Einstein (60 page)

Einstein had no doubts. “Today some happy news,” he wrote his mother. “Lorentz telegraphed me that the British expeditions have verified the deflection of light by the sun.”
²¹
Perhaps his confidence was partly an attempt to cheer up his mother, who was suffering from stomach cancer. But it is more likely that it was because he knew his theory was correct.

Einstein was with a graduate student, Ilse Schneider, shortly after Lorentz’s news arrived. “He suddenly interrupted the discussion,” she later recalled, and reached for the telegram that was lying on a window sill. “Perhaps this will interest you,” he said, handing it to her.

Naturally she was overjoyed and excited, but Einstein was quite calm. “I
knew
the theory was correct,” he told her.

But, she asked, what if the experiments had shown his theory to be wrong?

He replied, “Then I would have been sorry for the dear Lord; the theory is correct.”
²²

As more precise news of the eclipse results spread, Max Planck was among those who gently noted to Einstein that it was good to have his own confidence confirmed by some actual facts. “You have already said many times that you never personally doubted what the result would be,” Planck wrote, “but it is beneficial, nonetheless, if now this fact is indubitably established for others as well.” For Einstein’s stolid patron, the triumph had a transcendent aspect. “The intimate union between the beautiful, the true and the real has again been proved.” Einstein replied to Planck with a veneer of humility: “It is a gift from gracious destiny that I have been allowed to experience this.”
²³

Einstein’s celebratory exchange with his closer friends in Zurich was more lighthearted. The physics colloquium there sent him a piece of doggerel:

All doubts have now been spent
At last it has been found:
Light is naturally bent
To Einstein’s great renown!
²⁴

To which Einstein replied a few days later, referring to the eclipse:

Light and heat Mrs. Sun us tenders
Yet loves not he who broods and ponders.
So she contrives many a year
How she may hold her secret dear!
Now came the lunar visitor kind;
For joy, she almost forgot to shine.
Her deepest secrets too she lost
Eddington, you know, has snapped a shot.
²⁵

In defense of Einstein’s poetic prowess, it should be noted that his verse works better in German, in which the last two lines end with “gekommen” and “aufgenommen.”

The first unofficial announcement came at a meeting of the Dutch Royal Academy. Einstein sat proudly onstage as Lorentz described Eddington’s findings to an audience of close to a thousand cheering
students and scholars. But it was a closed meeting with no press, so the leaks about the results merely added to the great public anticipation leading up to the official announcement scheduled for two weeks later in London.

The distinguished members of the Royal Society, Britain’s most venerable scientific institution, met along with colleagues from the Royal Astronomical Society on the afternoon of November 6, 1919, at Burlington House in Piccadilly, for what they knew was likely to be a historic event. There was only one item on the agenda: the report on the eclipse observations.

Sir J. J. Thomson, the Royal Society’s president and discoverer of the electron, was in the chair. Alfred North Whitehead, the philosopher, had come down from Cambridge and was in the audience, taking notes. Gazing down on them from an imposing portrait in the great hall was Isaac Newton. “The whole atmosphere of tense interest was exactly that of the Greek drama,” Whitehead recorded. “We were the chorus commenting on the decree of destiny . . . and in the background the picture of Newton to remind us that the greatest of scientific generalizations was, now, after more than two centuries, to receive its first modification.”
²⁶

The Astronomer Royal, Sir Frank Dyson, had the honor of presenting the findings. He described in detail the equipment, the photographs, and the complexities of the calculations. His conclusion, however, was simple. “After a careful study of the plates, I am prepared to say that there can be no doubt that they confirm Einstein’s prediction,” he announced. “The results of the expeditions to Sobral and Principe leave little doubt that a deflection of light takes place in the neighborhood of the sun and that it is of the amount demanded by Einstein’s generalized theory of relativity.”
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There was some skepticism in the room. “We owe it to that great man to proceed very carefully in modifying or retouching his law of gravitation,” cautioned Ludwig Silberstein, gesturing at Newton’s portrait. But it was the commanding giant J. J. Thomson who set the tone. “The result is one of the greatest achievements of human thought,” he declared.
²⁸

Einstein was back in Berlin, so he missed the excitement. He celebrated
by buying a new violin. But he understood the historic impact of the announcement that the laws of Sir Isaac Newton no longer fully governed all aspects of the universe. “Newton, forgive me,” Einstein later wrote, noting the moment. “You found the only way which, in your age, was just about possible for a man of highest thought and creative power.”
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It was a grand triumph, but not one easily understood. The skeptical Silberstein came up to Eddington and said that people believed that only three scientists in the world understood general relativity. He had been told that Eddington was one of them.

The shy Quaker said nothing. “Don’t be so modest, Eddington!” said Silberstein.

Replied Eddington, “On the contrary. I’m just wondering who the third might be.”
³⁰

With Charlie Chaplin and Elsa at the Hollywood premiere of
City Lights,
January 1931

Einstein’s theory of relativity burst into the consciousness of a world that was weary of war and yearning for a triumph of human transcendence. Almost a year to the day after the end of the brutal fighting, here was an announcement that the theory of a German Jew had been proven correct by an English Quaker. “Scientists belonging to two warring nations had collaborated again!” exulted the physicist Leopold Infeld. “It seemed the beginning of a new era.”
¹

The Times
of London carried stories on November 7 about the defeated Germans being summoned to Paris to face treaty demands from the British and French. But it also carried the following triple-decked headline:

“The scientific concept of the fabric of the Universe must be changed,” the paper proclaimed. Einstein’s newly confirmed theory will “require a new philosophy of the universe, a philosophy that will sweep away nearly all that has hitherto been accepted.”
²

The
New York Times
caught up with the story two days later.
³
Not having a science correspondent in London, the paper assigned the story to its golf expert, Henry Crouch, who at first decided to skip the Royal Society announcement, then changed his mind, but then couldn’t get in. So he telephoned Eddington to get a summary and, somewhat baffled, asked him to repeat it in simpler words.
⁴

Perhaps due to Eddington’s enthusiasm in the retelling, or due to Crouch’s enthusiasm in the reporting, Eddington’s appraisal of Einstein’s theory was enhanced to read “one of the greatest—perhaps the greatest—of achievements in the history of human thought.”
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But given the frenzy about to ensue, the headline was rather restrained:

The following day, the
New York Times
apparently decided that it had been too restrained. So it followed up with an even more excited story, its six-deck headline a classic from the days when newspapers knew how to write classic headlines:

For days the
New York Times,
with a bygone touch of merry populism, played up the complexity of the theory as an affront to common sense. “This news is distinctly shocking, and apprehensions for confidence even in the multiplication table will arise,” it editorialized on November 11. The idea that “space has limits” was most assuredly silly, the paper decided. “It just doesn’t, by definition, and that’s the end of it—for common folk, however it may be for higher mathematicians.” It returned to the theme five days later: “Scientists who proclaim that
space comes to an end somewhere are under some obligation to tell us what lies beyond it.”

Finally, a week after its first story, the paper decided that some words of calm, more amused than bemused, might be useful. “British scientists seem to have been seized with something like an intellectual panic when they heard of photographic verification of the Einstein theory,” the paper pointed out, “but they are slowly recovering as they realize that the sun still rises—apparently—in the east and will continue to do so for some time to come.”
⁶

An intrepid correspondent for the newspaper in Berlin was able to get an interview with Einstein in his apartment on December 2, and in the process launched one of the apocryphal tales about relativity. After describing Einstein’s top-floor study, the reporter asserted, “It was from this lofty library that he observed years ago a man dropping from a neighboring roof—luckily on a pile of soft rubbish—and escaping almost without injury. The man told Dr. Einstein that in falling he experienced no sensation commonly considered as the effect of gravity.” That was how, the article said, Einstein developed a “sublimation or supplement” of Newton’s law of gravity. As one of the stacked headlines of the article put it, “Inspired as Newton Was, But by the Fall of a Man from a Roof Instead of the Fall of an Apple.”
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This was, in fact, as the newspaper would say, “a pile of soft rubbish.” Einstein had done his thought experiment while working in the Bern patent office in 1907, not in Berlin, and it had not involved a person actually falling. “The newspaper drivel about me is pathetic,” he wrote Zangger when the article came out. But he understood, and accepted, how journalism worked. “This kind of exaggeration meets a certain need among the public.”
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There was, indeed, an astonishing public craving to understand relativity. Why? The theory seemed somewhat baffling, yes, but also very enticing in its mystery. Warped space? The bending of light rays? Time and space not absolute? The theory had the wondrous mix of
Huh?
and
Wow!
that can capture the public imagination.

This was lampooned in a Rea Irvin cartoon in the
New Yorker,
which showed a baffled janitor, fur-clad matron, doorman, kids, and
others scratching their heads with wild surmise as they wandered down the street. The caption was a quote from Einstein: “People slowly accustomed themselves to the idea that the physical states of space itself were the final physical reality.” As Einstein put it to Grossmann, “Now every coachman and waiter argues about whether or not relativity theory is correct.”
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