Langdon sensed Kohler weighing his options, as if wondering how far to push Vittoria… how much to tell her. Apparently he decided to leave it for the moment. Moving his wheelchair toward the center of the room, he surveyed the mysterious cluster of seemingly empty canisters.
"Secrets," Kohler finally said, "are a luxury we can no longer afford."
Vittoria nodded in acquiescence, looking suddenly emotional, as if being here brought with it a torrent of memories.
As though preparing for what she was about to reveal, Vittoria closed her eyes and breathed. Then she breathed again. And again. And again…
Langdon watched her, suddenly concerned.
Langdon could not believe the metamorphosis. Vittoria Vetra had been transformed. Her full lips were lax, her shoulders down, and her eyes soft and assenting. It was as though she had realigned every muscle in her body to accept the situation. The resentful fire and personal anguish had been quelled somehow beneath a deeper, watery cool.
"Where to begin…" she said, her accent unruffled.
"At the beginning," Kohler said. "Tell us about your father’s experiment."
"Rectifying science with religion has been my father’s life dream," Vittoria said. "He hoped to prove that science and religion are two totally compatible fields—two different approaches to finding the same truth." She paused as if unable to believe what she was about to say. "And recently… he conceived of a way to do that."
Kohler said nothing.
"He devised an experiment, one he hoped would settle one of the most bitter conflicts in the history of science and religion."
Langdon wondered which conflict she could mean. There were so many.
"Creationism," Vittoria declared. "The battle over how the universe came to be."
"The Bible, of course, states that God created the universe," she explained. "God said, ‘Let there be light,’ and everything we see appeared out of a vast emptiness. Unfortunately, one of the fundamental laws of physics states that matter cannot be created out of nothing."
Langdon had read about this stalemate. The idea that God allegedly created "something from nothing" was totally contrary to accepted laws of modern physics and therefore, scientists claimed, Genesis was scientifically absurd.
"Mr. Langdon," Vittoria said, turning, "I assume you are familiar with the Big Bang Theory?"
Langdon shrugged. "More or less." The Big Bang, he knew, was
Vittoria continued. "When the Catholic Church first proposed the Big Bang Theory in 1927, the—"
"I’m sorry?" Langdon interrupted, before he could stop himself. "You say the Big Bang was a
Vittoria looked surprised by his question "Of course. Proposed by a Catholic monk, Georges Lemaоtre in 1927."
"But, I thought…" he hesitated. "Wasn’t the Big Bang proposed by Harvard astronomer Edwin Hubble?"
Kohler glowered. "Again, American scientific arrogance. Hubble published in 1929, two years
Langdon scowled.
"Mr. Kohler is right," Vittoria said, "the idea belonged to Lemaоtre. Hubble only
"Oh," Langdon said, wondering if the Hubble-fanatics in the Harvard Astronomy Department ever mentioned Lemaоtre in their lectures.
"When Lemaоtre first proposed the Big Bang Theory," Vittoria continued, "scientists claimed it was utterly ridiculous. Matter, science said, could not be created out of nothing. So, when Hubble shocked the world by scientifically proving the Big Bang was accurate, the church claimed victory, heralding this as
Langdon nodded, focusing intently now.
"Of course scientists did not appreciate having their discoveries used by the church to promote religion, so they immediately mathematicized the Big Bang Theory, removed all religious overtones, and claimed it as their own. Unfortunately for science, however, their equations, even today, have one serious deficiency that the church likes to point out."
Kohler grunted. "The