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This chapter concerns the maintenance of the ship now that it has no crew and no computer. Bowman does many routine tasks while computers on Earth take over Hal’s former duties, despite the time lag. Though Bowman’s life will ultimately depend on the hibernation system, he does not check whether it is working. He doesn’t think about such “long-range problems,” focusing on establishing the ship into “an automatic routine” (164). Once this is achieved, he studies the footage of TMA-1’s discovery and the briefings he has been sent about it. The measurements of the monolith are in the precise ratio 1 to 4 to 9—squares of the first three integers. Bowman thinks about Mission Control’s justification for secrecy—that human nature is fundamentally xenophobic and would suffer culture shock from contact with another species—and wonders if it might also be an effort by the US-USSR bloc “to derive advantage” from being the first to contact extraterrestrials (166). From his perspective deep in space, this seems “ludicrously parochial.” Bowman turns his attention to Hal’s behavior. He reflects that if humans couldn’t understand Hal’s capacity for guilt and the psychology that created this conflict in him, they have little hope of establishing “communications with truly alien beings” (166).
Bowman spends most of his time on the Control Deck, where he can keep a lookout for threats. He hardly sleeps but merely catnaps. Bowman reasons that though the creatures who left the monolith on the Moon had a connection with Saturn, they likely did not originate on such an inhospitable planet. If they came from our solar system but have never been heard from, they must be extinct. He speculates that they might come from beyond Earth’s solar system but believes that it is not possible to travel between stars because of the “impassable barrier of the speed of light” (169). He speculates about minority views that travel between stars might be possible if a species were very long-lived or if voyages spanned multiple generations. He also questions whether the speed of light is necessarily a barrier as it is laid out in the Special Theory of Relativity; perhaps there could be shortcuts like “wormholes in space” (170). Bowman’s studies also touch on “anthropomorphic thinking” (170), with some scientists noting that extraterrestrials might differ wildly from humans due to different evolutionary paths. Bowman discovers that some believe that advanced beings wouldn’t have organic bodies but rather durable replacements that allow those beings to live forever. The brain might even be replaced and “the conflict between mind and machine […] resolved at last in the eternal truce of complete symbiosis” (172). Others speculate still further that a robot body might only be a stage of development, the ultimate destination of which is “spirit” or even “God” (172).
Traveling alone, Bowman keeps the ship’s sound system running for companionship. Craving human voices, he initially listens to poetry, but soon the concerns of “Shaw, Ibsen and Shakespeare” seem “remote” and petty (173). He switches to opera but stops when Verdi’s Requiem Mass, in particular the “Dies Irae,” thunders ominously through the ship and “[leaves] him completely shattered” (174). From then on, he only listens to instrumental classical music— “the frozen thoughts of a brain that had been dust for twice a hundred years” (174). The ship approaches Saturn; a “glorious spectacle” with the naked eye and “unbelievable” through the telescope. The rings of Saturn are “ephemeral” and being destroyed by gravitational forces. They were created two million or three million years ago, the time that humankind came into being.
Discovery approaches Saturn and passes beyond the boundary of Phoebe, its outermost moon. Bowman sees Japetus and is convinced it is the correct destination since it has a “distinctive” and “strange” geography; one side is dark, while the other is “dominated by a brilliant white oval” (177). This oval is “perfectly symmetrical” (177). Discovery’s rendezvous with Japetus relies on precise calculations and, if missed, will not be replicable for years as the ship orbits Saturn.
As the ship approaches Japetus, Bowman becomes aware of “a disturbing obsession”: that the bright oval shape on the moon’s surface is “a huge, empty eye, staring at him” (181). He doesn’t mention this in his communications with Mission Control because he thinks they will believe him delusional. As the ship approaches Japetus, Bowman worries that the remaining fuel won’t be sufficient to meet the crucial rendezvous, but by the end of the chapter the ship is in orbit around the moon.
As he nears the surface, Bowman describes it in the first person in a message to Mission Control. He sees a large black building, the “big brother” of TMA-1 (183).
The Star Gate has orbited Saturn for three million years, “waiting for a moment of destiny that might never come” (185). Its creation shattered a moon and created the rings of Saturn. The wait is over because a civilization has left its “planetary cradle,” marking the climax of an “ancient experiment” (185). The experimenters were not “remotely human,” but they were “flesh and blood” (185); spurred by “awe,” “wonder,” and “loneliness,” they searched space for other life-forms. They observed evolution on many planets and saw how fragile the development of intelligent life could be, so they began to nurture “Mind.” When they visited Earth, they knew they would never return, but they left their “servants”—the monoliths—behind. The experimenters have since transcended physical bodies and captured their intelligence in patterns of light. They are now creatures of pure energy, but they remember their own evolution and continue to watch over their ancestors’ experiments.
Bowman describes his descent to Mission Control. He plans to visit the monolith. The perspective shifts to that of the Star Gate, which sensed Bowman’s approach. It knows it is being probed but does nothing. When it sees Bowman’s pod approaching, it awakens, as it was ordered to do when it was made. It has “memories” and “logic circuits.”
As he leaves the ship to explore the surface, Bowman views the Discovery from space and looks back; at this distance, it is possible to look directly at the sun, which is a bright but tiny disk that gives no heat. He worries about the communication system and whether his messages are reaching Earth, which by now is an hour and a half away at the speed of sound. He worries that he will go missing and no one will ever know what became of him. He approaches the monolith, and it eclipses his view of the sky. As he approaches, he continues to communicate with Mission Control, sending messages describing his experience. He suddenly stops speaking because he can’t describe what he is seeing; the solid monolith has revealed that it has “infinite depths […] down a vertical shaft” that is full of stars (192). That is the final message he sends back to Earth.
The Star Gates open and then close again, and Bowman disappears. The ship remains, sending messages back to Earth that they will not be able to interpret.
This section extends humans’ failures to understand artificial intelligence to their experience of alien lifeforms. This is a subject where explanations fail and theories proliferate as humans come up against the limits of their knowledge—a frequent occurrence in science fiction, which speculates about previously unimagined futures. This problem of ineffability or indescribability is threaded through the novel from the beginning in Moon-Watcher’s inability to account for the appearance of the monolith. Here, Bowman continues his mission to Saturn in full knowledge that he is traveling not only toward the unknown but also toward a likely encounter with or evidence of an alien species. This produces extended speculation on what he might encounter, and as he travels into unexplored space, he experiences awe at the (notably cinematic) vistas revealed to him. This places Bowman at the furthest frontier of understanding, and Clarke captures this experience in a number of ways, including rendering the usually calm and dispassionate Bowman amazed by and drawn to “the glory of the rings” of Saturn (174).
The first question that the view of the sky prompts Bowman to consider is where alien life might have emerged; he looks to Alpha Centauri and the debates that are “now raging on Earth” (168). These discussions involve the practicality of traveling such vast distances, and the objections to the idea assume alien life and intelligence closely resemble human life and human conceptions of plausible technological innovations. This extends the debate from the physicists, concerned with the feasibility of space travel, to include the biologists, who ask, “What would intelligent extraterrestrials looks like?” (170). This builds on the insight in the last chapter—that failures to comprehend Hal mark a failure of imagination as to what nonhuman minds might be like. As much of the novel has involved Violence and Technology Fueling Development, these failures raise the possibility of conflict (as do leaders’ fears about human xenophobia). However, Bowman’s experiences suggest that humans might evolve beyond violence through contact with extraterrestrial life:
Though he had little enough time for sightseeing, and the sky of space was no novelty to him, the knowledge of what now lay out there beyond the observation ports sometimes made it difficult for him to concentrate even on the problem of survival (168).
Even this seasoned explorer’s perspective on space travel has been fundamentally altered by the knowledge that an encounter with alien life is possible—even likely. This is what Floyd predicted when he first encountered TMA-1: that knowledge of the monolith, even if its mystery was never uncovered, would change the world by reorienting humanity’s place in the universe. Bowman is living proof of this phenomenon and how the possibility of other intelligences leads to further evolutionary sophistication.
Indeed, the theories proposed regarding alien life include the prospect that extraterrestrials would ultimately leave the “accident-prone homes that Nature had given them, and which doomed them to inevitable death,” in favor of “constructions of metal and plastic” that would make them immortal (171). People speculate that even the brain could be dispensed with as inessential and the “conflict between mind and machine […] resolved” in “complete synthesis” (171). The next step is to consider whether mind can exist without matter: “And if there was anything beyond that, its name could only be God” (172). The novel has already drawn parallels between the aliens and the classical gods who directed Homer’s Odyssey, so this suggestion strikes a familiar chord and connects speculative science fiction back into myth’s questions of spirit and deity.
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By Arthur C. Clarke