Illustrated Physics
physics, drawn
The collection

Every essay — page 6

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.

Every path the body can take, at one angular momentum. The angular momentum vector, drawn in the body's own frame on the sphere its length confines it to, for a body whose principal moments are 3.068e-3, 6.817e-3 and 9.750e-3 kg m². Each closed curve is one motion, traced by integrating Euler's equations rather than by solving for the intersection of the sphere with the energy ellipsoid, so a curve closes only if the physics closes it. The low-energy curves circle the greatest-moment axis and the high-energy ones circle the least; both sets are small loops that stay near their axis, which is what stability looks like. Between them is the one curve that is not a loop at all — four arcs, drawn heavier, meeting at the intermediate axis and leaving it again. A body spun about that axis is balanced on the crossing point of paths that go somewhere else, which is the whole of why it does not stay.

The axis that will not hold

A book spun about its long edge keeps spinning about it. Spun about the axis through its covers, it keeps spinning about that. Spun about the third axis, it flips end over end, again and again, with nothing touching it. Three numbers decide, and what matters is only their order.

6 figures · part 3 on Rotation Which failure comes first. The dividing line between a block that slides and one that tips over, for a horizontal push applied at the top. Sliding needs a force of μ_s times the weight; tipping needs the push's moment about the leading bottom edge to beat the weight's, which is the weight times half the width. The weight appears in both and cancels, so the boundary is the curve aspect ratio = 1/2μ_s and nothing else: not the mass, not how hard the block is pushed, and not what it is made of except through μ. At μ_s = 0.5 the dividing shape is as tall as it is wide; at μ_s = 0.2 it is 2.5 times as tall. Of the 5 objects marked, 3 sit above the line and go over rather than sliding: a paperback, standing, a full filing cabinet, a pint glass.

Slide or topple

Push a wardrobe and it goes over; push a brick and it skids. Both are held by the same friction and both are pushed by the same hand, and which of the two failures arrives first has nothing to do with how hard the push is. The floor decides it, by shifting where it pushes back.

10 figures · part 2 on Free-body One equation, and the number that decides what it does. The same oscillator released from rest at one unit of displacement, with 4 different amounts of velocity-proportional loss. Every curve is a numerical integration of a single equation with no case analysis in it; what changes between them is one dimensionless number, the damping ratio. Below one, the two exponents are a complex conjugate pair and the motion crosses zero over and over inside a decaying envelope. At one they collide into a real double root and the trace reaches the axis and stops. Above one they are two distinct real numbers, the slower of them dominates, and the return is sluggish — an overdamped system takes longer to come back than a critically damped one, which is the thing the word 'over' is doing in its name. The ratios drawn are 0.15, 0.5, 1, 2, and the first zero crossing happens at 1.75 s for ζ = 0.15, 2.42 s for ζ = 0.5, never for ζ = 1, never for ζ = 2.

The three ways of coming to rest

An oscillator with friction in it can swing and fade, arrive and stop, or crawl back so slowly it looks stuck. One equation and one number decide which. The number is not what most people would guess, and neither is the value that returns fastest.

7 figures · part 3 on Pendulum

Waves

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

Where modulating a system sets it going. The regions of the modulation plane in which an oscillator with a damping ratio of 0.02 will not stay still. The horizontal axis is the modulation frequency in units of the oscillator's own; the vertical is how deeply the stiffness is modulated. Inside a shaded wedge the state of rest is unstable and any disturbance grows exponentially; outside it, nothing happens at all. The wedges sit at modulation frequencies of twice, once and two-thirds of the natural frequency, and the first is much the widest — it opens at a depth of 8.0%, against 40.0% for the second. Each boundary is found by integrating one period of the modulation from two independent starts and asking whether the resulting map has a multiplier outside the unit circle, then bisecting on the depth; none of the shape is drawn by hand. Without damping every wedge would come to a point on the axis and there would be no threshold at all — the flat bottom of each is damping, and it is why a swing has to be pumped hard enough before it does anything.

The swing that is pumped, not pushed

Nobody pushes a swing they are sitting on. They stand up at the bottom and sit down at the ends, which changes the pendulum rather than forcing it — and does so twice per period. The equation that describes it has no forcing term at all, so standing still is always a solution, and what the pumping changes is whether standing still is stable.

5 figures · part 2 on Resonance Newton's answer, Laplace's, and the measurement. The speed of sound in 4 gases at 273.15 K. The short bar is Newton's √(RT/M), which assumes the compressions stay at one temperature; the long one is the same multiplied by √γ, which is what they come to if no heat crosses between a compression and the rarefaction beside it; the upright mark is the measured value. Newton's is 15.5% low for air, 22.5% low for helium, 22.5% low for argon, 12.0% low for carbon dioxide, and the corrected one is right to 0.05% for every gas here. Turning it round: γ read off each pair of bars is 1.400 for air, 1.665 for helium, 1.666 for argon, 1.290 for carbon dioxide, which is 1 + 2/f with f = 5.0, 3.0, 3.0, 6.9 ways of holding energy — three for the monatomic gases, five for the diatomic ones, and nearly seven for carbon dioxide, whose bending modes have begun to take a share at this temperature and its stretch has not. A speed measured with a stopwatch counts the ways a molecule can move.

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.

5 figures · part 5 on Wave motion The narrow packet is the one that spreads. Three packets on deep water, ω = √(gk), all built on the same 4 m carrier and differing only in bandwidth — 10%, 18%, 28% of the carrier wavenumber. Each curve is the width of the emitted envelope, measured as the second moment of its intensity about its own centroid in a frame moving at the group velocity, divided by that width at the start. The starting widths are 4.50 m, 2.50 m, 1.61 m, and the order of the curves is the reverse of the order of the widths: the shortest packet, which is the one with the widest spectrum, is the one that comes apart first. The dashed curves are √(1 + (t/τ)²) with τ = σ₀²/|d²ω/dk²| — computed from the dispersion relation, not fitted. They agree with the measured widths to 0.3% at 10% bandwidth, 3.3% at 18% bandwidth, 8.5% at 28% bandwidth, and that ordering is the second thing the figure says: the closed form keeps only the curvature of ω(k), so it is exact for a narrow spectrum and starts to fail for a wide one, by about as much as the cubic term is worth. A packet with no bandwidth would never spread at all, and would also never begin or end.

The packet that will not keep its shape

A group velocity is only the first thing a dispersion relation says. The second is that the packet spreads — at a rate fixed by its own bandwidth and by the curvature of ω(k) — so a short pulse comes apart quickly and a long one hardly at all. It is a trade quantum mechanics is usually given credit for, and classical waves make it too.

5 figures · part 3 on Wave packets What a real coating leaves behind, and over what range. Reflectance against wavelength for a glass surface of index 1.52 in air, uncoated and with quarter-wave layers of 2 different indices, each a quarter of a wave thick at 550 nm. The ideal index is the geometric mean, 1.2329, and the layer made of it takes the reflectance to zero at the design wavelength exactly. No durable solid has that index: magnesium fluoride at 1.38 is the usual compromise and it leaves 1.26% at the design wavelength against 4.26% bare — a reduction of 3.4× rather than a removal. Both curves rise away from the design wavelength, because the thickness is a quarter of a wave only there, and the useful band is wide but not unlimited: the better coating stays under a quarter of the bare reflectance from 415 to 780 nm. The purple cast of a coated lens is that residual — the ends of the visible reflecting while the middle does not.

The layer that makes a reflection vanish

A wave meeting a step in impedance reflects, and nothing can be done about the step. Put a third medium between the two, a quarter of a wavelength thick and of exactly the intermediate impedance, and the reflection stops existing — not reduced, cancelled.

5 figures · part 2 on Impedance A peak that leaves before it should have arrived. Two pulses at the far face of a cell, both normalised to the peak the vacuum one reaches. One has crossed empty space; the other has crossed a medium with two gain lines either side of its carrier, whose group index there is -3.85 — negative, so the envelope's peak should emerge early, and it does. Measured off the two curves the advance is 616 in units where the carrier period is 2π, against 582 predicted from the group index alone; the difference is the higher-order dispersion the group index leaves out. The advance is 0.21 of the pulse's own duration, and the peak leaves the far face before the input peak has entered the near one. Nothing has outrun anything. The emergent pulse is a reshaped version of the input's leading edge, which arrived in plenty of time and already contained — for a smooth pulse — everything needed to reconstruct the rest; the medium amplifies it by 1.14× and delivers it early. Give the pulse a genuine front, a moment before which it is exactly zero, and that front travels at the speed of light in every medium there is.

The speed that carries no signal

In the right medium a pulse's peak emerges from the far side before it entered the near one. The measurement is real, it has been made, and nothing has outrun light — because the peak of a smooth pulse was never carrying any information in the first place.

4 figures · part 4 on Wave packets

Optics

Light, and the small number of rules it obeys.

The two reflectances, and the angle one of them loses. Reflectance against angle of incidence for light going from n = 1 into n = 1.5. The upper curve is light polarised with its electric field along the surface, which reflects more and more strongly until at grazing incidence everything reflects. The lower curve is light polarised in the plane of incidence, and it does something the other cannot: it falls to exactly zero at 56.31°, where tan θ = 1.5000, and then rises again. At normal incidence the two are equal at 4.00% because there is no plane of incidence to tell them apart. The dashed curve is the transmittance, computed from the transmission coefficients and the two media's projected impedances rather than as one minus the reflectance; it agrees with one minus the reflectance to 4.4e-16 across the whole range, which is where the energy accounting can be seen to close.

The angle at which reflection picks a side

At one angle of incidence, a water surface reflects no light at all of one polarisation. The Fresnel algebra says so, and says nothing about why. The reason is that the reflected ray would have to leave along the axis of the charges radiating it — and a shaking charge sends nothing along the direction it shakes in.

7 figures · part 2 on Polarisation Rays that turn round without meeting anything. Rays leaving an eye 1.5 m above a road, at 0.18°, 0.28°, 0.36°, 0.42°, 0.52° below the horizontal, in air whose refractive index is reduced by 3.0e-5 at the hot surface and recovers over 5 cm. Each is traced by integrating the ray equation, with the conserved quantity n cos θ fixed by where and how the ray set out. The shallow ones come back up without touching anything — the lowest gets to 0.6 cm above the surface and turns — and a ray that returns to eye level from below is seen as sky lying on the road. The steep ones run out of gradient first and hit it. The dividing angle is 0.444°, which is what the whole effect is made of: an unremarkable temperature difference and an angle a fiftieth the width of the Moon. Heights are exaggerated 128× against distances; at true scale every ray here would be indistinguishable from the axis. The conserved n cos θ holds to 4.3e-14 over every trace, which is what says the turns are the physics and not the integrator.

The ray that bends without a surface

Snell's law is about a boundary, and light bends in air where there is no boundary anywhere. Let the index vary continuously and the law of angles becomes a differential equation — one that carries a conserved quantity, forbids the ray from reaching certain heights, and turns a hot road into a mirror a hundred metres long.

4 figures · part 2 on Fermat How far apart the two paths can be. Fringe visibility against the difference between the two path lengths, for light at 550 nm with a bandwidth of 100 nm. Each curve is the modulus of the Fourier transform of its own line shape, summed over the spectrum here rather than taken from a standard result, and the three shapes have the same width at half height. The conventional coherence length λ²/Δλ is 3.02 µm for this light, and what the curves show is that the convention is a rounding of three genuinely different behaviours: a flat band halves at 1.83 µm, a Gaussian line halves at 1.33 µm, a Lorentzian line halves at 0.68 µm. The flat band comes back — a rectangle's transform rings — and the Lorentzian's tails keep a little visibility very much further out than its width suggests. Nothing here is about the apparatus: the fade is the source forgetting its own phase.

How far a wave can remember

Split a beam, delay one half, and put them back together. The fringes are bright while the delay is short and fade as it grows, and the distance at which they die is fixed by nothing but the width of the source's spectral line. Watching them fade is reading the line shape.

5 figures · part 2 on Coherence Cancelling a derivative, and what is left over. How far the focus of a 500 mm lens moves with wavelength, for a single crown element and for a cemented pair of crown and flint whose powers satisfy the achromatic condition. The singlet's focus runs over 18.1 mm across the visible — a fifth of a per cent of its focal length, and utterly ruinous at any useful aperture. The doublet's runs over 2.268 mm, some 8× less, and — this is the whole content of the figure — it is not flat. The condition sets the rate of change of power with wavelength to zero, so the curve is stationary rather than constant: it returns to the corrected focus at exactly 2 wavelengths — 486 nm and 656 nm, which are the two Fraunhofer lines the condition was written at — and departs from it everywhere else, most at 400 nm. That residual is the secondary spectrum, it has the same sign at both ends of the visible, and no pair of ordinary glasses removes it, because two conditions cannot be met with one free ratio.

Two glasses that cancel a derivative

A single lens focuses blue light closer than red, and the difference ruins the image. Cementing a second lens of another glass behind it fixes the fault at two wavelengths and at no others, because the condition sets a slope to zero rather than a value.

4 figures · part 2 on Dispersion Where the sky's blue goes. How many times more strongly a sphere scatters 450 nm light than 650 nm light, against its radius, with the radius on a logarithmic axis running from a couple of nanometres to twenty micrometres. On the left the ratio sits at 4.35, which is the fourth power of the wavelength ratio and the whole reason the daytime sky is blue. It does not stay there. By a radius of 245 nm the preference has halved, and by a micrometre it has essentially gone: a particle comparable with the wavelength scatters every visible colour within a few per cent of equally, which is why a cloud is white, why fog is white, why milk is white and why the exhaust of a cold diesel is white while the smoke of a cigarette — whose particles are ten times smaller — is blue. Nothing about the material changed between one end of this axis and the other; only the size did.

When the particle is the size of the wave

The sky is blue because small things scatter short wavelengths far more strongly. A cloud is made of the same water and scatters every colour alike. Nothing about the material changed — only the size, and one dimensionless number crossing one.

5 figures · part 2 on Scattering

Electromagnetism

Charge, field, and the lines drawn between them.

The plane deleted, and one charge put in its place. A charge of 1 nC held 20 mm above an earthed conducting plane. The lines are traced through the field of the real charge plus an equal and opposite one at the mirror position, and then cut at the plane, because below it there is metal and no field whatever. Nothing in the tracing knows about the surface: each line follows the local field direction and stops where it arrives. That every one of them arrives perpendicular — the worst departure among the 9 drawn is 2.2° away from square — is the boundary condition showing itself rather than a rule imposed on the drawing. The image charge is drawn faint because it is not there: it is a way of writing a function that happens to satisfy the equation and the boundary values, which by the uniqueness theorem makes it the field and not a model of the field.

The charge that has to be somewhere else

Hold a charge above an earthed metal sheet and the field above it is exactly the field of two charges — the real one and an imaginary partner buried at the mirror position. The partner is not an analogy or an approximation. It is a legal guess, and a legal guess is a proof.

4 figures · part 3 on Conductors A torque, and no force at all. A loop of 1 turn enclosing 20 cm² and carrying 10 A has a magnetic moment of 0.02 A m². In a uniform field of 0.05 T the torque on it is m B sin θ, drawn here against the angle between the moment and the field: zero when they are aligned, largest at 0.001 N m across, and zero again when they are opposed. The second curve is the energy, −m·B, whose minimum is the aligned position and whose maximum is the opposed one — which is why a compass needle settles one way round and not the other. The net force is zero at every angle on this axis, exactly and not approximately: the force is I dl × B summed round the loop, the sum of dl round any closed path is zero, and a constant B comes outside the sum. The inset shows the four forces on a rectangular loop; the pair across the axis is the couple, and the pair along it cancels.

The loop that behaves like a needle

Far enough away, a current going round in a circle is indistinguishable from a bar magnet, and one number describes both. That number tells a uniform field how to turn the loop and gives it no way to pull on it at all — which is why two magnets attract by the fourth power of the distance and not the second.

4 figures · part 3 on Magnetism A metre of tube, with and without the metal. The magnet's position against time over a 1.00 m drop, integrated from Newton's second law with the eddy-current drag included, and the same fall with the drag switched off. The braked descent takes 2.09 s against 0.45 s in free fall. After a transient of about 50 milliseconds — the mass divided by the drag coefficient, and the only timescale in the problem — the trace is a straight line, which is to say the magnet is falling at a constant 49.0 cm/s. Every joule of the 118 mJ of gravitational energy released has gone into resistive heating of the wall, and none into the magnet's kinetic energy, since that is the same at the bottom as it was a moment after the start.

The magnet that falls slowly

Drop a magnet down a copper pipe and it takes several seconds to fall a metre, drifting rather than falling. Nothing touches it, the copper is not magnetic, and there is no circuit anywhere. The pipe arrives warm.

4 figures · part 2 on Induction

Thermodynamics

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

The ceiling, inverted. How many joules of heat a perfect machine can move per joule of work, against the outside temperature, with the inside held at 21 °C. The upper curve is heating — T_h/(T_h − T_c), which is what the Carnot argument becomes when the cycle is run backwards — and the lower one is cooling the outside, T_c/(T_h − T_c). They differ by exactly one everywhere, to 1.8e-15 across the whole range as drawn, because the work put in is delivered as heat along with whatever was moved. The dashed line at one is a resistive heater, which is 100% efficient and is the worst option on the figure. At 7 °C and −7 °C the ideal coefficients are 21.0 and 10.5; a real machine reaching 25% of the ideal gets 5.3 and 2.6, which is still several times what burning the same energy would give.

The engine that pays back more than it takes

Carnot's argument puts a ceiling on how much work a flow of heat can be made to do. Run the same cycle backwards and the ceiling inverts into a floor that is greater than one — so a machine can deliver three or four joules of heat for every joule it consumes, and a perfectly efficient electric heater is the worst way to warm a room.

7 figures · part 2 on Heat engines The entropy of mixing, and the entropy of not mixing. The entropy gained when two ideal gases at the same temperature and pressure are allowed to mix, per particle and in units of Boltzmann's constant, against the proportion of the mixture that is the first gas. The curve has no property of either gas in it — not their masses, not their sizes, not how strongly they interact, since ideal gases do not — and it is largest at 0.500, where it reaches ln 2 = 0.6931. Below it is the same quantity for two samples of the SAME gas, which is zero at every proportion: removing the partition between two halves of a box of nitrogen changes nothing that can be measured, and putting it back recovers the original state. The two results are correct and they do not join up. Make the two gases more and more alike — two isotopes, then two nuclear spin states, then nothing at all — and the upper curve does not descend to meet the lower one; it stays exactly where it is until the two species become identical, and then jumps. What the figure is really about is that the jump is in the counting and not in the gas.

Mixing what is already mixed

Let two different gases into each other's halves of a box and the entropy rises by a fixed amount that contains nothing about either gas. Do it with the same gas on both sides and it rises by nothing. Make the gases more and more alike and the answer does not converge — it jumps.

5 figures · part 5 on Entropy The part of the curve no fluid follows. Van der Waals' isotherms in reduced units, at 5 temperatures either side of the critical one, so that nothing about any particular substance appears. Above the critical temperature the pressure falls monotonically as the volume grows, which is what a fluid does. Below it the curve develops a loop with a rising section in the middle, and that section says the pressure increases as the substance expands — a material with negative compressibility, which cannot exist, because any fluctuation would run away. What happens instead is drawn as the horizontal line: the substance separates into two phases at one pressure, and the volume moves along the line as the proportions change. Its height, 0.6470 of the critical pressure, is fixed by requiring the two areas the line cuts off to be equal, which is the condition that the two phases have the same Gibbs energy. It meets the curve at volumes 0.603 and 2.349, a ratio of 3.9, and those are the densities of the liquid and its vapour. The two turning points of the loop, at 0.72 and 1.53, bound the part that is not merely unobserved but impossible; between them and the construction the substance can be made to sit, superheated or supercooled, until something nucleates.

The part of the curve no fluid follows

One equation for a real gas produces isotherms with a rising middle section, which says a substance would expand as the pressure on it grows. Nothing does that. What replaces it is a horizontal line whose height is fixed by making two areas equal, and the condition is not a convenience.

4 figures · part 3 on Phase change

Relativity

Space and time, drawn on the same axes.

Where the light that was sideways ends up. The direction a photon is seen to travel in the laboratory, against the direction it was emitted in the frame of the source, for a source moving at 0.5c, 0.9c, 0.99c. The straight diagonal is what would happen if a boost only changed frequencies; every curve lies well below it, which is aberration. The number that matters is where the emitted right angle lands, because half of everything emitted is on that side of it: 60.0° at 0.5c, 25.8° at 0.9c, 8.1° at 0.99c. The usual shorthand for that angle is 1/γ, which gives 49.6°, 25.0°, 8.1° — good to a few per cent only once the source is genuinely relativistic, and wrong by 17% at 0.5c. Nothing is emitted differently in any of these cases: the source is radiating exactly as it always did, and it is the map from its angles to ours that has changed.

The sky that crowds into a cone

A boost does not only shift frequencies. It remaps directions, so half of everything a fast traveller can see is squeezed into a forward cone of half-angle about 1/γ — and because brightness carries four powers of the Doppler factor, what lies ahead is overwhelming and what lies behind has effectively gone.

4 figures · part 3 on Doppler Two corrections, opposite in sign and different in size. How fast a clock in a circular orbit runs compared with one on the ground, in microseconds a day, against the height of the orbit — with the two effects drawn apart rather than added. Being high speeds a clock up, by an amount that saturates: the potential term is bounded because there is only so much potential to climb out of. Moving slows it down, and a higher orbit is a slower one, so that term shrinks toward zero. They cancel at 3186 km — a radius of exactly 1.5 Earth radii, which follows from setting the sum to zero and contains neither G, nor the Earth's mass, nor the speed of light. At 20200 km the gravitational term is 45.7 µs a day and the speed term −7.2, leaving 38.5. Left uncorrected, that is 11.5 km of position error a day, growing without limit, from a clock that is working perfectly.

The clock that is wrong in two directions

A satellite clock loses 7.2 microseconds a day to its speed and gains 45.9 to its height. The two effects have opposite signs, different sizes and different dependence on the orbit, so there is exactly one altitude where they cancel — and 38.6 microseconds a day, left alone, is eleven and a half kilometres of position error.

5 figures · part 3 on Time dilation

Quantum

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

The correlation, and the best a shared list of answers can do. The coincidence correlation between two polarisation analysers against the angle between them, over two full turns of the correlation — a polariser turned through 180° is the same polariser, so the picture repeats. The singlet gives −cos 2Δ, drawn through −1.00 at 0°, 1.00 at 90°, −1.00 at 180°, 1.00 at 270°. Beside it is the best correlation any shared list of pre-agreed answers can produce: straight lines between the same four extremes, with corners where the cosine is smooth. The two agree exactly at the multiples of 45° and nowhere else, and they are furthest apart — by 0.2105 — at 19.77° and 70.23°, which is ½ arcsin(2/π) from either end of the quarter turn. The difference is not a matter of degree: it is a curve against a shape with a corner in it, and no list can be bent into the curve.

The correlation no instructions can produce

A pair of gloves in two boxes agrees perfectly and needs no physics, because the answers were settled at packing. What no packing can imitate is the shape that appears as the two analysers are turned relative to each other, and the shape is a number — 2.828 where every list of pre-agreed answers is stuck at 2.

7 figures · part 1 on Entanglement

Fluids

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

The surface a spin decides. The free surface of a liquid in a dish of radius 0.5 m turning at 10, 20, 40 revolutions a minute. In the rotating frame the surface is a level set of gz − ½ω²r², so it is a paraboloid exactly and not to some approximation, and nothing about the liquid appears in its shape: the same curve is got with mercury, water or oil. The rim stands 14.0 mm, 55.9 mm, 223.6 mm above the centre at those rates. A parabola z = r²/4f has focal length f, so these surfaces are mirrors of focal length g/2ω² — 4.47 m at 10 rpm, 1.12 m at 20 rpm, 0.28 m at 40 rpm. That is checked here on the drawn curves rather than quoted: a vertical ray reflected off the surface at a quarter, a half, three quarters and the whole of the radius crosses the axis at the same height to 0.00%, which is what a mirror with no spherical aberration means. Doubling the spin quarters the focal length, and there is no other adjustment: the dish can only ever look straight up.

The surface a spin decides

Spin a dish of liquid and its surface settles into a paraboloid — exactly, with nothing about the liquid in the shape. A parabola of that form has a focal length of g over twice the spin rate squared, so a bucket of mercury turning at twenty revolutions a minute is a telescope mirror figured by a clock instead of by grinding.

5 figures · part 3 on Hydrostatics

Astrophysics

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

How large a box may be before gravity shows in it. The largest freely falling laboratory in which nothing can be detected, against how long the experiment runs, for an instrument resolving 10⁻⁹ m. Free fall removes the field and leaves the gradient: two masses released a distance apart converge across the fall and separate along it, by (GM/r³)Lt²/2, so the box that stays undetectably flat shrinks as the square of the time. At one second the limits are 1.30 mm at the Earth's surface, 5.07 mm at the Sun's surface, 8.61 nm at a white dwarf, 1.86·10⁻¹⁷ m at a neutron star, 3.88·10⁻¹⁷ m at a stellar black hole, 388 mm at a giant black hole. Two things are worth reading off it. The equivalence principle is local in time as much as in space, on the same footing and with a worse exponent — patience is more expensive than room. And the tidal parameter GM/r³ falls with mass at a horizon, so a large enough black hole is one an experimenter could fall through with a metre-sized laboratory and a very good interferometer and detect nothing at all: the curve for the giant lies above the Earth's, not below it.

The term free fall cannot remove

Fall freely and gravity disappears. It disappears only to the extent that the falling laboratory is small — what survives is the gradient, which pulls two released masses together across the fall and apart along it. Given an instrument, the size of the box in which nothing is detectable is computable, and that number is the whole content of the word "locally".

5 figures · part 2 on Equivalence principle

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