I asked her if the paper had precipitated a crisis of faith in her, and she was dismissive. “My faith is absolute,” she said. “My father’s, on the other hand…”
The idea that her father might be experiencing a crisis of faith seemed incredible to me; as a scientist, he was the last person to have reason to doubt. I asked her what kind of paper it was, and she said, “Astronomy.”
I admit, Lord, that I’ve never had much regard for astronomy; it has always struck me as the dullest of the sciences. The life sciences are seemingly limitless; every year we discover new species of plants and animals and gain a deeper appreciation of your ingenuity in creating the Earth. By contrast, the night sky is just so finite. All five thousand eight hundred and seventy-two stars were cataloged in 1745, and not another has been found since then. Whenever astronomers peer at one more closely, they confirm that it’s identical in size and composition to every other, and to what end? It’s the essential nature of stars that they have so few characteristics; they’re the backdrop against which the Earth stands out, reminding us of how special we are. Choosing to study them has always felt a bit like choosing to taste the plate that food is served on.
So it doesn’t completely surprise me that an astronomy paper might cause people to lose sight of what’s important, although I would have expected such a reaction from a layperson rather than a scientist. I asked Wilhelmina what was in the paper, and she said, “Nonsense.” I asked her to elaborate, but all she would say was that it was a theory designed to instill doubt. “And all based on something someone saw in a telescope!” she said. “Every relic I gave away was a piece of evidence you can hold in your hand. You know it tells the truth because you can feel it.” She brought her clamshell to my hand and pushed my thumb back and forth across the border between the smooth and ringed areas of its shell. “How can anyone have doubts about that?”
I told Wilhelmina I would have to speak to her parents about what she had done. She seemed unconcerned. “I won’t apologize for bringing people closer to God. I know I’ve broken rules in doing so, but it’s the rules that need to be changed, not my behavior.”
I told her that people couldn’t simply disobey rules just because they disagreed with them, because society would cease to function if everyone did that.
“Don’t be silly,” she said. “You lied when you sent that mailgram as Mr. Dahl. Was that because you believe we should all be free to lie? Of course not. You thought about the situation and concluded that lying was justified. You’re prepared to take responsibility for what you did, aren’t you? Well, so am I. That’s what society needs us to do, not to follow rules without thinking.”
I wish I had her confidence when I was her age. Indeed, I wish I had her confidence right now. It’s only when I’m doing fieldwork that I am certain I am following your will, Lord. When it comes to matters such as this, there is always some uncertainty in my mind.
“My father is in Sacramento today,” Wilhelmina said. “If you want to speak with him, you can come by our house tomorrow morning before nine.” She gave me her address.
I told her she had better be there as well, and she looked insulted. “Of course I’ll be there. I’m not ashamed of what I’ve done. Weren’t you listening?”
Tomorrow I go to speak with Dr. and Mrs. McCullough. This has not turned out at all the way I expected when I left Chicagou. I was preparing to bring a criminal to justice, and instead I have to inform parents about their child’s misbehavior. Or, I should say, their daughter’s misbehavior. She is neither child nor criminal, but I’m uncertain as to what she is. Had she been a criminal, I would know better where I stand. Instead I’m just perplexed.
Help me to understand other people’s positions, Lord, even when I don’t share them. At the same time, grant me the strength to not ignore wrongdoing simply because it is committed by someone who is well intentioned. Let me be compassionate while remaining true to my convictions.
Amen.
Lord, I’m frightened by what I’ve heard today. I need your guidance desperately. Please help me make sense of what has happened.
I rode the ferry to Oakland today and from there hired a cab to the address that Wilhelmina had given me. A housekeeper opened the door. I introduced myself and told her that I needed to speak to the McCulloughs regarding their daughter, Wilhelmina. A minute later they appeared. “Are you one of Mina’s teachers?” asked Dr. McCullough.
I explained that I am an archaeologist with Boston’s Museum of Natural Philosophy. Mrs. McCullough recognized my name. “You write those popularizations,” she said. “How is it that you’re acquainted with our daughter?” I suggested that we speak inside. Both of them turned to look at Wilhelmina, who was standing on the stairs behind them, and they let me in.
Once we were in Dr. McCullough’s study, I described how I came to suspect that relics were being taken from the museum’s storerooms, and how I discovered Wilhelmina was behind it. Dr. McCullough turned to Wilhelmina and asked if it was true. “Yes, it is,” she declared, with neither shame nor belligerence.
Dr. McCullough was plainly incredulous. “Why on earth would you do such a thing?”
“You know why,” she said. “To remind people of what you’ve forgotten.”
His face grew red, and he said, “Go to your room. We will discuss this later.”
“I want to discuss it now,” she said. “You can’t keep denying—”
“Do as your father tells you,” said Mrs. McCullough. Wilhelmina left reluctantly, and then Dr. McCullough turned to me.
“Thank you for bringing this to my attention,” he said. “You can be assured that nothing else from the university’s collection will leave the premises.”
I told him I appreciated his saying that, but I wanted to know what had prompted Wilhelmina’s actions. She seemed to be acting in reaction to something he had said or done. Was that true?
“That’s no concern of yours,” he said. “We’ll deal with this as a private family matter.”
I told Dr. McCullough that it wasn’t my intention to pry, but the theft of property might legitimately be a concern of the museum’s board of trustees, and I needed a more detailed explanation in order to be comfortable with not informing them. I asked him whether, if our positions were reversed, he would accept an explanation like the one he had given me. He glared at me so severely that if I’d been a subordinate of his, I might have left the matter alone. I wasn’t, though, so it seemed like we were at an impasse.
Then Mrs. McCullough said to him, “Tell her about the paper, Nathan. She came all this way, and besides, everyone will know soon enough.”
Dr. McCullough relented. “Very well, then,” he said. He went to his desk and picked up a manuscript. “I was asked to review a paper for publication in the journal Natural Philosophy.” He handed the manuscript to me, and I saw the title was “On the Relative Motion of the Sun and the Luminiferous Aether.” I have only a layperson’s understanding of the aether, the medium that carries light waves: I know that, just as a shout carries farther when traveling with the wind than against it, the speed of light varies relative to the Earth’s own motion through the aether. I said as much to Dr. McCullough.
“Your understanding is correct, as far as it goes. However, detailed measurements suggest that the variations in the speed of light are not caused solely by the Earth’s motion around the Sun. Instead, there appears to be a steady aetheric wind across our solar system as a whole. Most physicists believe this has no significance, but the astronomer Arthur Lawson proposes an alternate explanation: he suggests that the Sun is not actually at rest, but is in motion relative to the aether, which is itself at rest.”