Church, Science, and Academics
In 2003 the Pontifical Council for Culture began coordinating a focused program called STOQ, which stands for Science, Theology, and the Ontological Quest. The program traces its roots to John Paul II’s call for a renewed dialogue among scientists, theologians, and philosophers. The STOQ project’s ambition is to promote scientific literacy within the Church—a task that is particularly important in America. Part of the Vatican’s concern is that its clergy might not have a clear understanding of the science involved in evolution. With the help of the six pontifical universities specifically involved in the STOQ project, the Vatican is making some headway.
One of those universities is the Pontifical University of the Holy Cross, whose library is located in a narrow alley a stone’s throw from the cobblestone Piazza Campo de Fiori, where Italian farmers display their colorful produce. In the same square four centuries ago, the Holy See burned alive the philosopher Giordano Bruno, mere decades before Galileo’s run-in with the Church. Among his many heresies, Bruno had posited that the universe was infinite and that there were many solar systems. Today his chagrined bronze likeness towers over the bustling marketplace, scowling in the Vatican’s direction. If he were alive today, Bruno might be surprised at the opinions being expressed in pontifical universities, all without threat of recourse.
“We consider that evolution is the scientific theory that we can use now about the evolution of the world, and we don’t feel any necessity to find a different theory,” says Father Rafael Martínez, the STOQ program director at Holy Cross. “We think that intelligent design is not, for this reason, a scientific proposal, and also—from a theological and philosophical point of view—is a wrong answer.”
Cardinal Christoph Schönborn, in contrast, wrote an article that appeared in The New York Times in which he suggested that neo-Darwinian thought was incompatible with Catholicism and instead gave implicit support to intelligent design. Father Coyne, an outspoken proponent of the theory of natural selection, roundly criticized Schönborn’s position.
If there are any vestiges of the Roman Inquisition left in the Holy See, it isn’t apparent; Martínez certainly doesn’t show it. His soft voice and priest’s attire simultaneously reflect the Church’s receptivity to science and its dogged adherence to religious tradition.
“We are trying to find and obtain this harmony, this accord between science, religion, and faith,” Martínez tells me.
“Is it really possible?” I ask.
“Of course,” he says. “We are not saying that science has to explain religion. It is impossible from the perspective of transcendent faith. I would say that a scientist feels that science is not giving him everything. Science does not explain many aspects of human life such as love, friendships, and things like that.”
The hard sciences may not have a reliable measure of human emotions, but there are other religious phenomena that do regularly attract rigorous scientific scrutiny: miracles.
“As a believer, I accept miracles, but I don’t consider miracles the main reason of my faith,” Martínez says. “For beatification purposes there must be a medical miracle that must be certified by medical doctors in a real experimental way, and from a scientific view this has been many, many times recorded.”
Martínez explains that while rare, miracles are still plausible. “Our world is a very complex world in which chaos and uncertainty have a big part... but the odds are one in many terabillions,” he says. “That would be not a problem in my point of view because this event would be guided in a way without contradicting natural laws.”
Another pontifical university across the city of Rome approaches the STOQ project’s directive from a different angle. The Regina Apostolorum Pontifical University is, by Roman standards, an ultramodern institution that occupies a spacious plot of land a few miles southwest of Vatican City. There Father Pascual directs a program on science and faith. He tells me that a number of students there are involved in the Geoastrolab program, which involves research in astronomy, astrophysics, and geography.
“I think the Church is not doing science as such,” Pascual says. “The Church is doing its job, whose mission was given by the Lord to preach the Gospel to the people and to present the Gospel to each moment in history. We need to speak with the present people in the present culture, and these people are very embedded in scientific teaching.”
Many of the STOQ project’s initiatives involve engaging cultures in dialogues about science; in some sense its undertakings can be perceived as a shrewd PR move, giving the Holy See an opportunity to inject the issue of religion into scientific discourse. But has the presence of the STOQ project had any impact on the Church itself?
“I am not sure,” Pascual says. “I think it is not so direct and immediate. But widely, because we are forming the future leaders of the Church, it will be a real influence in the Church.”
Following our talk, Pascual takes me through the university’s main building and shows me an exhibit on science and the Shroud of Turin. Recent shroud samplings show a botanical correlation to Israel, confirming the shroud’s origins, he says.
“Maybe we will conduct shroud research here someday,” Pascual tells me, and I can see he’s elated by the prospect.
In the corner is an impressive life-size sculpture of the figure immortalized on the shroud; on the far wall is a rare holographic rendering of the same figure. The figure’s face is striking and mysterious and bold, and you can’t help but wonder if that is indeed the visage of Jesus. It’s a perfect example of the many Church enigmas that science is trying to solve.
Looking to the Heavens
A safe distance from the many scientific enigmas and controversies the Church is engaged in, Brother Consolmagno leads me up and down the spiraling staircases of the Papal Palace in Castel Gandolfo, pointing out the door to the pope’s private quarters at one turn, then indicating a meager hallway where Jesuits live, dorm style. He tells me one of the biggest perks of his job is the authentic Italian meals he gets from the Jesuit community’s cook. Then he treats me to a brief tour of his most prized undertaking, the famous Vatican meteorite collection, meticulously categorized samples from all over the world.
Castel Gandolfo feels a solar system away from the austere surroundings of the academy back in Vatican City. Members are currently busy organizing their next plenary session, “Scientific Insights Into the Evolution of the Universe and of Life,” to be held at the end of next month. Schönborn and Hawking are scheduled to speak, as is Maxine Singer. The event is certain to heighten the already feverish debate between creationism and evolution. The observatory in Castel Gandolfo seems immune to the entire affair, and it occurs to me that there’s a reason for the privilege.
I suggest to Consolmagno that the Vatican may be supporting astronomical research above other applied research simply because it’s a pretty safe field. Astronomy doesn’t have to bother with issues involving embryonic stem cells, human cloning, or morning-after pills. The Church has to take positions on all these issues, and each has far-reaching effects, but there aren’t many priests losing sleep over solar flares and supernovas. Consolmagno adds that other types of scientists really must grapple with serious ethical concerns, such as whether they should work in the field of atomic physics, where research can yield advances in weaponry. The answers aren’t easy.
“All of these things have consequences, and some are unintended, like handing out condoms to AIDS patients,” he says. Consolmagno leans back in his chair, suspended for a moment in the soft blue mountain light that fills his office. He turns his focus toward a different space, an inner universe, and remains there for a moment before his eyes return to me.
“I’m glad that I’m an astronomer is all I have to say.”
