Lately, I’ve been diving into the perplexing world of quantum mechanics. I figured it was time to familiarize myself with this strange universe we inhabit. Experts insist that relocating to a more straightforward reality isn’t an option, so I thought it prudent to grasp some fundamental concepts.
My background is in literature, so I find myself grappling with the same confusion a scientist might feel when faced with the works of Virginia Woolf. “But Jamie, why doesn’t Elizabeth just have a chat with Mr. Darcy to clear the air?” I can picture myself smugly responding, “Ah, my dear friend, science and storytelling don’t operate in the same way.” Only now, I’m the one feeling out of my depth.
Despite my literary proclivities, I’ve learned that even seasoned physicists find quantum theories elusive. The esteemed physicist Niels Bohr once quipped, “If quantum mechanics hasn’t profoundly shocked you, you haven’t understood it yet.” I’d say he’s half right—I’m both bewildered and shocked by quantum mechanics, while simultaneously unsure I’ve grasped even a single concept. And let’s face it, in a universe filled with mysterious strands of energy, who can blame me?
Two primary theories currently shape our understanding of quantum mechanics and its implications for humanity. Here’s my humble attempt to explain them, despite my lack of scientific credentials.
The Copenhagen Interpretation
The first theory is the Copenhagen Interpretation, pioneered by Niels Bohr and Werner Heisenberg. This interpretation surprisingly places the conscious observer at the center of reality. The mere act of observation collapses ambiguity and imposes a definition on the physical world. Essentially, it’s the act of measuring that determines whether light behaves like a wave or a particle.
Naturally, this idea made some folks uncomfortable, leading to a competing theory. Unfortunately, it’s even stranger.
The Multiverse Interpretation
At its core, the Multiverse—or “Many Worlds”—Interpretation suggests that every time a decision is made, the universe splits into two to accommodate both possibilities. This concept implies that everything that can happen does happen, resulting in a multitude of outcomes in various universes. In one version, you might have never been born; in another, you could be an even worse person than a notorious tyrant. So, while you strive to live your best life, somewhere else, another version of you is achieving even greater success.
This theory was introduced by physicist Hugh Everett III, who found Bohr and Heisenberg’s Copenhagen Interpretation absurd and unsettling. Ironically, to counter that unsettling notion, Everett proposed perhaps the most bizarre idea ever conceived.
If I find both theories unsettling, it’s a rather quantum stance to take.
As I muddle through this scientific maze, my literary instincts kick in. Knowledge resonates more profoundly when wrapped in a narrative or metaphor. We can’t escape stories—they are the lens through which we interpret our experiences. Moreover, while we should cherish the art of storytelling, we must also question them, as they reveal our desires and identities.
Thus, we have two competing narratives: one insists our choices eliminate alternate realities, while the other asserts they create them. Yet both highlight the significance of our decisions—even if that significance is paradoxical, as the Multiverse indicates every choice is represented somewhere.
From a narrative perspective, the Copenhagen Interpretation resembles a child’s view of reality, where the observer is central and their participation shapes events. It’s like how kids think they’re the center of the universe. In contrast, the Multiverse Interpretation feels like the moody teenager’s perspective—everything is meaningless, and every choice is pointless. I can almost envision the Multiverse sulking in its room, donning black attire and listening to melancholic tunes.
Could these interpretations mirror phases of our mental development? Or am I overstepping my bounds as an arts graduate? If true, perhaps we can anticipate a third theory—one that blends the wisdom of childhood and adolescence while incorporating the objectivity that comes with maturity. Maybe our choices have neither absolute significance nor total insignificance. The relationship between consciousness and the cosmos might be more intricate than either theory suggests.
As I mentioned, I’m not a scientist. I’m simply an intrigued observer, captivated by the possibilities each theory presents (or confines, depending on how you look at it). But I’m equally fascinated by the stories we construct to explain our existence in the universe and what those narratives reveal about us. As the brilliant J.B.S. Haldane said, “My own suspicion is that the Universe is not only queerer than we suppose, but queerer than we can suppose.”
That said, I’m also mindful of the words of science journalist Michael Specter: “Everyone is entitled to their own opinion; however, everyone is not entitled to their own facts.” Have I perhaps confused the two?
Oh dear. Back to square one. Perhaps in some alternate reality, there’s a Jamie Thompson who fully comprehends quantum mechanics. Good luck to them! For now, I’m off to re-read a classic.