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Einstein thought nature would protect us from the formation of black holes. To the contrary, nature makes them in abundance. When a dying star is heavy enough, gravity overcomes matter’s intrinsic resistance and the star collapses catastrophically. The event horizon is left behind as an archaeological record while the stellar material continues to fall inward to an unknown fate. In our own Milky Way galaxy there could be billions of black holes.
Supermassive black holes, millions or even billions of times the mass of the sun, anchor the centers of nearly all galaxies, though nobody yet knows how they formed or got so heavy. Maybe they formed from dead stars that merged and escalated in size, or maybe they directly collapsed out of more primordial material in a younger universe. However they formed, there are as many supermassive black holes as there are galaxies — hundreds of billions in the observable universe.
We had never seen a black hole before today. No telescope had ever taken a picture of one. We have indirectly inferred the presence of
black holes when they’ve cannibalized companion stars, powered energetic jets in twisted magnetic fields, and captured stars in their orbit. We have even heard black holes collide and merge, ringing space-time like mallets on a drum.
We had never taken a direct picture of a black hole before because black holes are tiny, despite their dramatic reputation as weapons of mayhem and destruction (yes, the Nova film I hosted was called “Black Hole Apocalypse”). A black hole the mass of the sun would have an event horizon a mere 6 kilometers across.
Compare that to the 1.4-million-kilometer breadth of the sun itself. The supermassive black hole at the center of the Milky Way, dubbed Sagittarius A*, is 4 million times the mass of the sun but only about 17 times wider.
Consider the challenge of
capturing a portrait of an entirely dark object only 17 times the width of an ordinary star at a distance of 26,000 light-years. Resolving an image of Sagittarius A* is comparable to resolving the image of a piece of fruit on the moon.
To resolve such a miniscule image requires a telescope the size of the entire Earth. Since those days in that chalk-dusted classroom at MIT, my funny, utterly unconventional friend has been determined to capture the image of a supermassive black hole all the same.
During our years in graduate school, Shep’s hair was an allegory for his mind — wild and spirited. I admired the freedom I sensed in the way he thought, always forging unexpected connections, sometimes at the expense of the required lesson. His shocked eyes would warn me that a crazy idea had struck him just at that precise moment, as though he was as surprised as I was by the thought.
The Event Horizon Telescope is a testament to bold ideas, as well as scientific ingenuity and collaboration. Exploiting large radio telescopes around the globe — relying on the newest, most sophisticated observatories and reviving some that were nearly defunct — EHT became a composite telescope the size of the Earth. As the planet spins and orbits, the target black holes rise into the field of view of component telescopes around the planet. To render a precise image, the telescopes need to operate as one, which involves sensitive time corrections so that one global eye looks toward the black hole.