The collection

Every essay — page 11

One idea per essay, ordered so that the earlier ones set up the later ones — but nothing here depends on being read in sequence.

Mechanics

Motion, force, and the quantities that refuse to change.

Waves

Oscillation, and everything that turns out to be an oscillation.

Optics

Light, and the small number of rules it obeys.

Thermodynamics

Heat, disorder, and the one law with a direction in it.

Relativity

Space and time, drawn on the same axes.

How far a 1-gravity ship gets, against its own clock. The distance covered by a ship accelerating steadily at 1 gravity for half the trip and braking for the other half, against the time on its own clock, on a logarithmic vertical axis. The curve is a cosine hyperbolic and therefore an exponential once the ship is relativistic, which it is after about a year: Proxima Centauri in 3.5 shipboard years, Sirius in 4.6 shipboard years, the Pleiades in 11.9 shipboard years, the galactic centre in 19.8 shipboard years, Andromeda in 28.6 shipboard years. Nothing about this violates anything. The speed never reaches c — it is the hyperbolic tangent of the rapidity and after 3.5 years it is 0.9495 at turnover — and every one of those journeys takes slightly more than the distance in years as measured from home. What is growing exponentially is not the speed but the length contraction, and the traveller's honest description of the trip is that the distance shrank. The rapidity is what accumulates steadily: it grows by one unit every 0.969 years of shipboard time, for ever, with no ceiling anywhere in the arithmetic. That is the whole reason the numbers come out survivable, and the reason the fuel does not.

The ship that never arrives at c

Accelerate at one gravity and never stop. The speed creeps toward light and never reaches it, and meanwhile the galactic centre is twenty shipboard years away and Andromeda twenty-nine. What makes the journey survivable is that rapidity has no ceiling; what makes it impossible is that the fuel goes as the exponential of the same quantity.

5 figures · part 2 on Accelerated frames
The clock that gains going one way and loses going the other. The rate at which a flown clock gains on a clock left at 30° latitude, in nanoseconds per hour, against the aeroplane's ground speed, with east taken as positive. Two terms are drawn and then their sum. Height alone gives 3.5 nanoseconds an hour at 9 km and does not care which way the aircraft is pointed. Motion costs time, and because the ground is already moving eastward at 402 metres a second, flying east adds to that speed and flying west subtracts from it — so the kinematic term is much larger going east and can change sign going west. The sum crosses zero at 180 metres a second eastward, which is the ground speed at which an aeroplane's clock keeps the time of the airfield it left. Over the two flights Hafele and Keating actually made, this simple model gives -61 nanoseconds eastward and +304 westward, against their own predictions of -40 and +275 and their measurements of -59 and +273. The model here uses one average altitude, one average speed and one latitude, where the real prediction integrated the flight logs; getting the signs and the rough sizes out of three lines of arithmetic is the point, and the last twenty per cent is what the logs are for. What no amount of arithmetic supplies is the thing the experiment settled: that the effect is real, that it acts on a caesium clock in a passenger seat, and that a difference of a few hundred nanoseconds after two days is measurable.

The two clocks that flew in opposite directions

Two caesium clocks were flown round the world in 1971, one each way, and came back disagreeing with the clock left behind — one having lost 59 nanoseconds and the other gained 273. Height alone would have made both gain. The sign flip comes from the ground already moving eastward at 400 metres a second before the aircraft took off.

4 figures · part 4 on Time dilation
The temperature of an acceleration. The Unruh temperature against proper acceleration, both axes logarithmic. An observer accelerating through empty space finds it is not empty: the state that an inertial observer calls the vacuum, an accelerated one finds populated, with a thermal spectrum at T = ħa/2πck — which is 4.06e-21 kelvin for every metre per second squared. The line is straight because the relation is exactly proportional, and the numbers on it are what make the effect so hard to see: one gravity gives 3.98·10⁻²⁰ K, a centrifuge at 10⁵ g gives 3.97·10⁻¹⁵ K, an electron in a strong laser gives 40.6 K, the surface of a solar-mass hole gives 6.17·10⁻⁸ K. Reaching one kelvin requires 2.5·10²⁰ m/s², which is 2.5·10¹⁹ gravities and beyond anything that can be sustained. What makes the effect worth taking seriously despite that is not its size but its structure: it says the number of particles present is not a property of the field alone but of the observer as well, and the same expression with a black hole's surface gravity in place of the acceleration is the Hawking temperature exactly, checked here to a part in 10¹².

The temperature of an acceleration

Empty space is empty for an observer who is not accelerating. For one who is, the same state of the same field is a thermal bath at a temperature proportional to the acceleration — and the constant of proportionality is 4 × 10⁻²¹ kelvin for every metre per second squared, which is why nobody has felt it. What the effect changes is not what can be measured but what a particle is.

5 figures · part 3 on Accelerated frames
Where to put the far clock's zero. Two clocks three light-seconds apart, synchronised by radar: a pulse leaves the near clock at 0, bounces off the far one, and returns at 6 seconds. The far clock must be set to some time between those, and every choice is drawn. Einstein's convention puts it at 3 — halfway — and gives the same speed of light in both directions. Any other value is equally consistent with every measurement that can be made, because everything measurable involves a round trip and the round trip takes 6 seconds under every one of them: computed here across the five conventions, the round-trip times differ by 0e+0 seconds. The lines are the resulting surfaces of simultaneity, which fan out from the halfway choice. What each choice fixes is the one-way speed of light — ε = 0.25 makes it 2.00c outward and 0.67c back, ε = 0.4 makes it 1.25c outward and 0.83c back, ε = 0.5 makes it 1.00c outward and 1.00c back, ε = 0.6 makes it 0.83c outward and 1.25c back, ε = 0.75 makes it 0.67c outward and 2.00c back — and no experiment distinguishes them, because measuring a one-way speed requires two synchronised clocks and synchronising them requires the answer.

The speed that cannot be measured one way

Every measurement of the speed of light ever made has sent it out and brought it back. Measuring it one way needs two clocks that agree, and making two distant clocks agree needs a rule about when the far one should read what — which is a choice, not a discovery. The constancy of c is a fact about round trips; its isotropy is a convention, chosen because it makes the equations simple.

4 figures · part 4 on Simultaneity

Quantum

Where the continuous picture runs out, and what replaces it.

Fluids

Matter that will not hold a shape, and the forces that act in it anyway.

Astrophysics

Gravity read as geometry, and the laws carried where no laboratory can follow.

Cold matter, and the mass above which nothing holds it up. The radius of a cold, degenerate star against its mass, obtained by integrating the equations of hydrostatic support outward from 11 different central densities with the exact degenerate equation of state, and nothing else. Heavier means smaller — the opposite of every ordinary object, and the direct consequence of a pressure that comes from counting states rather than from heat. The curve turns over and runs into a vertical asymptote at 1.452 solar masses, against 1.456 from the limiting polytrope, whose own constant 2.0182 is integrated here as well. That is Chandrasekhar's limit. It exists because the electrons become relativistic: once they are, the pressure goes as the four-thirds power of the density, and for that exponent alone the mass of a self-gravitating ball is independent of its radius — so squeezing it harder produces no more support and there is exactly one mass such a star can have. The horizontal line is the Earth's radius, which the curve crosses near a solar mass: a white dwarf of the Sun's mass is the size of a planet, and the ones close to the limit are a few thousand kilometres across. What the model leaves out is what actually happens at the top: at those densities electrons begin to be captured onto nuclei, which removes the very pressure holding the star up, so the collapse starts slightly below the line rather than at it.

The mass no cold matter can hold up

A white dwarf gets smaller as it gets heavier, which no ordinary object does. Follow that curve upward and the radius reaches zero at 1.46 solar masses — because once the electrons are relativistic the pressure goes as the four-thirds power of the density, and for that exponent alone the mass of a self-gravitating ball does not depend on its radius at all.

4 figures · part 3 on Self-gravity
A click that arrives sorted by pitch. Arrival time against frequency for a broadband pulse travelling 40 megametres along a magnetic field line through a plasma of 1e+8 electrons per cubic metre in a field of 300 nanotesla — the magnetosphere, roughly. The gyrofrequency is 8.4 kilohertz and the plasma frequency 90 kilohertz, so this is the regime where a right-hand circularly polarised wave travels happily below both of them. It does not travel at one speed. The group velocity is 2c√ω(ω_c − ω)^(3/2)/(ω_p ω_c), which is zero at zero frequency and zero again at the gyrofrequency and peaks in between — at 2.10 kilohertz here, which is a quarter of the gyrofrequency, found by searching the drawn function rather than quoted. Everything either side of that peak is slower, so the curve has a nose: 3.21 s at 500 Hz, 2.20 s at 2000 Hz, 3.59 s at 5000 Hz. The branch below the nose is the classic whistler — a lightning stroke in one hemisphere reaching a receiver in the other as a note gliding downward over about a second, which is what gave the phenomenon its name — and the branch above it arrives as a rising tone at the same time. Both are observed, and a recording that shows the two joined at the nose is how the gyrofrequency along the path is read off directly. Read the other way it is an instrument: the product of the delay and the square root of the frequency is 79 s·Hz^½ here, nearly constant across the low end of the band, and it measures the electron content of a path through the magnetosphere that nothing else could reach.

The whistle that arrives sorted

A lightning stroke in one hemisphere reaches a receiver in the other as a note gliding downward over about a second. Nothing dispersed the sound; there was no sound. A radio pulse travelled forty megametres along a magnetic field line through a plasma whose group velocity depends on frequency, and arrived with its frequencies separated by up to three seconds.

4 figures · part 2 on Plasma oscillation
Which wavelengths grow instead of oscillating. The dispersion relation of a self-gravitating isothermal gas, ω² = c²k² − 4πGρ, with each axis measured in the scale the gas sets for itself. Short wavelengths oscillate: pressure wins, and the disturbance is a sound wave. Long wavelengths do not: ω² is negative, so the disturbance grows exponentially instead of travelling, and the region collapses. The changeover is at λ_J = c√(π/Gρ), and it happens because pressure support acts on a sound-crossing time that grows with the region while gravity's collapse time does not depend on the size at all. Four densities spanning 6 decades are drawn and they lie exactly on top of one another, to 6e-16, because the criterion has no scale of its own: it is the same curve for a diffuse cloud and for a protostellar core, with different numbers written on the axes. In this gas at 10 K those numbers are 2.12 pc and 28.72 solar masses at 10² cm⁻³, 0.21 pc and 2.87 solar masses at 10⁴ cm⁻³, 4372 AU and 0.29 solar masses at 10⁶ cm⁻³, 437 AU and 0.03 solar masses at 10⁸ cm⁻³.

The disturbance that grows instead of travelling

A sound wave in a gas oscillates because pressure restores what the disturbance displaced. Add the gravity the gas exerts on itself and the restoring force acquires a competitor that does not weaken with size — so above one wavelength the sum changes sign, the frequency becomes imaginary, and the disturbance stops travelling and starts growing. It is the same wave equation with one term subtracted.

4 figures · part 4 on Self-gravity
The charge a plasma hides. The potential around a charge in a plasma, as a fraction of the bare Coulomb potential at the same distance, against distance measured in screening lengths. The electrons crowd toward the charge and the ions move away until the rearrangement cancels the field, and what is left falls as exp(−r/λ_D) on top of the ordinary 1/r. At one screening length the potential is already down to 37 per cent of the bare value, at three to 5 per cent, and at ten to 4 × 10⁻⁵ — so a charge in a plasma is invisible beyond a few λ_D, and the long range of the Coulomb force, which is what makes electrostatics awkward everywhere else, is simply gone. The screening length at 10¹¹ m⁻³ is 3.8 mm at 300 K, 6.9 mm at 1000 K, 21.8 mm at 10000 K, rising as the square root of the temperature because a hotter electron is harder to hold in place. Drawn this way the three curves coincide exactly: the shape is universal and the only thing a plasma's density and temperature decide is the length written on the axis.

The long-range force that does not reach

The Coulomb force falls off as slowly as gravity does, which is what makes electrostatics awkward — every charge is in principle in contact with every other. Put the same charge into a plasma and it becomes invisible beyond a few millimetres, because the mobile charges around it rearrange until its field is cancelled. What is left is a screened potential with a definite range, and that range is what makes a plasma a plasma.

4 figures · part 3 on Plasma oscillation
The brightest anything of a given mass can be. The Eddington luminosity against mass, with the main sequence drawn beside it. Radiation pushes outward on the electrons and gravity pulls inward on the protons, and both go as one over the distance squared — so the radius cancels out of the comparison entirely, checked here at three radii spanning four decades and coming out identical to 1e-20. What is left is a luminosity: L = 4πGMc/κ, which is 1.47 × 10³¹ watts per solar mass, or 3.8·10⁴ solar luminosities. Above it, radiation drives the outer layers away faster than gravity can hold them. The Sun is at 2.6e-5 of its own limit and in no danger; a star of 10 solar masses is at 1.2e-2; and a star of 100 is at 0.83, which is why the two lines converge at the top of the chart and why the most massive stars known are a few hundred solar masses rather than a few thousand. They do not fail to form for lack of gas; they blow away the gas that would have made them heavier, and once formed they shed mass continuously in a radiation-driven wind. The limit is the same expression for an accreting black hole, where it caps not the brightness but the rate at which mass can be taken on.

The brightness a mass cannot exceed

Light pushes outward on the electrons of a star and gravity pulls inward on its protons, and both forces fall off as one over the distance squared. The distance therefore cancels, and what is left is a limit on brightness rather than on size — 3.8 × 10⁴ times the Sun's luminosity for every solar mass, above which a body drives its own outer layers away.

4 figures · part 3 on Radiation pressure

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