CHAPTER 23: THE UNIVERSE IS UNDER NO OBLIGATION TO MAKE SENSE TO YOU -UNTIL IT DOES

By Steve Douglass

The universe doesn’t owe us clarity.

It doesn’t stop to explain why things happen when they do, why effort sometimes goes unrewarded, or why chaos shows up exactly when we thought we had life figured out. It just… keeps going. Stars explode. Time moves forward. People change. Plans fail. New ones appear.

And most of the time, none of it makes sense.

That idea can feel frustrating, even unfair. We’re taught—directly or indirectly—that if we work hard, follow the rules, and make “smart” choices, things should line up neatly. Cause, effect. Input, output. But real life isn’t a math problem. It’s more like static with moments of clarity breaking through.

Confusion Is Not a Failure. "Figure it out yet Douglass? Try looking for patterns in the chaos." Mark said. 

Some of the biggest questions—about identity, purpose, fairness, meaning—aren’t meant to be answered quickly. They’re meant to be lived with. The universe doesn’t hand out instruction manuals, and it definitely doesn’t tailor explanations to our timelines.

Patterns Only Appear in Retrospect

Here’s the quiet twist: meaning often shows up after the fact.

Looking forward, life feels random. Looking backward, it starts to form patterns.

A rejection leads to a different opportunity.
A mistake forces you to grow skills you wouldn’t have chosen voluntarily or it ends you.
A confusing phase becomes the reason you understand something else later on. It drives you toward understanding.

None of this is obvious while you’re inside it. The universe doesn’t pause and say, “Don’t worry, this will make sense in three years.” It just lets you walk through the fog.

Control Is Overrated; Curiosity Is Not

Trying to force everything to make sense right now usually leads to frustration. But replacing control with curiosity changes the experience.

But then there's a shift. It's subtle. At first you doubt it could be true because it makes sense.

However, the shift doesn’t magically fix anything—but it keeps you moving. It turns confusion into exploration rather than a dead end. And then, sometimes, quietly, unexpectedly—it clicks.

Not all at once. Not perfectly. But enough.

You connect a few dots. You understand the Universe a little better. You realize that what felt pointless wasn’t empty—it was just unfinished.

The Universe still doesn’t owe you explanations. But occasionally, it offers them anyway.

And when it does, you realize something important: The waiting didn’t mean nothing was happening.
It meant something was forming.

Then there's a shift and everything starts to come in to focus. Everything we've been told about Roswell is the lie pulled over our eyes to keep us from the truth.

Through a series of conversations with an ailing Mark, combined with deeper research, what really happened near Roswell in 1947 began to come into focus. Understanding it required letting go of the old myths entirely—and starting from scratch.

But let's first talk about universal patterns.

Intelligent life develops through identifiable survival milestones: abstract thought, toolmaking, weapon construction, and environmental mastery. Fire becomes more than heat; it becomes power. Electricity follows, then nuclear energy—each advancement carrying both promise and risk. Today, humanity stands at its next evolutionary crossroads: creating artificial intelligence and learning not just how to use it, but how to coexist with it in a mutually beneficial partnership.

The emergence of nuclear weapons—and now artificial intelligence—marks especially dangerous thresholds in human technological evolution. We either master both without destroying ourselves and the planet or we don't.

Now let’s talk about how rare intelligent life may actually be in the universe.

The universe is vast beyond intuition—hundreds of billions of galaxies, each with hundreds of billions of stars. On the surface, that scale suggests intelligent life should be everywhere. And yet, the silence is striking. Despite decades of searching, we have (supposedly) found no clear evidence of advanced civilizations beyond our own. This contradiction raises an unsettling possibility: intelligent life may be extraordinarily rare.

While simple life might emerge relatively easily given the right conditions, intelligence appears to require a precise chain of events. A stable star. A planet in the right orbit. Liquid water. A protective magnetic field. Geological activity to recycle nutrients. A long period of environmental stability—interrupted just enough by catastrophe to drive evolution forward, but not so much that it resets progress entirely.

Even then, intelligence is not guaranteed.

On Earth, life existed for billions of years before complex intelligence appeared. And even after that, it took only a narrow evolutionary path for humans to develop abstract reasoning, language, and technology. Dinosaurs ruled the planet for far longer than humans have existed, yet never developed radio telescopes or nuclear reactors. Intelligence, it seems, is not evolution’s default outcome.

If that is true, then technological civilizations may be both rare and fragile. Reaching the point of advanced energy use—nuclear power, artificial intelligence, planet-altering technology—could represent a narrow and dangerous window. Many civilizations may not survive their own ingenuity. They may destroy themselves, stagnate, or choose silence over expansion.

This would explain why the universe feels empty—not because life never arises, but because few civilizations make it past their most dangerous milestones.

If humanity is approaching one of those thresholds now, then our moment in history may be more significant than we realize. Not just for us, but in the context of the universe itself.

N=R∗​×fp​×ne​×fl​×fi​×fc​×L  ... But you said there would be no math?

The Drake Equation is a way scientists think about the possibility of intelligent life in the universe. It doesn’t give a final answer—it’s more of a framework for asking the right questions.

At its core, the equation tries to estimate how many civilizations might exist in our galaxy that we could potentially communicate with.
The Idea Behind It

Astronomer Frank Drake proposed the equation in 1961, not to solve the mystery outright, but to break a huge, overwhelming question into smaller, understandable pieces.

Instead of asking:“Are we alone?”

The Drake Equation asks:

“What conditions would have to be true for intelligent life to exist—and how often might those conditions occur?”

The Equation (Conceptually)

The equation multiplies several factors together. Each factor represents a step from empty space to a communicating civilization.

In plain language, it asks:


How many stars form each year in our galaxy?
The more stars, the more chances for planets.


How many of those stars have planets?
We now know most stars do.


How many of those planets could support life?
Usually meaning planets with liquid water and stable conditions.


How many of those planets actually develop life?
This is still unknown—life might be common or incredibly rare.


How many life-bearing planets develop intelligent life?
On Earth, this took billions of years and happened only once (that we know of).


How many intelligent species develop technology we could detect?
Intelligence alone isn’t enough—they need radio signals, energy use, or other detectable signs.

How long do such civilizations last?
This may be the most important—and troubling—factor. If civilizations tend to destroy themselves or go silent quickly, the number of detectable civilizations drops sharply.
Why It Matters

The power of the Drake Equation is that it highlights where the uncertainty really is.

We’re increasingly confident about stars and planets.
We’re less certain about life.
We’re deeply uncertain about intelligence.
And we’re almost completely in the dark about civilizational survival.

That last point ties directly into nuclear weapons and artificial intelligence. A civilization might reach incredible technological heights—only to collapse shortly afterward. If that’s common, it would explain why the universe appears quiet.

What the Equation Really Tells Us

The Drake Equation doesn’t prove that aliens exist—or that they don’t. What it does is suggest that intelligent life may be rare not because the universe lacks opportunity, but because survival past certain milestones is difficult.

In that sense, the equation isn’t just about extraterrestrials.

It’s about us.

With the odds stacked against us—our entire civilization lasting little more than a blip compared to the age of the universe—consider how significant it would be for an advanced race of beings to discover intelligent life at all.

If intelligent civilizations are rare and short-lived, then catching one in the brief window where it is technologically active would be extraordinary. Not a planet of microbes. Not simple life. But a species that thinks abstractly, builds tools, harnesses energy, and begins reaching beyond its home world.

Even a promising intelligence—one still early in its technological development—would be worth attention.

From that perspective, humanity’s current stage becomes especially interesting. We have unlocked nuclear energy. We are creating artificial intelligence. We are broadcasting signals into space. In cosmic terms, we have just begun to announce our presence—and we may not do so for very long.

To an advanced civilization, such a moment would be rare enough to warrant observation and in particular intervention. Not necessarily contact. Not necessarily interference. But watching. Studying. Waiting to see whether the species survives its most dangerous transitions—or destroys itself in the process. They would look for the warning signs that a species was on the verge of destroying itself and the sign would be the detonation of a nuclear device, like the one Mark witnessed at Trinity.

If the universe truly is as quiet as it seems, then intelligent life is not just rare—it is precious. And any civilization capable of lasting long enough to explore the cosmos would understand exactly how fleeting we are.

Which raises an unsettling question:
If someone were out there, what would they see when they look at us right now ? Are we going to make it? Will we live long enough to join the galactic conversation?

The Space/Time Barrier

To understand why intelligent species may never physically connect, we first have to confront the true scale of the universe.

Space is not just large—it is unimaginably vast. Even within our own galaxy, the Milky Way, distances are measured in thousands of light-years. A light-year is how far light travels in a single year, and light is the fastest thing in the universe. Any object with mass moves far more slowly. At the speeds achievable by even the most advanced technology we can imagine today, traveling between stars would take centuries or millennia.

And that’s just within one galaxy.

The observable universe contains hundreds of billions of galaxies, each separated by immense cosmic voids. Many of them are moving away from us as the universe expands, placing them permanently beyond reach. No matter how advanced a civilization becomes, the laws of physics impose hard limits. Faster-than-light travel remains speculative, unsupported by evidence, and likely impossible without rewriting our understanding of reality itself.

Time adds another barrier.

Civilizations do not last forever. Even if intelligent life arises in multiple places, their periods of technological activity may not overlap. One species could rise, explore, and go extinct millions of years before another ever looks up at the stars. In cosmic terms, technological civilizations may flash into existence briefly—ships passing in the night across billions of years.

Even communication suffers from this separation. Signals travel at the speed of light. A message sent across a thousand light-years takes a thousand years to arrive—and another thousand for a reply. Any conversation would unfold over millennia, assuming both civilizations survive long enough to continue it.

From this perspective, the universe’s silence becomes less mysterious.

It may not be empty.
It may simply be disconnected.

Intelligent life could be scattered across space and time, each civilization isolated by distance, duration, and physics. Not because contact is forbidden, but because the universe is structured in a way that makes connection extraordinarily unlikely.

And yet, the irony remains: just as the universe makes contact nearly impossible, it also makes discovery meaningful. To find another intelligent species—even indirectly—would be to overcome the greatest distances imaginable.

How do we or they do that? Does all this mean we've we never have been nor will be contacted by another intelligent species? Maybe they are so advanced they've figured a way to bridge the gulf of space?


Let's exam faster than ight travel. It works in Star Trek right?

Traveling at the speed of light is one of the greatest barriers for any species trying to explore or communicate across the Universe. According to classical physics, no object with mass can ever reach—or exceed—the speed of light. The closer you get to that ultimate speed limit, the more energy is required. And I mean exponentially more. For example, accelerating a spaceship to even a significant fraction of light speed would demand amounts of energy that dwarf anything humanity currently produces.

It’s not just a technical problem—it’s a fundamental limit built into the fabric of spacetime itself. Even if a civilization could harness all the energy of a star, using it efficiently to propel a ship across interstellar distances still becomes a monumental challenge. And that’s only for travel. Communicating across the cosmos faces similar constraints: signals—even traveling at light speed—take years, centuries, or millennia to reach the nearest star systems.

This limitation reshapes how we think about contact with other intelligent life. The Universe is so vast that even if civilizations exist, physical encounters are likely impossible. The distances are simply too enormous, and the time scales involved make “real-time” interaction unthinkable. At best, civilizations could leave signs—messages, artifacts, or perhaps carefully planned probes—but direct face-to-face interaction may be forever out of reach.

The speed of light isn’t just a number; it’s a cosmic reminder of our limitations and the scale of the Universe. It forces us to rethink what “contact” really means and whether intelligence in the cosmos is destined to be more like echoes across time and space rather than physical neighbors.


How about Black holes as energy sources?

In theory, black holes could be the ultimate battery. They store enormous amounts of mass, which—thanks to Einstein’s E=mc2E=mc^2E=mc2—means staggering energy potential. There are two main ideas:


Hawking radiation – I've heard of that.

Hawking radiation is tiny black holes emit radiation and slowly evaporate, releasing energy. A civilization could, in theory, harness that energy. But to make a black hole small enough to radiate significantly, you’d need to compress huge amounts of matter into an incredibly tiny volume. The energy and technology required to do that is far beyond anything humanity could even imagine.


Accretion disks? – Matter falling into a black hole can release up to ~40% of its mass as usable energy. That’s far more efficient than burning fuel. But you’d need to manage matter near the event horizon safely—basically trying to operate at the edge of a cosmic vacuum cleaner. One tiny miscalculation and it’s all gone.

Even advanced civilizations would need energy scales comparable to entire stars to manipulate black holes effectively. That’s orders of magnitude beyond nuclear power or even all the energy output of a planet.

What about wormholes like in Interstellar? 

Theoretically, wormholes could let you bypass light-speed limits by creating a “bridge” through spacetime. But here’s the catch:

You’d need exotic matter with negative energy density to stabilize a wormhole. This is purely theoretical; we haven’t found anything like it in nature. The energy required is astronomical—possibly equivalent to the mass-energy of a star just to hold a tiny wormhole open. Even if you could make one, keeping it open long enough to travel safely might be another challenge entirely.

So, while black holes and wormholes make for incredible sci-fi concepts, they aren’t “energy shortcuts” in reality. They represent extreme cosmic engineering that even a Kardashev Type II civilization (one that uses all the energy of its star) would struggle with.

The Kardashev Scale is a way of classifying civilizations based on how much energy they can harness. It was proposed by the Russian astrophysicist Nikolai Kardashev in 1964, and it helps us imagine just how advanced an alien civilization might be.

A Type I civilization is one that can use and store all the energy available on its home planet. That includes sunlight, wind, geothermal, fossil fuels—everything Earth can provide. Humanity isn’t there yet; we’re probably around 0.7 on the Kardashev Scale, because we still rely heavily on finite resources and haven’t fully tapped the planet’s potential energy.

A Type II civilization takes things to the next level: it can harness the energy of its entire star. Imagine surrounding the Sun with a gigantic structure—often visualized as a Dyson Sphere—to capture every watt of its output. That’s roughly 4 × 10²⁶ watts, or billions of times more than humanity currently consumes. With that much energy, a civilization could do things that seem like pure science fiction to us: move planets, manipulate black holes, or theoretically stabilize a wormhole.

Finally, a Type III civilization could control the energy of an entire galaxy. At that level, interstellar travel, large-scale engineering on star systems, or galaxy-spanning communication becomes theoretically possible—but that’s far beyond even Type II.

Here’s the key takeaway, a Type II civilization would be unimaginably advanced compared to us. But reaching that level is incredibly unlikely because it requires not just intelligence, but immense social stability, foresight, and the ability to avoid self-destruction while handling energy scales that could obliterate everything if mismanaged. That’s why the odds of encountering a civilization capable of interstellar engineering—or visiting Earth—are probably astronomically low.

Looking kind of bleak for an alien crash at Roswell right? 

Well, there may be a work around, a cheat. We will examine that in the next post. 

UP NEXT - GETTING TO ROSWELL