James Jeans addresses the British Association in 1934, Part 2

J H Jeans was President of the British Association for the Advancement of Science in 1934. The Association met in Aberdeen, in September and Jeans addressed the Association in the Capital Cinema on Wednesday 5 September on The new world-picture of modern physics.. Below is the second part of his lecture.

To read the first part of Jeans' lecture, follow the link: British Association 1934(J), Part 1

Sir James H Jeans, the President, continued his Address:-

And now we come to the central and most surprising fact of the whole situation. I agree that it is still too early, and the situation is still too obscure, for us fully to assess its importance, but, as I see it, it seems likely to lead to radical changes in our views not only of the universe but even more of ourselves. Let us remember that we are dealing with a system of waves which depict in a graphic form our knowledge of the constituents of the universe. The central fact is this: the wave-parable does not tell us that these waves depict our knowledge of nature, but that they are nature itself.

If we ask the new physics to specify an electron for us, it does not give us a mathematical specification of an objective electron, but rather retorts with the question: 'How much do you know about the, electron in question?' We state all we know, and then comes the surprising reply, 'That is the electron.' The electron exists only in our minds - what exists beyond, and where, to put the idea of an electron into our minds we do not know. The new physics can provide us with wave-pictures depicting electrons about which we have varying amounts of knowledge, ranging from nothing at all to the maximum we can know with the blunt probes at our command, but the electron which exists apart from our study of it is quite beyond its purview.

Let me try and put this in another way. The old physics imagined it was studying an objective nature which had its own existence independently of the mind which perceived it - which, indeed, had existed from all eternity whether it was perceived or not. It would have gone on imagining this to this day, had the electron observed by the physicists behaved as on this supposition it ought to have done.

But it did not so behave, and this led to the birth of the new physics, with its general thesis that the nature we study does not consist so much of something we perceive as of our perceptions; it is not the object of the subject-object relation, but the relation itself. There is, in fact, no clear-cut division between the subject and object; they form an indivisible whole which now becomes nature. This thesis finds its final expression in the wave-parable, which tells us that nature consists of waves and that these are of the general quality of waves of knowledge, or of absence of knowledge, in our own minds.

Let me digress to remind you that if ever we are to know the true nature of waves, these waves must consist of something we already have in our own minds. Now knowledge and absence of knowledge satisfy this criterion as few other things could; waves in an ether, for instance, emphatically did not. It may seem strange, and almost too good to be true, that nature should in the last resort consist of something we can really understand; but there is always the simple solution available that the external world is essentially of the same nature as mental ideas.

At best this may seem very academic and up in the air - at the worst it may seem stupid and even obvious. I agree that it would be so, were it not for the one outstanding fact that observation supports the wave-picture of the new physics whole-heartedly and without hesitation. Whenever the particle-picture and the wave-picture have come into conflict, observation has discredited the particle-picture and supported the wave-picture - not merely, be it noted, as a picture of our knowledge of nature, but as a picture of nature itself. The particle-parable is useful as a concession to the materialistic habits of thought which have become ingrained in our minds, but it can no longer claim to fit the facts, and, so far as we can at present see, the truth about nature must lie very near to the wave-parable.

Let me digress again to remind you of two simple instances of such conflicts and of the verdicts which observation has pronounced upon them.

A shower of parallel-moving electrons forms in effect an electric current. Let us shoot such a shower of electrons at a thin film of metal, as your own Prof G P Thomson did. The particle-parable compares it to a shower of hailstones falling on a crowd of umbrellas; we expect the electrons to get through somehow or anyhow and come out on the other side as a disordered mob. But the wave-parable tells us that the shower of electrons is a train of waves. It must retain its wave-formation, not only in passing through the film, but also when it emerges on the other side. And this is what actually happens: it comes out and forms a wave-pattern which can be predicted - completely and perfectly - from its wave-picture before it entered the film.

Next let us shoot our shower of electrons against the barrier formed by an adverse electro-motive force. If the electrons of the shower have a uniform energy of ten volts each, let us throw them against an adverse potential difference of a million volts. According to the particle-parable, it is like throwing a handful of shot up into the air; they will all fall back to earth in time - the conservation of energy will see to that. But the wave-parable again sees our shower of electrons as a train of waves - like a beam of light - and sees the potential barrier as an obstructing layer - like a dirty window pane. The wave-parable tells us that this will check, but not entirely stop, our beam of electrons. It even shows us how to calculate what fraction will get through. And just this fraction, in actual fact, does get through; a certain number of ten-volt electrons surmount the potential barrier of a million volts - as though a few of the shot thrown lightly up from our hands were to surmount the earth's gravitational field and wander off into space. The phenomenon appears to be in flat contradiction to the law of conservation of energy, but we must remember that waves of knowledge are not likely to own allegiance to this law.

A further problem arises out of this experiment. Of the millions of electrons of the original, shower, which particular electrons will get though the obstacle? Is it those who get off the mark first, or those with the highest turn of speed, or what? What little extra have they that the others haven't got?

It to be nothing more than pure good luck. We know of no way of increasing the chances of individual electrons; each just takes its turn with the rest. It is a concept with which science has been familiar ever since Rutherford and Soddy gave us the law of spontaneous disintegration of radioactive substances - of a million atoms ten broke up every year, and no help we could give to a selected ten would cause fate to select them rather than the ten of her own choosing. It was the same with Bohr's model of the atom; Einstein found that without the caprices of fate it was impossible to explain the ordinary spectrum of a hot body; call on fate, and we at once obtained Planck's formula, which agrees exactly with observation.

From the dawn of human history, man has been wont to attribute the results of his own incompetence to the interference of a malign fate. The particle-picture seems to make fate even more powerful and more all-pervading than ever before; she not only has her finger in human affairs, but also in every atom in the universe. The new physics has got rid of mechanistic determinism, but only at the price of getting rid of the uniformity of nature as well!

I do not suppose that any serious scientist feels that such a statement must be accepted as final; certainly I do not. I think the analogy of the beam of light falling on the dirty window-pane will show us the fallacy of it.

Heisenberg's mathematical equation shows that the energy of a beam of light must always be an integral number of quanta. We have observational evidence of this in the photoelectric effect, in which atoms always suffer damage by whole quanta.

Now this is often stated in parable form. The parable tells us that light consists of discrete light-particles, called photons, each carrying a single quantum of energy. A beam of light becomes a shower of photons moving through space like the bullets from a machine-gun it is easy to see why they necessarily do damage by whole quanta.

When a shower of photons falls on a dirty window-pane, some of the photons are captured by the dirt, while the rest escape capture and get through. And again the question arises: How are the lucky photons singled out? The obvious superficial answer is a wave of the hand towards Fortune's wheel; it is the same answer that Newton gave when he spoke of his 'corpuscles of light' experiencing alternating fits of transmission and reflection. But we readily see that such an answer is superficial.

Our balance at the bank always consists of an integral number of pence, but it does not follow that it is a pile of bronze pennies. A child may, however, picture it as so being, and ask his father what determines which particular pennies go to pay the rent. The father may answer 'Mere chance' - a foolish answer, but no more foolish than the question. Our question as to what determines which photons get through is, I think, of a similar kind, and if Nature, seems to answer 'Mere, chance,' she is merely answering us according to our folly. A parable which replaces radiation by identifiable photons can find nothing but the finger of fate to separate the sheep from the goats. But the finger of fate, like the photons themselves, is mere pictorial detail. As soon as we abandon our picture of radiation as a shower of photons, there is no chance but complete determinism in its flow. And the same is, I think, true when the particle-photons are replaced by particle-electrons.

We know that every electric current must transfer electricity by complete electron-units, but this does not entitle us to replace an electric current by a shower of identifiable electron-particles. Indeed the exclusion-principle of Pauli, which is in full agreement with observation, definitely forbids our doing so. When the red and white balls collide on a billiard table, red may go to the right and white to the left. The collision of two electrons A and B is governed by similar laws of energy and momentum, so that we might expect to be able to say that A goes to the right, and B to the left or vice-versa. Actually we must say no such thing, because we have no right to identify the two electrons which emerge from the collision with the two that went in. It is as though A and B had temporarily combined into a single drop of electric fluid, which had subsequently broken up into two new electrons, C, D. We can only say that after the collision C will go to the right, and D to the left. If we are asked which way A will go, the true answer is that by then A will no longer exist. The superficial answer is that it is a pure toss-up. But the toss-up is not in nature, but in our own minds; it is an even chance whether we choose to identify C with A or with B.

Thus the indeterminism of the particle-picture seems to reside in our own minds rather than in nature. In any case this picture is imperfect, since it fails to represent the facts of observation. The wave-picture, which observation confirms in every known experiment, exhibits a complete determinism.

Again we may begin to feel that the new physics is little better than the old - that it has merely replaced one determinism by another. It has; but there is all the difference in the world between the two determinisms. For in the old physics the perceiving mind was a spectator; in the new it is an actor. Nature no longer forms a closed system detached from the perceiving mind; the perceiver and perceived are interacting parts of a single system. The nature depicted by the wave-picture in some way embraces our minds as well as inanimate matter. Things still change solely as they are compelled, but it no longer seems impossible that part of the compulsion may originate in our own minds.

Even the inadequate particle-picture told us thing very similar in its own roundabout stammering way. At first it seemed to be telling us of a nature distinct from our minds, which moved as directed by throws of the dice, and then it transpired that the dice were thrown by our own minds. Our minds enter into both pictures, although in somewhat different capacities. In the particle-picture the mind merely decides under what conventions the map is to be drawn; in the wave-picture it perceives and observes and draws the map. We should notice, however, that the mind enters both pictures only in its capacity as a receptacle - never, as an emitter.

The determinism which appears in the new physics is one of waves, and so, in the last resort, of knowledge. Where we are not ourselves concerned, we can say that event follows event; where we are concerned, only that knowledge follows knowledge. And, even this knowledge is one only of probabilities and not of certainties; it is at best a smeared picture of the clear-cut reality which we believe to lie beneath. And just because of this, it is impossible to decide whether the determinism of the wave-picture originates in the underlying reality or not - Can our minds change what is happening in reality, or can they only make it look different to us by changing our angle of vision? We do not know, and as I do not see how we can ever find out, my own opinion is that the problem of free-will will continue to provide material for fruitless discussion until the end of eternity.

The contribution of the new physics to this problem is not that it has given a decision on a long-debated question, but that it has reopened a door which the old physics had seemed to slam and bolt. We have an intuitive belief that we can choose our lunch from the menu or abstain from housebreaking or murder; and that by our own volition we can develop our freedom to choose. We may, of course, be wrong. The old physics seemed to tell us that we were and that our imagined freedom was all an illusion; the new physics tells us it may not be.

The old physics showed us a universe which looked more like a prison than a dwelling-place. The new physics shows us a building which is certainly more spacious, although its interior doors may be either open or locked - we cannot say. But we begin to suspect it may give us room for such freedom as we have always believed we possessed; it seems possible at least that in it we can mould events to our desire, and live lives of emotion, intellect, and endeavour. It looks as though it might form a suitable dwelling-place for man, and not a mere shelter for brutes.

The new physics obviously carries many philosophical implications, but these are not easy to describe in words. They cannot be summed up in the crisp, snappy. sentences beloved of scientific journalism, such as that materialism is dead, or, that matter is no more. The situation is rather that both materialism and matter need to be redefined in the light of our new knowledge. When this has been done, the materialist must decide for himself whether the only kind of materialism which science now permits can be suitably labelled materialism, and whether what remains of matter should be labelled as matter or as something else; it is mainly a question of terminology.

What remains is in any case very different from the full-blooded matter and the forbidding materialism of the Victorian scientist. His objective and material universe is proved to consist of little more than constructs of our own minds. To this extent, then, moderm physics has moved in the direction of philosophic idealism. Mind and matter, if not proved to be of similar nature, are at least found to be ingredients of one single system. There is no longer room for the kind of dualism which has haunted philosophy since the days of Descartes.

This brings us at once face to face with the fundamental difficulty which confronts every form of philosophical idealism. If the nature we study consists so largely of our own mental constructs, why do our many minds all construct one and the same nature? Why, in brief, do we all see the same sun, moon and stars?

I would suggest that physics itself may provide a possible although very conjectural clue. The old particle-picture which lay within the limits of space and time, broke matter up into a crowd of distinct particles, and radiation into a shower of distinct photons. The newer and more accurate wave-picture, which transcends the framework of space and time, recombines the photons into a single beam of light, and the shower of parallel-moving electrons into a continuous electric current. Atomicity and division into individual existences are fundamental in the restricted space-time picture, but disappear in the wider, and as far as we know more truthful, picture which transcends space and time. In this, atomicity is replaced by what General Smuts would describe as 'holism' - the photons are no longer distinct individuals each going its own way, but members of a single organisation or whole - a bean of light. The same is true, mutatis mutandis, of the electrons of a parallel-moving shower. The, biologists are beginning to tell us, although not very unanimously, that the same may be true of the cells of our bodies. And is it not conceivable that what is true of the objects perceived may be true also of the perceiving minds? When we view ourselves in space and time we are quite obviously distinct individuals; when we pass beyond space and time we may perhaps form ingredients of a continuous stream of life. It is only a step from this to a solution of the problem which would have commended itself to many philosophers, from Plato to Berkeley, and is, I think, directly in line with the new world-picture of modern physics.

I have left but little time to discuss affairs of a more concrete nature. We meet in a year which has to some extent seen science arraigned before the bar of public opinion; there are many who attribute most of our present national woes - including unemployment in industry and the danger of war - to the recent rapid advance in scientific knowledge.

Even if their most lurid suspicions were justified, it is not clear what we could do. For it is obvious that the country which called a halt to scientific progress would soon fall behind in every other respect as well - in its industry, in its economic position, in its naval and military defences, and, not least important, in its culture. Those who sigh for an Arcadia in which all machinery would be scrapped and all invention proclaimed a crime, as it was in Erewhon, forget that the Erewhonians had neither to compete with highly organised scientific competitors for the trade of the world nor to protect themselves against possible bomb-dropping, blockade or invasion.

But can we admit that the suspicions of our critics are justified? If science has made the attack more deadly in war, it has also made the defence more efficient in the long run; it shows no partiality in the age-long race between weapons of attack and defence. This being so, it would, I think, be hard to maintain in cold blood that its activities are likely to make wars either more frequent or more prolonged. It is at least arguable that the more deadly a war is likely to be, the less likely it is to occur.

Still it may occur. We cannot ignore the tragic fact that, as our President of two years ago told us, science has given man control over Nature before he has gained control over himself. The tragedy does not lie in man's scientific control over Nature but in his absence of moral control over himself. This is only one chapter of a long story - human nature changes very slowly, and so for ever lags behind human knowledge, which accumulates very rapidly. The plays of Aeschylus and Sophocles still thrill us with their vital human interest, but the scientific writings of Aristarchus and Ptolemy are dead - mere historical curiosities which leave us cold. Scientific knowledge is transmitted from one generation to another, while acquired characteristics are not. Thus, in respect of knowledge, each generation stands on the shoulders of its predecessor, but in respect of human nature, both stand on the same ground.

These are hard facts which we cannot hope to alter, and which - we may as well admit - may wreck civilisation. If there is an avenue of escape, it does not, as I see it, lie in the direction of less science, but of more science - psychology, which holds out hopes that, for the first time in his long history, man may be enabled to obey the command 'Know thyself'; to which I, for one, would like to see adjoined a morality and, if possible, even a religion, consistent with our new psychological knowledge and the established facts of science; scientific and constructive measures of eugenics and birth control; scientific research in agriculture and industry, sufficient at least to defeat the gloomy prophecies of Malthus and enable ever larger populations to live in comfort and contentment on the same limited area of land. In such ways we may hope to restrain the pressure of population and the urge for expansion which, to my mind, are far more likely to drive the people of a nation to war than the knowledge that they - and also the enemies they will have to fight - are armed with the deadliest weapons which science can devise.

This last brings us to the thorny problem of economic depression and unemployment. No doubt a large part of this results from the war, national rivalries, tariff barriers, and various causes which have nothing to do with science, but a residue must be traced to scientific research; this produces labour-saving devices which in times of depression are only too likely to be welcomed as wage-saving devices and to put men out of work. The scientific Robot in Punch's cartoon boasted that he could do the work of 100 men, but gave no answer to the question - 'Who will find work for the displaced 99?' He might, I think, have answered - 'The pure scientist, in part at least.' For scientific research has two products of industrial importance - the labour-saving inventions which displace labour, and the more fundamental discoveries which originate as pure science, but may ultimately lead to new trades and new popular demands providing employment for vast armies of labour.

Both are rich gifts from science to the community. The labour-saving devices lead to emancipation from soul-destroying toil and routine work, to greater leisure and better opportunities for its enjoyment. The new inventions add to the comfort and pleasure, health and wealth of the community. If a perfect balance could be maintained between the two, there would be employment for all, with a continual increase in the comfort and dignity of life. But, as I see it, troubles are bound to arise if the balance is not maintained, and a steady flow of labour-saving devices with no accompanying steady flow of new industries to absorb the labour they displace, cannot but lead to unemployment and chaos in the field of labour. At present we have a want of balance resulting in unemployment, so that our great need at the moment is for industry-making discoveries. Let us remember Faraday's electromagnetic induction, Maxwell's Hertzian waves, and the Otto cycle - each of which has provided employment for millions of men. And, although it is an old story, let us also remember that the economic value of the work of one scientist alone, Edison, has been estimated at three thousand million pounds.

Unhappily, no amount of planning can arrange a perfect balance. For as the wind bloweth where it listeth, so no one can control the direction in which science will advance; the investigator in pure science does not know himself whether his researches will result in a mere labour-saving device or a new industry. He only knows that if all science were throttled down, neither would result; the community would become crystallised in its present state, with nothing to do but watch its population increase, and shiver as it waited for the famine, pestilence or war which must inevitably come to restore the balance between food and mouths, land and population.

Is it not better to press on in our efforts to secure more wealth and leisure and dignity of life for our own and future generations, even though we risk a glorious failure, rather than accept inglorious failure by perpetuating our present conditions, in which these advantages are the exception rather than the rule? Shall we not risk the fate of that over-ambitious scientist Icarus, rather than resign ourselves without an effort to the fate which has befallen the bees and ants? Such are the questions I would put to those who maintain that science is harmful to the race.


JOC/EFR April 2007

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