Say "rationalist” to the average New Age chucklehead, and you conjured up unappetizing images: killjoys obsessed with rules, boors fixated on order, logic-mongers skating around on the surface of things, missing the cosmic essence. Phooey. A rationalist could experience awe as readily as a shaman. But it had to be quality awe, Oliver believed, awe without illusions-the sort of awe he'd felt upon intuiting the size of the universe, or sensing the unlikeliness of his birth. (James K. Morrow)

Say "rationalist” to the average New Age chucklehead, and you conjured up unappetizing images: killjoys obsessed with rules, boors fixated on order, logic-mongers skating around on the surface of things, missing the cosmic essence. Phooey. A rationalist could experience awe as readily as a shaman. But it had to be quality awe, Oliver believed, awe without illusions-the sort of awe he'd felt upon intuiting the size of the universe, or sensing the unlikeliness of his birth.

James K. Morrow

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