Einstein (46 page)

This led Einstein to the formulation of an “equivalence principle” that would guide his quest for a theory of gravity and his attempt to generalize relativity. “I realized that I would be able to extend or generalize the principle of relativity to apply to accelerated systems in addition to those moving at a uniform velocity,” he later explained. “And in so doing, I expected that I would be able to resolve the problem of gravitation at the same time.”

Just as inertial mass and gravitational mass are equivalent, so too there is an equivalence, he realized, between all inertial effects, such as resistance to acceleration, and gravitational effects, such as weight. His insight was that they are both manifestations of the same structure, which we now sometimes call the inertio-gravitational field.
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One consequence of this equivalence is that gravity, as Einstein had noted, should bend a light beam. That is easy to show using the chamber thought experiment. Imagine that the chamber is being accelerated upward. A laser beam comes in through a pinhole on one wall. By the time it reaches the opposite wall, it’s a little closer to the floor, because the chamber has shot upward. And if you could plot its trajectory across the chamber, it would be curved because of the upward acceleration. The equivalence principle says that this effect should be the same whether the chamber is accelerating upward or is instead resting still in a gravitational field. Thus, light should appear to bend when going through a gravitational field.

For almost four years after positing this principle, Einstein did little with it. Instead, he focused on light quanta. But in 1911, he confessed to Michele Besso that he was weary of worrying about quanta, and he turned his attention back to coming up with a field theory of gravity that would help him generalize relativity. It was a task that would take him almost four more years, culminating in an eruption of genius in November 1915.

In a paper he sent to the
Annalen der Physik
in June 1911, “On the
Influence of Gravity on the Propagation of Light,” he picked up his insight from 1907 and gave it rigorous expression. “In a memoir published four years ago I tried to answer the question whether the propagation of light is influenced by gravitation,” he began. “I now see that one of the most important consequences of my former treatment is capable of being tested experimentally.” After a series of calculations, Einstein came up with a prediction for light passing through the gravitational field next to the sun: “A ray of light going past the sun would undergo a deflection of 0.83 second of arc.”
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Once again, he was deducing a theory from grand principles and postulates, then deriving some predictions that experimenters could proceed to test. As before, he ended his paper by calling for just such a test. “As the stars in the parts of the sky near the sun are visible during total eclipses of the sun, this consequence of the theory may be observed. It would be a most desirable thing if astronomers would take up the question.”
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Erwin Finlay Freundlich, a young astronomer at the Berlin University observatory, read the paper and became excited by the prospect of doing this test. But it could not be performed until an eclipse, when starlight passing near the sun would be visible, and there would be no suitable one for another three years.

So Freundlich proposed that he try to measure the deflection of starlight caused by the gravitational field of Jupiter. Alas, Jupiter did not prove big enough for the task. “If only we had a truly larger planet than Jupiter!” Einstein joked to Freundlich at the end of that summer. “But nature did not deem it her business to make the discovery of her laws easy for us.”
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The theory that light beams could be bent led to some interesting questions. Everyday experience shows that light travels in straight lines. Carpenters now use laser levels to mark off straight lines and construct level houses. If a light beam curves as it passes through regions of changing gravitational fields, how can a straight line be determined?

One solution might be to liken the path of the light beam through a changing gravitational field to that of a line drawn on a sphere or on a surface that is warped. In such cases, the shortest line between two points is curved, a geodesic like a great arc or a great circle route on our globe. Perhaps the bending of light meant that the fabric of space, through which the light beam traveled, was curved by gravity. The shortest path through a region of space that is curved by gravity might seem quite different from the straight lines of Euclidean geometry.

There was another clue that a new form of geometry might be needed. It became apparent to Einstein when he considered the case of a rotating disk. As a disk whirled around, its circumference would be contracted in the direction of its motion when observed from the reference frame of a person not rotating with it. The diameter of the circle, however, would not undergo any contraction. Thus, the ratio of the disk’s circumference to its diameter would no longer be given by pi. Euclidean geometry wouldn’t apply to such cases.

Rotating motion is a form of acceleration, because at every moment a point on the rim is undergoing a change in direction, which means that its velocity (a combination of speed and direction) is undergoing a change. Because non-Euclidean geometry would be necessary to describe this type of acceleration, according to the equivalence principle, it would be needed for gravitation as well.
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Unfortunately, as he had proved at the Zurich Polytechnic, non-Euclidean geometry was not a strong suit for Einstein. Fortunately, he had an old friend and classmate in Zurich for whom it was.

When Einstein moved back to Zurich from Prague in July 1912, one of the first things he did was call on his friend Marcel Grossmann, who had taken the notes Einstein used when he skipped math classes at the Zurich Polytechnic. Einstein had gotten a 4.25 out of 6 in his two geometry courses at the Polytechnic. Grossmann, on the other hand, had scored a perfect 6 in both of his geometry courses, had written his dissertation on non-Euclidean geometry, published seven papers on that topic, and was now the chairman of the math department.
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“Grossmann, you’ve got to help me or I will go crazy,” Einstein said. He explained that he needed a mathematical system that would express—and perhaps even help him discover—the laws that governed the gravitational field. “Instantly, he was all afire,” Einstein recalled of Grossmann’s response.
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Until then, Einstein’s scientific success had been based on his special talent for sniffing out the underlying physical principles of nature. He had left to others the task, which to him seemed less exalted, of finding the best mathematical expressions of those principles, as his Zurich colleague Minkowski had done for special relativity.

But by 1912, Einstein had come to appreciate that math could be a tool for discovering—and not merely describing—nature’s laws. Math was nature’s playbook. “The central idea of general relativity is that gravity arises from the curvature of spacetime,” says physicist James Hartle. “Gravity
is
geometry.”
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“I am now working exclusively on the gravitation problem and I believe that, with the help of a mathematician friend here, I will overcome all difficulties,” Einstein wrote to the physicist Arnold Sommerfeld. “I have gained enormous respect for mathematics, whose more subtle parts I considered until now, in my ignorance, as pure luxury!”
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Grossmann went home to think about the question. After consulting the literature, he came back to Einstein and recommended the non-Euclidean geometry that had been devised by Bernhard Riemann.
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Riemann (1826–1866) was a child prodigy who invented a perpetual calendar at age 14 as a gift for his parents and went on to study in the great math center of Göttingen, Germany, under Carl Friedrich Gauss, who had been pioneering the geometry of curved surfaces. This was the topic Gauss assigned to Riemann for a thesis, and the result would transform not only geometry but physics.

Euclidean geometry describes flat surfaces. But it does not hold true on curved surfaces. For example, the sum of the angles of a triangle on a flat page is 180°. But look at the globe and picture a triangle formed by the equator as the base, the line of longitude running from the equator to the North Pole through London (longitude 0°) as one side, and the line of longitude running from the equator to the North Pole through New Orleans (longitude 90°) as the third side. If you look
at this on a globe, you will see that all three angles of this triangle are right angles, which of course is impossible in the flat world of Euclid.

Gauss and others had developed different types of geometry that could describe the surface of spheres and other curved surfaces. Riemann took things even further: he developed a way to describe a surface no matter how its geometry changed, even if it varied from spherical to flat to hyperbolic from one point to the next. He also went beyond dealing with the curvature of just two-dimensional surfaces and, building on the work of Gauss, explored the various ways that math could describe the curvature of three-dimensional and even four-dimensional space.

That is a challenging concept. We can visualize a curved line or surface, but it is hard to imagine what curved three-dimensional space would be like, much less a curved four dimensions. But for mathematicians, extending the concept of curvature into different dimensions is easy, or at least doable. This involves using the concept of the
metric,
which specifies how to calculate the distance between two points in space.

On a flat surface with just the normal
x
and
y
coordinates, any high school algebra student, with the help of old Pythagoras, can calculate the distance between points. But imagine a flat map (of the world, for example) that represents locations on what is actually a curved globe. Things get stretched out near the poles, and measurement gets more complex. Calculating the actual distance between two points on the map in Greenland is different from doing so for points near the equator. Riemann worked out ways to determine mathematically the distance between points in space no matter how arbitrarily it curved and contorted.
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To do so he used something called a tensor. In Euclidean geometry, a vector is a quantity (such as of velocity or force) that has both a magnitude and a direction and thus needs more than a single simple number to describe it. In non-Euclidean geometry, where space is curved, we need something more generalized—sort of a vector on steroids—in order to incorporate, in a mathematically orderly way, more components. These are called tensors.

A
metric tensor
is a mathematical tool that tells us how to calculate
the distance between points in a given space. For two-dimensional maps, a metric tensor has three components. For three-dimensional space, it has six independent components. And once you get to that glorious four-dimensional entity known as spacetime, the metric tensor needs ten independent components.
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Riemann helped to develop this concept of the metric tensor, which was denoted as
g
_mn
and pronounced
gee-mu-nu.
It had sixteen components, ten of them independent of one another, that could be used to define and describe a distance in curved four-dimensional spacetime.
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The useful thing about Riemann’s tensor, as well as other tensors that Einstein and Grossmann adopted from the Italian mathematicians Gregorio Ricci-Curbastro and Tullio Levi-Civita, is that they are
generally covariant.
This was an important concept for Einstein as he tried to generalize a theory of relativity. It meant that the relationships between their components remained the same even when there were arbitrary changes or rotations in the space and time coordinate system. In other words, the information encoded in these tensors could go through a variety of transformations based on a changing frame of reference, but the basic laws governing the relationship of the components to each other remained the same.
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Einstein’s goal as he pursued his general theory of relativity was to find the mathematical equations describing two complementary processes:

1. How a gravitational field acts on matter, telling it how to move.

2. And in turn, how matter generates gravitational fields in space-time, telling it how to curve.

His head-snapping insight was that gravity could be defined as the curvature of spacetime, and thus it could be represented by a metric tensor. For more than three years he would fitfully search for the right equations to accomplish his mission.
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Years later, when his younger son, Eduard, asked why he was so famous, Einstein replied by using a simple image to describe his great insight that gravity was the curving of the fabric of spacetime. “When a blind beetle crawls over the surface of a curved branch, it doesn’t notice that the track it has covered is indeed curved,” he said. “I was lucky enough to notice what the beetle didn’t notice.”
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Beginning in that summer of 1912, Einstein struggled to develop gravitational field equations using tensors along the lines developed by Riemann, Ricci, and others. His first round of fitful efforts are preserved in a scratchpad notebook. Over the years, this revealing “Zurich Notebook” has been dissected and analyzed by a team of scholars including Jürgen Renn, John D. Norton, Tilman Sauer, Michel Janssen, and John Stachel.
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In it Einstein pursued a two-fisted approach. On the one hand, he engaged in what was called a “physical strategy,” in which he tried to build the correct equations from a set of requirements dictated by his feel for the physics. At the same time, he pursued a “mathematical strategy,” in which he tried to deduce the correct equations from the more formal math requirements using the tensor analysis that Gross-mann and others recommended.