An atom in the universe, a poem.

An atom in the universe, a universe of atoms. Where my subtitle comes from.

In the fall of 1955, physicist and Nobel laureate, Richard Feynman imparted a lecture in the National Academy of Sciences named “The Value of Science”. On it he addressed the importance of scientific knowledge and how it empowers the human race to do great things. But he also emphasized that it doesn’t dictate how that power should be used.

Feynman was an outstanding scientist, a remarkable teacher and communicator and as if that was not enough he was also a great artist.

As part of that lecture in 1955 he merged the depth of his scientific mind with the elegance of poetry to beautifully describe the origin and experience of being conscious:

[…] I stand at the seashore, alone, and start to think.

There are the rushing waves
mountains of molecules
each stupidly minding its own business
trillions apart
yet forming white surf in unison.

Ages on ages before any eyes could see
year after year
thunderously pounding the shore as now.

For whom, for what?

On a dead planet
with no life to entertain

Never at rest
tortured by energy
wasted prodigiously by the sun
poured into space.

A mite makes the sea roar.

Deep in the sea
all molecules repeat
the patterns of one another
till complex new ones are formed.
They make others like themselves
and a new dance starts.

Growing in size and complexity
living things
masses of atoms
DNA, protein
dancing a pattern ever more intricate.

Out of the cradle
onto dry land
here it is
standing:
atoms with consciousness;
matter with curiosity.

Stands at the sea,
wonders at wondering: I
a univers of atoms
an atom in the universe.

For all we know, we might be the only entity in the universe that has the ability to “wonder at wondering”.

Intelligence emerged throughout millions of years of evolution, from the very ingredients that make up stars, rocks, air and water. And we have ended up here, contemplating our own existence. Consciousness.

At the verge of becoming not only the spectators of your own intelligence but the artisans of an artificial one.

What a time to be alive.

Poem extracted from The Value of Science .