The Dangers of Oversimplified Narratives: The Story of Galileo

Though it might seem like it would be from the title, this is not a post about writing. It’s a post about history and science and religion and some of the dangers of the way news is reported nowadays.

The story of Galileo Galilei and his famous beef with the church is one that most people think they know. However, as with any story that has been told and retold numerous times, what we’ve heard is only a fraction of the truth.

The Story:


Galileo Galilei (1564-1642)

Galileo was, among other things, a scientist and astronomer. He improved upon the design of the telescope, allowing him to make extremely accurate observations of the night sky.

He was also a strong believer in the Copernican Model of the universe. He supported the idea of heliocentrism, where the Earth moves around the sun rather than the other way around.

This put him at odds with the ruling power of the time: the Catholic church. Because it says several times in the bible (e.g. Psalms 93:1, 96:10, 104:5) that the Earth is immovable, Galileo was branded as a heretic for suggesting that it was the sun, not the Earth, that was immobile.

Galileo stood in gallant defiance to the tyranny of the church and declared the truth as he saw it.

Galileo was tried for heresy, convicted, forced to recant his view of heliocentrism, and placed under house arrest for the rest of his life, during which time he went blind.

The Narrative:

This story is technically true (the worst kind of truth), and it’s easy to see why it has been told this way for so long. The story, as presented above, has a clear and simplistic narrative that is easy to follow and makes the story compelling.

Galileo is clearly the protagonist of the story, a straight-forward intellectual interested only in advancing the scientific truth of the universe.

The villain of the story is, of course, the Catholic church; the evil empire which seeks to suppress any deviation or originality in favor of mindless dogmatic adherence.

The story of Galileo as it is usually told is the classic tale of an underdog beaten down for being a thorn in the side of an oppressive establishment, only to be vindicated after his death.

This is a good story. It’s concise, uncomplicated, and satisfying. We know who to root for and who to boo.

Unfortunately, the truth is rarely uncomplicated, like a coast line which looks straight from far away but twists and turns as you get closer.

The Whole Story:

Like I said before, the classic story is technically true, but it’s a drastic oversimplification of a complex and interesting story.

Galileo was a proponent of Copernican heliocentrism and did go to the Vatican in 1616 to defend Copernicus and his ideas from an injunction passed by the Catholic church.

For this, he was admonished. There was no punishment, just a kindly “please stop,” to which Galileo said, “OK.” He continued his work on heliocentrism, but labeled it as a purely mathematical concept so as not to defy the church.

Then, in 1623, Cardinal Maffeo Barberini was appointed Pope Urban VIII. Barberini was an admirer of Galileo’s work, and Galileo hoped that under his leadership the church might just lessen its opposition to Copernican heliocentrism.

Despite the 1616 admonishment, Pope Urban VIII received Galileo personally six times in 1623, during which time the two discussed arguments for and against heliocentrism, and allowed him to publish a book on the topic provided it discussed both sides of the issue and did not paint either in a favorable light.

Galileo then wrote his Dialogue Concerning the Two Chief World Systems (as it is now known. The title at the time of publishing was simply Dialogue with a long subtitle from which the rest of the current title was extracted) in 1632.

Dialogue was written, unsurprisingly, in the form of a dialogue between three men. Two of them, Salviadi and Sagredo (both named after friends of Galileo), were intelligent philosophers. The third, Simplicio (supposedly named after Simplicius of Cicilia but also meaning something along the lines of simpleton), was a layman who was less eloquently spoken than the other two.

In this dialogue, Salviadi represented the view of heliocentrism, Sagredo was initially neutral, but ultimately sided with Salviadi, and Simplicio represented the view of geocentrism (or the church’s view). Over the course of the debate, Simplicio is often caught up and generally portrayed as a fool.

As if this were not insulting enough, Galileo had Simplicio recite many of the arguments the pope had made in their 1623 meetings.

Naturally, Pope Urban felt betrayed by Galileo’s portrayal of him in Dialogue. And the man already had more than enough problems on his plate. He was racking up a large debt using military might to expand the papal dominions, and at times he actually feared for his life. His betrayal by Galileo was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

Interestingly enough, most historians think Galileo was unaware of how Dialogue both insulted Pope Urban and advocated heliocentrism, meaning he thought he was staying within the church’s mandate.

Galileo was called to defend his writings and stand trial. Technically this was for disobeying his 1616 admonishment, but in truth it was both a vindictive and calculated move by Pope Urban to appear strong and save face.

Had Galileo written his Dialogue with just a little more tact, it is entirely possible that he never would have been persecuted by the church.

Why any of This Matters:

Just as it’s clear why the common version of the story is the one that gets passed on, it’s equally clear why the full version usually gets overlooked. First of all, it’s TL;DR, but most importantly it’s no longer an easy-to-digest narrative.

Galileo is no longer the flawless protagonist who shoulders no blame for his persecution. The church is no longer a monolithic oppressor. It’s much harder to find someone to root for in this version. Everyone involved is only human, for better or worse.

Does this mean the church was correct to act as it did? Absolutely not, but the story lacks the potency it had when the church was merely trying to suppress a dissident.

That’s why stories don’t usually get told this way. We as readers/listeners/viewers actually  prefer the simple narratives. We like having our heroes and villains clearly marked and knowing who to root for. We like conflicts that are purely good vs. evil, right vs. wrong.

But again, that’s almost never how it happens. The real world is messy and conflicted. No one is the villain of their own story. Everyone has their own justifications. There’s always more than one side to any story.

In order to fit a story into a simple narrative, you need to trim the edges so that the square peg can fit in the round hole. When you do that, important details are inevitably lost and even the whole meaning of the story can change. In the case of the Galileo story, it goes from being mostly about politics and ego to a conflict between enlightenment and dogmatic oppression. That’s a pretty big jump.

And the most frightening part is that we don’t just do this to the past. I generally try to avoid watching the news as much as possible (here is a good explanation of why), but if you watch for just ten minutes, you’ll see that every story is spun and contorted until it fits a simple narrative, no matter how complex the issue really is. At best it’s misleading. At worst, it’s manipulative.

Just keep that in mind the next time you see something on the news…there’s usually more there than what they’re showing you.

Everything in its Place: Managing Modifiers to Improve your Writing

Let me start this with a few disclaimers.

Disclaimer #1: I have not formally studied writing since high school. I am not a syntactician nor am I a grammarian of any sort. I am a physicist and a teacher by training and a writer only by preference, someone who loves to read and write and observe. I will be avoiding using technical syntactic vocabulary because 1) that is not my area of expertise, and 2) who really cares about that shit anyway (side note: I apologize if you do in fact care about that shit, but if you do you can find many far more knowledgeable sources on those topics than myself). Basically, this is just my opinion and I welcome you to share your own so that we all (myself included) might improve ourselves.

Disclaimer #2: My view of the goal and purpose of writing no doubt colors my thinking of structure and style to a large extent. For that reason, I feel I should briefly describe where I’m coming from before diving in to the subject at hand. I view writing from the aspect of storytelling. I judge almost everything about a book by how well it sucks me into its world and carries the forward momentum of the story along. I love phrases and sentences for the payload they carry, the effect they have on me, and not for their grammatical or syntactic perfection or elegance. A beautifully-crafted sentence that cannot translate into a tangible image or emotion when I read it (if such a sentence is possible) just doesn’t do it for me. I’m a pragmatist when it comes to writing; good writing is writing that works, not necessarily writing that is most technically correct.

Disclaimer #3: This may get a little bit long. I apologize for that. I’ll try to make it worth your while.

What are modifiers?

Disclaimers out of the way, let’s briefly review what a modifier is so that we’re all on the same page. If you’re confident you already know what a modifier is and there’s nothing I might cover you haven’t heard before, feel free to skip down to the next section.

Modifiers are, brace yourself, words or phrases that modify other components of a sentence. I’ll try not to get too technical (because, again, who cares?) but the very foundation of your sentence is called the base clause. This is the meat and potatoes of your sentence, the essential information that it must relay to your reader. It doesn’t have to be neat or pretty, just (technically) complete: subject and verb, all that stuff you learned back in elementary school. For the purposes of this section I’ll use as my base clause: He sat in the chair.

A modifier is anything you add to your sentence to give new meaning to your base clause. The first kind of modifier that will immediately come to mind is the one-word modifier: adjectives and adverbs. He anxiously sat in the chair. He sat in the green chair. Or, if we’re being truly bold: He anxiously sat in the green chair. Notice how each has expanded on the meaning of the base clause (though not by much, admittedly)

Adjectives and adverbs are the easiest modifiers to make and use in a sentence, so of course we won’t talk about them much. Actually, we’ll neglect them because 1) modifying phrases usually do a better, more descriptive job of conveying the same information; and more importantly 2) the main point of this post is to talk about the placement of modifiers in a sentence and there really isn’t anything to say about the placement of adjectives or adverbs. They can either precede or follow whatever they modify, and picking one of the other doesn’t much change the flow of the sentence. Case and point: He anxiously sat in the chair vs. He sat anxiously in the chair. Any difference in those two sentences are entirely rhythmic or stylistic, two things that are so individualized trying to tackle them would be pointless.

The same is true of adjectives. He sat in the green chair vs. He sat in the chair, which was green. Here the difference is a little bit pronounced and in this example one seems stuffy if not downright ridiculous. Adding so many extra words just for a single adjective is wasted space which dries out your sentence and decreases its impact and fluidity.

The other type of modifier, the type which will be the focus of this post, is the modifying clause or modifying phrase. These are any phrases which cannot themselves stand as full sentences that modify any part of the base clause of your sentence. For reference, each of the last two sentences contained modifying phrases (the type which will be the focus of this post, and which cannot themselves stand as full sentences). These are, usually, far more powerful than one-word modifiers because you can use them to evoke specific details or add new actions altogether, giving you much more freedom than simple adjectives or adverbs ever could.

Notice how He sat, hands trembling and sweat forming on his brow, in the chair gives you a much more visceral sensation than does the simple adverb anxiously. It also, I would argue, changes the feel of the sentence. By deliberately spending more time and space emphasizing his reaction, the simple words the chair gain almost an ominous portent that was nowhere to be found before. Or, as another example: He sat in the chair, green although the dye had long since started to fade to a dreary and depressing white. Notice that, while before putting the modifier after the noun felt clunky, here it fits because the modifier adds enough extra information to warrant the extra space and word count afforded to it.

And keep in mind that the most famous modifying clauses of all are the sibling Metaphor and Simile.

Where to place your modifiers

Grammatically, modifiers are very easy to place. The can go before whatever they modify or after it. You can even jam them all the way to the front or back of your sentence, although doing so opens you up for the dreaded misplaced modifier (Green although the dye had long since started to fade to a dreary and depressing white, he sat in the chair is an example of the misplaced modifier because the modifier, which is intended to modify the chair, seems to want to modify the person sitting in the chair, which makes no sense).

As long as it’s clear what they are intended to modify, you can place your modifiers wherever you want.

But where should you place your modifiers? Finally we reach the main point of this post!

While to some extent the choice of where modifiers are placed is one of the things that gives each writer their own personal style, there are some concrete advantages and disadvantages to each. Knowing these can help you decide if you’ve placed your modifier in the most effective position.

Putting modifiers in front

In most cases, I would advise putting your modifiers in front of whatever they modify. This is certainly the case for descriptive modifiers.

The thing to keep in mind is that as a writer it is your job to determine three things:

  1. What information is given to the reader (plot, details)
  2. How that information is presented (word choice, foreshadowing)
  3. In what order that information is presented (sentence structure)

The point I’m going to be talking about is #3. Most people remember this on a large scale (You don’t put the conclusion to the story in the first chapter), but tend not to think about it on the small scale.

You have to remember that people read one word at a time in the order you’ve put them, and that as they do they form mental images of what is happening. Most readers don’t, or at the very least I certainly don’t, wait until they reach the end of a sentence or paragraph to begin processing the information it contains. It’s a brick-by-brick process, so putting your descriptive modifiers after whatever they are intended to modify can actually cause the reader to misinterpret the scene, then have to stop and go back over it.

This has happened to me a lot. I read a line of dialogue, imagining it said in a certain way only to get to the end to see “she shouted, tears in her eyes” when I thought she was happy. This is a sign of sloppy writing, and a betrayal of the reader-writer contract of “I’ll tell you what you need to know, when you need to know it.” If it matters that the character is shouting, you need to find a way to convey that information before I read the dialogue.

The same is true for modifiers. In some cases the difference is negligible, for example knees cracking, he sat down and he sat down, knees cracking have no real significant different between them in terms of the pacing of the sentence, but only because the modifier is so short.

As an example of where it would matter, take the following two sentences:

“I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong,” the man added without a hint of regret.

“I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong,” the man added, his eyes looking anywhere but at mine.

Those two sentences are identical up until the modifier at the end, but that modifier colors everything that came before them including the tone in which the dialogue should be read. If your modifier completely changes the tone of the sentence, it needs to be in front.

This is the case with most adverbial modifiers. You need to tell me how something is done before it happens so that I can picture it the way you want me to. Otherwise you’re just hoping that we both picture the same thing and slapping me in the face if I’m wrong.

That said, you can also do the reverse by intentionally misleading your reader using modifiers before whatever they modify. For example: Huffing and puffing, sweat pouring from every part of his body, looking like he had just ten rounds with a champion boxer, he finally made it up the first flight of stairs.

Putting your modifiers at the front of your sentence allows you to set your readers expectations. Whether you fulfill or dash them is up to you.

Putting modifiers in back

All that said, there are times when the modifiers should go behind whatever it is they modify.

Adjectival modifiers generally fit into this category, and for exactly the same reason adverbial modifiers should go in front: It allows the reader to process the information in the proper order.

Take for example: Once white, now speckled with the grime and wear of neglect, the walls needed a new coat of paint.

That sentence works, but only if the subject of a walls was brought up previously. If this is the first we’re hearing of the walls, we just have no idea what this phrase is modifying and thus cannot establish a mental image of it until we finally reach the end of the sentence. That modifier could just as easily be describing a floor, a sink, a bathtub, or a toilet.

The same way you wouldn’t start painting without first laying down your canvas, you don’t start describing something you haven’t first introduced to the reader. That’s just wasting your words.

Another reason to put modifiers after whatever they modify is to imply order, especially chronological order. He took his stance, his gloves shaking slightly in front of his face, his footsteps heavier than they had been just one round earlier, but his gaze unwavering. Here the choice of putting the modifiers after the base clause seems to give the sentence a sense of motion through time. It progresses the story.

Note that the same thing can also be done with the modifiers in front (e.g. Not even having time to toast it, he shoveled some bread into his mouth as he sprinted for the bus) depending on the situation.

Yet another use for putting the modifier at the end is if it adds new information that isn’t directly related to the action of the base clause. He reached down a grabbed the fish, the very one which had swallowed his wedding ring all those years ago. Adding too much new information in the middle of a sentence can cause your reader to lose interest, while putting it at the end makes a nice segue between the two ideas.

You can also use this to surprise or shock your readers. He howled with delight tainted to no small extent with madness, the severed hang hanging by its hair from his bloodied hand.

Final thoughts

There really aren’t any hard and fast rules for when to put your modifier before or after the clause it modifies. These are only some of the many things to keep in mind. Just remember when writing to think about how the information you present will hit the reader and go with whatever sounds right. Maybe try it both ways and see which one strikes the chord you’re looking for.

And for sticking with me through such a long, possibly-boring post, here’s a picture of a smiling puppy (note: this puppy is, sadly, not mine):


‘A’ vs. ‘An’–the why and how

It’s been a while since I’ve updated anything at all, and even longer since I’ve posted anything about writing. I’ve taken on a new project which I’ll probably talk about more once I have something to show for it. For now, all you get is a pedantic rant about one of the smallest yet most irksome mistakes I see in writing.

Putting an ‘a’ where there should be an ‘an’ might not seem like such an unforgivable offense at first. It doesn’t obscure the meaning of the sentence as other grammatical mistakes may. But every time I see or hear this mistake it grates on my nerves like nails on a chalkboard.

It’s not just a stylistic or pedantic reason that this particular mistake bothers me. Coming across this mistake robs the entire passage of any narrative momentum it may have had, making you stop dead in your tracks much the same way a misplaced comma does. It’s one of the little things that can suck you right out of whatever you’re reading.

What is the rule?

Most–if not all–of you have probably heard this rule before. If a word begins with a consonant it gets ‘a’ while a word that begins with a vowel gets ‘an.’

However, saying it this way is what leads to some of the confusion. The truth is, whether you use ‘a’ or ‘an’ has nothing to do with how a word is written or spelled. The difference is entirely for spoken English.

Everyone knows the five and a half vowels (a, e, i, o, u, and sometimes y), but how many people are actually taught what makes a vowel a vowel? The difference between a vowel and a consonant is in what you do with your mouth while you pronounce them.

Consonants are closed sounds. While pronouncing a consonant your mouth closes in one way or another, either by touching your lips together or pressing your tongue against the roof of your mouth. In contrast, while pronouncing vowels you keep everything open.

This difference is actually why consonants and vowels combine so well to form syllables, whereas several consonants in a row are hard to pronounce. It’s also why vowels tend to merge together and change their pronunciation when placed side by side.

For most letters you can only say them one way. No matter how it’s stressed you can’t pronounce an ‘a’ without keeping your mouth open and you can’t pronounce a ‘b’ without closing it.

Y is the exception. Sometimes you pronounce ‘y’ by closing your mouth and then opening it, such as in the words yonder or yodel. In this case it’s a consonant. But other times, such as in the word why, you keep your mouth open, making the ‘y’ a vowel. This is why we say that y is only sometimes a vowel.

So the rule ‘a’ if consonant, ‘an’ if vowel, applies only to the sound it makes. If it sounds like it starts with a consonant, whether or not it does when you write it out, you put an ‘a’ in front of it. Two examples of this are “a unit” and “a eukaryotic cell”. Both of these words sound like they begin with a consonant ‘y’, and so they get ‘a’.

Similarly, if it sounds like it starts with a vowel it gets ‘an’. An heir, or an hour are good examples of this, since in both cases the ‘h’ is silent and thus, when spoken, they begin with vowels.

Again, the reason for this rule is to make spoken English clearer and more fluid. Multiple consonants in a row sound slow and sloppy, which is why “an banana” just sounds wrong. Multiple vowels in a row merge together, which is why “a apple” just turns into “apple” with a long ‘a’ in front. The ‘n’ was added to the end in order to keep space between the two vowel sounds, to make it clear where one word ends and the other begins.

What really gets me are the hypercorrections people make, such as putting ‘an’ in front of every word that begins with an ‘h’. This is why you’ll have people talking about “an historic event.” These hypercorrections stem from people knowing the rules but not really understanding why they exist, which is why I went into more detail than you’d ever wanted to know about vowels and consonants.

Hopefully that cleared somethings up for people. If not, at least it let me rant about something that had been bothering me lately. Until next time,