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On 26 February 1616 Galileo was ordered to cease to defend heliocentrism in any way whatsoever. This order, called a precept, automatically applied to anything he might later attempt to publish on the subject. Issued at the end of his first trial by the Roman Inquisition, the precept became the spark that triggered his second trial in 1632–3 and figured importantly in the justification of his sentence. This precept has been a subject of controversy since the late nineteenth century for its authenticity, legality and legitimacy. This paper addresses the first two points and establishes the facts of what probably happened in 1616. It does so by examining seven texts that bear on the event. All but one of these (plus Galileo's first deposition in 1633) agree tolerably well that Galileo did indeed receive the precept in the strongest form. An examination of the singleton text in the context of how the Inquisition produced and kept its records as well as of its procedures and personnel shows that it is the least reliable source. This context also supports the argument that certainty about what happened is impossible to achieve. The theory that the document most damaging to Galileo was a forgery is also disposed of. Examination of the crucial phrase successive ac incontinenti in one of the documents supports the paper's suggestion that more caution is in order before accepting the currently nearly universal claim that the precept was improper in law.
Recent developments have extended our knowledge of the basic functions of nerves: notably, the demonstration of the mechanism within nerve fibers which transports a wide range of essential materials. In order to understand how this discovery occurred, it is necessary to examine its history. The story begins in ancient Greece when nerves were conceived of as channels through which animal spirits carried sensory impressions to the brain. As science developed, the discoveries of various physical and chemical agents supplanted the agency of animal spirits until the molecular machinery of transport was recognized. In this fascinating and complete history, Sidney Ochs begins with a chronological look at this path of discovery, followed in the second half by a thematic approach wherein the author describes the electrical nature of the nerve impulse, fiber form and its changes in degeneration and regeneration, reflexes, learning, memory and other higher functions in which transport participates.
The origins of mechanics – both the practical development of devices and the creation of a body of theory about their operation – are obscure. Doubtless elements of the discipline, such as the use of lever and balance, axle-and-wheel, clepsydra and siphon, predated the fourth century bce. However, the creation of a discipline requires more than the use of certain kinds of technology: there needs to be some kind of unifying idea, some perception of commonality. Looking at the disparate elements that came to be included in the Greek discipline of mechanics, it is difficult to identify exactly what that perceived commonality was. It may be that the reason why mechanics came to be recognized as a discipline – a field of knowledge – was no more than a recognition that certain devices make possible results that would not have occurred without them, and that some of them worked in similar ways. The contribution of mechanics to the history of philosophy arose from its ensuing theories, as well as a more general commitment to the idea that the principles at work in mechanics can also be found in the natural world.
This chapter will examine the evidence concerning the creation of a discipline called ‘mechanics’ during the fourth century. Such a reconstructive project requires great caution against reading back assumptions about what ‘mechanics’ means, or about what is self-evident. In the end, I find the evidence from the fourth century to be inconclusive.
Texts have survived from the Hellenistic period concerning a so-called pneumatikē technē. I shall refer to the field as ‘pneumatics’, although – as scholars have noted – the English transliteration does not exactly capture the sense of the subject matter, which concerns devices worked by flowing water, compressed air or steam. As Landels aptly suggests, the German title Druckwerke best captures the sense: although there are some anomalies, the field is largely about what might be called pressure effects.
The characterization of pneumatics as delimited by pressure-driven devices is, admittedly, a simplification of a vaguely defined field, and it works better for Hero's collection than for Philo's. The latter – especially in the more extensive Arabic version – includes a number of water wheels, which do not depend on pressure differentials so much as the simple weight of water. Both Pappus and Philoponus describe a branch of mechanics as being concerned with devices that raise water, perhaps by analogy parallel to the category of devices used to lift weights. However, the vast majority of devices in the pneumatica collections use pressure differentials to regulate the flow of water in different ways.
I have previously discussed the classical philosophical theories offered to account for ‘rarefaction effects’. Some pneumatic devices of the Hellenistic era work by the reverse procedure, forcing air into a smaller place than it otherwise occupies. These ‘compression effects’, as I call them, are credited to Ctesibius.