When I tell friends that I—as somebody who’s never set foot inside a university physics classroom—am working on questions in physics, their reactions range from outright laughter to a highly self-controlled, deliberate “That’s interesting…” while their body language leaves no doubt that they think I’ve gone completely insane. Unfortunately, it’s always possible that they are correct in this assessment. However, I’d like to take a moment here to make my case for why things aren’t quite that simple.
To gauge how well I succeed, I’d like to invite you, the reader, to note down where you currently stand on this question before reading further, using a scale from -10 to +10: a -10 means your answer to this post’s title question is a resounding “No,” implying that the next major contributions must come from a physicist at a university (maybe with a PhD, or even a professorship), while a +10 means you believe it must come from someone outside the system. At the end, I’ll ask you to revisit your score so you can share your before-and-after values in the comments. Please be honest, and don’t hedge your bets—a starting value of anything other than a -10, -9 or -8 would be highly unusual.
Throughout the text, you’ll see small, colored superscript numbers like this +2. These reflect my own assessment of how much each point could influence the score, starting from a -10 baseline. This isn’t an attempt to put words into your mouth—or scores into your head—but rather a friendly reminder to keep score and for me to share how much weight I think each argument carries without cluttering the main text.
Here’s a thought that may cause a first crack in the hardliner’s “it must be a university physicist” position: if Einstein’s father hadn’t mustered all his courage to ask Einstein’s mother out (or however it worked back then), we might not have relativity theory today.+1
“Hold on” I hear you say, “that can hardly be called a direct contribution.” That may be so, however if you read the title question attentively you may notice that it doesn’t include the word direct. Also, what counts as direct vs. indirect can be tricky to define if looked at more closely. We may reach a consensus on it, but truth isn’t the result of negotiation or a democratic process. Most likely, it’s just one more distinction humans made up.[1]
An objection that should be taken more seriously is that Hermann—Albert’s father—likely acted without any intention regarding his son’s future achievements. He probably had other things on his mind—less unification in physics, but rather physical unification—when taking Pauline on that hot air balloon ride (at least that’s one possibility, as ballooning was already gaining popularity from the mid-19th century; judging by his savvy looks, he may have known that shared emotional experiences can foster openness to romantic possibilities). While the title question also doesn’t include the word intentional, it could be argued that contribution subtly implies purpose. Though not always so (for example, natural phenomena also contribute to outcomes), in most contexts, especially with deliberate actions, the term does carry a hint of intention.
However, the real reason why we’re not comfortable with calling it a contribution is another one: we don’t want to give Einstein’s father credit for something that was so indirect and unintentional. By that logic, would we also have to give credit to Pauline’s friend who may have hooked them up? Or, to take a much grimmer example, would we need to thank Hitler for the development of the radar, which he undoubtedly accelerated?[2]
The question of attribution is a tricky one. On the one hand, we need to give recognition where it’s due—to encourage others to do the same, to express gratitude toward those who have done good for us, or perhaps to fulfill our need for role models and heroes. On the other hand, if success is the result of many, drawing boundaries becomes inevitably unfair. For example, the Nobel committee’s “rule of three”—limiting the prize to a maximum of three recipients[3]—faces criticism, as many achievements involve more than three contributors. However, if “everyone” becomes a Nobel laureate, the award’s appeal is diminished. We may need to keep it selective, as the motivation to join a distinguished club fades if exclusivity is lost. It may be unfair, but practical considerations sometimes make it necessary to preserve the honor’s allure.
In this article, the question “who deserves how much credit” doesn’t need to be discussed further, as too many factors play into it. The key point is to remember that the circle of contributors is often much wider than recognized. The school teacher who inspires future scientists[4], the friend who offers crucial support during times of adversity, or the politician who skillfully achieves stability for their country, allowing science to blossom, are all examples of significant contributions without which progress in physics would be much more difficult, or even impossible. For sure, it’s never only the last person in the chain.+2
When I was a child, I was surprised to discover that the top tennis players had coaches. I wondered, if coaches can tell top tennis players what to do, why don’t they compete in the tournaments themselves? It took me a while to realize that the actions that bring out someone’s peak performance can be very different from the final actions that lead directly to the result. This is true for almost all disciplines, including physics.
Incidentally, you wouldn’t even need to be an experienced tennis coach to offer useful advice. Imagine you see a tennis player who’s clearly upset, swearing, and making a lot of mistakes. You tell him, “Alright, calm down, take a deep breath, and start playing again once you’ve collected yourself.” If he replies, “Are you kidding? I play tennis all the time, and you, someone who’s never even held a racket, want to tell me how to succeed at this game?”, what would you say?
Some success factors can’t be found within the problem itself; they lie beyond it. To get those right, being too deep into a problem can even be a disadvantage—an outside perspective, a broader view, or a different angle is needed. As the Chinese saying goes, “You have to climb the mountain to understand the valley.” This is also why consultation can be valuable, even if the consultant doesn’t know any details.
One area in physics where this is relevant is problem-solving techniques. Please answer the following questions:
If you’re skeptical about outsiders contributing, you’d need to answer “no” to at least one of these questions. But which one? Arguing that creativity isn’t needed for new ideas would be difficult.[5] It’s also well-recognized that problem-solving techniques can be used across fields (for example, see The Creative Process and Parallels Between Physics and Chess). As Mark Twain said, “There is no such thing as a new idea…We simply take a lot of old ideas and put them into a sort of mental kaleidoscope.” Given this, the third point logically follows from the first two.+2
With respect to providing the tools physicists need to do their work, it’s refreshing to see that the Nobel committee recognized this in 2024 by awarding the Nobel Prize in Physics to two non-physicists for their contributions to artificial intelligence—now widely used across various fields in physics. Likewise, there have been many instances where other non-physicists would have deserved similar recognition: from Alan Turing, for laying the groundwork for computational methods essential to physical simulations, to John von Neumann, for his mathematical contributions to quantum mechanics, to Kurt Gödel, for his incompleteness theorems, which deepened our understanding of the theoretical limits of physics, among many others. The recent award reflects a commendable broadening in the Nobel committee’s view of what constitutes a significant contribution to physics. Arguments from authority are never valid, but still +0.5
There’s another way to contribute to progress in physics: money. If you’re wealthy, you could fund the education of hundreds of students, using your capital as lever to significantly amplify your impact. Even better, you could donate to support my work. Or, you might establish a prize to boost incentives, as the Breakthrough Prize in Fundamental Physics did with its 3$ million award—making the Nobel Prize’s ~1$ million look like pocket change.[6] The idea that cold cash can be the deciding factor may seem unromantic—we prefer the image of a lone thinker having a moment of epiphany from a falling apple in an idyllic landscape—but that’s simply the reality of the world we were born into.+1
Like this, there are many other indirect or semi-direct ways to contribute to fundamental physics. But now, let’s get to the heart of the matter…
Can outsiders even contribute to progress in fundamental physics directly, “beating” the experts on their home turf? Our instinctive response is a clear “no,” because that’s the experience we made in almost every other discipline. For example, if you take up a violin for the first time and try to compete with a professional violist, the only outcome will be lawsuits for permanent ear damage. Fancy trying out flying a plane, defusing a live bomb, or doing surgery? Go right ahead, but please don’t involve me in any way.
However, if we look more closely, we’ll notice that it applies to different degrees. You don’t often hear stories of tennis amateurs beating top players, while the first-division football team occasionally loses against a third, fourth, or sometimes even fifth-division (semi-)amateur team in a national cup competition. Similarly, disciplines like gymnastics, swimming, rowing, and platform diving rarely see amateurs win over professionals, while it’s much more common in boxing, sailing, poker, chess, programming, investing, photography, or other creative fields.
One reason for this difference is the “one game vs. many” factor. In tennis, for instance, every point can be viewed as a separate game with a winner and a loser. A match is the sum of many such “games,” which strongly favors the better player, as the final outcome reflects an average of multiple results, rendering outliers irrelevant. In contrast, a single goal in football can decide the entire game.
Whether it’s an individual or a team also plays a role, again due to averaging effects. Individual players on an amateur team might have a particularly good day and outperform their counterparts. However, if the outcome depends on the team’s overall average performance, this individual advantage is much less likely to have an impact.
Another factor is luck. The greater the role of luck, the better the chances for amateurs. The decisive “lucky punch” is quite literal in boxing but applies figuratively across many other fields as well. In poker, a fortunate hand at a critical moment can change everything, while a coincidental stock pick can make all the difference in investing. In photography, capturing the perfect shot often depends on being in the right place at the right time. Even in chess, luck can play a role; for example, if an opponent chooses an opening that you know well, your chances of winning increase significantly. And in football, a ball hitting the post instead of going in can completely change the story—quite literally.[7]
Access to resources can play a role as well. If a discipline requires certain tools, material or information, then the amateur who doesn’t have access to those is already out of the race before it started. That’s why some Olympic disciplines are significantly more competitive than others; a typical person’s backyard is unlikely to host a horse, sailing boat, or a sleigh, while almost anyone can put on a pair of running shoes.
The level of “preparability”—the degree to which a task allows for advance preparation—can also decisively tilt the odds in the expert’s favor. When the muscular weightlifter and the thin-armed amateur approach the weight bar, no drumroll is necessary. The expert’s years of training and muscle conditioning make the outcome a foregone conclusion. The same principle applies in public speaking and stand-up comedy, fields with strategic planning such as legal work or project management, and many other fields where preparation is key.
Another key factor is repeatability. When actions are very similar or even identical, an expert who has spent countless hours perfecting them will almost always have an edge. This is especially true when there is no direct interaction with an opponent and no need for unpredictable adjustments. For example, golf requires repeatedly optimizing the same type of swing. There’s still some variety in golf, though, as external factors—such as changing course conditions, wind, and so on—come into play. When also the external conditions are constant, as in darts or bowling, the advantage for the specialist is even greater.[8]
Furthermore, it’s not only a question of whether experts can do a better job, but also if they want to. In other words, incentivization is key. Reaching peak performances often comes at a high cost; years of intensive training, a reduction—or complete elimination—of social life, and sacrificing many other enjoyable pastimes and hobbies. Who, in their right mind, would commit to such a path? Often, it’s the professionals, driven by external pressure to perform and by an internal drive for excellence. When you know you’re a professional, you want to live up to it; excelling becomes a matter of self-respect.
Before assessing how physics meets each of these criteria, let’s quickly recap which type of physics we’re talking about. As the title question states, the focus is on fundamental physics rather than applied physics; the latter involves applying known laws, while the former is about deepening our understanding of these laws and discovering new ones. The term breakthrough is also key here, as it’s much more specific than general progress, which would also include incremental advances, something that’s an entirely different ballgame. Finally, it’s about theoretical rather than experimental physics, which isn’t explicitly stated in the title question as the term breakthrough already implies it.[9] In short, it’s about coming up with the next big theory in physics.
With respect to “one game vs. many,” the verdict is clear: developing the next big theory won’t be a “best out of 100” game. It’s about discovering that one, highly unique, special theory. It will also likely come from an individual rather than a group, due the importance of the subconscious mind and intuition—which cannot be easily transferred on a conscious level—as well as the tendency of group dynamics to filter out radical ideas. Both factors are explained in more detail here. Somewhat surprisingly, luck also plays a significant role in coming up with new theories, given the unpredictability of the subconscious, the influence of serendipitous moments (falling apples and the like[10]), and the many unrelated factors that must align to make such peak performances possible.
With respect to access to resources, while many incremental advances may rely on them, major breakthroughs in physics often do not. None of the “Big Four” theories (Newton’s universal gravitation, Maxwell’s electromagnetism, and Einstein’s theories of special and general relativity)—required exclusive, expert-only information. Whatever the next major theory may be, we can assume that all the necessary components are already on the table, waiting for someone to connect the dots and draw the new map that will propel humanity forward.
It’s also fair to assume that there won’t be much preparation leading up to discovery of the next big theory. Once it’s understood, it will hit everyone like a truck—including its discoverer.[11] If the new theory were intuitive, easy to grasp, or expected, we would already have it. Moreover, not only will it be unexpected, but it will be massively surprising on an entirely new level.
In the same vein, there won’t be much repeatability. Developing a groundbreaking new theory in physics is exactly the opposite of retelling the same old story. As the word groundbreaking suggests, it’s about breaking ground rather than building on it. While the tools and mindsets physicists learn at university are invaluable for applying known laws in applied physics—which they get trained for, as that’s what the market demands—they can become counterproductive in fundamental physics, where the goal is not to apply rules but to question them at the very core.
What about incentivization? University physicists have undoubtedly faced mounting pressure over the past few decades—encapsulated in phrases “publish or perish,” which, though meant figuratively, reflects the very real stress many experience.[12] But is this type of pressure conducive to breakthroughs in fundamental physics? One problem is that it discourages the exploration of niche areas, as those often offer fewer opportunities for publication in academic journals and garner fewer citations. And unfortunately, the next big theory will likely emerge from what is currently perceived as a niche—provided it’s even recognized at all yet. Adding to this issue is academia’s frequent emphasis on publication quantity over quality (“The dean can count, but he cannot read”), which further skews incentives away from meaningful, innovative work.
Beyond these “details,” one might expect universities to have a strong incentive to foster the next major breakthrough—the discovery of a new relativity theory, for example, would make both the “next Einstein” and their institution widely celebrated, right? While that’s true in theory, in practice, rewarding a final, hypothetical breakthrough matters less than incentivizing the path toward it. University physicists face constant pressure to show consistent, measurable progress and can’t afford to retreat into years of research without concrete results. Yet, for groundbreaking theories, that’s often exactly what’s needed. Such theories typically emerge from paradigm shifts[13] grounded in intuition, subtle cues, and subconscious insight rather than steady, reportable milestones. Tracking incremental progress on such discoveries is nearly impossible—there’s no such thing as a “10% paradigm shift.” When the solution finally appears, it often feels like a sudden revelation, much like Mozart’s experience of an entire piece of music coming to him fully formed, with writing it down feeling like mere transcription. However, university’s incentive structures rarely support this kind of unpredictable, nonlinear process. Instead, they push physicists to tackle known, manageable questions, leading to incremental, publishable advancements that—on the grand scale—address only smaller issues. Independent researchers, by contrast, are free from these academic constraints, allowing them to step back and pursue fundamentally different approaches.
It’s worthwhile to reflect on the factors discussed above. The first five—one game vs. many, individuals vs. teams, luck, access to resources, and preparability—already increase the chances for outsiders to make a difference, though mostly due to reducing the expert’s advantage. However, the factors of repeatability and incentivization, arguably the most important, don’t merely level the playing field, but they actively work in the outsiders’ favor. Moreover, while other disciplines often include opposing effects—such as football, which reduces the expert’s advantage by being a single game but favors the expert by being a team sport—in fundamental physics, all seven factors work in the same direction.+3
There’s also an eighth point that isn’t directly linked to experts versus outsiders per se but plays a key role: passion. While experts can undoubtedly be very passionate about their work, the term “job” carries a sense of routine, duty, and “doing what’s needed to keep the salary coming.” Passion may have drawn some to the job initially, but there’s always the risk that it fades over time, similar to how a woman comes to the oldest profession in the world: first she does it out of curiosity, then passion, and eventually for money. However, we must keep the passion alive—only if we’re truly obsessed will our subconscious minds continue working day and night to crack the nut; a 9-to-5 job won’t do it. How to give passion a chance to blossom? First, we need to put the fun back into fundamental physics, as without it, it’s just da mental. Second, freedom is key here once again: being able to choose what to work on, when it work on it, and how to approach it isn’t only more enjoyable; if intuition pulls in a certain direction, it can be a good sign to pursue it further. This kind of freedom is a luxury that most jobs don’t provide.+1
Freedom is crucial for yet another reason: it allows us to scrap an idea and start fresh. Success rarely comes from picking a single approach and optimizing it endlessly; more often, it’s about testing multiple approaches until one finally clicks. In business, there’s the saying that to be a successful entrepreneur, you need to fail at least 10 times. Seen this way, every failure is a step closer to success. So, if you want to succeed faster, you need to increase your rate of failure. In physics, this idea translates to celebrating refutations, as each one brings us closer to theories that work. However, this is extremely difficult in a university setting, where reputations are tied to specific approaches and theories. Over time, this challenge only deepens: it becomes much harder to question assumptions if you’ve built years of work on them. Group dynamics make it particularly difficult: our egos resist admitting we were wrong, especially in public. Even effects that are usually positive can make it harder: the last thing we want is to disappoint colleagues who followed us and bet on the same approach—we don’t want to betray our team. In contrast, the (lonely) outsider faces none of these constraints: nothing to lose, no one to disappoint, and no reason to look back.+2
To avoid misunderstandings, none of the points made so far suggest that complete newcomers are likely to drive major change. Achieving the next major breakthroughs will require substantial knowledge of the field, a high level of skill, and dedication. The point, rather, is that the default belief—”Outsiders don’t have a chance; it must be the pros”—may apply far less in fundamental physics than in other disciplines.
What does the data, what does history say? Let’s go straight for the top: Einstein and Newton account for the three out of the “Big Four” theories in theoretical physics. Were they outsiders? In terms of personality and character they certainly were—especially Newton, with his reclusive and secretive nature, distrust and paranoia, temper and vindictiveness, and contentious relationship with peers—but reading the title question’s term outsiders in this way would feel, even for me, as a too cheap shot at collecting points. Still +0.5 for wit
It’s more appropriate to interpret outsider here as an academic outsider. In this sense, Einstein and Newton share a commonality. Newton’s “miracle year” (annus mirabilis) in 1666, when he made groundbreaking contributions to calculus, optics, and the laws of motion and gravitation—essentially laying the foundation of modern science—occurred while he was isolated at home during the Black Death. Similarly, Einstein’s miracle year in 1905, during which he published several revolutionary papers (on the photoelectric effect, Brownian motion, and special relativity), took place while he was working as a patent clerk in the Swiss patent office, far removed from the academic establishment.
If these two scientists—arguably the greatest who ever lived—achieved this pinnacle of human accomplishment from a historical pool of around 100 billion people, then it’s no longer reasonable to ask how they succeeded despite their separation from academia. Such a feat would be too improbable if major obstacles had truly stood in their way. At the very least, we must ask why this separation didn’t hinder them—or, more appropriately, how these apparent obstacles may have even helped. Viewed from this angle, it starts to make sense.+2
There are several psychological factors—if not to say pitfalls—that make us skeptical about major contributions from outsiders. One is that we observe flawed attempts by so-called crackpots, philosophers, or “spiritual leaders” and conclude that these failures prove that outsiders cannot contribute meaningfully. However, this is a thinking mistake; just because one type of outsider fails does not mean that others couldn’t succeed. This distinction is subtle, and such subtleties are often overlooked when information aligns with our existing beliefs, shielding it from scrutiny—a well-known phenomenon called “confirmation bias.”
Incidentally, crackpots often make a simple mistake: they try to beat the experts within the experts’ own frameworks. For example, they may take an established formula in physics and suggest adding a few extra variables or constants, claiming it will explain everything. However, this only demonstrates their lack of understanding of what the formula truly expresses and how it works. The previous chapter began with the question of whether outsiders can beat experts on their home turf, and the conclusion might be that it isn’t possible—experts know their territory too well.-1 But the key point is that sometimes the turf changes, and that shift alters the rules of the game.+2 Much like an amateur football team leaving the field intentionally unmaintained, making it unplayable for a professional football team accustomed to perfect conditions, outsiders in physics only have a chance if they can bring the experts onto entirely new ground. In fundamental physics, paradigm shifts are that new ground.[14]
Talking about distinguishing between different types of outsiders, there’s another crucial differentiation we need to make. We use the term “physics” for a wide range of endeavors, which creates the impression that it’s a homogeneous discipline. That’s how the notion can emerge that someone is either “not a physicist” (for example, if they lack mathematical knowledge), a “beginner physicist” (if they can perform basic physics calculations), an “advanced physicist” (if they can analyze electromagnetic field interactions), or an “excellent physicist” (if they can operate and optimize sophisticated equipment like the Large Hadron Collider). Naturally, we might expect major breakthroughs to come from “excellent physicists.” However, this picture isn’t accurate. Physics is a highly heterogenous field, with each area requiring entirely different knowledge, skills, motivation[15], experience, personality, and character. Recognizing this diversity helps prevent the mistake of dismissing a person’s ideas in field A simply because they lack expertise in field B, even though both fall under the wide umbrella called physics.+1
Finally, it’s worth noting that is there’s one group keen on maintaining the notion that outsiders cannot contribute: the insiders. This might sound a bit like a conspiracy theory—“That’s what they want you to believe!”—but there’s some truth to it. It’s understandable, though: after spending years grinding through the rigorous demands of academia to earn entry into the exclusive club of those who call themselves physicists, it can be hard to accept when a bunch of “clowns” show up and declares themselves part of that club too. Still, we should be careful—after all, we can never be sure who will have the last laugh.:D
In summary, there are numerous ways that outsiders can make a lasting on fundamental physics. While the saying “Success has many fathers, but failure is an orphan” is often used cynically, it captures a key truth: scientific achievements are rarely the work of one person alone. Contributions can range from indirect, non-technical support—such as providing financial assistance to a poor theoretical physicist in need—to more hands-on involvement, such as supplying essential tools, fresh perspectives, creative problem-solving techniques, or simply a new way of looking at a problem.
Furthermore, many factors that typically give experts an advantage—across dimensions “one game vs. many,” individual vs. team work, luck, access to resources, and preparability—are much less tilted in their favor when it comes to breakthroughs in fundamental physics. Other factors, such as repeatability, incentivization, passion, fun, and freedom, may even favor the outsider. History seems to support this, as Newton and Einstein, separated from academia at the time of their major achievements, contributed three of the Big Four theories in fundamental physics. And not only were they outsiders academically, but even more so with respect to the established thinking frames at the time.
Acknowledging this is psychologically challenging, as our experience in nearly every other discipline tells a different story. Additionally, there are other cognitive pitfalls—like viewing outsiders as a homogeneous group or treating physics as a single, monolithic discipline—that can lead to oversimplifications. It’s also crucial to remember that certain groups may have a vested interest in perpetuating the notion that outsiders cannot make meaningful contributions.
That’s enough from my side—now it’s your turn. How much have your views shifted on the potential for outsiders to contribute to breakthroughs in fundamental physics? Please head over here to rate this article (a double thumbs up is always welcome) and begin your review with your before-and-after ratings, such as “-8/+5.” Feel free to add any additional comments on your thoughts about this post—your feedback is highly appreciated!
Afterthought: no matter how strong the arguments are for why outsiders can contribute, they will always come second to actually demonstrating it. Attempts to do so can be found in On Unification in Physics, Colors, Reality, and the Twin Paradox, Lessons From History, How to Prove or Refute Subjectivity Theory, among several other posts.
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[1] Despite not fundamentally correct, the distinction can still be useful (a principle discussed in more detail in On Unification in Physics), which is why it’s also used in this blog post.
[2] Radar technology had been explored before World War II, but the pressures of war—especially Britain’s need to defend itself against German air raids—greatly intensified its development and deployment. It enabled the Royal Air Force to detect approaching German planes early, allowing them to launch their own aircraft in time and “take good care” of their German counterparts. This was instrumental in Britain’s defense and earned praise in the highest order from the highest order (Churchill: “Never in the field of human conflict was so much owed by so many to so few.”).
As a side note, attributing praise to someone for radar development assumes it’s seen as a positive innovation—something many speeding drivers might dispute. Ironically, this includes Sir Robert Watson-Watt, a key figure in radar development. Years after the war, while driving in Canada, he was reportedly pulled over for speeding and ticketed by a police officer using radar. The irony of being caught by his own invention didn’t escape him, and he later wrote a poem about the experience, humorously lamenting the unintended consequence of his work:
Pity Sir Robert Watson-Watt, strange target of this radar plot; and thus, with others I can mention, the victim of his own invention. His magical all-seeing eye enabled cloud-bound planes to fly, but now by some ironic twist, it spots the speeding motorist, and bites, no doubt with legal wit, the hand that once created it.
[3] This sometimes leads to absurd results, such as the intentional limitation of academic papers to three authors to improve the odds of Nobel recognition. See Hunt, K. (2023): “The problem with Nobel’s ‘rule of three’” (CNN)
[4] Or parents, of course; for example, Einstein is reported to have received a compass from his father, which sparked his curiosity and inspired him to pursue science.
[5] If some physicists hold the view that creativity isn’t needed, it only highlights why progress fundamental physics has stalled for over 50 years, as discussed in On Unification in Physics.
[6] It doesn’t really, I just like the expression “pocket change” here.
[7] I always find it amusing how journalists’ stories seem shaped entirely by the outcome, with no mention of luck. When a team loses 0:1, we read all about how the result was inevitable—a consequence of the team’s low morale, weak defense, and overall poor performance, with almost every player receiving a low rating. Yet, had those two shots that hit the post gone in, we’d be reading about the team’s resilience, tactical brilliance, and impressive individual performances, with each individual (!) player praised and rated higher. The reports are presented so confidently, as if the outcome could not have been any other way (indirectly complimenting the journalists themselves, as it conveys the impression that they saw it coming). The element of luck couldn’t be more apparent when we consider that those few centimeters between a post and a goal come down to the player striking the ball with just a millimeter of difference—a shift that would mean 9 centimeters of deviation over a 20-meter distance. It’s funny how, in hindsight, we construct stories to fit the final score, forgetting how close it all was to being a completely different tale.
[8] While repeatability strongly favors specialists in activities like bowling, it doesn’t imply that bowling favors the expert overall, as other factors are also at play. For example, luck can significantly impact outcomes, with the randomness of pins knocking into others introducing a level of chance that may outweigh the advantage of repeatability.
[9] Without a doubt, experimental physics is instrumental for progress in physics, whether through the (often very difficult) verification of theories—such as the detection of gravitational waves or the Higgs boson—or through the discovery of new phenomena that reveal the limits of our theories and prompt the search for better ones. However, the term breakthrough naturally applies more to theoretical physics, as breakthroughs often signify a conceptual leap or a new framework that reshapes our understanding, providing the foundation upon which future experimental work can build.
[10] The classic «idea under the shower» may also come in a bath (where Archimedes reportedly had his “Eureka!” moment realizing that the volume of water displaced upon entering equaled the volume of his submerged body), at a cafeteria (where Feynman was inspired by a spinning plate leading to thoughts on the path integral formulation), while stepping onto a bus (as Henri Poincaré experienced, leading to a breakthrough in mathematical functions), during sleep (where Wolfgang Pauli had a vision that helped him formulate his exclusion principle), or in the subway (like Robert Schrieffer, who had his crucial insight about superconductivity in the New York metro).
[11] Newton in a letter to Bentley in 1692: “That Gravity should be innate, inherent and essential to Matter, so that one Body may act upon another at a distance thro’ a Vacuum, without the Mediation of any thing else, by and through which their Action and Force may be conveyed from one to another, is to me so great an Absurdity, that I believe no Man who has in philosophical Matters a competent Faculty of thinking can ever fall into it.”
[12] This is not a light matter; several studies have revealed worsening mental health among academics due to the intense pressure to publish. For example, see Schneider, J. (2019): “What’s your number? Publish or perish leads to worsening mental health outcomes in PhD students”
[13] The term paradigm shift was introduced by Thomas Kuhn in his influential book The Structure of Scientific Revolutions from 1962. In it, Kuhn challenges the traditional view of scientific progress as a steady, cumulative acquisition of knowledge. Instead, he posits that science undergoes periodic paradigm shifts where a prevailing scientific framework is replaced by a radically different one. The release of the book was a landmark event and sparked controversial debates across many disciplines.
[14] This often involves redefining what the real problem is. Experts tend to focus on established challenges without questioning them—often because their work mandates it—whereas outsiders may be better positioned to step back and recognize that the true challenge could lie elsewhere. For more on this, see What’s the Problem?
[15] I see this in myself: if someone asked me whether I’m interested in physics, my immediate reaction would be a definite “yes.” On second thought, though, it would be wiser to ask what kind of physics they mean. Recently, I watched a YouTube video where a school teacher demonstrated a Van de Graaff generator—the classic one where you touch a big metal sphere, and your hair stands on end—to the kids’ utter amazement. To be honest, I couldn’t care less. It doesn’t move me in the slightest. And it’s the same for other areas of physics like cosmology. Why? I don’t have a clue. I only know that I’m truly captivated by fundamental physics; that’s what sparks my curiosity. On a personal note, I’m grateful that our interests are different—otherwise, we’d all be chasing the same woman, man, solution in physics, or whatever else it may be in life.
