Despite the magnitude of that potential finding, federal science has mostly left SETI out of its spreadsheets for decades. But in a 2018 reversal, NASA hosted a workshop to determine how best to search for alien technology. And outside of that support, scientists have also started a slew of new projects, and begun training more fledgling researchers. The alien hunt, in other words, is having a bit of a moment.
The History of the Hunt for Aliens
It all began in the middle of nowhere: Green Bank, West Virginia. The site’s remoteness is precisely why, in the 1950s, astronomers decided to build radio telescopes way out here, far from the contaminating influence of human technology. One of Green Bank’s early employees was a man named Frank Drake. Drake, like many scientists, read a 1959 Nature paper by physicists Guiseppe Cocconi and Philip Morrison, who suggested that if a person wanted to find intelligent aliens (here, “intelligent” means capable of using technology to transmit an identifiable signal) they might try picking up radio broadcasts, and they suggested a range of frequencies scientists could search. This fired Drake up, and in 1960 the observatory’s director agreed to let him point an 85-foot telescope at two sun-esque stars, tuning it in to the kinds of transmissions that could come from technology and not from stars, gas, or galaxies.
It didn’t, but the effort, called Project Ozma, kicked off the modern SETI enterprise. A year later, Green Bank hosted a secret National Academy of Sciences meeting at which Drake presented the now-famous and now-eponymous Drake Equation. It posits that if you know how often stars are born in the galaxy, what percentage have planets, what number of those planets are habitable, what fraction of habitable planets are inhabited, what fraction of inhabitants are intelligent, what fraction develop interstellar communication, and how long technologically intelligent civilizations survive, you could figure out how many extraterrestrial societies await your discovery. It was never meant to be be precise math: It was just a meeting agenda.
Around a decade later, NASA convened a study called “Project Cyclops.” In it, scientists laid out what alien contact might look like and how, engineering-wise, they might accomplish it. They devised a hypothetical radio telescope made of many antennas that work together as one. While at full scale, it would be cost between $36 billion and $60 billion in 2018 dollars, the attendees suggested it be made in modular fashion—a few antennas here, check for aliens. No aliens? Add a few more, look some more. Still nothing? Break ground again. Etc.
The project never happened, but it did inspire Berkeley professor Stuart Bowyer and Berkeley student Jill Tarter to start a smaller-scale program called SERENDIP: the Search for Extraterrestrial Radio Emissions from Nearby Developed Intelligent Populations. Berkeley now has a SETI Research Center, and SERENDIP still exists—in its sixth iteration, using both the Green Bank Telescope and the Arecibo telescope in Puerto Rico. Since the turn of the century, the program has also let you help process data through the SETI@Home program, which uses your idle CPU to hunt for potential communications.
In the 70s, Ohio State started a SETI project at its Big Ear Observatory, and caught the famous WOW! Signal—a mysterious burst of radio waves that has captured attention for decades but, sorry, is not aliens. For a while, NASA had a nascent SETI program, and when it officially began operations in 1992, astronomers had good reason to hope for a “hello” from light-years away: Around this time, scientists discovered the first-ever planet beyond our solar system, around a pulsar, and would soon find another one, this time orbiting a star like the Sun. All those aliens, turns out, might have at least a few places to live. Plus, back on Earth, scientists were learning more about the badass microbes that live in hot, cold, acidic, basic, salty, radioactive, and just generally unpleasant spots. If life could find a way in all that mess, why not around Zeta Reticuli?
But politicians did not always favor pursuit of such extraterrestrials, extremophile and/or intelligent and/or otherwise. And the next year, Congress voted to terminate the NASA project’s funding.
Since then—a little more than 25 years ago—NASA has had no SETI programs. Scientists, though, aren’t easy to stop—especially not when the end result of their quest could be some kind of cosmic salvation. And so the former NASA team privatized their efforts, and began a program called Project Phoenix, backed by some of Silicon Valley’s early tycoons. For nine years, from 1995-2004, they did the work they’d planned to do under NASA’s banner on their own terms, through the nonprofit SETI Institute. From Arecibo, Green Bank, Jodrell Bank Observatory in England, and the Parkes radio telescope in Australia, they sought after radio broadcasts from the great beyond.
Humanity just can’t make up its mind about cannabis. For thousands of years, humans have used the stuff as medicine or to travel on spiritual quests. That, though, didn’t quite suit the British, who banned cannabis in colonial India. Then in the 20th century, the United States government declared war on marijuana, and most of the world followed suit.
But today, state after state is calling out the federal government on its absurd claim that weed should be a schedule I drug—an extreme danger with no medical benefits—and should fall in the same category as heroin. Even on the federal level, congressional reps like Elizabeth Warren are fighting to end the criminalization of cannabis use. The fact is, scientists have proven cannabis can treat a range of ills and that it’s actually much safer than alcohol. The twisty-turny journey of cannabis has landed us back at a central truth: It’s actually a powerful medicine that can help treat what ails the human body.
Yet as governments come around to the fact that the war on cannabis—which has had a massively disproportionate effect on black Americans—is both insane and unwinnable, the drug remains largely mysterious. The root of the problem: Unlike a relatively simple drug like alcohol, cannabis is made up of hundreds of compounds in addition to THC, all interacting in ways scientists are just beginning to understand.
But therein lies the beauty of it. Things are getting real nerdy with cannabis science. So let us guide you through the haze.
The History of Cannabis
The cannabis plant probably originated in Central Asia, and may have been one of the first plants cultivated by humans. In addition to its psychoactive charms, cannabis gave early growers nutritious seeds to eat and useful fibers for rope. (Today, the industry makes rope out of hemp, a variety of the plant with little to no THC, and therefore no psychoactivity. Hemp fibers are even making their way into construction materials.) And our ancestors were aware of some of the medicinal benefits of cannabis: The ancient Chinese deity Shennong, or “God Farmer,” recommended that cultivators grow “hemp elixir” to treat the sick. Cannabis has a particularly rich history in India, where it has been used for thousands of years as a spiritual aid.
Even as great societies of metal and stone formed, cannabis remained an indispensable crop. Ancient Rome, for instance, wouldn’t have been the sea power it was without super-strong hemp sails and ropes. The British and Spanish, too, powered their world-spanning empires with hemp riggings. George Washington grew the bejesus out of cannabis.
All the while, it wasn’t like humanity had forgotten that cannabis was also good for getting high. Mexico in particular emerged as a major cultivator of psychoactive strains in the early 1900s, and that cannabis wafted over the border into the United States. Then, in 1937, the US passed the Marijuana Tax Act, which effectively criminalized the drug. And in 1970 the Controlled Substances Act branded cannabis a schedule I drug, essentially equating it with the devil himself.
As with the prohibition of alcohol, banning the consumption of cannabis just drove the drug underground. Which brings us to the legend of Northern California, mecca of cannabis production. Over the last few decades, cultivators have hidden themselves in the wildlands, producing perhaps 75 percent of the domestically grown cannabis consumed in the US. Growers here have selected plant generation after plant generation for high THC content, to the point where you can now regularly find flower with 25, even 30 percent THC, whereas a few decades ago the average was around 5 percent.
While Northern California’s growers were proving themselves masters of cannabis cultivation, the plant remained—and to large degree still remains—mysterious. That’s because it’s extremely difficult for researchers to study a schedule I drug. Until 2016, for instance, the DEA claimed a monopoly on the official supply of research cannabis, licensing a single farm at the University of Mississippi that produced legendarily crappy weed that looks nothing like what’s out in the market. (Like, literally. It’s so bad it doesn’t even look or smell like weed as we consumers know it.)
That regulatory wall, though, is crumbling, and science is rejoicing.
The Future of Cannabis
Throughout history, humans have used cannabis as a medicine without the confirmation of methodical scientific studies. The Aka people of the Congo River basin, for example, use the drug to ward off intestinal worms. Anecdotally, cannabis is great for treating pain as well.
Humanity just can’t make up its mind about cannabis. For thousands of years, humans have used the stuff as medicine or to travel on spiritual quests. That, though, didn’t quite suit the British, who banned cannabis in colonial India. Then in the 20th century, the United States government declared war on marijuana, and most of the world followed suit.
But today, state after state is calling out the federal government on its absurd claim that weed should be a schedule I drug—an extreme danger with no medical benefits—and should fall in the same category as heroin. Even on the federal level, congressional reps like Elizabeth Warren are fighting to end the criminalization of cannabis use. The fact is, scientists have proven cannabis can treat a range of ills and that it’s actually much safer than alcohol. The twisty-turny journey of cannabis has landed us back at a central truth: It’s actually a powerful medicine that can help treat what ails the human body.
Yet as governments come around to the fact that the war on cannabis—which has had a massively disproportionate effect on black Americans—is both insane and unwinnable, the drug remains largely mysterious. The root of the problem: Unlike a relatively simple drug like alcohol, cannabis is made up of hundreds of compounds in addition to THC, all interacting in ways scientists are just beginning to understand.
But therein lies the beauty of it. Things are getting real nerdy with cannabis science. So let us guide you through the haze.
The History of Cannabis
The cannabis plant probably originated in Central Asia, and may have been one of the first plants cultivated by humans. In addition to its psychoactive charms, cannabis gave early growers nutritious seeds to eat and useful fibers for rope. (Today, the industry makes rope out of hemp, a variety of the plant with little to no THC, and therefore no psychoactivity. Hemp fibers are even making their way into construction materials.) And our ancestors were aware of some of the medicinal benefits of cannabis: The ancient Chinese deity Shennong, or “God Farmer,” recommended that cultivators grow “hemp elixir” to treat the sick. Cannabis has a particularly rich history in India, where it has been used for thousands of years as a spiritual aid.
Even as great societies of metal and stone formed, cannabis remained an indispensable crop. Ancient Rome, for instance, wouldn’t have been the sea power it was without super-strong hemp sails and ropes. The British and Spanish, too, powered their world-spanning empires with hemp riggings. George Washington grew the bejesus out of cannabis.
All the while, it wasn’t like humanity had forgotten that cannabis was also good for getting high. Mexico in particular emerged as a major cultivator of psychoactive strains in the early 1900s, and that cannabis wafted over the border into the United States. Then, in 1937, the US passed the Marijuana Tax Act, which effectively criminalized the drug. And in 1970 the Controlled Substances Act branded cannabis a schedule I drug, essentially equating it with the devil himself.
As with the prohibition of alcohol, banning the consumption of cannabis just drove the drug underground. Which brings us to the legend of Northern California, mecca of cannabis production. Over the last few decades, cultivators have hidden themselves in the wildlands, producing perhaps 75 percent of the domestically grown cannabis consumed in the US. Growers here have selected plant generation after plant generation for high THC content, to the point where you can now regularly find flower with 25, even 30 percent THC, whereas a few decades ago the average was around 5 percent.
While Northern California’s growers were proving themselves masters of cannabis cultivation, the plant remained—and to large degree still remains—mysterious. That’s because it’s extremely difficult for researchers to study a schedule I drug. Until 2016, for instance, the DEA claimed a monopoly on the official supply of research cannabis, licensing a single farm at the University of Mississippi that produced legendarily crappy weed that looks nothing like what’s out in the market. (Like, literally. It’s so bad it doesn’t even look or smell like weed as we consumers know it.)
That regulatory wall, though, is crumbling, and science is rejoicing.
The Future of Cannabis
Throughout history, humans have used cannabis as a medicine without the confirmation of methodical scientific studies. The Aka people of the Congo River basin, for example, use the drug to ward off intestinal worms. Anecdotally, cannabis is great for treating pain as well.
As more states legalize, researchers are getting better access to cannabis to prove out such claims. Scientists have already determined that the drug can treat ills ranging from glaucoma to inflammation. But because science hasn’t had a very good understanding of how the different components in cannabis interact in the body, medicine has sort of stumbled through this.
But all of these enterprises are businesses, not philanthropic vision boards. Is making life casually spacefaring and seriously interplanetary actually a plausible financial prospect? And—more important—is it actually a desirable one?
Let’s start with low-key suborbital space tourism, of the type Virgin Galactic and Blue Origin would like to offer. Some economists see this as fairly feasible: If we know one thing about the world, it’s that some subset of the population will always have too much money and will get to spend it on cool things unattainable for the plebs. If such flights become routine, though, their price could go down, and space tourism could follow the trajectory of the commercial aviation industry, which used to be for the wealthy and is now home to Spirit Airlines. Some also speculate that longer, orbital flights—and sleepovers in cushy six-star space hotels (the extra star is for the space part)—could follow.
After there’s a market for space hotels, more infrastructure could follow. And if you’re going to build something for space, it might be easier and cheaper to build it in space, with materials from space, rather than spending billions to launch all the materials you need. Maybe moon miners and manufacturers could establish a proto-colony, which could lead to some people living there permanently.
Or not. Who knows? I can’t see the future, and neither can you, and neither can these billionaires.
But with long journeys or permanent residence come problems more complicated than whether money is makeable or whether it’s possible to build a cute town square out of moon dust. The most complicated part of human space exploration will always be the human.
We weak creatures evolved in the environment of this planet. Mutations and adaptations cropped up to make us uniquely suited to living here—and so uniquely not suited to living in space, or in Valles Marineris. It’s too cold or too hot; there’s no air to breathe; you can’t eat potatoes grown in your own shit for the rest of your unnatural life. Your personal microbes may influence everything from digestion to immunity to mood, in ways scientists don’t yet understand, and although they also don’t understand how space affects that microbiome, it probably won’t be the same if you live on an extraterrestrial crater as it would be in your apartment.
Plus, in lower gravity, your muscles go slack. The fluids inside you pool strangely. Drugs don’t always works as expected. The shape of your brain changes. Your mind goes foggy. The backs of your eyeballs flatten. And then there’s the radiation, which can deteriorate tissue, cause cardiovascular disease, mess with your nervous system, give you cancer, or just induce straight-up radiation sickness till you die. If your body holds up, you still might lose it on your fellow crew members, get homesick (planetsick), and you will certainly be bored out of your skull on the journey and during the tedium and toil to follow.
Maybe there’s a technological future in which we can mitigate all of those effects. After all, many things that were once unimaginable—from vaccines to quantum mechanics—are now fairly well understood. But the billionaires don’t, for the most part, work on the people problems: When they speak of space cities, they leave out the details—and their money goes toward the physics, not the biology.
They also don’t talk so much about the cost or the ways to offset it. But Blue Origin and SpaceX both hope to collaborate with NASA (i.e. use federal money) for their far-off-Earth ventures, making this particular kind of private spaceflight more of a public-private partnership. They’ve both already gotten many millions in contracts with NASA and the Department of Defense for nearer-term projects, like launching national-security satellites and developing more infrastructure to do so more often. Virgin, meanwhile, has a division called Virgin Orbit that will send up small satellites, and SpaceX aims to create its own giant smallsat constellation to provide global internet coverage. And at least for the foreseeable future, it’s likely their income will continue to flow more from satellites than from off-world infrastructure. In that sense, even though they’re New Space, they’re just conventional government contractors.
So, if the money is steadier nearby, why look farther off than Earth orbit? Why not stick to the lucrative business of sending up satellites or enabling communications? Yes, yes, the human spirit. OK, sure, survivability. Both noble, energizing goals. But the backers may also be interested in creating international-waters-type space states, full of the people who could afford the trip (or perhaps indentured workers who will labor in exchange for the ticket). Maybe the celestial population will coalesce into a utopian society, free of the messes we’ve made of this planet. Humans could start from scratch somewhere else, scribble something new and better on extraterrestrial tabula rasa soil. Or maybe, as it does on Earth, history would repeat itself, and human baggage will be the heaviest cargo on the colonial ships. After all, wherever you go, there you are.
Maybe we’d be better off as a species if we stayed home and looked our problems straight in the eye. That’s the conclusion science fiction author Gary Westfahl comes to in an essay called “The Case Against Space.” Westfahl doesn’t think innovation happens when you switch up your surroundings and run from your difficulties, but rather when you stick around and deal with the situation you created.
Besides, most Americans don’t think big-shot human space travel is a national must-do at all, at least not with their money. According to a 2018 Pew poll, more than 60 percent of people say NASA’s top priorities should be to monitor the climate and watch for Earth-smashing asteroids. Just 18 and 13 percent think the same of a human trip to Mars or the moon, respectively. The People, in other words, are more interested in caring for this planet, and preserving the life on it, than they are in making some other world livable.
But maybe that doesn’t matter: History is full of billionaires who do what they want, and it’s full of societal twists and turns dictated by their direction. Besides, if even a fraction of a percent of the US population signed on to a long-term space mission, their spaceship would still carry the biggest extraterrestrial settlement ever to travel the solar system. And even if it wasn’t an oasis, or a utopia, it would still be a giant leap.
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Last updated January 30, 2019
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