Field

Stars

The diagram that sorted them, and the one quantity that decides a star's whole life.

The Hertzsprung–Russell diagram. Luminosity against surface temperature, both in solar units and on logarithmic axes, with temperature increasing to the left. The main sequence is computed from the mass–luminosity and mass–radius relations; the dashed diagonals are lines of constant radius.

The diagram that sorted the stars, by plotting two things against each other

Plot brightness against colour for a few thousand stars and they do not scatter. They fall on a narrow band with two islands off it, and explaining that structure is most of stellar astronomy.

Luminosity against mass, against a slope of 3.5. Main-sequence luminosity against mass, both in solar units, on logarithmic axes, over the range 0.079 to 63 solar masses. The measured curve comes from the eclipsing binaries and is the same in every drawing of it; what changes here is what it is compared against. The dashed line is a pure power law of exponent 3.5, and the curve crosses it rather than following it — the local slope runs from about 2.3 at the bottom of the range, where the interiors are convective, through nearly 4 near a solar mass where bound-free opacity dominates, to about 3 among the massive stars where electron scattering does. Quoting one exponent across the whole sequence is a convenience and the places it fails are the places the interior physics changes. Because the slope is between three and four across most of the range, a small spread in mass becomes an enormous spread in output: the 63-solar-mass end is 3.0e+9 times brighter than the 0.079-solar-mass end.

Mass decides everything, by a power of three and a half

Two stars of the same mass are almost the same star. Double the mass and the output multiplies by eleven — which is why a modest range of masses produces a colossal range of stars.

Why the biggest stars die first, and take the galaxy with them

A star thirty times the Sun's mass has thirty times the fuel and burns it forty thousand times faster. It lasts a few million years, and everything heavier than iron exists because of it.

The furnace that runs cooler than a compost heap

The Sun's core produces 276 watts per cubic metre. A human body produces more. The Sun is bright because it is enormous, and its fusion is astonishingly slow — which is exactly why it lasts.

The main sequence is a place stars sit, not a track they travel

The commonest misreading of the Hertzsprung–Russell diagram is that stars slide down the band as they age. They do not. They sit at one point for ninety percent of their lives and then leave sideways.

A star held up by a rule about counting

A white dwarf makes no energy and does not collapse. What holds it up is not heat or pressure in any ordinary sense — it is a quantum rule forbidding two electrons from occupying the same state.

$Inside a star that is holding itself up (polytrope n = 3). Temperature, density and pressure through a star, as fractions of their central values, against fractional radius. All three come from one numerical integration of the Lane–Emden equation at index 3, which is the hydrostatic balance written for a gas whose pressure is a power of its density. The inner half of the radius holds 90% of the mass, and the outer half is nearly weightless — which is why the load, and so the temperature, is concentrated where the burning is.$

A star is held up by its own weight

A star has a central temperature because it has a central pressure, and it has a central pressure because everything above is pressing down. The nuclear reactions do not set that temperature — they obey it.

Leavitt's law, through the Milky Way calibrators. Mean absolute magnitude against the logarithm of the pulsation period, for classical Cepheids with independently known distances, and RR Lyrae itself for comparison. The line is M = −2.81 log P − 1.43: a tenfold longer period is 2.81 magnitudes brighter, a factor of 13 in luminosity. The vertical axis runs the astronomers' way, with brighter upward.

A star that tells its distance by how slowly it blinks

Some stars pulsate, and the slow ones are the bright ones. That single correlation turns a clock into a ruler, and it is how the size of the universe was first measured.

The only stars whose masses are known

A star's mass cannot be measured by looking at it. It can be measured by watching two stars pull on each other, and if the pair also eclipses, the same observations give both radii as well — with no stellar model anywhere in the chain. A few hundred such systems calibrate everything else.

$The main sequence against its own ceiling. Luminosity against mass, in solar units, with the Eddington limit drawn on the same axes. The limit is exactly linear in mass. The main sequence is not — until it is: above about 55 solar masses the relation flattens to a straight proportionality as well, and the two lines then run parallel at a fixed ratio of 83 per cent. They never cross on this range, which is the more interesting outcome: the most massive stars do not approach their limit gradually, they are built at a fixed fraction of it. The Sun, by contrast, radiates 0.0026 per cent of its own ceiling.$

A brightness that would blow the star apart

Light pushes. For a star of a given mass there is a luminosity at which the outward push on its own outer layers equals the inward pull of gravity, and it depends on nothing but the mass and the opacity — not on the star's structure, its composition or its age.

The resonance that had to exist

Three alpha particles cannot meet at once, and the two-body intermediate falls apart in 8×10⁻¹⁷ seconds. That is a hundred thousand times longer than a crossing time, which is just enough — provided a nuclear level sits at 7.65 MeV. Hoyle argued from the existence of carbon to the existence of the level, and it was found where he said.

The mass a cold star cannot exceed

A degenerate star's radius falls as its mass rises, and nothing in that relation suggests a limit. Making the electrons relativistic softens the pressure law until pressure and gravity scale the same way with radius — and the radius drops out of the balance, leaving one mass and no room to argue.

The part of a star that boils

Energy leaves a star's interior either by radiation or by bulk motion, and which one happens is settled by comparing two temperature gradients. The comparison decides that the Sun's outer third churns and its core does not, and that a massive star does exactly the opposite.

An age read off a bend

A cluster is a population of one age and many masses, so the place where its stars leave the main sequence is a clock. The bend needs a population — which is why a cluster has an age and a single star does not.

The star that swells because its centre shrank

A helium core contracts, and the envelope around it expands by a factor of sixty. The central density rises at the same time as the radius, which is the opposite of what a self-gravitating body is expected to do, and a burning shell between the two is the whole reason it happens.

The interior read from a comb of frequencies

A star's surface moves by about twenty centimetres a second, in thousands of overlapping sound modes at once. Two numbers off that spectrum give a mass and a radius with almost no stellar model in the chain, and a third gives an age.

Most stars are small, and most of the light is not

The mass function is steep and the mass–luminosity relation is steeper, so counting stars and measuring their output are integrals of the same function dominated by opposite ends of it. Every mass inferred from a brightness passes through that mismatch.

The candle that has to be standardised

A Type Ia's light is the decay of half a solar mass of nickel-56 seen through an expanding envelope. Their peak brightnesses span six-tenths of a magnitude — and it is the width of the light curve, not anything else, that says which.

The explosion that never reaches the surface

When helium ignites in a degenerate core the thermostat every other burning stage runs on is disconnected. The runaway reaches ten billion solar luminosities for a few seconds, and the star's visible response is to get fainter.

The disc that has to throw angular momentum away

Matter cannot simply fall onto a compact object. At the energy it arrives with, it has far too much angular momentum, and the only way in is for some of it to be carried outwards — which is what a disc is for.

Two stars only a Fourier transform can tell apart

A giant burning hydrogen in a shell and one burning helium in its core sit at the same luminosity, the same temperature and the same mean density. Every scaling relation returns the same mass and radius for both. The gravity-mode period spacing is fifty seconds for one and three hundred for the other.

Two measured numbers, and everything else on the page derived from them. 25 pulsars in the plane of period against period derivative, at their catalogued values. Only the two axes are measurements; the three families of contour are models. Constant surface field runs at slope −1 because B ∝ √(PṖ), constant characteristic age at slope +1 because τ = P/2Ṗ, and the two families cross the population at right angles — which is why a single dot fixes both. The Crab sits at 3.8·10¹² G and 1257 years, and its true age is 972; the millisecond pulsars at the lower left have fields ten thousand times weaker and characteristic ages of billions of years, because they were spun back up by a companion long after they died. The line at the lower right is the death line, B/P² below which the model says no pair production and therefore no radio emission — and J2144−3933 is drawn below it, an 8.5-second pulsar that is radiating anyway.

A clock that runs down and says what it is

A pulsar hands over two measured numbers, a period and its derivative. Everything else usually quoted about it — an age, a magnetic field, a luminosity — is derived from those two through a model, and the one measurement that tests the model refutes it.

The valve that has to sit at the right depth

A period–luminosity relation only exists because a period is a density in disguise. Which stars have a period at all is decided by whether a partial ionisation zone sits deep enough to have mass behind it and shallow enough that convection has not taken it over.

A distance of 52.0 parsecs with nothing underneath it. Two ways to a distance for the same pair. The orbital parallax needs no iteration and no assumption: a double-lined spectroscopic orbit gives the relative orbit's linear size as (K₁+K₂)P√(1−e²)/2π sin i = 0.2268 AU, an astrometric orbit gives its angular size as 4.36 milliarcseconds, and the ratio is 52.0 parsecs — a length divided by an angle, with no step of the distance scale below it and no property of the stars assumed. The curves show the dynamical parallax, the version available when only one spectrum can be measured: guess the mass sum, take the linear size from the harmonic law, divide by the angular size, convert the apparent magnitude to an absolute one and read a new mass sum off a mass–luminosity relation. Three starting guesses spanning a factor of 10 in mass converge to the same distance in 8 passes and agree to 0.001 per cent. It converges because the distance depends on the assumed mass only as its cube root — the measured exponent here is 0.3333 — so a factor of two in the mass is 26 per cent in the distance, and one pass removes most of that. What it converges to is not the orbital parallax: the iteration settles at 54.2 pc against 52.0, 4.2 per cent away, because the fixed point is set by the mass–luminosity relation and the apparent magnitude rather than by anything measured about this orbit. The same insensitivity that makes it converge is why it is never better than the relation it leans on.

Two orbits of one pair, and a distance falls out

Measure the same binary spectroscopically and astrometrically and the orbit comes back twice — once as a length in kilometres and once as an angle on the sky. The ratio is a distance that owes nothing to parallax, nothing to a standard candle, and nothing to any assumption about the stars.

$Three ways for a timing model to be wrong, and three shapes that say which. Timing residuals over 6 years for the Crab pulsar, one curve per kind of error in the model, in microseconds. A position error of 1.2 mas leaves a sinusoid of period exactly one year — measured off the drawn curve as 1.000 — with amplitude (a/c)·δθ·cos β = 2.7 μs, because the error is being projected onto a baseline that is the Earth's own orbit and nothing about the pulsar. An unmodelled proper motion of 0.9 mas/yr leaves the same sinusoid with an envelope growing linearly: twice as large at 6 years as at 3. An error of one part in 10⁹ in Ṗ leaves a parabola, the second integral of a frequency drift, whose second derivative is constant to 4e-12 across the span — and that fractional error is deliberately minute, because anything larger produces a residual thousands of times the other two and draws them as flat lines. The shapes do not resemble each other, which is the whole reason a pulsar is an instrument rather than a clock: fitting them simultaneously delivers a position, a proper motion and — from the annual curvature term, not drawn here — a parallax, all from the arrival times of pulses and no image of anything. What is left when every known shape has been removed is the science: glitches, red noise, and the correlated residual between pairs of pulsars that a timing array exists to find.$

A clock read against a model of everything in between

A pulsar delivers arrival times and nothing else. Everything else is a model, and what is measured is the difference between the model and the arrivals — a residual whose shape says which term is wrong, and whose annual sinusoid is a position measured from pulses rather than from an image.

4 cycles of wings, and the polarity reverses at every boundary. Sunspot latitude against date, one mark per spot group, over 4 cycles of 11 years. The pattern is the reason the plot is called a butterfly diagram, and both of its features are laws with names. Spörer's law is the downward slope: spots emerge near ±28° at the start of a cycle and near ±7° at the end, so each wing narrows towards the equator and never crosses it. Hale's law is what the two mark shapes say: the leading spot of a pair has one magnetic polarity in the north and the other in the south, and both reverse when a new cycle starts — so a diagram that repeats every 11 years in appearance repeats only every 22 in magnetism. The wings overlap: the first high-latitude spots of a cycle appear about 1.6 years before the last low-latitude spots of the one before, which is why counting spots gives a cycle length slightly different from measuring one between polarity reversals. The dot density in time is the sunspot number itself, drawn from the standard skewed fitting function — the rise to maximum takes about four years and the decline about seven, in every cycle ever recorded.

A magnetic clock read off a butterfly

Plot sunspot latitude against date and the marks form wings that open at thirty degrees and march to the equator. The polarities reverse between wings, so the magnetic period is twenty-two years and the famous eleven is an artefact of counting spots rather than fields.

$7 solar masses of progenitor become 0.56 of white dwarf. Above: the initial–final mass relation. The steep line is what a star would leave if it kept everything; the shallow one is what it actually leaves, M_f = 0.08M_i + 0.489, fitted to white dwarfs in open clusters. Everything between 1 and 8 solar masses ends up between 0.57 and 1.13 — a range of 7 compressed by a factor of 12 — and the fraction thrown away rises from 43% at the bottom to 86% at the top. A star spends most of its mass in the last per cent of its life, at rates no theory predicts from first principles, and this relation is measured by running stellar evolution backwards: a cluster's turn-off gives the age, a white dwarf's temperature gives its cooling time, the difference gives how long its progenitor lived, and a model turns that into the mass it was born with. Below: the white dwarf mass distribution that follows, from a Salpeter initial mass function pushed through the relation above. It peaks at 0.61 solar masses, which is what every survey of white dwarfs measures. Two things make that peak and the flatness of the relation is only one of them: the unsmoothed distribution (the stepped curve) falls monotonically and is largest at its low-mass edge, because the initial mass function is steep. The edge is where it is because no star lighter than about 1.0 solar masses has had time to die yet, and the scatter of the measurement rounds that cliff into a maximum a little above it. A flat relation produces a narrow range; it takes the age of the Galaxy to produce a peak.$

The mass a star does not keep

The initial–final mass relation is nearly flat, so everything from one to eight solar masses ends as a white dwarf between 0.57 and 1.13 — and the observed distribution piles up at 0.6 almost regardless of what went in. The relation is measured by running stellar evolution backwards, because nothing predicts the loss.

Seven sources over twelve decades of flux, and one threshold below the one that matters. The Sun's neutrino spectrum at the Earth, with the continua drawn per unit energy and the two monoenergetic lines as spikes at their own energies. The pp reaction supplies 91 per cent of all of them and its endpoint is at 0.4233 MeV. The vertical lines are experimental thresholds, and they are the figure's argument: only gallium sits below that endpoint. Chlorine, which produced the deficit and held it for twenty years, could not see a single pp neutrino — it counted ⁷Be and ⁸B, which are a rare branch of a rare branch, together under a per cent of the total — and the water detectors that followed were higher still. So the discrepancy that eventually turned out to be a property of the neutrino was measured, for two decades, using the least representative one per cent of the flux available. The total drawn here is 6.54·10¹⁰ cm⁻² s⁻¹, and it is checkable without any stellar model at all: every completed chain turns four protons into helium, releases 26.73 MeV of which 0.59 leaves as neutrinos, and emits two neutrinos — so the solar constant of 1361 W m⁻² fixes the number at 6.5·10¹⁰ cm⁻² s⁻¹, within 0.6 per cent of the sum of the model's own branches. The dominant flux is a consequence of the Sun shining and of nothing else.

The only thing that leaves the centre

A photon made in the Sun's core takes a hundred thousand years to get out and arrives thermalised past recognition. A neutrino takes 2.3 seconds and arrives unchanged, so its flux is the fusion rate now — which is why a factor of three could not be absorbed by any adjustment to the Sun.

Two radii, from a light curve alone

The radius of a star is not measured. It is inferred, from a temperature and a luminosity, through a model. There is one exception — a pair of stars that eclipse each other, whose light curve and velocity curves between them give both radii, both masses and the ratio of temperatures with no model of a stellar interior anywhere in the chain.

A spectrum belonging to no temperature at all. The disc's summed emission, with the individual annuli drawn faintly beneath it. Each ring is a blackbody at its own temperature, and each is drawn at the area it actually has — the outer rings are cool and enormous, the inner ones hot and small. The sum has three parts and only the two ends belong to a temperature: a Rayleigh–Jeans rise of slope 2 from the outermost ring, a Wien cutoff at the hottest, and between them a stretch of slope 0.316, against the 1/3 that comes out of integrating ν²T(r)r dr with T ∝ r^−3/4. That middle section is the observational signature of a disc: no single blackbody produces it, no photosphere produces it, and its width rather than its peak is what says how far in the disc goes. What the figure cannot show is that a real disc's innermost rings are neither thin nor blackbodies, which is where the model's clean edges stop.

A spectrum that is a stack of temperatures

An accretion disc is not hot. Its inner edge is, its outer edge is not, and the temperature runs continuously between them as a power of radius — so what leaves the disc is the sum of a great many blackbodies at different temperatures, which is a spectrum with no temperature in it and a slope no single body can produce.

A radius that decides what matter can be

Nobody can make matter at four times the density of an atomic nucleus, and no calculation settles what it does there. What can be done is to weigh a neutron star — every candidate description of that matter predicts a heaviest star it could hold up, and a single measured mass above that value deletes the description permanently.

Two explosions told apart by a missing line

The classification of supernovae is a decision tree on absences — is hydrogen there, is silicon there, is helium there — and it was drawn up decades before anybody knew what any of these events were. It nevertheless separates a detonating white dwarf from a collapsing stellar core almost perfectly, and the reason it does is worth the essay.

The flow that narrows its own channel

Two stars close enough share a surface, and the point where that surface pinches is a valve. What comes through it changes the orbit, and the orbit changes the valve — with a sign that reverses at equal masses, which is why some binaries transfer quietly for a hundred million years and others tear themselves apart in a thousand.

Accretion from a medium a body is moving through, against how fast it moves. The rate at which a gravitating body captures gas out of a medium it is ploughing through, divided by the rate it would capture at rest, against its Mach number, both axes logarithmic. The accretion radius is set by where the body's escape speed matches the speed of the gas relative to it, and that relative speed combines the sound speed with the motion in quadrature; the rate carries the square of that radius times the speed, which leaves one plus the square of the Mach number to the power minus three halves. Subsonic motion therefore costs almost nothing — the curve is flat below Mach one third — while supersonic motion costs the inverse cube of the speed, drawn here with a measured logarithmic slope of -2.99. The same focusing produces the wake and the drag: the body pulls a denser column behind it, that column pulls back, and the material closest to the axis is captured. Accretion and dynamical friction are not two processes but two accounts of one, which is why a body that grows by this mechanism is also being slowed by it.

The wake and the meal are one calculation

A body moving through gas gathers what passes inside the radius at which its escape speed matches the flow. That single radius sets both the drag it feels and the rate at which it grows, so accretion and friction are not two processes but two readings of one — and the rate falls as the inverse cube of the speed.

A corner of the diagram that has to be earned

A pulsar spinning a thousand times a second cannot have been born that way and stayed that way, because its own radiation would have slowed it in a few million years. It got there by being fed, and the line it cannot lie above is where the accretion torque balances the magnetic one.

Two bodies at a mass ratio of 2.6 to 1. Both bodies orbit their common centre of mass, on similar ellipses whose sizes are in inverse proportion to the masses — here 2.6 to 1, so the heavier body's path is 2.6 times smaller.

The companion survives, and it is moving

When one star of a close pair explodes, the other is left holding an orbital velocity and no orbit. Whether the pair stays bound turns on a single question — did more than half the total mass leave? — and the stars that answer no are running across the Galaxy at a hundred kilometres a second with nothing visible behind them.

An equation of state is already a star

Write down how a gas's pressure depends on its density, insist that the pressure hold the weight up, and everything else follows — the run of density, the fraction of the mass inside each radius, and, at one particular index, a mass that does not care what the radius is.

A clock with no fuel in it

A white dwarf has nothing left to burn, so its brightness is a record of how long it has been cooling. The faintest ones in the Galaxy are not faint because they are small — they are as faint as anything has had time to become, and the place where they stop is a date.

$The Sun's internal rotation: differential above 0.693 R, rigid below, and the 15 nHz between two modes. Angular velocity against fractional radius, in nanohertz, from the inversion of hundreds of thousands of measured rotational splittings. Two features had to be discovered rather than deduced. The convection zone rotates differentially in latitude — 473 nanohertz at the equator, 330 at sixty degrees — and that latitude dependence persists all the way down through it, in surfaces that are very nearly radial rather than the cylinders a rotating convective fluid was expected to produce. And below about 0.693 of the radius the latitude dependence stops: the radiative interior turns as a single rigid body at 430 nanohertz, which is a remarkable thing for a fluid with no strength to do, and requires something — most likely a weak internal magnetic field — to be enforcing it. The two regimes are joined by a shear layer a few per cent of the radius thick, the tachocline, and it is where the solar magnetic cycle is generally thought to be generated, because it is the only place in the Sun with the shear a dynamo of that strength needs. The horizontal marks are what individual modes would report: the rotation averaged over the cavity each one occupies, weighted by the time the wave spends at each radius. A mode of degree 100 is trapped near the surface and reports 473 nanohertz; one of degree 1 passes through the deep interior and reports 458. The 15-nanohertz difference between them is the measurement, and splittings are measured to about a nanohertz — which is why the profile can be resolved at all. The kernels used here have the right support and the right sense; a real inversion uses computed eigenfunctions, and its resolution below 0.2 R is poor for the reason the previous figure gives.$

A fluid that turns as one piece

The Sun's surface turns faster at its equator than at its poles, and everyone expected the inside to do something similar. Below seven-tenths of the way down it does not — the radiative interior rotates as rigidly as a bell, and nothing in hydrodynamics makes a fluid do that.

A floor under the centre that assumes nothing

There is a lower bound on the pressure at the centre of any body in hydrostatic equilibrium, and it needs no equation of state, no composition and no temperature — only a mass and a radius. For the Sun it is nearly useless. For a neutron star it says which theory of gravity the interior needs.

$Where each mode turns back: ℓ = 0 through the centre, ℓ = 300 in the outer 2 per cent. Why a set of frequencies is a depth profile and a single frequency is not. An acoustic wave travelling into a star meets a rising sound speed and is refracted back; it turns where its horizontal phase speed matches the local sound speed, which happens at c(r)/r = 2πν/√(ℓ(ℓ+1)). The horizontal axis is the angular degree on a logarithmic scale and the vertical axis is the fractional radius of that turning point, drawn at 2000, 3090, 4000 microhertz. The ordering is the content. A radial mode, ℓ = 0, has no horizontal phase speed at all and passes straight through the centre. Degrees one and two turn deep in the core. By ℓ = 300 the mode is trapped in the outer 2 per cent and knows nothing about anything below. So a frequency measured to a part in ten thousand constrains an average of the interior weighted in a way the mode itself decides, and measuring thousands of modes of different degree gives thousands of differently weighted averages — which is a solvable inverse problem, and is how the base of the convection zone was located at 0.713 of the radius rather than assumed. The sound speed here is a polytrope's rather than a tabulated solar model's, so the curve is the right shape and the wrong star in its outer tenth, where the real Sun is convective and this one is not. What the picture cannot show is the frequency dependence at fixed degree, which is weaker but not negligible: a higher-frequency mode of the same degree turns slightly deeper, and the three curves separating toward the right is that effect.$

Every note turns back at its own depth

A sound wave heading into a star is refracted by the rising sound speed and turns around before it reaches the middle. Where it turns depends on which mode it is — so a list of frequencies is not one average of the interior but thousands of differently weighted ones, and that is a solvable problem.

$14 glitches, and the 1.5 per cent of Vela that is not slowing down. Accumulated fractional spin-up against time for a Vela-like pulsar over 40 years, in parts per million. The underlying spin-down has been removed, so a perfectly braking pulsar would be a flat line at zero. What is drawn instead is a staircase: 14 sudden jumps of a few parts per million, each rising in less than a minute and then relaxing partway back over a couple of months, leaving a permanent step behind. Nothing outside the star can deliver angular momentum on a timescale of seconds, so the source is internal, and the only internal component that could have any to give is one that has not been slowing down with the rest. That is a neutron superfluid: it carries its rotation in quantised vortices, the vortices pin to the crustal lattice and cannot migrate outward, and so the superfluid keeps the spin it had while the crust brakes past it. The reservoir grows until the pinning fails somewhere, and a glitch is the unpinning. The straight line through the staircase is the glitch activity, 0.68 parts per million per year, and it converts directly into an interior measurement: the crust cannot on average take more than the superfluid stores, so the decoupled component must hold at least 2τ_c times the activity of the star's moment of inertia, which here is 1.5 per cent. It is a lower bound rather than a value, and it is one of the very few quantitative statements about the inside of a neutron star that needs no equation of state at all. The individual glitch times and sizes here are drawn from a seeded generator rather than a catalogue; what is real is the staircase's shape, the partial healing, and the arithmetic that turns a slope into a fraction.$

The part of a star that never slowed down

A pulsar's spin decays smoothly for years and then jumps upward inside a minute. Nothing outside can deliver angular momentum that fast, so something inside has been storing it — and the rate at which the jumps accumulate is a lower bound on how much of the star is not braking with the rest.

$A lever 12 radii long, and the spin it removes. A magnetised stellar wind, drawn with the Alfvén surface at 12 stellar radii — the schematic distance at which the wind's inertia finally beats the field. Inside it the gas is forced to turn with the star, so every gram that leaves carries the specific angular momentum of the radius at which it broke free rather than of the surface it came from, and the lever squares: J̇ = (2/3) Ṁ Ω r_A². Beyond the surface the streamlines curve backwards, because angular momentum conservation makes the azimuthal speed fall as 1/r while the radial speed does not. With a moment of inertia coefficient of 0.073 and a mass loss of 2.3·10⁻¹⁴ solar masses a year, the star loses a fraction 2.3·10⁻¹⁴ of its mass and a fraction 3·10⁻¹¹ of its angular momentum in the same year — a ratio of 1,315, which is (2/3)(r_A/R)²/k² and nothing else. The e-folding time for the spin is 3.3·10¹⁰ years against 4.3·10¹³ years for the mass. Nothing here is to scale in one respect that matters: the wind's density falls by more than ten orders of magnitude across the drawn region, so the streamlines are drawn as though the flow were visible when almost none of it is.$

A wind that takes no mass and all the spin

The Sun loses about a ten-thousandth of itself to its own wind over its whole life. It loses most of its rotation to the same wind, and the whole of that asymmetry is one geometric factor — the gas is forced to keep turning with the star until it is a dozen or more radii out from the surface it left.

The clock that starts by forgetting

An ordinary star tells nothing about its age. It sits on the main sequence for billions of years at almost fixed brightness and colour, and the one property that changes monotonically is how fast it turns — but only because the braking law destroys the initial condition first, and only until it stops.

A shear layer that should have spread

The Sun's convection zone turns differentially — its equator laps its poles about once every three months — and the radiative interior below turns as one rigid piece. Between them is a transition four per cent of the radius thick. Nothing in hydrodynamics keeps a velocity discontinuity that thin for four and a half billion years.

A neutron star born turning too slowly

Collapse an iron core a few thousand kilometres across down to twelve, and conservation of angular momentum multiplies its rotation rate by about eighteen thousand. A model with no transport in it delivers a newborn pulsar at the break-up limit; the ones that are observed turn twenty times slower, which is a measurement of the core before it fell.

A surface that slowed because the star grew

A star leaving the main sequence expands by a factor of a hundred. Conserve its angular momentum and its equator slows by four orders of magnitude, which is why every red giant is a slow rotator. One or two per cent are not, and a giant turning at fifty kilometres a second has to have been given the angular momentum by something else.

A field that would have arrived ten thousand times too strong

A collapsing cloud carries its magnetic field with it, and the arithmetic of that is not negotiable — the field grows as the two-thirds power of the density. Run it from a diffuse cloud to a protostellar core and the answer is four orders of magnitude above anything measured on a young star.

The darkness a field pays for

A sunspot is not cool because something is missing. It is cool because a three-thousand-gauss field supplies part of the pressure that holds the column up, the gas therefore supplies less, and the level at which that gas becomes opaque sits some hundreds of kilometres deeper than the surface around it.

One step of memory, and it is kept at the poles. Two predictors of a solar cycle's amplitude, each tested against the seven cycles for which both quantities exist, with amplitudes scaled so that cycle 21 is one. Left: the polar field measured at the minimum before the cycle begins, which correlates with what follows at r = 1.00. Right: the amplitude of the previous maximum, which correlates at r = 0.34 — that is, not at all. The cycle is therefore not a pendulum with momentum; it is a process with exactly one state variable, and the variable is the poloidal field that the decay of the previous cycle's spots leaves behind at high latitude. That is the observational core of the flux-transport picture: spots emerge tilted, their trailing polarity drifts poleward, and what accumulates there is the seed the next cycle's shear will wind up. It is also the only prediction in solar physics with a lead time of years, and it was what said, correctly and unpopularly, that cycle 24 would be the weakest in a century.

One step of memory kept at the poles

The amplitude of a solar maximum tells almost nothing about the next one. The polar field measured at the minimum in between tells a great deal — so the cycle is not a pendulum with momentum but a process with exactly one state variable, and the variable is a field of a few gauss at latitudes nobody can see well.

A formula everyone uses, and the number no pulsar has. Above: the braking index measured for the 4 pulsars whose spin-down has been followed long enough to give a second derivative, against the value a magnetic dipole rotating in vacuum requires. That value is exactly 3, and it is what every catalogued field strength and every characteristic age assumes. Not one measurement reaches it: they run from 1.4 to 2.839, and all of them fall short in the same direction, which is the signature of a systematic rather than of noise. Below: what that costs. The age a spin-down history gives is the period divided by (n − 1) times its derivative, so the ratio to the quoted characteristic age is 2/(n − 1) — 5.00 for Vela. The numbers are not thereby useless: an exponent recovered from the data is exactly the kind of correction a measurement can absorb. What has gone is the claim that the field strength printed beside a pulsar is a measurement of a field. It is a measurement of a spin-down rate, read through a model the same pulsar refutes.

The exponent no pulsar has

Every field strength in the pulsar catalogue comes from one formula, which assumes the star is a magnetic dipole rotating in a vacuum and therefore that its spin-down obeys an exponent of exactly three. Where that exponent has been measured it is 2.51, 2.84, 1.4 — never three, and always short.

A threshold with no free parameter in it

Divide a cloud's mass by the magnetic flux threading it. Gravity and the magnetic force both fall as the inverse square of the radius, so the ratio cannot change during a collapse — and the critical value that separates a cloud which must collapse from one that never can is one over two pi root G, a pure constant.

Three causes, three shapes, one residual. An eclipse-timing residual: the observed minus the computed time of each eclipse, against cycle number, in days. Three effects are superposed and each has its own functional form. A slow change in the orbital period — from mass transfer or from magnetic braking — integrates to a parabola. A third body in a wide orbit moves the whole binary towards and away from the observer, so its light-travel time adds a sinusoid at the third body's period. And an eccentric orbit whose apsides are precessing moves the two eclipses in opposite directions, which is a sinusoid that changes sign between primary and secondary minima. The last is why both eclipses have to be timed: a third body moves them together and apsidal motion moves them apart, and a series of primary minima alone cannot tell the two apart at all.

Three causes with three shapes in one curve

The times of eclipse in a binary star are a clock, and the clock runs late and early. Three completely different things make it do so — a third body, a changing period, and a slowly turning orbit — and they are separable only because each imposes a different shape on the residual.

$A high end that is 2.5 in slope steeper than the one stars were born with. The mass function a star count measures against the one stars were born with, for a population that has been forming stars steadily for 10 billion years. Below about a solar mass nothing has had time to die, so the two coincide exactly. Above it the fraction still alive is the main-sequence lifetime divided by the age, and since the lifetime falls as the two-and-a-half power of the mass, the present-day function is steeper than the initial one by exactly that exponent. A count of massive stars in an old population therefore under-represents them by orders of magnitude, and reading it as an initial mass function gives a slope far too steep. The correction is large, it is calculable, and it depends on the star-formation history — which is usually the thing the mass function was going to be used to constrain.$

A mass function corrected by an age

Counting stars by mass gives the stars that are alive. What every argument needs is the stars that were born, and the two differ by the fraction of each mass still on the main sequence — which is a lifetime divided by an age, and which for massive stars in an old population is a very small number.

$4 per cent in one observable is 48 per cent in an age. How an error in the calibration of the large frequency separation propagates into the quantities derived from it. The two scaling relations are exact in their exponents, so a fractional error in the separation appears as twice that in the radius, four times in the mass, and — because a main-sequence lifetime falls as roughly the two-and-a-half power of the mass — ten times in an age. At the 4 per cent level, which is about what the theoretical corrections to the relation amount to for a red giant, that is 15 per cent in mass and 48 per cent in age. Nothing about the seismology is uncertain at that level; the frequencies are measured to parts in a thousand. What is uncertain is the constant of proportionality, and it is uncertain because it was calibrated on one star.$

Two scaling relations calibrated on one star

Asteroseismology gives a star's mass and radius from two numbers read off its oscillation spectrum. The two relations are exact in their exponents and approximate in their constants, and the constants were fixed by requiring that the Sun come out right — so an error of a few per cent in one observable is tens of per cent in a mass and nearly a factor in an age.

A free parameter worth 88 kelvin across its plausible range. The effective temperature a stellar model predicts, against mass, for three values of the mixing-length parameter. The parameter has no derivation: it is the distance a convective blob is supposed to travel before dissolving, in units of the local pressure scale height, and it is fixed by requiring that a model of the Sun reproduce the Sun. The three curves span 88 kelvin, which at fixed luminosity is a radius difference of 1.5 per cent — comparable to the precision with which radii are now measured by interferometry and by eclipsing binaries. Every stellar age, every isochrone and every mass inferred from a position in the temperature–luminosity plane depends on the value chosen, and there is no reason beyond convenience to expect the solar value to apply to a red giant or to a metal-poor dwarf.

A length nobody derived, fitted to one star

Convection in a star is turbulent, three-dimensional and impossible to compute inside an evolution code. What is used instead is one number — how far a blob of gas travels before dissolving — fixed by requiring that a model of the Sun come out with the Sun's radius, and then applied to every star ever modelled.

A convective boundary with no theory to fix it

A convective core has an edge where buoyancy vanishes. A blob arriving there still has momentum, so it carries on, mixing fresh hydrogen into the core and extending the star's life. How far it carries on is a fitted parameter, and across its plausible range every stellar age changes by nearly half.

A flux that measures a temperature to 0.12 per cent. Neutrino flux against central temperature, in units of the standard model's, for the three main solar channels. The exponents are not arbitrary: each reflects how far up the Gamow peak the reaction has to reach, so the channel with the largest Coulomb barrier is the steepest. The boron-8 flux goes as roughly the twenty-fourth power, which means a measurement good to 3 per cent constrains the Sun's central temperature to 0.12 per cent — better than any other technique by an order of magnitude. The same steepness is why the flux is useless as a check on anything else: a stellar model whose central temperature is uncertain at the half-per-cent level predicts this flux to within a factor, and the disagreement between two model families is far larger than the measurement.

A flux that is a thermometer to a tenth of a per cent

The boron-8 neutrino flux from the Sun's core rises as roughly the twenty-fourth power of the central temperature. That makes it the sharpest thermometer in astrophysics and simultaneously the most fragile prediction — a model uncertain in its central temperature by half a per cent predicts the flux to within a factor.

An exponent that is a slope, not a law

The phrase “L goes as M to the three and a half” stands in for a curve with three straight pieces and two corners. The exponent is 2.3 below half a solar mass, 4 in the middle and falls towards 1 at the top — and each change of exponent is a change in which opacity is carrying the energy out.

A clock that stops while its interior freezes

A white dwarf has nothing left to burn, so its brightness is a record of how long it has been cooling — until the interior crystallises. The latent heat of that phase change, and the settling of a heavy isotope through what is left, hold a massive white dwarf up for nearly three extra billion years.

Three clocks and a runaway

Whether mass transfer between two stars is stable is a comparison of two logarithmic derivatives. How fast it runs is a separate question with three possible answers fourteen orders of magnitude apart — and the answer decides whether the companion accretes, is buried, or is swallowed.

$The most pressure a core can supply, and what its envelope asks for. The pressure at the boundary of a star's isothermal core, on a logarithmic scale, against the fraction of the star's mass the core holds. The coloured curves are the most pressure a core of that mass can supply at its edge — the maximum of the isothermal sphere, 1.40 c⁸/(G³M²) for a core of mass M — for cores of mean molecular weight 0.6, 1.0, 4/3; the flat grey line is the pressure the envelope, of molecular weight 0.6, exerts on the core at the same temperature. The core's ceiling falls as the square of its mass, and it can hold the envelope up only while it lies above the line. The curves cross it at core fractions of 0.370, 0.133, 0.075: a core of the same molecular weight as its envelope could hold 37 per cent of the star, and a fully ionised helium core, μ = 4/3, under this envelope only 7.5 per cent. The limit exists because the core is heavier per particle than the gas it has to hold up.$

A core too heavy for the gas around it

When a star's centre runs out of hydrogen, the helium left behind stops making energy, settles to one temperature, and becomes the one member of the polytrope family with no surface of its own. It can hold up the envelope around it only while it is less than about a tenth of the star. Past that there is no balance to be had, and the star crosses to the giant branch in a few per cent of its lifetime — which is why that part of the diagram is empty.

A survival that depends on the energy

A low-energy neutrino from the Sun reaches the Earth still an electron neutrino about half the time, and a high-energy one about a third of the time. The difference is made by the Sun's own electrons, and the energy at which it switches over — near two million electronvolts — sits in the gap between the neutrinos that never meet a resonance and the ones that all do.

A thousand times the supply, and eight times the light. The luminosity of an accretion disc, in units of its Eddington luminosity, against the rate at which gas is supplied to it, in units of the rate that would make a thin disc shine at exactly that limit — both on logarithmic axes. Below the limit the luminosity is proportional to the supply, the dashed line, with a tenth of the rest-mass energy radiated. Above it the disc cannot radiate the excess: the luminosity grows only as 1 + ln ṁ, so ten times the supply gives 3.3 times the limit, a hundred times gives 5.6, and a thousand times gives 7.9. The limit is a ceiling that bends rather than breaks — and whatever the supply is doing above it, the light does not say, because the same curve follows whether the surplus is blown away in a wind or carried into the hole.

A ceiling on the light and not on the mass

Pour gas onto a black hole a thousand times faster than the Eddington rate and it shines at only about eight times its limit. The rest of the energy is either blown away or swallowed, and those two fates give the same luminosity while differing by a factor of the supply in how fast the object grows — so the light a super-Eddington source emits cannot say which one it is.

A lifetime that is still a forecast

No star lighter than nine-tenths of the Sun has ever died, because none has had time. The smallest are convective to their centres, burn almost all their hydrogen rather than a tenth of it, and will shine for trillions of years. Most of the stars in the Galaxy therefore have a life history no observation has tested, and only one in thirteen stars ever born has finished.

A distance that rests on one unmeasured number

A pulsating star's swelling can be measured twice — in kilometres from the Doppler shift of its lines, and in milliarcseconds by an interferometer — and the ratio is its distance, with no calibration against any other star. Except one: the factor that turns a line's velocity into the speed of the surface, which geometry puts at 1.33 to 1.5, measurement puts at 1.2 to 1.35, and every distance carries in proportion.

Plasma beta from the corona's base outward. The ratio β of gas pressure to magnetic pressure against distance from the Sun's centre, one to ten solar radii on logarithmic scales, for a static isothermal corona in a dipole field. quiet Sun, 5 G at the base, with 10⁹ electrons per cubic centimetre at 1.5 million kelvin: β starts at 0.41 and crosses one again at 3.46 solar radii; quiet Sun, 10 G at the base, with 10⁹ electrons per cubic centimetre at 1.5 million kelvin: β starts at 0.1 and crosses one again at 5.00 solar radii; active region, 30 G at the base, with 3·10⁹ electrons per cubic centimetre at 2.5 million kelvin: β starts at 0.058 and crosses one again at 2.97 solar radii. The gas pressure falls steeply at first and then levels off, because gravity weakens with distance; the field's pressure, falling as the sixth power, never levels. Every corona therefore has a second place where the gas takes over, and it sits at two to four solar radii — where the closed loops of the corona end and the streamers' tips begin.

A corona held by its field and opened by its gas

A thousand kilometres above the Sun's surface the gas pressure has fallen so far that the magnetic field takes charge, and the corona's loops are the shape the field gives it. But the gas pressure of a hot atmosphere stops falling a few solar radii out, while the field's keeps falling as the sixth power of distance. So there is a second place where the gas takes over — and it is where the loops end, the streamers begin, and the solar wind is let out.

The same flux in three sizes

A few per cent of hot main-sequence stars carry kilogauss fields that do not change over decades. So do a similar share of white dwarfs, at a million times the strength, and of young neutron stars, at a hundred billion times it. Multiply each field by its star's area and the three classes carry nearly the same magnetic flux — what a field frozen into a star would keep as the star shrank by a factor of a hundred thousand. A collapse makes a field enormous, but it cannot make it important.

A white dwarf cooling track in J−K and absolute V. The track a 0.6 solar-mass hydrogen-atmosphere white dwarf follows as it cools, absolute V magnitude against J−K colour, fainter downward. Dashed, a blackbody of the same radius, which slides steadily redward and fainter. Solid, with collision-induced absorption: the track reddens to J−K = 0.40 at 4250 K and absolute magnitude 16.1, then hooks back to the blue, reaching −0.86 at 3000 K and magnitude 18.1. Temperatures are marked along it. The oldest white dwarfs therefore sit in the same colour range as much younger, hotter ones and are told apart only by being fainter — which is why they were missed by surveys that selected by colour.

A colour that runs backwards at the end of cooling

A white dwarf reddens as it cools, like every other hot body — until its surface falls below about four thousand kelvin. Then pairs of hydrogen molecules, colliding in an atmosphere dense enough to crush them together, begin to absorb its infrared light, and the star turns blue again while it goes on getting fainter. The oldest white dwarfs in the Galaxy have the colours of young ones, and for years they were looked for in the wrong place.

The last fuels burn for the neutrinos

A massive star burns hydrogen for millions of years and silicon for about a day. The collapse in duration is not because the late fuels are poorer; it is because, from carbon burning on, the core loses more energy to neutrinos than the whole star gives out as light, and the neutrino losses rise as the ninth power of the temperature.

A flow that piles up at the magic numbers

Half the elements heavier than iron were built one neutron at a time, in ageing stars, over thousands of years. The flow of matter up the chart of nuclei settles into a balance in which each nucleus is as abundant as it is reluctant to capture — and it jams at the closed neutron shells, leaving the peaks at strontium, barium and lead that every star's spectrum records.

Mechanics sets a star's temperature before fusion does

A ball of gas with the Sun's mass and radius must average at least two million kelvin inside, whatever it is made of and whatever powers it, because nothing else can hold it up. The bound comes from the virial theorem and one inequality about gravitational binding. Where it is met, a body can be a star; where it demands temperatures a body plainly does not have — the Earth, Jupiter, a white dwarf — it proves that something other than hot gas is holding that body up.

$One hot spot, seen through more and more gravity. The X-ray flux from a small hot spot at colatitude 60° on a rotating neutron star seen from inclination 60°, over one rotation, each curve divided by its own mean, for no bending, 2GM/Rc² = 0.20, 2GM/Rc² = 0.34, 2GM/Rc² = 0.48 — the last two are a 1.4 M☉ star of 12 km and a 2.0 M☉ star of 12.4 km. Light bending is computed exactly; Doppler effects are left out. With no bending the spot is behind the star for 39 per cent of the turn and the pulsed fraction is 1.00. As the compactness rises the star's gravity bends light from the far side into view: the dark interval shrinks to 27 per cent, then vanishes, and the pulsed fraction falls to 1.00, 0.99, 0.64. The more compact the star, the more of its own back it shows and the smoother its pulse.$

The pulse that shows the back of the star

A hot spot on a spinning neutron star flashes once a turn, and the flash is weaker than it would be on an ordinary star because the star's gravity bends light from its far side into view. How much weaker measures the ratio of mass to radius. But on its own the flash cannot tell a compact star from a tilted one — the two trade exactly — and what separates them is the lean the spin puts into the pulse, which measures the radius directly.

Brighter for its mass and fainter for its colour

Two stars of the same mass are almost the same star only if they are made of the same material. Take most of the metals out and the opacity falls, the radiation leaks out faster and the star settles brighter and much hotter — so far hotter that, at a given colour, it sits below the ordinary main sequence. The relation between mass and light has composition inside it, and every mass, age and distance read off it inherits that.

Two critical mass ratios that move with where the mass goes. The logarithmic response of the donor's Roche lobe to its own loss of mass, ζ, against the mass ratio donor over accretor, for conservative transfer (dashed) and for all of the transferred mass lost from the accretor, from the donor and to a ring. The horizontal lines are two donors' own responses: −1/3 for a deep convective envelope, which swells as it is stripped, and +2 for a radiative one, which shrinks. Transfer is stable where the donor's line lies above the lobe's curve, so each crossing is a critical mass ratio — conservatively 0.63 and 1.72. Re-emission from the accretor moves them to 0.96 and 2.25, a wind from the donor to 1.24 and beyond the range drawn; and with everything fed to a ring the convective donor is unstable at every mass ratio drawn and the radiative one only below 0.19. Nothing about the donor has changed between the curves; only the question of where a gram that is not accreted leaves from.

Mass that leaves takes the orbit's spin with it

Most of the gas a star pours onto its companion never stays there. Where it leaves from decides how much angular momentum it carries, and that one bookkeeping entry moves the largest donor that can transfer stably by a factor of two — without anything about either star having changed.

A donor that grows as it is eaten

A white dwarf that loses mass gets bigger, so a binary in which one white dwarf feeds another runs backwards — its period lengthens as the donor shrinks. Whether the pair survives first contact at all depends less on the donor than on whether the stream finds room to form a disc, and for most pairs it does not.

Orbital energy spent against the envelope it has to lift. The orbital energy a 0.6 M☉ companion releases by spiralling in from the onset of a common envelope down to a final separation, against that separation (curve), and the binding energy of the 0.85 M☉ envelope of a 1.2 M☉ giant with a 0.35 M☉ core, divided by the efficiency, for αλ of 0.25, 0.5, 1 (horizontal lines). Energies are in units of GM☉²/R☉. The giant fills its lobe at a separation of 118 R☉, and the companion releases nothing net until the orbit has shrunk below 34 R☉, because the envelope's mass leaves with the envelope; from there it falls until the energy released pays for the envelope, so each crossing is a final orbit — 1.29, 2.48, 4.63 R☉. The released energy grows only as one over the separation, so halving the efficiency halves the final orbit: a factor of four in αλ is a factor of four in the outcome, and there is no measurement of αλ that does not run through outcomes like these.

The least known number in binary evolution

When a giant swallows its companion, the companion spirals inward until the orbital energy it has released is enough to throw the envelope off. The final orbit is set by one product of two unknowns, it moves in proportion to that product, and the merger time of the white dwarfs it leaves moves as its fourth power.

$Where relativity overtakes the margin: 306 Schwarzschild radii for 10⁵ solar masses. Two things against the size of a contracting star, measured in its own Schwarzschild radius, on logarithmic axes. The flat lines are the margin by which the star's pressure-weighted adiabatic exponent exceeds 4/3 — the Newtonian condition for stability — for stars of 1000, 10⁴, 10⁵, 10⁶, 10⁷, 10⁸ solar masses with mean molecular weight 0.61; it does not change as the star shrinks, because it is fixed by the gas fraction of the pressure, and it falls with mass from 0.036 to 1.2·10⁻⁴. The diagonal is what general relativity adds to the requirement, 1.1245 × 2GM/(Rc²), which in these units is the same line for every mass. Contraction moves each star leftward along its flat line, and where the line meets the diagonal the star becomes dynamically unstable: at 31, 97, 306, 966, 3,052, 9,649 Schwarzschild radii respectively. Every one of those crossings lies between 31 and 9,649 Schwarzschild radii out, where the star is not remotely compact — the relativistic correction is tiny, and it decides the matter only because the margin it is compared with is tinier.$

A star tipped over at a thousand times its horizon

A star of a million suns is held up almost entirely by its own light, which leaves it stable by about a thousandth. General relativity raises the bar by an amount that is tiny until the star is compact, and a thousandth is tiny too — so the star collapses at nearly a thousand times the radius of the black hole it becomes, at a mean density below that of air, and with no fuel yet burning.

The centre goes soft at 19 solar masses; the whole core only at 27. Two criteria for the pair instability, against the mass of the oxygen core, each the deepest value reached as the core contracts through the pair-producing range. The orange curve is local: the lowest Γ₁ − 4/3 at the core's centre. It goes negative at 19.1 solar masses — the centre of every such core passes through gas that, taken by itself, cannot hold itself up. The blue curve is the criterion that actually decides the matter, the pressure-weighted mean over the whole core, and it stays positive until 27.5 solar masses of oxygen. In the shaded band between the two the centre goes soft and the core does not go unstable, because the stiffer gas around the centre outvotes it. The threshold is computed for a core built as an n = 3 polytrope with the pairs ignored in its structure; detailed evolutionary models find the first pair-instability pulses in stars whose helium cores exceed roughly thirty solar masses, so the construction lands in the right neighbourhood rather than on a precise number.

A soft centre the rest of the core outvotes

Above a billion kelvin, light in a star's core starts turning into electron–positron pairs, and gas that spends its heat on making mass cannot push back hard enough to hold itself up. But stability belongs to the whole core, not to its centre. An oxygen core goes soft in the middle from about nineteen solar masses and holds; it gives way only near twenty-eight, when the soft gas carries two-thirds of the pressure-weighted volume.

$The share of white dwarfs whose centres have begun to freeze. The fraction of a population of carbon–oxygen white dwarfs, with masses spread as a Gaussian of mean 0.62 and width 0.12 M☉, whose centres have begun to crystallise, against cooling age, overall and in three mass ranges, in the toy model of the other figures. If a field appears when freezing begins, this is the shape its incidence must take: it switches on first among the heaviest white dwarfs, half of which have begun freezing by 0.5 Gyr, and last among the typical ones near 0.6 M☉, by 2.5 Gyr. A fossil field, present from the white dwarf's birth, would show no such delay and no such ordering by mass.$

A field that waits for the core to freeze

A field inherited from the parent star would be present from a white dwarf's birth. Yet magnetic white dwarfs of ordinary mass are rare among the young and common among the old, as if their fields were switched on later. The proposed switch is the freezing of the carbon–oxygen core, which stirs the liquid above it. If that is right, the delay is set by when each mass begins to freeze, and the heaviest should go first.

$Larger and cooler, along a line of constant light. The fractional change in effective temperature against the fractional change in radius for a star whose luminosity is unchanged, and for luminosities −10% and +10%, from L = 4πR²σT⁴. Holding the luminosity, a radius 10 per cent larger needs a temperature 4.7 per cent lower: about half the radius change, with the sign reversed. The shaded box is the range reported for red dwarfs in eclipsing binaries against standard models — radii 5 to 15 per cent too large, temperatures 3 to 5 per cent too low — and it lies along the line of constant luminosity.$

Too large and too cool by just enough to keep the light

Red dwarfs in eclipsing binaries, whose radii are measured directly, come out several per cent larger than stellar models predict for their masses and a few per cent cooler. They are not brighter or fainter. The light is decided deep inside, by mass and opacity, and whatever disturbs the convecting outer layers can change only the radius and temperature through which that light leaves.

What DI Herculis's orbit should do, and what it does. The rate at which the periastron of the eclipsing binary DI Herculis advances, in degrees per century. Top: the prediction for stars whose spins are aligned with the orbit — 2.34 from general relativity, computed from the masses (5.17 and 4.52 solar masses), the 10.550164-day period and the eccentricity of 0.489; and 1.93 from the stars' tidal and rotational distortion, as published stellar models give it, of which the rotational flattening is 1.50 and the tides 0.43. Total 4.27. Bottom: the observed rate, between about 0.6 and 1.4 degrees per century in the published timing analyses — a quarter to a seventh of the prediction. For a quarter of a century after the discrepancy was established it was cited as possible evidence against general relativity, which contributes more than half the predicted total by itself.

A precession slowed by stars lying on their sides

The eclipsing binary DI Herculis turns the long axis of its orbit at a quarter to a seventh of the rate relativity and the stars' own distortion predict, and for a quarter of a century that gap was offered as evidence against general relativity. The answer was in the stars: both spin nearly on their sides, and a flattened star tipped past 54.7 degrees drags the orbit's periastron backwards instead of forwards. Explained, the slow precession becomes a measurement of something no spectrum shows — how far the spins lean towards the Earth.

$In a mixed field the torque follows the dipole and ignores the rest. The torque of a field that is part dipole and part quadrupole, with the total surface strength fixed, as a fraction of a pure dipole's, against the fraction of the field strength in the dipole, for wind magnetisations of 300, 3,000, 30,000, using the broken power law fitted to simulated mixed-field winds. Above a dipole fraction of 0.39, 0.24, 0.15 respectively, the torque is exactly what the dipole component alone would give: the quadrupole has fallen below the dipole long before the wind reaches its Alfvén radius, and contributes nothing to the lever. Below it, the quadrupole sets a floor. A star whose surface is mostly quadrupole by strength can therefore be braked almost entirely by its small dipole — and a measurement of the total field says little about the torque unless it says how much of the field is dipolar.$

A lever set by the dipole and not the field

A star's wind carries away its spin because the magnetic field holds the gas in step with the surface out to the Alfvén radius, and the torque goes as the square of that radius. How far out the field can hold depends less on how strong it is than on how it is arranged: a quadrupole of the same surface strength holds the Sun's wind to half the distance and brakes it at a fifth of the rate. In a mixed field only the dipole reaches far enough to matter — so the field that brakes a star is the part of it that is hardest to measure.

The rise in survival, and what two detectors see of it. The survival probability of ⁸B electron neutrinos against neutrino energy (grey), and what two detectors measure of it against the energy of the electron they record: the ratio of the counted spectrum to the one expected without conversion, for electron scattering in water (blue) and for charged-current capture on deuterium (orange), both smeared by a water detector's energy resolution. Between 3 and 10 MeV the survival probability rises by 0.122. Scattering shows a rise of 0.044 over the same recoil energies, 36 per cent of it; capture on deuterium shows 0.063, 52 per cent.

A rise a detector shrinks to a tilt

Between 10 and 3 MeV the chance that a solar neutrino arrives as it left should rise by a third of its value, and no detector has clearly seen it. Counting is not the obstacle: a large water detector has many times the exposure the rise needs. What hides it is that scattering shows only a third of the rise, spread over the spectrum as a tilt of a few per cent, and that half of the evidence for the tilt sits where the radioactive background is and the other half where an error in the energy scale looks the same.

A lone star is dated only as it leaves

A star in a cluster is dated by the bend its neighbours trace. A star alone has one position on the Hertzsprung–Russell diagram, and an age for it means finding which isochrone passes through that point. On the main sequence they almost all do: a Sun-like star measured as well as a parallax and a spectrum allow is anywhere from three and a half to five and a half billion years old. A star the same mass on its way off the main sequence is dated to two per cent.

$One production rate, many Suns. Global isotope production, as a fraction of today's average, over the modulation potential and the Earth's dipole moment. Each contour is one production rate — 0.85, 1, 1.2, 1.4, 1.7 times today's — and every point on it is a combination of Sun and Earth an isotope record cannot distinguish. Production at today's dipole of 7.8 × 10²² A m² and a modulation potential of 650 MV is reproduced exactly by a dipole of 10 with a potential of 449 MV. Over the last ten thousand years the dipole is thought to have ranged between about 6 and 11 in these units, the band across the middle of the plane. So a record of production becomes a record of the Sun only after a record of the dipole has been divided out, and the solar history inherits every error in the geomagnetic one.$

A Sun read through a shield that also changed

Carbon-14 in tree rings and beryllium-10 in ice extend the record of solar activity ten thousand years past the first telescope, because the Sun's field keeps cosmic rays out of the atmosphere that makes them. But the Earth's own field keeps them out too, and over those ten thousand years it changed by as much as the Sun does over a cycle. An isotope record measures the two shields together, so the Sun comes out of it only after the Earth has been divided out — and every slow trend in the reconstructed Sun is, until shown otherwise, a trend in that division.

$X-ray activity against Rossby number, with and without a tachocline. The X-ray luminosity of a star as a fraction of its total, against its Rossby number — the rotation period divided by the convective turnover time — for a synthetic sample of 600 stars of 0.4 to 1.2 solar masses, which have a radiative core and a tachocline below their convection zones, and 220 of 0.1 to 0.35 solar masses, which are convective to the centre and have neither. Both are drawn from one relation: saturated at a ratio of 10⁻³·¹³ below a Rossby number of 0.13 and falling as its −2.7th power above, with 0.25 dex of scatter. The saturated stars of the two kinds average −3.09 and −3.16 in the logarithm; 56 of the fully convective stars rotate slowly enough to lie on the unsaturated branch. This is the shape the measured relation has: the stars with no tachocline lie on the same line as those with one, saturated at the same level and falling along the same slope.$

A dynamo that did not need the shear layer

The Sun's magnetic cycle has long been placed in the thin layer of shear beneath its convection zone, where a rigidly rotating interior meets a differentially rotating envelope. Stars below about a third of a solar mass have no such layer — they are convective to the centre — and they are as magnetically active as the Sun, saturate at the same level, and fade with slowing rotation along the same line. The saturation is the cleaner half of that evidence, because the slope depends on a turnover time that was itself calibrated from activity.

A limit written for free electrons

The Eddington limit says a star cannot shine brighter than the point where its light pushes its own gas away, and the push is calculated for free electrons scattering light. In a magnetic field of a hundred trillion gauss an electron is not free. It is bound to the field, it can barely respond to light polarised across it, and the limit calculated for it is the wrong number by a factor of hundreds — which is one of two ways a neutron star can shine five hundred times brighter than it is supposed to.

$The carbon a star makes, and the carbon it needs. For a 30 solar-mass star born with no carbon, two quantities against its central temperature, on logarithmic scales: the carbon fraction its core needs for the CNO cycle to carry its luminosity (falling steeply, because a hotter core needs less catalyst), and the carbon the triple-alpha process makes in the hundred thousand years the core takes to contract (rising even more steeply). They meet at 108 million kelvin and a carbon fraction of 1.7 × 10⁻¹⁰: 1.7 parts in ten billion by mass, made by the star itself, are enough to switch on the cycle that runs every massive star of the present day. The contraction stops there.$

A star that has to make its own catalyst

Every massive star now forming burns hydrogen through a cycle of reactions that carbon, nitrogen and oxygen catalyse, and the first stars had none of those elements. A massive star made of hydrogen and helium alone contracts and heats until its core reaches a hundred million kelvin, where helium begins to fuse into carbon; a few atoms of carbon in ten billion are enough to start the cycle, and the star settles there — three times hotter at its centre than any star of the same mass today, and smaller, and bluer.

One brightness, a mass for every age. Luminosity against age for young objects of 0.01, 0.02, 0.05, 0.08, 0.2, 0.5 solar masses contracting at nearly fixed surface temperature, logarithmic; the dashed line is one observed luminosity, 0.012 of the Sun's. Every object fades as it contracts, as the age to the power −2/3, so the same luminosity belongs to a different mass at every age: 38 Jupiter masses at 1 Myr, 52 Jupiter masses at 2 Myr, 80 Jupiter masses at 5 Myr, 111 Jupiter masses at 10 Myr. A factor of ten in assumed age is a factor of 2.9 in inferred mass. The boundary between stars and brown dwarfs, 0.075 solar masses, is crossed by an error in the age alone.

A turnover whose position is an age

The mass function of a young cluster is measured by counting its objects by brightness and converting each brightness into a mass. Below the hydrogen-burning limit nothing holds a brown dwarf's brightness steady: it fades as it contracts, so the conversion needs the cluster's age, and an age wrong by a factor of two moves every mass by about forty per cent. The shape of the substellar mass function survives the error; its position on the mass axis and the ratio of brown dwarfs to stars do not — and comparing those between clusters is how the universality of star formation is tested.

$Four clocks for a 1 M☉ dwarf, and the best of them. The fractional age uncertainty each method reaches for an isolated 1 solar-mass main-sequence star, against its age, logarithmic, for isochrones, rotation, oscillations and chemical clock, with representative published precisions. Rotation is best while the star is young, once its spin has forgotten its start and before its braking weakens; isochrones and oscillations improve with age as the star moves further on the diagram. The combination (heavy line) is 14 per cent at 1 Gyr, 9 at 3 and 4 at 8. It is better than ten per cent (dashed) from 2.6 to 9.4 Gyr.$

Four clocks and the stars none of them reads

An isolated dwarf star can be dated four ways — by its position on the Hertzsprung–Russell diagram, by how fast it spins, by its oscillations, and by the ratio of two elements its galaxy made at different rates. Each clock has an age range where it works and masses it cannot read. Laid side by side for a Sun-like star they cover most of its life to ten per cent or so. For a star of eight-tenths of the Sun's mass only one clock is left, it works only while the star is young, and the commonest stars in the Galaxy's disc are dated one at a time no better than fifteen per cent at any age.

A star that distils itself as it freezes

A carbon–oxygen white dwarf does not freeze at one composition. The crystals that form at its centre take more oxygen than the liquid they form from, the carbon-rich liquid left behind is lighter and rises, and the star slowly sorts its own interior, oxygen down and carbon up. The gravitational energy that releases is radiated at a luminosity so faint that it holds the star up for about a billion years — a delay comparable to the latent heat of freezing, and one of the larger uncertainties in every white-dwarf age.

A scatter that points the way dust does

A Cepheid's period fixes its luminosity only to within the width of the instability strip, and at a given period the hotter stars are the brighter ones. Dust moves stars in the colour–magnitude diagram along a line too, and the two lines point nearly the same way. A magnitude built to cancel the dust — the Wesenheit index — therefore cancels most of the strip's width as well, which is why the tightest period–luminosity relations are the ones that ignore the extinction law's own advice.

An expansion clock read from the stars' motions

The masses of a young cluster's brown dwarfs are read from their brightness, and a brown dwarf's brightness is a mass multiplied by an age. The age can now be measured without any model of a star: the cluster is flying apart, and the time since it began is its size divided by its speed. But the expansion clock counts only the coasting, not the stars' lives, and it runs fast when the stars began spread out — two biases of opposite sign, and nothing in the motions themselves to say which one wins.

A correction that grows as the fifth power of the frequency

Every model of a star gets its outermost layers wrong, because one-dimensional models cannot follow the turbulent convection that fills them. The error shows up in the star's oscillations as an offset that is nothing at low frequency and twenty microhertz at high, two hundred times a frequency's measurement error. It is corrected with a power law nobody can derive, and the correction recovers the star only when its shape happens to be right — which is why the ages of stars are fitted not to their frequencies but to ratios of differences the surface cannot reach.

$How far a wrong metallicity term moves the Hubble constant. The fractional change in the Hubble constant against the error in the adopted metallicity term, in magnitudes per dex, for supernova hosts whose Cepheids are 0.1, 0.2, 0.4 dex richer in metals than the geometric calibrators'. A term too weak (too close to zero) by 0.2 mag/dex with hosts 0.2 dex richer moves H₀ by 1.9%. The shaded band is the ±8% disagreement between the local measurement and the microwave background's prediction: reaching it with a 0.2-dex difference needs the term wrong by 0.9 mag/dex.$

A metallicity term too small to close a gap

Cepheids of the same period are slightly brighter when they are richer in metals, by about a fifth of a magnitude per factor of ten in metal content. The galaxies whose supernovae calibrate the Hubble constant hold Cepheids a little richer than the galaxies whose distances are known geometrically, so the term enters the answer. How much it can move it is simple to compute: a few per cent at most for any plausible error — and the eight per cent separating the local Hubble constant from the early universe's would need the term to be wrong by four times its own size.

$The nebula's line, if the source is beamed. The luminosity of the He II 4686 Å line a surrounding nebula would emit, against the source's beaming fraction b, for sources that appear at 10⁴⁰ and 10⁴¹ erg/s to an observer in the beam, with 10% of their true output in photons able to ionise He⁺. The nebula sees the true luminosity, b times the apparent one, so its line falls in proportion to b: a source apparently at 10⁴¹ that is beamed into a hundredth of the sky lights its nebula like an unbeamed source at 10³⁹. Measured He II luminosities of nebulae round ultraluminous sources are 10³⁵ to 10³⁷ erg/s (shaded). On this conversion a source apparently at 10⁴⁰ whose nebula shows a few 10³⁶ needs no beaming at all; one apparently at 10⁴¹ with the same line is beamed into a tenth of the sky or less.$

A nebula that cannot be beamed at

An X-ray source a hundred times brighter than a neutron star should be allowed to shine may be lying about its luminosity: if its light leaves through a narrow funnel pointed at the Earth, it looks as bright as a source a hundred times more powerful. A single observer cannot tell. The gas around it can. A nebula surrounding the source is lit from every direction at once and records what the source emits in all of them, and a bubble blown by its wind records the power it has put out over a million years. Each is a calorimeter no beam can fool.

Elements sorted by how easily they lose an electron. The abundance of each element in the solar wind relative to the photosphere, normalised to oxygen, against its first ionisation potential, logarithmic: in the slow wind (filled) and the fast wind from coronal holes (open). Representative values. Elements easy to ionise — K, Na, Ca, Mg, Fe, Si, all below about 9 eV — are about three times over-abundant in the slow wind and about one and a half in the fast; those harder to ionise sit near one. The step comes at about 10 eV, which is the energy of a photon from the Lyman-α line of hydrogen: the sorting happens where hydrogen's own light sets the ionisation.

A wind that carries the ledger of its loops

The slow solar wind is richer in iron, magnesium and silicon than the Sun's surface is — about three times richer, relative to oxygen — and the elements that are enriched are exactly the ones that lose an electron easily. That sorting happens low in the chromosphere, inside closed magnetic loops, and it takes days. The fast wind from coronal holes barely shows it. So the composition of the wind arriving at the Earth is a record of where it was held, and for how long, before the field let it go.

A lifetime that stops getting shorter

A star twice the Sun's mass lives a fifth as long, ten times the mass a few hundredths. Extrapolate the steep law that says so to the most massive stars known, a hundred and fifty or two hundred suns, and they should burn out in a few tens of thousands of years. They do not: every star above about sixty solar masses lives between two and a half and three million years, whatever its mass. Radiation pressure caps how bright a star can be per unit of its mass, and once luminosity and fuel both grow in proportion to mass, the mass cancels out of the lifetime.

A binary that goes silent for an hour of period

Binaries of a white dwarf feeding off a small star can be found at almost any orbital period down to about eighty minutes, except between about two and three hours, where they are strikingly rare. They have not stopped existing there. They have stopped shining. The moment the donor loses its radiative core, the wind's magnetic brake appears to switch off. The star, swollen by the transfer it was being driven through, shrinks back inside its own Roche lobe, and the feeding stops. Only gravitational waves remain to close the orbit, and it takes them about half a billion years.

$A reservoir so large that it does not notice. The fractional increase in the heat of the Sun's convective envelope if a fraction 0.001, 0.003, 0.01 of the surface is held under spots, against time. The envelope holds about 7×10⁴⁵ erg, 58 thousand years of the Sun's light. Spots covering 0.3% of the surface for an eleven-year cycle add 4.2e-7 of that, a temperature change of 0.4 parts per million at most, spread over the whole envelope. So the blocked heat simply remains in the star, and the surface flux shows the deficit. It levels off only after the envelope's thermal time, when the star has adjusted.$

A spot whose missing heat goes nowhere

A sunspot blocks most of the energy trying to come up beneath it, and a large group visibly dims the whole Sun by a thousandth. Energy is conserved, so the blocked flux ought to come out somewhere else, and for a century observers looked for the bright ring around every spot. There is none to speak of. The heat has gone into the rest of the convection zone, spread so fast and so widely that the surface cannot notice, and it will stay there for longer than human history. For the time being the Sun simply is fainter, without any contradiction.

The ladders in this field

26 anchors · one idea each

The HR diagram The mass–luminosity relation Stellar lifetimes Fusion Degeneracy Hydrostatic equilibrium Variable stars Binary stars Eddington limit Energy transport Stellar evolution Asteroseismology Initial mass function Supernovae Accretion Pulsars Solar cycle Solar neutrinos Mass transfer Polytropes White dwarf cooling Internal rotation Magnetic braking Flux freezing Plasma beta Star formation

All fields · All essays