Edited by Douglas A. Vakoch

National Aeronautics and Space Administration

Office of Communications

Public Outreach Division

History Program Office

Washington, DC

2014

The NASA History Series

NASA SP-2013-4413
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Archaeology, anthropology, and interstellar communication / edited by

Douglas A. Vakoch.

 p. cm. -- (The NASA history series)

 “SP-2013-4413.”

1. Life on other planets. 2. Extraterrestrial anthropology. 3.

Interstellar communication. 4. Exobiology. 5. Archaeoastronomy. I.

Vakoch, Douglas A.

 QB54.A74 2012

 999--dc23

 2011053528

www.nasa.gov/ebooks

This publication is available as a free download at 

http://www.nasa.gov/ebooks.

9 781626 830134

90000

ISBN 978-1-62683-013-4
To Chris Neller, 

for her ongoing support of the 

Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Acknowledgments ix

List of Figures xi

I. Introduction

Reconstructing Distant Civilizations 

and Encountering Alien Cultures 

Douglas A. Vakoch xiii

II. Historical Perspectives on SETI

Chapter 1: SETI: The NASA Years

John Billingham 1

Chapter 2: A Political History of NASA’s SETI Program

Stephen J. Garber 23

Chapter 3: The Role of Anthropology in SETI 

A Historical View

Steven J. Dick 49

III. Archaeological Analogues

Chapter 4: A Tale of Two Analogues

Learning at a Distance from the Ancient Greeks and Maya and the 

Problem of Deciphering Extraterrestrial Radio Transmissions 

Ben Finney and Jerry Bentley 65

Chapter 5: Beyond Linear B

The Metasemiotic Challenge of Communication 

with Extraterrestrial Intelligence

Richard Saint-Gelais 79

Chapter 6: Learning To Read

Interstellar Message Decipherment from Archaeological and 

Anthropological Perspectives 

Kathryn E. Denning 95

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

Chapter 7: Inferring Intelligence

Prehistoric and Extraterrestrial

Paul K. Wason 113

IV. Anthropology, Culture, and Communication

Chapter 8: Anthropology at a Distance

SETI and the Production of Knowledge 

in the Encounter with an Extraterrestrial Other 

John W. Traphagan 131

Chapter 9: Contact Considerations

A Cross-Cultural Perspective

Douglas Raybeck 143

Chapter 10: Culture and Communication 

with Extraterrestrial Intelligence

John W. Traphagan 161

Chapter 11: Speaking for Earth

Projecting Cultural Values Across Deep Space and Time

Albert A. Harrison 175

V. The Evolution and Embodiment of Extraterrestrials

Chapter 12: The Evolution of Extraterrestrials 

The Evolutionary Synthesis and Estimates 

of the Prevalence of Intelligence Beyond Earth

Douglas A. Vakoch 191

Chapter 13: Biocultural Prerequisites for the Development of 

Interstellar Communication

Garry Chick 205

Chapter 14: Ethology, Ethnology, and Communication with 

Extraterrestrial Intelligence 

Dominique Lestel 229

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Reconstructing Distant Civilizations and Encountering Alien Cultures

Chapter 15: Constraints on Message Construction for Communication 

with Extraterrestrial Intelligence 

William H. Edmondson 237

VI. Epilogue

Mirrors of Our Assumptions

Lessons from an Arthritic Neanderthal

Douglas A. Vakoch 251

About the Authors 255

NASA History Series 261

Index 279

vii

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To the authors of Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication, I 

especially appreciate the innovation and depth of the research they share here. 

They deserve special thanks for thoughtfully engaging one another’s ideas, 

as reflected in the numerous cross-references between chapters throughout 

the volume. Paul Duffield captures the essential themes of this conversation 

in his compelling cover art, and I am grateful for his creativity in translating 

these ideas into images, giving readers an overview of the contents before 

they even open the book.

Over the past 15 years, many colleagues from the SETI Institute have 

shared with me their insights into the Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence, 

as well as the ways we can best communicate this work to the broader 

public. I especially thank Molly Bentley, Anu Bhagat, James Brewster, Steve 

Brockbank, Edna DeVore, Frank Drake, Sophie Essen, Andrew Fraknoi, John 

Gertz, Gerry Harp, Jane Jordan, Ly Ly, Michelle Murray, Chris Munson, 

Chris Neller, Tom Pierson, Karen Randall, Jon Richards, Pierre Schwob, Seth 

Shostak, and Jill Tarter. I am grateful to John Billingham for his many years of 

friendship, generosity, and commitment to exploring the societal dimensions 

of astrobiology. We miss him, but his memory lives on.

I warmly acknowledge the administration, faculty, staff, and students of 

the California Institute of Integral Studies (CIIS), especially for support from 

Joseph Subbiondo, Judie Wexler, and Tanya Wilkinson. Much of the work 

of editing this volume was made possible through a generous sabbatical leave 

from my other academic responsibilities at CIIS. In addition, I thank Harry 

and Joyce Letaw as well as Jamie Baswell for their intellectual and financial 

contributions to promoting the Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence.

Among the organizations that have fostered discussions on the topics in 

this volume, I especially want to recognize the International Academy of 

Astronautics (IAA), the American Anthropological Association (AAA), and 

the Society for Cross-Cultural Research (SCCR). Several of the chapters in this 

volume are elaborations of papers first presented at AAA annual conferences.

For their openness to considering a new topic for the NASA History Series, I 

thank Steve Dick and Bill Barry. I am also grateful to them and to Steve Garber 

for leading such a thorough and helpful review process. I appreciate Yvette 

Smith for moving this volume into production so steadfastly and efficiently, 

and I thank Nadine Andreassen for her diligence in publicizing the book.

On the production side, Kimberly Ball Smith and Mary Tonkinson carefully copyedited the manuscript, and Heidi Blough created the index. In 

the Communications Support Services Center at NASA Headquarters, I 

ix
Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

thank the entire team that brought this book to print. Mary Tonkinson and 

George Gonzalez proofread the layout, and Tun Hla handled the printing. 

Supervisors Christopher Yates, Barbara Bullock, Cindy Miller, and Michael 

Crnkovic oversaw the entire process.

To my wife, Julie Bayless, I am grateful in more ways that I can or will 

share here. Thank you, forever.

x
LIST OF FIGURES

Figure Introduction.1. This Earth Speaks message puts the sender’s location—the town of Les Ulis, France—in broader geographical and 

astronomical contexts. (SETI Institute)

Figure 2.1. High-Resolution Microwave Survey (HRMS) observations 

begin on 12 October 1992 in Arecibo, Puerto Rico. (Photo: Seth 

Shostak)

Figure 2.2. The Arecibo radio telescope, 12 October 1992. (Photo: Seth 

Shostak)

Figure 2.3. Bernard Oliver speaks at ceremonies marking the start of the 

HRMS program in Arecibo, Puerto Rico, on 12 October 1992, with 

(left to right) John Billingham, an unidentified Puerto Rican official, 

Oliver, and John Rummel. (Photo: Seth Shostak)

Figure 15.1. An example of Northumbrian Rock Art. Three-dimensional 

scan produced by M. Lobb and H. Moulden (IBM VISTA Centre/

University of Birmingham), used by permission and provided courtesy 

of V. Gaffney.

Figure 15.2. The Voynich Manuscript (Beinecke MS 408), fol. 9r

, 

General Collection, Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale 

University, New Haven, Connecticut.

Figure 15.3. As this composite image of the Earth at night suggests, our 

planet’s emitted light could serve as a biomarker for extraterrestrial 

intelligence. The image was assembled from data collected by the Suomi 

National Polar-orbiting Partnership satellite in April 2012 and October 

2012. (NASA)

Figure Epilogue.1. NASA’s Phoenix Mars Lander poised to deposit a soil 

sample into one of its ovens, where samples were heated to determine 

their chemical composition. (NASA)

xi

INTRODUCTION

Reconstructing Distant 

Civilizations and Encountering 

Alien Cultures

Douglas A. Vakoch

On 8 April 1960, astronomer Frank Drake inaugurated a new era in the 

search for civilizations beyond Earth. Pointing the 85-foot telescope of the 

National Radio Astronomy Observatory (NRAO) in Green Bank, West 

Virginia, toward two Sun-like stars in the galactic neighborhood, he sought 

the first direct evidence of extraterrestrial intelligence. Tuning to a frequency 

of 1420 megahertz, he hoped that this would be a universal meeting place, 

known also by astronomers on other worlds as being the emission frequency 

of hydrogen, the universe’s most prevalent element.

Although this experiment, which Drake dubbed Project Ozma, did not 

confirm the existence of life beyond Earth, it did inspire the development 

of a new field of science: the Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence (SETI). 

Since that first experiment, capable of eavesdropping on the universe at only 

one frequency at a time, the power and extent of SETI searches have grown 

dramatically. As one measure of this discipline’s development and to commemorate the 50th anniversary of Project Ozma, astronomers from 15 countries on 6 continents conducted a coordinated series of observations called 

Project Dorothy, named after the protagonist of L. Frank Baum’s book series 

about the enchanted world of Oz.1

If a radio signal is detected in a modern SETI experiment, we could well 

know that another intelligence exists, but not know what they are saying. 

Any rapid, information-rich fluctuations encoded in the radio signals might 

be smoothed out while collecting weak signals over extended periods of time, 

 1. Shin-ya Narusawa, et al., “Project Dorothy: The 50th Anniversary of Project OZMA, Worldwide 

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

increasing the chances of detecting these signals, but losing the content they 

bear in the process.

Even if we detect a civilization circling one of our nearest stellar neighbors, 

its signals will have traversed trillions of miles, reaching Earth after traveling for years. Using a more sober estimate of the prevalence of life in the 

universe, our closest interstellar interlocutors may be so remote from Earth 

that their signals would take centuries or millennia to reach us. Moreover, 

any civilization we contact will have arisen independently of life on Earth, 

in the habitable zone of a star stable enough to allow its inhabitants to evolve 

biologically, culturally, and technologically. The evolutionary path followed 

by extraterrestrial intelligence will no doubt diverge in significant ways from 

the one traveled by humans over the course of our history.

To move beyond the mere detection of such intelligence, and to have any 

realistic chance of comprehending it, we can gain much from the lessons 

learned by researchers facing similar challenges on Earth. Like archaeologists 

who reconstruct temporally distant civilizations from fragmentary evidence, 

SETI researchers will be expected to reconstruct distant civilizations separated 

from us by vast expanses of space as well as time. And like anthropologists, 

who attempt to understand other cultures despite differences in language 

and social customs, as we attempt to decode and interpret extraterrestrial 

messages, we will be required to comprehend the mindset of a species that 

is radically Other.

Historically, most of the scientists involved with SETI have been astronomers and physicists. As SETI has grown as a science, scholars from the social 

sciences and humanities have become involved in the search, often focusing 

on how humans may react to the detection of extraterrestrial life. The present volume examines the contributions of archaeology and anthropology to 

contemporary SETI research, drawing on insights from scholars representing 

a range of disciplines. The remaining sections of this introduction provide 

a chapter-by-chapter overview of the book as a whole. As befits a volume 

published in the NASA History Series, this collection emphasizes the value 

of understanding the historical context of critical research questions being 

discussed within the SETI community today.

Early versions of some of the chapters in this book were first presented 

in symposia on SETI organized by the editor and held at three annual conferences of the American Anthropological Association (AAA). The broader 

significance of these AAA sessions is that they represent the major SETI 

research areas judged important by the established scholarly community of 

anthropologists and archaeologists in the United States today. Indeed, the 

research presented in these sessions was sufficiently important that for three 

consecutive years, symposia addressing SETI were selected for this profession’s 

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Reconstructing Distant Civilizations and Encountering Alien Cultures

major annual conference after a rigorous and competitive peer-review process 

that rejects a sizable proportion of symposium proposals.2

Each of these symposia addressed topics that were related to the overarching 

conference themes for their respective years. The first AAA session to deal specifically with SETI was held during the 2004 annual meeting, which had as its theme 

“Magic, Science, and Religion.” Approaching this theme through an examination of scientific knowledge, this SETI symposium was called “Anthropology, 

Archaeology, and Interstellar Communication: Science and the Knowledge of 

Distant Worlds.” The next year, when attendees met in Washington, DC, to 

explore the conference theme “Bridging the Past into the Present,” the SETI 

session was named “Historical Perspectives on Anthropology and the Search for 

Extraterrestrial Intelligence (SETI)” and was later featured as a cover story in 

Anthropology Today, a leading international journal. Finally, at the 2006 conference on the theme “Critical Intersections/Dangerous Issues,” the SETI symposium emphasized the intersection of multiple disciplinary perspectives from the 

social sciences. That symposium, titled “Culture, Anthropology, and the Search 

for Extraterrestrial Intelligence (SETI),” was held in San Jose, California.3

Historical Perspectives on SETI

To say that astronomers have been conducting SETI experiments for over 

a half-century might give the unwarranted impression that the search has 

been continuous. On the contrary, the earliest projects were of limited scope 

and duration, relying on existing observatories used in novel ways, with the 

addition of signal processing capable of distinguishing artificial signals from 

the cosmic background noise. Even the most ambitious project of the 1980s 

and early 1990s, NASA’s SETI program, came about through an incremental 

approach, as detailed in this volume by John Billingham in “SETI: The NASA 

Years.” Originally trained as a physician, as the former chief of NASA’s SETI 

program, Billingham provides an autobiographical account of the key players 

 2. As Steven J. Dick notes in his chapter in this book, “The Role of Anthropology in SETI: A 

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

and events that eventually led to an innovative program with a multimilliondollar annual budget. Through a methodical process that moved from a small 

in-house feasibility study, through a clearly articulated design study, to a 

series of in-depth science workshops, Billingham and his colleagues built the 

foundation for a NASA-sponsored search that commenced on 12 October 

1992, the 500th anniversary of Columbus’s arrival in the New World.

But just one year into this project that was planned to continue for a 

decade, funding was cut and the project terminated. As historian Stephen 

J. Garber details in “A Political History of NASA’s SETI Program,” chapter 

2 of this volume, the reasons were political and not scientific. NASA’s SETI 

program had encountered political opposition earlier but had survived. In 

1978, Senator William Proxmire (D-WI) had given the program a Golden 

Fleece Award, declaring it a waste of taxpayers’ money. Ultimately, however, 

Proxmire was convinced by astronomer Carl Sagan that the detection of extraterrestrial intelligence would provide evidence that civilizations can survive 

their technological adolescence—a conclusion that both of them deemed 

important at a time when humankind’s own future seemed uncertain.

Senator Richard Bryan (D-NV), who targeted NASA’s SETI program in 

the early 1990s, was less open to persuasion. And so, in the fall of 1993, the 

program was terminated. At a time when concerns over the federal budget 

deficit were paramount, SETI became a natural target, lacking lobbyists from 

industry to advocate for it in Congress. In the same year, NASA also faced 

other challenges: the Hubble Space Telescope was still suffering from faulty 

optics, and the multibillion-dollar International Space Station Program still 

needed to be funded. Despite repeated endorsements of SETI by the National 

Academy of Sciences and the strong consensus among scientists about how 

and where to search for signals from extraterrestrials, political realities prevailed and NASA’s funding for the project was eliminated.

With the end of NASA’s SETI program, astronomers increasingly relied on 

private funding for SETI experiments. As the number and variety of projects 

increased, those involved in the search engaged social scientists in an effort 

to plan for success. As historian Steven J. Dick makes clear in his chapter 

“The Role of Anthropology in SETI: A Historical View,” this engagement 

started on a small scale shortly after the Project Ozma experiment took place. 

Beginning in the early 1960s, anthropologists sporadically debated the relevance of human evolution to understanding extraterrestrial civilizations, and 

they attempted to anticipate the cultural impacts of detecting extraterrestrial 

intelligence. Anthropologists contributed to this dialogue through a variety 

of meetings, including a joint Soviet-U.S. conference and NASA workshops 

on the evolution of intelligence and technology, as well as the societal impact 

of discovering life beyond Earth.

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Reconstructing Distant Civilizations and Encountering Alien Cultures

Among the outcomes of these collaborations with the SETI community, 

anthropologists contributed to discussions of the Drake Equation, a heuristic 

that estimates the number of civilizations in a galaxy currently broadcasting evidence of their existence. In particular, anthropologists attempted to 

quantify the likelihood that intelligence and technology would evolve on 

life-bearing worlds. 

By Dick’s analysis, if SETI scientists find the sort of artificial signal they 

seek, we can be sure it originated from an intelligence that has changed significantly over its lifetime. If extraterrestrial intelligence is much longer lived than 

human civilization—a presupposition of most SETI search strategies—then 

in Dick’s view it will inevitably have undergone cultural evolution.

Archaeological Analogues

In standard SETI scenarios, where humans and extraterrestrials are separated by trillions of miles, even a signal traveling at the speed of light may 

take centuries or millennia to reach its recipients. Thus, interstellar communication may be a one-way transmission of information, rather than a 

back-and-forth exchange. As we search for analogies to contact at interstellar distances, archaeology provides some intriguing parallels, given that 

its practitioners—like successful SETI scientists—are charged with reconstructing long-lost civilizations from potentially fragmentary evidence. 

In “A Tale of Two Analogues: Learning at a Distance from the Ancient 

Greeks and Maya and the Problem of Deciphering Extraterrestrial Radio 

Transmissions,” anthropologist Ben Finney and historian Jerry Bentley 

suggest that we might gain clues to decoding extraterrestrial messages by 

examining past attempts to decode dead languages right here on Earth. As 

their chapter shows, however, we need to be cautious about which examples 

to use for our case studies. Given the importance this analogy has played 

in SETI circles over the years, and the fact that the lessons highlighted in 

Finney and Bentley’s chapter are also applicable to other translation and 

decryption challenges addressed elsewhere in this volume, an extended 

preview of their argument is in order.

Finney and Bentley begin by noting an oft-cited analogy for detecting 

a message-laden signal from space: the transmission of knowledge from 

ancient Greece to medieval Europe. During the Dark Ages, European scholars had lost vast numbers of Greek works on philosophy, literature, and 

science. Fortunately, however, copies of these treatises were preserved by 

Islamic scholars, particularly in Spain and Sicily. Thus, as Europe entered 

the Renaissance, Western scholars were able to recover these Greek classics 

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

from Islamic centers of learning, either directly from the original manuscripts or through Arabic translations. And over the succeeding decades 

and centuries, the “young” European civilization was able to learn from 

the older Greek civilization, even though the two were separated by long 

expanses of time.

The analogy is an apt one for contact between Earth and the extraterrestrial 

civilizations being sought by SETI, because if we do detect information-rich 

signals, they may come from civilizations long since dead. The impact may be 

even more edifying for us than the influx of classical scholarship was for early 

modern Europe. This reclaiming of ancient knowledge provided Renaissance 

Europeans with alternative ways of viewing the world, which led, in turn, to 

new syntheses of early modern and ancient insights. If someday we detect 

and decode messages from civilizations beyond Earth, we will have similar 

opportunities to juxtapose terrestrial and otherworldly views.

But, Finney and Bentley warn us, it may not be quite that easy. While 

the Greek comparison is informative, as with any analogy, it does not tell the 

whole story. For a more nuanced understanding, they turn to other examples 

of decoding ancient scripts: Egyptian and Mayan hieroglyphics. Considering 

here only the first case, the key to decoding ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics 

was found in a slab now known as the Rosetta Stone, discovered in 1799 by 

Napoleon’s army during a French military campaign in Egypt. This stone 

contains the same text written in three languages. Because 19th-century 

European linguists could read one of these languages, they were eventually able to compare the three inscriptions and thereby decipher the writing 

system they had previously been unable to crack: Egyptian hieroglyphics.

To state what may be obvious, if we receive a message from extraterrestrials, we cannot count on their providing direct translations from one 

of their native languages to any terrestrial language. And that, say Finney 

and Bentley, could limit how much we can learn from extraterrestrials. We 

may be able to understand basic mathematics and astronomy, but once 

extraterrestrials begin to describe their cultures, interstellar comprehension 

may suffer considerably. Finney and Bentley point out that those initial 

successes in decoding scientific parts of an extraterrestrial message might 

actually stand in the way of understanding more culturally specific parts 

of the message. As an analogy, they note that when European scholars 

began decoding ancient Mayan hieroglyphs, their earliest successes were in 

recognizing the basic numbering system used by the Maya, as well as their 

calendar systems, which were based on the visible motions of the Moon 

and Sun. In short, math and science provided the foundation for communication, just as many SETI scientists have predicted will be the case for 

interstellar communication.

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Reconstructing Distant Civilizations and Encountering Alien Cultures

This apparent breakthrough in reading the Mayan glyphs reinforced a 

Neoplatonic idea that had circulated among European scholars for centuries 

and which was usually attributed to Plotinus. This Egyptian-born Roman 

philosopher of the 3rd century followed the Platonic tradition, in which the 

bedrock of reality is not in the things we can see with our eyes and feel with 

our hands; instead, ultimate reality consists of underlying Ideas or Forms that 

serve as blueprints for the material world. Plotinus applied this philosophical 

concept to Egyptian hieroglyphics, seeing them not as abstract representations 

of objects but as direct expressions of the ideal essence or divine nature of 

those objects. They could thus symbolize ideas without the intermediary of 

merely human languages. Maurice Pope summarizes Plotinus’s view this way: 

“Each separate sign is in itself a piece of knowledge, a piece of wisdom, a piece 

of reality, immediately present.”4 Renaissance humanists likewise believed 

that Egyptian hieroglyphics offered a way to escape the messiness of spoken 

language by directly representing ideas.

As it turns out, Plotinus was wrong, but he was in good company. Right 

up to the early 19th century, most eminent Egyptologists agreed with him. 

They dismissed the possibility that hieroglyphs could represent something as 

mundane as spoken language. But in the 1820s, French linguist Jean-François 

Champollion used the Rosetta Stone to draw parallels between the as-yetundeciphered Egyptian hieroglyphics and both well-understood Greek and

a form of Egyptian script used widely in business transactions. As a result, 

Champollion was able to show that hieroglyphics often do represent sounds, 

much like other languages. Though Plotinus’s dream was broken, so, too, was 

the mystery of Egyptian hieroglyphics.

SETI scientists can learn an important lesson from the history of decoding hieroglyphics. Preliminary assumptions about the nature of the message 

can lead us astray—especially when those assumptions help us to decode 

parts of the message. While it is true that some Mayan characters refer 

directly to numbers and months, the vast majority do not. The key then to 

decoding ancient hieroglyphics, and perhaps also messages from extraterrestrials, is to remain open to new possibilities, even if they seem to contradict 

initial successes.

Literary theorist Richard Saint-Gelais is less optimistic than Finney and 

Bentley that the linguistic techniques used to decode ancient texts can be 

successfully applied to interstellar messages. In “Beyond Linear B: The Metasemiotic Challenge of Communication with Extraterrestrial Intelligence,” 

 4. Maurice Pope, 

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

Saint-Gelais notes that the SETI scientists who receive a message from extraterrestrial intelligence will face a twofold task. They must first recognize the 

signal as a message and must then determine what it means—all without 

having any prior arrangement with the sender about the acceptable ranges 

of formats or contents. 

As a terrestrial analogy of this project, Saint-Gelais outlines the process 

by which ancient texts have been deciphered. Initially, the linguist needs to 

determine the constituent components of a language on the basis of a limited 

sample—its phonemes (or sounds) and words that bear semantic content. 

This must be done without knowing, for example, how many letters the 

unknown language contains and whether the variations between similarlooking characters are due to the differences that occur when writing down 

the same letter twice or to the fact that they represent two different letters.

The breakthrough in decoding unknown languages has usually come 

by finding a bilingual text in which the same passage appears in both the 

unknown language and a language known to the decipherer, as in the case of 

the Rosetta Stone. Even when only fragmentary texts are available, a translator can sometimes identify proper names to use as a starting point. But in 

interstellar communication, we would have no bilingual texts and no proper 

names recognizable by both civilizations. In those rare instances when terrestrial linguists have been able to break the code of a lost language without 

a bilingual text or known proper names, Saint-Gelais argues, they have used 

methods that would be difficult to apply to understanding interstellar messages. For example, although Michael Ventris used purely formal methods 

in the 1950s to decipher Linear B from inscriptions on clay tablets found on 

the island of Crete, his success ultimately derived from his ability to recognize 

Linear B as a transcription of an ancient form of Greek—and that recognition 

required his familiarity with the Greek language.

Archaeologist and anthropologist Kathryn Denning raises similar concerns 

about the view often expressed by those most involved in SETI that decoding 

messages from extraterrestrials will be an easy task. In “Learning to Read: 

Interstellar Message Decipherment from Archaeological and Anthropological 

Perspectives,” she urges caution when choosing the models we use to understand interstellar communication. Cryptological and other communications 

approaches share with SETI certain epistemological commitments, but 

Denning notes that these approaches also carry implicit assumptions that 

make them unsuitable for interpreting interstellar messages. As an example, 

Denning points out that Claude Shannon’s information theory has been 

accepted in SETI circles as a useful tool for understanding communication 

between species. However, Denning questions its relevance as an analogy—at 

least as it is often used. She notes that whereas information theory can provide 

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Reconstructing Distant Civilizations and Encountering Alien Cultures

a quantitative measure of the complexity of a communication system, it does 

not tackle the challenge of determining what the communication means. 

Likewise, the SETI community’s reliance on cryptological models fails to 

recognize the false analogy between, on the one hand, breaking a code constructed by other humans and, on the other hand, understanding a message 

from an extraterrestrial. In the first, we already know the language, and the 

challenge is to find a key that will let us derive the original message from the 

encoded message. In interstellar communication, however, we cannot assume 

any shared language.

Denning, then, has significant reservations about the assertions of SETI 

scientists who contend that combining sufficient quantities of redundant 

information with select explanations, such as pictures of objects, will be 

enough to give extraterrestrials access to human ways of viewing the world. 

Instead, she maintains that the best linguistic analogies for comprehending 

alien minds come from cases in which the meaning of communications from 

other cultures remains opaque even after much study, as with the Rongorongo 

script or Linear A.

Archaeologist Paul Wason agrees with other contributors to this volume 

that there may be significant, perhaps insurmountable obstacles to interpreting the specific meaning of messages from extraterrestrials. Nevertheless, he 

argues in “Inferring Intelligence: Prehistoric and Extraterrestrial” that archaeology can make a significant contribution by helping to clarify when a signal 

is actually intended as a medium of communication. To do so, however, 

requires a creative combination of different lines of reasoning.

Wason observes that archaeologists sometimes use “ethnographic analogies,” drawing upon an understanding of cultures to which modern-day 

anthropologies have access, so they can make inferences about past cultures 

to which we do not have as immediate and complete access. Thus, stone tools 

found at archaeological sites in Europe could be recognized as tools rather 

than naturally formed rocks only when they were seen as akin to the stone 

tools used by contemporary Native Americans. Similarly, Wason argues, SETI 

scientists may misidentify signs of extraterrestrial intelligence. The challenge, 

then, is to seek a wide enough array of analogies that scientists can come 

to recognize manifestations of extraterrestrial intelligence, even when they 

resemble a naturally occurring phenomenon.

Once we have those analogies, Wason argues, we will also need to have an 

“intellectual context” that enables us to identify signs of intelligence. Only 

when people took seriously the possibility that chipped rocks might be prehistoric tools were they predisposed to look for them. Until then, this core piece 

of evidence for reconstructing extinct civilizations was simply overlooked by 

archaeologists doing fieldwork in Europe. The difficulty of recognizing the 

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

unanticipated, Wason suggests, may provide a solution to the Fermi paradox, 

which asks, “If extraterrestrial intelligence exists, why haven’t we found it?” 

Wason answers this question by noting that we have been unable to free 

ourselves sufficiently from our preconceptions of extraterrestrial intelligence 

to recognize its existence.

As we assemble the varieties of data from which we will judge whether 

we have made contact with extraterrestrial intelligence, Wason reminds us 

of the utility of the “cabling” method of reasoning, in which any single piece 

of evidence may in itself come up short, like the strands of a cable that each 

run only part of the cable’s full length. Nevertheless, by recognizing that a 

solid argument—like a solid cable—may be made up of elements that are 

in themselves not sufficient to determine the artificiality of a signal, but that 

when intertwined may be strong, we may be open to recognizing intelligence 

where we might otherwise miss it.

While Wason recognizes many problems of interpreting symbolic systems—in which “signs” stand in an arbitrary relationship to the ideas they 

signify—he also maintains that we may be able to get a general sense of the 

intent of a message, even if we cannot divine its specific meaning. Indeed, he 

suggests that even our ability to detect purposive agency may be an evolved 

trait, which may be shared by intelligent beings on other worlds, making it 

plausible that even if we cannot understand what another civilization is trying 

to say, intelligent beings may have the capacity to recognize that someone is 

saying something.

Anthropology, Culture, and Communication

In “Anthropology at a Distance: SETI and the Production of Knowledge in 

the Encounter with an Extraterrestrial Other,” anthropologist John Traphagan 

seeks an analogue for our attempts to comprehend extraterrestrial civilizations in Western efforts to understand Japanese culture. As noted earlier, in 

standard SETI scenarios, contact occurs across vast interstellar distances, on 

time scales of decades, centuries, or millennia. Contrary to the stereotype 

of anthropologists encountering members of other cultures face-to-face, 

learning their language in the process, the American anthropologist Ruth 

Benedict, a key interpreter of Japanese culture to the West, relied largely 

on data gathered by others for the research she was commissioned to do by 

the U.S. government during World War II. Unable to observe and interact 

with her subjects as anthropologists traditionally do, Benedict instead analyzed the transcripts of interviews with Japanese Americans in internment 

camps in the American Southwest. Despite these limitations, Benedict’s book 

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Reconstructing Distant Civilizations and Encountering Alien Cultures

The Chrysanthemum and the Sword provided keen insights into the Japanese 

mind, though much of the theoretical framework for her interpretations was 

drawn from her earlier book, Patterns of Culture.

5

Information about an extraterrestrial civilization would be far more 

restricted, Traphagan argues, and our desire to rapidly assess the nature of 

our interstellar interlocutors will be strong. In spite of limited data we may 

have about an extraterrestrial civilization immediately after detecting a radio 

signal from another world, we can expect the news of the contact to be widely 

and rapidly disseminated. While anthropologists and other scholars attempt 

to make plausible inferences about the nature of this alien intelligence, public 

impressions—based more on humans than on the extraterrestrials themselves—will quickly form. When this phenomenon is compounded with 

“image management” on the part of the extraterrestrials, we will have to be 

even more cautious about assuming that our initial evaluations of extraterrestrials accurately reflect their true nature.6

If we make contact with an extraterrestrial civilization, anthropologist 

Douglas Raybeck argues that we have much to gain by studying the varied 

ways that diverse terrestrial cultures have responded to contact with more 

technologically advanced societies right here on Earth. In his “Contact 

Considerations: A Cross-Cultural Perspective,” Raybeck considers a variety 

of stances we might take upon making contact with an extraterrestrial civilization, drawing lessons from Western colonial relationships with the Japanese, 

Iroquois, Chinese, Aztec, and Māori cultures. An indigenous society’s willingness to absorb elements of another civilization can be either adaptive 

or insufficient to survive culturally intact, Raybeck argues. The Japanese, 

being both experienced and adept at incorporating new cultural practices 

even when doing so entailed significant social change, provide an especially 

good example of the flexibility needed when encountering an extraterrestrial 

civilization. Nevertheless, openness to other cultures does not guarantee a 

successful engagement; the Iroquois were also flexible and resourceful in 

dealing with other cultures but were ultimately defeated by a numerically 

and technologically superior adversary. 

5. See Ruth Benedict, The Chrysanthemum and the Sword: Patterns of Japanese Culture (Boston: 

Houghton Mifflin, 1946); and Ruth Benedict, Patterns of Culture (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1934). 

6. The messages we have sent into space thus far focus on humans’ achievements and portray 

our species in a positive light. For an argument that we should transmit messages describing 

aspects of humankind which we often avoid, see Douglas Vakoch, “Honest Exchanges with ET,” 

New Scientist 202, no. 2705 (22 April 2009): 22–23.

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

An isolationist stance can also fail, Raybeck argues, as it did when China’s 

unwillingness to treat Western countries as equals resulted in a serious underestimation of their capabilities. Yet another danger arises when the invader can 

exploit existing divisions within an indigenous civilization, as was manifest 

in the case of the Aztecs.

Perhaps the best model for encountering extraterrestrials, Raybeck suggests, comes from the Māori, whose resistance to British incursions gained 

them the respect of their enemies while helping them to retain their pride after 

succumbing to more sophisticated organization and weaponry. The implications of Raybeck’s analysis are considerable: although each terrestrial culture 

may have a natural approach to encountering aliens, some responses may be 

more effective than others. Given the probable technological superiority of 

any extraterrestrial civilizations we are likely to contact, we would be wise to 

consider all of our options.

In parallel with the diverse manifestations of culture we see on Earth, 

Traphagan argues in his second chapter, “Culture and Communication with 

Extraterrestrial Intelligence,” that we should also anticipate multiple extraterrestrial cultures on many other civilization-bearing worlds. He views cultures—whether on Earth or beyond—as continually changing.7

 As a result, 

they allow for highly individualistic experiences of the world.8

 Consequently, 

Traphagan casts doubt on the common but often implicit assumption that 

 7. To reflect the transient nature of terrestrial cultures, we may need to abandon the 

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Reconstructing Distant Civilizations and Encountering Alien Cultures

technologically advanced civilizations will each progress toward a unitary 

culture, unlike the varied cultures we see among contemporary humans. Even 

on worlds with monolithic, global cultures, he expects room for disagreement 

between individuals. As a result, he argues that if an extraterrestrial civilization receives a message from Earth, there may be no consensus on whether 

to respond.

Consistent with arguments made in several of the earlier chapters, Traphagan 

anticipates significant challenges in understanding the intended meaning of 

any message from extraterrestrial intelligence; but he contends that this should 

not be our only goal. Instead, he recommends looking at the messages’ implicit 

meanings, even if we cannot interpret their substantive content. What does their 

form suggest about how extraterrestrials communicate? And what do the forms 

of human messages say about us? Might extraterrestrials read the surplus radiation leaking into space from radio and TV transmitters on Earth as an indication 

that visual and auditory signals figure prominently in human communication? 

Such a recognition could help message recipients to prepare more intelligible 

replies, even lacking a comprehension of the specific content of the messages per 

se. Similarly, the intentional signals already sent from Earth to other civilizations 

as streams of ones and zeros may highlight the human capacity to think in terms 

of dualisms. Given that these implicit messages may be more informative than 

the explicit content, Traphagan encourages additional research on how we might 

better communicate such tacit meanings to another intelligence.

The closing chapter of this section—“Speaking for Earth: Transmitting 

Cultural Values Across Deep Space and Time” by psychologist Albert 

Harrison—argues the benefits of crafting messages to extraterrestrials even if 

the intended recipients never get them. In contrast to the dominant strategy 

within the international SETI community of listening for signals from extraterrestrials at radio or optical frequencies, proponents of an approach known 

as “Active SETI” advocate transmitting intentional signals to other worlds.9

While terrestrial radio and television signals are being accidentally broadcast 

into space, as telecommunications grow more reliant on fiber optics and narrowly focused Earth-satellite transmission, these incidental transmissions are 

expected to become weaker and increasingly rare. Thus, if we wish to make 

ourselves known to other civilizations, there will be an ever greater need to 

send intentional signals in the future.

 9. For an overview of key arguments in the debate about Active SETI, see Kathryn Denning, 

xxv
Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

Harrison reviews past attempts to signal our existence to extraterrestrials, ranging from messages borne on several of NASA’s Pioneer and Voyager 

spacecraft in the 1970s to powerful radio transmissions sent from the Arecibo 

Observatory in Puerto Rico and the Evpatoria Planetary Radar in Ukraine. 

Indeed, such radio transmission efforts, though intermittent, have proliferated in the past few years—despite heated debates about whether humankind 

should reveal its existence to potentially hostile aliens.

Harrison also notes parallels between interstellar communication and 

projects to communicate with our human successors, such as marking 

nuclear waste sites to be identifiable by our descendants 10,000 years hence, 

establishing archives on the Moon that could withstand the vicissitudes of 

terrestrial conflict over the millennia, and launching a satellite designed to 

return to Earth in 50,000 years. (The latter project, named “KEO” after three 

phonemes said to be found in all terrestrial languages, was disbanded after 

the death of its founder, French artist Jean-Marc Philippe.) Whether we are 

attempting to communicate with distant extraterrestrial civilizations or with 

the progeny of our progeny, Harrison contends, we can learn much about 

human interests and values by examining what we hope to convey across the 

depths of time and space.

The Evolution and Embodiment of Extraterrestrials

In “The Evolution of Extraterrestrials: The Evolutionary Synthesis and Estimates 

of the Prevalence of Intelligence Beyond Earth,” I argue that many astronomers 

have seen the development of intelligent life as an inevitable occurrence given 

proper environmental conditions on a planet; and even though such beings 

would not be identical to humans, we should expect to find significant parallels. A striking contrast to this position is seen in the writings of scientists from 

other disciplines, who hold widely differing views.

One clue to understanding the differences between the anthropologists, 

paleontologists, and biologists who speculate on extraterrestrials is suggested 

by a historical analysis, noting who wrote on the subject. Given the relatively 

small number of commentators on the topic, it seems more than coincidental 

that this group includes four of the major contributors to the evolutionary 

synthesis in the 1930s and 1940s. As I show, the exobiological arguments of 

Theodosius Dobzhansky and George Gaylord Simpson and, less directly, of 

H. J. Muller and Ernst Mayr are all related to their earlier work on formulating synthetic evolution. A survey of the views held by later anthropologists, 

paleontologists, and biologists reveals significant disagreements among them 

about evolution, disputes that persisted into the 1960s. By the close of the 

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Reconstructing Distant Civilizations and Encountering Alien Cultures

next decade, many but by no means all believed that “higher” life, particularly 

intelligent life, probably occurs quite infrequently in the universe. This shift 

in opinion can be attributed to a growing acceptance of the evolutionary 

synthesis. 

In “Biocultural Prerequisites for the Development of Interstellar 

Communication,” anthropologist Garry Chick analyzes the Drake Equation, 

a heuristic used to estimate the number of civilizations in our galaxy that are 

capable of interstellar communication. What are the relevant factors, Chick 

asks, that determine whether an intelligence sophisticated enough to create 

the technology required to contact other civilizations will evolve on another 

world? In the process, he demonstrates the importance of being clear about 

what we mean by intelligence, culture, and technology.

Rather than focusing on a unitary measure of intelligence, such as a standardized intelligence quotient (IQ), Chick emphasizes that different species 

may have different forms of intelligence. Dolphins, for example, may have a 

refined “auditory-musical” intelligence. One is reminded here of the anthropologist and physician team of Doris Jonas and David Jonas, who suggest 

in Other Senses, Other Worlds that alien intelligence dependent on sensory 

modalities unlike those of humans may have radically different ways of experiencing and conceptualizing their worlds.10 Similar ideas have been a staple 

of science fiction as well. Naomi Mitchison’s Memoirs of a Spacewoman, for 

example, suggests that radially symmetrical intelligence—in this case brainy 

starfish—might possess a multimodal logic to match their morphologies, 

while bilaterally symmetrical species, such as humans, are more prone to view 

the world in terms of simple dichotomies.11

Although mindful of the need to keep a sufficiently broad definition of 

intelligence and culture to be open to extraterrestrials with significantly different ways of encountering the world than humans, Chick maintains that 

the sort of intelligence that leads to advanced technology is rare on Earth 

and may be just as rare elsewhere in the universe. And no matter how we 

define culture, it is difficult to pinpoint the moment when one culture ends 

and another begins. To compound this difficulty, the Drake Equation poses 

an additional challenge: how can we use these data to estimate the lifetimes 

of independently evolved extraterrestrial civilization?

Chick offers various approaches to determining such quantitative estimates of factors in the Drake Equation—for example, by analyzing historical 

civilizations or applying datasets such as the Standard Cross-Cultural Sample 

 10.

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

to see how often advanced technologies develop.12 At the same time, Chick 

cautions that estimates of this sort, however useful they may be in giving 

some empirical basis to the terms of the Drake Equation, are fraught with 

difficulties, such as finding societies sufficiently isolated from one another to 

guarantee truly independent technological development.

Ethologist Dominique Lestel suggests that we can profitably combine two 

approaches in order to better understand the challenges of interstellar communication. In his chapter, “Ethology, Ethnology, and Communication with 

Extraterrestrial Intelligence,” Lestel recognizes the difficulties of making contact 

with biologically different organisms and proposes learning from the experiences of researchers who study the communication of chimpanzees, dolphins, 

and other animals even more distantly related to humans. Despite the divergences between the varied life-forms on Earth, Lestel notes, even species with 

radically different morphologies can have a significant amount of shared genetic 

material—something that will not be true of humans and extraterrestrials.

Lestel recommends blending this ethological perspective with an ethnological approach that draws upon the lessons learned by anthropologists who 

make contact with people from alien cultures. He cautions, however, that an 

ethnological approach cannot be applied directly. For example, typically (but 

not always, as we see in Traphagan’s chapter on SETI and the production of 

knowledge) ethnologies are based on face-to-face contact, a situation unlikely 

to occur with civilizations separated by vast interstellar distances.

Should humans ever receive a message from an extraterrestrial civilization, 

Lestel predicts that the challenges faced in interpreting those messages could 

provoke in humans an existential crisis. If the challenges of understanding 

another civilization turn out to be as great as he expects, Lestel suggests that 

recognition of this fact in a post-contact world would sharpen our awareness of human understanding’s inherent limits—forcing us to reexamine our 

fundamental presuppositions about epistemology.

Cognitive scientist William Edmondson argues that symbolic communication—in which the connection between sign and signified is arbitrary—is 

intrinsically limited for communicating with extraterrestrials. In “Constraints on 

Message Construction for Communication with Extraterrestrial Intelligence,” 

12. The Standard Cross-Cultural Sample (SCCS) assigns coded variables to elements of 186 

representative and relatively independent cultures. The SCCS was developed by anthropologists George P. Murdock and Douglas R. White and first described in their essay “Comparative 

Ethnographic Data, coded for the Standard Cross-Cultural Sample,” Ethnology 8 (1969): 

329–369. An updated version of Murdock and White’s essay is available online at http://

escholarship.org/uc/item/62c5c02n.

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Reconstructing Distant Civilizations and Encountering Alien Cultures

he points out the difficulty of interpreting symbolic artifacts created by other humans, such as 

the Neolithic and Early Bronze Age rock art of 

Northumberland or the Voynich manuscript, 

a late-15th- or 16th-century manuscript that 

appears to be linguistic in form but remains 

indecipherable to scholars.

After speculating on the physical environments in which extraterrestrial intelligence 

might evolve, Edmondson concludes that the 

factors affecting the propagation of sounds 

could vary so much from planet to planet as to 

make audition an unlikely universal. Instead, 

he argues for messages based on vision, a position that has long been advocated within the 

SETI community, albeit not without opposition.13 As one example of a visual message, 

Edmondson suggests sending a “Postcard 

Earth,” a grid-like collage of color snapshots 

showing multiple scenes of our world and its 

inhabitants. Interestingly, several individuals have independently submitted this same type of message to the SETI Institute’s online project Earth 

Speaks, in which people from around the world are invited to propose their 

own messages for first contact with an extraterrestrial civilization. One pictorial message, sent from a participant in Les Ulis, France, shows buildings 

by a lake in that city, with inset views showing the location of Les Ulis on 

a map of Earth and then Earth’s location in a broader galactic context (see 

Figure Introduction.1). This proposal from Earth Speaks is reminiscent of 

Edmondson’s idea that a technologically advanced civilization may be able 

Figure Introduction.1. This Earth 

Speaks message puts the sender’s 

location—the town of Les Ulis, 

France—in broader geographical 

and astronomical contexts. (SETI 

Institute)

 13.

xxix
Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

to recognize images of Earth through direct imaging techniques and thus to 

connect our messages with its own independent observations of our planet.

The chapters in this volume, then, combine incisive critique with hope 

that there is a response to the skepticism behind these critiques. Addressing 

a field that has been dominated by astronomers, physicists, engineers, and 

computer scientists, the contributors to this collection raise questions that 

may have been overlooked by physical scientists about the ease of establishing meaningful communication with an extraterrestrial intelligence. These 

scholars are grappling with some of the enormous challenges that will face 

humanity if an information-rich signal emanating from another world is 

detected. By drawing on issues at the core of contemporary archaeology and 

anthropology, we can be much better prepared for contact with an extraterrestrial civilization, should that day ever come.

xxx
CHAPTER ONE

SETI: The NASA Years

John Billingham

Introduction

To this volume dealing with the interplay of archaeology, anthropology, and 

interstellar communication, I have been asked to contribute a chapter on the story 

of SETI at NASA.1 Since I was involved in it from the very beginning to the very 

end, 1969 to 1994, I can relate here only the highlights of that story. What follows 

is therefore something of a personal history of SETI in NASA, told in sequential 

form and omitting names, events, and numerous details due to lack of space. 

To anyone who wishes to read a more comprehensive version of the story, 

I recommend the beautifully written article by Steven J. Dick in Space Science 

Reviews.

2

 For even more detail, turn to the references at the end of Dick’s 

1. This chapter was initially prepared in 2000 for the celebration of Frank Drake’s 70th birthday; 

it was recently published in Searching for Extraterrestrial Intelligence: SETI Past, Present, and 

Future, ed. H. Paul Shuch (Berlin, Heidelberg, New York: Springer, 2011), pp. 65–85. All the material in these pages remains as valid today as it was when first written. I am also delighted that 

Frank, whose name appears more than any other in this chapter, continues to be active at the 

SETI Institute in Mountain View, California. Frank provided some of the original stimulus for SETI 

at NASA. At every stage throughout the next quarter-century he participated in making the idea a 

reality. As the “Father of SETI,” he played an active role—especially in the scientific community—

in bringing the NASA project to fruition. In the beginning, Ozma was a bold and imaginative new 

venture in the exploration of the cosmos but was considered by many to be on the fringes of the 

scientific norm. By 1984, however, SETI was accepted by the scientific community as an exciting 

intellectual and technical challenge, and Frank was firmly established as the Chair of the SETI 

Institute’s Board of Directors.

2. Steven J. Dick, “The Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence and the NASA High-Resolution 

Microwave Survey (HRMS): Historical Perspectives,” Space Science Reviews 64 (1993): 

93–139. Dick is the former Charles A. Lindbergh Chair in Aerospace History at the National 

Air and Space Museum (2011–2012), Chief Historian at NASA (2003–2009), and Historian 

of Space Science at the U.S. Naval Observatory (1979–2003). On 1 November 2013, he 

began a one-year appointment as the Baruch S. Blumberg NASA/Library of Congress Chair in 

Astrobiology at the Library of Congress’s John W. Kluge Center. 

1
Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

article. The events of the final year, 1993–1994, when NASA’s SETI program 

was canceled by Congress, are well chronicled by Stephen J. Garber elsewhere 

in this book.3

1959–1969: Ten Years of Prologue

Giuseppe Cocconi and Philip Morrison published their seminal paper 

“Searching for Interstellar Communications” in 1959, establishing the radio 

region of the electromagnetic spectrum as a logical place to search for signals 

from extraterrestrials.4 In the very next year, Frank Drake independently 

conducted Project Ozma, the first search for such signals, at the National 

Radio Astronomy Observatory in Green Bank, West Virginia.5 In 1961 

the National Academy of Sciences Space Science Board sponsored a small 

meeting at Green Bank with four objectives: “to examine the prospects for 

the existence of other societies in the Galaxy with whom communications 

might be possible; to attempt an estimate of their number; to consider some 

of the technical problems involved in the establishment of communication; 

and to examine ways in which our understanding of the problem might be 

improved.”6

 The meeting was notable for many things but especially the 

genesis of the Drake Equation, the participation of Bernard (Barney) Oliver, 

and the conclusion that the estimated number of civilizations in the Milky 

Way capable of communicating with us may be smaller than a thousand 

or as great as one billion.

In 1963, Nikolai Kardashev conducted the Soviet Union’s first search 

for signals from extraterrestrials.7 The following year saw the conference on 

extraterrestrial civilizations at Byurakan in Armenia, organized by Viktor 

3. See Stephen J. Garber, “A Political History of NASA’s SETI Program,” chapter 2 in this volume. 

4. Giuseppe Cocconi and Philip Morrison, “Searching for Interstellar Communications,” Nature

184 (19 September 1959): 844–846.

5. Frank Drake, “How Can We Detect Radio Transmission?” Sky and Telescope 19 (1960): 26–28, 

87–89, 140–143.

6. J. P. T. Pearman, “Extraterrestrial Intelligent Life and Interstellar Communication: An Informal 

Discussion,” in Interstellar Communication: A Collection of Reprints and Original Contributions, 

ed. A. G. W. Cameron (New York: W. A. Benjamin Inc., 1963), pp. 287–293.

7. N. S. Kardashev, “Transmission of Information by Extraterrestrial Civilizations,” Aston. Zhurnal

41, no. 2 (March–April 1964): 282–287, trans. Soviet Astronomy–AJ 8, no. 2 (1964): 217–

221, reprinted in The Quest for Extraterrestrial Life: A Book of Readings, ed. Donald Goldsmith 

(1980), pp. 39–47.

2
SETI: The NASA Years

Ambartsumian and Kardashev and attended entirely by radio astronomers.8

 May of 1965 saw the first use of the term CETI—an acronym for 

Communication with Extraterrestrial Intelligence—by Rudolph Pesek of 

the Czech Academy of Sciences in his proposal to the Board of Trustees of 

the International Academy of Astronautics (IAA) to establish an international symposium on the subject. In 1966, Carl Sagan collaborated with 

Iosif Shklovskii on an English-language version of Shklovskii’s 1962 book 

Вселенная, жизнь, разум. The translation was titled Intelligent Life in the 

Universe.

9

 At this time I was Chief of the Biotechnology Division at NASA’s 

Ames Research Center in the San Francisco Bay Area and was becoming 

aware of scientists in a sister division at Ames called Exobiology, which had 

been formed a few years earlier by Harold (Chuck) Klein and Richard (Dick) 

Young. These researchers introduced me to the Shklovskii-Sagan book late in 

1968, and it changed my whole life. 

1969: The Embryogenesis of SETI at NASA

Through 1969, mulling over Intelligent Life in the Universe, I began to realize 

that NASA Ames might be an ideal home for a program to actively pursue 

interstellar communication, as it was then known, by designing and using 

a large-scale radio telescope system to search for signals of extraterrestrial 

intelligent origin. In the Space Act of 1958, NASA had been specifically 

charged with the responsibility for conducting the exploration of space. The 

Exobiology Program had been established at Ames under Chuck Klein and 

Dick Young. Project Viking was being defined and was to include biology 

experiments designed to search for evidence of microbial life on Mars. Klein 

was Project Scientist for these undertakings. Ames already had a strong program in space science. I began to wonder whether it might be possible to build 

SETI telescopes in space or on the Moon. NASA had the capabilities to carry 

out all the necessary large-scale science and engineering, and one of Ames’s 

roles was to be at the cutting edge of space exploration. Not least, I thought, 

 8. G. M. Tovmasyan, ed., 

3
Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

NASA and Ames would have the vision and courage to explore the opportunities and perhaps to turn them into an active new venture. I was right. 

In September, Hans Mark became director of the Ames Research Center. 

Mark believed strongly in personal contact, so he visited people in their 

offices and labs and engineering shops. When he came to find out about my 

division, I put to him the notion of beginning a study effort on interstellar communication. He thought it was a good idea but advised proceeding 

slowly and judiciously, since it would be such a new topic at NASA. With 

the agreement of Chuck Klein, then director of the Life Sciences Division at 

Ames, we carried out a small initial in-house feasibility study in the summer 

of 1970 and concluded that there were no impediments. Concurrently, we 

ran a large summer lecture series at Ames on interstellar communication, 

with Drake, Sagan, Oliver, A. G. W. Cameron, Ronald N. Bracewell, and 

others as speakers.10 In the autumn, I met again with Hans Mark, and we 

decided to carry out a larger-scale conceptual study in the summer of 1971 

under the aegis of the Summer Faculty Fellowship Program in Engineering 

Systems Design, run jointly every year by Ames and Stanford University and 

funded by NASA through the American Society of Engineering Education. 

I was co-director of these programs, together with Jim Adams, professor of 

mechanical engineering at Stanford. Neither of us had the right technical 

background for the topic, so we decided to co-opt a third person who knew 

radio science and engineering. The two principal candidates were Barney 

Oliver and Frank Drake. Barney, who was then vice president of research 

and development (R&D) at Hewlett-Packard, won out because of his vast 

knowledge of radio engineering. I approached him in October and asked if 

he would take the job. He agreed, with enthusiasm. 

1971: Project Cyclops

For 10 weeks during the summer of 1971, 20 physical scientists and engineers 

(all professors in various related disciplines at colleges and universities around 

the country) gathered at Ames to conduct “A Design Study of a System for 

Detecting Extraterrestrial Intelligent Life.” Under the inspiring leadership 

of Barney Oliver, and with advice from visiting experts in radio science and 

engineering (including Philip Morrison), the team put together a landmark 

report, which Barney dubbed “Project Cyclops.” The report contained 15 

 10.

4
SETI: The NASA Years

conclusions, 4 of which are especially relevant here: signaling was vastly more 

efficient than interstellar travel (the ratio is actually tens of orders of magnitude); the microwave region of the spectrum was the best place to detect 

incoming signals; the quiet region between the spectral lines of hydrogen 

and the hydroxyl radical—i.e., between 1420 and 1665 megahertz—was a 

natural “water hole” for communication between species; and construction 

of a ground-based phased array for interstellar communication over galactic 

distances was technologically feasible.

The conceptual design for Cyclops comprised an expandable phased array 

of 100-meter, fully steerable radio telescopes and a signal processing system 

that used an optical spectral analyzer to examine the 200-megahertz region of 

the water hole with a resolution not exceeding 1 hertz. Should it be necessary 

to build a complete system to achieve the sensitivity required to detect faint 

narrowband signals from star systems within a radius of 1,000 light-years, 

namely 1,000 of the 100-meter antennas, then the cost would be between 

$6 billion and $10 billion, spread over 10 to 15 years. The team also recommended that NASA initiate further scientific and engineering studies, which 

would lead to a more detailed engineering systems design over a three-tofive-year period.

Interestingly enough, the U.S. National Academy of Sciences and the 

Academy of Sciences of the USSR sponsored a joint conference on CETI in 

Byurakan, Armenia, that same September. Some of the key U.S. delegates 

were Drake, Sagan, and Oliver.11

Oliver worked for more than a year to edit and refine the Cyclops report 

before it was published in 1973.12 Ten thousand copies were printed, and 

over the succeeding years it has come to be recognized as a visionary and 

technological tour de force. (It was later reprinted by the SETI League and the 

SETI Institute.) At my instigation, the report included an artist’s rendering 

of the 1,000-antenna phased array, designed to occupy a circle 16 kilometers 

in diameter. This remarkable depiction led to a misunderstanding, which 

evolved into a myth, that the full array was necessary to detect extraterrestrial 

intelligence. Many people looked at the picture, looked at the price tag for 

the full array, and, without reading the fine print, jumped to the conclusion 

that $6 billion to $10 billion would be needed to detect an extraterrestrial 

civilization. They were wrong on two counts. First, the array was to be built 

11. Carl Sagan, ed., Communication with Extraterrestrial Intelligence (CETI) (Cambridge: The MIT 

Press, 1973).

12. Bernard M. Oliver and John Billingham, A Design Study of a System for Detecting 

Extraterrestrial Intelligent Life (Washington, DC: NASA CR-114445, 1973).

5
Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

in stages, with searches performed after each stage was completed. So it was 

possible that a signal would be found with only one dish, at a cost of a few 

million dollars instead of several billion. Second, even the full-up array might 

not have detected a signal. In any case, the myth persists even today. But I 

believe it is on the wane, as Cyclops has now been gradually superseded by 

the SETI Institute’s Allen Telescope Array and by the proposed international 

Square Kilometer Array.

1972–1974: Early Steps at Ames

Next, I had to find out if NASA would support further studies. With the 

blessing of Mark and Klein, I put together a Committee on Interstellar 

Communication at Ames. We were nine, drawn from different divisions 

and branches. Dave Black was our expert on planetary systems. My deputy 

was John Wolfe, a space physicist of note. On accepting my invitation to 

serve, he told me that he had read the Cyclops report from cover to cover in 

a single night, having been unable to put it down. At this stage we received a 

boost. The National Research Council (NRC) published its decennial report 

on astronomy and astrophysics for the 1970s.13 Prepared under Chairman 

Jesse L. Greenstein, it included for the first time encouraging words on the 

future significance of interstellar communication and on studies that might 

be undertaken in this area. Frank Drake played a major role in preparing this 

section of the NRC report. By 1974, the Ames committee had produced and 

sent to NASA Headquarters a comprehensive “Proposal for an Interstellar 

Communication Feasibility Study.” We briefed John Naugle, the NASA 

Chief Scientist, and his advisors from the scientific community. Barney and 

I also briefed the NASA Administrator, James Fletcher, and the Associate 

Administrator for Space Science, Homer Newell. In August of 1974, we 

received our first funding, in the amount of $140,000, from the NASA Office 

of Aeronautics and Space Technology.

At this stage it was clear to us that interstellar communication was still generally considered a novelty, a pursuit outside the respectable norms adhered 

to by most of the scientific community. We therefore decided to conduct a 

series of science workshops through 1975 and 1976 specifically to outline in 

greater detail all aspects of a program to detect extraterrestrial intelligence.

13. Astronomy Survey Committee, Astronomy and Astrophysics for the 1970’s. Volume 1: Report 

of the Astronomy Survey Committee and Volume 2: Reports of the Panels (Washington, DC: 

National Academy of Sciences, 1972–1973).

6
SETI: The NASA Years

1975 and 1976: The Science Workshops on SETI

In 1974, after nine years of directing aviation and space biomedical and bioengineering research, I decided to take a year off in order to devote my time 

to the nascent SETI program at Ames. Chuck Klein approved and authorized me to hire a secretary. Vera Buescher came on board as the planet’s first 

full-time interstellar secretary. (She remained at SETI until her retirement, 

as the glue that held us all together.) She and I planned the meetings of the 

Science Workshops, Philip Morrison agreed to act as chair, and together he 

and I worked out our goals and objectives and decided whom to invite onto 

the team. The final membership roster included Ronald Bracewell, Harrison 

Brown, A. G. W. Cameron, Frank Drake, Jesse Greenstein, Fred Haddock, 

George Herbig, Arthur Kantrowitz, Kenneth Kellermann, Joshua Lederberg, 

John Lewis, Bruce Murray, Barney Oliver, Carl Sagan, and Charles Townes. I 

was executive secretary. Bruce was not on the original list but called from the 

California Institute of Technology to offer his services, which we were glad 

to accept. It turned out he had heard a lecture that Barney gave at Caltech 

on interstellar communication and was very intrigued by it. It also turned 

out that he was soon to become the director of the Jet Propulsion Laboratory 

(JPL) in Pasadena.

During 1975 and 1976, we had six 3-day meetings and accomplished 

much. It became apparent that there was enough interest to fill two additional splinter workshops on extrasolar planetary detection, a neglected 

field at that time. Jesse Greenstein was named chair and David Black served 

as the workshops’ executive secretary. We also had one splinter workshop 

at Stanford titled The Evolution of Intelligent Species and Technological 

Civilizations, an emergent topic in the new domain of exobiology. It was 

chaired by Joshua Lederberg.

At the fourth SETI science workshop, held in early December of 1975 

in Puerto Rico, we discussed names for the new endeavor and accepted John 

Wolfe’s proposal to use “Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence” instead of 

“Communication with Extraterrestrial Intelligence.” Communication often 

connotes a two-way or many-way exchange, which was not our immediate 

goal. Our priority was the search. The acronym SETI stuck and is now in 

common parlance the world over.

The report of the SETI Science Workshops confirmed the microwave 

window as a promising place to begin the search and noted that progress 

in large-scale integrated circuit technology had been so rapid that millionchannel, fast-Fourier-transform spectrum analyzers could be used instead of 

7
Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

the optical signal processing used in Project Cyclops.14 Several other conclusions emerged:

1. It is both timely and feasible to begin a serious Search for 

Extraterrestrial Intelligence.

2. A significant SETI program with substantial potential secondary 

benefits can be undertaken with only modest resources.

3. Large systems of great capability can be built if needed.

4. SETI is intrinsically an international endeavor in which the 

United States can take a lead.

Workshop members made the point that the search fell under NASA’s mandate. Philip Morrison wrote a stimulating section on “The Impact of SETI” 

and concluded his preface with the words, “We recommend the initiation of 

a SETI program now.”

In the middle of the workshops, Chuck Klein asked me if I would accept 

the recently vacated position of Chief of the Exobiology Division at Ames. I 

was delighted and changed careers forthwith.15 With the encouraging words 

of the Morrison report in hand, I established in the division a formally constituted SETI Program Office, with John Wolfe; astronomers Mark Stull 

and Charles Seeger; sociologist Mary Connors, who was to study the societal 

aspects of SETI; and Vera Buescher. Barney Oliver and Frank Drake had been 

participating all along, and Hans Mark continued his support from on high, 

as did Chuck Klein. Without them there might have been no SETI at NASA.

1977: JPL Joins In

Early in the SETI Science Workshops, everyone assumed that the search method 

would involve focusing the radio telescope beam continuously for several minutes on selected target stars, thus achieving high sensitivity, as in Project Cyclops. 

Murray argued forcefully, however, for an additional approach—namely, to 

sweep the beam across the sky so that total coverage could be realized (at the 

cost, though, of a reduction in sensitivity of about one thousand-fold). At the 

fifth meeting in 1976, Oliver gave in—“All right, Bruce, have it your own 

way”—and the stage was set for the bimodal search strategy, which dominated 

14. Philip Morrison, John Billingham, and John Wolfe, The Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence, 

NASA SP-419 (Washington, DC: NASA, 1977).

15. Dick Young, Chief of Exobiology at NASA Headquarters, privately protested that I was “only 

an M.D.” But I think Klein saw a potential expansion of Exobiology to incorporate SETI. In any 

case, Dick and I had been, and remained, close friends.

8
9

SETI: The NASA Years

SETI at NASA from then on. Murray was by this time director of JPL and 

suggested that the laboratory join with Ames to conduct SETI.

Discussions between the two Centers began in 1976. Bob Edelson took 

charge of the JPL program and worked with me for several years. It became 

apparent that Ames had a strong preference for targeted searches and JPL 

for sky surveys. Since the approaches were complementary, it made sense to 

divide responsibility between the Centers. Over the next two-to-three years, 

the outline of the signal-detection system, based on a multichannel signal 

analyzer (MCSA), was developed by the engineers who were beginning to 

come on board. The original plan was to use the same detection system for 

both searches, though this later proved too difficult and each Center developed its own. For antennas, JPL would use the telescopes at its Deep Space 

Network at Goldstone in the Mojave Desert, while Ames would use existing 

large telescopes around the world.

Edelson and I were constantly traveling to NASA Headquarters for all 

the programmatic and funding discussions. By 1978, the Agency’s Office 

of Space Science had taken over the funding of SETI. At Ames, astronomer 

Jill Tarter came from Berkeley on a one-year National Academy of Sciences 

postdoctoral fellowship and then stayed for 15 more. (She currently holds 

the Bernard M. Oliver Chair for SETI at the Institute.) During her time at 

Ames, she gradually took over the science of SETI. At JPL, the same function 

was in the expert hands of Sam Gulkis, a distinguished radio astronomer. In 

1979, I organized a two-day conference at Ames devoted to the topic “Life 

in the Universe,” which attracted an overflow crowd.16 At this meeting Ames 

and JPL were now able to present a joint paper titled “SETI: Plans and 

Rationale.”17 The proposed NASA search system would achieve a 10-millionfold increase in capabilities over the sum of all previous searches. The MCSA 

and its algorithms, at the heart of the system, would now allow a reasonable 

search of Jill Tarter’s “cosmic haystack” for its “needle”—a signal of indisputably extraterrestrial intelligent origin.

1980–1981: The SETI Science Working Group

Ames, JPL, and NASA Headquarters decided that the emerging SETI Program 

should be carried out with continuing input at a working level from leading 

16. John Billingham, ed., Life in the Universe (Cambridge: The MIT Press, 1981).

17. John Wolfe et al., “SETI: Plans and Rationale,” in Life in the Universe, ed. John Billingham, pp. 

391–417.
Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

radio scientists and engineers in the academic community. Accordingly, we 

formed the SETI Science Working Group (SSWG) under the chairmanship 

of John Wolfe and Sam Gulkis. It met on six separate occasions and in 1984 

produced a report containing 17 “Conclusions and Recommendations.”18 This 

report confirmed the microwave region as preferable; endorsed the bimodal 

strategy; and envisaged a five-year R&D effort to design, develop, and test 

prototype instrumentation. Its first conclusion was: “The discovery of other 

civilizations would be among the most important achievements of humanity.” 

Its last was: “It is recommended that the search for extraterrestrial intelligence 

be supported and continued at a modest level as a long-term NASA research 

program.” The members of the SSWG were Peter Boyce, Bernie Burke, Eric 

Chaisson, Thomas Clark, Michael Davis, Frank Drake, Kenneth Kellermann, 

Woody Sullivan, George Swenson, Jack Welch, and Ben Zuckerman. Significant 

contributions came also from Michael Klein, who took over from Edelson as 

manager of the JPL SETI Program in 1981; Kent Cullers, leader of the Ames 

MCSA signal-detection/algorithm development team; Paul Horowitz from 

Harvard (who had spent a year on sabbatical at Ames and developed “Suitcase 

SETI”); Allen Peterson from Electrical Engineering at Stanford; George Morris 

and Ed Olsen from JPL; two other postdocs who had spent a year at Ames, 

Ivan Linscott and Peter Backus (both of whom were to join the Ames team); 

and of course Barney Oliver and Jill Tarter.

Dissidents Emerge

By now SETI was becoming better known and more respected in the scientific 

community. There were still skeptics, however, and Frank Tipler argued on a 

number of grounds that the number of coexisting civilizations in the galaxy 

was vanishingly small.19 In 1978 the program received a “Golden Fleece” 

award from Senator William Proxmire (D-WI), and our funding suffered 

accordingly. Our position was always that we do not know the number of 

other civilizations and that the only way to answer the question is to carry 

out a search. Drake and Oliver argued that interstellar travel and colonization were too expensive and that radio communications were vastly more 

18. Frank Drake, John H. Wolfe, and Charles L. Seeger, eds., SETI Science Working Group Report, 

NASA-TP-2244 (Washington, DC: NASA, 1984), p. xiii.

19. See, e.g., M. H. Hart and Ben Zuckerman, eds., Extraterrestrials—Where Are They? (New York: 

Pergamon Press, 1982); and Frank J. Tipler, “Extraterrestrial Intelligent Beings Do Not Exist,” 

Quarterly Journal of the Royal Astronomical Society 21 (1980): 267–281.

10
SETI: The NASA Years

efficient over interstellar distances.20 Morrison spoke out for the empiricism 

of Western science: “It is fine to argue about N [in the Drake Equation]. After 

the argument, though, I think there remains one rock hard truth: whatever 

the theories, there is no easy substitute for a real search out there, among the 

ray directions and the wavebands, down into the noise. We owe the issue 

more than mere theorizing.”21

Nevertheless, in the fall of 1981, Proxmire introduced an amendment to 

the NASA budget that eliminated all 1982 funding for SETI. At this stage, I 

had to prepare a termination plan, which was somewhat disheartening. But 

Hans Mark, then Deputy Administrator of NASA, called a key meeting in 

Washington with all the senior people from the Agency and leaders from the 

scientific community, who made the decision to put SETI back into NASA’s 

1983 budget request to Congress. So I prepared a reinstatement plan. As the 

budgetary process continued through 1982, Carl Sagan and others were able to 

convince Proxmire of the validity of the endeavor, so he did not oppose it again.

SETI was and still remains an easy target at which to snipe. While scientists 

can argue persuasively that life is widespread throughout the galaxy, we cannot 

quantify the probability of SETI’s success. There is, however, no question that 

an unequivocal discovery of extraterrestrial intelligence would be of the most 

profound significance for humankind. In spite of this, we have continued over 

the years to face opposition from a few skeptics in Congress. Much of the resistance we encountered was of a political nature and happened because SETI was 

such a small element of the NASA budget—ultimately 0.1 percent—that it 

lacked the broad-based political support of larger NASA projects.22 SETI also 

was of such intense interest to the general public that it often figured prominently in the media, which sometimes ridiculed our search for mythical “Little 

Green Men.” What we have actually been searching for, of course, is unassailable 

evidence of the existence of an extraterrestrial technological civilization, born 

of cognitive intelligence. The anatomical and physiological structure of the 

extraterrestrials is a topic of major theoretical interest, but what matters most 

for our search is that these beings will have figured out, almost certainly a long 

time ago, how to build powerful radio transmitters.

 20.

11
Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

1982–1983: Good News

In 1982, Carl Sagan published in Science magazine a petition signed by 70 

scientists, including seven Nobel Prize winners, from around the world calling 

for international cooperation in and support of a systematic SETI program. 

They said: “No a priori arguments on this subject can be compelling or should 

be used as a substitute for an observational program. We urge the organization of a coordinated, worldwide, and systematic search for extraterrestrial 

intelligence.”23

In 1982 the decennial report of the Astronomy Survey Committee (also 

known as the Field Report) strongly supported SETI as one of seven “Moderate 

New Programs” for the 1980s.24 Their specific recommendation was for “an 

astronomical Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence (SETI), supported at a 

modest level, undertaken as a long-term effort rather than a short-term project, and open to the participation of the general scientific community.” The 

Committee had a special Subcommittee on SETI, which interacted at some 

length with our academic leadership, Drake, Oliver, Tarter, and many others. 

At this time the new director of Life Sciences in the Office of Space Science 

and Applications at NASA Headquarters was Jerry Soffen, who had been the 

Project Scientist for the Viking mission to Mars. Encouraged by the growing 

support from the scientific community, he accepted our proposal for the first 

of the five years of R&D funding that had been recommended by the SETI 

Science Working Group; so our budget for 1983 came in at $1.65 million. 

Don DeVincenzi, a key figure in exobiology science management at Ames, 

went to join Soffen in the Life Sciences Division at NASA Headquarters 

and became Chief of Exobiology there and a most capable SETI Program 

Manager. Also at this time, and in spite of some competition between the 

Centers, Ames and JPL and Headquarters got together and agreed that Ames 

would be the lead Center for SETI in NASA; and so it was until the program 

was canceled in 1993.

Two other major events occurred in 1983. Barney Oliver retired from 

Hewlett-Packard and accepted my invitation to join Ames as Deputy Chief 

of the SETI Program Office. I found a special civil-service position that 

fitted him perfectly—it was called “expert.” I was delighted with his decision, 

23. Carl Sagan, “Extraterrestrial Intelligence: An International Petition,” Science 218, no. 4571 

(1982): 426.

24. Astronomy and Astrophysics for the 1980’s. Volume 1: Report of the Astronomy Survey 

Committee and Volume 2: Reports of the Panels (Washington, DC: National Academy Press, 

1982–1983), p. 150.

12
SETI: The NASA Years

especially since he had no great love for the federal bureaucracy. He used to 

say that he was not really suited for the job because he was “neither civil nor 

servile.” He had always been close to us, as our principal technical colleague. 

Now it became a formal arrangement, and everyone benefited. He was the 

only person in NASA to hold memberships in the National Academies of 

Sciences and Engineering. Our standing rose in the world. Barney wanted 

to be a volunteer, but the rules would not allow that; so he was forced to 

accept a salary!

The second event was the formation of the SETI Institute. This was a 

brainchild of Tom Pierson, then the director of research administration at 

San Francisco State University. He consulted with Barney, Jill Tarter, and me 

and went ahead to establish the Institute as a California research and education nonprofit corporation. Tom next wanted the best person to serve as 

president and chairman of the board. The best person turned out to be Frank 

Drake. After serving for many years as director of the Arecibo Observatory, 

followed by many more years as professor of astronomy at Cornell, Frank 

was now the dean of science and professor of astronomy at UC Santa Cruz. 

Frank accepted the position, part time of course, and everyone was delighted. 

Jack Welch, professor of astronomy at UC Berkeley and director of the Radio 

Astronomy Laboratory there, became deputy chair of the Institute. Tom 

Pierson became executive director and ran the Institute with his astonishing 

flair for leadership. Jill Tarter joined the Institute to spearhead the science, 

and Vera Buescher followed to become the research assistant to the Institute 

management.

1983–1987: Five Years of R&D

Unhappily for us, Chuck Klein retired from NASA Ames in 1984. By then 

he was widely recognized as “the father of exobiology.” With funding of about 

$1.5 million a year, Ames and JPL embarked on an intensive program to 

define all aspects of SETI in NASA. It was now formally titled the Microwave 

Observing Project (MOP). I worked with Mike Klein on the programmatic 

aspects, Barney oversaw the technology, and Jill Tarter and Sam Gulkis were 

the chief scientists. Elyse Murray joined the Ames team in 1983, and it wasn’t 

long before we realized she was a super secretary.

New spectrometers with resolutions of millions of channels were needed. 

Some of the original thinking about ways of solving this difficult problem 

came from Bob Machol, professor of systems at Northwestern University, 

who had joined us over the years on a series of sabbaticals. He talked with 

Alan Despain of UC Berkeley. Then Despain and Allen Peterson and Ivan 

13
Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

Linscott at Stanford developed the digital technology for the first Ames 

MCSA. At Ames, Kent Cullers led the signal-detection team in the design 

of very sophisticated algorithms to search for both continuous wave and 

pulsed signals and to reject radio frequency interference, one of SETI’s 

major and continuing problems.25 The prototype narrowband (1-hertz) 

signal-detection system had 74,000 channels and was tested on a 26-meter 

telescope at Goldstone from 1985 to 1987. It succeeded in detecting the 

1-watt transmitter on the Pioneer 10 spacecraft at a distance of 4.5 billion miles. At JPL, Mike Klein, ably assisted by engineer Bruce Crow, 

supervised the corresponding development of their wide-band spectrum 

analyzer, which was tailored to the needs of the sky survey. From 1985 

onward, Klein succeeded in obtaining support from the NASA Office of 

Telecommunications and Data Acquisition to use part of the Deep Space 

Network and for some of their engineering development work. This support 

was to continue for the remainder of the program.

During this period there was a reorganization at Ames, and I became head 

of an expanded Life Sciences Division, which now included exobiology and 

SETI; ecosystem science and technology; and space biology, physiology, and 

medicine. In SETI, Ames and JPL wrote a formal Program Plan, approved 

by Barney Oliver for Ames and Mike Klein for JPL, which we submitted to 

Headquarters and which was adopted in March 1987. Jill Tarter played a key 

role in putting it together, and it was a major milestone. The plan proposed 

a 10-year, $73.5-million search for narrowband signals. The search was to be 

composed of two complementary components: a targeted search, carried out 

by Ames; and a sky survey, carried out by JPL. In addition to the technical, 

managerial, and administrative details, we made sure that the plan included 

sections on the following additional material: the intimate link between 

SETI and exobiology; evaluations from the scientific community; use of the 

sophisticated instrumentation for radio astronomy and other possible areas; 

a summary of the manifestations of interest by the public and the media and 

of the incorporation of SETI into college courses around the country; and 

an annotated bibliography by Charles Seeger, which included references to 

the extensive bibliography on SETI that had been published in the Journal 

of the British Interplanetary Society and then continued to appear there for 

25. Kent Cullers, “Three Pulse/Multiple Stage Continuous Wave Detection Algorithms,” in 

Bioastronomy—The Next Steps, ed. George Marx (Dordrecht, Netherlands: Springer, 1988), 

pp. 371–376.

14
SETI: The NASA Years

several more years.26 I insisted that we include in our NASA budget a Program 

Plan line item for R&D of future SETI telescopes, searches, and systems at 

one-tenth of the budget. Although approved at the time, this line item was 

unfortunately to disappear later in a funding crunch.

SETI at Large

I shall now depart from the chronological history of SETI at NASA to discuss general issues that emerged over the years. Although the NASA program was by far the largest, SETI had gradually appeared in many other 

places. Drake had carried out his own searches and had sponsored others at 

Arecibo. Begun in 1973, the observational project at the Ohio State radio 

telescope, under the direction of John Kraus and Robert Dixon, had become 

by 1995 the longest-running full-scale SETI project in the United States. In 

the early 1990s, Dixon had started the imaginative Project Argus, a wide-sky, 

broad-frequency, low-sensitivity search with small telescopes. Paul Horowitz 

developed extremely narrow-channel (.05 hertz) instruments for the Harvard 

radio telescope, beginning with Project Sentinel in 1983, then progressing to 

META—the Megachannel Extraterrestrial Assay—and finally to the current 

BETA, with a billion channels. Stuart Bowyer and Dan Werthimer at UC 

Berkeley have been running Project SERENDIP as a piggyback operation 

on radio-astronomy projects at Arecibo since 1980.

Outside the United States, SETI projects were carried out in France, 

Argentina, Italy, Germany, and Japan. These programs and others came to 

a total of 61 searches worldwide.27 It should be noted that collectively all of 

these searches had examined only a minute fraction of astronomical multidimensional time search space. In 1991, SETI was still in its infancy. On the 

26. See E. F. Mallove, R. L. Forward, Z. Paprotny, and J. Lehmann, “Interstellar Travel and 

Communication – A Bibliography,” Journal of the British Interplanetary Society 33 (1980): 

201–248; Z. Paprotny and J. Lehmann, “Interstellar Travel and Communication Bibliography: 

1982 Update,” Journal of the British Interplanetary Society 36 (1983): 311–329; Z. Paprotny, 

J. Lehmann, and J. Prytz: “Interstellar Travel and Communication Bibliography: 1984 Update,” 

Journal of the British Interplanetary Society 37 (1984): 502–512, 1984; and Z. Paprotny, J. 

Lehmann, and J. Prytz: “Interstellar Travel and Communication Bibliography: 1985 Update,” 

Journal of the British Interplanetary Society 39 (1986): 127–136.

27. Jill Tarter and Michael J. Klein, “SETI: On the Telescope and on the Drawing Board,” in 

Bioastronomy: The Search for Extraterrestrial Life—The Exploration Broadens, ed. Jean 

Heidmann and Michael J. Klein (New York: Springer, 1991), pp. 229–235.

15
Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

other hand, a real signal might have been detected at any time by any SETI 

observing project anywhere on Earth.

It had always been our policy to provide, where we could, some level of 

financial support for these other SETI activities, and we did just that over 

the years. Another policy was to aim for the highest professional standards 

in the science and engineering of SETI. To this end, we always engaged with 

the scientific and engineering communities and made sure that we had a 

continuing presence at national and international professional conferences, 

delivering papers and then submitting them to appropriate peer-reviewed 

journals. Review sessions on SETI have been held at the annual International 

Astronautical Congress (IAC) since 1972. I was Chairman of the IAA SETI 

Committee from 1977 to 1994. Every four or five years, we would collect 

the best papers read at the congresses, have them peer reviewed, and publish 

them as a special issue of Acta Astronautica.

28 The International Astronomical 

Union (IAU) established a new commission (designated Commission 51) on 

bioastronomy in 1984, which since then has held scientific meetings triennially. Both Frank Drake and Jill Tarter served as presidents of this commission 

in the late 1980s.

It had always been apparent to us that the unequivocal discovery of a 

signal of extraterrestrial intelligent origin would have profound consequences 

for humankind. Since this was obviously a transnational issue, we brought it 

up periodically in the IAA SETI Committee and also with colleagues in the 

International Institute of Space Law. We devised a Declaration of Principles 

Concerning Activities Following the Detection of Extraterrestrial Intelligence 

and called it, somewhat loosely, the “SETI Post-Detection Protocols.”29 This 

list of nine recommendations to SETI investigators, adopted by the IAA in 

1989, was endorsed by six major international space societies and, later, by 

nearly all SETI investigators around the world. In the following years, the 

Committee worked on a second protocol, which examined questions dealing 

with the transmission of messages from Earth to extraterrestrial civilizations 

and recommended that these questions be forwarded to the United Nations’ 

Committee on the Peaceful Uses of Outer Space (COPUOS) for consideration. 

The basic issues were whether to transmit, either de novo or after the detection of 

28. The SETI special issues of Acta Astronautica include vol. 6, nos. 1–2 (1979); vol. 13, no. 1 (1986); vol. 

19, no. 11 (1989); vol. 21, no. 2 (1990); vol. 26, nos. 3–4 (1992); and vol. 42, nos. 10–12 (1998).

29. The full text of this declaration is available on the International Academy of Astronautics’ SETI 

Permanent Committee Web site at http://www.setileague.org/iaaseti/protdet.htm (accessed 25 

June 2013). See also Jill Tarter and Michael A. Michaud, eds., “SETI Post-Detection Protocol,” 

Acta Astronautica 21, no. 2 (1990): 69–154. 

16
SETI: The NASA Years

a signal; what the content of a message might be if transmissions were sent; and 

how these decisions were to be made. Our document, titled Draft Declaration 

of Principles Concerning Sending Communications with Extraterrestrial 

Intelligence and submitted to the IAA in 1995, became a formal Position Paper 

of the Academy and was endorsed by the International Institute of Space Law.30

It has now been formally received by COPUOS.

In 1987 at the International Astronautical Federation’s 38th Congress, 

held in Brighton, England, Dr. James Fletcher, then Administrator of NASA, 

presented a paper on what he imagined his successor might say about space 

achievements 30 years into the future. In it, he pronounced that the discovery 

of extraterrestrial intelligence would eclipse all other discoveries in history.

It had been obvious to us since Project Ozma that many questions related 

to the societal implications of SETI had not yet been addressed. So I asked the 

distinguished social psychologist Roger Heyns, then director of the Hewlett 

Foundation and former chancellor of UC Berkeley, to co-chair with me a 

series of Workshops on the Cultural Aspects of SETI (CASETI). We gathered 

together a team of specialists in history; theology; anthropology; psychology; 

sociology; international law, relations, and policy; political science; the media; 

and education. We met three times in 1991 and 1992 and generated a report 

titled Social Implications of the Detection of an Extraterrestrial Civilization.

31

The report concluded that the issues were important and merited extensive 

further studies. 

1988: The Buildup Begins

In 1988 we saw the signing of the Project Initiation Agreement by NASA, 

another major step in the bureaucratic approval process. Lynn Griffiths had 

replaced Don DeVincenzi as Program Manager at NASA Headquarters, and 

John Rummel became the Headquarters Project Scientist. Funding was now 

30. The full texts of both the draft and the revision of this position paper are accessible in the 

“Protocols” section of the International Academy of Astronautics’ SETI Permanent Committee 

Web site: http://www.setileague.org/iaaseti/protocol.htm (accessed 25 June 2013). It is also 

available on the SETI Institute Web site at http://www.seti.org.

31. John Billingham et al., eds., Social Implications of the Detection of an Extraterrestrial Civilization: 

A Report of the Workshops on the Cultural Aspects of SETI Held in October 1991, May 1992, and 

September 1992 at Santa Cruz, California (Mountain View, CA: SETI Press, 1990). The Executive 

Summary, Principal Findings, and Recommendations can be found at http://www.seti.org/setiinstitute/project/details/cultural-aspects-seti (accessed 25 June 2013).

17
Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

running at just under $3 million a year. At Ames, there was another reorganization, and in 1989 I became the full-time chief of the SETI Office, 

with Barney Oliver at my side as deputy. My first action was to appoint Jill 

Tarter as our Project Scientist. The SETI Institute, under Drake and Pierson, 

was playing an increasingly important role.32 We were completing the R&D 

phase. Program reviews intensified at the Centers and in Washington. In 

1990, SETI took on the status of an approved NASA project, and we began 

the Final Development and Operations phase. The budget for 1990 was $6 

million. The final Project Plan outlined a 10-year search at a total cost of 

$108 million. We had 140 people working on SETI at Ames and JPL. The 

search was scheduled to begin on 12 October 1992, the 500th anniversary 

of Columbus’s arrival in America. And so it did.33

Speaking of Columbus reminds me that attempts of one sort or another 

were always being made to reduce our budget. We had constantly to be on 

guard. We continued to see sniping from individual members of Congress, 

though also much support. Some in the astronomical community saw SETI 

as a potential competitor for funding. A frequent question was “Why don’t 

you delay this project until the cost of digital signal processing has come down 

to a fraction of what it is today?”—to which Oliver replied, “Columbus didn’t 

wait for jets.” We actually had another strong argument for not delaying and 

were able to use it effectively. If we did not get on the air soon, the difficulty 

of detecting faint signals from other civilizations would increase because of 

the growing saturation of the radio-frequency spectrum with interference, 

which in turn would cost progressively more millions of dollars to overcome.

In 1991 the National Research Council published its Astronomy Survey 

Committee Report for the 1990s and again recommended SETI. In that 

same year we began building and testing the actual search systems. Tarter and 

Gulkis finalized the observational plans, advised by an Investigators Working 

Group of scientists. The 1991 budget rose to $16.8 million. The targeted 

search was to be conducted at the Arecibo Observatory in Puerto Rico (the 

plans having been approved by a National Science Foundation peer-review 

process), and the sky survey would be performed using one of the Deep Space 

32. Thomas Pierson, “SETI Institute: Summary of Projects in Support of SETI Research,” in 

Progress in the Search for Extraterrestrial Life, ASP Conference Series, vol. 74, ed. G. Seth 

Shostak (San Francisco: Astronomical Society of the Pacific, 1995), pp. 433–444.

33. For a detailed description of SETI at this time, including science rationale, observational plans, 

and signal-detection system designs, see John Billingham and Jill Tarter, “Fundamentals of 

Space Biology and Medicine,” in SETI: The Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence (Washington, 

DC: AIAA; Moscow: Nauka Press, 1993).

18
SETI: The NASA Years

Network telescopes at Goldstone in the Mojave desert. I tried at this time to 

have Michel Klein formally named as Deputy of the NASA SETI Program, 

but Headquarters said it could not be done. We needed a full-time overall 

project manager and brought on David Brocker from the Space Science 

Division at Ames. Reporting to him were Larry Webster, Targeted Search 

Manager at Ames, and Mike Klein, Sky Survey Manager at JPL. The able Gary 

Coulter had by this time become Program Manager at NASA Headquarters, 

replacing the able Lynn Griffiths. 

In 1992 the name Microwave Observing Project was changed to HighResolution Microwave Survey (HRMS) by order of the U.S. Congress. The 

project was moved from the NASA Headquarters Life Sciences Division to 

the Solar System Exploration Division, along with Coulter and Rummel. The 

1992 budget rose again, to $17.5 million. The signal-detection systems were 

shipped to the telescopes for final testing. The Ames system was built into 

a Mobile Research Facility—a trailer—that was trucked to Travis Air Force 

Base, loaded onto a C-141 transport, flown to Puerto Rico, trucked again 

to the Arecibo Observatory, and hooked up to the telescope. The basic idea 

behind the Mobile Research Facility was to be able to take the targeted search 

to any large telescope anywhere in the world. At the same time, scientists 

and engineers at JPL assembled and tested their sky-survey instrumentation 

at Goldstone. Preparations were made for the inauguration of the search. 

A series of talks were to be given by distinguished people. Invitations went 

out to them and to the media, and the activity level rose to a crescendo. The 

brunt of the organization fell on Vera Buescher, who did a wonderful job. 

We were very busy.

1992: NASA SETI Comes of Age

It was noon on Columbus Day, 1992, at the Arecibo Observatory in Puerto 

Rico. After a morning of inauguration speeches, including a rousing one from 

Frank Drake, David Brocker formally initiated the NASA High-Resolution 

Microwave Survey and pulled the switch to turn on the targeted search system. 

In a two-way hook-up with the JPL team at Goldstone, where a corresponding inauguration ceremony was underway, Mike Klein did the same for the 

sky survey. As I said in my briefing to the audience, these new systems were 

so powerful that they would eclipse the sum of all previous searches within 

the first few minutes of operation. And so it was.

Both teams spent the next year exploring the sky for signals of extraterrestrial intelligent origin and learning how to deal with the vast flows of data that 

were analyzed in near real-time. Procedures were worked out for dealing with 

19
Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

the chronic radio-frequency interference. Teams of observers and engineers 

rotated back and forth between the NASA Centers and the observatories. 

The targeted search completed 200 hours of observations of selected nearby 

F, G, and K stars. The sky survey conducted observations at X-band and 

completed a sequence of maps of the galactic plane, primarily at L-band. In 

August 1993, Jill Tarter and Mike Klein presented a summary of their results 

at a Bioastronomy Symposium in Santa Cruz, California. They said:

At both sites the equipment has functioned well, with minor, 

mostly low-tech glitches. These initial observations have verified 

the transport logistics for the Targeted Search and provided the 

first platform for remote observations to the Sky Survey. As a 

result of the data that have been collected, modifications have 

been made or planned to the hardware, software, and observing 

protocols. Both observing programs have encountered signals 

that required additional observations because they initially conformed to the detection pattern expected for an extraterrestrial 

signal, but no signals persist as potential candidates at this time. 

This paper will discuss the lessons we have learned, the changes 

we are making, and our schedule for continued observation.34

Alas, there was to be no continued observation.

The Dissolution of SETI at NASA

Shortly after the Santa Cruz meeting, Senator Richard Bryan (D-NV) introduced an amendment to the 1993 NASA budget eliminating the HRMS 

program. His argument was based on deficit reduction, and he explained 

that 150 new houses could be built in Nevada for the same cost. In spite 

of a vigorous defense of HRMS by Senator Barbara Mikulski (D-MD) and 

others, the motion was carried. The political complexities of all the issues 

are covered in detail in the next chapter of this book, “A Political History of 

NASA’s SETI Program.”

I now had the unhappy task, for the second time, of putting together a 

termination plan. Slowly and surely, all the grants and contracts had to be 

wound down and our team dissolved. It took six months. The total budget 

34. Jill Tarter and Michael J. Klein, “HRMS: Where We’ve Been, and Where We’re Going,” in 

Shostak, ed., Progress in the Search for Extraterrestrial Life, pp. 457–469, esp. p. 457.

20
SETI: The NASA Years

for SETI, over all the years, was just under $78 million. In March of 1994 

the doors were closed on SETI at NASA. 

Epilogue

We had successfully executed Earth’s first comprehensive Search for 

Extraterrestrial Intelligence. We suspect there have been, still are, and will be 

searches by other intelligent species in the universe. Perhaps some of these 

searches have been successful, and perhaps communication now exists between 

these extraterrestrial societies. One day we may join that conversation.

The targeted search was taken over by the SETI Institute in 1994 and 

continued with funding from private sources. The following year Project 

Argus, a new all-sky survey (also privately funded), was initiated by the nonprofit SETI League, on whose advisory board Frank Drake serves. So Frank 

Drake, who began it all, continues to hold the torch in his hands. In the year 

2014, he still does.

21

CHAPTER TWO

A Political History of 

NASA’s SETI Program1

Stephen J. Garber

Humans have always had a curiosity about whether we are unique or 

whether other intelligent life-forms exist elsewhere in the universe. In 1959 

a group of astrophysicists formulated a new approach to answering this 

question which involved using radio astronomy to “listen” for signs of 

extraterrestrial intelligent life. Sixteen years later, in 1975, NASA began 

to fund definition studies for the Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence 

(SETI) program. After progressing at a low level of funding for more than 

a decade, the program was renamed the High-Resolution Microwave Survey 

(HRMS) and, on Columbus Day, 1992, launched what was intended to 

be a 10-year, $100-million formal SETI effort. Within a year, Congress 

abruptly canceled the HRMS program, though aspects of it were continued 

with private funding. 

Why did the NASA SETI/HRMS program—hereafter referred to simply 

as the SETI program—fail? While debate over the likelihood of finding 

intelligent extraterrestrial life goes on, most scientists agree that the SETI 

program constituted worthwhile, valid scientific research. A number of 

political factors, however, combined to kill the program. Anxiety over the 

federal budget deficit, lack of support from some segments of the scientific 

and aerospace communities, and unfounded but persistent claims that linked 

SETI with nonscientific elements all made the program an easy target in 

the autumn of 1993.

1. First, thank you to Doug Vakoch for suggesting the revision and updating of my prior article 

on this subject. Thanks also go to the editorial staff of the Journal of the British Interplanetary 

Society, both for publishing an earlier version of this research under the title “Searching for 

Good Science: The Cancellation of NASA’s SETI Program” (JBIS 52, no. 1 [1999]: 3–12) and 

for allowing me to revise that text for this collection.

23
Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

Searching for Signs of Extraterrestrial Intelligence— 

A Brief History

Long before the space age, scientists and engineers pondered ways to answer 

the question “Are we alone?” In the early 20th century, radio pioneers such as 

Heinrich Hertz, Nikola Tesla, and Guglielmo Marconi foresaw the possibility 

of using radio waves for “interplanetary communication,” as it was called at 

the time. In 1919, after observing some unusual radio signals, Marconi tried 

to determine whether they came from Mars, causing a considerable public 

stir. Elmer Sperry, head of the Sperry Gyroscope Company, proposed using 

a massive array of searchlights to send a beacon to Mars, and even Albert 

Einstein suggested that light rays might be an easily controllable method for 

extraterrestrial communication.2

The age-old question of whether intelligent life exists beyond Earth 

reached a turning point in 1959. That year, Giuseppe Cocconi and Philip 

Morrison published a seminal paper in which they suggested that the microwave portion of the electromagnetic spectrum would be ideal for communicating signals across tremendous distances in our galaxy.3

 A narrowband 

frequency could, they theorized, be beamed long distances with relatively 

minimal power and signal interference. Radio waves travel at the speed of 

light and are not absorbed by cosmic dust or clouds. Thus, if scientists tuned 

radio telescopes to the right portion of the spectrum, they might be able to 

detect a pattern of radio waves that indicated extraterrestrial intelligence. 

Our own radio and television broadcasts had been drifting into space for a 

number of years already. While we might pick up such unintentional extraterrestrial signals, Cocconi and Morrison primarily hoped to receive a message 

deliberately sent by other intelligent beings. 

Independently of Cocconi and Morrison, a young astronomer named 

Frank Drake had also been contemplating radio astronomy as a means of 

searching for extraterrestrial signals. He decided to test this approach in 1960 

by setting up a rudimentary experiment, which he called Project Ozma, at the 

Green Bank Observatory in West Virginia. While listening over a two-month 

period to emissions from two nearby stars, Drake was startled to discover a 

nonrandom signal pattern that potentially indicated ETI. After checking his 

results, however, he realized that the pattern was a terrestrial one, generated 

2. Steven J. Dick, “Back to the Future: SETI Before the Space Age,” The Planetary Report 15, no. 

1 (1995): 4–7.

3. Giuseppe Cocconi and Philip Morrison, “Searching for Interstellar Communications,” Nature

184, no. 4690 (1959): 844–846.

24
A Political History of NASA’s SETI Program

by a secret military radar. Undeterred, Drake persevered with Project Ozma 

and went on to become one of the leading figures in the SETI field. 

The microwave portion of the spectrum seemed to be the logical place 

to look for extraterrestrial signals, but this still left a broad range of other 

frequencies. Drake, as well as Cocconi and Morrison, speculated that the 

optimum wave frequency would be near the spectral emission frequency of 

hydrogen, the most common element in our galaxy. Soon afterward, scientists 

adopted a strategy of looking in the “water hole” portion of the spectrum 

between the emission lines of hydrogen and hydroxyl, the chemical components of water, since water is assumed to be essential for life.4

In 1961, Drake gathered a small group of astronomers and other scientists 

at Green Bank for the first scientific SETI conference. These ten attendees 

later called themselves members of the “Order of the Dolphin,” alluding to 

a discussion they had had about the dolphin’s intellectual capabilities and 

the evolutionary likelihood of intelligent life. In trying to come up with an 

agenda for this meeting, Drake produced what became known as the Drake 

Equation, a formula that estimates the number of potential intelligent civilizations in our galaxy. The equation reads

N = R* · fp · ne · fl

 · fi · fc · L,

where N is the number of detectable civilizations in space and the seven other 

symbols represent various factors multiplied by each other.5

Drake himself calculated N to be approximately 10,000. This figure takes 

into account just the Milky Way galaxy, one of “billions and billions” of galaxies in the universe.6

 As later critics pointed out, scientists have hard data 

on only one of these variables; the rest continue to be just rough estimates. 

4. See, for example, Seth Shostak, “Listening for Life,” Astronomy 20, no. 10 (1992): 26–33, 

esp. p. 30; and Frank Drake and Dava Sobel, Is Anyone Out There? The Scientific Search for 

Extraterrestrial Intelligence (New York: Delacorte Press, 1992), pp. 42–43.

5. Drake and Sobel, Is Anyone Out There?, p. 52. For a discussion of how the Drake Equation has 

changed slightly over the years, see Steven J. Dick, The Biological Universe: The TwentiethCentury Extraterrestrial Life Debate and the Limits of Science (Cambridge: Cambridge 

University Press, 1996), pp. 428 and 441–442. Linda Billings contends that this formula would 

be better termed the “Drake Heuristic” because it is a way to think about how many intelligent 

civilizations may exist, rather than a mathematical calculation per se; see http://lindabillings.

org/gadfly_blog/LindaBillings.org/Capital_Gadfly/Entries/2009/12/10_The_Drake_Heuristic__

Its_Not_Math.html (accessed 26 April 2013). 

6. Drake and Sobel, Is Anyone Out There?, p. xv.

25
Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

Nevertheless, Drake devised the equation simply as a starting point for how 

to think about searching for extraterrestrial signals.

In the late 1960s, John Billingham, who worked at NASA’s Ames Research 

Center (ARC), began a campaign to get NASA involved in SETI. Billingham 

had been trained as a medical doctor and had previously done biomedical 

and life sciences work for NASA, such as designing the liquid-cooled inner 

garment for the Apollo spacesuits. In 1971, Billingham and Bernard (Barney) 

Oliver, a former vice president of research at Hewlett-Packard Corporation 

with a long-standing interest in SETI, authored a detailed NASA study proposing an array of one thousand 100-meter telescope dishes that could pick 

up radio signals from neighboring stars.7 Project Cyclops, as it was called, was 

never adopted, in large measure because of its tremendous $10-billion price 

tag. An especially unfortunate result of the study was the creation of a widespread misperception that the Cyclops Project required an “all-or-nothing” 

approach, and thus SETI got nothing for several years.8

Four years after this setback, NASA managers judged that the relevant science and technology had matured enough to merit additional investigation. 

Thus, in 1975, NASA began to fund design studies under the leadership of 

MIT’s Philip Morrison, who had coauthored the seminal Nature paper in 

1959. The next year, managers at NASA’s Ames Research Center established 

a SETI branch, and scientists and engineers at the Jet Propulsion Laboratory 

(JPL) also started SETI work. Ames had experience in biomedical research, 

while JPL had experience tracking deep space missions and easy access to the 

Deep Space Network antenna for radio astronomy at Goldstone.

The program’s troubles in Congress trace back to 1978. That year, while 

SETI at NASA was still receiving a relatively low level of federal funding,9

Senator William Proxmire bestowed one of his infamous “Golden Fleece” 

awards on the program, deriding it as a waste of taxpayer money. In 1981, 

viewing the SETI program as a foolish enterprise that was unlikely to yield 

results, Proxmire sponsored an amendment that killed its funding for the 

next year. 

At this point, Proxmire was approached by the famous astronomer 

Carl Sagan, who had previously dealt with him on “nuclear winter” issues. 

7. Bernard M. Oliver and John Billingham, Project Cyclops: A Design Study of a System for 

Detecting Extraterrestrial Intelligent Life (Washington, DC: NASA CR-114445, 1971).

8. Drake and Sobel, Is Anyone Out There?, p. 139.

9. For an overview of SETI’s funding history, see the appendix to this chapter on p. 48. This 

budget data was supplied by Mr. Jens Feeley, Policy Analyst, NASA Office of Space Science, 

NASA Headquarters, Washington, DC. 

26
A Political History of NASA’s SETI Program

Sagan was able to convince him of the program’s scientific merits. Proxmire 

agreed not to oppose SETI, and Congress reinstated funding for fiscal year 

1983 (FY83).

While NASA’s SETI program was developing during the 1980s, several 

privately funded SETI projects were also under way. The Planetary Society, 

which Sagan had helped to found, provided support for two JPL researchers 

to conduct SETI observations at a NASA tracking station in Australia. The 

society also partially funded Paul Horowitz, a Harvard University astronomer 

who used surplus antennae and computers to build a portable system called 

“Suitcase SETI,” which he later transformed into Project Sentinel and then 

into the Megachannel Extraterrestrial Assay. Various other projects included the 

Search for Extraterrestrial Radio Emissions from Nearby Developed Intelligent 

Populations (SERENDIP), conducted at the University of California at 

Berkeley, and Ohio State University’s “Big Ear” program, which ran from 1973 

to 1995. In 1984, the nonprofit SETI Institute was founded in California. 

Scientists outside the United States, particularly those in the Soviet Union, 

were also interested in searching for ETI signals. International conferences 

were held in 1971 and 1981 in Armenia and Estonia, due in part to the 

interest of two leading Russian astrophysicists, Iosif Shklovskii and Nikolai 

Kardashev. In 1965, Soviet astronomers had detected a signal with the apparent hallmarks of ETI, but American scientists determined that it was the result 

of a naturally occurring phenomenon called quasars. If they had not before, 

SETI researchers worldwide quickly realized the importance of double-checking their results with colleagues before making any grand pronouncements.10

In 1988, NASA Headquarters formally endorsed the SETI program, 

and technicians at Ames and JPL began to build the necessary hardware. 

Simultaneously, the Solar System Exploration Division at NASA Headquarters 

established a working group to form a strategy for finding other planetary 

systems. This led to the Towards Other Planetary Systems (TOPS) workshops 

in 1990 and 1992. 

By this time, SETI scientists were anxious to begin their search, not only 

because the preliminary studies had taken many years but also because of a 

purely technical reason: an increasingly crowded radio spectrum. New commercial communications satellites threatened to create a significant noise 

problem in the same part of the spectrum where SETI scientists concurred 

that chances were best to detect extraterrestrial signals. This cluttering was 

10. For more information on Soviet SETI efforts, see, for example, Drake and Sobel, Is Anyone Out 

There?, pp. 95–115 and 155–156. 

27
Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

Figure 2.1. High-Resolution Microwave 

Survey observations begin on 12 

October 1992. (Photo: Seth Shostak)

likely to worsen, so there was an impetus to 

start full-fledged “listening” quickly. 

While the SETI program had always 

suffered from a “giggle factor” that derived 

from its association in the popular press with 

searches for “little green men” and unidentified flying objects (UFOs), the congressional 

pressures intensified in 1990. The George 

H. W. Bush administration requested $12 

million for the program in FY91, up from 

$4.2 million in FY90, to start a full-fledged 

Microwave Observing Project (MOP). 

Congressman Ronald Machtley (R-RI) 

declared, “‘We cannot spend money on 

curiosity today when we have a deficit.’”11

Silvio Conte (R-MA) stated that he didn’t 

want to spend millions of dollars to find evidence of ETI when one could spend “75 cents to buy a tabloid [with reports 

of aliens] at the local supermarket.”12 Perhaps the program was lucky to end 

up with $11.5 million for FY91. 

In response to continued political pressure, NASA slightly restructured 

the program and prepared to start its next SETI effort precisely 500 years 

after Columbus had “discovered” North America (see Figures 2.1, 2.2, and 

2.3). In addition to changing the name from Microwave Observing Project 

to High-Resolution Microwave Survey, NASA moved HRMS from the Life 

Sciences Division to its Solar System Exploration Division and made it part 

of the TOPS program. The House and Senate science committees, as well 

as the House Appropriations Committee, tried to cancel the program, but 

it was saved by the Senate Appropriations Subcommittee, in part due to the 

efforts of Senator Jake Garn (R-UT), who had flown on the Space Shuttle in 

1985 and waxed eloquent about his religious convictions in relation to ETI.13

11. For these and other program budget figures, see the appendix on p. 48. Congressman 

Machtley is here quoted from Louis D. Friedman, “World Watch,” The Planetary Report 10, no. 

3 (1990): 24–25, esp. p. 24. 

12. Friedman, “World Watch,” p. 24.

13. Richard A. Kerr, “SETI Faces Uncertainty on Earth and in the Stars,” Science 258, no. 5079 

(1992): 27; Kevin Kelly, telephone conversation with author, 2 July 1997; and William Triplett, 

“SETI Takes the Hill,” Air & Space (October/November 1992): 80–86, esp. p. 83.

28
A Political History of NASA’s SETI Program

Figure 2.2. The Arecibo radio telescope, 12 October 1992. (Photo: Seth Shostak)

Despite this shaky footing, HRMS was allocated $12 million for FY93 as 

part of a 10-year, $100-million program that included two main components: 

a targeted search and an all-sky survey. NASA Ames managed the targeted 

search component, which was conducted with the radio telescope in Arecibo, 

Puerto Rico, and was meant to focus on emissions from those nearby stars that 

scientists viewed as most promising for ETI signals. JPL scientists managed 

the all-sky survey, which used the Deep Space Network dish at Goldstone to 

scan the entire Milky Way.

After almost a year of HRMS operations, the program hit a political wall 

when a prominent opponent sensed an opportune time to strike. On 22 

September 1993, Senator Richard Bryan (D-NV), a noted SETI critic, offered 

a last-minute amendment to kill the program, and the full Senate concurred. A 

House-Senate conference committee approved the Senate plan, which included 

$1 million for program termination costs. Bryan issued a press release saying, 

“This hopefully will be the end of Martian-hunting season at the taxpayer’s 

expense.”14 Seemingly out of nowhere, NASA’s SETI efforts were dead. 

14. See, for example, Debra Polsky, “Team Scrambles To Find New Funds for HRMS,” Space News

(18–24 October 1993): 27; and Steven J. Dick, The Biological Universe, p. 469.

29
Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

Figure 2.3. Bernard Oliver speaks at ceremonies marking the start of the HRMS program in Arecibo, 

Puerto Rico, on 12 October 1992, with (left to right) John Billingham, an unidentified Puerto Rican 

official, Oliver, and John Rummel. (Photo: Seth Shostak)

While greatly disappointed, program personnel moved quickly and with 

resolve to continue SETI with private funding. Barney Oliver led a successful 

campaign to raise money from several wealthy Californians in Silicon Valley, 

whom he knew from his days at Hewlett-Packard. A number of scientists 

involved with the project moved over to the nonprofit SETI Institute, which 

had acted as a NASA contractor. The SETI Institute raised $7.5 million to 

cover costs of operating a targeted search through June 1995 and began 

the appropriately titled Project Phoenix, which lasted through 2004.15 The 

all-sky survey was discontinued, as was the 10-year HRMS plan, and was 

replaced by the less-comprehensive observations that the SETI Institute 

could make contingent upon the vagaries of continued private fund-raising. 

The cancellation of NASA’s SETI program did not end all research in this 

area (see the “Postscript” section below), but it significantly limited what 

researchers could accomplish.

 15.

30
A Political History of NASA’s SETI Program

The Science of SETI

How did other scientists view SETI? A 1991 National Academy of Sciences 

(NAS) working paper by the Radio Astronomy Panel concluded that even 

though SETI was not exclusively a radio astronomy program, it contained 

exciting, valid science. The panel therefore recommended establishing a 

complementary university-based research program to help NASA develop 

search algorithms and signal processors.16 A previous NAS study in 1982 had 

likewise concluded that SETI was a worthwhile scientific program.17 In 1982, 

the journal Science published a petition put together by Sagan and signed by 

70 eminent scientists, including biologists and biochemists such as Stephen 

Jay Gould, David Baltimore, and Linus Pauling.18

When the discussion stayed on a scientific level, the SETI program was 

viewed favorably in large measure because those scientists who thought about 

such matters had reached a strong consensus years earlier about how, where, 

and when to search for signals. Furthermore, their reasoning was relatively 

transparent both to scientists from other disciplines and to the general public. 

Sagan even explained the SETI game plan in an article that made the cover of 

Parade magazine.19 SETI scientists agreed that a narrowband signal in the radio 

portion of the microwave spectrum provided the greatest return on investment in terms of traveling farthest with a minimum of power. Narrowing 

searches down to the water-hole region also made common sense. While 

other search methods might eventually be developed, in the late 1980s and 

early 1990s, SETI scientists were eager to start searching in earnest because 

the formerly quiet microwave spectrum was quickly becoming jammed with 

the noise of new commercial communications satellites. In short, no major 

scientific organization seriously disputed SETI’s scientific approach. 

Still, scientific skeptics tried to exploit the lack of any solid quantitative 

calculations about the probable existence of an intelligent civilization elsewhere in the cosmos. Even if intelligent life existed, what was the likelihood 

 16.

31
Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

that these beings could beam a message to us that we could not only receive 

but understand? If we on Earth were just guessing at these probabilities, or 

the probabilities were infinitesimal, why bother looking at all? 

Ernst Mayr, an eminent biologist who believed that the evolution of 

intelligent life on Earth was the result of incredibly long odds, cast aspersions on the idea of searching for ETI signals. Mayr went through the Drake 

Equation and assigned probabilities to the seven conditions expressed by the 

individual variables. He believed that only two such conditions were at all 

likely to obtain: that extraterrestrial life is able to originate repeatedly and 

that habitable exoplanets similar to Earth exist. All the other conditions 

he rated as improbable, with the exception of extraterrestrial life adapting 

toward higher intelligence, which he rated as highly improbable. A staunch 

supporter of Darwinian evolution, Mayr noted that life on Earth originated 

3.8 billion years ago, while intelligent life on Earth developed only about half 

a million years ago. If the “evolutionary soup” had been a few degrees hotter 

or colder at any one point, we would not be here at all, according to Mayr. 

Even if ETI did develop, Mayr argued, then a particular intelligent civilization probably would not have the ability to communicate through space. 

He reasoned that there have been dozens of distinct civilizations on Earth 

(Greek, Maya, etc.) over the past 10,000 years, yet just one has achieved this 

technological capability.20

Put another way, Mayr argued that since life first appeared on Earth, 

approximately 50 billion species have evolved, but only one has developed 

technology: “If intelligence has such high survival value,” he asked, then 

“why don’t we see more species develop it?”21 Back in 1961, however, the 

members of the Order of the Dolphin had concluded that intelligence did 

indeed have a high survival value, as shown by the behavior of species such 

as dolphins.22 While dolphins presumably are not interested in astronomy, 

there is another variable, fc, in the Drake Equation to calculate the fraction 

of intelligent species who develop the technological means for interstellar 

communication. Mayr overlooked this variable and attacked SETI, calling 

it “hopeless” and “a waste of time,” and saying, “We have to deal with realities—not pipe dreams.”23

 20.

32
A Political History of NASA’s SETI Program

Sagan responded to these comments by allowing that the probability of 

ETI may be low, but he quoted his 1982 Science petition: “No a priori arguments on this subject can be compelling or should be used as a substitute 

for an observational program.”24 Sagan also rebuked Mayr for suggesting 

that “biologists know better,” noting that because “the relevant technologies 

involve the physical sciences, it is reasonable that astronomers, physicists and 

engineers play a leading role in SETI.”25 Actually, as this article points out, 

Sagan had advanced training in biology, having served as a research assistant 

in the laboratory of the Nobel Prize–winning geneticist Hermann J. Muller.26

Mayr turned this argument around by claiming that even though the 

existence of ETI cannot be established by a priori arguments, “this does not 

justify SETI projects, since it can be shown that the success of an observational program is so totally improbable that it can, for all practical purposes, 

be considered zero.”27 Similarly, in the fall of 1993, congressional critics such 

as Senator Bryan noted that, despite almost one full year of HRMS operation 

and almost two decades of NASA support, SETI had failed to find any “little 

green men.” While the HRMS operation had found no ETI signals after 

scanning only a small fraction of the sky, this program had been planned as a 

10-year effort, and even a decade might not be long enough to find a signal. 

Sagan argued that Mayr’s, and hence Bryan’s, line of thinking was the closedminded equivalent of believing that Earth is at the center of the universe. 

Ultimately, however, Sagan noted that arguments over the relative probability 

of receiving an ETI signal are specious, since we can’t know whether there are 

any signals unless we seriously look for them.28

Another line of reasoning suggests that instead of looking for ETI signals, 

we may as well sit back and wait for a more advanced extraterrestrial civilization to visit us. After the Manhattan Project scientists developed the atomic 

bomb, Enrico Fermi is reported to have asked, “Where are they?” By this, 

Fermi meant that surely we weren’t the only ones to have developed nuclear 

technology, so why hadn’t other extraterrestrial civilizations left traces of their 

existence? Because our Sun is a medium-age star, SETI researchers believe 

that if another ETI civilization exists, it stands a good chance of having been 

 24.

33
Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

around far longer than we have and thus of being more advanced technologically. The Fermi paradox is premised in part on the notion that such advanced 

ETI civilizations would naturally expand into and colonize space.29

Yet perhaps other civilizations would colonize only planets near their 

own but still very far from us. Barney Oliver, among others, refuted Fermi’s 

paradox, arguing that even for a highly advanced civilization, interstellar 

travel would be quite difficult because of its immense power requirements.30

Perhaps they would not colonize at all for a variety of reasons, including the 

relatively young state of their technology—just as we have not yet colonized 

space. John Ball, an astronomer at MIT, suggests another possibility, which 

he dubbed the “zoo hypothesis”: that alien civilizations are simply content 

to watch us from afar.31

Whether or not distant civilizations could somehow travel to Earth, the 

efficiency of radio signals makes that form of indirect communication much 

more likely. Beyond listening for intended signals, SETI scientists could conceivably find extraterrestrial transmissions that weren’t meant for us, comparable to the radio and television signals that have been drifting into space 

from Earth this past century. As Fermi himself realized, the Fermi paradox 

may be interesting to contemplate, but it really offers no evidence one way 

or the other about the existence of ETI.32

Skeptics James Trefil and Robert Rood, who try to calculate how long 

colonization of the galaxy would take, take another cut at the problem. Trefil, 

a physics professor at George Mason University, and Rood, an astronomy 

professor at the University of Virginia, used the Drake Equation to calculate 

the chances of other sentient life-forms in the galaxy at 3 percent. Trefil and 

Rood believe that if we are now almost capable of building space colonies, 

an extraterrestrial civilization would probably have done so long ago, due 

to diminishing resources and crowding on their home planet. They theorize that such colonization further and further into space would continue 

exponentially through the generations. Thus, in 30 million years, the entire 

galaxy would be colonized. Assuming the universe is billions of years old, this 

 29.

34
A Political History of NASA’s SETI Program

would be a mere blip on the cosmic timeline.33 So, again, where are they? For 

the record, Sagan calculated the length of time it would take a civilization to 

colonize the galaxy as 5 billion years.34

Yet even cynics such as Trefil and Rood see value in ETI searches. Trefil 

believes in the value of technological spin-offs, while Rood heralds SETI as 

“a great intellectual adventure into our own origins.”35 Former Senate staffer 

Kevin Kelly, a less-than-enthusiastic SETI program supporter, felt strongly 

that the educational component alone, which could get children and their 

parents excited about science, justified NASA’s SETI program.36 In terms 

of spin-offs, the Federal Aviation Administration showed interest in adapting SETI frequency-analyzer technologies for air traffic control, while the 

National Security Agency was curious to learn about new techniques for 

eavesdropping and code-breaking.37

While not vocal supporters of the SETI program, many other scientists felt 

that a $10 million annual investment was probably worthwhile. For example, 

Zen Faulks, a University of Victoria biologist, observed that 

the incredible improbability of alien intelligence should be taken 

into account when deciding how much of our effort SETI should 

occupy, but I would be disheartened to see the search stopped.... 

The fallout for all the sciences, especially the biological sciences, 

would be so gargantuan if we did contact an alien intelligence...

that it seems foolish to abandon the entire affair.38

 At bottom, it could be argued that some of what scientists investigate is 

based on fundamental beliefs, hunches, or faith that the world works in some 

logical way. Deciding what is logical when we have little information may be 

a leap of faith. Thus, Rood has made the interesting argument that most of 

 33.

35
Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

those who believe in extraterrestrial life may do so because of a psychological 

need to believe in it.39 Even if true, this proposition should in no way taint 

the search for ETI; and no responsible scientist has yet claimed to have found 

any, just that it is worth looking. Interestingly, Rood has gone on to conduct 

SETI research himself in the belief that, while a discovery is unlikely, it is 

still worth searching, since theorizing can’t prove or disprove its existence.40

Moreover, SETI researchers fully comprehend and appreciate the need 

to double- and triple-check any potential signals from ETI in case a simpler 

phenomenon, whether terrestrial or nonterrestrial, could explain them. In 

addition to this application of the standard scientific principle of “Occam’s 

Razor” to examine the simplest or most likely explanation first, an internationally adopted “contact” protocol calls for data about a potential ETI signal 

to be widely publicized and distributed so that other scientists may scrutinize 

and validate it.41

Even though SETI scientists are wary of publicizing a strange signal too 

soon for fear of “crying wolf,” the scientific logic is simple: phenomena that 

cannot be attributed to conventional terrestrial or cosmic sources merit further investigation. As longtime SETI scientist Jill Tarter has said, “It’s not a 

matter of being able to define what identifies intelligence. What constitutes 

‘credible evidence’ is being unable to explain a signal—which you also can’t 

make go away—by any known astrophysics or technology.”42 Again, SETI 

researchers have long been aware of the perils of debating their program at 

the “little green men” level and have adhered closely to traditional scientific 

methods of inquiry. 

In addition, many SETI researchers caution that they may not discover an 

ETI signal anytime soon. Although those such as Drake continue to be very 

optimistic, simultaneously most researchers know that, by its very nature, the 

length of a comprehensive search is very hard to predict. Signal processing 

and other computer technology has continued to change rapidly, NASA’s 

SETI program was a classic example of basic science generating observations 

and results that would eventually pay off, but when and how was anyone’s 

guess. Program scientists also noted that if a definitive search produced no 

signs of ETI, this negative result would in itself be very important. Although 

HRMS certainly was not a definitive search, it was tens of thousands of times 

 39.

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A Political History of NASA’s SETI Program

more comprehensive than any previous efforts. Yet, as Jill Tarter has noted, 

the program was in the unenviable position of having to petition Congress 

for more funding on the basis of previous “failures.”43

Unfortunately for SETI, even John Gibbons, President Clinton’s science 

advisor, demonstrated a surprising misunderstanding of the nature of SETI. 

In February 1994 he opined: “We’ve done a lot of observing and listening [for 

alien signals] already, and if there were anything obviously out there, I think 

we would have gotten some signal [by now].”44 Gibbons made these comments after Congress had already canceled funding for SETI, so it is possible 

he was posturing after the fact. Nevertheless, either nobody properly briefed 

Gibbons, or he was never interested enough to learn anything about SETI.

It is also well known that few scientists or engineers serve in Congress. 

One analysis of the membership of the 103rd Congress (1993–1995) by 

a SETI scientist showed that it contained more former undertakers (four) 

than former scientists (one) or engineers (three).45 The only former scientist, 

Congressman, George Brown, Jr. (D-CA), viewed SETI as “valid science.”46

The Political Story Behind the Congressional Cancellation

The SETI program represents a unique case study. By all accounts, it was 

properly managed, scientifically valuable, and had a relatively small budget. 

By contrast, the Superconducting Super Collider, which Congress also canceled at about the same time, was a multibillion-dollar program that was 

controversial among physicists and suffered from significant mismanagement. 

Agencies such as NASA or the National Science Foundation do not always 

renew investigators’ grants, but why would Congress choose to dismantle a 

low-cost research program that was already staffed and operational? 

Ironically, the first factor was SETI’s size. At the height of the program, 

it received $12.25 million annually, which at the time worked out to less 

than 0.1 percent of NASA’s total budget—a drop in the bucket compared 

to the billions spent on other types of space science or defense research and 

 43.

37
Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

development programs.47 SETI’s small budget meant that few contractors 

were involved. Since the SETI program people prided themselves on being 

self-reliant and developing much of their own hardware and software,48 there 

were no major engineering support contracts or big aerospace firms to lobby 

Congress on the program’s behalf. Although the program might have been 

“lean and mean,” it provided little political “pork” in the form of jobs in 

congressional districts around the country. 

The SETI program was also a casualty of intensified congressional and 

public anxiety over the ballooning federal budget deficit. In 1993 the new 

Clinton administration and Congress were taking a hard look at overall federal spending. Congress was searching for programs that would be easy to 

cut. While $12 million in one year obviously would hardly erase the deficit, 

the program’s $100 million price tag over 10 years sounded more like “real 

money” and wasteful to boot if one characterized it as searching for “little 

green men.”

The latter half of 1993 was also a particularly trying time for NASA politically. During that summer and autumn, NASA had barely won two bruising 

battles over continuation of the multibillion-dollar Space Station program 

and the Advanced Solid Rocket Motor program. The Hubble Space Telescope 

was still suffering from its spherical aberration problem.49 In short, after 

waging these larger battles, NASA had little political ammunition left to 

defend a small program such as SETI. While top NASA officials such as 

Daniel Goldin, who had been the Administrator since May 1992, and Wesley 

Huntress, a planetary scientist who had been the Associate Administrator 

for Space Science for the previous six months, publicly supported SETI, it 

was more a question of how hard they could afford to push. Linda Billings, a 

former support contractor for the program at NASA Headquarters, believes 

that the SETI program administrators didn’t fully appreciate that the fate of 

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A Political History of NASA’s SETI Program

this project was just one of many issues for congressional staffers and that 

they therefore didn’t see the need to engage proactively with their perceived 

and actual allies on Capitol Hill.50

The program was also contending with the “giggle factor.” Despite the 

program’s well-attested scientific validity, it was easy for opponents to make 

jokes at its expense. SETI program researchers hated this, of course, but 

once the dialogue descended to this level, it became harder and harder for 

the program to be taken seriously. In addition, the nature of the search program meant that no immediate or definitive results were likely; still, this was 

another source of criticism.

While the cancellation of congressional funding in 1993 might have 

seemed abrupt, SETI had in fact suffered political difficulties for a number 

of years. Senator Bryan was not the first member of Congress to ridicule or 

try to cancel the program: Proxmire and Conte were just a few of the others. 

One key Hill staffer heavily criticized the program after the fact, calling it a 

very narrowly focused rifle-shot program that was supported only by those 

elitist people who worked on it.51

Perhaps even more problematic were adversaries such as Senator Bryan, 

who did not want to debate the program’s merits in earnest. Bryan apparently felt that he had all the information he needed to make a decision. 

SETI program administrators knew that Bryan was opposed to the project 

and tried repeatedly to talk with him or his staff. A decade earlier, Sagan had 

been able to win over Proxmire, but this time Bryan simply refused to meet 

with anyone associated with SETI. According to Jill Tarter, she and other 

program researchers had been working with NASA’s legislative affairs office 

for over a year to arrange such a meeting with Bryan and Huntress, only to 

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

be caught off guard when Bryan’s office finally called at the last minute and 

nobody from NASA was available.52 As program manager Gary Coulter put 

it, he never knew of anyone initially opposed to SETI who, after listening to 

the proponent’s side of things, did not at least move to a neutral position. In 

other words, he felt that Bryan was not “fighting fairly.”53

In 1993, SETI also had a problem beyond the halls of Congress: it was 

an unconventional program that did not fit neatly into any specific scientific 

discipline whose members could support it when times got tough. SETI had 

begun under the aegis of NASA’s Life Sciences Division, in part because of 

John Billingham’s interest. Once it was restarted as HRMS in 1992, it was 

moved to the Solar System Exploration Division, but some planetary scientists did not receive it warmly because they felt that it did not “come with its 

own money” in a time of tight budgets.54 That is to say, some TOPS program 

scientists did not want to be “tainted” by SETI’s problems.55

Because SETI was an astrobiology program that used the tools and 

techniques of radio astronomy, neither the biology nor the astronomy 

communities fully embraced it.56 According to one observer, the average 

radio astronomer saw SETI as a distraction.57 A 1991 decade-long survey 

of astronomy projects by the National Academy of Sciences called the 

search for ETI very exciting but cautioned that the “speculative nature of 

the subject” demanded especially innovative technology development and 

careful peer review.58 While some critics singled out such language as a 

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A Political History of NASA’s SETI Program

less-than-resounding endorsement, this was largely because SETI didn’t fall 

naturally into the domain of the commission members, who were mostly 

conventional nighttime astronomers, with the notable exception of Frank 

Drake.59 Unfortunately, few people or groups exist who are both willing and 

able to stand up in support of basic scientific research. Despite former program official John Rummel’s conviction that there were a few such people, 

he also believes that they were surprised by the political tactics of Senator 

Bryan.60 Whether the SETI program was managed by NASA life scientists 

or astronomers was less significant than the fact that neither discipline 

supported it wholeheartedly at this formative stage. With all these factors 

entering into the political equation, it is hardly surprising that Congress 

canceled funding for the SETI program in 1993.

Postscript

“Although HRMS was a very small project by NASA standards, it dwarfed 

all other SETI efforts combined.”61 Compared to the $100 million or more 

that it typically cost to build and launch a spacecraft, $12 million was indeed 

a very modest annual budget. NASA funding for SETI had hovered in the 

$1 million to $2 million range for about a decade before it jumped to $4.42 

million in FY90, $11.5 million in FY91, $12.25 million in FY92, and $12 

million in FY93 (see appendix). Up until the congressional cancellation, 

NASA was the main government sponsor of SETI research, and private funding had not been very significant. 

After Congress eliminated federal support for the SETI program, the SETI 

Institute was able to take over the targeted search portion of HRMS in 1994, 

aptly renaming the revived effort as Project Phoenix. High-profile private 

donors from the computer industry, such as Paul Allen, William Hewlett, 

at http://www.nap.edu/openbook.php?record_id=1634&page=62 (accessed 26 April 2013). 

This report is often informally referred to as the “Bahcall Report,” after the committee’s chairman, John Bahcall.

 59. Kevin Kelly, conversation with author, 2 July 1997; and David H. Smith, conversation with 

author, 7 July 1997.

 60. John Rummel, letter to author, 21 July 1997. Rummel was the SETI Program Scientist at NASA 

Headquarters from 1987–1993.

 61. The quotation comes from an unattributed article titled “The Search for Extraterrestrial 

Intelligence: A Short History,” published online by the Planetary Society; a hard copy of this 

article will be processed in the NASA Historical Reference Collection.

41
Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

Gordon Moore, Barney Oliver, and David Packard, as well as many other 

individuals contributed funds, and NASA loaned equipment to the SETI 

Institute to make Phoenix possible.62

Project Phoenix scientists began their observations in February 1995, 

using the Parkes radio telescope in Australia. Two Northern Hemisphere 

campaigns followed, using the National Radio Astronomy Observatory and 

the Arecibo facility in Puerto Rico. Phoenix scientists targeted nearby Sunlike stars and observed approximately 800 stars, as well as specific exoplanets 

discovered after Project Phoenix began. For each star, almost two billion channels were analyzed. Phoenix scientists developed the cutting-edge technique 

of “real-time interference monitoring,” using a second radio telescope to 

confirm any promising signals. Project Phoenix concluded its three observing 

campaigns in March 2004.63

In 2001, Paul Allen, a cofounder of the Microsoft Corporation, provided 

$25 million as seed funding for what became known as the Allen Telescope 

Array (ATA), a planned set of 350 radio astronomy dishes for SETI research. 

The SETI Institute then raised another $25 million to build the first 42 

dishes, which began operating in 2007. The ATA may eventually be able to 

search nearby stars approximately 100 times faster than Project Phoenix and 

 62.

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A Political History of NASA’s SETI Program

could expand Project Phoenix’s search net to 100,000 and perhaps to as many 

as 1,000,000 nearby stars.64

Another setback for SETI scientists occurred in spring 2011, when budget 

cuts by the National Science Foundation (NSF) and the State of California 

forced them to mothball the ATA equipment. The approximate annual cost 

of ATA’s daily operations was $1.5 million in addition to $1 million allotted annually for scientific analysis and research. The NSF cut its support by 

90 percent and the State of California also cut funding for Berkeley’s Radio 

Astronomy Laboratory, which partnered with the SETI Institute in the planning and operation of the ATA from 2004 to April 2011.65

This crisis was followed by another SETI comeback in December 2011, 

when the ATA was brought out of hibernation. Through a SETIStars.org

fund-raising campaign that yielded $200,000 and a separate collaboration 

with the Air Force, the SETI Institute was able to bring the ATA back online. 

Scientists can now use the ATA’s unique capabilities to analyze the tens of millions of wavelengths emitted from the more than 1,200 exoplanets recently 

identified by the Kepler spacecraft, dozens of which could potentially support life.66

Not all of the consequences of the NASA SETI program’s cancellation 

proved to be negative. Among the positive outcomes were increased funding 

from the Planetary Society for all-sky searches, such as Paul Horowitz’s Project 

 64.

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

BETA (Billion-channel Extraterrestrial Assay) at the Harvard-Smithsonian 

Center for Astrophysics; the formation in 1994 of the nonprofit SETI League, 

which just a year later initiated Project Argus, another new, privately funded 

all-sky survey; and continued expansion of the Search for Extraterrestrial Radio 

Emissions from Nearby Developed Intelligent Populations (SERENDIP), 

begun in 1979 at UC Berkeley.

Concurrent with the growth of computing power, SERENDIP projects 

have increased the bandwidth and number of channels they search, effectively broadening the search net.67 In 1999, researchers at the University of 

California initiated the SETI@home project, utilizing the power of distributed computing to process SETI observational data.68 Using the project’s 

screensaver software on their personal computers, members of the public can 

process discrete batches of data. This crowdsourcing approach was obviously 

designed to build a broad public constituency for SETI research. 

As befits such international scientific efforts, scientists and volunteers 

from countries around the globe have also been involved in SETI. Australia 

brought SERENDIP equipment to the Parkes radio telescope, and for a 

time scientists there were involved in the SERENDIP project. Nations such 

as France, Argentina, and Italy are sponsoring more modest SETI efforts. In 

years past, the Soviet Union sponsored a significant amount of SETI research; 

more recently, however, Russian support has dwindled to a trickle.69

 67.

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A Political History of NASA’s SETI Program

Since the congressional cancellation, the general public’s and the scientific 

community’s interest in and appreciation for astrobiology has significantly 

increased.70 A notable episode from 1996 was that of the “Mars rock,” a 

meteorite discovered in Antarctica which scientists at that time believed might 

contain Martian microfossils (a possibility that remains unproved), and a subsequent meeting chaired by then–Vice President Gore with national experts 

on the scientific and societal implications of potential extraterrestrial life.71

Over the past 15 years the number of known exoplanets has risen dramatically 

from a small handful to more than 800 confirmed, with more than 1,200 

potential exoplanets identified by the Kepler spacecraft scientific team as of 

July 2013.72

NASA’s Origins program, consisting of several large space telescopes, 

began gearing up in the late 1990s.73 NASA Administrator Dan Goldin 

believed that in some ways, biology was the future of space, and he encouraged employees to study biology since few had any biological training in 

the mid-1990s.74 In 1996, NASA began a formal Astrobiology Program, 

 70.

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

building on exobiology and more than 35 years of research by NASA scientists.75 Then in 1998, Goldin established the virtual NASA Astrobiology 

Institute (NAI), which is centered at Ames Research Center and currently 

consists of more than 700 scientists and faculty at 15 different sites.76 In 

addition to the NAI, NASA’s Astrobiology Program now includes three 

other research elements: Exobiology and Evolutionary Biology, Astrobiology 

Science and Technology for Exploring Planets, and Astrobiology Science and 

Technology for Instrument Development.77 One of the goals enunciated in 

the Astrobiology Program’s 2008 road map calls for scientists to “determine 

how to recognize signatures of life on other worlds.”78 In pursuit of this objective, NASA has awarded a few small grants to SETI Institute scientists for 

non-SETI astrobiological research.79

In the mid-1990s the SETI Institute split its work into two main divisions: 

the Center for SETI Research and what later became known as the Carl Sagan 

Center. Barney Oliver had died in 1995 and bequeathed a significant sum 

of money to the SETI Institute, which helped to establish the astrobiology 

program.80 It is also possible that after the congressional debacle of 1993, 

the SETI Institute chose to separate these two areas of research so that its 

astrobiology work and its very organization could better survive politically.

 75.

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A Political History of NASA’s SETI Program

Overall, astrobiology has clearly come into its own as an accepted scientific 

field of study supported by the government, while SETI research has had to 

“fly under the radar” by making do with a patchwork of private support. The 

government has awarded grants for principal investigator–level SETI proposals, yet no significant efforts to resurrect NASA funding for a dedicated SETI 

project have occurred since 1993.81 Somehow, it seems that SETI remains 

tainted by the congressional politics of the early 1990s, while astrobiology 

has enjoyed a much higher public profile.

Overall, since 1993, scientists have managed to perform some smallerscale SETI research. Simultaneously, astrobiology has experienced tremendous growth and acceptance as a scientific discipline. Public funding was 

again withdrawn from SETI research in 2011, this time in the case of the 

Allen Telescope Array. Yet within a year, private fund-raising and a collaboration with the Air Force combined to revive that particular SETI project. 

What can we learn about the intersection of politics and science from this 

SETI case study? One obvious lesson is that good science does not always 

triumph on its own merits. Communicating one’s case effectively on Capitol 

Hill is always important, and nobody should be surprised to learn that politics 

often trumps policy, in science as in other fields. Advocates of SETI research 

certainly hope that future congressional and public debate over basic science 

programs will be conducted in a more open, better-informed manner. 

 81.

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

CHAPTER TWO, APPENDIX

Funding History for the NASA SETI Program

SETI Area 

Funding ($K) FY75 FY76 FY77 FY78 FY79 FY80 FY81 FY82 FY83 FY84

SETI Microwave 

Observing 

Project

140 310 400 130 300 500 1895 0 1800 1500

Definition/R&D 140 310 400 130 300 500 1895 0 1800 1500

Program/

Project C/D

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

SETI Area 

Funding ($K) FY85 FY86 FY87 FY88 FY89 FY90 FY91 FY92 FY93 TOTAL

SETI Microwave 

Observing 

Project

1505 1574 2175 2403 2260 4233 11500 12250 12000 56875

Definition/R&D 1505 1574 2175 2403 0 0 0 0 0 14632

Program/

Project C/D

0 0 0 0 2260 4233 11500 12250 12000 42243

Note: FY92 and FY93 figures are for the High Resolution Microwave Survey (HRMS). In October 1993, Congress directed 

NASA to discontinue the HRMS program. (Credit: Jens Feeley, NASA Headquarters Office of Space Science, June 1997.)

48
CHAPTER THREE

The Role of Anthropology in SETI

A Historical View1

Steven J. Dick

Three events mark the beginning of the modern era of the Search for 

Extraterrestrial Intelligence (SETI): 1) the publication of the landmark 

paper by Giuseppe Cocconi and Philip Morrison, “Searching for Interstellar 

Communications,” in Nature in 1959, suggesting that a search be carried 

out at the 21-cm radio wavelength; 2) Frank Drake’s Project Ozma in 1960, 

which conducted the first such search at Green Bank, West Virginia; and 

3) a small but now legendary conference at Green Bank in 1961, where the 

feasibility of a search was discussed and the Drake Equation was first proposed as a method for estimating the number of communicative civilizations 

in our Milky Way galaxy. Modern SETI was born during those three years, 

1959–1961, setting the agenda for the field over much of the next 50 years.2

By the 1960s, when modern SETI began, anthropology as a discipline 

was almost a century old. The word anthropology derives from the Greek 

anthropos, meaning “man” or “mankind,” which indicates that the discipline 

is meant to encompass the study of humans. One might well ask, then, why 

it should apply to the extraterrestrial life debate, which obviously deals with 

nonhumans. The answer is that in its broadest sense anthropology has developed a set of approaches to and methods for analyzing cultures and cultural 

evolution. Any intelligent species that may exist beyond Earth is likely to have 

developed culture. If, as many SETI proponents expect, that culture turns 

out to be millions of years old, cultural evolution will have taken place, with 

all that implies for development, communication, cultural diffusion, and so 

on. All of these phenomena are areas of study that anthropologists, along 

 1. This chapter is adapted from Steven J. Dick “Anthropology and the Search for Extraterrestrial 

49
Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

with their colleagues in the social and behavioral sciences, have refined over 

the past century for terrestrial cultures.3

In this paper, I examine the role that anthropology has historically played 

in SETI, and how the two intellectual cultures of natural scientists and social 

scientists made contact. I argue that these historical interactions bode well for 

beneficial mutual interactions between anthropology and SETI in the future. 

What has been lacking is a systematic approach applying anthropology to the 

Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence. There is considerable evidence that 

such a study will benefit both disciplines.

Beginnings

It would seem self evident that the social sciences, and anthropology in particular, have the potential to illuminate a subject so centrally concerned with societies and cultural evolution, even if the setting happens to be extraterrestrial. 

Yet, the historical record shows that the social sciences played no important 

role in SETI’s first decade. This circumstance undoubtedly reflects a variety 

of factors, including C. P. Snow’s “two cultures” phenomenon, increasing 

specialization already in full swing in the early 1960s, and plenty of problems 

on Earth for social scientists to tackle. Thus, while the Green Bank conference 

included astronomers, physicists, a biochemist, an engineer, and even a specialist on dolphin communication (John Lilly), no one represented the social 

sciences or humanities. This is hardly surprising when one considers that the 

conference organizer was the National Academy of Sciences, an organization 

devoted largely to physical science and mathematics.

What is interesting, however, is that the social sciences, stimulated by these 

early activities and discussions, did play a peripheral role in SETI almost from 

its modern beginnings. It is no accident that the first article of anthropological 

interest to SETI was published in Nature in 1962 and cited the Cocconi and 

Morrison article. It was entitled “Interstellar Communication and Human 

Evolution” and authored by Robert Ascher and Marcia Ascher, respectively 

an anthropologist and a mathematician at Cornell, the home institution of 

Cocconi and Morrison. Significantly, this article was included in the first essay 

collection on the topic of SETI, a volume edited by the astrophysicist A. G. 

W. Cameron, published in 1963, and entitled Interstellar Communication. The 

article’s inclusion was a de facto recognition by at least one natural scientist that 

 3. On the development of anthropology in the context of the social sciences, see Roger Smith, 

50
The Role of Anthropology in SETI

the social sciences might have something to add to the embryonic SETI debate. 

The article argues that models founded on our knowledge of human evolution 

might contribute to SETI endeavors. In particular, the authors suggest an “analogy between prehistoric contact and exchange, and hypothesized extraterrestrial 

contact and exchange.”4 In early prehistory, when biologically distinct hominid 

populations existed, they point out, contact “occurred between technologically 

similar but biologically diverse populations. In later prehistory contact was 

usually initiated by those populations with advanced techniques and equal 

exchange was rare.” This history, they suggest, might shed light on the nature 

of contact with extraterrestrial civilizations. Such comparisons bring with them 

all the problems of analogy, but the Aschers’ article pioneered the idea that 

anthropology might aid SETI through a study of human evolution.

Meanwhile a NASA-commissioned study, published in 1961, had 

broached another possible role for the social sciences in SETI—assessing 

the impact of the discovery of extraterrestrial intelligence. Written as part 

of a mandate in the National Aeronautics and Space Act to examine the 

effects of the space program on American society, a brief section discussed 

the implications of discovering life beyond Earth. The social science authors 

viewed the recently completed Project Ozma (which had no connection to 

NASA) as having popularized and legitimized speculation about the impact 

of such a discovery on human values. The Brookings report authors emphasized that reactions by both individuals and governments to radio contact 

with an alien intelligence would likely depend on religious, cultural, and 

social backgrounds, as well as on the content of the message received. In a 

statement often cited since, the authors warned that substantial contact could 

trigger a foreboding effect: “Anthropological files contain many examples of 

societies, sure of their place in the universe, which have disintegrated when 

they had to associate with previously unfamiliar societies espousing different 

ideas and different life ways; others that survived such an experience usually 

did so by paying the price of changes in values and attitudes and behavior.”5

 4. Robert Ascher and Marcia Ascher, “Interstellar Communication and Human Evolution,” 

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

This statement begs for elaboration and documentation. Over the past four 

decades, anthropology has certainly tackled the problem of cultural contact 

among terrestrial societies. But it has not systematically studied the possible 

effects of extraterrestrial contact. 

Already by the early 1960s, then, two roles had been identified for anthropology in the context of SETI: the study of human evolutionary models as 

analogies for extraterrestrial contact and the study of its potential repercussions. Both roles embedded the problems and the promise of analogical thinking but, cautiously undertaken, held potential for further research.6

Early SETI Overtures to Social Science

These ideas lay mostly fallow during the tumultuous decade of the 1960s, 

when only two SETI searches were carried out, one in the United States 

and one in the Soviet Union. The realization gradually dawned on SETI 

proponents that the social sciences might be useful, even essential, to their 

discussions. Nowhere was this more true than in the case of the cultural components of the Drake Equation, which embodies all facets of cosmic evolution, including astronomical, biological, and cultural. In particular its last two 

components—the probability of the evolution of technologically sophisticated 

civilizations and the lifespans of such civilizations—were clearly in the realm 

of the social sciences. This realization was in evidence at an international 

meeting on CETI (Communication with Extraterrestrial Intelligence) held 

in the Soviet Union in 1971 and organized by Carl Sagan, Phil Morrison, 

Frank Drake, and their Soviet colleagues. It was sponsored jointly by the 

National Academies of Sciences of the United States and the USSR at a time 

when the Cold War was still very hot. Among those at the meeting were such 

luminaries as Francis Crick, Tommy Gold, Freeman Dyson, Gunther Stent, 

and Marvin Minsky. But also included in that landmark meeting were two 

anthropologists, Kent Flannery of the University of Michigan and Richard 

B. Lee of the University of Toronto, as well as historian William H. McNeill 

 6. On the use of analogy in astrobiology, see articles and references in Douglas A. Vakoch, ed., 

52
The Role of Anthropology in SETI

of the University of Chicago. There they debated the natural scientists about 

the evolution of technical civilizations. No conclusions were reached, but the 

natural scientists were clearly interested in what the social scientists had to say.7

At least token representation of the social sciences became quite common 

at gatherings where extraterrestrial intelligence was discussed. When NASA 

sponsored a 1972 symposium at Boston University titled “Life Beyond Earth 

and the Mind of Man,” anthropologist Ashley Montagu was among the 

speakers His topic was the prospective reaction of humans to the discovery 

of extraterrestrial intelligence. Montagu concluded that “it is the communication we make at our initial encounter that is crucial.” He recommended that 

no government official be allowed to participate in any way in responding to 

a signal but rather that “independent bodies be set up outside governmental 

auspices, outside the United Nations, operating possibly within or in association with a university, whose object shall be to design possible means of establishing frank and friendly communicative relations with beyond-Earthers.” 

(The SETI Institute was founded 12 years later with message construction 

eventually becoming one of its activities.) Furthermore, Montagu counseled, 

I do not think we should wait until the encounter occurs; we 

should do all in our power to prepare ourselves for it. The manner in which we first meet may determine the character of all 

our subsequent relations. Let us never forget the fatal impact we 

have had upon innumerable peoples on this Earth—peoples of 

our own species who trusted us, befriended us, and whom we 

destroyed by our thoughtlessness and insensitivity to their needs 

and vulnerabilities.8

Montagu’s point was again a plea for the study of culture contacts.

In the mid-1970s the scientific community and NASA in particular were 

taking a more serious interest in SETI.9

 The guiding light of SETI at NASA 

was John Billingham at NASA’s Ames Research Center in Moffett Field, 

 7. See Carl Sagan, ed., 

53
Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

California. It was he who organized a series of workshops, chaired by Philip 

Morrison, with the goal of getting a NASA SETI program off the ground, 

complete with NASA funding. Part of that effort was a workshop on cultural evolution, which was chaired by Nobel laureate Joshua Lederberg and 

included anthropologist Bernard Campbell. The workshop focused on the 

evolution of intelligence and technology. The summary of the workshop, 

published in the landmark NASA volume The Search for Extraterrestrial 

Intelligence, edited by Philip Morrison, John Billingham, and John Wolfe, 

asserted that “our new knowledge has changed the attitude of many specialists about the generality of cultural evolution from one of skepticism to a 

belief that it is a natural consequence of evolution under many environmental circumstances, given enough time.”10 The cultural evolution panel 

discussed what evolutionary factors were responsible for hominid intelligence: 

warfare, communication and language, the predatory nature of life on the 

savannah. Arguing that evolutionist George Gaylord Simpson had been too 

pessimistic, they even quantified the probability that both intelligence and 

technology would evolve, assuming life had originated on any given planet. 

That probability, they said, was 1 in 100. Campbell contended that planets 

capable of producing intelligent civilizations “must have heterogeneous and 

time-variable environments,” since on Earth evolution does not occur when 

environments are stable and homogeneous. 

Three years later Campbell participated in yet another landmark NASA 

meeting on “Life in the Universe,” also organized by John Billingham and held 

at NASA Ames. Here he discussed the evolution of technological species on 

Earth in an attempt to gain insight into the question of extraterrestrial technological species. He described four stages of early technology development, 

ranging from prototechnology (tool use and modification) and technology 

itself (tool manufacture) to pyrotechnology (fire control and metal industries) 

and energy control. He argued that in an extraterrestrial context, prototechnology would likely be common wherever animals have evolved, but more 

advanced technology would probably occur only among strongly social species. 

Technology, he concluded, “is adaptive, cumulative and generally progressive. 

At its simplest it is older than reason. At its most advanced, it is the product of 

cooperative undertakings by large numbers of highly intelligent organisms.”11

 10.

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The Role of Anthropology in SETI

Early Social Science Overtures to SETI

Sporadic though they were, these early efforts through the 1970s demonstrated 

the relevance of anthropology to SETI and constitute recognition of that fact 

by the scientific community that sponsored them. However, they hardly tapped 

the richness that anthropology holds for SETI. Were there proactive efforts on 

the part of social scientists to tackle the subject, rather than waiting to be invited 

to a SETI meeting? The first substantial evidence of such interest appears in the 

proceedings of a symposium at the 1974 American Anthropological Association 

(AAA), published in 1975 as a popular trade book titled Cultures Beyond the 

Earth. The book’s subtitle, The Role of Anthropology in Outer Space, is somewhat 

misleading for several reasons: only two of its eight authors were card-carrying 

anthropologists, it is a mixed volume including fictional stories as well as factual 

analysis, and it is not in any sense systematic. But it does include a stimulating 

foreword by futurist Alvin Toffler and an afterword by anthropologist Sol Tax; 

it was sponsored by the AAA as part of a “Cultural Futuristics” symposium; 

and, most important of all, it contains ideas that were at the time new and 

sophisticated. In his foreword, for example, Toffler pointed out that “what we 

think, imagine or dream about cultures beyond the earth not only reflects our 

own hidden fears and wishes, but alters them.” He saw the book as important 

because “it forces us to disinter deeply buried premises about ourselves.”12 This 

is a straightforward but important point, one that we do not explicitly address 

often enough. Contemplating extraterrestrial cultures forces us to do that, raising, as Toffler said, “the critique of our cultural assumptions to a ‘meta-level.’” 

Moreover, he argued, the cultures that anthropology traditionally studies are 

all human and less technologically advanced; analyses of such cultures leave 

vast areas of life unilluminated by contrast or comparison. Toffler went even 

further, asserting that extraterrestrial anthropology

calls into question the very idea of cultures based on a single epistemology, of single time tracks or merely human sensory modalities. It forces questions about intelligence and consciousness. It 

makes one wonder whether our assumptions about probability 

apply universally. In the course of all this, it also begins to give 

intellectual shape to the whole question of space exploration and 

its relationship to our world.13

 12.

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

This profound statement gives some indication of anthropology’s unrealized 

potential in relation to SETI.

It is one thing for a futurist to say such things. But in his afterword, Sol 

Tax, professor of anthropology at the University of Chicago, endorsed and 

elaborated these ideas. Extraterrestrial anthropology, he said,

removes itself from our planet to view “human nature” as a 

whole. It envisions the opportunity to study the human behavior 

and the change or development of human cultures under extraterrestrial conditions; to test the applicability of anthropological 

knowledge to the design of extraterrestrial human communities; 

and to develop anthropological models for quite different species 

of sentient and intelligent beings by using, on a higher level, the 

comparative methods by which we have come to understand 

each earthly culture in contrast to others. 

Moreover, Tax noted, “Only when we have comparisons with species that are 

cultural in nonhuman ways—some of them maybe far more advanced than 

we—will we approach full understanding of the possibilities and limitations 

of human cultures.” Nor was this a fruitless undertaking, because “even if we 

have no contact with nonhuman cultures in the immediate future, the models 

that we meanwhile make require that we sharpen the questions that we ask 

about human beings.”14 Studies of culture among animals are of course also 

relevant here, especially in the evolution of culture, but they inevitably fall 

in the more primitive direction. Contemplation of extraterrestrial cultures 

allows us to approach the problem from the direction of more advanced cultures, emphasizing that humans may not be on the upper end of a cultural 

spectrum that includes species from other planets.

Between Toffler and Tax in this volume were two anthropologists, Roger W. 

Wescott and Philip Singer. Wescott pointed out that anthropology brings both 

strengths and weaknesses to the ETI problem. Among the strengths is the range 

of its inventory of cultures, primitive and literate, extant and extinct. Among the 

weaknesses is the fact that in his view anthropology tends to study the primitive 

and prehistoric more than the modern cultures. SETI and space programs are 

the purview of modern industrialized countries, and anthropologists are less 

accustomed to operating within this context, much less with advanced extraterrestrial civilizations. In a broader sense, however, the tools of anthropology are 

 14.

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The Role of Anthropology in SETI

applicable. Wescott broached another problem with anthropology’s entry into 

the SETI realm, one that concerned the natural scientists also in their time: 

“Just as exo-biologists now run the risk of being called ex-biologists,” he wrote, 

“so may anthropologists with extraterrestrial interests find themselves regarded 

with suspicion by the more conservative members of their own profession.”15

Wescott also called attention to the anthropological relevance of studying cultures and subcultures in Earth orbit, in lunar orbit, and on the lunar surface. 

It is this aspect of extraterrestrial communities that Philip Singer addresses in 

the same volume.16 This view particularly resonates now, almost 40 years later, 

in light of NASA’s current interest in sending humans to Mars.

More substantial and influential than the 1974 AAA meeting on cultures 

beyond the Earth was the response to a crisis for SETI after the mid-1970s. The 

crisis was the so-called Fermi paradox, which asserts that if the galaxy is full of 

intelligent life, given the billions-of-years timescales involved, then at least some 

intelligence should have colonized the galaxy and should have arrived on Earth 

by now. Yet we do not see them, so “where are they?” Many scientists concluded 

in the 1970s and 1980s that this argument provided strong empirical evidence 

that extraterrestrials do not exist—“empirical” because we do not observe them 

on Earth (unless one accepts the evidence for UFOs, which SETI enthusiasts 

studiously avoid).17 The discussion of interstellar colonization was joined by 

physical scientists, who calculated colonization rates and other relevant factors. 

But the “diffusion” of cultures was primarily a problem for social scientists and 

a problem familiar to cultural anthropologists.

One anthropologist in particular took up the challenge. Ben Finney, 

professor of anthropology at the University of Hawai‘i and later chair of 

that department, was well known for his work on Polynesian migrations. 

 15.

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

He began his path-breaking work with the NASA SETI community in the 

mid-1980s, commencing perhaps the most sustained connection of a single 

anthropologist with SETI. Under a National Research Council program to 

bring university scientists into government labs, Finney applied anthropological methods to SETI’s assumptions. He challenged some of its assumptions 

on the basis of terrestrial experience with deciphering ancient Egyptian and 

Mayan inscriptions.18

Most important was the book Interstellar Migration and the Human 

Experience, edited by Finney and Eric Jones. The result of a conference 

on interstellar migration held in 1983 at Los Alamos National Laboratory 

(LANL), where Jones worked as an astrophysicist, this collection of essays 

concentrated on yet another aspect of SETI, the possibility of interstellar 

colonization. Finney and Jones invited anthropologists, demographers, historians, paleontologists, and philosophers as well as astronomers, physicists, 

and machine intelligence specialists to discuss the subject of interstellar 

migration. Among the anthropologists were Joseph Birdsell, Nancy Tanner, 

and Finney himself. On the basis of humanity’s evolutionary and historical 

past, and its characteristic expansionary, technologically innovative, and 

inquisitive nature, Finney and Jones made this prediction in the volume’s 

epilogue: “Mankind is headed for the stars. That is our credo. Our descendants will one day live throughout the Solar System and eventually seek to 

colonize other star systems and possibly interstellar space itself. Immense 

problems—technical, economic, political, and social—will have to be solved 

for human life to spread through space.” They recognized the dangers of 

hubris and of repeating discredited expansionary and imperialistic themes 

of history. Yet they concluded that “although we obviously cannot predict 

that human descendants will colonize the entire Galaxy, we are betting that 

they will try.”19 This dispersion of humanity among the stars would bring not 

only cultural diversity but also new species descended from humans, as well 

as new cultures. They did not resolve the Fermi paradox. But whether life on 

other planets turns out to be alien or descended from humans, anthropologists and social scientists in general will surely be anxious to study cultures 

beyond Earth.

 18.

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The Role of Anthropology in SETI

The Past 25 Years: Mutual Benefits?

Over the past quarter century the interaction of SETI and the social sciences 

can only be described as sporadic. At professional meetings of the International 

Astronautical Federation (IAF) and the International Astronomical Union 

(IAU) and at international bioastronomy meetings with a variety of sponsors, 

social science has been only an occasional companion to the natural sciences. 

The proceedings of the IAF SETI Committee sessions, published as special 

issues of Acta Astronautica, sometimes represented anthropological or societal 

interests, especially in the 1980s and 1990s. Finney, for example, continued 

to examine the probable effects of contact from an anthropological point of 

view.20 A series of triennial international bioastronomy meetings inaugurated 

in 1984, with the IAU as an occasional sponsor, began to show an interest 

in social science aspects of SETI with its 1993 meeting, again focusing on 

consequences of the discovery of ETI but also touching on other aspects.21

And, more generally, University of Hawai‘i sociologist David Swift undertook a series of revealing interviews with SETI pioneers that remains a rich 

resource for future work.22

In the early 1990s, on the eve of the inauguration of the NASA SETI 

program in October 1992, John Billingham led a series of workshops on 

“Cultural Aspects of SETI,” known as the CASETI Workshops. For the first 

time social scientists were fully integrated into the discussion of the implications of contact with extraterrestrials. Four focus groups were formed to 

address history, human behavior, policy, and education, each with a mix of 

 20.

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

natural and social scientists. The three recommendations produced by the 

history group (which included historians John Heilbron, Steven Dick, Karl 

Guthke, Jill Conway, and Ken Kenniston; anthropologist Ben Finney; and 

SETI scientist Kent Cullers) are relevant here:

1. It is important that NASA study appropriate analogies drawn from 

earlier human experience, while emphasizing that they are rough 

guides for thinking about SETI and not precise predictors of 

the future.

2. Study should be concentrated on analogies based on the transmission of ideas within and between cultures in preference to analogies 

based on physical encounters.

3. NASA’s educational programs should place SETI within the historical context of humankind’s effort to comprehend its place in 

the universe and to understand the nature and possibility of other 

intelligent life.23 

The second recommendation, in particular, posed a challenge to the conventional thinking that radio contact with ETI would be analogous to physical 

culture contacts on Earth, an idea elaborated at a bioastronomy conference 

in 1993, the year following the conference.24 A few individuals have tackled SETI from the social science perspective. In After Contact: The Human 

Response to Extraterrestrial Life, psychologist Albert Harrison led the way, 

showing how fields such as psychology, sociology, and anthropology can be 

used as an aid to thinking about implications of contact, an approach that may 

be generalized to astrobiology. In particular he advocates an approach called 

Living Systems Theory, in which what we know about organisms, societies, 

and supranational systems on Earth can be used to discuss the outer-space 

analogues of aliens, alien civilizations, and the galactic club. While he does not 

himself tackle the anthropological aspects, Harrison recognizes their potential 

role.25 Canadian futurist Allen Tough has undertaken research on the impact 

of “high-information” contact with extraterrestrials and has encouraged such 

 23.

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The Role of Anthropology in SETI

research through specialized conferences on the subject.26 More recently, the 

Canadian anthropologist and archaeologist Kathryn Denning has not only 

provided a variety of keen anthropological insights into SETI but has also 

become a respected member of the SETI community.27

The work of Douglas Vakoch on interstellar message construction, with its 

emphasis on the relation between language and culture, has much in common 

with linguistic anthropology.28 Vakoch has also been instrumental in rallying the anthropology community to the study of SETI. The session titled 

“Anthropology, Archaeology and Interstellar Communication” at the 2004 

annual meeting of the American Anthropological Association—30 years after 

the previous AAA meeting on the subject—demonstrates the possibility of a 

larger role for anthropologists in SETI. That role ranges from the scholarly to 

the popular; among the best-known anthropological contributions to SETI 

are the science-fiction novels of anthropologist Mary Doria Russell.29

In the most general sense it is cultural evolution that drives the relationship 

between SETI and anthropology. If, as most SETI proponents believe, nonhuman intelligence in the universe is millions or billions of years old, we know 

only one thing for certain: cultural evolution will have occurred. One can 

speculate on exactly what the result might have been. The universe may, for 

example, be postbiological, full of artificial intelligence, precisely because one 

must take cultural evolution into account.30 But, given intelligence beyond 

the Earth, the fact of the occurrence of extraterrestrial cultural evolution is 

 26.

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

not open to doubt and is fundamentally a problem of anthropology. SETI is 

at the center of the question of cultural evolution in a cosmic context, and the 

study of culture in relation to cosmos may in time illuminate both terrestrial 

and extraterrestrial cultures.31

Summary

Historically anthropology has made sporadic contributions to SETI in the 

following areas, each of which should be systematically elaborated: 

1. Evolution of Technological Civilizations. Using empirical data from 

terrestrial cultures, anthropologists can shed light on the likelihood 

of the evolution of technological civilizations, their natures, and 

their lifespans. This is a problem of physical anthropology, and the 

potential of this approach has been realized since the early 1960s.

2. Cultural Contact. Using analogical studies of cultural contacts 

on Earth, anthropologists may illuminate contact scenarios with 

ETI, extending cultural anthropology to the extraterrestrial realm. 

However, because SETI envisions remote radio contact with ETI, 

rather than physical contact, the transmission of ideas may provide 

a better model for SETI. Should physical contact be made in the 

distant future with cultures beyond Earth, cultural anthropology 

and even archaeology will become more directly relevant.

3. Interstellar Message Decipherment and Construction. Philip Morrison 

has argued that deciphering an interstellar message may be a longterm project, requiring the efforts of many scholarly disciplines 

to complete. Linguistic anthropology has a role to play both in 

deciphering and constructing interstellar messages.

4. Cultural Diffusion. Analogical studies of human migration on 

Earth may illuminate the Fermi paradox of extraterrestrial civilizations. Beyond SETI, migration studies will also be applicable to 

extraterrestrial human cultures wherever they may be established. 

A start on these topics has been made with the volume Interstellar 

Migration and the Human Experience.

All of these approaches belong under the rubric of cultural evolution and 

relate directly to the study of SETI as the third component of the Drake 

Equation. Whether applying the data and lessons of terrestrial cultural 

 31.

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The Role of Anthropology in SETI

evolution to extraterrestrial cultures, tackling the implications of extraterrestrial cultural contact and communication, or studying human migration 

in a biological or a postbiological universe, anthropology has much to offer 

both in terms of data and approach. Other branches of the social sciences may 

prove useful in the long-term future. For example, should physical contact 

be made with extinct extraterrestrial civilizations, the methods of archaeology will become relevant. Soviet SETI scientists have especially emphasized 

this in the context of extraterrestrial artifacts that might be discovered in the 

exploration of the solar system. In any case, anthropologists are uniquely 

qualified by knowledge and training to contribute to SETI. In turn, the 

extraterrestrial perspective that many of us in the SETI field have found so 

invigorating also has much to offer the discipline of anthropology, both in 

expanding its boundaries, its insights, and its tools and in reassessing cultures 

on Earth and seeing them anew. 

Finally, the participation of anthropologists in SETI fits into the larger 

project of bringing the social sciences and humanities into SETI.32 This 

endeavor could advance E. O. Wilson’s idea of “consilience,” the unity of 

knowledge. Ben Finney has made this point, arguing that SETI “has the 

potential for playing a major role in transcending intellectual boundaries.”33

In my 40 years’ experience working in this field, I have found nothing that 

has greater potential to unify knowledge than the idea of extraterrestrial intelligence. Moreover, the appeal of the idea to students makes SETI an ideal tool 

for implementing a unified knowledge curriculum in schools, work already 

being done at the SETI Institute and elsewhere.

 32.

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CHAPTER FOUR

A Tale of Two Analogues

Learning at a Distance from the 

Ancient Greeks and Maya and the 

Problem of Deciphering Extraterrestrial 

Radio Transmissions1

Ben Finney and Jerry Bentley

Preface

During the mid-1980s I spent a little over a year working in a trailer parked 

near the huge wind tunnels at NASA’s Ames Research Center on the shores 

of San Francisco Bay. A sign written in large bold letters and displayed in one 

of the trailer’s windows—“ET, Phone Home”—hinted that something out of 

the ordinary might be going on inside. In fact, the trailer served as an overflow 

office for NASA’s fledgling SETI program, which was then developing the 

means to detect radio signals hypothesized to have been sent by extraterrestrial 

civilizations. I was there to work alongside SETI researchers, using my anthropological background and knowledge to assess their rationale and procedures 

for trying to establish contact with extraterrestrials, as well as to consider 

the possible impacts on humanity if the enterprise succeeded. At that time I 

had already conducted a number of unusual research projects, most recently 

reconstructing a Polynesian voyaging canoe and sailing it over legendary 

migration routes to resolve issues about Polynesian migrations. Yet working 

at Ames alongside SETI astronomers, physicists, computer specialists, and 

 1. A version of this chapter was published earlier in a special issue of 
A Tale of Two Analogues

others in their daring quest to contact the ultimate “others” proved to be an 

even more exotic and thought-provoking experience.

The epiphany that had steered me indirectly toward SETI came in 1978 

when I was writing up an experimental canoe voyage from Hawai‘i across the 

equator to Tahiti, navigated without instruments or charts. By then linguists, 

archaeologists, and others had made good progress in tracing the migration 

of ancestral Polynesians from Southeast Asia into the open Pacific, and our 

voyaging research was beginning to provide data and insights supporting 

the hypothesis that Polynesians had intentionally explored and settled the 

Pacific—as opposed to the then-popular null hypothesis that their canoes 

and navigation methods were so crude that they could only have been castaways driven eastward by wind and current. Nonetheless, I realized that for 

want of precise information on what the ancient voyagers actually thought, 

said, and did, we would never know exactly why and how they pushed the 

human frontier so far into the ocean. That’s when it hit me that if I was truly 

interested in human migration into new habitats, and not just the Polynesian 

experience, then I had an opportunity to study firsthand the beginnings of 

a much more portentous migration that might eventually take humanity 

beyond Earth and into the cosmos.

But I could hardly write a grant proposal to study “space migration” and 

expect to get it funded by the National Science Foundation or any other 

agency that supports anthropological research. Instead, I started reading the 

literature on human spaceflight and attending space conferences. At the 1980 

congress of the International Astronautical Federation (IAF) held in Rome, I 

wandered into a fascinating symposium on SETI, a topic I had only vaguely 

heard about. Papers by John Billingham, Jill Tarter, and others immediately 

intrigued me because they offered the prospect of humans expanding into 

space intellectually rather than attempting the daunting (and, according to 

Barney Oliver, energetically impossible) task of physically migrating to other 

star systems. Afterward I corresponded with Billingham, the head of SETI 

at Ames, about how I might participate in the NASA effort, and he recommended that I apply for a grant from a program of the National Research 

Council designed to allow university scientists to spend a year in government laboratories. But just after I submitted my proposal, Wisconsin Senator 

William Proxmire struck. He awarded SETI a “Golden Fleece” as a foolish 

waste of government funds and contributed to the demise of NASA’s program. When funding was restored two years later, I was offered a fellowship 

and went to work in the SETI trailer.

As a resident anthropologist, I wanted to learn about SETI, much as I would 

about any other culture I had chosen to study. In addition to studying the science and technology involved in sending and receiving messages, above all I 

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

sought to understand the ideas and logic behind searching for extraterrestrial 

messages, deciphering any messages detected, and deriving useful information 

from these. This meant reading the scholarly literature on SETI, which at that 

time was sparse; attending SETI conferences; interviewing SETI scientists and 

technicians; listening to them discuss issues among themselves; and presenting papers at SETI symposia about my research. However, I did not take the 

antagonistic approach of so-called science studies as then practiced by a group 

of sociologists bent upon exposing what they considered to be the epistemological naïveté and dangerous hubris of scientists. If anything, I was biased 

in favor of SETI and those who were involved in what I regarded as a noble 

quest. Nonetheless, I did find some of the SETI scientists’ thinking questionable—especially when they employed analogies based primarily on Western 

experience to speculate about the nature of ET civilizations and behavior.

For example, according to SETI advocates, many of the civilizations that 

might be contacted will be so many light-years away that the prospect of any 

meaningful conversations with distant ET interlocutors would be very dim. 

For the foreseeable future, we will therefore just listen. Furthermore, because 

of NASA’s vulnerability to public criticism, in the mid-1980s SETI researchers at Ames studiously avoided even talking about sending messages into the 

cosmos. They feared that any such transmissions would be perceived by the 

public as exposing Earth to potentially hostile aliens, and that citizens’ anxieties could, when expressed in letters to their representatives, bring the wrath 

of Congress down on NASA. (Of course, as Frank Drake pointed out, we 

were already giving our position away through powerful radar and television 

transmissions.) Accordingly, these scientists went out of their way to emphasize 

that they would attempt only to receive messages and not to transmit them. 

For those who asked how it would be possible to learn anything from listening to messages sent tens, hundreds, or thousands of years ago, they had an 

ingenious answer: “But we have already had the experience of learning from the 

ancient Greeks through one-way messages from the distant past.” They were 

referring to the transmission of classical Greek science and learning to Western 

Europe in late medieval and Renaissance times through the intermediary of 

Arab scholars and others who had studied and translated ancient Greek texts. 

As much as I was intrigued by this analogy, I could not help but think that 

the challenge faced by medieval Western Europeans learning at a distance from 

ancient Greeks was trivial compared to the task of deciphering and understanding interstellar messages. I thought that a more useful terrestrial analogy might 

be derived from the efforts to decipher ancient scripts of cultures far removed 

from the classical world I had a case in mind: the long struggle to translate the 

hieroglyphs carved on ancient Maya temples and vividly painted on pottery 

and pages of the few codices that survived Spanish colonization. While working 

66
A Tale of Two Analogues

toward my doctorate in the early 1960s, I had studied ancient Maya culture 

and the attempts to decipher the hieroglyphs. By then scholars had cracked the 

Maya’s numbering system and their elaborate calendrical cycles based on the 

apparent movements of the Sun, Venus, and other heavenly bodies. Particularly 

because some scholars were then speculating that Maya writing might turn 

out to be primarily mathematical, calendrical, and astronomical-astrological in 

nature, the Maya case seemed like a much closer parallel to SETI issues than 

protracted ancient-to-medieval European knowledge transfers.

However, I didn’t get around to investigating the Maya case until long after 

I had left the SETI trailer and returned to my university duties in Hawai‘i. 

In 1994 John Billingham asked me to present a paper at a SETI session to be 

held later that year at the International Astronautical Federation congress in 

Jerusalem. He suggested that I might address the analogy between SETI and 

the delayed transfer of knowledge from ancient Greece to medieval Europe. 

“Well,” I replied, “I could, but I would rather focus on the Maya case,” and 

explained why. John agreed, so off I went to the library to catch up on the 

latest advances in Mayan decipherment studies.

Indeed, I did find the Maya case relevant to SETI thinking but not at all 

in the way I had previously imagined. The expectations that Maya writing 

would turn out to be primarily mathematical, calendrical, and astronomical 

in content did not pan out. Instead it proved to be largely focused on the 

histories of kings, ruling dynasties, and their wars. Furthermore, it became 

apparent that a fundamental fallacy had delayed the translation of Maya 

hieroglyphs, the same one that had for so long kept scholars from reading 

Egyptian hieroglyphic writing. This was the assumption that the glyphs represented ideas as a whole independent of spoken language. In both cases, it 

was not until scholars approached the glyphs as symbols for the phonemes 

and morphemes of speech, studied the modern languages descended from 

ancient Egyptian and Mayan, and discovered translation keys (such as Egypt’s 

famous Rosetta Stone) that they were able to decipher the hieroglyphic texts. I 

therefore wrote my paper as a cautionary tale for SETI scientists who believed 

that extraterrestrial radio messages would be readily decipherable because they 

would mainly be mathematical and scientific in content and form.

Never have any of my conference papers caused such uproar. During the 

question-and-answer period, I was lectured on prime numbers and physical 

constants and told I ought to know that science and mathematics are universal languages that must be shared by any truly intelligent life-form. Jean 

Heidmann, the ebullient astronomer who was chairing the session, interjected that civilizations anxious to share their experience and knowledge 

didn’t need to send mathematical and scientific primers. All they had to do 

was transmit their encyclopedia, which other truly intelligent beings should 

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

be able to understand with the aid of powerful computer algorithms. Only 

at the end of the discussion did someone come to my defense, a semiotician and computer specialist. “Of course,” he calmly observed, “you need 

a key to decipher a totally alien message.” Nonetheless, Heidmann and the 

rapporteurs of the session recommended that my paper be submitted for 

publication in Acta Astronautica. The reviewers recommended publication, 

although one suggested that in focusing so much on the Maya case I had not 

really explained the delayed transmission of knowledge from ancient Greece 

to Western Europe. Accordingly, I recruited Jerry Bentley, the founding editor 

of the Journal of International History and a historian who takes a global view 

of human events, to analyze more fully the knowledge transfer from ancient 

Greece to medieval Western Europe. Our joint paper, reprinted here with 

minor revisions, was subsequently published in Acta Astronautica.

Introduction

Can encounters between terrestrial civilizations help us think about making 

radio contact with extraterrestrial civilizations? The commonly suggested 

examples of the brutal impact of technologically powerful invading peoples 

on indigenous populations do not directly apply since radio contact would 

be intellectual only. There is, however, a type of encounter between terrestrial 

civilizations that occurs without any physical contact and involves the passive 

transmission of knowledge from one civilization to another without any possibility of an actual conversation. Here on Earth such encounters have occurred 

whenever scholars have been able to decipher ancient texts—be they written in 

books, engraved on stone or clay, or painted on pottery—and learn from the 

extinct civilizations that had produced them. One such encounter occurred 

during medieval times when Western European scholars began to learn about 

ancient Greek philosophy and science from translated texts. Since the knowledge gained from these texts is said to have stimulated Western learning and the 

development of modern science, SETI theorists have proposed this case as an 

analogue for how we might intellectually benefit from deciphering and studying radio transmissions from an advanced extraterrestrial civilization without 

(or before) attempting two-way communication.2

 2. J. L. Heilbron, J. Conway, K. Cullers, B. Finney, and S. Dick, “History and SETI,” in 

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A Tale of Two Analogues

From Ancient Greece to Medieval Western Europe

During classical times, Greek learning spread throughout the Mediterranean 

basin. After the collapse of the Roman Empire in the 5th century AD, the 

study of Greek philosophy and science largely disappeared in Western Europe, 

along with an understanding of the Greek language itself. Knowledge of 

classical Greek philosophy and science was fully maintained, however, in the 

Byzantine and Arab worlds. Greek scholars of the Byzantine Empire continued to study classical texts, and until the fall of the empire in AD 1453, 

they maintained a lively tradition of commenting on classical authorities and 

adapting them to contemporary needs. Meanwhile, beginning in the 7th 

century AD, Arab peoples encountered classical Greek thought—along with 

classical Persian and Indian learning—as they expanded to the north, east, 

and west under the banner of Islam. Muslim scholars translated the works of 

Aristotle, Plato, and other classical Greek scholars into Arabic, and during 

the next half millennium sought to reconcile Islamic values with the secular 

traditions of Greek philosophy and science, as well as with Indian medicine 

and mathematics.

During the medieval period, Western European scholars were therefore 

able to turn to the Byzantine Empire and centers of Islamic scholarship 

in Sicily and Spain to recover knowledge of classical Greek learning.3 For 

example, Islamic scholarship played a major role in bringing Aristotle to the 

attention of Roman Catholic philosophers and theologians. Although the 

Neoplatonic thoughts of Ibn Sina, or Avicenna (AD 980–1037), commanded 

the most respect in the Arab world, the works of those Islamic philosophers 

who looked to Aristotle for inspiration suggested the possibility of a powerful 

synthesis between analytical thought and religious faith. The most influential 

was Ibn Rushd (AD 1126–1198), also known as Averroes, who produced 

voluminous commentaries on Aristotle. Ibn Rushd spent most of his career 

in Cordoba, Seville, and Marrakesh, where Jewish scholars became familiar 

with his work. They discussed it widely among themselves and helped make 

it known among Christian scholars, some of whom undertook their own 

translations of the texts from Arabic to Castilian. Having thus become aware 

of the explanatory power of Aristotle’s thought, Christian philosophers and 

 3. R. R. Bolgar, 

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

theologians embarked on the remarkable venture of scholasticism—the effort 

to synthesize Aristotle and Christianity.

Direct knowledge of Aristotle in Western Europe came as much from 

Greek as from Islamic sources. The Latin translations of Aristotle from Islamic 

Sicily and Spain, made mostly by Jewish scholars, were less than satisfactory 

since they passed Aristotle’s original Greek through both Arabic and Latin filters. Thus, whenever possible, Roman Catholic theologians sought to obtain 

translations of Aristotle made directly from Greek texts; St. Thomas Aquinas 

(AD 1225–1274), for example, commissioned many such works. Many of 

these translations came from the Byzantine Empire, while others came from 

Greek texts preserved in the libraries of Islamic Sicily and Spain. Nevertheless, 

translations from Arabic remained in circulation until Renaissance humanists prepared fresh versions from Greek texts during the 15th, 16th, and 

17th centuries.

Islamic scholarship also stimulated Western European interest in classical Greek science. In Sicily, Spain, and the Middle East, Western Europeans 

learned about Islamic science and medicine, which drew on both Greek and 

Indian traditions. They called for translations of Ptolemy, Galen, Hippocrates, 

and other classical scientists. Again, polyglot Jewish scholars and translators from various schools prepared many of these translations, working from 

original Greek texts when available and otherwise from Arabic translations 

of the Greek originals. The understanding of classical Greek science that 

resulted from these efforts profoundly influenced Western Europe from the 

12th century through the 16th century, by which time, however, Copernicus 

and Vesalius were on the verge of launching Western European science and 

medicine on altogether new trajectories that were to surpass scholastic studies 

based on classical Greek texts.

Does the role played by this roundabout transmission of classical Greek 

learning to medieval Western Europe in stimulating the development of 

learning and science there provide a useful analogue for thinking about the 

possible impact of texts transmitted by advanced extraterrestrials on modern 

science and learning? At best the answer would seem to be a highly qualified 

maybe. To state the obvious, the ancient Greek philosophers and scientists; 

their Arab, Byzantine, and Jewish successors and translators; and the Western 

European scholars who received this learning were close cultural cousins of 

the same biological species, who could readily learn each other’s languages 

and decipher each other’s writing systems. By contrast, the gulf that would 

separate us—barring some extraordinary convergence—from any extraterrestrials whose radio transmissions might be received would surely be immense. 

This suggests that if we are to employ terrestrial analogues for learning from 

extraterrestrial civilizations, we should examine cases around the globe in 

70
A Tale of Two Analogues

which the cultural/linguistic gap between long-dead scholars and later ones 

who attempt to decipher and learn from old texts is significantly greater than 

that between ancient Greek writers and medieval Western European readers.

Breaking the Maya Code

The saga of attempts by European and American scholars to decipher the 

inscriptions left by the ancient Maya and then enter into their intellectual 

world provides just such a case to consider, for the cultural gulf between 

19th- and 20th-century students of the ancient Maya and the ancient Maya 

themselves is about as great as can be found on this globe between civilizations past and present. The Maya are thought to be descendants of northern 

Asian peoples whose colonization of the Americas started some 20,000 or 

more years ago. Well after these emigrants had spread from Alaska to Tierra 

del Fuego, high cultures based on intensive agriculture arose in the Andes, 

along the west coast of South America, and in the Mesoamerican region 

of Mexico and Central America. Although some have posited Chinese or 

Southeast Asian influence on New World high cultures, most scholars hold 

that they developed independently from those of the Old World.

Archaeologists call the civilization from which come the bulk of the known 

Mayan inscriptions “Classic Maya.” It flourished in the lowlands of southern Mexico, Guatemala, Belize, and western Honduras from about AD 250 

to around AD 900. Scattered throughout this region are the architectural 

remains—consisting of temples, pyramids, stelae, and other structures—of 

numerous administrative and ceremonial centers. The societies that built 

and occupied these centers are generally described as primitive kingdoms or 

incipient city-states, ruled over by divine kings and often at war with one 

another. The autochthonous development of Classic Maya civilization came 

to an end by the 9th century. By that time one after another of the Maya 

kingdoms had collapsed, and their central places were abandoned to the tropical forest. Exhaustion of tropical soils by the burgeoning populations of these 

kingdoms, climate shift, peasant revolt, and invasion from highland Mexico 

have all been proposed, singly or in combination, to account for this collapse. 

During the “post-classic” period, Maya peoples continued living throughout 

the region but without the great centers and high culture of the classic era, 

except in the north of the Yucatan Peninsula, where Mexican-influenced 

civilization briefly flourished until the time of the Spanish conquest. 

Despite the Spanish takeover and the subsequent impact of imported diseases, direct colonization, and cultural suppression, some three million Maya 

now live in Mexico and Central America. Most of them still speak Mayan 

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

languages and retain, if on an attenuated level, many of the belief structures, 

though not the scripts, of their ancestors.4

 In the 1820s, 1830s, and 1840s 

explorers from Europe and the United States began to “discover,” with the 

help of Maya guides, long-abandoned ceremonial centers of the classic era, 

which by then had been covered by the tropical forests for centuries. Carved 

in relief on the tall stelae and on the walls and lintels of some buildings, the 

explorers found what appeared to be elaborate inscriptions composed of a 

long series of hieroglyphs. These inscriptions, plus similar symbols painted 

on plaster-covered bark pages of the few codices that escaped destruction 

by the ravages of time and of zealous Spanish priests, and those painted on 

excavated pottery urns, constitute the entire corpus of textual materials over 

which scholars have been laboring for a century and a half.

Only recently, however, have these researchers succeeded in cracking 

the Maya code. Why has it taken so long? According to Mayanist Michael 

Coe, scholars were misled by their belief that the hieroglyphs (often referred 

to simply as “glyphs”) with which the Maya wrote were “ideographic” in 

the sense that each conveyed an idea directly to the mind without regard 

to speech.5 This same “ideographic myth” also held up the decipherment 

of Egyptian hieroglyphic writing. In the 3rd century AD the Neoplatonist 

philosopher Plotinus marveled at how the ancient Egyptians could express 

their thoughts directly in their seemingly pictographic hieroglyphs without 

the intervention of “letters, words, and sentences.” “Each separate sign,” he 

proclaimed, “is in itself a piece of knowledge, a piece of wisdom, a piece of 

reality, immediately present.”6 These words, republished in Florence the year 

Columbus reached the New World, inflamed the Renaissance imagination 

about the wisdom of ancient Egypt, where people could express their thoughts 

in pictorial form without the intervention of writing. Athanasius Kircher, a 

German Jesuit who taught mathematics and Hebrew in Renaissance Rome, 

made widely admired “translations” of Egyptian hieroglyphs, which, as the 

Egyptologist Sir Alan Gardiner put it, “exceed all bounds in their imaginative folly.” Without a true key to the hieroglyphs, Kircher could arbitrarily 

assign any meaning to them he wished.7

Not until the 1820s did the brilliant linguist Jean-François Champollion 

finally show the way toward translating the Egyptian hieroglyphs. Using the 

 4. M. D. Coe, 

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A Tale of Two Analogues

newly discovered Rosetta Stone—on which in 196 BC the same message had 

been inscribed in Hieroglyphic Egyptian, Demotic Egyptian, and Greek—

and his considerable linguistic skills, he was able to read the hieroglyphs as 

a phonetically written form of a once-spoken language, not as a collection 

of ideographs divorced from speech.8

 Hence, in a classic work on the newly 

discovered Maya ruins, John Lloyd Stephens wrote of the great classic Maya 

center of Copan: “One thing I believe, that its history is graven on its monuments. No Champollion has yet brought to them the energies of his inquiring 

mind. Who shall read them?”9

The Abbé Brasseur de Bourbourg made one of the first attempts. He had 

discovered a manuscript written in the 16th century by Diego de Landa, 

the bishop of Yucatan, just after its conquest by Spain. In its pages Brasseur 

thought he had found a key for deciphering Maya writing. De Landa had 

redrawn the glyphs and transliterated into Spanish the names of the days in 

the Maya 260-day calendar and the names of the months of their 360-day 

solar year. In addition, he recorded, or thought he did, the Maya symbols 

for each letter of the Spanish alphabet. However, whereas Brasseur was on 

the right track in his calendrical translations, he was more wrong than right 

when he interpreted the noncalendrical glyphs as phonetic letters of a Mayan 

alphabet instead of what they apparently were: attempts by de Landa’s Maya 

informants to find a Maya symbol that, when spoken, more or less matched 

the Spanish pronunciation of each letter in the Spanish alphabet.10

Whereas Champollion had been an expert linguist and knew Coptic, 

the modern Egyptian language descended from ancient Egyptian, neither 

Brasseur nor any of the other would-be epigraphers who followed him had 

the requisite linguistic skills and knowledge of Mayan languages to be the 

New World Champollion. Many of them even denied that it was necessary to 

know linguistics or any Mayan language because they believed that the glyphs 

were not symbolic of speech but were pure ideographs, as had previously been 

claimed for Egyptian hieroglyphs. As late as 1950, Sir Eric Thompson maintained that the non-numerical/calendrical Maya glyphs did not express anything as mundane as language but instead symbolized mystical-mythological 

 8. J.-F. Champollion, 

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

concepts.11 His revival of such Neoplatonist nonsense might seem laughable 

except for the fact that his power and influence among Mayanists of his day 

enabled him to single-handedly block for several decades all attempts to read 

the Mayan script as a written form of once-spoken languages.12

Two years after Thompson’s pronouncement, however, Yuri Knorozov, 

a brilliant Russian epigrapher outside the circle of Western European and 

American Mayanists, published a stunning paper that pointed the way toward 

using linguistic analysis and knowledge of Mayan languages to decipher the 

inscriptions.13 He found that the principles of Mayan writing were similar 

to those operating in other hieroglyphic systems. However pictographic they 

might seem (and probably were in origin), the glyphs had come to stand for 

either phonetic-syllabic signs or morphemes (the smallest meaningful units 

of speech) and could be read with the help of knowledge gained from the 

study of surviving Mayan languages. Since then a new generation of Mayanist 

scholars—linguists, art historians, archaeologists, and ethnographers, as well 

as specialized epigraphers—have followed Knorozov’s lead and have begun 

to read the inscriptions with some facility and to learn about Mayan politics, 

wars, religious practices, and other facets of this fascinating culture.

Michael Coe, whose analysis I have followed here, emphasizes how critical 

the linguistic approach has been to this decipherment, as it has been to every 

other deciphered ancient script. He even goes so far as to state categorically that 

“no script has ever been broken, that is, actually translated, unless the language 

itself is known and understood.”14 Coe offers as a case in point the inscriptions 

of the Etruscan inhabitants of central Italy before the rise of the Roman state. 

There are over 10,000 funerary inscriptions in Etruscan written in a script 

similar to that of the early Greeks and, like Greek, ultimately derived from 

Phoenician writing. But no one has discovered a “Rosetta Stone” with parallel 

texts in Etruscan and Latin or any other known language.15 Apparently, the 

Romans never bothered to describe and analyze the language of their Etruscan 

subjects. As a result, declares Coe, “Etruscan can be read, but it has never 

been translated.”16 Those who might object that Chinese writing, with its 

 11.

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A Tale of Two Analogues

tens of thousands of characters, must surely be ideographic should read John 

DeFrancis’s The Chinese Language, in which DeFrancis demystifies Chinese 

characters by demonstrating that these figures—despite their pictographic 

beginnings—have evolved to be primarily phonetic-semantic symbols.17

Discussion

The Maya case appears to undermine SETI scientists’ hopes of actually translating the messages they are working to detect. If we have been unable to 

translate ancient human scripts without some knowledge of the spoken language they represent, what prospects have we of being able to comprehend 

radio transmissions emanating from other worlds for which we have neither 

“Rosetta Stones” nor any knowledge of the languages they encode?

One way out of this dilemma of deciphering absolutely alien languages 

that is commonly suggested in the SETI literature revolves around two 

assumptions: first, that advanced intelligent beings capable of communicating by radio must share with us the same basic logical processes and employ 

numbers and understand physics at least as well as we do; and, second, that 

those extraterrestrials anxious to establish interstellar radio contact would 

deliberately avoid natural languages and develop artificial ones based on 

presumably shared reasoning processes and scientific knowledge. In 1960 

Hans Freudenthal composed a Lingua Cosmica (Lincos) that was, he said, 

based solely on pure logic and was therefore decipherable by other intelligent 

beings.18 Mathematician C. L. DeVito and linguist R. T. Oehrle subsequently 

proposed that beings from different star systems who have developed radio 

telescopes, and who therefore must share a basic understanding of mathematics and science, could begin to communicate in an artificial language built on 

such fundamental scientific facts as the nature of chemical elements, the melting and boiling points of pure substances, and the properties of gases. They 

asserted that these putative interstellar interlocutors could then progress to 

such basic physical units as grams, calories, kelvins, and so on, after which, as 

DeVito and Oehrle put it, “more interesting information can be exchanged.”19

 17.

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

The necessary assumption behind such an argument is that of the psychic unity of all intelligent species, or at least of all those who have entered 

a radio-communicative stage. Rather than directly challenging this crucial 

assumption, as have some commentators on the SETI enterprise,20 let us 

assume enough convergent scientific intelligence that beings from disparate star systems could begin to recognize transmitted symbols for numbers, 

physical and chemical constants, and the like. Would this shared knowledge 

necessarily lead to “more interesting information”? Would it be possible to 

progress from mathematical and physical verities to discussions of biologies, 

cultures, and histories? Might it even be possible, as many SETI advocates 

hope, for such young civilizations as ours to learn from older and presumably 

wiser civilizations how to survive technological adolescence?

A closer examination of the Maya case may again yield an illuminating 

parallel. Brasseur de Bourbourg’s early success in understanding the rudiments of Maya numerical notation and calendrical reckoning eventually led 

to a comprehension of Maya mathematics, which are based on vigesimal 

numeration symbolized by dots indicating one and bars indicating five and 

a zero marker, as well as recognition of their facility for plotting calendrical 

cycles of the Sun, Moon, and Venus.21 But this breakthrough did not lead to 

the translation of the bulk of the Maya texts. On the contrary, it seems to have 

impeded the full translation of Maya because it reinforced the idiographic 

fallacy that all the glyphs represented ideas without any relationship to language. This fallacy led to some interesting ideas, such as the notion that an 

elaborately carved and inscribed “altar” from the ceremonial center of Copan 

portrayed the proceedings of an astronomy congress devoted to correlating 

solar and lunar cycles. Linguistically oriented scholars have since discovered, 

however, that the carvings on this artifact actually represent the 16 dynastic 

rulers of Copan and their reigns.

We have presented this terrestrial tale not to suggest the impossibility of 

deciphering messages from extraterrestrials. Rather, we offer it as a warning 

against a facile acceptance of the analogy between SETI and the delayed 

 20.

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A Tale of Two Analogues

transmission of classical Greek learning to Western Europe. We must think 

about the formidable prerequisites of deciphering extraterrestrial messages 

and consider the possibility that whole domains of knowledge may remain 

opaque to us, despite our best efforts, for a very long time. If terrestrial analogues are to be employed in relation to SETI, then we should explore the 

wide range of human experience around the globe and not focus solely on 

familiar cases that appear to reinforce our most earnest hopes.

77
CHAPTER FIVE

Beyond Linear B

The Metasemiotic Challenge 

of Communication with 

Extraterrestrial Intelligence

Richard Saint-Gelais

A Semiotic Outlook on SETI

Communication, as we all know, is a touchy business between human 

beings. So there is reason to doubt that it would be an easy thing across 

the universe. In this essay I will try to describe a set of theoretical problems 

that might affect communication with extraterrestrial intelligences. I will 

also attempt to map the chief difficulties that arise when we look at the 

phenomenon (or more exactly the hypothesis) of communication between 

what will be, in all likelihood, profoundly different species. These difficulties are often expressed in terms of epistemic and sensorial incompatibility 

between interstellar interlocutors who will belong to species and cultures 

so different that the common ground necessary to communication could 

be very small indeed. We do not know whether extraterrestrial beings will 

perceive and conceptualize their reality in ways similar to ours, using the 

same cognitive categories, or even whether they will communicate through 

visual and acoustic channels.

I should state at the outset that my position is similar to the epistemic 

skepticism just mentioned. But my perspective will be slightly different from, 

though not incompatible with, the epistemic perspective. I will apply the 

theories and methods of semiotic analysis to the problem of interstellar communication, focusing on signs, language, meaning, and interpretation. A 

simple—but simplistic—conception of communication defines it as a production phase followed by a reception phase, an encoding and then a decoding 

of a given meaning through a message that is seen as a vehicle for this content. 

But understanding a message is not extracting something physically present in 

the signs. It entails, rather, the integration of these signs into an interpretive 

frame that enables the recipient to give them meanings—meanings that the 
Beyond Linear B

recipient has to elaborate, not extract. Take, for instance, a very simple and 

frequently encountered sign that consists of two equilateral triangles placed 

base to base and pointing in opposite directions, one left, the other right; 

these two triangles are sometimes separated by a vertical line. As repeated 

experiences with undergraduate students have shown me, a reproduction of 

this sign on the blackboard meets only with perplexity until I offer them the 

clue “Suppose this is something you see in an elevator,” providing an interpretive context that allows them to recognize the triangles as the conventional 

symbol for opening doors.

An important part of the interpretive context is knowledge of the language 

to which the signs belong. Semioticians have insisted that meaning depends 

on the code or system used to interpret the sign. For instance, a vertical stroke 

may mean, among other things, the number one (when interpreted as part 

of the arithmetical notation system), the first-person pronoun (when taken 

as an English word), the torso of a man or woman (when viewed as part of 

a matchstick figure), or the idea of verticality. In a “bottom-up” model of 

interpretation, this processing of individual signs is a first step, followed by 

more complex operations requiring a syntactic competence, i.e., a practical 

knowledge of the rules governing the combinations of signs.1

 As any student 

of a foreign language notices, though, understanding a sentence is not simply 

a matter of adding up the dictionary definitions of individual words in that 

sentence. It calls for a grasp of the interrelationships among these words and 

of the function each plays in the structure of the sentence. What makes this 

operation rather complex is that it is not as linear as the bottom-up model 

suggests: interpreters do not process isolated meanings before asking how 

to coordinate them into a global signification; a tacit hypothesis about the 

global syntactic pattern already guides the identification of the meaning and 

function of words. So there is a constant oscillation between bottom-up and 

top-down operations, in which inferences about a global and abstract pattern 

(within a sentence, text, or narrative) guide the expectation and recognition of 

the successive elements that make up this structure. For instance, the French 

word loupe may be either a noun (meaning “magnifying glass”) or a form of 

the colloquial verb louper (meaning “to miss”). But the reader of a sentence 

in which the word loupe appears rarely wonders which of these meanings is 

 1. Bottom-up (or “data-driven”) models of cognition assume that the processing of information 

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

being invoked: the syntactic context, and what he infers from it, leads him to 

recognize the correct meaning instantly. Sherlock Holmes examina le sol avec 

une loupe: “Sherlock Holmes examined the ground with a magnifying glass”; 

Il loupe tous ses examens: “he flunks all of his exams.”

The consequences these considerations have for interstellar communication are quite obvious. Such communication, if it is to be successful, must 

overcome the difficulties inherent in an exchange where sender and recipient do not share a common language; the latter cannot rely on an already 

established language competence with which to work out the meaning of the 

message but must instead start with the message itself and try to infer from 

it, conjecturally, the lexical and syntactic rules that endow it with meaning.2

From the sender’s point of view, the challenge is to conceive a message that 

will include, somehow, the interpretive context necessary for it to make sense. 

In other words, the sender must, apparently, produce this semiotic paradox: 

a self-interpreting message.

The difficulty is greater still because, even before the recipients tackle the 

intricacies of interpretation, they must identify the message as a semiotic 

(rather than natural) phenomenon. Normally, in a shared cultural context, 

this identification does not require conscious thought. For instance, each 

language selects an array of phonetic or graphemic patterns that count as 

signs so that users of this language know not only where to look for but 

how to easily recognize articulated signs when they see (or hear) them. For 

instance, the Turkish alphabet distinguishes between dotted and dotless I, 

treating each of these characters as a significant linguistic unit. In English, 

where no such distinction holds, a dotless I would seem to be merely the 

result of carelessness on the part of the writer. So a sign must not only be 

correctly interpreted but must also be recognized as a sign in the first place. 

When sender and recipient share an interpretive context (modes of perception, type and structure of language, cultural assumptions, and so on), this 

context functions as an implicit cue, as a kind of meta-sign signifying this is 

a sign. It is precisely this semiotic confidence that becomes problematic with 

interstellar communication, in which sender and recipient are compelled to 

question the invisible assumptions that underlie the production and reception 

 2. So this would seem a radical case of bottom-up treatment of information, but we must not 

80
Beyond Linear B

of signs. More precisely, it confronts the sender with the challenge of devising 

messages that include what is normally outside messages: a sign that acts as an 

index (this is a sign) and, to some extent, as code (it must be interpreted that 

way) to the whole message. Creating such a message is no small task. It implies 

the conception of messages that incorporate self-interpreting devices, signs 

that do not require an external interpretive system in order to be correctly 

identified and interpreted. We may therefore say that communication with 

extraterrestrial intelligences entails, per se, a form of altruism, an altruism 

that is not necessarily expressed on the level of content3 but is embodied in 

the sender’s endeavor to facilitate the recipient’s task by trying both to see 

the message from the perspective of a hypothetical other and to imagine the 

obstacles that such a recipient may face. This is a discreet, albeit strong, form 

of collaboration, one that goes beyond the expression of altruistic values or 

the sharing of information, because it is the message’s configuration rather 

than its content that anticipates potential difficulties at the recipient’s end 

and tries to attenuate them.

Deciphering Ancient Scripts

The question, of course, is: to what extent is this possible? A comparison with 

the opposite, noncooperative situation—the deciphering of coded messages 

or inscriptions written in extinct languages—may provide a fresh look at the 

problems involved.4

 3. For a detailed proposal along this line, see Douglas A. Vakoch and Michael Mantessa, “An 

81
Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

At first glance, the difficulties involved in the decipherment of coded 

messages or ancient scripts suggest a rather pessimistic view of the interstellar 

communication challenge, for if it took specialists many years to solve the 

enigma of writing systems devised by human beings (without, in the latter 

case, any intent to conceal the meaning of the utterances), it seems unrealistic 

to imagine that our messages could be easily understood by beings whose culture, history, and even biology will differ vastly from ours. How can we be sure 

that some well-meaning interpreter will not misread our intended message?5

On a semiotic level, the similarity between the three kinds of situations is 

readily apparent. Deciphering inscriptions in unknown languages or messages 

in secret codes implies coping with strings of signs without having any prior 

knowledge of the encoding rules, so recognizing these rules become one of the 

ends (instead of the means, as is usually the case) of the interpretive process. 

The decipherer of unknown languages tries to establish the phonetic and/or 

semantic value of symbols. The decipherer of secret messages seeks to identify 

the principle governing the replacement and/or permutation of letters. So 

both activities can be compared to the reception of an interstellar message 

and the task of interpreting it without having a prior idea of the encoding 

rules, if any, governing the production of the signals.

I use the word signal instead of sign because at the early stage of interpretation, decipherers must still identify the relevant semiotic units. They are 

confronted with signals—i.e., material manifestations of some kind (strokes 

on clay tablets, microwaves of a certain frequency)—that may be signs.6

 A 

sign is more abstract in nature: it is a semiotic configuration that is relatively 

independent of the concrete signals that embody it because it is defined by 

a limited number of relevant features, whereas the signal that manifests it 

exhibits supplementary—and, from the point of view of the code, unnecessary—features. The word please may be shouted or whispered; it may be 

pronounced with an Oxford or a French accent; it is always the same word, 

the same linguistic sign. For someone who does not know the code, however, 

nothing in the utterance indicates whether the relevant feature here is not 

 5. Chadwick’s account of the decipherment of Linear B (

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Beyond Linear B

instead the whispering. To recognize a given sign from its signal is one of 

the feats that are accomplished automatically and unconsciously by those 

mastering the code but which become uncertain and difficult for those who 

do not. This is precisely the case when the first steps are taken toward understanding an unknown script, as John Chadwick shows in this passage from 

The Decipherment of Linear B:

[E. L. Bennett’s] outstanding contribution [to the decipherment 

of Linear B] is the establishment of the signary; the recognition of 

variant forms and the distinction of separate signs. How difficult 

the task is only those who have tried can tell. It is easy enough for 

us to recognize the same letter in our alphabet as written by half a 

dozen different people, despite the use of variant forms. But if you 

do not know what is the possible range of letters, nor the sound 

of the words they spell, it is impossible to be sure if some of the 

rare ones are separate letters or mere variants.7

At first glance, the remarkable achievements of Champollion, Georg 

Friedrich Grotefend, and others seem to contradict the thesis that the understanding of signs depends on prior familiarity with a language’s underlying 

code. Were these men not able to decipher the hitherto unreadable hieroglyphs and cuneiform? Without underestimating their exploits, we should 

note that they did, in fact, start with some knowledge and (eventually valid) 

assumptions. First and foremost, they knew that they were dealing with 

human artifacts, signs made by human beings who shared with them a wide 

range of anthropological and cultural notions and categories. Some of these 

shared characteristics may remain entirely unnoticed as long as we are steeped 

in a given culture or semiotic context. Let us take, for instance, the kinds of 

writing systems human cultures have developed. It is possible to determine, 

just from the number of different characters a language possesses, the type of 

writing system that underlies it. If there are between 20 and 40 characters, it 

is an alphabetical system; if there are approximately 100 characters, we have 

a syllabic system in which each symbol transcribes a syllable (e.g., ta, te, ti,

to). Ideographic systems require many more than 100 characters: Mandarin, 

for instance, has at least 60,000. So it is possible, provided enough inscriptions have been found, to identify the type of writing system even before it 

is deciphered. This is a nice example of what Charles Sanders Peirce called 

an abduction, a piece of reasoning that takes a startling fact and extrapolates 

 7. Chadwick, 

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

a more or less bold guess from it.8 But this guess is undeniably informed by 

the fact that we humans have used these three kinds of writing systems. We 

cannot expect all writing systems in the universe to follow these lines, if only 

because the phonological apparatus of extraterrestrial beings may be quite 

different from ours; their languages may have more or fewer phonetic units 

than ours or may rest on a physiological basis unrelated to articulated sound. 

It is not at all certain that extraterrestrial civilizations use alphabetical systems 

of notation; nor can we assume, even supposing they do use alphabets, that 

their signaries include a similar number of units to ours.

Another crucial help for the decipherers of extinct human languages comes 

from the foothold that the decipherer can obtain from bilingual documents 

(e.g., the Rosetta Stone) and/or from identifiable proper names (of kings 

and countries, for instance). Since we cannot use the bilingual method (we 

would have to know an extraterrestrial language already) and proper names 

would be unrecognizable, the comparison remains an imperfect one. But we 

may draw more encouragement from cases in which the decipherment was 

successful even though no bilingual inscriptions could be found and in which 

both the language and the characters were unknown. The most famous of 

these is the case of Linear B, a writing system found on clay tablets on the 

island of Crete, deciphered by Michael Ventris in the 1950s on the basis of 

important groundwork laid by Alice Kober.

As Kober had done before him, Ventris used a purely formal method, grouping together words with the same beginning and then deducing—or rather 

abducting—which grammatical variations the different endings corresponded 

to (e.g., gender, number, etc.). Eventually he produced a grid on which the 

phonetic value of each sign was recorded. This grid led to Ventris’s unexpected 

discovery that Linear B symbols transcribed a very ancient form of Greek.9

This conclusion to the story undermines an initially promising comparison between ancient scripts and extraterrestrial communication. Ventris 

did not know in advance what the language “behind” Linear B was, but of 

course he could recognize it, however different it was from Classical Greek, 

when he “saw” it—i.e., when enough evidence was accumulated to reveal 

the relationship. We cannot, of course, expect such recognition across interstellar distances.

 8. “Abduction is the process of forming an explanatory hypothesis.... Deduction proves 

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Beyond Linear B

Peirce’s Three Categories of Signs

My discussion of unknown languages has so far touched upon only one category 

of signs, namely, conventional signs. So it seems appropriate to look at a more 

comprehensive view, such as the one proposed at the end of the 19th century 

by Charles Sanders Peirce, who is now considered, along with the Swiss linguist Ferdinand de Saussure, as one of the two “founding fathers” of semiotics. 

Peirce’s model encompasses a larger array of signs than does Saussure’s, which 

is essentially preoccupied with verbal signs and so cannot account for images, 

traces, and so on. The generality of Peirce’s classification is thus more suited to 

situations in which we may presume neither what kind of signs our “extraterrestrial correspondents” will send or expect to receive nor what kind of conception 

they may entertain regarding meaningful communication.

Peirce distinguishes among three types of signs: index, icon, and symbol. 

An index is a sign that has a causal link, or at least a “contact,” with its object. 

For instance, a footprint in the snow is an index of the foot that made it and, 

by extension, of the presence of someone walking in a certain direction. (An 

experienced interpreter of footprints—a hunter or a detective, for instance—

may determine more characteristics, such as the approximate weight of the 

animal or person responsible for a given trace.) An example of the weaker 

relation, contact, would be an arrow in a road sign: the direction of the arrow 

is an index of the portion of space at which it points.

The second category of signs is that of icon. It is variously defined as a sign 

having a relationship of similarity with the object it depicts or sharing some 

(but not all) of the object’s properties. The “sharing of properties” definition 

of icons suggests that a recipient could, by observing an iconic sign, arrive at 

some conclusions concerning the features of the object depicted. By contrast, 

the “similarity” definition leads to a less optimistic outlook: similarity rests 

on a form of convention,10 and we cannot know whether the recipients share 

any of our pictorial habits and principles. Our images could very well seem 

transparent to us while appearing opaque to others—including, as we know, 

human beings from other cultures and time periods.

We come finally to the third Peircean category, symbol. Symbols are signs 

that refer to their object only by means of a convention (or, as Peirce puts it, 

a Law). These are often called “arbitrary signs,” such as those of language (the 

word dog has no causal link to the animal thus named, nor does it resemble 

a dog). It is essential to note that it is the code, the arbitrary system of Law, 

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that gives symbols their status and significance. Let us return for a moment 

to the two I’s of the Turkish alphabet. On encountering his or her first dotless 

I, a tourist in Turkey might mistake it for a printing error or, in handwritten 

cases, attribute it to haste on the writer’s part. The tourist’s ignorance of this 

feature of the writing system would make the absence of the dot seem to be 

an accident, not an integral part of a writing system. But if the same tourist 

stumbles again and again on occurrences of this curious letter, he will eventually cease to regard it as a mistake; the very regularity of this form would then 

mark it not only as intentional but as a likely element of a writing system.

While only sentient beings can create symbols, they do not express themselves exclusively through them (blushing, for instance, is an index). Besides, 

a sign acting as a symbol can simultaneously function as another type of sign. 

We have just seen that pictorial representation is in part contingent on conventions, so images that human beings draw, paint, etc., are both icons and 

symbols. Here is another example. If I write Je serai là à 5 heures on a piece of 

paper and leave the paper on a table, it means, even for someone who does 

not understand French, that a human being has been in that room. The piece 

of paper and its written marks thus act also as an index. Another example 

would be hieroglyphs: the sign for to cut resembles a blade, so it is an icon; 

but the link between this image of an object and the action of cutting involves 

a convention, so it is also a symbol.

Now, only icons and symbols seem to be of real importance to us here, 

for the meanings we would like to communicate (such things as the position 

of Earth in the galaxy or mathematical formulae) would require either icons 

or symbols or, more likely, both. We should not count out indices too soon, 

however, since the first task is to devise signals that will stand an optimal 

chance of being perceived as intentional messages. So the aim is to ensure 

that our signals are taken as indices not of a natural phenomenon but rather 

of a will to communicate. An artifact such as the Voyager spacecraft cannot 

be mistaken for a natural phenomenon, but in the case of electromagnetic 

radiation such a mistake cannot be ruled out; so the sender of the latter must 

ensure that the configuration of the message reduces the risk of such a basic 

misunderstanding. I do not think a purely negative approach could work 

here: we may avoid any configuration that could be confused with interstellar “noise,” but doing so cannot guarantee that the remaining configurations 

would not resemble electromagnetic phenomena unknown to us. There must 

therefore be some kind of metasemiotic cue, some “mark” that clearly “says” 

This is a message. The difficulty lies in encoding this metasemiotic marker in 

a way that ensures its recognition and correct decoding. It is clear that this 

metasemiotic cue cannot consist of symbols (in the Peircean sense of the 

word): being conventional and thus interpretable only by those familiar with 

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the adequate set of rules, symbols would require on the part of the recipients 

a knowledge that we cannot presuppose. 

Showing and Telling

At this point, a comparison with cryptology may yet become useful. At first 

glance this situation looks quite different since the sender—a spy, say—must 

send a message that his intended recipient will be able to decipher but which, 

to other recipients, will remain unintelligible (e.g., a text made of a jumble of 

letters) or will seem to convey an innocuous meaning or will not even look 

like a message.11 But this obvious difference covers a less obvious similarity. 

Of course, our spy cannot mask the semiotic status of his message by simply 

adding a header that says, This is not a message or This is just an ordinary letter 

that I am writing to a friend of mine, just as the sender of an interstellar message, conversely, cannot simply declare that what follows is a meaningful 

message. Both kinds of messages must convey these metasemiotic assertions 

but cannot in any way state them. This requirement may be linked to an old 

distinction in literary studies, that between “showing” and “telling”: a good 

writer devises ways to show things, for instance the feelings of his characters, 

whereas the debutant or clumsy writer will plainly tell them.12 To give a simple 

example: the blunt novelist will affirm that a character lacks empathy, instead 

of putting him, as a more skillful writer would likely do, in fictional situations where the character might show empathy but does not do so. We can 

see the link between Percy Lubbock’s showing and Peirce’s notion of index: 

the “showing” mode of narration consists in giving indices, instead of direct 

statements, about what the writer wants to convey.

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What in literature is only a matter of taste (and literary reputation) 

becomes, in the world of spies and that of interstellar communication, quite 

crucial. We cannot say to extraterrestrials that our signals are not interstellar 

noise; we must find ways to show it. In other words, the configuration of the 

message needs to lead its recipients to the conclusion that the message was 

sent deliberately. We cannot tell them how to interpret the signals correctly 

but must show them how, in some way or another. This cannot be done by 

an external meta-message, a “how-to” framing device, but must be done by 

the primary message itself. In other words, the message needs to embody its 

metasemiotic frame.

Let’s turn again to the spy’s problem. His secret messages, to be efficient, 

must be difficult to decipher; this could be ensured by the use of an alphabetic 

substitution and/or permutation system resulting in a meaningless sequence 

of letters. In some situations, as we have seen, they must even dissimulate 

the fact that they are dissimulating something. A string of letters, “PSTVO 

CABDF,” say, could achieve the first goal but not the second. It is interesting 

here to note that, when the Second World War broke out, the United States 

put a ban on all postal chess games and crossword puzzles for the obvious 

reason that ciphered messages could easily have appeared to be innocent 

exchanges in such a context.13 But it should be stressed that, had the censorship bureau’s employees been familiar with the rules of chess, they would 

immediately have spotted the bogus sequence of movements that a coded 

message would inevitably have entailed. (I remember a spy novel from my 

teenage years, Langelot et l’avion détourné, that relied on this discrepancy.)

Interpretants and Meaning 

All this goes to show that the conspicuousness of a sign is largely contextual, 

which is bad news for the interstellar communication challenge because the 

reception context is a parameter the sender cannot control and about which 

he has virtually no clue. From there, two courses of action present themselves: 

devise a context-free sign, or devise signs that compensate for the ignorance 

of context. The first path points toward the search for universals, that is, 

signs that do not depend on a specific context—or at least not too specific a 

context—in order to be recognized as signs and to stand a chance of being 

correctly interpreted; hence the preference expressed by many experts for 

mathematics as a basis for communication. Whether they are right is an 

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Beyond Linear B

anthropological question rather than a semiotic one, so I will leave it out of 

this discussion.

The second way is to think up self-contextualizing messages—or, in other 

words, self-interpreting signs. A self-interpreting sign is easier conceptualized 

than created. Let’s consider, for instance, the pictograms imagined by H. W. 

Nieman and C. Wells Nieman, which would be sent as sequences of pulses 

that correspond to the dots into which an image has been decomposed.14

In order to reconstruct the correct image, the recipients would need first to 

convert the linear signal into a bi-dimensional structure and then to interpret 

that structure to determine what it might signify or represent. I will not dwell 

here on the much-discussed problems pertaining to the recognition of visual 

signs. I would just like to address the prior (and allegedly simpler) problem of 

recognizing a two-dimensional structure embedded within a one-dimensional 

signal. Frank Drake imagined an easy and ingenious way to point to this, by 

making the total number of dots equal the product of two prime numbers, 

say 17 and 23, so that the transmitted message can be construed only as a 

17-by-23-cell grid. Such a signal is as close as we may come to a message 

embodying an interpretive instruction. It assumes only a basic knowledge of 

prime numbers, which is not asking too much. 

So this instruction looks promising, but only insofar as the recipient 

deduces that the signal corresponds to a rectangular grid. Why not a triangular or hexagonal grid? Our convention of drawing and painting on rectangles 

may not be as universal as we think.15 Whatever the probability of extraterrestrial artists using three- or six-sided frames, this analysis shows that any 

configuration (here, the product of prime numbers) acts as a sign only by 

virtue of some assumption; we may invent astute ways to reduce the number 

of assumptions, but we must give up the idea of devising an assumptionfree message. A perfectly self-interpreting sign is an impossibility: whatever 

“help” a signal may offer on its correct handling and interpretation, there will 

always have to be, on the part of the recipient, an interpretive jump—one 

that we can hope for but cannot count on unless we devise signs that do the 

(metasemiotic) job; but these in turn would have to be themselves correctly 

interpreted, and so on. The recursive dimension of communication cannot 

be bypassed, except precisely by the kind of interpretive bets that Peirce calls 

abductions and that are the work of the interpreter, not of the sign alone.

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This conclusion should come as no surprise to a Peircean semiotician, 

because for Peirce a sign does have a reference (and a meaning) only by virtue 

of its being interpreted. I recall his oft-quoted definition:

A sign, or representamen, is something that stands to somebody 

for something in some respect or capacity. It addresses somebody, that is, it creates in the mind of that person an equivalent 

sign, or perhaps a more developed sign. That sign which it creates I call the interpretant of the first sign. The sign stands for 

something, its object.16

A sign refers to its object through the interpretant. The interpretant is not 

the person interpreting the sign, but rather the new sign through which 

the interpreter makes sense of the sign. Let me illustrate this with a simple 

example, that of smoke and fire. Smoke is obviously a sign (an index, more 

precisely), and fire the object to which it refers. It would seem that smoke 

refers by itself to the fire. But smoke only results, by a physical relation, from 

fire. In order for smoke to have a semiotic relation to fire, it is necessary for an 

interpreter to produce an interpretant linking both, for example, the phrase: 

“Oh, there is fire here!” From our perspective, Peirce’s theory has the sobering 

implication that a sign does not include its meaning: it has one only insofar 

as it is attributed a meaning through the elaboration of an (appropriate) 

interpretant by its recipient. Providing such an interpretant to our interstellar 

message would not suffice for this further sign—and its status as the message’s 

interpretant—would require its own interpretant, and so on.

Here the distinctions between symbols, icons, and indices again become 

useful. In the case of symbols, the gap from sign to meaning is maximal 

since nothing in the sign’s appearance or physical nature gives any clue as to 

its object, which is linked to the sign by virtue of an arbitrary correlation. 

Without knowledge of the adequate code, a symbol (for instance, the word 

Himmelblau for someone who does not know German) remains opaque. 

The recipient of such a sign cannot arrive at its correct interpretant unless 

he or she is provided one, by, for instance, consulting a dictionary. The 

interpretation of indices requires a grasp not of a culturally determined 

code but of an empirical knowledge that may be shared across cultures and 

even, in certain cases, across species: the animals that flee when they smell 

smoke clearly understand the significance of this index as we do. The leap 

from icons to their interpretations is probably somewhere in between, not 

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Beyond Linear B

as important as in the case of symbols but less automatically performed 

than in the case of indices. 

Icons stand relatively close to their objects, for some of their observable 

characteristics correspond to features of what they depict. For instance, the 

images of the human body proposed by Douglas Vakoch resemble a human 

figure in that they show a head (represented by two superposed squares at 

the top), two arms (each represented by three diagonally disposed squares), 

and so on.17 Still, we can expect no direct reconstitution of the object by an 

extraterrestrial recipient but at best a series of correct conjectures: that this is 

an image; that what it depicts is one figure (the one that appears in black in 

Vakoch’s illustrations) and not the five shapes left in white (which, to us, are 

an indifferent background of the intended image); that this is a schematic 

image of the body of the sender of the message; that the two sets of diagonally 

disposed squares are part of this body (and not, say, objects or other beings 

clinging to the central figure); and so on. But the recipient, however intelligent and cooperative, may fail to make what we consider the correct assumptions—thus arriving at what to us would seem “wrong” interpretants—or, 

in the worst case scenario, may fail to make any assumption at all—in which 

case the sign would not even be recognized as such.

This discussion about symbols, icons, and indices does not inevitably 

lead to the conclusion that interstellar messages should include only the 

easier-to-interpret kinds of signs. We must remember that a message is 

composed not of one isolated sign but of (sometimes complex) combinations of signs, which may contribute to their mutual elucidation. This is 

precisely the idea behind Vakoch’s proposal of a sequence of frames, each 

of which would contain six distinct areas: one for the picture; four for different parts of speech (nouns, verbs, adjectives, and adverbs); and one for 

the interrelationship between two successive frames (a meta-sign, then). 

Here we have a combination of icons (the shape of a human body, or of 

parts of it) and symbols: nouns for what is shown in the picture, adjectives for properties of that object (e.g., high, low, etc.), verbs for actions 

performed by the character between two successive frames, and adverbs 

for characteristics of that action (fast, slow). At first it may seem dubious 

that a recipient could establish a correlation between a given symbol and 

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what it is intended to designate, or even that this recipient could identify 

it as a symbol and not as part of the picture. What may decisively help this 

eventual recipient is the mutual interpretation that parts of the message 

provide for one another (but an interpretation that must still be understood, i.e., interpreted, as such) and the systematic interplay of repetition 

and variation between frames, which will give recipients the opportunity 

to make conjectures—abductions—that the subsequent frames may either 

confirm or inform, in the latter case pressing the recipients to revise their 

previous hypotheses. Whereas Vakoch stresses the narratological structure 

of the sequence (the very simple story of an anthropomorphic character 

raising and lowering an arm, closing and opening an eye), I would stress its 

interactive aspect—the fact that it not only solicits (as any message does) 

interpretations but also offers a trial-and-error game in which conjectures, 

perplexities, and even mistakes may contribute to a gradual and tentative 

understanding.

Once a message like Vakoch’s is devised, it should be submitted to several 

human interpreters who are unaware of its meaning. This test would give 

the designers an idea, however approximate, of the “decipherability” of their 

message, but it would also (and more crucially, I think) give them an inkling 

of the various and unexpected paths interpreters may explore when trying 

to make sense of it.

Unintended Clues

The admission that part of the process has to be entrusted to the recipient and 

the devising of messages that take the interactive nature of interpretation into 

account are, in my view, the keys to solving the difficulties outlined in this 

article. We cannot dictate, control, or even imagine the conditions, presuppositions, and results of the interpretation of our messages to extraterrestrials. 

But we can offer recipients the opportunity to try various strategies, even if 

this implies a risk that the paths they will follow are not the ones we would 

have expected or chosen for them. What we know of interpretation shows 

that this inability to control reception is always the case anyway, and that it is 

not necessarily a bad thing. A widespread conception of communication rests 

on the premise that successful reception of a message is one that recovers the 

meaning its sender meant to convey through it. But the history of the decipherment of unknown languages shows that things are never so simple, and 

that oblique ways of reading sometimes lead to unexpected breakthroughs. In 

his book on extinct languages, Johannes Friedrich points out that the direction in which a script should be read can sometimes be deduced from the 

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empty space at the end of an inscription’s last line.18 Here we have an index, 

a sign caused by its object: the direction of writing is concretely responsible 

for which side of the last line is left blank. But this is not so conspicuous a 

sign that it does not require a piece of abductive reasoning. 

Strange as it may seem, I see in this small example some grounds for hope 

regarding interstellar communication. We tend to conceptualize communication with extraterrestrial intelligences in terms of the successful transmission 

of intended meanings. But the production and reception of signs cannot be 

restricted to an intentional plane. An important feature of most indices is their 

unintentional nature. This applies not only to natural signs, such as smoke, 

but also to consciously produced signs, which always include an indexical 

aspect besides what the sender meant to say. The tourist confronted with a 

dotless I may, as we have seen, conclude erroneously that it is a mistake; but 

this hypothesis becomes less and less plausible as he or she encounters more 

dotless I’s, repetition of which becomes an index of the regular nature of this 

sign, even if this indication never crossed the mind of the texts’ authors. 

This example shows once again the centrality of interpretation. Peirce’s 

insistence on the role of the interpretant implies that a sign, as soon as it 

is recognized as such (which is already the result of an interpretation), is 

subject to an endless and often unexpected interpretive process. This will 

certainly be so if, by chance, our signals are received by intelligent beings, 

whatever their physiology or culture. We can rely, up to a certain point, on 

the ingenuity of recipients. While they may not understand particular things 

we want to communicate, they may instead recognize and interpret, maybe 

even fruitfully, some clues we have left quite unintentionally. The Sumerian 

scribe who left a portion of the line empty could not possibly imagine that 

he was leaving a sign that would be read and utilized many centuries later 

by an archaeologist. SETI’s situation is not really much different. From the 

experience of decipherers of extinct languages, it seems that sending as many 

and as various messages as possible is the best strategy, the one that offers 

the greatest chance at the recipient’s end. The content of our messages may 

be far less important than the number and the variety of messages we send, 

if only because they will give the recipients more opportunities to compare 

and test their abductions about past messages against new examples. In the 

absence of feedback, this may be the best course of action when devising our 

interstellar “messages in a bottle.”

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CHAPTER SIX

Learning To Read

Interstellar Message Decipherment from 

Archaeological and Anthropological Perspectives

Kathryn E. Denning

Introduction

Human musings about Others in faraway lands, from distant times, and on 

other worlds predate academic disciplines by thousands of years. The locations may be different, but the questions at the heart of the matter—What 

do Others know of their worlds? What do They do there? How can We learn 

about Them?—are the same. It is not surprising, therefore, that anthropology, 

archaeology, and SETI share certain core issues. It is also not surprising that 

anthropologists/archaeologists and SETI scientists understand and address 

these core issues differently, given their divergent disciplinary orientations.

These convergences and divergences provide a space for some very interesting interdisciplinary discussions.1

 My primary focus in this paper is on just 

one of many intersections of anthropology, archaeology, and SETI: interstellar messages.2

 I aim to highlight some assumptions about message decipherability and decipherment that appear in the SETI literature and that tend 

 1. I discuss some of these intersections at length in Kathryn Denning, “Social Evolution: State 
Learning To Read

to be contradicted by anthropology and archaeology. These contradictions 

stem from differences in the use of Earth analogues, in frameworks regarding 

linguistic meaning, and in epistemological orientations. I argue that by drawing from different disciplinary traditions, we can strengthen the conceptual 

groundwork for interstellar message decipherment.

Anthropology, Archaeology, and SETI

At the time of writing, there have been no confirmed signals of intelligent 

extraterrestrial origin, but then again, scientific SETI is a recent endeavor.3

Over the past several decades, an impressive body of scientific work on astrobiology and on SETI has emerged; a growing community of scientists has 

been rationally and meticulously working through the possibilities, creating 

and testing hypotheses.4

 Many scientists are actively engaged in searches, and 

powerful new equipment is being developed. And as one SETI researcher 

has put it, “as the power of [SETI] searches continues to increase, so does 

 3. Two events marked the start of modern SETI: first the publication of Giuseppe Cocconi and 

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the probability of discovering an extraterrestrial civilization.”5 Another SETI 

scientist has recently reckoned that, because of very rapidly improving search 

technology, astronomers will detect signals within a single generation, if ever. 

That is to say, if there’s anyone “out there” for us to find, we will likely know 

before 2030.6

 And whether we find neighbors or not, either way, the result 

will be significant.

Those directly involved in the search are busy developing and implementing new technologies for scanning the skies and analyzing data. Their overall 

task seems clear: search as much territory as thoroughly and efficiently as 

possible. But is there anything that other researchers can usefully do while 

Earth waits for a signal that may or may not come? In particular, what might 

anthropologists and archaeologists contribute?

While scarce in comparison with those from the physical and biological 

sciences,7

 contributions to SETI from the social sciences have been steady. 

Social scientists and SETI scientists have addressed a multitude of SETIrelated social topics, including the social effects of the search, psychological 

correlates to beliefs about ETI, the social impact of a detection event, the uses 

of SETI in education, characterization of long-lived societies, what people 

would want to learn from ETI, global political decisions about whether to 

reply to a message, and the formulation of post-detection protocols.8

 5. J. Billingham, “Cultural Aspects of the Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence,” 

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Learning To Read

Similarly, anthropologists and archaeologists have also been involved in 

the discussion ever since the emergence of modern scientific SETI efforts. 

The Drake Equation, often referred to as the cornerstone of modern SETI, 

is formulated in such a way that the estimated average lifespan of advanced 

civilizations strongly affects the estimated number of civilizations that might 

be sending interstellar communications. And indeed, it was on the issue of 

civilizations’ life-spans that anthropologists and archaeologists contributed 

to formal SETI debates as early as 1971.9 Recently, anthropologists and 

archaeologists have worked on SETI-related topics through assessment of 

the possible evolutionary paths to intelligence; review of historical precedents for contact between civilizations; simulations of contact; and, in this 

volume, consideration of the challenges of interstellar message decipherment and composition.10

DeVore et al., “Educating the Next Generation of SETI Scientists: Voyages through Time,” Acta 

Astronautica 53, nos. 4–10 (2003): 841–846. On characterizing long-lived societies, see Albert 

Harrison, “The Relative Stability of Belligerent and Peaceful Societies: Implications for SETI,” Acta 

Astronautica 46, nos. 10–12 (2000): 707–712. See also A. Tough, “What People Hope to Learn 

from Other Civilizations,” Acta Astronautica 46, nos. 10–12 (2000): 729–731.

 9. Kent Flannery and Richard Lee participated in an early CETI symposium: see Carl Sagan, ed., 

Communication with Extraterrestrial Intelligence (CETI) (Cambridge: The MIT Press, 1973). 

Other anthropological contributions to the discussion from the 1970s are outlined in Charles 

F. Urbanowicz, “Evolution of Technological Civilizations: What is Evolution, Technology, and 

Civilization?,” paper presented at a 1977 symposium titled “The Search for Extraterrestrial 

Intelligence (SETI),” held at Ames Research Center, Moffett Field, California; the full text of 

this paper is available at http://www.csuchico.edu/~curban/Unpub_Papers/1977SETIPaper.

html. Discussions of human evolution that derive from work in physical anthropology appear 

frequently in SETI literature.

 10. On evolutionary paths to intelligence, see, for example, Garry Chick, “Biocultural Prerequisites 

for the Development of Interstellar Communication,” chapter 13 in this volume; Lori Marino et 

al., “Intelligence in Astrobiology,” http://intelligence.seti.org; Kathryn Denning and Lori Marino, 

“Getting Smarter about Intelligence,” Astrobiology 8, no. 2 (2008): 389–391; and Douglas 

Raybeck, “Predator-Prey Models and the Development of Intelligence,” paper presented at the 

SETI Institute, Mountain View, California, on 20 November 2004.

 For three recent studies of historical precedents for cross-cultural contact, see Douglas 

Raybeck, “Contact Considerations: A Cross-Cultural Perspective,” chapter 9 in this volume; 

Kathryn Denning, “The History of Contact on Earth: Analogies, Myths, Misconceptions,” paper 

presented at the 61st International Astronautical Congress of the International Astronautical 

Federation 2010 (paper no. IAC-10-A4.2.2); and Kathryn Denning, “Is Life What We Make of 

It?” in The Detection of Extra-terrestrial Life and the Consequences for Science and Society, 

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

But there is more to be done, as Ben Finney contends in his argument for 

further consilience between SETI scientists and social scientists.11 All of the 

work done thus far in social scientific areas will prove to be crucial preparation 

if a detection event ever does occur, when a cascade of challenges would rapidly 

follow and multidisciplinary expertise would be needed. But even if a SETI 

detection event never occurs, this research still benefits us by enhancing our 

understanding of how we represent ourselves and how we measure the limits 

of our self-knowledge. This is, arguably, the ultimate project in abstracting 

principles about language, symbolization, cognition, and interpretability; 

about civilizations and what makes them develop the way they do; and about 

the evolution of technology.

There is another reason for anthropologists and archaeologists to add 

their voices to SETI discussions, and that is simply that their subjects are 

often invoked as examples of potential SETI outcomes. SETI discussions 

rely heavily on Earth analogues for predictions of the effects of contact and 

the challenges of understanding radically different kinds of communication. 

Specialists in Earth cultures, past and present, can contribute meaningfully 

to these discussions by unpacking those analogies and considering how best 

to use them.12

Using Earth Analogues Effectively

SETI researchers must speculate extensively. After all, there is as yet no 

accepted evidence of extraterrestrial intelligence. Therefore, it is not surprising 

that—as with many fascinating topics for which data are presently insufficient 

and implications are far-reaching—there is diverse and sometimes vehemently polarized thinking among scientists on many SETI issues, including 

ed. Martin Dominik and John C. Zarnecki, Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society A 

369, no. 1936 (2011): 669–678, available at http://rsta.royalsocietypublishing.org/ 

content/369/1936/669.full. 

 On simulations of contact, see, for example, the long-running annual conference 

described at http://www.contact-conference.com.

 11. Ben Finney, “SETI, Consilience and the Unity of Knowledge,” in Bioastronomy ’99: A New Era 

in the Search for Life, ASP Conference Series, vol. 213, ed. G. Lemarchand and K. Meech (San 

Francisco: Astronomical Society of the Pacific, 2000).

 12. For one example of such an analysis, see John W. Traphagan, “Anthropology at a Distance: 

SETI and the Production of Knowledge in the Encounter with an Extraterrestrial Other,” chapter 

8 in this volume.

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Learning To Read

the probability of being contacted by other intelligences, what extraterrestrials 

could be like, and the wisdom of sending interstellar messages.13

This range of arguments and assertions is of considerable interest because 

it is not a consequence of data or their interpretation. Rather, much of the 

diversity in scientific SETI discourse stems, I believe, from alternative forms 

of reasoning, and also from the different Earth-based analogues (human and 

otherwise) that SETI researchers use in building their conceptual models of 

ETI. These influential analogues and varied reasoning processes comprise a 

fascinating and important substrate to SETI.14

The problem with analogies is that they are highly persuasive, inherently 

limited, and easily overextended. They therefore constitute a significant source 

of error in cultural understanding. For example, people often assume that 

Others are very much like themselves. This attitude can be called ethnocentrism, or it can be construed as an analogy—to oneself and one’s own 

culture—which has been taken too far. A related problem is the single exotic 

example, generalized so that all Others are understood to be essentially the 

same. Anthropology offers theory, methods, and a wealth of cross-cultural 

data that can help us to avoid these errors. It emphasizes the diversity of 

human culture and experience while also seeking to make it comprehensible. 

Accordingly, in relation to SETI, Earth analogues are best used in sets, as illustrations of the diversity of behavior among intelligent beings. Single analogies 

are rhetorically useful in illustrating a point, for example, that contact could 

have unintended and potentially disastrous consequences, as it did when 

Columbus arrived in the Americas—but sets of analogies have the power 

to tell us something that we don’t already know or suspect—for example, 

patterns distilled from the full range of contact phenomena that have been 

observed in human history. Using sets gives us the option of finding common 

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principles in cross-cultural comparisons, via deduction, rather than assuming 

all cultures to be essentially similar, based on induction from single cases.15

My comments below are generated partly by this distinction between 

induction up from single cases and deduction down from multiple cases, 

and partly by the anthropological principle that culture is endlessly variable 

and that we make assumptions about the cognitive worlds of others at our 

own risk.

The Decipherability of Interstellar Messages

What if SETI telescopes actually pick up a signal from a distant star system? 

Could we understand it? Should we respond to it? If so, what should we say, 

and how? Should we just go ahead and call them without waiting for them 

to call first?

For many years, SETI’s emphasis has been on listening, known as “Passive 

SETI,” rather than on transmitting, known as “Active SETI,” although some 

messages have already been sent into space. The subject of whether further 

communications should be sent at all has been much discussed in recent years 

within the SETI community, but broadcasting has continued, and approaches 

to the problem of message content and encoding—that is, what to say and 

how to say it—have evolved considerably. Discussions about the form and 

content of interstellar messages, both outgoing and incoming, have a long 

history, dating back to at least the early 1800s.16 These dialogues are ongoing, 

with some very interesting interdisciplinary work on the challenges of creating 

messages that ETI might find intelligible.17

Many have argued that we need not worry too much about optimally 

encoding our messages to ETI or about decoding their hypothetical messages 

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to us. If, as is commonly assumed in SETI circles, extraterrestrial civilizations 

turn out to be vastly older and more advanced than we are, then perhaps they 

will be kind enough to construct their messages in such a way that we can 

comprehend them (as in Carl Sagan’s book Contact), and perhaps they will 

have no difficulty comprehending whatever we say, however we say it. For 

example, Brian McConnell surmises: “Since it’s a reasonable assumption that 

a civilization capable of receiving an interstellar message is probably pretty 

smart, it’s also reasonable to assume that, given enough time to understand the 

[alphanumeric] documents, they will be able to learn the meaning of many 

of the words in our vocabulary.”18 Seth Shostak has similarly argued that we 

needn’t focus on short, simple messages, as “any decent extraterrestrial engineer would be able to decode our television signals, and would probably find 

them more informative than simple pictograms.”19 Certainly these assertions 

could be true, but the anthropological perspective suggests that they are not 

necessarily true, or even likely to be true, given the cultural embeddedness of 

language and images. For example, the word dog has no necessary connection 

to a dog, and not everyone interprets a picture in the same way.

Thus, it is also possible that outgoing and incoming signals could be 

utterly incomprehensible to their respective recipients. But it seems illogical 

to concede this without making an effort; that would be equivalent to shrugging and not answering the cosmic telephone, saying that it is enough to have 

simply heard it ring. Unquestionably, in the context of SETI, there would be 

value in recognizing an artificial signal and seeing patterns in it even without 

understanding the content.20 There is a similar truth in archaeology, as Paul 

Wason has pointed out, for there is much that we can learn from symbolic 

behavior without necessarily being able to decipher its specific meaning.21

However, that is something of a consolation prize.

I therefore take the position that the intertwined tasks of composing 

intelligible interstellar messages and deciphering such messages are neither 

 18.

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trivial nor impossible—in other words, I consider these challenges worthy 

of attention. I regard the challenge of decipherment as primary, for if we can 

effectively isolate what makes a message decipherable, then we can compose 

messages with those anticryptographic properties in mind. In defining what 

makes a message decipherable, we have recourse to multiple fields of study, 

including cryptology and archaeology.

In cryptology, generally speaking, original text is called plaintext, which 

is then encrypted via a keytext to create a cryptotext. Any two out of these 

three will reveal the third.22 Given a cryptotext, one would then proceed 

with standard cryptanalytic methods, which “have their roots in the inherent properties of language.” The usual sequence of attack with cryptotexts 

is “determination of the language employed, the general crypto system, the 

specific key, and the plaintext.”23 Cryptanalysis is essentially a distillation of 

classic scientific method,24 but, like any method, it has limitations. Thus, there 

are cryptosystems that are perfectly secure, i.e., that result in indecipherable 

messages. In the realm of cryptanalysis, decipherability requires that the cryptotext provide some information about the plaintext—even just fragments of 

indirect information—without the keytext.

In archaeology we have a wider range of scenarios, with a tremendous variety of writing systems, languages, symbols, and communication purposes, and 

so the methodological repertoire is correspondingly wide. Archaeologists do, 

however, generally agree that to be decipherable, an inscription must include 

at least one known language or the names of historical figures.25

While cryptological and archaeological methodologies would undoubtedly be useful in deciphering an interstellar message, we cannot assume that 

these tools alone would be sufficient to accomplish the task. Powerful computers would help, but even the artificial intelligence of the future could be 

challenged by completely unknown languages and symbolic systems, which 

might not succumb to brute computational and methodological force. 

A more comprehensive strategy for deciphering interstellar messages could 

begin with a compilation of the problem-solving strategies and scenarios we 

have already encountered on Earth along with a careful consideration of the 

disciplinary frameworks within which these are situated.

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Different Disciplinary Perspectives on 

Redundancy and Revealing Knowledge

Douglas Vakoch has noted a predictable yet fascinating polarization on the 

subject of interstellar messages: mathematicians and physical scientists are 

often confident that the problems of decoding and optimal encoding can 

be solved and propose new ways of doing so, whereas social scientists and 

humanities scholars tend to critique those approaches and state that the problems are fundamentally insoluble.26 Philosophically speaking, this is a sure 

indication of something intriguing and worth exploration. Why such different opinions? An example may help to locate the origins of these divergences 

and suggest some interesting areas for further exploration.

Jean Heidmann, a prominent SETI thinker and a highly accomplished 

astronomer at the Paris Observatory until his death in 2000, suggested transmitting the Encyclopedia Britannica into space, displaying little concern for 

decipherability. The Encyclopedia pages, Heidmann said, are:

essentially a linear string of typographic signs (the text) and a 

set of bidimensional arrays of pixels (the illustrations) whose 

coding is elementary. The alphabetical coding can be deciphered 

using just a few pages, as well as the grammatical structures. 

The illustrations are also obviously decidable by any ETs using 

bidimensional information from their own environment. The 

coupling between text and illustrations will easily provide information nearly ad infinitum.

27

Heidmann’s optimism is enviable. But his statement is fascinating to me 

because it seems so clearly and definitely wrong from an anthropological 

perspective, given that reading texts and interpreting images are not even 

human universals.28 Yet Heidmann was obviously a very sophisticated thinker 

in his field, and many shared his opinions. His argument has recently been 

extended by Shostak, who advocates sending the contents of the Google 

 26.

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servers into space, since they include enough redundant information to ensure 

their decipherability.29

Vakoch suggests that the optimism of scientists on this matter of decipherability “reflects well the continued accomplishments of science and technology 

in the contemporary world,” although this confidence could do with tempering, 

since fundamental assumptions do need periodic re-evaluation.30 But is this 

view of decipherability simply a result of the optimism of scientists in our era 

of incredibly rapid scientific progress? Or is it rather a reflection of the tendency 

among SETI scientists, noted above, to believe that any ETI with whom we 

exchange signals will be much more technologically advanced than we are? 

Conversely, does the skepticism of scholars in the humanities and social sciences 

result from a lack of appreciation for mathematical arguments regarding the 

likely age of ETI or from an underestimation of recent advances in computing, 

techniques in cryptography and signal processing, and the might of deductive 

logic? Perhaps. But I suspect there are additional factors at work here.

The difference of opinion also reflects epistemological diversity—differences 

in how we believe we can know the world. Where does knowledge lie? How is 

it obtained? Is it merely uncovered in the world, or is it created in the mind? A 

reprise of the “Science Wars” and a great deal of Western philosophy might be 

of use here in outlining disparate views on these questions, but in the interest 

of brevity, I will simply assert my own view that not all knowledge is the same. 

Some knowledge is discovered more than it is made; some is made more than 

it is discovered. We are not dealing with the same kind of knowledge all the 

time. Not all knowledge can be deduced through sheer logic and computational 

might. Some knowledge, like the meaning of a picture or the relationship of a 

word to a thing, is cultural and arbitrary. This variable is crucial when considering what sorts of methods are appropriate to a given situation.

Heidmann’s view—and perhaps some others like it—seems at least partly 

born of confidence that the redundancy inherent in written language and 

the redundancy of coupling text with images are enough to ensure decipherability. This idea may originate with Claude Shannon’s work in information 

theory, as his research has influenced not only SETI researchers but cryptologists as well.31

 29.

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But a theory can easily break down when applied in new contexts, and 

there is indeed a shift in context here. To what, exactly, is this theory about 

redundancy in language being applied in Heidmann’s example above? Not 

to the discovery of a pattern in an interstellar signal nor to the identification of a pattern as the work of an intelligence—either of which would be 

an appropriate use of the theory—but to the recovery of specific information

from an interstellar message. This begs further attention.

It is perfectly true that redundancy aids recognition of a signal as a language or a code, and this recognition is crucial to SETI. However, Shannon’s 

method provides only a quantitative measure of the complexity of a language 

or signaling system—not a translation.

32 And while it is axiomatic in cryptology that redundancy helps in deciphering a text, the task of decipherment/

cryptanalysis is to move from an encoded text to the original text—not from 

text to meaning. To get from text to meaning, we need to understand the 

language. Put another way, redundancy’s primary function is to reduce noise 

or permit correction in the case of imperfect transmission; it improves the 

signal-to-noise ratio but does not provide for the conversion of signal to 

information.33 And, as Richard Saint-Gelais notes, the conversion of signal 

to information involves semiotic issues that cannot be bypassed via method.34

Broadly speaking, this observation suggests that the matter of SETI and signals—either outgoing or incoming—occupies a tricky intersection, where paradigms, methods, and disciplines meet. It may be that concrete examples from 

Earth can help us to puzzle through the theoretical problems of decipherment.

Analogues from Anthropology and Archaeology: 

The Rosetta Stone and Mathematics

The archaeological process is itself a useful illustration of the matter of interpretation. In contrast to the classic model of scientific discovery—i.e., “reading the book of Nature,” uncovering information that exists independent 

of the observer—archaeology is now held by many to exemplify a different 

 32.

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kind of reasoning process. Interpretation begins “at the trowel’s edge”; the 

archaeologist is an integral part of the discovery.35 The material remnants, the 

signs, of past lives have no inherent meaning without a living mind acting 

upon them. The encyclopedia of the ancient world cannot simply be read or 

translated. It needs modern coauthors.

In a more concrete sense, the archaeological record is useful as a collection of poorly understood signals, where the problem lies in bridging the gap 

between symbol and meaning. Many have made this connection, noting that 

archaeology as well as cryptology could provide useful information about 

how to decipher an incoming message from ETI and how best to encode 

an outgoing message to ETI. The case of the Rosetta Stone, for example, is 

frequently invoked in the SETI literature.

Carl Sagan argued that mathematics, physics, and chemistry could constitute a cosmic Rosetta Stone: “We believe there is a common language 

that all technical civilizations, no matter how different, must have. That 

common language is science and mathematics. The laws of Nature are the 

same everywhere.”36 Following Sagan, many SETI researchers have proposed 

that we should use mathematics or physical constants as a basis for communication with ETI: since we won’t have names or historical events in common, 

a universal principle or property would have to serve as a “virtual bilingual” 

or a “crib.” Discussion of this subject has been lively. As Vakoch observes:

The dominant position among astronomers and physicists is 

that conveying information between two civilizations will be 

relatively straightforward because both species will share basic 

conceptions of mathematics and science. Scholars in the humanities and social sciences typically contend the opposite: that even 

mathematics and science as we know them may be specific to 

humans, and that it may be impossible to develop systems of 

communication across species.37

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True to form as a social scientist, albeit a hopeful one, I must note that 

even if the laws of nature are the same everywhere, as Sagan believes, and even 

if all technical civilizations understand some of them, these circumstances 

cannot ensure all the secondary conditions that would be necessary for successful communication. Even if two different intelligences were expressing 

the same single scientific principle, understood by each of them in exactly the 

same way—which seems scarcely imaginable—there would be a good deal 

of luck and inference involved in establishing this beginning point. And, of 

course, just as language has a cultural context, so does math.38 Thus, there is 

a potential incommensurability problem—perhaps the notion of a universal 

math is, in the words of historian W. H. McNeill, rather chauvinistic.39

I do not think, however, that an anthropological perspective requires 

us to abandon the matter there. On the contrary, anthropology can offer 

useful Earth analogues, specifically, those of ethnomathematics.40 Modern 

astronomy and physics use Western mathematics, but other mathematical 

systems have existed on Earth, with very different ways of understanding and 

expressing the world. The fact that none of these systems did produce modern 

technology, such as radio telescopes, does not necessarily mean that they could 

not have done so; that failure could be as easily due to historical contingencies 

and interruptions to their development as to anything inherent in the systems 

themselves. Until a qualified scholar undertakes the project of considering 

whether or not, for example, ancient Mayan mathematics might eventually 

have produced an understanding of electromagnetic radiation or advanced 

geometry, this point is moot. In the meantime, simply learning about radically different forms of mathematics here on Earth would extend the range 

of analogies SETI researchers can draw upon, and thus could be of use. It 

would demonstrate the diverse possibilities for mathematical representation.

But if human math and science do not look like extraterrestrial math 

and science, then the Rosetta Stone analogy will not hold up. We must 

ed., Progress in the Search for Extraterrestrial Life, pp. 325–342. McConnell also supposes 

that “idiot-proofing” messages would involve a multistage process beginning with math and 

Boolean logic (Beyond Contact, pp. 357–358).

 38. B. Martin, “Mathematics and Social Interests,” in Ethnomathematics: Challenging Eurocentrism 

in Mathematics Education, ed. A. Powell and M. Frankenstein (1988; rpt. Albany: SUNY Press, 

1997), pp. 155–172. 

 39. Vakoch, “Constructing Messages to Extraterrestrials,” pp. 697–704.

 40. See, for example, M. Ascher, Mathematics Elsewhere (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University 

Press, 2002); and M. Ascher, Ethnomathematics: A Multicultural View of Mathematical Ideas

(Pacific Grove: Brooks/Cole, 1991).

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also remember that the Rosetta Stone was but one of several pieces in the 

hieroglyphs puzzle, the others being inscriptions from other artifacts, such 

as the Philae Obelisk, and Champollion’s knowledge of ancient Greek and 

Coptic Egyptian.41

Archaeological Decipherments

To observe that the Rosetta Stone is not a straightforward analogy is not to say 

that we cannot learn anything of use from archaeological decipherments. It is 

to say, rather, that the general analogy between archaeological decipherments 

and potential interstellar messages should be explored more fully.

For example, we know that successful decipherment in archaeology has 

required accurate copies of scripts, a familiar language, proper names of 

historical figures known from neighboring cultures that left interpretable 

records, and bilingual or multilingual inscriptions.42 These features parallel 

the standard needs of decryption—clean signals without noise, plus keys 

and cribs—and are thus to be expected. But just as significantly, successful 

decipherment has also required the shedding of assumptions about how a 

symbol connects to a language. Any connection between a sign and what it 

signifies is a matter of convention. Does a sign represent a spoken sound? 

Does it represent a physical thing that it resembles? Does it represent an idea? 

Does it sometimes represent one of these and sometimes another? Puzzling 

through these problems has required scholars to abandon fundamental concepts about alphabets and images.43

Several ancient scripts have yet to be deciphered, such as the Indus script, 

the Rongorongo script, Linear A, Linear Elamite, Jurchen, Khitan, and some 

Mesoamerican scripts. Sometimes a key piece of information is missing, such 

as the language being represented. Sometimes there just isn’t enough of a 

 41.

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script to do much with it. The best methods in the world cannot bridge certain gaps. This situation is humbling but no cause for despair. It simply means 

that we have more work to do to find information that can bridge those gaps. 

But sometimes our approach itself may be inadequate; the problem may be 

an unidentified supposition we have not yet examined. For example, in the 

case of the Indus script, we have 4,000 texts with plenty of redundancy, but 

the sheer quantity of information has not enabled linguists or cryptologists to 

decipher it. Recent analyses suggest that the entire framing of the Indus script 

has been incorrect, which might explain why none of the many attempts at 

decipherment (more than 100 published since the 1800s) has met with much 

acceptance.44 The problem, as suggested by Steve Farmer and others, could be 

that the Indus symbols are not a script at all; that is, perhaps there is no direct 

correlation between the Indus symbols and a language.45 The symbols were 

clearly meaningful but not necessarily in the same way as, for example, the 

hieroglyphic or cuneiform inscriptions that have been deciphered. It could be 

a case of discordance between the signs, their modern-day viewers’ assumptions about types of meaning, and modern methods of accessing meaning. 

Cases such as the frustrating Indus script are just as instructive as the classic, successful decipherments of hieroglyphs, Linear B, or cuneiform. If we 

choose only one of these analogies to inform our projections of an interstellar 

decipherment project, we limit ourselves unduly. In a related discussion, Ben 

Finney and Jerry Bentley elegantly argue that when considering the potential 

impact of ET radio transmissions upon human society, we “should explore 

the wide range of human experience around the globe and not focus solely 

on familiar cases that appear to reinforce our most earnest hopes.”46 More 

specifically, they make the case that the modern West’s learning from classical 

 44.

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Greek sources is probably not a good analogue for ET decipherment and its 

consequences, and that the case of Mayan hieroglyphs is a better example, 

given that the decipherment was tremendously difficult and is still underway.

I agree with their intention, which is not to declare interstellar message 

decipherment impossible but to insist that it may not be simple. And I support their suggestion to look at difficult decipherments. But further, I would 

suggest that we should focus not just on decipherment successes but also on 

failures. Successes confirm that, given adequate data, established methods 

work much of the time. Failures indicate a space in which we can learn, 

information we must acquire, theory we must build, and assumptions we 

must identify and discard.

SETI Begins at Home

It has been said that “SETI begins at home,” and I concur.47 In considering 

interstellar message composition and decipherment, why not make the best 

possible use of all the Earthly data and methods we have? There are many 

areas in which anthropology and archaeology can contribute to SETI thinking; we share the fundamental tasks of learning what not to take for granted 

and developing methods through which we can comprehend very different minds. Earth’s cultures, used appropriately, can provide useful analogies 

for expanding our thinking about ETI. And perhaps considering our local 

unsolved puzzles will help us to build the strongest possible strategies for 

reading interstellar mail.

 47.

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CHAPTER SEVEN

Inferring Intelligence

Prehistoric and Extraterrestrial

Paul K. Wason

Introduction

Different as they may be in other respects—sources of data, research tools, 

academic training—what the fields of archaeology and the Search for 

Extraterrestrial Intelligence (SETI) do have in common is at the core of 

their respective enterprises: the study of intelligent beings without benefit of 

firsthand observation. Archaeological analysis is conducted without direct 

contact with living beings, with few if any written communications to aid 

the study; and it is accomplished by constructing bridging arguments that 

span great distances of time, space, culture, and, in the case of our hominid 

ancestors, biology. While we can imagine other kinds of contact with extraterrestrial intelligence, these basic but important features of archaeology likely 

apply to SETI, too—at least for the time being.

I cannot guess whether any of the insights earned through the development and practice of archaeology may prove useful to scholars seeking evidence of extraterrestrial intelligence. The differences between the two ventures 

may simply overwhelm what they have in common. But I believe there are at 

least analogical connections. In particular, to the extent that approaches in 

archaeology uncover evidence of intelligence as a phenomenon per se, and 

not of humanness specifically, some insights from this discipline could be 

transferable to SETI.

Uncovering evidence of human activity in the past is of course the primary goal of archaeology, but doing so often means inferring intelligence or 

some aspect of it, such as agency, purpose, design, choice, the expression of 

meaning, or the ability to communicate. Archaeological work can help to 

reveal one or another of these aspects of intelligence and, perhaps, not just 

human agency but agency itself. There may thus be some hope of generalizing, 

and these approaches may provide a basis for the development of analogous 

approaches in SETI. 

In the following sections I offer a series of archaeological vignettes that 

illustrate some of the more promising avenues to explore and a few of the 
Inferring Intelligence

issues that may be faced. One might think it more helpful if I were to offer 

instead some kind of identification key to intelligence, perhaps a set of 10 

infallible signs of human activity. Whether or not this is even possible, the 

creation of such a key or set would certainly be more difficult than it seems 

at first. Archaeologists in fact do not often identify the criteria they use for 

demonstrating intelligence or for drawing any other conclusion about human 

activity except in very specific discussions about the materials at hand. When 

surveying large areas for archaeological sites, our eyes are naturally drawn to 

circles and straight lines, to regularly shaped formations (or at least those 

shaped differently from the background terrain). In looking at rocks, bones, 

or other materials that are potentially artifacts, we seek symmetries, regularity, evidence of the use of tools rather than teeth, and so on. But we cannot 

use the presence of these features as a generalized key for inferring human 

activity. One cannot, for example, say something as straightforward as that 

circular structures must be human-made (or made by an intelligent agent). 

And even if generalizations of this kind were possible, it is not clear they could 

be transferred for use in the world of astronomy, where circles, symmetries, 

and regularities abound.

For this chapter, my examples are at a broader level and more in the 

manner of “lessons learned” than prescriptive advice. First, I consider briefly 

an instance in which archaeology may seem to have failed on its own terms. 

This is not very comforting for those of us who want to use archaeology 

in the service of SETI. But I also suggest a way out. My second vignette 

considers the equally troubling issue of ethnographic analogy. Protests to 

the contrary notwithstanding, I believe archaeology cannot be done at all 

without drawing analogies to known living human groups. This notion, too, 

would seem to make the relevance of archaeological approaches to SETI a 

very great stretch indeed—but, again, I don’t think this makes it impossible. 

The next vignettes, which explore the importance of intellectual and physical 

contexts, expectations for a solid scientific argument, and the implications 

of symbolism for understanding communications, will perhaps help to close 

on a more optimistic note.

When Archaeological Methods Don’t Seem to 

Work—Even When Studying Humans

Archaeology begins with certain advantages over the Search for Extraterrestrial 

Intelligence. Its practitioners now have a century and a half of experience 

inferring the past activity, thoughts, and intentions of intelligent agents. 

Although archaeologists can’t observe these intelligent beings “in action,” they 

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do have an abundance of material remains and the contexts of their former 

use. And most obviously, they already know a great deal about these beings 

quite independently of the archaeological work itself.

Yet even so, archaeology has not always succeeded in its efforts. Worse, it 

is not always possible to tell whether researchers are even on the right track. 

Consider the Paleolithic cave art of southern Europe that scholars have been 

studying for more than a century. Many theories have been offered concerning 

what these paintings are all about (what they mean, why they were painted, 

and so on), but there is no agreement at this point—which raises the following 

question: What hope do we have of communicating with extraterrestrials if we 

have such a hard time understanding symbolic imagery produced in Europe 

as recently as 12,000 years ago by members of our own species?

This is a valid question, certainly. But for several reasons the situation is 

not nearly as bleak as all that. First, though we may not have solved all the 

riddles, we have made some progress; it has hardly been a century of effort 

without insight. Admittedly, there are some things we may never learn about 

Paleolithic cave art. I fully agree with Clifford Geertz, who characterizes art 

as a “local matter.”1 One need only think of Leonardo da Vinci’s The Last 

Supper. As David Lewis-Williams observes, this painting has rather little to 

do with a group of hungry men, but what chance would someone unfamiliar 

with Christianity have of knowing what it really is about?2

 While Geertz has 

an important point, perhaps it does not apply to everything we may wish to 

know. Why stop at “local,” after all? Why not claim, as is sometimes done, 

also with good reason, that art is “personal” and no one can ever understand 

someone else’s art or someone else’s response to art? Why not admit, for that 

matter, that the artist herself does not really “understand” what she has created, art being a somewhat intuitive affair? Surely there is some truth to each 

of these perspectives. But while there are some things that I as an individual 

will never know about a given work of art, this limitation doesn’t mean that I 

cannot know anything about it, or that what I do know about it is somehow 

less true for being incomplete.

The same can be said for insider cultural knowledge at the local level: there 

are some things outsiders will never know, but this fact does not mean one can 

never learn anything about another culture. Admittedly, the all-or-nothing 

 1. Clifford Geertz, “Art as a Cultural System,” 

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way I phrased the Last Supper example is a bit misleading. A viewer will, yes, 

miss much if he or she knows nothing about Christian theology, but one 

doesn’t need that “local” knowledge to realize there is a lot more going on in 

this painted scene than the satisfaction of hunger.

So my second and perhaps more important reason for optimism about 

humans’ ability to understand cosmic cross-cultural communications is that 

our frustrations with Paleolithic art have mostly had to do with the difficulty 

of understanding the message’s content, what is being communicated. No 

one denies that these paintings are the work of human agents, produced 

through purposeful activity and carrying meaning. We can infer the existence 

of intelligences, and we can learn much about them simply from looking at 

these works of art, even without knowing what the images “mean” in the sense 

of what their creators were trying to express in them, or understanding the 

cosmology behind this sophisticated symbolic activity—the latter perhaps 

being truly “local knowledge.”

Ethnographic Analogy: Knowledge of the 

Ways of Intelligent Creatures

Ethnographic analogy is using what we already know about human material culture to interpret what we discover in archaeological contexts. Most 

valuable for prehistorians have been analogies with the ways of traditional 

peoples around the world known to us through the field of ethnography 

(hence the name), but of course archaeologists apply analogies to what they 

themselves think and do at least as much, even if they aren’t always aware 

of doing so. Ethnographic analogy was actually a key to the beginnings of 

the field in the first place, and to the recognition of human antiquity by 

Europeans. For hundreds of years Europeans appear to have been oblivious 

to the existence of stone tools. Presumably many people saw them. At least 

it is hard for me to believe that no stone axes, spear points, or arrowheads 

turned up in plowed fields, dried streambeds, or eroded hillsides. But, as 

William Stiebing observes, there is no mention of them prior to the 16th 

century. People apparently “did not notice them. To them such things 

were just so many more rocks.”3 Writings from the 16th century indicate 

that people were noticing anomalies, for example, that rocks which we 

would now recognize as stone tools, differed substantially from others in the 

 3. William H. Stiebing, Jr., 

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landscape. These objects were widely referred to as fairy arrows or elf-shot or, 

by those less given to specifying a cause in terms of personal agency, thunderbolts. In his classic book The Idea of Prehistory, Glyn Daniel quotes an explanation offered by Ulisse Aldrovandi in the mid-16th century. Aldrovandi 

described objects we would now label stone tools as “due to an admixture of 

a certain exhalation of thunder and lightning with metallic matter, chiefly 

in dark clouds, which is coagulated by the circumfused moisture and conglutinated into a mass (like flour with water) and subsequently indurated 

by heat, like a brick.”4

 And “these rather surprising words,” as Daniel puts 

it, “were written by a man who has been described as the greatest zoologist 

of the Renaissance period.”5

 I cannot resist quoting one more example in 

which the use of jargon also seems inversely proportioned to useful information conveyed; a man named Tollius from about the same time period 

“claimed chopped flints to be ‘generated in the sky by a fulgurous exhalation 

conglobed in a cloud by the circumposed humour.’”6

Even while such things were being pondered, other scholars were proposing that these objects were ancient tools. The reasoning these proto-archaeologists offered in support of such a view turns out to be very important—an 

analogy with similar tools used by the Native Americans. Once the connection was made, it is no surprise that this view rapidly became the standard 

one. Ethnographic analogy saved the day in this case, as it often does, and in 

the process represented a major step toward what would become the academic 

field of prehistory.

In one sense this is not good news for SETI—that it could require analogies with known activities of specific cultures to correctly interpret these rocks 

as products of intelligent human activity. But I suggest this is only half the 

story. If we dig a little deeper, we see that even those who did not recognize 

them as tools did understand that something about the rocks needed to 

be explained. In retrospect, the superstitious common people who dubbed 

them elf-shot or fairy arrows were, in an odd sort of way, more perceptive and 

closer to the core truth than those who concocted naturalistic or mechanistic 

explanations. For they recognized the most important point, namely, that 

these items are indeed the products of intentional beings, purposeful agents.

How do people recognize intentionality and purposeful agency? As 

noted earlier, the archaeological literature seems to have largely neglected 

 4. Ulisse Aldrovandi, quoted here from Glyn Daniel, 

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this question. In part this neglect may be due to the fact that archaeology has 

often tried to follow the social science model of research, which seeks overarching trends and external causation. Until recent years archaeology seriously 

undervalued agency, giving more attention to broad cultural and ecological 

forces than to individual initiative. Another reason archaeologists can work 

so hard, often successfully, to recognize intelligent agency and purposive 

behavior yet give so little attention to “how” we actually make inferences 

concerning intelligent agents, may be that it is actually quite difficult. At 

heart, it is not really an archaeological problem but an issue of cognition. In 

the final section, I offer a few thoughts in this direction as well as suggestions 

for future research, based on recent cognitive science. But it seems clear, both 

from those who spoke of elf-shot and from contemporary archaeology, that 

we are often quite capable of recognizing the products of intelligence even 

when we cannot clearly articulate what we are using as evidence.

As for the skeptics, they were on the wrong track altogether, though their 

motivation was reasonable enough, in that it was the fairies of which they 

were skeptical. Even so, their response is useful. Those who tried to explain 

stone tools as things formed in clouds by various processes with intimidating 

names clearly understood there was something special about them in need 

of explanation. They simply did not allow themselves to attribute it to intelligence. Had I lived at that time, I may well have been in this group—but 

only because the problem was framed in such a way as to limit the options 

to lifeless mechanical action or fairies.

It is not easy to see what you are not looking for, or to know what it is 

you do not know, and both the strengths and weaknesses of ethnographic 

analogy grow from this conundrum. Ethnography expands our vision of what 

is humanly possible—or at least what has been tried by other humans—but 

cannot expand our vision much further than that. It is likely enough that even 

in the Paleolithic there were social forms not represented among ethnographically known peoples, so what of a distant planet? As has often been said, if 

we depend too heavily on ethnographic analogy, we lessen our chances of 

discovering the true range of forms human society has taken.

Intellectual Context

Like most aspects of culture, our intellectual culture—the intellectual context 

in which our view of the world is formed—frees us to explore new ideas in 

disciplined and creative ways. At the same time, it constrains our search by 

restricting what we are predisposed to believe is possible. One example of how 

intellectual context can affect our approach to and success with archaeological 

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interpretation is found in the next episode of this brief history of the understanding of stone tools. While the idea that they were tools—by analogy 

with those of Native Americans—became accepted, scholars at first did not 

appreciate their great age. Their true nature, so to speak, could not be recognized, as the existence of a Paleolithic origin simply did not fit with what 

everyone “knew” to be true.

How might this point be relevant for SETI? First, and rather generically, 

intellectual context has the same relevance for SETI as for any other science: 

it can be liberating or limiting, but major breakthroughs in difficult problems 

often come about when that context is transcended, when someone thinks the 

previously unthinkable. This link recognizes Thomas Kuhn’s much-repeated 

principle that the data supporting scientific theories are “theory-laden,” 

described and interpreted in the light of theoretical expectations.7 Even our 

choice of what counts as data—indeed, even what we are able to “see” out 

of the myriad bits of information that come our way in any experiment—is 

interpreted according to our assumptions about what we expect to see. But 

this inescapable bias does not warrant the discouraging view that even scientific findings are just relative, as Imre Lakatos asserted.8

 We are not trapped 

hopelessly in our web of assumptions, and the way out is to be pushed by 

unexplainable data to rethink the theoretical assumptions. Such “thinking 

the unthinkable” is undoubtedly difficult, but it is possible.

Second, and rather more specifically, the importance of intellectual context to our ability to see what we are not looking for does suggest a possible 

solution to the Fermi Paradox. Perhaps like those fine scholars of the 18th 

century who had myriad evidence for prehistoric human activity but could 

not imagine it, we, too, have evidence of extraterrestrial intelligence but somehow cannot recognize it. Now, I realize these are dangerous words. “Doesn’t 

this guy know that Men in Black is fiction?” you may ask, or “Does he want 

us to take stories of abductions and ancient astronauts seriously?” All claims I 

am aware of concerning evidence for “aliens” – including the kinds of things 

people like to talk about once they learn I am an archaeologist—make the 

rather different assertion that the aliens are among us, or have been in the 

past. They are not proposing untapped sources of information. And they 

seem to me to be perfect examples of being caught in a current intellectual 

 7. Thomas Kuhn, 

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context, a current context of some kind anyway. Attributing the Nazca Lines 

in Peru to aliens has as much to do with cultural prejudice as attributing 

ancient artifacts to elves or fairies because doing so was somehow easier than 

imagining prehistoric humans living here before us.

But what might we discover if we could break out of our intellectual context? This is a question that SETI researchers must ask constantly—wondering, for example, whether even something as simple as tuning to a different 

radio frequency could be the key to discovering data about ETIs that have 

surrounded us all along. Perhaps it is not technology that sets all our limits.

Physical Context

What turned the tide in European scholarly appreciation of prehistoric 

humanity was the physical context: specifically, tools found in undisturbed 

sediments and in clear association with the remains of extinct mammals. This 

discovery, along with a growing appreciation for Earth’s age, yielded a broadening and shifting of the intellectual context—perhaps even something of a 

revolution in the intellectual context of Europe. Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, 

one of the excavators of Peking Man, expressed beautifully the ability to 

conceive of the antiquity of humanity as “a surprisingly recent conquest of 

the modern mind”: 

Today we smile as we think of the thrills and triumphs experienced by our great predecessors when in 1864 they first observed, 

on a fragment of mammoth tusk, the carved outline of the mammoth itself—definite testimony, over man’s own signature, that 

man...had known and hunted the fabulous and (to the scientist 

of the period) fabulously ancient animal.9

Physical context remains central in all archaeological research at several levels. Any day-to-day work also depends on the context created by 

existing knowledge. Contexts in this sense flood our meager data with all 

manner of associations and additional conclusions that flesh them out into 

a picture of human activity. Archaeologists do not read “raw” data—almost 

anything we might wish to say about a find is an interpretive conclusion. 

When I come across another broken stone in my garden in Pennsylvania 

 9. Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, “The Idea of Fossil Man” in 

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and determine it to be a projectile point, I receive a message from the past 

that is rich and deep and easy to read. My mind is filled with images of 

woodland longhouses, villages with smoke curling lazily into the blue sky 

as small clusters of people work on various tasks, a group of men returning 

with two deer from a hunt, children and dogs playing all around. The tool 

does not tell me all this by itself but because it is in a context. Had I found 

a tool, perhaps vaguely similar in appearance, in a garden in India, the 

context of associations would be rather different. Similarly, in the study of 

human evolution, a great deal can be said about a primate and its lifestyle 

from something as small as a tooth, for the “parts” of an organism are even 

more tightly knit than the “parts” of a culture.

To take just one more example, what we accept as conclusions can depend 

on the broader context of what is already known. Debates continue about the 

anthropogenic nature of finds. For example, the Calico Hills site in California 

is said by Ruth Simpson to be some 250,000 or more years old. This estimate 

is way out of line with anything else we know about the peopling of North 

or South America. No firm dating to earlier than 12,000 years ago had been 

accepted until 2000, when Thomas Dillehay conclusively demonstrated that 

the Monte Verde site in southern Chile is at least 15,000 years old (and 

possibly a good deal older).10 This date, too, may well change—after all, an 

archaeologist can almost never say, “This is the oldest,” but only “This is the 

oldest evidence yet discovered.” It is, however, very unlikely (for a host of 

reasons unrelated to the Calico Hills site in itself) that humans lived in the 

New World a quarter of a million years ago.

A similar line of reasoning holds for the Meadowcroft Rockshelter in 

southwestern Pennsylvania. Some of the radiocarbon dates came back at 

about 19,000 years. This dating is also out of line with previous estimates 

but not as dramatically so, especially now that the long-standing 12,000-year 

barrier has fallen. In the case of Calico Hills, Simpson’s dating is solid, but it 

may not be a site at all, for only stone tools have been found there, and it is 

not entirely clear that they are tools. More likely they are “geofacts,” naturally 

broken rocks that mimic the appearance of artifacts. As for Meadowcroft, 

this is a complex Paleoindian archaeological site, but it is still hard to accept 

a date of 18,000 years ago. At the moment, the most likely explanation is 

that the carbon sample was contaminated natural coal, giving the materials 

an appearance of much greater age. Because stratigraphically the layer with 

 10.

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the older date does not otherwise seem to be so much older than the other 

layers, this theory is quite plausible. On the other hand, the excavation was 

done with exceptional care by an archaeologist (James Adovasio) who well 

understood what was at stake. To put it another way, this site may be every bit 

as old as it seems, and the problem lies instead with our intellectual context.11

SETI is also conducted within a web of interrelated empirical knowledge and 

under a set of intellectual expectations, a context that renders some ideas more or 

less plausible. Obvious as this circumstance may seem when stated in this way, it 

has a significant effect on research. We have seen this phenomenon in exobiology, 

a line of study that has been rendered more interesting by the recent discoveries 

of extremophiles on Earth. I would suggest then that, contrary to the view held 

by many who regard SETI with interest from the outside, the “success” of the 

SETI enterprise is not really an “all-or-nothing” matter. Firm evidence of even 

simple life beyond Earth will render the existence of intelligent life somewhat 

more plausible, in much the way existing knowledge of the peopling of the New 

World renders certain proposed site dates more or less plausible. 

Acceptable Approaches to Scientific Argument

Alison Wylie, perhaps the foremost philosopher of archaeology, has analyzed 

archaeologists’ reasoning process.12 Some arguments are like chains—they 

follow link by link by logical link. But if one link fails, whether through faulty 

logic or lack of evidence, the whole argument falls apart. Science is portrayed in 

this metaphor as a formal, sequential testing of hypotheses. Such a process does 

not work well in the practice of archaeology, which, as Lewis-Williams notes, 

“is, almost by definition, the quintessential science of exiguous evidence.”13

In practice, Wylie points out, archaeologists use an approach to reasoning that more closely resembles the weaving of strands to form a cable. No 

individual strand does stretch, and no individual strand of reasoning needs

to stretch, from raw data to firm conclusion. Rather, the whole cable, if well 

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constructed, bridges larger gaps than the individual strands ever could. The 

separate arguments also help to confirm or challenge one another. As well as 

enabling or sustaining, this method is also constraining (in a useful way) in 

that the pieces really do have to fit together. Some speculation that may seem 

plausible given one type of evidence just will not work as the whole package 

fits together. To take one telling example, archaeologists often rely very heavily 

on studies of ceramics. Marion H. (Harry) Tschopik traced the continuity of 

Andean Aymara ceramics of the Puno region over five centuries, and what he 

discovered was quite surprising:

If the data furnished by the Aymara ceramic tradition taken alone 

and by itself were our only evidence of change (which of course is 

not the case), the Inca era in the Puno region would have passed 

virtually unrecorded, and Spanish contact would have appeared 

to have been slight or fleeting. By and large, Aymara ceramics 

have been modified to a far less extent than other, and more basic 

aspects of Aymara culture.14

This understanding of the reasoning process is in some respects valuable 

for any field of study with large gaps in its data, and it is thus highly relevant 

to any future SETI signal detection. To forestall hopeless confusion should 

we receive a message from beyond Earth—indeed, even to help us have hope 

of recognizing a communication when we see one—we need to consult every 

strand of evidence and use every type of reasoning available to understand it. 

This, I trust, is obvious enough, but I mention it because in some fields the 

“context” in terms of expectations about how good science is done can work 

against weaving various clues together from diverse sources, often with the 

dismissive claim that since none of the clues really makes the case on its own, 

the case has not been made.

The Importance of Symbolism

Although I have, without apparent hesitation, just made page-length forays 

into intellectual history and the philosophy of science, two areas outside 

my expertise, I must preface this section by saying that the study of symbolic representation, the cognitive skills involved, and the approaches to 

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understanding are areas whose potential contribution to the inference of 

intelligence is matched only by the immensity and complexity of the literature 

on these subjects. Still, they cannot be avoided when considering this topic.

The study of symboling is important to the archaeological inference of 

intelligence—if only for the obvious reason that producing symbols requires 

intelligence. One problem—and this is perhaps at the root of worries about 

understanding any communication—is that symbols can, and often do, have an 

arbitrary (or at least a conventional rather than conceptual) relationship to the 

things they symbolize. While this relationship is arbitrary, it is not necessarily 

random. Indeed, when it comes in the form of language, symboling is extraordinarily systematic. So the arbitrariness or conventional nature of the connection 

does not mean we can never figure out what is being said through symbols. As 

suggested concerning the study of cave art, if we can recognize something as 

the product of symbolic behavior, we have learned a great deal already without 

having the slightest idea what the symbols mean: we know that there is an individual capable of high-level intelligent activity, that this individual was trying to 

communicate, and that this individual is therefore a social being.

Consider the decipherment of ancient languages written in scripts like 

Egyptian (or, more recently, Mayan) hieroglyphics. It might seem that symbolism and communication of ideas routinely expressed in complex symbolism would be the worst possible way to go about constructing messages for 

non–Earth-based intelligences. But this pitfall is not easily avoided. We may 

send messages expressing pure mathematics, or perhaps scientific knowledge, 

but these concepts must be communicated in a medium that will, of necessity, 

be symbolic. (Sending pictures is another way to go, although it does assume 

certain sensory commonalities.) But it might make a difference whether or 

not the symbols are in systematic form (like a language), for otherwise the 

problems resulting from their arbitrary relation to their referents will be 

multiplied. While mathematics does not include a grammar as such, surely 

the concepts and their symbolic representations are systematically related, 

even if not in the same way as “natural” languages.

On the other hand, it is unlikely to be easy in any case. Writing, for example, has the advantage of representing a very systematic set of symbols. Yet, it 

is in effect a symbol system representing another symbol system (the language 

itself) representing the ideas. Kathryn Denning points out elsewhere in this 

book that no ancient form of writing has ever been deciphered without some 

knowledge of the language in which it was written.15 This fact is important, 

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and somewhat discouraging, in light of the probability that interstellar messages will also engage at least two layers of symboling.

Again, to recognize something as a symbolic communication, we do 

not need to actually understand the content, and thus may not need to get 

through these two layers. But from the perspective of those constructing the 

messages, this issue may be more important, assuming that we want to be 

understood if at all possible and not merely recognized as intelligent. Given 

this difficulty inherent in messages communicated via writing or other symbol 

systems, it may be that messages with only one layer of symbolism could be 

easier to understand. 

Humans do often use symbols to express ideas that cannot be articulated verbally or mathematically. In archaeology, evidence of symbolic activity—artworks especially, which are usually related to religious or spiritual 

issues—typically tells us most about past thought and intelligences. We can 

learn a great deal from the fact of the symboling behavior, as noted already, 

and also from its nature and characteristics, even without being able to decipher what is being expressed. And while ideas concerning matters aesthetic, 

moral, religious, and poetic seem to be the ones in which human cultures 

vary most, in fact there is often substantial commonality. I realize this seems 

counterintuitive to most of us, especially to people like me, who can never 

seem to get the point of poetry, or to people who think of religion in terms 

of squabbles over doctrines rather than in terms of its connection to the 

human spiritual sense. But the point is easily illustrated: we may not know 

what the artists of Lascaux or Altamira were saying specifically, but when we 

see their work, we “feel” something, often described as the universal human 

spirit shared across the millennia. But it is just as conceivable that it is the 

spirit of intelligent, purposive beings, a spirit, perhaps, shareable over even 

greater spans of time and space.

I hasten to add that I am not confusing feeling with knowing, as is so 

common in popular discourse. I am suggesting something more like the 

following: creating messages such that ETIs could recognize our use of symbols and thus our intelligence, should be possible. Transmission of specified, objective knowledge through written language is certainly worth trying, 

but if our experience in deciphering ancient scripts is any indication, it will 

not be easy for an intelligent being out there to get through the two layers 

of symbolism to the content of the message. Communicating as the artists 

(symbolists) of Lascaux did, with but one layer of symbols, won’t get across 

a concrete, specified body of data either, but it could convey useful insight 

about us, perhaps more than a rich, language-based message that can’t be 

read. Anthropologists and archaeologists are largely agreed that religion is 

a human universal. Thus, there is an argument to be made for designating 

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religion as a topic for interstellar communication. On portions of the planet 

where exponents of contemporary academia live, religion is regarded as a rare 

aberration, or perhaps as an early evolutionary stage. But on Earth as a whole 

this is not true; indeed it would be an error of great proportions to think so. 

Religious people are not uncommon even among the sophisticated ranks of 

scientists. Like every other aspect of culture, religion comes in many flavors; 

but this variety does not mean there is no common basis for religion or that 

it has no referent outside the human subjective self. Such conclusions follow 

no more logically than they do when the same idea is applied to some other 

area of human culture, such as food. The fact that humans often eat radically 

different things does not contradict the fact that eating is a universal, much 

less the existence of nutritional sources outside of our bodies.

In his entertaining introduction to astrobiology, Sharing the Universe: 

Perspectives on Extraterrestrial Life, Seth Shostak raises the question of “ET’s 

religion.”16 He makes the important point that whether or not ET has religion 

depends on what religion is: if it is a useful survival tool, it will likely evolve 

on other worlds; but if, like music, it is mainly a contingent by-product of 

other evolved capabilities, it may be unique to humans and not a universal 

feature of intelligent life. Shostak then adds, “Of course, if they do, there’s 

little chance that the specifics of ET’s faith will mimic our own, any more 

than his appearance will resemble ours.”17

I am inclined to think otherwise (including about music). If religion is 

essentially a survival mechanism for humans, it would be a highly contingent 

feature of human psychology, and thus its evolution elsewhere would seem 

implausible. Religion is likely to be widespread throughout the universe only 

if it refers to some reality beyond the peculiarities of the Homo sapiens brain. 

And if it does, then it may well have features in common wherever found. 

If religion and spirituality really refer to something outside of our brains—

a creator God, for example—then it could well be the case that an ETI would 

have a sort of spirituality or religion and that it might even be recognizable 

as such. I have elsewhere defined religion as the human cultural response to 

the real or perceived supernatural.18 Mine is only one of hundreds of definitions offered, but it is useful to remember that religion really is a human 

phenomenon—a feature of human cultures—and it varies as much as our 

 16.

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cultures do. But my definition does not reduce religion to nothing but culture right from the start; it leaves open the possibility that religion refers to 

important facets of reality that are not as easily recognized via other cultural 

forms of knowing.

Perhaps what we should be looking for is any place where human nature 

intersects with a deeper reality (and so would not represent human nature 

alone). If there is a creator God, then this Being might constitute a connection 

between us and ETIs, via our respective religions, despite the likelihood of 

extensive differences between us in other respects. Similarly, if there are real 

meanings and purposes in the universe—love, quest, purpose, or whatever—

these, too, are potential connections. As with religion, all the examples I can 

think of are disputed. I believe music or mathematics could work if there 

is a fundamental reality to, for example, harmony, as could mathematics if, 

as George Ellis and some other scholars suggest, math exists objectively, not 

just in the human brain, and so is discovered rather than invented.19 The 

nature of these features of reality is as disputed a point as the existence of 

God, it seems; and if it happens that music or mathematics is an arbitrary 

invention of the human mind, then neither may serve as a connection with 

extraterrestrial beings. 

Conclusions and Next Steps

To return to a crucial question, how, specifically, do we recognize intelligent agency and purpose? Recall that archaeologists regularly find items of 

unknown function, yet these researchers have no problem agreeing that the 

items are the product of human activity. In this instance the inference is clearly 

not from known function to demonstration of human agency. Often enough, 

we argue endlessly about an object’s functions, never questioning its having 

been the product of human activity. There must be some other feature of these 

tools, that tells us this piece of stone is a naturally fractured rock and that one 

is a tool. Do we need ethnographic analogy to make this determination? Is 

our conclusion based on what we know about humans—including implicit 

insight gained from the researcher actually being one of these creatures—or 

is it based on a deeper recognition of intelligence or purpose or agency? As 

with the matter of elf-shot, I think it is often the latter.

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In his fascinating book titled Why Would Anyone Believe in God?, Justin 

Barrett reviews the literature on what cognitive psychologists like to call 

the human agency detection device.

20 Students of cognition give us reason to 

believe humans are attuned to things that have a personal source. Being on 

the lookout for agency, so to speak, is often a subconscious process, which 

may account for our difficulty in clarifying exactly why we think something 

is an agent. During my archaeological training, I was often told, in effect, 

“just work with the materials and eventually you will see it.” And though I 

would have preferred a straightforward identification key, this turned out to 

be good advice.

It is entirely reasonable—from the point of view of both natural selection and common sense—that our minds would work this way. In his book 

Faces in the Clouds, Stewart Guthrie asserts that religion is essentially anthropomorphism.21 I find many of his observations concerning our intellectual 

predispositions both interesting and helpful. I particularly like an example 

which runs something like this: If you see an object ahead on the trail and 

think it is a bear but it turns out to be a rock, you have not lost much. But 

if you think it is a rock and it is really a bear, that is a different matter. In 

such a world as ours, where we cannot always identify bears and rocks with 

certainty, it is reasonable to assume natural selection will favor the one who 

is predisposed to recognize living, purposive agents.

There are good selectionist reasons for being able to detect agency and 

personality whenever they are seen. But we cannot have perfect knowledge. 

Ideally, it would be a rock, and the person walking along would know it is 

a rock at first sight; but ours is an uncertain world, and we inevitably err a 

portion of the time. All else being equal (visual acuity, level of intelligence, 

reaction time, and running speed, for example), natural selection could well 

favor those who err on the side of overestimating agency and purpose in the 

world around us.

Following the lead of cognitive scientists, including those associated with 

the promising field of evolutionary psychology and the new cognitive science 

of religion (of which Barrett is one of the founders), I suggest that what the 

archaeologist is “seeing” when identifying one lump of rock as a tool and 

another as a naturally occurring stone is evidence not just of humanity in the 

concrete (and, for our purposes, narrow) sense but of intention, purpose, the 

work of an agent with a plan. We see, for example, repeated regular blows 

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and chips, something that would result from an intelligent being trying to 

do something, not from a rock tumbling down a hillside due to frost erosion 

and the work of gravity.

To the extent that this is true, it is very encouraging, for it suggests that part 

of being an intelligent, purposive agent is a deeply evolved ability to recognize 

the work of other intelligent, purposive agents, even, perhaps, if they are not 

Homo sapiens from planet Earth. It would work equally well the other way 

around, for any intelligent being will be a purposive agent and will therefore 

have evolved under conditions favoring the ability to recognize other agents 

and distinguish their work from other forms of causation.

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CHAPTER EIGHT

Anthropology at a Distance

SETI and the Production of Knowledge in 

the Encounter with an Extraterrestrial Other

John W. Traphagan

Throughout much of its history, anthropology has explicitly focused its intellectual gaze upon the understanding of seemingly “alien” others whose languages, 

beliefs, patterns of living, and social structures have been viewed as remote from 

the societies of the industrial West—England, France, Germany, and the United 

States—in which the discipline developed. In the formative years of anthropology, ethnographers did not normally have the capacity to be in direct contact 

with the others who were the object of their studies. Indeed, early “armchair” 

anthropologists of the 19th century, such as James Frazer, E. B. Tylor, and Lewis 

Henry Morgan (although Morgan did also conduct some direct data collection 

among the Iroquois in addition to the armchair variety of research), worked 

under conditions not entirely unlike those of SETI researchers today; limitations in technology (specifically transportation and communications technologies) dramatically restricted the types of interaction accessible to social scientists 

interested in contacting and understanding a distant other. Communication 

was slow, requiring weeks or months for anthropologists in the United States or 

Britain to request and then receive information from individuals (often missionaries) living in distant places. When data were eventually received, such as the 

kinship data collected by Morgan in the mid-19th century from numerous parts 

of the world, interpretation was based largely upon theoretical frameworks and 

assumptions that had a decidedly Western tinge—specifically, social Darwinism 

and cultural evolution of a Spencerian variety, with their overtly teleological underpinnings associated with progress. These frameworks and assumptions were difficult to test using the methods of direct contact and participant 

observation that would later become the foundation of ethnographic research.1

 1. Thomas R. Trautmann, 
Anthropology at a Distance

Although the 19th-century style of armchair anthropology was replaced by 

ethnographic fieldwork in the early 20th century, instances of anthropology at 

a distance continued to occur, the most notable being Ruth Benedict’s attempt 

to develop an understanding of the seemingly—to American eyes—intensely 

alien Japanese during World War II, conducted under the auspices of the U.S. 

government and published in 1946 as The Chrysanthemum and the Sword.

2

In this chapter I explore one avenue through which anthropology and, 

more specifically, the subdiscipline of cultural or social anthropology can 

contribute to SETI research. Michael A. G. Michaud has noted that the 

social sciences are an area of intellectual inquiry that has not been sufficiently 

tapped in reference to SETI.3

 Here, I want to suggest that one of the most 

potent ways the social sciences in general and anthropology in particular can 

contribute to SETI is through analogy, using an analysis of anthropology’s 

own history of contact as a framework for thinking about potential contact 

with an extraterrestrial civilization. While it is extremely important to contemplate the content and type of interstellar message we might construct, it 

is equally important to consider the context of interpretation in which such a 

message will be conveyed and interpreted, as well as how any response might 

be interpreted by scientists and others on planet Earth. Rather than simply 

an act of discovery, initial contact with any extraterrestrial intelligence will 

also create a new context in which knowledge is generated and understood. 

The context of initial contact will be formed on the basis of very limited data 

and, inevitably, interpreted through the lenses of our own cultures and the 

theoretical frameworks that are in vogue among intellectuals and others at 

the time contact occurs.

In order to explicate this point, I will consider the type of “anthropology 

at a distance” evident in the early and, to a lesser extent, middle years of the 

discipline, focusing on the work of Ruth Benedict during World War II as 

an example of how the complex interplay between assumptions, data, and 

misinterpretations can become established as authoritative knowledge about 

and understanding of an alien civilization. The central point of this chapter is 

that Japan, as a culture and a civilization, was not simply revealed by Benedict; 

 2. See Ruth Benedict, 

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it was in many respects created out of this interplay, at least as far as the 

American perspective is concerned (and, although not specifically relevant to 

this paper, to some extent the Japanese perspective as well).4

 I will argue that 

the initial contact and subsequent interaction between extraterrestrials and 

humans (including SETI researchers, politicians, scholars outside of SETI, 

and the general public) will involve a similar production of knowledge about 

the alien other. Awareness of this hazard and the ability to reflexively think 

about our own role in constructing an alien culture, particularly where great 

distances and time delays are insurmountable with current technology, are 

of fundamental importance in reducing the risk of misunderstanding and 

misinterpretation.

Ruth Benedict and the Invention of Japanese Culture

Anthropologist Marvin Harris has noted that the beginnings of anthropology 

are to be found in the inspiration of the natural sciences and the scientific 

method. At the foundation of anthropology is an assumption that sociocultural processes are governed by “lawful principles” that can be understood in 

terms of causality and that are discoverable by an objective observer.5

 Early 

formulations of culture grew out of the research of scholars who saw distinct 

cultures as relatively bounded entities, and they posited culture as largely 

deterministic, fundamentally shaping the behaviors and thought patterns of 

the people inhabiting a particular context. Much recent work tends to see 

culture as fluid and having very permeable boundaries (if we can really think 

in terms of boundaries at all), conceptualizing it as a process of invention in 

which particular “cultures” arise out of an intersubjective dialectic between 

the individual and his or her social environment.6

 The anthropologist is not 

remote from this process but, instead, can become actively involved in the 

invention of a particular culture—understood as an analytical category as 

well as a popular framing of a particular social group—through translating, 

interpreting, and writing about what he or she observes, as well as through 

the daily interaction associated with the activity of fieldwork.

 4. To some extent, even the perspective of postwar Japanese citizens on their national cul

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Nowhere, perhaps, is the issue of the anthropologist herself as research 

instrument more evident than in the studies Ruth Benedict conducted during 

World War II on Japanese culture. To begin, Benedict’s work is, if not exactly 

armchair anthropology, a latter-day expression of “anthropology at a distance.” As most anthropologists and other scholars who work on Japan know, 

Benedict was commissioned in the early 1940s by the U.S. government to 

provide a report that would explain Japanese behavior and could thus be used 

to predict enemy responses during what was, by 1944, the anticipated invasion of Japan. In other words, her work was to be an explanatory guide in the 

project of social engineering that would become the Occupation of Japan.

Considerably less well known among the general public, and even among 

some scholars with interests in Japanese culture, is how Benedict’s research 

was done. First, Benedict did not conduct a study of Japanese culture or 

society through traditional ethnographic methods of participant observation; 

instead, due to the war, she was forced to turn to what appeared to be the next 

best thing—Americans of Japanese descent who were confined to internment 

camps in the desert Southwest. Obviously, in retrospect, this should raise red 

flags about Benedict’s study. As Eiko Ikegami recently pointed out, Benedict’s 

research subjects, when faced with an authority figure representing the same 

government that had removed them from their homes and imprisoned them 

in the camps, were “passive and cautious in their replies to her questions.”7

Interestingly, this issue was not addressed by most scholars who reviewed 

Benedict’s book; a few noted the problem, but in general it was overlooked 

or ignored. It is only recently that open discussion has ensued about how 

Benedict’s research contains flawed conclusions in part because the conditions 

of her data collection were limited by her inability to make direct contact 

with individuals within the Japanese cultural context.

For my purposes here, it is not important to go into details about the 

empirical and interpretive errors that exist in The Chrysanthemum and the 

Sword. Ryang notes many of the problems and demonstrates that Benedict’s 

development of linguistic data from Japanese is not supported by either 

sociological or historical data. She tends to select words from her informants 

and from literature without contextualizing the terms or understanding how 

they are conceptually used by Japanese, but in her work these terms tend to 

become keywords for representing and understanding Japanese culture and 

behavior.8

 More important than the specific errors in Benedict’s research is 

 7. Eiko Ikegami, “Shame and the Samurai: Institutions, Trustworthiness, and Autonomy in the Elite 

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the fact that she takes a totalizing approach to representing Japan: specific 

words, ideas, or concepts evident in sources such as Japanese literature are 

used to broadly explain, often in a single brushstroke, all or most elements of 

Japanese behavior. In part this approach is a consequence of the theoretical 

framework Benedict uses, as well as a general lack of detailed empirical data 

about Japan upon which to base her conclusions.

While the study’s flaws are significant, a more salient point is that The 

Chrysanthemum and the Sword becomes, as Ryang notes, “paradigmatic,” 

playing “a crucial role in the postwar social science discourse on Japan” both 

among Japanese and non-Japanese scholars.9 Indeed, so thorough was the 

assumption that Benedict had accurately presented Japanese culture that it 

was only rarely noted that her research had not focused on Japanese people. 

Attitudes toward The Chrysanthemum and the Sword at the time of its publication are summed up in a 1947 review written by John Embree, himself a 

well-known anthropologist of Japan, in which he states: “Dr. Benedict, with 

the soft words of a fox spirit, leads the reader into the forest of Japan and 

before he knows it she has him bewitched into believing that he understands 

and is familiar with every root and branch of Japanese culture.”10

When I first read this comment, I thought it might be sarcastic, but 

throughout the review Embree’s only real criticism of Benedict’s book concerns her failure to recognize that Japan is an old culture while the United 

States is a new one, itself a rather dubious observation since Japan underwent 

a radical social transformation in the second half of the 19th century.11 He 

goes on to state, “The frontiersman and the nomad are more likely to be 

individualistic braggarts than is the village bound peasant who must face his 

same neighbor day after day.... A man of an old peasant culture such as the 

Japanese is likely to be more meticulous in his etiquette and sense of reciprocal duty.”12 In Embree’s view, Benedict allowed us to gain entrance into an 

almost impenetrable cultural “forest” vastly different from ours because it 

 9. Ryang, 

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was a “peasant” society based upon village social organization (I’m not quite 

sure where Tokyo and Osaka fit into that forest) as opposed to urban, individualistic American social organization. And she did this while dealing with 

the considerable limitations that were inevitable at the time of her research.13

Interestingly enough, in another review where he compares Benedict’s 

book to a book by Andrew W. Lind on Japanese communities in Hawai‘i, 

Embree takes for granted the idea that Benedict did, in fact, explicate Japanese 

cultural patterns and behaviors through her research.14 Indeed, Benedict, 

although clearly identifying her fieldwork locale, ultimately represents her 

work as if it were about Japanese rather than Japanese-American people and 

cultural values, and, as is apparent in Embree’s review and those of other scholars at the time, this representation went largely uncontested,15 although John 

Morris in his 1947 review points out that “in normal circumstances no one 

would think of writing a serious book without first spending a considerable 

time observing at first hand the actual behavior of the people concerned.”16

Morris quickly puts this problem aside and lauds The Chrysanthemum and 

the Sword as “the most important contemporary book yet written on Japan. 

Here, for the first time, is a serious attempt to explain why the Japanese 

behave the way they do.”17

These examples clearly demonstrate that The Chrysanthemum and the 

Sword became, as noted above, the cornerstone of the ethnographic, and 

nonethnographic, corpus of Western scholarship on Japan, despite its lack 

of sound empirical data. Benedict’s contemporaries largely took her work at 

face value and accepted as a given the idea that she had produced a study of 

Japanese culture. The problems inherent in having to do “anthropology at a 

distance” were overlooked by Benedict’s colleagues and by many of those who 

 13.

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became interested in Japanese culture; instead of being challenged, her book 

shaped the major questions posed and studies produced by “Japanologists,” 

most notably the focus on the Japanese psyche or personality (self) that 

dominated research on Japan into the 1990s and continues at present.18 By 

the 1980s, anthropologists began moving away from Benedict’s construction 

of Japanese culture, but her work has been cited hundreds of times and continues to be cited, particularly in cross-cultural psychological studies, not as 

a book about Japanese Americans during World War II but as a book about 

Japanese people and their culture.19

In essence, the publication of The Chrysanthemum and the Sword initiated 

a process by which the Western concept of Japanese culture was invented. 

Benedict’s work identified what would be considered the basic elements and 

core values associated with Japanese culture and the Japanese psyche for years 

to come, and a great deal of the scholarship produced during that period supported Benedict’s conclusions, either directly or indirectly. As people read and 

followed her work with further research, analysis, and publication, a sense of 

Japanese culture and Japanese behavior being accurately and completely represented in the basic ideas put forth by Benedict prevailed in communities of 

scholars working in areas such as cross-cultural psychology and cross-cultural 

communication, as well as in the broader community of nonscholars who 

were simply interested in Japan. In short, Benedict’s at-a-distance take on 

Japan became Japan itself for many, and perhaps the majority, of Americans 

throughout most of the second half of the 20th century. This influence cannot 

be overstated: Benedict’s work was central to the U.S. government’s approach 

to reorganizing and engineering Japanese society after the war and was widely 

read by an American public interested in understanding the enemy they had 

just conquered and whose country they were now occupying.

However, what was being created was not a true understanding of Japan, 

if such an understanding of any culture is actually possible. Rather, what 

was created was a notion of Japanese culture that reflected values and psychological orientations—with an emphasis on the concept of shame—that 

seemed important to Benedict. Indeed, the book is an application of theories 

she developed in an earlier work, Patterns of Culture, in which she used psychological idioms (although not Freudian in nature) as a means of creating 

 18.

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configurations or categories of cultural types that, in turn, were imprinted 

in the minds of those living in a particular cultural milieu. In other words, 

Benedict’s understanding of how culture works and what culture is should be 

seen as a direct result of the academic context, with its considerable interest 

in psychology, in which she was trained at Columbia during the 1920s and 

which continued to be a significant focus as her career developed.

Consequences of Anthropology at a Distance for SETI

This foray into the history of anthropology has a direct bearing on how 

we might think about an encounter with an extraterrestrial technological 

civilization. The wartime conditions under which Benedict conducted her 

research eliminated the possibility of doing true ethnography in the form 

of participant observation and long-term fieldwork. Indeed, few of the data 

she relied on were actually collected by her; instead she borrowed data collected by psychological anthropologist Geoffrey Gorer from interned Japanese 

Americans in the relocation camps during the war as well as data gathered 

by another psychological anthropologist, Weston La Barre, although she did 

collect some interview data of her own.20

As noted above, given the lack of empirical data and the limited scholarly 

resources available on Japanese culture and behavior,21 as well as her general 

tendency toward emphasizing (psychologically oriented) theory over data, 

Benedict essentially took the little she had and worked it into the theoretical 

framework she had developed in her earlier book, Patterns of Culture, which 

categorized Native American cultures on the basis of personality traits associated with a particular group of people. Benedict’s study of Japan, from afar, 

set in motion a conceptualization of Japan and the Japanese people that has 

influenced scholarship and policy-making related to that society up to the 

present day. And a great deal of what she wrote has turned out to be either a 

very simplistic representation/explanation of Japanese culture or fundamentally inaccurate; yet her work continues to be influential.

If we turn to a bit of speculation about our initial encounter with an 

extraterrestrial intelligence, it is not difficult to imagine an analogous process 

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

occurring. The first scientists to encounter a signal from an extraterrestrial 

intelligence will likely receive a limited amount of data. If we simply capture a 

signal that is not directly aimed at attracting the attention of an alien civilization (such as our own), then it may be extremely difficult to develop a clear 

sense of what we are looking at. This is not simply a matter of translation; 

even if we can infer specific meanings of linguistic constructs that correspond 

to something in our own language, we will have no cultural framework with 

which to interpret how those meanings apply to an alien society. Even mathematics, the language of science, is not without its own difficulties in terms 

of interpretation.22 In the case of Benedict, who knew she was dealing with 

another human society that had the same basic structures (albeit different in 

their manifestations) as American society—systems associated with religion, 

kinship, government, etc.—a lack of sufficient data and an inherent tendency 

to fit an alien culture into a framework that made sense to an American mind 

led to a casting of Japanese culture along particular lines that had many flaws.

The odds are that, without an understanding of an extraterrestrial culture—one derived from hard data rigorously analyzed—we will interpret 

what we find in terms of values, structures, and patterns of behavior associated 

with our own culture (itself a problematic idea since there is no single human 

culture on Earth). In some respects, we have already started this process in 

our reasonable attempt to think about the nature of ETI—the notion of an 

asymmetry of age between ETI and ourselves is based on an assumption that 

the rate of progress on Earth should be fairly standard elsewhere.23 However, 

given the differences that exist among human cultures in terms of how we 

perceive, interpret, and categorize our surroundings, it is reasonable to think 

that a truly alien society would consist of beings who do these things in ways 

unlike those of humans.24 Perhaps these differences, when combined with 

distinct biology, would lead to rates of development much faster, or much 

slower, than has been the case on Earth. The capacity to “do” culture in a 

relatively consistent way among human beings, even with all of the differences 

 22.

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we find in specifically how culture is done, is heavily dependent upon a 

common set of sense organs. Neurological studies have shown that differential 

experiences and forms of stimulation during developmental processes shape 

the connections among neurons and thus influence the construction of the 

neural networks that are basic to human behavior and thought. What would 

“culture” look like when applied to a being with different sense organs and 

possibly a very different natural and social environment from ours?

If the first message we encounter happens to be an intentional attempt on 

the part of an alien civilization to contact another intelligent species, then it is 

reasonable to expect that such a message will be limited in content. Douglas 

Vakoch notes that the few messages humans have already sent into space 

have been rather limited, and a bit warped, in terms of their representation 

of our own civilization, showing chiefly the brighter sides of humanity and 

ignoring social ills such as war and poverty.25 Even if extraterrestrials try to 

represent themselves in an objective manner, any intentional message we 

receive will almost certainly have subjective qualities and represent an alien 

civilization in a way that will influence how we construct an understanding 

of their messages and, beyond that, of their civilization.

Regardless of the type of communication received, we humans are most 

unlikely to receive a message and simply take it at face value without speculating on the nature of those who sent it. Benedict, like armchair anthropologists 

before her, was a trained interpreter and theorist of culture and behavior, 

but the conditions of her research on Japan and her lack of understanding of 

the Japanese language made it difficult for her to gain an accurate picture of 

the culture and people about which she wrote. Furthermore, her subjective 

interests in a particular theoretical framework influenced her management 

of the data she did obtain and led her to organize her understanding of 

Japan in a way that fitted her assumptions about how cultures work. This is 

understandable, particularly when one is dealing with limited data. However, 

this process will not be restricted to a few scholars and policy-makers and 

gradually released to the public.26 Instead, as Seth Shostak points out, should 

contact occur, knowledge of the event will quickly become evident to a wide 

audience, most likely well before SETI scientists are even certain that the 

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signal has really come from an extraterrestrial intelligence.27 Contact will 

become widely known and reflected upon by media pundits long before 

anthropologists and other scientists whose expertise is the interpretation of 

different cultures are able to understand and analyze whatever content might 

exist in a signal. In short, the invention of an alien culture will begin almost 

the moment that contact is made.

If we ever do receive a message from an extraterrestrial intelligence, we 

will be faced with the same problem that Benedict and earlier anthropologists 

working at a distance encountered: limited data. In addition, we will face 

the problem of a time lag—but not the lag of several months experienced 

by armchair anthropologists of the 19th century. Instead, we will deal with 

time lags of years, decades, centuries, or millennia between message and 

response. If we think about the study of Japan, the course of which was so 

heavily influenced by the work of Benedict even though access to new data 

has been readily available over the past 60 years, it is easy to imagine how 

long stretches with few or no data could lead humans to create an image of an 

extraterrestrial civilization based largely upon our own theories and expectations about how culture and behavior work. Michaud notes that scientists 

“should not let belief or preference triumph over evidence,” but in the case 

of extraterrestrials this will be a challenging task.28 Indeed, the vast majority 

of what we will “know” about ET, if contact happens, will be our own inventions based upon very limited data and then elaborated over the long waiting 

periods between contacts.

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CHAPTER NINE

Contact Considerations

A Cross-Cultural Perspective

Douglas Raybeck

Introduction

Within the scientific community as well as in the popular press and among 

science-fiction writers, the existence of extraterrestrials and the possibility of 

communicating with them have long been matters of intense interest. This 

interest has led to such projects as the Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence 

(SETI), which continues to be a focus of attention for many scientists 

despite the challenges of finding sustained funding for this field of research.1

Practitioners of the physical, social, and behavioral sciences have all theorized and speculated about the nature of extraterrestrial intelligence and the 

problems involved in inter-sentient communication.2

 The general consensus 

has been that the universe is very likely to host other intelligent beings, that 

some of these will be more technologically advanced than humans, and that 

some are trying even now to locate other intelligences.

In the science-fiction community, images of extraterrestrials have varied 

in form, intelligence, and intention. They range from the beneficent aliens of 

Julian May, who wish only to elevate humanity and facilitate our participation 

 1. Ronald D. Ekers et al., eds., 
Contact Considerations

in an intergalactic “milieu,” to the malevolent extraterrestrials of Greg Bear, 

who travel about the universe locating intelligent life-forms and destroying 

them before they can become future competitors.3 Generally, however, images 

of aliens in fiction and within the scientific community are positive. It is 

widely believed that if a sentient form can achieve the degree of civilization 

necessary to support interstellar communication, it is unlikely to be characterized by hostile intentions.

In all likelihood, should we have an encounter with an alien intelligence, 

that experience will be neither physical nor continuous. Rather we are most 

apt to find either a message or a remote probe.4 In either event, acknowledging 

the current strictures of space-time and of Relativity Theory, there will be a 

significant lag between exchanges of information. Given the improbability of 

physical contact with aliens, there would seem to be little chance for hostile 

confrontations, even if intelligent extraterrestrials had untoward motives, as 

is quite possible.5

Instead the pertinent question appears to be how will we respond to the 

knowledge, and its inherent challenge, that there are other intelligences 

out there? This paper seeks to explore that issue by utilizing analogies from 

Western colonial adventures in Asia, the Americas, and New Zealand to construct differing scenarios of contact. Our own sociocultural variability may 

be as important as the diversity of those who may contact us. As we shall see, 

some cultures appear better equipped to deal with the profound questions 

likely to be posed by another intelligent life-form.

The relevance of anthropology to SETI has been well argued by Steven 

Dick and by John Traphagan in other chapters of this volume. Kathryn 

Denning has also demonstrated the pertinence of archaeology to several of 

the issues with which SETI is concerned, and her argument that “SETI begins 

at home” is clearly one that the present chapter supports.6

 3. Julian May, 

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Colonial Cultural Contacts

For many centuries European societies had comparatively few technological advantages over the developed societies of the East. Asian cultures were 

technologically superior to Western societies in many respects until the early 

modern period, when Europeans began to excel in shipbuilding, cartography, 

navigation, and the design and manufacture of artillery. By coupling naval and 

military superiority with good management, state support, and often ruthless 

policies, the West was able to impose its will upon other cultures and to extract 

a great deal of wealth.7

I believe physical encounters with extraterrestrials are highly unlikely, but 

I am concerned with the manner in which we will discern and react to the 

discovery of a nonhuman intelligence. A brief review of some of the more 

notorious examples of European and U.S. colonialism may enrich our discussion of the possibilities of first contact with extraterrestrial intelligence. 

Of particular interest here is how the members of various cultures perceived 

and responded to outsiders who often possessed technologies that made them 

seem magical. The examples appear instructive.

Aztec

The cultural contact between the Aztecs and the conquistadors is perhaps the 

most extreme example on record of misinterpreted intentions. At the time of 

contact with the Spanish in the 16th century, the Aztecs had created a highly 

stratified empire with tributary states and a great deal of specialization. They 

were noted for literacy, a complex calendar, magnificent architectural structures, and other accomplishments.

Aztec mythology included a deity called Quetzalcoatl who, it was 

believed, would come from the East with pale countenance and strange 

beasts. When Hernán Cortés arrived in 1519, the Aztec ruler at the time, 

Montezuma II, and members of the priestly class declared that he was a god 

and that his companions also were divine.8 This misperception was encouraged by Cortés, who began to pass himself off as that god. Montezuma 

identified Cortés as a deity in part because the explorer had landed in 

Mexico on the calendar day of Quetzalcoatl’s birth. This timing was no 

 7. Daniel J. Boorstin, 

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Contact Considerations

accident. Cortés had heard tales of Quetzalcoatl and had gambled on being 

mistaken for the Aztec god.9

Cortés had already made an alliance with a traditional enemy of the Aztecs, 

the Indians of Tlaxcala. No doubt the Spanish found the Tlaxcalans worthy as 

allies because they had found them worthy as opponents. When the Tlaxcalans 

had been wrestling with the question of the possibly divine nature of the 

Spanish, one of the more experimentally minded war leaders had resolved the 

issue by holding a Spanish soldier under water until he drowned.10

Unlike previous Aztec rulers, who are described as great warriors, 

Montezuma II was a weak and indecisive man, more interested in sorcery and philosophy than in war. Instead of attacking the Spaniards, he 

tried to assert power over them by trickery, magic, and gifts; when these 

means failed, Montezuma allowed Cortés to enter the island capital of 

Tenochtitlán unchallenged and received him in his court. Montezuma was 

taken prisoner without resistance, but the brutal conduct of the invaders 

aroused the anger of the city’s inhabitants. The Aztecs managed to drive the 

foreigners out for a short while, but during the ensuing battle, Montezuma 

died under mysterious circumstances; he was killed either by the Spaniards 

or by his own people.11

Moral: Try to assess the new guys on the block accurately, and don’t give 

them any opportunity to exploit existing divisions. Indeed, the likelihood 

that many nations will seek to gain a monopoly on interactions with extraterrestrial intelligence is apt to be one of humanity’s greatest problems.

Japanese

Until the middle of the 19th century, Japan was an agrarian, peasant society 

ruled by warlords (daimyo) in the service of an overlord (shogun). Daimyo, 

in turn, were served by the samurai, a traditional warrior class whose name 

derives from the Japanese word for service. Medieval samurai were generally 

illiterate, rural landowners who farmed between battles. Some developed the 

necessary skills for bureaucratic service, but most did not. During the shogunate of the Tokugawa family (1600–1868), the samurai as a class were transformed into military bureaucrats and were required to master administrative 

 9. Buddy Levy, 

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

skills as well as military arts. As hereditary warriors, they were governed by 

a code of ethics: bushido, meaning “the way of the warrior,” defined service 

and conduct appropriate to their status as elite members of Japanese society.12

The first European to reach Japan was a Portuguese explorer named 

Fernão Mendes Pinto, who arrived there in 1543; just two years later the 

Portuguese established the first trade route between Japan and Europe. 

Shortly afterward, Jesuit missionaries introduced Roman Catholicism. 

Christianity conflicted with feudal loyalties, however, and by 1639 had 

been completely banned.13 At that point all Europeans except the Dutch 

were expelled from Japan, and the Dutch traders permitted to remain were 

interned on an artificial island so that the Japanese might better study their 

economic practices.14 The Japanese could accomplish all this largely because 

they were a centralized polity.

Japan’s traditional class structure placed merchants at the bottom of a 

four-tiered system, where they were carefully controlled by the ruling elite. 

This privileged class, while dependent upon merchants for trade, feared their 

economic power.15 The Japanese class system and other cultural elements had 

been adapted from Chinese practices. Indeed, for centuries Japan had borrowed significant cultural elements from China, including aspects of Chinese 

science, philosophy, and literacy.16

The social structure was strongly patrilineal, with a rule of primogeniture: 

the eldest son inherited the family land, and younger sons moved elsewhere 

to seek employment. Marion Levy has argued that this combination of features made it possible for Japan to modernize rapidly. Not only did Japan 

have prior experience emulating and adopting the cultural patterns of others, 

but its social organization created a cadet class of younger brothers ready to 

be trained for industry, and its merchants were waiting to be freed from the 

economic and behavioral fetters that bound them.17

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Contact Considerations

In 1868, in reaction to U.S. Commodore Matthew Perry’s incursions of 

the mid-1850s and Japan’s consequent concessions to the West, Japanese 

samurai overthrew the Tokugawa shogunate and reestablished the rule of 

the Meiji emperor. What followed was one of the most dramatic examples of 

sociocultural change in history. Within two generations, Japan transformed 

itself from a feudal backwater to a world power by making major changes in 

its traditional culture and social structure.

Moral: Here the example suggests that prior experience with borrowing 

cultural elements may promote a flexible response to sociocultural challenges, 

even when they involve significant adaptation.

Chinese

China is a highly patricentric culture in which descent is patrilineal, power 

is patripotestal, inheritance follows the male line, major ancestors included 

in ancestor worship are exclusively male, and Confucianism exalts manliness and masculine virtues.18 When Europeans were still wearing urinecured hides and painting their faces blue, China was already a complex, 

centralized polity.

The name Middle Kingdom expressed China’s self-image as a nation positioned midway between heaven and hell.19 Because China dominated the region, 

it demanded and received preferential treatment from neighbors it viewed as 

vassal states. Indeed, several states in Southeast Asia paid annual tribute and 

routinely requested assistance from China to mediate regional disputes.20

When Western influence first appeared in the shape of travelers such as 

Marco Polo, it was seen by the Chinese as a harmless novelty. As Western 

governments became aware of the vast resources China possessed, they 

pressed its rulers to open up the country to trade; but the Chinese continued to believe that all outsiders were barbarians compared to residents of 

the Middle Kingdom. As late as 1793, China’s Qianlong emperor rejected 

the idea of trade with Europe on the grounds that the West had nothing 

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his country needed.21 This attitude could not long be maintained, however, and by the early 20th century, European hegemony in Asia was well 

established.22

The Qing emperors had attempted to conduct diplomatic and commercial relations with the European powers within the traditional framework of the tribute system and had sought to confine foreign trade to the 

single port of Canton in the south. The British, the most active European 

traders, were also among the most active smugglers of opium into China. 

The seizure and destruction by Chinese authorities of all foreign opium at 

Canton precipitated the First Opium War of 1839–1842. At its conclusion, 

the emperor was forced by the Treaty of Nanjing to capitulate to a British 

naval force, cede Hong Kong to Britain, open several ports to unrestricted 

trade, and promise to conduct all future foreign relations on the basis of 

equality. China was also compelled to recognize the principle of extraterritoriality, by which Westerners in China were subject only to the jurisdiction 

of their own country’s consular court.23 As a result of these events, China 

was treated by Westerners as politically and economically inferior until the 

mid-20th century.

Moral: China’s unwillingness to deal with European powers as equals and 

its inability to perceive the threat implicit in Western technology had serious 

repercussions, some of which still influence contemporary Chinese attitudes 

toward trade and outsiders.24

Iroquois

The matrilineal Iroquois nations were among the most politically complex 

cultures in North America. When Europeans first encountered them in the 

early 17th century, the Iroquois were composed of five separate nations: 

the Cayuga, Oneida, Onondaga, Seneca, and Mohawk; somewhat later the 

Tuscarora also came to be considered as part of the Iroquois Confederacy. 

 21.

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Contact Considerations

Living in fortified villages, they raised corn, hunted game, and controlled a 

territory ranging from the Atlantic Coast to the Mississippi Valley, as far north 

as the St. Lawrence Valley.25

Traditionally, Iroquois women were the principal participants in agriculture and were also active in some aspects of governance. Iroquois men traveled 

frequently, sometimes for war parties but more often to engage in diplomacy. 

The Iroquois Confederacy was governed by 50 sachems. The ruling council 

did not interfere with individual tribes, which were overseen by sachem representatives, but it did make policy for the Confederacy. Council decisions 

were unanimous and required consensus. Not surprisingly, oratory was valued 

and the Iroquois were widely regarded as skilled public speakers.26

In the 17th century the Iroquois rejected the European missionaries who 

had hoped to convert them to Christianity. After access to firearms was made 

possible by divisions between the European powers, the Iroquois, whose 

military tactics were often superior, battled European soldiers to a stalemate. 

Both the French and English regarded the Iroquois as the most diplomatically 

astute and militarily dangerous of all the northeastern groups with which they 

came into contact.27 Further, the Iroquois, while eager to possess European 

technology, were selective in their approach to cultural borrowing. They took 

those elements they wanted, such as firearms, tools, and tribute; but, unlike 

many other Native American tribes, they refused to emulate European culture 

until long after the original contact period.

The Iroquois tended to support the English against the French, but increasingly they found advantage in playing one foreign power off against the other. 

This strategy foundered during the Revolutionary War, when the Americans, 

incensed by Iroquois support for England, attacked Iroquois villages using 

tactics similar to those employed by Native Americans, and with a degree of 

viciousness that has seldom been equaled.28

Moral: The Iroquois initially responded to European incursions as well as 

any of the cultures I have discussed thus far. Their contact with and openness 

to other cultures, their flexibility, and their resourcefulness initially stood 

them in good stead. Ultimately, however, the Iroquois were simply overpowered by a force that was numerically and technologically superior.

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- Maori

The Māori of New Zealand speak a language related to both Tahitian and 

Hawai‘ian. They are probably descended from travelers who left Hawai‘i and 

who eventually reached the islands they called Aotearoa sometime around AD 

900.29 At the time of Captain James Cook’s visit in 1769, the Māori population was an estimated 100,000 to 250,000, divided into about 50 tribes, each 

occupying separate territories. The Māori were village-dwelling gardeners 

who stored sweet-potato crops. Three social classes existed: aristocrats, commoners, and slaves captured in war. Differences in rank were associated with 

supernatural power, or mana. Religious knowledge and activities were also 

graded, with priests (tohunga) functioning as key figures. Traditional art forms 

included decorative wood carving—such as those seen on Māori longhouses 

and great canoes—poetry and storytelling, chanting, dancing, and singing.

By the end of the 18th century, European seal and whale hunters were 

establishing shore bases on both islands. Soon after came traders in search of 

timber and flax. Inevitably, perhaps, a series of clashes followed in which the 

Māori were very badly treated: reports of atrocities committed by sailors and 

adventurers became so alarming to the Anglican Church that it established 

a mission and then petitioned the British government to appoint a resident 

administrator of the islands in 1833.

By then, however, the Māori had already come to regard Westerners as 

dangerous and untrustworthy. One of the first commodities they traded for 

in quantity was weaponry, and in 1825 they managed to rebuff the first serious British attempt at colonization. Māori were accustomed to organized 

conflict, and many of their villages were located on hilltops, palisaded and 

surrounded with fighting trenches.30 When the British regiments attacked, 

they were met by accurate gunfire from both trenches and palisade. The 

Māori took great pride in their ability to repel British troops, and on one 

notorious occasion they sent down gunpowder and musket balls to a company of British soldiers that, having run out of ammunition, was about to 

break off hostilities.31

The process of colonization led, especially on the North Island, to clashes 

with those Māori, who, with good cause, disputed the alleged purchase of land 

by the New Zealand Company. Sporadic warfare broke out, and disorder and 

uncertainty prevailed for some 12 years. But in time, British troops quelled 

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Contact Considerations

the “fire in the fern,” as these Māori Wars were called, and Māori resistance 

to British authority ceased. The Treaty of Waitangi, which was signed on 6 

February 1840 by some but not all of the Māori chiefs, gave the Māori a 

disadvantageous position.

After the signing of the treaty came a long period of protest and gradual 

adjustment. Māori morale was buoyed in part because there had been no 

formal surrender but rather a negotiated accession. The Māori now number 

about 565,000 (2006 Census) and represent more than 14 percent of New 

Zealand’s population. Recently, the New Zealand government made a settlement with the Maori that addressed the inequities of the 1840 treaty and 

provided compensation in the form of large land tracts and cash.32 Generally, 

New Zealanders of European descent have supported attempts to improve 

the economic situation of the Māori people.

Moral: The Māori resisted British incursions in a fashion that not only 

earned the respect of their adversaries but also allowed them a pride that sustained them when they were finally overwhelmed by disease, superior technology, and organization.33 Reacting forcefully to clear injustice and violations 

of reciprocity can eventually benefit a disadvantaged group.

Back to the Future

When I, and many others, began to express a professional interest in the possibility of extraterrestrial intelligence, we were often met by indulgent smiles. 

As Douglas Vakoch does a fine job of demonstrating in chapter 12 of this 

collection, our interest is neither new nor unwarranted; at the same time, as 

Albert Harrison shows in chapter 11, this interest is not without a range of 

accompanying concerns.34

Most serious astronomers and cosmologists are convinced that we are 

unlikely to be the only intelligent life in the universe. NASA’s Kepler mission 

 32.

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to identify Earth-like planets has already met with some significant success.35

However, it is a big universe and scientists are split about the probability of 

an actual encounter with an alien intelligence.36 Nonetheless, all are generally agreed that such an encounter would have enormous consequences for 

humanity, and most such scenarios are positive. It is this consensus that fuels 

the SETI project. Once sponsored by the federal government, SETI now 

operates with private funding.

SETI researchers are currently enlisting the assistance of interested computer owners around the world. It is possible to download a program called 

SETI@home, which in turn can download chunks of data from radio observatories and then analyze that data for a meaningful pattern that could suggest 

intelligence.37 The results of the analysis are then returned by the computer 

owner to the SETI scientists, providing them with a free and powerful means 

to expand their information-processing base.

Probes and Possibilities

Given the strictures on space travel imposed by problems arising when one 

approaches a percentage of the speed of light, our first encounter with extraterrestrials will almost certainly be via a messaging system of some sort. I 

believe the biggest obstacle to current searches involves the limitations of our 

technology. It may not be possible to recognize that a message is being sent 

since there are a variety of media that could be employed, and aliens may 

well employ a medium that we have yet to recognize. How would we have 

responded a century ago to radio transmissions, a half-century ago to microwaves, a quarter-century ago to binary laser pulses? The obvious answer is we 

wouldn’t have been aware that there was anything to which to respond. We 

cannot recognize and deal with messages conveyed through a medium that 

we have yet to discover. Unfortunately, a technologically advanced civilization 

 35.

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Contact Considerations

may employ a very advanced medium, as a means of identifying species and 

civilizations with which more promising exchanges might take place.

In addition to the purely technological problems with recognizing messages, there is the difficulty of decoding them. Since alien intelligences have 

necessarily developed in an alien environment, we can expect them and their 

mental processes to be markedly different from our own, probably so different 

as to impede communication.38 Fortunately, while there is not space to discuss 

the details here, there are means by which we may be able to overcome communications problems, positing only that an alien intelligence can recognize 

binary distinctions, a fundamental aspect of information processing.39

Assuming that we recognize signals emanating from an intelligent extraterrestrial source, our next difficulty will involve the enormous time lags in 

sending and receiving messages. According to our present understanding, no 

message can exceed the speed of light, and while that speed is nothing to be 

challenged by a tortoise, the lag will necessarily be measured in years, possibly decades. The strategic problems such a lag imposes are considerable and 

have serious consequences for productive communications and for exchange.

Let me indulge in a final terrestrial parallel from the history of British colonialism. A promising young administrator of the British East India Company 

(BEIC), Stamford Raffles, was due to return to England, having served his 

tour in Batavia in Indonesia.40 He stopped at a fishing village on an island 

in the Strait of Malacca and noted a large natural harbor in a location that 

ensured access to both the East and the West and that could affect, if not 

control, much of the shipping between the two. He immediately dispatched 

a letter to the BEIC and Foreign Office requesting permission to establish a 

port, and since it would be several months before he could receive a response, 

he set about developing the port and area trade. In the mid-19th century, 

Britain was heavily involved with the enormous Indian subcontinent and 

had no desire to establish outposts in Southeast Asia. Further, Britain had 

no wish to offend or risk alienating its Dutch allies, who already had a strong 

presence on the Malay Peninsula. The answer returned to Raffles was “no.” 

However, by this point the port was already making a significant profit and 

challenging Malacca for primacy.

 38.

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Raffles believed the new circumstances of this emergent economic power 

might sway the bureaucrats at BEIC, and he wrote them back, citing the 

growth in population and in trade and the favorable location of the site. While 

the British and Dutch entered into negotiations on this issue, Raffles continued to expand trade. Within a year his profit was over $4,000,000, and his 

little port had grown to 10,000 inhabitants. Within five years, while Dutchcontrolled Malacca made $2,500,000, the island port generated revenue of 

$22,185,000. Even the British bureaucracy proved capable of recognizing a 

windfall when one fell on them, and they gave Raffles permission to continue 

with the establishment of Singapore.41

This kind of scenario strongly suggests that our most meaningful interaction with extraterrestrial intelligence will be through a perspicacious robot 

probe equipped to seek out other intelligence and to conduct trade where 

possible. The existence of such an instrument would certainly imply a civilization technologically in advance of ours. However, while such a civilization 

could be greatly advanced compared to us, this is not a necessary postulation. 

Several authorities believe that, within the next 75 years, we will possess the 

capability to send such probes ourselves.42

We need not make the Aztec error and presume that extraterrestrials who 

contact us possess godlike powers or even represent an enlightened civilization.43 They may come from a civilization as politically, culturally, and 

ethnically divided as our own. However, for purposes of initial interaction, 

this diversity may not be salient, as we are liable to be contacted by a single 

sociocultural entity.

Trade and Tremors

The one precious commodity that has no mass yet can be traded between 

all sentients is information. This is why we can anticipate the arrival, at 

some point, of an intelligent probe, designed to collect information for later 

 41.

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Contact Considerations

transmission back to its point of origin. No doubt the probe will also be 

equipped to evaluate the circumstances it confronts and to assess what sorts of 

information can appropriately—and safely—be exchanged. Exchange, trade, 

will be the main motivation for contact. Of course, some information can be 

obtained by observation, without any human agents. However, efficiency in 

gathering information and the ability to assess its importance and organize 

it coherently would greatly benefit from our active participation.

Perceptions of the potential represented by such contact can be expected 

to vary among nations and to raise a series of ethical and international legal 

issues.44 Each country will want to profit from exchanges, and a dominant 

theme, given the sad state of the international scene, may well be weaponry. 

However, if we can assume a modicum of rational self-interest on the part of 

an intelligent probe, this is just the sort of information it would be unwilling 

to release. This leaves a variety of issues ranging from health and longevity 

to environmental control. Different nations will undoubtedly have varying 

priorities in this regard. There may even be countries that wish to trade for 

such esoteric elements as music and philosophy.

The reactions of various nations to the trading possibilities will be critical in shaping the initial interactions with a nonterrestrial sentient. Nations 

will likely differ in both perspective and manner as they approach the goal 

of communicating with an extraterrestrial intelligence. All nations will make 

assessments of the intentions of the probe and will evaluate whether it is apt 

to be threatening or benign.45 Fortunately, a promising means of assessing 

intentions has recently been suggested.46 Even though the possibility that the 

sentients responsible for constructing the probe may well be aggressive, the 

probe itself will probably not pose a threat. As mentioned earlier, Greg Bear 

has posited malevolent extraterrestrials who send destructive probes about 

the universe to locate intelligent life-forms and destroy them.47 Short of this 

scenario, however, such probes are apt to be complex collectors of information. One of their functions may well be to identify sentients who could pose 

a future threat to them.

 44.

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The responses of most major nations will likely feature a degree of military/

political paranoia. Although it seems improbable that the probe would express 

bellicose intent, or be capable of significant hostile action (remember, we need 

not anticipate enormously advanced technology to accept the probability of 

contact), most governments will respond with a conservative posture, fearing 

at least trickery and at most some form of cataclysm. Given the manner in 

which our technologically superior nations have treated other members of 

their own species, there could be grounds for real concern.48

It would make sense to nominate the United Nations or some other agency 

as the spokes-entity for the planet, but the UN has become an unwieldy 

bureaucracy with both staunch supporters and vociferous opponents, and 

there exists no other agency acceptable to all powers. That Earth may not 

speak with one voice could put us in a difficult bargaining position, as countries will probably vie with each other for greater access to the probe’s store 

of information. It is extremely plausible that the probe might be in a better 

position to influence trade terms than will the various nations of Earth.

Practical Ponderings

While the United States may have a technological advantage in complex 

communication systems, this advantage may prove insignificant should real 

possibilities for trade arise. Indeed, given the ubiquity of the Web and the 

access to information it provides, poor countries can assert their right to trade 

as easily as rich ones. Probably, those nations who might better succeed in 

such a trading situation will possess some cultural and social qualities that 

the United States lacks. Their internal politics may be more consistent and 

their world view more accepting of differences. Other countries may also 

lack some of the United States’ handicaps. The U.S., along with many other 

Western nations, tends to make dichotomous judgments that can oversimplify complex situations.

As our brief review of the Iroquois Confederacy and Japan indicated, there 

is considerable utility in coordinating a unified response to the possibility 

of trade. A centralized polity can foster such a response, assuming that, like 

those of Japan and the Iroquois and unlike that of the United States, the 

governance structure is not overly bureaucratic. Exempting a few idealistic 

and intellectual oddballs, the principal concern of most people and most 

nations will be profit.

 48.

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Contact Considerations

As it did among the Japanese and the Iroquois, a history of prior cultural 

borrowing could encourage an open attitude toward trade. Nonetheless, as 

Japan has abundantly demonstrated, this element does not hinder an ethnocentric world view. What it does do is to make borrowing and adopting new 

elements a pragmatic issue rather than an ideological one.

A level of balanced heterogeneity is desirable. By that I mean it would 

be useful if a nation contains peoples of differing ethnicities and languages 

who are neither particularly advantaged nor disadvantaged within the social 

structure. Such a situation would probably further a genuine respect for differences, and this could be a useful perspective in dealing with an extraterrestrial 

intelligence. I would like to report that our planet is replete with examples, 

but such is not the case. This condition is not only rare; it is probably not 

fully realized anywhere on Earth, and we have 4,000 cultures.49

Finally, the strangest observation of all, in communications with an alien 

probe, poor nations should enjoy an advantage over rich ones. My reasoning 

here simply reflects the propensities of those in control to wish to remain so 

and, if possible, to augment their power.50 Thus, wealthy nations such as ours 

will have to contend with a variety of powerful special interests, each trying 

to gain some advantage in the unfolding scenario and each desperately worried 

that new information may undercut its market position. Who could be more 

threatened by cheap energy than Standard Oil, Shell, the oil cartels, etc.? Who 

would be more endangered by inexpensive transport than Detroit and other 

auto and truck manufacturers? How will drug companies, insurance companies, power suppliers, unions, and others respond to the challenges posed 

by new information? Should they be unable to benefit directly from the new 

information, they will endeavor at least to maintain the status quo. Since we 

possess the best government money can buy, we in particular will find our 

efforts at trade hindered by the divisive acts of entrenched corporate interests.

One final bit of advice in what is liable to be a future bargaining session: 

don’t forget the lesson taught us by the Māori and by the confident manner 

with which they greeted British colonizers. Despite probable disparities in 

 49.

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technology and knowledge between ourselves and the extraterrestrials who 

send a probe to contact us, we should not view ourselves as helpless pawns. 

Reciprocity is the most fundamental principle of human interaction.51 It is 

therefore one apt to be appreciated by any sentient.52 If we encounter difficulties in the bargaining process, they will more probably emanate from our own 

differences and our own politics than from the machinations of an intelligent 

probe. Of course, if we place ourselves in weak bargaining positions, it seems 

probable that another would take advantage of that. Wouldn’t you?

 51.

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CHAPTER TEN

Culture and Communication 

with Extraterrestrial Intelligence

John W. Traphagan

Recent research focusing on how humans might construct interstellar messages to communicate with an extraterrestrial intelligence has raised interesting opportunities to think about the manner in which contact and culture 

intersect. Douglas Vakoch, for example, asks the important question of 

whether music, the seemingly universal “language” shared by humans, could 

provide a means of communicating or whether it might be incomprehensible 

to beings with different types of sense organs and who evolved different ways 

of dealing with the exchange of information through sound.1 It has also 

been widely thought that mathematics would provide an excellent means of 

communication. As Carl DeVito has observed, in order for extraterrestrial 

intelligent beings to construct the equipment necessary for radio transmissions, it would seem likely that they would need a thorough understanding 

of mathematics.2

 Other researchers have suggested exploration of potential 

cognitive universals, such as aesthetics or spiritual ideas as a basis for developing strategies in SETI research.3

 In each case, however, questions remain as 

to whether the mathematics, aesthetics, or spirituality of an extraterrestrial 

 1. Douglas Vakoch, “Celestial Music?,” 

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being will be mutually intelligible with our own, even if the underlying 

principles are the same.

Marvin Minsky argues that certain basic capacities and characteristics will 

be typical of any intelligent being: these include self-awareness; problemsolving capacity; analytical skills; and the abilities to describe the world, 

explain phenomena, accumulate and exchange information, allocate scarce 

resources, and plan ahead.4

 While this argument makes a great deal of sense, 

an important issue is missing that must be considered: all of these capacities 

involve culture, and culture is highly variable even among humans, who are, 

from a biological perspective, relatively uniform.

Philosopher Thomas Nagel’s discussion of the question “What is it like to 

be a bat?” is illustrative when considering this issue. Nagel notes that, while 

consciousness of experience occurs at many levels of animal life, experiencing 

what it is to be another form of animal life is essentially impossible.5

 Bats, 

of course, are designed to experience the world through echolocation, using 

sonic feedback from their own screeches to discriminate among objects in the 

world and thus to construct in their brains some type of model or understanding of their environment. Echolocation mediates the manner by which bats 

enact the capacities that they have, such as planning ahead to avoid ramming 

into obstacles or identifying mosquitoes to eat. In other words, how they plan 

and how they identify things are based on a model of the environment that 

is, in turn, based on the interpretation of sonic echoes as the means by which 

to spatially locate and identify objects (in contrast to humans, who primarily 

interpret light reflections to accomplish the same goals).

Nagel defines the problem this way: because we lack the capacity to echolocate, we are fundamentally incapable of knowing how bats experience the 

world we both inhabit. We can imagine what it is to be a bat, but we cannot 

know what it is to be a bat or what a bat’s experience of the world is really 

like, because we are incapable of processing and interpreting information in 

the way that bats do. The same can be said for other animals, such as dogs, 

that are much closer to humans in terms of their sense organs. Hound dogs 

have approximately 10 times the number of scent receptors that humans do 

and have different visual and aural abilities. With these senses, how does a 

 4. Marvin Minsky, “Communication with Alien Intelligence,” in 

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dog construct the world? Are his “images” or conceptualizations of the world 

primarily based on interpretation of scent or sound (note the difficulty we 

have, being largely visual animals, in imagining the world without the notion 

of an image coming into the picture) as opposed to the interpretation of 

visual images?

Even among humans who share the same apparatus for sensing the world 

(keep in mind that people who are blind or deaf, for example, do not share 

the same apparatus), the things that people choose to focus on when constructing their world can vary considerably from one culture to another. 

For example, when English speakers count, we focus only on the number 

of a particular object: one sheet of paper, two sheets of paper, three sheets 

of paper; one pencil, two pencils, three pencils. We also emphasize the difference between one object and multiple objects. For some reason that is 

lost to the ages, it matters to English speakers that, when counting things, 

one addresses only the issue of how many and that, when categorizing parts 

of the world, one differentiates between a single object of a particular kind 

and many of those objects.

By contrast, Japanese speakers approach counting things in the world quite 

differently. First, the Japanese language does not need to distinguish between 

one and more than one object. This is implied by the fact that numbering 

of things does not involve plurals in most cases. There is one car, two car, 

three car; or one tree, two tree, three tree; and so on. Second, the issue of how 

many is not distinct from the issue of the structural form that the object one 

is counting takes in the world. Thus, to count things like sheets of paper or 

compact discs in Japanese, one counts ichi-mai, ni-mai, san-mai, meaning 

“one thin, flat thing; two thin, flat thing; three thin, flat thing.” If one wants 

to count things like pencils or pipes, one counts ippon, ni-hon, san-bon, indicating “one cylindrical thing, two cylindrical thing, three cylindrical thing.” 

There are counters for large machines, small machines, large animals, small 

animals, and, to the irritation of native English speakers who want to learn 

Japanese, many different forms found in the world.

The point here is that even among two human languages, the approach to 

something as simple as counting differs significantly, although by no means 

beyond the point of mutual comprehension. We can translate counting in 

Japanese to counting in English by rendering enpitsu ippon as “one pencil” 

and kuruma ni-dai as “two cars.” While this is a perfectly clear and reasonable translation for these objects and for the quantity of them, something 

interesting happens in the process—we lose basic interpretive and classificatory information about how Japanese people perceive what is important 

in counting things. Furthermore, we encounter this difference despite the 

fact that Japanese and English speakers do all of the things that Minsky 

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identifies as being fundamental to intelligence. How would we translate 

counting between humans and, say, a race of intelligent beings who process 

sensory data through echolocation? Would counting—and, more generally, 

mathematics—necessarily be constructed in the same way humans do this 

by such beings? Given their manner of processing the world, perhaps they 

would be quite interested in shape and size or sonic qualities when counting. 

Would a bat-like intelligent species count “one large sound-absorbent thing, 

two large sound-absorbent thing,” or “one small sound-reflective thing, two 

small sound-reflective thing”?

While it seems entirely reasonable that the underlying principles of symbolic systems such as mathematics or music would be understood by both 

humans and an alien intelligence, the way in which a particular being acquires 

and processes sensory data will influence its construction of any system to 

describe what is being processed. Furthermore, the elements of the world that 

are deemed important in a particular culture, which are, in turn, shaped by 

the sensory organs available to a particular species of beings, will also influence 

cognition and the manner in which individuals in that society classify and 

construct their world around elements that matter more or less.6

Whether it is counting, music, or mathematics, the question of how to 

communicate is not simply one of the mediums through which ideas are 

exchanged or the capacity to carry out certain functions necessary to understanding and manipulating an environment that is consistent in the universe 

that both beings inhabit. Instead, it is one of recognizing an interpretive 

context or framework for communication that will work when it is quite 

possible that the mode of communication and interpretation—of receiving and analyzing information—natural to an extraterrestrial life-form will 

differ significantly from our own. At the root of this issue is the question of 

how culture factors into that process of interstellar communication and the 

construction of interstellar messages.

What is Culture?

The definition of culture is usually assumed rather than explicated, not only in 

the literature dealing with SETI but also in more general scholarly and nonscholarly discussions of intercultural communication among human societies. 

 6. I am at this point ignoring the possibility of an alien intelligence in which individuality is not 

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It is essential, however, that we, as cultural beings, rigorously consider what 

we mean by culture when addressing the issue of how to communicate with 

an unknown other. The culture concept, as it is used in popular media and 

many areas of scholarship, is largely used as a homogenizing category that 

tends toward essentialist representations of both other societies and those of 

the individuals who are writing.7

Anthropologists have long recognized the complexity associated with 

identifying the characteristics of any particular “culture” and have debated 

not only the extent to which one can consider culture bounded but also the 

meaning of culture as both an empirical and an analytical category. These 

debates have often divided anthropologists about how the concept should 

be used and what it actually represents in terms of human social organization and behavior. As James L. Watson points out, early usage of the term in 

anthropology centered upon the idea that culture is a shared set of beliefs, 

customs, and ideas that are learned and that unify people into coherent and 

identifiable groups.8

 In this sense, then, culture represents a form of collective or social memory that links past, present, and future. This formulation 

represents culture as fairly deterministic in shaping human behavior within 

a particular—and bounded—society.

Contemporary anthropologists have created theoretical constructs that 

posit culture as being much less static than the type of definition given above 

implies. People are not only unified but may also be divided by their customs 

and beliefs even when they ostensibly belong to the same culture. Rather than 

the deterministic “thing” reified in earlier concepts of culture developed by 

anthropologists and still widely used in other fields of scholarship, culture 

is better understood as a process by which people continually contest and 

reinvent the customs, beliefs, and ideas that they use, collectively, individually, 

and often strategically, to characterize both their own groups and those of 

others.9 In short, culture is in a constant state of flux. Furthermore, it involves 

not only subjective interpretation of events and experiences but also individual agency as people negotiate and manipulate their social environments.

 7. Essentialism is often defined as the tendency to reduce a group of people to specific charac

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That said, it is important to recognize that culture is the primary lens 

through which humans acquire sensory data and organize those data into 

useful patterns and systems. Bruce Wexler, in a recent discussion of sensory 

deprivation and brain development, notes that the relationship of an individual to his or her environment is so extensive that making a hard and fast 

distinction between the two is quite problematic.10 Because humans now 

inhabit an environment that is more artificial than organic, modern children 

develop their cognitive abilities in response to stimuli that are predominantly 

cultural rather than natural Culture does not simply provide a set of ideas, 

rules, or concepts that shape behavior; it provides an environment of behaviors that people observe and that, in children at least, influences the physiological development of the brain.

The fact that culture is both fluid and highly individualized does not mean 

that culture is either analytically unapproachable or impossible to understand and characterize. Indeed, culture is so central to how humans and, I 

would argue, any intelligent being functions that it is essential to attempt 

a definition, even if only a provisional one.11 Culture, from my perspective,

is a complex of social and ideational fields of constructs that exist within individual minds, that are negotiated and developed in reaction to personal experience mediated by particular sensory apparatuses, and through which individuals 

organize and interpret sensory data as symbols and concepts that are, in turn, 

used for further organization and interpretation. These fields are interconnected 

regions of memory that are used to translate concrete experience into domains 

of abstract and subjective reasoning and feeling. In short, culture involves 

the individual process of triangulating memory, which is inherently personal and idiosyncratic, with experience, which can be either individuated 

or collectivized.

For example, when an American sees a baseball game, he is likely to conjure up a variety of images or memories, both personal and shared, which 

may contribute to the status of baseball within the consciousness of individual 

Americans as culturally significant. One person might think of civil rights and 

Jackie Robinson, or the come-from-behind victory of the Red Sox over the 

 10.

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Culture and Communication with Extraterrestrial Intelligence

Yankees in the 2004 American League Championship Series. Another might 

think about pleasant afternoons playing Little League ball, or displeasure 

with a spouse who spends hours in front of the television watching major 

league games. The specific memories that one associates with the sport are 

idiosyncratic; a single woman won’t have memories of a husband who spends 

too much time watching baseball on TV, even if she is well aware that there 

are husbands whose behavior is interpreted this way. A Red Sox fan may consider the Dodgers/Angels interleague rivalry but could regard it as trivial in 

comparison with memories of Ted Williams or hatred of the Yankees, which, 

in turn, are based on remembered experiences of past encounters between 

Williams and the Yankees. One need not have played or even watched baseball 

to have memories related to the game and to understand its meanings within 

American culture, but it is necessary to know baseball as an idea in order to 

create linkages with other areas of one’s life and to derive meaning from those 

linkages. It is in the subjective and personal interpretation of experience and 

the generation of personal abstractions or linkages between experience and 

interpretation that we find culture.

The idea that some memories or ideas are shared, such as a baseball game, 

is based upon the assumption that most people have had some similar experience associated with the thing in question. But if one considers the example 

of a sporting event carefully, it becomes clear that each person at the ballpark 

or arena has a different experience. For example, each seat is oriented at a 

unique angle to the field, creating distinct visual and aural perspectives on the 

action; the experience from an outfield bleacher seat and the experience from 

a box seat directly behind home plate are radically different. Furthermore, 

a variety of other activities are going on during the game: people are having 

conversations, passing around a beach ball, taking a nap, getting beer or peanuts, chasing a nearby foul ball, or shouting obscenities at the umpires. To 

put it briefly, at what appears to be the collective event of a baseball game, no 

two members of the audience experience the game in precisely the same way. 

The same can be said for the players, each of whom perceives the game from 

a different position on the field or from the bullpen or bench.12

This example should not be taken as an isolated one—each particular 

experience is embedded in a vast matrix of constructs that exists within each 

person’s own collection of experiences. The formula F = ma that we learn in 

high-school physics class is part of the collection of experiences shared by 

 12.

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most Americans and people in many other societies, although certainly not 

shared by all humans. Study and learning are direct experiencings of the world 

and are reflected in this example as the reified abstractions (such as force) that 

have become part of the logic of modern science and specifically physics. As 

the knowledge of individual experience becomes shared knowledge among 

certain groups of people, it is organized and constructed (re-collected) within 

the framework of an assumed, collectivized logic, which in many cases may be 

accepted as consisting of unequivocal maxims of human experience, or doxa, 

as sociologist Pierre Bourdieu terms the natural and unquestioned in relation 

to culture, even when that logic is not actually shared among all humans or 

even by various groups within a particular society.13

In short, the experience of the baseball game or the formula F = ma, 

rather than being collective, is collectivized as the participants generate an 

abstraction (construct) about a shared experience (watching a game, learning a formula, etc.). While the experience that I have with my son sitting 

next to me at a Red Sox game may be reasonably similar to his, that of the 

drunken fan two rows behind us may be quite different from ours; however, 

we may still collectivize the experience as communal because we do share the 

fact of having attended the game and, if we are both Red Sox fans, of having 

pulled for our team. We also share some level of common understanding of 

the game and how it is played; however, my son’s knowledge of the game is 

considerably deeper than mine because he is an accomplished player—he 

sees many things that I miss because he has a type of experience I lack. And 

other fans may know little or nothing about the game or be knowledgeable 

enough to keep score.

The central point here is that culture is contained not in an ephemeral social 

milieu but in the heads of the people who define their own selves in terms 

of a particular set of contextually shaped constructs (ideas, memories, and 

behaviors). As a result, culture is idiosyncratic. There is neither an American 

culture nor a Japanese culture nor an extraterrestrial culture. Instead, there are 

multiple and varied constructions and interpretations of the social milieu in 

which intelligent beings live. Many of these constructions and interpretations 

are collectivized and are thus viewed as being shared by the members of any 

arbitrarily defined social group. The fact that these interpretations overlap to 

some (variable) extent and generate predictable behaviors and selves that are 

mutually identified and consistent with observable behaviors leads people to 

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think of culture as being “out there”—transcending the individual, existing 

in its own right, and governed by its own laws.14

Implications for SETI Research

There are several themes running through the above discussion that have 

relevance for SETI and CETI research. First, culture is not distinct from 

biology—the sensory apparatus that individuals use significantly shapes their 

experience of the world and the manner in which they experience and construct cultural ideas and patterns of behavior. Second, culture represents a 

context for linking memory, experience, and predictability (past, present, 

and future) into an interpretive framework that people use to deal with their 

surroundings. Third, culture is neither bounded nor constant; instead, it is 

in a continual state of change or flux. Finally, culture is not consistent; it is 

an amalgam of individual experiences, interpretations, and memories that are 

treated as though they are consistent but that actually involve considerable 

variation at the individual level.

When thinking about potential contact with an extraterrestrial intelligence, one can draw several conclusions from this type of understanding of 

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culture. First, when we ask such questions as “Will ET be altruistic?” or “Will 

ET be bent upon eradicating inferior beings from the galaxy?” we are probably barking up the wrong tree. For example, Frank Drake argues that any 

highly organized group of people will necessarily require altruism, because 

the ability to put the needs of the social whole ahead of one’s own needs is a 

prerequisite to creating any organizational structure.15 There are, of course, 

some problems with this formulation; the most notable of which is the recognition that group and individual needs are not always necessarily at odds 

and, thus, that individuals may align themselves with the needs of the group 

only when those needs correspond with their individual interests.16 I may 

align my own interests with those of administrators in my university simply 

because they write my paycheck, not because I necessarily agree in every case 

with their decisions about university policies and practices. In other words, 

being “altruistic” may simply be a form of selfish behavior. Drake also makes 

the important point that the definition of what constitutes altruistic behavior 

may vary considerably from one society to another. Ethnographic research 

has shown repeatedly that there is no necessary mapping of one society’s 

conceptualizations of the good or the altruistic onto those of another society, 

and it is not at all unusual for such concepts to be contradictory even within 

a particular society.17

My aim here is not to enter into a discussion of whether alien societies 

will be altruistic. Rather, it is to point out that questions and debates about 

the likely character of an alien civilization assume that aliens will be quite 

uniform in their attitudes toward their own world and toward the encounter 

with an intelligent other. Reflection on our own case, and the above discussion of culture and cognition, make it clear that if they are anything like us, 

this will not necessarily be true. Indeed, much of the literature on contact 

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with extraterrestrial intelligence tacitly assumes that an alien civilization will 

be culturally unified, unlike our own world. The idea behind this hypothesis 

seems to be that progress leads to greater levels of unified organizational 

structure, but this assumption derives from human, and particularly Western, 

perspectives that reflect a teleological notion of cultural evolution in which 

there is a universal outcome to processes of cultural change. “Advanced,” in 

this formulation, becomes inexorably associated with “culturally and politically unified.”18

In essence, this is a very anthropocentric approach that assumes an 

underlying similarity in all intelligent beings, in the ways in which “culture” 

is expressed, and in how culture shapes civilizations. However, if we do look 

at our own world as an analogue of what we might find elsewhere, we must 

face the fact that we could be dealing with a world fragmented into different 

cultural frameworks, much as our own is, and consisting of beings who may 

not respond to contact with us in a uniform way. Technological advancement on Earth has not always been associated with increased political and 

social integration (think World Wars I and II). Even if the experience of our 

planet is dissimilar to that of another world, it seems reasonable to think 

that we will be dealing with beings shaped by common memories (among 

themselves) and who will share, but who will also debate and contest, ideas 

developed within the frameworks of those common memories and experiences about what to do with the fact of having contacted humans. This 

problem is exacerbated when we take into account the strong likelihood 

that alien beings may have sensory organs that are quite different from our 

own and, thus, may process experience and translate that experience into 

cultural frameworks in a way different from our own. And even if such experiences and memories can be seen as “common,” they must be understood 

in the manner identified above as being highly particularistic and based on 

individual experience, unless, of course, we encounter an alien society in 

which individual beings are cognitively integrated in some way and, thus, 

actually do share a single experience of the world. In that situation, the 

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meaning of culture for such a being becomes extremely difficult for humans 

to understand or even imagine.19

One proposed solution to this problem depends on members of both 

societies sharing the capacity for symbolic interaction. In order for the transfer of information to occur, intelligent beings need to be able to make one 

thing stand for another thing. If humans were incapable of making the color 

red stand for the command to stop, we would have a very difficult time 

transferring the information needed to make driving reasonably safe most 

of the time. In this example, as in much of the symbolic activity of humans, 

the linkage between thing and thing signified is arbitrary: no physical correlation exists between the color red and the action associated with “Stop!” 

Vakoch argues that the use of icons, or signs that visually resemble the signified, may help to resolve the problem of the arbitrary linkage between sign 

and symbol, even while there remains the fundamental problem that the 

interpreter may still not understand the physical correlation between the icon 

and the thing it signifies.20 Indeed, if an extraterrestrial has different sensory 

organs from humans, the idea of what constitutes iconic symbols may not 

be useful. Would an image of Abraham Lincoln on a five-dollar bill “look” 

like the actual Abraham Lincoln to a creature that uses echolocation to sense 

its surroundings?

Perhaps one way to deal with this problem is to recognize that the point 

of contact will represent a context in which not only is the intended message 

interpretable, but the methods of communicating and representing information are also interpretable, perhaps more so than the intended meaning. I 

would like to suggest that should we encounter evidence of extraterrestrial 

intelligence in the form of a signal (directed at us or not), we should be 

concerned with deciphering the meaning of the signal not only in terms 

of its intended content but also in terms of what it tells us about the being 

who sent it. A signal conveys both explicit and implicit information about 

the sender. The fact, for example, that humans have been sending television 

images out into the galaxy for several decades could tell extraterrestrials much 

about us, if they are able to recognize those signals as containing information 

that can be represented in a visual medium. The simple fact that we send out 

electromagnetic signals that can be interpreted visually and aurally indicates 

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a great deal about how we process the world: that we have sense organs which 

translate sound and light into information we can use, as well as the types of 

limitations (in terms of the light spectrum, for example) of human senses. 

An alien intelligence that recognizes this fact would have a basis upon which 

to create a message we might be able to understand.

The messages sent out to date, such as Drake’s broadcast pictures and 

binary information, which were assumed to require no prior understanding 

of our technology, are attempts to anticipate the capacities of another civilization of intelligent beings. Drake’s message, for example, provides some 

basic information about us and our knowledge, including numbers from 1 

to 10 plus images representing the human form, DNA structure, hydrogen 

and carbon atoms, and information about our solar system. Drake himself 

has noted that when he presented his prototype message to different scientists, they had trouble interpreting all of the content—with most being able 

to understand only the sections immediately relevant to their own areas of 

expertise—leaving us to wonder how well extraterrestrials would do if they 

stumbled across the message.21

Indeed, the difficulty in interpreting the intended meaning of the message 

suggests that another approach might well be taken. Instead of being concerned primarily with the content of a message, we might want to consider 

focusing on what the message tells us about who sent it. In Drake’s message 

there are several subtexts that convey information about us that are not part 

of the intended meaning. For example, the manner in which the message is 

constructed would suggest that we think in terms of binary relationships—we 

encode information in terms of 1s and 0s—and understand two-dimensional 

images. Extraterrestrials might assume that this is how our language works 

or that this structure represents how humans organize thought in general, 

an assumption that would be misleading at best. However, the fact that the 

message represents information in a visual manner, like our television signals, 

would imply correctly that we are visually oriented beings. If the message were 

to be interpreted as having been sent by “an alien civilization” for the purpose 

of making contact, then it would quite inaccurately indicate that we are a 

unified society or culture interested in communication with civilizations in 

other parts of the universe.

These thoughts suggest that future research on interstellar message construction should involve not only study of the explicit message intended but 

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also direct consideration of the implicit information that is being conveyed 

along with the explicit message. Rather than just asking “What does ET mean 

in a message?” or “What information do we want to convey in a message from 

us to ET?” we should also be asking “What are the implicit indicators and 

forms of information about ET and ourselves that are contained in any message sent or received?” These questions should lead to consideration of how 

we might develop useful tools to interpret such implicit information, should 

we encounter a signal, and also of how to encode that type of information 

in any signal we might send. In many respects, knowing how to interpret 

implicit information may prove more important than being able to interpret 

the explicit message, given the cultural and biological differences that might 

exist between humans and extraterrestrial others as well as the inevitable differences in personal intentions and interpretations on both sides that will be 

fundamental parts of contact.

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CHAPTER ELEVEN

Speaking for Earth

Projecting Cultural Values Across 

Deep Space and Time

Albert A. Harrison

Ample evidence suggests that people seek to inform future generations about 

their lives, times, and accomplishments. Earth is sprinkled liberally with time 

capsules, monuments, tombstones, and other tributes to ego, achievement, 

and in some cases folly. Of such commemoratives Carl Sagan wrote, “For 

those who have something they consider worthwhile, communication to the 

future is an almost irresistible temptation.... In the best of cases it is an optimistic and far-seeing act; it expresses great hope for the future; it time-binds 

the human community; it gives us a perspective on the significance of our 

own actions at this moment in the long historical journey of our species.”1

Converging factors—including recognition that we may not be alone in 

the universe, realization that a major Near-Earth Object (NEO) impact or 

other terrestrial or cosmic catastrophe could spell the end of humankind, and 

emerging interstellar communication technologies—encourage us to reach 

out to new, unseen audiences.

In this chapter I consider Active SETI, that is, attempts to make extraterrestrial civilizations aware of our own. (This pursuit is also known as METI, or 

messaging extraterrestrial intelligence.2) Although a simple continuous-wave 

beacon might suffice, actual attempts have been more elaborate: encoding 

information in grids, plaques showing Earth’s location in the Milky Way, 

recordings of sights and sounds of Earth, eerie electronic music, representations of human DNA, and personal letters. In his definitive history of time 

 1. Carl Sagan, 

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capsules, William E. Jarvis defines space-time capsules as slices of culture, 

frozen in time and sent beyond Earth.3 These include spacecraft that bear 

greetings from humankind and microwave transmissions that transcend physical containers and carry time capsule–like messages at the speed of light to 

distant stars. As in the great time capsules of the 20th century, space-time 

capsules are deliberate efforts to communicate with audiences that differ, 

perhaps in radical ways, from the people who assembled the contents. As is 

true for even the most ambitious terrestrial time capsules, we really do not 

know if and when a space-time capsule will be retrieved. If the recipient is 

many light-years away, discovery may occur long after our society has ground 

to a halt. Whether they receive one of our space-time capsules—or we receive 

one of theirs—it could be a message from ancient history.

Developing Interstellar Messages

Thoughtfully done, Active SETI requires more than developing powerful communications technology. Political, legal, and moral issues must be 

addressed. Douglas Vakoch proposes that when we make the decision to 

communicate (and frame our message to ET), we should look out for our 

own security and welfare, tell the truth, and include information likely to 

educate and benefit the receiving civilization.4 The International Academy of 

Astronautics’ SETI Committee urges that any attempt to communicate with 

extraterrestrial intelligence should be on behalf of all humankind. The goal is 

for Earth-dwellers to speak in a unified voice for the planet as a whole without 

favoring one group or set of interests over another. Consequently, the SETI 

Committee’s desire has been to work through the UN, consult broadly, and 

involve diverse groups of people from around the world.5

Message development is a useful exercise because it may help us to understand a transmission that we receive and because it could reduce the lag 

time if we choose to frame a response. Early efforts included developing 

formal languages based on logic and mathematics, such as Hans Freudenthal’s 

3. William E. Jarvis, Time Capsules: A Cultural History (Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2003).

4. Douglas A. Vakoch, “Responsibility, Capability and Active SETI: Policy, Law, Ethics and 

Communication with Extraterrestrial Intelligence,” Acta Astronautica 68, nos. 3–4 (2011): 

512–519.

5. Michael A. G. Michaud, “Ten Decisions That Could Shake The World,” Space Policy 19, no. 2 

(2003): 131–136.

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Lingua Cosmica, or Lincos.

6

 Science provides the building blocks for a language proposed by Carl DeVito and Richard Oehrle.7

 Formal languages could 

lead eventually to discussions of topics such as philosophy, history, and politics, but for these topics Vakoch (who seeks to communicate culture in all of 

its richness and diversity) proposes a more direct approach, based on icons.8

His work includes three-dimensional pictures (grids give two-dimensional 

cues of depth) that are presented sequentially to tell a story—something like 

a storyboard or flip art. Through conveying the concept of pain, he hopes to 

further explain what it means to be human.9

 Vakoch also seeks to communicate “maxims,” or the principles that people live by.10 These maxims have to 

do with gratitude, forgiveness, and other principles shared by many world 

religions. To promote interstellar cooperation, he has developed pictorial 

narratives intended to express altruism and reciprocity.11

An early Space Age attempt to communicate with life beyond Earth consisted of affixing plaques to Pioneer 10 and Pioneer 11. Launched in the early 

1970s, these NASA spacecraft have now completed their exploration of our 

solar system and are proceeding on a million-year journey to other stars. They 

were followed in the late 1970s by two Voyager spacecraft carrying plaques 

and recordings of terrestrial sights and sounds, along with instructions and 

playback equipment. The Voyager disks include 100 images (carefully chosen 

to reflect diversity and minimize confusion on the part of observers unfamiliar 

with our ways), greetings in 55 languages, and brief excerpts of music from 

around the world. Arguably the richest portrayal of life on Earth thus far sent 

into space, themes within the images and sequences of music help to tell the 

 6. Hans Freudenthal, 

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story of human evolution.12 Commenting on the improbability that any of 

these spacecraft would be discovered, SETI pioneer Barney Oliver said: “There 

is only an infinitesimal chance that the plaque will be seen by even a single 

extraterrestrial, but it will certainly be seen by billions of terrestrials. Its real 

function, therefore, is to appeal to and expand the human spirit and to make 

contact with extraterrestrial intelligence a welcome expectation of mankind.”13

Maybe someday in the spirit of Voyager, an international group will produce a major compendium describing life, mind, and society on Earth. Partly 

a historical document, partly an expression of contemporary culture and 

values, this Encyclopedia Terrestria would convey the essence or “feel” of our 

time. It could contain hundreds of thousands of images, sound bites, and 

video clips, all woven into a rich and detailed overview of our past, present, 

and projected future. In the course of preparing this multimedia compendium, humanity would step back and look at the big picture. Deciding what 

might be important to another civilization would force us to move beyond 

our characteristically short time span and develop a long-term perspective. 

Determining what we should say and how to say it could be a useful self-study 

that fosters self-contemplation and encourages consensus. These deliberations 

could clarify how we see our place in the universe, what makes us human, and 

where we are going. In the meantime, Earth is already speaking with many 

voices, reflecting multiple values and interests.

Reaching Interstellar Audiences

Experience gained with terrestrial time capsules suggests certain rules of 

thumb for announcing our presence in the universe. Earth’s message should 

be conspicuous so that it will be easy to find—a powerful transmission that 

cuts through the static the way a foghorn drowns out the chatter of seagulls, 

a spacecraft that appears large and bright to the eye. Redundancy, or multiple copies, is another way to increase the chances of discovery. A transmission could be continuously repeated, perhaps from multiple sites. Messages 

that are capable of renewing themselves would offer particular advantages. 

Gregory Benford gives oral traditions, passed from generation to generation 

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by word of mouth, high marks for reliability and accuracy.14 The longevity 

of many narratives derives from their adaptability to the needs of successive 

generations. The Bible, for example, is reviewed and revised periodically. Such 

revisions have produced the King James version, which remains dominant 

today, and a modern English version that was released in the 1950s. Unlike 

terrestrial time capsules, space-time capsules cannot be opened periodically, 

have their contents inspected, and then be repacked with updated materials. 

However, early space-time capsules can be followed by later updates, much 

as the great printed encyclopedias of the past were supplemented with annual 

yearbooks between editions.

SETI (or at least its precursor) began as an active process in the mid- to 

late 1800s. Florence Raulin-Cerceau has recently discussed plans developed 

during that era to make ourselves known to possible neighbors within our 

solar system.15 At that time, scientists could still hypothesize that the Moon, 

Mars, and Venus were inhabited. Despite the occasional flash of light or other 

mysterious phenomenon, no unambiguous signals were sent our way, and 

so it was up to us to take the lead. In the absence of spacecraft or radio, this 

meant creating visual displays that were large enough to draw the attention 

of their hypothetical recipients. By composing messages in such a way as to 

illustrate our virtuosity in math or science, it was supposed, we would demonstrate our intelligence. Through the clever use of mirrors (and, later on, 

powerful electric lights), we could communicate telegraphically. These plans 

did not reach fruition because of the tremendous costs of constructing giant 

mirrors, igniting miles of kerosene-topped trench systems, and planting huge 

forests to grow in geometric patterns.

Raulin-Cerceau points out that certain ideas from that time have persisted into the modern era. First and foremost is the notion that it is possible 

to conduct an empirical test of the hypothesis that we are not alone in the 

universe. Second, the assumption that since we all live in the same universe 

governed by the same laws of nature, science provides a good starting point 

for interstellar discussions. Finally, there is the assumption that just as we have 

astronomers who study their planet, their astronomers will study our planet 

and recognize that we are intelligent.

During the early part of the 20th century, Guglielmo Marconi and other 

radio pioneers sought to intercept extraterrestrial transmissions but either 

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found nothing unusual or stumbled across something that was interesting 

at the time but which could not be attributed to extraterrestrial intelligence. 

Shortly after the 20th century’s midpoint, computations demonstrating the 

feasibility of interstellar communication coupled with the first radio-telescope 

search further pushed the search from an active to the passive process. The 

early acronym for Communicating with Extraterrestrial Intelligence, CETI, 

gave way to SETI, which did not imply transmissions from Earth. The names 

for searches during the years of NASA sponsorship (1969–1994) were the 

Microwave Observing Project and later the High-Resolution Microwave 

Survey. As John Billingham points out, during those years attention was 

focused on increasing the sensitivity of antennas and receivers, increasing 

the number of frequencies that could be monitored simultaneously, and 

developing sufficient computer power to process the massive amounts of 

data being collected.16

Interstellar Transmissions

As methods for propagating human legacy, microwave radios and lasers offer 

low-cost, off-the-shelf technology and the ability to cover all but unimaginable distances at the speed of light. Interception by extraterrestrials requires 

that distant civilizations have advanced to—but not entirely beyond—these 

technologies. The first deliberate interstellar microwave broadcast took place 

at the dedication of the Arecibo radio telescope on 14 November 1974.17

The pixels of this digital message, arranged into 73 lines of 23 characters 

each, form graphic representations of hydrogen, carbon, oxygen, phosphorous atoms, and DNA; chemical formulae for sugars and nucleic acids; and 

line drawings of both a human figure and a radio-telescope dish antenna. 

The message was aimed in the direction of the Hercules star cluster Messier 

13 (M13), tens of thousands of light-years away.

Alexander Zaitsev, a vigorous proponent and practitioner of Active SETI, 

has reviewed at least 20 major transmissions launched between the late 1990s 

and 2008.18 One of these powerful transmissions was sent from Zaitsev’s 

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Evpatoria Planetary Radar (EPR) in Ukraine in May 1999. Yvan Dutil and 

Stephane Dumas of the Defence Research Establishment Valcartier (DREV) 

in Quebec, Canada, designed the message.19 Intended to be an “Interstellar 

Rosetta Stone,” it built on previous attempts, including Lincos, to develop 

an interstellar language and depended heavily on science and mathematics. 

Packed full of scientific notation, the message was put together like a textbook, starting with very simple ideas, such as the hydrogen atom, and then 

moving on to increasingly difficult topics. This transmission was beamed to 

four carefully selected stars, well within the transmitter’s range of 100 lightyears. Recipients are encouraged to respond.

In August and September 2001, Zaitsev transmitted a “Concert for ET” 

from Evpatoria to six nearby Sun-like stars; the music included Gershwin’s 

“Summertime,” the finale of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, and the melody 

of the Russian folksong “Kalinka-Malinka” performed on a solo instrument 

known as a theremin.20 By waving his or her hands over two sensors that 

control the theremin’s volume and tone, the performer produces swoopy, 

tremulous sounds ranging from a deep staccato buzz to a high-pitched whine. 

Zaitsev considered the instrument a good technical choice because it provides 

a sharp and clear signal that stands out against background noise and should 

carry with reasonable fidelity across interstellar distances.21

Since the theremin is regarded differently in Russia and the United 

States, I wonder what ET might make of it. The instrument’s Russian inventor, Leon Theremin, saw it as one more solo instrument—comparable to a 

violin or cello.22 In the early years of the 20th century his invention, which 

debuted at an electrical workers’ convention, delighted Lenin and drew 

large audiences. It was considered an instrument of culture and refinement. 

Highly regarded performers played classical music to upscale audiences 

and received rave reviews from critics who shared Lenin’s and then Stalin’s 

enthusiasm. Apart from providing the focal point for a few experimental, 

avant-garde concerts in the 1930s, the theremin never made it big with U.S. 

music lovers. But in the 1940s the instrument made it to Hollywood, where 

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it replaced conventional ensembles in certain movie genres—suspense and 

horror. By the 1950s the theremin had become tied, irrevocably, to classic 

science-fiction films such as The Day the Earth Stood Still. How ET might 

react to this kind of music is anyone’s guess, but these East-West differences 

remind us that technical considerations alone are unlikely to determine 

reactions to interstellar messages.

Zaitsev, Charles M. Chafer, and Richard Braastad teamed up to send 

scientific and personal messages to five Sun-like stars in “Cosmic Call II” 

in 2003.23 Chafer was the president of “Team Encounter,” which sought to 

reach out to our galactic neighbors through microwave transmissions and 

automated spacecraft. Whereas an earlier broadcast included the names of 

and brief messages from people who were directly involved in the project, this 

transmission included photos, drawings, and audio and video files submitted 

by “Team Encounter” members worldwide. Customers signed up, mostly 

on the Internet, and paid a fee to support a “people’s space program,” which 

Chafer saw as the wave of the future. The materials were digitized and then 

transmitted at full power to stars between 32.8 and 45.9 light-years away 

from Earth. This broadcast began with the phrase “Greetings from Earth,” 

a segment presented by noted news broadcaster, journalist, and television 

personality Hugh Downs.

Each of the five transmissions (aimed at one star) included the Interstellar 

Rosetta Stone, a brief description of the spacecraft that Team Encounter had 

under development, a copy of the Arecibo message, and a Bilingual Image 

Glossary (BIG). Other contents included 282 flags of the world, pictures 

of Ukrainian school children, music and images of KFT (a Hungarian rock 

band), the song “Starman” by musician David Bowie, and, as a gesture of 

peace and friendship, the text of a resolution passed by the New Mexico 

state legislature in 2003 designating the second Tuesday in February as 

Extraterrestrial Culture Day in New Mexico.

Team Encounter has also offered the opportunity to send personal messages on extrasolar missions based on solar-sail technology. They hoped that 

millions of people will pay to carry messages—sheets of paper containing 

text or pictures and strands of hair carrying DNA—to the aliens. Author 

and inventor Arthur C. Clarke signed up for the project and contributed 

a sample of his DNA. Concluding his interview with Team Encounter 

leader Chafer, Graham Phillips reported, “According to this marketing 

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man, projects like this are the real beginnings of the Space Age—when 

the public can become involved. Deadmen in orbit and Arthur C Clarke’s 

hair space odyssey. They’re not crazy ideas—they are the first steps to our 

cosmic destiny.”24

In 2005 the Deep Space Communications Network transmitted more 

than 130,000 electronic messages and enticed customers with the offer of 

5-minute voice transmissions for $99. Messages were not to be profane, 

offensive, or lewd (by human standards). TalktoAliens.com posted a 900 (toll) 

telephone number where, for $3.99 a minute, clients could record a message 

to be beamed to the stars.25

In 2008 “A Message from Earth” set forth on a 20-year voyage from 

Evpatoria to Gliese 581c, a large extrasolar planet believed to have Earth-like 

characteristics.26 Project organizers hoped to capture young people’s imaginations and prompt them to think about humanity, our home planet, and 

our place in the universe. This effort was a partnership of Bebo, a social 

networking Web site, and RDF Digital, a subsidiary of a media group that 

sponsors such popular UK reality-television shows as Shipwrecked, Location 

Location Location, and Wifeswap. The public submitted text, drawings, and 

photographs for posting on a Web site. Then viewers voted, and on the 

basis of popularity, the 500 best were broadcast in a 41⁄2-hour transmission 

in October of that year. This space-time capsule contained descriptions of 

people’s lives and ambitions, images of famous landmarks and notable figures, 

and thoughts about world peace. One actress submitted pictures of opposing 

political candidates (one to epitomize good and the other evil), and a male 

rock singer obsessed on a songstress’s bodily perfection. The media company 

was said to be contemplating a television series based on this project and 

tentatively entitled “A Message from Earth.”

That same year the UK public competed to come up with the best idea for 

a 30-second commercial for the snack food Doritos, to be beamed from the 

EISCAT Space Center in Svalbard, Norway, to the habitable zone around one 

of the stars in the Ursa Major constellation. Concerned about the first impression we might make, Jason Palmer asked, “Couldn’t we advertise something 

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more representative of our cultures, our hopes and dreams and interplanetary 

worthiness? Like Spam? Corn dogs?”27

In 2010, to publicize the debut of Paul Davies’s The Eerie Silence: Are We 

Alone in the Universe?,

28 the book’s publisher, Penguin UK, solicited 5,000 

personal messages (each limited to 40 words) to transmit in the direction of 

Orion. The top 50 messages, as determined by a panel of judges, received 

copies of Davies’s new book. Among the winning comments were these: 

“Did you think YOU were alone in the universe?” “We don’t bite, do you?” 

“Please send pictures of your celebrities,” and a binary number that translates 

as You are not alone.

29 Approximately 1,000 messages were received and all 

were transmitted.

After this type of commercialization, could religious spokespersons be 

far behind? Methodist missionary Tom Hoffman, who served in Russia, has 

expressed keen interest in SETI.30 A mission is a ministry commissioned by a 

church or some other organization for the purpose of propagating its faith or 

carrying on humanitarian work. Theology and discipleship are central themes. 

Missionary work encourages church members to rethink their theology (for 

example, to accommodate newly found cultures) and inspires people at home 

as well as at the site of the mission. Compared to earlier missionaries who 

helped European explorers claim new territories, today’s missionaries are heavily 

invested in humanitarian efforts and tend to soft-pedal dogma and prophecy. 

Exomissionaries would focus instead on the histories, theologies, and futures 

of Christian missions as they relate to issues of space exploration and SETI. 

Exomissionaries could help scientists by speaking with an independent voice 

in cross-cultural exchanges and working as cultural brokers who incorporate 

perspectives from behavioral science and social work. It may be difficult for 

exomissionaries to win favor from scientists (many of whom are agnostic or 

atheist), but training missionaries in fields such as space medicine or linguistics 

would increase their practical value to a space crew or SETI team.

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Satellites

Perhaps a bit closer to the SETI Committee’s ideal of speaking for Earth as a 

whole was the KEO satellite—a project planned but not completed, due to 

the death of its originator. This was an international venture conceptualized 

by the late artist Jean-Marc Philippe, led by Europeans, and strongly supported by non-Western countries such as India.31 This orbiting space-time 

capsule was intended for future generations on Earth but under doomsday 

scenarios could survive the species that launched it. (Perhaps we should think 

of it as a tomb for history.) KEO was planned with enough storage capacity 

to allow every man, woman, and child on Earth to contribute up to a fourpage essay, and organizers solicited widely for messages. People could record 

voice messages or send letters as well as enter their thoughts on the KEO Web 

site. Contributions could be in any language, were uncensored, and would be 

available to the public after KEO launched. The millions of messages were to 

be encoded on special tough glass CDs that would not deteriorate over time, 

and the satellite would include a user’s manual, complete with information 

on how to build a CD player. In addition to the “Fresco of Messages,” KEO 

was to include the “Library of Alexandria,” a description of life in our time, 

an astronomical clock, portraits of human beings as they appear today, and 

samples of air, water, soil, and human blood encased in diamond.

KEO was designed to be bright and conspicuous, serving as a shining 

reminder of the 21st century and easy to spot when falling back to Earth 

50,000 years after its launch. If humanity fails to survive an asteroid impact 

or other major calamity, and extraterrestrial explorers in our solar system 

spot a satellite like KEO, then it may be such a satellite that perpetuates the 

human legacy.

How Dangerous?

As Michael Michaud points out, there is always the possibility that our broadcasts or probes will attract the attention of a civilization that chooses to exploit 

Earth or eliminate us as a possible threat.32 Michaud is among the many 

 31.

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microwave SETI supporters who prefer passive SETI—simply listening and 

watching. If we detect an extraterrestrial civilization, he hopes that we will 

fight the temptation to respond immediately and will instead perform as 

much reconnaissance as possible before taking a potentially fatal next step. 

For such reasons, Michaud has described the decision to actively broadcast 

as one of the great decisions that could shake the world. Radio astronomer 

Dan Werthimer points out that we are, in the cosmic scheme of things, a 

relatively primitive civilization, having had radio for only about a century.33

He recommends that we keep listening for the next few hundred years, see 

what we learn, and only then consider broadcasting. Scientist and sciencefiction author David Brin also urges caution, noting widespread aggression 

and violence on Earth.34 Elsewhere, building on data from political science, I 

have argued that long-lived societies are democratic, peaceful, and enduring, 

and that self-serving, authoritarian, and aggressive societies inevitably collapse 

due to internal flaws and external opposition.35 Convergent evidence strongly 

suggests that societies that endure over appreciable periods of time are likely 

to be peaceful and benign. But even if an optimistic analysis is correct, it is 

probabilistic; and we cannot be assured that first contact will be with a group 

that wants to make friends.

Proponents such as Alexander Zaitsev portray Active SETI as continuous 

with science.36 Just as a biologist might try to stimulate a response from an 

organism, Active SETI tries to stimulate a response from an extraterrestrial 

civilization. SETI, proponents note, operates on the assumption that other 

civilizations are not afraid to reveal themselves. Why should not we, too, be 

willing to do this? If everyone is only listening, how could anyone find anyone 

else? If a distant civilization is willing to provide us with scientific insights and 

information useful for solving our practical problems, then there is a certain 

risk in not attracting their attention. Apart from the fate of our space-time 

capsules, we might get “caught” anyway, since Earth’s radio signature expands 

outward in all directions at the rate of one light-year per year. Very high power 

 33.

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Speaking for Earth

broadcasts began around World War II, so we may be identifiable out to 

approximately 60 light-years. Powerful military radar signals should be easily 

detected at great distances, as should the radar pulses used to study distant 

planets. Hypothetically, we could have been detected beyond the boundary 

of our radio signature if alien astrobiologists have found means to identify 

life-bearing planets such as ours.

Certainly nobody worries too much about, say, someone flashing a laser 

pointer at a distant star. Nor does Frank Drake’s three-minute transmission 

from Arecibo raise many hackles. To detect this brief broadcast, listeners in 

the vicinity of M13 will have to be lucky indeed. But suppose the transmission continued for decades. Concerns arise in the case of transmissions that 

are both powerful and sustained. Despite some agreement within the SETI 

community that international consultation should occur before communicating with ET, controlling broadcasters is all but impossible. SETI is (correctly) 

presented to the public as a harmless activity. Arguing in favor of international 

consultation before a message is dispatched from Earth implies that there is 

something to worry about.

In actuality there is no real way to control efforts to speak for humankind. 

As more and more people gain access to powerful computing and broadcasting equipment, there are few if any practical ways to keep free-lancers off the 

air. Any government, scientist, theologian, entrepreneur, or hobbyist who 

has access to a powerful radio transmitter, laser, or spacecraft could send 

an irretrievable message into the void. In the final analysis, many people 

may speak for Earth. Michaud cautions: “Having Humankind speak with 

many voices may be representative of diversity, but it also may be bad policy. 

Imagine yourself in the place of an ETI that receives a barrage of messages 

from the Earth. How could you conduct a rational dialogue, and whom will 

you believe?”37

Donald Tarter discusses what might occur if ET were bombarded with 

many conflicting messages.38 He envisions a scenario in which we receive a 

microwave broadcast from another civilization. Even in the case of a “dial 

tone” devoid of superimposed information, we would be able to identify the 

direction and distance of the alien transmitter. SETI post-detection protocols 

require composing a response from all humankind, but preparing one would 

take a long time. In the interim, many different parties would take it upon 

themselves to beam messages to ET, creating exactly the kind of situation 

 37.

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that Michaud hopes to avoid. To circumvent this, Tarter recommends a preemptive strike. As soon as we detect ET, we send a powerful response. This 

response should consist of an acknowledgment that we have received the 

transmission plus a secret code. ET is instructed to ignore all future messages 

from Earth except those that include the secret code. Tarter presumes that 

the “good guys” will send the first reply and that its recipients will accept 

it because it is prompt and transmitted at high power. We will then hope 

that ET ignores the subsequent welter of incoming messages while Earth’s 

designated spokespersons prepare a more detailed response on behalf of our 

entire planet. Later, this response will be sent along with the secret code that 

proves the message’s legitimacy. Tarter adds that a failure to reply (especially 

if the message was deliberately beamed to Earth) could be interpreted as an 

interstellar insult.

Decades and even centuries could pass between our transmission and their 

response. The fastest possible reply would take twice the time that it took for 

the message to reach its destination: it would take a minimum of 100 years 

to receive a reply to a message sent to a star 50 light-years away. This would 

be a blink of the eye in comparison to the hundreds or thousands of years 

of turnaround time for some of our messages that are wending their way 

across the galaxy. In the absence of a central registry, nobody on Earth could 

remember the date and contents of the original transmission. The reply from 

ET could be analogous to having a large unwanted pizza, ordered by some 

previous tenant, arrive at your residence. Furthermore, their response could 

be poorly timed, for instance, hitting the news when the world is teetering 

on the brink of war. In this case people might fear that an extraterrestrial 

civilization would align with one side or the other.

There are ways to send space-time capsules with minimal risks to our 

safety. Orbiting satellites such as KEO or markers placed on the Moon or 

Mars are relatively low risk. The reason is that any extraterrestrials capable of interstellar travel who might arrive there will already have plenty of 

other evidence of human existence. If we took steps to ensure that deliberate 

microwave broadcasts were no more powerful than earlier transmissions, they 

would extend no further beyond our current radio signature and hence could 

not attract audiences that otherwise would not have discovered us. Also, we 

might learn from movie villains who elude capture by using post-office boxes 

rather than residence addresses, or who pay intermediaries to resend their 

letters from an out-of-town location. A patient and security-minded civilization could locate their transmitters a few light-years away from their local 

sun. Communications between the home planet and the remote transmitter 

are focused as much as possible (thereby making them difficult for others to 

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detect), while the remote transmitter blasts the skies in other directions as a 

diversionary tactic.

Kathryn Denning observes that the debate over Active SETI is difficult 

if not impossible to resolve because participants approach it from different 

perspectives.39 The scientist hopes to test a scientific hypothesis; the political 

scientist is concerned about the ramifications of entering into a relationship 

with an unknown adversary; the artist strives to celebrate life in the universe; 

and other people want to make money or have fun. Denning urges us to 

“see interstellar transmissions not as unregulated scientific experiments, or 

unauthorized diplomatic initiatives, or public relations stunts, but instead as 

something bigger and deeper which encompasses all of those: a technologically mediated manifestation of our drive to represent ourselves and connect 

with the unseen.”40 The question becomes: “What is the right way to balance 

the desires of some people against the concerns of others, and who is entitled 

to make decisions about the future of the world that we all share?”41 She 

suggests that we look at how such multifaceted issues have been addressed 

successfully in the past.

Donald Tarter suspects that as long as SETI remains little more than an 

exercise, the government can afford to treat the activity with benign neglect.42 

As soon as detection occurs, however, no government is likely to be willing to 

leave matters in the hands of the scientific community. When ET becomes 

real, governments will seek to control outgoing messages or to sponsor its 

own messages, intended to win converts, promote commerce, forge alliances, 

and prevent wars.

Conclusion

Planned efforts to communicate with extraterrestrial audiences should force 

us to step back, look at the big picture, and formulate an approach that is in 

the interests of humankind. KEO’s leading exponent, Jean-Marc Philippe, 

certainly believed this, noting that his project gives us the opportunity to 

share each individual’s hopes, dreams, fears, doubts, and deepest convictions 

 39.

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and, in doing so, to discover our common humanity.43 Right now, microwave 

broadcasts intended for other worlds are racing through the galaxy, while 

probes such as Pioneer and Voyager are lumbering along further and further 

behind. Some broadcasters use low-power (500 watt) transmitters, while 

some attempts to communicate are more reminiscent of science fiction than 

science. Over time, however, we can expect our technology and techniques 

to improve. More people will gain access to radio telescopes and powerful 

lasers, and, as the costs of spaceflight decrease, an increasing number of organizations will even launch spacecraft. Slowly, these broadcasts will make the 

transition from the symbolic to the functional, and, as the number of spacetime capsules increases, so will the chances that one or more of these will be 

found. Perhaps the great radio silence that envelops our part of the galaxy 

will someday be replaced by a great cacophony, with Earth itself responsible 

for most of the noise.

 43.

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CHAPTER TWELVE

The Evolution of 

Extraterrestrials

The Evolutionary Synthesis and Estimates of 

the Prevalence of Intelligence Beyond Earth

Douglas A. Vakoch

Introduction

The notion of extraterrestrial beings as bizarre yet somewhat humanoid life-forms 

existed well before science-fiction movies became popular. In Christiaan Huygens’s 

The Celestial Worlds Discover’d, Or, Conjectures Concerning the Inhabitants, Plants 

and Productions of the Worlds in the Planets, we can see two poles of thought about 

life beyond Earth that are reflected in more recent works. That monograph, 

published posthumously in 1698, depicts possible denizens of other planets as 

very similar to humans in some respects yet radically distinct from us in others. 

After explaining why “Planetarians” would be upright beings with hands, feet, 

and eyes, Huygens claims that their form could still be quite alien:

Nor does it follow from hence that they must be of the same shape 

with us. For there is such an infinite possible variety of Figures to 

be imagined, that both the Oeconomy of the whole Bodies, and 

every part of them, may be quite distinct and different from ours.1

Huygens was neither the first nor the last astronomer to speculate on 

extraterrestrial morphology. But his position is representative of his profession. For many astronomers, the progressive development of life has been 

seen as an ineluctable occurrence given proper environmental conditions on 

a planet. And even though Huygens and his scientific heirs did not expect 

 1. Christiaan Huygens, 

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such beings to be identical to humans, they did predict significant parallels between terrestrial and extraterrestrial life-forms. A striking contrast 

is seen in the writings of nonphysical scientists. Members of this latter 

group hold more widely differing views. But within this diversity, reasons 

for their variation become more apparent when we understand how views 

about extraterrestrials can be related to the differential emphasis placed on 

modern evolutionary theory by scientists of various disciplines.

Understanding the disparities among the biologists, paleontologists, and 

anthropologists who have speculated on extraterrestrials becomes easier when 

we pay attention to who was doing the speculating. Given the relatively small 

number of commentators on the topic, it seems more than coincidental 

that four of the major contributors to the modern evolutionary synthesis 

of the 1930s and 1940s are among them. The exobiological arguments of 

Theodosius Dobzhansky and George Gaylord Simpson and, less directly, of 

H. J. Muller and Ernst Mayr are all related to their earlier work on synthetic 

evolution. By examining the variety of views held by nonphysical scientists, 

we can see substantial disagreements between them about evolution as late as 

the 1960s. By the close of the next decade, however, many but by no means all 

believed that “higher” life, particularly intelligent life, probably occurs quite 

infrequently in the universe. Their reasons for these various beliefs suggest 

a cause for the shift: an increasing acceptance of the evolutionary synthesis.

Early Critiques of Darwin’s Theory of Evolution

To understand the modern evolutionary synthesis, it is useful to recall the 

main features of Darwin’s theory as expressed in the first edition of The 

Origin of Species, published in 1859. His basic position can be summarized 

in two concepts: variation and natural selection. Darwin limited himself to 

minute differences between organisms that could be passed on to subsequent 

generations. Each organism would be uniquely equipped for the “struggle 

for existence,” and those best suited to their environments would have the 

greatest chance of surviving to reproduce offspring that shared some of their 

characteristics. Darwin succinctly stated the relationship between this process 

of natural selection and variation: “This preservation of favorable variations 

and the rejection of injurious variations, I call Natural Selection.”2

 2. Charles Darwin, 

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The Evolution of Extraterrestrials

In subsequent years, the efficacy of natural selection was challenged and 

refuted by many. Fleeming Jenkin, for example, contended that any small, 

beneficial variations would be diluted quickly in a population that included 

many other organisms not similarly adapted.3

 In later editions of The Origin, 

Darwin relied more heavily on “sports,” individual offspring varying markedly from their forebears. This caused some critics to charge that Darwin 

had shifted to a position very similar to an earlier view that periodically new 

species abruptly appear.

Ironically, the mathematical analysis of heredity that was to central to 

formulating the modern evolutionary synthesis began as an argument against 

the transmission of small variations from one generation to the next. When 

Francis Galton examined the “swamping effect” that Jenkin described, he 

concluded that any variations from the mean type of a species would be lost 

in following generations. Thus, in the long run organisms would tend to have 

common characteristics. Deviations from the norm were, by Galton’s analysis, transient. His protégé, Karl Pearson, came to the opposite conclusion. 

Pearson argued against the assumption that the fate of variations should be 

measured against a fixed ancestral type. Rather, he said that variations from 

an organism’s ancestors could result in lasting changes in future generations.

In contrast to Pearson, others argued that evolution could be accounted 

for only through large-scale mutations. Supporting their views with Gregor 

Mendel’s newly discovered paper, William Bateson, Hugo de Vries, and 

Wilhelm Johannsen proposed salutatory accounts of evolution. Mendel’s early 

work focused on the inheritance of discontinuous characteristics. For example, 

for some of his experiments he used pea plants that had either pure yellow or 

pure green peas. When these plants were crossed, he did not obtain peas of 

an intermediate hue but only of the same pure yellow of one of the parents. 

This emphasis on inheritance of discrete characteristics supported the views of 

those who explained evolution in terms of gross mutations. Moreover, many 

were skeptical of the existence of natural selection. For example, as late as 

1915, Johannsen saw no reason to assume that natural selection played a role 

in evolution: “Selection of differing individuals creates nothing new; a shift of 

the ‘biological type’ in the direction of selection has never been substantiated.”4

 3. Fleeming Jenkin, “Review of The Origin of Species,” 

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

The Evolutionary Synthesis

The second and third decades of the century saw a return to the theory of 

gradualistic evolution. The inadequacies of Darwin’s original formulation 

were overcome by reconceptualizing variation and natural selection. From the 

combination of experimental and theoretical approaches to understanding 

these processes, the evolutionary synthesis was born.

A major emphasis of the evolutionary synthesis was to explain natural 

selection in mathematical terms. Especially in the work of R. A. Fisher, J. B. 

S. Haldane, and Sewall Wright, inheritance at the level of populations was 

explained through statistical models. Despite the highly theoretical nature 

of their contributions, their work was not divorced from experimentation. 

Fisher’s work in quantifying variation and natural selection typified this synthesis of mathematics and empirical research. Using Muller’s experiments, he 

showed how variation by micromutation could be estimated. The result was 

an indication of the rate at which variations entered populations. Next, he 

was able to specify the degree of selection by environmental factors. Either 

by comparing the differential rate of increase of two or more populations or 

by measuring changes of gene frequency within single populations, he was 

able to propose a statistical model of natural selection.

For all of Fisher’s interest in natural populations, he was still a mathematician with little training in biology. At the other end of the mathematical/

experimental continuum was H. J. Muller. By exposing genes to mutationinducing x rays, Muller was able to show the influence of environment on 

variation. But before the various strands of the evolutionary synthesis could 

be braided together, populations had to be understood both statistically and 

as they occur in nature. Dobzhansky, Simpson, and Mayr were particularly 

adept at this task.

When we consider Dobzhansky’s background, it is easy to see why he 

made such an important contribution to the evolutionary synthesis. His 

early training with Sergei Chetverikov emphasized population genetics. In 

1927 he traveled to the United States to work with Muller’s mentor, T. H. 

Morgan. By combining Morgan’s stress on experimentation with the Russian 

statistical approach, Dobzhansky broke new ground in the genetics of freeliving populations. This is evident even in his early research on variations of 

quoted here from Ernst Mayr, “Prologue: Some Thoughts on the History of the Evolutionary 

Synthesis,” in The Evolutionary Synthesis: Perspectives on the Unification of Biology, ed. Ernst 

Mayr and William B. Provine (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1980), pp. 1–8, esp. p. 7.

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The Evolution of Extraterrestrials

Drosophila in isolated mountain ranges.5 More influential, however, was his 

Genetics and the Origin of Species, published in 1937.6

Among those stimulated by this book was George Gaylord Simpson. As a 

paleontologist, his contacts with colleagues within his profession contributed 

little to his training in evolutionary theory. Paleontologists in the 1930s were 

more concerned with descriptive systematics than with the foundations of 

evolution. Consequently, Simpson relied on studies by people outside his 

discipline, including works by Fisher, Haldane, Wright, and Dobzhansky.7

After the 1930s, he also had personal contacts with Dobzhansky and Mayr.8

The high degree to which he assimilated populational approaches is evident 

in his Tempo and Mode in Evolution, published in 1944. His conclusions 

were in marked contrast to those of the Mendelians, whose position had 

been dominant a few years earlier. Simpson acknowledged the importance 

of variation but rejected macromutations:

Single mutations with large, fully discrete, localized phenotypic 

effects are most easily studied; but paleontological and other 

evidence suggests that these are relatively unimportant at any 

level of evolution.9

His view of natural selection was diametrically opposed to that of Johannsen. 

According to Simpson, “Selection is a truly creative force and not solely negative in action. It is one of the crucial determinants of evolution.”10

A third major figure in the history of the modern evolutionary synthesis 

began by studying neither bones nor fruit flies but birds. Unlike most other 

ornithologists of his day, however, Ernst Mayr worked in population genetics. 

Though Fisher, Haldane, and Wright had little influence on his early work, 

he was quickly attracted to the Russian school because of its emphasis on 

 5. R. C. Lewontin, John A. Moore, William B. Provine, and Bruce Wallace, eds., 

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

naturally occurring populations and taxonomy.11 Mayr’s central concern was 

speciation, which he thought could be discussed without recourse to largescale mutations: “Speciation is explained by the geneticist on the assumption 

that through the gradual accumulation of mutational steps a threshold is 

finally crossed which signifies the evolution of a new species.”12 Similarly, 

natural selection played a key role for Mayr: “Even genes with a small selective 

advantage will eventually spread over entire populations.”13

The Evolutionary Synthesis and Extraterrestrial Life

Simpson on the Nonprevalence of Humanoids

Now that we have seen how Darwin’s notions of variation and selection were 

reformulated in the 1930s and 1940s by synthetic evolutionists, we are prepared 

to see the extent to which these ideas influenced later speculations on the possibility of extraterrestrial life. An appropriate starting point is Simpson’s 1964 

article “The Nonprevalence of Humanoids.” In addition to drawing on evolutionary factors already mentioned above, Simpson discussed other considerations affecting the probability of life beyond Earth. He agreed with those who 

held that rudimentary macromolecules probably form from chemical processes, 

which should occur throughout the universe. But, Simpson said, this view did 

not commit him to the conclusion reached by many others, particularly physical 

scientists: that therefore more complex forms of life will also evolve.

To transition from chemical to biological activity, Simpson said three processes 

were required: “mutation, recombination, and selection.”14 (While two of these 

three are familiar from earlier discussions, recombination did not play as significant a role in the evolutionary synthesis.) The critical question for Simpson was 

whether or not these three factors interact in such a way as to make advanced 

 11.

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The Evolution of Extraterrestrials

forms of life a likely outcome of pre-biotic molecules. He argued that there are 

two ways to approach this issue: through the actual history of life on Earth and 

from theoretical considerations. In either case Simpson was not optimistic that 

the development of extraterrestrial life would be a common occurrence.

According to Simpson, paleontological evidence gave no indication of the 

inevitability of higher forms of life: “The fossil record shows very clearly that 

there is no central line leading steadily, in a goal-directed way, from a protozoan 

to man.”15 Variations are introduced through mutation, and individual differences are increased even more through recombination. Through interactions 

between the organisms and their environments, however, only a fraction of 

these variations will become established in the population. Given the combination of the numerous factors responsible for the evolution of any particular 

species, Simpson argued that terrestrial life is almost certainly unique:

The existing species would surely have been different if the start 

had been different and if any stage of the histories of organisms 

and their environments had been different. . . . Man cannot be 

an exception to this rule. If the causal chain had been different, 

Homo sapiens would not exist.16

Dobzhansky Against the Convergent Evolution of Extraterrestrial Life

Though the thrust and conclusion of Dobzhansky’s argument paralleled 

Simpson’s line of reasoning, Dobzhansky discussed explicitly two issues that 

Simpson dealt with only in passing: chance and convergence in evolution. 

Dobzhansky isolated the same three factors of mutation, sexual recombination, and natural selection as central to evolution. But only the first two, 

he said, operate randomly; selection works against chance. While acknowledging that selection is probabilistic, he maintained that because it relates 

the individual and its environment through a feedback mechanism, it is an 

antichance process.

Dobzhansky’s speculations about extraterrestrial life were consistent with 

the emphasis on mutation and selection in the early days of the evolutionary 

synthesis. While recognizing recombination as a factor in terrestrial evolution, when he committed himself to determining the characteristics that all 

life should possess, Dobzhansky mentioned only selection and mutation:

 15.

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

Despite all the uncertainties inevitable in dealing with a topic so 

speculative as extraterrestrial life, two inferences can be made. 

First, the genetic materials will be subject to mutation. Accurate 

self-copying is the prime function of any genetic materials, but it 

is hardly conceivable that no copy erors [sic] will ever be made. 

If such errors do occur, the second inference can be drawn: the 

variants that arise will set the stage for natural selection. This 

much must be a common denominator of terrestrial and extraterrestrial life.17

Dobzhansky also addressed the issue of convergent versus divergent evolution. He pointed out that in many instances, organisms of disparate ancestries 

can have similar characteristics. As an example, he noted that fish and whales 

have similar forms because they both adapted to an aqueous environment. 

Some have held that because this sort of convergent evolution is so common 

on Earth, the process may be universal; therefore, the argument goes, extraterrestrials may well resemble life-forms on Earth. Dobzhansky rejects this 

belief on the grounds that similar environments have frequently resulted in 

not convergent but divergent evolution.18

Dobzhansky concluded that, given the number of discrete interactions 

between organism and environment in the evolutionary history of the human 

species, the probability of humans evolving on another Earth-like planet is 

virtually zero. Even assuming the existence of another planet equipped with 

all of the life-forms that occurred in the Eocene period, the re-evolution of 

humankind would require the same mutations and the same selection on the 

roughly 50,000 genes that would have changed in Homo sapiens since then.19

Muller, Mutation, and Intelligence

When H. J. Muller addressed the question of life beyond Earth, it is not 

surprising that he emphasized mutation. What may seem more remarkable is 

that someone who played such an important role in the evolutionary synthesis 

still allowed for interplanetary convergence of intelligence. He agreed with 

Simpson and Dobzhansky about the importance of chance:

 17.

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The Evolution of Extraterrestrials

Just what steps will be taken at a particular point is sometimes a 

matter of accident: of what mutation manages to take hold, and 

then what combination of mutations, until some novel structure 

o[r] manner of functioning is thereby brought into being that 

acts as a key to open up an important new way of living.20

Though Muller believed a wide range of morphologies was possible, he 

regarded intelligence as the natural product of evolution.21 This conviction 

may reflect the influence of one of his students, Carl Sagan.22 Though Sagan 

worked with him for only one summer, Sagan said Muller “always kept in 

touch with him.”23 By the time Muller wrote the above article, the young 

Sagan had also published about life beyond Earth.

Mayr and the Importance of Chance

Though Mayr claimed his analysis was very similar to Simpson’s, there were 

significant differences. Most obvious is Mayr’s lesser emphasis on mechanisms 

of evolution. Instead, he provided an extended summary of the history of the 

human species. This choice may simply be a reflection of the time in which 

Mayr was writing. Dobzhansky, Simpson, and Muller all wrote first about 

extraterrestrials in the early 1960s. Mayr’s article was written two decades 

later. By then the evolutionary synthesis may have been so widely accepted 

that a detailed justification of its basic tenets would have seemed superfluous. Nevertheless, throughout the piece, his discussion was guided by a belief 

in the importance of chance. Though his primary concern was to assess the 

likelihood of extraterrestrial intelligence, not merely multicellular life, he 

reached the same conclusions as Simpson.

Mayr amplified Dobzhansky’s argument against the convergent evolution 

of intelligence by addressing the multiple emergence of vision on Earth. Many 

scholars have argued that evidence for the widespread occurrences of convergent evolution can be seen in the independent evolution of eyes in numerous 

species. Mayr’s own studies led him to conclude that eyes have developed at 

 20.

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

least 40 different times in unrelated lineages. By contrast, intelligence has 

evolved only once on Earth.24

Divergent Views of Extraterrestrial Life: 

Outside and Within the Evolutionary Synthesis

Speculations prior to the 1970s by those not intimately involved with the 

evolutionary synthesis were less homogeneous than the views we have seen 

thus far. For example, in 1953 the anthropologist Loren Eiseley focused on 

the uniqueness of humankind. After examining mimicry among terrestrial 

organisms, he concluded that mimicry could not be used to argue for extraterrestrials’ resembling life on Earth: “No animal is likely to be forced by the 

process of evolution to imitate, even superficially, a creature upon which it 

has never set eyes and with which it is in no form of competition.”25

Even more fascinating is Eiseley’s description of the opinion of cytologist 

Cyril D. Darlington. In Eiseley’s words, Darlington “dwells enthusiastically 

on the advantages of two legs, a brain in one’s head and the position of 

surveying the world from the splendid height of six feet.”26 Why would a 

contributor to the evolutionary synthesis hold a view so different from those 

of the other four key figures we have discussed? First, because Darlington was 

writing several years before the others, the evolutionary synthesis may not 

yet have solidified. Second, he favored Henry Fairfield Osborn’s orthogenesis 

and Rensch’s directed evolution, which held that evolution is teleological.27

Another anthropologist, William Howells, concluded in 1961 that extraterrestrial intelligence probably exists. He repeatedly contradicted mainstream 

views of the evolutionary synthesis, even suggesting on several occasions that 

evolution is a volitional process. For example, Howells said, “Intelligent creatures will have made a choice, early in evolution, of a nervous system which 

is more open to fresh impressions: a brain which can learn.”28 He thought 

such “choices” would likely lead to intelligence very human in appearance.

 24.

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The Evolution of Extraterrestrials

Oceanographer and ecologist Robert Bieri’s conclusions were similar to 

those of Howells, but the basis for Bieri’s belief was more explicit. Bieri 

opened his 1964 article “Humanoids on Other Planets?” with a quotation 

from geneticist G. W. Beadle, against whom he proceeded to argue. In opposition to Beadle’s assertion that there are an extraordinary number of evolutionary pathways open to life, Bieri stressed the limitations imposed by the 

properties of chemical elements and by the available “forms of energy.”29

Such constraints, Bieri wrote, are evident in the finite range of variability of 

terrestrial organisms. Because of these restrictions, organisms beyond Earth 

will conform to the same patterns imposed on life as we know it. After 

considering a number of characteristics that he thought would be universal, 

Bieri concluded with this prediction: “If we ever succeed in communicating 

with conceptualizing beings in outer space, they won’t be spheres, pyramids, 

cubes, or pancakes. In all probability they will look an awful lot like us.”30

Bacteriologist Francis Jackson and co-author astronomer Patrick Moore 

seemed less certain. At one point in their 1962 book, they declared it absurd 

to imagine that humans are constructed on an ideal model that would be 

followed on other planets.31 Yet a few pages later, they stated: “It is by no 

means impossible that, on planets closely similar to the Earth, chemical and 

biological evolution might have followed a strikingly similar course, even 

occasionally to the production of men.”32 There is no absolute contradiction 

between these two views. However, it is noteworthy that Jackson and Moore 

were open to both possibilities.

As we examine later works, we see a variety of perspectives. Dale Russell, a 

paleontologist, was reluctant to generalize from evolution on Earth to extraterrestrial conditions. In only one sentence did he suggest that the existence of 

extraterrestrial life is by no means a foregone conclusion. Within the context of 

astrophysical considerations, he concluded, “It would seem that the origin of 

life is intrinsically a much more probable event than the origin of higher intelligence,” a view recently echoed by paleontologist Peter Ward and astronomer 

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

Donald Brownlee in their Rare Earth.

33 Another paleontologist, C. Owen 

Lovejoy, was more definitive than Russell. Lovejoy believed that extraterrestrial 

intelligence could be quite common, but he distinguished this from cognition, 

which he reckoned would be much rarer beyond Earth. Because cognition 

as exemplified in humans is the result of our specific evolutionary path, said 

Lovejoy, the combination of events making cognition possible is highly unlikely 

to occur on most planets where intelligent life is present.34

In spite of the increasing trend to view the possibility of extraterrestrials 

in light of synthetic evolutionary theory, concerns remained about some of 

its founders’ principles. Gerald Feinberg and Robert Shapiro, a physicist and 

a biochemist, rejected the assertion by space scientists Roger MacGowan and 

Frederick Ordway that “the majority of intelligent extrasolar land animals 

will be of the two legged and two armed variety.”35 Instead they pointed out, 

citing Simpson, that great divergences from terrestrial forms are possible 

through the joint action of mutation and natural selection. Yet they also 

maintained that “we will undoubtedly encounter [convergent evolution] on 

other worlds.”36 Paleontologist David Raup certainly understood the force 

of arguments against convergence toward humanoid forms elsewhere, but 

he countered that too little is known about the process of convergence to 

make any definitive claims. The evolution of other humanoids may be highly 

improbable, he wrote, but not necessarily impossible.37

Evolutionary paleobiologist Simon Conway Morris is certainly conversant 

with the evolutionary synthesis, but he emphasizes the ubiquity of convergence, contesting the view that historical contingencies makes it impossible 

to predict the likely forms of life on other worlds:

Rerun the tape of the history of life, as S. J. Gould would have us 

believe, and the end result will be an utterly different biosphere. 

 33.

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The Evolution of Extraterrestrials

Most notably there will be nothing remotely like a human, so 

reinforcing the notion that any other biosphere, across the galaxy 

and beyond, must be as different as any other: perhaps things 

slithering across crepuscular mudflats, but certainly never the 

prospect of music, no sounds of laughter. Yet, what we know of 

evolution suggests the exact reverse: convergence is ubiquitous 

and the constraints of life make the emergence of the various 

biological properties very probable, if not inevitable. Arguments 

that the equivalent of Homo sapiens cannot appear on some distant 

planet miss the point: what is at issue is not the precise pathway 

by which we evolved, but the various and successive likelihoods 

of the evolutionary steps that culminated in our humanness.38

Among those supporting Conway Morris’s emphasis on convergence are 

anthropologists Kathryn Coe, Craig T. Palmer, and Christina Pomianek, 

who note, “It is now time to take the implications of evolutionary theory a 

little more seriously, and convergence is the norm.”39 They also maintain that 

“evolutionary theory, theoretically, should apply anywhere to anything that 

is living,” in a line of reasoning similar to that adopted by biologist Richard 

Dawkins in his argument for “Universal Darwinism.”40

Two other tendencies have also emerged among nonphysical scientists: 

hardheaded theorizing and more free-form speculation. In a manner somewhat reminiscent of the earlier evolutionary systematists, James Valentine 

approached the question by distinguishing between microevolution, involving selection within a population, and macroevolution, dealing with evolution above the species level. He concluded that the microevolutionary details 

of life on another planet—e.g., their genetic materials—would probably be 

very different from those of their terrestrial counterparts. But macroevolution, 

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

he thought, should yield extraterrestrial patterns of “multicellular diversification” similar to the patterns seen on Earth.41

Imagination reigned in Bonnie Dalzell’s 1974 exhibit of possible alien 

creatures for the Smithsonian, which drew upon her artistic talent as well as 

her background in paleontology.42 By hypothesizing planets that vary from 

Earth in gravity and temperature, she imagined environments that would 

foster a wide variety of land-bound, aquatic, and aerial life. Anthropologist 

Doris Jonas and psychiatrist David Jonas, by contrast, considered not only 

the morphology but also the possible perceptual worlds of extraterrestrials. 

Though their work was not as informed by theory as that of some of the 

contributors to the evolutionary synthesis, their basic tenet was the same:

One thing is for certain: we have no reason to assume that evolutionary forces on other planets will produce forms or intelligences that are the same as ours even though the basic raw 

materials must be similar. Whatever chance factors combine 

to produce any form of life, infinitely more must combine to 

produce an advanced form.43

Conclusion

Some of the most incisive arguments for and against the possibility of extraterrestrial life have come from scientists who have only a passing interest in 

the question. Their views typically were more influenced by their professional 

work in their own disciplines than by more extended contacts with others 

interested in life beyond Earth. Thus, when trying to evaluate their positions, 

it is vital to understand the conceptual frameworks within which their speculations arose. One theoretical framework that played a major role in the 20th 

and 21st centuries is modern evolutionary theory. By examining the extent 

to which this paradigm has impacted various fields over the past few decades, 

we can better understand the diversity of views about extraterrestrial life held 

by scientists from a variety of disciplines.

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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Biocultural Prerequisites 

for the Development of 

Interstellar Communication

Garry Chick

In 1961, astronomer Frank Drake developed a formula for estimating the 

number of extraterrestrial civilizations in our galaxy via the quantification 

of what he felt to be seven relevant factors. The Drake Equation contains 

two terms, f

i

 and f

c

, that refer, respectively, to the fraction of planets that 

harbor intelligent life and the fraction of those with intelligent life capable 

of developing a technology that would allow communication with other 

worlds. These terms are two of the most difficult in the equation for which to 

estimate values, and, not surprisingly, a wide range of values has been offered 

for each. Estimates of these values depend on a number of conjectures and 

assumptions about the nature of intelligence; aspects of embodiment, such as 

sensory modalities and faculties to manipulate the environment; and aspects 

of culture that seem to be crucial for the development of advanced technology. The only data we have on the technological development necessary for 

interstellar communication come from our own experience here on Earth. 

While numerous Earthly species use technologies, only the technologies created by humans qualify as complex. Similarly, many species show various 

forms of intelligence and even some nonhuman species are also said to have 

culture, depending on how that word is defined. My purpose is to examine 

how intelligence, embodiment, culture, and their interactions, based on what 

we know of their Earthly manifestations, might affect the values of Drake’s 

two most contested terms.

The Drake Equation

In an attempt to quantify the number of civilizations capable of interstellar 

communication in the Milky Way galaxy, Frank Drake proposed the following equation:

N = R* · fp

 · ne · fl · f

i

 · fc · L,

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

where

N is the number of civilizations in our galaxy capable of interstellar 

communication

R* is the rate of star formation per year in the galaxy

fp is the fraction of stars with planets

ne is average number of habitable planets per star with planets

fl

 is the fraction of habitable planets that develop life

fi

 is the fraction of planets with life that develop intelligent life

fc is the fraction of intelligent civilizations able (and willing) to 

communicate

and L is the expected lifetime of such civilizations.

There are several excellent online calculators for the Drake Equation, but 

the one provided by the NOVA “Origins” series is especially attractive and 

user-friendly.1 These calculators permit interested parties to plug in their own 

estimates for the parameter values described above, but they simultaneously 

raise troubling questions: Are the parameter values in the Drake Equation 

any more than just guesses? Are they even “‘informed guesses’”? In a 2003 

address at the California Institute of Technology, author Michael Crichton 

discussed this aspect of the Drake Equation:

This serious-looking equation gave SETI a serious footing as a 

legitimate intellectual inquiry. The problem, of course, is that 

none of the terms can be known, and most cannot even be 

estimated. The only way to work the equation is to fill in with 

guesses. And guesses—just so we’re clear—are merely expressions of prejudice. Nor can there be “informed guesses.” If you 

need to state how many planets with life choose to communicate, there is simply no way to make an informed guess. It is 

simply prejudice.2

Crichton went on to claim that since the Drake Equation cannot be tested, 

SETI is therefore based not on science but on faith. It is possible, however, 

to bring relevant data to bear on the issue of extraterrestrial intelligence, as I 

hope to demonstrate here. 

 1. Public Broadcasting System, “The Drake Equation,” 2004, available at 

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Biocultural Prerequisites for the Development of Interstellar Communication

Drake Parameter Estimates

The parameters of the Drake Equation have been estimated numerous times using 

methods that range from pure guessing to various sorts of statistical analyses. The 

initial values assigned by Drake and his colleagues to each parameter are as follows:

R* = 10.0/year

f

p = 0.5

ne = 2.0

f

l = 1.0

f

i = 0.01

f

c = 0.01

L = 10,000 years

These estimates produce a value of 0.01 for N.

Using redefined variables, Carl Sagan generated a different set of values:3

R* = 4.0 × 1011

f

p = 0.33

ne = 2.0

f

l = 0.33

f

i = 0.1

f

c = 0.1

L = 0.01

These values result in a value of approximately 107 for N, an estimate wildly 

different from the one proposed 19 years earlier by Drake and his colleagues. 

According to the PBS NOVA “Origins” series,4 Drake’s current estimated 

values are:

R* = 5.0/year

f

p = 0.5

ne = 2.0

f

l = 1.0

f

i = 0.2

f

c = 1.0

L = 10,000 years

 3. Carl Sagan, 

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

These values give an N of 10,000 communicating civilizations in the 

Milky Way.

The difficulty with these values is that they are merely estimates. I believe 

there are empirical means by which these estimates can be enhanced. To do 

so, we must reevaluate some known facts in order to narrow our estimates of 

the two most intractable terms in Drake’s formula, f

i

 and f

c

. First, however, 

we will look at how the other parameters have been estimated.

Over the past half century, R* has generally been defined as the rate of star 

formation per year in the galaxy. However, it has also been defined as the rate 

of formation of suitable stars, meaning Sun-like stars rather than, for example, 

red giants. Thus, estimates range from about 20 stars of all sorts to 1 Sun-like 

star per year. Carl Sagan defined R* simply as “the number of stars in the 

Milky Way Galaxy,” without referring to their rate of formation.5 The huge 

difference between the rate of star formation and the number of stars in the 

galaxy is a discrepancy that profoundly influences the results of the equation.

When R* is defined as the rate of star formation per year in the galaxy 

or as the rate of suitable star formation in the galaxy, its approximate value 

can be roughly calculated on the basis of observed data; and most estimates 

that use one of these definitions generate values between about 5 and 20. 

There is, however, much less data to inform our estimates of Drake’s other 

parameters. What do we know about f

p

, the fraction of stars with planets? 

The first confirmed exoplanet was discovered orbiting the star 51 Pegasi in 

October 1995. As of 27 February 2012, a total of 1,790 host stars with 2,321 

extrasolar planet candidates had been detected.6 NASA’s Kepler mission team 

recently located the first confirmed rocky planet orbiting a star other than the 

Sun. Named Kepler-10b and approximately 1.4 times the size of Earth, this 

planet was found on the basis of data gathered by the Kepler space telescope 

between May 2009 and January 2010.7

 Kepler-10b’s orbit takes less than a 

day, indicating that it is more than 20 times closer to its star than Mercury is 

to the Sun and must therefore be blazing hot and uninhabitable.8

In June 2002, Geoffrey Marcy of the University of California at Berkeley 

and Paul Butler of the Carnegie Institution in Washington announced their 

 5. Sagan, 

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Biocultural Prerequisites for the Development of Interstellar Communication

discovery of a planet approximately 4 times as massive as Jupiter orbiting the 

star 55 Cancri at a distance of about 500 million miles; 55 Cancri is about the 

same mass and age as the Sun and is located about 41 light-years from Earth 

in the constellation Cancer. This massive planet takes 14 years to complete 

a single orbit, and its enormous gravity may draw cosmic debris away from 

other planets orbiting closer to 55 Cancri, thus protecting them from comet 

and asteroid impacts just as Jupiter protects Earth. 

Four additional planets have since been found closer to 55 Cancri. The 

planet closest to the star is about the size of Neptune and orbits in about 

three days. The second planet is slightly smaller than Jupiter and orbits in 

14.7 days, while the third is similar in size to Saturn and completes its orbit 

every 44 days. The fourth planet, the most recently discovered, is about 45 

times as large as Earth and appears to be similar to Saturn in composition. It 

completes its orbit in 260 days. While no Earth-like planets have been discovered orbiting 55 Cancri, all of the gas-giant in our solar system are orbited 

by large, rocky moons. It appears that some of these, such as Enceladus, a 

moon of Saturn, and Europa and Callisto, two of Jupiter’s moons, may have 

underground liquid water and, potentially, the ingredients necessary for life.9

In addition to gas-giant planets, “super-Earth” planets may orbit up to a 

third of stars.10 These planets are only slightly larger than Earth and may be 

rocky rather than gaseous. At least 45 super-Earth planets are known, but 

nearly all orbit so close to their stars as to render them incapable of supporting 

life. The Sun-like star HD 40307, about 42 light-years from Earth, appears 

to be orbited by at least three super-Earth planets.11 Discovery of the smallest 

super-Earth planet, Gliese 581 e (only 1.9 Earth masses), was announced on 

21 April 2009. Its orbit is much too close to its star to be habitable, but another 

super-Earth planet, Gliese 581 d, found on 24 April 2007, appears to be about 

8 Earth masses and far enough from its star so that liquid water could be present. The star Gliese 581 is in the constellation Libra and is about 20 light-years 

from Earth. It is a red dwarf approximately one-third the size of the Sun, and it 

appears to have at least four planets.12 Kepler-22b is the first confirmed extrasolar planet known to orbit in the “habitable zone”—that is, where liquid water 

 9. NASA, “Callisto Makes a Big Splash,” 2009, available at 

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

could exist on its surface—of a Sun-like star. It is approximately 2.4 times the 

radius of Earth, and its surface composition is unknown.13

The Sun, although often misleadingly referred to in the popular press as 

an “average star,” is classified on the Hertzsprung-Russell (H-R) Diagram as 

a Type G2V star. The H-R Diagram plots star color (an indicator of surface 

temperature) in relation to luminosity (an indicator of intrinsic brightness) 

and shows star color, temperature, luminosity, spectral type, and evolutionary stage, although it does not indicate the frequency of the types. A G2V 

star such as the Sun is a main-sequence yellow dwarf, which is, in our own 

galaxy, a relatively uncommon type. Up to 90 percent of the approximately 

400 billion stars in the Milky Way are (Type M) red dwarfs, while Sun-like 

stars constitute only about 5 percent.14 Red dwarfs, both smaller and cooler 

than the Sun, emit large x-ray bursts but not much ultraviolet radiation. The 

former is not favorable for life as we know it, while the latter may be essential. 

Nevertheless, Todd Henry suggests that more attention be paid to M-type 

stars because, while their habitable zones are very narrow, there are so many 

more of them than G-type stars that the odds of M-type stars having planets 

in the habitable zone is fairly high.15

In 2003, Charles Lineweaver and Daniel Grether suggested that at least 20 

percent of Sun-like stars have planets, but recent estimates are much higher.16

Alan Boss, for example, proposes that every Sun-like star may, on average, 

have one Earth-like planet, meaning that there could be as many as 100 billion Earth-like planets in the Milky Way galaxy alone.17

The value of f

l

, the fraction of hospitable planets that actually develop 

life, has generally been thought to be very high, usually 1.0. Given that life 

developed on Earth soon after it cooled enough to permit liquid water, and 

that life on Earth inhabits a very wide range of ecologies, this estimate seems 

reasonable. The estimates of f

i

 and f

c

, however, are far more uncertain than 

those for any of the previous terms in the equation.

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Biocultural Prerequisites for the Development of Interstellar Communication

Estimating fi

According to the Principle of Mediocrity, Earth, the solar system, our location 

in the Milky Way, the Milky Way galaxy, and its location in the universe are 

not special in any sense.18 Hence, Earth is representative of other Earth-like 

planets in other Sun-like solar systems. So, while any data we can bring to 

bear on f

i

—the fraction of planets with life that develop intelligent life—is 

based on a sample size of only 1, those data are nevertheless valid and reliable. 

But what evidence do we actually have? How many “intelligent” species have 

existed on Earth?

Intelligence

Like many, if not most, constructs in the social and behavioral sciences, the 

nature of intelligence has been under scrutiny for more than a century, but 

no single, universally accepted definition presently exists. In a general sense, 

however, two definitions seem to cover the territory. The first definition, proposed in a letter signed by 52 scholars with expertise in intelligence and related 

fields, appeared in the 13 December 1994 issue of The Wall Street Journal in 

response to exchanges over Charles Murray and Richard Herrnstein’s book 

The Bell Curve:

Intelligence is a very general mental capability that, among other 

things, involves the ability to reason, plan, solve problems, think 

abstractly, comprehend complex ideas, learn quickly and learn 

from experience. It is not merely book learning, a narrow academic 

skill, or test-taking smarts. Rather, it reflects a broader and deeper 

capability for comprehending our surroundings—“catching on,” 

“making sense” of things, or “figuring out” what to do.19

The second was offered by the American Psychological Association in 1995:

 18.

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

Individuals differ from one another in their ability to understand complex ideas, to adapt effectively to the environment, 

to learn from experience, to engage in various forms of reasoning, to overcome obstacles by taking thought. Although these 

individual differences can be substantial, they are never entirely 

consistent: a given person’s intellectual performance will vary on 

different occasions, in different domains, as judged by different 

criteria. Concepts of “intelligence” are attempts to clarify and 

organize this complex set of phenomena.20

Intelligence is very commonly addressed from a psychometric perspective; that is, intelligence is effectively what is measured by tests such as the 

Stanford-Binet, the Wechsler Adult Intelligence Test, and others. Scores on 

such tests, recorded as IQ (Intelligence Quotient) or g (General Intelligence) 

numbers, are considered reliable even though their validity has often been 

challenged. Critics question whether they can accurately measure the range 

of what should be thought of as intelligence. Largely in response to this 

issue, psychologists such as Howard Gardiner and Robert J. Sternberg have 

proposed theories of multiple intelligences, each of which may be possessed 

in greater or lesser quantities.21 Sternberg offers a triarchic theory wherein 

intelligence involves the degree to which individuals successfully adapt to 

environmental changes throughout their life-span.22 He identifies three 

aspects of intelligence—analytic, creative, and practical—only one of which, 

the analytic, is usually addressed by intelligence tests. Analytic questions 

typically have one “right” answer, while practical questions may have several 

correct responses. Gardiner included verbal-linguistic and mathematicallogical intelligences, mirroring the categories used by traditional intelligence 

tests. He also included visual-spatial, body-kinesthetic, auditory-musical, and 

inter- and intra-personal communication, for a total of seven “intelligences” 

(“naturalism” is sometimes included as an eighth). Gardiner argues that psychometric tests ignore aspects of intelligence beyond the verbal, logical, and 

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Biocultural Prerequisites for the Development of Interstellar Communication

some aspects of spatial both in the types of questions asked and in how the 

tests are administered (i.e., pencil and paper or by computer).

There is an enormous amount of literature on the nature of intelligence 

and its measurement. The question that concerns me here, however, is this: 

What sort of intelligence do we have in mind when we talk of extraterrestrial 

intelligence? While Gardiner’s theory of multiple intelligences lacks wide 

support, Sternberg and others feel that intelligence cannot be reduced to a 

single number such as IQ or g. What sort of intelligence might an extraterrestrial require in order to develop a technological civilization capable of 

interstellar communication?

Which of Earth’s Animals Are “Intelligent”?

Given the two definitions of intelligence quoted above and setting aside for 

the moment the possibility of various sorts of multiple intelligences, which 

animals can be considered the most intelligent? Often we judge the animals 

that behave most like humans to be the most intelligent. We therefore regard 

great apes (chimpanzees, bonobos, gorillas, orangutans) as quite intelligent. 

Since the use of tools signals intelligence, and since each of these species uses 

tools, they are pretty smart in our book. Although tool use among Cetaceans 

(specifically, the bottlenose dolphin) has been observed only recently, dolphins, whales, and porpoises are generally deemed very bright, as well. All 

mammals appear to engage in at least some pre-adult learning from parents 

and others. Some birds, such as crows and parrots, appear to be precocious. 

The African gray parrot, for example, seems to be remarkably adept at both 

linguistic and cognitive activities. Cephalopods (octopus, squid, cuttlefish, 

nautilus) are thought the most intelligent of nonvertebrates. Indeed, researchers claim to have observed play behavior, a strong correlate of cortical development, in the octopus.23

The nature of chimpanzee and gorilla intelligence is undoubtedly similar 

to our own, but what of dolphin intelligence or octopus intelligence? Does 

the notion of a dolphin IQ or g in an octopus make any sense? If we were to 

apply Gardiner’s criteria for intelligence to dolphins or octopi, we might make 

a case for both having very high body-kinesthetic and visual-spatial intelligence. Dolphins might also rate highly in terms of intra- and interpersonal 

communication as well as auditory-musical intelligence. They could even 

demonstrate mathematical-logical intelligence. Since we have been unable 

 23.

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

to decipher their “language” of whistles, clicks, and so on, no meaningful 

assessment of their verbal-linguistic intelligence can be made.

What Good Is Intelligence?

Why and how did humans end up being as intelligent as we are? While the 

exact course of human evolution is open to debate, one distinctive feature 

of hominids from the earliest period to the present is increasing brain size 

and complexity. Why this happens is not clear, although theories abound. 

Intelligence is not required for evolutionary success as measured either in 

terms of the number of individual organisms or in biomass. The biomass of 

Antarctic krill (Euphausia superba), for example, is estimated to be between 

125 million and 6 billion metric tons.24 Oceanic bacteria comprise perhaps 

150 times the cumulative biomass of humans and, given their size, are many 

orders of magnitude greater in number.

Nevertheless, intelligence surely helped our evolutionary ancestors in the 

struggle to survive since humans have few other natural weapons. There is 

now only one human species despite evidence that two or more may have 

existed simultaneously at one or more times in the past. Perhaps our direct 

ancestors contributed to the demise of our less-well-adapted relatives. Over 

the past few decades, we have all but exterminated our hominoid relatives 

(along with numerous other species). However, the crucial adaptation after 

the ancestors of both humans and chimpanzees diverged seems to have been 

not intelligence but an upright stance. Indeed, some estimates place an 

upright stance some 2 million years prior to encephalization and 500,000 

years prior to tool manufacture and use.25 The key here, by the way, is manufacture and use, as all other extant hominoids use tools but do not necessarily 

manufacture them.

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Biocultural Prerequisites for the Development of Interstellar Communication

In 2005, Mark Flinn, David Geary, and Carol Ward reviewed theories of 

why hominids developed high intelligence and found little evidence for the 

majority of them.26 Environmentally based theories failed to explain why 

other animals that faced ecological problems similar to those likely confronting early humans did not evolve similar cognitive abilities. Explanations that 

posited intelligence as a social tool explanations ran into like problems. Social 

group size and brain size correlate across many taxa, and hominid group size 

appears to have been about the same as that of other extant hominoids.27 So 

why did other social species not develop high intelligence? 

Richard Alexander’s ecological dominance-social competition hypothesis 

offers an answer to this question.28 Briefly, Alexander theorizes that hominids 

became the “ecologically dominant” species, meaning that selection pressure on them gradually shifted from external causes (e.g., predators, climate, 

resources) to internal ones (that is, interactions with members of their own 

species). Flinn et al. present evidence that supports the ecological-dominance 

hypothesis and that indicates “significant increases of ecological dominance 

roughly coincided with the appearance of H. erectus.”29 They do not, however, 

speculate on how pre-Homo human ancestors established ecological dominance while other hominids did not.

Intelligence and the Ability To Manipulate the Environment

Cetaceans and cephalopods have yet another problem. Even if they are deemed 

intelligent according to one or more of Gardiner’s criteria, they fail in terms 

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

of J. L. Casti’s requirements for the emergence of intelligence.30 Casti points 

out that interstellar communication requires tool-making, and he identifies 

the conditions necessary for developing such technology:

1. Development of an atmosphere containing free oxygen

2. Migration of life from the sea to land

3. Emergence of hands and eyes

4. Use of tools

5. Appearance of social structures31

Leaving aside the issue of an oxygen-rich atmosphere, what about the other 

criteria? First, if movement from sea to land is required, the cetaceans have 

it backwards, as their ancestors were land-dwellers. Cephalopod tentacles, 

while apparently handy in the water, are all but useless out of it. Second, 

some sort of hand-like appendages are essential for making and using tools. 

Various creatures grasp and manipulate food or objects by means of claws 

(e.g., crabs, lobsters, scorpions, praying mantises), their bodies (e.g., snakes), 

their mouths (e.g., dogs), mouthparts (e.g., ants), or beaks (e.g., birds). None 

of these means seem to be as effective as hands, however. Many animals also 

have eyes or some type of light-sensing organ, and eyes come in many designs. 

Whether sight evolved independently in insects, vertebrates, and mollusks, 

for example, or whether the same genetic structure underlies all eyes remains 

in dispute.32 Moreover, some species whose ancestors had eyes have lost them 

(e.g., cave-dwelling fish and insects), while others augment eyesight with 

other sensory or signaling apparatus such as echolocation (e.g., bats and cetaceans), electric fields (e.g., eels), or light-producing organs (e.g., fireflies and 

many species of deep-sea animals). Still, complex eyes dominate. Tomarev et 

al. note that while only 6 of 30 animal phyla have complex eyes, these 6 are 

the dominant animals on the planet.33 They estimate that 95 percent of all 

animal species have complex eyes based on about a dozen different designs.

Intelligence and Technological Development

So how do Casti’s criteria apply to f

i

? If Casti is right, aquatic species will 

never develop substantial technologies. So we can eliminate cephalopods and 

cetaceans, however “intelligent,” from our list of potential communicators 

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Biocultural Prerequisites for the Development of Interstellar Communication

via technology and, therefore, any similar species that might exist on extrasolar planets. Somewhere between 1.5 and 2 million living species have been 

cataloged on Earth, and estimates for the actual number of species run much 

higher (generally between 2 and 50 million but some up to 100 million). Of 

these, there are about 800 known living species of cephalopods and about 80 

living species of cetaceans. Hence, cetaceans constitute less than 0.05 percent 

(0.0005) of extant species even when using only 2 million as an estimate for 

the total number of living species. There are currently approximately 18 to 20 

species in the superfamily Hominoidea (apes and humans). These include 12 

species divided among 4 genera of the family Hylobatidae and 6, or possibly 

7, species in the family Hominidae, which comprises humans, gorillas (1 or 

2 species), chimpanzees (2 species), and orangutans (2 species).34 When 20 

species of hominoids are included in that total of 2 million extant species, primates constitute only 0.001 percent (0.00001) of the living species on Earth. 

Moreover, only 1 of these 20 species has developed a technology capable of 

interstellar communication. In sum, the development of high intelligence 

on Earth has been extremely rare, and there is little evidence to support the 

idea that its development is inevitable. Even if some forms of intelligence do 

evolve on other planets, there is no good reason to believe that at least one 

of them must be human-like. Hence, high estimates of f

i

 may be not only 

anthropocentric but also highly optimistic.

At least three significant unanswered questions remain: 

1. Why is high intelligence worth having?

2. Why, if it is worth having, did it develop only once in more than 

3.5 billion years of biological evolution on Earth?

3. How did it evolve at all?

The answers to these questions, assuming we ever discover them, will allow 

much more precise estimates of f

i

 than we are presently capable of producing.

Estimating fc

Drake defined f

c

 as the fraction of intelligent civilizations both able and willing to communicate. The concept of civilization seemingly eliminates the 

 34.

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

possibility that intelligence could appear in forms other than collectives of 

organisms. So Fred Hoyle’s fictional Black Cloud, an intelligent entity composed of a network of disparate molecules that arrives at our solar system, 

discovers intelligent life on Earth, and proceeds to communicate, is ruled 

out.35 Hive intelligence—exhibited by social animals such as ants, termites, 

and many bees and portrayed, always negatively, in science fiction (in films 

such as Invasion of the Body Snatchers, on television with Star Trek’s Borg, 

and in novels such as Arthur C. Clarke’s Childhood’s End)—also appears to 

be out.36 So what must a collective of individually intelligent organisms have 

in order to develop a means of interstellar communication? Minimally, they 

must be able to develop information, share it, and work cooperatively. That 

means they must have a culture and some sort of social organization.

What Is Culture?

Definitions of culture abound; in their 1952 book, A. L. Kroeber and Clyde 

Kluckhohn identified more than 160 definitions, and many more have been 

developed since then.37 Edward Burnett Tylor offered the first definition of 

culture from an anthropological perspective in 1871, describing it as “that 

complex whole which includes knowledge, belief, art, law, morals, custom, 

and any other capabilities and habits acquired by man as a member of 

society.”38 While Tylor’s gloss is still useful, a more cognitively oriented definition may have greater value in the present context.39 Ward Goodenough’s 

highly influential definition of culture is a step in the right direction:

A society’s culture consists of whatever it is one has to know 

or believe in order to operate in a manner acceptable to its 

members. Culture is not a material phenomenon; it does not 

consist of things, behavior, or emotions. It is rather an organization of these things. It is the form of things that people have 

 35.

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Biocultural Prerequisites for the Development of Interstellar Communication

in mind, their models for perceiving, relating, and otherwise 

interpreting them.40

Goodenough thus holds culture to be information. John M. Roberts developed a related definition of culture in 1964 that augments Goodenough’s:

It is possible to regard all culture as information and to view any 

single culture as an “information economy” in which information is received or created, retrieved, transmitted, utilized, and 

even lost.41

The “information economy” of which the developed world is a part dates 

to antiquity. While significant information attributable to ancient civilizations has already been lost, such as the engineering of the Egyptian pyramids 

or the rules for the Aztecs’ famed Mesoamerican ballgame), cultural knowledge stored in the heads of members of extinct or vanishing indigenous 

peoples may represent a far greater loss. Nonetheless, diffusion of cultural 

information has surely occurred over the millennia. The question, of course, 

is how much of our present cultural information—what we need to know 

to operate in a way acceptable to our fellows—can be traced to antiquity. 

Since we lack a means to measure culture content as well as comprehensive 

knowledge of that content between then and now, this determination is not 

presently possible.

Culture and the Development of Technology

Being intelligent, having hands and eyes, and living in a favorable environment, while necessary conditions, do not appear to be sufficient in themselves 

for the development of advanced technology. Casti’s final prerequisite for the 

development of advanced technologies, including interstellar communication, was social organization.42 The problem is that all human groups have 

social organization of one form or another but not all are technologically 

complex. Nor does complexity in one area of human life predict complexity 

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

in others. The Kayapó, for example, a native Amazonian tribe, are similar 

to many other small-scale societies in having a rich ceremonial life and a 

complex cosmology without ever having developed a complex technology.43

However, the development of complex technologies is commonly seen as an 

extension of the development of complex cultures. Ways of assessing cultural 

complexity exist that do not include technological complexity as a defining 

factor but that nevertheless accurately predict technological complexity. The 

most common, and probably most promising, relates to aspects of population size and density.

In a prescient 1956 paper, Raoul Naroll linked the complexity of social 

organization to population size.44 Specifically, he showed that the size of the 

largest community in a society correlates with measures of cultural complexity, such as the number of craft specializations and what he termed “organizational ramification,” that is, the number of control officials, such as police 

or military, in a society. About 10 years later, Robert Carneiro found that 

population size of societies correlates with organizational complexity, designated as involving “the coordinated activity of two or more persons.”45

Edgar Bowden determined that his own Index of Sociocultural Development, 

based on earlier work by Carneiro using Guttman Scaling of the presence or 

absence of 354 cultural traits to measure cultural complexity, correlated at 

.97 with the base-10 logarithm of the maximum settlement size of a community.46 Most recently, Michelle Kline and Robert Boyd, using data from 

a cross-cultural sample of 10 societies in Oceania from around the time of 

Western contact (c. 1770), examined the relationship between population 

size and the number and complexity of tools used in marine foraging. They 

found that islands with larger populations had “more kinds of marine foraging 

 43.

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Biocultural Prerequisites for the Development of Interstellar Communication

tools and more complex tools than smaller, isolated populations.”47 Hence, at 

least on Earth, the development of complex technology requires intelligence, 

the physical ability to manipulate the environment, culture, and minimum 

limits for population size and density. And these factors must interact with 

the environment, since population size alone is not enough. It has been estimated, for example, that Tenochtitlán was one of the world’s largest cities at 

the time of the Spanish conquest in 1521. Nevertheless, the superiority of 

Spanish technology, especially in terms of metallurgy, assured their defeat of 

the Aztecs, who lacked the raw materials for the production of iron or bronze, 

as I will discuss in more detail below.

Many estimates of f

c

 are also in the 1 in 10 (0.1) range. Is this reasonable, given the data we have available from Earth? Applying the Principle of 

Mediocrity, we can ask what percent of known societies/cultures achieved, 

or would have achieved, the technological sophistication to make interstellar 

contact possible? No database covers all known societies/cultures from the 

beginning of such groups until now, and how does one determine where one 

society/culture ends and another begins? The Roman Empire, for example, 

never developed the means for interstellar communication, but Western cultures of the 20th century were able to do so in part because they retain cultural 

knowledge developed by the citizens and subjects of Imperial Rome, who 

utilized cultural knowledge developed even earlier by the Greeks (and many 

others). So, while the political entity known now as the Roman Empire has 

long since disappeared, much of the culture associated with it has not.

How can knowledge of human societies be used to estimate f

c

? One way 

would be to choose a sample of historical civilizations from around the world 

(such as those of the ancient Egyptians, Harappa–Mohenjo-daro, the Inca, 

the Natchez, the Greeks, and so on) and to speculate on their potential for 

becoming technologically sophisticated enough to engage in interstellar communication. Jared Diamond, in his Pulitzer Prize–winning book Guns, Germs, 

and Steel, offered environmental reasons why some societies progressed technologically while others did not.48 The West had access to the raw materials 

(including plant and animal species capable of being domesticated) that were 

necessary to support technical culture, as well as lines of communication and 

migration that did not cross inhospitable territory. In his next book, Collapse, 

Diamond provided case studies of several societies that failed due to various 

 47.

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

combinations of environmental degradation, climate change, hostile neighbors, lack of friendly trading partners, and inept responses to environmental 

problems.49 While his data and methods have been criticized, Diamond raised 

important issues and provided answers that may have some validity. It may be 

that the Inca and the Aztecs, for example, if left on their own, would never 

have developed advanced technology because they lacked the raw materials 

in their respective environments that would have enabled them to do so. The 

ancient Chinese were extremely inventive and great engineers, but many of 

their inventions (e.g., gunpowder and moveable type) never had the impact in 

ancient Asia that was later seen in the West. But cherry-picking past civilizations and then forecasting their possible technological evolutions had they 

not collapsed or been conquered involves speculations better reserved for 

science fiction.50

An alternative is to take a sample of societies from the recent anthropological record and then calculate what percentage of them ultimately 

developed advanced technology. For this task, I chose the Standard CrossCultural Sample (SCCS), developed by George Murdock and Douglas White 

in 1969.51 The SCCS is composed of 186 societies chosen specifically to 

represent a global distribution of cultures and languages in order to minimize 

Galton’s Problem. The SCCS is widely used in cross-cultural comparative 

research, and codes for approximately 2,000 variables are currently available for it, including one for “cultural complexity.” In 1973, Murdock and 

Caterina Provost coded the SCCS for cultural complexity based on “ten 

groups of comparable traits, each ordered according to a five-point scale of 

relative complexity.”52 These traits are 1) Writing and Records, 2) Fixity of 

Residence, 3) Agriculture, 4) Urbanization, 5) Technological Specialization, 

6) Land Transport, 7) Money, 8) Density of Population, 9) Level of Political 

Integration, and 10) Social Stratification. A major weakness of the SCCS is 

that it lacks any modern, industrial societies.

Murdock and Provost assumed that their index is unidimensional, an 

assumption demonstrated by the fact that they added the 10 individual 

scales to provide a single, overall index of cultural complexity. However, 

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Biocultural Prerequisites for the Development of Interstellar Communication

Table 14.1: Principal-Components Analysis of the 

SCCS Index of Cultural Complexitya

Complexity Scales Factor 1 Factor 2 Communality

Writing and Records 0.848b 0.150 0.741

Land Transport 0.846 0.047 0.719

Social Stratification 0.716 0.402 0.675

Level of Political Integration 0.669 0.466 0.665

Technological Specialization 0.606 0.442 0.563

Money 0.578 0.401 0.495

Fixity of Residence 0.068 0.918 0.847

Agriculture 0.213 0.849 0.766

Density of Population 0.284 0.824 0.759

Urbanization 0.454 0.542 0.500

Percentage of Total Variance 

Explained by Unrotated Factors

52.77 14.53

 a. N of Cases = 186.

a principal-components analysis (with varimax rotation, factors extracted 

where the eigenvalue is <=1) of the 10 individual scales indicates two factors, 

not one, as assumed by Murdock and Provost. Factor 1 appears to be related to 

social and technological complexity, while Factor 2 contains variables related 

to the complexity of the human ecology of societies. These variables are shown 

in Table 14.1.

Whether or not this index is an appropriate measure of cultural complexity is debatable, depending on how one defines both culture and complexity.

53

Nevertheless, it is the most widely used measure of the construct and may be 

of some value for estimating f

c

. It is also important because Factor 2 is closely 

related to alternative measures of cultural complexity, discussed below.

How many of the societies in the SCCS either did or would have been 

likely to develop technology that would permit interstellar contact? Of the 

186 societies in the sample, 7 have the maximum possible score of 30 when 

the six variables making up the social and technological complexity factor 

are summed, while 7 more have a score of 29. These 14 societies therefore 

constitute about 7.5 percent of the SCCS. Only one society has a score of 

28, while three score 27 and two score 26; so a score of 29 is something of 

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

a natural breakpoint. The 14 most complex societies, and the year at which 

their culture was pinpointed, are:

Burmese 1965

Koreans 1947

Babylonians 1750 BCE

Romans 110

Balinese 1958

Irish 1932

Basques 1934

Javanese 1954

Uttar Pradeshi 1945

Siamese 1955

Chinese 1936

Japanese 1950

Turks 1950

Russians 1955

Would any or all of these societies, left to their own devices, have developed the means for interstellar communication? Despite Murdock and 

White’s efforts to ensure the independence of the societies in the SCCS, it is 

clear that this condition does not apply to these 14. Babylonian culture surely 

had some influence on the Romans via the Greeks and some knowledge of it 

passed through the Romans to us. All of the other societies had at least some 

contact with each other and contact with Western (and therefore Roman) 

culture by the date of Murdock and Provost’s study. So is it most appropriate to regard these societies as having only 1 technical tradition, 14 different 

ones, or something in between?

Karl Jansky discovered radio waves emanating from the Milky Way in 

1932, and Grote Reber constructed the first dish radio telescope at his home 

in Wheaton, Illinois, in 1937. So human society has had the capability of 

receiving extraterrestrial signals for approximately 75 years while sending 

them (from commercial radio stations, at least) for approximately a dozen 

years longer. Of the 14 societies in the sample, major radio telescopes are currently located in 5 (Korea, India, China, Japan, and Russia).54 Optimistically 

then, out of a sample of 186 human cultures only 5 (2.7 percent) might 

have developed the means to communicate with extraterrestrials. Less optimistically, since there is really only one cultural tradition of radio-telescope 

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Biocultural Prerequisites for the Development of Interstellar Communication

development and use—a tradition passing though the Roman Empire—

only 0.5 percent of human civilizations would ultimately have developed the 

means to communicate with extraterrestrials.55 Hence, one finding from this 

exercise is that the value for f

c

 may lie between 0.005 and 0.027.

One Culture or Many?

A more important finding, however, may be that looking at a sample of human 

cultures studied pretty much across a slice of time and then attempting to 

extrapolate from them proves that this method is highly questionable due to 

the problem of cultural diffusion. Indeed, in the early history of anthropology, several schools of thought claimed that humans were basically uninventive and that important technological advances had occurred only once and 

thereafter moved to other areas of the world either through cultural diffusion 

or migration. These include the German Kulturkreis school, which held that 

inventions spread via migration; the American “cultural area” school, which 

emphasized diffusion; and, the most extreme, the pan-Egyptian or heliolithic 

theory, which asserted that all cultural advances, especially modern inventions, came from Egypt, a perspective championed by G. Eliot Smith and, 

later, his student William James Perry.56 These schools emerged, in part, as a 

reaction to early cultural evolutionism that emphasized fixed stages through 

which all cultures must develop. So, while these schools of thought have 

largely faded away, the ideas they promoted continue to influence American 

anthropology, in particular, through attention to individual cultural histories 

and through lingering notions of culture areas, as manifested, for example, 

in the sampling for the SCCS.

While there is little evidence to suggest that the Aztec or Inca civilizations 

were influenced by Egyptian, Chinese, or Roman civilization (excepting a 

few contested theories about the lost tribes of Israel), the question remains 

whether we can reasonably trace modern radio astronomy back to the ancient 

Greeks or perhaps even to earlier civilizations of the Middle East. Does SETI 

result from one cultural tradition or many?

 55.

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

Political scientist David Wilkinson has argued that an economic and military integration of Egypt and Mesopotamia around 3500 BP resulted in what 

he terms the “Central Civilization.”57 According to Wilkinson, this civilization 

expanded over the next several millennia to include the entire Middle East and 

Europe. Finally, via European expansion, Central Civilization came to include 

the Americas, much of Africa, China, and Japan. Hence, our advanced technology, including that used in SETI, developed originally in this polycultural 

Central Civilization rather than in later cultures, societies, or empires.

Summary and Conclusions

Estimating any of the values for variables in the Drake Equation involves 

a lot of guesswork, although our knowledge of R* and, especially, f

p

 has 

increased dramatically in recent years. We may soon be able to estimate ne

on a more empirical and less speculative basis. There is general agreement 

that the fraction of habitable planets that develop life should be very high. 

However, the fraction of planets that develop intelligent life and the fraction 

of those that develop both the means and the will to communicate across 

space may remain unknown and unknowable by humans. In the meantime, 

however, we can determine exactly what we are talking about and looking 

for. The question “what is life?” has been extensively discussed.58 Numerous 

authors have also discussed what we mean by intelligence.

59 As noted above, 

the general mode of thought when considering extraterrestrial intelligence 

is anthropomorphism—we imagine that aliens will be like us. Additionally, 

the evolution of intelligence is often seen as inevitable or, at least, as the 

endpoint of progressive evolution. In other words, once multicellular life 

evolves, intelligence is on its way. Discussion of intelligent dinosaurs—who 

might still be here except for a random asteroid or comet hitting Earth some 

65 million years ago—reflects this progressive notion of evolution. However, 

as Richard Byrne points out, “the assumption that our descent was linear and 

progressive,” that “when we studied a lemur or monkey we were seeing in a 

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Biocultural Prerequisites for the Development of Interstellar Communication

direct way what our ancestors were like,” “is just plain wrong.”60 All other 

“modern animals have evolved for exactly as long as we have,” and yet, after 

all this evolution, only one species has developed the sort of intelligence that 

has led to the technology and the interest to seek communications with other 

species in the universe.61 These conclusions do not lend much support to the 

proposition that the development of our kind of intelligence is inevitable, let 

alone common, once life appears.

As for f

c

, the fraction of intelligent civilizations able and willing to communicate, the exercise reported above using a sample of human societies 

culled from the anthropological record also does not support high estimates. 

Robin Dunbar reported a strong relationship in primates between the neocortex ratio (defined as the volume of the neocortex divided by that of the 

remainder of the brain) and group size.62 A regression equation, using a ratio 

of group size to neocortex, permits estimation of group size for species for 

which we know only the former. In the case of humans, the estimate is about 

150.63 As Dunbar points out, group size refers to the network of individuals 

who know each other and have strong affiliative relationships, who interact 

with one another frequently, and who maintain some type of spatial coherence over time. The ethnographic record supports group sizes of 125–200 in 

recent and contemporary human societies. Finally, Dunbar notes that there 

are two main determinants of group size. First, living in groups provides two 

important benefits: defense against predators and enhanced ability to defend 

resources. These benefits act in opposition to the costs of group living, which 

include the need for greater food resources, sometimes involving energetically 

costly travel (and possible predation), and the need to devote more time and 

energy to social interaction in the prevention of group conflicts. Models of 

maximum group size based on only three variables (mean annual temperature, 

mean annual rainfall, and rainfall seasonality) among chimpanzees, geladas, 

and baboons are “surprisingly robust.”64 Dunbar notes that “mean group 

size is, of course, a rough measure of social complexity.”65 As it turns out, an 

 60.

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

excellent way to measure cultural complexity in human societies is simply 

to use the size of the largest settlement in the society, rather than to scale 

societies in terms of several parameters, such as in the Murdock and Provost 

index discussed above.66

So even if intelligent and technologically capable life develops, environmental parameters constrain the likelihood that societies composed of such 

beings will become sufficiently complex to support advanced technologies. 

We do not presently know if other Earth-like planets exist or, if they do, what 

sort of limiting environmental conditions may exist on them. If we apply 

the Principle of Mediocrity, analyses such as those by Diamond suggest that 

such societies will develop only rarely.67 I have argued here that such a culture 

developed on Earth only once.

 66.

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CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Ethology, Ethnology, and 

Communication with 

Extraterrestrial Intelligence

Dominique Lestel

The Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence (SETI) raises profound philosophical questions that demand serious discussion. Our attempts to establish 

contact with alien civilizations compel us, for example, to define exactly 

what we mean by communication. In the past, anthropologists have categorized contacts with new cultures as either ethnological or ethological. In this 

chapter I will argue that interactions with ETIs will constitute a third type 

of contact since they will be located at the intersection of ethnology on the 

one hand and ethology on the other. Because humans have had no experience with this type of contact, communicating with extraterrestrials will pose 

complex new challenges.

Communicating with Extraterrestrial Civilizations

Two major errors must be avoided when one thinks about extraterrestrial 

civilizations. The first error, representing a solely ethological approach, is to 

consider such a task as either purely physical (the search for and analysis 

of extraterrestrial signals) or purely biological (the identification of a nonhuman species and the establishment of communication with it). The second 

error is to consider such a task as exclusively ethnological, requiring only that 

two cultures (a human culture and an extraterrestrial culture) be allowed to 

establish meaningful contact in the ways we usually observe between two 

human cultures.

Indeed, to identify and meet an extraterrestrial civilization is a particularly 

difficult task precisely because it is both ethological and ethnological. We 

already know how to establish contact with nonhuman animals on Earth, but 

we have never communicated with agents with whom we share no history 

at all, not even a phylogenetic one. How can communication be established 

between two groups of living beings who 1) have had independent biological 

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

evolutions, 2) have had independent cultural histories, and 3) have never 

previously interacted with one another? To accomplish this task—one without any precedent in the history of humankind—we can take inspiration 

from ethology to conceptualize contact between different biological species and 

inspiration from ethnology to conceptualize contact between different cultures. 

Ethology of Communicating with Extraterrestrials

On Earth, humans share genes with all other living beings. Human history 

intertwines with that of every other living being, including plants. Humans 

are also genetically similar to some other animals. For example, they share 

around 99 percent of their genes with chimpanzees.1 Humans also share 

more than 50 percent of their genes with some plants, such as carrots. With 

an extraterrestrial civilization, the situation would undoubtedly be different. 

One thing is nevertheless (almost) sure: if extraterrestrials are living beings, 

they will have undergone a process of natural evolution. Up to now, all living 

beings we know of have been designed in such a way. The “almost” is, however, not at all trivial. Indeed, the extraterrestrials that humans may come 

into contact with could be artificial creatures that have become (or have not 

become) autonomous agents. Artificial agents, even though built by other 

living beings, could differ radically from creatures that resulted only or mainly 

from natural evolution.2

Even in that situation, where contact is made with artificial intelligence 

created by a naturally evolved alien species, the central features of the extraterrestrial mind that have been shaped by an evolutionary process will be 

reflected in the design or the uses of these artifacts. It seems likely that extraterrestrial natural evolution has occurred through selection involving prey/

predator relationships, social deception, and instrumental manipulation of the 

environment.

3

 That last point—that intelligent extraterrestrials will be capable 

of manipulating their environment—can be assumed for the purposes of this 

discussion, because if we are able to communicate with extraterrestrials, it 

 1. M. C. King and A. C. Wilson, “Evolution at Two Levels in Humans and Chimpanzees,” 

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Ethology, Ethnology, and Communication with Extraterrestrial Intelligence

will be precisely because they already have a sophisticated technology. In any 

case, humans need to be cautious. They need to be perceived neither as naïve 

prey nor as threatening predators—especially if they try to portray themselves 

as altruistic creatures.

A species that goes beyond a certain point of social complexity necessarily 

develops a political society. For example, such a process has been observed in species as biologically diverse as chimpanzees, dolphins, and ravens.4

 In other words, 

extraterrestrials will certainly be divided about numerous problems, including the 

kind of relationships they should have with creatures living on Earth.

This evolutionary background helps to explain why communication with 

extraterrestrials will be likely to take a special form. Paradoxically, it could 

be equally important not to make contact with extraterrestrials. All communication with them will necessarily involve a dual message, and we need 

to take that into account in order to appreciate it: any contact conveys both 

what we tell (which is not necessarily what we wish to tell) and that we exist

to tell it. In other words, every first communication with extraterrestrials 

is both a semantic and an existential exchange. This is why we should think 

about designing a message that gives no clues to Earth’s location. Similarly, 

an extraterrestrial message could have such a structure.

Ethnology and Ethology of Communicating 

with Extraterrestrials

We can be sure that contacts with extraterrestrial cultures will be entirely 

different from everything we already know and maybe from everything we 

have anticipated to date. Thus, an ethological model must be adopted with 

caution. It will help to illuminate only one dimension of what might occur. 

Indeed, we can reasonably assume that such a contact will need to be thought 

of as occurring at the intersection of ethnology and ethology, a location with 

which humans have thus far had no experience. Basically, three kinds of 

contact can be distinguished:

 4. Christopher Boehm, “Segmentary ‘Warfare’ and the Management of Conflict: Comparison 

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

Table 15.1. Three Possible Types of Contact with Extraterrestrial Intelligence

Types of 

Contact

Types of Groups 

Making Contact

Examples

I. Ethnological Contact between cultures that 

are different from one another 

but are homogeneous together 

(both were human cultures)

Contact between human culture 

and human culture (e.g., Spanish 

and Aztec cultures)

II. Ethological Contact between human cultures 

and animal societies 

Contacts between a human 

culture and a noncultural 

society (e.g., an ant colony) or a 

primitively cultural society (e.g., 

a community of chimpanzees)

III. EthoethnologicalContact between two heterogeneous advanced cultural 

societies

Contact between human cultures 

and extraterrestrial cultures

The terrestrial history of contacts with foreign cultures shows that the 

major problem during contact between two human cultures is frequently a 

problem of perception rather than one of communication, strictly speaking. 

One can translate discourses from one language into another, but understanding what is really being said is always a much more difficult task.

One of the main challenges of human/extraterrestrial contact could occur 

at the interface between culture, meaning, and physiological senses. To understand what is at stake, it is useful to refer back to Jakob von Uexküll’s approach 

to animal Umwelten. At the beginning of the 20th century, von Uexküll 

showed that animals of different species relate differently to the same environment because of the radical variations among the physiological senses with 

which they perceive their own world.5 Bees, for example, are sensitive to 

infrared wavelengths of light that humans cannot perceive and will therefore 

not inhabit the same environment in the way that humans would. A similar 

problem could arise with extraterrestrials, whose physiological senses might 

turn out to be quite different from those of humans.

Paradoxically, communication with such extraterrestrials might be easier 

precisely because it would be not a proximal communication but a distal

 5. Jakob von Uexküll, “A Stroll Through the Worlds of Animals and Men: A Picture Book of 

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Ethology, Ethnology, and Communication with Extraterrestrial Intelligence

one. Communication between humans and extraterrestrials (whatever they 

are) will necessarily need an abstract artificial mediation, such as a highly 

elaborated code.6 Even if it requires a code that will be a very complex one 

for us, such a communication would be much less complex than if it were a 

multimodal, contiguous, proximal, physical exchange.

Basically, we must remain open to all possibilities. The challenge is not to 

anticipate the most likely possibility but rather to describe exhaustively all 

of the potential situations that could occur and to find ways to address each 

one. In particular, humans must be ready to face very disturbing situations. 

For example, humans may face a scenario in which they will be unable to 

conclude whether or not extraterrestrials exist, being unable to make a rational 

decision about such a weighty issue.

This prospect raises a truly fundamental question: do humans have the 

cognitive, epistemic, technological, and cultural abilities that will enable 

them to establish communication with extraterrestrials? From an evolutionary point of view, there is no reason that we should be capable of dealing 

with such a circumstance. We have had no need to develop such a useless 

ability! Therefore, the more pertinent question may be this: in the attempt 

to communicate with extraterrestrials, could Homo sapiens use technological 

and cultural capabilities to compensate for a lack of innate power?

Universal Interlocutors? Language as a Metaphor 

for Communication with Extraterrestrials

Are we really justified in saying that humans are universal interlocutors? 

This is precisely what numerous contemporary linguists do when they assert 

the existence of a great divide between human language, which can describe 

everything, and animal communications, which are at best able to refer only 

to very particular aspects of the world, such as the so­called bee dance language.7

 But is this distinction true? First of all, one could wonder whether 

language is actually able to describe everything. This first problem is simply 

a logical one, not even an empirical problem. What could be the meaning 

 6. For a discussion about the Turing Test in this perspective, see D. Lestel, “Metaphors of 

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

of such a statement? How could language demonstrate that it is capable of 

representing everything? In other words, if language cannot describe some 

topic, would language be able to show that failure? This seems doubtful. On 

the contrary, language users may firmly believe that language allows them to 

talk about everything because they have no access to what language cannot 

talk about.8

 We are justified in doubting the ability of language to display its 

limits and weaknesses. Our belief that language is able to talk about everything could in reality reflect an epistemic and logical weakness of language, 

and not one of its major strengths. Perhaps the main characteristic of language is not that it can describe everything, but rather that it possesses the 

bizarre ability to describe anything. Such an ability could seriously handicap 

any attempt to communicate with living beings whom we assume to be very 

different not only from every other living being we have known so far but 

also from everything that humans have encountered up to now. The point is 

not that language production itself is insane but that human language has 

the surprising ability to talk convincingly about anything (including the 

most absurd things) without meeting any serious objections to its referential 

credentials, either from the speakers or from the hearers.

In contrast to the above line of reasoning, which raises concerns about 

easy communication with extraterrestrials on theoretical grounds, there are 

also empirical reasons to be skeptical about easy communication. Humans 

struggle to decipher nonhuman animal communications, although these are 

supposed to be very primitive in comparison with human languages. On this 

point, the field of ethology can offer a major lesson: even with creatures that 

are regarded as much less complex than humans, we cannot accurately say 

whether we could know when we finally have a good description of a nonhuman animal communication system.

Human scientists are very bad at making sense of nonhuman communicative systems, even when these are considered primitive. Primatologists 

have shown how easy it is to deceive ourselves about that point.9 They say 

that humans miss the true complexity of great ape communication systems 

because we refuse a priori to attribute to these systems the complexity required 

for them to be fully understood, and not because great apes are epistemically or cognitively beyond our power of understanding. This idea is deeply 

 8. But keep in mind that the extreme difficulty could be as challenging to deal with as the impos

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Ethology, Ethnology, and Communication with Extraterrestrial Intelligence

troubling because it shows that an epistemic step is also always an ethical one. 

It also shows that, from an ethical or moral point of view, we could have good 

reasons not to communicate with extraterrestrials.

Our materialist concerns are likely to be as difficult as our epistemic concerns: in which ways are we really ready to invest resources (of money, time, 

energy, education, research, etc.) into methods for deciphering the meaning 

of messages that we may or may not receive? This is a serious question. The 

material and psychological cost of such an investigation could be so high that 

it might dissuade anyone from being involved in it. A question as seemingly 

simple as how long a message should be could lead to very deep difficulties. 

Charles Hartshorne, for example, has already shown that the time scale of 

communication is a big issue when comparing human communication with 

bird communication.10 Humans may need to send extraterrestrials fractal 

messages, repeated at multiple time scales ranging from the nanosecond to 

the century; similarly, humans may need to write programs that could read 

messages received from extraterrestrials in this way.

Philosophical Openness

Up to now, there has been no attempt at purely abstract cultural contact with 

another intelligent species or even with an isolated group of humans. When 

two humans communicate by means of a device such as e­mail, they always 

already have had a physical contact with another human. All ethnological 

and ethological contacts have been conducted through actual rather than 

virtual meetings. The difference between communicating only via e­mail and 

communicating occasionally via e­mail is enormous.

The central issue in extraterrestrial/human communication concerns the 

nature of communication itself. In other words, should communication with 

extraterrestrials be considered a true communication, or should it be taken as 

a metaphor? The metaphor of communication may not help us to understand what is actually at stake. Every contact with extraterrestrials will be, for 

example, an existential experience. One of the reasons, as has already been 

explained, is that such a contact will establish the existence of the other. No 

matter how prepared we may be to believe that extraterrestrial civilizations 

do exist, to be in contact with one of them will be a genuine shock—and the 

word is far too weak to express what will happen.

 10.

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It is likely that the contact with extraterrestrials will lead to a very deep 

existential crisis for humans. Humans could be confronted with their inability 

to answer questions of enormous importance to them. First, to become aware

of such cognitive and epistemic limits, and second, to accept these limits may 

seriously test humans. Indeed, up to now, every epistemological crisis humans 

have faced has led them to alter their conception of the world. The next 

epistemological crisis, a crisis precipitated by contact with extraterrestrials, 

could be very different. Humans may come to understand that there exists in 

the universe a set of phenomena that they will never be able to know because 

they are not clever enough.

Conclusion

Communication with extraterrestrials through the SETI project will not 

look like any known communications, either with other humans or with 

nonhuman animals. Such a communication will be not only ethological and

ethnological; it will also be uniquely abstract. How could such a communication be possible? The question remains open. Western linguists have 

proposed that language is a universal medium, able to tell everything and 

to be effectively used in all situations; but they have neither empirical facts 

nor sound theoretical arguments to support that belief. On the other hand, 

humans also could have very good reasons—political, psychological, and 

metaphysical reasons—to avoid all possibilities of establishing contact with 

an extraterrestrial civilization.

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CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Constraints on Message 

Construction for 

Communication with 

Extraterrestrial Intelligence

William H. Edmondson

Introduction

Communication with Extraterrestrial Intelligence (CETI) must address four 

issues: detectability; communications protocols; message design—my focus 

here; and long-term social context, stability, and resourcing.1 I will here 

contextualize CETI within efforts focused more generally on the Search for 

Extraterrestrial Intelligence (SETI), as envisaged by Earthlings. All of this 

is done in the context set by the preceding chapters as they investigate the 

theme of this volume. 

Anthropologists and archaeologists necessarily make assumptions in relation to essential properties of human beings—e.g., some physical/biological 

processes are taken for granted. Setting aside any general doubts about the 

pitfalls of anthropomorphism, I will note two areas of concern. One, discussed by other contributors to this volume, is the risk of “getting it wrong.”2

The other is the difficulty we humans have in studying nonhuman terrestrial 

species, such as dolphins or bonobos, that are significant to our enquiry by 

virtue of their demonstrated intelligence, communicative ability, and social 

 1. On detectability, see W. H. Edmondson and I. R. Stevens, “The Utilization of Pulsars as SETI 

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

organization, or perhaps as philosophical challenges.3 All of which is to say 

that while we can attempt some discussion, or even analysis, of what an ETI 

might be like, we must remain aware of our fundamental constraints. We 

can explore those constraints, but we must recognize them—we cannot do 

anthropology here on Earth “over the telephone,” so why should we expect 

to do it well over the ether and with another species in an environment we 

cannot experience?4 These issues can be addressed in relation to some specifics, 

the sort of concerns any anthropologist or archaeologist has with respect to 

assumptions about the objects of a study. So we must begin by considering 

these assumptions.

What is necessary in any communication scenario involving ETI, and 

what limits must be put on our conceptions of possible messages? When 

answering these questions, we will consider work in cognitive science along 

with archaeological and historical examples that include rock art, toolmaking, and a 15th-century codex. It is not assumed that systems of explanation are the same as ours, merely that what is explained or known must 

be about the same universe—and the term universe covers physical aspects 

of the universe as well as cognitive and behavioral aspects of beings. It is 

assumed that any ETI will be an embodied intelligence—a being with a 

brain to control its actuators and to monitor its environment using sensors 

to record external stimuli such as atmospheric pressure, acoustic pressure, 

and electromagnetic radiation.

Assumptions—I

Physics and Biophysics: We can assume that the physics of the universe is knowable locally. We monitor our local environment and interact with it to make 

remote observations of other parts of the universe. Plausibly, beings on other 

planets can do the same. Further, we can assume that the sensory biophysics 

of any ETI is functionally equivalent to ours. Beings will be able to sense the 

world—or portions of the spectral data available—because the physics and 

chemistry of the universe are uniform. But it is not claimed, for example, that 

 3. For related discussions, see Dominique Lestel, “Ethology, Ethnology, and Communication with 

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Constraints on Message Construction for Communication with Extraterrestrial Intelligence

the visual system of an ETI would map in detail onto ours in terms of, say, 

comparable spectral sensitivities of retinal cells or flicker/fusion performance 

or acuity and likewise, mutatis mutandis, for audition, touch, taste, or smell. 

All this, in my view, can be taken uncontroversially as established. More 

obscurely, perhaps, but still working with notions of universality in the physical world, it is plausible to assume that the biochemistry we know about on 

Earth is essentially universal (alternatives have been explored theoretically).5

So-called weird life is best left to science fiction.

The significance of these observations for CETI is considerable, and in 

particular it is arguable that what we call audition will not be shared in 

any interesting sense by an ETI. The speed of sound on any planet will be 

determined by its atmospheric density, geologic composition, temperature, 

and other local factors. The range of acoustic frequencies to which an organism is sensitive is not predictable on physical grounds. Consider the range 

exploited on Earth: human audition has a restricted range; other organisms 

are sensitive to frequencies “outside” our hearing range and it took some 

time for this to be recognized. Further, creatures dwelling in the oceans use 

acoustic information and signaling, but the medium is very different and 

so, we must imagine, is their sound world. By contrast the electromagnetic 

spectrum has relatively unambiguous ranges for heat, vision, and so forth 

because the physics of the world (and our Sun) determines what is heat and 

what is light (in terms of, say, photochemical reactions, vibrational motion 

of atoms, liquid/solid/vapor transitions, or the disruption of and damage 

to complex cellular assemblages of materials and molecules). Vision as we 

know it terrestrially covers a broader range of the spectrum than is covered 

by human vision, but not much broader. We might reflect on the fact that 

eyes tend to be recognizable as such in a huge range of species, and they 

work in much the same way. Of course, the assumption here is that our local 

experience of stellar radiation is more or less universal in the sense that the 

primary source of electromagnetic radiation is our star, and it makes sense 

to assume sensory evolution in the context of that source, and such sources 

are widely encountered in the universe. To be sure, atmospheric filtering is 

required—if too much ultraviolet reaches Earth’s surface, the biochemical 

balance is seriously disrupted.

 5. Alternative theories are explored by J. A Baross et al. in National Research Council, 

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

Implications—I

If the reader accepts these assumptions, then our first constraint on possible 

messages is simple: don’t think of “sound worlds” or music or speech as 

the domains, vehicles, or contents of ETI messages. Regardless of semiotic 

concerns (see below), the accessibility of acoustic messaging must remain 

doubtful. Furthermore, there will be intended and unintended aspects of 

performance, which elaborate the difficulties of using sound. In my view 

avoidance of the sound world need not be controversial.

On the other hand, vision and the use of images would appear to be at 

least plausible. Although spectral details cannot be considered universal, the 

physical arrangement of objects on a habitable planet’s surface will be shaped 

in part by gravity (the notion of a horizon might well be universal) and thus 

multispectral images might plausibly be considered worthwhile for messages. 

More generally, the implications for considering SETI/CETI as some sort 

of anthropological challenge need teasing out. We will return to this below.

Assumptions—II

In this section we will consider four factors—cognition, distributed cognition, symbols, and intentions—before looking in detail at some of their 

implications. 

Cognition: I assume that some general cognitive principles have universal applicability, and also that some aspects of cognitive functioning (e.g., 

intentionality, distributed cognition, and contextualization) are necessary 

and thus universal corollaries of intelligent behavior. This view is not widely 

shared and may be considered controversial. Such cognitive principles are 

not species-specific and express a broad notion of the functionality of the 

brain (any brain—note that we understand how the heart works and what 

the heart is for in just such a general way).6

 The main idea is simply that the 

brain provides the means whereby the temporal dimension of experience 

and behavior is mapped into and out of cognitive entities (memories, plans, 

thoughts, intentions, desires, beliefs, etc.) that may be about such temporal 

structures without being temporal in the same sense. My notion of boiling an 

egg does not itself bubble along for four minutes; it is about duration without 

 6. W. H. Edmondson, “General Cognitive Principles: The Structure of Behaviour and the Sequential 

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Constraints on Message Construction for Communication with Extraterrestrial Intelligence

having duration (it endures, which is different). Likewise, my notion of the 

structure of a sentence, with subject and predicate arranged as in English, 

does not itself have that same sequential structure; it is about that structure. 

Sequentiality is required psychophysically to penetrate the corporeal boundary: atemporal cognitive entities must be sequenced to be externalized; perception requires “desequencing” in order to internalize. (The visual system of 

organisms imposes sequentiality through saccades and/or head movements.) 

I refer to this psychophysical requirement as the “sequential imperative,” 

and it is at the core of any functional specification of any brain, including, I 

believe, the brains of ETIs. We will consider the implications of this requirement later in this chapter.

Distributed cognition: While cognitive activity is often represented as isolated and occurring exclusively “within the head,” the core concept of distributed cognition as set out by Edwin Hutchins is that brains are not completely 

isolated cognizers processing concepts in relation to sensory data; rather, it 

is more accurate to think of cognition as spread out in space and time and 

among other cognizers.7 Humans are good at distributing cognition over 

space: we leave Post-it notes all over our offices, and we use diaries and address 

books as cognitive extensions. We also distribute cognition over people: in 

power-station control rooms or when performing discrete tasks in different 

locations during the operation of complex equipment, such as a naval vessel, 

humans rely on situational awareness in order to coordinate cognition within 

the group. Cognition can also be distributed over time, both within individuals (which Hutchins does not discuss) and across individuals. It has recently 

been argued that affect is similarly distributed8

 and that cognition and affect 

can be projected (an act reflecting intentionality).9

Solving a problem or developing a specific tool can take time and repeated 

cognitive application. Sometimes success depends on “interaction” between 

sequential cognizers, who recognize the cognitive activity of a predecessor and 

engage it at a “temporal distance.” David de Léon offers an interesting illustration of this phenomenon.10 The development of the firing mechanism for a 

rifle can be tracked through various instantiations, each of which is assumed 

 7. E. Hutchins, 

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

to have been “read” by appropriately skilled craftsmen producing the “next” 

iteration/interpretation of the solution to the problem. The craftsmen in each 

generation are, in a sense, doing some very local cognitive archaeology, but 

they respond to their interpretation of what they find by producing a new 

interpretation that they then cast in the form of a new solution—built on, 

or extending, the previous solution in a process that may cover a couple of 

hundred years. This aspect of cognition is likely to be familiar to anthropologists and archaeologists, and some of its implications are addressed below.

Symbols: When sequence is not constrained by physical events, tool use, 

or deployment of physiology, it is semiotically free and thus available to carry 

symbolic meaning as desired. The arbitrariness of meaning associated with 

physical behavior is problematic for CETI because the behavior alone is 

simply not informative. Also, the use of symbol systems requires both cultural 

and situational contextualization; we must be able to consider the symbol 

usage alongside other behavior, the situations in which all these behaviors 

take place, and the circumstances of both learning and cultural transmission. 

The background knowledge and situational context are not part of the symbol 

system in any narrow sense, however, and thus are unavailable to an ETI. As 

a consequence, the conditions for ETI to learn a human language are not 

in place. So symbol systems and languages look implausible as components 

or goals in any CETI attempt. The fact that on Earth we can currently find 

approximately 7,000 spoken and signed languages suggests that the arbitrariness is not a trivial obstacle—especially when we recognize why that 

arbitrariness exists.11 The approach taken here is at odds with more widely 

accepted message models. We can suppose that an ETI might well be aware 

of the issues and principles involved, and it’s possible that alien semioticians 

and cognitive scientists will have reached similar conclusions.

Intentions: In human discourse the existence and comprehensibility of 

intentionality are presumed—communication fails if intentions are not clear. 

It is reasonable to assume that an ETI interested in communication with other 

ETIs will endeavor to behave with some communicative intentions, paying 

explicit attention to the conditions that inform the communication. Once 

detected, ETI may attempt to specify the means for a response, to commence 

 11.

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Constraints on Message Construction for Communication with Extraterrestrial Intelligence

a dialogue rather than merely post a notice, to display situational awareness, 

and so on. This does not mean that ETI will presume a drive to linguistic 

communication or the posing/solving of interstellar sudoku puzzles.

Implications—II

The sequential imperative will be universal, and behaviors dependent on culturally determined serial organization of behavior will therefore be so arbitrary 

as to be incomprehensible—there will be no basis for contextualization. By 

contrast, where sequentialization is determined physically, it is recognizable 

and its lack of arbitrariness is readable as such. This observation may prove 

useful in the design of messages.

Semiosis—the attribution of meaning to artifacts and the systematic organization of artifacts (language)—is culturally constrained, as semioticians 

have often demonstrated. While the fact of semiosis is plausibly universal, 

the means of expression and much of the “content” are irrevocably parochial. 

Systems through which humans explain the universe (e.g., our theories in 

mathematics and physics) are local, although the phenomena to be explained 

(e.g., properties in the light of distant stars observed in our local star that can 

be reproduced in our laboratories) are universal. We might therefore assume 

that an ETI’s understanding of cognition and semiosis means that they won’t 

attempt linguistic communication but will choose other ways to contact us.

I believe that cognition can be distributed over species as well.12 If the 

physics of the universe determines certain properties of tools and artifacts 

on our planet, then surely our deliberations about such items might match 

those of other species on other planets. The deployment of levers would be a 

clear example, as would the design of wheels for particular terrains. In order 

to apprehend or interpret the shapes of such items in the world of an ETI, 

we should exploit the sense of sharing that is fundamental to distributed 

cognition. This is not a hard constraint but goes beyond mere possibility. 

We might also ponder that an ETI, as much as we Earthlings, will reflect on 

the fact that we both know that we both know we share a problem—how to 

communicate.

Consider again, therefore, the desirability of establishing symbolic/linguistic communication with ETI. It is helpful to review some parallels from 

human existence that pose problems for us today. One of these is “rock art,” 

which consists of patterns or shapes cut into rock many thousands of years 

 12.

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

gure 15.1. An example of Northumbrian Rock Art. 

hree-dimensional scan produced by M. Lobb and H. 

oulden (IBM VISTA/University of Birmingham), used by 

ermission and provided courtesy of V. Gaffney.

ago. Such ancient stone carvings can be found in 

many countries, and the example in Figure 15.1 is 

from Doddington Moor, Northumbria, England. 

We can say little, if anything, about what these patterns signify, why they were cut into rocks, or who 

created them. For all intents and purposes, they 

might have been made by aliens.13 Unless we find a 

readable exegesis of them produced at the time they 

were made, we will never be able to say with certainty 

what the patterns mean.

The Voynich manuscript offers another parallel 

that may be helpful in understanding the difficulties with symbolic CETI. This 240-page vellum 

codex probably dates from the early 15th century 

and remains undeciphered despite many efforts 

to identify the script.14 Whether or not the “writing” (see Figure 15.2) is in fact genuinely linguistic 

is still unclear; there are no convincing reasons to 

suppose the document is not a hoax. Intriguingly, 

one is under the impression that one can say some 

things about its context and possible content—the 

proposed date and format of the manuscript suggest the ravings of a secretive alchemist, but even the 

illustrations are not readily interpretable. 

The Voynich manuscript illustrates how linguistic, or serial, organization of symbols can present an intractable problem for interpretation 

because of their arbitrariness and semiotic opacity. It would be unfortunate and counterproductive if CETI were to become some sort of galactic 

encryption/decipherment exercise or challenge (or even game? how would 

 13.

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Constraints on Message Construction for Communication with Extraterrestrial Intelligence

Figure 15.2. The Voynich Manuscript (Beinecke MS 408), fol. 9r, General Collection, Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscrip

Library, Yale University, New Haven, Connecticut.

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

we ever know?). Indeed, the situation might be even worse—a signaling 

system devoted to conveying arbitrary symbols could confuse would-be 

interlocutors by making it difficult for them to know whether they had 

accurately sorted out the protocol (content cannot be obviously distinguished from medium when both are essentially arbitrary). Furthermore, 

ETI’s intention in sending messages must be understood for messaging to 

work. ETI and Earthlings both know this, and that the intention cannot 

successfully be communicated.

These considerations lead to another constraint: CETI can be neither 

linguistic nor based on any sort of symbol system. The requirements for successful decipherment cannot be established—there is no shared experience, 

location, or behavior, and there is no parallel text. So what are we left with?

Message Design

We have ruled out symbols, language, and systems based on sounds. The significance of the sequential imperative is that sequentially organized material 

is generally unsuitable because processing sequentially organized material will 

be a species-specific activity. Additionally, a focus on concepts shared through 

problem-solving endeavors (levers, wheels, etc.) exploits what we understand 

from distributed cognition, and similar concerns oblige us to think carefully 

about the intentions of any ETI communicating with us. In order to better 

understand the content of any extraterrestrial signal sent to us, we need to 

think about how we would construct a message.

I believe we should seek to transmit/receive images that contain task or 

conceptual material that does not require sequential interpretation (but which 

could be informative about sequencing). Furthermore, the intentionality 

must take us way beyond a cosmic “Hi there.” We must craft a message along 

the following lines: “We, who look like this, are here, which looks like this, 

and we know about this sort of thing, which we think is the minimum you 

should be able to recognize and build on if we are to establish a dialogue of 

some sort.” In other words, we should expect intelligences to think altruistically, in the sense of putting themselves in the situation of the intelligence 

who receives their messages. Altruism is not to be encoded in any message; 

it is the frame of mind that makes communication possible at all and is thus 

expressed by whatever system/message is deployed.

I propose that we transmit a three-color image—or rather several images—

of our planet and its inhabitants, properties, and so on, arranged in a grid, 

rather like one of those postcards that offers several different images from 

the city or region one is visiting. Call this component of the transmission 

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Constraints on Message Construction for Communication with Extraterrestrial Intelligence

“Postcard Earth”; perhaps an ETI is sending out such postcard images. As 

a separate component, a monochrome diagram or diagrams that depict our 

galaxy and that require no sequential interpretation could be sent in tandem 

with the postcard signal.15 This proposal is, of course, fanciful, but arguably 

less so than sending audio files or coded information about prime numbers.

Importantly, the selection and arrangement of the images is in part an 

aesthetic matter and known to be so because there is no comprehensive rational basis for such a selection. To be sure, one can rationally decide to show 

humans at different ages or to show some gross differences between species 

(swimmers, fliers, walkers, climbers, etc.); but subjective value judgments 

will ultimately have to be made, and this fact will be known to both parties.

“Postcard Earth” seems an attractive concept—to focus our minds as much 

as to encourage youngsters to study science in schools. Should we take it seriously? That we have not yet detected any signals from ETI may mean that we 

are not approaching the search in the right frame of mind. Or maybe they, like 

us, have yet to start systematic transmissions. Perhaps we have misunderstood 

the context for CETI?

Recontextualizing CETI

The foregoing discussion of constraints on what could constitute message 

construction (form and content) says little about message protocols or other 

relevant factors. Leaving those issues for others to explore, I will focus here 

on the context of CETI. It can be argued that SETI should proceed on principles unrelated to message construction.16 Indeed, more recently it has been 

argued that SETI is probably most efficiently accomplished using extremely 

large optical telescopes, in an extension of the search for exoplanets.17 An 

optical telescope of diameter 1,000 km could resolve an object of diameter 

1 km at a distance of 100 light-years. Such a telescopic instrument (or its 

equivalent—for example, a device using aperture synthesis) is just about 

feasible with today’s technology—although it will be technically challenging 

and extremely costly. Figure 15.3 illustrates what such a telescope might be 

 15.

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

Figure 15.3. As this composite image of Earth at night suggests, our planet’s emitted light could 

serve as a biomarker for extraterrestrial intelligence. The image was assembled from data collected 

by the Suomi National Polar-orbiting Partnership satellite in April 2012 and October 2012. (NASA)

able to accomplish from perhaps as far as 100 parsecs away from us, assuming 

good weather on Earth.

The point of including this image here is simply to show that the presence 

of intelligent life-forms on such a planet is readily determined passively and 

from a considerable distance. The user (human or extraterrestrial) of such a 

telescope doesn’t need to send or receive messages to know that it is not alone. 

In other words, CETI does not need to be predicated on the assumption that 

it is being used for discovery, for SETI itself.

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Constraints on Message Construction for Communication with Extraterrestrial Intelligence

CETI in the Context of a SETI Solution—I

An ETI, viewing the image opposite on its computer screens and knowing it 

is not alone, would still face all the CETI design problems discussed earlier. 

To be sure, spectroscopic analysis of the light sources on the landmasses in this 

figure would tell ETI something about our vision system and our technologies 

but not enough to resolve major issues in CETI. 

We can put ourselves in ETI’s position and imagine what we might do after 

having observed a planet with occupied landmasses. In such a situation the 

“Postcard Earth” approach is readily appreciated as having some merit. One 

small “scene” on the postcard could be an image such as that shown in Figure 

15.3, and another could of course be our view of ETI’s planet. The successful 

decoding of the postcard would be demonstrated by their recognition of a 

known image—a view of their planet from Earth’s perspective. And, mutatis 

mutandis, we would be well placed to feel confident of message processing if 

we detected and processed an image that looked like Figure 15.3.

CETI in the Context of a SETI Solution—II

The last two issues addressed here will be the targets to be used for SETI and 

the time scale of effort. Both issues serve to flesh out CETI in its new context.

Targets: The debate within the SETI community on whether to look 

everywhere for anything or to target searches for specific reasons is ongoing, 

with strongly held views on both sides. My own endeavors focus on targeted 

searching.18 However, if we assume an expanding exoplanet inventory, with 

increasing resources devoted to the “hunt” for Earth-like planets, then the 

refinement of a list of targets for SETI simply becomes a by-product of other 

science. Indeed, discovery of ETI may be accidental in this scenario.

Time scale: Both message transmission and signal searching (for a message or a beacon or a we-are-here signal of some sort) presume a considerable sociotechnical resolve—especially if conducted for SETI and without 

certainty of ETI’s existence. Commitment of significant resources over 

extended periods of time for no immediately apparent benefit presents significant problems. On Earth we have evidence from large artifacts, such as 

Stonehenge and the Egyptian pyramids, that resource commitment is possible, although the benefits to the communities that created such monuments 

are still debated. In passing we might note, revisiting our earlier theme, that 

 18.

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

these artifacts still present considerable problems for modern science. While 

Stonehenge does demonstrate celestial alignments, its functionality is problematic. The construction of the pyramids presents challenges that today’s 

engineers would struggle with even using current technologies—we simply 

don’t know how they were built. These colossal constructions defy archaeology and anthropology—and they are in our backyards, so to speak, not a 

hundred light-years away!

But if we conjecture that CETI becomes interesting to society (ours or 

ETI’s) only when we detect ETI through observation of exoplanets, then 

it becomes plausible to speculate that long-term human commitment can 

be made to sustaining technologies for both transmission and reception 

(Arecibo-scale equipment, for example, or powerful lasers coupled with optical telescopes). The design challenge remains, and “Postcard Earth” is just one 

of many possible solutions.

Conclusions

The lessons from archaeology and anthropology as filtered through modern 

work in cognitive science are simple. Communicating with intelligent terrestrial beings removed from us in time is deeply problematic. Understanding 

artifacts without any social context is deeply problematic—even when we 

have a good general understanding of the role of artifacts in society and in 

cognition. The recovery of the originators’ intentions is deeply problematic, 

and without that information the interpretation of ancient artifacts is also 

deeply problematic.

The arguments presented above illustrate the theme of constraining message design for CETI. Perhaps the biggest constraint of all is a sociotechnical 

one: “Wait until you find ETI.” The semiotic issues, the physical and biophysical uncertainties, the transmission protocol—all these problems remain 

after ETI is found. But motivation will increase immeasurably, and the constraints that humans now contend with will be refined, removed, or simply 

accepted as CETI is engaged.

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EPILOGUE

Mirrors of Our Assumptions

Lessons from an Arthritic Neanderthal

Douglas A. Vakoch

Astrobiologists—those scientists studying the origins, prevalence, and distribution of life in the universe—share a common challenge with SETI scientists. They are both limited in the amount of observational data they can 

gather to test their theories. SETI researchers are separated from potential 

interlocutors by the vast distances between stars. Geologists studying other 

planets and moons within our solar system face a similar challenge, exploring 

other worlds through the proxy of spacecraft.

Even when we can go to other worlds, the amount of information we can 

gather continues to be severely restricted. The pair of Mars Exploration Rovers 

that landed on the red planet in 2004 were limited to exploring the vicinity 

of their landing sites. The rover Spirit traveled less than 5 miles before it went 

silent, and Opportunity traversed just over 20 miles in its first eight years 

on Mars. Though these distances far surpassed expectations for the vehicles, 

the total area covered nevertheless amounted to a tiny fraction of the planet’s 

surface. Consequently, conclusions built on observations at these locations 

should be extrapolated to other regions only with the greatest caution.

A vivid reminder of the limitations of such “local knowledge” comes from 

NASA’s Phoenix Mars Lander, a fixed craft that in 2008 explored the North 

Plains of Mars, an arctic region with unique conditions not previously examined by other landers. During the five months that Phoenix made observations from the surface of Mars, scientists encountered unexpected challenges 

in analyzing soil samples at its polar landing site, where soil clumped so readily 

it was difficult to get into the ovens designed to analyze the soil’s chemical 

composition. Based on previously available observations, there was no hint 

that arctic soil on Mars would be “clingy.”

As we move from understanding extraterrestrial geology to comprehending extraterrestrial cultures, additional challenges will undoubtedly arise, as 

noted in earlier chapters. By the nature of the instrumentation we use to 

process signals during SETI, we may well be able to detect distinctly artificial signals without being able to extract any information-rich messages 

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

Figure Epilogue.1. NASA’s Phoenix Mars Lander poised to deposit a soil sample into one of its ovens, 

where samples were heated to determine their chemical composition. (NASA)

embedded within those signals. We could know that extraterrestrials are out 

there but have no direct way of knowing much about them.

In a sense, we are faced with challenges akin to those of anthropologists who 

reconstruct extinct species from fragmentary evidence. Like SETI scientists, 

anthropologists are looking for evidence of other forms of intelligence; and in 

the best case scenario, they have only a fraction of the observational data they 

would like to have. What lessons might SETI scientists learn from them?

Reconstructing Neanderthals

Consider for a moment the challenges anthropologists faced in reconstructing 

Homo neanderthalensis, first discovered near Düsseldorf, Germany, in 1856. By 

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Mirrors of Our Assumptions

the early 20th century, it was widely held that these now-extinct hominids were 

brutish in form. In 1924, for example, G. Elliot Smith described an “uncouth 

and repellent Neanderthal man” in his book The Evolution of Man: “His short, 

thick-set, and coarsely built body was carried in a half-stooping slouch upon 

short, powerful, and half-flexed legs of peculiarly ungraceful form.”1

A few years earlier, Henry Fairfield Osborn had included illustrations of 

stooped Neanderthals in various editions of his book Men of the Old Stone 

Age, in which he portrayed Neanderthals as having “knees habitually bent 

forward without the power of straightening the joint or of standing fully 

erect” and hands deficient in fine motor control, lacking “the delicate play 

between the thumb and fingers characteristic of modern races.”2

 Similarly, 

William L. Straus Jr. and A. J. E. Cave, in their 1957 article “Pathology and 

Posture of Neanderthal Man,” described the stereotype of Neanderthals in 

the mid-20th century as follows: 

Neanderthal man is commonly pictured as but incompletely 

erect; as an almost hunchbacked creature with head thrust forward, knees habitually bent.... According to this view, he was a 

thoroughly unattractive fellow who was but imperfectly adapted 

to the upright, bipedal posture and locomotion characteristics 

of the modern type of man.3

But there is one critical problem with this account: anthropologists now 

believe Neanderthals walked upright. The turning point came with the article 

by Straus and Cave just quoted. After citing all of the same passages mentioned 

above that characterize Neanderthals as stooped, they argued convincingly 

that this portrait, accepted as typical of the entire species, in fact represented 

an individual Neanderthal who just happened to suffer from arthritis.

Central to this image of Neanderthal as brutish savage was the reconstruction of one especially complete skeleton, found in La Chapelle-auxSaints, by French anatomist Marcellin Boule. Why did this particular skeleton 

play such a dominant role in determining our image of Neanderthals, when 

there were many other remains discovered elsewhere? The skeleton from 

 1. G. Elliot Smith, 

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

La Chapelle-aux-Saints, it turns out, included a good sampling of vertebrae—

bones essential to reconstructing a hominid’s posture, and Boule’s specimen 

provided a logical starting point for studying the gait of early hominids.

While the Neanderthal from La Chapelle-aux-Saints may have had the 

stooped posture characteristic of a modern-day human with arthritis, other 

Neanderthals did not. Moreover, the La Chapelle-aux-Saints Neanderthal 

did not resemble the illustrated figures in Osborn’s book. Rather, Straus and 

Cave argued, “if he could be reincarnated and placed in a New York subway—

provided that he were bathed, shaved, and dressed in modern clothing—it 

is doubtful whether he would attract any more attention than some of its 

other denizens.”4

Compounding the fact that this particular Neanderthal had arthritis, Straus and Cave contended, was the widespread presupposition that 

Neanderthals were ancestral to all later hominids, rather than an independent 

line. Consequently, it would be natural to attribute to them more ape-like 

characteristics—a trap that many anthropologists fell into.

What lessons can SETI researchers learn from the reconstruction 

of Neanderthal posture?5

 Whether sampling Martian soil or analyzing 

Neanderthal bones, the conclusions we draw will depend on the observational data we have available. If we find a civilization on a planet circling 

a Sun-like star, we should be wary of assuming that it represents a typical 

extraterrestrial civilization. Rather, we should anticipate that this particular 

observation—this particular civilization—is influenced by a panoply of biological, cultural, and historical factors that we will be able to sort out only 

after many years, if ever.

Finally, recall that early anthropologists were influenced in their reconstructions of Neanderthals by their presupposition that Neanderthals represented a phase of development in the evolution of Homo sapiens. So, too, 

should we guard against imposing our own presuppositions on extraterrestrial 

civilizations, making our images of extraterrestrials not so much reflections 

of their true nature but rather mirrors of our assumptions.

 4. Straus and Cave, “Pathology and Posture of Neanderthal Man,” p. 359.

252
ABOUT THE AUTHORS

Jerry Bentley, Ph.D., is Professor in the Department of History at the 

University of Hawai‘i and editor of the Journal of World History. He has 

written extensively on the cultural history of early modern Europe and on 

cross-cultural interactions in world history. His research on the religious, 

moral, and political writings of the Renaissance led to the publication of 

Humanists and Holy Writ: New Testament Scholarship in the Renaissance (1983) 

and Politics and Culture in Renaissance Naples (1987). Bentley’s more recent 

research has concentrated on global history and particularly on processes 

of cross-cultural interaction. His book Old World Encounters: Cross-Cultural 

Contacts and Exchanges in Pre-Modern Times (1993) studies processes of cultural exchange and religious conversion before modern times. His current 

interests include processes of cross-cultural interaction and cultural exchange 

in modern times.

John Billingham, B.M., B.Ch., was Senior Scientist and Trustee of the SETI 

Institute. He passed away on 3 August 2013, at the age of 83. From 1991 

to 1994 he served as Chief of the NASA SETI Office at the Ames Research 

Center (ARC). Prior to that, he was Chief of the NASA ARC Life Sciences 

Division, Chief of the NASA ARC Extraterrestrial Research Division, Chief 

of the NASA ARC Biotechnology Division, and Chief of the NASA Johnson 

Space Center Environmental Physiology Branch. He also served as a Medical 

Officer in the Royal Air Force. Billingham was also the co-editor of The 

Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence: SETI (1977) and Social Implications of 

the Detection of an Extraterrestrial Civilization (1999). In recognition of his 

contributions to the field of SETI research, the International Academy of 

Astronautics’ SETI Permanent Committee established the annual Billingham 

Cutting-Edge Lecture in 2005.

Garry Chick, Ph.D., is Department Head and Professor of Recreation, 

Park, and Tourism Management, as well as Professor of Anthropology, at the 

Pennsylvania State University. His scholarly interests include cross-cultural 

research, research methods, and the relationship between culture and behavior, and his geographical specializations include Mesoamerica, China, and 

western Pennsylvania. Chick has co-edited The Many Faces of Play (1986) 

and Diversions and Divergences in Fields of Play (1998) and is a contributor to A Handbook of Leisure Studies (2006). He is a former president of 

the Society for Cross-Cultural Research, as well as a past president of the 

Association for the Study of Play. Chick has served as editor-in-chief of the 

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Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

journal Leisure Sciences, and he was founding editor of Play & Culture (now 

Play and Culture Studies).

Kathryn E. Denning, Ph.D., is Associate Professor in the Department of 

Anthropology at York University. Her research examines scholarly and popular ideas about Others, their relationships to us, and how we can know them. 

The Others she studies include the ancient (in archaeology), the animal (in 

zoos), and the alien (in SETI). In SETI, Denning studies scientists’ reasoning 

processes, the technology and sites used to search the sky for signals, and ideas 

about how one might communicate with a radically different intelligence. She 

is a member of the International Academy of Astronautics’ SETI Committee 

and has research projects with the NASA Astrobiology Institute.

Steven J. Dick, Ph.D., is currently serving a one-year appointment as the 

Baruch S. Blumberg NASA/Library of Congress Chair in Astrobiology at 

the Library of Congress’s John W. Kluge Center. From 2011 to 2012 he held 

the Charles A. Lindbergh Chair in Aerospace History at the National Air 

and Space Museum. Dick served as the NASA Chief Historian and Director 

of the NASA History Office from 2003 to 2009 and, prior to that, as an 

astronomer and historian of science at the U.S. Naval Observatory for more 

than two decades. Among his books are Plurality of Worlds: The Origins of the 

Extraterrestrial Life Debate from Democritus to Kant (1982), The Biological 

Universe: The Twentieth-Century Extraterrestrial Life Debate and the Limits 

of Science (1996), Life on Other Worlds (1998), Many Worlds: The New 

Universe, Extraterrestrial Life, and the Theological Implications (2000), and 

The Living Universe: NASA and the Development of Astrobiology (2004). 

In 2006, Dick received the LeRoy E. Doggett Prize from the American 

Astronomical Society for a career that has significantly influenced the field 

of the history of astronomy. In 2009, minor planet 6544 Stevendick was 

named in his honor.

William H. Edmondson, Ph.D., is Honorary Senior Research Fellow at the 

University of Birmingham. His research interests include topics in linguistics, 

human-computer interaction, ubiquitous computing, and novel SETI search 

strategies and methods of data analysis. At the University of Birmingham he 

has been actively involved in the Artificial Intelligence and Cognitive Science 

Group, the Advanced Interaction Group, the Natural Language Processing 

Group, and the Linguistics Group. As former Admissions Tutor for Computer 

Science at the University of Birmingham, Edmondson was responsible for 

undergraduate admissions for one of the leading programs in computer science in the United Kingdom.

254
About the Authors

Ben Finney, Ph.D., is Professor Emeritus in the Department of Anthropology 

at the University of Hawai‘i. His fieldwork has taken him throughout 

Polynesia and to Papua New Guinea, as well as to NASA’s Johnson Space 

Center and Russia’s Star City. His research involves testing reconstructed 

Polynesian voyaging canoes and methods of navigation on long ocean crossings to resolve issues concerning island discovery, settlement, and subsequent 

inter-island voyaging, as well as applying anthropological perspectives to 

SETI and to human exploration of and expansion into space. Finney’s books 

include Pacific Navigation and Voyaging (1976), Hokule‘a: The Way to Tahiti 

(1979), and Interstellar Migration and the Human Experience (1985), From 

Sea to Space (1992), and Voyage of Rediscovery: A Cultural Odyssey Through 

Polynesia (1994). 

Stephen J. Garber, M.P.I.A., M.S., works in the NASA History Program 

Office, where he is responsible for editing multiple book projects, running 

the office’s intern program, and maintaining its Web sites. He began his 

career at NASA in 1993 as a Presidential Management Intern in the Office 

of Space Science. He served as the acting head of the NASA History Office 

from 2002 to 2003 and again from 2009 to 2010. He has written on NASA’s 

organizational culture, President Kennedy’s attitudes toward space, the design 

of the Space Shuttle, and the Soviet Buran Space Shuttle and is currently 

finishing a policy history of NASA’s Decadal Planning Team and President 

George W. Bush’s Vision for Space Exploration. He also has written on intelligence history, international affairs, and defense policy He holds a bachelor’s 

degree in politics from Brandeis University, a master’s degree in public and 

international affairs from the University of Pittsburgh, and a master’s degree 

in science and technology studies from the Virginia Polytechnic Institute 

and State University.

Albert A. Harrison, Ph.D., is Professor Emeritus in the Department of 

Psychology at the University of California, Davis. In addition to researching 

the societal dimensions of astrobiology and SETI, he studies human adaptation to spaceflight and spaceflight-analogous environments. Harrison’s books 

include Living Aloft: Human Requirements for Extended Spaceflight (1985), and 

From Antarctica to Outer Space: Life in Isolation and Confinement (1991), After 

Contact: The Human Response to Extraterrestrial Life (1997), Spacefaring: The 

Human Dimension (2001), and Starstruck: Cosmic Visions in Science, Religion, 

and Folklore (2007).

Dominique Lestel, Ph.D., is Associate Professor at the École normale supérieure (ENS). A founding member of the Department of Cognitive Science at 

255
Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

ENS, Lestel is also a member of its Department of Philosophy. Since 1998, 

he also has been a researcher at the Muséum National d’Histoire Naturelle, 

where he became the Director of the Ethoecology and Cognitive Ethology 

Research Group of the Laboratory of Eco-anthropology and Ethnobiology. 

Lestel is developing a philosophical anthropology that maintains, first, that 

to be human is to establish particularly strong connections to other animals 

and, second, that new technologies could significantly improve these connections. His books include L’animal singulier (2004), and Les grandes singes: 

L’humanité au fond des yeux (2005), Les animaux sont-ils intelligents? (2006), 

Les origines animales de la culture (2009), L’animal est l’avenir de l’homme 

(2010), and Apologie du carnivore (2011). 

Douglas Raybeck, Ph.D., is Professor Emeritus in the Department of 

Anthropology at Hamilton College as well as Visiting Lecturer in Anthropology 

at Amherst College. His research addresses topics ranging from nonverbal 

communication and psycholinguistics to physiological correlates of behavioral dispositions. He is an expert in future studies and has written a book 

titled Looking Down the Road: A Systems Approach to Future Studies (2000) 

on the topic. He has studied Malaysian culture and in 1996 published Mad 

Dogs, Englishmen, and the Errant Anthropologist, a book summarizing his fieldwork in Kelantan, Malaysia. Raybeck is co-editor of Deviance: Anthropological 

Perspectives (1991) and Improving College Education of Veterans (2010), as well 

as co-author of Improving Student Memory (1993) and Improving Memory and 

Study Skills: Advances in Theory and Practice (2002). He has been a Fellow 

at the National Institutes of Health and is past president of the Society for 

Cross-Cultural Research.

Richard Saint-Gelais, Ph.D., is Professor in the Department of Literature 

at the Université Laval, where his research and teaching focus on literary 

theory, 20th-century literature, and paraliterature. Following his work on 

the Nouveau Roman, Saint-Gelais examined the relationship between science fiction and modern fiction; more recently, he has explored the concept 

of transfictionality. Saint-Gelais is a member of the Interuniversity Research 

Center on Quebec Literature and Culture, and his books include L’empire du 

pseudo: Modernités de la science-fiction (1999), Nouvelles tendances en théorie des 

genres (1998), and Fictions transfugés: La transfictionnalité et ses enjeux (2011).

John W. Traphagan, Ph.D., is Professor of Religious Studies and a faculty affiliate of the Population Research Center at the University of Texas, 

Austin, where he also serves as Centennial Commission in the Liberal Arts 

Fellow. His research interests revolve around three primary areas: religion 

256
About the Authors

and society in Japan, medical ethics and medical anthropology, and anthropological approaches to religion. He is the author of Rethinking Autonomy: A 

Critique of Principlism in Biomedical Ethics (2013), Taming Oblivion: Aging 

Bodies and the Fear of Senility in Japan (2000), and The Practice of Concern: 

Ritual, Well-Being, and Aging in Rural Japan (2004). In addition, Traphagan 

has edited and co-edited a number of books on similar topics. In support 

of his research, Traphagan has received grants from the National Institutes 

of Health, the Wenner-Gren Foundation for Anthropological Research, the 

Social Science Research Council, the Association for Asian Studies, and the 

American Philosophical Society. In 2010 he was elected Secretary General of 

the Japan Anthropology Workshop.

Douglas A. Vakoch, Ph.D., is Director of Interstellar Message Composition 

at the SETI Institute, as well as Professor in the Department of Clinical 

Psychology at the California Institute of Integral Studies. He serves as chair 

of both the International Academy of Astronautics (IAA) Study Group on 

Interstellar Message Construction and the IAA Study Group on Active 

SETI: Scientific, Technical, Societal, and Legal Dimensions. Vakoch’s books 

include Communication with Extraterrestrial Intelligence (2011), Psychology 

of Space Exploration: Contemporary Research in Historical Perspective (2011), 

Ecofeminism and Rhetoric: Critical Perspectives on Sex, Technology, and Discourse 

(2011), Feminist Ecocriticism: Environment, Women, and Literature (2012), 

Astrobiology, History, and Society: Life Beyond Earth and the Impact of Discovery 

(2013), Altruism in Cross-Cultural Perspective (2013), and Extraterrestrial 

Altruism: Evolution and Ethics in the Cosmos (2014).

Paul K. Wason, Ph.D., is Vice President of Life Sciences and Genetics at 

the John Templeton Foundation, where he develops new research initiatives 

on the fundamental nature and evolution of life and mind, especially as 

they intersect with meaning and purpose. Prior to joining the Templeton 

Foundation, he was Director of Foundations and Corporations at Bates 

College. In The Archaeology of Rank (1994), Wason examines social evolution, inequality, and archaeological theory.

257

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Hallion, Richard P. On the Frontier: Flight Research at Dryden, 1946–1981. 

NASA SP-4303, 1984.

Muenger, Elizabeth A. Searching the Horizon: A History of Ames Research 

Center, 1940–1976. NASA SP-4304, 1985.

Hansen, James R. Engineer in Charge: A History of the Langley Aeronautical 

Laboratory, 1917–1958. NASA SP-4305, 1987.

Dawson, Virginia P. Engines and Innovation: Lewis Laboratory and American 

Propulsion Technology. NASA SP-4306, 1991.

Dethloff, Henry C. “Suddenly Tomorrow Came...”: A History of the Johnson 

Space Center, 1957–1990. NASA SP-4307, 1993.

266
The NASA History Series

Hansen, James R. Spaceflight Revolution: NASA Langley Research Center 

from Sputnik to Apollo. NASA SP-4308, 1995.

Wallace, Lane E. Flights of Discovery: An Illustrated History of the Dryden 

Flight Research Center. NASA SP-4309, 1996.

Herring, Mack R. Way Station to Space: A History of the John C. Stennis 

Space Center. NASA SP-4310, 1997.

Wallace, Harold D., Jr. Wallops Station and the Creation of an American 

Space Program. NASA SP-4311, 1997.

Wallace, Lane E. Dreams, Hopes, Realities. NASA’s Goddard Space Flight 

Center: The First Forty Years. NASA SP-4312, 1999.

Dunar, Andrew J., and Stephen P. Waring. Power to Explore: A History of 

Marshall Space Flight Center, 1960–1990. NASA SP-4313, 1999.

Bugos, Glenn E. Atmosphere of Freedom: Sixty Years at the NASA Ames 

Research Center. NASA SP-2000-4314, 2000.

No SP-4315.

Schultz, James. Crafting Flight: Aircraft Pioneers and the Contributions of 

the Men and Women of NASA Langley Research Center. NASA SP-2003-

4316, 2003.

Bowles, Mark D. Science in Flux: NASA’s Nuclear Program at Plum Brook 

Station, 1955–2005. NASA SP-2006-4317, 2006.

Wallace, Lane E. Flights of Discovery: An Illustrated History of the Dryden 

Flight Research Center. NASA SP-2007-4318, 2007. Revised version of 

NASA SP-4309.

Arrighi, Robert S. Revolutionary Atmosphere: The Story of the Altitude Wind 

Tunnel and the Space Power Chambers. NASA SP-2010-4319, 2010.

Bugos, Glenn E. Atmosphere of Freedom: Seventy Years at the NASA Ames 

Research Center. NASA SP-2010-4314, 2010. Revised Version of NASA 

SP-2000-4314.

267
Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

General Histories, NASA SP-4400:

Corliss, William R. NASA Sounding Rockets, 1958–1968: A Historical 

Summary. NASA SP-4401, 1971.

Wells, Helen T., Susan H. Whiteley, and Carrie Karegeannes. Origins of 

NASA Names. NASA SP-4402, 1976.

Anderson, Frank W., Jr. Orders of Magnitude: A History of NACA and 

NASA, 1915–1980. NASA SP-4403, 1981.

Sloop, John L. Liquid Hydrogen as a Propulsion Fuel, 1945–1959. NASA 

SP-4404, 1978.

Roland, Alex. A Spacefaring People: Perspectives on Early Spaceflight. NASA 

SP-4405, 1985.

Bilstein, Roger E. Orders of Magnitude: A History of the NACA and NASA, 

1915–1990. NASA SP-4406, 1989.

Logsdon, John M., ed., with Linda J. Lear, Jannelle Warren Findley, Ray 

A. Williamson, and Dwayne A. Day. Exploring the Unknown: Selected 

Documents in the History of the U.S. Civil Space Program, Volume I: 

Organizing for Exploration. NASA SP-4407, 1995.

Logsdon, John M., ed., with Dwayne A. Day and Roger D. Launius. 

Exploring the Unknown: Selected Documents in the History of the U.S. 

Civil Space Program, Volume II: External Relationships. NASA SP-4407, 

1996.

Logsdon, John M., ed., with Roger D. Launius, David H. Onkst, and 

Stephen J. Garber. Exploring the Unknown: Selected Documents in the 

History of the U.S. Civil Space Program, Volume III: Using Space. NASA 

SP-4407, 1998.

Logsdon, John M., ed., with Ray A. Williamson, Roger D. Launius, 

Russell J. Acker, Stephen J. Garber, and Jonathan L. Friedman. 

Exploring the Unknown: Selected Documents in the History of the U.S. 

Civil Space Program, Volume IV: Accessing Space. NASA SP-4407, 1999.

Logsdon, John M., ed., with Amy Paige Snyder, Roger D. Launius, 

Stephen J. Garber, and Regan Anne Newport. Exploring the Unknown: 

268
The NASA History Series

Selected Documents in the History of the U.S. Civil Space Program, Volume 

V: Exploring the Cosmos. NASA SP-2001-4407, 2001.

Logsdon, John M., ed., with Stephen J. Garber, Roger D. Launius, and 

Ray A. Williamson. Exploring the Unknown: Selected Documents in the 

History of the U.S. Civil Space Program, Volume VI: Space and Earth 

Science. NASA SP-2004-4407, 2004.

Logsdon, John M., ed., with Roger D. Launius. Exploring the Unknown: 

Selected Documents in the History of the U.S. Civil Space Program, Volume 

VII: Human Spaceflight: Projects Mercury, Gemini, and Apollo. NASA 

SP-2008-4407, 2008.

Siddiqi, Asif A., Challenge to Apollo: The Soviet Union and the Space Race, 

1945–1974. NASA SP-2000-4408, 2000.

Hansen, James R., ed. The Wind and Beyond: Journey into the History of 

Aerodynamics in America, Volume 1: The Ascent of the Airplane. NASA 

SP-2003-4409, 2003.

Hansen, James R., ed. The Wind and Beyond: Journey into the History of 

Aerodynamics in America, Volume 2: Reinventing the Airplane. NASA 

SP-2007-4409, 2007.

Hogan, Thor. Mars Wars: The Rise and Fall of the Space Exploration 

Initiative. NASA SP-2007-4410, 2007.

Vakoch, Douglas A., ed. Psychology of Space Exploration: Contemporary 

Research in Historical Perspective. NASA SP-2011-4411, 2011. 

Monographs in Aerospace History, NASA SP-4500:

Launius, Roger D., and Aaron K. Gillette, comps. Toward a History of the 

Space Shuttle: An Annotated Bibliography. Monographs in Aerospace 

History, No. 1, 1992.

Launius, Roger D., and J. D. Hunley, comps. An Annotated Bibliography of 

the Apollo Program. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 2, 1994.

Launius, Roger D. Apollo: A Retrospective Analysis. Monographs in 

Aerospace History, No. 3, 1994.

269
Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

Hansen, James R. Enchanted Rendezvous: John C. Houbolt and the Genesis of 

the Lunar-Orbit Rendezvous Concept. Monographs in Aerospace History, 

No. 4, 1995.

Gorn, Michael H. Hugh L. Dryden’s Career in Aviation and Space. 

Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 5, 1996.

Powers, Sheryll Goecke. Women in Flight Research at NASA Dryden Flight 

Research Center from 1946 to 1995. Monographs in Aerospace History, 

No. 6, 1997.

Portree, David S. F., and Robert C. Trevino. Walking to Olympus: An EVA 

Chronology. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 7, 1997.

Logsdon, John M., moderator. Legislative Origins of the National 

Aeronautics and Space Act of 1958: Proceedings of an Oral History 

Workshop. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 8, 1998.

Rumerman, Judy A., comp. U.S. Human Spaceflight: A Record of 

Achievement, 1961–1998. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 9, 

1998.

Portree, David S. F. NASA’s Origins and the Dawn of the Space Age. 

Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 10, 1998.

Logsdon, John M. Together in Orbit: The Origins of International 

Cooperation in the Space Station. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 

11, 1998.

Phillips, W. Hewitt. Journey in Aeronautical Research: A Career at NASA 

Langley Research Center. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 12, 

1998.

Braslow, Albert L. A History of Suction-Type Laminar-Flow Control with 

Emphasis on Flight Research. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 13, 

1999.

Logsdon, John M., moderator. Managing the Moon Program: Lessons 

Learned from Apollo. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 14, 1999.

270
The NASA History Series

Perminov, V. G. The Difficult Road to Mars: A Brief History of Mars 

Exploration in the Soviet Union. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 

15, 1999.

Tucker, Tom. Touchdown: The Development of Propulsion Controlled Aircraft 

at NASA Dryden. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 16, 1999.

Maisel, Martin, Demo J. Giulanetti, and Daniel C. Dugan. The 

History of the XV-15 Tilt Rotor Research Aircraft: From Concept to 

Flight. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 17, 2000. NASA 

SP-2000-4517.

Jenkins, Dennis R. Hypersonics Before the Shuttle: A Concise History of the 

X-15 Research Airplane. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 18, 

2000. NASA SP-2000-4518.

Chambers, Joseph R. Partners in Freedom: Contributions of the Langley 

Research Center to U.S. Military Aircraft of the 1990s. Monographs in 

Aerospace History, No. 19, 2000. NASA SP-2000-4519.

Waltman, Gene L. Black Magic and Gremlins: Analog Flight Simulations at 

NASA’s Flight Research Center. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 

20, 2000. NASA SP-2000-4520.

Portree, David S. F. Humans to Mars: Fifty Years of Mission Planning, 

1950–2000. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 21, 2001. NASA 

SP-2001-4521.

Thompson, Milton O., with J. D. Hunley. Flight Research: Problems 

Encountered and What They Should Teach Us. Monographs in Aerospace 

History, No. 22, 2001. NASA SP-2001-4522.

Tucker, Tom. The Eclipse Project. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 

23, 2001. NASA SP-2001-4523.

Siddiqi, Asif A. Deep Space Chronicle: A Chronology of Deep Space and 

Planetary Probes, 1958–2000. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 

24, 2002. NASA SP-2002-4524.

271
Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

Merlin, Peter W. Mach 3+: NASA/USAF YF-12 Flight Research, 1969–

1979. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 25, 2001. NASA 

SP-2001-4525.

Anderson, Seth B. Memoirs of an Aeronautical Engineer: Flight Tests at Ames 

Research Center: 1940–1970. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 

26, 2002. NASA SP-2002-4526.

Renstrom, Arthur G. Wilbur and Orville Wright: A Bibliography 

Commemorating the One-Hundredth Anniversary of the First Powered 

Flight on December 17, 1903. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 

27, 2002. NASA SP-2002-4527.

No monograph 28.

Chambers, Joseph R. Concept to Reality: Contributions of the NASA Langley 

Research Center to U.S. Civil Aircraft of the 1990s. Monographs in 

Aerospace History, No. 29, 2003. NASA SP-2003-4529.

Peebles, Curtis, ed. The Spoken Word: Recollections of Dryden History, The 

Early Years. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 30, 2003. NASA 

SP-2003-4530.

Jenkins, Dennis R., Tony Landis, and Jay Miller. American X-Vehicles: An 

Inventory—X-1 to X-50. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 31, 

2003. NASA SP-2003-4531.

Renstrom, Arthur G. Wilbur and Orville Wright: A Chronology 

Commemorating the One-Hundredth Anniversary of the First Powered 

Flight on December 17, 1903. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 

32, 2003. NASA SP-2003-4532.

Bowles, Mark D., and Robert S. Arrighi. NASA’s Nuclear Frontier: The 

Plum Brook Research Reactor. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 

33, 2004. NASA SP-2004-4533.

Wallace, Lane, and Christian Gelzer. Nose Up: High Angle-of-Attack and 

Thrust Vectoring Research at NASA Dryden, 1979–2001. Monographs in 

Aerospace History, No. 34, 2009. NASA SP-2009-4534.

272
The NASA History Series

Matranga, Gene J., C. Wayne Ottinger, Calvin R. Jarvis, and D. Christian 

Gelzer. Unconventional, Contrary, and Ugly: The Lunar Landing Research 

Vehicle. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 35, 2006. NASA 

SP-2004-4535.

McCurdy, Howard E. Low-Cost Innovation in Spaceflight: The History of 

the Near Earth Asteroid Rendezvous (NEAR) Mission. Monographs in 

Aerospace History, No. 36, 2005. NASA SP-2005-4536.

Seamans, Robert C., Jr. Project Apollo: The Tough Decisions. Monographs in 

Aerospace History, No. 37, 2005. NASA SP-2005-4537.

Lambright, W. Henry. NASA and the Environment: The Case of Ozone 

Depletion. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 38, 2005. NASA 

SP-2005-4538.

Chambers, Joseph R. Innovation in Flight: Research of the NASA 

Langley Research Center on Revolutionary Advanced Concepts for 

Aeronautics. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 39, 2005. NASA 

SP-2005-4539.

Phillips, W. Hewitt. Journey into Space Research: Continuation of a Career at 

NASA Langley Research Center. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 

40, 2005. NASA SP-2005-4540.

Rumerman, Judy A., Chris Gamble, and Gabriel Okolski, comps. U.S. 

Human Spaceflight: A Record of Achievement, 1961–2006. Monographs 

in Aerospace History, No. 41, 2007. NASA SP-2007-4541.

Peebles, Curtis. The Spoken Word: Recollections of Dryden History Beyond 

the Sky. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 42, 2011. NASA 

SP-2011-4542.

Dick, Steven J., Stephen J. Garber, and Jane H. Odom. Research in NASA 

History. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 43, 2009. NASA 

SP-2009-4543.

Merlin, Peter W. Ikhana: Unmanned Aircraft System Western States Fire 

Missions. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 44, 2009. NASA 

SP-2009-4544.

273
Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

Fisher, Steven C., and Shamim A. Rahman. Remembering the Giants: Apollo 

Rocket Propulsion Development. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 

45, 2009. NASA SP-2009-4545.

Gelzer, Christian. Fairing Well: From Shoebox to Bat Truck and Beyond, 

Aerodynamic Truck Research at NASA’s Dryden Flight Research 

Center. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 46, 2011. NASA 

SP-2011-4546. 

Arrighi, Robert. Pursuit of Power: NASA’s Propulsion Systems Laboratory 

No. 1 and 2. Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 48, 2012. NASA 

SP-2012-4548.

Goodrich, Malinda K., Alice R. Buchalter, and Patrick M. Miller, comps. 

Toward a History of the Space Shuttle: An Annotated Bibliography, Part 2 

(1992–2011). Monographs in Aerospace History, No. 49, 2012. NASA 

SP-2012-4549.

Electronic Media, NASA SP-4600:

Remembering Apollo 11: The 30th Anniversary Data Archive CD-ROM. 

NASA SP-4601, 1999.

Remembering Apollo 11: The 35th Anniversary Data Archive CD-ROM. 

NASA SP-2004-4601, 2004. This is an update of the 1999 edition.

The Mission Transcript Collection: U.S. Human Spaceflight Missions from 

Mercury Redstone 3 to Apollo 17. NASA SP-2000-4602, 2001.

Shuttle-Mir: The United States and Russia Share History’s Highest Stage. 

NASA SP-2001-4603, 2002.

U.S. Centennial of Flight Commission Presents Born of Dreams—Inspired by 

Freedom. NASA SP-2004-4604, 2004.

Of Ashes and Atoms: A Documentary on the NASA Plum Brook Reactor 

Facility. NASA SP-2005-4605, 2005.

Taming Liquid Hydrogen: The Centaur Upper Stage Rocket Interactive 

CD-ROM. NASA SP-2004-4606, 2004.

274
The NASA History Series

Fueling Space Exploration: The History of NASA’s Rocket Engine Test Facility 

DVD. NASA SP-2005-4607, 2005.

Altitude Wind Tunnel at NASA Glenn Research Center: An Interactive History 

CD-ROM. NASA SP-2008-4608, 2008.

A Tunnel Through Time: The History of NASA’s Altitude Wind Tunnel. NASA 

SP-2010-4609, 2010.

Conference Proceedings, NASA SP-4700:

Dick, Steven J., and Keith Cowing, eds. Risk and Exploration: Earth, Sea 

and the Stars. NASA SP-2005-4701, 2005.

Dick, Steven J., and Roger D. Launius. Critical Issues in the History of 

Spaceflight. NASA SP-2006-4702, 2006.

Dick, Steven J., ed. Remembering the Space Age: Proceedings of the 50th 

Anniversary Conference. NASA SP-2008-4703, 2008.

Dick, Steven J., ed. NASA’s First 50 Years: Historical Perspectives. NASA 

SP-2010-4704, 2010.

Societal Impact, NASA SP-4800:

Dick, Steven J., and Roger D. Launius. Societal Impact of Spaceflight. 

NASA SP-2007-4801, 2007.

Dick, Steven J., and Mark L. Lupisella. Cosmos and Culture: Cultural 

Evolution in a Cosmic Context. NASA SP-2009-4802, 2009.

275

INDEX

Numbers in bold indicate pages with photos and tables.

A

Abduction, 84–85, 85n8, 94

Acta Astronautica, 16, 59, 69

Active SETI: control over messages sent, 

187–88; definition and concept of, xxv, 

101, 175–76; design and subject of 

messages, 140, 176–185; KEO satellite 

project, xxvi, 185, 188, 189–190; 

opinions and concerns about, 185–89. 

See also Messaging extraterrestrial 

intelligence (METI).

Adams, Jim, 4

Adovasio, James, 122

Advanced Solid Rocket Motor program, 

38

Aesthetics, 161–62

Africa, 226

After Contact (Harrison), 60

Agency: human agency detection device, 

128; inferring agency and archaeology, 

113–14; recognition of intentional and 

purposeful, 117–18, 127–29

Air Force, U.S., Allen Telescope Array use 

by, 43, 43n66, 47

Alberts, Bruce, 45n74

Aldrovandi, Ulisse, 117

Alexander, Richard, 215

Allen, Paul, 41–42

Allen Telescope Array (ATA), 6, 42–43, 

43n66, 47

Alphabets, 85

Altruism, 82, 170, 246

Ambartsumian, Viktor, 2–3

American Anthropological Association 

(AAA) conferences, xiv–xv, xv n2, 55, 

61

American Society of Engineering 

Education, 4

Americas: Central Civilization, 226; 

Columbus’s arrival in, 100; dating of 

archaeological sites in, 121–22

Ames Research Center: Biotechnology 

Division, 3; Committee on Interstellar 

Communications, 6; Engineering 

Systems Design, Summer Faculty 

Fellowship Program, 4–5; Exobiology 

Division, 3, 8, 8n15, 13; funding for 

SETI, 6, 9, 10–11, 12; interstellar 

communication lecture series, 4; as 

lead Center for SETI, 12, 26, 53–54; 

Life Sciences Division, 4, 14; Mark 

role at, 4; mission of, 3–4; NASA 

Astrobiology Institute, 46, 46n77; 

Science Workshops on SETI, 6–8, 54; 

SETI Science Working Group, 9–10. 

See also NASA SETI Program.

Animals: communication of, xxviii, 213–

14, 237–38; ecological dominance, 

215n28; evolution of, 54, 214–15, 

226–27; genetic similarities between 

humans and, 230; hive intelligence, 

218; intelligence of, 213–14, 237–38; 

physiological senses, 232; study of 

communication of, xxviii

Anthropology: analogy to SETI research, 

xiv, xxii–xxv, 51, 60–61, 99, 131–33, 

144, 252; armchair and distant 

research, 131, 132, 134, 136–141; 

277
Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

attitude toward extraterrestrial interests 

of anthropologists, 57, 152–53; 

beginning of, 133; contact between 

anthropologists and other cultures, 

xxii–xxiii, xxviii, 51, 99, 132, 238; 

contact between diverse terrestrial 

cultures, xxiii–xxiv, 51–52, 144–152, 

154–55, 232; contributions to SETI 

research, xiv–xv, xvi–xvii, xxx, 49–50, 

52, 55–63, 65–68, 98–99, 98n9, 111; 

cultural and social anthropology and 

SETI research, 132; cultural diffusion, 

57–58, 62, 219, 225; curiosity about 

Others and, 95; definition and concept 

of, 49, 131; development of intelligent 

life, opinion of anthropologists about, 

xxvi–xxvii, 192, 200, 204; ethnographic 

research, 131–32; ethnology, cultural 

differences, and communication, xxviii, 

229–230, 231–33; ethology, biological 

differences, and communication, xxviii, 

229–233; extraterrestrial anthropology, 

55–57; interpretation of data, 131; 

invention of culture by anthropologists, 

133–34, 137–38; migration and spread 

of culture and inventions, 225–26; 

Neanderthals, reconstruction of, 

252–54, 254n5

Apes, 213, 217

Archaeology: agency and, 113–14, 

117–18, 127–29; analogy to SETI 

research, xiv, xvii–xxii, 99, 113–14; 

cabling method of reasoning, xxii, 

122–23, 128; contributions to SETI 

research, xiv, xxx, 63, 98–99, 111; 

curiosity about Others and, 95; 

deciphering inscriptions, methods 

for, 103; discovery and processing 

of information, 106–7, 113–14; 

ethnographic analogies, xxi–xxii, 116–

18; goal of, 113; inferring intelligence 

and, 113–16, 127–29; physical context 

and archaeological research, 120–22; 

signs of human activity, 114; successful 

decipherment, 109–11; symbolism and 

archaeological inference, 123–25

Arecibo Observatory: message 

transmission from, 180, 187; NASA 

SETI Program research, 13, 15, 18, 

19–20, 28, 29, 29, 30; Project Phoenix 

research, 42; SETI research at, xxvi

Argentina, SETI research in, 15, 44

Argus, Project, 15, 21, 44

Aristotle, 70–71

Art: cultural knowledge, local knowledge, 

and understanding, 115–16; The 

Last Supper, 115–16; messages as 

works of, xxiv n8; Paleolithic cave 

art, understanding message in, 115, 

116; symbols and meaning and 

interpretation of, 125

Artificial creatures, 230

Ascher, Marcia, 50–51

Ascher, Robert, 50–51

Asian cultures, 145

Astrobiology: attitude of scientific 

community toward, 45–47, 45n70; 

challenges and limitations of, 251; 

distinctions among SETI, exobiology, 

and, 40n56; NASA Astrobiology 

Program, 45–46, 46n77; NASA grants 

for research on, 46n79; public interest 

in research on, 40n56, 45, 45n70, 47; 

SETI Institute research on, 46; SETI 

research program, 40–41

Astronomers: attitude toward SETI, 

40–41, 152–53; development of 

intelligent life as inevitable, xxvi; 

extraterrestrial astronomers, 179; SETI 

research by, xiv, 33

Astronomy Survey Committee report 

(Field Report), 12

278
Index

Auditory communication: “Concert 

for ET,” 181–82; design of messages, 

172–74; extraterrestrial communication 

through, 79, 181–82; human 

communication and importance of, 

xxv; KEO satellite project, xxvi, 185, 

188, 189–190; music, 127, 159, 164, 

177–78, 181–82; propagation of 

sound, variation in and limitations of, 

xxix, 239; range of acoustic frequencies, 

239; sensory biophysics and limitations 

of, 238–240; speed of sound, 239; voice 

transmissions, 183

Australia: Parkes radio telescope research, 

42, 44; SETI research in, 27, 44

Aymara ceramics, 123

Aztec civilization: contact with outsiders 

and exploitation of divisions in culture, 

xxiv, 145–46, 155; influence of other 

civilizations on, 225; rules for ballgame 

of, 219; technology development by, 

221, 222

B

Baboons, 227

Babylonian culture, 224

Backus, Peter, 10

Balinese culture, 224

Ball, John, 34

Baltimore, David, 31

Barnes, Ernest W., 96n3

Barrett, Justin, 128

Baseball games, 166–68

Basques culture, 224

Bateson, William, 193

Beadle, G. W., 201

Bear, Greg, 144, 156

Bebo, 183

Bees, 232

Benedict, Ruth: The Chrysanthemum and 

the Sword, xxiii, 132; interpretation of 

Japanese culture by, xxii–xxiii, 132–38, 

132n2, 132n4, 137n19, 139, 140, 

141; Patterns of Culture, xxiii, 137–38; 

research process of, xxii, 134–35, 138; 

review of books by, 135–36, 136n13

Benford, Gregory, 178–79

Bentley, Jerry, 69, 110–11

Bieri, Robert, 201

Big Ear SETI Project at Ohio State 

University Radio Observatory 

(OSURO), 27 

Billingham, John, and NASA SETI 

Program, xv–xvi, 1–21, 26, 30, 40, 

53–54, 66, 68, 97–98n8, 180

Billion-channel Extraterrestrial Assay 

(BETA) project, 15, 43–44

Biologists: attitude toward SETI, 40–41; 

development of intelligent life, opinions 

about, xxvi–xxvii, 192; opinions about 

existence of extraterrestrial intelligence, 

32–33, 35

Biology: NASA employee education and 

training in, 45–46, 45n74; processes for 

transition from chemical to biological 

activity, 196–97

Birds, 195, 213

Black, Dave, 6, 7

Black Cloud (Hoyle), 218

Bonobos, 213, 237–38

Boss, Alan, 210

Boule, Marcellin, 253–54

Bourdieu, Pierre, 168

Bowden, Edgar, 220

Bowie, David, 182

Bowyer, Stuart, 15

Boyce, Peter, 10

Boyd, Robert, 220–21

Braastad, Richard, 182

Bracewell, Ronald N., 4, 7

279
Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

Brasseur de Bourbourg, C. É., 74, 77

Brin, David, 186

British East India Company, 154–55

Brocker, David, 19

Brown, George, Jr., 37

Brown, Harrison, 7

Brownlee, Donald, 202

Bryan, Richard, xvi, 20, 29, 31n18, 33, 

39–40, 41

Buescher, Vera, 7, 8, 13, 19

Burke, Bernie, 10

Burmese culture, 224

Bush, George H. W., 28

Butler, Paul, 208–9

Byrne, Richard, 226–27

C

Cabling method of reasoning, xxii, 

122–23, 128

Calico Hills site, 121

Cameron, A. G. W., 4, 7, 50–51

Campbell, Bernard, 54

Carl Sagan Center/Center for SETI 

Research, 46

Carneiro, Robert, 220

Casti, J. L., 216, 219

Cave, A. J. E., 253–54

Central Civilization, 226

Cephalopods, 213, 215–17

Cetaceans, 213, 215–17

Chadwick, John, 83n5, 84

Chafer, Charles M., 182

Chaisson, Eric, 10

Champollion, Jean-François, xix, 73–74, 

84, 109

Chemical to biological activity, processes 

for transition from, 196–97

Chetverikov, Sergei, 194

Childhood’s End (Clarke), 218

Chimpanzees, xxviii, 166n11, 213, 214, 

217, 227, 230, 231, 232

Chrysanthemum and the Sword, The, 

(Benedict), xxiii, 132

China: Central Civilization, 226; cultural 

complexity of, 148, 224; influence on 

other civilizations by, 225; inventions 

by, 222; isolationist stance toward other 

cultures, xxiv, 148–49; language and 

written characters, 75–76, 84; Middle 

Kingdom, self-image of, 148; Peking 

Man, excavation of, 120; trade between 

Europe and, 148–49

Civilizations and culture: capacities 

and characteristics of intelligent 

beings, culture as basis for, 162–64, 

166; Central Civilization, 226; 

contact between diverse terrestrial 

cultures, xxiii–xxiv, 51–52, 144–152, 

154–55, 232; counting methods 

and cultural differences, 163–64; 

cultural complexity, 222–24, 227–28, 

228n66; cultural contacts, study of, 

51–52, 53, 62; cultural knowledge, 

local knowledge, and understanding 

communication, 114–16; definition 

and concept of culture, xxvii, 164–69, 

169n14, 218–19; diffusion, cultural, 

57–58, 62, 219, 225; evolution of, 

xxiv–xxv, xxiv n7, 169, 171, 171n18, 

214, 225; evolution of technical 

civilizations, 52–53, 62; failure of 

societies, reasons for, 221–22, 222n50; 

fluid and individualized nature of 

culture, 133, 162–64, 165–69, 

166n11; formulation of culture, 133; 

heterogeneity, balanced, 158, 158n29; 

historical civilizations, technology 

development potential, and intelligence, 

221–22; homogenizing categories of 

culture, 169n14; human understanding, 

280
Index

limits of, xxviii, 237–38; individualized 

process of culture, xxiv n8, 133, 

165–69, 170–72; intellectual culture 

and context, 118–120; intelligence to 

create communication technology, 32; 

invention of culture by anthropologists, 

133–34, 137–38; lawful principles 

to govern, 133; migration and 

spread of culture and inventions, 

225–26; population/settlement size 

and technology development, 220–21, 

227–28; shared experiences and culture, 

166–68; social organization, 219–220; 

Standard Cross-Cultural Sample 

(SCCS), xxvii–xxviii, xxviii n12, 222–

24, 225, 225n55; symbolic meaning 

and, 242, 243; technology development 

and culture, 108, 219–227; unitary 

culture and technologically advanced 

civilizations, xxiv–xxv, 170–72

Clark, Thomas, 10

Clarke, Arthur C., 182–83, 218

Cocconi, Giuseppe, 2, 24, 49, 50, 96n3

Coe, Kathryn, 203

Coe, Michael, 73, 75

Cognition and distributed cognition, 

202, 240–41, 243

Colonial cultural contacts, xxiii–xxiv, 

144–152, 154–55, 157–59

Colonization of space, 34–35, 35n34, 

57–58

Commission 51, International 

Astronomical Union (IAU), 16

Communication: advantage of U.S. in 

complex communication systems, 157; 

animal communication, xxviii, 213–14, 

237–38; biological differences between 

species, ethology, and, xxviii, 229–233; 

cognition, distributed cognition, and, 

240–41, 243; context of for SETI, 

247–48, 248; cultural differences 

between species, ethnology, and, xxviii, 

229–230, 231–33; cultural knowledge, 

local knowledge, and understanding 

communication, 114–16; definition 

and concept of, 79–80, 229; difficulties 

of between different species, 79; 

distal communication, 232–33; 

existential exchange, 231; goal of, 

176; high-information contact with 

extraterrestrials, 60–61; human 

interests and values and subject of 

communication, xxvi, 172–74, 180–85, 

189–190; human successors, messages 

for, xxvi, 175; intelligence to create 

technology for, xxvii, 32, 205, 213, 

215–17, 226–28; intentions and, 

242–43, 250; interpretive context for, 

164; languages for, 68–69; metaphor 

of, 235; nonhuman communication, 

interpretation of, 234–35; number 

of spoken and signed languages, 242; 

philosophical openness and, 235–36; 

protocols for, 237; semantic exchange, 

231; sensory incompatibilities and, 79; 

true communication, 235; universal 

interlocutors, 233–35, 234n8, 236. 

See also Auditory communication; 

Messages; Signals; Visual 

communication, symbols, and signs.

Communication with Extraterrestrial 

Intelligence (CETI), 3, 7, 180

“Concert for ET,” 181–82

Conferences, workshops, and lectures: 

Ames interstellar communication 

lecture series, 4; anthropology-related, 

xiv–xv, xvi, xv n2, 55, 59–61; Cultural 

Aspects of SETI (CASETI) Workshops, 

17, 59–60; Green Bank SETI 

conference, 25, 49, 50; interstellar 

migration conference, 58; message 

decoding, presentation on, 68–69; 

281
Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

presentations and papers by NASA 

SETI Program personnel, 16, 17; 

social scientist and humanities scholar 

participation in, 52–54, 66; Towards 

Other Planetary Systems (TOPS) 

Workshops, 27; US–Soviet conferences 

on extraterrestrial intelligence, xvi, 5, 

52–53

Congress, U.S.: attitude toward SETI 

research, 47; backgrounds of members, 

37; cancellation of NASA SETI 

Program, xvi, 20, 23, 29–30, 31n18; 

federal budget deficit and spending 

cuts, 38; opposition to NASA SETI 

Program in, xvi, 10–11, 20, 23, 26–27, 

28–29, 33, 39n51, 66; political story 

behind cancellation of NASA SETI 

Program, 37–41

Conners, Mary, 8

Contact (film), 45n70

Contact (Sagan), 45n70, 102

Conte, Silvio, 28, 39

Convergent evolution, 197–98, 199–200, 

202–3

Conway, Jill, 60

Conway Morris, Simon, 202–3

Cook, James, 151

Corporate interests and trade, 158

Cortés, Hernán, 145–46

Cosmic Call II, 182

Coulter, Gary, 19, 40

Counting methods, 163–64

Crichton, Michael, 206

Crick, Francis, 52

Crow, Bruce, 14

Cryptology: anticryptographic 

properties of messages, 82, 82n4, 

103; decipherment of extraterrestrial 

messages and cryptanalysis, xxi, 103; 

processes and methods, 103, 103n24; 

redundancy and deciphering text, 

105–6; secret messages, 83, 88–89, 

88n11

Cullers, Kent, 10, 14, 60

Culture. See Civilizations and culture.

Cultural Aspects of SETI (CASETI) 

Workshops, 17, 59–60

Cultures Beyond the Earth (American 

Anthropological Association), 55

Cyclops, Project and report, 4–6, 8, 26

D

Dalzell, Bonnie, 204

Daniel, Glyn, 117

Darlington, Cyril D., 200

Darwin, Charles, 192–93, 194, 196

Davies, Paul, 184

Davis, Michael, 10

Dawkins, Richard, 203

Declaration of Principles Concerning 

Activities Following the Detection of 

Extraterrestrial Intelligence, 16–17

Deduction, 85n8

Deep Space Communications Network, 

183

Deep Space Network, 14, 18–20, 26, 29

De Landa, Diego, 74

De Léon, David, 241

Denning, Kathryn, 61, 124–25, 144, 189

Despain, Alan, 13–14

DeVincenzi, Don, 12, 17

DeVito, Carl L., 76, 159, 177

De Vries, Hugo, 193

Diamond, Jared, 221–22, 228

Dick, Steven, 1n2, 60, 144, 171n18

Diffusion, cultural, 57–58, 62, 219, 225

Dillehay, Thomas, 121

Distributed cognition, 241–42, 243

Divergent evolution, 198

Dixon, Robert, 15

282
Index

Dobzhansky, Theodosius, xxvi–xxvii, 192, 

194–95, 197–98, 199

Doddington Moor rock art, 

Northumbria, 243–44, 244, 244n13

Dolphins, xxvii, 25, 32, 213–14, 215n28, 

231, 237–38

Doritos commercial, 183–84

Dorothy, Project, xiii

Downs, Hugh, 182

Doyle, Arthur Conan, 88n11

Draft Declaration of Principles 

Concerning Sending Communications 

with Extraterrestrial Intelligence, 17

Drake, Frank: altruistic behaviors, 170; 

Ames interstellar communication 

lecture series, 4; Ames science 

workshops on SETI role, 7; birthday 

celebration, 1n1; career of, 13; 

Commission 51, IAU role, 16; Drake 

Equation values, 207; efficiency of 

signals compared to interstellar travel, 

10–11; Father of SETI role, 1n1; Green 

Bank SETI conference, 25, 49, 50; 

HRMS inauguration speech, 19; math 

and science as universal language, 107–

8n37; message design and construction, 

90, 173; NASA SETI Program role, 

1n1, 8, 12; NRC astronomy and 

astrophysics report role, 6; Project 

Ozma experiment, xiii, 1n1, 2, 24–25, 

49, 50, 96n3; radar and television 

transmissions and revealing information 

about Earth, 67; SETI Institute role, 

1n1, 13, 18; SETI research by, 15, 21, 

41, 187; SETI Science Working Group 

role, 10; US–Soviet conference on 

extraterrestrial intelligence, 52

Drake Equation: anthropology-related 

discussions about, xvii; challenges and 

limitations of, xxvii–xxviii; creation of, 

2, 25, 205; cultural components of, 52, 

62–63; definition and concept of, xvii, 

xxvii, 25–26, 25n5, 49, 98, 205–6, 

208; estimated parameter values, range 

of, xxvii–xxviii, 205, 207–10, 207n3, 

226–28; fraction of planets with 

intelligent life, 205, 206, 207, 210–17; 

fraction of planets with intelligent life 

able and willing to communicate, 205, 

206, 207, 210, 217–228; Green Bank 

conference and proposal for using, 25, 

49, 50; guesses about parameter values, 

206; online calculators, 206; opinions 

about validity of, 32; star formation 

rate, 206, 207, 208; stars with planets, 

2–7, 206, 208–10

Dumas, Stephane, 181

Dunbar, Robin, 227

Dutil, Yvan, 181

Dyson, Freeman, 52

E

Earth: compendium of life, mind, and 

society of, 178; location of, revealing 

information on, xxvi, 67; no clues to 

location of in messages, 231; number of 

species on, 217; Principle of Mediocrity 

and specialness of, 211; super-Earth 

planets, 209–10

Earth Speaks project, xxix, xxix–xxx

Echolocation, 162–63

Ecological dominance–social competition 

hypothesis, 215

Edelson, Bob, 9, 10

Eerie Silence, The (Davies), 184

Egypt: Central Civilization, 226; 

decoding ancient hieroglyphics from, 

xviii–xix, 58, 68, 70–71, 73–74, 124; 

influence on other civilizations by, 

225; inventions from, 225; pyramids, 

construction of, 219, 249–250

283
Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

Einstein, Albert, 24

Eiseley, Loren, 200

Electromagnetic spectrum: interference 

and signal detection, 18, 20, 27–28, 

31; microwave region, 5, 7–8, 24, 25, 

31; radio region, 2; ranges of, 239; 

spectrum analyzers and spectrometers, 

7–8, 13–14, 35; water-hole region, 5, 

25, 31

Electronic Human Relations Area File 

(eHRAF), 225n55

Elephants, 215n28

Ellis, George, 127

Embree, John, 135–36, 135n11, 136n13

Engineers, 33, 37

Essentialism, 165, 165n7

Ethnocentrism, 100

Ethnographic analogies, xxi–xxii, 116–18

Etruscan language, 75

Europe: Central Civilization, 226; 

classical Greek science, translation 

of and interest in, 71; Iroquois 

relationship with, 150; Paleolithic 

cave art in, 115, 116; Renaissance 

and recovery of ancient knowledge, 

xvii–xviii, 67, 68, 69–72; stone tools, 

recognition of by people in, 116–17; 

trade between China and, 148–49

Evolution: animal evolution, 54, 

214–15, 226–27; chance and, 197, 

198–99, 204; conditions necessary for, 

54; convergent evolution, 197–98, 

199–200, 202–3; cultural evolution, 

xvii, 49–50, 54, 56, 61–63, 169, 

171, 171n18, 225; Darwin’s theory, 

critiques of, 192–93; Darwin’s theory 

of, 192–93, 194, 196; disagreement 

among scientists about, xxvi–xxvii, 192; 

divergent evolution, 198; evolutionary 

synthesis, xxvi–xxvii, 192, 194–96; 

evolutionary synthesis, acceptance 

of, 192, 199; extraterrestrial life and 

evolutionary synthesis, 196–204; 

genetics and, 194–96; heredity and 

evolutionary synthesis, 193; human 

evolution and intelligence, 214–15, 

226–27; intelligence as product 

of, 199; macroevolution, 203–4; 

microevolution, 203–4; mutations, 

193, 196, 197–99; speciation, 196; 

technical civilizations, evolution of, 

52–53, 62; Universal Darwinism, 203; 

variation and natural selection, 192–93, 

194, 195, 196

Evpatoria Planetary Radar, xxvi, 181

Exobiology: commentators on, xxvi, 192; 

distinctions among astrobiology, SETI, 

and, 40n56; effect of discoveries on 

research, 122; NASA division for, 3, 8, 

8n15, 12, 13

Exomissionaries, 184

Exoplanets, 32, 42, 42n63, 44n67, 45, 

208–10, 247, 249, 250

Extraterrestrial civilizations and culture: 

age and lifespan of, 33–34, 98, 102; 

aggressive, exploitative, or hostile 

societies, xxvi, 67, 144, 156–57, 

185–86; capacities and characteristics 

of, 161–64, 169–174; colonization 

of space by, 34–35, 35n34, 57–58; 

Cultural Aspects of SETI (CASETI) 

Workshops, 17, 59–60; cultural 

contacts, study of, 51–52, 53, 62; 

cultural evolution, xvii, 49–50, 54, 

56, 61–63, 171, 171n18, 225; dead 

civilizations, messages from, xviii; 

development of, xiv; ethnology, cultural 

differences, and communication, xxviii, 

229–230, 231–33; ethology, biological 

differences, and communication, 

xxviii, 229–233; evolution of, xiv, 

xvii, xxiv–xxv, xxiv n7, 49–50; human 

284
Index

evolution, relevance to understanding, 

xvi; multiple cultures, xxiv; nature 

of, inferences and impressions about, 

xxiii, 67, 138–141; number of, 10–11, 

25–26, 25n5, 49, 98, 205; number 

of capable of communicating, 2; 

observational data and conclusions 

about, 254; philosophical openness 

and contact with, 235–36; political 

society development, 231; technological 

adolescence, survival of, xvi, 77; 

technological superiority of, xxiv, 

33–34, 102; understanding culturallyspecific messages, xviii, 138–141; 

unitary culture and technologically 

advanced civilizations, xxiv–xxv, 

170–72; waiting for visits from, 33–34. 

See also Extraterrestrials/extraterrestrial 

intelligence.

Extraterrestrial Culture Day, 182

Extraterrestrials/extraterrestrial 

intelligence: aggressive, exploitative, 

or hostile societies, xxvi, 67, 144, 

156–57, 185–86; anatomical and 

physiological structure of, 11, 143–44, 

191–92, 200–204; armchair and 

distant research, 137–141; avoidance 

of contact with, importance of, 

231, 236; belief in, basis for, 35–36; 

biological differences, ethology, and 

communication with, xxviii, 229–233; 

capacities and characteristics of, 

161–64, 169–174; cognitive abilities 

of, 161–62, 164; colonization of space 

by, 34–35, 35n34, 57–58; contact 

with, communicating information 

about, 140–41, 254n5; context for 

identification and understanding, 

xxi–xxii, 118–120; cultural and societal 

impact of discovery of, xvi, 17, 51–52, 

51n5, 53, 62–63, 65, 97, 97–98n8; 

curiosity about, 23, 95; development 

of, xiv, xxvi; embodied intelligence, 

238; encounter with, analogies from 

colonial cultural contacts, 144–152, 

154–55, 157–59; encounter with, 

probability of, 153; encounter with, 

speculation about initial, 138–141, 

144; evidence of nonexistence, 57; 

evolution of and evolutionary synthesis, 

xiv, xvii, 196–204, 230–31; existence 

of, disagreement among scientists 

about, xxvi–xxvii; existence of, rational 

decision about, 233; high-information 

contact with, 60–61; human- and 

Earth-based impressions about, xxiii, 

99–101, 132–33, 138–141, 191–92, 

226, 237–38, 254; human reactions to 

discovery of, 53; image management 

by, xxiii; images and intentions of, 

143–44; information-trading with, 

155–57, 158; interstellar travel by, 34; 

opinions about existence of, 11, 31–37; 

parallels between humans and, xxvi, 

191–92; physical contact with, 60, 62, 

144, 145; physiological senses, 232; 

post-detection protocols, 16–17, 36, 

187–88, 189; preconceptions about, 

xxii, 99–101, 122, 132–33, 138–141; 

probability of existence of, 11, 31–33, 

35, 99–100, 122, 143, 152–53, 196, 

198, 200–204; probes and interactions 

with, 155–57, 158–59; radio contact 

with, 60, 62, 69; recognition of 

through ethnographic analogies, xxi–

xxii, 116–18; sensory modalities, xxvii; 

sensory organs and capabilities, 161, 

162–63, 164, 166, 169, 171, 173; 

value of detection of, xvi, 11. See also

Extraterrestrial civilizations and culture; 

Intelligence.

285
Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

Eyes and eyesight. See Vision, eyes, and 

eyesight.

F

Farmer, Steve, 110

Faulks, Zen, 35

Federal Aviation Administration, 35

Feinberg, Gerald, 202

Fermi, Enrico, 33–34

Fermi paradox, xxii, 33–34, 57, 58, 62, 

119

Field Report (Astronomy Survey 

Committee report), 12

Finney, Ben, 57–58, 59, 60, 63, 99, 

110–11

Fisher, R. A., 194, 195

Flannery, Kent, 52–53

Fletcher, James, 6, 17

Flinn, Mark, 215

Fossil records, 197

France: French language, 80–81, 87; 

Iroquois relationship with, 150; SETI 

research in, 15, 44

Frazer, James, 131

Freudenthal, Hans, 76, 176–77

Friedman, Louis, 44n67

Friedrich, Johannes, 93–94

G

Galton, Francis, 193

Gardiner, Alan, 73

Gardiner, Howard, 212–13

Garn, Jake, 28

Gas-giant planets, 209

Geary, David, 215

Geertz, Clifford, 115

Geladas, 227

Genetics and the Origin of Species

(Dobzhansky), 195

Geology, challenges and limitations of, 

251

Germany, SETI research in, 15

Gibbons, John, 37

Gold, Tommy, 52

Golden Fleece Award, xvi, 26, 66

Goldin, Daniel, 38, 45–46, 45n74

Goodenough, Ward, 218–19

Gorer, Geoffrey, 138, 138n20

Gorillas, 213, 217

Gould, Stephen Jay, 31, 202–3

Great Britain: Hong Kong control by, 

149; Iroquois relationship with, 150; 

Māori relationship with, xxiv, 151–52, 

158–59; Singapore, establishment of, 

154–55; trade between China and, 149

Greece: classical Greek science, 

translation of and interest in, 71; Linear 

B as ancient form of Greek, xx, 85; oneway transmission of information from, 

67; preservation of scholarly works by 

Islamic scholars, xvii–xviii, 67, 70–71; 

transmission of knowledge from ancient 

Greece, xvii–xviii, 67, 68, 69–72, 221, 

224

Greenstein, Jesse L., 6, 7

Grether, Daniel, 210

Griffiths, Lynn, 17, 19

Grotefend, Georg Friedrich, 84

Gulkis, Sam, 9, 10, 13, 18

Guthke, Karl, 60

Guthrie, Stewart, 128

H

Haddock, Fred, 7

Haldane, J. B. S., 194, 195

Harris, Marvin, 133

Harrison, Albert, 60, 152

Heidmann, Jean, 68–69, 104, 105–6

Heilbron, John, 60

286
Index

Henry, Todd, 210

Herbig, George, 7

Hertz, Heinrich, 24

Heterogeneity, balanced, 158, 158n29

Hewlett, William, 41–42

Heyns, Roger, 17

Hieroglyphics: assumptions about and 

decoding of, 68, 73, 74–75, 77, 84–85, 

85n8; categories of signs, 87; decoding 

ancient Egyptian, xviii–xix, 58, 68, 

70–71, 73–74, 124; decoding Mayan 

hieroglyphics, xviii–xix, 58, 67–68, 

72–75, 77, 110–11, 124; decoding of 

and lessons for extraterrestrial message 

decoding, xviii–xix, 58, 68–69, 71–72, 

76–78, 106–9, 110–11; ideographic 

glyphs, 73, 74–75, 77, 84; pictographic 

glyphs, 73, 75. See also Languages.

High-Resolution Microwave Survey 

(HRMS), 19–20, 23, 28, 28–29, 29, 

30, 36–37, 40, 180

Hive intelligence, 218

Hoffman, Tom, 184

Hong Kong, 149

Horowitz, Paul, 10, 15, 27, 43–44

Howells, William, 200–201

Hoyle, Fred, 96n3, 218

Huang, S. S., 96n3

Hubble Space Telescope, xvi, 38, 38n49

Humanities. See Social scientists and 

humanities scholars.

Humans: archaeological signs of human 

activity, 114; colonization of space 

by, 58; compendium of life, mind, 

and society on Earth, 178; cultural 

and societal impact of discovery of 

extraterrestrial intelligence, xvi, 17, 

51–52, 51n5, 53, 62–63, 65, 97, 

97–98n8; ecological dominance–social 

competition hypothesis, 215; genetic 

similarities between animals and, 230; 

intelligence and evolution of, 214–15, 

226–27; living in groups, benefits of, 

227; messages for human successors, 

xxvi, 175; Neanderthals, 252–54, 

254n5; number of Hominoidea species, 

217; parallels between extraterrestrials 

and, xxvi, 191–92; reactions to 

discovery of extraterrestrial intelligence, 

53; vision of, 239

Huntress, Wesley, 38, 39–40

Hutchins, Edwin, 241

Huygens, Christiaan, 191–92

Hydrogen, emission frequency of, xiii, 

5, 25

Hydroxyl, emission frequency of, 5, 25

I

Ikegami, Eiko, 134

Inca civilization, 222, 225

Induction, 85n8

Indus script, 109–10, 110n45

Information economy, 219

Information theory and understanding 

communications, xx–xxi, 83n6, 105–6

Intelligence: of animals, 213–14, 237–38; 

counting methods, 163–64; definition 

and concept of, xxvii, 211–13, 226; 

development and evolution of, xvi, 

xvii, 98, 214–17, 226–27; forms and 

types of, xxvii, 212–13; historical 

civilizations, technology development 

potential, and, 221–22; hive 

intelligence, 218; inferring intelligence 

and archaeology, 113–16, 127–29; 

inferring intelligence and symbol 

use, 123–25; intellectual culture and 

context and recognition of, 118–120; 

measurements of, xxvii, 212–13; 

planets with intelligent life, 205, 206, 

207, 210–17, 226–27; planets with 

287
Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

intelligent life able and willing to 

communicate, 205, 206, 207, 210, 

217–228; as product of evolution, 199; 

recognition of, 116–18; recognition 

of our planet by extraterrestrial 

astronomers, 179; as social tool, 

215; technology creation and, xxvii, 

32, 205, 213, 215–17, 226–28. See 

also Extraterrestrials/extraterrestrial 

intelligence.

Intelligent Life in the Universe (Shklovskii 

and Sagan), 3, 107–8n37

International Academy of Astronautics 

(IAA), 3, 16–17, 176

International Astronautical Congress 

(IAC), 16

International Astronautical Federation 

(IAF), 17, 59, 66, 68–69

International Astronomical Union (IAU), 

16, 59

International Institute of Space Law, 

16–17

Interstellar Migration and the Human 

Experience (Finney and Jones), 58, 62

Invasion of the Body Snatchers, 218

Irish culture, 224

Iroquois Confederacy, xxiii, 131, 

149–150, 157–58

Italy, SETI research in, 15, 44

J

Jackson, Francis, 201

Jansky, Karl, 224

Japan: age of culture and long history 

of, 135, 135n11; Central Civilization, 

226; counting method in, 163–64; 

cultural complexity, 224; interpretation 

of culture, xxii–xxiii, 132–38, 132n2, 

132n4, 137n19, 139, 140, 141; Meiji 

period, 148; policy for trade, 157–58; 

samurai warriors, 146–47, 148; SETI 

research in, 15; sociocultural changes 

in, xxiii, 146–48, 158

Japanese Americans, interviews with, xxii, 

134, 136, 137

Javanese culture, 158n29, 224

Jenkin, Fleeming, 193

Jet Propulsion Laboratory (JPL): 

Columbus Day initiation of search, 

18; leadership of SETI Program, 9, 

10; Murray role at, 7, 9; NASA SETI 

Program role, 8–9, 13, 26; number of 

people involved in SETI, 18; search 

methods for signals, 8–9, 14, 29; SETI 

research by, 27; SETI Science Working 

Group, 9–10; signal detection systems, 

9, 14

Johannsen, Wilhelm, 193, 195

Jonas, David, xxvii, 204

Jonas, Doris, xxvii, 204

Jones, Eric, 58

K

Kantrowitz, Arthur, 7

Kardashev, Nikolai, 2–3, 27

Kayapó, 220

Kellermann, Kenneth, 7, 10

Kelly, Kevin, 35, 39n51

Kenniston, Ken, 60

KEO satellite project, xxvi, 185, 188, 

189–190

Kepler mission, 43, 45, 152–53, 208, 

208n8, 209–10

Kircher, Athanasius, 73

Klein, Harold “Chuck”: Ames 

Committee on Interstellar 

Communications role, 6; Exobiology 

Division chief, support for Billingham 

as, 8, 8n15; Exobiology Division role, 

3, 13; Life Sciences Division role, 4; 

288
Index

retirement of, 13; support for Ames 

SETI Program, 7, 8

Klein, Michael “Mike”: HRMS 

observation summary, 20; JPL SETI 

Program role, 10, 13, 14, 19; NASA 

SETI Program Plan development, 14; 

NASA SETI Program role, 19

Kline, Michelle, 220–21

Kluckhohn, Clyde, 218

Knorozov, Yuri, 75

Knowledge, nature and scope of, 105

Kober, Alice, 85

Korean culture, 224

Kraus, John, 15

Kroeber, A. L., 218

Kuhn, Thomas, 119

L

La Barre, Weston, 138, 138n20

Lakatos, Imre, 119

Languages: bilingual and multilingual 

texts and decoding unknown languages, 

xviii, xix, xx, 68, 74; components 

of, identification of, xx; counting 

methods, 163–64; cultural context of, 

108; decoding dead languages, xvii; 

familiarity with specific language and 

transcription of unknown language, xx, 

85, 103, 106–11, 124–25; interstellar 

language, 76, 177, 181; math and 

science as universal language, xviii, 

68–69, 76–77, 89–90, 107–8n37, 

107–9, 124, 139, 159–160, 164, 177, 

179, 181; music as universal language, 

159, 164; process for deciphering 

ancient texts, xx, 82–85, 85n8, 93–94; 

successful decipherment, 109–11; 

translation of, xviii–xx, 75–76, 103; 

type of writing system, identification 

of, 84–85; unsuccessful decipherment, 

109–10, 111. See also Hieroglyphics.

Last Supper, The (da Vinci), 115–16 

Lederberg, Joshua, 7, 54

Lee, Richard B., 52–53

Levy, Marion, 147

Lewis, John, 7

Light, speed of, xvii, 24, 154, 176, 180, 

186–187

Lilly, John, 50

Lind, Andrew W., 136

Linear A, xxi, 109–10

Linear B, xx, 83n5, 84, 85

Lineweaver, Charles, 210

Lingua Cosmica (Lincos), 76, 177, 181

Linguistic anthropology, 61, 62

Linscott, Ivan, 10, 13–14

Lions, 215n28

Living Systems Theory, 60

Lovejoy, C. Owen, 202

Lubbock, Percy, 88

M

Māori, xxiv, 151–52, 158–59

MacGowan, Roger, 202

Machol, Bob, 13

Machtley, Ronald, 28

Macroevolution, 203–4

Malay Peninsula and Singapore, 154–55

Marconi, Guglielmo, 24, 179–180

Marcy, Geoffrey, 208–9

Mark, Hans, 4, 6, 8, 11

Mars: exploration of, 251, 252; Mars 

Exploration Rovers, 251; “Mars rock” 

meteorite, 45; signals from, 24; Project 

Viking, 3, 12

Mathematics: communication with as 

universal language and understanding 

of messages based on, xviii, 68–69, 

76–77, 89–90, 107–8n37, 107–9, 124, 

289
Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

139, 159–160, 164, 181; objective 

existence of or invention of human 

mind, 127

May, Julian, 143–44

Maya civilization: collapse of classic era, 

72; culture of, 72; descendants from, 

72–73; history of, 72; number and 

calendar systems, xviii, xix, 68, 74, 77; 

technology development by, 108

Mayan language, decoding ancient 

hieroglyphics from, xviii–xix, 58, 

67–68, 72–75, 77, 110–11, 124

Mayr, Ernst, xxvi–xxvii, 32–33, 192, 194, 

195–96, 199–200

McConnell, Brian, 102, 107–8n37

McNeill, William H., 52–53, 108

Meadowcroft Rockshelter, 121–22

Media and press, communicating 

discoveries through, 254n5

Mediocrity, Principle of, 211, 221, 228

Megachannel Extraterrestrial Assay 

(META), 15, 27

Memoirs of a Spacewoman (Mitchison), 

xxvii

Mendel, Gregor, 193

“Message from Earth, A,” 183 

Messages: anticryptographic properties 

of, 82, 82n4, 103; art, messages as 

works of, xxiv n8; concerns about 

sending, 185–89; control over messages 

sent, 187–88; cryptology and secret 

messages, 83, 88–89, 88n11; culturallyspecific messages, understanding of, 

xviii, 138–141; dead civilizations, 

messages from, xviii; deciphering 

extraterrestrial messages, xvii, xx, 

62, 67–69, 71–72, 76–78, 95–96, 

100–103, 110–11, 154, 235; decoding 

ancient hieroglyphics and assumptions 

about extraterrestrial messages, xviii–

xix, 58, 68–69, 71–72, 76–78, 124; 

design and construction of, 53, 61, 62, 

81–82, 87–94, 101–2, 104–6, 124–25, 

132, 140, 172–74, 176–185, 246–47, 

247n15, 248, 249–250; difficulty 

of decipherment, 110–11; fractal 

messages, 235; honesty of messages, 

xxiii n6; human interests and values 

and subject of, xxvi, 172–74, 180–85, 

189–190; information theory and 

understanding communications, xx–

xxi, 83n6, 105–6; intent of messages, 

general sense of, xxii, 94; interpretation 

and meaning of, xiv, xxv, 79–82, 

172–74; interpretation of, challenges 

of, xxviii, 79–81, 139, 251–52; length 

of time to reach Earth, xiv, xvii, 67, 

141, 154, 176; length of time to reach 

planets, 186–87; listening for messages 

from extraterrestrials, xxv, 34, 67, 101, 

179–180; multiple messages sent over 

a period of time, xxiv n7, 94, 178, 

235; obstacles to interpretation of 

meaning of, xxi–xxii, 109–11; one-way 

transmission of information, xvii, 67; 

physics, biophysics, sensory biophysics, 

and, 239–240; recognizing signals as, 

xx, xxi–xxii, 81–82, 83, 87–88, 106, 

153–54; redundant information and 

understanding messages, xxi, 105–6; 

resources for deciphering meaning 

of, 235, 249–250; sending messages, 

opinions and perceptions about, 

67, 101; showing and telling and 

interpretation of, 88–89; subject of 

messages sent by humans, xxiii, xxiii n6, 

xxiv n7–8, 68–69, 74, 104–6, 107–9, 

125–27, 132, 140, 172–74, 175–78, 

180–85; successful decipherment, 

109–11; successful reception of, 93–94; 

transmission of, 67, 178–184; updates 

to, 179. See also Communication; 

290
Index

Visual communication, symbols, and 

signs.

Messaging extraterrestrial intelligence 

(METI), 175. See also Active SETI.

Michael, Donald N., 51n5

Michaud, Michael A. G., 132, 141, 

185–86, 187, 188

Microevolution, 203–4

Microwave Observing Project (MOP), 

13, 19, 28, 180

Microwave region, electromagnetic 

spectrum, 5, 7–8, 24, 25, 31

Middle East, 226

Migration: colonization of space, 34–35, 

35n34, 57–58; interstellar migration, 

impossibility of, 66; interstellar 

migration conference and publication, 

58, 62; Polynesian migrations, 57, 

65–66; space migration, study of, 66; 

spread of advanced technology, 225–26

Mikulski, Barbara, 20

Minsky, Marvin, 52, 163–64

Missionaries, 184

Mitchison, Naomi, xxvii

Montagu, Ashley, 53

Monte Verde site, 121

Montezuma, 145–46

Moon, archives on, xxvi

Moore, Gordon, 42

Moore, Patrick, 201

Morgan, Lewis Henry, 131

Morgan, T. H., 194

Morris, George, 10

Morris, John, 136

Morrison, Philip: Ames science 

workshops on SETI role, 7, 54; article 

by and recommendation and support 

for SETI research, 8, 11, 24, 26, 49, 50, 

96n3; Project Cyclops, 4; deciphering 

extraterrestrial messages, 62; math 

and science as universal language, 

107–8n37; radio region for signals from 

extraterrestrials, paper on, 2; The Search 

for Extraterrestrial Intelligence, 54; US–

Soviet conference on extraterrestrial 

intelligence, 52

Muller, H. J., xxvi–xxvii, 33, 33n26, 192, 

194, 198–99

Murdock, George, 222–24, 228

Murray, Bruce, 7, 8–9, 44n67

Murray, Elyse, 13

Music: communication with as universal 

language, 159, 164; “Concert for ET,” 

181–82; objective existence of harmony 

or invention of human mind, 127; 

theremin, 181–82; Voyager spacecraft 

recordings, 177–78

N

Nagel, Thomas, 162

Naroll, Raoul, 220

NASA: Astrobiology Program, 45–46, 

46n77; biology study by employees, 

45–46, 45n74; budget and funding 

for, xvi, 11, 37–38, 38n47, 41, 48; 

education programs on SETI, 60; 

Exobiology Division, 12; Life Sciences 

Division, Office of Space Science and 

Application, 12, 19, 28, 40; mission 

of, 3, 8, 39n51; political battles over 

programs, 38–39; Science Mission 

Directorate, 46n79; Solar System 

Exploration Division, 19, 27, 28, 40

NASA Astrobiology Institute (NAI), 46, 

46n77

NASA Origins Program, 45–46

NASA SETI Program: Ames as lead 

Center, 12, 26; anthropological 

approach to research, 65–68; beginning 

of, 3–8, 26, 53–54; Billingham role 

in, 1–21; budget and funding for, xvi, 

291
Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

6, 9, 10–11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 17–18, 

19, 20–21, 23, 26–30, 26n9, 37–39, 

38n47, 39n51, 41, 48, 66; cancellation 

of, xvi, 2, 11, 12, 20–21, 23, 29–30, 

31n18; cancellation of, political 

story behind, 37–41; Columbus Day 

initiation of search, xvi, 18, 19, 23, 28, 

28, 29, 30; Congressional opposition 

to, xvi, 10–11, 20, 23, 26–27, 

28–29, 33, 39n51, 66; development 

and evolution of, xv–xvi, 26–30; 

Drake role in, 1n1; High-Resolution 

Microwave Survey (HRMS), 19–20, 

23, 28, 28–29, 29, 30, 36–37, 40, 

180; leadership and management of, 

9, 18, 19, 37; Microwave Observing 

Project (MOP), 13, 19, 28, 180; 

number of people involved in, 18; 

observation summary, 20; program 

approval process, 17–18; Program Plan 

development, 14; public interest in, 

11; recommendations for, 10; search 

methods for signals, 8–9, 14, 29, 

36–37, 180; SETI Program Office, 8; 

SETI Science Working Group, 9–10, 

12; signal detection research, 65; signal 

detection systems, 9, 13–15; signal 

detection systems and observational 

process, 18–20; support for, xvi, 8, 

10–11, 23, 26–27, 31, 38–39. See also

Ames Research Center.

National Academy of Sciences: Green 

Bank SETI conference, 25, 49, 50; 

opinion about SETI research, 40–41, 

40–41n58; Radio Astronomy Panel, 

31; Space Science Board meeting, 2; 

support for NASA SETI Program, 

xvi, 31; US–Soviet conference on 

extraterrestrial intelligence, xvi, 5, 

52–53

National Aeronautics and Space Act, 51

National Radio Astronomy Observatory 

(NRAO), Green Bank: Project Ozma 

experiment, xiii, 1n1, 2, 24–25, 49, 50, 

96n3; Project Phoenix research, 42

National Research Council (NRC): 

anthropological approach to SETI, 

support for research on, 58, 66; 

astronomy and astrophysics reports, 

6, 18

National Science Foundation (NSF), 43

National Security Agency, 35

Native Americans: adoption of European 

technology by, 150; tool use by, 117, 

119. See also Iroquois Confederacy.

Naugle, John, 6

Nazca Lines, 120

Neanderthals, reconstruction of, 252–54, 

254n5

Newell, Homer, 6

New Mexico Extraterrestrial Culture Day, 

182

Nieman, C. Wells, 90

Nieman, H. W., 90

“Nonprevalence of Humanoids, The” 

(Simpson), 196–97

NOVA “Origins” series, 206, 207–8

O

Oceania, 220–21

Octopus, 213

Oehrle, R. T., 76, 177

Ohio State University Radio Observatory 

(OSURO), 27

Oliver, Bernard “Barney”: Ames 

Committee on Interstellar 

Communications role, 6; Ames 

interstellar communication lecture 

series, 4; Ames science workshops 

on SETI role, 7; Project Cyclops 

and report, 4–6, 8, 26; death of, 46; 

292
Index

efficiency of signals compared to 

interstellar travel, 10–11; funding 

for SETI research, 30; HewlettPackard role, 12, 26; HRMS program 

Columbus Day initiation of search, 30; 

interstellar migration, impossibility of, 

66; interstellar travel and colonization 

of space by extraterrestrials, 34; math 

and science as universal language, 

107–8n37; NASA SETI Program 

Plan development, 14; NASA SETI 

Program role, 8, 10, 12–13, 18, 26; 

search methods for signals, 8–9; SETI 

Institute formation, 13; SETI Institute 

research, support for, 42, 46; spacecraft 

with messages aboard, purpose of, 178; 

Space Science Board meeting role, 2; 

Summer Faculty Fellowship Program 

role, 4–5

Olsen, Ed, 10

Opium smuggling and First Opium War, 

149

Opportunity rover, 251

Oral narrative tradition, 178–79

Orangutans, 213, 217

Orcas, 215n28

Order of the Dolphin, 25, 32

Ordway, Frederick, 202

Origin of Species, The (Darwin), 192–93

Osborn, Henry Fairfield, 200, 253, 254

Other Senses, Other Worlds (Jonas and 

Jonas), xxvii

Ozma, Project, xiii, xvi–xvii, 1n1, 2, 

24–25, 49, 50, 96n3

P

Packard, David, 42

Pakistan, 158n29

Paleolithic cave art, 115, 116

Paleontologists: development of 

intelligent life, opinions about, xxvi–

xxvii, 192, 196–97, 201–2; training in 

evolutionary theory, 195

Palmer, Craig T., 203

Palmer, Jason, 183–84

Passive SETI, 101, 180, 186, 247–48, 

248. See also Search for Extraterrestrial 

intelligence (SETI).

Patterns of Culture (Benedict), xxiii, 

137–38

Pauling, Linus, 31

Pearson, Karl, 193

Peirce, Charles Sanders, 84–85, 85n8, 

86–88, 91, 94

Perry, Matthew, 148

Perry, William James, 225

Pesek, Rudolph, 3

Peterson, Allen, 10, 13–14

Philippe, Jean-Marc, xxvi, 185, 189–190

Phillips, Graham, 182–83

Phoenix, Project, 30, 39n51, 41–43

Phoenix Mars Lander, 251, 252

Physical context and archaeological 

research, 120–22

Physicists, SETI research by, xiv, 33

Pierson, Tom, 13, 18

Pioneer spacecraft, xxvi, 14, 177, 190

Planetary scientists, attitude toward 

SETI, 40

Planetary Society, 27, 43–44, 44n67

Planets: discovery of Earth-like planets, 

153–54; exoplanets, 32, 42, 42n63, 

44n67, 45, 208–10, 247, 249, 250; gasgiant planets, 209; with intelligent life, 

205, 206, 207, 210–17; with intelligent 

life able and willing to communicate, 

205, 206, 207, 210, 217–228; stars 

with planets, 2–7, 206, 208–10; superEarth planets, 209–10

Plotinus, xix, 73

293
Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

Polo, Marco, 148

Polynesian migrations, 57, 65–66

Pomianek, Christina, 203

Postcard Earth message, xxix, 246–47, 

249

Press and media, communicating 

discoveries through, 254n5

Probes, 155–57, 158–59

Projects. See Argus, Project; Big Ear SETI 

Project at Ohio State University Radio 

Observatory (OSURO); Cyclops, 

Project and report; Dorothy, Project; 

Microwave Observing Project (MOP); 

Ozma, Project; Phoenix, Project; 

Sentinel, Project; SETI@home Project; 

Viking, Project.

Provost, Caterina, 222–24, 228

Proxmire, William, xvi, 10–11, 26–27, 

39, 66

Pyramids, 219, 249–250

Q

Quasars, 27

Quetzalcoatl, 145–46

R

Radio and TV transmitters: broadcast 

of signals into space, 24, 34; broadcast 

of signals into space and revealing 

information about Earth, xxvi, 67, 

172–73; surplus radiation leaks from, 

xxv

Radio astronomy: attitude of radio 

astronomers toward SETI, 3, 9, 40; 

discovery and beginning of, 225–26; 

SETI research with, 14, 15, 23, 24–25, 

26, 31

Radio Astronomy Laboratory, UC 

Berkeley, 13, 43

Radio region, electromagnetic spectrum, 

2

Radio telescope/antenna array facilities: 

Allen Telescope Array, 6, 42–43, 

43n66, 47; Ames telescopes, 9; Deep 

Space Network, 9, 14, 18–20, 26, 

29; Evpatoria Planetary Radar, xxvi, 

181; Parkes radio telescope, 42, 44; 

Square Kilometer Array, 6. See also

Arecibo Observatory; National Radio 

Astronomy Observatory (NRAO), 

Green Bank.

Radio telescope/antenna arrays, 24; 

construction of by Reber, 224; Project 

Cyclops, 5–6, 8, 26; detection and 

collection of signals with, 24, 180; 

development of, 224–25; interference 

and signal detection, 18, 20, 

27–28, 31; passive SETI instead of 

communication, 247–48, 248; search 

methods for signals, 8–9, 14; signal 

detection systems, 9

Radio waves: discovery of, 224; 

interplanetary communication with, 

24; range of, 186–87; speed of, 24, 

186–87

Raffles, Stamford, 154–55

Raulin-Cerceau, Florence, 179

Raup, David, 202

Ravens, 231

RDF Digital, 183

Reasoning, cabling method of, xxii, 

122–23, 128

Reber, Grote, 224

Reciprocity, 159

Religion and spirituality, 125–27, 128, 

161–62, 184

Renaissance: Egyptian hieroglyphics, 

understanding of, xix; recovery of 

ancient knowledge during, xvii–xviii, 

67, 68, 69–72

294
Index

Roberts, John M., 219

Rock art, 243–44, 244, 244n13

Rome and Roman Empire: influence of 

other civilizations on, 224; influence 

on other civilizations by, 224, 225; 

inventions from, 221; radio-telescope 

development, 224–25; Star Trek episode 

about, 222n50

Rongorongo script, xxi, 109–10

Rood, Robert, 34–36, 35n34

Rosetta Stone, xviii, xix, xx, 68, 74, 76, 

85, 107–9

Rummel, John, 17, 19, 30, 41, 41n60

Russell, Dale, 201–2

Russell, Mary Doria, 61

Russia. See Soviet Union and Russia.

Ryang, Sonia, 134, 135

S

Sagan, Carl: Ames interstellar 

communication lecture series, 4; Ames 

science workshops on SETI role, 7; 

colonization of space, 35; Contact, 

45n70, 102; Drake Equation values, 

207, 207n3, 208; education and 

training of, 33, 33n26; extraterrestrial 

intelligence, value of detection of, xvi; 

human successors, messages for, 175; 

Intelligent Life in the Universe, 3, 107–

8n37; international cooperation and 

systematic SETI, support for, 12; math 

and science as universal language, 107, 

107–8n37, 108; Muller relationship 

with, 199; petition to support SETI 

research, 12, 31, 33; Planetary Society 

founding, 27, 44n67; probability 

of extraterrestrial intelligence, 33; 

Shklovskii collaboration with, 3; 

support for NASA SETI Program, 11, 

26–27, 31; support for SETI research, 

31, 31n18; US–Soviet conference on 

extraterrestrial intelligence, 52

Saint-Gelais, Richard, 106

Samurai warriors, 146–47, 148

Satellites, xxvi, 185

Saussure, Ferdinand de, 86

Science: classical Greek science, 

translation of and interest in, 71; 

communication with as universal 

language and understanding of 

messages based on, xviii, 68–69, 

76–77, 107–8n37, 107–9, 124, 139, 

177, 179, 181; theory-laden data and 

assumptions, 119

Science fiction, 143–44

Scientists and scientific community: 

attitude toward astrobiology research, 

45–47, 45n70; attitude toward 

SETI, 1n1, 6, 23, 31–37, 40–41, 

99–100, 100n13, 143–44, 152–53; 

Congressional member backgrounds, 

37; development of intelligent life, 

opinions about, xxvi–xxvii, 192; 

interaction between natural scientists 

and social scientists, 50

Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence 

(SETI): advances in and search 

technology development, xiii, 44, 

96–97, 190; analogy to anthropological 

research, xiv, xxii–xxv, 51, 60–61, 

99, 131–33, 144, 252; analogy to 

archaeological research, xiv, xvii–xxii, 

99, 113–14; attitude of scientific 

community toward, 1n1, 6, 23, 

31–37, 40–41, 99–100, 100n13, 

143–44, 152–53; background of 

researchers involved in, xiv; beginning 

of and early projects, xiii, xv, 1n1, 

2–3, 24–25, 49, 50–52, 96n3, 179; 

challenges and limitations of, 251–52; 

Cultural Aspects of SETI (CASETI) 

295
Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

Workshops, 17, 59–60; distinctions 

among astrobiology, exobiology, and, 

40n56; faith as basis for, 206; funding 

for experiments and projects, xvi, 30, 

46–47, 143; historical perspectives on, 

xv–xvii; history of, 2–3, 15–17, 24–30; 

intellectual culture and context and, 

118–120; international cooperation 

and systematic program for, 12, 15–17; 

observational data and conclusions 

about, 254; opponents to, winning over 

after explanation of SETI, 40; passive 

discovery instead of communication, 

101, 180, 186, 247–48, 248; politics 

and support for, 47; predictions about 

finding, 97; public interest in, 11, 

143, 178; SETI@home Project, 44, 

153, 153n37; SETI begins at home, 

111, 144; SETI term, proposal for, 7; 

social scientist role in SETI research, 

50–58, 97–99, 111; support and 

recommendation for research, 8, 10, 

11, 12, 18, 24, 26, 31, 31n18, 33, 

49, 50, 96n3; targeted searching, 

249; technological limitations and, 

153–54; unity of knowledge and, 63; 

value of, 35; writings and publications 

about, 14–15, 16, 17, 50–51, 67, 96, 

96nn3–4. See also Active SETI; NASA 

SETI Program.

Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence, The 

(Morrison, Billingham, and Wolfe), 54

Search for Extraterrestrial Radio 

Emissions from Nearby Developed 

Intelligent Populations (SERENDIP), 

15, 27, 44

Seeger, Charles, 8, 14

Semiosis, 243. See also Visual 

communication, symbols, and signs.

Sensory organs and capabilities, 161, 

162–63, 164, 166, 169, 171, 173

Sentinel, Project, 15, 27

SETI@home Project, 44, 153, 153n37

SETI Institute: Allen Telescope Array, 

42–43, 43n66, 47; astrobiological 

research at, 46; Carl Sagan Center/

Center for SETI Research, 46; Drake 

role at, 1n1, 13; founding of, 13, 27; 

funding for experiments and projects, 

30, 39n51, 46; message design and 

construction by, 53; Project Phoenix, 

30, 39n51, 41–43; reorganization of, 

46; research at, 18, 21, 30, 41–43; 

search methods for signals, 30; unified 

knowledge curriculum for schools, 63

SETI League, 5, 21, 44

Shannon, Claude, xx–xxi, 105–6

Shapiro, Robert, 202

Shklovskii, Iosif, 3, 27, 107–8n37

Shostak, Seth, 102, 104–5, 126, 140–41

Showing and telling, 88–89, 88n12

Siamese culture, 224

Signals: ability to send, 224–25; 

accidental, xxv; auditory signals, xxv; 

concerns about sending, 185–89; 

detection and collection of, xiii–xiv, 

24, 96, 179–180; detection of, systems 

for, 9, 13–15, 18–20; efficiency of 

signals compared to interstellar travel, 

5, 10–11, 153; frequency of, xiii, 5, 

7–8; intentional signals, transmission of 

from Earth, xxv–xxvi, 101, 175–190; 

interference and signal detection, 18, 

20, 27–28, 31; investigation of strange 

signals, 36; length of search for, 36–37; 

length of time to reach Earth, xiv, 

xvii, 67, 141, 154, 176; length of time 

to reach planets, 186–87; listening 

for messages from extraterrestrials, 

xxv, 34, 67, 101, 179–180; one-way 

transmission of information, xvii, 

67; optimism about discovery of, 

296
Index

36; post-detection protocols, 16–17, 

36, 187–88, 189; processing of, xv, 

36, 251–52; recognizing signals as 

messages, xx, xxi–xxii, 81–82, 83, 

87–88, 106, 153–54; resources for 

searching for, 249–250; response to 

by extraterrestrials, consensus on, 

xxv; response to from extraterrestrials, 

government role in, 53; search methods 

for, 8–9, 14, 29, 30, 36–37, 180, 

249; speed of light and, xvii, 24, 154, 

176, 180, 186–87; transmission of, 

178–184; unintentional signals, 24, 34. 

See also Communication; Messages.

Signs. See Visual communication, 

symbols, and signs. 

Simpson, George Gaylord, xxvi–xxvii, 54, 

192, 194, 195, 196–97, 199, 202

Simpson, Ruth, 121

Singapore, 154–55

Singer, Philip, 56, 57

Smith, G. Elliot, 225, 253

Snow, C. P., 50

Social Implications of the Detection of an 

Extraterrestrial Civilization, 17

Social scientists and humanities scholars: 

assessment of cultural and societal 

impact of discovery of extraterrestrial 

intelligence, 51–52, 51n5, 53, 62–63, 

65, 97, 97–98n8; conferences and 

meetings about SETI, participation in, 

52–54, 66; interaction between natural 

scientists and, 50; role in SETI research, 

50–58, 97–99, 111; SETI research 

by, xiv, xvi–xvii, 50, 55–58; subject of 

messages sent by humans, opinions 

about, 107–9. See also Anthropology; 

Archaeology.

Soffen, Jerry, 12

Soviet Union and Russia: cultural 

complexity, 224; detection of signal by 

scientists in, 27; SETI research in, 2, 

27, 44, 96n3; theremin, 181–82; US–

Soviet conferences on extraterrestrial 

intelligence, xvi, 5, 52–53

Space Act (1958), 3

Space Station programs, xvi, 38

Space-time capsules, 176, 178–79, 183, 

185

Spain: Aztec civilization, contact with and 

exploitation of, 145–46; technology 

development in, 221

Spectrum analyzers and spectrometers, 

7–8, 13–14, 35

Speed of light, xvii, 24, 154, 176, 180, 

186–87

Sperry, Elmer, 24

Spirit rover, 251

Spirituality and religion, 125–27, 128, 

161–62, 184

Square Kilometer Array, 6

Standard Cross-Cultural Sample (SCCS), 

xxvii–xxviii, xxviii n12, 222–24, 225, 

225n55

Stanford University, Summer Faculty 

Fellowship Program, 4–5

Star Trek, 164n6, 218, 222n50

Stent, Gunther, 52

Sternberg, Robert J., 212

Stonehenge, 249–250

Straus, William L., Jr., 253–54

Stull, Mark, 8

Suitcase SETI, 10, 27

Sullivan, Woody, 10

Summer Faculty Fellowship Program, 

4–5

Sun and Sun-like stars, 208, 209–10

Superconducting Super Collider, 37

Super-Earth planets, 209–10

Swenson, George, 10

Swift, David, 59

Symbolic interaction, 172

297
Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

Symbols. See Visual communication, 

symbols, and signs.

T

Tarter, Donald, 187–88, 189

Tarter, Jill: Commission 51, IAU, role, 

16; film character based on, 45n70; 

funding for NASA SETI Program, 37; 

HRMS observation summary, 20; IAF 

SETI conference, 66; investigation 

of strange signals, 36; meetings 

between Congressional members and, 

39–40; NASA grants for research by, 

46n79; NASA SETI observational 

plans, 18; NASA SETI Program Plan 

development, 14; NASA SETI Program 

role, 9, 10, 12, 13, 18; SETI Institute 

role, 13

Tax, Sol, 55, 56

Team Encounter, 182–83

Technology: advanced technology, 

intelligence for development of, xxvii–

xxviii; advances in and broadening 

of SETI search net, xiii, 44, 96–97, 

190; advantage of U.S. in complex 

communication systems, 157; 

applications for SETI technologies, 

35; conditions necessary for creation 

of, 216, 219; contact between diverse 

terrestrial cultures and, 145–152; 

culture and development of, 108, 

219–227; definition and concept of, 

xxvii; evolution of, xvi, xvii; evolution 

of technical civilizations, 52–53, 62; 

historical civilizations, technology 

development potential, and intelligence, 

221–22; intelligence to create 

communication technology, xxvii, 32, 

205, 213, 215–17, 226–28; limitations 

of and SETI, 153–54; migration 

and spread of advanced technology, 

225–26; population/settlement 

size and development of, 220–21, 

227–28; social organization and 

development of, 219–220; superiority 

of Asian cultures, 145; superiority 

of extraterrestrial civilizations, xxiv, 

33–34, 102; technological adolescence, 

survival of, xvi, 77; unitary culture and 

technologically advanced civilizations, 

xxiv–xxv, 170–72

Teilhard de Chardin, Pierre, 120

Tempo and Mode in Evolution (Simpson), 

195

Tenochtitlán, 146, 221

Tesla, Nikola, 24

Theremin, 181–82

Theremin, Leon, 181

Thompson, Eric, 74–75

Time capsules, 175–76, 178–79, 183, 

185

Tipler, Frank, 10–11, 35n34

Tlaxcala Indians, 146

Toffler, Alvin, 55–56

Tools: chimpanzee use of, 166n11; 

manufacturing and use by humans, 

214; Native American tools, 117, 119; 

recognition of, 116–17, 119, 120–21, 

128–29

Tough, Allen, 60–61

Towards Other Planetary Systems 

(TOPS) Workshops, 27, 40

Townes, Charles, 7

Traphagan, John, 144

Trefil, James, 34–35, 35n34

Tschopik, Marion H. “Harry,” 123

Tsiolkovsky, Konstantin, 96n3

Turkish culture, 224

Turkish language, 81, 87

Tylor, Edward Burnett, 131, 218

298
Index

U

Ukraine, radio transmissions from, xxvi

United Nations: Committee on 

the Peaceful Uses of Outer Space 

(COPUOS), 16–17; communication 

with extraterrestrials, role in, 176

Universal Darwinism, 203

Uttar Pradeshi culture, 224

V

Vakoch, Douglas A., 61, 92–93, 104, 

105, 107, 152, 172, 175, 177

Valentine, James, 203–4

Ventris, Michael, xx, 85

Viking, Project, 3, 12

Vision, eyes, and eyesight: convergent 

evolution and evolution of eyes, 199–

200; human vision, 239; technology 

creation and, 216

Visual communication, symbols, and 

signs: categories of signs, 86–88, 91; 

clues for interpretation of, 93–94; codes 

or systems for interpretation, 80–85, 

80n1, 81n2; definition of sign, 91; 

design and subject of messages, xxv, 79, 

81–82, 87–93, 124–25, 172–74, 177–

78, 180, 182, 183, 246–47, 247n15, 

248, 249–250; early communication 

efforts, 179; Earth Speaks project, xxix, 

xxix–xxx; icons, 86, 87, 91–92, 172; 

importance of symbolism, 123–25; 

index signs, 86, 87, 88, 92, 93–94; 

interpretation of, 79–82, 89–94, 

172–74; interpretation of symbolic 

artifacts, difficulties associated with, 

xxix, 82–85, 243–46, 245, 249–250; 

interpretive context and, 80–82, 89–94; 

KEO satellite project, xxvi, 185, 188, 

189–190; limitations of, xxviii–xxix; 

“A Message from Earth,” 183; physics, 

biophysics, sensory biophysics, and, 

238–240; Postcard Earth message, 

xxix, 246–47, 249; recognizing signs as 

messages, 81–82, 106; self-interpreting 

signs, 90–91; semiosis, 243; showing 

and telling and interpretation of, 

88–89; support for use of, xxix–xxx, 

xxix n13; symbolic interaction, 172; 

symbols and symbol systems, meaning 

and interpretation of, xxii, 84–85, 

86–88, 124–25, 242; type of writing 

system, identification of, 84–85; 

Voyager spacecraft plaque, 177–78. See 

also Communication; Messages.

Von Uexküll, Jakob, 232

Voyager spacecraft, xxvi, 177–78, 190

Voynich manuscript, 244, 244n14, 245

W

Ward, Carol, 215

Ward, Peter, 201–2

Water-hole region, electromagnetic 

spectrum, 5, 25, 31

Watson, James L., 165

Webster, Larry, 19

Welch, Jack, 10, 13

Werthimer, Dan, 15, 186

Wescott, Roger W., 56–57

White, Douglas, 222

Wilkinson, David, 226

Wilson, E. O., 63

Wolfe, John, 6, 7, 8, 10, 54

Wright, Sewall, 194, 195

Y

Young, Richard “Dick,” 3, 8n15

299
Archaeology, Anthropology, and Interstellar Communication

Z

Zaitsev, Alexander, 180–82, 186

Zoo hypothesis, 34

Zuckerman, Ben, 10

300