As a kleiner junge (small boy) growing up in Germany I had heard the stories of the ancient Greeks’ view of our world. Unlike his contemporaries of the day, the Athenian philosopher Plato knew the Earth was a sphere. The entire universe, every star and planet, were suspended around us as “crystal spheres”. When I was a bit older, in my schooling I had read more about this in the “Myth of Er” in his book the Republic. 

Plato’s student Aristotle also later wrote about this “geocentric model” but it was Eudoxus of Cnidus, who I recall, that first worked out a mathematical-based demonstration of uniform circular motion with Plato. Claudius Ptolemy advanced Aristotelian physics even further, but I won’t be boring you with more of a celestial history lesson any further. For my recollection here is of my own childhood growing up in Germany. I wish to share with you an encounter that is far more terrestrial in nature, though perhaps by the end you will consider this to be somewhat phenomenal regarding our world and your place in it. 

My village outside of Arbergen and our home weren’t anything remarkable. The timber-framed structure of my childhood home combined our living quarters, stalls and hay storage all under one roof. This Fachhallenhaus or Low German house is the quintessential rural, agricultural farmhouse style that you are likely well familiarized. From the 13th century until today, there have been alternative names but the German style endures. There wasn’t much in the way of change in my life up until the point when a German-Italian family became our newest neighbors. The lovely couple had two daughters. I became infatuated at first sight with one and her chestnut brown eyes and hair.

My first interaction with her was beyond awkward. She walked past me in the market and instead of saying hello or introducing myself, I blurted, “Was suchen sie?” (What are you looking for?)

She replied, “Alles.” 

Everything?

She was looking for everything? I thought to myself who looks for everything and how much could really be found here in the market.

She wasn’t making any sense to me or maybe was being just a little foolish. Thinking I should revert back to a more conventional introduction, I extended my hand and announced, “I am your neighbor and my name is Heinrich Wilhelm Matthias Olbers.”

The earth ceased spinning and time seemingly stopped as she looked at me with her warm, rich eyes that were like German sweet chocolate, closed them for a brief second, and laughed right at me. “Well, Heinrich Wilhelm Matthias Olbers,” she declared, “I’m Ermelinda and I am your new neighbor too.”

I knew Ermelinda was clearly an Italian name but it cleverly contains Germanic elements – ermen which means “whole, universal” and linde which means “soft, tender”.

In German, I offered, “Are you really, looking for, uh, for everything?”

“Yes, but I already see most of it,” she informed me.

In a few mere seconds of speaking to Ermelinda I went from new neighbor to being in love to now being completely perplexed. I was confused and didn’t know how to respond to her comment of being able to see most of it. Well, what was she looking for if she could already see it? Maybe the better question would be to ask her, what is “it” exactly?

“Ermelinda?” I asked, “What exactly is “it” that you already see?”

She turned directly in front of me, her eyes staring nearly through mine and admitted, “When I close my eyes I can see everything in the entire universe.” 

“Like Galileo or Copernicus?” I questioned.

“Yes, I can see everything on this planet, in this solar system and in the universe,” she exclaimed. “I just need to close my eyes and concentrate.”

“So you can see Jupiter’s moons like Galileo did?”

“Yes.”

“What is my the name of my rindfleisch (beef cow)? 

“It doesn’t work that way. I can see you have a cow but I don’t know it’s name.”

“Oh!” I nodded. “Is the universe you can see finite or infinite?” 

Ermelinda looked at me completely puzzled and didn’t answer. She turned away for a moment and then back towards me but again didn’t answer. Her mouth opened slightly but she didn’t say anything further except for a mild sigh. 

“I believe all the dark areas of the sky mean that the universe is finite,” I informed her. “I’m going to be an astronomer and I’m going prove this.”

Ermelinda gave me no reply. She grabbed my hands, closed her eyes and just smiled.