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Probable Impossibilities: Musings on Beginnings and Endings
The acclaimed author of Einstein’s Dreams tackles "big questions like the origin of the universe and the nature of consciousness ... in an entertaining and easily digestible way” ( Wall Street Journal ) with a collection of meditative essays on the possibilities—and impossibilities—of nothingness and infinity, and how our place in the cosmos falls somewhere in between.
Can space be divided into smaller and smaller units, ad infinitum? Does space extend to larger and larger regions, on and on to infinity ? Is consciousness reducible to the material brain and its neurons? What was the origin of life, and can biologists create life from scratch in the lab?
Physicist and novelist Alan Lightman, whom The Washington Post has called “the poet laureate of science writers,” explores these questions and more—from the anatomy of a smile to the capriciousness of memory to the specialness of life in the universe to what came before the Big Bang.
Probable Impossibilities is a deeply engaged consideration of what we know of the universe, of life and the mind, and of things vastly larger and smaller than ourselves.
Can space be divided into smaller and smaller units, ad infinitum? Does space extend to larger and larger regions, on and on to infinity ? Is consciousness reducible to the material brain and its neurons? What was the origin of life, and can biologists create life from scratch in the lab?
Physicist and novelist Alan Lightman, whom The Washington Post has called “the poet laureate of science writers,” explores these questions and more—from the anatomy of a smile to the capriciousness of memory to the specialness of life in the universe to what came before the Big Bang.
Probable Impossibilities is a deeply engaged consideration of what we know of the universe, of life and the mind, and of things vastly larger and smaller than ourselves.
208 pages, Hardcover
First published February 9, 2021
About the author
Alan Lightman
53 books1,209 followersAlan Lightman is an American writer, physicist, and social entrepreneur. Born in 1948, he was educated at Princeton and at the California Institute of Technology, where he received a PhD in theoretical physics. He has received five honorary doctoral degrees. Lightman has served on the faculties of Harvard and the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) and was the first person at MIT to receive dual faculty appointments in science and in the humanities. He is currently professor of the practice of the humanities at MIT. His scientific research in astrophysics has concerned
black holes, relativity theory, radiative processes, and the dynamics of systems of stars. His essays and articles have appeared in the Atlantic, Granta, Harper’s, the New Yorker, the New York Review of Books, Salon, and many other publications. His essays are often chosen by the New York Times as among the best essays of the year. He is the author of 6 novels, several collections of essays, a memoir, and a book-length narrative poem, as well as several books on science. His novel Einstein’s Dreams was an international bestseller and has been the basis for dozens of independent theatrical and musical adaptations around the world. His novel The Diagnosis was a finalist for the National Book Award. His most recent books are The Accidental Universe, which was chosen by Brain Pickings as one of the 10 best books of 2014, his memoir Screening Room, which was chosen by the Washington Post as one of the best books of the year for 2016,
and Searching for Stars on an Island in Maine (2018), an extended meditation on science and religion – which was the basis for an essay
on PBS Newshour. Lightman is an elected fellow of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences. He is also the founder of the Harpswell Foundation, a nonprofit organization whose mission is “to advance a new generation of women leaders in Southeast Asia.” He has received the gold medal for humanitarian service from the government of Cambodia.
black holes, relativity theory, radiative processes, and the dynamics of systems of stars. His essays and articles have appeared in the Atlantic, Granta, Harper’s, the New Yorker, the New York Review of Books, Salon, and many other publications. His essays are often chosen by the New York Times as among the best essays of the year. He is the author of 6 novels, several collections of essays, a memoir, and a book-length narrative poem, as well as several books on science. His novel Einstein’s Dreams was an international bestseller and has been the basis for dozens of independent theatrical and musical adaptations around the world. His novel The Diagnosis was a finalist for the National Book Award. His most recent books are The Accidental Universe, which was chosen by Brain Pickings as one of the 10 best books of 2014, his memoir Screening Room, which was chosen by the Washington Post as one of the best books of the year for 2016,
and Searching for Stars on an Island in Maine (2018), an extended meditation on science and religion – which was the basis for an essay
on PBS Newshour. Lightman is an elected fellow of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences. He is also the founder of the Harpswell Foundation, a nonprofit organization whose mission is “to advance a new generation of women leaders in Southeast Asia.” He has received the gold medal for humanitarian service from the government of Cambodia.
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June 8, 2021
"Man is equally incapable of seeing the nothingness from which he emerges and the infinity in which he is engulfed." - Blaise Pascall, from Pensées
I had a bit more hope from this book. That doesn't mean I didn't like it. In parts, I liked it quite a bit. But there was a bit more unevenness in the musings than I was hoping for. Lightman, for me, is like a less poetic Rovelli. He has the background in physics (PhD from Cal Tech) that makes him one of the great explainers of Physics (not everyone with a PhD in physics can explain physics well to the dirty, unwashed masses). So, thank God for good physicists who are also good teachers and writers. But I just wish the unifying ideas of this book: beginnings, endings, and infinity were tied down a bit tighter. But there were definite points where I was entranced by his writing and couldn't wait to read more. But there were some chapters where my attention started to fade. Still, I will continue to read Lightman.
I had a bit more hope from this book. That doesn't mean I didn't like it. In parts, I liked it quite a bit. But there was a bit more unevenness in the musings than I was hoping for. Lightman, for me, is like a less poetic Rovelli. He has the background in physics (PhD from Cal Tech) that makes him one of the great explainers of Physics (not everyone with a PhD in physics can explain physics well to the dirty, unwashed masses). So, thank God for good physicists who are also good teachers and writers. But I just wish the unifying ideas of this book: beginnings, endings, and infinity were tied down a bit tighter. But there were definite points where I was entranced by his writing and couldn't wait to read more. But there were some chapters where my attention started to fade. Still, I will continue to read Lightman.
February 22, 2021
“Man is equally incapable of seeing the Nothing from which he was made, and the infinite in which he is swallowed up.” So wrote Blaise Pascal, the 17th-century French mathematician, physicist, inventor, theologian, and philosopher. Like many thinkers before and since, Pascal was intrigued by the concept of infinity, and how humans occupy the middle ground somewhere between the infinitely large and the infinitely small.
But while Pascal—along with countless other thinkers of the past—grappled with the puzzle of infinity using reason alone, we now have the tools of modern physics to help us understand more precisely the vast scales of space and time that surround us.
What modern physics can tell us about nothingness and infinity—and its implications for the universe, life, and the mind—is the ambitious topic explored by physicist Alan Lightman in his latest book, Probable Impossibilities.
Let’s start with some numbers that neither Pascal nor any pre-modern thinker would have known. Taking three objects—an atom, a human, and the sun—we can ask two related questions posed by Lightman: First, how many times would the size of a human have to be halved to reach the size of an atom? Answer: 33.
Second, how many times would the size of a human have to be doubled to reach the size of our sun? Answer: 30. Roughly speaking, then, the size of a human lies halfway between an atom and a star. Just as Pascal imagined, we are truly positioned between two immensely large and infinitesimally small worlds.
But we know that these are not the smallest or largest structures in the universe, and we know that, mathematically speaking, we can always add one to a number or divide a number by two. This raises two further questions: (1) Can we always just move a little farther out in the universe, without end, going on forever in infinite space? (2) Can we keep dividing an atom in half, finding ever-smaller constituent parts ad infinitum?
While Pascal may have thought the answer was yes to both questions, modern physics, according to Lightman, says the answer is no. While theoretical or potential infinities exist (in mathematical terms), actually physical infinities likely do not, as modern physics places limits on just how small or large something can get.
Let’s start with the small. Since the discovery of the atom, we have since identified several subatomic particle types and have further discovered that protons and neutrons (which make up the atomic nucleus) are themselves composed of smaller units known as quarks. In an article titled How big is a quark?, physics professor Jon Butterworth describes the size of a quark:
“It is, as one might expect, very small indeed. The data tell us that the radius of the quark is smaller than 43 billion-billionths of a centimetre (0.43 x 10−16 cm). That’s 2,000 times smaller than a proton radius, which is about 60,000 times smaller than the radius of a hydrogen atom, which is about forty times smaller than the radius of a DNA double-helix, which is about a million times smaller than a grain of sand. So there. Quarks (along with electrons) remain the smallest things we know, and as far as we can tell, they could still be infinitely small.”
Quarks may be the smallest things we know, but this may simply be a limitation of our ability to measure anything smaller. It could be that quarks are themselves composed of smaller parts, and those, in turn, composed of smaller parts still. Can this go on infinitely, as the mathematics suggests it could?
It turns out that there is in fact a physical limit to perpetual division. If you were to continue to divide a quark, you would eventually reach a size called the Planck length: the smallest conceivable size where gravitational physics and quantum physics merge. Although we don’t yet have a fully worked out theory of “quantum gravity,” we know that the very concepts of space and time no longer exist in a way that has any meaning to us below this size. (“The Planck length,” as Lightman wrote, “is smaller than the nucleus of an atom by about the same ratio as the nucleus is smaller than the state of Rhode Island.”)
This has led some physicists to propose that the smallest elements are not particles at all, but rather one-dimensional strings of energy the size of the Planck length. The problem is that these “string theories'' (there are more than one) are impossible to test, requiring particle accelerators the size of the earth.
Either way, it appears that we’ve reached the limit of the infinitely small within the haziness of quantum physics. What this means in terms of quantum gravity, string theory, or the multiverse theory remain open questions, and as Lightman suggests, may remain open forever. Our mathematics is suggesting scales and dimensions too small or inaccessible for our technology to measure. (Here’s another way to think about the scales involved: if a quark were the size of the sun, the Planck length would be a grain of sand.)
One interesting implication of all this, Lightman tells us, is that our everyday concepts of space and time and cause-and-effect simply do not hold at the quantum level, suggesting, among other things, that the universe need not have been “caused” at all, as is maintained by theologians of various stripes. We, of course, do not know whether or not the universe required a cause, but the danger has never been in claiming ignorance where we have no knowledge, but rather in proclaiming knowledge where we have only ignorance (religion). The ultimate origin of the universe—regardless of what is claimed by the religions of the world (and even some of the more dogmatic scientists)—remains a mystery, and it is this sense of mystery that compels us to seek answers and continually update our knowledge.
Let’s move on to the larger scales of space. Since it is well established that the universe is expanding, with galaxies moving away from each other like points on an expanding balloon, if we run the calculations backwards, we can predict the point in time when all matter was condensed into a region of enormously high density and temperature—the Big Bang. This occurred about 14 billion years ago, and the universe has been expanding ever since.
What does this tell us about the size and limits of the universe? As Lightman writes:
“The universe could be infinite in extent, but we cannot see beyond a certain distance because there hasn’t been enough time since the Big Bang for light to have traveled from there to here….Thus in our search for Pascal’s infinity of the large, we reach a limit brought about by the finite age of our universe and the finite speed of light.”
It appears that modern physics has placed limits on both the infinitely small and infinitely large while at the same time defining those limits as out of our experimental reach. We can’t measure anything at the Planck length and cannot see anything beyond the age of the universe, and if this is the case, then we’ve reached the limits of our understanding. At the very least, this should inspire a sense of humility in us all.
However, it is difficult to predict where future advances in science will take us, so we should not prematurely conclude that these answers are unknowable. While we are apparently stuck spinning our wheels, we should nonetheless pursue the answers. As Lightman suggests, it has always been at the junction between what is known and what is unknown that humanity has made its greatest discoveries, advances that earlier generations could have never imagined. Perhaps string theory or the multiverse theory is true and we will eventually find clever ways to test them.
After discussing physics and cosmology, Lightman proceeds to cover the origins of life, the mind, consciousness, death, and more, reflecting on the human condition as positioned between the extreme scales of physics. Lightman carries on the theme of exploring the junction between the known and the unknown, as he contemplates the possibility of creating life from non-life and one day solving the hard problem of consciousness.
Here again, modern biological science is pushing against our cognitive limitations and the limits of our technology, just as modern physics is approaching the limits of what we can measure in space and time. Except, in the case of consciousness, Lightman doesn’t seem to recognize this.
We know that it is fashionable among scientists to proclaim that “consciousness is an illusion,” and Lightman is no exception. As a strict materialist, Lightman believes that it is “physics all the way down,” and that the arrangement and pattern of atoms within the brain produces the “illusion” of consciousness. But we can ask: If consciousness is an illusion, who or what is being deceived, exactly?
Let’s unpack this a bit. A good general definition of an illusion is the “perception of something objectively existing in such a way as to cause misinterpretation of its actual nature.” There are a wide variety of visual or auditory illusions, such as when a stick appears bent when submerged halfway in the water, for example.
But what you will notice is that, in every case, an illusion requires a conscious observer to note the difference between two perceived states (the “curved” stick in the water versus the straight stick pulled out of the water). Consciousness, in other words, is required for the proper comparisons to be made to call any phenomenon an illusion in the first place.
Even if we admit that it is possible that everything we see and experience in the world is an illusion—as our senses might deceive us regarding the “actual” underlying nature of reality—in what sense can our ability to experience anything at all be called an illusion? Doesn’t the existence of an illusion already presuppose the existence of a conscious agent to perceive the difference?
From what I can tell, the statement “consciousness is an illusion” is completely meaningless. You can’t be deceived into thinking you experience something when you’re really experiencing nothing. We can even put this in Cartesian terms: I experience, therefore I am.
Lightman claims to be fascinated by the topic of consciousness, and yet does a rather terrible job of presenting the other side of the philosophical debate. He fails to mention the arguments of Thomal Nagel, who, in his article titled What Is It Like to Be a Bat?, presents compelling arguments against the reductionist approach to the understanding of consciousness. Even Daniel Dennett, who sharply disagrees with Nagel, acknowledged that this article is "the most widely cited and influential thought experiment about consciousness."
Also absent is any discussion of the problem known as Mary’s Room, another widely influential thought experiment that further challenges the physicalist explanation of consciousness and perception. Mary is a color-blind scientist who knows everything there is to know about color, including the various wavelengths of light and the neurophysiological processes of vision. Despite all of this knowledge, she still does not, and cannot, “know” what it’s like to experience seeing the color red—just like we can never experience what it’s like to be a bat navigating the world using echolocation.
Clearly, there is a difference between the physical description of color and vision and the actual experience of perceiving objects in color. There is also the question of how exactly an arrangement of atoms is able to create this emergent awareness. This is all part of the hard problem of consciousness.
These are difficult problems that science has not been able to resolve, and it’s difficult to see how more of the same type of science could ever resolve them. That Lightman offers no insights into these problems—and doesn’t even mention that these philosophical debates exist in the first place—results in a very shallow presentation of the topic.
For the record, I am not religious, nor do I believe in any traditional supernatural explanations for the “soul,” but I do agree with the British philosopher Colin McGinn when he stated that we can never understand consciousness because we can never get outside of our minds to do the analysis. Just as we can’t measure anything the size of the Planck length, or see anything beyond the age of the universe within the constraints of the finite speed of light, we likewise can’t step outside of our own consciousness to study it.
-----
Humanity—trapped as it is between the infinitely small and large, inhabiting a small sliver of reality—seeks to understand the world in the face of significant cognitive, perceptual, and technological constraints. The best we can hope to do, it seems, is to carry on the scientific endeavor with humility, curiosity, and an open mind. Lightman reminds us that we’re perpetually standing at the junction between the known and the unknown, and, if we hold on to this sense of mystery and curiosity, we can collectively push the boundaries of knowledge infinitely farther.
But while Pascal—along with countless other thinkers of the past—grappled with the puzzle of infinity using reason alone, we now have the tools of modern physics to help us understand more precisely the vast scales of space and time that surround us.
What modern physics can tell us about nothingness and infinity—and its implications for the universe, life, and the mind—is the ambitious topic explored by physicist Alan Lightman in his latest book, Probable Impossibilities.
Let’s start with some numbers that neither Pascal nor any pre-modern thinker would have known. Taking three objects—an atom, a human, and the sun—we can ask two related questions posed by Lightman: First, how many times would the size of a human have to be halved to reach the size of an atom? Answer: 33.
Second, how many times would the size of a human have to be doubled to reach the size of our sun? Answer: 30. Roughly speaking, then, the size of a human lies halfway between an atom and a star. Just as Pascal imagined, we are truly positioned between two immensely large and infinitesimally small worlds.
But we know that these are not the smallest or largest structures in the universe, and we know that, mathematically speaking, we can always add one to a number or divide a number by two. This raises two further questions: (1) Can we always just move a little farther out in the universe, without end, going on forever in infinite space? (2) Can we keep dividing an atom in half, finding ever-smaller constituent parts ad infinitum?
While Pascal may have thought the answer was yes to both questions, modern physics, according to Lightman, says the answer is no. While theoretical or potential infinities exist (in mathematical terms), actually physical infinities likely do not, as modern physics places limits on just how small or large something can get.
Let’s start with the small. Since the discovery of the atom, we have since identified several subatomic particle types and have further discovered that protons and neutrons (which make up the atomic nucleus) are themselves composed of smaller units known as quarks. In an article titled How big is a quark?, physics professor Jon Butterworth describes the size of a quark:
“It is, as one might expect, very small indeed. The data tell us that the radius of the quark is smaller than 43 billion-billionths of a centimetre (0.43 x 10−16 cm). That’s 2,000 times smaller than a proton radius, which is about 60,000 times smaller than the radius of a hydrogen atom, which is about forty times smaller than the radius of a DNA double-helix, which is about a million times smaller than a grain of sand. So there. Quarks (along with electrons) remain the smallest things we know, and as far as we can tell, they could still be infinitely small.”
Quarks may be the smallest things we know, but this may simply be a limitation of our ability to measure anything smaller. It could be that quarks are themselves composed of smaller parts, and those, in turn, composed of smaller parts still. Can this go on infinitely, as the mathematics suggests it could?
It turns out that there is in fact a physical limit to perpetual division. If you were to continue to divide a quark, you would eventually reach a size called the Planck length: the smallest conceivable size where gravitational physics and quantum physics merge. Although we don’t yet have a fully worked out theory of “quantum gravity,” we know that the very concepts of space and time no longer exist in a way that has any meaning to us below this size. (“The Planck length,” as Lightman wrote, “is smaller than the nucleus of an atom by about the same ratio as the nucleus is smaller than the state of Rhode Island.”)
This has led some physicists to propose that the smallest elements are not particles at all, but rather one-dimensional strings of energy the size of the Planck length. The problem is that these “string theories'' (there are more than one) are impossible to test, requiring particle accelerators the size of the earth.
Either way, it appears that we’ve reached the limit of the infinitely small within the haziness of quantum physics. What this means in terms of quantum gravity, string theory, or the multiverse theory remain open questions, and as Lightman suggests, may remain open forever. Our mathematics is suggesting scales and dimensions too small or inaccessible for our technology to measure. (Here’s another way to think about the scales involved: if a quark were the size of the sun, the Planck length would be a grain of sand.)
One interesting implication of all this, Lightman tells us, is that our everyday concepts of space and time and cause-and-effect simply do not hold at the quantum level, suggesting, among other things, that the universe need not have been “caused” at all, as is maintained by theologians of various stripes. We, of course, do not know whether or not the universe required a cause, but the danger has never been in claiming ignorance where we have no knowledge, but rather in proclaiming knowledge where we have only ignorance (religion). The ultimate origin of the universe—regardless of what is claimed by the religions of the world (and even some of the more dogmatic scientists)—remains a mystery, and it is this sense of mystery that compels us to seek answers and continually update our knowledge.
Let’s move on to the larger scales of space. Since it is well established that the universe is expanding, with galaxies moving away from each other like points on an expanding balloon, if we run the calculations backwards, we can predict the point in time when all matter was condensed into a region of enormously high density and temperature—the Big Bang. This occurred about 14 billion years ago, and the universe has been expanding ever since.
What does this tell us about the size and limits of the universe? As Lightman writes:
“The universe could be infinite in extent, but we cannot see beyond a certain distance because there hasn’t been enough time since the Big Bang for light to have traveled from there to here….Thus in our search for Pascal’s infinity of the large, we reach a limit brought about by the finite age of our universe and the finite speed of light.”
It appears that modern physics has placed limits on both the infinitely small and infinitely large while at the same time defining those limits as out of our experimental reach. We can’t measure anything at the Planck length and cannot see anything beyond the age of the universe, and if this is the case, then we’ve reached the limits of our understanding. At the very least, this should inspire a sense of humility in us all.
However, it is difficult to predict where future advances in science will take us, so we should not prematurely conclude that these answers are unknowable. While we are apparently stuck spinning our wheels, we should nonetheless pursue the answers. As Lightman suggests, it has always been at the junction between what is known and what is unknown that humanity has made its greatest discoveries, advances that earlier generations could have never imagined. Perhaps string theory or the multiverse theory is true and we will eventually find clever ways to test them.
After discussing physics and cosmology, Lightman proceeds to cover the origins of life, the mind, consciousness, death, and more, reflecting on the human condition as positioned between the extreme scales of physics. Lightman carries on the theme of exploring the junction between the known and the unknown, as he contemplates the possibility of creating life from non-life and one day solving the hard problem of consciousness.
Here again, modern biological science is pushing against our cognitive limitations and the limits of our technology, just as modern physics is approaching the limits of what we can measure in space and time. Except, in the case of consciousness, Lightman doesn’t seem to recognize this.
We know that it is fashionable among scientists to proclaim that “consciousness is an illusion,” and Lightman is no exception. As a strict materialist, Lightman believes that it is “physics all the way down,” and that the arrangement and pattern of atoms within the brain produces the “illusion” of consciousness. But we can ask: If consciousness is an illusion, who or what is being deceived, exactly?
Let’s unpack this a bit. A good general definition of an illusion is the “perception of something objectively existing in such a way as to cause misinterpretation of its actual nature.” There are a wide variety of visual or auditory illusions, such as when a stick appears bent when submerged halfway in the water, for example.
But what you will notice is that, in every case, an illusion requires a conscious observer to note the difference between two perceived states (the “curved” stick in the water versus the straight stick pulled out of the water). Consciousness, in other words, is required for the proper comparisons to be made to call any phenomenon an illusion in the first place.
Even if we admit that it is possible that everything we see and experience in the world is an illusion—as our senses might deceive us regarding the “actual” underlying nature of reality—in what sense can our ability to experience anything at all be called an illusion? Doesn’t the existence of an illusion already presuppose the existence of a conscious agent to perceive the difference?
From what I can tell, the statement “consciousness is an illusion” is completely meaningless. You can’t be deceived into thinking you experience something when you’re really experiencing nothing. We can even put this in Cartesian terms: I experience, therefore I am.
Lightman claims to be fascinated by the topic of consciousness, and yet does a rather terrible job of presenting the other side of the philosophical debate. He fails to mention the arguments of Thomal Nagel, who, in his article titled What Is It Like to Be a Bat?, presents compelling arguments against the reductionist approach to the understanding of consciousness. Even Daniel Dennett, who sharply disagrees with Nagel, acknowledged that this article is "the most widely cited and influential thought experiment about consciousness."
Also absent is any discussion of the problem known as Mary’s Room, another widely influential thought experiment that further challenges the physicalist explanation of consciousness and perception. Mary is a color-blind scientist who knows everything there is to know about color, including the various wavelengths of light and the neurophysiological processes of vision. Despite all of this knowledge, she still does not, and cannot, “know” what it’s like to experience seeing the color red—just like we can never experience what it’s like to be a bat navigating the world using echolocation.
Clearly, there is a difference between the physical description of color and vision and the actual experience of perceiving objects in color. There is also the question of how exactly an arrangement of atoms is able to create this emergent awareness. This is all part of the hard problem of consciousness.
These are difficult problems that science has not been able to resolve, and it’s difficult to see how more of the same type of science could ever resolve them. That Lightman offers no insights into these problems—and doesn’t even mention that these philosophical debates exist in the first place—results in a very shallow presentation of the topic.
For the record, I am not religious, nor do I believe in any traditional supernatural explanations for the “soul,” but I do agree with the British philosopher Colin McGinn when he stated that we can never understand consciousness because we can never get outside of our minds to do the analysis. Just as we can’t measure anything the size of the Planck length, or see anything beyond the age of the universe within the constraints of the finite speed of light, we likewise can’t step outside of our own consciousness to study it.
-----
Humanity—trapped as it is between the infinitely small and large, inhabiting a small sliver of reality—seeks to understand the world in the face of significant cognitive, perceptual, and technological constraints. The best we can hope to do, it seems, is to carry on the scientific endeavor with humility, curiosity, and an open mind. Lightman reminds us that we’re perpetually standing at the junction between the known and the unknown, and, if we hold on to this sense of mystery and curiosity, we can collectively push the boundaries of knowledge infinitely farther.
February 22, 2021
Dr. Lightman is that rarest of all creatures--a true artist and a true scientist. And he puts both sides of his nature to excellent use with his latest collection of essays. First, he writes beautifully. And he seems to be as comfortable exploring faith as he is physics, philosophy as fiction. The subject matter covered is broad ranging, but science is a major theme. And that's the other area in which he shines. He's able to take big, complex concepts and ideas and make them relatable and understandable to a general audience. He makes it look easy, but it's something few can do. This is an interesting and elegant sampling of a smart man's wandering thoughts.
May 24, 2021
Lightman’s Probable Impossibilities is some of the most thought provoking writing I have ever read. The content is very dense, yet addictive. The ideas, profound.
March 31, 2021
Did not finish audiobook. This is a book I need to read in hard copy, pen in hand
December 14, 2021
Musings, almost by definition, are unstructured and personal. In the best case, they could be one person's lyrical streams of consciousness that would make the recipients think. They do not need as many proofs behind any hypothesis or conclusions as to any structured body of work that aims to establish any claims as truth. Musings do not have to waste a lot of time imparting knowledge or establishing facts as it needs to let highly individualistic doubts and convictions come out in the open.
It is on that last count that the book disappoints this reader the most. As good as the writing is, the author spends far more time establishing various scientific theories and discussing the personalities than on his own quandaries, perceptions, personal philosophies, and assumptions about what existence could be. It is the author's prerogative to decide how brave he wanted to be in dismissing certain ideas (particularly in the realms of non-materiality) or in supporting some other. For a reader, a lack of conviction and all-pervasive agnosticism is unhelpful and wishy-washy.
For instance, the famous scientist could have expanded on whether there is true nothingness and could the theoretical minimum - the plank length - be further reducible in the construct of the world the way the speed of light is not the upper limit for the - as against within the - fabric of the cosmos (expansion of our universe is not hindered by the light-speed limit). In other words, there are various minimums and maximums in the universe we see and experience, but they do not need to be in the wider world.
The opportunities to elaborate are far more whenever the book turns to non-material aspects of our existence. Numerous times, the reader would feel like she is approaching some interesting arguments or discussion only to be thrown into another section on scientific findings or tales of past finders.
It is on that last count that the book disappoints this reader the most. As good as the writing is, the author spends far more time establishing various scientific theories and discussing the personalities than on his own quandaries, perceptions, personal philosophies, and assumptions about what existence could be. It is the author's prerogative to decide how brave he wanted to be in dismissing certain ideas (particularly in the realms of non-materiality) or in supporting some other. For a reader, a lack of conviction and all-pervasive agnosticism is unhelpful and wishy-washy.
For instance, the famous scientist could have expanded on whether there is true nothingness and could the theoretical minimum - the plank length - be further reducible in the construct of the world the way the speed of light is not the upper limit for the - as against within the - fabric of the cosmos (expansion of our universe is not hindered by the light-speed limit). In other words, there are various minimums and maximums in the universe we see and experience, but they do not need to be in the wider world.
The opportunities to elaborate are far more whenever the book turns to non-material aspects of our existence. Numerous times, the reader would feel like she is approaching some interesting arguments or discussion only to be thrown into another section on scientific findings or tales of past finders.
March 11, 2022
Lightman is one of the most appealing combinations of a scientist and an artist. He has a deep understanding of science, which is unfortunately rare even among professional scientists. And he is also a practicing artist and not just someone who has a peripheral appreciation of the arts. This rare combination is what makes Lightman particularly precious.
In this series of essays, he allowed himself to be free of any central theme and talked about a number of things that made him think and meditate. In the process, he takes his readers to strange mental places and provokes them to think. There is not much here that is particularly new, either in terms of scientific facts or their interpretation. In fact, I have seen far deeper discussions of most of these topics in other books. However, Lightman adds a touch of poetry that is hard to find elsewhere.
Personally, I enjoyed reading it a lot and may go back to it again after a gap. He announced it as "musings" and therefore did not have the compulsion to argue his opinions. Therefore I cannot fault him for making certain statements without any arguments. I wish I could ask, because I could not agree with some of his positions, and would have loved to hear what he has to say.
In this series of essays, he allowed himself to be free of any central theme and talked about a number of things that made him think and meditate. In the process, he takes his readers to strange mental places and provokes them to think. There is not much here that is particularly new, either in terms of scientific facts or their interpretation. In fact, I have seen far deeper discussions of most of these topics in other books. However, Lightman adds a touch of poetry that is hard to find elsewhere.
Personally, I enjoyed reading it a lot and may go back to it again after a gap. He announced it as "musings" and therefore did not have the compulsion to argue his opinions. Therefore I cannot fault him for making certain statements without any arguments. I wish I could ask, because I could not agree with some of his positions, and would have loved to hear what he has to say.
December 13, 2022
"Probable Impossibilities" are the private musings of your friendly neighbor physicist-philosopher Alan Lightman. His attempts at contextualizing science with the bigger picture, framing the bigger picture with science.
I can easily see how religious/spiritual believers and atheists alike, can come out at the other end of this one feeling strengthened in their own convictions. It's interesting to experience the author's (sort of) spiritual journey, but that's essentially what this is - neither more nor less.
The book is well written, very well written. I enjoyed reading it, but it won't have a lasting impact on me. Maybe it's because I don't feel the need to make science more profound?
I'm having a hard time figuring out who I would recommend this to. At least as a single reader, maybe "Probable Impossibilities" could work great as a book club read.
I can easily see how religious/spiritual believers and atheists alike, can come out at the other end of this one feeling strengthened in their own convictions. It's interesting to experience the author's (sort of) spiritual journey, but that's essentially what this is - neither more nor less.
The book is well written, very well written. I enjoyed reading it, but it won't have a lasting impact on me. Maybe it's because I don't feel the need to make science more profound?
I'm having a hard time figuring out who I would recommend this to. At least as a single reader, maybe "Probable Impossibilities" could work great as a book club read.
June 3, 2023
First real science book I read. Made simple and perfectly combined philosophy and science. Good intro for me. Thx drew
April 8, 2022
The ideas in this book are related to quantum physics, cosmology, biology, etc. As the name states there are probable impossibilities that have given rise to our own conscious life and Alan guides you through these impossibilities in a way that is philosophical and also at times very poetic. I appreciate scientific writers like Alan who write so well. When my personal study of science seems to push me towards a nihilistic point of view, it’s nice to be brought back to the beauty of being conscious in this reality and how meaningful that can be.
“What I feel and I know is that I am here now, at this moment in the grand sweep of time. I am not part of the void. I am not a fluctuation in the quantum vacuum. Even though I understand that someday my atoms will be scattered in the soil and in air, that I will no longer exist, I am alive now. I am feeling this moment. I can see my hand on my writing desk. I can feel the warmth of the sun through the window. And looking out, I can see a pine-needled path that goes down to the sea” -AL
“What I feel and I know is that I am here now, at this moment in the grand sweep of time. I am not part of the void. I am not a fluctuation in the quantum vacuum. Even though I understand that someday my atoms will be scattered in the soil and in air, that I will no longer exist, I am alive now. I am feeling this moment. I can see my hand on my writing desk. I can feel the warmth of the sun through the window. And looking out, I can see a pine-needled path that goes down to the sea” -AL
April 28, 2022
It may be a bit unfair to tag this book "read"....I did my best but found the task too much.
This appears to be a very bright author, who is undoubtedly an expert in his chosen field, writing about issues that he has not considered with sufficient care. As near as I can tell, the author is a physicist, but he is largely discussing philosophical issues, such as the nature of time and the nature of consciousness. I suffered through much rigmarole about the beginning of the universe and whether or not that entailed the beginning of time, but I gave up when he made the assertion (during his reductionist arguments about man) that there is no difficulty with explaining consciousness because consciousness is just a perception*. Of course, one who has spent a few moments thinking about the issue might reasonably ask, "a perception by whom?" This is purely circular reasoning, just as much of the discussion of time was.
Save your time and read something from a philosopher if you want to think about these things.
*admittedly, I am not attempting to quote him here, and his argument may have been explained later. However, after a guffawed at this statement, I returned the book to the library...glad that I had not wasted money on the purchase.
This appears to be a very bright author, who is undoubtedly an expert in his chosen field, writing about issues that he has not considered with sufficient care. As near as I can tell, the author is a physicist, but he is largely discussing philosophical issues, such as the nature of time and the nature of consciousness. I suffered through much rigmarole about the beginning of the universe and whether or not that entailed the beginning of time, but I gave up when he made the assertion (during his reductionist arguments about man) that there is no difficulty with explaining consciousness because consciousness is just a perception*. Of course, one who has spent a few moments thinking about the issue might reasonably ask, "a perception by whom?" This is purely circular reasoning, just as much of the discussion of time was.
Save your time and read something from a philosopher if you want to think about these things.
*admittedly, I am not attempting to quote him here, and his argument may have been explained later. However, after a guffawed at this statement, I returned the book to the library...glad that I had not wasted money on the purchase.
August 17, 2023
Alan Lightman büyük ihtimalle bir bilim insanı olmanın yanı sıra bir romancı olmanın verdiği anlatım zenginliğini ve hikaye anlatma yeteneğini bu kitaba yansıtmayı bilmiş. Bu kitabı bir bilimcinin denemeleri olarak görmek gerekir kanımca. 3 bölümde hiçlikten sonsuzluğa, insan zihnini de ziyaret ederek, kozmoloji ve yaşam hakkındaki perspektifini bizlere renkli bir şekilde iletmeyi başardığından çok keyifli bir okuma deneyimi sunmayı başarmış. Bu kitaptan düzenli bilim okuyucularının yeni bir bilgi olarak öğreneceği pek az şey olduğunu düşünüyorum. Ama bilime ve felsefeye ömrünü adamış insanların böyle denemelerle fikirlerini genel okuyucu ile paylaştıkları kitapların da, okuyucuların zihninde yeni kapılar açma potansiyelini de yadsımamak gerektiğini düşünüyorum. Bu tarz kitaplardan hoşlanan insanlara rahatlıkla tavsiye edebilirim. Minotor kitap baskısında çevirmen Barış Gönlüşen'de çok başarılı bir iş çıkarmış, okurken rahatsız eden hiçbir unsur olmamanın yanı sıra bazı bilimsel ve felsefi kavramları Türkçe'de çok doğru ifade edilmesi konusunda da üst seviyede bir beceri sergilemiş.
February 22, 2021
This is a really well written book and I liked it a lot. It does a great job at explaining intriguing and complex scientific concepts, like the Big Bang inflation theory or the synthetic creation of cells, in a manner accessible to laymen using brilliant analogies and easy-to-understand explanations even a high schooler like me can grasp. It also weaves a brilliant tapestry of current scientific conquests and their historic predecessors, from Aristotle, to Pascal, Newton, to Einstein, to current scientists like Guth and Linde. It also has lots of good food for thought. Though I'm not sure this would be a good read for someone with an already comprehensive knowledge of the subject, it gives a really good overlook of the questions currently plaguing today's world in science and philosophy, and the historic context behind them. I've learned many new things, and I'm looking forward to reading more of Lightman's books.
January 16, 2022
2.5 bumped up to 3. Meh. A bunch of essays of varying length, on subjects that vary from cosmology, particle physics, biology, genetics, mathematics, and so on. It should have been right up my alley, right? Well, most of the essays were "meh", for want of a better word. Mildly interesting. A few I skimmed. Nothing really new or groundbreaking, but maybe it's because I've read too many books about the subjects (cosmology in particular; I've read a fair number over the last couple of years). Still, nothing objectionable, so there might be something of interest for folks who have an interest in science and scientific theory, and which is why I bump it to 3.
April 23, 2022
I read three of Alan Lightman’s books last month and this is my favorite by far. In fact, I am re-reading it for the third time just to let the ideas sink in more. I appreciate the essay format, the depth of his knowledge and the breadth of his personal reflections. Marvelous book for me...I am not a physicist, but I am interested in the history of science and the men and women who contribute to its development. Lightman has been called ’the poet laureate of the sciences’ for a reason. Lovely book.
April 24, 2022
Alan Lightman is a rare author. One that's as well versed in narrative prose as the larger questions of the Universe's underlying structure. Lightman's academic knowledge and personal sensibilities shine through with every sentence. This is a book that I absolutely loved but wouldn't necessarily recommend as his first book (try Einstein's Universe first).
June 11, 2021
Interesting without being particularly groundbreaking or profound.
February 26, 2022
Lovely book. It’s a report from the frontiers of contemporary cosmology. A “where are we now in the word of theoretical physics?” And the answer, should you, like me, neglect to dutifully read your latest edition of the Journal of Astrophysics, is mind bending. Lightman is one the great translators and correspondents on the front lines of the most complex and indecipherable scientific discoveries about the universe. In this book, he reports back to us in beautiful, and often poetic prose (musings) and turns from time to time to personal narratives.
My love of reading about the boundaries of the knowable universe was really kindled by Carl Sagan and what I thought was his shocking admission that to survive the horror of pondering the absolute limit of what can be known he turns again and again ultimately to poetry and literature. He’s not the only one. I never pursued science as a career but i crave reading about cosmology and theoretical physics because it provides moments of awe and opportunities to contemplate the sublime that makes life worth living. This book reports on ideas, both established and emerging that will fuck your mind. Contemplating the infinitesimal and the infinite leave me in constant states of awe. I like what Bertrand Russell said in his essay “the value of philosophy”: “Through the infinity of the universe, the mind which contemplates it achieves some share in infinity.”
My love of reading about the boundaries of the knowable universe was really kindled by Carl Sagan and what I thought was his shocking admission that to survive the horror of pondering the absolute limit of what can be known he turns again and again ultimately to poetry and literature. He’s not the only one. I never pursued science as a career but i crave reading about cosmology and theoretical physics because it provides moments of awe and opportunities to contemplate the sublime that makes life worth living. This book reports on ideas, both established and emerging that will fuck your mind. Contemplating the infinitesimal and the infinite leave me in constant states of awe. I like what Bertrand Russell said in his essay “the value of philosophy”: “Through the infinity of the universe, the mind which contemplates it achieves some share in infinity.”
May 3, 2022
I appreciate Lightman’s effort to bring modern scientific discoveries to a general audience in a world where poor scientific literacy and education cause the majority of people to experience an unfortunate disconnect with science. I felt that many parts of the book where Lightman injected his own philosophical musings, however, were rather vague and directionless. I would’ve enjoyed more substance over flowery language. Nevertheless, I’m grateful for Lightman’s ability to cause his audience to think.
May 14, 2021
It is a pleasant read. Writing is still lyrical as in Einstein's Dreams. This book is more personal though, a bit philosophical, a bit spiritual, a lot of reflection.
October 18, 2021
"In reading the report" (2014 UN Intergovernmental panel on Climate Change) "we should not be concerned about protecting our planet. Nature can survive far more than what we can do to it and is totally oblivious to whether Homo Sapiens lives or dies in the next hundred years. Our concern should be about protecting ourselves. Because we have only ourselves to protect us."
Alan Lightman
Alan Lightman
October 3, 2023
A short collection of essays attempting to answer questions about life, the universe and everything.
I might read too many of these, I found it an enjoyable read but I felt that I had heard it all before. Still there are some beautiful insights in there. I guess I was hoping for something more, in part because it's a rather recent book.
I might read too many of these, I found it an enjoyable read but I felt that I had heard it all before. Still there are some beautiful insights in there. I guess I was hoping for something more, in part because it's a rather recent book.
October 13, 2021
Time is passing. We know this. We feel it in our bones. We hear it in the work of great artists like Shakespeare. Whenever I give a workshop on time management, the room, virtual or physical, is packed to the rafters. Students want to know—how does one manage time? How does one fit all of life into a twenty-four hour day?
The bottom line: we don’t manage time; we manage ourselves. As Carlo Rovelli and Alan Lightman tell us in recent books, time is not constant and is not what it seems. Time is part of “that vast nocturnal and star-studded ocean of all that we don’t know,” according to Rovelli.
In his book, The Order of Time (Riverhead Books, 2018), Rovelli presents the theoretical physics of time and the universe. He is the head of the Quantum Gravity group at the Centre de Physique Theorique of Aix-Marseille University. He begins his book with a simple fact: time passes faster in the mountains than at sea level. When the Apollo astronauts returned to Earth, they were older than the colleagues they left behind. This difference might be measured in nanoseconds, but it is there nonetheless.
We do not need to go back to the past to find accelerated aging among astronauts. A recent study utilizing Scott and Mark Kelly, twin brothers who are also astronauts, revealed that after a year in space, Scott was older than his Earth-bound sibling. However, after the mission, he quickly reverted back to match Mark. It took eight months.
Rovelli makes a key point that time bends with gravity, or lack thereof. The closer one gets to Earth, all processes, including aging, are slower. If one were to travel to the edge of a black hole, the apotheosis of gravitational pull, time would appear to stand still. Large masses, like planets, slow down time in their vicinity. This leads to Rovelli’s next point: planets far away have their own time. However, it is more than just gravity. Light travels to us at 186,000 miles per second. If we were to look across the galaxy at a planet four light years away from us, what we see through the lens of the telescope would be what happened four years ago. The way time behaves on that planet would add an additional wrinkle to the scenario. And this is not just a phenomenon of space; even across the room, we see the person waving at us nanoseconds after the wave because it takes time for the light to reach our eye and the messages to be sent to the brain, and only then is there recognition, and we wave back.
In pop culture, Star Trek, in all its iterations, is where most people encounter the narrative concept of time travel. The original series began with the voice of Captain Kirk defining the ship’s mission: five years to explore the galaxy. But on a five-year journey to the stars, that means five Earth years. On other planets in other systems, time might be faster or slower. So an interstellar traveler might return after five years but be 100 years older or five minutes older. We exist in our own bubble of time corresponding to Earth time. The rest of the universe moves to its own dance party. The conclusion is clear: time is not a constant and not a reliable measure across the galaxy. The whole question of when, meaning time, is more of a question about where, as in location. Location and gravity determine time.
Aristotle was the first to ask about the nature of time. His conclusion was that time is the measurement of change and things change constantly. Rovelli draws the line between Aristotle’s work and Sir Isaac Newton, who believed time was an entity that runs even when nothing happens. In the end, what we know is that time is not definitive. In fact, past, present and future are not clearly delineated in the equations of the universe. Rovelli brings his thesis home like this: “the entire evolution of science would suggest that the best grammar for thinking about the world is that of change, not permanence. Not of being, but of becoming.” And all of it seems to be moving toward entropy. Clean laundry starts becoming soiled the minute it leaves the dryer. A clean house will become dusty again. It is the law of the universe. Rovelli says Einstein questioned the concept of past, present and future. Those designations might only be a persistent illusion.
To read Rovelli is to be both reassured that there is an order to the universe, and to be greatly disturbed at the immense size and complexity that eludes total understanding. Late in the book, he quotes Hugo von Hofmannsthal: “Everything slips through our fingers. All that we seek to hold on to dissolves. Everything vanishes, like mists and dreams…”
Alan Lightman is an American physicist who is both a scientist and a brilliant writer. His book, Probably Impossibilities (Pantheon Books, 2021), dovetails nicely with Rovelli’s work. He subscribes as well to the idea that the universe is moving toward entropy, and he discusses time’s arrow, the “forward direction of time is determined by the movement of order to disorder.” However, Lightman leaves room for the metaphysical in his study of the cosmos. He brings to the table the story of his own out-of-body experience where life is “a brief flicker in the vast chasm of time.” He goes on to write that, “My fleeting sensation included infinite space. Without body or mind, I was somehow floating in the gargantuan stretch of space, far beyond the solar system and even the galaxy, space stretched on and on.” He sees in this fever dream himself as a “tiny speck, insignificant,” a sensation that is both “liberating and terrifying” for him.
Lightman emphasizes that we are all composed of atoms. Our minds are collections of atoms “fated to disassemble and dissolve” at the end of our days. Yet after we are gone, we remain. Our atomic components continue on to mix with other atoms and form new life, new structures, always renewing and rejuvenating the universe. However, our consciousness ends. Because of that, he has chosen to live in such a way “as to maximize my pleasure and minimize my pain.” Science becomes life philosophy, and that the value of Lightman’s work in this book. It is not just science, but a humanist view. He breaks this down into two schools of thought: the Mechanists who believe that we are made up of processes subject to the laws of chemistry, physics and biology; and Vitalists who recognize a special quality of life, a spiritual force beyond analysis or explanation. This, then, is the soul, or pneuma, as the Greeks named it, meaning “breath” or “wind.” It is for the combination of science and spirit that I seek out Lightman. His work is transcendent and deeply moving for his humanity. I am comforted by the fact that everyone who has ever lived still remains present at an atomic level. We are part of everything there is, and in a sense, our atoms are immortal even if our consciousness is not.
This does not stop Lightman from questioning where the dead are now. This explanation of atoms free-floating through space-time does not assuage his sorrow and longing for those he has lost. On many days and on many roads, he finds it hard to fathom that they no longer exist and he can no longer communicate with them. Life is a dream, really, and Lightman cites no less an authority than Emerson: “Dream delivers us to dream, and there is no end to the illusion.”
This is the dilemma of conscious beings: we must witness and reflect on the spectacle of existence, even as our own light fades and consciousness dissolves. This is human truth, but Lightman does not neglect his science. If space goes on and on to infinity, he posits, there should be an infinite number of copies of us out there. “Because even a situation of minuscule probability,” he writes, “like the creation of a particular individual’s exact arrangement of atoms—when multiplied by an infinite number of trials, repeats itself an infinite number of times.”
Alan Lightman is a scientist, a physicist, and man who deals daily with star dust and the laws of thermodynamics. Yet, he is also a man, lying in a hammock, pondering the stars. Every book he writes is a winner, and this one is no exception. Following up on his book, Searching For Stars on an Island in Maine (Vintage, 2019), Probably Impossibilities again explores the plight of a human being in the universe. Along with Carlo Rovelli, the two books give us the science and the humanity, and we are richer for the journey.
The bottom line: we don’t manage time; we manage ourselves. As Carlo Rovelli and Alan Lightman tell us in recent books, time is not constant and is not what it seems. Time is part of “that vast nocturnal and star-studded ocean of all that we don’t know,” according to Rovelli.
In his book, The Order of Time (Riverhead Books, 2018), Rovelli presents the theoretical physics of time and the universe. He is the head of the Quantum Gravity group at the Centre de Physique Theorique of Aix-Marseille University. He begins his book with a simple fact: time passes faster in the mountains than at sea level. When the Apollo astronauts returned to Earth, they were older than the colleagues they left behind. This difference might be measured in nanoseconds, but it is there nonetheless.
We do not need to go back to the past to find accelerated aging among astronauts. A recent study utilizing Scott and Mark Kelly, twin brothers who are also astronauts, revealed that after a year in space, Scott was older than his Earth-bound sibling. However, after the mission, he quickly reverted back to match Mark. It took eight months.
Rovelli makes a key point that time bends with gravity, or lack thereof. The closer one gets to Earth, all processes, including aging, are slower. If one were to travel to the edge of a black hole, the apotheosis of gravitational pull, time would appear to stand still. Large masses, like planets, slow down time in their vicinity. This leads to Rovelli’s next point: planets far away have their own time. However, it is more than just gravity. Light travels to us at 186,000 miles per second. If we were to look across the galaxy at a planet four light years away from us, what we see through the lens of the telescope would be what happened four years ago. The way time behaves on that planet would add an additional wrinkle to the scenario. And this is not just a phenomenon of space; even across the room, we see the person waving at us nanoseconds after the wave because it takes time for the light to reach our eye and the messages to be sent to the brain, and only then is there recognition, and we wave back.
In pop culture, Star Trek, in all its iterations, is where most people encounter the narrative concept of time travel. The original series began with the voice of Captain Kirk defining the ship’s mission: five years to explore the galaxy. But on a five-year journey to the stars, that means five Earth years. On other planets in other systems, time might be faster or slower. So an interstellar traveler might return after five years but be 100 years older or five minutes older. We exist in our own bubble of time corresponding to Earth time. The rest of the universe moves to its own dance party. The conclusion is clear: time is not a constant and not a reliable measure across the galaxy. The whole question of when, meaning time, is more of a question about where, as in location. Location and gravity determine time.
Aristotle was the first to ask about the nature of time. His conclusion was that time is the measurement of change and things change constantly. Rovelli draws the line between Aristotle’s work and Sir Isaac Newton, who believed time was an entity that runs even when nothing happens. In the end, what we know is that time is not definitive. In fact, past, present and future are not clearly delineated in the equations of the universe. Rovelli brings his thesis home like this: “the entire evolution of science would suggest that the best grammar for thinking about the world is that of change, not permanence. Not of being, but of becoming.” And all of it seems to be moving toward entropy. Clean laundry starts becoming soiled the minute it leaves the dryer. A clean house will become dusty again. It is the law of the universe. Rovelli says Einstein questioned the concept of past, present and future. Those designations might only be a persistent illusion.
To read Rovelli is to be both reassured that there is an order to the universe, and to be greatly disturbed at the immense size and complexity that eludes total understanding. Late in the book, he quotes Hugo von Hofmannsthal: “Everything slips through our fingers. All that we seek to hold on to dissolves. Everything vanishes, like mists and dreams…”
Alan Lightman is an American physicist who is both a scientist and a brilliant writer. His book, Probably Impossibilities (Pantheon Books, 2021), dovetails nicely with Rovelli’s work. He subscribes as well to the idea that the universe is moving toward entropy, and he discusses time’s arrow, the “forward direction of time is determined by the movement of order to disorder.” However, Lightman leaves room for the metaphysical in his study of the cosmos. He brings to the table the story of his own out-of-body experience where life is “a brief flicker in the vast chasm of time.” He goes on to write that, “My fleeting sensation included infinite space. Without body or mind, I was somehow floating in the gargantuan stretch of space, far beyond the solar system and even the galaxy, space stretched on and on.” He sees in this fever dream himself as a “tiny speck, insignificant,” a sensation that is both “liberating and terrifying” for him.
Lightman emphasizes that we are all composed of atoms. Our minds are collections of atoms “fated to disassemble and dissolve” at the end of our days. Yet after we are gone, we remain. Our atomic components continue on to mix with other atoms and form new life, new structures, always renewing and rejuvenating the universe. However, our consciousness ends. Because of that, he has chosen to live in such a way “as to maximize my pleasure and minimize my pain.” Science becomes life philosophy, and that the value of Lightman’s work in this book. It is not just science, but a humanist view. He breaks this down into two schools of thought: the Mechanists who believe that we are made up of processes subject to the laws of chemistry, physics and biology; and Vitalists who recognize a special quality of life, a spiritual force beyond analysis or explanation. This, then, is the soul, or pneuma, as the Greeks named it, meaning “breath” or “wind.” It is for the combination of science and spirit that I seek out Lightman. His work is transcendent and deeply moving for his humanity. I am comforted by the fact that everyone who has ever lived still remains present at an atomic level. We are part of everything there is, and in a sense, our atoms are immortal even if our consciousness is not.
This does not stop Lightman from questioning where the dead are now. This explanation of atoms free-floating through space-time does not assuage his sorrow and longing for those he has lost. On many days and on many roads, he finds it hard to fathom that they no longer exist and he can no longer communicate with them. Life is a dream, really, and Lightman cites no less an authority than Emerson: “Dream delivers us to dream, and there is no end to the illusion.”
This is the dilemma of conscious beings: we must witness and reflect on the spectacle of existence, even as our own light fades and consciousness dissolves. This is human truth, but Lightman does not neglect his science. If space goes on and on to infinity, he posits, there should be an infinite number of copies of us out there. “Because even a situation of minuscule probability,” he writes, “like the creation of a particular individual’s exact arrangement of atoms—when multiplied by an infinite number of trials, repeats itself an infinite number of times.”
Alan Lightman is a scientist, a physicist, and man who deals daily with star dust and the laws of thermodynamics. Yet, he is also a man, lying in a hammock, pondering the stars. Every book he writes is a winner, and this one is no exception. Following up on his book, Searching For Stars on an Island in Maine (Vintage, 2019), Probably Impossibilities again explores the plight of a human being in the universe. Along with Carlo Rovelli, the two books give us the science and the humanity, and we are richer for the journey.
September 24, 2021
Good mix of science and philosophy (and spirituality?). The author gives his opinion on various popular theories that science has offered us.
Overall a great read.
Cheers.
Overall a great read.
Cheers.
February 7, 2022
Theoretical physics and cosmological theories made accessible through poetic essays and very human storytelling. Alan Lightman explored theories from emptiness to infinity, and the human mind in between, using analogies to help the reader grasp these literally unimaginable possibilities. The book was infused with a sense of cosmic humility--recognizing the unlikeliness of conscious life, and the smallness of humanity in time/space, yet the roles we can all fulfill in meaning-making, doing good with/toward one another, and being "cosmic observers" of the universe. Finally, he introduces the concept "cosmic biocentrism," which is "that the rarity and preciousness of life provides a kinship to all living things in the universe." Overall, this is a scientific text that pulls on histories of science, mythologies of religion, and embraces a secular-spiritual worldview.
April 4, 2022
This is the book I’ve been looking for as I continue my quest for life's meaning. It is a lyrical, readable discussion about the cosmos. Unlike some of the other “astronomy for dummies” books I’ve tried (Steven Hawkings, Neil Degrasse Tyson), this book doesn’t try to explain anything. It just delves into different ideas that are intriguing and explores them in layman terms. Some of my highlights:
On nothingness
The transcendent, nonmaterial, long-lasting qualities that we impart to other human beings and to human institutions are an illusion, like the computer-generated world in The Matrix. It is certainly true that we human beings have achieved what, to our minds, is extraordinary accomplishment. We have scientific theories that can make accurate predictions about the world. We have created paintings and music and literature that we consider beautiful and meaningful. We have entire systems of laws and social codes. But these things have no intrinsic value outside of our minds. And our minds are only collections of atoms, fated to disassemble and dissolve. For each of us, that will be the end of all consciousness and thought. And in that sense, we and our institutions are always approaching nothingness.
The Cosmic Perspective
What I feel and I know is that I am here now, at this moment in the grand sweep of time. I am not part of the void. I am not a fluctuation in the quantum vacuum. Even though I understand that someday my atoms will be scattered in soil and in air, that I will no longer exist, I am alive now. I am feeling this moment. I can see my hand on my writing desk. I can feel the warmth of the Sun through the window. And looking out, I can see a pine-needled path that goes down to the sea.
Not only are we cosmic material. We are the precise material made in stars. Our atoms, our particular atoms, one by one, were forged in the nuclear reactions of stars, then hurled out into space in the explosion of those stars, to swirl and condense millions of years later into planets and ultimately into single-celled organisms and ultimately into us human beings. We are literally part of the cosmos. Contrary to widespread belief, there are not two kinds of material in the cosmos—inanimate material, like rocks and water and planets and stars, plus a second kind of material, the animate, endowed with some supernatural, transcendent essence. There is only a single kind of material, made of atoms. Rocks, water, air, trees, human beings—all are constructed of the same atoms.
On Consciousness
The feeling of selfhood, of thinking and emotion, of self-awareness, of “I-ness” is so overwhelming, so absolutely unique, so impossible to explain, that it seems incomprehensible such a sensation could be rooted completely in material atoms and molecules. It seems impossible that we, and other living beings, could be nothing but material. Yet that is the axiom of the synthetic biologists, who are embarked on a project to create life from nonlife.
As my visit came to an end, I asked Desimone about the seemingly strange experience of “consciousness,” to me the most profound and troubling aspect of human existence. How does a gooey mass of blood, bones, and gelatinous tissue become a sentient being? How does it become aware of itself as a thing separate from its surroundings? How does it develop a self, an ego, an “I”? Without hesitation, Desimone replied that the mystery of consciousness was overrated. “As we learn more about the detailed mechanisms in the brain,” he said, “the question of ‘What is consciousness?’ will fade away into irrelevancy and abstraction.” As Desimone sees it, consciousness is just a vague word for the mental experience of attending, which we are slowly dissecting in terms of the electrical and chemical activity of individual neurons. He threw out an analogy. Consider a careening automobile. A person might ask: Where inside that thing is its motion? But he would no longer ask that particular question after he understood the engine of the car, the manner in which gasoline is ignited by sparkplugs, the movement of cylinders and gears.
The soul, as commonly understood, we cannot discuss scientifically. Not so with consciousness, and the closely related Self. Isn’t the experience of consciousness and Self an illusion caused by those trillions of neuronal connections and electrical and chemical flows? If you don’t like the word illusion, then you can stick with the sensation itself. The Self and consciousness, I think, are names we give to the sensations produced by all of those electrical and chemical flows.
I have a confession to make. Despite my belief that I am only a collection of atoms, that my awareness is passing away neuron by neuron, I am content with the illusion of consciousness. I’ll take it. And I find a pleasure in knowing that a hundred years from now, even a thousand years from now, some of my atoms will remain in this place where I now lie in my hammock. Those atoms will not know where they came from, but they will have been mine. Some of them will once have been part of the memory of my mother dancing the bossa nova. Some will once have been part of the memory of the vinegary smell of my first apartment. Some will once have been part of my hand. If I could label each of my atoms at this moment, imprint each with my Social Security number, someone could follow them for the next thousand years as they floated in air, mixed with the soil, became parts of particular plants and trees, dissolved in the ocean and then floated again to the air. Some will undoubtedly become parts of other people, particular people. Some will become parts of other lives, other memories. That might be a kind of immortality.
On nothingness
The transcendent, nonmaterial, long-lasting qualities that we impart to other human beings and to human institutions are an illusion, like the computer-generated world in The Matrix. It is certainly true that we human beings have achieved what, to our minds, is extraordinary accomplishment. We have scientific theories that can make accurate predictions about the world. We have created paintings and music and literature that we consider beautiful and meaningful. We have entire systems of laws and social codes. But these things have no intrinsic value outside of our minds. And our minds are only collections of atoms, fated to disassemble and dissolve. For each of us, that will be the end of all consciousness and thought. And in that sense, we and our institutions are always approaching nothingness.
The Cosmic Perspective
What I feel and I know is that I am here now, at this moment in the grand sweep of time. I am not part of the void. I am not a fluctuation in the quantum vacuum. Even though I understand that someday my atoms will be scattered in soil and in air, that I will no longer exist, I am alive now. I am feeling this moment. I can see my hand on my writing desk. I can feel the warmth of the Sun through the window. And looking out, I can see a pine-needled path that goes down to the sea.
Not only are we cosmic material. We are the precise material made in stars. Our atoms, our particular atoms, one by one, were forged in the nuclear reactions of stars, then hurled out into space in the explosion of those stars, to swirl and condense millions of years later into planets and ultimately into single-celled organisms and ultimately into us human beings. We are literally part of the cosmos. Contrary to widespread belief, there are not two kinds of material in the cosmos—inanimate material, like rocks and water and planets and stars, plus a second kind of material, the animate, endowed with some supernatural, transcendent essence. There is only a single kind of material, made of atoms. Rocks, water, air, trees, human beings—all are constructed of the same atoms.
On Consciousness
The feeling of selfhood, of thinking and emotion, of self-awareness, of “I-ness” is so overwhelming, so absolutely unique, so impossible to explain, that it seems incomprehensible such a sensation could be rooted completely in material atoms and molecules. It seems impossible that we, and other living beings, could be nothing but material. Yet that is the axiom of the synthetic biologists, who are embarked on a project to create life from nonlife.
As my visit came to an end, I asked Desimone about the seemingly strange experience of “consciousness,” to me the most profound and troubling aspect of human existence. How does a gooey mass of blood, bones, and gelatinous tissue become a sentient being? How does it become aware of itself as a thing separate from its surroundings? How does it develop a self, an ego, an “I”? Without hesitation, Desimone replied that the mystery of consciousness was overrated. “As we learn more about the detailed mechanisms in the brain,” he said, “the question of ‘What is consciousness?’ will fade away into irrelevancy and abstraction.” As Desimone sees it, consciousness is just a vague word for the mental experience of attending, which we are slowly dissecting in terms of the electrical and chemical activity of individual neurons. He threw out an analogy. Consider a careening automobile. A person might ask: Where inside that thing is its motion? But he would no longer ask that particular question after he understood the engine of the car, the manner in which gasoline is ignited by sparkplugs, the movement of cylinders and gears.
The soul, as commonly understood, we cannot discuss scientifically. Not so with consciousness, and the closely related Self. Isn’t the experience of consciousness and Self an illusion caused by those trillions of neuronal connections and electrical and chemical flows? If you don’t like the word illusion, then you can stick with the sensation itself. The Self and consciousness, I think, are names we give to the sensations produced by all of those electrical and chemical flows.
I have a confession to make. Despite my belief that I am only a collection of atoms, that my awareness is passing away neuron by neuron, I am content with the illusion of consciousness. I’ll take it. And I find a pleasure in knowing that a hundred years from now, even a thousand years from now, some of my atoms will remain in this place where I now lie in my hammock. Those atoms will not know where they came from, but they will have been mine. Some of them will once have been part of the memory of my mother dancing the bossa nova. Some will once have been part of the memory of the vinegary smell of my first apartment. Some will once have been part of my hand. If I could label each of my atoms at this moment, imprint each with my Social Security number, someone could follow them for the next thousand years as they floated in air, mixed with the soil, became parts of particular plants and trees, dissolved in the ocean and then floated again to the air. Some will undoubtedly become parts of other people, particular people. Some will become parts of other lives, other memories. That might be a kind of immortality.
September 2, 2021
Beautiful and thought-provoking. It was short, so I thought I'd rip through it, but the content is so dense, I found myself reading much slower, taking breaks to digest and think about a concept, and reflecting a lot. Wonderful analogies, for example comparing the "live" matter in the universe to a few grains of sand in the Gobi desert. If you're interested in contemplating infinity, and nothingness, and the strange, rare, and special thing that life is, then this is the book for you.
January 9, 2022
im gonna be honest, i got like halfway through and gave up but im marking it as read bc im one book behind schedule. ill finish it eventually.
this was extremely bland - which is understandable, since it's non-fiction. but still. it could've been made much more interesting. i understood and remembered about three sentences. its something like a history of a bunch of sciences. not my type of book, but if anyone is interested in that kinda stuff, this is for you.
this was extremely bland - which is understandable, since it's non-fiction. but still. it could've been made much more interesting. i understood and remembered about three sentences. its something like a history of a bunch of sciences. not my type of book, but if anyone is interested in that kinda stuff, this is for you.
April 22, 2021
A number of essays collected by Alan Lightman. It covers a bunch of topics, mostly physics and cosmology, but also mind, philosophy and consciousness.
June 18, 2021
Absolutely fascinating read about the everything from the universe to string theory - explorations of time, life in the universe, the brain and more. Very accessible and interesting read.
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