There is something about phsyics

that has been really bothering me
since I was a little kid.

And it's related to a question

that scientists have been asking
for almost 100 years

with no answer.

How do the smallest things in nature --

the particles of the quantum world --

match up with the largest
things in nature --

planets and stars and galaxies
held together by gravity?

As a kid I would puzzle
over questions just like this.

I would fiddle around with
microscopes and electromagnets,

and I would read about
the forces of the small,

and about quantum mechanics,

and I would marvel

at how well that description
matched up to our observation.

And then I would look at the stars,

and I would read about how well
we understand gravity,

and I would think surely there
must be some elegant way

that these two systems match up,

but there's not.

And the books would say,

yeah, we understand a lot about
these two realms separetely,

but we try to link them mathematically,

everything breaks.

And for 100 years,

none of our ideas
as to how to solve this --

basically --

physics disaster,

has ever been supported by evidence.

And to little old me,

little, curious, skeptical James,

this was a supremely unsatisfying answer.

So I'm still a skeptical little kid --

well, flash-forward now
to December of 2015,

when I found myself smack in the middle

of the physics world
being flipped on its head.

It all started when we at CERN
saw something intriguing in our data;

a hint of a new particle,

an inkling of a possibly extraordinary
answer to this question.

So I'm still a skeptical
little kid, I think,

but I'm also now a particle hunter.

I am a physicist at CERN's Large
Hadron Collider,

the largest science
experiment ever mounted.

It's a 27-kilometer tunnel
on the border of France and Switzerland

buried 100 meters underground.

And in this tunnel,

we use superconducting magnets
colder than outer space

to accelerate protons
to almost the speed of light,

and slam them into each other
millions of times per second,

collecting the debris of these collisions

to search for new, undiscovered
fundamental particles.

Its design and construction
took decades of work

by thousands of physicists
from around the globe,

and in the summer of 2015,

we had been working tirelessly
to switch on the LHC

at the highest energy that humans
have ever used in a collider experiment.

Now, higher energy is important

because for particles
there is an equivalence

between energy and particle mass,

and mass is just number
put there by nature.

To discover new particles,

we need to reach these bigger numbers.

And to do that,

we have to build a bigger,
higher energy collider,

and the biggest, highest energy collider
in the world is the Large Hadron Collider.

And then we collide protons
quadrillions of times,

and we collect this data very slowly
over months and months.

And the new particles might show up
in our data as bumps --

slight deviations from what you expect.

Little clusters of data points
that make a smooth line not so smooth.

For example,

this bump,

after months of data taking in 2012,

led to the discovery
of the Higgs particle,

the Higgs boson,

and to a Nobel Prize
for the confirmation of its existence.

This jump up in energy in 2015

represented the best chance
that we as a species had ever had

at discovering new particles --

new answers to these
longstanding questions,

because it was almost twice
as much energy as we used

when we discovered the Higgs boson.

Many of my colleagues had been working
their entire careers for this moment,

and frankly,

to little curious me,

this was the moment I'd been
waiting for my entire life.

So 2015 was go time.

So June 2015,

the LHC is switched back on.

My colleagues and I held our breath
and bit our fingernails,

and then finally we saw the first
proton collisions

at this highest energy ever.

Applause, champagne, celebration.

This was a milestone for science,

and we had no idea what we would find
in this brand new data.

And then a few weeks
later we found a bump.

It wasn't a very big bump,

but it was big enough to make you
raise your eyebrow.

But on a scale of one to 10
for eyebrow raises,

if 10 indicates that you've
discovered a new particle,

this eyebrow raise was about a four.

(Laughter)

I spent hours, days, weeks
in secret meetings

arguing with my colleagues
over this little bump,

poking and prodding it with our
most ruthless experimental sticks

to see if it would withstand scrutiny.

But even after months
of working feverishly --

sleeping in our offices
and not going home,

candy bars for dinner,

coffee by the bucket full --

physicists are machines for turning
coffee into diagrams --

(Laughter)

This little bump would not go away.

So after a few months,

we presented our little bump to the world
with a very clear message:

this little bump is interesting
but it's not definitive,

so let's keep an eye on it
as we take more data.

And so we were trying to be
extremely cool about it.

And the world ran with it anyway.

The news loved it.

People said it reminded
them of the little bump

that was shown on the way
towards the Higgs boson discovery.

Better than that,

my theorist colleagues --

I love my theorist colleagues --

my theorist colleagues wrote 500 papers
about this little bump.

(Laughter)

The world of particle phsyics
has been flipped on its head.

But what was it about this particular bump

that cause thousands of physicists
to collectively lose their cool?

This little bump was unique.

This little bump indicated

that we were seeing an unexpectedly
large number of collisions

whose debris consisted
of only two photons --

two particles of light.

And that's rare.

Particle collisions are not
like automobile collisions.

They have different rules.

When two particles collide
at almost the speed of light,

the quantum world takes over.

And in the quantum world,

these two particles can briefly
create a new particle

that lives for a tiny fraction of a second

before splitting into other particles
that hit our detector.

Imagine a car collision where
the two cars vanish upon impact,

a bicycle appears in their place --

(Laughter)

And then that bicycle explodes
into two skateboards

which hit our detector.

(Laughter)

Hopefully not literally --

they're very expensive.

The events where only two photons
hit out detector are very rare.

And because of the special
quantum properties of photons,

we actually have --

there's a very small
number of new particles --

these mythical bicycles --

that can give birth to only two photons.

But one of these options is huge,

and it has to do with
that longstanding question

that bothered me as a tiny little kid

about gravity.

So gravity may seem super strong to you,

but it's actually crazily weak
compared to the other forces of nature.

I can briefly beat gravity when I jump,

but I can't pick a proton out of my hand.

The strength of gravity compared
to the other forces of nature

it ten to the minus 39.

That's a decimal with 39 zeros after it.

Worse than that,

all of the other known forces of nature

are perfectly described by this thing
that we call the Standard Model,

which is our current best description
of nature at its smallest scales,

and quite frankly,

one of the most successful
achievements of humankind ...

except for gravity which is absent
from the Standard Model.

It's crazy.

It's almost as though most
of gravity has gone missing.

We feel a little bit of it,

but where's the rest of it?

No one knows.

But one theoretical explanation
proposes a wild solution.

You and I --

even you in the back --

we live in three dimensions of space.

I hope that's a
non-controversial statement.

(Laughter)

All of the known particles also live
in three dimensions of space.

In fact a particle is just a name

for an excitation
in a three-dimensional field;

a localized wobbling in space.

More importantly,

all the math that we use
to describe all this stuff

assumes that there are only
three dimensions of space.

But math is math,

and we can play around
with our math however we want,

and people have been playing around
with extra dimensions of space

for a very long time,

but it's always been an abstract
mathematical concept.

I mean just look around you --

you at the back,

look around you --

there's clearly only
three dimensions of space.

But what if that's not true?

What if the miss gravity is leaking
into an extra spacial dimension

that's invisible to you and I.

What if gravity is just as strong
as the other forces

if you were to view it in this
extra spacial dimension?

And what you and I experience
is a tiny slice of gravity --

make it seem very weak.

If this were true,

we would have to expand
our Standard Model of particles

to include an extra particle;

a hyperdimensional particle of gravity,

a special graviton that lives
in extra spacial dimensions.

And I see the looks on your faces.

You should be asking me the question,

"How in the world are we going to test
this crazy science-fiction idea

stuck as we are in three dimensions?"

The way we always do;

by slamming together two protons --

(Laughter)

Hard enough that the
collision reverberates

into any extra spacial dimensions
that might be there,

momentarily creating
this hyperdimensional graviton

that then snaps back into
the three dimensions of the LHC,

and spits off two photons --

two particles of light.

And this hypothetical,
extradimensional graviton

is one of the only possible
hypothetical new particles

that has the special quantum properties

that could give birth to our little,
two-photon bump.

So the possibility of explaining
the mysteries of gravity,

and of discovering extra
dimensions of space,

perhaps now you get a sense

as to why thousands of physics geeks
collectively lost their cool

over out little, two-photon bump.

A discovery of this type
would rewrite the textbooks.

But remember,

the message from us experimentalists

that actually were doing
this work at the time,

was very clear:

we need more data.

With more data,

the little bump will either turn into
a nice, crisp Nobel Prize,

or the extra data will fill in
the space around the bump,

and turn it into a nice, smooth line.

So we took more data,

and with five times the data,

several months later,

our little bump turned into a smooth line.

The news reported
on a "huge disappointment,"

on "faded hopes,"

and on particle physicists "being sad."

Given the tone of the coverage,

you'd think that we had decided
to shut down the LHC and go home.

(Laughter)

But that's not what we did.

But why not?

I mean, if I didn't
discover a particle --

and I didn't --

if I didn't discover a particle,

why am I here talking to you?

Why didn't I just hang my head in shame

and go home?

Particle physicists are explorers,

and very much of what
we do is cartography.

I'm going to put it this way.

Forget about the LHC for a second.

Imagine you are a space explorer
arriving at a distant planet,

searching for aliens.

What is your first task?

To immediately orbit the planet,

land, take a quick look around
for any big, obvious signs of life,

and report back to home base.

That's the stage we're at now.

We took a first look at the LHC

for any new, big,
obvious-to-spot particles,

and we can report that there are none.

We saw a weird-looking alien bump
on a distant mountain,

but once we got closer,

we saw it was a rock.

But then what do we do?

Do we just give up and fly away?

Absolutely not.

We would be terrible scientists if we did.

No.

We spend the next
couple of decades exploring,

mapping out the territory,

sifting through the sand
with a fine instrument,

peeking under every stone,

drilling under the surface.

New particles can either
show up immediately

as big, obvious-to-spot bumps,

or they can only reveal themselves
after years of data taking.

Humanity has just begun its exploration
of the LHC at this big, high energy,

and we have much searching to do.

But what if --

OK --

what if even after 10 or 20 years
we still find no new particles?

We build a bigger machine.

(Laughter)

We search at higher energies.

We search at higher energies.

Planning is already underway
for a 100-kilometer tunnel

that will collide particles
at 10 times the energy of the LHC.

We don't decide where nature
places new particles.

We only decided to keep exploring.

But what if even after
a 100-kilometer tunnel,

or a 500-kilometer tunnel,

or 10,000-kilometer collider,

floating in space between
the earth and the moon,

we still find no new particles?

Then perhaps we're doing
particle physics wrong.

(Laughter)

Perhaps we need to rethink things.

Maybe we need more --

resources, technology, expertise
than what we currently have.

We already use artificial intelligence
and machine-learning techniques

in parts of the LHC,

but imagine designing
a particle physics experiment

using such sophisticated algorithms

that it could teach itself to discover
a hyperdimensional graviton.

But what it?

What if the ultimate question,

even artificial intelligence can't
help us answer our question?

What if these open questions,

for centuries,

are destined to be unanswered
for the foreseeable future?

What if the stuff that's bothered me
since I was a little kid

is destined to be unanswered
in my lifetime?

Then that will be even more fascinating.

We will be forced to think
in completely new ways.

We'll have to go back to our assumptions,

and determine if there
was a flaw somewhere.

And we'll need to encourage more people
to join us in studying science

since we need fresh eyes
on these century-old problems.

I don't have the answers,

and I'm still searching for them.

But someone --

maybe she's in school right now,

maybe she's not even born yet --

could eventually guide us to see
physics in a completely new way,

and to point out that perhaps
we're just asking th wrong questions.

Which would not be the end of physics,

but a novel beginning.

Thank you.

(Applause)