It is no good to try to stop knowledge from going forward.
Ignorance is never better than knowledge.
Enrico Fermi was the most complete physicist of the last century — a world-class theoretician who carried out experimental work of the highest order. No other physicist since Fermi has switched between theory and experiment with such ease, and it is unlikely that anyone will do so again. The field has become too large to permit such crossover.
Fermi was born in Rome on 29 September 1901, the third child of Alberto Fermi, a civil servant, and Ida DeGattis, a schoolteacher. He showed precocious ability in mathematics,4 and as an undergraduate student of physics at the Scuola Normale Superiore in Pisa he quickly outstripped his teachers.5
His first major contribution to physics was an analysis of the behavior of certain fundamental particles that make up matter. (These particles — such as protons, neutrons and electrons — are now called fermions in his honor.) Fermi showed that, when matter is compressed so that identical fermions are brought close together, a repulsive force comes into play that resists further compression. This fermionic repulsion plays an important role in our understanding of phenomena as diverse as the thermal conductivity of metals and the stability of white dwarf stars.
Soon after, Fermi's theory of beta decay (a type of radioactivity in which a massive nucleus emits an electron) cemented his international reputation. His theory demanded that a ghostly particle be emitted along with the electron, a particle he called the neutrino — "little neutral one." Not everyone believed in the existence of this hypothetical fermion, but Fermi was proved correct. Physicists finally detected the neutrino in 1956. Although the neutrino remains rather ghostly in its reluctance to react with normal matter, its properties play a profound role in present-day astronomical and cosmological theories.
In 1938, Fermi won the Nobel Prize for physics. The award was partly in recognition of a technique he developed to probe the atomic nucleus. His technique led him to the discovery of new radioactive elements; by bombarding the naturally occurring elements with neutrons, he produced more than 40 artificial radioisotopes. The award also recognized his discovery of how to make neutrons move slowly. This may seem like a minor discovery, but it has profound practical applications, since slow-moving neutrons are more effective than fast neutrons at inducing radioactivity. (A slow neutron spends more time in the neighborhood of a target nucleus, and so is more likely to interact with the nucleus. In a similar way, a well-aimed golf ball
is more likely to sink into the hole if it is moving slowly: a fast-moving putt can roll by.) This principle is used in the operation of nuclear reactors.
News of the award was tempered by the worsening political situation in Italy. Mussolini, increasingly influenced by Hitler, initiated an anti-Semitic campaign. Italy's fascist government passed laws that were copied directly from the Nazi Nuremberg edicts. The laws did not directly affect Fermi or his two children, who were considered to be Aryans, but Fermi's wife, Laura, was Jewish. They decided to leave Italy, and Fermi accepted a position in America.
Two weeks after arriving in New York, news reached Fermi that German and Austrian scientists had demonstrated nuclear fission. Einstein, after some prompting, wrote his historic letter to Roosevelt alerting the President to the probable consequences of nuclear fission. Citing work by
Fermi and his colleagues, Einstein warned that a nuclear chain reaction might be set up in a large mass of uranium — a reaction that could lead to the release of vast amounts of energy. Roosevelt was concerned enough to fund a program of research into the defense possibilities. Fermi was deeply involved in the program.
Physicists had many questions to answer before they could build a bomb, and it was Fermi who answered many of them. On 2 December 1942, in a makeshift laboratory constructed in a squash court under the West Stands of the University of Chicago stadium, Fermi's group successfully achieved the first self-sustaining nuclear reaction. The reactor, or pile, consisted of slugs of purified uranium — about 6 tons in all — arranged within a matrix of graphite. The graphite slowed the neutrons, enabling them to cause further fission and maintain the chain reaction. Control rods made of cadmium (a strong neutron absorber) controlled the rate of the chain reaction. The pile went critical at 2:20 P.M., and the first test was run for 28 minutes.6
Fermi, with his unmatched knowledge of nuclear physics, played an important role in the Manhattan Project. He was there in the Alamogordo desert on 15 July 1945, 9 miles away from ground zero at the Trinity test. He lay on the ground facing in the direction opposite the bomb. When he saw the flash from the immense explosion, he got to his feet and dropped small pieces of paper from his hand. In still air the pieces of paper would have fallen to his feet; but when the shock wave arrived, a few seconds after the flash, the paper moved horizontally due to the displacement of air. In typical fashion, he measured the displacement of the paper; since he knew the distance to the source, he could immediately estimate the energy of the explosion.
After the war, Fermi returned to academic life at the University of Chicago and became interested in the nature and origin of cosmic rays. In 1954, however, he was diagnosed with stomach cancer. Emilio Segre, Fermi's lifelong friend and colleague, visited him in hospital. Fermi was resting after an exploratory operation, and was being fed intravenously. Even at the end, according to Segre's touching account, Fermi retained his love of observation and calculation: he measured the flux of the nutrient by counting drops and timing them with a stopwatch.
Fermi died on 29 November 1954, at the early age of 53.
Fermi's colleagues prized him for his uncanny ability to see straight to the heart of a physical problem and describe it in simple terms. They called him the Pope, because he seemed infallible. Almost as impressive was the way he estimated the magnitude of an answer (often by doing complex calculations in his head). Fermi tried to inculcate this facility in his students. He would demand of them, without warning, answers to seemingly unanswerable questions. How many grains of sand are there on the world's beaches? How far can a crow fly without stopping? How many atoms of Caesar's last breath do you inhale with each lungful of air? Such "Fermi questions" (as they are now known) required students to draw upon their understanding of the world and their everyday experience and make rough approximations, rather than rely on bookwork or prior knowledge.
The archetypal Fermi question is one he asked his American students: "How many piano tuners are there in Chicago?" We can derive an informed estimate, as opposed to an uninformed guess, by reasoning as follows. First, suppose that Chicago has a population of 3 million people. (I have not checked an almanac to see whether this is correct; but making explicit estimates in the absence of certain knowledge is the whole point of the exercise. Chicago is a big city, but not the biggest in America, so we can be confident that the estimate is unlikely to be in error by more than a factor of 2. Since we have explicitly stated our assumption we can revisit the calculation at a later date, and revise the answer in the light of improved data.) Second, assume that families, rather than individuals, own pianos and ignore those pianos belonging to institutions like schools, universities and orchestras. Third, if we assume that a typical family contains 5 members, then our estimate is that there are 600,000 families in Chicago. We know that not every family owns a piano; our fourth assumption is that 1 family in 20 owns a piano. We thus estimate there are 30,000 pianos in Chicago. Now ask the question: How many tunings would 30,000 pianos require in 1 year? Our fifth assumption is that a typical piano will require tuning once per year — so 30,000 piano tunings take place in Chicago each year. Assumption six: A piano tuner can tune 2 pianos per day and works on 200 days in a year. An individual piano tuner therefore tunes 400 instruments in 1 year. In order to accommodate the total number of tunings required, Chicago must be home to 30,000/400 = 75 piano tuners. We want an estimate, not a precise figure, so finally we round this number up to an even 100.
As we shall see later, Fermi's ability to grasp the essentials of a problem manifested itself when he posed the question: "Where is everybody?"
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