| String theory as scientific imaginary, part 1 |
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| Written by Sean Miller | |
| Tuesday, 02 October 2007 | |
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The following is the first part of an essay that explores string theory as a scientific imaginary, that is, as a complex of images that circulate in various cultural discourses as a form of scientific knowledge. Now if you believe in physics, you got the eleventh dimension… [Scott] Mehring, of Mechanicsburg, Pennsylvania, is forty-eight years old, the onetime owner of a business that had something to do with performance cars. He wore a tight leather motorcycle jacket with no visible shirt underneath and had a Rod Stewart haircut. He liked to party, he told me, and was ready to go out and party hard, but because he’d lost his license for various reasons he had no car and his cab had not yet arrived. So, sure, he’d be happy to share his views with me. I took out my recorder. ‘If you go back to the Big Bang,’ he said, speaking rapidly, ‘the elements, I’m not sure exactly what they actually were, but whatever the elements were—the atom, the neutron, the proton neutron, whatever it was that created the Big Bang—where did that stuff come from? Spontaneous generation is a dead theory—at one time they thought it was true—left a piece of meat on the ground maggots appeared, they thought the maggots came out of the meat, but actually they came out to eat the food, so you can’t say spontaneous generation created it…Now if you believe in physics, you got the eleventh dimension—it’s a new theory, the eleventh dimension—and inside the eleventh dimension they say that there’s an infinite number of universes. So my take is that if you die on the earth, we just somehow hop over to the eleventh dimension, and hop from universe to universe to universe forever inside the eleventh dimension. So that means the Bible could be right with everlasting life after we die. But, okay, the elements that started the Big Bang, if that was an intelligent designer? Then you’ve got another complication. If there was, like, one dude somewhere at the very top that created everything? Well, where did he come from? Who created him? And who created the God who created God? It gives me goose bumps. It’s a loop, like in computer programming—it’s an endless loop.’ He paused and shook his head. His cab had arrived. ‘If you think about this too much,’ he concluded, ‘you can go insane.’[1] On first inspection, the interviewee in this passage would seem to be indulging in a facile form of philosophizing. In a tour de force of pastiche, through his evocation of the eleventh dimension, the speaker touches with amusingly egregious inaccuracy on a diverse array of scientific disciplines, including cosmology (the Big Bang), quantum theory (protons, neutrons), biology (the Medieval theory of spontaneous generation, a textbook anecdote almost universally foisted upon American children in grammar school), theology (eschatology, the Bible, and intelligent design), computer science (feedback loops), psychology (the perils of insanity), and most notably for my purposes, string theory. As described in the previous chapter, ‘the eleventh dimension’ as a scientific concept originates in M-theory, a version of string theory formulated by Ed Witten in 1995 in an effort to integrate the five distinct and competing versions of superstring theory. M-theory suggests that our universe might consist—not of the familiar three dimensions of space and one of time—but of eleven dimensions, ten of space and one of time. As we saw, the various explanations for the existence of these extra spatial dimensions depend on string theory’s mathematical formalism. But in the absence of such formalisms, ‘the eleventh dimension’, as Scott Mehring of Mechanicsburg, Pennsylvania calls it in his labyrinthine conjecture on life, the universe, and everything, offers the imagination a fertile and mutable space for improvisation. Yet Mehring’s speech is framed by an ironic distance. Without explicitly renouncing journalistic impartiality, coded here through a mention of the recorder, the author of the article, Matthew Chapman, conditions the reader’s initial impression of Mehring through a careful selection of details: the tight-fitting motorcycle jacket and absence of a shirt, the Rod Stewart haircut, that he ‘was ready to go out and party hard’, and that ‘he’d be happy to share his views’. In our privileged position as readers, one is tempted to dismiss Mehring’s stoner-esque disquisition in much the same way that the likes of Sokal and Bricmont dismiss a sampling of postmodern philosophy in their highly influential work Fashionable Nonsense: Postmodern Intellectuals’ Abuse of Science, by asking: ‘But what philosophical function can be fulfilled by this avalanche of ill-digested scientific (and pseudo-scientific) jargon?’[2] Sokal and Bricmont argue that ‘[w]hen concepts from mathematics or physics are invoked in another domain of study, some argument ought to be given to justify their relevance’.[3] One might object that Mehring’s exposition does not qualify as a ‘domain of study’ in any strict sense, since he would not seem to be speaking from a position of authority, the authority granted one by a title of degree or any other form of institutional recognition. Nor does Mehring explicitly justify his invocation of string theory, apart from the implicit license he might be said to enjoy as someone attempting the ultimately unverifiable, that is, a coherent synthesis of cosmology with eschatology. Sokal and Bricmont—and tacitly, Chapman—would no doubt categorize Mehring’s efforts as yet another example of the gross misappropriation and distortion of scientific knowledge by non-scientific discourse, in this case, by an ‘average Joe’ who has consumed and is regurgitating haphazardly a mélange of scientific buzzwords, which happen, in this case, to hinge on this ‘new theory’, ‘the eleventh dimension’. But, interestingly, Chapman ends the article on this passage. As a journalist committed to an impartial reportorial stance, he does not allow himself the liberty to pontificate on such heady topics, let alone make any truth assertions, but he and his editors permit a ‘testifier’ to do so. One might even argue that Chapman is allowing Mehring, in a sense, to speak for him as kind of proxy. For, in a culture whose epistemologies are increasingly fragmented into highly discrete specializations, the only narrators reckless enough to arrogate the authority required to synthesize knowledge into a totality are the clown, the fool, or the artist. When physicists claim that string theory is a theory of everything, they mean something specific to what the discipline accepts as legitimate problems to be solved within the stringently defined mathematical formalisms of the field. But, as in this example, when popular discourse evokes string theory as a theory of everything, that everything often grows to include much more that the puzzle-solving taken to be the core of theoretical physics praxis. Subject to alternate constraints, a fictional treatment of a theory of everything is free to hop disciplinary boundaries, much in the same way that Mehring would have us ‘just somehow hop over to the eleventh dimension, and hop from universe to universe to universe forever inside the eleventh dimension’. I will return to Mehring’s disquisition at the end of the chapter, but I first want to introduce a theoretical term that I believe will serve as a useful, if not pivotal, tool in deciphering non-technical texts that evoke string theory. Much has been made of the supposed schism in contemporary culture between science and the arts, the so-called Two Cultures, named thus by C.P. Snow in his highly influential lecture of 1959.[4] On the one hand, science cloaks itself in the rigours of logic and empiricism, while on the other, the arts make due with the less rigorous modes of rhetoric and mimesis. The conventional realist paradigm, originating predominantly in the logical positivist tradition, codifies art and science together into a binary. In Picturing Science, Producing Art, Caroline A. Jones and Peter Galison argue that, [l]ike all binaries, art and science needed to be yoked together (yet held apart) in order to accrue the strengths of their polar positions: soft versus hard, intuitive versus analytical, inductive versus deductive, visual versus logical, random versus systematic, autonomous versus collaborative […] The binary production of knowledge (the bifurcation of practices) was equally simple: art invented, science discovered.[5] Implicit in this paradigm is the conviction that translation of scientific concepts from technical discourse to non-technical discourse necessarily involves, at the very least, oversimplification, and usually, the kinds of distortions and malapropisms to which Sokal and Bricmont so vociferously object. A central theme of this thesis will be the exploration of that supposed chasm between the science that is string theory and the literary re-production of string theory-sourced scientific ‘ideas’. In her work The Cosmic Web: Scientific Field Models and Literary Strategies in the Twentieth Century, N. Katherine Hayles argues that certain forms of literature are ‘an imaginative response to complexities and ambiguities that are implicit in [scientific] models but that are often not explicitly recognized’.[6] For the purposes of the study, it will be useful to assume that the imagination functions as the primary vehicle of exchange between the two discursive cultures, but I would argue that Hayles’s statement suffers from a crucial elision, which, in a certain sense, is complicit with the binarism endemic to the Two Cultures paradigm. If on the one hand, string theory offers us a body of scientific knowledge expressed exclusively in terms of mathematical formalisms, while, on the other hand, since a literary text’s ‘imaginative response’ occurs within a distinct, non-mathematical language, then, assuming that, in general, literary authors are not professionally trained string theorists, a third, at the very least, discursive structure must mediate the exchange between these two discourses. What I propose is that this intermediary be called a scientific imaginary. In effect, at its core, this thesis will be a study in intertextuality, of the unidirectional translation of the various scientific imaginaries of string theory from one discursive domain to another. Although a given string theory scientific imaginary finds its expression in a particular text, I want to explore the extent to which that imaginary might be independent of specific texts. In this sense, a scientific imaginary would retain its shape, feel, or internal structure as it moves from one text to another, from one discourse to another. Before I establish which particular texts warrant consideration, it is important to emphasize that it is insufficient to assume that only one imaginative leap, so to speak, bridges the chasm between technical discourse and popular culture. The texts I will consider in this thesis are not only direct imaginative responses to the scientific model of string theory as it is expressed in its professional, technical discourse, but also, and most often, to its expression in popularizations. The following chapter will explore where and how scientific imaginaries arise in the technical discourse of string theory. But this literature is not what writers—of science-fiction, for example, except perhaps in certain rare cases—consume and subsequently re-produce. We shall see, predictably, that mathematics dominates the presentation in technical literature and that whatever imagery technical articles might evoke, whether through expository prose or graphic illustration, this imagery plays a secondary, at least in the opinion of the string theorists themselves, role in their narrative strategies. Yet in string theory popularizations, largely free of mathematical content, imagery takes precedence. In effect, I want to pay particular attention to one particular intertextual transaction: that of string theory imaginaries that migrate from popularizations to literary texts. Authors of literary discourses must necessarily consume a version of string theory before that can re-produce it. There are isolated examples where authors mention in the paratextual material framing literary works the specific sources for their borrowings from string theory. Bruce Clarke and Linda Dalrymple Henderson describe this process as typically proceeding as follows: In the case of the historical sequence from the nineteenth-century sciences […] to the twentieth-century sciences […], experimental and theoretical developments have fed into technological innovations, which in turn have been commodified and distributed as cultural practices throughout modern society.[7] This process could be said to have occurred for such scientific theories as electromagnetism, through the industrial production of electricity, for example. Quantum theory, in turn, gained currency through the proliferation of computers, among a host of technological products—but especially through its connection in the popular imagination with the atomic bomb. But others, such a Einstein’s theory of special relativity, would seem to lack obvious technological applications.[8] In these cases, where the science remains predominantly theoretical—as with string theory—what becomes commodified and distributed is not technology per se, in the form of industrial products or gadgetry, but the theoretical concepts themselves. These concepts, divorced from their mathematical contexts take the form of canonical ideas, images, and anecdotes, such as popular notions of ‘the eleventh dimension’. They form a kind doxa, a set of stock ideas, images, anecdotes, and scenarios that constitute an imaginary specific to that particular scientific theory. For example, quantum theory has its double-slit experiment, its image of the wave/particle paradox, and the ‘Schrödinger’s cat’ thought experiment, among many others.[9] Chapter Four will locate the origins of this stock imagery—what one can consider the core content of a universal string theory imaginary—from its most widely consumed popularizations: Kaku’s Hyperspace, Brian Greene’s The Elegant Universe, and Lisa Randall’s Warped Passages.[10] Graham Allen argues that, in general, texts are never autonomous, that they necessarily involve a certain intertextuality. Every text ‘sets going a plurality of meanings but is also woven out of numerous discourses and spun from already existing meaning. The text’s plurality is neither wholly an “inside” nor an “outside”, since the text itself is not a unified, isolated object upon which an “inside” and an “outside” can be fixed.’[11] The technical literature, epitomized by the hep-th section of the lanl.arXiv.org e-Print Archive hosted by Cornell University (which serves as a clearing house for pre-print articles by the theoretical physics community), forms an important part of the technical discourse intertext, which in turn, overlaps and informs the intertext of string theory popularizations, both monographs and mass-market journal and magazine articles, that consequently, feed into the intertext of fiction, plays, or poetry that engages, however indirectly, with string theory. From this perspective, these myriad, overlapping intertexts function as a resource—out of which emerges the various scientific imaginaries of string theory. [1] Matthew Chapman, ‘God or Gorilla: A Darwin Descendant at the Dover Monkey Trial’, Harper’s Magazine, 312:1869 (2006), 54-63, p. 63. [2] Alan Sokal and Jean Bricmont, Fashionable Nonsense: Postmodern Intellectuals’ Abuse of Science (New York: Picador, 1998), p. 155. [3] Sokal and Bricmont, Fashionable Nonsense, p. 9. [4] See C.P. Snow, The Two Cultures (Cambridge: Cambridge U. Press, 1993). [5] Caroline A. Jones and Peter Galison, Picturing Art, Producing Science (New York: Routledge, 1998), p. 2. [6] N. Katherine Hayles, The Cosmic Web: Scientific Field Models and Literary Strategies in the Twentieth Century (Ithaca, NY: Cornell U. Press, 1984), p. 10. [7] Clarke and Henderson, From Energy to Information, pp. 1-2. [8] Interestingly, contemporary satellite-based global positioning systems (GPS) rely on the application of special relativity for accuracy, a fact that has enjoyed some notice in the popular press. [9] Nearly every popular account of quantum theory mentions these iconic images. See, for example, Roger Penrose, The Road to Reality: A Complete Guide to the Laws of the Universe (New York: Knopf, 2005) and Brian Greene, The Elegant Universe: Superstrings, Hidden Dimensions, and the Quest for the Ultimate Theory (New York: Random House, 1999). [10] Kaku, Michio, Hyperspace: A Scientific Odyssey Through Parallel Universes, Time Warps, and the 10th Dimension (New York: Oxford U. Press, 1994) and Lisa Randall, Warped Passages: Unravelling the Mysteries of the Universe's Hidden Dimensions (New York: Ecco, 2005). [11] Graham Allen, Intertextuality (London: Routledge, 2000), p. 67. |
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