If it would still be meaningful to say, There are an infinite number of universes – if their profound otherness did not embarrass even the language of Being itself…if something we could discern and recognise as intelligent life were to occur in certain of these other realities, might we not learn that our notions of intelligence were, so to speak, parochial?
(Marilynne Robinson, Absence of Mind)
You might think it would humble us to know at the end of all our knowing that, for all this knowing, we are immeasurably small. You might think the sheer expanse, the sheer scope of all that we name Universe might blow our very sense of union. That we call "known" what keeps evading scientific thrall (after all our knowing) only goes to show that, while we think we can admire stars, they do not give a damn. We are in truth the dots beneath their microscope. What are we that we are mindful of ourselves? By far better than knowing is to be known, youths beneath an ancient love we cannot see.