Almost There

The first book I ever published was about a journey to edge of the universe.  It was called “Journey to the Edge of the Universe”.  I published it myself even though it was hard lettering a whole book by hand.  The pictures were pretty good and Mrs. Barker gave me an “A”.  I was the main character and I ingeniously overcame every obstacle.  I didn’t have to figure out the relationship dynamics of the crew because I went by myself.  Acquiring fuel wasn’t a problem because I used fuel that was completely recyclable.  Growing and storing food was irrelevant because I didn’t specifically write anything about eating.  I didn’t need to worry about the time requirements for the trip because I hadn’t gotten to that part of math yet.  And lastly, I didn’t have to come up with a goal for the mission because when I got to the Edge of the Universe I became a Disembodied Mind (the way this happened was too technical to explain to people who weren’t space explorers so I didn’t bother).   I think NASA is incorporating some of my ideas into their programs.

The reality is I had no clue, and the knowledge I have now gives me a clue so small that it can only be called a clue in comparison to my previously possessed no-clue.  What would it take to go on that trip for real?  Well, you can’t.  It’s too far and you would die.  Depending on how you identify and measure distance in space-time, the edge of the visible universe is as little as 3 billion light years away (Angular Diameter Distance, which measures how far away the furthest visible galaxies were when they emitted the light we see) and as much as 47 billion light years away (Co-moving Distance, which tells you how far the furthest visible galaxies are right now if you had a measuring tape hooked on their outer edge).  Don’t get me started on Luminosity Distance and Light Travel Time Distance.  If space-time stopped expanding the day you left and if you could somehow move at the speed of light it would take 47 billion years to reach the edge of the universe – if the universe actually has an edge, which it probably doesn’t.  Got that? 

 I know.  It hurts.

Sometimes it feels good to be ignorant.  It’s easier, because you aren’t aware of potential flaws in your beliefs. You aren’t aware of how relatively small you are, and feeling small is hard to distinguish from feeling unimportant.  That may be why it was so difficult in the 17^th century for government and church to accept the Copernican astronomical model, which placed the earth in orbit around the sun.  Surely God made the universe at human scale.  We were meant to subdue it.  It says so in Genesis.  If the earth isn’t the center of the universe and if the universe is much larger than we thought, maybe we ourselves are less central than we thought.  Hard truths for people used to feeling significant.  I know if you’d pointed out the logistical problems in my plotline back in fifth grade I’d have felt pretty stupid, and then I’d have tried to argue with you.  “Nuh-uh.”  “Yeah-huh.”  To this day I’d like the stars to circle around me in their crystal spheres.  I’d still like to scoop some up in a satchel and bring them back for show-and-tell.  Not ignorant enough to believe it could happen, but does that mean I can’t keep wishing?  

 

Comments

[Maryn]

I do not believe that I (or rather people) are less central or significant, as we discover how vast and endless the universe is. It only makes me physically smaller, and more in awe that God still sees me and I matter to Him. That's what amazes me most.

[Cindy]

Christianne, tells the story of a priest friend she knows who, when preaching, would tell a compelling story that would draw the congregation in because they could relate it to something in their lives and once they were all cozy comfy inside the story he would "hit them with the Gospel and then sit down." That is how I would describe your writing and, as usual, another great and thought-provoking reflection. Thanks!