Had Pope Urban been broad-minded and
tolerant like Benedict XIV, or had he been taught moderation by
adversity like Pius VII, or had he possessed the large scholarly
qualities of Leo XIII, now reigning, the vast scandal of the
Galileo case would never have burdened the Church: instead of
devising endless quibbles and special pleadings to escape
responsibility for this colossal blunder, its defenders could have
claimed forever for the Church the glory of fearlessly initiating
a great epoch in human thought.
But it was not so to be. Urban was not merely Pope; he was also a
prince of the house of Barberini, and therefore doubly angry that
his arguments had been publicly controverted.
The opening strategy of Galileo's enemies was to forbid the sale of
his work; but this was soon seen to be unavailing, for the first
edition had already been spread throughout Europe. Urban now became
more angry than ever, and both Galileo and his works were placed in
the hands of the Inquisition. In vain did the good Benedictine
Castelli urge that Galileo was entirely respectful to the Church;
in vain did he insist that "nothing that can be done can now
hinder the earth from revolving.
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