Not long ago, a group of us sauntered out to the middle of a body of water located in rural Wisconsin known as Green Lake. We looked forward to enjoying the 4th of July fireworks display being launched from the small eponymous town located along the water’s eastern shore. A good time was had by all. But what stayed with me from that night were the thoughts I entertained on the boat ride home.

Even though surrounded by other boaters, the middle of this lovely lake located in rural Wisconsin is not exactly awash in ambient light. Yet, as I looked up at the night sky, I could see very few stars. From my experience in that moment, it would be easy to conclude that our observable universe was sparsely populated, yet oddly still intimate.
At once, I recalled a very different image from my youth. As a Peace Corps volunteer living in a remote area of the Rajasthan (India) desert, I still remember gazing at the night time sky from the roof of our humble abode.

In doing so, I experienced a rare moment … a more complete sense of the majesty of our very own Milky Way. That sky, in that remote place, was replete with a dense field of stars. That sky, indeed, seemed to be quite a busy and crowded place. The numbers of distant suns seemed endless, the possibilities beyond calculation. Yet, those twinkling spheres almost appeared within reach. It was as if we could reach out and touch them.
The canvas of black above Green Lake left one with a different sense. One might easily imagine that we humans were alone in what might be described as a vast sea of nothingness. That is, our cosmos seems mostly empty … an attribution that is both correct (most of it is empty or filled with dark matter) and, as discussed below, demonstrably false.
As I looked up at this mostly dark, inky sky, I began to contemplate the scale of the world about me, a world beyond what I could perceive in the moment. One thing is certain. You can easily be fooled by the world you know best, by the version available to your naked senses on a daily basis. Our planet, our home, seems large enough given our limited, pedestrian perspective on things. Yet, it is but a single grain of sand embedded in endless seas of sand if you bother to take a deeper look at things.

Our blue sphere, in fact, is at best a modest home circling about a second rate star located toward the outer edge of a forgettable galaxy that itself is nothing to brag about. One can easily imagine our smartest ancestors looking at the same night sky some two-plus millenia ago. Naturally, Plato and Aristotle would conclude that they were the center of the universe. Their world looked and felt stable, all else undoubtedly revolved about them and their world. Yet, even their knowledge of that home was limited largely to their own culture and immediate vicinity. Still, that is what their experience told them. That is what their logic demanded. Their world view must have seemed unassailable. Why would they doubt what they could see?
Except, of course, their world (and ours) is far from stable. It only appears that way. We, in fact, are hurtling through space at remarkable speeds. First, our mother planet is rotating about its axis. At the equator, it is spinning at about 1,040 miles per hour (mph). If, by chance, you were standing at 45 degrees latitude north, your rotational speed would be about 735 mph. As a point of reference, I live at about 43 degrees north lattitude.
That only begins to cover our movement through space. As we have known since the work of Copernicus and Galileo, our planetary home circles our mother star on an annual basis which, not surprisingly, provides us with the temporal definition of a year. To complete this journey, our home planet must travel at a speed of 18.5 miles every second. Wow, that’s fast.
But that’s not all. Our solar system is not stationary in space. In fact, every celestial entity or system is moving further apart (separating from each other) at apparently increasing speeds. That is one way of understanding that the big bang is more of a process than an event.
Within our galactic neighborhood, which we refer to as the Milky Way, our insignificant solar system travels about a likely black hole lying at the center our adjacent celestial tribe of stars. Traveling at some 144 miles per second, it takes our solar system some 225 million years to make a single voyage about our galactic core.
Think about that. The dinosaurs went extinct some 65 million years ago. From that point in time to today our sun had only progressed a little over a third of its journey around the periphery of our favorite galaxy. Hominoids were progressing slowly toward what we call homo sapiens about 200,000 years back, a mere moment, a blink of the eye, in our sun’s elliptical passage through space.
And yet, I sensed none of this that night while floating serenely in the middle of a lake. I felt stationary even as I hurtled headlong at remarkable speeds. Perhaps there is a lesson here … everything is relative. Either that or our perceptions truley can be deceiving. Perhaps that amounts to two lessons.
Such epiphanies tend to bring me up short. As I looked into the sky on that night of national celebration, I began to ponder the immensity and mystery of what appeared above me, or would appear if it were not shielded from view. At the same time, I was humbled by just how little of that vast, complex world was within my comprehensible grasp. Of course, any blame for that shortfall might well lie within my personal cognitive failings. In any case, let us continue as if I am not totally brain dead.

Drifting in our craft that night, I suddenly became aware of how far humans have progressed. The greatest minds of past epochs created mythical explanations for the wonders that struck them as inexplicable and inexpressible … those things they could not easily apprehend.
Celestial phenomena, as well as earthly mysteries, were explained by deities with ascribed powers that looked amazingly like human attributes inflated on steroids. Given what they had to work with, it was the best they could do. How taken they would have been had the true scope and complexity of the surrounding world been available to them. This is the world that has been revealed to us through our ever more advanced technologies, and as aided by replacing deductive logic with inductive, data-based reasoning (the scientific method).
Remember this, just a century ago, our concept of the universe was essentially limited to our own galaxy. The Milky Way was our entire observable universe. Now, we estimate that some 2 trillion galaxies exist out there, and that may be just the tip of the iceberg as the saying goes. Since the universe continues to expand, we may never capture its complete size or shape.
In another century, how will we view our cosmos? That is a fascinating question. Just a few years ago, as the Hubble telescope was being replaced by even more sophisticated equipment, astronomers focused on what they believed to be a small empty patch of space. They found that this so-called vacant area was filled with tens of thousands of additional galaxies. Our world continues to amaze and fascinate us.
Perhaps it is time for some humility. We still don’t know what is out there. As mentioned, perhaps we may never know. One thing is rather certain. Our complete universe likely is more amazing than our imaginations can conceive. This growing realization of our tiny insignificance in such a vast cosmos has a personal upside … it affords me a measure of solace as it should you. How can one elevate their petty problems given our insignificant place on such an immense stage.

Let’s return to the question that we all ponder at times. Are we unique in this cosmos? If there is a divine entity, did it put all its eggs in one basket. If there is no divine creator, are we the product of an unimaginable series of fortunate, idiosyncratic, yet unplanned events. Really, can we even presume that the laws of physics and chemistry are identical every where? However you look at it, are we the only life in this cosmic arena.
Consider the following. Our nearest galactic neighbor, Andromeda, is only 2.5 million light years from earth. It is within a cluster of galaxies we think of as belonging together. Astronomers package discrete galaxies into these artificial clusters to impose some framework for putting our galactic stuff into some order.
It turns out that Adromeda is a bigger galaxy than our Miky Way, with 2.5 times our number of stars. If, as estimated, it has 10 billion planets that potentially (unlikely though) could support life, we might extrapolate a comparable figure of 4 billion planet like possibilities within our very own galaxy. Though extremely few are likely to support life, there are some 14 billion possible candidates among just these two celestial entities (out of at least two trillion). Alien life is most likely out there. How could it not be?
Not that long ago, this very topic came up during a discussion with some of my neighbors, a highly educated and accomplished lot. One (an emeritus professor from UW in Anthropology) argued that the number of events that had to fall into place to create life as we know it is virtually incalculable. He scoffed at the notion of life elsewhere. I argued back that the number of likely life- supporting sites across our vast universe is equally incalculable. Thus, I think the odds of alien life existing out there is quite high. Whether we can connect with such life forms, however, is quite another matter.
The next meme (below) gives us some perspective. If other life forms exist within our home Galaxy, where that life exists is critical. If on the other side of the Milky Way, for example, the journey to make contact seems impossible or highly improbable at least. Even traveling at the speed of light, thus contravening the known laws of physics, it still might take some 1,500 years to reach it. And even if we did, it would take another 1,500 years to get that news back to us.

Consider that for a moment! Even an advanced space craft well beyond any technology conceivable to us today would have had to depart before the ascent of what became the Roman Empire before we could expect to receive news announcing any success. And what they would bring to us would be ancient history by the time it was made available to us. Our futuristic offspring would only get to see their ancient history.
Think on this a moment. If an alien spacecraft from a planet located on the other side of our own galaxy took examples from earth in the year 1,000 BCE, how would we look to their advanced species. They would not see us as we exist today. They would conclude that homo sapiens existed barely above a minimal survival level. Most humans back then were pre-literate, barely getting by in nomadic tribes. A few might live in primitive urban settings enjoying some artistic and philosophical development, but only if our alien explorers somehow stumbled on them. Earth, they might conclude, held very little promise. Perhaps they would keep searching elsewhere.
Of course, the further one goes out among the billions upon billions of existing galaxies (that we know of), the greater the probability of finding life. But here is the existential conundrum. As we increased the probability of discovering life, we would decrease the probability of profiting from that breakthrough. How could we ever travel such distances and back with such exciting news.
We calculate cosmic distances in light years, which is a measure of distance and not time. A light year, as we all know, is the distance light travels in one year. That turns out to be about 5.88 trillion miles, a rather good stretch of the legs. To put things in perspective, NASA launched Voyager 1 in 1977. It proved a sturdy craft which sent back data well past its expected failure point.
To date, Voyager has traveled some 15.8 billion miles from earth, hurtling through space at some 38,000 miles per hour (almost dead stop when measured against the speed of light). For the first time, man has escaped the helioshere. We have reached interstellar space. On November 1 of this year, this remarkable little craft will have traveled only one light day away from earth. Quite an accomplishment, but far from the kind of interstellar travel essential to penetrating what we consider outer space.

Pethaps life does exist some place in the Milky Way. Even if relatively close by, getting there and back is utterly beyond our wildest imaginations at present. Sure, approaching the speed of light slows down the relative perception of time between the traveler and a stationary observer on earth. So, several lifetimes might have passed for the observer left behind during a modest interstellar trip. This does not give great hope for exploring our universe. Let’s be honest here. We cannot imagine even remotely approaching the speed of light. Our understanding of physical limitations of doing so are daunting. WARP Speed, as found in Star Trek, remains the stuff of science fiction.
Of course, perhaps our cognitive limitations prevent us from seeing what might be possible one day. As far as we know, however, the speed of light is an absolute. Nothing in the universe can travel faster. Even getting close to this goal would bend space and time in unrecognizable ways. True, there are strange things out there, worm holes and potential surprises that might exist in black holes. Again, the stuff of science fiction to us at this point.
At the quantum (really, really microscopic) level, even stranger things have been detected, or at least hypothesized. Quantum entanglements are phenomenon where particles that are separated by light years totally reflect each other’s properties (spin and motion). As far as we know, this mysterious correspondence cannot violate communication constraints imposed by the speed of light. But what will we discover next. Perhaps the impossible can be overcome some day.

Here’s the thing, the more we know then more we know just how much we don’t know. That is the ultimate paradox. While we should be wary of teleological thinking, I occasionally think about evolution as our search for divinity. Perhaps what we can measure and perceive is but a tiny fraction of something larger and more mysterious than our fragile abilities can contemplate. We might yet be in the infancy of our species. If so, what today is unimaginable might one day become common place. Such thoughts intrigue me though I try not to become overly attached to such seductive possibilities.
When I was young, I became enamored with something called The Futurist Society. We liked to speculate on what the future might be. Such hypothesizing was exciting, if fanciful. Then, sadly, you become an adult and focus on real life and a real career. However, it turns out that things are rather circular over the long haul. In one’s dotage, the interests of youth are permitted once more. So, how about engaging in a bit of useless speculation.
Perhaps, carbon-based life forms are simply an evolutionary phase. After all, there is much talk of the singularity on the immediate horizon. At that point, human consciousness would be uploaded into more efficient and capable digital machines. The best of us might then be preserved as our more vulnerable attributes, like mortality, are discarded.
Such machines presumably would have more than a few inestimable advantages. They would not decline, decay, or die as we mortals are prone to do, thus requiring starting over from scratch with each generational offspring. One can imagine that such digital devices could both repair and improve on themselves at exponentially faster speeds. Wow!
Following that logic, I can imagine Steven Spielberg doing another movie about our first contact with aliens. But in this version, it would be an advanced machine interacting with another advanced machine that had evolved past an organic life form, much like we had on earth. If such were to happen, deep space travel would be more feasible. But what would meet up in such a future world. Any contact would be between forms of advanced general intelligence barely imaginable to us in the present.
I wonder what such entities might communicate about upon their initial contact … perhaps sharing stories (and laughing hysterically) about the primitive carbon-based life form (or a different organic base life-form if from a distant part of the universe) that they had replaced in the past. Then they might brag how far they have evolved once they managed to shed all that human baggage that inhibited evolution progress. 🙄
Of course, I wonder about other things. Would what comes after us in the evolutionary arc ever look up at the night sky in the kind of wonder I experienced on Green Lake the other night? Could they ever be emotionally touched by a sunset, laugh at a joke, or be moved by a symphonic masterpiece. Would our successors evrn bother to create works of visual art?
If they don’t bother and such things are lost, that would be a shame.















































