by John Gribbin
S T E P H E N
H A W K I N G
A LIFE IN SCIENCE
REVISED AND UPDATED EDITION
MICHAEL WHITE AND JOHN GRIBBIN
PEGASUS BOOKS
NEW YORK LONDON
For the grandchildren
—John Gribbin
CONTENTS
Preface to the New Edition
1The Day Galileo Died
2Classical Cosmology
3Going Up
4Doctors and Doctorates
5From Black Holes to the Big Bang
6Marriage and Fellowship
7Singular Solutions
8The Breakthrough Years
9When Black Holes Explode
10The Foothills of Fame
11Back to the Beginning
12Science Celebrity
13When the Universe Has Babies
14A Brief History of Time
15The End of Physics?
16Fame and Fortune
17A Brief History of Time Travel
18Stephen Hawking: Superstar
19God and the Multiverse
20The Topsy-Turvy Universe of a Global Icon
Notes
Acknowledgments
About the Authors
Index
PREFACE
TO THE NEW EDITION
When we first saw this book published in January 1992, it coincided with Stephen Hawking’s fiftieth birthday. By that time, he was a world-renowned scientist, but he was also recognized by the public from a TV special about him that had recently been broadcast.
Neither of us imagined how successful A Life in Science would be. It became a #1 bestseller in Britain and stayed in the Sunday Times best-sellers list for three months. It was also translated into over two dozen languages and is considered by many to be the definite biography of Stephen Hawking.
And yet, even more unimaginable to us as we were researching and writing the book during 1990 and 1991 was that the hero of the story, the Lucasian Professor of Mathematics at the University of Cambridge, would still be alive and working at the forefront of physics some quarter of a century later.
Today, Stephen Hawking is one of the most famous and immediately recognizable people in the world, a fact that has been helped enormously by the recent movie The Theory of Everything, which has been both a commercial and critical success. But, then, anything about Stephen Hawking is newsworthy. This would never have happened to any other scientist in the world. Apart from the fact that physicists are seen as somehow different from other human beings, existing outside the normal patterns of human life, there is likely no other scientist alive as famous as Stephen Hawking. But Stephen Hawking is no ordinary scientist. His book A Brief History of Time has notched up worldwide sales in the millions—publishing statistics usually associated with the likes of James Patterson or Dan Brown. What is even more astonishing is that Hawking’s book deals with a subject so far removed from normal bedtime reading that the prospect of tackling such a text would send the average person into a paroxysm of inadequacy. Yet, as the world knows, Professor Hawking’s book is a massive hit and has made his name around the world. Somehow he has managed to circumvent prejudice and to communicate his esoteric theories directly to the lay reader.
However, Stephen Hawking’s story does not begin or end with A Brief History of Time. First and foremost, he is a very fine scientist. Indeed, he was already established at the cutting edge of theoretical physics long before the general public was even aware of his existence. His career as a scientist began over fifty years ago when he embarked on cosmological research at Cambridge University.
During that half-century, he has perhaps done more than anyone to push back the boundaries of our understanding of the Universe. His theoretical work on black holes and his progress in advancing our understanding of the origin and nature of the Universe have been groundbreaking and often revolutionary.
As his career has soared, he has led a domestic life as alien to most people as his work is esoteric. At the age of twenty-one, Hawking discovered that he had the wasting disease ALS (amyotrophic lateral sclerosis), also called motor neuron disease, and he has spent much of his life confined to a wheelchair. However, he simply has not allowed his illness to hinder his scientific development. In fact, many would argue that his liberation from the routine chores of life has enabled him to make greater progress than if he were able-bodied. He has achieved global fame as a science popularizer with his multimillion-selling book and the many TV dramas and films made about him, while maintaining a high-powered career as a physicist.
Stephen Hawking does not like to dwell too much on his disabilities, and even less on his personal life. He would rather people thought of him as a scientist first, popular science writer second, and, in all the ways that matter, a normal human being with the same desires, drives, dreams, and ambitions as the next person. In this book we have tried our best to respect his wishes and have endeavored to paint a picture of a man with talents in abundance, but nonetheless a man like any other.
In attempting to describe Professor Hawking’s work as well as the life of the man behind the science, we hope to enable the reader to see both from different perspectives. Although there are inevitable overlaps in the story, we hope this will help to place the science within the human context—indeed, to show that, for Stephen Hawking, science and life are inextricably linked.
Michael White, Perth
John Gribbin, Lewes
March 2015
S T E P H E N
H A W K I N G
A LIFE IN SCIENCE
1
THE DAY GALILEO DIED
In an upscale restaurant near Cambridge city center, twelve young men and women sit around a large, linen-covered table set with plates and dishes, glasses, and cutlery. To one side is a man in a wheelchair. He is older than the others. He looks terribly frail, almost withered away to nothing, slumped motionless and seemingly lifeless against the black cloth cushion of his wheelchair. His hands, thin and pale, the fingers slender, lie in his lap. Set into the center of his sinewy throat, just below the collar of his open-necked shirt, is a plastic breathing device about two inches in diameter. But despite his disabilities, his face is alive and boyish, neatly brushed brown hair falling across his brow, only the lines beneath his eyes belying the fact that he is a contemporary of Keith Richards and Donald Trump. His head lolls forward, but from behind steel-rimmed spectacles his clear blue eyes are alert, raised slightly to survey the other faces around him. Beside him sits a nurse, her chair angled toward his as she positions a spoon to his lips and feeds him.
Occasionally she wipes his mouth.
There is an air of excitement in the restaurant. Around this man the young people laugh and joke, and occasionally address him or make a flippant remark in his direction. A moment later the babble of human voices is cut through by a rasping sound, a metallic voice, like something from the set of Star Wars—the man in the wheelchair makes a response that brings peals of laughter from the whole table. His eyes light up, and what has been described by some as “the greatest smile in the world” envelops his whole face. Suddenly you know that this man is very much alive.
As the diners begin their main course, there is a commotion at the restaurant’s entrance. A few moments later, the headwaiter walks toward the table escorting a smiling redhead in a fake-fur coat. Everyone at the table turns her way as she approaches, and there is an air of hushed expectation as she smiles across at them and says “Hello” to the gathering. She appears far younger than her years and looks terribly glamorous, a fact exaggerated by the general scruffiness of the young people at the table. Only the older man in the wheelchair is neatly dressed, in a plain jacket and neatly pressed shirt, his immac
ulately smart nurse beside him.
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she says to the party. “My car was wheel-clamped in London.” Then she adds, laughing, “There must be some cosmic significance in that!”
Faces look toward her and smile, and the man in the wheelchair beams. She walks around the table toward him, as his nurse stands at his side. The woman stops two steps in front of the wheelchair, crouches a little, and says, “Professor Hawking, I’m delighted to meet you. I’m Shirley MacLaine.” He smiles up at her and the metallic voice simply says, “Hello.”
For the rest of the meal, Shirley MacLaine sits next to her host, plying him with question after question in an attempt to discover his views on subjects that concern her deeply. She is interested in metaphysics and spiritual matters. Having spoken to holy men and teachers around the world, she has formulated her own personal theories concerning the meaning of existence. She has strong beliefs about the meaning of life and the reason for our being here, the creation of the Universe, and the existence of God. But they are only beliefs. The man beside her is perhaps the greatest physicist of our time, the subjects of his scientific theories the origin of the Universe, the laws that govern its existence, and the eventual fate of all that has been created—including you, me, and Ms. Shirley MacLaine. His fame has spread far and wide; his name is known by millions around the world. She asks the professor if he believes that there is a God who created the Universe and guides His creation. He smiles momentarily, and the machine voice says, “No.”
The professor is neither rude nor condescending; brevity is simply his way. Each word he says has to be painstakingly spelled out on a computer attached to his wheelchair and operated by tiny movements of two of the fingers of one hand, almost the last vestige of bodily freedom he has. His guest accepts his words and nods. What he is saying is not what she wants to hear, and she does not agree—but she can only listen and take note, for, if nothing else, his views have to be respected.
Later, when the meal is over, the party leaves the restaurant and returns to the Department of Applied Mathematics and Theoretical Physics at the university, and the two celebrities are left alone with the ever-present nurse in Professor Hawking’s office. For the next two hours, until tea is served in the common room, the Hollywood actress asks the Cambridge professor question after question.
By the time of their encounter in December 1988, Shirley MacLaine had met many people, the great and the infamous. Several times nominated for an Oscar and winner of one for her role in Terms of Endearment, she was probably a more famous name than her host that day. Doubtless, though, her meeting with Stephen Hawking will remain one of the most memorable of her life. For this man, weighing no more than ninety pounds and completely paralyzed, speechless, and unable to lift his head should it fall forward, has been proclaimed “Einstein’s heir,” “the greatest genius of the late twentieth century,” “the finest mind alive,” and even, by one journalist, “Master of the Universe.” He has made fundamental breakthroughs in cosmology and, perhaps more than anyone else alive, he has pushed forward our understanding of the Universe we live in. If that were not enough, he has won dozens of scientific prizes. He has been made a CBE—commander of the British empire—and then Companion of Honour by Queen Elizabeth II and has written a popular science book, A Brief History of Time, which stayed on the best-seller list for five years from 1988 to 1993 and has to date sold over ten million copies worldwide.
How did all this happen? How has a man with a progressive wasting disease fought off the ravages of his disability to overcome every obstacle in his path and win through? How has he managed to achieve far more than the vast majority of able-bodied people would ever have dreamed of accomplishing?
To casual visitors, the city of Oxford in January 1942 would have appeared little changed since the outbreak of the Second World War two and a half years earlier. Only upon closer inspection would they perhaps have noticed the gun emplacements dotted around the city, the fresh camouflage paint in subdued khaki and gray, the high towers protruding from the car plants at Cowley, east of the dreaming spires, and the military trucks and personnel carriers periodically trundling over Magdalen Bridge and along the High, where frost lingered on the stone gargoyles.
Out in the wider world, the war was reaching a crucial stage. The previous month, on December 7, the Japanese had attacked Pearl Harbor and the United States had joined the war. To the east, the Soviet army was fighting back Hitler’s troops in the Crimea, bringing about the first moves that would eventually precipitate the total defeat of both Germany and Japan.
In Britain every radio was tuned to J. B. Priestley presenting Post-Scripts to the News; there were Dr. Joad and Julian Huxley arguing over trivia and homely science on the “Brains Trust”; and the “Forces’ sweetheart,” Vera Lynn, was wowing the troops at home and abroad with “We’ll Meet Again.” Winston Churchill had just returned from his Christmas visit to America, where he had addressed both houses of Congress, rousing them with quotes from Lincoln and Washington and waving the V sign. Television was little more than a laboratory curiosity.
It is perhaps one of those oddities of serendipity that January 8, 1942, was both the three-hundredth anniversary of the death of one of history’s greatest intellectual figures, the Italian scientist Galileo Galilei, and the day Stephen William Hawking was born into a world torn apart by war and global strife. But as Hawking himself points out, around two hundred thousand other babies were born that day, so maybe it is after all not such an amazing coincidence.
Stephen’s mother, Isobel, had arrived in Oxford only a short time before the baby was due. She lived with her husband Frank in Highgate, a northern suburb of London, but they had decided that she should move to Oxford to give birth. The reason was simple. Highgate, along with the rest of London and much of southern England, was being pounded by the German Luftwaffe night after night. However, the warring governments, in a rare display of equanimity, had agreed that if Germany refrained from bombing Oxford or Cambridge, the Royal Air Force would guarantee peaceful skies over Heidelberg and Göttingen. In fact, it has been said that Hitler had earmarked Oxford as the prospective capital of world government when his imagined global conquest had been accomplished and that he wanted to preserve its architectural splendor.
Both Frank and Isobel Hawking had been to Oxford before—as students. They both came from middle-class families. Frank Hawking’s grandfather had been quite a successful Yorkshire farmer but had seen his prosperity disappear in the great agricultural depression that immediately followed the First World War. Isobel, the second eldest of seven, was the daughter of a doctor in Glasgow. Neither family could afford university fees without making sacrifices, and in an age where far fewer women went on to higher education than we are now accustomed to, it demonstrated considerable liberalism on Isobel’s parents’ part that a university education was considered at all.
Their paths never crossed at Oxford, as Frank Hawking went up before his future wife. He studied medicine and became a specialist in tropical diseases. The outbreak of hostilities in 1939 found him in East Africa studying endemic medical problems. When he heard about the war, he decided to set off back to Europe, traveling overland across the African continent and then by ship to England, with the intention of volunteering for military service. However, upon arriving home he was informed that his skills would be far more usefully employed in medical research.
After leaving Oxford, Isobel had stumbled into a succession of loathed jobs, including a spell as an inspector of taxes. Leaving after only a few months, she decided to take a job for which she was ridiculously overqualified—as a secretary at a medical-research institute. It was there that the vivacious and friendly Isobel, mildly amused at the position she had found herself in but with sights set on a more meaningful future, first met the tall, shy young researcher fresh back from exciting adventures in exotic climes.
When he was two weeks old, Isobel Hawking took Stephen back to London and the
raids. They almost lost their lives when he was two, when a V-2 rocket hit a neighbor’s house. Although their home was damaged, the Hawkings were out at the time.
After the war, Frank Hawking was appointed head of the Division of Parasitology at the National Institute of Medical Research. The family stayed on in the house in Highgate until 1950, when they moved twenty miles north to a large rambling house at 14 Hillside Road in the city of St. Albans in Hertfordshire.
St. Albans is a small city dominated by its cathedral, which can trace its foundation back to the year A.D. 303, when St. Alban was martyred and a church was built on the site. However, long before that, the Romans had realized the strategically useful position of the area. There they built the city of Verulamium, and the first Christian church was probably constructed from the Roman ruins left behind when the empire began to crumble and the soldiers returned home. In the 1950s, St. Albans was an archetypal, prosperous, middle-class English town. In the words of one of Hawking’s school friends, “It was a terribly smug place, upwardly mobile, but so awfully suffocating.”
Hawking was eight when the family arrived there. Frank Hawking had a strong desire to send Stephen to a private school. He had always believed that a private-school education was an essential ingredient for a successful career. There was plenty of evidence to support this view: in the 1950s, the vast majority of members of Parliament had enjoyed a privileged education, and most senior figures in institutions such as the BBC, the armed forces, and the country’s universities had been to private schools. Dr. Hawking himself had attended a minor private school, and he felt that even with this semi-elite background he had still experienced the prejudice of the establishment. He was convinced that, coupled with his own parents’ lack of money, this had held him back from achieving greater things in his own career and that others with less ability but more refined social mores had been promoted ahead of him. He did not want this to happen to his eldest son. Stephen, he decided, would be sent to Westminster, one of the best schools in the country.