Knowing Everything: Is It Possible?

Mike Bodnar ponders why it is that we humans seem destined to discover things incrementally, rather than gaining full knowledge of everything in a blinding flash...

Telephone Bell
(Image: AI)

"Mr. Watson! Come here, I want to see you!" demanded Alexander Graham Bell in 1876. Watson, in another room of the Boston house, clearly heard Bell's command at the receiving end of the 'liquid transmitter' and did as he was bid, hastening to his side. Thus was born the telephone, along with - some time later - scam callers from Mumbai telling you that your PC is faulty.

Fun fact: one of three brothers, Alexander Bell was the only one of them who hadn't been given a middle name at birth by his parents. So he lobbied for one, and guess what his eleventh birthday present was? Yup: a 'Graham.' "Here darling, happy birthday!"

Happy 11th Birthday Alex! (Image: AI)

Frivolity aside, the road to inventing - and then further developing - the telephone was one of step-by-step achievement, until finally, at the end of the first quarter of the twenty-first century, we all carry one around with us in our pockets. It took just over a hundred years for the phone to go from crude liquid transmitter to mobile, but why didn't it happen much sooner?

Science Is To Blame. Partly.

Because science. Because brain power. Because someone, something, somewhere, has decreed that we are not allowed to know everything too soon. How's that for a conspiracy theory?

If you believe in creationism, you'll believe that the world was created by God somewhere between six thousand and ten thousand years ago, in which case you and I will never be friends. To trust that premise, you have to ignore scientific discoveries showing the evolution of humans over hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of years - ignoring dinosaurs completely - and put your faith in an omnipresent supernatural being. And, in the interests of inclusivity, that's okay. I guess.

A confusion of beliefs drowning
under a sea of conflict...

But - and it's a big but - if God did actually create the world in six days, with a day off for R&R - why didn't he just give us all the knowledge of everything at the same time? Why did we have to learn that when we're naughty it would piss him off to the extent that he would initiate major climate change and flood the whole world? Answers on a postcard please, to anywhere but me.

Why, also, did it take a further few thousand years to be able to see the moon, planets and stars through a telescope? Why was it almost three centuries between Sir John Harington inventing a flushing water cistern and Thomas Crapper popularising the flushing toilet? How come it took almost two thousand years to go from simple fireworks to rockets that could take us to the moon? And why do we still not know if there are aliens somewhere in the universe?

You get my drift. Cancer, male pattern baldness, osteoporosis, Alzheimer's, Donald Trump - there is a multitude of problems in the world that still need solving. Or maybe eliminating is a better word, given how that short list concludes.

Yay! Cancer cells under attack. Image: science.org

There are, of course, encouraging signs in many areas; cancer survival rates have improved, there are ongoing trials with disease-modifying drugs for Alzheimer's patients. Even baldies have some hope with recent advances in treatment, but in all these cases there is still some distance to go before they're solved. 

That's not to say there haven't been some game-changers in the past; X-rays, lasers, and microchips are all examples of 'ah-ha!' moments, and who could forget Alexander Fleming and his grotty petri dishes resulting in penicillin? (Fun fact: Alexander Fleming never received a middle name either, and was never given one as a birthday or Christmas pressie). But even penicillin didn't cure everything. Nothing has, and probably nothing will. It's unlikely there is such a thing as a universal panacea. Which leads us to...

Big Words and Deep Thoughts

So, stand by for some big words to explain why we don't know more than we already do, and why Big G didn't endow us with universal knowledge from Day One. In short (spoiler alert), we don't have the smarts to cope with such revelation.

Let's start with epistemological barriers, a phrase which you can drop into the conversation at your next dinner party and amaze your friends. Or lose them. In a nutshell, epistemological barriers

Cerebral overload.
Image: Posters.cz

are modes of thinking that resist new direction of thought. This could be summed up as: if you always do what you've always done, then you'll always get what you always got. That is, no progress. Sometimes our own ignorance, or stubbornness of thought, gets in the way.

Horvath, Fernandes & Idiart, in a 2023 research paper, address the issue of why we can't understand the entire universe, and point to barriers such as the cosmological horizon, and event horizons; we just don't have the smarts or the technology to look beyond these limits, and potentially never will.

Human brains evolved for survival, not cosmic comprehension, claim Boudry, Vlerick & Edis (2020). However, on the plus side they also suggest that mathematics, certain instruments, and distributed cognition (many minds make light work) can leverage greater understanding, so all is not lost.

David Sameen says, in his article here, that evolution itself would want to limit our reality. It's an excellent article and well worth a read. Other research supports the notion that human brains just don't have the capacity to solve all problems or understand everything, and that science is open-ended and can never be complete.

I believe that's probably true, and maybe God understood that from Day One, which is why Adam and Eve didn't just sit in the Garden of Eden and go, "Ah, so that's what it's all about! And by the way Eve, d'you realise we're naked?"

Gödel, and his Theorem of Incompleteness
Image: Instagram

If you really want to impress your friends, ask their opinions on Gödelian limits, then go and pour yourself another wine while they get on their phones, or start thumping each other.

In a nutshell again: Gödelian limits prove that any consistent mathematical system capable of basic arithmetic is inherently limited, because it will always contain true statements that it cannot prove using its own rules.

Which means, basically, that answering a question only raises more questions, and so ad infinitum. 

So We Will Never Know Everything?

Ah, good question! Can we just agree on: No, we can't? Nah, let's not, because that's no fun.

What if - and this is a big if - but think outside the square for a moment and leap over that epistemological barrier like an Olympic hurdler - what if mankind transcends its own physical and cerebral limitations, and ultimately becomes a different type of being altogether? What if, for example, we became pure thought?

Image: New York Times

No wait, come back! A couple of years ago my wife gave me the book Homo Deus, by Yuval Noah Harari, which delves into a potential future for mankind where we integrate with AI, biotech and genetic engineering to become something more 'super.' It made for interesting reading, but didn't quite go far enough, IMHO.

My theory is that yes, everything Harari predicts will happen, and that we will embrace and integrate with data, but I suggest we will evolve further, to the extent that we have no need of corporeal flesh at all, and that ultimately we will all connect (Borgs, take note) as a mind-hive, as pure thought. At that point, we can leave earth and think our way around the universe, discovering everything, comprehending everything, without hinderance or limit. 

The only thing we won't have discarded, however, is the question that we've always faced, from when we first crawled out of the primordial slime or swung down from the trees, and that is: what's next? 

We, as humans, are built to be inquisitive, to improve, to explore, to understand. If we become pure thought, and we know everything, what's left? What would our next challenge be?

Well, here's a thought: maybe we could create a new race for example, in our own image. Wait, where have I heard that before?

The Meteoric Rise of Space Misinformation

 Mike Bodnar highlights why some media science is just astronomically wrong... 

As you can see from the headline of my opening image, someone has captured brilliant photos of Comet Leonard 'streaking' through the night sky. 

And sure, it really does look like it's hurtling through space, what with that long elegant tail streaming out and all. 

But I have to disabuse you of something: comets don't streak, at least not in our skies. They move infinitesimally, incrementally, night after night. (Unless, of course, you're watching Don't Look Up, in which case it's time to kiss your ass goodbye)

Sure, up in space they really are hurtling; Leonard's a fast kinda guy - barrelling along at an estimated 158,084 miles per hour (254,412 km/h or 70.67 km/second), but due to the vast distance between us and Len, we don't see that speed here on Earth. 

Imagine you're in an aircraft at 35,000 feet looking down on a desert highway below. You can see a vehicle. It doesn't appear to be moving, well maybe not much. But now imagine you're a hitch-hiker standing on the side of that same road. The car approaches and suddenly zooms past you, doing, let's say, 90 miles per hour. Whoa, that's fast! It just blew the cardboard hitch-hiking sign out of your hand! And they didn't stop! 

Unfortunately, the media tends to use words like 'streak,' 'zoom,' and 'shoot' when referring to comets, which - for those who've perhaps never seen a comet before - raises expectations of some sort of spectacle where the celestial object is going to put on a display you'd expect to see at a fireworks event.

Don't get me wrong - comets can definitely be spectacular, but we've had only nine significant comets - that is, comets visible to the naked eye during daytime - in the past 300 years or so. 

Comet McNaught. Image: Mike Bodnar

One of the more recent was Comet McNaught, named after the Australian astronomer who discovered it, and which could be seen in 2007. 

Visible mainly from the southern hemisphere, some reported they saw it in daylight, but from where I was at the time - in Wellington, New Zealand - it required a keen eye and a dark sky without light pollution just after sunset to see it at all. But I did, just - see the pic and play Spot the Comet.

Which brings us to one of astronomy's biggest enemies: light pollution. Too many journalists rave that a comet 'can be seen' in a particular part of the sky without mentioning that if you live in a city you're unlikely to see anything at all due to light pollution. Some comets are so faint you need truly dark skies, such as those in Northumbria, a designated 'dark sky area,' to see anything.

And before we leave comets, may I just touch on the tail? A comet's tail develops more as it gets closer to the sun, due to the sun's influence on the actual comet which is an icy ball of rock and dust. The tail doesn't so much streak behind the comet as demonstrate which way it's oriented. That is, the tail will always face away from the sun regardless of the comet's direction of travel, because the ice and dust being burned off streams out away from it. So it's not, for example, the same as a boat's wake in the water, which will always be behind the boat and away from the boat's direction of travel.

No. Just no.

So even when a comet has passed the sun it's tail will still point away from it. Therefore, not only is a comet's tail nothing to do with its streaking, hurtling speed, it means you will likely best see a comet either just after sunset or just before sunrise. Unless of course it's one of those once-in-a-lifetime big buggers.

Now let's come to meteors. More specifically of course, meteors come to us, but once again the media rave about meteor showers putting on a 'spectacular display,' or that they will be 'stunning.'

Before we get into why some of that hype is only partially true, let's look at the media image here, which announces that a 'stunning' meteor shower is to take place over the UK.

Firstly, the image the tabloid has used does not show meteors; it shows star trails captured in a time lapse by a camera. Never will you see this with the naked eye because we as humans don't have the ability to slow down time and observe it thus.

Don't get me wrong - it's a lovely picture, but the picture editor has been lazy and chosen something that they think looks 'stunning,' and, in their ignorance, they have once again skewed readers' expectations of what they might see.

A meteor caught on camera. Image: iNews

Meteors are basically bits of space rock that burn up as they enter Earth's atmosphere. Unlike comets they really do streak, sometimes so fast that if you blink you'll miss them. 

There are two main categories of meteors (sometimes called shooting stars): we have random meteors, which arrive unexpectedly and take us by surprise, and meteor showers, which are predictable.

Meteor showers are predictable because Earth's orbit, which is also predictable, passes through various known fields of rocky space debris as it goes around the sun, but the term 'showers' itself raises expectations.

A really good meteor shower could mean that, in a nice dark sky location with no clouds, you might see on average 50 meteors an hour, obviously an average of just under one per minute. But you're most unlikely to see a whole heap of them burn up in the atmosphere at the same time like fireworks.

Seeing 50 in an hour is, in astronomy-speak, truly stunning, but to the everyday non-astronomical bystander it's almost yawn territory, and in this day and age of short attention spans, many people want spectacular or stunning to mean that they can look at the sky for five minutes with a glass of Sancerre in their hands and be amazed at the spectacle above them.

So when the media rants about how spectacular a meteor display will be, take it with a grain of salt. Also check the weather forecast, make sure you're prepared to travel to a dark sky location, and take a comfortable folding chair, a flask of coffee, warm clothing, and lots of patience. Look up and enjoy.

The spectacular Arizona Crater formed by a large meteor impact.
Remains of the meteorite can be seen in the crater's information centre. Image: Mike Bodnar

Before we leave meteors, a couple of clarifications. Firstly, when people talk about having had a meteoric rise in their careers, they're meaning it was fast. Meteors don't rise - they only fall. Secondly, when a meteor burns up completely in the atmosphere it remains a meteor. If parts of it fall to earth then they become meteorites. Just saying.

Asteroids meanwhile are rocks in space. They're a bit like comets except with little or no ice and less dust. They're the stuff of disaster movies, and famously one has been found guilty of wiping out the dinosaurs and a large portion of other life on Earth when it entered our atmosphere and struck the planet 65 million years ago.

We're all going to f***ing die!

Advances in astronomy and detection technology in recent years mean that we now know of many many asteroids, and scientists maintain vigil over their orbits and paths, especially in relation to Earth. Most pose no threat whatsoever, but in recent years the media has thrilled to the concept of an asteroid having a close encounter with Earth, using phrases such as, 'Near Miss,' Brush with Extinction,' and, last November, 'Concerning asteroid will break into Earth's orbit in a week.' Quick, duck!!!

The story originated in a tabloid and was quickly picked up by other organs for its shock-horror value. The accompanying video began with, 'A giant asteroid is heading towards Earth.' Well, if you were just a headline reader you'd be running screaming for the hills, or walking through a park a la Jennifer Lawrence in Don't Look Up telling everyone, 'You're all going to f***ing die!'

You have to read further into the article to learn that not only was the asteroid not heading for Earth, it would be about 10 times as far away as the moon at its closest approach and poses no threat whatsoever. But a headline that says, 'No Threat Posed By Asteroid' doesn't grab readers. Or terrify them. Or sell newspapers.

Oh dear.
Image: Getty Images, as used by the NY Post

And note that the headline says the rock would '...break into Earth's orbit.' Forgive me, but many people would read that and assume it meant Earth's atmosphere, which, if it were true, certainly would require Jennifer Lawrence to comment. 

A good analogy would be: you're in your car and you join the M25 ring road around London at a point in the south. At the same time a petrol tanker crosses the same motorway in the north on an overpass. You are, if you like, briefly on the same orbit around London, but the chances of you crashing into that tanker and dying horribly in a roaring inferno are pretty much zero.

In short, you are more likely to suffer ill health and mental issues reading tabloid hype than you are of dying in an extinction event caused by an asteroid.

Finally, let's turn our metaphorical telescopes to the moon and the hype that's been promulgated by the media about our nearest celestial neighbour.

I'm not talking about NASA's or billionaires' plans to send people there or build lunar colonies; I'm talking about the hype surrounding all the different names given to the full moon every time one comes around, which is approximately monthly.

Lunar eclipse, or Blood Moon.
Image: Mike Bodnar

You've heard them: there's the wolf moon, the blue moon, the blood moon, the pink moon and
so on. Bollocks. In the end, the only one that will look any different would be a 'blood' moon, which actually just refers to the red colour it turns during a full lunar eclipse when the Earth's shadow passes across it, which is a rare event. All the others are names drawn from myth and legend, or, like the harvest moon, the seasons. The full moon, for the most part, whatever it's named, will just look like it always does.

That said, never pass up an opportunity to look at the moon and marvel at our nearest neighbour. Use binoculars to see craters, and the so-called 'seas,' or use a telescope for even more detail. Avoid doing this during a full moon because the whole surface is lit up uniformly by the sun; far better to view it when it's a crescent, or a half moon, when you can marvel at the craters in relief along the sunlit edge.

So, my advice about all things celestial is: don't believe all the media hype, but do always look up when you get the chance. Marvel at the night sky, not at the media headlines.