Waterhole

Time for more nerdy space poetry!

I find SETI (the search for extraterrestrial intelligence) a really fascinating subject, not only because it seeks to answer a very poignant question, but because I think the search may ultimately tell humanity more about themselves than about the beings they're trying to find out there. It's an interesting philosophical exercise.

I've read a lot of literature that runs the speculation spectrum about what ETI might be like and why, after decades of having the technological capability to theoretically detect them, we haven't found any trace of them. One line of thought that I'm not a fan of is the idea that ETI are malevolent, and we should not try to alert them to our presence or else we risk dooming our planet. Stephen Hawking was a proponent of this idea and was against sending intentional messages to ETI (hence the poem's subtitle).

But I really don't think humanity should let pessimism or fear limit us and control our actions. Collectively and individually, we do great things by dreaming big and daring big. I don't see any reason why we should stop reaching for the stars.

(At any rate, I have my serious doubts about the existence of malevolent ETI that could pose a threat to Earth on purely logical grounds. Any civilization advanced enough to be dangerous, with the ability to reach Earth worryingly quickly, would definitely possess the ability to discern that Earth has an industrial civilization on it, with or without us broadcasting our presence. If that sort of ETI existed, we should have been invaded by now.)

Waterhole; Or, A Response to Dr. Hawking’s Pessimism

It reached the Earth one summer’s day

A message from afar

One pointed source, these rhythmic pips

Beamed from a distant star

The watchers leaped; to desks they clung

And ruled out one by one

Alternatives to this new truth:

That we are not alone

The message came, this much was fact

But what did it contain?

Minds ran amok and Twitter gushed

With views of every strain

Some did believe it was a hoax

Or something gone awry

A piece of man-made orbit-junk

In transit ‘cross the sky

To some its provenance was clear

Great ships that sailed the stars

Sent hailing bursts to distant suns

Before declaring wars

Spurred by this thought, we went to work

Decoding feverishly

Our toil had purpose; the end thereof

Was our world’s fate to see

It took a month, and in that time

The planet near went mad

Philosophy was torn apart

One fact was all they had

Then came the day; fell into place

The last of our few clues

A form emerged, and none had guessed 

The text our foes did choose

It was a poem. Exquisite wrought

It told of time and space

Of peace between the galaxies

Of beauty and of grace

The praise of angels, some did say

A greeting sent to friends

This message from a far-off star

A better way portends

A hush fell on the blogosphere

All guesses, then, were wrong

What once we took as cosmic threat

Was really heavenly song.