Endless forms most beautiful

Newton (William Blake)

For a long time I studied artificial intelligence independently. I have the point of view that biological evolution is itself a form of intelligence, and that an unknown physical optimization process—a process more fundamental than genetic variation and natural selection—is the force that drives evolution. We see evolution build elaborate, mathematical solutions in response to physical constraints; the seeds in a sunflower are arranged according to the Fibonacci spiral, and the cochlea in the human ear performs a physical Fourier transform. We often see nonliving physical systems adopt optimal forms; for example, in the absence of external forces, a soap film minimizes its surface area. Might there be some connection between the two optimization processes—living and nonliving? Might such a connection explain how life came about in the first place? Might intelligence be not the stuff between our ears but the vast process that created us all?

I struggled immensely in my life over the last five years. I was frantic, confused, anxious, miserable, and isolated. For the last two years of college I was unable to perform well—I couldn’t focus at all—despite being perfectly capable of understanding the material. I quit job after job; I couldn’t motivate myself to work, I couldn’t deal with criticism, and every disagreement with authority felt life-threatening. My singular regret during this dark period was that I did not do well enough in school to continue my studies and become a researcher. It was this regret that motivated me to spend years working on my own project in solitude.

My research has now been funded. I will be joining an AI lab for the next few months to investigate algorithmic models of self-organization; if my work looks promising, I will have the opportunity to become a permanent member of the staff. After years of lonely study, after many, many rejections, after a lifetime of obsession with stars and computers and trees—today I am officially a scientist.

When I think about science I don’t think of that seven-step method we learned in grade school, or of all those problems about balls on ramps or pulleys on ramps or ramps on springs, or even of the technological progress that underlies modern society. I think of Tomonaga writing out the equations of quantum electrodynamics in the ruins of Tokyo. I think of Darwin storing rare beetles in his mouth because his hands were full. I think of Harry Glicken mapping the debris fields around Mt. St. Helens, counting rocks for nine years as he grieved the death of his mentor in the eruption. Science is the story of people who loved the world unflinchingly, in all her beauty. I am proud to join their ranks.