Gargh, proto-humanity’s foremost physicist 2.5 million years ago, opened a practical investigation into how motion works. “I throw rock, hit food beast, beast fall down yes. Beast stay down no. Need better rock.” For the next couple million years, we put quite a lot of effort into making better rocks and better ways to throw them. Less effort went into understanding throwing.
There seemed to be two kinds of motion. The easier kind to understand was direct contact — “I push rock, rock move yes. Rock stop move when rock hit thing that move no.” The harder kind was when there wasn’t direct contact — “I throw rock up, rock hit thing no but come back down. Why that?”
Gargh was the first but hardly the last physicist to puzzle over the Action-At-A-Distance problem (a.k.a. “AAAD”). Intuition tells us that between pusher and pushee there must be a concrete linkage to convey the push-force. To some extent, the history of physics can be read as a succession of solutions to the question, “What linkage induces this apparent case of AAAD?”
Most of humanity was perfectly content with AAAD in the form of magic of various sorts. To make something happen you had to wish really hard and/or depend on the good will of some (generally capricious) elemental being.
Aristotle wasn’t satisfied with anything so unsystematic. He was just full of theories, many of which got in each other’s way. One theory was that things want to go where they’re comfortable because of what they’re made of — stones, for instance, are made of earth so naturally they try to get back home and that’s why we see them fall downwards (no concrete linkage, so it’s still AAAD).
Unfortunately, that theory didn’t account for why a thrown rock doesn’t just fall straight down but instead goes mostly in the direction it’s thrown. Aristotle (or one of his followers) tied that back to one of his other theories, “Nature hates a vacuum.” As the rock flies along, it pushes the air aside (direct contact) and leaves a vacuum behind it. More air rushes in to fill the vacuum and pushes the rock ahead (more direct contact).
We got a better (though still AAAD) explanation in the 17th Century when physicists invented the notions of gravity and inertia.
Newton made a ground-breaking claim in his Principia. He proposed that the Solar System is held together by a mysterious AAAD force he called gravity. When critics asked how gravity worked he shrugged, “I do not form hypotheses” (though he did form hypotheses for light and other phenomena).
Inertia is also AAAD. Those 17th Century savants showed that inertial forces push mass towards the Equator of a rotating object. An object that’s completely independent of the rest of the Universe has no way to “know” that it’s rotating so it ought to be a perfect sphere. In fact, the Sun and each of its planets are wider at the equator than you’d expect from their polar diameters. That non-sphere-ness says they must have some AAAD interaction with the rest of the Universe. A similar argument applies to linear motion; the general case is called Mach’s Principle.

The ancients knew of the mysterious AAAD agents electricity and its fraternal twin, magnetism. However, in the 19th Century James Clerk Maxwell devised a work-around. Just as Newton “invented” gravity, Maxwell “invented” the electromagnetic field. This invisible field isn’t a material object. However, waves in the field transmit electromagnetic forces everywhere in the Universe. Not AAAD, sort of.
It wasn’t long before someone said, “Hey, we can calculate gravity that way, too.” That’s why we now speak of a planet’s gravitational field and gravitational waves.
But the fields still felt like AAAD because they’re not concrete. Some modern physicists stand that objection on its head. Concrete objects, they say, are made of atoms which themselves are nothing more than persistent fluctuations in the electromagnetic and gravitational fields. By that logic, the fields are what’s fundamental — all motion is by direct contact.
Einstein moved resolutely in both directions. He negated gravity’s AAAD-ness by identifying mass-contorted space as the missing linkage. On the other hand, he “invented” quantum entanglement, the ultimate spooky AAAD.
~~ Rich Olcott



It would have been awesome to watch Dragon Princes in battle (from a safe hiding place), but I’d almost rather have witnessed “The Tussles in Brussels,” the two most prominent confrontations between Albert Einstein and Niels Bohr.
Like Newton, Einstein was a particle guy. He based his famous thought experiments on what his intuition told him about how particles would behave in a given situation. That intuition and that orientation led him to paradoxes such as entanglement, the
Bohr was six years younger than Einstein. Both Bohr and Einstein had attained Directorship of an Institute at age 35, but Bohr’s has his name on it. He started out as a particle guy — his first splash was a trio of papers that treated the hydrogen atom like a one-planet solar system. But that model ran into serious difficulties for many-electron atoms so Bohr switched his allegiance from particles to Schrödinger’s wave theory. Solve a Schrödinger equation and you can calculate statistics like
Here’s where Ludwig Wittgenstein may have come into the picture. Wittgenstein is famous for his telegraphically opaque writing style and for the fact that he spent much of his later life disagreeing with his earlier writings. His 1921 book, Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus (in German despite the Latin title) was a primary impetus to the Logical Positivist school of philosophy. I’m stripping out much detail here, but the book’s long-lasting impact on QM may have come from its Proposition 7: “Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent.“




Information transfer at infinite speed? Of course not, because neither hungry person knows what’s in either box until they open one or until they exchange information. Even Skype operates at light-speed (or slower).






Suppose you’re playing goalie in an inverse tennis game. There’s a player in each service box. Your job is to run the net line using your rackets to prevent either player from getting a ball into the opposing half-court. Basically, you want the ball’s locations to look like the single-node yellow shape up above. You’ll have to work hard to do that.






I was only 10 years old but already had Space Fever thanks to Chesley Bonestell’s artwork in Collier’s and Life magazines. I eagerly joined the the movie theater ticket line to see George Pal’s Destination Moon. I loved the Woody Woodpecker cartoon (it’s 12 minutes into the 

