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SCIENCE awes many, repels many, saves many, is claimed by many, and is practiced by few: because it is hard, hard on the mind, and hard on dishonesty. The poetry of science is in the experience of discovery; the tragedy for science is in its prostitution, pimped for money and power. The promise of science is the dream of humanism: a dream still enslaved by the corruption of men’s souls, the atavistic timorousness of racist fear, of obdurate ignorance. Science is a mode of consciousness, a reflection of a scientist’s attitude toward life, an indicator of the degree of human solidarity. Science is the great unknown to the undiscovered self.

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