51 pages • 1 hour read
Robert A. HeinleinA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
On the ride back, Jubal and Gillian debate the legitimacy of the Fosterite Church. Jubal claims it’s no better or worse than any other religion, but Gillian finds it “‘nonsense.’” At least, he argues, it’s free of the draconian violence of the Old Testament and preaches happiness as the ultimate virtue. Back at Jubal’s compound, the conversation expands to include Islam.
In his room, Smith retreats into his trance state, trying to grok the “wrongness” of his encounter with Digby. He was forced to make a choice “at cusp” (to disappear Digby), a choice only he is responsible for. By choosing to accept the obligation of free will, Smith moves beyond his nestling stage and into adulthood. At midnight, he emerges from his room and encounters one of his water brothers. They sit by the pool, gaze at the stars, and make love.
On Mars, human colonists prepare for another expedition. On Earth, among other political events, the Fosterite Church proclaims Digby a saint after his mysterious disappearance. In the afterlife, Foster cautions Digby not to retaliate against Smith, but instead to “Get Happy, Junior!” (268). At the compound, Jubal notices a change in Smith: a more confident, deeper voice: “Jubal decided that Mike had joined the human race” (269). One morning, Smith announces that he and Gillian are leaving.
Sometime later, Smith is working as a magician in a traveling carnival with Gillian as his assistant (although their employment is terminated because he doesn’t understand the grift, the “showmanship”). Their “meandering” continues, a strategy to stay out of the public spotlight. Meanwhile, Gillian’s grasp of Martian—both language and culture—grows until she develops a telepathic link with Smith. They drive back to their hotel and bathe just as another carnie (Patricia, the “tattooed lady”) shows up to bid them goodbye.
Patricia strips down to her underwear and describes her tattoos, many of them depictions of the prophet Foster. She intends to convert them to Fosterism. When Smith disappears her underwear, they have no choice but to tell her who he really is. They share water and then make love, a ritual Smith has begun to appreciate on a purely physical, human level. Patricia then preaches to them the Fosterite dogma of happiness and love.
The Fosterite Church is layered, like nesting dolls: an “outer” church for the merely curious, a “middle” church for tithing members, and an “Inner Church” for clergy and for the saved—a “Dionysian cult that America had lacked and for which there was enormous potential market” (290). Patricia confides some of the inner workings of the Church—at “Happiness meetings,” anything goes, for example—but despite the hedonism of the Inner Church, she groks the spiritual concept that God is within everyone. As she prepares to depart with the carnival, Smith kisses her breast and leaves a mark, a “stigmata.”
Foster and Digby look down upon Smith, Gillian, and Patricia, Digby furious that Patricia refers to Smith as “Archangel Michael.” Foster cautions Digby that his preoccupation with Smith—who may indeed be an Archangel—is not very “angelic.” He sends Digby on an angel-in-training assignment, to study “a race of tripolarity” (299).
As Smith and Gillian prepare to move on, he asks her if she’d like to get married. She demurs, not wanting to “crowd out” the other women in their lives (Dorcas, Miriam, Anne, Patricia). They make their way to Las Vegas, where Smith takes a job as a croupier and Gillian as a showgirl (she doesn’t resent the lecherous stares like she used to). She tries to describe the concept of a “naughty picture” but can only demonstrate it. Later that evening, Smith watches her performance. He can perceive the world through her eyes, grokking the lust audience members feel for her.
In San Francisco, Smith studies the texts from a multitude of religions, but he is forced to admit he will never understand. He cannot overcome his Martian upbringing. He wonders if when humans die, they simply cease to exist, without a soul to join the Old Ones. She responds that, when her body dies, her soul (for lack of a better word) will live on. Smith laments that, for humans, only three paths exist for comprehending the universe—science, philosophy, and religion—but they are all inadequate.
They decide to take a trip to Southern California with Patricia, but first, they go to the zoo. Observing the animals helps them both understand more clearly what it means to be human (the good and the bad). Watching monkeys assert dominance over the smaller ones—beating them—Smith begins to laugh uncontrollably (the first time he’s ever laughed). She rushes him home, and he tells her that, at last, “I grok people!” (312). Laughter and humor, he argues, are how humans deal with tragedy. And by grokking people, he has become one. He is suddenly aware of the totality of human sadness, and he wants to change it. He asks how he can become ordained.
Smith is finally rousted from his nestling stage and into maturity, and the catalyst is sex. His disappearance of Bishop Digby—an action taken based solely on his assessment of right and wrong—teaches him responsibility for his actions, a vital step toward human (as well as Martian) maturity. The change is immediate and drastic. Jubal notices in him more confidence. Even his speech becomes more human—he forms complete sentences, even incorporating human slang: “Pat, don’t kid us. It stinks” (280). And as for most humans, part of maturity means leaving the protection of the nest. After enjoying sex for the first time, Smith announces that he and Gillian are leaving. Their foray into the real world takes many forms—carnie, dishwasher, Vegas showgirl—but these various jobs and lifestyles all serve to teach Smith about humankind. Nonetheless, it’s not until he witnesses the cruelty of the animal world that he suddenly understands humanity in all its contradictions.
Much of Smith’s education revolves around sexuality, something he explores a great deal with both Gillian and Patricia. In the dynamic of this love triangle, Heinlein ruminates about The Intersection of Sex and Spirituality. Two recurring themes here are sexuality and religion, and in the exploratory coupling of these three characters, these themes converge. While it’s true that Heinlein casts a skeptical eye on organized religion, he allows for the possibility that, corrupt though its leaders may be, it may, be a plausible vehicle to enlightenment. The Fosterites may be selling a product to a gullible public, but its libertine message of happiness—in any form—is a cut above the judgment and guilt of most other religions. Judeo-Christian tradition has long preached a division between the body (and its sex drive) and the spirit (untainted by bodily functions), but the temporary loss of self that results from sex has also been seen as a form of transcendence. It is that intersection that interests Heinlein, and in these chapters, Smith, Gillian, and Patricia not only engage in the physical act of sex, but they—Patricia, particularly—argue for the divinity of hedonism. Pleasure, in all its forms, is pleasing to God.
While the hedonism of a bacchanal may approach Godliness for Heinlein, he still maintains his skepticism. In a brief aside, he depicts Foster and Digby as angels in Heaven gazing down upon human affairs. Heinlein’s Heaven, however, resembles more a human bureaucracy than an eternal paradise. Patricia’s dead husband works in the “universe design section” (298), and Digby must “submit a requisition for a miracle” (268). If the novel depicts Individual Freedom as the Highest Social Good, it seems to be in as short supply in Heaven as it is on Earth. Meanwhile, the denizens of Heaven remain strikingly corporeal and human. Foster, in his angelic state, still lusts after Patricia, something he sees not as a sin but as “a goodness.” Religion, for Heinlein, is a complex beast. His invented religion of Fosterism subverts every Judeo-Christian tradition of guilt and repression, and yet it is still a haven for hucksters and conmen. Perhaps, Heinlein suggests, the true path to spirituality—if there is one—lies not in structured dogma and gilded temples but in the intimacy shared by enlightened and consenting couples.
By Robert A. Heinlein