CHAPTER
I. [Phenomena in the Heavens]
II. [Beyond our Power]
III. [Valhalla]
IV. [Education]
V. [The Discoverer]
VI. [Of Different Worlds]
VII. [Problems]
VIII. [Highways and By-ways]
IX. [An Experimental Analogy]
X. [Disconnected Suggestions]
XI. [Einstein's Life and Personality]
[INDEX]
EINSTEIN THE SEARCHER
CHAPTER I
PHENOMENA IN THE HEAVENS
Proclamation of the New Mechanics.—Verification of Theoretical Results.—Parallels with Leverrier.—Neptune and Mercury.—Testing the Theory of Relativity.—The Solar Eclipse of 1919.—The Programme of an Expedition.—The Curved Ray of Light.—Refinement of Calculation and Measurement.—Stellar Photography.—The Principle of Equivalence.—The Sun Myth.
ON the 13th October 1910 a memorable event took place in the Berlin Scientific Association: Henri Poincaré, the eminent physicist and mathematician, had been announced to give a lecture in the rooms of the institute "Urania"; an audience of rather meagre dimensions assembled. I still see him before me in my mind's eye, a scholar who was snatched away in the prime of his creative period, a man whose external appearance did not suggest the light of genius, and whose carefully trimmed beard reminded one rather of the type of a practising barrister. He walked up and down the platform, accompanying his speech with gestures marked by an easy elegance. There was no sign of an attempt to force a doctrine. He developed his thesis, in spite of the foreign language, in fluent and readily intelligible terms.
It was at this lecture that we heard the name Albert Einstein pronounced for the first time.
Poincaré's address was on the New Mechanics, and was intended to make us acquainted with the beginning of a tendency which, he himself confessed, had violently disturbed the equilibrium of his former fundamental views. He repeatedly broke the usually even flow of his voice to indicate, with an emphatic gesture, that we had perhaps arrived at a critical, nay epochal, point marking the commencement of a new era of thought.
"Perhaps" was a word he never failed to emphasize. He persistently laid stress on his doubts, differentiated between hardened facts and hypotheses, still clinging to the hope that the new doctrine he was expounding would yet admit of an avenue leading back to the older views. This revolution, so he said, seemed to threaten things in science which a short while ago were looked upon as absolutely certain, namely, fundamental theorems of classical mechanics, for which we are indebted to the genius of Newton. For the present this revolution is of course only a threatening spectre, for it is quite possible that, sooner or later, the old established dynamical principles of Newton will emerge victoriously. Later in the course of his lecture he declared repeatedly that he felt a diffidence akin to fear at the sight of the accumulating number of hypotheses, and that it seemed to border on the impossible to attempt to arrange them into a system.
It is a matter of complete indifference how the revelations of Poincaré affected us individually; if I may infer from my own case, there is only one word to express it—staggering! Oblivious of the doubts of the lecturer, I was swept along under the impetus of this new and mighty current of thought. This awakened two wishes in me: to become acquainted with Einstein's researches as far as lay within my power, and, if possible, to see him once in person. In me the abstract had become inseparable from the concrete personal element. The presentiment of the happy moment in the future hovered before my vision, whispering that I should hear his doctrine from his own lips.
Several years later Einstein was appointed professor of the Academy of Sciences with the right of lecturing at the University of Berlin. This brought my personal wish within reach. Trusting to good fortune, I set about materializing it. In conjunction with a colleague I wrote him a letter asking him to honour with his presence one of the informal evenings instituted by our Literary Society at the Hôtel Bristol. Here he was my neighbour at table, and chatted with me for some hours. Nowadays his appearance is known to every one through the innumerable photos which have appeared in the papers. At that time I had never seen his countenance before, and I became absorbed in studying his features, which struck me as being those of a kindly, artistically inclined, being, in nowise suggesting a professor. He seemed vivacious and unrestrained in conversation, and, in response to our request, willingly touched upon his own subject as far as the place and occasion allowed, exemplifying Horace's saying, "Omne tulit punctum, qui miscuit utile dulci, tironem delectando pariterque monendo." It was certainly most delightful. Yet at moments I was reminded of a male sphinx, suggested by his highly expressive enigmatic forehead. Even now, after a warm acquaintanceship stretching over years, I cannot shake off this impression. It often overcomes me in the midst of a pleasant conversation interspersed with jests whilst enjoying a cigar after tea; I suddenly feel the mysterious sway of a subtle intellect which captivates and yet baffles the mind.