In a period when a limited domain of physical phenomena is exciting wide fervent interest and commanding intensive study, and continues for years to monopolize the attention of many brilliant theorists, sometimes it is the fortune of an ingenious mind to express or interpret or picture the already-discovered laws in a new way which makes so greatly favourable an impression, that in a moment it sweeps its rivals from the field. The new theory may not lead to more or better agreements with experience than did its predecessors; it need not make predictions which they were incapable of making; its mathematical processes may be identical with theirs, the old symbols reappearing with new names in the old equations. Contrariwise it may be born well endowed with these advantages which normally decide the contest between old theories and new, yet owe its victory not to them at all. It triumphs because it seems natural or sensible or reasonable or elegant or beautiful-words said of a theory which fulfils some deep-seated demand or evades some deep-rooted prejudice in the minds of its judges. Later its vogue may pass, not through the disclosure of any intrinsic defect, but because the physicists of the rising generation do not share the prejudices and the predilections of those who first applauded it. The kinetic theory of gases was welcomed by a generation which wished to believe in atoms; the electromagnetic theory by people prejudiced against the notion of action at a distance; the quantum-theory has always had to do battle against those who yearn for continuity in their images of Nature, and the theory to which these pages are devoted has captivated the world of physics in a few brief months because it seems to promise a fulfilment of that long-baffled and insuppressible desire.
In a period when a limited domain of physical phenomena is exciting wide fervent interest and commanding intensive study, and continues for years to monopolize the attention of many brilliant theorists, sometimes it is the fortune of an ingenious mind to express or interpret or picture the already-discovered laws in a new way which makes so greatly favourable an impression, that in a moment it sweeps its rivals from the field. The new theory may not lead to more or better agreements with experience than did its predecessors; it need not make predictions which they were incapable of making; its mathematical processes may be identical with theirs, the old symbols reappearing with new names in the old equations. Contrariwise it may be born well endowed with these advantages which normally decide the contest between old theories and new, yet owe its victory not to them at all. It triumphs because it seems natural or sensible or reasonable or elegant or beautiful-words said of a theory which fulfils some deep-seated demand or evades some deep-rooted prejudice in the minds of its judges. Later its vogue may pass, not through the disclosure of any intrinsic defect, but because the physicists of the rising generation do not share the prejudices and the predilections of those who first applauded it. The kinetic theory of gases was welcomed by a generation which wished to believe in atoms; the electromagnetic theory by people prejudiced against the notion of action at a distance; the quantum-theory has always had to do battle against those who yearn for continuity in their images of Nature, and the theory to which these pages are devoted has captivated the world of physics in a few brief months because it seems to promise a fulfilment of that long-baffled and insuppressible desire.
FOR twenty years and more we have been hearing continually about the conflict between the corpuscular and the undulatory theories of light, and it is possible that for years to come we may be hearing about a similar contest between the wave-theory and the particle-theory of matter. Furthermore, there are intimations that if an adequate theory either of light or of matter ever is attained, it will involve conceptions of waves which in certain limiting cases approach to conceptions of particles. Already it is established that the appropriate way to attack the typical problems of the atom consists in setting up a wave-equation, and dealing with it in the same manner as one adopts to solve the typical problem of acoustics: how to determine the resonance-frequencies of a piece of elastic matter, such as a taut wire or a drumhead or a column of air in a tube. Therefore it seems opportune to restudy, with care and in detail, the great classical example of a wave-theory highly developed and widely successfulthe great theory of light dimly foreshadowed by Huygens, endowed with its essen tial attributes by Young and Fresnel and Kirchhoff and a host of their coevals, utilized in the design of a multitude of ingenious instruments, perfected by Maxwell and connected with the theory of electricity and magnetism, and serving to this day as the basis for the theory of quanta. So doing, we shall be reminded of many triumphs of the past century of physical research, discoveries which in their time were as exciting as new quantum phenomena in ours; we shall notice certain achievements themselves as recent as those of quanta, and perhaps not less impressive; we shall retrace the reasonings which led to certain conclusions which the quantum-theories, unable to do without them and yet incompetent to derive them, have taken bodily over from their forerunner; we shall reconsider the evidence which in the litigation of a century ago caused the verdict to be rendered in favour of the wave-theory over the particle-theory; and perhaps incidentally we shall be drilling ourselves to test the evidence lately submitted and still to be submitted in the appeal of that case, and in the hearing of that other which impends.
The difficulties of the old quantum theory were largely dispelled by the development of quantum mechanics in the 1920s. First Heisenberg (1925) developed the rather abstract matrix mechanics and soon after Schro¨dinger (1926; see also Eckart, 1926) developed the physically more appealing wave mechanics. Subsequently he showed them to be mathematically equivalent. The physicists were greatly relieved; now they had once again a mathematical formalism that enabled the results of experiments to be calculated. It was possible to move forward. It is certainly a very elegant and indeed beautiful formalism, and does enable the results of many physical measurements to be calculated with great accuracy. It is used daily by atomic and nuclear physicists; there is no other way to make calculations. From the earliest days there has been intense debate about the interpretation of quantum mechanics, and it shows no signs of being settled; if anything it is becoming more intense over the years. As Penrose has remarked, no one understands quantum mechanics. Feynman (1967; see also Sykes, 1994) also admitted that ‘nobody understands quantum mechanics’, and Einstein once remarked: ‘I have thought a hundred times as much about the quantum problems as I have about general relativity theory’ (Pais, 1994, p. 57). It should therefore be evident that the most that can be done here is to try to show where the real difficulties lie, and how the failure to recognize that quantum mechanics is an essentially statistical theory has led to a series of confusing quantum paradoxes. It is just these paradoxes that have often been used to support theological speculations. It is useful to ask what ‘understanding quantum mechanics’ actually means. Certainly it means being able to calculate the results of many measurements. The same applies to Newton’s theory of gravitation, which we understand in the sense that we can use it as a basis of calculation, although we do not really understand the gravitational force itself. Very often, especially in modern physics, the mathematical formalism does not give us the sort of intuitive physical feeling for what is going on that we often obtain from classical mechanics. Perhaps we can never achieve more than this for quantum mechanics. In classical mechanics we can assume that a property that is measured objectively exists prior to the interaction of the measuring apparatus with the observed system. Quantum mechanics, however, ‘is incompatible with the proposition that measurement discovers some unknown but pre-existing property’ (Peres, 1997, p. 14). There is an important distinction between mysteries and absurdities. We may be forced to live with mysteries, but there is no reason why we should put up with absurdities such as the wave-particle duality, tunnelling through potential barriers, acausal events and the collapse of the wave function. These are the quantum paradoxes that will be discussed later on. They arise within the Copenhagen interpretation of quantum mechanics and are solved by other interpretations. These alternative interpretations enable us to make conjectures about what is going on, even though we cannot understand it in detail. This is acceptable and a stimulus to further research. It is certainly difficult enough to understand quantum mechanics, but there is no need to try to visualize logical absurdities in the effort to do so. Quantum mechanics is a mathematical formalism that makes it possible to calculate the results of some experiments. Anything more than this, such as questions about the interpretation of what is measured and whether it tells us what is actually going on in the system being studied, belongs to philosophy. Thus we are concerned here with what is essentially a philosophical debate; if it were just a matter of physics the debate would have been settled long ago. One of the difficulties is that it invokes the results of experiments and uses the language of quantum mechanics. Inevitably this language uses philosophical terms and then it is easy to give the impression that the philosophical propositions are in some way entailed by the physical results. These in turn can influence theological thinking. In order to be quite clear which arguments are justified and which are not, it is essential to separate the three levels of discourse: physical, philosophical and theological. Our task is to relate these together, and this immediately raises the traditional problems of the philosophy of science, including the relation of experiment to theory, and of theory to explanation. We begin by discussing experiments, distinguishing between those that are real and those that are imaginary.
Quantum theory is a phenomenally successful cornerstone of physics. But a recent poll among quantum physicists shows that there is still little agreement on what the theory tells us about physical reality. Yet precious bits of consensus are emerging. As always, Albert Einstein was ahead of his time. Quantum theory was still in its infancy, its formalism a mere sketch, and its implications only beginning to be realized. Yet Einstein, in 1917, already spotted what would trouble him throughout his lifetime. He concluded that the nascent theory, which he had helped initiate, seemed to leave “time and direction of elementary processes,” such as the spontaneous emission of radiation from a molecule, “to chance” 1. Einstein's conclusion was visionary. It was also incredibly bold, for it suggested a radical departure from the powerful, centuries-old deterministic and causal worldview of classical physics. But Einstein also immediately expressed his discomfort with the idea of fundamental chance. In fact, his worries were just the seed of what would turn into one of the longest and most heated debates in the history of physics. What does quantum theory mean, and what does it tell us about the nature of reality? Some of the brightest minds in physics locked horns over these issues. Besides Einstein, there were Niels Bohr, Erwin Schrödinger, Werner Heisenberg, Pascual Jordan, Carl Friedrich von Weizsäcker, Wolfgang Pauli, and Richard Feynman, just to name a few. Ask anyone today working on foundational questions in quantum theory and you are likely to hear that there is still no consensus on many of these questions—all the while, of course, everybody seems to be in perfect agreement on how to apply the quantum formalism when it comes to making experimental predictions. Remarkably, there has never been any serious attempt to find out what the current opinions of the community really are and how they may be correlated. We jumped on the opportunity and polled 33 participants at a 2011 conference on “Quantum Physics and the Nature of Reality” (Fig. 1) 2. (We hasten to add that our poll is to be understood as merely a snapshot and certainly cannot claim to be representative.) As soon as we had collected the questionnaires, the respondents eagerly asked to hear the results. Evidently, we had not been the only curious party. What did we find? The fundamental questions, it seems, still elicit radically different responses. Take the quantum state—represented by the wavefunction—as an illustration. The wavefunction is the central mathematical symbol of quantum mechanics. It allows us to make incredibly accurate predictions, be it in atomic, molecular, or solid-state physics. But how are we to interpret it? Is it itself a physical property, or does it merely represent our knowledge? Our poll revealed a tie between these two positions. And not only that: a third of respondents preferred a mix of both viewpoints—perhaps a sign that a more nuanced view, or even a synthesis of views, may be on the horizon. Only 3% of those polled thought that quantum states never refer to a single system but only to ensembles of systems. Perhaps this departure from the ensemble view—a view that, we suspect, remains more popular in the physics community at large—has to do with the fact that experiments with single quantum systems have become routine in today's quantum-information laboratories. Sharp disagreement was in evidence on another deep question. Abraham Pais, Einstein's biographer, recalled that “during one walk Einstein suddenly stopped, turned to me and asked whether I really believed that the moon exists only when I look at it” 3. Putting the issue differently, are the physical properties of objects well defined before we actually measure them? Half of the respondents in our poll believed that they sometimes were, while the other half said that they never were. These two positions correspond to radically different ways of understanding the function of measurement: either as simply ascertaining—at least sometimes—of what is already there, or as an act of genuine creation. The role of measurement is also at the heart of another perennial favorite of foundational discussions, the measurement problem. The measurement problem highlights a curious fact about quantum theory: while the act of measurement assumes a fundamental role, it is not described—not without interpretive contortions, anyway—by the dynamical law of quantum theory, the Schrödinger equation. For decades, the measurement problem was seen by many as the main stumbling block for quantum theory, sparking a storm of rivaling attempts to deal with this perceived issue. Today, the waters seem to have calmed and attention shifted elsewhere, as only less than a fourth of respondents consider the measurement problem “a severe difficulty threatening quantum mechanics.” Changing attitudes are also evident when it comes to the issue of chance Einstein had brought to light in 1917. Today, the question of the randomness of quantum events no longer seems to be all that contentious. Most of our respondents accepted randomness as irreducible or a fundamental concept in nature (or both). Less than one-tenth of respondents thought that quantum randomness was merely apparent rather than fundamental, and no one believed in a hidden determinism governing quantum events. We wish we could hear Einstein's opinion today. Why have attitudes and priorities changed? It's hard to say, but we think there may be several driving forces. The rapid ascent of quantum information science has not only led to applications such as secure cryptography and the promise of lightning-fast quantum computers, but has also shed new light on foundational problems and handed us new tools for addressing them. Our poll shows that these tools are considered a welcome addition, with three-fourths seeing quantum information as a breath of fresh air for foundational investigations. There is also optimism about the future technological development of quantum information, with more than 75% of respondents expecting a working and useful quantum computer to be realized within the next fifty years. Such optimism might be rooted in the astonishing experimental progress we have witnessed over the past decades, another driving force behind changing attitudes. We are now at stage where almost perfect experimental control of single quantum systems has been achieved. The 2012 Nobel Prize in physics was awarded for just such experiments. This has put at our fingertips the ability to actually carry out the thought experiments—or approximations thereof, at any rate—that the founders of quantum theory had dreamed up. Take Schrödinger's cat. In 1935, Schrödinger wanted to illustrate what seemed to him an absurd prediction of the new theory: that the strange quantum superpositions of the atomic world can be amplified to everyday objects. Schrödinger's object of choice was a cat in a specifically prepared box. Quantum theory then suggested that the state of the cat should become transformed into a bizarre quantum superposition of being simultaneously alive and dead. But what Schrödinger had intended as a “burlesque” 4 thought experiment is now approaching experimental reality. Over the last decades, researchers have become increasingly skilled in breeding small versions of Schrödinger's cat. While they don't involve actual cats, they do already involve large biological molecules. Our respondents, it seems, were inspired by such developments. A solid two-thirds majority declared that they don't expect any fundamental limit in this enterprise of observing larger and larger objects in superpositions of macroscopically distinct states. No limit, then, for quantum theory—something that Bohr had already suggested when he, in some of his early thought experiments, considered apparatuses that included macroscopic parts behaving in quantum-mechanical ways. There are other new trends. Why do people seem to be much more at ease with relativity theory than with quantum theory? For one, both special and general relativity theory are grounded in a few simple physical principles. By contrast, quantum theory is lacking such a foundation and is instead based on a rather abstract mathematical body. Today, several researchers are out to change this situation, trying to derive quantum theory from a small set of physical or information-theoretic principles. They hope that in this way, we will understand why we have this peculiar theory to begin with. A majority in our poll regarded such “reconstructions” of quantum theory as giving useful insights, indicating once more that any new tool that promises fresh insights is embraced with an open mind. To be sure, many (albeit not all) of the questions we asked in the poll are interpretive questions. This means that unless we should find out some day that quantum theory is in fact not always valid—in which case we would have to rethink the whole game—experiments arguably can't play the role of the arbiter. Some physicists will conclude from this that we need not bother with such questions, and relegate them to philosophy. We think this is too quick. Many ideas in physics didn't come out of thin air, but came about when someone started looking at a problem with a certain philosophical disposition. In this sense, we may think of the plurality of views in quantum mechanics as productive. Every interpretation highlights some aspect of quantum theory, is particularly suited for explaining particular phenomena, and may inspire new technologies—such as the quantum computer—or even new physics. What, then, does the future hold? Half of the respondents in our poll believe that in fifty years from now, we will probably still be coming together for conferences on the fundamental questions of quantum theory. But what kinds of questions will be on the agenda? Will we still be worrying about the same problems as today? Or will these problems have been solved—or found to be less relevant—and our focus shifted to new questions once again? Who knows. But the location of the conference where we conducted the poll may tell a story. It was the place of a monastery, and a central position in the battle between Catholics and Protestants during the seventeenth century. Many of the questions that were hotly debated back then are no longer of interest to many people today, and other, new questions have since taken center stage in our society. Maybe some of the battles over the interpretation of quantum theory will meet a similar fate.
Primitive man must have found nature singularly puzzling and intricate. The simplest phenomena could be trusted to recur indefinitely; an unsupported body invariably fell, a stone thrown into water sank, while a piece of wood floated. Yet other more complicated phenomena shewed no such uniformity—the lightning struck one tree in the grove while its neighbour of similar growth and equal size escaped unharmed; one month the new moon brought fair weather, the next month foul. Confronted with a natural world which was to all appearances as capricious as himself, man's first impulse was to create Nature in his own image; he attributed the seemingly erratic and unordered course of the universe to the whims and passions of gods, or of benevolent or malevolent lesser spirits. Only after much study did the great principle of causation emerge. In time it was found to dominate the whole of inanimate nature: a cause which could be completely isolated in its action was found invariably to produce the same effect. What happened at any instant did not depend on the volitions of extraneous beings, but followed inevitably by inexorable laws from the state of things at the preceding instant. And this state of things had in turn been inevitably determined by an earlier state, and so on indefinitely, so that the whole course of events had been unalterably determined by the state in which the world found itself at the first instant of its history; once this had been fixed, nature could move only along one road to a predestined end.
Now I shall try to give you an idea of the way in which physicists at present endeavour to overcome this failure. One might term it an ‘emergency exit’, though it was not intended as such, but as a new theory. I mean, of course, wave mechanics. (Eddington called it ‘not a physical theory but a dodge—and a very good dodge too’.) The situation is about as follows. The observed facts (about particles and light and all sorts of radiation and their mutual interaction) appear to be repugnant to the classical ideal of a continuous description in space and time. (Let me explain myself to the physicist by hinting at one example: Bohr's famous theory of spectral lines in 1913 had to assume that the atom makes a sudden transition from one state into another state, and that in doing so it emits a train of light waves several feet long, containing hundreds of thousands of waves and requiring for its formation a considerable time. No information about the atom during this transition can be offered.) So the facts of observation are irreconcilable with a continuous description in space and time 5 it just seems impossible, at least in many cases.
Attitudes toward quantum mechanics differ interestingly from one generation of physicists to the next. The first generation are the founding fathers, who struggled through the welter of confusing and self-contradictory constructions to emerge with the modern theory of the atomic world and supply it with the “Copenhagen interpretation.” On the whole they seem to have taken the view that while the theory is extraordinarily strange (Bohr is said to have remarked that if it didn't make you dizzy then you didn't really understand it), the strangeness arises out of some deeply ingrained but invalid modes of thought. Once these are recognized and abandoned the theory makes sense in a perfectly straightforward way. The word “irrational,” which appears frequently in Bohr's early writings about the quantum theory, is almost entirely absent from his later essays. The second generation, those who were students of the founding fathers in the early postrevolutionary period, seem firmly—at times even ferociously—committed to the position that there is really nothing peculiar about the quantum world at all. Far from making bons mots about dizziness, or the opposite of deep truths being deep truths, they appear to go out of their way to make quantum mechanics sound as boringly ordinary as possible. The third generation—mine—were born a decade or so after the revolution and learned about the quantum as kids from popular books like George Gamow's. We seem to be much more relaxed about it than the other two. Few of us brood about what it all means, any more than we worry about how to define mass or time when we use classical mechanics. In contemplative moments some of us think the theory is wonderfully strange and others think it isn't; but we don't hold these views with great passion. Most of us, in fact, feel irritated, bored, or downright uncomfortable when asked to articulate what we really think about quantum mechanics. I'm one of the uncomfortable ones. If I were forced to sum up in one sentence what the Copenhagen interpretation says to me, it would be “Shut up and calculate!” But I won't shut up. I would rather celebrate the strangeness of quantum theory than deny it, because I believe it still has interesting things to teach us about how certain powerful but flawed verbal and mental tools we once took for granted continue to infect our thinking in subtly hidden ways.