Kepler's Witch Read online

  After the death of Tycho Brahe, Kepler and Galileo were the preeminent astronomers of their day. If Galileo was the great observer, Kepler was the great theorist, and yet their relationship was not overly cordial. I suspect that some of this came from the fact that Kepler was a Protestant and Galileo was a Catholic, and despite all the astronomical ties that bound them together, that religious difference kept them apart. Both men suffered for their religion. Both men helped to fashion the scientific world. And yet Galileo has come down to us through history as the martyr for science, while Kepler has been treated by some as a sort of embarrassment. This is largely, I believe, because Kepler did not wish to separate his science from his metaphysics or his metaphysics from his mysticism. He could not therefore fit the profile of the perfect scientist as it formed itself in the century after his death. Kepler did not have enough scientific cool—neither did Galileo or Newton for that matter, but when mythologies fashion themselves, such things don’t matter.

  This mythology that gathered around Newton and Galileo, this pseudo-history, pictured the scientific method, the method of the plodding empiricist, as free of metaphysical speculation and exploding from the heads of these two men, entire. But in truth, real history is always much more complicated than myth, and men like Kepler, sometimes forgotten, played a bigger role than the myth would allow. In my grumpier moments, I suspect that Galileo has been given his part in the myth because he fought with the pope, which made him a scientific Hercules. In my less grumpy moments, I suspect that there is some truth to the myth, because Kepler’s mind, as it appeared in his work, was far-ranging. Was Kepler a scientist, a philosopher, or a theologian? The answer is yes to all three. Scientific work for Kepler was always grist for his theological mill, a chance to praise God.

  In some ways, the whole problem comes down to Newton, who either by accident or by intent failed to give Kepler the credit he deserved. And some of Newton’s own friends and supporters, including the Scottish astronomer David Gregory and the English astronomer Edmond Halley, of the comet fame, chided Newton for not giving Kepler proper recognition.1 I suspect that Newton, the archegotist, in his darker moments knew quite well what he owed to Kepler, who had brought him right up to the doorstep of his theory of gravitation, who had laid the foundation for his work on optics, and who, as Leibniz recognized and Newton dismissed, had set the stage for the invention of calculus. He knew what he owed to Kepler but would not acknowledge it.

  But this seems almost too appropriate to the rest of Kepler’s life. He was a man caught between the grinding wheels of history, not only religious history, but scientific as well. In the last part of his life, he struggled through the first years of the Thirty Years’ War, the war between Christians in which Reformers and Counter-Reformers tore at the body of the faith. Everyone suspected everyone, and Kepler, who would not abandon his own beliefs, suffered excommunication from his own Lutheran church on the basis of those suspicions. Sadly, much the same thing happened to him after his death at the hands of the scientific community.

  If I have any mea culpas to make in this book, one is this—I did not try to give an account, except as a sketch, of Kepler’s science. There are many great books about his science, and they are listed in the Source Readings. Read them, for they are more than worth the effort. This book, rather, is about Kepler’s life, about his suffering and his triumphs. Perhaps if you read this book, knowing Kepler will make your own life work a little better.

  I have alternated the chapters in Kepler’s Witch with translations of Kepler’s letters and journal entries. They tell the story, in Kepler’s own words, of the crises he suffered. The best part about studying letters is that you find that great people in history are no longer legendary figures, but ordinary human beings caught in mundane torments. In studying Kepler, I found that all of his discoveries were made against deep opposition and were the result of tenacity. He never achieved anything easily.

  The translations are keyed to the main events in Kepler’s life. Some of these events are complex, for they span the length of Europe and sometimes cover a period of a century or more. This makes the translations crucial to the story. But more important, far too little of Kepler’s writing has been translated into English. Mind you, a network of scholars has over the years translated most of his greater scientific works, usually from Latin, but the kitchen details, the facts of his daily existence, have been left out.

  Still there have been some marvelous, informative biographies of Kepler, most notably the one by Max Caspar entitled, prosaically, Kepler. Every Kepler biographer owes mountains of gratitude to Caspar, and I am no exception. With the help of Martha List, Caspar collected and edited all of Kepler’s sundry writings, from his scientific work to his letters to the account of his mother’s witchcraft trial. This gigantic library-sized collection is still in print, and I bought a good chunk of it myself. It is called Johannes Kepler Gesammelte Werke, referred to in the notes as GW. As often as I could, I returned to the GW, ferreted out the original German, and translated it myself. But translating it into readable modern English was not always easy, for several reasons. Kepler wrote in both German and Latin. His Latin style was impeccable, but his German, though his native tongue, was not very good, often florid and overly ornate. In addition, he wrote in what is now called Frühneuhochdeutsch, a transitional form of German that is neither medieval nor modern, a form that evolved quickly into later variants that in turn evolved into modern German. It is only now being recovered by scholars.

  All of this to dig out the life of a man worth knowing. The rest of that train trip, the German student and I talked about Kepler. When he left the train, he shook my hand and said, “Good day.” A beginning.

  LETTER FROM KEPLER TO THE SENATE OF LEONBERG JANUARY 1, 1616

  Earnest, caring, wise, and especially benevolent Gentlemen, to whom I am devoted to the best of my ability:

  I wish you a joyful new year.

  On December 29, with unspeakable sadness, I read a letter my sister, Margaretha Binder, sent me dated October 22. As I understand it, there is a case before you concerning several people accused by the court, based purely on the imaginative ranting of your dear darling housewife and sister, Ursula Reinbold. Everyone knows that until this day, this woman has lived frivolously, and now, according to you, she has become mentally ill. Caught in the middle of this depressing web of suspicion, my own dear mother, who has lived honorably into her seventieth year, has been accused by you of giving this same crazy person some silly magic potion, which you say caused her insanity.

  But apparently even the dung heap of suspicion, slander, and gossip that these people have been spreading around town has not been enough. These same people have let themselves be blinded by the devil, the master of all misunderstanding, superstition, and darkness, and have let themselves be deceived. Forsaking God, they thought they could help their dear darling kinswoman by enlisting the aid of the devil. They forced my poor mother to perform some stupid, superstitious magical ritual, a ritual that they would have you believe was meant to assuage their fear and terror of the accused person, namely, my poor mother. As you know, this use of witchcraft against witchcraft, a superstitious cure at best, is highly illegal. This is well known among the jurists, who widely reject it as a pactum tactitum cum diabolo, a tactical pact with the devil, and therefore an ungodly remedy. Indeed, many of you would consider it an indicium ad torturam, an indication for torture, if an accuser were to choose such a course and afterwards claim that the devil was conjured during this highly dangerous procedure against innocent persons, all because of this superstitious ritual.

  I am writing not only in reaction to my sister’s letter, but also in reaction to word from other trustworthy sources whose reports break my heart. My own dear mother, in her old age, has been more and more abandoned by time, and now they tell me she is to be dishonored and stripped of her possessions? Also, secretly, her son, my own brother, is to lose his estate as well? I have also heard that my
mother was threatened with prison by the local constabulary and strongly urged by men who were armed when they questioned her, as if they meant to kill her on the spot, but still she resisted. Finally, these men used kind words and deceitful promises to persuade a poor old woman, making her think that nothing would happen to her. They used every other devilish trick you can imagine, demanding that she perform this forbidden ritual, supposedly to help the crazy woman, Ursula Reinbold, whom she did no harm to in the first place and could not help. From what I have heard, after she finally performed the ritual demanded of her and cured the woman, you claimed that this was done with the help of the devil’s magic. So now, they say, my mother deserves the death penalty, when in fact the people who forced her into such actions deserve it more.

  In summary, it is not surprising to me that this whole situation has left my mother feeling very afraid and unjustly attacked. All she wanted to do was to save her life, to still her grief, and to appease her accusers by giving them what they wanted, even though the blessed Almighty forbade this. Because of this, she was sentenced to torture by a judge who is not very knowledgeable in the law, and she could have suffered a terrible death. So, even when God has mercy on a sick woman and lets her regain her health, these devils would use this blessing to slander my mother’s good and honest name as if they had driven a knife into her neck. And these same fiends would leave my poor, innocent mother with the feeling that they had actually helped her by first instilling fear in her, and then, by using the above mentioned superstitions, banned one devil with another.

  Now as I understand from my sister’s correspondence, both her landlord and her brother, who also endured this demonic injury and this terrible danger, are to be charged in a jury trial! This was a warning for me. Though it was carelessly mentioned in my sister’s letter, other people have advised me as well that two legal actions have already been put forward. I do not know if my name appears on the list of the accused, or if they plan to include claims on my assets or income. I do not know if I will need to secure my holdings and my good name, in case these may be jeopardized, particularly if the accusers want to claim that I too practice the forbidden arts. I have no idea if this ridiculous situation, which has been blown all out of proportion, will also blow away my fifteen years of imperial service. This would break my mother’s heart entirely (which is, of course, my chief concern, far more important to me than any of my personal sorrows).

  Based on this and because of my dual interest, I address the honorable court with my well-founded request to immediately forward to me copies of all documents received by the court from both sides to date. My own courier will bring the documents to the Cantstatt Post Office, where they have orders to forward them to me in Prague, where, if my health allows, I will apply for permission to travel to my home.

  In the meantime, I want to respectfully remind and request that right honorable, wise, and steadfast Gentlemen give my cause the attention it deserves, so that the law can follow its proper course with due process. Although these are my kin who are accused and not I (doubtless though we have the same name), I want to have my protest noted, and that nothing be omitted, so that my judgments about the case might be considered, granted, and approved or contractually engaged. I also desire that all judgments rendered against either party, to the limits of the jurisdiction of Leonberg, take account of my rights and obligations, which I have not surrendered. Rather, I maintain those lawful rights for the sake of my deserving, widowed mother, a law-abiding and commendable woman, and because of my desire to protect her and her assets. Let it be known that I will also seek the help of my friends and mentors, and that I will gain favors from such well-known and respected persons as I am acquainted with. I intend to contest this matter and bring to bear the full extent of my powers until it is finally remedied in accordance with the written laws.

  Herewith, right honorable, provident, and wise, especially gracious Lords, putting myself and my kin into your protection and awaiting the necessary action.

  I

  With Unspeakable Sadness

  Where Kepler’s mother, Katharina, is accused of witchcraft by a former friend, which the gossip of the townspeople whips into a fury against her.

  ON SEPTEMBER 28, 1620, the Feast of St. Wenceslas, the executioner showed Katharina Kepler the instruments of torture, the pricking needles, the rack, the branding irons.1 Her son Johannes Kepler was nearby, fuming, praying for it to be over. He was forty-nine and, with Galileo Galilei, one of the greatest astronomers of the age—the emperor’s mathematician, the genius who had calculated the true orbits of the planets and revealed the laws of optics to the world. Dukes listened to him. Barons asked his advice. And yet when the town gossips of Leonberg set their will against him, determined to take the life of his mother on trumped-up charges of witchcraft, he could not stop them. Still, he never gave up trying, and in that he was a good deal like his mother.

  It was five years into the trial, and the difficult old woman would not bend—she admitted nothing. Not surprising, for if truth be told, Katharina Kepler was a stubborn, cranky, hickory stick of a woman who suffered from insomnia, had an excess of curiosity, and simply couldn’t keep her nose out of other people’s business. She was known to be zänkisch—quarrelsome—and nearly everyone said she had a wicked tongue. Perhaps that was why her old friends and neighbors were so willing to accuse her of witchcraft, why five years before they had forced her at sword point to perform an illegal magical ritual just to gather evidence that she was indeed a witch, and why they eventually handed her over to the magistrate for trial.

  The ordeal consisted of two years of accusations and five years of court action, from 1613, when the accusations of handing out poison potions were first made, to 1620, when they convicted Katharina and sentenced her to the territio verbalis, the terrorization by word,2 despite all Johannes could do. There were tidal forces at work in this little town. The events around the duchy of Württemberg would gather into themselves all the violent changes of the day, for by their conviction of Katharina, the consistory (the duke’s council), the magistrates, and the Lutheran church authorities had bundled together their fear of Copernicus and their anger against Johannes, a man they had already convicted of heresy. The Reformation, like an earthquake, had cracked Western Christianity, stable since the fifth century, into Catholics and Protestants, and the Protestants into Lutherans, Zwinglians, Calvinists, Anglicans, and Anabaptists, with the many camps drifting apart like tectonic plates. Even the heavens had begun changing, and Kepler had been a part of that change. Copernicus, an obscure Polish priest, had published his On the Revolutions of the Heavenly Spheres, which had dethroned the earth from its place at the universe center and sent it spinning through the heavens like a top revolving around the sun. Fear ruled Europe—fear of difference, fear of change. And there, in one corner of Swabia in southern Germany, the mother of a famous man, a mathematician and scientist, a respected, pious Lutheran, nearly paid with her life.

  Like his mother, Johannes was willing to fight. He had taken a hand in her defense, writing much of the brief himself. He was not present at the sentencing, though, for he would not have been permitted to accompany her to the territio. But only a few days before, Kepler had petitioned the Vogt, the magistrate, of Güglingen, the town where the trial had taken place, to get on with it, so when it was over old Katharina could finally have some peace.

  Early that morning, she was led to the torturer by Aulber, the bailiff of Güglingen, who was accompanied by a scribe for recording her confession, and three court representatives. The torturer, with the bailiff standing to one side, then shouted at her for a long time, commanding her to repent and tell the truth and threatening her if she didn’t. He showed her each instrument and described in detail all that it would do to her body—the prickers, the long needles for picking at the flesh; the hot irons for branding; the pincers for pulling and tearing at the body; the rack; the garrote; and the gallows for hanging, drawing, and quartering. H
e adjured her to repent, to confess her crimes, so that even if she would not survive in this world, she could at least go to God with a clear conscience.

  Meanwhile Johannes, almost insane with rage and fear, waited in town for the ordeal to be over. Kepler was a slight man with a jaunty goatee and a dark suit with a starched ruff collar; he was slightly stooped from bending over his calculations and he squinted from bad eyesight, a parting shot from a childhood bout with smallpox. His hands were gnarled and ugly, again a result of the pox. Perhaps he paced as he waited for news, shook his fists at the empty room. Essentially a peaceful man, he was given to rages when he knew an injustice was being done. After all, these were his neighbors, his childhood friends, not strangers, who had forced this trial. The accusation, the trial, the conviction, and the sentence were all the work of hateful people, people who had wanted some petty vengeance, people who had seen their chance to get their hands on his mother’s small estate. It was the work of a fraudulent magistrate, a good friend of the accusers, and of a judicial system gone mad.

  Being imperial mathematician meant that the courts in Leonberg couldn’t touch him, but they could do as they liked with his mother. Imperial protections went only so far. In the end, no mere scientist could expect that much security. Thirteen years later, the other great astronomer, Galileo, would face charges of heresy before the Inquisition in Rome. The executioners at that time would perform the same territio on him.

  Such things happened all too often at that time, because people were afraid. In the seventeenth century, mystery tolled like a bell in people’s lives, disturbing their dreams. They lived in fear of unseen forces and anything beyond their understanding terrorized them. Like her son Johannes, Katharina was more intelligent than most people, and so the way her mind ran in oblique ways set people’s teeth on edge. Unlike her son, however, who had the best education Germany offered at the time, she was illiterate. Her mind, forever restless, had no proper expression. Her formidable intelligence had been stuffed back inside her, always moving, always seeking something, but with no way out. It is likely that she had been born the child of a rape. Unlike everyone else around her, she was short, thin, and dark, just like her son Johannes. Less than a year before she was born, the Spanish had invaded the region, and typical of armies, their soldiers had raped every woman they could find. Katharina’s mother may have been one of them.