On space and motion

Introduction

There was a time in our history when the Earth was sitting, quite comfortably, on the back of a giant turtle. For many years this early theory seems to have satisfactorily answered man’s curiosity about his place in the Universe. But that was only a temporary state of affairs, of course. By definition, any theory can only reign for a limited amount of time before being replaced by another, more complete theory. And that’s exactly what happened to that very early human theory. After a respectable reign, with a sudden leap our planet found itself sitting, unaided—yet as comfortably as ever—right at the centre of the Universe. The Moon and the Sun were revolving around it, while the millions of stars that decorated the night sky remained fixed in their positions to help travellers find their destinations.

This new theory was soon embraced by most humans and found special acceptance with the philosophers of the time—who were for the first time using mathematics and geometry not only to demonstrate the theory’s validity, but also to predict celestial events. For all its apparent successes, however, there were a few voices of discontent with the new theory. For instance, there were some voices claiming that the proponents of the new theory had put the Earth where the Sun should be, while others continued to remain pro-turtle believers. The number of those opposing the theory, however, was in minority by a large factor, and in the end the-Earth-at-the-centre-of-the-Universe idea became the reigning theory for almost two millennia. That was possible because the theory had a two-fold advantage: It was not only backed-up by philosophers; it was also approved by the Church, and that was certainly not a trivial benefit.

In spite of its long reign and formidable backup in time it became obvious that the theory was no longer able to keep pace with the astronomical data gathered by those in search for knowledge. Nevertheless, the disciples of the theory fought long and hard to maintain its hegemony by inventing more and more complex geometrical models that could explain that data. But the demise of the long reigning theory was obviously nearer with any new observation. And then, in a turn of events not entirely strange, one seeker of knowledge revived the ancient idea of a central Sun with planets (including the Earth) revolving around it and with all celestial bodies (including the previously “fixed” stars) living a life in continuous motion. The time for theoretical change had arrived once again, and despite fierce opposition this new theory emerged victorious. In short time it was embraced by virtually everyone, from philosophers to the Church, and thus it has been reigning—basically unchallenged—ever since.

We have certainly come a long way from the times when the earth was resting on the back of a turtle, and although we cannot help smiling, quite condescendingly, when we reminisce about those early attempts to explain the physical reality, common wisdom should compel us to be rather more circumspect and rational in judgement. Do you know what I mean?

If you’re not sure consider the following question: Of all the modern theories in physics which one will still be valid for those living in the year 2500 AD? What about in 3000 AD? 5000 AD?

How do you think that, two thousand years from now, people will react when they will read, for instance, that in the 20th Century conventional physicists believed that

...there may be a world in which Bonaparte’s given name was Pierre, not Napoleon...  (John Gribbin—In search of Schrodinger’s cat, page 249)

That possibility is demanded by the many-worlds interpretation of quantum phenomena, which is—according to the author of the book, and to many other physicists—science fact, not science fiction. How do you reckon those in our future will react when, in fact, that interpretation must also allow that there could be a world where Napoleon’s given name was Cookoo...

If the common philosopher out there (by whom I mean the thinker who uses common wisdom as a guide) would probably express great doubts that any modern theory could survive for more than a century or two, the contemporary conventional physicist would like to convince the world that at least two of the modern theories have actually carved a permanent mark in humanity’s search for knowledge. The first of those would, of course, be Einstein’s special theory of relativity—the theory that “has been tested so many times and in so many ways that no serious physicist doubts its validity any longer”. Indeed thus is described the special theory of relativity by one of the most prolific popularisers of science, Paul Davies. And yet, from its inception to this point in time Einstein’s theory has been subjected to a relentless opposition—from physicists to philosophers to laypeople. So much so that even the man who influenced Einstein most in creating the concept of relativity, Ernst Mach, did not believe in relativity. Indeed, so much so, that today even a few conventional contemporary physicists are, for the first time, tentatively expressing doubts about that most successful human invention.

The other theory that our contemporary conventional physicists would like us to believe that will forever remain valid is the quantum theory. In spite of still presenting us (almost a century after its creation) with huge interpretational problems, and although it speaks to us in a tongue we cannot make sense of, our contemporary natural philosophers continue to profess, unabated, that at the most fundamental level the Universe conducts its affairs by using the conventional quantum understanding.

There is a belief amongst the lay-people interested in physics that the reason for the incoherent presentations of the current theories manifestly evident in books written for the general public by conventional physicists is the lack of writing ability characteristic of the authors. A few years ago I read somewhere the following letter, which is a perfect illustration of that general belief:

I suspect that, at the nitty-gritty level, many of our “insoluble” dilemmas in physics and elsewhere are the result of sloppy words. Physicists are rarely much good with words, so they prefer talking in mathematics, forgetting that maths is just another, more concentrated, form of language, and no better, no more accurate and precise than our definitions of the forms and principles involved. Things may happen in such-and-such a way in mathematical models, but that does not necessarily mean it happens that way in the real world of time and space, the one “out there”...

Many do agree with the author of the letter, and even more would go further and readily find mitigating excuses for the conventional physicists who, in describing their work, manage only to sound like they're speaking in tongues! But I completely disagree with that general belief—albeit, whilst agreeing, in principle, with the letter above. Let me make myself clearer.

The conventional physicist of today is using maths not simply to test his theory: He uses maths to develop his theory! The conventional physicist of today is absolutely convinced that without mathematics no theory can be developed. Do not imagine that a theoretical physicist, in contemplating a problem he wants to solve, begins by visualising the problem and then imagining, in a descriptive form, the phenomena involved, the shapes and structures of the physical objects, the manner of travel and interaction, etc. etc. Of course, if you listen to the conventional physicist talking about how he conducts his theoretical work, he will give you a list of his arguments—with the main argument being that God has, without fail, created a Universe fully constructed and governed by mathematics. Indeed, the conventional physicist is so much in awe of that realisation (that the Universe is fully describable in the language of mathematics) that he expressed that realisation many times—in natural language. “The Universe is written in the language of mathematics”, said Galileo half a millennium ago, and thousands of others have repeated, pretty much the same thing, ever since.

“Why are they so struck by that realisation?” I asked myself this question for over thirty years, and I still cannot see what the fuss is all about. To my mind, the Universe couldn't be any other way—and that's nothing remarkable about that. After all, the Universe is a system that has survived for a very long time, and since this is a fact, all objects that make the Universe must have achieved some form of evolutionary equilibrium, which must be governed by mathematics—both quantitatively and qualitatively. (Quantitatively, through certain physical attributes, describable in numbers; qualitatively, through certain attributes describable geometrically.) What struck me as foolish was the musing of a certain famous physicist who was apparently amazed by “the unreasonable effectiveness of mathematics”!?!

Unlike the conventional physicist, I truly believe that one can create theories in physics without using mathematics at all. Indeed, I firmly believe that one can develop a comprehensible explanation for any phenomenon and let others express it mathematically. Furthermore, unlike the conventional physicist I believe that maths should only be used in testing theories. Unlike the conventional physicist, I also believe that a true physicist should be able to visualise any physical phenomenon because every physical phenomenon is visualisable. Now, before you start screaming and reciting the conventional litany about the absolute necessity of mathematics, remember that

Michael Faraday, that prince of physical scientists knew not mathematics; in more than 400 papers describing his work he did not use a single mathematical formula. Thomas Young, who even has an equation named after him, was another who did not use mathematics. In fact there is considerable doubt as to whether the so-called “Young's equation” conveys the same meaning as the descriptive prose that Young himself used in his paper of 1805. Moving on about a century, consider Alfred Werner, founder of our modern views on coordination chemistry. This Nobel prize winning chemist went so far as to fail the maths component of his university matriculation examination. He then went on to avoid the use of mathematical equations in all of his published work. Yet look at what he contributed to science...

I really believe that we should try to adopt a different perspective on mathematical skills and also a more enlightened view of the true value of descriptive science. If we did, we would have to encourage science students to develop better communication skills. At least one highly desirable spin-off from this would be a generation of scientists able to express scientific ideas in a way that is comprehensible to the general public.

There is only one thing I shall say on this subject. The general public believes, just like the author of the letter above, that physicists are unable to express scientific ideas in a comprehensible language because they lack communication, or writing skills. Wrong. There are many good writers who are conventional physicists. There are, in fact, a few brilliant writers-physicists—able to express in plain language the most esoteric concepts devised by man. The reason that a lot of the conventional theories are so incoherent when written in plain language is the fact that the theories themselves are incoherent. And, quintessentially, those theories are incoherent (incomprehensible) because they are not visualisable! Let me give you a concrete example of this fact.

Some fifteen years ago I read a book written by two conventional physicists. In that book there was a little chapter titled “Confessions of a Relativist”, in which one of the authors described his experience of learning the two theories of relativity at university. The author describes the difficulties he had in understanding relativity, and he explains that all those difficulties eventually vanished away—when he realised that in the beginning his mistake was his trying to visualise certain aspects of the theory. For instance, he confesses that he'd tried to visualise how space can bend—and that he failed completely. Likewise, he failed to visualise all the other ideas of the special and general theories of relativity, and in the end he realised that all he had to do was to perform the calculations! Thus, he finally “understood” the theories of relativity! All he had to do was accept the propositions of the theories and perform the calculations! Need I say more? How could that physicist describe to a lay-man how objects contract when moving uniformly, or how space curves, then? Einstein could not do it, the theory itself cannot do it! How could a conventional physicist describe to a lay-person that in certain situations a single electron is here and there, at the same time? How could a conventional physicist explain that in the frame of reference of a photon there is no distance at all between the Sun and the Earth (or between the Earth and the end of the Universe, for that matter)? You should now understand why I said earlier that there are other reasons for the incoherence displayed by conventional physicists when describing some of their theories.

Humanity has evolved primarily because its members have invented ways of communicating, amongst themselves, and amongst successive generations. Learning has been a process that has not stopped for thousands of generations, and we have managed to leave just about everything we have learned to those that will come next on this planet. This achievement has been so fantastic that in a relatively short span of time we have experienced an evolutionary transformation that no one could have predicted at any point in time. And in no human endeavour is that truth more obvious than in our scientific advances. Alas, there is one human quest which has remained a weak point in our journey through time, in spite of being perhaps the most essential and imperative ingredient we'll ever need (in order to maximise the odds for our continuation as a species). That ingredient is also a human endeavour that requires learning and cultivation, although nowadays it is mainly associated (wrongly, unfortunately) with religious movements. I'm talking about wisdom—whose development has long been hijacked by dubious political trends and whose cultivation has been assumed by questionable institutions.

Wisdom has told physicists, for example, that in trying to understand the Universe one should learn directly from Nature/God to “keep it simple, stupid”. Everything we know with certainty about the Universe has always proved to be simple, and that fact is highly unlikely to change. I, for one, do truly believe that dictum, and that's one of the main reasons for my scepticism about some of the currently reigning theories. A genuine theory should fit into our better understood scientific models beautifully, snugly, cohesively. A genuine theory should be not only coherent; it should also be comprehensible. Indeed, I say, when a theory is right we should all know that it is right! Indeed, I say, when a theory is a real description of the Universe, its creator should be able to express it in a general language totally devoid of technical jargon, a language easily understood and acknowledged by most. Indeed, I say, when a theory is a valid depiction of some phenomenon, its creator should easily visualise it in his mind, and after sharing his visualisation with the rest of the world most of those who listened should have little problem visualising it themselves. Thus I believe, and I have good reasons for believing that. Anything else is short of the Truth, I say, and sooner or later it shall be proven so. Thus I believe, and thus I demand of any theory—including of my own understanding.

Absolute and Relative. (Or about how I shall defend absolute space, dispose of Mach's principle, and invite relativists to see that objects ought to extend in the direction of their motion—rather than contract)

In my work on the nature of light and its behaviour in prismatic experiments I argued against Newton's theory of light and colour. By discovering the property (unknown, hitherto, as far as I know) of prisms to enable an observer to see the dimension normally denied to the naked eye, I succeeded in predicting the spectra produced by both kinds of prismatic experiments. Furthermore, I have also managed to explain all spectral displays in all possible subjective and objective prismatic experiments, proving at the same time that the human eye is an objective observer. Finally, my discovery enabled me to get a real snapshot of the white light that is formed by the spectral colours, which ultimately has shown us how light is chromatically structured and how it propagates in space. This last point is of great importance, for it reveals to us—almost directly—the quantum picture of light and the role played by space in its propagation.

If I fought against Newton's theory before, my current task will see me undertaking the role of Newton's defender this time. In spite of this radical change, however, I will continue to fight the conventional establishment of physicists—for, on the topic I've taken, the conventional establishment has been against Newton's understanding for more than a century. I believe that Newton's understanding of space and motion contains some of his best theoretical work, and that in presenting his arguments on this subject he truly demonstrated his special ability to reason and his prowess as a thinker. Let's thus begin this new chapter in my personal revolution against the conventional theories that are, undeservedly, still reigning in physics.

A contemporary rival of Newton, Gottfried Leibniz, proclaimed that “There is no space where there is no matter”. Some years later, the philosopher Bishop George Berkeley also denounced the idea of absolute space as “meaningless”. “It suffices to replace absolute space”, opined Berkeley, “by a relative space determined by the heaven of fixed stars”. “As regards nonuniform motion we can frame an idea of, to be at bottom no other than relative motion”. Berkeley considered that all motion, including acceleration and rotation, should be regarded as relative to the fixed stars, and not to space itself. In spelling out his argument, Berkeley asked his readers to envisage a spherical object (a “globe”)in an otherwise totally empty universe. In this featureless void, argued Berkeley, no motion of the sphere can be conceived. Not just steady movement through space, but acceleration and rotation as well, are meaningless.

This flatly opposes Newton's view of what would happen in Berkeley's hypothetical universe. Even a solitary globe would be deemed to be rotating if its equator bulged outward... Newton explicitly pointed out that “The effects which distinguish absolute from relative motion are centrifugal forces... For in a circular motion which is purely relative no such forces exist”. In spite of the sweeping success of Newton's mechanics and the world view which it engendered, the tricky issue of absolute space and absolute rotation did not go away. In the second half of the nineteenth century these matters were taken up by the Austrian physicist and philosopher Ernst Mach... Mach refused to entertain the notion of an unobservable absolute space, and like Berkeley he asserted that both uniform and nonuniform motion were entirely relative. Rotation, for example, is relative to the fixed stars. But this still left the problem of the centrifugal force. If it wasn't caused by the dragging effect of absolute space, where did it come from? Mach proposed a neat solution. From the viewpoint of a rotating observer, centrifugal force is felt whenever the stars are seen to be whirling around. Clearly, asserted Mach, the stars cause the force. That is, centrifugal force—more generally, the inertia of an object—has its origin not in some mysterious absolute space enveloping the object, but in the material objects in the far-flung regions of the cosmos. The idea, which became known as Mach's Principle, asserts, in short, that the stomach-churning effect of a roller-coaster ride is caused by the distant stars (galaxies) pulling on the organs of your body. Although Mach failed to provide a very clear formulation of how this might work, the idea that inertia and inertial forces are somehow produced by an interaction between an object and the distant matter in the Universe (Mach's Principle) had a profound effect on later thinkers. Einstein, for example, acknowledged that Mach's book The science of mechanics strongly influenced him in the construction of his own theory of gravity...

I cited this rather long paragraph from The matter myth, written by Paul Davies and John Gribbin, because it is a concise description of the main events, and protagonists, involved in the history of absolute space and motion. Indeed one could read only the above paragraph and still get a pretty good overview of that story, although there are many more things that have taken place and are significant in that saga. Using the above as an introduction let me say a few words about the physical concepts relevant to the topic.

According to the conventional understanding, there are two main kinds of motion in the Universe. One of them is uniform motion, and the other is nonuniform motion. The uniform motion is the motion in a straight line and at a constant velocity. As for the nonuniform motion, that contains all other types of motion, like: acceleration, deceleration, rotation etc. Apart from this classification, there are also two other aspects of motion: relative motion, and absolute motion. By relative motion we understand the motion recorded/measured/compared relative to another frame of reference (object). By absolute motion, on the other hand, we understand the motion that is not relative to anything else but space. (The classification of motion can be tricky at times, for you conceivably might imagine a uniform motion that is absolute...) There is also another way of discerning between different motions: If you're travelling in a vehicle that moves uniformly, you will only be able to establish that you are in motion by looking at another object that is not part of your vehicle. And even then, you may not be able to tell if you are moving, if the other object is moving, or—in fact—if both your vehicle and the other object are moving! Indeed there is no conceivable way of determining uniform motion without using some other object as a reference. (At least this is the conventional belief at this point in time.) On the other hand, if you travel in some vehicle that moves nonuniformly, you will certainly know it! That's because any acceleration, change of direction, rotation generates effects which are immediately noticed by passengers, and there's no need of any external point of reference in order for them to establish that they're in motion.

Newton's idea of absolute space was fiercely opposed by some prominent philosophers and physicists. Leibniz, for example, used two philosophical principles (the principle of sufficient reason and the identity of indiscernibles) to demonstrate contradictions in Newton's idea, and others used similar arguments to denounce absolute space and absolute motion as superfluous. Although I believe that the arguments raised against absolute space are weak and debatable, there's no need to discuss them here. That's because the need for absolute space and motion will become more evident by using Newton's own line of reasoning, which was constructed around his thought experiments—the bucket experiment, and the two globes experiment.

The bucket experiment is one of those beautifully insightful experiments that has not only maintained its relevance for close to four centuries, but which is also continuing to challenge the minds of physicists that long after its creation. As absolute evidence of this fact right now I have in front of me over twenty contemporaneous accounts of that experiment, with roughly half of them pro-Newtonian and the other half pro-Machian. The bucket experiment is simple enough to have remained largely a thought experiment, although it can certainly be performed in reality. Here I'll describe it in my own words.

A bucket, about three quarters filled with water, is suspended by a rope to a fixed point. The bucket is then rotated as many times as the twisting of the rope allows. The bucket is then released, which causes the rope to unwind and the bucket to rotate. The interesting things start happening from this point on, and to cover each of them in order I shall make use of the diagram below.

At first, the bucket is rotating but the water remains still and the surface of the water is flat (see 1, above). After a while the water begins to rotate as well, and the surface of the water begins to change—from flat to a concave shape, with the water increasingly raising up the walls of the bucket as its revolving speed increases (see 2, above). Eventually the bucket stops rotating, but the water continues to rotate for a while, diminishing its concavity as its revolving speed decreases (see 3, above). Finally, the water stops rotating and it resumes its flat surface (see 4, above). This is, in a nutshell, Newton's bucket experiment, and for all its simplicity there aren't many other experiments with deeper implications (and more contentious issues, I would like to say).

A non-apologetic explanation

I have been reading analyses of Newton's bucket experiment for many years now, although nothing tires (and bores) me more in physics. Many, many have been offering their understanding of what the bucket experiment is telling us, for many, many years now. Arguments have been brought forward which prove that Newton was right; arguments have been brought forward which prove that Newton was wrong. Rotating buckets in stationary universes, stationary buckets in rotating universes, rotationally induced electromagnetic fields, experiments with one bucket, with two buckets, with three buckets, with points of electric charges on the buckets, more experiments with buckets of different shapes, Sagnac effect, Lense-Thirring effect, experiments with a bucket and a star, with a bucket and a pendulum, etc., etc., etc. If you want to find all these fantastic ideas nothing can be easier. I, however, have no desire whatsoever to discuss them. As far as I'm concerned just two things suffice to be mentioned. Firstly, Newton used his bucket experiment as clear evidence for his idea of absolute motion and absolute space. He said that:

The effects which distinguish absolute from relative motion are the [centrifugal] forces. If a vessel filled with water is whirled about [for a while] the surface of the water will be plain; but after that [the water] will revolve and from a concave figure till it becomes relatively at rest in the vessel. The true and absolute motion of the water, which is here contrary to the relative [motion with respect to the vessel] may be measured by this endeavor.

According to him the water in the experiment is rotating relative to absolute space, and that absolute rotation creates forces that affect the surface of the water. Newton offered another thought experiment to prove his point. Tie two rocks (globes) with a rope and go deep in space. Rotate the rope about its centre and you'll see that it will become taut because the two rocks will pull outwards. That's because the two tied rocks rotate absolutely, which again creates centrifugal forces that stretch the rope.

The antithesis of Newton's understanding came in the philosophy of Ernst Mach, who said:

Newton's experiment with the rotating vessel simply informs us that the relative motion of the water with respect to the sides of the vessel produces no noticeable centrifugal forces, but that such forces are produced by its relative rotation with respect to the mass of the Earth and the other celestial bodies. No one is competent to say how the experiment would turn out if the sides of the vessel increased in thickness and mass until they were ultimately several leagues thick.

Mach claimed that all motion was relative, that rotation in an empty universe produces no effects (you couldn't tell that you're spinning in an empty universe), and that the centrifugal forces created in any rotational experiment are, basically, gravitational (since they appear as a consequence of the interaction of the rotating matter with the universal matter). Although he never specified how that interaction could take place, Mach found immediate acceptance from some of the most prominent physicists in the last 150 years. So much so that his idea came to be given the status of a principle: Mach's principle, of course.

Now, when I began thinking about these issues (many years ago, as I think I've already mentioned) I developed an instant disliking for this Mach. “What a shallow mind!” I thought. (The fact that he was wrong in many other things always brings in me a devilish satisfaction.) Consider the following. If the concavity of the water in Newton's experiment is caused by the pull of the universal matter, why is there a need for rotation to see it? Why isn't there when the water is at rest too? Don't tell me that in order to see the concave surface of the water there is a need for the centrifugal forces, which arise when the universal matter is pulling on the water! Don't tell me that because the force that could be created in that case would be completely different than the centrifugal force we are accustomed to. To better understand what I'm saying see the figure below. (Think about which arrows represent the familiar centrifugal force, and which ones depict the Machian one.)

Furthermore, keeping all the above things in mind, why does then the revolving speed of the water determine the amount of concavity? Think carefully, for the gravitational pull of the universal matter has nothing to do with the rotating speed of the water. (Don't tell me that a higher revolving speed creates a stronger centrifugal force! Think carefully about that.) And there is an even a more disturbing issue—as far as I'm concerned. Consider a ball rotating just like the water in Newton's experiment. Think now about the distribution of the universal matter and about the direction (relative to the ball) from where the gravitational pull should be the strongest. All things considered, that direction should clearly be right below the rotating ball (where the earth is). And yet, in spite of that, the rotating ball will bulge around its 'equator' and will flatten at both 'poles'—totally defying what should be the overwhelming gravity below it! Think about it, for this is not some trivial fact.

Anyone who is not wary of the fact that in the bucket experiment the so-called gravitational pull of the universal matter seems to occur strictly along the 'equatorial' axis of the water is showing a lot of haste and no wisdom at all. Anyone who does not have a gut feeling that it seems more natural that the rotation itself appears to generate some effects, rather than a dubious gravitational pull, should be very suspiciously regarded by those who consider themselves as having a God-given talent for physics. Thus I said many years ago, and thus I believe today.

So, what causes the concavity of the water surface in Newton's bucket experiment? Is there such a thing as absolute motion? Is there absolute space? From a purely esthetical point of view I always believed that the most prevalent aspect of the universal beauty is simplicity. And in trying to understand the wonders of the Universe we should never stray from that. KISS—keep it simple, stupid! But, of course, there are as many ideas about what simplicity-beauty is as there are human brains. In regards to motion and space I always felt that the most simple-beautiful thing should be this: All motion should be relative to absolute space. Could there be any other idea simpler than that? I defy you to find it. With that idea in mind I began then to look for absolute space. And where could I begin my search better than at the experiment that apparently proved that no absolute motion and no absolute space exist?