Why Did the Vatican Debate Alien Life in the 18th Century—and What Did They Really Say?

The Vatican’s Bizarre Cosmic Cafeteria

Picture this: Rome, late 1700s. The world’s most powerful religious institution—keepers of ancient wisdom, holders of timeless truths, owners of absolutely massive hats—sat huddled in libraries by candlelight, earnestly arguing over a matter so wildly outlandish, it would make modern UFO Twitter jealous: Are Martians real? And, if so, do they need baptism?

Believe it or not, as telescopes grew sharper and European astronomers started muttering about possible “canals” on Mars and suspicious splotches on Jupiter, the Vatican’s own science hotshots felt obliged to weigh in. After all, if intelligent ETs existed (or even entertainingly surreal duck-billed space lizards), what did that mean for original sin? Was there interstellar redemption? Would God send Himself to every rock in the galaxy, or just Earth—and would the Martians be on the hook for that one dodgy apple?

Enter the Holy See’s famed observatory and a handful of thinkers with titles such as Pontifical Astronomer, probably clutching both cross and telescope. We’re talking about official churchmen in robes and wigs, holding marathon debates in Latin about whether a Martian could receive communion or confess to pelting asteroids. Take that, Vatican bureaucracy!

Enlightenment: Where Logic and Martians Collide

The roots of this cosmic conundrum actually burrow deep into the Age of Enlightenment, when theology was considered compatible with scientific inquiry. Seriously. The Jesuits, famous for their intellectual acrobatics and, let’s face it, their secret hope for a world where everyone did calculus for fun, were especially vocal—and divided—on this whole non-Earthly life thing.

Father Filippo Luigi Gilii, a notable Vatican botanist (yes, this is the most Jesuit thing ever: arguing both flora and possible Martian religion), proposed that plants and intelligent life surely filled the universe because, as he put it, “God does not create without cause.” Translation: why waste all that cosmic real estate?

This wasn’t just idle chatter. Some Jesuit astronomers—eye to eyepiece—claimed telescopic views of ‘vegetation’ on Mars. (In fairness, they mostly saw optical fuzz. Or perhaps Catholic guilt, manifesting as green smudges.) The hot debate: Would a Martian Pope wear red, green, or perhaps glittering transparent nano-garments that lit up during Advent?

Canonical Catastrophes: Sacraments… in Space

You know it’s serious when someone starts a theological thread titled “Who Gets Salvation?” There were actual (and we mean actual) treatises circulated in Rome in the 1760s, arguing whether Martians could possibly be tainted by Original Sin. The Bishop of Hippo (long dead, but his ghost loomed over every serious debate) had opined that animal souls did not require redemption. So… what if Martians were adorable, sentient sheep?

Others, notably Father Niccolò Zucchi, who ran a mean telescope game, insisted that if otherworldly beings were rational, baptism and confession were for them too. (Never mind the logistics: how much holy water per moon, and what if the being has no hands? Or tentacles only? Or telepathic guilt complex?)

By 1775, the debate had reached the point where a Cardinal allegedly quipped—possibly after too much communion wine—that “if there were Martians, they are surely Catholic already.” This, naturally, led to the question of whether Protestants existed on Titan. The guard at the Papal Gardens is said to have rolled his eyes so hard he strained a muscle.

Papal Reactions: UFOs get No Bulls

The Pope himself—Clement XIV at the time—largely ignored the Martian question (wisely, since he was already busy with the slightly larger problem of people putting potatoes in their bread and the fate of the Jesuits in France). No Papal Bull was ever issued against extraterrestrial sin, but reports from the archives suggest some prudent lines in sermons about “astonishing wonders beyond our Earth.”

Still, rumors ran wild through Rome—nuns were said to have seen Venusian halos in the morning mist, and a Jesuit astronomer supposedly preached about angels “as numerous as the stars, and perhaps no less peculiar in form.” Art from the period features cherubs reading scrolls in what could be flying saucers, although you need a vivid imagination (and a friendly bottle of chianti) to notice.

The Astronomer Who (Nearly) Baptized a Comet

If you thought the Vatican worried “what if Mars has intelligent life,” get ready: Monsignor Angelo Secchi—a real astronomer, as in ‘has a crater named for him on the Moon’—once proposed baptizing a comet. Yes. After all, comets were seen as “wandering exiles,” which, in medieval theology, technically qualified them for salvation if they showed contrition, especially if they crashed into anything important. (No word on whether planetary rings count.)

This led to a brief but passionate side debate: could you absolve an inanimate object if it “chose” to smack into Saturn? (Spoiler: no. Even the Vatican drew the line at forgiving rocks, unless you count saints cursed with kidney stones.)

Cosmic Sacraments: Space Confessions and Zero-G Guilt

Perhaps the best thought experiment to emerge from the era: how does one properly confess sins in zero gravity? Jesuit satirists wrote fake treatises—surviving only in marginalia—debating whether penance would float away, or if redemption would follow elliptical planetary orbits.

One unsigned pamphlet worried about kneeling protocols: "If a Martian’s knees bend backward, does it still count as genuflection? If their language uses only colors, must their confession be heard in a rainbow?" Absurd? Yes. Entertaining? Absolutely. But in fairness, who wouldn’t want to be the first priest to ride a rocket armed only with rosaries and a selection of space-liturgical snacks?

A Martian’s Perspective (Sort Of)

In the spirit of historical imagination, let’s flip the telescope: how might a hypothetical Martian theologian, perched on Olympus Mons, have viewed humanity’s squabbles?

• Venus is overrun with carbon clouds, Jupiter’s moons all have ice problems, Earthlings argue about souls and salad. Must be a religious thing.
• The blue dot is loud. They keep sending up balloons, fire, and questions about guilt. Do they think it’s contagious?
• If a red rock is baptized and nobody watches, does it really get holy?

History, as always, is written by the weirdly creative. Perhaps our Martian friends have been avoiding us not because of warlike tendencies, but because they don’t want to start a thousand-year debate about proper Eucharist protocols with Vatican robots beaming up from Rome.

Comparison: Aliens and Religion Across the Globe

Europe wasn’t the only place where alien fever met theology. In 18th-century China, Confucian scholars pondered whether the Moon held life—though their concerns were more about etiquette than salvation: could one bow to a lunar emperor?

In Central America, Mayan stargazers spun wild stories about cosmic visitors, though usually involving feathered dragons, rather than guilt-ridden Martians.

Curiously, in modern times, Latter Day Saints have included extraterrestrial worlds in their cosmology—though few other organized religions have matched the Vatican’s dedication to asking what counts as sin in space.

The Great UFO Panic and Modern Ecclesiastical FOMO

Fast forward a few centuries. Vatican astronomers still exist and occasionally weigh in on, well, everything above the stratosphere. The current Vatican Observatory (located, appropriately, at Castel Gandolfo) regularly fields press queries about aliens and cosmic life, but with a touch less baroque drama. The official line: if there’s life, God made it, and hey, we’re open to baptizing aliens if they ask politely.

So in case Alpha Centauri ever sends a delegation: The Vatican is ready. Maybe not with the right snacks (do aliens like coq au vin?) but certainly with centuries of perennially refreshed, exquisitely detailed, and gloriously absurd theological position papers. Eat your heart out, Area 51.

How Does This Affect You?

Let’s be honest—unless you make regular donations to the Moon or get fines for parking on Venus, Vatican alien debates probably won’t change your day-to-day. (Though if you do, please get in touch, we have questions.)

But the real value is this: humans are hilariously persistent in asking big, beautiful, ridiculous questions. Instead of fearing the unknown, Rome’s best and weirdest minds chose to debate cosmic baptism, rather than, say, inventing better plumbing. In the end, history reminds us that civilization’s most profound leaps forward (or, let’s be real, its faceplants) start with wild hypotheticals and a willingness to argue—even in Latin—about Martian sin.

Martian Misunderstandings: Myths, Legends, and Unintended Consequences

It’s often said that the Catholic Church always lags behind science. But here, the Church was genuinely ahead, asking: “What if we need a new kind of priest for other planets?” Some 18th-century people thought talk of Martians was literal heresy, and for a hot minute, rumor had it that a Jesuit telescope might be excommunicated for spying on God’s neighbors. None of this was true, of course—but it proves that wherever there’s weirdness, gossip will bloom.

Let’s be grateful the Vatican never tried to exorcise a shooting star or bless the Big Dipper, though history’s not over and there’s always the chance a future Pope will lead a live-streamed Zoom mass on Europa—for reasons unknown except their unquenchable cosmic curiosity.

Final Thoughts: Cosmic Wonder and the Power of Speculative Weirdness

From comets seeking salvation to the official theological position on hypothetical Martians, the 18th-century Vatican reminds us that no one—absolutely no one—does over-the-top, beautifully detailed, and absurd speculation quite like humanity. May we all be as open-minded, and as enthusiastically odd, when tomorrow’s big questions crash-land in our inboxes.

Remember: The next time you look up at the night sky, raise a glass to the Vatican astronomers who were ready for Martian catechism—in Latin, with optional incense, and maybe a snack. After all, evolution, nature, and human curiosity all point in the same direction: We are endlessly, gloriously, and sometimes hilariously weird.

What Everyone Thinks, But Science Says 'Nope'

Many people today are convinced the Catholic Church has always outright rejected the possibility of extraterrestrial life—after all, it’s popular to believe the Vatican hates new ideas, especially when they involve telescope lenses and little green men. However, the historical reality is way stranger and much more interesting: Church thinkers didn’t simply shut down cosmic speculation with a curt 'heresy!' Instead, they often embraced outlandish hypotheticals, sometimes debating them to dizzying, bureaucratic detail. In fact, 18th-century Jesuits fueled debates about salvation for aliens, not out of hostility but because their theology demanded answers to anything, however far-fetched. The idea that the Vatican would excommunicate a spaceship, burn astronomers as witches, or ban talk of Martians is itself a myth. Discussions about non-Earthly life were usually open, curious, and marked by a desire to fit new scientific wonders into a theological scheme. While not every priest was ready to hand out a celestial baptismal certificate, the record shows a blend of sincere inquiry, healthy skepticism, and more than a little exasperation over just how many weird celestial things Rome might need to bless if the telescope got any better. So if you hear someone joke about the Pope performing rites for Martians, remind them: that’s closer to the true story than many would admit—no tinfoil hats required.