‘God’, said Albert Einstein, ‘does not play dice’. This famous remark by the author of the theory of relativity was not intended as an analysis of the recreational habits of a supreme being but expressed his reaction to the new scientific ideas, developed in the first quarter of the twentieth century, which are now known as quantum physics. Before we can fully appreciate why one of the greatest scientists of modern times should have been led to make such a comment, we must first try to understand the context of scientific and philosophical thought that had become established by the end of the nineteenth century and what it was about the ‘new physics’ that presented such a radical challenge to this consensus. What is often thought of as the modern scientific age began in the sixteenth century, when Nicholas Copernicus proposed that the motion of the stars and planets should be described on the assumption that it is the sun, rather than the earth, which is the centre of the solar system. The opposition, not to say persecution, that this idea encountered from much of the establishment of that time is well known, but this was unable to prevent a revolution in thinking whose influence has continued to the present day. From that time on, the accepted test of scientific truth has increasingly been observation and experiment rather than religious or philosophical dogma.
‘God’, said Albert Einstein, ‘does not play dice’. This famous remark by the author of the theory of relativity was not intended as an analysis of the recreational habits of a supreme being but expressed his reaction to the new scientific ideas, developed in the first quarter of the twentieth century, which are now known as quantum physics. Before we can fully appreciate why one of the greatest scientists of modern times should have been led to make such a comment, we must first try to understand the context of scientific and philosophical thought that had become established by the end of the nineteenth century and what it was about the ‘new physics’ that presented such a radical challenge to this consensus. What is often thought of as the modern scientific age began in the sixteenth century, when Nicholas Copernicus proposed that the motion of the stars and planets should be described on the assumption that it is the sun, rather than the earth, which is the centre of the solar system. The opposition, not to say persecution, that this idea encountered from much of the establishment of that time is well known, but this was unable to prevent a revolution in thinking whose influence has continued to the present day. From that time on, the accepted test of scientific truth has increasingly been observation and experiment rather than religious or philosophical dogma.
‘God’, said Albert Einstein, ‘does not play dice’. This famous remark by the author of the theory of relativity was not intended as an analysis of the recreational habits of a supreme being but expressed his reaction to the new scientific ideas, developed in the first quarter of the twentieth century, which are now known as quantum physics. Before we can fully appreciate why one of the greatest scientists of modern times should have been led to make such a comment, we must first try to understand the context of scientific and philosophical thought that had become established by the end of the nineteenth century and what it was about the ‘new physics’ that presented such a radical challenge to this consensus. What is often thought of as the modern scientific age began in the sixteenth century, when Nicholas Copernicus proposed that the motion of the stars and planets should be described on the assumption that it is the sun, rather than the earth, which is the centre of the solar system. The opposition, not to say persecution, that this idea encountered from the establishment of that time is well known, but this was unable to prevent a revolution in thinking whose influence has continued to the present day. From that time on, the accepted test of scientific truth has increasingly been observation and experiment rather than religious or philosophical dogma.
The turn of the XXth century witnessed a revolution in physics comparable to Isaac Newton’s discovery of the universal laws of mechanics and of gravitation three centuries earlier. The world required to be described in novel terms, as the immutable, deterministic view of our familiar universe had given way to a new world picture, one which featured chance, flux, and an incessant upsurge of waves of matter. Such a worldview was so radically new and counterintuitive that it gave rise to strong debates, to the effect that Albert Einstein himself tried to oppose it on the grounds that “God does not play dice”. In spite of the intense debates that accompanied its emergence, quantum mechanics quickly proved an incredibly efficacious new tool to understand and to predict a wide array of new phenomena. It was so successful that in no time it broke free from the environment of research labs to become part of daily life, making it possible, for example, to understand why some materials were conductors, while others were insulators. Along with it, came, too, the discovery of transistors, on which much of modern electronics rests. It also led to understand how novel materials known as superconductors allow the transport of electricity with no loss, thus paving the way for new developments in the fields of medical imagery or energy distribution. Other aspects of the quantum theory led to the development of atomic clocks of astounding accuracy, which would be wrong by no more than fifteen seconds, had they been set at the beginning of the universe. A hundred years later, at the turn of the XXIst century, Quantum mechanics has lost none of its astounding power. Contemporary research has undertaken the task of exploring its less immediately perceptible aspects. Groundbreaking developments have ensued, such as the teleportation of grains of light or the possibility, once predicted by the great physicist Richard Feynman, to build, one day, novel computers which, unlike the ones we are familiar with today, will be able to process innumerable numbers of operations in parallel. The Wright Colloquium will be for us the occasion to explore, in the company of five internationallyknown specialists in the field, some of the fascinating aspects of quantum mechanics. We will appraise how efficiently quantum physics can describe our world, and confront its limitation when it is faced with the infinitely small (in relation to recent experiments carried out at the CERN) as with the incommensurably large scale of sidereal spaces. We will appreciate the extent to which quantum physics already has impacted our everyday lives, and evoke the way in which novel fields such as quantum computers and quantum information will entail profound changes in the future. The quantum adventure has only just begun! Monday 15 November 2010 - 18h30 Jochen Mannhart Center for Electronic Correlations and Magnetism, University of Augsburg, Germany Quantum Physics on the Scale of Daily Life Tuesday 16 November 2010 - 18h30 Wolfgang Ketterle Nobel Laureate 2001 (Physics), Department of Physics, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Cambridge, U.S.A. When freezing cold is not cold enough New forms of matter close to absolute zero temperature Wednesday 17 November 2010 - 18h30 David Gross Nobel Laureate 2004 (Physics), Kavli Institute for Theoretical Physics, University of California, Santa-Barbara, U.S.A. Quantum Mechanics of the Very, Very Small and the Very, Very Large Thursday 18 November 2010 - 18h30 Alain Aspect CNRS senior scientist and Professor Institut d'Optique and Ecole Polytechnique Palaiseau, France. From Einstein’s intuition to quantum bits: a new quantum age? Vendredi 19 novembre 2010 - 18h30 Rainer Blatt Institute of Quantum Optics and Quantum Information, Austrian Academy of Sciences and University of Innsbruck, Austria The Quantum Way of Doing Computations
By the end of the nineteenth century all the important elements of classical physics were fully mature. Newton's Laws had been applied with success to everything from industrial machines to planetary orbits. Classical thermodynamics had extended energy conservation arguments into thermal processes, and scientists including J. Willard Gibbs and Ludwig Boltzmann had developed the statistical interpretation of entropy. James Clerk Maxwell had explained all electromagnetic phenomena, from AC generators/motors to light, with the four Maxwell's equations and three material-dependent constitutive relations. There was serious discussion that physics was on the verge of being “finished” – becoming a closed system of knowledge like classical geometry with only essentially routine tasks left of determining how the known laws could be applied to engineering problems. Yet by 1930 the foundations of mechanics, electromagnetics, and atomic-scale systems had been shaken to the core by the new revolutions in the Theory of Relativity, the photon picture of light, and quantum physics. We are still reaping the benefits of the application of these new scientific paradigms in our technology today, including semiconductor electronic devices, lasers, and GPS systems. But the description of reality that these theories provide is still deeply anti-intuitive and disturbing. Nevertheless, quantum physics is one of the most extensively experimentally verified theories that we know. Even when quantum theory and common sense seem to diverge, quantum theory gives the right answers when tested by experiment. In the next chapter we will develop the framework of quantum theory that has been so successful when people “shut up and calculate,” as one scientist suggested as the way through the philosophical thicket of quantum physics. But in this chapter, we will spend a brief time considering the historical development and continuing paradoxical implications of quantum theory. The photoelectric effect and photons In 1905, Albert Einstein, who was a key figure in the revolution of modern physics, was working as a clerk in the patent office in Zurich, Switzerland. Einstein had finished his studies in physics, but had not obtained a coveted position as a university professor. He was intensely interested in the latest developments in classical physics and was aware of a few of the remaining loose ends that were resisting explanation in the classical model.
Albert Einstein's comment that ‘God does not play dice’ sums up the way many people react when they first encounter the ideas discussed in the previous chapters. How can it be that some future events are not completely determined by the way things are at present? How can a cause have two or more possible effects? If the choice of future events is not determined by natural laws does it mean that some supernatural force (God?) is involved wherever a quantum event occurs? Questions of this kind trouble many students of physics, though most get used to the conceptual problems, say ‘Nature is just like that’ and apply the ideas of quantum physics to their study or research without worrying about their fundamental truth or falsity. Some, however, never get used to the, at least apparent, contradictions. Others believe that the fundamental processes underlying the basic physics of the universe must be describable in deterministic, or at least realistic, terms and are therefore attracted by hidden-variable theories. Einstein was one of those. He stood out obstinately against the growing consensus of opinion in the 1920s and 30s that was prepared to accept indeterminism and the lack of objective realism as a price to be paid for a theory that was proving so successful in a wide variety of practical situations. Ironically, however, Einstein's greatest contribution to the field was not some subtle explanation of the underlying structure of quantum physics but the exposure of yet another surprising consequence of quantum theory.
Albert Einstein's comment that ‘God does not play dice’ sums up the way many people react when they first encounter the ideas discussed in the previous chapters. How can it be that some future events are not completely determined by the way things are at present? How can a cause have two or more possible effects? If the choice of future events is not determined by natural laws does it mean that some supernatural force (God?) is involved wherever a quantum event occurs? Questions of this kind trouble many students of physics, though most get used to the conceptual problems, say ‘Nature is just like that’ and apply the ideas of quantum physics to their study or research without worrying about their fundamental truth or falsity. Some, however, never get used to the, at least apparent, contradictions. Others believe that the fundamental processes underlying the basic physics of the universe must be describable in deterministic, or at least realistic, terms and are therefore attracted by hidden-variable theories. Einstein was one of those. He stood out obstinately against the growing consensus of opinion in the 1920s and 30s that was prepared to accept indeterminism and the lack of objective realism as a price to be paid for a theory that was proving so successful in a wide variety of practical situations. Ironically, however, Einstein's greatest contribution to the field was not some subtle explanation of the underlying structure of quantum physics but the exposure of yet another surprising consequence of quantum theory.
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.