


| The Elasticity of Time
By Daniel Siegel
In December of 1923 a pierce of doggerel appeared in Punch, poking fun at Albert Einstein's newly famous theory of relativity:
There once was a lady named Bright,The piece was unsigned, but years later A.H. Reginald Buller stepped forward to claim authorship. He was a fellow of the Royal Society of Canada and came from a different field of science: he was editor of the seven-volume Researches in Fungi.
In the early years, experimental support for relativity theory was meager: full vindication of Albert Einstein's ideas was still to come. Relativity theory had drawn startling conclusions concerning the four most basic physical quantities-length, time, mass, and energy. In the course of the century, these results would receive direct and very striking experimental confirmation. The relativistic effects also became the basis for new technologies, such as Global Positioning Systems (GPS), whose continued functioning would verify these effects every day and every passing hour.
The disruption of time was the most fundamental conclusion. Both in Einstein's technical paper of 1905 and in Relativity Clear and Simple, the relativity of simultaneity formed the basis for all subsequent discussion. In particular, Einstein showed that moving clocks as compared with stationary clocks would run slow as a result of their motion.
As Einstein was philosophically committed to the idea that time was nothing more nor less than what you could measure with standardized clocks, he necessarily concluded that time itself passed more slowly in a moving frame of reference and the faster the motion of the reference frame, the slower the passage of time. Background, collage on the relativity of time; inset, Einstein's written notes on the theory of relativity; left, Einstein in 1905, the year his theory was published. This was called time dilation: time slows down, stretches out, dilates, in a moving reference frame. This was the most revolutionary conclusion of relativity theory. It was also, for a period of more than thirty years, completely unsupported by any direct experimental evidence.
Critics of relativity theory, of course, jumped on Einstein: Wasn't it ridiculous to make the claim--on the basis of no direct evidence whatsoever--that time itself could slow down? And wouldn't various paradoxes and absurdities result from this kind of elasticity of time? Would an astronaut who traveled in a rocket ship at high velocity age less than his twin who stayed at home? If time could slow down as a result of motion at high speed, would time reverse if one went fast enough?
Discussion of time dilation left the realm of the fanciful when it became possible to verify this effect in a direct manner.
This first occurred in 1941, when time dilation was detected in experiments on cosmic rays. The earth is continually bombarded by atomic particles from outer space. These swiftly moving particles are the "primary" cosmic rays. When the particles reach the top of the atmosphere, they collide with atomic nuclei. Subatomic debris is produced, constituting the "secondary" cosmic rays, which then travel downward toward the surface of the earth. In particular, particles called muons are produced in the upper atmosphere and move downward toward the surface.
Muons are highly unstable particles, having an average lifetime of about a millionth of a second. Given the short lifetimes of the muons and the long distances they have to travel to get down to the surface of the earth, one can calculate that, given the velocities at which they travel, very few of them should actually make it down to sea level. However, large numbers can be detected- many more than expected. It appears that, somehow, the moving muons have longer lifetimes than expected, so that they can travel longer distances than expected. This is exactly what would be expected on the basis of time dilation. The muons are traveling at velocities comparable to the velocity of light, and their internal "clocks" should slow down as a result--in accordance with Einstein's prediction--so that many more are able to reach the surface of the earth than would be otherwise expected. Precise experiments on muons gave results exactly in accord with Einstein's equation for time dilation, verifying the effect quite convincingly.
In the years after World War II, experiments on unstable elementary particles such as muons were carried out by using high-voltage particle accelerators to produce beams of the particles. The time dilation equation was again verified to high precision, and the experimental technologies used in particle physics have come to rely on time dilation for their successful day-to-day operation.
For those who are not particle physicists, verification of time dilation has become possible with the development of a device known as an atomic clock, which can measure time intervals to a precision of one part in a trillion.
Consider flying in an airplane at five hundred miles per hour. This produces minimal time dilation, and air travelers have not noticed their watches running slow as a result of this effect. Calculations on the basis of Einstein's equation for the time dilation, however, show that the expected effort is a slowing down by about one part in a trillion, which should be measurable by an atomic clock.
In 1971, a team of scientists who were experts in the use of atomic clocks set out to detect and measure time dilation and other relativistic effects. The research team was able to devise a cheap and effective plan, which received some support from the Office of Naval Research. We are told that the researchers purchased three around-the-world tickets on regularly scheduled commercial airliners-two tickets for the accompanying scientists and one for an array of four atomic clocks. The clock array had its own seat; it sat, belted in for safety, between its two caretakers. Before leaving on the trip, the clocks were synchronized with a master clock at the U.S. Naval Observatory. The four clocks then went around the world, following which they were compared again with their counterpart, which had stayed behind at the Naval Observatory. After correcting for the rotation of the earth and the variation of the force of gravity with altitude, it was found that the clocks that had been in motion in their journey around the earth had in fact slowed as compared with the clock at the Naval Observatory, and by exactly the amount predicted by the theory of relativity. The result was further confirmed in a second around-the-world flight in the opposite direction.
The effect of this exercise on the scientific community was more to demonstrate the capabilities of atomic clocks than to make any substantive change in the way scientists regarded the theory of relativity, but the result was nevertheless satisfying: it was the most direct possible realization of Einstein's thinking about measuring time with real, physical, standard clocks. The clocks had behaved exactly as Einstein had predicted they would.
These days, when atomic clocks are transported by air from Washington, D.C., to Boulder, Colorado, as part of the regular maintenance of the United States time standard, corrections are made for the time dilation based on a log of the flight with records of ground speed and elapsed time. Similarly, in the satellitebased GPS that represents the current state of the art in navigation, corrections are made for the effect of time dilation on the atomic clocks orbiting in satellites whose time signals form the basis for the system.
If time dilation were somehow turned off, not only would particle physics experiments shut down, but the most advanced navigational systems for both military and civilian needs would fail to operate. Aircraft and missiles, ships and submarines, trucks and trains, and hikers and hunters with their consumer-market GPS systems would literally lose their bearings. In the new millennium both science and technology have come to depend at every passing moment on the particulars of the behavior of time as specified in the theory of relativity.
Daniel Siegel is emeritus professor of history of science at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. This article is adapted from an edition he is preparing with $40,922 in support from NEH--to be entitledRelatively Clear and Simple--of Einstein's book-length popularization of relativity theory.
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| The Art of Rice |
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By Cynthia Barnes
In Java they call her Dewi Sri. In Bengal, she is the Hindu goddess Annapurna, and in Japan, one out of four shrines is dedicated to her. Rituals honoring the “Rice Mother,” the goddess of the sacred grain, are prevalent throughout Asia. For centuries, rice has been more than a diet staple: it is a symbol of spirituality.
From Java to Japan, the cultivation of rice is viewed as reflecting the cycle of human life and the actions of the gods. UCLA’s Fowler Museum of Cultural History has mounted an exhibition to celebrate the importance of the grain, and to record the ancient customs before they are eroded from the modern world. “The Art of Rice: Spirit and Sustenance in Asia,” opening October 5, brings together an international team of scholars, museums, universities, and artists to examine the role rice has played in the Pacific Rim for more than five thousand years.
Each day, more than three billion of the earth’s inhabitants seek their primary nutrition from rice’s 120,000 varieties. “Intellectually, a meal is conceived of as rice. To not eat rice is to not eat.” says Roy Hamilton, the Fowler’s curator of Asian and Pacific art. He first became aware of the central role rice plays in the region in 1970, while volunteering in Indonesia through Stanford University.
Hamilton has observed similar beliefs throughout the Pacific Rim. “In reality, it is most of what people eat in the poorer countries. But in wealthier nations like Japan, where there is much more nutritional variety, on a cultural level they maintain this ideal. I thought it would be interesting to take a pan-Asian look at this culture.”
The exhibition charts rice’s reign throughout the portion of Asia where rice-focused cultures exist. “Iran, for example, produces and consumes rice, but there’s not this idea of a sacred connection between people and plant,” says Hamilton. “We focused on the ‘rice belt,’ roughly from India through Southeast Asia to China and on to Korea and Japan.”
Three hundred and five objects from thirteen countries will be displayed in Los Angeles before embarking on a three-city tour. The exhibition includes two works of art commissioned particularly for the Fowler. A publication of twenty-seven essays by authors from the United States, India, Vietnam, Japan, Thailand, Philippines, Indonesia, Korea, France, and the Netherlands, an educational website, and a series of twenty-five public outreach programs round out the project.
The aim of “The Art of Rice” is to expose audiences to the vast and interrelated historical cultures of rice in Asia, as well as to document the ancient rituals and customs being swept away by agricultural modernity and increasing globalism.
Aurora Ammayao, a folklorist and project consultant, remembers the rice deities of her childhood. She is Ifugao, one of the peoples of the mountainous north of the Philippines. During rice rites, her father, a mumbaki or priest, used to chant the “Myth of the Origin of Rice,” a huuwa, or folk epic.
They pour the wine andAs an adolescent, Ammayao turned away from the rice rituals, viewing them as an excuse for the village men to get drunk on rice wine while the women and girls harvested the crop under the hot sun. “Much of it would end up as more wine to drink!” she writes. “I saw no merit or purpose in preserving such traditions.”
But forty years later, Ammayao has changed her mind. She has seen many Ifugao convert to Christianity and renounce their traditional ways, and has witnessed her father become “born again” and abandon the rice rituals. Ammayao is now trying to preserve the old ways by conducting interviews in Ifugao with members of the community where she was born, and videotaping the rituals that are still observed.
Traditionally, twelve rice rites are performed during the year to mark the phases of cultivating the Ifugao rice terraces. The terraces, which may reach an altitude of five thousand feet, employ irrigation methods that defy gravity, bringing water from distant streams and following the curvature of the terrain—a forerunner of contour farming. In 1995 UNESCO designated the terraces as a world heritage site; and in 2001, added them to the list of endangered sites on the basis of their neglect, irregular development, and erosion.
Although each society has its own beliefs and values, many common threads weave together this culture of rice. Hamilton notes the collective tenet that rice is a sacred food, divinely given, and integrally linked to human life. But the veneration of rice extends beyond its divine origins: across Asia it is said that, figuratively, human bodies and souls are made of rice, which is why rice is the only food for proper human nourishment.
In animist belief systems many objects may be thought to hold spirits, but only rice has a spirit comparable to humans. With its seasons of birth, death and rebirth, the plant’s life cycle is aligned with that of humanity. Rice becomes pregnant, gives birth, and dies. Therefore, the fertility of the crop is allied with the fertility of females. Because of this, rice is seen as female in gender.
Explicit fertility rituals and symbols are recurring motifs throughout the rice belt. In the Issan region of Thailand, village monks fire off decorated rockets to “pierce” the sky and bring the monsoon rains, which will revitalize the parched fields. In the Lao Ghost Festivals of northeast Thailand, male and female papier-mâché figures are paraded with other symbols of fecundity. Elaborate masks are a hallmark of these festivals. Ghost masks were originally made from a type of basket, called huad, which is used for steaming glutinous rice. Today the huad forms only the top, and a piece of a coconut frond stem is added to form the face. A robe, belted with cowbells, a water gourd, and a phallic-shaped sword complete out the costume. Boys join the parade at the age of puberty, when they are considered old enough to make their own masks.
From its first cultivation in the middle Yangtze River Valley some eight thousand years ago through much of the twentieth century, the cyclical work of producing the grains has been seen as the natural order of human activity. Rituals surround every aspect of the food, from the moment the seed is placed into the earth to the time the hulled grains are served at the table. Just as “to eat” translates as “to eat rice,” “to live” means “to plant, nurture, and harvest rice.”
The traditional Balinese calendar was arranged in years consisting of two hundred and ten days, the period of time of the agricultural cycle of the locally produced rice variety. One of these calendars, made of wood, is displayed in the exhibition. It is decorated with carved motifs of the Hindu deities Vasuki and Anantabhoga. A pointer is used for marking days on the grid, and religious and agricultural symbols are formed in beads, holes, and carved markings.
Today, sweeping changes in agriculture have occurred, under the rubric of the “Green Revolution.” In the 1960s, new varieties of high-yield crops, coupled with chemicals, dramatically increased agricultural production on farms around the globe. In the Japanese village of Toge, torches in the form giant insects fashioned from straw and grass are traditionally burned on New Year’s Eve. Before the harvest in Tamilnadu, rice stalks are braided into garlands and hung outside, symbolically sharing the first yield with birds and small animals. Bamboo noisemakers operated by cords allowed one farmer to ward off birds from several fields at once. Although some of these rituals are still observed, modern pesticides now take center stage. Where the pregnant Dewi Sri was once powdered and offered oranges in the fields, today chemical fertilizer is applied.
“In Java, the harvest was traditionally open to anyone who showed up to help,” says Hamilton. “They could earn a portion of the crop. This was an important safety net for poor women.” Modern labor practices now involve the hiring of men who are paid cash for their efforts. “It has helped some segments of society,” he says. “But others have paid the price for progress.” The heavy application of chemical fertilizers and insecticides in some cases poses a serious risk to water supplies and wildlife.
In East Java, Kik Soleh Adi Promono uses his shadow puppet performances to illustrate the political as well as agricultural threat of the Green Revolution. He is a dhalang, or puppet master, who acts as social critic, philosopher, and shaman in addition to providing entertainment. “The Art of Rice” exhibition contains an elaborate pair of puppets specially commissioned from Soleh. They accompany a film of a Javanese shadow puppet performance of the Dewi Sri story, which reminds audiences to be aware of the spiritual and cultural heritage of their villages.
“In the past . . . natural remedies were adequate,” says Soleh. “Then in the 1970s, there were instructions to pull out all the indigenous Javanese varieties, to change from varieties that matured in four and a half months to those that matured in three and a half.” Since maintenance of special ancestral genetic strains is commonly held to be a primary link between living humans and their ancestors, this eradication further weakens cultural ties.
In addition to protecting the harvest, granaries are seen as housing the ancestral spirits of rice and, indirectly, people. Granaries are often built to resemble small houses, and ceremonial objects are placed in the granary to accompany the rice. A number of these objects are on display in the Fowler exhibition. Balinese Grandmother Rice figures are made by the senior woman of a household. These figures watch over the harvest until they are ceremonially installed in the granary, allowing the ancestral spirits of the rice to live on until the next planting cycle.
This, too, has changed. “In the end, they can’t even bring their harvest home,” says Soleh. “It is taken directly from the field to the co-op. And then what? The earth needs to rest, but there is no time anymore.”
Cynthia Barnes is a writer in Columbia, Missouri.
The UCLA Fowler Museum of Cultural History has received $250,702 in NEH support for the exhibition, which is on display from October 5 through April 2004 in Los Angeles.
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Duk Koo Kim (1959-1982). He gave his life to provide some entertainment on a dull Saturday afternoon in November.Nothing more clearly shows the gulf between classical and modern values than the contrast between this sportswriter's reaction to Kim's death and an epitaph recently discovered at Olympia for a young boxer who met the same fate about eighteen hundred years ago:
Agathos Daimon, nicknamed 'the Camel' from Alexandria, a victor at Nemea. He died here, boxing in the stadium, having prayed to Zeus for victory or death. Age 35. Farewell.The epitaph celebrates his demise with the phrase "victory or death," which is a point of honor recorded on the tombs of Greek soldiers. The Camel's sentiments were as common in antiquity as condemnations of the hazards of prizefighting are today; as an orator of that era noted, "You know that the Olympic crown is olive, yet many have honored it above life."
. . . They shout and jump out of their seats and wave their hands and garments. Some spring into the air, others in ecstasy wrestle the man nearby. . . . Though it is indeed a great thing that he already won twice at Olympia, what has just now happened is greater: he has won at the cost of his life and goes to the land of the Blessed with the very dust of the struggle.Another account tells how Arrichion had been on the point of giving up when his trainer made him actually desire death by shouting, "What a noble epitaph, not to have conceded at Olympia!" The death-scorning perseverance of athletes in combat sport became a byword. Philo the Jewish philosopher wrote, "I know wrestlers and pankratiasts often persevere out of love for honor and zeal for victory to the point of death, when their bodies are giving up and they keep drawing breath and struggling on spirit alone, a spirit which they have accustomed to reject fear scornfully. . . . Among those competitors, death for the sake of an olive or celery crown is glorious."