Field

Quantum

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

The blackbody spectrum, against what classical physics predicted. Spectral exitance against wavelength for a blackbody at 3000, 4000, 5000 kelvin, in kilowatts per square metre per nanometre. Each curve peaks at the wavelength Wien's displacement law gives — 966 nm at 3000 K, 724 nm at 4000 K, 580 nm at 5000 K — and falls to nothing at short wavelengths.

The curve that would not come down

Classical physics predicted that a warm object radiates infinite power at short wavelengths. Every step of the derivation was correct, the prediction was absurd, and closing the gap required assuming that energy comes in lumps.

Photocurrent against applied voltage, at two intensities. Photocurrent against retarding voltage for caesium lit at 12×10¹⁴ hertz, at relative intensities of 1 and 2. Both curves reach zero at the same stopping voltage of 2.82 volts, because the brighter light delivers more photons and not more energetic ones. The saturation currents are in the ratio of the intensities. The slope between the stopping voltage and zero assumes the emitted electrons' energies are spread uniformly below the maximum, which they are not; the crossing point does not depend on that assumption.

Light arrives in lumps, and brightness only changes how many

Shine dim blue light on a metal and electrons come out. Shine intense red light and none do, however long the wait. The frequency decides whether anything happens; the intensity decides only how much.

The wavelength shift against scattering angle. How much longer a scattered photon's wavelength is, against the angle it scattered through. The shift runs from nothing at 0 degrees to 4.853 picometres straight back, passing through the electron's Compton wavelength of 2.4263 picometres at 90 degrees. Nothing about the incident light or the target material appears anywhere on this axis.

A photon with a momentum, and a collision that proves it

X-rays bouncing off electrons come back with a longer wavelength. How much longer depends on the angle they turned through, and on nothing else — not the incident wavelength, not the target material, not the intensity.

$An electron's wavelength against the voltage that accelerated it. The de Broglie wavelength of an electron after falling through a potential difference, in picometres. At 100 volts it is 122.6 picometres, at 400 volts it is 61.3 picometres, at 900 volts it is 40.9 picometres. The wavelength goes as the inverse square root of the voltage, so quadrupling the voltage halves it. The calculation is non-relativistic; at a kilovolt that costs a tenth of a per cent. The dashed line is the 215 picometre spacing between atomic planes in nickel, which is what makes an electron beam diffract off a crystal at all.$

Everything has a wavelength, and almost nothing shows it

If light with a momentum can behave like a particle, a particle with a momentum can behave like a wave. The wavelength is Planck's constant over the momentum, which for anything larger than a molecule is a number too small to have consequences.

The states a box allows, drawn on their energies. A particle confined between two walls one unit apart. States 1, 2, 3 are drawn, each riding on a line at its own energy — 1E₁, 4E₁, 9E₁ — because the energies go as n². Each wavefunction has n − 1 places where it crosses zero inside the box: 0 for n = 1, 1 for n = 2, 2 for n = 3. Nothing about the particle's mass or the depth of the well appears in the shapes; only the count of half-wavelengths that fit does.

The box that allows only some energies

Confine a wave between two walls and only the shapes that fit survive. That is a fact about strings, organ pipes and drumheads, and applying it to a matter wave produces quantisation with no new assumption at all.

Hydrogen's emission lines, where they are actually seen. Every transition down to level 1, 2, 3 in hydrogen, drawn at the wavelength it emits, on a logarithmic axis in nanometres. The Lyman series begins at 121.5 nm and crowds toward its limit at 91.1 nm; The Balmer series begins at 656.1 nm and crowds toward its limit at 364.5 nm; The Paschen series begins at 1874.6 nm and crowds toward its limit at 820.1 nm. Only the Balmer series has lines in the visible band, which is why it was the one found first.

The spectrum is a subtraction, not a list of values

An atom emits a handful of sharp wavelengths and nothing in between. They are not the atom's energies — they are the differences between them, which is why the lines come in families that crowd onto a limit.

Where the electron actually is, by radius. The radial probability density of the hydrogen 1s, 2s, 2p states — the chance of finding the electron in a thin shell at each radius, in units of the Bohr radius. 1s is most likely at 1.00 Bohr radii and averages 1.50; 2s is most likely at 5.24 Bohr radii and averages 6.00; 2p is most likely at 4.00 Bohr radii and averages 5.00. Each curve integrates to one, and each has n − l − 1 radial nodes where the electron is never found.

Where the electron probably is

The Bohr atom put the electron on a circle of definite radius. What replaced it keeps the radius as the most likely place to find the electron and gives up the circle, the speed and the trajectory entirely.

A packet, and the wavenumbers it is made of. Above: a wave packet built by adding a continuum of plane waves centred on wavenumber 12 with a spread of 1.6. Below: the weight given to each wavenumber. The packet's width, measured as the standard deviation of its probability, is 0.442; the spread of wavenumbers is 1.131; their product is 0.500, which is a half and cannot be less. Narrowing one bracket widens the other by exactly as much. Nothing quantum has been used to draw either panel.

Sharpness has to be paid for

A wave with one exact wavelength has no beginning and no end. Making it short requires adding wavelengths, and the two widths trade against each other exactly — which is a fact about waves, with Planck's constant added only to convert the units.

A wavefunction crossing a barrier it has not the energy for. An electron of 2 electronvolts meeting a 3 electronvolt barrier 0.3 nanometres wide, with the four matching conditions solved rather than sketched. Left of the barrier the incident and reflected waves add to a standing pattern; inside it the amplitude decays exponentially; to the right a travelling wave continues with amplitude 0.3912 of the incident one, so 15.3 per cent of the electrons get through. Classically none of them do.

The wall that is not quite a wall

A particle without enough energy to climb a barrier sometimes appears on the other side of it. The probability falls exponentially with the barrier's width, which is why the effect is invisible at ordinary scales and why it can be turned into a microscope.

The interference pattern arriving one particle at a time. The same double slit — 100 micrometres apart, slits 40 micrometres wide, lit at 633 nm, screen 1 metre away — recorded after 20, 200, 1000 arrivals, with the intensity that governs them plotted underneath. Each arrival is a single dot in one place, drawn at a position sampled from that intensity. After 20 there is no pattern to see; after 1000 the fringes are unmistakable, with the dark ones exactly 6.33 millimetres apart — the wavelength times the screen distance over the separation. The bright ones are not evenly spaced, because the single-slit envelope pulls each maximum toward the centre; its first zero is at 15.8 millimetres and is set by the width of one slit alone.

One arrival at a time, and the pattern still appears

Send particles through a double slit slowly enough that only one is ever in the apparatus, and each arrives as a single dot in one place. Wait, and the dots assemble into fringes that no dot knew about.

A beam through a chain of analysers. An unpolarised beam of intensity 1 entering 3 analysers oriented at 0°, 90°, 0°, selecting the + then + output each time. The intensities are 0.500 and 0.500 out of analyser 1; 0.250 and 0.250 out of analyser 2; 0.125 and 0.125 out of analyser 3. The last analyser is oriented the same way as the first, and it produces a "−" beam of 0.125 — a beam of exactly the kind the first analyser removed entirely. The middle analyser did not filter the beam; it replaced what the beam had an answer to.

The answer that was not there before

Send a beam through an analyser and it splits in two. Send one half through a second analyser turned sideways, then through a third pointing the way the first did, and the property the first analyser removed has come back.

No two in the same state, and why matter has volume

Nothing in the energy levels of an atom says how many electrons may occupy each one. The answer is one per state, it is not derived from any force, and it is the reason a table holds a cup up.

One well, two wells, and the band they become. The energy levels of a chain of identical wells, for 1, 2, 3, 6, 12, 40 of them, with an on-site energy of -4 eV and a coupling of -0.9 eV between neighbours. One well has one level. Two split it into two, 1.80 eV apart. By 40 the levels have filled a band 3.59 eV wide, which is closing on the limit of four times the coupling, 3.60 eV — and no further widening happens however many more wells are added. The count of levels grows with the number of wells; the width of the band does not.

What happens when the wells get close

Two atoms brought together split one level into two. A thousand split it into a thousand, packed into a band whose width stops growing after the third. Whether that band is full or half full is the whole difference between a wire and a window.

$Decay, and the ensemble it is a property of. 400 nuclei followed for 4 half-lives. The smooth curve is the exponential; the stepped traces are 3 independent runs in which every nucleus was given its own decay time and told nothing about the others. The number surviving halves at each dashed line — 200, 100, 50, 25 — and it halves again over the next interval regardless of how long the sample has already been sitting there, which is the property no ordinary clock has. The traces wander further from the curve as the numbers get small: at the end only about 25 are left and the scatter is a visible fraction of that.$

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.

Where the particle is likely to be found. A particle confined between two walls one unit apart. States 1, 4, 16 are drawn, each riding on a line at its own energy — 1E₁, 16E₁, 256E₁ — because the energies go as n². The curves are |ψ|², the probability of finding the particle at each position. The dashed line on each is the classical answer: a ball bouncing between the walls at constant speed is equally likely to be anywhere, and the quantum density oscillates about it and converges onto it as n rises.

Where the quantum picture hands back the old one

A confined particle's probability density oscillates violently at every quantum number, and never stops. What makes the classical answer come back is not that the oscillations die away — it is that nothing can resolve them.

$Two transitions, one shape and one not. The condensate fraction of an ideal Bose gas, 1 − (T/Tc)^3/2, drawn against the superfluid fraction of liquid helium-4, which goes as roughly 1 − (T/Tλ)^5.6. Both reach one at absolute zero and zero at their transition, and in between they disagree everywhere. The ideal calculation says why a transition has to exist; it does not describe the one that does, because its atoms do not interact and helium's do.$

The liquid that will not slow down

Cool helium below 2.17 kelvin and it starts flowing through gaps no ordinary liquid could enter, climbs out of its own container, and circulates for as long as anyone has been willing to watch. The viscosity is not small. As far as any measurement can tell, it is zero.

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.

Two costs, and the width that balances them. The energy of a particle in a harmonic well against how tightly its wavefunction is squeezed, in units of ħω and of the width that minimises the total. Two terms compete. Squeezing the particle into a smaller region raises its kinetic energy, because the uncertainty relation makes a narrow position spread a wide momentum spread and momentum is squared in the energy; that term rises as the inverse square of the width and goes to infinity as the particle is localised. Letting it spread out raises its potential energy, since the well gets steeper away from the bottom; that term rises as the square of the width. The sum has a minimum at a width of 1.0000 in these units, where the total is 0.5000 ħω and the two terms are equal at a quarter each. That number is exactly the true ground-state energy of a quantum harmonic oscillator, obtained here with nothing but the uncertainty relation and a minimisation. What the figure shows and the formula does not is why there is a floor at all: it is not that the particle happens to keep moving, but that every way of stopping it costs more than it saves.

The motion that cannot be stopped

A particle in a well cannot sit at the bottom of it. Squeezing it into a smaller region costs kinetic energy faster than it saves potential energy, so there is a width that minimises the total — and the minimum is not zero. Helium never freezes because of it.

How much of copper's electron sea a temperature can reach. The probability that a state of a given energy is occupied, in copper, at 4 temperatures, with energy measured in units of the Fermi energy — 7.04 eV here. At absolute zero the curve is a step: every state below the ceiling is full and every state above it is empty. Raising the temperature rounds the step, and rounds it over a range of about kT, which is the whole point — at room temperature kT is 0.0259 eV against a ceiling of 7.04 eV, so the rounding is 1.6 per cent of the way down the sea and everything deeper is untouched. An electron in the deep is not held there by a force; it simply has nowhere to go, because every state it could be promoted to is occupied. at 0 K the step is spread over 0.00 per cent of E_F, at 300 K the step is spread over 1.61 per cent of E_F, at 3000 K the step is spread over 16.13 per cent of E_F, at 20000 K the step is spread over 107.52 per cent of E_F.

The pressure that is not a temperature

Copper's conduction electrons are at a temperature of eighty thousand kelvin, in a wire that is at room temperature. That is not a figure of speech, it is what the exclusion principle does to a mole of particles, and it explains the largest unexplained number in the theory of metals.

Twenty-four decades of lifetime from a factor of two in energy. The half-lives of 7 alpha emitters against the reciprocal square root of the alpha's energy — the Geiger–Nuttall coordinates — with the measured values as points and a one-line tunnelling model as the open ones. The energies span a factor of 2.2 and the half-lives span 24 decades, which is what an exponent does. The model has no fitted parameter in it and reproduces every lifetime to within 0.5 decades — bad arithmetic by any ordinary standard, and a hundred-thousandth of the range it is predicting.

A wall that a factor of two makes impassable

Polonium-212 lives three tenths of a microsecond. Thorium-232 lives fourteen billion years. The alpha particles they emit differ in energy by a factor of two, and the lifetimes differ by twenty-four decades — because the quantity that decides is not the energy but an exponent built from it, and an exponent is where small differences go to become enormous.

How fast a spinning electron would have to turn. The equatorial speed of a uniform sphere with the electron's mass and an angular momentum of ħ/2, against the radius it is given, both logarithmically. The expression is 5ħ/4mr and it passes the speed of light at 4.83e-13 m — half a picometre, which is four hundred times larger than a hydrogen nucleus. Giving it a smaller radius only makes the answer worse: at the experimental upper bound, 10⁻¹⁸ m the equator would move at 4.8e+5 times the speed of light; at the classical electron radius the equator would move at 1.7e+2 times the speed of light; at the reduced Compton wavelength the equator would move at 1.3e+0 times the speed of light. No radius the electron is permitted to have gets anywhere near a legal answer, and the experimental bound is off the scale by eight orders of magnitude. So the angular momentum is not the angular momentum of anything going round. It is a property the particle has, in the same way a charge is, and the only thing it shares with a spinning top is the algebra it obeys — which is, admittedly, the whole of what angular momentum means in physics.

The angular momentum that is not a rotation

An electron has angular momentum, and it is not going round anything. A sphere of its mass carrying that much angular momentum would need its equator moving at half a million times the speed of light at any size the electron is allowed to have. What survives of the analogy is the algebra — and the algebra turns out to require that turning the thing all the way round leaves it changed.

The measurement that never touched it

A balanced interferometer sends every photon to one output and none at all to the other. Put an object in one arm and the empty port starts clicking — and a click there is caused by a photon that cannot have gone near the object, because a photon that goes near it is absorbed. The object has been found by light that never met it.

Four predictions no list of answers can keep. The four measurements a three-particle GHZ state predicts with certainty, and what the best possible list of pre-agreed answers does with them. Each row is a choice of which quantity to measure on each of the three particles; the quantum value is not an average but a certainty, so a single run of any row has a determined outcome. Every list of answers assigns a value to X and to Y at each particle, which is sixty-four lists in all, and the enumeration finds that 32 of them get three of the four right and 32 get one. None gets four, and none can: multiplying the four left-hand sides together gives every X and every Y twice, so the product is +1 for any list whatever, while the product of the four quantum values is −1. The column on the right is one such list, which agrees with the first three rows and is then forced into the opposite of the fourth. That is the whole argument, and it needs no inequality, no average and no repetition: measure the first three rows on three copies, and the fourth is predicted with certainty and comes out the other way.

The disagreement that one run settles

Bell's argument is a statistical one — a correlation of 2.828 where a pre-agreed list of answers is stuck at 2, dug out of hundreds of coincidences. Add a third particle and the argument stops being about how often. Three measurements predict a fourth with certainty, every list of answers that gets the three right gets the fourth exactly backwards, and one run of the experiment is enough.

One level, split by the speed of the electron in it. Hydrogen's n = 2 level on the left at the scale of the whole spectrum, and the same level on the right at a scale ten thousand times finer. The gross structure puts it 3.4014 electronvolts below the ionisation limit; the relativistic and spin–orbit corrections then split it into a lower pair, j = ½, and an upper, j = 3/2, separated by 45.3 microelectronvolts. That gap is 1.331e-5 of the level's own binding energy, which is exactly α²/4 — so the size of the splitting is a measurement of how fast the electron is going, α being its speed in units of c on the innermost orbit. The same physics in sodium is larger by four orders of magnitude: its two D lines at 588.995 and 589.5924 nanometres differ by 2.133 millielectronvolts, which is 1.01e-3 of the transition energy, because the outer electron of sodium penetrates to where the nuclear charge is far from screened and the correction goes as the fourth power of the charge it sees.

The line that is really two

Sodium's yellow line is two lines six-tenths of a nanometre apart, and the gap is not a property of the light. It is a splitting of the atom's own level, caused by the electron's magnetic moment sitting in the field it sees because it is moving — and its size, relative to the level it splits, is exactly α²/4.

A band 3.60 eV wide, and the curvature is the whole story. Energy against wavenumber for one tight-binding band, α + 2β·cos(ka), with α = -4 eV, β = -0.9 eV and a repeat of 300 pm. The band is 3.60 eV from floor to ceiling and periodic in k, so the zone boundary at ka = π is not an edge of anything: it is where the curve turns over. Near the bottom it is a parabola, which is the free-electron dispersion with a different coefficient — a mass of 0.470 m_e rather than one — and near the top it is a parabola the other way up, a mass of -0.470. The inflection between them is at ka = π/2, and it is the point at which a constant force stops producing any acceleration.

The mass a curve decides

An electron in a solid answers a force with a mass that is nothing to do with the mass of an electron. It is set by how sharply the band bends, it is smaller than the free value in a wide band and larger in a narrow one, and near the top of any band it is negative — which is why aluminium's Hall voltage has the sign of a positive carrier and no adjustment to an electron count can repair it.

Flat, then exponential, then a power law. Survival probability against time in lifetimes, both logarithmic, for a resonance 20 linewidths above the bottom of its band and 400 below the top. The straight dashed line is exp(−Γt), and the computed curve sits on it through the middle — a fitted rate of 0.9998 per lifetime between one and eight — and leaves it at both ends. Below 1.57e-2 lifetimes the curve is flat, falling as (t/τ_z)² with τ_z = 0.1253 lifetimes; beyond 22.6 lifetimes it is an inverse square, which any exponential eventually loses to. Both departures are forced: the head by the state being normalisable and the tail by the band having a bottom.

The exponential that is only true in the middle

A decay law is not an assumption about nuclei; it is the Fourier transform of an energy distribution. Do that transform honestly and the exponential fails at both ends — flat at the start, because the state is normalisable, and an inverse square at the end, because no system has states of arbitrarily negative energy. Neither departure is a correction that could be made small.

Where 4s goes below 3d. The energies of five orbitals of a nucleus of charge 19, solved in a screened Coulomb potential, against how far out the screening extends. Nothing about the ordering is assumed: each level is found by integrating the radial equation outward and bisecting on the energy until the solution has the number of nodes that state is supposed to have, and the same solver returns hydrogen's −1/2n² to 7.3e-12 hartree when the screening is switched off. With no screening the three n = 3 levels would lie on top of one another. With screening they separate, always in the same order — s lowest, then p, then d — because a low angular momentum has no centrifugal barrier keeping it out of the core, so it spends part of its time inside the other electrons where the nuclear charge is unscreened. And at a screening length of 0.41 bohr the 4s level crosses below 3d, which is the fourth row of the periodic table: potassium and calcium put their electrons in 4s before anything goes into 3d, so they are an alkali metal and an alkaline earth rather than the first two transition metals. The model is a caricature — one screening length for every electron, no self-consistency, and no exchange — and it gets the ordering right anyway, which is the argument that the ordering is about penetration and nothing subtler.

The order the shells fill

In hydrogen every state with the same principal number has the same energy, and 4s and 3d differ by nothing. In every other atom they do not, and 4s is below 3d — which is why potassium is an alkali metal rather than the first transition metal. The difference is a small piece of probability that an s orbital has inside the innermost shell and a d orbital does not.

Four product states, and the four combinations that have a total spin. The four ways two spin-halves can be arranged, on the left, and the four combinations of them that are eigenstates of the total spin, on the right. Two of the products — both up and both down — are already eigenstates. The other two are not: one spin up and the other down does not specify a total spin, because it does not say which spin is which, and the states that do are the sum and the difference. The eigenvalues printed beside them are computed by applying S² as a matrix in the product basis and reading the result off, then solving s(s + 1) for s: |↑↑⟩ gives 2ħ², so s = 1; (|↑↓⟩ + |↓↑⟩)/√2 gives 2ħ², so s = 1; |↓↓⟩ gives 2ħ², so s = 1; (|↑↓⟩ − |↓↑⟩)/√2 gives 0ħ², so s = 0. The column on the far right is the eigenvalue of the operator that swaps the two particles: the three states with s = 1 come back unchanged and the one with s = 0 comes back with a minus sign. That sign is the whole of the difference. It is why the three are called a triplet and the one a singlet, why they behave differently in a magnetic field, and — through the requirement that the total state of two electrons be antisymmetric — why the two families occupy space differently before any force between them has been mentioned.

Four states, and one of them is odd

Two spin-halves make four states, and they split three and one rather than into four of a kind. Three come back unchanged when the two particles are swapped and one comes back with a minus sign — and that single sign decides how far apart two electrons sit before any force between them has been mentioned, and why hydrogen gas is two gases that do not interconvert.

What is lost is exactly what is recorded. Fringe visibility against the distinguishability of the record left in the environment, for six couplings between the interferometer and a marker. The points lie on the quarter circle V² + D² = 1, computed here to a part in 10¹² — the visibility from the output probabilities with the marker traced out, and the distinguishability from the overlap of the marker's two states, with nothing shared between the two calculations. The relation is the quantitative form of complementarity, and it is stronger than the usual statement: interference is not lost because something was disturbed, and not lost only when a measurement is made. It is lost exactly to the extent that the environment could in principle say which way the particle went, whether or not anybody looks at the environment. That is why decoherence is a matter of correlation rather than of disturbance: the coherence has not been destroyed but relocated, into a correlation between the particle and something else.

Where the interference goes

A superposition does not stop being a superposition when something interacts with it. What happens is that the coherence moves — out of the system and into a correlation between the system and its surroundings — and the interference disappears from any measurement made on the system alone. For a dust grain in air the move takes 10⁻²⁸ seconds, which is why nothing large has ever been seen in two places.

Three sources, and the number that separates them. The chance of detecting a second photon a delay τ after a first, divided by the chance if the two were independent, for three kinds of light. At long delay every curve is one, which is what independence means. At zero delay they are 2, 1 and 0, and those three numbers are three different physical situations. Thermal light is bunched: its intensity fluctuates, and a photon is more likely to be found where the intensity happened to be high, so it arrives with company for as long as the fluctuation lasts — 4 nanoseconds here. A laser is flat, because a coherent state has no intensity fluctuation to correlate with. And a single emitter is antibunched: it gives zero, exactly, because after emitting it is in its ground state and cannot emit again until it has been re-excited, which takes 12 nanoseconds. The zero is the important one. Every classical field, of every possible intensity distribution, has g²(0) at least one — the inequality follows from the fact that the mean square of a real positive quantity is at least the square of its mean. A measurement below one is not merely evidence for photons; it is a result no wave theory can produce.

The experiment a wave cannot pass

The photoelectric effect is offered everywhere as the proof that light is quantised, and it is not one — a classical wave falling on quantised matter reproduces every feature of it. The measurement that no wave can pass is a different one: send single photons at a beam splitter and count how often both detectors fire.

Two levels that refuse to cross. On the left, the energies of a two-state system as one state is swept past the other, for couplings of 0, 0.05, 0.15, 0.35 electronvolts. With no coupling at all the two levels cross, which is the dotted pair. With any coupling whatever they do not: the eigenvalues are plus and minus half the square root of the squared detuning plus four times the squared coupling, so the closest approach is exactly twice the coupling — measured off the drawn curves as 0.000, 0.100, 0.300, 0.700 eV against 2V, agreeing to 0.0e+0. Far from the crossing the curves rejoin the uncoupled lines, so the repulsion is local: it is largest where the two states are degenerate and dies away as the square of the coupling divided by the detuning. On the right is what makes this more than a picture of two hyperbolas — the character of the upper state, meaning how much of the first basis state is in it. It swaps completely across a region whose width is set by the coupling, so the level that arrives as one thing leaves as the other. That exchange of identity is why the phrase avoided crossing is misleading: nothing is avoided, the labels are.

The crossing that never happens

Two energy levels swept past one another do not cross. Any coupling between them, however small, opens a gap of exactly twice the coupling — and the two levels exchange their identities across it, so the state that arrives as one thing leaves as the other while the labels are what avoided anything.

The hole that holds exactly one particle. How likely a second particle is to be found a distance away from a first, relative to a gas with no correlation at all, for three cases that differ in nothing but the symmetry of the state under swapping the two labels. There is no interaction anywhere in this calculation: no Coulomb term, no potential, no force. Distinguishable particles give a flat line, which is what no interaction ought to give. Identical fermions dig a hole that reaches exactly zero at zero separation and fills back in over about a wavelength. Identical bosons do the opposite and pile up to twice the density. Integrating the fermion hole gives 0.9992 particles missing from around each one — exactly one, and the sum rule holds at any density, because raising the density narrows the hole in exact proportion. That is what makes the effect worth a name of its own. It is often called an exchange force and it is not a force: nothing carries momentum between the particles, and no term in the energy is proportional to a distance. It is a statement about which states exist. What follows from it is most of chemistry — the reason two atoms with filled shells repel, the reason a metal's electrons cost so much less Coulomb energy than a random arrangement would, and the reason matter takes up room.

The force with no force in it

Two identical fermions keep apart and two identical bosons crowd together, and neither is being pushed. The Hamiltonian contains no interaction at all: what produces the hole and the pile is which many-particle states exist, and the hole it digs around each electron holds exactly one particle at any density whatever.

A current that falls by a decade for every ångström. Tunnelling current against the width of a vacuum gap, on a logarithmic scale, for three work functions covering the range of clean metal surfaces. The curves are straight because the transmission is an exponential in the gap, and their slopes are 0.833, 0.944, 1.044 decades per ångström — fitted to the drawn curves and agreeing with 2κ/ln 10 to a part in a million. At 4.5 electronvolts a change of ten picometres, a tenth of an atomic radius, changes the current by 24 per cent. That is the sensitivity a scanning tunnelling microscope lives on, and it is why the instrument measures height by holding the current fixed and recording what the piezo had to do: the current is far too steep a function of height to be read as one.

The last atom does all the seeing

A tunnelling rate falls by a factor of eight for every tenth of a nanometre of extra barrier, which is normally quoted as the reason nothing ever tunnels anywhere. Read the other way it is a microscope: the second-nearest atom of a blunt metal tip carries a two-hundredth of the current the nearest one does, so a tip nobody sharpened resolves a single atom, and the resolution comes from an exponential rather than from any piece of engineering.

Three copiers, and what each of them costs. How well three copying machines reproduce a qubit, against the state's angle from the pole. The first is a linear machine built to copy the two pole states perfectly; linearity then fixes what it does everywhere else, and on an equal superposition it produces an entangled pair whose overlap with the two copies wanted is exactly 0.500. That is the no-cloning theorem written as a number rather than as an argument: no adjustment is available, because the machine's behaviour on superpositions was decided the moment its behaviour on the basis was. The second measures in a fixed basis and prepares two copies of what it found, which is perfect at the poles and averages 0.6667 over the sphere — two thirds, exactly. The third is the best machine there is, and it manages 0.8333 on every state alike: five sixths, and not one.

The state that cannot be copied

Every measurement in this collection disturbs what it measures, and the obvious way round that is to make a spare first. It cannot be done, and the reason is not a practical difficulty or a limit on how good an apparatus can be: a copier is a linear machine, so fixing what it does to two states fixes what it does to their superpositions, and what it then does is not a copy.

An average that follows Newton's law exactly. The centre of a wavepacket in a harmonic well, and the classical orbit started from the same place, drawn on top of each other. They agree to 5.5e-6 over 2.2 periods, which is the split-step integrator's own error and not a physical gap. This is exact and it is exact for every state of a harmonic oscillator, however wide, however lumpy, however far from classical: the theorem needs ⟨−V′(x)⟩ = −V′(⟨x⟩), which for a linear restoring force is true term by term. It is worth being suspicious of how strong that looks. The harmonic oscillator is the one potential where the average force over a state and the force at the state's centre cannot differ, so it is the worst possible example from which to conclude that quantum averages follow classical paths.

The average that obeys Newton

Ehrenfest's theorem says the centre of a wavepacket moves according to the average force over the state. That is exact, it is often quoted as the reason classical mechanics survives, and the two statements are not the same — because the average of a force is the force at the average only when the force is linear, which is to say almost never.

Two barriers, and the energies at which they stop being barriers. Transmission against energy on a logarithmic scale, for one barrier of width 0.9 and height 20, and for two of them separated by a well of width 2. Below the top of the barrier the single one transmits an exponentially small amount and does so smoothly. The pair does not: at particular energies the transmission climbs by orders of magnitude and reaches 1.000000 — one, to every digit the arithmetic has — even though each barrier on its own passes 3.9e-2 of what arrives. Multiplying the two single-barrier transmissions would give 1.5e-3, which is wrong by 6e+2: amplitudes are what compose, not probabilities, and the region between the barriers is a box whose quasi-bound levels are where the amplitudes reinforce. The resonances sit at 6.438, 13.915 and the levels of an infinite well of the same width are at 2.467, 9.870 — near, and not equal, because a well with leaky walls has states that are not quite bound.

Two walls that let more through than one

Put a second barrier behind the first and the transmission does not fall — at particular energies it rises to exactly one, through a pair of walls each of which stops all but a few per cent. Probabilities cannot do that. Amplitudes can, and the region between the barriers is a box whose levels say where.

The bands bend by the amount the Fermi levels differed. A junction between 1e+17 cm⁻³ p-type and 1e+16 cm⁻³ n-type silicon at equilibrium, with the Fermi level flat by construction — that is what equilibrium means — and the two band edges carrying the whole of the 0.774 V drop. The bending happens over 331.8 nm, and it is not symmetric: the depletion reaches 301.6 nm into the lightly doped side and only 30.2 nm into the heavily doped one, because the same exposed charge is reached sooner where there is more of it. An electron in the n-side conduction band therefore faces an uphill barrier of 0.774 V to reach the p side, while an electron already on the p side rolls downhill without any barrier at all — which is the asymmetry the whole device is, and it is drawn here before any current has been mentioned.

One level, and the field that bends the bands

Two pieces of the same crystal doped differently have their Fermi levels at different heights. Joining them cannot leave both, because a difference in electrochemical potential is precisely what makes charge move — and everything a diode does is the accounting of what had to happen for that one difference to reach zero.

Which pairs have anything between them. The commutator of every pair of 4 observables of a spin-½, multiplied out in 2×2 complex arithmetic and shown by the size of AB − BA. The diagonal is exactly zero: an observable commutes with itself, which is why measuring the same thing twice gives the same answer. S², the total angular momentum, is a multiple of the identity here and so commutes with everything — its row and its column are zero, and a spin can have a definite total angular momentum and a definite component at the same time. The largest entry is 0.7071 in units of ħ². Sz: 0.000 with Sz, 0.707 with Sx, 0.707 with Sy, 0.000 with S²; Sx: 0.707 with Sz, 0.000 with Sx, 0.707 with Sy, 0.000 with S²; Sy: 0.707 with Sz, 0.707 with Sx, 0.000 with Sy, 0.000 with S²; S²: 0.000 with Sz, 0.000 with Sx, 0.000 with Sy, 0.000 with S². A zero cell is a promise that the two quantities can be sharp together; a non-zero one is an obstruction whose size sets how badly they cannot.

The questions that can be asked together

Two quantities can have definite values at once exactly when their operators commute. That is a piece of arithmetic about matrices, and everything the uncertainty principle forbids follows from it — including the fact that most of the time it forbids nothing at all.

Outside the winding, where nothing is supposed to be. The mid-plane of a solenoid 20 radii long, wound at 8 turns per radius, with the field summed turn by turn rather than assumed. The upper curve is the axial field against distance from the axis: it holds up across the winding and collapses outside, reaching 0.47 per cent of its central value at 2 radii. The lower curve is the flux enclosed by a circle of that radius, which is what the vector potential integrates to. The two behave completely differently, and that difference is the whole subject: the field an electron outside can feel has effectively gone, and the flux it encircles has not. The enclosed flux does fall, by 3.29 per cent out to four radii, because the lines that leave the ends come back through the plane outside the coil — that return flux is the leak a real experiment has to defeat, and the reason the definitive versions used a closed toroidal magnet with no ends at all.

The phase a magnet leaves on a path it never touched

An electron beam split around a solenoid comes back with its fringes displaced, although neither path ever entered a magnetic field. What the electron responds to is the flux it went round, and the only local quantity that knows about that flux is the potential.

A bundle that swings and never spreads. A Gaussian of the ground state's own width, released at rest from x = 3 in a harmonic well and propagated on a grid by split-step Fourier, drawn at 0 of a period, 0.25 of a period, 0.5 of a period. The packet slides from side to side and its shape does not change: over 2.2 full periods the width moves by 6.6e-5 per cent, and its centre tracks x₀cos t to 8.6e-6. Every other initial width breathes. This one is the displaced ground state, and it is the closest a quantum state comes to being a classical oscillator — a definite thing at a definite place, moving on the classical trajectory, staying the size it was.

The state that swings like a pendulum

Most quantum states of an oscillator look nothing like a swinging weight. One family does: it follows the classical trajectory exactly, never spreads, and sits at the uncertainty minimum for ever — and it is the state a laser and a driven circuit actually produce.

The delay that stops caring how thick the wall is. The Wigner phase time — how late the transmitted packet's peak arrives, compared with a free particle covering the same distance — for an electron under a 3 eV barrier, at 0.2 nm, 0.5 nm, 1 nm thick. 0.2 nm: 0.3728 fs at half the barrier height; 0.5 nm: 0.4372 fs at half the barrier height; 1 nm: 0.4388 fs at half the barrier height. The widths span a factor of 5.0 and the times span 1.18. A thicker barrier is exponentially harder to cross and the delay in crossing it barely moves — which is either a remarkable fact about tunnelling or a sign that the phase time is not a traversal time, and the rest of the essay is about which.

How long the crossing takes

Tunnelling has a probability, and asking how long it takes turns out to be a different kind of question. The delay a transmitted packet shows stops growing once the barrier is opaque, so a thicker wall is crossed in the same time — and several defensible clocks give several different answers.

Two pairs, and only one of them may cheat. The CHSH value a party shares with a second, against the value the same party shares with a third. Every quantum state lies inside a quarter circle whose radius is Tsirelson's bound, 2.8284, because the sum of the two squared values cannot exceed eight. The classical limit is 2 on each axis, and the square that would hold both violations sticks out of the circle everywhere except at its corner: the best both can manage at once is exactly 1.999998, which is the classical value and no violation at all. So a party maximally entangled with one other is correlated with everybody else exactly as a classical object would be. Nothing about the measurement or the apparatus was assumed; this follows from the state alone.

What two have they cannot give a third

Entanglement will not be shared. A pair that violates a Bell inequality is correlated with everything else exactly as a classical object would be, and the trade is exact enough to be drawn: two CHSH values must fit inside a circle of radius 2√2.

Why it stops falling in. The energy of an electron confined to a region of radius r around a nucleus, as the sum of two terms with different powers: a confinement energy ħ²/2mr² that rises without limit as the region shrinks, and a Coulomb attraction −Ze²/4πε₀r that falls. At Z = 1 the sum is least at 52.92 pm, where it is -13.61 eV. Both numbers are found by searching the drawn curve and both agree with the Bohr radius over Z and minus Z² Rydbergs to a part in a million. Nothing was quantised to get them. The only quantum input is that confining an electron to a region costs kinetic energy, which is the uncertainty relation and nothing more.

Why an atom is the size it is

A tenth of a nanometre is not a measured constant of nature but the outcome of a competition: confining an electron costs kinetic energy, and the nucleus pays for confinement with attraction. Minimising the sum gives the number, and changing the masses moves it by four orders of magnitude.

What comes back after one turn, and what needs two. A spin-½ pointing along z and rotated about the x axis through 720°, with the rotation integrated step by step rather than evaluated from a formula. The direction of the spin — the quantity a Stern–Gerlach magnet, a compass or any other instrument reports — is back where it started after 360°, exactly as the orientation of any other object would be. The state is not: its overlap with the state it began in has reached −1 there, and returns to +1 only after 720°. At 360° the overlap is -1.000 and ⟨σz⟩ is 1.000; At 720° the overlap is 1.000 and ⟨σz⟩ is 1.000. Both curves come off one integration of dψ/dθ = −(i/2)σx ψ whose norm is checked before anything is drawn, so the factor of two between their rates is a property of the propagation rather than of two separate formulae that were chosen to differ.

The turn that has to be made twice

Turn a spin-½ through a full circle and it does not come back. The direction it points in does, and every measurement on it does, but the state itself has changed sign — and a second full turn is needed before anything is where it started. The sign is invisible on one spin and measurable the moment a superposition has one branch turned and the other not.

The energy that did not all arrive

A nucleus emitting one particle has no choice about the energy it comes out with — momentum conservation fixes it, and the spectrum is a line. Beta decay gives a continuum instead, from zero to the full available energy, and the shape of that continuum is a count of the ways the energy can be shared. Counting it required a third body nobody had seen, and the way the count approaches its endpoint is still the best place to weigh one.

Everything in the chain decaying at the parent's rate. The activity of each member of ²³⁸U → ²³⁴Th → ²³⁴Pa, relative to the parent's, against time in days. The parent's half-life is far the longest, so its activity is effectively constant over the range drawn while each daughter rises to meet it. Once they have, every member of the chain is decaying at exactly the same rate — secular equilibrium, checked here to one per cent off the integrated solution — because each is being made as fast as it is disappearing. The amounts are not equal at all: the abundance of each member sits in the ratio of its half-life to the parent's, which for radium in uranium is one part in three million and is why radium had to be extracted from tonnes of ore.

The chain that runs at its slowest member's rate

Put decays in series and something happens that no single decay does. The population settles where every member is being made exactly as fast as it disappears, so every activity in the chain is equal — while the amounts differ by twelve orders of magnitude, in the ratio of the half-lives. A gram of uranium contains a third of a microgram of radium and two hundred million million million atoms fewer of radon, and both numbers are read off a list of half-lives.

The half-life that depends on the electrons. Half-lives of 3 nuclides as neutral atoms and as bare nuclei, measured at a heavy-ion storage ring where fully stripped ions can be kept circulating for months. The changes are not corrections. ¹⁸⁷Re goes from 41.6 billion years to 32.9 — a factor of 1.26 billion — because a beta decay whose available energy is only 2.5 keV cannot put an electron into the continuum but can put one into an empty K orbital, and stripping the atom opens that channel. ¹⁶³Dy is stable as an atom and decays in 47 days as a bare nucleus, for the same reason. The rate is a property of the nucleus and of what surrounds it, and the rung below this one says otherwise.

The half-life that chemistry can change

The first rung of this ladder said a nucleus has no clock and that nothing outside it touches the rate. That is very nearly true and it is not exactly true. Electron capture takes an electron from the nucleus's own position, so its rate is proportional to how many electrons are there — which is chemistry, worth a per cent. And a nucleus stripped of every electron can gain a decay channel it did not have: rhenium-187 goes from forty-two billion years to thirty-three.

A swing that dies away and comes back. The envelope of the mean position of a coherent state with 9 quanta on average, in an oscillator whose levels carry a small quadratic term, Eₙ = n + n²/240, over one revival time of 240 oscillator periods. The swing collapses within about 9.1 periods, when the packet has spread round its orbit, and it stays at zero for most of the run. It returns whole at half the revival time, on the opposite side, and whole again at the full revival time; the envelope is summed from the state's energy components and checked against α·exp(−2n̄ sin²χt) to a part in a hundred million. The dashed curve is a classical ensemble started from the same distribution, each member orbiting at the frequency its own energy gives: it collapses in the same way and never returns, its swing at the half and full revival times 0.1% and 0.1% of the start.

The return a classical cloud never makes

Put a swinging quantum packet in a well whose frequency depends a little on the amplitude and it spreads round its orbit until its swing has vanished. That part is not quantum at all: a cloud of classical oscillators does exactly the same. What no classical cloud can do is come back — and the quantum packet reassembles whole, on schedule, splitting into copies on the way, because its energies are discrete.

A quasi-probability that goes negative. The Wigner function of the oscillator's state at a quarter of its revival time, with 4 quanta on average: two copies of the packet, at x = ±2.83, in equal superposition. It is computed from the wavefunction by the Wigner transform on a lattice, and it integrates to one. The two copies are the two positive blobs. Between them lies a pattern of stripes with no classical counterpart, running from 0.289 down to −0.289, where the shaded warm regions and their outlines mark negative values. A negative probability is not a probability, so this distribution cannot describe a cloud of classical particles. The stripes are also taller than the blobs, so the interference carries more structure than the copies themselves: the highest stripe reaches 0.289 and the centre of a blob 0.159.

The probability that goes below zero

Classical mechanics describes an uncertain state as a cloud of points in the plane of position and momentum. Quantum mechanics has an exact counterpart, the Wigner function, whose shadows are the true position and momentum distributions — and which goes negative. It goes negative for a single photon, for every superposition of two packets, and for every pure state that is not a Gaussian. Where it is negative no classical cloud can imitate the state, and losing energy to the surroundings erases the negative regions first.

The field an atom calls strong

A magnetic field splits sodium's two yellow lines into ten, at spacings set by Landé's factors — until the field grows past the one the electron already feels from its own motion, when the ten reorganise into the three a theory without spin predicts. Nothing about the magnet decides which pattern appears. The atom does: the same 45 tesla is a strong field for hydrogen, a middling one for sodium and a weak one for caesium.

The floor a state's survival cannot go below. The probability that a quantum state is still found in its initial state, against time measured as its energy spread times time over ħ, for four states with the same spread. The shaded region under cos²(ΔE t/ħ) is forbidden by Mandelstam and Tamm's theorem, and every curve — each a sum of phases over the state's energies — stays out of it. Two equally weighted levels run along its edge and reach an orthogonal state at exactly π/2, the fastest any state with this spread can. The same two levels driven off resonance, with the same spread, never get further than a survival of 0.500. Three equally spaced levels become orthogonal only at 1.7101, 1.0887 times the limit, and a coherent state never does, bottoming out at 0.0183. A spread of energy is permission to change, not an obligation.

The fastest a state can stop being itself

Time has no operator, so the energy–time relation cannot be the commutator inequality it resembles. What stands in its place is sharper: a state whose energy is spread by ΔE cannot become a different, orthogonal state in less than πħ/2ΔE, and cannot do it faster than its mean energy above the ground state allows either. Two equally weighted levels reach both limits exactly. Nothing else does.

Four outcomes, one of which happened. The correlation between the two outer particles' measurements, against the angle between their analysers, for each of the four results the middle measurement can give. Every one of the four leaves the outer pair maximally entangled — each curve reaches one and minus one — so every outcome is as good as any other, and the outer parties have a perfect Bell pair whichever it was. What differs is which correlation they have, and the four are shifted and reflected versions of each other. The flat line is their average, which is zero at every angle, checked here at seven hundred and twenty angles to twelve figures. That vanishing is the whole reason the operation cannot be used to send anything: until the middle party's two classical bits arrive by an ordinary channel, the outer parties' data is indistinguishable from noise, and no correlation appears at all. The entanglement is created instantly and is useless until a message travelling no faster than light says which of the four it is.

A link between two that never met

Take two entangled pairs sharing no particle, measure the two inner particles jointly, and the two outer ones — which have never interacted, never been in the same place, and have no history in common — are entangled. Nothing travelled between them. What has to travel is two classical bits saying which of four results occurred, and until those arrive the outer parties see nothing at all.

How much a block knows about the rest. The entanglement between a block of a one-dimensional chain and everything outside it, against how long the block is, for three states of the same number of particles. The straight line is a randomly chosen state, whose entanglement is the block's length times the logarithm of two — a volume law, and what almost every state in Hilbert space does. The flat curve is the ground state of a chain with a gap: it saturates, varying by less than a twentieth of a per cent from a block of eight to one of forty, because the boundary of a one-dimensional block is two points however long the block is. The middle curve is the ground state of a gapless chain, which grows as the logarithm of the size with a coefficient measured here as 0.333 against the third that conformal field theory gives. Both ground states are enormously less entangled than a random state, and that is not a detail about chains: it is why a ground state can be written down at all.

The corner of Hilbert space that is ever visited

Monogamy between three parties says how much of a correlation a pair may hold. Read across a boundary in a many-body system it says something much stronger: the entanglement between a region and the rest scales with the boundary rather than the volume, for the ground state of anything with local interactions. That is why such a state can be written down at all — and why almost every state in Hilbert space is one that nothing ever prepares.

The count that works for everything with a mass. How many beams a Stern-Gerlach analyser splits a particle into, for four spins, with the photon on the bottom row. For anything with a mass the answer is 2j+1 — go to the particle's rest frame, where its spin can point in any direction, and count the projections along whichever axis the magnet defines. A spin-one particle gives three: up, down, and a middle beam that is not deflected at all. The photon has spin one and gives two. The middle state does not exist, and it is not that it is hard to produce or weakly coupled — there is no such state of the electromagnetic field. A light wave has two polarisations and the third one, in which the field would oscillate along the direction of travel, is not a solution of Maxwell's equations at all.

Two states where the counting says three

A particle of spin one has three states, and the photon has two. The missing one is not rare or weakly coupled — there is no such state of the electromagnetic field. What removes it is that a massless particle has no rest frame, so the rotations that would turn one projection into another are not available; and the state comes back the moment the particle acquires a mass, which is what a photon does in a plasma.

$No beam is narrow enough and wide enough at once. Three lengths at the far end of a Stern-Gerlach magnet 10 centimetres long with a gradient of 1000 tesla a metre, against the width of the beam entering it, for an electron at 100 electronvolts. The spin splitting is a horizontal line at 2.9e-6 metres: it does not depend on the beam's width. The Lorentz blurring rises in proportion to the width, because the field a particle sees depends on where in the beam it is, and the divergence-free condition ties a gradient in one component to a gradient in another. It overtakes the splitting at 1.0e-9 metres. Narrower than that and diffraction has already spread the beam by 3.9e-3 metres, which is larger still. There is no width at which the splitting is the largest of the three, and the magnet's length and gradient cancel out of the comparison entirely — so no magnet helps.$

The experiment that defines spin and cannot be done on it

A Stern–Gerlach magnet separates magnetic moments and is how spin was discovered. It cannot be made to work on a free electron, and the obstruction is not the apparatus: the field gradient that splits the beam also deflects the charge by an amount that varies across it, and the ratio of the splitting to that blurring comes out as the de Broglie wavelength over the beam width — with the magnet's length and gradient cancelling exactly.

Three identical photons in a three-way splitter: some outcomes are forbidden. One photon enters each input of a symmetric three-way splitter, which sends each photon to each output with equal probability. Across: the ten ways three photons can leave, written as how many leave by each output. Bars, for each outcome: photons that can be told apart, identical photons, and identical fermions. Distinguishable photons spread over all ten, as independent coins would. Identical photons never produce 210, 201, 120, 102, 021, 012 — the 6 outcomes whose output labels do not add to a multiple of three — and pile into the rest: 300 with 0.222, 111 with 0.333, 030 with 0.222, 003 with 0.222. Identical fermions leave one per output every time (probability 1.000). Each probability is a sum of amplitudes over the distinct ways to reach the outcome, and each set sums to one.

The outcomes identical photons refuse

Two identical photons meeting at a beam splitter always leave together, and that one fact carries three more. No classical light can empty the coincidence dip more than halfway, so the depth is a test of what light is; the depth measures how identical two photons are, however they differ; and with three photons in a three-way splitter whole classes of outcome become impossible — the first case of a sum over paths that no known algorithm can evaluate quickly as the photons multiply.

Four states of light, each with the same area of noise. The field of a single mode of light drawn as a point in a plane whose two axes are its two quadratures — the parts of the wave in step with a reference and a quarter-cycle out of step. The distance from the centre is the amplitude and the angle is the phase. Each state is a cloud of 400 sampled measurements with its two-standard-deviation outline, in units where the vacuum's noise is one in every direction. The vacuum is a round cloud at the centre. Steady laser light is the same round cloud moved away from the centre. Light squeezed by 4 dB is an ellipse of the same area: narrower than the vacuum by a factor of 0.63 in one direction and wider by 1.58 in the other. Pointed along the direction from the centre it is quiet in amplitude; pointed across it, quiet in phase. The sampled spreads were checked against each state's widths.

The noise pushed below the floor

A perfectly steady laser beam still flickers, by an amount set by the vacuum itself, and for most of the twentieth century that flicker was treated as the floor of any optical measurement. It is a floor only for one shape of noise. Light can be made quieter than the vacuum in one property by being made louder in another — and the price, the fragility and the use of that trade are all visible in how the noise is shaped, which is why the world's gravitational-wave detectors now run on it.

Two paths through a neutron interferometer at two heights. A neutron interferometer cut from one silicon crystal, tilted by 30 degrees about its incoming beam so that one path runs higher than the other. Left: the two paths, split at the first slab, turned at the second and recombined at the third, enclosing 10.1 square centimetres; the heights are drawn exaggerated. Taken as a rectangle of the same area, the upper path runs 15.8 mm higher for 3.2 cm. There a neutron of wavelength 1.445 Å, moving at 2738 m/s, is slower by 56.5 micrometres per second, so its wavelength is longer by 20.6 parts per thousand million. Over 3.2 cm that accumulates 28.7 radians less phase than the lower leg — 4.6 whole fringes — computed by integrating the local wavenumber along both legs and checked against 2πm²gλA sin α / h².

The fall that leaves the mass in the phase

Every body falls the same way whatever its mass, and a neutron is no exception. But a neutron is also a wave, and the phase that wave accumulates while falling depends on the mass — as its square, at a fixed wavelength. Tilt a neutron interferometer so that one path runs a centimetre higher than the other and the neutrons swing between its two detectors, which in 1975 was the first measurement in which gravity and quantum mechanics both had to be right at once.

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