einstein

misconceived. But Einstein never regretted his dedication to it. When a colleague asked him one day why he was spending—perhaps squandering
—his time in this lonely endeavor, he replied that even if the chance of finding a unified theory was small, the attempt was worthy. He had already
made his name, he noted. His position was secure, and he could afford to take the risk and expend the time. A younger theorist, however, could not
take such a risk, for he might thus sacrifice a promising career. So, Einstein said, it was his duty to do it. 21
Einstein’s repeated failures in seeking a unified theory did not soften his skepticism about quantum mechanics. Niels Bohr, his frequent sparring
partner, came to the Institute for a stay in 1948 and spent part of his time writing an essay on their debates at the Solvay Conferences before the
war. 22 Struggling with the article in his office one floor above Einstein’s, he developed writer’s block and called in Abraham Pais to help him. As
Bohr paced furiously around an oblong table, Pais coaxed him and took notes.
When he got frustrated, Bohr sometimes would simply sputter the same word over and over. Soon he was doing so with Einstein’s name. He
walked to the window and kept muttering, over and over, “Einstein . . . Einstein . . .”
At one such moment, Einstein softly opened the door, tiptoed in, and signaled to Pais not to say anything. He had come to steal a bit of tobacco,
which his doctor had ordered him not to buy. Bohr kept muttering, finally spurting out one last loud “Einstein” and then turning around to find himself
staring at the cause of his anxieties. “It is an understatement to say that for a moment Bohr was speechless,” Pais recalled. Then, after an instant,
they all burst into laughter. 23
Another colleague who tried and failed to convert Einstein was John Wheeler, Princeton University’s renowned theoretical physicist. One
afternoon he came by Mercer Street to explain a new approach to quantum theory (known as the sum-over-histories approach) that he was
developing with his graduate student, Richard Feynman. “I had gone to Einstein with the hope to persuade him of the naturalness of the quantum
theory when seen in this new light,” Wheeler recalled. Einstein listened patiently for twenty minutes, but when it was over repeated his very familiar
refrain: “I still cannot believe that the good Lord plays dice.”
Wheeler showed his disappointment, and Einstein softened his pronouncement slightly. “Of course, I may be wrong,” he said in a slow and
humorous cadence. Pause. “But perhaps I have earned the right to make my mistakes.” Einstein later confided to a woman friend, “I don’t think I’ll
live to find out who is correct.”
Wheeler kept coming back, sometimes bringing his students, and Einstein admitted that he found many of his arguments “sensible.” But he was
never converted. Near the end of his life, Einstein regaled a small group of Wheeler’s students. When the talk turned to quantum mechanics, he
once again tried to poke holes in the idea that our observations can affect and determine realities. “When a mouse observes,” Einstein asked
them, “does that change the state of the universe?” 24
The Lion in Winter
Mileva Mari , her health deteriorating due to a succession of minor strokes, was still living in Zurich and trying to take care of their institutionalized
son, Eduard, whose behavior had become increasingly erratic and violent. Financial problems again plagued her and revived the tension with her
former husband. The portion of the money that he had put into trust for her in America from the Nobel Prize had slipped away during the
Depression, and two of her three apartment houses had been sold to help pay for Eduard’s care. By late 1946, Einstein was pushing to sell the
remaining house and give control of the money to a legal guardian who would be appointed for Eduard. But Mari had the usufruct of the house and
its proceeds, as well as power of attorney over it, and she was terrified of surrendering any control. 25
One cold day later that winter, she slipped on the ice on the way to see Eduard and ended up lying unconscious until strangers found her. She
knew she was going to die soon, and she had recurring nightmares about struggling through the snow, unable to reach Eduard. She was panicked
about what would happen to him, and wrote heart-wrenching letters to Hans Albert. 26
Einstein succeeded in selling her house by early 1948, but with her power of attorney she blocked the proceeds from being sent to him. He wrote
to Hans Albert, giving him all the details and promising him that, whatever happened, he would take care of Eduard “even if it costs me all my
savings.” 27 That May, Mari had a stroke and lapsed into a trance in which she repeatedly muttered only “No, no!” until she died three months later.
The money from the sale of her apartment, 85,000 Swiss francs, was found under her mattress.
Eduard lapsed into a daze and never spoke of his mother again. Carl Seelig, a friend of Einstein’s who lived nearby, visited him frequently and
sent back regular reports to Einstein. Seelig hoped to get him to make contact with his son, but he never did. “There is something blocking me that I
am unable to analyze fully,” Einstein told Seelig. “I believe I would be arousing painful feelings of various kinds in him if I made an appearance in
whatever form.” 28
Einstein’s own health began to decline in 1948 as well. For years he had been plagued by stomach ailments and anemia, and late that year, after
an attack of sharp pains and vomiting, he checked into the Jewish Hospital in Brooklyn. Exploratory surgery revealed an aneurysm in the abdominal
aorta,* but doctors decided there was not much they could do about it. It was assumed, correctly, that it was likely to kill him one day, but in the
meantime he could live on borrowed time and a healthy diet. 29
To recuperate, he went on the longest trip he would make during his twenty-two years as a Princeton resident: down to Sarasota, Florida. For
once, he successfully avoided publicity. “Einstein Elusive Sarasota Visitor,” the local paper lamented.
Helen Dukas accompanied him. After Elsa’s death, she had become even more of a loyal guardian, and she even shielded Einstein from letters
written by Hans Albert’s daughter, Evelyn. Hans Albert suspected that Dukas may have had an affair with his father, and said so to others. “On many
occasions, Hans Albert told me of his long-held suspicion,” family friend Peter Bucky later recalled. But others who knew Dukas found the
suggestion to be implausible. 30
By then, Einstein had become much friendlier with his son, now a respected engineering professor at Berkeley. “Whenever we met,” Hans Albert
later recalled of his trips east to see his father, “we mutually reported on all the interesting developments in our field and in our work.” Einstein
particularly loved learning about new inventions and solutions to puzzles. “Maybe both, inventions and puzzles, reminded him of the happy, carefree,
and successful days at the patent office in Bern,” said Hans Albert. 31
Einstein’s beloved sister, Maja, the closest intimate of his life, was also in declining health. She had come to Princeton when Mussolini enacted
anti-Jewish laws, but her husband, Paul Winteler, from whom she had been drifting apart for many years, 32 moved to Switzerland to be with his own
sister and her husband, Michele Besso. They corresponded often, but never rejoined one another.
Maja began, as Elsa had, to look more like Einstein, with radiating silver hair and a devilish smile. The inflection of her voice and the slightly
skeptical wry tone she used when asking questions were similar to his. Although she was a vegetarian, she loved hot dogs, so Einstein decreed
that they were a vegetable, and that satisfied her. 33
Maja had suffered a stroke and, by 1948, was confined to bed most of the time. Einstein doted on her as he did no other person. Every evening