Egan, Greg - Foundations 3 - Black Holes

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Foundations
by Greg Egan
3: Black Holes
Copyright © Greg Egan, 1999. All rights reserved.
The previous article in this series began building the framework of ideas needed for
general relativity by describing the geometry of manifolds — mathematical spaces
without any notion of distance or angle — and then showing how it was possible to add a
metric that defined these things in a very general way. The idea of parallel transport of
a vector was introduced: moving along any path, you can carry a kind of “reference
copy” of a vector from your starting point with you. A path is called a geodesic if it
continues to follow the parallel-transported copy of its initial direction, never swerving
away from its original bearing. Parallel transport of a vector around a closed loop can
produce a reference copy back at the starting point that fails to match the original vector,
and this effect is used to quantify the curvature of space (or spacetime), via the Riemann
curvature tensor.
Einstein's equation links the curvature of spacetime with the presence of matter
and energy. We haven't quite said all that we need to about curvature, but this article will
begin by attacking the other side of the equation. This will give us some insight into why
the equation takes the form it does, before we reach the final goal: examining one
solution of the equation, the Schwarzschild solution, which describes a black hole.
Mass
If we want to quantify the amount of matter and energy in a region of spacetime, a good
place to start is the idea of mass. According to Newtonian physics, when we weigh an
object we're measuring the gravitational force that the Earth exerts upon it, and this force
is taken to be proportional to the object's mass. Mass is usually defined quite differently,
though, through the property of inertia: in the absence of complications like friction,
when you apply a certain force to an object its rate of acceleration will be inversely
proportional to its mass. Imagine pushing two items of furniture on frictionless pallets
across a level surface; even though you're not opposing gravity, the same push will
accelerate a 100-kilogram sofa half as much as a 50-kilogram bookcase.
Are these two ways of measuring mass — gravitational and inertial — necessarily
equivalent? If they are, then neglecting the effects of atmospheric drag, a truck and a
pebble should both fall off a cliff with the same acceleration all the way: however much
harder it is to accelerate the truck, the gravitational force on it is proportionately greater.
In a vacuum, all objects should fall to Earth at exactly the same rate, whatever their mass,
and whatever they're made of. Centuries of experiments have confirmed that they do, so
this is no surprise to anyone at this point in history, but from a Newtonian perspective
it's quite baffling that there are no known exceptions to this rule. No other force works
like this. The electrostatic force between two objects depends on their electric charges; a
proton and a positron have identical positive charges, but very different masses, so
although they'll experience the same electrostatic force — the same push — if placed in
the same electric field, they won't accelerate identically like the truck and the pebble.
What's so special about the gravitational force that it's always perfectly matched to an
object's inertial mass?
Einstein's answer is that gravity isn't a force at all. Rather, in the absence of
forces, any object — whatever its mass and composition — simply follows a geodesic in
spacetime: it takes the straightest possible world line in the direction it happens to be
heading. In the curved spacetime near the Earth, the geodesic of an object that started out
stationary would carry it straight to the centre of the planet if nothing got in its way. The
only reason a pebble and a truck sitting motionless on the edge of a cliff aren't following
such paths is because the cliff pushes up on them, with an electrostatic force between the
electrons of the atoms at the surfaces making contact. The different forces required by
the pebble and the truck to keep them from falling aren't really opposing two different
“gravitational forces.” If you define an object's acceleration in curved spacetime as the
degree to which its world line fails to be a geodesic — by analogy with the case in flat
spacetime, where having a constant velocity means having a perfectly straight world line
— the cliff is simply applying different forces to produce the same acceleration in two
different masses.
If the idea that a motionless object can be accelerating strikes you as bizarre,
imagine swinging a weight on the end of a rope: once it's swinging in a fixed circle, you
still need to apply a constant force to accelerate it towards you, just to keep it from getting
further away. What you're doing is curving a path that would otherwise be straight: cut
the rope and the weight will fly off in a straight line. Letting the rope hang vertically is
similar: the force you're applying to keep the weight motionless is still keeping its world
line from being the straightest possible path through spacetime, a path that would carry it
towards the Earth. Being “motionless in space” (relative to some massive object like the
Earth) generally doesn't produce the straightest possible world line in curved spacetime.
Compare this to a ship travelling east at a fixed latitude, say 45° S. The ship is
“motionless” in the dimension of latitude — it's not drawing closer to either the south
pole or the equator — but it can only do this if its engines are constantly applying a
south-directed force to keep it from heading north along a great circle, the geodesic it
would otherwise naturally follow if merely propelled forward.
So, your inertial mass tells you how much force must be provided (by the
ground, or the floor, or the chair you're sitting in) to accelerate you sufficiently to keep
you motionless with respect to the surface of the Earth, in exactly the same way as it tells
Egan: "Foundations 3"/p.2
you how much force must be provided to accelerate you into motion. The idea of a
“gravitational mass” that determines your response to a gravitational field is illusory.
There is only one kind of mass: inertial mass.
However, as we'll see shortly, matter isn't the only thing with inertia.
Velocity and Acceleration
To provide a full description of matter and energy as the source of spacetime curvature,
we need to introduce the relativistic versions of some simple ideas from classical physics.
The ordinary velocity vector, v, of an object in three dimensions tells you how fast the
object is travelling in each of three directions — the velocity's coordinates vx, vy and vz
describe how fast the object's x, y and z coordinates are changing with time — and the
length of v is the speed of the object, how fast it's moving overall.
This tells you everything you need to know about an object's motion, but there's
a way of “re-packaging” the same information that's more useful in relativity. People
using different coordinate systems might disagree about every aspect of the three-
dimensional vector v: not just its individual coordinates, but even its overall length, the
speed of the object. But what happens if we extend the vector into four dimensions?
Let's define a vector u called the 4-velocity of the object, with coordinates ux, uy, uz
and ut that describe how all four spacetime coordinates are changing for the object with
time. Whose time? We want the 4-velocity to be independent of any coordinate system,
so we define u as the rate of change with respect to the time shown by a clock carried
along with the object itself: this is known as proper time, and it's usually referred to
by the Greek letter tau, τ. We're defining the 4-velocity u as being τ, the rate of change
of things with respect to τ. For example, ux=τx: the x coordinate of u is just the rate of
change of the object's x coordinate, with respect to a clock moving alongside the object.
Egan: "Foundations 3"/p.3
Consider a spaceship moving past the Earth with a constant speed of v, a situation
where we only need to worry about one space coordinate, plus time. Call coordinates in
which the Earth is stationary x and t, and coordinates in which the ship is stationary λ
and τ. It's easy to describe the ship's 4-velocity u in its own coordinates, because we've
defined u as τ. So uλ=τλ=0 (the ship is motionless in its own coordinates) and
uτ=ττ=1 (the ship's clock keeps perfect time with respect to itself). Assuming that
we've chosen coordinates for the ship in which the metric g is just the Minkowskian
metric, we then have:
g(u,u) = (uλ)2 – (uτ)2
= 02 – 12
= –1 (1)
The negative sign for g(u,u) tells us that u is a timelike vector, as you'd expect for the
direction of an object's world line, and its length is the square root of –g(u,u), which is
just 1. To describe u in Earth coordinates, we use the Lorentz transformation that we
derived in the article on special relativity, rewritten slightly to apply to coordinate vectors
rather than coordinates themselves:
λ= (x + vt) / (1 – v2)(2a)
τ=(vx + t) / (1 – v2)(2b)
As in previous articles, we're making life simple by using units where the speed of light
is equal to 1. Since u=τ, this immediately tells us:
Egan: "Foundations 3"/p.4
u=(vx + t) / (1 – v2)(3a)
ux=v / (1 – v2)(3b)
ut=1 / (1 – v2)(3c)
If the ship's speed v increases, both of the individual coordinates of u grow larger, but
due to the nature of the spacetime metric the effects on the overall length of u cancel each
other out. If we compute this with the Minkowskian metric in Earth coordinates:
g(u,u) = (ux)2 – (ut)2
= v2/(1–v2) – 1/(1–v2)
= –1 (4)
The agreement with Equation (1) should come as no surprise: the length of a spacetime
vector is completely independent of the coordinates used. And since we can pick
Minkowskian coordinates like λ and τ that are stationary with respect to any object —
even in curved spacetime this is possible over a small region around the object at a given
moment, just as we can always pick Euclidean coordinates over a small region of the
Earth's curved surface — it's always going to be true that g(u,u)=–1. The 4-velocity is
always a unit timelike vector, a vector with a length of 1 that points along an object's
world line. You can recover the object's ordinary velocity v in a given coordinate system
by taking the space coordinates of u and dividing them by the time coordinate, e.g. for
the example we've just given, in Earth coordinates, vx=ux/ut =v.
Just as the acceleration of an object is defined in classical physics as the rate of
change of its velocity with time, its 4-acceleration vector, a, is defined in relativistic
physics as the rate of change of its 4-velocity with proper time. How can u change, if its
length must always be 1? Only by the object's world line changing direction in
spacetime, which is what it means to change your ordinary velocity.
But how should we judge a “change of direction” when spacetime is curved? The
physical evidence that your 4-velocity isn't “changing direction” is simply that you're
weightless, because no force needs to act on you in order for you to follow your world
line. If you're in a spaceship that's (a) orbiting the Earth, (b) falling straight towards a
planet (without atmospheric drag), or (c) cruising through interstellar space, in all three
cases you'll be weightless. In all three cases, you're following a geodesic. So
acceleration means moving along a world line that is not a geodesic. This is true in
either flat or curved spacetime, but to compute acceleration in curved spacetime you need
to work out the change in an object's 4-velocity from moment to moment by using
parallel transport to carry its earlier 4-velocity forward along its world line for
comparison with the later value. This is known as taking the covariant derivative of
Egan: "Foundations 3"/p.5
the vector u, in the direction u,which we write as uu. So a=uu, and for a geodesic
uu=0.
In the previous article, we used the symbol to write the changes in coordinate
vectors relative to their parallel-transported versions, e.g. on the surface of the Earth,
using longitude and latitude as x and y coordinates, xx=(sin y cos y) y. This
means that as you travel east (take a covariant derivative in the x-direction, x) in the
northern hemisphere (where sin y cos y is positive), the local direction east (x) “veers
north” (in the direction of y) relative to a gyroscope bearing or a great-circle geodesic
that was pointing east when you first set out. But you can take covariant derivatives in
any direction, not just coordinate directions, and you can take covariant derivatives of any
vector, not just the coordinate vectors. All you have to do is ask how the vector changes
relative to a parallel-transported copy of its initial value, as you travel in the specified
direction.
Energy and Momentum
Another powerful concept from classical physics is the momentum vector for an object,
which is just its velocity vector multiplied by its mass: p=mv. This quantifies the
intuitive notion that a 1-gram bullet travelling at 1 kilometre per second, and a 1-kilogram
bowling ball travelling at 1 metre per second, have something in common. Since force is
defined as mass times acceleration, and acceleration is the rate of change of velocity,
force can equally well be defined as the rate of change of momentum. This tells us just
what it is that the bullet and the bowling ball have in common: to bring them to a halt in
one second, to reduce their momentum to zero, you'd need to apply exactly the same
force, 1 Newton, in either case.
Momentum turns out to be conserved: for a collection of objects — maybe
interacting among themselves, but subject to no external force — the total momentum
never changes. Why not? When the objects aren't interacting, they're subject to no
forces at all, so they'll simply keep moving with whatever constant velocities they
happened to possess. When two of the objects do interact, they'll exert equal and
opposite forces on each other, and whatever change in momentum one of them
experiences as a result, the other will experience an equal and opposite change. The total
momentum vector remains constant.
A closely related idea is that of kinetic energy, K, which is a number rather
than a vector. Energy in general can be defined as the capacity to “do work,” in the
technical sense of moving a load some distance against a resisting force — it's no
coincidence that this idea developed most rapidly in the age of steam engines. Suppose
you extract energy from a moving object of mass m and speed v by making it drive a
piston that resists its motion with a constant force, bringing it to rest in a time t. The
Egan: "Foundations 3"/p.6
object's average velocity over that period will be v/2, so it will travel a distance of vt/2.
Its deceleration will be v/t, and the force needed to produce this will be mv/t. So the
“work done” by the object will be the force applied, mv/t, times the distance moved, vt/2,
which comes to mv2/2. This is the classical formula for kinetic energy: K=mv2/2.
Although the bullet and the bowling ball mentioned earlier have the same momentum, the
kinetic energy of the bullet is a thousand times greater: both can be stopped in 1 second
by a force of 1 Newton, but the bullet will travel 500 metres in that time (averaging half
its initial speed of 1 km/sec, as the force gradually decelerates it), the bowling ball a mere
half a metre.
Energy in general turns out to be conserved, like momentum, but kinetic energy is
often converted into other forms when objects interact. Sometimes these forms are really
just kinetic energy “in disguise”: the frictional heating or sound produced by most
objects colliding is mainly just a transfer of kinetic energy from the colliding objects to
individual molecules. But kinetic energy can also be converted into various kinds of
potential energy: when you release a plucked guitar string, its energy cycles back and
forth between the kinetic energy of motion and the potential energy stored by the material
of the string when it's stretched — though of course it all eventually leaks away as
sound, and a tiny amount of heat. Like kinetic energy, changes in potential energy can
sometimes be “disguised” because they're happening down at the level of individual
molecules. When a meteor hits the Earth, most of its kinetic energy ends up as heat,
some of which goes to drive chemical reactions in the surrounding rock —
rearrangements of atoms which change their overall electrostatic potential energy.
Because the momentum vector mv and the kinetic energy mv2/2 depend on the
ordinary velocity of objects, they depend on the coordinate system you're using. In
Newtonian physics that's not a problem: if people are playing pool on a train, a
Newtonian analysis in either pool-table coordinates or coordinates fixed to a point on the
ground beside the track will show energy and momentum being conserved (if absolutely
everything, from chemical energy in the players' muscles to the sound of every collision
is taken into account). In ground-based coordinates everything on the train will be
moving much faster, but that will be equally true before and after each shot.
However, since the classical law of conservation of momentum is phrased in
terms of vectors in space, not vectors in spacetime, it shouldn't really come as a surprise
that it needs to be modified in order to work in relativistic physics.
Egan: "Foundations 3"/p.7
摘要:

FoundationsbyGregEgan3:BlackHolesCopyright©GregEgan,1999.Allrightsreserved.ThepreviousarticleinthisseriesbeganbuildingtheframeworkofideasneededforgeneralrelativitybydescribingthegeometryofmanifoldsÑmathematicalspaceswithoutanynotionofdistanceorangleÑandthenshowinghowitwaspossibletoaddametricthatdefi...

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