Today, everybody who exists is the end result of survivors. Let me restate the obvious: All people currently alive are descended from thousands—millions—billions—of survivors. No matter what was thrown at them—war, plague, whooping cough, large cats— these ancestors survived long enough to have and somehow raise children… who survived and raised more children.
It got me thinking: How many people have ever been born? Is that a number we can estimate with any certainty? A simple Google search offers some clarity: Using logarithmic formulas, the best estimates suggest between 108 to 110 billion humans have ever been born. Of those, the 7 to nearly 8 billion alive today claim parentage within that staggering number.
Sure, many died before reaching the age of conception. But many were also wildly fruitful, producing dozens of children. Maybe it averages out. In any case, the success rate has climbed rapidly over the last thousand years.
How far will it go? It’s sobering to realize that we can estimate the total number of people in history. But what about the stars? Another Google check: The estimated number of stars in the observable universe is 70 sextillion (that’s 7 followed by 22 zeros).
Roughly 10 times the amount of grains of sand on all the world’s beaches— which is itself about 7 sextillion. Wow. Is that a static number? Sand is created. Sand is destroyed. Stars are born. Stars die. Is there a parallel growth formula? I don’t know— but I’d like to. Still, that’s a lot of sand and stars.
According to Genesis, we are equated to both sand and stars. Let’s compare:
Humanity: ~10⁹
Sand and stars: ~10²²
That gives us about 11 zeros to go before we match the scale of the stars and grains. Maybe—just maybe— that ratio is a metaphor for time itself, and the total number of humans that must exist before the end of days.We’re not even halfway there. We’d better start making plans to populate some of those star systems before we run out of room.
