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This is not the story of Arthur or Agamemnon, or some other tragic hero. This is the story of a man, for all of his faults and failures, a man. We cannot expect all those we read about and admire to graciously fall on a sword and bid farewell to everything on the account of noble aspirations, sometimes they just don’t get things done. Creation, both scientific and creative, is a deeply personal and selfish action. Galileo is not a martyr, but perhaps Brecht reevaluates what one could be, the common man’s tragedy among the stars. Andrea, whom I felt drawn to over the course of the play, had one particular fault. To him, we may only have one story. Galileo is villain or a hero. The universe is ruled by God or Physics. We are rational or blind. Is it not fair to say that you or I may produce any number of stories? That these stories will expose us and our world in any number of ways, and that the only true way of being “wrong” is failing to make the consideration of new truth, never revising, but living on convention. Perhaps this web of wisdom allows for stories to coexist, overlap, untie, unravel, and weave anew. Perhaps I am wrong …