The new point of view is that these relations are themselves relative, because they are a function of the velocity of the observer. It is a sort of Relativity in the second degree, of which neither the philosophers nor the classic physicists had dreamed.
Spatial relations themselves are relative, in a space which is already relative.
In the case of our Pullman car and the two pegs which mark its length when it is stationary, an observer situated in the carriage would find the distance between the two pegs shortened as he passes them. The coach would seem to him longer than the distance between the pegs. I who remain beside the pegs observe the contrary. Yet I have no means of proving to the passenger that he is wrong. I see quite plainly that the ray of light which comes from the back peg runs behind the coach, and has therefore, relatively to it, a speed of less than 186,000 miles a second. I know that this is the reason for the passenger’s error, but I have no means of convincing him that he is wrong. He will always say, and rightly: “I have measured the speed at which this ray reaches me, and I have found it 186,000 miles a second.” Each of us is really right.
In very rapid motion a square would seem to the observer a rectangle; a circle would appear to be an ellipse. If the earth travelled some thousands of times faster round the sun, we should see it elongated, like a giant lemon suspended in the heavens. If an aviator could fly at a fantastic speed over Trafalgar Square, in the direction of the Strand—and if the impressions on his retina were instantaneous—he would see the Square as a very flattened rectangle. If he flew in a diagonal line about it, he would find it shaped like a lozenge. If the same aviator flew across a road on which fat cattle were being driven to the slaughter-house, he would be astonished, for the beasts would seem to him extraordinarily lean, while there would be no change in their length.
The fact that these alterations of shape owing to velocity are reciprocal is one of the most curious consequences of all this. A man who could pass in every direction amongst his fellows at the fantastic speed of one of Shakespeare’s spirits—let us put it at about 170,000 miles an hour, though there would be no limit—would find that his fellows had become dwarfs only half as large as himself. Would he have become a giant, a sort of Gulliver amongst the Lilliputians? Not in the least. Such is the justice of the scheme of earthly things that he himself would seem a dwarf to the people whom he thought smaller than himself, and who are quite sure of the contrary.
Which is right, and which wrong? Both. Each point of view is accurate, but there are only personal points of view.
Again, any observer whatever will only see things that are not connected with him as smaller—never larger—than the things which are connected with his movement. If I might venture to relieve this sober exposition by a reflexion rather less austere than is usual in physics, I would say that the new system affords a supreme justification of egoism, or, rather, of egocentricism.
It is the same with time as with space. By similar reasoning to that which has shown us how the distance of things in space is connected with their velocity relatively to the observer, it can be shown that their distance in time likewise depends upon this.
It would be useless to reproduce here the whole of the Einsteinian argument as to duration. It is analogous to that which we have used in regard to length, and even simpler. The result is as follows. The time expressed in seconds which a train takes to pass from one station to another is shorter for the passengers on the train than for us who watch it pass, though our watches may be just the same as theirs.[5] Similarly, all the gestures of men who are on moving vehicles will seem to a stationary observer slowed down, and therefore prolonged, and vice versa. But the velocity would, as in the case of variation in length, have to be fantastic to make these variations in time perceptible.
It is not less true that the time between the birth and the death of any creature, its life, will seem longer if the creature moves rapidly and fantastically relatively to the observer. In this world, where appearance is almost everything, this is not without importance, and it follows that, philosophically speaking, to move on is to last longer; but for others, not for oneself; just as others may seem to me to last longer. A striking, a profound, an unforeseen justification of the words of the sage: immobility is death!