Author: Sean Carroll

  • In which I reveal an embarassing youthful episode

    One of my earliest childhood memories was going up to strangers at our local polling place in 1972 and trying to convince them to vote for Richard Nixon. My family was always staunchly conservative, and the notion of voting for a Democrat was anathema; my six-year-old self went along enthusiastically. (Nixon vs. McGovern was not a close election, so I doubt that my efforts made a difference in the ultimate outcome.)

    Myself excluded, my family’s allegiance to Republicans has never waned. The only exception (that I know of) was in the 1990’s when my Mom confessed the possibility that she might vote for Bill Clinton. When I asked why, she gave a simple answer: he was in favor of abortion rights, and she thought that was really important. Now, my Mom was certainly not in a position where she would worry about the prospect of getting an abortion for her own sake, and she has long been the kind of person who uses “feminist” as a slightly disreputable epithet. But this one issue was important enough to her to call into question a lifelong loyalty to Republicans. The reason is simple enough: as a woman, she understood the potentially life-altering consequences of an unwanted pregnancy, and felt that it was crucial to protect other women’s right to avoid that possibility, even if it wasn’t relevant to her own situation.

    I bring this up not to explain why abortion rights are important (although they are), but to make a more narrowly political point: fighting to protect such rights is not a losing move for the Democratic party. (To a large extent I don’t care about the political ramifications, as I am happy to support wildly unpopular positions when I think they are important, but sometimes what is right actually aligns with what is popular, and why not take advantage?) Guys tend to not quite appreciate how important the right to choose really is to women, and they also tend to forget that women are a large fraction of the voting public, including a lot of Republican voters. As the Alito nomination moves us just a little closer to eroding the right to choose, this issue is going to loom increasingly larger in voters’ minds. Rather than validating centrist bona fides by prevaricating on the issue of abortion, Democrats should be proudly emphasizing that they are the party of choice — a lot of suburban swing voters might actually move their way.

    This is also Blog for Choice month. More details here.

  • Quick hits

    Two quick things noticed on Cynical-C.

    First, very much up the old Cosmic Variance alley, a list of the Ten Most Beautiful Physics Experiments ever. I have a funny feeling we’ve linked to it before, but it’s worth a visit. I would have voted for Archimedes taking a bath over Galileo dropping balls from the Leaning Tower of Pisa, which after all probably never happened. (He did, however, amuse himself during sermons at the next-door cathedral by using his pulse to time the chandelier swinging overhead, thereby discovering that the period of a pendulum is independent of its amplitude.)

    Our fan base will verify that we here at CV are utterly beholden to the dictates of political correctness, so this other link is somewhat outside our normal fare: but it is perhaps the best blonde joke ever.

  • 7×7

    Robin at 3 Quarks Daily has tagged me with a meme. For the less blogocentric among our readers, it’s the internet hybrid of a chain letter and a personal ad — you’re supposed to answer a set of questions and then send it along to other people. This is a 7×7 meme, with seven answers to seven questions. (It seems to have become a little stuffier since its earlier days.)

    1. Seven things to do before I die: Learn French, become a passable bass player, learn to tango, spend at least six months living in Paris, publish a novel &/or play, fly an airplane, testify before Congress
    2. Seven things I cannot do: Speak any foreign languages at all (dammit), play any musical instruments decently (dammit), dance (sigh), cook a variety of dishes without recipes in front of me, surf, pay my bills on time, tell when people are bluffing
    3. Seven things that attract me to [Chicago]: Von Freeman, Patricia Barber, Webster’s Wine Bar, the Weiner’s Circle, Cloud Gate, the skyline view from the Adler Planetarium, Remy Bumppo
    4. Seven things I say most often: “Sadly”, “I don’t understand what that can possibly mean”, “I’ll get it done this weekend”, “Sure”, “Lagrangian”, “Raise”, “Dessert sounds good”
    5. Seven books I love: Pride & Prejudice (Austen), Mason & Dixon (Pynchon), The Book of Revelation (Thomson), The Moon is a Harsh Mistress (Heinlein), Wittgenstein: The Duty of Genius (Monk), Love in a Dead Language (Siegel), The Debt to Pleasure (Lanchester)
    6. Seven movies I could watch over and over again: Brazil, Dr. Strangelove, Bound, Raiders of the Lost Ark, Casablanca, Vanya on 42nd Street, Mullholand Drive
    7. Seven people I want to join in: Edward Witten, Jeanette Winterson, Tom Stoppard, Angelina Jolie, John Medeski, Jared Diamond, Barack Obama

    By not taking the final question realistically, I will likely be held in contempt by the spirits of the blogosphere and my hard drive will crash or something equally awful. But readers are encouraged to answer themselves, either in comments or on their own blogs.

  • Gridiron excitement

    For purposes of this year’s Rose Bowl to decide the national championship of college football, Cosmic Variance had an official rooting interest in the University of Southern California, for obvious reasons. Nevertheless, we recognize that it’s good to let the plucky underdogs win one once in a while, and concede that it was quite the entertaining contest. Congratulations to our football-crazy colleagues from the University of Texas.

    Congratulations also to the Penn State Nittany Lions, whose Orange Bowl win the previous night extended coach Joe Paterno’s record number of bowl wins to 21. It’s a world in which magic is where we find it.

  • Danger, Phil Anderson

    [Update: Prof. Anderson was kind enough to reply in the comments.]

    Another somewhat problematic response to Brockman’s World Question Center is given by Philip Anderson, one of the world’s leading condensed-matter theorists. Like fellow Nobel Laureate Robert Laughlin, Anderson takes a certain pleasure in tweaking the noses of his friends on the high-energy/astrophysics side of the department. We can all use a little tweaking now and then, but must be expected to get tweaked back in return.

    Anderson talks about dark matter and dark energy; his piece is short enough that we can go through the whole thing.

    Dark Energy might not exist

    I hope this idea isn’t too dangerous, by the way, since certain of your favorite bloggers have been quite active in this area. Overall, one gets the impression in the World Question Center that these folks somewhat overestimate how dangerous they are really being.

    Let’s try one in cosmology. The universe contains at least 3 and perhaps 4 very different kinds of matter, whose origins probably are physically completely different. There is the Cosmic Background Radiation (CBR) which is photons from the later parts of the Big Bang but is actually the residue of all the kinds of radiation that were in the Bang, like flavored hadrons and mesons which have annihilated and become photons. You can count them and they tell you pretty well how many quanta of radiation there were in the beginning; and observation tells us that they were pretty uniformly distributed, in fact very, and still are.

    All true, although the “you can count them” bit is a little confusing — I think the “them” he’s referring to is the photons. The basic idea is that the total number of photons hasn’t changed much since the extremely early universe, which is basically right; it may have increased by a factor of 100 or so during phase transitions when other stuff annihilates into photons, but by cosmological standards that’s not a big change.

    Next is radiant matter — protons, mostly, and electrons.

    I think by “radiant” he means “not the non-baryonic dark matter.” Neutrons would also count.

    There are only a billionth as many of them as quanta of CBR, but as radiation in the Big Bang there were pretty much the same number, so all but one out of a billion combined with an antiparticle and annihilated. Nonetheless they are much heavier than the quanta of CBR, so they have, all told, much more mass, and have some cosmological effect on slowing down the Hubble expansion.

    Not even “much” more mass — a factor of 102 or 103, but okay, now we’re nit-picking.

    There was an imbalance — but what caused that? That imbalance was generated by some totally independent process, possibly during the very turbulent inflationary era.

    Yes; that’s baryogenesis. Maybe it happened during inflation; that’s not a leading candidate, but certainly a plausible one. So far, just a slightly idiosyncratic retelling of the conventional story.

    In fact out to a tenth of the Hubble radius, which is as far as we can see, the protons are very non-uniformly distributed, in a fractal hierarchical clustering with things called “Great Walls” and giant near-voids. The conventional idea is that this is all caused by gravitational instability acting on tiny primeval fluctuations, and it barely could be, but in order to justify that you have to have another kind of matter.

    Now we’re getting into a bit of trouble. This statement would have been perfectly reasonable, if somewhat alarmist, fifteen or so years ago. These days we know a lot more about the distribution of matter on very large scales, from the microwave background as well as large-scale structure surveys. It’s not a fractal in any interesting sense on very large scales; certainly the density fluctuations on those scales are quite tiny. And when he says “barely could be,” I think he means “fits the data remarkably well.” The Cold Dark Matter model has some issues with the structure of individual galaxies and clusters, but for the overall distribution it’s a fantastic fit.

    So you need — and actually see, but indirectly — Dark Matter, which is 30 times as massive, overall, as protons but you can’t see anything but its gravitational effects. No one has much clue as to what it is but it seems to have to be assumed it is hadronic, otherwise why would it be anything as close as a factor 30 to the protons?

    That’s just a mistake. “Hadronic” means “made of quarks”; almost nobody thinks the dark matter is hadronic, and in fact it would be extremely difficult to reconcile that idea with primordial nucleosynthesis. The fact that it’s close to the density of protons is certainly interesting, and we don’t know why.

    But really, there is no reason at all to suppose its origin was related to the other two, you know only that if it’s massive quanta of any kind it is nowhere near as many as the CBR, and so most of them annihilated in the early stages. Again, we have no excuse for assuming that the imbalance in the Dark Matter was uniformly distributed primevally, even if the protons were, because we don’t know what it is.

    I’m not sure what “no excuse” means. If he means “no data support the assumption,” that’s wrong; the idea that fluctuations are adiabatic (correlated fluctuations in dark matter, photons, and baryons) has been pretty well tested, and agrees with the CMB very well. There is some room for a bit of variation (known as “isocurvature perturbations”), but the limits are pretty constraining. Perhaps a real cosmologist could chime in. If he means “we have no idea why the distributions are correlated,” that’s also false; in the simplest models of inflation, it’s exactly what you would expect, as the energy density from the inflaton decays into everything with some fixed amplitudes. Again, there are ways around it, and we don’t know that inflation is correct, but it’s by no means inexplicable.

    Finally, of course there is Dark Energy, that is if there is. On that we can’t even guess if it is quanta at all, but again we note that if it is it probably doesn’t add up in numbers to the CBR.

    Well, we actually guess that it is not quanta (i.e., particles) — if it were, the number density of particles would presumably dilute away as the universe expands, decreasing the density of dark energy, which isn’t what we observe. The dark energy is nearly constant in density, which is why most people imagine that it’s vacuum energy or the potential of some very light field, not particle excitations.

    The very strange coincidence is that when we add this in there isn’t any total gravitation at all, and the universe as a whole is flat, as it would be, incidentally, if all of the heavy parts were distributed everywhere according to some random, fractal distribution like that of the matter we can see — because on the largest scale, a fractal’s density extrapolates to zero.

    This “very strange coincidence” is of course a prediction of inflation, that the universe is spatially flat. The bit about the random fractal distribution manages to somehow be simultaneously wrong and ill-defined. Again, we know what the distribution looks like on large scales, from CMB fluctuations, and it’s incredibly smooth. If it were wildly fluctuating, including on scales much larger than our Hubble radius, then most of the universe would have a large amount of spatial curvature — that’s certainly what we see in the local distribution. Not that it’s very clear what such a distribution would actually look like in general relativity.

    That suggestion, implying that Dark Energy might not exist, is considered very dangerously radical.

    Well, not so much “radical” as “incorrect.” Anderson doesn’t mention the fact that the universe is accelerating, which is curious, since that’s the best evidence for dark energy. His offhanded proposal that density fluctuations are somehow responsible is similar in spirit to the original proposal of Kolb, Matarrese, Notari, and Riotto, that ultra-large-scale inhomogeneities could mimic the effects of dark energy. Everyone now agrees that this idea doesn’t work, although the authors are trying again with small-scale fluctuations. While that hasn’t been cleanly ruled out, it’s a long shot at best; most folks agree that we either need dark energy, or somehow to modify gravity.

    Anderson then goes on to argue against any particular conception of God, on the basis of Bayesian probability theory. I’m not a big God booster, but he probably didn’t run this idea by anyone in the Religious Studies department, any more than he ran his dark-energy ideas by any of the local cosmologists (I understand that Princeton has one or two). I think it’s great when smart people step outside their areas of expertise to make interesting suggestions about other fields (if I didn’t, the blogging thing would be kind of indefensible). But we shouldn’t forget that there are smart people in other parts of the university, and have some respect for their expertise. Or is that another one of those dangerous ideas?

  • Thought experiments

    You are offered a deal in which you are asked to flip a coin ten times. If any one of the flips comes up tails, you are swiftly and painlessly killed. If it comes up heads ten times in a row, you are given a banana. Do you take the deal?

    For the purposes of this thought experiment, we may assume it is a perfectly fair coin, and that you like bananas, although not any more so than would generally be considered healthy. We may also assume for simplicity that your life or death is of absolutely no consequence to anyone but yourself: you live in secret on a deserted island, isolated from contact with the outside world, where you have everything you need other than bananas. We may finally assume that we know for certainty that there is no afterlife; upon death, you simply cease to exist in any form. So, there is an approximately 99.9% chance that you will be dead, which by hypothesis implies that you will feel no regrets or feelings of disappointment. And if you survive, you get a banana. What do you think?

    Now change the experiment a little. Instead of flipping a coin, you measure the x-component of the spin of an electron that has been prepared in an eigenstate of the y-component of the spin; according to the rules of quantum mechanics, there is an even chance that you will measure the x-component of the spin to be up or down. You do this ten times, with ten different electrons, and are offered the same wager as before, with spin-up playing the role of “heads” for the coin. The only difference is that, instead of a classical probability, we are dealing with branching/collapsing wavefunctions. I.e., if you believe in something like the many-worlds interpretation of quantum mechanics, there will always be a branch of the wavefunction of the universe in which you continue to exist and now have a banana. Do you take the deal?

  • Education and expectations

    Lauren at Feministe talks about being a single teenage mom, getting through college, and becoming a teacher herself. You should read it.

    When I was student teaching this past semester, battling my Basic students’ resistance to the educational process, I finally asked my students why some of them hadn’t opted for that alternative school from which I secretly graduated. It was a more organic layout, just a few hours a day, individual work toward short-term goals. For those who needed a more structured day, it wasn’t an option. But the rest of them. The rest of them considered it a cop-out. This surprised me. I figured that many of them would be attracted to an easy way out with the same ends as attending eight hours of high school a day. I wondered what they would think of me if I dropped the teacherly facade and was honest about my high school experience.

    At one point I raised the risk level and revealed that I had been no model student in high school, that I thought many of them had what it takes to get through a four-year college, especially if I could do so. They laughed at me, accusing me of being some goody-two-shoes that had no idea about the difficulties of their lives. I didn’t tell them about the teenage pregnancy, or the criminal record, or the drugs, or the stay in juvenile hall, or the two trips to rehab, the years in AA. Sure, I don’t know the poverty, but I do know the expectations of failure. What I did say was that I was not a model student, that I had a past that was comparable to their present, and that I was within weeks of my degree. You can do it, I said. Trust me.

    A while ago Mark posted about the fact that physicists come from quite diverse backgrounds, but a supportive environment is a common thread. Like Mark, I didn’t grow up in a high-powered intellectual environment, although it was basically middle-class; most of my family worked for U.S. Steel, my father was the first person in his family to get a college degree (my mother never did), and my parents divorced before I entered first grade. Graduated from a large public high school, got through college and grad school on fellowships. But I did receive support from all over, which is crucial to believing enough in yourself to ever try something as impractical as becoming a professor of theoretical physics.

    My friends at Project Exploration specialize in taking underprivileged children and turning them on to learning by getting them interested in science. Roughly speaking, none of the kids who work with them would have expected to attend college, and all of them eventually do. One of the stories I’ve heard Gabe Lyon tell is the reaction of a group of inner-city kids to taking a long train ride out to Montana to dig for dinosaurs. All sorts of things to be excited about — train, dinosaurs, field trip. But here’s what they can’t get over: stars in the sky! Not something their familiar with from their everyday lives in Chicago.

    Nobody pops out of the womb in possession of a complete skill set appropriate to tackling life’s challenges. A lot of kids in our country grow up in environments where looking at the stars, literally and figuratively, is not encouraged. Here’s hoping we find new ways to convince them that they can do it.

  • Rearrange your liver to the solid mental grace

    Close to the EdgeSome holiday frivolity for you. I’m a big fan of Yes‘s progressive-rock masterpiece Close to the Edge, but I’ll admit that I always presumed the lyrics were mostly nonsense. Not true! It turns out that every line is imbued with subtle and hermeneutically challenging messages, worthy of the closest of readings. Happily, such a reading has been provided by the Church of Yahweh (don’t ask). Here are the lyrics by Jon Anderson, Steve Howe, and Chris Squire; have a crack at interpreting them yourselves before peeking at the answers.

    I. The Solid Time Of Change

    A seasoned witch could call you from the depths of your disgrace,
    And rearrange your liver to the solid mental grace,
    And achieve it all with music that came quickly from afar,
    Then taste the fruit of man recorded losing all against the hour.
    And assessing points to nowhere, leading ev’ry single one.
    A dewdrop can exalt us like the music of the sun,
    And take away the plain in which we move,
    And choose the course you’re running.
    Down at the edge, round by the corner, not right away, not right away.

    Crossed the line around the changes of the summer,
    Reaching to call the color of the sky.
    Passed around a moment clothed in mornings faster than we see.
    Getting over all the time I had to worry,
    Leaving all the changes far from far behind.
    We relieve the tension only to find out the master’s name.

    Down at the end, round by the corner.
    Close to the edge, just by a river.
    Seasons will pass you by.
    I get up, I get down.
    Now that it’s all over and done,
    Now that you find, now that you’re whole.

    II. Total Mass Retain

    My eyes convinced, eclipsed with the younger moon attained with love.
    It changed as almost strained amidst clear manna from above.
    I crucified my hate and held the word within my hand.
    There’s you, the time, the logic, or the reasons we don’t understand.

    Sad courage claimed the victims standing still for all to see,
    As armoured movers took approach to overlook the sea.
    There since the cord, the license, or the reasons we understood will be.

    Down at the edge, close by a river, close to the edge, round by the corner.

    Sudden call shouldn’t take away the startled memory.
    All in all, the journey takes you all the way.
    As apart from any reality that you’ve ever seen and known.
    Guessing problems only to deceive the mention,
    Passing paths that climb halfway into the void.

    As we cross from side to side, we hear the total mass retain.

    Down at the edge, round by the corner, close to the end, down by a river.
    Seasons will pass you by.
    I get up, I get down.

    III. I Get Up, I Get Down

    In her white lace
    You can clearly see the lady sadly looking.
    Saying that she’d take the blame
    For the crucifixion of her own domain.

    I get up, I get down, I get up, I get down.
    Two million people barely satisfy.
    Two hundred women watch one woman cry, too late.
    The eyes of honesty can achieve.
    How many millions do we deceive each day?

    Through the duty she would coil their said
    amusement of her story asking only interest
    could be laid upon the children of her domain

    I get up, I get down, I get up, I get down.

    In charge of who is there in charge of me.
    Do I look on blindly and say I see the way?
    The truth is written all along the page.
    How old will I be before I come of age for you?
    I get up, I get down.

    IV. Seasons Of Man

    The time between the notes relates the color to the scenes.
    A constant vogue of triumphs dislocate man, so it seems.
    And space between the focus shape ascend knowledge of love.
    As song and chance develop time, lost social temp’rance rules above.

    Then according to the man who showed his outstretched arm to space,
    He turned around and pointed, revealing all the human race.
    I shook my head and smiled a whisper, knowing all about the place.
    On the hill we viewed the silence of the valley,
    Called to witness cycles only of the past.
    And we reach all this with movements in between the said remark.

    Close to the edge, down by the river.
    Down at the end, round by the corner.
    Seasons will pass you by,
    Now that it’s all over and done,
    Called to the seed, right to the sun.
    Now that you find, now that you’re whole.
    Seasons will pass you by,
    I get up, I get down.

  • Bibliophilia

    I was never a big Bill Clinton fan — so much ability squandered on just keeping himself afloat, no willingness to take a tough stand on principle alone. But he did have his charms. Here’s Gabriel García Márquez, describing a dinner with William Styron, Carlos Fuentes, and Clinton:

    When we asked him what he was reading, he sighed and mentioned a book on the economic wars of the future, author and title unknown to me.

    “Better to read ‘Don Quixote,’” I said to him. “Everything’s in there.” Now, the ‘Quixote’ is a book that is not read nearly as much as is claimed, although very few will admit to not having read it. With two or three quotes, Clinton showed that he knew it very well indeed. Responding, he asked us what our favorite books were. Styron said his was “Huckleberry Finn.”

    I would have said “Oedipus Rex,” which has been my bed table book for the last 20 years, but I named “The Count of Monte Cristo,” mainly for reasons of technique, which I had some trouble explaining.

    Clinton said his was the “Meditations of Marcus Aurelius,” and Carlos Fuentes stuck loyally to “Absalom, Absalom,” Faulkner’s stellar novel, no question, although others would choose “Light in August” for purely personal reasons. Clinton, in homage to Faulkner, got to his feet and, pacing around the table, recited from memory Benji’s monologue, the most thrilling passage, and perhaps the most hermetic, from “The Sound and the Fury.”

    The resemblance to GW Bush is uncanny! He’s an avid reader too. Really!

  • Bless them that curse you

    Adam Felber is not feeling the Christmas spirit.

    And I started thinking about Christmas, and I realized that somehow I no longer thought highly of Jesus. Examining it, I realize that it’s because of a lot of very recent things. It’s because of Bill O’Reilly and his Fox News cronies yelling about the “War on Christmas.” It’s because of an increasingly loud and angry bunch of Jesus fans who seem to have jettisoned the whole tolerance-and-peace thing in favor of getting Jesus into as many public places as possible as though there was little difference between a cross and a Nike swoosh. It’s because of a President who clearly sees our current war as the struggle between the Friends of Jesus and the Friends of Mohammed, as though there were no other teams and as though that conflict was the same as one between God and Satan or Good and Evil. When presidents go to war for Jesus, when preachers call for political assassinations, when America’s undisputed top-dog religion starts acting like a bat-worshipping cult lobbying for its first tax exemption… well, it gets harder and harder to feel any affection for the team mascot.

    I’m very much anti-religion in the sense that I think it’s a mistake; it’s just not a correct way of thinking about our universe. But for the most part I’m pretty neutral on whether or not religion’s overall impact is good or bad. It’s obviously extremely influential (which is why it’s worth explaining over and over why it’s not right), but the influences for good and the influences for bad are both so dramatic that it’s hard to do an accuate accounting. I like the music and the art, and I am sincerely appreciative of the community-building and charitable aspects of religion. I’m not so fond of the twisted sexual morality and warlike fanaticism that is often part of the package.

    But Felber’s right that the obnoxious aspects of religion, or at least of Christianity, are momentarily ascendant. I’ve never been sympathetic to claims along the lines of “Jesus was a wonderful guy, even if his followers are occasionally problematic.” Jesus died two thousand years ago, without leaving any writings of his own or even any first-person account of his teachings, and claims about who truly understands him have been going on ever since. Jesus is nothing but the actions of his followers, and they’ve been quite a turn-off lately.

    Matthew 5:43-45:

    Ye have heard that it hath been said, Thou shalt love thy neighbour, and hate thine enemy.

    But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you;

    That ye may be the children of your Father which is in heaven: for he maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust.

    Modern interpretation:

    You know, I don’t know about this doctrine of assassination, but if he thinks we’re trying to assassinate him, I think that we really ought to go ahead and do it. It’s a whole lot cheaper than starting a war.

    Or:

    I really believe that the pagans, and the abortionists, and the feminists, and the gays and the lesbians who are actively trying to make that an alternative lifestyle, the ACLU, People for the American Way, all of them who have tried to secularize America, I point the finger in their face and say: you helped this [Sept. 11th] happen.

    Or:

    “Did God have anything to do with Katrina?,” people ask. My answer is, he allowed it and perhaps he allowed it to get our attention so that we don’t delude ourselves into thinking that all we have to do is put things back the way they were and life will be normal again.

    Or simply:

    [I]f you are really offended, you gotta go to Israel.