Every essay — page 30
Mechanics
Motion, force, and the quantities that refuse to change.
The vibration that turns part of the way
Strike a wine glass and turn it on the table while it rings, and the note beats: the pattern of the vibration does not turn with the glass. Nor does it stay still in the room. For a ring vibrating in its lowest mode it follows exactly three-fifths of the rotation and slips back the other two-fifths, a fraction that depends only on the shape of the vibration. That fraction, worked out by George Bryan in 1890, is how some of the most precise gyroscopes ever built measure an angle directly, with nothing spinning in them at all.
The weight a frequency can find
A spring's frequency is the square root of its stiffness over the mass it carries, so adding a little mass lowers the note by half the fraction added. Nothing in that rule cares about gravity, and nothing in it cares about size. It weighs astronauts in orbit by the swing of a chair, films a fraction of an atom thick on a quartz plate, and single molecules on a beam a few micrometres long — and it improves without limit as the thing that vibrates gets lighter. What it cannot do on its own is say where the added mass sat, and that turns out to matter as much as how much there was.
Waves
Oscillation, and everything that turns out to be an oscillation.
The photograph that keeps the spectrum
Light falling on a mirror adds to its own reflection, and the sum does not travel: it stands, with sheets of darkness every half-wavelength. Otto Wiener photographed those sheets in 1890 and found the film clear where it touched the mirror, which settled which of light's two fields acts on matter. A year later Gabriel Lippmann recorded the sheets through the depth of an emulsion and developed them into stacked layers that, lit with white light, send back exactly the colours that wrote them. His photographs store the spectrum itself, so they can tell apart two yellows that every colour film and every eye records as one.
The tone the whole Earth rings at
The ground conducts and so does the ionosphere, eighty kilometres up, and between them lies a waveguide the size of the planet. Two walls, unlike a pipe, carry waves of any length, so the guide takes radio waves forty thousand kilometres long — longer than the world is round — and, closed on itself, it rings. Lightning strikes fifty times a second and keeps it ringing at about 7.8, 14.3 and 20.8 hertz. Perfect walls would put the tones at 10.6, 18.4 and 25.9; the difference is the ionosphere, a ceiling that leaks.
Optics
Light, and the small number of rules it obeys.
The colour at which glass disappears
Lower a glass rod into an oil of the same refractive index and it vanishes, except for a faint coloured outline. The outline is the clue. Glass and oil disperse light differently, so their indices can agree at only one wavelength; at every other the glass is still there, bending and scattering a little. Grind the glass to powder and pack it in the oil, and the mixture is clear at that one wavelength and opaque at the rest — a colour filter made of nothing but two transparent materials, whose colour moves by a whole hue for a few degrees of warming.
The rough surface that is a mirror at a glance
A sheet of office paper is matt from above and shines when sighted along its surface. A choppy sea scatters a radar beam from overhead and returns it like a mirror near the horizon. An X-ray mirror polished to a third of a nanometre is still rough to X-rays except at angles below a degree. All three are one rule: two rays reflected from points at different heights differ in path by twice the height times the sine of the grazing angle, so roughness is measured in wavelengths times that sine — and every surface, however rough, is a mirror for light that skims it closely enough.
Electromagnetism
Charge, field, and the lines drawn between them.
The window a spinning magnet floats in
No arrangement of fixed magnets can hold another magnet still in mid-air, and a spinning top made of a magnet floats above a magnetised base for minutes. The spin does not cancel the theorem; it changes what the top's energy depends on, from one component of the field to the field's strength, which can have a minimum. But the minimum exists only in a band of height a few millimetres thick, for a weight right to a couple of per cent, at a spin neither too slow nor too fast, and the well holding the top is about as deep as the energy of a twenty-gram weight dropped fifty micrometres.
The push at the end of a pair of rails
A railgun is two metal rails, a sliding conductor across them and a very large current, and the push on the slider is half the inductance per metre times the current squared. The half is not a fudge. The slider sits at the end of two rails that stop, and a wire that stops gives exactly half the field of one that does not. Followed through, the same circuit pushes its own rails apart six times harder per metre than it pushes the projectile, stores as much energy in its field as it gives the projectile, and wastes less the faster it shoots.
The field a ring of wires lets through
A cage made of wires is supposed to work almost as well as a solid box, because the field that leaks through the gaps dies away exponentially within a gap's width. The exponential is real and it is the wrong part of the story. It describes the ripple the separate wires make; underneath it the average field goes straight through, at a level that falls only in proportion to the spacing and depends on the wires' thickness through a logarithm. A cage of twelve thin wires lets a quarter of the field in.
The field a superconductor keeps after all
A superconductor is famous for throwing magnetic field out, and the experiment that showed it is the one that made superconductivity a state of matter. Most superconductors that are actually used do something closer to the opposite: they let the field in as threads, grip the threads where they are, and keep them when the field is taken away. The result is a slope of field inside the material that is as steep as the grip allows and no steeper, which is all that is needed to explain why such a superconductor has a hysteresis loop, heats up in an alternating field, can hang a magnet underneath itself, and can be made into a magnet stronger than any of iron.
Thermodynamics
Heat, disorder, and the one law with a direction in it.
The frost that lifts by drinking
Frozen ground rises in winter, sometimes by tens of centimetres, and the usual explanation — water expands by nine per cent when it freezes — is wrong: soil soaked in benzene, which shrinks as it freezes, heaves too. The lift comes from layers of clear ice that grow by pulling liquid water up through the soil from below. Ice and water touching each other need not be at the same pressure, and when the water is free to flow, ice a degree below its melting point can push with 1.12 megapascals while it drinks — twelve times less than freezing water in a sealed pipe, and enough to lift a house at a tenth of a degree.
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.
Relativity
Space and time, drawn on the same axes.
The speed that stops while the energy keeps coming
In 1964 William Bertozzi gave electrons energies from half a megaelectronvolt to fifteen, timed them over eight and a half metres, and caught them in an aluminium disc to measure the heat they brought. By Newton the fastest should have crossed in under four nanoseconds, seven times faster than light. They took twenty-eight, and so did the slower ones, more or less. The heat, meanwhile, rose in proportion to the energy put in. The experiment is famous for showing that nothing outruns light, but its sharper result is the second half: the energy did arrive, all of it, carried at very nearly the same speed.
The turns a muon makes at any energy
A muon lives two microseconds, and in a storage ring it lives longer the faster it goes, because its clock runs slow. Its orbit runs slow too: a faster muon carries more momentum, bends less in the same field and takes longer to go round. The two slowings are the same factor of gamma, so they cancel. A muon in a 1.45 tesla ring makes 431 turns in a mean life whether it is moving at nine-tenths of the speed of light or at nine nines, and the only way to more turns is a stronger magnet. The same cancellation is why the first cyclotrons stopped working near twenty million electronvolts.
Quantum
Where the continuous picture runs out, and what replaces it.
The lines a warm vapour hides
Shine a tunable laser through a cell of rubidium vapour and the absorption is one smooth hump half a gigahertz wide, though the atoms' own lines are eighty times narrower and three of them lie inside it. The atoms are moving, each sees the light Doppler-shifted by its own speed, and their lines are smeared together. Send a second, stronger beam back the other way and narrow dips appear in the hump at exactly the frequencies of the hidden lines — because only atoms standing still can be talked to by both beams at once. The vapour stays at room temperature and the motion is not removed; it is selected against.
The film whose thinnest point sets the flow
Leave a beaker of superfluid helium standing in a bath and it empties itself, the liquid creeping up the inside wall as a film eighty atoms thick, over the rim and down the outside. The film itself is nothing special: ordinary liquid helium coats the wall just as thickly. What is special is that it flows without friction, and so its flow is set not by how hard it is pushed but by how fast it can go. The level falls in a straight line rather than slowing as it nears the bath's, and the whole flow is decided at one place, the rim, where the film is thinnest and has to run fastest.
The electrons a field pulls from cold metal
A metal holds its electrons behind a step a few electronvolts high, and to get them out the usual way is to heat the metal white-hot until some climb over it. Put a strong enough field outside instead and the step tilts into a triangle a couple of nanometres wide, and electrons leave a cold metal by tunnelling through it. The current grows thirty decades as the field rises tenfold, a sharp needle at a thousand volts reaches the field that a flat plate would need a million volts for, and the electrons that come out all have nearly the same energy — which is why the brightest, sharpest electron microscopes are fed from a single etched tungsten point.
Fluids
Matter that will not hold a shape, and the forces that act in it anyway.
The water the dent displaces
A steel needle laid carefully on water floats, and the usual explanation is that surface tension holds it up instead of buoyancy, as though the two were rival mechanisms. They are not rivals. The needle presses a dent into the surface, and the upward pull of surface tension along its edges is exactly the weight of the water missing from that dent. Archimedes' principle holds without amendment: a floating needle displaces its own weight of water. Most of that water is simply not underneath it.
The sound sand carries faster the deeper it goes
A solid carries sound at a speed set by what it is made of. A heap of quartz grains is made of quartz, and near its surface it carries sound more slowly than the air above it. The grains are not the solid; their contacts are, and a contact between two spheres grows stiffer the harder it is pressed. So the speed of sound in dry sand rises as the sixth root of the load on it — from about air's speed a few centimetres down to twice that at six metres — the paths of sound in a beach curve back up to the surface, and a water table is a mirror to one kind of wave and almost invisible to the other.
The bubble that grows by counting its sides
A froth of soap bubbles squeezed between two sheets of glass coarsens over a few days: small cells vanish and large ones swell. The obvious guess is that size decides which cells win, as it does for two bubbles joined by a tube, where the small one always empties into the large one. In a froth it is wrong. John von Neumann showed in 1952 that a cell's area changes at a rate fixed entirely by how many sides it has — shrinking if fewer than six, growing if more — and not at all by how big it is. The proof is a single sum of angles.
The tension that vanishes where the phases meet
Surface tension is usually treated as a property of a liquid, like its density. It is a property of a boundary between two things, and it can only exist while there are two things. Heat water in a sealed tube and its surface tension falls steadily, then faster, and reaches exactly zero at 374 °C, where liquid and vapour stop being different. On the way the surface stops being a surface: the step in density spreads from a molecule's width to thousands, and the rate at which the tension dies turns out to be a number the whole family of critical points shares and the simplest theory gets wrong.
Astrophysics
Gravity read as geometry, and the laws carried where no laboratory can follow.
The field no symmetric flow can keep
The Earth's core would forget its magnetic field in about forty thousand years, and the field is at least three and a half thousand million years old, so something must be making it again all the time. The obvious candidate is the flow of liquid iron. In 1934 Thomas Cowling proved that the simplest version cannot work: no motion of a conductor, however fast or however arranged, can keep up a field that is symmetric about an axis. The reason is a single ring inside the field where the current it needs cannot be driven.
The clock that cannot be both light and good
The Planck length is usually quoted as the smallest distance that means anything, as though every longer distance could be known to that precision. Time a distance with light against a clock and the floor turns out to rise with the distance. A light clock wanders while the light is away; a heavy clock wanders less but is closer to being a black hole; and the best compromise leaves a metre uncertain by 750 thousand million Planck lengths and the size of the observable universe by the size of an atomic nucleus. The same compromise, counted up, says a region can hold only as many distinguishable places as its surface has Planck areas.
The four shapes a wave of gravity leaves out
A passing gravitational wave squeezes a ring of free masses in one of two patterns, and that is usually presented as the whole menu. It is general relativity's choice from a longer one. The tide a wave carries is a symmetric table of six numbers, so any theory in which gravity is geometry allows six shapes; a theory keeps two only if its graviton has no mass and nothing else rides along with it. Give the graviton the smallest mass imaginable and it gains three more states, and one of them changes how much the Sun bends light — by a quarter, however small the mass.
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