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Bruce Rogers-Vaughn Poem
Science is such bad faith.
Are we to believe that the cosmos, the earth, our very bodies
Consist of particles as insentient and cold as the glacial mass of Jupiter?
That ordinary thoughts and strokes of genius emerge equally
From random firings of neural synapses?
That the origins of noble ideals, or loyalty, or commitment
Reside in arbitrary molecular motions?
That friendship, love, or hate appear ex nihilo, the products
Of unfeeling chains of subatomic collusions?
Science is such bad faith.
The seemingly senseless swirlings of unseen particles are but
Corporeal manifestations of a higher calling,
Material resonances of the spirit,
Soul of the cosmos, the earth, the body.
Does not a glance between lovers set in motion
The symphony of a trillion trillion molecules?
Does not the seeing of the pulchritudinous palette of a sunset
Ignite synchronous activities in remote regions of the brain?
Do not joy, sadness, or pleasure govern a host
Of chemical permutations?
Science is such bad faith.
Who knows?
Perhaps molecules are communities of beings wrapped
In passionate embrace.
Perhaps even electrons sing and weep
And make love.
Copyright © Bruce Rogers-Vaughn | Year Posted 2008
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