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Tuesday, November 3rd, 2015

    Time Event
    12:00a
    3Q: Thomas Levenson on the hunt for Vulcan, the missing planet

    Ever heard of the planet Vulcan? In the late 1800s, many scientists thought it was real: a hot planet near Mercury (thus named for the god of the forge), whose gravitational pull supposedly caused a wobble in Mercury’s orbit. But in 1915, Albert Einstein killed off this notion, as MIT’s Thomas Levenson recounts in his new book, “The Hunt for Vulcan,” published today by Random House. As Einstein’s calculations showed, Mercury’s orbit fit perfectly with his theory of general relativity, in which gravity merely follows the shape of spacetime — ending any apparent need to believe in Vulcan. MIT News sat down with Levenson, director of MIT’s Graduate Program in Science Writing, to talk about his book.

    Q. For how long did people believe in Vulcan, and why?

    A. Belief in Vulcan lasts from 1859 to 1915. But the story really starts in the 1680s, when Isaac Newton writes the “Principia,” the foundational text of the scientific revolution, and in it describes and works out the consequences of his laws of motion and the law of universal gravitation. Newton’s successors tried to apply that law with more and more sophistication to problems you actually see in nature.

    The great romantic triumph of Newtonian science was the discovery of the planet Neptune, in 1846. There were anomalies in the orbit of Uranus, which had been discovered in 1781. The French astronomer Urban Jean Joseph Le Verrier calculated and said those problems can be explained if there were another planet we haven’t found yet beyond the orbit of Uranus, whose gravitational tug is pulling on Uranus to create these anomalies. Within a couple of hours of looking for it, observational astronomers found Neptune, which was a very powerful emotional confirmation of Newton’s worldview.

    Le Verrier [then] found a tiny residue of a wobble on the arc of Mercury. So he followed exactly the same reasoning, for exactly the same reasons: There had to be another body, another mass, pulling on it to produce that anomaly. What followed was a cat-and-mouse game: Some people looked for Vulcan and couldn’t find it, while there were repeated reports of discovery by professionals and amateurs alike.

    Q. But then Albert Einstein quashed all this — by demonstrating that Mercury’s wobble fit his notion of general relativity, in which gravity represents the contours of spacetime. So is this book another way of examining how we got from classical physics to relativity, in a sense?

    A. Yes, Einstein comes along and because of a logical contradiction between his special theory of relativity and Newtonian gravitation, looks for a different way to think about gravity, and finds it in general relativity. And then uses Mercury’s orbit to test whether or not his theory is correct. Which it is.

    Very unusually for Einstein, when he got the right answer in his calculations, sitting at his desk … he was beside himself with joy, and couldn’t work for a couple of days. Einstein was not a person who was given to wild extremes of emotion. When he got the correct orbit for Mercury, for him that was tantamount to confirmation of general relativity.

    Q. What larger lessons about science do you take from this tale?

    A. There are two really interesting things to tell about this story. One is when you have a worldview that is so powerful and works so well, it conditions the way you see the world. There was absolutely every reason Vulcan should exist. It wasn’t a crazy idea at all. These people weren’t crazy. They were doing science the way you expect science to be done. But the internal emotional logic as well as mathematical logic led [some] astronomers to persuade themselves they’d seen something that wasn’t there. That’s just a straight-up cautionary tale.

    The other interesting thing is what happens when [some] people realized Vulcan wasn’t there. There’s the famous cliché that a single ugly fact can destroy the most beautiful theory. But so as long as Newtonian gravitation was the way to understand the universe, it was hard to understand what the absence of Vulcan meant. It wasn’t until Einstein came along with a theoretical construct that was in conflict with Newtonian gravitation that it became [clear]: The problem wasn’t the missing planet, the problem was thinking about space and time in the wrong way.

    One of the things I try to do in this book is say, we may know more than the past, but we’re not better at this than they were. They were working on a difficult idea, with difficult observations, at the limit of scientific knowledge of the time, and they got something wrong. But we are not immune to measurement error, and we’re certainly not immune to the capacity for human self-deception. Historians 100 years from now will laugh at us just as we laugh at our friends from 100 years ago.

    4:00p
    Donald Stidsen, exhibitions manager at MIT Museum, dies at 63

    Donald Stidsen, the longtime exhibitions manager at the MIT Museum, died last Wednesday, Oct. 28, while driving to work with his wife, Kate McHugh.

    "Don was valued for his expertise in lighting, color, framing, and in fabricating, building, hanging, and installing exhibitions," says John Durant, director of the MIT Museum. Along with others, Stidsen was honored with an Infinite Mile Award in 2011 for his role in mounting the museum’s exhibition to mark MIT’s 150th anniversary. His many colleagues and friends depended on him, however, not just for his vast artistic knowledge, but especially for his kindness, his humor, and his style, Durant says.

    “In many ways,” Durant adds, “Don Stidsen was the MIT Museum: He was the longest-serving staff member we’ve ever had; and he saw the museum through any number of changes and developments. He represented the artisanal, ‘get-the-job-done’ tradition of museum professionalism, and his wide-ranging skills served both his colleagues and the museum’s visitors extremely well over the greater part of the museum’s history to date.”

    Stidsen came to the MIT Museum as one of its earliest employees, in 1982, after working at the Erie Canal Museum in Syracuse, New York, and the Dickson Mounds Museum, a branch of the Illinois State Museum, in Lewistown, Illinois. He held a BFA from the University of Massachusetts at Dartmouth in visual design, and a master’s degree in public visual communications from Southern Illinois University, Carbondale.

    During his 33-year career at MIT, Stidsen either installed or supervised over 300 MIT Museum exhibitions and displays, many illuminating the work of renowned artists, engineers, and designers, as well MIT faculty and students. Whether framing works by Ansel Adams or Berenice Abbott or helping other departments at MIT — and on occasion, at Harvard University, Harvard Business School, and the Waterworks Museum in Chestnut Hill — to create or hang exhibitions, Stidsen provided an exceptional level of care, professionalism, and expertise.

    “He would spend hours studying photographs as he prepared to frame and hang them,” says Deborah Douglas, the museum’s director of collections. “He was simply the best lighting designer I have ever known, and likely will ever work with. With the flick of his wrist he could create a dramatic impact that I would never have thought about, much less thought possible.”

    “The Compton Gallery and the Kurtz Gallery for Photography were amongst his favorite museum spaces, and were showcases for his great skill at two-dimensional installations,” Gary Van Zante, the museum’s curator of architecture and design, says. 

    Stidsen also worked closely with kinetic artist Arthur Ganson, whose sculptures have long been on display at the MIT Museum, says Mary Leen, the museum’s associate director. “Additionally, Don was one of the few people in the country with expertise in the critical aspect of lighting holograms for viewing in a museum setting,” Leen says.

    “Creative, smart, dedicated, patient, and cool-headed in the chaos of an exhibition installation, he was a particular master of color and light,” Douglas adds, noting that Stidsen worked with dozens of aspiring young artists and exhibitions professionals over the years.

    Stidsen was a collaborator, and turned concepts into beautiful spaces where the public could reflect and enjoy learning. Lora Dunn-Hardy, who recently started working for Stidsen, says that he was, “a listener, a creator, a teacher, a mentor, an artist, and a friend.”

    Stidsen also raised the visibility of children’s work, managing the exhibitions of the annual children’s drawing contest at MIT Medical; displaying woodworking projects by local elementary students at the museum; and archiving thousands of pictures of robots drawn by young museum visitors.

    Ben Wiehe, manager of the Science Festival Alliance at the museum, says he found Stidsen to be eminently approachable when the two became colleagues a few years ago.

    “He was just this cool person — he worked late into the night with Celtic music on, and the lights low in his office,” Wiehe says. “Sometimes, if you walked by you would see him perched on his stool, the tools of his trade scattered about: levels with particular markings, rulers and pencils, books piled high — plants, posters, coffee cups, and family photographs everywhere. For that moment you just wanted to be him, intent on his work, surrounded by all that he loved.”

    “Don’s death has come as a tremendous shock to us all,” Durant says. “He will be sorely missed by both his colleagues and his many friends here at MIT.”

    In addition to his wife, Kate McHugh, of Andover, Stidsen is survived by twin daughters, Hannah and Lizzie Stidsen. He often said that his greatest accomplishment was a life-saving organ donation to his daughter in 2006. Following his daughter’s illness, Stidsen and his family became involved as annual volunteers at Camp Sunshine, a retreat for children with life-threatening diseases and their families in Casco, Maine. Gifts in Stidsen’s memory may be made to Camp Sunshine.

    A memorial service is scheduled for Saturday, Nov. 14, at 11:00 a.m. at the North Parish Unitarian Universalist Church, 190 Academy Road, North Andover, Massachusetts.  

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