I assume very few people like to drive through dense fog. Knowing what’s ahead is paramount to safety. That’s why weather forecasters tell us how far we can see during a fog episode. Makes sense.
Seeing what’s ahead is limited to the edge of the visibility horizon. Beyond that, which is ever moving as we travel, lies the unknown and possibly the hazardous conditions that jeopardize safety. Fog, however, isn’t the only phenomenon that puts a limit on visibility. In the grand scheme of the universe, there’s also a visibility horizon; it’s out there about 13.8 billion light years away. Over that horizon lies an unknown universe of galaxies whose light hasn’t traversed the intervening space. Astronomers can guess the visible universe has one to two trillion galaxies, but they can’t know what lies over that horizon, and they never will know as the universe continues to expand.
We play a rather passive role with respect to seeing those distant galaxies. We have to wait for their light to arrive, and there’s nothing we can do to hasten the arrival. In fact, there’s nothing we can do even in waiting. That train left the station 13.8 billion years ago. It’s not returning. But what about the other visibility horizons in our lives?
Forecasters can tell us what to expect on foggy nights, but only those in the fog can report the actual conditions. They lie beyond the visibility horizon; they can call out to warn. Of course, warnings work only when people heed them, the most famous of ignored warnings being the soothsayer’s statement to Caesar, “Beware the Ides of March.” Not too long ago, as Hurricane Katrina approached the Gulf Coast as a Category III hurricane with the potential for strengthening, the Governor of Louisiana, the US President, and the Mayor of New Orleans all issued warnings, and three or four Louisiana parishes declared a mandatory evacuation. As the storm approached and strengthened, more parishes adopted the mandatory evacuation, and President Bush invoked the Stafford Act and deployed federal troops and FEMA. At the same time, the Governor issued a mandatory evacuation, and the Mayor of New Orleans echoed that mandate. You know the story. People didn’t leave. More than 1,000 died disregarding those warnings and updated information from the National Hurricane Center whose satellite imagery enabled all who wanted to, to see over the horizon.
And now we have another visibility horizon, not a large boundary like the edge of the visible universe nor one like the expansive ocean over which storms travel, but one as tiny as a virus. Yet, as tiny as it is, it shrouds the future. It is the fog through which we cannot presently see. We can hypothesize; we can wildly predict. Seeing past this particular visibility horizon will improve only when the fog of this pandemic dissipates. Some fogs last longer than others, and this one is trying the world’s patience till it lifts.
As we know from experience, whereas some drivers slow down when they enter fog, others continue to drive as though nothing obstructs their view. We’ve read about chain-reaction crashes and unnecessary injuries and deaths. Racing headlong into the visibility horizon isn’t prudent and can be dangerous. Slow down. The fog will lift. Visibility will improve, and you will see your future more clearly.
Seeing what’s ahead is limited to the edge of the visibility horizon. Beyond that, which is ever moving as we travel, lies the unknown and possibly the hazardous conditions that jeopardize safety. Fog, however, isn’t the only phenomenon that puts a limit on visibility. In the grand scheme of the universe, there’s also a visibility horizon; it’s out there about 13.8 billion light years away. Over that horizon lies an unknown universe of galaxies whose light hasn’t traversed the intervening space. Astronomers can guess the visible universe has one to two trillion galaxies, but they can’t know what lies over that horizon, and they never will know as the universe continues to expand.
We play a rather passive role with respect to seeing those distant galaxies. We have to wait for their light to arrive, and there’s nothing we can do to hasten the arrival. In fact, there’s nothing we can do even in waiting. That train left the station 13.8 billion years ago. It’s not returning. But what about the other visibility horizons in our lives?
Forecasters can tell us what to expect on foggy nights, but only those in the fog can report the actual conditions. They lie beyond the visibility horizon; they can call out to warn. Of course, warnings work only when people heed them, the most famous of ignored warnings being the soothsayer’s statement to Caesar, “Beware the Ides of March.” Not too long ago, as Hurricane Katrina approached the Gulf Coast as a Category III hurricane with the potential for strengthening, the Governor of Louisiana, the US President, and the Mayor of New Orleans all issued warnings, and three or four Louisiana parishes declared a mandatory evacuation. As the storm approached and strengthened, more parishes adopted the mandatory evacuation, and President Bush invoked the Stafford Act and deployed federal troops and FEMA. At the same time, the Governor issued a mandatory evacuation, and the Mayor of New Orleans echoed that mandate. You know the story. People didn’t leave. More than 1,000 died disregarding those warnings and updated information from the National Hurricane Center whose satellite imagery enabled all who wanted to, to see over the horizon.
And now we have another visibility horizon, not a large boundary like the edge of the visible universe nor one like the expansive ocean over which storms travel, but one as tiny as a virus. Yet, as tiny as it is, it shrouds the future. It is the fog through which we cannot presently see. We can hypothesize; we can wildly predict. Seeing past this particular visibility horizon will improve only when the fog of this pandemic dissipates. Some fogs last longer than others, and this one is trying the world’s patience till it lifts.
As we know from experience, whereas some drivers slow down when they enter fog, others continue to drive as though nothing obstructs their view. We’ve read about chain-reaction crashes and unnecessary injuries and deaths. Racing headlong into the visibility horizon isn’t prudent and can be dangerous. Slow down. The fog will lift. Visibility will improve, and you will see your future more clearly.
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