Free Thunder and Roses by Theodore Sturgeon

makes a good point,” said Robin to Pellegrini, not unkindly. “You’d better take his advice.”
    Bewildered, not knowing whether he had been asked to leave, torn between his obvious respect for Fels and his desire to pursue the subject, Pellegrini got up and left the table. As he turned away, the elder doctor said to Robin, “You, sir, show an astonishing degree of insight. You should have been a psychologist.”
    Robin waved his hand. “I knew you’d understand me, doctor. Good night.”
    They all murmured their good-nights. When the psychiatrists were out of earshot, Cortlandt turned to Robin, “Hey,” he said, frowning. “Something happened here that I missed. What was it?”
    “Yes,” said Miss McCarthy. “What did he mean by that remark about your insight?”
    Robin laughed richly. “Dr. Fels was guarding the young Dr. Pellegrini against evil influences,” he said through his laughter, “and I caught him at it.”
    “Evil—what are you talking about?” asked Binnie Morrow.
    Robin said patiently, “Do you remember what Fels said a while back—that the business of psychiatry is to mature its patients? He’s right, you know. A psychiatrist regards emotional balance and maturity as almost the same thing. And a patient who has achieved thatkind of balance is one whose inner conflicts are under control. These inner conflicts aren’t just born into a person. A clubfoot or a blind eye or a yearning for a womb with a view produce no conflicts
except in terms of other people;
the thing called society. So—” he spread his heavy hands—“what modern psychiatry strives to do is to mature its patients, not in ontogenetic terms, not on an individualized psychosomatic basis, but purely and necessarily in terms of society, which is in itself illogical, unfunctional, and immature.”
    “That makes sense,” said Cortlandt. “Society as a whole gets away with things which are prohibited in any well-run kindergarten, in the violence, greed, injustice, and stupidity departments. We have to wear clothes when the weather’s too hot for it; we have to wear the wrong kind of clothes when the weather’s too cold. We can be excused of any crime if we do it on a large enough scale. We—but why go on? What was Fels protecting Pellegrini from?”
    “Any further consideration of maturity in terms of the individual, completely disregarding society. When we started considering the end-product, the extrapolated curve on the graph, we were considering an end which negates everything that modern psychiatry is and is trying to do. So Fels called it fantasy and cleared out.”
    “You mean he didn’t want Pellegrini’s fresh young convictions in the worth of psychiatry upset,” said Miss McCarthy sardonically.
    “But—” Binnie Morrow’s voice was anxious—“you mean that psychiatry and analysis are worthless?”
    “No!” Robin exploded. “I didn’t say that! The psychos are doing a noble job, considering what they’re up against. The fact remains that their chief occupation is in fitting individuals to a smooth survival in a monstrous environment. Fels realizes that very clearly. I don’t think Pellegrini does, yet. He will when he’s been practicing for as long as Fels. But Fels is right; when a youngster has gone as far as an internship there’s no point in shaking him to his roots. Not until he has been practicing long enough to learn the objectivity of competence.”
    Cortlandt whistled. “I see what Fels meant by your insight.”
    “Cut it out,” smiled Robin. “Let’s get back to maturity, just to sum up. Then I have a date with one Morpheus.… Binnie, you saidthat there’s more to a man than his physiology. What’s your idea on what a fully developed, truly mature man would be?”
    “What I said before,” murmured the girl. “Like Christ. Someone who would understand everything, and do what he could for people.”
    “Cortlandt?”
    The salesman shifted his feet. “I don’t know. Maybe