Quantum foams and tiny wormholes

One of the most frustrating things for insatiably curious laypeople like myself is to find that despite our deep and abiding interest in a topic, there's simply a limit to what we're capable of understanding.

I know that happened to me with mathematics.  All through grade school, and even into college, I found math to be one of my easiest subjects.  I never had to struggle to understand it, and got high grades without honestly trying all that hard.

Then I hit Calculus 3.

I use the word "hit" deliberately, because it felt like running into a brick wall.  I think the problem was that this was the point where I stopped being able to visualize what was going on, and without that concrete sense of why things worked the way they did, it turned into memorization and application of a set of what appeared to be randomly-applied rules, a technique that only worked when I remembered them accurately.  I lost the intuitiveness of my earlier experience.  It returned to some extent when I took Differential Equations (partly due to a stupendous teacher), but I went from there to Vector Calculus, and it was all over.

That was the moment I decided that I am a Bear Of Very Little Brain, and the effect of the experience (combined with a similar unfortunate roadblock in Classical Mechanics) convinced me that a career as a physicist was not in the cards.

That feeling came back to me full-force when I ran across a paper in the journal Physical Review D entitled "Dark Energy from Topology Change Induced by Microscopic Gauss-Bonnet Wormholes," by Stylianos A. Tsilioukas, Emmanuel N. Saridakis, and Charalampos Tzerefos, of the University of Thessaly.  Even reading the abstract left me with an expression rather like the one my puppy has when I try to explain a concept to him that is simply beyond his comprehension, like why he shouldn't eat my gym socks.  You can tell he's trying to understand, he clearly wants to understand, but it's just not getting through.

But as far as the paper goes, at least I can tell that the idea is really cool, so I'm going to attempt to tell you about it.  If there are any physics boffins in the studio audience who want to correct my misapprehensions or misstatements, please feel free to let me know in the comments.

About seventy percent of the mass/energy content of the universe is something called dark energy.  (It's entirely unrelated to dark matter; the potential confusion between the two has led to a push to rename it vacuum energy.)  Dark energy is a bit of a placeholder name anyhow, given that we don't really know what it is; all we see is its effect, which is the measured increasing expansion rate of the universe.

The current best guess about its nature is that dark energy is a property of space itself (i.e., not something that space contains, but an inherent characteristic of the fabric of spacetime).  This energy manifests as a repulsive force, but because it's intrinsic, it doesn't dilute as space expands, the way a cloud might dissipate into air; its content per unit volume remains constant, so as space expands, the total amount of dark energy in the universe increases, resulting in a steady acceleration of the expansion rate.  At the moment, at least on the local level, gravity is still stronger than the expansion, so we're safe enough; but eventually (we're talking a long way in the future) space will have expanded so much that dark energy will overwhelm all other forces, and matter itself will be torn to shreds.

But despite this, we still have no idea what causes it, or even what it really is.

The Tsilioukas et al. paper -- once again, as far as I can understand it -- proposes a solution to that.

On the smallest scales, spacetime seems to be a "quantum foam" -- a roiling, bubbling ferment of virtual particles and antiparticles, constantly being created and destroyed.  That these virtual particles are real has been demonstrated experimentally, despite their existing for such a short time that most physicists would question even using the word "existing" as a descriptor.  So these incredibly quick fluctuations in spacetime -- even in a complete vacuum -- can have a discernible effect despite the fact that detecting the particles themselves is theoretically impossible.

What Tsilikouas et al. suggest is that there's a feature of the quantum foam that, described mathematically, is basically a network of tiny wormholes -- tunnels through spacetime connecting two separate points.  They're (1) as quick to appear and vanish as the aforementioned virtual particles, and (2) extremely submicroscopic, so don't get your hopes up about visiting Deep Space Nine any time soon.

The mathematics of these wormholes is described by a principle from topology called the Gauss-Bonnet theorem, named after mathematicians Carl Friederich Gauss and Pierre Ossian Bonnet (no relation), and when you include a Gauss-Bonnet term in the equations of General Relativity, you get something that seems to act just like the observed effects of dark energy.

So the runaway expansion of the universe might be due to tiny wormholes forming from the quantum foam of the vacuum -- and those minuscule fluctuations in spacetime add up to seventy percent of the total mass/energy content of the universe.

Like I said, it's not like I'm any more qualified to analyze whether they're on to something than Jethro is to explain why chewing up my gym socks makes him a Very Bad Puppy.  And it must be said that these theoretical models sometimes run into the sad truth from Thomas Henry Huxley, that "the great tragedy of science is the slaying of a beautiful hypothesis by an ugly fact."

But given that up till now, dark energy has been nothing more than a mysterious, undetectable, unanalyzable something that nevertheless outweighs all other kinds of matter and energy put together -- a rather embarrassing situation for physicists to find themselves in -- the new explanation seems to be a significant step in the right direction.

At least to a Bear Of Very Little Brain.

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Twists and turns

A recommendation to anyone who wants to completely revolutionize the scientific world: learn some damn science first.

It's why I get so completely fed up by people like Deepak Chopra, who blather on about "quantum frequencies" when I doubt he could give an accurate definition of either word.  Look, I get that physics is hard; I majored in physics, for fuck's sake.  Okay, I wasn't very good at it, but at least I came away with (1) a great deal of respect for the people who are smart enough to truly understand it, and (2) a determination not to pretend I'm an expert when I'm not.

But this isn't the perspective that a great many people have, to judge by the success of Chopra's books, which include -- I shit you not -- Quantum Healing and Quantum Body.

But I'm not here to rail about Deepak Chopra, who in any case has been something of a frequent flier here at Skeptophilia.  No, today's rant comes to you courtesy of a long-time loyal reader who asked me if I'd ever heard of "torsion field theory" and if so, what I thought about it.

My first thought was that any kind of field theory was going to involve mathematics on a level that would lose me after the first paragraph, so (Cf. my statement in paragraph two above) whatever opinion I had of it wouldn't be worth much.  But I'm nothing if not dedicated to my readers, so I said I'd look into it.

And... holy Moses.

Torsion field theory was born of some research (using the term loosely) in the 1980s by two Russian scientists (using that term loosely as well), Anatoly Akimov and Gennady Shipov.  The basic idea was that a particle's spin configuration causes it to give off "emanations" that allow for the transfer of information faster than the speed of light.

If you're thinking, "Wait... but... Einstein said...?", you're not the only one.  In 1991, physicist Yevgeny Aleksandrov exposed them as frauds, and called the grants they'd received from the Russian government to support their work "embezzlement."

Anyone who's saying, "Okay, well, that was that, then," obviously doesn't understand how persistent the purveyors of pseudoscience can be.  Akimov and Shipov portrayed Aleksandrov's attacks as coming from a hidebound scientific establishment that couldn't handle being challenged -- and also wanted to keep all the grant money for itself.  (Similar to all of the alt-med proponents complaining about being suppressed by "Big Pharma.")  They fought back -- and won, receiving grants from the Russian government throughout the 1990s, and ultimately founding "The International Institute for Theoretical and Applied Physics" to continue doing their thing.  (Thus showing that having a fancy-sounding name for your "institute" doesn't mean that you're doing actual science.)

Not a single thing they did -- not one -- ever generated a paper in a peer-reviewed physics journal.  Despite this, "torsion field theory" is still being talked about as a "revolution in physics" (and its proponents still claim the physics community is suppressing it), and it has been used to explain -- once again, I feel obliged to mention that I am not making this up -- such phenomena as telepathy, clairvoyance, telekinesis, and levitation.  It's said to be the basis of homeopathic "remedies," perpetual motion machines, stargates, and UFO propulsion systems.

Did you notice a commonality between every one of the things I just listed?

Yeah, me too.

Here's the problem.  This is not how science works.  Proposing a "theory" that flies in the face of not one, but two of the most thoroughly tested models in physics (the theories of relativity and quantum mechanics), based upon exactly zero evidence, and then using that "theory" to explain a bunch of phenomena that to the best of our current knowledge, don't exist, isn't science.  It's self-delusion at best, and outright fraud at worst.  And it doesn't improve things when you name it by swiping some actual terms from physics (torsion means a twisting force; a field is a distribution of values of a quantity in space).

A diagram of the torsion tensor. Like, you know, actual science [Image licensed under the Creative Commons Circle development with torsion, CC BY-SA 4.0]

No, science isn't perfect.  But it does have one enormously important thing going for it -- it self-corrects.  And scientists, far from being the sticks-in-the-mud the pseudoscientific community would like you to believe, are always on the lookout for the places it's not working, because identifying and correcting those places is how careers are made.  If there really was some mysterious twisty-turny field generated by quantum spin that could generate faster-than-light information transfer, the physicists would be clambering over each other to get their papers published first.

That'd be Nobel Prize material, right there.

So many thanks to the reader who suggested I research "torsion field theory."  I now have many dents in my forehead from all the faceplants I did.  If you find any other revolutionary developments in physics that for some reason no actual physicists are working on, though, I'd rather not know about them.

Maybe you should just send them directly to Deepak Chopra.

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Stretching time

You know, I'm beginning to think that every time I want to write a piece about cosmology or physics, I should just write "Einstein wins again" and call it good.

One of my favorite science vloggers, theoretical physicist Sabine Hossenfelder, gives a wry nod to this every time Einstein's name comes up in her videos -- which is frequently -- giving a little sigh and a shake of the head, and saying "Yeah, that guy again."

Maybe we should just stop arguing with him.  [Image is in the Public Domain]

You may recall that a couple of weeks ago I did a post about a possible paradigm shift in cosmology that could account for the mysterious "dark energy," a property of spacetime that is causing the apparent runaway expansion of the universe.  While acknowledging that finding solid evidence for the contention is currently beyond our technical capabilities, I pointed out that it simultaneously does away with two of the most perplexing and persistent mysteries of physics -- dark energy, and the mismatch between the theoretical and experimentally-determined values of the cosmological constant.  (Calling it a "mismatch" is as ridiculous an understatement as you could get; the difference is about 120 degrees of magnitude, meaning the two values are off by a factor of 1 followed by 120 zeroes).

But this week a new study out of the University of Sydney has shown that another of Einstein's relativistic predictions about an expanding universe has been experimentally verified, so maybe -- to paraphrase Mark Twain -- rumors of the death of dark energy were great exaggerations.  A bizarre feature of the Theory of Relativity is time dilation, the fact that from the perspective of a stationary observer, the clock for a moving individual would appear to run more slowly.  This gives rise to the counterintuitive twin paradox, which I first ran into on Carl Sagan's Cosmos when I was in college.  If one of a pair of twins were to take off on a spaceship and travel for a year near the speed of light, then return to his starting point, he'd find that his twin would have aged greatly, while he only aged by a year.  To the traveler, his clocks seemed to run normally; but his stay-at-home brother would have experienced time running much faster.

As an aside -- this is the idea behind my favorite song by Queen, the poignant and heartbreaking "'39," the lyrics for which were penned by the band's lead guitarist, astrophysicist Brian May.  Give it a listen, and -- if you're like me -- have tissues handy.

In any case, the recent research looks at a weird feature of the effects of relativity on time.  The prediction is that the expansion of the universe should affect all the dimensions of spacetime -- and therefore, in the early universe, time should (from our perspective) seem to have been running more slowly.

And that's exactly what they found.  (Recall that when you're looking outward in space, you're looking backward in time.)  The trick was finding a "standard clock" -- some phenomenon whose rate is steady, predictable, and well-understood.  They used the fluctuations in emissions from quasars -- extremely distant, massive, and luminous proto-galaxies -- and found that, exactly as relativity predicts, the farther away they are (i.e. the further back in time you're looking), the more slowly these "standard clocks" are running.  The most distant ones are experiencing a flow of time that (from our perspective) is five times slower than our clocks run now.

"[E]arlier studies led people to question whether quasars are truly cosmological objects, or even if the idea of expanding space is correct," said study co-author Geraint Lewis.  "With these new data and analysis, however, we’ve been able to find the elusive tick of the quasars and they behave just as Einstein’s relativity predicts."

The bizarre thing, though, is the "from our perspective" part; just like the traveling twin, anyone back then would have thought their clocks were running just fine.  It's only when you compare different reference frames that things start getting odd.  So it's not that "our clocks are right and theirs were slow;" both of us, from our own vantage points, think time is running as usual.  Neither reference frame is right or wrong.  The passage of time is relative to your velocity with respect to another frame.

Apparently it's also relative to what the fabric of spacetime around you is doing.

I'm not well-versed enough in the intricacies of physics to know if this really is a death blow to the paradigm-shifting proposal of a flat, static universe I wrote about a couple of weeks ago, but at least to my layperson's understanding, it sure seems like it would be problematic.  So as far as the nature of dark energy and the problem of the cosmological constant mismatch, it's back to the drawing board.

Einstein wins again.

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A ripple in space-time

I find it nothing short of mind-boggling how far we've come in creating equipment with which to explore the cosmos.

The first telescope was invented in 1608, and it was so crude (mostly with respect to the clarity, resolution, and magnification of the lenses) that it accomplished little more than make the blurry bits look bigger.  For example, Galileo used it to see Saturn's rings in 1610, but to him they looked like "handles" -- it took another half-century for the telescope to improve enough to allow Christiaan Huygens to see that they were actually full rings encircling the planet.

Not long after that, Isaac Newton invented the reflecting telescope, substituting parabolic mirrors for lenses, allowing for a much shorter tube length (and thus easier alignment).  The equipment gradually grew in power and resolution, and we were able to peer farther and farther out into space with increasing clarity.

Then, a little before 1900, things exploded.

In 1887, Albert Michelson invented the interferometer, which used a property of light to analyze the motion of the Earth through space, and which led directly to Albert Einstein's Theories of Relativity.  The idea here is that you take a beam of light, split off part of it, and reflect that split part at right angles to the original beam; then you bounce both pieces back so they recombine after traveling equal distances.  At that point you should see positive interference -- the wave crests and troughs should all still be "in phase" (i.e. lined up).

[Image licensed under the Creative Commons Krishnavedala, Michelson interferometer with labels, CC BY-SA 4.0]

Michelson and his colleague Edward Morley used the interferometer to test a model that had been used to explain the wave nature of light -- the "luminiferous aether."  The idea here is that if light is a wave, something had to be waving -- just as water molecules move in a water wave, air molecules move in a sound wave, and so on.  When light goes through a vacuum, what, exactly, is waving?  Because it was impossible for people to imagine how a wave could travel through a complete vacuum, it was suggested that space wasn't a complete vacuum -- that there is some kind of stuff (the aether) filling it, and it is through this medium that light propagates in space.

Because the interferometer involved beams of light traveling at right angles, Michelson and Morley surmised that this meant they were moving at different speeds through the aether because of the Earth's motion around the Sun.  To take the simplest configuration, if you place the device so that one beam is parallel to the direction of the Earth's motion and the other perpendicular to it, the parallel one would be dragged back by the aether on the way out and propelled faster on the way back (in the fashion of a boat first moving upriver, then turning around and going downriver).  The perpendicular one, on the other hand, would be deflected slightly to the side (like a boat moving cross-current).  In that case, it was possible to calculate exactly how out of phase the two beams would be with each other by the time they recombined at the detector.  You should see an interference pattern -- the two waves would partially reinforce each other and partially cancel each other out, creating a pattern of stripes.

Interference between two separate waves, the green one moving to the right and the blue one moving to the left -- the red wave is what you'd see as the waves pass through each other, with the peaks and troughs alternately adding to and subtracting from each other. [Image licensed under the Creative Commons Lookangmany thanks to author of original simulation = Wolfgang Christian and Francisco Esquembre author of Easy Java Simulation = Francisco Esquembre, Waventerference, CC BY-SA 4.0]

In fact, they didn't see an interference pattern -- the two beams were still completely in phase when they recombined -- which proved that the luminiferous aether didn't exist, and there was no "aether drag" phenomenon as the Earth moved through space.  It left unsolved the original question -- "what's waving when light moves through a vacuum? -- until Albert Einstein added the electromagnetic theories of James Clerk Maxwell to light apparently having an invariant speed regardless of how fast you're traveling to completely upend physics with his Special Theory of Relativity.

All this is just a lead-up to looking at how far we've come since then.  Because it's a twist on the Michelson-Morley interferometer that is currently being used to test a prediction of Einstein's General Theory of Relativity -- the existence of gravitational waves.  The General Theory, you'll recall, says that space-time is like a three-dimensional fabric that can be stretched and compressed by the presence of massive objects -- that, in fact, is what gravity is, a deformation of space-time that's a little like what happens when you put a bowling ball on a trampoline.  Objects are deflected toward a massive object not because there's a literal pull being exerted, but because they're following the lines of curved space-time they're passing through (picture rolling a marble on the aforementioned trampoline and you'll get the picture -- the marble might appear to be attracted to the bowling ball, but it's just following the curves of the trampoline it's rolling on).

So the General Theory states that if you have massive objects moving at a high velocity, they should create waves in space-time that would propagate outward at the speed of light.  Those waves would be really small, unless you're talking about very large masses moving very fast -- such as two black holes orbiting each other.  Here's a rather contrived way to picture it:  Take a barbell, and attach it at the center of the bar to a powerful motor that spins it rapidly.  Lower it into a pond so that the weights are sweeping in circles across the surface.  The rippling waves created would spread out across the pond -- those are what gravitational waves of two orbiting black holes do to the fabric of space-time.

The problem is, the waves are incredibly feeble.  Gravity, although it seems powerful, is by far the weakest force; in fact, it's about 10^40 times weaker than the next strongest force (electromagnetism).  (That's a factor of 10,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000, if you don't like scientific notation,)  Consider that a weak magnet can pick up a paperclip -- overcoming the gravitational pull on the clip exerted by the entire planet.

So how in the hell could you detect something that weak, from so far away?

Enter LIGO -- the Laser Interferometric Gravitational-Wave Observatories, in Livingston, Louisiana and Hanford, Washington.  The idea here is precisely the same as the Michelson-Morley interferometer I described earlier, except instead of some mysterious aether, they're looking for gravitational waves sweeping past the Earth from a billion light years away.  What General Relativity predicts is that as those waves roll past, the tube of the device that's parallel to the wave should compress a little, while the one perpendicular would be unaffected (well, it'd shrink a little in diameter, but that wouldn't affect the experiment).  Since the two laser beams would for an instant be traveling different distances, they'd momentarily go out of phase, and you'd pick up an interference pattern.

And it worked.  In 2015, gravitational waves were detected, just as Einstein predicted.  They've now been seen over ninety times.

I've said before that just about every time I talk about astrophysics, I should just write "Einstein wins again!" and call it good.  (Physicist Sabine Hossenfelder, whose wonderful YouTube channel Science Without the Gobbledygook is a must-watch, just pops a photo up on the screen of Einstein sticking his tongue out every time his name comes up, and says, "Yeah, that guy again.")  Relativity, as bizarre as some of its predictions are, has passed every single test.  And now, the physicists are using LIGO to look for another prediction of Relativity -- that as gravitational waves pass other massive objects, the waves themselves will be deflected -- just as the waves in the pond would be if there was rock protruding above the surface of the water.  That deflection should be detectable from Earth, even though it's even more feeble than the original wave.

I bet they'll find it, too.  We've come light years from the crude telescopes of the seventeenth century -- in only four hundred years, we've progressed from blurry glimpses of large objects in our own Solar System to observing the faint traces of phenomena that occurred (to borrow a phrase) long ago in a galaxy far, far away.  With the speed our equipment is improving, you have to wonder what refinements we'd see a hundred years from now -- or even a decade.

What new wonders will open up before us?  Galileo and Huygens and the rest, I think, would be thrilled to see what they started -- and where it led.

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Views of the block universe

In the beginning of my as-yet unpublished novel In the Midst of Lions, the character of Mary Hansard realizes one day that she can no longer tell apart the past and the future.

She has memories of both -- if you can call a mental picture of something from the future a memory -- and they both carry equal weight in her brain.  She can determine which is which only in the rare cases where she can verify if an event has occurred yet, such as her "memory" that a building in her neighborhood had burned down, when the (intact) building itself is right in front of her.  But in other cases, such as a conversation between her and a friend, she has no way to know whether it has already happened, or will happen in the future.

For Mary, there aren't three classes of events -- past, present, and future.  There are only two: present and not-present.  A good chunk of the first part of the book is an exploration of how that would affect someone psychologically.  (A summary: "not well.")

The funny thing is that there's nothing in this situation that specifically breaks the laws of physics.  (It's not accidental that I made the character of Mary a high school physics teacher.)  In 2019 I wrote about the peculiar and unresolved problem of "the arrow of time" -- that virtually all physical processes are time-reversible, meaning that they work equally well backwards and forwards.  A simple example is if you watched a video of a pool ball bouncing off the bumper of a billiards table, then ran it backward, there would be no obvious way to tell which was which.  (If you had a longer video, you might be able to tell, because friction with the table would bleed away energy from the ball, causing it to slow down -- so the forward version is the one that shows the ball slowing down, and the backward version is the one in which it speeds up.  This is the approach of the arrow of time problem from the angle of the Second Law of Thermodynamics; if you want to know more, you can check out my post linked above.)

So in terms of physics, it's mystifying why we perceive an arrow of time, when it seems like there's no reason we shouldn't have equal access to both past and future.  "Time is an illusion," Albert Einstein said, "but it is a remarkably persistent one."

Things get even weirder when you start looking into physicist Hermann Minkowski's idea of a block universe, where the three dimensions of space and one of time are mapped onto a three-dimensional solid.  Picture it as a loaf of bread that you can slice at any angle.  The angle of the slice is determined by the relative speed of your reference frame in comparison to the reference frame of what you're looking at, but what it leads us to is that the present loses its simultaneity -- two events that are simultaneous in one reference frame might occur sequentially in another.  Pushed to its ultimate conclusion -- and it must be interjected at this point that once again, there is nothing about Minkowski's ideas that breaks any known law of physics -- this means that an event that is in the past for me might be in the future for you, and therefore all of temporal sequencing is relative.  Minkowski showed that you can model the universe as a block within which exists not only everything in space, but everything in time.  The fact that we haven't gotten to events in the future is no more remarkable than the fact that we haven't gotten to some locations in space yet.  They're still out there, they still exist, even if we haven't seen them.

Kind of casts a harsh light on the concept of free will, doesn't it?

In any case, the topic comes up not because of physics, but because of an article by science writer Eric Wargo over at the site Inner Traditions called "The Amazing Reality of Dream Precognition."  It's an unfortunate choice of titles, because the article is well written and way less woo-woo than it sounds.  Wargo is seriously trying to figure out if people have access to the future, specifically through dreams, and has a project going to do some citizen science and have a large number of people record their dreams, then sift through them to see if there are examples of actual precognition.

It's an interesting idea, although there are some difficulties.  One is that Wargo claims that a lot of dream precognition is symbolic in nature; for example, you might dream of seeing a photograph of a friend shattered into pieces, and soon after she is injured in a terrible automobile accident.  But this requires that we rely on our own interpretation of the symbols after the fact.  And if there's one thing I've learned from ten years of writing here at Skeptophilia, it's that humans are really good at remodeling what actually happened to fit with what they think happened.

That said, Wargo is going about things the right way.  One of the things that has plagued serious research into precognition is that you only know a dream (or thought) is precognitive after the event has occurred, at which point there's always the possibility that your memory of the allegedly precognitive event has been contaminated by your knowledge of what really happened.  Also, there's the unfortunate fact that there are lots of cases of outright falsification.  If the records are made beforehand, this reduces the likelihood of this sort of thing, although it still requires that there be some kind of rigorous standard for keeping track of when the records were written down relative to the event they allegedly predicted.

So the idea is interesting, to say the least, and I need to keep in mind that my inclination to say "this is impossible" is itself a bias.  Even the lack of a mechanism for precognition -- something about which I've written before -- sort of evaporates if Minkowski was right about the block universe.  It still might not explain how you and I, both on the same planet moving at the same speed in the same reference frame, have access to different slices of the spacetime loaf, but at least it takes away one of the most consistent objections, which is that the future is fluid and therefore precognition would constitute looking at something that has no physical reality.

Reminds me of the "fixed points in time" in Doctor Who.  Maybe the truth is that everything is a fixed point in time, not just big events like the eruption of Pompeii.

So I'll be interested to see what Wargo comes up with.  Me, I'm keeping an open mind about the whole thing, as counterintuitive as it may seem to me.  If he can come up with actual evidence of precognition, dream or otherwise, it'll force me to re-evaluate a good chunk of how I think the world works.  And my character of Mary Hansard in In the Midst of Lions may turn out to be a rather alarming case of Plato's belief that "art mimics life."

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If, like me, you love birds, I have a book for you.

It's about a bird I'd never heard of, which makes it even cooler.  Turns out that Charles Darwin, on his epic voyage around the world on the HMS Beagle, came across a species of predatory bird -- the Striated Caracara -- in the remote Falkland Islands, off the coast of Argentina.  They had some fascinating qualities; Darwin said they were "tame and inquisitive... quarrelsome and passionate," and so curious about the odd interlopers who'd showed up in their cold, windswept habitat that they kept stealing things from the ship and generally making fascinating nuisances of themselves.

In A Most Remarkable Creature: The Hidden Life and Epic Journey of the World's Smartest Birds of Prey, by Jonathan Meiberg, we find out not only about Darwin's observations of them, but observations by British naturalist William Henry Hudson, who brought some caracaras back with him to England.  His inquiries into the birds' behavior showed that they were capable of stupendous feats of problem solving, putting them up there with crows and parrots in contention for the title of World's Most Intelligent Bird.

This book is thoroughly entertaining, and in its pages we're brought through remote areas in South America that most of us will never get to visit.  Along the way we learn about some fascinating creatures that will make you reconsider ever using the epithet of "birdbrain" again.

[Note: if you purchase this book using the image/link below, part of the proceeds goes to support Skeptophilia!]

Order of operations

I try not to write in Skeptophilia about topics I don't fully understand -- well, at least understand as fully as my brainpower and the available information allow.  But today I'm going to tell you about a recent paper in theoretical physics that blew my mind so completely that I had to write a post about it, even though saying "I don't completely comprehend this" is a serious understatement.

So here goes.  Just don't ask me to clarify further, because the most you'll get is the Canine Head-Tilt of Puzzlement.

The paper, which appeared last week in Nature Communications, is entitled "Bell's Theorem for Temporal Order," and was written by Magdalena Zych and Fabio Costa (of the University of Queensland), Igor Pikovski (of Harvard University), and Časlav Brukner (of the University of Vienna).  The issue the four physicists were looking at was the seeming paradox of the different way that time (specifically, temporal order) fits into general relativity and quantum theory.  In relativity, the flow of time depends on your relative speed and the distribution of mass near you; in general, the faster you're going, or the nearer you are to a massive object, the slower your clock runs.  Because reference frame is relative (thus the name of the entire theory), you don't notice this effect yourself -- to you, your clock runs just fine.  But to someone observing you at a distance, the flow of time in your frame of reference has become more sluggish.

Weird enough, but that's only the beginning.  To take the most familiar example, consider two astronauts in spacecraft zooming away from each other at a substantial fraction of the speed of light.  To astronaut A, his clock is running fine, and astronaut B's clock is slow (because he's moving away from A at a high speed).  But from B's perspective, it's A that's moving; so B thinks his own clock is accurate, and A's is the one that's running slow.

And it's not that one's right and the other is somehow being fooled.  Both of them are right -- because time is relative to your speed.

As an outcome of this (and germane to the paper I referenced), what this also means is that A and B can differ in what they perceive as the time order of two events.  Occurrences that appear simultaneous to one of the astronauts might appear sequential to the other.

With me so far?  Well, the problem that Zych et al. were investigating was that in quantum theory, there's no allowance for relativistic ordering of events.  Time's arrow is one-directional, and if event X followed Y in one reference frame, it would do so on all reference frames.

Well, that's what the physicists thought -- until this paper showed a theoretical framework that suggests otherwise.

Zych et al. proposed a thought experiment involving two spaceships, one of which is near a massive object (which, as I mentioned, warps spacetime in such a way as to slow down the passage of time).  They're engaged in a war game that requires them to fire their phasers simultaneously and immediately afterward start their engine so as to dodge the blast.  The problem is, the ship near the massive object will have a slower clock, and will not be able to fire quickly enough to escape being blasted by the other ship.

So far, weird but not that hard to understand.  What Zych et al. did was to ask a single question: what if the two ships were in a state of quantum superposition before they fired?

Superposition is one of the weirdest outcomes of quantum physics, but it's been demonstrated experimentally so many times that we have no choice but to accept that this is how the universe works.  The idea is that if a physical system could exist in two or more possible states, its actual state is an array of possibilities all existing at the same time until some measurement destroys the superposition and drops the system into one of the possible outcomes ("collapsing the wave function").  The most famous iteration of this is Schrödinger's Cat, who is both alive and dead until the box is opened.

In the case of the ships, the superposition results in quantum entanglement, where the entire system acts as a single entity (in a causal sense).  Here's how the result is described in a press release from the University of Vienna:

If a powerful agent could place a sufficiently massive object, say a planet, closer to one ship it would slow down its counting of time.  As a result, the ship farther away from the mass will fire too early for the first one to escape. 

The laws of quantum physics and gravity predict that by manipulating a quantum superposition state of the planet, the ships can end up in a superposition of either of them being destroyed...  The new work shows that the temporal order among events can exhibit superposition and entanglement – genuinely quantum features of particular importance for testing quantum theory against alternatives.

So each of the ships is in a state of both being destroyed and not being destroyed, from the standpoint of an outside observer -- until a measurement is made, which forces the system into one or the other outcome.

Note what this isn't saying; it's not implying that one of the ships was destroyed, and we simply don't know which yet.  It's implying that both ships are in an entangled state of being blasted to smithereens and not.

At the same time.

The authors write:

This entanglement enables accomplishing a task, violation of a Bell inequality, that is impossible under local classical temporal order; it means that temporal order cannot be described by any pre-defined local variables.  A classical notion of a causal structure is therefore untenable in any framework compatible with the basic principles of quantum mechanics and classical general relativity.

All of which leaves me sympathizing a great deal with Winnie-the Pooh.

So there you have it.  It turns out that the universe is a weird, weird place, where our common-sensical notions of how things work are often simply wrong.  Even though I'm far from an expert -- I run into the wall pretty fast when I try to read actual papers in physics, or (for that matter) in most scientific fields -- I find it fascinating to get a glimpse of the actual workings of the cosmos.

Even if it blows my tiny little mind.

*****************************

This week's Skeptophilia book recommendation is a must-read for anyone interested in astronomy -- Finding Our Place in the Universe by French astrophysicist Hélène Courtois.  Courtois gives us a thrilling tour of the universe on the largest scales, particularly Laniakea, the galactic supercluster to which the Milky Way belongs, and the vast and completely empty void between Laniakea and the next supercluster.  (These voids are so empty that if the Earth were at the middle of one, there would be no astronomical objects near enough or bright enough to see without a powerful telescope, and the night sky would be completely dark.)

Courtois's book is eye-opening and engaging, and (as it was just published this year) brings the reader up to date with the latest information from astronomy.  And it will give you new appreciation when you look up at night -- and realize how little of the universe you're actually seeing.

[Note: if you purchase this book from the image/link below, part of the proceeds goes to support Skeptophilia!]

Faith in the facts

I keep waiting for a day to go by in which someone in the Trump administration doesn't say something completely batshit insane.

The latest person to try to reach the summit of Mount Lunacy is Dr. Mark Green, nominee for Army Secretary, who apparently got his Ph.D. from Big Bob's Discount Diploma Warehouse.  Because besides such bizarre statements as "the government exists... to crush evil," particularly evil in the form of transgender people who are just looking for a quiet place to pee, Green has gone on record as saying that he not only doesn't accept evolution, he doesn't believe in...

... the Theory of Relativity.

In a speech that focused not on what he would do in his role as Army Secretary, but on The Universe According To Mark Green, he said, "The theory of relativity is a theory and some people accept it, but that requires somewhat of a degree of faith."

No.  No, no, no.  Faith is exactly what it doesn't take.  Although religious folks will probably disagree with me on this definition, faith is essentially believing in stuff for which you have no evidence; and as such, I've never really understood the distinction between "faith" and "delusion."  All that it takes to accept the Theory of Relativity is understanding the evidence that has been amassed in its favor.

[image courtesy of the Wikimedia Commons]

And at this point, the evidence is overwhelming.  Given its staggering conclusions -- weirdness like time dilation, the speed of light being the ultimate universal speed limit, and warped space -- it is understandable that after it was published, scientists wanted to make sure that Einstein was right.  So they immediately began designing experiments to test Einstein's theoretical predictions.

Needless to say, every single one of the experiments has supported that Einstein was 100% correct.  Every time there's some sort of suspected glitch -- like six years ago, when physicists at CERN thought they had detected a faster-than-light neutrino -- it's turned out to be an experimental error or an uncontrolled variable.  At this point, media should simply have a one-click method for punching in the headline "EINSTEIN VINDICATED AGAIN" whenever this sort of thing happens.

What is funniest about all of this is that the technology Green would be overseeing, as Army Secretary, includes SatNav guidance systems that use GPS coordinates -- which have to take relativistic effects into account.  If you decide that you "don't have enough faith" to accept relativity, your navigational systems will gradually drift out of sync with the Earth (i.e., with reality), and your multi-million-dollar tanks will end up driving directly off of cliffs.

So you need exactly zero faith to accept relativity.  Or evolution, or cosmology, or plate tectonics, or radioisotope dating, or any of the other scientifically sound models that Green and his ilk tend to jettison.  All you need to do is to take the time to learn some science.  What does take faith, however, is accepting that anyone who has as little knowledge of the real world as Mark Green does has any business running an entire branch of the military.

Anyhow, there you have it: our "alternative fact" of the day.  It's almost as good as the "alternative fact" of the day before, which came straight from Dear Leader Trump, to wit: Andrew Jackson was a good guy with a "big heart" who "was really angry about what he saw happening with the Civil War."  Oh, and the Civil War could "have all been worked out," and that "people don't ask the question" about why the Civil War started.

Except, of course, for the thousands of historians who have been writing about the causes of the Civil War for decades.  And Andrew "Big Heart" Jackson was responsible for the forced deportation of fifteen thousand Native Americans from their ancestral homes, in one of the biggest forced relocations ever perpetrated, and in which a quarter of them died of disease, starvation, and exposure.

Oh, yeah, and I don't think Jackson was particularly angry about the Civil War, given that he died sixteen years before it started.

So it'd be nice if our leaders would stop saying things that turn the United States into a world-wide laughingstock.  I'm planning on going to Ecuador this summer, and I'd really like it if I don't have to tell the Ecuadorians I meet that just because I'm an American doesn't mean I'm an ignorant, raving loon.  Thank you.

Sending pucks to Bolivia

In yesterday's post, I made the claim that men don't necessarily always think only about sports or sex, that sometimes we think about other things, such as quantum mechanics.  This caused a couple of my female readers to snort with derision, and remark that they've never seen evidence of any such thing.  Just to prove that my statement was true, today's subject is:  quantum mechanics.

Actually, I've been thinking about quantum mechanics a good bit lately, as I've been re-reading Brian Greene's awesome and mind-blowing book The Fabric of the Cosmos, surely one of the most lucid, readable books ever to be written on the subject of how completely freakin' weird the universe is.  No offense to Stephen Hawking, but it beats A Brief History of Time by about a megaparsec.  Even the illustrated version.

I think the thing that strikes me the most, every time I think about such things, is that our perception of the objects in our lives as ordinary misses how strange even everyday objects actually are.  I have no claims to be an expert -- despite the "B. S. Physics" on my diploma, I was a lackluster physics student at best, and most of what I understand about such things has come in the last fifteen years when I really started reading up on the subject -- but what I do understand about it rocks my world.

Here are a few bits of physics weirdness, just to turn your Sunday morning inside-out.  Please keep in mind as you read this that all of this isn't speculation -- it's hard science, experimentally verified over and over.

1)  You never see the present.  Everything you've ever seen is in the past.  Even these words you're reading right now.  You are seeing your computer screen as it was about a billionth of a second ago, when the light left the screen.  The further away something is, the further back in time you're looking.  You see the moon as it was three seconds ago; the sun as it was nine minutes ago; and the closest star (Alpha Centauri) as it was 4.3 years ago.  If Alpha Centauri vanished at 8:00 this morning, you would have no way of knowing it for another 4.3 years.

2)  What the word "now" means isn't the same for everyone.  Einstein did away with that notion.  Not only does relativity predict that individuals traveling relative to each other experience differences in the rate at which time passes, they don't even agree on whether two events were simultaneous or not.  So if I snap my fingers, and at that moment Steve and Joe were the same distance away from me but Steve was moving toward me and Joe was moving away from me, by Steve's clock the snap would have occurred earlier than it would by my clock, and by Joe's clock it would have happened later... and we'd all be correct.  Further, if (by my perspective) Steve and Joe both snapped their fingers simultaneously, neither Steve nor Joe would think those two events were simultaneous at all -- both Steve and Joe would perceive his own snap as coming first!  Three different measurements of the same events -- and once again, all three perceptions would be 100% correct.

3)  Particles aren't hard little billiard balls.  Remember the protons, neutrons, and electrons your chemistry teacher drew on the board, looking like little dots?  Forget that.  They don't exist.  Or at least, that's not the most fundamental reality.  Electrons aren't particles, they're fields of probabilities -- a smear of likelihoods that the electron is in one place or the other.  It's convenient to say that "an electron is here" -- but what this really means is that "here" is the location where the probability field has its highest value.  Now, don't misunderstand this; physicists aren't using "probability" to mean "it's definitely either here or there, and we just happen not to know," in the same sense that I could say that the probability of rolling a four on a fair die is 1/6, and that (even if I can't see the outcome) it either is or isn't a four.  No, it's weirder than that: the electron is the probability field.  If I use a detector, I can pinpoint its location for a moment, but before that moment and after it, the electron really is a spread-out haze of probabilities.  The experimental confirmation of this idea, revolving around the mind-boggling principle called Bell's Inequality (after the brilliant Irish physicist John Bell), showed that until it hits a detector, an electron flying from a source takes all possible paths to get there.  It's as if when Joe Nieuwendyk winds up for a slapshot, the puck travels between his stick and the net by all possible trajectories at the same time, including pathways that went from stick to net via Bolivia, Mars, and the Andromeda Galaxy.  What we see -- that the puck goes straight from stick to net -- is just the average of all of the possible pathways!

(Drat, I slipped back into talking about sports, didn't I?  And I was doing so well, up until that point.)

Again, recall that this is not just some metaphorical way of talking about things; this is the reality of the universe, experimentally confirmed every which way from Sunday.  Even our conventional perception of objects as solid is an illusion -- most of matter is empty space, and the feeling of solidity when you give a passionate kiss to your significant other is just because you're feeling the mutual repulsion between the electrons in your lips and the electrons in your sweetheart's.  Your lips never really touch, as peculiar as that sounds.

(Admit it: after I slipped up with sports, you knew I'd have to work in sex, as well.)

I wish I knew more about this subject (quantum mechanics, not sex).  I find it fascinating that our simplistic understanding through classical physics can be simultaneously so useful and so wildly incomplete.  I, for one, enjoy having my mind blown occasionally, to see that the world is amazing and beautiful and bizarre.  Or, as J. B. S. Haldane once said, "The universe is not only queerer than we imagine; it is queerer than we can imagine."