A knock on the door

In the terrifying Doctor Who episode "Listen," the Twelfth Doctor and his companion, Clara Oswald, go as far into the future as possible -- just prior to the heat death of the universe -- to rescue a stranded human named Orson Pink who, during the early days of time travel research, accidentally projected trillions of years into the future and then couldn't get back.

But the Doctor notices something odd almost immediately.  It is -- allegedly -- a completely dead universe.  The barren planet Orson's spaceship landed on has breathable air, but he has been, up to that point, the only living entity there.  So why does he have the magnetic locks activated on the hatches, and a message written on the wall saying "DON'T OPEN THE DOOR"?

Reluctantly, Orson tells them that -- impossible as it sounds -- "there's something out there."  He says he's been having auditory hallucinations, and the message is to remind him never to unlock.  And soon they hear it -- a loud knocking, in increments of three.  The Doctor, ever curious about anything mysterious, orders Clara and Orson into the TARDIS, and then shuts off the magnetic locks on the hatch.

As soon as he does, the door handle starts to turn...

The whole idea revolves around the pithy observation that no one is afraid of being alone in the dark -- what we're afraid of is the idea that we're in the dark and might not be alone.

The suggestibility of the human mind is almost certainly responsible for a good many claims of the paranormal.  We hear an odd creaking sound upstairs when we're by ourselves (or think we are), and quite understandably, get spooked.  In that state, we're more likely to attribute the noise to something scary or dangerous.  A ghost, an intruder, some thing upstairs waiting for us to say those famous last words from horror movies -- "I heard a noise.  I'm going to go investigate."

That same sound, heard on a sunny day when the whole family is home, might just elicit a shrug and a comment that "old houses make noises sometimes."  Our emotional state, and the context we're in at the time, make a great deal of difference to how we'll react.

This is probably the explanation for the "high strangeness" reported by astronauts, as recently recounted by "paranormal investigator and esoteric detective" Paul Dale Roberts.  These apparently have included:

• UFOs, one "shaped like a beer can" and the other a "long, white, snake-like or eel-like object"
• what looked like "swarms of tiny glittering fireflies" near the viewport
• a sensation of a mysterious presence, there but unseen, with the astronauts on the ship
• visions of ethereal, semi-transparent "angels" following them
• disembodied voices, repeated knocks, and scratching sounds coming from outside the spacecraft (see why I thought of "Listen"?)

The likeliest explanation for the UFO sightings (especially the "fireflies") is space debris.  There's a lot of it up there, some natural, but much of it detritus from satellites and other human-made objects.  A recent survey estimated that there could be as many as 129 million bits of debris up there in orbit around the Earth (amounting to around eight thousand metric tons), most of it under a centimeter in diameter.  The vast majority is no threat to people on the ground; stuff that small burns up in the atmosphere long before it hits.  It is, however, a danger to spacecraft, and recent ones have shielding specifically to protect the hull from impacts and punctures due to running into all that assorted floating junk.  You may have heard of Kessler syndrome, or a "collisional cascade" (named after astrophysicist Donald Kessler, who wrote a paper about it), where space debris causes collisions that result in more debris, increasing exponentially the likelihood of further collisions -- eventually making it impossible to keep an intact satellite in orbit.

As far as the other "high strangeness" goes, well -- it's probably a combination of the natural noises made by the spacecraft and the overactive imaginations of people cooped up in a tiny metal box hurtling through the vacuum of space.  Astronauts are screened for psychological stability and are highly trained, so they know what to look out for -- but they are still human, and prone to all the odd biases our brains come preloaded with.  No wonder they report some weird stuff up there.

Of course, we can't be sure.  Certainly the universe is filled with mysteries.  But the danger comes in leaping from "space can be a weird place" to "anything unexplained we run across up there must have a paranormal explanation."  Like I said in a recent post, before you accept a supernatural explanation, make sure you rule out all the natural ones first.

Keep in mind, though, that the Twelfth Doctor and Clara joined a man who was the last creature left alive in the entire universe, and... there was a knock on the door.  Even knowing it was fiction, that scene left me shivering.  Because who knows for certain what's out there in the dark?

Could be damn near anything.

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Space nation

It probably is readily apparent to anyone who is a regular reader of Skeptophilia that I am frequently perplexed by the behavior of my fellow human beings.

Some of my perplexity is over things that people do which are unpleasant -- I find the motivations for such things as racism, sexism, homophobia, and xenophobia not simply repellent, but (on some level) incomprehensible.  Why anyone would think that gender, ethnicity, or sexual orientation was a valid basis for discrimination is absolutely baffling to me.

On the other hand, there's the behavior that falls into the "harmless but weird" department.  As an example of this latter tendency, we have the founding by Russian scientist Igor Ashurbeyli of the "independent space nation" of "Asgardia."

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

Ashurbeyli has called for people to sign up for citizenship, and in two weeks got a half a million names.  (Apparently further sign ups are on hold for now, but when they're reopened Ashurbeyli expects them to continue with undiminished fervor.)  As far as why he's doing it, he says, "Today, many of the problems relating to space law may never be solved in the dark woods of modern international law...  It is time now to create a new judicial reality in space."

Which may well be true -- I am certainly no expert in, um, "space jurisprudence" -- but his goals may be a little bit on the lofty side.  That's not discouraging him one bit, however.  Now that the number of applications has exceeded 100,000, Ashurbeyli says, "we can officially apply to the UN for the status of state."

Which I kind of wonder about.  Of course, the whole thing about what constitutes a nation and what does not isn't exactly clear.  It's not enough, apparently, to declare yourself an independent sovereign state; there's this thing called "recognition" wherein a more powerful nation can basically put its hands over its ears and say "la la la la la not listening" and pretend a less powerful nation doesn't exist, and the less powerful nation has no recourse but to keep whining "Yes, I am!  I'm real, I swear!" until the more powerful nation gives up and says, "Oh, okay, I guess."

It's also unclear how Asgardia can be a nation given that it doesn't have any actual territory to speak of.  The concept of "nation" is tangled up in the control of land, and unless Ashurbeyli and the other Asgardians are laying actual physical claim to space, it's hard to see how this can be a state in the conventional definition of the word.  "A state in the classical sense has a territory and has a significant portion of its population living on that territory," said Frans von der Dunk, professor of law at the University of Nebraska.  "As long as nobody's going into space, you can have as many signatures as you want, but you are not a state."

Which is probably true -- far be it from me, non-lawyer that I am, to argue with an expert in legal matters -- but kind of overlooks the fact that the whole concept of national borders is itself pretty bizarre.  The idea that there's an arbitrary invisible line drawn on the ground, and on the west side of that line it's legal to drink alcohol and on the east side it isn't, is really peculiar.  If aliens ever land on Earth, you have to wonder what they'll think of the fact that we have sliced up the planet into competing pieces, sometimes with blatant disregard for geography and/or culture, and they all have mutually contradictory sets of laws, and we'll fight to the death to keep the invisible lines where they are.

The aliens will probably up stakes and return home, and the next thing we know we'll find we're the subjects of an interstellar reality show called The Derpazoids of Dumbass-3.

Of course, I can't argue with Ashurbeyli's motivations.  On the "concept" page of the Asgardia website, he writes:

The essence of Asgardia is Peace in Space, and the prevention of Earth’s conflicts being transferred into space.

Asgardia is also unique from a philosophical aspect – to serve entire humanity and each and everyone, regardless of his or her personal welfare and the prosperity of the country where they happened to be born. 

Asgardia's philosophical envelope is to ‘digitalise’ the Noosphere, creating a mirror of humanity in space but without Earthly division into states, religions and nations.  In Asgardia we are all just Earthlings!

Which I can't honestly argue with.  And I suppose it's good that we have idealists like Ashurbeyli who are willing to throw themselves into a high-flown project like this, even if it's not immediately apparent how it will all work.

In any case, I may sign up, once they re-open registration.   Not entirely sure why except to say that I did it.

So I guess my initial statement that "humans are weird" is only accurate if I include myself in that assessment.

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

This week's Skeptophilia book-of-the-week is a bit of a departure from the usual science fare: podcaster and author Rose Eveleth's amazing Flash Forward: An Illustrated Guide to the Possibly (and Not-So-Possible) Tomorrows.

Eveleth looks at what might happen if twelve things that are currently in the realm of science fiction became real -- a pill becoming available that obviates the need for sleep, for example, or the development of a robot that can make art.  She then extrapolates from those, to look at how they might change our world, to consider ramifications (good and bad) from our suddenly having access to science or technology we currently only dream about.

Eveleth's book is highly entertaining not only from its content, but because it's in graphic novel format -- a number of extremely talented artists, including Matt Lubchansky, Sophie Goldstein, Ben Passmore, and Julia Gförer, illustrate her twelve new worlds, literally drawing what we might be facing in the future.  Her conclusions, and their illustrations of them, are brilliant, funny, shocking, and most of all, memorable.

I love her visions even if I'm not sure I'd want to live in some of them.  The book certainly brings home the old adage of "Be careful what you wish for, you may get it."  But as long as they're in the realm of speculative fiction, they're great fun... especially in the hands of Eveleth and her wonderful illustrators.

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

Boldly going backwards

In the past few months, I can't escape the feeling that we here in the United States have thrown the throttle into full reverse.

I mean, consider it.  We've gone from having a president who respected and trusted scientists to one who just two days ago gave a speech about reviving the National Space Council that was so blitheringly stupid that it was somewhere in that rarefied atmosphere beyond cringe-worthy.  And he gave said speech in front of legendary astronaut Buzz Aldrin, who stood there the entire time with a "what the fuck is wrong with you?" look on his face.  Here is a sampler:

And security is going to be a very big factor with respect to space and space exploration.   At some point in the future, we’re going to look back and say how did we do it without space?...  We know what this is, space.  That’s all it has to say, space.  There's a lot of room out there, right?  This is infinity here.  It could be infinity.  We don’t really don’t know.  But it could be.  It has to be something, but it could be infinity, right?

I defy you to listen to the whole thing without saying, "Merciful heavens, you are the most idiotic creature in the entire known universe."

If that's not enough evidence that we've gone into regress, we have the resurgence of paranoia over godlessness.  This was one of the hallmarks of the 50s -- in fact, it was the atheism of the communists, especially in Russia, that spurred our leaders to mandate the words "In God We Trust" on our currency and "One Nation Under God" in the Pledge of Allegiance.  And now, we're once again sinking deep into fear talk -- and a consequent angry backlash -- regarding the diminishment of influence of Christianity.  Trump had something to say about this, too, this time at a "Freedom Rally" at the Kennedy Center:

My administration will always support and defend your religious liberty.  As long as I am President, no one is going to stop you from practicing your faith or from preaching what is in your heart...  Our earthly rights are given to us by God, and no force can take those rights away...  Families and churches, not government officials, know best how to create a strong and loving community.  In America, above all else, we know this; we don't worship government, we worship God.  Our religious liberty is enshrined in the very first amendment in the Bill of Rights.  The American founders invoked our creator four times in the Declaration of Independence.  Benjamin Franklin reminded his colleagues at the Constitutional Convention to begin by bowing their heads in prayer.  I remind you, we’re going to start saying Merry Christmas again.

So there you have it.  We're already talking about the "war on Christmas."

In July.

But nowhere is the rush backwards more evident than in the resurgence of "religious liberty laws," which are (one and all) designed to assure the liberty of Christians to do whatever they damn well please, at the expense of anyone they disapprove of or wish to discriminate against.  Just last week, in fact, one of them succeeded in being signed into law in the state of Florida -- House Bill 989, which allows people to object to (and exempt their children from) specific instructional materials in public schools.

And guess which two have already come up?  You'll never guess.

Climate change and evolution.

One supporter of the bill said, in some outrage, "I have witnessed students being taught evolution as fact ... rather than theory ... I have witnessed children being taught that global warming is a reality."

If you can imagine.  How dare science teachers teach science as if it were actually correct?

The success of HB 989 is empowering anti-science groups in other states to launch their own efforts to hamstring science education in public schools, thereby ensuring that yet another generation will be raised without a basic understanding of the scientific method.

Which, I suppose, plays right into the hands of Trump et al., because it's hard to see how anyone with even a rudimentary understanding of science could support someone who is so obviously a near illiterate.

I'm trying hard not to be discouraged about all of this, because despair is rarely a catalyst for anything other than curling up in a corner and sobbing.  But right now, our regression into the superstition and paranoia of our past is seeming overwhelming -- and profoundly frightening.  I can only hope that saner heads will prevail, and that the damage done in the interim will be fixable.

But at the moment, all I seem to be able to do is to watch as the daily horror show unfolds in front of me, and try not to weep.

Lamar no like science!

It is a minor mystery why someone would volunteer for a job (s)he is clearly unqualified to do.

For example, I would not volunteer for my school district's Technology Advisory Committee.  My prehistoric understanding of technology is legendary in my school.  My general approach to computers is, "Thag push 'on' button."  If that doesn't work, my reaction is, "Thag no like!  Thag hit computer with rock!"

So any input I might have about advancing our school's technology program would be more or less meaningless, unless it involved making sure each classroom came equipped with a rock.

The whole thing comes up because of the House Committee on Science, Space, and Technology.  Because it seems to me like this committee -- which, by the name, you would think is comprised of people who are well-versed in science -- is largely populated by people who would make the aforementioned Thag look like a Rhodes Scholar.

First, we have Dana Rohrabacher (R-CA), a climate change denier who referred to the findings of 97% of the world's climate scientists as "liberal claptrap."  About the issue, he made the following baffling statement:

Once again those with a global agenda have created a straw man by misrepresenting the position of their critics. I do not believe that CO2 is a cause of global warming, nor have I ever advocated the reduction of CO2 through the clearing of rainforests or cutting down older trees to prevent global warming.

In what pretend world would scientists suggest clearing rainforests to combat global warming?  This is either a straw man about straw men, or it's just idiotic.

Then there's Randy Weber (R-TX), whose lack of understanding of basic science led him to say, "I just don’t know how you all prove those theories going back 50 or 100,000 or even millions of years."  Really, Representative Weber?  You could fix that, you know.

By taking a damn science class.

How about Bill Posey (R-FL)?  He's another climate change denier, whose idea of a scientifically-sound argument goes like this:

I remember in the ’70s, that [cooling] was the threat, the fear.  I’ve read that during the period of the dinosaurs, that the Earth’s temperature was 30° warmer.  Does that seem fathomable to you?

The "period of the dinosaurs?"  Oh, you mean that span of time that lasted 200 million years, and during which there were numerous climatic ups and downs, including at least one ice age?  Perhaps you're referring to the Cretaceous Thermal Maximum, in which the average sea surface maximum temperature seems to have been a whopping five degrees warmer than it is today.

Or perhaps you're just a moron.

Then there's Paul Broun (R-GA), who famously referred to evolution as "lies straight from the pit of hell," and that the Earth was created "in six days as we know them."  Of course, Broun is now a lame duck, but he was replaced by Jody Hice (in congress if not necessarily on the Science Committee).  Hice, if anything, may be worse.  He is not only a creationist and a climate change denier, he believes that "homosexuality enslaves people," that women could hold political office "if it's within the authority of her husband," and that "blood moons" -- better known to actual astronomers as lunar eclipses -- could be omens that signal "world-changing events."

And, of course, the whole committee is under the leadership of Lamar Smith (R-TX), who laments the the latest report by the IPCC (Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change) "says nothing new" in its statement that "severe, pervasive and irreversible impacts for people and ecosystems will occur if humanity keeps its carbon emissions on a business-as-usual course."

[image courtesy of the Wikimedia Commons]

Exactly, Representative Smith.  Exactly.  It says precisely what all of the other scientific reports from the past ten years have said.  And the scientists wouldn't have to say the same fucking thing over and over if people like you would listen.

I'm not nearly well-versed enough in the machinations of politics to get how people like this could end up leading science policy in the United States.  My suspicious side can't shuck the niggling feeling that it's a deliberate disinformation campaign, designed to keep gullible and/or poorly-educated voters in a state of ignorance about how science works.  It's possible, of course, that these lamebrains are simply an example of the Peter Principle -- the idea that in the business world, people keep getting promoted until they finally find themselves in a job they have no idea how to do, and then they stay there forever.

Whatever the cause, one thing is clear, though.

Lamar no like science.  Lamar hit science with rock.

Wanted: Mars colonists. Must be willing to travel.

Interested in exploring strange new worlds?  Eager to go where no one has gone before?

Mars One, a non-profit group based in the Netherlands, wants to establish a permanent colony on Mars by the year 2023 -- and is looking for astronauts.

They're serious about this.  Astronaut selection will begin this year, they say, and requires no previous experience.  They are looking for candidates that have "a deep sense of purpose, willingness to build and maintain healthy relationships, the capacity for self-reflection and ability to trust.  They must be resilient, adaptable, curious, creative and resourceful."  Six teams of four will eventually be selected and trained, and the first launch, scheduled for 2023, will take one of those teams -- "decided democratically" -- to the Red Planet.

The remaining teams will go on subsequent flights at two-year intervals, with the twenty-four astronauts ultimately being the founders of a permanent Mars colony.

Supplies will be sent on unmanned craft ahead of time, and (if all goes well) the materials will be there for use once the colonists arrive.

The training sounds rigorous, and will include "simulated missions, practice in a restricted mobility environment, and lessons in electronics, equipment repair, basic and critical medical care."  But after all, they'd better be ready for a year-long flight in cramped quarters, not to mention being prepared for dealing with all of the ills and accidents that human beings are subject to.  If one of them gets the flu, it's not like they'll be all that close to a pharmacy.

The whole thing sounds pretty thrilling, but there's one significant downside -- it's a one-way trip.  One launched, there's no coming back.  As you see Earth recede in the spaceship's windows, you'd better wave goodbye -- because you'll never stand on Terran soil again.  For that reason alone, I wouldn't sign up -- even if I were young enough, which I'm not.  (There's no explicit maximum age for volunteers, but practically speaking, I'd be 63 by the time the first launch took place, which seems a bit geriatric to begin a career in space exploration.)  The fact is, I'm a little too fond of my home planet to commit to leaving it forever.

There's also the inevitable problem of there being no knowledge of how living on Mars would affect human physiology.  Mars' gravity is about 38% of Earth's, for example.  I can see how this might make some problems better (e.g. lower back pain), but you have to wonder how to get around issues like the muscle atrophy and bone decalcification that plagued the men and women on the International Space Station. 

Another problem is the lower sunlight intensity.  Neuroscientists are only beginning to understand the effects that sunlight exposure have on neurotransmitter levels, circadian rhythms, and the immune system, and Mars would have at best 50% less sunlight, because of its greater distance from the Sun.  It's to be hoped that the colonists would have access to such things as broad-spectrum artificial light, which could ameliorate any problems, but it's something to consider.

There's also the problem of resources.  You may have heard about the Biosphere 2 Project, in which volunteer scientists were shut into a self-contained ecosystem in the Arizona desert.  Ecologists and physical chemists had worked for years to come up with an optimum balance, because the idea was that nothing but sunlight was supposed to come from outside -- the plants were to act as air purifiers and food producers, every drop of water was recycled, all electricity was produced by solar cells, and so on.  The 12,700 square meter facility had separate biomes (a rain forest, a miniature ocean, a coral reef, a savannah grassland), and was so big it generated its own weather (condensed moisture on the glass ceiling at night fell as "rain").  But even with all of that planning, the project had to be modified during its two-year (1991-1993) run -- oxygen levels fell, probably because of uptake by soil microbes, resulting in the necessity to artificially inject oxygen into the air; rapidly-reproducing pest species such as cockroaches, ants, and morning glory vines exploded in population; some of the "biomes" (especially the grassland) didn't do well.  Clearly, there were unaccounted-for variables.  And while the Biosphere 2 volunteers could just ask for help if things went too wrong, our Mars colonists won't have that option -- they will be entirely on their own to produce what they need, and deal with any problems that occur, in a far more hostile environment.

Last, I worry about the psychological effects.  Humans are social primates; we are happiest in free-flowing large groups.  What would it be like to spend two years, and never see anyone but the same three people, every day?  What happens when frictions occur?  You've got nowhere to go; the first colony's living quarters would almost certainly be smaller than Biosphere 2 was.  And outside the walls, all you have is the endless, lifeless Martian deserts.  The idea makes me shudder a little.

But anyway, if you're interested in volunteering, click the link at the beginning of this post, and check it out.  And while I won't be there with you in line, I do think it's a fascinating opportunity.  The idea that humans may, for the first time, leave this little blue and green planet where we were born, and establish an outpost elsewhere in space -- well, for someone who was raised on Star Trek, it just seems like the first step toward greater things.  And who knows, maybe there will turn out to be life on Mars?