A short note this morning on humanity in the cosmos. In the above image, an outstanding French photographer managed to capture what otherwise would have whipped by in the blink of an eye.
For an instant on May 22nd, the International Space Station (ISS) and the docked Atlantis orbiter (space shuttle) moved between Earth and the Sun as they screamed past at colossal orbital speed (16,500 miles per hour). Rapid photography, meticulous planning, and much skill managed to catch the fleeting moment.
(The ISS and shuttle are visible to the left of the Sun’s center, with the station’s long pairs of solar panels bracketing the shuttle on the left-hand side, its nose angled away.)
My point in posting this morning, aside from sharing the epic “gee-whiz” factor implicit in this photograph, is to try and bring home something about scale, the cosmos, and our place in it.
While looking at the awe-inspiring photo, try to realize that the point of view of the photo -the Earth’s surface- is nearly 250 miles away from the ISS, but the Sun’s backdrop is a full 93 million miles behind it.
Think about that for a moment. Another way of looking at it is that the ISS is nearly 360 feet wide. The sun behind it is 4,567,200,000 feet wide, (or 865,000 miles in width, more than 100 Earths across.) How big is that? How far away does that have to be?
-That’s like holding out a matchbox car at arm’s length in California and having it be dwarfed by something sitting in Russia.
When looking at the photo and realizing this immense reality of scale, the ISS’s cosmic ranking starts to come into perspective. Even considering that the ISS is likely the most ambitious international effort ever attempted, (and by logical extension, arguably humanity’s most collectively ambitious project to date,) it is still clearly just the beginning of humanity’s toe-hold on the rest of the cosmos.
Space is big. You just won’t believe how vastly, hugely, mind-bogglingly big it is. (Thanks, Douglas…) Ahem..
But seriously, maybe by looking at images like the above transit image by Theirry Legault and forcing your brain to accept what it knows to be true – that the station and all of its habitable space (roughly comparable to a 3,000 square-foot house) is just a speck, our entire Earth could be swallowed whole by the Sun without it even noticing, and our Sun is just a mediocre star amongst billions of burning brothers in the cosmos – we’ll all come to realize that we should really start moving out into the rest of the universe… just for safety’s sake.
We’re obviously really significant to ourselves. Yet, to 99.999% of the rest of the universe, we haven’t even gotten into little league. Metaphorically, no one knows we exist yet, and minor league players out there like asteroids and comets, (not to mention major league events like nearby supernovas,) can still easily wipe us out.
So, if we want a shot at winning the world series someday, (interpret the cosmic meaning of this increasingly threadbare analogy as you will,) we’d better start playing ball.
Chronicles of an Atomic Astrowright 