For most of the history of our species we were helpless to

“For most of the history of our species we were helpless to understand how nature works. We took every storm, drought, illness and comet personally. We created myths and spirits in an attempt to explain the patterns of nature.” Thus spoke Ann Druyan, a modern sage of the cosmos and keeper of the legacy of her beloved, Carl Sagan. Her words are not mere observation, but a profound reflection on the long journey of the human spirit—from the trembling awe of our ancestors to the dawning comprehension of science. In this quote, Druyan invites us to remember both our ignorance and our wonder, for within that duality lies the very story of civilization itself.

In the beginning, humanity stood small beneath an immense and terrifying sky. The thunder rolled like the voice of wrathful gods; the lightning struck as if by divine hand. The wind tore through forests, the earth shook, the stars appeared and vanished in patterns no mortal could decipher. In this vast theater of mystery, humankind—fragile, exposed, and yearning for meaning—sought refuge in myth. They gave names to forces they could not control, and faces to powers they could not explain. The sun became a god, the river a goddess, the harvest a blessing. Every shadow was inhabited, every storm was a message. This was not folly, but the first flowering of imagination—the beginning of our quest to understand.

What Ann Druyan reminds us is that these myths were not failures, but stepping stones. For in creating stories about the world, humanity was already reaching beyond fear toward knowledge. The myths, though untrue in literal form, carried truth of another kind: they reflected the human desire to find order within chaos, to believe that the universe was not indifferent to our existence. It was through this sacred yearning that the seeds of science were sown. For before one can ask how, one must first dare to ask why.

Consider the story of Thales of Miletus, one of the first philosophers of ancient Greece. He was among the earliest to declare that lightning was not the weapon of Zeus, but the natural discharge of clouds; that earthquakes were not the trembling of gods, but the movement of the earth itself. In that moment, the human mind shifted. Fear gave way to curiosity, and curiosity became the bridge to understanding. Thales, and the generations that followed him, did not kill wonder—they refined it. They sought truth not in myth but in the patterns of nature, in the harmony that underlies all existence.

Druyan’s words, then, are not a dismissal of our ancestors’ myths, but a recognition of how far we have traveled. She speaks with reverence for the journey—the evolution of the human mind from trembling before the storm to measuring its energy and predicting its path. Yet she also reminds us that the impulse that birthed myth still beats within us. The same longing for meaning that once shaped gods from lightning now drives us to seek galaxies beyond our own. Whether through religion or through science, the human heart has always yearned to touch the infinite.

But there is a warning, too, within her words. For in our age of technology and knowledge, we must not forget the humility that our ancestors possessed—the awe that comes from knowing how small we are before the universe. The ancients looked at the stars and felt reverence; we look at them through telescopes and risk feeling mastery. Yet the truth, as Druyan and Sagan both taught, is that knowledge without wonder is barren. To understand how nature works is not to conquer it, but to stand in communion with it. Science, at its highest form, is not the end of mystery—it is its continuation.

Let this teaching, then, be passed to those who come after: remember where we came from, and honor the courage of those who named the wind and worshiped the stars. They walked in darkness so that we might walk in light. And as we learn to read the laws of the cosmos, let us never lose sight of the poetry that gave us reason to look upward in the first place. The myths were our first science, and science is our newest myth—a story we tell ourselves about our place in the vastness.

So heed the wisdom of Ann Druyan: though we have learned much, our journey is not finished. The storms we once feared now power our cities; the comets we once worshiped we now chase through space. Yet still, we are seekers, driven by the same ancient longing to understand. Therefore, let your knowledge be guided by wonder, and your wonder by humility. For only in that sacred balance—the marriage of curiosity and reverence—does the true renaissance of the human spirit endure.