More than hot Jupiters

One of the nice things about the Extrasolar Planets Encyclopedia, which I came across whilst writing about Kepler, is that you can produce plots which summarise the properties of all the extra-solar planets discovered so far. I was particularly interested in the plot below, of orbital period (in days) against mass (scaled relative to the mass of Jupiter), to which I’ve added Earth, Venus and Jupiter for reference.

mass and orbital period of known extra-solar planets

In terms of mass, it’s clear that most of the planets discovered so far are big gas giants, on the scale of Jupiter or bigger, with a scattering of smaller gas giants and Super Earths. If, as I’ve argued before, this reflects the limits of our current detection technology, in the next few years Kepler and CoRoT should increase the number of points in this range, and below it (for those of you wondering about the ultra-small outlier, it’s orbiting a pulsar).
More interesting is the distribution of orbital periods, which is actually bimodal: there’s a cluster in the 1-10 day range, representing the ‘hot Jupiters’, and another, larger, cluster of gas giants with orbital periods of about 1-10 years, which Jupiter is just about on the edge of. It’s probably my fault for not paying enough attention, but I was genuinely unaware that so many of this latter type had been discovered: I was under the impression that almost all of the extra-solar planets discovered thus far were sun-skimming hot Jupiters, if only because they are much easier to detect. The fact that we’re detecting gas giants in a much more familiar place (when compared to our own galactic neck of the woods) is actually quite encouraging, and actually increases my confidence that we don’t need to chuck out the Copernican Principle just yet.
Update: for those in the comments who astutely pointed out that many of these planets have a much higher eccentricity than planets in our solar system (~0.05 on average), it turns out this may indeed be an issue:

“If Jupiter’s orbit around the sun was just a bit more eccentric (oblong), it would have scattered a lot of the material that delivered water to the Earth, kicking it out of the solar system instead,” [Sean Raymond, who has been modelling extra-solar planet formation] says. “The result would have been an Earth that had only 10 percent of the water it does now.”

Interestingly, the passage of “hot Jupiters” from the outer solar system where they form to their sun-skimming orbits, whilst disruptive to the formation of the rocky inner planets, does not preclude their survival.

Categories: geology, planets

Kepler and the Rare Earth hypothesis

kepler.jpgIn this week’s geology podclast, we discussed the recently launched Kepler mission, and how the media brouhaha surrounding it has often failed to distinguish between ‘Earth-like’ in the sense of planets that share Earth’s mass and orbital period, and ‘Earth-like’ in the sense of ‘life-supporting’ – and the fact that Kepler is geared to finding the former rather than the latter. Kepler is designed to look for the signs of planetary transits – dips in a stars’ brightness that occurs when any extra-solar planet moves between us and its parent star. The smaller the planet, the smaller the effect of its transit, and the harder it is for ground-based telescopes to filter out any signal from twinkly atmospheric distortion. By escaping this noise by deploying outside the Earth’s atmosphere, and by observing the same section of the sky continously for several years, Kepler (and the European Space Agency CoRoT mission, which works along similar principles) is well-equipped to find planets with Earth-like masses in hundred-day orbits, rather than the gas giants that dominate the catalogue of known extra-solar planets.
So, Kepler can identify rocky planets with Earth-like masses that orbit at the right distance from their parent stars that liquid water can potentially exist on their surfaces*. However, what it can’t do is tell us whether they have actually developed into life supporting worlds; and in our own solar system, Venus (about 25% closer to the sun than the Earth, about 80% of its mass, and yet a heat-sterilised volcanic hell-hole) provides a cautionary tale about getting too carried away if and when we start finding extra-solar ‘Earths’. In reality, we’ll have to wait for the likes of the Terrestrial Planet Finder or Darwin to directly identify possible signatures of life on any candidates that Kepler tracks down, by looking at the spectral characteristics of their atmospheres (although big Earth telescopes may also be able to contribute). However, this shouldn’t be seen as a shortcoming. Kepler is designed to fill in a big gap in our present knowledge of solar systems outside our own: by the end of its mission, we’ll have a much better idea of the average number of planets around a typical star, and the distribution of their sizes and orbits. We’ll know whether our solar system, with its inner rocky planets and outer gas giants, is typical or unusual.
Of course, knowing these things does, in a broader sense, have an impact on the question of the rarity or abundance of life (or at least, our type of life) elsewhere in the Universe. As in any question where any answer basically boils down to guessing from a virtually non-existent dataset, opinions on this question range right from ‘it’s everywhere’ to ‘it’s just here’. Advocates of the latter talk of the ‘Rare Earth’: they believe that the emergence of life (or, at least, complex life) is the end product of a sequence of highly improbable events (such as the impact that formed the moon) that effectively make the Earth a rather favoured place in the Universe. Philosophically, I find this a rather unconvincing argument; a last remanent of mankind’s inner child, still determinedly insisting that we are, in some way, the centre of the Universe. But scientifically, I must admit our ignorance: we presently lack the knowledge to even begin to calculate the odds. Once Kepler is done, however, we’ll finally have some relevant information on the rates of small rocky planet formation in reasonably close, stable, orbits. As it turns out, any number much above zero is a blow against the ‘Rare Earth’, thanks to the cumulative effect of mind-boggling numbers. There are maybe 300 billion stars in the Milky Way: even if only 1% of them have rocky planets in the right place, that’s still 3 billion potential Earths. In the light of that number, the possibility that the journey from rocky planet to life-supporting rocky planet depends on a convergence of other low probability events seems much less intimidating; when you have several hundred million goes at the roulette wheel, you’re probably going to luck out more than a few times.
Of course, we’ll have to wait until the numbers are actually in; but whilst Kepler is not going to spot any new Earths out their beyond the Final Frontier, it should provide some solid hints about if, and how often, we eventually will.
*the so-called ‘habitable zone’, although – since this automatically classifies anywhere else as uninhabitable – it’s not a designation I’m particularly fond of.

Categories: geology, planets

Climate variability and climate change: some semantics

[A guest post from hydrogeologist Anne Jefferson]
Last week, the Southeastern United States received several inches of snow. This late season snowfall was certainly a novelty, though not an unprecedented occurrence. But it did stir up conversations among local residents, especially when the week ended with ~25 degree Celsius (75 Fahrenheit) sunshine. The weather’s fickleness also got me thinking about climate variability and climate change and how easily we can slip up and confuse the two. I even see scientists (who should know better) conflating variability and change, so below I offer a short, illustrated tutorial on the differences.

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Categories: by Anne, climate science, environment

The responsibilities of the English-speaking co-author

In order to disseminate their work as widely as possible, non-English speaking scientists face the dual challenges of both writing in another language, and writing in a rather unforgivingly technical form of that language. My awareness of how difficult I would find it to write a scientific paper in French or Spanish (let alone something like Mandarin) makes me hesitant to criticise the English of papers written by foreign authors too strongly, although – unfair as it probably is – there has to be some minimum standard of comprehensibility.
However, my patience with hard-to-decipher prose is worn rather thinner when I see people who are obviously native English-speakers on the co-author list. By accepting co-authorship plaudits, you become associated with, and thus take some responsibility for, the contents of the paper. As I see it, that responsibility doesn’t just cover the scientific validity of the results being presented, but the paper’s effectiveness at communicating those results. Your involvement in the research might be due to being an expert on a particular technique or field area, and you would be remiss if you didn’t use that expertise to improve any manuscript you were asked to be a co-author on. By the same token, if you are a native English speaker working with foreign scientists, not contributing your “expertise” (if you can call it that) in written English also seems like an abdication of your responsibilities. It also seems rather unsympathetic to the difficulties faced by non-English speakers wanting to publish in high-impact journals.
Of course, I realise that it’s not quite that simple: what if you’ve just provided a dataset, or access to and training for a nifty new bit of kit in your laboratory (of course, if that’s the case, then perhaps you shouldn’t be listed as a co-author anyway)? Plus, given the normal expectation (at least in my field) that the first author is the principal author, there is obviously a balance between helping someone to communicate better in their own words, and replacing their voice with your own (and possible problems with people who regard any attempts at correction in that light).
I’d be interested to hear your opinions on this. In the circumstances described above, is the co-author responsible for a badly written paper?

Categories: academic life, publication

A big welcome to Kim

If you read this blog, you probably already read All Of My Faults are Stress-Related. Not only does Kim’s blog have the coolest name in the geoblogosphere, but Kim is a wonderful writer; which are two of the reasons why I’m really happy to see her making the move over to ScienceBlogs, where hopefully more people will be introduced to her thoughtful discussions of geology, teaching, and life. Go over right now and say hello.
The other reason I’m pleased about this is that it might mean that the Seed Overlords have finally realised that all the cool bloggers are, in fact, geobloggers. All the biomedical types around these parts should wake up and start realising that the future is hammer-shaped.

Categories: bloggery, links