Paul sipped his highball. And that was another difference. At his age, I hadn't sipped. I had guzzled. He appeared to be thinking over what he would like to discuss—as if it were a scientific problem. Finally he said, "Phil, what's the matter with us?"
"Us who?"
"Physicists."
"Religion," I said.
"The faith of skepticism?" He leered at me. "If all you've got on it is that old chapter about the law of opposites, never mind."
"Lack of skepticism," I answered.
Paul chuckled. "Goody! Go ahead."
"The religion of a physicist is his belief in pure reason. He has done so well with it that he regards it as the whole of consciousness. He is like a man who has discovered the shovel. It digs so much better than his hands that he never looks for—"
"—the steam shovel?"
"Dynamite."