Science, culture, complexity

Tag: weak nuclear force

  • Is the Higgs boson doing its job?

    At the heart of particle physics lies the Standard Model, a theory that has stood for nearly half a century as the best description of the subatomic realm. It tells us what particles exist, how they interact, and why the universe is stable at the smallest scales. The Standard Model has correctly predicted the outcomes of several experiments testing the limits of particle physics. Even then, however, physicists know that it’s incomplete: it can’t explain dark matter, why matter dominates over antimatter, and why the force of gravity is so weak compared to the other forces. To settle these mysteries, physicists have been conducting very detailed tests of the Model, each of which has either tightened their confidence in a hypothetical explanation or has revealed a new piece of the puzzle.

    A central character in this story is a subatomic particle called the W boson — the carrier of the weak nuclear force. Without it, the Sun wouldn’t shine because particle interactions involving the weak force are necessary for nuclear fusion to proceed. W bosons are also unusual among force carriers: unlike photons (the particles of light), they’re massive, about 80-times heavier than a proton. This mass difference — of a massless photon and a massive W boson — arises due to a process called the Higgs mechanism. Physicists first proposed this mechanism in 1964 and confirmed it was real when they found the Higgs boson particle at the Large Hadron Collider (LHC) in 2012.

    The particles of the Standard Model of particle physics. The W bosons are shown among the force-carrier particles on the right. The photon is denoted γ. The electron (e) and muon (µ) are shown among the leptons on the right. The corresponding neutrino flavours are showing on the bottom row, denoted ν. Credit: Daniel Dominguez/CERN

    But finding the Higgs particle was only the beginning. To prove that the Higgs mechanism really works the way the theory says, physicists need to check its predictions in detail. One of the sharpest tests involves how W bosons scatter off each other at high energies. The key to achieving this is the W boson’s polarisation states. Both photons and W bosons have a property called quantum spin, but whereas for photons its value is zero, for W bosons its non-zero. The spin also has a direction. If it points sideways, the W boson is said to be transverse polarised; if it’s pointing along the particle’s direction of travel, the W boson is said to be longitudinally polarised. The longitudinal ones are special because their behaviour is directly tied to the Higgs mechanism.

    Specifically, if the Higgs mechanism and the Higgs boson don’t exist, calculations involving the longitudinal W bosons scattering off of each other quickly give rise to nonsensical mathematical results in the theory. The Higgs boson acts like a regulator in this engine, preventing the mathematics from ‘blowing up’. In fact, in the 1970s, the theoretical physicists Benjamin Lee, Chris Quigg, and Hugh Thacker showed that without the Higgs boson, the weak force would become uncontrollably powerful at high energies, leading to the breakdown of the theory. Their work was an important theoretical pillar that justified building the colossal LHC machine to search for the Higgs boson particle.

    The terms Higgs boson, Higgs field, and Higgs mechanism describe related but distinct ideas. The Higgs field is a kind of invisible medium thought to fill all of space. Particles like W bosons and Z bosons interact with this field as they move and through that interaction they acquire mass. This is the Higgs mechanism: the process by which particles that would otherwise be massless become heavy.

    The Higgs boson is different: it’s a particle that represents a vibration or a ripple in the Higgs field, just as a photon is a ripple in the electromagnetic field. Its discovery in 2012 confirmed that the field is real and not just something that appears in the mathematics of the theory. But discovery alone doesn’t prove the mechanism is doing everything the theory demands. To test that, physicists need to look at situations where the Higgs boson’s balancing role is crucial.

    The scattering of longitudinally polarised W bosons is a good example. Without the Higgs boson, the probabilities of the scatterings occurring uncontrollably at higher energy, but with the Higgs boson in the picture, they stay within sensible bounds. Observing longitudinally polarised W bosons behaving as predicted is thus evidence for the particle as well as a check on the field and the mechanism behind it.

    Imagine a roller-coaster without brakes. As it goes faster and faster, there’s nothing to stop it from flying off the tracks. The Higgs mechanism is like the braking system that keeps the ride safe. Observing longitudinally polarised W bosons in the right proportions is equivalent to checking that the brakes actually work when the roller-coaster speeds up.

    Credit: Skyler Gerald

    Another path that physicists once considered and that didn’t involve a Higgs boson at all was called technicolor theory. Instead of a single kind of Higgs boson giving the W bosons their mass, technicolor proposed a brand-new force. Just as the strong nuclear force binds quarks into protons and neutrons, the hypothetical technicolor force would bind new “technifermion” particles into composite states. These bound states would mimic the Higgs boson’s job of giving particles mass, while producing their own new signals in high-energy collisions.

    The crucial test to check whether some given signals are due to the Higgs boson or due to technicolor lies in the behaviour of longitudinally polarised W bosons. In the Standard Model, their scattering is kept under control by the Higgs boson’s balancing act. In technicolor, by contrast, there is no Higgs boson to cancel the runaway growth. The probability of the scattering of longitudinally polarised W bosons would therefore rise sharply with more energy, often leaving clearly excessive signals in the data.

    Thus, observing longitudinally polarised W bosons at consistent with the predictions of the Standard Model, and not finding any additional signals, would also strengthen the case for the Higgs mechanism and weaken that for technicolor and other “Higgs-less” theories.

    At the Large Hadron Collider, the cleanest way to study look for such W bosons is in a phenomenon called vector boson scattering (VBS). In VBS, two protons collide and the quarks inside them emit W bosons. These W bosons then scatter off each other before decaying into lighter particles. The leftover quarks form narrow sprays of particles, or ‘jets’, that fly far forward.

    If the two W bosons happen to have the same electric charge — i.e. both positive or both negative — the process is even more distinctive. This same-sign WW scattering is quite rare and that’s an advantage because then it’s easy to spot in the debris of particle collisions.

    Both ATLAS and CMS, the two giant detectors at the LHC, had previously observed same-sign WW scattering without breaking down the polarisation. In 2021, the CMS detector reported the first hint of longitudinal polarisation but at a statistical significance only of 2.3 sigma, which isn’t good enough (particle physicists prefer at least 3 sigma). So after the LHC completed its second run in 2018, collecting data from around 10 quadrillion collisions between protons, the ATLAS collaboration set out to analyse it and deliver the evidence. This group’s study was published in Physical Review Letters on September 10.

    The layout of the Large Hadron Collider complex at CERN. Protons (p) are pre-accelerated to higher energies in steps — at the Proton Synchrotron (PS) and then the Super Proton Synchrotron (SPS) — before being injected into the the LHC ring. The machine then draws two opposing beams of protons from the SPS and accelerates them to nearly the speed of light before colliding them head-on at four locations, under the gaze of the four detectors. ATLAS and CMS are two of them. Credit: Arpad Horvath (CC BY-SA)

    The challenge of finding longitudinally polarised W bosons is like finding a particular needle in a very large haystack where most of the needles look nearly identical. So ATLAS designed a special strategy.

    When one W boson decays, the result is one electron or muon and one neutrino. If the W boson is positively charged, for example, the decay could be to one anti-electron and one electron-neutrino or to one anti-muon and a muon-neutrino. Anti-electrons and anti-muons are positively charged. If the W boson is negatively charged, the products could one electron and one electron-antineutrino or one muon and one muon-antineutrino. So first, ATLAS zeroed in on the fact that it was looking for two electrons, two muons, or one of each, both carrying the same electric charge. Neutrinos however are really hard to catch and study, so the ATLAS group look for their absence rather than their presence. In all these particle interactions, the law of conservation of momentum holds — which means in a given interaction, a neutrino’s presence can be elucidated when the momenta of the electrons or muons add up to be slightly lower than that of the W boson; the missing amount would have been carried away by the neutrino, like money unaccounted for in a ledger.

    This analysis also required an event of interest to have at least two jets (reconstructed from streams of particles) with a combined energy above 500 GeV and separated widely in rapidity (which is a measure of their angle relative to the beam). This particular VBS pattern — two electrons/muons, two jets, and missing momentum — is the hallmark of same-sign WW scattering.

    Second, even with these strict requirements, impostors creep in. The biggest source of confusion is WZ production, a process in which another subatomic particle called the Z boson decays invisibly or one of its decay products goes unnoticed, making the event resemble WW scattering. Other sources include electrons having their charges mismeasured, jets can masquerading as electrons/muons, and some quarks producing electrons/muons that slip into the sample. To control for all this noise, the ATLAS group focused on control regions: subsets of events that produced a distinct kind of noise that the group could cleanly ‘subtract’ from the data to reveal same-sign WW scattering, thus also reducing uncertainty in the final results.

    Third, and this is where things get nuanced: the differences between transverse and longitudinally polarised W bosons show up in distributions — i.e. how far apart the electrons/muons are in angle, how the jets are oriented, and the energy of the system. But since no single variable could tell the whole story, the ATLAS group combined them using deep neural networks. These machine-learning models were fed up to 20 kinematic variables — including jet separations, particle angles, and missing momentum patterns — and trained to distinguish between three groups:

    (i) Two transverse polarised W bosons;

    (ii) One transverse polarised W boson and one longitudinally polarised W boson; and

    (iii) Both longitudinally polarised W bosons

    Fourth, the group combined the outputs of these neural networks and fit with a maximum likelihood method. When physicists make measurements, they often don’t directly see what they’re measuring. Instead, they see data points that could have come from different possible scenarios. A likelihood is a number that tells them how probable the data is in a given scenario. If a model says events should look like this,” they can ask: “Given my actual data, how likely is that?” And the maximum likelihood method will help them decide the parameters that make the given data most likely to occur.

    For example, say you toss a coin 100 times and get 62 heads. You wonder: is the coin fair or biased? If it’s fair, the chance of exactly 62 heads is small. If the coin is slightly biased (heads with probability 0.62), the chance of 62 heads is higher. The maximum likelihood estimate is to pick the bias, or probability of heads, that makes your actual result most probable. So here the method would say, “The coin’s bias is 0.62” — because this choice maximises the likelihood of seeing 62 heads out of 100.

    In their analysis, the ATLAS group used the maximum likelihood method to check with the LHC data ‘preferred’ a contribution from longitudinal scattering, after subtracting what background noise and transverse-only scattering could explain.

    The results are a milestone in experimental particle physics. In the September 10 paper, ATLAS reported evidence for longitudinally polarised W bosons in same-sign WW scattering with a significance of 3.3 sigma — sufficiently close to 4, which is the calculated significance based on the predictions of the Standard Model. This means the data behaved as theory predicted, with no unexpected excess or deficit.

    It’s also bad news for technicolor theory. By observing longitudinal W bosons at exactly the rates predicted by the Standard Model, and not finding any additional signals, the ATLAS data strengthens the case for the Higgs mechanism providing the check on the W bosons’ scattering probability, rather than the technicolor force.

    The measured cross-section for events with at least one longitudinally polarised W boson was 0.88femtobarns, with an uncertainty of 0.3 femtobarns. These figures essentially mean that there were only a few hundred same-sign WW scattering events in the full dataset of around 10 quadrillion proton-proton collisions. The fact that ATLAS could pull this signal out of such a background-heavy environment is a testament to the power of modern machine learning working with advanced statistical methods.

    The group was also able to quantify the composition of signals. Among others:

    1. About 58% of events were genuine WW scattering
    2. Roughly 16% were from WZ production
    3. Around 18% arose from irrelevant electrons/muons, charge misidentification or the decay of energetic photons

    One way to appreciate the importance of these findings is by analogy: imagine trying to hear a faint melody being played by a single violin in the middle of a roaring orchestra. The violin is the longitudinal signal; the orchestra is the flood of background noise. The neural networks are like sophisticated microphones and filters, tuned to pick out the violin’s specific tone. The fact that ATLAS couldn’t only hear it but also measured its volume to match the score written by the Standard Model is remarkable.

    Perhaps in the same vein, these results are more than just another tick mark for the Standard Model. It’s a direct test of the Higgs mechanism in action. The discovery of the Higgs boson particle in 2012 was groundbreaking but proving that the Higgs mechanism performs its theoretical role requires demonstrating that it regulates the scattering of W bosons. By finding evidence for longitudinally polarised W bosons at the expected rate, ATLAS has done just that.

    The results also set the stage for the future. The LHC is currently being upgraded to a form called the High-Luminosity LHC and it will begin operating later this decade, collect datasets about 10x larger than what the LHC did in its second run. With that much more data, physicists will be able to study differential distributions, i.e. how the rate of longitudinal scattering varies with energy, angle or jet separation. These patterns are sensitive to hitherto unknown particles and forces, such as additional Higgs-like particles or modifications to the Higgs mechanism itself. That is, even small deviations from the Standard Model’s predictions could hint at new frontiers in particle physics.

    Indeed, history has often reminded physicists that such precision studies often uncover surprises. Physicists didn’t discover neutrino oscillations by finding a new particle but by noticing that the number of neutrinos arriving from the Sun at detectors on Earth didn’t match expectations. Similarly, minuscule mismatches between theory and observations in the scattering of W bosons could someday reveal new physics — and if they do, the seeds will have been planted by studies like that of the ATLAS group.

    On the methodological front, the analysis also showcases how particle physics is evolving. ‘Classical’ analyses once banked on tracking single variables; now, deep learning has played a starring role by combining many variables into a single discriminant, allowing ATLAS to pull the faint signal of longitudinally polarised W bosons from the noise. This approach could only become more important as both datasets and physicists’ ambitions expand.

    Perhaps the broadest lesson in all this is that science often advances by the unglamorous task of verifying the details. The discovery of the Higgs boson answered one question but opened many others; among them, measuring how it affects the scattering of W bosons is one of the ore direct ways to probe whether the Standard Model is complete or just the first chapter of a longer story. Either way, the pursuit exemplifies the spirit of checking, rechecking, testing, and probing until scientists truly understand how nature works at extreme precision.

    Featured image: The massive mural of the ATLAS detector at CERN painted by artist Josef Kristofoletti. The mural is located at the ATLAS Experiment site and shows on two perpendicular walls the detector with a collision event superimposed. The event on the large wall shows a simulation of an event that would be recorded in ATLAS if a Higgs boson was produced. The cavern of the ATLAS Experiment with the detector is 100 m directly below the mural. The height of the mural is about 12 m. The actual ATLAS detector is more than twice as big. Credit: Claudia Marcelloni, Michael Barnett/CERN.

  • Scientists make video of molecule rotating

    A research group in Germany has captured images of what a rotating molecule looks like. This is a significant feat because it is very difficult to observe individual atoms and molecules, which are very small as well as very fragile. Scientists often have to employ ingenious techniques that can probe their small scale but without destroying them in the act of doing so.

    The researchers studied carbonyl sulphide (OCS) molecules, which has a cylindrical shape. To perform their feat, they went through three steps. First, the researchers precisely calibrated two laser pulses and fired them repeatedly – ~26.3 billion times per second – at the molecules to set them spinning.

    Next, they shot a third laser at the molecules. The purpose of this laser was to excite the valence electrons forming the chemical bonds between the O, C and S atoms. These electrons absorb energy from the laser’s photons, become excited and quit the bonds. This leaves the positively charged atoms close to each other. Since like charges repel, the atoms vigorously push themselves apart and break the molecule up. This process is called a Coulomb explosion.

    At the moment of disintegration, an instrument called a velocity map imaging (VMI) spectrometer records the orientation and direction of motion of the oxygen atom’s positive charge in space. Scientists can work backwards from this reading to determine how the molecule might have been oriented just before it broke up.

    In the third step, the researchers restart the experiment with another set of OCS molecules.

    By going through these steps repeatedly, they were able to capture 651 photos of the OCS molecule in different stages of its rotation.

    These images cannot be interpreted in a straightforward way – the way we interpret images of, say, a rotating ball.

    This is because a ball, even though it is composed of millions of molecules, has enough mass for the force of gravity to dominate proceedings. So scientists can understand why a ball rotates the way it does using just the laws of classical mechanics.

    But at the level of individual atoms and molecules, gravity becomes negligibly weak whereas the other three fundamental forces – including the electromagnetic force – become more prominent. To understand the interactions between these forces and the particles, scientists use the rules of quantum mechanics.

    This is why the images of the rotating molecules look like this:

    Steps of the molecule’s rotation. Credit: DESY, Evangelos Karamatskos

    These are images of the OCS molecule as deduced by the VMI spectrometer. Based on them, the researchers were also able to determine how long the molecule took to make one full rotation.

    As a spinning ball drifts around on the floor, we can tell exactly where it is and how fast it is spinning. However, when studying particles, quantum mechanics prohibits observers from knowing these two things with the same precision at the same time. You probably know this better as Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle.

    So if you have a fix on where the molecule is, that measurement prohibits you from knowing exactly how fast it is spinning. Confronted with this dilemma, scientists used the data obtained by the VMI spectrometer together with the rules of quantum mechanics to calculate the probability that the molecule’s O, C and S atoms were arranged a certain way at a given point of time.

    The images above visualise these probabilities as a colour-coded map. With the position of the central atom (presumably C) fixed, the probability of finding the other two atoms at a certain position is represented on a blue-red scale. The redder a pixel is, the higher the probability of finding an atom there.

    Rotational clock depicting the molecular movie of the observed quantum dynamics of OCS. Credit: doi.org/10.1038/s41467-019-11122-y

    For example, consider the images at 12 o’clock and 6 o’clock: the OCS molecule is clearly oriented horizontally and vertically, resp. Compare this to the measurement corresponding to the image at 9 o’clock: the molecule appears to exist in two configurations at the same time. This is because, approximately speaking, there is a 50% probability that it is oriented from bottom-left to top-right and a 50% probability that it is oriented from bottom-right to top-left. The 10 o’clock figure represents the probabilities split four different ways. The ones at 4 o’clock and 8 o’clock are even more messy.

    But despite the messiness, the researchers found that the image corresponding to 12 o’clock repeated itself once every 82 picoseconds. Ergo, the molecule completed one rotation every 82 picoseconds.

    This is equal to 731.7 billion rpm. If your car’s engine operated this fast, the resulting centrifugal force, together with the force of gravity, would tear its mechanical joints apart and destroy the machine. The OCS molecule doesn’t come apart this way because gravity is 100 million trillion trillion times weaker than the weakest of the three subatomic forces.

    The researchers’ study was published in the journal Nature Communications on July 29, 2019.

  • A journey through Twitter and time, with the laws of physics

    Say you’re in a dark room and there’s a flash. The light travels outward in all directions from the source, and the illumination seems to expand in a sphere. This is a visualisation of how the information contained in light becomes distributed through space.

    But even though this is probably what you’d see if you observed the flash with a very high speed camera, it’s not the full picture. The geometry of the sphere captures only the spatial component of the light’s journey. It doesn’t say anything about the time. We can infer that from how fast the sphere expands but that’s not an intrinsic property of the sphere itself.

    To solve this problem, let’s assume that we live in a world with two spatial dimensions instead of three (i.e. length and breadth only, no depth). When the flash goes off in this world, the light travels outward in an expanding circle, which is the two-dimensional counterpart of a sphere. At 1 second after the flash, say the circle is 2 cm wide. After 2 seconds, it’s 4 cm wide. After 3 seconds, it’s 8 cm wide. After 4 seconds, it’s 16 cm wide. And so forth.

    If you photographed the circles at each of these moments and put the pictures together, you’d see something like this (not to scale):

    And if you looked at this stack of circles from under/behind, you’d see what physicists call the light cone.

    Credit: Stib/Wikimedia Commons, CC BY-SA 3.0

    The cone is nothing but a stack of circles of increasing diameter. The circumference of each circle represents the extent to which the light has spread out in space at that time. So the farther into the future of an event – such as the flash – you go, the wider the light cone will be.

    (The reason we assumed we live in a world of two dimensions instead of three should be clearer now. In our three-dimensional reality, the light cone would assume a four-dimensional shape that can be quite difficult to visualise.)

    According to the special theory of relativity, all future light cones must be associated with corresponding past light cones, and light always flows from the past to the future.

    To understand what this means, it’s important to understand the cones as exclusionary zones. The diameter of the cone at a specific time is the distance across which light has moved in that time. So anything that moves slower – such as a message written on a piece of paper tied to a rock thrown from A to B – will be associated with a narrower cone between A and B. If A and B are so far apart that even light couldn’t have spanned them in the given time, then B is going to be outside the cone emerging from A, in a region officially called elsewhere.

    Now, light is just one way to encode information. But since nothing can move faster than at the speed of light, the cones in the diagram above work for all kinds of information, i.e. any other medium will simply be associated with narrower cones but the general principles as depicted in the diagram will hold.

    For example, here’s something that happened on Twitter earlier today. I spotted the following tweet at 9.15 am:

    When scrolling through the replies, I noticed that one of Air Vistara’s senior employees had responded to the complaint with an apology and an assurance that it would be fixed.

    Taking this to be an admission of guilt, and to an admission of there actually having been a mistake by proxy, I retweeted the tweet at 9.16 am. However, only a minute later, another account discovered that the label of ‘professor’ didn’t work with the ‘male’ option either, ergo the glitch didn’t have so much to do with the user’s gender as much as the algorithm was just broken. A different account brought this to my attention at 9.30 am.

    So here we have two cones of information that can be recast as the cones of causality, intersecting at @rath_shyama’s tweet. The first cone of causality is the set of all events in the tweet’s past whose information contributed to it. The second cone of causality represents all events in whose past the tweet lies, such as @himdaughter’s, the other accounts’ and my tweets.

    As it happens, Twitter interferes with this image of causality in a peculiar way (Facebook does, too, but not as conspicuously). @rath_shyama published her tweet at 8.02 am, @himdaughter quote-tweeted her at 8.16 am and I retweeted @himdaughter at 9.16 am. But by 9.30 am, the information cone had expanded enough for me to know that my retweet was possibly mistaken. Let’s designate this last bit of information M.

    So if I had un-retweeted @himdaughter’s tweet at, say, 9.31 am, I would effectively have removed an event from the timeline that actually occurred before I could have had the information to act on it (i.e., M). The issue is that Twitter doesn’t record (at least not publicly anyway) the time at which people un-retweet tweets. If it had, then there would have been proof that I acted in the future of M; but since it doesn’t, it will look like I acted in the past of M. Since this is causally impossible, the presumption arises that I had the information about M before others did, which is false.

    This serves as an interesting commentary on the nature of history. It is not possible for Twitter’s users to remember historical events on its platform in the right order simply because Twitter is memoryless when it comes to one of the actions it allows. As a journalist, therefore, there is a bit of comfort in thinking about the pre-Twitter era, when all newsworthy events were properly timestamped and archived by the newspapers of record.

    However, I can’t let my mind wander too far back, lest I stagger into the birth of the universe, when all that existed was a bunch of particles.

    We commonly perceive that time has moved forward because we also observe useful energy becoming useless energy. If nothing aged, if nothing grew weaker or deteriorated in material quality – if there was no wear-and-tear – we should be able to throw away our calendars and pretend all seven days of the week are the same day, repeated over and over.+

    Scientists capture this relationship between time and disorderliness in the second law of thermodynamics. This law states that the entropy – the amount of energy that can’t be used to perform work – of a closed system can never decrease. It can either remain stagnant or increase. So time does not exist as an entity in and of itself but only seems to as a measure of the increase in entropy (at a given temperature). We say a system has moved away from a point in its past and towards a point in its future if its entropy has gone up.

    However, while this works just fine with macroscopic stuff like matter, things are a bit different with matter’s smallest constituents: the particles. There are no processes in this realm of the quantum whose passage will tell you which way time has passed – at least, there aren’t supposed to be.

    There’s a type of particle called the B0 meson. In an experiment whose results were announced in 2012, physicists found unequivocal proof that this particle transformed into another one faster than the inverse process. This discrepancy provides an observer with a way to tell which way time is moving.

    The experiment also remains the only occasion till date on which scientists have been able to show that the laws of physics don’t apply the same forward and backward in time. If they did, the forward and backward transformations would have happened at the same rate, and an observer wouldn’t have been able to tell if she was watching the system move into the future or into the past.

    But with Twitter, it would seem we’re all clearly aware that we’re moving – inexorably, inevitably – into the future… or is that the past? I don’t know.

    + And if capitalism didn’t exist: in capitalist economies, inequality always seems to increase with time.

  • ‘Weak charge’ measurement holds up SM prediction

    Various dark matter detectors around the world, massive particle accelerators and colliders, powerful telescopes on the ground and in space all have their distinct agendas but ultimately what unites them is humankind’s quest to understand what the hell this universe is on about. There are unanswered questions in every branch of scientific endeavour that will keep us busy for millennia to come.

    Among them, physics seems to be sufferingly uniquely, as it stumbles even as we speak through a ‘nightmare scenario’: the most sensitive measurements we have made of the physical reality around us, at the largest and smallest scales, don’t agree with what physicists have been able to work out on paper. Something’s gotta give – but scientists don’t know where or how they will find their answers.

    The Qweak experiment at the Jefferson Lab, Virginia, is one of scores of experiments around the world trying to find a way out of the nightmare scenario. And Qweak is doing that by studying how the rate at which electrons scatter off a proton is affected by the electrons’ polarisation (a.k.a. spin polarisation: whether the spin of each electron is “left” or “right”).

    Unlike instruments like the Large Hadron Collider, which are very big, operate at much higher energies, are expensive and are used to look for new particles hiding in spacetime, Qweak and others like it make ultra-precise measurements of known values, in effect studying the effects of particles both known and unknown on natural phenomena.

    And if these experiments are able to find that these values deviate at some level from that predicted by the theory, physicists will have the break they’re looking for. For example, if Qweak is the one to break new ground, then physicists will have reason to suspect that the two nuclear forces of nature, simply called strong and weak, hold some secrets.

    However, Qweak’s latest – and possibly its last – results don’t break new ground. In fact, they assert that the current theory of particle physics is correct, the same theory that physicists are trying to break free of.

    Most of us are familiar with protons and electrons: they’re subatomic particles, carry positive and negative charges resp., and are the stuff of one chapter of high-school physics. What students of science find out quite later is that electrons are fundamental particles – they’re not made up of smaller particles – but protons are not. Protons are made up of quarks and gluons.

    Interactions between electrons and quarks/gluons is mediated by two fundamental forces: the electromagnetic and the weak nuclear. The electromagnetic force is much stronger than the aptly named weak nuclear force. On the other hand, it is agnostic to the electron’s polarisation while the weak nuclear force is sensitive to it. In fact, the weak nuclear force is known to respond differently to left- and right-handed particles.

    When electrons are bombarded at protons, the electrons are scattered off. Scientists at measure how often this happens and at what angle, together with the electrons’ polarisation – and try to find correlations between the two sets of data.

    An illustration showing the expected outcomes when left- and right-handed electrons, visualised as mirror-images of each other, scatter off of a proton. Credit: doi:10.1038/s41586-018-0096-0
    An illustration showing the expected outcomes when left- and right-handed electrons, visualised as mirror-images of each other, scatter off of a proton. Credit: doi:10.1038/s41586-018-0096-0

    At Qweak, the electrons were accelerated to 1.16 GeV and bombarded at a tank of liquid hydrogen. A detector positioned near the tank picked up on electrons scattered at angles between 5.8º and 11.6º. By finely tuning different aspects of this setup, the scientists were able to up the measurement precision to 10 parts per billion.

    For example, they were able to achieve a detection rate of 7 billion per second, a target luminosity of 1.7 x 1039 cm-2 s-1 and provide a polarised beam of electrons at 180 µA – all considered high for an experiment of this kind.

    The scientists were looking for patterns in the detector data that would tell them something about the proton’s weak charge: the strength with which it interacts with electrons via the weak nuclear force. (Its notation is Qweak, hence the experiment’s name.)

    At Qweak, they’re doing this by studying how the electrons are scattered versus their polarisation. The Standard Model (SM) of particle physics, the theory that physicists work with to understand the behaviour of elementary particles, predicts that the number of left- and right-handed electrons scattered should differ by one for every 10 million interactions. If this number is found to be bigger or smaller than usual when measured in the wild, then the Standard Model will be in trouble – much to physicists’ delight.

    SM’s corresponding value for the proton’s weak charge is 0.0708. At Qweak, the value was measured to be 0.0719 ± 0.0045, i.e. between 0.0674 and 0.0764, completely agreeing with the SM prediction. Something’s gotta give – but it’s not going to be the proton’s weak charge for now.

    Paper: Precision measurement of the weak charge of the proton

    Featured image credit: Pexels/Unsplash.