by Brian Greene
To get a sense of the scales involved, imagine that the year is 1970 and big, fast cars are in. Slim, having just spent all his savings on a new Trans Am, goes with his brother Jim to the local drag strip to give the car the kind of test-drive forbidden by the dealer. After revving up the car, Slim streaks down the mile-long strip at 120 miles per hour while Jim stands on the sideline and times him. Wanting an independent confirmation, Slim also uses a stopwatch to determine how long it takes his new car to traverse the track. Prior to Einstein's work, no one would have questioned that if both Slim and Jim have properly functioning stopwatches, each will measure the identical elapsed time. But according to special relativity, while Jim will measure an elapsed time of 30 seconds, Slim's stopwatch will record an elapsed time of 29.99999999999952 seconds—a tiny bit less. Of course, this difference is so small that it could be detected only through a measurement whose accuracy is well beyond the capacity of hand-held stopwatches run by the press of a finger, Olympic-quality timing systems, or even the most precisely engineered atomic clocks. It is no wonder that our everyday experiences do not reveal the fact that the passage of time depends upon our state of motion.
There will be a similar disagreement on measurements of length. For example, on another test run Jim uses a clever trick to measure the length of Slim's new car: he starts his stopwatch just as the front of the car reaches him and he stops it just as the back of the car passes. Since Jim knows that Slim is speeding along at 120 miles per hour, he is able to figure out the length of the car by multiplying this speed by the elapsed time on his stopwatch. Again, prior to Einstein, no one would have questioned that the length Jim measures in this indirect way would agree exactly with the length Slim carefully measured when the car sat motionless on the showroom floor. Special relativity proclaims, on the contrary, that if Slim and Jim carry out precise measurements in this manner and Slim finds the car to be, say, exactly 16 feet long, then Jim's measurement will find the car to be 15.99999999999974 feet long—a tiny bit less. As with the measurement of time, this is such a minuscule difference that ordinary instruments are just not accurate enough to detect it.
Although the differences are extremely small, they show a fatal flaw in the commonly held conception of universal and immutable space and time. As the relative velocity of individuals such as Slim and Jim gets larger, this flaw becomes increasingly apparent. To achieve noticeable differences, the speeds involved must be a sizeable fraction of the maximum possible speed—that of light—which Maxwell's theory and experimental measurements show to be about 186,000 miles per second, or about 670 million miles per hour. This is fast enough to circle the earth more than seven times in a second. If Slim, for example, were to travel not at 120 miles per hour but at 580 million miles per hour (about 87 percent of light speed), the mathematics of special relativity predicts that Jim would measure the length of the car to be about eight feet, which is substantially different from Slim's measurement (as well as the specifications in the owner's manual). Similarly, the time to traverse the drag strip according to Jim will be about twice as long as the time measured by Slim.
Since such enormous speeds are far beyond anything currently attainable, the effects of "time dilation" and "Lorentz contraction," as these phenomena are technically called, are extremely small in day-to-day life. If we happened to live in a world in which things typically traveled at speeds close to that of light, these properties of space and time would be so completely intuitive—since we would experience them constantly—that they would deserve no more discussion than the apparent motion of trees on the side of the road mentioned at the outset of this chapter. But since we don't live in such a world, these features are unfamiliar. As we shall see, understanding and accepting them requires that we subject our worldview to a thorough makeover.
The Principle of Relativity
There are two simple yet deeply rooted structures that form the foundation of special relativity. As mentioned, one concerns properties of light; we shall discuss this more fully in the next section. The other is more abstract. It is concerned not with any specific physical law but rather with all physical laws, and is known as the principle of relativity The principle of relativity rests on a simple fact: Whenever we discuss speed or velocity (an object's speed and its direction of motion), we must specify precisely who or what is doing the measuring. Understanding the meaning and importance of this statement is easily accomplished by contemplating the following situation.
Imagine that George, who is wearing a spacesuit with a small, red flashing light, is floating in the absolute darkness of completely empty space, far away from any planets, stars, or galaxies. From George's perspective, he is completely stationary, engulfed in the uniform, still blackness of the cosmos. Off in the distance, George catches sight of a tiny, green flashing light that appears to be coming closer and closer. Finally, it gets close enough for George to see that the light is attached to the spacesuit of another space-dweller, Gracie, who is slowly floating by. She waves as she passes, as does George, and she recedes into the distance. This story can be told with equal validity from Gracie's perspective. It begins in the same manner with Gracie completely alone in the immense still darkness of outer space. Off in the distance, Gracie sees a red flashing light, which appears to be coming closer and closer. Finally, it gets close enough for Gracie to see that it is attached to the spacesuit of another being, George, who is slowly floating by. He waves as he passes, as does Gracie, and he recedes into the distance.
The two stories describe one and the same situation from two distinct but equally valid points of view. Each observer feels stationary and perceives the other as moving. Each perspective is understandable and justifiable. As there is symmetry between the two space-dwellers, there is, on quite fundamental grounds, no way of saying one perspective is "right" and the other "wrong." Each perspective has an equal claim on truth.
This example captures the meaning of the principle of relativity: The concept of motion is relative. We can speak about the motion of an object, but only relative to or by comparison with another. There is thus no meaning to the statement "George is traveling at 10 miles per hour," as we have not specified any other object for comparison. There is meaning to the statement "George is traveling at 10 miles per hour past Gracie," as we have now specified Gracie as the benchmark. As our example shows, this last statement is completely equivalent to "Gracie is traveling at 10 miles per hour past George (in the opposite direction)." In other words, there is no "absolute" notion of motion. Motion is relative.
A key element of this story is that neither George nor Gracie is being pushed, pulled, or in any other way acted upon by a force or influence that could disturb their serene state of force-free, constant-velocity motion. Thus, a more precise statement is that force-free motion has meaning only by comparison with other objects. This is an important clarification, because if forces are involved, they cause changes in the velocity of the observers—changes to their speed and/or their direction of motion—and these changes can be felt. For instance, if George were wearing a jet-pack firing away from his back, he would definitely feel that he was moving. This feeling is intrinsic. If the jet-pack is firing away, George knows he is moving, even if his eyes are closed and therefore can make no comparisons with other objects. Even without such comparisons, he would no longer claim that he was stationary while "the rest of the world was moving by him." Constant-velocity motion is relative; not so for non-constant-velocity motion, or, equivalently, accelerated motion. (We will re-examine this statement in the next chapter when we take up accelerated motion and discuss Einstein's general theory of relativity.)
Setting these stories in the darkness of empty space aids understanding by removing such familiar things as streets and buildings, which we typically, although unjustifiably, accord the special status of "stationary." Nonetheless, the same principle applies to terrestrial settings, and in fact is commonly experienced.1 For example, imagine that after you have fallen asleep on
a train, you awake just as your train is passing another on adjacent parallel tracks. With your view through the window completely blocked by the other train, thereby preventing you from seeing any other objects, you may temporarily be uncertain as to whether your train is moving, the other train is moving, or both. Of course, if your train shakes or jostles, or if the train changes direction by rounding a bend, you can feel that you are moving. But if the ride is perfectly smooth—if the train's velocity remains constant—you will observe relative motion between the trains without being able to tell for certain which is moving.
Let's take this one step further. Imagine you are on such a train and that you pull down the shades so that the windows are fully covered. Without the ability to see anything outside your own compartment, and assuming that the train moves at absolutely constant velocity, there will be no way for you to determine your state of motion. The compartment around you will look precisely the same regardless of whether the train is sitting still on the tracks or moving at high speed. Einstein formalized this idea, one that actually goes back to insights of Galileo, by proclaiming that it is impossible for you or any fellow traveler to perform an experiment within the closed compartment that will determine whether or not the train is moving. This again captures the principle of relativity: since all force-free motion is relative, it has meaning only by comparison with other objects or individuals also undergoing force-free motion. There is no way for you to determine anything about your state of motion without making some direct or indirect comparison with "outside" objects. There simply is no notion of "absolute" constant-velocity motion; only comparisons have any physical meaning.
In fact, Einstein realized that the principle of relativity makes an even grander claim: the laws of physics—whatever they may be—must be absolutely identical for all observers undergoing constant-velocity motion. If George and Gracie are not just floating solo in space, but, rather, are each conducting the same set of experiments in their respective floating space-stations, the results they find will be identical. Once again, each is perfectly justified in believing that his or her station is at rest, even though the two stations are in relative motion. If all of their equipment is identical, there is nothing distinguishing the two experimental setups—they are completely symmetric. The laws of physics that each deduces from the experiments will likewise be identical. Neither they nor their experiments can feel—that is, depend upon in any way—constant-velocity travel. It is this simple concept that establishes complete symmetry between such observers; it is this concept that is embodied in the principle of relativity. We shall shortly make use of this principle to profound effect.
The Speed of Light
The second key ingredient in special relativity has to do with light and properties of its motion. Contrary to our claim that there is no meaning to the statement "George is traveling at 10 miles per hour" without a specified benchmark for comparison, almost a century of effort by a series of dedicated experimental physicists has shown that any and all observers will agree that light travels at 670 million miles per hour regardless of benchmarks for comparison.
This fact has required a revolution in our view of the universe. Let's first gain an understanding of its meaning by contrasting it with similar statements applied to more common objects. Imagine it's a nice, sunny day and you go outside to play a game of catch with a friend. For a while, you both leisurely throw the ball back and forth with a speed of, say, 20 feet per second, when suddenly an unexpected electrical storm stirs overhead, sending you both running for cover. After it passes, you rejoin to resume your game of catch but you notice that something has changed. Your friend's hair has become wild and spiky, and her eyes have grown severe and crazed, When you look at her hand, you are stunned to see that she is no longer planning to play catch with a baseball, but instead is about to toss you a hand grenade. Understandably, your enthusiasm for playing catch diminishes substantially; you turn to run. When your companion throws the grenade, it will still fly toward you, but because you are running, the speed with which it approaches you will be less than 20 feet per second. In fact, common experience tells us that if you can run at, say, 12 feet per second then the hand-grenade will approach you at (20 - 12 =) 8 feet per second. As another example, if you are in the mountains and an avalanche of snow is rumbling toward you, your inclination is to turn and run because this will cause the speed with which the snow approaches you to decrease—and this, generally, is a good thing. Again, a stationary individual perceives the speed of the approaching snow to be greater than that perceived by someone in retreat.
Now, let's compare these basic observations about baseballs, grenades, and avalanches to those about light. To make the comparisons tighter, think about a light beam as composed of tiny "packets" or "bundles" known as photons (a feature of light we will discuss more fully in Chapter 4). When we turn on a flashlight or a laser beam we are, in effect, shooting a stream of photons in whatever direction we point the device. As we did for grenades and avalanches, let's consider how the motion of a photon appears to someone who is moving. Imagine that your crazed friend has swapped her grenade for a powerful laser. If she fires the laser toward you—and if you had the appropriate measuring equipment—you would find that the speed of approach of the photons in the beam is 670 million miles per hour. But what if you run away, as you did when faced with the prospect of playing catch with a hand grenade? What speed will you now measure for the approaching photons? To make things more compelling, imagine that you can hitch a ride on the starship Enterprise and zip away from your friend at, say, 100 million miles per hour. Following the reasoning based on the traditional Newtonian worldview, since you are now speeding away, you would expect to measure a slower speed for the oncoming photons. Specifically, you would expect to find them approaching you at (670 million miles per hour - 100 million miles per hour =) 570 million miles per hour.
Mounting evidence from a variety of experiments dating back as far as the 1880s, as well as careful analysis and interpretation of Maxwell's electromagnetic theory of light, slowly convinced the scientific community that, in fact, this is not what you will see. Even though you are retreating, you will still measure the speed of the approaching photons as 670 million miles per hour, not a bit less. Although at first it sounds completely ridiculous, unlike what happens if one runs from an oncoming baseball, grenade, or avalanche, the speed of approaching photons is always 670 million miles per hour. The same is true if you run toward oncoming photons or chase after them—their speed of approach or recession is completely unchanged; they still appear to travel at 670 million miles per hour. Regardless of relative motion between the source of photons and the observer, the speed of light is always the same.
Technological limitations are such that the "experiments" with light, as described, cannot actually be carried out. However, comparable experiments can. For instance, in 1913 the Dutch physicist Willem de Sitter suggested that fast-moving binary stars (two stars that orbit one another) could be used to measure the effect of a moving source on the speed of light. Various experiments of this sort over the past eight decades have verified that the speed of light received from a moving star is the same as that from a stationary star—670 million miles per hour—to within the impressive accuracy of ever more refined measuring devices. Moreover, a wealth of other detailed experiments has been carried out during the past century—experiments that directly measure the speed of light in various circumstances, as well as test many of the implications arising from this characteristic of light, as discussed shortly—and all have confirmed the constancy of the speed of light.
If you find this property of light hard to swallow, you are not alone. At the turn of the century physicists went to great length to refute it. They couldn't. Einstein, to the contrary, embraced the constancy of the speed of light, for here was the answer to the paradox that had troubled him since he was a teenager: No matter how hard you chase after a light beam, it still retreats from you at light speed. Y
ou can't make the apparent speed with which light departs one iota less than 670 million miles per hour, let alone slow it down to the point of appearing stationary. Case closed. But this triumph over paradox was no small victory. Einstein realized that the constancy of light's speed spelled the downfall of Newtonian physics.
Truth and Consequences
Speed is a measure of how far an object can travel in a given duration of time. If we are in a car going 65 miles per hour, this means of course that we will travel 65 miles if we persist in this state of motion for an hour. Phrased in this manner, speed is a rather mundane concept, and you may wonder about the fuss we have made regarding the speed of baseballs, snowballs, and photons. However, let's note that distance is a notion about space—in particular it is a measure of how much space there is between two points. Also note that duration is a notion about time—how much time elapses between two events. Speed, therefore, is intimately connected with our notions of space and time. When we phrase it this way, we see that any experimental fact that defies our common conception about speed, such as the constancy of the speed of light, has the potential to defy our common conceptions of space and time themselves. It is for this reason that the strange fact about the speed of light deserves detailed scrutiny—scrutiny given to it by Einstein, leading him to remarkable conclusions.
The Effect on Time: Part I
With minimal effort, we can make use of the constancy of the speed of light to show that the familiar everyday conception of time is plain wrong. Imagine that the leaders of two warring nations, sitting at opposite ends of a long negotiating table, have just concluded an agreement for a cease-fire, but neither wants to sign the accord before the other. The secretary-general of the United Nations comes up with a brilliant resolution. A light bulb, initially turned off, will be placed midway between the two presidents. When it is turned on, the light it emits will reach each of the presidents simultaneously, since they are equidistant from the bulb. Each president agrees to sign a copy of the accord when he or she sees the light. The plan is carried out and the agreement is signed to the satisfaction of both sides.
