Authors: John Gribbin
Stephen Hawking (27 page)
This is where the ice analogy breaks down slightly, for when the Universe cooled from the excited vacuum state to
the stable vacuum that we know today, so much energy was released that it became super-hot, not icy, and for a time it expanded super-fast. In a tiny fraction of a second, a region of space far smaller than a proton (but packed full of energy) must have been inflated, according to this theory, into a volume about the size of a grapefruit. At that point the inflation was exhausted, and the grapefruit-sized fireball began the steady expansion associated with the standard model of the Big Bang, growing over the next 14 billion years to become the entire visible Universe.
According to inflation theory, the Universe is so uniform because it has grown out of a seed so small that there was literally no room inside it for irregularities. And the equations also tell us that the inflation process flattened space. The best analogy for how this works is with the wrinkly surface of a prune, which is very far from flat. When you soak the prune in water, it swells up, expanding so that the surface stretches and the wrinkles are smoothed out. Imagine starting out with a prune smaller than a proton and expanding it to the size of a grapefruit, and you can see why space is so very flat today.
The inflationary model has been extensively developed since Guth made the original proposal in 1980. Hawking has been involved in filling in details of this work throughout the 1980s, but the main developments have come from a Soviet researcher, Andrei Linde. Some of Linde's early contributions were duplicated independently by Paul Steinhardt and Andreas Albrecht, from the University of Pennsylvania. As we shall see in
Chapter 15
, the early versions of inflation were overtaken in the 1980s by new insights that provide a spectacular new
image of the origin and evolution of not just the Universe but a multiplicity of universes. Hawking played a part in this work, too. From now on, honors and awards would be heaped upon the man to whom the modest recognition offered by the Gravity Research Foundation had been “very welcome” just a short time before.
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n 1978, Hawking was awarded one the most prestigious prizes in physics, the Albert Einstein Award given by the Lewis and Rose Strauss Memorial Fund, which announced the winner at a gala event in Washington. The citation claimed that Hawking's work could lead to a unified field theory, “much sought after by scientists,”
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as one Cambridge newspaper put it. The Albert Einstein Award is considered to be the prestigious equivalent of a Nobel Prize and was undoubtedly the most important award Hawking had received up to that time. Journalists began to talk about the possibility
of the thirty-six-year-old physicist being next in line for the greatest academic honor of allâan invitation to the Royal Academy of Sciences in Stockholm.
However, there are two reasons why Hawking is unlikely ever to receive a Nobel Prize. First, a cursory glance at the list of winners since the first prizes in 1901 shows very few astronomers. The reason for this, according to one story, is that the chemist Alfred Nobel, who created the awards, decreed that astronomers should be ineligible. Rumor has it that their exclusion was because his wife had an affair with an astronomer, and he subsequently felt only hatred for the whole profession. Despite this, Martin Ryle and Antony Hewish shared the 1974 Nobel Prize for Physics for their work in radio astrophysics, and Subrahmanyan Chandrasekhar won it in 1983 for his theoretical studies on the origin and evolution of stars. These were awarded a good seventy years after the founder's death, so perhaps the academy now views astronomers with greater sympathy.
There is, however, a more important reason for Hawking's absence from the list of winners. One of the academy's rules states that a candidate may be considered for a prize only if his/her discovery can be supported by verifiable experimental or observational evidence. Hawking's work is, of course, unproved. Although the mathematics of his theories is considered beautiful and elegant, science is still unable even to prove the existence of black holes, let alone verify Hawking Radiation or any of his other theoretical proposals.
A year after receiving the Albert Einstein Award, Hawking's second book was published by Cambridge University Press: a collection of sixteen articles to commemorate the
centenary of Albert Einstein's birth on March 14, 1879. Hawking co-edited the book, entitled
General Relativity: An Einstein Centenary Survey
, with his colleague Werner Israel. When Simon Mitton presented it to a sales conference in January 1979, the sales team, whose job it was to take books out on the road and convince retailers of their merit, was unusually enthusiastic. One of the sales staff said to Mitton, “That man Hawkingâhe's amazing, you know. We'll have no trouble selling this. All the quality bookshops will take it, no problem.” He was right. It was snapped up and sold exceptionally well in hardback and even better when later issued as a paperback. Hawking's fame was spreading.
This was also the year that Stephen Hawking finally got his own office at the DAMTPâit came with his appointment as Lucasian Professor. Hawking is well aware of his place in the history of science. He is fascinated by the fact that he was born on the three-hundredth anniversary of Galileo's death on January 8, 1642. That year, Isaac Newton was born in Woolsthorpe, a little village in Lincolnshire, and it was Isaac Newton who was appointed Lucasian Professor at Cambridge in 1669, three hundred and ten years before Hawking.
Albert Einstein considered Galileo the greatest of all scientists, and Hawking has claimed that he was, in his approach, the first twentieth-century scientist:
He was the first scientist to actually start using his eyes, both figuratively and physically. And, in a sense, he was responsible for the age of science we now enjoy.
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Galileo's work led directly to Newton's work and the establishment of classical physics. The work of Einstein, who was born one hundred years before Hawking received the Lucasian chair, turned “large-scale” physics on its head. Subsequently, many have seen Hawking as the physicist most likely to succeed in the enormous task of unifying the two supporting pillars of physics, quantum mechanics and relativity. Small wonder Hawking has a strong sense of science history.
At his inauguration as Lucasian Professor, Hawking delivered a memorable lecture titled “Is the End in Sight for Theoretical Physics?,” in which he suggested that a Grand Unified Theory describing the fundamental laws of the Universe could be achieved by the end of the century.
It was a stirring and inspiring idea. The audience knew as they streamed out of the hall that, if anyone could make that dream come true, it would be the waif-like figure who had earlier sat on the stage before them, crumpled in his motorized wheelchair, delivering powerful statements with his typical confidence.
The appointment as Lucasian Professor of Mathematics at Cambridge University was one of the highlights of Hawking's career. To be professor at one of the oldest and most respected universities in the world is a huge achievement in itself, but to have accomplished such a feat by the age of thirty-seven is remarkable. Newton was Hawking's junior by ten years when he gained the chair, but in the seventeenth century there were far fewer academics and very little competition for such positions. Newton did also happen to be the youngest ever to be appointed Lucasian Professor at Cambridge.
Easter 1979 saw the birth of Stephen and Jane's third child, a boy they christened Timothy. It was a happy time for the Hawking family. Against all odds, they had overcome tremendous hurdles to achieve great success. Jane had completed her Ph.D. and was finding a degree of intellectual satisfaction in her teaching job; Professor Hawking was receiving the esteem of his colleagues and growing popular acclaim as the “new Einstein.” Now there was another Hawking at West Road.
In the larger world outside the cloistered environs of Cambridge academia, the ever-shifting kaleidoscope of life was shaken yet again. Shortly before Timothy Hawking's birth, scientists at the Jet Propulsion Laboratory in Pasadena were surprised to discover, via the deep-space probe
Voyager 1,
that Jupiter had rings like its celestial neighbor, Saturn. Before the year was out, Margaret Thatcher had begun her eleven-year run as Britain's first female prime minister; the Queen's cousin, Lord Mountbatten of Burma, was murdered by the IRA; and American embassy staff and marines were taken hostage in Tehran. Also that year, the Queen's art adviser, Cambridge man Anthony Blunt, was exposed as the “fourth man.” Russia invaded Afghanistan, Mother Teresa of Calcutta was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize, and John Cleese continued to delight TV audiences by “not mentioning the war.” One of the year's biggest films was
Apocalypse Now
.
At the turn of the decade, Hawking could look back satisfied with his achievements over the past ten years. The symptoms of ALS had leveled off. His speech was practically unintelligible to all but his close colleagues and family, and he was confined to his motorized wheelchair, but he continued
to work and to travel as intensively as he had ever done. His freedom from mundane chores and responsibilities was paying dividends scientifically.
As of 1980, the system of taking in graduate students to help around the house was replaced by community and private nursing. Jane had help looking after Stephen for a couple of hours in the morning and evening. They could just afford to flesh out the meager assistance provided by the National Health Service by dipping into monies Hawking had received from the growing number of awards and prizes coming his way and the increased salary from his new appointment.
Stephen and Jane began to cultivate a reputation as socialites and popular hosts on the Cambridge academic scene. Don Page has described Jane as “a great professional asset to her husband as a hostess.”
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Dr. Berman, Hawking's tutor at Oxford, has said of her, “[Jane is] a remarkable woman. She sees that he does everything that a healthy person would do. They go everywhere and do everything.”
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The Hawkings were soon at the center of the social in-crowd at Cambridge. Being Lucasian Professor gave Stephen a huge measure of prestige, both in academic circles and in the broader view of the international intelligentsia. Dinner parties and social gatherings on West Road and at the DAMTP were frequent events, and guests often included visiting academics as well as members of the university hierarchy. Their interest in classical music was well catered for in Cambridge, and the couple was often to be seen at concerts in the city. They enjoyed going to the theater and the cinema and dining out, both at home in Cambridge and on visits abroad.
Stephen's obvious handicaps would sometimes cause embarrassment to those who did not know him in restaurants and at various functions to which the couple were frequently invited. Casual onlookers, unaware of the fact that they were in the presence of one of the world's greatest scientists, could be forgiven for thinking that the withered figure slumped in his wheelchairâtrying to speak but succeeding only in producing an incomprehensible noise, having to be fed, his head, insufficiently supported by atrophied neck muscles, rolling forward, chin on chestâwas a hopelessly crippled and pathetically disabled man, perhaps mentally as well as physically handicapped. Nothing could have been further from the truth. On the subject of his disability, Hawking told an interviewer at the time:
I think I'm happier now than I was before I started. Before the illness set in I was very bored with life. I drank a fair amount, I guess, didn't do any work. It was really a rather pointless existence. When one's expectations are reduced to zero, one really appreciates everything that one does have.
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On another occasion, he said, “If you are disabled physically, you cannot afford to be disabled psychologically.”
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Jane echoed this view, with a typically forthright and optimistic approach to life. “We try to make the most of every moment,”
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she told one interviewer.
A
Sunday Times
journalist once asked him whether he ever got depressed because of his disability. “Not normally,” he replied. “I have managed to do what I wanted to do despite it, and that gives me a feeling of achievement.”
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Another asked what was his biggest regret about contracting his illness. “Not being able to play physically with my children,” he said.
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Some years earlier, Hawking had entered into a protracted fight with the university authorities over improved access for him in the DAMTP building. The row was about who was to pay for a ramp to be installed. Hawking eventually won and also managed to persuade the authorities to lower the curbs in the vicinity of Silver Street to ease his journey from West Road. Such clashes put Hawking in a fighting mood about the needs of the disabled, and he has been crusading for various causes ever since.
He took on the Cambridge City Council over access to public buildings and won. After a long drawn-out argument and an exchange of increasingly abrasive letters, curbs were lowered in a number of vital places and ramps installed in various buildings. One particular dispute concerned a public building named Cockcroft Hall, used as a polling station during local elections. After polling day, Hawking complained to the council that it was practically impossible for the severely disabled to enter the building in order to vote. The council authorities tried to argue that Cockcroft Hall was not actually a public building and did not therefore come under the Disabled Persons Act of 1970. Because of Professor Hawking's involvement, the local press became interested in the issue and subsequently ran a series of articles highlighting the problems faced by the disabled in Cambridge. The city council backed down.