It took a gift for fancy to come up with relativity

It took a gift for fancy to come up with relativity

The nebula surrounding the Crab Pulsar • Optical: NASA/HST/ASU/J. Hester et al. X-Ray: NASA/CXC/ASU/J. Hester et al.

Originally published 9 August 1993

Ein­stein said: “The most incom­pre­hen­si­ble thing about the world is that it is comprehensible.”

And when you think about it, it is indeed remark­able that a mass of nerve fibers the size of a soft­ball can com­pre­hend the cos­mos — a vast geog­ra­phy of galax­ies with a 15 bil­lion year his­to­ry. With the evo­lu­tion of the human brain, the uni­verse became self-conscious.

Of course, some soft­ball-sized mass­es of nerve fibers are more remark­able than oth­ers. Ein­stein pro­posed “laws of nature” so remote from ordi­nary expe­ri­ence that a gen­er­a­tion passed before exper­i­ments could be devised to test them decisively.

For exam­ple, in the spe­cial and gen­er­al the­o­ries of rel­a­tiv­i­ty Ein­stein pro­posed an idea of time that ran counter to expe­ri­ence and com­mon sense. He sug­gest­ed that time pass­es at dif­fer­ent speeds for observers who are mov­ing rel­a­tive to one anoth­er. In such a world, a twin could go on a fast jour­ney and return younger than the sib­ling she left behind.

Ein­stein also pre­dict­ed that grav­i­ty effects the pas­sage of time (or more pre­cise­ly, that mass affects space-time). A clock runs more quick­ly on the top floor of a build­ing, where grav­i­ty is slight­ly weak­er, than in the base­ment, which is clos­er to the cen­ter of the Earth. If grav­i­ty is strong enough — at the edge of a black hole — time stands still.

Stands still? Yes, lit­er­al­ly! There are places in the uni­verse — near col­lapsed mas­sive stars, for exam­ple — where clocks would cease tick­ing and peo­ple cease to age. Except that nei­ther clocks nor peo­ple could sur­vive intact in such intense grav­i­ta­tion­al fields.

In oth­er words, time is not what we thought it was, some­thing that ticks away with absolute reg­u­lar­i­ty, with­out begin­ning or end, and with­out regard to place or observer.

How did Ein­stein come up with his rev­o­lu­tion­ary notions of time? By apply­ing his knowl­edge of sci­ence and math­e­mat­ics, assist­ed by a for­mi­da­ble gift for fancy.

Ein­stein’s genius was being able to imag­ine what no one had imag­ined before.

Alan Light­man has writ­ten a delight­ful lit­tle nov­el that could serve as a prepa­ra­tion for the study of rel­a­tiv­i­ty. It is called Ein­stein’s Dreams, and pur­ports to recount dreams Ein­stein had in 1905, the year of pub­li­ca­tion of his spe­cial the­o­ry of rel­a­tiv­i­ty. Each chap­ter of the nov­el describes a world in which time is dif­fer­ent from what we have believed it to be. In one of Light­man’s worlds, time is cyclic; the same events hap­pen over and over. In anoth­er, time comes to an end at a pre­cise­ly appoint­ed moment. And so on.

It is one thing for a nov­el­ist to dream fan­ci­ful kinds of time; it is some­thing else to pro­pose that a fan­cy is true. This is pre­cise­ly what Ein­stein did in his spe­cial and gen­er­al the­o­ries of relativity.

For a long time sci­en­tists believed Ein­stein’s the­o­ry because it was math­e­mat­i­cal­ly beau­ti­ful, in spite of scant exper­i­men­tal ver­i­fi­ca­tion. Now, many dif­fer­ent kinds of obser­va­tion­al tests have con­firmed the theory.

One recent con­fir­ma­tion of gen­er­al rel­a­tiv­i­ty is so ele­gant, so unex­pect­ed, as to take my breath away. Bear with me in what fol­lows, the con­clu­sion is exciting.

At the end of a star’s life, grav­i­ty caus­es the star to col­lapse upon itself. Stars rather more mas­sive than the sun are squeezed so strong­ly by grav­i­ty that even atoms are col­lapsed; elec­trons are squeezed into pro­tons to cre­ate neu­trons. The col­lapsed star becomes an object about as big as Rhode Island, spin­ning extreme­ly rapid­ly for the same rea­son ice skaters spin more quick­ly when they draw their arms clos­er to the axis of spin. Radi­a­tion from the spin­ning star will be emit­ted in a beam and observed in puls­es, like light from a rotat­ing light­house lamp.

These col­lapsed stars are called neu­tron stars or pul­sars. The first pul­sar was observed in 1967. Today, thou­sands of them are known. Their puls­es of radi­a­tion are as exact as the best atom­ic clocks on Earth.

One pul­sar, called PSR 1913+16, is part of a bina­ry sys­tem — two stars locked in a whirling dance. Ein­stein pre­dicts that two mass­es revolv­ing about each oth­er will emit grav­i­ta­tion­al waves, in the same way that oscil­lat­ing elec­tric charges emit radio waves. We do not have the tech­nol­o­gy to detect these grav­i­ta­tion­al waves, but they should car­ry ener­gy away from the rotat­ing star sys­tem and the flash rate of the pul­sar should slow down.

The orbits and mass­es of the linked objects that make up PSR 1913+16 can be cal­cu­lat­ed with extreme pre­ci­sion from sub­tle vari­a­tions in the pul­sar fre­quen­cy, the so-called Doppler effect. The rate of ener­gy loss can be cal­cu­lat­ed from Ein­stein’s the­o­ry. Astronomer Joseph Tay­lor and his col­leagues have been observ­ing the bina­ry pul­sar for 20 years. The slow­down is exact­ly as pre­dict­ed by Ein­stein’s the­o­ry. The agree­ment is breath­tak­ing­ly precise.

A col­lapsed star thou­sands of light-years away flash­es pre­cise­ly as pre­dict­ed by equa­tions dreamed up by Ein­stein long before pul­sars were dis­cov­ered. A cos­mic clock ticks in accor­dance with Ein­stein’s dream. Noth­ing in nature is more incom­pre­hen­si­ble than that this should be true.


Astronomers Joseph Tay­lor and Rus­sell Hulse were award­ed the 1993 Nobel Prize in Physics for their work on pul­sar PSR 1913+16. In 2016, the first obser­va­tions of grav­i­ta­tion­al waves were made by the LIGO and Vir­go col­lab­o­ra­tions, con­firm­ing yet anoth­er of Ein­stein’s fan­cies. ‑Ed.

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