Can it possibly be true that the universe as we know it is becoming larger and larger? The more we learn, the more it seems to expand. The scientists who know about such things now brag that the Milky Way numbers between 200 and 300 billion stars, nearly all of which are probably circled by planets. Moreover, these same experts now claim that there are something like one or two trillion such configurations -- some of them small but most larger than our own personal galaxy. And to top all that, there's a rumor circulating that our universe might be just one of an untold, possibly infinite number of other universes. Some of them Big Banging, some expanding, some collapsing.
These numbers are staggering and incomprehensible, at least to me. I can't even get a hold of a million of anything, even grains of sand, let alone a billion (a thousand million!) enormous stars.
Now they tell me that our universe began 13.8 billion years ago, more or less, and will go on for a hundred billion more. That's another very large number for me (or you) to assimilate.
It's all mighty perplexing. And then let me add the toughest question of all: why is there something rather than nothing? Yes, why is that? How come?
There are some who find this sort of information dismaying because it confirms the triviality, the meaninglessness of our individual lives. How can I possibly worry about last night's insomnia or my latest nosebleed -- or indeed my very own life -- in a world of a gazillion planets, stars, ultramassive black holes, neutron stars, galaxies, and a universe which may have no discernible boundary or beginning or ending.
Yet I myself find all this information not dismaying but comforting - maybe even inspiring.
What are the odds that a planet might support life? Very small. And that the planet's precarious lifeforms would evolve for a couple of billions of years and then generate intelligent life? And that a million years of mating and surviving by various evolving primitive and then recognizable humans might lead to my ancestors -- and that after thousands of lucky matings eventually resolve into my parents Manny and Lil who happened upon the precise instant to beget Me. And that I, in the second half of my 80s, way past my shelf life, would still be here to enjoy these extra innings.
All this work of creation and evolution and luck to culminate in Me.
It's a miracle of cosmic proportions and should be hosannahed. Here I am, enjoying my still functioning brain. My stomach is mellow after a full meal and my skin is glowing from a stroll in the warm sun. At the end of the day, I will crawl under the covers with my bedmate and ladylove. Truly the stars have aligned to my benefit.
Nor let us not underestimate the consummate joy of mattress and blanket.
My assemblage of molecules has had a great run -- much more than could be reasonably anticipated. Soon my molecules will disassemble and then reassemble into someone else. I'm very glad to contribute to this phenomenon.
But if so -- if we are so fortunate, as I believe us to be, why don't we as a people celebrate our good fortune? Take pleasure in our lives. What's the need for this continuing strife and wars and enslavements and genocides? What's the point of it? We're all sitting here, billions of us, for a second or so in an infinitely boundless and timeless universe. Why must half of us make life miserable for the other half? Why can't all we just get along?
Truly we are a horrid species.
I wonder whether other planets that support intelligent life have done any better. I hope so.