Every essay — page 23
Mechanics
Motion, force, and the quantities that refuse to change.
The quarter cycle a turning point costs
The old quantum rule said an orbit's action is a whole number of Planck constants. It gets the harmonic oscillator wrong by exactly half a unit, the box by exactly one, and a neutron bouncing on a mirror by three quarters. Each is the same correction: a wave loses a quarter of a cycle every time it turns round smoothly, and half a cycle every time it hits a wall.
The point that takes the blow without a jolt
Hit a stick held at one end and the hand feels a jolt — forwards if the blow lands near the hand, backwards if it lands near the tip, and nothing at all if it lands two-thirds of the way along. That point is the centre of percussion, and it is exactly where a simple pendulum with the same period would end: two different questions about a swinging body with one answer.
Waves
Oscillation, and everything that turns out to be an oscillation.
The phases that turn a glow into pulses
A laser oscillates on many frequencies at once, spaced by the time light takes to go round its cavity. Add those waves with random phases and the output is a steady glow with noise in it. Add exactly the same waves with their phases equal and the output is a train of pulses, each N² times brighter than one wave and a fraction 1/N of the round trip long. Nothing about the frequencies, the amplitudes or the average power changes — only the phases, and they decide everything a detector fast enough would see.
The lattice no phase can bend
Cross a few laser beams of one colour and they paint a crystal of light in the space where they overlap. The beams' phases drift whenever a mirror trembles, and it would seem the pattern must tremble with them. Whether it does depends on a count. Three beams in a plane, or four in space, give a lattice whose shape no change of phase can alter — the phases can only slide it. One beam more and the phases decide the shape, and must be held still.
The wiggle faster than any wave in it
Light passing through a lens carries no detail finer than half a wavelength, because no travelling wave in it varies faster than that. It would seem to follow that the light itself cannot vary faster anywhere. It can. A sum of slow waves can be arranged to wiggle faster than any of them over a stretch of any length chosen — and to focus to a spot as narrow as wanted — provided the stretch sits between side lobes that grow exponentially with every extra wiggle.
The absorber whose bandwidth is its thickness
A metal plate reflects everything, and a surface that must swallow a radar wave instead has to be a match between free space and a short circuit. A resistive sheet a quarter-wave in front of the metal does it perfectly at one frequency. Widening the band takes more sheets and more depth, and a theorem says why that is not a failure of design: for any absorber backed by metal, the total absorption over all wavelengths is fixed by its thickness, and by nothing else except its permeability.
Optics
Light, and the small number of rules it obeys.
The angle at which total reflection stops being total
Coat the back face of a glass prism with fifty nanometres of gold and total internal reflection still returns almost all the light — except at one angle, where the reflection of one polarisation falls nearly to zero. The light has gone into an electron wave bound to the far surface of the gold, and because that wave's angle depends on whatever touches the gold, the missing reflection has become one of the most sensitive balances in biochemistry.
The corner that sends light home
Three mirrors at right angles send light straight back the way it came, from any direction they can see, because each one reverses one component of its direction. Made from solid glass, a corner reflects by total internal reflection and needs no silver — which is why the reflectors left on the Moon are bare glass — but each of its six sectors then returns a different polarisation, and the returned spot loses three-quarters of its peak.
Electromagnetism
Charge, field, and the lines drawn between them.
The momentum light carries into glass
A pulse of light in glass has two momenta, nE/c and E/nc, and for a century the argument was about which one is right. Both are measured. A free block that the light crosses must move forward, which only Abraham's value explains; a Cherenkov cone exists at all, which only Minkowski's allows. They answer different questions, and the difference between them is momentum carried by the glass.
The mass a charge's field gets wrong by a third
Give a charged sphere's field its energy U and divide by c², and the field has a mass. Move the sphere and ask the field's momentum what the mass is, and it says four-thirds of that. The discrepancy took from 1881 to the 1960s to understand, and the answer is not a better calculation of the field. It is that a charge cannot hold itself together, and whatever does has energy too.
The shape that takes five numbers
A charge distribution's net charge is one number and its dipole three. The next term, the quadrupole, is where the distribution's shape first reaches the far field, and it is a table of nine numbers of which only five survive: two for the shape and three for which way it points. Its field vanishes on a cone at 54.74° — the same angle at which a spinning sample makes a nuclear magnetic resonance spectrum sharp.
Thermodynamics
Heat, disorder, and the one law with a direction in it.
The voltage that is a chemical potential
A battery, a nerve cell and a pH meter all turn a difference in chemical potential into a voltage, and the conversion is the same in each: fifty-nine millivolts for every factor of ten in concentration, at room temperature, whatever the ion. The voltage a battery holds as it discharges is the chemical potential of the atoms stored in its electrodes — and a battery whose voltage barely changes is one whose electrode is going through a phase transition.
The precision a clock pays for in heat
Anything that counts — a molecular motor stepping along a filament, a chemical oscillator keeping time in a bacterium, a clock ticking on a wall — has to be driven, because a count that is not driven runs backwards as often as forwards. The heat it gives off buys it regularity, and there is an exact floor under the price: the squared relative uncertainty of the count, times the entropy produced, is never less than two in units of Boltzmann's constant.
Relativity
Space and time, drawn on the same axes.
The right angle a fast collision closes
When one billiard ball strikes an identical one at rest, the two always leave at right angles — a fact every snooker player uses without knowing its proof. The proof is Newton's, and it fails for fast particles. Two protons leaving a collision at 1.9 GeV open at 70 degrees, not 90, and the narrowing follows one law, tan θ₁ tan θ₂ = 2/(γ + 1), in which the right angle is the slow limit. The circle that forced the right angle has been squashed into an ellipse by the energy the incoming particle carries as inertia.
The spring that becomes a light-clock
A mass on an ideal spring keeps the same period however far it swings — that is what makes it a clock. Give the mass the inertia relativity demands, pull it back far enough, and the clock breaks. The speed can never pass c, so a large swing spends almost all its time moving at nearly the speed of light, turning round abruptly at each end: the sine becomes a triangle, the period grows until it is simply the time light takes to cross the swing four times, and a clock riding on the mass ages a small fraction of what one beside it does.
The clock that runs slow because it is warm
Every atom in a gas is moving, and every moving clock runs slow. The first-order Doppler shifts of a hot gas cancel on average; the time dilation does not, because it has only one sign. A hydrogen maser at 40 °C runs slow by four parts in a hundred billion from this alone, a nucleus in a crystal runs slow even at absolute zero, and the first test of gravitational time dilation nearly drowned in a one-kelvin temperature difference.
The charge that passes as a flash of light
A charge at rest has a field that no change of frame can turn into light. A charge going past at nearly the speed of light delivers a field that is, for every practical purpose, a pulse of light anyway: thin, perpendicular to the motion, with its electric and magnetic parts equal and crossed. Enrico Fermi saw in 1924 that such a field could be counted as photons, and the Large Hadron Collider now collides lead nuclei's photons with each other.
Quantum
Where the continuous picture runs out, and what replaces it.
The line that takes eleven million years
A hydrogen atom in its ground state can flip its electron's spin relative to the proton's and emit a photon of 21 centimetres. Left alone, one atom takes eleven million years to do it. The Galaxy is nonetheless bright at that wavelength, because there is so much hydrogen, and because the flip is so slow that the line's brightness counts atoms without caring how hot they are.
The atom the size of a bacterium
Excite hydrogen's electron to the hundredth level and the atom is a micrometre across, bound by a thousandth of an electronvolt, pulled apart by the field of a torch battery, and — in its most circular state — able to live for nearly a second. Every one of those numbers is a power of n, and together they make the most exaggerated atom there is into one of the most useful.
Fluids
Matter that will not hold a shape, and the forces that act in it anyway.
The sea that stands lower because water gives
Water is the textbook incompressible fluid, and at the bottom of the ocean it is 4.7 per cent denser than at the top. That squeezing lowers the whole sea by about thirty metres, adds the weight of 266 metres of water to the pressure in the deepest trench, and speeds sound up so steadily with depth that it digs a channel in which a low note can cross an ocean.
The pore that lifts highest fills slowest
Jurin's law says how high water climbs in a tube and nothing about how long it takes. The rise has three laws in succession — the column's inertia, then its viscous drag, then its weight — and the same narrowness that lifts water highest throttles it hardest, so for any deadline there is a best pore. A wide enough tube does something Jurin's law cannot: it overshoots and rings. And whatever the route, exactly half the energy the surface releases is lost.
Astrophysics
Gravity read as geometry, and the laws carried where no laboratory can follow.
The flash a circling charge sends once a turn
A slow electron going round a magnet broadcasts one radio frequency. The same electron at nearly the speed of light, on a circle of the same kind, sends X-rays. Nothing about the mechanism changes between the two. The charge chases its own light, and the chase compresses one power of γ worth of emission into three.
The cross-section that forgets the colour
An electron on a spring, shaken by light, scatters it — weakly and very blue below its resonance, enormously at it, and above it by exactly the same amount whatever the colour. That flat stretch is the Thomson cross-section, 6.65 × 10⁻²⁹ m², and it is why an X-ray picture of a crystal is a map of electrons and why the corona is white.
The radiation a difference in falling would make
Gravitational waves start at the quadrupole because the equivalence principle removes the dipole: when every body's gravitational charge is its mass, the centre of charge is the centre of mass and cannot move. If a neutron star's own gravity fell even slightly differently, a binary containing one would radiate a dipole — louder than Einstein's quadrupole in slow orbits — and a pulsar with a white dwarf in an 8.5-hour orbit has been listening for it.
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