A STORY WORTH TELLING
“Sometimes I think we are alone in the universe, and sometimes I think we’re not. In either case, the idea is quite staggering.”
— Arthur C. Clarke
Mount Pleasant High School classmate and friend Dick Zachary noted his struggle last week to comprehend how much “6 trillion times several billion” might be.
I agree. I don’t recall Mount Pleasant High equipping us with math skills to solve that equation.
Calculating the cost of a Frito pie at the Tiger Den across the street … maybe.
Dick’s bewilderment was triggered by a newspaper article he shared on his social media. I didn’t see a source, but a portion of what looked to be an Associated Press byline was visible.
The headline reported, “Sneaking a peek at distant galaxies — Data trove from European telescope previews areas of new six-year study.”
The text read, “A European space telescope launched to explore the dark universe has released a trove of new data on distant galaxies. The images and other data released Wednesday by the European Space Agency’s Euclid observatory includes a preview of three cosmic areas that the mission will study in finer detail mapping the shapes and locations of galaxies billions of light years away. A lightyear is nearly 6 trillion miles.”
And this is where Dick asked, “How do they possibly know? It blows my mind. At the speed of light, it would take around 20 years just for a light beam to reach a billion miles.”
I mention my friend’s curiosity not to imply I have an answer. Far from it. I still get crosseyed trying to figure out how the app on my phone knows where I am and where I am going and that I missed the last three turns.
And that’s in just a few miles, not 6 trillion miles in deep space.
Trying to grasp distance in space, however, does remind me of my daughter Robin and a conversation we shared on the back porch one night at our home in the Hill Country near the Medina River some three decades ago.
Robin inherited my gift of gab and thirst for knowledge, which led to some wonderful and often spirited conversations.
That and the fact that she excelled in high school debate, a skill she practiced with me as a teenager — moments I remember as if they had happened just yesterday.
“Do you ever wonder how far the sky goes?” she quizzed me one night while gazing at the stars.
“That’s easy,” I replied. “The sky, the heavens, it never ends.”
Silence.
“What do you mean … it never ends?” she responded.
“It never ends,” I repeated. “Space continues for infinity.”
Silence.
Silence was a small victory in conversations with my children — usually short-lived but a victory nonetheless.
“No wait,” she recovered. “That’s not possible. It has to end somewhere. Everything has to have a beginning and an end.”
“Not necessarily.
Space is one of them,” I said. “It has no beginning and no end.”
Silence.
“Dad, there has to be an end somewhere.”
“OK,” I proposed.
“Let’s say that you are right, that trillions and trillions of miles and light years out there is a stop sign that says, ‘The end. Space ends here. Please take an alternate route to wherever you were going.’
Something has to be on the other side of that sign. There has to be something. With space and the universe, there cannot be nothing.”
More silence.
Before she could compose a response, I added, “Let me give you something else to think about. Just as the heavens have no end, time also has no end.”
“Daaddd,” she objected with frustration in her voice.
“God created the heavens and the earth,” I said. “And God has always existed. There never was a time when there was not God. He created the heavens and the Earth. It’s all in the Bible.”
Longer silence this time.
“Do you want to know something else?”
I asked.
“No,” she replied.
“We’ve covered enough space and time for one night.”
She got up and turned toward the door. “Good night, Dad. All of this makes my brain hurt. I’m going to bed.”
So, how do they know? Maybe I can get Robin and Dick together so they can figure it out. Then they can let me know.
Goodness knows I can’t help them. I can’t even follow a GPS without missing a turn.
— Contact Aldridge at leonaldridge@gmail. com. Other Aldridge columns are archived at leonaldridge.com
