French forensic expert Philippe Charlier uses modern science to investigate saints, relics, and history’s most mysterious deaths.
Newsroom (24/04/2026 Gaudium Press) In a dim crypt beneath centuries-old frescoes in Assisi, a scientist kneels before a skeleton that has inspired devotion for generations. For Philippe Charlier, a French forensic pathologist and archaeologist, this moment is not only professional—it is deeply personal. Before him lies St. Francis of Assisi, a figure who, Charlier admits, “speaks to [him] deeply.” It is here, at the intersection of science and faith, that one of the most unusual careers in modern Europe unfolds.
Dubbed the “Hercule Poirot of forensic science,” Charlier has spent more than two decades examining the remains of some of history’s most revered and enigmatic figures. Moving through museums, churches, and shrines, he regards each figure—king, saint, philosopher—not as an untouchable icon, but as a patient. “He is my patient … she is too; he is too,” he says, reducing centuries of reverence into the clinical language of forensic inquiry.
His work spans an extraordinary range of historical figures: King St. Louis, Mary Magdalene, Thérèse of Lisieux, Francis of Assisi, Joan of Arc, Richard the Lionheart, René Descartes, and even Adolf Hitler. Each case is approached with the same discipline as a modern forensic investigation, though the client is not the justice system but historians—and, increasingly, the Church itself.
Charlier’s latest book, L’Histoire au scalpel: Autopsie des morts célèbres (“History Under the Scalpel: Autopsies of Famous People”), reads like a series of scientific detective stories. Around a table with his team, he describes the final stage of analysis as resembling an Agatha Christie reveal—when the evidence aligns and a long-buried truth emerges.
That truth, however, is not always comfortable. Charlier’s investigations frequently challenge centuries-old narratives. He demonstrated that King St. Louis did not die of plague during the Crusades, as widely believed, but from a severe infection linked to advanced scurvy. His analysis of Thérèse of Lisieux suggested that tuberculosis was not the sole cause of her death; mercury treatments likely contributed significantly.
In other cases, the findings are more unsettling. Relics attributed to Joan of Arc and venerated in a museum in Chinon were revealed to be fragments of Egyptian mummies—evidence not of malice, but of the complex journeys relics have undergone through time, displacement, and misattribution.
Perhaps most striking is Charlier’s reconstruction of Mary Magdalene. Working from a skull, fragments of skin, and a lock of hair preserved in Provence, he recreated the face of a Mediterranean woman around 50 years old. While not definitive proof of the tradition, the coherence of the remains lends it significant support.
His work also extends beyond cause of death into the nature of genius itself. In examining René Descartes, Charlier identified an asymmetry in the philosopher’s skull in a region associated with abstraction and language—what he interprets as the “plasticity of genius.” He also resolved a long-standing suspicion: Descartes was not poisoned, but died of pneumonia following a severe cold.
Despite the scientific rigor, Charlier operates within a unique dual framework. A practicing Catholic, he navigates both belief and empirical analysis. “I have two hemispheres,” he explains—one belonging to the believer, the other to the scientist who scrutinizes even “the smallest lesion.”
This duality is increasingly relevant as interest in relics resurges across the Western world, particularly in the years following COVID-19. According to Charlier, this revival reflects a broader anthropological need. “Human beings really struggle to have faith without something tangible,” he observes. Even traditions that reject material intermediaries often create their own—such as Martin Luther’s death mask.
In this context, science does not replace devotion but reinforces it. Church authorities are now among the primary requesters of forensic analysis, seeking not validation of belief but verification of authenticity. Contrary to historical criticism, Charlier notes that outright fake relics are relatively rare; more often, time has fragmented and displaced genuine remains.
Among his most unusual current investigations is the so-called “odor of sanctity”—a phenomenon reported in the remains of certain saints, including Teresa of Ávila. Charlier is assembling a multidisciplinary team of perfumers, oenologists, and chocolatiers to analyze what might constitute this mysterious scent. His earlier work on Richard the Lionheart suggests that, in some cases, such fragrances may result from embalming substances designed to produce a pleasant aroma.
Yet beyond the data, measurements, and laboratory work, Charlier’s mission is ultimately humanistic. He seeks to bridge the gap between past and present, transforming distant historical figures into individuals whose lives—and deaths—can be understood.
That vision extends to an ambitious museum project planned for Saint-Cloud, near Paris. Set to open in 2028, the 10,000-square-meter site will occupy the grounds of the last French royal palace awaiting restoration. Charlier envisions it as an immersive journey through time, supported by international collaboration.
“It is the continuation of my childhood dream,” he says. “I have always seen myself as a time traveler.”
For Charlier, that journey is no longer his alone. Through the lens of forensic science, he is inviting the modern world to step into history—not as passive observers, but as investigators of its most enduring mysteries.
- Raju Hasmukh with files from National Catholic Register
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