We often discussed his notions on objective reality. I recall 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. A. Pais As O. Stern said recently, one should no more rack one's brain about the problem of whether something one cannot know anything about exists all the same, than about the ancient question of how many angels are able to sit on the point of a needle. But it seems to be that Einstein's questions are ultimately always of this kind. W. Pauli Pauli and Einstein were both wrong. The questions with which Einstein attacked the quantum theory do have answers; but they are not the answers Einstein expected them to have. We now know that the moon is demonstrably not there when nobody looks. The impact of this discovery on philosophy may have been blunted by the way in which it is conventionally stated, which leaves it fully accessible only to those with a working knowledge of quantum mechanics. I hope to remove that barrier by describing this remarkable aspect of nature in a way that presupposes no background whatever in the quantum theory or, for that matter, in classical physics either. I shall describe a piece of machinery that presents without any distortion one of the most strikingly peculiar features of the atomic world. No formal training in physics or mathematics is needed to grasp and ponder the extraordinary behavior of the device; it is only necessary to follow a simple counting argument on the level of a newspaper braintwister.
We often discussed his notions on objective reality. I recall 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. A. Pais As O. Stern said recently, one should no more rack one's brain about the problem of whether something one cannot know anything about exists all the same, than about the ancient question of how many angels are able to sit on the point of a needle. But it seems to be that Einstein's questions are ultimately always of this kind. W. Pauli Pauli and Einstein were both wrong. The questions with which Einstein attacked the quantum theory do have answers; but they are not the answers Einstein expected them to have. We now know that the moon is demonstrably not there when nobody looks. The impact of this discovery on philosophy may have been blunted by the way in which it is conventionally stated, which leaves it fully accessible only to those with a working knowledge of quantum mechanics. I hope to remove that barrier by describing this remarkable aspect of nature in a way that presupposes no background whatever in the quantum theory or, for that matter, in classical physics either. I shall describe a piece of machinery that presents without any distortion one of the most strikingly peculiar features of the atomic world. No formal training in physics or mathematics is needed to grasp and ponder the extraordinary behavior of the device; it is only necessary to follow a simple counting argument on the level of a newspaper braintwister.
Abstract It must have been around 1950. I was accompanying Einstein on a walk from The Institute for Advanced Study to his home, when he suddenly stopped, turned to me, and asked me if I really believed that the moon exists only if I look at it. The nature of our conversation was not particularly metaphysical. Rather, we were discussing the quantum theory, in particular what is doable and knowable in the sense of physical observation. The twentieth century physicist does not, of course, claim to have the definitive answer to this question. He does know, however, that the answer given by his nineteenth century ancestors will no longer do. They were almost exactly right, to be sure, as far as conditions of everyday life are concerned, but their answer cannot be extrapolated to things moving nearly as fast as light, or to things that are as small as atoms, or—in some respects—to things that are as heavy as stars.
In classical physics there is, in accordance with common sense, an objective world ‘out there’. That world evolves in a clear and deterministic way, being governed by precisely formulated mathematical equations. This is as true for the theories of Maxwell and Einstein as it is for the original Newtonian scheme. Physical reality is taken to exist independently of ourselves; and exactly how the classical world ‘is’ is not affected by how we might choose to look at it. Moreover, our bodies and our brains are themselves to be part of that world. They, also, are viewed as evolving according to the same precise and deterministic classical equations. All our actions are to be fixed by these equations - no matter how we might feel that our conscious wills may be influencing how we behave. Such a picture appears to lie at the background of most serious 1 philosophical arguments concerned with the nature of reality, of our conscious perceptions, and of our apparent free will. Some people might have an uncomfortable feeling that there should also be a role for quantum theory - that fundamental but disturbing scheme of things which, in the first quarter of this century, arose out of observations of subtle discrepancies between the actual behaviour of the world and the descriptions of classical physics. To many, the term ‘quantum theory’ evokes merely some vague concept of an ‘uncertainty principle’, which, at the level of particles, atoms or molecules, forbids precision in our descriptions and yields merely probabilistic behaviour. Actually, quantum descriptions are very precise, as we shall see, although radically different from the familiar classical ones. Moreover, we shall find, despite a common view to the contrary, that probabilities do not arise at the minute quantum level of particles, atoms, or molecules - those evolve deterministically - but, seemingly, via some mysterious larger-scale action connected with the emergence of a classical world that we can consciously perceive. We must try to understand this, and how quantum theory forces us to change our view of physical reality.
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.
It must have been around 1950. I was accompanying Einstein on a walk from The Institute for Advanced Study in Princeton to his home, when he suddenly stopped, turned to me, and asked me if I really believed that the moon exists only if I look at it. The nature of our discussion was not particularly metaphysical. Rather, we were discussing the quantum theory … (Abraham Pais, 1982) There is an old debate in philosophy about whether the world outside our minds exists at all. In the early-seventeenth century, Descartes pioneered the new mechanical and geometrical view of material reality in which every event was determined. But he also believed that we each had a soul and that our will was free. Thus he had to insist that matter and the soul were entirely different: the mind-body split was born. Descartes's critics soon pointed out that a soul confined within the “veil of perception” had no direct evidence that its perceptions were true. Perhaps they were mere illusions or some sort of cinematic film projected by God? Bishop Berkeley went so far as to suggest that there are no bodies outside the mind, and that perceptions were the only reality: “to be is to be perceived”. Samuel Johnson thought this was all twaddle. He famously rebutted Berkeley by kicking a stone, as if to say that its reality was painfully obvious. During the past 30 years, there has been a resurgence of these sorts of questions.