In The Days Of The

In The End, Science As We Know It Has Two Basic Types Of Practitioners. One Is The Educated Man Who Still Has A Controlled Sense Of Wonder Before The Universal Mystery, Whether It Hides In A Snail's Eye Or Within The Light That Impinges On That Delicate Organ. The Second Kind Of Observer Is The Extreme Reductionist Who Is So Busy Stripping Things Apart That The Tremendous Mystery Has Been Reduced To A Trifle, To Intangibles Not Worth Troubling One's Head About.

Each Man Deciphers From The Ancient Alphabets Of Nature Only Those Secrets That His Own Deeps Possess The Power To Endow With Meaning.

It Is Surely One Of The Curious Paradoxes Of History That Science Which Professionally Has Little To Do With Faith, Owes Its Origins To An Act Of Faith That The Universe Can Be Rationally Interpreted, And That Science Today Is Sustained By That Assumption.

Without The Gift Of Flowers And The Infinite Diversity Of Their Fruits, Man And Bird, If They Had Continued To Exist At All, Would Be Today Unrecognizable.

This Is The Most Enormous Extension Of Vision Of Which Life Is Capable: The Projection Of Itself Into Other Lives. This Is The Lonely, Magnificent Power Of Humanity. It Is . . . The Supreme Epitome Of The Reaching Out.