Instability — where it appears
Named by 19 essays across 6 fields — each of them below, with the objects they name alongside it.
The small bubble blows up the big one
Connect two soap bubbles of different size and the small one empties into the large one. Everybody expects the opposite, and the reason it happens is one equation with a radius in the denominator — which also means the process runs away rather than settling.
The thread that cannot stay a thread
A stream of water from a tap breaks into drops, and it does so at a spacing that is always about four and a half diameters. Nothing chooses that number — it is the wavelength that grows fastest out of a competition between all of them, and it can be computed before any water is poured.
The axis that will not hold
A book spun about its long edge keeps spinning about it. Spun about the axis through its covers, it keeps spinning about that. Spun about the third axis, it flips end over end, again and again, with nothing touching it. Three numbers decide, and what matters is only their order.
The swing that is pumped, not pushed
Nobody pushes a swing they are sitting on. They stand up at the bottom and sit down at the ends, which changes the pendulum rather than forcing it — and does so twice per period. The equation that describes it has no forcing term at all, so standing still is always a solution, and what the pumping changes is whether standing still is stable.
The chatter a stiffer holder removes
A brake squeals, a bow sounds a string, a fault slips in jerks. The usual explanation is that static friction exceeds kinetic friction — and that explanation, taken seriously, predicts the jerking would happen no matter how the thing were held. It does not, and what decides is a length nobody mentions.
The knot the field cannot untie
A perfectly conducting fluid cannot change which field line joins which piece of it. So two flux systems pushed together may be squashed indefinitely and can never merge, and the energy of the squashing accumulates with nowhere to go. The release happens only where the perfect conductivity locally fails — in a sheet three metres thick inside a structure ten thousand kilometres across — and the rate that follows is a hundred thousand times too slow for the flares that are observed.
The layer a parcel cannot leave
Whether a column of air overturns is not decided by its density but by a difference of two gradients — the rate the environment cools with height, and the rate a lifted parcel cools on its own. Subtract one from the other and what is left is a restoring force per unit displacement, so a stable atmosphere rings at a period of minutes and an unstable one has no period at all.
The pressure a charge puts on its own metal
Charge on a conductor sits on the surface and tries to leave. The outward pull is half epsilon-nought E squared, the half is because a charge exerts no force on itself, and setting that pull against surface tension gives the largest a charged drop is allowed to be — a number Rayleigh wrote down in 1882 and an industry now depends on.
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 gas that cools itself into clumps
Shake a box of grains hard enough and they fly about like the molecules of a gas. Stop shaking and the gas cools, because every collision destroys a little of the motion — and it does not cool evenly. A denser patch collides more often, cools faster, loses pressure, and is squeezed denser by the hotter gas around it. With nothing attracting anything to anything, the gas gathers itself into clumps and bands, and in the limit three grains can collide infinitely many times in a finite time.
The salt that sinks through a stable sea
Warm salty water lying on cold fresh water is heavier at the bottom at every depth, and by every test of static stability it should stay where it is. It does not. Heat leaks sideways out of a thin tongue of sinking water a hundred times faster than salt does, so the tongue arrives cooled and still salty — heavier than its new surroundings — and keeps going. A column can be stable by density and unstable by diffusion, and most of the subtropical ocean is.
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 wobble that radiating makes larger
Radiation normally drains a vibration: a struck bell goes quiet because it sends its energy away as sound, and a ringing black hole settles in milliseconds because it sends its energy away as gravitational waves. A spinning star can have the opposite. A pattern that runs backward through the star's material, while the star carries it forward across the sky, has less angular momentum than the star would have without it, and every wave it radiates takes away angular momentum it did not have to give. The pattern grows. One family of such patterns, the r-modes, runs backward on every rotating star, so every spinning neutron star is unstable unless friction wins — and that may be why none has been found spinning faster than 716 turns a second.
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 current that squeezes what carries it
A current flowing along a column of hot gas makes a magnetic field that wraps round the column, and the field pushes the current inward. If the column is a plasma, free to move, it is squeezed. Ampère's law and a balance of forces then fix how much current a column of given temperature needs to hold itself together — and the answer does not depend on how wide the column is or how its plasma is arranged inside. Ten thousand electronvolts in ten million million million ions per metre needs 0.8 million amperes, whatever the shape. Above about 1.4 million amperes the same arithmetic says a hydrogen column radiates faster than its current can heat it, and collapses.
The cluster that grows where the walkers arrive
Let particles wander in one at a time from far away, each sticking where it first touches a growing clump. The rule has nothing in it about shape, and the clump that results is a lacy, branched thing whose mass grows more slowly than its area, so it gets emptier the bigger it gets. The reason is that a random walker reaches the outermost tips long before it can find its way into a gap between branches. The same arithmetic — the probability that a walker arrives is a solution of Laplace's equation — shapes electrodeposits, lightning-like discharges in plastic, fingers of water pushed into oil, and colonies of bacteria short of food.
The two beams that unravel each other
A cold beam of electrons, alone, is perfectly stable: disturb it and it rings at its plasma frequency and carries the ringing downstream. Send a second beam through it the other way and the pair is not stable at all. A ripple of the right length grows by a factor of e in less than half a plasma period, takes a third of the beams' drift energy into an electric field, and then winds both beams into a single whirlpool in which their drift is gone. Neither beam can do it. The growth exists only in the pair, and a beam a millionth as dense as the plasma it crosses is enough to start it.
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.
Named alongside it
The objects these essays reach for when they reach for this one.
HysteresisStabilityBuoyancyDissipationLaplace pressureStick-slipSurface tensionAngular momentumCurvatureDampingDensityDiffusion