Looking back to the beginning

Looking back to the beginning

Artist's rendering of a quasar • ESO/M. Kornmesser (CC BY 4.0)

Originally published 21 November 1983

In the begin­ning there was light. That is the con­clu­sion of physi­cists who have attempt­ed to recon­struct the­o­ret­i­cal­ly the first moments of the Universe.

Accord­ing to cur­rent the­o­ries, the Uni­verse began about 15 bil­lion years ago in a “Big Bang” explo­sion from an infi­nite­ly dense, infi­nite­ly hot seed of ener­gy. The seed was not “some­where,” it was every­where. Space itself was cre­at­ed as the Uni­verse began to expand.

In the first moments of Cre­ation, sub­atom­ic par­ti­cles flick­ered in and out of exis­tence against a back­ground of radi­a­tion. The Uni­verse was a seething fire­ball of mat­ter and energy.

One sec­ond after the Begin­ning, the tem­per­a­ture of the Uni­verse had dropped to 10 bil­lion degrees an the cre­ation of mat­ter ceased. Pro­tons, elec­trons and neu­trons danced on a sea of light. The first atom­ic nuclei came 10 sec­onds lat­er. Still the Uni­verse was filled with blind­ing radiation.

When a mil­lion years had passed, the Uni­verse had cooled to the point where charged par­ti­cles could hold togeth­er against the pres­sure of radi­ant ener­gy. Elec­trons linked with nuclei to form atoms. The stuff of the Uni­verse, most­ly in the form of hydro­gen and heli­um, was born.

The reign of light sub­sided. The Uni­verse became trans­par­ent. But there was still to be anoth­er chap­ter to the ancient brilliance.

Some­time with­in the next bil­lion years the galax­ies became to form — and not long after, the quasars.

A long time ago and far, far away

Nature pro­vides us with a way to see back to those ear­ly days of the Uni­verse. Light trav­els with a finite veloc­i­ty. It takes time for light from dis­tant sources to reach the Earth. When astronomers look at dis­tant objects through their tele­scopes, they are look­ing back­ward into time.

The quasars are the most dis­tant objects yet observed.

Quasars were dis­cov­ered in 1963 by Maarten Schmidt of the Cal­i­for­nia Insti­tute of Tech­nol­o­gy. Schmidt caught on pho­to­graph­ic plates the light spec­tra of star­like objects that had attract­ed the atten­tion of astronomers by their copi­ous emis­sion of radio ener­gy. At first the spec­tra were unfa­mil­iar, unlike those of any oth­er star. Then Schmidt rec­og­nized famil­iar fea­tures of the spec­trum of hydro­gen, except that the entire pat­tern was shift­ed dras­ti­cal­ly toward the red end of the spec­trum. The shift sig­ni­fied to Schmidt that the objects were very dis­tant, as dis­tant as any­thing pre­vi­ous­ly observed.

What led Schmidt to this con­clu­sion? The Uni­verse expands. The con­tin­u­ing out­rush of the Big Bang car­ries every galaxy away from every oth­er. This mutu­al reces­sion stretch­es out the wave­lengths of the light of the galax­ies, shifts the spec­trum toward the red. The effect is anal­o­gous to the drop in pitch of the sound you hear as a truck roars past you on the high­way. As the truck approach­es, the sound waves are com­pressed and the pitch is high­er. As the truck recedes, the sound waves are stretched out and the pitch is low­ered. In the same way, the wave­lengths of light from approach­ing light sources is short­ened, or shift­ed toward the blue end of the spec­trum. The light from reced­ing sources is stretched, or red-shifted.

An intergalactic yardstick

In a uni­form­ly expand­ing Uni­verse, the degree of red-shift is direct­ly pro­por­tion­al to the dis­tance of the observ­er from the light source. Astronomers use the red-shift of galax­ies to mea­sure their dis­tance. The red-shifts of the star­like objects con­sid­ered by Schmidt cor­re­spond­ed to dis­tances as great as the fur­thest vis­i­ble galax­ies. The objects were appar­ent­ly bil­lions of light years away. Their light had been trav­el­ing toward us since ear­ly in the his­to­ry of the Universe.

But the quasars shine far more bright­ly than the dis­tant galax­ies. What could these objects be, beck­on­ing across the eons, tan­ta­liz­ing us with a mys­te­ri­ous glimpse of an ear­li­er era? From their flick­er­ing radi­a­tion astronomers could deduce that the quasars are rel­a­tive­ly near­by, in which case there is no need to believe they are so lumi­nous. But if quasars are near­by, and do not share in the reces­sion of the galax­ies, then what caus­es the red­den­ing of their light?

No one yet knows the true nature of these strange objects. There is a grow­ing con­sen­sus that quasars are the bright nuclei of dis­tant galax­ies. Per­haps they are chains of super­no­va det­o­na­tions in the star-rich cen­tral regions of galax­ies. More like­ly, they sig­nal the infall of mat­ter into cen­tral black holes, bot­tom­less grav­i­ta­tion­al pits at the cores of galax­ies. Plung­ing to obliv­ion, the in-falling mat­ter shed the enor­mous ener­gies that pow­er the quasars.

An early stage

Richard Green of the Kitt Peak Obser­va­to­ry and Maarten Schmidt have recent­ly announced the com­ple­tion of a decade-long sur­vey of bright quasars with the 200-inch Hale Tele­scope on Palo­mar Moun­tain. The sur­vey cov­ered one-fourth of the sky. The sur­vey showed that the num­ber of bright quasars increas­es with dis­tance, and there­fore that these mys­te­ri­ous objects were far more com­mon in the ear­ly uni­verse. The for­ma­tion of mas­sive black holes at the cen­ters of galax­ies may be a typ­i­cal ear­ly stage in galac­tic evo­lu­tion. If so, these spasms of cos­mic vio­lence have now most­ly sub­sided, and galax­ies — our own Milky Way includ­ed — have set­tled down to a qui­eter existence.

Not only were there more quasars in the ear­ly uni­verse, but the quasars were more lumi­nous. We can envy the bril­liance of those ear­ly skies. The galax­ies were clos­er then than now, and burned with the light of hot blue stars. At the cen­ters of those great wheels of stars, streams of mat­ter plunged into black holes, pulled by grav­i­ty into knots of incred­i­ble den­si­ty and per­ma­nent black­ness. As the mat­ter fell, it gave up ener­gy that caused the galac­tic nuclei to glow with a light that out­shone the sum of all the stars in the heav­ens. The Uni­verse blazed with those lumi­nous bea­cons. It was a time of light.

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