Calgary, April 2020
I am sitting in the office at the University of Padua in Italy, reading the book written by my friend Johannes Kepler. It is called Astronomia nova, was published in 1609 in Prague and provides conclusive proof that the Heliocentric system, meaning that the Sun, not the Earth, is the center of the planetary system; never mind what the Catholic Church says. However, Johannes skilfully avoids the wrath of the Holy Inquisition by framing his book in a religious content, and for that I admire him that much more. I read the book with a mixture of joy and sadness. I am happy that my friend made such a lasting contribution to astronomy, and I am sad because I have a similar book locked in a drawer of my desk. It has the same mathematics and derives the same laws of planetary motions as Kepler’s Astronomia nova, but it does not have the flattery to the Catholic Church. I know that book well, I wrote it.
The whole thing started in early November 1572, when a new bright star appeared in the sky. At that time, I was six years old and I still remember my parents pointing it out to me.
"Look Karl, a new star. Isn’t it beautiful?" my mom was saying. My dad was not much into the beauty of things; he was an important official in the administration of Stuttgart and was too busy to contemplate the universe. As I grew up, it became logical that I should follow his career. With his contacts within the city’s bureaucracy, he would certainly be able to find a good job for me. With this in mind I registered to study law at The University of Tübingen, a little south of where we lived. However, I was not a good student. Rather than reading books, I preferred chasing girls and drinking beer with my younger friend Johannes Kepler, who was studying mathematics and astronomy at the same university. With my father’s position in the Stuttgart administration, I was not afraid of failing my courses. No professor would dare prevent my graduation, but when that day came, I was lost. What should I do next? I had a degree in law, of which I knew nothing, and I was dreading the idea of working in an office every day like my father. But then I remembered the new star my mom showed me a long time ago. From the astronomy course, to which I paid little attention, I learned that the stars are far away, permanent and unchangeable. Therefore, how could a new star suddenly appear? Did that not contradict what our professor said about the permanence of the heavenly sphere? Those were good questions and I knew only one person who could answer them, my friend Johannes Kepler. When we met at our next beer session and when I explained my dilemma to him, he just smiled and said:
"There is a lot wrong with the old theory about the Earth being in the center of the universe. The observations of the planetary motions are in a sharp contrast with what the theory states. If you are interested, read the book called On the Revolutions of the Heavenly Spheres, written by the Polish astronomer Nicolaus Copernicus almost 50 years ago. His theory is also not quite right, but is a lot closer to new observations than to the old dogma."
I became interested and started to read the book; our beer sessions became less about girls and more about astronomy. Time passed and Johannes became a well known astronomer and wrote several books, while I avoided work by pretending to continue to study law, of which I had no interest at all. I was also introduced to Maria, the young, bored daughter of a Stuttgart aristocrat, who was supposed to be a good match for me, but marriage was the last thing on my mind. The only real interest I had was astronomy, but with no formal education it was just a hobby for me.
Then came a surprise. Johannes, with whom I had lost contact, sent me a letter stating that a Danish astronomer Tycho Brahe, known for his accurate observation of planetary motions, invited him to visit his new observatory close to Prague. Would I like to come? I certainly would. My relationship with Maria was dangerously close to a wedding, and I needed an escape. Therefore, in 1600 I met Johannes in Benátky nad Jizerou, a small Czech town about two days journey from Prague. My official position there was just a friend of Johannes, but by that time I knew enough about astronomy to be able to help with the observations.
Tycho Brahe was a great astronomer, but a difficult person to get along with. He was arrogant, conceited, obnoxious, and his excessive consumption of alcohol did not help. He also kept his observations secret, so that nobody but he could benefit from it. Therefore, when he suddenly died in 1601 of kidney failure (no surprise here), Johannes and I frantically copied the results of all his observations, to get it before Tycho Brahe’s family could kick us out of the observatory.
"This data is the key to correcting Copernicus’s theory," Johannes kept on saying.
"OK, and who will correct it?"
"I will!"
"Just you? I am out?" I asked.
"Well yes, I am afraid. The new theory will be based on mathematics which you do not know."
He was right. I did not know the mathematics involved, but I could certainly learn. However, with the death of Tycho Brahe, our first task was to decide what we should do next. For Johannes it was easy. Emperor Rudolph II offered him a position as his personal adviser and Johannes stayed in Prague, which at that time was the center of science in Europe. For me, the main goal was to learn mathematics; the University of Padua in Italy, where the great Galileo Galilei taught geometry and astronomy, looked just right. To be quite honest, it was not just Galileo and his mathematics which were appealing. It was also the warm climate, good wine, and Italian women that were equally attractive. Therefore, I wrote a letter to my parents saying that I had registered as a student at the famous Italian university and to ask them if they would support me financially. They agreed readily and probably were happy to have me far away, so that I could not do more damage to their reputation in Stuttgart.
With all that settled, I arrived in Padua and registered for various courses in mathematics and astronomy. During the evenings, I was also carefully plotting the Tycho Brahe observations on a large blackboard in my bedroom. It was the first time in my life when I worked hard, studied during the day, and developed Heliocentric theory at night. Despite my busy schedule, I managed to find myself a woman, Gabriella. She is now my wife, but the beginning of our romance was not very promising. I was just a lowly student and her dad, a recognised professor at Padua University, was not happy about his daughter being involved with somebody like me. My workload gave me little time for her, and it is only thanks to her patient and gracious personality that we stayed together.
All in all, Padua University was good to me. Unlike in Germany, here I was a good student. I discovered that I do have a talent for mathematics and my work on the Heliocentric theory progressed well. Tycho Brahe’s measurements suggested that the speed of planetary movement is not constant, meaning that they do not rotate in a perfect circle as Copernicus presumed, but on an ellipse with the Sun in its focus. When I discovered that, I started to write my book.
When I graduated with a degree in mathematics, my supervisor offered me a position as his assistant and Gabriella’s father dropped his resistance to our marriage. Things looked good, we got married, had our first child, I got a promotion to a teaching position and finished my book. I have to admit, I was proud of it; it was a solid work of science, and the theory agreed perfectly with the observations. By the end of the semester, when we had more time, I showed it to my former supervisor. He kept it for some time and then, while congratulating me on my contribution to science, he said that there is a problem, and that the head of the Theology wants to talk to me.
Right away I knew that I was in trouble. The only thing religion can do for science is to cause problems. I went to his office and was alarmed to see my book on his desk. Nevertheless, he started on a friendly note.
"Hello sir, I looked at your book and was very impressed. You are a great scientist."
I knew that a ‘but’ was coming, and I was right.
"But", he continued, "there is a problem. I am sure you know that the Catholic Church considers the Heliocentric theory heresy. If you publish your book, you will be considered a heretic and judged by the Holy Inquisition, and you know how those judgments go. I do not have to remind you of fellow astronomer Giordano Bruno, who was burned at the stake in 1600 for, amongst other things, his heliocentric beliefs. You do not want to end up like him."
"But what I wrote is the truth!" I replied.
"That may be, but the Holy Inquisition is not interested in truth, they would never approve of your book. Their purpose is to enforce the Catholic dogma and as you can see, they can be brutal. Also, you have a family and what will happen to them if they execute you?"
"Well then, what do you suggest I do?"
"I strongly suggest that you lock your book in a safe drawer and do not show it to anybody."
"OK, I will do that, but allow me to ask one question. Why do you protect me from the Inquisition?"
"I see myself as a balancing force between tradition, represented by religion, and progress, represented by you. I think that both have to be protected, but the time for your type of progress has not yet come. That does not mean I want to destroy it. Your book has to be hidden until the right time comes."
In a way, I was grateful to him, it could have been much worse. I did as he suggested, locked the book in a drawer and never mentioned it to anybody. Sometime after this meeting, a rumour spread in our university that a new and important book of astronomy, written by Johannes Kepler, was published in Prague. Obviously, I was very interested and wrote a letter to my old friend asking about his work for the Emperor Rudolph II. The answer took a while to come, but then I received his reply and his book, as a token of our friendship. Now I am sitting in my office and reading it with a mixture of joy and sadness. I am happy for Johannes’s success, but deep down I am sad that it is his book and not mine, which signals the beginning of the new age of science.