Wankers on the shoulders of giants
My first experience with physics was in the fall of my junior year of high school. At the time, I had a mad crush on a girl in band. She was a senior clarinet player. She had a younger sister who was also in the band. The sister was an oboe player who was already dating a guy in the drum section at the time. We didn’t call it the percussion section then. That would have lent too much credit to a bunch of young hormonally imbalanced infidels armed with sticks and mallets.
The object of my young desire was unattached, at least as far as dating went. At the beginning of the school year, she told a good friend and me that she was taking physics, and we should check out the class. Being young simian-humanoids with overactive glands, we immediately said yes without considering the topic of the class.
The physics class was taught by Mr. Blunderbach. Mr. Blunderbach had a huge, round Charlie Brown head with scant hair atop. He also sported a ruddy complexion with pale blue eyes that signified “room to let” to any observer. As teachers go, Mr. Blunderbach was average at best. He knew his subject well enough, but spoke in a monotone and spent extended periods of time with his back to the class while he diagrammed problems on the blackboard. Most in the class were seniors. Many were jocks on the football and baseball teams. All needed a science class to graduate, and somehow chose physics with the ever-droning Mr. Blunderbach.
When class started, the three of us had to sit in the front row. Which meant any shenanigans on our part had to be kept to a minimum, given our proximity to the moon-pie instructor. It also meant we were in the line of fire for rolled up wads of notebook paper that were hurled with great velocity by the jocks at the back of the class every time Mr. Blunderbach turned to write on the chalkboard.
It reminded me of an early Disney cartoon. The one with a classroom filled with animals. The teacher was a tall lanky cow. Whenever she turned her back to write something on the board, all hell broke loose among the students. Such was the case with Mr. Blunderbach’s class, with wads of paper bounced off the back of my head more than a few times.
As for the class, love may be stronger than water, but with physics it met its match. Regardless of the level of testosterone coursing through my system—and there was a veritable motherlode, I quickly realized I would never be able to hack physics, especially after getting a D on the first quiz. I told my two friends I was dropping the class. The clarinet player was disappointed, but understood. After all, she’d seen the results of my quiz. I seem to recall my friend dropped the class too.
By now, you can surmise that I have a checkered past with the subject of physics, all thanks to my 60s Catholic school education. However, over the years, I’ve read more than a few books on it, trying to understand the rudiments, but with not much success. It’s like Rodin trying to sculpt using concrete and rebar. However, things changed a bit a few years ago when I came across a tiny masterpiece of a book called “Seven Brief Lessons In Physics,” by Carlo Rovelli (pictured above).
Rovelli is a theoretical physicist long associated with the Centre de Physique de Luminy in Marseilles. He’s also currently a Distinguished Visiting Research Chair at the Perimeter Institute and a member of the Rotman Institute of Philosophy of the Western University. As much as anything, Carlo is a product of his time. Born in Verona in 1956, he actively participated in student political movements and publications at several Italian Universities during the 70s.
Carlo would go on to carve out a remarkable career as a theoretical physicist with lauded work on—and here I’m quoting his website—loop quantum gravity, relational interpretation of quantum mechanics, thermal time hypothesis, timeless formulation of physical laws, and discreteness of space. You should know that I have no clue about what any of the preceding means. I’m not alone. But that’s where Rovelli excels. He’s a superb writer who, as another famed physicist named Richard Feynman once said, can explain even the most complex ideas to an eight-year old.
I just finished reading another Rovelli tome called “Heligoland.” The book’s central theme is the history of the theory of quantum mechanics. The opening pages take place in the summer of 1925 when Werner Heisenberg, then a promising 23-year-old German physics student, decided to visit the island of the book’s title, located off the German coast.
Heisenberg’s decision to isolate on the otherwise uninhabited island were several-fold. He wanted time alone to ponder an idea about physics that had been tugging at his brain for months. He also wanted relief from his allergies. The island was bereft of trees so a good place for just that. Finally, young Werner had a fascination with pirates and rumor has it that a legendary pirate of old used to make the island home base for eluding capture and to also hide stolen booty. Arrr!
Heisenberg spent his days reading Goethe and wandering around the island thinking profound thoughts, trying to crack the code of what was behind all matter and energy in the universe. Early one morning, surely aided by sleep deprivation, Heisenberg had an epiphany. He wrote, “It was around three o’clock in the morning when the final results of my calculations were before me. I felt profoundly shaken and could not sleep. I left the house and began walking slowly in the dark. I climbed on a large rock overlooking the sea at the tip of the island, and waited for the sun to come up…”
Heisenberg’s breakthrough became the rudiments behind quantum mechanics. Rovelli calls it the greatest scientific achievement of all time. A table of equations that somehow confirms all the calculations for the tiniest sub-atomic particles that over time have shown themselves to simultaneously be particles and waves. And how we only know the location of an electron when it jumps to another orbit, but the rest of the time we have no idea as to its whereabouts. Sort of like shopping carts in a Walmart parking lot.
I could blather on about how numerous contemporaries of Heisenberg refuted or confirmed his ideas and went on to further the theory, but I won’t. That’s because I still don’t understand most of it. For the record, Einstein spent the rest of his life trying to do likewise; assimilate Heisenberg’s ideas with his own work. He was ultimately unsuccessful.
Rovelli ends the book with two chapters detailing his most recent thoughts about quantum mechanics. The gist of his ideas is that relationships between all things including energy are the common denominator. And the nature of these relationships solve any contradictions with the theory, of which there are still many. He also posits that many of the most important breakthroughs in theoretical physics during the last century were made by individuals who were in their 20’s, Heisenberg and Einstein to name two.
In the end, I’m still left on the beach trying to understand quantum mechanics, at least to the point where I can explain it. I also think back to when I was in my 20s, and how my focus wasn’t on trying to solve the mysteries of the universe, but more mundane things. Like how many double espressos I could drink in one sitting, the secret behind playing the trumpet really loud, and how to concoct the perfect Negroni. Perhaps, like many, youth was wasted on my youth. But I’ll always remember the days in Mr. Blunderbach’s physics class, dodging wads of paper and trying to fathom his chalky equations. All for the sake of young love.
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