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All Talked Out: Naturalism and the

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i

ALL TALKED OU T
ii

THE ROMANELL LECTURES

The Romanell-​Phi Beta Kappa Professorship, first awarded in 1983, was estab-
lished by an endowment from Patrick and Edna Romanell. Patrick Romanell, a
Phi Beta Kappa member from Brooklyn College, was H. Y. Benedict Professor
of Philosophy at the University of Texas, El Paso. The Phi Beta Kappa Society
administers the Professorship, which takes the form of three lectures given
each year by a distinguished philosopher, at his or her home institution, on a
topic important to an audience beyond professional philosophers. The intent of
this series is to publish the results of those lectures in affordable and accessible
editions.

Also published in the series


What Do Philosophers Do?
Skepticism and the Practice of Philosophy
Penelope Maddy

Tragic Failures
How and Why We Are Harmed by Toxic Chemicals
Carl F. Cranor
iii

ALL TALKED OU T

Naturalism and the Future of Philosophy

J.D. Trout

1
iv

1
Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers
the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education
by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University
Press in the UK and certain other countries.

Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press


198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America.

© Oxford University Press 2018

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in


a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the
prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted
by law, by license, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reproduction
rights organization. Inquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the
above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the
address above.

You must not circulate this work in any other form


and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer.

CIP data is on file at the Library of Congress


ISBN 978–0–19–068680–2

1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2
Printed by Sheridan Books, Inc., United States of America
v

To Norma Brandt Reichling


for her magical presence
vi
vi

CONTENTS

Preface  xi

I. Introduction: The Shape of Evidence-​Based


Epistemology  1
1. Where We Are: An Overview  1
2. Naturalism as a Hypothesis  6
3. How Did We Get Here?  12
4. A Better Alternative: Strategic Reliabilism? 17
5. Ameliorative Psychology and Better
Reasoning  25
6. Conclusion  33

II. Good Reasoning and Evidence-​Based


Epistemology  37
1. The Limits of Reasoning  37
2. Standard Analytic Epistemology
and Professional Philosophy  41
vi

Contents

3. The Failure of Constructive Philosophy  46


4. The Department of Things I Find Really
Cool to Think About  51
5. Strategic Reliabilism: Philosophy as Coach  58
6. Conclusion  64

III. The Natural Limits of Explanation  67


1. Owning Up to Human Limitations  67
2. The Delicate Feeling of Explaining  72
3. Understanding and the “Aha!” Moment  85
4. The Romanticized View of Insight  87
5. Creepy Truths and Estrangement: Fluency,
Narrative Coherence, and Explanation  91
6. Conclusion  101

IV. Taking People as We Find Them: Philosophy


and Evidence-​Based Policy  102
1. Introduction  102
2. Do Inheritors Deserve Their Bequests?
Inheritance and the Luck Subsidy  106
3. The Science of Happiness and a Utilitarian
Argument for Redistribution  115
4. A Modest Proposal: Getting Rid of
the House Committee on Science,
Space, and Technology  123

viii
ix

Contents

5. Outside Strategies and the Dangers


of Complicated Rules: The Index
of Honesty  133
6. Conclusion  142

Notes  145
References  155
Index  163

ix
x
xi

PREFACE

The Romanell-Phi Beta Kappa Professorship has a special inter-


est in applied philosophy, to select scholars who have made a
“contribution to public understanding of philosophy.” I hope the
chapters that follow honor that charge. For me, that trust carries
both an obligation and a prohibition. The obligation is to make
approachable some current ideas in epistemology, in the philos-
ophy of science (on explanation), and in ethics and social and
political philosophy. The prohibition is on diving too deeply into
forbidding, arcane technical issues in a philosophical specializa-
tion. In order to honor this prohibition, I made judgments about
which narrowly philosophical disputes and issues could be safely
ignored, either because they have been adequately answered
even when journals have kept them alive, or because the distri-
bution of currently live topics in professional philosophy reflects
xi

P r e fa c e

undue comfort with an unpromising way of addressing intellec-


tual and practical problems. The obligation, on the other hand,
called on me to tie philosophical ideas to the topics of reasoning,
the explanatory limits and expanse of cognition, and public pol-
icy. The result, I hope, is a kind of “naturalism in action,” looking
to science for responsible ways to build out foundational (or as
some might say, “philosophical”) theories.
In professional philosophy, the naturalism of this approach
is a polarizing issue. While not making a centerpiece of the
metaphilosophical issues behind the controversies, I routinely
explain trenchant defense of First Philosophy in the same ways
that sociological or psychological scientists would—as an arti-
fact of institutional inertia, professional isolation, effort justifi-
cation, or the psychological rationalization that Upton Sinclair
ties to one’s paycheck.
There are many reasons that grim projections about the
future of philosophy are not most honestly discussed in the
orthodox organs of philosophy. If my occasional critical obser-
vations about professional philosophy seem delivered without
argument, it is often because I am not proposing to argue at
length about the intellectual credibility of professional philos-
ophy. Others have done that before me. Instead, I am impatient
to move on to positive theory-building in reasoning, explana-
tion, and public policy, using methods that are evidence-based.
My version of naturalism does not aim to debunk philoso-
phy, still less the humanities generally. My attachment to other
fields in the humanities has a long history. In addition to many
dissertation committees in philosophy, I have also served in
xii
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P r e fa c e

English and Theology. And though I am a philosopher of sci-


ence, I have sat most often on ethics dissertation committees.
The aim of my naturalism is similarly positive. My approach in
this book provides evidence of the power of science in philo-
sophical projects for philosophers genuinely open to it. Indeed,
in some quarters, disputes about naturalism have faded because
some strong version of the doctrine is taken for granted.
Organizations like Society for Philosophy and Psychology
(SPP) now provide a forum for philosophers interested in the
relevance of psychological work, and psychologists interested
in foundational/philosophical issues. SPP conferences teem
with graduate students and young faculty in psychology, philos-
ophy, and neuroscience, and the vibe is vital and enterprising.
But before the days of institutional and collegial support that
organizations like SPP offer, philosophers interested in psycho-
logical research had to depend on the kindness of strangers.
And, I received more than my share of that kindness.
In fact, my hope for a kind of practical naturalism in philos-
ophy comes in part from experiences I have had in psychology,
experiences that might hold out the same hope for others. For
example, when issues in my philosophy dissertation led to exper-
iments I hoped would build out psychological theories, I had
questions about the promise of various experimental avenues.
Familiar with the speech perception research of Robert Remez
and Philip Rubin, I simply contacted them to discuss some of
the more challenging theoretical issues in spoken language per-
ception. We were all going to an Acoustical Society conference
in Honolulu, and they happily offered to meet for lunch. At the
xiii
xvi

P r e fa c e

time, they didn’t know me from Adam. I was in a Philosophy


Department. They couldn’t possibly benefit by talking to a
young philosopher, I thought; they were already quite accom-
plished and respected. (Years later, Philip became President of
Haskins Labs in New Haven, CT, and then Assistant Director
for Science at the Office of Science and Technology Policy in
the Obama Administration.) With Philip, Robert Remez pio-
neered sinewave synthesis and advanced a durable and influ-
ential account of perceptual organization. Robert holds a Chair
in the Barnard/Columbia Psychology Department, and his
Speech Perception Lab at Barnard has been a training site for
more than a generation of students. But Robert has always been
interested in the deepest puzzles of psychological processing.
He graciously turned his attention to the topic in a theoretical
article we co-authored on reductionist research strategies in
speech perception.
It was my good luck to have run into such supportive and
genuine thinkers, motivated only by the joy of ideas. This is pre-
cisely the sort of kindness, patience, and intellectual curiosity I
found in exchanges with other psychologists—Roger Shepard,
Reid Hastie, Nick Epley, Adam Galinsky, Robyn Dawes, David
Pisoni—all of them very willing to talk, and all of them taking
foundational issues generally, and philosophy specifically, very
seriously.
Among Experimental Philosophers, the importance of com-
munity is not news. They have crafted a setting in which prog-
ress no longer depends on having a thick skin or being pushy.
Turf disputes will receive less focus when institutions make it
xiv
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P r e fa c e

even easier to collaborate (as SPP has). Institutional structures


can support those collaborative efforts. I benefited from one
such arrangement early on. When I arrived at the Sage School
of Philosophy at Cornell as a fresh, young, grad student, there
were no university-wide requirements for the PhD. That made
it much easier to pursue graduate coursework in different fields.
The philosophers I most wanted to study with—Richard Boyd,
Robert Stalnaker, and Sydney Shoemaker—all went along with
my plan to take lots of Psychology courses, in addition to the
Philosophy curriculum. The Psychology Department that year
housed as distinguished visitor Roger Shepard, the father of
work on the rotation of mental images. I took his graduate sem-
inar on mental representation, and was immediately struck by
how intently everyone listened to, and thought about, concep-
tual points that arose in class and in the readings. I encouraged
fellow philosophers to attend this class, and they found the same
thing. Those philosophy graduate students also found, to their
surprise, they were very good at organizing the concepts they
learned, and theorizing about causes in the field. (Perhaps they
should not have been surprised that, as philosophers, they were
very good at generating and evaluating the deductive conse-
quences of theoretical commitments.)
The psychology professors sitting in on the course would
hang out after class and talk, and psychology graduate students
invited us out for beer. Most striking was the respect they seemed
to have for deep, sustained, clear reflection on hard topics they
identified at the foundations of the discipline. To me, I was just
doing philosophy of mind and philosophy of science. As long
xv
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P r e fa c e

as you knew enough about experimental design and statistics


so that the fluency of conversation wasn’t interrupted by uncer-
tainty about technical details, there was no limit to what you
could learn from graduate students and faculty in Psychology.
And there was no end to the appreciation they had for the con-
ceptual analysis of theoretical notions.
Frank Keil, known then for his research on conceptual
development in children, and now for a special focus on the psy-
chology of explanation, was tremendously busy. But he had a
key property as a potential committee member: He could not
say “no” to a graduate student interested in the field. So I took
his graduate course in Psycholinguistics, and another one on
Concepts and Categories. In the latter, we read Locke on con-
cepts, and on nominal essences, and he, too, ended up on my
dissertation committee.
Still other psychologists and linguists lent a hand in my
research, and their kindness, too, strained credulity. Arty Samuel
once indulged a long phone conversation with me on the inter-
pretation of Beta, a measure of response bias in psychophysics.
And though he gave no hint of it at the time, I later found out
that he was actually headed out the door for vacation. Bill Poser
(then a linguist at Stanford) had no idea why a philosophy grad-
uate student was calling him to talk about laboratory phonology,
but welcomed me into his Phonetics/Phonology lab at Stanford
to pursue an idea of my own for experiments that would later
turn into a paper in Language and Speech. And then, I had the
good fortune to work at the Parmly Hearing Institute housed
at Loyola University in Chicago. Until Loyola closed it down in
xvi
xvi

P r e fa c e

2010, Parmly was a model of basic research, and its faculty and
administration supplied me with stimulation and resources for
a more than a decade and a half. I remain indebted to Bill Yost,
Parmly’s Director, and indeed to everyone there.
Despite all of this help and enjoyment, there were many
times I found it almost too challenging to keep up in two fields,
maintaining a small lab in my office and publishing work in my
home field of philosophy. But the challenges never came from
colleagues in Psychology, whose labs and time and good will
(and often, financial support for research) were open to me
without question. Nor did they come from my well-meaning
philosophy colleagues, who always made space for ideas. By far,
it was the institutional isolation of philosophy from the sciences
that created the most important obstacles to research. I have
often wondered whether philosophers of literature or art iden-
tify the same kind of problematic institutional isolation from
departments of literature and art. At any rate, this isolation made
it chronically difficult to perform research that was at once foun-
dational and empirically well-informed. Separate departments,
separate hiring lines, separate funding sources, separate majors
and distinctive degrees. You could observe their activities from
a distance, but that organizational separation made it difficult for
idea-sharing to occur organically. And so, you establish reading
groups or research centers, in the hope that busy scholars with
disciplinary and departmental responsibilities will make yet
more room in their schedules for another activity. Even when
interdisciplinary centers provide a place for researchers from
different fields to share ideas, these centers are always struggling
xvii
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P r e fa c e

against (institutionally conservative) strategies of departmental


preservation. Disciplines have their own cultural histories, and
culture is dynamic. A certain way of doing philosophy, or a pre-
occupation with a particular set of issues, shouldn’t dominate
simply because it has a long tradition and the loyalty of its adher-
ents. After all, so did lots of regrettable movements in history.
We should take this observation as an invitation to establish phi-
losophy’s intellectual and practical importance.
I have tried to honor the vision of the Romanell Award by
remaining true to its aim of intellectual public service. In keep-
ing with the public impulse of the Romanell Award, some of the
material in this book has appeared in popular venues. In particu-
lar, part of the House Science Committee discussion in Chapter
IV found its way into a Salon.com article. The public purpose of
applied philosophy has shaped this book in other ways as well.
For example, I have resisted the scholarly norm of elaborate cita-
tion. By reducing the clutter and abbreviating discussions of the
voluminous research in such areas as epistemology, I have tried
to honor the historical and contemporary lessons of that work.
I am grateful to practitioners in those fields for letting me get
on with the job of framing a view and defending it, even when
that means I cannot explore its many debts. But I have learned
the most about epistemology and naturalism from the work
of Hilary Kornblith, Stephen Stich, Paul Churchland, Philip
Kitcher, Dick Boyd, and Mike Bishop, and there are many others,
like Jonathan Weinberg and Ron Mallon, whose work I admire
and respect. And I continue to benefit from the philosophi-
cal insights of psychologists like Tania Lombrozo and Deena
xviii
xi

P r e fa c e

Skolnick Weisberg who, for sheer philosophical skill, could be


found in any top Philosophy Department. The same goes for
their more senior naturalistic colleagues, Lance Rips and Frank
Keil.
I want to thank the Phi Beta Kappa chapter at Loyola
University, then my home institution, for sponsoring
the Romanell Lectures in 2013, entitled “The Lessons of
Naturalism.” I also want to thank the audiences there, and my
colleague Robert Bucholz for the gracious introduction on that
occasion. My family attended that series of lectures, displaying
a level of attention to my career that I ordinarily discourage, but
it was much appreciated. I am lucky to have kind, bright and
accomplished friends, like Kathleen Adams, Mike Bishop, Joe
Mendola, David Reichling, and Peter Sanchez, who talk about
this material with me. Also lending a hand were Abram Capone,
Jay Carlson, Andy Kondrat, and Clinton Neptune.
J.D. Trout
Wilmette, IL

xix
Another random document with
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The Project Gutenberg eBook of Firegod
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and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
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under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
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you are located before using this eBook.

Title: Firegod

Author: Algis Budrys

Release date: July 15, 2022 [eBook #68529]

Language: English

Original publication: United States: Space Publications, Inc, 1953

Credits: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed


Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FIREGOD ***


FIREGOD
BY WILLIAM SCARFF

Some are born to greatness, others achieve


the rulership of systems—but Merssu
wanted to be a god. All he needed
was a million years and a little luck!

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from


Rocket Stories, July 1953.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
"Your Majesty!"
D'hai Merssu, Emperor of All the Suns, Protector of the Galaxy,
looked up calmly as his prime minister burst into the room. His lean,
brooding face did not change expression as he watched the pale and
perspiring man cross the flagstoned floor with a sharp, nervous
patter of leather.
"Gently, Tors, gently," he said quietly, his eyes mocking under their
overhang of dark eyebrow. "You're Prime Minister now—remember
that. A prime minister doesn't come blundering into the palace
looking as though the sky was falling. It creates unrest in the
population. Try to remember that we're no longer a pair of obscure
rabblerousers, trying to overthrow the Crown. We are the Crown
now. Try to act like it."
"D'hai, the sky is falling!" Tors burst out unheedingly, "I have word
that the Earthmen are driving beyond the Rim and into the heart of
the Empire itself! Their ships are irresistible. They're winning battle
after battle! And the people are restless! They say it's time the False
Emperor's rule was overthrown. Some of the garrisons are rebelling!"
Still the Emperor's expression did not change. "So," he said calmly,
"the Earthmen were not bluffing when they said they'd maintain the
rights of the old Emperor."
"Yes! You said they wouldn't, D'hai. What are we going to do?"
"I was wrong, Tors," Merssu said evenly. "No matter. As for what we
are going to do, why, I suppose you'd better arrange for another
broadcast. Tell the people we have weapons ready if the situation
becomes serious, that they have nothing to fear."
"But the situation is serious! And what weapons?"
"No weapons, Tors," Merssu explained patiently. "But the story will
serve to keep the people calm—and, perhaps, make them think
twice about revolt. Now go. Hurry!"
The prime minister's feet pattered over the floor again. The door to
the room closed.
Merssu smiled quietly. He rose, and opened the concealed door
behind his chair. Closing it behind him, he slipped into a passage of
which no one knew, and ten minutes later he was in a private
tubeway that led half-way across the continent into the heart of an
old and barren mountain range.
As he sat comfortably in the padded upholstery of the tube car,
Merssu smiled again. Poor Tors! So excitable. Always the hysteric—
a perfect rabblerouser, perhaps, but not a clever man. No, never a
clever man. A clever man knew when the game was over. And
Merssu laughed.
The game had been worth it. Five years ago, he had been a
revolutionary, slinking through the alleys at night, always in danger—
and always clever. Four years of that, and then—Empire. Absolute
rule over the entire Greater Magellanic Cloud. Now he was once
again in danger. But it was a danger he had long ago foreseen, and
planned for. And the past year had been worth it. He laughed again.
Poor, addle-witted Tors! Left with the empty bag in his hands.

The spaceship rested like a crouching bullet in its chamber. As he


slid the tubeway door shut behind him, Merssu admired the savage
sleekness of its lines once again. Even more, he admired his
cleverness in having it built. A clever man always has a back door.
He crossed the hangar floor unhurriedly, and climbed into the ship.
The control room was small, but efficient. A hundred controls lay
closely around the padded chair, some of them for the standard
drive, others for the hyperspatial warp.
The hyperspatial warp! Merssu smiled. There was his escape—and
more. Here were the means for his future rulership over nothing so
small as the Cloud—here were entire galaxies waiting for his hand.
Hyperspace! There was something to make a man think! Another
universe, not beyond, but alongside his own, hidden in the complex
byways of Reimannian geometry and the mathematics of Einstein. A
universe where time itself ran slower, where a year of normal time
encompassed centuries. A ship could twist itself into that universe
and travel just below the speed of light, the limit which, in normal
space, was the barrier no ship could cross. But, in hyperspace, while
the same barrier existed, a man from normal space could travel for
centuries, covering great distances, while, for him, only a few months
passed.
Merssu chuckled. Behind him, stored in the great holds of the ship,
were working models of every machine and weapon the Cloud
civilization possessed. There were plans, manuals, instructions, all
translated into basic symbology that any intelligent being could
understand. Packed into this ship was an entire civilization, ready to
be brought to whatever people Merssu chose. He had only to enter
hyperspace and lose himself where no Earthman or rebel could
follow, and there he would find a primitive race, barely beginning to
rise out of the mud. He would bring them civilization. In return, he
would have—Godhood!
They would worship him, those primitive people. He would be
Merssu the Firegod, thundering out of the sky, bringing with him the
gift of civilization. And once the gift was given, he would climb back
into the sky on a pillar of fire, promising to return when his people
were ready.
He laughed aloud, the deep bass sound echoing through the control
chamber. Why not? He could fly back into space and spend a year,
waiting, while centuries passed on the primitive world. When he
returned, that world would be his, and soon afterward the entire
universe would bow before the name of Merssu, the immortal
Firegod, for there is no force so strong, no loyalty so great, as that of
men for their gods.
Still laughing, he blasted the ship out of its hangar into the darkness
of space, and a little later, into hyperspace, while the big blue ships
of Earth smashed his discarded Empire behind him.
In a month, he had found his planet, and his people. They were
almost human in appearance, but shorter. So much the better. He
was like them, but just different enough to be a god.
He brought his ship roaring down through the atmosphere, trailing a
streamer of flame. As he passed over the sea that covered most of
the world, the wash of his jets kicked the water into froth, and the
sound of his passage echoed through the sky.
The village rested on the shore of the sea. The mud huts trembled
as his ship sank down, resting on its jetstream until it settled slowly
to the ground.
Smiling faintly, Merssu put on his spacesuit, strapping his antigravity
harness on over it. He flew out of his upper airlock, carrying a gun in
his hand.
He hovered in the air above the village. He pointed the gun into the
air and fired. A cone of flame shot toward the sky. He pointed the
gun at the sea, and towering curtains of steam rose to hang over the
village.
Merssu descended, and found his people groveling in the mud.
Weeks passed. A stream of men carried the ship's cargo into a great
sprawling building that Merssu carved out of a stone cliff with a
subatomic cutter. The lintels of the building were sanctified with the
blood of virgins. A new class of people arose in the village—the
Priests of Merssu, the Firegod.
And as the ship rose up into space again, on its journey back into the
normal space where Merssu would wait his year and the centuries
would pass for his people, the priests chanted over their altars.
"He will return. Merssu goes to his kingdom in the sky, but he will
return, bearing flame in his hands. Merssu the Firegod—Merssu, the
immortal Bringer of Fire—will return."
And the centuries passed.
Merssu brought his ship out of the sky, tearing the air as he came,
the growl of his jets thundering over the mighty city on the sea. The
sound echoed back from the carved face of the Temple of Merssu,
and beat against the spreading buildings.
The ship settled to earth. Merssu strapped on his antigrav unit, and
flashed out into the air above the city. He fired his gun into the sea,
and the steam-curtain rose once more. He pointed the gun skyward,
and the heavens danced with flame.
A low, snarling car bearing the sign of Merssu's priesthood drove up
to him as he touched the ground. Two men got out and walked
toward him, one of them dressed in the somber black of the
priesthood. Merssu stood waiting, his eyes lighting with triumphant
fire.
"Who are you?" the priest asked.
Merssu stared, the pose broken. "Who am I? Kneel, fool! I am
Merssu, the Firegod."
The two men looked at him speechlessly for a moment, then burst
into laughter.
"Merssu!" The priest wiped his eyes. The other man's laughter trailed
into anger.
"Watch your tongue, blasphemer!" he said curtly, drawing a gun from
his holster.
"Merssu!" the priest repeated, "You're the fool, stranger. At least the
others who've tried to claim his godhood had the sense to disguise
themselves to resemble his pictures."
"Pictures change, rash priest!" Merssu thundered. "I am the Firegod!
Look on my power!" Once more he fired into the sea, and once more
the steam pillars rose. "I am the God of Fire. I fly in the hands of
flame. I walk on the air. I burn the land and the sea. I am Merssu!"
The priest's face lost its tolerant amusement. His mouth twisted in
scorn.
"Walk on the air, do you? In a Mark XI Antigrav belt, yes. Burn sea
and land, eh? With a sungun, certainly. Fly in hands of flame? If you
wish to be picturesque about it, yes—but so does every drunken fool
of a spaceman."
"I tell you, I am Merssu!" Merssu screamed. "Bow down and
worship!"
"Silence!" The priest's voice was dangerous, "You will come with us
to the temple. There you'll see how we worship imposters!"
"I'll kill you!" Merssu shouted, raising his gun.
The priest motioned with his hand. The man with him blew Merssu's
head off.
"Blasphemer!" the priest spat disdainfully, his voice filled with
disgust. He and his retainer turned back to the car, leaving the body
to be carted away later.

Every evening at sunset, the priests of Merssu stand over their altars
and intone the words.
"He will return. Merssu the Firegod—Merssu, the immortal Bringer of
Fire—will return."
And the people of Merssu's world intone in reply, "He will return."
Throughout the galaxies of hyperspace, wherever the men of
Merssu's world may wander, there are other priests, and other races
that respond, but the ritual is always the same.
"He will return."
And the city waits. The planet waits, and the other planets about the
other stars through all the galaxies of hyperspace wait.
They always will.
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