In the waning days of summer in war ravaged 1941, a 40 year old physicist, possessing some of the world’s most important secrets, wandered up the familiar gravel path of his mentor’s home.  With a creak of aged wood, the door opened and two icons met…

Living together in an age of technology with the Age of Discovery far behind us, we as a humankind have hurtled into a time of instant gratification and concrete answers.  As a result, the scientists and researchers of this play and of our lives are viewed as something other than what they are: human.  We expect that “someone” must know the answer to our question as we listen to talking heads on television and read essays from faceless sages in our magazines.  Who are these people who give us the answers?  Who are those tho truly discover how this world of ours works?  Flesh and blood, pain and triumph, joy and sorrow.  They seek guidance when they are lost and seek approval when they success.

In Frayn’s masterpiece, we must therefore not only confront the scientific issues at stake, but the human ones.  As we continue along roads of what some may call “progress,” sealing into books the concrete answers we seek, when does humanity come into play?  Human beings make decisions.  Human beings make mistakes.  Human beings feel regret.  Perhaps it is not, in fact, for us to answer Frayn’s question of understanding the magnitude of our actions in the moment we choose to take them.  Perhaps we must simply understand the moment and let the rest reveal itself.

All those who seek answers are passionate about their work.  They live and die by the thrill of discovery, communicate in a language all their own, experience things we pedestrians may only dream about.  But they are human.  Imperfect, utterly vulnerable and judged.

The door opened, two friends met…

A little knowledge is a powerful thing.  Some of the same advances that brought us computers and the internet also led to nuclear weapons and the cold war.  While we have the ability to span the globe in supersonic vehicles and long-distance communication lines, we are actively destroying our planet.

At what point should we step back and ask what direction we are headed?  Is there value in gaining all the knowledge we can, and only place limits on what we do with it?  Or do we call off our research the minute we see it can lead to terrible things?  If progress is inevitable, will it even make a difference?  Can we understand the magnitude of our actions, the moment we choose to make them?