Hysteresis — where it appears
Named by 19 essays across 4 fields — each of them below, with the objects they name alongside it.
The magnet that has to fight its own field
A bar magnet's own poles put it in a reverse field, so the same material cut short and fat is weak and cut long and thin is strong. And a magnetised material does not have a magnetisation — it has a magnetisation and a history, which is why the word for what it does is the Greek for coming late.
The grip that is not a coefficient
A friction coefficient is independent of load and of area, and the reason is usually given as plastic flow of the asperities. It is not — a rough elastic surface gives the same law, integrated here to a slope of 1.0000, because pressing harder recruits new contacts rather than enlarging old ones. What breaks the law is a contact that is smooth, or a material that dissipates in its bulk — where μ passes one and stops being a coefficient at all.
The oscillator that answers at three times the question
Push a spring hard enough that the parabola stops being the whole story, and three things happen that a linear oscillator cannot do: it emits frequencies nobody supplied, its resonance leans over, and its amplitude at one drive frequency depends on where the drive has been.
The curve that is really a staircase
A magnetisation curve is drawn as a smooth line and is nothing of the sort. Measured finely enough it is a sequence of jumps of every size, audible as a crackle in a coil, with no typical jump and no smooth motion underneath.
The grip that needs a little slipping
A wheel that transmits any force at all is not rolling. Part of its contact patch is stuck to the road and part is already sliding, and the force it delivers is a measure of how much has given up. The useful part of the curve is a few per cent of slip, the peak is not the end of it, and everything past the peak is unstable.
The pile that is never finished settling
Tap a jar of grains and it settles. Keep tapping and it goes on settling — logarithmically, so that each factor of ten in the number of taps buys the same small improvement as the last. There is no number of taps after which the column is packed; there is only a number after which the next improvement is too small to measure, and the asymptote everyone quotes is a fitted number rather than a measured one.
The pore that fills from dry air
Water condenses when the air is saturated — on a flat surface. Over a curved one the vapour pressure is different, higher over a drop and lower over a meniscus, and in a pore a few nanometres across it is low enough that the pore fills with liquid from air at half humidity. The water it holds is under a tension of a hundred megapascals, and the pore empties at a lower humidity than it filled at, for a reason that needs no roughness at all.
The stretch a chain cannot outrun
A Newtonian liquid pulled into a thread resists exactly three times as hard as it resists being sheared, whatever it is made of. A polymer solution resists three times as hard only until the stretch rate passes one over twice its relaxation time. Past that, its chains can no longer recoil as fast as they are pulled apart, and the same liquid that is barely thicker than water in a stirred beaker becomes hundreds of times stiffer in a thread.
The first length that belongs to the substance
Every length in magnetism so far has been a length of the sample — a demagnetising factor is a shape, an avalanche cutoff is a sample's own restoring field. A domain wall's width is not. It is √(A/K), made of two material constants and nothing else, and across seven ordinary magnets it runs from two and a half nanometres to nine hundred.
Nothing keeps a magnetisation for ever
A magnetised particle sits in a well with a barrier between it and the other direction, and a barrier of finite height is crossed eventually. So remanence has a lifetime, coercivity is a different number depending on how fast it is measured, and a grain below about twenty nanometres of iron forgets within a second at room temperature.
The sand that chooses a side
Divide a box of grains into two compartments with a slot in the wall between them and shake it from below. Shaken hard, the grains share themselves equally, as molecules of a gas would. Shaken a little more gently, they gather in one compartment and leave the other almost empty, and the crowded side is cold and the empty side hot. Nothing sorted them. Every collision between grains loses energy, and a compartment that happens to hold a few more grains loses more of it and stops throwing grains over the wall.
The contact that slips before it slides
Static friction is supposed to hold perfectly until the load reaches μ times the normal force and then give way. Two elastic bodies pressed together do something else. Push a ball sideways on a flat with any force at all and a ring at the edge of their contact is already slipping, while the centre stays stuck. As the push grows the ring spreads inward, and gross sliding is only the moment the stuck centre shrinks to nothing. Shake the push back and forth and the ring slips each way on every cycle. The contact then loses energy though it never slides, as the cube of how hard it is shaken.
The boiling curve that turns back
Heat a surface under water and more heat flows from it the hotter it gets — up to a point. Past about twenty degrees above boiling the bubbles crowd together, merge, and begin to blanket the surface with vapour, and from then on a hotter surface passes less heat, not more, until by a few hundred degrees above boiling it is wrapped in an insulating film and passes fifty times less than it did at its best. Shigeo Nukiyama found the turn in 1934 by melting wires. It is why a water drop skates for a minute on a very hot pan but vanishes in two seconds on a merely hot one, and why every boiler, steam generator and water-cooled reactor is designed around a number called the critical heat flux.
The push a millimetre ahead of the axle
A wheel rolling freely on a flat road slows down, and nothing in it slides. What holds it back is where the road pushes on it: not directly under the axle but a little ahead, because the material in front of the contact is being squeezed and pushes back harder than the material behind, which is recovering and lags. A car tyre's push is about three millimetres ahead of its axle, a train wheel's about two-thirds of a millimetre, and that offset, divided by the radius, is the whole of rolling resistance. It peaks at the speed where the time under the wheel matches the time the material takes to relax, and the same loss, at a different frequency, is what gives a tyre its grip.
The field a superconductor keeps after all
A superconductor is famous for throwing magnetic field out, and the experiment that showed it is the one that made superconductivity a state of matter. Most superconductors that are actually used do something closer to the opposite: they let the field in as threads, grip the threads where they are, and keep them when the field is taken away. The result is a slope of field inside the material that is as steep as the grip allows and no steeper, which is all that is needed to explain why such a superconductor has a hysteresis loop, heats up in an alternating field, can hang a magnet underneath itself, and can be made into a magnet stronger than any of iron.
The swing that dies in a straight line
A pendulum in air loses the same fraction of its swing every cycle, so its amplitude falls along an exponential and, in principle, never quite reaches zero. A mass on a spring sliding over a dry surface does something else. Its friction is a fixed force, so it loses a fixed amount of amplitude every half-swing — the swings shrink in a straight line — and it stops completely, after a countable number of swings, somewhere inside a band around its natural position whose width is the friction divided by the stiffness. Where in that band it stops depends on where it started, which is why a barometer with friction in it is tapped before it is read.
The grounding line with nowhere to stop
Where an ice sheet flowing into the sea lifts off its bed and begins to float, buoyancy fixes how thick it is: just thick enough to touch the rock, about 1.1 times the depth of the water. The ice crossing that line goes as the 19/4 power of the thickness, so twice the depth sends out twenty-seven times the ice. On a bed that deepens inland, a grounding line that retreats a little moves into deeper water, exports more, and retreats further. No steady state can sit there, and an ice sheet whose edge reaches such a slope crosses the whole of it.
The salt that dissolves in the air's own water
Leave a dish of salt in a bathroom and it does not just clump; on a humid enough day it turns into a puddle, though no water was poured on it. Above 75 per cent humidity, common salt pulls water out of the air until it has dissolved itself. The number is not a property of salt's attraction for water in any vague sense. It is the vapour pressure of a saturated salt solution, read as a fraction of pure water's: wherever the air holds more water than that, the solution is the state with the lower chemical potential. Bring the humidity back down, and the puddle does not turn back into salt until the air is far drier — about 45 per cent.
The hum at twice the mains
A transformer hums, and the note is not the frequency of the mains but twice it: a hundred hertz in Europe, a hundred and twenty in America. The reason is that iron changes shape when it is magnetised, by a few parts in a million, and the change does not care which way the magnetisation points. A core driven at fifty cycles a second therefore stretches a hundred times a second. The same evenness makes the strain trace a butterfly against the field, puts harmonics at every even multiple of the mains and none at the odd ones, and makes the hum climb steeply as the steel nears saturation.
Named alongside it
The objects these essays reach for when they reach for this one.
FrictionInstabilityMagnetisationCoercivityContact areaDissipationMetastabilityChemical potentialContact mechanicsDampingDemagnetising fieldDomain wall