ENERAL philosophy claims to be the critical subject which lays down for all of us what we may be allowed to think, and yet it has played no part whatever in the great revolutions of human thought of the present century-those connected with relativity and the quantum theory. It might have been expected that the scientists would have been constantly consulting the philosophers as to the legitimacy of their various speculations, but nothing of the kind has happened. Since no one can dispense with some sort of metaphysic, each scientist has made one for himself, and no doubt they contain many crudities, but it would seem that a deep interest in metaphysic is a disadvantage rather than an advantage to the physicist-at least I have the impression that those of my friends who are most inclined to speculate on the ultimate things appear to be the ones whose scientific work is most hampered by doing so. Now I propose to risk a similar indiscretion. I want to embody in it the practical philosophy of a physicist, and I do not mean it as an attack on the pure philosophers, who are very reasonable people, only chargeable with the minor offence of not having made me want to read their books! I had better begin by stating shortly the ideas I intend to discuss. There is a notable contrast between the way we think about things and the way we think we ought to think about them.
ENERAL philosophy claims to be the critical subject which lays down for all of us what we may be allowed to think, and yet it has played no part whatever in the great revolutions of human thought of the present century-those connected with relativity and the quantum theory. It might have been expected that the scientists would have been constantly consulting the philosophers as to the legitimacy of their various speculations, but nothing of the kind has happened. Since no one can dispense with some sort of metaphysic, each scientist has made one for himself, and no doubt they contain many crudities, but it would seem that a deep interest in metaphysic is a disadvantage rather than an advantage to the physicist-at least I have the impression that those of my friends who are most inclined to speculate on the ultimate things appear to be the ones whose scientific work is most hampered by doing so. Now I propose to risk a similar indiscretion. I want to embody in it the practical philosophy of a physicist, and I do not mean it as an attack on the pure philosophers, who are very reasonable people, only chargeable with the minor offence of not having made me want to read their books! I had better begin by stating shortly the ideas I intend to discuss. There is a notable contrast between the way we think about things and the way we think we ought to think about them.
The relation between Physics and Philosophy brings to mind the proverbial marriage of high drama; the parties do not approve of each other, but separated they cannot live. Philosophers find physicists shallow, and many physicists claim that they find philosophic speculations useless or worse. Mostly both display a lack of knowledge and understanding of the methods and goals of the other. A few researchers have tried to bridge this gap and explore the worlds of both parties. Michael Redhead has worked in this borderland, and when he retired from his chair in Cambridge, a symposium was arranged to honour him. The talks presented on this occasion are now published in a volume presenting much food for thought to both philosophers and physicists. The essays in this publication do not offer easy reading; not too many readers will have the preparation to penetrate the technical arguments offered. The authors are well acquainted with both philosophical argumentation and mathematical formalism, and, following the lead of Professor Redhead, they combine these in intricate and suggestive ways. Only a close reading can offer understanding of the points of view taken by the various authors. Browsing and mere reading defines the scenery, exploring it demands much more. Many of the nine essays included investigate the meaning of terms used loosely in physics contexts: locality, beables, symmetries and time in relativity. All essays utilize the mathematical structures of physics, but the approach is mainly philosophical; concepts like reality and metaphysics are applied. Some writings are more physical in their treatment of technical questions relating to modern quantum theory. Bohmian mechanics, localized quantum states and gauge symmetries are discussed in detail. It is, however, found that these present interpretational problems that are usually glossed over in purely physical treatments. For an old sceptic like myself, it is quite refreshing to find that many assertions, taken for granted in our textbooks, are indeed doubtful and offer conceptual or technical difficulties. This insight is what a philosophical analysis can offer the working physicist; future progress may well arise from such realizations. However, the results offered by philosophical analysis are usually found unsatisfactory; the hope that philosophy can suggest novel directions for the theory remains unfounded. Philosophers can learn that modern physics rests on a very shaky conceptual foundation. The theory has evolved by a combination of serendipity and opportunism. The beast that finally has emerged is neither well founded nor internally consistent. Its only merit is that it works. That offers the ultimate philosophical problem of modern physics. If the present book can help the philosopher to behold this challenging but overwhelming wilderness, then it serves a useful purpose indeed. But the prospective researcher has to learn to master the difficult language used by the natives, who are not always friendly. I enjoyed reading the book immensely, but the technical difficulty of the text made my understanding remain mostly superficial. I hope to have the time to return some of the essays, and look into the references and issues involved. The work is genuinely what it promises: a guide From Physics to Philosophy .
THE conceptual problems raised by the discovery of quantum effects have not been fully resolved after half a century. Part of the reason for this is undoubtedly to be found in the mutual ignorance which prevails between physicists and philosophers. In his book Heisenberg brings together a philosophically inclined temperament with an unrivalled knowledge of physics. The result is a book of very great interest, however much one might disagree with his conclusions. The collection of essays of which the other book is made up is intended to bring crucial conceptual problems in physics especially to the notice of philosophers. The design and intention of the collection is admirable for this is the proper way to overcome the departmentalization of interest that has left the deep conceptual problems still unresolved. Men like Heisenberg who combine philosophical temperament with scientic knowledge of great distinction are rare, and yet the difficulties can only be cleared up by the application of philosophical techniques of analysis to problems which are an intimate and difficult part of physics. A great deal of the interest of Heisenberg's book lies in the very comprehensive account he gives of the origin and growth of the Copenhagen school, and the way the new phenomena forced a largely unwelcome picture of nature upon Bohr and his friends. The most important chapter from a philosophical point of view is that in which Heisenberg defends this interpretation against the attacks to which it has been subjected. The essence of his argument for the interpretation can be summed up in two propositions. (i) The Copenhagen interpretation of physical theory, which depends upon the acceptance of the so-called Principle of Complementarity, is an inevitable and final interpretation. The reason for this is that there are only two possible general models for understanding given physical phenomena; a particle model or a wave model. These are exhaustive and exclusive because the former depends upon discontinuous and the latter upon continuous (using substance here in the traditional philosophical sense). If we find, as we do, that the two fundamental constituents of the universe, matter and radiation, each exhibit two classes of phenomena, one explainable only on a particle model and one on a wave model, then we are compelled to adopt a complementarity hypothesis and give up the idea of finding a single and uniform model for the understanding of phenomena. There are only two kinds of models; they are mutually exclusive; both are required; hence we either despair before an insoluble problem or adopt the Copenhagen interpretation. (2) Any serious criticism of this interpretation must offer an alternative
I am very grateful to the Master and Fellows of Trinity College for inviting me to give the Tarner Lectures. What I want to do in this book, stated boldly and baldly, is to consider the relevance of developments in modern theoretical physics to metaphysical questions about the ultimate nature of reality. By metaphysical questions I mean the very general sorts of questions that arise out of a critical examination of the principles, concepts and fundamental presuppositions that lie behind modern physics. How should we interpret the claims that physicists seem to be making about the world? Are they intended to be understood as literally true, for example, and exactly what are those claims, given that the pages of theoretical physics monographs are largely filled with abstract mathematical formalism? In the first chapter, I shall be looking at a range of philosophical points of view in the framework of which such questions can be addressed, and attempt the difficult task of adjudicating between the different approaches. At the end of the day I shall be arguing for a pretty straightforward metaphysical realism, that the external world exists independently of our knowledge of it. In the second chapter I shall look at arguments from various branches of modern physics that are sometimes claimed to bring in an essential role for subjectivity in physics, bringing the observer into a central role, creating his own reality.
There are several (general) philosophy of physics textbooks on the market.1 An
obvious question to ask at the outset then is: Why another one? In his “Some
Philosophical Aspects of Particle Physics”, Michael Redhead bemoans the common practice of philosophers of science of dealing with examples “which are no
longer of current research interest in science” ((1980), p. 279). This practice is
still common even among many philosophers of physics, and, for the most part,
the available textbooks continue to engage in this practice. Generally, one finds a
little spacetime, a little statistical mechanics, and a little quantum theory. Now,
these are of course the ‘pillars’ of modern physics, so it is what we should expect
to be covered in any textbook on the philosophy of physics worth its salt (and,
indeed, they are well represented in this book). However, the issues that are
dealt with are usually very old fashioned and very limited in scope: ‘spacetime’
means ‘the twins paradox’ (and possibly conventionalism); ‘statistical mechanics’
means ‘time asymmetry’; and ‘quantum theory’ means ‘the measurement problem’. Redhead is surely right that this leads physicists to “regard philosophy of
science as somewhat irrelevant”. Rightly so, too, if this were in fact representative of much of what actually goes on in philosophy of physics. However, the
state of play as represented in philosophy of physics and (some) philosophy of
science journals shows a very different level of engagement, with philosophers
of physics investigating the frontiers of scientific research. This disparity (or the
impression of such) is the raison d’eˆtre for the book you are now reading. The result is an introductory textbook covering those portions of philosophy of physics
research that other textbooks fail to cover, or cover only very briefly or very
simplistically. The three pillars of modern physics-relativity, quantum theory
and statistical mechanics-are still represented, then, but from a more advanced
and contemporary perspective.
Why should anyone think that what is so deeply puzzling about the quantum world is really a matter of logic? Why should anyone think that studying the logic of quantum mechanics should be a route to a proper understanding of quantum mechanics? There is a tradition in the philosophy of quantum mechanics, a tradition stronger among philosophical commentators than among physicists, which sees the subject as the business of understanding quantum mechanical language and the way that language relates to the world. It is an idea more strongly held by philosophers – it comes much more naturally to them – because the analytic tradition, in which most Anglo-American philosophers of science are raised, is generally much exercised about words and how they hook on to things. The analytic tradition in the philosophy of quantum mechanics is not unreasonable. Everyone admits that we cannot picture the microphysical world, that a graphic or iconic representation of quantum systems is impossible. Therefore understanding quantum mechanics must be a matter of understanding the logic of the words and the mathematics of quantum mechanics. If this seems implausible, it is because of an ambiguity in our use of the verb ‘to understand’. We understand the physical world, and we understand physics. But physics is not the physical world. It is something of an entirely different sort, a human product, a way of representing the world.
Twentieth-Century Physics A century which has run less than a third of its course has already witnessed two great upheavals in physical science. These are associated with the words Relativity and Quanta, and have forced the physicist of to-day to view nature against a background of ideas which is very different from that of his nineteenth-century predecessor. The latter thought of nature as an assemblage of objects located in space and continually changing with the passage of time. It was something entirely detached from, and external to, himself; something which he could study and explore from a distance as the astronomer studies the surface of the sun through his telescope, or the explorer the desert from his aeroplane. He thought of the apparatus of his laboratory as the astronomer thinks of his telescope, or the explorer of his field-glass; it shewed him things which were there whether he looked at them or not, which had been there before the first man appeared on earth, and would still be there after the last man had been frozen to extinction. Finally he accepted a “common-sense” view of nature, believing that there was no great difference between appearance and reality; the possibility that things were not as they seemed might provide an admirable subject for a debating society of philosophers, but was of as little practical concern to the scientist as to the farm-labourer. Although he may not have realised it, this complex of beliefs constituted a philosophical creed in itself.