Born with no knowledge
of the world that surrounds them,
they start the growing process
along with our bodies.
Nimble like water, the mind lies
under the skin where the throb
steadies or varies.
Capable of acting on its own,
its power reaches
to the perimeter of feeling,
marked by the skin which covers it.
Mind cannot be ubiquitous
so the soul fills in the gaps,
“smitten by the force of mind.”
Or so you said.
And as a child, I was taught to see you.
But I think your mind lied to you,
and spun a tale
to make you the God
you declared did not exist.
Where did such cynicism arise from?
How arrogant must one be
to believe the world
cannot exist
without an explanation they can devise?
I put it to you, Lucretius,
that in your own arguments
you contradict yourself,
for if atoms swerve,
then ubiquity is inevitable,
and they can push past the boundaries of mind,
or the soul you so neatly set.
And as much as you might
like to try,
infinite beginnings
cannot be wrapped
in a tight little bow.
Some gifts are too perfect to hold.
No, sir, I’m afraid
that the only limit
you established
was that of your own mind.
A prisoner of your own genius.
A victim of self-mutilation.
I know you never had a child,
nor did your father,
or his father,
and perhaps that’s why
possibilities elude you.
And I know it’s not fair to bring it up,
because of course
one doesn’t need a child
to experience miracles.
But you deny the possibility of any,
which makes me wonder,
had just one of you
borne fruit,
you would know that in the space between
expectation and fruition
is a flash of light
—a pull on the chest—
that reveals the swerve of the universe,
and it says with a deep, resounding, all-knowing voice,
“I am boundless.”
— ❧ —
Revisiting the Past
When I was in high school, a teacher asked us to write a poem based on Lucretius’s De Rerum Natura. (aka On the Nature of Things.) She had us focus on one section for inspiration in particular, where Lucretius spoke about the ability of atoms to “swerve” and change direction. He used this depiction of atoms as an explanation for what produces free will. Basing his theories on Epicurus’s teachings, and Democritus before him, Lucretius also said those same atoms that cause free will, die with the mind, and because the soul is tied to the mind, the soul dies along with it.
We never read the whole book, so we never knew that we were reading whispers of early atheism. We were only encouraged to find beauty in his words. Looking back on it now, it’s interesting that we were taught the philosophy of a man who set limits for the soul, without getting an opportunity to challenge those limits at length. There was some discussion, but nothing relevant to the entirety of Lucretius’s poem.
But the exercise did produce the first poem I ever wrote that I didn’t throw away. I liked it, and the first three stanzas of this poem were from the original. Before sharing it, though, I wanted to understand more about the work that generated it. So, I decided to read Lucretius’s entire work last week, and found that a lot of it is, well, poppycock.
I kid. A little. His ideas on atoms, for a work written over 2,000 years ago, is truly remarkable. To create such theories without the understanding we have of modern science today? Amazing. But the tone of much of his work is condescending, redundant, and a little circuitous. I found his dissertation surprisingly limited for a guy who certainly thought he was better than everyone.
What the Experts Say
I’ve read a lot of experts going back and forth on whether Lucretius believed in gods. He refers to them as if they do, but he also declares that “no god” could have made this world because of all its imperfections. That no rational being could. This is very reminiscent of the argument made by many today that God cannot exist because no god would allow for such suffering. It’s a point well taken. I may not agree with it, but I certainly get the point of view.
I do not have the ability to prove God exists. I’m not even sure I wish I could. And unlike Lucretius, I do not dare to suggest I have all the answers. Not even close. The only thing I have come to fully know is that there is so much I don’t know and never will. But when I read Lucretius, I very much felt like he was extraordinarily cynical, and his mind was closed to the possibility of miracles he couldn’t discern. In my own experience, there have been events and feelings that have pulled me out of my linear self, and as such, I find that Lucretius doesn’t work for me. With that being the case, for my own ability to move forward, I needed to offer him a rebuttal.
De Rerum Natura
This was a very different type of poem for me, as I’m usually inspired by things I see in nature. Although to be fair, this one is inspired by a work called On the Nature of Things! If you’d like to read more poems, I hope you’ll head over to In Verse and check some out. Thanks for reading!