Nightfall

“No one on Kalgash liked to think about Darkness; but the less education one had, the more threatening it was to let one’s mind dwell on the possibility that the six friendly suns might somehow totally disappear from the sky all at once, that utter blackness might reign. The idea was unthinkable—literally unthinkable.”

As Sheerin talks to Harrim about his experience in the Tunnel of Mystery, he considers the social implications of total darkness. This foreshadows the way the masses of Saro City turn superstitious following the eclipse, ascribing divine meaning to what, from a scientific perspective, is simply a cosmic accident. The eclipse is catastrophic only because of humanity’s reaction to it, illustrating the power of Public Perception as a Force of Nature.

“It was practically an even struggle: the powerful appeal of Raissta on the one hand, and the desire to put his mind at rest concerning a major scientific issue on the other. And though he had an obligation to be on time for his appointment, Beenay realized in some confusion that he had made an appointment of sorts with Raissta too—and that was a matter not only of obligation but of delight.”

Beenay’s character arc is defined by the tension between his personal life and his professional life. He knows that he wants to be with Raissta, but cannot set aside his obsession with work, especially when the appointment he is fulfilling promises to resolve a compelling dilemma. He must continue to struggle between these two parts of his life all the way to the end of the novel.

“But I’d like to remind you that there’s a fascination in being frightened when it’s part of a game.”

In this passage, Cubello 54 explains why the deaths at the Tunnel of Mystery improved the attraction’s profile in the eyes of the public. Silverberg and Asimov hint at the perverse curiosity that exists in all of humankind, investigating one’s fears as a form of entertainment. In this way, the authors comment on the popularity of horror and thriller as narrative genres.

“Even though all of mankind had an instinctive fear of the absence of light, that did not mean that the absence of light was of itself harmful.

What was harmful, Sheerin knew, was one’s reaction to the absence of light.”

This passage makes a crucial distinction between the Darkness and the resulting destruction of civilization. While the Darkness does not cause the destruction per se, the Darkness causes a psychological effect on witnesses that moves them to commit acts of violence. This is an important distinction to make because it essentially represents the tension between religious and secularist views of the world.

“Though he was not a particularly religious man, Beenay stared at that thin sheaf of paper with something very much like reverence, and found himself thinking something very much like a prayer.

The Theory of Universal Gravitation was one of the pillars of the cosmos for him: perhaps the most basic pillar. He couldn’t imagine what he would do if that pillar were to fall. And it seemed to him now that the pillar might be tottering.”

Asimov and Silverberg draw an interesting comparison between science and religion in this passage. Beenay displays a near-religious attitude toward the work of his mentor, which is almost depicted as a holy relic. It shows that scientists are not that different from priests—figures of authority who ascribe meaning to the visible world.

“The deviation was trivial—a matter of a few decimal places—but that wasn’t trivial at all, in the larger sense of things. […] But a theory that purports to explain the movements of the world through space has no room for even small discrepancies. Either it is complete or it is not complete: no middle way was permissible.”

In this passage, Asimov and Silverberg discuss the absolute nature of mathematics and science. Unlike religion, where certain concepts and ideas can be left to interpretation, mathematics requires the precision of exact numbers, giving credence to theories only if they can correspond with measurements in the observable world.

“Some people always seemed to know what tomorrow’s suns would be like—Beenay was one, naturally—but Theremon took a more happy-go-lucky approach to it all. So long as some sun was going to be up there the next day, Theremon didn’t especially care which one it was. And there always was one—two or three, actually, or sometimes four. You could count on that. Even five, once in a while.”

This passage illustrates the degree to which even people who consider themselves rationalists rely on religious and even superstitious modes of knowledge. Theremon is one of the novel’s most anti-religious characters. Nevertheless, he seems to display some form of faith in this passage, relying not on science to figure out the movement of the suns, but on faith that any combination of them will be in the sky at any given time.

“Athor’s theory is not cast-iron. No theory is and there is always room for improvement. Isn’t that so? Science is constructed out of approximations that gradually approach the truth, you told me a long time back, and I’ve never forgotten it. Well, that means all theories are subject to constant testing and modification, doesn’t it? And if it eventually turns out that they’re not quite close enough to the truth, they need to be replaced by something that’s closer.”

Theremon reminds Beenay that science is prone to revision, despite the certainty of its pronouncements and calculations. It is an interesting contrast to the earlier passage about the exactness of science, pulling away from the absolute nature with which it had been previously described.

“But once you begin dragging in mysterious unknown factors, you begin to move into the realm of fantasy. […] When you start in with why nots, Theremon, anything becomes possible, and then nothing makes any sense. At least not to me. I can only deal with what I know is real.”

Beenay cautions Theremon not to think in terms of pure conjecture. As a rationalist, Beenay believes only in that which he can observe. Speculation, he believes, is not the realm of the scientist, but of the Apostles of Flame.

“He had never stopped to consider it before, but the Apostles had to be an exceedingly wealthy group. They owned their own radio and television stations, they published magazines and newspapers, they had this tremendous tower. And probably they controlled all sorts of other assets too that were less visibly theirs. He wondered how that was possible. A bunch of fanatic puritan monks? Where would they have managed to get their hands on so many hundreds of millions of credits?”

In this passage, Asimov and Silverberg level a critique against organized religion, interrogating the contradiction between the humility they typically demonstrate and the wealth they have amassed through their followers. The Apostles of Flame, in particular, own a significant number of assets that enable them to broadcast their teachings on a mass scale, which the scientists cannot access through their own resources.

“They have to be controversial, Siferra. Everybody’s wagons are going to be upset by what we found in that hill—not just in our department, but History, Philosophy, even Theology, they’ll all be affected. And you can bet they’ll fight to defend their established notions of the way civilization developed. Wouldn’t you, if somebody came along with a radical new idea that threatened everything you believe?—Be realistic, Siferra. We’ve known from the start that there’d be a storm over this.”

In this passage, Balik reassures Siferra that the pushback against her findings is actually a positive development. He reminds her that every worthwhile discovery completely redefines one’s understanding of the world, which is why the pushback stems not just from archaeological experts, but also from colleagues in other branches of science.

“The unknown factor for which they had sought, the invisible giant, the dragon in the sky, was real. Athor found that profoundly upsetting, even if it had rescued his famous theory. He had thought for years that he fully understood the rhythm of the heavens, and now it was clear to him that his knowledge had been incomplete, that a great strangeness existed in the midst of the known universe, that things were not as he had always believed them to be. It was hard, at his age, to swallow that.”

Athor’s scientific work is defined by his discovery of the influential Theory of Universal Gravitation. What strikes Athor in his old age is the discovery of entirely new facts that he hadn’t uncovered in his lifetime, reminding him that the world and the universe are much bigger and less fathomable than he had anticipated.

“Can your brain really and truly conceive of the concept of infinity? Of eternity? You can only talk about it. Reduce it to equations and pretend that the abstract numbers are the reality, when in fact they’re just marks on paper. But when you try really to encompass the idea of infinity in your mind you start getting dizzy pretty fast, I’m certain of that. A fraction of the reality upsets you. The same with the little bit of Darkness you just tasted. And when the real thing comes, your brain is going to be presented with a phenomenon outside its limits of comprehension.”

In this passage, Sheerin chastises Beenay for believing he could anticipate the psychological effects of the Darkness. Central to his argument is the fact that Beenay has never experienced total darkness and would therefore have no basis for his speculations. Anything he has imagined or attempted to conceive is an approximation based on what he has witnessed throughout his life, thus heightening the stakes for his first-ever experience of the Darkness.

“‘Because we—as scientists—can serve as leaders, figures of authority, in the struggle to save civilization that lies ahead,’ said Athor. ‘Only if the nature of the danger is made known right here and now does society stand any chance of protecting itself against what’s going to happen. But as it is, only the gullible and ignorant pay any heed to the Apostles. Most intelligent, rational folk look upon them the same way we do—as cranks, as fools, as madmen, perhaps as swindlers.’”

Athor declares that scientists are not only the protagonists of society but of civilization itself. From his perspective, logic and reason are the only tools that can save humankind from its own destruction, a view that conflicts with the Apostles’ reliance on rhetoric, emotion, and superstition.

“So far as I’m concerned, the Apostles represent Darkness itself—the blackest, most hateful sort of reactionary ideas. Give them their way and they’ll have us all living medieval lives of fasting and chastity and flagellation again. It’s bad enough we have psychotics like them spewing forth demented delirious prophecies to disturb the tranquility of everyday life, but if a man of Athor’s prestige is going to dignify those ludicrous creeps by incorporating some of their babble into his own findings, I’m going to be very, very suspicious, my friend, of anything at all that emanates from your Observatory from this point onward.”

Theremon explains his repulsion for the Apostles of Flame in this passage. Though Theremon functions as an antagonist in Part 2 of the novel, he also identifies the Apostles of Flame as the true antagonists of the entire narrative, threatening modernity with outdated ideas. He vilifies the other main characters through their association with the Apostles.

“You don’t know how to do anything but mock, do you? You’re so convinced of your own righteousness that even when you’re staring right at the truth all you can do is make some pitiful joke!”

Siferra challenges Theremon’s approach to criticism, berating him for making light of serious topics. Because Theremon values his relationship with Siferra so much, her statement triggers a shift in his character, forcing him to reconsider his reasons for antagonizing the scientists between Parts 1 and 2.

“‘Scientists who think they know the real story can argue away anything that threatens their beliefs,’ Sheerin said. ‘You scratch an entrenched academic and you’ll find he’s pretty similar in some ways to an Apostle of Flame, underneath. It’s just a different kind of robe they wear.’”

In this passage, Sheerin explains why Siferra’s colleagues have refused to accept the validity of her discovery. In doing so, he draws a comparison between the scientists and the Apostles, pointing out that what often brings them together is personal bias toward something they want to be true, rather than what is objectively true based on observation and evidence.

“He had always believed that he was the master of his own destiny, that he was able to shape the course of his life: that was how he had succeeded in getting himself into places where other newspapermen hadn’t remotely had a chance. But now everything was beyond his control, and he knew it. Come Darkness, come Stars, come Flame, it would all happen without a by-your-leave from him.”

As Kalgash Two engulfs the light from Dovim, Theremon comes to realize his arrogance over the past few months, refuting and even mocking the research of the scientists. Unlike his previous journalistic endeavors, which required him to use his interpersonal skills solely to his advantage, he understands that the eclipse and its oncoming effects are beyond solving with his skills.

“The Stars are very frightening, but they’re also very beautiful. At least to an astronomer they are.”

Yimot makes this observation after he and Sheerin survive the eclipse and the subsequent chaos. He describes the Stars through paradox, declaring them frightening at one point and beautiful the next. As an astronomer, he marvels at the sight of something wondrous and new, even if it is so vast and overwhelming as to terrify him.

“What was left of Athor had lost all will to survive—to go forth into the dreadful new world of the post-eclipse barbarism. That was the most tragic single thing of all, Beenay thought: the destruction of Athor’s will to live, the great astronomer’s hopeless surrender in the face of this holocaust of civilization.”

Athor exits the narrative in this vivid passage, which sees Beenay remembering his last glimpse of his mentor. The act of Athor’s death is not described, but the loss of his will to live stands in for such a moment, as though the death of his spirit could better describe the end of his life than physical death would.

“Even he, who had no belief in the sacred, could not help feeling that if there was any place on Kalgash where the gods truly were present, it must be here.

And the gods had let the building be destroyed like this! The gods had sent the Stars, knowing that the madness to follow would wreck even their own Pantheon!

What did that mean? What did that say about the unknowability and unfathomability of the gods—assuming they even existed?”

A secular rationalist all his life, Theremon spends much of his time after the eclipse reflecting on his relationship with religion and the idea of a meaningful universe. In this passage, he concludes that if divine beings really existed and they allowed evil to happen, then they must be cruel beyond human understanding.

“And in any case there’s no sense speculating about what might have been. What we have to deal with now is what is.”

Siferra tries to assuage Theremon’s guilt by telling him that it makes no sense to dwell on what could have been done differently. Accepting the Inevitable means freeing oneself to deal with its consequences in the present.

“Suspicion is universal: nobody’s exempt. It’s like a fever—a fever of fear.”

When Theremon and Siferra encounter Beenay at the Search station, he explains that the stations help to satisfy the paranoia that has captured the hearts and minds of people from Saro to Amgando. It also implies the overriding sentiment that dictates the isolationist policies of the provinces between the two territories, ever suspicious of one another because of their small numbers.