Random walk — where it appears
Named by 18 essays across 8 fields — each of them below, with the objects they name alongside it.
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.
A nucleus with no clock
A half-life is a precise number and no individual nucleus has one. Each has the same chance of decaying in the next second as it had on the day it formed, and the exponential curve is a property of the population rather than of any member of it.
The jiggle that proved atoms
A pollen grain in still water never stops moving. For eighty years that was a curiosity with no explanation; then it became the measurement that settled whether matter is made of particles, by turning a microscope and a stopwatch into a count of how many molecules are in a mole.
The walk that comes home
A particle wandering at random on a line returns to where it started, with certainty. On a plane it returns, with certainty. In three dimensions the probability is 0.3405 — so two out of three molecules released in a room never pass through their starting point again, and the difference between the cases is not a matter of degree.
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 delay that is a random variable
A fibre's core is very slightly elliptical, so its two polarisations travel at very slightly different speeds — and the ellipse turns, at random, every hundred metres or so. The delays of the pieces do not add. They random-walk, so the total grows as the square root of the length, follows the same distribution as the speeds of gas molecules, differs from one wavelength to the next, and on any particular day may be three times its average.
The potential is where the wanderers stop
Start a random walker at a point between charged conductors and let it wander until it touches one of them. The average potential of the surfaces the walkers touch is the potential at the starting point — exactly, with no equation solved — and the charge a conductor keeps at each place on its surface is the chance that a walker arriving from far away touches it there first.
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 wall that moves while the ball is in flight
Energy is conserved because the rules do not depend on the time. Move the walls of a box and the rules do depend on the time, so what is inside gains or loses without limit — and how much depends entirely on how fast. Moved slowly, a wall takes energy at exactly the rate the adiabatic law says; moved faster than the ball travels, it takes none at all, and the same box is a piston or a vacuum according to a speed.
The walk that interference can stop
Light scattered many times walks through a cloud, and a walk always gets through eventually — a slab twice as thick lets through half as much. Keep the waves' interference instead of adding intensities, and in one dimension the same disorder does something a walk cannot: it stops the light exponentially, traps it in modes with nothing special about where they sit, and turns transmission from a number into a spread over powers of ten. Whether the same can happen to light in three dimensions has been claimed, retracted and argued for thirty years.
The speed limit that does not care how big the molecules are
Two molecules in water cannot react faster than they can find each other, and how fast they find each other is set by diffusion. A bigger molecule is an easier target, so it seems a reaction between big molecules should be faster. It is not: a molecule twice as big is twice as easy to hit and wanders half as fast, and the two cancel exactly. Every reaction that happens at the first touch runs at the same rate, about seven billion per molar per second in water, whether the partners are ions or proteins — a speed limit written by the viscosity of water and the temperature, and nothing else.
The pressure that stops counting molecules
Van 't Hoff's law counts dissolved particles, and for a dilute polymer each chain is one particle, however many thousand segments it has. That is how osmometers weigh polymers. Concentrate the solution until the coils overlap and the count changes. The pressure stops depending on how long the chains are and grows as the 2.3 power of the concentration, the same for chains a thousand segments long and a hundred thousand. The unit being counted is no longer a molecule. It is a stretch of chain as long as the mesh of its neighbours allows, and it has no chemical identity at all.
The diffusion that slows the longer it is watched
A random walker whose steps come at irregular times still diffuses normally, provided the waits have a finite average. Let the waits have no average — mostly short, occasionally enormous, as they are for a molecule that keeps getting stuck — and three things change at once. The spread grows more slowly than time. A diffusion coefficient measured by following one particle depends on how long it was followed. And following one particle for a long time no longer tells what many particles do: averages along a path and averages over a crowd give different laws. Tracking single molecules inside living cells runs straight into all three.
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 pile of glass that stops every colour
A sheet of window glass reflects about eight per cent of the light that falls on it. A pile of a hundred sheets, George Stokes calculated in 1862, should still let through a tenth, because each extra sheet only adds a little more reflection to the total. That is right for sunlight, whose colours are too mixed to interfere. For a single colour, with every sheet and every gap a slightly different thickness, the same pile lets through a thousandth, and a pile of four hundred a hundred-millionth of a millionth. Interference with random phases does not average away into the intensity sum. In one dimension it traps every wave, at every wavelength, however weak each reflection is.
The atoms the light stops touching
Every photon an atom scatters kicks it by the same small amount in a random direction, so a gas that keeps scattering light cannot be colder than one kick. The way below is not a stronger friction but a weaker touch: arrange for the light to stop scattering off atoms that are nearly at rest. Then the coldest atoms are not cooled, only left alone, for times that have no average — and the gas never settles into a temperature at all, but piles into a peak that narrows for as long as the light stays on.
The echo that gives back everything but the wandering
Tip a sample of protons in a slightly uneven magnetic field and their signal dies within milliseconds. None of them has relaxed: they have fanned out, each precessing at the rate its own patch of field sets. Turn every spin over halfway through and the fan closes again, and the signal comes back as an echo, smaller only by the decay that was real. What the echo cannot return is a phase gained while a spin moved, and that one loss, which grows as the cube of the waiting time, is how a scanner finds a stroke within minutes.
The markers that move because atoms are unequal
In 1947 Ernest Kirkendall and Alice Smigelskas wound fine molybdenum wires around a bar of brass, plated it thickly with copper, and heated it for fifty-six days. The wires, which do not dissolve in either metal, ended closer together: the brass inside them had shrunk. Zinc had diffused out of the brass faster than copper diffused in, and the lattice planes of the brass had been taken away along with the zinc. If atoms in a metal moved by swapping places with each other, the two flows would have had to be equal. They were not, and the only way the books balance is if atoms move by jumping into vacancies — empty lattice sites — that flow the other way. The wires were the first direct evidence that diffusion in metals runs on holes.
Named alongside it
The objects these essays reach for when they reach for this one.
DiffusionBrownian motionIrreversibilityMean free pathMean square displacementMultiple scatteringAnderson localisationCapacitanceCoherent backscatteringDiffusion coefficientDisorderErgodicity