Mean free path — where it appears
Named by 24 essays across 8 fields — each of them below, with the objects they name alongside it.
The speeds in a still room
The air in a quiet room is not still. Every molecule in it is moving at hundreds of metres per second, and temperature is a single number summarising an entire distribution.
The equation that only runs forwards, and the walk underneath it
A drop of ink spreads and never gathers. The equation describing it is one of the few in physics that is not reversible — and underneath it is nothing but a coin being tossed.
Why the sky is blue and the sunset is not, from one exponent
Scattering goes as the inverse fourth power of wavelength, and that single number produces a blue sky and a red sun without any second explanation. The two facts look opposite and are the same arithmetic.
Why the air thins with height, and why that is the same law as the speeds
The pressure of the atmosphere falls exponentially with altitude, and the distribution of molecular speeds falls exponentially with energy. These are not two results that happen to look alike. They are one statement read on two axes.
Momentum going sideways
Viscosity is usually described as friction between layers of fluid, which gets the effect right and the mechanism wrong. What is actually happening is that momentum is being conducted across the flow — by the same equation, with the same solutions, as a drop of ink spreading.
How far a molecule gets
A molecule of air travels about sixty-eight nanometres between collisions — some two hundred times its own size, and a ten-millionth of the width of a room. That ratio is the reason a gas can be treated as a continuous substance at all, and the reason it sometimes cannot.
Light has a pressure
Sunlight pushes on a square metre with about the weight of a grain of sand, which sounds like a curiosity until the object being pushed is small enough. The demonstration in every school cupboard turns the wrong way, and the reason it does is more interesting than the effect it is supposed to show.
How far a neutrino gets
A mean free path is one over the number density times the cross-section, and nothing else. Change only the cross-section — by twenty-eight powers of ten — and the same arithmetic that gives a molecule seventy nanometres in air gives a neutrino a light-year of solid lead.
The correction that took a century
Newton derived the speed of sound in 1687 and got 290 metres a second against a measured 340. The arithmetic was right; the assumption was not. Heat cannot cross a wavelength in a period, so the compressions are adiabatic — and the factor that repairs the answer turns out to be a count of the ways a molecule can move.
The viscosity that does not care how much gas there is
Pump most of the air out of a vessel and the air that is left is exactly as viscous as it was. Maxwell derived that in 1860, did not believe it, and spent six years building an apparatus to measure it — which is a better description of how a prediction becomes knowledge than any amount of agreement would have been.
The gas that leaves is not the gas inside
Put a small hole in a container of gas and what comes out is faster and hotter than what stays behind — its mean kinetic energy is 2kT against the 3/2 kT of the gas it came from. Nothing has heated it. A fast molecule simply reaches the hole more often than a slow one, so the sample that escapes is biased by exactly one factor of speed, and every consequence of effusion is that factor.
The thickness that goes both ways
Heat a liquid and it thins; heat a gas and it thickens. The two are not a strong effect and a weak one but opposite signs, differing by a factor of thirty in size as well — and the word viscosity names one measurement made on two mechanisms that have almost nothing in common.
The light that takes a hundred thousand years to leave
A neutrino made in the Sun's core is at the surface in two and a third seconds. A photon made beside it takes something like a hundred thousand years, through the same material, over the same seven hundred thousand kilometres — and the whole of the difference is one length, entering the answer squared.
The cloud light has to walk through
A beam crossing thirty scattering lengths of anything should keep e⁻³⁰ of itself — a ten-millionth of a millionth. A cloud thirty scattering lengths thick lets through nearly a third of the sunlight falling on it. The light has not crossed; it has walked, one scattering at a time, and a walk through a slab obeys a law with the shape of Ohm's rather than of an exponential.
The ripple that counts the neighbours
An absorption edge is drawn as a step and it is a step with a ripple on it — a modulation of eleven per cent in copper, five in a zinc site buried in a protein. The ripple is the ejected electron's own wave, scattered back onto the atom that emitted it, so its period is a distance. It is the only way of measuring where an atom's neighbours are that does not need a crystal.
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.
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 collisions the exclusion principle forbids
A copper wire holds one free electron per atom, packed a quarter of a nanometre apart and repelling one another with the full Coulomb force. It seems impossible that an electron could travel any distance through that crowd without colliding. It travels micrometres — thousands of atoms — before another electron deflects it. The collisions are not weak. They are forbidden: to collide, both electrons need empty states to move into, and in a sea filled to the brim almost none exist. The same rule makes cold helium-3 thicken as the square of how cold it gets.
The heat that arrives before it could
Release a pulse of heat at one point, and the diffusion equation — the law that has described heat flow since Fourier — says the temperature rises everywhere at once, however far away. A thermometer a kilometre off registers a change the instant the heat is released. That is an infinite signal speed, and relativity forbids it. The flaw is harmless for a kettle and fatal for a relativistic fluid. The repair is a relaxation time: heat flow takes a moment to respond to a temperature gradient. With it the equation carries heat at a finite speed, sends a sharp front ahead of the spreading warmth, and turns short-wavelength heat into a damped wave.
The gas of sound that carries a diamond's heat
Diamond has no free electrons and conducts heat five times better than copper. What carries the heat is a gas — not of molecules but of quantised sound waves, phonons — and the kinetic theory that gives the conductivity of air gives the conductivity of a crystal with the same formula: a third of heat capacity times speed times mean free path. The gas is strange in two ways. At low temperature its particles cross the whole crystal without meeting anything, so the conductivity depends on how big the sample is. And at room temperature one atom in a hundred being a neutron heavier is enough to scatter its fastest-oscillating members.
The note too high for thin air
Sound in a gas is a compression handed from molecule to molecule by collisions, and it can only be handed on if the molecules collide many times in each period of the wave. At sea level they collide seven thousand million times a second, and the limit is far above anything audible. But a gas's viscosity does not depend on its pressure, so as the air thins with height the time between collisions grows in proportion, and the highest note the air can carry falls with it: two hundred megahertz at the ground, three kilohertz at eighty kilometres, below twenty hertz above a hundred and ten. The upper atmosphere is not silent for want of loudness. It is silent because its molecules are too far apart to pass a sound along.
The spark that needs room to start
Air is an excellent insulator until it is not, and the usual statement of when — three megavolts a metre — is true only for gaps of about a centimetre. A gap breaks down when one electron's avalanche of ionisation sends back enough ions to the cathode to free one more electron, and that condition depends on the pressure and the gap only through their product. The result is a curve with a floor: about 330 volts in air, below which no gap of any width will spark, and above which both a thinner gas and a denser one insulate better.
The puddle that could dry in a second
A liquid in equilibrium with its vapour loses molecules exactly as fast as the vapour delivers them, and kinetic theory says how fast that is. For water at room temperature it is two and a half kilograms per square metre every second — a puddle two and a half millimetres deep gone in a second. Puddles take hours because almost every molecule that leaves is knocked back by the air within a fraction of a micrometre. The ceiling binds only where the vapour can escape in a single free flight: in vacuum, where water freezes itself, in the smallest droplets, and on the filament of a lamp.
The electrons that pay in fixed amounts
Fire electrons through mercury vapour and raise the voltage that drives them, and the current they carry should simply rise. In 1914 James Franck and Gustav Hertz found it rising, then collapsing, then rising again, over and over, every 4.9 volts. Below that energy an electron bounces off a mercury atom and keeps almost everything; above it, it can hand the atom exactly 4.9 electronvolts and no other amount. The atom will accept energy only in the size of the gap between its levels — shown here by collisions rather than by light, and misread by its discoverers as something else entirely.
Named alongside it
The objects these essays reach for when they reach for this one.
DiffusionKinetic theoryViscosityKnudsen numberContinuumCross-sectionMaxwell–Boltzmann distributionRandom walkTemperatureAttenuationContinuum limitDissipation