Kepler's Witch

by James A. Connor

  Nevertheless, Katharina found her husband. One can imagine the meeting: Heinrich the runaway, in his cups or at camp staring dully at a plate of stew, looking up and seeing Katharina, his partner in a loveless marriage, marching at him down the row of tents, so furious that electricity sparked around her head. If he could have run, he would have, but there was nothing else to do but follow her home. Finally, after moving his family to Leonberg and after trying his hand at innkeeping in Ellmendingen, he forced his family back to Leonberg and then disappeared altogether. Some said he died in Augsburg after fighting for the Neapolitan navy.

  Johannes’s mother, Katharina, née Guldenmann, was as restless as her husband. There were problems in her marriage right from the beginning. Because Katharina gave birth to Johannes only seven months after her wedding to Heinrich, all the old women in town were busy counting the months on their fingers. Certainly it is possible Johannes was born prematurely, for he was small and sickly most of his life. Kepler no doubt believed this himself. Still, one has doubts, because while Katharina was pregnant, she was regularly beaten by her parents, as if they were trying to make her lose the baby, though both mother and son survived.4 The image of a hurried, forced marriage between an angry Heinrich, a military straight who was cold and distant, and a pregnant Katharina explains a great deal about the family’s history.

  Only a mother whose eccentricities hid a vast intelligence could imagine turning her own father’s skull into a drinking cup just because she had heard it was an ancient pagan custom. She possessed the kind of intelligence that could either blossom into genius, as with Johannes, or fester into madness. All her life she struggled against her illiteracy. In that time, few women could read, and through the years Katharina felt humiliated that she could not even read her son’s letters and was forced to rely on Beutelsbacher, the schoolteacher, who would later turn against her in her witch trial. To make up for it, she collected herbs and mixed potions from them, and it is possible that she did in fact poison Beutelsbacher and the wife of Bastian Meyer, but almost certainly without meaning to. Her little tin jug often sat in the corner for days, unwashed and untended. Who knows what kinds of bacteria were growing in there?

  Her children were a mixed lot, however. And although Johannes’s youngest brother, Christoph, who became a pewterer, and his sister, Margaretha, who married a clergyman, turned out relatively well, the middle brother, Heinrich, teetered on the edge of insanity. Possibly a borderline schizophrenic, he was accident-prone, was constantly being beaten by other children and bitten by animals, nearly drowned, and was almost burned alive. Eventually he wandered off when his father tried to sell him, only to show up in Prague as a palace guard when Johannes was there as imperial mathematician, and then to return to live with his mother years later, much abused by life.

  The Keplers, all boxed into that little house, argued eternally. They were not poor, however, and they could even claim some echoes of nobility. The angel in the name of the inn referred to the Kepler coat of arms, which may or may not have been a last remnant of some long-lost nobility. Grandfather Sebald acted as if there were no question of his knightly roots, since he could trace them back to Sebald Kepner, a nobleman who became a bookbinder after a sudden descent into poverty and then moved to Weil der Stadt. Four generations later, the Sebald who was the grandfather of Johannes Kepler the astronomer, no longer obviously noble, ended up as the mayor of Weil der Stadt. He served for ten years before Johannes came into the world and remained a prominent burgher in town throughout the boy’s youth.

  Towns like Weil could easily maintain their independence simply by paying their taxes and helping the emperor out when he needed them. The emperor asked little more than this, because the freie Reichsstädte were not his property, but were individual republics, each with its own representative in the Imperial Diet. Weil had its own magistrate, either the mayor of that year or the one of the previous year; its own police force; its own laws; and its own justice system.

  The mayor, in his day old Sebald, reported directly to the emperor, wherever he happened to be, and thus had direct contact with the imperial court. The republics all had trading rights and privileges and enjoyed economic benefits stemming from the fact that the town paid no tithes to the local prince or duke, but only the standard imperial tax. For Americans, this would be like paying federal, but no state income tax. The mayor of Weil was elected by a select group of the people. Only burghers (citizens, men with land), merchants, and craftsmen—goldsmiths and tinsmiths—could vote. The men who sat on the town council were those with enough money and leisure time to concern themselves with government. These were the people who produced Johannes Kepler, and this was the town that fashioned the character of his family and, through them, his own character as well. What feistiness he showed in his later years derived at least partly from that soil. What genius he showed derived, at least partly, from there as well.

  Because of its position in the empire, there was a great sense of independence in Weil der Stadt. But this feeling of republican independence flowered at a time when the world itself was changing, a time when people in Germany had begun to ask for a deeper understanding of the world, a deeper understanding of the Word of God, the book of Scripture, as well as a deeper understanding of creation and the natural world in general, the Book of Nature. Printers had set up shop in various towns around Swabia, so books in German were becoming more available. Soon after the Reformation began, Luther’s Bible was everywhere. A new consciousness had begun to emerge in the towns, a consciousness that called for independent thought, a consciousness that would eventually lead from the Reformation to the first glimmers of the scientific revolution. The citizens of Weil der Stadt were more a part of this than they knew.

  KEPLER’S HOROSCOPE FOR HIMSELF

  NOVEMBER 1597

  This person was born with the destiny to spend most of his time working on the difficult things others shirk from. As a boy, before his time, he already studied prosody and poetic meter. He attempted to write comedies and chose the lengthiest psalms to commit to memory. He tried to learn by heart all the examples in Crusius’s grammar book. In his poems, he initially troubled himself with acrostics, griphens, and anagrams.

  Later, however, when his growing judgment let him disdainfully see the true meaning of such things, he tried even more difficult forms of lyric. He once wrote a Pindaric melos, a Greek chorus. Another time, he became interested in unusual subjects, like the immobility of the sun, the creation of rivers, and watching the fog from Mt. Atlas. He enjoyed riddles and searched for the most acrid jokes. He played with allegory by following the strands through to the smallest detail and then pulling them out by the hairs. When imitating, he sought to stick with the exact text and then to apply it to his own material.

  When writing down his work, he liked paradoxical statements; for example, that one should learn French rather than Greek. As an opponent [in a debate], he never said anything he did not mean. When he wrote down his ideas, the final version always contained something other than the draft. But more than all other studies, he loved mathematics.

  In every type of learning he immersed himself by challenging each idea, and he critically interpreted everything he read. So he held on to insignificant notes that he wrote himself and stubbornly kept borrowed books, as if they could be of use to him at a later time.

  It was unbearable for him to let even a short period of time pass unproductively; despite his strong desire for human company, he stayed away from it. In monetary matters stubborn, when budgeting tough, critically pursuing petty details, all things with which he wasted time. At the same time he is not opposed to work, so much so, that solely the desire for knowledge keeps him at it. And still there are all the beautiful things he aspired to, and in most cases he grasped the truth.

  Mercury in the seventh house means haste and an aversion to work, because he is also swift; the sun in Saturn’s sixth means conscientiousness and perseverance. These two things are in conf
lict: to continuously feel regret about lost time while still willingly losing it again and again. Because Mercury affects a tendency for play and fun, this person enjoys the spirit of lighter things. As a child, he was devoted to play; as he grew older he found enjoyment in other things, and he therefore turned to other things; to find out what brings a person joy, therefore, remains subject to opinion. Since being stingy with money deters one from play, he often plays by himself. One has to note the following here: holding on to money does not have the goal of wealth, but rather the alleviation of the fear of poverty. Of course, most greediness grows out of unfounded worry. Or perhaps not; rather, the love of money possesses many. His eyes are fixed upon gain and reputation. Perhaps it is the fear of poverty that can be blamed for much. Because he is presumptuous and contemptuous of mass opinion, he tends to be hard.

  By nature he is very well suited for pretense of all kinds. There is also a tendency toward disguise, deceit, and lies. It has its root in common with the jokes and jest. Mercury does this, instigated by Mars. But one thing prevented these disguises: The fear for his reputation. Because foremost he yearns for true recognition, and every type of defamation is unbearable to him. He would pay very good money to buy himself free of even harmless, but wicked gossip, and poverty frightens him only because of the shame.

  III

  Born with a Destiny

  Where Kepler receives his education as a scholarship student under the care of the Duke of Württemberg.

  IN KEPLER’S OWN WORDS:

  From the beginning of his life, this person [the subject of this horoscope, Kepler himself] had enemies.1 The first I can remember was Holp. The rest, indeed, were all my fellow pupils, especially Molitor and Wieland. In Maulbronn and in Tübingen it was Köllin; in Bebenhausen it was Braunbaum; and in Maulbronn it was Ziegel-heuser. I am listing only the long-term enemies, of course. In Tübingen, it was Huldenreich, Seiffer, and Ortolph, while in Adelberg it was Lendlin; in Maulbronn it was Spannenberg, while in Tübingen it was Kleber; in Maulbronn it was Rebstock and Husel, while in Tübingen it was Dauber, Lorhard, Jaeger, a relative of mine, Joh, Regius, Murr, Speidel, Zeiler, another Joh, and Molitor, the brother, and An. Krell, the father-in-law [presumably of Molitor]. Mostly, these were people his own age. Some of the others not his own age were merely casual acquaintances.

  This person harbors dark thoughts about his enemies. And why would he do this? Could it be because his enemies compete with him for industry, success, distinction, and fortune? Or could it be because the Sun and Mercury are in the seventh house?2

  The fact that Kepler listed his enemies but not his friends is telling. In his self-study, which is often brutal, he confesses to a difficult personality. Like a monk cruciform on the chapel floor, he lists his faults. He says that he is deceitful, overanxious to please, yet quick-tempered. “This person has the nature of a dog. He is just like a spoiled little pet…. He likes to gnaw on bones and chew on hard crusts of bread. He is voracious, without discipline. When something is put before him, he snatches it up.”

  Kepler was an odd boy, intense yet withdrawn. He perceived with the clarity of a child that he was not wanted in his family—his grandparents, saddled with a sickly grandchild by their own irresponsible son, had treated him roughly; his mother had been cold all his life; his father was distant and brutal. He defended himself when he could and tried to appease the great adult powers when he could not. His only comfort was in his own mind and in his thoughts of the Lutheran religion, which he had picked up from his grandmother. He was an intensely pious boy, and at times his piety twisted him about.

  Perhaps it was the discomfort he felt in his own life or the sense of responsibility he felt for his intelligence, but he spent much of his youth searching his soul for forgotten sins. When he found one—a vengeful thought, a moment of uncharity, an error in his thinking—he assigned himself a penance. Once while at school he fell asleep and missed the evening prayer, and the next morning he assigned himself the task of repeating a number of sermons he had heard over and over, as if that would somehow placate God. Nevertheless, as hard as he tried, he was certain that he would have otherwise received the gift of prophecy, had it not been for his wicked life, his worldliness, and his unremembered sins. If only he could be a better person. If only he could be a saint.

  By the age of ten, Johannes had learned to read Bible stories. One of his favorites was the story of Jacob and Rebecca, for he saw in them an example of perfect love, and with the fervor that only a child could maintain for long he resolved that one day, should he ever find his own Rebecca, the two of them would practice the perfect life together by strictly following the Mosaic law. Never mind that he wasn’t Jewish, and never mind that the only girls he was likely to meet weren’t Jewish either.

  He was, from his earliest days, at war both with the world and with himself. Sometimes, in order to fit in, he allowed himself to be seduced to evil. He once joined in the general hatred of a boy named Seiffer because everyone else hated him too. At the urging of his teachers, he turned informer. In return, the boys insulted him because of his father’s reputation. He had a wicked sense of humor, one that was often misunderstood and often kindled smoldering hatred among his acquaintances, hatred that lasted for years. Worst of all, many of his classmates envied his industry and his success.

  He was a small boy—sallow-faced with a dark glance. On top of that, he was often sick, sometimes with real illnesses, sometimes with imagined ones. Nevertheless, he threw himself into playing games. He would fight when called upon, though he was often beaten for it, and if he believed that he was in the right, which was most of the time, he would never give in. This last trait followed him throughout his life, and although it helped him to survive the troubles of the Thirty Years’ War, it brought him endless grief with his own Lutheran church.

  What Kepler endured, however, was not only a product of his personality. His time on earth boiled with struggle, not only for him, but also for the Holy Roman Empire. Dark change was in the air. When Kepler was born in 1571, his parents had him baptized in the local Catholic church, Sts. Peter and Paul. Yet, his family were Lutherans, and Johannes was therefore raised a Lutheran. So, on the ground at least, where ordinary people lived out their lives, the membrane between Lutherans and Catholics was still permeable. For example, in 1535, when the local Catholic priest married, the town council didn’t object, but by 1572, the year after Kepler’s birth, when a second priest married, the town council dismissed him. The gulf between Lutherans and Catholics was widening every day. Eventually, a Lutheran child could not have been baptized in a Catholic church and would have had to travel to Leonberg for the sacrament. By the time Johannes was a young man, the easy relationship between believers in the new faith and believers in the old had become nearly impossible.

  Soon after the Keplers moved to Leonberg, they enrolled Johannes at the German school, but throughout the year there were always interruptions because Heinrich kept leaving to fight in a war and the family had to make do without him. In 1578, because of Johannes’s obvious intelligence, the teachers at the German school convinced Katharina to send him on to the Latin school, where he could learn to be a scholar or, better yet, a Lutheran pastor. By the end of that year, however, when Kepler was only six years old, his father bought an inn at Ellmendingen, near Pforzheim, and moved the whole family out there. The inn wasn’t very successful, because Heinrich didn’t really want to be there. Instead, an unhappy man, he drank, beat his wife, trumpeted around the house, and threatened his children. Eventually, running short of money, Heinrich sent Johannes out to work on a farm, something he wasn’t suited for, so that his education in the Latin school took him five years rather than three. In the meantime, the boy was always coming down with something.

  At the Latin school, Kepler used Philipp Melanchthon’s grammar book as his guide. Melanchthon had been Luther’s chief collaborator in the Reformation, the man responsible for the humanistic voice of Lutheranism and the foun
der of Lutheran education. Part of studying Latin meant studying the classics: Cato, parts of Cicero’s letters, and the comedies of Terence.3 Every day there were times for prayer and studying the Lutheran catechism. On Sundays Johannes went to church with his classmates and sang in the choir. During either the third or the fourth year, those students singled out by their teachers as likely candidates studied for the Landesexamen, a sort of standardized test, in Stuttgart. They went not only with good grades, but also with letters of recommendation from both their pastor and their schoolmaster, speaking of their good qualities in writing and erudition, their high level of intelligence, and their bright Christian character. The master of the Pädagodium, along with one of the teachers from the school and several church leaders, gave the examination. Each step was therefore carefully watched over by representatives of the church.4 After they accepted Kepler into the scholarship system, he swore an oath before God that he would follow the rules of the monastery schools to which he would be going, that he would continue his education in theology at the Stift in Tübingen and would complete his studies there, and that he would serve the duke for the rest of his life or as long as the duke desired his services.