It's always a combination of physics and poetry that I find

Hear the words of Tom Hanks, artist and storyteller, who once proclaimed: “It’s always a combination of physics and poetry that I find inspiring. It’s hard to wrap your head around things like the Hubble scope.” These words, though spoken with humility, shine with the wisdom of ages. For in them lies the recognition that truth is not carried by science alone nor by art alone, but by the union of the two. Physics reveals the structure of the universe, but poetry gives it meaning. The telescope shows us the stars, but the poet teaches us to wonder at them.

The meaning is profound: physics is the discipline of numbers, forces, and laws, the precise unveiling of how the cosmos moves. Yet knowledge without wonder is barren. Poetry is the language of awe, of beauty, of reverence for what the heart feels but the mind cannot contain. When joined, the two give us not only comprehension but also inspiration. The Hubble Space Telescope, gazing into infinite reaches of time and space, offers us galaxies beyond count; but it is poetry that allows us to feel the mystery of such visions, to taste the sacredness of being alive in so vast a universe.

History itself bears witness to this marriage. Consider Albert Einstein, who spoke of his work in terms that were not purely mathematical but deeply poetic. He said, “Imagination is more important than knowledge.” For while equations guided him, it was the poetry of vision—the dream of light, the thought of riding upon a beam—that led him to the theory of relativity. His genius did not come from physics alone, but from the fusion of calculation with imagination, logic with metaphor, science with art.

The Hubble too offers such a union. Its images are facts—collections of photons captured across light-years—but they are also visions, paintings of cosmic fire and dust. Scientists see data, but the human spirit sees cathedrals in the sky, nurseries of stars, oceans of eternity. When Tom Hanks calls this inspiring, he speaks as one who understands that man is not fed by numbers alone. To gaze at the cosmos is to hunger for meaning, and meaning is the gift of poetry.

This truth is heroic and humbling. For it teaches us that no single path contains the fullness of wisdom. The scientist alone may know the how, but not the why. The poet alone may feel the wonder, but not the structure. But when the two walk hand in hand, man approaches completeness. The ancients knew this, blending astronomy with myth, medicine with song, mathematics with sacred ritual. What Hanks recognizes is not new but eternal: that only in the marriage of physics and poetry can we grasp the fullness of the universe.

The lesson is clear: seek not only to measure, but also to marvel. Do not let knowledge rob you of wonder, nor wonder blind you to knowledge. When you study, let your imagination rise alongside your reason. When you read poetry, let it remind you that beauty is not apart from truth but part of it. And when you behold the stars—or any mystery too vast for comprehension—remember that it is good to be overwhelmed, for awe is the beginning of wisdom.

Practical steps follow. Learn of the world—its sciences, its laws, its hidden mechanics—but also feed your spirit with art, verse, and song. When you encounter something great, like the Hubble’s visions of galaxies, do not only analyze; allow yourself to be silent, to wonder, to feel. Share both the fact and the feeling with others: tell them what it is, but also what it means. In this balance, you will find inspiration as Hanks did, a spark that fuels both mind and soul.

Thus his words endure: “It’s always a combination of physics and poetry that I find inspiring. It’s hard to wrap your head around things like the Hubble scope.” Let us remember that life is not only about solving equations, nor only about dreaming dreams, but about joining the two into harmony. In this union, we walk not only as thinkers or feelers, but as whole beings, alive to both the truth and the beauty of existence.