Aurora stellaris

Today's topic falls into the category of "The More You Think About It, The Weirder It Gets," and comes to us courtesy of my writer friend Andrew Butters.

Before I get to the meat and potatoes of the story, two bits of background.

Auroras occur because of the solar wind, a powerful stream of particles (chiefly electrons and protons) emitted from the upper atmosphere of the Sun.  When they strike the Earth's upper atmosphere and interact with the various molecules in the air, this has the effect of exciting the electrons in the molecules (bouncing them to higher energy levels), and when those electrons fall back into the ground state, they emit the extra energy as light.  Because of the quantization of energy levels, each color (frequency) is associated with a particular transition in a particular element -- the commonest are reds and greens (from oxygen) and blues (from nitrogen).

Auroras on Earth are most often seen in high latitudes because of the shape of the Earth's magnetic field.  The slope of the magnetic field lines increases the closer you get to the poles, so at high latitudes it acts a bit like a funnel, creating spectacular displays in the Arctic and Antarctic regions.

Despite the fact that I feel like I feel like I live in the Frozen North (especially at this time of year), I've only ever gotten to see the auroras once.  It was about ten years ago, and we heard there was a solar storm and the "Northern Lights" were going to be seen a lot farther south than usual.  That night it was supposed to be crystal-clear -- also an unusual occurrence in this cloudy climate -- so once it was dark, my wife and I went across the street into the neighbor's field and watched for a while, with disappointing results of the "Is that a flicker?  I think that's a flicker" sort.

At some point my wife, who is clearly the brains of the operation, realized that we were looking for the Northern Lights, but we were facing south.  In our defense, there were fewer trees obstructing the sky in that direction, but it's still a little like the guy who was searching around the kitchen floor for his contact lens, and his wife joined him, but the two of them couldn't find it.  She finally said, "Are you sure you dropped it in the kitchen?"  And he responded, "No, I dropped it in the bathroom, but the light is better in here."

In any case, we turned around to the north...

.... and wow.

Over our rooftop and beyond the branches of the walnut trees was a light show like I've never seen before -- shifting curtains of green luminescence resembling some kind of gauzy emerald curtain.  It was spectacular.  We watched it for about forty-five minutes before it finally started to fade.

So if you're ever looking for auroras, make sure you're pointed the right way.

The second piece of background is that there is a strange astronomical object called a brown dwarf.  Brown dwarfs are almost-stars -- something on the order of twenty to eighty times the mass of the planet Jupiter.  Since the fusion of hydrogen into helium -- what powers stars' cores -- requires intense pressure to get started, there's a lower limit to the mass a star can have.  Below that mass, the gravity of its contents is insufficient to raise the pressure in the core to the point where fusion can begin, and what you end up with is something midway between a planet and a star.

Well, the link Andrew sent me is about a new discovery by the amazing James Webb Space Telescope -- of a brown dwarf, W1935, which has auroras.

On first glance, you might think, "why not?"  But remember how auroras are created.  They're caused by the interaction of a stream of high-energy particles with the atmosphere of a planet.

So where are the high-energy particles coming from?

Artist's illustration of W1935 [Image courtesy of artist Leah Hustak and NASA/ESA/CSA]

Even odder, the atmosphere of W1935 seems to have a temperature inversion -- a region of the atmosphere that warms, rather than cools, with increasing altitude.  Its upper atmosphere was glowing with the very specific infrared frequency given off when you heat methane.  So not only does it have auroras when there's no reason it should, there's some sort of a heat source that's creating convection in its atmosphere without it receiving an external heat input from a star.

"We expected to see methane, because methane is all over these brown dwarfs. But instead of absorbing light, we saw just the opposite: The methane was glowing," said Jackie Faherty, of the American Museum of Natural History, who led the study.  "My first thought was, what the heck?  Why is methane emission coming out of this object?...  With W1935, we now have a spectacular extension of a solar system phenomenon without any stellar irradiation to help in the explanation.  With the JWST, we can really 'open the hood' on the chemistry and unpack how similar or different the auroral process may be beyond our solar system."

So here we have one more example of a significant mystery out there in space, and yet another brilliant contribution to astronomy and astrophysics by the JWST.  It seems like every new cache of data opens up as many new questions as it solves old ones.  But that's the way it goes with science -- as Neil deGrasse Tyson put it, "As the area of our knowledge grows, so too does the perimeter of our ignorance."

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Strange new worlds

Since the discovery of the first exoplanet in January of 1992, astronomers have identified over 5,500 of them, with nearly a thousand of the systems analyzed having more than one detected planet.  It now appears that at least one of the variables in the Drake equation -- f_p, the fraction of stars that have planets -- is far higher than anyone might have expected. 

What has come as an additional surprise is how varied these worlds are.  Having grown up on a steady diet of Lost in Space, Star Trek, and Star Wars, I kind of had exoplanets pictured as mostly Earth-like, with lots of big rocks and maybe an odd-colored sky:

The truth is, every new one we find holds some sort of surprise.  Some of the odder ones are:

• TrES-2b, which holds the record as the least-reflective planet yet discovered.  It's darker than a charcoal briquet.  This led some people to conclude that it's made of dark matter, something I dealt with here at Skeptophilia a while back.  (tl:dr -- it's not.)
• CoRoT-7b, one of the hottest exoplanets known.  Its composition and size are thought to be fairly Earth-like, but it orbits its star so closely that it has a twenty-day orbital period and surface temperatures around 3000 C.  This means that it is likely to be completely liquid, and experience rain made of molten iron and magnesium.
• 55 Cancri e, nicknamed the "diamond planet."  Another "hot super-Earth," this one is thought to be carbon rich, and that because of the heat and pressure, much of the carbon could be in the form of diamonds.  (Don't tell Dr. Smith.)
• PSR J1719−1438, a planet orbiting a pulsar (the collapsed, rapidly rotating core of a giant star).  It has one of the fastest rates of revolution of any orbiting object known, circling its host star in only 2.17 hours.
• V1400 Centauri, a planet with rings that are two hundred times wider than the rings of Saturn.  In fact, they dwarf the planet itself -- the whole thing looks a bit like a pea in the middle of a dinner plate.

The reason all this comes up is that we just had a new addition to the "weird exoplanet" list thanks to the James Webb Space Telescope.  It's called WASP-107b, and it has a number of bizarre characteristics.  First, it is "fluffy" -- that's actually how the astronomers describe it -- having one of the lowest overall densities of any exoplanet known.  It has about the mass of Neptune, but a diameter closer to that of Jupiter.

Second, it has a retrograde orbit -- it moves the opposite direction from the rotation of its host star and the revolution of the rest of the planets in the system.  Its orbit is highly eccentric (elliptical), and is actually tipped 118 degrees away from the ecliptic (the plane of revolution of the rest of the system).  Astrophysicists believe that it got this way because of interaction with the much more massive WASP-107c, but the truth is, they've never seen anything like it, so that's a surmise.

The atmosphere has high quantities of water vapor -- kept gaseous by the high temperatures (the upper atmosphere has an average temperature of 500 C) -- and sulfur dioxide.  A bigger surprise was that the "highly dynamic atmosphere" (scientist-speak for "wind speeds that would blow your ass into the middle of next week") creates clouds of superheated silicate sand.  The overall result is that being on WASP-107b would be like living inside a permanent pyroclastic flow.

"The fact that we see these sand clouds high up in the atmosphere must mean that the sand rain droplets evaporate in deeper, very hot layers and the resulting silicate vapor is efficiently moved back up, where they recondense to form silicate clouds once more," said study co-author Michiel Min.  "This is very similar to the water vapor and cloud cycle on our own Earth but with droplets made of sand."

"JWST enables a deep atmospheric characterization of an exoplanet that does not have any counterpart in our Solar System," added study lead author Achrène Dyrek.  "We are unravelling new worlds."

What's shocking is how bizarre some of these new worlds are.  It was natural enough to look at the planets in our own Solar System and assume that they kind of ran the gamut of planetary types -- thus the predominance of rocky worlds and gas giants with zillions of moons that you find in early science fiction.  What continues to astonish is just how wrong that was.  Wherever we look, we see an incredible variety of planets and star systems, and the great likelihood is that despite how many we've found, we've only scratched the surface.

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Fish star

Fomalhaut is the brightest star in the southern constellation of Piscis Austrinus, the Southern Fish.  At a declination (stellar latitude) of −29° 37′, it's seldom visible where I live, but I did get a good look at it when I was in Ecuador a few years ago.  It's bright -- a first-magnitude star -- but looked brighter because of the elevation; when you're up in the mountains, on a clear night it's hard to recognize constellations because there are so many visible stars.

The star's odd moniker comes directly from the Arabic Fom al-Haut, "the mouth of the whale."  As always, though, other cultures saw it differently.  The Chinese gave it the fanciful name Běiluòshīmén, meaning "the north gate of the military camp."  To the Persians it was Hastorang, one of the "Four Royal Stars."  (The other three were Aldebaran, Regulus, and Antares.)  It seems to have had some significance to indigenous Americans; the two-thousand-year-old Earthwork B, in Mounds State Park in Indiana, seems to line up with the rising of Fomalhaut, but the reason is unknown.  To the Moporr, an indigenous people in South Australia, it was a powerful male deity named Buunjill.  Not to be outdone, in the Lovecraftian mythos Fomalhaut is the home of the Great Old One Cthugha, who appeareth unto mankind as a fiery sphere and basically scareth the absolute shit out of everyone who seeeth him.

More prosaically, though, Fomalhaut is interesting to astronomers as the eighteenth brightest star in the sky overall, and the third brightest star known (or thought) to have a planetary system (after the Sun and Pollux).  It's young, something on the order of four hundred million years old.  (I know that seems pretty damn old, but keep in mind that the Sun is over ten times older than that.)  It's a Type A star, which doesn't mean that it's hard-working and tightly-wound, but that it's blue-white in color and has strong emission lines from hydrogen and ionized metals.  (Another, better known, Type A star is Vega, made famous as the home system of the aliens in the wonderful movie Contact.)

What's coolest about this star, though -- and the reason it comes up today -- is its ring of dust and debris, which was photographed directly in 2012 by ALMA (the Atacama Large Millimeter/submillimeter Array):

[Image licensed under the Creative Commons LMA (ESO/NAOJ/NRAO). Visible light image: the NASA/ESA Hubble Space Telescope ; Acknowledgement: A.C. Boley et al., ALMA observes a ring around the bright star Fomalhaut, CC BY 4.0]

The James Webb Space Telescope just got even more detail; it was able to discern not only the outer ring of debris but an inner ring, comparable to the Sun's Kuiper Belt and Asteroid Belt, respectively. which suggests to astrophysicists that there are planets gravitationally "herding" the debris into rings, just as Neptune and Jupiter do for our two belts.

"I would describe Fomalhaut as the archetype of debris disks found elsewhere in our galaxy, because it has components similar to those we have in our own planetary system," said András Gáspár of the University of Arizona in Tucson, lead author of the paper, which appeared in Nature Astronomy last week.  "By looking at the patterns in these rings, we can actually start to make a little sketch of what a planetary system ought to look like -- if we could actually take a deep enough picture to see the suspected planets."

"Where Webb really excels is that we're able to physically resolve the thermal glow from dust in those inner regions," said Schuyler Wolff, also of the University of Arizona in Tucson, who co-authored the paper.  "So you can see inner belts that we could never see before.  We definitely didn't expect the more complex structure with the second intermediate belt and then the broader asteroid belt.  That structure is very exciting because any time an astronomer sees a gap and rings in a disk, they say, 'There could be an embedded planet shaping the rings!'"

Or, you know, a Lovecraftian Elder God creating a fire vortex in the eldritch nether regions of the void.  You know how it goes.

In any case, it's incredibly cool to see what's coming in from the JWST.  Here, we're seeing a system that might be a little like what the Solar System looked like four billion years ago, as the planets were coalescing from the rocky debris of the protoplanetary disk.  The astronomers, of course, are going to give it a much closer look.  "The belts around Fomalhaut are kind of a mystery novel: Where are the planets?" said George Rieke, of the JWST's Mid-Infrared Instrument (MIRI) team, who also co-authored.  "I think it's not a very big leap to say there's probably a really interesting planetary system around this star."

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Life on ice

I'm currently reading planetary scientist Sarah Stewart Johnson's wonderful book The Sirens of Mars, about the search for signs of life on Mars (and other planets in the Solar System).  What strikes me whenever I read anything on this topic is that everything we've learned supports the contention that life is common in the universe.  (Not necessarily intelligent life; as I've dealt with before, that's another discussion entirely.)  As I learned from another great book I read a while back, Michael Ray Taylor's Dark Life: Martian Nanobacteria, Rock-Eating Cave Bugs, and Other Extreme Organisms of Inner Earth and Outer Space, every place we've looked on Earth -- however seemingly inhospitable -- we've found living things.  Fissures in rocks miles underneath the Earth's surface; deep-sea hydrothermal vents under crushing pressures and sky-high temperatures; brine ponds containing water many times the salinity of seawater; alkaline and acidic hot springs; chilly, pitch-dark caves with toxic air; anaerobic, sulfur-filled mud.  Teeming with life, all of them.

Not only that, but the building blocks of life are kind of everywhere.  When Stanley Miller and Harold Urey did their mind-blowing experiment back in 1953, it was unclear whether they had just happened on the right formula; they'd included their best guesses as to the constituents of the early Earth's atmosphere, and used artificial lightning as an energy source, and in short order they had organic compounds in enormous quantities.  It turned out, though, that the results had been not so much of a happy accident as an inevitability.  As long as you have (1) a reducing atmosphere (i.e. no free oxygen), (2) inorganic sources of carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, nitrogen, phosphorus, and sulfur, and (3) some kind of an energy source, you end up synthesizing all twenty amino acids found in living things (plus some we don't use), DNA and RNA nucleotides, simple sugars, fatty acids, glycerol, and a host of other organic compounds.

In other words, every monomer you need to build an organism.  All from off-the-shelf inorganic chemicals and some kind of power source.

What became clear after Miller and Urey published their results is that the early Earth's seas -- and by extension, the seas of any planet with a reducing atmosphere and sufficient liquid water -- might be expected to be brimming with the building blocks of life.  This so-called "primordial soup" on Earth gave rise to primitive life in a relative flash, and there's no reason to expect the same wouldn't happen elsewhere.

What came as something of a shock, though, is that you don't even need warm, Earthlike conditions to generate biochemistry.  Not long ago, astrophysicists started finding the characteristic signatures of organic compounds in interstellar nebulae.  And just last week researchers at the University of Copenhagen announced that they'd discovered organic compounds in a cloud of gas, dust, and ice called Chameleon 1 -- one of the coldest, darkest places ever to be studied, located about six hundred light years away.

The Tarantula Nebula [Image courtesy of NASA, ESA, CSA, STScI, and the Webb ERO Production Team]

Detected by their spectroscopic fingerprints -- the characteristic frequencies of light they absorb from the ambient starlight -- these chemicals were located during a new study using the James Webb Space Telescope.  "With the application of observations, e.g. from ALMA [the Atacama Large Millimeter Array, which was also used in the study], it is possible for us to directly observe the dust grains themselves, and it is also possible to see the same molecules as in the gas observed in the ice," said Lars Kristensen, who co-authored the study.

"Using the combined data set gives us a unique insight into the complex interactions between gas, ice and dust in areas where stars and planets form," added Jes Jørgensen, who also co-authored.  "This way we can map the location of the molecules in the area both before and after they have been frozen out onto the dust grains and we can follow their path from the cold molecular cloud to the emerging planetary systems around young stars."

What this shows is that a great many of the compounds in the primordial soup may have formed before the coalescence of the Earth, and might already have been present when the seas formed.  "This study confirms that interstellar grains of dust are catalysts for the forming of complex molecules in the very diffuse gas in these clouds, something we see in the lab as well," said Sergio Ioppolo, another co-author.

Further evidence that biochemistry -- and almost certainly life -- is plentiful in the universe.

I wonder what life is like on other worlds.  Surely whatever it is, it's evolved into a host of forms completely different from what we have here, ones that have adapted to whatever the local conditions are.  Different sets of environmental challenges would generate new and innovative evolutionary solutions, as would a different set of one-off occurrences (such as the Chicxulub Meteorite collision that ended the supremacy of the dinosaurs and put us mammals on the pathway to pretty much running the place).  Now, take that diversity, those "endless forms most beautiful and most wonderful," as Darwin so trenchantly put it -- and multiply that by a million times.

That is what is very likely to be out there in the cosmos.

If I can be forgiven for ending a post with a quote by Carl Sagan two days in a row, the line he put in the mouth of his iconic character Ellie Arroway (from the book and the movie Contact) seems apposite: "If we're the only ones in the universe, it seems like an awful waste of space."

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Look upwards

Since (surprise!) we've all once again survived the apocalypse, and Saturday September 24, 2022 turned out to be less of a "day to remember" than a "day I've already kind of forgotten," today I'm going to turn to one of my favorite topics, namely: space.

I've been continually wowed by the images coming in from the James Webb Space Telescope.  When it was first deployed, the astronomer and engineers responsible for it told us we were going to be blown away by the quality of the data it would send us, and if anything, that's been an understatement.  We've seen images of astonishing crystal clarity, not only photographs of galaxies further away than anything yet studied but detailed views of objects much closer to home.

It's one of the latter that prompted me to write today's post, because the latest posted image from the JWST is of the planet Neptune.  Just a couple of months ago I did an entire post on how generally weird Neptune is; a lot of our information on it is old, however, having come from the Voyager 2 flyby a little over thirty years ago.  Since then, we've had to study it from farther away, and a lot of what we've learned has raised more questions than answers.

So I was really eager to see what JWST would find out about the eighth planet.  And it's started out with a bang.  Check out this image, showing the planet with its rings and several of its fourteen moons:

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

The rings are made of dark material -- this is actually the first time they've been directly observed since Voyager 2 (even the Hubble Space Telescope didn't have the optical resolution to see them).  The bright spots in the atmosphere are clouds of methane ice; the planet itself is not its usual deep cobalt blue because this image was taken in the near infrared range of the electromagnetic spectrum.

I find it deeply inspiring that despite the continuing turmoil down here on Earth, the scientists still have their eyes trained on deep space.  It also keeps us humble, you know?  Even as a child, when I'd look up at the sky through my little telescope, it always gave me a feeling of awe at how majestic, magnificent, and absolutely huge the universe was.

It reminds me of the words of Apollo 11 astronaut Michael Collins, about his experience of seeing the Earth from space: "The thing that really surprised me was that it [Earth] projected an air of fragility.  And why, I don’t know.  I don’t know to this day.  I had a feeling it’s tiny, it’s shiny, it’s beautiful, it’s home, and it’s fragile."

It's a perspective we all should have.

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Seeing in a different light

One of the most influential teachers I've ever had was my high school biology teacher, Jane Miller.  She had a way of making just about everything interesting, from biochemistry to the parts of the cell to the parts of the human body.

I still recall one time she completely boggled my mind.  It was when we were studying the anatomy and physiology of the eye, and she told us that the human eye could only perceive a tiny little slice of the electromagnetic spectrum.  The rest -- radio waves, microwaves, infrared, ultraviolet, x-rays, and gamma rays -- are all light, just like visible light, differing only in frequency and wavelength.  It's just that our eyes aren't built to be sensitive to these other parts of the spectrum.

Further, because of the way light refraction works, the structure of our eyes would have to be different if they could detect different frequencies.  To see in the radio region of the spectrum, for example, we would need to have eyes larger than wagon wheels.  Which would be a little cumbersome.

Nevertheless, there are animals that can see at least some parts of the spectrum we can't.  Mosquitoes can see in the infrared region -- one of several ways the little buggers find you in the dark.  Bees can see into the ultraviolet, and in fact some bee-pollinated flowers have coevolved to reflect in the ultraviolet region.  These flowers might look white or solid-colored to our eyes, but to a bee, they're spangled with spots and stripes -- advertisements that there's nectar inside.

"But... does that mean there are other colors, ones we can't see?" I asked Ms. Miller.  "What color would ultraviolet light be?"

"No one knows," Ms. Miller said.  "You'd have to be a bee to find out."

Mind = blown.

While we still don't know what these other regions of the spectrum would look like to animals that can perceive them naturally, we now have devices that can take photographs sensitive to different frequencies -- effectively converting this invisible (to us) light into visible light so we can see the patterns made by light sources emitting in other parts of the electromagnetic spectrum.  This, in fact, is why this subject comes up; just last week, the James Webb Space Telescope returned stunning photographs of the Phantom Galaxy (M74), not only in the visible light region of the spectrum, but in the infrared.  Here's what it looks like to our eyes:

And here's what the same galaxy would look like if our eyes could see in the infrared:

We really are only sensing a vanishingly small part of what's out there -- and we are fortunate to live in a time when our devices are allowing us to get a glimpse of what the world would look like to eyes different from our own.

I don't know how anyone wouldn't be awestruck by the photos being taken by the JWST.  We need to be reminded of the grandeur and majesty of the universe, not only for our aesthetic appreciation, but to force us to realize the pettiness of our own small concerns against the backdrop of the galaxies.  A little humility goes a long, long way.

So check out the ongoing updates from NASA/JPL.  I bet you'll have your mind blown over and over again -- just like mine was back in tenth grade biology when I first realized that everyone doesn't see the world the same way.  Because that's a great thing to be reminded of, too -- that our narrow little viewpoint isn't universal.  It's what I tried to capture in the final conversation between the character of Duncan Kyle and the enigmatic Sphinx, in my novel Sephirot -- when Duncan is trying to argue that of course what he's seeing is real:

"It's a matter of practicality," Duncan said, an edge of anger in his voice.

"No," the Sphinx replied.  "It is a matter of Duncan Kyle deciding that he knows what is possible and what is impossible.  Who appointed you the Arbiter of Truth?"

"Isn't that what all humans do?"

"It's what they stop doing," the Sphinx said, "if they want to know what the Truth actually is.  You really think your puny, nearsighted eyes, your weak ears, your dull and calloused skin, can sense everything there is to sense?  That your feeble brain can know everything there is to know?  How arrogant of you."

"I never thought of it that way."

"So a man who cannot prove that he isn't a reflection of a reflection, who doesn't know whether he is flesh and blood or a character in someone else's tale, sets himself up to determine what is possible."  She chuckled.  "That's rich."

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The eye in the sky

I spend a lot of time railing against the idiotic things humans sometimes do, and heaven knows that's a fertile field to till.  But it's nice sometimes to sit back and realize that for all of our faults, humanity has accomplished some things that are (to put not too fine a point on it) really fucking amazing.

Take, for example, the first released image from the James Webb Space Telescope.

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

I know that at a quick glance it's easy to say, "Meh, another photo of stars," and move on.  But slow down a second and consider what this actually is.

First of all, each of the bright dots in the photograph isn't a star, it's a galaxy.  Made of billions of stars, which (if current research on exoplanets is even close to accurate) host trillions of planets.  Think about the variety of astronomical objects in this small frame -- not only ordinary stars such as our own, but quasars, gamma-ray bursters, blue-white supergiants, black holes, neutron stars and pulsars, nebulae of various sorts, and hundreds of different kinds of planets, moons, asteroids, and comets.

Second, this is resolution way beyond anything our telescopes have been capable of.  Here's our previous best image of that same region of the sky, taken by the Hubble Space Telescope, with the new JWST image next to it for comparison:

The amount of detail is flat-out astonishing.

It's even more astonishing when you consider the third thing, which is how far away these objects are.  The nearest object in this image is a little under five billion light years away.  The farthest are about thirteen billion light years distant -- so the light the telescope has captured has been traveling toward us for 94% of the age of the universe.  Put a different way, when the light was released from those stars and galaxies, the entire universe was only eight hundred million years old -- it would still be another eight billion years until the Sun itself would form.  We are peering farther out, and further back in time, than we have ever done before.

Last, we've only begun to see what the JWST is going to accomplish.  Yesterday we also got images of:

• a nebula surrounding a dying star
• a "stellar nursery" -- a cloud of dust and gas that is giving rise to new stars
• a cluster of gravitationally-interacting galaxies
• the actual light from an exoplanet

It's this last one that excites me the most.  Exoplanets are mostly detected indirectly -- usually via their effects on the stars they orbit.  (Two common methods are to look at the Doppler shift in the star's light as it and its planet(s) circle their common center of gravity, and to detect a drop in the star's brightness as the planet passes between us and its star.)  We've only gotten a handful of faint and blurry images of actual exoplanets thus far, because (other than infrared emissions) planets don't produce their own light, so we're only seeing them in the reflected light from their host stars.  Plus, they're really far away.  (It's no coincidence that the smallest exoplanet we've seen directly is around the closest star to the Sun, Proxima Centauri.)

But now?  The JWST is soon going to provide us not only with wow-look-at-this photographs of exoplanets, but spectral data of the light reflected from their atmospheres.  Which tells us the atmosphere's composition.

Which might tell us if there's life out there somewhere.

[Brief pause to stop hyperventilating]

So this is only a teaser of what's to come.  Whenever life down here on Earth becomes too depressing, just look up.  And consider what we're discovering about the universe we live in, as our eyes in the sky become sharper and sharper.

Stay tuned.  You ain't seen nothin' yet.

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The eye in the sky

It's been awfully hard to keep my spirits up lately.

There are the ongoing issues -- the Omicron spike of COVID worldwide (and watching helplessly as callous politicians turned vaccination into a partisan trump card), and the slow slide of my own country into something very like fascism -- but above and beyond that, I've had a hell of a run personally.  For a variety of reasons I've cut ties with the publisher I worked with for six years, I lost one good friend after a valiant fight with multiple sclerosis only days after another had suffered a debilitating stroke, and I hurt my back this summer and have been unable to engage in my favorite pastime of running for six months.  I blogged about the loss of our beloved old dog from some kind of nasty virus last month -- made worse by the fact that three days later, our other dog got the same disease (we spent most of Thanksgiving Day in the emergency veterinary hospital with him), and just last week, our new dog got it, too. 

Both, fortunately, made a complete recovery, but was touch and go with both of them for a while.

When you get a run of calamities like this, it's easy to slip into despondency.  I've definitely had my moments in that dreadful place in the past year.  The only remedy, I've found, is to force my vision to turn outward, away from the troubles in my life large and small, and remind myself that even when things seem like they're terrible, we're still immersed in a grand, awe-inspiring, and beautiful universe.

That's why I found the launching of the James Webb Space Telescope on Christmas morning such a welcome respite.  It's easy enough to look around you and come to the conclusion that all humans are awful -- certainly, the media thrives on fostering that view -- but when you see something like this come off without a hitch, it's a nice reminder that our species is capable of truly amazing things.

"The James Webb Space Telescope represents the ambition that NASA and our partners maintain to propel us forward into the future," said NASA Administrator Bill Nelson. "The promise of Webb is not what we know we will discover; it's what we don't yet understand or can't yet fathom about our universe. I can't wait to see what it uncovers!"

The JWST is the successor to the famed Hubble Space Telescope, and is the largest, most powerful, and most sophisticated space observation apparatus ever launched.  The array of astronomical phenomena it will study is mind-boggling -- everything from exoplanets to the galactic distribution of dark matter to the unimaginably luminous and distant quasars and the cosmic microwave background radiation that is the remnant of the first microseconds after the Big Bang.

[Artist's rendition of the James Webb Space Telescope is in the Public Domain courtesy of NASA/JPL]

"The launch of the Webb Space Telescope is a pivotal moment -- this is just the beginning for the Webb mission," said Gregory L. Robinson, Webb's program director at NASA Headquarters.  "Now we will watch Webb's highly anticipated and critical 29 days on the edge.  When the spacecraft unfurls in space, Webb will undergo the most difficult and complex deployment sequence ever attempted in space.  Once commissioning is complete, we will see awe-inspiring images that will capture our imagination."

It's anticipated that it will take six months before the JWST is fully operational, and I can't even imagine how it must feel for the people who have invested so much time, energy, and effort into building and launching it.  When the first images come rolling in, probably some time in June of 2022, you can bet there'll be champagne flowing liberally.

Of course, as an astronomy buff, the whole thing is tremendously exciting to me, but more than that, to me it's a symbol that even as dismal as things have been, there's still reason to hope.  Yes, we're capable of horrible things -- acts of hate and violence, narrow-mindedness, power-hungriness -- but we're also capable of dazzling flights of the mind, tremendous creativity, and amazing beauty.  It reminds me of the end of Max Ehrmann's famous poem "Desiderata," which (although I've read it many times) never fails to bring me to tears.  It seems like a fitting way to end this post:

Whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.  Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be.  And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul.  With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.  Be cheerful.  Strive to be happy.

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Neil deGrasse Tyson has become deservedly famous for his efforts to bring the latest findings of astronomers and astrophysicists to laypeople.  Not only has he given hundreds of public talks on everything from the Big Bang to UFOs, a couple of years ago he launched (and hosted) an updated reboot of Carl Sagan's wildly successful 1980 series Cosmos.

He has also communicated his vision through his writing, and this week's Skeptophilia book-of-the-week is his 2019 Letters From an Astrophysicist.  A public figure like Tyson gets inundated with correspondence, and Tyson's drive to teach and inspire has impelled him to answer many of them personally (however arduous it may seem to those of us who struggle to keep up with a dozen emails!).  In Letters, he has selected 101 of his most intriguing pieces of correspondence, along with his answers to each -- in the process creating a book that is a testimony to his intelligence, his sense of humor, his passion as a scientist, and his commitment to inquiry.

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