A recent conversation with a friend who works the futures markets has me thinking about the nature of daydreaming. This is a guy who tracks fast-breaking numbers all day long so as to avoid getting a freight-car’s worth of coffee beans or some other commodity delivered to his condo. His numbers, he says, are all business, and allow no time for daydreaming. Whereas the numbers I study have no deadline, and give me plenty of time for reflection, moments of gazing off into the distance and just letting thoughts run. Today, for example, I’m troubled about what we know about the age of the galaxy.

If daydreaming sounds abstract, consider that this is an issue that has a bearing on our own standing in the cosmos. We have a pretty good read on the age of the Earth, and can peg it at around 4.5 billion years. Various sources tell me the Big Bang occurred some 13.8 billion years ago, with the formation of the Milky Way beginning not terribly long thereafter. Let’s say for the sake of argument that our galaxy is 13.6 billion years old, a figure that NASA recently cited.

So when did worlds like the Earth – terrestrial planets – began to appear? I think I’ve been writing about this question since Centauri Dreams first appeared, as it draws upon the work of Charles Lineweaver (Australian National University), who in 2001 landed on the figure of 9 billion years ago. The problem is immediately apparent: The galaxy seems to be stuffed with many a planet that is older than our own, and in many cases considerably so. Lineweaver’s work found that the median age of terrestrial planets is on the order of 6.4 billion years.

Here we tug again at the Fermi question – ‘Where are they?’ – since these numbers suggest that the opportunity for civilizations to emerge was robust long before our planet began to coalesce. Since that seminal 2001 paper, which I’m surprised is not cited more than it is, Lineweaver has continued to explore the numbers, and they are likewise massaged in other subsequent papers, but rather than going into the details, let’s just say that we’re still left with a galaxy far older than our planet. Give an extraterrestrial civilization a 2 billion year head start and you might think they would be visible to us in some way, or maybe not. Maybe civilizations don’t live all that long?

See Stephen Webb’s wonderfully readable If the Universe is Teeming with Aliens, Where is Everybody? (Springer 2015), the latest edition of which offers 75 answers to Fermi that range from the preposterous to the ingenious. I also send you to Milan Ćirković’s absorbing The Great Silence: Science and Philosophy of Fermi’s Paradox (Oxford, 2018), which mines the depths of a question that many do not consider a paradox, and others find deeply troubling no matter what the name. And Paul Davies is also a reminder of how rich the literature on Fermi is. See his The Eerie Silence (Mariner, 2010) for still further insights.

Thinking about a culture that was around in the days when the first signs of life began to appear on Earth is indeed cause for daydreaming. I notice this morning that Avi Loeb, in his lively publishing venture on Medium, is looking at how long-lived civilizations might cope with the problems raised by their longevity. It’s one thing to consider our own fate when the billion years or so we have before the Sun gets too hot to deal with completely dwarfs our species’ scant time on Earth. But what would we do if we actually survived for that billion years? Would we go elsewhere, or find a way to move the Earth to an orbit that would provide habitable conditions for millions, even billions of years more?

This is pretty lively stuff, for it opens up the possibility of terrestrial-class planets orbiting far outside what was once their habitable zone. It also brings into question the matter of white dwarfs, which could still sustain life for a species that insisted on staying within its natal stellar system. An ETI that can move planets might move one again, this time back in toward the Earth-sized remnant of its former red giant star. I would assume interstellar relocation would make more sense, but no one can know what alien minds might think of this.

Loeb has worked on these issues before:

In 2013, I co-authored a paper with Dani Maoz… which showed that during a transit by an Earth-mass planet across a white dwarf, the transmission spectrum of the planet’s atmosphere would show prominent bio-markers such as molecular oxygen absorption at a wavelength of ∼ 0.76 micrometers. We calculated that a potentially life-sustaining Earth-like planet transiting a white dwarf would be detectable by the Webb telescope in about 5 hours of total exposure time, integrated over 160 two-minute transits.

The method is familiar, one that we’ve discussed here often ever since the first transmission spectroscopy results began showing us what could be found in a hot Jupiter’s atmosphere. I love the idea of expanding the search for habitable worlds into environments as seemingly bizarre as these, although the limitations on telescope time (demand is high!) would make such searches lower priority than, say, a close look at a nearby red dwarf’s habitable zone planet. Here again we have more SF story material, though. All the possible planets around white and red dwarf stars make for fertile hunting for story crafters.

Image: Artist’s impression of a still unconfirmed planet around the white dwarf star WD1054-226 orbited by clouds of planetary debris. Credit Mark A. Garlick / markgarlick.com. License type Attribution (CC BY 4.0).

Loeb also mentions a paper I had missed in earlier discussions of stellar ages. In 2019, Nicholas Fantin (University of Victoria, BC) and colleagues extended the Lineweaver work I led this post with to include white dwarfs, considering them as age markers that help us trace the development of the galaxy. The bare bones of this method are described here:

We develop a new white dwarf population synthesis code that returns mock observations of the Galactic field white dwarf population for a given star formation history, while simultaneously taking into account the geometry of the Milky Way (MW), survey parameters, and selection effects. We use this model to derive the star formation histories of the thin disk, thick disk, and stellar halo.

Skipping the details, I just want to cite a few results that back up the interesting point about the relative youth of the Sun. According to this model, the Milky Way’s thick disk began forming stars 11.3 ± 0.5 billion years ago. The growth rate peaked at 9.8 ± 0.3 billion years ago. A slow decline in starbirth is traced that eventually became a constant rate that persists until now. Heavily reliant on results from the Gaia mission, the data set is dominated by disk stars in the solar neighborhood. A larger sample size will eventuate through surveys like Pan-STARRS DR2, the LSST, as well as data from WFIRST and Euclid.

Again we face what Tennyson called ‘the long result of time.’ So much time, in fact, that civilizations in their multitudes would have had the chance to form. Cirkovic notes in The Great Silence just how much deeper the Fermi question becomes when we consider it in light of such findings. He points out that the original Fermi statement (WeakFP) could be taken to ask why we have seen no evidence of extraterrestrials on Earth or in the Solar System. Keep extending the search outward, though, and the issue gets more and more puzzling. Take the entirety of our past light cone as your canvas and the lack of signs of extraterrestrial activity despite the billions of years civilizations could have existed escalates in impact. This is why Webb’s book is as long as it is.

All this is occurring even as we continue to rack up exoplanets of all descriptions including those of terrestrial mass, and even as the prospect of interstellar travel is now under serious investigation, as we’ve just been reminded by Jim Benford’s work with Breakthrough Starshot. We have developed, says Cirkovic:

Improved understanding of the feasibility of interstellar travel in the classical sense and in the more efficient form of sending inscribed matter packages over interstellar distances. The latter result is particularly important since it shows that contrary to the conventional skeptical wisdom shared by some of the SETI pioneers, it makes good sense to send (presumably extremely miniaturized) interstellar probes, even if only for the sake of communication.

Just where to send such probes? The nearest stars are obvious candidates, with Proxima Centauri b leading the list, but fleshing out a target roster – today an exercise in theory more than planning – may take in destinations we have only begun to consider. That’s assuming our early work on interstellar probe technologies continues to develop options for ever more distant targets. Imagine ‘swarm’ flybys of interesting systems, a capability we may well be able to deploy some time late in this century.

The nearest white dwarf to the Sun, by the way, is Sirius B, some 8.6 light-years out. The closest solitary white dwarf is van Maanen’s Star, about 14 light years distant. The closest red giant is Pollux in Gemini, at about 34 light years distance

The paper is Fantin et al., “The Canada-France Imaging Survey: Reconstructing the Milky Way Star Formation History from Its White Dwarf Population,” The Astrophysical Journal Vol. 887, No. 2 (17 December 2019), 148. Full text. Charles Lineweaver’s 2001 paper is “The Galactic Habitable Zone and the Age Distribution of Complex Life in the Milky Way,” Science Vol. 303, No. 5654 (2 January 2004), pp. 59-62, with abstract here.