Anytime I ask people what they think about aliens or extraterrestrial intelligence, the response is generally the same: "I've never really thought about it."
A certain handful, though, I've found, have thought about it. And those who have thought about it seem to share a similar disposition, one that, from my perspective, reflects the shimmering, unfailing spirit of hope that permeates human existence. For all the knowledge amassed in humanity's relatively short collective consciousness, nothing succeeds at nor even comes close to answering the greatest mystery still yet unsolved for us as a species living in a gigantic universe.
Are we alone?
I tend to think not. And from what I can observe, most people who spend at least some portion of their time thinking about this subject tend to agree. But why? Am I so hardwired for meaning and purpose that I'm willing to overlook my logic to reach a conclusion that may not have any shred of scientific evidence? Admittedly, yes, I am. I'm willing to believe in something beyond myself, in terms of intelligent life, which is something I find common in many religions. Yet the problem of proof remains.
There is no scientific proof for extraterrestrial intelligence. Let me qualify "proof" as simply meaning something that any logical person cannot refute and leave it at that. For every argument there is an equally valid argument on the other end of the proverbial spectrum just waiting to gobble up its evil twin. In a sense, proof requires more proof, and results must be replicable or else they hold no weight and no purpose for humanity as a whole.
So that's that. And with what little evidence upon which we can all agree, we find ourselves in the same position as our ancestors and those who came before them--staring up at the sky, waiting for a signal, some sort of sign, from something bigger than us, to let us know that we are not alone. It's a comforting prospect, and I'm not ashamed to say that I find comfort in it. The deepest part of my recognizable self just knows there's something out there, but that feeling alone holds no weight in any argument anywhere, because it can't be proven to anyone but me.
Be that as it may, I continue to hope, or, as I often feel, I continue to wait. The secrets of the universe, in my opinion, will never be known to me or anyone else living around me in our lifetimes. As frustrating as that may be, it's also quite humbling and incredibly mind-blowing to know that I'm part of something much larger than I may ever understand. Still, my boyish dreams of the crystal glass surrounding Earth shattering after a visitation from our cosmic brethren will always be in my heart, and I will never let it go. It's the type of faith I believe in.
