What if I told you that the “two” stars you see here are actually one and the same?
This star, known as L Carinae after its location in the southern constellation Carina, is actually what we call a variable star. It is fairly bright, and its brightness varies significantly. And it’s not alone.
You might be familiar with a few variable stars. Betelgeuse, the bright giant in Orion’s shoulder, was all the rage among astronomers not too long ago. Polaris, the North Star, is also a variable. So is Algol in Perseus.
We’ve actually talked about one type of variable stars before. A variable star is any star whose brightness varies significantly and repeatedly. That means that eclipsing binaries fall within the definition. Algol is this type of variable star.
Now, though, we’re interested specifically in intrinsic variables, stars whose brightness changes because of something going on internally—not because another object passes in front of them and dims their light similarly to casting a shadow, as is the case with eclipsing binaries.
But…why would a star change in brightness like that?
Back in August—sorry I took so long!—we talked about the helium flash, an explosion that occurs within stars when helium nuclei begin to fuse within a degenerate core.
So…this is not what the helium flash would look like.
Even though it’s a powerful explosion, it happens in such a small region in the center of the star that we wouldn’t see it at all, and the star’s outer layers absorb most of the energy from the explosion. I just thought it was a cool picture 🙂
Depending on their mass, stars can remain stable for millions and even billions of years. The most massive stars live for “only” about 10 million years, but models predict that the least massive live for much longer—longer than cosmologists believe the universe has existed.
As stars exhaust their fuel, their internal structures change drastically. Their cores contract, but their outer layers are forced to expand, and they become giants. You’d think the next thing we’d cover would be what happens to these giant stars, right?
Well…not quite! At this point, something downright weird is going on in their cores, and it’s well worth a closer look…
For those of you who are not signed up for my newsletter, I’m sorry I’ve been away forever—life happened. It’s been a very rough three months. I hope you’re all doing well in light of the COVID-19 pandemic. I know it’s pretty tough right now, but we’ll pull through. Hang in there! 🙂
And now, for some long-awaited astronomy…
Meet Betelgeuse, a bright star in the winter constellation Orion.
Betelgeuse is a cool red supergiant that we’ll talk about a lot more in just a couple weeks, when we cover variable stars. Not too long ago, it was the height of excitement among astronomers. No one was sure why it…well…appeared to be dimming.
Yeah. Like a lightbulb. It was literally getting fainter—considerably fainter.
It’s pretty normal for Betelgeuse, like any other variable star, to fluctuate in brightness over time, but it was doing something downright weird. We’ll explore what was going on with it soon enough.
For now, let’s take a look at why Betelgeuse, as a supergiant, is so darn big.
As with most questions in astronomy, the answer to that is not definitive. But stellar models can give us a pretty good idea.
Mathematical models of stars tell us that their life—or, to use a less personifying term, function—depends on the balance between two opposing forces: internal pressure and gravity.
Stars produce energy to function. They don’t just do this to light up our skies and provide for life on their orbiting worlds. They need to produce energy to constantly support the weight of their own mass.
The more massive stars are, the more energy they need to produce—and the reverse is true too. There has to be a balance.
But is there a limit? Is there a point where balance is impossible?
If we were talking about people, I’d say there’s no such thing as a “normal” person. We’re all weird in our own way—that’s what makes us unique and ourselves.
However, there’s such a thing as a functional human—a human with a combination of functional organ systems and/or prosthetics that makes daily life navigable. And just as no star is exactly alike, there are functional stars.
Nature makes mistakes all the time. It is not intelligent—it doesn’t know the best way to do anything. It doesn’t know the path of least resistance or least effort. It just tries everything at random, and we get to observe what happens.
A “normal” star is what happens when nature stumbles upon the right conditions. But…what does that mean?