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By Eric Clayton
In his book “A Jesuit’s Guide to the Stars: Exploring Wonder, Beauty, and Science”, the renowned Jesuit brother and planetary scientist Guy Consolmagno spends a not insignificant amount of time arguing against what’s called concordism. Concordism is a way of belief that insists Scripture and science are saying the same thing, that within Biblical texts are to be found literal confirmations of modern-day scientific insights. Someone adhering to such a worldview might read the words of Genesis 1:3 — “Let there be light” — and say, “Ah! That’s the Big Bang! It was there in Scripture all along.”
But for Br. Guy, concordism is a “seductive temptation” — and one that forces “religion and science together in a way that does not preserve their autonomies or distinctiveness”. Science and religion, after all, are two different ways of understanding the world and perceiving God at work therein. They ask different questions about what it means to be human and consequently contribute different types of knowledge. “Concordism,” Br. Guy writes, “forgets that neither science nor religion is an end in itself. . . . Truth is the goal.”
When I spoke with Br. Guy about his book for an episode of “AMDG: A Jesuit Podcast,” I asked him to say more. Was it really so bad to find in Scripture confirmation of scientific discoveries? Didn’t that just further underline God’s plans for all of creation?
By way of answer, Br. Guy cautioned me against confusing what should be understood as a book of poetry with the user’s manual for a new car: one inspires; one instructs. Today’s best science will necessarily change; some — if not all — of it will be proven wrong. “You don’t want to have your view of God tied up to something as malleable as today’s best science,” he said. After all — to push Br. Guy’s metaphor — what happens when your car faces a recall because a screw wasn’t correctly tightened or an engine was found to be unreliable? The user’s manual becomes incomplete if not obsolete, and you might need to buy an altogether new car.
Twisting Scripture to meet our own expectations runs the risk of stagnating a holy text. What happens then? “You never allow Scripture to surprise you,” Br. Guy says.
And this, perhaps, is the most important point. In the Ignatian tradition, we insist that God is to be found in all things — even in those people and places that seem utterly devoid of the divine. No, we say, God is here, too, and it becomes incumbent upon us to keep looking, to keep searching, to keep asking good questions and making ourselves increasingly available to the God of the universe who desires to reveal Godself to us, our God who delights in surprising us.
As soon as we insist we have all the answers, as soon as we stop allowing ourselves to be surprised by God and God’s creation, we ourselves become stagnant. God is always new, always creating. And God’s creation is an ongoing invitation to each of us to continue learning something new about our God — and in so doing, about ourselves and one another.
The religious life, then — broadly considered — is one that is constantly seeking after the God who is present in all things. Science gives us tools and helps us make sense of what we discover; science also allows us to learn and grow and develop our understanding of God’s world. Essential to a scientific worldview is the ability to build upon what’s come before and reject what is no longer useful.
The religious life, then — broadly considered — is one that is constantly seeking after the God who is present in all things.
In the Ignatian tradition, we don’t fear science; we don’t fear questions. Rather, we cultivate a disposition of curiosity, trusting that God puts those questions on our hearts not to confuse or dismay but to draw us deeper into the mysteries of the universe.
It is a holy quest we are set upon, one we are called to embrace at both cosmic and deeply personal levels.
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