I
liked the television series “Cosmos” when it first came
out. I didn’t realize how intent it was on replacing faith in
God with scientism. I mean, the Ship of the Imagination was way
clumsier than how God could see all of that: instantaneously, at any
scale, and with perfect understanding.
Even
so, the program’s leading edge special effects, epic music with
just the right mix of newfangled synthesizer and classical, plus Carl
Sagan’s poetic wording inspired wonder and awe at “everything
there is, or was, or ever will be.” It was the best sci-fi on
TV, except it wasn’t fiction.
The
new Cosmos reboot doesn't live up to Sagan’s original. The
music is canned and the CGI is cliché and low quality. The
writing that isn't Sagan's falls a bit flat. And the subtle scientism
is now a secular sledgehammer suggesting that we can’t
appreciate the wonders of the universe until we let go of our
primitive dogma.
It’s
as if some profit-mongering corporation were trying to capitalize off
of Sagan’s work while supporting someone's anti-religion
agenda. Oh... right.
One
of the things that both versions stress is that we are rather
insignificant in the bigger scheme of things. We are not special.
They wrongly assume that one of the reasons religious people believe
in God and a creation is because they want to feel special. This may
be part of the experience for some people, but for others it’s
not an issue at all.
So
what if we are made of the same stuff as everything else.
The
nitrogen in our DNA, the calcium in our teeth, the iron in our blood,
the carbon in our apple pies were made in the interiors of collapsing
stars. We are made of starstuff. — Carl Sagan, “Cosmos”
I
love that quote. I may frame it someday and hang it on my wall. But
Sagan is hardly the first person to voice such words.
The
president of the Royal Astronomical Society of Canada in 1918 had a
slightly different spin to it:
It
is true that a first thoughtful glimpse of the immeasurable universe
is liable rather to discourage us with a sense of our own
insignificance. But astronomy is wholesome even in this, and helps to
clear the way to a realization that as our bodies are an integral
part of the great physical universe, so through them are manifested
laws and forces that take rank with the highest manifestation of
Cosmic Being.
Thus
we come to see that if our bodies are made of star-stuff
— and there is nothing else, says the spectroscope, to make
them of — the loftier qualities of our being are just as
necessarily constituents of that universal substance out of which are
made whatever gods there be.
We
are made of universal and divine ingredients, and the study of the
stars will not let us escape a wholesome and final knowledge of the
fact. — Albert Durrant Watson
We
are made of star stuff: "the dust of the earth which moveth
hither and thither, to the dividing asunder, at the command of our
great and everlasting God." Helaman 12:8
(That
whole second chapter in Helaman is pretty humbling and awesome.)
Now,
what do you think was meant by the “dust of the earth”?
Is it bits of ground up rock, particles of dead skin and other
organic debris? This stuff would have been the smallest particles
visible to ancient unaided eyes. They would have been familiar with
growing things in the dust and things decomposing into dust. At that
level it makes perfect sense.
But
it also makes perfect sense at the scale we can discern in these
modern times. The smallest particles we know, those tiniest building
blocks of all creation are subatomic.
Subatomic
particles combine (in the hearts or deaths of stars, no less) to
create atoms, the basic elements from which everything in the world
is formed, including the molecular machinations of life.
The
dust is beautiful.
Organs
are made out of tissues, which are made out of cells, which are made
out of cell parts like the cell membrane, the nucleus with its DNA,
ribosomes and mitochondria. But what were those organelles made out
of?
I
vividly remember the day my high school biology teacher passed out
packets in preparation for the unit on cells. On top was a sheet
showing the structure of the cell membrane.
That
was the day I fell in love with biology. Finally, I was seeing what
life looked like at the molecular level. Until then, there’d
always been that gap between atoms and molecules and cells.
We've
all heard the phrase "like oil and water" and we've all
experienced how badly they mix. No matter how much we try to whisk
that oil (or butter if we’re feeling dangerous) into the milk
when making pancakes, it always separates itself into tiny, then
larger and larger golden globules.
This
happens because oil molecules are non-polar while water molecules are
polar — that is, they have a negative charge on one side and a
positive charge on the other, giving it poles like a magnet, or the
Earth. All oil and fat molecules (lipids) have no such “poles,”
making them water phobic.
The
molecules that make up cell membranes are really big. So big, that
they can have one part of the molecule that has poles, and the other
part that doesn’t. Cell membranes are made from phospholipids
that are just that kind of molecule.
The
phospholipid molecule has the “phospho” head part that
likes to mix with water because it’s somewhat polar. Then the
molecule has two long lipid tails that “hate” water. A
bunch of these molecules arrange themselves so that they’re in
a double layer, with all the lipid tails directed inward and the
phospho heads in a layer on the outside.
This
is one of the most amazing things. I wish there were more science
shows delving into the deep smallness of life.
This
membrane lets smaller molecules like water and salts in and out all
by themselves, but for larger molecules like proteins, other
molecular gateways are imbedded into it.
The
simplicity and adaptability of the cell membrane has always struck me
with wonder. All life depends on this ability to be protected from
the environment around it while being able to give and take exactly
what it needs from that environment.
And
that all depends on how electrons and protons interact with each
other, which depends on the basic forces of nature, which depend on
the will of God.
The
cosmos and its planets, the mountains, the rocks and the dirt and the
tiniest quantum grains are all the stuff of God, divine dust that
obeys without question, without deviation no matter how long ago the
command was given. That is what we are made of.
Ami Chopine started out her mortal existence as a single cell. That cell divided into a collection
of cells that cooperated enough to do such things as eat, crawl, walk and eventually read a lot
and do grownuppy things.
When she was seven years old, hanging upside down on the monkey bars, she decided she
wanted to be a scientist when she grew up. Even though she studied molecular biology at the
University of Utah, that didn't quite come to pass. She became a writer instead. Still, her passion
for science and honest inquiry has remained and married itself to her love of the Gospel.
Ami is married to Vladimir and together they have four amazing children -- three in college and
one in elementary school, where Ami is president of the Family School Organization. Vladimir
is the better cook, but Ami is the better baker. She also knits, gardens, stares at clouds, and sings.
She can only do three of these at the same time.
Besides two published computer graphics books and several magazine tutorials, she writes
science fiction and has a couple of short stories published. You can find her blog at
www.amichopine.com.
Ami was surprised to not be given a calling as some kind of teacher the last time she was called
into the bishop's office. She currently serves as the Young Women Secretary -- somewhat
challenging for the girl whose grandmother used to call the absentminded professor.