THE SOUTHWORTH PLANETARIUM
207-780-4249      www.usm.maine.edu/planet
70 Falmouth Street     Portland, Maine 04103
43.6667° N                   70.2667° W
Founded January 1970

Julian date:  2457733.16
                  "Give me my robe, put on my crown; I have Immortal longings in me."
          -William Shakespeare



THE DAILY ASTRONOMER
Wednesday, December 14, 2016
Santa's Relativity


I realize that these articles are no places for personal reflections, but today I feel compelled to confess:   Once upon a time I attempted to injure Santa Claus.    I didn't, of  course, and am not sorry for my failure.   In retrospect, I do regret the attempt, for it has weighed with me like an acorn on a neutron star and I hope this testimonial will alleviate my woeful burden. 

You see, like so many younger people, I had made earnest, but ultimately vain, efforts to glimpse Santa as he stuffed my stocking.     I would lie on the couch in front of the fireplace and await St Nick's arrival after, of course, I had left the conventional plate of cookies and a cup of cocoa.   (Except for the year when my midwestern Uncle visited for Christmas and, on his advice, left only  Budweiser and Bears tickets.)      Alas, each year I drifted off by 8 o'clock and was mired in sleep's timeless oblivion when that north pole interloper arrived with the loot.    I awoke early the next morning to excitedly behold the bulges in the felt stocking.    However, the regret at having once again missed Santa Claus slightly diminished the unbounded joy that Christmas morning avarice generally engenders in children.

One Christmas I finally formulated a "clever" plan.    It came to me on Christmas Eve day when, during my desperate search for hidden presents, I spied some mousetraps under the kitchen sink,    And, yes you can guess what happened next.   I set one of the mousetraps and gently placed it in a stocking. (My brother's stocking. ha ha!)     I realized that when Santa appeared, he would be in such haste that he wouldn't even look into the stocking prior to filling it and then, snap!  His hand would touch the trap, the coil would release the bar onto his middle and index. His yelp would awaken me and while he was writhing around on the living room floor in ecstasy, I would rush over for a big hug and then to get a Polaroid snap so as to have something to show all the smart kids in my class who smugly asserted the Santa didn't exist.    

I am alive today because I had the wherewithal to inform my parents of my plan just as I had hopped up on the couch that Christmas Eve.   "Hey, Mom, guess what. I'm going to see Santa this year because, guess what, I put a....." and so forth...   I was bitterly disappointed when I was sent to bed twenty minutes later in a straitjacket. 

As it turns out, I needn't have bothered to make a trap for Santa, for we all now know how he travels.     That issue caused such consternation among physicists and engineers through the ages.    They realized that Santa had to move quickly to deliver presents to the hundreds of millions of homes where Christmas is observed.     It is true that his sleigh is guided by reindeer (known as "caribou" in northern New England.)   Yet, in order to carry all the presents, which would require a sleigh with a volume equal to 100 football stadia, Santa would need about 252,000 reindeer.  Even if he could find all these reindeer and, of course, give them cute names like "vixen,"  these reindeer would have to move so quickly that the frictional heating through the air would incinerate them within less than a second, causing Santa's oversized sleigh to crash to the ground with a civilization-ending bang.   

 Moreover, there was that matter of Santa's conventional conduit: the chimney.  While some houses were equipped with large, medieval chimneys designed to increase heating bills 300%, many were much smaller.  Some were so small, they were more like pipes than chimneys.     A fellow with Santa's prodigious girth would be hard pressed to ease down the flue in some of these destinations.    Based on these objections, some sour-souled engineers concluded that Santa was merely a figment of our imaginations.

Well, bah humbug, you fools!
 
The solution is really quite simple.  Santa travels at light speed and moves on his own.     He only uses the reindeer en route to shopping malls or Times Square. and these are only for effect because, as any northerner can attest, reindeer are not exactly jaguars when it comes to speed.    Moving at light speed solves the efficiency problem, as it is the maximum attainable velocity and one can cover a lot of houses when zipping along at 186,00 miles per second.  Also, one must consider the relativistic effects.      Time dilates aboard any moving  vessel.   Time stops completely on any ship traveling at light speed.  So, Santa hops from house to house in, by his perspective, no time at all!     
Another relativistic effect is length contraction.     See the graphic below.  It shows how a vessel's length literally contracts with motion.  The faster the vessel travels, the shorter it becomes.    If the vessel moves at light speed, its length contracts to a singularity: a mathematical point of no dimension.      If plump ol' Santa becomes a singularity, he can fit down any chimney.   


​Length contraction as a function of speed.   Here, "c" equals the speed of light.
One notices how a vessel's length contracts as its speed approaches light speed.
Image by Boundless.com

Being a singularity also solves that frictional heating problem because by being a point of no dimension, Santa would have no surface that would experience this heating.         Now, Santa would also become infinitely massive, because mass does increase with increasing speed and, at light speed, Santa would become infinitely massive.   Most roofs, even those in high snow regions, aren't designed to withstand any infinitely massive objects.       Santa no doubt counteracts this effect with a special kind of ancient Nordic sorcery of which we mortals can have no knowledge..

And, well, this proof of Santa's existence should put the kibosh on that teeming throng of toffee-nosed naysayers who seem to have lost touch with reality.    And, I, for one, am glad that the burning guilt that has for so long combusted in my thorax might finally extinguished.     I needn't have felt guilty at all, as it turns out.  As Einstein would have told me:   mousetraps can't injure singularities. 


© 2016  Edward Gleason