The gods must be crazy
More than 60 years ago, G. H. Hardy, an English mathematician besotted with abstraction, wrote, " `Imaginary' universes are so much more beautiful than this stupidly constructed `real' one." Were Hardy around today, he'd find plenty of company. From astronomers peering out into space to particle physicists inspecting atomic innards, the more scientists study the universe, the more preposterous, random, and, yes, ugly it becomes.
But hold it. How can the universe be thought ugly? This realm of wheeling galaxies whose stars explode gloriously to seed space with the building blocks of life? A cosmos that bore at least one planet on which mortals find joy in sunsets? Mathematically minded scholars admire such things, too. But for generations they have expected to discover a few simple, elegant rules from which the cosmos's workings spring.
Today, that search is going to extreme lengths, as scientists posit hidden realms, such as extra dimensions or parallel subuniverses, that could help make sense of our apparently random cosmos. They're also planning giant experiments that may turn up hints of these shadow universes. "Some wonderful discoveries are out there, and we are building machines to do this very soon," exults Maria Spiropulu, a young experimental physicist at the University of Chicago's Enrico Fermi Institute.
Cosmology desperately needs such a revelation. Once an academic playground where theorists freely speculated about the nature of the universe, the field now swarms with real data. Astronomers and physicists are busy compiling the universe's stats--its age, composition, and the nature and strength of the forces at work in it. But instead of becoming simpler, as scientists had hoped, this new portrait of the universe is an ever more random-seeming hodgepodge of apparently unconnected constants, particles, forces, and masses.
Fading glow. The last straw for noted physicist John Bahcall of the Institute for Advanced Study in Princeton, N.J., came last March, when NASA trucked out what, by any measure, was a genuine triumph. A satellite called the Wilkinson Microwave Anisotropy Probe had plotted, in unprecedented detail, tiny temperature variations in the microwave background radiation that fills the sky. This fading glow of the big bang reveals our universe at about 370,000 years (less than a 10,000th of its current age) and holds clues to its exact age and mix of matter and energy (box, below). The agency had invited Bahcall to comment. He dutifully noted his pride. "Every astronomer will remember when they first heard the results from WMAP," he said. Then he confessed. He had hoped against hope that growing evidence of the nature of our universe would turn out to be wrong. "The WMAP results have convinced me," he said. "We have to learn to understand this unattractive universe because we have no other choice."
Bahcall later explained: "It really is strange and--to our perhaps uneducated eyes--arbitrary, ugly, or accidental. To live in a universe where only 4 percent of matter is ordinary matter I find awkward at best, implausible at the least, but there it is." Even worse, he said, was WMAP's confirmation that most of the substance of the universe consists of a mysterious "dark energy" that is pushing all of space apart. "If I didn't have all of these facts in front of me, and you came up with a universe like that, I'd either ask what you've been smoking or tell you to stop telling fairy tales."
advertisement
