I love the stars. They are and will always be my longest running
relationship. I’ve known them longer than I have my wife and children
and they will out-live my parents and brothers. I’m often asked “Why are
stars so important?” This is not an easy question to answer without
practice. I find it similar to being asked why I love a loved one. Too
many complicated answers come rushing forward, competing with one
another for the honor of being uttered. Isolating one or two of the more
simple ones, those easy enough to articulate, fails to convey the
intensity of one’s love. And can there be more apprehension or
vulnerability than when answering the why’s of ones love? What if, after
you’ve bared your soul, the questioner responds with indifference or
worse yet disagrees?
It has become an axiom that we are all “star stuff.” And no offense
to Carl Sagan, but that’s just physics and chemistry – math-heavy
analytical sciences that seldom inspire the “Thank you stars, for making
everything possible,” appreciation one might hope for. Alternatively
the history and sociology of our connection to these bazilion-ton balls
of fusing gas seems to resonate better with those who have not been
properly introduced to the stars. The sound byte summary of the
following 3-part, 3-minute answer is “Stars made humanity wonder,
wander, and wise.”
Wondering what stars were and what could be learned by trying to
predict their motion, not only led to astronomy, it also gave birth to
science in general. As the mother of all sciences, Astronomy’s first
major contribution was helping us distinguish the difference between
weather and climate — not an easy concept that still confuses many
modern humans to this day. But as hunter-gatherers and later farmers
became stargazers, they increasingly won the gamble of staying fed (even
when the weather was uncooperative) more times than they lost, and
because of this cultures and civilizations flourished.
Understanding the apparent motion of the stars, and in a couple of
key instances, their virtual lack of motion, gave civilizations around
the globe the confidence to accomplish great feats of navigation. And in
spite of the regrettable violence that too often ensued when
civilizations found each other, it also became obvious that we could
help one another. Trade and exchange was not limited to goods and
services, all kinds of knowledge soon wandered between and through
cultures and so it was that stars fostered wisdom. Because of this
continuous exchange of wisdom, what Newton famously described as
“standing on the shoulders of giants,” once the primary secrets of the
heavens were unlocked, nothing seemed beyond the reach of science and
everything on Earth and beyond became knowable. This was a fundamental
shift in the human condition. Since then, despite some malevolent
efforts to the contrary, it has always been good to know about stuff.
To say that knowledge is power misses the point because it weaponizes
our greatest virtue. It’s far better to emphasize that knowledge is
empowering. No form of charity, democracy, capitalism or socialism is as
liberating as knowledge. And as I share this philosophy in cyberspace,
arguably the most egalitarian tool ever invented, where anybody can
command trillions of electrons and their zillions of photons to do his
or her bidding, I conclude with Curiosity — the latest Martian Rover.
I will long remember August 2012 as the same bitter-sweet month which
brought about the death of Neil Armstrong, the first man to manually
make a soft landing on another world; and the alarmingly complex landing
sequence of Curiosity — first robotic spacecraft to do the same. Now
safely on the surface of Mars, wanders and wonders the wisest machine
our species has ever created. At only 15-minutes away, at the speed of
light (perhaps the only barrier science cannot overcome) it’s a small
step toward the stars, but the next giant leap for mankind. Copious
amounts of global goodwill and attention are now directed at Mars,
though sadly few in this modern world know in which general direction of
the sky to aim such intentions. This is indeed the problem!
All celebrations of Curiosity’s “monumentus” landing and the
countless contributions to science this robotic geologist will make, are
disingenuous if we fail to also celebrate the 500 generations of
stargazers and the very same stars they used to get us this far. This is
an easy ritual to do where one can still see the Milky Way from his or
her backyard. But elsewhere, where the orange-cream dot of Mars is
obscured by the amber gloom of light pollution, more than Curiosity,
more than the entire planet that it inhabits, has been lost. It is not a
literal loss; not like death. But it is an unpleasant emotional
detachment, like divorce, you know they are still there; you just can’t
see them anymore.
Over most of the globe, this self-inflicted fading of the universe
not only denies us the beauty of the night sky, it also has broken the
chain that connects us to the ancients. And as every astronaut knows,
when your tether breaks, you lose control of your inertia. Without the
guidance and inspiration of the stars, will our science and ambition
also float aimlessly?
These are just some of the reasons that I know the stars are important.
These are also some of the reasons we, the Dark Rangers, push back
against the light.
.jpg)
.jpg)
.jpg)
