Anthem for Fossil-free Energy
“Prayer to the Dynamo,” written by Henry Adams at the Paris Exposition in 1900, could be the anthem for fossil-free energy movement. This poem is part of a longer work that contrasts the well-ordered spiritual world of Medieval Europe, which represents the height of western civilization in Adams’ estimation, with the uncertain future unleashed on mankind in the form of coal-generated electric power — the dynamo.
Henry Adams was an American journalist and historian, born in 1838 and given a classic liberal arts education at Harvard University in the 1850s. By the time of the Paris Exposition in 1900, Adams had come to realize that the sweeping changes brought by the scientific and technological revolution rendered useless all that he had learned as a young man. He carried a copy of this poem in his wallet when he died.
PRAYER TO THE DYNAMO
Mysterious Power! Gentle Friend!
Despotic Master! Tireless Force!
You and We are near the End.
Either You or We must bend
To bear the martyrs’ Cross.
We know ourselves, what we can bear
As men; our strength and weakness too;
Down to the fraction of a hair;
And know that we, with all our care
And knowledge, know not you.
You come in silence, Primal Force,
We know not whence, or when, or why;
You stay a moment in your course
To play; and, lo! you leap across
To Alpha Centauri!
We know not whether you are kind,
Or cruel in your fiercer mood;
But be you Matter, be you Mind,
We think we know that you are blind,
And we alone are good.
We know that prayer is thrown away,
For you are only force and light;
A shifting current; night and day;
We know this well, and yet we pray,
For prayer is infinite,
Like you! Within the finite sphere
That bounds the impotence of thought,
We search an outlet everywhere
But only find that we are here
And that you are — are not!
What are we then? the lords of space?
The master-mind whose tasks you do?
Jockey who rides you in the race?
Or are we atoms whirled apace,
Shaped and controlled by you?
Still silence! Still no end in sight!
No sound in answer to our cry!
Then, by the God we now hold tight,
Though we destroy soul, life and light,
Answer you shall — or die!
We are no beggars! What care we
For hopes or terrors, love or hate?
What for the universe? We see
Only our certain destiny
And the last word of Fate.
Seize, then, the Atom! rack his joints!
Tear out of him his secret spring!
Grind him to nothing! — though he points
To us, and his life-blood anoints
Me — the dead Atom-King!
