Physics underwent one revolution after another. Einstein’s special theory of relativity (1905) begat the general theory of relativity (1915), and suddenly even such reliable concepts as absolute space and absolute time had been discarded in favor of a mind-boggling space-time fabric in which two events can never be said to be simultaneous. Matter bends space; space directs how matter moves. Light is both a particle and a wave. Energy and mass are inter- changeable. Reality is probabilistic and not deterministic: Einstein didn’t believe that God plays dice with the universe, but that became the scientific orthodoxy.
By the early 1930s Ernest Lawrence had invented the first circular particle accelerator, or “cyclotron.” It fit in his hand.
Now the U.S. government has an accelerator that’s hidden beneath several square miles of tallgrass prairie and a small herd of buffalo at its Fermilab facility west of Chicago. When you drive on the Junipero Serra freeway near Palo Alto, California, you pass directly over a two-mile linear accelerator. The LHC crosses the border between two countries. There are still physicists who do tabletop physics—who try to get big answers with modest means—but realistically you need huge, powerful, energetic devices to pry open the fabric of reality.
We know things today that Einstein, Rutherford, Max Planck, Niels Bohr, Werner Heisenberg, and the rest of the great physicists of a century ago couldn’t have imagined. But we’re nowhere near a final theory of physical reality. Molecules are made of atoms; atoms are made of particles called protons, neutrons, and electrons; protons and neutrons (which are the “hadrons” that give the collider its name) are made of odd things called quarks and gluons—but already we’re into a fuzzy zone. Are quarks fundamental particles, or made of something smaller yet? Electrons are believed to be fundamental, but you wouldn’t want to bet your life on it.
Still, theoretical physicists crave simplicity. They’d like to have a model of reality that snaps together neatly. Their standard model, developed in the 1960s and 1970s, is widely viewed as unwieldy, like a contraption with too many loose ends and knobs and dangling bits. It includes 57 fundamental particles, with no rhyme or reason to many of the numbers describing how the particles interact. “We had a theory that started out really beautiful and elegant,” says Joe Lykken, a theorist at Fermilab, “and then someone beat on it and made it really ugly.”
