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- Herausgeber: Icon Books
- Kategorie: Wissenschaft und neue Technologien
- Sprache: Englisch
An offbeat guided tour of the Universe, focusing on weird and wonderful facts. Astrophysicist Dr Jillian Scudder knows more than most of us what a surreal place the Universe can be. In this light-hearted book she delves into some of the more arcane facts that her work has revealed, and tells us how we have actually managed to discover these amazing truths. Did you know: the galaxy is flatter than a sheet of paper; supermassive black holes can sing a super-low B flat; it rains iron on a brown dwarf, and diamonds on Neptune; you could grow turnips on Mars if its soil weren't full of rocket fuel; the Universe is beige, on average; Jupiter's magnetic field will short-circuit your spacecraft - and, of course, the Milky Way smells of rum and raspberries.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022
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Praise for Astroquizzical
‘A wonderful jaunt through the universe at every scale, and a great way to fill in every gap in knowledge you have about astronomy.’
Zach Weinersmith, co-author of the New York Times bestseller, Soonish
‘Astroquizzical is a superb astronomy book, written with a distinctive tone which is both pragmatic and poetic at the same time. [Jillian Scudder] brings the perfect blend of fact and fascination to help us feel a greater sense of our place within the clockwork of the universe.’
Jon Culshaw
‘Scudder’s mission is to provide the lay reader with a thorough grounding in the basics of astronomical knowledge. The writing is fluid and direct with the subject material brought vibrantly to life. For astro novices this book … will bring a welcome depth to their appreciation of the night sky and the wonders it holds.’
BBC Sky at Night magazine
‘Genuinely entertaining [with] an excellent balance of enthusiasm and facts. This is the kind of book that would be excellent to get either a teenage reader or an adult with limited exposure to astronomy interested in the field. It’s a cosmic journey that I enjoyed.’
Brian Clegg, popularscience.co.uk
ii‘The narrative form that Scudder employs is an imaginary cosmic journey that begins on our home planet and takes us in seven steps to the furthest galaxies. This simple format has been tried countless times before by big-name astronomers. What’s different here is an intense level of engagement between writer and reader. Vivid storytelling explains the physics without equations. Her aim is to get people to think issues through for themselves, and that works. The clarity of Scudder’s writing is impressive.’
Simon Mitton, Times Higher Education
‘[This] excellent debut book is all about making complex concepts, if not exactly easy to understand, then at least a little easier to grasp. In her enthralling cosmic journey through space and time, astrophysicist Jillian Scudder discusses our home planet’s place in the universe. Beyond the flawless presentation of known facts and current thinking, Scudder explores further by positing counterfactuals and thought experiments. The real triumph of Scudder’s Astroquizzical is that it brings high-altitude, notionally abstract ideas to the general reader, presented in an entertaining and accessible way.’
Engineering & Technology magazine
‘Astroquizzical approaches astronomy at a unique angle. It begins by stating that we are all distantly related to the stars; everything we’re made of can be traced back to when they explode. By making this comparison at the start of the book, you instantly become intrigued and involved and from then on, the author – Jillian Scudder – does a fine job of covering a variety of topics and interests in space science.’
All About Space
The Milky Way Smells of Rum and Raspberries
… and Other Amazing Cosmic Facts
Dr JILLIAN SCUDDER
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
I have often introduced myself to students on the first day of class by saying I have three main interests in life: space, dinosaurs, and volcanoes. I am delighted to let you know that this book has all three, though of course it’s heavy on the ‘space’. But then, my life is also heavy on the space bit; my profession is teaching physics and astronomy. Whether my class is current events in astronomy, a general overview course of outer space for non-science students, or upper level astrophysics, I really enjoy the process of teaching people what’s out there, how we know it, and all the things we still don’t understand.
Astronomers have learned a lot about the Universe over the years, and some of the things we’ve learned sound very sensible, like that there are planets around many of the stars in our own galaxy, and that our Sun is pretty average in most regards, and that a lot of things have to go just right in order to have a planet that can grow trees. And then there is a whole pile of things we’ve learned that just sound silly.
What kind of Universe comes with explosive moon volcanoes, planets as black as tar, and galaxies shaped like jellyfish, anyway? (Ours does.)
This book is a light-hearted tour through some of the more nonsensical things we know about outer space. As absurd as these may sound, everything here is extensively sourced to peer-reviewed publications; full details can be found at the back xivof the book, for those who want to know more, with a clear link back to let you know what part of the text they belong to.
I have done my best to summarize our current understandings of the topics discussed here. But, as with all science, these topics will be refined and re-examined over the years to come. Our interpretations of the observations may change. This doesn’t mean that the observations we had before were wrong, but that we have more information now, and so the context for those measurements has altered. A great example of how dramatically interpretations can change in some circumstances: a planet we once thought might be diamond, we now think is probably lava. In other cases, our interpretations have remained stable, and – barring some unexpected new piece of information – are likely to stand the test of time.
In any case, as of the time of writing, this is the current state of affairs, and no matter what, this will stay true:
Space is weird, full of volcanoes, and it can kill you in many very creative ways.
THE ELECTROMAGNETIC SPECTRUM
THE UNIVERSE IS THE DIMMEST IT’S BEEN IN BILLIONS OF YEARS
Given the number of stars in our night sky, it might come as a surprise to learn that the Universe hasn’t been this dark in a long, long time – many billions of years.
Ten billion years ago, the galaxies in our Universe were forming a tremendous number of new stars – a number which has never been matched, before or since. When new stars are formed, they are produced in all sizes, from tiny, dim, red, and practically immortal, to the enormous, bright blue stars which live for approximately no time at all.* This difference in lifetime means that while you can see red stars for a long time, blue stars, due to their almost instantaneous deaths, flag a galaxy which is actively churning new stars into existence. And 10 billion years ago, there were more of these blue stars than at any other time in cosmic history.
To reflect this boom in star formation, this time period 10 billion years ago has been dubbed ‘cosmic noon’. Which means that the time following cosmic noon can be (and sometimes has been) called ‘cosmic afternoon’, and so we can easily extrapolate that we will be proceeding onwards to ‘cosmic 2evening’ and eventually ‘cosmic night’, which would presumably be when galaxies more or less stop forming new stars.†
If we take a census of all the galaxies we can find, and then order those galaxies by how far away they are from us (which is an easy way of putting them in age order, as we’ll see below), the typical number of stars formed in a galaxy every year has done nothing but decline for the past 10 billion years. It’s not a small drop, either – it’s about a factor of ten. Meaning that every galaxy, typically, is forming ten times fewer stars than it was about 10 billion years ago. There are exceptions to every rule, of course, and there are still galaxies very near us forming ten times the number of stars that a ‘normal’ galaxy nowadays would produce, but there are star-forming overachievers in every era. Ten billion years ago, there were still galaxies forming an above-average number of stars; it’s the average that’s changed.
The exact graph which charts the decline and fall of the star formation rate of the Universe is called the Madau plot, after the lead author of the paper in which this accounting was first attempted, in 1996. To make this plot, we have to have three pieces of information. First, we need to know how far away the galaxies we’re looking at are. This is an achievable task. Distance is a good proxy for how old these galaxies are, because the further away they are, the longer the light’s taken to reach us, and so we’re seeing them as they were, a longer time ago.
3Second, we need to know that the bluer stars don’t just produce blue visible light, they often also produce a lot of light that is so much on the blue end of things that the human eyeball is no longer able to see it – the ultraviolet. Ultraviolet light is most commonly referred to on packets of sunscreen as the thing we need to block; UVA and UVB are two chunks of ultraviolet light that unfortunately make it through our atmosphere. Most UV light is blocked by Earth’s atmosphere, but the human skin surface has a bad habit of blistering when exposed to too much UV (this is what gives you a sunburn, a tan, or skin cancer, depending on exposure).
Third, we need to know how much ultraviolet light the galaxies are producing. This is partly easy – point a UV-sensitive telescope at the sky and see what comes in – and partly very tricky, because UV light is also easily blocked by many things, not just sunscreen. A layer of clothing, while not commonly found in interstellar space, is enough to block a lot of UV light. In a galaxy, what we have more commonly is Large Amounts Of Dust, and particularly so in galaxies which are forming a lot of stars. The very same galaxies which should be producing a lot of UV light, in fact, which is currently incredibly inconvenient for our goal of ‘know how much UV light is being produced’.
Fortunately, there’s a way around this, which is to observe the dust directly. If you shine UV light on dust, while the dust does a great job of blocking that light, the price it pays to do so is that it warms up. We’re not talking warm warm – you couldn’t make a slice of toast over it – but warmer than one would expect for a cloud of dust hanging out in the deepest voids of a galaxy. And, conveniently, this is also observable. You 4just have to take a telescope in the infrared (too red for the human eye to see) and point it at the same galaxies you pointed your UV telescope at. The combination of the two – directly seen UV, and the heated dust clouds – lets you have an estimate of the true amount of UV being produced in that galaxy, and that’s the data point you want to put on the Madau plot.
We’ve got 13.8 billion years of cosmic time to account for, and it seems that that first 4.8 billion years or so (cosmic morning) were also lower in stars compared to cosmic noon. This makes sense, because the very early Universe was just high-temperature soup, and to start building stars, you have to have gas that’s cool enough to collapse down into a star. In High Temperature Soup Universe, all the particles are zooming around at high speed, and they won’t settle down until the temperature chills out a little. The lower star formation 5in the earlier Universe tells us that the Universe didn’t just immediately explode into a profusion of starlight as soon as everything cooled down enough; it turned the lights on a bit more gradually. But nonetheless, galaxies went relatively quickly from dark to the most star forming that there has ever been. The decline, since cosmic noon, has taken a much longer time than that initial rise.
The Universe is less blue now than it was 10 billion years ago. Those bright blue stars, formed in such abundance at cosmic noon, have all long exploded their fiery hearts out, leaving their placid redder cohort behind. Even stars like our own Sun only have lifetimes of about 8 billion years, so any stars that are even medium yellow will have burned out from that burst of star formation. If stars had completely stopped forming 10 billion years ago, we’d have a Universe full of very red, dim stars. Fortunately for our cosmic vistas, star formation didn’t stop, it just slowed down, and so galaxies in our neck of the cosmic woods still have some blue stars kicking around; they’ve formed more recently, at a more sedate pace than in the past.
There’s no particular reason to expect that this decline should pull itself back up – part of what made star formation so bright early on was that there was a ton of gas available to be turned into stars, and by now a lot of that gas is, well, turned into stars. So while the Universe is currently much dimmer than it was a billion years ago, it’s also the brightest it will ever be, from here on out.
* They live for about 10 million years, but astronomically speaking that’s a blink.
† This is different from the heat death of the Universe, which is when the expansion of the Universe is so fast that no stars can form; cosmic night might just be an exhaustion.
THE UNIVERSE IS BEIGE, ON AVERAGE
If you’re looking to assess the color of the Universe, it very much depends on the scale you’re looking at. If you’re looking at the inside of your house, the colors you find there will be very different than the colors in a deep forest, or on a glacier, unless your interior décor theme is Deep Forests And Glaciers. But if you’re looking for the average color of the Universe, you can forget about glaciers and woods, firstly because as far as we know there is only one planet with forests,* and secondly because if you zoom out far enough, the only major sources of light are stars. (Though to be honest, they’re very nearly the only sources of light, full stop. The colors of glaciers and the deep woods† are merely artistically reflected starlight.)
To ask what color the Universe is, on average, what we’re really asking is: what color are the stars, typically, if we could view all of them at once?
In general, the stars in the Universe are collected into galaxies, and rather than trying to measure the colors of the individual stars in each galaxy, the much faster method is to look at the colors of the galaxies instead. All of a galaxy’s light comes from stars, in any case, so it’s not really cheating.
7It is not, however, 100% straightforward. The light that we see from a galaxy isn’t a pure average of the stars that are in it – other things exist in a galaxy which can modify its color, and the most dramatic of these is the presence of dust. Like sunsets on Earth, the presence of dust in a galaxy will redden the light as it passes through. It will also darken it, if there’s enough dust. And if your galaxy’s dust isn’t evenly distributed (which it usually isn’t), then you might wind up changing the color of some parts of your galaxy more than others.
So an easy first test is to try and get the average color of our own galaxy, where we have an extra high-definition viewpoint. The viewpoint is actually kind of a pain for this particular task; we are very literally struggling to see the forest for the trees. It’s very easy to see the colors of individual stars in our galaxy, but finding the average color of all of them is much harder without an external perspective. Instead, we’ve tried to figure out what the average color of the Milky Way is by comparing our galaxy’s mass and the rate at which it forms new stars (which are the main producer of blue light in the Universe) to other nearby galaxies, where we do have that external perspective, and assuming that ours lies somewhere in the middle of the color range for similar galaxies.
It’s white.
As white as fresh snow, and it doesn’t get much whiter than fresh snow on Earth. (Important note: this is an average color, and the Milky Way is a bluer color away from the center, and a redder color in the center, but these differences wash out to just plain white on average.) 8
If every galaxy were exactly like the Milky Way, the Universe should also be white, on average. If galaxies tend to be bluer than the Milky Way, then that would tell us that the Milky Way is forming less blue light than the cosmic average, which in turn means that it would be forming fewer new stars than the typical galaxy.
To find the average color of the Universe, what researchers actually did was find the average color of the nearby Universe. To find the color of the entire Universe, we’d have to be able to get the colors of all the galaxies, and that, without exaggeration, is impossible.
But we can take a census of all the galaxies which are relatively nearby, which gives us an average color of the current-day Universe. (We would have good reasons to expect that the average color should have changed over the last 13.8 billion years of the Universe’s existence.)
Astronomers looked at one of the large, nearby galaxy surveys, the Two-Degree Field Galaxy Redshift Survey (usually abbreviated 2dF‡), which gave them 166,000 galaxies to play with, in a bubble surrounding the Earth reaching out to 2.9 billion light years distant. If you can get the average color of the galaxies in this sweeping survey, you can get the average color of the Universe in this same space.
9It’s worth noting that the researchers’ primary goal here was not to calculate the hexadecimal color code§ of the local universe.¶ Instead, they were using the color as a proxy for star formation (as indeed it is) to try to determine what the star formation history of nearby galaxies had been. The color of the Universe was quite literally a footnote on the third-to-last page of their paper.
It seems that, on average, galaxies in the nearby Universe are just a touch redder than the Milky Way, because the best descriptor for the color the human eye would perceive the typical galaxy’s spectrum to be is ‘light beige’. The human eye does a lot of averaging, with less sensitivity at the very red and very blue ends of the visible light range, so if we throw a galaxy’s light at the eye, with all its mixture of reds, yellows and blues, the eye will describe this not in terms of the constituent colors but as ‘white’. White sunlight, for instance, is an average of all the colors in a rainbow. The rainbow just gives us a means to see all of the colors spread out so that they are distinguishable individually.
The Universe being a bland paint color tells us a little bit about the history of stars in nearby galaxies. If the light from these galaxies was very red, we’d know that there haven’t been 10very many young, blue stars formed recently, and that our galaxy is a bit unusual in being relatively bluer. And if the light from nearby galaxies was very blue, we’d know that our galaxy is forming an unusually low number of stars.
But instead, we get a color that’s just a touch to the red side of pure white, which tells us that our Milky Way is not so far off the typical nearby galaxy after all. The Milky Way seems to be forming just a few more blue stars than the average, but not by a lot, and the light produced by a census of hundreds of thousands of nearby galaxies is close to white, overall. Our star, which produces white light, is thereby typical of both the Milky Way and of the many galactic neighbors we have.
The Universe near us, is, on average, a color not so far from indoor lighting. The researchers had one final challenge in front of them: trying to give a fancy name to a color that is just barely not pure white and a bit on the red-brown side. The authors said they were happy to call it anything ‘[a]s long as it’s not beige’.|| They took suggestions, holding an informal and non-binding referendum of nearby astronomers, and wound up picking ‘cosmic latte’ as their favorite, even though it didn’t have the largest number of votes.** It was, however, caffeine-themed, and that was enough to override vox populi.††
* It’s ours.
† The deep sea, on the other hand, follows its own rules.
‡ You’ll never guess how many degrees the Two-Degree Field survey covers.
§ Hexadecimal color codes are used mostly to tell websites what colors to display. They are a hash, followed by two alphanumeric digits for each of red, green, and blue. Each number ranges from 00 (none) to FF (all). #000000 is white, and #FFFFFF is black. A particularly pleasing deep blue can be identified by #0D0ACB.
¶ It’s #FFF8E7, if you were curious.
|| Oops?
** They didn’t promise it was a democracy. The top voted (by Johns Hopkins University astronomers) was ‘Cappuccino Cosmico’, which admittedly has a lot more syllables.
††Vox astronomi, if you want to be picky about the Latin.
THE GALAXY IS FLATTER THAN A CREDIT CARD
It’s really hard to measure something when you live inside it and can’t move around. And this is the problem we have with measuring the Milky Way. We’ve got the best resolution we could ask for, and we can examine this galaxy in far greater detail than any other galaxy in the Universe, but we are not blessed with any external perspective.
Instead, we are stuck on planet Earth, which moves only a little bit as it orbits the Sun, and so far from the center of the galaxy that it takes light, moving at 300 million meters every second, 26,000 years in order to travel between us and the center. It is not a centralized vantage point, nor a particularly special one in any other capacity.
However, our attempt to map out the galaxy is helped by the fact that it is mostly empty space, and the stars are relatively small, so we can in fact map out a good chunk of the Milky Way just by looking for stars, peeking through the gaps between other stars. This fails us in exceptionally dense regions of the galaxy (like the center) when the stars do actually manage to fill that region of the sky, but by and large it works all right. Well enough, in fact, that we’ve been able to build up a pretty good picture of the structure of the Milky Way by taking these maps and looking for patterns. Where are the stars most frequently 12found, and where are they rare? What kinds of stars are found in each area?
We’ve learned that the vast majority of the stars in our galaxy live in an incredibly thin plane – called the thin disk. This thin disk is also where our Sun lives, and so it’s from the most populous part of the galaxy that we observe it in dark skies. If you’ve ever been fortunate enough to visit very dark skies, the Milky Way appears as a band of hazy light across the sky; this band is our galaxy, viewed edge-on and from within.
The fact that it is so thin in our skies lets us classify the Milky Way as one of many spiral galaxies in our Universe. Spirals are so named because, seen from above or below, their stars make up gently winding trails from the centers to their outer edges. Seen from the side, they’re rapier-thin – and so the hazy light we see can tell us already that our home galaxy has spiral arms invisible to us from our place within it.
13Surrounding the thin disk is the thick disk. This is a less densely populated area of the galaxy, but there’s enough here that we shouldn’t ignore it. Different galaxies have different fractions of their stars in their respective thin and thick disks, but in general the thin disk always has more of a given spiral galaxy’s stars.
What we’re interested in here, fundamentally, is what the ratio of length to height is. Much like cakes can come as sheet cake (long, but not very tall) or in eight layers (not very long, but very tall), galaxies also come in a multitude of shapes. And to get a handle on how thin a galaxy is, all we need is a measure of how thick it is, and how large it is across, just as we might be able to measure the height and width of our cakes. Unfortunately, while you can measure cake with a ruler, for a galaxy, neither of these numbers is easily measured. And, in practice, all of our cakes are likely to be far too thick for this analogy to hold.
To compare a galaxy to plain letter paper instead, what we can do is take the surface area of a circle of paper, and the thickness of that paper, and compare it to the thickness of the stars in the galaxy and the size of the roughly circular galaxy.
Unfortunately, galaxies don’t have hard edges. Galaxies don’t so much ‘end’ as ‘gradually fade out’, and the longer you look, the fainter the edges you can capture, so at some point it’s easier just to define some arbitrary threshold, like ‘where the light is 80% fainter’ or ‘where 50% of the light is’, and use that contour instead. Or* you could use the point at which the light 14has declined by a factor of 2.72,† and call that a ‘scale length’ or ‘scale height’ depending on which way you’re going. The scale height is not a measure of the total height of the galaxy, but is an easier-to-measure contour of the galaxy, and it should work fine for estimating how much wider than tall your galaxy is. So let’s start with the scale lengths.
The scale height of the thin disk of the Milky Way is about 400 light years, whereas the scale length of the galaxy is about 10,000 light years. The scale height of the thick disk is 1,000 light years, much larger than the thin disk, but then it only has 10% of the galaxy’s light held within it. It’s also not forming new stars, as it has almost no dust and no gas – all of that, which is required to make new stars, is held within the thin disk.
If we assume that the galaxy is a circle when seen from above (probably reasonable), and has a radius of 10,000 light years, and is 400 light years thick, we get a ratio of 25: 1 (radius:thickness).
A piece of A4 paper’s biggest circle will have a diameter of 21 cm (the width of the page), so that means a radius of 10.5 cm. And the thickness of letter paper, while it varies, is typically about 0.1 mm. A single sheet of paper is going to be thinner than the galaxy, if we keep these numbers, because 0.1 mm is 0.01 cm, which gives a ratio of 1,050:1. You’d need 1542 sheets of paper to get the right thickness (4.2 mm) to match the galaxy. But these scale lengths aren’t really tracing the full extent of the galaxy – just the inner portion where it is the brightest. To wit: this scale length of the galaxy is not even half the way out to the Sun, and we definitely, 100%, live inside the Milky Way.
By other measurements, the galaxy could be as much as 100,000 light years from center to edge, but this is an estimate attempting to place full boundaries on the galaxy, and not a characteristic ‘scaling’ that we might compare to other galaxies that we don’t observe in such good detail. If we use the scale height of the thick disk, which should enclose almost all of the thin disk, then we’re dealing with about 1,000 light years, as we saw above.
