by Stuart Clark
If uncertainty is true, there must be a theoretical way of refuting the experiment.’
Heisenberg looked edgy. ‘The successes of quantum theory are huge …’
‘It takes only a single wrong result to falsify a theory,’ Einstein reminded him.
‘Enough,’ said Bohr sharply. It was unclear whether his irritation was directed at Heisenberg or Einstein. ‘There will be a solution. Give me some time.’
‘Of course.’ Einstein settled to his breakfast. ‘These eggs are good,’ he said, his grin almost impossible to conceal.
*
When the day’s formal proceedings were brought to a close, the physicists descended on the cloakroom to wrap up for the walk back to the hotel.
Bohr, lost in thought, was making a bad job of putting on his mackintosh.
‘Any luck with my problem?’ asked Einstein breezily.
‘I’ve not finished thinking yet.’
‘But I’ve heard you discussing it all day with Heisenberg.’ Einstein plucked his trilby from the hatstand and flicked his wrist to make it somersault before placing it on his head.
Next day the conference assembled like mourners at a funeral. Conversation was muted as they took their seats in the main room, and the carnival-like atmosphere of the previous days had utterly evaporated.
Bohr stood up. His hair was a mess and he had dark rings under his eyes. ‘You have given me a sleepless night,’ he said to Einstein,
‘but I have an answer for you. When the photon leaves the box, the box will weigh less. It will therefore rise a little on the scales.’ Einstein inclined his head in agreement. ‘At its new height it will feel a weaker pull of Earth’s gravity than before. According to general relativity, the rate at which time passes is dependent upon the strength of the gravitational field. So, time for the box slows down during the emission of the photon. In other words, the emission of the photon causes time to pass at a different rate after the release than before. The difference in this rate introduces an uncertainty into the measurement of the clock standing besides the apparatus.’ He passed a sheet of paper down the line to Einstein, who read the tired handwriting incredulously. ‘As you see, Albert, the uncertainty predicted by general relativity is exactly the same as predicted by Heisenberg’s principle. You forgot your own theory.’
Hot and cold needles lanced Einstein’s skin.
‘If you’d looked into it closely enough,’ said Bohr, ‘you’d have seen that the uncertainty principle is buried in there, too. You might even have been able to discover it.’
In an effort to control his embarrassment, Einstein brought a fist crashing down on to the tabletop, setting the pens and water glasses rattling. ‘God does not play dice.’
Bohr’s voice was contemptuous. ‘And when did you start giving God orders?’
Einstein escaped from the conference as soon as he could and tried to lose himself in the walkways of Leopold Park, with its tall trees and open lawns. The damp October air seemed to match his mood perfectly. Occasionally he would stop, halting because all his brainpower was required to sort through the confusion. Things were more perplexing now than ever, worse than before these supposed breakthroughs. Could physics really have reached a fundamental limit in what could be known about Nature?
He and the others would be remembered as the destroyers of physics, when they had thought themselves its greatest champions. Even if there were hidden realities, as he wished to believe, they might as well be discussing angels on a pinhead.
He crunched along the gravel paths, alternating between anger and humiliation until, with a creeping realisation, he sensed he was being followed. He turned and saw a stout priest in a large, unbuttoned coat. The clergyman paused, then lifted an uncertain hand.
Einstein pretended not to notice, turned back and walked on, quickening his pace.
‘Professor Einstein?’
Accepting that the only way to escape now would be to run away, Einstein sighed and came to a stop.
‘Professor Einstein, I was so hoping to meet you. I hope you don’t mind me approaching you like this. I’m …’
‘You’re a priest.’
‘Yes, I am. A secular Catholic priest, working as a physicist at Louvain.’
‘I’m rather busy, you know.’
The man looked sceptical but remained polite. ‘I’d like to talk to you about a dynamic universe.’
‘In which case, I’m very busy.’ Einstein walked away.
Jogging clearly did not come naturally to the priest, who bounced heavily along the path.
‘There’s a way of joining your solution to Willem de Sitter’s by showing them as start and end points of a cosmic evolution,’ he panted.
‘The universe is static, everyone knows that, Mister …?’
‘Lemaître, Georges Lemaître.’ He thrust forward his hand.
‘The universe expands.’
Pushing his hands into his pockets, Einstein turned to face him.
‘You have clearly not kept up with the literature. I introduced the cosmological constant to keep the solutions static.’
Lemaître looked sheepish and Einstein thought he had him. His triumph disappeared as the priest spoke cautiously but firmly.
‘Even with the lambda term, your equations are unstable. I’ve checked them. It’s like balancing a pencil on its point; the merest disturbance will break the equilibrium and set it into motion. The cosmological constant cannot help.’
‘De Sitter’s solution is static as well.’
Lemaître shook his head. ‘There’s the de Sitter effect that can be interpreted as an expansion. Also, there’s a mistake in his mathematics, in the way he chose his coordinates. I’ve found this too, and once it’s corrected, his universe expands.’
Einstein looked through the horn-rimmed glasses to the bright eyes behind. ‘You’ve published this?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Lemaître drew a deep breath. ‘And more. To move from your geometry to de Sitter’s, the universe must expand. I have predicted the rate of this expansion.’
‘Where is this published?’ If Einstein promised to take a look, perhaps he could end the conversation.
‘The Annals of the Brussels Scientific Society.’
‘How do you expect anyone to read it in there?’
‘I’m Belgian.’
‘Patriotism, eh?’
‘I’ve also sent a copy to Professor Eddington.’
‘Eddington?’ Einstein raised an eyebrow.
‘Yes, I was his student for a year.’
The eyebrow slunk back into position.
‘What does he make of it?’
‘I haven’t heard yet.’
Einstein cocked his head. ‘Perhaps that says it all, Mr Lemaître.’
‘But the redshift of the galaxies.’
‘The what?’
‘The redshift, the systematic movement of the spectral lines towards the longer wavelengths. All the astronomers know about that now. My paper shows that the further away a galaxy is, the larger the redshift will be.’
Einstein scratched his forehead. ‘Do you mind if we walk? I must think.’
Lemaître gestured along the path and they set off. The damp leaves clung to their leather shoes. Einstein’s mind was full to bursting. How could he think clearly about all of this when his mind was already full of the quantum discussion? Particles you couldn’t pin down to a position, and now galaxies that were rushing off into space. It was all movement and madness, when what Einstein really needed was quiet. He needed to be alone.
‘Your calculations may be correct,’ he conceded as they crossed briefly through an opening in the trees, ‘but your physics …’
Lemaître looked at him keenly.
‘… is abominable. It has been established for centuries that the universe is static. Good day, Mr Lemaître.’
The Belgian came to a stunned halt and Einstein walked on.
28
Zurich
1930
> Einstein paused to tap out his pipe in the gutter outside, having sparked up only to clear his chest for the march from the station. He slipped the empty briar into his coat pocket and paused briefly, partly to get his breath back and partly to compose himself. In the headlong flight to get here, he had not thought too much about what was waiting for him on the other side of Mileva’s door. He clasped his hands together to steady them and went inside.
Mileva’s face was all drama. In her relief at seeing him she hugged him tightly.
‘I have a seat back on the last train,’ he told her. ‘I cannot miss it.’
‘Just to have you here for the day will be such a help.’ She looked so grateful, clearly on the verge of tears.
‘Where is he?’
‘Where he’s been for the last week. In his room, refusing to get up. He hasn’t been to his classes.’
‘I knew from his letters he was struggling,’ said Einstein, ‘but I had no idea he was so bad. Thank you for letting me know.’
‘I thought his brother leaving home would upset him, but he sailed through that and seemed happy at university.’ Her hands had a life of their own, gesticulating randomly or pushing hair away from her forehead. She crossed her arms to trap them. ‘But this woman has really made him suffer. Couldn’t she have picked on someone her own age? He was in love with her, completely. Head over heels, silly boy.’
‘I’ll talk to him.’
She led him to the bedroom where Eduard was a lump under the sheets, facing the wall.
‘Tete.’ Her son did not move. ‘Tete, your father is here.’
The lump rolled over; its eyes widened with surprise, perhaps a hint of shame. Tete pulled himself to a sitting position and hugged his knees. Above the head of his bed was a picture of Sigmund Freud.
‘I met Freud a few years ago,’ said Einstein. ‘We spoke quite amicably, though I think he understood about as much of my physics as I did of his psychiatry.’
Eduard gave him a suspicious look.
‘I mean no disrespect. I know you’re studying his analysis techniques, and I have to say that, from what little personal experience I have, I am convinced there is something in his methods.’ Einstein looked around for a distraction. ‘Shall I shut the window?’ He made for the open sash, whence the noises of Zurich were spilling into the room. ‘It’s cold in here.’
‘No,’ said Eduard, ‘I like it open. I feel that I can escape.’ Einstein exchanged a glance with Mileva but let the statement go. He could see that she too thought it best not to acknowledge such melodrama.
Einstein returned and perched on the bed, near his son’s feet.
‘You know, passions grow and burst like bubbles. It’s the way of such things. The first time it happens, it’s always difficult.’
‘I thought she loved me.’ Tete’s voice sounded like a child’s.
‘And she did, for a while.’ Einstein looked at Mileva, hugging herself by the doorway. ‘Perhaps a glass of water?’
She nodded and left.
Einstein lowered his voice. ‘What if you were to find a younger woman? A dalliance would do you good, nothing serious, don’t let the heart get involved. It would convince you that there’s more life to be lived, more fun to be had.’ He nudged his son, whose fleshy arms absorbed the contact like a bag of beans.
‘There’s no meaning to life except life itself.’
‘That’s true if you mean there’s no higher purpose, no God-given destinies to fulfil, but that doesn’t mean you can’t fill your own life. Be part of society, find others to share with,
discover what’s important to you and focus your efforts on it. Then you can live a joyful life.’
Mileva arrived with the drink. Eduard took it without comment and drained the glass. Shortly afterwards he seemed to brighten, but his speech remained stilted and his words were leaden.
‘I worry that my letters have been too full of rapture. I fear what you might think of me, Papa. As soon as I post them, I want to snatch them back and tear them up.’
‘I treasure your letters for their passion. How could you think otherwise?’
‘You’re cooler in disposition than me.’ He stared straight ahead at the pile of books and writing paper on his chest of drawers. ‘It can be difficult to have such an important father. It makes one feel so insignificant.’
‘But I’m not important. This hysteria that follows me around is false. It’s not who I am to you – it’s not who I am at all. The celebrity I’ve been forced to accept is nothing but an intrusion. I will give it all up tomorrow if it will help you.’
Eduard turned to his father; his eyes were hooded.
Mileva laid a hand on Einstein’s shoulders. ‘You know that will be impossible, Albert. Don’t make promises you cannot keep.’ Her voice was deliberately mild. ‘They will always hound you.’
Einstein knew she was right; just the rumour of the completion of his paper on a unified theory had brought a horde to his door. He had fled the apartment by the fire escape while Elsa fobbed them off at the door.
‘It’s absurd,’ he whispered, telling them the story. ‘Ironic, don’t you think, that a man so adverse to authority has become one himself ? The reporters turn to me for everything.’
‘Did you resist your father?’
Einstein nodded. ‘But I don’t recommend it.’
The attempt at humour died. Eduard said, ‘Psychoanalytically, because you fought your father rather than submit to him, unconsciously you were driven to become an authority yourself in order to replace him.’
‘That’s what they teach you?’
Mileva’s hand tightened in warning on his shoulder at his implied criticism. He changed tack. ‘Tell me, Tete, how is your music?’
A few of the clouds on Tete’s face cleared. ‘I love Chopin.’
‘Get dressed and play for me, son.’ Einstein held his breath. ‘Please?’
Mileva bit her lip.
Eduard thought about the request, and finally nodded.
It was some time later that that the young man shuffled into the livingroom, sloppily dressed in a misshapen cardigan, edging his way round the mismatched furniture.
‘You share your father’s sense of fashion,’ said Mileva. Uncertainty crossed Eduard’s face and he hesitated. Einstein smiled to show that it was a joke, drawing an uncertain grimace from his son, who walked on to the piano.
Einstein sprawled on the settee in a pantomime of relaxation, Mileva perched primly on one corner.
Eduard selected a piece of music and placed it on the music stand. Before he played, he placed his hands together in a kind of prayer and bowed his head. His eyes were squeezed shut. When they opened again he was a different person. His arms moved with fluidity, picking out the first chords with simple efficiency to set a melancholy mood.
Einstein recognised the piece as one of the Nocturnes. He guessed at No. 20 in C sharp minor.
Eduard moved into the first of the glissandos, pausing almost too long on the first few of the descending notes but accelerating with such assuredness that his father swallowed in astonishment, more so when Eduard positively attacked the notes on the reprise. The force in Eduard’s playing increased, his anger palpable. Einstein saw Mileva wipe away silent tears as they listened to their son’s rage.
When he finished the piece the young man looked ready to collapse. He was breathing heavily and his face was red. Einstein willed him to cry, to let everything go. He struggled from the settee and placed a hand on his son’s shoulder, but instead of sinking together with him and crying as his father had hoped, Eduard stiffened and checked himself again.
As the light began to fade, so Einstein began to get restless, rubbing his knees in rehearsal for actually having to announce his departure.
Mileva recognised the signs. ‘The upstairs room is there if you need it.’
‘Thank you, but I have to go.’
‘Lectures? Interviews?’ She was probing, but gently.
‘Ma
rgot’s wedding,’ he said.
‘Margot?’ The surprise in her voice was genuine.
‘I know, we’re just as astonished. More so. Her sister was married a few years ago and now lives across the city. Margot and Dimitri will move in with us.’
‘She’s not moving out?’
‘One small step at a time for timid Margot,’ said Einstein.
They laughed softly together, the sound filled with understanding rather than mirth. They moved to the hall. Mileva slipped his coat up on to his shoulders and then busied herself with the buttons. He could smell her perfume, blended with the aroma of tobacco that clung to his moustache.
‘I do still think about Berlin,’ said Mileva.
‘It’s changing so fast, and not for the better. The people are growing so bitter.’
‘I read more and more in the papers about Adolf Hitler.’
‘He exploits the hardship of the workforce.’ He suppressed a sigh as she finished securing his coat. He looked back into the apartment. ‘You think he’ll come round?’
Eduard had been calmer during the afternoon but had eventually sloped off to his room.
Mileva said, ‘I hope so.’
‘I recognise a lot of me in him.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, more pronounced though. It’s not going to be easy for him, or those around him. Let me know how he is.’
She nodded. ‘Thank you for coming today.’ There was a painful sincerity in her eyes that made him feel guilty. He was an estranged husband and an absent father. ‘I’ll always do what I can, Mileva. You know that.’
Impulsively, he kissed her on the cheek; he felt the softness of her skin. Embarrassed, he turned for the door.
29
Louvain
By this time in the evening Lemaître was usually asleep with a mug of cocoa inside him. Having left the observatories of America behind and settled into his lectureship, he had swiftly returned to a more conventional schedule.
Not tonight. He was nocturnal again, still at his desk, the milkpan unused. Working in the glow of a lamp, he faced the frosty window with his back towards the bed of his single room.
The paper he studied was unmistakable: Hubble had done it. The American had observed more and more galaxies –