Splitting the Moon

Gervase of Canterbury was a twelfth-century English monk who lived from about 1141 to 1210.  He is best known as a historical chronicler, and wrote accounts of both the secular and ecclesiastical history of Britain, as well as producing quantities of maps showing the landholdings and bishoprics at the time.  Both of these have been of considerable value to scholars, and his writings are lucid, fact-based, and clear-eyed.

Which makes the other event he wrote about even more curious.

In June of the year 1178, Gervase says, some of the monks of the abbey were out on the lawn at twilight, enjoying a bit of leisure time in the pleasant warmth of early evening.  That was when they saw something astonishing:

[On the evening of June 18, 1178] after sunset when the Moon had first become visible, a marvelous phenomenon was witnessed by some five or more men...  Now there was a bright new Moon... its horns were tilted toward the east; and suddenly the upper horn split in two.  From the midpoint of the division a flaming torch sprang up, spewing out, over a considerable distance, fire, hot coals, and sparks.  Meanwhile the body of the Moon which was below writhed, as it were, in anxiety and to put it in the words of those who reported it to me and saw it with their own eyes, the Moon throbbed like a wounded snake.  Afterwards it resumed its proper state.  This phenomenon was repeated a dozen times or more, the flame assuming various twisting shapes at random and then returning to normal.  Then after these transformations the Moon from horn to horn, that is along its whole length, took on a blackish appearance.  The present writer was given this report by men who saw it with their own eyes, and are prepared to stake their honor on an oath that they have made no addition or falsification in the above narrative.

I first heard about this peculiar account almost exactly eight hundred years after it happened, on the episode of Carl Sagan's Cosmos called "Heaven and Hell."  Sagan's take on the story is that what Gervase wrote is substantially true; that despite the superstition of the time, he transcribed an unembellished record of what the other monks had seen.  Further, Sagan said, the survey work done on the Moon since that time found what may account for the odd event -- a 22-kilometer-wide recent crater just barely over the edge of the near-Earth side on the northeastern quadrant, named Giordano Bruno after the martyred sixteenth century astronomer.  What the monks witnessed was the meteorite impact that produced the crater, first creating a plume of molten rock and then scattering dark ash across the Moon's surface.  Interestingly, Giordano Bruno has rays of debris surrounding it, suggesting its recent origins:

[Image is in the Public Domain courtesy of NASA/JPL]

Further evidence supporting this conjecture is that laser rangefinding data shows that the Moon is oscillating slightly -- in Sagan's words, "ringing like a bell" -- at a frequency consistent with a meteor impact eight hundred years earlier.

Not everyone agrees with this interpretation, however.  Paul Withers, of the University of Arizona's Lunar and Planetary Laboratory, points out that such an impact would have accelerated much of the debris to escape velocity, and a significant quantity of it would have been pulled in by the Earth's more powerful gravitational field, triggering "blizzard-like meteor storms" with as many as fifty thousand meteors per hour for several days, perhaps up to a week.  No one recorded any such event.  Surely the meticulous Chinese and Korean astronomers of the time would have seen and written about such an unprecedented phenomenon.  In fact, nobody else on Earth we know of who was keeping records at the time even recorded witnessing the initial impact -- if impact it was.

Withers suggests a much more local, and prosaic, solution; what the monks of Canterbury saw was a bolide, a meteor that explodes in midair.  The most famous bolide is the Chelyabinsk meteor of February 2013, when an estimated eighteen meter long, nine thousand metric tonne chunk of rock exploded over the Russian town of Chelyabinsk, creating a tremendous fireball and shattering windows throughout the region.  The Canterbury event, Withers said, was a bolide over southeastern England that just happened to create its fireworks in front of the crescent Moon, which would explain why it wasn't seen elsewhere.

I'm not entirely happy with this explanation, either.  As Chelyabinsk illustrates, bolides are loud.  There is nothing in Gervase's account indicating that the Canterbury event made any sound at all.  Plus -- if you'll look at videos of the Chelyabinsk meteor (you can see a short clip at the page linked above) -- they move fast, leaving behind a bright streak.  Surely the monks of Canterbury had seen "shooting stars" many times before, and would have reported this not as a phenomenon on the Moon, but simply a humongous shooting star that exploded.

And finally, if it was a bolide, how could this account for the monks' statement that the paroxysms on the Moon were "repeated a dozen times or more"?

I'm still leaning toward the lunar impact explanation, myself, but I'm aware that it leaves plenty of unanswered questions.  It's a curious account, however you look at it.  We may never know for certain what happened, but even so, we're lucky that someone as clear-headed as Gervase of Canterbury was around during those dark and superstitious times to record an event that surely must have scared the absolute hell out of everyone who witnessed it.

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A sun with no size

When I was in college, the original series Cosmos, hosted by Cornell University astrophysicist Carl Sagan, aired for the first time.

I was absolutely captivated.  I'd been an astronomy buff since middle school.  I was given my own telescope as a birthday present when I was thirteen, and spent many a happy evening in my parents' front yard trying to find the cool-looking astronomical objects I found on the star maps I collected obsessively.  (This is when I first fell in love with the Pleiades -- still my favorite naked-eye star group -- and when I found out that these were recently-created stars, almost fifty times younger than the Sun, I thought that was so cool.  It wasn't until I took an astronomy course in college that I learned how astronomers knew this.)

But when Cosmos came on, it took my interest to a whole new level.  For the time, the special effects and animations were stunning.  The soundtrack was nothing short of brilliant (in fact, it was my first introduction to the music of Dmitri Shostakovich, who has been one of my top three favorite composers ever since).  Sagan's writing and delivery were captivating; like many people who've seen it, if you read quotes from the scripts, you'll hear them in Sagan's unmistakable voice.  I'm not the only one who responded this way; the wildly talented rapper Greydon Square's song "Galaxy Rise" from his album The Mandelbrot Set is a tribute to Sagan and American physicist Michio Kaku.  Square himself majored in physics in college and includes concepts from science in a great many of his songs.

There were a couple of moments, though, that stand out in my memory as being jaw-dropping.  One was the breathtaking animation of colliding galaxies -- all generated from then cutting-edge computer models -- in episode ten, "The Edge of Forever."  But one passage from episode nine, "The Lives of the Stars," impressed me so much that now, forty-two years later, I can very nearly quote it from memory:

There are three ways that stars die.  Their fates are predestined; everything depends on their initial mass.  A typical star with a mass like the Sun will one day continue its collapse until its density becomes very high, and then the contraction is stopped by the mutual repulsion of the overcrowded electrons in its interior.  A collapsing star twice as massive as the Sun isn't stopped by the electron pressure.  It goes on falling in on itself until nuclear forces come into play, and they hold up the weight of the star.  But a collapsing star three times as massive as the sun isn't stopped even by nuclear forces.  There's no force known that can withstand this enormous compression.  And such a star has an astonishing destiny: it continues to collapse until it vanishes utterly.

Each star is described by the force that holds it up against gravity.  A star that's supported by its gas pressure is a normal, run-of-the-mill star like the Sun.  A collapsed star that's held up by electron forces is called a white dwarf.  It's a sun shrunk to the size of the Earth.  A collapsed star supported by nuclear forces is called a neutron star.  It's a sun shrunk to the size of a city. And a star so massive that in its final collapse it disappears altogether is called a black hole.

It's a sun with no size at all.

I can't imagine hearing the last line and not being a little goggle-eyed.

Since Sagan's time, we've learned a great deal more, but by and large, his series still holds up pretty well.  In fact, three years ago astronomers captured the first-ever photograph of a black hole (visible because of the x-ray emission of matter spiraling down toward its event horizon).  And just last week a paper appeared in Physical Review Letters about an event of cataclysmic proportions -- the collision of two black holes.

The collision was detected because of gravitational waves -- ripples in the fabric of spacetime that propagate outward from accelerating masses at the speed of light.  Most gravitational waves are tiny, so it takes huge masses moving really fast to detect them here on Earth; but these were so enormous that they were picked up by two separate detectors (LIGO and Virgo) from 1.2 billion light years away.  Here's artist Aurore Simonnet's conception of what this would have looked like from (much) closer:

It's hard to describe this event without lapsing into superlatives.  One of the most amazing things about it is that apparently, there was an asymmetry in the production of gravitational waves, and that gave a kick to the (larger) black hole produced once they coalesced, because of Newton's Third Law.

Well, "kick" doesn't begin to describe it.  The recoil from this particular gun left the bullet traveling at 0.5% of the speed of light -- about 1,500 kilometers per second.  Imagine the force it would require to propel a mass that large at that speed.  (Remember that Sagan said black holes only form from stars with a minimum mass of three times that of the Sun.  Minimum.  And this was two of them put together.)

So that's our mind-blowing news from astronomy for today.  Even though I have (on some level) known about this stuff for more than four decades, I still can't help being left in awe by the grandeur and beauty of the universe we live in, and by what we continue to add to our body of knowledge about how it works.

I think Carl Sagan would be delighted.

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Guest post: Smaller than a dust mote

Today we're fortunate to feature a guest post by my friend, fellow blogger, and twin-separated-at-birth, Andrew Butters, whose blog Potato Chip Math is a must-read.  Like myself, Andrew is a devotee of astronomy, and here he'll take us on a voyage into deep space -- and give you a change of perspective you might never have considered.

Enjoy!

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I'll admit it, I'm a space nerd. I have been since high school and only got more intense when I started studying Applied Physics at university. There is a lot of weird science at the astronomical level and to comprehend it you have to wrap your head around concepts that you won't ever encounter in your daily life and then understand how to measure them. The two measurements that trip up just about everyone who hasn't studied them are time and distance. At an astronomical level those two things are astonishingly gigantic, so much so that to the average person they might as well have no meaning at all.

This is why, when I read a recent article on space.com, my mind, which studied this at a university level for several years, was sufficiently blown. Space.com does a decent job putting in lay terms what authors Linhua Jiang, Nobunari Kashikawa, Shu Wang, Gregory Walth, Luis C. Ho1, Zheng Cai, Eiichi Egami, Xiaohui Fan, Kei Ito, Yongming Liang, Daniel Schaerer, and Daniel P. Stark of the published article, "Evidence for GN-z11 as a luminous galaxy at redshift 10.957," explained in painstaking mathematical and scientific detail for the journal Nature Astronomy. I'll summarize it even further: space is fucking huge.

In the article, the authors prove rather conclusively that the farthest observable galaxy to date is a whopping 13.4 billion light years away. Don't let the word "years" in there fool you. A light year is a measure of distance and 13.4 billion of them are the equivalent of 127 nonillion kilometers (127,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 km). To put that into a different perspective, there are 3600 seconds in an hour, a million seconds is a little over 11.5 days, and a billion seconds is 31.7 years. What about 127 nonillion seconds? That's 4.25 x 10^22 centuries or roughly five orders of magnitude longer than the age of the Universe itself.

So, space is huge. So what? Well, for me, it puts my existence on this third rock spinning in circles around a rather average sun as part of a rather average galaxy into perspective. As with any good conversation on this topic, it’s probably a good idea to lead with a little Carl Sagan. Many of you have seen this picture before:

[NASA – Image in the public domain]

It was taken in 1990 by the Voyager I probe on February 14 at the request of Carl Sagan. It took a decade for the request to come to fruition, but after it did here’s what he had to say about it:

"We succeeded in taking that picture [from deep space], and, if you look at it, you see a dot. That’s here. That’s home. That’s us. On it, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever lived, lived out their lives. The aggregate of all our joys and sufferings, thousands of confident religions, ideologies and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilizations, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every hopeful child, every mother and father, every inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every superstar, every supreme leader, every saint and sinner in the history of our species, lived there on a mote of dust, suspended in a sunbeam.

"The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that in glory and in triumph they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of the dot on scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner of the dot. How frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds. Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the universe, are challenged by this point of pale light.

"Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. In our obscurity – in all this vastness – there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves. It is up to us. It’s been said that astronomy is a humbling, and I might add, a character-building experience. To my mind, there is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly and compassionately with one another and to preserve and cherish that pale blue dot, the only home we’ve ever known." — Carl Sagan, speech at Cornell University, October 13, 1994

To give you an idea of exactly how far away Voyager I was when it took that photograph, here’s a picture, though it’s not to scale. As we’ll see in a bit the scale of the Solar System, and indeed the Universe, is staggeringly massive.

Joe Haythornthwaite and Tom Ruen [CC BY-SA 4.0], from Wikimedia Commons

How far away is that? It’s far. I mean, really far. The Pale Blue Dot photograph was taken 6 billion kilometers away. Voyager 1 launched in September 1977 and traveled at an average speed of roughly 60,000 km/h, and it still took thirteen years for it to get that far away. Neptune, the most distant planet in the Solar System takes 165 years to make a single trip around the Sun. When Neptunians say, “Winter is coming,” and have a look of concern on their faces it’s for good reason.

What if the Moon were the size of a single pixel on your screen right now? It’s a cool exercise to ponder and it gives us a real sense of the vastness of our surroundings. In fact, someone thought it was so cool that they created a model for it. Spend a few minutes scrolling (and scrolling and scrolling and scrolling) through it.

If the Moon Were 1-Pixel

This is all well and good, but what about beyond our Solar System? We orbit but one star out of hundreds of billions in our galaxy alone and our galaxy is but one of trillions in the observable Universe. To get a sense of what lies immediately beyond our Sun there are a couple of really cool, interactive sites you can visit Our Stellar Neighborhood, http://stars.chromeexperiments.com/, which allows you to zoom and pan and view 100,000 of the nearest stars. Solar System Model, https://www.solarsystemscope.com/, is a similar tool, but this one has more features and also includes options to show spacecraft, constellations, dwarf planets, comets, and a lot more. Still, nothing we’ve seen so far gets us out of our galaxy, the Milky Way, at the center of which is a black hole.

What about beyond our galaxy? A few years ago, while pondering the vastness of the Universe, some smart person at NASA decided that they would take the Hubble Telescope and point it at a small square of nothingness to see what they could see. Suffice it to say they were not disappointed.

https://www.nasa.gov/mission_pages/hubble/science/xdf.html

Every bit of light you see in that picture is a galaxy. In each galaxy are hundreds of billions of stars. This picture represents only a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of the sphere of our night sky. To photograph the rest of it you would need to take another 12,913,983 pictures.

Which is all fine and dandy, but again, people have a hard time comprehending the scale. All of our reference points are too small and too slow. Fortunately, someone at NASA put together something that shows that even if you travel at the upper limit for speed – the speed of light – it takes a really long time to get anywhere. One could say that the speed of light in that respect is rather slow. Put another way, space is huge.

How long it takes for light to travel between the Earth and the Moon

How long it takes for light to travel between the Earth and Mars 

Finally, for anyone wondering where God and religion fit in, I will leave you with this (enlarge the photo when it loads and scroll): 

[Source link]

~ Andrew


Other Important and Interesting Links:

Ten Female Astronomers

Ten Inspiring Women in Science

Eight Free Science Resources

Levels of Infinity

Space Missions

Two Trillion Galaxies

LA to New York Earth Timeline

Exoplanet Orbits

A Virtual Universe

Daylight Map

ISS Payload Camera

Scale of Solar System & Universe

Black Hole Size Comparison

How Big is the Universe?

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This week's Skeptophilia book recommendation is apt given our recent focus on all things astronomical: Edward Brooke-Hitching's amazing The Sky Atlas.

This lovely book describes our history of trying to map out the heavens, from the earliest Chinese, Babylonian, and Native American drawings of planetary positions, constellations, and eclipses, to the modern mapping techniques that pinpoint the location of stars far too faint to see with the naked eye -- and objects that can't be seen directly at all, such as intergalactic dust clouds and black holes.  I've always loved maps, and this book combines that with my passion for astronomy into one brilliant volume.

It's also full of gorgeous illustrations showing not only the maps themselves but the astronomers who made them.  If you love looking up at the sky, or love maps, or both -- this one should be on your list for sure.

[Note: if you purchase this book using the image/link below, part of the proceeds goes to support Skeptophilia!]

Collision of galaxies

When I was an undergraduate at the University of Louisiana, I and several of my friends were blown away by the original series Cosmos, written and narrated by Carl Sagan.

Monday mornings, we gathered in the student lounge, eagerly discussing whatever mind-blowing filigree of physics had been the subject of that week's episode.  I still recall one of the ones that made the biggest impression on me -- the tenth episode, "The Edge of Forever," which included, among many other things, wonderful simulations of the motion of stars within a galaxy, and what happens when two galaxies collide.  (You can watch a clip of it here.)  The simulations were (at the time) state-of-the-art, and certainly enough to blow the mind of a sophomore physics student like myself; what struck me most was that galaxies aren't rigid, and their constituent stars don't "hang together," but move independently around the massive black hole at the galactic core.  This can settle down into a shape that seems pretty stable -- such as the spiral pattern of the Milky Way -- or it can destabilize, flinging stars out into space, exploding the galaxy and scattering its pieces across hundreds of thousands of light years.

Sagan, of course, put it best: "A galaxy is a fluid made of a billion suns, all bound together by gravity."

When galaxies collide, it disrupts both completely; at the same time, collisions between the stars themselves are extremely uncommon.  However big the stars are, they're still minuscule with respect to the galaxies that contain them.  It's like the atoms writ large, isn't it?  The seemingly solid matter around you is made up of tiny charged particles interacting through the force of electromagnetism, but in between those particles is... nothing.  Matter is mostly empty space, and only seems solid because you're feeling the mutual repulsion of the electrons in your fingers and the electrons on the surface of whatever you're touching.  Likewise, most of interstellar space is very close to nothing, and the galaxies themselves are made up of particles (stars) interacting through a different force (gravity), and separated by vast, empty voids.

Makes you almost think that the pagans might have been on to something with their dictum of "As above, so below."

Map of the Milky Way, as it would look from above the galactic disk [Image licensed under the Creative Commons 鄭興武和馬克 裡德（Mark J. Reid）銀河系棒和旋臂結構遺產性巡天(BeSSeL)項目組/南京大學/哈佛-斯密松天體物理中心., Milky Way large, CC BY-SA 4.0]

This topic, and my reminiscences of Cosmos, come up because of a paper in Nature Astronomy last week called "Evidence for a Vast Prograde Stellar Stream in the Solar Vicinity," by a team led by astronomer Lina Necib of the California Institute of Technology.  What this paper tells us is something stunning; there is a streamer of stars in the Milky Way that started out somewhere else, and collided with our galaxy.  Rather fortunately, apparently the angle and velocity with which the streamer hit were more or less the same direction the original galaxy was turning, so these stars simply got sucked in, like some bits of debris going down a whirlpool.

The streamer has been named Nyx, after the Greek goddess of the night.  250 stars have been identified as being part of Nyx.  "The two possible explanations here are that they are the remnants of a [galactic] merger, or that they are disk stars that got shaken into their new orbits because of a collision with the disk of the Milky Way," said study lead author Lina Necib, in an interview with CNN.  The likelihood, though, is the former, something that is expected to be confirmed by chemical analysis of the constituent stars.  "Galaxies form by swallowing other galaxies," Necib said. "We've assumed that the Milky Way had a quiet merger history, and for a while it was concerning how quiet it was because our simulations show a lot of mergers.  Now, we understand it wasn't as quiet as it seemed.  We're at the beginning stages of being able to really understand the formation of the Milky Way."

I think it's stunning that we can figure out this sort of thing at all -- that 250 out of the estimated 250 billion stars in the Milky Way started out somewhere else in the universe.  I think that's pretty damn impressive.  "This particular structure is very interesting because it would have been very difficult to see without machine learning," Necib said.  "I think we reached a point in astronomy where we are not data limited anymore.  This project is an example of something that would have not been possible a few years ago, the culmination of developments in data with Gaia, high resolution simulations, and machine learning methods."

How pleased and amazed Carl Sagan would have been.  He went a long way toward bringing the wonders of the universe, from the largest scales to the smallest, to laypeople.  He certainly blew the minds of me and my friends, and that was back in 1980.  Necib's comment, that we're still at the beginning of being able to understand the formation of galaxies, tells us that we have a long way still to go -- and that many, many more eye-opening discoveries are sure to come our way in the next years.

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This week's Skeptophilia book of the week is for anyone fascinated with astronomy and the possibility of extraterrestrial life: The Sirens of Mars: Searching for Life on Another World, by Sarah Stewart Johnson.

Johnson is a planetary scientist at Georgetown University, and is also a hell of a writer.  In this book, she describes her personal path to becoming a respected scientist, and the broader search for life on Mars -- starting with simulations in the most hostile environments on Earth, such as the dry valleys of central Antarctica and the salt flats of Australia, and eventually leading to analysis of data from the Mars rovers, looking for any trace of living things past or present.

It's a beautifully-told story, and the whole endeavor is tremendously exciting.  If, like me, you look up at the night sky with awe, and wonder if there's anyone up there looking back your way, then Johnson's book should be on your reading list.

[Note: if you purchase this book using the image/link below, part of the proceeds goes to support Skeptophilia!]

Dark clouds

I still remember when I was about twenty years old, and I first heard about Carl Sagan's proposal to terraform Venus.

On first glance, this is a crazy idea.  Venus brings new meaning to the word "inhospitable."  Its average surface temperature is 462 C.  The atmosphere is mostly carbon dioxide, which is denser than Earth's air, so the pressures at the surface are immense.  (It's the density and composition of the atmosphere that's why early photographs taken by probes on Venus's surface looked warped, as if the probe were sitting at the base of a bowl; the refraction of what light makes it to the surface caused optical distortion.)  If being inside a pressure cooker isn't bad enough, its dense clouds are largely composed of sulfuric acid.

As Sagan himself said, "Venus is very much like hell."

But Sagan was an amazingly creative thinker, and he came up with a proposal for reworking the atmosphere and, possibly, making it livable for Earthlings.  He suggested detonating a rocket carrying a cargo of cyanobacteria in its upper atmosphere, dispersing them into the clouds.  Cyanobacteria are primitive photosynthetic single-celled life forms, and Sagan's idea was that the updrafts would keep at least some of them aloft.  As they tumbled about in the (relatively) temperate clouds, they'd photosynthesize, consuming some of the atmosphere's carbon dioxide and releasing oxygen gas as a waste product.

The idea is that the aerial microbes would multiply, and although some would inevitably sink low enough to fry, enough would stay up in the clouds to steadily drop the carbon dioxide content of the atmosphere.  Less carbon dioxide, less greenhouse effect; less greenhouse effect, lower temperature.  Once the cloud temperature dropped below 100 C, water vapor would condense, and it would rain out the sulfuric acid.

Far-fetched, perhaps, especially for its time.  But it was an exciting enough proposal that I recall discussing it eagerly with my college friends and fellow science nerds.

This all comes up because of a peculiar observation of Venus made recently, by teams at the Center for Astronomy and Astrophysics at the Technical University of Berlin, the University of Wisconsin-Madison, and the Japan Aerospace Exploration Agency.  What they've seen is that there are clouds of "unknown absorbers" darkening the upper atmosphere of the planet in patches -- enough to affect the weather.

A composite image of theVenus, using data from the Japanese probe Akatsuki.  [Image courtesy of the Institute of Space and Astronautical Science/Japan Aerospace Exploration Agency]

And there are astronomers who think these "unknown absorbers" are not the products of exotic Venusian chemical reactions -- but are airborne single-celled life forms.

"It is hard to conceive of what would cause a change in the [planet's] albedo without a change in the absorbers," said Sanjay Limaye, planetary scientist at the University of Wisconsin-Madison and co-author of a paper last week in The Astronomical Journal that seriously considered the possibility of the absorbers being life forms.  "Since there are few species which have physical, chemical and spectral properties that are consistent with the composition of the Venus clouds, they may have evolved independently on Venus."

The researchers are up front that extraterrestrial microbes are just one possible explanation of the peculiar darkening of the skies, which occurs with an odd periodicity along with an overall decrease in albedo since measurements started in 2006.  It may turn out to be simply a chemical reaction -- still the most likely explanation for the gas output from search-for-life experiments by the Mars landers -- but the fact that scientists are even considering the microbe hypothesis is encouraging and exciting.

Whichever it turns out to be, it seems fitting to end with another quote by Sagan: "Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known."

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This week's Skeptophilia book recommendation is a classic: James Loewen's Lies My Teacher Told Me.  Loewen's work is an indictment not specifically of the educational system, but of our culture's determination to sanitize our own history and present our historical figures as if they were pristine pillars of virtue.

The reality is -- as reality always is -- more complex and more interesting.  The leaders of the past were human, and ran the gamut of praiseworthiness.  Some had their sordid sides.  Some were a strange mix of admirable and reprehensible.  But what is certain is that we're not doing our children, nor ourselves, any favors by rewriting history to make America and Americans look faultless.  We owe our citizens the duty of being honest, even about the parts of history that we'd rather not admit to.

[Note: if you purchase this book using the image/link below, part of the proceeds goes to support Skeptophilia!]

Piercing the clouds

One of the most unusual stories that H. P. Lovecraft ever wrote is "In the Walls of Eryx."  It isn't the usual soul-sucking eldritch nightmares from the bubbling chaos at the center of the universe; in fact, it's his only real science fiction story.  It centers around a human colony on Venus, devoted to mining a kind of crystal that can be used for propulsion.  There's an intelligent native species -- reptilian in appearance -- who was content to let the humans bump around in their space suits (Lovecraft at least got right that the atmosphere would be toxic to humans) until the humans started killing them.  At that point, they started fighting back -- and setting traps.

The story centers around a crystal hunter who is out on an expedition and sees a huge crystal in the hands of a (human) skeleton.  He goes toward it, and bumps into an unseen obstacle -- completely transparent walls, slick (and therefore unclimbable) and twelve feet tall (so unjumpable).  The problem is, when he tries to back out, he's already moved around a bit, and doesn't retrace his steps perfectly.

Then he runs into another wall.

What's happened is that he's stumbled into an invisible labyrinth.  And how do you find your way out of a maze if you can't see it?  You'll just have to read it.  It's only a dozen or so pages long, and is one of the neatest (and darkest) puzzle-box stories you'll ever pick up.

It's been known since Lovecraft's time ("In the Walls of Eryx" was written in 1936) that Venus was covered by clouds, and its surface was invisible from Earth.  Of course, a solid mantle of clouds creates a mystery about what's underneath, and speculation ran wild.  We have Lovecraft's partially-correct solution -- a dense, toxic atmosphere.  Carl Sagan amusingly summed up some of the early thinking on Venus in the episode "Heaven and Hell" from his groundbreaking series Cosmos: "I can't see a thing on the surface of Venus.  Why not?  Because it's covered with a dense layer of clouds.  Well, what are clouds made of?  Water, of course.  Therefore, Venus must have an awful lot of water on it.  Therefore, the surface must be wet.  Well, if the surface is wet, it's probably a swamp.  If there's a swamp, there's ferns.  If there's ferns, maybe there's even dinosaurs...  Observation: I can't see anything.  Conclusion: dinosaurs."

Of course, reputable scientists didn't jump to these kinds of crazy pseudo-inferences.  As Neil deGrasse Tyson points out, "If you don't know, then that's where your conversation should stop.  You don't then say that it must be anything."  (Perhaps not a coincidence that Tyson was the host of the reboot of Cosmos that appeared two years ago.)

The first hint that Venus was not some lush tropical rain forest came in the late 1950s, when it was discovered that there was electromagnetic radiation coming from Venus that only made sense if the surface was extremely hot -- far higher than the boiling point of water.  This was confirmed when the Soviet probe Venera 9 landed on the surface, and survived for 127 minutes before its internal circuitry fried.

In fact, saying it's "hot" is an understatement of significant proportions.  The average surface temperature is 450 C -- 350 degrees higher than the boiling point of water, and hot enough to melt lead.  The atmosphere is 96.5% carbon dioxide (compared to 0.04% in the Earth's atmosphere), causing a runaway greenhouse effect.  Most of the other 3.5% is nitrogen, water vapor, and sulfur dioxide -- the latter being the rotten-egg chemical that, when mixed with water, creates sulfuric acid.

Yeah.  Not such a hospitable place.  Even for crystal-loving intelligent reptiles.

Photograph from the surface of Venus [Image is in the Public Domain, courtesy of NASA/JPL]

But there's still a lot we don't know about it, which is why at the meeting last fall of the American Geophysical Union, there was a proposal to send a probe to our nearest neighbor.  But this was a probe with a difference; it would be attached to a balloon, which would keep it aloft, perhaps indefinitely given the planet's horrific convection currents.  From there, we could not only get photographs, but more accurate data on the atmospheric chemistry, and possibly another thing as well.

One of the things we don't know much about is the tectonics of the planet's surface.  There are clearly a lot of volcanoes -- unsurprising given how hot it is from other causes -- but whether the crust is shifting around the way it does on Earth is not known.  One way to find out would be looking for "venusquakes" -- signs that the crust was unstable.  But how to find that out when probes on the surface either melt or get dissolved by the superheated sulfuric acid?

The cool suggestion was that because of the atmosphere's density, it might be "coupled" to the surface.  So if something shook the surface -- a venusquake or volcanic eruption -- those waves might be transferred to the atmosphere.  (This effect is insignificant on Earth because our atmosphere is far, far less dense.)  Think of a plate with a slab of jello on it -- if you shake the plate, the vibrations are transferred into the jello because the whole thing is more or less stuck together, so the surface of the jello wobbles in resonance.

An airborne probe might be able to tell us something about Venus's geology, which is pretty awesome.  It appeals not only to my fascination with astronomy, but my love of a good mystery, which the second planet definitely is.

So I hope this project gets off the ground, both literally and figuratively.  Even if it's unlikely to detect anything living -- reptilian or not -- we could learn a great deal about what happens when the carbon dioxide levels start undergoing a positive feedback.

A scenario we all would like very much not to repeat here at home.

***********************************

This week's Skeptophilia book recommendation is a tour-de-force for anyone who is interested in biology -- Richard Dawkins's The Ancestor's Tale.  Dawkins uses the metaphoric framework of The Canterbury Tales to take a walk back into the past, where various travelers meet up along the way and tell their stories.  He starts with humans -- although takes great pains to emphasize that this is an arbitrary and anthropocentric choice -- and shows how other lineages meet up with ours.  First the great apes, then the monkeys, then gibbons, then lemurs, then various other mammals -- and on and on back until we reach LUCA, the "last universal common ancestor" to all life on Earth.

Dawkins's signature lucid, conversational style makes this anything but a dry read, but you will come away with a far deeper understanding of the interrelationships of our fellow Earthlings, and a greater appreciation for how powerful the evolutionary model actually is.  If I had to recommend one and only one book on the subject of biology for any science-minded person to read, The Ancestor's Tale would be it.

[If you purchase the book from Amazon using the image/link below, part of the proceeds goes to supporting Skeptophilia!]

Bring on the documentaries

I was in my junior year of college when Carl Sagan's Cosmos first aired.  I, and several of my friends, were absolutely riveted.  After each episode we'd eagerly discuss what we'd learned, what amazing stuff about the universe Dr. Sagan had expounded upon.  I was blown away both by the visual artistry (although it looks antiquated today, back in 1980 it was seriously impressive), and by the music, which was and is absolutely stunning.

[image courtesy of the Wikimedia Commons]

I also remember, however, the backlash Sagan himself received from other scientists.  He was derided as a "popularizer," scorned as someone who presented pretty pictures and watered down, common-language analogies rather than actual hard science.

I thought this was pretty mean-spirited, but I didn't realize how common that perception was in the scientific world.  Four years later, as a graduate student in oceanography at the University of Washington, I found out that there was really only one pair of words that was considered so vulgar that no one was allowed to utter it: "Jacques Cousteau."  Cousteau was an object of derision, not a "real scientist" at all, just a guy who spoke in a cheesy French accent and liked to get filmed while scuba diving.  In fact, my adviser once told me that he made a point of never accepting a graduate student who mentioned Cousteau's name in their interview.

So this irritation with people who make science accessible to the layperson runs deep, although I have to hope that this is changing, with a few truly first-rate scientists writing books to bring the latest research to the masses (Stephen Hawking, Sean Carroll, Brian Greene, Kip Thorne, Roger Penrose, Lee Smolin, and Lawrence Kraus come to mind).

It's a good thing.  Because to judge from a piece of research published this week in Advances in Political Psychology, there's more to be gained from popularizing science than just encouraging children to pursue science as a career; fostering a fundamental curiosity about nature is essential to eradicating biased thinking across the board.

Called "Science Curiosity and Political Information Processing," the paper, written by Dan Kahan of Yale University et al., looks at how best to move people from leaning on their own preconceived notions to evaluating the strength of claims based on evidence.  The research looked at how watching science documentaries engenders a curiosity about how the world works, and correlates with a lower likelihood of biases in arguments on subjects like anthropogenic climate change.

Kahan spoke with Chris Mooney, science writer over at The Washington Post, and explained what the research by his team had shown.  "It just so happened that, when we looked at the characteristics of [people who watch science documentaries], they seemed to be distinct politically," Kahan said.  "They stood out by being, as a group, less likely to feed the current polarization of political opinion on scientific matters such as climate change.  The data we’ve collected furnish a strong basis for viewing science curiosity as an important individual difference in cognitive style that interacts in a distinctive way with political information processing."

The most fascinating part of the research is that the difference doesn't seem to be related to scientific training, but scientific curiosity.  Having established a scale for measuring curiosity, Kahan et al. looked at both liberals and conservatives and assessed them for biased thinking.  Mooney writes:

Armed with the scientific curiosity scale, Kahan’s new study first demonstrated that while liberal Democrats and conservative Republicans with higher levels of proficiency in scientific thinking (which he calls “ordinary science intelligence”) tend to become more polarized and divided over the scientifically supported risks involved in both climate change and fracking, Democrats and Republicans with higher levels of science curiosity don’t.  Rather, for both groups, the more curious they are, the more their perceptions of the risks tend to increase...  [T]he study also contained an experiment, demonstrating that being possessed of heightened levels of scientific curiosity appeared to make political partisans more likely to read scientific information that went against their predilections.

The final statement is, to me, the most important.  An absolutely critical feature of the scientific view of the world is the ability to continually question one's base assumptions, and to look at the data with a skeptical eye.  And I am not using the word "skeptical" to mean "doubting," the way you hear people talk about "climate change skeptics" (a phrase that makes my skin crawl; no actual skeptic could consider the evidence about climate change questionable).  I am using "skeptical" in its literal sense, which means giving a rigorous look at the data from every angle, considering what it's telling you and examining the meaning of any trends that you happen to observe.  Which, of course, means entertaining the possibility that your prior understanding may be incorrect.  To me, there is no better indication of a truly scientific mind than when someone says, "Well, after examining the evidence, turns out I was wrong about that after all."

So we should be thankful for the popularizers, who follow in a long tradition of work by such greats as Sagan and Richard Feynman.  Children need to have their curiosity about the universe piqued early, and the flames fanned further by watching cool science shows that open their eyes to what a fascinating place we live in.  Think about what it would be like if we had a nation full of people who were committed to looking at the world through the lenses of evidence, logic, and critical thinking instead of prejudice and stubborn adherence to their own biases.

It's a nice possibility to think about, isn't it?

Chemtrails on Venus

Yesterday a loyal reader of Skeptophilia, and frequent contributors of topics thereto, sent me a link with the note, "Nothing like explaining one crazy idea using another crazy idea, is there?"

The link brought me to a page on Above Top Secret entitled "A Possible Reason for Chemtrails: A Form of Galactic Protection?" in which we learn that the government might have a positive reason for chemtrailing the absolute hell out of all of us.

They are trying to create a screen to shield us from the sensors of alien spaceships that intend to destroy all life on Earth.

At this point, you're probably already facepalming.  But in the words of the 1980s infomercials -- "Wait, there's MORE!"

How does the author know that this is possible?  Because that's what happened to Venus:

'Under all those sulfuric clouds [on Venus] there is a whole ecosystem'...  [W]hat if it's possible that there IS and ecosystem under those clouds, but not just an ecosystem; a whole civilization!

What I am getting at is what if the reason that the TPTB (or whatever you'd like to call them) are spraying chemtrails is to create a layer of atmosphere that will constantly reflect sunlight (When viewed from the outside of our atmosphere) hence making us look as bright as Venus at the moment. This in turn will hide us from any alien predators IF there are any lurking out there looking for a place to conquer and devour. 

Of course, there's just one teensy problem with this idea, besides making me wonder if the author's skull is filled with PopRocks.  And that is that the temperature on Venus is so high that the first probes to land there got fried.  To quote Universe Today:

There are many geophysical similarities between Venus and the Earth. Average temperature is not one of them. Where the Earth has an average surface temperature of 14 degrees Celsius, the average temperature of Venus is 460 degrees Celsius. That is 410 degrees hotter than the hottest deserts on our planet...  The atmosphere has made visual observation impossible. It contains sulfuric acid clouds in addition to the carbon dioxide. These clouds are highly reflective of visible light, preventing optical observation. Probes have been sent to the surface, but can only survive a few hours in the intense heat and sulfuric acid.

So our alleged "ecosystem and civilization" down there would be a little on the toasty side.

The whole thing reminds me of one of the funniest moments on the wonderful 1970s science series Cosmos, written and hosted by Carl Sagan, in which he describes an earlier set of "inferences" (if I can dignify them by that term) about what might be on Venus:

I can't see a thing on the surface of Venus. Why not? Because it's covered with a dense layer of clouds. Well, what are clouds made of? Water, of course. Therefore, Venus must have an awful lot of water on it. Therefore, the surface must be wet. Well, if the surface is wet, it's probably a swamp. If there's a swamp, there's ferns. If there's ferns, maybe there's even dinosaurs.

Observation: we can't see a thing on Venus.  Conclusion: dinosaurs.

Unfortunately, there are still a lot of people who think this way, and with a small amount of digging, I found that there are still apparently folks who believe that there are aliens down there under the clouds on Venus.  Here's an excerpt of a "top secret file" I found, which I know is top secret because it says so at the top of the page, and which is so incredibly secret that you can find it with a thirty-second Google search using the keywords "Venus civilization:"

UFOlogia Top Secret File
TOP SECRET FILE

FORM INFRA D.I.P. PROJECT MARXEN UF088

EVIDENCE OF CIVILIZATION ON VENUS


It is scientifically possible for material plane beings to live in an atmosphere on another planet, that is too hot or chemically fatal to Earth humans, by constructing underground air-conditioned bases or cities protected from the elements on the surface. It is also feasible to create air---conditioned domes on the surface of other planets that have artificial atmospheres exactly like on Earth, and American scientists admit they already have the technology and plans to create these bases on Mars and our Moon. Therefore extraterrestrials with the superior technology to create disc--shaped U.F.O.s, that are detailed in dozens of photos and documents in the U.S. Air Force released Project Bluebook files, could logically possess the advanced science to create such bases on the surface of the planet Venus.

The physicists William Plummer and John Strong stated that Venus may have large areas of bearable temperatures. The regions near the Venusian north and south poles would be much cooler than the areas reportedly monitored by space probes. Furthermore, according to Professor Alexander Lebedinsky, in the Soviet Union, in data suppressed by the United States Pentagon complex, the usual surface temperature of much of Venus must be about 110 degrees Fahrenheit, even though "radio---electric" measurements indicated 700 or more degrees. Similar observations can be made on the relatively COOL surfaces of gas tubes used in neon signs, because the radio--electric equivalent of those tubes is also several thousand degrees! 

Yuppers.  There you have it.  The Venera, Mariner, and Magellan probes, which sent back photographs from Venus's surface, just accidentally landed over and over on Venusian neon signs, and it confused the sensors.   Never mind that every single photograph they took looked like this:

So whatever "civilization" the Venusian chemtrail-cloud-anti-alien-shields are there to protect must not mind being red hot and swimming around in liquified rock.

On a more somber note, I hope that there's not a grain of truth to all of this nonsense -- that what we are currently doing to the atmosphere, in the form of excessive fossil fuel use, might not generate a runaway greenhouse effect.  In the same episode of Cosmos that Sagan quipped about dinosaurs, he threw in his own cautionary note -- that the reason Venus is so hot is only partially its greater proximity to the Sun.  It is largely due to the huge amount of carbon dioxide in its atmosphere.  So while the author of our original webpage perhaps didn't intend it, there's a way in which there is a connection -- enough injection of carbon dioxide into our atmosphere, via the burning of hydrocarbons like jet fuel, and we might well raise the surface temperatures out of the narrow range in which carbon-based life is possible, altering our Earth into a planet like Venus -- a place that, to once again quote Sagan, "is very much like hell."

Welcome to the Earth! Now go home.

Given my habit of poking fun at the aliens-and-UFOs crowd, it may come as a surprise to you that I think it's very likely that there's intelligent life elsewhere in the universe.  I find the possibility breathtakingly cool -- to think that there are alien organisms out there, on a planet around another star, perhaps looking up into their night sky and wondering the same thing as we do, hoping that they're not alone in the universe.

It really seems pretty routine, forming life.  Many, perhaps most, stars have a planetary system of some kind, a significant fraction of those are small, rocky worlds like the Earth, and the basic building blocks of organic chemistry -- water, and compounds containing carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, sulfur, and phosphorus -- appear to be abundant.  Once you have those, and some range of temperatures that allows water to be in the liquid state, organic compounds can be created, abiotically, in large quantities.  The first cell-like structures would probably appear post-haste once there are sufficient raw materials.

After that, evolution takes over, and it's only a matter of time.

The thing that fires the imagination most, of course, is contact with an alien race, a possibility that has driven science fiction writers for a hundred years.  The result has varied from the dreamy, benevolent, childlike aliens of Close Encounters of the Third Kind to the horrific killing machines of Alien and Starship Troopers, and everything in between.

The fact is, we don't know anything about what results evolution would have on a different planet.  A few features seem logical as drivers for any evolutionary lineage, anywhere -- having some means of propulsion; having a centralized information-processing organ; having sensory organs near the mouth, and basically pointed in the direction the organism is moving.  It's a little hard to imagine those not being common features for most species, no matter where they originated.

But other than that, they could look like damn near anything.  And how they might perceive the world, how they might think -- and more germane to our discussion, how they might look at us, should we run into one another -- is entirely uncertain.

This is why physicist Stephen Hawking raised some eyebrows a couple of years ago when he said that we should be afraid of alien contact.  In an interview, he said, "We only have to look at ourselves to see how intelligent life might develop into something we wouldn't want to meet.  I imagine they might exist in massive ships, having used up all the resources from their home planet.  Such advanced aliens would perhaps become nomads, looking to conquer and colonise whatever planets they can reach.  If aliens ever visit us, I think the outcome would be much as when Christopher Columbus first landed in America, which didn't turn out very well for the Native Americans."

Hawking isn't the only one who is worried.  In his wonderful book Bad Habits, humor writer Dave Barry also weighed in on the topic when he found out that we had sent what amounts to a welcome message on the exploratory spacecraft Pioneer 10:

 Dave Barry thinks that the plaque, which was the idea of the late great astronomer Carl Sagan, was a colossally bad idea:

(W)hen they decided to send up Pioneer 10, Carl sold the government on the idea that we should attach a plaque to it, so that if the aliens found it they'd be able to locate the Earth.  This is easily the stupidest idea a scientific genius ever sold to the government...  (I)t's all well and good for Carl Sagan to talk about how neat it would be to get in touch with the aliens, but I bet he'd change his mind pronto if they actually started oozing under his front door.  I bet he'd be whapping at them with his golf clubs just like the rest of us.

Dave Barry even thought the choice of the art work on the plaque was ill-advised:

(The plaque) features drawings of... a hydrogen atom and naked people.  To represent the entire Earth!  This is crazy!  Walk the streets of any town on the planet, and the two things you will almost never see are hydrogen atoms and naked people.  Plus, the man on the plaque is clearly deranged.  He's cheerfully waving his arm as if to say, 'Hi!  Look at me!  I'm naked as a jaybird!'  The woman is not waving, because she's clearly embarrassed.  She wishes she'd never let the man talk her into posing naked for this plaque.

Well, for those of you who agree with Stephen Hawking and Dave Barry, let me tell you about something that may allay your fears.

A new Kickstarter project has begun called Your Face in Space, which has as its goal (if they can raise sufficient funds) saving the Earth from alien invasion by launching a satellite into space with a bunch of pictures of people making angry faces.  It will be an "awesome scary satellite," the website proclaims.  "Something that will make aliens think twice about invading us."  They're asking people to send them money, and also jpegs of themselves making mean faces.  (The website has a selection of some of the best they've received thus far.)  Plus, they've reworked the Pioneer 10 plaque into something more, um, off-putting to potential alien conquistadors:

Yes, the woman is wearing a horned Viking helmet and is holding nunchucks, the man has a bandanna, a Rambo vest with no shirt, a machine gun, and a "flying-V" electric guitar, and they're standing on top of a bunch of dead aliens.

And the American eagle is taking down a spaceship by shooting laser beams out of its eyes.

Well, if that doesn't dissuade the aliens from invading Earth, I don't know what would.

So, anyway, as much as I would love to find evidence of alien life, and even have them contact humanity, have to admit that I sympathize with the worries that Hawking, Barry, and the originators of the Your Face in Space project have voiced.  While I would find it incredibly exciting to meet an alien race, I draw the line at letting them land their spaceship in my back yard and use their ray guns to vaporize my pets.  So maybe the Kickstarter project is a good idea.  In any case, I encourage you to donate to their project, or at least send them your photograph making a scary face.

You can't be too careful.

Two views of the world

A couple of days ago, I got an email from a reader that was long enough that I won't include the whole thing here, but the gist of it was that I was a narrow-minded stick-in-the-mud old git who was willfully blinding himself to the majesty of the universe because I was determined to hang on to my dusty, provincial scientific view of things.  Here's the end of the email:

You think you have everything explained, but here's the funny thing: you're wearing blinders and you don't even know it.  You see the little bit that's right in front of you, what's under your microscope, and you believe you know it all.  But you're missing out on most of what our awesome universe has to say.  I've read some of your writing and I have to say that I'm probably not going to convince you, but I felt moved to write to you and maybe my words will create a tiny crack in your armor - and through that crack, some light might leak through.

Well, first, I don't think I have everything explained.  You seem to be confusing me with religious people.  The scientific view is constantly expanding, constantly breaking new ground -- and constantly revising what we thought we understood, when new data is uncovered.  In other words: science both grows and self-corrects.  So, in one sense, you're right; there is a lot of stuff out there that science hasn't reached yet.  If there weren't, scientists would be out of a job.

But then, to cap it off, the writer ends with:

I am sending along some websites that may help you in your journey, as they helped me.  I would encourage you to read them open-minded, and not immediately dismiss what these Teachers have to say.  You may be surprised at what you learn.

And the first website was an article by none other than our friend, Skeptophilia frequent flyer...

... Diane Tessman.

Yes, Diane Tessman, the woman who believes that clouds aren't big old piles of water droplets -- they're camouflage deliberately created by UFOs.   The woman who believes that quantum entanglement explains love and the Higgs boson proves the existence of god.  The woman who believes that we should stop hydrofracking because it's pissing off a super-intelligent being called the "God Cloud," and instead just work on developing anti-gravity devices.  The woman who thinks she is being guided by an extraterrestrial agency called "Tibus."

So.  Yeah.  To be fair, I had to read the article the email writer recommended, and it's a doozie.  Called "Is There A Place Called Other-Earth Composed of Dark Matter and Dark Plasma?", this pinnacle of scientific research includes passages such as the following:

There are growing alarm bells and/or utter wonderment in theoretical physics that dark matter could have nurtured and evolved life, just as visible matter on Earth has done. No one knows at this point if beings of Other-Earth might be able to perceive us. Have they always been aware of us visible folk? Do they even have eyes? I am getting ahead of myself.

Actually, no, Ms. Tessman, no theoretical physicist I've ever heard of has any such "wonderment."  Dark matter has still yet to be detected, and whatever it is, it seems not to interact much with anything.  So an entire freakin' planet made of it, with living things and eyes and everything, is kind of beyond the scope of science at the moment.

She ends the article with a few questions:

Might parallel Dark Earth be the world of the after-life?

Do dark plasma beings form symbiotic, even spiritual relationships with counterpart humans? Might they guide the consciousness of a human after death? Might they be our elusive angels?

Are some Other-Earth beings evil or at least cold scientists who might abduct and capture a “dense being” for an hour?

Is this the source of Jinns? These illusive life-forms have always been thought to be from “ultra-terrestrial Earth.” Jinns and ghosts are thought to pass through walls, being less-dense molecularly than we are. UFOs blink out of existence; do they return simply to Other-Earth?

Is Other-Earth the source of space and atmospheric critters and bright colored orbs which sometimes have a translucent quality?

Do our dark cousins read our thought vibrations as they come closer, and thus become what we can understand? In other words, do they “arrive” as a ball of plasma and become an angel, ghost, or UFO for our perception and benefit? 

So, let me get this straight: you postulate a planet that no one has ever seen, made of a type of matter no one has yet detected, and you're using it to explain phenomena for which there is no scientific evidence?  That's like my claiming that there are no ghosts in my house because they were all chased off by a magic invisible unicorn, and expecting people not to come after me with horse tranquilizers.

Okay, maybe I'm being closed-minded, as the individual who emailed me said, but it seems to me that to swallow this stuff you'd have to be open-minded to the extent that your brains fell out.

So, anyway.  Sorry to say, Writer-of-the-Anonymous-Email, but you're right; I'm not shifting my stance.  Science remains our best way of knowing the universe -- maybe the only way.  My evidence: it works.  As far as Diane Tessman and others like her, what it seems to me is that they're just really good at making shit up, and peppering it here and there with science-y words to give it some legitimacy in the eyes of people who can't be bothered to learn the actual science.  Let me just end with a recommendation to any of you who are swayed by such fuzzy, non-scientific views of the world, who think that these views are somehow grander and more beautiful than what science has to offer; do yourself a favor, and sign up for a college-level class in real science.  Find out how dazzling, how awe-inspiring, the world actually is.  Then, and only then, compare the two views, and see which is more appealing -- to invent pleasant-sounding falsehoods and convince yourself that they are true, or to learn the rules by which the universe actually operates.  I'll just end with a quote from Sagan: