production credits  
 

Arcadia by Tom Stoppard
Directed by: Dennis Garnhum, Guest Artist and Alumnus
Frederic Wood Theatre
March 10 - March 19, 2005

the following article is extracted from the Companion Guide to Arcadia
     

by STEVEN SAVITT
Department of Philosophy
University of British Columbia

IT MIGHT SEEM OMINOUS that the program of a play contains essays explaining the esoteric bits. Relax. Arcadia is neither a lecture nor a sermon. It's a witty, charming, and moving play about sex and literature— or maybe order and disorder—or is it truth and time? Tom Stoppard does, however, weave a number of ideas from physics and philosophy into both the thinking of his characters and the structure of the play, and we can enhance our appreciation of this dazzling tapestry by unweaving a few of these strands. Let's look at some of the ways the notion of time appears in this play and so, inevitably, we begin with the physics of Sir Isaac Newton.

At the end of the seventeenth century Newton brought together in one grand synthesis the laws governing the motions of the planets discovered by Kepler and the laws governing the motions of projectiles on the surface of the Earth discovered by Galileo. Aristotle had thought of the heavenly and the earthly as two separate realms, with the order of the motions of the heavenly bodies contrasting with the disorder we see around us. Newton produced one simple set of mathematical laws that seemed to account for all.

The Newtonian laws have two features that reverberate throughout the play. First, these laws seem to be deterministic. If you know, for example, the state of the sun, moon, and earth at some given time, you can predict when future eclipses will occur. Given the present state of the system, the occurrence (or non-occurrence) of an eclipse at some given future time is fixed—fixed by the present state of the system and the laws that govern its evolution. If the Newtonian laws are basic and universal, then all the future is fixed, as Thomasina (later echoed by Chloë and Valentine) says:

If you could stop every atom in its position and direction, and if your mind could comprehend all the actions thus suspended, then if you were really, really good at algebra you could write the formula for all the future; and although nobody can be so clever as to do it, the formula must exist just as if one could.

Second, one can not only predict when eclipses will occur, but, using Newton's equations, one can also “retrodict” when in the past eclipses must have occurred. As Thomasina remarks, Will the Heat All Go into the Mix?Newcomen's Atmospheric Steam Engine.From the 1832 Edinburgh Encyclopaedia.Steven SavittDepartment of Philosophy The University of British Columbia “Newton's equations go backwards and forward, they do not care which way.” The equations are said to be time symmetric or time-reversal invariant. If you watch a film of one billiard ball striking another, it will make no difference, you will not be able to tell, whether the projector is being run forwards or in reverse.

Not so, if you were to watch a film of jam being stirred into rice pudding. As Thomasina says to her tutor:

When you stir your rice pudding, Septimus, the spoonful of jam spreads itself round making red trails like the picture of a meteor in my astronomical atlas. But if you stir backward, the jam will not come together again. Indeed, the pudding does not notice and continues to turn pink, just as before. Do you think this is odd?

 

 

 

 

 

Septimus says “no” (though one takes what he says at face value at one's peril), but reflective individuals have for long been puzzled by the mismatch between the time symmetry of the basic laws of physics and the time asymmetry of experience. Valentine raises the same problem. “Your tea gets cold by itself, it doesn't get hot by itself.” We grow older, not younger. Causes work to the future, but not to the past. We know much more about yesterday than we do about tomorrow. Indeed, we have records of the past but not of the future, like the game books and letters that fuel the theories of Bernard and Hannah. If we do have something like records of the future, they, like the artifacts from the present day action of the play that sit on the table invisible to Thomasina and Septimus, are equally invisible to us.

Valentine continues the thought above by saying to Hannah, “It'll take a while but we're all going to end up at room temperature. When your hermit set up shop nobody understood this.” “This” is the second law of thermodynamics, the first apparently basic time asymmetric law in physics, derived from reflection on devices like the noisy Improved Newcomen Steam Pump that we hear in the distance. Thomasina says that the pump “repays eleven pence in the shilling at most.” The second law appeared in roughly this form in a short book by a French engineer Sadi Carnot, Reflections on the Motive Power of Fire, in 1824. The second law of thermodynamics in general says that entropy, a quantity that may be thought of as disorder or the inability of energy to do work, increases in all but some very special physical processes. A modern, and highly relevant, form of this law is that, through time and on the whole, information always decreases (like the burning of Byron's letter or the inability of Bernard and Hannah to get the story of Sidley park in April, 1809, quite right).

Must we then reach a time when there is no more usable energy, when the heat has gone entirely into the mix, when the Improved Newtonian Universe must cease and grow cold? Are we, as Septimus says, “all doomed”? When Thomasina laments the loss of the library of Alexandria, Septimus replies that nothing is ever really lost. “The missing plays of Sophocles will turn up piece by piece, or be written again in another language.” In a structural parallel, ideas and bits of dialogue from the early story turn up or recur in the modern episode. These two ideas, loss and recurrence, which echo in the contrasts of fate with free will and Romantic pessimism with Enlightenment optimism, are left in perfect counterpoise at the end of the play with Hannah and Gus celebrating the discovery of the true identity of the Hermit of Sidley Park while, in a fusion of the two times, Septimus dances with Thomasina shortly before the loss of her nascent genius.

Steven Savitt is Professor of Philosophy at the University of British Columbia. His general interests are in philosophy of science and metaphysics.

 

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