The physicist Leo Szilard once announced to his friend Hans Bethe that he was thinking of keeping a diary: 'I don't intend to publish. I am merely going to record the facts for the information of God.' 'Don't you think God knows the facts?' Bethe asked. 'Yes,' said Szilard. 'He knows the facts, but He does not know this version of the facts.'
This quote highlights the delicate relationship between human knowledge, perception, and the divine. Szilard’s intention to record facts for God's information suggests a desire for an unbiased, unaltered account of reality, free from societal bias or personal interpretation. It emphasizes the importance of truth, transparency, and the pursuit of knowledge in its purest form. In a broader sense, the idea that even the divine might lack awareness of certain 'versions' of facts underscores how subjective perception and context shape our understanding of truth. It prompts us to think about the limitations of human and divine knowledge—acknowledging that information can be layered, and facts can exist in multiple contexts or frames of reference. Such reflections urge scientists, philosophers, and thinkers to consider the importance of preserving raw data, acknowledging that interpretations and narratives evolve over time. Szilard's notion also resonates with contemporary debates about data integrity and transparency in science and history: how do we ensure the record truly reflects reality? The quote serves as a reminder that the way we choose to document and interpret facts influences our collective understanding of truth, and that humility is necessary when navigating the complexities of information. Ultimately, it calls for mindfulness about how knowledge is recorded, shared, and understood—acknowledging that it is impossible to see the complete picture without the context and vantage point that may still be missing.
