When a herd of cattle see a strange object, they are not

Hear, O seekers of truth, the words of John Burroughs, a sage of nature’s temple: “When a herd of cattle see a strange object, they are not satisfied till each one has sniffed it; and the horse is cured of his fright at the robe, or the meal-bag, or other object, as soon as he can be induced to smell it. There is a great deal of speculation in the eye of an animal, but very little science.” These words, though clothed in the simplicity of observation, shine with the hidden fire of wisdom. For Burroughs speaks not only of beasts of field and stable, but of men and women who wander through life gazing upon mysteries with wonder, yet failing to approach with the courage of understanding.

Consider, then, the cattle, hesitant before the unknown. They see the strange bundle or foreign shape, and their eyes are wide with suspicion. Yet suspicion alone does not ease the heart. They circle, they draw nearer, and at last each presses its nose against the object. Then, as if by ritual, the fear dissolves. So too with the horse, trembling before a robe or a bag that seems alive with imagined terror. Only when it dares to smell—to test the thing with senses more intimate than sight—does it realize there is no danger. Thus, Burroughs unveils to us that animals are creatures of instinct and speculation, but not of science, for they resolve fear only by contact, never by reason.

Yet is not mankind often the same? Think of the countless souls who behold the new, the foreign, the strange with eyes of suspicion. They whisper rumors, they speculate wildly, and their hearts quake. But speculation alone, without inquiry, is the root of folly. To see is not to know, and to guess is not to understand. The beasts, at least, approach the thing and test it with their noses. But men too often stop short, content with shadows, content with fears, unwilling to draw close and examine. This is the lesson Burroughs sows: that only by moving beyond speculation into true investigation does fear melt away.

In the chronicles of human history, we find countless examples of this truth. Recall the days of the plague in medieval Europe. The people, ignorant of its cause, saw in it the hand of demons, the punishment of heaven, or the poison of strangers. Suspicion bred cruelty, and countless innocents perished. Yet it was not until later minds—those of science and reason—dared to “smell” the truth, to look deeper into the causes, that mankind began to understand disease as the work of microbes rather than malevolence. The cattle sniffed and were satisfied; but man, when ruled only by superstition, suffered greatly until true inquiry dawned.

So also with the fear of flight, when first men sought to lift themselves into the sky. Many speculated that it was impossible, that human bones would shatter, that the heavens themselves would punish such arrogance. But the Wright brothers, with the spirit of investigation, tested, tried, and pressed their hands upon the truth. Where others saw only danger, they drew near and discovered freedom. Thus was born the age of aviation, and the dream of Icarus was finally made real.

Burroughs teaches us that speculation is like the flickering light of a fire—it illuminates but briefly, casts shadows long, and leaves much unseen. Science, however, is the steady sun, revealing things as they are, not as they appear. The animal eye may glimmer with suspicion, but the human spirit, armed with courage and reason, can do more than look—it can know. Let us not be as the herd, endlessly circling the strange object with restless fear, but as seekers who draw near, question, test, and learn.

What lesson, then, must you take into your heart? This: whenever you encounter the strange or the unknown, do not remain in the prison of speculation. Do not be content with rumors, with appearances, or with whispers. Instead, approach the mystery. Inquire, test, and seek understanding. Let curiosity be your guide, and discipline your staff. For speculation is easy, but knowledge requires courage.

Therefore, in your daily life, when faced with new ideas, unfamiliar people, or frightening changes, resist the urge to turn away in fear. Draw close, like the cattle that sniff, but do more—use the gift of reason, the light of science, the strength of discernment. For only then will your fears dissolve into wisdom, and your path be lit with truth. This is the inheritance of mankind, greater than instinct: the power not only to speculate, but to understand.