Regular quarterly features
*The quadrant
*Star hopping with
small telescopes (A hero hunts a fox) (Steven H. Yaskell)
*Star hopping with
large telescopes (Autumn in the summer triangle) (IAAC)
*Coordinates over
50○ N (Sun, Moon, Moon phases and the planets.)
*NAR guest feature
(Deep ice ages and Earth movement through the Milky Way's arms. What's the
connection?) (By Nir Shaviv)
*Astronomical
science news
(Droughts as read from stalagmites tied to solar trends; what
ever happened to the poor "Pentaquark?" and more)
*In astronomical
history (Henrietta Swann Leavitt - the exact standard candle measurer)
*Equipment
review (Ok, which one of you guys is the best telescope? One, two or three?) (Ed
Ting)
*Arcturus in
autumn (a poem by Sarah Teasdale)
The quadrant
\\\ Of evolutionary telescope
users and evolution, in general________________________________
There are “evolutionary
users” of big scopes (8 inches to 25 inches and beyond) who know what the Summer
Triangle is. They have come up the ranks from two inches to twenty, and have
read all the literature and done all the astronomy in an evolutionary way.
Then there are those who
enter astronomy with a newly bought 25 inch Dobsonian, there to wonder at the
wonders, yet who don’t know what the Summer Triangle is.
Telescope technology (or
technology in general) has now enabled a large cross section of newly-arrived
astronomers a view at the sky that can be unimaginably large, right from the
beginning. So welcome, you accelerated learners. All your observations are
appreciated, and all of you have something to say.
As you peer up there, you
may wish to note the celestial depths of our Milky Way’s arms and ponder what
happens each time our part of the galaxy goes through a spiral. It doesn’t
happen often – about every 135+/-25 years – but our guest astronomer for this
issue, Nir Shaviv of Hebrew University in Israel, has a theory about cosmic ray
non-uniformity and its bombardment, alternately non-bombardment, of the Earth as
it passes through spiral arms that may be a main cause of ice age “epochs.” He
used Iron meteorites to gauge the cosmic ray intensity when the Earth swings
through a spiral arm of the Milky Way. In short, the theory has an answer for
deep ice ages that could explain, for instance, however nonlinearly in
intensity, the Cretaceous and Permian ice ages in intervals as we go back into
time. This would falsify one theory directly: that which is called the “missing
CO2” theory, which explained the Permian deep ice age and the “sudden
disappearance” of so much life back then. It was believed that winds over the
Asian subcontinent sucked the CO2 out of the atmosphere when winds shifted. This
may have been the case: however, what caused the winds to shift, and why so
strongly? Similarly, in the Cretaceous, was the effect of the meteor impact in
the Gulf of Mexico the only factor contributing to global cooling? Could Shaviv
be correct? For if he is, we can reasonably understand that a high cosmic ray
bombardment led to massive cloud cover on Earth, as there is growing proof that
cosmic rays can make clouds at 3 km over our planet, as Henrik Svensmark has
reported. Such storm intensity due to cloud cover and atmospheric effects would
have been horrific, not only in the Permian but in the Cretaceous as well.
Cosmic rays become the new climate chimera. Their non-intensity (alternately,
heavy intensity) also kept Earth warmer when our Sun was weaker than it now is,
billions of years ago (the Sun rotated faster and had a stronger solar wind,
blocking out the rays). As is well known, such a combination of factors means a
warmer Earth. This also solves the “faint Sun” riddle posed by astronomer Carl
Sagan long ago (why the Earth was warm in times when there was a very weak Sun).
In any case, Dr. Shaviv explains it best in his non-mathematical yet fairly
technical article.
Theories are a dime a
dozen. But the better ones run science and, as we can see, put the question of
human evolution into sharp perspective from time to time. We are the only living
creature which can discern deep time and our place, or even non-existence,
within it. To arm ourselves with as much knowledge of physical processes and
their interconnections as possible is to ensure continued existence.
Speaking of those
responsible for our evolution – women - I call the Autumn 2005 edition the
“lady’s edition.” Henrietta Swann Leavitt, basically the discoverer of the
Period-Luminosity Law in Cepheid variables, gets her song sung this season.
Could she actually get a posthumous Draper Medal for it some day? Her famous
1912 paper and an absence of anyone getting the medal in 1912 opens up an
opportunity for progress. We conclude this issue with a poem about Arcturus by
Sarah Teasdale, a 19th Century poet very popular in her time. Sad but beautiful,
it is a perfect complement to the dying of the year and to women who have not
received their due in life, no matter what it is, or how deserving.
Steve Yaskell
Star hopping with
small telescopes
Hercules to Sagitta
: a hero armed with an arrow hunts…a fox
Steven H. Yaskell
Like a giant king crab,
Hercules covers the sky’s top and heads west as autumn falls into the upper
northern hemisphere. Late July has him at the zenith, the celestial sphere’s
rooftop. September and October sees this hero fall into the cosmic waves of the
west.
One of Hercules’s opponents
in his second of twelve labors was a crab. Having dispatched both the dreaded
hydra and crab sent by a jealous queen Hera, he proceeded onto the third chore:
capturing a hind (a deer). (Cleaning the Augean stables was the worst one in my
opinion.)
Odd that Hercules should
resemble a living crab with all its heavenly arms and square, compact body,
considering he killed one – immortalized by Hera as our familiar (if hard to
see) zodiacal constellation, Cancer. (The real constellation of Cancer hardly
seems so equipped.) Hercules is, I suppose, a king crab; in shape if not in
meaning.
Somewhat to the side of
Hercules’s jewelled chest – the so-called “keystone” - is the globular cluster M
13. Those in the darkest regions look up at the center of the summer sky (and
the nadir to the west in the autumn) and see this 6th magnitude object glowing
faintly slightly below the keystone’s northeastern corner. Ten x 50 binoculars
brings it out much better, sandwiched between a pair of similar magnitude stars
(and very faintly, NGC 6207 to the upper left of M 13).
For NGC 6207, a glass over
6 inches is needed and deep sky filters, for sure. Or a real dark site and a
four inch, with very good personal eyesight.
Probably first discovered
by an aged Edmund Halley in 1715, Charles Messier noted it in 1764, where Robert
Burnham, Jr. quoted Messier’s notation as follows: “nebula containing no stars,”
to which Burnham commented. “which adequately describes the quality of his
telescope.” Burnham gives the coordinates of M 13 as 16h, 39m, 9s (right
ascension) at + +36, 3´, 03´´ (declination). Aim around for 16h and 40m and you
should get there (unless your telescope guides you.).
Cosmologist Allan Sandage
gives M 13’s age at 24 billion years, and Halton Arp, 17 billion. Burnham gives
the distance at 24,600 light years and others, 25,100. A 20 minute angular
diameter to the object agrees with the latter figure.
In the early fall, you have
to pan down into the Summer Triangle to find Sagitta, the arrow. (In late
autumn, Hercules and M 13 are nearly gone.) Start from the unmistakeably bright
0 magnitude star Vega in Lyra at the westward top of the sky and work your way
down with binoculars 20 degrees southeastward. In non light polluted skies (some
of us have them) look for a peculiar arrow-like shape pointing roughly upward to
the east that is forked, south and west. The arrow contains two objects to note,
the short diameter M 71, a mere smudge and hard to see optically in light filled
skies, and zeta Sagitta to M 71’s west, a blue and greenish double star. This
latter item is best seen in small scopes or with low power oculars. The proper
motion for zeta is, according to the Smithsonian Astrophysical Observatory Star
Catalog, available as almost everything is – online – is give as 19h 48min
58.674sec (right ascension) and +19° 8' 31.52'' (declination). And you can
hardly get any more exact than that. Zeta (Struve 2585) is an A3 main sequence
star of magnitude 5, and the smaller fellow next to it is its 9th magnitude
companion. Zeta has an orbit of about 23 year’s duration.
We now know what Hera
thought of the Mighty Hercules (hmph. Male chauvinist.) Hercules actually used
Sagitta in a hunting session once, according to other versions of his mythology.
These were the two “birds” of the Summer Triangle, Cygnus and Aquila.
But my bet is he was
actually after the fox with that arrow of his…the fox, Vulpecula.
And why?
Because the fox, always
supposed to be smart, actually has a dumbbell. The Dumbbell Nebula, M 27, to be
precise.
Just look a little north
above where the arrow points, a few degrees above the arrow’s tip (Gamma
Sagitta). This distance between Gamma and M 27 is only a few degrees but adjust
your eyes for the big surprise. At first it looks like a gauzy patch, quite wide
in field. As for the fox: well, I hope he got away.
Star hopping with
large telescopes
Autumn in the Summer
Triangle
Excerpted from the IAAC
log, with Geoff Chester, Lew Gramer, Barry Martasian, Paul Money, Duane Ott,
Tudorica Alexandru and Michael Geldorp
"I saw Eternity the other
night like a great Ring of pure and endless light." (Henry Vaughn)
The Summer Triangle,
strikingly visible from light polluted sites in a large wedge, is formed first
and foremost between the star Vega in Lyra, Deneb in Cygnus (these two usually
seen from right to left in the Northern Hemisphere in the autumn) and Altair in
Aquila. This last would be the star deepest into the southern horizon. Together,
all three form a bright scalene triangle of some size across the celestial
sphere. Its a big slice of sky with lots of nice ingredients. Up above 50 North,
it is a sight that lasts well into the fall before sidereal time tumbles it
away.
Beginner Paul Money started
off with a dark sky look at Lyra, the westward axis of the Summer Triangle using
a 16 inch f/4.5 Dobsonian. First object hunted, the Ring Nebula. Paul reported
his first ever attempt at trying to bag the central star in M 57 with the new
16". The sky quality was average early in the morning. By about 0230, M 57 was
nearing the zenith. He easily saw the 13.1 magnitude field star that was
positioned directly to the ring’s west. The 14.1 magnitude field star was
northwest of the ring and was visible using direct vision. The 15 magnitude
tight double that is just off the southwest end of the ring was only barely
visible as a single faint point of intermittent light. The two 15th magnitude
stars that are south and southeast of the ring were easily visible with averted
vision. He tried 310 X and after observing for about 30 minutes, he may have
caught a couple of flashes, or a glimmer of the center star. Once or twice it
glimmered bright only to have it vanish and not be seen again. After a brief
rest he went back to M 57 using 620 X with similar results. He could just barely
detect some intermittent light in the center.
With a little more
experience, Barry Martasian with a 6 inch XT-8 1200mm Dobsonian at 30 X located
the rng and passed over it twice, since in his search it appeared just a bit
larger than a pregnant star. He reports that the nebula has a wonderful star
field surrounding it that welcomes slow exploration. After trying 48 X on the
object he felt the view was just a little better than the wide view he used to
locate it. So he jumped up the power to 75 X. Using the 16mm ep, the ring showed
a bluish color in a sea of black that is the home of many stars, creating a very
peaceful and lovely view.
William L. Shart reported
that even at low power, this intermediate observer could see that the ring
structure was apparent in his Celestar 8 inch, the seeing being 7 out of 10 (ten
being best) and increasing the power made it even more noticeable. At high
power, there were many dim stars visible surrounding it. But try as he might, he
could not make out the central star. In an earlier session, he experimented with
various combinations of eps, barlows and filters. This nebula was visible even
at 32 X and at 48 X, without the filter, the "hole" was visible.The best
combination seemed to be the 144x (17mm EP, 2x barlow) with the filter. Although
the filter did not make the nebula any easier to see, it did increase the amount
of detail visible. The "hole" was much more apparent.
Using a 12.5 inch f/4.8
Dobsonian / Newtonian, at 55 X and 88 X, former MIT don Lew Gramer was scanning
the darkish skies around Gunstock, New Hampshire, USA, and filed the following
report on M 57: “slight elongation to northeast and southwest. Some reddish
tinting visible in south edge of disk. Central star glimpsed at higher power!
Some nebulosity was visible throughout inside of disk.”
The “double double”, not
too far away from Vega and separable into twos with sharps eyes, presented
“double trouble” for William L. Shart. He states flatly that it was easily
spotted with binoculars. However, no matter what power he used, he could not
split either of the pair with his 6 inch Dobsionian at magnifications of 48, 70,
and even 300 X. A common problem with glasses of around 6 inch or less.
Geoff Chester, a skilled
observer, had a friend, Kevin Balch, who lent him a panoptic 27mm lens for his
14.5 Dobsonian, with an O III filter. Chester swept the area near Deneb, and
“danged if the nebula didn't just pop into view!” The transparency was somewhat
limited by haze, which made for a rather mediocre view of the Veil, but
nonetheless he and Balch could clearly distinguish the outline of the North
America Nebula. Most prominent was the region of "Mexico", and Kevin said he
could see "Florida". It filled the field in this eyepiece, which gave a bit over
a one degree field-of-view.
Geoff Chester used a 5.5
inch Comet Catcher to grab a look at NGC 6997 (HV111-58) inside of NGC 7000. He
reported a large scattered cluster that lies in a prominent triangle of stars in
the heart of the North America Nebula. Since he couldn't see the nebula, he was
able to star hop to it using Deep Sky and a laptop. His reported best view was
with the 15 mm Panoptic using a 2.5 X Barlow.
An intermediate observer,
Duane Ott, tried NGC 7000 and IC 5067 out in a Telekit 25 inch f /4.3. The
objects were bright and obvious. But these require smaller “big “ telescopes,
apparently.
Northwest of NGC 7000 you
come into the area of the Cocoon Nebula and M 39. Tudorica Alexandru, hailing
from Romania, used a 9 inch refractor and reported that the Cocoon was not too
hard to see in her conditions. Dark nebula B 168 was a striking sight, making a
fine binocular pair with M 39. There was no detail visible inside the nebulae
(bright or dark): the cluster “looks very fine, and it is well resolved, except
for two stars. “
Michael Geldorp took out
his 8 inch f/6 Dobsonian at Alphen ad Rijn, the Netherlands (latitude 52 N) in
an “amazingly clear” sky one October night. He thought he would give the Veil
Nebula a try, not expecting to see anything at first. It was utterly invisible
without the O III filter, but was surprisingly easy with the O III filter on.
The nebula jumped right out of the field at him!
First seen was NGC 6960
surrounding 52 Cygni. To the north of 52 Cygni, this segment is most
conspicuously twisting around for about half a degree to an about magnitude 8-9
star. On the south side this segment is extremely tenuous and not nearly as thin
as it is to the north. NGC 6995 and NGC 6992 could be traced for about 2
degrees! There were bright twirls of nebulosity interrupted by fainter segments
and dark bands and gaps. There was an east-west extension near the south side
which he thought might be identified with IC 1340.
What a wonderful object,
Geldorp reported. What a wonderful part of the sky, a beautiful time of year.
Coordinates over 50○
N
Sun, Moon and
planets
Courtesy U.S. Naval
Observatory and Stardate Online
MICA is the Multiyear
Interactive Computer Almanac. With it you can obtain sidereal time to your
specific location for the Sun, Moon and planets. To use MICA Version 1.5
(available as test or download) you will need to know your latitude and
longitude. To find Greenwich Mean Time (which is also Universal Time[UT]) find
your local time zone and count forward - or backward -to the time as it would be
at Greenwich (in the UK). MICA uses Universal Time (UT) for all its
calculations. All you need do it add UT and your latitude and longitude and
press a button to get rising and setting times of various Solar System objects.
(See link below)
To calculate for planetary
and solar postions, see link below NAR guest feature
The Milky Way's
spiral arms and ice age epochs on Earth
Nir J. Shaviv
Ice age epochs and spiral
arm passages
There are
indications that cosmic rays affect climate on Earth. If this is true, then one
should expect climatic variations while we roam the galaxy. This is because the
density of cosmic ray sources in the galaxy is not uniform. In fact, it is
concentrated in the galactic spiral arms (it arises from supernovae, which in
our galaxy arise predominantly from the death of massive stars, which in turn
form and die predominantly in spiral arms). Thus, each time we cross a galactic
arm, we should expect a colder climate. Current data for the spiral arm passages
gives a crossing once every 135+/-25 Million years.
A record of the long term
variations of the galactic cosmic ray flux can be extracted from Iron
meteorites. It was found in this work that the cosmic ray flux varied
periodically (with flux variations greater than a factor of 2.5) with an average
period of 143 +/- 10 Million years (My). This is consistent with the expected
spiral arm crossing period and with the picture that the cosmic ray flux should
be variable. The agreement is also with the correct phase.
The main result of this
research is that the variations of the flux, as predicted from the galactic
model and as observed from the Iron meteorites is in sync with the occurrence of
ice-age epochs on Earth. The agreement is both in period and in phase: (1) The
observed period of the occurrence of ice age epochs on Earth is 145+/-10 Myr
(compared with 143 +/- 10 Myrs for the cosmic ray flux variations), (2) The mid
point of the ice-age epochs is predicted to lag by 31 +/- 8 Myr and observed to
lag by 33 +/- 20 Myr. This can be seen in the following graph:
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M 13 (also, NGC 6205) in Hercules. (Photo: Richard Crisp)
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To find
Moon phases for the month
http://www.stardate.org/nightsky/moon)
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A second agreement is in
the long term activity. On one hand there were no ice age epochs observed on
Earth between 1 and 2 billion years ago. On the other hand, it appears that the
star formation rate in the Milky Way was about 1/2 of its average in between 1
billion years and 2 billion ago, while it was higher in the past 1 billion
years, and between 2-3 billion years.
Another point worth
mentioning is that, unlike what some articles misquote me (or copy from a
misquoting article), I do not think we won’t have an ice age coming in the
coming few tens of millions of years. If this galactic-climate picture is
correct (and you should judge yourself from the evidence, in particular the
paper in New Astronomy) it implies that we are at the end of a several 10
million year long "icehouse" epoch during which we have had ice ages come and
go, and gradually over the next few millions of years, the severity of ice ages
should diminish until they will disappear altogether. (I wouldn't buy real
estate in Northern Canada just yet!)
Cosmic rays vs. CO2 as a
climate driver over geological time scales
By comparing cosmic ray
flux variations to a quantitative record of climate history, more conclusions
can be drawn. This was done together with Jan Veizer, whose group reconstructed
the temperature on Earth over the past 550 million years by looking at Oxygen 18
(O18) to Oxygen 16 (O16) isotope ratios in fossils formed in tropical oceans.
The following astonishing
results were found once the reconstructed temperature was compared with the
reconstructed cosmic ray flux variations:
1. Cosmic ray flux
variations explain more than two thirds of the variance in the reconstructed
temperature. Namely, cosmic ray flux variability is the most dominant climate
driver over geological time scales.
2. An upper limit can be
placed on the relative role of CO2 as a climate driver.
3. Using Item 2 (above) an
upper limit can be place on the global "radiative forcing" – the ratio between
changes to the radiation budget and temperature increase. The upper limit
obtained is lower than the often stated value. This implies that a large
fraction of the global warming witnessed over the past century is not due to
CO2. Instead, it should be attributed to the increased solar activity which
diminished the cosmic ray flux reaching Earth (the warming has nothing to do
with spiral arms). Note however:
• Some of the global
warming is still because of us humans (probably about one third to one half of
the warming)
• There are many good
reasons why we should strive towards using less fossil fuel and more clean
alternatives even though global warming is not the main reason.
Cosmic rays and the “Faint
Sun Paradox”
The Sun, like other stars
of its type, is slowly increasing its energy output as it converts its Hydrogen
into Helium. Four and one half billion years ago the Sun was 30% fainter than it
is today and Earth should have been frozen solid, but it wasn't. This problem
was coined the "Faint Sun Paradox" by astronomer Carl Sagan.
If the cosmic ray flux
climate link is real, it significantly extenuates this discrepancy. This is
because the young Sun, which was rotating much faster, necessarily had a much
stronger solar wind. This implies that less cosmic rays from the galaxy could
have reached Earth because cosmic rays lose energy in the solar wind as they
propagate from the interstellar medium to Earth. Since less cosmic rays implies
a higher temperature, this effect will tend to compensate for the fainter sun.
Plugging in the numbers
reveals that about two thirds of the temperature increase required to warm the
young Earth to above today's temperature can be explained by this effect. The
remaining one third or so can be explained by moderate amounts of greenhouse
gases, such as 0.01 bar of CO2 (amounts which are consistent with geological
constraints).
Sources and references for
deeper, more technical reading
Shaviv, N.J., “The Spiral
Structure of the Milky Way, Cosmic Rays, and Ice Age Epochs on Earth (New
Astronomy, 8, 2003)
Shaviv, N.J., and Veizer,
J., “Celestial Driver of Phanerozoic Climate?” (GSA Today, Vol. 13, Number 7,
July, 2003)
Shaviv, N.J., “Towards a
Solution to the Early Faint Sun Paradox: A Lower Cosmic Ray Flux From a Stronger
Solar Wind?” (Journal of Geophysical Research, 2003)
(About the author: Nir J.
Shaviv is a Senior Lecturer at the Racah Institute of Physics at Hebrew
University, Israel)
Astronomical science
news from Science and Nature
Chinese and
American team tie ancient droughts and other climate variability at least
partially to solar behavior
An absolutely dated oxygen
isotope record drawn from stalagmites in a Southern Chinese cave now provides us
with a 9,000 year, deep-time Asian monsoon record.
A test by Yongjin Wang
(Nanjing Normal University) and other Chinese and some American colleagues
(University of Minnesota) wanted to compare the Asian monsoon’s intensity to
solar activity and found at least a partial match.
Using de-trended Carbon 14
as a proxy for solar activity (the Sun emits this isotope: more building up in
the Earth’s atmosphere and waters when the Sun is weak), and also using a
de-trended Oxygen 18 isotope, the team discovered a correlation coefficient for
the full record up to r=0.30. This meant that some of the Asian monsoon’s
variability is traceable to the Sun’s fluctuation.
Time scales in decades
(decadal) introduces an error, in that changes in ocean circulation and
atmospheric flux disturbs the data. Then there is the matter of Carbon 14’s
stability as a deep time measuring stick.
Still, the researchers
showed that some human civil disruption coincided with disturbed monsoon rains.
Such as the collapse of the Chinese Neolithic culture roughly 4,000 years ago. A
geophysical oddity found was the release of ice from the Laurentide Ice Sheet
into ice rafting events in the North Atlantic, significantly around 6,000 years
ago, or, at the absolute height of the Holocene (solar) Maximum. In this
maximum, Earth climate in the Northern Hemisphere was warmer and, not
surprisingly, much drier than today. In fact, permafrost lines moved north by
hundreds of miles in this period. According to the time series’ result, the
Asian monsoon was particularly weak in the Holocene Maximum. (Wang, Y, Cheng, H.
et al. “Holocene Asian Monsoon Links To Solar Changes and North Atlantic
Climate,” Science, Vol. 308, 6 May 2005, pp 854-857.)
Bad news for the
“Pentaquark”
The
theoretical, “oversized” subatomic particle hypothesised by Russian scientists
at the Petersburg Nuclear Physics Institute, the Pentaquark, does not exist,
apparently. An instrument designed to detect it failed recently to do so.
Undaunted, Americans at the Jefferson Lab are pressing on with the search. In
the search for what the universe consists truly of, a step may have to be taken
back. (Maggie McKee, New Scientist, 30 April 2005, p. 15)
That flare had some flair
On December 27, 2005
scientists witnessed another Soft Gamma ray Repeater (or SGR), this one being
described as “colossal” judging by radio frequency measurements. Only two other
SGRs have ever been witnessed in our galaxy. One in 1979 and the other, in 1998.
SGR-1806-20 –
this repeater’s source in our Galaxy, was the outcome of a readjusted magnetic
field up to 10 to the 15 power times stronger than Earth’s own magnetic field.
The glow of
these rather rare events is like that of Gamma Ray Bursters (GRBs). And like
GRBs, do they have any effects on Earth when their radiation penetrates its
magnetosheath? Most likely. (From David Lazzati, “A Certain Flare,” Nature, Vol.
434, 28 April 2005, pp 1075-76)
In astronomical
history...
Henrietta
Swann Leavitt, the star catcher
Steven H. Yaskell
The Draper legacy
The first astronomer to
photograph star spectra, widely regarded to be the wealthy doctor and ambitious
space photography pioneer Henry Draper, accomplished the feat in 1872. This was
two years before leading the American expedition to photograph the transit of
Venus. It was major, pioneering work back then. It is not important any longer.
But a legacy he left is vital, and a recipient of it still deserving.
In 1880, shortly before his
unexpected death from pleurisy at age 45 on a winter hunting trip, Draper had
been working on taking detailed photographs of nebula and literally benchmarking
the vitally important science of photometry. As with many pioneers, Draper was
never able to realize the full potential of what they had started. In this case,
of photography to capture the scientific details of outer space. Had he lived
Draper would have witnessed developments in solar photography at the Royal
Observatory in Greenwich, for instance, and at Harvard’s now vanished Peruvian
observation station, Boydon. These were destinations well within the reach of
this privileged Virginian gentleman.
But wealth and reputation
proceeds - as well as precedes - themselves. Ironically it often independently
aids others (as well as inevitably lining the palms of the undeserving). Having
married the even wealthier Anna Mary Palmer after the Civil War, joining
fortunes in the Gilded Age America of expansion and commerce, Draper was
destined to leave a scientific funding legacy behind him.
_____________________________________________________________________
Anna Mary was the
autodidactic Draper’s soul mate as well as semi-patron. (In astronomy, these
unions of the soul are nearly divine.) And amid the wealthy social swirl of
Grant Administration America, one that was all about growth, brought
like-minded, privileged individuals together had they the social status. The
Drapers would meet or correspond with the Boston Pickerings and the Lowells and
the other gentleman and woman scientists or science dabblers of the age. These
were sprinkled liberally from west (Hale, Yerkes) to east (Pickering, Lowell).
Ease in train-assisted travel extended the reach of all (Lowell, for instance,
moved west: Draper died out there while successfully catching stars and
unsuccessfully hunting). As Gladstone’s England leapt ahead with reformed civil
service testing for staffing labs and observatories, America accomplished its
own cumbersome social engineering, step by step, via the more acceptable
American customs of using much money, privilege, and Ivy League school networks
to procure its intellectual capital. Too true, it can be said, that the famous
American robber baron – or his wife, son, or other descendant – lies behind the
hefty science bequest. But from out of coal, diamonds are eventually churned.
Draper’s death motivated
the formation of the Henry Draper Memorial. The founder and early manager of
this monument to her husband was Mrs. Draper herself. The fund winnowed its way
through the Washington-Philadelphia-New York-Boston (by way of Mt. Wilson in
California and the Lowell Observatory in Arizona) nexus all the way to
Cambridge, Massachusetts, and to Edward C. Pickering. He was once an M.I.T
physics professor, a believer in and motivator of women thinkers, and, by 1877,
the director of the Harvard College Observatory (HCO). He was one of Dr. and
Mrs. Draper’s contacts. Here, within the folds of an endowment and a novel
program started by Pickering came forth one of American’s premier
discoverer-astronomers, Henrietta Swann Leavitt. Her work was to make
measurements of celestial distance up to that time obsolete, and to form the
strongest known platform for newer ones.
“Pickering’s Girls”
Both the Royal Observatory
in England (a museum since 1998) and the Harvard College Observatory (now the
sprawling, part private, part government institute called the
Harvard-Smithsonian Center for Astrophysics) each began programs for “women
computers” in the late 1800s. At the Harvard observatory, the first lady
assistant was brought on in 1875. At Greenwich, these women did more than
replace the largely young male “computers” who performed the routine
computations for the daily observations and measurements (and who suffered
similar career dead-ends like their female counterparts, and in some cases
worse). Some in England became full partners with the hired male staff. Few
chose to do so however, and the British program died out. The same was true for
the woman computers at the Harvard College Observatory. But any sense of a
shared social status was missing. Some archives and the inevitable anecdotes
suggest that it was very much a “child – to – father” relationship between the
women computers and the regular male staff, and particularly, with the director.
Pickering was under the
eugenicist pall that painted women as being fit well for routine and mundane
labor, but not the flashing brilliant stuff, which is why he presumably began
the program (others argue tightfistedness, some, like me, a bit of idealism).
Men were supposedly better in the “quicksilver brilliance” department (still a
bugbear of bias, today). An implied mental inferiority, common amidst American
eugenics thinking then within top universities like Princeton, was also
widespread and pervasive in most middle class society and amongst the wealthy.
Mental inferiority was the reason for much denying of social, employment, and
legal status in 19th and early 20th Century America for many ethnic and racial
groups, and for all women. (Such thinking as this was in full bloom in mid-20th
Century Germany, with predictable results, until this growth was permanently,
and painfully, plucked.)
For all this, the pay was
often the deciding factor as to why many women chose not to begin careers in the
institutions (25 cents an hour in the U.S. case, poor pay even then). Being a
constantly inferior “girl” (in the American case perhaps) could have been
another. Some lost their jobs for relatively minor infractions within an
unavoidably infantile hierarchy. If all this sounds terribly cruel by today’s
standards, then please, examine briefly some facts that place it into
perspective. Japan still had “sun kings” and millions who believed in this,
women being totally ornamental, alternately property. In most European courts,
women were just about the same thing. In the U.S.A’s far west, women were at the
level of Indian fighter/squaw/pioneer, tending rifle and child. The machine age
had not quite kicked in: women could expect to trundle laundry by hand and pump
water from the backyard and empty it, used, from sinks and tubs by hand. Such
daily observed facts reinforced the idea that women were good drudges and poor
pioneering thinkers. It is small wonder the view the privileged had (who had all
this done for them) downward, was oft times a bleak and deprecating one.
A desperate love for the
work as well as talent for it could be a reason why some persisted. Mr.
Pickering had, after all, created an opportunity for a few of the fortunate, no
matter how small. Some of the American women, talented in math and science as
witnessed by the instructors at the women colleges, were hired as volunteers at
first, eventually obtained full time jobs at the institution and stayed there
for many years. Bad pay notwithstanding (but for these women, “protected
flowers” all in a financial sense, money was barely the issue). Along with
dedication came the flairs of temperament and ego, but this is always the case,
everywhere, among anybody construing their work as “important.” That Pickering
often sided with them in the face of male colleagues regarding conflict hardly
surprises us, either. In Leavitt’s case, she was a volunteer for several years
before gaining a paid position in 1902.
Some were recognized for
the work they did towards making possible the Hertzsprung-Russell diagram (one
of these reputedly was Antonia Maury, who was laid off, and later, Leavitt) and
the nascent star classification scheme - much changed since - by mid century
(such as Annie Jump Cannon, who was to thrive). Others had to be content with
realizing their work, such as cataloguing or observing – or in Leavitt’s case,
even their refined discoveries among the astrophysical laws - via the name of
the observatory director, HCO or random newspaper clippings, even though some
balked against this to their detriment (Maury). But when egos were in line and
tempers calm, we can imagine what great pride these women took in their work and
in themselves, accepting with a grain of salt what we today would justifiably
damn as discrimination. We can well imagine the price they paid. Yet lest some
of us think of what savages the men at HCO were (or were in general at that
time) it would be simplistic and far more savage to insert vastly altered views
and mores unto their thinking and actions from our current perspective.
In any case, a truly
powerful woman for that age (for money always tips the hand) - Draper’s widow -
made Pickering a patron (I suspect Pickering liked being babied by grateful
women). The Draper Memorial had as one aim the making of a chart of 10,000
stars’ spectral classes. Included were magnitude measurements and the
classification of variable stars, noted by Solon I. Bailey, the Harvard’s
Arequipa Boydon Observatory chief, in abundance in globular clusters in 1895,
and which was to form the basis of Leavitt’s discovery inside of open clusters.
Photographic photometry (light measurement for determining stars’ distance)
increased as advances in chemistry and optics prodded technical photography
onward into the new century, and “Pickering’s girls” (or “lady assistants”, or
“computers,” or – as one French writer uncharitably put it, the “harem de
Pickering”) did the patient work from the photographic plates Donald Menzel, a
subsequent director, wanted to throw out years later. The plates would be
shipped from Peru on a regular basis and then the woman observers would
“observe” off the finished photographic plates made of these clear, southern
mountain skies. Literally, “Pickering’s girls” were astronomical observers in
many senses of the word.
Over the years 1877 to
1919, Pickering in his long term as director had brought some 45 women into the
observatory. Draper’s widow’s money financed the catalog work, later to become
known as the Draper Catalog. Indirectly, Mrs. Draper’s endowment, however
penny-pinching, favored Pickering’s women staff, howsoever meanly. To be fair to
Pickering on this charge, he had to split hard-won endowments several ways to
finance a California and South American site, as well as the expanding one at
Harvard. These weren’t cheap. (But it is on record that Pickering’s younger
brother, the influential if embarrassing William, first at Mt. Wilson and then
Arequipa - from which he was removed - and elsewhere siphoned off much money
from the foundation).
Henrietta Swann Leavitt:
brief biography
Leavitt was born in the
then very leafy, rural farming community of Lancaster, Massachusetts U.S.A. of
Puritan stock on the 4th of July, three years after the American Civil War’s
end. She was the daughter of George R. Leavitt, a clergyman born in Lowell,
Massachusetts. Her mother and namesake, Henrietta Swann Kendrick, was born in
the then-whaling town of New Bedford, Massachusetts in 1844, daughter of Henry
C. Kendrick – a dentist - and Henrietta A. Swan, both of New Bedford. Kendrick
was the pastor of the First Congregational Church of Lancaster from 1865 to
1870, leaving there for Cambridgeport for financial reasons (Cambridgeport was
the home of the prominent telescope maker Alvan Clark, giving one to speculating
on her ever seeing some of these then-world class scopes in her childhood).
Family members to include grandparents may have accompanied each other from
place to place, and the family eventually moved to Cleveland, Ohio after
Massachusetts and finally to Beloit, Wisconsin, where Leavitt’s father died at
age 72. Her brother, Darwin, was a missionary in Turkey at the time of his
father’s death. Such was the tight family group of devout persons with a
burnished faith who came and went together – Henrietta remaining near Boston as
an astronomer and Darwin travelling the world, spreading the Christian faith.
Leavitt graduated from
Radcliffe College in Cambridge, Massachusetts in 1892. Radcliffe was known by
another name then and its position as a woman’s-only college is long gone (Women
weren’t allowed at Harvard at that time.) She developed a hearing problem even
before a fascination with the stars, possibly helped along by seeing Clark’s
products, prompted her to seek an astronomy career. Or, as a French writer put
it, “Enfermée dans son silence intérieur, Henrietta Swan se tourne alors vers le
silence des étoiles.” Apparently, the solitude involved in this work could have
agreed with the hearing impaired, leastwise to this particular woman astronomer,
which makes the French quote (above) so apt. But she shared this trait with a
leading “gun” (if I may pun) among the women astronomers at the HCO: Annie Jump
Cannon. Never married, with few details yet known of her private life, Leavitt
died of cancer in 1921 while still an active member of the observatory.
Celestial object distance
as determined by parallax
Finding the distances
between Earth and first the planets (later, stars) was done trigonometrically,
probably since the time of Hipparchus in classical Greece. It was calculated
from shadows shown on the Earth and on the Sun by objects like the eclipsing
Moon or Venus, etc., and the total distance was calculated in Earth radii. That
is, how many radiuses of Earth could be stacked side by side from Earth to say,
the Sun (the Earth’s radius was approximately known then.) But without shadows,
such as Venus’s or Mercury’s on the Sun to determine the Sun’s distance from us,
known as “transits,” the problem of space distance becomes (and again the pun is
intentional) without a shadow of a doubt, astronomical.
A remedy was found in
obtaining the better instrumentation needed to make ever-more exact measures.
One of the problems with early parallax measure was the different locations on
Earth observers had to be at in order to make the observations that lead to
calculating distances. Many factors contributed to errors here, and these
weren’t only from confusion due to the far distances observers (without the
benefit of email) often had to be from each other in order to make the
observations. Observers using micrometers in the same room could report
different measurements as they watched, say, Venus wobble across the Sun’s
photosphere and still get different results, as Swedish observers found to the
detriment of their friendships, once. Other troubles were atmospheric
disturbances, the differing effects gravity had on instruments at different
points on the globe that conspired to work against uniformity in total
measurements when calculated together to get an exact distance – all the way to
sickness that felled observers strung out across a primitive world. Edmund
Halley, who came up with the idea of repeatable transit observations across the
centuries in this manner, had the right idea in theory. The reality was another
thing.
Parallaxes to the Solar
System planets were quite good after the time of Germans such as Johan Encke by
the mid 19th Century. But the parallax of a star – that is, our distance from us
to it - remained a difficult problem and still, in some cases, still does. Truly
accurate distances to stars remained in the zone of “someday to be found.” It
was a dream, really, in spite of battalions of energetic and brilliant men
actively seeking that dream’s fulfilment.
What wasn’t needed was more
answers and clever, detailed measures that compounded the difficulty, which
tended to make the methods and equipage ever more ingenious, yet increasingly
difficult to fathom and to use. What also was not needed was making more people
with talents for retaining large sums and quantities in their heads more famous
and, inevitably, boastful and hyper competitive. As is so often the case (and
this seems especially so in astronomy) the more difficult or complicated (or
both) a system or method used in describing phenomena is, the more wrong it
usually turns out to be. For instance, Ptolemy’s circles describing the universe
were ingenious and mathematically correct. It was too bad, as observation was to
show, that they did not describe Nature as it really was.
What was needed was a new
or another way. Several of these ways came along down the years since
Hipparchus. The moving cluster method was one; the spectroscopic parallax method
another.
But evidence increasingly
shows that it was Leavitt’s discovery of a logarithmic period-luminosity law
that led to being able to accurately determine star distance up to 50 million
light years away that made good progress.
Out of the shadows: finding
the relationship between period and luminosity in stars
We get truth and new ways
of doing things in ways and in vessels we seldom expect. Sometimes the truth can
be construed as a beautiful vase: a Grecian urn. Sometimes it is delivered by a
Congregationalist minister’s angelic daughter, and oft times, only in parts.
Sometimes that minister’s daughter is only vaguely aware of what she has really
accomplished, as well. Others, later, are even more dimly aware of it.
There was more to be drawn
from photographic plate analysis, and Leavitt was to achieve a most important
and beguiling discovery in the annals of science from this “mundane” chore of
poring over plates. For some, such work is worse than a factory job. For someone
like Leavitt, it was apparently a “born for” aptitude. It must have been a
pleasant surprise – or unnerving shock – to Pickering when it was fully realized
who accomplished it. It probably helped pioneering astronomers such as Eijnar
Hertzsprung and Henry Norris Russell, and most definitely, Harlow Shapley,
within her lifetime. “Miss Leavitt” – she may have insisted on the “miss” -
gained significant status within her group quickly (and probable jealousy,
though her temperament – noted as loving and angelic – probably defused much of
this) and, by strong proxy, the rest of the observatory and the astronomical
community around the world.
She was put in charge of
the photometric group at HCO by Pickering well before her famous 1912 paper’s
publication. This implies that aptitude seldom fails to be noticed and more
importantly, used, when correctly located – another “law” that applies to the
social aspect of labor. She also brought to her work an intensity that placed
her apart from the others. And it was from the data obtained at the exotic
Arequipa location of one of Harvard’s early southern hemisphere telescopes (the
location for which was determined by another gentle discoverer, Andrew Ellicott
Douglas) that she unveiled a part of one of the heaven’s manifestly numerous
secrets.
Opening a jewel box
Scientific discovery often
comes about by a combination of intuition and imagination after having studied a
series of problems in the area concerning the discovery. Sometimes it is just
luck, or perhaps an insight granted by powers we can hardly understand and
perhaps are not meant to. By 1912 Leavitt was at this pregnant, vulnerable
period when someone is bound to get to some answers and insights since they had
been “at it” a long time, talented, relentless, and severe. In her case, it had
been ten years and also in her case, her talent and dedication must have been
infectious. We attribute much to logic and common sense, and especially
mathematical ability, in scientific discovery. But if it were just logic, common
sense and mathematical ability– and even studying the problem over and over and
over again – to scientific discovery, there would be many more profound,
pioneering discoveries like Leavitt’s listed in the annals of science. But there
are not. That she had tremendous faith and an ability to pray clearly (like
Kepler, Boyle and Newton) should not be snidely dismissed.
The problem of the ages was
that some stars are brighter than others, but does this tell us anything of that
star’s actual distance from us? That was the crux of the scientific problem
Leavitt and every astronomer faced, from Aristarchus to her (and it continues,
if on another plane). Naturally it concerns a working familiarity and facility
with some terms and concepts. But insight is another thing.
“Luminosity” for instance
has no particular relation to distance on the surface of things. It just “is,”
like so much other phenomena. Look up to the night sky and see a brighter star
in relation to a dimmer one. Does this alone tell you the distance? You assume
the brighter is the closer. That was apparently the case, but it was not the
case absolutely. Brightness is an apparent measure of how close something could
be. But luminosity is the absolute measure of how close brightness is to you.
(It is a technical reason why astronomers have created a distinction between the
two forms of stellar magnitude – apparent and absolute.) It is why they come up
with a measurement unit to keep everything separate so that they can think about
it more clearly in relation to phenomena. In this case we have what is called
the Lux. Luminosity draws on this technical unit of measure of light. A Lux is
that unit of illumination equal to the direct illumination on a surface from a
point source of a luminosity of one standard candle at one meter’s distance.
On the face of it, all
Leavitt did was to provide a way of comparing values of luminosity with each
other and found a repeatable, numerous parallel in actual Nature. She was
equipped with the above-knowledge. She also knew of the precise relationship
between luminosity and brightness:
Where B is the brightness,
L is luminosity, D the distance from the observer to the object and k, the
proportionality constant. Algebraic formulations determine theoretical distances
using this formula, but accomplish none from Nature.
Leavitt had been
cataloguing variable stars in the southern hemisphere for years and by 1908, she
published (in this way: “E.C. Pickering [for Henrietta Leavitt]”) “1777
Variables in the Magellanic Clouds” in the Harvard College Observatory Annals,
60, (1908). So much for her leg of the foot soldier work in the salt mines of
science, done separately but convergently along with all the other bees in the
Pickering beehive. But this was the seed bed for work that came to fruition a
few years later, around 1908 and 1911, and – interestingly - for others after
1912. Still in the Magellanic Cloud region – this time with a focus on the
smallest of the pair, sandwiched in between the constellations Tucana and Octans
close to the South Pole.
In her paper of March 3,
1912 entitled “Periods of 25 Variable Stars in the Small Magellanic Cloud,”
Leavitt acknowledged much of what I meant earlier by the phrase “over and over
and over again” in studying a problem:
The measurement and
discussion of these (the catalogue of 1,777 variables) objects present problems
of unusual difficulty, on account of the large area covered by the two regions,
the extremely crowded distribution of the stars contained in them, the faintness
of the variables, and the shortness of their periods.
And on and on. We get from
her description a perfect image of hard Nature, unyielding and confusing and
doing everything at once, fuzzily. But at the same time, the sights very near
the smaller Magellanic Cloud must have been beguiling. One of these is NGC 104.
We have this description of it from Agnes Clerke, a very popular astronomy
writer from Leavitt’s time:
“The loveliness of the
cluster…to Herschel’s view…set off by a diversity of colour between an interior
mass of rose-tinted stars and marginal strata of purely white ones…and to the
present writer, in 1888, the sheeny radiance of this object appeared quality
from centre to.
The beauty sometimes prods
one on to look even if, as in Leavitt’s case, the objects she studied never met
with her own eyes in Nature. She read the beauty only from the black and white
photographs, and perhaps from Clerke’s descriptions of them.
The stars were dim and of
extremely weak magnitudes (fourteenth and fifteenth magnitude, etc.) Long
exposure times were needed to get these stars - literally - into the picture.
Bailey down in Boyden balked, as did others photographing and packing these
stars for study. But she eventually trimmed her area of observation within this
mind-boggling array of gas, tiny stars, and faint glows down to 59 variables in
one measurement phase done in 1904. She alone (or with help from her fellow
staffers) had determined the periods of 25 of these by the time of her 1912
paper. It was probably necessary to list the stars and the data collected on
them out in a table, and then to spread it across graphs to see a relationship
between the “brightness of these variables and their periods” (the periods being
the times between dimming and glowing, as variable stars do). In any case
Leavitt had noticed a period-luminosity relationship between one or two stars in
her treks across the southern skies, not really studied much since William
Herschel’s son had a go at them a few decades earlier. But this time, there was
an entire swot of them doing the same thing. A small beehive’s worth. Or perhaps
more glittering jewels amidst an already beguiling jewel box full. And they were
on photographic plates she duly circled, noted, and collated.
When she applied the
inverse law to these observations, she found that these 25 stars have the
ability, such that the luminousness of these stars is in direct proportion to
the logarithm of their periods. (The law states that an object twice as far away
as another is 1/4th as bright.)
If one appeared dimmer than
the other, it was certainly that the dimmer one was furthest away with these
jewels. And with this relationship you could then calculate the relative
distance from the Earth (note well, this is the relative distance, not the exact
distance). Or as Michael J. Crowe puts the science intuition behind it:
Suppose that on a totally
dark night you look out from a cliff and see five lights in the distance. You
cannot…tell how far away they are…or how luminous they are. Nor can you tell how
luminous they are relative to each other. Suppose, however, that someone told
you that (they)…are all on a large ship sailing in the distance. Can you now
compare their luminosities? Yes; because they are all at the same distance, the
brighter (one among the others at that distance) must be the more luminous.
In spite of its obvious
shortcomings, the discovery was enormous. Reliable distances into space had
leapt considerably farther out than ever before.
Cepheid variables as the
standard candle
John Goodricke discovered
that Delta Cephei (in the constellation Cepheus) varies regularly in brightness
over a period of five days, eight hours and 48 minutes as early as 1784. Many of
these were a “type” of pulsating variable identified far before Leavitt’s birth
and of the same “type” as she would single out in the Small Magellanic Cloud.
But the scattering of Cepheid variable star types discovered across the northern
sky were not as compact in a single group as was Leavitt’s fortunately were. So
the connection between multiple pulsars behaving in some relation as Leavitt
noticed could not be established. The smaller Magellanic Cloud is also the 2nd
closest to us in the Galaxy. She was to have 25 of these “Cepheid type”
variables, all near one another in a single star cloud allowing the evidence to
be easily repeated by any other observer – a crucial aspect of any discovery,
and as such, made her paper vitally important. Diffuse clusters like the
Magellanic clouds prodded Leavitt forth perhaps along the idea generated by
Bailey after his finding them in globular clusters. (She may have been an angel
in temperament, but she was a “fiend” at finding variables. )
The papers of Leavitt must
have reached the notice of Eijnar Hertzsprung of Denmark. He had been at work on
the problems of Cepheid variables and distances to the same for some time,
probably as far back as 1908. So had others. In 1913 – importantly, a whole year
after her paper - he calculated the distance to one Cepheid in the northern
hemisphere, our pole star Polaris, as 200 parsecs (another way of measuring
astronomical distances rather than using light years). He is said to have done a
spectroscopic parallax measurement to the Sun to have obtained this value
statistically. Below is an illustration where M is the absolute magnitude, m the
apparent magnitude, and D, distance in parsecs:
In any case he must have been aware of Leavitt’s work on period-luminosity and the closer nature of the variable stars in the Magellanic Clouds apparently had to the Earth. (Hertzsprung was a “desk” astronomer. He specifically worked with information from other scientists, looking for data previously overlooked, and would adjust for accuracy. ) In this work, all Hertzsprung did – true to re-analytical form - was re-calibrate the law. In absolute terms:
For all of Leavitt’s work,
the method of Cepheid variables as a standard candle was weak in its
application, and by proxy, Hertzsprung’s modification of the logarithmic
equation. Harlow Shapley at Mt. Wilson in 1917 after much work reputably found
that the stars of longer period are actually greater in luminosity. He also
re-calibrated the logarithmic law involved in the period-luminosity observation
of Leavitt.
But error upon error
occurred in using pulsing variables as the standard candle. Edwin C. Hubble,
arguably the greatest observational astronomer who has lived, first used a
Cepheid variable to place the distance of the object they were found in the
Andromeda Galaxy as 900,000 light years in 1923 at Mount Wilson. Therefore,
Hubble placed this galaxy far beyond our own, further than anyone else had. But
there were more observational errors in using Cepheids as standard candles that
were not addressed and not corrected until 1953, the year Hubble died (the
actual corrected distance of the Andromeda Galaxy is 2.2 million light years
away and is our brother galaxy). “Observational complexity” was actually caused,
it turned out, by different “populations” Cepheids had to be broken down into:
namely, population one (Pop. I) found in spiral arms and star clouds – the blue
whites, and population two (Pop. II): namely, like those found in Bailey’s
globular clusters (the dimmer red and yellow stars). It turned out that the
period-luminosity variation is different in either population. Another was the
problem of the Cepheid’s pulsation on the temperature (or, the “spectral type”)
of the star. Yet like Leavitt, and perhaps Hertzsprung, Shapley’s universe was
tiny compared to the one that the man who would replace him at Mt. Wilson –
Hubble – would be. For all this, we can see that Leavitt wasn’t the only one
having difficulty grasping the truth fully. And it may very well be that, if it
wasn’t for her, getting reliably out past 50 million light years even
theoretically wouldn’t have occurred.
Closing the jewel box
Since Leavitt, redshift
discovery pioneered by Hubble has made the question of space distance a much
more open one. Since the universe is expanding, what are the distances beyond
the known distances from galaxies past 50 million light years? But I am leaving
out of the scope of this article just how much influence she had on the work of
Hertzsprung and slightly later, in 1917, of Harlow Shapley’s, in their bids to
describe the depth of the universe, and Hubble from the 1920s to 1950s. (I will
for now speculate that all had access to her uncovering of the period law via
her papers. A routine check of their sources in their own papers should reveal
this.) Using supernovae and galaxies as “standard candles” pushed the envelope a
little farther outward, but just how exactly is anybody’s guess.
The red shift method that
shuttled the known distances of the observable universe out past a hypothetical
ten billion light years was Hubble’s work. The Hubble Constant can get the rate
of the expansion of the universe, which he and others found. But the question of
the distances to these remote galaxies, calculated from that data, is still
questionable. The Cepheid variables out in Hubble’s great depths, those
“candles” that brought galaxies closer to us by 50 million fairly reliable light
years, are still too faint to measure.
Hubble stood, then, on “one
of the giant’s shoulders.” Though I have not verified this, the giant in
question was probably Henrietta Swann Leavitt, a product of one of the greatest
of astrophysical observatories – the Smithsonian - and a person who was similar
in temperament to that silent (physical) giant, Hubble.
The “problem” is the “work”
The truism in science
bureaucracies is that the “quicksilver brilliant” work is out there, somewhere,
just looking for the appropriate “quicksilver” mind to delve the depths of
Nature and pluck up, plumb-out-of-pie fashion, a discovery. This is the "knight
of the cross on his quest" theory of scientific discovery; dramatic but not
necessary. Hundreds of university trained and equipped scientists, all
appropriately passing the correct amounts of tests at the right status schools,
then file into the scientific salt mines, looking for the silver chalice. An
apparent (if not absolute!) truism of Leavitt’s time was that men, only, were
capable of this “quick silver” brilliance to master problems when in truth, “the
problem” is always extremely difficult to master, no matter for what sex; that
the (apparent) “quicksilver” minds acknowledge this and climb – unnoticed – up
some status ladder and then sometimes vanish. The truth is also that “the
problem” of “mundane” work is common to all scientists, no matter what the
problem at hand happens to be. Foisting it onto another often makes a mess or
pushes it onto others’ desks. And often these desks are usually occupied by
someone living far in the future. And as I will stress, over and over again, the
rarity of insights such as Leavitt’s is such that it is surprising, given all
the talent in mathematics, physics and physical strength thrown at these
problems, that so few ever get solved – even partially – from their root
observations..
The truth often also is –
paradoxically - that the unattached and sometimes even untrained, unadjusted and
even casual researcher makes the find. More paradoxically still, the trained
professional then often actually either stands in the way of the discoverer, due
to a claim of “untrained-ness” or political bias (or both: sex bias won’t do it
any longer) and / or claims credit for the discovery themselves, since untrained
persons cannot (goes the snobbery) possibly have been able to have done it. And
this, no matter how many “barriers” are broken, will always be the case in
science discovery as it is with every other human endeavor.
Leavitt escaped with her
discovery of a law fairly intact when we read of it in the light of the above
paragraphs. (I often breathe a sigh of relief in such tales, knowing that the
discovery was ultimately to everyone’s benefit.) However, laws are laws. Making
novel astronomical observations-to-the-mathematical-physical insight proofs,
receiving 95% testable accuracy rates, are few and far between. Ones such as
hers that can be built off of productively, as were Johan Kepler’s or Robert
Boyle’s, are rarer still. Maybe her method, applied to what space telescopes
will see, will measure yet the Cepheids identifiable out in these enormously
distant galaxies all the way to us? Except for the matter of depth of space
discovered, her finding is of the same magnitude as Kepler’s, is it not? It is a
shame her finding never came to be known as Leavitt’s Law of Period-Luminous
Variability, much as Kepler’s became known as Kepler’s Laws of Planetary Motion.
Never having been given a
chance on the “even playing field,” what else can one expect? Yet the guilt
(alternately, desire) over acknowledging her was there. In 1925, four years
after her death from cancer, a member of the Swedish Academy of Sciences
proposed nominating her for the Nobel Prize, presumably in physics. It came to
nothing, as well as from her several different professional memberships. (As
hopeless as this may be we should also note that – even if behavior against
women at one time equalled the tragic – it is no invitation to find another
group upon which to foist equal tragedy.)
A saying should go, “modern
views fit modern people,” since I have, I know, somewhere, wobbled over into my
own bias. To put “Miss Leavitt” back into her proper time and stop dangerously
tampering with barely-levelled-out facts, we have from Solon Bailey, arguably
one of the better men at Harvard in his time, the following encomium to Leavitt
a year after her death:
Miss Leavitt inherited, in
a somewhat chastened form, the stern virtues of her puritan ancestors. She took
life seriously. Her sense of duty, justice and loyalty was strong. For light
amusements she appeared to care little. She was a devoted member of her intimate
family circle, unselfishly considerate in her friendships, steadfastly loyal to
her principles, and deeply conscientious and sincere in her attachment to her
religion and church. She had the happy faculty of appreciating all that was
worthy and lovable in others, and was possessed of a nature so full of sunshine
that, to her, all of life became beautiful and full of meaning.
Her sickness and death left
her fellows at Harvard bereft. Where were they to find the inspiration to
continue in the various research areas she touched, now that she was gone? A
feeling that a singularity among them having departed must have been strong.
Back from the far side of
the Moon: a posthumous Draper Medal?
Should the evidence show
her influence on Herztsprung, Shapley et al, I would not mind seeing a
posthumous Draper Medal being awarded to one deserving scientist. She was not
just another American woman pioneer in the model of, say, a Margaret Harwood,
who was a “first” at something relative the female sex in America among
scientist-administrators leaping barriers. Or a formidable and long lived Annie
Jump Cannon, outlasting them all into an age that just started to see women for
what they could be, stripped of eugenicist biases. Leavitt is an important
discoverer along the line of a Kepler and, from Bailey’s words at least, a model
person and scientist in the mould of a Hubble. As a “barrier breaker” she was a
breaker of that hardest barrier of them all: hard, seemingly impenetrable
Nature, observationally and mathematically.
Though a crater on the far
side of the Moon is named for her (Pickering’s thievish brother shares his name
on a crater on the visible side!) I suggest she be given something she truly
deserved. No Draper Medal was awarded for 1912. A posthumous Draper Medal for
that year should be hers. Draper, the idealistic doctor who might have lived
long enough to see Leavitt’s work would have been proud and his widow, prouder
still. His memorial was dedicated to such intellectual effort as Leavitt managed
to achieve, anyway.
Isn’t this the least
Americans can do for one of their best-of-the-best?
Sources
See my book with Dr. Willie
Soon, “The Maunder Minimum and the Variable Sun-earth Connection” (WSP: 2004)
for more on observatory staffing in England and the United States in the late
1800s.
Correspondence with Joy A.
Peach, town genealogist, town of Lancaster, Massachusetts and Jean Watson for
biographical data on Leavitt family. Clinton Courant (no date) provided
obituary.
Hands-on Astrophysics
http://hoa.aavso.org/ (Leavitt was a member of AAVSO among other scientific
societies, at one time a big project at the Smithsonian Astrophysical
Observatory while it was still in Washington, D.C. and when it had only a
foothold in Cambridge and the Harvard College Observatory)
ACT TOUSSAINT, le cygne et
le rat (The Swan and the Rat)
Lindroth, S., Kungl.
Svenska Vetenskapsakademiens historia (1739-1818) (Stockholm: 1967) pp 398-411
I urge anybody who wants to
see how strongly faith played a role among our founding scientific fathers to
read E.A. Burtt’s “The Metaphysical Foundations of Modern Physical Science”
(1924) or the Dover reprint of 2003, “The Metaphysical Foundations of Modern
Science.” Read especially the sections on Boyle.
Crowe, M.J., Modern
Theories of the Universe from Herschel to Hubble (Dover: 1994) pp 226-232 for
Leavitt’s main papers.
Thinkquest online:
Sun-Man’s Friend and Foe (for Hertzsprung)
Jastrow, R., and Thompson,
M.H., Astronomy: Fundamentals and Frontiers (Wiley: 1974) for distance
measurements into space.
Croswell, K., “The Alchemy
of the Heavens,” (Anchor: 1995) pp 232-242 for Hubble.
Burnham, R., Burnham’s
Celestial Atlas (Dover: 1978) for Shapley and Clerke.
Equipment review
Which is best - refractor,
reflector, or catadioptric?
Ed Ting
"Ed, what's the best
telescope you've ever seen?"
We were sitting around the
kitchen table on a rainy day, talking about equipment. I leaned back in my
chair, lost in thought as I do every time I get asked heavy, philosophical
questions like this one. After a few min- utes, I generated a short list that
included the Astro-Physics AP130EDT, Starmaster's 7" Oak Classic, and the Intes
MN61 Maksutov-Newtonian.
Someone else at the table
pointed out that I had, consciously or not, selected one example from each of
the major designs: one refractor, one Newtonian reflector, and one catadioptric.
What's more, they're closely matched in aperture. Which, of course, started a
debate: is one design inherently superior to the others, and if so, which of
them would fare best in a shootout?
We decided to find out. I
obtained samples of each telescope. By this time, I not only knew which models I
wanted, I knew which samples of each model that I wanted for the test (there is
one 7" Starmaster in our club, for example,that outperforms the other two, which
are already superb samples.) We compared the three scopes side by side on
planets and deep sky. We tested the scopes' resolution, determined their
limiting magnitudes and ran a star test on each.
Since this was to be
primarily a test of absolute performance, we spent most of our efforts
evaluating the optics. Value, cost, and availability (two of the three scopes
tested are not available - or at least very difficult to get -at this writing)
were not regarded as the most important factors, although we do address the cost
issue later on. Read on, and no peeking!
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The venerable front-runner:
the Astro-Physics 130 EDT
Astro-Physics refractors
certainly need no introduction. These telescopes are so good that the term
"Christen Triplet" is virtually synonymous with excellence these days. The 5.1"
f/8 AP130EDT keeps falling into and out of the AP lineup. An f/6 version is also
available. At $3650 for the OTA alone -- which could buy the other two
telescopes combined -- it's by far the most expensive of the scopes tested, yet
it has the least aperture. In other words, it's a typical high-end refractor.
This particular sample of
the AP130 has perhaps the most perfect star test I have ever seen. It is
completely lacking in chromatic or spherical aberrations, and can be taken up to
ridiculously high powers when atmospheric conditions permit.
This telescope's reputation
certainly preceeded it. Going in, many of us wondered, to varying degrees, how
the AP could possibly lose. Was this blind prejudice, or informed bias based on
years of experience? I was an- xious to find out.
An incredible mirror: the
Starmaster 7" f/5.6 Oak Classic
At the other end of the
aperture/price spectrum lies this unassuming-looking Dobsonian. Made by
Starmaster for several years, these scopes have gained a cult-like following
among reflector buffs. Sadly, they've been discontinued, and Rick Singmaster
tells me he has no plans to bring the scope back. The world's the poorer because
of it. There are only about 150 of these out there, which makes these scopes
even more rare than Astro-Physics refractors.
All 7" Oak Classics are
worth collecting, but the real stunners are the last 40 or so units with Zambuto
mirrors in them. This particular sample's mirror has typically astonishing
specs:
*RMS Wavefront Error: 1/74
*Peak to Valley Wavefront
Error: 1/29.6
*Strehl Ratio: .993
The numbers only tell part
of the story. The views through this telescope are stunningly vivid, sharp, and
clear. Some of us have remarked that this telescope is like having a 7"
apochromatic refractor for about $1000.
Early versions sold for
$695, while the last run of Zambuto-equipped units went for as much as $1000,
depending on the options you wanted. On the used market, expect to pay as much
as $1400, assuming you can find one.
Although I expected the AP
refractor to have the edge in winning this test, deep in my heart I was pulling
for this little scope. My previous views throughit suggested that it had more
than a fighting chance (the owner has elongated the .45 arc-second B component
of Gamma Andromedae and has no trouble seeing eight craterlets in Plato with
it.) I mean, wouldn't it be a great story if a $695 scope managed to beat out a
$5000+ refractor rig?
A great catadioptric: the
Intes MN61
Once a curiosity,
Maksutov-Newtonians are gaining well-deserved respect for providing crystal
clear, pinpoint sharp, contrasty images. That they manage to do this at very
reasonable prices makes them even more attractive.
The 6" f/6 Intes MN61 is
also sold by Orion under the "Argonaut" name. The tube sells for $1150-$1350
depending on who you buy it from and what options you get with it. You can get
Orion's Argonaut version with a GP-DX mount for $1999. Like the Starmaster, it
has a tiny (18%) central obstruction, and the lack of a secondary support
structure does a good job of convincing you that you're looking through a
premium refractor.
None of us have done
extensive comparisons with this telescope, yet each time we look through it, or
see it at a star party, it always elicits gasps from delighted observers. I've
looked through some amazing Mak-Newts in my time, but I knew I wanted to include
Allen's MN61 in this test. It is the best catadioptric I've ever seen.
The MN61 comes into this
test as something of a "dark horse" entry. One of us even cynically said that
this comparison was really a test "between Mr. Christen and Mr. Zambuto" and
that the Intes was just along for the ride. Would our prejudices hold up, or
would the Intes surprise everyone and silently walk away with the crown?
(About the author: Ed Ting
is a technical salesman of telescopes and equipment living in Connecticut, USA.)
Arcturus in autumn
Sarah Teasdale
When, in the gold October
dusk, I saw you near to setting,
Arcturus, bringer of
spring,
Lord of the summer nights,
leaving us now in autumn,
Having no pity on our
withering; Oh, then I knew at last
that my own autumn was upon me,
I felt it in my blood,
Restless as dwindling
streams that still remember
The music of their flood.
There in the thickening dark a wind-bent tree above me
Loosed its last leaves in
flight--
I saw you sink and vanish,
pitiless Arcturus,
You will not stay to share
our lengthening night.
Sara Teasdale (1884-1933)an
American lyrical poet of mainly Victorian and European continental themes,
hailed from St. Louis, Missouri, USA but spent her mature life in New York City.
She was first published in 1907, having begun writing while in college. In 1918
she won the first Pulitzer Prize for Poetry ever awarded. She was immensely
popular in her time.
In love most of her life
with the poet Vachel Lindsay, she opted instead for the pecuniary stability of a
marriage to a businessman which could have been the main reason for her suicide.
A perfect lesson on how one should follow the heart in love, though, given the
tepid financial opportunities available women in the early 20th Century
generally, her end comes as no great surprise. The spondees above stand as sad
testament to her feelings.
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