The 50th anniversary of Apollo 11–which kissed lunar soil on July 20, 1969–has prompted a flood of retrospectives. My local Barnes & Noble features an entire long table covered with anniversary books. If you want a lightly fictionalized big-screen account of Apollo 11, you can watch the unexpectedly engaging Damien Chazelle drama First Man. And if you want a documentary, you’ll find a bewildering number of options. One of them is not like the others, however.
In his new film Apollo: Missions to the Moon, director Tom Jennings has stripped away all of the artifice of dramatic reenactments, talking-head interviews, and portentious narration. Instead, he has assembled an experience constructed entirely out of recovered moments. Everything you see here was recorded as it happened, and in many cases rarely seen since then. This approach was inspired by Jenning’s childhood memories of a Saturday morning kids’ show called “You Are There,” hosted by Walter Cronkite. Each episode faked the experience of being at a famous moment in history (the sinking of the Titanic, the Battle of the Alamo). Jennings mimics that approach, but using real footage instead.Read More
When I was an astronomy-obsessed kid, I learned that most of the stars in our galaxy and beyond are very similar to our Sun. No less an authority than Carl Sagan wrote that “the Sun is an ordinary, even a mediocre star.” If that insight diminished the importance of our place in the universe, it also made it seem likely that there must be many other living worlds around us. If the Sun is a typical star, couldn’t the Earth be a typical planet?
Except that Sagan was wrong, or at least misleading. More than 90 percent of the stars in the Milky Way are cooler and dimmer than the Sun. A full three-fourths are red dwarfs, the smallest of the small. Furthermore, dwarf stars seem to be especially likely to have rocky planets. Together, those statistics indicate that there are a trillion planets around red dwarfs in our galaxy, including at least 100 billion potentially habitable Earth-size worlds. The big unknown is whether those planets are actually habitable — that is, if the genuinely typical Earth-size worlds out there are really anything at all like our own.Read More
The Big Bang is the defining narrative of modern cosmology: a bold declaration that our universe had a beginning and has a finite age, just like the humans who live within it. That finite age, in turn, is defined by the evidence that universe is expanding (again, and unfortunately, many of us are familiar with that feeling as well). Those two ideas–a singular cosmic beginning, followed by billions of years of cosmic growth–are so strange that some people have never made peace with them. As a result, skeptics have been questioning the validity of the Big Bang model for as long as there has been a Big Bang model.
Among mainstream cosmologists, doubts about the Big Bang largely melted away in the 1960s with the discovery of the cosmic microwave background–an omnidirectional buzz of radiation that makes sense only as a relic from the hot, early era of the universe. But around the fringe, the doubts have persisted. Lately they have intensified, inspired by a puzzling discrepancy in different measurements of how the universe is expanding. Even scientific centrists acknowledge that our understanding of the early universe is glaringly incomplete. So now is a prime time, it seems to me, to dig into the big question: Could the Big Bang be wrong?Read More
I spend a lot of time on science Twitter. It’s a great source of breaking research news (as long as you curate your Twitter feed carefully), but also a fascinating peek into the human psyche. People who love astronomy naturally connect it to the other things that they are passionate about: politics, family, cats, science fiction…and food. Lots and lots of food.
It’s strange that there aren’t any constellations dedicated to food, considering how readily the human mind makes the connection. (I suppose you could argue that most of the animal constellations are potentially food-related, especially Lepus, the hare being pursued by Orion, but that isn’t quite the same thing.) Post a picture of on of Saturn’s moons, and pretty soon there are arguments breaking out over whether it looks like a pierogi, an empanada, or a ravioli.
We’ve reached another “will they or won’t they?” cliffhanger in the long-running soap opera, When Will Humans Return to the Moon? Last May, NASA administrator Jim Bridenstine promised that a crew would be landing there by 2028. “To many, this may sound similar to our previous attempts to get to the Moon,” he admitted. “However, times have changed. This will not be Lucy and the football again.” A month ago, Vice President Pence added a big plot twist, now declaring that “it is the stated policy of this administration and the United States of America to return American astronauts to the Moon within the next five years.”
A return to the Moon by 2024? Despite the bold rhetoric, it’s a weak “maybe” at best.
Unofficial sources estimate that fulfilling Pence’s goal will cost around $40 billion over the next five years–which is to say, twice as much as the entire annual NASA budget. Congress would have to approve that spending, and so far there’s no obvious political support for it. But even if human exploration gets kicked into the future yet again, robotic exploration of the Moon is definitely taking off–and this is where the drama gets real, and really interesting.
One of the great challenges in searching for life on other planets is that we still have so much to learn about life on our own Earth. Amazingly, that is true not only at the micro level of biochemistry and genetic codes, but at the macro level as well. You would think that there would be little left to learn about elephants, bears, penguins, and jaguars–the creatures sometimes lumped together by jaded zoologists as “charismatic megafauna”–but you would be wrong.
The new series “Hostile Planet” (its second episode premieres tonight at 8PM EDT on National Geographic) offers abundant evidence in that regard. At first glance, it looks like something you have seen before, another documentary show about nature, red in tooth and claw. It does indeed showcase quite a few megafauna of the charismatic variety. But the settings, the visuals, and above all the behaviors caught on camera are a revelation.
Giving an additional twist to the formula, the host of the show is Bear Grylls, an adventurer and survivalist best known for shows like Man vs Nature and Survivor Games. Here he flips the roles, presenting the animals as the precarious survivors–or not, as is often the case.
Astronomers have been grappling with the mystery of dark matter for a long time, and I mean a looong time. The history of dark-matter investigations goes back at least to 1906, when physicist Henri Poincaré’s 1906 speculated about the amount of “matière obscure” in the Milky Way. Or really, it goes to back to 1846 and the first successful detection of dark matter: the discovery of the planet Neptune, whose existence had been inferred by its gravitational pull well before it was actually observed.
Since then, scientists have identified many different dark components in space: collapsed stars, interstellar dust, hot gas, planets, black holes. Unfortunately, none of those can account for the genuinely invisible dark matter that seems to make up 26 percent of the mass of the universe, outweighing all ordinary matter more than five to one. Failure to identify dark matter has gone on so long that some people have started to wonder if the whole concept is amiss. The recent discovery of two galaxies that seem to contain no dark matter at all hasn’t helped. As often happens these days, some wags on Twitter immediately started joking that dark matter sounds like the fictitious “aether” that physicists sought in the 19th century.
But those jokes miss the exciting truth–in fact, they get it exactly backwards. Dark matter is real. It just may be even stranger and more complicated than we thought.
I’m a longtime fan of cosmic disaster scenarios. Not because I’m particularly gloomy (according to my friends and family, I’m actually more of a goof), but because they are fabulous ways to illustrate the workings of the universe. They are also great for making you appreciate the delicate set of contingencies that allow us to exist right now, right here on Earth. I wrote one of the first Armageddon-science articles, entitled “20 Ways the World Could End,” which was published for the 20th anniversary of this magazine, and followed it with a sequel a decade later.
Some potential cosmic catastrophes are modest enough that we could potentially avert them–an asteroid on an Earth-collision path being a prime example. Some of the scenarios are so unlikely that they are hardly worth considering–for instance, a stellar-mass black hole barreling straight toward our solar system. But there’s one disaster that falls into the sweet spot. It’s something that we know has happened in the past, possibly with significant impact on our planet, and there’s nothing we can do to prevent the next one. I’m talking about a nearby supernova (and mindful, too, that “disaster” literally means “bad star”).
Science fiction is a genre committed to the concept of “run before you can walk.” Long before anyone knew whether heavier-than-air flight was possible, writers were imagining travel to other planets. By the time interplanetary space probes were a reality in the 1960s, the storytellers had long since moved on to thinking interstellar.
Today, two or three generations of happy nerds have grown up in a world saturated with science fiction TV shows and movies featuring the word “star” in their titles. When we hear astronomers discuss the detection of possible Earthlike planets around other suns, then, it’s only natural that we want to go there and take a look. We’ve been conditioned to imagine that it’s possible.
In truth, it’s not–at least, not yet. But there may be a way to cheat a little, to get the benefits of interstellar travel without going the full distance. To find out how that might work, I called up Slava Turyshev, a research scientist at NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory who has spent many years thinking about how to bend the rules of space exploration by exploiting the rules of bent light.
“Any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.” The quote is so familiar that most people have no idea where it originally comes from (I’ll admit, I had to look it up myself to be sure: It is Mediation XVII from John Donne’s Devotions upon Emergent Occasions.) In recent years, though, the words have taken on new meaning, at least for those of us who are devoted to astronomical exploration. Any space robot’s death diminishes us as well, it seems.
So it was with the Cassini spacecraft’s terminal plunge into Saturn in 2017; one popular Twitter feed, called @CassiniNooo, was devoted entirely to screaming “noooooo” as the final day approached. And so it was again earlier this month when NASA officially declared the death of the Opportunity rover, which had spent more than 14 years exploring Mars on what was designed to be a 90-day mission. The eulogies were passionate and moving. People also tried to make sense of why they were so upset. They offered a lot of plausible explanations, but I think they missed out on the most interesting one.