My fascination with quantum entanglement began in high school, when I stumbled upon a cheap paperback of physicist Fritjof Capra’s The Tao of Physics.1 The book had first been published in 1975; by the time I found the copy in a used bookstore about a decade later, it had long since become an international bestseller. I was immediately captivated by the book’s discussion of bizarre-sounding features of quantum theory and the subtle dance of subatomic particles. Capra’s earnest discussions of various Eastern spiritual traditions—and what struck him as parallel suggestions, comparable to those from modern physics, about the nature of physical reality—left less of an impression on me. But few could miss his passion for quantum strangeness.
Inspired by some marvelous high school teachers and books like Capra’s, I entered college determined to study physics. Soon, other books grabbed me—I can still picture the tiny cubicle in the library where I spent hours tightly gripping a copy of Bernard d’Espagnat’s Conceptual Foundations of Quantum Mechanics.2 Meanwhile, my academic adviser, an expert in general relativity whose diverse reading habits included literature, art, and history, sparked my interest in the history of science. Before long, I was delving into classes in both physics and history. I became fascinated by the history of quantum entanglement and contemporary physicists’ efforts to grapple with it. I decided to pursue doctoral studies in both theoretical physics and the history of science.
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