ON 20 January 1921 the editor of a German magazine dealing with modern art wrote to Einstein in Berlin saying that he himself was convinced that there was a close connection between the artistic developments and the scientific results belonging to a given epoch. He asked Einstein to write a few paragraphs on the subject for publication in his magazine. On 27 January 1921 Einstein replied in these words:

Although I am aware that I have nothing original, let alone worthy of publication, to say on the theme you mention, I send you the enclosed aphoristic utterance to demonstrate my good will. If my ink had been less viscid, I would have done justice to the wish expressed in your friendly letter by sending a more sumptuous opus.

The “aphoristic utterance,” which was published in the magazine, went as follows:

What Artistic and Scientific Experience Have in Common

Where the world ceases to be the scene of our personal hopes and wishes, where we face it as free beings admiring, asking, and observing, there we enter the realm of Art and Science. If what is seen and experienced is portrayed in the language of logic, we are engaged in science. If it is communicated through forms whose connections are not accessible to the conscious mind but are recognized intuitively as meaningful, then we are engaged in art. Common to both is the loving devotion to that which transcends personal concerns and volition.

An afterword: When the Nazis came to power, the editor, who was not a Jew, tried to flee Germany. On being stopped at the border, he killed himself.

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The following two aphorisms were jotted down by Einstein in Huntington, N.Y., in 1937. While almost certainly not inspired by the preceding item, they are not unrelated to it:

Body and soul are not two different things, but only two different ways of perceiving the same thing. Similarly, physics and psychology are only different attempts to link our experiences together by way of systematic thought.

Politics is a pendulum whose swings between anarchy and tyranny are fueled by perennially rejuvenated illusions.

The following aphorism, in English, was attributed to Einstein by a South American writer who used it as a motto at the head of his letter. Since it faithfully echoes frequent conversational remarks made by Einstein, it may be accepted as genuine. Only the English version was given by the writer:

Nationalism is an infantile sickness. It is the measles of the human race.

On 17 July 1953 a woman who was a licensed Baptist pastor sent Einstein in Princeton a warmly appreciative evangelical letter. Quoting several passages from the scriptures, she asked him whether he had considered the relationship of his immortal soul to its Creator, and asked whether he felt assurance of everlasting life with God after death. It is not known whether a reply was sent, but the letter is in the Einstein Archives, and on it, in Einstein’s handwriting, is the following sentence, written in English:

I do not believe in immortality of the individual, and I consider ethics to be an exclusively human concern with no superhuman authority behind it.

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In 1954 or 1955 Einstein received a letter citing a statement of his and a seemingly contradictory statement by a noted evolutionist concerning the place of intelligence in the Universe. Here is a translation of the German draft of a reply. It is not known whether a reply was actually sent:

The misunderstanding here is due to a faulty translation of a German text, in particular the use of the word “mystical.” I have never imputed to Nature a purpose or a goal, or anything that could be understood as anthropomorphic.

What I see in Nature is a magnificent structure that we can comprehend only very imperfectly, and that must fill a thinking person with a feeling of “humility.” This is a genuinely religious feeling that has nothing to do with mysticism.

In Berlin in February 1921 Einstein received from a woman in Vienna a letter imploring him to tell her if he had formed an opinion as to whether the soul exists and with it personal, individual development after death. There were other questions of a similar sort. On 5 February 1921 Einstein answered at some length. Here in part is what he said:

The mystical trend of our time, which shows itself particularly in the rampant growth of the so-called Theosophy and Spiritualism, is for me no more than a symptom of weakness and confusion.

Since our inner experiences consist of reproductions and combinations of sensory impressions, the concept of a soul without a body seems to me to be empty and devoid of meaning.

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An official of a subsidiary of the American publishing house McGraw-Hill was due to address an annual conference of the American Library Association. On 1 April 1948 he wrote to Einstein for help, saying that librarians and publishers alike had become alarmed at a widespread decline in interest in books on science for the layman. He asked Einstein to express an opinion as to the reasons for the decline, and mentioned that a similar letter had been sent to other outstanding scientists and science writers. Einstein, who had long held strong views about the popularization of science, lost no time in replying. On 3 April he sent the following in English:

The situation, in my opinion, is as follows:

Most books about science that are said to be written for the layman seek more to impress the reader (“awe-inspiring!” “how far we have progressed!” etc.), than to explain to him clearly and lucidly the elementary aims and methods. After an intelligent layman has tried to read a couple of such books he becomes completely discouraged. His conclusion is: I am too feebleminded and had better give up. In addition, the entire description is done mostly in a sensational manner which also repulses a sensible layman.

In one word: Not the readers are at fault but the authors and the publishers. My proposition is: no “popular” book on science should be published before it is established that it can be understood and appreciated by an intelligent and judicious layman.

The above letter seems not to have been published before. There may be some point in quoting here the start of a letter that Einstein sent in English to Popular Science Monthly on 28 January 1952. It was published in that journal. The editor had had a letter from an awe-struck reader asking about work of Einstein’s concerning which Einstein had said, according to the reader, that it would “solve the secrets of the universe.” The editor asked Einstein to answer the reader’s questions, which he did in simple, undramatic terms. But he could not resist making the following remarks at the start of his letter:

It is not my fault that laymen obtain an exaggerated impression of the significance of my efforts. Rather, this is due to writers of popular science and in particular to newspaper correspondents who present everything as sensationally as possible.

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Here are two items that we present as a pair. Inevitably, Einstein received an enormous number of letters from people who believed that they had an idea of major scientific importance. Sometimes his patience ran out. This is a case in point. On 7 July 1952 a letter was written to him by an artist in New York City. On 10 July 1952 Einstein sent the following reply in English from Princeton:

Thank you for your letter of July 7th. You seem to be a living container of all the empty expressions in vogue among the intellectuals of this country. If I would be a dictator I would forbid the use of all these unfortunate inanities.

On 22 March 1954 a self-made man sent Einstein in Princeton a long handwritten letter—four closely packed pages in English. The correspondent despaired that there were so few people like Einstein who had the courage to speak out, and he wondered if it would not be best to return the world to the animals. Saying “I presume you would like to know who I am,” he went on to tell in detail how he had come from Italy to the United States at the age of nine, arriving in bitter cold weather, as a result of which his sisters died while he barely survived; how after six months of schooling he went to work at age ten; how at age seventeen he went to Evening School; and so on, so that now he had a regular job as an experimental machinist, had a spare-time business of his own, and had some patents to his credit. He declared himself an atheist. He said that real education came from reading books. He cited an article about Einstein’s religious beliefs and expressed doubts as to the article’s accuracy. He was irreverent about various aspects of formal religion, speaking about the millions of people who prayed to God in many languages, and remarking that God must have an enormous clerical staff to keep track of all their sins. And he ended with a long discussion of the social and political systems of Italy and the United States that it would take too long to describe here. He also enclosed a check for Einstein to give to charity.

On 24 March 1954 Einstein answered in English as follows:

I get hundreds and hundreds of letters but seldom one so interesting as yours. I believe that your opinions about our society are quite reasonable.

It was, of course, a lie what you read about my religious convictions, a lie which is being systematically repeated. I do not believe in a personal God and I have never denied this but have expressed it clearly. If something is in me which can be called religious then it is the unbounded admiration for the structure of the world so far as our science can reveal it.

I have no possibility to bring the money you sent me to the appropriate receiver. I return it therefore in recognition of your good heart and intention.

Your letter shows me also that wisdom is not a product of schooling but of the lifelong attempt to acquire it.

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In September 1920, Einstein visited Stuttgart to give a lecture. While there, his wife Elsa invited all their cousins for a visit and a drive but unfortunately left out the cousins’ young children, one of these being eight-year-old Elisabeth Ney. Knowing that the young girl had a sense of humor, Einstein sent her, on 30 September 1920, the following bantering postcard. She cherished it, which is why it still exists:

Dear Miss Ney,

I hear from Elsa that you are dissatisfied because you did not see your uncle Einstein. Let me therefore tell you what I look like: pale face, long hair, and a tiny beginning of a paunch. In addition an awkward gait, and a cigar in the mouth—if he happens to have a cigar—and a pen in his pocket or his hand. But crooked legs and warts he does not have, and so he is quite handsome—also no hair on his hands such as is often found on ugly men. So it is indeed a pity that you did not see me.

With warm greetings from

Your Uncle Einstein.

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On 12 April 1950 a distant relative of Einstein’s wrote to him from Paris to say that the writer’s son was about to enter the university to study physics and chemistry and was eager to receive a few words from the most famous member of the family.

On 18 May 1950 Einstein replied as follows, beginning with a little rhyme:

However, I am glad to have heard from you, and also to have learned that your son wants to devote himself to the study of physics. But I cannot refrain from telling you that it is a difficult matter if one is not going to be satisfied with superficial results. It is best, it seems to me, to separate one’s inner striving from one’s trade as far as possible. It is not good when one’s daily bread is tied to God’s special blessing.

The years passed, and on 1 March 1954 the relative wrote once more to Einstein to tell what had been happening in the meantime. The son had had Einstein’s letter framed and had hung it over the bed in his study. Einstein’s words, said the relative, had clearly had magical power because the son had passed his first diploma examination at the head of his class. When offered a reward of his choice, such as a ski vacation or money, the son had timidly wondered if he could perhaps have a signed photograph of his famous protector and ideal.

The photograph, signed, was duly sent.

On 11 July 1947 an Idaho farmer wrote to Einstein telling that he had given his son the name Albert and wondering if Einstein would write a few words that he could keep “as a talisman” to encourage the son as he grew up. Einstein responded in English on 30 July 1947 with these words:

Nothing truly valuable arises from ambition or from a mere sense of duty; it stems rather from love and devotion towards men and towards objective things.

Enclosing a snapshot of little Albert, the delighted father wrote back saying that, as a token of appreciation, he was sending Einstein a sack of Idaho potatoes. It turned out to be quite a big sack.