Fan Of The Multiverse

Another reason, in addition to the obvious, why MultiFan is such an appropriate name for my website is because I am definitely a fan of the “multiverse.”

In recent years, astronomers and cosmologists have begun to admit (no matter how reluctantly in some cases) that “it is no longer sufficient merely to refer to the universe as encompassing everything, but rather to acknowledge the existence of the multiverse in order to do so.” Thus is described the infinite number of parallel universes existing alongside of our own.

Quantum physics tells us that when the most elementary particle of all, the quark, may turn either left or right, it does both, and according to the scientists the resulting two universes branch off, each following all of the possible consequences resulting from that turn. This applies not only to quarks, but to people, and to everything else in-between the two. Considering the number of decisions made by each person every day, how each such decision impacts everyone else, how often nonhuman decisions get into the act (such as the lowly squirrel who decides whether or not to run out in front of your car at just the wrong moment when the guy behind you is fussing over the spilled hot coffee in his lap, resulting in a multi-car pileup), it is easy to see how the number of potential universes rapidly reaches the infinite.

The best way that I have ever heard of in which to visualize the multiverse was presented in two of the five original “Planet Of The Apes” movies. As they said, picture an interstate highway with an infinite number of parallel lanes, all running from the infinite past into the infinite future. They said, “It follows that a driver might change lanes, and thus change his future. If we left this room right now, we might be shot, killed. But if we left five minutes from now, we might survive. It’s a blind choice, but one can change one’s future.” So, in an infinite number of universes, all possibilities must happen somewhere, such that there is no such thing as “the road not taken.”

Just imagine: on the grand scale, there are many universes in which the World Trade Center attacks never happened; there are many in which the Axis powers won World War II; many in which the South won the Civil War; many in which a giant asteroid/comet/meteor did not slam into the Earth sixty-five million years ago and wipe out the dinosaurs (thus the main sentient form of life there in this time period is reptilian, not mammalian); many in which our solar system did not coalesce into existence (perhaps because a nearby supernova did not go off at the right time to shockwave our gas-cloud into collapse); etc. etc. etc., on back ad infinitum.

Now imagine the implications on the personal level. (It is easiest for me to discuss this in the context of my own personal history, but each of you readers should apply this to your own past instead). There are universes in which I was killed at age four when I fell off of that seesaw (in this universe it was a near-miss because Daddy managed to catch me); there are universes in which my parents had no child, or had a different child due to conceiving him/her on a different night; universes in which my parents never married or never even met; universes in which my mother died at age seven of diphtheria (in this one she almost did); universes in which my grandparents never met or never married; and so on, and so on, and so on, back as far as the mind can go.

I have heard (read, actually) reputable scientists admit to the plausibility of all of these sorts of concepts so far.

But now I will take it one step farther. I readily admit that I am now venturing beyond what scientists today will support. I submit that every person, in his original newborn state, is simply the result of a very specific collection of genes and chromosomes. (Yes, yes, yes, later experiences will mold him throughout his life, but this isn’t about that). I am saying that his being, his essence, his awareness of self, is dictated by that exact combination. Thus it follows that whenever you get that precise same collection of genes and chromosomes, you get the very same person. Or, to put it more simply (and personally, for ease of speech), no one else could possibly be all of those “mes” but me. Only I can be I. If one accepts this premise, then in every universe in which my parents had this child, this collection of genes and chromosomes, I should be able to expect to live out each and every one of those lives!

Now, obviously, the universes, being parallel, run concurrently. But since I can’t be in two or more places simultaneously without being aware of it (and still be the exact same “I”), it follows that I would experience them consecutively. From that I deduce that when I die in this universe, I will be born into the next. I also assume that universes that are “located” “beside” each other have the fewest differences from each other, whereas universes that are the most remotely “located” (in comparison with this one) will have to be the most extremely different from this. Obviously, eventually, I will run out of universes which I can inhabit as soon as I “use up” all of the ones in which I exist.

Further, I submit that this theory of mine explains so-called “premonitions” and “deja-vu.” “Premonitions” are therefore not really visions of the future at all, but imperfect memory erasure from the extreme past, or the “past-before-the-past,” if you prefer. Such failure of complete memory erasure probably occurs only regarding supremely emotional, traumatic events. “Deja-vu,” the feeling that one has been there before or done that before, would thus occur because one was there before and did do that before, in a “prior” (subjectively) existence.

Again, I can give examples only from my own life. When I was a tiny child, often I would look into Daddy’s eyes, or look at his fingers, and spontaneously, irresistibly, burst into tears. I knew that I was sensing his death, but of course, I had no idea why. Why should those specific parts of him be connected with a death that I was somehow convinced would be both premature and exceptionally horrible? It was only when he actually was dying decades later that I realized the answer. Torn up by pancreatic cancer as he was, his eyes and fingers were all that I could see of him that still functioned. His fingers restlessly moved and fretted at the edges of the sheet that was pulled up over him, as well as at the bars of the protective sideboards of his bed. Each time that I looked into his eyes, I saw that, though he could no longer speak, he was very much aware; he knew who and where he was; he knew who I was; he communicated with his eyes that he was still in there, still the person that I knew and loved (whereas years later, after her massive stroke, my mother’s eyes were empty; she was “no longer in there”). I now suspect that I have watched that man, my beloved father, die of cancer innumerable times. But I take this as extreme good news, because that means that the universes in which he will not get the cancer should still be subjectively ahead of me! That fact will undoubtedly cause some amusement value in some “future” universe: I will certainly have those same ugly “premonitions” in my youth, but then the dreaded event which I sense will not occur, for a change, and I will laugh at my own previous foolishness and gullibility at having at least tentatively given in to clearly irrational “belief” in “premonitions,” despite Daddy’s own tutelage against such superstitious nonsense. (Gee, I wonder in how many such universes I will “sweat that one out” before the “imperfect memory erasure” finally ceases to transmit).

Now, might you ask: do I truly believe in all of this theorizing that I am doing? I would have to say no, because the word “believe” has developed too many unfortunate connotations due to the many religions of the world employing it to signify irrational, even fanatical, stubborn acceptance of the wholly (pun) unfounded, for which zero evidence exists, in other words “blind faith.” However, I can comfortably and safely say that I strongly suspect it to be true. As such, I do derive some modicum of comfort and consolation from it, so I suppose that I must reluctantly admit that my theory therefore does offer to perform some of the same functions in my life that religions serve to their adherents. Reluctantly, because the very fact of it providing comfort makes it suspect; in other words, did I come up with an excellent theory, or just a good security blanket? There’s no way to know for sure, of course. I simply feel that it has more sense to it than any religion of which I’ve ever heard.

I thoroughly look forward to what I hope will be many long years in this universe with my wonderful husband, Chris, our beloved bunnies, our dear friends, and our lovely home.

Even so, when it is all over for me here, I would still like to look forward to being a happy child in Daddy’s lap once again.