Exploring the birthplace of the stars

Exploring the birthplace of the stars

The Great Nebula in Orion • Photo by Bryan Goff (CC BY SA 4.0)

Originally published 18 July 1983.

Ori­on the Hunter, the Giant, the pur­suer of the Pleiades, is a famil­iar fig­ure in the night sky. Even the neo­phyte stargaz­er will rec­og­nize the three bright stars of Ori­on’s belt, and the tri­ad of stars that are the sword dan­gling at his hip. If the night is clear you might notice that the mid­dle star of the sword lacks the sharp def­i­n­i­tion of the oth­er stars. Binoc­u­lars will show that the “star” is not a star at all, but a blur of green­ish light. Obser­va­to­ry pho­tographs record a swirling drap­ery of lumi­nous gas.

This is the Great Neb­u­la in Ori­on, a gas cloud of cos­mic dimen­sions, more than 20,000 times wider than our entire Solar Sys­tem. Radio tele­scopes reveal that the Great Neb­u­la is just one bright cor­ner of an immense dark cloud that fills the body of Ori­on. In that dark ocean of gas, bril­liant blue-white stars burn like island jewels.

It is in clouds such as this that astronomers believe stars and plan­ets are born, pulled togeth­er by grav­i­ty from the stuff of the clouds. The hot young stars of Ori­on are new­com­ers on the cos­mic scene, infants still wrapped in swad­dling clothes of glow­ing gas. Even now, new stars are being born in the heart of the nebula.

A stellar breeding ground

The Ori­on neb­u­la lies far beyond the Solar Sys­tem. It is hun­dreds of times more dis­tant than the near­est stars, but it is the clos­est of these star-form­ing regions. This stel­lar nurs­ery offers astronomers an unpar­al­leled oppor­tu­ni­ty to study the process of star formation.

Almost all of the atoms in these great inter­stel­lar gas clouds are hydro­gen and heli­um, the light­est of the ele­ments and the most com­mon sub­stances in the uni­verse. They were cre­at­ed, accord­ing to cur­rent the­o­ries, fif­teen or twen­ty bil­lion years ago in a “Big Bang” explo­sion from a sin­gu­lar and infi­nite­ly dense seed of ener­gy. Using well-known laws of physics, astronomers can cal­cu­late the con­di­tions which exist­ed in the ear­li­est moments of the uni­verse, and recon­struct the cre­ation of mat­ter from ener­gy that occurred at that time. The cal­cu­la­tions rule out the cre­ation of ele­ments heav­ier than heli­um, with the pos­si­ble excep­tion of small amounts of lithi­um and beryllium.

If the uni­verse today con­tained only hydro­gen and heli­um, as in the ear­ly days, there would be no plan­et Earth with a metal­lic core and a rocky crust. And the plan­et’s sur­face would not be soft­ened by leaves of grass, alive with the chem­istry of oxy­gen and carbon.

In the clouds of Ori­on astronomers can map the pres­ence of car­bon, oxy­gen, nitro­gen, and tiny grains of dust. We are our­selves made of such stuff. If only hydro­gen and heli­um were cre­at­ed in the first moments of the uni­verse, where did these heavy ele­ments come from?

The secret of the heavy ele­ments lies in the burn­ing that goes on at a star’s core. Astronomers have a fair­ly con­fi­dent the­o­ret­i­cal pic­ture of how stars burn. The ter­ri­ble real­i­ty of hydro­gen bombs con­firms the cor­rect­ness of their cal­cu­la­tions. The like­ly truth is this — stars pro­duce their prodi­gious ener­gy by fus­ing heavy ele­ments from light ones.

A natural fusion reactor

Like the clouds of gas out of which they form, the stars are most­ly hydro­gen. In the enor­mous tem­per­a­tures that pre­vail at a star’s core, hydro­gen nuclei are fused togeth­er to form heli­um. In the process of fusion, some of the hydro­gen’s mass is turned into pure ener­gy. And it is the ener­gy of fusion, flow­ing out from a star’s core, that makes the star shine.

In stars like the sun, car­bon will be the ulti­mate ash of this nuclear burn­ing. In the most mas­sive stars, ele­ments as heavy as iron can be forged from lighter nuclei. The stars are great pres­sure cook­ers, ket­tles that boil up from a sim­mer­ing soup of hydro­gen the very ele­ments of which the earth and life are made.

But these ele­ments are locked up in the prison of a star’s core. How did they get to be a part of the Ori­on gas cloud? Or of the grass?

An explosive death

At the end of their lives mas­sive stars die vio­lent deaths, blow­ing them­selves apart in colos­sal det­o­na­tions called super­novas. In the enor­mous ener­gies gen­er­at­ed by these stel­lar explo­sions, ele­ments even heav­ier than iron can be fused from lighter ele­ments. All of this nuclear debris — the ele­ments fused in the nor­mal burn­ing of the star and the heav­ier ele­ments pro­duced in the star’s vio­lent death — is flung into space, to become part of the great gas and dust clouds of the galaxy, per­haps to become part of some future star or planet.

As we look at Ori­on in the night sky, we are look­ing at our past, at the birth of suns and plan­ets in dusty cor­ners of the galaxy. The Earth, with its wealth of heavy ele­ments, could not exist if gen­er­a­tions of mas­sive short-lived stars had not lived and died with­in the arms of the Milky Way galaxy before the Solar Sys­tem was born.

Walt Whit­man was lit­er­al­ly cor­rect when he sang “I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the jour­ney-work of the stars.” The earth, the grass, every crea­ture that draws breath under the sun, we are all of us made of star-ash.

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