Tin-plate was not only used for
mechanical toys, many other kinds of toys were made from it. Here is a
tin-plate globe from the 1960s, which I was given as either a birthday or
Christmas present. It is litho-printed, made by Chad Valley, and is six inches in
diameter. Originally it had a stand, which was broken and lost over the years.
Globus is Latin for
‘sphere’ and that the Earth is spherical (OK, it’s an oblate spheroid, but
let’s not overcomplicate things), has been known from antiquity.
Pythagoras in the 6th
century BCE, and Parmenides in the 5th, both taught that the Earth
is spherical, and in c.330 BCE Aristotle developed the idea further. The Greek
mathematician Eratosthenes calculated the circumference of the Earth in about
240 BCE (and, depending on which definition of the measure the stadion
is used, was accurate to within 2%). Ptolemy based his maps on a spherical
Earth, and his Almagest was the authoritative work on astronomy in the
Middle Ages.
After the fall of Rome, learning
declined in Europe, in a period known as the Dark Ages (although not quite as
‘Dark’ as was once thought). Learning began to re-emerge as the Classical texts
from antiquity were rediscovered – in the monasteries of Ireland and in Islamic
translations from the East. Scholasticism became the dominant force in the new
universities, basing its teachings on the precepts of Aristotle.
One important theme in
scholasticism was the Great Chain of Being. This held that everything had its
place in a hierarchy, and was used to justify, well, just about everything.
God, naturally, was at the top, followed by the various ranks of angels. Man,
created in God’s image, was next – but man had his ranks too, with the Pope,
God’s representative on Earth, at the head, followed by emperors, kings,
noblemen and so on. Man held dominion over the animals and birds, with lesser
creatures below them, down through insects, plants and rocks. Following
Aristotle’s teachings, and using the authority of Ptolemy’s Almagest,
the Earth was seen as the centre of the universe. The sun, moon, planets and
stars all surrounded the earth, and were set in nested, rotating spheres of
crystal.
The problem with the rebirth of
learning – the renaissance – was that people began to ask questions. Like, was
the authority of the ancients justified? Were Aristotle and Ptolemy always
right? Following the Fall of Constantinople, in 1453, scholars flooded in to
the West, bringing with them more classical texts, some of which offered widely
opposing views. One important question that was raised was the nature and truth
of the geocentric universe. Copernicus, who carefully couched his argument in
the terms of a ‘what if’, argued in his De revolutionibus orbium coelestrium
‘On the Revolutions of the Celestial Spheres’ (1453), that the sun, not the
earth, could be at the centre of the universe. The book attracted only
mild opposition, until Galileo also began to openly champion heliocentricity.
In 1616 he went to Rome to try to persuade the Catholic authorities not to
place Copernicus’s work on the Index of Forbidden Books. He failed in
this, and in 1633, following publication of his own Dialogue Concerning the
Two Chief World Systems in the previous year, Galileo was recalled to Rome,
where he stood trial in an ecclesiastical court of the Inquisition. He was
found ‘vehemently suspect of heresy’, and was required to ‘abjure, curse and
detest’ the beliefs that the sun was at the centre of the universe and that the
earth rotated around it. He was also sentenced to house arrest for the
remainder of his life, and all his works, including any he had not already
written, were banned. A legend has it
that when sentence was passed, Galileo supposedly muttered ‘Eppur si muove’
– ‘And yet it moves’ – but this is extremely unlikely. The ban on uncensored
editions of the Dialogue and De Revolutionibus remained on the Index
until 1835.
One enduring historical myth is
that people in the Middle Ages believed that the Earth was flat, and that
sailors were afraid of sailing over the edge. Nothing could be further from the
truth, but why should the truth stand in the way of a good story?
As we have seen, no one ever
really questioned that the Earth was spherical – they questioned whether or not
it rotates around the Sun. However, in 1828, Washington Irving (of Rip van
Winkle and Sleepy Hollow fame) published his four-volume biography The
History of the Life and Voyages of Christopher Columbus. In Volume One,
Book II, Chapter III, Columbus goes before the court of Salamanca to argue that
his voyage of discovery should be authorised. The ‘simple sailor’ stands before
the ranks of bishops, scholars and clergy, who oppose his sailing on the
grounds that the existence of the antipodes is contrary to ecclesiastical law.
By extension, they counter that belief that the Earth is spherical, Irving’s
work is a mixture of fact and fiction, and this is most certainly fiction. The
opposition Columbus faced was because he had miscalculated the circumference of
the earth, using a different, smaller, version of the stadion that
Eratosthenes had used, and the authorities were concerned that, due to his
underestimation, he would not be able to carry sufficient food and water for
his journey. But it suited Irving to depict Columbus as the plucky ‘little guy’
standing up to, and getting the better of, the Establishment. However, Irving
uses a version of the courts that were used to condemn Galileo (and others),
and in conflating the two, he set a precedent that was seized upon by other
writers seeking to depict the courts of the Catholic Church as ignorant,
superstitious, intransigent and dogmatic.
As the supposed antagonism
between science and religion gained ground during the 19th century,
examples of the irrationality of the believers were sought, and examples like
Irving’s were so much grist to the mill. John W Draper’s History of the
Conflict between Religion and Science (1874) was one of the publishing
successes of the 19th century, with fifty printings in fifty years.
In it, Draper argued that ‘science’ championed progress and intellectual
freedom, and ‘religion’ represented superstition and repression. Thanks to
works like Draper’s, this view became established as a ‘given’ in intellectual
circles. It also helped to cement the myth of the Flat Earth in the Middle Ages
in the minds of the general public. The truth is, virtually every educated
person in the last two thousand years has known that the world is round – and
sailors were afraid of running out of food and water, not falling over the rim
of the world.
In one of those excellent
historical coincidences I love, on Saturday May 30th 1860, J W
Draper gave a lecture in Oxford entitled "On the Intellectual
Development of Europe, considered with reference to the views of Mr. Darwin and
others, that the progression of organisms is determined by law." The
lecture was, by all accounts, too long and very boring, and would probably have
been long forgotten, were it not for the discussion that followed, in which
Bishop Wilberforce and T H Huxley had the famous exchange in which ‘Soapy Sam’
Wilberforce supposedly asked Huxley if it was through his grandfather or his
grandmother that he claimed his descent from a monkey.
Huxley is said to have replied he would not be ashamed to have a monkey for his
ancestor, but he would be ashamed to be connected with a man who used his great
gifts to obscure the truth. (Disraeli described Wilberforce’s manner as
"unctuous, oleaginous, saponaceous", leading to the popular
soubriquet ‘Soapy Sam’).
The evolution debate, which ought
to have been over years ago, rumbles on today. In the US, the term ‘Darwinian’
is too often used with opprobrium; in the UK, Charles Darwin is on the back of
the ten-pound note.
We live in interesting times.
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