Will Bouwman wrote: ↑Fri Dec 27, 2024 2:37 pm
BigMike wrote: ↑Fri Dec 27, 2024 12:41 pmWill's point about "stories" was clearly a jab at the unscientific narratives people use to ascribe meaning beyond the observable and testable.
It's not a jab at anyone. If you ask a bunch of physicists who the greatest ever of their number was, many of them will say Isaac Newton. Here's something I wrote for Philosophy Now:
Having dismissed Descartes’ explanation of how gravitational attraction works, Newton included a passage known by a phrase that occurs in it: hypotheses non fingo – ‘I make no hypotheses’. He writes: “But hitherto I have not been able to discover the cause of those properties of gravity from phenomena, and I make no hypotheses. For whatever is not deduced from the phenomena, is to be called an hypothesis; and hypotheses, whether metaphysical or physical, whether of occult qualities or mechanical, have no place in experimental philosophy.” To Newton, an explanation of how something works isn’t essential to science; as long as the mathematical model gives us the power to map, predict, and manipulate our environment, the job of physics is done. As the passage concludes: “And to us it is enough, that gravity does really exist, and act according to the laws which we have explained, and abundantly serves to account for all the motions of the celestial bodies, and of our sea.” The explanation of why it works isn’t that important to science. As Osiander had said, what matters is, can you use the theory?
You can read the whole thing here:
https://philosophynow.org/issues/133/Ph ... _Millennia
Long story short: the explanation, hypothesis, story, call it what you will, that you attach to scientific theory can be useful in that it is much easier to manipulate a concept like warped spacetime, than it is to jiggle the numbers. However, it makes no difference to the utility of Einstein's field equation whether gravity is actually caused by warped spacetime.
Will, your point is well-taken, and the historical perspective you offer is both thoughtful and relevant. I’ve always admired Newton’s
hypotheses non fingo stance—it’s a reminder that science is fundamentally about utility and predictive power rather than metaphysical explanations.
I’d extend that admiration to Einstein’s work, particularly his original paper on general relativity. Reading it was like an incredible introductory course on tensor analysis—it balances mathematical elegance with profound clarity, making the underlying concepts far more approachable than many later interpretations. Einstein’s ability to frame gravity as warped spacetime doesn’t just serve as a practical model; it reshaped how we even think about the fabric of reality.
That said, I completely agree with your closing thought: whether gravity “is” warped spacetime or something else entirely doesn’t alter the utility of Einstein’s field equations. The beauty of physics lies in its ability to map, predict, and manipulate, regardless of whether our “stories” about the mechanisms align with ultimate truth. As Newton and Einstein both understood, science thrives on what works.
Isaac Newton was undeniably one of the greatest scientific minds in history, but his personality left much to be desired. Beneath his genius lay a man who was often insecure, combative, and deeply vindictive, which colored many of his interactions with contemporaries and shaped his legacy in more ways than one.
He had a knack for making enemies—and keeping them. One of his most infamous rivalries was with Robert Hooke, a fellow scientist at the Royal Society. Hooke claimed that Newton failed to properly credit his contributions to the study of gravitation, particularly the idea that celestial bodies followed elliptical orbits. Newton, not one to take criticism lightly, retaliated with a vengeance. As president of the Royal Society, he is alleged to have used his position to systematically erase Hooke’s contributions. No known portrait of Hooke survives, and many speculate Newton had a hand in this erasure, ensuring Hooke’s image was lost to history. Whether or not this is entirely true, it aligns with Newton’s penchant for holding grudges and using his power to settle personal scores.
His feud with Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz over the invention of calculus is another glaring example of Newton’s vindictiveness. Both men independently developed the foundational principles of calculus, but when Leibniz published his work first, Newton saw it as an affront. He accused Leibniz of plagiarism and spearheaded a campaign to discredit him. Newton even orchestrated an “impartial” investigation into the matter by the Royal Society, conveniently writing the committee’s findings himself—anonymously, of course—and predictably concluding that Newton was the true inventor. Leibniz’s reputation was tarnished, and he died with his name sullied by the controversy. Newton’s behavior in this episode was not merely defensive; it was actively destructive. According to Stephen Hawking, Newton wrote in his private journal about how much he enjoyed breaking Leibniz's heart after learning of his passing.
His prickly demeanor extended beyond professional rivalries. He was, by all accounts, a loner. He had few close friends and seemed to prefer his own company to the companionship of others. While some of this can be attributed to his intense focus and introverted nature, his disdain for social niceties and his willingness to alienate colleagues likely exacerbated his isolation. Newton wasn’t just socially awkward; he could be downright cruel when he felt slighted, which happened often.
Outside of his groundbreaking work in physics and mathematics, Newton’s interests veered into the bizarre. He was obsessed with alchemy, spending years attempting to uncover the secrets of the philosopher’s stone—a mythical substance said to grant eternal life and turn base metals into gold. This pursuit, while not uncommon for the time, seems odd given his otherwise rational mind. Newton also delved deeply into theology, convinced that the Bible contained hidden codes and divine truths waiting to be decoded. These obsessions consumed him to the point of paranoia, with Newton reportedly burning some of his papers and notes to keep his rivals from exploiting his work.
While Newton’s scientific contributions are unparalleled, his flaws are just as remarkable. He used his genius as a weapon, wielding his intellect to crush dissent and settle scores. He was quick to feel slighted, relentless in seeking retribution, and wholly unyielding in his opinions. His brilliance was undeniable, but it came with a cost—a legacy of brilliance tainted by vindictiveness, pettiness, and a life lived in the shadow of grudges and eccentricity.
His story is a reminder that genius does not equate to moral virtue. Behind his revolutionary discoveries in physics and mathematics lay a deeply human—and deeply flawed—individual whose insecurities and rivalries are as much a part of his history as the Principia.