Things too beautiful not to be true

Things too beautiful not to be true

Photo by Thomas Kinto on Unsplash

Originally published 22 February 1999

Beau­ty is truth, truth beau­ty,” wrote John Keats.

His famous dic­tum has become some­thing of a cliche, but it beau­ti­ful­ly express­es a truth, and it cer­tain­ly res­onates with sci­en­tists — par­tic­u­lar­ly physicists.

Sev­er­al months ago I received from Har­vard Uni­ver­si­ty Press an advance review copy of Pro­fes­sor Ger­ald Holton’s book, The Advance­ment of Sci­ence and Its Burdens.

Then, a few weeks lat­er, along came anoth­er copy. A sin­gle mis­print had been cor­rect­ed. The book had been reprint­ed, or the flawed page reprint­ed and the book rebound. In any case, the author or pub­lish­er thought the typo was sig­nif­i­cant enough to go to a lot of trouble.

And what was this momen­tous boo-boo?

A plus sign in a math­e­mat­i­cal equa­tion had been mis­print­ed as a minus.

How can a smidgen of ink the size of this let­ter “i” make such a difference?

The offend­ing sign was in one of four math­e­mat­i­cal equa­tions that sum­ma­rize and uni­fy the the­o­ries of elec­tric­i­ty and mag­net­ism. The equa­tions are the inven­tion of the 19th cen­tu­ry physi­cist James Clerk Maxwell, and they are uni­ver­sal­ly known as Maxwell’s equa­tions.

In the 1860s, Maxwell looked back over a cen­tu­ry of elec­tric and mag­net­ic exper­i­ments by peo­ple such as Fara­day, Ampère, and Coulomb. He saw that their dis­cov­er­ies embod­ied deep sym­me­tries, which he made obvi­ous in his beau­ti­ful equations.

And when he com­bined his equa­tions, out popped an elec­tro­mag­net­ic the­o­ry of light. Until then, no one had dreamed that light had any­thing to do with elec­tric­i­ty and magnetism.

Maxwell’s achieve­ment rep­re­sents one of the great uni­fy­ing moments in physics. Even today, his equa­tions are con­sid­ered so beau­ti­ful that you will fre­quent­ly see them on T‑shirts worn by sci­ence undergraduates.

The mes­sage of the T‑shirts is this: Beau­ty is truth, truth beau­ty. And that’s some­thing of the point Holton was mak­ing in his book, and the rea­son why the dif­fer­ence between a plus and minus can make a dif­fer­ence. It’s as if one took the cor­ner of Mona Lisa’s mouth and gave it a slight turn up or down.

The beau­ty of Maxwell’s equa­tions is — for a physi­cist — a war­ran­ty of their truth, irre­spec­tive of the many ways they have been con­firmed exper­i­men­tal­ly. When Ein­stein pro­posed his Gen­er­al The­o­ry of Rel­a­tiv­i­ty, physi­cists knew imme­di­ate­ly they were in the pres­ence of truth, even though — ini­tial­ly — not a sin­gle exper­i­ment con­firmed the the­o­ry. The math­e­mat­ics of rel­a­tiv­i­ty was just too beau­ti­ful not to express real­i­ty. Of course, Ein­stein’s the­o­ry has now been amply ver­i­fied by observations.

In his new book, Hunt­ing for Hope, writer Scott Rus­sell Sanders offers the expe­ri­ence of beau­ty as one rea­son why we can still be hope­ful in a world fraught with human tragedy and envi­ron­men­tal cat­a­clysm. He begins his chap­ter on beau­ty with an account of his daugh­ter’s wed­ding — the beau­ty of the church, the dress­es, the music, and, espe­cial­ly, of his daugh­ter Eva.

And then he wan­ders into sci­ence. He talks about the sort of beau­ty that is expressed by Maxwell’s equa­tions, which physi­cists trace back with their the­o­ries to the sym­met­ri­cal ener­gy of the Big Bang.

He writes: “With­out being able to check their equa­tions, I think the physi­cists are right. I believe the ener­gy they speak of is holy, by which I mean it is the clos­est we can come with our instru­ments to mea­sur­ing the strength of God. I also believe this pri­mal ener­gy con­tin­ues to feed us, direct­ly through the goods of Cre­ation, and indi­rect­ly through the expe­ri­ence of beauty.”

The call of an owl, a pho­to­graph of a galaxy, an arrow­head placed in his hand by a child, the smile of his daugh­ter through her wed­ding veil: In these expe­ri­ences the writer sens­es a har­mo­ny between him­self and the thing he beholds, a sym­pa­thet­ic vibra­tion between inside and out­side. The name for this res­o­nance, he says, is beauty.

Sanders is a human­ist — he teach­es in the Eng­lish Depart­ment at Indi­ana Uni­ver­si­ty — but his under­stand­ing of beau­ty is sim­i­lar to that of the physi­cist. Beau­ty gives us a glimpse of the under­ly­ing order of things, he says: “The swirl of a galaxy and the swirl of a gown resem­ble one anoth­er not mere­ly by acci­dent, but because they fol­low the grain of the universe.”

The grain of the uni­verse! This is what Maxwell expressed with his beau­ti­ful equa­tions: some­thing about the grain of the uni­verse. This is what New­ton, Dar­win, and Ein­stein beheld when they found sim­ple and ele­gant ways to express com­plex realities.

Beau­ty is the res­o­nance of a pat­tern of flick­er­ing neu­rons in the brain with pat­terns of order in the world. And that is why beau­ty is nature’s sig­na­ture of truth.

Beau­ty feeds us from the same source that cre­at­ed us,” writes Sanders. “It reminds us of the shap­ing pow­er that reach­es through the flower stem and through our own hands. It restores our faith in the gen­eros­i­ty of nature.”

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