HG Welles time machine was an interesting concept for it’s time, although I guess throughout history people have wondered if it could be done (for instance, was Compte de St. Germain a time traveler, an immortal or a hoax? Or was Welles himself a time traveler, or a psychic? Receiving messages from the future through Spiritus Mundi or something? Or Verne? Or Da Vinci? Or a score of others?)
I wonder, if it were possible, that if by traveling to the past history could constantly be altered/rewritten then the only person who would know of it would be the traveler themselves? We could be in a constant state of alteration and never even know it. And if this were so, would predestination even exist, our future already there or would it be random and abstract? Maybe the past, present and future just exist on different planes? Multiple planes of alternative existences?
Or, could it be space itself? What’s out there anyway and how far does it reach? I’ve read where scientists say space is ever expanding, my constant question ‘but what is on the other side of it that it is expanding into?’ Wow, it makes our planet and lives seem so small and minute. It is like we are no different than the microscopic parasites, bacteria or virus that we are trying to constantly eradicate, but with us, instead of adapting alone we modify our surroundings to suit our needs for our continual multiplication. Are we just a larger germ in the end? Perhaps those same viruses/bacteria that we are trying to eradicate will be what will some day eradicate us if we don’t blow ourselves up first. The thought of this makes me feel quite humble and insignificant.
In Philip K. Dick’s future humans have created replicants (not totally unlike Dr. Frankenstein only he recycled human parts [like transplants when you think about it.] Actually I always felt sorry for his creation and thought the real monsters were the villagers and the Dr. himself) to do our dangerous/dirty work for us. Figures. Again, I felt empathy and sorrow for Roy Batty. He wanted to survive, live and not be subservient, and isn’t that sort of what makes us sentient, knowing of our existence and fearing it’s end?