April 2011

Yesterday’s talks were devoted to the idea of dark matter, which as you know is the hottest topic in cosmology these days, both theoretically and experimentally.

Eric Armengaud and Lars Bergstrom gave updates on the state of direct searches and indirect searches for dark matter, respectively. John March-Russell gave a theory talk about possible connections between dark matter and the baryon asymmetry. The density of dark matter and ordinary matter in the universe is the same, to within an order of magnitude, even though we usually think of them as arising from completely different mechanisms. That’s a coincidence that bugs some people, and the last couple of years have seen a boomlet of papers proposing models in which the two phenomena are actually connected. Tracy Slatyer gave an update on proposals for a new dark force coupled to dark matter, which could give rise to interesting signatures in both direct and indirect detection experiments.

This is science at its most intense. A big, looming mystery, a bounty of clever theoretical ideas, not nearly enough data to pinpoint the correct answer, but more than enough data to exclude or tightly constrain most of the ideas you might have. It wouldn’t be at all surprising if we finally discover the dark matter in the next few years; unfortunately, it wouldn’t really be surprising if it eluded detection for a very long time. If we knew the answers ahead of time, it wouldn’t be science (or nearly as much fun).

Today is our last day in Avignon, devoted to cosmic acceleration. My own talk later today is on “White and Dark Smokes in Cosmology.” (The title wasn’t my idea, but I couldn’t have done better, given the context.) It’s the last talk of the conference, so I’ll try to take a big-picture perspective and not sweat the technical details, but (following tradition) I will admit that it’s an excuse to talk about my own recent papers and ideas I think are interesting but haven’t written papers about. At least it should be short, which I understand is the primary criterion for a successful talk of this type.

Also, few people have strong feelings about non-gaussianities or neutrinos, but many people have strong feelings about reductionism. Quelle surprise!

Every academic who attends conferences knows that the best parts are not the formal presentations, but the informal interactions in between. Roughly speaking, the perfect conference would consist of about 10% talks and 90% coffee breaks; an explanation for why the ratio is reversed for almost every real conference is left as an exercise for the reader.

Yesterday’s talks here in Avignon constituted a great overview of issues in cosmological structure formation. But my favorite part was the conversation at our table at the conference banquet, fueled by a pretty darn good Côtes du Rhône. After a long day of hardcore data-driven science, our attention wandered to deep issues about fundamental physics: is the entire history of the universe determined by the exact physical state at any one moment in time?

The answer, by the way, is “yes.” At least I think so. This certainly would be the case is classical Newtonian physics, and it’s also the case in the many-worlds interpretation of quantum mechanics, which is how we got onto the topic. In MWI, the entirety of dynamics is encapsulated in the Schrodinger equation, a first-order differential equation that uniquely determines the quantum state in the past and future from the state at the present time. If you believe that wave functions really collapse, determinism is obviously lost; prediction is necessarily probabilistic, and retrodiction is effectively impossible.

But there was a contingent of physicists at our table who were willing to believe in MWI, but nevertheless didn’t believe that the laws of microscopic quantum mechanics were sufficient to describe the evolution of the universe. They were taking an anti-reductionist line: complex systems like people and proteins and planets couldn’t be described simply by the Standard Model of particle physics applied to a large number of particles, but instead called for some sort of autonomous description appropriate at macroscopic scales.

No one denies that in practice we can never describe human beings as collections of electrons, protons, and neutrons obeying the Schrodinger equation. But many of us think that this is clearly an issue of practice vs. principle; the ability of our finite minds to collect the relevant data and solve the relevant equations shouldn’t be taken as evidence that the universe isn’t fully capable of doing so.

Yet, that is what they were arguing — that there was no useful sense in which something as complicated as a person could, even in principle, be described as a collection of elementary particles obeying the laws of microscopic physics. This is an extremely dramatic ontological claim, and I have almost no doubt whatsoever that it’s incorrect — but I have to admit that I can’t put my objections into a compact and persuasive form. I’m trying to rise above responding with a blank stare and “you can’t be serious.”

So, that’s a shortcoming on my part, and I need to clean up my act. Why shouldn’t we expect truly new laws of behavior at different scales? (Note: not just that we can’t derive the higher-level laws from the lower-level ones, but that the higher-level laws aren’t even necessarily consistent with the lower-level ones.) My best argument is simply that: (1) that’s an incredibly complicated and inelegant way to run a universe, and (2) there’s absolutely no evidence for it. (Either argument separately wouldn’t be that persuasive, but together they carry some weight.) Of course it’s difficult to describe people using Schrodinger’s equation, but that’s not evidence that our behavior is actually incompatible with a reductionist description. To believe otherwise you have to believe that somewhere along the progression from particles to atoms to molecules to proteins to cells to organisms, physical systems begin to violate the microscopic laws of physics. At what point is that supposed to happen? And what evidence is there supposed to be?

But I don’t think my incredulity will suffice to sway the opinion of anyone who is otherwise inclined, so I have to polish up the justification for my side of the argument. My banquet table was full of particle physicists and cosmologists — pretty much the most sympathetic audience for reductionism one can possibly imagine. If I can’t convince them, there’s not much hope for the rest of the world.

By this point in my life, when I attend a large-ish conference like this one the chances are good that I’m older than the average participant. Certainly true here. It’s a great chance to hear energetic young people tackling the hard problems, and I certainly have the feeling that the field is in very good hands. It’s also a good reminder that we old people need to resist the temptation to fall into a rut, churning out tiny variations on the research we’ve been doing for years now. It’s easy to get left behind!

Still, it’s also nice to hear a talk on a perennial topic, especially when you hear something you didn’t know. Yvonne Wong gave a very nice talk on “hot relics” — particles that were moving close to the speed of light in the early universe. (They may have slowed down by now, or maybe not.) Neutrinos, of course, are the classic example here; they are known to exist, and were certainly relativistic at early times. If the neutrinos have masses of order 10 electron volts, they would contribute enough density to be the dark matter. But that doesn’t quite work in the real world; “hot dark matter” tends to wipe out structure on small scales, in a way that is dramatically incompatible with the world we actually observe. Also, ground-based measurements point to neutrino masses less than 0.1 electron volt — not for sure, since what we directly measure are the differences in mass between different kinds of neutrinos, rather than the masses themselves, but that seems to be the most comfortable possibility.

Of course, we know about three kinds of neutrinos (associated with electrons, muons, and taus), but there could be more. So it’s fun to use cosmology to see if we can constrain that possibility. An extra neutrino species, even if it were very light, would slightly affect the expansion rate of the early universe, which works to damp structure on small scales. This is something you can look for in the cosmic microwave background, and the WMAP team has diligently been doing so. Interestingly — the best fit is for four neutrinos, not for three! Here’s a plot from Komatsu et al.’s analysis of the WMAP seven-year data, showing the likelihood as a function of the effective number of neutrino species. (“Effective” because a massive neutrino counts a little less than a massless one.)

Now, maybe this isn’t worth getting too excited about. There’s a nice discussion of this possibility in a recent paper by Zhen Hou, Ryan Keisler, Lloyd Knox, Marius Millea, and Christian Reichardt. I’m not sure how a new neutrino could affect the CMB in this way without being ruled out by primordial nucleosynthesis, but I haven’t looked at it carefully. Regardless, it’s best not to just trust any one measurement, but do every measurement we can think of and make sure they are consistent. Certainly something worth keeping an eye on as CMB measurements improve.

Greetings from Avignon, where I’m attending a conference on “Progress on Old and New Themes” in cosmology. (Name chosen to create a clever acronym.) We’re gathering every day at the Popes’ Palace, or at least what was the Pope’s palace back in the days of the Babylonian Captivity.

This is one of those dawn-to-dusk conferences with no time off, so there won’t be much blogging. But if possible I’ll write in to report briefly on just one interesting idea that was discussed each day.

On the first day (yesterday, by now), my favorite talk was by Leonardo Senatore on the effective field theory of inflation. This idea goes back a couple of years to a paper by Clifford Cheung, Paolo Creminelli, Liam Fitzpatrick, Jared Kaplan, and Senatore; there’s a nice technical-level post by Jacques Distler that explains some of the basic ideas. An effective field theory is a way of using symmetries to sum up the effects of many unknown high-energy effects in a relatively simple low-energy description. The classic example is chiral perturbation theory, which replaces the quarks and gluons of quantum chromodynamics with the pions and nucleons of the low-energy world.

In the effective field theory of inflation, you try to characterize the behavior of inflationary perturbations in as general a way as possible. It’s tricky, because you are in a time-dependent background with a preferred (non-Lorentz-invariant) frame provided by the expanding universe. But it can be done, and Leonardo did a great job of explaining the virtues of the approach. In particular, it provides a very nice way of calculating non-gaussianities. …

Avignon Day 1: Calculating Non-GaussianitiesRead More »