Killing Time

A review of The End Of Time by Julian Barbour
Published by Phoenix

Foreword: I read this book, and some time later wrote this review, a while ago now. The End of Time passed my Gift Voucher Test. That is, you have a gift voucher and can spend it on any book you like. What book do you like the look of enough to actually want to own? Obviously, it must either be a classic, or a dense repository of knowledge - something to come back to, to lend to friends or pass on to children. Or maybe something so complex you need to read it several times. Of the million and one books I'd love to or have been meaning to read, very few of them pass the GVT.

On this occasion I was browsing around the pop science section of Collins (By the way, the changes in the pop sci book scene could make an entire column on its own). I've read a few popular physics and quantum theory books, but had never really encountered the idea of timelessness. The hourglass cover, decent thickness, and endorsement from John Gribbin combined to push me over the edge and buy it.

One other thing I didn't mention in the review was that Barbour is a big fan of Austrian physicist Ernst Mach. As it turns out, so was Einstein. My rudimentary impressions of his work, combined with these two facts, have made Ernst Mach and his ideas into an object of respect and curiosity to me.

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“Time does not exist.” Try telling that to anybody with a deadline. Yet this is precisely the message of physicist Julian Barbour in his new book, The End of Time.

Barbour, who supported his research by translating Russian scientific journals on the side, believes that time is an emergent property - like the colour violet or the temperature of a bowl of pea soup.

This is a shocking thesis, yet in a straw poll conducted by the author, twice as many of his colleagues (physicists mind you, not translators) believed that time should not appear in the foundations of any theory of the world as those who thought it should. According to Barbour, there are only instants, snapshots, configurations - and a great deal of them at that.

We occupy one of these ‘time capsules’ and infer the past from it. Barbour takes up the onerous task of convincing the lay reader of time’s passing (it is almost impossible to avoid puns with this topic) with the gravity and finesse befitting such a grand topic.

He sets the scene using Turner’s amazing painting Snow Storm, which depicts the force and fury of a boat caught in a storm. Motion can indeed be created out of a static, timeless picture. We then fall into triangle land, Platonia and a rich discussion of the ideas underpinning his theory, including relativity and quantum theory.

I grappled with some of the mathematical and physical concepts, such as the foggy notion of ‘quantum mist’, yet in asking the reader to make the effort Barbour ensures the trip is a more satisfying one. A more philosophical epilogue, ‘Life Without Time’, and extensive notes demonstrate the author has thought about much more than the physics of time.

Although at times dense, this is a fascinating introduction to a timeless world.