Offers fascinating insights into the sociological conflicts between big science and popular culture that are as real today as they were in Einstein's day.
Einstein the Icon
Einstein, and his theory of relativity, had appeared in newspapers before, mainly in the German-speaking world. He had himself written an article for ‘Die Vossische Zeitung’ in 1914. But he had never experienced anything like the press reaction to the announcements at the Royal Society meeting in 1919. Indeed, as Abraham Pais notes in his superb biography of Einstein, the ‘New York Times’ index records no mention at all of Einstein until 9 November 1919. From then until his death in 1955, not a year passed without a mention of Einstein’s name.
Some of the initial attention also rubbed off on Eddington. He ran a series of lectures in Cambridge on Einstein’s theory. Hundreds turned up and the lectures were packed. Eddington became one of the foremost proponents of the new theory in England, and went on to inspire a generation of astrophysicists in Cambridge and beyond. But this was nothing compared to what happened to Albert Einstein.
The London ‘Times’ of 7 November 1919 carried a long article about the Royal Society meeting, headlined ‘REVOLUTION IN SCIENCE. NEW THEORY OF THE UNIVERSE’. Two days later, the ‘New York Times’ appeared with the headline ‘LIGHTS ALL ASKEW IN THE HEAVENS’. But these splashes were not to be short-lived. Day after day, the global media ran editorials and further features about Einstein and his theory. The man himself was asked to write an article for the London ‘Times’, an offer he accepted ‘with joy and gratefulness’. Gradually, the press reinforced the role of Einstein as genius and hero, taking pains to position him on one side of an enormous intellectual gulf separating him from the common man. He emerged as a saintly, almost mythical character who was accorded great respect by scientists and non-scientists alike.
As the years passed, his fame expanded further still, reaching into parts of popular culture that scientists had never occupied before. Einstein was invited to appear in Variety at the London Palladium (doing what, one can only guess). He featured in popular songs, films and advertisements. Eventually, this attention wore him down. Towards the end of his life he wrote to a friend:
‘Because of the peculiar popularity which I have acquired, anything I do is likely to develop into a ridiculous comedy. This means that I have to stay close to home and rarely leave Princeton.’
No scientist working today would begrudge the fame that settled on Einstein. His achievements were stunning, with all the hallmarks of genius stamped upon them. But while his scientific contributions were clearly a necessary part of his canonisation, they are not sufficient to explain the unprecedented public reaction.
One of the other factors that played a role in this process is obvious when one looks at the other stories in the London ‘Times’ of 7 November 1919. On the same page as the eclipse report, one finds the following headlines: ‘ARMISTICE AND TREATY TERMS’; ‘GERMANS SUMMONED TO PARIS’; ‘RECONSTRUCTION PROGRESS’; and ‘WAR CRIMES AGAINST SERBIA’. To a world wearied by a terrible war, and still suffering in its aftermath, this funny little man and his crazy theories must have been a welcome distraction, even if his ideas themselves went way over the heads of ordinary people. Here too was token of a much-needed reconciliation between Britain and Germany. In his ‘Times’ article, Einstein stressed that science cuts across mere national boundaries, hinting that if politicians behaved more like scientists there would be no more pointless destruction on the scale that Europe had just experienced.
But there was a more human side to the Einstein phenomenon. The image of the man himself seemed to fit the public idea of what a scientist should be. He was a natural born cliché, the stereotypical absent-minded professor. With his kindly, instantly recognisable face, gentle personal manner and vaguely shambolic appearance, he looked like everyone’s favourite uncle. Though a genius, he lacked arrogance. His political views, such as his widely publicised pacifism, meant there was always a distance between him and the establishment that had led Europe into disastrous conflict. Perhaps even the overthrow of Newton’s theory of gravity was seen as a healthy kick up the backside of the old order. He filled a role that the public needed.
The only other physicist to have been afforded this kind of global megastardom is the British theoretician, Stephen Hawking. Here too, scientific achievements are only part of the story. Hawking’s emergence as a cultural icon has many similarities, though the Hawking cliché is different: the brilliant brain trapped in a crippled body. (Hawking has suffered from Motor Neurone Disease since his early twenties.) One difference, however, is that, contrary to popular belief, Hawking is a somewhat peripheral figure in the world of modern physics. Posterity has not yet had time to confirm his place in the physicists’ hall of fame to the same extent that it has for Einstein.
