WHY DO WE WANT TO BELIEVE IN ALIENS?

Do you believe in UFOs? Little green men? The flying saucer crash at Roswell?

You scoff and say, “Hallucinations! Mass hysteria! Cheap drugs!”

Even if you do believe, you probably don’t admit it to just anyone, content to watch reruns of The X-Files in private. Yet it’s perfectly acceptable to be a supporter of the SETI project—the Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence—in hopes that scientists will discover irrefutable signs of alien life elsewhere in the galaxy with intelligence like our own or greater. I can’t say why one belief is more creditable than the other, but the bigger question is: why do we humans feel such a strong need to believe that there is other intelligent life in the universe? Are we so disenchanted with our billions of fellow Earth dwellers that we hope beings from elsewhere will be better company? (Don’t get me started on the subject of rush hour drivers.)

The concept of non-human intelligent beings probably goes back to the beginnings of our own consciousness. Gods, demi-gods, angels and demons, plus any number of supernatural entities have populated human thought since the earliest of times. Sightings of Unidentified Flying Objects have been recorded for thousands of years too, including an account of “fiery discs” in the sky over Egypt in 1440 BC, a molten silver object shaped like a wine jar that descended into the middle of an ancient Roman battle, and shields that spat fire andswooped over the army of Alexander the Great. Long before Roswell came stories of a chaotic battle of multi-coloured discs and globes in the skies over Nuremberg, Germany in 1561, and something similar over Basel, Switzerland a few years later, with both events depicted in woodcuttings. There were reports of alien spaceship crashes and attempted abductions as early as the 1890’s. I’m not sure about the first accounts of people being “probed” by aliens—they sound more like stories concocted to keep teenagers away from Lovers Lane. But UFO reports were so numerous in the U.S. in the mid-20th century that the American government felt compelled to order its military to investigate, most notably with the U.S. Air Force’s Project Blue Book from 1952 – 1968 (which concluded that there was no evidence UFOs were extraterrestrial vehicles—but what do they know?)

It’s probably safe to say that the very first self-aware ancestors of ours looked up at the night sky and wondered if those sparkling points of light were alive. As the idea gained acceptance that the stars were actually other suns like ours, we were compelled to wonder if those suns also had planets, and if those planets had borne children. If they had, and if those children happened to be older and smarter than us, would they someday come to visit? Was it inevitable that they would?

We have to remember that the belief in otherworldly beings far pre-dates any scientific support. It’s only in recent years that our space telescopes and other instruments have produced solid evidence that other stars do have planets, and although some of the planets appear to be close enough to their suns to support the kind of life we’d recognize, there’s no data to confirm that such life exists. Worse, in spite of decades of dedicated searching, there’s been no sign of advanced civilization anywhere beyond the Earth—no froth of radio noise, no TV shows, no electromagnetic shouts of “Is anybody out there?”

Why do we still believe? Why did we ever believe?

Maybe it’s because we just want new friends. We are social animals, after all—refreshing new company might be nice. Or maybe it’s our species’ burning curiosity—we have hopes that an older, more advanced culture might have the answers to questions of science, medicine, and philosophy that have so far eluded us. Perhaps even the meaning of life itself! It could also be that some inner part of us recognizes the need for a mentor—a parent or teacher figure—who can lead us past the pitfalls and blind alleys as we make our way out into the universe. Or it could simply be that, in the same way we can’t truly comprehend non-existence (like death with no afterlife), neither can we comprehend a whole vast universe with no other beings like us.

Science fiction writers thrive on “what if” scenarios: imagining the possible consequences of different histories, geographies, social structures, and technological developments. Real alien species would provide rich fuel for all that inquisitiveness. But the truth is, it would just be so damn cool to meet an actual alien from another planet, green-skinned or not.

Just as long as they leave their probes at home.

COULD YOU LEAVE EARTH BEHIND?

When I was growing up every kid wanted to be an astronaut. I did too, and not just a ten-day-mission astronaut but a guy who worked full-time in space like the heroes of my favourite SF classics. Maybe on a five-year mission to boldly go…or even to jump on a giant colony ship to be a pioneer in a new star system. Cool! Except I always knew there was one big roadblock that stood in my way (beyond my lack of brains, brawn, courage, and training, of course).

I’d miss the natural Earth way too much. I’m kind of an outdoors guy. Not the hunting and fishing kind so much (as a scuba diver, I enjoy watching them more than catching them), but I love to camp in the bush, go canoeing or hiking, and even when I’m home I go for a daily walk outside our town in the fields and hills. I like the outdoors—I need the outdoors. I don’t think I could stand to be cooped up in a tin can, no matter what the size, or under a dome on the Moon. Or anywhere I couldn’t step outside and feel sunshine and a fresh breeze on my face. Even here on Earth we can be susceptible to “cabin fever” when we’re confined inside. Much as I envied the Star Trek gang, I always felt sorry for the ninety-nine per cent of the crew who never got to join an away team and visit the latest planet. Even if they did, it wouldn’t be Earth. No smell of green grass, trill of bird song, or rustle of the wind through trees.

I love trees. I try to surround myself with them every chance I get. Not much room for trees on a spaceship, though. And who knows what would pass for trees on some other planet? But what about Star Trek holosuites, you ask—a computer simulation of almost any environment? Impressive, but not good enough.

Scientific brain trusts try to solve space travel problems like shielding the crew from cosmic rays, reducing the harmful health effects of zero gravity, ensuring the psychological balance of crewmates to keep them from driving each other crazy. But what about the lack of trees?

I saw an article this week about how the Japanese government has been promoting nature appreciation since the early 80’s for the sake of people’s health. In Japan they call it “forest bathing”—going out in the woods for some peace and quiet for stress relief. But, more than that, a variety of natural oils from trees and other plants, collectively called phytoncide, seems to give a boost to the human immune system. That kind of thing shouldn’t really be a surprise, given our evolutionary history. There have been concerns for some time that we humans, especially children, suffer adverse health effects when they aren’t exposed to the natural world. Researcher Richard Louv coined the term “nature deficit disorder”. No, it’s not officially recognized as a medical disorder, but maybe it soon will be as we continue to keep ourselves locked up in glass towers and brick boxes, surrounded by concrete and asphalt.

So what if we were to leave our natural world entirely and confine ourselves to completely artificial environments for months or years?

There have been experiments to study what happens to humans in closed environments, but mostly, as with the Arizona research facility Biosphere 2, they included miniature ecologies—mini rainforests and savannahs, for instance—as well as people. And the results so far haven’t been all that encouraging. Even so, I do think that we’ll need to take Earth ecologies with us somehow for long-term stays in space. I just don’t think that the human animal could stand spending years at a time in a domed outpost on the Moon or Mars, say, without getting a pathological compulsion to get outside and take a breath of air (a very unhealthy impulse in those circumstances!) But if we can take along some good rich soil, fragrant wildflowers, pungent cedars and pine trees, and blossoming berry bushes, not to mention the birds and the bees…we might be all right.

Personally, I still don’t think I could ever leave the Earth for very long, but for some people, taking a piece of Earth along with them might just be enough.