The sphere and the dome: The Calouste Gulbenkian Planetarium in Lisbon and the imperial myth of the Estado Novo

Introduction: an incongruous inscription?

In the section dedicated to the neighborhood of Belém in Lisbon, Portugal, a travel guide describes the Calouste Gulbenkian Planetarium (CGP), located in that neighborhood, as follows: “Financed by the Gulbenkian Foundation and built in 1965, this modern building sits incongruously beside the Jerónimos Monastery.” ¹ It might well be the case that, for the occasional passerby and the many tourists that make this area one of the busiest in the Portuguese capital, the sight of a concrete, quadrangular building topped by a dome just next to an exquisitely embellished sixteenth-century monastery looks incongruent.

In this paper, I will show that the incongruence disappears when we address the history of the CGP in the context of the symbolic inscriptions that make up Belém’s distinctive character. Unwittingly, the author of the guide actually leaves a hint to understanding this seemingly odd urban inscription while introducing the neighborhood of Belém to the reader: “At the mouth of the River Tagus, where the caravels set sail on their voyages of discovery, Belém is inextricably linked with Portugal’s golden age of discovery.” ²

In fact, Belém is linked not simply with “Portugal’s golden age of discovery,” but essentially with its longstanding extolment. For a long time now, it has been a favored ground for a series of events and inscriptions that helped romanticize a period of Portuguese history which, to this day, remains a major source of moral solace to a small peripheral country still struggling to affirm itself as an equal player among the nations of Europe.

The Jerónimos Monastery (officially named Mosteiro de Santa Maria de Belém) was built in the sixteenth century, in the heyday of the Portuguese maritime journeys, following the orders of King Manuel I (1459–1521, ruled 1495–1521). The monastery sports several embellishments evocative of seafaring and maritime deeds, which are constitutive of the so-called ‘Manuelino’ style. ³ A major tourist attraction, the monastery also hosts the central library of the Portuguese War Navy, as well as the Museu de Marinha – the Portuguese Maritime Museum, to which the Calouste Gulbenkian Planetarium is appended.

Right in front of the monastery one finds the garden and fountain of Praça do Império (the Empire’s Square). The fountain’s wall is decorated with the coats of arms of the former administrative provinces of Portugal, including its erstwhile overseas colonies. Further south, by the riverside, sits the Padrão dos Descobrimentos (Figure 1), a building in the shape of a vessel carrying a constellation of Portuguese maritime heroes. At the front of the ship’s bow stands Prince Henry the Navigator (1394–1460), traditionally hailed as the mastermind of the Portuguese maritime expansion. ⁴ An already well deconstructed but occasionally recurrent myth depicts Prince Henry as the founder of a navigation school in the promontory of Sagres, in the southwest of Portugal. This mythical “School of Sagres” would have included an observatory and functioned as the focal point for a careful planning of the Portuguese maritime endeavor, grounded on the mastery of astronomy and nautical science. ⁵

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Figure 1.

The Padrão dos Descobrimentos: (a) view of the monument including a nearby metal armillary sphere (lower left); (b) detail showing Pedro Nunes holding a compass and an armillary sphere.

Myths and exaggerations apart, there is no doubt as to the importance of astronomical navigation in Portugal’s maritime accomplishments, ⁶ and in the constitution of its seaborne empire, which was only officially dissolved in 1975. ⁷ Therefore, a planetarium is by no means out of place in an area whose noteworthy monuments celebrate that very same empire.

For more than two centuries now, astronomy has provided a most suitable subject matter for the encounter between education, spectacle, and entertainment. ⁸ The modern projection planetarium is the contemporary epitome of this encounter, and its performativity often goes beyond what takes place inside its walls. Planetarium buildings themselves perform important symbolic functions that enhance and legitimize their presence in certain urban settings. ⁹ Furthermore, the development of popular and amateur astronomy is propelled not only by institutions and networks of scientists, amateurs and popularizers, but also by the inscription of their activities in new urban spaces and sites dedicated to this science. ¹⁰

In this paper, I argue that the inscription of the CGP in the peculiar urban scenario of Belém was not just a matter of extending a pre-existing set of symbolic associations. It was, in fact, what made the very foundation of the planetarium possible, since it took place during the dictatorial regime known as Estado Novo, and was steered by a man who maintained an ambivalent relationship with the regime: the naval officer, amateur astronomer, and science popularizer Eugénio Correia da Conceição Silva (1903–69).

I will begin by addressing some key events and symbolic inscriptions associated with Belém that evince the Estado Novo’s efforts to legitimize the maintenance of the Portuguese overseas empire, highlighting the place and role of astronomy and nautical science in the symbolic discourse conveyed by the regime. Then I summarize Conceição Silva’s multifarious career as a naval officer, military lecturer, amateur astronomer, and science popularizer. I show how Conceição Silva garnered the international prestige as an amateur astronomer that empowered him to lead the foundation of the CGP, and how the latter related to popularization efforts that may be regarded as bearing a political meaning of soft opposition to the Estado Novo. Finally, I analyze the inception of the CGP, its place in the tapestry of symbolic inscriptions of Belém, and its early activity, which gave way to the foundation of the Portuguese Association of Amateur Astronomers (APAA).

Above all, I intend to show that urban inscriptions, no matter how stiff in their physical constitution and appearance, are malleable regarding their use. As it will be shown, the history of the CGP is a case in point, since it entails an institutional undertaking in which distinct agendas and political tensions were solved through successful inclusion in a pre-existing set of urban inscriptions that proved useful and convenient to all parties involved.

Belém, the Estado Novo, and the celebration of the Portuguese overseas empire

The celebration of maritime deeds, such as the rounding of the Cape of Good Hope (1488), Vasco da Gama’s sea journey to India (1498), or the European discovery of Brazil (1500), has a long tradition in Portuguese history. Past maritime accomplishments were flaunted not only to highlight the stamina and genius of the Portuguese, but also to legitimize imperial and colonial claims and to boost ideological propaganda. For example, the Republicans who overthrew the Portuguese monarchy in 1910 made extensive use of the empire in their political rhetoric. ¹¹

The Estado Novo (literally, New State) was formally established in 1933, after a period of military dictatorship (1926–33) that put an end in the so-called First Portuguese Republic (1910–26). The Estado Novo was led by António de Oliveira Salazar (1889–1970) between 1933 and 1968, and in its final years (1968–74) by Marcelo Caetano (1906–80). ¹²

Salazar and Caetano’s regime extolled social order, morality, Christian faith, and empire. It was well anchored on the Catholic Church, and relied on an active propaganda machine. A censorship department controlled information in the public sphere. A stark rule was enforced by means of a political police department (successively named PVDE, PIDE, and PIDE-DGS), which persecuted dissidents, critics, and above all members of the Portuguese Communist Party, which was officially banned but remained well organized and very active in the underground. The economy of the Estado Novo was significantly controlled by the state, depending on a close relation between bankers, influential businessmen, and the regime’s highest spheres. A parliament controlled by the regime’s single party, the União Nacional, served mainly to create an illusion of political debate in national life.

One of the basic tenets of the Estado Novo was to rescue Portugal from the political chaos and moral decay ascribed to the First Republic. But similar to the Republicans, Salazar and his cohort would use the empire as a fundamental rhetoric device, and give it an even more prominent place in state affairs and political discourse. As historian of the Estado Novo, Fernando Rosas, points out, one of the foundational myths of the Estado Novo was that Portugal was a grand imperial nation, entrusted with the historical mission of spreading Christian faith and civilization around the globe. ¹³ This mission would have begun in the fifteenth century, when, under the enlightened outlook of Prince Henry the Navigator, the Portuguese went on to implement a rational and well-crafted plan of maritime expansion, sustained by the domains of astronomy and mathematics as applied to navigation.

In 1940, the Portuguese authorities launched a major exhibition in Belém, in the area of the Monastery of Jerónimos, to celebrate the foundation of Portugal (c. 1140), the 400th anniversary of the end of a period of Spanish domain (1580–1640), and, obviously, the Estado Novo itself. It was titled Exposição do Mundo Português (Exhibition of the Portuguese World). As the name indicates, the exhibition was intended to convey an image of Portugal as a far-reaching empire, and of the Estado Novo as its dedicated guardian. ¹⁴

Among the many attractions of the exhibition was a building named Pavilhão dos Descobrimentos (Pavilion of the Discoveries), which displayed a glorious narrative of past maritime glories carefully woven through several dioramas and objects, including a replica of a carrack’s deck, maps and mariner’s astrolabes, as well as portraits and statues of Portuguese maritime heroes. The narrative presented in the pavilion was complemented by a real-scale replica of a carrack moored in a nearby dock, and by a structure named Esfera dos Descobrimentos (Sphere of the Discoveries). The upper part of this structure consisted of a section of an armillary sphere featuring the constellations of the zodiac. The armillary sphere – a framework representing the great circles of the heavens, namely the celestial equator, the ecliptic, the tropics, and the polar circles – is an important national symbol, which, since the First Republic, has featured in the Portuguese flag itself. It represents astronomy in association with navigation, and the capacity to encompass the whole world by mastering the science of the heavens.

Inside the Esfera dos Descobrimentos, visitors were presented with a simulation of a starry sky projected onto the dome above. The center of the Esfera’s wide inner space was marked by a spinning terrestrial globe, crossed by gleaming lights depicting the routes of emblematic maritime journeys undertaken by the Portuguese. The message was clear: by mastering the science of the skies above, the Portuguese had sailed, unfolded, and conquered the Earth below.

As most of the other buildings and props of the Exposição do Mundo Português, this sort of proto-planetarium was dismantled after the exhibition. However twenty years later, the Estado Novo launched Comemorações Henriquinas, a program of festivities promoted by the occasion of the fifth centenary of Prince Henry’s demise. ¹⁵ A new exhibition, in the vein of the Pavilhão dos Descobrimentos, was held in one of the few buildings remaining from the Exposição do Mundo Português. It conveyed a similar narrative of Christian faith, maritime bravado, and scientific acumen converging into a glorious, enlightened, and benign process of maritime expansion.

By then, the empire had become a much more sensitive issue, in the face of the wave of decolonization that had begun to sweep across European overseas possessions. But Salazar not only kept its stark rule after the defeat of the Axis in World War II, he also remained adamant regarding the maintenance of the Portuguese empire.

Belém remained a major urban emblem of maritime grandeur and empire. With the Comemorações Henriquinas, it gained yet another landmark: the aforementioned Padrão dos Descobrimentos. A similar structure had already featured in the Exposição do Mundo Português, but this second version was meant to become a permanent monument. Among the heroes represented in the Padrão is the mathematician Pedro Nunes (1502–78), who is shown holding a compass and an armillary sphere in his hands. This detail is reinforced by a larger armillary sphere made of metal that rests on a tripod a few meters away, and which is matched by an identical structure on the opposite side of the Padrão (Figure 1).

The message embodied by the whole scenario (which also comprises a large compass rose on the grounds of the Padrão) is the same as that conveyed by the Pavilhão and Esfera dos Descobrimentos in 1940: by mastering the science of the heavens, the Portuguese navigators had managed to encompass the whole world and to set the roots of an empire that constituted a single, unified nation.

This set of symbolic inscriptions would soon be extended with the installation of a new maritime museum and a planetarium.

Popularizing astronomy in the Estado Novo

Astronomy holds a prominent place in the history of the popularization of science. ¹⁶ The science of the heavens has long proved to be a subject with a substantial appeal to diverse audiences, and whose content can easily be assimilated into a variety of political agendas and discourses. ¹⁷

The Calouste Gulbenkian Planetarium represents, to a significant extent, the acme of a popularization endeavor undertaken by the naval officer and amateur astronomer Eugénio Conceição Silva. This endeavor allowed Silva to keep on cultivating astronomy after he felt he had reached the limits of what he could accomplish as an amateur astronomer. But he was likely motivated by an alleged distaste for the Estado Novo as well, particularly for its narrow concept of public education.

After completing his training as a naval officer, Eugénio Conceição Silva specialized in naval artillery and optics as applied to military purposes. ¹⁸ He nurtured an interest in astronomy from a young age, becoming a member of the Société Astronomique de France while still a cadet at the Lisbon Naval School.

By that time, a community of amateur astronomers was yet to emerge in Portugal. ¹⁹ The Astronomical Society of Portugal (Sociedade Astronómica de Portugal, SAP), officially founded in 1917, could not do much to help Silva foster his astronomical passions. The SAP had been established by a group of professional astronomers and university professors, and had its official headquarters at the Astronomical Observatory of the Faculty of Sciences of Lisbon. Its founders wanted SAP to bring professionals, amateurs, and prospective patrons together in a platform of civic support to astronomy. However, the society failed to gain momentum, and gradually vanished as a result of a lack of interest and funding. ²⁰

The scarcity of fellow amateurs in his country did not deter Silva from engaging in ambitious astronomical pursuits. In 1935, he began to carry out systematic observations of variable and double stars, while fostering his connections with the international amateur community. ²¹ During the second half of the 1930s, the Navy’s arsenal was transferred from its original location in Lisbon’s downtown to a place called Alfeite, on the southern bank of River Tagus. It was in this brand new military complex, which comprised the arsenal, a naval base, the Naval School, and several workshops, that Conceição Silva prompted his multifarious career as a lecturer, military technoscientific expert, amateur astronomer, and, later, popularizer of astronomy. ²²

Between 1936 and 1958 Silva produced two photographic atlases of the sky, ²³ resorting to different telescopes and cameras. The atlases were never published as such, but Silva’s photographs and equipment came to the attention of many fellow amateurs abroad. In September 1952 his private observatory in Alfeite featured in the column “The Amateur Scientist” in Scientific American. ²⁴ The column was edited by Albert Ingalls, who was also the editor of a book titled Amateur Telescope Making. The book went through several editions, and forms the basis of the so-called Amateur Telescope Making (ATM) movement. The latter was pivotal in fostering amateur astronomy in the United States and other countries, by motivating amateurs to construct their own telescopes, as indicated by the name of the movement. ²⁵ Like many other amateurs all over the world, Conceição Silva was inspired by Ingall’s book, and he even found a place in the ATM canon: an additional volume by Ingalls of Ingall’s work included an article by Silva on a device to perform double star measurements. ²⁶ Silva was also honored by the Société Astronomique de France, and by the Spanish amateur society Aster. ²⁷

Despite his success as an amateur astronomer, Silva eventually chose to quit astrophotography, seemingly because of a mixture of hubris and self-delusion. He allegedly decided to stop imaging the skies when he came across the work on galaxies developed by Allan Sandage (1926–2010) at the Mount Palomar Observatory, ²⁸ which would have made him realize that it was impossible to compete with these high-ranked professional scientists and institutions. ²⁹

In any case, Silva had already garnered enough international acclaim and respect to be recognized as an authority on astronomy in his own country. He would now dedicate more of his spare time and energies to the popularization of astronomy, an activity he had started to pursue in the 1940s.

Silva’s rise as an international star in amateur astrophotography was concomitant with the consolidation of the Estado Novo, during which a significant part of the population lived on the threshold of poverty and illiteracy levels were paramount. According to Salazar’s conception of national education, elites were to be given access to higher education, while elementary instruction sufficed for the majority of the people, especially those in the countryside. ³⁰

In this context, the popularization of science could bear a strong political meaning, as shown by the case of the prominent mathematician and educator Bento de Jesus Caraça (1901–48). A stark critic of the Estado Novo, Caraça sought to fight the regime not only through his involvement with the Portuguese Communist Party, but also through cultural intervention. ³¹

Between 1941 and 1948, Caraça acted as chief editor for a series of popular books called Biblioteca Cosmos (Cosmos Library). The title of the series refers not to astronomy and space sciences in particular, but rather to the ideal of a universal culture accessible to all citizens. As Caraça put it: “What is the purpose of the Biblioteca Cosmos? To provide the highest amount of general knowledge to the highest number of people […] a general vision of the world – the physical world and the social world – of its constitution, its life and its problems.” ³²

The Biblioteca Cosmos ³³ was organized according to a color code, with a specific color for each thematic area. The color for science and technology (the category encompassing the highest number of titles) was red. Other thematic areas included contemporary issues, drama and literature, biographies, and myths and religion. Science and technology scored the highest number of titles within the series, probably because these thematic areas were less prone to official censorship. In contrast, the number of titles about myths and religion, a much more delicate subject, was meager.

Although Silva came to be remembered among his followers and admirers as someone who loathed the Estado Novo, ³⁴ his attitude toward the regime is much less obvious, and certainly more ambivalent than Caraça’s. Silva maintained a low profile and there is no evidence of him ever being involved in any kind of political activity, at least in the traditional sense of the expression. He also served in the Commission for Explosives of the Portuguese Ministry for Economy, as a military expert in this field. But like Caraça, Silva was apparently keen to engage in the popularization of science as a form of cultural intervention. In fact, he contributed to Caraça’s editorial venture. In 1944, the Biblioteca Cosmos reached the mark of 75 volumes, with a double volume entitled O Sistema Solar (The Solar System), authored by Silva.

The authorities of the Estado Novo eventually banned Caraça from teaching in Portuguese universities. He died in 1948 at the age of 47. Caraça’s demise put an end in the Biblioteca Cosmos, which had nonetheless reached the noteworthy mark of 114 titles and a total number of printed copies in the region of 800,000.

Silva would carry on with his own popularizing efforts. In the early fifties, he collaborated with a short-lived popular science magazine titled O Átomo (The Atom), contributing with articles on the construction of telescopes and various topics in astronomy and space exploration.

A visit to the Hayden Planetarium in New York in the late 1940s seemingly drove Silva into the undertaking that was to crown his efforts as a popularizer of astronomy: the establishment of the first modern planetarium in Portugal.

Staging, assembling, and working the Calouste Gulbenkian Planetarium

The modern projection planetarium resulted essentially from the convergence of two streams of visualization and communication technologies in astronomy: the production of mechanical models to replicate celestial motions, ³⁵ and the communication of astronomical concepts and ideas with the aid of optical devices such as the ‘Eidouranion’ (transparent orrery) and the magic lantern. ³⁶

The concept of projecting the celestial bodies and their motions onto a dome was put forward by Walter Bauersfeld (1879–1959) of the German optical firm Zeiss. It was a response to a request from Oskar von Miller (1855–1934), the director of the Deutsches Museum in Munich, who wished to realize the concept of a hollow sphere capable of demonstrating celestial motions to an audience sitting inside of it. The first planetarium projector started to be constructed in 1919. In 1924, after a period of tests, the projector was placed inside a nine-meter dome at the Deutsches Museum and put to work on a regular schedule of demonstrations. ³⁷

This set-up was called a Ptolemaic, or geocentric planetarium, since it showed celestial motions as seen from Earth. It complemented a room-size model of the solar system, or Copernican planetarium, also at work in the Deutsches Museum. However, the projection planetarium proved very successful on its own, becoming a versatile and powerful tool to teach and popularize astronomy.

The first projector, known as Zeiss I, was never mass-produced, but an improved version, Zeiss II, soon started to be sold to many emerging planetaria in Europe and North America. By the spring of 1930, a total of fifteen planetaria had been established in Europe. ³⁸ In the same year, the Adler Planetarium in Chicago, the first in the United States, opened to the public. Six other planetaria would be established in the United States before the outbreak of World War II. ³⁹ This group includes the Hayden Planetarium, inaugurated in 1935 as a dependent of the American Museum of Natural History in New York City. The Hayden Planetarium was sponsored by the investment broker Charles Hayden (1870–1937). In the 1950s, the Hayden Planetarium was not only proceeding with is mission as a well-established center for the popularization of astronomy, but also promoting public interest in the space race.

All of this is certain to have exerted a fascination on Conceição Silva. But how could something similar be established in Portugal, a country with much fewer resources and lacking a tradition of private patronage for scientific undertakings (as exemplified by the ill-fated SAP)? Part of the solution was to promote the foundation of a planetarium in the context of an undertaking that resonated with the imperialist discourse of the Estado Novo, and which was, to a great extent, led by the Portuguese War Navy: the establishment of a new maritime museum appended to (and partially installed in) the Jerónimos Monastery.

The Museu de Marinha – Portugal’s major maritime museum – was originally founded in 1863. ⁴⁰ It began with a collection of ship models assembled during the reign of Queen Maria I (1734–1816, ruled 1777–1816), which up to that point had been kept at the Royal Palace in Ajuda. The museum was eventually installed in the premises of the Navy arsenal close to Lisbon’s downtown. In 1916 a fire destroyed a considerable part of these premises, including part of the museum. In 1948, the collection was significantly reinforced with a testamentary donation from the nautical history enthusiast and collector Henrique Maufroy de Seixas (1896–1948). Seixas bequeathed his personal collection of ship models to the Portuguese War Navy, on the condition that it would be stored and displayed in appropriate premises. In July 1959, the Portuguese Government decreed that the collection was to be placed in the northern and western wings of the Jerónimos Monastery.

The architect and painter Frederico George (1915–94) was hired to draw the plans for an extension of the monastery, comprising a pavilion for royal barges (Pavilhão das Galeotas) and the planetarium. George was well aware of the successive displays and inscriptions in this area of the Portuguese capital. He had worked as a painter in the Exposição do Mundo Português, and was the architect-in-chief of the Prince Henry celebrations (Comemorações Henriquinas).

The planetarium would be placed between the Pavilion of Royal Barges and the west wing of the Jerónimos Monastery, slightly receded so that its modernist appearance did not interfere with the older Manuelino style of the monastery (Figures 2 and 3).

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Figure 2.

Façade and main entrance of the Calouste Gulbenkian Planetarium.

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Figure 3.

A view of the planetarium and the main entrance of the Maritime Museum in the west wing of the Jerónimos Monastery.

The modernist style was an important element of the large-scale program of public works promoted by the Estado Novo in the 1930s. In the 1940s and 1950s, a movement known as Nationalist Style (eventually dubbed “Português Suave,” literally “Soft Portuguese” style) fostered the combination of modern elements with embellishments derived from seventeenth- and eighteenth-century buildings and from Portuguese regional styles, in order to constitute a recognizable canon of national architecture. However, from the late 1940s onwards, this approach was fiercely criticized by some architects, who deemed it backward and devoid of sophistication. The CGP and the Pavilion of Royal Barges are representative of a return to a more sober modernist approach favored by the Estado Novo from the mid-1950s onwards. ⁴¹

At first sight, the decision to place the planetarium slightly behind the frontline of the Jerónimos Monastery was not very effective; the contrast between the two buildings is evident. However, the presence of modernist buildings just next to the “manuelino”-style monastery may be regarded as a statement of the willingness to extend Portugal’s erstwhile glories into the future.

The celebration of the past would prevail nonetheless. The new Museu de Marinha was placed under the aegis of the Portuguese Ministry of the Navy and inaugurated in 1962. The extolment of Portugal’s maritime past was a central theme in its statutory documents and exhibits. ⁴² This echoed not only the longstanding glorification of Portugal’s maritime past on the political front, but also a tradition of studying and exalting the accomplishments of erstwhile navigators, which was well-established among Portuguese naval officers. ⁴³

Erudition in Portuguese maritime history and its scientific aspects, together with a willingness to defend the deeds of Portuguese navigators before foreign historians who questioned or overlooked them, beckoned a blend of patriotism and intellectual stamina that was much revered in military-naval circles. Given the importance of astronomy in the Portuguese maritime endeavor, the establishment of a planetarium in the complex of the new Museu de Marinha was certain to garner support among the higher ranks of the War Navy.

Furthermore, in 1961, just one year before the inauguration of the new complex, the Estado Novo had launched a war against independence movements in Portuguese Guinea and Angola, which later extended to Mozambique. ⁴⁴ While the war for the maintenance of the empire escalated overseas, the CGP and the Museu de Marinha would help reinforce the image of Portugal as a benign maritime power.

The construction of the planetarium started in 1963. Because Portugal was at war, the government financed the building, but not the optical projector. However, Conceição Silva succeeded at what the SAP could never accomplished: finding private sponsorship for an astronomical undertaking in the country, for which Silva was probably inspired by his visit to the privately sponsored Hayden Planetarium.

In 1942, Calouste Sarkis Gulbenkian (1869–1955) arrived in Lisbon (neutral territory during World War II), planning to reach the United States via the Portuguese capital. Gulbenkian was an oil-tycoon of Armenian origins who spent part of his vast fortune on a noteworthy art collection. Seduced by Lisbon, he ended up staying in Portugal until his death in 1955. In his will, Gulbenkian demanded his bequest be used in the establishment of a foundation dedicated to charity, science, art, and education. ⁴⁵

Gulbenkian’s heirs and his Portuguese representatives fought over the official location and the statutory terms of the foundation. Azeredo Perdigão (1896–1993), Gulbenkian’s Portuguese lawyer, strove to firm the foundation in the country. In 1956, the Calouste Gulbenkian Foundation was officially established, with its headquarters in Lisbon. The foundation played an important role in the development of the arts and sciences in the country. To this day, it remains a key player in Portugal’s cultural life.

In 1961 the Gulbenkian Institute for Science was established, with the aim of fostering research in fields such as the life sciences and economics. However, something more was needed in order to project a far-reaching image of the Gulbenkian Foundation as a patron of the sciences in Portugal.

The new planetarium, expected to become an immediate attraction and a landmark, provided an excellent opportunity, and the foundation agreed to fund the acquisition of a Zeiss projector. ⁴⁶ In return, the new institution was named the Calouste Gulbenkian Planetarium. It is interesting to note that, even nowadays, many people wrongly assume that the planetarium belongs to the Gulbenkian Foundation, when in fact it remains a military facility managed by the Portuguese War Navy, under the aegis of the Portuguese Ministry of National Defense. Even if unintentionally, the association with Gulbenkian dissimulates the planetarium’s military roots and institutional framing, reinforcing its profile as a public institution committed to a civic mission of scientific outreach.

The CGP was officially inaugurated in the presence of the president of Portugal, Admiral Américo Thomaz (1894–1987), ⁴⁷ on July 20, 1965, precisely ten years after the death of Calouste Gulbenkian. According to an anecdote that still circulates in the circles of the Navy and the Portuguese Association of Amateur Astronomers (APAA), Conceição Silva, who had been appointed director of the CGP, compressed the inaugural planetarium show into just ten minutes and fled from the building as soon as he could, just to avoid crossing paths with the president and the other dignitaries of the Estado Novo attending the ceremony. ⁴⁸

Regardless of how accurate this story is, there is no doubt that the planetarium was successfully accommodated into the regime. Silva might not have exulted over the opening ceremony, but he never neglected the alignment of the CGP with the official discourse of Portugal as a vast imperial nation grounded on the accomplishments of yesteryear’s navigators. Even an official booklet in which Silva reported (in a rather dry tone) on the resources, equipment, and budget of the planetarium included an appendix about astronomy and nautical science. ⁴⁹ The glorious maritime past of Portugal legitimized the empire and the planetarium likewise.

Silva could thus proceed smoothly with his agenda of popularization and outreach. He served as director of the CGP until his death in 1969. The planetarium opened to the public four months after the official inauguration, in November 1965. It began by hosting a regular program of two sessions per day, three days a week. Silva himself frequently featured as a speaker. The relations between astronomy and Portugal’s maritime deeds gained an enduring presence in the offerings of the planetarium, both in regular and special sky shows. ⁵⁰

Silva also promoted optical workshops open to the public, in which participants learned how to grind and polish mirrors and to assemble a reflecting telescope, in line with the ATM movement. Silva also planned to set up an observatory appended to the CGP. The observatory (later named Captain Conceição Silva Observatory) was built in 1972, three years after Silva’s death. Initially equipped with a refracting telescope borrowed from the Faculty of Sciences of Lisbon, it constituted another form of engaging visitors in the practice of astronomical observation. The Gulbenkian Planetarium thus functioned as a focal point for the appropriation, in Portugal, of the ATM movement, which had been a source of inspiration for Silva himself.

Conclusion

Comparative studies on science and ideology have shown that the relationship between the two is complex and cannot be reduced to ideological pressures on scientists or to a direct interference in their practices, contrary to what was generally emphasized by the early postwar historiography. Science has historically been used to support any social or political claim, and no particular ideology has proved better than the others at mobilizing resources for science or interfering with its programs. ⁵¹

The Gulbenkian Planetarium and the role of Conceição Silva in its inception are illustrative of how ambivalently science can be pursued and popularized in the context of a dictatorial regime. Silva was a naval officer, military teacher, and expert who even worked for a ministerial commission in the context of the Estado Novo, but who also left an image, at least among the inner circle of his followers and admirers, of someone who was not aligned with the ideological tenets of the regime. On the one hand, the way he developed his activity as a popularizer of astronomy suggests that he pursued it as a way of counteracting the regime’s elitist approach to public education. On the other hand, astronomy had a strong resonance with the imperialist discourse of the regime.

This ambivalence favored not only the implementation of the planetarium project during the Estado Novo, but also its continuity after the collapse of the Portuguese dictatorial regime. In 1974, the regime of Salazar and Caetano finally collapsed, under the military coup of April 25th, 1974, known as the Revolution of the Carnations. The ensuing years constituted a particularly intense period in the life of the country, which had to revamp its political life and economy as a newborn democracy in a post-imperial nation, still plagued by poverty and illiteracy. This implied, among other challenges, the need to settle the tensions between radical sects and moderate forces distributed all over the ideological spectrum; to accommodate roughly half a million people who were compelled to flee the former overseas colonies; to cope with the somber heritage of the colonial war; to extend access to all levels of formal education and to develop a national education system in accordance; and to control an ever more feeble state finance. ⁵²

It was in this tumultuous period that the Portuguese Association of Amateur Astronomers came into existence, conferring an institutional seal to the first recognizable community of amateur astronomers in Portugal. Officially established in 1976, APAA promptly elected Conceição Silva, deceased seven years before, as its forefather. ⁵³ Silva had apparently never shown any intention of constituting an association of amateur astronomers in Portugal. But he was certainly adamant about making astronomy accessible to the lay public and encouraging others to engage with it. And it was in the context of the optical workshops he promoted at the CGP that the APAA’s founding group of amateurs emerged.

Some similarities can be found with the appropriation of ATM in Spain. During the Francoist dictatorship, ATM propelled the growth of amateur astronomy in the country and played an important role in the activity of societies such as Aster – the very same society that had presented Silva to its members as an exemplary amateur – where youngsters could find a space of sociability outside of the direct control of the regime. At the same time, the cultivation of astronomy in the public sphere by such groups resonated with, and helped promote, values central to the Francoist regime, such as social harmony, cooperation, and the glorification of youth. ⁵⁴

There are, however, two distinct aspects in the Portuguese case. First, contrary to the situation in Spain before World War II, a community of amateur astronomers was practically non-existent in the country. Second, the local appropriation of ATM and the space of sociability it generated had their focal point in an institution and an urban area invested with strong symbolic features central to the Estado Novo. This further evinces the fundamental importance of place and symbolic inscriptions in the history of the Gulbenkian Planetarium.

The establishment of a revamped maritime museum in Belém constituted a very suitable opportunity for this endeavor. With an existing set of urban inscriptions glorifying the erstwhile maritime glories of the Portuguese and its rich history as a place that celebrated Portugal’s overseas empire, Belém constituted a very fitting backdrop for the new complex comprising the Museu de Marinha and the Calouste Gulbenkian Planetarium. This whole set of inscriptions favored an effective convergence of all the interests vested into the new complex – those of Silva, the Estado Novo, the Portuguese War Navy, and the Gulbenkian Foundation. And it eventually provided a focal point for the emergence of the major society of amateur astronomers in Portugal, in the context of a democratic regime that, to this day, even if more subtly, has generally upheld the idea of a glorious nautical past as a recurrent moral resource and as a cornerstone of national identity. It is interesting to note, for example, that Portugal officially joined the then Economic European Community (EEC) in a ceremony held in 1986 in the Monastery of Jerónimos, and that the Lisbon World Exposition of 1998 (Expo ’98), although hosted away from Belém on the eastern side of Lisbon’s waterfront, was officially themed “The Oceans, a Heritage for the Future” – a way of conferring a forward-looking tone on an event that marked the 500th anniversary of Vasco da Gama’s journey to India.

It should come as no surprise, then, that Belém remains one of the most emblematic areas of the Portuguese capital. But if urban inscriptions are malleable in the ways they can be used by agents with different motives, it is also true that they are not always obvious regarding their meaning. The passage from a tourist guide cited at the beginning of this article delivers a fair remark: at first sight, the contrast between the Calouste Gulbenkian Planetarium’s modern building and the adjoining sixteenth-century monastery is paramount. However, if we take into account the historical background of the area, it makes perfect sense for the first modern planetarium in Portugal to have been placed there. In fact, the planetarium’s dome, evocative of the armillary sphere, comes out as a very suitable element of closure for the whole scenario.