In The Days Of The Frost Seek

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.

Every Time We Walk Along A Beach Some Ancient Urge Disturbs Us So That We Find Ourselves Shedding Shoes And Garments Or Scavenging Among Seaweed And Whitened Timbers Like The Homesick Refugees Of A Long War... Mostly The Animals Understand Their Roles, But Man, By Comparison, Seems Troubled By A Message That, It Is Often Said, He Cannot Quite Remember Or Has Gotten Wrong... Bereft Of Instinct, He Must Search Continually For Meanings... Man Was A Reader Before He Became A Writer, A Reader Of What Coleridge Once Called The Mighty Alphabet Of The Universe.

Man Inhabits A Realm Half In And Half Out Of Nature, His Mind Reaching Forever Beyond The Tool, The Uniformity, The Law, Into Some Realm Which Is That Of The Mind Alone.

It Was The Failures Who Had Always Won, But By The Time They Won They Had Come To Be Called Successes.

Man No Longer Dreams Over A Book In Which A Soft Voice, A Constant Companion, Observes, Exhorts, Or Sighs With Him Through The Pangs Of Youth And Age. Today He Is More Likely To Sit Before A Screen And Dream The Mass Dream Which Comes From Outside.