A Tale of Two Worlds
A few years ago, I ran across an interesting hypothetical illustration in an old geology book: A scientific projection of the planet Earth devoid of atmosphere and oceans. The illustration, a small black and white image of the western hemisphere showing north America and part of the southern continent was based on data available at the time. This imagined airless and waterless planet appeared almost moon-like, a lifeless orb that ironically made me think of the Gaia hypothesis: The idea that the entire planet is essentially a living entity. We know how interconnected everything is on this planet, plants, and animals, from the smallest microbes to the largest living creatures, so this hypothesis, as it turns out, is not as far-fetched as it might at first seem. I recently rediscovered that little illustration of the barren planet in my materials archive. It gave me an idea, so I enlarged it and had it printed on mylar. The illustration was originally meant to show the rocky subsurface of the Earth - not unlike the skeletal system of the human body - the armature upon which the mantle of planetary life is draped. This peculiar moon-like image also suggests the fate of Earth in the far distant future, when the sun expands into a red giant and burns off the atmosphere and evaporates the oceans, resulting in planetary death, although, most life would have perished long before this cosmic event due to intense solar radiation. Also, the surface of the sun blasted planet would not look like the illustration because plate tectonics would have reconfigured continents in ways that cannot be foreseen. My interest in this hypothetical image is not purely scientific. I began to regard this picture of a lifeless world from an aesthetic viewpoint, as a once living thing, not only with a life span, but also, more importantly, as a kind of organism, susceptible like all organisms to disease. If so, the planet today is running a high fever, a fever produced largely by carbon emissions. I came to realize that I also needed a current image of the planet; a contrasting image of a living world, one that appeared healthy. Other than perhaps large wildfires and intense storms, the effects of climate change today are mostly invisible from space. Of course, if climate change continues unabated the world might look very different from space a hundred years from now. If we make the necessary changes and begin to seriously address the consequences of our reckless behavior, we might still change the outcome. For the living planet I chose a well-known image showing the African continent, the birthplace of our species; a reminder of our origin and close connection to the natural world: A living, breathing Earth, a jewel in the cosmos, a vibrant organism that is our privilege to inhabit. This artwork is, then, a tale of two worlds: Of the living and the dead. Everything, including Earth, eventually passes away. It is inescapable, it’s called entropy. Even if we cannot halt our destructive course regarding the health of the planet, Earth will recover with or without us, the choice is ours. If our course remains largely unchanged and the planet’s fever eventually extinguishes most life forms, new life will probably reemerge, as it has over the long history of the planet, and we will take our place in the record of stone. PJF
A few years ago, I ran across an interesting hypothetical illustration in an old geology book: A scientific projection of the planet Earth devoid of atmosphere and oceans. The illustration, a small black and white image of the western hemisphere showing north America and part of the southern continent was based on data available at the time. This imagined airless and waterless planet appeared almost moon-like, a lifeless orb that ironically made me think of the Gaia hypothesis: The idea that the entire planet is essentially a living entity. We know how interconnected everything is on this planet, plants, and animals, from the smallest microbes to the largest living creatures, so this hypothesis, as it turns out, is not as far-fetched as it might at first seem. I recently rediscovered that little illustration of the barren planet in my materials archive. It gave me an idea, so I enlarged it and had it printed on mylar. The illustration was originally meant to show the rocky subsurface of the Earth - not unlike the skeletal system of the human body - the armature upon which the mantle of planetary life is draped. This peculiar moon-like image also suggests the fate of Earth in the far distant future, when the sun expands into a red giant and burns off the atmosphere and evaporates the oceans, resulting in planetary death, although, most life would have perished long before this cosmic event due to intense solar radiation. Also, the surface of the sun blasted planet would not look like the illustration because plate tectonics would have reconfigured continents in ways that cannot be foreseen. My interest in this hypothetical image is not purely scientific. I began to regard this picture of a lifeless world from an aesthetic viewpoint, as a once living thing, not only with a life span, but also, more importantly, as a kind of organism, susceptible like all organisms to disease. If so, the planet today is running a high fever, a fever produced largely by carbon emissions. I came to realize that I also needed a current image of the planet; a contrasting image of a living world, one that appeared healthy. Other than perhaps large wildfires and intense storms, the effects of climate change today are mostly invisible from space. Of course, if climate change continues unabated the world might look very different from space a hundred years from now. If we make the necessary changes and begin to seriously address the consequences of our reckless behavior, we might still change the outcome. For the living planet I chose a well-known image showing the African continent, the birthplace of our species; a reminder of our origin and close connection to the natural world: A living, breathing Earth, a jewel in the cosmos, a vibrant organism that is our privilege to inhabit. This artwork is, then, a tale of two worlds: Of the living and the dead. Everything, including Earth, eventually passes away. It is inescapable, it’s called entropy. Even if we cannot halt our destructive course regarding the health of the planet, Earth will recover with or without us, the choice is ours. If our course remains largely unchanged and the planet’s fever eventually extinguishes most life forms, new life will probably reemerge, as it has over the long history of the planet, and we will take our place in the record of stone. PJF