Surprisingly, a poet and churchman writing over three centuries ago recognized this same fact. Before it acquired its present form, he wrote, the stuff of which the body is made was “in places unimaginably distant,” and has traveled “through the triangular passages of as many Vortices as we see Stars in a clear frosty night, and has shone once as bright as the Sun . . . insomuch that we eat, and drink, and cloath our selves with that which was once pure Light and Flame.” One could hardly accord our paltry mortal shell a greater or more ancient legacy than the soul it houses, he thought. Both,
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