The men who paved the way for the theory of relativity

The men who paved the way for the theory of relativity

Photo by Sergiu Bacioiu (CC BY 2.0)

Originally published 7 July 1987

Ask the man in the street what is the great­est sci­en­tif­ic dis­cov­ery of the twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry and he will as like­ly as not reply, “the the­o­ry of rel­a­tiv­i­ty.” Many sci­en­tists will agree. Rel­a­tiv­i­ty under­lies our present under­stand­ing of atoms and stars. It is the basis for our ideas about the ori­gin and evo­lu­tion of the uni­verse. It is the very warp of the fab­ric of physics, the threads on which all else is woven.

Most his­to­ries of rel­a­tiv­i­ty begin with an exper­i­ment that was per­formed exact­ly 100 years ago [in 1887] this sum­mer, in the base­ment of the Case School of Applied Sci­ence in Cleve­land, by the physi­cist Albert A. Michel­son and the chemist Edward Mor­ley. The Michel­son-Mor­ley exper­i­ment stands as one of the great mile­stones of physics.

Michel­son was arguably the finest exper­i­men­tal­ist of his time, and the remark­able instru­ment he devised with Mor­ley — called an inter­fer­om­e­ter — was a mod­el of pre­ci­sion and inge­nu­ity. With that instru­ment, the two sci­en­tists hoped to demon­strate the motion of the Earth through space by mea­sur­ing the effect of that motion on the observed speed of light.

To under­stand the exper­i­ment, con­sid­er this anal­o­gy. You are sit­ting in a motion­less boat on a still pond. You drop a peb­ble into the water. Some time lat­er you observe the cir­cu­lar rip­ple, or wave, that has moved out from the place where the peb­ble fell. Since you have not moved, you are at the cen­ter of the cir­cu­lar wave.

Like a boat in a pond

Now imag­ine that the boat is mov­ing. Drop a peb­ble into the pond and some­time lat­er observe the dis­tur­bance. As before, the wave is a cir­cle, cen­tered on the place where the peb­ble fell into the water. But now you are not at the cen­ter of the cir­cle because, even as the wave moved, you moved away from the place where you dropped the stone.

Final­ly, imag­ine you are in a boat on a broad still lake out of sight of shore. Is the boat drift­ing? Here is one way to tell. Drop a peb­ble in the pond. If, lat­er, you see your­self at the cen­ter of the cir­cu­lar wave, then you are at rest. If you are off-cen­ter, then you have drifted.

It was some­thing like this that Michel­son and Mor­ley attempt­ed to do. Instead of a wave in water, they used a light wave, which was pre­sumed to move through a medi­um called the “luminif­er­ous ether” which filled all of space. The “boat” was the Earth itself. Because the Earth moves in an orbit around the sun, it must be mov­ing through the ether. If we emit a light beam in the direc­tion the Earth is mov­ing, we should fol­low along behind the wave and it won’t seem to get away so quick­ly. If we emit the light beam in the oppo­site direc­tion, it should move away from us more quickly.

But to every­one’s sur­prise, includ­ing Michel­son’s and Mor­ley’s, the light beam moved away at the same speed in all direc­tions, just as if the Earth were at rest in the “pond” of space. So were Coper­ni­cus and Galileo wrong? Is the Earth at rest in the uni­verse? Unthink­able! Then what?

Dur­ing the next eigh­teen years many peo­ple tried to explain away the strange result of the Michel­son-Mor­ley exper­i­ment. There was lots of tin­ker­ing and fudg­ing with the­o­ries, to no one’s com­plete sat­is­fac­tion. The neg­a­tive result of the exper­i­ment was a stand­ing embar­rass­ment to physi­cists who thought that they had pret­ty much fig­ured out all of the secrets of nature.

Jettisoning old notions

Then in 1905 young Albert Ein­stein pub­lished a paper called “On the Elec­tro­dy­nam­ics of Mov­ing Bod­ies.” What Ein­stein did in this paper was so bold, so dar­ing, that it bowled over his con­tem­po­raries. In effect, he said by fiat that all observers, regard­less of their motion rel­a­tive to each oth­er, will mea­sure the same speed for light. In my anal­o­gy, it is as if the observ­er in a mov­ing boat and the observ­er in a non-mov­ing boat both find them­selves at the cen­ter of the same cir­cu­lar wave, even though they are not in the same place.

To make this appar­ent­ly impos­si­ble thing pos­si­ble, Ein­stein jet­ti­soned the ven­er­a­ble notions of absolute space and absolute time. In his new physics, space and time become inex­tri­ca­bly bound up with each oth­er and with motion. A meter-long stick that is mov­ing appears short­er. Mov­ing clocks slow down. Even the notion of “simul­ta­ne­ous events” was tossed out the win­dow; two events which are simul­ta­ne­ous for one observ­er will not be simul­ta­ne­ous for anoth­er observer.

These Alice-in-Won­der­land mar­vels were just the begin­ning. Fol­low­ing his auda­cious intu­ition wher­ev­er it led him, Ein­stein unfold­ed a new the­o­ry of grav­i­ty and demon­strat­ed the equiv­a­lence of mat­ter and ener­gy. And exper­i­ment soon proved him right. Physics was rev­o­lu­tion­ized from the ground up. Almost noth­ing of 19th cen­tu­ry physics sur­vived unchanged.

His­to­ri­ans con­tin­ue to debate the extent to which Ein­stein was influ­enced by the work of Michel­son and Mor­ley. Appar­ent­ly the influ­ence was slight. But that does not less­ened the sig­nif­i­cance of the famous exper­i­ment whose cen­te­nary we cel­e­brate this year. What Michel­son and Mor­ley did in that Cleve­land base­ment 100 years ago was the first exper­i­men­tal “proof” of a the­o­ry that was not yet born. When Ein­stein pub­lished his paper on rel­a­tiv­i­ty in 1905, the Michel­son-Mor­ley exper­i­ment made it that much eas­i­er for his con­tem­po­raries to say, “But of course!”

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