You don't need an explanation for everything, Recognize that

The words of Harry Browne—“You don’t need an explanation for everything. Recognize that there are such things as miracles—events for which there are no ready explanations. Later knowledge may explain those events quite easily”—speak like a whisper from the ancient winds, calling humanity to humility before the mysteries of existence. In this modern age of analysis and proof, we have grown addicted to certainty. We dissect every wonder, question every joy, and demand that even the stars justify their shining. But Browne, with the calm wisdom of one who has seen the tides of fortune rise and fall, reminds us that not everything that happens is meant to be understood at once. Some truths are meant to be lived, not solved. Some lights are meant to be felt, not measured.

To seek explanation for all things is a noble instinct, born from the human thirst for understanding. Yet it becomes a chain when we forget the sacred space that mystery occupies in the human soul. There are moments in life—a sudden healing, an unforeseen encounter, a narrow escape from despair—where reason stands silent, and the heart knows something greater has moved. These are the miracles Browne speaks of: not violations of nature, but revelations of its deeper harmony, glimpses of a truth beyond the reach of logic. They remind us that the world is vast, that our knowledge, though bright, is still a candle flickering in an endless night.

In the ancient world, sages understood this balance. The philosophers of Greece, the mystics of the East, the prophets of the desert—all spoke of the divine unknown, the sacred breath that animates the world but eludes definition. The oracle of Delphi gave answers in riddles not to confuse men, but to awaken their humility. For to live wisely is to know that wisdom itself is incomplete. The mind may seek, but the soul must also trust. Browne’s words echo this eternal truth: to live fully, one must accept that not all things are meant to be grasped at once. There is a rhythm to revelation, and understanding blooms only in its appointed time.

History, too, teaches this lesson. When the great Isaac Newton studied the falling apple, he saw not just gravity, but the hidden order of the cosmos. Yet for centuries before him, men saw the same apple fall and thought nothing of it. The miracle was always there—awaiting the eyes that could perceive it. Likewise, when the plague swept through Europe, few could imagine that unseen organisms caused the devastation. What was once called divine wrath became, in later centuries, the science of microbiology. Thus, Browne’s insight rings clear: what appears miraculous today may become knowledge tomorrow, yet the wonder of it remains undiminished.

But the danger lies in arrogance—in believing that one day we shall explain away all mystery. For even when the mechanism is understood, the miracle of existence persists. To know how the heart beats does not make love less sacred. To understand the stars does not make them less beautiful. Knowledge, when wielded without reverence, becomes sterile. Yet when joined with awe, it becomes the purest form of worship. Browne urges us to find peace in the unknown, to rest in the quiet knowledge that some questions do not need immediate answers, for they are part of the divine unfolding of life itself.

In your own journey, you will meet moments that defy reason—unexpected blessings, coincidences too perfect to be chance, times when despair turns suddenly to deliverance. Do not rush to cage them in explanation. Let them breathe. Let them be miracles, gentle reminders that the world is not as small as your understanding. For in every unexplainable moment, life is whispering to you, “There is more yet to learn. There is more yet to love.”

And so, the lesson is clear: walk with curiosity, but also with reverence. Seek knowledge, but never at the expense of wonder. When faced with mystery, do not demand that it bow to your comprehension—stand instead in awe, and listen. For faith and reason are not enemies, but partners in the dance of discovery. Let your mind explore the stars, but let your heart remain open to the miracles that guide them. In time, understanding may come; but even if it does, never let explanation silence the song of wonder within you.