Yes friends, the multiverse, or how I came to think of it last saturday night:
"The Quantum Physicist's Spirituality."
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| What's this? Oh, this is just a feature of the regular universe. Borrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrriiing. |
I attended a party
la samedi dernier. A fun little social affair where we made our own pizza and mixed fruity drinks. All the lights were on and the music never got above an audible whisper. There were even cats there, and we all took turns holding them.
In short, a far cry from the Friday night gig
chez nous for which the cops were called and the shit shut down at 5 Am. People stayed until first metro, 45 mins later, but I had my heels off and my slippers on by then.
This shindig was much different.
There were only 12 of us, 5 of whom were quantum physicists, nbd. Sebastien and I were the only Americans and a German and I were the only ones for whom French was not our first language.
I mention Friday's party by way of explaining, I was beyond exhausted. I had to get up at 10 to proctor an online speaking class Saturday morning and Sebastien was up at 8 to lecture a full day of Critical Reasoning. That is to say, I got about three hours of "sleep" and was definitely still tipsy when I logged on to discuss the difference between American house party culture as compared to that of France. (I'm kind of epic level on the subject, btw.)
Listening and using a foreign language is hard enough dead sober and wide awake. And even though I wasn't having a drop of anything---fruity drinks be damned, (drunks of the world, I don't know how you do it!) I was so sleepy that I had to restrain myself from randomly snuggling people standing next to me.
Does that happen to anyone else?
I can begin to feel so fatigued that I'm willing to cuddle with any warm breather who gets within 10cms of me.
Fact is, Sebastien only dragged me away from our 4 pm nap by promising me plenty of PDA....
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| Ask me how I bargin. |
So this Saturday thang goes crazy late (on no sleep any time after 1 AM = crazy late) and I am eventually sick of anything anyone says to me in French.
I'm sorry, but it happens.
I go sit on a couch and try to forgive myself for not wanting to practice French in le wild by reading a magazine
dans le meme lang.Finally almost everyone leaves, just Christian (the aforementioned German) the hostest, Aude, Seba and I. Aude lives outside of Paris and we missed the last train back in so we decide to spend the night.
She and Christian are colleagues. I gather they work at the same atom smasher or something. Anyway Sebastien and Aude were cleaning up the kitchen and twittering in French two rooms away, whilst Christian sprawls comfortably along the length of an old leather couch and I busy myself with stacking desert plates, cups and spoons; suddenly dropping a mug.
"Is it broken?" he asks lazily.
"Thankfully, no."
"Why are you thankful, it wants to be broken."
I glance up at him quickly, trying to gauge his mood as I right the cup.
"I'm sorry, what?"
"In any closed system the level of entropy either stays the same, or it grows. And since the universe is a closed system, the objects in it want to move to a higher state of entropy. Take that piano over there. It's particles are highly organized. Yes?"
"Yes," I respond automatically, falling under science's spell.
"Entropy is a property that wants to disorganize or randomize energy. So I never feel bad when I break a plate or a cup because, it wants to be broken."
"I should probably know this, but when I think of entropy, I think of the mac program," I say, disappointing even myself.
"Entropy is the second law of classical thermodynamics. We use it to determine the amount of energy unavailable for work."
"Oh, so that's why the highly organized want to disorganize, to free up energy for work?"
"Right. That's why, when I break a cup, I just think--that was another universe."
"We've talked about this before." I say abandoning my charge, plates and spoons making soft clanks as they impact against each other and the floor . "All the things that I've wanted to happen which haven't, HAVE, just in another universe."
"Correct, that's why I'm not afraid to die. I just think that if there is another copy of me around the multiverse somewhere, I won't be dead."
"But that won't really be you. What about your consciousness?"
"My consciousness is tied to it."
"So there is a version of me that is awesome
at the piano?"
"Why not?" His smile making his eyes crinkle and glow.
"Why not just sit and do nothing then?" I say as I sit down with a shrug, "Why not wait to die and wake up in a better world?"
"Well, the longer you live, the more likely that the universe you are in is the most stable one. In theory, there is a suicide machine which you could hook yourself up to. And the the longer you stay alive through the various iterations of the experiment, the more probable it is you should be dead."
"Wait a minute, this sounds familiar."
"Precisely, it's like the
Schrodinger's cat experiment from the perspective of the cat."
"Oh...that sucks."
"Let's assume if you had a fifty percent chance of survival if you stayed hooked up to it for 10 seconds but you lived for 20 seconds that chance would decrease by...." He does all the math out to 50 second and smiles a little when my face betrays how impressed I am. Taking the ball back I time perfectly, "I guess the better question is, why would you hook yourself up to a Suicide Machine--they make terrible music."
"What?"
"It's a band."
"What is?
"The Suicide Mach--look, I think what your getting at is if the multiverse is real, your consciousness would transcend this reality and you would wake up in another, um, like,
meta-reality?
"Right, it's also called metaverse."
Ok, cool--you'd wake up in a different metaverse then, because you can't observe being dead, if you actually are. "
"Exactly. Exactly, I just think of all the times I should have died. Like this one time when I was changing a socket on the light fixture, and I forgot to turn off the electricity."
"Oh man."
"Yeah, everything blew out. The fuses--there was sparks--the circuitry were all just totally fried.
"Wow."
"And I just thought to myself, I should to be dead."
"So would you say that was a wave function--or a reality collapsing?"
"Yes, but the whole universe is a wave function. So it's not logical that it could collapse. That's another reason why the many worlds theory is real."
"Wait, I I think I need you to define wave functions and what you mean by collapse."
"There are two theories in quantum mechanics, the Copenhagen interpretation and the Multiverse or Many Worlds theory. With the Copenhagen premise, there has to be an independent observer who takes measurements, of one form or another."
"Oh, it's the same with light particles--by observing it, you cause the collaps." I say, nodding with enthusiasm.
"Definitely. Yes. So, imagine you come to a choice--"
"Like a
quest branch, from a video game." (Subtext: skyrim)
"Maybe so. Yes, like a quest branch, as soon as you make a choice, the wave function for the other choices collapses. "
"Well, that seems to be true. At least for the independent observer. And, once you've made your decision, the other realities that could have come to pass based on other choices aren't options anymore."
"Exactly- but maybe we just can't interact with the other realities. Maybe they go on independently of us."
"Hence the multiverse."
"Quite. And the wave function collaps is just a really easy algebraic equation." He explains the equation in detail. He waves his hand in front of his face, as if conducting a piece of music.
"That's an
easy algebraic equation?"
"Yes, it's quite simple, I think."
"I never really applied myself to math. At the time, it felt like I was getting away with something. I kind of felt smart for it, I guess."
"You need instant gratification, maybe?"
"Yeah. I need to have a natural aptitude for anything I love. That, or a hot teacher!"
"Really?" After a pause. "Why are you smiling?"
"I'm just think about a few things that I really wanted to happen that haven't- but have, if the multiverse is real."
"Like what?
I run my hand over my face, trying to push my actual thoughts down and come up with something small and cute that will make him laugh and force a drop of the subject.
"Uh, I can't really think of anything PG, at the moment," I report with a giggle.
"Oh, uhhh..." He reads confused, not embarrassed, so I ask
"Do you know what PG means?
"No, what is it?"
"It's a rating for films in the States. PG means acceptable for children if their parents approve."
"Ok, well--it doesn't need to be PG."He smirks, stretching his right shoulder and relaxing once again.
I look at him, dark hair cut close. Glasses. Button down shirt. Legs crossed at the ancle, hands laced behind and supporting his head. I rub my hands across my tired eyes once more and stand up.
"You look sleepy." I say, "I'm going to go see what Sebastien is up to."
"Sure, no problem."
As I move towards the light of the kitchen, I hear myself thinking how like faith or religion this experiment is. True, the multiverse is neat-o libido for your science fiction hardon, or indispensable for listening to
a great solo and wishing you could play it, but it won't factor into how I construct my reality. It's no more apart of my choice map than heaven or destiny. The things which I can't predict, factor for, or relay on are not apart of the equation. I may not be great at math, but my Introduction to Piano teacher back at university said I was very logical.
If the multiverse is real, there is a me out there who is already awesome at French. There is one who has been to South America and can tell you the difference between mainland Portuguese and Brazilian. One of me is in a touring band. Some of me have died. Some have taken dark paths past bullets the me right here and now has dodged. Some versions of my life would be better, some aspects would undoubtably be worse. But why stare at
the Mirror of Erised? You can't have what you see there if all you're capable of doing is desiring it. Like heaven, if the multiverse is real, I am consoled. But I don't live for that consolation and I won't be controlled by it.
The fallibility of my own perspective has been tested and proven countless times, times ten, I therefore concede that I may be wrong, but I still believe I took the road less traveled, and I still content that it will make all the difference.
