# Delightfully Paradoxical: Finding Science at the Divinity School A conversation with award-winning science journalist, Aaron Scott June 03, 2025 [ Natalia Schwien Scott ](/people/natalia-schwien) ![Photo of Aaron Scott and Natalia Schwien Scott](/sites/g/files/omnuum4346/files/2025-06/NSSASBLOG.png) Before his residency at MIT as a 2024-2025 Knight Science Journalism Fellow, Aaron Scott (not relation to Natalia Schwien Scott) hosted the podcasts Short Wave from NPR and [Timber Wars](https://www.opb.org/show/timberwars/) from Oregon Public Broadcasting. Aaron also joined the recent [Thinking with Plants & Fungi field trip](/news/2025/04/harmonizing-history-journey-through-vancouver-islands-indigenous-heritage "Harmonizing with History: A Journey Through Vancouver Island’s Indigenous Heritage") to Vancouver Island in partnership with Awi’nakola, an organization coordinated by Indigenous knowledge keepers, scientists, and artists with a “common commitment to create tangible solutions for the current climate crisis and to educate” community on shared land values. On our second day of the field trip, we traveled to Goldstream Provincial Park to experience a forest of old-growth trees growing alongside an ancient salmon spawning ground. A provincial plan currently proposes cutting 700 of these ancient giants to expand the median of the busy two-lane highway that runs through the park. W̱SÁNEĆ Elder ZȺWIZUT Carl Olsen from Tsartlip shared some with us about the ongoing efforts of his community to protect their more-than-human kin who have long nurtured the area and its many inhabitants. While I’ve traveled amongst what’s left of the primordial temperate rainforests of the British Isles, Ireland, and Scotland, I’ve spent very little time around trees this giant, certainly not within a thriving forest setting. The isolated ancients I’ve met at home or during my travels and research seem lonely in comparison. Aaron, on the other hand, has spent a great deal of time in forests like these, especially reporting on the conflicts over old-growth forests and endangered species in the Pacific Northwest. As we walked, he shared stories from his work, unfolding the complexities of the infamous Timber Wars between loggers and environmentalists, and the intricacies of forest ecosystems. Aaron grew up in Oregon forests. The knowledgeable tenderness with which he approached the Goldstream trees reflected his sense of commitment and care. When I sat with Aaron for the following conversation, I was curious to learn more about how that commitment and care oriented his journalism work, as well as his more recent interest in speculative fiction. What follows is a record of our conversation, edited for length and clarity. **Natalia:** Over the past academic year, you’ve been a delightful and consistent presence in our “Thinking with Plants & Fungi” reading group at the Center for the Study of World Religions at Harvard Divinity School. I imagine it’s not necessarily the first venue most people think of for in-depth conversations about ecology, at least not for the typical science journalist. I’m curious: what initially drew you to the group? **Aaron:** While working on the podcast *Timber Wars*, I spent a lot of time tromping through mossy old-growth forests with scientists like Jerry Franklin, Norm Thompson, and Eric Forsman, and interviewing trailblazers like Suzanne Simard. They told me stories about all about the early ecological experiments at places like the H.J. Andrews Experimental Forest, that revealed the complex web of life that allows forests to thrive. I learned how trees can send water and sugar through their roots to other trees during, say, times of drought or death. And how the mycorrhizal network of fungi and plant roots passes chemicals and minerals back and forth in a constant collaboration—and, some might dare say, conversation. And the unlikely story of scientists climbing into the canopy to answer mysteries such as: where was nitrogen in old-growth forests coming from? It turns out that lichens growing in the branches of older trees fix nitrogen from the air. As they die, they fall to the forest floor in a constant rain of fertilizer. I was mesmerized by the rich, interspecies conversations taking place beyond the limits of my paltry human sense. So I entered the KSJ fellowship with the idea to either write a nonfiction book about forests or a speculative fiction book that played off some of this science, as well as research into plant and animal communication. I dug through Harvard’s and MIT’s course catalogs for relevant classes and didn’t find a lot. But then I also spent a couple of days visiting the websites for every department, institute, and organization at MIT and Harvard that I was remotely interested in to sign up for their mailing list. Because this is the obsessive way my reporter brain works. And that’s when I discovered the “Thinking with Plants & Fungi” reading group. I saw you all were reading Zoë Schlanger's *The Light Eaters* (Harper Perennial, 2025), which was top of my reading stack, so I figured I had to check out a meeting. I was pretty sold from that first session. I love the diverse group of thinkers that shows up—from religious studies folks to botanists to poets. I love the space at the Center for the Study of World Religions. I love that Ricky Ray, a poet and TWPF regular, always brings different types of teas, each with its own origin story. I don’t always love the readings—the editor in me that has spent years trying to write as clearly as possible chafes at the convoluted, intentionally obtuse language of a lot of academic writing—but I do always love the ideas. **Natalia:** Very fair—there’s definitely a particular tone in academic environmental writing that we’ve run into again and again in our reading group. Is there a book or article you wish more folks would read? **Aaron**: So many. But one I just finished that I really loved is *How to Speak Whale* (Grand Central Publishing, 2022) by the wildlife filmmaker Tom Mustill. He had a humpback whale breach on his kayak and almost kill him. It set him on this incredible adventure to explore everything we know about how these enormous, deeply intelligent animals think and communicate—and whether we could eventually communicate with them. It is science writing at its best. **Natalia:** Sounds powerful. We read selections from another of your suggestions at the beginning of the spring semester—Laura Martin’s 2022 *Wild by Design: The Rise of Ecological Restoration* (Harvard University Press, 2022)*.* In it, Martin details projects over the past century where humans have endeavored to recreate and revive natural environments, rather than merely preserving them. We focused on her chapters about wilderness, exogenic species, and land management in America, and it sparked a discussion on the relationship between narrative bias and ecological data. Scientific findings are often presented as objective, as if data just arrives without context, and analysis appears without a history. But if our deep dive into literature centered on the more-than-human world over the past three years has taught us anything, it’s that perspective matters—and that interdisciplinary thinking is essential. In that spirit, how have the reading materials and conversations contributed to your writing or thinking this year? **Aaron**: Instead of writing the nonfiction book about forests, I chose to pursue writing the speculative fiction novel that explores plant and animal communication. I wanted it to be deeply grounded in science, and I’ve found endless inspiration and story ideas from the readings we’ve done, particularly the first semester, when we paired *The Light Eaters* with many of the original research papers that Zoë Schlanger draws from in her reporting. I also found inspiration in primatologist Christine Elizabeth Webb’s upcoming book, *The Arrogant Ape: Unlearning the Myth of Human Exceptionalism and Why It Matters* (Avery, 2025), which we’re reading this semester. But more than just being exposed to a lot of science that’s new to me while hanging out at a divinity school, which I find delightfully paradoxical, I’ve also gotten exposed through TWPF and an MIT seminar to the whole idea of the ‘more-than-human’ world and fields like posthumanism and multispecies ethnographies, which are new to me. The way these fields and our conversations at TWPF add questions about consciousness and being to the science of animals, plants, and fungi have really forced my imagination to range far wider than I think it might have ventured if I were just taking classes in biology and botany departments. Anything hinting at anthropomorphism is deeply discouraged in those spaces—a scientific reservation I have come to learn has deep roots in human exceptionalism. **Natalia:** The Divinity School is delightfully paradoxical, isn’t it? In our reading group this past year, we’ve had discussions led by a religious studies scholar, where we often begin by reflecting on the role of ontology and positionality and how these shape our methods and interpretations. We’ve explored how science is shaped by underlying philosophies and whether those philosophical commitments are made explicit in biological pedagogy or the presentation of data to the public. We’ve also traced certain experimental designs back to religiously informed hypotheses, and questioned whether critiques of relational frameworks of consciousness stem from discomfort with the kinds of language these frameworks employ—language that departs from the mechanistic vocabulary dominant in much scientific discourse. From your perspective, what role do you see religious studies playing in environmental spheres? **Aaron**: There was a time just a few decades ago that protecting the environment was a bipartisan issue. Legislation like the Endangered Species Act, the Clean Water Act, and the National Environmental Policy Act all passed unanimously or almost unanimously under Republican administrations. But that has changed, in large part because of conflicts like the Timber Wars that have been framed as the environment versus jobs. Now, the environment is a deeply partisan issue. And, in America at least, the conservative side of the political spectrum that denies climate change and is actively dismantling environmental protections is deeply intertwined with religion, particularly evangelical Christianity. So, given secular scientific arguments have failed to sway evangelical voters and politicians, I think it’s up to Christians who believe in climate change to frame protecting the planet in a theological way that will resonate with Christians who don’t believe in climate change. I’m speaking specifically here of American Christians, but I think this is an idea that can be extrapolated to other parts of the world and other Abrahamic religions like Islam. In other words, I think we need to make stewarding and safeguarding this planet a religious issue. Because that is exactly what it is. If God created Earth, who are we to destroy it? **Natalia:** Again, interpretation of data seems paramount. The narrative the public receives is presented through the interpreter's biases and convictions. You’re a fellow fantasy and science fiction literature fan. Our group read Ursula K Le Guin’s *The Word for World is Forest* last year, and we’ve talked a great deal about Richard Powers’ *The Overstory* and other speculative fictions where the more-than-human has a distinct voice. How do you see your appreciation for speculative worldbuilding intersecting with your journalistic or research interests? **Aaron**: Ever since I was an undergrad, I’ve relegated reading fantasy and science fiction to the realm of guilty pleasures. I’ve treated them as a reward I only get if I’ve worked really hard at my job—that is, if I’ve totally burnt myself out. It never occurred to me that I could bring them both together and actually write speculative fiction or fantasy myself. So perhaps the greatest gift of doing the Knight Science Journalism Fellowships is that it’s given me the freedom to play in the fiction sandbox for the first time. While science journalism for me is all about discovering the wonders of the world, with fiction, I can use that science as the starting kernel of inspiration, and then let my imagination roam into the realm of ‘What if…?’ And that’s something I find deeply invigorating. On the flip side, I love reporting about the real science behind science fiction movies and books, from [fact-checking the dinosaurs on *Jurassic World Dominion*](https://www.npr.org/2022/06/22/1106715424/dino-mite-meet-the-real-stars-of-jurassic-world-dominion) to [discussing the real fungus that inspired *The Last of Us*](https://www.npr.org/2023/02/17/1157842018/the-science-that-spawned-fungal-fears-in-hbos-the-last-of-us)to [talking with the husband-and-wife duo that advised Disney on how to use biology to create the fantastical setting in *Strange World*](https://www.npr.org/2023/02/15/1157237542/the-science-power-couple-behind-strange-world-reveals-its-animated-secrets). So, I guess you could say I see journalism and fiction as alluring creative partners. **Natalia:** Wonderful; thank you, Aaron. I look forward to reading and assigning your next piece! See also:- [ Nature ](/topic-tags/nature) - [ Science and Religion ](/topic-tags/science-and-religion) - [ Thinking with Plants and Fungi ](/programming-threads/thinking-plants-and-fungi) - [ TWPF Blog Page ](/programming-threads/twpf-blog-page)