Twenty-One

"Absolutely not!" said Michele. We had approached her very carefully, and she had even agreed to hear us out before she said anything. She had listened to us for almost a half hour, and without any anger or vehemence, had simply put her foot down.

"But why?" said Mike.

"That prohibition was given for a reason, and if there's a reason why nobody should come back with us, there's bound to be a lot better reason why we shouldn't invite an evil person."

"Oh, for God's sake, Michele!" said Mike. "He's not--"

"I know, I know; you've been telling me for the past twenty minutes. But he breaks their laws. How do we know if he'd obey ours if he were to get there? And what do we do to him if he doesn't? I don't like any part of all this."

"I don't really see how he could do us any damage," I said. If he tried something, we could just lock him up."

"How do you know it'd be that simple? We don't really know very much about these people at all, Paul. But that's all beside the point, as far as I'm concerned. Even if it were Cleopatra who wanted to come, I'd be against it, because I will not be a part of any violation of their religion."

"But for God's sake!" said Mike. "You don't--"

"Exactly. For God's sake. And you needn't yell."

"I'm not yelling! Don't tell me you believe that crap! I explained how it was done."

"You explained how it could be done. That doesn't prove it was done that way."

"Well, would you mind telling me how it was done, then?"

"How should I know? What's wrong with saying the Awesome Friend did it? Frankly, I find that easier to swallow than that a bunch of priests got together and emptied gallons of magic liquid into the ocean just so one of them could preach a sermon. Why wouldn't they just tell Caesar?"

"But Michele, show some sense! It's all tied up with that immortality crap, and no sane person who knows anything about the laws of nature--"

"Now just a minute! Just a minute! Do you realize that you're calling practically everybody here insane, not just me? And not only that, you're accusing the greatest thinkers on earth, including Einstein, of not knowing anything about the laws of nature? From the way you've been struggling with what they've been teaching you, you're the last one to claim that you know more about the laws of nature than anyone else. Who are you to say that immortality is impossible?"

"But it's obvious!"

"It is not obvious. You would have said--in fact, you did say, several times while I was studying exobiology--that life up here on Jupiter was impossible, and I'm sure if you'd thought of it, you would have said that living beings made of plastic would be impossible. The world is full of things we don't know and that look impossible just because we haven't had experience of them. This could be one of them."

"It could be, but it isn't."

"How do you know?"

"How do I know? How do I know you're here and I'm not dreaming? I wish I were! Michele, you can't believe that stuff! That they just decide to stop changing, and poof!"

"Look, I'm not saying I believe it--as it happens, I do, but that's irrelevant. Whether I believe it or not, they do, and it's their religion, and even if I didn't believe it at all, I still wouldn't do anything to violate it, any more than I'd kill a cow in India."

"I give up!" he practically screamed. "Paul, I told you at the beginning of this debacle that we should never have brought a woman along with us! Right from the beginning, she's been nothing but trouble! And now, when we have a chance to bring to earth what'll be the greatest boon to mankind since the wheel, she'd keep us in the Dark Ages out of sympathy for somebody else's religion that she doesn't even really believe in, for God's sake! And she admits it!"

"Now wait--"

"Don't talk to me! I should've known better than to try to reason with a woman! Of all the damn-fool things you've ever done, Paul, this was the damn-foolest! Frankly--"

"Okay, Mister, you asked for it. Shut up!" she cried as Mike opened his mouth to speak. There were tears in her eyes that she was fighting back. "I am sick and tired of hearing you talk about women! Who was the one who let one of the mass-reducers out of the lab? Not me. Who was the one who got sulky and almost made us cancel the whole trip? Not me. Who was the one who nearly killed himself as soon as we got here? Not me. Who got himself mixed up with that floozy and has the Secret Service running all over the place trying to find out if we were spied on or not? Not me. If Paul hadn't thought of pretending that the blouse was stuck up on the ceiling by static electricity, she would have blabbed all over the place what we were doing. And who went out with her in the first place? Not me. And who deliberately got himself involved with the only bad element in this society, just to find out what they're like? Not me, brother! Who insults people to their faces, and then goes off in a fit of the peeves for days on end because somebody gives as good as she gets?

"There's been one person who's been causing all the trouble on this trip, and it hasn't been me! And now you have the gall to call me a troublemaker and stamp your feet and act like a three-year-old because I happen to be willing to see both sides of an issue, and you won't! Well, I've had all I can take of all of this and more! I am fed up! I am tired to death of handling you with kid gloves--"

"Kid gloves!"

"Yes, kid gloves! You've had us all tippy-toeing around here for three weeks, just because you're so sensitive! You can say anything you want, and we have to swallow it, because you're a minority and can do no wrong; but let us open our mouths and you talk about committing suicide! I am sick of it! And I'm telling you this, brother. First of all, I don't happen to care if you're Caucasian or Chinese or Black or what, in case you want to know, and if you don't believe me, you can go to hell. And secondly, if you try to get that Galileo on this ship with us, I'll throw him off if I have to die trying! I am not going to put the whole world in danger just because you think it might happen to advance science!"

There was a pause, and Mike said, "Are you through?"

"Yes, I'm through!"

"Well, so am I. I am so through! Thank God I--"

"Okay, okay, you two," I said. "You've each said your little say and you've got your feelings off your chests, and you'll both be sorry for it later--just shut up, will you? The fact is, we've got a problem here, and nothing that's been said in the last ten minutes has got us anywhere, but it's just possible there's a solution. Michi, you don't want to be a party to any violation of their religion, right? Isn't that your main reason for not taking Galileo?"

"It's my main one. There are others. The--"

"Okay, but let's tackle this one at a time. Now Galileo doesn't believe in their religion, and apparently thinks he's got good reason for not believing, and so he's not violating his conscience if he comes with us--now wait a minute. And we don't know whether the other people here feel that their religion creates any obligation in them to try to prevent someone from violating the prohibitions they believe in. Judging by the fact that they've let Galileo alone so far, it doesn't look like it. So we might not be violating their consciences either if we took Galileo with us."

"But that's not the point!" she said. "In the first place, we don't know that. And--"

"Granted, but there's an easy way to find out. I'll just ask St. Peter; and if he says they'd find it against their religion to take him, the matter's settled. We don't take him."

"Now wait a second, Paul." said Mike.

"Nope, Mike. In this, I'm with Michi, if for no other reason than that it might be a good thing to come back here some day, and we wouldn't want a whole community of these people hostile to us."

"But--"

"Sorry, but that's the way it is, Mike. But if St. Peter says that as far as he and his friends are concerned, they have no objection to our taking Galileo, then we're not doing anything against their religion, and on that grounds, you have no objection, Michi."

"I said that wasn't the only reason. Why was there a prohibition in the first place? Whether the Awesome Friend gave it, or whether the priests did, both of them are a hell of a lot more intelligent than any of us are, and I simply refuse to believe that they're engaged in some kind of a power-grab and scheming to keep the people in the dark. Either they or the Awesome Friend see a danger that we can't see--but I can sure guess at!"

"Well, I'll discuss that with St. Peter too, and see what he thinks."

"But he's bound to be biased, Paul!" said Mike. "You know that!"

"I'll take it into account. What harm can it do if I talk to him? We're at an impasse now, especially if Galileo himself won't come unless we all agree to take him--which is what you said, I think."

"Well I did, but--you know how these things are."

"Okay, then. Personally, I don't see how he can do much damage to us; he can't make us do anything. If he could, we'd all be agreeing to take him now. He can tell us to do things, but we don't have to listen. After all, most of the most brilliant people on earth weren't listened to during their lifetimes. If he thinks that reasons are going to convince us on earth, he has some learning to do himself--but that'd be his problem. But there's plenty of ways that a fresh approach to science and to some of the difficulties we've got ourselves into could do us a lot of good; so there's good reason for taking him, if St. Peter doesn't see anything against it. All right, Mich?"

"I still don't like it," she said.

"But you wouldn't really stand in the way if St. Peter said that it seemed all right for us to take him."

"I don't like the whole idea at all."

"I know that, but would you veto it against St. Peter's judgment?"

"Well, no, I suppose, if he thinks it's all right. But it still seems to me that we're letting ourselves in for a lot of trouble."

"Remember, he probably knows more about the people on earth by now than the three of us combined. He's making us his life's work. And he certainly cares about us. He's not going to give his blessing to something that could be disastrous."

"All right all right. If he says Galileo can go, I suppose he can go. But I just want nothing to do with him."

"No problem," said Mike. "We can keep him in the first stage out of sight."

St. Peter anticipated me when we met, and said, "I presume Michael has been attempting to persuade you to take (he made a series of shapes) along with you to earth."

"We call him Galileo," I said.

"A singularly appropriate name, under the circumstances. Have you decided to take him?"

"How did you know he wanted to come?"

"Well, it seemed the obvious reason for his associating with you. He is not precisely renowned hereabouts for altruism, Paul, and Michael, though he is intelligent as earth people go, has very little to offer him by way of companionship. But he might be a means to escape what Galileo considers a hateful existence. Considering the difficulties involved, it would require strong motivation for anyone to leave here; but he has very little to lose, I would think, by doing so, and possibly much to gain."

"Well, anyway, we can't make up our minds whether or not we should let him go with us. We did decide this much, though. We absolutely won't take him if we're violating your religion in some way by doing it. So I said I'd ask you about it."

"I see. That is unusually considerate of you, in view of some of the things that people on earth of one religion have done to those of other religions. But you may set your minds at rest on that. If he wants to go with you, of course he himself will be violating a tenet of our religion; but since he does not believe in it, then that is a matter to be resolved by him.

"And as far as we are concerned, there is no command to force or even try to persuade anyone--except our own children, of course--to obey any injunction laid upon us. We would never cooperate in an act of disobedience; but if someone wishes to disobey and is not ignorant of the command, we would put no obstacle in the way of it.

"And since you people are not bound by our commands, there would be nothing against your cooperating with his violation of the law, if you saw fit to do so. So as I say, you may set your mind at rest on that."

So he had set my mind at rest. If only he had! How simple it would have been if he had said, "I am sorry; we cannot allow anyone to leave." Then everything would be settled. Now it was still up in the air.

"But you are not satisfied, I perceive. I suspect that you would like to have me tell you what I think you should do."

"If you would be so kind."

"Oh, no, Paul; it would be anything but kind. It would allow you to escape accepting responsibility for what must necessarily be your decision, and for which you three and you three alone are responsible.

"However, I do see that you are emotionally troubled, and perhaps cannot see the facts clearly. I can do this much for you; I can lay out the facts for you as I see them, and you can take into account any bias I might have; but I will be as objective as I can."

"I'd certainly appreciate that."

"Well, in favor of his going with you, there would be certain benefits to him. I am assuming that he would not find living in oxygen noxious."

"Mike says he gets drunk in it at first, but he seems to think he'd get over this."

"I suspected he had probably tried the experiment already. If that is the case, then when on earth, he would be among people who--he thinks--will listen to and respect him. I rather think he is at the moment judging all earthlings by Michael, and he might very well be brought up short once he confronts the people down there, who, unless I miss my guess, will be apt to regard him as a threat or if not as someone to be despised simply because he is foreign--even Michael does that. Of course, he will not have the language problem that most foreigners have, nor will he speak with a foreign accent; so he may be able to overcome much of this. But he will 'look funny,' and this can be a severe drawback on earth, if your treatment of handicapped people is any indication.

"Nevertheless, if he solves some problems like that of hunger and pollution--and especially if he manages to remove that Damocles sword of nuclear weapons, he could probably win respect and even adulation, however grudging. And grudging respect would probably be preferable to the kind of pity he receives here. So on the whole, I think he would be better off if he went with you.

"From your point of view, the advantages in his going are that his intellect could save you from many of the scientific blind alleys you are so relentlessly pursuing at the moment. Secondly, there are numerous material advantages you could anticipate if he were there helping to solve your problems. The technical side of solutions to world hunger, environmental dangers, and so on, would be simple for him to resolve; there is little question that if he were listened to, the whole of the earth could live in the state of affluence that the prosperous among you in the United States enjoy now.

"Of course, so many of the problems you have are political and interpersonal, not technical; and those are much more difficult. I suspect, however, that he could learn practical diplomacy rather quickly, which seems to be the art of making each party think that the negotiator's ideas came from itself, and that 'the other side' has given in. He would probably be able in a year or so to write a democrat's version of Macchiavelli's Il Principe, and 'you would not know what hit you,' as I believe the saying is. I think even nuclear weapons might be a thing of the past after a short time of Galileo on earth. So in that respect, there are enormously cogent reasons for your taking him.

"On the other side, what I mainly see is a spiritual danger. The other day, earth sent up a book called Walden Two, which purported to be a novel, but was actually propaganda for what I suppose could be called a theory of brainwashing, where the people are prosperous and happy and doing just what they are told. The author evidently does not think people are free; and if not, then it certainly makes sense to put them in a condition where they will want to do what is for their material well-being."

"I've seen the book. B. F. Skinner wrote it; he's a behavioral psychologist."

"I think he is totally and utterly wrong in his basic premise, myself. I do not think your perversity can be explained in terms of bad environments; I think you are free to do what not only you know is bad for you, but what you have no particularly strong inclination towards.

"But this is not the point. I think your freedom is what makes you really yourselves, since it allows each of you to define for himself what his goal in life is, without having this goal forced upon him willy-nilly by his genes or his surroundings; and the pursuit of this goal and its ultimate attainment makes you what you really are.

"Still, I think this Skinner is right in this sense: I believe it is possible, by constantly dinning only one alternative into your heads as realistic, to control your freedom in such a way that you will in fact almost always choose what you have been trained to choose. Your emotions already seem to control freedom in this way: they control the information on which you base your choices. At the moment, for instance, your emotions make it difficult to see arguments against the position you would like to take."

"What I'd like, actually, would be to fall asleep and wake up back at home, and have all this a beautiful dream."

He smiled his exclamation mark. "Yes; well, perhaps I sympathize somewhat. However, I think Galileo would be able to make the earth a kind of Walden Two by manipulating you. He would be able to give you prosperity and contentment, and persuade you to do whatever he wished. And since almost all of you prefer not to be free in any case--"

"What makes you say that?" I asked.

"Surely it must be evident even to you. The freedom you profess to cherish is the illusion of freedom. When you speak of being free, you contrast it with oppression, which basically means the inability to have things. In reading the history of your planet, it seems that whenever the people have the things they want, and when they can say whatever they please, then they are content to be told what to do.

"Why do so many seek advice, if not to have someone else to blame when following it does not yield the results they wished? They do not want information, as I see it; they already have the information. They want to pretend that someone else has actually made the choice for them. Why are there 'bureaucrats' everywhere who would die rather than bend one of the regulations, no matter how reasonable it might be to do so? Because if they did this, then the choice to do it would be their own and not the responsibility of the one over them who made the regulation.

"Even those who break the rules hide behind their upbringing or their environment, or they might have to admit that the choice was theirs. Those who refuse to seek advice seem to do so more often than not because they do not want to hear reasons, so that they can then plead ignorance and not accept that the act was theirs.

"You want to commit yourselves in marriage, but be 'free' to divorce; you want 'reproductive freedom' to make reproduction not reproductive.

"You see, what you mean by 'freedom' is not to choose an alternative and accept the consequences, you mean the ability to perform the act and at the same time repudiate it and its consequences; you mean by 'freedom' the pretense that things are not what they are. The last thing you want is to be free to make a difference in your lives or in the world.

"Even you, Paul. You would like me to make your choice for you, as I said, so that you could then say, 'Well, this is what St. Peter said we should do; it's not my fault.'"

"Oh, I know that if I follow your advice, it's my decision, for better or for worse. But I see your point. That isn't the way I'd like it to be."

"And this is what in practice you would lose--or gain, depending on your point of view--if Galileo came among you. Everyone would be going to him for advice, and he would see to it that the advice would be followed. He would take the blame for everything, and would be shrewd enough to let those who followed him take part of the credit when things went well--as they often would. All you would lose would be your true freedom. You would still keep the illusion. I think with Galileo on earth, you would still have the kind of freedom you wish to have: the freedom to pretend that the world is what you say it is, not what you would know it to be if you but looked. You might have less of an inclination to look than you have even now.

"The question you must decide is whether it is better to keep the possibility of really ruling over your lives and even ruining them, than it is to live better lives and only pretend that you are ruling them. There is the real issue."

"Then what do you think we should do?"

"Oh, no, Paul. I am not an earthling. You are a new kind of Adam, I am afraid, you three. You must decide for the rest of those on earth whether the value of being free is greater than the value of prosperity, contentment, and peace. I can put facts before you, but I cannot tell you which value is greater than which other value, because there is no factual basis for such an assessment."

"And yet we have to make up our minds."

"Yes, at least you three are free now. Really free. And what you do will affect the whole future of the earth."

"We don't seem to have done anything worth while with our freedom so far--if Skinner is wrong and we actually have it," I said, musingly. "If our religion--at least the one we were brought up in--is true, we even killed the Awesome Friend when he visited us. What good has it been?"

"That is the question I refuse to help you to answer."

"I suppose you're right. Still, if this is the way God made us, then we probably shouldn't give it up--if there is a God who made us. I don't know! I don't know! Why do I have to have things like this thrown into my lap? . . .

"St. Peter?" I said after a while.

"Yes?"

"Galileo, you know, doesn't believe that you're immortal."

"Yes, we know that."

"He says that when you go into that room to stop changing, you disintegrate."

"We know he says that also."

"But he says he can prove it. He says he put an animal in there, and it vanished. Animals die. And we know that plastic is harmed by light, especially high-frequency light, which that white light must have."

"I see . . . . Your problem is somewhat more complex than I had anticipated. You seem to have evidence that our faith is a delusion."

"Well, pardon me, but it does look that way. Maybe Galileo is only trying to help us, the way he's been trying to help you."

"Well, here is a question of fact which we can test. Let us repeat the experiment with the animal. Not that it would necessarily prove anything, since if the animal dies, it does not follow that persons would die. But if the animal does not die, then Galileo was either lying or mistaken; and if the latter, you could test his reaction when you confront him with it. Ordinarily, I would not do anything that might harm an animal; but I think we have sufficient reason here."

We swam off to the church, and St. Peter scooped up a small animal about the size of a puppy along the way. It lay contentedly in the little pouch St. Peter had made for it, looking out like a baby kangaroo at the scenery going by. On the way, I explained what Mike had told me about the experiment that Galileo had done, and how he had waited for the animal a long time and none emerged from the room.

As we entered the church, the light shining so steadily and brilliantly from the top glowed now with menace, which seemed to communicate itself to the little creature St. Peter was carrying. The closer we came to the top, the more nervous it grew, and when we were within a couple of meters of the open doorway, it began to struggle and I heard some static coming over my earphones, which must have been whimpers.

"Wait!" I said. "It won't prove anything anyway, so why should we torture the poor thing? Let it go."

"You would let your sympathy for an animal override your desire to gain some knowledge that would help with your problem?" said St. Peter, still holding the frantic animal.

"If it proved anything conclusively, that might be different," I said. "But even if it lives, we haven't really learned anything. Let it go. It's not worth it."

"Very well," he said, and he released the animal, which sped away as only Acosmian swimmers can speed. "You need to know what it does to persons, in any case," he said as I watched it dart through the space between the floor and the dome, turning a deep ultramarine in the light of one of the prisms just before it vanished.

"Well," I said, turning back, "I suppose I--St. Peter!" He had swum into the lighted room himself!