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“This is the great gift, Robert, and God is waiting for us to understand it. All around the world, we are gazing

skyward, waiting for God . . . never realizing that God is waiting for us.” Katherine paused, letting her words

soak in. “We are creators, and yet we naively play the role of ‘the created.’ We see ourselves as helpless

sheep buffeted around by the God who made us. We kneel like frightened children, begging for help, for

forgiveness, for good luck. But once we realize that we are truly created in the Creator’s image, we will start

to understand that we, too, must be Creators. When we understand this fact, the doors will burst wide open

for human potential.”

Langdon recalled a passage that had always stuck with him from the work of the philosopher Manly P. Hall:

If the infinite had not desired man to be wise, he would not have bestowed upon him the faculty of knowing.

Langdon gazed up again at the image of The Apotheosis of Washington—the symbolic ascent of man to

deity. The created . . . becoming the Creator.

“The most amazing part,” Katherine said, “is that as soon as we humans begin to harness our true power, we

will have enormous control over our world. We will be able to design reality rather than merely react to it.”

Langdon lowered his gaze. “That sounds . . . dangerous.”

Katherine looked startled . . . and impressed. “Yes, exactly! If thoughts affect the world, then we must be

very careful how we think. Destructive thoughts have influence, too, and we all know it’s far easier to

destroy than it is to create.”

Langdon thought of all the lore about needing to protect the ancient wisdom from the unworthy and share it

only with the enlightened. He thought of the Invisible College, and the great scientist Isaac Newton’s request

to Robert Boyle to keep “high silence” about their secret research. It cannot be communicated, Newton wrote

in 1676, without immense damage to the world.

“There’s an interesting twist here,” Katherine said. “The great irony is that all the religions of the world, for

centuries, have been urging their followers to embrace the concepts of faith and belief. Now science, which

for centuries has derided religion as superstition, must admit that its next big frontier is quite literally the

science of faith and belief . . . the power of focused conviction and intention. The same science that eroded

our faith in the miraculous is now building a bridge back across the chasm it created.”

Langdon considered her words for a long time. Slowly he raised his eyes again to the Apotheosis. “I have a

question,” he said, looking back at Katherine. “Even if I could accept, just for an instant, that I have the

power to change physical matter with my mind, and literally manifest all that I desire . . . I’m afraid I see

nothing in my life to make me believe I have such power.”

She shrugged. “Then you’re not looking hard enough.”

“Come on, I want a real answer. That’s the answer of a priest. I want the answer of a scientist.”

“You want a real answer? Here it is. If I hand you a violin and say you have the capability to use it to make

incredible music, I am not lying. You do have the capability, but you’ll need enormous amounts of practice

to manifest it. This is no different from learning to use your mind, Robert. Well-directed thought is a learned

skill. To manifest an intention requires laserlike focus, full sensory visualization, and a profound belief. We

have proven this in a lab. And just like playing a violin, there are people who exhibit greater natural ability

than others. Look to history. Look to the stories of those enlightened minds who performed miraculous

feats.”

“Katherine, please don’t tell me you actually believe in the miracles. I mean, seriously . . . turning water into

wine, healing the sick with the touch of a hand?”

Katherine took a long breath and blew it out slowly. “I have witnessed people transform cancer cells into

healthy cells simply by thinking about them. I have witnessed human minds affecting the physical world in

myriad ways. And once you see that happen, Robert, once this becomes part of your reality, then some of the

miracles you read about become simply a matter of degree.”

Langdon was pensive. “It’s an inspiring way to see the world, Katherine, but for me, it just feels like an

impossible leap of faith. And as you know, faith has never come easily for me.”

“Then don’t think of it as faith. Think of it simply as changing your perspective, accepting that the world is

not precisely as you imagine. Historically, every major scientific breakthrough began with a simple idea that

threatened to overturn all of our beliefs. The simple statement ‘the earth is round’ was mocked as utterly

impossible because most people believed the oceans would flow off the planet. Heliocentricity was called

heresy. Small minds have always lashed out at what they don’t understand. There are those who create . . .

and those who tear down. That dynamic has existed for all time. But eventually the creators find believers,

and the number of believers reaches a critical mass, and suddenly the world becomes round, or the solar

system becomes heliocentric. Perception is transformed, and a new reality is born.”

Langdon nodded, his thoughts drifting now.

“You have a funny look on your face,” she said.

“Oh, I don’t know. For some reason I was just remembering how I used to canoe out into the middle of the

lake late at night, lie down under the stars, and think about stuff like this.”

She nodded knowingly. “I think we all have a similar memory. Something about lying on our backs staring

up at the heavens . . . opens the mind.” She glanced up at the ceiling and then said, “Give me your jacket.”

“What?” He took it off and gave it to her.

She folded it twice and laid it down on the catwalk like a long pillow. “Lie down.”

Langdon lay on his back, and Katherine positioned his head on half of the folded jacket. Then she lay down

beside him—two kids, shoulder to shoulder on the narrow catwalk, staring up at Brumidi’s enormous fresco.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Put yourself in that same mind-set . . . a kid lying out in a canoe . . . looking up at

the stars . . . his mind open and full of wonder.”

Langdon tried to obey, although at the moment, prone and comfortable, he was feeling a sudden wave of

exhaustion. As his vision blurred, he perceived a muted shape overhead that immediately woke him. Is that

possible? He could not believe he hadn’t noticed it before, but the figures in The Apotheosis of Washington

were clearly arranged in two concentric rings—a circle within a circle. The Apotheosis is also a

circumpunct? Langdon wondered what else he had missed tonight.

“There’s something important I want to tell you, Robert. There’s another piece to all this . . . a piece that I

believe is the single most astonishing aspect of my research.”

There’s more?

Katherine propped herself on her elbow. “And I promise . . . if we as humans can honestly grasp this one

simple truth . . . the world will change overnight.”

She now had his full attention.

“I should preface this,” she said, “by reminding you of the Masonic mantras to ‘gather what is scattered’ . . .

to bring ‘order from chaos’ . . . to find ‘at-one-ment.’ ”

“Go on.” Langdon was intrigued.

Katherine smiled down at him. “We have scientifically proven that the power of human thought grows

exponentially with the number of minds that share that thought.”

Langdon remained silent, wondering where she was going with this idea.

“What I’m saying is this . . . two heads are better than one . . . and yet two heads are not twice better, they are

many, many times better. Multiple minds working in unison magnify a thought’s effect . . . exponentially.

This is the inherent power of prayer groups, healing circles, singing in unison, and worshipping en masse.

The idea of universal consciousness is no ethereal New Age concept. It’s a hard-core scientific reality . . .

and harnessing it has the potential to transform our world. This is the underlying discovery of Noetic

Science. What’s more, it’s happening right now. You can feel it all around you. Technology is linking us in

ways we never imagined possible: Twitter, Google, Wikipedia, and others—all blend to create a web of

interconnected minds.” She laughed. “And I guarantee you, as soon as I publish my work, the Twitterati will

all be sending tweets that say, ‘learning about Noetics,’ and interest in this science will explode

exponentially.”

Langdon’s eyelids felt impossibly heavy. “You know, I still haven’t learned how to send a twitter.”

“A tweet,” she corrected, laughing.

“I’m sorry?”

“Never mind. Close your eyes. I’ll wake you when it’s time.”

Langdon realized he had all but forgotten the old key the Architect had given them . . . and why they had

come up here. As a new wave of exhaustion engulfed him, Langdon shut his eyes. In the darkness of his

mind, he found himself thinking about universal consciousness . . . about Plato’s writings on “the mind of the

world” and “gathering God” . . . Jung’s “collective unconscious.” The notion was as simple as it was

startling.

God is found in the collection of Many . . . rather than in the One.

“Elohim,” Langdon said suddenly, his eyes flying open again as he made an unexpected connection.

“I’m sorry?” Katherine was still gazing down at him.

“Elohim,” he repeated. “The Hebrew word for God in the Old Testament! I’ve always wondered about it.”

Katherine gave a knowing smile. “Yes. The word is plural.”

Exactly! Langdon had never understood why the very first passages of the Bible referred to God as a plural

being. Elohim. The Almighty God in Genesis was described not as One . . . but as Many.

“God is plural,” Katherine whispered, “because the minds of man are plural.”

Langdon’s thoughts were spiraling now . . . dreams, memories, hopes, fears, revelations . . . all swirling

above him in the Rotunda dome. As his eyes began to close again, he found himself staring at three words in

Latin, painted within the Apotheosis.

E PLURIBUS UNUM.

“Out of many, one,” he thought, slipping off into sleep.

 Epilogue

Robert Langdon awoke slowly.

Faces gazed down at him. Where am I?

A moment later, he recalled where he was. He sat up slowly beneath the Apotheosis. His back felt stiff from

lying on the hard catwalk.

Where’s Katherine?

Langdon checked his Mickey Mouse watch. It’s almost time. He pulled himself to his feet, peering cautiously

over the banister into the gaping space below.

“Katherine?” he called out.

The word echoed back in the silence of the deserted Rotunda.

Retrieving his tweed jacket from the floor, he brushed it off and put it back on. He checked his pockets. The

iron key the Architect had given him was gone.

Making his way back around the walkway, Langdon headed for the opening the Architect had shown them . .

. steep metal stairs ascending into cramped darkness. He began to climb. Higher and higher he ascended.

Gradually the stairway became more narrow and more inclined. Still Langdon pushed on.

Just a little farther.

The steps had become almost ladderlike now, the passage frighteningly constricted. Finally, the stairs ended,

and Langdon stepped up onto a small landing. Before him was a heavy metal door. The iron key was in the

lock, and the door hung slightly ajar. He pushed, and the door creaked open. The air beyond felt cold. As

Langdon stepped across the threshold into murky darkness, he realized he was now outside.

“I was just coming to get you,” Katherine said, smiling at him. “It’s almost time.”

When Langdon recognized his surroundings, he drew a startled breath. He was standing on a tiny skywalk

that encircled the pinnacle of the U.S. Capitol Dome. Directly above him, the bronze Statue of Freedom

gazed out over the sleeping capital city. She faced the east, where the first crimson splashes of dawn had

begun to paint the horizon.

Katherine guided Langdon around the balcony until they were facing west, perfectly aligned with the

National Mall. In the distance, the silhouette of the Washington Monument stood in the early-morning light.

From this vantage point, the towering obelisk looked even more impressive than it had before.

“When it was built,” Katherine whispered, “it was the tallest structure on the entire planet.”

Langdon pictured the old sepia photographs of stonemasons on scaffolding, more than five hundred feet in

the air, laying each block by hand, one by one.

We are builders, he thought. We are creators.

Since the beginning of time, man had sensed there was something special about himself . . . something more.

He had longed for powers he did not possess. He had dreamed of flying, of healing, and of transforming his

world in every way imaginable.

And he had done just that.

Today, the shrines to man’s accomplishments adorned the National Mall. The Smithsonian museums

burgeoned with our inventions, our art, our science, and the ideas of our great thinkers. They told the history

of man as creator—from the stone tools in the Native American History Museum to the jets and rockets in

the National Air and Space Museum.

If our ancestors could see us today, surely they would think us gods.

As Langdon peered through the predawn mist at the sprawling geometry of museums and monuments before

him, his eyes returned to the Washington Monument. He pictured the lone Bible in the buried cornerstone

and thought of how the Word of God was really the word of man.

He thought about the great circumpunct, and how it had been embedded in the circular plaza beneath the

monument at the crossroads of America. Langdon thought suddenly of the little stone box Peter had entrusted

to him. The cube, he now realized, had unhinged and opened to form the same exact geometrical form—a

cross with a circumpunct at its center. Langdon had to laugh. Even that little box was hinting at this

crossroads.

“Robert, look!” Katherine pointed to the top of the monument.

Langdon lifted his gaze but saw nothing.

Then, staring more intently, he glimpsed it.

Across the Mall, a tiny speck of golden sunlight was glinting off the highest tip of the towering obelisk. The

shining pinpoint grew quickly brighter, more radiant, gleaming on the capstone’s aluminum peak. Langdon

watched in wonder as the light transformed into a beacon that hovered above the shadowed city. He pictured