Free Mr g by Alan Lightman Page B

assembling other molecules. In action, the molecule seemed almost purposeful, yet it was dumb lifeless matter, like the rest.
    Then a curious thing happened. Quite by accident, in the quadrillions of new structures that formed every tick, one of the self-replicating molecules found itself lodged within a closed cavity of other molecules. The wall of this cavity, only a couple of molecules thick, encircled its own little world. And how small it was, trillions of times smaller than a planet. Yet this tiny cellular world had a certain wholeness, an outside and an inside. Outside was the thick ocean, full of sugar and carbohydrates and amino acids. Inside was one of the replicating molecules and other carbon and nitrogen-based molecules that had come along by chance. The cellular wall allowed some molecules from the outside to enter. Others were refused. However, even such cells could not sustain themselves if they did not have a source of energy. Energy was critical. In the Void, Uncle Deva, Aunt Penelope, and I had an infinite supply of energy. But here, in Aalam-104729, energy was a limited commodity. There was only so much and not more, and one had to find energy as best one could to maintain and survive.
    It was only a matter of time before some of the cells had, again quite by accident, amassed all of the ingredients to preserve themselves indefinitely: the ability to procure energy by disassembling sugars, which harbored a great deal of electrical energy in the repulsive force between their electrons; the ability to reinforce themselves with supplies through a selective cellular wall; and the ability to reproduce themselves by enclosing a replicating molecule. Such cells formed in the oceans of many planets. They thrived on the rich sugars and other molecules floating in the warm seas around them. They exchanged materials with the outside world. They grew. Then they replicated their insides, split apart, and doubled their numbers.
    Were such things alive? It depends on what one means by life. They were organized. They responded to their environment. Unlike mountains and oceans, they could grow and reproduce themselves. But in other, more essential ways, they were just dumb material. All of their wonderful mechanisms happened without any thought. In fact, there was nothing resembling thought within the sparse and limited protoplasm of their bodies. They could not communicate. They could not originate ideas. They could not make decisions. They certainly had no self-awareness. What few electrical impulses surged within them served solely to maintain and preserve themselves, and even these occurred quite automatically, like a standing rock that falls and topples another nearby rock, which falls and topples another rock, which falls and topples another, and so on. No matter how many rocks you have in such a progression, would you say that the thing has any thinking capacity? Certainly not. The rocks are just dumbly obeying the laws of gravity. So, while I was amused by these self-replicating cells, I would not say they were alive in any meaningful sense of the word. I would call them fancy inanimate matter. That’s what I would call them—fancy inanimate matter. And I was in no hurry to make animate matter.
    I went back to the Void and gave a full report to Aunt Penelope. By this time, she had made up with Uncle Deva and was even allowing him to brush her hair. I found the two of them together, she sitting contentedly in her chair and he standing behind her. Now you’ve got it right, she said. Just there, just like that. There. That’s it. That’s it. Now you’ve got it right.
    I was wondering when you would return, said Aunt P when she looked up and saw me. I should check up on the thing now and then if I were you. All is going well, I replied. Do not get smug, Nephew, she said, and threw a look at Uncle, as if challenging him to take issue with her sharp comment to me. But he said nothing and continued to brush her hair