THE STAR by Arthur C Clarke.azw by Unknown

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    THE STAR?by Arthur C. Clarke
    [Copyright © Arthur C. Clark. Reprinted by permission of Arthur C. Clarke ?and Scott Meredith Literary Agency Inc., 845 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10022.]
    Even popular or escape fiction may have a thematic basis; it may make a comment about some aspect of the human condition. Although escapist literature (like the following science fiction story) is written primarily for entertainment, it can also broaden our own awareness of ourselves and our lives. The best stories achieve a balance between enlightenment and entertainment, skillfully blending the theme and the elements.
    “The Star” makes a strong statement about human nature by blending literary elements like character, setting, and conflict with an entertaining narrative. Although the story is set in the future, Clarke's realistic characters still behave like people you may know. But their behavior is spurred by an event that is both familiar and puzzling.
    Here are some things to keep in mind as you read.
    The main character in this story is a Jesuit monk, a member of the Society of Jesus (a Catholic religious order founded by Ignatius Loyola in 1534).
    Jesuits devote their lives to missionary and educational work and are also known as the intellectuals of the church.
    The story makes a reference to a painting by Paul Rubens (1577-1640), a Flemish artist who painted a well-known picture of Loyola.
    The story mentions two Latin phrases. The first, AD MAJOREM DEI GLORIUM, means “For the greater glory of God.” The second is the Exercitia Spiritualia, which means “Spiritual Exercises,” a book written by Loyola, which the Jesuits use for guidance.
    Everything that happens in this story--the actions and words of the characters, the setting, the slow-but-sure progress to the surprise ending--points to a central idea which is a statement about the relationship we each have to God; it's a concern that is as old as human nature itself.
    It is three thousand light years to the Vatican. Once, I believed that space could have no power over faith, just as I believed that the heavens declared the glory of God's handiwork. Now I have seen that handiwork, and my faith is sorely troubled. I stare at the crucifix that hangs on the cabin wall above the Mark VI Computer, and for the first time in my life I wonder if it is no more than an empty symbol.
    I have told no one yet, but the truth cannot be concealed. The facts are there for all to read, recorded on the countless miles of magnetic tape and the thousands of photographs we are carrying back to Earth. Other scientists can interpret them as easily as I can, and I am not one who would condone that tampering with the truth which often gave my order a bad name in the olden days.
    The crew are already sufficiently depressed: I wonder how they will take this ultimate irony. Few of them have any religious faith, yet they will not relish using this final weapon in their campaign against me--that private, good-natured, but fundamentally serious, war which lasted all the way from Earth. It amused them to have a Jesuit as chief astrophysicist: Dr. Chandler, for instance, could never get over it. (Why are medical men such notorious atheists?). Sometimes he would meet me on the observation deck, where the lights are always low so that the stars shine with undiminished glory. He would come up to me in the gloom and stand staring out of the great oval port, while the heavens crawled slowly around us as the ship turned end over end with the residual spin we had never bothered to correct.
    “Well, Father,” he would say at last, “it goes on forever and forever, and perhaps Something made it. But how you can believe that Something has a special interest in us and our miserable little world--that just beats me.” Then the argument would start, while the stars and nebulae would swing around us in silent, endless arcs beyond the flawlessly clear plastic of the observation port.
    It was, I