rerun: 'world heritage'
2003-10-02
"We shall not cease from explorationAnd the end of all our exploringWill be to arrive where we startedAnd know the place for the first time."
-T.S. Eliot, "Little Gidding"
Nighttime in Adelaide. The sound of a passing train echoes in the darkness outside. A metal ghost, passengerless, it reaches the end of the line at 11:30 pm. A deafening quiet follows its metallic clacking and screeching, bringing forth the afterglow of thought, resounding in the early winter stillness.
No doubt the stars can be seen tonight, beyond my shuttered window. The southern sky glitters outside; sequins of silver woven into the eternal vacuum. I think how that stark tapestry might appear to me in other, far away places: the northern skies, gaudy with stars and constellations never seen here; the lurid tropical sky at twilight, wrapped in golden gossamer; ashen skies; cornflower skies; the colours of the earth as seen from the sky itself.
Yet, these are all but disparate, eclectic versions of the same sky; the same thin, membranous wisp of atmosphere that enshrines this ball of rock. It is strange how the world grows progressively smaller in our minds as we become older. I can hold a globe of the entire earth in my hands and spin it, conjuring the adventurous spirit of childhood, where even trees were worlds to explore. But I can also regard that globe with a knowing eye, and see how small and lonely it is, harbouring an oasis of life in a desert of non-existence.
Whatever the brand and form of my existence upon this spinning oasis might yet take; however much occasion and circumstance might sometimes make things less than pleasant, I will keep in focus that image of this unlikely planet, orbiting in a galaxy, perhaps even an entire universe – as far as any of us know – that is otherwise devoid of life. I should think then of how lucky we all are – plants, fungi, animals, cyanobacteria – just to be here. Lottery lucky.
People look to the farthest reaches of space for the possibility of other, sentient life. We send out probes and capsules in the hope of making a connection in the intergalactic lonely-hearts club. We regard that impossibly vast, unknown expanse beyond our own planetary backyard as we once, not so long ago, regarded the vast, unknown blank spaces on our earthly maps.
It is difficult to believe, on the balance of probabilities, that there couldn’t be ‘something else out there’, waiting to listen to our reverberating, searching messages. But then again, on that same balance of probabilities, it could be just as plausible that we are alone, that this one little sphere of life is unique – the only planet ever to, or continuing to, support life. If that notion were true, then this, all of this, is truly as good as it gets.
We search for meaning. We probe the vacuum of space for answers and affirmation. We dream of far-off planets and galaxies as we once dreamt of distant, unexplored oceans and continents. We also fear that unknown, like we once sketched elaborate, mythical beasts on the horizon of the known. But so, too, do we idealise it, imagining that we, the humble, naďve and unknowing primates, will have our answers served by wiser, god-like entities. Always though, the drive is the same: to conquer, to venture, to uncover the truth and pencil tactile lines upon the once empty spaces of our maps.
Why do we do this? I can only guess. Meaning. Knowledge. Discovery. But also power. Exploitation. Gain. We are driven towards defining the topography of our existence, so that we can better use it to our advantage. The detailed map gives direction and context to the traveller. A blank space breeds only fear and the reflexive need to abate it.
That, maybe, is part of why we search. Another part is the need for relationships, new life forms to know and understand. Just as we have always made contact with others for support, affirmation and protection, so do we now seek ultimate contact on a map which has grown from small, intimate regions, to the sketching of whole continents, to, finally, the imaging of the solar system and projections of our galaxy and other galactic neighbours. Our planet has grown smaller, but at the same time, our universe has become the next expanse of the unknown.
Whatever answers may or may not come to us in the decades and centuries of the future, I know now that we are, each and every one of us, inordinately, exquisitely lucky to even be here – to be squishy, squirmy, living things. There may be other life ‘out there’, benign or malignant. Then again, there may only be dead civilisations or a lifeless void. Whatever it is, we will continue to search for it. But what always should linger in our minds as we probe the unknown expanses, is the knowledge that, no matter what we find, ensuring the wellbeing of the rock we call home, and improving the relationship we have with ourselves, is the most important bit of information we will ever receive – and we already have that knowledge right before us.
