The light streams out as the TARDIS opens to the Daleks, the Doctor shielding his eyes from its brilliance. God is in the machine and everything that happens after this is going to be awesome. Rose stands in the doorway, light curving and curling around her, golden and white. The Doctor falls back, calling out to her: "What've you done?" But it's not Rose that answers, exactly. (More profanities, of course, at this point, because that's just too weird. If you keep validating it every time I talk out of my ass, these recaps are going to get even more obnoxious. I cannot control that.)
Goddess, God, the real one, everything, the big kind. Wisdom. The thing that the TARDIS I love so much only connects you to -- this is what's beyond that ...and it's Rose. Time and space and pigeons and kitchen knives and Billy Crudup and Paula Abdul and Gregory Maguire and Grant Morrison (usually) and the library at Alexandria and my cell phone and Maddox Jolie and the future and the past and everywhere. And all the friends and lovers and family that got her there. The most beautiful thing in the world. I had this Ann Nocenti-inspired idea about the Doctor as Eternity and Rose as Infinity, but only because of Sophia. Sophia was the first superhero: she got curious, she felt trapped, she took off. An Eve without having to drag a whining Adam everywhere, curious and fascinated. The first scientist. She tapped the glass and made the suspension crystallize, and then she went everywhere trying to get the light out of things, the spirit caged in all matter, and give it back to God. Her name means wisdom and she represents the quest for it. She told Adam to eat from the Tree. She is wisdom and creativity and she is curiosity. She's a cool little myth, about temptation and the restoration of the divine, and how intimate they are when you're talking about false authority. If you could decode Tori Amos she calls it "tea with the devil" and crap like that, but it's the same thing: cracking open wishes and letting the light out. Contemplio. Sophia, stepping out of the realm of pure knowledge and into gross matter, to make things right. We named the baby Sophie. And her first lesson: Disobey.
I was being presumptuous, last week. I really would have been satisfied if Rose were just a terrorist like Suki! Seriously! I didn't expect all this! I like my job. Rose looks down at the Doctor, radiant and rampant, and when she speaks, it's a new voice. An infinitely loving, infinitely wise voice. The closest to God you could get on a crappy sci-fi TV show -- with just enough of Rose left in her that you can love her without feeling weird about it. It had to be Rose that was Knowledge, because that's what the Quest is always about: learning. Learning about Rose, learning about wishes, learning about everything there is to know. Wisdom is what happens after you get the knowledge: without that curiosity it just sits there like a Satellite Five reporter with a hole in its head. In Augustine's terms, Knowledge is empowered by Will to dissect and synthesize Memory. It's the Doctor, Memory, that always gives her the information. Rose: "I looked into the TARDIS. And the TARDIS looked into me." Kind of her to leave off the first part there ("He who fights with monsters should be careful lest he thereby become a monster"), considering what's been going on with the Doctor just now. But just like Nietzsche hated women but got a few things right, there's no such thing as a bad abyss -- just the ones you haven't looked into yet, because you're afraid.