Thoughts About Existence
About the Science Behind These Ideas
This article explores complex concepts in existence and reality. For readers interested in the scientific principles that support these ideas, see the Scientific Foundations page. It provides a deeper dive into quantum observation, wave function collapse, and more.
I see the universe as more than just a collection of stars, planets, and cosmic phenomena; it’s an interconnected organism, where life isn’t just a rare accident but an essential, distributed component of its very structure. If we think about life not as something that only exists in isolated pockets, like on Earth, but as a foundational aspect of the cosmos itself, then life must exist in abundance, spread throughout galaxies, all part of a larger, almost cosmic consciousness.
I like to think of it in terms of the gut-brain axis in human biology. In our bodies, gut bacteria perform crucial functions: they help with digestion, immunity, and even influence our brain, affecting things like mood and cognition. These microbes evolved alongside us because they found a niche where conditions are right. They may not be “aware” that they’re part of a larger organism, but their actions still influence us profoundly. I think of life in the universe in a similar way. Even if each life form isn’t aware of it, just by existing, it could be contributing to the universe’s broader function, keeping reality intact simply by observing it.
Life doesn’t need to be rare; it just needs the right conditions to emerge, much like how microbes find the right conditions in the human gut. So, in this sense, the universe should be teeming with life, because for existence itself to be observed consistently across its vastness, life needs to be spread out, like an intricate network of observers all holding the universe together through shared perception.
Humanity, in this view, is like a microbe trying to understand the organism it’s part of. We look out into the cosmos, wondering what’s out there, but maybe our curiosity is actually a kind of “reaching out” to connect with the universe’s broader structure. We don’t yet understand how to communicate with it, but each discovery we make, each question we ask, is almost like a pulse we’re sending out, hoping to connect with something larger than ourselves.
In a way, we’re part of something extraordinary, where observation isn’t limited by distance—it reaches across time. When I look at the light from Andromeda, I’m not just seeing a galaxy as it is now; I’m witnessing it as it was millions of years ago. I’m glimpsing the lives of stars and possibly even ancient forms of life, preserved across time by the light that has traveled to reach me. Through this shared observation, I’m connecting with the past, indirectly interacting with something that might no longer exist but that, in being observed, becomes real again in this moment.
If every particle, every atom, comes into clearer definition through observation, then maybe life—simply by existing and perceiving—acts as a network that stabilizes reality across both space and time. Life in all its forms, scattered across galaxies, could be the web that keeps everything “intact,” like cosmic threads binding the universe together through shared awareness, extending not just between places but across ages.
We’ve started to reverse-engineer the universe, building a kind of cosmic vocabulary as we uncover the forces of gravity, electromagnetism, and all the patterns that hold reality together. By studying these forces, we’re gradually learning how the machine of the cosmos operates. In doing so, we may one day uncover patterns and processes that show an intelligence or self-sustaining structure on a massive scale, much like the way cells and organs in a body work together to maintain health and consciousness.
In this framework, life isn’t random or inconsequential. It’s as necessary as an organ in a body, a way for the universe to observe and sustain itself. Just as our brain depends on signals from the body to keep everything balanced, the universe could rely on life forms, spread across space and time, to provide the “observation” that keeps it intact. Our urge to explore might not just be a quest for resources or answers; it might be our natural response to an instinct to communicate, to connect, and to try to understand the organism we’re part of.
So, while we may not have a singular “purpose,” maybe our role in the cosmos is just as essential as any part of a complex, universal system—a system where life, observation, and existence itself are interconnected, like gears in a vast machine. And the more we learn, the more it feels like our curiosity, our desire to reach out and understand, might be humanity’s way of participating in this cosmic ecosystem. We don’t know how to speak the language of the universe yet, but we’re starting to understand its vocabulary. One day, maybe, we’ll be able to hold a conversation.