Quantum theory is the most complete model we have of reality. It correctly predicts all our observations of the universe, some of which, until well into the twentieth century, had stymied scientists. But the worldview quantum theory offers is a strange one, especially to Western thinking. In the world today, only a very few can do the math involved in quantum theory, but its most fundamental principle is not hard to state.

In fact, the overarching principle of quantum theory can be stated very easily: reality is flux. But grasping what those words mean is another matter. To say that everything is in constant flux is inadequate. Rather, we must say that change is reality. For example, the things we think we see, with their surfaces, masses and colours, are illusions. According to quantum physicists, an object is only an area in space-time where interfering quintillions of waves of subatomic fields cause illusions of matter that are detectable to our senses and so to human consciousness. These temporary constellations of particles act on our (temporarily stable) sense organs in such a way as to produce impressions of solidity, weight, shape, texture, and colours and so on in our (temporarily stable) brains.²

But according to quantum theory, these things I think I’m seeing are temporary. If they are given enough time, they will collapse. Exactly how any one object or particle will collapse and what it will become next we cannot ever say with certainty. We can make predictions, some with very high degrees of probability, but we cannot “pre-know” any event with certainty no matter how clever or well-supplied with data we are. Cause and effect don’t always connect. Odd things, external and internal, sometimes interfere.

                                     

   

      Artist's conception of giant meteor entering earth's atmosphere (credit: Wikipedia) 

I can’t know when I try to stretch out my arm that my arm will stretch out. One day it may not. When that day will come, I can’t say. I can’t know whether the sun will rise tomorrow or whether the pen I just bumped off of my desk will fall to the floor. A giant meteor may strike the earth tonight. My pen may get caught in a kind of anti-gravity field that, until today, I knew nothing about.

I can’t know anything for certain, ever, period. I can only calculate the probabilities that I will experience these events and objects. I base my estimates of these probabilities on my memories of past experiences, on generalizations formed by studying those memories, and on beliefs and habits acquired from my culture. My estimates are accurate most of the time. But I can’t know anything for certain.

In the terms of everyday human experience, this means that change one can plan for is not real change. There is only one rule, which is the rule that says that there are no rules, or at least not any hard and fast ones. Or, as the old saying has it, life is full of rude awakenings.