However, measuring the distance to the Sun, or to any other planet, is much more difficult. Today I’ll explain why… and this will help us envision a way around the problem.
The Moon has a four-week cycle; it is full every four weeks (actually every 29.5 days). But ocean tides exhibit a two-week cycle; they are large one week and then smaller the next.
Specifically, as in Fig. 1 below, ocean tides are stronger (“spring tides”) around New Moon and Full Moon than they are at First Quarter Moon and Last Quarter Moon (“neap tides”). The pattern is seen, roughly at least, all around the world (though the details are not simple, as they depend on the shape of the coastline and other factors.)
Figure 1: Tides in Anchorage, Alaska, USA, during October 2023; the blue line shows how the water rises and falls about twice a day (note the vertical columns are each two days wide!) The pattern of strong and weak tides on alternate weeks is clearly visible. New Moon occurred on October 14 and Full Moon on October 28th, just before the peak tides.
What’s behind this pattern? And what does it tell us about the Sun and Moon that we wouldn’t otherwise easily know? Perhaps surprisingly, it tells us that the average mass density of the Sun — its mass divided by its volume — is only a little smaller than the average mass density of the Moon. Here’s why.
Quote: . . . the Higgs field exhibits the most inelegant of the known laws governing fields and particles. There’s an amusing tendency for those who tout beauty to ignore this, as though it were an inconvenient family member, and to focus instead on Einstein’s elegant theory of gravity. Yet even that theory has its issues.
Endnote: Einstein’s theory of gravity is amazingly elegant as long as one ignores the puzzle of “dark energy,” which would have been easier to do had it been exactly zero, and as long as gravity is a very weak force, as its weakness leads to extremely simple equations. In string theory, Einstein’s equations become much more complex, and the elegant simplicity of the math shifts to the level of the strings themselves . . . perhaps.
I’ll expound below upon the second bullet point, hoping to draw attention to general questions concerning aesthetics in theoretical physics.
More about tidal forces today (see also yesterday’s post) and the conceptual point underlying Earth’s ocean tides.
(Quote) Because gravity dwindles at greater distances, the Moon’s pull is stronger on the near side of the Earth and weaker on the far side than it is on the Earth’s center. This uneven pull stretches our planet’s oceans slightly, resulting in a small bulge of water, not much taller than a human, both on the Earth’s side facing the Moon and on the opposite side, too.
(Endnote) To explain why gravity leads to a water bulge on both sides of the Earth is too complex for a footnote, and I’d rather not repeat the most commonly heard explanations, which are misleading. One can see a hint of the cause as follows: if one drops a water balloon in constant gravity, it will fall as a sphere, whereas if it is pulled more strongly at the bottom than at the top, it will stretch into an oval as it falls.
Here I’ll explain this last observation more carefully.
[This is a tricky one… it’s easy to make confusing statements about Einstein’s theory of gravity (general relativity), and so I am especially hopeful of getting readers’ feedback on this subtle issue, to make sure what follows is 100% clear and correctly stated.]
(Quote) On Earth’s surface, we are roughly 4,000 miles from Earth’s center. But if you ascended another 22,000 miles, where you’d find the GOES weather satellites that monitor Earth’s weather patterns, you’d find your weight (but not your mass!) reduced to one-fortieth of what it is on Earth… And if you traveled out into deep space, far from any large object, you’d weigh virtually nothing. Yet all the while, your body’s mass—the difficulty I would face if I tried to speed you up or slow you down—would never change.
(Endnote) Confusingly, astronauts orbiting Earth inside nearby space stations appear to float as though weightless. From Newton’s perspective, they are not truly weightless; if they were, they’d coast, leaving the Earth’s vicinity and moving rapidly into deep space. Instead, they and their spaceship are pulled by gravity into a common orbit around the Earth. Since they travel on the same path as their container and as the camera which films them, they seem and feel weightless. (This subtle issue is turned on its head in Einstein’s view of gravity.)
Astronauts in a space station seem to float, as though they are weightless. Are they truly weightless? Or are they only apparently weightless?
The same issues arise for people in a freely falling elevator, accelerating downward with ever greater speed. They will feel weightless, too. But are they?
Newton would have said they are apparently weightless, subject to gravity but all falling together along with their vehicle. A naive (but instructive!) reading of Einstein might lead us to say that they are truly weightless… that the gravity that Newton claims is present is a pure illusion, a fictitious force. But a precise Einsteinian would say they are almost but not quite weightless — and the lack of perfect weightlessness is a clue, a smoking gun in fact, that they are indeed subject to gravity.
Additional supplementary material for the upcoming book; your comments/corrections are welcome. This entry has to do with how Newton realized that weight and mass aren’t the same thing — that the pull of Earth’s gravity depends on how far you are from the Earth’s center.
(Quote) Newton knew right away that if the force of gravity were as powerful out by the Moon as it is at Earth’s surface—if the Moon accelerated toward the Earth at the same rate that your dropped keys do—then motion and gravity would be wildly out of balance[and so the Moon would have fallen and crashed into the Earth.]
(Endnote) To avoid disaster, the Moon’s orbital speed would need to be 40 miles per second, leading it to circle Earth twice a day.
Here I’ll explain why this is true, using a little math. (If you already know something about Kepler’s laws of planetary orbits, additional relevant discussion can be found in this post from 2022.)
The press is full of excitement today at the news that anti-matter — hydrogen anti-atoms, specifically, made from positrons and anti-protons instead of electrons and protons — falls down rather than rising up. This has been shown in the ALPHA experiment at CERN. But no theoretical physicist is surprised. Today I’ll explain one of many reasons that no one in the halls of theoretical physics even blinked.
One basic point is that “anti-particle” is not a category but a relationship. We do not say “electrons are particles” and “positrons are anti-particles”, nor do we say “quarks are particles” and “anti-quarks are anti-particles.” Such statements would be inconsistent. Instead we say “quarks and anti-quarks are each others’ anti-particles.” (It’s like the term “opponent” in a football match.) That’s because some particles are their own anti-particles, including photons. If we tried to divide all the types of particles into two categories, it wouldn’t be clear where photons would go; we couldn’t say either that they are particles or that they are anti-particles.
“Anti-particle” is a relationship, exchanging electrons with positrons and leaving photons unchanged. It is not a category; there are no objects that can be said to be “antiparticles”. (If there were, would photons be particles or would they be anti-particles?)
Because of this, we can’t hope that all the types of particles separate into two groups, particles which fall and anti-particle which rise. At best, we would have to guess what would happen to particles that are their own anti-particles. Fortunately, this is easy. There is such a thing as a positronium atom, an exotic atom made from an electron and positron co-orbiting one other. A positronium atom is its own anti-particle; if we flip every particle for its anti-particle, the positronium atom’s electron and positron simply switch places. If indeed gravity pulls down on electrons and pushes up by the same amount on positrons, then gravity’s pull on a positronium atom would cancel. This atom would neither rise nor fall; it would float, feeling no net gravity.
This example would then lead us to expect that particles that are their own anti-particles will float. The logic would apply to photons; they would feel no gravity.
Electrons and quarks make up atoms and are known to fall. If the positrons and anti-quarks that make up anti-atoms were to rise instead, then positronium atoms would float. This would imply that photons float too. But experiments have shown for a century that photons fall.
This would be a consistent picture. But experimentally, it is false: photons do feel gravity. The Sun bends the path of light, a fact that made Einstein famous in 1919, and an object’s strong gravity can create a gravitational lens that completely distorts the appearances of objects behind it. Photons can even orbit black holes. So experiment would force us to accept the picture shown below, if we want positrons to rise. Unfortunately, it is logically inconsistent.
Since photons fall too, we would have to believe either that positronium floats even though photons fall, or that positrons rise even though positronium falls. Neither makes any sense either conceptually or mathematically.
The only consistent picture, then, is that everything falls. Are there any loopholes in this argument? Sure; perhaps the gravity of the Earth, made of atoms, causes electrons and quarks to fall rapidly and causes positrons and anti-quarks to rise slowly, so that positronium still falls, just more gently than ordinary atoms do. (The reverse would be true around a planet made of anti-atoms.) This gives us many more possibilities to consider, and we have to get into more complex questions of what experiment has and hasn’t excluded.
But we would still face another serious problem, because there are anti-quarks inside of protons. (One line of evidence for this is shown here.) If quarks and anti-quarks, which have the same inertial mass (the type of mass that determines how they change speed when pushed) had different gravitational mass (which determines how gravity affects them), then protons and neutrons, too, would not have equal inertial and gravitational mass. [The many gluons inside the protons and neutrons could make this even worse.] Since electrons do have equal inertial and gravitational mass, protons and neutrons would then fall at a different rate than electrons do. The consequence would be that different atoms would fall at slightly different rates. High precision experiments clearly say otherwise. This poses additional obstructions to the idea that anti-quarks (and the anti-protons and anti-neutrons that contain them) could rise in Earth’s gravity.
At best, when it comes to mass and gravity, existing experiments only allow for minor differences between atoms and anti-atoms. To look for subtle effects of any such differences is one of the real, long-term goals of the ALPHA experiment. What they’ve done so far is a neat experimental coup, but despite the headlines, it does not change our basic knowledge of anti-particles in general or of anti-atoms in particular. For that, we have a few years to wait.
Today a reader asked me “Out of the quantum fields which have mass, do any of them also have weight?” I thought other readers would be interested in my answer, so I’m putting it here. (Some of what is discussed below is covered in greater detail in my upcoming book.)
Before we start, we need to rephrase the question, because fields do not have mass.
A wormhole! What an amazing concept — a secret tunnel that connects two different regions of space! Could real ones exist? Could we — or our dogs — travel through them, and visit other galaxies billions of light years away, and come back to tell everyone all about it?
I bring up dogs because of a comment, quoted in the Guardian and elsewhere, by my friend and colleague, experimentalist Maria Spiropulu. Spiropulu is a senior author on the wormhole-related paper that has gotten so much attention in the past week, and she was explaining what it was all about.
“People come to me and they ask me, ‘Can you put your dog in the wormhole?’ So, no,” Spiropulu told reporters during a video briefing. “… That’s a huge leap.”
For this, I can’t resist teasing Spiropulu a little. She’s done many years of important work at the Large Hadron Collider and previously at the Tevatron, before taking on quantum computing and the simulation of wormholes. But, oh my! The idea that this kind of research could ever lead to a wormhole that a dog could traverse… that’s more than a huge leap of imagination. It’s a huge leap straight out of reality!
I’ve been trying to train our dog, Phoebe, to fetch a ball through a wormhole. She seems eager but nervous.
What’s the problem?
Decades ago there was a famous comedian by the name of Henny Youngman. He told the following joke — which, being no comedian myself, I will paraphrase.
I know a guy who wanted to set a mousetrap but had no cheese in his fridge. So he cut a picture of a piece of cheese from a magazine, and used that instead. Just before bed, he heard the trap snap shut, so he went to look. In the trap was a picture of a mouse.
Well, with that in mind, consider this:
Imaginary cheese can’t catch a real mouse, and an imaginary wormhole can’t transport a real dog!