Life in different corners of the universe

 

Arun Kumar

Have you ever wondered why, despite Captain Kirk’s relentless voyages into the farthest reaches of the universe — driven by the iconic call to go where no one has gone before — he so often encounters life forms that feel oddly familiar? Beyond the obvious explanation that each episode springs from the imagination of screenwriters, whose creativity is inevitably shaped by their own human experiences, might there be a deeper, more fundamental reason behind the recurring outcomes of Kirk’s adventures?

The answer, quite possibly, is yes.

What follows is a straightforward, axiomatic account of how life might arise across disparate regions of the universe — and why, despite vast cosmic diversity, it may still be bound to a biological paradigm strikingly similar to the one we know on Earth, and the one Captain Kirk encounters time and again.

While you read through it, please remember that although I have some background in physics, and would not venture into the realm of absurd speculations, try not to split hairs at the “physics” statements below. If it is more palatable, take these words as science fiction (that my immediate family loves to read) that is grounded in some reality of physical laws as we know them now.

Since it is an axiomatic approach, let us start with a few axioms (with less being better).

Axiom 1: Atoms are the constructing blocks for everything in the universe.

Axiom 2: The Big Bang happened and created a uniform soup of matter (i.e., atoms) and energy.

Starting with a uniform distribution of matter, random fluctuations in its density would result in lumpiness in some parts of the nascent universe, and those lumps subsequently evolved into stars and galaxies we observe today.

All stars, at their core, are engaged in thermonuclear fusion which is “necessary” to counteract the inward gravitational pressure of surrounding gas of atoms, and in the process, release energy. If they do not then the gaseous cloud will compress inwards and implode to become black holes or some other super dense object.

This energy from thermonuclear fusion heats up the core of the stars. This heat conducts outwards towards the surface, warms up the outer layers and is radiated into the space as photons.

The spectral density of the energy that is radiated outward depends on the temperature of the outer layer of the star (which is determined by the size of the star and how actively thermonuclear fusion has to work to counter the inward pressure of the surrounding gas) and the elemental structure of the outer layers (which dominated by the first element in the periodic table — hydrogen).

The photons coming out of the stars traveling through the empty space are the source of energy that is available for consumption and is the energy that reaches the planets that circle around the stars.

Although planets are also made up of the same atoms as their host star, planets are not the producers of energy via thermonuclear fusion but are consumers of the energy that falls on their surface.

With the availability of the star’s energy, atoms interact and engage in an intricate dance. Some have the affinity to bond with others and form simple molecules, which over time, form into more and more complicated molecules.

Eons pass by and the structure of molecules keeps getting complicated. A few more eons later some of the molecules, by chance, figure out that with the help of each other they can self-replicate. By doing so, they start the epic battle of natural selection — evolving structures that are more efficient in consuming the energy that is available to anyone for utilization.

And then the rest is history, bringing us to the point where I am in the process of putting these words together that you might be reading.

The energy available to these life forms originates from the radiation emitted by the star in their vicinity. The spectral density and peak wavelength — defined as the wavelength at which the emitted energy is maximized — are determined by the star’s atomic composition and its size.

The hottest stars have the peak wavelength in the ultraviolet and blue parts of the spectrum while cooler stars emit more in the red and infrared. The peak wavelength of the Sun’s emitted radiation is in the visible part of the spectrum and falls in the yellow-green region, and corresponds to a yellowish color.

The progression from atoms to simple molecules to more complex, and eventually to emergence of self-replicating molecules from which all life evolved fundamentally depends on the fact that stars are the source of energy, the peak wavelength of which falls between ultraviolet and infrared. All activity that happens on the surface of the planet circling the star evolves according to the spectral characteristics of the accompanying star.

Beginning with the axiom that atoms are the fundamental constituents of everything in the universe, we recognize that — following the Big Bang — the inevitability of random fluctuations gives rise to galaxies, stars, and planets. Embedded within this cosmic unfolding is another inevitability: the emergence of life forms. And with it, a constraint — that these life forms, regardless of where they arise, are likely to follow a similar biological paradigm. This is because…

…because the spectral density of stellar radiation is governed by physical laws, life throughout the universe is constrained by the energy available from stars with broadly similar spectral profiles. This shared constraint shapes the biochemical possibilities for life, nudging it toward familiar paradigms as on the Earth— regardless of where it emerges.

No wonder, whether it is Klingons or some other friend or a foe, Captain Kirk keeps encountering similar biological forms as us.

Ciao.

If I lived on Venus

 

If I lived on Venus
that turns slowly
on its belly
and where each day is
243 Earth days,

would I wonder

about the meaning
of the moments in between
dawn and dusk,
the same way
as I do
living on this
fast turning Earth?

Flavors of endings

 Arun Kumar

In the darkness of the movie theater, the protagonist of the movie I was watching accomplished what he had set out to do, and now, the credits are rolling up on the screen. I think every movie I have watched the credits start from the bottom of the screen and move upward to the top. I have never seen or recall them moving from top to bottom. Wonder why that is?

Until the movie ended everyone focused on watching the movie but the instant it ended, and credits started to roll, individuals in the audience reacted in different ways. Some got up immediately wanting to leave the theater as soon as possible, as if saying that now the show is over, I am out of here to the next thing on my list that is waiting to be tended, or conquered, or enjoyed.

Then there are a few others who just stay in their seats. It is not that they are watching the credits intently. More likely, they are just lost in some thoughts, perhaps thinking about something in the movie that did not make sense. How come, they wonder, bad guys in the movie who were so stupid, survived all odds of not getting killed to become grown up adults (and then they get killed anyway)?

Or perhaps now that the show that occupied their attention has ended, they are just staring vacantly into the empty space not knowing what to do or where to go next.

Sitting in the theater and watching how different people acted differently when curtains came down reminded me that when things come to an end in our life, the feelings that accompany them also come in different flavors.

In the life that we live outside of the theater, endings can result in a sigh of relief, or in a sense of fear brought out by the thoughts of emptiness, or a sense of pride for job well done often accompanied with a feeling of sadness. However, if the job got botched up then a wish to jump back in time and get another chance to set things right.

Then there might be more feelings that endings can be a catalyst for that either I cannot think right now or have not experienced personally.

Among the endings the ones I find interesting are the ones that bring a sense of fear or the ones that bring a sense of sadness.

For me, an ending that generated the sense of fear, which actually was not an ending that has actually happened, was the thought of the end of work life culminating in retirement.

After a long and productive career, the thought of retirement and the prospects of time affluence after that but not knowing what to do with it, resulted in a sense of fear and anxiety. Just the thought and the prospect of the end of my career generated questions like what I am going to do afterwards, what would be my portfolio of activities that would feel engaging, how would I identify myself.

Those questions were terrifying.

That fear that accompanied the thought was an example of finistophobia; an emotion of fear generated by anticipation of an ending that could result in an emptiness afterwards. Finistophobia has the capacity to alter our choices, behavior, actions, and can also influence our well-being.

The other class of endings I find interesting are the ones that bring a feeling of sadness. These are often related to being responsible for a task and successfully bringing it to the finish line. Another feature of such endings is that the day prior to getting to the finish line is preceded by a long preparatory period of understanding various logistical details that are part of the task.

Such endings are tinged with a feeling of sadness to see something that occupied our heart and soul for a long time come to an end.

With such endings there also comes the question: what next? Where do I go next?

Such endings are something like what Clint Eastwood may feel at the end of some of his movies — a job has been done well and the town that was infested with bad elements has been cleaned up. It is now time for our warrior to ride into the sunset carrying a twinge of sadness in his heart.

The event managers may feel a similar sentiment when after the last of guests have departed, and months of prep work resulted in a flawless execution of every detail, they take in the view of an empty room left behind with floors littered with rubbish and wonder what next?

Or perhaps a similar sentiment is also felt by the project manager of the space mission making a successful landing on the surface of Mars and wondering that now that my job is done, what next?

Such endings that are enveloped in a sense of pride and a twinge of sadness should be called Clint Eastwood Endings.

Feelings associated with some other kinds of endings are obvious — endings with a sense of relief when a hurricane has passed over or when a howling episode of Santa Ana wind has ended; endings with a sense of freedom when a brutal regime is overthrown, or a toxic supervisor gets a promotion and is out of your sight.

The movie hall is almost empty now, the lights have slowly come back on, and the cleaning crew has started to pick up the trash left behind. Enough reflections about the flavors of endings. It is time for me to also leave.

Ciao.

A fun note: Below is the response from ChatGPT as to why movie credits roll from bottom to top:

Movie credits typically roll from bottom to top for historical and practical reasons. This tradition dates back to the early days of filmmaking, and while there’s no one definitive reason, several factors have contributed to this format:

1. Tradition: When films were first made, they were often displayed on a projection screen. The film reel was mounted on a projector, which would feed the film from the bottom reel to the top reel as it played. This meant that the images, including credits, were naturally oriented to scroll from bottom to top.

2. Readability: Text that scrolls from bottom to top is easier to read for many people, as it mimics the natural eye movement from the bottom of a page or screen upward. It allows viewers to more easily follow the credits as they appear.

3. Posterity: Rolling credits from bottom to top allows for a smooth and continuous display of information, making it easier to capture on film or video. It ensures that no part of the credits is missed as they move up the screen.

4. Convention: Once a convention is established in an industry, it often becomes a standard practice. As the film industry grew and developed, the bottom-to-top scrolling of credits became a convention that filmmakers and audiences alike came to expect.

While rolling credits from bottom to top is the most common practice, there are exceptions. Some films and television shows choose to roll credits in unconventional ways for artistic or stylistic reasons, such as scrolling sideways or even using unique animations.

Ultimately, the direction in which movie credits roll is a matter of convention, readability, and tradition, but it can also be a creative choice by filmmakers to set their work apart.

Sadness of Endings

 Arun Kumar

It is Friday and the last day of the five-day meeting that started on Monday.

The past four days have been long stretches of work. We are here to put together the first draft of a guidance document on operational practices for objective seasonal forecasting.

At about 3 pm, we would start to wrap things up, begin to power down our laptops, and start to gather our phones, connectors, water bottles etc. to put them back in our bags. Soon after, it would be time to say byes, shake hands, and wish each other a safe and uneventful journey back to respective homes in different corners of the world.

It is Friday, and although I am glad the week is coming to an end, there is also a twinge of sadness inside me. It is not the first time that I have had this sentiment. This feeling is familiar to my heart.

It is the sadness of the endings, particularly of the endeavors with a successful outcome that were a result of long months of planning and hard work. When it all comes to an end there is a sense of relief that is mixed with a sense of sadness.

I have been organizing and working on this task for months before our face-to-face meeting — organizing the layout of the document, thinking about what chapters, and sections in them, are going to be. Once that was done, assigning lead and backup authors, and making sure that they were aware of what is expected.

After all the hard work we all have done, at the end of today there will be a tangible document in our hand. For sure, there will be months of reviewing and editing that will follow but I do know that the task I took on has come to an end.

In this ending there is a sense of pride of a job well done, of meeting the expectations that were placed in me, of rising to the occasion and steering the boat safely into the harbor.

In this ending there is a sadness of needing to say goodbyes to coworkers. For the last few days, a small group of us huddled together at this particular point in space. Soon that group would start to disperse, and we would go our own ways to our little universes.

The space-time diagram after 3 pm would show eight different trajectories diverging. Some of these trajectories may never cross again. It is a possibility that we may not be cognizant of now but may become aware afterwards when we look back and remember that it was that afternoon in Geneva five years back when I saw Arun the very last time. I wonder what he is up to these days.

In this ending there is a sadness that carries a hint of serenity that although I do not know what is next, at this moment all is well. Right now, there is no tear in the fabric of space and time and the future holds promises for further blessings.

And perhaps, in this ending there is a subtle premonition that just like this, life itself would be ending one day. Somewhere inside there is a softness of realization that not too distant in time my show would be over. Slowly as time marches on and that realization gets more acute, I need to start gathering my belongings or start emptying my bags, say our last goodbyes, and be ready to board the very last train.

I know the feeling of this sadness would only be temporary and would not last more than an hour. After I leave this building and head back to the hotel, soon after I would start thinking about the one last walk around Lake Geneva then come back to the room and start packing. In between I also need to decide on a place for dinner.

Soon, life in the present, as always does, will take over.

Even though the feeling would not last, but in the present, its sadness holds a sweet promise of some vague eternity that could be mine. The same promise of vague eternity that some lazy summer afternoons when everything around is quiet and occasional gust of wind feels cool against the skin, hold.

Another vivid image that comes to mind is a hall after a night of a big event (perhaps a political convention, or a marriage celebration), and in the quietness of morning the floor is littered with confetti or petals of roses. Months of preparation and hard work are now over. Soon cleaning crews would be here, and for me it would be time to move on.

Or it could be just the image of Clint Eastwood riding into the sunset but not quite knowing where to.

I wonder what others around me are feeling. Do they even have a trace of feelings that are inside me? Or they just can’t wait for the meeting to end and get out of the room and be on their way while thinking about the need to look for presents to carry back home.

Do they wonder if our trajectories would intersect again, or this was it?

Ciao.