Archive for the Biographical Category

After Graduation

Posted in Biographical with tags , on July 20, 2018 by telescoper

I didn’t get time to blog yesterday as I was involved with various festivities to with the graduation of students from the School of Physics & Astronomy at Cardiff University who, for some reason, shared a ceremony with students from the School of History, Archaeology and Religion. The ceremony was more-or-less my last official duty here at Cardiff. This morning I backed up my computer, returned my keys and removed my boxes of books and other stuff from the office of the Data Innovation Research Institute back to my house. This afternoon I gather there’ll be a small event to celebrate my departure, after which there’s a staff trip to see the cricket at Sophia Gardens (Glamorgan versus Somerset in the Vitality Blast).

Yesterday’s ceremony started at 12 noon and, as usual, was in St David’s Hall in Cardiff. When it was over we adjourned to the Main Building for a reception at which we were informed there would be `unlimited Prosecco’. This turned out to be untrue, as the Prosecco ran out by about 5pm, at which point we moved to a local pub and thence for a late-night curry. It was all a bit excessive and I had a not inconsiderable hangover this morning. I suspect that was the case for many of the graduands too!

It was a very hot with all the graduation clobber, which is no doubt why such a large volume of liquid refreshment was consumed. The drinks were dispensed in a marquee which was sweltering inside. Anyway, here’s a pic of some of those students who received their degrees yesterday. I was actually there, but just out of shot to the right.

Graduation ceremonies are funny things. With all their costumes and weird traditions, they even seem a bit absurd. On the other hand, even in these modern times, we live with all kinds of  rituals and I don’t see why we shouldn’t celebrate academic achievement in this way. I love graduation ceremonies, actually. As the graduands go across the stage you realize that every one of them has a unique story to tell and a whole universe of possibilities in front of them. How their lives will unfold no-one can tell, but it’s a privilege to be there for one important milestone on their journey.

I always find graduation a bittersweet occasion. There’s joy and celebration, of course, but tempered by the realisation that many of the young people who you’ve seen around for three or for years, and whose faces you have grown accustomed to, will disappear into the big wide world never to be seen again.

Graduation of course isn’t just about dressing up. Nor is it only about recognising academic achievement. It’s also a rite of passage on the way to adulthood and independence, so the presence of the parents at the ceremony adds another emotional dimension to the goings-on. Although everyone is rightly proud of the achievement – either their own in the case of the graduands or that of others in the case of the guests – there’s also a bit of sadness to go with the goodbyes. It always seems that as a lecturer you are only just getting to know students by the time they graduate, but that’s enough to miss them when they go.

Anyway, all this is a roundabout way of saying congratulations once more to everyone who graduated yesterday, and I wish you all the very best for the future!

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My Time Out in Astrophysics

Posted in Biographical, Brighton, LGBT, Mental Health with tags , , , , , on July 13, 2018 by telescoper

Last week I did a little talk in Cardiff for LGBT Stem Day, which was similar to another I gave earlier this year at the IOP in London at the launch of the LGBT Physical Sciences Climate Survey. I intended to post a summary of the earlier presentation but somehow never got round to it. Doing the more recent one reminded me that I’d forgotten to write up my notes, so here goes.

What I was trying to do in these talks was to explain why I thought (a) the Climate Survey and (b) LGBT STEM day were so important, from the perspective of someone who has been `out’ for over thirty years while pursuing a career in astrophysics. I thought it might be useful to include some personal reminiscences along the way as in both cases most of the audience members were too young to remember what things were like over thirty years ago.

Although I knew I was gay when I was an undergraduate at Cambridge, I wasn’t very open about it except to my closest friends. I also didn’t do much about it either, apart from developing a number of crushes that were doomed to be unrequited. In my final year I decided that I would try to get a place to do a PhD (or, as it turned out, a DPhil). I applied to a few places around the country, and was very happy to get an offer from Sussex and started my postgraduate studies there in 1985. The reputation of Brighton as being a very `gay’ place to live was definitely part of that decision although it was really the topic of my research project that was the decisive factor.

One of the first things I did during `Freshers Week’ at Sussex was join the GaySoc (as it was called) and I gradually became more involved in it as time went on. Initially, though, I kept that part of my life separate from my academic life and wasn’t really all that open in the Department in which I worked. My decision to change that was largely because of things going on in the outside world that convinced me that there was a need to stand up and be counted.

One of these was the AIDS `panic’ exacerbated by the Thatcher Government’s awful advertising campaign, an example of which you can see above. It was a very frightening time to be gay, not only because of the fear of contracting AIDS oneself  but also because of the hostility that arose as a reaction to the `gay plague’.

Although I wasn’t really sexually active as an undergraduate at Cambridge, I had been while I was at school in Newcastle up until 1982. At this time gay sex was illegal with a person under the age of 21, but I had no difficulty finding partners when I was a teenager. I assumed that, as a result of this period of my life,  I would be found HIV+. When I eventually did have a test in 1986 I was quite shocked to find I was negative, so much so that I had another test to make sure. I was lucky, countless others were not.

The second thing that made me want to come out was the Local Government Act (1988), which included the now infamous Section 28 (above). This was the subject of the first political demonstrations I ever attended, but we failed to stop it becoming law.

Anyway, I just got fed up of hearing people making ill-informed generalisations during this time. Rather than make a big public statement about being gay, I just resolved to not let such comments pass. I think it only took a few intercessions in the tea room or Falmer Bar for it to become widely known in the Department that I was gay. That was how I came out in astrophysics, and thereafter almost everyone just seemed to know.

I have to say that for quite a long time in this period my general presumption was that a majority of heterosexual people were actively hostile to LGBT+ people, and that would always remain the case. There were quite a few gay people in Brighton who felt the same and their reaction was to become separatists. The logic was that straight people were always going to be horrible, so to hell with them. You could drink in gay bars, eat in gay restaurants, live in a gay part of the town, etc, and thereby minimise interaction with the hostile majority. This seemed an attractive lifestyle to me for some time, but I gradually began to feel that if there was ever going to be a chance of things changing for the better, LGBT+ people had to engage and form alliances. That strategy seems to have worked for the wider community, and I applaud the many straight people who have become allies.

It hadn’t been fear that my sexuality would have a negative impact on my academic career that had held me back – I never really thought I was going to have an academic career until near the end of my time as a research student – it was more fear of confrontation with colleagues who would be hostile. That never really happened. Over the past thirty-odd years, the vast majority of people I’ve known through astrophysics have been friendly and welcoming. There have been exceptions of course, but I won’t waste my time on them here.

Now fast forward to 2018. Not only has Section 28 gone (it was repealed first in Scotland in 2000,  and then nin England & Wales in 2003), but since 2003 the Age of Consent is now equal for everyone and more recently we now have Equal Marriage. If you had asked me back in 1985 whether I thought there was any chance of this happening even on a thirty year timescale, I would have laughed at you.

But although many things have changed for the better, the fact remains that LGBT+ people still face widespread hostility and violence. Bullying is rife in schools, many people are still afraid to come out in their workplace, and in many situations there is still a threat of violence. I know what impact the latter can have, as I have experienced it myself and is has caused me mental health problems throughout my life. In fact, I have found it much harder to be open about my mental health problems than I ever did about being gay!

There are increasing signs of a backlash against LGBT+ people, most obviously in Trump’s America. The rights we have won over the years could so easily be taken away and my fear is that if we are complacent and pretend that everything is fixed because we have equal marriage then we will soon see those rights being eroded. We have to remain active and visible, and keep pushing against all forms of discrimination, harassment and bullying wherever it happens. And the first step in doing that is to raise awareness among everyone that it is still a problem.

Now to some specific points about working in STEM.

First, my own experiences caused me not to perceive science being a difficult environment to be gay, but I am aware that many people have quite different perceptions, often with good reasons. One thing that feeds negative perceptions is simply the lack of positive statements. I remember, over a decade ago, being asked by representative of a major STEM organisation if I could think of anything they could do to make them appear more inclusive to LGBT+ people. I looked at the `equal opportunities’ bit on their website and found that it mentioned gender, race, disability, etc but entirely omitted sexual orientation. What message does that send to an LGBT+ person? The omission was not deliberate, but the perception might well be otherwise. Many institutions display posters about LGBT+ matters, and some staff (either LGBT+ or `allies’) wear rainbow lanyards to carry their ID cards. But what if you’re a student who sees these everywhere else other than your own department? Has nobody bothered to put posters up, or has some arsehole torn them all down?

Another important issue is visibility. Students and early career researchers may be deterred from continuing a career in STEM simply because they don’t see other LGBT+ people doing likewise. I know of at least one student who was on the verge of dropping out of a physics degree because `there are no gay people in physics’. Fortunately he said that to a member of staff who knew he was wrong, as her office was next door to mine, but this does illustrate another problem of perception in STEM fields. In Arts and Humanities subjects it’s much easier to be visible as LGBT+ through your work. You even research matters related to gender or sexuality in literature, for example. It’s rather harder when you do theoretical astrophysics. But what’s wrong with having a rainbow icon on your powerpoint?

When giving my talk at the IOP I got into a discussion about `role models’. I am horrified at the thought that anyone would think of me as a `role model’. I don’t like using that term because it seems to me to imply some sort of ideal to which others should aspire, which seems to me rather arrogant. What I do think is important is for as imany LGBT+ people as possible to say `I’m LGBT+ and I’m in STEM: if I can do it and be like me, warts and all, then you can do it and be like you!’

A comment that I’ve heard about LGBT+ people in STEM goes along the lines of `We don’t need all this political stuff in science. You should just concentrate on your research’. Another version I heard from a senior scientist recently was effectively `I’m not prejudiced at all. I don’t care about your sexuality. I’m only interested in your research!’. I think this kind of stance is not uncommon, actually, but I couldn’t disagree more with it.

Science is, above all, a human activity. It’s not done by robots or calculating machines. It’s done by people. And I don’t think you will get the best science out of your research time unless you create a working environment in which everyone feels comfortable and happy being themselves. Just a few small gestures can go a long way towards creating a department or research group that’s genuinely inclusive for all the people in it.

Of course some STEM subjects have other diversity and inclusivity issues to address. For example, there is a persistent gender imbalance in UK Physics that has resisted many initiatives to encourage more women to enter the field. I’m not arguing that LGBT+ matters more than this or indeed more than race or disability or anything else. It is, however, my firm belief that taking measures to make workplace as inclusive as possible actually benefits everyone  in it. That’s partly because it’s the way to build the best team, and partly the way to get the best out of the team once you have assembled it, but it’s also a good thing to do for its own sake.

Another comment I got on Twitter a few weeks ago `When is it Straight STEM Day?’ Well, perhaps when 69% of heterosexual people feel uncomfortable in the workplace because of their sexuality, or when students are bullied at school for being straight, then perhaps there’ll be a need for it. In the meantime, you just need to recognise that despite the undeniable progress there has been over the past decades, there still isn’t anything like full symmetry between straight and gay.

Finally, and I think this brings me more-or-less back to where I started, events like the LGBT+ STEM Day and initiatives like the LGBT+ Climate Survey are vital because they acknowledge that we’re involved in a  process, not a fixed state and we have to recognise that this process could easily be pushed into reverse. All that’s needed for that to happen is for people to assume that everything is fine now and close their eyes to the overwhelming evidence that it really isn’t.

POSTSCRIPT: A thought that occurred to me while I was writing this relates to inclusivity within the LGBT+ community itself. When I arrived at Sussex in 1985, I joined `GaySoc’. A few years later that became `Lesbian & Gay Soc’. It took a lot longer for Bisexuals to be acknowledged, and even longer for Trans people. Only last week the annual Gay Pride March in London was disrupted by anti-transgender campaigners. Some of us still have a lot to learn about what it means to be inclusive.

 

After Extra Time

Posted in Biographical, Football with tags , , , , , , on July 12, 2018 by telescoper

My blogging activities have been a little thin over the last few days as I’ve been in a race against time to submit a grant application. The deadline for that was 4pm today. I was advised to submit it `in good time’, however, and managed to do that. The electronic submission receipt is time-stamped 3:59:47. I guess that’s what they call `Just-in-time Delivery’!

It’s my first attempt at a grant application in the Irish system and I had very little notice of the funding call. It took me quite a while to figure out how to construct a budget using rules that are different from the UK, and that left me relatively little time to write the science case. I cobbled something together but don’t expect it is coherent enough to get funded. On the other hand, I might get some useful feedback on what to do better next time. This approach doesn’t work in the UK system, because for many schemes there you can only apply once every three years.

Anyway, to get a break from grant-writing yesterday evening, I strolled around my local in Maynooth for a pint and to watch a bit of the World Cup Semi-Final between England and Croatia. I got there just in time to see Croatia’s equalizer, which drew huge cheers from the (predominantly Irish) crowd, and decided to stay until the end. Croatia’s second goal got an even bigger cheer, though it wasn’t exactly a surprise even if it did take them until extra time to score it. From what I saw, Croatia thoroughly deserved to win. Congratulations to them.

(In case you’re wondering, yes I did bet on Croatia to go through. But only €50, at 5/2….)

It has been a strange World Cup for England. With Germany, Argentina, Spain, Portugal and Brazil (and Italy not even qualifying) it seemed that the fates had paved a relatively easy route to the final. I do think, however, that people overestimated the quality of the England team: they lost to Belgium’s B-team in their last group game and only just scraped past Colombia in the following round. It’s true that they beat Sweden comfortably in the Quarter Final, but I thought that was more because Sweden were poor than because England were good.

In the end I think Croatia won because England displayed a longstanding weakness of English teams – an inability to maintain possession of the ball in midfield.  Against teams with good attacking players you just can’t afford to keep giving the ball away!  They also seemed to get very rattled when Croatia equalized. On the other hand, this is a very young England side which promises much in the future.  There’s plenty of time before the next World Cup for them to grow proper beards, for example. And one person who definitely deserves praise is manager Gareth Southgate, who has not only shown that he’s a pretty good tactician but also that he’s a very nice bloke, with a fine sense of sportsmanship.

So football’s not coming home after all. But where will it go? I do fancy France to win it, but I hope it’s a good final. I have a feeling that the 3rd/4th playoff between England and Belgium might be a good game too!

 

 

Everyman in Cardiff, Azed in Maynooth

Posted in Biographical, Crosswords on July 8, 2018 by telescoper

As soon as I’d finished today’s Everyman Crossword in the Observer (which, together with a cup of coffee, is how I get my brain in gear on Sunday mornings) I walked into town to get the bus to Cardiff Airport. After some confusion (caused by an event called the Velothon) I managed to locate the correct bus stop and I was on my way back to Maynooth. It was very warm today in Cardiff and the airport was very busy, but at least the air conditioning was working so it was quite cool inside the departure lounge.

The flight was half an hour late, and very full, but I got a window seat over the wing. I took the picture as we passed over Cardigan Bay. If you look closely you can see the Llŷn Peninsula off in the distance.

I got back to Maynooth via the Hopper Bus from Dublin Airport at about 4pm, did a bit of shopping, and then had a go at the Observer’s Azed crossword. This is usually a far stiffer challenge than Everyman, and is the puzzle I usually do on Sunday evenings. Today’s wasn’t too tricky though.

I think however, that this is the first time I have done crosswords from the same paper on the same day either side of the Irish sea!

It’s LGBTSTEM Day!

Posted in Biographical, LGBT on July 5, 2018 by telescoper

So here I am in Dublin Airport, waiting for a flight back to Cardiff for LGBTSTEM Day. Sadly the Airport WIFI isn’t working and I’m having to write this on my phone so I’ll keep it brief.

I just wanted to say thank you to all the individuals and organisations responsible for setting up and supporting this day, which I hope will become a regular feature in the calendar. In particular I hope there’ll be an event to mark LGBTSTEM Day in Maynooth next year!

I’ll be talking this afternoon in the School of Physics and Astronomy at Cardiff University, but there are events all morning elsewhere in the University and beyond, both nationally and internationally.

Anyway, I had better get on with thinking about what I’m going to say in my talk…

UPDATE: We had quite a big turnout at the talk in Physics – here’s a picture I lifted off Twitter to prove I was there!

LGBStem

Lev Davidovich Landau (1908-68) – Guest Post by Anton Garrett

Posted in Biographical, The Universe and Stuff with tags , on July 2, 2018 by telescoper

A couple of months ago a comment appeared on this blog (on a post about Richard Feynman) that said `not so much is known about Landau’. That was swiftly followed by an offer from Anton Garrett to post a biographical essay on him. In the original version of this article the author included his sources, but the references are absent from this piece owing to lack of time. I’m sure if there is demand we can ask Anton to update it with references when he’s back from MaxEnt 2018. In the meantime, here’s the piece:

–0–

Lev Davidovich Landau, pictured c. 1937

Lev Davidovich Landau was the greatest theoretical physicist that Russia has produced. He was born in 1908; lost to physics by a car crash which left him medically dead for a while, in 1962; and he finally died six years after that, in 1968.

He was born to a Jewish family in Baku, Azerbaijan, a university and oil town on the western shore of the Caspian Sea, in January, 1908. His father was David Lvovich Landau, an engineer from a well-off family. He was the manager of a stock company concerned with the oil business in the Baku oil fields, and was over 40 when Lev Davidovich was born. (There was an elder sister, Sophia, who became a chemical engineer.) Landau’s mother was Lyubov Beniaminovna Garkavi, 10 years younger than her husband. She graduated in 1898 from the St. Petersburg Midwifery Institute, and six years later from the Women’s Medical School. She met her husband when he was visiting his sister, who was having a baby. Landau’s mother ran the school which her son Lev attended at the age of eight, and the young Landau would arrive with her daily by carriage. Both parents perished in the siege of Leningrad in World War II.

As a young child he had been interested exclusively and obsessively in arithmetic and mathematics, concerning himself with anything else – intellectual or other – only to get it out of the way; the interest in music that his parents had hoped for came to nothing. At school he excelled in mathematics and science. When nine years old, he had said that he wished to investigate every matter that life brought him into contact with, and to find his own solutions. (Later in life he seldom read a paper through, looking at the introduction and then working out the rest himself.) He was able to discuss the Revolution seriously in 1918, when aged 10, and had mastered the calculus by the time he left high school aged 13. He appears to have undergone a crisis at that age, for he resolved to commit suicide; fortunately he did not do so. During his schooling, the chaos of revolution was taking place, and Baku was taken four times in the struggle.

His parents felt he was too young for University at 13, and preferred a financial career for him. Accordingly he spent a year with his sister Sophia at Baku Economic Technicum. At his own insistence he then transferred, in autumn 1922, to science at the University of Baku. He enrolled in two departments: physics-mathematics and chemistry.

In 1924, at 16, he transferred to the physics department at Leningrad University. Leningrad was the Soviet Union’s leading physics centre, and it was here that Landau matured into a theoretical physicist proper. He said he only went into the University twice a week to “meet friends and see what was happening”, but he devoted most of his spare time to study, and often could not sleep for turning formulae over in his mind. Landau was staggered by the beauty of Einstein’s conception in general relativity, later stating that such rapture on first meeting it should be recognised as a characteristic of the true theoretical physicist. Experimentalists always found him most approachable, and he would always lay pure theory aside if asked for calculational help by an experimentalist. Later in life he vehemently declined to set up an exclusively theoretical institute.

In 1926 he simultaneously enrolled at the Leningrad Physicotechnical Institute as a supernumerary graduate student, and a year later graduated from the University and commenced full time studies at the Institute under Frenkel. George Gamow was a fellow student. At this time the revolutionary papers on the new quantum physics were coming in, from Schrödinger, Jordan, Born, Heisenberg and Dirac. Landau read them avidly. He immediately saw the importance of the new work, but through youthful lack of experience was not in its forefront. Certainly he had the ability; he often regretted not having been born seven years earlier.

Nevertheless, his first four papers, published in his late teens, all concerned the new quantum mechanics. In the second of these, he quantised the rigid rotator to find the spectra of diatomic molecules, and extended the analysis by perturbation theory to Zeeman splitting in magnetic fields. Another paper was on quantum-mechanical damping, also studying spontaneous emission. It introduced the concept of the density matrix independently of von Neumann. All four papers appeared in Zeitschrift für Physik. He published nothing more for three years.

In 1929 Landau won a Rockefeller Fellowship, which the People’s Commissariat of Education supplemented, and he went abroad to learn from the great European physicists. He took his opportunity, saying later “It was a pleasure to talk with everyone I met. Not one of them showed a trace of conceit, pretentiousness or arrogance.” He met Born in Göttingen, Heisenberg in Leipzig, and went on to Niels Bohr’s Institute of Theoretical Physics in Copenhagen. This was the most formative part of his trip, for all of the leading physicists regularly gathered there for seminars and discussion. Landau was one of the most active participants. He always considered Bohr as his mentor and, once he had gained a measure of autonomy, he returned in 1933 and 1934. From Copenhagen he went on to Cambridge for four months, where he wrote up the idea of innate electron diamagnetism. There he worked with Rutherford, and met his fellow citizens Pyotr Kapitza and George Gamow, touring Britain in a red jacket on the back of Gamow’s motor cycle. After Cambridge he went on to Pauli in Zurich where he also worked with Rudolf Peierls, then assistant to Pauli; Peierls later married a prominent member of Landau’s Leningrad circle.

He returned to Leningrad in March 1931, and became active in teaching as well as research. At this time, dialectical materialism was universal dogma in Russia and it crept into physics. Landau did not initially perceive the seriousness with which this was taken; he, Gamow and three others fell into trouble over a satirical telegram, sent to the author of an encyclopaedia article attacking relativity as incompatible with dialectical materialism.

Nevertheless, at 24 Landau was appointed head of the theoretical division of the newly organised Ukrainian Physicotechnical Institute in Kharkov, then the capital of the Ukrainian SSR.(Today the capital is Kiev.) He stayed in Kharkov five years. The Institute was an offshoot of the Physicotechnical Institute of Leningrad, whose head, Joffe, put great effort into setting up such institutions countrywide.

By this stage Landau knew what he could do, and at 24 was in the enviable position of being in charge. His research flourished, and branched into diverse fields. In 1936 he published or co-authored the following papers:

  • Theory of Photo-Emf in Semiconductors,
  • Theory of Monomolecular Reactions,
  • Theory of Sound Dispersion,
  • Transport Equation for Coulomb Interactions,
  • Properties of Metals at Very Low Temperatures,
  • Scattering of Light by Light

and in 1937:

  • Origin of Solar Energy,
  • Absorption of Sound in Solids,
  • Theory of Phase Transitions (1&2),
  • Theory of Superconductivity,
  • Statistical Theory of Nuclei,
  • Scattering of X-rays by Crystals Near the Curie Point,
  • Scattering of X-rays by Crystals with Variable Lamellar
    Structure,
  • Stability of Neon and Carbon to alpha-Decay,
  • Production of Particle Showers by Heavy Particles.

These are impressively varied. He also displayed a mastery of mathematical techniques. It was said of von Neumann that he never solved any problem he found difficult, only problems others found difficult; but when Vitaly Ginzburg put a similar charge to Landau, he replied, “No, that is wrong; I did what I could”. Landau had already developed an interest in the theory of matter at low temperatures, a field studied experimentally in Kharkov by Lev Shubnikov and his wife Olga Trapeznikova, who had both earlier worked in Kamerlingh-Onnes’ pioneering low temperature laboratory in Leiden. These were to become two of Landau’s closest friends; later, Artemii Alikhanian was to become a personal confidant. Paul Ehrenfest, who had lived in St. Petersburg pre-revolution, was a frequent and valued visitor to Kharkov. In 1935 he moved over to head also the general physics department at the University of Kharkov. He must have been able to do with very little sleep!

In Kharkov, Landau met Concordia (Cora, or Korusha) Terentievna Drobantseva, a Ukrainian chemistry student and food technologist. Overcoming his original reticence with women, he courted her, and in 1937 they married. The Landaus had one son, Igor, born in 1946. He became an experimental physicist.

It was at Kharkov that Landau developed his ideas about the teaching of physics. Landau’s master plan was to write, or at least oversee, a graded series of textbooks, from school and lay texts to a course for professional theoreticians. He never completed the task, but by the time of his disablement in 1962, he and Evgeny Lifshitz had finished nearly all of the full Course of Theoretical Physics, and the first part of the Course of General Physics. For this they received the Order of Lenin, the highest Soviet honour. The original nine volume, full Course of Theoretical Physics is universally known as “Landau and Lifshitz”; it has been kept up to date, and translated into English. (Among the translating team was John Bell of Bell’s theorem.) These books are masterpieces. They include all pertinent facts, and never waste a word or use an inferior method. The initial Russian reviews were, ridiculously, negative; again dialectical materialism was involved. But the physicists knew better.

From 1930 on, Landau’s output was actually written by Lifshitz or a collaborator and overseen by Landau; perfectionism to the degree of self-torture was responsible.

The full Course of Theoretical Physics was what Landau uncompromisingly believed every intending theoretician should master before undertaking research. He also believed in a mastery of mathematical methods, so that technicalities should not obscure the physics of a problem. Landau initially examined students for this ‘theoretical minimum’ himself. The test involved the evaluation of indefinite integrals expressible in elementary functions, solution of ordinary differential equations of standard type, vector and tensor analysis, and elements of complex variable theory. 43 persons passed the theoretical minimum from its inception in 1933 up to 1961; by 1988, 10 of these were Members of the Academy of Science (equivalent to FRS), and 20 were D.Sc’s.

In 1937 Kapitza, who three years earlier had been refused permission to return to Cambridge after a visit home, was able to invite Landau to head the theoretical division of the new Institute of Physical Problems in Moscow. Landau accepted, and was based there for the rest of his working life. The timing was fortunate; factions within the Institute at Kharkov were interpreted as being related to those in the secret police (the NKVD), and most of the senior scientific staff were arrested. Landau was aware that his sharp tongue made him an obvious target of the arbitrary purges then prevailing, although a naivety still prevailed, for in 1936 Landau declared that Stalin’s “democratic” constitution would soon deprive him of power.

Unfortunately, departmental factionalism at Kharkov pursued him and in April 1938, in Moscow, he was charged as a German spy. He was only released a year later after Kapitza had risked personal intervention with Stalin, Molotov and Beria, and after Landau had to admit to lying (under torture or its threat) in his “confession”. In his cold and crowded cell, Landau trained himself to think without writing materials, but was convinced that another six months would have killed him. Colleagues report that the experience had a deep effect; “How dare they laugh” he exclaimed, overhearing a party just after his release.

More understandable is secrecy over Landau’s war efforts. In summer 1941 Hitler launched Operation Barbarossa, the invasion of Russia, initiating what Russians call the Great Patriotic War. The Institute was evacuated 400 miles east to Kazan, where it assisted in the war effort. Landau became a member of the Engineering Committee of the Red Army. Later, four papers surfaced on detonation and shock waves. Evacuation and war work did not stop his own research, although a glance at his publications shows it slowed.

In 1941 Landau published the first of several papers for which he was to receive the Nobel Prize: a quantum treatment of the superfluid phase of helium-4 (confusingly called helium-II). Landau deduced the energy spectrum of the Bose excitations semi-empirically; it has a valley at 8-10K. The energy gap is the cause of superfluidity, and the quasiparticles existing in equilibrium in this valley Landau called rotons. This enabled him to reproduce Laszlo Tisza’s prediction of “second sound”, an extra wave mode. It was detected by Peshkov three years later. The differing theories were perceived as rivals, leading to a vigorous exchange which is summarised in Stephen Brush’s fine history of statistical physics.

Landau returned often to the mysteries of low temperatures; he refined his theory in 1947, and in the 1950’s turned to the equally enigmatic isotope, helium-3. In 1950 he and Ginzburg published a paper on superconductivity which is still much used today. Another famous discovery, from 1946, is collisionless (energy-conserving) attenuation of longitudinal waves in plasma (“Landau damping”). It is a kinetic, velocity-space effect which cannot be foreseen from the hydrodynamic plasma equations.

It was in 1946 that the USSR Academy of Sciences, under threat of mass resignations, at last elected Landau a Member. The delay, which particularly incensed Kapitza and Fock, was clearly a result of Landau’s sharp tongue.

Landau was a member of Igor Kurchatov’s nuclear weapons team. (Another prominent figure was Andrei Sakharov.) Although Landau never worked full-time on the Soviet atom bomb, he published nothing for the three years prior to detonation of the first Soviet hydrogen bomb on 8th August 1953. That year he was also awarded the title Hero of Socialist Effort; Kapitza states in the Royal Society of London obituary of Landau that this was partially for “fulfilling government projects”.

Landau resumed his research from 1953. First to surface was the paper he found most challenging, taking up Fermi’s ideas about multiple particle production in collisions. Landau analysed the expansion of a cloud of emerging particles using the equations of relativistic hydrodynamics. These were valid because the mean free path was far less than the dimensions of the cloud. He solved these asymptotically, using tricks borrowed from other areas of physics. He also published on quantum electrodynamics, fluid flow, and many aspects of low temperature theory. His greatest efforts, according to Ginzburg, went into an attempt to develop a theory of second order phase transitions going beyond the self-consistent field approximation. He was particularly appreciative of Onsager’s solution of the two-dimensional Ising model.

The seminars at Moscow, which took place at 11am prompt on Thursdays and lasted the day, were renowned. Questions or interruptions were permitted at any stage, but with ‘Dau (never the formal Lev Davidovich) conducting, a conclusion would be reached. Outstanding results were entered into a “golden book”, and nontrivial problems arising into a “problems book”, a fertile source of research topics. Conclusions were by no means always favourable to the speaker, and waffle was seized on mercilessly. Landau tended to be overly influenced by his first opinion of speakers.

In 1958, on his 50th birthday, a party was held. All formalities were banned. Landau was presented with his own Ten Commandments: small marble tablets engraved with his ten most significant formulae.

Landau was by this time recognised abroad, and added many international honours to his clutch of domestic ones (although he was not permitted to travel abroad, obviously because of his knowledge of Soviet atomic secrets). These included:

  • 1951 Member, Danish Royal Academy of Sciences (recall
    Bohr was Danish)
  • 1956 Member, Netherlands Academy of Sciences
  • 1959 Honorary Fellow, British Institute of Physics and
    Physical Society
  • 1960 Foreign Member (equivalent to Fellow), Royal
    Society of London; Foreign Associate, US National Academy of Sciences
    Fritz London Prize (USA); Max Planck Medal (Germany).

1962 brought the tragedy which ended his career abruptly at its height. On Sunday, January 7th, Landau was being driven by a colleague to Dubna. In Moscow’s northern suburbs the car braked sharply to avoid a pedestrian, slewing on the icy surface only to stop in the path of an oncoming lorry. In the resulting collision Landau suffered multiple fractures, collapse of one lung and part of the other, severe internal damage to the abdomen, and a fracture to the base of the skull. He was rendered deeply unconscious, and in hospital was thought to be dying on several occasions. Few persons suffering such injuries could be expected to survive, but he hung on with a tenacity belied by his physique.

During his unconsciousness, scores of academics formed a fraternity of volunteers willing to do anything the doctors suggested; at one stage they brought a respirator from the nearby poliomyelitis research institute. The best specialists were summoned to the hospital, in the Timiriasevsky district. Landau had inspired nothing less than love among his fellow physicists.

To minimise trauma, it was decided to repair his body before undertaking any operation on the brain. Late in February, 50 days after the crash, came tentative indications that consciousness was returning. Landau first responded to a request to blink acknowledgement. An international neurosurgical team subsequently decided it better not to operate on his brain. (This was long before non-invasive tissue imaging, which could detect haemorrhage.) In early April Landau began to recover his speech, reflexes and memory, but only in July did he question where he was, and why.

Sadly, it was becoming obvious that Landau would not recover his talents. He remained apathetic. Detailed thought, rather than reactive conversation or specific memory recall, was largely beyond him.

Late in 1962 came the announcement that Landau had been awarded the Nobel Prize in physics “for his pioneering theories concerning condensed matter, especially liquid helium”. Precedent was broken by presenting the prize, not in Stockholm, but at Landau’s bedside, by the Swedish ambassador. This award cannot be given posthumously, so it is likely that Landau’s poor health catalyzed what was a well-deserved honour. That year he also received a Lenin Prize.

Only in 1964 could he at last return home. His physical recovery, though incomplete, was better than his mental. He learned to walk again, though suffering intense frustration. But early in the morning of 1st April, 1968 he died, following an intestinal operation.

The post-war explosion of research led to the founding of an Institute of Theoretical Physics in the USSR in 1964. As tribute, it bears Landau’s name today.

What of Landau’s personality? He was characterized by a sharp and quick tongue – he did not suffer fools gladly – and this abruptness was often likened to Pauli. Examples abound. Landau believed that genuinely talented physicists would be known and have peaked by their late 20’s (a notion he disproved by example), and this led to his famous comment “So young, and already so unknown?” At a conference he replied, after others had demurred, that the difference between Pauli and a particular philosophy professor was that Pauli understood [the uncertainty principle]. Landau’s features, at least in early photographs, were intense. Physically he was very thin, and moved angularly. His hands were never still. He chose never to learn to drive. Nevertheless he played tennis and was fond of (cross-country) skiing. He enjoyed travel, and vacations were often spent driving with Lifshitz. He was an inveterate classifier, classifying physicists on a logarithmic scale; thus a second class physicist supposedly accomplishes ten times as much as a third class physicist. He was already suing this scale by 1929. Einstein alone was rated 1/2, while rank 1 included Schrödinger, Bohr, Heisenberg, Dirac and Fermi. Landau placed himself at 2 1/2, ultimately re-assessing himself at 2. In response to a question he replied: “No, I am not a genius. Bohr is, and Einstein is; I am not. But I am very talented”. Those in the fifth rank he called pathological types; “pathology” was a favourite term of denigration.

Landau did not like the unexpected, and did not alter his opinion easily, although it was so rarely necessary in science as to cause no trouble. In personal contexts this could be more irksome.

Landau was graceful to all correspondents who showed interest in physics, at any level, but if he detected a trace of careerism then his reply was sharp. He disposed of one, enquiring in which branch best to specialise, after first giving the answer: that which interests him most. He wrote a definitive letter to one of that pestilential category who claimed to have disproved relativity:

“I must say that your manuscript is lacking in any interest. Modern physics is a tremendous science, based primarily on a large number of experimental facts. You are patently almost completely unacquainted with this science, and you attempt to explain physical phenomena, about which you know little, with meaningless phrases. It is clear that nothing can come out of it. If you are seriously interested in physics, you should not engage in discoveries, but first learn at least a little about the subject.
“Modern physics is a complicated and difficult science, and in order to accomplish anything in it, it is necessary to know very much. Knowledge is all the more needed in order to advance any new ideas. It is obvious from your letter that your knowledge of physics is very limited. What you call new ideas is simply prattle of an ill-educated person; it is as if someone who never saw an electric machine before were to come before you and advance new ideas on this subject. If you are seriously interested in physics, first take time to study this science. After some time you yourself will see how ridiculous is this nonsense that came out of your typewriter….”

When writing he worked on the floor or on a settee, never at a desk. As a young man he was very shy; he confessed later to despair at this, which he tried to overcome by conscious effort. He saw it as an obligation to be happy. He gave unsolicited personal advice irrespective of possible offence whenever he deemed it necessary. He believed that interpersonal relationships were ultimately simple and analysable. When young he disapproved of marriage as a “typically capitalist institution”, in pushing a good thing too far. He never took Judaism seriously, and was characteristically caustic about religious belief. His “school” of physics, though meritocratic, was predominantly Jewish, and he made no effort to heal the schism with Bogoliubov’s school. He became fond of literature, poetry, realistic art and cinema, but described himself as musically blind, and positively detested opera and ballet. He was uninterested in chess, a Russian passion. He was interested exclusively in an argument’s quality, and never in unsupported appeals to higher authority. Above all else Landau detested pretension; Lifshitz suggests he disliked opera and ballet because they are more contrived ways of telling a story than literature or cinema. He was fond of history. He tried to categorise and quantify everything. The rationalist facet of his personality always dominates.

While the tragedy of his loss – it is not too strong a word – left physics the poorer, his achievements are lasting. Physicists today owe a major debt to his teachings and scientific ideals.

ADDENDUM: Sources Used

SOURCES USED

Usp. Fiz. Nauk vol.64, 615 (1958) (50th birthday biography)

JETP vol.34, 3 (1958), English trans: vol.7, 1 (1958) (50th birthday biography)

Physics Today vol.14, 42-46 (March 1961) (Fritz London prize)

Landau – A Great Physicist and Teacher (A. Livanova; English translation: Pergamon 1980)

Usp. Fiz. Nauk vol.97, 169-183 (1969) (by Lifshitz), English translation: Sov. Phys. Uspekhi vol.12, 135-143 (1969). (Obituary biography)

Mechanics; Course of Theoretical Physics Vol 1, Landau and Lifshitz, 3rd Ed. (Pergamon, 1976); Introduction. A minor emendation of previous reference.

Landau’s Collected Papers, ed D. ter Haar; Intro p(xiii) (1965; Pergamon).

Bird of Passage (R. Peierls; autobiography, Princeton 1985)

Obituaries of Landau: The Times, The Daily Telegraph, The Guardian, London, April 3rd 1968.

The Man They Wouldn’t Let Die. Alexander Dorozynski, Secker & Warburg (1966)

Biographical Memoirs of the Royal Society vol.15, 140 (1969). Obituary by Kapitza and Lifshitz.

My World Line. George Gamow, Viking press, NY 1970.

Statistical Physics and the Atomic Theory of Matter. S.G. Brush, Princeton U.P. 1983 (a history).

Reminiscences of Landau. I.M. Khalatnikov, Physics Today, May 1989, p34.

Landau’s Attitude Towards Physics and Physicists. V.L. Ginzburg, Physics Today, May 1989, p54.

Landau: The Physicist and the Man; Recollections of L.D. Landau, ed: I.M. Khalatnikov. Nauka, Moscow 1988; English translation published by Pergamon, 1989.

Pages from Landau’s Book of Life. Maya Bessarab. Moscow Worker Press, 1971.

Proceedings of the Landau Memorial Conference, Tel Aviv, Israel, 6-10 June 1988, eds E. Gotsman, Y. Ne’eman & A. Voronel (Pergamon 1990).

Reflections on Liquid Helium. E.L. Andronikashvili, Adam Hilger, 1990.

Landau’s Brain Injury: A Fuller Account. Letter to Physics Today, May 1990, p118.

Proceedings of the Landau Birthday Symposium, Copenhagen, 13-17 June 1988, ed A.H. Luther (Pergamon 1990).

Past Crossword Prize

Posted in Biographical, Crosswords on June 30, 2018 by telescoper

I was tidying up my desk at home this morning in preparation for the big move when I came across this little cutting. I think this was the first crossword prize I ever won, from the Guardian. Note that the reward back then was a (Swiss) watch rather than the succession of dictionaries I’ve collected in the subsequent years. If I recall correctly they sent me a catalogue from which to pick a watch.

The current Guardian Prize crossword is number 27549, and the one in the picture is 19742; according to my calculations that must have been published about 25 years ago, which fits with the location of Bethnal Green, where I lived from 1991 to 1998…

If anyone can find out exactly when Guardian Prize Crossword No. 19742 was published and, more importantly, who the setter was, I’d be very interested!