Billions and Billions (Carl Sagan)
OVERVIEW
“Billions and Billions: Thoughts on Life and Death at the Brink of the Millennium” was the final book of Carl Sagan’s career. Sagan was an American astronomer, astrophysicist, author, and atheist, who wrote extensively about the cosmos. While there’s hardly any death fare (despite the title), the book does remind me of Toby Ord’s the Precipice, inviting us to contemplate existential risk and the duty that we have to protect the planet. Although much of the content is outdated, the message is current: modern technology has imperiled our species, and we need to take decisive action to protect our future. I like Sagan’s sentiment: “We have not inherited the Earth from our ancestors, but have borrowed it from our children.”
Billions and Billions is a collection of 19 essays, and it’s the last essay that most deserves to be highlighted here. Titled “In the Valley of the Shadow,” this chapter explores all the personal encounters Sagan has had with death. He relates, “I’ve learned much from our confrontations – especially about the beauty and sweet poignancy of life, about the preciousness of friends and family, and about the transforming power of love. In fact, almost dying is such a positive, character-building experience that I’d recommend it to everybody – except, of course, for the irreducible and essential element of risk.” I feel there’s so little secular content available regarding death and dying – how atheists face life-limiting illness, how regrets might differ, how to plan memorials – even if this was only the briefest of glimpses, I’ll happily take it.
I would love to believe that when I die I will live again, that some thinking, feeling, remembering part of me will continue. But as much as I want to believe that, and despite the ancient and worldwide cultural traditions that assert an afterlife, I know of nothing to suggest that it is more than wishful thinking. […] The world is so exquisite, with so much love and moral depth, that there is no reason to deceive ourselves with pretty stories for which there’s little good evidence. Far better, it seems to me, in our vulnerability, is to look Death in the eye and to be grateful every day for the brief but magnificent opportunity that life provides.
And on the off-chance that anyone has arrived here hoping to discover if Sagan ultimately renounced his atheism, I’ll direct you to this excerpt from the epilogue, written by his wife: “Contrary to the fantasies of the fundamentalists, there was no deathbed conversion, no last minute refuge taken in a comforting vision of a heaven or an afterlife. For Carl, what mattered most was what was true, not merely what would make us feel better. Even at this moment when anyone would be forgiven for turning away from the reality of our situation, Carl was unflinching. As we looked deeply into each other’s eyes, it was with a shared conviction that our wondrous life together was ending forever.” She leaves us with some poignant thoughts about legacy – Sagan living on in their children, in the Voyager spacecraft, and in all of the people inspired to study science and astronomy because of his work. “They allow me to feel, without resorting to the supernatural, that Carl lives.”
WHAT NOW? (actions for mortal atheists)
Big concepts make us feel small – in a good way
This is a theme I’m still working out for myself, but I’ve often found that reading books about the universe (by Sagan or others) makes me feel cosmically insignificant, but in a reassuring way. Which is interesting, because if you look at, say, Ernest Becker’s work, his hypothesis was that we need to feel cosmically significant to find true contentment. But there’s something about contemplating the vastness of the cosmos, or the intricacy of nature, that makes it easier to let go of small, petty things. I believe most astronauts come back feeling similarly, suffused with profound gratitude and a feeling of oneness. Maybe it’s self-transcendence, maybe it’s awe, maybe it’s both. I’m not sure. There’s even a chance that this confirms rather than denies Becker’s hypothesis – perhaps filling yourself up with universal wonder is enough to engender those essential feelings of affiliation, or connection. Maybe what I’m feeling is not insignificance but rather belonging… or maybe it’s the moderation of the “self” that palliates. I couldn’t say. Check back in a year!
IN SUM:
Is this book entirely secular? Yes.
If you had to describe the book in one sentence? Final thoughts from Carl Sagan on the nature of the universe and our planet, and one last plea not to screw things up.
Who should read this book? I’m not convinced that all the topics here haven’t been better addressed elsewhere (even in Sagan’s other books), but the last essay is worth a read for every death-fearing atheist.