Talking to the Saturnians.

Nick Richardson’s LRB review (18 June 2020; archived) of Extraterrestrial Languages, by Daniel Oberhaus, is mostly about recent attempts to communicate with extraterrestrials, which we discussed a couple of years ago, but it begins with a few paragraphs about earlier ideas, which I found charming enough to post:

The hero​ of The Man in the Moone, a novel written in the late 1620s by the Anglican bishop Francis Godwin, is carried to the moon in a sky chariot pulled by a flock of wild swans. He spends the next few months among the peaceful ‘Lunars’ and gains a measure of fluency in their language, which ‘consisteth not so much of words and letters’ as of melodies ‘that no letters can expresse’. Godwin’s cosmonaut, Gonsales, in many ways had an easy time of it. He could point at a swan or a star and the Lunars would whistle one tune or another. Tune by tune Gonsales pieced together his Lunar vocabulary. But almost the only thing we know for certain about aliens is that they don’t live close enough to see us pointing. We know of a handful of possibly habitable planets, but none is less than four light years away – or 24 trillion miles. And the Lunars aren’t that unlike humans: they’re tall but anthropomorphoid, and even claim to be Christian. More recent sci-fi – such as Ted Chiang’s ‘Story of Your Life’, the inspiration for the film Arrival, in which humans try to communicate with heptapods who perceive all time simultaneously – features aliens that are much more alien. The more we learn about ourselves and the universe, the more we appreciate that aliens probably won’t just be humans with longer limbs and waving antennae. How do you communicate with a planet-sized slime with ESP that eats electricity?

The 19th-century approach to breaking the cosmic ice was to attract attention with a huge (preferably exploding) drawing. The German mathematician Carl Friedrich Gauss wanted to plant a visual proof of Pythagoras’ theorem, comprising a right-angled triangle bordered on each side by squares, in the Siberian tundra. The borders of the shapes were to be marked out by trees and their interiors filled with wheat: this would demonstrate to anyone able to view the diagram from space that humans had mastered both mathematics and agriculture. In Austria, Joseph von Littrow proposed digging trenches in the Sahara, filling them with kerosene and setting them ablaze. Charles Cros, a poet and inventor, petitioned the French government to fund the construction of a huge mirror capable of burning messages onto the Martian and Venusian deserts, while the will of Anne Goguet, a French socialite, left 100,000 francs to the Académie des sciences to be awarded to the first person to communicate successfully with aliens, with the proviso that they couldn’t be Martians, whose existence was already ‘sufficiently well known’. Tristan Bernard satirised the alien-seekers in a story in which humanity, on receiving an unintelligible message from Mars, writes huge messages across the Sahara: ‘I beg your pardon?’ ‘Nothing.’ ‘What are you making signs for then?’ ‘We’re not talking to you, we’re talking to the Saturnians.’

In 1896, the Victorian polymath Francis Galton published a short story in which he describes a message received from Mars – conveyed in a Morse code-like sequence of long and short pulses of light – that begins by illustrating basic mathematical principles, using them as the foundation for progressively more complicated ideas. This encapsulated the scientific community’s best idea of what a message from or to space should look like. Mathematics is the same throughout the universe (they assumed), so using mathematics as the foundation for the message, rather than flaming trenches, seemed a good way of making it universally intelligible. When Guglielmo Marconi started experimenting with radio in the 1890s, transmitting messages like Galton’s to outer space began to look like a realistic possibility. ‘That it is possible to transmit signals to Mars,’ Marconi said, ‘I know as surely as if I had a gun big enough or powder strong enough to shoot there,’ and he endorsed the mathematical style of message outlined in Galton’s story: ‘By sticking to mathematics over a number of years one might come to speech.’ The challenge of communicating with aliens by radio was taken up enthusiastically by Nikola Tesla, who claimed to have intercepted a signal from ‘another world, unknown and remote’. It began with counting: ‘One … two … three …’

I love “with the proviso that they couldn’t be Martians, whose existence was already ‘sufficiently well known’.” (We discussed the movie Arrival in 2016.)