Bowling with the CMB
By MARK WYMAN • Feb. 7, 2010 @ 19:54 GMT

A new WMAP data and paper release is always a little Christmas for cosmologists. Among the latest set of papers based on seven years of operation, released last month, one concerning whether there are any Cosmic Microwave Background Anomalies suggests that the WMAP team has an affinity for bowling. Why? Because they set ‘em up... and then the knock ‘em down.

A bit of background: The WMAP dataset contains the finest map we yet have of oldest primordial light in existence -- the first photons released after the Big Bang that were able to make it all the way to us, living over 13 billion years later. As a result, to say that people have pored over these data with tremendous care and effort is to understate the case.

The simplest models for the early Universe in the dominant inflationary paradigm predict that the fluctuations in the temperature of the light from the CMB will be well described by a Gaussian random field. Thus, one of the most intriguing things to look for in the data are deviations from pure Gaussianity, which would signal that something extra and interesting was going on in the early Universe. This can be exciting, but comes with a critical caveat: statistics can be an unfaithful friend to the eager data-miner. This is because a purely random field on which 100 tests are done will, on average, produce at least one result that is only 1% probable in the underlying model. Hence, any anomaly that is found in the data must be provably much rarer than any random fluctuation if one is to believe that it is truly a deviation from the theory.

Given human nature and the hopes of glory that rest in each of our hearts, perhaps what happened was inevitable. As time passed, various experts on the WMAP data began to uncover strange anomalies in those data that appeared, upon investigation, to be just the sort of rarer-than-random things that would be the mark of a real discovery: Right away, people noticed that there was an huge cold spot smack dab in the middle of the map. Then the map seemed not to have enough structure on the largest scales (in technical terms, it had anomalously low power in its quadrupole, and seems to lack sufficient correlation on wide angular scales) Then the quadrupole was found to align with the octupole, defining a special direction in space that was cleverly named by one of its earliest investigators as the “axis of evil.” And then two halves of the sky were found to have starkly differing levels of small-scale temperature correlation, a so-called power asymmetry.

It’s critical to note that these anomaly-discovering experts never included members of the actual WMAP team. The team was itself admirably impartial throughout the hoopla that attended each discovery, presumably well aware that approval from the team would be tantamount to a final verdict on the discovery and that dismissal without careful analysis would be irresponsible. Nonetheless, they have clearly been keeping close watch on these developments. This new paper is their long-gestated answer to all these claims.

In short, their result is negative: they don’t believe the anomalies are real. They reach this conclusion through a careful study of each one separately. First, they give a concise review of each anomaly and the opposing arguments regarding its significance. This gives the paper an almost Thomistic style; by the middle, I was half expecting a sed contra to pop up. Then, they improve and deepen the original analysis, taking into account other developments in the literature. In each case but one, they conclude that the anomaly is less statistically significant than it at first seemed, moving each out of the “rarer-than-random” column and onto the “almost certainly just a fluke” side of the ledger.

I’m sure you’re curious now to know what the last anomaly standing is. It’s a bit of a curious and technical one: a quadrupolar “effect” in the two-point power spectrum. That is, the way the temperatures of the map are correlated depends a bit on where they are located on the sky, in a pattern that has four distinct quadrants. However, before you start writing your paper on the asymmetric Universe, it turns out that even this Official WMAP Approved anomaly probably isn’t exciting evidence for new early Universe physics. The critical evidence disfavoring an early Universe origin is that the effect isn’t equally present in different frequency bands, which true CMB effects must be; and the preferred direction that the effect aligns is suspiciously similar to the ecliptic pole -- the direction in the sky picked out by our (and the WMAP satellite’s) orbit around the sun.

All of which is very reasonable and proper, and a bit disappointing. I, like anyone, am always eager for the Universe to throw us a little loop, to find a bit of an Easter egg left from the Universe’s earliest days. But as the WMAP team points out in their conclusion, we humans are simply hardwired to discern patterns, so much so that we do it too well -- finding patterns where none really are. Their example, a fun tidbit with which I’ll close, is pointing out the appearance of the initials “S. H.” in the map, which is certainly (?) not evidence for new physics, unless Stephen Hawking has something very surprising up his sleeve.


Astrotheology: Do Aliens Have Their Own Jesus? Are Aliens Sinless?
By ZEEYA MERALI • Jan. 27, 2010 @ 15:43 GMT

Yesterday I attended a meeting at the Royal Society in London about how the discovery of extra-terrestrial intelligence would affect people and society, and was introduced to a whole new discipline: astrotheology. A big talking point at the meeting (stated somewhat crudely) was whether the discovery of alien intelligence would throw religion into crisis. (Thank you to Mike Croft for his rejoinder yesterday: “That’s a very poor question. Would science be in crisis if God was discovered?”)

My first thought was, “No, why should religion crumble just because aliens were discovered?” and I was slightly surprised (perhaps naively) that apparently the opposite view is more widely held. But according to Ted Peters, a Christian theologian (who now also dabbles in astrotheology, pondering whether meeting our space neighbours could throw humanity into an existential crisis) the issue is partly based on the unspoken assumption that religion is primitive and inferior, while science is superior. Should aliens make contact with us, one would assume they are more technologically advanced than we are, and hence—the argument goes—more highly evolved, to such an extent that they will in fact have “evolved beyond religion.” (I will come back to this point later.) What would primitive earthlings do when faced with their more evolved scientific superiors?

To address whether religious people really do feel that their beliefs would be threatened by contact, Peters has conducted a survey of people from various faiths to check the hypothesis that “upon confirmation of contact between earth and an extraterrestrial civilization of intelligent beings, the long established religious traditions of earth would confront a crisis of belief and perhaps even collapse.” New Scientist has covered his findings in detail, so I will direct you there for the stats rather than typing them all out myself. But the upshot—not very surprising to many of faith—is that Roman Catholics, mainline Protestants, evangelical Protestants, Orthodox Christians, Mormons, Jews, and Buddhists really aren’t too worried by the prospect that the universe contains other intelligent beings. Anecdotal evidence from Muslims and Hindus suggest they feel much the same way. Most disagreed that the discovery would shake their personal faith and many believe that others who share their own faith would also take alien contact in their stride. (Some suggest it would even strengthen their faith and provide evidence for the existence of nonhuman intelligent beings described in sacred texts.)

So where does the notion that religion will crumble in the face of contact come from? Well, that was also partially addressed in the survey. Respondents tended to assume that while those following their own religion (or non-religion, in the case of non-affiliates and atheists) wouldn’t be too shaken, _other_ religions would be. “So those other people would have the problems!” says Peters.

Question answered then: Religion will not crumble. Or perhaps it’s not that simple? FQXi’s Paul Davies asked rather cuttingly in response to the survey, “how many people have an understanding of their own religion?” While he agreed that most religions could incorporate aliens into their worldview with little difficulty, he argued that for Christians there should be a serious problem: “Can you really be a Christian and not believe that Jesus was the incarnation of God who came to save a particular species?”

Peters responded that he has also looked into the views of many Christian theologians, and there opinion differs. Some believe that there could be only one incarnation—species-specific to humans. Others allow for multiple incarnations, with other alien species (or animals on Earth) having their own “Jesus.”

To complicate matters further, it’s also not clear that Christians _should_ believe that extra-terrestrials even need saving. Peters described how C. S. Lewis once speculated that aliens may never have gone through the fall, that is, no alien Adam and Eve were tempted to eat of the forbidden fruit (or the alien equivalent), and hence aliens do not need saving by a Christ-like figure. I am aware that I am straying into areas of Christian theology (let alone areas of alien Christian theology) that I am not an expert on, so I should maybe open the floor to people who know more than me here.

But, if that is the case, then a sinless alien race could be out there waiting to...inspire us? (Altruistic alien missionaries coming to Earth may not be a good thing either.) Which brings me back to the initial assumption that any advanced alien race should have evolved beyond religion. That may be the case. Or they may provide an example of a more spiritual way to live. In either case, how would their discovery affect you (whether you are an atheist, a religious person, undecided, or unwilling to declare)? Will it diminish your sense of human dignity if we meet beings that are more advanced than us? Should it?

While you’re pondering those questions, I’ll leave you with Jon Chase’s astrobiology rap, which was performed live for us at the meeting.




What is Ultimately Possible in Physics: Contest Results Announced!
By ANTHONY AGUIRRE • Jan. 19, 2010 @ 19:02 GMT

FQXi is pleased to announce the winners in our Essay Competition, "What Is Ultimately Possible In Physics?" The Review Panel worked hard through the holidays debating the finalists. After lengthy discussions, they turned in their ratings, which we then combined with the original Community ratings to determine the final results.

The full list of winners and links to their essays can be found here. First Prize goes to: "Stardrives and Spinoza" By Louis Crane. In his essay, Louis examined a piece of far-out technology that might just be possible in the future: the construction of artificial black holes for use as power sources, and the potential side effect of creating new life! The essay touches on technical and theoretical issues, as well as the ethical and 'spiritual' implications. Judges praised this well-rounded essay for its insightful content, for tackling many different interpretations of the essay question, and for just being fun to read.

Second Prizes, including $5,000 and Membership in FQXi, goes to: "On the impossibility of superluminal travel: the warp drive lesson" By Carlos Barcelo, Stefano Finazzi & Stefano Liberati; and "At the Frontier of Knowledge" By Sabine Hossenfelder.

The essay of Carlos, Stefano F. and Stefano L. discussed a piece of physics that first sounds implausible, then maybe possible, and then maybe not after all. Judges praised the essay for a rigorous discussion of an interesting topic, with an overview of old material and new speculations.

The essay of Sabine attacks our presumption that anyone could answer the essay question, arguing that we can never know if we have hit a limit of scientific knowledge. Judges praised the witty and logical style and the author's creative questioning of the question.

A further six essays received Third Prize, splitting the $10,000 pot evenly, and ten more received Fourth Prize and $1,000. (Again, full results are at here.) The Panel did not choose to award further Special Commendations, since it felt its views were still expressed well enough by the final results.

The Panel's ratings had a strong effect on the results, since the ratings at the time of the Finalist cut were so tight, and because each Panelist was given the weight of 3.0 normal Community voters. This meant that there were considerable differences between the rankings at the cut and the final standings. Some essays that were front runners after the cut did not win prizes, and some that were not in the top twenty finished in the top ten. The final ratings were still close, though, with over ten essays missing Fourth Prize by a half point or less.

It's agreed by many of the entrants, readers, and the panel that this was a hard question to answer (c.f. Sabine), and hence a hard contest to judge. The panel expressed a variety of opinions on all the essays, and even the highest rated were not unanimously praised. We should all keep in mind that the awarding of a prize signifies that the winner is a relevant and interesting essay: something that is well written, thought provoking, stimulating, fun, etc. It should not be construed to mean that everyone, including the members of the panel, believe that the approach is complete, flawless, unobjectionable etc.!

On the flip side, failure to win a prize should not be construed as indicating that there is something fundamentally wrong with an essay; lots of essays that were very well liked by at least some panelists ended up off the list. Moreover, the Panel judges had a hard time knowing how to deal with differing levels of technical sophistication. Some of the essays, including a few of the winners, have a lot of equations and other technical material. The Panel members disagreed strongly on the readability of such essays and even the importance of readability. This situation shows us that for the next contest, we the organizers should be very clear about the expected level of sophistication.

After what we've said here, we won't release additional information on the Review Panel's work, such as who the judges were, what their reviews said, what the rankings within the tiers were, etc. The important information is who won what prize, and anything else will detract from that.

And far more important, we think, than who won what prize is the prime purpose of the contest: generating interesting material and lots of discussion!

On behalf of all the FQXi administration, we say thank you to all the participants. It's been exciting to see the depth and range of ideas that have come out, and gratifying to see how supportive and interactive the community has been amongst itself. We've had fun and learned some things, and I hope you all have, too.

Looking forward to the next contest question,

Anthony & Brendan


Witten meets Wagner? A Review of a Physics Opera
By ROB MORRIS • Jan. 3, 2010 @ 17:22 GMT

Before I begin, I should say that “The Theory of Everything” by Encompass New Opera Theater hasn’t opened yet. It’s in the final stages of reviews and workshops, and I had the chance to attend one of these a few weeks ago. One might think that with a title like “The Theory of Everything” you run the risk of trying to do too much. The new work by Encompass New Opera Theater though has the opposite problem. It’s a protracted three hours of gorgeous, haunting music and a thin, scattered plot peppered with physics buzz words and idioms.

If I wasn’t a physicist and I was watching this opera in Italian—a language that I do not speak—then it would have been a magnificent production. The sparse, diminished dissonance of John David Earnest’s music set a tone of urgency and heartbreak throughout the piece. The mostly young cast gave wonderful, spirited performances. The two stand-out performances were given by Samantha Grenell-Zaidman as Carla, the physics grad student of statistically-unlikely beauty, and Hannah Fuerst as Cassy, the wide-eyed daughter. The entire cast clearly put their heart and souls into the production and their effort truly paid off. If you are an opera lover, I recommend this one if for only these reasons.

Unfortunately, when anyone with even meager physics training hears the lyrics or reads the plot, they will immediately be put off. Though the title may have you imagining Witten meets Wagner, the work really has as much to do with physics as “Autobiography of a Yogi”.

The show centers around Tomas, the Bohm-and-Incan-obsessed generic theoretical physicist, and his documentary filmmaker wife, Rachel. Tomas is obsessed with Bohm’s holographic paradigm; views that cause his superior to ridicule and undermine him. This friction could have produced fruitful dialog about the tensions between traditional science and more “creative” paths, but in the end just makes one wonder why David Bohm was ever hanging around neuroscientists and psychiatrists in the first place. Rachel inexplicably lives 4000 miles away with their daughter Cassy—a scenario which could have probed the difficulties of marriage with a work-obsessed scientist, but flatly makes you wonder why someone with no office or contractual commitments doesn’t just move.

To add to this coerced conflict, the characters have a seemingly endless supply of mixed metaphors and gratuitous bastardizations of physics jargon. When Rachel tells the story of a life changing boat ride, she laments “gravity always attracts / takes the path of least resistance”. When Tomas inadvertently causes Cassy’s death by not allowing her to visit, he goes to seek out a tribe of Andean natives with “a special spiritual knowledge about time, space and alternate universes”. He vows: “Oscillating patterns in space will bring my daughter back to me,” and “The link is in the Andes / a tear in the fabric of time.”

In the end, Tomas, Rachel and even for some reason a thirteen year old part-time shop keeper all venture into the Andes where they are greeted by the native tribe and encouraged to step through a portal into an alternate reality. It goes without saying that this opera makes “What the Bleep” look like Landau and Lifschitz. It’s less “E=mc^2” and more “Namaste, Einstein.” If you’re an ardent lover of opera who can look past plot holes and gross abuses of language, this is a show for you—the warmth of the cast and the depth of the music will reward your patience. Otherwise, you have been warned.


How? And Why?
By WILLIAM OREM • Jan. 1, 2010 @ 23:50 GMT



Not infrequently I witness a basic conceptual divide between those in the natural sciences and those in the humanities, including non-professional people whose personalities simply tend in one or the other direction. I confess to being among the latter group – humanities -- though my passion for science allows me to “pass” in both worlds. The distinction I have in mind is encapsulated in an experience I had many years ago when interviewing a young physicist for a popular science show about periodicity in pendulums. Why is the period related to length, I asked, and not mass? It’s just a property of the system, he said.

That wasn’t quite what I was asking; but the more I mused on what exactly I *was* asking, the less clear it became. There is, to be sure, a more revealing answer: the force of gravity acting on the bob is exactly balanced by its intertia; rather wonderfully, we can see in pendulums a demonstration of why objects of any mass will fall at the same rate in a given gravitational field (thus, a pendulum at Sagan Memorial Station would swing with eerie lassitude, something I would love to see).

But that still isn’t what I had in mind. Perhaps I was driving at “Why *should* that be the case?” -- or, in the agency seeking manner of my species, “Says who?” In retrospect I believe I had, through this simple topic, touched inadvertently on the difference between Why? And How? -- and the intriguing gray area that lies between what we are, and are not, doing when we answer a question about nature.

Those with the humanities bent, in my experience, tend to ask Why? questions. They go for the sweeping ones first: “Why does the universe exist?” They (we) also tend to amalgamate wholly separate types of question – “Why *should* the universe exist?”-- Nietzsche’s “Why does man not see things?” – or, indeed, Bobby Kennedy’s “I dream of things that never were, and ask: Why not?”

Science people tend to ask How? questions. How might the Bang have come about as the result of random quantum fluctuation? How might reflexive consciousness, semantic language, and vastly superior tool use have developed in one hominid species? How could the necessities of evolving carbon-based life provide an explanation as to the seemingly “fine-tuned” nature of our cosmic environs? Each of those is a close cousin of the above Why? questions, but with critical differences -- often ones that lead to more productive questioning than wool-gathering. “How” questions dovetail naturally, for example, into technology questions: How can I build a quantum chip? How large a system can be made to avoid decoherence? How would space drive work?

To be sure, this breakdown itself breaks down even as we try and formulate it. A really good How question carries a Why underneath it – Why *can’t* I build a quantum chip? Is it because QM is linear or nonlinear? How could we find out?

And then, “What” questions may be even more intuitive than either Hows or Whys. What was the Big Ear ‘Wow!’ Signal? What is beyond the particle horizon? What is time? What is possible?

FQXi thinkers take the risk of moving out of the Hows and into the Whys from a meticulously scientific standpoint. Why does Math work? is a good example of a pure Why question – although, if the answer (as Alexander Villenkin suggested to me once) is that every logically consistent mathematics describes some region of the multiverse, allowing us to “see” from a distance how remote spacetime regions operate, it returns to being another How. How is spacetime configured ten trillion light years from here? How about the Physical Constants? And -- as with the simple pendulum on earth -- the metaquestion always remains: So why is that?

It’s just a property of the system, my young physics friend might have said.

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