First of all a disclaimer: I’m a self-confessed dilettante, not a real philosopher, and, even though I read widely and take an interest in all sorts of things scientific, I’m not a scientist either. I know a little bit more about physics and mathematics than I do biology, but I can say with some confidence that evolution, like consciousness and quantum mechanics, is one of nature’s great mysteries. But, like consciousness and quantum mechanics, just because it’s a mystery doesn’t make it any less real. Back in Nov.07, I wrote a post titled: Is evolution fact? Is creationism myth?
First, I defined what I meant by ‘fact’: it’s either true or false, not something in between. So it has to be one or the other: like does the earth go round the sun or does the sun go round the earth? One of those is right and one is wrong, and the one that is right is a fact.
Well, I put evolution into that category: it makes no sense to say that evolution only worked for some species and not others; or that it occurred millions of years ago but doesn’t occur now; or the converse that it occurs now, but not in the distant past. Either it occurs or it never occurred, and all the evidence, and I mean all of the evidence, in every area of science: genetics, zoology, palaeontology, virology; suggests it does. There are so many ways that evolution could have been proven false in the last 150 years since Darwin’s and Wallace’s theory of natural selection, that it’s just as unassailable as quantum mechanics. Natural selection, by the way, is not a theory, it’s a law of nature.
Now, both proponents and opponents of evolutionary theory often make the mistake of assuming that natural selection is the whole story of evolution and there’s nothing else to explain. So I can confidently say that natural selection is a natural law because we see evidence of it everywhere in the natural world, but it doesn’t explain speciation, and that is another part of the story that is rarely discussed. But it’s also why it’s one of nature’s great mysteries. To quote from this week’s New Scientist (13 March, 2010, p.31): ‘Speciation still remains one of the biggest mysteries in evolutionary biology.’
This is a rare admission in a science magazine, because many people believe, on both sides of the ideological divide (that evolution has created in some parts of the world, like the US) that it opens up a crack in the scientific edifice for creationists and intelligent design advocates to pull it down.
But again, let’s compare this to quantum mechanics. In a recent post on Quantum Entanglement (Jan.10), where I reviewed Louisa Gilder’s outstanding and very accessible book on the subject, I explain just how big a mystery it remains, even after more than a century of experimentation, verification and speculation. Yet, no one, whether a religious fundamentalist or not, wants to replace it with a religious text or any other so-called paradigm or theory. This is because quantum mechanics doesn’t challenge anything in the Bible, because the Bible, unsurprisingly, doesn’t include anything about physics or mathematics.
Now, the Bible doesn’t include anything about biology either, but the story of Genesis, which is still a story after all the analysis, has been substantially overtaken by scientific discoveries, especially in the last 2 centuries.
But it’s because of this ridiculous debate, that has taken on a political force in the most powerful and wealthy nation in the world, that no one ever mentions that we really don’t know how speciation works. People are sure to counter this with one word, mutation, but mutations and genetic drift don’t explain how genetic anomalies amongst individuals lead to new species. It is assumed that they accumulate to the point that, in combination with natural selection, a new species branches off. But the New Scientist cover story, reporting on work done by Mark Pagel (an evolutionary biologist at the University of Reading, UK) challenges this conventionally held view.
To quote Pagel: “I think the unexamined view that most people have of speciation is this gradual accumulation by natural selection of a whole lot of changes, until you get a group of individuals that can no longer mate with their old population.”
Before I’m misconstrued, I’m not saying that mutation doesn’t play a fundamental role, as it obviously does, which I elaborate on below. But mutations within individuals don’t axiomatically lead to new species. This is a point that Erwin Schrodinger attempted to address in his book, What is Life? (see my review posted Nov.09).
Years ago, I wrote a letter to science journalist, John Horgan, after reading his excellent book The End of Science (a collection of interviews and reflections by some of the world’s greatest minds in the late 20th Century). I suggested to him an analogy between genes and environment interacting to create a human personality, and the interaction between speciation and natural selection creating biological evolution. I postulated back then that we had the environment part, which was natural selection, but not the gene part of the analogy, which is speciation. In other words, I suggested that there is still more to learn, just like there is still more to learn about quantum mechanics. We always assume that we know everything that there is to know, when clearly we don’t. The mystery inherent in quantum mechanics indicates that there is something that we don’t know, and the same is true for evolution.
Mark Pagel’s research is paradigm-challenging, because he’s demonstrated statistically that genetic drift by mutation doesn’t give the right answers. I need to explain this without getting too esoteric. Pagel looked at the branches of 101 various (evolutionary) trees, including: ‘cats, bumblebees, hawks, roses and the like’. By doing a statistical analysis of the time between speciation events (the length of the branches) he expected to get a Bell curve distribution which would account for the conventional view, but instead he got an exponential curve.
To quote New Scientist: ‘The exponential is the pattern you get when you are waiting for some single, infrequent event to happen… the length of time it takes a radioactive atom to decay, and the distance between roadkills on a highway.’
In other words, as the New Scientist article expounds in some detail, new species happen purely by accident. What I found curious about the above quote is the reference to ‘radioactive decay’ which was the starting point for Erwin Schrodinger’s explanation of mutation events, which is why mutation is still a critical factor in the whole process.
Schrodinger went to great lengths, very early in his exposition, to explain that nearly all of physics is statistical, and gave examples from magnetism to thermal activity to radioactive decay. He explained how this same statistical process works in creating mutations. Schrodinger coined a term, ‘statistico-deterministic’, but in regard to quantum mechanics rather than physics in general. Nevertheless, chaos and complexity theory reinforce the view that the universe is far from deterministic at almost every level that one cares to examine it. As the New Scientist article argues, Pagel’s revelation supports Stephen Jay Gould’s assertion: ‘that if you were able to rewind history and replay the evolution on Earth, it would turn out differently every time.’
I’ve left a lot out in this brief exposition, including those who challenge Pagel’s analysis, and how his new paradigm interacts with natural selection and geographical separation, which are also part of the overall picture. Pagel describes his own epiphany when he was in Tanzinia: ‘watching two species of colobus monkeys frolic in the canopy 40 metres overhead. “Apart from the fact that one is black and white and one is red, they do all the same things... I can remember thinking that speciation was very arbitrary. And here we are – that’s what our models are telling us.”’ In other words, natural selection and niche-filling are not enough to explain diversification and speciation.
What I find interesting is that wherever we look in science, chance plays a far greater role than we credit. It’s not just the cosmos at one end of the scale, and quantum mechanics at the other end, that rides on chance, but evolution, like earthquakes and other unpredictable events, also seems to be totally dependent on the metaphorical roll of the dice.
Addendum 1 : (18 March 2010)
Comments posted on New Scientist challenge the idea that a ‘bell curve’ distribution should have been expected at all. I won’t go into that, because it doesn’t change the outcome: 78% of ‘branches’ statistically analysed (from 110) were exponential and 0% were normal distribution (bell curve). Whatever the causal factors, in which mutation plays a definitive role, speciation is as unpredictable as earthquakes, weather events and radio-active decay (for an individual isotope).
Addendum 2: (18 March 2010)
Writing this post, reminded me of Einstein’s famous quote that ‘God does not play with dice’. Well, I couldn’t disagree more. If there is a creator-God (in the Einstein mould) then first and foremost, he or she is a mathematician. Secondly, he or she is a gambler who loves to play the odds. The role of chance in the natural world is more fundamental and universally manifest than we realise. In nature, small variances can have large consequences: we see that with quantum theory, chaos theory and evolutionary theory. There appears to be little room for determinism in the overall play of the universe.
Tuesday 16 March 2010
Sunday 7 March 2010
The world badly needs a radical idea
Over the last week, a few items, in the limited media that I access, have increased my awareness that the world needs a new radical idea, and I don’t have it. At the start of the 21st Century we are like a species on steroids, from the planet’s point of view, and that’s not healthy for the planet. And if it’s not healthy for the planet, it’s not healthy for us. Why do so few of us even seem to be aware of this?
It started with last week’s New Scientist’s cover story: Earth’s Nine Lives; whereby an environmental journalist, Fred Pearce, looks at 9 natural parameters that give an indication of the health of the planet from a human perspective. By this, I mean he looks at limits set by scientists and how close we are to them. He calls them boundaries, and they are all closing or already passed, with the possible exception of one. They are: ocean acidity; ozone depletion; fresh water; biodiversity; nitrogen and phosphorous cycles; land use; climate change; atmospheric aerosol loading and chemical pollution.
Out of these, ozone depletion seems to be the only one going in the right direction, and, according to Pearce, three of them, including climate change, have actually crossed their specified boundaries already. But, arguably, the most disturbing is fresh water where he believes the boundary will be crossed mid-century. It’s worth quoting the conclusion in its entirety.
However you cut it, our life-support systems are not in good shape. Three of nine boundaries - climate change, biodiversity and nitrogen fixation - have been exceeded. We are fast approaching boundaries for the use of fresh water and land, and the ocean acidification boundary seems to be looming in some oceans. For two of the remaining three, we do not yet have the science to even guess where the boundaries are.
That leaves one piece of good news. Having come close to destroying the ozone layer, exposing both ourselves and ecosystems to dangerous ultraviolet radiation, we have successfully stepped back from the brink. The ozone hole is gradually healing. That lifeline has been grabbed. At least it shows action is possible - and can be successful.
The obvious common denominator here is human population, which I’ve talked about before (Living in the 21st Century, Sep.07 and more recently, Utopia or dystopia, Sep.09; and my review of Tim Flannery’s book, The Weathermakers, Dec. 09).
In the same week (Friday), I heard an interview with Clive Hamilton, who is Charles Sturt Professor of Public Ethics at the Centre for Applied Philosophy and Public Ethics at the Australian National University, Canberra. He’s just written a book on climate change and despairs at the ideological versus scientific struggle that is taking place globally on this issue. He believes that the Copenhagen summit was actually a backward step compared to the Kyoto protocol.
Then, today (Saturday) Paul Carlin sent me a transcript of an interview with A.C. Grayling, who is currently visiting Australia. The topic of the interview is ‘Religion in its death throes’, but he’s talking about religion in politics rather than religion in a genuinely secularised society.
He’s looking forward to a time when religion is a personal thing rather than a political weapon, that effectively divides people and creates the ‘us and them’ environment we seem to be in at the moment. Australia is relatively free from this, but the internet and other global media means we are not immune. In fact, people have been radicalised in this country, and some of them are now serving jail sentences as a consequence.
To quote Grayling, predicting a more tolerant future:
‘And people who didn't have a religious commitment wouldn't mind if other people did privately and they wouldn't attack or criticise them.
So there was an unwritten agreement that the matter was going to be left quiet. So in a future where the religious organisations and religious individuals had returned to something much more private, much more inward looking, we might have that kind of public domain where people were able to rub along with one another with much less friction than we're seeing at the moment.’
To a large extent, I feel we already have that in Australia, and it’s certainly a position I’ve been arguing for, ever since I started this blog.
But Grayling also mentions climate change, when asked by his interviewer, Leigh Sales, but hints, rather than specifies, that a debate between a science expert on climatology and a so-called climate-change-sceptic would not be very helpful, because they are arguing from completely different places. One is arguing from scientific data and accepted peer-reviewed knowledge and the other is arguing from an ideological position because he or she sees economic woe, job losses and political hardship. It’s as if climate change is a political position and not a scientific-based reality. It certainly comes across that way in this country. As Clive Hamilton argues: people look out their windows and everything looks much the same, so why should I believe these guys in their ivory towers, who create dramas for us because it’s how they make their living. I’m not being cynical – many people do actually think like that.
But this is all related to the original topic formulated by the New Scientist article – it goes beyond climate change - there are a range of issues where we are impacting the planet, and in every case it’s the scientists faint, but portentously reliable voices, who are largely ignored by the politicians and the decision-makers of the world who set our economic course. And that’s why the world badly needs a radical idea. Politicians, the world over, worship the god of economic growth – it’s the mantra heard everywhere from China to Africa to Europe to America to Australia. And economic growth propels population growth and all the boundary pushing ills that the planet is currently facing.
The radical idea we so badly need is an alternative to economic growth and the consumer driven society. I really, badly wish 2 things: I wish I was wrong and I wish I knew what the radical idea was.
It started with last week’s New Scientist’s cover story: Earth’s Nine Lives; whereby an environmental journalist, Fred Pearce, looks at 9 natural parameters that give an indication of the health of the planet from a human perspective. By this, I mean he looks at limits set by scientists and how close we are to them. He calls them boundaries, and they are all closing or already passed, with the possible exception of one. They are: ocean acidity; ozone depletion; fresh water; biodiversity; nitrogen and phosphorous cycles; land use; climate change; atmospheric aerosol loading and chemical pollution.
Out of these, ozone depletion seems to be the only one going in the right direction, and, according to Pearce, three of them, including climate change, have actually crossed their specified boundaries already. But, arguably, the most disturbing is fresh water where he believes the boundary will be crossed mid-century. It’s worth quoting the conclusion in its entirety.
However you cut it, our life-support systems are not in good shape. Three of nine boundaries - climate change, biodiversity and nitrogen fixation - have been exceeded. We are fast approaching boundaries for the use of fresh water and land, and the ocean acidification boundary seems to be looming in some oceans. For two of the remaining three, we do not yet have the science to even guess where the boundaries are.
That leaves one piece of good news. Having come close to destroying the ozone layer, exposing both ourselves and ecosystems to dangerous ultraviolet radiation, we have successfully stepped back from the brink. The ozone hole is gradually healing. That lifeline has been grabbed. At least it shows action is possible - and can be successful.
The obvious common denominator here is human population, which I’ve talked about before (Living in the 21st Century, Sep.07 and more recently, Utopia or dystopia, Sep.09; and my review of Tim Flannery’s book, The Weathermakers, Dec. 09).
In the same week (Friday), I heard an interview with Clive Hamilton, who is Charles Sturt Professor of Public Ethics at the Centre for Applied Philosophy and Public Ethics at the Australian National University, Canberra. He’s just written a book on climate change and despairs at the ideological versus scientific struggle that is taking place globally on this issue. He believes that the Copenhagen summit was actually a backward step compared to the Kyoto protocol.
Then, today (Saturday) Paul Carlin sent me a transcript of an interview with A.C. Grayling, who is currently visiting Australia. The topic of the interview is ‘Religion in its death throes’, but he’s talking about religion in politics rather than religion in a genuinely secularised society.
He’s looking forward to a time when religion is a personal thing rather than a political weapon, that effectively divides people and creates the ‘us and them’ environment we seem to be in at the moment. Australia is relatively free from this, but the internet and other global media means we are not immune. In fact, people have been radicalised in this country, and some of them are now serving jail sentences as a consequence.
To quote Grayling, predicting a more tolerant future:
‘And people who didn't have a religious commitment wouldn't mind if other people did privately and they wouldn't attack or criticise them.
So there was an unwritten agreement that the matter was going to be left quiet. So in a future where the religious organisations and religious individuals had returned to something much more private, much more inward looking, we might have that kind of public domain where people were able to rub along with one another with much less friction than we're seeing at the moment.’
To a large extent, I feel we already have that in Australia, and it’s certainly a position I’ve been arguing for, ever since I started this blog.
But Grayling also mentions climate change, when asked by his interviewer, Leigh Sales, but hints, rather than specifies, that a debate between a science expert on climatology and a so-called climate-change-sceptic would not be very helpful, because they are arguing from completely different places. One is arguing from scientific data and accepted peer-reviewed knowledge and the other is arguing from an ideological position because he or she sees economic woe, job losses and political hardship. It’s as if climate change is a political position and not a scientific-based reality. It certainly comes across that way in this country. As Clive Hamilton argues: people look out their windows and everything looks much the same, so why should I believe these guys in their ivory towers, who create dramas for us because it’s how they make their living. I’m not being cynical – many people do actually think like that.
But this is all related to the original topic formulated by the New Scientist article – it goes beyond climate change - there are a range of issues where we are impacting the planet, and in every case it’s the scientists faint, but portentously reliable voices, who are largely ignored by the politicians and the decision-makers of the world who set our economic course. And that’s why the world badly needs a radical idea. Politicians, the world over, worship the god of economic growth – it’s the mantra heard everywhere from China to Africa to Europe to America to Australia. And economic growth propels population growth and all the boundary pushing ills that the planet is currently facing.
The radical idea we so badly need is an alternative to economic growth and the consumer driven society. I really, badly wish 2 things: I wish I was wrong and I wish I knew what the radical idea was.
Saturday 20 February 2010
On the subject of good and evil and God
I wrote a lengthy dissertation on the subject of evil, very early on in this blog (Evil, Oct.07) and I don’t intend to repeat myself here.
This post has arisen as the result of something I wrote on Stephen Law’s blog, in response to a paper that Stephen has written (that is an academic paper, not just a blog post). To put it into context, Stephen’s paper addresses what is known in classical philosophy as the ‘problem of evil’, or how can one reconcile an omniscient, ultimately beneficial and inherently good god, with the evil and suffering we witness everyday in the physical world. It therefore specifically addresses the biblical god who is represented by the three main monotheistic religions.
Stephen’s thesis, in a nutshell, is that, based on the evidence, an evil god makes more sense than a good god. I’m not going to address Stephen’s argument directly, and I’m not an academic. My response is quite literally my own take on the subject that has been evoked by reading Stephen’s paper, and I neither critique nor analyse his arguments.
My argument, in a nutshell, is that God can represent either good or evil, because it’s dependent on the person who perceives God. As I’ve said previously (many times, in fact) the only evidence we have of God is in someone’s mind, not out there. The point is that people project their own beliefs and prejudices onto this God. So God with capital ‘G’, as opposed to god with small ‘g’, is the God that an individual finds within themselves. God with small ‘g’ is an intellectual construct that could represent the ‘Creator’ or a reference to one of many religious texts – I make this distinction, because one is experienced internally and the other is simply contemplated intellectually. Obviously, I think the Creator-God is an intellectual construct, not to be confused with the ‘feeling’ people express of their God. Not everyone makes this distinction.
Below is an edited version of my comment on Stephen’s blog.
I feel this all comes back to consciousness or sentient beings. Without consciousness there would be no good and evil, and no God either. God is a projection who can represent good or evil, depending on the beholder. Evil is invariably a perversion, because the person who commits evil (like genocide, for example) can always justify it as being for the ‘greater good’.
People who attribute natural disasters to God or Divine forces are especially prone to a perverted view of God. They perversely attribute natural disasters to human activity because God is ‘not happy’. We live in a lottery universe, and whilst we owe our very existence to super novae, another super nova could just as easily wipe us all out in a blink, depending on its proximity.
God, at his or her best, represents the sense of connection we have to all of humanity, and, by extension, nature. Whether that sense be judgmental and exclusive, or compassionate and inclusive, depends on the individual, and the God one believes in simply reflects that. Even atheists sense this connection, though they don’t personify it or conceptualise it like theists do. At the end of the day, what matters is how one perceives and treats their fellows, not whether they are theists or atheists; the latter being a consequence of the former (for theists), not the other way round.
Evil is an intrinsic attribute of human nature, but its origins are evolutionary, not mythical or Divine (I expound upon this in detail in my post on Evil). God is a projection of the ideal self, and therefore encompasses all that is good and bad in all of us.
That is the end of my (edited) comment on Stephen’s blog. My point is that the ‘problem of evil’, as it is formulated in classical philosophy, leads to a very narrow discussion concerning a hypothetical entity, when the problem really exists within the human mind.
This post has arisen as the result of something I wrote on Stephen Law’s blog, in response to a paper that Stephen has written (that is an academic paper, not just a blog post). To put it into context, Stephen’s paper addresses what is known in classical philosophy as the ‘problem of evil’, or how can one reconcile an omniscient, ultimately beneficial and inherently good god, with the evil and suffering we witness everyday in the physical world. It therefore specifically addresses the biblical god who is represented by the three main monotheistic religions.
Stephen’s thesis, in a nutshell, is that, based on the evidence, an evil god makes more sense than a good god. I’m not going to address Stephen’s argument directly, and I’m not an academic. My response is quite literally my own take on the subject that has been evoked by reading Stephen’s paper, and I neither critique nor analyse his arguments.
My argument, in a nutshell, is that God can represent either good or evil, because it’s dependent on the person who perceives God. As I’ve said previously (many times, in fact) the only evidence we have of God is in someone’s mind, not out there. The point is that people project their own beliefs and prejudices onto this God. So God with capital ‘G’, as opposed to god with small ‘g’, is the God that an individual finds within themselves. God with small ‘g’ is an intellectual construct that could represent the ‘Creator’ or a reference to one of many religious texts – I make this distinction, because one is experienced internally and the other is simply contemplated intellectually. Obviously, I think the Creator-God is an intellectual construct, not to be confused with the ‘feeling’ people express of their God. Not everyone makes this distinction.
Below is an edited version of my comment on Stephen’s blog.
I feel this all comes back to consciousness or sentient beings. Without consciousness there would be no good and evil, and no God either. God is a projection who can represent good or evil, depending on the beholder. Evil is invariably a perversion, because the person who commits evil (like genocide, for example) can always justify it as being for the ‘greater good’.
People who attribute natural disasters to God or Divine forces are especially prone to a perverted view of God. They perversely attribute natural disasters to human activity because God is ‘not happy’. We live in a lottery universe, and whilst we owe our very existence to super novae, another super nova could just as easily wipe us all out in a blink, depending on its proximity.
God, at his or her best, represents the sense of connection we have to all of humanity, and, by extension, nature. Whether that sense be judgmental and exclusive, or compassionate and inclusive, depends on the individual, and the God one believes in simply reflects that. Even atheists sense this connection, though they don’t personify it or conceptualise it like theists do. At the end of the day, what matters is how one perceives and treats their fellows, not whether they are theists or atheists; the latter being a consequence of the former (for theists), not the other way round.
Evil is an intrinsic attribute of human nature, but its origins are evolutionary, not mythical or Divine (I expound upon this in detail in my post on Evil). God is a projection of the ideal self, and therefore encompasses all that is good and bad in all of us.
That is the end of my (edited) comment on Stephen’s blog. My point is that the ‘problem of evil’, as it is formulated in classical philosophy, leads to a very narrow discussion concerning a hypothetical entity, when the problem really exists within the human mind.
Saturday 6 February 2010
Existentialism in a movie
Up in the Air, the latest George Clooney film, is only the third movie I’ve reviewed on this blog, and the only common thread they share is that they all deal with philosophical issues, albeit in completely different ways with totally different themes.
Man on Wire was a documentary about a truly extraordinary, eccentric and uniquely talented human being. It’s hard to imagine we will ever see another Philippe Petit – certainly what he did was a once-in-a-lifetime event.
Watchmen was a fantasy comic-book movie that captured an entire era, specifically the cold war, and consequently brought to the screen the contradictions that many of us, on the outside at least, find in the American psyche.
Up in the Air is an existentialist movie for our time, and, even though it is marketed as a romantic-comedy, anyone expecting it to be a typical feel-good movie that promotes happily-ever-after scenarios will be disappointed. It is uplifting, I believe, but not in the way many people will expect. It has had good reviews, at least in this country, and deservedly so in my opinion.
Firstly, I cannot over-emphasise how well-written this movie is. When I ran a writing course, I told my students that good writing is transparent. Even in a novel, I contend that no one notices good writing, they only notice bad writing. The reader should be so engaged in the story and the characters, that the writing becomes a transparent medium.
Well, in a movie the writing is even more transparent, because it comes out of the mouths of actors or is seen through the direction of the director. To give an example, there is a scene in this movie where two different people get two different reactions from the same person in the same scenario. This scene could easily have appeared contrived and unconvincing, but it was completely believable, because all the characters were so well written. But, as far as the audience is concerned, all credit goes to the actors, and that’s what I mean when I say the writing is transparent.
Now, I know that, according to the internet, part of this movie is unscripted and they used real people (non-actors) who had been laid off, but their participation is seamless. And, paradoxically, it’s the script-writing that allows this to happen invisibly.
Personally, I felt some resonances with this movie, because, when I was in America in 2001/2, I was living the same type of life as the protagonist (George Clooney’s Ryan Bingham): living in hotels and flying or driving around the country. No, I wasn’t a high-flying executive or a hatchet-man; just an ordinary bloke working in a foreign country, so I had no home so to speak. I also wrote half a novel during that period, which, in retrospect, I find quite incredible, as I now struggle to write at all, even though I live alone and no longer hold a full time job. I digress and indulge – two unpardonable sins – so let me get back to my theme.
The movie opens with a montage of people being sacked (fired) with a voice-over of Clooney explaining his job. This cuts to the core of the movie for me: what do we live for? For many people their job defines them – it is their identity, in their own eyes and the eyes of their society. So cutting off someone’s job is like cutting off their life – it’s humiliating at the very least, suicidally depressing at worst and life-changing at best.
The movie doesn’t explore these various scenarios, just hints at them, but that’s all it needs to do. A story puts you in the picture - makes you empathise - otherwise it doesn’t work as a story. So sitting in the cinema, we all identify with these people, feel their pain, their humiliation, their sense of betrayal and their sense of failure. It’s done very succinctly – the movie doesn’t dwell on the consequences – it hits us where it hurts then leave us to contemplate. Just how important is your job to you? Is it just a meal ticket or does it define who you are?
In another sub-plot or 2 or 3, the movie explores relationships and family. So in one film all the existential questions concerning 21st Century living are asked. Getting married, having kids, bringing up the next generation – is that what it’s all about? There’s no definitive answer; the question is left hanging because it’s entirely up to the individual.
Recently (last month) Stephen Law tackled the Meaning of Life question from a humanist perspective. Basically he was defending the position against those who claim that there is no meaning to life without religion, specifically, without God. God doesn’t get a mention in this movie, but that’s not surprising; God rarely gets a mention in the best of fiction. In a recent post of my own (Jesus’ Philosophy) I reviewed Don Cupitt’s book on that very topic, and Cupitt makes the observation that it was the introduction of the novel that brought humanist morality into ordinary discourse. And he’s right: one rarely finds a story where God provides the answer to a moral dilemma – the characters are left to work it out for themselves, and we would be hugely disappointed if that wasn’t the case.
In one scene in the movie, Bingham tells a teary-eyed middle-aged man that he can finally follow the dream he gave up in his youth of becoming a pastry chef or something similar. Existential psychology, if not existential philosophy, emphasises the importance of authenticity – it’s what all artists strive for - it’s about being honest to one’s self. How many of us fail to follow the dream and instead follow the path of least resistance, which is to do what is expected of us by our family, our church, our society or our spouse.
For most of us, finding meaning in our life has very little to do with God, even those of us who believe in a god, because it’s something internal not external. Viktor Frankl, in his autobiographical book about Auschwitz (Man's Search for Meaning), contends that there are 3 ways we find meaning in our life: through a project, through a relationship and through adversity. This movie, with no detour to a war zone or prison camp, hints at all three. Yet it’s in the context of relationships that the real questions are asked.
On Stephen’s blog, another blogger wrote a response which was drenched in cynicism – effectively saying that anyone seeking meaning, in a metaphysical sense, is delusional. And that Stephen’s criteria about what constitutes a ‘meaningful’ life was purely subjective. I challenged this guy by saying: ‘I don’t believe you’; everyone seeks meaning in their life, through their work or their art or their relationships, but, in particular, through relationships.
At the end of one’s life, I would suggest that one would judge it on how many lives one touched and how meaningfully they touched them; all other criteria would pale by comparison. To quote one of my favourite quotes from Eastern antiquity: If you want to judge the true worth of a person, observe the effects they have on other people’s lives.
Man on Wire was a documentary about a truly extraordinary, eccentric and uniquely talented human being. It’s hard to imagine we will ever see another Philippe Petit – certainly what he did was a once-in-a-lifetime event.
Watchmen was a fantasy comic-book movie that captured an entire era, specifically the cold war, and consequently brought to the screen the contradictions that many of us, on the outside at least, find in the American psyche.
Up in the Air is an existentialist movie for our time, and, even though it is marketed as a romantic-comedy, anyone expecting it to be a typical feel-good movie that promotes happily-ever-after scenarios will be disappointed. It is uplifting, I believe, but not in the way many people will expect. It has had good reviews, at least in this country, and deservedly so in my opinion.
Firstly, I cannot over-emphasise how well-written this movie is. When I ran a writing course, I told my students that good writing is transparent. Even in a novel, I contend that no one notices good writing, they only notice bad writing. The reader should be so engaged in the story and the characters, that the writing becomes a transparent medium.
Well, in a movie the writing is even more transparent, because it comes out of the mouths of actors or is seen through the direction of the director. To give an example, there is a scene in this movie where two different people get two different reactions from the same person in the same scenario. This scene could easily have appeared contrived and unconvincing, but it was completely believable, because all the characters were so well written. But, as far as the audience is concerned, all credit goes to the actors, and that’s what I mean when I say the writing is transparent.
Now, I know that, according to the internet, part of this movie is unscripted and they used real people (non-actors) who had been laid off, but their participation is seamless. And, paradoxically, it’s the script-writing that allows this to happen invisibly.
Personally, I felt some resonances with this movie, because, when I was in America in 2001/2, I was living the same type of life as the protagonist (George Clooney’s Ryan Bingham): living in hotels and flying or driving around the country. No, I wasn’t a high-flying executive or a hatchet-man; just an ordinary bloke working in a foreign country, so I had no home so to speak. I also wrote half a novel during that period, which, in retrospect, I find quite incredible, as I now struggle to write at all, even though I live alone and no longer hold a full time job. I digress and indulge – two unpardonable sins – so let me get back to my theme.
The movie opens with a montage of people being sacked (fired) with a voice-over of Clooney explaining his job. This cuts to the core of the movie for me: what do we live for? For many people their job defines them – it is their identity, in their own eyes and the eyes of their society. So cutting off someone’s job is like cutting off their life – it’s humiliating at the very least, suicidally depressing at worst and life-changing at best.
The movie doesn’t explore these various scenarios, just hints at them, but that’s all it needs to do. A story puts you in the picture - makes you empathise - otherwise it doesn’t work as a story. So sitting in the cinema, we all identify with these people, feel their pain, their humiliation, their sense of betrayal and their sense of failure. It’s done very succinctly – the movie doesn’t dwell on the consequences – it hits us where it hurts then leave us to contemplate. Just how important is your job to you? Is it just a meal ticket or does it define who you are?
In another sub-plot or 2 or 3, the movie explores relationships and family. So in one film all the existential questions concerning 21st Century living are asked. Getting married, having kids, bringing up the next generation – is that what it’s all about? There’s no definitive answer; the question is left hanging because it’s entirely up to the individual.
Recently (last month) Stephen Law tackled the Meaning of Life question from a humanist perspective. Basically he was defending the position against those who claim that there is no meaning to life without religion, specifically, without God. God doesn’t get a mention in this movie, but that’s not surprising; God rarely gets a mention in the best of fiction. In a recent post of my own (Jesus’ Philosophy) I reviewed Don Cupitt’s book on that very topic, and Cupitt makes the observation that it was the introduction of the novel that brought humanist morality into ordinary discourse. And he’s right: one rarely finds a story where God provides the answer to a moral dilemma – the characters are left to work it out for themselves, and we would be hugely disappointed if that wasn’t the case.
In one scene in the movie, Bingham tells a teary-eyed middle-aged man that he can finally follow the dream he gave up in his youth of becoming a pastry chef or something similar. Existential psychology, if not existential philosophy, emphasises the importance of authenticity – it’s what all artists strive for - it’s about being honest to one’s self. How many of us fail to follow the dream and instead follow the path of least resistance, which is to do what is expected of us by our family, our church, our society or our spouse.
For most of us, finding meaning in our life has very little to do with God, even those of us who believe in a god, because it’s something internal not external. Viktor Frankl, in his autobiographical book about Auschwitz (Man's Search for Meaning), contends that there are 3 ways we find meaning in our life: through a project, through a relationship and through adversity. This movie, with no detour to a war zone or prison camp, hints at all three. Yet it’s in the context of relationships that the real questions are asked.
On Stephen’s blog, another blogger wrote a response which was drenched in cynicism – effectively saying that anyone seeking meaning, in a metaphysical sense, is delusional. And that Stephen’s criteria about what constitutes a ‘meaningful’ life was purely subjective. I challenged this guy by saying: ‘I don’t believe you’; everyone seeks meaning in their life, through their work or their art or their relationships, but, in particular, through relationships.
At the end of one’s life, I would suggest that one would judge it on how many lives one touched and how meaningfully they touched them; all other criteria would pale by comparison. To quote one of my favourite quotes from Eastern antiquity: If you want to judge the true worth of a person, observe the effects they have on other people’s lives.
Sunday 24 January 2010
Interview with David Kilcullen; expert on Afghanistan and counter-insurgency
Anyone who thinks that there are simplistic solutions to the crisis in Afghanistan and Pakistan, should listen to this interview.
Kilcullen also provides some background on the Iraqi conflict, especially from the perspective of the US State Department.
I thought it was very informative what he had to say about Indonesia (and SE Asia in general) towards the end of the interview.
Most quotable quote: “We need to get out of the business of invading other people’s countries just because there are terrorist cells there [though] I would never say never.”
Kilcullen also provides some background on the Iraqi conflict, especially from the perspective of the US State Department.
I thought it was very informative what he had to say about Indonesia (and SE Asia in general) towards the end of the interview.
Most quotable quote: “We need to get out of the business of invading other people’s countries just because there are terrorist cells there [though] I would never say never.”
Sunday 17 January 2010
Quantum Entanglement; nature’s great tease
I’ve just read the best book on the history of quantum mechanics that I’ve come across, called The Age of Entanglement, subtitled When Quantum Physics was Reborn, by Louisa Gilder. It’s an even more extraordinary achievement when one discovers that it’s Gilder’s first book, yet one is not surprised to learn it had an 8 year gestation. It’s hard to imagine a better researched book in this field.
Gilder takes an unusual approach, where she creates conversations between key players, as she portrays them, using letters and anecdotal references by the protagonists. She explains how she does this, by way of example, in a preface titled A Note To The Reader, so as not to mislead us that these little scenarios were actually recorded. Sometimes she quotes straight from letters.
When I taught a fiction-writing course early last year, someone asked me is biography fiction or non-fiction? My answer was that as soon as you add dialogue, unless it’s been recorded, it becomes fiction. An example is Schindler’s Ark by Thomas Keneally, who explained that he wrote it as a novel because ‘that is his craft’. In the case of Gilder’s book, I would call these scenarios quasi-fictional. The point is that they work very well, whether they be fictional or not, in giving flesh to the characters as well as the ideas they were exploring.
She provides an insight into these people and their interactions, at a level of perspicuity, that one rarely sees. In particular, she provides an insight into their personal philosophies and prejudices that drove their explorations and their arguments. The heart of the book is Bell’s Theorem or Bell’s Inequality, which I’ve written about before (refer Quantum Mechanical Philosophy, Jul.09). She starts the book off like a Hollywood movie, by providing an excellent exposition of Bell’s Theorem for laypeople (first revealed in 1964) then jumping back in time to the very birth of quantum mechanics (1900) when Planck coined the term, h, (now known as Planck’s constant) to satisfactorily explain black body radiation. Proceeding from this point, Gilder follows the whole story and its amazing cast of characters right up to 2005.
In between there were 2 world wars, a number of Nobel Prizes, the construction of some very expensive particle accelerators and a cold war, which all played their parts in the narrative.
David Mermin, a solid state physicist at Cornell gave the best exposition of Bell’s Theorem to non-physicists, for which the great communicator, Richard Feynman, gave him the ultimate accolade by telling him that he had achieved what Feynman himself had been attempting to achieve yet failed to realise.
Bell’s Theorem, in essence, makes predictions about entangled particles. Entangled particles counter-intuitively suggest action-at-a-distance occurring simultaneously, contradicting everything else we know about reality, otherwise known as ‘classical physics’. Classical physics includes relativity theory which states that nothing, including communication between distinct objects, can occur faster than the speed of light. This is called ‘locality’. Entanglement, which is what Bell’s Theorem entails, suggests the opposite, which we call ‘non-locality’.
Gilder’s abridged version of Mermin’s exposition is lengthy and difficult to summarise, but, by the use of tables, she manages to convey how Bell’s Theorem defies common sense, and that’s the really important bit to understand. Quantum mechanics defies what our expectations are, and Bell’s great contribution to quantum physics was that his famous Inequality puts the conundrum into a succinct and testable formula.
Most people know that Bohr and Einstein were key players and philosophical antagonists over quantum theory. The general view is that Bohr ultimately won the argument, and was further justified by the successful verification of Bell’s Theorem, while Einstein was consigned to history as having discovered two of the most important theories in physics (the special and general theories of relativity) but stubbornly rejected the most empirically successful theory of all time, quantum mechanics. Gilder’s book provides a subtle but significantly different perspective. Whilst she portrays Einstein as unapologetically stubborn, he played a far greater role in the development of quantum theory than popular history tends to grant him. In particular, it could be argued that he understood the significance of Bell’s Theorem many decades before Bell actually conceived it.
Correspondence, referenced by Gilder, suggests that Schrodinger’s famous Cat thought experiment originally arose from a suggestion by Einstein, only Einstein envisaged a box containing explosives that were both exploded and un-exploded at the same time. Einstein also supported De Broglie at a time when everyone else ignored him, and he acknowledged that de Broglie had ‘lifted a corner of the great veil’.
Curiously, the cover of her book contains 3 medallion-like photographic portraits, in decreasing size: Albert Einstein, Erwin Schrodinger and Louis de Broglie; all quantum mechanic heretics. Gilder could have easily included David Bohm and John Bell as well, if that was her theme.
Why heretics? Because they all challenged the Copenhagen interpretation of quantum mechanics, led by Bohr and Heisenberg, and which remains the ‘conventional’ interpretation to this day, even though the inherent conundrum of entanglement remains its greatest enigma.
It was Bohr who apparently said that anyone who claims they understand quantum mechanics doesn’t comprehend it at all, or words to that effect. When we come across something that is new to us, that we don’t readily understand, the brain looks for an already known context in which to place it. In an essay I wrote on Epistemology (July 2008) I made the point that we only understand new knowledge when we incorporate it into existing knowledge. The best example is when we look up a word in a dictionary – it’s always explained by using words that we already know. I also pointed out that this plays a role in storytelling where we are continuously incorporating new knowledge into existing knowledge as the story progresses. Without this innate human cognitive ability we’d give up on a story after the first page.
Well the trap with quantum mechanics is that we attempt to understand it in the context of what we already know, when, really, we can’t. It’s only when you understand the mystery of quantum mechanics that you can truly say: I understand it. In other words, when you finally understand what can’t be known, or can’t be predicted, as we generally do with so-called ‘classical physics’. Quantum mechanics obeys different rules, and when you appreciate that they don’t meet our normal ‘cause and effect’ expectations, then you are on the track of appreciating the conundrum. It’s a great credit to Gilder that she conveys this aspect of quantum physics, both in theory and in experiment, better than any other writer I’ve read.
Some thumbnail sketches based on Gilder’s research are worth relaying. She consistently portrays Neils Bohr as a charismatic leader who dominated as much by personality as by intellect. People loved him, but, consequently, found it difficult to oppose him, is the impression that she gives. The great and famous exception was Einstein, who truly did have a mind of his own, but also Wolfgang Pauli, who was famously known to be the most critical critic of any physicist.
John Wheeler, who in the latter part of the 20th Century, became Bohr’s greatest champion said of his early days with Bohr: “Nothing has done more to convince me that there once existed friends of mankind with the human wisdom of Confucius and Buddha, Jesus and Pericles, Erasmus and Lincoln, than walks and talks under the beech trees of Klampenborg Forest with Neils Bohr.” Could there be any greater praise?
Einstein wrote of Max Planck: “an utterly honest man who thinks of others rather than himself. He has, however, one fault: he is clumsy in finding his way about foreign trains of thought.” As for Lorentz, with whom he was corresponding with at the same time as Planck, he found him “astonishingly profound… I admire this man as no other, I would say I love him.”
Much later in the story, Gilder relates an account of how a 75 year-old Planck made a personal presentation to Hitler, attempting to explain how his dismissal of Jewish scientists from academic positions would have disastrous consequences for Germany. Apparently, he barely opened his mouth before he was given a severe dressing-down by the dictator and told where to go. Nevertheless, the story supports Einstein’s appraisal of the man from a generation earlier.
Gilder doesn’t provide a detailed portrait of Paul Dirac or P.A.M. Dirac, as he’s often better-known, but we know he was a very reserved and eccentric individual, whose mathematical prowess effectively forecast the existence of anti-matter. The Dirac equation is no less significantly prophetic than Einstein’s famous equation, E=mc2.
Wolfgang Pauli’s great contribution to physics was the famous Pauli exclusion principle, which I learnt in high school, and provides the explanation as to why atoms don’t all collapse in on each other, and, why, when you touch something you don’t sink into it. He also predicted the existence of the neutrino. Pauli’s personal life went into a steep decline in the 1930s when he suffered from chronic depression and alcoholism. His life turned around after he met Carl Jung and became a lifelong friend. ‘In two years of Jung’s personal analysis and friendship, Pauli shed his depression. In 1934 he met and married Franca Bertram, who would be his companion for the rest of his life.’
This friendship with Jung led to a contradiction in the light of our 21st Century sensibilities, according to Gilder:
’Pauli could tell Bohr to “shut up” and Einstein that his ideas were “actually not stupid”… But in the words of Franca Pauli, “the extremely rational thinker subjected himself to total dependence on Jung’s magical personality.”’
Schrodinger is as well known for his libertine attitude towards sexual relationships as he is for his famous equation. His own wife became the mistress of Schrodinger’s close friend and mathematician, Hermann Weil, whilst Schrodinger had a string of mistresses. But the identity of his lover-companion, when he was famously convalescing from tuberculosis in an Alpine resort in Arosa and conjured up the wave equations that bear his name, is still unknown to this day.
When Schrodinger died in 1961, Max Born (another Nobel Prize winner in the history of quantum mechanics) wrote the following eulogy:
“His private life seemed strange to bourgeois people like ourselves. But all this does not matter. He was a most loveable person, independent, amusing, temperamental, kind, and generous, and he had a most perfect and efficient brain.”
It was Born who turned Schrodinger’s equations into a probability function that every quantum theorist uses to this day. Born was a regular correspondent with Einstein, but is now almost as famously known in pop culture as being grandfather to Australian songstress, Olivia Newton John (not mentioned in Gilder’s book).
Gilder provides a relatively detailed and bitter-sweet history of the relationship between David Bohm and J. Robert Oppenheimer, both affected in adverse ways by the cold war and McCarthy’s ‘House Un-American Activities Committee’.
I personally identify with Gilder’s portrait of Bohm more than I anticipated, not because of his brilliance or his courage, but because of his apparent neurotic disposition and insecurity and his almost naïve honesty.
Gilder has obviously accessed transcripts of his interrogation, where he repeatedly declined to answer questions “on the ground that it might incriminate and degrade me, and also, I think it infringes on my rights as guaranteed by the First Amendment.”
When he was eventually asked if he belonged to a political party, he finally said, “Yes, I am. I would say ‘Yes’ to that question.”
This raised everyone’s interest, naturally, but when he followed up the next question, “What party or association is that?” he said, “I would say definitely that I voted for the Democratic ticket.” ‘The representative from Missouri’, who asked the question, must have been truly pissed off when he pointed out that that wasn’t what he meant. To which Bohm said, in all honesty no doubt, “How does one become a member of the Democratic Pary?”
Bohm lost his career, his income, his status and everything else at a time when he should have been at the peak of his academic abilities. Even Einstein’s letter of recommendation couldn’t get him a position at the University of Manchester and he eventually went to Sao Paulo in Brasil, though he never felt at home there. Gilder sets one of her quasi-fictional scenarios in a bar, when Feynman was visiting Brasil and socialising with Bohm, deliberately juxtaposing the two personalities. She portrays Bohm as not being jealous of Feynman’s mind, but being jealous of his easy confidence in a foreign country and his sex-appeal to women. That’s the David Bohm I can identify with at a similar age.
Bohm eventually migrated to England where he lived for the rest of his life. I don’t believe he ever returned to America, though I can’t be sure how true that is. I do know he became a close friend to the Dalai Lama, because the Dalai Lama mentions their friendship in one of his many autobiographies.
According to Gilder, it’s unclear if Bohm ever forgave Oppenheimer for ‘selling out’ his friend, Bernard Peters, both of whom hero-worshipped Oppenheimer. Certainly, at the time that Oppenheimer ‘outed’ Peters as a ‘crazy red’, Bohm felt that he had betrayed him.
Bohm made a joke of the House Un-American Activities Committee based on the famous logic conundrum postulated by Bertrand Russell: “If the barber is the man who shaves all men who do not shave themselves, who shaves the barber?” Bohm’s version: “Congress should appoint a committee to investigate all committees that do not investigate themselves.”
But of all the characters, John Bell is the one about whom I knew the least, and yet he is the principal character in Gilder’s narrative, because he was not only able to grasp the essential character of quantum mechanics but to quantify it in a way that could be verified. I won’t go into the long story of how it evolved from the Einstein-Podolsky-Rosen (EPR) conjecture, except to say that Gilder covers it extremely well.
What I did find interesting was that after Bell presented his Inequality, the people who wanted to confirm it were not supported or encouraged on either side of the Atlantic. It was considered a career-stopper, and Bell himself, even discouraged up-and-coming physicists from pursuing it. That all changed, of course, when results finally came out.
After reading Gilder’s account, I went back to the interview that Paul Davies had with Bell (The Ghost in the Atom, 1986) after the famous Alain Aspect experiment had confirmed Bell’s Inequality.
Bell is critical of the conventional Copenhagen interpretation because he argues where do you draw the line between the quantum world and the classical world when you make your ‘observation’. Is it at the equipment, or is it in the optic nerve going to your brain, or is it at the neuron in the brain itself. He’s deliberately mocking the view that ‘consciousness’ is the cause of the ‘collapse’ of the quantum wave function.
In the interview he makes specific references to de Broglie and Bohm. Gilder, I noticed, sourced the same material.
“One of the things that I specifically wanted to do was to see whether there was any real objection to this idea put forward long ago by de Broglie and Bohm that you could give a completely realistic account of all quantum phenomena. De Broglie had done that in 1927, and was laughed out of court in a way that I now regard as disgraceful, because his arguments were trampled on. Bohm resurrected that theory in 1952, and was rather ignored. I thought that the theory of Bohm and de Broglie was in all ways equivalent to quantum mechanics for experimental purposes, but nevertheless it was realistic and unambiguous. But it did have the remarkable feature of action-at-a-distance. You could see that when something happened at one point there were consequences immediately over the whole of space unrestricted by the velocity of light.”
Perhaps that should be the last word in this dissertation, but I would like to point out, that, according to Gilder, Einstein made the exact same observation in 1927, when he tried to comprehend the double-slit experiment in terms of Schrodinger’s waves.
Gilder takes an unusual approach, where she creates conversations between key players, as she portrays them, using letters and anecdotal references by the protagonists. She explains how she does this, by way of example, in a preface titled A Note To The Reader, so as not to mislead us that these little scenarios were actually recorded. Sometimes she quotes straight from letters.
When I taught a fiction-writing course early last year, someone asked me is biography fiction or non-fiction? My answer was that as soon as you add dialogue, unless it’s been recorded, it becomes fiction. An example is Schindler’s Ark by Thomas Keneally, who explained that he wrote it as a novel because ‘that is his craft’. In the case of Gilder’s book, I would call these scenarios quasi-fictional. The point is that they work very well, whether they be fictional or not, in giving flesh to the characters as well as the ideas they were exploring.
She provides an insight into these people and their interactions, at a level of perspicuity, that one rarely sees. In particular, she provides an insight into their personal philosophies and prejudices that drove their explorations and their arguments. The heart of the book is Bell’s Theorem or Bell’s Inequality, which I’ve written about before (refer Quantum Mechanical Philosophy, Jul.09). She starts the book off like a Hollywood movie, by providing an excellent exposition of Bell’s Theorem for laypeople (first revealed in 1964) then jumping back in time to the very birth of quantum mechanics (1900) when Planck coined the term, h, (now known as Planck’s constant) to satisfactorily explain black body radiation. Proceeding from this point, Gilder follows the whole story and its amazing cast of characters right up to 2005.
In between there were 2 world wars, a number of Nobel Prizes, the construction of some very expensive particle accelerators and a cold war, which all played their parts in the narrative.
David Mermin, a solid state physicist at Cornell gave the best exposition of Bell’s Theorem to non-physicists, for which the great communicator, Richard Feynman, gave him the ultimate accolade by telling him that he had achieved what Feynman himself had been attempting to achieve yet failed to realise.
Bell’s Theorem, in essence, makes predictions about entangled particles. Entangled particles counter-intuitively suggest action-at-a-distance occurring simultaneously, contradicting everything else we know about reality, otherwise known as ‘classical physics’. Classical physics includes relativity theory which states that nothing, including communication between distinct objects, can occur faster than the speed of light. This is called ‘locality’. Entanglement, which is what Bell’s Theorem entails, suggests the opposite, which we call ‘non-locality’.
Gilder’s abridged version of Mermin’s exposition is lengthy and difficult to summarise, but, by the use of tables, she manages to convey how Bell’s Theorem defies common sense, and that’s the really important bit to understand. Quantum mechanics defies what our expectations are, and Bell’s great contribution to quantum physics was that his famous Inequality puts the conundrum into a succinct and testable formula.
Most people know that Bohr and Einstein were key players and philosophical antagonists over quantum theory. The general view is that Bohr ultimately won the argument, and was further justified by the successful verification of Bell’s Theorem, while Einstein was consigned to history as having discovered two of the most important theories in physics (the special and general theories of relativity) but stubbornly rejected the most empirically successful theory of all time, quantum mechanics. Gilder’s book provides a subtle but significantly different perspective. Whilst she portrays Einstein as unapologetically stubborn, he played a far greater role in the development of quantum theory than popular history tends to grant him. In particular, it could be argued that he understood the significance of Bell’s Theorem many decades before Bell actually conceived it.
Correspondence, referenced by Gilder, suggests that Schrodinger’s famous Cat thought experiment originally arose from a suggestion by Einstein, only Einstein envisaged a box containing explosives that were both exploded and un-exploded at the same time. Einstein also supported De Broglie at a time when everyone else ignored him, and he acknowledged that de Broglie had ‘lifted a corner of the great veil’.
Curiously, the cover of her book contains 3 medallion-like photographic portraits, in decreasing size: Albert Einstein, Erwin Schrodinger and Louis de Broglie; all quantum mechanic heretics. Gilder could have easily included David Bohm and John Bell as well, if that was her theme.
Why heretics? Because they all challenged the Copenhagen interpretation of quantum mechanics, led by Bohr and Heisenberg, and which remains the ‘conventional’ interpretation to this day, even though the inherent conundrum of entanglement remains its greatest enigma.
It was Bohr who apparently said that anyone who claims they understand quantum mechanics doesn’t comprehend it at all, or words to that effect. When we come across something that is new to us, that we don’t readily understand, the brain looks for an already known context in which to place it. In an essay I wrote on Epistemology (July 2008) I made the point that we only understand new knowledge when we incorporate it into existing knowledge. The best example is when we look up a word in a dictionary – it’s always explained by using words that we already know. I also pointed out that this plays a role in storytelling where we are continuously incorporating new knowledge into existing knowledge as the story progresses. Without this innate human cognitive ability we’d give up on a story after the first page.
Well the trap with quantum mechanics is that we attempt to understand it in the context of what we already know, when, really, we can’t. It’s only when you understand the mystery of quantum mechanics that you can truly say: I understand it. In other words, when you finally understand what can’t be known, or can’t be predicted, as we generally do with so-called ‘classical physics’. Quantum mechanics obeys different rules, and when you appreciate that they don’t meet our normal ‘cause and effect’ expectations, then you are on the track of appreciating the conundrum. It’s a great credit to Gilder that she conveys this aspect of quantum physics, both in theory and in experiment, better than any other writer I’ve read.
Some thumbnail sketches based on Gilder’s research are worth relaying. She consistently portrays Neils Bohr as a charismatic leader who dominated as much by personality as by intellect. People loved him, but, consequently, found it difficult to oppose him, is the impression that she gives. The great and famous exception was Einstein, who truly did have a mind of his own, but also Wolfgang Pauli, who was famously known to be the most critical critic of any physicist.
John Wheeler, who in the latter part of the 20th Century, became Bohr’s greatest champion said of his early days with Bohr: “Nothing has done more to convince me that there once existed friends of mankind with the human wisdom of Confucius and Buddha, Jesus and Pericles, Erasmus and Lincoln, than walks and talks under the beech trees of Klampenborg Forest with Neils Bohr.” Could there be any greater praise?
Einstein wrote of Max Planck: “an utterly honest man who thinks of others rather than himself. He has, however, one fault: he is clumsy in finding his way about foreign trains of thought.” As for Lorentz, with whom he was corresponding with at the same time as Planck, he found him “astonishingly profound… I admire this man as no other, I would say I love him.”
Much later in the story, Gilder relates an account of how a 75 year-old Planck made a personal presentation to Hitler, attempting to explain how his dismissal of Jewish scientists from academic positions would have disastrous consequences for Germany. Apparently, he barely opened his mouth before he was given a severe dressing-down by the dictator and told where to go. Nevertheless, the story supports Einstein’s appraisal of the man from a generation earlier.
Gilder doesn’t provide a detailed portrait of Paul Dirac or P.A.M. Dirac, as he’s often better-known, but we know he was a very reserved and eccentric individual, whose mathematical prowess effectively forecast the existence of anti-matter. The Dirac equation is no less significantly prophetic than Einstein’s famous equation, E=mc2.
Wolfgang Pauli’s great contribution to physics was the famous Pauli exclusion principle, which I learnt in high school, and provides the explanation as to why atoms don’t all collapse in on each other, and, why, when you touch something you don’t sink into it. He also predicted the existence of the neutrino. Pauli’s personal life went into a steep decline in the 1930s when he suffered from chronic depression and alcoholism. His life turned around after he met Carl Jung and became a lifelong friend. ‘In two years of Jung’s personal analysis and friendship, Pauli shed his depression. In 1934 he met and married Franca Bertram, who would be his companion for the rest of his life.’
This friendship with Jung led to a contradiction in the light of our 21st Century sensibilities, according to Gilder:
’Pauli could tell Bohr to “shut up” and Einstein that his ideas were “actually not stupid”… But in the words of Franca Pauli, “the extremely rational thinker subjected himself to total dependence on Jung’s magical personality.”’
Schrodinger is as well known for his libertine attitude towards sexual relationships as he is for his famous equation. His own wife became the mistress of Schrodinger’s close friend and mathematician, Hermann Weil, whilst Schrodinger had a string of mistresses. But the identity of his lover-companion, when he was famously convalescing from tuberculosis in an Alpine resort in Arosa and conjured up the wave equations that bear his name, is still unknown to this day.
When Schrodinger died in 1961, Max Born (another Nobel Prize winner in the history of quantum mechanics) wrote the following eulogy:
“His private life seemed strange to bourgeois people like ourselves. But all this does not matter. He was a most loveable person, independent, amusing, temperamental, kind, and generous, and he had a most perfect and efficient brain.”
It was Born who turned Schrodinger’s equations into a probability function that every quantum theorist uses to this day. Born was a regular correspondent with Einstein, but is now almost as famously known in pop culture as being grandfather to Australian songstress, Olivia Newton John (not mentioned in Gilder’s book).
Gilder provides a relatively detailed and bitter-sweet history of the relationship between David Bohm and J. Robert Oppenheimer, both affected in adverse ways by the cold war and McCarthy’s ‘House Un-American Activities Committee’.
I personally identify with Gilder’s portrait of Bohm more than I anticipated, not because of his brilliance or his courage, but because of his apparent neurotic disposition and insecurity and his almost naïve honesty.
Gilder has obviously accessed transcripts of his interrogation, where he repeatedly declined to answer questions “on the ground that it might incriminate and degrade me, and also, I think it infringes on my rights as guaranteed by the First Amendment.”
When he was eventually asked if he belonged to a political party, he finally said, “Yes, I am. I would say ‘Yes’ to that question.”
This raised everyone’s interest, naturally, but when he followed up the next question, “What party or association is that?” he said, “I would say definitely that I voted for the Democratic ticket.” ‘The representative from Missouri’, who asked the question, must have been truly pissed off when he pointed out that that wasn’t what he meant. To which Bohm said, in all honesty no doubt, “How does one become a member of the Democratic Pary?”
Bohm lost his career, his income, his status and everything else at a time when he should have been at the peak of his academic abilities. Even Einstein’s letter of recommendation couldn’t get him a position at the University of Manchester and he eventually went to Sao Paulo in Brasil, though he never felt at home there. Gilder sets one of her quasi-fictional scenarios in a bar, when Feynman was visiting Brasil and socialising with Bohm, deliberately juxtaposing the two personalities. She portrays Bohm as not being jealous of Feynman’s mind, but being jealous of his easy confidence in a foreign country and his sex-appeal to women. That’s the David Bohm I can identify with at a similar age.
Bohm eventually migrated to England where he lived for the rest of his life. I don’t believe he ever returned to America, though I can’t be sure how true that is. I do know he became a close friend to the Dalai Lama, because the Dalai Lama mentions their friendship in one of his many autobiographies.
According to Gilder, it’s unclear if Bohm ever forgave Oppenheimer for ‘selling out’ his friend, Bernard Peters, both of whom hero-worshipped Oppenheimer. Certainly, at the time that Oppenheimer ‘outed’ Peters as a ‘crazy red’, Bohm felt that he had betrayed him.
Bohm made a joke of the House Un-American Activities Committee based on the famous logic conundrum postulated by Bertrand Russell: “If the barber is the man who shaves all men who do not shave themselves, who shaves the barber?” Bohm’s version: “Congress should appoint a committee to investigate all committees that do not investigate themselves.”
But of all the characters, John Bell is the one about whom I knew the least, and yet he is the principal character in Gilder’s narrative, because he was not only able to grasp the essential character of quantum mechanics but to quantify it in a way that could be verified. I won’t go into the long story of how it evolved from the Einstein-Podolsky-Rosen (EPR) conjecture, except to say that Gilder covers it extremely well.
What I did find interesting was that after Bell presented his Inequality, the people who wanted to confirm it were not supported or encouraged on either side of the Atlantic. It was considered a career-stopper, and Bell himself, even discouraged up-and-coming physicists from pursuing it. That all changed, of course, when results finally came out.
After reading Gilder’s account, I went back to the interview that Paul Davies had with Bell (The Ghost in the Atom, 1986) after the famous Alain Aspect experiment had confirmed Bell’s Inequality.
Bell is critical of the conventional Copenhagen interpretation because he argues where do you draw the line between the quantum world and the classical world when you make your ‘observation’. Is it at the equipment, or is it in the optic nerve going to your brain, or is it at the neuron in the brain itself. He’s deliberately mocking the view that ‘consciousness’ is the cause of the ‘collapse’ of the quantum wave function.
In the interview he makes specific references to de Broglie and Bohm. Gilder, I noticed, sourced the same material.
“One of the things that I specifically wanted to do was to see whether there was any real objection to this idea put forward long ago by de Broglie and Bohm that you could give a completely realistic account of all quantum phenomena. De Broglie had done that in 1927, and was laughed out of court in a way that I now regard as disgraceful, because his arguments were trampled on. Bohm resurrected that theory in 1952, and was rather ignored. I thought that the theory of Bohm and de Broglie was in all ways equivalent to quantum mechanics for experimental purposes, but nevertheless it was realistic and unambiguous. But it did have the remarkable feature of action-at-a-distance. You could see that when something happened at one point there were consequences immediately over the whole of space unrestricted by the velocity of light.”
Perhaps that should be the last word in this dissertation, but I would like to point out, that, according to Gilder, Einstein made the exact same observation in 1927, when he tried to comprehend the double-slit experiment in terms of Schrodinger’s waves.
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