The Amateur Scientist

When I was a kid I had a "lab." It wasn't a laboratory in the sense that I would measure, or do important experiments.

Instead, I would play: I'd make a motor, I'd make a gadget that would go off when something passed a photocell. I'd play around with selenium; I was piddling around all the time. I did calculate a little bit for the lamp bank, a series of switches and bulbs I used as resistors to control voltages. But all that was for application. I never did any laboratory kind of experiments.

Mindreaders

My father was always interested in magic and carnival tricks, and wanting to see how they worked. One of the things he knew about was mindreaders. When he was a little boy, growing up in a small town called Patchogue, in the middle of Long Island, it was announced on advertisements posted all over that a mindreader was coming next Wednesday. The posters said that some respected citizens ­­ the mayor, a judge, a banker should take a five­dollar bill and hide it somewhere, and when the mindreader came to town, he would find it.

A Different Box of Tools

At the Princeton graduate school, the physics department and the math department shared a common lounge, and every day at four o'clock we would have tea. It was a way of relaxing in the afternoon, in addition to imitating an English college. People would sit around playing Go, or discussing theorems. In those days topology was the big thing.

Mixing Paints

The reason why I say I'm "uncultured" or "anti­intellectual" probably goes all the way back to the time when I was in high school. I was always worried about being a sissy; I didn't want to be too delicate. To me, no real man ever paid any attention to poetry and such things. How poetry ever got written ­­ that never struck me! So I developed a negative attitude toward the guy who studies French literature, or studies too much music or poetry ­­ all those "fancy" things. I admired better the steel­worker, the welder, or the machine shop man. I always thought the guy who worked in the machine shop and could make things, now he was a real guy! That was my attitude. To be a practical man was, to me, always somehow a positive virtue, and to be "cultured" or "intellectual" was not. The first was right, of course, but the second was crazy.

Monster Minds

While I was still a graduate student at Princeton, I worked as a research assistant under John Wheeler. He gave me a problem to work on, and it got hard, and I wasn't getting anywhere. So I went back to an idea that I had had earlier, at MIT. The idea was that electrons don't act on themselves, they only act on other electrons.

There was this problem: When you shake an electron, it radiates energy, and so there's a loss. That means there must be a force on it. And there must be a different force when it's charged than when it's not charged. (If the force were exactly the same when it was charged and not charged, in one case it would lose energy, and in the other it wouldn't. You can't have two different answers to the same problem.)

A Map of the Cat?

In the Graduate College dining room at Princeton everybody used to sit with his own group. I sat with the physicists, but after a bit I thought: It would be nice to see what the rest of the world is doing, so I'll sit for a week or two in each of the other groups.

When I sat with the philosophers I listened to them discuss very seriously a book called Process and Reality by Whitehead. They were using words in a funny way, and I couldn't quite understand what they were saying. Now I didn't want to interrupt them in their own conversation and keep asking them to explain something, and on the few occasions that I did, they'd try to explain it to me, but I still didn't get it. Finally they invited me to come to their seminar.

Meeeeeeeeeee!

On Wednesdays at the Princeton Graduate College, various people would come in to give talks. The speakers were often interesting, and in the discussions after the talks we used to have a lot of fun. For instance, one guy in our school was very strongly anti­ Catholic, so he passed out questions in advance for people to ask a religious speaker, and we gave the speaker a hard time.

Another time somebody gave a talk about poetry. He talked about the structure of the poem and the emotions that come with it; he divided everything up into certain kinds of classes. In the discussion that came afterwards, he said, "Isn't that the same as in mathematics, Dr. Eisenhart?"

"Surely You're Joking, Mr. Feynman!"

When I was an undergraduate at MIT I loved it. I thought it was a great place, and I wanted to go to graduate school there too, of course. But when I went to Professor Slater and told him of my intentions, he said, "We won't let you in here."

I said, "What?"
Slater said, "Why do you think you should go to graduate school at MIT?"
"Because MIT is the best school for science in the country."
"You think that?"
"Yeah."
"That's why you should go to some other school. You should find out how the rest of the world is."