Star Light So Bright: What Ideas You Inspire On A Glorious Night!


September 18, 1989

Lying on our backs on a pier on the Piankatank River, we looked up at the stars. None of us knew very much about astronomy. We wondered if any of the stars might actually be galaxies, huge glusters of so many stars so far away that only Carl Sagan, with that special way he has of saying "billions and billions," could describe the numbers and distances involved in a manner that properly captured the mystery and awe that the nighttime sky evokes.

I've since read that only three galaxies outside of our own, the Milky Way, can be seen from the Earth without a telescope. Telescopes were not necessary that night on the river. The big picture was too spectacular, too captivating, for anyone to want to concentrate on just a tiny spot in the sky.

I don't think I've seen that many stars since I was a Boy Scout camping in New Mexico, more than two decades ago. There have been nights that have come close - at the beach, in the mountains - but this night was unrivaled.

Looking up at the nighttime sky on the lower Peninsula is about as exciting as cold clam chowder. Some nights are better than others, but usually the lights of the universe are no match for the lights of the shipyard, shopping centers, streets and cars, houses and television sets. Especially televisions. They give off a captivating, mind-numbing light.

On the Piankatank we tried to remember our constellations. We didn't do such a great job, but that didn't matter. There were more stars than there were jelly fish in the river beneath us, and instead of stinging us they were all winking at us.

The Milky Way was at its best, absolutely glowing, pulsating. Strutting its stuff.

I read that on a clear night you can see about 2,000 stars. (So maybe there were more jellyfish than stars. It was pleasant to think otherwise for a moment.)

The word "star" takes in a lot. If you say "rock," in the geological sense, you could be referring to anything from the size of a pebble to the Rock of Gibraltar. When you say "star," you could be referring to something with a diameter of 10 miles or something with a diameter of 1 billion miles. With billions and billions (and billions and billions) of stars to choose from, there's plenty of room for variety.

There ought to be a law requiring everyone - every home, every business - to turn off all their lights on the same night, once each season, for the purpose of stargazing.

A friend who watched the total eclipse of the moon remarked that as he sat watching the Earth's shadow devour our nearest neighbor in the solar system, he saw some of his own neighbors walk out of their houses, get in their cars and drive off without even looking up. I sometimes wonder how long it would take people who live in cities to notice if the stars disappeared. Completely. Poof. Gone. Unless there was a story in the newspaper, I could go weeks without realizing it.

Almost everyday there seems to be another story about the destruction of our environment. How much of a mess did Exxon leave behind in Alaska? What can be done to stop the destruction of tropical rain forests? Global warming. The greenhouse effect. The hole in the ozone layer. Acid rain. Groundwater contamination.

Usually these are written in terms of the damage being done to wildlife and the long-term threat posed to man. But there's also the loss of simple joys that people used to take for granted, such as being able to look up at the nighttime sky and see it filled with stars.

The fact that the stars are disappearing from our lives won't cause an increase in cancer rates. It won't melt the polar ice caps or result in orange trees starting to grow in Tidewater. It won't pollute our drinking water or cause lead poisoning. It might even be good for business: Entrepreneurs could take wealthy people on weekend star trips, driving them out to dark spots in the remote countryside to visit star zoos, places where the exotic sights of the night could still be seen.

Old men will tell their grandchildren, "Yes, when I was your age, you could still see stars." The kids won't know what they're missing.

* Jesse E. Todd Jr. is an associate editor of the editorial page.

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