Suppose we —

 I was lying in bed, sort of daydreaming – free-associating – and a cartoon I saw on facebook yesterday came into mind. One panel showed little kids of the 1980s in an outdoor scene, running around, playing. The other showed kids of 2012 in the same scene, all sitting under one of the trees, clicking away at whatever game or device each one was using.

First bounce: the kids in the 1980s scene looked supervised and tame next to my memories of our life in the 1950s.

Second bounce: whoever drew the scene (thinking it seems of the 1980s as paradise lost) probably had no idea of how life had been after the war, in the same way that we had had no idea of how free life had been before the war, and in frontier days, etc..

Third bounce: people tend to assume that the change is for the worst, and in a way of course it is. And yet, maybe not, for I often suspect that all this electronic-ization of our lives has a subtext  unintended by anyone in the body. I suspect we are being prepared for the great change in which we will take the non-physical world for granted in the way prevous civilizations did, and yet in a new way.

Fourth bounce. What if we began to train ourselves to look at everything that happened, not as the result of chance, not as the result of some conspiracy, but as another tile in the great mosaic that is our lives? What if we began to see what is, rather than always trying to measure what we see against what we wish we were seeing? Not only would we probably be happier and less fearful, we might see a lot better, too.

Thought for the day. Season to taste. Individual mileage may vary.

 

Again, angels

 It’s funny,  it was just on the 12th that I posted on my blog a piece I called “Angels to each other,” inspired by my experience of the Emergency Room at UVA hospital, some years earlier.

Today I spent in the Emergency Room at Martha Jefferson Hospital, and had an equally positive experience. (No, I’m not shopping around.) A severe sore throat on Wednesday night turned into a cold which led to asthma and two nights of very little sleep. This morning I asked Nancy to bring me over to Martha Jeff, and she did, and stayed all day, and brought me home.

No point in going into the ins and outs of hospital treatment, save to remark how friendly and helpful the staff. This is merely to lead up to this point, which I made before and must make again.

There is an old saying that God has no hands to work through but ours. Regardless of your theology, surely you can see that the saying is not only true but obvious. It is never more obvious than when your life is in another person’s hands. The everyday functioning of an emergency room amounts to this: All these people – doctors, nurses, orderlies, various technical types – are there every day, waiting to help whoever comes in needing help. To quote again the cinquain I wrote after the previous experience:

          E.R.

         No breath.

         Resource’s end.

         Surrendering control

         To these calm strangers, knowing them

         God’s hands.

 

 

“We must not fail in this obligation …”

A list that I am on featured this quote from Wernher von Braun, whom older readers will remember as one of the Nazi scientists who developed the V2 rocket to bombard London during World War II, then went on to lead the postwar US space program. Without going into his politics, I found this statement laughably silly.

 “Here on Earth we live on a planet that is in orbit around the Sun.  The Sun itself is a star that is on fire and will someday burn up, leaving our solar system uninhabitable.  Therefore we must build a bridge to the stars, because as far as we know, we are the only sentient creatures in the entire universe. When do we start building that bridge to the stars?  We begin as soon as we are able, and that is that time.  We must not fail in this obligation we have to keep alive the only meaningful life we know of.”

Wernher von Braun

 

Therefore we must build a bridge to the stars, because as far as we know, we are the only sentient creatures in the entire universe. What a silly statement this is ! The “therefore” follows a fact that is not likely to happen for thousands of millions of years (!) and the idea that only we are sentient, in a universe consisting entirely of sentience (be it animate or what we think inanimate) is worse than laughable, it is pathetic. Yet this kind of thought still passes for scientific realism in some parts of academia.

 

 

Seth and the end of the Mayan Calendar

 In reading The Individual and the Nature of Mass Events, which was delivered in 1979 and published in 1981, I find this at the end of Chapter One, which might have been written this morning:

   The majority of accepted beliefs – religious, scientific, and cultural – have tended to stress a sense of powerlessness, impotence, and impending doom – a picture in which man and his world is an accidental production with little meaning, isolated yet seemingly ruled by a capricious God. Life is seen as a “valley of tears” – almost as a low-grade infection from which the soul can be cured only by death.

   Religious, scientific, medical, and cultural communications stress the existence of danger, minimize the purpose of the species or of any individual member of it, or see mankind as the one erratic half-insane member of an otherwise orderly realm of nature. Any or all of the above beliefs are held by various systems of thought.

(pages 45-6)

 

Sound like any culture you participate in?

 

Course-correction, anyone?

Okay the election ended before the Mayan calendar did, though not by much. I have just a word for any political partisans who might read this.

The election is over, and your man won, or lost. Your party won, or lost. Your ideology won, or lost. 

None of that is nearly as important was whether you won or lost.

 And how could you judge that? Simple enough. Compare yourself to four years ago.

Are you more fearful than you were?

Are you closer to a state of chronic political hatred?

Are you less able to give the benefit of the doubt to opinions that oppose yours?

 Some years ago, now, during the reign of King George the Unelected, one day I realized with a shock that I was moving close to a state of chronic anger. I realized that only hatred lay in that direction, and hatred is delayed self-destruction.

 Sound familiar?

 The good news is that the condition is curable. It can be reversed by a decision, an act of will. We can choose not to live in a state of fear, and anger, and self-righteousness. But we do have to choose.

 Isn’t the aftermath of an election as good a time as any to make that choice?

 

the particle menagerie — and why

This, from this morning’s Schwartzreport (which I and others were glad to see return after Stephan’s vacation), strikes me as another report from fantasyland, comparable to politics.

What I know about particle physics, you can put in your hat and still have plenty of room for your head, but all this searching for particles seems to me equivalent to the way that those scientists who still believed that the sun revolved around the earth used to compute new epicycles, to explain whatever celestial movements they couldn’t understand.

“Science” is so resistant to the concept of the nonphysical, that it thinks it must find a fully physical answer to every physical problem, and, when it can’t, it says, “we just have to look a little farther, try a little harder.” Maybe this process will work someday, but it sure hasn’t up till now.

 

Welcome to the Particle Menagerie

SIMON SINGH – The Guardian (U.K.)

[SS:] Just before I left a reader wrote to ask me about “the growing number of particles that seem to concern physics, whose names I barely recognize.” Maybe you feel the same way. Waiting in the airport today I found this, which may help sort these things out in your mind.

Simon Singh is the author of Big Bang and will be presenting “5 Particles”, part of BBC Radio 4’s special coverage of the LHC switch-on later this summer

 

Christening a particle is not easy. Do you name it after the person who proposed its existence, or the person who discovered it? Or do you give it a label that is abstract, poetic, whimsical, onomatopoeic, or just plain descriptive?

Democritus proposed the existence of a particle, so he could have named it the democriton, but instead this modest Greek philosopher decided to coin the word a-tomos, meaning ‘not cuttable’, which explains the origin of the word atom. Perversely, today we use the word atom to describe something that is ‘cuttable’, because we know that even the smallest atom, hydrogen, has components that can be pulled part. So we could rename atoms ‘aatoms’, which is to say ‘not not cuttable’.

Inside the atom we find the electron, which also traces its name back to Ancient Greece. Elektron is Greek for amber, and the ancients knew that rubbing amber with a dry cloth would enable it to attract very light objects. We now know that this is because rubbing amber can generate a charge, otherwise known as static electricity, so 19th century scientists used the term electron to describe the first particle that was proven to carry a charge.

The rest of the atom is made of neutrons and protons, and in turn these are made of quarks. The story of quarks dates back to the 1960s when physicists discovered a menagerie of new subatomic particles. It was Murrary Gell-Mann who proposed that all these particles (and protons and neutrons) were made of just three types of quark. The name was based on a line from James Joyce’s Finnegan’s Wake: “Three quarks for Muster Mark!”. In this context, quark is probably a corruption of quart (as in quarts of beer), which means it should not be pronounced to rhyme with Mark.

Gell-Mann had quite a flair for naming concepts in physics. The existence of three quarks led to composites of quarks being classified into groups of eight, which Gell-Mann dubbed the Eightfold Way. This was a reference to a Buddhist proverb about the path to nirvana: “Now this, O monks, is noble truth that leads to the cessation of pain; this is the noble Eightfold Way.”

Gell-Mann’s three quarks were named up, down and strange. The up and down quarks formed a natural pair, but the strange quark was the odd one out, hence the name. In 1974 its partner was discovered and to celebrate its welcome arrival it was dubbed the charm quark

Two more quarks were discovered, and were initially called truth and beauty. They were the focus of my thesis when I worked at Cern in the late 1980s, but sadly I could not boast that I was researching the physics of truth and beauty, because by this time they had been renamed more prosaically as top and bottom quarks

It is unlikely any more quark types will be discovered at Cern when the LHC fires up this summer, but they will be studied in closer detail than ever before. In particular, physicists will scrutinise the particles that bind quarks together, predictably known as gluons, because they act like a glue.

Sometimes the order of discovery is a factor in the naming of particles. In the 1960s and 70s, many physicists were trying to predict the particles that might carry the weak nuclear force, which is responsible for radioactivity. When they formulated a theory, they sensibly named one type of weak-force carrier the W particle. The other type was given the name Z, partly because physicists believed there wouldn’t be any more particles left to discover.

Of course, the LHC will also be hunting for new particles. One of the theories being tested is supersymmetry, the idea that every known particle has a partner awaiting discovery in a high-energy collision. When the idea was proposed, the sudden doubling of the number of fundamental particles could have been a headache for the physicists who named things. Their solution was to add an s onto particle names to get the supersymmetric “sparticles”. So the partners of the quark and electron became squarks and selectrons. The convention has some unfortunate consequences: the family of particles known as leptons have supersymmetric partners called, well, sleptons

Supersymmetric particles could be discovered at Cern in the coming years but other hypothetical particles are much less likely, such as the axion, which was posited in 1977 to solve problems in the way that quarks and gluons interact. The theorists who came up with it named their proposed particle after an American brand of laundry detergent, because it was supposed to clean up a rather messy problem in fundamental physics.

There is no sign of axions yet, but if they exist they could explain the vast quantity of missing matter in the universe. There are so many candidates for this so-called dark matter that scientists have coined catch-all acronyms. One umbrella term suggests the missing matter is made of Weakly Interacting Massive Particles (WIMPs). Alternatively, the mysterious dark particles may have aggregated into large collections known as MAssive Compact Halo Objects (MACHOs

If all this makes it sound as if physicists make things up as they go along, wait until you hear my favourite particle moniker. This acronym encompasses all the dark matter candidates and truly reflects our level of understanding of this particular subject – Dark Unknown Nonreflective Nondetectable Objects, or DUNNOs, a term which should only be spoken by physicists while shrugging their shoulders. Well, at least they’re honest.