Think that everything in a black hole gets swallowed up, never to be seen again? Well, you're half right

What happens to the information in a black hole once it disappears? Stephen Hawking thought he knew, betted on it, and lost.

Young people? Nothing but trouble. If you don’t believe the politicians, just look at physicists’ current anguish over the question of what is lost when stuff falls into a black hole. We are now in the middle of a huge crisis of confidence, just because the kids couldn’t keep their ideas to themselves.
If you think that stuff in a black hole just gets swallowed up, never to be seen again, you’re half right. The stuff is indeed gone. Yet the information about the stuff can’t be. In the 1970s, a young Stephen Hawking showed that, due to a quirk of quantum theory, black holes don’t just swallow; they also spit. A trail of particles is emitted from a black hole over its lifetime. As a result, the black hole eventually loses so much energy that it evaporates and disappears from the universe. According to Hawking’s theory, those particles contain no information of any kind, so the original information is lost once the black hole disappears.
However, a fundamental law of physics states that information can’t be destroyed. In 1997, John Preskill of the California Institute of Technology was so confident that Hawking must be wrong that the pair entered into a bet. That year, a young theorist called Juan Maldacena showed that, as stuff fell in, the information could be caught on the “event horizon”, the spherical surface of a black hole. With the information residing on the event horizon, it isn’t erased from the universe and might eventually leak back out.
Maldacena’s work was convincing enough for Hawking to concede. In 2004, he bought Preskill a baseball encyclopaedia (for reasons we won’t go into here) and the bet was considered settled.
Then, in 2010, along came the vibrant young mind of Mark Van Raamsdonk. His work has led to the new debate over the “cosmic firewall”. For information on the event horizon to leak back into the universe, there has to be a layer of ultra-high-energy particles – a firewall – just inside the event horizon. Each particle taking information from the event horizon has what Albert Einstein once termed a “spooky” link with a particle in the firewall. The link is called “entanglement” and it means that you can’t fully describe one of the particles unless you have information that resides in the other.
The problem is, the nature of Hawking’s original result shows that the particle on the outside of the event horizon also has to be entangled with another particle, one that carried away a little information from the black hole some time in the past. And a single particle can’t share that kind of entanglement with two others. So Maldacena’s idea doesn’t work. The best solution anyone can come up with involves another entanglement, this time between the particle inside the firewall and the particle that left the black hole all that time ago. That particular spooky link resolves the problem because those two entangled particles are actually one and the same.
It’s a classic Shakespearean twist. The whole problem has been a case of mistaken identity: the cosmic firewall story is the Twelfth Night of cosmology. However, most physicists don’t like this ending. Resolving all these entanglements stretches credulity too far, they say. The resolution they prefer is to acknowledge that this whole shebang exposes a gaping hole in our understanding of the universe. Maybe, they say, we need to start again.
While they scratch their heads and wonder what to do, Hawking could justifiably ask for his encyclopaedia back. If Preskill has any sense of how to play the foiled schemer, he’ll reluctantly hand it over while muttering something about those pesky kids. 
Michael Brooks’s “The Secret Anarchy of Science” is published by Profile Books (£7.99) 
In 1997 Hakwing made a bet with John Preskill of the California Institute of Technology - and lost. Photograph: Andrew Burman/Evevine/Contrasto.

Michael Brooks holds a PhD in quantum physics. He writes a weekly science column for the New Statesman, and his most recent book is At the Edge of Uncertainty: 11 Discoveries Taking Science by Surprise.

This article first appeared in the 02 September 2013 issue of the New Statesman, Syria: The west humiliated

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“A cursed project”: a short history of the Facebook “like” button

Mark Zuckerberg didn't like it, it used to be called the “awesome button”, and FriendFeed got there first. 

The "like" button is perhaps the simplest of the website's features, but it's also come to define it. Companies vie for your thumbs up. Articles online contain little blue portals which send your likes back to Facebook. The action of "liking" something is seen to have such power that in 2010, a class action lawsuit was filed against Facebook claiming teenagers should not be able to "like" ads without parental consent. 

And today, Facebook begins trials of six new emoji reaction buttons which join the like button at the bottom of posts, multiplying its potential meanings by seven: 

All this makes it a little surprising that Facebook CEO Mark Zuckerberg spent a good portion of the noughties giving the like button a thumbs down. According to Andrew Bosworth, Vice President of Advertising and Pages at Facebook (and known simply as "Boz") it took nearly two years to get the concept of an approval button for posts off the ground.

In a fascinating Quora thread, Boz explains that the idea of a star, plus sign or thumbs up for posts first came up in July 2007, three years after "TheFacebook" launched in 2004. Throughout these initial discussions, the proposed bursts of positivity was referred to as an "awesome button". A few months later someone floated the word "like" as a replacement, but, according to Boz, it received a "lukewarm" reception. 

The team who ran the site's News Feed feature were keen, as it would help rank posts based on popularity. The ad team, meanwhile, thought "likes" could improve clickthrough rates on advertisements. But in November 2007, the engineering team presented the new feature to Mark Zuckerberg, and, according to Boz, the final review "[didn't] go well". The CEO was concerned about overshadowing the Facebook "share" and comment features - perhaps people would just "awesome" something, rather than re-posting the content or writing a message. He also wanted more clarification on whether others would see your feedback or not. After this meeting, Boz writes, "Feature development as originally envisioned basically stops". 

The teams who wanted the button forged ahead with slightly different features. If you were an early user, you might remember that News Feed items and ads collected positive or negative feedback from you, but this wasn't then displayed to other users. This feature was "ineffective", Boz writes, and was eventually shut down. 

So when Jonathan Piles, Jaren Morgenstern and designer Soleio took on the like button again in December 2008, many were skeptical: this was a "cursed project", and would never make it past a sceptical Zuckerberg. Their secret weapon, however was data scientist Itamar Rosenn, who provided data to show that a like button wouldn't reduce the number of comments on a post. - that, in fact, it increased the number of comments, as likes would boost a popular post up through the News Feed. Zuckerberg's fears that a lower-impact feedback style would discourage higher value interactions like reposting or commenting were shown to be unfounded. 

A bigger problem was that FriendFeed, a social aggregator site which shut down in April 2015, launched a "like" feature in October 2007, a fact which yielded some uncomfortable media coverage when Facebook's "like" finally launched. Yet Boz claims that no one at Facebook clocked onto FriendFeed's new feature: "As far as I can tell from my email archives, nobody at FB noticed. =/". 

Finally, on 9 February 2009, "like" launched with a blogpost, "I like this", from project manager Leah Pearlman who was there for the first "awesome button" discussions back in 2007. Her description of the button's purpose is a little curious, because it frames the feature as a kind of review: 

This is similar to how you might rate a restaurant on a reviews site. If you go to the restaurant and have a great time, you may want to rate it 5 stars. But if you had a particularly delicious dish there and want to rave about it, you can write a review detailing what you liked about the restaurant. We think of the new "Like" feature to be the stars, and the comments to be the review.

Yet as we all know, there's no room for negative reviews on Facebook - there is no dislike button, and there likely never will be. Even in the preliminary announcements about the new emoji reactions feature, Zuckerberg has repeatedly made clear that "dislike" is not a Facebook-worthy emotion: "We didn’t want to just build a Dislike button because we don’t want to turn Facebook into a forum where people are voting up or down on people’s posts. That doesn’t seem like the kind of community we want to create."

Thanks to the new buttons, you can be angry, excited, or in love with other people's content, but the one thing you can't do is disapprove of its existence. Championing positivity is all well and good, but Zuckerberg's love of the "like" has more to do with his users' psychology than it does a desire to make the world a happier place. Negative feedback drives users away, and thumbs-down discourages posting. A "dislike" button could slow the never-ending stream of News Feed content down to a trickle - and that, after all, is Facebook's worst nightmare. 

Barbara Speed is a technology and digital culture writer at the New Statesman and a staff writer at CityMetric.