"Linde's theory gives scientific muscle to the notion of a universe created by an intelligent being. It might be congenial to Gnostics, who believe that the material world was fashioned not by a benevolent supreme being but by an evil demiurge. More orthodox believers, on the other hand, will seek refuge in the question, 'But who created the physicist hacker?' Let's hope it's not hackers all the way up."
As I've mentioned before, the odds of our inhabiting the "original" universe (assuming there is such a thing) are infinitesimally low. We're probably "nested" within multiplex universes. (Simulations running within simulations within simulations . . .) I'm also intrigued by the idea that universes are best viewed as living organisms; instead of passing along genes, a universe "seeks" to pass on its physical infrastructure -- its "ontological fabric," for lack of a better term -- via singularities that give birth to new universes.
Of course, to get the singularities, you need mass, which is where black holes come in. Massive stars collapsing into "black holes" may seem like stellar casualties to Earth-bound astronomers, but perhaps they're actually the multiverse's way of achieving cosmic posterity. Of course, not all black holes and gravitational anomalies necessarily translate to baby universes; the best a universe can do is produce lots of singularities in the hope (and yes, I'm anthropomorphosizing) that at least some of them will spawn brand-new universes.
Stars are quite striking to look at -- after all, we evolved because of the steady flow of energy from our own Sun. But it could be that stars are essentially cosmic ejaculations. Celibate universes that lack stars inevitably lack the mass necessary to procreate. Presumably, they're rare . . . if not altogether extinct.
Ultimately, the Cosmos appears asexual.
Song of the day: "I Have Forgiven Jesus"
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