Of Particular Significance

Now that you’ve discovered Kepler’s third law — that T, the orbital time of a planet in Earth years, and R, the radius of the planet’s orbit relative to the Earth-Sun distance, are related by

  • R3=T2

the question naturally arises: where does this wondrous regularity comes from?

We have been assuming that planets travel on near-circular orbits, and we’ll continue with that assumption to see what we can learn from it. So let’s look in more detail at what happens when any object, not just a planet, travels in a circle at a constant speed.

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Picture of POSTED BY Matt Strassler

POSTED BY Matt Strassler

ON April 11, 2022

Based on some questions I received about yesterday’s post, I thought I’d add some additional comments this morning.

A natural and persistent question has been: “How likely do you think it is that this W boson mass result is wrong?” Obviously I can’t put a number on it, but I’d say the chance that it’s wrong is substantial. Why? This measurement, which took several many years of work, is probably among the most difficult ever performed in particle physics. Only first-rate physicists with complete dedication to the task could attempt it, carry it out, convince their many colleagues on the CDF experiment that they’d done it right, and get it through external peer review into Science magazine. But even first-rate physicists can get a measurement like this one wrong. The tiniest of subtle mistakes will undo it.

And that mistake, if there is one, might not even be their own, in a sense. Any measurement like this has to rely on other measurements, on simulation software, and on calculations involving other processes, and even though they’ve all been checked, perhaps they need to be rechecked.

Another question about the new measurement is that it seems inconsistent not only with the Standard Model but also with previous, less precise measurements by other experiments, which were closer to the Standard Model’s result. (It is even inconsistent with CDF’s own previous measurement.) That’s true, and you can see some evidence in the plot in yesterday’s post. But

  • it could be that one or more of the previous measurements has an error;
  • there is a known risk of unconscious experimental bias that tends to push results toward the Standard Model (i.e. if the result doesn’t match your expectation, you check everything again and tweak it and then stop when it better matches your expectation. Performing double-blinded experiments, as this one was, helps mitigate this risk, but it doesn’t entirely eliminate it.);
  • CDF has revised their old measurement slightly upward to account for things they learned while performing this new one, so their internal inconsistency is less than it appears, and
  • even if the truth lies between this new measurement and the old ones, that would still leave a big discrepancy with the Standard Model, and the implication for science would be much the same.

I’ve heard some cynicism: “Is this just an old experiment trying to make a name for itself and get headlines?” Don’t be absurd. No one seeking publicity would go through the hell of working on one project for several years, running down every loose end multiple times and checking it twice and cross-checking it three times, spending every living hour asking oneself “what did I forget to check?”, all while knowing that in the end one’s reputation will be at stake when the final result hits the international press. There would be far easier ways to grab headlines if that were the goal.

Someone wisely asked about the Z boson mass; can one study it as well? This is a great question, because it goes to the heart of how the Standard Model is checked for consistency. The answer is “no.” Really, when we say that “the W mass is too large,” what we mean (roughly) is that “the ratio of the W mass to the Z mass is too large.” One way to view it (not exactly right) is that certain extremely precise measurements have to be taken as inputs to the Standard Model, and once that is done, the Standard Model can be used to make predictions of other precise measurements. Because of the precision with which the Z boson mass can be measured (to 2 MeV, two parts in 100,000), it is effectively taken as an input to the Standard Model, and so we can’t then compare it against a prediction. (The Z boson mass measurement is much easier, because a Z boson can decay (for example) to an electron and a positron, which can both be observed directly. Meanwhile a W boson can only decay (for example) to an electron and a neutrino, but a neutrino can only be inferred indirectly, making determination of its energy and momentum much less precise.)

In fact, one of the ways that the experimenters at CDF who carried out this measurement checked their methods is that they remeasured the Z boson mass too, and it came out to agree with other, even more precise measurements. They’d never have convinced themselves, or any of us, that they could get the W boson mass right if the Z boson mass measurement was off. So we can even interpret the CDF result as a measurement of the ratio of the W boson mass to the Z boson mass.

One last thing for today: once you have measured the Z boson mass and a few other things precisely, it is the consistency of the top quark mass, the Higgs boson mass and the W boson mass that provide one of the key tests of the Standard Model. Because of this, my headline from yesterday (“The W Boson isn’t Behaving”) is somewhat misleading. The cause of the discrepancy may not involve the W boson at all. The issue might turn out to be a new effect on the Z boson, for instance, or perhaps even the top quark. Working that out is the purview of theoretical physicists, who have to understand the complex interplay between the various precise measurements of masses and interactions of the Standard Model’s particles, and the many direct (and so far futile) searches for unknown types of particles that could potentially shift those masses and interactions. This isn’t easy, and there are lots of possibilities to consider, so there’s a lot of work yet to be done.

Picture of POSTED BY Matt Strassler

POSTED BY Matt Strassler

ON April 8, 2022

The mass of the W boson, one of the fundamental particles within the Standard Model of particle physics, is apparently not what the Higgs boson, top quark, and the rest of the Standard Model say it should be.  Such is the claim from the CDF experiment, from the long-ago-closed but not forgotten Tevatron.  Analysis of their old data, carried out with extreme care, and including both more data and improved techniques, calibrations, and modeling, has led to the conclusion that the W boson mass is off by 1/10 of one percent (by about 80 MeV/c2 out of about 80,400 MeV/c2).  That may not sound like much, but it’s seven times larger than what is believed to be the accuracy of the theoretical calculation.

  • New CDF Result: 80,443.5 ± 9.4 MeV/c2
  • SM Calculation: 80,357± 4 [inputs]± 4[theory] MeV/c2
The new measurement of the W mass and its uncertainty (bottom point) versus previous ones, and the current Standard Model prediction (grey band.)

What could cause this discrepancy of 7 standard deviations (7 “sigma”), far above the criteria for a discovery?  Unfortunately we must always consider the possibility of an error.  But let’s set that aside for today.  (And we should expect the experiments at the Large Hadron Collider to weigh in over time with their own better measurements, not quite as good as this one but still good enough to test its plausibility.) 

A shift in the W boson mass could occur through a wide variety of possible effects.  If you add new fields (and their particles) to the Standard Model, the interactions between the Standard Model particles and the new fields will induce small indirect effects, including tiny shifts in the various masses.  That, in turn, will cause the relation between the W boson mass, top quark mass, and Higgs boson mass to come into conflict with what the Standard Model predicts. So there are lots of possibilities. Many of these possible new particles would have been seen already at the Large Hadron Collider, or affected other experiments, and so are ruled out. But this is clearly not true in all cases, especially if one is conservative in interpreting the new result. Theorists will be busy even now trying to figure out which possibilities are still allowed.

It will be quite some time before the experimental and theoretical dust settles.  The implications are not yet obvious and they depend on the degree to which we trust the details.  Even if this discrepancy is real, it still might be quite a bit smaller than CDF’s result implies, due to statistical flukes or small errors.  [After all, if someone tells you they find a 7 sigma deviation from expectation, that would be statistically compatible with the truth being only a 4 or 5 sigma deviation.] I expect many papers over the coming days and weeks trying to make sense of not only this deviation but one or more of the other ones that are hanging about (such as this one.)

Clearly this will require follow-up posts.

Note added: To give you a sense of just how difficult this measurement is, please see this discussion by someone who knows much more about the nitty-gritty than a theorist like me ever could.

Picture of POSTED BY Matt Strassler

POSTED BY Matt Strassler

ON April 7, 2022

Kepler’s third law is so simple to state that (as shown last time) it is something that any grade school kid, armed with Copernicus’s data and a calculator, can verify. Yet it was 75 years from Copernicus’s publication til Kepler discovered this formula! Why did it take Kepler until 1618, nearly 50 years of age, to recognize such a simple relationship? Were people just dumber than high-school students back then?

Here’s a clue. We take all sorts of math for granted that didn’t exist four hundred years ago, and calculations which take an instant now could easily take an hour or even all day. (Imagine computing the cube root of 4972.64 to part-per-million accuracy by hand.) In particular, one thing that did not exist in Copernicus’ time, and not even through much of Kepler’s, was the modern notion of a logarithm.

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Picture of POSTED BY Matt Strassler

POSTED BY Matt Strassler

ON April 7, 2022

In recent posts (here and here), I showed you methods that anyone can use for estimating the planets’ distances from the Sun; it just takes high-school trigonometry. And even more recently I showed how, using just algebra, you can easily obtain the planets’ orbital periods from their cycles as we see them from Earth, starting with one solar conjunction and ending at the next.

Much of this work was done by Nicolai Copernicus himself, the most famous of those philosophers who argued for a Sun-centered universe rather than an Earth-centered universe during the millennia before modern science. He had all the ingredients we have, minus knowledge of Uranus and Neptune, and minus the clues we obtain from telescopes, which would have confirmed he was correct.

Copernicus knew, therefore, that although the planetary distances from the Sun and their cycles in the sky (which astrologers [not astronomers] have focused on for centuries) don’t seem to be related, the distances and their orbital times around the Sun are much more closely related. That’s what we saw in the last post.

Let me put these distances and times, relative to the Earth-Sun distance and the Earth year, onto a two-dimensional plot. [Here the labels are for Mercury (Me), Venus (V), Mars (Ma), Jupiter (J), Saturn (S), Uranus (U) and Neptune (N).] The first figure shows the planets out to Saturn (the ones known to Copernicus).

Figure 1: The planets’ distances from the Sun (in units of the Earth-Sun distance) versus the time it takes them to complete an orbit (in Earth-years). Shown are the planets known since antiquity: Mercury (Me), Venus (V), Mars (M), Jupiter (J) and Saturn (S).

The second shows them out to Neptune, though it bunches up the inner planets to the point that you can’t really see them well.

Figure 2: Same as Figure 1, but now showing Uranus (U) and Neptune (N) as well.

You can see the planets all lie along a curve that steadily bends down and to the right.

Copernicus knew all of the numbers that go into Figure 1, with pretty moderate precision. But there’s something he didn’t recognize, which becomes obvious if we use the right trick. In the last post, we sometimes used a logarithmic axis to look at the distances and the times. Now let’s replot Figure 2 using a logarithmic axis for both the distances and the times.

Figure 3: Same as Figure 2, but now with both axes in logarithmic form.

Oh wow. (I’m sure that’s the equivalent of what Kepler said in 1618, when he first painstakingly calculated the equivalent of this plot.)

It looks like a straight line. Is it as straight as it looks?

Figure 4: Same as Figure 3, but with a blue line added to show how well a straight line describes the distance/time relationship of the planets, and with a grid added that passes through 1, 10, 100, 1000 Earth-years and distances equal to 1, 10, 100 Earth-Sun distances.

And now we see three truly remarkable things about this graph:

  • First, the planet’s distances to the Sun and orbital times lie on a very straight line on a logarithmic plot.
  • Second, the slope of the line is 2/3 (2 grid steps up for every 3 steps right) rather than, say, 7.248193 .
  • Third, the line goes right through the point (1,1), where the first horizontal and first vertical lines cross.

What do they mean?

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Picture of POSTED BY Matt Strassler

POSTED BY Matt Strassler

ON April 5, 2022

Whether you’re a die-hard who insists on measuring the distances between the planets and the Sun yourself (which I’ve shown you how to do here and here), or you are willing to accept what other people tell you about them, it’s interesting to look at the pattern among these distances. They are shown at right, starting with the smallest — Mercury (Me) — and proceeding to Venus (V), Mars (Ma), Jupiter (J), Saturn (S), Uranus (U) and Neptune (N), nearly 100 times further out than Mercury. The inner planets up to Mars are very close together, all bunched within 1.5 times the Earth-Sun distance, whereas the outer planets are much further apart.

Figure 1: (Left) the planet-Sun distances relative to the Earth-Sun distance; (Right) the time between solar conjunctions, when the planet disappears (roughly) behind the Sun from Earth’s perspective; “>” indicates the planet moves into the morning sky (east) after conjunction, whereas “<” means it moves into the evening sky (west).

Also shown in the figure are the lengths of the planet’s cycles. Remember, a cycle starts when a planet reappears from behind the Sun and ends when a planet again disappears behind the Sun… the moment of “solar conjunction,” or just “conjunction” for short in this post. Some planets have short cycles, others have long ones. Interestingly, now it is the outer planets that all bunch up together, with their cycles just a bit longer than an Earth year, whereas Mercury, Venus and Mars have wildly different cycles ranging from a third of an Earth-year to two Earth-years. In the figure I’m also keeping track of something that I didn’t mention before. As their cycles begin, Mercury and Venus initially move into the evening sky, in the west, setting just after sunset. I’ve indicated that with a “<” Meanwhile Mars, Jupiter and Saturn move into the eastern morning sky, rising just before sunrise, as indicated with a “>”. (Mars, Jupiter and Saturn just reappeared from behind the Sun this winter; that’s why they’re all in the morning sky right now.) This difference is going to prove important in a moment.

Before going on, let me make another version of the same figure, easier to read. This involves making a “logarithmic plot”. Instead of showing the step from 1 to 2 as the same as the step from 0 to 1, as we usually do, we replot the information so that the step along the axis from 1 to 10 is the same as the step from 0.1 to 1. It’s gives exactly the same information as the Figure 1, but now the planet-Sun distances don’t bunch up as much.

Orbits Vs. Cycles

Figure 2: exactly the same as Figure 1, but with the vertical axis in “log-plot” form.

Now, the cycles from one solar conjunction to the next, long beloved of astrologers, are not beloved of astronomers, because they involve a combination of two physically unrelated motions. A solar conjunction happens when a planet disappears behind the Sun from Earth’s perspective, so the time between one conjunction and the next combines:

  • the orbital motion of the planet around the Sun;
  • the yearly rotation of the line between the Sun and the Earth. (So far, we haven’t found evidence as to whether the Sun moves around the Earth or the Earth moves around the Sun — and we’ll remain agnostic about that today.)

So what astronomers want to know is the orbital period of each planet — it’s own year. That is, how long does it takes each planet to orbit the Sun, from the planet’s perspective, or from the Sun’s perspective. This is the time that an observer on the Sun would see for the planet to complete a circle relative to the fixed stars, and vice versa. (Remember we gathered evidence that the stars are fixed, or extremely slowly drifting from the perspective of the Earth, using a gyroscope, whereas either or both the Sun or the Earth are rotating relative to one another by about one degree per day. We also know the stars are much further than the Sun from our two measurements of the Moon’s radius.)

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Picture of POSTED BY Matt Strassler

POSTED BY Matt Strassler

ON March 31, 2022

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