In the mid-1970s, particle physics was hot. Quarks were in. Group theory was in. Field theory was in. And so much progress was being made that it seemed like the fundamental theory of physics might be close at hand. Right in the middle of all this was Murray Gell-Mann – responsible for not one, but most, of the leaps of intuition that had brought particle physics to where it was. There’d been other theories, but Murray’s, with their somewhat elaborate and abstract mathematics, were always the ones that seemed to carry the day.

It was the spring of 1978 and I was 18 years old. I’d been publishing papers on particle physics for a few years. I was in England, but planned to soon go to graduate school in the US, and was choosing between Caltech and Princeton. One weekend afternoon, the phone rang. “This is Murray Gell-Mann”, the caller said, then launched into a monologue about why Caltech was the centre of the universe for particle physics at the time. Perhaps not as star-struck as I should have been, I asked a few practical questions, which Murray dismissed. The call ended with something like, “Well, we’d like to have you at Caltech”.

I remember the evening I arrived, wandering around the empty fourth floor of Lauritsen Lab – the centre of Caltech theoretical particle physics. There were all sorts of names I recognised on office doors, and there were two offices that were obviously the largest: “M. Gell-Mann” and “R. Feynman”. In between them was a small office labelled “H. Tuck”, which by the next day I’d realised was occupied by the older but very lively departmental assistant.

I never worked directly with Murray but I interacted with him frequently while I was at Caltech. He was a strange mixture of gracious and gregarious, together with austere and combative. He had an expressive face, which would wrinkle up if he didn’t approve of what was being said. Murray always grouped people and things he approved of, and those he didn’t – to which he would often give disparaging nicknames. (He would always refer to solid- state physics as “squalid-state physics”.) Sometimes he would pretend that things he did not like simply did not exist. I remember once talking to him about something in quantum field theory called the beta function. His face showed no recognition of what I was talking about, and I was getting slightly exasperated. Eventually I blurted out, “But, Murray, didn’t you invent this?” “Oh”, he said, suddenly much more charming, “You mean g times the psi function. Why didn’t you just say that? Now I understand.”

I could never quite figure out what it was that made Murray impressed by some people and not others. He would routinely disparage physicists who were destined for great success, and would vigorously promote ones who didn’t seem so promising, and didn’t in fact do well. So when he promoted me, I was on the one hand flattered, but on the other hand concerned about what his endorsement might really mean.

Feynman interactions

The interaction between Murray Gell-Mann and Richard Feynman was an interesting thing to behold. Both came from New York, but Feynman relished his “working class” New York accent while Gell-Mann affected the best pronunciation of words from any language. Both would make surprisingly childish comments about the other. I remember Feynman insisting on telling me the story of the origin of the word “quark”. He said he’d been talking to Murray one Friday about these hypothetical particles, and in their conversation they’d needed a name for them. Feynman told me he said (no doubt in his characteristic accent), “Let’s call them ‘quacks’”. The next Monday, he said, Murray came to him very excited and said he’d found the word “quark” in a novel by James Joyce. In telling this to me, Feynman then went into a long diatribe about how Murray always seemed to think the names for things were so important. “Having a name for something doesn’t tell you a damned thing,” Feynman said. Feynman went on, mocking Murray’s concern for things like what different birds are called. (Murray was an avid bird watcher.) Meanwhile, Feynman had worked on particles that seemed (and turned out to be) related to quarks. Feynman had called them “partons”. Murray insisted on always referring to them as “put-ons”.

He was a strange mixture of gracious and gregarious

Even though in terms of longstanding contributions to particle physics, Murray was the clear winner, he always seemed to feel as if he was in the shadow of Feynman, particularly with Feynman’s showmanship. When Feynman died, Murray wrote a rather snarky obituary, saying of Feynman: “He surrounded himself with a cloud of myth, and he spent a great deal of time and energy generating anecdotes about himself.” I never quite understood why Murray – who could have gone to any university in the world – chose to work at Caltech for 33 years in an office two doors down from Feynman.

Murray cared a lot about what people thought of him, but wasn’t particularly good at reading other people. Yet, alongside the brush-offs and the strangeness, he could be personally very gracious. I remember him inviting me several times to his house. He also did me quite a few favours in my career. I don’t know if I would call Murray a friend, though, for example, after his wife Margaret died, he and I would sometimes have dinner together, at random restaurants around Pasadena. It wasn’t so much that I felt of a different generation from him (which of course I was). It was more that he exuded a certain aloof tension, that made one not feel very sure about what the relationship really was.

Murray Gell-Mann had an amazing run. For 20 years he had made a series of bold conjectures about how nature might work – strangeness, V-A theory, SU(3), quarks, QCD – and in each case he had been correct, while others had been wrong. He had one of the more remarkable records of repeated correct intuition in the whole history of science.

He tried to go on. He talked about “grand unification being in the air”, and (along with many other physicists) discussed the possibility that QCD and the theory of weak interactions might be unified in models based on groups such as SU(5) and SO(10). He considered supersymmetry. But quick validations of these theories didn’t work out, though even now it’s still conceivable that some version of them might be correct.

I have often used Murray as an example of the challenges of managing the arc of a great career. From his twenties to his forties, Murray had the golden touch. His particular way of thinking had success after success, and in many ways he defined physics for a generation. By the time I knew him, the easy successes were over. Perhaps it was Murray; more likely, it was just that the easy pickings from his approach were now gone. He so wanted to succeed as he had before, not just in physics but in other fields and endeavours. But he never found a way to do it – and always bore the burden of his early success.

Though Murray is now gone, the physics he discovered will live on, defining an important chapter in the quest for our understanding of the fundamental structure of our universe. 

• This article draws on a longer tribute published on www.stephenwolfram.com.

Murray Gell-Mann’s scientific career began at the age of 15, when he received a scholarship from Yale University that allowed him to study physics. Afterwards he went to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and worked under Victor Weisskopf. He completed his PhD in 1951, at the age of 21, and became a postdoc at the Institute for Advanced Study in Princeton.

The following year, Gell-Mann joined the research group of Enrico Fermi at the University of Chicago. He was particularly interested in the new particles that had been discovered in cosmic rays, such as the six hyperons and the four K-mesons. Nobody understood why these particles were created easily in collisions of nucleons, yet decayed rather slowly. To understand the peculiar properties of the new hadrons, Gell-Mann introduced a quantum number, which he called strangeness (S): nucleons were assigned S = 0; the Λ hyperon and the three Σ hyperons were assigned S = (–1); the two Ξ hyperons had S = (–2); and the negatively charged K-meson had S = (–1).

Strange assumptions

Gell-Mann assumed that the strangeness quantum number is conserved in the strong and electromagnetic interactions, but violated in the weak interactions. The decays of the strange particles into particles without strangeness could only proceed via the weak interaction.

The idea of strangeness thus explained, in a simple way, the production and decay rates of the newly discovered hadrons. A new particle with S = (–1) could be produced by the strong interaction together with a particle with S = (+1) – e.g. a negatively charged Σ can be produced together with a positively charged K meson. However, a positively charged Σ could not be produced together with a negatively charged K meson, since both particles have S = (–1).

In 1954 Gell-Mann and Francis Low published details of the renormalisation of quantum electrodynamics (QED). They had introduced a new method called the renormalisation group, which Kenneth Wilson (a former student of Gell-Mann) later used to describe the phase transitions in condensed-matter physics. Specifically, Gell-Mann and Low calculated the energy dependence of the renormalised coupling constant. In QED the effective coupling constant increases with the energy. This was measured at the LEP collider at CERN, and found to agree with the theoretical prediction.

In 1955 Gell-Mann went to Caltech in Pasadena, on the invitation of Richard Feynman, and was quickly promoted to full professor – the youngest in Caltech’s history. In 1957, Gell-Mann started to work with Feynman on a new theory of the weak interaction in terms of a universal Fermi interaction given by the product of two currents and the Fermi constant. These currents were both vector currents and axial-vector currents, and the lepton current is a product of a charged lepton field and an antineutrino field. The “V–A” theory showed that since the electrons emitted in a beta-decay are left-handed, the emitted antineutrinos are right-handed – thus parity is not a conserved quantum number. Some experiments were in disagreement with the new theory. Feynman and Gell-Mann suggested in their paper that these experiments were wrong, and it turned out that this was the case.

In 1960 Gell-Mann invented a new symmetry to describe the new baryons and mesons found in cosmic rays and in various accelerator experiments. He used the unitary group SU(3), which is an extension of the isospin symmetry based on the group SU(2). The two nucleons and the six hyperons are described by an octet representation of SU(3), as are the eight mesons. Gell-Mann often described the SU(3)-symmetry as the “eightfold way” in reference to the eightfold path of Buddhism. At that time, it was known that there exist four Δ resonances, three Σ resonances and two χ resonances. There is no SU(3)-representation with nine members, but there is a decuplet representation with 10 members. Gell-Mann predicted the existence and the mass of a negatively charged 10th particle with strangeness S = (–3), which he called the Ω particle.

The Ω is unique in the decuplet: due to its strangeness it could only decay by the weak interaction, and so would have a relatively long lifetime. This particle was discovered in 1964 by Nicholas Samios and his group at Brookhaven National Laboratory, at the mass Gell-Mann had predicted. The SU(3) symmetry was very successful and in 1969 Gell-Mann received the Nobel Prize in Physics “for his contributions and discoveries concerning the classification of elementary particles and their interactions.”

In 1962 Gell-Mann proposed the algebra of currents, which led to many sum rules for cross sections, such as the Adler sum rule. Current algebra was the main topic of research in the following years and Gell-Mann wrote several papers with his colleague Roger Dashen on the topic.

Quark days

In 1964 Gell-Mann discussed the triplets of SU(3), which he called “quarks”. He proposed that quarks were the constituents of baryons and mesons, with fractional electric charges, and published his results in Physics Letters. Feynman’s former PhD student George Zweig, who was working at CERN, independently made the same proposal. But the quark model was not considered seriously by many physicists. For example, the Ω is a bound state of three strange quarks placed symmetrically in an s-wave, which violated the Pauli principle since it was not anti-symmetric. In 1968, quarks were found indirectly in deep-inelastic electron–proton experiments performed at SLAC.

By then it had been proposed, by Oscar Greenberg and by Moo-Young Han and Yoichiro Nambu, that quarks possess additional properties that keep the Pauli principle intact. By imagining the quarks in three “colours” – which later came to be called red, green and blue – hadrons could be considered as colour singlets, the simplest being the bound states of a quark and an antiquark (meson) or of three quarks (baryon). Since baryon wave functions are antisymmetric in the colour index, there is no problem with the Pauli principle. Taking the colour quantum number as a gauge quantum number, like the electric charge in QED, yields a gauge theory of the strong interactions: colour symmetry is an exact symmetry and the gauge bosons are massless gluons, which transform as an octet of the colour group. Nambu and Han had essentially arrived at quantum chromodynamics (QCD), but in their model the quarks carried integer electrical charges.

The quark model was not considered seriously by many physicists

I was introduced to Gell-Mann by Ken Wilson in 1970 at the Aspen Center of Physics, and we worked together for a period. In 1972 we wrote down a model in which the quarks had fractional charges, proposing that, since only colour singlets occur in the spectrum, fractionally charged quarks remain unobserved. The discovery in 1973 by David Gross, David Politzer and Frank Wilczek that the self-interaction of the gluons leads to asymptotic freedom – whereby the gauge coupling constant of QCD decreases if the energy is increased – showed that quarks are forever confined. It was rewarded with the 2004 Nobel Prize in Physics, although a rigorous proof of quark confinement is still missing.

Gell-Mann did not just contribute to the physics of strong interactions. In 1979, along with Pierre Ramond and Richard Slansky, he wrote a paper discussing details of the “seesaw mechanism” – a theoretical proposal to account for the very small values of the neutrino masses introduced a couple of years earlier. After 1980 he also became interested in string theory. His wide-ranging interests in languages, and other areas beyond physics are also well documented.

I enjoyed working with Murray Gell-Mann. We had similar interests in physics, and we worked together until 1976 when I left Caltech and went to CERN. He visited often. In May 2019, during a trip to Los Alamos Laboratory, I was fortunate to have had the chance to visit Murray at his house in Santa Fe one last time. 

Further memories of Gell-Mann can be found at Gell-Mann’s multi-dimensional genius and Memories from Caltech.