Saturday, June 25, 2016

Day 315: Einstein’s Dice and Schrödinger’s Cat



This is the tale of two brilliant physicists, the 1947 media war that tore apart their decades-long friendship, and the fragile nature of scientific collaboration and discovery.

When they were pitted against each other, each scientist was a Nobel laureate, well into middle age, and certainly past the peak of his major work. Yet the international press largely had a different story to tell. It was a familiar narrative of a seasoned fighter still going strong versus an upstart contender hungry to seize the trophy. While Albert Einstein was extraordinarily famous, his every pronouncement covered by the media, relatively few readers were conversant with the work of Austrian physicist Erwin Schrödinger.

Those following Einstein’s career knew that he been working for decades on a unified field theory. He hoped to extend the work of nineteenth-century British physicist James Clerk Maxwell in uniting the forces of nature through a simple set of equations. Maxwell had provided a unified explanation for electricity and magnetism, called electromagnetic fields, and identified them as light waves. Einstein’s own general theory of relativity described gravity as a warping of the geometry of space and time. Confirmation of the theory had won him fame. However, he didn’t want to stop there. His dream was to incorporate Maxwell’s results into an extended form of general relativity and thereby unite electromagnetism with gravity.

Every few years, Einstein had announced a unified theory to great fanfare, only to have it quietly fail and be replaced by another. Starting in the late 1920s, one of his primary goals was a deterministic alternative to probabilistic quantum theory, as developed by Niels Bohr, Werner Heisenberg, Max Born, and others. Although he realized that quantum theory was experimentally successful, he judged it incomplete. In his heart he felt that “God did not play dice,” as he put it, couching the issue in terms of what an ideal mechanistic creation would be like. By “God” he meant the deity described by seventeenth-century Dutch philosopher Baruch Spinoza: an emblem of the best possible natural order. Spinoza had argued that God, synonymous with nature, was immutable and eternal, leaving no room for chance. Agreeing with Spinoza, Einstein sought the invariant rules governing nature’s mechanisms. He was absolutely determined to prove that the world was absolutely determined.

Exiled in Ireland in the 1940s after the Nazi annexation of Austria, Schrödinger shared Einstein’s disdain for the orthodox interpretation of quantum mechanics and saw him as a natural collaborator. Einstein similarly found in Schrödinger a kindred spirit. After sharing ideas for unification of the forces, Schrödinger suddenly announced success, generating a storm of attention and opening a rift between the men.

You may have heard of Schrödinger’s cat—the feline thought experiment for which the general public knows him best. But back when this feud took place, few people outside of the physics community had heard of the cat conundrum or of him. As depicted in the press, he was just an ambitious scientist residing in Dublin who might have landed a knockout punch on the great one.
The leading announcer was the Irish Press, from which the international community learned about Schrödinger’s challenge. Schrödinger had sent them an extensive press release describing his new “theory of everything,” immodestly placing his own work in the context of the achievements of the Greek sage Democritus (the coiner of the term “atom”), the Roman poet Lucretius, the French philosopher Descartes, Spinoza, and Einstein himself. “It is not a very becoming thing for a scientist to advertise his own discoveries,” Schrödinger told them. “But since the Press wishes it, I submit to them.”

The New York Times cast the announcement as a battle between a maverick’s mysterious methods and the establishment’s lack of progress. “How Schrödinger has proceeded we are not told,” it reported.

For a fleeting moment it seemed that a Viennese physicist whose name was then little known to the general public had beaten the great Einstein to a theory that explained everything in the universe. Perhaps it was time, puzzled readers may have thought, to get to know Schrödinger better.

Today, what comes to mind for most people who have heard of Schrödinger are a cat, a box, and a paradox. His famous thought experiment, published as part of a 1935 paper, “The Present Situation in Quantum Mechanics,” is one of the most gruesome devised in the history of science. Hearing about it for the first time is bound to trigger gasps of horror, followed by relief that it is just a hypothetical experiment that presumably has never been attempted on an actual feline subject.

Schrödinger proposed the thought experiment in 1935 as part of a paper that investigated the ramifications of entanglement in quantum physics. Entanglement (the term was coined by Schrödinger) is when the condition of two or more particles is represented by a single quantum state, such that if something happens to one particle the others are instantly affected.

Inspired in part by dialogue with Einstein, the conundrum of Schrödinger’s cat presses the implications of quantum physics to their very limits by asking us to imagine the fate of a cat becoming entangled with the state of a particle. The cat is placed in a box that contains a radioactive substance, a Geiger counter, and a sealed vial of poison. The box is closed, and a timer is set to precisely the interval at which the substance would have a 50–50 chance of decaying by releasing a particle. The researcher has rigged the apparatus so that if the Geiger counter registers the click of a single decay particle, the vial would be smashed, the poison released, and the cat dispatched. However, if no decay occurs, the cat would be spared.

According to quantum measurement theory, as Schrödinger pointed out, the state of the cat (dead or alive) would be entangled with the state of the Geiger counter’s reading (decay or no decay) until the box is opened. Therefore, the cat would be in a zombielike quantum superposition of deceased and living until the timer went off, the researcher opened the box, and the quantum state of the cat and counter “collapsed” (distilled itself) into one of the two possibilities.

~~Einstein’s Dice and Schrödinger’s Cat: How Two Great Minds Battled Quantum Randomness to Create a Unified Theory of Physics -by- Paul Halpern

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