Society teaches us that science has no limits; that you and I can be whatever we want to be, do whatever we want to do, and that scientists are nothing but an utter bouquet of bright minds moving from grass to grace, sharing their knowledge with all and sundry, passing on the ‘Universalistic’ torch inscribed with the message: all is possible in the name of science. True to its nature, the more we learn about the physical world the smaller it gets, the more justifications we come up with for branching out of our egg-shell shaped Earth, for exploring the Moon, the stars, the Milky Way, the Universe. But whence come our limit, if any?

At a time when Ann Coulter ’84 and Keith Olbermann’79 are butting heads over the legitimacy of the Ag School and the value of a communication degree, it seems appropriate for scientists to ask: Are there any facts in Ms. Coulter’s claims? I invite you to look at another (maybe, the third) side of the coin, what we call the narrative of science: Imagine Cornell without Agriculture, without the Life Sciences, without Communication (especially, in the life sciences)…

“Let us learn to dream, gentlemen, and then we may perhaps find the truth.” Remember that quote? No? Well, at a time when scientists had lost all hope of solving the chemical structure of atoms, let alone compounds, Friedrich Kekule proved there was a way out. Not by hard work (although he did put in the effort) but by sheer serendipity — a DREAM, literally a daydream. Kekule had just taken a nap, and while napping, he rel="nofollow">saw a bunch of beads — six to be specific, stringed together — juxtaposed unto a snake figure. The snake wiggled and curled itself, and before you know it, the snake was biting its tail.