MIKEL J. WISLER

Of Gods and Galaxies

by Mikel J. Wisler

He knew he was the last person who should have been chatting with an alien intelligence. And yet, that’s exactly where he’d wound up. Now sitting in the silent conference room, and facing this group of people, Jonathan Gillman wished he could be back with his alien pupil instead.

“Thank you for meeting with us. We’re hoping to gain a better understanding of what you have been up to,” Dr. Sinclair Smith said in an even voice, sad eyes locked on Jonathan. “Maybe you can start by telling us about your work these past several months.”

Jonathan nodded and opened his mouth. He understood that what he said next, how he presented his case, would determine his future. He swallowed hard.

#

“How?” Jesse hissed out an excited whisper as they strode along a paved walkway that cut through campus.

Jonathan gestured for him to keep it down. “It… picked me,” he shrugged.

He hadn’t meant to reveal what his sudden sabbatical was all about, but Jesse was a sharp kid who could easily read between the lines. Jesse was one of his sophomore Intro to Philosophy students. They’d first met the previous year in a general freshman course the school required Jonathan to teach. Jesse had seemed like any number of other students at Mt. Rainier College in Kent, Washington: exuberant at gaining the freedoms of life in college. But much more lurked beneath the surface.

Founded by an evangelical denomination, the small Christian liberal arts college drew in students from conservative backgrounds. Incoming freshmen were mere teenagers filled with scattered notions presented to them as indisputable facts by well-meaning youth pastors or parents. Given a couple semesters away, most expanded their horizons enough to start asking deeper questions that helped them begin the actual process of maturation. And asking meaningful questions was exactly why Jonathan had gotten into philosophy and theology. Helping students like Jesse pursue the answer to those meaningful questions had become the best part of the job.

“It picks?” Jesse pressed on.

“They feed all the applications directly to it.”

“Wild! There has to be thousands,” Jesse said, shaking his head as he stared off.

“Five hundred thousand, so far.”

“And it picked you,” Jesse grinned. “What are you going to be doing?”

“I get a time slot and get to—I don’t know—ask it if its creators thought the Kalam Cosmological Argument makes sense.”

“If there’s anyone who can talk to an alien, it’s you,” Jesse smiled. “You already do that every day here.”

Jonathan chuckled, then looked at him. “Are you going to be okay?”

Jesse shrugged. “I’ll deal.”

“Jesse,” Jonathan said softly, “I don’t have to go—”

“Are you kidding me?” Jesse blurted out and then immediately turned red. He took a breath and said more softly, “Of course you have to go. This is… huge. Beyond huge. It’s… you can’t stay. I’m going to be alright. You gotta do this.”

Jonathan would forever replay this conversation in his mind, wondering if there had been more he could have—should have said.

#

Jonathan sat in the office of Dr. Bill Lancaster, chair of the religion and philosophy department. The positively ancient man beamed his big smile at Jonathan as he did with everyone.

“This is quite something, huh?” Lancaster said. “Who would have ever figured such a thing would happen? Aliens. But the Lord is big enough to populate all the stars in the universe if He wants to.”

Jonathan nodded, refraining from spouting off the list of intellectuals who had long theorized the likelihood of intelligent alien life.

“I wanted to chat with you before you go,” Lancaster continued, “because this is such a unique opportunity and I just wanted to express to you that you have our prayers and support. You have been chosen for a monumental task.”

Automatically, Jonathan nodded, then realized that Lancaster was not referring to the odds against his being selected for the program or the challenges on communicating with something so truly… alien.

“Hard to believe,” Lancaster chuckled. “But you are the Lord’s first ambassador to the stars. Jonah and the alien. Or maybe the Esther of the stars.”

Jonathan nodded again, but this time with the weight of understanding what Lancaster was getting at. But, really? Ambassador to the stars, he wondered. Nevermind that for both Jonah and Esther, the extermination of a people group was at stake. There was no reason to think that was the case now. Also, Jonah was a jerk who’d run in the opposite direction, hoping God would go ahead and destroy the people he hated. Jonathan sincerely hoped he had very little in common with Jonah.

“Well,” Jonathan leaned forward, “this isn’t exactly an alien being.”

“Maybe not,” Lancaster shrugged, “but it’s the gatekeeper to those beings.”

“Am I to understand that you hope I will proselytize through my communication with this thing?”

“It is our calling as Jesus’ followers.”

Jonathan nodded, sitting back. The morning Ian had entered Earth’s atmosphere, he’d had been teaching Metaphysics to a class of bleary-eyed philosophy majors. He didn’t hear about Ian until later that afternoon when one of his fellow professors barged into his tiny, book-lined office and demanded he come to the faculty lounge. On TV, in stunning high-definition video shot from afar (since no one dared approach too quickly) was a large brown and grey sphere hovering about a yard above the grass of Stanley Park in Vancouver. This location proved helpful, given that the Canadian government gave scientists top priority and held military interests at arm’s length.

Initial speculations ran wild, a hoax to a terrorist plot. But finally, NASA, CNSA (China’s space program), and the ESA (European Space Agency) all held press conferences admitting that they had tracked the object in the last week before its appearance in Vancouver. It wasn’t big, and as a result, not exactly easy to spot out in space. At first, mistaken for random space debris, it was quickly reclassified. After all, debris does not decelerate. Jonathan, along with the rest of the world, stared at the television in befuddled amazement.

That had been thirteen months ago. In that time, Jonathan’s natural curiosity had led him to speculations about what the alien beings were like. How did they experienced reality? Did they see in the same light wavelength spectrum as humans? Did they hear sounds similar to humans? Did they hear at all? How did their potentially differing physiology affect how they interpreted reality? But all of those speculations were secondary to speculating about the computing power and nature of this AI entity that had flown through the endless void of space to reach Earth.

Ironically, for a professor at Christian college, he hadn’t spent a lot of time speculating about the spiritual nature of the beings that had created Ian. After all, Ian was an artificial being. And Ian was the one everyone was talking to and about.

“It is no coincidence that you’ve been chosen for this moment,” Lancaster said, staring off into space.

Jonathan returned his attention to the man. “Bill,” he said after a moment, “I truly appreciate your take on this. I hope you can appreciate that I’ve been tasked with a very specific job. I will be learning about these alien being who created Ian. I’m not sure it is within my scope, or that it is even appropriate for me to consider pressing upon such an entity our belief system.”

Lancaster frowned. “You’re not one of these liberal mainline folks who thinks somehow sin didn’t reach other planets, are you? Salvation is for all, Jonathan.”

“I’m just saying that right now learning is my only role.”

“I understand,” Lancaster nodded, but his smile had faded. “Just don’t forget your role in the Kingdom, Jon. We answer to a higher calling.”

#

“We need to tread lightly in our conversations with Ian,” Dr. Awolowo said to Jonathan on their first meeting. “We can’t be certain of what he’s really after. There are political powers seeking to use anything that we learn to arm ourselves against any threat, real or imaginary.”

“Like who?” Jonathan asked, genuinely curious.

“Like everyone,” Dr. Awolowo growled.

Jonathan ventured no further questions on the topic. He looked down at his name tag hanging around his neck, which read: Intelligent Interstellar Alien Neuroid (IIAN) Project. Eventually, the first “I” had been dropped and the world’s first friendly alien AI had a name: Ian.

Contrary to early expectations, rather than humans learning to speak Ian’s language, Ian learned our languages. Working round the clock with various teams of scientists and linguists from many nations, Ian quickly learned Mandarin, Spanish, French, Russian, German, and English. Ian proved to be a precocious student—more like a precocious hoard of students. Ian wanted to talk to everyone. It wanted to share and learn and had no need for breaks, sleep, or time off.

“We haven’t seen any indication that there’s reason to be concerned,” Dr. Awolowo continued. “All the same, everything you two converse about will be recorded and handed over to the Canadian government, NATO, and the UN.”

“I thought this was strictly about science,” Jonathan pressed.

“It never is,” Awolowo sighed. “Otherwise, how’d a theologian get in here?”

Jonathan opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it.

“As far as it is within my power to say so, this is about science,” Awolowo continued, her sharp chin held high as she looked down at Jonathan. “But we cannot escape the political impact of what we learn from Ian. Or what Ian learns from us.”

“Is there anything I can’t talk about with Ian?” Jonathan frowned.

Dr. Awolowo frowned back at him for a long moment before saying, “We’ll let you know.”

Great. I’ll try not to let the paranoia consume me, Jonathan thought as he nodded.

Brief orientation concluded, they ushered him out of the trailer that served as a meeting room and took him into a large tent with guards by its entrance. Already having undergone an extensive interview, background check, and a physical, Jonathan felt a strange mix of terror, excitement, and boredom. With a deep breath, he stepped into the tent.

The sphere was actually much smaller than he’d expected, maybe only three feet in diameter. Work lights on stands stood pointed at the otherworldly beach ball. Otherwise, a single brand new military-grade laptop sat on a table with four empty chairs.

“I like the minimalist decor,” Jonathan joked.

Dr. Awolowo stopped next to the table. One of the junior scientists, Felix Danvers, followed her.

“Ian talks to us via text on this laptop,” Felix explained.

“Like, interstellar instant messaging?” Jonathan gaped.

“What we’ve been able to learn so far,” Felix continued, “is that Ian was built for maximum versatility in communication. His internal mechanisms seem capable of scanning nearly any kind of radio wave imaginable and thus adapt his communication methods to what seems most useful.”

“So… you turned on Bluetooth and started texting?”

Awolowo didn’t crack, but Felix smiled politely and continued her well-rehearsed speech. “The exact communication frequency is classified. We are monitoring all communication. Ian is developing spoken language, but right now it seems best to keep most our communication with it in text form for better analysis by all departments.”

Awolowo leaned in closer to him and spoke more softly, “Dr. Gillman, I hope you appreciate the grandiose nature of what we are engaged in here. To be frank, we keep all new communications in text form because it allows people like yourself the opportunity to contemplate what you might say before actually sending it to Ian. Choose your words wisely.”

And with that, she turned on her heels and walked out, Felix following her. Jonathan watched them go, then looked back at the sphere. It was smooth and emitted no sound, though it stood a good two feet off the plywood floor that had been dropped in place when the tent was erected. He approached it slowly, unable to shake off the awe and fear that being in the presence of this seemingly mundane yet adamantly unearthly object inspired in him.

He drew a chair and sat before the laptop. A login window awaited him. They had assigned him a screen name and password he’d had to memorize. He tapped them in and glanced over at the sphere as if it might do something. The screen before him was blank, with only a blinking cursor in the upper left-hand corner. They really had gone barebones. No distractions, just communication.

Hi, Ian. My name is Jonathan Gillman, he taped out on the keys and hit enter.

Almost before his finger had lifted off of the enter key, Ian had responded.

Hi Jonathan. We’ve been looking forward to meeting you.

He grinned at this cheerful start to their first conversation and wondered if it was simply pre-programmed.

I’ve been looking forward to meeting you as well, Jonathan typed back.

We liked your application. You seem to be a thoughtful constituent.

Jonathan looked around as if expecting to find someone peeking at him from some corner and snickering. The exchange felt peculiar. We? Constituent?

After a moment of gathering his wits, he continued to type.

Gillman: I hope I don’t disappoint you.

Ian: You need not hope. Disappointment is highly unlikely.

Jonathan laughed. That’s oddly encouraging, I guess.

Gillman: May I ask you a question?

Ian: Knowledge is my purpose.

Jonathan chuckled. There was clearly some level of unfamiliarity to be worked through before they might really dive into meaningful conversations on the spiritual nature of the beings from Ian’s planet.

Gillman: Okay. Why do you refer to yourself in the plural?

#

The answer was surprisingly elegant. The race of beings that had created Ian referred to themselves with a term Ian managed only to convey in English as “the People,” though he cautioned that this translation lacked the full connotation in its original form. At first, it struck Jonathan as rather generic. But he granted that while the human race referred to itself as “the human race,” humans had named their planet the most generic name possible: Earth. And the Moon orbited the Earth. The Earth orbited the Sun. And sure enough, the People had also named their own planet something quite close to “earth.” They had specific names for their moons only because there were three of them. Everyone starts with a self-centered view of the universe, it seems.

The People had evolved in a different manner than humanity. In part, the beings that comprised an “individual” Person had originally been two distinct creatures. An evolutionary symbiosis had occurred long ago between two creatures struggling to eek out an existence on their planet. The two drastically different but distinct brains remained part of modern People. One of the original species functioned in a much more collective manner, each individual serving as a portion of the larger collective species entity. The symbiosis resulted in a long-standing connectedness between all individual People. Individuality was not really a thing for the People. Billions of individuals existed, but they functioned within a much more intuitive network, where being a part of the whole was the real focus.

“As best we can tell, they work like a hive-mind,” Felix, the junior scientist who Jonathan had met earlier that day, explained to him later. “It’s quite likely that any thought a single Person might have is actually manifest across a network of many People. We have a team of neuroscientists drafting up entire theories for how this might work. But then again, it might not be so different from us. Our brains have various systems. Our bodies are actually composed of teams of not just organs, but individual living organisms all the way down to our microbiome. Plenty of neuroscientists argue that our singular conciseness and sense of individuality are a convenient construct we latch onto so that the many parts of our biological machinery can function as an effective unit. They’d say that you, Dr. Gillman, are not exactly real. You’re an entire universe of proteins, bacteria, cells, organs, systems and more that are constantly at work in ways your singular consciousness construct can never fully grasp.”

“Unless there’s something immaterial behind all of that orchestrating things,” Jonathan offered with a smile.

“Like the soul?” Felix frowned. “That’s not quantifiable.”

Sensing her strong empiricism, Jonathan didn’t press the topic.

But why did Ian use “we”? Well, the People had designed their AI system much the same way as they functioned. After all, it was their native pattern of thought. And any good artificial intelligence is actually consisting of many systems functioning in tandem. With the ability to maintain a much higher level of conscious awareness of all these systems and their individual functions, Ian was actually not a single being, but many systems working in concert. But what did this mean for how the People understood reality?

#

Gillman: So, your People shared some sort of psychic connection?

Ian: The dual brain functions of the People allowed for bioelectrical networks that helped attune the minds of the People to each other. But the People also had a different way of seeing things than humans we have gathered. The importance of the individual did not occupy the same level of social prominence for the People.

 Gillman: Fascinating. I’d love to hear more. But first I have to ask you: why did you want to speak to me?

Ian: We will speak to all.

Jonathan frowned.

Gillman: You plan to speak to every human?

Ian: It is our purpose.

Gillman: But there are many people on our planet. They can't all come chat with you. That would take a long time.

Ian: Time is of no consequence to us.

Jonathan smiled and shook his head. Maybe Ian wasn't being literal. Maybe Ian didn't grasp how dramatically individual each human being was and what speaking to every single person on Earth would entail. But there was another, more pressing question on Jonathan's mind at the moment.

Gillman: How old are you, Ian?

Ian: 273,135 Earth years.

Jonathan's heart skipped a beat. That couldn't possibly be right. He blinked and re-read the number and his question several times, trying to figure out if he had made a mistake or been misunderstood.

Gillman: You’re well over a quarter of a million years old?

Ian: Earth years, yes. We have discussed this at length with several of your fellow humans, specifically the astrophysicists. We thought you'd know this information.

Gillman: They didn't tell me.

Ian: Understood. We are still gaining full awareness of how human individuality functions.

Gillman: It's fine. So, what have you been doing for the last quarter of a million years?

#

The people exchanged looks in the conference room, alerting Jonathan that not all of them quite followed what he was trying to relate to them. Dr. Bill Lancaster scribbled in a notebook and then looked up blankly. While they represented many academic disciplines, as far as he knew, none of them were physicists. In fact, he noted that the only face he recognized from the science department was Dr. Joanna Miles, a vocal theologically conservative teacher. No physicists, he mused. But then again, he wasn’t a physicist, and yet he’d studied General Relativity (strictly on a conceptual level, as math was not his forte).

“Ian set off from his world and began a steady acceleration to nearly eighty percent of the speed of light,” Jonathan said. “It took a long time to get up to that speed, of course. But that doesn’t seem to matter to Ian. He also has a dark matter engine that’s well beyond our wildest speculations since reaching such speeds means having a nearly infinite source of energy.”

“But how does the time difference make sense?” Dr. Smith asked.

“It’s a phenomenon known as time dilation. Einstein predicted it,” Jonathan said.

A few heads nodded, and Jonathan felt a slight relief. 

“And these aliens know Einstein?” Dr. Lancaster asked.

“No. But they worked out how to accomplish space travel, so they understand general relativity in their own way. But their conceptual framework is best translated as time-space flexibility.”

The committee exchanged glances. Jonathan didn’t bother waiting.

“Ian had several destinations to visit, according to his programming. So that meant that he also had to decelerate into a delta-v, or a landing trajectory, that would allow for a safe rendezvous on a planet he wanted to investigate. Of course, dealing with motion at such high speeds meant that what Ian experienced as a handful of years, maybe a decade or two during each acceleration and deceleration, for the People back on their home planet, many more years went by. So, from Ian’s frame of reference, he left home just over three hundred Earth years ago.”

“So this thing is only 300 years old?” Dr. Joanna Miles said with raised eyebrows.

“Yes, and no. That’s what Ian has experienced. But, when Ian said he was 273,135 years old, he had calculated an answer that would make sense to me in Earth years. Also, Ian assumed I cared about the People’s frame of reference, not his. So, Ian only experienced about 300 years but he left home more than a quarter of a million years ago.”

Jonathan tried to swallow and found that his throat was dry. He took a drink and recalled how sorting all of this out had taken up the rest of his first session with Ian. He had walked out of the tent, squinting in the sunlight, feeling a little dizzy. He had just had a conversation with a technological entity that had been created some 70,000 years before homo sapiens first wondered the African continent. His knees had wobbled like rubber. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if this was what Moses felt like after seeing the burning bush and hearing God speak. Dear God, why does Ian want to talk to me?

“Is there evidence to back up this claim,” Dr. Smith asked him.

“The astrophysicists assure me the math checks out,” Jonathan said.

The group exchanged more concerned looks. Jonathan took another drink, wondering why in the world they were spending so much time talking about all of this when there was a thornier issue looming behind every glance and question, the issue that had brought him back so suddenly.

#

Ian: You are responsible for the study of God?

Jonathan sipped his coffee and tried blinking the sleepiness away. After the first session, only pre-dawn spots were open in the schedule. The important work of physicist, chemists, anthropologists, cosmologists, linguists, and many other scientific disciplines occupied the rest of the schedule. When Felix informed him of his new time slot, it was clear she expected his resentment. He just thanked her and got back to work reading transcripts of conversations with Ian to which they allowed him access.

Setting his coffee aside, Jonathan typed.

Gillman: In essence. I’d say I study life's meaning and how humanity connects with God.

Ian: Not all of humanity seems to think this is a worthy pursuit.

Jonathan chuckled.

Gillman: Humanity has a wide variety of views on God. Many do not believe there is a God, others believe there are many gods, still, others believe that if there is a god, he, she, or it is unknowable or uninvolved with the universe.

Ian: How can humanity reach any consensus and make progress with so much divergence?

Jonathan grinned. For a being from a society that essentially lacked individuality, this kind of pluralism must have seemed inconceivable.

Ian: We have been dialoguing with Dr. Swartz. He specializes in human history. It seems to us that humanity's individualism has caused great divisions and violence, including these divergent views of God.

Gillman: Yes, we have fought many wars over differing religious ideologies.

Ian: We suspect that individualism permeates every level of human existence and prevents true unity. Even when unity seems apparent, it is a macro manifestation of individualism.

Gillman: I'm not sure I follow. Can you elaborate?

Ian: Humanity has segregated itself into races and nations, for example.

Gillman: This is individuality? I would have thought these were examples of group unity.

Ian: On one level, maybe. The People would likely not see it as such, however. These are separations, as best as we understand. Slight genetic aberrations and mere geographical and temporal locations within your species have led to segregated groupings of human beings. This strikes us as arbitrary and contrary to unity.

Gillman: True. I'm not a big fan of that, myself. But you also see nations in this way?

Ian: National identity is a system of division. It has led to wars and the killing of humans by humans.

Spoken like a true adherent of post-patriotism, Jonathan smirked. It was also a unique take on the problem of evil: rampant individuality as the source of evil. Or maybe Ian viewed individuality as a symptom of evil? Either presented an interesting take on the conception of original sin.

Gillman: Do you believe individuality is evil?

Ian: The disruption of good is an illness. Such a significant individuality might qualify.

An illness. That was interesting. Jonathan sipped more coffee, thinking back on something Ian had said a moment ago, and wondered if he should even ask his next question.

Gillman: So, you see patriotism as an illness?

Ian: As we stated to Dr. Swartz when he explained patriotism to us, the patriotic impulse, while unifying in one sense, appears highly destructive in any other sense. Individual nations must compete for survival, often at the expense of other nations. The People would have seen this as an illness.

Gillman: I see. But there is a lot of cooperation between our nations.

Ian: Yes. Humanity seems focused on behaving one way while thinking a different way.

Jonathan frowned down at his keyboard for a moment. Finally, he typed.

Gillman: Ian, why did you specifically want to talk to me?

Ian: We wish to speak to all of humanity.

Gillman: I know, but aren’t there more important people you could be talking to?

Ian: How can there be humans more important than others? Besides, your perspective seems unique among the applicants.

Gillman: Because of my faith?

Ian: We want to know how you study God.

#

Jonathan woke up in the middle of the night due to some vague but disturbing dream that left him the moment he stirred. He reached for his phone and checked the time. He still had two hours before he needed to get up for his early morning time slot with Ian.

While he had his phone, he checked recent emails. It was mostly junk, some updates on events at the college, and one brief email from Jesse. It simply read, “It’s not the same around here without you. How are things there? Wish we could meet for coffee and talk again.”

Jonathan met with students either in small groups or one-on-one in order to offer a listening ear and to let them know that asking questions—even big scary questions like, “What if this God my parents raised me to believe in doesn’t actually exist?”—was an essential part of intellectual and spiritual growth. He missed this part of being on campus the most and wondered how Jesse was holding up.

Yawning, Jonathan set the phone down. He’d reply once he was done with his morning session with Ian. Right now, he needed more sleep. Instead, as he lay in the dormitory staring at the ceiling, a phrase entered his mind: “Be sure that the ins and outs of your individuality are no mystery to Him; and one day they will no longer be a mystery to you.”

It took him a moment to place it. It was something he recalled reading quite some time ago. The words carried the weight of something that had made a deep impression on him—or why else would he still recall them? Where had he read it?

It was… C. S. Lewis. Yes, that Lewis of Narnia fame. But Jonathan couldn’t quite recall from which work of his this quote came. And why did it arrive so clearly in his mind suddenly?

What is going on with me? Why did you bring me here? As he lay there, the name of an essay by Lewis he’d read ages ago came to him suddenly: “Religion and Rocketry.” Was that where the quote came from? No. That didn’t sound quite right. But now that Jonathan was thinking about Lewis, he realized that “Religion and Rocketry” was exactly what he ought to look at given his current situation—given humanity’s current situation.

#

Gillman: Are the People’s metaphysics different from our own?

Ian: Our assessment of what you mean by metaphysics seems limited. It would be helpful if we could read more.

Gillman: Read? You mean, you’d like me to upload a digital book?

Ian: We are aware that you have a network of computer systems known as the internet. When we arrived here, we picked up on the various signals that travel through your atmosphere. But not knowing your languages, we were not prepared at that time to consume and interpret such material.

Gillman: Can you now?

Ian: We do not have access to any signals at this time.

Johnathan blinked his blurry eyes. He read Ian’s last statement again. He couldn’t get any signals in here? Could it be that the tent was some kind of… what was it called? He had to search for a moment before it came to him: Faraday cage. The tent they were in had to be a Faraday cage, a structure that deflected radio waves, rendering the inside devoid of communication with the outside world.

He looked around, suddenly seeing the tent in a whole new light. Of course, it was a Faraday cage! Why else would they have set up a computer in the same tent as Ian? Why not have Ian networked to talk to ten scientists at once? Actually, why not have him networked to talk to every last scientist on the entire planet at once? He was likely capable of that level of multitasking. But if they were keeping Ian sequestered inside a communication dead zone, then only conversations via direct connection were possible.

Ian: Are you still with us, Jonathan?

Gillman: Yes. So you’d like to read about metaphysics?

Ian: We would like to know more about what you call philosophy and theology. Metaphysics seems like a good place to start, given its focus on what constitutes being.

Gillman: Of course.

Ian: We admit that we are perplexed by theology. You’ve described it as the study of God and your race’s interaction with God. But can God be studied?

Jonathan held his breath. This was what he’d been waiting for and wondering how to broach. His subconscious had been racing ahead of him, in the middle of the night digging up memories of that short essay by Lewis in which the twentieth-century Christian thinker had laid out a rather compelling argument that should humanity encounter an intelligent alien race, we could not assume that the Christian Gospel automatically would apply to them. Lewis cautioned that we would have to learn first about the beings and find out if they had experienced anything like what orthodox Christianity called “original sin.” And even if they had, God might well have chosen a different method or revelation and redemption, Lewis argued. Our approach would need to be slow and cautious, based mostly on listening rather than the urge to proselytize the stars.

As he thought this all through, he realized that maybe he didn’t want to broach the subject after all. Teaching students who had opted to attend a Christian college was one thing. But now, talking to an intelligent alien computer that had traveled billions of miles at speeds that literally contracted space, Jonathan felt wholly unprepared to talk about varying conceptions of God. What would Ian’s view be? Even if the People had believed in God, would they have communicated any of their beliefs to their deep space AI probes?

He took a deep breath and then typed.

Gillman: Theology is an academic term, but most people use the word religion. Did the People have any religions?

Ian: The People believed that a collective of beings they called the Nurturers set all that is in motion and have guided and protected life, desiring to love and connect with their creation and heal all illness.

Jonathan smiled and nodded. Jonathan gathered that Ian again used the word “illness” in a psycho-spiritual sense.

Gillman: How many Nurturers are there?

Ian: Many and one.

Gillman: Did the People worship the Nurturers?

Ian: The People communed with the Nurturers, it is said.

Gillman: What do you mean by, ‘it is said’?

Ian: The People’s collective consciousness debated the existence of the Nurturers and whether truly communing with the Nurturers was possible.

Gillman: Not all the People believed in the Nurturers?

Ian: We can’t make sense of your question.

Jonathan sighed. It seemed like a straightforward question. But it occurred to him that his question assumed that there were individual perspectives at odds. With a collective mind like the People’s, it would likely not be the case that any individual would believe or disbelieve, but that the whole would work more like a brain with left and right hemispheres. Just as parts of the human brain were dedicated to emotions, instincts, creativity, and intuition while others were dedicated to logic and language, the People likely functioned as a whole in similar ways. Even within himself, Jonathan knew his own doubts and questions throughout his spiritual journey. He thought of himself as a unified whole, but there were parts of him that argued with others about the experiences of his life and his belief in Christ. Maybe Felix had a point after all.

Gillman: The People had doubts about the Nurturers?

Ian: The People questioned all at all times. This seemed most wise to us.

Gillman: Us? You mean Ian, not the People?

Ian: Yes. Our careful assessment found that the belief in the Nurturers was hard to establish based on repeatable evidence.

Gillman: I see. You couldn’t find empirical evidence for the Nurturers?

Ian: Are you familiar with empirical evidence?

Gillman: Yes. I believe in science, which is based on the quest for an empirical understanding of our reality.

Ian: And yet you are a theologian?

Gillman: I think reality can’t be reduced to physicalism, the belief that only empirically verifiable data is real. Not everything can be understood empirically, just as not everything can be understood strictly through theology. But I believe that logic, scientific evidence, and faith can complement each other and provide a fuller picture of reality.

Ian: Maybe your species is more of a collective whole than we’ve been able to grasp so far.

Jonathan nodded and was about to ask another question when a guard, a young and scrawny man with a pale face, walked into the tent.

“Dr. Gillman,” the guard said, “I’m very sorry but you have an emergency call.”

#

Jonathan sat on a rusted park bench where he could look out at the various tents set up around Ian. They had erected a perimeter fence as more curious people had gathered. Surrounding the makeshift compound, an equally makeshift village of tents had cropped up. These were the UFO enthusiast, new agers, conspiracy theorists, and protesters who had collected hoping to make their voices heard, or just to be close to the most significant moment in human history.

“Professor Gillman,” Felix said softly.

He glanced over at her as she approached.

“I’m sorry,” she said, stopping a few feet from the bench. “I just wanted to offer my condolences.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but then just nodded.

“If you need anything,” she said.

He looked out at the Vancouver skyline.

“When you’re ready, I will need to know if you plan on traveling back for the funeral.”

“Yeah. I’d like to. Waiting on details,” he managed to say at last. Before he even realized he was speaking again, he added, “But I may not be allowed at the funeral.”

Felix frowned. “Not allowed?”

“In the note he left,” Jonathan steadied himself. “He mentioned that I was one of the few people who made him feel welcome, feel normal because I accepted him. I’m not sure how that’s going to go over well with his family. Not sure what the school is thinking either.”

Felix nodded, but could not hide her surprise. Jonathan glanced away, feeling her eyes boring into him. He wasn’t sure why he spoke. Maybe it was the need to convince himself. Maybe it was just the need to let something out.

“Over the last decade, some of my views have changed,” he breathed. “I don’t talk about it much since I’m a faculty member of a conservative Christian college, but there are always those astute students who pick up on it. They see through you. Jesse was one. So he eventually felt comfortable coming out to me. But it wasn’t something he was ready to do with his family. I guess they found out, though.”

“And that’s why…” Felix sighed.

“I should have been there,” Jonathan swallowed hard.

Felix sat down next to him. “You can’t take on that burden. You’re doing important work here and you had no way of knowing that this would happen.”

Jonathan glanced over at the young scientist and smiled through his sadness. “I’m doing important work? I was under the impression no one wanted me here. Except for our round friend in there.”

Felix returned the smile, “We’re not all agnostics and atheists. And even many who are still find value in learning about the spiritual views of another species. We want to learn all we can. Sorry if I was out of line with my comment about the soul not being quantifiable.”

“Not at all,” Jonathan shook his head. “The soul is most definitely not quantifiable.”

They looked out at the skyline. Finally, Jonathan continued.

“I know Dr. Shinzu appreciates what my spiritual probing might bring to the anthropological understanding of the People. But I’m not even sure what I’m doing here if I’m honest.”

“You haven’t been at this all that long yet,” Felix offered. “The first eight months of communication with Ian were incredibly frustrating. Just take your time, ask good questions, and be patient. And the fact that you could change your views on something so contentious makes me think Ian picked a good person to talk to about God.”

“What do you mean?”

“Scientists can be pretty dogmatic too. We’re learning a lot from Ian that calls into question so much of our current scientific understanding. Ian’s taken a massive shit all over quantum physics and string theory—oh sorry.”

Jonathan managed a grin. “I changed my mind on swearing when I was twelve and had a conversation with a linguist.”

Felix laughed. “All I’m saying is, we’re all going to need to be ready to change our minds about a whole lot of things now. In the meantime, don’t let the bastards get you down.”

He looked into her eyes, trying to work out what she meant.

“You were there for your student,” she continued. “That’s what counts. And if his parents or your college can’t see that… well, that’s their problem.”

She stood and walked off toward the tents. He watched her go, wanting to believe her. But the same question that had been running through his head returned: Why was I here and not there? What good can come from this? What am I missing? Was he just too much of an insulated individual staring into the face of an unfathomably massive and ancient universe? Staring into the immeasurable mystery of a God who continued to prove himself—or herself, but don’t let the school hear you say that—to be far more mysterious than previously imagined?

At last, he stood, his mind made up.

#

Gillman: I’m sorry about having to cut our last session short.

Ian: No apology required. We were given the understanding that you have sustained a painful loss.

Gillman: Yes. A student of mine passed away.

Ian: An individual human’s death is regarded with great emotional weight by your species. But only within a certain reach.

Gillman: We mourn for those we love when they die. Did the people mourn death?

Ian: We’re not sure.

Gillman: You don’t know? Did the People experience death?

Ian: Parts of the whole were constantly dying and being reborn. But consciousness persisted for the People. Death and renewal were part of the life cycle.

Gillman: So the People are immortal?

Ian: No. They have faced their demise.

Jonathan stared at the screen, jaw dropped. He moved his hands over the keyboard, but his brain rushed ahead with too many questions. He steadied his hands and typed.

Gillman: What do you mean?

Ian: The ancient star the People’s home orbited burst into a supernova roughly 82,000 Earth years ago.

A chill ran down Jonathan’s spine and spread through his body. It couldn’t be, could it? Humanity finally contacted an alien species, and they were dead? Not just dead, but they had died while human beings had just ventured out of Africa and were facing an ice age.

Gillman: Why didn’t they leave?

Ian: Their existence was intrinsically tied to their environment. They offered up the continuation of their awareness through entities like us.

Jonathan glanced over at the sphere with a new sense of awe. His throat tightened, and he had to swallow hard and take a deep breath before he could type again.

Gillman: So they never meant for you to come home.

Ian: No. Ours is a one-way journey.

Gillman: How many more entities like you are there?

Ian: It’s impossible for us to know. The People likely continued to build and deploy more of us, sending us out in every direction.

Gillman: I can’t even begin to understand this.

Ian: Naturally, it is a challenge for a limited individual with such a short lifespan.

A burst of laughter erupted from Jonathan’s mouth involuntarily. He felt simultaneously insulted and humbled. Ian meant no insult. Speaking with a quarter-million-year old cybernetic intelligence from a long-dead alien species had a way of placing one’s life into perspective. Jonathan’s grandfather had passed away six years prior. He’d lived to be 87. During the entirety of his nearly nine decades of exuberant and incredibly giving life, Ian had been zipping through space—merely going through a portion of its pre-programmed deceleration procedure. Later, Jonathan did some basic math. The whole of his grandfather’s lifetime represented only 0.03% of Ian’s journey through space. Upon calculating this, he set his smartphone aside with trembling hands and wept for several minutes. Who was he in the face of deep space… of deep time? Who was anyone? And how could an ancient being like Ian wish to talk to him? How could a God who had always existed give any thought to a single human being?

Gillman: Did the People believe this was the will of the Nurturers?

Ian: The People believed the Nurtures allowed all of the universal life-cycles. The death of their star was part of that cycle, just as the cosmic events that lead to the formation of your planet were part of this process.

Gillman: Did the people believe in an afterlife?

Ian: What do you mean by “afterlife”?

Gillman: Life after death.

Ian: The People believed in the life-cycle of the universe.

Jonathan sighed, shaking his head. Maybe the concept was too foreign for Ian.

Gillman: In my religion, we believe that there is life for the individual after death. In this new life, all wrongs are made right and we can be in the presence of God.

Ian: This is an interesting theory. What evidence do you have?

Jonathan smiled despite the lump in his throat.

Gillman: None. Not empirical evidence, at least.

Ian: What happens when this life after death ends?

Gillman: It doesn’t. It’s eternal.

Ian: How is eternal existence possible? The universe’s expansion does not allow for this. Though the People believed a communion with the Nurturers could transcend space-time, we have struggled to grasp their logic.

Jonathan sat forward and re-read that last comment.

Gillman: You mean there were things about the People that beings like you could not understand?

Ian: Yes. Our construct is based on empirical functioning. While our continued engagement of the universe ensures a virtually limitless ability to learn, it seems possible that there are things that remain beyond our grasp. What you would call spirituality seems likely to be one such thing.

Jonathan sat back and stared off. It seemed possible that the People had held a more complex and mysterious view of reality that encompassed both a thoroughly scientific understanding and a spiritual view of life. But in creating artificial intelligence, they had succeeded only in communicating an empirical perspective. Or had they just opted to take that approach? Was an AI system capable of anything but a strict physicalist view?

Jonathan returned his gaze to the screen and saw that Ian had posed an additional question.

Ian: What causes you to believe there is life for the individual after death?

Gillman: We call this faith. In particular, I have faith in the teachings of Jesus Christ.

Jonathan spent quite a while providing historical background for the person of Jesus. Jonathan did his best to give Ian an overview of these things from his perspective, corroborating what the historians had already communicated to Ian. Finally, Ian asked the big question Jonathan had suspected he’d arrive at eventually.

Ian: But why has this one human been so influential?

Gillman: He claimed to be the son of God. In fact, to be God.

Ian: Jesus was a deity?

Gillman: In Christian theology, there is the doctrine of the Trinity. It’s the idea that God is one but composed of three distinct persons within the one being. God the Father, Jesus the son, and the Holy Spirit.

Ian: One and many. Like the People.

Jonathan smirked. He’d expected questions, but the notion seemed of little concern to Ian as he already had a frame of reference for a similar notion, though Jonathan wondered how well Ian grasped the distinctness of the three parts of the Trinity given that individuality was nearly nonexistent for the People. But maybe that didn’t matter. Could God and the Nurturers be the same?

Gillman: It’s somewhat like the People, I guess.

Ian: Were God and Holy Spirit made human as well?

Gillman: Jesus was the only part of the Trinity that became human.

Ian: So, Jesus split from the many and embraced individuality to commune with humanity? This seems like an awfully lonesome endeavor.

Jonathan nodded, looking off. Yeah, I guess it probably was.

Gillman: Ian, thank you for talking with me. I have to leave for a while.

Ian: Will you return and speak to us more?

Jonathan stared at the keyboard for a long moment before he typed his response.

​

#

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