Have your multiverse and eat it

The recent results from the Planck mission have caused a flurry of activity among theoretical physicists, documented on the arXiv in an increasing amount of papers with updates on constraints on various cosmological models. Of particular interest is the question which models of inflation are favored by the data. Interestingly, the simplest potentials for the scalar field that causes inflation are ruled out or disfavored already. For a summary, see Jester’s post Planck about inflation.

Paul Steinhardt and collaborators have taken this as a reason to argue that the data actually hints at cyclic models.

Inflationary paradigm in trouble after Planck2013
Anna Ijjas, Paul J. Steinhardt, Abraham Loeb
1304.2785

Planck 2013 results support the simplest cyclic models
Jean-Luc Lehners, Paul J. Steinhardt
1304.3122

The argument in these papers goes as follows.

The potentials for the inflaton field that are necessary to fit the Planck data are not simple in that they require finetuning, ie delicately adjusted parameters. The finetuning has to produce a suitably flat plateau in the potential, and a power law with coefficients of order one isn’t going to do this. If you’d random pick the potential, it would be very unlikely you’d get a suitably finetuned one.

This, Steinhardt et al argue, is a serious problem because the “inflationary paradigm” draws its justification from our universe being a “likely” outcome of quantum fluctuations that are blown up to produce the structures we see. If the potential, or the initial value of the scalar field, is unlikely, this erodes the basis of believing in the inflationary paradigm to begin with. In the paper this unlikeliness is quantified, and it is noted that the unlikeliness of the initial value of the scalar field can be recast as an unlikeliness of the potential. Then they go on to argue that cyclic models are preferable because in these cases natural parameter ranges for coefficients in the potential are still compatible with the data (they do not comment on how natural these models are in other respects). They then identify observables that could further solidify the case.

There are two gaps in this argument. The first gap is between “inflation” and “inflationary paradigm.”

Inflation is a model that describes very well the observations in our universe by using a familiar framework that makes use of quantum field theory and general relativity. The inflationary paradigm that they refer to (not an expression that is common in the scientific literature) adds requirements beyond the explanation of observation, that being the likeliness of the model.

To begin with, speaking about probabilities makes only sense if one has an ensemble. So to even refer to unlikeliness you have to believe in a distribution over set of possibilities, a multiverse. And for that you must have faith in your model, faith that extends beyond and before and beneath our universe, faith that the model holds outside everything we have ever observed, and that you can actually use it to make a statement about likeliness.

Besides this, the inflaton potential is normally not expected to be fundamental, but some effective limit a few orders of magnitude below the Planck scale. If you want to say anything about the probability of finding a particular potential, you would first have to know the fundamental degrees of freedom and the UV-completion of the theory. Just taking potentials and attempting to assign them a probability doesn’t make a lot of sense.

So talking about probabilities is already a bad starting position. From this starting position then Steinhardt et al argue that the inflationary paradigm says that we should find our universe to be likely. But by going from inflation to the inflationary paradigm, one is no longer talking about testing a model that explains observations. In their own words

“The usual test for a theory is whether experiment agrees with model predictions. Obviously, inflationary plateau-like models pass this test.”

That should be the last sentence of a scientific paper. Alas, there’s a next sentence, and it starts with “However…”

“However, this cannot be described as a success for the inflationary paradigm, since, according to inflationary reasoning, this particular class of models is highly unlikely to describe reality.”

Note the leap from “theory” to “paradigm”. (Let me not ask what “reality” means, I know it’s an unfair question.)

The second gap in the argument is that you could use it to rule out pretty much any model anybody has ever proposed.

In this earlier post I explained that all presently existing theories inevitably lead to a multiverse, a large space of possibilities. It’s just that this multiverse is more apparent in some approaches than in others.

The reason a multiverse is inevitable is that we always need something to specify a theory to begin with. Call it basic axioms or postulates. We need something to start with. And in the context of the theory you’re working with, that postulated basis is an uncaused cause: It was written down with the explicit purpose to explain observations. If you take away that purpose because you’ve misunderstood what science is all about, you are left with only mathematical consistency. And then, layer by layer, you are forced to include everything into your theory that is mathematically consistent. That’s what Tegmark called the “Mathematical Universe.”

Steinhardt et al’s elaboration about the possible shape of potentials is an example of this mathematical multiverse beneath the basis. They take away one postulate and replace it by a larger space of mathematical possibilities. Instead of postulating a specific (purpose bound) real-valued, differentiable, scalar function, they replace them with the space of all continuous functions (though they’re not too explicit on the requirements). But why stop there? Why not take the space of all functions and random pick one of these? Almost all functions on the real axis are discontinuous in infinitely many places, which is a fancy way of saying that the probability to get a continuous one upon random picking is zero. Look, I just ruled out both the “inflationary paradigm” and Steinhardt’s cyclic models without referring to any data at all.

To be fair however, Steinhardt et al are just fighting inflation with its own weapons. It is arguably true that the literature is full of arguments about naturalness and how inflation solves this or that philosophical conundrum. If you believe in the multiverse, or eternal inflation specifically, I think you should take the argument put forward in these papers seriously. For the rest of us, those who see inflation as a model with the purpose to describe observations in our universe, there’s no reason to make these leaps of faith. And that’s what they are - at least for now. One never knows what the data will bring.

Who said it first? The historical comeback of the cosmological constant

I finished high school in 1995, and the 1998 evidence for the cosmological constant from supernova redshift data was my first opportunity to see physicists readjusting their worldview to accommodate new facts. Initially met by skepticism - as all unexpected experimental results - the nonzero value of the cosmological constant was quickly accepted though. (Unlike eg neutrino oscillations, where the situation remained murky, and people remained skeptic, for more than a decade.)

But how unexpected was that experimental result really?

I learned only recently that by 1998 it might not have been so much of a surprise. Already in 1990, Efstathiou, Sutherland and Maddox, argued in a Nature paper that a cosmological constant is necessary to explain large scale structures. The abstract reads:

"We argue here that the successes of the [Cold Dark Matter (CDM)] theory can be retained and the new observations accommodated in a spatially flat cosmology in which as much as 80% of the critical density is provided by a positive cosmological constant, which is dynamically equivalent to endowing the vacuum with a non-zero energy density. In such a universe, expansion was dominated by CDM until a recent epoch, but is now governed by the cosmological constant. As well as explaining large-scale structure, a cosmological constant can account for the lack of fluctuations in the microwave background and the large number of certain kinds of object found at high redshift."

By 1995 a bunch of tentative and suggestive evidence had piled up that lead Krauss and Turner to publish a paper titled "The Cosmological Constant is Back".

I find this interesting for two reasons. First, it doesn't seem to be very widely known, it's also not mentioned in the Wikipedia entry. Second, taking into account that there must have been preliminary data and rumors even before the 1990 Nature paper was published, this means that by the late 1980s, the cosmological constant likely started to seep back into physicists brains.

Weinberg's anthropic prediction dates to 1987, which likely indeed predated observational evidence. Vilenkin's 1995 refinement of Weinberg's prediction was timely but one is lead to suspect he anticipated the 1998 results from the then already available data. Sorkin's prediction for a small positive cosmological constant in the context of Causal Sets seems to date back into the late 80s, but the exact timing is somewhat murky. There is a paper here which dates to 1990 with the prediction (scroll to the last paragraph), which leads me to think at the time of writing he likely didn't know about the recent developments in astrophysics that would later render this paper a historically interesting prediction.

Guestpost: Howard Burton - "Justified Optimism"

[Howard Burton, founding director of Perimeter Institute, has a new project, Ideas Roadshow, a weekly magazine dedicated to ideas of all types and shapes. Rather than having the declared aim of spreading fractured pieces with little content, the Ideas Roadshow is for those who are looking for content, and who want to know more than the catchy phrases. The magazine will be published in text and as video (streaming and downloadable).]

---

A fairly common reaction when I tell people what I’m doing now with Ideas Roadshow is a quizzical raising of the eyebrows followed by a wry little smile.

“Well, good luck,” they say sceptically. “I certainly think that’s needed right now. But you know Howard, the internet is not exactly about substance. We live in a sound bite world. How do you think you’re going to make money from this? Who is going to watch it?”

So one of the few benefits about careening into advanced middle age is that I’ve witnessed enough by now to recognize that any references to recent golden ages are wildly exaggerated. I don’t remember being brought up in a world awash in substantive, measured discussions of the latest issues in neuroscience or public policy. My high school experience didn’t consist of teachers having to forcibly detach kids from their iPhones, but there was no shortage of ways for us to waste our hours and avoid doing what we were supposed to: Donkey Kong manages to kill time just as well as Angry Birds.

That’s not to say that, by some objective measure, things aren’t getting worse. In some ways they certainly are.

It’s true that newspapers almost everywhere are in deep financial trouble and those that have managed to stay afloat are devoting increasingly less of their time and resources towards long-form analysis and more for mindless knee-jerk responses to the ever-increasing amount of “breaking news”.

But it’s also true that there are now far more effective and salubrious ways for a young ambitious musician to gain a popular audience than by being forced to cavort with sleazy record executives.

Technology, of course, is but a tool. That is so obvious as to border on the cliché. But that doesn’t mean that the message doesn’t sometimes get overlooked.

The notion that, somehow as a result of our developing technology, virtually nobody on planet Earth actually cares anymore about engaging in the world of ideas, is, of course, simply ludicrous. It can’t be true. And it bloody well isn’t.

What technology has done, however, is change the way that those who are interested interact with the world of ideas. In particular, one decidedly ironic effect of the internet has been to intellectually ghettoize people. So while it’s now trivial to meaningfully interact with like-minded people living on the other side of the world, it’s also the case that one is much less likely to be confronted with interesting and stimulating ideas outside of one’s own self-selected area of interest.

Often the most illuminating and stimulating experiences happen when we are forced to encounter people who hold radically different approaches or interests to our own. But the more we spend time with our like-minded friends, the less likelier such encounters are going to be.

This is the core issue. It has, of course, been commented on before. But somehow I don’t think it’s as appreciated as much as it should be.

Conventional newspapers are not collapsing because nobody cares about general ideas. Conventional newspapers are collapsing because their principal revenue stream – print advertising revenue – has dried up. Advertisers are naturally much keener to ensure that their message is being delivered to their particular target audience, which naturally argues for a segmented, specialized approach to sponsorship. Now that technology allows for detailed methods to precisely deliver content and measure its impact, advertisers are increasingly unwilling to participate in scattershot approaches that will clearly be hugely less efficient and effective.

All quite reasonable. But the solution for those who seek a general level of stimulation, for those who are keen to be at play in the world of ideas, is not to bemoan the logic of the marketplace or fall back on dreamy reminiscences of some mythical golden age, but to simply capitalize on the opportunities afforded.

Twenty years ago, or even ten, it would have been completely inconceivable to imagine creating a program where one travels the world and records substantial conversations with a diverse range of fascinating people. Camera technology would have made it prohibitively expensive to develop a professional-quality product; and even had that been somehow circumvented, it would have been virtually impossible to disseminate the results with anywhere near the range necessary to make it profitable.

People interested in ideas have always been a small minority, so to make it work one has to scale globally, or at least nationally. How could a private start-up even attempt such a thing? We’d have had to effectively take over a TV station. Inconceivable.

Recent technology has allowed both of these fundamental obstacles to be overcome. We can not only film for a fraction of the cost of ten years ago, we can also fit all of our cameras, lights and gear into two travelling cases that we can easily travel with anywhere. And once we’ve made our videos and eBooks, we can easily market them to ideas-oriented consumers worldwide.

Of course, just because structural impediments are eliminated, success is hardly guaranteed. One still has to make a product that people actually like. And then one has to establish a new brand and market it successfully.

But let’s be very clear: those are the issues. Not that we are all too superficial now. Or that nobody cares about ideas. That’s just silly.

Starting something new is always a challenge. But there are challenges and then there are challenges.

Being at the front end of a new wave of global niche market digital media products is one thing. But it’s not like some unknown guy trying to build a theoretical physics institute in the middle of nowhere from scratch.

Now that, surely, is impossible.

Dimensional Reduction

Dimensionally reduced scientist.

“Science is the only news,” Steward Brand wrote. My reading of this sentence is that science, the exploration of nature and natural law, is the ultimate source of inspiration. Developing a model and studying its properties can be like discovering a new world, and the discoveries that are the most fascinating are the ones that are surprising and unintuitive.

Probability amplitudes and wavefunctions are examples of such surprising and unintuitive properties, examples that are now a century old and that have changed the way we think about the world. Holography is a more recent example. And, gathering momentum in the quantum gravity community right now, is dimensional reduction.

Dimensional reduction means that on short distances the dimension of space-time decreases. To quantify what this means one has to be very careful with defining “dimension.”

The way we normally think about the dimension of space is to picture how lines spread out from a point. How quickly the lines dilute into their environment tells us something about the spheres we can draw around the point. The dimension of these spheres can be used to define the “Hausdorff dimension” of a space. The faster the lines dilute with distance, the larger the Hausdorff dimension.

The notion of dimension that is relevant for the effect of dimensional reduction is not the Hausdorff dimension, but instead the “spectral dimension.” The spectral dimension can be found by first getting rid of the Lorentzian signature and going to Euclidean space. And then to watch a random walker who starts at one point, and measure the probability for him to return to that point. The smaller the average return probability, the higher the probability he’ll get lost, and the higher the number of dimensions. One can define the spectral dimension from the average return probability.

Normally, for a flat, classical space, both notions of dimension are identical. However, there have been several approaches toward quantum geometry that found that the spectral dimension at short distances goes down from four to two. The return probability for short walks is larger than expected. One says that the spectral dimension “runs”, meaning it depends on the distance at which space-time is probed.

Surprising. Unintuitive.

This strange behavior was first found in Causal Dynamical Triangulations (hep-th/0505113), where one does a numerical simulation of an actual random walk in Euclidean space. But in other approaches one does not need a numerical simulation; it is possible to study the spectral dimension analytically as follows.

The behavior of the random walk is governed by a differential equation, the diffusion equation, in which there enters the metric of the background space-time. In approaches to quantum gravity in which the metric is quantized, it is then the expectation value of the operator that the metric has become which enters the diffusion equation. From the diffusion equation one calculates the return probability for the random walk.

This way, one can then infer the spectral dimension also in Asymptotically Safe Gravity (hep-th/0508202). Interestingly, one finds the same drop from four to two spectral dimensions. Yet another indication comes from Loop Quantum Gravity, where the scaling of the area operator with length changes at short distances. It is somewhat questionable whether the notion of a metric makes sense at all in this regime, but if one nevertheless constructs the diffusion equation from this scaling, one again finds that the spectral dimension drops from four to two (0812.2214). And Horava-Lifshitz gravity is maybe the best studied case where one finds dimensional reduction (0902.3657).

Surprising. Unintuitive. It is difficult to interpret this behavior. Maybe a good way to picture it, as Calcagni, Eichhorn and Saueressig suggested, is to think of the quantum fluctuations of space-time hindering a particle’s random walk and slowing it down. It wouldn’t have to be that way. Quantum fluctuations could also be kicking the particle around wildly, thus increasing the spectral dimension rather than decreasing it. But that’s not what the theory tells us. One shouldn’t take this picture too seriously though, because we’re talking about a random walk in Euclidean space, so it’s not an actual physical process.

It seems strange that such entirely different approaches to quantum gravity would share a behavior like this. Maybe our theories are trying to teach us a lesson about a very general property of quantum space-time. But then again, the spectral dimension does not say all that much about the theory. There are many different types of random walks that give rise to the same spectral dimension. And while these different approaches to quantum gravity share the same scaling behavior for the spectral dimension, they differ in the type of random walk that produces this scaling (1304.7247).

So far, this is an entirely theoretical observation. It is interesting to speculate whether one can find experimental evidence for this scaling behavior. In fact, this recent paper by Amelino-Camelia et al aims to “explore the cosmological implications” of running spectral dimensions. At least that is what the first sentence of the abstract says. If you read the second sentence though you’ll notice that what they actually explore are modified dispersion relations. And while modified dispersion relations lead to a running spectral dimension, the opposite is not necessarily the case. But is there any better indication for a topic being hot than that people use it in the first sentence of an abstract to draw the readers interest?

A star-rating for scientific news?

Garry Gutting's recent post What Do Scientific Studies Show? at the NYT blogs is utterly unremarkable. Or so I thought, being clearly biased because the guy is a professor of philosophy, and I - I'm at the other end of the circle. But then he puts forward a proposal I think is brilliant: A labeling system for scientific news "that made clear a given study’s place in the scientific process", ranging from the speculative idea and preliminary results all the way to established scientific theory.

I like the idea because it would be an easy way to solve a tension in science news, which is that what's new and exciting, and therefore likely to make headlines, is also often controversial and likely to be refuted later. The solution can't be to not report what's new and exciting, but to find a good way to make clear that, while interesting and promising, this isn't (yet) established scientific consensus.

23andMe has a star rating to indicate how reliable a correlation between a genetic sequence and certain traits/diseases is, based on what has been reported in the scientific literature. (See my earlier blogpost for screenshots showing how that looks like.) They have a white paper laying out the criteria for assessing the scientific status of these correlations. The 23andMe rating serves a similar purpose as the proposed rating for science news. It is handy as a quick orientation, and it is a guide for those who can't or don't want to dig into the scientific literature themselves. It doesn't tell you to disregard results with few stars, just to keep in mind that this might turn out to be a data glitch, and to enjoy or worry with caution.

I think that such a label indicating how established a scientific result or idea is would be easy to use. Writers could just assign it themselves with help from the researchers they have been in contact with while working on a piece. That might not always be very accurate, but undoubtedly bloggers would add their voice. There would most likely be a service popping up to aggregate all ratings on a given topic/press release (probably weighted by the source). I am guessing it would be pretty much self-organized because we're all so very used to these ratings for other purposes.

Do you think such a labeling would be helpful? If so, what criteria would you require for zero to five stars?

Basic research is vital

Last month I had the flu. I was down with a fever of more than 40°C, four days in a row. Needless to say, it was a public holiday.

While the body is struggling to recover from illness, priorities shift. Survive first. Drink. Eat. Stand upright without fainting. Feed the kids because they can’t do it themselves. Two days earlier, I was thinking of running a half-marathon, now happy to make it to the bathroom. Forgotten the parking ticket and the tax return.

We see the same shift of priorities on other levels of our societies. If a system, may that be an organism or a group of people, experiences a potential threat to existence, energy is redirected to the essential needs, to survival first. An unexpected death in the family requires time for recovery and reorganization. A nation that is being attacked redirects resources to the military.

The human body’s defense against viruses does not require conscious control. It executes a program that millions of years of evolution have optimized, a program we can support with medication and nutrition. But when it comes to priorities of our nations, we have no program to follow. We first have to decide what is necessary for survival, and what can be put on hold while we recover.

The last years have not been good years economically, neither in the European Union, nor in North America. We all feel the pressure. We’re forced to focus our priorities. And every week I read a new article about cuts in some research budget.

“Europe's leaders slash proposed research budget,” I read. “Big cuts to R&D budgets [in the UK],” I read. “More than 50 Nobel laureates are urging [the US] Congress to spare the federal science establishment from the looming budget cut,” I read.

An organism befallen by illness manages a shortage of energy. A nation under economic pressure manages a shortage of money. But money is only the tool for the management. And it is a complicated tool, its value influenced by many factors including psychological, and it is not just under national management. In the end, its purpose is to direct labor. And here is the real energy of our nations: Humans, working. It is the amounts of working hours in different professions that budget cuts manage.

In reaction to a perceived threat, nations shift priorities and redirect human labor. They might aim at sustainability. At independence from oil imports. They invest in public health. Or they cut back on these investments. When the pressure raises, what is left will be the essentials. Energy and food, housing and safety. Decisions have to be made. The people who assemble weapons are not available to water the fields.

How vital is science?

We all know that progress depends on scientific research. Somebody has to develop new technologies. Somebody has to test whether they are safe to use. Everybody understands what applied science does: In goes brain, out comes what you’ll smear into your face or wear on your nose tomorrow.

But not everybody understands that this isn’t all of science. Besides the output-oriented research, there is the research that is not conducted with the aim of developing new technologies. It is curiosity-driven. It follows the loose ends of today's theories, it aims to understand the puzzle that is the data. Most scientists call it basic or fundamental research. The NSF calls it transformative research, the ERC frontier research. Sometimes I’ve heard the expression blue-skies research. Whatever the name, its defining property is that you don’t know the result before you’ve done the research.

Since many people do not understand what fundamental research is or why it is necessary, if science funding is cut, basic research suffers most. Politicians lack the proper words to justify investment into something that doesn’t seem to have any tangible outcome. Something that, it seems, just pleases the curiosity of academics. “The question is academic,” has to come to mean “The world doesn’t care about its answer.”

A truly shocking recent example comes from Canada:

“Scientific discovery is not valuable unless it has commercial value," John McDougall, president of the [Canadian National Research Council], said in announcing the shift in the NRC's research focus away from discovery science solely to research the government deems "commercially viable". [Source: Toronto Sun] [Update: He didn't literally say this as the Sun quoted it, see here for the correct quote.]

Oh, Canada. (Also: Could somebody boot the guy, he’s in the wrong profession.)

Do they not understand how vital basic research is for their nation? Or do they decide not to raise the point? I suspect that at least some of those involved in such a decision approve cutting back on basic research not because they don’t understand what it’s good for, but because they believe their people don’t understand what it’s good for. (And they would be wrong, if you scroll down and look at the poll results...)

I suspect that scientists are an easy target, they usually don’t offer much resistance. They're not organized, for not to say disorganized. Scientists will try to cope until it becomes impossible and then pack their bags and their families and move to elsewhere. And once they’re gone, Canada, you’ll have to invest much more money than you save now to get them back.

Do they really not know that basic research, in one sentence, is the applied research in 100 years?

It isn’t possible, in basic research, to formulate a commercial application as goal because nobody can make predictions or formulate research plans over 100 years. There are too many unknown unknowns, the system is too complex, there are too many independent knowledge seekers in the game. Nobody can tell reliably what is going to happen.

They say “commercially viable”, but what they actually mean is “commercially viable within 5 years”.

The scientific theories that modern technology and medicine are based on – from LCD displays over DVD-players to spectroscopy and magnetic resonance imaging, from laser surgery to quantum computers – none of them would exist had scientists pursued “commercial viability”. Without curiosity-driven research, we deliberately ignore paths to new areas of knowledge. Applied research will inevitably run dry sooner or later. Scientific progress is not sustainable without basic research.

As your mother told you, if you have a fever, watch your fluid intake. Even if you are tired and don’t feel like moving a finger, drink that glass of water. The woman with the flu who didn’t drink enough today is the woman in the hospital on an IV-drip tomorrow. And the nation under economic pressure who didn’t invest in basic research today is the nation that will wish there was a global IV-drop for their artery tomorrow.

And here’s some other people saying the same thing in less words [via Steve Hsu]:



I know that on this blog a post like this preaches to the choir. So today I have homework for you. Tell your friends and your neighbors and the other parents at the daycare place. Tell them what basic research is and why it’s vital. And if you don’t feel like talking, send them a link or show them a video.

What do "most physicists" work on?

It always amazes me how skewed the image of physics research in the popular press is. To begin with, the amount of coverage is totally unrepresentative for the actual amount of research on a given topic. Controversial and outright fantastic topics are typically hotly discussed, so is everything that captures the public imagination. On the other hand, down-to-earth research like soft condensed matter or statistical mechanics rarely makes headlines.

The field I work in myself, quantum gravity, is among the over-represented fields. If you believe what you read, the quest for quantum gravity has become the "holy grail" of theoretical physicists all over the planet, and we're all working on it because the end of science is near and there's nothing else left to do.

Since coverage by the media is driven by popularity and not by relevance, one can expect such a skewed representation. It probably isn't much different in other areas of our lives. (Who actually wears those wacky clothes that fashion designers celebrate?) What bothers me much more than the skewed selection of topics is how their relevance is misrepresented even in these articles. I must have read hundreds of times that "many physicists" believe this or that, while in reality most physicists couldn't care less and probably have no opinion whatsoever.

Here are some examples:

"According to the current thinking of many physicists, we are living in one of a vast number of universes. We are living in an accidental universe. We are living in a universe uncalculable by science."

Alan Lightman, The Accidental Universe.

"The team’s verdict, published in July 2012, shocked the physics community."

Zeeya Merali, in a recent nature issue, Astrophysics: Fire in the hole!. We note in the passing that the article doesn't have much, if anything, to do with astrophysics.

"Most physicists believe that space is not smooth, but it is rather composed of incredibly small subunits, much like a painting made of dots. This micro-landscape is believed to host numerous black holes..."

Mihai Andrei, in an article titled Finding black holes at a quantum scale about a deeply flawed paper by Jacob Bekenstein. (Which, depressingly, got published in PRD.)

But why limit ourselves to physicists, let's be bold:

"Many scientists claim that mega-millions of other universes, each with its own laws of physics, lie out there, beyond our visual horizon. They are collectively known as the multiverse."

George F. R. Ellis, Scientific American, Does the Multiverse Really Exist? "They" presumably refers to the "other universes," and not to the "many scientists".

So then let's try to quantify "most physicists" by estimating an upper bound on the fraction of physicists who are working on these topics, a sub-area of quantum gravity. The topics under question here tend to appear on the arXiv under hep-th cross-linked to gr-qc or the other way round. That there is no subject category for "quantum gravity" should already tell you that there aren't all that "many" people working on it. First let us have a look at the arXiv submission rates

The left graph shows the total number of submissions, the right shows the percentage. Blue, which presently accounts for about 10%, is high energy physics and collects hep-th+hep-ph+hep-lat+hep-ex. Note that for historical reasons hep is likely to be over-represented in the arXiv statistics relative to the actual distribution of researchers. In hep, pretty much every paper goes on the arxiv, but the same is not true in other areas (at least not yet). Also, hep tends to be a very productive and communicative field, so looking at the number of arXiv submissions rather than researchers is probably an over-estimate. Be that as it may, the topics we are looking for almost certainly occupy less than 10% of researchers.

More data that tells you that the vast number of physicists aren't working on anything related to quantum gravity can be obtained from the number of members in sections of the German Physical Society. The section on Particle Physics (which includes beyond the standard model physics and quantum gravity) has about 2,500 members. The section on Quantum Optics and Photonics has more than 3,000 members, Physics of Semi-conductors 3,800, Low Temperature Physics 1,450, Atomic Physics together with Hadronic and Nuclear Physics come to about 3,000, Material Physics together with Chemical and Polymer Physics and Thin Films another 3,500. Not all sections have membership numbers online, so this doesn't cover the full spectrum. But this already tells you that "most physicists" don't even do high energy physics, certainly not quantum gravity, and have no business with multiverses, firewalls, or "micro-landscapes of black holes".

But we can try to get a better estimate by seeing how many papers are cross-linked from hep-th to gr-qc, assuming that the opposite cross-linking is similarly frequent. For this, we look at the submission statistics of gr-qc for the first four months of the year 2013. It lists the submissions as well as the cross-lists. Click on any of the months, select "show all" and count the number of times "cross-list from hep-th" appears on the page. The numbers I get for January to April are: 70,71,52 and 67. If you look at the titles, you'll note that the papers you find this way fit well to the topics we're looking for.

Comparing these numbers with the total arxiv submissions per month (about 7500), we can estimate that it's about 1%. Multiply by two to account for gr-qc cross-linked to hep-th.

Now this is a rather crude estimate and I have mentioned several reasons why it's inaccurate: 1) Some fields of research are not as well represented on the arXiv as is hep-th. This means 2% is still an over-estimate. 2) Some fields might be more productive in paper output than others. If hep-th is on the more productive side, this means the 2% is even more of an over-estimate. 3) Not every paper in the area we're looking for might be hep-th cross-linked to gr-qc or vice-versa. This leads to an under-estimate. 4) On the other hand, not every paper cross-listed as such is about quantum gravity or related topics. 5) There are probably more people following the literature than actively working on it, which also leads to an under-estimate.

However, even if you'd add up all these errors, you would still be left to conclude that the above quoted uses of "most physicists" or "physics community" are extremely inaccurate and misleading.

What is a microfiber cloth and how does it work?

Microfibre cloths have become really popular during the last years. I just got one as an advertisement gift from the phone company. They’re handy to clean glasses, all kinds of screens, windows, mirrors and plastic surfaces, quickly and without the use of water. If dirty, put the cloth in the laundry, add detergent, and they’re as good as new.

But what are microfibers and what can they do that a Kleenex can’t?

Cotton cloths or paper wipes are mostly made of cellulose. Cellulose is a polymer, a long molecule that repeats a shorter structure up to some thousand times. Cellulose is hydrophile, meaning it likes to bind to water molecules. What it doesn’t like though is binding to fat molecules, which are themselves hydrophobic and don’t like to bind to water.

Cotton and paper tissues thus work badly for removing fatty stains, such as finger prints from glasses. If you want to get rid of these you have to use water and detergents on the cloth. Detergents are made of molecules that allow mixing water with fatty substances. With the detergent, the wet cotton cloth does a good job with the grease. Except that then it takes a long time to dry because now all the water molecules are attached to the cellulose polymers.

Cross-section of single microfibre,
electron microscope. Image Source.

Microfibers are also polymers, but that’s where the similarities end. Microfibers are synthetic polymers and usually much longer than the cellulose fibers won from organic materials. They are also about an order of magnitude thinner, typically only a few micrometers.

The microfibres used for cleaning cloths are normally a mixture of polyester and polyamide. Polyesters like to bind to fat, which is why the cloths can be used to wipe away grease without adding detergents. Polyesters however don’t like to bind water. Some polyamides do, but the water absorption of the microfibre cloths comes mostly from a clever production technique that increases the surface area of the fibres and allows for capillary action to suck up the water.

This technique works as follows. The long microfibers are not produced separately, but in a mixture of polyesters and polyamides that are arranged as alternating wedges, much like pieces on a cake. These mixed fibres are later split up by high pressure water jets (the image above shows the result). This procedure allows to produce much finer fibres than would be possible to produce directly, and since the microfibers are thin to begin with, it creates very porose materials that have a large surface in a small volume.

Cross-section of microfibre cloth, electron
microscope image. Source: hotrodworks.net

These splitted fibres are then woven or pressed into textiles (see image right). The resulting cloth is lightweight and binds to fat so you can wipe those fingerprints away easily. The material sucks up water, but since most of the water is stored in the pores between the fibres rather than binding directly to them (as is the case with cotton), microfibre cloths dry much faster than cotton.

Microfibres are not a new invention. The production technique goes back to research in the 1950s, but it wasn’t until the early 90s that they were marketed to households, a trend apparently started by the Swedes. During the last decade or so, microfibers have become quite common, especially for cleaning purposes, and, because they dry quickly, for sport and outdoor clothes.

So the next time you wipe the earwax off your display, I hope you appreciate the science behind this not-so-simple cloth.

Interna

Lara, putting on her shoes.

May 1st is a national holiday both in Sweden and in Germany. A good opportunity, I thought, to update you on our attempts at normal family life.

Lara and Gloria are now talking basically non-stop. Half of the time we have no idea what they are trying to say, the other half are refusals. Gloria literally wakes up in the morning yelling "Nein-nein-nein". Saying it's difficult to get her dressed, fed, and to daycare makes quantizing gravity sound like an easy task. Yesterday she insisted on going in her pajamas. Good mother that I am, I thought that was a brilliant idea.

Gloria is proud of her new hat.

Lara isn't quite as difficult as Gloria, but she is very easily distracted. If I ask her to get into the stroller, she'll first spend five minutes inspecting the stones by the road or take off her shoes and put them back on, just because.Time clearly flows very differently when you're two years old than when you're forty. I try to use the occasions to check my email. Time flows through my iPhone, I'm sure it does.

We finally made progress on our daycare issue, which is presently only half a solution. A new daycare place opened in the area, and due to my time spent on the phone last year, asking people to please write down my name and call me back if the situation unexpectedly changes, somebody indeed recalled my name and we made it top of the list for the new place. So there'll be another adaption phase at another place, but this time it's a full-day care that will indeed cover our working hours. It is also, I should add, considerably less expensive than the present solution with a self-employed nanny. This, I hope, will make my commuting easier for Stefan to cope with.

I'm really excited about the workshop for science writers that I'm organizing with George. We now have an (almost) complete schedule, I've ordered food and drinks and sorted out the lab visit, and I'm very much looking forward to the meeting. Directly after this workshop, I'll attend another workshop in Munich, "Quantum Gravity in Perspective", where I'll be speaking about the phenomenology of quantum gravity. I have some more trips upcoming this summer, to Bielefeld and Aachen and, in fall, to Vienna to speak at a conference on "Emergent Quantum Mechanics."

I was invited to take part in this KITP workshop on black hole firewalls but I eventually decided not to go. Partly because I'm trying to keep my travels limited to not burden Stefan too much with the childcare. But primarily because I don't believe that anything insightful will come out of this debate. It seems to me there are more fruitful research topics to explore, and this discussion is a waste of time. I also never liked SoCal in late summer; too dry for my central-European genes.

Lara and Gloria, eating cookies at a visit to the zoo.

We'll be away for the next couple of days because Stefan's brother is getting married. This means a several-hours long road trip with two toddlers who don't want to sit still for a minute; we're all looking forward to it...

Book review: “Time Reborn” by Lee Smolin

Time Reborn: From the Crisis in Physics to the Future of the Universe
By Lee Smolin
Houghton Mifflin Harcourt (April 23, 2013)

This is a difficult review for me to write because I disagree with pretty much everything in Lee’s new book “Time Reborn,” except possibly the page numbers. To begin with there is no “Crisis in Physics” as the subtitle suggests. But then I’ve learned not to blame authors for title and subtitles.

Oddly enough however, I enjoyed reading the book. Not despite, but because I had something to complain about on every page. It made me question my opinions, and though I came out holding on to them, I learned quite something on the way.

In “Time Reborn” Lee takes on the seemingly puzzling fact that mathematical truth is eternal and timeless, while the world that physicists are trying to describe with that mathematics isn’t. The role of time in contemporary physics is an interesting topic, and gives opportunity to explain our present understanding of space and time, from Newton over Special and General Relativity to modern Cosmology, Quantum Mechanics and all the way to existing approaches to Quantum Gravity.

Lee argues that our present procedures must fail when we attempt to apply them to describe the whole universe. They fail because we’re presently treating the passing of time as emergent, but as emergent in a fundamentally timeless universe. Only if we abandon the conviction, held by the vast majority of physicists, that this is the correct procedure, then can we understand the fundamental nature of reality – and with it quantum gravity of course. Lee further summarizes a few recent developments that treat time as real, though the picture he presents remains incoherent, some loosely connected, maybe promising, recent ideas that you can find on the arXiv and I don’t want to promote here.

More interesting for me is that Lee doesn’t stop at quantum gravity, which for most people on the planet arguably does not rank very high among the pressing problems. Thinking about nature as fundamentally timeless, Lee argues, is cause of very worldly problems that we can only overcome if we believe that we ourselves are able to create the future:

“We need to see everything in nature, including ourselves and our technologies, as time-bound and part of a larger, ever evolving system. A world without time is a world with a fixed set of possibilities that cannot be transcended. If, on the other hand, time is real and everything is subject to it, then there is no fixed set of possibilities and no obstacle to the invention of genuinely novel ideas and solutions to it.”

I’ll leave my objections to Lee’s arguments for some other time. For now, let me just say that I explained in this earlier post that a deterministic time evolution doesn’t relieve us from making decisions, and it doesn’t prevent “genuinely novel ideas” in any sensible definition of the phrase.

In summary: Lee’s book is very thought provoking and it takes the reader on a trip through the most fundamental questions about nature. The book is well written and nicely embedded in the long history of mankind’s wonderment about the passing of time and the circle of life. You will almost certainly enjoy this book if you want to know what contemporary physics has to say, and not to say, about the nature of time. You will almost certainly hate this book if you're a string theorist, but then you already knew that.

The Enantiomers’ Swimming Competition

Image Source.

The spatial arrangement of some large molecules can exist in two different versions which are mirror images of each other, yet their chemical composition is entirely identical. These mirror versions of molecules are said to have a different “chirality” and are called “enantiomers.” The image to the right shows the two chiralities of alanine, known as L-alanine and D-alanine.

Many chemical reactions depend not only on the atomic composition of molecules but also on their spatial arrangement, and thus enantiomers can have very different chemical behaviors. Since organisms are not chirally neutral, medical properties of drugs made from enantiomers depend on which chirality of the active ingredient is present. One enantiomer might have a beneficial effect, while the other one is harmful. This is the case for example for Ethambutol (one enantiomer treats tuberculosis, the other causes blindness), or Naproxen (one enantiomer treats arthritis pain, the other causes liver poisoning).

The chemical synthesis of molecules however typically produces molecules of both chiralities in approximately equal amounts, which creates the need to separate them. One way to do this is to use chemical reactions that are sensitive to the molecules’ chirality. Such a procedure has the disadvantage though that it is specific to one particular molecule and cannot be used for any other.

Now three physicists have shown, by experimental and numerical analysis, that there may be a universal way to separate enantiomers

Separation of chiral colloidal particles in a helical flow field
Maria Aristov, Ralf Eichhorn, and Clemens Bechinger
Soft Matter, 2013,9, 2525-2530 

It’s strikingly simple: chiral particles swim differently in a stream of water that has a swirl to it. How fast they travel with the stream depends on whether their chirality is the same or the opposite of the water swirl’s orientation. Wait far enough downstream, and the particles that arrive first will almost exclusively be the ones whose chirality matches that of the water swirl.

They have shown this as follows.

Molecules are typically of the size of some nanometers or so, and the swimming performance for molecules of different chirality is difficult to observe. Instead, the authors used micrometer-sized three-dimensional particles made of a type of polymer (called SU-8) by a process called photolithography. The particles created this way are the simplest example of configurations of different chirality. They labeled the right-handed particles with a blue fluorescent dye, and the left-handed particles with a green fluorescent dye. This allows taking images of them by a fluorescent microscope. Below you see a microscope image of the particles

Next you need a narrow channel through which water flows under some pressure. The swirl is created by gratings in the wall of the channel. The length of this channel is about a meter, but its height and width is only of the order 150 μm. Then you let bunches of the mixed chiral particles flow through the channel and photograph them on a handful of locations. From the amount of blue and green that you see in the image, you can tell how many of each type were present at a given time. Here’s what they see (click to enlarge)

This figure is an overlay of measurements at 5 different locations as a function of time (in seconds). The green shade is for molecules with the chirality that matches the water swirl orientation, the blue shade is for those with the opposite chirality. They start out, at x=32.5mm, in almost identical concentration. Then they begin to run apart. Look at the left tail of the x=942.5 mm measurement. The green distribution is almost 200 seconds ahead of the blue one.

If you aren’t impressed by this experiment, let me show you the numerical results. They modeled the particles as rigidly coupled spheres in a flow field with friction and torque, added some Gaussian white noise, and integrated the equations. Below is the result of the numerical computation for 1000 realizations (click to enlarge)

I am seriously amazed how well the numerical results agree with the experiment! I’d have expected hydrodynamics to be much messier.

The merit of the numerical analysis is that it provides us with understanding of why this separation is happening. Due to the interaction of the fluid with the channel walls, the flow is slower towards the walls than in the middle. The particles are trying to minimize their frictional losses with the fluid, and how to best achieve this depends on their chirality relative to the swirl of the fluid. The particles whose chirality is aligned with the swirl preferably move towards the middle where the flow is faster, while the particles of the opposite chirality move towards the channel walls where the flow is slower. This is what causes them to travel at different average velocities.

This leaves the question whether this study of particles of micrometer size can be scaled down to molecules of nanometer size. To address this question, the authors demonstrate with another numerical simulation that the efficiency of the separation (the amount of delay) depends on the product of the length of the channel and the velocity of the fluid, divided by the particle’s diffusion coefficient in the fluid. This allows one to estimate what is required for smaller particles. If this scaling holds, particles of about 120 nm size could be separated in a channel of about 3cm length and 3.2 μm diameter, at a pressure of about 10⁸ Pa, which is possible with presently existing technology.

Soft matter is not anywhere near by my area of research, so it is hard for me to tell whether there are effects at scales of some hundred nanometers that might become relevant and spoil this simple scaling, or whether more complicated molecule configurations alter the behavior in the fluid. But if not, this seems to me a tremendously useful result with important applications.

Listen to Spacetime

Quantum gravity researcher at work.

We normally think about geometry as distances between points. The shape of a surface is encoded in the distances between the points on in. If the set of points is discrete, then this description has a limited resolution.

But there’s a different way to think about geometry, which goes back about a century to Hermann Weyl. Instead of measuring distances between points, we could measure the way a geometric shape vibrates if we bang it. From the frequencies of the resulting tones, we could then extract information about the geometry. In maths speech we would ask for the spectrum of the Laplace-operator, which is why the approach is known as “spectral geometry”. Under which circumstances the spectrum contains the full information about the geometry is today still an active area of research. This central question of spectral geometry has been aptly captured in Mark Kac's question “Can one hear the shape of a drum?”

Achim Kempf from the University of Waterloo recently put forward a new way to think about spectral geometry, one that has a novel physical interpretation which makes it possibly relevant for quantum gravity

Quantum Gravity on a Quantum Computer?
arXiv:1302.3680

The basic idea, which is still in a very early phase, is the following.

The space-time that we live in isn’t just a classical geometric object. There are fields living on it that are quantized, and the quantization of the fluctuations of the geometry themselves are what physicists are trying to develop under the name of quantum gravity. It is a peculiar, but well established, property of the quantum vacuum that what happens at one point is not entirely independent from what happens at another point because the quantum vacuum is a spatially entangled state. In other words, the quantum vacuum has correlations.

The correlations of the quantum vacuum are encoded in the Greensfunction which is a function of pairs of points, and the correlations that this function measures are weaker the further away two points are. Thus, we expect the Greensfunction for all pairs in a set of points on space-time to carry information about the geometry.

Concretely, consider a space-time of finite volume (because infinities make everything much more complicated), and randomly sprinkle a finite number of points on it. Then measure the field's fluctuating amplitudes at these points, and measure them again and again to obtain an ensemble of data. From this set of amplitudes at any two of the points you then calculate their correlators. The size of the correlators is the quantum substitute for knowing the distance between the two chosen points.

Achim calls it “a quantum version of yard sticks.”

Now the Greensfunction is an operator and has eigenvalues. These eigenvalues, importantly, do not depend on the chosen set of points, though the number of eigenvalues that one obtains does. For N points, there are N eigenvalues. If one sprinkles fewer points, one loses the information of structures at short distances. But the eigenvalues that one has are properties of the space-time itself.

The Greensfunction however is the inverse of the Laplace-operator, so its eigenvalues are the inverses of the eigenvalues of the Laplace-operator. And here Achim’s quantum yard sticks connect to spectral geometry, though he arrived there from a completely different starting point. This way one rederives the conjecture of (one branch of) spectral geometry, namely that the specrum of a curved manifold encodes its shape.

That is neat, really neat. But it’s better than that.

There exist counter examples for the central conjecture of spectral geometry, where the shape reconstruction was attempted from the scalar Laplace-operator's spectrum alone but the attempt failed. Achim makes the observation that the correlations in quantum fluctuations can be calculated for different fields and argues that to reconstruct the geometry it is necessary to not only consider scalar fields, but also vector and symmetric covariant 2-tensor fields. (Much like one decomposes fluctuations of the metric into these different types.) Whether taking into account also the vector and tensor fields is relevant or not depends on the dimension of the space-time one is dealing with; it might not be necessary for lower-dimensional examples.

In his paper, Achim suggests that to study whether the reconstruction can be achieved one may use a perturbative approach in which one makes small changes to the geometry and then tries to recover these small changes in the change of correlators. Look how nicely the physicists’ approach interlocks with thorny mathematical problems.

What does this have to do with quantum gravity? It is a way to rewrite an old problem. Instead of trying to quantize space-time, one could discretize it by sprinkling the points and encode its properties in the eigenvalues of the Greensfunctions. And once one can describe the curvature of space-time by these eigenvalues, which are invariant properties of space-time, one is in a promising new starting position for quantizing space-time.

I’ve heard Achim giving talks about the topic a couple of times during the years, and he has developed this line of thought in a series of papers. I have no clue if his approach is going to lead anywhere. But I am quite impressed how he has pushed forward the subject and I am curious to see how this research progresses.

Excuse me, where is the mainstream?

More than once I went away from a discussion, confused about what exactly my conversation partners meant with “physics mainstream”. The “mainstream,” it seems, is typically employed as reference point for why some research projects get funded and others not. If it’s not “mainstream physics”, I gather, it’s difficult to get it funded. But can we come up with a good explanation for what is “mainstream”?

My first attempt to define the “mainstream” would be by the context it is most often used, the ease by which a research topic can be funded: the easier, the more mainstream. But on second thought this is not a helpful definition because it’s not based on properties of the research itself, which makes it circular. We could as well say a topic attracts funding easily because it’s mainstream, and so we are none the wiser. What is it that puts a research area into the main of the stream to begin with?

Reference to “mainstream science” is often made by pseudoscientists who are using the term in an attempt to downgrade scientific research and to appear original. (Ironically they then often boldly use and abuse vocabulary from the unoriginal mainstream. Google for quantum healing to see what I mean.) In that case the “mainstream” is just all that deserves to be called scientific research.

The way that pseudoscientists use the expression is not what I want to discuss today. It’s the way that researchers themselves speak about the “mainstream” that has left me wondering if it is possible to make this a meaningful, and useful, terminology. The way the expression is used by researchers it seems to have connotations of popularity, fashionableness, timeliness, and attracting large numbers of people. Below I have tried to make sense of each of these properties, and then I’ll offer the best definition that I could come up with. I invite you to submit your own!

Public attention

At any given time, some topics are popular. In physics there is presently direct detection of dark matter, quantum computing, topologic insulators and cold atom gases, for just to mention a few. But in many cases these popular topics constitute only a small fraction of the research that is actually happening. The multiverse, to name another example, is in reality a fringe area of gr-qc that just happens to capture public attention. The same is the case for the black hole firewall. In fact, in many cases what makes headlines in the press are singular or controversial findings. It’s not the type of research that funding agencies have on their agenda, which is why popularity is not a good defining property for the mainstream.

Fashionableness

High energy physics is a very fad-driven area of physics and quite often you can see a topic appearing and gathering momentum within a matter of months, just to then exponentially decay and hardly be mentioned some years later. Anybody remembers unparticles? The pentaquark? The so-called OPERA anomaly? These fads aren’t as extreme in other areas of physics (or so I am told) but they exist, if less pronounced.

Fashionableness indeed seems to some extent correlated with the ease of getting funding. But a trend must have been around for a while and have attracted a base of research findings to appear solid and worthy of funding, so that cannot be the whole story. This brings me to the next point.

Occupation number

The more people work on a topic, the easier it is to make a case that the topic is relevant and deserves being funded. Thus the number of researchers in an area seems a plausible measure for it being mainstream. Or does it?

The total number of people is in fact a highly misleading quantity. A topic may attract many researchers because it’s very rich and there is a lot that can be done. Another topic might just not support such a large number of researchers, but this says more about the nature of research in an area than about its relevance or its promise.

String theory is an example of a research area that is very rich and supports many independent studies, which I believe is reason it has become so dominant in quantum gravity – there’s just a lot that can be done. But does that make it mainstream research? Nanoscience is another example of a research area that attracts a lot of people, but does so for an entirely different reason, that being the potential of developing patents and applications. Throwing them both together doesn’t seem to make much sense. The total number of people does not seem a good defining property for the mainstream either.

The important factor for the ease of obtaining funding is not so much the total number of people, but the amount of tangible open problems that can be attacked. This then leads me to the next point.

Saturation level

A refinement of the occupation number is the amount to which a research area attracts people that study presently open questions on the topic. Mainstream physics, then, would be those areas that attract at least as many researchers as are necessary to push forward on all presently open questions. Since this is a property relative to the number of possible research projects, a small research area can be mainstream as much as a large one. It has some aspects of fashionableness, yet requires a more solid base already.

This definition makes sense to me because ease of funding should have something to do with the availability of research projects as well as their promise, which would be reflected in the willingness of researchers to spend time on these projects.

Except that this definition doesn’t seem to agree with reality because funding usually lags behind, leaving research areas overpopulated: It is easy to obtain funding for projects in areas whose promise is already on the decline because funding decisions are made based on reports by people who work in the very same area. So this definition, though appealing at first sight, just doesn’t seem to work.

Timeliness

Thus, in the end neither popularity, fads, the number of people, nor the availability of promising research topics seem to make for a good definition of the mainstream. Then let me try something entirely different, based on an analogy I used in the Nordita video.

Knowledge discovery is like the mapping of unknown territory. At any time, we have a map with a boundary beyond which we do not know what to expect. Applied research is building on the territory that we have mapped. Basic research is planning expeditions into the unknown to extend the map and with it the area that we can build on.

In either case, building on known territory and planning expeditions, researchers can take small steps and stay close to the known base. Or they can aim high and far and risk both failure and disconnect from colleagues.

This image offers the following definition for mainstream research.

Mainstream research is the research that aims just far enough to be novel and contribute to knowledge discovery, but not so far as to disconnect from what is already known. It’s new, but not too new. It’s familiar, but not too familiar. It’s baby steps. It builds on what is known without creating uncomfortable gaps.  It uses known methods. It connects. It doesn’t shock. It’s neither too ambitious nor too yesterday. It’s neither too conservative nor too tomorrow. It is what makes the community nod in appraisal.

Mainstream research is what surprises, but doesn’t surprise too much.

We previously discussed the relevance of familiarity in an entirely different context, that of appreciating musing. There too, you want it to be predictable, but not too predictable. You want it to have just the right amount of complexity.

I think that’s really the essence of what makes a field mainstream: how tight the connection is to existing knowledge and how well the research is embedded into what is already known. If a new field comes up, there will be a phase when there aren’t many connections to anything. But over the course of time, given all goes well, research on the topic will create a map of new territory that then can be built upon.

Proximate and Ultimate Causes for Publication

I am presently reading Steven Pinker’s “Blank Slate”. He introduces the terms “proximate cause” and “ultimate cause,” a distinction I find enlightening:

“The difference between the mechanisms that impel organisms to behave in real time and the mechanisms that shaped the design of the organism over evolutionary time is important enough to merit some jargon. A proximate cause of behavior is the mechanism that pushes behavior buttons in real time, such as the hunger and lust that impel people to eat and have sex. An ultimate cause is the adaptive rationale that led the proximate cause to evolve, such as the need for nutrition and reproduction that gave us the drives of hunger and lust.” ~Steven Pinker, The Blank Slate: The Modern Denial of Human Nature, p 54.

It is the same distinction I have made in an entirely different context between “primary” and “secondary” goals, my context being the use of measures for scientific success. In Pinker’s terminology then, enhancing our understanding of nature is the “ultimate cause” of scientific research. Striving to excel according to some measure for scientific success – like the h-factor, or the impact factor of journals on one’s publication list – is a “proximate cause”.

The comparison to evolution illuminates the problem with introducing measures for scientific success. Humans do not, in practice, evaluate each of their action as to their contribution to the ultimate cause. They use instead readily available simplifications that previously proved to be correlated with the ultimate cause. Alas, over time the proximate cause might no longer lead toward the ultimate cause. Increasing the output of publications does no more contribute to our understanding of nature than does deep-fried butter on a stick contribute to health and chances of survival.

There is an interesting opinion piece, “Impacting our young” in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences of the USA (ht Jorge) that reflects on the impact that the use of measures for scientific success has on the behavior of researchers:

“Today, the impact factor is often used as a proxy for the prestige of the journal. This proxy is convenient for those wishing to assess young scientists across fields, because it does not require knowledge of the reputation of individual journals or specific expertise in all fields… [T]he impact factor has become a formal part of the evaluation process for job candidates and promotions in many countries, with both salutatory and pernicious consequences.

Not surprisingly, the journals with the highest impact factor (leaving aside the review journals) are those that place the highest premium on perceived novelty and significance. This can distort decisions on how to undertake a scientific project. Many, if not most, important scientific findings come from serendipitous discovery. New knowledge is new precisely because it was unanticipated. Consequently, it is hard to predict which projects are going to generate useful and informative data that will add to our body of knowledge and which will generate that homerun finding. Today, too many of our postdocs believe that getting a paper into a prestigious journal is more important to their career than doing the science itself.”

In other words, the proximate cause of trying to publish in a high impact journal erodes the ultimate cause of doing good science.

Another example for a proxy that distracts from recognizing good science is paying too much attention to research coming out of highly ranked universities, “highly ranked” according to some measure. This case was recently eloquently made in Nature by Keith Weaver in a piece titled “Scientists are Snobs” (sorry, subscription only):

“We all do it. Pressed for time at a meeting, you can only scan the presented abstracts and make snap judgments about what you are going to see. Ideally, these judgments would be based purely on what material is of most scientific interest to you. Instead, we often use other criteria, such as the name of the researchers presenting or their institution. I do it too, passing over abstracts that are more relevant to my work in favor of studies from star universities such as Stanford in California or Harvard in Massachusetts because I assume that these places produce the “best” science…

Such snobbery arises from a preconceived idea that many scientists have –that people end up at smaller institutions because their science has less impact or is of lower quality than that from larger places. But many scientists choose smaller institutions for quality-of-life reasons…”

He goes on to explain how his laboratory was the first to publish a scientific finding, but “recent papers… cited only a more recent study from a large US National Institutes of Health laboratory. Losing this and other worthy citations could ultimately affect my ability to get promoted and attain grants.”

In other words, using the reputation of institutions as a proxy for scientific quality does not benefit the ultimate goal of doing good science.

Now let us contrast these problems with what we can read in another recent Nature article “Beyond the Paper” by Jason Priem. He wipes away such concerns as follows:

“[A] criticism is that the very idea of quantifying scientific impact is misguided. This really will not do. We scientists routinely search out numerical data to explain everything from subatomic physics to the appreciation of Mozart; we cannot then insist that our cogitations are uniquely exempt. The ultimate judge of scientific quality is the scientific community; its judgements are expressed in actions and these actions may be measured. The only thing to do is to find good measures to replace the slow, clumsy and misleading ones we rely on today. The great migration of scholarship to the Web promises to help us to do this.”

This argument implicitly assumes that making use of a quantifiable measure for scientific impact does not affect the judgement of scientists. But we have all reason to believe it does because it replaces the ultimate cause with a proximate cause, the primary goal with a secondary goal. (Priem's article is otherwise very interesting and readable, I recommend you give it a closer look.)

I’m not against using measures for scientific success in principle. But I wish people would pay more attention to the backreaction that comes from doing the measurements and providing people with a time-saving simplified substitute for the ultimate goal of doing good science.

Black holes and the Planck length

According to Special Relativity, an object in motion relative to you appears shortened. The faster it is, the shorter it appears. This is effect known as Lorentz-contraction. According to General Relativity, an object that has a sufficiently high mass-density in a small volume collapses to a black hole. Does this mean that if a particle moves fast enough relative to you it turns into a black hole? No, it doesn't. But it's a confusion I've come across frequently. Take Craig Hogan's recent "paper", where he writes:

"[B]elow the Planck length... it is no longer consistent to ignore the quantum character of the matter that causes space-time to curve. Even a single quantum particle of shorter wave-length has more energy than a black hole of the same size, an impossibility in classical relativity..."

The wave-length of a particle depends on the motion you have relative to it. For every particle there is a reference frame in which the wave-length of the particle appears shorter than the Planck length. If it was true what Hogan writes, this would imply that large relative velocities are a problem with classical general relativity. Of course they are not, for the following reasons.

A black hole is characterized by the existence of an event horizon. The event horizon describes the causal connectivity of space-time. It's a global property. Describing an object from the perspective of somebody moving relative to this object is a coordinate transformation. A coordinate transformation changes the way the physics appears, but not the physics itself. It just makes things look different. You cannot create an event horizon by a change of coordinates. Ergo, you cannot create a black hole just by looking at a particle that is moving rapidly relative to you.

There are three points I believe contribute to this confusion:

First, one can take the Schwarzschild metric for a black hole and describe it from the perspective of an observer moving relative to it. This is known as the Aichelburg-Sexl metric. The Aichelburg-Sexl metric is commonly used to handle black hole formation in particle collisions. The argument about the Planck length being a minimal length makes use of black hole formation too. But note that in these cases there isn't one, but at least two particles. These particles have a center-of-mass energy. They create a curvature which depends on the distance between them. They either do or don't form an horizon. These are statements independent on the choice of coordinates. This case should not be confused with just looking at one particle.

Second is forgetting that black holes have no hair. Leaving aside angular momentum, they're spherically symmetric which implies there are preferred frames. Normally one uses a frame in which the black hole is in rest, which then leads to the normal nomenclature with the Schwarzschild radius and so on.  But you better don't apply an argument about concentrating energy inside a volume that you'd have in the static case to the metric in a different coordinate system.

Third is a general confusion about the Planck length being called a "length". That the Planck length has the dimension of a length does not mean that it behaves the same way as a length of some rod. Neither is it generally expected that something funny happens at distance scales close by the Planck length - as we already saw above, this statement doesn't even have an observer-independent meaning.

The Planck length appears in General Relativity as a coupling constant. It couples the curvature to the stress-energy tensor. Most naturally, one expects quantum gravitational effects to become strong, not at distances close by the Planck length, but at curvatures close to one over Planck length squared. (Or higher powers of the curvature close to the appropriately higher powers of the inverse Planck length respectively.) The curvature is an invariant. This statement is therefore observer-independent.

What happens in the two particle collisions is that the curvature becomes large, which is why we expect quantum gravitational effects in this case. It is also the case that in the commonly used coordinate systems these notions agree with each other. Eg, in the normal Schwarzschild coordinates the curvature becomes Planckian if the radius is of Planck length. This also coincides with the mass of the black hole being about the Planck mass. (No coincidence: there is no other scale that could play a role here.) Thus, Planck mass black holes can be expected to be quantum gravitational objects. The semi-classical approximation (that treats gravity classical) breaks down at these masses. This is when Hawkings calculation for the evaporation of black holes runs into trouble.

For completeness, I want to mention that Deformed Special Relativity is a modification of Special Relativity which is based on the assumption that the Planck length (or its inverse respectively) does transform like the the spatial component of a four-vector, contrary to what I said above. In this case one modifies Special Relativity in such a way that the inverse of the Planck length remains invariant. I've never found this assumption to be plausible for reasons I elaborated on here. But be that as it may, it's an hypothesis that leads to consequences and that can then be tested. Note however that this is a modification of Special Relativity and not the normal version.

First Issue of the New Nordita Newsletter!

The Nordita Newsletter has gotten a major technical upgrade and the first issue of the new version is now online at

www.nordita.org/news 

Most notably, you can now subscribe and unsubscribe yourself and we have rss feeds for the different Newsletter categories.

Subscribing to the Nordita Newsletter might be interesting to you if you are interested in the research we do, want to be informed about job opportunities and other application deadlines like program proposals or PhD visiting fellowships, want timely information on which upcoming conferences, schools or programs you can now register for, or if you work in physics or related field anywhere in the Nordic countries and are interested in our "Nordic News" about research in this part of the world.

A big benefit of the upgraded Newsletter is that individual news items can now easily be shared, which we're hoping will make this information more useful to pass on via social media.

The highlight of this issue is this little video that we produced about the institute:


Part of the shots were made during last year's programs on holography in October and the on Cosmology program in November so you might recognize a few faces here or there. Jump to 2:42 and see if you recognize the guy to the right. 3:16 onward, anybody looks familiar? 3:08 and 5:22, that was during the program I organizied.

And in another video you can meet Oksana, who you got to know earlier in my blogpost about Nematic Films. Here she explains her research in her own words: