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Frank Wilczek - on the world's numerical recipe



Daedalus winter  2002

All too often, 
we ignore goals, genres, or values, 
or we assume that they are so apparent 
that we do not bother to highlight them. 

Yet judgments about whether
an exercise–a paper, a project, 
an essay response on an examination
–has been done intelligently or stupidly 
are often difficult for students to fathom. 

And since these evaluations 
are not well understood, 
few if any lessons 
can be drawn from them. 

Laying out the criteria
by which judgments of quality are made
may not suffice in itself to improve quality,
but in the absence of such clarification,
we have little reason to expect our students 
to go about their work intelligently.

Twentieth-century physics 
began around 600 b.c. 
when Pythagoras of Samos 
proclaimed an awesome vision.

By studying the notes 
sounded by plucked strings, 
Pythagoras discovered that 
the human perception of harmony
is connected to numerical ratios. 

He examined strings 
made of the same material, 
having the same thickness, 
and under the same tension, 
but of different lengths. 

Under these conditions, 
he found that the notes 
sound harmonious precisely 
when the ratio of the lengths of string 
can be expressed in small whole numbers. 

For example, the length ratio 2:1 
sounds a musical octave, 
3:2 a musical fifth 
and 4:3 a musical fourth.

The vision inspired by this discovery
is summed up in the maxim 
“All Things are Number.” 

This became the credo 
of the Pythagorean Brotherhood, 
a mixedsex society that combined 
elements of an archaic religious cult 
and a modern scientific academy.

The Brotherhood was responsible 
for many fine discoveries, 
all of which it attributed to Pythagoras. 

Perhaps the most celebrated 
and profound is the Pythagorean Theorem. 

This theorem remains a staple 
of introductory geometry courses. 

It is also the point of departure
for the Riemann-Einstein theories
of curved space and gravity.

Unfortunately, this very theorem
undermined the Brotherhood’s credo.

Using the Pythagorean Theorem, 
it is not hard to prove 
that the ratio of the hypotenuse 
of an isosceles right triangle
to either of its two shorter sides 
cannot be expressed in whole numbers. 

A member of the Brotherhood 
who revealed this dreadful secret 
drowned shortly afterwards, 
in suspicious circumstances.

Today, when we say √2 is irrational, 
our language still reflects these ancient anxieties.

Still, the Pythagorean vision, 
broadly understood–and stripped of cultic, 
if not entirely of mystical, trappings–
remained for centuries a touchstone 
for pioneers of mathematical science. 

Those working within this tradition 
did not insist on whole numbers, 
but continued to postulate 
that the deep structure of the physical world 
could be captured in purely conceptual constructions. 

Considerations of symmetry and abstract geometry 
were allowed to supplement simple numerics.

In the work of the German astronomer
Johannes Kepler (1570–1630), 
this program reached a remarkable apotheosis–
only to unravel completely.

Students today still learn about
Kepler’s three laws of planetary motion.

But before formulating 
these celebrated laws, 
this great speculative thinker 
had announced another law
–we can call it Kepler’s zeroth law–
of which we hear much less, 
for the very good reason 
that it is entirely wrong. 

Yet it was his discovery 
of the zeroth law 
that fired Kepler’s enthusiasm 
for planetary astronomy, 
in particular for the Copernican system,
and launched his extraordinary career.

Kepler’s zeroth law 
concerns the relative size 
of the orbits of different planets. 

To formulate it, we must imagine 
that the planets are carried about 
on concentric spheres around the Sun. 

His law states
that the successive planetary spheres 
are of such proportions 
that they can be inscribed 
within and circumscribed
about the five Platonic solids. 

These five remarkable solids
–tetrahedron, cube, octahedron, 
dodecahedron, icosahedron–
have faces that are 
congruent equilateral polygons. 

The Pythagoreans studied them, 
Plato employed them in the 
speculative cosmology of the Timaeus, 
and Euclid climaxed his Elements
with the first known proof that
only five such regular polyhedra exist.

Kepler was enraptured by his discovery.

He imagined that the spheres 
emitted music as they rotated, 
and he even speculated on the tunes. 

(This is the source of the phrase 
“music of the spheres.”) 

It was a beautiful realization
of the Pythagorean ideal. 

Purely conceptual,
yet sensually appealing, 
the zeroth law seemed 
a production worthy 
of a mathematically 
sophisticated Creator.

To his great credit as an honest man
and–though the concept is anachronistic–
as a scientist, Kepler did not wallow
in mystic rapture,  but actively strove 
to see whether his law accurately matched reality. 

He discovered that it does not. 

In wrestling with the precise observations
of Tycho Brahe, Kepler was forced to give up 
circular in favor of elliptical orbits. 

He couldn’t salvage the ideas 
that first inspired him.

After this, the Pythagorean vision
went into a long, deep eclipse. 

In Newton’s classical synthesis 
of motion and gravitation, 
there is no sense in which structure 
is governed by numerical 
or conceptual constructs. 

All is dynamics.

Newton’s laws inform us, 
given the positions, velocities, 
and masses of a system
of gravitating bodies at one time, 
how they will move in the future. 

They do not fix a unique size 
or structure for the solar system. 

Indeed, recent discoveries 
of planetary systems around distant stars
have revealed quite different patterns.

The great developments 
of nineteenthcentury physics, 
epitomized in Maxwell’s
equations of electrodynamics,
brought many new phenomena 
within the scope of physics, 
but they did not alter
this situation essentially. 

There is nothing
in the equations of classical physics
that can fix a de finite scale of size,
whether for planetary systems, 
atoms, or anything else. 

The world-system of classical physics 
is divided between initial conditions 
that can be assigned arbitrarily,
and dynamical equations. 

In those equations, 
neither whole numbers nor 
any other purely conceptual elements
play a distinguished role.

Quantum mechanics changed everything.

Emblematic of the new physics, 
and decisive historically, 
was Niels Bohr’s atomic model of 1913. 

Though it applies 
in a vastly different domain, 
Bohr’s model of the hydrogen atom 
bears an uncanny resemblance 
to Kepler’s system of planetary spheres. 

The binding force is electrical 
rather than gravitational, 
the players are electrons 
orbiting around protons 
rather than planets 
orbiting the Sun, and the size 
is a factor 10ˆ-22 smaller
[10ˆ-22 = 0,0000000000000000000001];
but the leitmotif of Bohr’s model 
is unmistakably “Things are Number.”

Through Bohr’s model, Kepler’s idea
that the orbits that occur in nature 
are precisely those that embody 
a conceptual ideal emerged 
from its embers, reborn like a phoenix, 
after three hundred years’ quiescence. 

If anything, Bohr’s model 
conforms more closely 
to the Pythagorean ideal than Kepler’s, 
since its preferred orbits 
are defined by whole numbers 
rather than geometric constructions.

Einstein responded with
great empathy and enthusiasm, 
referring to Bohr’s work 
as “the highest form of
musicality in the sphere of thought.”

Later work by Heisenberg and Schrödinger, 
which defined modern quantum mechanics, 
superseded Bohr’s model. 

This account of subatomic matter
is less tangible than Bohr’s, 
but ultimately much richer. 

In the Heisenberg-Schrödinger theory, 
electrons are no longer particles moving in space, 
elements of reality that at a given time 
are “just there and not anywhere else.”

Rather, they define oscillatory, 
space-filling wave patterns 
always “here, there, and everywhere.” 

Electron waves are attracted 
to a positively charged nucleus
and can form localized 
standing wave patterns around it. 

The mathematics describing 
the vibratory patterns 
that define the states of atoms 
in quantum mechanics is identical 
to that which describes 
the resonance of musical instruments. 

The stable states of atoms
correspond to pure tones. 

I think it’s fair to say 
that the musicality Einstein praised 
in Bohr’s model is, if anything,
heightened in its progeny 
(though Einstein himself, notoriously, 
withheld his approval from 
the new quantum mechanics).

The big difference 
between nature’s instruments 
and those of human construction 
is that her designs depend 
not on craftsmanship 
refined by experience,
but rather on the ruthlessly 
precise application of simple rules. 

Now if you browse through 
a textbook on atomic quantum mechanics, 
or look at atomic vibration patterns 
using modern visualization tools, 
“simple” might not be the word 
that leaps to mind. 

But it has a precise,
objective meaning in this context.

A theory is simpler 
the fewer nonconceptual elements, 
which must be taken from observation, 
enter into its construction.

In this sense, 
Kepler’s zeroth law 
provided a simpler 
(as it turns out, too simple) 
theory of the solar system
than Newton’s, because 
in Newton’s theory
the relative sizes of planetary orbits 
must be taken from observation,
whereas in Kepler’s 
they are determined conceptually.

From this perspective, 
modern atomic theory 
is extraordinarily simple. 

The Schrödinger equation, 
which governs electrons in atoms, 
contains just two nonconceptual quantities. 

These are the mass of the electron 
and the so-called fine-structure constant, 
denoted alpha, that specifies the overall strength 
of the electromagnetic interaction. 

By solving this one equation, 
finding the vibrations it supports, 
we make a concept-world that reproduces 
a tremendous wealth of realworld data, 
notably the accurately measured spectral lines 
of atoms that encode their inner structure. 

The marvelous theory of electrons 
and their interactions with light 
is called quantum electrodynamics, or QED.

In the initial modeling of atoms, 
the focus was on their accessible, 
outlying parts, the electron clouds. 

The nuclei of atoms, 
which contain most of their mass
and all of their positive charge, 
were treated as so many tiny 
(but very heavy!) black boxes, 
buried in the core. 

There was no theory 
for the values of nuclear masses 
or their other properties; these
were simply taken from experiment.

That pragmatic approach 
was extremely fruitful 
and to this day provides 
the working basis 
for practical applications
of physics in chemistry, 
materials science, and biology. 

But it failed to provide a theory 
that was in our sense simple,
and so it left the ultimate ambitions
of a Pythagorean physics unfulfilled.

Starting in the early 1930s, 
with electrons under control, 
the frontier of fundamental physics 
moved inward, to the nuclei. 

This is not the occasion 
to recount the complex history 
of the heroic constructions 
and ingenious deductions that at last, 
after fifty years of strenuous international effort, 
fully exposed the secrets of this inaccessible domain. 

Fortunately, the answer is easier to describe,
and it advances and consummates our theme.

The theory that governs atomic nuclei
is quantum chromodynamics, or QCD.

As its name hints, QCD 
is firmly based on quantum mechanics. 

Its mathematical basis 
is a direct generalization of QED, 
incorporating a more intricate structure 
supporting enhanced symmetry.

Metaphorically, QCD stands to QED
as an icosahedron stands to a triangle.

The basic players in QCD 
are quarks and gluons. 

For constructing an accurate model 
of ordinary matter just two kinds of quarks, 
called up and down or simply u and d, 
need to be considered. 

(Thereare four other kinds, at least, 
but they are highly unstable 
and not important for ordinary matter.) 

Protons, neutrons, π mesons, 
and a vast zoo of very shortlived particles 
called resonances are constructed
from these building blocks. 

The particles and resonances 
observed in the real word 
match the resonant wave patterns 
of quarks and gluons 
in the concept-world of QCD, 
much as states of atoms match 
the resonant wave patterns of electrons. 

You can predict their masses and properties 
directly by solving the equations.

A peculiar feature of QCD, 
and a major reason 
why it was hard to discover, 
is that the quarks and gluons 
are never found in isolation, 
but always in complex associations. 

QCD actually predicts
this “confinement” property, 
but that’s not easy to prove.

Considering how much it accounts for,
QCD is an amazingly simple theory, 
in our objective sense. 

Its equations contain
just three nonconceptual ingredients:
the masses of the u and d quarks
and the strong coupling constant alpha s (for strong),
analogous to the fine structure constant of QED, 
which specifies how powerfully
quarks couple to gluons. 

The gluons are automatically massless.

Actually even three is an overestimate.

The quark-gluon coupling 
varies with distance, so we can 
trade it in for a unit of distance. 

In other words, 
mutant QCDs with different values 
of as generate concept-worlds 
that behave identically,
but use different-sized metersticks.

Also, the masses of the u and d quarks
turn out not to be very important, quantitatively.

Most of the mass of strongly
interacting particles 
is due to the pure energy 
of the moving quarks 
and gluons they contain, 
according to the converse
of Einstein’s equation, m = E/cˆ2. 

The masses of the u and d quarks 
are much smaller than the masses 
of the protons and other particles 
that contain them.

Putting all this together, we arrive 
at a most remarkable conclusion. 

To the extent that we are willing 
to use the proton itself as a meterstick, 
and ignore the small corrections 
due to the u and d quark masses, 
QCD becomes a theory with 
no nonconceptual elements whatsoever.

Let me summarize. 

Starting with precisely
four numerical ingredients, 
which must be taken from experiment, 
QED and QCD cook up a concept-world 
of mathematical objects whose behavior
matches, with remarkable accuracy, 
the behavior of real-world matter. 

These objects are vibratory wave patterns. 

Stable elements of reality–protons, 
atomic nuclei, atoms–correspond, 
not just metaphorically 
but with mathematical precision, 
to pure tones. 

Kepler would be pleased.

This tale continues in several directions.

Given two more ingredients, 
Newton’s constant and Fermi’s constant, 
which parametrize the strength 
of gravity and of the weak interaction, respectively, 
we can expand our conceptworld
beyond ordinary matter 
to describe virtually all of astrophysics. 

There is a brilliant series of ideas 
involving unified field theories 
and supersymmetry
that might allow us to get 
by with just five ingredients. 

(Once you’re down to so few, 
each further reduction marks an epoch.) 

These ideas will be tested decisively
in coming years, especially as the
Large Hadron Collider (LHC) at CERN,
near Geneva, swings into operation around 2007.

On the other hand, if we attempt to do
justice to the properties of many exotic,
short-lived particles discovered 
at highenergy accelerators,  things get 
much more complicated and unsatisfactory.

We have to add pinches 
of many new ingredients to our recipe, 
until it may seem that rather 
than deriving a wealth of insight 
from a small investment of facts,
we are doing just the opposite. 

That’s the state of our knowledge 
of fundamental physics today
–simultaneously triumphant, 
exciting, and a mess.

The last word I leave to Einstein:

I would like to state a theorem 
which at present can not be based 
upon anything more than upon 
a faith in the simplicity,
i.e., intelligibility, of nature: 
there are no arbitrary constants . . . 
that is to say, nature is so constituted 
that it is possible logically to lay down 
such strongly determined laws 
that within these laws only rationally
completely determined constants occur 
(not constants, therefore, 
whose numerical value 
could be changed 
without destroying the theory).
_____

Frank Wilczek, 
Herman Feshbach Professor of Physics at MIT, 
is known, among other things, 
for the discovery of asymptotic freedom, 
the development of quantum chromodynamics, 
the invention of axions, and the discovery 
and exploitation of new forms of quantum statistics (anyons). 

When only twenty-one years old 
and a graduate student at Princeton University, 
he and David Gross defined the properties of gluons, 
which hold atomic nuclei together. 

He has been a Fellow of the
American Academy since 1993.

Two years later from the writing
of this article Gross, Wilczek
and H. David Politzer won
the Nobel Prize in Physics
for the discovery of asymptotic freedom.

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