The Universe And The Teacup Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Table of Contents

  Also by K. C. Cole

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Introduction

  Chapter 1

  PART I

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  PART II

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  PART III

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  PART IV

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Selected Bibliography

  Index

  Footnotes

  Also by K.C. Cole

  FIRST YOU BUILD A CLOUD

  Copyright © 1997 by K. C. Cole

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Requests for permission to make copies of any part of the work should be submitted online at www.harcourt.com/contact or mailed to the following address: Permissions Department, Harcourt, Inc., 6277 Sea Harbor Drive, Orlando, Florida 32887-6777.

  www.HarcourtBooks.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Cole, K. C.

  The universe and the teacup:

  The mathematics of truth and beauty/K. C. Cole.—1st ed.

  p. cm.

  Includes bibliographic references and index.

  ISBN 978-0-15-100323-5

  ISBN 978-0-15-600656-9 (pbk.)

  1. Mathematics. 2. Truth (Aesthetics).

  3. Aesthetics. I. Title

  QA36.C65 1998

  510—dc21 97-22338

  Text set in Minion

  Designed by Kaelin Chappell

  First Harvest edition 1999

  DOC 10 9 8 7 6

  For Frank

  Acknowledgments

  Ultimately, the credit for this book has to go to my editor, Jane Isay, who first told me it was a math book. Initially, that came as a complete surprise. I’d come in to talk with her about a bunch of ideas I’d been tossing around for years, inspired by a great number of friends, colleagues, authors of books and essays whom I’d never met, and scientists I’d talked with only on the phone. Yet somehow, I didn’t have the perspective to see that the one common thread tying it all together was mathematics. Thank you, Jane.

  The other influences encompass almost everyone who ever had an impact on me, so I won’t even try to be inclusive. However, a great number can be found listed in the bibliography at the end of this book; a great many others are the scientists and mathematicians who are represented in the text only by an odd quote here and there but whose advice and ideas permeate the whole. Thank you, all, for all those hours of conversations, questions, requests. A special thank you also to Cathleen Morawetz, who carefully went through an early outline of this book (before I knew it was about the mathematics of truth) and offered caveats and encouragement I took very much to heart.

  I am most grateful to those who read the entire manuscript for me, in various drafts, offering advice, insights, additions and sometimes simply saving me from stupid mistakes. Thank you: Virginia Barber, Keith Devlin, David Goodstein, Haim Harrari, Roald Hoffmann, Gerald Holton, Tom Humphrey, Patty O’Toole. Thank you, also, to those who rendered the same indispensable service on portions of the book: Susan Chace, Elsa Feher, Adam Frank, Liz Janssen, and Lawrence Krauss. Obviously, whatever stupid mistakes remain are mine.

  My editor at the Los Angeles Times, Joel Greenberg, helped hone and challenge my ideas as subjects I was exploring for the book inevitably seeped into articles I then wrote for the paper (and eventually, vice versa). Thank you, Joel.

  I couldn’t have written the book without the continual support of my friends—especially Mary Kay Blakely, Susan Chace, Evelyn Renold, Patty O’Toole, Claudette Sutherland, and Mary Lou Weis-man. Thanks to my children, Pete and Liz Janssen, for enriching my life in myriad ways and making me wiser. And a huge thank you to my father, Bob Cole, for always being there.

  I’d also like to mention the indirect but important inspiration I received from two writers’ organizations I’m proud to be part of: PEN Center West, for reminding me that writers throughout the world pay dearly (sometimes with their lives) for a career I take for granted, and the women of JAWS, for high standards and courage.

  Finally, thanks to my agent, Ginger Barber, not only for her thorough and useful commentary but also for setting up that conversation with Jane Isay.

  Introduction

  THE SENTIMENTAL FRUITS

  At the fundamental level nature, for whatever reason, prefers beauty.

  — physicist David Gross, director of the Institute for Theoretical Physics at University of California, Santa Barbara

  Mathematics seems to have astonishing power to tell us how things work, why things are the way they are, and what the universe would tell us if we could only learn to listen. This comes as a surprise from a branch of human activity that is supposed to be abstract, objective, and devoid of sentiment.

  Yet, the way we view ourselves is closely connected to what we know (or think we know) about objective aspects of nature. Math tells us truths not only about how gravity works (the better to build bridges), but also universal truths that influence how we think and feel (the better to build societies). Physicist Frank Oppenheimer liked to call these the “sentimental” fruits of science.

  True, math does all the things we learned in school: building bridges and balancing checkbooks and calculating the odds of winning the lottery. But it also sheds light on those muddles of the mind that keep not only scientists up at night, but also artists and actors and poets and schoolteachers and psychologists and lovers and parents: How can we make sense of nature, including human nature? What is the nature of truth?

  People search for the answers in God and in equations (sometimes both at the same time), by writing plays and studying ants. Curiously, the same methods of thinking that helped reveal light as an undulating electromagnetic field can also help sort out the causes of various social problems. The same approaches to proof that physicists used to establish the reality of a particle called the top quark are brought to the courtroom in the trial of O.J. Simpson.

  It’s a heady notion: Mathematics—that seemingly dry stuff—has so much relevance to the deep philosophical ideas that are the foundations of society. By learning how it works, we can get a better grip on everything from obscure aspects of physics to methods of fashioning fairer divorce settlements.

  That’s one reason I’ve tried in this book to directly relate ideas from mathematics to problem solving in unlikely places—from life on Mars to the riddle of the Unabomber. It’s an attempt to demonstrate how mathematics informs the kinds of questions people really think and worry about. If I could accomplish one thing in this book, it would be to show that an interest in the quality of life is in no way diminished by quantitative arguments. Quantity and quality are inseparable. Scientists and mathematicians, as well as saints and philosophers, search for the fundamental how’s and why’s of existence. And although they have different standards of evidence and proof, quantitative insights do help us understand qualitative problems.

  Of course, mathematical tools do not substitute for the insights of artists and actors and economists and psychologists and historians and writers and spiritual leaders. But they can supply badly needed fresh perspectives.

  This book
is structured in five (not equal) parts. In the introductory chapter (What’s Math Got to Do with It?), I present the idea that mathematics is not about numbers so much as it is a way of thinking, a way of framing questions that allows us to turn things inside out and upside down to get a better sense of their true nature. Mathematicians know this, of course, but most people outside the profession do not. The chapter tours some of the unexpected territory covered by mathematics—from daily headlines to the Golden Rule.

  The first section (Where Mind Meets Math) demonstrates some of the reasons we need math to help sift through the confusion. In the first place, numbers don’t speak for themselves, because our all too human brains get in the way. Certain kinds of relationships that ought to be plain to everyone simply can’t penetrate the veil that physiology and experience puts between knowledge and truth. Indeed, these mental filters make it difficult (perhaps impossible) for human brains to perceive things the way they really are (whatever that is). They are necessary parts of human psychology and physiology, so there is no point trying to “cure” them. However, it helps a great deal to be aware of them—in the same way as it helps if your car’s steering pulls to the left, to compensate by pulling to the right.

  The second section (Interpreting the Physical World) explores some of the obstacles to clear seeing that are thrown up by aspects of physical reality itself (not that the muddiness in our minds can ever be completely separated from the messiness of reality). Signals scrambled by persistent interference and changing context, qualities that melt into quantities before our eyes (and vice versa), complex webs of influences that can be impossible to untangle, the elusiveness of observation, and the hazards of prediction—all make the art of getting sense from information a challenge even for the most mathematically adept.

  The third section (Interpreting the Social World) gives a taste of how math has illuminated human questions such as fairness. For example, a branch of mathematics called game theory suggests that following the Golden Rule is not only a moral way to behave, but also an effective strategy for getting results.

  The fourth and longest section (The Mathematics of Truth) is the heart of the book’s premise. It’s about some of the ways that mathematics can (and does) frequently reveal surprising fundamental relationships—between causes and effects, for example, evidence and proof, truth and beauty. The juiciest part of all—the payoff (at least for this writer)—is the story of how a young mathematician named Emmy Noether figured out how to make Albert Einstein’s general relativity consistent by showing the link between symmetry and the fundamental, unchanging laws of nature. In other words, the same properties that make a snowflake appealing underlie the laws that control the universe. Truth and beauty are two sides of a coin.

  Chapter 1

  WHAT'S MATH GOT TO DO WITH IT?

  Understanding is a lot like sex. It’s got a practical purpose,

  but that’s not why people do it normally.

  —Frank Oppenheimer

  Finding out what’s true is a central passion of human activity. It’s a question that dominates the stage and the dinner table, the classroom and the courtroom, the scientific laboratory and the spiritual retreat. And yet, with the explosion of information reverberating in our brains, it becomes harder and harder to hear the clear ring of truth through the competing facts and philosophies.

  As it turns out, mathematics offers a singular set of tools for seeing truth. Indeed, it brings surprising clarity to an astonishing range of issues, from cosmic questions (the fete of the universe) to social controversy (O. J.’s guilt) to specific matters of public policy (race and IQ scores).

  People outside the sciences rarely pick up these tools—in part because math seems intimidating. Even if people are aware that such tools exist, they don’t know how to apply the tools to things they care about.

  But mathematics already underlies many of society’s most-cherished political and social inventions: Ideas about cause and effect, fairness and justice, selfishness and cooperation, balancing risks, spending on welfare or national defense, even the nature of scientific discovery itself.

  True, our ideas about the physical and social world do spring from sources other than numbers: religion, history, family, psychology. We accept the “truths” revealed by these sources as intuitively commonsensical, or obviously right; our Declaration of Independence describes them as “self-evident.”

  But math—that most logical of sciences—shows us that the truth can be highly counterintuitive and that sense is hardly common.

  Mathematics is a way of thinking that can help make muddy relationships clear. It is a language that allows us to translate the complexity of the world into manageable patterns. In a sense, it works like turning off the houselights in a theater the better to see a movie. Certainly, something is lost when the lights go down; you can no longer see the faces of those around you or the inlaid patterns on the ceiling. But you gain a far better view of the subject at hand.

  William Thurston, the director of the Mathematical Sciences Research Institute (and by some accounts the world’s greatest living geometer) calls math a kind of “mindware.” It allows us to see and articulate concepts we can’t handle in any other way. Ingrid Daubechies—the MacArthur Award-winning Princeton mathematician who resurrected wavelet analysis (a tool for doing everything from storing fingerprints to seeing stars)—says it’s akin to poetry: a way of taking a big idea and condensing and honing it until it communicates exactly the right information.

  Mathematics can function as a telescope, a microscope, a sieve for sorting out the signal from the noise, a template for pattern perception, a way of seeking and validating truth. It is a lens that can clarify the obscure, or obscure and distort what was seemingly clear. It can take you into the core of a star or to the edge of the universe, give you the outcome of an election or the result of pumping carbon dioxide into the atmosphere for a hundred years. You can extrapolate to the end of time, or back to its beginning. You can get there from here.

  Mathematicians do not see their art as a way of simply calculating or ordering reality. They understand that math articulates, manipulates, and discovers reality. In that sense, it’s both a language and a literature; a box of tools and the edifices constructed from them.

  Once I was flying in a plane back from the Boston area, where I had been talking with a cosmologist at MIT about the universe and all that. I looked down from my window and saw islands that were clearly connected under the shallow water by strips of land. On the ground, those links would have been invisible, the islands completely unconnected. From the air, the paths between them were laid out as clearly as road maps. There’s a reason, I thought, that a lot of fundamental physics requires looking in higher dimensions. You can see more from an elevated point of view.

  In the same way, the tools of mathematics allow one to see otherwise invisible patterns and connections. Mathematics has revealed hidden trends (HIV infection), new kinds of matter (quarks, dark matter, antimatter), and crucial correlations (between smoking and lung cancer). It does this by exposing the bare bones of a situation, overcoming the commonsense notions that so often lead us astray. Math allows you to strip off the coverings and get right down to the skeleton. What is going on underneath that accounts for what you see on the surface? What’s holding it up? If you dig deep enough, what do you find?

  In some sense, the unfolding story of the universe is a history of finding hidden connections. The nature of light was discovered when a certain number (the speed of light) kept popping out of equations linking electricity to magnetism. Light was exposed as an electromagnetic fluctuation—an understanding that allowed experimenters to go looking for others of its same species. Radio signals, for example, ride on light that vibrates more slowly than the eye can see; X rays vibrate faster.

  Equations speak volumes, teasing out economic trends, patterns of disease, growth of populations, and the effects of prejudice and discrimination. Math produces a quite literal e
xpansion of consciousness. It allows us to see more. With these tools, we can extrapolate into the future (but there are hazards) and see invisible things (curved space).

  “What do we really observe?” asked Sir Arthur Eddington in 1959, summing up the lessons of the century’s recent revolution in physics: “Relativity theory has returned the answer—we only observe relations. Quantum theory returns another answer—we only observe probabilities.”*

  What we observe, in other words, are mathematical relationships.

  Since mathematics is so good at exposing the truth, it’s curious how often it’s used to perpetuate misunderstandings and lies. Math has power because we give more weight to numbers than we do to words. “Figures often mislead people,” says mathematician Keith Devlin. “There is no shame in that: words can mislead as well. The problem with numbers is our tendency to treat them with some degree of awe, as if they are somehow more reliable than words... This belief is wholly misplaced.”

  People often look to mathematics as an objective line of argument that will rescue them from the uneasiness of ambiguity. If only we put things in terms of numbers, we hope, perhaps truth will out. But math only articulates these ambiguities; it is no lifeboat out of the sea of confusion—only the buoy that marks the shoals. After all, it was a mathematical theorem (Gödel’s theorem*) that proved some truths can’t be reached by the road of pure logic at all.

  A prime case of intimidation by the numbers is the book The Bell Curve, a treatise so controversial that a half dozen books were published in response. Written by Charles Murray of the American Enterprise Institute and the late Richard Herrnstein of Harvard, the book wheels out an arsenal of mathematical artillery to bolster the proposition that intelligence is mostly inherited, that blacks have less of it, and that little can be done about it. Reviewers—not to mention readers—admitted to shell shock in the face of such a barrage of statistics, graphs, and multiple-regression analyses.