The process of scientific discovery is something like a walk near Freswick Castle. I assume you’ve never been there. (Neither have I, but a friend has.) Freswick Castle stands at the end of Scotland’s northeast end, at the mouth of the Burn of Freswick in the district of Caithness. As of this writing, it is unlisted in Google Maps, and I had to manually scan the coast to find it. Outside the castle is a simple, unlabeled structure that doubles as a biochemical parable. The castle itself is narrow and three stories tall, with orange shingles and gray stone, set on an arc of narrow beach between hills to the north and cliffs to the south. The building is approximately the cruciform shape of a shrunken cathedral, with the rightward wing moved to the top of the structure so it resembles a lowercase f. If you wander the grounds near Freswick Castle, you will discover a stone wall in the wind-blown waves of yellow- green grass, worn but still standing firm like Hadrian’s Wall. From above, it is a period preceding the castle’s f. Let’s approach this as a scientist, with measurement. From the castle side, this structure resembles the circular stump of a roofless tower, eight feet tall and twice that wide. The stones are ancient sand, compacted and weathered, stained different shades of red from iron deposited millions of years ago, but the mortar is new. But inspection is not enough—we should go in. Walk around to the other side, and an opening appears, as shown in Figure 2.1. The structure is not a closed circle, but it is a spiral wall open to the sea, and to you. Inside, a small stone bench invites you to sit. A window slit next to the bench is an eye to the outside. Surrounded by a jigsaw of rocks, you can hear the echo of waves all around and watch the blue-gray sky above. If the spiral’s opening is a mouth, then you are Jonah in the whale. You are both inside and outside at once.