by Marie Harbon
Paul heard a murmur from the audience, along with a few subtle chuckles.
“I conclude this lecture with more questions. Where is quantum theory taking us? Will our reality be further shattered, our quantum experiences breaking the bottom of the proverbial pail? Will the world change beyond recognition because of this? What applications will we find for this new knowledge? And where, if any place whatsoever, is there room for God? Any questions?”
Silence greeted Paul’s ears. Most of the audience pondered the lecture, temporarily existing in their own universe, either parallel, quantum or classical. A flashbulb fired, capturing Paul and his audience for posterity, yet still no one dared ask a question. Most lectures were never short of those willing to attempt the opening of Pandora’s Box, to be oppositional or controversial, to challenge the contemporary notions of science.
Then, finally someone spoke up, a fairly unassuming man in his early twenties who appeared to be bamboozled by the lecture.
“You said that atoms are full of empty space. Explain to me why things look and feel solid.”
Okay, a good start.
“Well…think of a bicycle wheel,” Paul began. “The spokes represent solid matter, or to be more exact, the neutrons and electrons in the atom with space in between, right?” The unassuming man nodded, so Paul continued. “When the wheel spins fast, representing the vibration or jiggling of the atoms, the spokes blur and look solid. If you reach out and touch them, they repel your fingers. They feel so solid that you wouldn’t be able to pass your hand right through them. When the wheel stops, or vibration ceases, they look and feel solid no more.”
The man smiled, no longer as bamboozled.
“So, if the neutrons and electrons stopped jiggling about, we can walk through walls?”
“Theoretically!”
The audience laughed.
“But,” the man added, “What’s in the empty space?”
A tough one to answer, but it didn’t faze Paul.
“Physicists aren’t certain what it contains, if anything at all.”
“Isn’t it full of the ether?” the man countered.
“Science considers the ether to be an archaic concept, akin to hogwash. It originated with the Greeks and referred to a universal field of energy that connects everything, it was the air breathed by the Gods. Pythagoras and Aristotle saw it as the fifth element of creation, along with air, fire, water, and Earth. Many of the greatest minds in history, including Einstein, believed in the ether, saying it was necessary for the laws of physics to work.”
“Well, if so many great minds believed in it, why isn’t it an accepted part of science?” the man pointed out.
“Because science requires proof, not faith. In 1887, two men set up an experiment to prove the existence of ether. Just as we’re able to detect a breeze blowing a field of corn, they proposed that it was possible to detect the ether in a similar way. They shot two rays of light simultaneously in different directions, thinking that one ray would experience resistance in the way that when, we say, cycle into the wind, our progress is slowed. However, no ether wind was detected, and the hypothesis was disproved. This result has hindered the concept of ether in its quest to be taken seriously.”
The audience looked fascinated and the man nodded, listening attentively.
“Do you believe in the ether, Dr Eldridge?”
Paul looked thoughtful then replied, “I’d have to concur with Konrad Finagle…if we took the empty space away from the universe, everything would crunch together into a volume no larger than an apple. Whatever lies in that empty space stops everything happening in the same place.”
At this point, someone else stepped forward, a woman who he could have sworn was never in the audience but, nevertheless, spoke as if she had listened intently to the whole lecture. She was tall and rather striking, with hair as black as ebony swept up in an elegant forties chignon. Oddly, she wore a pair of large sunglasses. With clothing typical of the war years, she blended in with the audience, although she wore an exquisite red, silk scarf around her neck, which didn’t seem to match her attire. Her ethnicity seemed ambiguous though, and she appeared to be Mediterranean in origin.
“Dr. Eldridge, why didn’t Einstein finish his Unified Field Theory?”
The audience looked uncomfortable as the woman spoke her question with unaccustomed authority and confidence, for a female in the forties.
Paul stared at her momentarily, as her directness made him feel a combination of curiosity and admiration. He chose to address her as a scientist, and not just merely as a woman.
“Maybe he realised what an enormous undertaking it was to develop a theory that explains everything. Or, possibly the equations didn’t add up. I believe he simply wasn’t satisfied with the theory and abandoned it, but he may complete it one day.”
“I see what you’re saying, but do you think he thought the world wasn’t ready?”
Paul had never contemplated the sociological pitfalls.
“I think as physicists, we are already accepting the new reality. Our perceptions of what we perceive to be real and illusory are altering rapidly.”
“Perceptions of reality…there are many, many levels of reality… I mean ready to use the knowledge wisely.”
He overlooked the latter implications of that statement in favour of her first comment, as she actually mentioned multiple levels of reality. For a moment, her observation caught him off guard, but he forced himself to address the question. Paul never really thought of anything other than philosophical or scientific applications for quantum theory, or electromagnetic research. The ethical, psychological, and sociological considerations usually received little thought. Was the world ready? Most of his peers simply wanted to comprehend creation, the universe, its structure, its alpha and omega.
“Have you heard of the Philadelphia Experiment?” she continued.
Curious, he prompted her. “Please, enlighten us.”
“A few years ago, the American Navy conducted an experiment to make a destroyer class ship radar invisible. It not only made the ship invisible to radar, it made the ship invisible to the human eye. The ship vanished and some say it re-appeared in Chesapeake Bay, others say it briefly visited another reality.”
The audience began to react with incredulity, although Paul tried to remain open minded.
“If this is true, why hasn’t this been more widely applied, or, for that matter, why hasn’t the study been published?”
“Something went wrong, although the experiment was a success, the men were failures and their minds couldn’t cope with the experience. This is not something the Navy would want to broadcast.”
Paul sincerely wanted to clarify the truth or falsehood of the matter, but also how she seemed to have gained access to knowledge of top secret information. Instead, he asked another question, it never paid to be too direct.
“How was invisibility achieved?”
“By means of a powerful electro-magnetic field,” she answered.
Now that came under his jurisdiction.
“Could you explain in more detail?” Paul queried, hoping to blow her ruse.
“The experiment was based upon Einstein’s Unified Field Theory and involved the use of naval type magnetic generators, called degaussers. They pulsed at certain frequencies, creating a tremendous magnetic field on and around the ship. As there are three planes, or three dimensions of space, there were three fields: the first two created at right angles to each other and the third produced by the magnetic pulses, or frequencies. The use of powerful magnetic resonance is equivalent to obliteration in our dimension, and our delicate human minds are not ready for this.”
She rendered Paul speechless with her technical competence. Where did this information come from? Now he desperately wanted to know.
“We should be very careful how we use new knowledge,” she added. “There are consequences.”
“Just look at the atomic bomb!” a middle aged man interj
ected. “I’m sure Einstein doesn’t sleep well at night anymore, if he hadn’t written E=MC squared on a blackboard at the turn of the century, think of the thousands in Hiroshima and Nagasaki that would be alive today!”
An Indian man, who had remained quiet so far, now spoke up. “When Oppenheimer watched the first atomic blast at Alamogordo, he said ‘if the radiance of a thousand suns were to burst at once in the sky that would be like the splendour of the Mighty One… I am become Death, the Destroyer of Worlds.’”
“The Mahabharata...” Paul mused.
Another man now spoke out loudly, clearly, and confidently. The Mediterranean woman, who’d discussed the invisibility experiment, turned to look and appeared to recognise the new speaker, although he didn’t acknowledge her. He’d listened intently to Paul throughout the lecture, remaining thoughtful during the open question session, but now he had a burning question to ask.
“Dr. Eldridge, I find your lecture and quantum physics fascinating. May I pose a philosophical question?”
“I’m open to any question a person may wish to ask,” Paul replied, watching the woman who’d just disclosed a top secret project begin to walk towards the door.
“These electromagnetic fields and quantum particles you spoke of,” the questioner continued, “and even the ether… could they form the basis of the human soul?”
Now that was the question of the millennium. How could he reply to that? The query failed to arouse his curiosity at that moment, as he became tantalised by an improbable experiment that could potentially reveal another layer of reality. Watching the woman disappear through the door to the lecture theatre, he excused himself to follow her. However, when he ran through the door, she was nowhere in sight. It was as if she’d disappeared into thin air.
***
A year later, Paul faced a group of students in the same lecture theatre, concluding a seminar on electromagnetic forces. As he collated his notes, his students rose from their benches, stuffing papers into their satchels. Once the room emptied, Paul made his way to the exit, finding a man he vaguely recognised sitting at the back, right next to the door.
His dark hair had a smidgeon of wave, giving the appearance of being tended by an expensive stylist, despite being a typical forties cut. He had brown eyes, which seemed placid and gentle in some ways, but possessed a hard and pragmatic edge. Overall, he was a very handsome man, blessed with charm and an intriguing sexual charisma. He exuded expensive taste, wearing a personally tailored suit and gold watch. When Paul reached the door, he spoke.
“Do you remember me?”
Paul hesitated, trying to place him. “Yes, I believe you attended one of my lectures about a year ago.”
“My name’s Max Richardson.” He stood up and extended his hand, which Paul shook, finding a firm grip. “Do you recall the question I asked you?”
Paul struggled with the recollection, so Max filled him in.
“I wanted to know if quantum particles or the ether constitutes the human soul, and you never answered my question.”
Ah yes, that question.
“As far as I know, no one has risked their scientific reputation to study it,” Paul answered.
“Aren’t you curious?”
Usually Paul warmed to people easily, but Max had an odd aura that was difficult to place.
“Why are you here?” he queried, warily.
“To offer you an opportunity, an ambitious leap in your scientific aspirations.”
One part of Paul remained content teaching undergraduates and infecting others with his scientific enthusiasm, the other part of him cried out to be challenged. He listened as Max continued.
“You were born on February 21st 1921, the youngest of three children. Your father headed the local grammar school, and your mother was devoted to the church. Identified early as a child prodigy with an aptitude for science, your father guided you accordingly. After graduating with a first class degree in physics, you lost your fiancée in a World War II blitz and immersed yourself in a PhD, studying the quantum world.”
Paul gripped his briefcase tightly, still cautious.
“I commend you on your research skills, Mr. Richardson.”
He pushed on the oak door and exited the lecture theatre, so Max followed.
“You have a religious background,” Max continued as they walked down a corridor, students milling around them. “Your view of the cosmos is tinged by childhood ideologies of God, and in your lectures, you have expressed a desire to find Him in the cosmological equation. However, you profess the advancement of science is the single most important quest for mankind. How do you reconcile these…antitheses?”
Paul gave a simple and concise answer. “I don’t.”
They halted in the corridor, as Max’s words touched a raw nerve and Paul decided to hear him out.
“Have you ever had the opportunity to discover something deeply spiritual in your research, your work?”
Paul replied cynically. “Science does everything it can to disprove there is anything beyond the material world.”
“I have been involved in scientific research that has placed me in a wealthy position, not the sort of work I can discuss freely. War creates the need to experiment, to bring about destruction of the enemy, to defend your country using whatever measures necessary. However, it has also placed me in a position to divert some funding to pose some philosophical and spiritual questions.”
Paul listened intently, so Max continued.
“I think you’re the man to undertake this. You have spiritual desire and enthusiasm, but also a scientific, enquiring mind that requires evidence. I’m the businessman, the shrewd investor. You’re the genius, the child prodigy, the anathema to this sterile, reductionist world. I agree, science would like to destroy God, but I believe it’s possible to prove the existence of the human soul, to comprehend consciousness, and to unite quantum reality with the realm of mysticism.”
Paul stood facing him quietly. Max portrayed himself as some kind of philanthropist, but he wasn’t entirely convinced of his motives even though Max had allied himself with Paul’s frustrations and aspirations. He’d tempted him with the correct bait, and Paul considered allowing Max to reel him in.
“Would this role be as a research fellow?”
“Regard yourself as autonomous; you can prioritise the research within the boundaries of my objectives.”
Paul laughed, without mocking the offer. “This sounds too good to be true.”
“Maybe it’s your destiny.”
He paused before firing off the next question.
“What are the intended applications for this research? Or is it purely philosophical?”
“In your lecture last year, you talked about electromagnetic fields and quantum particles. Maybe this is the form the soul takes…it could be the energy of existence itself. I want to understand this as much as you do, see how it slots into the bigger picture.”
It did sound too good to be true. Was it worth quitting his job at the university to chase his research dreams? Max could be offering the chance to pursue something any physics graduate would grovel at his feet for, or he could be leading him astray to follow a pipe dream.
“This is an outstanding opportunity, but I can’t just abandon my students. I could also spend the rest of my life working on this…there may be no results within your timeframe.”
“Your work will be of immense importance,” Max insisted.
He handed Paul a card.
“I’ll be expecting your acceptance by telephone.”
Paul clutched the card and watched Max walk away down the corridor, the potential of that opportunity hanging in the air. Glancing down, he saw a telephone number neatly typed on the card. Should he jump at the challenge, or continue his life as a university lecturer?
2
The Establishment
Writing my memoirs is a bizarre thing to do. I’m not famous, as no one would recognise either my face or my name, yet, I‘ve
led a full, enriched, and most peculiar life. I’d hardly believe it myself and these memoirs may read like a work of science fiction, still, I feel compelled to put pen to paper, or finger to typewriter to record the absurdities of my life. Maybe this will help me put things into perspective and understand why events progressed as they did, why I lost everything I cared about, and what the future may hold for me.
I sat in Max’s Daimler, chauffeured by his own personal driver, watching the Surrey countryside roll past my window as if on a cinema screen. As we drove through towns and villages, I watched with detachment as paperboys and postmen performed their daily duties, wearing their shirt, tie, and flat peaked caps.
Milkmen made deliveries from a hand pulled cart, while horse drawn drays transported coal to houses, the men with their blackened hands lugging sacks and emptying coal into the cellars. People rode bicycles to work, or walked children to the shops. Bakers and butchers opened up, and housewives waited to secure their daily bread and small ration of meat. Even though the Second World War had concluded five years ago, times were still austere.
The drive gave me chance to reflect, ponder my achievements and tragedies to date, and speculate on the decision I’d made.
Max had been correct in his observations. I was born in St Albans on the 21st of February 1921 at 11:30 a.m, Greenwich Mean Time. My father, Peter Eldridge, was headmaster of a local grammar school and eventually died of lung cancer, most likely as a result of excessive pipe tobacco. That forms one of my strongest memories of early childhood, as from beyond the back of his favourite armchair, I used to watch the smoke puffing, twisting and writhing in the air. He loved a cup of Earl Grey to accompany the pipe; those two were like an old married couple in themselves. He was an excellent parent though, and I attained my achievements due to his influence and drive.
My mother, Margaret, was a proud and honourable woman, and a conspicuous red-head. She outlived my father by several years and died from heart failure eventually. I inherited her compassion, humour, and strong constitution. She was a very religious woman and inherently charitable, active in the community and a church regular, so my spiritual curiosities are a direct result of her influence.
