S.B. Semenov, a witness of the Tunguska event of 1908.
"The sky split in two and fire appeared high and wide over the forest. The split in the sky grew larger, and the entire northern side was covered with fire. At that moment I became so hot that I couldn’t bear it, as if my shirt was on fire; from the northern side, where the fire was, came strong heat. I wanted to tear off my shirt and throw it down, but then the sky shut closed, and a strong thumb sounded, and I was thrown a few metres.
After that such noise came, as if rocks were falling or cannons were firing, the earth shook, and I was on the ground, I pressed my head down, fearing rocks would smash it. When the sky opened up, hot wind raced between the houses, like from cannons, which left traces in the ground like pathways, and it damaged some crops.”
All of the great monotheisms propose that their God works through history. At least sociologically, they are quite right: that a great deal of history - triumphs as well as disasters - has been made on behalf of One True God. What could be more obvious?
String theorists can be likened to a primitive tribe excavating a buried spacecraft onto which they’ve stumbled. By tinkering and fiddling, the tribe would slowly establish aspects of the spacecraft’s operation, and this would nurture a sense that all the buttons and toggles work together in a coordinated and unified manner. A similar feeling prevails among string theorists.
Look again at that dot. That’s here. That’s home. That’s us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every ‘superstar,’ every ‘supreme leader,’ every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there — on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.