Understanding the Multiverse

To grasp the notion of “the multiverse,” we must clarify what we mean, as numerous cosmological theories can describe it. We could discuss string vibrations, brane-worlds, Penrose diagrams, Einstein-Rosen bridges, and various physics models predicting diverse space-time structures. This exploration could fill an entire article. When films like Everything Everywhere All at Once, Rick and Morty, or the MCU depict infinite timelines stemming from our choices, they reference Hugh Everett’s many-worlds theory.

Quantum mechanics is peculiar yet precise; it underpins our technology, from nuclear power to quantum computing, but defies common intuition. Richard Feynman, a Nobel-winning physicist, famously advised against questioning the strangeness of quantum mechanics too deeply, saying:

> “Do not keep saying to yourself, if you can possibly avoid it, ‘But how can it be like that?’ because you will get ‘down the drain’ into a blind alley from which nobody has yet escaped. Nobody knows how it can be like that.”

One bewildering concept in quantum physics is “wavefunction collapse.” At the subatomic level, reality resembles a weather forecast. An electron orbiting an atom has a high probability of being in one location, but a smaller chance of being elsewhere, and so on. There exists a non-zero probability that it could be anywhere in the universe. While mass affects these probabilities, certainty only arrives when an observer measures the system, causing all probabilities to “collapse” into a single outcome.

Why does this occur? Such inquiries echo Feynman’s caution. The initial answer from scientists was the “Copenhagen interpretation,” where things remain fuzzy until observed, at which point they solidify into a definitive state.

Everett’s many-worlds model provides an alternative perspective. It posits that wavefunction collapse doesn’t happen; uncertainty persists, with the universe embodying “everything everywhere all at once.” Each moment features countless versions of ourselves, oblivious to one another, each believing it inhabits the “real” world. In this scenario, the dice never actually roll; their outcome depends on our viewpoint.

Douglas Adams’ Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy series offers an engaging explanation of the many-worlds theory. In Mostly Harmless, it describes the Whole Sort of General Mish Mash as:

> The first thing to realize about parallel universes is they are not parallel.

> It’s also crucial to note they aren’t strictly universes but are best understood later, once you realize what you thought was true isn’t.

> Any given universe isn’t a “thing” but rather a lens through which we view what is technically called the WSOGMM. This “Whole Sort of General Mish Mash” isn’t real, but a collection of all possible perspectives if it were.

> They’re not parallel because that term holds no significance. You can slice the Whole Sort of General Mish Mash any way, and you’ll end up with something someone calls home.

> Please feel free to blither now.

A notable experiment in quantum physics, the double-slit experiment, bears significant implications within this framework. Initially performed with visible light, the setup involves a coherent light source and a screen with two slits. When activated, an interference pattern of light and dark bands appears on the screen, revealing the wave nature of photons.

Substituting light with electrons and using a photoelectric sensor produces a similar interference pattern. Electrons, too, exhibit wave properties, but this pattern only emerges if the electrons aren’t measured during their journey through the slits. If they are measured, the interference pattern disappears, revealing only two distinct marks, one for each slit.

What happens when we don’t measure them and observe the interference pattern? The Copenhagen interpretation suggests that their wavefunctions interact, creating regions of alternating probability. In contrast, the many-worlds perspective asserts that these wavefunctions never collapse, and the interference pattern reflects an overlap of all the electron’s possibilities—a cross-section of the multiverse. Measuring them effectively splits our reality; we can no longer perceive the wave pattern because we become part of it.

This phenomenon isn’t isolated to one experiment; it occurs continuously, influencing every decision we make. We can’t see the interference pattern of our lives because we exist within it, spread across countless possibilities. This embodies the sci-fi notion of the multiverse: everything that could exist does, including a version of us in each scenario. They aren’t strictly “universes,” but rather a singular universe viewed from myriad angles.

Is there any way to access these alternate lives, transforming them from theoretical constructs into tangible realities? Everett hinted at one method to his peers, but it’s not advisable—known as quantum suicide.

The Concept of Quantum Immortality

In an electron interference pattern, certain probabilities negate others while others amplify, resulting in alternating dark and light bands. On a broader scale, this means that some life outcomes result in dead ends while others do not. It follows that we exist in some timelines while being absent in others; either we’ve passed away or were never born.

The electrons in the double-slit experiment don’t merely record outcomes; the pattern arises from their interactions. Could we similarly interact with our alternate lives? Could we eliminate them?

In theory, according to Everett, perhaps, but I wouldn’t recommend trying it out.

Given that every possible outcome exists somewhere, this applies to life-or-death scenarios as well. Consider a game of Russian Roulette with a one-in-six chance of death: load one bullet, spin the chamber, pull the trigger. In simplified terms, there’s one timeline where the bullet fires and five where it doesn’t.

Repeat this process, and once again, there’s a timeline where we lived and one where we died. As we continue, more timelines where we die accumulate, but one timeline will always exist where the gun fails to fire. While survival becomes increasingly improbable, it remains a possibility, and if we persist, evidence mounts that other timelines harbor alternate versions of ourselves who keep “taking the bullet.”

For an entertaining yet thought-provoking exploration of this idea, check out “A Quantum Suicide,” an episode from the fictional series Night Springs featured in the game Alan Wake.

As noted by YouTube commenters, there’s a timeline where Dr. Colvin’s machine remained functional, enabling his survival. Was that unseen timeline the “real” one all along, while we observed a “fake” version where he perished? How do we even define “real” reality? Each version of Colvin shares a common past until a critical moment, suggesting the living one is “real” simply by virtue of being alive. What role does his machine play? If it virtually eliminates the gun’s firing odds, the sci-fi premise becomes a misdirection: he could achieve the same outcome by jamming or unloading the gun.

While the notion of playing Russian Roulette to discover alternate versions of ourselves is disconcerting, are there instances of such phenomena occurring randomly? Some individuals have navigated extraordinary odds repeatedly. For instance, people have survived multiple lightning strikes and plane crashes.

Tsutomu Yamaguchi gained fame for barely surviving the Hiroshima bombing, returning home to Nagasaki, and then enduring that atomic bomb as well. If the many-worlds interpretation holds true, we might consider the version of Tsutomu Yamaguchi in our timeline as the one who won the multiverse roulette (if enduring two atomic bombs can be deemed winning).

However, we don’t require a multiverse to explain people defying incredible odds; probability theory suffices. There’s no specific moment where an unlikely occurrence can solely be attributed to the multiverse. Every event could be viewed as an improbable coincidence, and the math remains consistent. This is why many-worlds theory remains more of a curiosity and inspiration for science fiction than a mainstream physics model. It reframes physics without offering advantages over conventional quantum mechanics interpretations.

The Infinite Nature of the Multiverse

Despite practical challenges, the multiverse concept fuels compelling sci-fi narratives, allowing us to reflect on the human experience, the choices we make, our identities, and our relationship with the universe. Yet, exploring this requires overlooking some bewildering aspects of an infinite multiverse that could undermine coherent storytelling. The sci-fi multiverse is infinite but not excessively so.

In many narratives, there’s a definitive universe where multiverse travel was discovered— a “prime” reality serving as a reference point for others. EEAAO features its alphaverse as the origin of conflict, Rick and Morty has Rick Prime, and Loki has its Sacred Timeline.

However, if each instance of quantum uncertainty constitutes a timeline, there wouldn’t be just one prime universe and inventor; there would be infinite variations. One might discover verse-jumping while drinking tea, another while enjoying coffee, and yet another skipping breakfast. The invention could emerge from this individual in one reality or from another in another reality, with countless variations based on trivial alterations. It’s infinity all the way down.

Stephen Hawking once argued that a lack of time travelers from the future serves as evidence against the physical possibility of time travel. If it were possible, every moment in the past would be populated with time travelers.

This reasoning applies to the multiverse as well. If even one person can invent multiverse travel, infinite versions of that individual and their invention exist. If it’s feasible now, there would also be timelines where it was possible long before our current moment (e.g., a scenario where the Industrial Revolution occurred in ancient Greece or where Neanderthals prevailed). Consequently, with infinite variations, we should have already encountered these multiverse travelers. Such events would also be uncertain and subject to many-world splits, but the abundance of options means just one variant could announce their existence.

If we argue that perhaps they chose not to reveal themselves, there would still be an infinite number of variants who did. It’s infinity all the way down.

Everything collapses into absurdity when assessed against the scale of the multiverse, which might not even be infinite. The observable universe has finite mass and size, suggesting a limited number of configurations. Nevertheless, the potential number of worlds remains staggering, encompassing every outcome we can conceive and many more beyond our imagination.

Ultimately, since we haven’t encountered hordes of Ricks battling legions of Jobu Tupaki, the multiverse appears to serve as a useful narrative device—an intriguing lens through which to consider our existence and its place in the broader cosmos, rather than a practical concern we will confront.

That’s the current perspective, but in some adjacent timeline, perhaps another version of you is preparing to test their latest invention…

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