Anybody who has been seriously engaged in scientific work of any

Host: The laboratory was still — the kind of stillness that hums. Machines blinked quietly in the dark, monitors glowed with ghostly light, and the faint smell of ozone, coffee, and metal lingered in the air. Through the wide windows, the city beyond lay half-asleep, its towers wrapped in fog, its pulse a slow rhythm of neon and breath.

Jack sat on a steel stool, his coat thrown over a counter littered with wires and notes. A beaker of cooled coffee sat beside him, untouched. Across the room, Jeeny stood near the chalkboard, the dim light tracing her silhouette — small, still, steady. Equations filled the board, curling like vines of thought, half-erased, half-answered.

Jeeny: “Max Planck once said, ‘Anybody who has been seriously engaged in scientific work of any kind realizes that over the entrance to the gates of the temple of science are written the words: “Ye must have faith.”’”

Host: Her voice was calm, but her words echoed through the room like the low hum of the machines — quiet, yet undeniable. Jack looked up from the mess of circuits before him, his grey eyes sharp with curiosity.

Jack: “Faith? That’s rich. Coming from one of the founding fathers of quantum theory.”

Jeeny: “Exactly why it matters. He wasn’t talking about religion. He meant the faith you need to keep going when nothing adds up — when the universe refuses to explain itself, and you keep asking anyway.”

Jack: “So… faith as persistence.”

Jeeny: “Faith as vision. As trust that what you’re seeking exists — even when you can’t yet prove it.”

Host: The light flickered once, humming in the rafters. Outside, a streak of lightning flashed silently across the sky — just enough to cast momentary brilliance across the chalkboard, illuminating the endless loops of equations like sacred scripture written in numbers.

Jack: “You know, that sounds poetic. But scientists don’t talk about faith. They talk about evidence.”

Jeeny: “And yet every discovery begins with belief. You believe there’s an answer, even before you can see it. That belief — that’s faith wearing a lab coat.”

Jack: “Belief’s dangerous in science.”

Jeeny: “So is arrogance.”

Host: Jack leaned back, the stool creaking softly. He watched the flickering of the monitors — their rhythmic glow like heartbeat monitors for the unseen.

Jack: “You really think faith and science coexist?”

Jeeny: “They don’t just coexist, Jack — they complete each other. Science is faith in method; faith is science of the unseen. Both demand surrender to something bigger than certainty.”

Jack: “Certainty. That’s what everyone wants. Equations, laws, absolutes.”

Jeeny: “And yet the deeper science digs, the less certain it becomes. Quantum physics killed the illusion of precision. The closer we get to truth, the more we find mystery.”

Host: The sound of rain began against the glass — slow, deliberate drops that seemed to punctuate her words. The world outside blurred into abstraction, as though refusing to stay defined.

Jack: “So what, Planck’s saying science is another religion?”

Jeeny: “No. He’s saying that every honest scientist is a mystic in disguise. Because they know that reason only takes you so far — after that, you leap.”

Jack: “A leap of faith?”

Jeeny: “Yes. Into the unknown. Every experiment is an act of trust. Every hypothesis a prayer that the universe is coherent.”

Host: Jack smiled faintly, the kind of smile that hides skepticism behind respect.

Jack: “You talk like you’ve been to that temple he mentioned.”

Jeeny: “Maybe we all have, in our own ways. Every time you stay up chasing an answer that won’t come — that’s worship. Every sleepless night trying to understand what’s beyond understanding — that’s devotion.”

Jack: “Devotion without deity.”

Jeeny: “Or devotion to the mystery itself.”

Host: The rain outside thickened, a steady rhythm now. The lab lights flickered again — and for a second, both their reflections merged in the glass: two figures searching for meaning in a world of equations.

Jack: “You know, when I was a kid, I thought science was the opposite of faith. That you picked one — logic or belief — and lived by it.”

Jeeny: “That’s the mistake everyone makes. Faith isn’t the opposite of reason — fear is. Faith is what lets reason begin.”

Jack: “You’re saying science starts with trust.”

Jeeny: “Yes. Trust that order exists beneath the chaos. That we can find meaning in randomness. Planck didn’t say ‘ye must have proof’ — he said ‘ye must have faith.’ That’s a profound difference.”

Host: Jack stared at the equations on the wall, his mind turning like a machine running without rest. He reached for the chalk, drawing a single line across the board — then stopped.

Jack: “You think that’s what separates a real scientist from a technician? The faith that there’s meaning, not just mechanism?”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Machines measure. Humans wonder.”

Jack: “And wonder’s dangerous. It makes you question everything — even your own logic.”

Jeeny: “That’s the beginning of wisdom, isn’t it?”

Host: The light shifted as the rain eased. The storm was nearly gone now, leaving behind that soft hush the world wears after chaos — the sound of calm reclaiming itself.

Jeeny moved closer to the window, looking out at the glistening city below. The streetlights shimmered on the wet roads like constellations fallen to earth.

Jeeny: “Planck spent his life proving things that defied reason — waves that were particles, realities that collapsed when observed. Imagine living in that paradox. You’d have to believe in something greater than logic to keep from going mad.”

Jack: “So faith isn’t surrendering your mind.”

Jeeny: “No. It’s surrendering your illusion of control.”

Jack: “And maybe that’s why people fear it.”

Jeeny: “Yes. Because it asks you to trust what you can’t master.”

Host: Jack stood now, crossing to join her at the window. They both stared out at the quiet, luminous sprawl — the city’s glow like the pulse of something alive, unknowable.

Jack: “You know, sometimes I think we misunderstand science. We think it’s a catalogue of answers. But really, it’s a long, beautiful question.”

Jeeny: “And faith is the courage to keep asking.”

Host: For a moment, they said nothing. The light flickered again, dimming into the soft blue of dawn’s approach.

Jeeny: “You see, Jack — Planck wasn’t building a wall between science and faith. He was tearing one down. He was saying that to seek truth — any truth — you have to believe it’s worth finding.”

Jack: “So the gates of the temple of science…”

Jeeny: “Are the same gates to the temple of wonder.”

Host: The sunlight began to edge through the rain-streaked window, touching their faces — two seekers caught between the empirical and the eternal.

Because Max Planck was right —
faith is not the enemy of reason; it’s its foundation.

Every discovery begins with a question,
and every question begins with belief —
that the world, for all its mystery,
still wants to be understood.

The scientist, the artist, the believer —
all walk the same path,
carrying the same small torch into the same vast dark,
whispering the same quiet vow:

I do not know yet. But I believe there is something to find.