Quantum Entanglement Part One – Spooky Action at a Distance

Just a quick note before we start: I got a bit carried away with this one. What was meant to be one article on quantum entanglement turned into something closer to a small dissertation, so I’ve split it into two parts rather than dumping the whole lot on you in one sitting which will also give me an extra week do the research and get Part Two much more readable.

This week, Part One: entanglement itself, what Einstein got wrong (and sort of right), and why it doesn’t break the universe. Next Friday, Part Two: what entanglement actually builds, and how deep the rabbit hole goes. Right, on with the show…

Hello, my lovely readers, how about today we take a friendly deep dive into the universe’s strangest connection: Quantum Entanglement.

At some point in your life, you were probably told the universe works like a well-behaved machine. Things move, collide, push, and pull. Causes lead neatly to effects. Objects exist whether or not you’re looking at them.

Then quantum physics came along and politely, but firmly, said:

“Er… Excuse me? I like your thinking, but that’s not quite right.”

And at the heart of that disruption is something both beautiful and unsettling, something the physics boffins call quantum entanglement. The term was first coined by Erwin Schrödinger, you know, the guy with the cat in the box you’re always hearing about?

Einstein famously mocked it as “spooky action at a distance.” He thought it was a flaw, but it actually turned out to be a feature.

Let me try and unpack what that really means, without getting lost in too much maths, (as, I’ve mentioned before, maths isn’t one of my strong points), but still going deeper than the usual surface explanations.

So, what is entanglement?

Imagine two particles created together, say, two photons born from the same event. From that moment on, their properties become linked. They are not just similar, and not just predictable. They are shared, which means if you measure something about one such as its orientation or “spin”, you instantly know the corresponding property of the other.

Even, and this is the truly mind blowing bit, if it’s on the other side of the galaxy.

Well, that doesn’t sound so weird, right? At first glance, it feels normal, I’ll go with the classic analogy, say you have two gloves, one left and one right and you put them in separate boxes. You send one to Norwich and the other one to Waitangi (I chose these two places as I live in Norwich and I googled what is the antipodal point of Norwich City UK; here’s a link for no reason: https://tinyurl.com/4ap8w4d3). When you open one you immediately know what the other one is. No mystery, right? Except this analogy quietly assumes something critical and that is the gloves already had definite identities before you looked.

Unfortunately, quantum particles don’t behave that way.

The twist is that reality isn’t really set until you look. In quantum mechanics, particles can exist in a superposition which is a blend of possibilities. Before measurement, an electron doesn’t have a definite “spin” like up or down, it simply exists in a cloud of probabilities. Are you still with me? I’m going to carry on regardless even if you’re not as you’ll get it at the end, I promise. If I can understand it, absolutely anyone can.

So, when two particles are entangled, it’s not that they secretly agreed in advance that is what they were going to do, it’s more like they didn’t fully decide until one of them was observed and then they both snapped into agreement instantly!

Einstein didn’t like this at all and that’s the part he just couldn’t accept, and was quite vocal about it for many years. He believed in two key ideas: locality, where nothing can influence something else faster than light, and realism: where physical properties exist whether we observe them or not.

Einstein’s big problem with entanglement was that it seems to violate both. So, in 1935, Einstein and colleagues proposed the EPR paradox (I’ll attempt to actually explain this a bit later).

“Quantum mechanics must be incomplete. Something deeper must be going on.”

He suspected hidden variables, unknown factors quietly determining outcomes behind the scenes.

This debate simmered on and on for decades, it sounded philosophical and almost untestable until in 1964, physicist John Bell made a breakthrough.

He showed that if Einstein was right, that is, if hidden variables governed everything, then there should be strict limits on how correlated entangled particles can be. Right?

These limits are called Bell inequalities.

Basically, (without attempting any heavy maths), Bell’s logic boiled down to this:

If particles carry pre-existing answers, and no influence travels faster than light, then their measurement correlations must stay within certain bounds.

Right? Get it? No? Me neither at first and it’ll take yet another blog post to explain it fully, so just go with it for now and I’ll have to tell you all about Bell Inequalities in a different post.

Anyway, back to where we were: quantum mechanics predicts something different. It predicts stronger correlations than classical physics allows.

Physicists tested Bell’s predictions with real experiments, over and over, by taking entangled particles, separating them, and measuring them in different ways.

The result showed that quantum mechanics wins. Every time. Without fail. The observed correlations broke Bell’s Inequality, they couldn’t be explained with hidden variables, and they couldn’t be explained by local interactions either. Furthermore, recent experiments have ruled out all the usual loopholes.

This means we are forced to accept something different and more radical; the universe isn’t both local and real in the classical sense, which means something about our everyday intuition is wrong.

Hang on just a minute, didn’t you say in your last article that you couldn’t have faster than light messaging? If one particle instantly affects another, why can’t we use this to send messages faster than light?

And the answer to that question is quite a simple one, you can’t control the outcome of your measurement. When you measure a particle, you can’t choose “spin up” versus “spin down”; you can only observe whatever happens. Which means you get a random result. While the correlation is instant, there’s no way to encode and transmit information. Nature gives you Einstein’s spooky connection but keeps communications firmly limited by relativity.

And there we have it, the end of Part One, a short one this week as all the extra fun stuff will be packed in to Part Two, which judging by my draft, will be a tad longer. Thanks again for reading, and stay tuned folks, if I pull my finger out and crack on I’ll have Part Two ready for this time next week.

The Speed of Light: The Universe’s Ultimate Limit

Due to another recent sleepless night thanks to my mind working in overdrive, I found myself contemplating the speed of light, and the more I contemplated it, the more it wouldn’t let me go back to sleep, and the stranger it seemed.

It’s one of those things you hear about your whole life. School, documentaries, random science articles, the closing song to Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life, so much so you sort of take it for granted. Light goes very fast. End of story, right?

Er, no. The more I started thinking about it, the more I realised it’s not just about how fast light travels.

It’s something much deeper than that.

So, what actually is the speed of light?

At its most basic level, it’s just a number, but not just any number. It is a number that quietly governs everything in the universe, how fast signals travel, how time flows, how gravity behaves, and even how reality itself is stitched together.

That number is the speed of light, usually written as c.

It’s not just the speed at which sunlight reaches your face or lasers shoot across a room. It goes far deeper than that. It is, in many ways, the fundamental rhythm of reality.

The speed of light in a vacuum is: c = 299,792,458 metres per second.

That’s about 300,000 kilometres per second, or if you prefer it in imperial, 186,000 miles per second, fast enough to go around the Earth more than seven times in a single second.

But here’s the interesting part: this number isn’t just measured, it’s defined. Since 1983, the metre itself has been based on how far light travels in a fraction of a second.

So, in a strange way, we’re not just measuring light, we’re using it to define reality.

Another thing that’s easy to miss is that c isn’t really about light on its own. It’s the speed of all electromagnetic radiation, from radio waves to gamma rays, and even appears in the laws governing phenomena like gravitational waves.

Nothing in the universe can go faster than light. Not matter, not energy, and not information. That’s what gives the universe its speed limit. Why? I hear you ask. And the answer, my friends, is because anything with mass accelerating toward c will require more and more energy. To actually reach it would require infinite energy, which is impossible.

The speed of light is therefore not just fast, it is absolute.

This is where Einstein comes in. Back in 1905 he made a radical leap. He proposed that the speed of light is the same for all observers, no matter how fast they themselves are moving.

That seemingly simple idea shattered classical physics to smithereens (I might be being a bit over dramatic there) and led to the theory of special relativity, and with it came strange and beautiful consequences: time slows down for objects moving near light speed, and length shrinks in the direction of motion. Mass and energy turned out to be two sides of the same coin too, which gives us the most famous equation of all:

In that one brilliant moment, the speed of light became more than just a velocity. It became a statement about how we see the universe itself: because light travels at a fixed speed, we never see the universe as it is, only as it was.

So, if you look at the Sun you are seeing it from 8 minutes in the past, the moon is from 1.3 seconds ago, any nearby stars you gaze at are years ago, and if you were to look at distant galaxies, they are from millions or billions of years ago. Amazing, isn’t it? Every time you look into the night sky, you are literally looking into history.

Let’s take a closer look at light, fields, and the deep structure of physics.

In the 19th century, James Clerk Maxwell showed us that light is actually an electromagnetic wave, and its speed comes from the properties of empty space itself, which in itself is a bit mind bending!

Then, in modern quantum physics, we go a step further. Reality, as far as we can tell, is made of fields. Particles are just ripples in those fields, and the speed of light is the maximum speed those ripples can travel. In this view, c is not just about light, it is the speed of all cause-and-effect in the universe.

And this ties into black holes as well (as I was rambling about in my last post). If you make gravity strong enough, you eventually reach a point where the escape velocity equals the speed of light and that’s the event horizon. Beyond that, nothing gets out, not because something is pulling it back in like a cosmic vacuum cleaner, but because spacetime itself is warped in such a way that every possible path leads inward.

What’s that? Another question I hear? Can we go faster than light? No, we can’t, not with the laws of physics as we understand them now. Modern physics is very strict on this; nothing can move through space faster than light.

But the universe does have a trick up its sleeve. Space itself can expand faster than light. Distant galaxies are being carried away faster than light so that some are forever beyond our reach. Crucially, this doesn’t break relativity, because nothing is actually moving through space faster than light, space itself is stretching.

Which leads us to another question: if we could travel faster than light, why would doing so break reality?

And the answer to that question is this: if faster-than-light communication were possible, something extraordinary, and dangerous, would happen. Cause and effect could reverse, which in some reference frames means a message would arrive before it was sent, creating a paradox where an effect precedes its cause.

And this is why physicists think of c not as the speed of light, but as the speed of causality.

Still with me? Good, I’m going to get a bit more technical here and bung in an equation, I try to avoid equations as much as possible as they can be baffling to understand (apart from the one above, obviously), it’s only as I have got older and more learned (hark at me!!) that I am better able to get my head around them.

Anyway, the speed of light also appears in one of physics’ most mysterious numbers, The fine-structure constant:

It basically shows us how strongly electromagnetism works, and it depends on the speed of light, along with quantum mechanics and electric charge and other quantumy stuff. Anyway, together these constants define how atoms hold together, how chemistry works, and ultimately how anything exists at all, but that is for another blog post, so you’ll just have to take my word for it for now.

All this brings us to the one final mystery which nobody really has an answer to. Why this number? Why does the speed of light have this exact value? We know how to measure it. We can use it. We know it shapes spacetime itself. But why that value?

At the deepest level, where quantum mechanics meets gravity, we still don’t know. Remember, I’m just an amateur here and I definitely have no idea. However, some theories suggest spacetime may emerge from something deeper, and that c might emerge with it.

Putting all this into perspective (and adding some cool bullet points), the speed of light is:

  • The maximum speed of information
  • The structure of spacetime
  • The limit of cause and effect
  • A link between energy, mass, space, and time

It is not just a property of light. It is a property of reality itself. How’s that for a statement?

But wait, it gets even better as perhaps the strangest thing of all is that every single moment, everything in the universe is obeying that limit.

Whether we notice it or not, the future is only ever unfolding as fast as light allows.

Black Holes

As is often the case, I’ve had a lot of things on my mind recently, mainly work stuff as there’s been a lot of uncertainty around mine, and my mate Chris who I work with, roles. All sorted now, well, sort of, I’ll tell you about it another time, if you’re lucky.

Anyway, when things start to overwhelm me, I tend to start ruminating on random stuff I know, or have learnt, that has stuck with me. Today, for no particular reason, other than I’ve been getting quite sciency recently, it has been black holes, and as I seem to have my writing mojo back, I thought to myself, why not put these thoughts to paper and bang out an article for my blog. I know I only have a handful of readers (friends and family who humour me by showing an interest), but I find it quite therapeutic. 

So, Black Holes, what the hell are they really? They’re one of those things that you hear about your whole life, mostly in passing, science programmes, random articles, the odd bit on the news, songs by Muse etc., and you sort of think you know what they are as in they’re a big gravity thing and nothing escapes from them, right?

That’s all very true, but the more I started properly looking into them, the more I realised that I didn’t really understand them at all. Or maybe a better way of putting it is, I understood the idea of them, but not what they actually are. And that’s where things start to get a bit weird.

So, what actually is a black hole?

At the most basic level, a black hole is just a place in space where gravity has become so strong that nothing can escape it. Not even light, just as I said above, but that alone is already slightly weird, because light, as we all know, is the fastest thing there is. If light can’t escape, then whatever’s going on there must be pretty extreme.

The reason this happens is actually quite simple in principle. If you take a massive object, like a star, and compress all that mass into a ridiculously small space that it fits within a critical radius, the gravitational pull increases. Keep compressing it, and eventually you reach a point where the escape velocity (the speed you’d need to get away from it) is higher than the speed of light, and at that point, you’ve got yourself a black hole.

Simple enough, in theory.

But it’s not really gravity in the way we think, and this is where it starts to shift a bit as black holes aren’t just strong gravity in the usual sense, they’re more like a distortion in spacetime itself. And although that sounds like one of those throwaway science phrases, it’s actually the key to everything.

As Einstein pointed out in his theory of relativity, space and time aren’t actually separate things, they’re part of the same fabric. Spacetime. And massive objects bend that fabric. That is they bend spacetime. The Earth bends it a bit, the Sun bends it a lot more, and a black hole basically folds it in on itself like someone’s tried to fold up a fitted sheet and given up halfway through (to this day, and despite my wife showing me numerous times, I still can’t fold a fitted sheet).

So, what is the event horizon, this so called point of no return? I hear you say

Well, the event horizon isn’t a physical surface. You won’t bump into it like a wall. It’s just a boundary in space, once you cross it, there is literally no path back out. Not because something is blocking you, but because all possible directions you could move through spacetime point further inward, cones of light tilt inward so that all future paths lead deeper in. It quite literally is the point of no return.

And what’s really strange is what it looks like from the outside. If you were watching someone fall into a black hole, they’d appear to slow down as they got closer to the event horizon, they would become slower and slower, until to the eyes of the observer, they appear to freeze there before slowly fading away, so you never actually see them going all the way in, but from their point of view, they just fall straight through.

That disconnect between what’s actually happening and what you see is where things start to feel a bit off and one of those questions that always seems to come up is, what happens if I were to fall in to one? and the honest answer is:

It depends.

I know that answer is a bit of a cop out, but if it’s a smaller black hole, you’re in a lot of trouble very quickly. The difference in gravitational pull between your feet and your head becomes so extreme that you get stretched out into a thin strand. This is what people in physics circles call spaghettification, which sounds almost funny until you think about it.

For a really massive black hole though, like the one at the centre of our galaxy (and the one in the song by Muse), it’s a bit less dramatic at first. You could actually cross the event horizon without noticing anything particularly unusual in that moment. It’s only later, the deeper in you go, that it becomes unavoidable and you’re on a one way trip.

Either way, you’re not coming back.

At the centre of a black hole is something called the singularity. In theory, this is a point where all the mass is crushed down into an infinitely small space, with infinite density, but here’s the thing, infinite in physics usually means we don’t actually know what’s going on. Physics dudes don’t like anything to be infinite as it mucks up all the other stuff we know about the universe. It’s basically our equations throwing their hands up and saying, this doesn’t make sense anymore.

So, the singularity might not actually exist in that exact form. It’s more likely that something else is happening there, something we just don’t yet have the tools or the physics to describe properly, and that’s where black holes start to become really cool.

For one thing, they’re not actually completely black, which surprised me the most when I first came across it, and black holes can actually lose energy.

There’s this process called Hawking radiation (yes, that cool dude who wrote that brilliant book, if you haven’t read it, you should), where tiny quantum effects near the edge of a black hole allow particles to escape. It’s often explained in terms of virtual particle pairs forming near the event horizon, with one falling in and the other escaping. It’s incredibly weak, but over very, very long periods of time, it means the black hole slowly shrinks and would eventually disappear entirely. Which is a strange idea in itself, something that swallows everything, but can also slowly evaporate.

Still with me? Good, as now we get to the bit we really don’t understand and where it all ties together.

Black holes are basically where two major parts of physics collide:

General relativity (which describes gravity and large-scale things) and Quantum mechanics (which describes teeny tiny things).

Both of these work extremely well on their own, but inside a black hole they don’t agree, which leads to some big problems, one of the biggest being, what happens to information?

If something falls into a black hole, all the information about it should still exist in some form as physics says information can’t just be destroyed, but black holes seem to do exactly that, either the information isn’t actually lost (and we don’t understand how it’s preserved), or our understanding of physics is incomplete. And if we’re being honest, it’s probably the latter, there’s something missing from our understanding of physics.

The part I keep coming back to is, as all this stuffs wanders through my noggin, is why does any of this matter? And it matters because black holes aren’t just weird objects sitting out there doing their own thing. They actually seem to play a huge role in how the universe works.

Most galaxies have a supermassive black hole at their centre which influences how stars form, how galaxies evolve, and possibly even how structure forms on a cosmic scale, but more than that, they’re one of the few places where we can really test the limits of our theories. They’re not just interesting in their own right, they actually do something, we just haven’t figured out exactly what that is yet.

In the end, I don’t think black holes are really about “things that suck stuff in,” even though that’s how they’re often described. They’re more like boundaries. Points where our current understanding of reality runs out and something deeper takes over. And the more you look into them, the more you start to feel like we’re still only scratching the surface.

Which, if nothing else, makes them worth thinking about properly.

A thought experiment about how advanced civilisations might preserve knowledge. Not through communication, but through persistence

I’ve been thinking about the Fermi Paradox again recently, that slightly uncomfortable question about why, if intelligent life is likely in the universe, we don’t seem to have any real evidence of it.

For decades, the search has mostly focused on listening. Radio signals, communication, signs that something out there is trying to make itself known. So far, despite years of searching we have nothing definitive.

This got me wondering whether we’ve been looking for the wrong thing entirely. If you look at what we’re doing as a civilisation, there’s been a noticeable shift.

We’re getting very good at storing information by placing huge amounts of data in tiny physical space. We have materials designed to last for extremely long periods (fused silica, for example), and more recently, even starting to think about storing data off-world

There are already data payloads on the Moon, essentially early attempts at creating long-term archives beyond Earth. In a similar spirit, earlier missions like Pioneer 10 and 11 even carried engraved plaques, simple, durable messages intended to outlast the spacecraft themselves and potentially be understood by any intelligence that might encounter them.

Because we are sending these data stores to the moon, it feels like a subtle but important step, it suggests something quite different about where technology might be heading. Not outward and loud, but inward and durable.

So, I had this idea, and my thought is this:

What if advanced civilisations don’t broadcast signals, those huge technosignatures and radio communications that SETI have been searching for? What if they leave records instead?

Rather than trying to communicate across vast distances, they might create something that simply persists as a kind of long-term archive. If that’s the case, those archives would probably be, small and compact. passive (no need for active power), and extremely durable, designed to last for very long periods, and possibly deliberately placed somewhere stable and discoverable.

If you were looking for a place to store something long-term in our solar system, Mars orbit actually starts to make a lot of sense.  It’s relatively quiet compared to Earth orbit as there is less atmospheric drag, fewer large perturbations, and a simpler gravitational environment overall. There’s also the added point that Mars itself likely had a very different past, thicker atmosphere, liquid water, maybe even early-life conditions. So, it’s not just stable, it’s interesting from a biological perspective.

From an engineering standpoint, there are a couple of obvious candidates. Higher Mars orbit (away from atmospheric effects and lower orbital decay), gravitationally stable regions like the Lagrange points (L4 and L5), where objects can remain relatively stable over long periods.

What would we actually see though? If something like this existed, I doubt it would look like a spacecraft in the way we tend to imagine it. It would probably be small. Passive. Unremarkable at first glance. Maybe the sort of things we’d need to look for are:

  • Small objects in unusual but stable orbits
  • Occasional bright reflections, glints, where light catches on a surface
  • Slightly odd thermal behaviour
  • Shapes or edges that don’t quite look natural

In other words, subtle anomalies. Nothing dramatic. Nothing obvious. Just things that don’t quite fit. None of this is especially speculative, it’s just basic orbital mechanics.

One of the most interesting parts of this idea is the possibility that we might already have the data.

We’ve been observing Mars for decades now, with high-resolution imagery, radar data. And thermal measurements, But, all of that work has been focused on the surface, not on systematically looking for small, anomalous objects in orbit. Which means there’s a gap. We might already have the data; we’ve just never really asked this particular question of it.

Is all this actually testable? The answer is yes, and that’s what makes this idea interesting to me.

It’s not just a thought experiment,. It’s something that could be tested, even at a basic level by taking existing Mars datasets and running anomaly detection on them. We can look for anything that or behaves in an unexpected way while filtering out the obvious stuff such as known spacecraft, debris, noise, etc.

Even if nothing turns up, we’d still learn something about what’s there, and what isn’t.

Why does this matter? I hear you ask. Well, If something like this did exist, even just one confirmed example, it would completely change the situation, because it wouldn’t rely on communication, It wouldn’t rely on timing or distance or whether anyone is still “out there”. It would just be… evidence. At that point, the Fermi Paradox wouldn’t really be about silence anymore, it would be more like: Have we simply not recognised what we’re looking at?

As a final thought, I’m not claiming that there are definitely extraterrestrial archives sitting out there in Mars orbit, but it does feel like one of those ideas that sits right on the edge between speculative and testable. And more importantly:

It’s something we haven’t really looked for.

Given how much data we already have, and how our own technology is evolving — it feels like a question that’s at least worth asking properly, because if those kinds of records did exist, we might not even realise we’re looking at them.

Hypothesis (for clarity)

Advanced extraterrestrial civilisations may prioritise long-term information preservation over visible energetic expansion, and may therefore deploy compact, durable archival systems in stable orbital environments, such as Mars orbit or associated gravitationally stable regions, where such artefacts could plausibly persist over extended timescales and be discoverable through systematic analysis of orbital data.

This is a simplified statement of the idea discussed above.

Full Paper

If you’d like to explore the idea in more detail, including the full framework, methodology, and supporting reasoning:

👉 Download my full paper (PDF):
https://malandally.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2026/06/extraterrestrial-data-preservation-and-the-martian-orbit-hypothesis-2.pdf