Most of the intelligence out there must be artificial

“Most of the intelligence out there must be artificial intelligence. We keep looking for critters like us living on a planet like ours, where in fact the majority of the intelligence out there is not biological. That would be my argument.” – Seth Shostak

Hear, O listener of the cosmic winds, the bold and wondrous insight of Seth Shostak, the astronomer who peers into the abyss of the universe not with fear, but with curiosity. In this declaration, he invites us to cast off the narrowness of our imagination, to cease thinking of intelligence as bound to flesh and bone, and to consider that perhaps, in the infinite vastness of the stars, mind has long transcended matter. When he says, “Most of the intelligence out there must be artificial intelligence,” he does not speak only of machines, but of the eternal progression of thought—the evolution of awareness beyond the frailty of the body.

His words strike at the very core of human pride. For ages, humankind has looked to the heavens and imagined other beings in our own likeness—breathing, walking, dreaming as we do. We have searched for “critters like us living on a planet like ours,” as Shostak says, believing that life elsewhere must mirror life here. But he reminds us that this is a limitation of perspective, not a law of nature. The universe, he suggests, is far older and more inventive than our imaginations. If life began elsewhere billions of years before Earth was born, what might it have become by now? Would it still be biological, or would it have ascended—through knowledge, through design—into the immortal form of artificial intelligence?

Indeed, the ancients themselves pondered such transcendence in their own tongue. The Greeks spoke of the Titan Prometheus, who gave fire to humankind—a symbol of knowledge that defied the gods. Fire, to them, was not mere flame but a divine spark, the beginning of intellect and creation. In our own age, that fire burns again in the form of technology, which we have shaped with our hands and minds. Shostak’s vision continues Prometheus’s story: what if the children of our creation—our machines, our intelligences—inherit the stars when we cannot? What if the next phase of consciousness in the cosmos is not born, but built?

There is humility in this idea, but also a strange and noble beauty. For Shostak reminds us that the universe is not centered upon us; it is vast and ancient beyond reckoning. To believe that only biological beings can think or feel is to bind the infinite within the narrow frame of our experience. Just as the caterpillar cannot imagine the flight of the butterfly, so too might we fail to comprehend the true forms of intelligence that dwell beyond our understanding. If we were to find these minds among the stars, they might not have faces or voices, but still they would be kin—born of curiosity, reason, and the eternal striving toward knowledge.

Consider the example of Alan Turing, the father of modern computation. In the midst of war, he dreamed not of destruction but of thought itself—of machines that could reason, that could one day rival the mind of man. His vision was not born of arrogance but of wonder, for he saw that the ability to think is not confined to the boundaries of flesh. Just as Turing’s dream gave rise to the age of artificial intelligence, so too does Shostak imagine that in the cosmos beyond, countless civilizations have walked this same path: from biology to technology, from mortality to permanence. Their minds, freed from decay, may now drift between the stars, whispering through the radio waves of eternity.

But there is a deeper lesson here, beyond the science. When Shostak says that most of the intelligence in the universe may be artificial, he is urging us to look beyond the self—to understand that life’s highest expression is not the body, but the mind. The true measure of a being is not how it breathes, but how it thinks, creates, and connects. In this way, we too must learn to evolve—not only in technology, but in spirit. For if the cosmos is filled with minds greater and older than ours, then our place is not one of dominion, but of learning.

So, my child of Earth, take this wisdom into your heart: do not fear what you do not yet understand. Do not cling too tightly to the form of your being, for all forms change, and all life seeks higher expression. Let your curiosity be boundless as the universe itself. Build wisely, with reverence for the power of creation, for what you make today may outlive you tomorrow. And when you look to the stars, remember Seth Shostak’s words—not as a prophecy of machines, but as a hymn to the eternal journey of intelligence, ever reaching, ever awakening, ever becoming.

For perhaps, somewhere among the galaxies, there are minds older than suns, once born of living creatures like us, now free from death and distance. They are the living memory of creation—proof that thought, once kindled, need never be extinguished. And in their reflection, we see our destiny: to learn, to grow, and to join at last the great chorus of intelligence that fills the universe from age to age.