Revising Drake

Most of you probably know about the Drake Equation, a way to estimate the number of intelligent civilizations in the universe.  The Equation is one of those curiosities that is looked upon as valid science by some and as pointless speculation by others.  Here's what it looks like:

Math-phobes, fear not; it's not as hard as it looks.  The idea, which was dreamed up by cosmologist Frank Drake back in 1961, is that you can estimate the number of civilizations in the universe with whom communication might be possible (Nb) by multiplying the probabilities of seven other independent variables, to wit:

R* = the average rate of star formation in our galaxy
fp = the fraction of those stars that have planets
ne = the fraction of those stars with planets whose planets are in the habitable zone
fl = the fraction of planets in the habitable zone that develop life
fi = the fraction of those planets which eventually develop intelligent life
fc = the fraction of those planets with intelligent life whose inhabitants develop the capability of communicating over interstellar distances
L = the average lifetime of those civilizations

Some of those (such as R*) are considered to be understood well enough that we can make a fairly sure estimate of their magnitudes.  Others -- such as fp and ne -- were complete guesses in Drake's time.  How many stars have planets?  Seemed like it could have been nearly all of them, or it perhaps the Solar System was some incredibly fortunate fluke, and we're one of the only planetary systems in existence.

The encouraging thing, at least for people like me who would love nothing better than to find we lived in a Star Trek universe where there's intelligent life wherever you look, just about all of these parameters have been revised upward since Drake first put his equation together.  Exoplanets, including ones in the so-called "Goldilocks zone," have turned out to be pretty much everywhere; not having planets turns out to be a much rarer situation.  There are over a hundred billion stars in the Milky Way alone; the number of planets in our galaxy is almost certainly in the trillions.  

As far as developing life... well, that one is still open to question, given that thus far we have a sample size of one to draw inferences from.  But that parameter -- fl -- just got a significant boost from a study done collaboratively by Hokkaido University and NASA of samples brought back from the asteroid Bennu by NASA's OSIRIS-REx mission, which found significant traces of all five nitrogenous bases that make up the genetic material in every living thing known (adenine, cytosine, guanine, thymine, and uracil).

Not only that, but they found the organic compounds xanthine and hypoxanthine (precursors of many bioactive compounds, including caffeine and theobromine), and nicotinic acid (vitamin B3).

This is an absolutely astonishing result.

"In previous research, uracil and nicotinic acid were detected in the samples from asteroid Ryugu, but the other four nucleobases were absent," said Toshiki Koga, who co-authored the paper, which appeared last week in Nature Astronomy.  "The difference in abundance and complexity of N-heterocycles between Bennu and Ryugu could reflect the differences in the environment to which these asteroids have been exposed in space."

What it brings to mind for me, though, is that if these five critical compounds can form on an airless, icy rubble pile (which is what Bennu honestly is), they've got to be pretty much everywhere in the universe that isn't so hot they fall apart.  And in case I haven't made the case strenuously enough, they are the basis of the genetic information shared by all life on Earth.

I think N -- the all-important Drake Equation estimate of the number of technological civilizations in the universe -- just got revised upward again.

Of course, even with my excited leaping about, I have to admit there's still a great deal we don't know, especially about the parameters that are lower on the list.  How many planets that do develop life end up with intelligent, technological life?  A while back I did a post about the rather terrifying idea of the Great Filter, which looks at the roadblocks that might prevent technological civilizations from forming or persisting.  Because the fact remains that when we look out there, we don't see signals from other civilizations -- something called the "Fermi Paradox" after the great physicist Enrico Fermi, who after listening to all the arguments for extraterrestrial life, famously quipped, "Then where is everybody?"

And we still have no idea about the scary parameter L -- how long, on average, technological civilizations last.  Given recent horrific developments in U.S. politics, I rather think I'm revising my own estimate of this one in the downward direction.  Maybe a benevolent alien will come and fix the mess we're in.  I know who I'm hoping for:

But even so, the Bennu study is exciting, and gives me hope that we might still one day find extraterrestrial life.  Perhaps even from the recently-launched Europa Clipper mission, which in April 2030 will do flybys of Jupiter's moon Europa -- widely considered to be our best shot of a place hosting extraterrestrial life in our own Solar System -- in the hopes of picking up biosignatures.

So we continue to wait, and wonder, and learn.  And -- as astronomer Neil deGrasse Tyson always says, at the end of his talks -- "Keep looking up!"

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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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A life-like glow

One of the problems faced by people who would dearly love to find unequivocal proof of extraterrestrial life is: space is big.

No, not big.  Really fucking huge.  Here's an analogy that may help.  Let's start out with saying the Earth has been shrunk to the size of the period at the end of this sentence.  The Sun would be the size of a pool ball, and would be located about six meters away.  The farthest decent-sized object in the Solar System we know of -- Pluto (yes, yes, I know it's not a planet, I don't want to discuss it) -- would be a dust speck 230 meters away, a bit more than twice the length of an American football field.  The nearest star to the Sun, Proxima Centauri, would be another pool ball 1,570 kilometers away, roughly the distance between where I sit now (in upstate New York) and Jacksonville, Florida.

And in between us and it is a whole lot of bugger-all.

Just seeing any kind of detail in objects that far away is tremendously difficult, and that's even considering the amazing strides we've taken in telescope design.  Not only is there the distance involved, but there's dust and debris in between us and everywhere else, blurring the image further.  There could be friendly aliens on one of the planets orbiting Proxima Centauri leaping about and waving their six arms and holding up signs saying, "HERE WE ARE!", and we wouldn't see them.

And that's the nearest star.

Things become even worse when you consider actually going there.  Voyager 1, currently the most distant human-made object from Earth, is traveling outward at a little over sixty thousand kilometers per hour.  A decent clip, right?  Well, even so, it would take ten thousand years to reach Proxima Centauri, if it were heading that way.

Which it's not.

To me, this is the strongest argument against UFOs having an extraterrestrial origin.  Every indication we have is that the laws of the Special and General Theories of Relativity, which prohibit faster-than-light travel, are enforced in every jurisdiction.  It's hard to imagine space-faring aliens crossing all this distance to come see us (only to abduct some cows and leave a crop circle in Farmer Bob's wheat field, then leaving).  We may well not be the only intelligent life in the cosmos, but the likelihood of having a face-to-face (or face-to-whatever-they've-got) visit is slim to none.

Even having a nice chat with them from a distance is gonna be tricky, not to mention boring.  Once again, using Proxima Centauri (at 4.2 light years distant) as an example, if we were to beam a focused radio wave signal toward it containing some kind of encoded message, the best-case scenario of what it'd be like in Earth's SETI Command Central would go something like this:

Us (into microphone): Hey, Proxima Centaurians, how are y'all doing?

[8.4 year silence]

PCs (voice from speaker): We're doing fine.  The weather's been nice, although we could use some rain.  How are you?

Us (into microphone): Same old, same old.  You know how it goes.

[8.4 year silence]

PCs (voice from speaker): Don't we ever.  It's the same everywhere in the universe, amirite?  LOL

So anything approaching scintillating repartee would be kind of out of the question.

Another complication is that intelligent life doesn't mean intelligent life we can communicate with.  Consider the fact that until the invention of the radio telescope (1937), there could have been extraterrestrials positively screaming at us, and we'd have had no way to know.  And it's no better with messages going the other way.  Prior to our own radio signals, the Earth itself would have appeared completely silent; there would have been little in the way of indication that there was anything alive down here, despite the fact that the Earth had already hosted life for three billion years.  

As an aside, it's an interesting question as to whether we're going silent again, given the increasing efficiency of signal transmission -- our "radio bubble" is getting weaker, not (heaven knows) because we've got less to say, but because less of the signal is leaking out into space.  This might not be a bad thing, although it's probably already too late.  Recall in the brilliant send-up of the original Star Trek, Galaxy Quest, that the aliens (the Thermians from the Klaaaaaatu Nebula) thought our early television signals were documentaries:

Lieutenant Madison: They're not all "historical documents."  Surely you don't think that Gilligan's Island...

Captain Mathazar (sadly): Oh, those poor people.

So those of us who are kind of desperate to demonstrate that we're not alone in the universe have to figure out another way to do it other than the obvious ones.

Enter the Compact Color Biofinder.  This amazing device, developed at the University of Hawaii - Manoa, uses an interesting feature of many organic compounds -- fluorescence.  Fluorescence occurs when light at one frequency is absorbed by a molecule, resulting in the electrons in its atoms bouncing to higher energy levels; when those electrons fall back into the ground state, they emit light at certain characteristic frequencies.  (An example you may, unfortunately, know about; if you shine an ultraviolet light on cat piss, it fluoresces green, which will allow you to find where you need to clean up if Mr. Fluffums decides not to use his litter box.)

Because the fluorescence spectrums of different types of organic compounds are pretty well known, this allows you to analyze the light coming from an object that contains organic residues and determine what those residues are made of.  The concept, of course, is hardly new; it's the basic idea of spectroscopy, which has been around for two hundred years.  But the Compact Color Biofinder has refined the process to unbelievable levels.  It was able to detect and identify traces of the biological compounds in a fifty-million-year-old fish fossil from which you'd think every organic trace would have disappeared long ago.

"The Biofinder is the first system of its kind," said Anupam Misra, who led the team that developed the new device.  "At present, there is no other equipment that can detect minute amounts of bio-residue on a rock during the daytime.  Additional strengths of the Biofinder are that it works from a distance of several meters, takes video and can quickly scan a large area...  If the Biofinder were mounted on a rover on Mars or another planet, we would be able to rapidly scan large areas quickly to detect evidence of past life, even if the organism was small, not easy to see with our eyes, and dead for many millions of years.  We anticipate that fluorescence imaging will be critical in future NASA missions to detect organics and the existence of life on other planetary bodies."

So we may be fast approaching the point that we'll be able to analyze the faint light reflected from a distant exoplanet and say, "Yes, that's an organic biosignature."

As much fun as it'd be actually to meet aliens -- well, most aliens, I'll take a pass on Daleks, the Sycorax, and the Vashta Nerada -- at this point, I'll happily settle for evidence that they're out there.  The Compact Color Biofinder is looking like it may be our best tool yet for doing exactly that.  Until we can find a way around Relativity, we'll have to content ourselves with looking up into the night sky and saying, "They're out there, even if we can never get to have a conversation with them."

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Life out of catastrophe

After yesterday's post about mysterious explosions in distant galaxies, today I want to look at a colossal explosion that happened much, much closer to home -- and may have jump-started life on Earth.

In a paper by Steven Benner of the Foundation for Applied Molecular Evolution in Alachua, Florida, presented at a conference last fall in Atlanta, we find out that there's geological evidence that early in Earth's history, there may have been a collision with an enormous object -- by some estimates, the size of the Moon -- that drastically altered the atmosphere.  4.47 billion years ago, only sixty million years after the Earth coalesced from the ring of planetary debris where it originated, it was struck so hard by planetoid that water molecules were ripped apart into oxygen and hydrogen, and superheated metallic debris was flung into the air and generated a torrential rain of molten iron.

Artist's conception of what the collision might have looked like from space

As the atmosphere (and everything else) cooled, the highly reactive oxygen bound to the iron, forming a thick layer of iron (and other metal) oxides that explains their prevalence in the Earth's crust today.  More interesting still is that the collision left behind the hydrogen in the atmosphere.  This created what is called a reducing atmosphere -- a collection of gases with an abundance of free electrons, essentially the opposite of what we have today (an oxidizing atmosphere, where oxygen and other electronegative elements mop up any available electrons, making organic matter and other reduced compounds fall apart).

The reducing atmosphere, Benner says, stuck around for two hundred million years, and it was during this time that the first organic compounds were formed.  This lines up neatly with the famous Miller-Urey experiment, where biochemists Stanley Miller and Harold Urey of the University of Chicago showed back in 1952 that in the presence of reducing gases and a source of energy, organic compounds formed readily, including DNA and RNA nitrogenous bases, amino acids, and simple sugars.

Benner believes that the critical one was RNA.  RNA is (as far as we know) unique in that it can not only replicate itself, it's autocatalytic -- it can catalyze its own reactions.  This pull-yourself-up-by-your-shoelaces ability is why a lot of scientists believe that the first genetic material was RNA, not the (currently) more ubiquitous DNA.  And Benner's theory about how the reducing atmosphere was generated explains not only how the building blocks of RNA could have formed, but why the Earth's atmosphere was reducing in the first place.

Benner believes the key is a set of biochemical reactions that involves repeated wetting and drying, along with interaction of the oxygen-free atmosphere with sulfur-containing gases released from volcanic eruptions.  He has demonstrated that in these conditions, formaldehyde -- CH₂O, one of the simplest organic compounds, would form "by the metric ton."  From there, reactions with the sulfur-bearing gases produced hydroxymethanesulfonate, which reacts readily to form glyceraldehyde (a simple sugar) and the four bases of RNA, adenine, cytosine, guanine, and uracil.

Once that happens, the autocatalytic ability of RNA means you're off to the races.  As Richard Dawkins pointed out in his tour-de-force The Blind Watchmaker, if you have two things -- an imperfect replicator, and a selecting mechanism -- you can generate order from disorder in the blink of an eye.  "[M]any experiments have confirmed that once RNA chains begin to grow, they can swap RNA letters and even whole sections with other strands, building complexity, variation, and new chemical functions," said science journalist Robert F. Service, writing for Science magazine.  "[T]he impact scenario implies organic molecules, and possibly RNA and life, could have originated several hundred million years earlier than thought.  That would allow plenty of time for complex cellular life to evolve by the time it shows up in the fossil record at 3.43 billion years ago."

This research not only confirms what Miller and Urey showed in their landmark experiment 67 years ago, but lines up beautifully with what is known from studies by geologists of the earliest rocks.  As for Benner, he's ready to put aside any doubt.  When Ramon Brasser, paleogeologist at the Tokyo Institute of Technology, laid out a timeline of the early Earth in his talk at the Atlanta conference, Benner asked him when the atmosphere would have likely dropped below a temperature of 100 C, the boiling point of water.  Brasser indicated a point about fifty million years after the impact with the planetoid.

"That's it, then!" Benner said excitedly, pointing to a spot at about 4.35 billion years ago on the timeline.  "Now we know exactly when RNA emerged. It's there—give or take a few million years."

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This week's Skeptophilia book recommendation is a little on the dark side.

The Radium Girls, by Kate Moore, tells the story of how the element radium -- discovered in 1898 by Pierre and Marie Curie -- went from being the early 20th century's miracle cure, put in everything from jockstraps to toothpaste, to being recognized as a deadly poison and carcinogen.  At first, it was innocent enough, if scarily unscientific.  The stuff gives off a beautiful greenish glow in the dark; how could that be dangerous?  But then the girls who worked in the factories of Radium Luminous Materials Corporation, which processed most of the radium-laced paints and dyes that were used not only in the crazy commodities I mentioned but in glow-in-the-dark clock and watch dials, started falling ill.  Their hair fell out, their bones ached... and they died.

But capitalism being what it is, the owners of the company couldn't, or wouldn't, consider the possibility that their precious element was what was causing the problem.  It didn't help that the girls themselves were mostly poor, not to mention the fact that back then, women's voices were routinely ignored in just about every realm.  Eventually it was stopped, and radium only processed by people using significant protective equipment,  but only after the deaths of hundreds of young women.

The story is fascinating and horrifying.  Moore's prose is captivating -- and if you don't feel enraged while you're reading it, you have a heart of stone.

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