I just finished reading a highly enjoyable book by Leonard Mlodinow, called "Feynman's Rainbow" (Warner Books, 2003). Enjoyable, yes, but I admit it was a guilty pleasure. Mlodinow is a nudnik who happened also to be a new PhD in physics at Caltech. As he tells it, they gave him this spiffy fellowship to be there and study anything he wanted within the field, but he simply ran out of ideas. He had no clue what to pursue as a research interest. He had had one brilliant moment in theoretical physics, and after that nothing happened for him. But his office was right near that of the famous Richard Feynman, so he decided to ask the wise man. The book recounts Mlodinow's conversations with Feynman about creativity in physics, how scientists think, and life in general. These conversations were transcribed and edited from tapes which Mlodinow made with Feynman's permission. I find it incredible that Feynman would have allowed such a thing, but I guess he felt generous. Mlodinow bothered Richard Feynman so that we readers wouldn't have to, thus the guilty pleasure. M. has many hilarious and snarky passages describing some of his colleagues at Caltech, fortunately obscured with pseudonyms. He also bravely attempts to describe some of the new physics that was being done at the place, including trendy string theory.

This book also gave me valuable information (more guilty pleasure) about what life is like among the hallowed halls of the world of elite physicists. I've always been fascinated by these specialized slivers of society, whether it be that of priests at the Vatican, mens' secret societies, Jesuits, or Greek mystery cults. They possess privileged and incredibly complex information, understood only by their own kind, which they handle and exchange with a kind of macho nonchalance.

At the time Mlodinow was interviewing him, Feynman was already suffering from the cancer that would eventually kill him, but he kept on working. Mlodinow would appear at Feynman's door, evading the protective secretary who tried to keep unnecessary visitors away from the great man. Despite Feynman's obvious annoyance at Mlodinow's intrusion, Mlodinow managed to gather some interesting wisdom once he had gotten Feynman to talk, which evidently wasn't too hard to do. This "science wisdom literature" addresses many of the questions I've wanted to know about scientists, especially theoretical physicists, for some time. Like: how do they know what to work on? And how do they begin an inquiry? How does an experiment get conceived? What makes a person want to do physics in the first place? What keeps a person doing it when the work is often tedious and unrewarding? How does scientific creativity compare with artistic creativity?

This last one of course is a major interest of mine, and so I'll quote a passage from one of the Feynman tapes on it. Feynman is talking about science versus fiction writing:

"…I think it's much harder to do what a scientist does, to figure out or imagine what's there, than it is to imagine fiction, that is, things that aren't there…But the scientist's imagination always is different from a writer's in that it is checked. A scientist imagines something and then God says "incorrect" or "so far so good." God is experiment, of course…A writer or artist can imagine something and certainly can be dissatisfied with it artistically, or aesthetically, but that isn't the same degree of sharpness and absoluteness that the scientist deals with. For the scientist there is this God of Experiment that might say, "That's pretty, my friend, but it's not real." That's a big difference."

Feynman continues:

"Suppose there was some great God of Aesthetics. And then whenever you made a painting, no matter how much you liked it, no matter how much it satisfied you…anyway you would submit it to the great God of Aesthetics and the god would say, "This is good," or "This is bad." After a while the problem is for you to develop an aesthetic sense that fits with this thing, not just your own personal feelings about it. That is more analogous to the kinds of creativity we have in science."

Well here I must add my own two dinars' worth and say that as an artist who sells paintings and prints, and does commissions, my work is indeed judged by the great God of Aesthetics, and Her name is THE CLIENT. All right, that is a flippant comment. But seriously, I don't quite agree with Feynman. I believe there is an absolute aesthetic standard for art. Some of the criteria I would propose for something being "good" art would be seriousness, that the art addresses universal human or natural concerns especially tragic ones, difficulty, that the art is not easily appreciated by just anyone, but takes some thinking and reflection to enjoy, and technical superiority, that it's done really well. Of course these are my subjective criteria, which I learned from a particular artistic culture, and they are endlessly arguable. I'd like to think that Feynman is right when he claims that science is "sharp" and "absolute," but if so, why do scientists argue with each other so much?

This book belongs to a larger body of literature which has been called "scientific hagiography." It's the account of a poor pilgrim, Mlodinow, who visits the cell of the dying saint, Feynman. Feynman, unlike the somber, restrained saints of Christianity, is a saint for our current era and values: iconoclastic, romantic, brilliant, childlike, and sexy. There's a whole literary industry promoting Saint Feynman, including a "devil's advocate," the other brilliant physicist of his day, Murray Gell-Mann.

As for Mlodinow, after floundering about, and surviving a cancer scare of his own, he eventually gave in to his desire to be a writer, and ended up (to the horror of his physics professors) writing for TV shows including STAR TREK NEXT GENERATION. Now he is an editor for Scholastic Books, as well as a writer on mathematical and scientific subjects. Many thanks to Leonard Mlodinow for giving me an entertaining peek into the world of the scientific major leaguers.

Trigonometry grinds to a halt

I'm having a bit of a Mlodinow moment myself. After attempting twice to learn how to work with trigonometric identities, and failing both times, I'm stymied. I have no clue how to turn these formulas into other formulas, and how to solve equations with them. And yet I'm informed that this is essential for calculus. Vectors were easier. I'm wondering, what do I do now? I begin questioning my whole purpose here. Why am I trying to learn this material? Why do I want to learn physics when there is zero possibility that I will actually do work in the field? (I don't intend to change my career, I still want to do art.) I sat with some very kindly friends last night and recalled the blazing enthusiasm that filled me after my visit to Fermilab back in 2000. I am told that even those elite scientists (not just Mlodinow, but the stars) have moments where they don't know where they are in their work and what they should do next. But unlike Mlodinow, I don't have access to any scientists to ask them, nor would they have the time to tell me. I need to re-assess my motivation and my purpose, and when I do, you'll read about it here.

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