IT was a risky business in the 16th century to be a Catholic priest pondering
myriad worlds beyond Earth and the farthest reaches of the Universe. Giordano
Bruno learnt that the hard way; he was burnt alive. Nowadays the prospects are
rather better. In fact, a modern-day Bruno might well find himself on the
shortlist for a job in the Vatican’s most unlikely department—its
observatory.
The headquarters of the Vatican Observatory are found in the Pope’s summer
residence, in the town of Castel Gandolfo just southeast of Rome. Under its
American director Father George Coyne, a staff of 10 Jesuit priests works at
both the headquarters and a Vatican research centre at the Steward Observatory
of the University of Arizona. They scan the skies for everything from fledgling
stars with newborn planets to clues about the mysterious dark matter in the
Universe, and even shape the theory of the big bang.
In fact, the Vatican Observatory seems little different from any other
astronomical research institute. Its Web site proclaims that it is not scanning
the heavens for signs from God. Nor is it out to convert. “It’s not an institute
that does anything other than scientific research,” says Coyne. “We’re not
proselytising; we’re not out to baptise atheist scientists.”
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So what’s in it for the Vatican? Though Pope Pius XII (1939-58) was a keen
amateur astronomer, the present Pope has no particularly astronomical bent.
There are no scientists in the Vatican itself and, according to Coyne, the
observatory’s annual report always lies unread on the Vatican’s shelves. So why
fund this work at all? “For them it’s a PR exercise, but in a more sophisticated
sense,” says Coyne. “They see it as contributing to the life of the Church, and
showing that the Church has a wider interest in human culture.”
The choice of an observatory—rather than a biological research centre,
for instance—is simply a legacy of history, according to Coyne. The
Catholic Church’s involvement in astronomy dates back to the 1500s, when Pope
Gregory XIII set Jesuit mathematicians and astronomers the task of gathering
data to reform the Julian calendar, which had become hopelessly out of line with
the seasons. Later, at the end of the 19th century, Pope Leo XIII decided to
polish up the Church’s intellectual profile. “The Church was being accused of
obscurantism and anti-intellectualism—in some senses justly so,” says
Coyne.
Nettled, Leo XIII determined to show that “the Church and her Pastors are not
opposed to true and solid science, whether human or divine, but that they
embrace it, encourage it, and promote it with the fullest possible dedication”.
But what kind of science to choose? Memories of the Church’s infamous clashes
with Bruno and Galileo were fading, but Darwin’s evolutionary ideas were
becoming a hotbed of controversy. So by then, astronomy seemed one of the least
contentious subjects to choose.
The Vatican Observatory was duly built behind the dome of St Peter’s. But in
1933, after the skies became obscured by light pollution, the observatory moved
to Castel Gandolfo. In the 1960s, however, the skies there became impossible
too. So when Coyne was made director in 1978, he set about finding an
alternative observing site.
In collaboration with the University of Arizona, the Vatican Observatory
built a 2-metre telescope called the Vatican Advanced Technology
Telescope—the first to use a thin, light mirror created in a rotating
furnace. The VATT was built on Mount Graham in Arizona and completed in 1993.
The Vatican’s share of the funding needed to build and run it—$3
million—was well beyond its resources, but donations of about $1
million from two devout American Catholics helped to bridge the gap.
Cheap labour
Nowadays, life at the observatory is pretty much the same as life for
astronomers anywhere. But because the Vatican wants its observatory to be
clearly a Church institution, it has limited recruitment of astronomers to
Jesuit priests. That’s also because few others would be impressed by the salary.
At Coyne’s last count, the priests earned an average of $13 a day.
The Vatican’s list of research projects, shaped by the interests of the
Jesuit astronomers who arrive, includes classification of stars—to shed
some light on the formation and evolution of the Galaxy—the evolution of
binary stars through mass exchange, and the searches for gravitational lensing.
Two of the astronomers have recently discovered the first possible candidates
for MACHOs, heavy dark objects in the halo of our Galaxy.
There is one thing, though, that sets scientists at the observatory apart
from their secular colleagues: part of their brief is to try to bridge the gap
between science and religion. Many scientists would argue that if there is a
gap, the Catholic Church created it. After all, it took until October this year
for the Church to acknowledge evolution as more than mere hypothesis—114
years after Darwin’s death. And it took 300 years for Galileo to be formally
pardoned. At least, now, Coyne and his colleagues are making every effort to
reconcile rigorous science with religion.
But the current vogue for “scientific theology”—such as Frank Tipler’s
The Physics of Immortality, published in 1994, cuts little ice with
Coyne. Tipler predicts that life will eventually spread uniformly through the
Universe, which will later collapse down to a “big crunch”. This is the “Omega
point”, which he equates to a physical God—a computer capable of
processing an infinite amount of information, and of reincarnating all life that
has ever lived. “That’s absurd,” says Coyne.
Equally bizarre to Coyne are Stephen Hawking’s theological interpretations of
his “no boundary condition” theory, outlined in A Brief History of Time
. Hawking suggests that the much sought after theory of quantum gravity could
allow space-time to be finite in extent yet have nothing that forms a boundary
or edge. At no time would the laws of physics break down, and there would be no
defined point of creation—QED, there is no need for God as a creator. “I
certainly like his idea of no initial singularity—it’s fascinating,” says
Coyne. “But God is not a boundary condition of the Universe.”
While he is impatient with these scientific attempts to take on theology,
however, he is equally exasperated by attempts to over-interpret the Bible in
terms of modern astronomical theory. He recalls how a Talmudic scholar who also
had a PhD in physics was once puzzled by the fact that, according to Genesis,
light was created before the stars. The student’s explanation was that the
“light” must have been the cosmic background radiation, the microwaves that
today fill the Universe as a remnant of the big bang. “The cosmic background
radiation—thought of in the 1920s, discovered in the 1950s, written about
around 1000 years before Christ,” Coyne says, drily. “That’s really
dzٳԲ.”
Two cultures
But Coyne does believe that, provided the two cultures respect their
differences, they can set up a useful dialogue. After all, if Aristotelian
cosmology so profoundly influenced the Catholic faith for centuries, why can
modern scientific views not shape an evolving theology?
Take, for instance, what Coyne describes as the “difficult problem of
miracles”. These biblical magic spells are contrary to his view that God created
the Universe with a complete set of natural laws. For God to make an exception
one day seems, to him, too fickle. But could quantum physics, chaos and
complexity have anything to say about these events? Coyne suggests they show
that not everything can be predicted with traditional Newtonian determinism.
“The exceptions are there in nature itself,” he says.
One aspect of the relationship between science and religion that Coyne is fed
up with is the recent excitement about alien life, fuelled by the apparent
discovery of fossil remnants in a Martian meteorite, and the rash of new planets
that have been spotted circling alien stars. “I’ve had it up to here with
extraterrestrial life,” says Coyne. “Would they be free from original sin? Would
we baptise them? I don’t even know if they would be people. Let’s just wait and
.”
The Vatican Observatory’s Web site is at
http://clavius.as.arizona.edu/vo/.