Astronomy & Celestial Mechanics
the sky, computed
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The time-scales generator

A clock that has lost 5.7 hours in 2720 years
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.

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.

7 essays call time-scales. The drawing above is what it returns with no arguments at all; every call below passes it something, because a placement that passes nothing draws whichever member of the family the generator happens to default to rather than the one its essay argues about.

Where it is called

Every figure listed here is the same construction drawn at different numbers, so a correction to one is a correction to all of them.

Why the solar day is 3m 55.91s longer than the sidereal one. Two positions of the Earth one day apart, with the direction of a fixed star and the direction of the Sun marked at each. After one sidereal day — 23h 56m 4.0905s — the Earth has turned through exactly 360° and the star is back on the meridian; the Sun is not, because the Earth has moved 0.9856° along its orbit, and the further 0.9856° of turning takes 3m 55.91s. That is the whole of the difference: 366.2422 turns against the stars in the 365.2422 solar days of a year, one more turn than the 365.2422 against the Sun. Nothing here is to scale. The orbital arc is drawn at 40°, which exaggerates the real 0.9856° by 41 times, and the Earth's disc is about 4073 times too large for its orbit. The two star sight lines are drawn parallel because they are: a star's distance cannot be put on the same page as an orbit. The observed sky

The day that is four minutes short

A star crosses the meridian 3 minutes 55.91 seconds earlier each night, and the same star slips 3 minutes 56.56 seconds a day against a civil clock. Those are two different numbers, and the gap between them is the one extra turn the Earth makes against the stars in every year.

 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. The observed sky

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.

 TCB has gained 23.5 seconds on TT since 1977. How far four of the solar system's time scales have drifted apart, against years since they were set equal. TT is the time a clock on the Earth's geoid keeps, and it is flat here by definition. TCG is the time a clock at rest just outside the Earth's gravitational well would keep, and it runs faster by seven parts in ten thousand million — 0.0220 seconds a year. TCB is the time a clock at rest outside the Sun's well would keep, and it runs faster by fifteen parts in a thousand million, or 0.4893 seconds a year. TDB is TCB with that rate divided out so that it stays within milliseconds of TT, which is what makes it usable as an ephemeris argument and what makes it a coordinate rather than a proper time. The differences are constants and they are not corrections: an ephemeris tabulated against one of these and evaluated against another is wrong by the whole of this plot. The observed sky

A second that depends on where the clock is

A clock in orbit runs fast, a clock at the bottom of a gravity well runs slow, and a clock at rest far from the Sun runs faster than anything on Earth by fifteen parts in a thousand million. Astronomy therefore has four different seconds, two of them longer than the others, and an ephemeris has to declare which one it is tabulated against.

 How steady each kind of clock is, by how long it is averaged. The Allan deviation — the typical fractional difference in frequency between successive averages of length τ — against τ, for representative noise models of caesium beam, hydrogen maser, caesium fountain, optical lattice clock. Each falls as τ^−½ while random frequency noise dominates, then levels off at a floor set by slower, correlated noise, and a clock with a systematic drift eventually rises again. A caesium beam is still improving at the longest averaging drawn, reaching 10⁻¹⁴; a hydrogen maser reaches its best, 7.3·10⁻¹⁶, after about 27 hours; a caesium fountain is still improving at the longest averaging drawn, reaching 1.2·10⁻¹⁶; an optical lattice clock is still improving at the longest averaging drawn, reaching 10⁻¹⁸. No clock is best at every averaging time — the maser is steadiest over hours and wanders over weeks, the fountain is noisier over minutes and more accurate over months — and a time scale is built by using each where it is best. The curves are typical shapes, not the specification of any particular instrument. The observed sky

A time scale that is finished after it is used

The world's reference time is not kept by any clock. It is an average of about four hundred and fifty, weighted by how steady each has been, published a month late, and then recomputed a year later against the handful of clocks that define the second — so the best available time for any moment is known only long after the moment has passed. The best clocks are now so good that averaging them requires knowing each one's height to a centimetre.

 How far the clock drifts from the Sun once leap seconds stop. The accumulated difference between the Earth's rotation and atomic clock time, in seconds, that builds up after leap seconds are abandoned, against years since then, for a day that now exceeds 86,400 SI seconds by −0.3 ms, 0.5 ms, 1.5 ms, each lengthening by 1.7 milliseconds a century as the tides brake the Earth. The drift is the integral of the excess: 20 s after 100 years, a minute after 158 for −0.3 ms; 49 s after 100 years, a minute after 113 for 0.5 ms; 86 s after 100 years, a minute after 76 for 1.5 ms. The present excess is close to zero — the day has recently been slightly shorter than 86,400 seconds — so the drift starts slowly or even backwards, and the tidal term then takes over and bends every curve upward. The time for the difference to reach a minute is set far more by the next century's core-driven fluctuations, which have swung the excess by two or three milliseconds within a few decades before, than by anything that can be predicted. The observed sky

A clock allowed to leave the Sun

Twenty-seven leap seconds have kept civil time within a second of the Earth's rotation since 1972. By 2035 they will stop, and the clock will be allowed to drift from the Sun. How far it drifts, and how soon a minute accumulates, depends on a length of day that no one can forecast.

 The stability of a pulsar clock against atomic clocks, over averaging times from a day to thirty years. Fractional frequency instability, on a logarithmic axis, against averaging time from a day to thirty years. A single millisecond pulsar timed to 300 nanoseconds every 14 days improves as τ^(−3/2) while its white timing noise averages down, and flattens where its slow spin noise, drawn at 10⁻¹⁵ at ten years, takes over. An ensemble of 20 such pulsars is 4.5 times better if their noises are independent. The atomic curves are representative: a hydrogen maser, excellent at hours and drifting at years, and a steered atomic time scale limited near 3·10⁻¹⁶ at long times. In this representative comparison the pulsar ensemble becomes the steadier of the two beyond about 3 years of averaging. At a day a pulsar is a billion times worse than an atomic clock; over decades it is competitive, because nothing inside a neutron star changes on the timescales on which laboratory clocks are rebuilt. The observed sky

A clock made of neutron stars

The best atomic clocks are rebuilt every decade and averaged every month. A millisecond pulsar has kept its own time for a billion years. Averaged over years, an ensemble of pulsars is as steady as the world's atomic time scale — steady enough to find its errors — but it can never say how fast that time scale runs.

 One pulsar's stability, limited by the background every pulsar shares. The cubic-fit stability of a single millisecond pulsar, on logarithmic axes, against averaging time from 0.3 to 40 years. White timing noise of 100 ns every 14 days averages down as τ^(−3/2) (falling dashed line). The gravitational-wave background at the amplitude the timing arrays reported in 2023, A = 2.4·10⁻¹⁵, raises the curve as τ^(2/3) (rising dashed line). Their sum (solid) is lowest at 2.8 years, at 2.8·10⁻¹⁵; averaging longer than that makes this pulsar a worse clock, not a better one, because the background grows faster in the residuals than the white noise shrinks. At ten years the background alone is 5.5·10⁻¹⁵. The observed sky

A clock whose best interval is three years

A pulsar time scale was expected to improve for as long as anyone kept timing it. The background the timing arrays found in 2023 says otherwise — a single pulsar is steadiest over about three years and worse over every longer interval, and how far an array of them can push that floor down depends less on how many pulsars it holds than on how evenly they cover the sky.

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