Some imprudently and indiscreetly hold that evolution
. . . explains the origin of all things . . . Communists gladly subscribe to this opinion so that, when the souls of men have been deprived of every idea of a personal God, they may the more efficaciously defend and propagate their dialectical materialism.
Pius presents his major statement on evolution near the end of the encyclical, in paragraphs 35 through 37. He accepts the standard model
of non-overlapping magisteria (NOMA) and begins by acknowledging that evolution lies in a difficult area where the domains press hard against each other. “It remains for Us now to speak about those questions which, although they pertain to the positive sciences, are nevertheless more or less connected with the truths of the Christian faith.”
1
Pius then writes the well-known words that permit
Catholics to entertain the evolution of the human body (a factual issue under the magisterium of science), so long as they accept the divine creation and infusion of the soul (a theological notion under the magisterium of religion).
The Teaching Authority of the Church does not forbid that, in conformity with the present state of human sciences and sacred theology, research and discussions,
on the part of men experienced in both fields, take place with regard to the doctrine of evolution, in as far as it inquires into the origin of the human body as coming from pre-existent and living matter—for the Catholic faith obliges us to hold that souls are immediately created by God.
I had, up to here, found nothing surprising in
Humani Generis
, and nothing to relieve my puzzlement about
the novelty of Pope John Paul’s recent statement. But I read further and realized that Pius had said more about evolution, something I had never seen quoted, and something that made John Paul’s statement most interesting indeed. In short, Pius forcefully proclaimed that while evolution may be legitimate in principle, the theory, in fact, had not been proven and might well be entirely wrong. One
gets the strong impression, moreover, that Pius was rooting pretty hard for a verdict of falsity.
Continuing directly from the last quotation, Pius advises us about the proper study of evolution:
However, this must be done in such a way that the reasons for both opinions, that is, those favorable and those unfavorable to evolution, be weighed and judged with the necessary seriousness, moderation
and measure . . . Some however, rashly transgress this liberty of discussion, when they act as if the origin of the human body from pre-existing and living matter were already completely certain and proved by the facts which have been discovered up to now and by reasoning on those facts, and as if there were nothing in the sources of divine revelation which demands the greatest moderation and
caution in this question.
To summarize, Pius generally accepts the NOMA principle of non-overlapping magisteria in permitting Catholics to entertain the hypothesis of evolution for the human body so long as they accept the divine infusion of the soul. But he then offers some (holy) fatherly advice to scientists about the status of evolution as a scientific concept: the idea is not yet proven,
and you all need to be especially cautious because evolution raises many troubling issues right on the border of my magisterium. One may read this second theme in two rather different ways: either as a gratuitous incursion into a different magisterium, or as, a helpful perspective from an intelligent and concerned outsider. As a man of goodwill, and in the interest of conciliation, I am content
to embrace the latter reading.
In any case, this rarely quoted second claim (that evolution remains both unproven and a bit dangerous)—and not the familiar first argument for the NOMA principle (that Catholics may accept the evolution of the body so long as they embrace the creation of the soul)—defines the novelty and the interest of John Paul’s recent statement.
John Paul begins by summarizing
Pius’s older encyclical of 1950, and particularly by reaffirming the NOMA principle—nothing new here, and no cause for extended publicity:
In his encyclical “Humani Generis” (1950), my predecessor Pius XII had already stated that there was no opposition between evolution and the doctrine of the faith about man and his vocation.
To emphasize the power of NOMA, John Paul poses a potential problem
and a sound resolution: How can we possibly reconcile science’s claim for physical continuity in human evolution with Catholicism’s insistence that the soul must enter at a moment of divine infusion?
With man, then, we find ourselves in the presence of an ontological difference, an ontological leap, one could say. However, does not the posing of such ontological discontinuity run counter to
that physical continuity which seems to be the main thread of research into evolution in the field of physics and chemistry? Consideration of the method used in the various branches of knowledge makes it possible to reconcile two points of view which would seem irreconcilable. The sciences of observation describe and measure the multiple manifestations of life with increasing precision and correlate
them with the time line. The moment of transition to the spiritual cannot be the object of this kind of observation.
The novelty and news value of John Paul’s statement lies, rather, in his profound revision of Pius’s second and rarely quoted claim that evolution, while conceivable in principle and reconcilable with religion, can cite little persuasive evidence in support, and may well be false.
John Paul states—and I can only say amen, and thanks for noticing—that the half century between Pius surveying the ruins of World War II and his own pontificate heralding the dawn of a new millennium has witnessed such a growth of data, and such a refinement of theory, that evolution can no longer be doubted by people of goodwill and keen intellect:
Pius XII added . . . that this opinion [evolution]
should not be adopted as though it were a certain, proven doctrine . . . Today, almost half a century after the publication of the encyclical, new knowledge has led to the recognition of the theory of evolution as more than a hypothesis.
2
It is indeed remarkable that this theory has been progressively accepted by researchers, following a series of discoveries in various fields of knowledge. The
convergence, neither sought nor fabricated, of the results of work that was conducted independently is in itself a significant argument in favor of the theory.
In conclusion, Pius had grudgingly admitted evolution as a legitimate hypothesis that he regarded as only tentatively supported and potentially (as he clearly hoped) untrue. John Paul, nearly fifty years later, reaffirms the legitimacy
of evolution under the NOMA principle—no news here—but then adds that additional data and theory have placed the factuality of evolution beyond reasonable doubt. Sincere Christians must now accept evolution not merely as a plausible possibility, but also as an effectively proven fact. In other words, official Catholic opinion on evolution has moved from “say it ain’t so, but we can deal with it
if we have to” (Pius’s grudging view of 1950) to John Paul’s entirely welcoming “it has been proven true; we always celebrate nature s factuality, and we look forward to interesting discussions of theological implications.” I happily endorse this turn of events as gospel—literally good news. I may represent the magisterium of science, but I welcome the support of a primary leader from the other major
magisterium of our complex lives. And I recall the wisdom of King Solomon: “As cold waters to a thirsty soul, so is good news from a far country” (Proverbs 25:25).
Just as religion must bear the cross of its hard-liners, I have some scientific colleagues, including a few in prominent enough positions to wield influence by their writings, who view this rapprochement of the separate magisteria
with dismay. To colleagues like me—agnostic scientists who welcome and celebrate the rapprochement, especially the Pope’s latest statement—they say, “C’mon, be honest; you know that religion is addlepated, superstitious, old-fashioned BS. You’re only making those welcoming noises because religion is so powerful, and we need to be diplomatic in order to buy public support for science.” I do not think
that many scientists hold this view, but such a position fills me with dismay—and I therefore end this essay with a personal statement about religion, as a testimony to what I regard as a virtual consensus among thoughtful scientists (who support the NOMA principle as firmly as the Pope does).
I am not, personally, a believer or a religious man in any sense of institutional commitment or practice.
But I have great respect for religion, and the subject has always fascinated me, beyond almost all others (with a few exceptions, like evolution and paleontology). Much of this fascination lies in the stunning historical paradox that organized religion has fostered, throughout Western history, both the most unspeakable horrors and the most heartrending examples of human goodness in the face
of personal danger. (The evil, I believe, lies in an occasional confluence of religion with secular power. The Catholic Church has sponsored its share of horrors, from Inquisitions to liquidations—but only because this institution held great secular power during so much of Western history. When my folks held such sway, more briefly and in Old Testament times, we committed similar atrocities with the
same rationales.)
I believe, with all my heart, in a respectful, even loving, concordat between our magisteria—the NOMA concept. NOMA represents a principled position on moral and intellectual grounds, not a merely diplomatic solution. NOMA also cuts both ways. If religion can no longer dictate the nature of factual conclusions residing properly within the magisterium of science, then scientists
cannot claim higher insight into moral truth from any superior knowledge of the world’s empirical constitution. This mutual humility leads to important practical consequences in a world of such diverse passions.
Religion is too important for too many people to permit any dismissal or denigration of the comfort still sought by many folks from theology. I may, for example, privately suspect that
papal insistence on divine infusion of the soul represents a sop to our fears, a device for maintaining a belief in human superiority within an evolutionary world offering no privileged position to any creature. But I also know that the subject of souls lies outside the magisterium of science. My world cannot prove or disprove such a notion, and the concept of souls cannot threaten or impact my
domain. Moreover, while I cannot personally accept the Catholic view of souls, I surely honor the metaphorical value of such a concept both for grounding moral discussion, and for expressing what we most value about human potentiality: our decency, our care, and all the ethical and intellectual struggles that the evolution of consciousness imposed upon us.
As a moral position (and therefore not
as a deduction from my knowledge of nature’s factuality), I prefer the “cold bath” theory that nature can be truly “cruel” and “indifferent”—in the utterly inappropriate terms of our ethical discourse—because nature does not exist for us, didn’t know we were coming (we are, after all, interlopers of the latest geological moment), and doesn’t give a damn about us (speaking metaphorically). I regard
such a position as liberating, not depressing, because we then gain the capacity to conduct moral discourse—and nothing could be more important—in our own terms, free from the delusion that we might read moral truth passively from nature’s factuality.
But I recognize that such a position frightens many people, and that a more spiritual view of nature retains broad appeal (acknowledging the factuality
of evolution, but still seeking some intrinsic meaning in human terms, and from the magisterium of religion). I do appreciate, for example, the struggles of a man who wrote to
The New York Times
on November 3, 1996, to declare both his pain and his endorsement of John Paul’s statement:
Pope John Paul II’s acceptance of evolution touches the doubt in my heart. The problem of pain and suffering
in a world created by a God who is all love and light is hard enough to bear, even if one is a creationist. But at least a creationist can say that the original creation, coming from the hand of God, was good, harmonious, innocent and gentle. What can one say about evolution, even a spiritual theory of evolution? Pain and suffering, mindless cruelty and terror are its means of creation. Evolution’s
engine is the grinding of predatory teeth upon the screaming, living flesh and bones of prey . . . If evolution be true, my faith has rougher seas to sail.
I don’t agree with this man, but we could have a terrific argument. I would push the “cold bath” theory; he would (presumably) advocate the theme of inherent spiritual meaning in nature, however opaque the signal. But we would both be enlightened
and filled with better understanding of these deep and ultimately unanswerable issues. Here, I believe, lies the greatest strength and necessity of NOMA, the non-overlapping magisteria of science and religion. NOMA permits—indeed enjoins—the prospect of respectful discourse, of constant input from both magisteria toward the common goal of wisdom. If human beings can lay claim to anything
special, we evolved as the only creatures that must ponder and talk. Pope John Paul II would surely point out to me that his magisterium has always recognized this uniqueness, for John’s gospel begins by stating
in principio erat verbum
—in the beginning was the word.
15
BOYLE’S LAW AND DARWIN’S DETAILS
T
WO SCENES FROM
F
LORENCE BEAUTIFULLY ILLUSTRATE THE POWER OF
scientific revolutions to alter our view of the geometry of existence. A painting by the fifteenth-century artist Michellino hangs in the great cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore. Titled
Dante e il suo poema
(“Dante and His Poem”—that is,
The Divine Comedy
), it shows the entire universe on a single
canvas. The earth occupies the center, symbolized by the city of Florence, with Dante in the middle and Brunelleschi’s magnificent dome for the cathedral to his left (an anachronism, to be sure, for Dante died in 1321 and Brunelleschi raised the great dome a century later). At Dante’s right, the souls of the damned move downward to the inferno, while those destined for ultimate salvation slowly
mount the spire of purgatory. The seven semicircles at the top represent the seven planets of Ptolemy’s earth-centered system (the five visible planets plus the sun and the moon). The farthest realm of the fixed stars occupies the upper corners.