuesday 5 February 2013

In Galileo, the arrogance of a man; the ignorance of a church

From The Week of January 28, 2013

We all err. But while most blunders succumb to the rigors of time, others thunder across human history, requiring both centuries and apologies to be laid to rest. This may not be fair; we all, from time-to-time, act out of ignorance and to have that held against us, and the organizations we serve, is a stain that cruelly blots out all of our subsequent good deeds. And yet, I cannot help but think this is just. For perhaps the judgement of history should be as searing as it is unforgiving. For is this not the only dependable deterrent in place to dissuade the narrowminded from acting foolishly? Is this not the only reliable spur we have with which to prod the stodgy and the selfish into a wider view of the world? There is enough ignorance in the body of humanity. We do not need more from the authorities in whom we place our faith. This much Mr. Reston makes clear in his engaging biography.

A giant of history, Galileo Galilei redefined our understanding of science and the solar system. He discovered planets and moons, invented telescopes and spyglasses, all of which re-enforced the Copernican view of the universe. Unfortunately for Galileo, however, he endeavored in a time of superstition and theocracy, a time in which the Pope stood above even the kings of Europe, let alone its citizens. And so, when the great astronomer's Copernican beliefs clashed with the geocentric dogmas of Catholicism, the resulting inferno consumed the balance of his life as religious censure robbed the world of the genius of one of our era's foremost minds.

As much as the Catholic Church stands to be blamed for this folly, Galileo shares responsibility in his downfall. For he was a man of pride and ambition, a man whose correspondence speaks to a deep dissatisfaction with his station in life. Striving to have more, to be more, he abandoned caution for arrogance, an imprudent decision that put him into the bloody hands of a powerful church unwilling to let his "transgressions" abide. The result, perhaps the world's most famous exile that stained the reputation of one of the world's foremost faiths for 350 years.

Less a biography of Galileo than a chronicle of his battles with a close-minded church, Galileo is a riveting reconstruction of the latter half of the life of the great astronomer. The author abandons a detailed history of Galileo's family life, touching only briefly on his distant relationships with his cloistered daughters and his frustrations with his mooching siblings and in-laws, to focus instead on the central conflict of Galileo's life. A religious man, Galileo did not seek to overthrow the power of his church, but when his discoveries contradicted its dogmas, he could not forever be silent. Perhaps, if this was the man's only transgression, it would have been allowed to pass. But as Mr. Reston exemplifies, a habit for inflaming the ire of men both powerful and petty robbed Galileo of the benefit of the doubt from a stern institution already fighting off the existential threat of Protestantism. A consequential clash, then, was inevitable, the details and fallout of which is captured here wonderfully well.

Galileo might have done well to devote more of its pages to the backgrounds of the men who lined up to condemn Copernican Galileo. Mr. Reston does spend some time with Cardinal Bellarmine, the prime mover of his doom, but Pope Urban VIII is, here, little more than a figure at the side of the stage, outside the brilliance of the bright lights. However, these failings are washed away by the author's animation of Galileo himself. For there is little of legend here. The mythology is stripped back to reveal a convincing portrait of a man quite carried away with his own intellect. And might well he would be when surrounded by such darkness. This professorial pompousness, though, seems as unwise now as it would have then, at least to Galileo's friends.

As fascinating as it is captivating, Galileo is gripping work that does as much to illustrate the sins of a church as it does to peel back the historiography of a man become scientific saint. Both failed in the most human of ways. And yet, the former's failings helped doom the world for the next two centuries. The latter sought only to sheathe it in the light of objective truth. Little wonder that we can forgive the latter but never the former. (4/5 Stars)

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