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DE sign:
(Deconstructing in-order to find new meanings)

A blogging space about my personal interests; was made during training in Stockholm #Young Leaders Visitors Program #Ylvp08 it developed into a social bookmarking blog.

I studied #Architecture; interested in #Design #Art #Education #Urban Design #Digital-media #social-media #Inhabited-Environments #Contemporary-Cultures #experimentation #networking #sustainability & more =)


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Tuesday, December 8

A gift of 100 Years :: R theorem

http://www.light2015.org/Home/CosmicLight/Einstein-Centenary.html

Cosmic Light

The importance of light reaches far beyond life on Earth. Through major scientific discoveries and technological advancements, light has helped us to see and better understand the universe. Discover breakthroughs in Astronomy, view stunning images of the cosmos, and learn more about dark skies.


Einstein Centenary

In 1915, the theory of General Relativity developed by Einstein showed how light was at the center of the very structure of space and time. There will be many events worldwide focusing on this seminal theory of the universe, and this page will provide specific links so you can get involved, and will also provide other resources so that you can learn about Einstein and his many contributions to physics and cosmology.
2015 marks an important milestone in the history of physics: one hundred years ago, in November 1915, Albert Einstein wrote down the famous field equations of General Relativity. General Relativity is the theory that explains all gravitational phenomena we know (falling apples, orbiting planets, escaping galaxies...) and it survived one century of continuous tests of its validity. After 100 years it should be considered by now a classic textbook theory, but General Relativity remains young in spirit: its central idea, the fact that space and time are dynamical and influenced by the presence of matter, is still mind-boggling and difficult to accept as a well-tested fact of life[1].
The development of the theory was driven by experiments that took place mostly in Einstein's brain (that is, so-called "thought experiments"). These experiments centred on the concept of light: "What happens if light is observed by an observer in motion?" "What happens if light travels in the presence of a gravitational field?" Naturally, several tests of General Relativity have to do with light too: the first success of the theory and the one that made the theory known to the whole world, was the observation of the light deflection by the Sun. In 1919, two expeditions were organised to observe the eclipse of May 29th.  One was directed to Sobral, north of Brasil, led by Charles A. Davidson and Andrew C. P. Crommelin, and a second, led by Arthur Eddington, headed to the Principe Island, part of the present Sao Tome and Principe, off the coast of Equatorial Guinea, in West Africa. They were able to observe, during the eclipse, the effect of the Sun on the light coming from a far away star[2]. The observed deflection was in perfect agreement with Einstein's theory while the prediction of the old theory of Newton was off by a factor of 2: a triumph for Einstein! Nowadays, light deflection by astrophysical objects (that is optics with very massive lenses!) is a tool successfully used to explore the Universe: it is called gravitational lensing[3].
Light remained central even in subsequent tests of the theory. For example in the so-called gravitational redshift[4]: light changes frequency when it moves in a gravitational field, another predictions of General Relativity, experimentally tested since 1959Actually, the happy marriage between light and General Relativity is important every time we use a GPS device: general relativistic effects are crucial to determine our position with the required accuracy!
But the most amazing prediction of General Relativity has not to do with light, but rather with its absence! Black holes are objects so dense that even light cannot escape their strong gravitational field![5]. Again it is not science fiction: black holes are by now standard objects that we (indirectly!) observe and study.
On much larger, cosmological scales, the gravitational redshift of light from galaxies and exploding stars (supernovae) constitutes the basic tool that allows us to "map" the Universe and study its "geometry". It is through these tools that we realized that the Universe is expanding, i.e. all Galaxies are moving away from each other. Even more recently it became clear that this expansion is in fact accelerating! As a consequence we realized that there is a new form of (dark) energy present in our Universe![6]  It is worth noting that all these amazing and surprising discoveries were made possible by studying the light coming from distant astrophysical events in the framework of General relativity.
From cosmology comes another connection between light and General Relativity, related to the early moments in our Universe. General Relativity predicts that our Universe comes from a very energetic state, the Big Bang, and a sign of this is imprinted in the so called Cosmic Microwave Background: CMB. The CMB is the light produced in the hot Early Universe in the moment when its decreasing temperature finally allowed photons to travel freely. This very same light we can see today and provides us with precious information of how the Universe looked like when its age was only 1/30000th of its age today!
What about the future discoveries? We are eagerly waiting (in 2015?) for the first detection ofgravitational waves, i.e. "ripples" in the space-time fabric, another fascinating prediction of General Relativity, so crazy that not even Einstein believed in it.
Those produced in the early stages of the history of the Universe could be detected, indirectly, as peculiar patterns in the polarization of the CMB light. Such detection could provide us with invaluable information on the very Early Universe, pushing further back in time our "sight".
LINKS


General relativity: 100 years of the most beautiful theory ever created

Who created Einstein’s theory of general relativity? And do most really know what it says?


It stands among the most famous theories ever created, but the general theory of relativity did not spring into being with a single, astonishing paper like the special theory of relativity in 1905. Instead, general relativity's birth was more chaotic, involving a handful of lectures, manuscripts, and more than one parent.
One hundred years ago this fall, that harrowing labor occupied almost an entire month in November 1915. When finished, Einstein finally delivered a theory perfectly formed, if not already mature, and trembling with potential. Today, the general theory retains its status as our modern theory of gravity, and its fundamental equations remain unchanged.
However, we've learned a great deal more about the back story and consequences of general relativity in the past century. In fact over time, this model of gravity, space, and time has come to be regarded by many who know it as perhaps the “most beautiful of all existing physical theories.” But to fully appreciate all the complexity of general relativity—in substance and creation—you need to start before the very beginning.

Everyone knows relativity

Certainly many people are familiar with the famous theory of general relativity in the sense they're familiar with any celebrity. But what makes the theory tick isn't always so well-known. Perhaps the best approach to the general theory of relativity is by way of Isaac Newton and his theory of gravity. Newton’s gravity (in concert with his laws of motion) accurately predicted the motions of the heavenly bodies for over 200 years. It was the first great unification in physics, connecting our terrestrial experience with falling apples directly to the force that binds the solar system together. Newton’s work is the beginning of modern science, and the best way to begin to understand relativity is to try to understand what Einstein found unacceptable in Newton’s model of the universe.
Newton explained that gravity is a force between any two objects, proportional to the product of their masses and inversely proportional to the square of the distance between them: a simple algebraic formula. This force was an instantaneous action at a distance with no medium nor mechanism behind it.
Einstein recognized several conceptual problems with the classical theory of gravity. His special theory of relativity implied that the cosmic speed limit, the velocity of light, applied to all influences, signals, and information and not merely physical particles. This is inherent in the symmetries of spacetime and the requirement that causes precede effects. But Newton’s model of gravity implied that its forces turned on and off instantaneously as masses appeared and disappeared; there is nothing in the classical theory that admits a finite speed of propagation for gravity, as Maxwell’s equations described the finite and definite speed of light in a vacuum.
There was also the mysterious identification of the gravitational mass with the inertial mass that appears in Newton’s law of motion. This centuries-old apparent coincidence demanded an explanation.
Einstein began his critical examination of gravity as he did with his special theory—through a thought experiment. He imagined being in a windowless box, enjoying the usual experience of gravity but otherwise completely isolated from any information from the outside. After some consideration, it is clear that there is no way he would be able to determine whether he and his box were in a gravitational field, say at the surface of the Earth or in deep space far from any source of gravity, but being uniformly accelerated, say by a rocket attached to the box’s bottom. There is no experiment, in practice or in principle, that would be able to distinguish the two situations (neglecting the small nonuniformity in the Earth’s gravity that could be measured over a finite distance and considering the point of view of a single point in space).
Applying the maxim of William James that “a difference which makes no difference is no difference at all,” Einstein elevated this observation into what he called his principle of equivalence. His insistence that a theory of gravity, and the motions it brings about, respect this principle at its core became the keystone of the general theory. The methodical working out of its consequences in mathematical form became an at times debilitating obsession over many years, culminating in the field equations of 1915 that have withstood all the challenges of the subsequent century.
One might wonder why, exactly, a theory of gravity is called a “general theory of relativity.” Well, Einstein began to use this title before the theory was complete. He envisioned it as a generalization of his special theory of relativity. The special theory relates to the motion, time, and space between frames of reference that are moving at constant velocities. It showed how to relate all constant-velocity motions to each other while respecting the universally constant speed of light, and it did so by using a particular formula to transform one frame to another. Einstein assumed that he could do the same with arbitrary reference frames that might be accelerating or rotating by applying his principle of equivalence. He ultimately learned this was not quite possible—there is no general relativity of motion between accelerating frames in the sense that Einstein found in his special theory of relativity. Nevertheless, the title stuck.

What it says (relatively mathless)

To truly dig into general relativity, as in all branches of theoretical physics, it takes math.Hardcore math. The crux of the matter is the mirroring of the structure of reality in mathematical structures. And in this light, talking about a physical theory without its equations is rather like talking about music—worthwhile in some ways, but everyone can acknowledge that something is missing.
To simplify, Einstein’s theory of gravity is often introduced by saying that it describes the “curvature” of spacetime. This is evocative and certainly not wrong, but the description sometimes misleads. The gravitational equations relate mass and energy to the “metric tensor,” which is the mathematical object that describes this curvature. The metric tensor tells us how to measure distance at different points in space in different directions; it’s like a bunch of rulers that stretch and shrink as we move around.
In the normal “flat” spacetime of Euclidean geometry, these rulers are the same everywhere: the Pythagorean theorem is always true, and the ratio of the circumference to the diameter of a circle is always π. The equations of general relativity relate this metric tensor to the distribution of matter and energy in space. A massive object actually changes the rulers in its neighborhood (including the ruler that measures time, which becomes blended with the spatial dimensions to form a unified “spacetime”). The figure here is an aid to the imagination, showing how such a curved 4d spacetime in the vicinity of a planet might be represented with a 2d projection of a 3d surface.
The planets and other masses (and massless photons, as well), rather than responding instantaneously to gravitational “forces,” as in Newton’s theory, follow geodesics, or shortest paths, through this curved spacetime. It is through this mechanism that the mystery of the identity of inertial and gravitational masses is resolved.
Here lies the crux of the theory’s beauty. No longer is spacetime a blank canvas upon which the force vectors of gravity are drawn by a mysterious hand. Now the mass and energy in the universe create the malleable canvas of spacetime themselves, and to be in changing motion in this spacetime is the natural state (just as to be in rest, or uniform motion, was in the Newtonian universe). There is no longer a force of gravity, just spacetime and mass-energy.
As things move around due to the metric tensor; this alters the distribution of mass in the universe. This in turn changes the metric tensor, which determines how things move. This inseparability between motion and the nature of spacetime that determines it is the cause of the nonlinearity, which makes it so difficult to find exact (and, for that matter, numerical) solutions to the equations. Any physics student can use Newtonian physics to calculate the orbit of the Earth around the Sun, but similar problems in general relativity are research projects. (One class of solutions are the “singularities,” or solutions with infinite densities, that are called black holes.)
This situation resembles a computationally difficult area of classical physics. Fluid dynamics is intractable because of a nonlinearity that has a similar origin: as parcels of fluid move in response to the pressure field generated by the fluid medium, that motion changes the pressure field, which in turn changes the motion, etc. Just as in general relativity, exact solutions of the Navier-Stokes equations for fluid dynamics are hard to come by, and their calculation by computer is nontrivial. As you might imagine, the equations of relativistic fluid dynamics are fairly insane.
In attempting to give concrete form to the principle of equivalence, Einstein was understandably and immediately bedeviled by the complex mathematical language that these new physical ideas seemed to demand. Like most physicists then and now, he was very familiar with multivariable calculus and differential equations as well as more elementary subjects such as Euclidean geometry. But now he found that his ideas had taken him to a place where his mathematical language was not rich enough—fortunately, he had friends who could help.

Who created general relativity?

Who is the author of Einstein’s theory of general relativity? This might resemble the old joke about the New York City landmark, “Who is buried in Grant’s Tomb?”—but the answer is not as self-evident.
The conventional notion is that although Einstein may have had significant help with the math, the theory is essentially his creation. His sole authorship is assumed in almost all popular, and the great majority of specialist, histories of the subject.
But you can make a good case that general relativity has three or four main authors. It was certainly not the creation of Einstein alone, working in monkish solitude: it was anything but the “theory that one manworked out a century ago with a pencil and paper,” to quote a recent Discover article. This view, while not the popular one, does not disagree with recent scholarship. For example, a current paper in Natureby two historians of science who have made a close study of Einstein’s notes presents a list of friends and colleagues who worked closely with him during the development of the theory. These contributions were indispensable.
The earliest of these collaborators was Marcel Grossmann, a mathematician friend of Einstein’s from school who appeared as a coauthor on the first several papers on early forms of the new theory of gravity. Grossmann was well versed in the necessary mathematics of calculus in curved spaces, and he became Einstein’s first tutor in the subject. My list for the primary authors of general relativity would include Einstein himself, Grossmann, Michele Besso (an engineer and another of Einstein’s school friends), and the great mathematicians David Hilbert and Emmy Noether. In addition to these primary authors, there are also a handful of other researchers who made central contributions, but there is no space here to do them all justice.
The cases of Hilbert and Noether are interesting enough to dwell on. In the Spring of 1915, Hilbert invited Einstein to give some lectures at the university at Göttingen, which had become the center of mathematics in Germany and perhaps in the whole Western world. Einstein and Grossmann had published papers expounding a preliminary version of his new theory of gravity, and as Einstein was continuing to work on it Hilbert wanted to know more. He was already familiar with the exotic (to Einstein) mathematics involved (having developed further some of it himself), so as soon as he was able to achieve some understanding of the physics, Hilbert was off and running.
At first, Einstein was delighted in finding a new intellectual companion in Hilbert, someone who was able to instantly grasp the core of the problem and tackle it head-on. As he wrote in a letter near the end of November 1915, “The theory is beautiful beyond comparison. However, only one colleague has really understood it,” referring to Hilbert. Einstein considered this famed mathematician a genuine “comrade of conviction” who shared his attitude about science as transcending national and ethnic boundaries. That stance might seem obvious today, but it could be considered unpatriotic in the Germany of WWI.
But this delight soon turned to resentment as a kind of race ensued, as least in Einstein’s imagination, to write down the correct set of equations to describe the gravitational field. Both men understood that this was something big, and the stakes were high. Einstein carried on an intense correspondence with Hilbert and other scientists during the struggle. He became horrified that, after his years of striving, someone else might be able to hijack his work and claim credit for the complete and final theory of gravity. As he said in the same letter, “In my personal experience I have hardly come to know the wretchedness of mankind better than as a result of this theory and everything connected to it.” In a note a few days after that to Michele Besso, Einstein continued. “My colleagues are acting hideously in this affair.” For his part, Hilbert had already made theremark that would later become somewhat infamous: “physics is much too hard for physicists.”
While author David Rowe rightfully points out we “know almost nothing about what Einstein and Hilbert talked about during the physicist’s week in Göttingen," Hilbert did send off a manuscript with the correct, final field equations that comprised the fundamental content of the theory of general relativity. And he did so almost simultaneously with Einstein’s public presentation of these equations. The debate over priority is still being waged by historians, but Einstein and Hilbert had forgotten their differences and moved on almost immediately. In fact, Hilbert relinquished any claim to priority and gave unqualified credit for the theory to the physicist. “Every boy in the streets of Göttingen understands more about four-dimensional geometry than Einstein. Yet, in spite of that, Einstein did the work and not the mathematicians.”
In the case of Emmy Noether, it is even more difficult to ascertain the exact contributions she made to general relativity. Mathematical research at the time was largely a verbal affair, with formal publication almost an afterthought, and Noether was especially fond of the conversational approach to math. Hilbert had called her to Göttingen for particular help with the immediate aftermath of the discovery of the field equations to work on the very difficult issue of the conservation of energy in general relativity. (This problem is so tricky that it was only in 1981 that Edward Witten was able to prove that the energy derived from the gravitational field equations is guaranteed to be positive.)
Correspondence at the time from and to Einstein, including several references to a lost set of notes by Noether, make it clear that she provided critical help and tutelage during the frenzied months leading up to the final appearance of the field equations. But even more important was that her work on the energy problem led to her discovery of the far-reaching result that we now call Noether’s theorem and to a mature mathematical understanding of the gravitational equations themselves.
No matter how clear Einstein’s vision might have been about what the physical content of a relativistic theory of gravity should be, there was no theory until there was a set of equations that expressed those ideas and that satisfied certain mathematical and physical demands of consistency. This is why Einstein struggled for so many years to put his ideas into a form that would be worthy of the name “theory.” And it's the best explanation why general relativity should rightfully be credited to a small handful of authors rather than just Einstein himself.
The matter of the correct form of the gravitational field equations aside, it is still true that the formulation of the equivalence principle, the seminal thought experiments, and therefore the initial physical impetus for general relativity was certainly Einstein’s alone.

Verification and unification

World War I had left a large part of Europe in ruins. The unprecedented scale of death and destruction had caused a haze of depression and hopelessness to descend upon much of the world’s population. It was with a certain gratitude and relief, therefore, that Europe’s weary citizens greeted the distracting appearance of a story about the stars and about a new way of understanding the world.
This was the story that made Albert Einstein the world’s most famous scientist, and a household name, overnight.
The newspaper articles were full of diagrams and dramatic descriptions of the project that successfully tested the radical, new theory. The man behind the project was Arthur Eddington, said to be the only person in the English-speaking world who understood Einstein’s equations. There is a story that exists in so many variations that its truth may be lost to time, but one version goes something like this: a reporter, interviewing the now famous Eddington, mentioned that he heard there were only three people in the world who understood Einstein’s theory. After Eddington was silent for a while, the reporter asked him if he had heard the question. Eddington calmly replied that he was just trying to work out who the third person could possibly be.
Eddington wasn’t very popular. He had been a pacifist during the war, refusing to fight but risking his life on humanitarian missions. An atmosphere of scandal surrounded the eclipse project and Eddington’s participation from the outset, as there was a strong distaste for anything of German origin in England after WWI. Few could understand why an English scientist was engaged in an elaborate undertaking in support of a German one.
The project was a pair of voyages to set up observing stations in two parts of the world in time to catch a total solar eclipse. Two stations were established for redundancy in case one encountered clouds. Measurements were to be made simply of the positions of a few stars that appeared in the sky close to the sun during the eclipse. These positions would be compared to the normal night-time star locations; the shift in apparent position would be due to the bending of the starlight as it passes through the gravitational field of the sun (as depicted in the newspaper diagram reproduced here).
This bending of the light was also predicted by Newton, but Einstein’s theory of gravity predictedtwice as much deflection. When all the results were examined, Einstein’s theory of general relativity was declared confirmed. A new chapter in modern science had begun.
There is a popular image of Einstein as a solitary, theoretical toiler, perhaps even disdainful of experimental evidence and contemptuous of practical matters. This impression is, to be fair, reinforced by a handful of comments made by Einstein himself, some genuine, some perhaps apocryphal. He probably did say that he would have been “sorry for the Lord” had Eddington’s eclipse voyages failed to confirm the predictions of his theory because “the theory is correct.”
However, the letters that Einstein wrote to friends and colleagues near the end of 1915 show that he considered experimental verification of his theories crucially important. He attached his greatest hopes around this time to being able to use his developing equations to calculate the anomaly in the orbit of Mercury. When he finally got this to come out right, Einstein considered it a major piece of evidence that he had found the correct equations at last.
This anomaly is the precession in the perihelion of Mercury’s orbit: it does not complete closed ellipses, as Newton’s theory demands, but each time it comes around to its closest approach to the Sun (the perihelion) it’s very slightly off from where it started. If we assume that Newtonian gravity is correct, Mercury’s orbit requires some additional gravitational influence to explain it. For some time this explanation was sought in the existence of a new planet orbiting inside Mercury’s sphere, but Einstein’s calculation made the unseen planet unnecessary.
In a letter to the great physicist and teacher Arnold Sommerfeld in December of 1915, Einstein said, “The result of the perihelion motion of Mercury gives me great satisfaction. How helpful to us here is astronomy’s pedantic accuracy, which I often used to ridicule secretly!” The next day, to his friend the engineer Michele Besso, Einstein shared the excitement. “The boldest dreams have now been fulfilled. [...] Mercury’s perihelion motion wonderfully precise.”
In the middle of February 1916, Einstein was still writing about the Mercury agreement being centrally important. To Otto Stern, he penned the following telegraphic lines, apparently in a hurry:
General relativity is now, almost exactly since we last saw each other, finally resolved. [...] Perihelion motion of Mercury explained exactly. Theory very transparent and fine. Lorentz, Ehrenfest, Planck, and Born are convinced adherents, likewise Hilbert.

General relativity today (and beyond)

Since the days of the eclipse voyages, there have been numerous additional verifications of general relativity’s predictions. Gravitational lensing is now routinely observed, especially in images from the Hubble Space Telescope. The gravitational redshift—a shift in the color of light analogous to the Doppler shift that reveals the expansion of the universe, but is instead caused by gravity—has beenverified. The Global Positioning System could not work if we didn’t know how to make relativistic corrections to the rates of the clocks aboard the GPS satellites. A prediction of general relativity is that clocks will run more slowly on the ground, where the gravitational distortion of spacetime is larger, than in orbit.
The 1991 physics Nobel Prize was awarded for observations of the first known binary pulsar. Russell A. Hulse and Joseph H. Taylor had shown how the period of the mutually orbiting objects changed with time due to the emission of gravity waves in a way exactly as predicted by general relativity. The theory predicts that accelerating (which includes orbiting) masses will radiate waves in the form of distortions in spacetime, somewhat similarly to how charges radiate electromagnetic waves when they are accelerated. This radiation carries energy away from the object, which should change its orbital period.
Today there are efforts worldwide to try to observe gravity waves directly. The Laser Interferometer Gravitational-Wave Observatory (LIGO) consists of two interferometers, one in Hanford, Washington, and the other in Livingston, Louisiana. Each interferometer is made from two 2.5 mile long arms arranged in the shape of an L, acting as “antennae” to detect the ripples in spacetime that general relativity predicts should propagate from exploding stars, binary black holes, and other extreme objects in distant space.
An exciting recent experimental verification of general relativity was carried out by Gravity Probe B, a spacecraft that put cryogenic gyroscopes in Earth orbit. This experiment tested the predictions offrame dragging and the geodetic effect. These two effects are tiny (small fractions of a degree per year) precessions of the rotating gyroscopes. Frame dragging is caused by the effect of the rotation of the Earth, which can be thought of as a twisting of spacetime in its neighborhood, and the geodetic effect is caused by local spacetime warping due to the Earth’s mass. Planning for this precision measurement (the spacecraft had a launch window of one second) began 50 years ago, the launch was in 2004, and final results were reported in 2011.
Another test of gravitational theory will occur in the near future, thanks to an expensive mistake. Last year, European GPS satellites were accidentally launched into an elliptical orbit around the Earth that makes them useless as GPS satellites, which need to orbit in circles. However, this oval trajectory takes them at times closer, and at times farther, from the Earth, which means we can use their highly accurate atomic clocks to directly test the effect of gravity on the passage of time.
General relativity, in a sense, stands apart from the rest of physics today. While quantum field theory and its elaborations have managed to unify the forces of nature into harmonious mathematical structures (structures that have been able to predict the existence of exotic new particles), gravity has so far resisted incorporation into a unified theory of nature. This is a peculiar irony, as the fundamental mathematical tool that allows physicists to predict, on the basis of nature’s symmetries, the existence of new particles was created by Emmy Noether during her work on the equations of gravity.
General relativity stands apart as well because of the mathematical language it is written in. Even more starkly during the time of its creation than now, this new theory of gravity spoke an exotic dialect of geometry that was entirely unfamiliar to physicists. A current student can pass through an entire course of study in theoretical physics up to the PhD, including at least beginning courses in quantum field theory, with nothing more advanced from the mathematical tool chest than vector calculus and partial differential equations. But textbooks on general relativity, if they are cracked at all, lead the reader through several chapters introducing the intricacies of geometry and calculus on curved surfaces of multiple dimensions before talking much about physics at all.
On the scale of elementary particles, the force of gravity is negligible, but on the scale of the cosmos, it dominates the structure of the observable universe. All the forces of nature, besides gravity, and their associated particles are subsumed into mathematical structures that describe a symmetry in a multidimensional space whose dimensions describe the physical properties of the particles and forces. These abstract mathematical structures have led to predictions of new particles, such as the Higgs boson. But the spacetime symmetries of gravity seem to be of a different type, and so far they have resisted attempts to include them in a unified theory. The experimental breakthroughs described in this section provide powerful evidence that these symmetries capture the reality of spacetime and its connection with matter and energy. The challenge of future theoretical work in general relativity will be to reconcile it with our knowledge of reality at the smallest scales.
Will the next 100 years see the unification of physics and lead us to the “theory of everything?" Will some form of string theory be the answer or perhaps loop quantum gravity? Will we finally observe gravity waves or evidence of wormholes? No matter how these questions are resolved, we can be sure of only one thing: their answers will not lead to the end of science, but to further questions and an endless future of wonder and discovery. In that sense, the first 100 years of general relativity may closely parallel the next century after all.
Lee Phillips is a physicist and a repeat-contributor to Ars Technica. In the past, he's written about topics ranging from the legacy of the Fortran coding language to thelongstanding puzzles of classical physics.

Einstein and The Special Theory of Relativity

LESSON CREATED BY JENESA BRADY USING 
 

VIDEO FROM minutephysics YOUTUBE CHANNEL



8 Ways You Can See Einstein's Theory of Relativity in Real Life


Monday, December 7

What is the Moral Duty of the Architect? 2015? 2016?

Damned if You Do, Damned if You Don't: What is the Moral Duty of the Architect?

Article Copied of the Journal ARCHITECTURAL REVIEW, Kindly see following Link http://www.architectural-review.com/rethink/viewpoints/damned-if-you-do-damned-if-you-dont-what-is-the-moral-duty-of-the-architect/8669956.fullarticle

22 SEPTEMBER, 2014BY CHARLOTTE SKENE CATLING >>

Architects are ridiculed if they take a moral position, and attacked if they don’t. What, then, in the 21st century, is ‘the duty of the architect’?

In ‘The Insolence of Architecture’, a piece on Rowan Moore’s book Why We Build, Power and Desire in Architecture in the New York Review of Books,1 Martin Filler wrote that Zaha Hadid ‘has unashamedly disavowed any responsibility, let alone concern, for the estimated one thousand laborers who have perished while constructing her project so far. “I have nothing to do with it,” Hadid has stated. “It’s not my duty as an architect to look at it.”’

This was quite a claim, particularly given that Zaha’s Al Wakrah Stadium is not due to start on site until 2015. No one, in fact, has died while constructing her project. Zaha − uncomfortable with the blood of 1,000 labourers apparently on her hands − filed a libel suit in the New York State Supreme Court. Martin Filler sent a correction to the NYRB’s editors, saying, ‘I regret the error’. Zaha has never been loquacious, and her comments were edited to make her appear callous. Asked in the original Guardian piece if she was concerned, she replied, ‘Yes, but I’m … concerned about the deaths in Iraq as well, so what do I do about that? I’m not taking it lightly but I think it’s for the government to look to take care of.’2
Zaha remains under attack. ‘Zaha is Still Wrong About Construction Worker Conditions’3 is the title of a Vanity Fair piece by critic Paul Goldberger published after Filler’s retraction. There is a sense of a witch hunt, and it is notable that so many of the articles and the public reactions to them end in gender. It is ironic that the project itself has its own anthropomorphic ‘gender issues’; the stadium building with its sleek, pink, double-petalled roof surrounding an opening has been compared to a vulva: a similarity Zaha denies. That Zaha is a powerful woman makes her the perfect Lady Macbeth of architecture. But her real crime, according to the press and countless blogs, is that she is not taking a moral stand or using her celebrity status to publicise and address the ethical − and very serious − problem of migrant worker conditions.

At the other extreme, the journalist and author Dan Hancox in his piece for this publication,‘Enough Slum Porn, The Global North’s Fetishisation of Poverty Architecture Must End’ (AR September), launched an attack on Urban-Think Tank (U-TT), an interdisciplinary design and research practice now based at the Swiss Institute of Technology (ETH), Zurich, for their work that addresses slum conditions in the global south. Hancox criticised them for focusing attention on the Torre David − a 45-storey squatted tower in Caracas, now under eviction − by putting it at the heart of the Venice Biennale 2012, for which they won the Golden Lion (which they then gave to the residents of the tower). He compares their explorative work to a form of imperial exploitation, unaware perhaps of the Venezuelan origins of U-TT. He calls their engagement ‘parasitical’, is indignant that they are ‘white’ and ‘male’, and omits their 20 years of research, teaching and built interventions in order to justify a sensational headline. Hancox offers no alternative to drawing the public to focus on the slums as an urgent urban problem that suffers, like the Qatari migrant workers, from invisibility. After a Marxist rhapsody on the horrors of modern slum life, his proposition − in the absence of one − seems simply laissez-faire.
Architects, it appears, can’t win. They are attacked if they don’t take a moral position, and ridiculed if they do. So what, then, is ‘the duty of the architect’? What is the architect able to do? Fundamentally, what are architects for in the 21st century?

There is no question that the architect is marginalised. The privatisation of building, economies of development and bigger liabilities have meant that architects are appointed late, once strategies and scope are set, and exit early. As one member of large consultant teams, their role is reduced to form-making or decoration. Alejandro Zaera-Polo, both as a practitioner and Dean of Princeton SoA, sees architecture now as residing in the building envelope, and has focused his attention there as a potential site for reintroducing political ideology. He observes, ‘our generation of architects has not been politically active … we have been consumed in the means of production and in simply making buildings’.4 The architect then has been trapped within the thin skin of the facade, like a pressed flower, and with about as much command.

How did this happen? Where is the vision that once motivated architects to work to the limits of the discipline and beyond towards an overall ‘good’? Where is the discourse and collective goal? Is it impotence that has made architects so cynical today, or is this the inevitable trajectory of 20th-century architectural theory and late capitalism? Does architecture end in ultimate solipsism where the goal is simply to construct a colossal version of oneself, the ‘mega-architect’?

Where Modernism merged utility and art resulting in a sense of earnest conviction, Postmodernism liberated each from the other: architects were happy to frolic carefree in the realm of art and aesthetics; they shook off burdensome morality, leaving it for the politicians. Mistrust of earnestness was one of Postmodernism’s defining characteristics, with cynicism following close behind. Humanism put man at the core: and where Modernism promoted function, and Postmodernism, form; humanism favoured a balance between them. Post-humanist, Deconstructivist architecture then removed the human from the centre, banished form and function and focused purely on the creation of the object rather than on its effect on mankind. The End of Architecture?: Documents and Manifestos5 emerged from a period of recession to reassess the role of the architect when those such as Zaha, Coop Himmelb(l)au, Lebbeus Woods, Peter Eisenman and Bernard Tschumi were working out their positions on paper and didn’t necessarily expect to build. The critical stance was not only apolitical but almost anti-social. In The Pleasure of Architecture, Tschumi wrote, ‘[architecture’s] real significance lies outside utility or purpose and ultimately is not even necessarily aimed at giving pleasure’.6 This is probably just how they felt in Spain when construction was stopped on Eisenman’s mammoth, slouching City of Culture of Galicia after it nearly bankrupted the region.
‘Does architecture end in ultimate solipsism where the goal is simply to construct a colossal version of oneself, the “mega-architect”?’
Modernism promised rational, economic and ergonomic solutions transfigured by art, but tended to take more than it gave and so lost its moral command. People had to give up all that was most engrained; brave new forms cleansed of tradition replaced familiar ones that held deep meaning. To profess now to want to make the world a better place would have architects openly laughing in your face. And yet, at the same time there is a growing nostalgia for the clarity and conviction of the ideals of Modernism. While architecture was taken as a medium for revolution by the Marxist left in Russia, those such as Moisei Ginzburg and Alexei Gan, and by Le Corbusier as the means to avoid it, both saw in it the potential to improve the world.

Frederick Etchells, translator of Le Corbusier’s Vers Une Architecture, 1923, described the book as ‘the most valuable thing that has yet appeared, if only because it forces us, architects and laymen alike, to take stock, to try to discover in what direction we are going, and to realise in some dim way the strange paths we are likely to be forced to travel whether we will or no’. In it, under the heading, ‘Architecture or Revolution’, Le Corbusier writes, ‘the machinery of Society, profoundly out of gear, oscillates between an amelioration of historical importance, and a catastrophe. It is a question of building which is at the root of the social unrest today: architecture or revolution.’7 Architecture ou Révolution was the original intended title for Vers Une Architecture.
It is in this spirit that Urban-Think Tank operates. Alfredo Brillembourg, a Venezuelan-American, and Hubert Klumpner, from Austria, met at Columbia University where they studied architecture together. In 1986 Brillembourg returned to Venezuela, a country that would undergo actual political revolution, and founded U-TT. In 1998 Klumpner joined him in Caracas. They have been working together ever since. In 2005 they published Informal City, a study of Caracas, and in 2007 they formed Sustainable Living Urban Model Laboratory (SLUM Lab) at Columbia. Since 2010, they have held the chair for Architecture and Urban Design at ETH, Zurich, where they operate at a metropolitan, urban and architectural scale, studying ‘regional urbanisation and informal globalisation’ in parallel with an output of written work and built projects at various scales. Architecture or revolution here applies literally, and has created a new kind of practice and approach that already seems essential. Caracas was the context that inspired U-TT, and is just one of the many cities that will become the site of 80 per cent of future urban growth. Today at least a billion people exist in slums around the world − and this is where the next two billion will live. ‘Here’, as Klumpner puts it, ‘generations will grow up … this is a clear and present danger’.8 Every mega-city − Mumbai, Johannesburg, Lagos, Jakarta or Mexico City − has its own rapidly expanding version of slum that differs according to its context, geography, climate and politics. Mumbai’s Dharavi, at 500 acres with a population of around one million people, is the city’s largest, and one that generates $1 billion a year in revenue.

Caracas underwent intense change in the 20th century: Venezuela discovered oil in 1914, was a member of OPEC by 1960 and the Arab-Israeli war in ‘72 made it suddenly, massively rich. Huge infrastructural investment was followed by nationalisation. A desperate cycle of borrowing and debt led to Black Friday in 1983 when the bolívar crashed to devastating effect. Political unrest led to protest, then riots. Curfews were introduced; inflation soared and centralisation led a population surge to Caracas increasing numbers from 3.8 to nearly 6 million in 10 years, a third living in slums. Revolutionaries and reactionaries were polarised with the city divided into five ‘secure zones’. Private police patrolled gated communities encircled with razor wire: Caracas became one of the most violent cities in the world. In a last sigh of optimism, construction started in 1990 on the tower for the Centro Financiero Confinanzas, later known as the Torre David after its developer David Brillembourg.9 His sudden death, followed by a series of bank closures, led to the 90 per cent completed project being seized by a government insurance agency, who left the third tallest skyscraper in South America unfinished and abandoned.

In 1992 Hugo Chávez attempted a coup, was jailed, and released two years later. By ‘99, a year after being elected, he proposed a new constitution, and significantly for future squatters, declared that ‘every person has the right to adequate, safe, comfortable and hygienic housing’. In 2007, an evicted group of squatters turned to the Torre David for shelter. Four years later Chávez enabled the government to ‘seize idle urban lands, non-residential buildings and assets required for building housing developments’.10 The slums were expanding: aerial photographs of Caracas show the Modernist core at the centre standing rigid and inert while the barrios seep over and around the topography like a living, liquid culture.
In 1998, both Brillembourg and Klumpner had day jobs in architectural practices, producing designs for the Caraquenian bourgeoisie. In parallel, Brillembourg had set up a summer school and an NGO ‘think tank’ that operated at night. As the politics unfolded, it became clear that Chávez didn’t see the revolutionary potential of housing, envisioning only prototypical Modernist mega-blocks on the periphery of the city. The explosion of urbanism in the global south was real, visible and urgent, but lacking architectural research. Most of Brillembourg and Klumpner’s peers had no interest in the slums, they were focused instead on what lay beyond, in Europe, and Spain in particular, seduced by the potential of the ‘Bilbao effect’. Eventually support was found in Gerhard Schröder’s German Federal Culture Foundation, a global research institution with large resources. Armed with the material they had collected, in 2000, with the help of a Canadian NGO, Brillembourg and Klumpner smuggled themselves into a meeting of the UN Habitat and spoke out. The critical problem they had identified was simply that ‘top down’ and ‘bottom up’ never meet.

Brillembourg and Klumpner took an embedded approach to research, recognising that if they were to achieve anything meaningful, they would have to be the ‘go-between’, bridging two radically different worlds. From nights of flying bullets in the favelas to cocktails in black tie with German senators, this new role demanded a spectrum of very different skills. Social ecosystems, economics and politics had to be negotiated, while avoiding specific political alliances. A new kind of ‘activist’ architect was emerging, one who doesn’t wait for government commissions, but through direct engagement identifies what needs to be done and finds 
the means to make it happen.

In 2009, Justin McGuirk, writer and curator of the Torre David: Gran Horizonte Biennale installation with U-TT, began a search for alternative approaches to urbanism and the legacy of ‘the dream of modernist utopia [that] went to Latin America to die’.11 The result, Radical Cities,12 is an excellent portrait of the whole South American continent as testbed for experimental and original strategies. As early as the 1960s, British architect John Turner looked at the barriadas of Lima as an intrinsic part of the urban fabric, and proposed ways to adapt them to become a natural extension of the city as an alternative to slum clearance and the physical and cultural alienation of their inhabitants. In 1963, Charles Jencks published the barriadas next to Archigram and the Japanese Metabolists as a model with important lessons for housing and urbanism.13
‘A new kind of “activist” architect was emerging, one who doesn’t wait for government commissions, but through direct engagement identifies what needs to be done and finds the means to make it happen’
McGuirk revisited the Proyecto Experimental de Vivienda, or ‘PREVI’, in Lima, one of the great visionary housing projects of the 20th century, now largely forgotten. In 1966, Fernando Belaúnde Terry, then President of Peru and an architect by training, initiated a competition to rethink mass, high-density, low-rise housing, and drafted in architect Peter Land as UN Project Director. Land invited a stellar cast of international architects to ‘design and construct a neighbourhood of approximately 1500 new houses … [to] develop methods and techniques to rehabilitate and extend the life of existing older houses, and … for planning the rational establishment and growth of spontaneous housing settlements to meet proper standards’.14 The team included James Stirling, Christopher Alexander, Aldo Van Eyck, Charles Correa, Atelier 5, Kiyonuri Kikutake, Fumihiko Maki and Noriaki (Kisho) Kurokawa among others. The jury, unable to choose a single winner, built them all. A military junta overthrew the president and although the first stage was pushed through by the UN, the project came to an end and the experiment was abandoned. Four hundred and fifty original prototypes were designed for growth and adjustment over time as the needs of their inhabitants changed, and now remain embedded at the heart of later additions. U-TT’s film team is currently documenting the project.

Incremental design was economically systemised by Alejandro Aravena, of the Chilean practice Elemental. Like U-TT, he believes that only architects have the multiple skills to tackle current social, urban, political and economic issues, and his practice reflects the strategic alliances needed to cross these borders. His business partner was a former transport engineer, and the CEO of COPEC, the Chilean oil company, sits on the board of his company. He states, ‘professional quality not charity has shaped the entire operation of Elemental’, which he calls a ‘do tank’ that works within the existing conditions of the market. When Aravena was approached to build social housing, he concluded that if funds are available to make just ‘half a good house’ rather than a whole, bad one, then just build half, with a void for the inhabitants to expand into. The government would supply the ‘site, the structure … and technically difficult elements’.15 There is an austere elegance to both the thinking and the buildings themselves, which softens as the families colonise the gaps left for them. Elemental began working on an urban scale after Chile’s devastating 2010 earthquake and tsunami, and applied the same lateral logic to the city redesign for which they had just 100 days. They proposed a reordering of the urban layout, infrastructure and land ownership using a coastline forest to create a new social space that was also a buffer zone for dissipating future tsunamis.
Guatemalan architect Teddy Cruz has targeted the ‘Political Equator’ for study, looking at unprecedented migration across global borders, towards wealth, with cheap labour outsourced to the south. He focuses principally on the exchange across the Tijuana-San Diego frontier. Here, not only do people emigrate north, but as American suburbia becomes more bloated, discarded houses, ‘entire chunks of the city’, move south across the border. The slums of Tijuana have built themselves out of the waste of San Diego; prefab bungalows are mounted on steel stilts, freeing up space below to be filled with more housing or businesses, layering spaces and economies. This is plugging the ‘void’, like that created by Aravena, with more complex support systems. Cruz identifies, ‘the church, social rooms, collective kitchens and community gardens [as] the small infrastructure for housing. Dwellers are participants co-managing socio- economic programmes’.16

Cruz is special advisor on Urban and Public Initiatives for the City of San Diego, and is taking lessons from the Tijuana slums to apply in middle-class San Diego, in an ironic reverse migration. The premise is to redefine density as the number of social exchanges rather than objects per acre. ‘The best ideas for shaping the vast cities of the future will not come from enclaves of economic power and abundance but from areas of conflict and scarcity from where an urgent imagination can inspire us to rethink urban growth today.’17 

The overlapping programmatic complexities Cruz identifies as so valuable − housing, shops, kitchens, cafés, bars, workshops, a church − were all present in the 28 squatted floors of the Torre David. This community of 3,000 inhabitants colonised a skyscraper without lifts, motorbikes instead becoming the vertical transport. It is a unique typology that illustrates the creative intelligence of the ‘bottom up’: one that could hold clues for other dead inner-city speculative development. U-TT produced a meticulous study of the occupied building and the activities in it, through drawings, photographs, interviews and film, and working with environmental engineers, developed minimal interventions that would make the tower fully functional while keeping its ethos intact. They also speculate on how a network of models like this could interact with each other and the larger city as a whole. It is a utopian vision but, in the spirit of Yona Friedman whom they enlisted to advise, it is a realisable and convincing one. As the evictions continue, Brillembourg reflects, ‘the point was never to preserve what was destined to be a temporary and improvised reality. Rather … to learn from the site and community … alternative modes of urban development, which symbolise how cities are evolving in present times.’18 

U-TT uses the term ‘urban acupuncture’ to describe smaller, strategic interventions, and techniques for knitting together the formal and informal cities: removing stigma, for instance, by inserting little pieces of recognisable urban fabric to create public spaces in the barrios, so melting borders. This is design applied laterally to maximise the impact of minimal resources. They introduced cable cars for urban use, a surreal import from the ski slopes of Switzerland, that cut travel time between the slums and the city centre from one and a half hours to an average of 10 minutes, radically changing lives and making the work, social and cultural infrastructure of the city available to many for the first time. Their Vertical Gym in Santa Cruz (Venezuela) stacked multiple series of programmes on a small available footprint to create a safe recreation space used by thousands; the local crime rate fell by 30 per cent shortly after it was completed. Since then, a further two have opened and more are under way. Developing ‘prototypical’ designs and principles that can be reused is U-TT’s method of applying their core research.
Klumpner, a self-declared fan of the historian Eric Hobsbawm, believes in the pervasive history of cities, the absence of a ‘homogeneous past’ and how spaces are continually reinvented through reuse. In conversation, he pointed out how the urban strategies used in the global south are also relevant to 21st-century Zurich: Altstadt is an area of the city colonised by refugees, prostitutes, gypsies and artists with structural patterns and social behaviours not unlike those found in Latin America, and where design principles observed in the barrios could be imported to Europe to improve current conditions.19

But can this new approach be taught? Brillembourg outlined U-TT’s goal to produce a new ‘entrepreneurial architect’; a ‘hybrid of renaissance master and urban hustler’.20 The role has to bridge ‘ambassador, diplomat, spy, reporter and guerilla builder’, the academic challenge being, he says, ‘how to teach transgression’. Students are taught by economists and social scientists as well as architects, and navigate scenarios as quasi-developers, or are embedded in other institutions to start negotiating the territories that cross conventional architectural boundaries. U-TT has now collected a significant body of research in various forms: statistics, mappings and a vast film archive which is continually added to. The Latin American spirit with the resources of northern Europe Brillembourg personifies as a ‘Mexican wrestler in a Swiss flag’. Communication is critical, and film-making, new media, the internet and mobile phones are new architectural tools.
The practices mentioned here, observing and engaging with slums, neither romanticise nor fetishise poverty. They learn from it, ameliorate where possible, and reveal this knowledge through design with the aim of integration. The built projects have an integrity in common, and an aesthetic that emerges from stripping away the superfluous. Form arises from an economic and strategic as well as aesthetic logic, not unlike the tenets of early Modernism. The social agenda is back, with a new energy and sharpened by the brutality of late capitalism. There is no room for ‘insolence’ when the built outcome remains fluid, in a constant process of development and adaptation. The medium becomes a living thing rather than an inert object, so the means of engagement have to change. Speed becomes critical: the ability to move fast, to observe, process vast quantities of information, to identify, simplify and articulate problems and respond with both rationality and intuition − to rethink and re-form.

In this age of explosive urbanisation and little stability, it seems architects should be designing at the core of decision-making. That Zaha is under attack demonstrates that the public believes architects have more power than they actually do, and expects them to perform a larger social role: the role of the client is not under scrutiny, but should be. Ironically, in The End of Architecture, Zaha’s essay 21 is a thoughtful lament for responsibility in both teaching and practice, and the loss of architecture’s social conscience. In Brillembourg’s words, ‘if the 19th century gave birth to the horizontal city, and the 20th century … to the vertical city, then the 21st century must be for the diagonal city, one that cuts across social divisions’.22

‘Activism’ shouldn’t replace architecture, but can extend its influence. When the architect operates within the language of the discipline, not only through action, but through form, an outcome of cultural significance is possible. But the process of design may now need to start earlier with the ‘invention’ of the client. The power of architecture is the power of synthesis, and the ability to coordinate within cities that lack coordination. The extreme segregation of rich and poor, formal and informal, is dangerous and unsustainable. No one knows better how ideas should manifest through the built city than the engaged architect. This territory needs to be reclaimed, and must be where some of the ‘duty of the architect’ lies. The direction has never seemed clearer or more urgent: architecture as revolution.

References

1. Martin Filler, ‘The Insolence of Architecture’, New York Review of Books, 5 June issue, 2014.
2. James Riach, ‘Zaha Hadid Defends Qatar World Cup Role Following Migrant Worker Deaths’, The Guardian, Tuesday 25 February 2014.
3. Paul Goldberger, ‘Zaha is Still Wrong About Construction Worker Conditions’, Vanity Fair Online, 27 August 2014.
4. Alejandro Zaera-Polo, ‘The Politics of the Envelope’, Volume #17, Fall 2008.
5. Peter Noever (Editor), The End of Architecture?: Documents and Manifestos (Architecture & Design), Prestel, 1997.
6. Bernard Tschumi, ‘The Pleasure of Architecture’, Architectural Design 3, March 1977, p218.
7. Le Corbusier, Towards A New Architecture, Dover Edition, 1986, first pub J Rodker, 1931.
8. Hubert Klumpner and Alfredo Brillembourg in conversation, Zurich, August 2014.
9. The developer David Brillembourg was a second cousin of Alfredo Brillembourg’s: Alfredo was not involved in the the Tower development.
10. Alfredo Brillembourg, Hubert Klumpner and U-TT (editors), Torre David, Informal Vertical Communities, Lars Müller, 2013.
11. Justin McGuirk, speaking at the Serpentine Pavilion, 27 June 2014.
12. Justin McGuirk, Radical Cities: Across Latin America in Search of a New Architecture, Verso, 2014.
13. Architectural Design, August 1963, pp 375-6.
14. Architectural Design, April 1970, pp187-205.
15. Alejandro Aravena, lecture at the MIT, 9 April 2012.
16. Teddy Cruz, Estudio Teddy Cruz website.
17. Teddy Cruz, TED Talks, 5 February 2014. 18. Alfredo Brillembourg in conversation with the author, Zurich, August 2014.
19. Hubert Klumpner in conversation with the author, Zurich, August 2014.
20. Alfredo Brillembourg in conversation with the author, Zurich, August 2014.
21. Zaha Hadid, ‘Another Beginning’, The End of Architecture?, Prestel, 1997.
22. Justin McGuirk, Radical Cities: Across Latin America in Search of a New Architecture, Verso, 2014.