The universe’s maximum lifespan may be considerably shorter than was previously thought, but don’t worry: there’s still plenty of time to finish streaming your favourite TV series.

According to new calculations by black hole expert Heino Falcke, quantum physicist Michael Wondrak, and mathematician Walter van Suijlekom of Radboud University in the Netherlands, the most persistent stellar objects in the universe – white dwarf stars – will decay away to nothingness in around 10⁷⁸ years. This, Falcke admits, is “a very long time”, but it’s a far cry from previous predictions, which suggested that white dwarfs could persist for at least 10¹¹⁰⁰ years. “The ultimate end of the universe comes much sooner than expected,” he says.

Writing in the Journal of Cosmology and Astroparticle Physics, Falcke and colleagues explain that the discrepancy stems from different assumptions about how white dwarfs decay. Previous calculations of their lifetime assumed that, in the absence of proton decay (which has never been observed experimentally), their main decay process would be something called pyconuclear fusion. This form of fusion occurs when nuclei in a crystalline lattice essentially vibrate their way into becoming fused with their nearest neighbours.

If that sounds a little unlikely, that’s because it is. However, in the dense, cold cores of white dwarf stars, and over stupendously long time periods, pyconuclear fusion happens often enough to gradually (very, very gradually) turn the white dwarf’s carbon into nickel, which then transmutes into iron by emitting a positron. The resulting iron-cored stars are known as black dwarfs, and some theories predict that they will eventually (very, very eventually) collapse into black holes. Depending on how massive they were to start with, the whole process takes between 10¹¹⁰⁰‒10^{32 000} years.

An alternative mechanism

Those estimates, however, do not take into account an alternative decay mechanism known as Hawking radiation. First proposed in the early 1970s by Stephen Hawking and Jacob Bekenstein, Hawking radiation arises from fluctuations in the vacuum of spacetime. These fluctuations allow particle-antiparticle pairs to pop into existence by essentially “borrowing” energy from the vacuum for brief periods before the pairs recombine and annihilate.

If this pair production happens in the vicinity of a black hole, one particle in the pair may stray over the black hole’s event horizon before it can recombine. This leaves its partner free to carry away some of the “borrowed” energy as Hawking radiation. After an exceptionally long time – but, crucially, not as long as the time required to disappear a white dwarf via pyconuclear fusion – Hawking radiation will therefore cause black holes to dissipate.

The fate of life, the universe and everything?

But what about objects other than black holes? Well, in a previous work published in 2023, Falcke, Wondrak and van Suijlekom showed that a similar process can occur for any object that curves spacetime with its gravitational field, not just objects that have an event horizon. This means that white dwarfs, neutron stars, the Moon and even human beings can, in principle, evaporate away into nothingness via Hawking radiation – assuming that what the trio delicately call “other astrophysical evolution and decay channels” don’t get there first.

Based on this tongue-in-cheek assumption, the trio calculated that white dwarfs will dissipate in around 10⁷⁸ years, while denser objects such as black holes and neutron stars will vanish in no more than 10⁶⁷ years. Less dense objects such as humans, meanwhile, could persist for as long as 10⁹⁰ years – albeit only in a vast, near-featureless spacetime devoid of anything that would make life worth living, or indeed possible.

While that might sound unrealistic as well as morbid, the trio’s calculations do have a somewhat practical goal. “By asking these kinds of questions and looking at extreme cases, we want to better understand the theory,” van Suijlekom says. “Perhaps one day, we [will] unravel the mystery of Hawking radiation.”

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The Mars rover Perseverance has captured the first image of an aurora as seen from the surface of another planet. The visible-light image, which was taken during a solar storm on 18 March 2024, is not as detailed or as colourful as the high-resolution photos of green swirls, blue shadows and pink whorls familiar to aurora aficionados on Earth. Nevertheless, it shows the Martian sky with a distinctly greenish tinge, and the scientists who obtained it say that similar aurorae would likely be visible to future human explorers.

“Kind of like with aurora here on Earth, we need a good solar storm to induce a bright green colour, otherwise our eyes mostly pick up on a faint grey-ish light,” explains Elise Wright Knutsen, a postdoctoral researcher in the Centre for Space Sensors and Systems at the University of Oslo, Norway. The storm Knutsen and her colleagues captured was, she adds, “rather moderate”, and the aurora it produced was probably too faint to see with the naked eye. “But with a camera, or if the event had been more intense, the aurora will appear as a soft green glow covering more or less the whole sky.”

The role of planetary magnetic fields

Aurorae happen when charged particles from the Sun – the solar wind – interact with the magnetic field around a planet. On Earth, this magnetic field is the product of an internal, planetary-scale magnetic dynamo. Mars, however, lost its dynamo (and, with it, its oceans and its thick protective atmosphere) around four billion years ago, so its magnetic field is much weaker. Nevertheless, it retains some residual magnetization in its southern highlands, and its conductive ionosphere affects the shape of the nearby interplanetary magnetic field. Together, these two phenomena give Mars a hybrid magnetosphere too feeble to protect its surface from cosmic rays, but strong enough to generate an aurora.

Scientists had previously identified various types of aurorae on Mars (and every other planet with an atmosphere in our solar system) in data from orbiting spacecraft. However, no Mars rover had ever observed an aurora before, and all the orbital aurora observations, from Mars and elsewhere, were at ultraviolet wavelengths.

How to spot an aurora on Mars

According to Knutsen, the lack of visible-light, surface-based aurora observations has several causes. First, the visible-wavelength instruments on Mars rovers are generally designed to observe the planet’s bright “dayside”, not to detect faint emissions on its nightside. Second, rover missions focus primarily on geology, not astronomy. Finally, aurorae are fleeting, and there is too much demand for Perseverance’s instruments to leave them pointing at the sky just in case something interesting happens up there.

“We’ve spent a significant amount of time and effort improving our aurora forecasting abilities,” Knutsen says.

Getting the timing of observations right was the most challenging part, she adds. The clock started whenever solar satellites detected events called coronal mass ejections (CMEs) that create unusually strong pulses of solar wind. Next, researchers at the NASA Community Coordinated Modeling Center simulated how these pulses would propagate through the solar system. Once they posted the simulation results online, Knutsen and her colleagues – an international consortium of scientists in Belgium, France, Germany, the Netherlands, Spain, the UK and the US as well as Norway – had a decision to make. Was this CME likely to trigger an aurora bright enough for Perseverance to detect?

If the answer was “yes”, their next step was to request observation time on Perseverance’s SuperCam and Mastcam-Z instruments. Then they had to wait, knowing that although CMEs typically take three days to reach Mars, the simulations are only accurate to within a few hours and the forecast could change at any moment. Even if they got the timing right, the CME might be too weak to trigger an aurora.

“We have to pick the exact time to observe, the whole observation only lasts a few minutes, and we only get one chance to get it right per solar storm,” Knutsen says. “It took three unsuccessful attempts before we got everything right, but when we did, it appeared exactly as we had imagined it: as a diffuse green haze, uniform in all directions.”

Future observations

Writing in Science Advances, Knutsen and colleagues say it should now be possible to investigate how Martian aurorae vary in time and space – information which, they note, is “not easily obtained from orbit with current instrumentation”. They also point out that the visible-light instruments they used tend to be simpler and cheaper than UV ones.

“This discovery will open up new avenues for studying processes of particle transport and magnetosphere dynamics,” Knutsen tells Physics World. “So far we have only reported our very first detection of this green emission, but observations of aurora can tell us a lot about how the Sun’s particles are interacting with Mars’s magnetosphere and upper atmosphere.”

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Vaire Computing is a start-up seeking to commercialize computer chips based on the principles of reversible computing – a topic Earley studied during her PhD in applied mathematics and theoretical physics at the University of Cambridge, UK. The central idea behind reversible computing is that reversible operations use much less energy, and thus generate much less waste heat, than those in conventional computers.

What skills do you use every day in your job?

In an early-stage start-up environment, you have to wear lots of different hats. Right now, I’m planning for the next few years, but I’m also very deep into the engineering side of Vaire, which spans a lot of different areas.

The skill I use most is my ability to jump into a new field and get up to speed with it as quickly as possible, because I cannot claim to be an expert in all the different areas we work in. I cannot be an expert in integrated circuit design as well as developing electronic design automation tooling as well as building better resonators. But what I can do is try to learn about all these things at as deep a level as I can, very quickly, and then guide the people around me with higher-level decisions while also having a bit of fun and actually doing some engineering work.

What do you like best and least about your job?

We have so many great people at Vaire, and being able to talk with them and discuss all the most interesting aspects of their specialities is probably the part I like best. But I’m also enjoying the fact that in a few years, all this work will culminate in an actual product based on things I worked on when I was in academia. I love theory, and I love thinking about what could be possible in hundreds of years’ time, but seeing an idea get closer and closer to reality is great.

The part I have more of a love-hate relationship with is just how intense this job is. I’m probably intrinsically a workaholic. I don’t think I’ve ever had a good balance in terms of how much time I spend on work, whether now or when I was doing my PhD or even before. But when you are responsible for making your company succeed, that degree of intensity becomes unavoidable. It feels difficult to take breaks or to feel comfortable taking breaks, but I hope that as our company grows and gets more structured, that part will improve.

What do you know now that you wish you’d known when you were starting out in your career?

There are so many specifics of what it means to build a computer chip that I wish I’d known. I may even have suffered a little bit from the Dunning–Kruger effect [in which people with limited experience of a particular topic overestimate their knowledge] at the beginning, thinking, “I know what a transistor is like. How hard can it be to build a large-scale integrated circuit?”

It turns out it’s very, very hard, and there’s a lot of complexity around it. When I was a PhD student, it felt like there wasn’t that big a gap between theory and implementation. But there is, and while to some extent it’s not possible to know about something until you’ve done it, I wish I’d known a lot more about chip design a few years ago.

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Imagine, if you will, that you are a quantum system. Specifically, you are an unstable quantum system – one that would, if left to its own devices, rapidly decay from one state (let’s call it “awake”) into another (“asleep”). But whenever you start to drift into the “asleep” state, something gets in the way. Maybe it’s a message pinging on your phone. Maybe it’s a curious child peppering you with questions. Whatever it is, it jolts you out of your awake–asleep superposition and projects you back into wakefulness. And because it keeps happening faster than you can fall asleep, you remain awake, diverted from slumber by a stream of interruptions – or, in quantum terms, measurements.

This phenomenon of repeated measurements “freezing” an unstable quantum system into a particular state is known as the quantum Zeno effect (figure 1). Named after a paradox from ancient Greek philosophy, it was hinted at in the 1950s by the scientific polymaths Alan Turing and John von Neumann but only fully articulated in 1977 by the physicists Baidyanath Misra and George Sudarshan (J. Math. Phys. 18 756). Since then, researchers have observed it in dozens of quantum systems, including trapped ions, superconducting flux qubits and atoms in optical cavities. But the apparent ubiquitousness of the quantum Zeno effect cannot hide the strangeness at its heart. How does the simple act of measuring a quantum system have such a profound effect on its behaviour?

A watched quantum pot

“When you come across it for the first time, you think it’s actually quite amazing because it really shows that the measurement in quantum mechanics influences the system,” says Daniel Burgarth, a physicist at the Friedrich-Alexander-Universität in Erlangen-Nürnberg, Germany, who has done theoretical work on the quantum Zeno effect.

Giovanni Barontini, an experimentalist at the University of Birmingham, UK, who has studied the quantum Zeno effect in cold atoms, agrees. “It doesn’t have a classical analogue,” he says. “I can watch a classical system doing something forever and it will continue doing it. But a quantum system really cares if it’s watched.”

1 A watched quantum pot

Applying heat to a normal, classical pot of water will cause it to evolve from state 1 (not boiling) to state 2 (boiling) at the same rate regardless of whether anyone is watching it (even if it doesn’t seem like it). In the quantum world, however, a system that would normally evolve from one state to the other if left unobserved (blindfolded Zeno) can be “frozen” in place by repeated frequent measurements (eyes-open Zeno).

For the physicists who laid the foundations of quantum mechanics a century ago, any connection between measurement and outcome was a stumbling block. Several tried to find ways around it, for example by formalizing a role for observers in quantum wavefunction collapse (Niels Bohr and Werner Heisenberg); introducing new “hidden” variables (Louis de Broglie and David Bohm); and even hypothesizing the creation of new universes with each measurement (the “many worlds” theory of Hugh Everett).

But none of these solutions proved fully satisfactory. Indeed, the measurement problem seemed so intractable that most physicists in the next generation avoided it, preferring the approach sometimes described – not always pejoratively – as “shut up and calculate”.

Today’s quantum physicists are different. Rather than treating what Barontini calls “the apotheosis of the measurement effect” as a barrier to overcome or a triviality to ignore, they are doing something few of their forebears could have imagined. They are turning the quantum Zeno effect into something useful.

Noise management

To understand how freezing a quantum system by measuring it could be useful, consider a qubit in a quantum computer. Many quantum algorithms begin by initializing qubits into a desired state and keeping them there until they’re required to perform computations. The problem is that quantum systems seldom stay where they’re put. In fact, they’re famously prone to losing their quantum nature (decohering) at the slightest disturbance (noise) from their environment. “Whenever we build quantum computers, we have to embed them in the real world, unfortunately, and that real world causes nothing but trouble,” Burgarth says.

Quantum scientists have many strategies for dealing with environmental noise. Some of these strategies are passive, such as cooling superconducting qubits with dilution refrigerators and using electric and magnetic fields to suspend ionic and atomic qubits in a vacuum. Others, though, are active. They involve, in effect, tricking qubits into staying in the states they’re meant to be in, and out of the states they’re not.

The quantum Zeno effect is one such trick. “The way it works is that we apply a sequence of kicks to the system, and we are actually rotating the qubit with each kick,” Burgarth explains. “You’re rotating the system, and then effectively the environment wants to rotate it in the other direction.” Over time, he adds, these opposing rotations average out, protecting the system from noise by freezing it in place.

Quantum state engineering

While noise mitigation is useful, it’s not the quantum Zeno application that interests Burgarth and Barontini the most. The real prize, they agree, is something called quantum state engineering, which is much more complex than simply preventing a quantum system from decaying or rotating.

The source of this added complexity is that real quantum systems – much like real people – usually have more than two states available to them. For example, the set of permissible “awake” states for a person – the Hilbert space of wakefulness, let’s call it – might include states such as cooking dinner, washing dishes and cleaning the bathroom. The goal of quantum state engineering is to restrict this state-space so the system can only occupy the state(s) required for a particular application.

As for how the quantum Zeno effect does this, Barontini explains it by referring to Zeno’s original, classical paradox. In the fifth century BCE, the philosopher Zeno of Elea posed a conundrum based on an arrow flying through the air. If you look at this arrow at any possible moment during its flight, you will find that in that instant, it is motionless. Yet somehow, the arrow still moves. How?

In the quantum version, Barontini explains, looking at the arrow freezes it in place. But that isn’t the only thing that happens. “The funniest thing is that if I look somewhere, then the arrow cannot go where I’m looking,” he says. “It will have to go around it. It will have to modify its trajectory to go outside my field of view.”

By shaping this field of view, Barontini continues, physicists can shape the system’s behaviour. As an example, he cites work by Serge Haroche, who shared the 2012 Nobel Prize for Physics with another notable quantum Zeno experimentalist, David Wineland.

In 2014 Haroche and colleagues at the École Normale Supérieure (ENS) in Paris, France, sought to control the dynamics of an electron within a so-called Rydberg atom. In this type of atom, the outermost electron is very weakly bound to the nucleus and can occupy any of several highly excited states.

The researchers used a microwave field to divide 51 of these highly excited Rydberg states into two groups, before applying radio-frequency pulses to the system. Normally, these pulses would cause the electron to hop between states. However, the continual “measurement” supplied by the microwave field meant that although the electron could move within either group of states, it could not jump from one group to the other. It was stuck – or, more precisely, it was in a special type of quantum superposition known as a Schrödinger cat state.

Restricting the behaviour of an electron might not sound very exciting in itself. But in this and other experiments, Haroche and colleagues showed that imposing such restrictions brings forth a slew of unusual quantum states. It’s as if telling the system what it can’t do forces it to do a bunch of other things instead, like a procrastinator who cooks dinner and washes dishes to avoid cleaning the bathroom. “It really enriches your quantum toolbox,” explains Barontini. “You can generate an entangled state that is more entangled or methodologically more useful than other states you could generate with traditional means.”

Just what is a measurement, anyway?

As well as generating interesting quantum states, the quantum Zeno effect is also shedding new light on the nature of quantum measurements. The question of what constitutes a “measurement” for quantum Zeno purposes turns out to be surprisingly broad. This was elegantly demonstrated in 2014, when physicists led by Augusto Smerzi at the Università di Firenze, Italy, showed that simply shining a resonant laser at their quantum system (figure 2) produced the same quantum Zeno dynamics as more elaborate “projective” measurements – which in this case involved applying pairs of laser pulses to the system at frequencies tailored to specific atomic transitions. “It’s fair to say that almost anything causes a Zeno effect,” says Burgarth. “It’s a very universal and easy-to-trigger phenomenon.”

2 Experimental realization of quantum Zeno dynamics

The energy level structure of a population of ultracold ⁸⁷Rb atoms, evolving in a five-level Hilbert space given by the five spin orientations of the F=2 hyperfine ground state. An applied RF field (red arrows) couples neighbouring quantum states together and allows atoms to “hop” between states. Normally, atoms initially placed in the |F, m_F> = |2,2> state would cycle between this state and the other four F=2 states in a process known as Rabi oscillation. However, by introducing a “measurement” – shown here as a laser beam (green arrow) resonant with the transition between the |1,0> state and the |2,0> state – Smerzi and colleagues drastically changed the system’s dynamics, forcing the atoms to oscillate between just the |2,2> and |2,1> states (represented by up and down arrows on the so-called Bloch sphere at right). An additional laser beam (orange arrow) and the detector D were used to monitor the system’s evolution over time.

Other research has broadened our understanding of what measurement can do. While the quantum Zeno effect uses repeated measurements to freeze a quantum system in place (or at least slow its evolution from one state to another), it is also possible to do the opposite and use measurements to accelerate quantum transitions. This phenomenon is known as the quantum anti-Zeno effect, and it has applications of its own. It could, for example, speed up reactions in quantum chemistry.

Over the past 25 years or so, much work has gone into understanding where the ordinary quantum Zeno effect leaves off and the quantum anti-Zeno effect begins. Some systems can display both Zeno and anti-Zeno dynamics, depending on the frequency of the measurements and various environmental conditions. Others seem to favour one over the other.

But regardless of which version turns out to be the most important, quantum Zeno research is anything but frozen in place. Some 2500 years after Zeno posed his paradox, his intellectual descendants are still puzzling over it.

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