Chickenosaurus lives! But should we really play God with genes?

In what has to be one of the biggest ‘ewwww-factor’ experiments in a while, paleontologists at Yale recently tweaked chicken DNA to give the birds toothed jaws, a bit like Velociraptor. Although there was a lot of work involved in finding out which two DNA strands to tamper with, the process apparently didn’t add anything to the chicken genome – it merely switched off protein-inhibitors that stopped existing genes from working.

Think Velociraptors were like Jurassic Park? Think again. They were about the size of a large turkey...and looked like this...

“I used to be a chicken. Now I’m a fake GMO Velociraptor. And I’m MAD!”

The result was dino-jaws instead of a beak. The fact that this could be done has been known since 2011. It’s just – well, the actual doing of it is a bit mad. We don’t know what gene-tampering will produce, and the team who did it were surprised by the extent of the changes they produced – the birds also developed dino-palates.

Still, this is just a lab test. I mean, what could possibly go wrong? Uh…yah…

It’s like this folks. Sure, science is cool. We wouldn’t have all the things we enjoy today without it. But sometimes, it goes overboard. And to me, this is one of those moments. OK, we can do it – but should we play God? We don’t actually know the consequences, and it worries me that we might find out the hard way.

I’m not talking horror movies – I doubt we’ll end up with Chickenosaurs lurking in dark corners, waiting to leap out on hapless humans, Jurassic Franchise style. But genetics can so often throw curve balls. What else does that genetic alteration do? We don’t know – and when we push the edges, when we industrialise science we don’t fully understand, bad shit happens, usually out of left field. The words ‘thalidomide’ (‘stops morning sickness’), radium (‘go on, lick the brush before you hand-paint the watch dial’) and one or two other tragic miscalculations spring to mind.

Tyrannosaur jaws. Makes Jaws look like Mr Gummy. Photo I took hand-held at 1/25, ISO 1600, f.35. Just saying. Click to enlarge.

Tyrannosaur jaws. Makes Jaws look like Mr Gummy. Photo I took hand-held at 1/25, ISO 1600, f.35. Just saying. Click to enlarge.

Plus side (a very, very small plus side) is that it looks like some science has come out of the experiment – specifically, how birds developed beaks rather than the toothed jaws of other dinosaurs. But that particular discovery, surely, didn’t need us to make a mutant Dinochicken to nail it home. We already know that birds didn’t ‘evolve from’ dinosaurs. They are dinosaurs; a specialist flying variety, but dinosaurs through and through. Just this year, paleontologists pushed back the likely origin of birds, meaning they lived alongside their cousins for much of the Jurassic and Cretaceous epochs – underscoring the fact that they were simply another variety, rather than descendants, of the dinosaur family.

The compelling picture has long since emerged showing how this all worked. Dinosaurs first emerged during the Triassic epoch. They differed from mammals and lizards, and though initially they were lizard-like (as were mammals – think ‘Synapsids’), dinosaurs developed their own unique form over time. They had pneumatised bones; many appear to have had feathers for insulation and display; they seem to have been warm-blooded; they laid eggs in nests and they slept with their head tucked under one arm. Many were bipedal, their mostly horizontal bodies balanced by long tails; and we know their arms were feathered – becoming wings in the flying variety.

Guanlong Wucaii - an early Tyrannosaur from China. Photo I took hand-held at 1/3 second exposure, ISO 800, f 5.6. I held my breath.

Guanlong Wucaii – an early Tyrannosaur from China. Photo I took hand-held at 1/3 second exposure, ISO 800, f 5.6. I held my breath.

Many dinosaur families, we now think, became progressively more like modern birds in appearance as time went on. By the Cretaceous period, many dinosaur types – certainly to judge by their fossils – couldn’t fly, but they were bipedal, glossy feathered and brightly coloured. Troodonts, for instance. We also think some had wattles, like turkeys. The feathered varieties confirmed so far include many members of the Tyrannosaur family, not all of which were the size of the one we know and love. Fact is that few dinosaurs were huge, and many species underwent a dramatic shrinking during the Cretaceous period.

Were we suddenly cast into a late Cretaceous forest, we’d find ourselves surrounded by dinosaurs – which to our eyes would look like funny (and quite small) ground-living ‘pseudo-birds’ with toothed ‘beak-like’ snouts. Other dinosaurs – recognisable to us as true birds – might also be in evidence. Birds, themselves, are thought to have lost their teeth and developed beaks around 116 million years ago, though some, such as Hesperornis, still had teeth more recently. Early birds, we think, were a bit rubbish at flying.

I'm on the right - a selfie I took with my SLR, green-screened and slightly foreshortened (uh.... thanks, guys) with some dinosaurs. Cool!

I’m on the right taking an SLR selfie while being mobbed by dinosaurs, thanks to the wonders of green screen.

When the K-T extinction event hit the planet 65 million years ago, it seems, flying dinosaurs (as in, birds) managed to survive it. They were then able to radiate out into new environmental niches, left empty by the extinction. On some of the continents, mammals also filled the niches left empty by dinosaurs. But not all.

Offshore islands – such as the New Zealand archipelago – retained their surviving dinosaur biota. And it’s intriguing that the larger New Zealand varieties – such as the moa (Dinornis)– have skeletal features and feather structure usually associated with ‘archaic’ bird fossils. They survived right up into the last millennium – succumbing, finally, when New Zealand became the last large habitable land mass on the planet to be settled by humans. And why did they die out? Alas, to judge by the industrial-scale oven complexes the Polynesian settlers built at river mouths, moa were delicious.

All of this was known well before we tried playing God with chicken genes. OK – the experiment can’t be undone. But do we need to do it again? I think not.

Copyright © Matthew Wright 2015

3D printed steak chips? It’s enough to make me go all hippy and vegetarian…

Human inventiveness seems limitless these days, so I wasn’t surprised to discover the other week that food technologists have been experimenting with 3d printed meat – currently produced, at astronomical expense, in the shape of chips.

Gallus gallus domesticus on Rarotonga, looking very much like the Red Jungle Fowl (Gallus gallus).

I’ll have my chicken free-range and wild, thanks…

Artificial food has been a long-standing SF staple – brilliantly played by Arthur C. Clarke in his hilarious 1961 satire ‘Food Of The Gods’. All food in this future was synthesised to the point where the very idea of eating something once alive had become offensive. Even the word ‘carnivore’ had to be spelt, lest it nauseate listeners, and synthetic meat had names unassociated with animals. In classic Clarke fashion, of course, there was a twist. Food synthesisers could produce anything. And there was this synth-meat called ‘Ambrosia Plus’, which sold like hotcakes until a rival company found out what the prototype was… (I won’t spoil the fun other than to point out that there’s a verb for a specific sort of meat-eating starting with ‘c’, and it isn’t ‘carnivore’.)

In the real world, 3D printed meat isn’t synthetic – it’s made of actual animal muscle cells which are artificially bred and then sprayed, in layers, to produce the product. Currently it’s a lab technique and the obvious challenge for its gainsayers is to find ways of industrialising it. Also of getting customers past the ‘ewwww’ factor of eating animal tissue bred in a petri dish and vomited into chip shape through a nozzle.

To my mind the key challenge is identifying the total energy requirement – printed meat may NOT be as efficient as current ‘natural’ methods of getting meat to your dinner table, where a large part of the energy comes from sunlight, via a grassy paddock and the digestive systems of ruminants.

Mercifully, we haven’t been told ‘This Is The Way ALL Meat Will Be Eaten In Future’, ‘The Future Is Now’ and other such dribble. Predictions of that sort pivot off the ‘recency effect’, by which whatever just happened is seen as far more important than it really is when set against the wider span of history. We fall into that trap quite often – often, these days, over products launched on the back of commercial ambition. What really happens is that the ‘way of the future’ idea joins a host of others. All of these then blend together and react with society in ways that eventually – and usually generationally – produces changes, but inevitably not the ones predicted by the ‘Future Is Here’ brigade.

In one of the ironies of the way we usually imagine our future, things that do dramatically change the way we live – such as the internet – are often not seen coming, or touted as game-changers. Certainly not in the way that food pills, flying cars and the cashless society have been.

As for artificial meat – well, I expect that if – IF – it can be industrialised, it’ll find a home in hamburger patties. But there seems little chance of it being mistaken for the real deal, still less supplanting a delicious slab of dead cow seared sirloin on the dinner table.

Copyright © Matthew Wright 2015

Time’s no illusion – unlike gravity. Weird but true!

It seems axiomatic these days, especially among the quantum woo set, to call ‘time’ an illusion – a perception. Of course this is scientific rubbish. There’s no question that humans perceive time in many ways, but in terms of physics time IS real, independent of how we sense its passage.

Solar flare of 16 April 2012, captured by NASA's Solar Dynamics Observatory. Image is red because it wa captured at 304 Angstroms. (NASA/SDO, public domain).

Solar flare of 16 April 2012, captured by NASA’s Solar Dynamics Observatory. Image is red because it wa captured at 304 Angstroms. (NASA/SDO, public domain).

Unlike gravity. That’s the irony, you see. Gravity’s an illusion? Why? Short answer is that the universe is actually weirder than the woo brigade know. Let me explain. According to our friend Albert Einstein, gravity doesn’t exist as a force. Of course, you might have a bit of difficulty imagining gravity is an illusion if you’ve just gone for a gutser down the front steps. But trust me – it is.

Here’s how it works.

Einstein’s Theory of General Relativity – coming up for its centenary and proven to be true, without exception, every time it’s tested – shows that space and time are one entity. A four-dimensional reality with up-down, left-right, forward-back and time.

This space-time fabric is distorted by mass/energy (the same thing in terms of how the universe works). The usual metaphor is to imagine a rubber sheet. Mass/energy can be envisaged as a bowling ball dropped into the sheet. It’ll sag, stretching and curving the rubber.

This rubber sheet, remember, reflects not just space but also time. Consequently, a large mass (or a lot of energy) alters the rate at which time passes. You experience that every day on your phone – its GPS relies on GPS satellites, which have to account for the difference in the rate of time between Earth’s surface and the altitude the satellite’s orbiting at. Time dilation is also caused by the velocity difference between the satellite and Earth’s surface – a function of Einstein’s earlier theory, Special Relativity – which adds to the mix.

GPS works by micro-precise time measurement. If the satellites didn’t take account of Einsteinian frame-dragging, they couldn’t pin the position of your phone to a few metres.

So. Time’s real. What about gravity? Well, that’s the kicker. All-round smart guy Sir Isaac Newton, co-inventor of calculus among other things, identified a relationship between mass and gravity. The larger the mass, the more gravity it has. Simple.

Albert Einstein lecturing in 1921 - after he'd published both the Special and General Theories of Relativity. Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

Albert Einstein lecturing in 1921 – after he’d published both the Special and General Theories of Relativity. Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

Newton’s theory worked perfectly well, even allowing mathematicians of the early nineteenth century to predict the presence of a new planet – Neptune – from the way it affected Uranus’ orbit. But there were points where it didn’t work. Mercury had orbital characteristics that couldn’t be fully explained by the tugs of all the known planets.

For a while, astronomers theorised there was another world inside Mercury’s orbit – Vulcan. But it could never be found. And then Einstein’s theory came along, and the whole need for Vulcan went away.

Gravity, Einstein explained, wasn’t a force at all. It was a function of mass, sure – but not quite the way Newton thought.

Instead, Einstein calculated, gravity was an effect of the curvature of space-time. Particles would always try to take the shortest route between two places. However, if space-time was curved, they’d be forced to take a curved path. The difference was what we perceived as gravity, an effect intimately associated with mass or – and this is the kicker – energy.

Energy? Sure. Special Relativity showed that mass and energy were different aspects of the same thing (a little mass = a LOT of energy – and go on, you KNOW the equation).

Enough energy, in short, would also distort space-time and, in effect, create its own ‘gravity’. And this was where Mercury came in. The pertubations in its orbit, according to Einstein, weren’t caused by a hidden planet. They were caused by the energy of the Sun itself, acting as an additional distortion in space-time. In 1919 that prediction was borne out when some very precise measurements were taken of Mercury’s position during a transit of the Sun. It was exactly where General Relativity said it should be, if gravity was actually a product of the curvature of space-time.

This was the first proof of the theory – and, as we’ve seen, it’s been shown to be true every which way, ever since.

Gravity, in short, wasn’t a force of itself; it was a function of the way space-time was distorted by mass/energy. This also explained why you couldn’t have anti-gravity, because gravity wasn’t a real force with polarity. It was a structural product of the way the universe worked, but not something real of itself.

The biggest question that came out of this, of course, wasn’t whether gravity was real, which it obviously wasn’t – but why time seemed to move only in one direction. And that’s something that hasn’t been answered. Yet.

More soon.

Copyright © Matthew Wright 2015

Do Nazi super soldiers have non-Nazi parts?

The other day somebody found my blog with a search string that I just had to commemorate in the title of this post.

Screen shot from Id's classic 1992 shooter Wolfenstein 3D. Which wasnt, actually, in 3D, but hey...

Zombie Robo Hitler? Well, it could be. This is from Id’s 1992 shooter ‘Wolfenstein 3D’. Which wasnt actually 3D, but hey…

The present tense worried me. Does somebody out there, you know – know something? I’ve always suspected that the Nazi leadership might have escaped in April 1945, perhaps using one of their atomic Luftwaffe UFOs, and even now are lurking in a secret Antarctic base, plotting a hideous revenge on the world.

Before we know it, their deranged super-soldiers – led, naturally, by zombie robo-Hitler – will be surging northwards to unleash new horror on the world. My worry is that my country, New Zealand, is likely to be in their way. I mean, the Nazis have had it in for us ever since the battle at Minqar Qa’im.

As for how many parts of their super-soldiers are ‘non-Nazi‘? Well, that depends on whether they decided to sub-contract to the cheapest third-party manufacturer, maybe a factory somewhere that sweat-shops T-shirts, evil atomic-powered knee joints, domestic appliances, biscuits, evil nuclear death ray projectors and so on.

The fact that outsourcing to the lowest bidder increases the chance of robo-Stormtroopers shorting out 38 seconds after the inevitable “Hände hoch, Neuseeländer schweine!” doesn’t alleviate my unease. The Nazis re-defined evil. Yet nobody has bothered to go looking for that secret Antarctic base. In fact, people laugh uproariously or look at you funny if you suggest it. But suppose it’s true? I mean, nobody’d care if they occupied Dipton. But if they get further north? It’s a worry.

Copyright © Matthew Wright 2015

Why does everything taste of chicken, except chicken?

I’ve always had an interest in discovering the secrets of the universe – you know, does dark matter exist, why we can’t have antigravity – and why every weird steak from crocodile to ocelot always has to taste of chicken.

Gallus gallus domesticus on Rarotonga, looking very much like the Red Jungle Fowl (Gallus gallus).

Gallus gallus domesticus on Rarotonga, looking very much like the original Red Jungle Fowl (Gallus gallus).

This last has been puzzling me a lot. Not least because even chicken doesn’t taste of chicken. I found that out in 2012 when I spent a few days in Rarotonga. Over there, chickens run wild – as in, not just free range. Wild. We had one perching on our breakfast table several days in a row, hoping to be fed. They don’t get soaked in antibiotics. They don’t get imprisoned in horrible conditions before being lightly killed, dropped through a macerator, and re-constituted into Chicken Niblets. They are entirely natural. And when anybody wants chicken – let’s say to add to the khorma I bought in an Indian restaurant in Awarua – they go out and catch one.

That natural living means that Rarotongan chickens don’t taste like battery chickens. Actually, they don’t even look like battery chickens. They look more like what they actually were before humans got at them, Red Jungle Fowls, which – like every other bird – are actually a variety of flying dinosaur. Recently a geneticist even found out how to switch on the gene that makes chickens grow dino-jaws instead of a beak, a discovery welcomed by other geneticists with loud cries of ‘nooooooo!’ and similar endorsements.

Here's the diorama - Velicoraptor mongoliensis, Dilong paradoxus, and, off to the right - yup, their close relative, Gallus Gallus. A chicken.

Think birds aren’t dinosaurs? Here’s Velicoraptor mongoliensis, Dilong paradoxus, and, off to the right – yup, their close relative, our friend Gallus Gallus domesticus.

I conclude from all of this that (a) what we call ‘chicken’ doesn’t actually taste of chicken; and (b) if I’m to define ‘tastes of chicken’, I should be thinking of Rarotongan chickens. And I have to say that of all the unusual stuff I’ve eaten over the years, few of them taste of it. For instance:

1. Snail (restaurant in Paris, Rue de Lafayette). These don’t taste of chicken. They taste of garlic flavoured rubber bands.
2. Ostrich (dinner to mark release of one of my books). Definitely not chicken, but could have been confused for filet steak.
3. Something unidentifiable in rice (riverside in Kanchanburi) I know it was meat. It didn’t taste of chicken or, in fact, anything else. I ate it anyway.
4. Goat (my house). Absolutely not chicken. More like a sort of super-strong mutton.
5. Venison (my house). Reminiscent of liver.
6. Duck (my house). Bingo! Yes, this actually did taste of Rarotongan chicken. And duck.

I can only conclude, on this highly – er – scientific analysis, that very little actually tastes of chicken, including chicken. But I may be wrong. Have you ever eaten anything that was meant to taste of chicken – but didn’t?

Copyright © Matthew Wright 2015

Quantum physics just might become rainbow gravity

One of the biggest problems with quantum physics – apart from the way it attracts new age woo – is that it doesn’t reconcile with Einstein’s General Theory of Relativity. The two don’t meet when it comes to gravity. And so one of the major thrusts of physics since the 1940s has been to find that elusive ‘theory of everything’.

The COBE satellite map of the CMB. NASA, public domain, via Wikipedia.

The COBE satellite map of the Cosmic Microwave Background. NASA, public domain, via Wikipedia.

We shouldn’t suppose, of course, that it’s ‘Einstein vs the world’. Our friend Albert was also pivotal to the development of quantum physics – he published, for example, the first paper describing quantum entanglement in 1935.

But he didn’t like this ‘spooky action at a distance’. To Einstein, intuitively, there was something missing from what he and fellow physicists Paul Dirac, Werner Heisenberg, Niels Bohr and others were finding. The so-called Copenhagen interpretation of their observations – which remains the basis of quantum physics today – didn’t ring true. The effects were clear enough (in fact, today we’ve built computers that exploit them), but the explanation wasn’t right.

Einstein’s answer was that he and his colleagues hadn’t yet found everything. And for my money, if Einstein figured there was something yet to discover – well, the onus is on to look for it.

The problem is that, since then, we haven’t found that missing element. All kinds of efforts have been made to reconcile quantum physics – which operates on micro-scales, below a Planck length – with the deterministic macro-universe that Einstein’s General Theory of Relativity described.

None have been compelling, not least because while the math works out for some ideas – like string theory – there has been absolutely no proof that these answers really exist. And while it’s tempting to be drawn by the way the language we’re using (maths) works, we do need to know it’s describing something real.

The Horsehead nebula, Barnard 33, as seen by Hubble. Wonderful, wonderful imagery.

The Horsehead nebula, Barnard 33, as seen by Hubble. Wonderful, wonderful imagery.

Of late, though, there have been proposals that Einstein was quite right. There WAS something missing. Not only that, but the Large Hadron Collider has a good chance of finding it soon, as it’s ramped up to max power.

Here’s how it works. We live in a four-dimensional universe (movement up-down, left-right, forward-back and time). It’s possible other dimensions and universes exist – this is a postulate of string theory. Another idea is that gravity ‘leaks’ between these universes. And this is where the LHC comes in. Currently, in its souped-up new form, the LHC can generate enough energy to produce a micro-sized black hole.

Exactly what this would mean, though, is up for debate. The results could point to some very different models of the universe than the one we’ve been wrestling with since the 1940s.

It could mean that string theory is correct – and provide the first proof of it.

Or, if the black hole is formed while the LHC is running at specified energies, it could mean that ‘rainbow gravity’ is correct. This is a controversial hypothesis – built from Einstein’s theory of Special Relativity – in which the curvature of space-time (caused by the presence of mass) is also affected by the act of observing it. This implies that gravity (which is a function of that curvature) affects particles of different energies, differently. Basically, the wavelength of light (red) is affected differently than a higher (blue). We can’t detect the variance in normal Earth environments, but it should be detectable around a black hole. And if it’s true then – by implication – the Big Bang never happened, because the Big Bang is a function of the way gravity behaves in General Relativity. It also makes a lot of the paradoxes and mysteries associated with bleeding-edge physics go away, because according to rainbow gravity, space-time does not exist below a certain (Planck level) scale.

Another possibility is that the ability of the LHC to make black holes could mean that a ‘parallel universe’ theory is right, and the Copenhagen intepretation isn’t the right explanation for the ‘quantum’ effects we’re seeing. This last is yet another explanation for quantum effects. By this argument what we’re seeing is not weirdness at all, but merely ‘jittering’ at very small scales where multiple universes overlap. These are not the ‘multiple universes’ that Hugh Everett theorised to follow quantum wave function collapse. They are normal Einsteinian universes, where particles are behaving in a perfectly ordinary manner. The math, again, can be made to work out – and actually was, last year, at Griffith University in Queensland, Australia.

It also suggests that our friend Albert was right …again.

Copyright © Matthew Wright 2015

My gripe about the misappropriation of quantum physics by new age woo

A  few years ago I ended up consulting someone over a health matter. This guy seemed to be talking sense, until he started up about ‘quantum healing’. Bad move. You see, I ‘do’ physics.

Artwork by Plognark http://www.plognark.com/ Creative Commons license

Artwork by Plognark http://www.plognark.com/ Creative Commons license

One of his associates had a machine that used low voltage DC electricity to ‘heal’ by ‘quantum’ effects. This was gibberish, of course, and a brief discussion made clear that (a) the meaning of ‘quantum’ didn’t correlate with anything I knew from the work of Paul Dirac, Niels Bohr, Werner Heisenberg and the rest; and (b) invoking the word, alone, sufficed as a full explanation of how this ‘treatment’ worked.

It was, in short, total snake oil. The science is clear: quantum effects – the real ones – don’t work at macro-level. The end.

That’s why ‘quantum jumping’, ‘quantum healing’ and the rest is rubbish. I don’t doubt that ‘quantum healers’ occasionally get results. The placebo effect is well understood. And maybe sometimes they hit on something that does work. But it won’t be for the reasons they state.

Niels Bohr in 1922. Public domain, from Wikipedia.

Niels Bohr in 1922. Public domain, from Wikipedia.

The way quantum physics has been co-opted by new age woo is, I suppose, predictable. The real thing is completely alien to the deterministic world we live in. To help explain indeterminate ‘quantum’ principles, the original physicists offered deterministic metaphors (‘Schroedinger’s cat’) that have since been taken up as if they represented the actual workings of quantum physics.

From this emerged the misconception that the human mind is integral with the outcomes of quantum events, such as the collapse of wave functions. That’s a terribly egocentric view. Physics is more dispassionate; wave-functions resolve without human observation. Bohr pointed that out early on – the experimental outcome is NOT due to the presence of the observer.

What, then, is ‘quantum physics’? Basically, it is an attempt to explain the fact that, when we observe at extremely small scales, the universe appears ‘fuzzy’. The ‘quantum’ explanation for this fuzziness emerged in the first decades of the twentieth century from the work of Max Planck; and from a New Zealander, Ernest Rutherford, whose pioneering experiments with particle physics helped trigger a cascade of analysis. Experiments showed very odd things happening, such as pairs of particles appearing ‘entangled’, meaning they shared the same measurable properties despite being physically separated.This was described in 1935 by Einstein, Podolsky and Rosen – here’s their original paper.

Part of this boiled down to the fact that you can’t measure when the measuring tool is the same size as what you’re measuring. Despite attempts to re-describe measurement conceptually, then and since (e.g. Howard, 1994), this doesn’t seem to be possible at ‘quantum level’. That makes particles (aka ‘waves’) appear indeterminate.

Albert Einstein lecturing in 1921 - after he'd published both the Special and General Theories of Relativity. Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

Albert Einstein lecturing in 1921. Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

All this is lab stuff, and a long way from new age woo, but it’s what got people such as Einstein, Dirac, Heisenberg, Bohr and others thinking during the early twentieth century. From that emerged quantum physics – specifically, the Copenhagen interpretation, the accepted version of how it’s meant to work. And it does produce results – we’ve built computers that operate via the superposition-of-particle principle. They generate ‘qbits’, for instance, by holding ions in a Paul trap, which operates using radio-frequency AC current – not DC.

The thing is, quantum theory is incompatible with the macro-universe, which Albert Einstein explained in 1917. Yet his General Theory of Relativity has been proven right. Repeatedly. Every time, every test. He was even right about stuff that wasn’t discovered when he developed the theory. Most of us experience how right he was every day – you realise General Relativity makes GPS work properly? Orbiting GPS satellites have to account for relativistic frame-dragging or GPS couldn’t nail your phone’s location to a metre or so.

So far nobody has been able to resolve the dissonance between deterministic macro- and indeterminate-micro scales.  A ‘theory of everything’ has been elusive. Explanations have flowed into the abstract – for instance, deciding that reality consists of vibrating ‘strings’. But no observed proof has ever been found.

Lately, some physicists have been wondering. ‘Quantum’ effects work in the sense described – they’ve been tested. But is the ‘quantum’ explanation for those observations right? Right now there are several other potential explanations – some resurrected from old ideas – that will be tested when Large Hadron Collider starts running at full power. All these hypotheses suggest that Einstein was right to be sceptical about the Copenhagen interpretation, which he believed was incomplete.

These new (old) hypotheses make the need to reconcile Copenhagen-style quantum physics with Einstein’s relativistic macro-scale world go away. They also have the side effect of rendering new age ‘quantum’ invocations even more ridiculous. More soon.

Copyright © Matthew Wright 2015