Astronomy & Celestial Mechanics
the sky, computed
The collection

Every essay — page 5

One idea per essay, ordered so that the earlier ones set up the later ones — but nothing here depends on being read in sequence. Essays 81–100 of 514.

The observed sky

Coordinates, seasons, phases and shadows — geometry seen from inside it.

The wobble inside the wobble. Left: the two components of nutation over 40 years, from the four largest terms of the standard series. The long wave is the regression of the Moon's node in 18.613 years, which is where nearly all of it comes from; the ripple on it is the semi-annual solar term at 1.3″ and the semi-monthly lunar one at 0.2″. Right: the loop the pole actually traces over one node cycle, in arcseconds on the sky, with the mean pole at the centre. The loop is 14.89″ by 19.90″ — taller than it is wide, because the longitude term is foreshortened by sin ε while the obliquity term is not, which is the one thing a schematic of this is always drawn getting wrong. Over the same 18.6 years precession itself carries the pole 936″ along its circle, 47 times the loop's own height, so nutation is a wobble on a path and not a path. It is nonetheless 99,480 times the 0.2 mas astrometry of a modern catalogue, which is why a position has to say whether it is referred to the mean pole or the true one.

The wobble inside the wobble

Precession and nutation are the same torque. The difference is that the Moon's orbital plane turns once in 18.6 years, so part of the pull oscillates instead of accumulating — and a catalogue position is not a direction until it says which pole it is measured from.

8 figures · Precession One path, five numbers. Left: the apparent path of a star over 4 years, with a proper motion of 193 mas a year and a parallax of 50 mas, at ecliptic latitude 42°. It is one curve and there is nothing in the sky it can be compared against — the reference stars have paths of their own. Right: the same path with a straight line taken out of it. What is left is an ellipse of semi-major axis 50.0 mas and semi-minor axis 33.5 mas, closed and repeating once a year. The two are separated by their time signatures and by nothing else: proper motion is secular and parallax is annual, in a phase the Earth's position fixes in advance. That is why the five parameters can be told apart at all, and why an astrometric catalogue quotes five rather than two — a position without them is a position at one instant, which is not a direction to anything.

Five numbers from one wiggle

A star's path across a plate is a straight line with a one-year ellipse laid on it. Nothing measures either alone — one fit yields five parameters at once, and they are separable only because their time signatures differ.

8 figures · Parallax The same ellipse at 955 times the size, and a quarter of a year out of step. The aberration ellipse (solid) and the parallax ellipse (dashed) for γ Draconis at four ecliptic latitudes, drawn to one scale. Aberration is v/c towards the Earth's own direction of travel, so its ellipse has semi-major axis 20.49551″ for every star in the sky; parallax is 1/d towards the Sun, so its semi-major axis is that star's own 0.02147″ — 955 times smaller, and drawn 955 times smaller here. At the ecliptic pole both are circles; on the ecliptic both collapse to lines; in between both are ellipses of semi-minor axis sin β times the major, and the ratio is identical at every latitude because both effects project the same way. The marks are the same four dates on each: they are a quarter of a year apart between the two, because the aberration displacement follows the Earth's velocity and the parallax displacement follows its position, and velocity leads position by 90° on a circular orbit. That quarter-year is the only thing distinguishing the two phenomena on the sky, and it is why Bradley, looking for the dashed ellipse in 1728, spent months unable to interpret the solid one he had found instead.

The other twenty arcseconds

Every star in the sky traces a small ellipse over a year, of the same shape as its parallax ellipse and 90° out of step with it — and the same size for all of them, near or far. Bradley found it in 1728 while hunting for parallax, and it proved the Earth moves a century before anything's distance was known.

8 figures · Aberration The solar system to three figures, and not one distance in it. Left, why an inferior planet's wandering is a measurement. At greatest elongation the sight line from the Earth is tangent to the planet's orbit, so the angle at the planet is a right angle and a/a⊕ = sin ε — no distance anywhere in the argument, only the angle between two directions. Venus reaches 45.4°–47.1°, giving 0.7224 AU against the modern 0.72333. Right, every planet Copernicus could see, derived this way and by the synodic route for the outer ones — 1/P = 1/E − 1/S for the year, then the harmonic law for the distance — plotted against the catalogue. Mercury is the interesting failure: its elongation runs from 17.9° to 27.8° rather than sitting still, so the method returns a range, 0.307 to 0.466 AU, and the true 0.3871 lies inside it. That spread is not an error in the method; it is Mercury's eccentricity being measured by a technique that assumed a circle.

The solar system measured from inside one orbit

Venus never appears more than 47 degrees from the Sun. That single angle gives its orbital radius as a fraction of the Earth's, with no distance measured anywhere — and every other planet gives one up as easily.

8 figures · Apparent motion Every quasar in the sky streaming at 5.23 µas a year towards one point. Above: the apparent proper motion of distant quasars, drawn in Galactic coordinates with the centre of the Galaxy at the origin. Quasars do not move — at their distances a real transverse velocity of a thousand kilometres a second would be a hundredth of a microarcsecond a year — so a pattern in their apparent motions is a statement about the observer. Annual aberration displaces every source by v/c and returns it a year later; the Sun's velocity is not constant, and a changing displacement does not return. The Sun is being accelerated towards the centre of the Galaxy at 2.4·10⁻¹⁰ m s⁻², so the aberration vector rotates at a/c and the whole sky streams towards the same point, at (a/c) sin θ for a source θ from it. Below: that amplitude against angle from the apex, with the fitted dipole and the measurement. A circular speed of 248 km s⁻¹ at 8.28 kiloparsecs predicts 5.23 microarcseconds a year; the measured dipole in the proper motions of 1.6 million quasars is 5.05 ± 0.35, pointing to within a few degrees of the Galactic centre. The picture cannot show what took so long: the effect is a twenty-thousandth of annual aberration, it accumulates over the whole mission rather than over a year, and it is degenerate with any real rotation of the quasar frame — so a measurement of the acceleration of the solar system is also, unavoidably, an assumption that the distant universe does not turn.

The whole sky drifting towards one point

Annual aberration is the Earth's velocity, and it closes every year. The Sun's velocity is not constant, so the same effect leaves a residue that never closes — every quasar in the sky creeping towards the Galactic centre at five microarcseconds a year, which is a direct measurement of the Sun's acceleration.

8 figures · Aberration A clock that has lost 5.7 hours in 2720 years. ΔT = TT − UT1, the accumulated difference between a uniform time scale and the Earth's own rotation, from 700 BC to 2020, on a logarithmic scale. The points are the published record; the smooth curve is the parabola 31.94·u² fitted to the entries at or before 1000, with u in centuries from 1820. It is a parabola and not a line because the Earth is not merely slow, it is slowing: a day lengthening at a constant rate makes a clock fall behind by the integral of the lag. That coefficient is a length-of-day rate and nothing else — 31.94 = ½ × r × 36525 days per century gives r = 1.75 ms per century, against the 1.78 ms computed from tidal angular momentum with no eclipse anywhere in the derivation. At 700 BC the offset is 5.7 hours, which is 85° of the Earth's rotation, and that is why the ancient measurements are records of the place a total eclipse was seen from rather than of the hour: the hour was never written down accurately enough to matter, and the shadow's track on the ground was.

Six kinds of second

The Earth is a clock that loses, and it has lost five and a half hours since 700 BC. That number was measured from the places ancient eclipses were seen from, not the times they were seen at — because the record carries a longitude and no clock.

8 figures · Timescales Five rules, and how fast each one leaves the seasons behind. The accumulated difference between a calendar and the seasons, for five leap-year rules, over 4000 years. Each is a straight line whose slope is the rule's fraction minus the tropical year's 0.2421897, and nothing else about a calendar matters to this plot — not which months are long, not where the year starts, not what anything is called. The Julian quarter is out by 11.25 minutes a year, which is one day every 128 years and is why ten days had to be removed in 1582. The Gregorian rule takes 3223 years to lose a day and the Persian 4264, in the other direction — the older rule is the better one, at a denominator of 33 against 400. The 128-year rule is level on this scale: 454545 years to a day, which is longer than any calendar has been kept — and it is not a separate invention but the Julian rule with its own error subtracted, since 1/4 − 1/128 = 31/128 exactly and the Julian drift is exactly one day per 128 years. What the figure cannot show is that the tropical year is itself shortening, by about half a second a century, so the slopes drawn here are the ones at the present epoch and every line is very slightly curved.

A year that is not a whole number of days

The tropical year is 365.24219 days, so every calendar is a fraction chosen to approximate 0.24219. The continued fraction says which fractions are best, and the one in use is not among them.

8 figures · Calendars Resolution stops improving at 10 cm of aperture. Angular resolution against aperture at 500 nm, both logarithmic. The falling line is diffraction alone, 1.03 λ/D, which is what a telescope in vacuum delivers and has no floor. The curve is the same telescope under an atmosphere of Fried parameter r₀ = 10 cm, combining diffraction and seeing in quadrature: it follows the diffraction line while D < r₀ and then bends onto a plateau at 0.98 λ/r₀ = 1.01″. An amateur's 100 mm at 0.1 m would resolve 1.062″ above the air and delivers 1.47″ through it; a metre at 1 m would resolve 0.106″ above the air and delivers 1.02″ through it; the VLT at 8.2 m would resolve 0.013″ above the air and delivers 1.01″ through it; the ELT at 39 m would resolve 0.003″ above the air and delivers 1.01″ through it. At 39 m the atmosphere is costing a factor of 371: the aperture is 390 coherence lengths across and every one of the 152,100 patches it collects arrives with a phase of its own. What the extra aperture still buys is photons and speckles, and those two are what adaptive optics and speckle interferometry respectively spend to get the falling line back.

A ten-metre mirror that resolves like a ten-centimetre one

The atmosphere delivers a wavefront in patches about ten centimetres across, and an aperture larger than a patch collects patches rather than detail. Resolution stops improving at that size — and what the extra aperture keeps buying is photons and speckles, which is why there are two entirely different ways out.

8 figures · Seeing A patch 1.5″ wide in the visible and 8″ at 2.2 µm. The isoplanatic angle against wavelength, for r₀ = 10 cm at 500 nm, a turbulence layer at 5 km and a wind of 20 m/s. This is the angle over which one measurement of the wavefront is still valid, and it is the hardest of adaptive optics' three limits: at 1.5 arcseconds in the visible, the guide star has to be inside a patch a hundredth the size of the full Moon. Everything scales as λ^6/5 because r₀ does — measured off the curve at λ^1.200 — so the patch grows to 8 arcseconds at 2.2 µm, and its area by the square of that. With 0.1 stars per square arcminute bright enough to guide on, the fraction of sky reachable goes from 0.018 per cent to 0.5 — a factor of 28. That single curve is why the first working systems were infrared, why a laser is fired to make a star where there is none, and why the laser still does not solve it: a beam launched from the telescope wanders with the same atmosphere it is meant to measure, so it cannot sense the overall tilt, and a natural star is still needed for that.

The correction has to be faster than the air

Making a large telescope resolve like a large telescope means measuring the wavefront and undoing it. Three numbers bound how well that can work and none of them is the mirror — a frequency of hundreds of hertz, a patch a second and a half wide, and the chance of a bright enough star inside it.

9 figures · Seeing 7 clocks, and a body 233 kilometres across. A stellar occultation reduced. Each horizontal segment is one observer's chord: the star vanished, the star came back, and the interval multiplied by the shadow's 21.4 km/s across the ground is the length drawn. The longest, at an offset of -28 km, is 252.3 kilometres. The dashed ellipse is the limb fitted to the chords by least squares in the half-length squared, and its equivalent-area diameter is 233.9 km against the silhouette's true 232.9 — the residual is the shape the fitted ellipse cannot hold, not an error in any timing. The two open marks are observers inside the predicted path who saw nothing, and they are measurements: they bound the limb inside their own offsets, which is what fixes the extent when the positive chords all fall on one side. At 0.12 s per contact the length precision is 2.6 km, 1.10 per cent of the body — a size measured with a clock rather than with an angle, on an object no telescope resolves.

A shape measured by the edge of a shadow

When a small body passes in front of a star the observable is two times. Multiply the interval by the body's speed across the sky and it becomes a chord across a silhouette no telescope can resolve — and enough chords give a profile to a kilometre or two, for an object a few hundred across.

8 figures · Occultations The Metonic cycle slips a day in 219 years, and the next rule needs 334. Accumulated disagreement between a lunisolar rule and the sky, against elapsed time, for the continued-fraction convergents of the 12.368266 synodic months in a tropical year. Each line is one historical cycle: 2 years to 25 months, 3 years to 37 months, 8 years to 99 months, 11 years to 136 months, 19 years to 235 months, 334 years to 4131 months. Every line has slope exactly 1, because an error made once per cycle accumulates linearly, so the only thing that distinguishes the rules is where they start. The two that were actually used are the octaeteris — eight years, 1.59 days out per cycle, useless within a generation — and Meton's nineteen, which is out by 2.1 hours per cycle and therefore takes 219 years to slip a single day. The reason nineteen is so much better than eleven is a number in the continued fraction rather than anything about the Moon: the partial quotient that follows 235/19 is 17, and a convergent's error is bounded by one over the next quotient times the square of its denominator — so a large quotient there is exactly a good approximation here, and the next improvement costs 334 years of cycle for a rule nobody could keep. What follows from the 219 years is the whole character of a lunisolar calendar: it is a table rather than an observation. The ecclesiastical moon that fixes Easter is computed from a Metonic cycle, not looked at, and the Julian version of that computus — still used to date Easter in the Eastern churches — has slipped four to five days from the sky since it was fixed in the fourth century, exactly as this plot says it must. A calendar's job is agreement, and agreement and accuracy are different requirements that diverge at a rate the arithmetic predicts.

A month that has to be tabulated

A lunisolar calendar reconciles two periods that share no common multiple, so every historical cycle is a convergent of one continued fraction. Meton's nineteen years is wrong by two hours, which is a day in two hundred and nineteen years — and that is why the moon that fixes Easter is a table rather than the sky.

9 figures · Calendars A shadow edge 10.3 metres wide, and a stellar diameter read off how blurred it is. A star disappearing behind the Moon, drawn as intensity against position across the shadow. The horizontal axis is in Fresnel scales of √(λD/2) = 10.3 metres at 550 nm and 3.844e+5 km, which is the only length the problem has; at a limb speed of 0.62 km s⁻¹ one of them takes 16.6 milliseconds to pass, so the whole event is over in a tenth of a second and needs photometry at a kilohertz. The Moon has no atmosphere and its limb is a knife edge, and a knife edge does not cast a shadow with an edge: the intensity at the geometric boundary is 0.250, a quarter rather than a half, and outside it the light overshoots to 1.37 before ringing down. Every one of those numbers is a property of the wave and of nothing else. What the star contributes is the blurring. Each point of the stellar disc casts its own copy of the pattern, displaced by its own position, so the observed trace is the pattern convolved with the star's projected disc — 22.4 metres wide for the 12 milliarcsecond curve, against a 10.3-metre fringe. The contrast falls from 0.28 to 0.04 across the four curves drawn, and inverting that fall is how several hundred stellar diameters were measured with a single telescope, no interferometer, and no resolution at all. The picture cannot show the limitation that ended the technique's dominance: the Moon goes where it goes, so only stars within a few degrees of the ecliptic are ever occulted, and each is occulted at whatever position angle the geometry happens to offer.

The edge of a shadow is a wave

An asteroid's shadow has an edge because the asteroid is large. The Moon's does not — at visible wavelengths and lunar distance the edge of a shadow is ten metres wide, so a lunar occultation is a diffraction pattern sweeping past at half a kilometre a second, and how blurred its fringes are is the star's own diameter.

8 figures · Occultations Two dips a side, 36.5 seconds apart, symmetric about a body 256 km across. One observer's light curve across a small body with two narrow rings, at a chord 44 km from the centre. The body itself removes the star for 11.2 seconds; the four brief dips, two either side of it, are ring crossings, at 391 km and 405 km from the centre and 7 km and 3 km wide radially. The evidence that they are rings and not two more objects is the symmetry: each pair sits at equal times before and after mid-event, to within 0.07 s here, and two independent bodies have no reason to do that. Each dip is drawn wider than the ring is thick because the chord crosses obliquely — the path length through the material goes as 1/cos, which is also why a ring is deeper near the ansae. Nothing in this light curve was looked for: Chariklo's rings turned up in 2013 in a run recorded to measure a diameter, and every ring system found since has been found the same way.

A star that blinked before it should have

In March 1977 three teams watching a star pass behind Uranus recorded it dimming five times before the planet arrived — and then, symmetrically, five times again on the way out. The symmetry is the whole argument — nothing but a set of rings concentric with the planet produces a mirror image about closest approach.

9 figures · Occultations

Starlight

Distance, brightness and colour: what can be measured when nothing can be visited.

Parallax for a star at 1.3 parsecs. The same star observed from two ends of a baseline. The two sight lines are 1.54″ apart, so the parallax — half of that, the shift seen from a one-astronomical-unit baseline — is 0.769″ for a star 1.3 parsecs away. The definition of the parsec is the distance at which it would be exactly one.

The triangle that reaches the stars, and stops

Parallax is the only distance measurement in astronomy that assumes nothing. It is also the only one with a hard ceiling, and everything beyond that ceiling rests on it.

8 figures · Parallax The magnitude scale, plotted. The logarithm of the received light against magnitude from -27 to 32, with the vertical scale left unlabelled because only its slope matters. The relation is a straight line of slope −0.4, which is what makes five magnitudes exactly a hundredfold — and the numbers run backwards, so brighter is smaller. 9 landmarks are marked, from the Sun to the deepest exposures, spanning a factor of 1.2·10²³ in received light.

A scale that runs backwards, multiplies, and works

Brighter stars have smaller magnitudes, and five steps is a factor of a hundred. A scale invented by eye in the second century BC turned out to be logarithmic, because eyes are.

8 figures · Magnitudes Blackbody curves at 3000, 5800, 10000 K. Thermal emission against wavelength, each curve scaled to its own peak so the shift can be seen on one plot. The peak moves to shorter wavelengths as the temperature rises, which is why colour is a thermometer.

Colour is a thermometer, and it reads across the galaxy

A star's colour gives its surface temperature, from two brightness measurements and no other information. It is the cheapest useful measurement in astronomy.

9 figures · Stellar colour The same spectrum, at rest and at 900 km/s. A set of absorption lines at rest and shifted by a radial velocity of 900 km/s. The displacement is proportional to wavelength, so the reddest line here moves 2.06 nm and the bluest 1.18 nm — which is why the measured quantity is the ratio Δλ/λ and not a distance.

A shift in a line is a speedometer, and it works at any distance

A spectral line has a wavelength fixed by physics. Measuring where it actually arrives gives the source's speed toward or away — and the measurement does not degrade with distance.

9 figures · The Doppler effect An absorption spectrum at 5772 K. A blackbody continuum at 5772 K with absorption lines cut out of it, each line's depth computed from how much of the gas is in a state that can absorb it. 8 of the 8 lines are strong enough to see at this temperature, which is the whole reason the spectral sequence is a temperature sequence.

Composition, read from what is missing

The dark lines in a stellar spectrum are wavelengths that never arrived. Which ones are absent names the elements present — and the strength of a line says more about temperature than about abundance.

10 figures · Spectra The fractional distance error, rung by rung. Cumulative fractional uncertainty in a measured distance against the distance itself, both on logarithmic axes. Each rung of the ladder is calibrated against the one below it, so its scatter adds in quadrature to everything already inherited, and the total can only rise: radar to the planets 10⁻⁵%, parallax 1.0%, main-sequence fitting 5.1%, Cepheids 6.5%, Type Ia supernovae 8.2%.

Every distance is measured with the last one

No single method reaches from a planet to a distant galaxy. The ladder is built rung by rung, each calibrated on the one below, and the errors multiply all the way up.

9 figures · Distance ladder The distance modulus. The difference between apparent and absolute magnitude against distance, on a logarithmic distance axis. It is a straight line of slope five per decade, passing through zero at ten parsecs — the definition of the absolute magnitude. Reading a distance off it requires the absolute magnitude, which is never measured and always inferred.

A brightness is a distance only if something is known

The inverse square law turns a brightness into a distance in one line. The line contains a quantity that has never been measured for any object outside the solar system.

8 figures · Magnitudes

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