Maxwell's Demon

A short story about malevolent spirits and thermodynamics.

A very superior hyperdimensional being observed Watson in his laboratory. Watson was conducting what appeared to be crude physical experiments. The very superior hyperdimensional being (VSHB) almost felt pity for Watson. To be confined to so few dimensions, to be bound by such limited intellect—how could this creature bear it? And yet, there this creature was, laboring away on its pitiful little experiments, as though it could know anything about the universe with those five meager senses trapped in four pathetic dimensions of spacetime. The almost-pity was replaced by almost-contempt. The nerve these Earth-bound creatures had, believing they could know anything about the universe. The VSHB decided to teach Watson a lesson.

Watson’s mug of coffee sat on a table, growing colder by the moment. The VSHB knew that Earth creatures knew that, sitting there all by itself, the coffee could only grow colder with time. It was a consequence of what they called the second law of thermodynamics. (This hardly qualifies as knowledge; why, an infant intuitively knows such things!) However, the VSHB thought it knew what it thought the pathetic Earth creatures didn’t know—that it could sort through the molecules in the coffee and make it hot again.

The VSHB carefully picked through the coffee molecules—faster ones over here, slower ones over there.

Watson reached for the mug, and as he raised it to his lips, was astonished to find the coffee piping hot with a chunk of ice bobbing near its surface. Watson stared at the coffee for several moments, calculating how long it had been sitting on the table. He contemplated the ice cube as it rapidly melted and disappeared into the hot brown liquid. Like Pharaoh after the first miracle, he shook his head and soon forgot it.

The VSHB observed Watson at length and surmised the intent of its pathetic little Earth-bound experiment. The Earth creature was attempting to calculate the efficiency of a new heat engine. As before, the VSHB sorted the molecules in the experiment. Faster ones over here, slower ones over there.

Watson made his measurements, and was dumbfounded to find the heat engine operating with 100% efficiency. This was clearly not possible by the known laws of physics. There would always be heat loss in any engine, and certainly no heat engine had ever been observed to defy this—until now. Watson checked his measurements again. He’d made no obvious errors.

Over the course of the following weeks, Watson conducted his experiment again and again, and each time the result was the same—100% efficiency. Watson could only conclude that he had at long last discovered the coveted violation to the second law of thermodynamics. He had no idea how, but he was nevertheless jubilant. At the very least, the funding for his lab would triple, and there was almost certainly a prize at the end of all of this—probably the Wolf Prize, and, dare he even think of it—a Nobel Prize?

By now Watson was ready to show the experiment to his colleagues, much to the delight of the VSHB. The chairman of the department, a very august man who was himself a recipient of the Wolf Prize in physics, accompanied four of Watson’s colleagues in witnessing this historic experiment.

Watson proceeded as he had dozens of times in the last several weeks. The results showed… precisely what the known laws of physics predicted. The chairman raised an eyebrow. Watson’s brow furrowed, and his eyes darted furiously over the apparatus. He conducted the experiment again. The results showed precisely what the known laws of physics predicted.

Watson’s colleagues departed the laboratory amidst apologies and promises of another demonstration, just as soon as Watson could figure out what went wrong.

Watson turned to the apparatus. His eyes narrowed, and a grimace settled over his face. What in God’s name? he muttered under his breath.

The next morning, Watson performed another experiment. The result—100% efficiency. Watson uttered an expletive. However, he wasn’t about to summon his colleagues just yet. Watson ran the experiment three more times. Each time, the same result—100% efficiency. He sighed.

Watson stepped outside of his lab, saw Brown in the hallway, and entreated him to witness another experiment. Watson performed the experiment again. The result showed precisely what the known laws of physics predicted. Brown, confused by the strange expression on Watson’s face, offered a pat on the back in apparent sympathy and left.

Watson sank into a chair and stared vacantly into the distance. The VSHB saw no reason to discontinue the lesson just yet. The omnipresent mug of coffee rested on the table next to Watson. It had by now cooled to the temperature of the room, precisely as the known laws of physics predicted.

The VSHB got to work. Faster molecules over here, slower ones over there. Watson awoke from his stupor and sought the mug, intending to refresh it from the hot pot that sat on the burner. As he rose from his seat, he grabbed the mug. He stared at it in disbelief—in it was a small, solid chunk of coffee-colored ice. He stood stock-still as his eyes roved suspiciously around the lab. A single eyebrow went up on Watson’s face. He slowly returned the mug to the table.

The next morning, Watson entered his lab. He bypassed the coffee pot and began his experiment once again. The VSHB was simultaneously amused by the Earth creature’s tenacity and annoyed at his dogged refusal to learn the lesson.

The VSHB set about his usual sorting—faster molecules over here, slower ones over there. Suddenly, there was an enormous fluctuation of energy, exploding the carefully arranged molecules into disarray. The VSHB paused, momentarily taken aback. The Earth creature must be getting careless with his apparatus.

The VSHB once again began sorting. Faster molecules over here, slower mol—wham! Another fluctuation roiled the sorted molecules. The VSHB had scarcely begun to resort the molecules when the experiment was buffeted by another fluctuation of energy. And another and another.

The VSHB noticed the pulses were separated in time by a sequence. The first two pulses were separated by one unit of time; the next came two units of time later; then three units; then five; then eight. The message was unmistakable, if primitive.

The almost-contempt was replaced by almost-humility. The very superior hyperdimensional being conceded that these Earth creatures knew a little something of the universe.

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This is the first piece in a series of short stories, whimsical essays, poetry, and sketches I had started composing years ago for a collection called Bedtime Stories for Physicists. I only seem to work on it when I’m procrastinating real work. Maybe with enough distraction, I’ll eventually finish the thing.