ET, call Lexington

If you needed more evidence that we're living in surreal times, some scientists have collaborated with the Tourism Board of Lexington, Kentucky to send a message to aliens inviting them to come to the city for a visit.

The message was sent via infrared laser toward TRAPPIST-1, a multi-planet system about forty light years from Earth.  Astonishingly, they actually got permission from the Federal Aviation Administration -- not a government office known either for its flexibility or its sense of humor -- to beam the message out.  The message, in coded bitmap form, contained information regarding the intent of the transmission, some photographs of the Lexington area, and an audio recording of blues musician Tee Dee Young.

"The bitmap image is the key to it all," said Andrew Byrd, a linguistics expert at the University of Kentucky, who was one of the scholars involved in the project.  "We included imagery representing the elements of life, our iconic Lexington rolling hills, and the molecular structure for water, bourbon, and even dopamine because Lexington is fun."

It also contained the message, "Come to Lexington!  We have horses and bourbon.  Just don't eat us."

I feel obliged to interject here that I'm not making any of this up.

The Lexington Tourism Board's promo art for the project, which I also did not make up

Regular readers of Skeptophilia know that the possibility of alien life -- perhaps intelligent life -- is a near-obsession with me, but I'm not sure this is really the way to go about trying to contact it.  While TRAPPIST-1 isn't a bad choice given the fact that it's fairly close and we know it has seven planets, there's no indication any of them host life.  Four of the planets appear to orbit within the star's "Goldilocks Zone," where the temperatures are "just right" for water to exist in liquid form, but that doesn't mean the planets have liquid water, or even atmospheres.  The fact that the planets have such tight orbits -- the farthest one only has an orbital radius six percent of Earth's, and orbits its star in nineteen days -- suggests they're probably tidally locked, meaning the same side of the planet always faces the star.  (I wrote about the difficulty of life evolving on a tidally-locked planet a year ago, if you're curious to read more about it.)

Then there's the problem of waving hello at aliens who might be vastly more powerful than we are and would respond by squashing us.  Stephen Hawking addressed this in stark terms back in 2010, saying, "We don't know much about aliens, but we know about humans.  If you look at history, contact between humans and less intelligent organisms have often been disastrous from their point of view, and encounters between civilizations with advanced versus primitive technologies have gone badly for the less advanced.  A civilization reading one of our messages could be billions of years ahead of us.  If so, they will be vastly more powerful, and may not see us as any more valuable than we see bacteria."

Of course, if there are intelligent aliens out there, they probably already know about us.  At least the ones under 104 light years away do, because there's an expanding bubble of radio and television transmissions sweeping outward from us at the speed of light that began with the first commercial radio broadcast in 1920.  Assuming any aliens on the receiving end are at least as smart and technologically capable as we are, they're probably already decoding those transmissions and listening to Fibber McGee and Molly and watching Lost in Space, after which they will definitely think we're no more valuable than bacteria.

The last issue -- and this may be the good news, here, if you buy what Hawking said -- is that because TRAPPIST-1 is forty light years away, any aliens who might live there won't receive the message until 2064, and the earliest we could get a response is 2104.  Even if they have some kind of superluminal means of travel and jumped into their spaceships as soon as they got the message, it wouldn't be until the 2060s that they could even potentially get here.  

At least the Lexington Tourism Board has a good window of time to get their hotels ready for the influx of alien tourists.  And if they turn out to be hostile, at that point (if I'm still alive) I'll be over a hundred years old, and I figure that an alien laser pistol blast to the face is about as dramatic a way to check out as I could ask for, so I suspect I'll be fine with the Earth being invaded regardless which way it goes.

So the Lexington Tourism Board's efforts fall squarely into the "No Harm If It Amuses You" department.  And I guess the more time people spend focusing on this sort of thing, the less they'll spend dreaming up new and different ways to be awful to each other.  So as far as that goes, I'm all for sending messages to the stars.

Even if the best things you can think of to talk about are horses, bourbon, and dopamine.

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The fate of Flight 1282

In many people, there's a deep-seated need to find a reason for the bad things that happen in the world.

Well, of course, there always are reasons, but those are proximal causes; the car crashed into a telephone pole because the tires hit an icy spot on the road, Uncle Hubert died because his cancer recurred, the house caught fire because of an electrical short in the wiring.  But there's this strange desire to ascribe more to it than that, to find ultimate causes beyond the here's-why-it-happened proximal causes.

It's not limited to unfortunate events; that sort of thinking can extend to positive ones as well.  "It was meant to be" is a deeply seductive idea.  I remember running into it in the fantasy literature I grew up with, that certain outcomes were fated to be by some sort of overarching pattern to the universe.  Take this example from The Lord of the Rings:

"There was more than one power at work, Frodo," [Gandalf said.]  "The Ring was trying to get back to its Master.  It had slipped from Isildur's hand and betrayed him, then when a chance come it caught poor Déagol, and he was murdered; and after that Gollum, and it had devoured him.  It could make no further use of him: he was too small and mean, and as long as it stayed with him he would never leave his deep pool again.  So now, when its Master was awake once more and sending out his dark thought from Mirkwood, it abandoned Gollum.  Only to be picked up by the most unlikely person imaginable: Bilbo from the Shire! 

"Behind that there was something else at work, beyond any design of the Ring-maker.  I can put it no plainer than by saying that Bilbo was meant to find the Ring, and not by its maker.  In which case, you, Frodo, also were meant to have it.  And that is an encouraging thought."

I think I'm not alone in having read this passage and found it a comforting idea.  I ran into it again, even more explicitly, in the novel/fable for adults The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho, in which the main character is told repeatedly that if you are on the right path to accomplishing your life's goal, "the universe itself will conspire to make certain you succeed."

Wouldn't it be lovely if that were true?

Most people are profoundly uncomfortable with the idea that the universe might be simply a weird and chaotic place -- full of proximal causes, but damn few ultimate ones.  That it's a place where things sometimes work out even when you do everything wrong, and sometimes don't, even when you do everything right.

The reason the topic comes up is the much-publicized emergency landing made on January 5 by Alaska Airlines Flight 1282 from Portland, Oregon to Ontario, California, minutes after takeoff, when a chunk of the fuselage blew off.  Astonishingly -- some say miraculously -- there were no serious injuries.

Even weirder is that the two seats next to the place where the damage occurred, 26A and 26B, were empty at the time.

To say this is fortunate is a significant understatement.  Claims have surfaced since then that the two seats had been sold and the two passengers were delayed and missed the flight, but those claims have not been verified and it's possible the seats were simply empty.

Almost immediately, two explanations began to circulate, one benevolent and one of a darker hue.

The more positive one was that a divine power had intervened to save the two people who would have sat in those seats, as well as the rest of the people on the plane.  "God is great!" posted a devout Reddit user.  "How can anyone doubt His existence after something like this?"

Well, the sticking point is all the times circumstances conspire to produce a more gruesome outcome.  It's all very well to see God's hand in saving the two presumed passengers, and to utter platitudes like "God must have a plan for them!"  The problem starts when you apply it the other way.  In for a penny, in for a pound, you know?  If Great-Aunt Petunia falls down the stairs and breaks her neck, do you then say, "I guess God was done with her"?

Sometimes things end happily, but often they don't.  If you think there's a Grand Plan, you'd better be ready to explain both.  (Unless you fall back on "God works in mysterious ways," which is an unassailable position but explains exactly nothing.)

Also circulating, though, is a less pleasant option for the reason behind the aircraft accident, and that's the one taken by the conspiracy theorists.  I've already seen a variety of twists on this, but the most common is that Alaska Airlines was running a test of its emergency protocols and deliberately staged the rupture, but at least was kind enough to make sure the two seats next to the hole would be unoccupied at the time.  Besides being wildly unlikely -- airplanes are expensive, and there are lots of ways to test emergency protocols without blowing a hole in the side of one in midair -- there's the dubious logic of the airline company saving two people while simultaneously risking the lives of the other 177 people on board.

But as usual, the conspiracy theorists are convinced they've figured it out.  Better a horrifying reason, apparently, than no reason at all.

Whether you buy the first or second scenario, though, the urge to find an explanation for the happy outcome of the accident (beyond the proximal causes, such as the skill of the pilot and copilot in landing the damaged plane) is leading people onto some very thin philosophical ice.  I'm reminded of the brilliant and devastating novel The Bridge of San Luis Rey by Thornton Wilder, which I read when I was in eleventh grade.  I don't exaggerate when I say I never saw the world the same way afterward.  In the book, devout and innocent Brother Juniper, a monk in seventeenth-century Peru, is devastated when five members of the village where he lives were killed in the collapse of a bridge over a canyon.  Believing that God always has a reason for everything, for "the fall of every sparrow," he sets out to study the life histories of each of the victims, to see if he can determine why those five and no others were killed.

In the end, he reaches a deeply troubling conclusion; either the mind of God is so subtle that a human could never parse it, or else there was no reason.  Things simply happen because they happen; there are no patterns and no ultimate causes.  It's a heretical position, and at the end of the book Brother Juniper is burned at the stake by the Inquisition along with all of his writings.

So perhaps there is a reason that the two seats on Flight 1282 were unoccupied, beyond simple happenstance.  If so, it's beyond me to see what that might be, given how many times things go wrong and people do die.  Scary as it is, I think it's much more likely that the universe is simply a chaotic place where -- to quote the wonderful song "The Monkey's Paw" by Laurie Anderson -- "it's the roll of the dice, a shot in the dark, the big wheel, the big ride."

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A fracture beneath Tibet

If there's one thing I've learned from my forty-plus years of dabbling in science, it's that the universe is a weird and complex place.

It's why I frequently heard the complaint from my students that "in every science class, the first thing the teacher tells us is that everything we learned in the previous science class is wrong."  This, of course, is inaccurate and not particularly fair; it's not that the earlier tier of information was untrue so much as it was incomplete.  After all, you need a basic grasp of the underlying principles before you can understand the twists, complications, and exceptions.

Take, for example, the paper that appeared last week in Science about a strange phenomenon involving the plate tectonics under the Himalayas.

The simple model of plate tectonics is that there are three types of boundaries between plates: (1) a divergent zone or rift, where two plates are moving apart; (2) a convergent zone or thrust fault, where two plates are coming together, and one plunges beneath the other; and (3) a strike-slip fault or transform boundary, where two plates move in opposite directions alongside each other.  This broad-brush depiction can have an additional layer of complication added right away, when you consider the relative directions of motion (two colliding plates aren't necessarily, or even usually, going to be moving at right angles to the boundary, for example), and whether the plates in question are thin, dense, brittle oceanic plates or thick, lightweight, rigid continental plates.

To narrow in on the location in question, the junction between the Indian Plate and the Eurasian Plate is a convergent zone between two chunks of continental crust.  When this happens, the conventional wisdom is that the two big blocks of rock are too cold and thick to subduct, so they basically just ram into each other and crumple, forming a mountain range.  (Besides the Himalayas, another place this is happening is the Alps.)

[Image is in the Public Domain courtesy of the United States Geological Survey]

But it turns out that this picture of what's happening under Tibet is neither complete nor all that accurate.

A study out of Utrecht University looked at the seismic waves produced by earthquakes in the region, and found that they were consistent with a bizarre scenario; as it crashed into Eurasia, beginning about sixty million years ago, India has delaminated.  The bottom slice of the Indian Plate has peeled apart from the top, and that lower, denser piece is subducting, while the rest has simply smashed against the larger mass of the Eurasian Plate, creating two focal points for earthquakes, one shallow and one deep.

The real tipoff came when the researchers analyzed the gas bubbles in hot springs in the region.  Helium comes in two isotopes -- a light isotope, helium-3, and a heavier one, helium-4.  Helium-3, being less dense, tends to offgas more quickly in surface rocks, soils, and water, so a high He-3/He-4 ratio indicates a source lower in the mantle.  And springs in the southern parts of the Himalayas are depleted in helium-3, whereas northern parts have a higher than expected amount of the lighter isotope -- indicating that the bubbles coming from southern parts of the fault zone have a shallower source, but when you cross into the northern parts, suddenly the bubbles are originating from much deeper mantle material that has flowed in over the split section of the fractured plate.

A cross-section of the Himalayas, from south (left) to north (right)

So once again, we have a situation way more complex than the model you were taught in high school.  But that's the way it goes, you know?  Every time we think we have things figured out, the universe turns around and astonishes us.

And those of us who love science wouldn't have it any other way.

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An MRI built for two

Some years ago, I injured my left knee doing martial arts, and a couple of weeks later found myself inside an MRI machine.  The technician, who would be the odds-on favorite for the least personable medical professional I've ever met, started out by telling me "strip down to your underwear" in tones that would have done a drill sergeant proud, then asking me if I had any metal items on my person.

"I don't think so," I said, as I shucked shirt, shoes, socks, and pants.  "Why?"

His eyes narrowed.  "Because when I turn these magnets on, anything made of metal will be ripped from your body, along with any limbs to which they might be attached."

I decided to check a second time for metal items.

After reassuring myself I was unlikely to get my leg torn off because I had forgotten I was wearing a toe ring, or something, I got up on a stretcher, and he cinched my leg down with straps.  Then he said, "Would you like to listen to music?"

Surprised at this unexpected gentle touch, I said, "Sure."

"What style?"

"Something soothing.  Classical, maybe."  So he gave me some headphones, tuned the radio to a classical station, and the dulcet tones of Mozart floated across me.

Then, he turned the machine on, and it went, and I quote:

BANG BANG BANG CRASH CRASH CRASH CRASH *whirrrrrr* BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG etc.

It was deafening.  The nearest thing I can compare it to is being inside a jackhammer.  It lasted a half-hour, during which time I heard not a single note of Mozart.  Hell, I doubt I'd have heard it if he'd tuned in to the Rage Against the Machine station and turned the volume up to eleven.

The upshot of it was that I had a torn meniscus, and ended up having surgery on it, and after a long and frustrating recovery period I'm now mostly back to normal.

But the MRI process still strikes me as one of those odd experiences that are entirely painless and still extremely unpleasant.  I'm not claustrophobic, but loud noises freak me out, especially when I'm wearing nothing but my boxer briefs and have one leg tied down with straps and am being watched intently by someone who makes the T-1000 from Terminator 2 seem huggable.  I mean, call me hyper-sensitive, but there you are.

So it was rather a surprise when I found out courtesy of the journal Science that the latest thing is...

... an MRI scanner built to accommodate two people.

My first thought was that hospitals were trying to double their profits by processing through patients in pairs, and that I might be there getting my leg scanned while old Mrs. Hasenpfeffer was being checked for slipped discs in her neck.  But no, it turns out it's actually for a good -- and interesting -- reason, entirely unconnected with money and efficiency.

They want to see how people's brains react when they interact with each other.

Among other things, the scientists had people talk to each other, make sustained eye contact, and even tap each other on the lips, all the while watching what was happening in each of their brains and even on their faces.  This is certainly a step up from previous solo MRI studies having to do with emotional reactions; when the person is in the tube by him/herself, any kind of interpersonal interaction -- such as might be induced by looking at a photo or video clip -- is bound to be incomplete and inaccurate.

Still, I can't help but think that the circumstance of being locked into a tube, nose to nose with someone, for an hour or more is bound to create data artifacts on its own.  I mean, look at the thing:

One of the hardest things for me at the men's retreat I attended a couple of years ago, and about which I wrote a while back, was an exercise where we made sustained eye contact at close quarters -- so you're basically standing there, staring into a stranger's eyes, from only six inches or so away.  I'm not exactly an unfriendly person, per se, but locking gazes with a guy I'd only met hours earlier was profoundly uncomfortable.

And we weren't even cinched down to a table with a rigid collar around our necks, with a noise like a demolition team echoing in our skulls.

So as much as I'm for the advancement of neuroscience, I am not volunteering for any of these studies.  I wish the researchers the best of luck, but... nope.

Especially since I wouldn't only be anxious about whether I'd removed all my metal items, I'd have to worry whether my partner had, too.  Although I do wonder what would show up on my brain MRI if I was inside a narrow tube and was suddenly smacked in the face by a detached arm.

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Ghost cities

I just finished reading The Long Summer: How Climate Changed Civilization by Brian M. Fagan, and what struck me over and over again was an astonished thought of how we managed to survive at all.

For most of human history (and prehistory), the human species lived in communities of various sizes that were constantly teetering on the brink of mass starvation.  Fagan makes the point again and again; for the majority of humanity, all it took was one bad season to spell complete disaster.  There was no Plan B.  Except for the small number of civilizations that lived in areas with sufficient wild foods to forage, a drought or a flood or a freeze at the wrong time and you were in deep, deep trouble.

Size and power were no guarantors of safety.  The Mycenaeans, the Indus Valley Civilization, the Mayan Empire, the Pueblo Culture, the Tiwanaku People, and the Sumerians all declined and collapsed at least in part due to the vagaries of the climate.  More recently, the Little Ice Age contributed to the Great Famine of 1315-1317 which affected most of Europe and killed millions; and repeated crop failures during the eighteenth century, coupled with the monarchy's seeming inability to deal with them, almost certainly were part of what gave momentum to the French Revolution.

Despite all this, our intrepid ancestors not only survived, but in many places, thrived.  Sometimes even in regions where it's hard to imagine.  For example, consider two archaeological discoveries of hitherto-unknown cities -- one in the desert of northwestern Arabia, and the other in the Amazonian lowlands of Ecuador.

A study led by Guillaume Charloux of the Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique found the remains of a fortified complex surrounding the Khaybar Oasis dating to the fourth and third millennium B.C.E., giving evidence of a permanent settlement that persisted for at least several centuries.

The authors write:

The multidisciplinary investigation carried out between 2020 and 2023 by the Khaybar Longue Durée Archaeological Project (CNRS-RCU-AFALULA) demonstrates that the Khaybar Oasis was entirely enclosed by a rampart in pre-Islamic times, like several other large regional walled oases in north-western Arabia (Tayma, Qurayyah, Hait, etc.).  The cross-referencing of survey and remote sensing data, architectural examinations and the dating of stratified contexts have revealed a rampart initially some 14.5 km long, generally between 1.70 m and 2.40 m thick, reinforced by 180 bastions.  Preserved today over just under half of the original route (41 %, 5.9 km and 74 bastions), this rampart dates back to the Bronze Age, between 2250 and 1950 BCE, and had never been detected before due to the profound reworking of the local desert landscape over time.  This crucial discovery confirms the rise of a walled oasis complex in northern Arabia during the Bronze Age, a trend that proved to be central to the creation of indigenous social and political complexity.

A different study that also came out this week looked at the ruins of a city complex with buildings, gardens, streets, and plazas, now buried in the tangle of the Ecuadorian rain forest near the Upano River.  This one is even more mysterious than the Arabian settlement; we knew there were people living in northwestern Arabia back then, even if we didn't know they had built a city.  Here, archaeologists have found the remains of a complex, settled civilization, its beginnings contemporaneous with the Roman Republic and which lasted for a thousand years, and we have no idea who the people were that inhabited it -- neither what language they spoke nor how they were related to other Indigenous groups in the area before and afterward.

[Image licensed under the Creative Commons James Martins, Amazon rainforest - panoramio, CC BY 3.0]

Sacha Vignieri, writing for Science, commented about the research:

When intact, the Amazonian forest is dense and difficult to penetrate, both on foot and with scanning technologies.  Over the past several years, however, improved light detection and ranging scans have begun to penetrate the forest canopy, revealing previously unknown evidence of past Amazonian cultures.  Rostain et al. describe evidence of such an agrarian Amazonian culture that began more than 2000 years ago.  They describe more than 6000 earthen platforms distributed in a geometic pattern connected by roads and intertwined with agricultural landscapes and river drainages in the Upano Valley.  Previous efforts have described mounds and large monuments in Amazonia, but the complexity and extent of this development far surpasses these previous sites.

Of course, the fact that both the Arabian and the Amazonian cities were ultimately abandoned indicates that they too fell prey to the capriciousness that characterizes much of human history.  Whether the cause was war, famine, drought, disease, or some combination -- all too often those come together -- the Khaybar Oasis and Upano Valley civilizations left their intricately-constructed towns, either dispersing into other communities or else dwindling and finally dying.

Whichever it was, all we have are the ghostly remains of cities once inhabited by thriving populations -- a stark reminder of our own tenuous grasp on survival, something we often forget about because of the hubris of modern society.  I'm reminded of Percy Bysshe Shelley's haunting and poignant poem "Ozymandias," which seems a fitting place to end:

I met a traveller from an antique land,
Who said—Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert.  Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal, these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains.  Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

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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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A message from Vrillon

Eminent astrophysicist Neil deGrasse Tyson made a trenchant and amusing observation apropos of people who see something moving across the night sky and forthwith declare that they've seen an alien spacecraft from another star system:

Remember what the "U" in "UFO" stands for.  It stands for "unidentified."  People see a light in the sky, and they say, "I don't know what it is... therefore it must be a spaceship piloted by an intelligent being from another planet."  Well, if you don't know what it is, that's where the conversation should stop.  You don't go on to say that it "must be" anything.

I was reminded of this when, quite by accident, I ran into an account of something that happened in England in November of 1977, but which is still causing aficionados of aliens to wiggle their eyebrows in a meaningful manner nearly fifty years later.  

[Image is in the Public Domain]

People in southern England watching television on the evening of November 26 suddenly had their regular programming replaced by a deep buzzing noise, followed by a distorted voice claiming to be Vrillon, a representative of the "Ashtar Galactic Command," who said the following (I've shortened it somewhat to keep it to a reasonable length):

For many years you have seen us as lights in the skies.  We speak to you now in peace and wisdom as we have done to your brothers and sisters all over this, your planet Earth.  We come to warn you of the destiny of your race and your world so that you may communicate to your fellow beings the course you must take to avoid the disaster which threatens your world, and the beings on our worlds around you.  This is in order that you may share in the great awakening, as the planet passes into the New Age of Aquarius...  Be still now and listen, for your chance may not come again.  All your weapons of evil must be removed. The time for conflict is now past and the race of which you are a part may proceed to the higher stages of its evolution if you show yourselves worthy to do this.  You have but a short time to learn to live together in peace and goodwill.  Small groups all over the planet are learning this, and exist to pass on the light of the dawning New Age to you all.  You are free to accept or reject their teachings, but only those who learn to live in peace will pass to the higher realms of spiritual evolution...  Be aware also that there are many false prophets and guides at present operating on your world.  They will suck your energy from you – the energy you call money and will put it to evil ends and give you worthless dross in return...  You must learn to be sensitive to the voice within that can tell you what is truth, and what is confusion, chaos and untruth...  We have watched you growing for many years as you too have watched our lights in your skies.  You know now that we are here, and that there are more beings on and around your Earth than your scientists admit.  We are deeply concerned about you and your path towards the light and will do all we can to help you.  Have no fear, seek only to know yourselves, and live in harmony with the ways of your planet Earth.  We here at the Ashtar Galactic Command thank you for your attention. We are now leaving the planes of your existence.  May you be blessed by the supreme love and truth of the cosmos.

Well, first let me just state up front that Vrillon sounds like a pretty swell guy, and frankly, I'm kinda deeply concerned about us, too.  I'd love it if we'd all put away our weapons and live together in peace and goodwill.  But we've been told since the 1960s that the New Age was upon us and soon everyone would ascend to a higher plane and the world would be all rainbows and flowers and fluffy bunnies forever afterward, and if you'll look around you, you'll see that none of that happened.  Worse, it turns out even the astrologers can't agree on when the Age of Aquarius is supposed to start, despite the song by The 5th Dimension making it sound like it was some kind of exact science.  An astrologer named Nicholas Campion did a study of different people's calculations, and found that about two-thirds of the astrologers said we were already in the Age of Aquarius, while the other one-third said it wasn't going to happen until the 24th century.

Kind of large error bars you got there.

In any case, after the broadcast interruption, the UK's Independent Broadcast Association was understandably torqued that someone had overridden their signal that way and gotten a huge number of television-watchers seriously stirred up, so they launched an investigation, wherein they concluded that someone had used a small unauthorized transmitter to hijack the IBA's Rowridge Transmitter on the Isle of Wight.

In other words: it was a prank.  If that wasn't already obvious.

The problem was, it wasn't obvious to a lot of people, and apparently still isn't.  This story is still making its way around websites, podcasts, and television shows about aliens, usually with the subtext of "What if Vrillon was real?"  One asked, "[How] can the IBA – or anyone else – be sure that the broadcast was a hoax?"

Well, I suppose it depends on what you mean by "sure."  The culprit was never caught, so there is no concrete proof that it was a signal hijack by a waggish human prankster.  And I guess since Vrillon said he was "leaving the planes of [our] existence" it's unsurprising we haven't heard from him again.  But there's the awkward fact that none of the stuff he predicted ended up happening, which is kind of problematic if you believe the voice was coming from a super-intelligent galaxy-traveling alien who had the inside scoop on where humanity was heading.

So the great likelihood is someone with a transmitter on the Isle of Wight read a goofy speech on-air and shook up most of southern England in 1977.  At the very most, all we can say is that the origin of the signal is unidentified.

And recall what Neil deGrasse Tyson said about that word.

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