Surface brightness — where it appears
Named by 17 essays across 5 fields — each of them below, with the objects they name alongside it.
An angle of five hundredths of an arcsecond
No telescope has ever resolved a star other than the Sun, and stellar diameters are measured anyway — by finding the separation of two apertures at which the star's interference fringes vanish. What that returns is an angle; the radius arrives only when a distance is brought in, and the distance is the worse-known half.
The brightness distance cannot touch
Flux falls as the inverse square of distance and so does solid angle, so their ratio does not fall at all. A galaxy's surface brightness is the same number wherever it is put, which means whole populations can be undetectable at any distance whatever.
Why the sky is dark
In an infinite universe of stars every sight line ends on a stellar surface, so the whole sky should be as bright as the Sun's disc. It is not, and the usual answer — that the expansion redshifts the light away — accounts for a factor of six out of a hundred trillion.
A disc the size its halo was born with
A galaxy's mass says how much light it makes. It does not say how big it is. What sets a disc's size is a single dimensionless number describing how fast the dark halo around it happens to be turning — a number the disc had no part in choosing, distributed the same way for every halo mass in the universe.
The darkness has a number in it
The night sky is not black. It carries about sixty nanowatts per square metre per steradian, and that number is the sum of every photon every star has ever emitted, redshifted and added up over thirteen billion years.
Two skies where the paradox comes out right
Olbers argued that every sight line should end on a source and the sky should blaze. In neutrinos and in gravitational waves it does — the walls are at one second and at no time at all — and both of those skies have now been detected.
The same census, taken in two places
Fit a Schechter function to a rich cluster and to the field around it and the two come back with different slopes and different knees. Both differences are real, and neither can be read as a cause — a cluster's galaxies are also redder, and the same photometry measures both.
Where the sky is the measurement
The outskirts of a galaxy at 29 or 30 magnitudes per square arcsecond are a thousand times fainter than the night sky they are seen through. Photon noise averages down with exposure; an error in the sky subtracted from under them does not. A sky wrong by a tenth of a per cent draws a break into a disc that has none, or a halo around a galaxy that has none, and the telescope's own scattered light draws another.
A radius that is a measurement of the threshold
A galaxy has no edge. Its light fades exponentially for as far as anyone can measure, so every size ever quoted for one is the radius at which the fading crossed some line that somebody drew. Drawn at a fixed surface brightness, the line measures how bright the galaxy's centre is as much as how big the galaxy is — and at high redshift it measures the expansion of the universe as well.
An angle too small to measure, read from a colour
A giant star in the Large Magellanic Cloud subtends two microarcseconds, a hundred times below anything an interferometer resolves. Its angle is read instead from its colour, through a relation calibrated on nearby stars that can be resolved — and because dust dims a star and reddens it by amounts that nearly cancel in that relation, the distance it gives hardly depends on the dust at all.
Dust that does not dim with distance
An Earth-like planet around a nearby star is seen against the glow of the dust in its own system, and the two behave differently with distance. The planet is a point, and it fades as the square of how far away it is. The dust is a surface, and a surface does not fade at all — a more distant system packs more dust into each resolution element in exactly the proportion its light is diluted. So the dust around a star, not the telescope's contrast, sets how far away an Earth can be found, and how many stars a search can reach.
Light that adds, corrected as if it multiplied
A flat field is an exposure of something uniform, and some of the light in it did not come through the optics the way starlight does — it scattered off a baffle, a filter face or a dusty window and landed where the geometry never sent it. Dividing by that flat makes the sky in every science image look perfect and makes every star in it wrong, by an amount the image itself cannot show.
One profile for a galaxy that has two
The worry about the compact galaxies of ten billion years ago was that their growth since might be partly a faint envelope the sky hides. Modelled, the envelope does hide — but not mainly under the sky. A single profile fitted to a core with an envelope reports a compromise at any depth, too large for a tight envelope and too small for a wide one, and the growth it measures is an understatement.
A dimming short by what young stars repay
In an expanding universe a galaxy's surface brightness should fall as the fourth power of one plus its redshift; if light merely tired on its way through static space, as the first power. Measured on elliptical galaxies at redshift 0.85, it falls as about the two-and-a-half power — neither. The verdict on expansion rests on what the galaxies did in the meantime, and the decisive fact is not the size of the shortfall but its sign: expansion needs the galaxies to have been brighter when their stars were younger, and tired light needs them to have been fainter.
A zodi measured in heat and needed in light
The dust around nearby stars that will limit the search for Earth-like planets in reflected light has been measured — but in its own glow at ten microns, by an interferometer whose fringes hide the dust nearest the star. Converting that measurement into the visible brightness at the habitable zone needs the dust's radial profile and its grains' albedo and temperature, none of which was measured. The same ten-micron zodi can mean a quarter or ten times the visible dust a coronagraph will see.
A glow counted in square metres of sunlit metal
Satellites too faint to see one at a time still reflect sunlight, and spread across the sky they add a glow that no mask removes. Its brightness does not depend on how far away the satellites are, only on how much sunlit area is in orbit and whether the Earth's shadow has reached it. A hundred thousand satellites as bright as today's add a few per cent to the darkest sky — and the estimate that the sky is already a tenth brighter rests on an area of debris nobody has measured.
A halo the telescope paints on every galaxy
A telescope puts almost all of a star's light into a dot and a few per cent of it into faint wings that reach arcminutes away. Around a galaxy those wings add up. The scattered light from the bright centre lands in the outskirts, and below about twenty-nine magnitudes per square arcsecond it outshines the galaxy's own — bending the profile up into a halo, or an edge-on disc out into a thick one, at the same depth around every galaxy whatever its size.
Named alongside it
The objects these essays reach for when they reach for this one.
Exponential discLow-surface brightness galaxyOlbers's paradoxScattered lightSky backgroundStellar haloZodiacal lightAngular diameterAngular-diameter distanceCoronagraphCosmological dimmingDirect imaging