The Journal of Astrobiology. Nothing like getting ready for something that might happen. The journal might be the first instance of a science in preparation for itself. Call it an anticipatory science. The scientists associated with the journal must say, “We haven’t found any definitive evidence of life out there, but just in case, we’re going to publish scientific articles on the subject. We’ll be prepared when we find it.”
If you have read this blog, you’ll ask, “Aren’t you the one who advocates anticipation? Haven’t you written repeatedly, ‘What you anticipate is rarely a problem’? Certainly, you’re not criticizing someone for anticipating. So, what kinds of articles does the journal publish?”
There’s one on the London Scale for astrobiology, another on the role chaos plays on extraterrestrial planets in habitable zones, and one on energy options for humans living on Titan—this last a particularly interesting one in the context of our never having sent anyone farther than our moon, and that was decades ago. Anticipatory science.
Of course, the term astrobiology has merit. If we’re going to find life elsewhere, we should look for its markers. We need to know whether the conditions of life on Earth can serve as analogs for life anywhere. And we could argue that we have a tradition of similar sciences. Wasn’t the search for the Higgs boson at great cost, time, and effort, anticipatory?
Nevertheless, there’s something that touches on science fiction in a ‘scientific’ article on energy options for humans living on Titan, the Solar System’s second largest moon. Quick fact: Titan has methane clouds, ice, and liquid. We’ve taken pictures of its surface thanks to the Huygens probe and its mothership, the Cassini spacecraft. Need some energy there? Burn methane. Want to go there? Probably not. The atmosphere contains dangers other than methane. Cyanide gas is one of them.
Yet, there’s something we can anticipate should we figure out a way to get there. The early Earth and Titan share the presence of organic chemicals and abundant energy sources, like volcanic activity and lightning. Bigger than Mercury, Titan can be thought of as planet-size, but it has only half Mercury’s mass. It’s cold there, about -180 C, but it might still have liquid water. Definitely, it shows evidence of nitrogen. So, hydrogen, carbon, nitrogen, three of Earth’s essential elements for life are available, and if there is any water, then oxygen is also present. Add some sulfur and phosphorus from volcanic activity, and walla! H-O-C-N-S-P and LIFE as we know it.
Titan is one of Saturn’s moons, so astronauts needing an energy source seems out of the realm of probability for a foreseeable future. We haven’t sent people back to the moon; can’t say when we might get to Mars, and certainly don’t have the means to send anyone as far away as Saturn. When we do achieve the technological sophistication to travel through the Solar System, will the journal still be in publication? Will someone check the archives to say, “Wait, I think I remember an article on energy sources we can use on Titan.”
As pressures mount on Earth’s biosphere, will we have the resources to explore a largely methane world that at its closest is more than 740 million miles away when we are in syzygy with it? Of course, if we do go way out there, we know we can stop off at Mars to pick up a cheap, but once expensive, used car—Elon Musk’s Tesla launched on the Iridium rocket—to drive around the methane lake country of Titan.
Let’s step away from that future launchpad for a moment to reconsider an anticipatory science in a more realistic context: Your life and mine. All exploration is anticipatory, isn’t it? Think about Columbus and the New World or Peary at the North Pole, of Cousteau or Piccard and Walsh underwater, and of the Curies or Gell-Mann in the lab, all anticipators. And you and I can fall into that category as we anticipate our own futures, as we explore our probabilities and possibilities.
We have our own versions of the Journal of Astrobiology. We have analogs. We apply them. We look to future discoveries on the bases of past experiences and knowledge. And, like those other explorers and anticipators, we stumble on surprises, some New World blocking the path to our intended destination while simultaneously offering unforeseen opportunities and challenges. We keep self-publishing our hope-filled articles, even those that are probably as far out as touring the lake country on Titan.
As of now, we really have no exact science of personal future. All our publications are based on our past or someone else’s past. If you want to start a journal that can benefit humans still bound to Earth, gather the wise to write articles for The Journal of Personal Futures.
Silly? Far-out fiction? Could an editorial staff base its publication decisions on more than wishes, shoulds, maybes, and oughts. Could there be peer reviewers? We’ve tried peer review for generations. “Well, when I was young, I did….” “If you keep going down this path, you’re going to end up….”
I hope you can get startup funding for The Journal of Personal Futures. Just out of curiosity—and maybe out of hope—I’ll subscribe and await eagerly the first issue.
If you have read this blog, you’ll ask, “Aren’t you the one who advocates anticipation? Haven’t you written repeatedly, ‘What you anticipate is rarely a problem’? Certainly, you’re not criticizing someone for anticipating. So, what kinds of articles does the journal publish?”
There’s one on the London Scale for astrobiology, another on the role chaos plays on extraterrestrial planets in habitable zones, and one on energy options for humans living on Titan—this last a particularly interesting one in the context of our never having sent anyone farther than our moon, and that was decades ago. Anticipatory science.
Of course, the term astrobiology has merit. If we’re going to find life elsewhere, we should look for its markers. We need to know whether the conditions of life on Earth can serve as analogs for life anywhere. And we could argue that we have a tradition of similar sciences. Wasn’t the search for the Higgs boson at great cost, time, and effort, anticipatory?
Nevertheless, there’s something that touches on science fiction in a ‘scientific’ article on energy options for humans living on Titan, the Solar System’s second largest moon. Quick fact: Titan has methane clouds, ice, and liquid. We’ve taken pictures of its surface thanks to the Huygens probe and its mothership, the Cassini spacecraft. Need some energy there? Burn methane. Want to go there? Probably not. The atmosphere contains dangers other than methane. Cyanide gas is one of them.
Yet, there’s something we can anticipate should we figure out a way to get there. The early Earth and Titan share the presence of organic chemicals and abundant energy sources, like volcanic activity and lightning. Bigger than Mercury, Titan can be thought of as planet-size, but it has only half Mercury’s mass. It’s cold there, about -180 C, but it might still have liquid water. Definitely, it shows evidence of nitrogen. So, hydrogen, carbon, nitrogen, three of Earth’s essential elements for life are available, and if there is any water, then oxygen is also present. Add some sulfur and phosphorus from volcanic activity, and walla! H-O-C-N-S-P and LIFE as we know it.
Titan is one of Saturn’s moons, so astronauts needing an energy source seems out of the realm of probability for a foreseeable future. We haven’t sent people back to the moon; can’t say when we might get to Mars, and certainly don’t have the means to send anyone as far away as Saturn. When we do achieve the technological sophistication to travel through the Solar System, will the journal still be in publication? Will someone check the archives to say, “Wait, I think I remember an article on energy sources we can use on Titan.”
As pressures mount on Earth’s biosphere, will we have the resources to explore a largely methane world that at its closest is more than 740 million miles away when we are in syzygy with it? Of course, if we do go way out there, we know we can stop off at Mars to pick up a cheap, but once expensive, used car—Elon Musk’s Tesla launched on the Iridium rocket—to drive around the methane lake country of Titan.
Let’s step away from that future launchpad for a moment to reconsider an anticipatory science in a more realistic context: Your life and mine. All exploration is anticipatory, isn’t it? Think about Columbus and the New World or Peary at the North Pole, of Cousteau or Piccard and Walsh underwater, and of the Curies or Gell-Mann in the lab, all anticipators. And you and I can fall into that category as we anticipate our own futures, as we explore our probabilities and possibilities.
We have our own versions of the Journal of Astrobiology. We have analogs. We apply them. We look to future discoveries on the bases of past experiences and knowledge. And, like those other explorers and anticipators, we stumble on surprises, some New World blocking the path to our intended destination while simultaneously offering unforeseen opportunities and challenges. We keep self-publishing our hope-filled articles, even those that are probably as far out as touring the lake country on Titan.
As of now, we really have no exact science of personal future. All our publications are based on our past or someone else’s past. If you want to start a journal that can benefit humans still bound to Earth, gather the wise to write articles for The Journal of Personal Futures.
Silly? Far-out fiction? Could an editorial staff base its publication decisions on more than wishes, shoulds, maybes, and oughts. Could there be peer reviewers? We’ve tried peer review for generations. “Well, when I was young, I did….” “If you keep going down this path, you’re going to end up….”
I hope you can get startup funding for The Journal of Personal Futures. Just out of curiosity—and maybe out of hope—I’ll subscribe and await eagerly the first issue.
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