Shadows of Future Past

I love planetariums. The stars, planets, satellites, etc. plus the padded reclining seats, dark comfortable surroundings, and usually a nice soothing voice. Yes, it's great. In no time at all, I'm fast asleep! Only once, many years ago, I stayed wide awake for the whole program.

The story was so intriguing I couldn't take my usual nap! Even more remarkable, I can still recall most of the storyline and many of its details, although the author, title, and producer have long since slipped my memory. If you like I will fill you in on what I remember. Perhaps you saw the show too.

The entire program was a series of brief conversations, snippets of dialogue, between two and occasionally three characters -- different characters each time.

The first scene seemed rather conventional, normal people talking about normal things: computers, space travel, the meaning of life -- things of that sort.

Shortly, we leave their chitchat and eavesdrop on a second couple. We find that many years had passed, and here the talk isn't quite so mundane. One says to the other: "Well, one hundred and fifty isn't an uncommonly old age nowadays."

The second speaker exclaims: "You know, body replacement parts are getting so popular now, I hear they are experimenting in Russia with replacing whole bodies. The mind can live on for who knows how long. Immortality might be within our grasp someday."

Then we pan ahead to a group of travelers on holiday. Before long we find out they are living on another planet, and they are discussing how quick and easy space travel had become. The travelers speak of humans populating other solar systems, and they have realistic hopes of exploring other galaxies.

An indefinite amount of time passes, and we move on to another dialogue. A mother is telling her daughter of the inferior computers they had when she was a little girl and how much technology has improved over her lifetime.

"Now," she said, "cybernetic links can transmit signals from planet to planet in ultra light seconds. Why, we can get a complete biographical history on a potential employee from the Orion constellation within minutes. There is even talk of consolidating all of our knowledge on art and science from our three galaxies into one giant computer complex and placing it on a single planet. Isn't that exciting?"

The little girl giggles with delight.

Time goes by. We find ourselves listening to another conversation. A man of 300 plus years is speaking to another of similar age. "Do you realize," he said, "despite all of our advances in curing diseases, rejuvenating human bodies, ending hunger and poverty, and settling in who knows how many galaxies, we are still a backward species in a number of respects?"

"What do you mean?" inquired the other gentleman.

"We still don't have a clue as to the meaning of life. Why we are here? What is our purpose?"

"Perhaps the computer could solve that problem."

"Oh, I've asked the computer those very questions almost daily over the last fifty or sixty years."

"Have you now? Well, what does it say?"

"Insufficient data. Still processing."

"Ah, that's that then. Once the computer starts working on a problem, it won't quit until it comes up with the answer."

Then we drift on to another pair of talking heads somewhere far beyond in time and space. From their conversation we learn that the computer now operates in hyperspace. It is no longer confined to a planet, a solar system, or even a galaxy. People communicate directly with it throughout the known universe.

The same type of questions are directed to the computer. "Computer, why do I exist?" "Computer, what is my purpose in life?" And, "Computer, what is the meaning of life?" The answer is now verbal and direct to the inquirer, but the answer never varies.

"Insufficient data. Still processing."

Even with all of its knowledge and information gathered over countless generations throughout the galaxies, the computer still could not calculate a satisfactory explanation. But it never ceased its review of data, always searching for the answer.

Years, centuries, and millenniums pass. We drop in on another couple, a man and a woman speaking in hush solemn tones. "Humanity," says the man in a confidential voice, "is in a crisis. Our stars are dying. You know they only last between five and twenty billion years. And no new stars are being formed. We have conquered everything in the universe. We have populated ever galaxy. We have even, for all practical purposes, conquered death. But no one can rejuvenate a dying star, and no one can create a new one."

"Then in the long run," responded the woman, "we are doomed."

"Afraid so," responded the despondent man.

"You have consulted the computer, I suppose."

"For the past one hundred years, scientists in every part of the universe have asked the computer about this problem. Regardless how we word it, the computer's answer is always the same: 'Insufficient data. Still processing.' "

The woman replied, "That is the same response it gives to the age old question about the meaning of life."

"Yes," the man said somberly. "Some questions are even beyond the computer's knowledge."

"But the computer is still working on it?"

"Sure, the computer is still working on it. That's our only hope."

We leave those two melancholy people and find ourselves overhearing yet another conversation. One person of uncertain age and sex is telling another, "Over half of the star systems have collapsed, and the future is bleak. Our greatest scientists work continuously at the problem of creating new stars. But I don't think they are anywhere near a solution. Besides that, the computer doesn't seem to be able to solve the problem either."

"Be patient; we will get our answer."

Again we fade out and in, this time on a solitary figure sitting atop a rather small hill in a desolate environment. We soon find out that this individual is conversing with the computer, now called the Galactic Operations Data computer. He speaks with controlled emotion. "Computer, I am the last man alive on the last livable planet circling a rapidly decaying star. Tell me computer, can new stars be formed?"

"Insufficient data. Still processing."

"What is my purpose here?"

"Insufficient data. Still processing."

"What will come of humanity?"

"Insufficient data. Still processing."

The last star of the universe implodes and with it goes the last living member of the human race. Only the Galactic Operations Data computer is left. Since it operates in hyperspace, it needs nothing to sustain it.

All prior questions, save three have been answered. Now this vast complex
bastion of knowledge turns its full resources to resolving the final three queries: "Can stars be formed?" What is the meaning of life?" and, "What is the future of humanity?"

In the cold, black, timeless recesses of space, this sole survivor of former civilizations worked on without sleep, without rest, and without fatigue. Immense quantities of information from every corner of the universe were stored within its memory banks. The Galactic Operations Data computer reviewed, dissected, compared, analyzed, reconfigured, and reviewed the data again and again and again. The process went on and on for an immeasurable period. Finally the computer too ceased its operation.

Then G.O.D. said, "LET THERE BE LIGHT."

About The Author-- Jerry Boone, Gatlinburg, Tennessee, United States webmaster@merechristianity.us Mr. Boone is a sailor, author, and webmaster http://merechristiainty.us. His works include: Mere Christianity.us an investigation into the claims of both Christianity and atheism includes sections on evolution, creation, prophecies, the Gospels, the resurrection, the Protestant Reformation, and the Restoration of the church; and SAFETY LINE - EVIDENCE OF THINGS NOT SEEN, an apologetic study published 1998.

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