LECTURE IISOME RECENT INVESTIGATIONS
IT will help us to appreciate the astronomical significance of what we have learnt in the previous lecture if we turn from the general to the particular and see how it applies to individual stars. I will take two stars round which centre stories of special interest, and relate the history of our knowledge of them.
This is a detective story, which we might call ‘The Missing Word and the False Clue’.
In astronomy, unlike many sciences, we cannot handle and probe the objects of our study; we have to wait passively and receive and decode the messages that they send to us. The whole of our information about the stars comes to us along rays of light; we watch and try to understand their signals. There are some stars which seem to be sending us a regular series of dots and dashes—like the intermittent light from a lighthouse. We cannot translate this as a morse code; nevertheless, by careful measurement we disentangle a great deal of information from the messages. The star Algol is the most famous of these ‘variable stars’. We learn from the signals that it is really two stars revolving round each other. Sometimes the brighter of the two stars is hidden, giving a deep eclipse or ‘dash’; sometimes the faint star is hidden, giving a ‘dot’. This recurs in a period of 2 days 21 hours—the period of revolution of the two stars.
There was a great deal more information in the message, but it wasrather tantalizing. There was, so to speak, just one word missing. If we could supply that word the message would give full and accurate particulars as to the size of the system—the diameters and masses of the two components, their absolute brightness, the distance between them, their distance from the sun. Lacking the word the message told us nothing really definite about any of these things.
In these circumstances astronomers would scarcely have been human if they had not tried to guess the missing word. The word should have told us how much bigger the bright star was than the fainter, that is to say, the ratio of the masses of the two stars. Some of the less famous variable stars give us complete messages. (These could accordingly be used for testing the relation of mass and absolute brightness, and are represented by triangles inFig. 7.) The difficulty about Algol arose from the excessive brightness of the bright component which swamped and made illegible the more delicate signals from the faint component. From the other systems we could find the most usual value of the mass ratio, and base on that a guess as to its probable value for Algol. Different authorities preferred slightly different estimates, but the general judgement was that in systems like Algol the bright component is twice as massive as the faint component. And so the missing word was assumed to be ‘two’; on this assumption the various dimensions of the system were worked out and came to be generally accepted as near the truth. That was sixteen years ago.[9]
In this way the sense of the message was made out to be that the brighter star had a radius of 1,100,000 kilometres (one and a half times the sun’s radius), that it had half the mass of the sun, andthirty times the sun’s light-power, &c. It will be seen at once that this will not fit our curve inFig. 7; a star of half the sun’s mass ought to be very much fainter than the sun. It was rather disconcerting to find so famous a star protesting against the theory; but after all the theory is to be tested by comparison with facts and not with guesses, and the theory might well have a sounder basis than the conjecture as to the missing word. Moreover, the spectral type of Algol is one that is not usually associated with low mass, and this cast some suspicion on the accepted results.
If we are willing to trust the theory given in the last lecture we can do without the missing word. Or, to put it another way, we can try in succession various guesses instead of ‘two’ until we reach one that gives the bright component a mass and luminosity agreeing with the curve inFig. 7. The guess ‘two’ gives, as we have seen, a point which falls a long way from the curve. Alter the guess to ‘three’ and recalculate the mass and brightness on this assumption; the corresponding point is now somewhat nearer to the curve. Continue with ‘four’, ‘five’, &c.; if the point crosses the curve we know that we have gone too far and must take an intermediate value in order to reach the desired agreement. This was done in November 1925, and it appeared that the missing word must be ‘five’, not ‘two’—a rather startling change. And now the message ran—
Radius of bright component = 2,140,000 kilometres.
Mass of bright component = 4·3 x sun’s mass.
If you compare these with the original figures you will see that there is a great alteration. The star is now assigned a large mass much more appropriate to a B-type star. It also turns out that Algol is more than a hundred times as bright as the sun; and its parallax is0·028"—twice the distance previously supposed.
At the time there seemed little likelihood that these conclusions could be tested. Possibly the prediction as to the parallax might be proved or disproved by a trigonometrical determination; but it is so small as to be almost out of range of reasonably accurate measurement. We could only adopt a ‘take it or leave it’ attitude—‘If you accept the theory,thisis what Algol is like; if you distrust the theory, these results are of no interest to you.’
But meanwhile two astronomers at Ann Arbor Observatory had been making a search for the missing word by a remarkable new method. They had in fact found the word and published it a year before, but it had not become widely known. If a star is rotating, one edge or ‘limb’ is coming towards us and the other going away from us. We can measure speeds towards us or away from us by means of the Doppler effect on the spectrum, obtaining a definite result in miles per second. Thus we can and do measure the equatorial speed of rotation of the sun by observing first the east limb then the west limb and taking the difference of velocity shown. That is all very well on the sun, where you can cover up the disk except the special part that you want to observe; but how can you cover up part of a star when a star is a mere point of light?Youcannot; but in Algol the covering up is done for you. The faint component is your screen. As it passes in front of the bright star there is a moment when it leaves a thin crescent showing on the east and another moment when a thin crescent on the west is uncovered. Of course, the star is too far away for you actually to see the crescent shape, but at these moments you receive light fromthe crescents only, the rest of the disk being hidden. By seizing these moments you can make the measurements just as though you had manipulated the screen yourself. Fortunately the speed of rotation of Algol is large and so can be measured with relatively small error. Now multiply the equatorial velocity by the period of rotation;[10]that will give you the circumference of Algol. Divide by 6·28, and you have the radius.
That was the method developed by Rossiter and McLaughlin. The latter who applied it to Algol found the radius of the bright component to be
2,180,000 kilometres.
So far as can be judged his result has considerable accuracy; indeed it is probable that the radius is now better known than that of any other star except the sun. If you will now turn back top. 44and compare it with the value found from the theory you will see that there is cause for satisfaction. McLaughlin evaluated the other constants and dimensions of the system; these agree equally well, but that follows automatically because there was only one missing word to be supplied. In both determinations the missing word or mass ratio turned out to be 5·0.
This is not quite the end of the story. Why had the first guess at the mass ratio gone so badly wrong? We understand by now that a disparity in mass is closely associated with a disparity in brightness of the two stars. The disparity in brightness was given in Algol’s original message; it informed us that the faint component gives aboutone-thirteenth of the light of the bright one. (At least that was how we interpreted it.) According to our curve this corresponds to a mass ratio 2½, which is not much improvement on the original guess 2. For a mass ratio 5 the companion ought to have been much fainter—in fact its light should have been undetectable. Although considerations like these could not have had much influence on the original guess, they seemed at first to reassure us that there was not very much wrong with it.
Let us call the bright component Algol A and the faint component Algol B. Some years ago a new discovery was made, namely Algol C. It was found that Algol A and B together travel in an orbit round a third star in a period of just under two years—at least they are travelling round in this period, and we must suppose that there is something present for them to revolve around. Hitherto we had believed that when Algol A was nearly hidden at the time of deepest eclipse all the remaining light must come from Algol B; but now it is clear that it belongs to Algol C, which is always shining without interference. Consequently the mass ratio 2½ is that of Algol A to Algol C. The light from Algol B is inappreciable as it should be for a mass ratio 5.[11]
The message from Algol A and B was confused, not only on account of the missing word, but because a word or two of another message from Algol C had got mixed up with it; so that even when the missing word was found to be ‘five’ and confirmed in two ways, the message was not quite coherent. In another place the message seemed to waverand read ‘two-and-a-half’. The finishing step is the discovery that ‘two-and-a-half’ belongs to a different message from a previously unsuspected star, Algol C. And so it all ends happily.
The best detective is not infallible. In this story our astronomical detective made a reasonable but unsuccessful guess near the beginning of the case. He might have seen his error earlier, only there was a false clue dropped by a third party who happened to be present at the crime, which seemed to confirm the guess. This was very unlucky. But it makes all the better detective story of it.
The title of this detective story is ‘The Nonsensical Message’.
Sirius is the most conspicuous star in the sky. Naturally it was observed very often in early days, and it was used by astronomers along with other bright stars to determine time and set the clocks by. It was aclock star, as we say. But it turned out that it was not at all a good clock; it would gain steadily for some years, and then lose. In 1844 Bessel found out the cause of this irregularity; Sirius was describing an elliptic orbit. Obviously there must be something for it to move around, and so it came to be recognized that there was a dark star there which no one had ever seen. I doubt whether any one expected it would ever be seen. The Companion of Sirius was, I believe, the first invisible star to be regularly recognized. We ought not to call such a star hypothetical. The mechanical properties of matter are much more crucial than the accidental property of being visible; we do not consider a transparent pane of glass ‘hypothetical’. There was near Sirius something which exhibited the most universal mechanicalproperty of matter, namely, exerting force on neighbouring matter according to the law of gravitation. That is better evidence of the existence of a material mass than ocular evidence would be.
However, eighteen years later the Companion of Sirius was actually seen by Alvan Clark. This discovery was unique in its way; Clark was not looking at Sirius because he was interested in it, but because Sirius was a nice bright point of light with which to test the optical perfection of a large new object-glass that his firm had made. I dare say that when he saw the little point of light close to Sirius he was disappointed and tried to polish it away. However, it stayed, and proved to be the already known but hitherto unseen Companion.
The big modern telescopes easily show the star and rather spoil the romance; but as romance faded, knowledge grew, and we now know that the Companion is a star not much less massive than the sun. It has ⅘ths of the mass of the sun, but gives out only ¹⁄₃₆₀th of the sun’s light. The faintness did not particularly surprise us;[11]presumably there should be white-hot stars glowing very brightly and red-hot stars glowing feebly, with all sorts of intermediate degrees of brightness. It was assumed that the Companion was one of the feeble stars only just red hot.
In 1914 Professor Adams at the Mount Wilson Observatory found that it was not a red star. It was white—white hot. Why, then, was it not shining brilliantly? Apparently the only answer was that it must be a very small star. You see, the nature and colour of the light show that its surface must be glowing more intensely than the sun’s; but thetotal light is only ¹⁄₃₆₀th of the sun’s; therefore the surface must be less than ¹⁄₃₆₀th of the sun’s. That makes the radius less than ¹⁄₁₉th of the sun’s radius, and brings the globe down to a size which we ordinarily associate with a planet rather than with a star. Working out the sum more accurately we find that the Companion of Sirius is a globe intermediate in size between the earth and the next larger planet Uranus. But if you are going to put a mass not much less than that of the sun into a globe not very much larger than the earth, it will be a tight squeeze. The actual density works out at 60,000 times that of water—just about a ton to the cubic inch.
We learn about the stars by receiving and interpreting the messages which their light brings to us. The message of the Companion of Sirius when it was decoded ran: ‘I am composed of material 3,000 times denser than anything you have ever come across; a ton of my material would be a little nugget that you could put in a match-box.’ What reply can one make to such a message? The reply which most of us made in 1914 was—‘Shut up. Don’t talk nonsense.’
But in 1924 the theory described in the last lecture had been developed; and you will remember that at the end it pointed to the possibility that matter in the stars might be compressed to a density much transcending our terrestrial experience. This called back to mind the strange message of the Companion of Sirius. It could no longer be dismissed as obvious nonsense. That does not mean that we could immediately assume it to be true; but it must be weighed and tested with a caution which we should not care to waste over a mere nonsense jingle.
It should be understood that it was very difficult to explain awaythe original message as a mistake. As to the mass being ⅘ths of the sun’s mass there can be no serious doubt at all. It is one of the very best determinations of stellar mass. Moreover, it is obvious that the mass must be large if it is to sway Sirius out of its course and upset its punctuality as a clock. The determination of the radius is less direct, but it is made by a method which has had conspicuous success when applied to other stars. For example, the radius of the huge star Betelgeuse was first calculated in this way; afterwards it was found possible to measure directly the radius of Betelgeuse by means of an interferometer devised by Michelson, and the direct measurement confirmed the calculated value. Again the Companion of Sirius does not stand alone in its peculiarity. At least two other stars have sent us messages proclaiming incredibly high density; and considering our very limited opportunities for detecting this condition, there can be little doubt that these ‘white dwarfs’, as they are called, are comparatively abundant in the stellar universe.
But we do not want to trust entirely to one clue lest it prove false in some unsuspected way. Therefore in 1924 Professor Adams set to work again to apply to the message a test which ought to be crucial. Einstein’s theory of gravitation indicates that all the lines of the spectrum of a star will be slightly displaced towards the red end of the spectrum as compared with the corresponding terrestrial lines. On the sun the effect is almost too small to be detected having regard to the many causes of slight shift which have to be disentangled. To me personally Einstein’s theory gives much stronger assurance of the real existence of the effect than does the observational evidence available. Still it is a striking fact that those who have made the investigationare now unanimous in their judgement that the effect really occurs on the sun, although some of them at first thought that they had evidence against it. Hitherto Einstein’s theory has been chiefly regarded by the practical astronomer as something he is asked to test; but now the theory has a chance to show its mettle by helping us to test something much more doubtful than itself. The Einstein effect is proportional to the mass divided by the radius of the star; and since the radius of the Companion of Sirius is very small (if the message is right) the effect will be very large. It should in fact be thirty times as large as on the sun. That lifts it much above all the secondary causes of shift of the lines which made the test on the sun so uncertain.
The observation is very difficult because the Companion of Sirius is faint for work of this kind, and scattered light from its overpoweringly brilliant neighbour causes much trouble. However, after a year’s effort Professor Adams made satisfactory measurements, and he found a large shift as predicted. Expressing the results in the usual unit of kilometres per second, the mean of his measurements came to 19, whilst the predicted shift was 20.
Professor Adams has thus killed two birds with one stone. He has carried out a new test of Einstein’s general theory of relativity, and he has shown that matter at least 2,000 times denser than platinum is not only possible but actually exists in the stellar universe.[13]This is the best confirmation we could have for our view that the sun with a density 1½ times that of water is still very far indeed fromthe maximum density of stellar matter; and it is therefore entirely reasonable that we should find it behaving like a perfect gas.
I have said that the observation was exceedingly difficult. However experienced the observer, I do not think we ought to put implicit trust in a result which strains his skill to the utmost until it has been verified by others working independently. Therefore you should for the present make the usual reservations in accepting these conclusions. But science is not just a catalogue of ascertained facts about the universe; it is a mode of progress, sometimes tortuous, sometimes uncertain. And our interest in science is not merely a desire to hear the latest facts added to the collection; we like to discuss our hopes and fears, probabilities and expectations. I have told the detective story so far as it has yet unrolled itself. I do not know whether we have reached the last chapter.
It should be understood that this matter of enormous density is not supposed to be any strange substance—a new chemical element or elements. It is just ordinary matter smashed about by the high temperature and so capable of being packed more tightly—just as more people could be squeezed into a room if a few bones were broken. It is one of the features of astronomical physics that it shows us theordinaryelements of the earth in anextraordinarystate—smashed or ionized to a degree that has either not been reproduced or has been reproduced with great difficulty in the laboratory. It is not only in the inaccessible interior of the star that we find matter in a state outside terrestrial experience.
Here is a picture of the Ring Nebula in Lyra (Fig. 8).[14]It is taken through a prism so that we see not one ring but a number of rings corresponding to different lines of the spectrum and representing the different kinds of atoms which are at work producing the light of the nebula. The smallest ring, which is rather faint (marked by an arrow), consists of light produced by the helium atoms in the nebula—not ordinary helium but smashed helium atoms. It was one of the great laboratory achievements of recent times when Professor A. Fowler in 1912 succeeded in battering helium atoms in a vacuum tube sufficiently to give this kind of light, already well known in the stars. Two other rings are due to hydrogen. With these three exceptions none of the rings have yet been imitated in the laboratory. For instance, we do not know what elements are producing the two brightest rings on the extreme right and left respectively.
We are sometimes asked whether any new elements show themselves in the stars which are not present or are not yet discovered on the earth. We can give fairly confidently the answer No. That, however, is not because everything seen in the stars has been identified with known terrestrial elements. The answer is in fact given not by the astronomer but by the physicist. The latter has been able to make out the orderly scheme of the elements; and it transpires that there are no gaps left for fresh elements until we come to elements of very high atomic weight, which would not be likely to rise into the atmosphere of a star and show themselves in astronomical observation. Every element carries a number, starting with hydrogen which is No. 1, and going up to uranium which is No. 92.
i008Fig. 8. THE RING NEBULA IN LYRA
Fig. 8. THE RING NEBULA IN LYRA
Fig. 8. THE RING NEBULA IN LYRA
i009Fig. 9. HYDROGEN—THE BALMER SERIES
Fig. 9. HYDROGEN—THE BALMER SERIES
Fig. 9. HYDROGEN—THE BALMER SERIES
And what is more, the element carries its number-plate so conspicuously that a physicist is able to read it. He can, for instance, see that iron is No. 26 without having to count up how many known elements precede it. The elements have been called over by their numbers, and up to No. 84 they have all answered ‘Present’.[15]
The element helium (No. 2) was first discovered by Lockyer in the sun, and not until many years later was it found on the earth. Astrophysicists are not likely to repeat this achievement; they cannot discover new elements if there aren’t any. The unknown source of the two rings close together on the right of the photograph (a bright ring and a fainter ring) has been callednebulium. But nebulium is not a new element. It is some quite familiar element which we cannot identify because it has lost several of its electrons. An atom which has lost an electron is like a friend who has shaved off his moustache; his old acquaintances do not recognize him. We shall recognize nebulium some day. The theoretical physicists are at work trying to find laws which will determine exactly the kind of light given off by atoms in various stages of mutilation—so that it will be purely a matter of calculation to infer the atom from the light it emits. The experimental physicists are at work trying more and more powerful means of battering atoms, so that one day a terrestrial atom will be stimulated to give nebulium light. It is a great race; and I do not know which side to back. The astronomer cannot do much to help the solution of the problem he has set. I believe that if he would measure with the greatest carethe ratio of intensity of the two nebulium lines he would give the physicists a useful hint. He also provides another clue—though it is difficult to make anything of it—namely, the different sizes of the rings in the photograph, showing a difference in the distribution of the emitting atoms. Evidently nebulium has a fondness for the outer parts of the nebula and helium for the centre; but it is not clear what inference should be drawn from this difference in their habits.
The atoms of different elements, and atoms of the same element in different states of ionization, all have distinctive sets of lines which are shown when the light is examined through a spectroscope. Under certain conditions (as in the nebulae) these appear as bright lines; but more often they are imprinted as dark lines on a continuous background. In either case the lines enable us to identify the element, unless they happen to belong to an atom in a state of which we have had no terrestrial experience. The rash prophecy that knowledge of the composition of the heavenly bodies must be for ever beyond our reach has long been disproved; and the familiar elements, hydrogen, carbon, calcium, titanium, iron, and many others, can be recognized in the most distant parts of the universe. The thrill of this early discovery has now passed. But meanwhile stellar spectroscopy has greatly extended its scope; it is no longer chemical analysis, but physical analysis. When we meet an old acquaintance there is first the stage of recognition; the next question is ‘How are you?’ After recognizing the stellar atom we put this question, and the atom answers, ‘Quite sound’ or ‘Badly smashed’, as the case may be. Its answer conveys information as to its environment—the severity of the treatment to which it is being subjected—and hence leads to a knowledge of the conditions oftemperature and pressure in the object observed.
Surveying the series of stars from the coolest to the hottest, we can trace how the calcium atoms are at first whole, then singly ionized, then doubly ionized—a sign that the battering becomes more severe as the heat becomes more intense. (The last stage is indicated by the disappearance of all visible signs of calcium, because the ion with two electrons missing has no lines in the observable part of the spectrum.) The progressive change of other elements is shown in a similar way. A great advance in this study was made in 1920 by Professor M. N. Saha, who first applied the quantitative physical laws which determine the degree of ionization at any given temperature and pressure. He thereby struck out a new line in astrophysical research which has been widely developed. Thus, if we note the place in the stellar sequence where complete calcium atoms give place to atoms with one electron missing, the physical theory is able to state the corresponding temperature or pressure.[16]Saha’s methods have been improved by R. H. Fowler and E. A. Milne. One important application was to determine the surface temperatures of the hottest types of stars (12,000°—25,000°), since alternative methods available for cooler stars are not satisfactory at these high temperatures. Another rather striking result was the discovery that the pressure in the star (at the level surveyed by the spectroscope) is only ¹⁄₁₀₀₀₀th of an atmosphere; previously it had been assumed on no very definite evidence to be about the same as that of our own atmosphere.
We commonly use the method of spectrum analysis when we wish to determine which elements are present in a given mineral on the earth. It is equally trustworthy in examining the stars since it can make no difference whether the light we are studying comes from a body close at hand or has travelled to us for hundreds of years across space. But one limitation in stellar work must always be remembered. When the chemist is looking, say, for nitrogen in his mineral, he takes care to provide the conditions which according to his experience are necessary for the nitrogen spectrum to show itself. But in the stars we have to take the conditions as we find them. If nitrogen does not appear, that is no proof that nitrogen is absent; it is much more likely that the stellar atmosphere does not hit off the right conditions for the test. In the spectrum of Sirius the lines of hydrogen are exceedingly prominent and overwhelm everything else. We do not infer that Sirius is composed mainly of hydrogen; we infer instead that its surface is at a temperature near 10,000°, because it can be calculated that that is a temperature most favourable for a great development of these hydrogen lines. In the sun the most prominent spectrum is iron. We do not infer that the sun is unusually rich in iron; we infer that it is at a comparatively low temperature near 6,000° favourable for the production of the iron spectrum. At one time it was thought that the prominence of hydrogen in Sirius and of metallic elements in the sun indicated an evolution of the elements, hydrogen turning into heavier elements as the star cools from the Sirian to the solar stage. There is no ground for interpreting the observations in that way; the fading of the hydrogen spectrum and the increase of the iron spectrum would occur in any case as the result of the fall of temperature; and similarspurious appearances of evolution of elements can be arranged in the laboratory.
It is rather probable that the chemical elements have much the same relative abundance in the stars that they have on the earth. All the evidence is consistent with this view; and for a few of the commoner elements there is some positive confirmation. But we are limited to the outside of the star as we are limited to the outside of the earth in computing the abundance of the elements, so that this very provisional conclusion should not be pressed unduly.
To illustrate further this kind of deduction, let us consider the spectrum shown inFig. 9and see what may be learnt from it. With a little trouble we can disentangle a beautifully regular series of bright lines. The marks above will assist you to pick out the first few lines of the series from the numerous other spectra mixed up with it. Noticing the diminishing spacing from right to left, you will be able to see that the series continues to the left for at least fifteen lines beyond the last one marked, the lines ultimately drawing close together and forming a ‘head’ to the series. This is the famous Balmer Series of hydrogen, and having recognized it we identify hydrogen as one of the elements present in the source of the light. But that is only the first step, and we can proceed to further inferences.
Professor Bohr’s theory of the hydrogen atom teaches us that each line of the series is emitted by an atom in a different state. These ‘states of excitation’ can be numbered consecutively, starting from the normal state of the hydrogen atom as No. 1. The light emitted in the firstfew states comes into the part of the spectrum not reproduced here, and the first line in our picture corresponds to state No. 8. Counting to the left from this you will recognize the successive lines without much difficulty up to state No. 30. Now the successive states correspond to more and more swollen atoms, that is to say, the planet electron[17]makes a wider and wider circuit. The radius (or more strictly the semi-axis) of its orbit is proportional to the square of the number of the state, so that the orbit for state No. 30 is 900 times larger than the orbit for the normal atom No. 1. The diameter of the orbit in No. 30 is approximately a ten-thousandth of a millimetre. One inference can be drawn immediately—the spectrum shown inFig. 9was not produced in any terrestrial laboratory. In the highest vacuum that can be used in terrestrial spectroscopy the atoms are still too crowded to leave room for an orbit so large as this. The source must be matter so tenuous that there is vacant space for the electron to make this wide circuit without colliding with or suffering interference from other atoms. Without entering into further detail we can conclude thatFig. 9is a spectrum of matter more rarefied than the highest vacuum known on the earth.[18]
It is interesting to notice that, whereas throughout most of the picture the lines are shown on a dark background, at the extreme left the background is bright; the change occurs just at the point where the Balmer Series comes to an end. This background of light is also due to hydrogen and it is caused in the following way. The swollen atoms instate No. 30 or thereabouts are perilously near the bursting-point, so it is natural that along with them there should be atoms which have overstepped the limit and burst. They have lost their planet electrons and are occupied in catching new ones. Just as energy is required in order to wrench away an electron from an atom, so there will be superfluous energy to be got rid of when the atom tames a wild electron. This superfluous energy is radiated and forms the bright background referred to. Without entering into technicalities of the theory, we can see that it is appropriate that this light from the burst atoms should appear in the spectrum immediately beyond the lines from the most swollen atoms, since bursting is a sequel to overswelling.
Whilst you have this photograph of the Balmer Series before you I may take the opportunity of recounting the history of another famous series. In some of the hottest stars a related series of lines known as the Pickering Series was discovered in 1896. This is spaced on precisely the same regular plan, but the lines fall half way between the lines of the Balmer Series—not exactly half way because of the gradually diminishing intervals from right to left, but just where one would naturally interpolate lines in order to double their number whilst keeping the spacing regular. Unlike the Balmer Series, the Pickering Series had never been produced in any laboratory. What element was causing it? The answer seemed obvious; surely these two related series, one fitting half way between the other, must belong to different modes of vibration of the same atom, hydrogen. That seemed to be the only possible answer at the time; but we have learned more about atoms since then. We may fairly argue that the ideal simplicity of these two series indicates that they are produced by an atomic systemof the simplest possible type, viz. an atom with one planet electron; but it must be remembered that this condition only tells us how the atom isclothed, not what the atom is. The helium atom (or, for that matter, the uranium atom) can on occasion masquerade in the scanty attire of the hydrogen atom. Normal helium has two planet electrons; but if one of these is lost, it becomes hydrogen-like and copies the simple hydrogen system on a different scale. It is significant that the Pickering Series appears only in the very hottest stars—in conditions likely to cause loss of an electron. The difference between hydrogen and hydrogen-like helium is firstly the difference of atomic weight; the helium nucleus is four times as massive. But this scarcely affects the spectrum because both nuclei are so massive that they remain almost unshaken by the dancing electron. Secondly, the helium nucleus has a double electric charge; this is equivalent to substituting in the vibrating system a controlling spring of twice the strength. What can be more natural than that the doubled force of the spring should double the number of lines in the series without otherwise altering its plan? In this way Professor Bohr discovered the real origin of the Pickering Series; it is due to ionized helium, not to hydrogen.[19]
The heavy nucleus, whether of hydrogen or helium, remains almost unshaken by the atomic vibration—almost, but not quite. At a later date Professor A. Fowler succeeded in reproducing the Pickering Series in the laboratory and was able to measure the lines with muchgreater accuracy than could be achieved in stellar spectroscopy; he was then able to show from his measures that the nucleus is not quite irresponsive. It was a delicate double-star problem transferred to the interior of the atom; or perhaps a closer analogy would be the mutual influence of the sun and Jupiter, because Jupiter, having a thousandth of the mass of the sun, disturbs it to about the same extent that the light electron disturbs the hydrogen nucleus. Ionized helium is a faithful copy of the hydrogen atom (on the altered scale) in everything except the ‘shake’; the shake is less than in hydrogen because the helium nucleus is still more massive and rock-like. The difference of shake throws the Pickering Series of helium and the Balmer Series of hydrogen slightly out of step with respect to one another; and by measuring this misfit Professor Fowler was able to make a very accurate determination of the shake and therefore of the mass of the electron. In this way the mass of the electron is found to be ¹⁄₁₈₄₄th of the mass of the hydrogen nucleus; this agrees well with the mass found by other methods, and the determination is probably not inferior in accuracy to any of them.
And so the clue first picked up in stars 300 light years away, followed in turn by the theoretical and the experimental physicist, leads in the end to the smallest of all things known.
Having already considered the densest matter in the universe, we now turn to consider the rarest.
In spite of great improvements in the art of exhausting vessels we are still a long way from producing arealvacuum. The atoms in a vacuum tube before it is exhausted muster a formidable numbercontaining about twenty digits. High exhaustion means knocking off five or six noughts at the end of that number; and the most strenuous efforts to knock off one more nought seem ludicrously ineffective—a mere nibbling at the huge number that must remain.
Some of the stars are extremely rarefied. Betelgeuse, for example, has a density about a thousandth that of air. We should call it a vacuum were it not contrasted with the much greater vacuosity of surrounding space. Nowadays physicists have no difficulty in producing a better vacuum than Betelgeuse; but in earlier times this star would have been regarded as a very creditable attempt at a vacuum.
The outer parts of a star, and especially the light appendages such as the solar chromosphere and corona, reach much lower densities. Also the gaseous nebulae are, as their appearance suggests, extremely tenuous. When there is space enough to put a pin’s head between adjacent atoms we can begin to talk about a ‘real vacuum.’ At the centre of the Orion nebula that degree of rarefaction is probably reached and surpassed.
A nebula has no definite boundary and the density gradually fades off. There is reason to think that the fading off becomes slow at great distances. Before we pass entirely out of the sphere of one nebula we enter the sphere of another, so that there is always some residual density in interstellar space.
I believe that, reasoning from the tailing off of the nebulae, we are in a position to make an estimate of the amount of matter remaining unaggregated in space. An ordinary region where there is no observable nebulosity is the highest vacuum existing—within the limits of thestellar system at least—but there still remains aboutone atom in every cubic inch. It depends on our point of view whether we regard this as an amazing fullness or an amazing emptiness of space. Perhaps it is the fullness that impresses us most. The atom can find no place of real solitude within the system of the stars; wherever it goes it can nod to a colleague not more than an inch away.
Let us approach the same subject from a different angle.
In the ‘Story of Algol’ I referred to the way in which we measure the velocity of rotation of the sun. We point the spectroscope first on one limb of the sun and then on the other. Taking any one of the dark lines of the spectrum, we find that it has shifted a little between the two observations. This tells us that the material which imprinted the line was moving towards or away from us with different velocities in the two observations. That is what we expected to find; the rotation of the sun makes solar material move towards us on one side of the disk and away from us on the other side. But there are a few dark lines which do not show this change. They are in just the same position whether we observe them on the east or on the west of the sun. Clearly these cannot originate on the sun. They have been imprinted on the light after it left the sun and before it reached our telescope. We have thus discovered a medium occurring somewhere between the sun and our telescope; and as some of the lines are recognized as belonging to oxygen, we can infer that it is a medium containing oxygen.
This seems to be the beginning of a great discovery, but it ends in a bathos. It happens that we were already aware of a medium containing oxygen lying somewhere between our telescope and the sun. It is a medium essential to our existence. The terrestrial atmosphere isresponsible for the ‘fixed’ lines seen in the sun’s spectrum.
Just as the spectroscope can tell us that the sun is turning round (a fact already familiar to us from watching the surface markings), so it can tell us that certain stars are wandering round an orbit, and therefore are under the influence of a second star which may or may not be visible itself. But here again we sometimes find ‘fixed’ lines which do not change with the others. Therefore somewhere between the star and the telescope there exists a stationary medium which imprints these lines on the light. This time it is not the earth’s atmosphere. The lines belong to two elements, calcium and sodium, neither of which occur in the atmosphere. Moreover, the calcium is in a smashed state, having lost one of its electrons, and the conditions in our atmosphere are not such as would cause this loss. There seems to be no doubt that the medium containing the sodium and ionized calcium—and no doubt many other elements which do not show themselves—is separate from the earth and the star. It is the ‘fullness’ of interstellar space already mentioned. Light has to pass one atom per cubic inch all the way from the star to the earth, and it will pass quite enough atoms during its journey of many hundred billion miles to imprint these dark lines on its spectrum.
At first there was a rival interpretation. It was thought that the lines were produced in a cloud attached to the star—forming a kind of aureole round it. The two components travel in orbits round each other, but their orbital motion need not disturb a diffuse medium filling and surrounding the combined system. This was a very reasonable suggestion, but it could be put to the test. The test was againvelocity. Although either component can move periodically to and fro within the surrounding cloud of calcium and sodium, it is clear that its average approach to us or recession from us taken over a long time must agree with that of the calcium and sodium if the star is not to leave its halo behind. Professor Plaskett with the 72-inch reflector at the Dominion Observatory in British Columbia carried out this test. He found that the secular or average rate of approach of the star[20]was in general quite different from the rate shown by the fixed calcium or sodium lines. Clearly the material responsible for the fixed lines could not be an appendage of the star since it was not keeping pace with it. Plaskett went farther and showed that whereas the stars themselves had all sorts of individual velocities, the material of the fixed lines had the same or nearly the same velocity in all parts of the sky, as though it were one continuous medium throughout interstellar space. I think there can be no doubt that this research demonstrates the existence of a cosmic cloud pervading the stellar system. The fullness of interstellar space becomes a fact of observation and no longer a theoretical conjecture.
The system of the stars is floating in an ocean—not merely an ocean of space, not merely an ocean of ether, but an ocean that is so far material that one atom or thereabouts occurs in each cubic inch. It is a placid ocean without much relative motion; currents probably exist, but they are of a minor character and do not attain the high speeds commonly possessed by the stars.
Many points of interest arise, but I will only touch on one or two. Why are the calcium atoms ionized? In the calm of interstellar spacewe seem to have passed away from the turmoil which smashed the calcium atoms in the interior of a star; so at first it seems difficult to understand why the atoms in the cloud should not be complete. However, even in the depths of space the breaking-up of the atom continues; because there is always starlight passing across space, and some of the light-waves are quite powerful enough to wrench a first or second electron away from the calcium atom. It is one of the most curious discoveries of modern physics that when a light-wave is attenuated by spreading, what it really suffers from islazinessrather than actual loss of power. What is weakened is not the power but the probability that it will display the power. A light-wave capable of bursting an atom still retains the power when it is attenuated a million-fold by spreading; only it is a million times more sparing in the exercise of the power. To put it another way, an atom exposed to the attenuated waves will on the average have to wait a million times longer before a wave chooses to explode it; but the explosion when it does occur will be of precisely the same strength however great the attenuation. This is entirely unlike the behaviour of water-waves; a wave which is at first strong enough to capsize a boat will, after spreading, become too weak. It is more like machine-gun fire which is more likely to miss a given object at greater distance but is equally destructive if it hits. The property here referred to (the quantum property) is the deepest mystery of light.
Thus in interstellar space electrons are still being torn from calcium atoms, only very infrequently. The other side of the question is the rate of repair, and in this connexion the low density of the cosmic cloud is the deciding factor. The atom has so few opportunities for repair. Roving through space the atom meets an electron only aboutonce a month, and it by no means follows that it will capture the first one it meets. Consequently very infrequent smashing will suffice to keep the majority of the atoms ionized. The smashed state of the atoms inside a star can be compared to the dilapidation of a house visited by a tornado; the smashed state in interstellar space is a dilapidation due to ordinary wear and tear coupled with excessive slackness in making repairs.
A calculation indicates that most of the calcium atoms in interstellar space have lost two electrons; these atoms do not interfere with the light and give no visible spectrum. The ‘fixed lines’ are produced by atoms temporarily in a better state of repair with only one electron missing; they cannot amount at any moment to more than one-thousandth of the whole number, but even so they will be sufficiently numerous to produce the observed absorption.
We generally think of interstellar space as excessively cold. It is quite true that any thermometer placed there would show a temperature only about 3° above the absolute zero—if it were capable of registering so low a reading. Compact matter such as a thermometer, or even matter which from the ordinary standpoint is regarded as highly diffuse, falls to this low temperature. But the rule does not apply to matter as rarefied as the interstellar cloud. Its temperature is governed by other considerations, and it will probably be not much below the surface-temperature of the hottest stars, say 15,000°. Interstellar space is at the same time excessively cold and decidedly hot.[21]
Once again we shift the scene, and now we are back in the outer parts of the sun.Fig. 10[22]shows one of the huge prominence flames which from time to time shoot out of the sun. The flame in this picture was about 120,000 miles high. It went through great changes of form and disappeared in not much more than twenty-four hours. This was rather an exceptional specimen. Smaller flames occur commonly enough; it seems that the curious black marks inFig. 1, often looking like rifts, are really prominences seen in projection against the still brighter background of the sun. The flames consist of calcium, hydrogen, and several other elements.
We are concerned not so much with the prominences as with the layer from which they spring. The ordinary atmosphere of the sun terminates rather abruptly, but above it there is a deep though very rarefied layer called the chromosphere consisting of a few selected elements which are able to float—float, not on the top of the sun’s atmosphere, but on thesunbeams. The art of riding a sunbeam is evidently rather difficult, because only a few of the elements have the necessary skill. The most expert is calcium. The light and nimble hydrogen atom is fairly good at it, but the ponderous calcium atom does it best.
The layer of calcium suspended on the sunlight is at least 5,000 miles thick. We can observe it best when the main part of the sun is hidden by the moon in an eclipse; but the spectroheliograph enables us to study it to some extent without an eclipse.