Everyone eventually takes a shot at answering Fermi’s question, but we haven’t tackled it yet at our humble blog. It’s time to remedy that defect. Our answer: It’s evolution!
Look at it this way — we’re a new species in an old universe. Some of the intelligent creatures out there have been around for millions, perhaps billions of years. It’s likely that they’ve made some improvements.
For example, being fresh from the steaming cauldron of evolution, we’re mostly comprised of primitive parts. Consider our torsos. They’re mostly filled with guts! From the mouth down to the other end, we’re almost all guts. Think about it — your colon is probably the largest internal organ you’ve got. Are you proud? Well, maybe it’s not the colon; perhaps it’s your liver — yuk!
Internally, we live in symbiosis with billions of bacteria that help us digest our food. It works, usually, but it’s really quite crude. An advanced species would almost certainly dump the whole messy business and opt for replaceable power packs. Then they could use the freed-up internal space for other purposes.
Consider how we speak. We use our mouths — organs evolved for sucking and chewing. Yes, we make a lot of neat sounds by flapping and clicking our membranes, all of it powered by exhalations, but a simple radio speaker can do far better. Allegorically speaking, we’re still yodeling in the mountains while the aliens are using iPhones.
A few obvious improvements would make an incredible change in us — power packs, computer chips, that sort of thing. No food, no intestinal disorders, no forgetfulness, no dementia. We’d still want to be human — especially the way we reproduce — but we could be much improved. It’s virtually a certainty that the aliens have already taken that route, and we think that’s the key to the Fermi paradox.
Compared to Humanity 2.0, which our posterity will probably be in the not-to-distant future, we’re — let’s be candid here — we’re rather disgusting right now. And if our descendants will see us that way, imagine how we’d appear from an alien’s point of view.
For example, if they had sense organs that could see and smell what’s really going on, they’d be aware that each of us is surrounded by a pungent cloud of decaying dandruff as we constantly shed dead skin cells. And that’s just the start of it.
This whole planet is probably revolting to aliens. What we might see as a pleasant stroll through the meadow, with dandelions and butterflies and such, to them would be a hideous experience of being surrounded by air swirling with bacteria, fungi, and pollen, walking on top-soil composed of centuries of decayed organic waste, and everywhere would be the stench of dead ants — you get the picture.
We’ve evolved to live in this mess, but the aliens haven’t. Whatever evolution they went through was long ago, and they’ve undoubtedly made lots of changes since then. If they learned about our recent appearance on our pretty little planet, although we think we’re wonderful, it’s doubtful that they’ll appreciate us nearly as much as we do.
So we think that’s why they’re staying away — they think we’re grotesque, like any newly-evolved species. They’re waiting for us to grow up and make a few improvements. If the world is ever ruled by creationists (who think we’re wonderfully created as we are), then there won’t be any changes; and there won’t be any alien visits either. We’ll be the bumpkins of the universe, isolated forever.
Until we take charge of our future evolution, don’t expect any alien landings. If there’s any alien contact at all, it’s going to be limited to long-distance conference calls. Very long distance.
What about abductions and probes? No way! That’s the last thing they’d want to do. Sorry to disappoint you.
See also: Charles Krauthammer and the Fermi Paradox.
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