Why did Einstein’s mother hate his wife?

In an effort to understand Pauline Einstein’s (Albert’s mother) outright rejection of  her son’s love for Mileva Maric, I did some research on Jewish family values in Germany from 1870 -1900. The obvious answer might be that Mileva was raised as an Eastern Orthodox Christian.   But despite Hermann Einstein (Albert’s father) listing himself as Israelitic on Albert’s birth certificate, the family was decidedly non-religious, a point of pride with his father, so Mileva’s not being Jewish would not explain his mother’s outrage.  In fact, the family had sent Albert to a Catholic school in Munich for his elementary education and his mother had no objection when he fell in love with Marie Winteler while he attended the Cantonal school in Aarau.  Marie was not Jewish, and still, Marie and Pauline carried on a fond correspondence.

It happens that between 1870 and 1900 Jews were enjoying a heyday in Germany and, far from isolating themselves in ghettos, were doing what they could to erase distinctions between themselves and their Gentile neighbors. The bourgeois culture to which Hermann and Pauline aspired, to distinguish themselves from the habits of the laboring classes, assigned status to households where women did not work outside the home.  Instead, the wife and mother was the mediator between the intimate space of the household and society at large.  It was her task to raise children that maintained both the family’s religious observances and adopted the mores of her middle class German neighbors.  She was to maintain Germanic standards of cleanliness and orderliness thought essential to cultivating hardworking, upright citizens.

I’m reminded of the values that governed my mother’s life in American culture of the 1950’s and 60’s.  My family was not Jewish, but my maternal grandmother’s maiden name was Gumprecht.  Despite having a BA in speech from Ohio Wesleyan University, my mother devoted herself to laundry, cleaning, and her one creative outlet–gardening.  What about cooking?  She was singularly uninspired as a cook.  The few recipes she made, such as the Betty Crocker red binder meatloaf, she followed to the letter, even measuring out breadcrumbs.  Anytime she made anything without specific measurements–such as sloppy joes the Girl Scout campfire way–she required myself or my father to taste and tell her what to add.  That said, we ate at home, around a dinner table, nearly every night–food she had prepared.  Not working enabled her to do all kinds of volunteer work.  She was my Girl Scout leader for years and drove myself and my brother to our piano and dance lessons.  She taught adult Sunday school at our church and volunteered as a docent at the Dayton Art Institute.  When I danced with the Dayton Ballet Company, she was the founding president of the support organization, The Friends of the Dayton Ballet.   All this said, and given the skills she brought to those extra-household contributions, she didn’t foresee women moving out of the household.  If I complained about a school assignment (I particularly hated any rote memory work) as in “Why do I have to memorize Portia’s “quality of mercy” speech?”–her answer was invariably, “So you have something to think about when you’re ironing.”

It’s thereby not hard for me to understand Pauline Einstein’s priorities.  Enter Albert, intent on living and thinking outside any box his mother might build.  He called her bourgeois values “philistine” and flaunted them at every opportunity, dropping Marie Winteler for being too much like his mother.  Instead, he loved a Serbian woman–a backward culture of gypsies, to his mother’s mind–one who aspired to work as a physics teacher.

So, without meeting Mileva, Pauline could object to Albert’s undermining all she had done to ensure the family was upwardly mobile.   Ideally, his spouse would be one of his cousins, and to that end, she invited relatives to visit them at Mettmenstetten each summer during their stay at the Hotel Paradies in the Alps.  Albert was happy enough to play his violin for the ladies assembled, even playing duets with the cousins she paraded past him, but he was determined to marry Mileva.  Was it love?  Or the need to upend his mother?

Einstein’s wife, Mileva Maric   Pauline Koch Einstein

Posted in Einstein, family members, Mileva Maric, Pauline Einstein, reading, Research methods | 4 Comments

Why Did Mileva Fail her Exams?

In looking at the history of Mileva’s academic career and thinking about what motivated her after she became pregnant with Einstein’s child, I ask myself that question.

Prior to July 1900, she had never failed an exam.  That month was the first time she took the tests.  Her failure makes sense, given she had not only taken a semester off to go to study in Heidelberg, but also had taken up with Albert at the Cafe Metropole, discussing contemporary physicists rather than attending class.  Prior to this, according to her friends at Plattenstrasse 50, she had stayed up all night, reading and studying, followed by an hour of sleep before attending class.  That said, after July 1900’s failure, she spent a year mostly without Albert (who graduated in 1900) where she could go back to her former habits, where she had exclusive use of Marcel Grossmann’s meticulous notes from classes she missed, plus was working with Weber on her doctoral thesis and studying to retake the tests.  She wasn’t pregnant until May 5, 1901 when she went with Albert to Lake Como, so I’m to think she spent that entire school year doing nothing?  It hardly sounds like her.

I’m asking myself what she really wanted when she went to take those tests the second time.  Here’s my speculation:

She wanted Albert. She wanted them to be together, to work together, to raise their baby together. She needed to read what he was reading, which was not the same as taking a degree. She saw the cradle beside the table where her foot might rock it while they were working. She saw the coffee pot perking on a little stove, a pot of soup simmering, Albert’s pipe in a rack, the laundry drying beside the stove. Beyond this room was a little bed, made up in a patched quilt, where they would spend the nights keeping each other warm.

Was passing her exams the best way to get that?  Hmmm.

Posted in Einstein, Lake Como, Mileva Maric, reading, writing | 8 Comments

Decisions, Decisions

It’s time to fictionalize.  When Einstein and Mileva went to Lake Como, it’s unknown where they spent the nights.  On the most fateful day, the day they took a horse-drawn sleigh through the blinding six meter deep snow into Splugen Pass, they spent the night together, possibly for the first time (though biographers speculate differently on this subject, perhaps more a reflection on themselves than on these two) and conceived Lieserl.  It seems like I should decide on a specific place for that.  The town at the mouth of the pass on the Italian side is Chiavenna.  Here’s what it looks like, with thanks to an Australian blogger with the user name of Souter for the pictures.  It makes sense geographically.  Is it romantic enough for their tryst?

Entrance Gate to Chiavenna    Fedele Church, Chiavenna  religious convent, Chiavenna  

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Another Enchanting Landscape

I continue to discover that not having seen the landscapes or experienced the culture where important scenes took place is slowing my progress, as if setting were essential to the generation of words.  In service of moving the book ahead, I’m researching various settings.

Lake Como in Northern Italy, 40 km north of Milan, is one such important setting–where Albert and Mileva celebrated his potentially landing a job (after nine futile months of searching) in May of 1900 with a tryst.  I found Roland Merullo’s book The Italian Summer (result of a library catalog subject search for Lake Como) and also blog photos from people who have been there.   Such a beautiful, romantic place!  See for yourself by clicking on the pictures:

The village of BellagioIsola di Comacinocomo-lake-map.png

Posted in Einstein, Italy, Lake Como, Mileva Maric | 2 Comments

Serbianism

In my continued quest for a sense of the character of the people of Serbia, I found this description on the internet.  It is a bit that was written by  US. Congresswoman Helen Dilich Bentley in 1948 for American-Serb Life:

For instance, Serbianism can be synonymous with fighting for the right, or what we believe is right, with every possible breath.

Then it can mean giving whole-heartedly of whatever you have to help one who needs it.

Or it may be simply sharing whatever you have with everyone; or sticking with him, come hell or high water; Or the guslar spirit, where your cards are stacked for you.

The Do or Die Spirit
It might be a determination to fight doggedly on, as the Serbs did when the Turks tried to master them, and as they probably will again before this century is out.

Or a fiery spirit and flaming temperament.

Perhaps it is none of these.  Or perhaps it is all of them rolled into one.

Serbianism is too big a thing to be able to toss aside lightly with a definition of one or two words.

I’ve watched this Serbianism in action from the West Coast to the East Coast.
Whatever it is, it’s the same everywhere.

You come to the door of a Serbian home.
You’re welcomed with open arms, even though they have never seen you before.

Real Hospitality
The table is spread with strudel, sarma, kuspa y meso, and other favorite dishes.
Rakija and wino are brought forth in abundance.  You are to make yourself at home.

It can be no other way.  If it is, your host feels he has slipped up somewhere.
It’s both a disgrace and dishonor for a guest to be dissatisfied in the home of a Serb.

____________________

How like the description of Deda Bora in Their Backs to the World!

Thanks to the response of Serb Karl Haudbourg to my post, I now am connected to his blog where you simply must see the videos of Serbia:   http://www.ambassador-serbia.com/videos-serbia/

Posted in reading, Research methods, Serbia | 1 Comment

Serbia! (It Isn’t England)

One of my challenges with this book, in addition to getting a sense of all the physics, is that I have not yet visited the countries important to the principal persons in the text.  Generating scene tends to be very dependent on setting in my mind, and while I can look at travel guides and the internet to see pictures, a trip to Switzerland and Serbia is on the schedule for 2011–assuming the economy improves.  I was already quite familiar with England when I wrote the Darwin book, so this backward approach is different and, I find, slows me down while I do extensive research that hasn’t been internalized.  Yet.

That said, one of the treats of doing this kind of research is a rich addition to my knowledge base.  Prior to this project, my sense of Serbia had no visual geography.  I could point to it on a map and knew about Kosovo and Slobodan Milosevic from news reports of carnage in the late ’90’s. I understood that there was a religious divide–Christians vs Muslims–and that the borders of the country changed with the formation, then disruption of Yugoslavia.  I remembered Winter Olympics in Sarajevo–mostly seeing the Olympic village covered in snow.

But what the place really looks like?  What the climate is like?  What grows there?  Who the people are?  What they eat?  In addition to books on Serbia found in the juvenile non-fiction section of Wright Memorial Library–books full of gorgeous photographs that show me a country the size of Maine with farmland like the American midwest in the north and mountains like Vermont in the south–I also found a wonderful book of essays called With Their Backs to the World:  Portraits from Serbia by a Norwegian journalist named Asne Seierstad.  Between 1999 and 2004 she made three trips to Serbia, finding people willing to be interviewed, willing to open their homes so that she might see such things as Deda Bora’s bedroom where DaVinci’s Last Supper was hanging on the wall though the man, like Milosovic, was an atheist.  When she inquired, she learned that this was not Christ at all, but Tsar Lazar, a Serbian hero who died on the Kosovo battlefield in 1389.  There he sits, eating a last meal with his soldiers.  Judas, to Deda Bora is really the traitor, Vuk Brankovic, who caused Tsar Lazar to lose the battle.  This revisionist view is held by a man who is a jack-of-all-trades, who goes to his neighbor’s home to mend his harrow, then, since he is there and the neighbor is old and hunchbacked, harrows his entire field for him.  He was married to a woman who, after losing four babies within one month of delivery, put her fifth infant, bundled up, out on the road on a bitter cold December day, waiting for a neighbor to take the baby home, believing that the curse of her children’s deaths would be broken  if the child was taken into another home.  She then retrieved the child and he grew to manhood.  All the while Deda Bora is telling his story, he is serving Turkish coffee with homemade plum brandy and cheese he has made himself.   He gives her his recipe, suggests that Asne might make some cheese herself when she gets home.

This is the land that birthed Mileva Maric, though she grew up in Vojvodina in the north, in the late 19th century, a Serbian Orthodox Christian, in an upper middle class family.   Deda Bora is from a dying village in the southern mountains of Kosovo.

While Mileva has little in common on the surface, I see similarities in her dogged determination not to give up what she perceives is right without a fight, her willingness to exhaust herself for others in acts of self-sacrifice,  and her taste for strong coffee.

Asne Seierstad, Norwegian Journalist

Asne Seierstad

Posted in Asne Seierstad, Mileva Maric, reading, Serbia | Leave a comment

Serbia! (It Isn’t England)

One of my challenges with this book, in addition to getting a sense of all the physics, is that I have not yet visited the countries important to the principal persons in the text.  Generating scene tends to be very dependent on setting in my mind, and while I can look at travel guides and the internet to see pictures, a trip to Switzerland and Serbia is on the schedule for 2011–assuming the economy improves.  I was already quite familiar with England when I wrote the Darwin book, so this backward approach is different and, I find, slows me down while I do extensive research that hasn’t been internalized.  Yet.

That said, one of the treats of doing this kind of research is a rich addition to my knowledge base.  Prior to this project, my sense of Serbia had no visual geography.  I could point to it on a map and knew about Kosovo and Slobodan Milosevic from news reports of carnage in the late ’90’s. I understood that there was a religious divide–Christians vs Muslims–and that the borders of the country changed with the formation, then disruption of Yugoslavia.  I remembered Winter Olympics in Sarajevo–mostly seeing the Olympic village covered in snow.

But what the place really looks like?  What the climate is like?  What grows there?  Who the people are?  What they eat?  In addition to books on Serbia found in the juvenile non-fiction section of Wright Memorial Library–books full of gorgeous photographs that show me a country the size of Maine with farmland like the American midwest in the north and mountains like Vermont in the south–I also found a wonderful book of essays called With Their Backs to the World:  Portraits from Serbia by a Norwegian journalist named Asne Seierstad.  Between 1999 and 2004 she made three trips to Serbia, finding people willing to be interviewed, willing to open their homes so that she might see such things as Deda Bora’s bedroom where DaVinci’s Last Supper was hanging on the wall though the man, like Milosovic, was an atheist.  When she inquired, she learned that this was not Christ at all, but Tsar Lazar, a Serbian hero who died on the Kosovo battlefield in 1389.  There he sits, eating a last meal with his soldiers.  Judas, to Deda Bora is really the traitor, Vuk Brankovic, who caused Tsar Lazar to lose the battle.  This revisionist view is held by a man who is a jack-of-all-trades, who goes to his neighbor’s home to mend his harrow, then, since he is there and the neighbor is old and hunchbacked, harrows his entire field for him.  He was married to a woman who, after losing four babies within one month of delivery, put her fifth infant, bundled up, out on the road on a bitter cold December day, waiting for a neighbor to take the baby home, believing that the curse of her children’s deaths would be broken  if the child was taken into another home.  She then retrieved the child and he grew to manhood.  All the while Deda Bora is telling his story, he is serving Turkish coffee with homemade plum brandy and cheese he has made himself.   He gives her his recipe, suggests that Asne might make some cheese herself when she gets home.

This is the land that birthed Mileva Maric, though she grew up in Vojvodina in the north, in the late 19th century, a Serbian Orthodox Christian, in an upper middle class family.   Deda Bora is from a dying village in the southern mountains of Kosovo.

While Mileva has little in common on the surface, I see similarities in her dogged determination not to give up what she perceives is right without a fight, her willingness to exhaust herself for others in acts of self-sacrifice,  and her taste for strong coffee.

Asne Seierstad, Norwegian Journalist

Asne Seierstad

Posted in Asne Seierstad, Mileva Maric, reading, Serbia | 2 Comments

Some Convincing Evidence

In my ongoing collection of evidence that Mileva either did or did not contribute to Einstein’s theories, I come upon two passages in Highfield and Carter’s The Private Lives of Albert Einstein which would indicate that she did not.

Mileva is in Heidelberg, writing to Albert about a lecture by Phillipp Lenard, professor of experimental physics.  Highfield and Carter say this, (complete with British spellings):

“The professor had been describing the kinetic theory of gases, which explains their properties by the behaviour of their constituent molecules.  This was just the kind of problem that would be central to much of Einstein’s work in 1905, but Mileva’s account suggests a certain scientific naivity [sic].  She wrote, . . . ‘It seems that oxygen molecules travel at a speed of over 400 metres per second, and after calculating and calculating, the good professor set up equations, differentiated, integrated, substituted and finally showed that the molecules in question actually do move at such a velocity, but that they only travel the distance of 1/100 of a hair’s breadth.’  This irreverent tone is appealing, but it seems that Mileva had missed the key points of what Lenard was saying.  The mathematics that apparently dazzled her would not have been directed at determining the velocity of molecules–since this can be obtained quite simply–and the tiny distance they travelled [sic] between collisions should hardly have come as a surprise to her.  It depends on how many collisions each molecule experiences with others within a given time interval.  Although this was only a light-hearted anecdote, it suggests that Mileva lacked Einstein’s intuitive grasp of physics.”  (Highfield, 41-42)

While I am dependent on Mr. Allen Esterson to confirm that Highfield and Carter are correct in their analysis of the math, this kind of evidence–the documentation that she does not have Einstein’s understanding–is much more compelling to me than a statistical analysis of the reliability of witnesses a number of years after the fact.

The second point I find compelling in Highfield and Carter is that when the two were separated–Albert in Milan applying for jobs and Mileva in Zurich studying to resit the exams she had failed, Albert is immensely productive.  Again, from Highfield and Carter:

“A great spate of ideas continued to flow out of him in her absence.  There was a flash of insight about heat and energy that struck him during the train journey to Italy; fundamental doubts about radiation that arose as he read an article by Max Planck; a ‘wonderful idea’ he had arrived at for applying ‘our theory of molecular forces’ to gases.  His mind was in flux as he announced a series of revisions and extensions to his previous views.  This creative flow hardly suggested that Mileva’s presence was necessary to his inspiration. ” (Highfield, 70)

Einstein, in one letter goes on to ask her to look up data in the library and suggests some experiments they can conduct together to develop his new notion.   (Highfield, 70)

This then seems to be convincing documentation of her contribution.  She clearly could understand what he was saying and was able to participate on that level–as someone like his previous love interest, Marie Winteler would not have–but the idea that she did the work seems revisionist.

Posted in Einstein, Mileva Maric, reading, Research methods | 6 Comments

A Dangerous Liaison

In 1899, Einstein gave the following advice to Julia Niggli, a young woman acquaintance from Aarau who was agonizing over her possible marriage to an older man:

“What a strange thing must be a girl’s soul!  Do you really believe that you could find permanent happiness through others, even if this be the one and only beloved man?  I know this sort of animal personally, from my own experience as I am one of them myself.  Not too much should be expected from them, this I know quite exactly.  Today we are sullen, tomorrow high-spirited, after tomorrow cold, then again irritated and half-sick of life—and so it goes—but I have almost forgotten the unfaithfulness and ingratitude and selfishness, things in which almost all of us do significantly better than the good girls.”

 

 

Einstein was 20 years old at the time and. to my mind, showed a surprising measure of self-awareness.

 

Oh, Mileva, take heed. 

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Chekhov on Writing about Thorny Issues

In a letter to writer/publisher A. S. Suvorin, Chekhov wrote, “You are right in demanding that an artist should take an intelligent attitude toward his work, but you confuse two things:  solving a problem and stating a problem correctly.  It is only the second that is obligatory for the artist.”

I used this quote as a guideline in writing the Darwin book, where a reader might expect me to resolve the theological conflict between Charles and Emma and thereby make some pronouncement about my position.  But that is not the place of fiction.

This quote might be my guide once again, on the controversial issue of Mileva Maric’s possible contribution to Einstein’s work.  I will merely state the problem correctly:

He is married to a physicist classmate who once attended class and took meticulous notes while he went to coffee houses and read the work of contemporary physicists.  Gradually, he enticed her to join him there.

They enjoyed discussing physics together and read the same materials.

She sat in on his meetings of the Olympia Academy, contributing little to the discussion.

Einstein told her Serbian friends that she solved all his mathematical problems for him.

When he divorced her, he immediately reunited with his friend, mathematician Marcel Grossmann, the other meticulous note taker at the ETH. Grossmann was by then chair of the department and a specialist in geometry.

Geometry was the course that Maric failed twice, the score that prevented her graduating from the ETH.

The geometry of the fourth dimension was worked out by the math professor at the ETH who had once called Einstein a “lazy dog.”

Einstein regretted having paid so little attention to math when at the ETH.  He hadn’t understood its necessity in relation to theoretical physics.

Several international conferences have convened around the subject, the apparent conclusion being that she did his math but there is no evidence that she generated the creative ideas.

This is a but a partial list of the facts, composed from memory after a hiatus on Einstein research, but I shall continue building it as I re-engage and read more.

Posted in Anton Chekhov, Darwin, Einstein, Mileva Maric, reading, writing | 6 Comments