The Pale Blue Dot and Human (In)significance

This sermon was given on Sunday, 1 March, 2015, by Stephen Merino.

There are two reasons I’m giving this sermon today: my dog and Netflix. I started listening to podcasts on my twice-daily walks with our dog a few months ago, and Radiolab quickly became a favorite. It’s a popular science-oriented podcast that is accessible, earnest, curious, and often moving. Even spiritual, as I understand spirituality in my own way. What about Netflix? Well, we missed Cosmos reboot narrated by the wonderful Neil deGrasse Tyson when it aired last year, and we were thrilled to discover that it’s available on Netflix’s streaming service. We’re almost done with the series, and have enjoyed watching it together as a family. Often jaw-dropping and inspiring, Cosmos explores the history of science and questions about earth and its place in the universe. There’s something about both that make them, at times, unsettling. I love this about science. How curiosity and the search for truth – for explanations – can be unsettling.

So I’ve had science on the mind, and what it has taught us about our place in the cosmos. But it’s not like I’ve had some big epiphany. After all, I haven’t learned a whole lot that I didn’t already know. But you know how the same ideas can affect you differently at different times in your life. So what I’ve been thinking about is how this enterprise we call science has gradually dislodged humans from the center of, well, everything, and humbled us in the process, forcing us to confront new realities. And we’re often slow – quite slow – to confront those realities.

Why were we ever at the center of things? Our seemingly superior intelligence and complexity surely made our ancestors feel that they had some purpose on this planet. Our ability to find and recognize patterns, coupled with our need for meaning and purpose, led those ancestors to find meaning in the stars. And to tell stories of where we came from. Stories of gods. And creations. We seemed to be at the center of the universe. Everything seemed to revolve around us. But as Carl Sagan so wonderfully put, “We have not been given the lead in the cosmic drama. Perhaps someone else, perhaps no one else has. In either case, we have good reason for humility.”

Scientist Dave Pruett writes that, “The back-to-back punches thrown by Copernicus and Darwin disfigured the human face in the mirror of self-perception. The message from science runs counter that of religion, which proclaims our divine origins and special status. It is like having two parents, one who underscores our uniqueness and the other our commonness. Whom should we believe?”

Of course, we used to literally think that everything revolved around us. Ptolemy’s geocentric view of the cosmos lasted until Copernicus argued that the Earth and other planets revolve around the Sun. It took more evidence, of course, which was furthered by Galileo’s telescope and others who would come along. But this was a huge revelation that brought the ire of the Church. Again, from Dave Pruett, ““Of all discoveries and opinions,” Goethe observed, “none may have exerted a greater effect on the human spirit than the doctrine of Copernicus.” Why? Einstein appreciated that Copernicanism “… was … the severest shock [our] interpretation of the cosmos ever received [because] it reduced the world to a mere province … instead of it being the capitol and center.”

In his book Pale Blue Dot, Carl Sagan writes of a “series of Great Demotions, downlifting experiences, demonstrations of our apparent insignificance, wounds that science has, in its search for Galileo’s facts, delivered to human pride.” The next Great Demotion was our realization that our Sun isn’t even at the center of the universe, but is rather thirty thousand light years from the center of our galaxy, the Milky Way. Other demotions would come. Our galaxy is, of course, one of billions. Then, of course, we began to further see our insignificance. We have been on this earth, 4.5 billion years young, for but a brief moment. And that our universe is nearly 14 billion years old. In the series Cosmos, Neil deGrasse Tyson often stands on a graphic presentation of the Cosmic Calendar, which condenses the 13.8 billion year lifetime of the Universe into a single year. Our Sun didn’t come along until the last day of August. It wasn’t until late September that life appeared on earth. Mammals? The day after Christmas. Primates come along on December 30. Hominids on the last day of the year, well into the afternoon. The first humans show up, but pretty late to the New Year’s party. Just an hour and a half before the end of the year. The first dynasty of Egypt appears with twelve seconds to go. The Roman Empire with just five seconds to go. Modern science and technology? The American Revolution? The World Wars? The moon landing? All in the final second of the year.

But we were placed on earth in that final second for some great cause! Created for a special purpose! Charles Darwin, of course, showed how one species can evolve into another by entirely natural processes. We are latecomers, evolved from other life on earth, and very intimately (and genetically) related to all other life on earth. The earliest documented members of the genus Homo are Homo habilis, which evolved around 2.3 million years ago; the earliest species for which there is positive evidence of use of stone tools. We now know that anatomically modern humans evolved from archaic Homo sapiens about 200,000 years ago. But even before that, Darwin sensed that this revelation would not be well received, when in response to a review of his Descent of Man he wrote, “I shall soon be viewed as the most despicable of men.”

On February 14, 1990, the Voyager 1 space probe took a photograph from a record distance of about 3.7 billion miles from earth. In the picture, Earth’s apparent size is less than a pixel. A tiny dot in the vastness of space. Carl Sagan’s 1994 book Pale Blue Dot: A Vision of the Human Future in Space is named after the photograph. In it, he writes:

From this distant vantage point, the Earth might not seem of any particular interest. But for us, it's different. Consider again that dot. That's here. That's home. That's us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every "superstar," every "supreme leader," every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there – on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.

The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that in glory and triumph they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of this pixel on the scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner. How frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds. Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the universe, are challenged by this point of pale light. Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. In our obscurity – in all this vastness – there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves.

The Earth is the only world known, so far, to harbor life. There is nowhere else, at least in the near future, to which our species could migrate. Visit, yes. Settle, not yet. Like it or not, for the moment, the Earth is where we make our stand. It has been said that astronomy is a humbling and character-building experience. There is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another and to preserve and cherish the pale blue dot, the only home we've ever known.

Yet, our narrow-mindedness, our lack of proper perspective – it runs deep. We’re slow learners. I recently listened to a Radiolab episode the story of a skull. A famous skull found in Tanug in South Africa in 1920s. Europeans digging mines at the time opened up cave and found what looked like bones. It appeared to be a child’s skull, but smaller than human skull. The foramen magnum at the bottom, which meant that creature walked upright. A “link” between the apes and us. A man named Raymond Dart published his findings, but they were rejected by European scientists, because Africa was thought to be “backwards.” Our human origins must be in Europe! The Piltdown Man already found in England, was thought to be missing link. This started a long debate among scientists. The idea that only 2 million years ago our ancestors had smaller brains was disturbing to many. But more fossils started popping up in Africa. Scientists found increasingly that the Piltdown Man was an anomaly. He was different. And, a fraud, it turns out. This 2.2 million year old child helped prove that our origins are in Africa. On that pale blue dot, people who should know better were reluctant to accept the evidence, because it was it found on the wrong part of that dot, and because it unsettled their ideas about what it meant to be human.

In a fascinating (and delicious) twist, there ended up being considerable debate over how did the child died. It was originally thought that she must have been murdered by other a community member or enemy of the group. Or by a large cat. But based on careful analysis of the skull, it was discovered that an eagle or large bird probably killed the child!

We’re still slow learners. Last fall, a documentary called The Principle was released. The film questions the Copernican principle, the assumption that neither the earth nor the Sun are in a central, specially favored position in the universe, and seems to promote geocentrism. And, of course, we live in an age when we ask each other whether we “believe in evolution.” According to a 2013 Pew Research Center survey, a third of American adults believe that “humans have existed in their present form since the beginning of time.” A quarter of adults believe that “a supreme being guided the evolution of living things for the purpose of creating humans and other life in the form it exists today.” So very deep runs our need for meaning! For purpose! For meaning and purpose at which we are the center. I find this human feature to be incredibly wonderful, but worry sometimes that it all too often divides us into inward-looking collections of humans called religions, races, and nations. And that it makes us slow to see the pale blue dot.

I believe that we cannot fully grasp, confront, and solve the problems that we face as a species without fully grasping our place in the cosmos. Without seeing ourselves the way that Voyager 1 saw us in that famous photograph. Without realizing that we’ve just showed up in the final seconds of the Cosmic Calendar. Our Unitarian Universalist faith, I hope, can help get us there. Seeing that pale blue dot, of course, makes us realize how precious we are. And how interdependent we are as passengers on this “blue boat home.” In the Fall 2014 issue of UU World, James Ishmael Ford calls himself a “First and Seventh Principle preacher.” He writes, 

We need both principles, the dynamic of the one and the many, to fully ground our message. That older call of individual liberty was a deep and true insight. But it is missing something. The Seventh Principle calls to the wisdom that is in our very hearts about how and why the individual is precious. The knowledge that we are completely woven out of each other and the cosmos itself in a living song of intimacy is where we find our completeness. We find within this insight of “I” and “We” an ethic for our individual lives, we find guidance for how we gather together as people, and we see how we need to relate to the planet from which we take our being. We understand it as the perennial story sung around ancient campfires, the heart of Jesus’s message, the Buddha’s word, the teachings of sages of the Advaita Vedanta, as well as the truth constantly revealed by scientific inquiry.

I think that all of us, in our great variety, need to engage it from the traditions that inform our lives separately within this great spiritual cooperative that is our contemporary Unitarian Universalism. We need to look at the many facets of this wisdom jewel. We need Jewish and Christian interpretations. We need earth-centered and rationalist humanist interpretations. We need Buddhist interpretations.

It is my hope that we can learn to be more grateful for the precious gift that is life, while rejecting views of our place in the universe that are too comforting and too short-sighted. As Sagan suggests, “If we crave some cosmic purpose, then let us find ourselves a worthy goal.”

I'll close with one more quote from Carl Sagan, "Every one of us is, in the cosmic perspective precious. If a human disagrees with you, let him live. In a hundred billion galaxies you will not find another...."

 

Ragnarok and the Death of Reason

This sermon was presented on Sunday, 1 February, by Ashley Hummel

Reading 1:

On Communication—unattributed

May our minds work together to find mutual understanding.
May I see you true and be seen in kind.
May our words reveal more than they obscure.
Most of all, may our minds, eyes, and tongues be guided by our hearts,
And the language far older than words.

Reading 2:  

From Myth and Knowing

The myths of Northern Europe reflect a universe in which the

physical environment often threatens human survival. Consequently, Norse

myths are populated with evil giants and monsters that heroes—both

divine and mortal—challenge in combat.

The Norse gods share the same unalterable fate that mortals do. When

Ragnarok, the last great battle, occurs, famous human warriors will fight alongside

the gods against the giants. Nevertheless, the gods will be defeated by the

giants. Odin, ruler of the gods, knows their destiny is defeat, but he can do nothing

to change it.

The Norse creation myth introduces the major concept of the conflict

between the forces of good and the forces of evil. The myth describes the destiny

of the universe from its creation to the destruction and inevitable death of the

gods and mortals.

  
Sermon: Ragnarok and the Death of Reason

First, I should explain some things about modern Heathenry and Norse religion.

The Norse had a religion based on an oral tradition of stories. To our knowledge, all of the texts about the gods and heroes weren’t written down until after the Christian Conquest. The two Eddas, the most comprehensive collections of Norse mythology, were compiled by a Christian Monk named Snorri Sturlson in order to preserve what the thought were wonderful stories. I tell you this story today with the caveat that it may have been embellished or altered by a Christian monk many thousands of years ago.

Modern Heathenry is based around a set of recurring themes found in the Eddas, which again are Norse stories compiled by a Christian monk. The Nine Noble Virtues of modern Heathenry weren’t codified until the 1970s, by two men who wanted to unify and essentially, “religionize” the diverse group of already practicing Heathens. Honestly, I think they wanted to make an official church to gain legal standing and probably some tax benefits. Today, Heathenry is so organized that it is officially recognized by the US army, and their common icon, Mjolnir, is permitted on military grave stones in Arlington cemetery. Even with this haphazard beginning, there is value in the Nine Noble Virtues. The men who created them did sort-of a content analysis of ancient texts, found the recurring themes, then concluded that those themes were the central virtues of Teutonic tribal life. It’s almost scientific!

The Nine Noble Virtues are:

1.       Courage

2.       Truth

3.       Honor

4.       Fidelity

5.       Discipline

6.       Hospitality

7.       Industriousness

8.       Self-reliance

9.       Preseverance

                                                                                                                                                                                     

We are, of course, looking through the lens of hindsight, which can be dangerous in religions based on prophetic wisdom. It is important, when interpreting ancient or holy texts, to look at the words from an historic perspective, not from our current scientific understanding or modern world-view.

That being said, what I present to you today is something I consider a fundamental truth; one that is central to my own eclectic spirituality. Friggasweb.org has an explanation of the Nine Noble Virtues for kids, and I particularly like this bit on truth:

Probably the most important thing to know about practicing truth is that not everyone agrees about what is true. Sometimes things that seem to contradict each other can both be true. There is a story about a group of blind men who “looked” at an elephant and then argued about whether an elephant was like a snake, a wall, or a tree, or a vine. Each one had an idea that was true (the elephant’s trunk, body, leg, and tail), but none of them had the whole picture. If you really believe something is true, you don’t have to make other people agree with you. You are only responsible for yourself. Maybe the people you disagree with know something you don’t. Maybe they aren’t ready to see what you do. Good friends can “agree to disagree” on lots of things without having to quit being friends.

In the interest of truth, this is my complete disclaimer for today: this sermon is simply about a powerful lesson I learned from some Pagan stories that were preserved by a Christian monk. I believe the lesson is the truth.

But before the lesson, the story, abridged a bit for time (adapted from a mythology textbook):

The Death of Balder

Balder was the son of Odin and Frigg. He was the favorite of everyone among the gods because he was so good. He was the best of the gods, the wisest, kindest, and most gentle of them all. Purity and virtue surrounded him, and he shone with a special radiance.

One day, Balder the Good approached the assembled gods and said, “Last night I hade a dreadful dream! I dreamed I was in Niflheim, the land of the dead, and Hel herself embraced me. My dream terrifies me, for it shows that I shall die very soon!”

The gods were horrified at the thought that their beloved Balder would die. They decided to search the world for whatever could possibly endanger Balder’s life and to remove any threat. They were certain that they would be able to prevent his death. Frigg, Balder’s mother, volunteered to take this great task upon herself.

She traveled from one end of the world to the other. She approached every plant and every animal, every bird and every serpent, every metal and every stone, every illness and every poison, every drop of water, every speck of earth, and every spark of fire. She made each in turn swear a sacred oath that it would do nothing to harm Balder. They were happy to do as Frigg asked, because they too loved Balder.

Once the gods knew that Balder was safe, they enjoyed testing his invulnerability. Some would throw darts at him, some would throw stones, and others would strike him with metal weapons. Balder’s eyes would sparkle, and he would grin and announce, “Try again! I did not even feel that!”

Loki watched Balder’s invulnerability and hated him for it. He disguised himself as an old woman and visited Frigg for a chat. Loki told her, “Woman to woman, I thought you should know that some of the gods have gathered an assembly to throw things at one of their own. He is such a wonderful god, it would be a shame if something bad happened. Maybe you should go down there and do something about their foolishness!”

Frigg explained why she wasn’t worried, but Loki, trickster that he is, got the information he came for. Frigg did not ask a little mistletoe bush to swear the sacred oath, because it seemed too small and innocent to harm anybody. Loki left Frigg and went in search of the mistletoe bush. When he found it, he stripped a branch and sharpened it to a fine point.

When he returned, the gods were still amusing themselves with Balder, all except one. Hoder, Balder’s blind brother, was standing apart, looking forlorn. Loki asked why he was not also throwing things at Balder.

“Because I cannot see where he is,” Hoder replied. “And besides, I have nothing to throw.”

Lokie exclaimed, “You should be able to honor your brother as the other gods do! Allow me to help you. I have here this twig, and guide your arm with my own.”

Hoder took the twig of mistletoe and, letting Loki guide his arm, threw the twig at his brother. The twig went right through Balder’s heart, and he fell to the ground, dead.

The gods were so stunned that they did not even try to lift Balder. A few noticed Loki walking quickly towards the door and knew who was to blame. They wept, but one wept more than the others. Not only had Odin lost his beloved son, but he knew that the death of Balder was the first in a series of events that would end in the destruction of their race.

Balder’s funeral was the greatest ever seen, and his funeral ship was loaded with each of the gods’ most treasured possessions.

Frigg asked which of the gods would win her gratitude by riding to Niflheim and negotiating Balder’s release with Hel, Loki’s daughter and ruler of the land of the dead. Hermod the Bold, another of Balder’s brothers, took on the task.

…

After a great journey, Hermod arrived in Niflheim and spent the evening with Baldur. In the morning he said to Hel, “My name is Hermod, and I have come from the home of the gods to ask if you will let me take my brother, Balder, back to Asgard. The hearts of the gods are filled with grief at his death, so great is their love for him. Frigg promises you a fitting wergild in exchange for Balder’s life.”

Hel replied, “I shall release Balder only if you can meet one condition. You must prove to me that he is so loved that everyone and everything in the world, both alive and dead, will weep for him. If one thing objects to his return or refuses to weep for him, then Balder must remain with me in my kingdom.

Hermod was certain this condition would be met, remembering that all things had sworn an oath of loyalty to protect Balder’s life. Before he left, Balder gave Hermod the treasures from his funeral pyre, asking him to return the gifts to the gods as a token of his love.

When Hermod returned to Asgard, the gods sent messengers to each corner of the world requesting that all things, living and dead, weep for Balder’s return.  Every plant and animal wept, every bird and serpent wept, every metal and rock wept, every illness and poison wept, every drop of water, every speck of earth, every spark of fire wept. All things wept as though they had been covered with a frost and suddenly exposed to the hot rays of the sun.

The messengers were returning to Asgard, quite pleased with their success, when they came upon a giantess in a cave who refused to weep. The giantess was, of course, Loki in disguise.

When the gods heard what had happened, they knew who was responsible, and hunted down Loki to punish him. When they found him, he was hiding at the bottom of a waterfall in the form of a fish. Their vengeance was brutal, and lasted until the final battle of Ragnarok, when Loki broke free and fought on the side of evil.

The entire world came to an end with Ragnarok. Gods and giants killed each other. Raging flames destroyed anything the earthquakes had left untouched. The earth became a wasteland, and in time a great flood covered it.

At the dawn of the new age, the earth rose from the sea, fresh, fertile, and green. Balder left the kingdom of the dead to rule over the new age, one hoped to be better than the last.

Now for the lesson:

What strikes me so about the Norse stories is that the gods can die. Not only that, but the gods know that they will die in the final battle. They accept this fate and continue to be good gods. They are able to experience joy and happiness. They don’t mind that they will die, because to go down fighting evil is better than being evil. We can all agree that’s the honorable thing. It’s better to take a punishment for doing what is right than it is to live a life indifferent to wrongdoing.

You are probably familiar with some of the gods in this story. Odin, the All-Father, ruler of all the gods, his wife Frigg is sort of like Hera from Greek mythology. Frigg sees the future, but doesn’t tell anyone. Thor we all know from the comics, cartoons, and films. Thor is best known for symbolizing strength, but his other principle skill is endurance. Thor can endure tremendous amounts of pain without flinching. Balder is less well known, but in the stories he is equal in importance to Thor. He is symbolic of wisdom and kindness. He loves poetry and music. Here is our first lesson: strength is well and good, but it must be tempered with wisdom and gentleness. There is a reason everyone loves Balder the most. Loki is also well known from comics and movies. He is a trickster, a fiend, and not even really a god! Loki lives among the gods because, for some unknown reason, Odin swore an oath of brotherhood with him. He is the one who always gets the gods into trouble, and, to his credit, he usually gets them out of it, though not without prompting. Loki is vice and jealousy.

Looking at this story purely as a metaphor, we see that it is our human flaws, our vices, our jealousies, our petty hurts, that destroy our virtues and damage our world.  When Hermod visits Balder in Niflheim, Balder does not ask Hermod to avenge his death. Instead, he sends the gods’ treasures back with a message of love. It is as if the wrongdoing doesn’t matter. Loki, on the other hand, holds out in his jealousy and maliciousness, and in the end he is the one who suffers for it.

What we learn from this story is everything dies but love and kindness.

When wisdom falls from our lives, we resort to strength alone, and destroy ourselves in the process. History is riddled with examples of this,the fall Rome being the first that comes to mind.

Scholars consider Balder a fertility god, even though he isn’t responsible for any fertility-related human activies, pregnancy, childbirth, or even planting and harvest. He is just good. Balder, to me, represents a different kind of fertility: hope.

Hope that even when people seem the most destructive, wisdom will re-emerge and help us to flourish.

Hope that even when we fail, when we rely only on strength, when we are unreasonable, or when we make careless and harmful mistakes, that it is not the end. We can do better, we can be better, when we return to wisdom and kindness. We are redeemable, even after we have been at our worst.