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368 pages, Hardcover
First published May 15, 2018
Such a peer group of mathematical objects is called, in a deliberate nod to Aristotle and Kant, a category. One category may consist of abstract surfaces. These surfaces play together, in the sense that there are natural ways of going back and forth between them that respect their general form. For example, if two surfaces have the same number of holes - like a donut and a coffee mug - one surface can, mathematically, be smoothly transformed into the other
"The most plausible answer," Dyson said, "is that conscious life will take the form of interstellar dust clouds." <...> "An ever-expanding network of charged dust particles, communicating by electromagnetic forces, has all the complexity necessary of thinking an infinite number of novel thoughts."
But, I objected, can we really imagine such a wispy thing <...> being conscious?
"Well," he said, "how do you imagine a couple of kilograms of protoplasm in someone's skull being conscious?
Some decades ago, the Princeton physicist John Archibald Wheeler began to wonder whether Heisenberg's uncertainty principle might not have some deep connection to Gödel's incompleteness theorem <...>. Both, after all, seem to place inherent limits on what is possible to know. But such speculation can be dangerous. "Well, one day," Wheeler recounts, "I was at the Institute for Advanced Study, and I went to Gödel's office, and there was Gödel. It was winter and Gödel had an electric heater and had his legs wrapped in a blanket. I said, 'Professor Gödel, what connection do you see between your incompleteness theorem and Heisenberg's uncertainty principle?' And Gödel got angry and threw me out of his office."
And if he was sometimes in over his head, it is because he chose to wade through the deepest waters.
De Prony found his inspiration in Adam Smith’s Wealth of Nations—specifically, in Smith’s account of the division of labor in a pin factory. Hiring a hundred or so Parisian hairdressers who had been thrown out of work when their clients lost their pompadoured heads to guillotines during the Reign of Terror, de Prony set up a kind of arithmetic assembly line that would, as he put it, “manufacture logarithms as one manufactures pins.” The individual hairdressers had no special mathematical abilities: all they could do was add, subtract, and cut hair. The intelligence was in their organization.
Why should we want the universe to last forever, anyway? Look—either the universe has a purpose or it doesn’t. If it doesn’t, then it is absurd. If it does have a purpose, then there are two possibilities: either this purpose is eventually achieved, or it is never achieved. If it is never achieved, then the universe is futile. But if it is eventually achieved, then any further existence of the universe is pointless. So, no matter how you slice it, an eternal universe is either (a) absurd, (b) futile, or (c) eventually pointless.
As long as there are no decisive arguments for or against the existence of God, a certain number of smart people will go on believing in him, just as smart people reflexively believe in other things for which they have no knockdown philosophical arguments, like free will, or objective values, or the existence of other minds.