Everything eventually dies, even galaxies. So how does that happen? Time to come to grips with our galactic mortality. Not as puny flesh beings, or as a speck of rock, or even the relatively unassuming ball of plasma we orbit.
Today we’re going to ponder the lifespan of the galaxy we inhabit, the Milky Way. If we look at a galaxy as a collection of stars, some are like our Sun, and others aren’t.
The Sun consumes fuel, converting hydrogen into helium through fusion. It’s been around for 5 billion years, and will probably last for another 5 before it bloats up as a red giant, sheds its outer layers and compresses down into a white dwarf, cooling down until it’s the background temperature of the Universe.
So if a galaxy like the Milky Way is just a collection of stars, isn’t that it? Doesn’t a galaxy die when its last star dies?
But you already know a galaxy is more than just stars. There’s also vast clouds of gas and dust. Some of it is primordial hydrogen left from the formation of the Universe 13.8 billion years ago.
All stars in the Milky Way formed from this primordial hydrogen. It and other similar sized galaxies produce 7 bouncing baby stars every year. Sadly, ours has used up 90% of its hydrogen, and star formation will slow down until it both figuratively, and literally, runs out of gas.
The Milky Way will die after it’s used all its star-forming gas, when all of the stars we have, and all those stars yet to be born have died. Stars like our Sun can only last for 10 billion years or so, but the smallest, coolest red dwarfs can last for a few trillion years.
The Andromeda Galaxy. Credit: Adam Evans
That should be the end, all the gas burned up and every star burned out. And that’s how it would be if our Milky Way existed all alone in the cosmos.
Fortunately, we’re surrounded by dozens of dwarf galaxies, which get merged into our Milky Way. Each merger brings in a fresh crop of stars and more hydrogen to stoke the furnaces of star formation.
There are bigger galaxies out there too. Andromeda is bearing down on the Milky Way right now, and will collide with us in the next few billion years.
When that happens, the two will merge. Then there’ll be a whole new era of star formation as the unspent gas in both galaxies mix together and are used up.
Eventually, all galaxies gravitationally bound to each other in this vicinity will merge together into a giant elliptical galaxy.
We see examples of these fossil galaxies when we look out into the Universe. Here’s M49, a supermassive elliptical galaxy. Who knows how many grand spiral galaxies stoked the fires of that gigantic cosmic engine?
Eta Carinae shines brightly in X-rays in this image from the Chandra X-Ray Observatory.
Elliptical galaxies are dead galaxies walking. They’ve used up all their reserves of star forming gas, and all that’s left are the longer lasting stars. Eventually, over vast lengths of time, those stars will wink out one after the other, until the whole thing is the background temperature of the Universe.
As long as galaxies have gas for star formation, they’ll keep thriving. Once it’s gonzo, or a dramatic merger uses all the gas in one big party, they’re on their way out.
What could we do to prolong the life of our galaxy? Let’s hear some wild speculation in the comments below.
The Solar System is 4.5 billion years old, but the Universe is much older. What was here before our Solar System formed?
The Solar System is old. Like, dial-up-fax-machine-old. 4.6 billion years to be specific. The Solar System has nothing on the Universe. It’s been around for 13.8 billion years, give or take a few hundred million. That means the Universe is three times older than the Solar System.
Astronomers think the Milky Way, is about 13.2 billion years old; almost as old as the Universe itself. It formed when smaller dwarf galaxies merged together to create the grand spiral we know today. It turns out the Milky Way has about 8.6 billion years of unaccounted time. Billions and billions of years to get up to all kinds of mischief before the Solar System showed up to keep an eye on things.
Our Galaxy takes 220 million years to rotate, so it’s done this about 60 times in total. As it turns, it swirls and mixes material together like a giant space blender. Clouds of gas and dust come together into vast star forming regions, massive stars have gone supernova, and then the clusters themselves have been torn up again, churning the stars into the Milky Way. This happens in the galaxy’s spiral arms, where the areas of higher density lead to regions of star formation.
So let’s go back, more than 4.6 billion years, before there was an Earth, a Sun, or even a Solar System. Our entire region was gas and dust, probably within one of the spiral arms. Want to know what it looked like? Some of your favorite pictures from the Hubble Space Telescope should help.
Here’s the Orion, Eagle, and the Tarantula Nebulae. These are star forming regions. They’re clouds of hydrogen left over from Big Bang, with dust expended by aging stars, and seeded with heavier elements formed by supernovae.
The Orion Nebula. Image Credit: Vasco Soeiro
After a few million years, regions of higher density began forming into stars, both large and small. Let’s take a look at a star-forming nebula again. See the dark knots? Those are newly forming stars surrounded by gas and dust in the stellar nursery.
You’re seeing many many stars, some are enormous monsters, others are more like our Sun, and some smaller red dwarfs. Most will eventually have planets surrounding them – and maybe, eventually life? If this was the environment, where are all those other stars?
Why do I feel so alone? Where are all our brothers and sisters? Where’s all the other stuff that’s in that picture? Where’s all my stuff?
TRAPPIST First Light Image of the Tarantula Nebula. Credit: ESO
Apparently nature hates a messy room and a cozy stellar nest. The nebula that made the Sun was either absorbed into the stars, or blown away by the powerful stellar winds from the largest stars. Eventually they cleared out the nebula, like a fans blowing out a smoky room.
At the earliest point, our solar nebula looked like the Eagle Nebula, after millions of years, it was more like the Pleiades Star Cluster, with bright stars surrounded by hazy nebulosity. It was the gravitational forces of the Milky Way which tore the members of our solar nursery into a structure like the Hyades Cluster. Finally, gravitational interactions tore our cluster apart, so our sibling stars were lost forever in the churning arms of the Milky Way.
We’ll never know exactly what was here before the Solar System; that evidence has long been blown away into space. But we can see other places in the Milky Way that give us a rough idea of what it might have looked like at various stages in its evolution.
What should we call our original star forming nebula? Give our own nebula a name in the comments below.
There is something about them that intrigues us all. These massive spheres of gas burning intensely from the energy of fusion buried many thousands of kilometers deep within their cores. The stars have been the object of humanity’s wonderment for as far back as we have records. Many of humanity’s religions can be tied to worshiping these celestial candles. For the Egyptians, the sun was representative of the God Ra, who each day vanquished the night and brought light and warmth to the lands. For the Greeks, it was Apollo who drove his flaming chariot across the sky, illuminating the world. Even in Christianity, Jesus can be said to be representative of the sun given the striking characteristics his story holds with ancient astrological beliefs and figures. In fact, many of the ancient beliefs follow a similar path, all of which tie their origins to that of the worship of the sun and stars.
Humanity thrived off of the stars in the night sky because they recognized a correlation in the pattern in which certain star formations (known as constellations) represented specific times in the yearly cycle. One of which meant that it was to become warmer soon, which led to planting food. The other constellations foretold the coming of a
The familiar constellation of Orion. Orion’s Belt can be clearly seen, as well as Betelgeuse (red star in the upper left corner) and Rigel (bright blue star in the lower right corner) Credit: NASA Astronomy Picture of the Day Collection NASA
colder period, so you were able to begin storing food and gathering firewood. Moving forward in humanity’s journey, the stars then became a way to navigate. Sailing by the stars was the way to get around, and we owe our early exploration to our understandings of the constellations. For many of the tens of thousands of years that human eyes have gazed upwards toward the heavens, it wasn’t until relatively recently that we fully began to understand what stars actually were, where they came from, and how they lived and died. This is what we shall discuss in this article. Come with me as we venture deep into the cosmos and witness physics writ large, as I cover how a star is born, lives, and eventually dies.
We begin our journey by traveling out into the universe in search of something special. We are looking for a unique structure where both the right circumstances and ingredients are present. We are looking for what astronomer’s call a Dark Nebula. I’m sure you’ve heard of nebulae before, and have no doubt seen them. Many of the amazing images that the Hubble Space Telescope has obtained are of beautiful gas clouds, glowing amidst the backdrop of billions of stars. Their colors range from deep reds, to vibrant blues, and even some eerie greens. This is not the type of nebula we are in search of though. The nebula we need is dark, opaque, and very, very cold.
You may by wondering to yourself, “Why are we looking for something dark and cold when stars are bright and hot?”
Image of a Dark Nebula Credit: ESO http://www.eso.org/public/images/eso1501a
Indeed, this is something that would appear puzzling at first. Why does something need to be cold first before it can become extremely hot? First, we must cover something elementary about what we call the Interstellar Medium (ISM), or the space between the stars. Space is not empty as its name would imply. Space contains both gas and dust. The gas we are mainly referring to is Hydrogen, the most abundant element in the universe. Since the universe is not uniform (the same density of gas and dust over every cubic meter), there are pockets of space that contain more gas and dust than others. This causes gravity to manipulate these pockets to come together and form what we see as nebulae. Many things go into the making of these different nebulae, but the one that we are looking for, a Dark Nebula, possesses very special properties. Now, let us dive into one of these Dark Nebulae and see what is going on.
As we descend through the outer layers of this nebula, we notice that the temperature of the gas and dust is very low. In some nebulae, the temperatures are very hot. The more particles bump into each other, excited by the absorption and emission of exterior and interior radiation, means higher temperatures. But in this Dark Nebula, the opposite is happening. The temperatures are decreasing the further into the cloud we get. The reason these Dark Nebulae have specific properties that work to create a great stellar nursery has to deal with the basic properties of the nebula and the region type that the cloud exists in, which has some difficult concepts associated with it that I will not fully illustrate here. They include the region where the molecular clouds form which are called Neutral Hydrogen Regions, and the properties of these regions have to deal with electron spin values, along with magnetic field interactions that effect said electrons. The traits that I will cover are what allows for this particular nebula to be ripe for star formation.
Excluding the complex science behind what helps form these nebulae, we can begin to address the first question of why must we get colder to get hotter. The answer comes down to gravity. When particles are heated, or excited, they move faster. A cloud with sufficient energy will contain far too much momentum among each of the dust and gas particles for any type of formations to occur. As in, if dust grains and gas atoms are moving too quickly, they will simply bounce off of one another or just shoot past each other, never achieving any type of bond. Without this interaction, you can never have a star. However, if the temperatures are cold enough, the particles of gas and dust are moving so slow that their mutual gravity will allow for them to start to “stick” together. It is this process that allows for a protostar to begin to form.
Generally what supplies energy to allow for the faster motion of the particles in these molecular clouds is radiation. Of course, there is radiation coming in from all directions at all times in the universe. As we see with other nebulae, they are glowing with energy and stars aren’t being born amid these hot gas clouds. They are being heated by external radiation from other stars and from its own internal heat. How does this Dark Nebula prevent external radiation from heating up the gas in the cloud and causing it to move too fast for gravity to take hold? This is where
Barnard 68 is a large molecular cloud that is so thick, it blocks out the light from stars that we normally would be able to see. Credit: ESO http://www.eso.org/public/images/eso0102a
the opaque nature of these Dark Nebulae comes into play. Opacity is the measure of how much light is able to move through an object. The more material in the object or the thicker the object is, the less light is able to penetrate it. The higher frequency light (Gamma Rays, X-Rays, and UV) and even the visible frequencies are affected more by thick pockets of gas and dust. Only the lower frequency types of light, including Infrared, Microwaves, and Radio Waves, has any success of penetrating gas clouds such as these, and even it is somewhat scattered so that generally they do not contain nearly enough energy to begin to disrupt this precarious process of star formation. Thus, the inner portions of the dark gas clouds are effectively “shielded” from the outside radiation that disrupts other, less opaque nebulae. The less radiation that makes it into the cloud, the lower the temperatures of the gas and dust within it. The colder temperatures means less particle motion within the cloud, which is key for what we will discuss next.
Indeed, as we descend towards the core of this dark molecular cloud, we notice that less and less visible light makes it to our eyes, and with special filters, we can see that this is true of other frequencies of light. As a result, the cloud’s temperature is very low. It is worth noting that the process of star formation takes a very long time, and in the interest of not keeping you reading for hundreds of thousands of years, we shall now fast forward time. In a few thousand years, gravity has pulled in a fair amount of gas and dust from the surrounding molecular cloud, causing it to clump together. Dust and gas particles, still shielded from outside radiation, are free to naturally come together and “stick” at these low temperatures. Eventually, something interesting begins to happen. The mutual gravity of this ever growing ball of gas and dust begins a snowball (or star-ball) effect. The more layers of gas and dust that are coagulated together, the denser the interior of this protostar becomes. This density increases the gravitational force near the protostar, thus pulling more material into it. With every dust grain and hydrogen atom that it accumulates, the pressure in the interior of this ball of gas increases.
If you remember anything from any chemistry class you’ve ever taken, you may recall a very special relationship between pressure and temperature when dealing with a gas. PV=nRT, the Ideal Gas Law, comes to mind. Excluding the constant scalar value ‘n’ and the gas constant R ({8.314 J/mol x K}), and solving for Temperature (T), we get T=PV, which means that the temperature of a gas cloud is directly proportional to pressure. If you increase the pressure, you increase the temperature. The core of this soon-to-be star residing in this Dark Nebula is becoming very dense, and the pressure is skyrocketing. According to what we just calculated, that means that the temperature is also increasing.
Artistic rendition of a star forming within a dark nebula. Credit: NASA/JPL-Caltech/R. Hurt (SSC)
We yet again consider this nebula for the next step. This nebula has a large amount of dust and gas (hence it being opaque), which means it has a lot of material to feed our protostar. It continues to pull in the gas and dust from its surrounding environment and begins heating up. The hydrogen particles in the core of this object are bouncing around so quick that they are releasing energy into the star. The protostar begins to get very hot and is now glowing with radiation (generally Infrared). At this point, gravity is still pulling in more gas and dust which is adding to the pressures exerted deep within the core of this protostar. The gas of the Dark Nebula will continue to collapse in on itself until something important happens. When there is little to nothing left near the star to fall onto its surface, it begins to lose energy (due to it radiating away as light). When this happens, that outward force lessens and gravity starts to contract the star faster. This greatly increases the pressure in the core of this protostar. As the pressure grows, the temperature in the core reaches a value that is crucial for the process that we are witnessing. The protostar’s core has become so dense and hot, that it reaches roughly 10 million Kelvin. To put that into perspective, this temperature is roughly 1700x hotter than the surface of our sun (at around 5800K). Why is 10 million Kelvin so important? Because at that temperature, the thermonuclear fusion of Hydrogen can occur, and once fusion starts, this newborn star “turns on” and bursts to life, sending out vast amounts of energy in all directions.
In the core, it is so hot that the electrons that zip around the hydrogen’s proton nuclei are stripped off (ionized), and all you have are free moving protons. If the temperature isn’t hot enough, these free flying protons (which have positive charges), will simply glance off one another. However, at 10 Million Kelvin, the protons are moving so fast that they can get close enough to allow for the Strong Nuclear Force to take over, and when it does the Hydrogen protons begin slamming into each other with enough force to fuse together, creating Helium atoms and releasing lots of energy in the form of radiation. It’s a chain reaction that can be summed up as 4 Protons yield 1 Helium atom + energy. This fusion is what ignites the star and causes it to “burn”. The energy liberated by this reaction goes into helping other Hydrogen protons fuse and also supplies the energy to keep the star from collapsing in on itself. The energy that is pumping out of this star in all directions all comes from the core, and the subsequent layers of this young star all transmit that heat in their own way (using radiation and convection methods depending upon what type of star has been born).
Newborn stars glow through their parent molecular cloud Credit: ESA/Hubble & NASA Acknowledgement: Judy Schmidt
What we have witnessed now, from the start of our journey when we dove down into that cold Dark Nebula, is the birth of a young, hot star. The nebula protected this star from errant radiation that would have disrupted this process, as well as providing the frigid environment that was needed for gravity to take hold and work its magic. As we witnessed the protostar form, we may also have seen something incredible. If the contents of this nebula are right, such as having a high amount of heavy metals and silicates (left over from the supernovae of previous, more massive stars) what we could begin to see would be planetary formation taking place in the accretion disk of material around the protostar.
Remaining gas and dust in the vicinity of our new star would begin to form dense pockets by the same mechanism of
Artistic rendition of a protoplanet forming within the accretion disk of a protostar Credit: ESO/L. Calçada http://www.eso.org/public/images/eso1310a/
gravity, eventually being able to accrete into protoplanets that will be made up of gas or silicates and metal (or a combination of the two). That being said, planetary formation is still somewhat a mystery to us, as there seems to be things that we cannot explain yet at work. But this model of star system formation seems to work well.
The life of the star isn’t nearly as exciting as its birth or death. We will continue to fast forward the clock and watch this star system evolve. Over a few billion years, the remnants of the Dark Nebula have been blown apart and have also formed other stars like the one we witnessed, and it no longer exists. The planets we saw being formed as the protostar grew begin their billion year dance around their parent star. Maybe on one of these worlds, a world that sits at just the right distance away from the star, liquid water exists. Within that water contains the amino acids that are needed for proteins (all composed of the elements that were left over by previous stellar eruptions). These proteins are able to link together to start to form RNA chains, then DNA chains. Maybe at one point a few billion years after the star has been born, we see a space-faring species launch itself into the cosmos, or perhaps they never achieve this for various reasons and remain planet-bound. Of course this is just speculation for our amusement. However, now we come to the end of our journey that began billions of years ago. The star begins to die.
The Hydrogen in its core is being fused into Helium, which depletes the Hydrogen over time; the star is running out of gas. After many years, the hydrogen fusion process begins to stop, and the star puts out less and less energy. This lack of outward pressure from the fusion process upsets what we call the hydrostatic equilibrium, and allows gravity (which is always trying to crush the star) to win. The star begins to shrink rapidly under its own weight. But, just as we discussed earlier, as the pressure increases, so too does the temperature. All of that Helium that was left over
Inward force of gravity versus the outward pressure of fusion within a star (hydrostatic equilibrium) Credit: NASA
from the billions of years of hydrogen fusion now begins to heat up in the core. Helium fuses at a much hotter temperature than Hydrogen does, which means that the Helium rich core is able to be pressed inward by gravity without fusing (yet). Since fusion isn’t occurring in the Helium core, there is little to no outward force (given off by fusion) to prevent the core from collapsing. This matter becomes much denser, which we now label as degenerate, and is pushing out massive amounts of heat (gravitational energy becoming thermal energy). This causes the remaining Hydrogen that is in subsequent layers above the Helium core to fuse, which causes the star to expand greatly as this Hydrogen shell burns out of control. This makes the star “rebound” and it expands rapidly; the more energetic fusion from the Hydrogen shells outside of the core expanding the diameter of the star greatly. Our star is now a red giant. Some, if not all of the inner planets that we witnessed form will be incinerated and swallowed up by the star that first gave them life. If there happened to be any life on any of those planets that didn’t manage to leave their home world, they would certainly be erased from the universe, never to be known of.
This process of the star running out of fuel (first Hydrogen, then Helium, etc…) will continue for a while. Eventually, the Helium in the core will reach a certain temperature and begin to fuse into Carbon, which will put off the collapse (and death) of the star. The star we are currently watching live and die is an average-sized Main Sequence Star, so its life ends once it is finished fusing Helium into
Different planetary nebulae, all remnants of low mass stars ejecting their outer material as they die Credit: NASA
Carbon. If the star was much larger, this fusion process would proceed until we reached Iron. Iron is the element in which fusion does not take place spontaneously, meaning it requires more energy to fuse it than it gives off after fusion. However, our star will never make it to Iron in its core, and thus it has died after it exhausts its Helium reservoir. When the fusion process finally “turns off” (out of gas), the star slowly begins to cool and the outer layers of the star expand and are ejected into space. Subsequent ejections of stellar material proceed to create what we call a planetary nebula, and all that is left of the once brilliant star we watched spring into existence is now just a ball of dense carbon that will continue to cool for the rest of eternity, possibly crystallizing into diamond.
The death we witnessed just now isn’t the only way a star dies. If a star is sufficiently large enough, its death is much more violent. The star will erupt into the largest explosion in the universe, called a supernova. Depending on many variables, the remnant of the star could end up as a neutron star, or even a black hole. But for most of what we call the average sized Main Sequence Stars, the death that we witnessed will be their fate.
Artistic representation of the material around the supernova 1987A. Supernovae are among the most violent events in the universe Credit: ESO/L. Calçada
Our journey ends with us pondering what we have observed. Seeing just what nature can do given the right circumstances, and watching a cloud of very cold gas and dust turn into something that has the potential to breathe life into the cosmos. Our minds wander back to that species that could have evolved on one of those planets. You think about how they may have gone through phases similar to us. Possibly using the stars as supernatural deities that guided their beliefs for thousands of years, substituting answers in for where their ignorance reigned. These beliefs could possibly turn into religions, still grasping that notion of special selection and magnanimous thought. Would the stars fuel their desire to understand the universe as the stars did for us? Your mind then ponders what our fate will be if we do not attempt to take the next step into the universe. Are we to allow our species to be erased from the cosmos as our star expands in its death? This journey you just made into the heart of a Dark Nebula truly exemplifies what the human mind can do, and shows you just how far we have come even though we are still bound to our solar system. The things you have learned were found by others like you simply asking how things occur and then bringing the full weight of our knowledge of physics to bare. Imagine what we can accomplish if we continue this process; being able to fully achieve our place among the stars.
The vastness of the cosmos awaits us… Credit: NASA (Hubble Deep Field)
When a massive star reaches the end of its life, it can explode as a supernova. How quickly does this process happen?
Our Sun will die a slow sad death, billions of years from now when it runs out of magic sunjuice. Sure, it’ll be a dramatic red giant for a bit, but then it’ll settle down as a white dwarf. Build a picket fence, relax on the porch with some refreshing sunjuice lemonade. Gently drifting into its twilight years, and slowly cooling down until it becomes the background temperature of the Universe.
If our Sun had less mass, it would suffer an even slower fate. So then, unsurprisingly, if it had more mass it would die more quickly. In fact, stars with several times the mass of our Sun will die as a supernova, exploding in an instant. Often we talk about things that take billions of years to happen on the Guide to Space. So what about a supernova? Any guesses on how fast that happens?
There are actually several different kinds of supernovae out there, and they have different mechanisms and different durations. But I’m going to focus on a core collapse supernova, the “regular unleaded” of supernovae. Stars between 8 and about 50 times the mass of the Sun exhaust the hydrogen fuel in their cores quickly, in few short million years.
Just like our Sun, they convert hydrogen into helium through fusion, releasing a tremendous amounts of energy which pushes against the star’s gravity trying to collapse in on itself. Once the massive star runs out of hydrogen in its core, it switches to helium, then carbon, then neon, all the way up the periodic table of elements until it reaches iron. The problem is that iron doesn’t produce energy through the fusion process, so there’s nothing holding back the mass of the star from collapsing inward.
… and boom, supernova.
The outer edges of the core collapse inward at 70,000 meters per second, about 23% the speed of light. In just a quarter of a second, infalling material bounces off the iron core of the star, creating a shockwave of matter propagating outward. This shockwave can take a couple of hours to reach the surface.
SN 1987A, an example of a Type II-P Supernova
As the wave passes through, it creates exotic new elements the original star could never form in its core. And this is where we get all get rich. All gold, silver, platinum, uranium and anything higher than iron on the periodic table of elements are created here. A supernova will then take a few months to reach its brightest point, potentially putting out as much energy as the rest of its galaxy combined.
Supernova 1987A, named to commemorate the induction of the first woman into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, the amazing Aretha Franklin. Well, actually, that’s not true, it was the first supernova we saw in 1987. But we should really name supernovae after things like that. Still, 1987A went off relatively nearby, and took 85 days to reach its peak brightness. Slowly declining over the next 2 years. Powerful telescopes like the Hubble Space Telescope can still see the shockwave expanding in space, decades later.
Evolution of a Type Ia supernova. Credit: NASA/CXC/M. Weiss
Our “regular flavor” core collapse supernova is just one type of exploding star. The type 1a supernovae are created when a white dwarf star sucks material off a binary partner like a gigantic parasitic twin, until it reaches 1.4 times the mass of the Sun, and then it explodes. In just a few days, these supernovae peak and fade much more rapidly than our core collapse friends.
So, how long does a supernova take to explode? A few million years for the star to die, less than a quarter of a second for its core to collapse, a few hours for the shockwave to reach the surface of the star, a few months to brighten, and then just few years to fade away.
Which star would you like to explode? Tell us in the comments below.
Thanks for watching! Never miss an episode by clicking subscribe. Our Patreon community is the reason these shows happen. We’d like to thank David Hall and the rest of the members who support us in making great space and astronomy content. Members get advance access to episodes, extras, contests, and other shenanigans with Jay, myself and the rest of the team. Want to get in on the action? Click here.
Short time exposure of the star Sirius with the camera attached to a small telescope. I tapped the tube to make the star bounce around, recording the star's rapid color changes as it twinkled. All photos by the author
We all have cameras, and the sky’s an easy target, so why not have a little fun? Ever since I got my first camera at age 12 I wanted to shoot time exposures of the night sky. That and a tripod are all you need. Presented here for your enjoyment are a few oddball and yet oddly informative images of stars and planets. Take the word “art” loosely!
Colorless mess. This is the companion to the Sirius image and shows Jupiter through the telescope. Notice how blandly white it appears. That’s because Jupiter’s disk is large enough to not show twinkling (and color changes) caused by atmospheric turbulence as in the case of point-like Sirius. Credit: Bob KingPleasing parallels. Orion’s Belt and Sword trail in this time exposure made with a 200mm lens. The fuzzy pink streak is the Orion Nebula. They’re trails are nearly parallel because the stars all lie close to the celestial equator and were crossing the meridian at the time. Credit: Bob KingStar Trek Effect. I centered Jupiter in the viewfinder, pressed the shutter button for a 20-second time exposure and slowly hand-zoomed the lens from 70mm to 200mm. It took a few tries because I was shooting blind, but even the rejects weren’t too bad. Credit: Bob KingColor by Fog. The colors of stars are accentuated when spread into a glowing disk by fog or light cloud. Orion is at right with the crescent moon at lower left. Credit: Bob KingSnow flies. During a time exposure taken on a snowy but partly cloudy night, snowflakes, illuminated by a yard light, streak about beneath a Full Moon earlier this winter. Credit: Bob KingStuttering Stars. For this image of the Big Dipper the camera was on a tracking mount. I left the shutter open for about 25 minutes with the tracking turned off so the stars would trail. Then the lens was covered with a black cloth for a few minutes to create a gap between this exposure and the next. After the cloth was removed, I started the tracking motor and kept the exposure running for a few minutes. A diffusion filter was used in front of the lens to soften and enlarge the brightest stars. Credit: Bob King
We have no idea what it dark energy is, so how are we pretty sure it exists?
I’ve talked about how astronomers know that dark matter exists. Even though they can’t see it, they detect it through the effect its gravity has on light. Dark matter accounts for 27% of the Universe, dark energy accounts for 68% of the Universe. And again, astronomers really have no idea what what it is, only that they’re pretty sure it does exist. 95% of the nature of the Universe is a complete and total mystery. We just have no idea what this stuff is.
So this time around, lets focus on dark energy. Back in the late 90s, astronomers wanted to calculate once and for all if the Universe was open or closed. In other words, they wanted to calculate the rate of expansion of the Universe now and then compare this rate to its expansion in the past. In order to answer this question, they searched the skies for a special type of supernova known as a Type 1a.
While most supernovae are just massive stars, Type 1a are white dwarf stars that exist in a binary system. The white dwarf siphons material off of its binary partner, and when it reaches 1.6 times the mass of the Sun, it explodes. The trick is that these always explode with roughly the same amount of energy. So if you measure the brightness of a Type 1a supernova, you know roughly how far away it is.
Astronomers assumed the expansion was slowing down. But the question was, how fast was it slowing down? Would it slow to a halt and maybe even reverse direction? So, what did they discover?
In the immortal words of Isaac Asimov, “the most exciting phrase to hear in science, the one that heralds new discoveries, is not ‘Eureka’, but ‘That’s Funny’” Instead of finding that the expansion of the Universe was slowing down, they discovered that it’s speeding up. That’s like trying to calculate how quickly apples fall from trees and finding that they actually fly off into the sky, faster and faster.
Since this amazing, Nobel prize winning discovery, astronomers have used several other methods to verify this mind-bending reality of the Universe. NASA’s Wilkinson Microwave Anisotropy Probe studied the Cosmic Microwave Background Radiation of the Universe for 7 years, and put the amount of dark energy at 72.8% of the Universe. ESA’s Planck spacecraft performed an even more careful analysis and pegged that number at 68.3% of the Universe.
Einstein Lecturing. (Ferdinand Schmutzer, Public Domain)
Astronomers know that dark energy exists. There are multiple lines of evidence. But as with dark matter, they have absolutely no clue what it is. Einstein described an idea he called the cosmological constant. It was a way to explain a static Universe that really should be expanding or contracting. Once astronomers figured out the Universe was actually expanding, he threw the idea out.
Hey, not so fast there “Einstein”. Maybe just one of the features of space itself is that it pushes stuff away. And the more space there is, the more outward pressure you get. Perhaps from virtual particles popping in and out of existence in the vacuum of space.
Another possibility is a phenomenon called Quintessence, a negative energy field that pervades the entire Universe. Yes, that sounds totally woo-woo, thanks Universe, Deepak Chopra crazy talk, but it might explain the repulsive force that makes up most of the Universe. And there are other theories, which are even more exotic. But mostly likely it’s something that physicists haven’t even thought of yet.
So, how do we know dark energy exists? Distant supernovae are a lot further away from each other than they should be if the expansion of the Universe was slowing down. Nobody has any idea what it is, it’s a mystery, and there’s nothing wrong with a mystery. In fact, for me, it’s one of the most exciting ideas in space and astronomy.
When we look out into space, we’re also looking back into time. Just how far back can we see?
The Universe is a magic time window, allowing us to peer into the past. The further out we look, the further back in time we see. Despite our brains telling us things we see happen at the instant we view them, light moves at a mere 300,000 kilometers per second, which makes for a really weird time delay at great distances.
Let’s say that you’re talking with a friend who’s about a meter away. The light from your friend’s face took about 3.336 nanoseconds to reach you. You’re always seeing your loved ones 3.336 nanoseconds into the past. When you look around you, you’re not seeing the world as it is, you’re seeing the world as it was, a fraction of a second ago. And the further things are, the further back in time you’re looking.
The distance to the Moon is, on average, about 384,000 km. Light takes about 1.28 seconds to get from the Moon to the Earth. If there was a large explosion on the Moon of a secret Nazi base, you wouldn’t see it for just over a second. Even trying to communicate with someone on the Moon would be frustrating as you’d experience a delay each time you talked.
Let’s go with some larger examples. Our Sun is 8 minutes and 20 seconds away at the speed of light. You’re not seeing the Sun as it is, but how it looked more than 8 minutes ago.
On average, Mars is about 14 light minutes away from Earth. When we were watching live coverage of NASA’s Curiosity Rover landing on Mars, it wasn’t live. Curiosity landed minutes earlier, and we had to wait for the radio signals to reach us, since they travel at the speed of light.
When NASA’s New Horizons spacecraft reaches Pluto next year, it’ll be 4.6 light hours away. If we had a telescope strong enough to watch the close encounter, we’d be looking at events that happened 4.6 hours ago.
A Hubble Space Telescope image of Proxima Centauri, the closest star to Earth. Credit: ESA/Hubble & NASA
The closest star, Proxima Centauri, is more than 4.2 light-years away. This means that the Proxima Centurans don’t know who won the last US Election, or that there are going to be new Star Wars movies. They will, however, as of when this video was produced, be watching Toronto make some questionable life choices regarding its mayoral election.
The Eagle Nebula with the famous Pillars of Creation, is 7,000 light-years away. Astronomers believe that a supernova has already gone off in this region, blasting them away. Take a picture with a telescope and you’ll see them, but mostly likely they’ve been gone for thousands of years.
The core of our own Milky Way galaxy is about 25,000 light-years away. When you look at these beautiful pictures of the core of the Milky Way, you’re seeing light that may well have left before humans first settled in North America.
The Andromeda Galaxy. Credit: Adam Evans
And don’t get me started on Andromeda. That galaxy is more than 2.5 million light-years away. That light left Andromeda before we had Homo Erectus on Earth. There are galaxies out there, where aliens with powerful enough telescopes could be watching dinosaurs roaming the Earth, right now.
Here’s where it gets even more interesting. Some of the brightest objects in the sky are quasars, actively feeding supermassive black holes at the cores of galaxies. The closest is 2.5 billion light years away, but there are many much further out. Earth formed only 4.5 billion years ago, so we can see quasars shining where the light had left before the Earth even formed.
The Cosmic Microwave Background Radiation, the very edge of the observable Universe is about 13.8 billion light-years away. This light left the Universe when it was only a few hundred thousand years old, and only now has finally reached us. What’s even stranger, the place that emitted that radiation is now 46 billion light-years away from us.
So crack out your sonic screwdrivers and enjoy your time machine, Whovians. Your ability to look out into space and peer into the past. Without a finite speed of light, we wouldn’t know as much about the Universe we live in and where we came from. What moment in history do you wish you could watch? Express your answer in the form of a distance in light-years.
Star trails over Lake Minnewanka in Alberta, Canada. Credit and copyright: Jack-Fusco.
We know that Earth is not the center of the universe — let alone the Solar System — but looking at the sky, it’s easy to get confused. Stars appear to be rising and setting, as well as the planets, Moon and the Sun. And with more precise instruments, we can see some stars appearing to move back and forth relative to other ones.
As we’ll see below, we can explain those movements through the Earth’s rotation and movement through its orbit. But stars also have their own proper motion through space. So when we say that stars “move”, it could be because of the Earth, because of their own movements, or because of both!
The Earth takes roughly 24 hours to spin on its axis, moving from east to west. And if you watch the sky over a few hours in most locations on Earth, you can see the same thing happening: stars rising in the east, and setting in the west. There are some exceptions to this rule, however:
Star Trails by Cory Schmitz
Stars that are close to the Earth’s axis of rotation — what we call the north and the south pole — rotate around the poles. If the pole’s location is far enough above the horizon, some stars never set. They just keep spinning.
If your geographical location happens to be close to the pole, most stars will be rotating around the pole and very few will rise and set. (And in a trick of geometry, it will be hard to see the Sun, moon and planets since their path in the sky is at 23.5 degrees — the same as Earth’s tilt. This is why the poles have months of darkness, because the Sun doesn’t always shine there.)
So we’ve covered the Earth’s rotation, but we’ve neglected to mention its orbit around the Sun. It takes us about 365 days to make a full trip. As we move along in space, some curious effects occur. Consider the famous Mars mystery; astronomers used to be puzzled as to why the planet appeared to stop its movement against the background stars, go backwards and then go forwards again. Turns out it was Earth in its orbit “catching up” to the more distant Mars and passing it by.
Global mosaic of Mars showing the dark basaltic Syrtis Major Planus region made from Viking Orbiter images. (NSSDC)
At opposite ends of our orbit — say, in winter and summer — we can even see some stars appearing to shift against the background. If you picture the Earth in its orbit around the Sun, recall that we orbit about 93 million miles (150 million kilometers) from our closest neighbor. So at opposite ends of the orbit, Earth’s position is double that — 186 million miles (300 million kilometers).
Here’s where it gets interesting. Imagine you’re doing laps around a baseball field, looking at a building about a mile (1.6 kilometers) away. That building will appear to shift positions as you move around the track. The same thing happens when the Earth moves around in its orbit. Some of the closer stars can be seen moving back and forth across the background. We call this effect parallax and we can use it for stars that are as far away as about 100 light-years. We can actually calculate their distance using some geometry.
With parallax technique, astronomers observe object at opposite ends of Earth’s orbit around the Sun to precisely measure its distance. CREDIT: Alexandra Angelich, NRAO/AUI/NSF.
So we’ve covered ways the stars “move” due to the Earth’s orbit. But stars can move for other reasons as well. Maybe we’re observing a binary system where two stars are orbiting around each other. Maybe the stars are embedded in a galaxy that is itself rotating. Maybe the star is moving due to the expansion of the Universe, which gradually stretches distances between objects.
But stars also have their own motion in space — called proper motion — that is independent of these phenomena. Why is the star moving? Simply put, it’s because of gravity — because they are moving around the center of their galaxy, for example. Gravity makes every object in space move. But as most stars are far away from us and space is so big, that proper motion is very small in a human lifetime. The star with the highest proper motion is Barnard’s Star. It moves 10.3 seconds of arc per year, meaning it takes about 180 years for it to move the diameter of the full Moon in our sky.
M1-67 is the youngest wind-nebula around a Wolf-Rayet star, called WR124, in our Galaxy. Credit: ESO
Wolf-Rayet stars represent a final burst of activity before a huge star begins to die. These stars, which are at least 20 times more massive than the Sun, “live fast and die hard”, according to NASA.
Their endstate is more famous; it’s when they explode as supernova and seed the universe with cosmic elements that they get the most attention. But looking at how the star gets to that explosive stage is also important.
When you look at a star like the Sun, what you are seeing is a delicate equilibrium of the star’s gravity pulling stuff in, and nuclear fusion inside pushing pressure out. When the forces are about equal, you get a stable mass of fusing elements. For planets like ours lucky enough to live near a stable star, this period can go on for billions upon billions of years.
Being near a massive star is like playing with fire, however. They grow up quickly and thus die earlier in their lives than the Sun. And in the case of a Wolf-Rayet star, it’s run out of lighter elements to fuse inside its core. The Sun is happily churning hydrogen into helium, but Wolf-Rayets are ploughing through elements such as oxygen to try to keep equilibrium.
The core of a red or blue supergiant moments before exploding as a supernova looks like an onion with multiple elements “burning” through the fusion process to create the heat to stay the force of gravity. Fusion stops at iron. With no energy pouring from the central core to keep the other elements cooking, the star collapses and the rebounding shock wave tears it apart. Credit: Wikimedia
Because these elements have more atoms per unit, this creates more energy — specifically, heat and radiation, NASA says. The star begins to blow out winds reaching 2.2 million to 5.4 million miles per hour (3.6 million to 9 million kilometers per hour). Over time, the winds strip away the outer layers of the Wolf-Rayet. This eliminates much of its mass, while at the same time freeing its elements to be used elsewhere in the Universe.
Eventually, the star runs out of elements to fuse (the process can go no further than iron). When the fusion stops, the pressure inside the star ceases and there’s nothing to stop gravity from pushing in. Big stars explode as supernova. Bigger ones see their gravity warped so much that not even light can escape, creating a black hole.
We still have a lot to learn about stellar evolution, but a few studies over the years have provided insights. In 2004, for example, NASA issued reassuring news saying these stars don’t “die alone.” Most of them have a stellar companion, according to Hubble Space Telescope observations.
A composite image with Chandra data (purple) showing a “point-like source” beside the remains of a supernova, suggesting a companion star may have survived the explosion. Hydrogen is shown in optical light (yellow and cyan) from the Magellanic Cloud Emission Line Survey and there is also optical data available from the Digitized Sky Survey (white). Credit: X-ray: NASA/CXC/SAO/F.Seward et al; Optical: NOAO/CTIO/MCELS, DSS
While at first glance this appears as just a simple observation, cosmologists said that it could help us figure out how these stars get so big and bright. For example: Maybe the bigger star (the one that turns into a Wolf-Rayet) feeds off its companion over time, gathering mass until it becomes stupendously big. With more fuel, the big stars burn out faster. Other things the smaller star could influence could be the bigger star’s rotation or orbit.
Here’s a few other facts about Wolf-Rayets, courtesy of astronomer David Darling:
Their names come from two French astronomers, Charles Wolf and Georges Rayet, who discovered the first known star of this kind in 1867.
Wolf-Rayets come in two flavours: WN (emission lines of helium and nitrogen) and WC (carbon, oxygen and hydrogen).
Stars like our Sun evolve into more massive red giants as they run out of hydrogen to burn in the core. When these stars begin to shed their outer layers, they behave somewhat similarly to Wolf-Rayets. So they’re called “Wolf-Rayet type stars”, although they’re not exactly the same thing.
