been extremely insulting. They intended to press their case in public.
They would embarrass Einstein in one of two ways: either by extracting a suitable
apology or showing that his failure to acknowledge his error proved he lacked the
breeding and nobility of the true German scientist.
What Einstein did next threw Lenard’s plans into disarray. On September 25, just
a day after the session at Bad Nauheim, he issued an apology, of sorts, in the Berliner Tageblatt , the same despised “Jew paper” in which he had published his notorious “My Response.”
The apology was by proxy, authored by Max Planck and Franz Himstedt, a well-known
physicist from the University of Freiburg. Briefly, Planck recounted the conditions
leading up to the stresses Einstein had experienced at the Philharmonic. A misunderstanding
caused by Weyland’s remarks had led Einstein to lash out at Lenard, whom he erroneously
believed to have been involved. The brief article continued, “Through the occasion
of the recent meeting of sciences in Bad Nauheim, we have found that Mr. Lenard was
put on the list of speakers [at the Philharmonic] without his will. Due to this fact,
Mr. Einstein has authorized us to express his active regret that he directed his accusations
in his article against his highly valued colleague, Mr. Lenard.”
Far from satisfying Lenard, the brief statement issued not by Einstein, himself,
but by others on his behalf, only inflamed his resentment. The business with Einstein
wasn’t over. He would bide his time. There would be other opportunities.
As it turned out, Einstein would provide some of the fodder for Lenard’s further
attacks on his character. Two years earlier, in 1918, Einstein had suffered liver
disease, manifested as gallstones and jaundice. A general deterioration of his health
kept him bedridden for several months. Among his many visitors during his recovery
was the well-known author and satirist, Alexander Moszkowski. Moszkowski convinced
Einstein to collaborate with him in writing a book explaining his theory of relativity
in simple language for a lay audience. Moszkowski was completing the finishing touches
on Conversations with Einstein at the same time as Lenard and his minions were unleashing their barrage of criticism
over Einstein’s self-promotion in the lay press.
At the insistent urging of his friends—among them, physicist Max Born and his playwright
wife, Hedwig—Einstein considered the repercussions of his collaboration in publishing
the book. The Borns worried that the widespread popular exposure the book might receive
would give credence to Einstein’s critics’ claims that he much too often tooted his
own horn. As the Borns were Jewish, they may also have worried on their own behalf
that publication of the Moszkowski book might further arouse already rampant anti-Jewish
sentiments.
In October 1920, Hedi Born wrote to Einstein,
You must withdraw the permission given to Moszkowski to publish the book Conversations
with Einstein, and to be precise, immediately and by registered mail. Nor should it
be allowed to appear abroad either. . . . That man doesn’t have the slightest inkling
about the essence of your character. . . . If he understood, or even had a glimmer
of respect and love for you, he would neither have written this book nor wrung this
permission out of your good nature. [If you allow this book to be published], you
will be quoted everywhere, your own jokes will be smirkingly flung back at you . .
. couplets will be written, an entirely new, awful smear campaign will be let loose,
not just in Germany, no, everywhere, and your revulsion of it will choke you. . .
. If I did not know you, I would definitely believe it was vanity. For everyone, except
for about four or five of your friends, this book would constitute your moral death
sentence.
Persuaded that publication of Conversations with Einstein
They would embarrass Einstein in one of two ways: either by extracting a suitable
apology or showing that his failure to acknowledge his error proved he lacked the
breeding and nobility of the true German scientist.
What Einstein did next threw Lenard’s plans into disarray. On September 25, just
a day after the session at Bad Nauheim, he issued an apology, of sorts, in the Berliner Tageblatt , the same despised “Jew paper” in which he had published his notorious “My Response.”
The apology was by proxy, authored by Max Planck and Franz Himstedt, a well-known
physicist from the University of Freiburg. Briefly, Planck recounted the conditions
leading up to the stresses Einstein had experienced at the Philharmonic. A misunderstanding
caused by Weyland’s remarks had led Einstein to lash out at Lenard, whom he erroneously
believed to have been involved. The brief article continued, “Through the occasion
of the recent meeting of sciences in Bad Nauheim, we have found that Mr. Lenard was
put on the list of speakers [at the Philharmonic] without his will. Due to this fact,
Mr. Einstein has authorized us to express his active regret that he directed his accusations
in his article against his highly valued colleague, Mr. Lenard.”
Far from satisfying Lenard, the brief statement issued not by Einstein, himself,
but by others on his behalf, only inflamed his resentment. The business with Einstein
wasn’t over. He would bide his time. There would be other opportunities.
As it turned out, Einstein would provide some of the fodder for Lenard’s further
attacks on his character. Two years earlier, in 1918, Einstein had suffered liver
disease, manifested as gallstones and jaundice. A general deterioration of his health
kept him bedridden for several months. Among his many visitors during his recovery
was the well-known author and satirist, Alexander Moszkowski. Moszkowski convinced
Einstein to collaborate with him in writing a book explaining his theory of relativity
in simple language for a lay audience. Moszkowski was completing the finishing touches
on Conversations with Einstein at the same time as Lenard and his minions were unleashing their barrage of criticism
over Einstein’s self-promotion in the lay press.
At the insistent urging of his friends—among them, physicist Max Born and his playwright
wife, Hedwig—Einstein considered the repercussions of his collaboration in publishing
the book. The Borns worried that the widespread popular exposure the book might receive
would give credence to Einstein’s critics’ claims that he much too often tooted his
own horn. As the Borns were Jewish, they may also have worried on their own behalf
that publication of the Moszkowski book might further arouse already rampant anti-Jewish
sentiments.
In October 1920, Hedi Born wrote to Einstein,
You must withdraw the permission given to Moszkowski to publish the book Conversations
with Einstein, and to be precise, immediately and by registered mail. Nor should it
be allowed to appear abroad either. . . . That man doesn’t have the slightest inkling
about the essence of your character. . . . If he understood, or even had a glimmer
of respect and love for you, he would neither have written this book nor wrung this
permission out of your good nature. [If you allow this book to be published], you
will be quoted everywhere, your own jokes will be smirkingly flung back at you . .
. couplets will be written, an entirely new, awful smear campaign will be let loose,
not just in Germany, no, everywhere, and your revulsion of it will choke you. . .
. If I did not know you, I would definitely believe it was vanity. For everyone, except
for about four or five of your friends, this book would constitute your moral death
sentence.
Persuaded that publication of Conversations with Einstein
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