What if Earth isn't Special?

(4-5 minute read)

For most of human history, we have oscillated between two instincts. One says we are unique, central, chosen in some cosmic sense. The other says we are ordinary, just one planet orbiting one star in one unremarkable spiral arm of one galaxy among hundreds of billions.

Science has leaned steadily toward the second view. The Copernican principle quietly suggests that we should not assume we occupy a privileged position. And over the last thirty years, as exoplanet discoveries have accelerated, that idea has gathered weight. We now know of thousands of planets orbiting other stars. Many sit in what we call habitable zones. Some are rocky. Some are roughly Earth-sized. A few may even have atmospheres that hint at chemistry not entirely unlike our own.

For a long time, “Are there other Earths?” was a philosophical question. Now it is an engineering problem.

When NASA’s Kepler mission began finding planets in the early 2010s, the surprise was not that exoplanets exist. It was how common they are. Planet formation appears to be a standard by-product of star formation. Our solar system is not a cosmic anomaly. It is a template.

If Earth-like planets are common, and if chemistry tends to organise itself into life when given enough time and energy, then biology itself may not be rare. It may be statistically inevitable.

That thought can be unsettling. If life is common, then intelligence might also be common. And if intelligence is common, then somewhere out there, perhaps many somewhere, other beings have looked up at their skies and asked the same questions we ask.

But here is the twist that fascinates me: if Earth is typical, that might be wonderful news.

Because if we are not rare in a fragile, knife-edge sense, then life itself may be resilient. It may not require miraculous coincidence. It may arise wherever conditions are broadly favourable. That suggests the universe is not sterile and hostile by default, but generative.

Think about what that implies. If Earth-like worlds are scattered across the Milky Way, then evolution may be unfolding on countless stages. Oceans forming. Atmospheres stabilising. Photosynthesis altering planetary chemistry. Multicellular organisms experimenting with complexity. Intelligence flickering into being.

We often focus on the drama of contact; first contact, hostile contact, transformative contact. Science fiction thrives on that tension. But the more fundamental question is quieter: is life a cosmic accident, or a cosmic tendency?

If it is a tendency, then we are part of a vast biological story rather than a lonely exception.

Of course, being typical does not mean being trivial. Every human life is statistically ordinary in the sense that billions of us exist, yet each one feels important and singular from the inside. The same may be true at a planetary scale. There may be many Earth-like worlds, yet this one is still ours. Our history, our mistakes, our art, our wars, our fragile attempts at cooperation; all of it remains uniquely situated here.

What changes, perhaps, is the emotional framing. Instead of seeing ourselves as perched on an impossibly narrow ledge in a dead universe, we might see ourselves as one node in a network of possibility.

In Return to the Galaxy, I studied the idea that humanity is not alone, and that we are neither the oldest nor the most powerful civilisation in existence. That tension allows for drama, certainly. But it also allows for something else: perspective. When Ewan stands on a bridge looking out at alien stars, he is not diminished by the scale. He is expanded by it. His problems shrink in some ways and sharpen in others.

I sometimes think about my younger self in the poor end of Scotland, long before I ever imagined writing space opera. The world felt bounded then by geography, by industry, by what seemed realistically achievable.

Yet over the decades, my horizons expanded. Travel, technology, reinvention. The sense of what was possible changed. Not because the universe altered, but because my understanding did.

The same may be happening at a cosmic level. As our telescopes improve and our data accumulates, the likelihood that Earth is typical increases. Typical in mass. Typical in orbit. Typical in chemistry. If that continues, then life elsewhere becomes less speculative and more expected.

There is something profoundly hopeful in that. It suggests that existence is not precarious in a cosmic sense. It suggests that the processes that gave rise to consciousness here may be written into the physics of the universe itself. Carbon chemistry, liquid water, stable stars; these are not rare artefacts. They are common ingredients.

Of course, there are darker interpretations. If Earth is typical, then perhaps civilisations routinely rise and fall. Perhaps intelligence carries inherent self-destructive risks. Perhaps the galaxy is littered with the ruins of species that failed to navigate their own adolescence.

But even that interpretation carries a form of hope. Because it implies that survival is not impossible. It implies that those who endure long enough may become something stable, wiser, less impulsive.

If we are typical, then our current moment, the 21st century with its climate pressures, technological acceleration, geopolitical tension, may be a phase many civilisations pass through. A volatile adolescence before maturity. That does not guarantee success. But it suggests precedent.

I find comfort in that framing. Not because it absolves us of responsibility, but because it contextualises our struggle. We are not the first to wrestle with power, nor the first to confront existential risk. We may be part of a broader pattern of learning.

And there is another layer. If Earth is typical, then somewhere, on a distant world, there may be artists imagining alien skies. Scientists wondering whether they are alone. Writers crafting stories about strange blue planets orbiting yellow stars. They too might be asking whether they are special.

That symmetry is beautiful to me.

It shifts the narrative from isolation to participation.

So perhaps the better question is not “Are we unique?” but “What kind of typical are we?” Are we typical in our capacity for conflict, or in our capacity for cooperation? Typical in short-term thinking, or in long-term resilience?

If the universe regularly produces worlds like ours, then the responsibility is not to prove we are exceptional. It is to ensure we are sustainable.

When you look up at the night sky tonight, imagine that Earth is not a fluke, but one of many. Does that make you feel smaller? Or does it make the cosmos feel more alive?

And if life is common, what kind of civilisation would you want ours to become, knowing we may be one example among many?

Until next time,

BA Gillies​
Author, Return to the Galaxy Series

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Book 8 is Live. The War Has Truly Begun

Commander Reader,

It's here. Battle for the Galaxy, Book 8 of the Return to the Galaxy series, is live right now.

For the first time, Earth forces face the Ranid directly. Admiral Ewan Scott is pushing beyond known space chasing an alliance that could decide the war, while back home, power is shifting fast and humanity is dividing before the enemy has even arrived.

The war has truly begun. And humanity may not survive its opening moves.

Free for Kindle Unlimited subscribers.

Thank you for all the support, reviews, and encouragement. It genuinely means everything.

Brian

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If you haven’t started the series yet, Book 1 is still available to buy for 99 cents or read for free on Kindle Unlimited:

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