Fields

What is the world made out of?  In the most usual formulations of our current best theories of physics, the answer is fields.  What are those?

Well, if you know what a function is, you're already most of the way there.  A function, you will recall, is a gadget where, for any number you input, you can get a number out as an output.  We can write f(x) where x is the number you input, and f(x) is the number you output.  The function f itself is the rule for going from one to the other, e.g.  For example f(x) = \sqrt{\sin x^2 + 1}.

Now, nothing stops you from having a function that depends on multiple numbers as input; for example the function f(x,\,y) = xy^2 + x^3y depends on two input variables, x, and y.  If there are D input numbers, then the D-dimensional space of possible combinations of input numbers is called the domain of the function.

Also nothing stops you from having the output be a set of several numbers.  In this case we would need some sort of subscript i to refer to the different possible output numbers.  For example, if we had a function with one input number x and three output numbers y, then we could write f_i(x), where i takes the values 1, 2, or 3.  Then f_i(x) would really be just a package of three different functions: f_1(x), f_2(x), and f_3(x).  So if you specify the input x, you get three output numbers (f_1, f_2, f_3).  If there are T different output numbers, the T dimensional space of possible outputs is called the target space.

Now a field is just a function whose domain is the points of spacetime.  For example, the air temperature in a room may vary from place to place, and it may also change with time.  So if you imagine checking all possible points of space in the room at all possible times, you could describe this with a temperature field T(t, x, y, z).  However, the temperature field isn't a fundamental entity that exists on its own.  It subsists in a medium (air) and describes its motion.  When the air molecules are moving around quickly in a random way, we say it's hot, and when they start to move around slower, we say it's getting chilly.  An example of a field which actually is fundamental (as far as we know) would be the electromagnetic field.  This has 6 output numbers, since the electric field can point in any of the 3 spatial directions, and the magnetic field also has 3 numbers.

For a while in the 19th century, scientists were confused about this.  They thought that electromagnetic waves had to be some sort of excitation of some sort of stuff, which they called the aether.  That's because they were assuming (based on physical intuitions filtered through Newtonian mechanics) that matter is something solid and massy, which interacts by striking or making contact with other things.  The 20th century scientific advances partly came from realizing that its okay to describe things with abstract math.  Any kind of mathematical object you write down satisfying logically consistent equations is OK, as long as it matches experiment.  So electromagnetic waves don't have to be made out of anything.  They just are, and other things are (partly) made out of them.

In our current best theory of particle physics, the Standard Model, there are a few dozen different kinds of fields, and all matter is explained as configurations of these fields.  I can't tell you exactly how many fields there are, because it depends on how you count them.  Not counting the gravitational field, there are 52 different output numbers corresponding to bosons, and 192 different output numbers corresponding to fermions (Don't worry about what these terms mean yet).  So you could say that there are 244 different fields in Nature, each with one output number.

That sounds awfully complicated.  But there's also a lot of symmetries in the Standard Model which relate these output numbers to each other.  This includes not only the Poincaré group of spacetime symmetries, but also various internal symmetries related to the dynamics of the strong, weak, and electromagnetic forces.  They are called internal because they don't move the points of spacetime around.  Instead they just mutate the different kinds of output numbers into each other.

So normally, particle physicists just package the output numbers into sets, such that the numbers in each set are related by the various kinds of symmetry.  (For example, the 6 different numbers of the electromagnetic field are related by rotations and Lorentz boosts.)  Each of these sets is called a field.  In future posts I'll give more details about the different kinds of fields.  As always, questions are welcome.

UPDATE: I forgot to include the 4 vector components of the spin-1 gauge bosons, so the numbers of degrees of freedom of the bosons were wrong before.  Note to Experts: These are the "off-shell" degrees of freedom before taking into consideration constraints or gauge symmetry.  Note to Non-Experts: the numbers in this post are just for flavor, in order to give you the sense that there are a LOT of different fields in Nature.  You won't need to understand how I got these numbers in order to enjoy future posts!

Posted in Physics | 5 Comments

Pillar of Science III: Approximate Models

Science requires Approximations.

Every kind of professional activity changes the way you think.  It rewires your brain so that even when you're off the job, things start looking a certain way.  For example, to a computer programmer everything looks like an algorithm.  To a teacher, everything is pedagogical.  As a physicist, what goes through my head every day is approximations.

Every time I think about a situation involving black holes, or prove a theorem, or do a calculation, I always have to keep in the back of my mind what kinds of physical effects I'm ignoring, not taking into account.  This habit has leaked out into my thinking about life in general.  Ideas don't have to be just true or false, instead they can be good approximations in some contexts, and bad approximations in other contexts.

(Partly related: before I started doing physics seriously, I think I had the idea in the back of my head that when I went to grad school, I'd learn how to calculate the really hard problems.  But it turns out there is no way to calculate the answers to the hard math problems.  There are only clever tricks for simplifying hard problems so that they become easy problems.  Frequently, the clever trick is finding some parameter that can be taken to be small, in order to justify some approximation.  The way this works is: first you figure out what happens if the parameter is zero, and then you calculate the tiny effects of it not quite being zero.)

It is impossible for any model of the universe to capture every feature of reality, or else it would be too complicated for human beings to analyze, or to compare to experiment, at the high level of precision demanded by science.  Consequently every scientific theory is applicable only to some limited range of phenomena.  In other words, it isolates some feature of reality which is as free as possible from contaminating influences, and which is simple enough to be either measured experimentally or calculated theoretically (ideally, one can do both, to compare the theory to the experiment).

Therefore, Science consists of a bunch of partly overlapping models which cover different patches of reality. Some of these patches are smaller, and cover very specific situations (e.g. Bernoulli's principle for fluid dynamics) and others cover a very broad range of situations (e.g. Quantum Electrodynamics, which covers everything related to electricity, chemistry, and light). None of these patches covers everything, and the two broadest patches, Quantum Field Theory and General Relativity, cannot yet be fully reconciled with one another.

One of the implications of this principle is that scientific revolutions seldom result in the complete discrediting of the old well-established theory. The reason is that if the first theory explained a significant patch of data, the new theory can only supercede the old one if it explains all the things the first one explained, and more. Usually this means that the old theory is a limiting situation or special case of the new theory. Thus the old theory is still valid, just in a smaller patch than the new theory. For example, Einstein's theory of General Relativity superceded Newton's theory of gravity, but it predicts nearly the same results as Newton in the special case that the objects being considered are travelling much slower than light, and their gravitational fields are not too strong.

Thus the empirical predictions of Newton's theory are still correct when applied in the proper domain.  However, the philosophical implications regarding the nature of space and time could hardly be more different in the two theories, because the Newtonian theory regards space and time as fixed, immutable, separate entities, while Einsteinian theory regards spacetime as a single contingent field capable of being affected by the flow of energy and momentum through the spacetime.

Philosophers who reason from scientific discoveries should take warning from this: although the empirical predictions of a theory usually survive revolution, the philosophical implications often do not.  Thus our current scientific views on such matters should be taken as somewhat provisional.  On the other hand, it would be even more foolhardy to try to discuss the philosophical nature of space, time, causality, etc. without taking into account the radical changes which Science has made to our naïve intuitions about these concepts.  Some improvement of our thinking is better than none.

Posted in Scientific Method | 6 Comments

Does your vote make a difference?

Tomorrow is election day here in the US, so I'm going to have a post about elections.  It's strictly nonpartisan—people seeking bile can look elsewhere.

People often say things like "I'm not voting because it's unlikely that one vote could make a difference".  Sometimes they sound rather cynical about it, which I find a little odd, seeing as the whole point of democracy is that no individual gets to dictatorially make all the decisions for everyone.  But let's suppose they are just trying to be practical.  Is this a rational attitude to take?

There are many possible reasons to vote, even when your vote won't make a difference.   For example, it could be urged that voting fulfils a civic duty, that casting an informed vote forces you to become educated about the issues of the day, and to come to a decision about them.  It could also be urged that there is some political responsibility being exercised by the members of the majority even when the majority is by greater than one, or a value of protest in voting for the minority position.  Presumably people who "waste" their vote on third parties, or other hopeless causes, are primarily thinking about the communicative effects of voting.

But let's leave all this aside, and just think about the sort of power that comes from exercising a vote that changes the outcome.  This only happens when 1) the votes for two options are tied, so that you cast the deciding vote, or else 2) the votes for two options differ by one, so that you can accept that result or else cause a tie (the resolution of ties depends on the election system.  If ties are resolved randomly, the final result will change half the time).  For simplicity, let's assume the election has just two options: Yes and No.

How unlikely this is depends on the number of voters V, and the odds that the election will end up tied (within one vote).  Voters don't vote randomly, instead the more popular candidate will usually receive more votes. A certain fraction x of the voters will choose to vote Yes, while 1-x will vote No.  Since we aren't certain what x will be in advance, we have to model it by a probability distribution over possible values of x.  This is a function p(x) describing the probability density of getting any particular outcome x.  (Here I'm assuming that V is large so that x can be approximated as a continous variable.  Note that because p(.5) is a probability density rather than a probability, it can be greater than 1).

The odds of your vote making a difference can now be calculated to be:

\frac{p(.5)}{V}

This is a small number.  However, how important would it be if you got lucky and your vote did make a difference?  The results of the election presumably affect a large number of people, roughly comparable to the number V of voters.  So the factors cancel out, and the expected effect of your vote does not depend on the size of V!  Instead it is proportional to p(.5), which is equal to 100 times the odds that the vote lies within the critical percentile between 49.5% and 50.5%.

Another way of putting this, is if it would be worthwhile for everyone to miss their lunch to vote, so that everyone can get (what you believe is) a political benefit, then it is worthwhile for you to vote so that maybe everyone can get the political benefit.  Here I'm assuming you are voting for altruisic reasons, to benefit everyone.  The expected selfish benefits to you personally are indeed tiny.

It might still be rational to abstain from voting if 1) the odds of the election being close are small, or 2) the expected difference in benefit from the options is small.  These factors obviously depend on the specific election, but in general one expects that important issues are at stake.  So unless the outcome is a foregone conclusion, it is indeed rational to vote because of its deciding effects.

Does that mean that, if you're a resident of a non-Swing-State like California, you shouldn't vote, because (regardless of whether you support or oppose him) we all know that the state will go to Barack Obama?  If you said that, shame on you!  Go look at the local races instead of just thinking about the Presidency.  Although the number V of voters affected by local politics is much less, the odds of you making a difference are proportionally greater.  The size cancels out, so you should regard local, state, and national races as being approximately equally important.  (Although I suppose one could argue that the President is twice as important, because he determines foreign policy as well as domestic policy.)

Posted in Politics | 3 Comments

The Ten Symmetries of Spacetime

Previously, I described the main formula of Special Relativity:

s^2 = (\Delta x)^2 + (\Delta y)^2 + (\Delta z)^2 - (\Delta t)^2.

This formula tells us the amount of distance squared between two points (if s^2 > 0) or the amount of duration squared (if s^2 < 0).  (By using some trigonometry we can also use this formula to figure out the size of angles, so this encodes everything about the geometry).  All the crazy time dilation and distance contraction effects you've probably heard about are encoded in this formula.

Today I want to talk about the symmetries of spacetime.  What I mean by a symmetry is this: a way to change the coordinates (t,\,x,\,y,\,z) of spacetime in a way that leaves the laws of physics the same.  Now I haven't told you what the laws of physics are, but the important thing is that they depend on the geometry of spacetime.  So that means that we need to check in what ways we can change the coordinates of spacetime without changing the formula for s^2.

The first kind of symmetry is called a translation.  This consists of simply shifting the coordinate system e.g. one meter to the right, or one second to the future.  This doesn't affect the formula for s^2 since it only depends on the coordinate differences \Delta t, \Delta x etc.  We can write a time translation like this:

 t^\prime = t + a,

i.e. the new time parameter t^\prime equals the old one plus some number a.  Similarly, the three possible kinds of spatial translations are:

 x^\prime = x + b; \\ y^\prime = y + c; \\ z^\prime = z + d.

By choosing the numbers a, b, c, d, arbitrarily, one obtains a four dimensional space of possible translation symmetries.

The second kind of symmetry is more complicated, but you've certainly heard of it before—it's called a rotation.  If we have two spatial coordinates, then we can rotate them by some angle \theta (measured in radians), which leaves all the distances the same.  The algebraic formula for a rotation looks like this:

x^\prime = \phantom{-}\cos (\theta) \, x + \sin (\theta) \,y; \\ y^\prime = -\sin (\theta) \,x + \cos (\theta) \,y.

That involves some trigonometry, but things look a bit simpler if we take the angle \theta to be a really tiny parameter \epsilon, and just consider the resulting infinitesimal coordinate changes \delta x \approx (x^\prime - x):

\delta x = \phantom{-}\epsilon\,y; \\ \delta y = -\epsilon\,x.

Translated into English, that says that if you rotate the y-axis of your coordinate chart a little bit towards the x-axis, you have to rotate the x-axis a little bit away from the y-axis (or vice versa if \epsilon is negative).  I'm too lazy to draw this, but if for some reason you can't visualize it, a little bit of fidgeting with any rigid flat object should convince you.

Now actually we have three different spatial coordinates: x, y, and z.  That means that you can actually rotate in 3 different ways: along the x-y plane, the y-z plane, and the z-x plane.  Of course there are other angles you can rotate at as well, but they are all just combinations of those three; in other words the space of possible rotations is 3-dimensional.

But now, what about the time direction?  It would feel terribly lonely if it were left out, and in fact it is also possible to rotate spacetime about the t-x plane, the t-y plane, and the t-z plane.  However, remember how time is not quite the same as space?  Instead, it's just like space except for a funny minus sign.  So not surprisingly, the formula for a rotation also has a funny minus sign—or rather, a funny absence of a minus sign:

\delta t = \epsilon\,x; \\ \delta x = \epsilon\,t.

So if you rotate the t-axis towards the x-axis (which corresponds to changing your coordinate system so that you are travelling at a constant speed), then the x-axis has to rotate towards the t-axis (which means that your notion of simultaneity has to change as well).  If you know how to integrate this with calculus, you can get the effects of a finite "rotation" in space (called a Lorentz boost) through an "angle" \chi:

t^\prime = \cosh (\chi) \, t + \sinh (\chi) \,x; \\ x^\prime = \sinh (\chi) \, t + \cosh (\chi) \,x.

In the above, cosh and sinh are functions similar to cosine and sine but defined using hyperbolas instead of circles.

So this rotation has some wierd properties: It describes a crazy world (ours!) in which things rotate in hyperbolas instead of circles.  That's because of the minus sign in the formula for s^2 above, which makes it so the points of equal distance (or duration) correspond to hyperbolas instead of circles.  This has some additional consequences: 1) Because hyperbolas are infinitely long, the "hyperbolic angle" \chi ranges from -\infty to +\infty, unlike circular angles which come back to where you started after you rotate through 2\pi radians.  2) Because the two axes both move towards (or both move away) from each other, when you do a really big rotation it scrunches everything up towards t = x or t = -x.  What this means is that when you accelerate objects more and more, they don't go arbitrarily fast.  Instead they just get closer and closer to the speed of light.

In conclusion, spacetime has 10 kinds of symmetry: 4 kinds of translations and 6 kinds of rotations.  The space of possible symmetries is 10 dimensional.  It is called the Poincaré group.

P.S. In this whole discussion I have ignored the possibility of reflection symmetries such as t \to -t or x \to -x.  These are also symmetries of the formula for s^2, but they are discrete rather than continuous—there's no such thing as a "small" reflection the way you can have a small rotation.  Adding these in doesn't change the fact that the Poincare group is 10 dimensional.  However, these transformations are actually NOT symmetries of Nature.  They are violated by our theory of the weak force.  The only discrete symmetry like this which is preserved by the weak force is CPT: the combination of time reflection, space reflection, and switching matter and antimatter.

Posted in Physics | 4 Comments

Pillar of Science II: Elegant Hypotheses

Scientific Theories must be Elegant.

Since there are always infinitely many different hypotheses which fit any set of data, there must be some prior beliefs which we use to decide between them.  Any hypothesis which has an excessive number of entities or postulates is unappealing, and gives rise to the suspicion that it works because of special pleading or force-fitting the data rather than because it has any deep connection with Nature.  So all else being equal, scientists prefer hypotheses which are simple, uniform, common-sensical and aesthetically pleasing.

At least part of this requirement is captured in the principle known as Occam's razor, which in the original form proposed by Occam translates to “Entities are not to be multiplied without necessity”.  Of course, one may be forced to postulate complexities if the data rules out any simpler hypothesis, but even here one must pick among the simplest of an infinite number of possible explanations for the same data.

This criterion of elegance is informed by previous scientific work as well as by a priori considerations.  It also varies from field to field: a particle physicist should be much more reluctant to postulate a new force of nature than a cellular biologist is to postulate a new kind of organelle.

Because many important scientific theories have greatly defied prior expectations, it is best not to turn these a priori expectations into hard and fast rules which would prevent too many hypotheses from being considered altogether.  Instead, scientists mainly use intuition and rules-of-thumb to judge which theories are worth considering.

There are many famous cases where the elegance of a new theory was used to predict confidently the results of an experiment.  Einstein once quipped about Planck that

...he did not really understand physics, during the eclipse of 1919 he stayed up all night to see if it would confirm the bending of light by the gravitational field [as predicted by Einstein].  If he had really understood the general theory of relativity, he would have gone to bed the way I did.

Nevertheless, ultimately the criterion of elegance is subordinate to observations.  It doesn't matter how beautiful or simple your theory is, if it gets the facts wrong.  To be sure, sometimes experiments turn out to be wrong too, especially when they go against fundamental principles of theory (like the recent supposedly faster-than-light neutrinos thing).  But if, in the long run, experimental observation can't correct our prejudices, then there's no point in doing science.   Nature may be beautiful but that doesn't mean that she (or her Creator) cares about our personal aesthetic of how things should be run.  In the greatest popularized physics lectures of all time, Feynman advises that:

Finally, there is this possibility: after I tell you something, you just can't believe it.  You can't accept it.  You don't like it.  A little screen comes down and you don't listen anymore.  I'm going to describe to you how Nature is—and if you don't like it, that's going to get in the way of your understanding it.  It's a problem that physicists have learned to deal with: They've learned to realize that whether they like a theory or they don't like a theory is not the essential question.  Rather, it is whether or not the theory gives predictions that agree with experiment.  It is not a question of whether a theory is philosophically delightful, or easy to understand, or perfectly reasonable from the perspective of common sense.  The theory of quantum electrodynamics describes Nature as absurd from the point of view of common sense.  And it agrees fully with experiment.  So I hope you can accept Nature as She is—absurd.

I'm going to have fun telling you about this absurdity, because I find it delightful.  Please don't turn yourself off because you can't believe Nature is so strange.  Just hear me all out, and I hope you will be as delighted as I am when we're through.

Excellent advice for anyone who wants to see the world scientifically.  Perhaps you can already see some implications for religious views, but we'll go into that some other time.

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