S Chandrasekhar: the student who took on the world's top astrophysicist
In the 1930s the rarefied world of science was ripped apart by a controversy that was to have devastating consequences for the development of astrophysics. It began when an Indian student called Subrahmanyan Chandrasekhar (Chandra) decided to work out what would happen if Einstein amp;apos;s special theory of relativity was applied to the processes that went on inside stars. This step was important because particles inside stars travel at speeds close to that of light, a situation where Einstein amp;apos;s theory must be used.
Pencil in hand, 19-year-old Chandra did some calculations. At the time, scientists assumed that when a star burned up the last of its fuel, it would turn into a ball of cinders and go cold - become a white dwarf star. Chandra amp;apos;s mathematics showed that a white dwarf much heavier than the sun could not exist, but would undergo an eternal collapse into a tiny point of infinite density, until it slipped though a crevice in space and time, from which nothing could escape, not even light. It was the first irrefutable mathematical proof that black holes - as they were later dubbed - had to exist.
Chandra made his discovery while on his way to study in the greatest scientific powerhouse of the day, Trinity College, Cambridge. He assumed the community there would welcome him and his discovery with open arms. He had grown up in a free-thinking Brahmin household in Madras and had been recognised as a prodigy from an early age. He had already completed his undergraduate degree and had published several scientific papers. The daily reminders that India was under the yoke of the British Empire rankled him and science seemed a way to show that he was at least equal to the colonial masters. His uncle, CV Raman, had been the first Indian to win the Nobel prize in physics. Chandra hoped that he might win one too.
At Cambridge his hopes were dashed. Scientists there ignored his discovery. Cast down by the dank fens and dreary weather, utterly unlike the welcoming warmth of south India, he gave way to depression. But he pressed on and in 1933, completed his doctorate. He also won a fellowship to continue his work at Cambridge. Buoyed by these successes, he returned to his research on the fate of the stars. To his surprise the great Sir Arthur Stanley Eddington, doyen of the astrophysical world, took to visiting him frequently to see how he was getting on.
Eddington was at the peak of his fame as a scientist, philosopher and populiser of the science. He had made Einstein amp;apos;s general theory of relativity known to the English-speaking public and in 1919 took part in an adventurous expedition to Principe, off the west coast of Africa, to measure the deflection of starlight by the sun. It was the first verification of this extraordinary theory, which extended special relativity to include gravity, the force that shapes the cosmos. It made Eddington a household name and Einstein into an icon of the 20th century. Eddington had also, virtually singlehanded, established the field of astrophysics.
By 1930 Eddington was involved in formulating a hugely ambitious theory that would combine quantum theory (which applies to the world of atoms) and general relativity (which describes the cosmos). It was to be a theory of everything, panoramic in its sweep. Eddington saw it as the culmination of his life amp;apos;s work - his amp;quot;fundamental theory amp;quot;.
Chandra was elated with the great Eddington amp;apos;s apparent approval and particularly with his suggestion that he should announce his results at a meeting of the Royal Astronomical Society in London. He prepared his paper, but the day before the meeting, Chandra learned that Eddington was to deliver the following lecture, on the very same topic. He was puzzled, but thought no more about it.
On January 11 1935, all the leading figures in astrophysics were at the Society. Chandra delivered his paper, showing a graph that made it transparently clear that a star of above a certain mass would inevitably dwindle to nothing and beyond. Triumphantly he sat down, assuming that Eddington would support his conclusions. But to his horror Eddington, a supercilious man, instead used the full force of his famed oratorical skills to demolish the young man. Had Eddington befriended Chandra in order to destroy him?
Chandra amp;apos;s theory was mere mathematical game-playing, Eddington argued, with no basis in reality. How could something as huge as a star possibly disappear? Eddington amp;apos;s arguments were unfounded and highly dubious; but the weight of his reputation was such that no one dared disagree with him. Chandra was not even given the opportunity to reply.
The controversy rumbled on for years in papers and at scientific gatherings. When the two crossed swords in the summer of 1935, in Paris, again Chandra was no match for Eddington. Four years later, again in Paris, they had their final squaring off. With chutzpah Eddington claimed that there was no experimental test that could decide between Chandra amp;apos;s theory and one that was more to Eddington amp;apos;s liking, in which white dwarfs never completely collapsed. The famous astronomer Gerard Kuiper, an expert on white dwarfs, immediately pointed out that he had just presented evidence that supported Chandra amp;apos;s theory.
At the end of the meeting, Eddington and Chandra had a brief moment alone. amp;quot;I am sorry if I hurt you, amp;quot; Eddington said to Chandra. Chandra asked whether he had changed his mind. amp;quot;No, amp;quot; Eddington retorted. amp;quot;What are you sorry about then? amp;quot; Chandra replied and brusquely walked away.
Although they exchanged some cordial letters, issues concerning the fate of the stars were never again discussed. Chandra never unravelled the real reasons for Eddington amp;apos;s hostility. Once, when they met at Trinity, Chandra demanded to know whether if his theory was right it would demolish Eddington amp;apos;s fundamental theory. Eddington acknowledged that it would. The real reasons may have been more complex still.
Eddington died in November 1944 in a nursing home of a cancerous stomach tumour, amid the privations of wartime. It was a pitiful end. His sister, Winifred, wrote to inform a colleague of his death, beginning: amp;quot;My hands are so cold so do excuse the writing - we have to save fuel. amp;quot;
The confrontation with Eddington had a long-lasting effect both on Chandra and his discovery. For decades, no one bothered to follow up the implications of his suggestion. Chandra himself, despairing that his work would ever be taken seriously, turned to entirely different fields. He also left Cambridge, where his life and career had, he felt, been blighted by racism, and took a post at the University of Chicago, where he was to stay for the rest of his life.
There he carried out vital work first in radiative transfer (the study of how radiation moves through matter), then in hydrodynamic and hydromagnetic stabilities (the study of flow). Meanwhile, scientists working to develop the hydrogen bomb began to realise that such a bomb actually mirrored an exploding star. The same force that blew apart a supernova could be used on Earth to create an apocalyptic explosion. The breakthrough came in 1966 at the Livermore National Laboratory in California when scientists began combining the computer codes for astrophysics and hydrogen bombs. The scientific world finally acknowledged that a star really could collapse and fall into a black hole.
In 1972, the intense source of x-rays in the constellation Cygnus, called Cygnus X-1, 20,000 trillion miles away, was the first black hole to be identified. Many more have now been sighted. Thus - 40 years after his initial discovery - Chandra was finally vindicated and Eddington proven wrong. Chandra was awarded the Nobel prize in 1983 for his work on white dwarfs. But the emotional toll continued to torment him until his death in 1995.
· Arthur I Miller is the author of Empire of the Stars: Friendship, obsession and betrayal in the quest for black holes, published by Little, Brown. To buy for £17.09 inc free UK p amp;p call Guardian book service on 0870 836 0875 or go to theguardian.com/bookshop