Galileo gets the last laugh

Galileo gets the last laugh

The surface of Europa imaged by the Galileo spacecraft • NASA/JPL (Public Domain)

Originally published 2 February 1998

Space­craft Galileo, a 2½-ton hunk of human inge­nu­ity, has been orbit­ing Jupiter since it arrived there in Decem­ber 1995 after a six-year voy­age from Earth. The craft is mov­ing on an egg-shaped orbit that takes it close to Jupiter, then out beyond the orbits of its four big moons, Io, Europa, Ganymede, and Callisto.

In about a week’s time, it will make a close encounter with Europa, and we will again be afford­ed a view of that moon’s icy surface.

For two years, the spunky space­craft has been chalk­ing up encoun­ters with Jupiter’s moons, and the mis­sion is not over yet. After the approach­ing fly­by of Europa, the space­craft will pay four vis­its to Cal­lis­to, then make a close call on Io.

Jupiter’s moons! These mys­te­ri­ous worlds have excit­ed human imag­i­na­tion since Galileo Galilei first spied them through his tele­scope in the win­ter of 1610. At first the great Ital­ian astronomer thought he was view­ing tiny back­ground stars, coin­ci­den­tal­ly lined up beyond Jupiter. Then, as evenings passed and he returned again and again to look at Jupiter, it dawned upon him that the plan­et had four satel­lites mov­ing about it in cir­cu­lar orbits.

The dis­cov­ery was elec­tri­fy­ing. Rev­o­lu­tion­ary. Here was proof that Earth was not the sole cen­ter of cos­mic motions. Nor, for that mat­ter, was the sun. The uni­verse had a mul­ti­plic­i­ty of cen­ters, and we, poor humans, did not stand upon the cen­tral stage.

It was a dis­cov­ery that did not endear Galileo to his con­tem­po­raries. We know the out­come of the sto­ry: How the old, near­ly blind astronomer was forced to kneel before assem­bled church­men in Rome and deny what he knew to be true. Those four danc­ing specks of light in the eye­piece of his tele­scope bore a mes­sage that most humans sim­ply did not want to hear.

Four hun­dred years have passed, and the old man gets the last laugh after all. His name is now attached to a space­craft that has nav­i­gat­ed hun­dreds of mil­lions of miles for a close look at what we now call Jupiter’s “Galilean” moons.

Most of us have got­ten used to the fact that we are not the be-all and end-all of cre­ation, but NASA press releas­es and media reports about the Galileo mis­sion still empha­size the strange natures of Jupiter’s moons, almost as if the PR peo­ple and jour­nal­ists know that we still want to dis­tin­guish our­selves from the rest of the universe.

But the real sto­ry from the Galileo mis­sion is that the moons of Jupiter are very ordi­nary indeed.

Con­sid­er Europa, the sec­ond Galilean moon from Jupiter, about the same size as our own lunar com­pan­ion. The Galileo space­craft has made a stun­ning pho­to­graph­ic map of its sur­face. And from the grav­i­ta­tion­al effect of Europa on the motion of the space­craft, sci­en­tists can cal­cu­late the moon’s den­si­ty and some­thing of its mass distribution.

What do we find? That Europa has a metal­lic core and an over­ly­ing rocky man­tle. The rock is cov­ered with a water ocean, frozen sol­id on the surface.

The moon’s inte­ri­or is kept hot by the tidal flex of Jupiter’s grav­i­ty, the way a piece of met­al is made hot by repeat­ed bend­ing. The rocky man­tle may be hot enough to move in con­vec­tive loops, like boil­ing water in a pan, per­haps gen­er­at­ing vol­canic activ­i­ty on the ocean floor, exact­ly as on Earth.

Pho­tographs show a sur­face of frac­tured ice, like Earth­’s frozen Arc­tic Ocean. Some of the sur­face is pale icy blue; oth­er parts are red­dish brown, per­haps dust­ed with min­er­al con­t­a­m­i­nants from below.

Most sur­pris­ing of all, con­sid­er­ing its fee­ble grav­i­ty, Europa appears to have an atmos­phere. Sci­en­tists have detect­ed a dis­tor­tion in the radio sig­nal from the space­craft caused by an ionos­phere of charged par­ti­cles near Europa, which implies a gassy enve­lope for the moon.

Metal­lic core, rocky man­tle, frozen water ocean, vol­ca­noes, atmos­phere: It’s all breath­tak­ing­ly famil­iar. Take the plan­et Earth, shrink it in size, put it into orbit around Jupiter, and you’d have some­thing remark­ably resem­bling Europa.

And just as Europa is like a lit­tle Earth, the sys­tem of Jupiter’s Galilean moons is like a lit­tle solar system.

Inner­most Io is churned by tidal fric­tion and made fierce­ly hot, the most vol­cani­cal­ly active body in the solar sys­tem. Pho­tographs show gas plumes ris­ing from volcanoes.

Ganymede, third from Jupiter, is cool­er than Europa, with a sur­face of cross-hatched water ice.

Out­er­most Cal­lis­to is coolest of all, with no sur­face evi­dence of geo­log­i­cal activ­i­ty within.

It all looks won­der­ful­ly com­mon­place. And that’s the big sto­ry from the Galileo space­craft: That the uni­verse holds few sur­pris­es. Our lit­tle cor­ner of the cos­mos is typ­i­cal, and the sci­ence we have learned here applies in oth­er worlds as well.

Old Galileo Galilei, on his knees in Rome, was forced to mum­ble the recan­ta­tion, but he knew he was right. Those specks of light in his tele­scope orbit­ed anoth­er cen­ter. The Earth was not unique.

He was more right than he knew.

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