There has always been discussions of faith versus science. One will never overcome the other, but often, the discussion between the two is gratifying, and most illuminating. When the two agree on something, both sides benefit.
The scientist was Dr. Edward Barry, PhD in solar physics, with an emphasis in energy capture engineering. The priest was Most Devout Atan Gooden of the Venusian System, elected planetary representative to the Solar Church. Neither was what the other had expected. They greeted each other with smiles and firm handshakes, and sat at a small, intimate conference table in Dr. Barry’s office.
“The view . . . spectacular.” The awe in Most Devout Gooden’s voice struck Dr. Barry. He had felt the same, many times, when he’d not yet had a head of grey hair. The first time, he’d watched the Dyson panel he designed launch into position from its construction station around Mercury System, and also when he read the magnificent output it generated. He had felt like he was floating in space.
“Crafting the window’s glass with enough protection was an engineering marvel itself,” Dr. Barry said. The two men were quiet a moment, staring. The window stretched from floor to ceiling, and beyond Sol shone in all its glory, a furnace of brilliance in a pool of black ink.
“You know, I’ve never been a man of faith,” Dr. Barry said, “but I can certainly see why you worship it.”
“Its magnificence is undeniable,” Most Devout Gooden said.
“Hard to fathom it’s only one of trillions in this galaxy alone.”
“And yet, Sol is ours. That makes it special.”
The two men turned to each other. The Most Devout sat straight, on the edge of his chair. He was younger than Dr. Barry had expected—maybe forty-five, in good shape, sinewy muscles beneath the white suit of his church. His sleeves ended at the forearm in a cuff gilded with gold. His collar, too, had gold piping, and he wore a tie that drooped to his heart, woven gold thread. The man shone, frankly, Dr. Barry thought. He himself wore the dark trousers, jacket, and tie of his profession, with a crisp white shirt. A pin on his left lapel was his only adornment—a sun with a black ship streaking across, the emblem of his company, Sol Forward.
“I hope you know I have no intention of trying to talk you out of your beliefs,” Dr. Barry began.
“Thank you,” Most Devout Gooden said. “And I understand that men of strict science often find religion tedious. But, I’m not convinced you and I are very different.”
“I was just thinking that,” Dr. Barry said. “You remind me of a younger me.”
“Consider Sol in the context of our history. We are a social species, so I think stories are good ways of communicating a meaning.”
“Right.”
“Religion often discusses a creator. Where do we come from? How can we say thank you? We are eukaryotic beings whose cells require energy to perform their functions, from simple protein synthesis to complex thought, consciousness, empathy . . . . And without that energy, we die.”
“Yes.”
“Where did that energy come from?”
“You’re saying the sun is our creator.”
Most Devout Gooden said nothing.
“I’m not mocking, just trying to understand.”
“Follow the energy back from an apple you eat,” Most Devout Gooden said. “It begins its life as part of a tree. The tree creates it, using energy from . . . ?”
Dr. Barry said nothing.
“Billions of years ago,” Most Devout Gooden said, “there were no cells. Only organic material swimming in a soup. But that soup rotated into sunlight, and suddenly, heat was an ingredient. Energy, from Sol. A single cell formed, learned how to multiply, expanded its population, all the while using energy from Sol. Then those cells usurped other cells for their energy, which they had gotten from Sol. The first eukaryotes. Our great-great-grandfathers.”
Dr. Barry said nothing.
“You see? It’s not such a stretch actually to say that Sol is our father in the heavens. And as such, we should honor Sol and give thanks for our lives and all the joy our lives give us. And, as such, launching your system of Dyson panels and shading Sol for humanity beyond that panel is a dishonorable act.” He paused. “Please don’t do it.”
Dr. Barry took a long time responding. As he thought, his eyes found the sun’s churning surface, spinning gently as the space station turned. A nearly perfect sphere of unbelievably hot plasma, churning and bubbling like a cosmic cauldron. He watched the roiling photosphere, marveling quietly that even the darker patches were bright enough to sear the backs of his eyes. A wonder.
“As you say,” Dr. Barry began slowly, “we’re not so different. I also view Sol with great appreciation, as I would a magnificent gift. Life is a gift. Energy is a gift. The Dyson panels do not shade Sol—rather, they enable a system that can spread the gift of Sol to humanity that may have once been beyond its reach.”
Most Devout Gooden said nothing.
“Imagine—an end to the energy crisis across the Solar System. Energy, practically for free! That means food for all, and warmth. And think of the abilities we would have as a species. Water cleansing, disease eradication, transportation of goods and people cheaply, even exploration beyond the Oort Cloud. All possible once the panels are in place around Sol and beaming their energy throughout the system. The cost is a decrease in luminescence of three percent. Negligible for the good it would do.”
“Of course, three percent is not benign,” Most Devout Gooden said. “The effects will be felt throughout the Solar System. It will send some sectors into an ice age.”
“Which they will tolerate fine with cheap heat.”
“The people, perhaps, but not the environment.”
Dr. Barry said nothing.
“It is, of course, a matter of principle,” Most Devout Gooden said. “To cover the face of my god is an affront to me and the Solar Church. An insult, and an infringement on my religion. Wars have been fought over less.”
Dr. Barry stiffened.
“But we are not so different. Let cooler heads prevail.”
“A compromise?”
“Compromises are lose-lose. How about a win-win?”
“I’m listening.”
“Design a panel that is not opaque, but translucent. That captures light as it passes, but doesn’t impede it so totally.”
Dr. Barry considered a moment, fidgeting with his lapel pin. “What about a panel that could fold? A collapsible panel, that we could open for a time and then shrink so the light was free to pass.”
“A beautiful image,” Most Devout Gooden said. “You’re describing a flower, of course.”
“Nature tends to have answers to most of men’s questions.”
“A truism not limited to scientific questions.”
The two men considered one another.
“I have certain company requirements, of course,” Dr. Barry said. “Its success is my responsibility as its founder and chief executive. I also have societal requirements. Not everyone belongs to the Solar Church, of course, and some of those people may be hungry, or cold.”
Most Devout Gooden said nothing.
“This station,” Dr. Barry said, “Sol Forward headquarters—its year is only fifty days. Give me that one year. Let’s meet again. We’ll continue our discussion, and hopefully I’ll have an acceptable answer. A win-win.”
They stood and shook hands across the little conference table. The sunlight made the table seem red, the priest’s clothing glint gold, the scientist’s lapel pin sparkle.
“One revolution around Sol,” Most Devout Gooden said. “It seems appropriate.”
“Science and religion working together?” Dr. Barry said. “Miracles do happen.”
“I’ll make a man of faith of you yet, Doctor Barry.”
The two men walked together from the room.
END