Childhood’s End, by Arthur C. Clarke

It is a myth. It is the same myth of the Space Oddysey 2001, the same myth of Carl Sagan’s contact. The myth they want to get across and which sustains them.

Odd.

The myth is evolution without the final twilight of the gods. The gods are well and as distant as the most original gnostic emanation. Working hard, yes, but fine and ok and running things with awe inspiring power and wisdom. And what is suggested along the very edges, the real overlords he deftly sets the thing up for (and beyond!) that is the real feat of imagination, and a great one.

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