The Science of Discworld IV Judgement Da - By Terry Pratchett, Ian Stewart Page 0,5
small nation. Governments worldwide are addicted to big science, and often find it easier to authorise a ten-billion dollar project than one costing ten thousand – much as a committee will agree to a new building in five minutes, but then spend an hour debating the cost of biscuits. We all know why: it takes an expert to evaluate the design and price of a building, but everyone understands biscuits. The funding of big science is sometimes depressingly similar. Moreover, for administrators and politicians seeking to enhance their careers, big science is more prestigious than small science, because it involves more money.
However, there can also be a more admirable motive for huge scientific projects: big problems sometimes require big answers. Putting together a faster-than-light drive on the kitchen table using old baked bean cans may work in a science fiction story, but it’s seldom a realistic way to proceed. Sometimes you get what you pay for.
Big science can be traced back to the Manhattan project in World War II, which developed the atomic bomb. This was an extraordinarily complex task, involving tens of thousands of people with a variety of skills. It stretched the boundaries of science, engineering and, above all, organisation and logistics. We don’t want to suggest that finding really effective ways to blow people to smithereens is necessarily a sensible criterion for success, but the Manhattan project convinced a lot of people that big science can have a huge impact on the entire planet. Governments have promoted big science ever since; the Apollo Moon landings and the human genome project are familiar examples.
Some areas of science are unable to function at all without Great Big Things. Perhaps the most prominent is particle physics, which has given the world a series of gigantic machines, called particle accelerators, which probe the small-scale structure of matter. The most powerful of these are colliders, which smash subatomic particles into stationary targets, or into each other in head-on collisions, to see what gets spat out. As particle physics progresses, the new particles that theorists are predicting become more exotic and harder to detect. It takes a more energetic collision to spit them out, and more mathematical detective work and more powerful computers to compile evidence that they were, for an almost infinitesimal moment of time, actually present. So each new accelerator has to be bigger, hence more expensive, than its predecessors.
The latest and greatest is the Large Hadron Collider (LHC). ‘Collider’ we know about, ‘hadron’ is the name of a class of subatomic particles, and ‘large’ is fully justified. The LHC is housed in two circular tunnels, deep underground; they are mostly in Switzerland but wander across the border into France as well. The main tunnel is eight kilometres across, and the other one is about half as big. The tunnels contain two tubes, along which the particles of interest – electrons, protons, positrons and so on – are propelled at speeds close to that of light by 1,624 magnets. The magnets have to be kept at a temperature close to absolute zero, which requires 96 tonnes of liquid helium; they are absolutely enormous, and most weigh over 27 tonnes.
The tubes cross at four locations, where the particles can be smashed into each other. This is the time-honoured way for physicists to probe the structure of matter, because the collisions generate a swarm of other particles, the bits and pieces out of which the original particles are made. Six enormously complex detectors, located at various points along the tunnels, collect data on this swarm, and powerful computers analyse the data to work out what’s going on.
The LHC cost €7.5 billion – about £6 billion or $9 billion – to build. Not surprisingly, it is a multinational project, so big politics gets in on the act as well.
Ponder Stibbons has two reasons for wanting a Great Big Thing. One is the spirit of intellectual enquiry, the mental fuel on which the High Energy Magic building runs. The bright young wizards who inhabit that building want to discover the fundamental basis of magic, a quest that has led them to such esoteric theories as quantum thaumodynamics and the third slood derivative, as well as the fateful experiment in splitting the thaum that inadvertently brought Roundworld into existence in the first place. The second reason opened the previous chapter: every university that wants to be considered a university has to have its very own Great Big Thing.