Literature

Numbers, techniques, and predictions are useful for suggesting, testing, confirming, and putting discoveries to use. But there is nothing technical about the content of the discoveries. The universe does not revolve around the Earth. All the matter that surrounds us is just made up of protons, electrons, and neutrons. There are one hundred billion

“In the fall, do leaves on the trees still change color if no one is there to see them?”

But no one has ever started over from scratch by devising a wholly new conceptual structure, an entirely new vessel. Why? Because we cannot step outside of our own thought. We think in terms of the conceptual structure that we happen to have. Thought changes from within, step by step, in the harsh and continuous confrontation with its object: reali

“When the thistle blooms and the chirping cicada sits on trees and pours down shrill song from frenziedly quivering wings in the toilsome summer, then goats are fatter than ever and wine is at its best; women’s lust knows no bounds and men are all dried up, because the dog star parches their heads and knees and the heat sears their skin.”

Anaximand

Being aware that we may be wrong is different from claiming that it is senseless to speak of right and wrong. Recognizing diversity and taking seriously ideas that diverge from our own is different from claiming that all ideas are equally worthy. Knowing that a given judgement is born within a complex cultural context and is related to many others

"The Big Bang may have been a large cosmic rebound (or "Big Bounce"), in which a contracting universe reaches the maximum density allowed by the quanta, then rebounds and begins to expand. In the case of a black hole, it is just the star rather than the entire universe that bounces, but the physics is similar: at extremely high density the quanta a

“Violence is the last refuge of the incompetent.”

Asimov

Little Fly,

Thy summer’s play

My thoughtless hand

Has brushed away.

Am not I

A fly like thee?

Or art not thou

A man like me?

For I dance

And drink, and sing,

Till some blind hand

Shall brush my wing…

William Blake

Last July I read a book about the Great Depression. In it they described a carnival tent, kept at arm's length from the others, where men would gather at night. And they would peer through a gauzy curtain to watch a woman lie on a fainting couch and await the coming dawn. The men could not make out her face, or even if she was truly beautiful, but