We use cookies to distinguish you from other users and to provide you with a better experience on our websites. Close this message to accept cookies or find out how to manage your cookie settings.
To save content items to your account,
please confirm that you agree to abide by our usage policies.
If this is the first time you use this feature, you will be asked to authorise Cambridge Core to connect with your account.
Find out more about saving content to .
To save content items to your Kindle, first ensure [email protected]
is added to your Approved Personal Document E-mail List under your Personal Document Settings
on the Manage Your Content and Devices page of your Amazon account. Then enter the ‘name’ part
of your Kindle email address below.
Find out more about saving to your Kindle.
Note you can select to save to either the @free.kindle.com or @kindle.com variations.
‘@free.kindle.com’ emails are free but can only be saved to your device when it is connected to wi-fi.
‘@kindle.com’ emails can be delivered even when you are not connected to wi-fi, but note that service fees apply.
With equal passion I have sought knowledge. I have wished to understand the hearts of men, I have wished to know why the stars shine. And I have tried to apprehend the Pythagorean power by which number holds sway above the flux. A little of this, but not much, I have achieved.
Bertrand Russell (1872–1970), Autobiography, Prologue
PROLOGUE
Cosmology, the science of the universe, attracts and fascinates us all. In one sense, it is the science of the large-scale structure of the universe: of the realm of extragalactic nebulae, of distant and receding horizons, and of the dynamic curvature of cosmic space and time. In another sense, it seeks to assemble all knowledge into a unifying cosmic picture. Most sciences tear things apart into smaller and smaller constituents in order to examine the world in ever greater detail, whereas cosmology is the one science that puts the pieces together into a “mighty frame.” In yet another sense, it is the history of mankind's search for understanding of the universe, a quest that began long ago at the dawn of the human race. We cannot study cosmology in the broadest sense without heeding the many cosmic pictures of the past that have shaped human history. We trace the rise of the scientific method and how it has increased our understanding of the physical universe. Which brings us to the major aim of this book: gaining an elementary understanding of the physical universe of modern times.
In the previous chapter we saw how the Fizeau–Doppler (known more briefly as the Doppler) formula played a vital role in the discovery of the expansion of the universe. Distant galaxies have redshifted spectra, and their redshifts were interpreted to mean the galaxies are rushing away from us. Then in the late 1920s and early 1930s Georges Lemaître, Howard Robertson, and other cosmologists discovered a totally new interpretation of extragalactic redshifts based on the expanding space paradigm.
The new expanding space redshift is simple and very easy to understand. We suppose that all galaxies are comoving and their emitted light is received by observers who are also comoving. Light leaves a galaxy, which is stationary in its local region of space, and is eventually received by observers who are stationary in their own local region of space. Between the galaxy and the observer, light travels through vast regions of expanding space. As a result, all wavelengths of the light are stretched by the expansion of space (see Figure 15.1). It is as simple as that.
A light ray, emitted by a distant galaxy, travels across expanding space and is received by the observer. If, while the light ray travels, all comoving distances are doubled, it follows that all wavelengths of the light ray are also doubled.
Much of cosmology in the past has been concerned with the center and edge of the universe (see Figure 8.1), and our attitude nowadays on these matters is expressed by the principles of location and containment. Broadly speaking, the location principle (previous chapter) involves issues concerning the cosmic center, and the containment principle (this chapter) involves issues concerning the cosmic edge. Both principles help us to avoid pitfalls that trapped earlier cosmologists.
The containment principle of the physical universe states: the physical universe contains everything that is physical and nothing else. It is the battle cry of the physical sciences (chemistry and physics). To some persons the principle seems so elementary and obvious that it hardly deserves mentioning, to others it is a declaration of an outrageous philosophy. Before condemning the principle as too elementary or too outrageous, we must look more fully at what it means.
Modern scientific cosmology explores a physical universe that includes all that is physical and excludes all that is nonphysical. The definition of physical is sweeping and at first sight exceeds what common sense deems proper. It includes all things that are measurable and are related by concepts that are vulnerable to disproof. Atoms and galaxies, cells and stars, organisms and planets are physical things that belong to the physical world.
Do you believe then that the sciences would ever have arisen and become great if there had not beforehand been magicians, alchemists, astrologers, and wizards who thirsted and hungered after secret and forbidden powers?
Friedrich Nietzsche (1844–1900), The Will to Power
CONSTANTS OF NATURE
Natural units
We measure distances in units such as meters and light years, intervals of time in units such as seconds and years, and masses in units such as grams and kilograms. There is nothing sacred about these units, which are determined by our history, environment, and physiology. If we communicate with beings in another planetary system and inform them that something has a size of so many meters, an age of so many seconds, and a mass of so many kilograms, they will not understand because their units of measurement are undoubtedly different. But they will understand if we say the size is so many times that of a hydrogen atom, the age is so many times that of a certain atomic period, and the mass is so many times that of a hydrogen atom, simply because their atoms are the same as ours (if they were not, it would be an incoherent universe, incomprehensible, and we might not be able to communicate with them). The basic uniformity of the universe provides us all with the same set of natural units of measurement.
We look out in space and back in time and do not see the galaxies stretching away endlessly to an infinite distance in an infinite past. Instead, we look out a finite distance and see only things within the “observable universe.” Like the sea-watching folk in Robert Frost's poem, we “cannot look out far” and “cannot look in deep.”
The observable universe is normally only a portion of the whole universe. We are at the center of our observable universe; its distant boundary acts as a cosmic horizon beyond which lie things that cannot be observed. Observers in other galaxies are located at the centers of their observable universes that are also bounded by horizons. A person on a ship far from land, who sees the sea stretching away to a horizon, is at the center of an “observable sea.” People on other ships are at the centers of their own observable seas that are bounded by horizons. Despite this analogy the horizons of the universe are not as simple as the horizons of the sea.
Confinement to the Black Hole … to be reserved for cases of Drunkenness, Riot, Violence, or Insolence to Superiors.
British Army regulation (1844)
GRAVITATIONAL COLLAPSE
Stars are luminous globes of gas in which the inward pull of gravity matches the outward push of pressure. The nuclear energy released in the interior at high temperature is radiated from the surface at low temperature and this low-temperature radiation sustains the chemistry of planetary life.
But to each star comes a day of reckoning. Its central reservoir of hydrogen approaches exhaustion and the star begins to die. The tireless pull of gravity causes the central regions to contract to higher densities and temperatures, and as a consequence the outer regions swell up and the star becomes a red giant. A star like the Sun then evolves into a white dwarf in which most of its matter is compressed into a sphere roughly the size of Earth. Many stars end as white dwarfs, slowly cooling, supported internally against gravity by the pressure of electron waves (as in ordinary metals).
More massive stars do not give up the game so easily. Gravity is stronger in these stars and their central regions continue to contract to even higher densities and temperatures, thus enabling them to draw on the last reserves of nuclear energy. These stars become luminous giants squandering energy at a prodigious rate. Soon their reserves of nuclear energy are exhausted. Only gravitational energy remains with its fatal price of continual contraction.
The universe expands, and naturally we conclude that in the past the universe was in a more condensed state than at present. If we journeyed back in time we would expect to see the universe get steadily denser. Ultimately, we would arrive at the very high-density state popularly called the “big bang.” This conclusion seems unavoidable. It might be a mistake, however, to forget entirely the many debates among cosmologists concerning the reality of a big bang beginning. Eddington was firmly against the idea of a universe that begins in a dense state, and many persons – particularly those who were drawn to science by Eddington's popular works – have felt disinclined to set his views aside lightly. The steady–state theory of an expanding universe, proposed in the late 1940s, attracted many who were united in their dislike of the big bang idea, and even now, as the 20th century closes, a few cosmologists continue to think that a big bang interpretation of the observations is mistaken.
What do we mean by the expression “big bang?” The actual singularity of maximum density at the origin of time? Or an early period in cosmic history? If the latter, how long a period?
In the winter of 1938 I wrote a short, scientifically fantastic story (not a science fiction story) in which I tried to explain to the layman the basic ideas of the theory of curvature of space and the expanding universe. I decided to do this by exaggerating the actually existing relativistic phenomena to such an extent that they could easily be observed by the hero of the story, C. G. H.* Tompkins, a bank clerk interested in modern science.
I sent the manuscript to Harper's Magazine and, like all beginning authors, got it back with a rejection slip. The other half-a-dozen magazines which I tried followed suit. So I put the manuscript in a drawer of my desk and forgot about it. During the summer of the same year, I attended the International Conference of Theoretical Physics, organized by the League of Nations in Warsaw. I was chatting over a glass of excellent Polish miod with my old friend Sir Charles Darwin, the grandson of Charles (The Origin of Species) Darwin, and the conversation turned to the popularization of science. I told Darwin about the bad luck I had had along this line, and he said: ‘Look, Gamow, when you get back to the United States dig up your manuscript and send it to Dr C. P. Snow, who is the editor of a popular scientific magazine Discovery published by the Cambridge University Press.’