Stranger in a Strange Land

by Robert A. Heinlein

But, Jill, there are only three places to look. Science—and I was taught more about how the universe ticks while I was still in the nest than human scientists can yet handle. So much that I can’t talk to them, even about as elementary a gimmick as levitation. I’m not disparaging scientists. What they do is as it should be; I grok that fully. But what they are after is not what I am looking for—you don’t grok a desert by counting its grains of sand. Then there’s philosophy—supposed to tackle everything. Does it? All any philosopher ever comes out with is what he walked in with—except for self-deluders who prove their assumptions by their conclusions. Like Kant. Like other tail-chasers. So the answer ought to be here.” He waved at piles of books. “Only it’s not. Bits that grok true, but never a pattern—or if there is, they ask you to take the hard part on faith! Faith! What