Direct from NASA, the universe!

Direct from NASA, the universe!

Photo by Ryan Hutton on Unsplash

Originally published 8 January 1996

In a poem titled He Wish­es for the Cloths of Heav­en, William But­ler Yeats muses:

"Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet."

But he is poor, the poet con­tin­ues, with only his dreams. So he spreads his dreams beneath his lover’s feet, gen­tly urg­ing, “Tread soft­ly because you tread on my dreams.”

Few more beau­ti­ful words have been put on paper than these lines of Yeats.’ Yet the poem nev­er made much sense to me, for sure­ly the one thing that belongs to all of us, rich and poor, is the cloths of heav­en. The impov­er­ished poet and the mil­lion­aire have equal access to the beau­ty of the night.

The gor­geous blue-dim tapes­try spread from hori­zon to hori­zon, stud­ded with dia­mond lights and embroi­dered with the gold­en and sil­ver threads of the Milky Way, has inspired reli­gion, myth, math­e­mat­ics, and sci­ence since the first spark of con­scious­ness ignit­ed the human brain. Even today, in our tech­ni­cal­ly sophis­ti­cat­ed times, a view of the night sky from a dark place can­not fail to inspire dreams of a grandeur and a mean­ing greater than ourselves.

But there is more, much more. We have cre­at­ed mag­nif­i­cent space­craft and tele­scopes to explore the night and the light and the half light. We have made vis­i­ble many things that are invis­i­ble to the unaid­ed eye. We have brought the dreamy heav­ens down to Earth.

Human inge­nu­ity in astron­o­my and space sci­ence has been moti­vat­ed by curios­i­ty, and sci­en­tif­ic knowl­edge is the great­est div­i­dend of the resources we have invest­ed in the quest. But our explo­rations have also pro­duced a vast archive of remark­able, and under-exploit­ed, astro­nom­i­cal images.

Many of these images are avail­able to the pub­lic over the Inter­net, and in recent weeks I have spent hours down­load­ing stun­ning pic­tures onto the screen of my com­put­er, sav­ing the best for future perusal.

Some per­son­al favorites:

  • The Earth and moon in the same field of view, imaged by the Galileo space­craft on its sec­ond fly­by of Earth. The Earth is gauzed with water and air, the moon dull and lifeless.
  • The pocked, pota­to-shaped aster­oid Ida and its baby moon Dactyl, pho­tographed by Galileo on its way to Jupiter. What a gos­samer thread of grav­i­ty holds this tiny moon to its par­ent! Ida is a bit small­er than Rhode Island; Dactyl could rest com­fort­ably on the Boston Common.
  • The Voy­ager pic­tures of Jupiter and its four largest moons. Noth­ing could have pre­pared the imag­i­na­tion for the col­ors and tex­tures of these psy­che­del­ic worlds.
  • The Hub­ble Space Tele­scope image of the Cygnus Loop, wispy shreds of a star that blew itself to smithereens 15,000 years ago, a lace-like del­i­ca­cy that belies the vio­lence of its creation.
  • The Hub­ble image of a gassy star-fac­to­ry in Ori­on, myr­i­ad worlds com­ing into exis­tence before our very eyes.
  • The head-on col­li­sion of a small galaxy with a giant spi­ral galaxy in the con­stel­la­tion Sculp­tor, pho­tographed by Hub­ble. Like a stone thrown into a pond, the col­li­sion hurls out­ward a shock­wave that ignites a bril­liant tiara of stars.
  • The light of far­away galax­ies curved into a con­cen­tric swarm of cir­cu­lar arcs by the grav­i­ty of a mas­sive, com­pact clus­ter of near­by galax­ies, a rose-win­dow view of the uni­verse’s youth.

But why choose favorites? The rich­es are too many for choic­es. I can admire them all, on the screen of my com­put­er, free for the taking.

Well, not exact­ly free. The com­put­er isn’t cheap, and access to the Inter­net costs a few bucks. Which brings me to a mod­est proposal.

NASA should pro­duce a full-length film of astro­nom­i­cal images for the big screen, a grand tour of the uni­verse, from Earth to black holes at the cores of dis­tant galax­ies. This should be a Hol­ly­wood-qual­i­ty pro­duc­tion, with nar­ra­tion by Leonard Nimoy and score by John Williams. Cin­e­mas in every town and neigh­bor­hood of the coun­try should be sub­si­dized by the fed­er­al gov­ern­ment to show the film for free.

Yes, we’re talk­ing sev­er­al hun­dred mil­lion dol­lars, but that’s a tiny frac­tion of the cost of the sci­en­tif­ic pro­grams that pro­duced the images. Such a shar­ing of the rich­es could not help but ele­vate the spir­i­tu­al and intel­lec­tu­al life of the nation. These splen­did prod­ucts of human curios­i­ty and inge­nu­ity are the Goth­ic cathe­drals of our time, the nexus where human striv­ing touch­es the high­est mys­ter­ies: the embroi­dered cloths of heav­en ready to be laid at the feet of every Amer­i­can, rich or poor.

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