I love Carlo Rovelli. I’ve read a number of his books now, and he’s both a great physicist, a clear writer, and seems like a really lovely human. I love his respect for philosophy, as a scientist. So many modern scientists dismiss philosophy as a field because they don’t understand that it’s the foundation of science, and that doing good, sound science inherently requires doing philosophy – following proofs to the end, interrogating every level of foundational assumptions to ensure a rigorous result.
Likewise, Rovelli respects and appreciates the sacred interplay of art and science: “Poetry and science are both manifestations of the spirit that creates new ways of thinking the world, in order to understand it better. Great science and great poetry are both visionary, and sometimes may arrive at the same insights. The culture of today that keeps science and poetry so far apart is essentially foolish, to my way of thinking, because it makes us less able to see the complexity and the beauty of the world as revealed by both . . . Can literature also tell us anything about the real and profound emotions connected with great science? Of course it can: Literature is full of science.”
Rovelli says, take Milton as an example: wondering about the then-hypothetical Copernican model of the solar system:
What if the Sun
Be Centre to the World, and other Stars
By his attractive virtue and their own
Incited, dance about him various rounds?
Or take amateur entemologist AND author Vladimir Nabokov – as Rovelli relates, Nabokov was the first person to understand the 10-million-year migration pattern of the Blue Icarus butterfly, of which he is known as the “godfather.” (Modern DNA science has confirmed his hypothesis, by the way). Interestingly, this came about because he was the descendent of a wealthy family of Russian aristocracy, and when he was eight his father was imprisoned for political reasons. The young Vladimir carried a butterfly to his cell. When his father was murdered and the family fortune lost in the revolution, he escaped to Europe, but the butterfly was always sacred to him.
A few interesting other bits Rovelli touches on in this book:
1) On what it means to be a good scientist: “The Einstein who makes more errors than anyone else is precisely the same Einstein who succeeds in understanding more about nature than anyone else, and these are complementary and necessary aspects of the same profound intelligence: the audacity of thought, the courage to take risks, the lack of faith in received ideas – including, crucially, one’s own. To have the courage to make mistakes, to change one’s ideas, not once but repeatedly, in order to discover. In order to arrive at understanding. Being right is not the important thing – trying to understand is.”
2) On exploring your mind: like Steve Jobs, Rovelli says his experience of hallucinogens is one of the most important things in his life: “I would say that the experience, for a number of hours, of a reality profoundly altered from our habitual perception of it left me with a calm awareness of the prejudices of our rigid mental categories, and of the flexibility and potential depth of the inner world that our brain is capable of experiencing.” He sagely notes that the reason many people are afraid of psychedelics is because they reveal your own mind, and most people are afraid of their own minds.
3) On modern politics: “A main source of the emotions that give power to the right, and above all to the far right, is not the feeling of being strong. It is, on the contrary, the fear of being weak. This fear is explicit in Mein Kampf, this feeling of inferiority, this sense of being surrounded by imminent danger. The reason behind the need to dominate others derives from a terror of being dominated by them.
4) On the human condition post-COVID: “We are not the masters of the world, we are not immortal; we are, as we have always been, like leaves in the autumn wind. We are not waging a battle against death. That battle we must inevitably lose, as death prevails anyway. What we are doing is struggling, together, to buy one another more days on earth. For this short life, despite everything, seems beautiful to us, now more than ever.”