Afterlives of a Misunderstanding: Dialogue V — On Interpretations Themselves

Characters:

Professor Quillibrace

Mr Blottisham

Miss Elowen Stray

---

Blottisham:

I must protest. First the cat, then the friend, the hidden manuals, the branching worlds… What next?

Quillibrace:

Next is reflection. On ourselves rather than the physics.

Elowen Stray:

So the interpretations are… symptoms?

Quillibrace:

Precisely. They are our attempts to force the theory into a story we could tell comfortably.

Blottisham:

I insist that some of them have merit!

Quillibrace:

Merit as entertainment, yes. Merit as necessity? Not a jot.

Blottisham:

But what about all those learned debates?

Quillibrace:

They are debates about questions that the theory declined to answer.

Elowen Stray:

So the trouble with interpretations…

Quillibrace:

…is that they confuse human impatience for physical requirement.

Blottisham:

And the universe continues unbothered?

Quillibrace:

Completely. It performs its instantiations quietly, with no regard for our metaphors.

Blottisham:

So every cat, every friend, every secret variable and branching world…

Quillibrace:

…lives only in imagination.

Elowen Stray:

A very lively imagination.

Blottisham:

I suppose that makes me indispensable.

Quillibrace:

You are, indeed, an indispensable witness to folly.

Blottisham:

Then I shall continue to invent them, posthumously if necessary.

Quillibrace:

Posthumously or while alive, imagination remains generous.

Elowen Stray:

So physics doesn’t punish mistakes.

Quillibrace:

It merely refuses to reward them.

Blottisham:

Then the moral of this series…

Quillibrace:

…is that the trouble was never the physics. It was our stories.

Elowen Stray:

And our inability to distinguish constraint from drama.

Blottisham:

I see. Perhaps I can retire my catastrophes.

Quillibrace:

Or at least assign them proper roles: entertainment, pedagogy, and mild complaint.

(A pause. Blottisham smiles, Elowen nods, and Quillibrace sips his tea with serene satisfaction.)

Afterlives of a Misunderstanding: Dialogue IV — On Many Worlds

Characters:

Professor Quillibrace

Mr Blottisham

Miss Elowen Stray

---

Blottisham:

Many Worlds! At last, the universe obeys my every whim! Every possibility realised! Infinite splendour!

Quillibrace:

Infinite splendour is exhausting.

Elowen Stray:

But surely it’s elegant? No need to collapse anything—every choice becomes a world.

Blottisham:

Exactly! No more disappointment, no more waiting—everything occurs somewhere!

Quillibrace:

Except your imagination insists that it all matters simultaneously.

Blottisham:

It does! Every branch, every divergence—I want them all!

Quillibrace:

You want ontological overachievement.

Elowen Stray:

So the theory does not demand multiple worlds?

Quillibrace:

Not in the slightest. That’s a narrative patch. A way to avoid confronting a simple cut.

Blottisham:

But if we accept one world, then some possibilities fail. That is cruel!

Quillibrace:

It is disciplined. Reality is not obliged to satisfy drama.

Blottisham:

So all those worlds are fiction?

Quillibrace:

Fiction intended to console human impatience.

Elowen Stray:

So Many Worlds is a very polite hallucination.

Blottisham:

I prefer to call it cosmic generosity!

Quillibrace:

Generosity requires someone to benefit. This is simply imagination outpacing necessity.

Blottisham:

But the mathematics allows it!

Quillibrace:

It allows description of outcomes relative to cuts. That is not an instruction to multiply the universe.

Elowen Stray:

So we invent worlds to avoid accepting the sufficiency of one?

Quillibrace:

Exactly. A most extravagant avoidance of simplicity.

Blottisham:

Then the trouble with Many Worlds…

Quillibrace:

…is that it treats description as obligation.

Elowen Stray:

And mistakes narrative exuberance for reality.

Blottisham:

The universe is stingy, then.

Quillibrace:

Only with your indulgences. Otherwise, impeccably generous to physics.

(Blottisham sighs, imagining a cosmos too vast to ever inspect, while Elowen smiles at the economy of the actual.)

Afterlives of a Misunderstanding: Dialogue III — On Hidden Variables

Characters:

Professor Quillibrace
Mr Blottisham
Miss Elowen Stray

---

Blottisham:
Hidden variables! Finally, the universe admits to having secrets. At last, some order, some determinacy!

Quillibrace:
It admits nothing. Not even to you.

Elowen Stray:
But the idea is tempting. A cosmic instruction manual behind the randomness…

Blottisham:
Exactly! Somewhere, all outcomes are pre-written. We just need the key.

Quillibrace:
You’ve just described superstition with a better font.

Blottisham:
I do not care about fonts! This is physics!

Quillibrace:
Physics is not impressed by desire.

Elowen Stray:
So hidden variables don’t exist?

Quillibrace:
Not as a necessity. They are a human attempt to restore comfort.

Blottisham:
Comfort? This is revolution! A deterministic universe waiting to be decoded!

Quillibrace:
Or a narrative dressing for the inadequacy of the question.

Blottisham:
Then you’re saying randomness is fundamental?

Quillibrace:
Fundamental to our description prior to a cut, yes. Not to caprice.

Elowen Stray:
So we imagine variables because we can’t stand openness?

Quillibrace:
Precisely. It is a psychological fix masquerading as theory.

Blottisham:
But Bell proved hidden variables could be constrained!

Quillibrace:
Yes. Constrained by correlations already predicted. That tells us nothing about a secret instruction manual—it only reinforces the relational structure of the system.

Blottisham:
Then I see. The universe refuses to hand me a cheat sheet.

Quillibrace:
Exactly. And yet the theory is entirely sufficient to predict outcomes.

Elowen Stray:
So the trouble with hidden variables…

Quillibrace:
…is not that they don’t exist. It’s that we invented them to satisfy a longing.

Blottisham:
A longing for a past that never existed.

Quillibrace:
Quite so. And physics remains untroubled by our nostalgia.

Blottisham:
I suppose I must now grumble about human impatience.

Quillibrace:
A complaint I find perfectly reasonable.

(Blottisham shakes his head, muttering about secret manuals he will never receive.)