4.
One couldn’t keep saying
‘gravitationally completely collapsed object’
over and over
When I was sixteen, I felt that I needed to talk to the Ocean, and I was
impatient. I decided that this alien being at the heart of Stanisław Lem’s
Solaris was the only god I could ever accept. The single inhabitant of planet
Solaris, the black Ocean covered its whole surface and weighed seven hundred billion tons. Resistant to all studies, its intelligence was elusive. It seemed
to spend most of its time spitting out amorphous shapes. I was obsessed.
In my Catholic, uni-sex, private high school, I skipped prayer and slept
through religion classes. I politely refused invitations to parties in order to
daydream about joining the NASA oceanography team. I devised methods
for submergence, practicing in lakes or - less ideally - in murky, ashy ponds
near the coal mines in Wałbrzych, where I grew up. My friends longed to
wrap themselves around boys but I was having erotic dreams about Seasat,
the first civilian oceanographic satellite launched in 1978. But years passed,
40
and nothing. I graduated, moved to London, moved to Warsaw, moved to
Amsterdam, moved to Hong Kong, and nothing. I kept searching for the
Ocean, in vain.
In 2013, scientists at the University of Miami and the Swiss Federal
Institute of Technology in Zürich aimed to study the mysteries of large
ocean eddies, vortices that form in turbulent waters, by comparing them to
black holes. Even though these eddies can span enormous distances of over
ninety miles, their boundaries remain difficult to draw. What links them
to black holes is that the only outward-directed information is the absence
of information. Edgar Allan Poe described one diabolic whirlwind in A
Descent Into the Maelstrom: “the terrific funnel, whose interior, as far as the
eye could fathom it, was a smooth, shining, and jet-black wall of water . .
. sending forth to the winds an appalling voice, half shriek, half roar.” You
can almost feel Poe trying to grab this voiceless inhuman terror by the throat
to transcribe it into digestible aural experiences. He also recounted a “broad
belt of gleaming spray” around the vortex, akin to the event horizon.
Physicist John Wheeler is often credited with inventing the term “black
hole” in 1964, three years after the publication of Solaris, at a talk he gave
at NASA’s Goddard Institute of Space Studies. He clarified that a stranger
in the audience had suggested the term to him. Seduced by its simplicity,
Wheeler decided “to be casual about the term...dropping it into [my] lectures as if it was an old friend” until it caught on, because “one couldn’t keep
saying ‘gravitationally completely collapsed object’ over and over.” One of
41
the earliest (known) mentions of the subject appeared in 1783 when John
Mitchell wrote about mysterious “dark stars” whose gravitational pull was
so strong that nothing could escape from them, not even light. Today, we
know that black holes are warps in spacetime rather than pits. The black
hole is a strange geometry. Light can only travel inwards, no matter which
direction it goes. Black holes turn vision onto itself, collapsing its inquisitive properties.
Aside from recurrent scientific concerns, one of Lem’s favourite themes,
especially in the extraordinary His Master’s Voice, is scholars’ inability to come
to a unanimous conclusion. After decades of studying planet Solaris, arguments over the Ocean’s ‘aliveness’ have biologists and physicists on a warpath. Journalists conjure audacious theories, for example that the Ocean is
a distant relative of electric eels, capable of producing artificial gravitational
and magnetic fields. But it remained unclear whether the Ocean acknowledged human existence, whether its doings were intentional or akin to
mere muscle twitches of a corpse. Were scientists assigning intentionality
to a dynamic but inert phenomenon? Here on Earth, astrobiologists Aditya
Chopra and Charles H. Lineweaver have recently suggested that the reason why we fail to find aliens is that they’re dead. In the Gaian bottleneck
model, their answer to the Fermi paradox, life rarely has a chance to evolve
quickly enough to maintain surface temperatures necessary for habitability long-term. We’re trying to communicate with corpses. A testimony
to our longing for the alien or our inability to stand silence? Lem’s whole
43
oeuvre deals with the impossibility of interstellar communication, a problem that he defined as cultural rather than scientific. In a despair-inducing
excerpt from Solaris, he writes: “We have no need for other worlds. We
need mirrors. We don’t know what to do with other worlds.” When a team
of scientists illegally bombards the Ocean with x-rays, they fail to reveal its
working but create a mirror: the Ocean starts producing neutrino copies
of the astronauts’ deceased loved ones. Lem believed that human inability
to welcome otherness would preclude us from the ability to decipher alien
communication. Notably, his final novel was titled Fiasco, a bleak parody
of literature’s failed mission to open humans up to difference. The funeral
march never stops in Solaris, where self-renewing clones repeatedly commit
suicide, re-populating the depths of the Ocean, bound to a homogeneity
that furiously and cruelly keeps on giving.
The debate around whether black holes could communicate anything
apart from their basic parameters was one of cosmology’s most fervent.
Betting on a ‘no,’ Stephen Hawking said, “You can throw television sets,
diamond rings or your worst enemies into a black hole, and all that the
black hole will remember is the total mass, the angular momentum, and
the electric charge.” There might be abundant information inside them but
if anything were to escape, it would have to travel faster than the speed of
light, which means that we could not observe it. Even though they came
to represent the point of no return, Hawking’s grand discovery was that
“black holes are not the eternal prisons they were once thought” and some
44
particles may escape as radiation, eventually leading to demise. On such a
descent, there is a way out for thought, too. In imperceptibility or uncertainty, there’s a possibility of unlearning the habitual.
The space of science-fiction is a multidirectional geography of contingency: narrative hypotheses model scientific experiments and vice versa,
to the point where this distinction becomes performative. Black holes and
gravitational dilation are valuable models for thinking about the asymmetry of extinction. For an outside observer, an object falling into a black
hole appears to gradually slow down until it freezes at the event horizon,
lingering on the border of annihilation, and disappears. Yet, from the perspective of said object, spacetime (and entropy) fast-forwards. This ostensibly incoherent spatiotemporality is at the heart of our cosmos: astronomers
believe that a supermassive black hole lies at the centre of every galaxy. The
veil of smog that we pulled over the skies necessitates interspecies design of
unparalleled temporal daring: if not now, then when should we consider
this axiomatic vantage point from which the human species can perceive
the multitude of spatio-temporalities it belongs with?
45
Works Cited
Chopra, Aditya, and Charles H. Lineweaver. “The case for a Gaian bottleneck: The biology of habitability.” Astrobiology, vol. 16.1 (2016):
7-22.
Ford, Kenneth W., and John A. Wheeler. Geons, black holes, and quantum
foam: A life in physics.” W. W. Norton & Company (2000).
Haller, George, and J. Beron-Vera, Francisco. “Coherent Lagrangian vortices: The black holes of turbulence.” Journal of Fluid Mechanics, vol.
731 (2013): 1-10.
Hawking, Stephen and Shukman, David. “Stephen Hawking’s Reith Lecture: Annotated transcript.” BBC News (26 January 2016).
Lem, Stanisław. Solaris. Wydawnictwo Ministerstwa Obrony Narodowej
(1961).
Lem, Stanisław. Głos Pana. Wydawnictwo Czytelnik (1968).
Lem, Stanisław. Fiasko. Wydawnictwo Literackie (1987).
Poe, Edgar Allan. A Descent into the Maelstrom. University of Virginia Library, 1986.
Schaffer, Simon. “John Mitchell and Black Holes.” Journal for the History of
Astronomy, vol. 10 (1979): 42-43.
46
Table of Contents
Introduction: From and by the Director
7
1. The Little Mole
Mari Bastashevski
12
2. The Story of Bernard M.
Drew S. Burk
19
3. Adrift: Attribution & Responsibility in a Changing Climate
Adam Sébire
27
4. Unlearning Habitual Cosmologies: Reading Stanisław Lem
at the event horizon
Bogna Konior
39
5. hieroglyphically challenged
Tyran Grillo
47
6. In Sweden
Dominic Pettman
51
7. The Sound of Shaking Paper: A Sonic Archive
Carla Nappi
58
4
8. Ante-monuments
Thom Donovan
66
9. Geometry of Corn and Blood
Joseph Heathcott
73
10. The Island for the Lost
Ania Malinowska
82
11. Dispatch From Nose Dodge
Nina Hien
90
12. The Memory of Water
Öykü Tekten
97
13. Cabazon Dinosaurs, California, USA
Lindsey A. Freeman
103
14. The Purr-Loined Letter: Another Case of Feline Absence
Kári Driscoll
108
15. The Radar-Type
Bernard Dionysius Geoghegan
114
16. New Horizons of Exhaustion:Mapping Poland in the
Karakoram
Margret Grebowicz
121
5
17. The Streets of London anywhere, really
Iain Liddell
132
18. Bowling in Pyongyang
Witold van Ratingen
139
19. Sonic Geographies
Evdoxia Ragkou
146
20. Space is A Place
Leila Taylor
152
About the Authors
158
6