Entropy — where it appears
Named by 31 essays across 4 fields — each of them below, with the objects they name alongside it.
Entropy is a count, and the arrow of time is arithmetic
Nothing in mechanics prefers a direction. Entropy is not a force pushing things toward disorder — it is the observation that some outcomes have vastly more ways of happening than others.
The heat that changes no temperature, and where it actually goes
A kettle reaches a hundred degrees in a minute and takes five more to boil dry. The heat going in during those five minutes changes nothing a thermometer can see, and it is most of the energy in the whole process.
The entropy that lives on a surface
Throw a cup of tea through a horizon and the entropy of the outside world falls. Either the second law is wrong or the horizon has an entropy of its own — and the only quantity available for it turns out to be its area, in units of a length made from gravity, quantum mechanics and the speed of light together.
The exponential that decides everything
Maximising the number of ways a reservoir can arrange what is left after taking E out of it gives one factor, e to the minus E over kT. Its exponent is a ratio, which is why a barrier of a third of an electronvolt — nothing at all by chemical standards — is the difference between instantly and never.
What a system actually minimises
A ball falls to the bottom of a bowl and a gas fills a room, and neither of those is the rule. A system in contact with a large reservoir minimises U − TS, and the minus sign is the reservoir's own entropy written in the system's variables — which is why a rubber band pulls harder when it is heated.
A boiling point is a pressure, not a temperature
Nothing about water names one hundred degrees; the air does. Where a liquid turns to vapour in its bulk is fixed by what pushes on it, which makes the familiar figure a coordinate on a curve — 71 °C on Everest, 119.5 °C in a sealed pot — and one latent heat draws the whole curve.
The engine that pays back more than it takes
Carnot's argument puts a ceiling on how much work a flow of heat can be made to do. Run the same cycle backwards and the ceiling inverts into a floor that is greater than one — so a machine can deliver three or four joules of heat for every joule it consumes, and a perfectly efficient electric heater is the worst way to warm a room.
Mixing what is already mixed
Let two different gases into each other's halves of a box and the entropy rises by a fixed amount that contains nothing about either gas. Do it with the same gas on both sides and it rises by nothing. Make the gases more and more alike and the answer does not converge — it jumps.
The bit that has to be paid for
One molecule in a box, a partition, and the knowledge of which side it went — enough, between them, to extract work from a single reservoir, which the second law forbids. The engine is real and the arithmetic is right. What closes the loophole is that the cycle does not finish until the knowledge has been thrown away, and throwing away one bit costs exactly what the expansion delivered.
The engine that has to finish
Carnot's ceiling is exact and it is reached only by an engine that takes for ever, because a reversible heat flow needs a vanishing temperature difference to drive it. Ask instead for the most power rather than the most work per joule of heat, and the answer is a different function of the same two temperatures — and three measured power stations sit on it rather than on the ceiling.
The staircase that never reaches the floor
Absolute zero is unreachable, and the reason is not that the apparatus is not good enough. Every stage of cooling removes a fixed fraction of what is left rather than a fixed amount, so the steps shrink in proportion to the distance remaining — and the fixed fraction cannot be made one, because the entropy curves at two field strengths are required to meet where the axis is.
The entropy that is still there at zero
The third law says a perfect crystal has no entropy at absolute zero. Ice has 3.41 joules per kelvin per mole left over, and the number can be recovered from one line of counting — two hydrogens near each oxygen and two far, six legal arrangements out of sixteen, R ln(3/2). The law has an escape clause and the escape clause is measurable.
The fountain a lamp can drive
Below two degrees above absolute zero, liquid helium behaves as though it were two fluids occupying the same space — one carrying all the entropy and all the viscosity, the other carrying neither. It is not a metaphor and not a mixture. Shine a light on one side of a fine plug and the liquid jets out of the tube, because a temperature difference of a thousandth of a degree is a pressure of a hundred pascals.
Hotter than any temperature there is
A system whose energy has a ceiling can be pushed past the point where adding energy adds entropy. Its temperature is then negative — and negative temperatures are not cold. They sit above every positive temperature on the only scale that decides which way heat flows, and a working laser is at one.
The gas that nobody counted
A box of gas holds however many molecules were put in it. A box of radiation holds however many photons the temperature says, because the walls make and destroy them until the free energy is least — and one dropped assumption changes every result. The pressure becomes a third of the energy density instead of two thirds, the entropy goes as the cube of the temperature, and the adiabatic index comes out at exactly four thirds.
The heat that arrives as a wave
Two fluids with two velocities give two wave equations, not one. In the first the components move together and the density oscillates, which is ordinary sound. In the second they move oppositely, the density stays put, and what oscillates is the temperature — so a heat pulse in liquid helium has a speed, a front and a reflection.
The big one comes to the top
Shake a jar of mixed grains and it sorts itself, which is the opposite of what shaking a mixture of gases does. There is no thermodynamic paradox in it because there is no temperature to speak of — and the mechanism is a piece of geometry with an exact number in it: a sphere fits through the gap between three touching spheres only below a radius ratio of 0.1547.
The gradient that drives the other thing
A concentration gradient drives a flow of matter and a temperature gradient drives a flow of heat. Each also drives the other, by coefficients that are equal — a relation nobody could have guessed and which follows from the fact that the underlying motion runs the same forwards and backwards in time.
The second law, with a probability attached
Entropy increases, on average. For a small system pulled quickly, individual runs go the other way — and how often is not a matter of taste but an exact number, fixed by a relation with no adjustable constant in it and no requirement that anything be near equilibrium.
The hole that outlives everything and then does not
A black hole radiates at a temperature that rises as it shrinks, so losing energy makes it lose faster. The whole history follows from that one sign: a life proportional to the cube of the mass, nearly nothing happening for almost all of it, and an end that arrives in a second.
The area that is not allowed to shrink
Two black holes merge and the result weighs less than the sum, because three solar masses left as gravitational waves. The horizon area went up by more than half. Mass is the quantity that behaves like energy and it is not the one with a direction; area is, and the theorem saying so has been tested against a real merger.
The entropy that depends on how fast it was cooled
Ice's residual entropy is a count, and it comes out the same whoever measures it. A glass's does not. A glass keeps whatever entropy it happened to have when its own relaxation time crossed the experiment's, so cooling ten times more slowly leaves less behind — and extrapolating the equilibrium liquid below that point takes its entropy under the crystal's at a finite temperature, which cannot happen and does not, for a reason that is still argued about.
A law about spectra, not about heat
The third law is usually met as a statement about cooling. Its statistical form is a statement about a spectrum: the entropy of a system in its ground state is k ln g, and it vanishes only when the ground state is unique. Every apparent exception is a degeneracy or a system that never reached its ground state — and copper nuclei carry eleven joules per kelvin per mole down to a hundred nanokelvin without violating anything.
The temperature an engine really takes its heat at
Carnot's ceiling is set by two temperatures, and no engine that burns fuel takes its heat in at one temperature or gives it out at another. It takes heat over a range, from the moment combustion starts to the moment it ends. For any reversible cycle there is an exact replacement for Carnot's two numbers: the average temperature at which heat arrives and the average at which it leaves, each weighted by the entropy the heat carries. The gap between a real cycle and Carnot is a gap between those averages and the extremes.
The work left in two buckets of water
Carnot's ceiling assumes reservoirs so large that taking heat from one and giving it to the other changes neither temperature. Two buckets of water are not reservoirs. Run the best possible engine between a hot one and a cold one and both temperatures move, the efficiency available shrinks as they do, and the engine stops when they meet — at the geometric mean of the starting temperatures, not the ordinary one. The work it delivered is exactly the difference between those two meeting points, and it is far less than the starting temperatures promise.
The count that decides which entropy is right
There are two ways to count the states of an isolated system: the states at its energy, which is Boltzmann's entropy, and the states at or below it, which is Gibbs's. For large systems in ordinary conditions they agree to the last measurable digit. For a system whose energy has a ceiling, past the halfway point, one gives negative temperatures and the other forbids them. Definitions cannot settle which is right, but a temperature is for something — saying which way heat will flow — and putting two such systems in contact lets the count of states answer.
The counterions that never leave the chain
Dilute a solution of DNA a million times and its counterions ought to scatter through the whole volume. Three quarters of them do not. A line of charges closer together than the Bjerrum length — 0.71 nm in water — holds on to its counterions however much room they are given, until the chain's charge is cut back to one per Bjerrum length, and every osmotic pressure, swelling gel and packed virus built from such chains is set by that length rather than by the chemistry.
Whether a fluid can be made arbitrarily thin
Viscosity has no units anybody would call fundamental, and nothing obviously stops it being as small as you like. Divide it by the entropy in a cubic metre and the units become Planck's constant over Boltzmann's — and a conjecture from 2005 says that ratio has a floor. Across fourteen decades of ordinary fluid nothing has been measured below it, the closest thing to it is the hottest matter ever made, and a kinetic-theory argument reaches the same number from the opposite direction.
A fridge with no work going into it
Every engine here so far turns heat into work or work into a heat flow. A machine exchanging heat with three reservoirs and doing no work at all can still move heat from cold to hot, and the ceiling on how much is the product of two Carnot expressions — an engine's efficiency times a fridge's coefficient of performance. A gas flame makes ice, and the accounting is one inequality in three entropy flows.
The count that no observer can disagree about
A moving body, it turns out, has no temperature. What it does have is an entropy, and every observer agrees about it — because entropy is the logarithm of a count of arrangements, and a count is a number. That one invariant, with energy and momentum being parts of one object, is enough to compute everything a temperature could not: what happens to the energy density, the entropy density, and the relation between them that having a temperature consists of.
The column that is hotter at the bottom
Two bodies in equilibrium have the same temperature — that is what equilibrium was supposed to mean. In a gravitational field it is false. A column left alone until nothing in it changes is warmer at the bottom by exactly the factor by which clocks there run slow, a part in ten million billion per metre on the Earth and more than a per cent across the outer kilometre of a neutron star, and near a black hole's horizon the equilibrium temperature grows without limit.
Named alongside it
The objects these essays reach for when they reach for this one.
IrreversibilityThe second lawTemperatureEquilibriumMicrostatesReversibilityHeat capacityEfficiencyPhase transitionThe Boltzmann factorThe Carnot cycleFree energy