This question on Quora brought back some good memories of starry nights and wondering what the universe was all about. Here is my reply:
I’m glad this question includes the phrase, “according to modern astronomy.” It places the question squarely in the realm of contemporary thought rather than the consideration of mystical planetary alignments. That’s not to say all thought about stars and the universe must be based on science. My first thoughts on an answer blew off the dust of two lines from Hamlet that captured beautifully Shakespeare’s ability to incorporate distant space into the philosophies of his characters:
“Doubt thou the stars are fire, Doubt that the sun doth move,. Doubt truth to be a liar, But never doubt I love.” Hamlet, in a letter to Ophelia
“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” Hamlet to Horatio
But bringing the question up to the 21st century, I’d have to say the answer is a definite yes, there are philosophical implications to our connections to the stars.
One of humanity’s most common questions, couched, I think, in the fear of the ultimate loneliness, is “Are we alone?” We don’t just seek a practical answer; we seek to place ourselves—our civilization such as it has become—in a grand scheme where we—as humans and as humanity—matter beyond our current earthly bonds. Robert Browning addresses that question in his poetic tribute to the Renaissance painter, Andrea del Sarto: “Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp, Or what's a heaven for?”
Through the sciences of astronomy, cosmology, and astrophysics, we know we are star dust. We know our body’s chemistry would not be possible without the vast clouds of supernova dust generated millions, if not billions of light years distant that coalesced into the sun, the planets and their moons, and all the elements necessary for life. But to know we are star dust is to also examine the very “why” of our existence—not the religious “why” for this answer, but the “why us?” philosophical question. To paraphrase Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca,
“Of all the gin joints in all the corners in all of space, star dust walked into mine.”
When I lie on my back at night in a field far away from city lights, and I stare into the depths of space, I cannot help but wonder, with all we have learned so far about the stars, what have we really learned about ourselves? If astronomers can measure the tiny wobble of a distant star and conclude that around it are other planets affecting its motion, then how can we not put ourselves to the tasks of learning more about the tiny wobbles of our planet’s neediest populations whose lives affect our motions as members of civilized society? My own philosophy on the subject would be weaker had I not considered astronomical discoveries that refined my local world view.
When cosmologists can run the video of the universe back to its beginning, hit “play,” and watch as all that is to become the stuff of our existence—galaxies, stars, planets, living things—burst forth from an almost infinitesimally small seed, how can our earlier, earth- and self-centric philosophies possibly withstand the force of such information? It seems to me that one would have to be incredibly arrogant to not want to embrace a new way of thinking about who and where we are.
Our sun, an average star, in an average galactic neighborhood, is burning hotter every second as it uses up its stellar fuel. It will, as astronomers tell us, meet the fate of similar suns, and grow large and consume the inner solar system—in four or five billion years. Because science has informed us, reliably, of that ultimate fiery end—even though we will have by then abandoned Earth (or simply eliminated ourselves)—our philosophy about our future in the scheme of things needs adjusting to consider that the universe has long-term changes in store, and we may well not be in the plan.
We are asked to adjust our perceptions of the measurements of place in time—now accepted as space-time—which are subject to interpretation by different observers. Simultaneity is a thing of the past; just because you and I observe the same event does not mean the event happened at the same time for each of us. Work on that one. Our former philosophies, rooted in the three dimensions of terra firma since our ancestors became sapient, now must adjust to the reality that when we look into space, all we see is the past…the way things were…not the way things are. “Twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder where you were?” There is no there there anymore—it’s now somewhere over there, or it is no longer, though its light continues to arrive.
And then there are the truly weird and almost incomprehensible concepts of dark matter, dark energy, an expanding and accelerating universe. Astronomers, astrophysicists, and cosmologists generally agree that even for them these are intriguing subjects of which they have barely scratched the surface (if there is any surface to scratch).
How do we view our lives in light of all that is being unveiled by modern astronomy? I believe the philosophical implications are clear. Some core philosophies will hold—but I believe what we are learning from astronomers is that in our isolation on this lovely, but tiny boat, we should examine our philosophies about our interactions with our fellow passengers. Astronomy’s lesson is stark: we may be surrounded by hundreds of billions of galaxies filled with numbers of stars and planets too great to count, but we are, for all intents and purposes, very much alone. A philosophy to help us accept that truth and improve the conditions of all the passengers on our small blue vessel would be most welcome.
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