Life is an excellent model for chess

What brought you to UCT Prague from Charles University’s Faculty of Mathematics and Physics?

I have asked myself this question more than once, given that my research fits into physics more than chemistry. My life path started out very straight, and I inclined towards mathematics in primary school. Next came high school, where I focused on mathematics and physics, and then Charles University‘s Department of Mathematics and Physics, where I studied theoretical physics. At Charles, I became one of the many „victims“ of the beauty of probably the most elegant physical theory ever, Einstein‘s theory of general relativity, and was also charmed by the professor who lectured on this topic, Professor Bičák. I did my Master thesis with him on a topic related to the problem of the energy of a gravitational field. This research was undeniably engaging, as were my discussions with Bičák, and I always looked forward to those, even if they sometimes only happened once in a couple of months, depending on the length of his many stays abroad. We would talk about domestic and international politics, the Březin brothers, religion, music, and so on. And if there was any time left, we‘d chat a little about my calculations too. I look back fondly to those times. However, after defending my Master thesis, I wasn‘t sure if I should continue in this direction, because the theory is quite well developed. The idea that I would be able to come up with something truly new was kind of naive. That‘s when my father, who was a professor at the UCT Prague Department of Physical Chemistry, noticed my hesitation. He mentioned to me a modern theory within the statistical mechanics of fluids that seemed very promising in terms of future research possibilities. I read something about it, it piqued my curiosity, so I decided to do my doctorate at UCT Prague‘s Department of Physical Chemistry. It was a bit of a shot in the dark, but it worked out as time went on.

What was the hardest part of making the transition to UCT Prague?

I had to get used to a different environment. In short, the mentality here is different, more focused on „performances“ and a bit of PR flair (these things are not interesting to me, even today). More than once, I was criticized for „not showing up much“. Many of my colleagues did not have a problem with this. And then, the level of UCT Prague students was somewhat different, especially where mathematics was concerned, which is totally understandable. I had to adapt. For example, it took me some time to align my research within the field of food technology. After an initial misunderstanding, I understood that I should start each exercise giving colleagues a gentle mathematical introduction, and then it settled down. On the other hand, my non-chemical background and technical ineptitude sometimes showed. For example, during laboratory exercises, which I also had to lead, this was sometimes quite adventurous.

What was it like starting work in a completely new field?

At that time, no one in the Czech Republic was dealing with the aforementioned theory, the subject of my doctoral thesis, so I was not assigned a classical supervisor with focused expertise in the field. I had to read a lot at first and gain a bit more knowledge on the topic. But the hardest thing was that, at the beginning, I didn’t know what exactly to aim for, i.e. what specific issue to focus my research on. Trips abroad helped me a lot, and I always tried to absorb as much as possible during these visits. All of this, at the same time, led to the fact that my work lacked a systematic nature for quite a while. I did a lot of work yet without getting the full picture. I only started to have greater consistency in my research efforts over time.

Are you happy or do you regret the transition, in retrospect?

A person would need to live two lives, or at least parts of them, in order to be able to evaluate which of the two fundamental decisions was the right one. We don’t have this option, so we can either complain about our life choices or, on the contrary, rejoice about them in the spirit of Nietzsche’s amor fati. I have every reason to be happy. I have both scientific and pedagogical freedom here. I was never assigned to teach a class that would take me beyond my comfort zone. No one is interfering with my research. Before I left for a postdoc at Imperial College London, I was still in touch with Charles University’s Department of Mathematics and Physics, but then I definitely decided to focus on just one field and to fully devote myself to it. By the way, I have visited Charles a few times recently (for example, I gave a popularization lecture there earlier this year), and I can’t say I miss the atmosphere there.

How would you describe your experience at Imperial College London and what did you take away from your time there?

It was definitely a great experience. Very positive in many ways, because you get a glimpse of how one of the most famous universities in the world works behind the scenes. For example, the great thing was that you don‘t have to travel anywhere to meet the best scholars in your field (and not only your field!); they „come to you“. But in time you discover that all that glitters is not gold. I had my first strange experience quite early on, after I handed over an almost finished manuscript of an article to my boss (in the first weeks there, I usually spent about fifteen hours a day, including weekends, at the university). I was told I must have co-authors for a manuscript on which I worked entirely alone. With genuine surprise, I asked what the contribution of the co-authors was supposed to have been. The answer surprised me: their contribution was to the writing of the grant project from which I was funded. This is apparently a common practice, but I refused to accept this argument. The article was shelved following this discussion and published only many years later. By the way, I still don‘t understand the practice of arbitrary attribution for articles in general; I would feel awkward and uncomfortable to be attributed to a work that I hadn‘t contributed to. What if someone asks me something from that article?

But to return to the more positive experiences. Over time, I established the cooperation with the Mathematical Physics Group, from whom I learned a lot. This collaboration actually continues to this day.

What were others differences compared to our academic environment?

I was used to more directness. I understand academia as being a specific independent environment that should be free-spirited and healthily confrontational. But I discovered there that criticism of opinions, within seminar lectures, for example, could be taken quite offensively and as an indication of a lack of respect. The pursuit of scientific debate was sometimes mistaken for a personal attack. But I would not like to generalize too much; it could have been a completely local experience.

Because I still visit Imperial College regularly, I notice the developments there over the years. And I can say that I’m not always very happy, and I observe the same (delayed) trends here as well. I mean, a kind of activism that jumps on modern political issues and that sometimes stands in stark contrast to the interpretation of an academic environment as I described it above.

Can you introduce us to your team’s research?

Very generally: we deal with the description of many-particle systems. We know that matter consists of an enormous number of interacting microparticles whose motion cannot be described deterministically. However, we do not need to know the state of each individual particle to describe a given system, but we are interested in how such a system behaves collectively, i.e. as a whole. For such a description, we use the methods of statistical physics, in the language of probabilities, mean values, fluctuations, correlations, and the like. With the help of appropriate microscopic models, we can predict the macroscopic properties of the system, and this relationship between the micro- and macroworld allows us to interpret the observed phenomena. We then specifically deal with, for example, the description of the phase behaviour of systems in an extremely limited environment, which is dramatically different from our normal experience. Here, theory typically precedes experiments.

How is your work useful for society and what real applications does it have?

I am engaged in basic research, the primary motivation of which is a deeper understanding of natural laws. As for its technological application, that is a job for our engineering colleagues, for whom, it can be said, we are preparing a good terrain. Nevertheless, it could be said that our research does have the potential to be applied in modern nanotechnology.

Concerning my teaching, I see my primary role as motivating enthusiastic students who don’t just want a degree, but who genuinely want to pursue science and who have the capacity for this.

What classes do you teach?

I currently teach Mathematical Methods for Physical Chemistry and Advanced Methods of Mathematical Methods for Physical Chemistry, Statistical Thermodynamics, and an Introduction to the Modern Theory of Phase Transitions. These are courses for Master’s and doctoral levels students.

Which of them are popular among students, and which courses are rather challenging?

Challenging for me or for students? For me, the beginnings of lectures are the most challenging, regardless of what course it is. You are fully concentrated on solving a problem, but then you have to interrupt it and refocus on something completely different. This eventually engulfs me, so I completely refocus on the lecture and try to do my best. I usually end up with a sweaty shirt and strained vocal cords. They say that I speak quite loudly, but at least no one falls asleep. As for feedback, it depends more on the students than the specific class. In any case, whenever a student mentions your lecture in a favourable manner, it gives you satisfaction.

What was your primary motivation to become a professor?

The title of professor is (in addition to DSc.) the highest academic rank. In order to fulfil its prerequisites, you need to conduct long-term pedagogical and scientific work. And you do it because you enjoy it and you see the point of it. All the other benefits of this title, including promotion to a higher pay grade, may be nice, but for me they are not motivating enough. As for social prestige, if you look around and see who is also a full professor (including, for example, candidates for the high political appointments and the circumstances they obtained their titles), you start having some doubts about that prestige. What I am happy about, however, is a certain sense of freedom that comes from knowing that I no longer have to prove to anyone that my work is meaningful and that I am doing it well.

How about your personal life, what do you like to do in your free time?

The ideal state is for me is actually when I have no personal life. When the problem I’m working on becomes so engrossing that it wakes me up at night, and in the morning, when I can’t wait to continue solving it. Fortunately, this does not happen very often; it would not even be sustainable in the long term, to state it in modern terminology. Thus all I usually do in my free time is living normally. Or normally…I used to play chess a lot during my studies, now I am returning to it, very slowly and within my severely limited schedule. What fascinates me about chess is its parallel with real life: in both life and in chess, you are looking for (or at least you should be looking for) the optimal moves, regardless of the position you are in, trying to predict the consequences of your moves as far as possible. However, it’s often the case that there is objectively no best move; so you choose the one that is at hand, which causes the complexity on both playing fields. As a theorist, I can responsibly declare: life is an excellent model for chess.