Contact

In the fall of 2026, Chris Graney, an astronomer at the Vatican Observatory, argued that the universe of at least 2 trillion galaxies (according to a study in 2016 using the orbital Hubble Space Telescope) probably contains few, if any, planets capable of supporting intelligent life. This claim may come as a surprise, given the gargantuan number of possibly habitable exoplanets in the universe and the associated likelihood of alien life out there. The overlay of theology onto science, as if the latter’s criteria were nugatory and thus dismissible relative to religious doctrine, is problematic because the two domains are arguably distinct and even unique, even though they are related. Such a category mistake is highlighted in the film, Contact (1997), in which religious figures (who have related political roles in the White House) impose monotheist criteria in the selection of an astronaut for space travel, which is primarily a scientific enterprise.

To put Graney’s scientific claim in context, scientifically, consider the estimate that a typical galaxy contains between 100 billion and 400 billion suns. Multiplying 400 billion by 2 trillion equals 800 quintillion. Now, multiplying this number by 8—based on science’s estimate that a typical solar system has between eight and ten planets—brings us to 6.4 nonillion! To be sure, simulations had shown that a solar system can support up to six planets in the habitable zone; multiplying 800 quintillion suns by a conservative 3 habitable planets gives us 2.4 sextillion planets where intelligent life could potentially exist.

Such an astronomically large number as 2.4 sextillion could support lots of sex, of whatever fashion or stripe, though the odds of whips being involved outside of Earth (especially beyond San Francisco’s sordid Dore Alley and Folsom Days “festivals”) are probably very low. But I digress. Graney’s claim may be too circumscribed, given the probabilities going along with there being up to 2.4 sextillion possibly life-supporting exoplanets, and this number does not include the planets of suns that may be in galaxies that in 2026 remained undetected by empirical science. Graney’s scientific claim pales as arbitrary, or at least as dogmatically circumscribed. That he was working at the Vatican at the time—the headquarters of the Roman Catholic Church—may explain why he made the statement: his claim aligns with the theological doctrine that, being made in God’s image, our species holds a special, singular place in Creation. Unfortunately, moving from a religious concept to a scientific conclusion is deeply problematic because religion and science are two distinct domains, each with its own criteria that ought not be supervened by the foisting of exogenous criteria from any other domain.

Historically, the Roman Catholic Church opposed the heliocentric theory, which posits that the Sun rather than the Earth is at the center of our solar system. In conflating theology with science, top ecclesiastical officials considered that astronomical theory to conflict with the theological doctrine of the primacy of our species in Creation. Heliocentrism was first suggested by Aristarchus of Samos (c. 310-230 BCE) and later revived by Hypatia of Alexandria (c. 350-370 CE), who was flayed alive by Bishop Cyril’s military guard because she was a pagan who had influence on government officials in Alexandria and would not convert to Christianity (Cyril was later canonized). Centuries later, Galileo Galilei (1564-1642) ran afoul of the Roman Inquisition because his scientific work supported the heliocentric theory. 

Putting scientists to death for advancing a scientific theory as if doing so were heretical (a distinctly religious concept) conflates science and theology by hyperextending religious criteria into the scientific domain as though the latter were merely really part of the religious domain. Furthermore, for a person to foist one domain’s criteria onto another domain, which has its own native or innate criteria and principles, is not only logically fraught, but also presumptuous and thus unethical as well. Science and theology are best approached as distinct domains, with their own hegemonic criteria not to be submerged by that of the other domain. It follows that religious truth and scientific truth can be considered to be qualitatively different (i.e., different in kind rather than degree or extent). 

In fact, the word “truth” may be best reserved for the religious domain, with “facts” residing in the scientific domain. Religious meaning and empirical facts are two very different things. The qualitative difference is missed in conflating the “Big Bang” with Creation, which can be thought of as meaning that even existence itself, or being, is inherently dependent. In other words, to say that our existence is precarious scientifically, as in, for instance, an asteroid being able to hit our planet and exterminate us, is very different than saying that Creation is dependent on its Creator so we are existentially precarious in our creatureliness. Religious meaning can legitimately be supported by myth, whereas science is the stuff of theory and empirical findings. 

Psychology, history, and politics are still other domains with their own distinct criteria and thus not to be conflated. Religious myth and historical accounts, for example, are qualitatively different, and are written with intent based on the respective sets of criteria. Josephus, a historian, and Paul, an evangelist, could have passed each other on a road and wished each other well without viewing each other as colleagues even though both men wrote because they wrote for different purposes and according to different criteria.

To grasp the harmful effects of superimposing religious criteria on scientific study, watching and analyzing the film, Contact (1997), is advisable and instructive. For example, the most iconic lines of the film, which was made just before the turn of the millennium, is illustrative. S. R. Hadden (wonderfully played by John Hurt) is talking with Ellie, the scientist who has discovered the radio signals sent from Vega. “The powers that be have been very busy lately, falling over each other to position themselves for the game of the millennium. Maybe I can help deal you back in,” Hadden tells her. She responds, “I didn’t realize I was out,” to which he pauses and says, “Well, maybe not out . . . but certainly being handed your hat.” That even Ellie’s boss, David Drumlin, a scientist who serves as the White House Scientific Advisor, appeals to religious criteria to marginalize Ellie behind the other candidates, including Drumlin himself, for the space trip to meet the aliens at Vega shows just how out of place such criteria are in a scientific venture.

That the selection process would be political is to be expected, but that religious criteria would be primary over scientific criteria is not. The film, which was written by Carl Sagan and his wife based on one of his books, castigates the interlarding of religious criteria as artificial and contrived—basically out of place—in the selection of an astronaut to travel through worm holes in space to visit an alien species that has, as Ellie points out in defending her candidacy, sent a distinctly scientific message to Earth on how to construct the space-transit vehicle and its supporting launching infrastructure. Sagan’s attitude can be gleamed as being hostile to the unethical encroachment of religion on astronomy, and space travel in particular. The dramatic tension in the film is as much about what criteria should be used to select a human to go on the trip as about what the aliens will say about themselves and even ourselves as a species. Interestingly, the alien who speaks with Ellie once she has arrived at Vega does not ask her about the religious beliefs of humans, so the concern of religionists that the astronaut should be able to discuss God turns out to be misplaced, and thus irrelevant.

Before analyzing the film in depth, it is useful to remember that in NASA’s space programs, the religion or atheism of astronaut candidates has officially never been among the criteria used in the selection process. Beyond the risk of prejudice, the inclusion of religion would be widely considered, especially within NASA, as entirely irrelevant. Health, physical stamina, and technical ability in space travel and spacewalking have been the primary considerations. In selecting Christa McAuliffe, a school teacher, for the ill-fated Challenger space shuttle in 1986, the primary criterion was not aerospace expertise; instead, the ability to communicate to the public what it is like being in space was a salient consideration. Because this skill—conveying different or complex matters in simple terms—is important in teaching, the ability to teach was indirectly a salient criterion, along of course with physical stamina and health. Asking candidates for the teacher slot on the shutter whether the experience would affect their respective relationships with Jesus Christ would have been flagged as irrelevant and invasive at best. Furthermore, NASA administrators would hardly be in a position to decide whom God would want to go into the heavens. Such a question would make no sense to a Buddhist, and a Hindu might ask: Which deity? An avatar of Vishnu might prefer one person, while Shiva would prefer another.

In the film, the primary religious criterion used to select the astronaut who will travel to the aliens at Vega is based on the assumption that religion is properly monotheist—there is just one deity. This is problematic because a candidate could be a Buddhist or Hindu. A member of a selection committee claims that 95% of the world’s population believe in a supreme being—a dubious factoid because neither Buddhists nor Hindus believe in a supreme being in the monotheistic sense. 

Buddhism teaches that neither a soul nor a deity exists, though Pure Land Buddhism in Japan includes the veneration of several “Buddhas” as de facto deities. In Hinduism, Brahman, which is infinite being, is not an entity, and therefore, is not a deity; infinite being is considered to be supreme, hence even more fundamental than the gods and goddesses, which are created out of Brahman, primal, everlasting infinite being. To be sure, a passage in the Gita has Lord Krishna claiming that he created Brahman, but as that is being itself, how could Krishna exist prior to Brahman? Presumably a deity doing something must exist while doing it, so something existing that brings about infinite being would appear to be an oxymoron. So in Hinduism, Brahman, rather than any of the deities—even Krishna, the avatar of Vishnu that in the Gita is supreme over the other gods and goddesses—is fundamental, and even in the Gita, Hinduism is not represented as being monotheist, as Krishna alludes to the other gods and thus their existence. In the film, the claim by a member of the selection committee that the astronaut selection should be able to represent monotheism because humanity is overwhelmingly monotheist can be regarded as highly suspect even just on religious terms; that the claim would be primary in the selection of an astronaut for space travel is thus especially problematic.

The film’s plot, in brief, unfolds as follows: Ellie, an astrophysicist heading a remote radio-wave detection station oriented to detecting signals from beyond Earth, discovers a strong signal originating at Vega. Her superior, David Drumlin, quickly takes credit and assumes control of the program from the White House. Figures including Robert Novak, a political commentator (playing himself), and then Richard Rank (likely a surrogate for evangelical politicos such as Ralph Reed during the Reagan years), and Palmer Joss, a presidential religious advisor and a nonaffiliated minister, all insist on the crucial relevance of religion to the matter of communicating with space aliens. Both Rank and Joss want the candidate who is selected to travel to the aliens to believe in the Abrahamic deity so as to be able to convey the nature of that deity to the aliens.

Astutely political, David Drumlin tells the selection committee that the candidate selected should indeed believe in God; he is trying to exclude Ellie, who would otherwise be selected but for her Atheism. Drumlin insists even after he has been selected that he will gleefully represent his “country, planet, and God,” as if God would ever be in need of being represented by a human being, especially one such as Drumlin who has manipulated the selection committee with a clean conscience because, as he later explains to Ellie, “life isn’t fair.” There is some divine justice, I think, in him being killed indirectly by a religious zealot who, in considering science as a threat to religion (which means he commits the category mistake of conflating the two domains), sets off a body-bomb inside launching superstructure during a dress-rehearsal of the launch when Drumlin is present (playing to the cameras for publicity).

Palmer Joss, who is romantically interested in Ellie, also personifies the hypocrisy that can exist in religion. He is on the selection committee, and he votes against her ostensibly because he feels strongly that a person who believes in his God should go, but as he later admits to her, he didn’t want to risk losing her. Like Drumlin, Joss is selfish, and is hardly in a position to assess the religious suitability of the candidates. The film’s message is that religion should not have entered the picture at all.

Ellie is the runner up, and so following Drumlin’s death, she gets to go to Vega. Even though the time-travel element means that the 18-hour trip looks like a failed launch to everyone here on Earth. The 18 hours of the scrambled video inside her cube-shaped space vehicle validates her account, but this information is kept secret by the few politicos who realize the significance of the find. During a Congressional hearing, Ellie is lambasted as not being credible in her testimony that she travelled to Vega and spoke with an alien. That the aliens might be capable of time travel is utterly missed by everyone. What is not possible for us is deemed impossible. This assumption is just as flawed as the assumption, it turns out, that the aliens would ask about, or even be interested in, the religious beliefs of humans.

During Ellie’s conversation with the alien, religion does not come up. Instead, the matter of discussion, set by the alien, is about how and when aliens might make contact with our species again. Given the relatively primitive condition of humans, the alien tells Ellie that contact will be made in what could be said to be baby steps—meaning very gradually. We are not alone in the universe, and by this both Ellie and the alien know that the reference is not to a deity, but, rather, to there being more than one alien civilization. The primary criterion of the search committee, it turns out, is entirely irrelevant. This does not nullify theistic belief in religion. Instead, Ellie has pointed out to the selection committee, the message sent by the aliens is scientific rather than religious. Conflating the two types, and more specifically, superimposing the criteria innate to one type onto the other type at the expense of its own criteria, can be flagged without invalidating religious truth within the confines of its own domain. Drumlin and Joss can both be viewed as religious hypocrites (using distinctly religious criteria) and Ellie can be viewed as an excellent scientist and astronaut (using criteria of science and space travel).