Also in Slate: Dana Stevens reviews Angels & Demons.
About eight years ago here in Santa Fe, N.M., everybody was talking about the bikini Virgin. That's virgin with a capital V—and the reference was to a piece of art on exhibition at a local museum, in which Our Lady of Guadalupe, the most beloved figure in New Mexico Catholicism, was depicted in a skimpy floral bathing suit with as many colors as a birthday piñata.
Angry Catholics demanded that the image be removed from the show, but it stayed on display until the exhibition closed, and the young artist who created it received the kind of career boost that only comes with being denounced from the pulpit.
The controversy has long since faded but I thought about it again last night as I waited in line for an advance screening of Angels & Demons, the new thriller (based on a Dan Brown novel) in which the Vatican comes across as an age-old enemy of reason and scientific truth.
The movie, which has already been denounced in the United States by William Donohue of the conservative Catholic League, stars (along with Tom Hanks) a legendary cabal called the Illuminati—a group of evil eggheads who have figured in various conspiracy theories for more than 200 years. This time, they are plotting (or so it seems) to vaporize the Vatican as punishment for centuries of oppression against freethinkers. I was a little disappointed when there were no picketers at the theater passing out copies of Donohue's new tract, "Angels & Demons: More Demonic Than Angelic."
Maybe that is still to come.
What has the Catholic League particularly upset is the movie's insistence that Galileo himself—punished by the church for promoting the view that the Earth orbits the sun instead of vice versa—was an Illuminatus, oppressed for insisting on what was then a heretical view. For years, some Vatican scholars have been fighting the idea that the church is anti-science and have been promoting a more nuanced view of Galileo's trial in which the astronomer appears (a little like the creator of the bikini Virgin) as a self-promoter wanting more than anything to draw attention to himself.
There may be some truth to this view. Scientific knowledge is necessarily tentative, and Galileo's version of heliocentrism did, in fact, turn out to be wrong: He had the planets orbiting the sun in perfect celestial circles, instead of ellipses, making his model nearly as unwieldy as the geocentric one he opposed. If Galileo had presented his case more humbly, Catholic apologists argue, he never would have drawn the church's ire.
There are other interpretations of the episode. (Later this month, Catholic scholars will meet in Florence for a world congress called "The Galileo Affair: A Historical, Philosophical and Theological Re-Examination.") But however you parse the past, there's no getting around the cold fact of the Inquisition and the church's long history of quashing dissent. That's exactly what got all the speculations about a great Illuminati conspiracy started in the first place.
Over the centuries, those who differed from the church were branded as heretics. There were the Sabellians, Monophysites, Eunomians, Nestorians, Messalians, and Priscillianists, not to mention the Cathars and the Knights Templar. Their differences with orthodoxy could be literally as small as an iota.
Was Christ similar to God (homoiousios) or of the same substance (homoousios)? Compared with that, the difference between geocentrism and heliocentrism was a pretty big deal.