As they crossed the quadrangle, the sound of the College orchestra drifted from the Assembly Hall.
Mr Blottisham paused.
"They're rehearsing rather well."
Professor Quillibrace listened for a moment.
"They are."
"I've always envied musicians."
"Have you?"
"They know exactly what they're supposed to play."
Miss Elowen Stray smiled.
"They know what is written."
Blottisham looked at her.
"Is there a difference?"
Quillibrace opened the hall door quietly.
Inside, the orchestra was rehearsing under the conductor's patient eye.
Violins, cellos and woodwinds moved together with impressive precision.
The music stopped.
The conductor frowned.
"Gentlemen," he said to the string section, "the notes are correct."
A pause.
"But the phrase is not."
Blottisham looked puzzled.
"How can that be?"
"The notes were right."
"They were."
"So what was wrong?"
Quillibrace smiled.
"An excellent question."
The rehearsal resumed.
Again the orchestra stopped.
This time two violinists began discussing the passage.
"I think the composer intended resignation."
"Nonsense."
"It is clearly hope."
"But look at the harmony."
"Exactly."
Blottisham listened with increasing bewilderment.
"They're arguing."
"They are."
"But they're playing the same notes."
Miss Stray watched thoughtfully.
"Perhaps the disagreement is not about the notes."
"No."
"It is about what the notes mean."
Back in the Common Room, Blottisham poured himself another cup of tea.
"I think I understand."
"Do you?"
"They agree on the score."
"Yes."
"But not on the interpretation."
Quillibrace nodded.
"And does that remind you of anything?"
Blottisham thought for a long moment.
Then he smiled.
"Quantum mechanics."
Quillibrace looked delighted.
"Indeed."
"The mathematics works."
"Remarkably well."
"The predictions work."
"Extraordinarily well."
"The experiments agree."
"With astonishing precision."
"But..."
"...yes?"
"...physicists still disagree about what the mathematics is saying."
Miss Stray leaned forward.
"So the equations resemble the musical score."
"Precisely."
"The interpretations resemble different performances."
Quillibrace nodded.
"A most illuminating analogy."
Blottisham frowned.
"But surely one interpretation must be correct."
"Perhaps."
"And the others mistaken."
"Possibly."
"But the mathematics itself..."
"...yes?"
"...does not yet force the choice."
The room fell quiet.
Outside, the orchestra began rehearsing once more.
The melody floated faintly through the open window.
Miss Stray spoke almost to herself.
"How curious."
"What is?"
"The same marks on a page can support several coherent understandings."
Quillibrace smiled.
"And science occasionally behaves in exactly the same manner."
Blottisham looked thoughtful.
"I've noticed something."
"What?"
"In the dark matter discussion..."
"...yes?"
"...people disagreed because they didn't yet know enough."
"Quite."
"And with inflation..."
"...yes?"
"...one successful idea produced many descendants."
"Indeed."
"But here..."
He looked puzzled.
"...the mathematics itself remains the same."
Quillibrace nodded.
"The habitat remains."
"The inhabitants differ."
Miss Stray looked pleased.
"So quantum theory is rather like a house occupied by several families."
Quillibrace laughed softly.
"Each convinced the architect intended them."
The fire crackled gently.
For a while no one spoke.
Then Blottisham asked the question that had clearly been troubling him.
"So what is the wavefunction?"
Quillibrace smiled over the rim of his teacup.
"An excellent way to begin an argument."
Miss Stray laughed.
"I notice you didn't answer."
"I couldn't."
"Because you don't know?"
"Because the question already assumes one particular kind of answer."
She considered this.
"So perhaps we should first ask..."
"...yes?"
"...what role the wavefunction plays within the theory..."
"...before deciding what sort of thing it is."
Quillibrace inclined his head.
"A philosophical instinct of the highest order."
Outside, the orchestra reached the end of the movement.
This time the conductor smiled.
"Better," he said.
"The notes were unchanged."
He paused.
"But now the music has begun."
The three scholars listened in silence.
At length Blottisham spoke.
"I always imagined that once scientists agreed upon the equations..."
"...yes?"
"...they had finished the difficult part."
Quillibrace looked towards the music drifting across the quadrangle.
"My dear Blottisham..."
"Yes?"
"Sometimes that is merely the point at which the conversation truly begins."
They rose together.
The score remained exactly as it had always been.
Only the understanding of it continued to evolve.
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