Where the model stops — part 2 of 3
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.
The clock that does not feel the turn
Proper time is the integral of dt over gamma, which presumes that a clock's rate depends on its speed and on nothing else — not on its acceleration, not on how long it has been accelerating. That is an assumption about clocks rather than a theorem about spacetime, and the twin result is empty without it.
The wall a plasma builds against itself
A plasma is quasineutral everywhere except where it touches something. Electrons are faster than ions by the square root of the mass ratio, so any surface is struck by far more of them, charges negative, and goes on charging until the two arrivals balance — leaving a layer a few Debye lengths thick in which the charges do not cancel at all.
Five balls, and the law that does not choose
The usual account of a Newton's cradle says that momentum and energy conservation force one ball out at the striking speed. For three balls or more they do no such thing: the two laws leave a whole curve of possible outcomes, and what picks one is the shape of the force between two touching spheres.
The circuit that fights its own change
Every circuit is threaded by the field its own current makes, so every circuit resists having that current altered. It is the reason a coil takes time to start and the reason breaking one makes a voltage a thousand times the supply's.
The curve that is really a staircase
A magnetisation curve is drawn as a smooth line and is nothing of the sort. Measured finely enough it is a sequence of jumps of every size, audible as a crackle in a coil, with no typical jump and no smooth motion underneath.
The light with no direction of shaking
Unpolarised light is not a state of a wave; it is the absence of one, and no description of a single wave can represent it. What can is a set of four numbers, all of them powers a detector reads — and they describe every beam there is, including the ones that are neither polarised nor not.
The surface that images one point exactly
Fermat's principle says every ray from an object to its image must take the same time. Written as an equation, that is a curve Descartes found — a surface with no aberration at all, at any angle. It exists, it is easy to compute, and it images exactly one pair of points and nothing else.
What adding does to the energy
Waves add their amplitudes and detectors read squares, so two waves together do not deliver the sum of what each delivers. Where the two get dimmer, the natural question is where the energy went — and the answer depends entirely on whether the sources can feel each other.
The frequency a lattice cannot carry
A continuous string carries every note. A row of masses joined by springs does not: there is a highest frequency, set by nothing but the time one mass takes to be pushed back by its neighbours, and above it a disturbance does not travel at all.
The temperature a molecule does not have
Temperature fixes a system's average energy and nothing more. The actual energy wanders, by an amount tied to the heat capacity, and the relative size of the wandering falls as one over the square root of the number of degrees of freedom — so a mole has a temperature and a molecule does not.
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.
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.
The centre that is not a place
The centre of mass is replaced in relativity by the centre of energy, which moves uniformly and does everything the old point did — except be the same point for everybody. Boost a spinning body and its centre moves, so a spinning object has no centre at all.
The push that has no direction
That the pressure at a point in a still fluid is the same whichever way the surface faces is not a definition. It is a theorem, and its proof is an argument about how two kinds of force scale with size — which is also the exact statement of when it stops being true.
The hourglass that keeps time
Grain leaves a hopper at a rate that does not depend on how much is above it, and that goes as the orifice to the five-halves power rather than the one half a liquid gives. Both facts follow from the same thing: the weight is carried by the walls, not by the grains at the opening.
The hole that outlives everything and then does not
A black hole radiates at a temperature that rises as it shrinks, so losing energy makes it lose faster. The whole history follows from that one sign: a life proportional to the cube of the mass, nearly nothing happening for almost all of it, and an end that arrives in a second.
Whether a charge on a table glows
The equivalence principle says a charge at rest in a gravitational field is a charge accelerating in empty space, and an accelerating charge radiates. Nothing is supplying the energy. The argument has run for eighty years, and its resolution is that radiation is not something a single observer can define.
The length no experiment can resolve
Measuring a small distance needs a short wavelength, a short wavelength needs a large energy, and a large energy in a small region makes a horizon. Past a point, pushing harder makes the probe bigger — and the distance where that turns round is the Planck length.
The axis a leak of energy chooses
A body spinning with nothing pushing on it keeps its angular momentum exactly, and keeps its kinetic energy only while nothing inside it flexes. At fixed momentum the energy is least for a spin about the axis of greatest inertia — so any leak, however small, has a destination. The first American satellite found this out in orbit.
The flat scene that comes back curved
A lens does not image a plane onto a plane. It images it onto a bowl, and the curvature of that bowl is fixed by the powers and the glasses alone — not by the shapes of the surfaces, not by where the stop is, and not by stopping down. Everything a designer usually plays with leaves it exactly where it was.
The engine a fluctuation cannot run
A ratchet lets a shaft turn one way and not the other. Put a paddle in a gas on the same shaft and molecular collisions appear to become a lifted weight — an engine running on one reservoir. It does not work, and following exactly why turns the second law from a prohibition into a mechanism: the pawl is as warm as the gas, and it lifts whenever it is asked to.
The height a planet is seen from
A body in sunlight settles where it radiates away what it absorbs, and that takes two numbers and one line of arithmetic. It gets the Moon right and Earth wrong by thirty-three kelvin. The correction is not that the atmosphere traps heat but that it moves the level space sees the planet from, and the rest is done by a lapse rate that is not a radiative quantity at all.
The transformation that never mentions light
Assume space and time are homogeneous, that space is isotropic, that two changes of frame compose into a third, and that the relativity principle holds. Those four leave exactly one free constant — and three possible worlds, one of them Galileo's and one of them Einstein's. Light appears nowhere in the derivation; it enters only when the constant has to be measured.
The solution that is thrown away
Maxwell's equations admit a field that converges on a charge exactly as readily as one that leaves it, and nothing in them prefers either. Retardation is a boundary condition rather than a law. Which boundary condition is right has been argued about for a century, one of the answers makes the arrow of time a property of there being absorbers, and the laboratory version of the question — whether an atom emits at all — has a measured answer that depends on what is listening.
The ray on the wrong side of the normal
The phase-matching construction draws a circle and a line, and the line crosses the circle twice. Every earlier construction silently took the upper intersection. Which one is physical is decided by where the energy goes rather than by where the wavevector points, and in a medium whose group velocity opposes its phase velocity the answer is the other one — so the refracted ray leaves on the same side of the normal it arrived on, a flat slab focuses, and a lens can beat the diffraction limit until loss stops it.
The half-life that chemistry can change
A nucleus has no clock, the usual account goes, and 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.
The entropy that depends on how fast it was cooled
Ice's residual entropy is a count, and it comes out the same whoever measures it. A glass's does not. A glass keeps whatever entropy it happened to have when its own relaxation time crossed the experiment's, so cooling ten times more slowly leaves less behind — and extrapolating the equilibrium liquid below that point takes its entropy under the crystal's at a finite temperature, which cannot happen and does not, for a reason that is still argued about.
The limit that belonged to a simpler atom
The theory of laser cooling predicted a floor, and the first careful measurement came in six times below it. Nothing was wrong with the measurement or the arithmetic. The floor belonged to an atom with one ground state, and real atoms have several — which lets the light build a hill in front of every atom, move it to the bottom before it can roll back, and repeat the trick until the atom is a few microkelvin from rest.
The bill that arrives when the pushing stops
A charge accelerating steadily radiates at the full Larmor rate while the radiation reaction force on it is exactly zero, so for as long as the push holds, nothing about the charge's motion pays a single watt. The energy is lent by the field that travels with the charge, the loan is called the Schott term, and it is repaid the moment the acceleration changes.
The stretch a chain cannot outrun
A Newtonian liquid pulled into a thread resists exactly three times as hard as it resists being sheared, whatever it is made of. A polymer solution resists three times as hard only until the stretch rate passes one over twice its relaxation time. Past that, its chains can no longer recoil as fast as they are pulled apart, and the same liquid that is barely thicker than water in a stirred beaker becomes hundreds of times stiffer in a thread.
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.
The mismatch no network can remove
A quarter-wave layer or a taper can match a resistance to a resistance as well as anyone likes. Put a capacitance across the load and that stops being true for every network that could ever be built from lossless parts: Bode and Fano proved that the total amount of match available is fixed by the load's resistance and capacitance, so a network can only move it about — and a flat match across a band can never be better than e to the minus π over the load's time constant times the band.
The fan of plane waves inside every beam
Huygens added up wavelets from every point of a front. The same content can be written as a sum over plane waves travelling in every direction, and then propagation stops being an integral and becomes a multiplication: each plane wave picks up a phase in proportion to the distance. One square root in that phase holds all of diffraction, near field and far field alike — and when the square root turns imaginary, it holds the reason no instrument a wavelength away can see detail finer than half a wavelength.
What holds a magnet together is not magnetism
Two neighbouring moments in iron interact magnetically with an energy worth a fifth of a kelvin, and iron keeps its order to 1,043 kelvin. Whatever aligns them is five thousand times stronger than the only force they exert on one another — and it is electrostatic, with the exclusion principle deciding which of two spatial arrangements two electrons may use.
The one number the tolerances cannot touch
A redundant structure's load sharing depends on stiffnesses and manufacturing errors that nobody knows. Its collapse load does not depend on either. Once members yield they hold a known force instead of a force proportional to a displacement, the compatibility equations that needed the unknowns drop out, and the load at which the structure becomes a mechanism follows from a work balance with no stiffness in it at all.
The work a diluted beam will not do
Sunlight at the top of the atmosphere has the spectrum of a body at 5,762 kelvin and the energy flux of one at 394. The mismatch is not an accident of units: the light has been spread over a hundred thousand times more modes than it left in, and that dilution is entropy. Run it through a heat engine unconcentrated and five per cent of it is available as work.
The condition three modes never meet
Whether two modes of a chain can hand energy to a third is arithmetic on the dispersion relation, and for a chain of masses the answer is never: a sine is concave, so the sum of two frequencies always exceeds the frequency of their sum. The smallest shortfall anywhere on a chain of N masses is π³/4(N+1)³ — never zero, and never far from it — and a shortfall turns a transfer into a beat.
The estimate that misses by a hundred and twenty
Every argument about the Planck scale is an argument about consistency rather than about data, with one exception. The zero-point energy of the quantum fields gravitates, dimensional analysis at the Planck cutoff says how much, and what is measured is 10¹²¹ times smaller. It is the largest disagreement between an estimate and a measurement anywhere in physics, and lowering the cutoff does not rescue it.
The scale that may not be where it looks
Every Planck number assumes gravity is four-dimensional all the way down. If it is not — if the field spreads into dimensions compact enough to have escaped notice — the true scale where gravity becomes strong could be at a TeV, and the whole remoteness of the Planck scale would be an artefact of where the field lines go. It is the one part of the subject an experiment can address, and the experiments have addressed it.
The one medium that was supposed to add exactly
Superposition holds because an equation is linear, and every material stops being linear at some amplitude. Empty space was the exception: Maxwell's equations are linear exactly, and two beams cross with no interaction of any kind. Quantum electrodynamics says otherwise — light scatters light, and a strong field makes the vacuum birefringent — at a field of 1.3 × 10¹⁸ volts per metre, which no laboratory has come within four decades of.
Below the gap, where there is nothing to absorb
A semiconductor is supposed to be transparent below its band gap, and it is not. The absorption falls exponentially instead, over seven decades, along a straight line whose slope is an energy of a few millielectronvolts — and the description that produces that line has no states in the gap at all. What the slope measures is how much the gap itself is moving about.
The oil that is a glass for a quarter of a millisecond
Every other account of viscosity here varies the temperature. Pressure does something larger and in the same direction for every liquid: viscosity rises exponentially, by a factor of ten to the eight or more at the gigapascal inside a loaded gear tooth. That is not a curiosity — it is the only reason there is a film there at all. Remove the pressure dependence from the calculation and the predicted film is five nanometres, under the roughness, and the surfaces touch.
Whether a fluid can be made arbitrarily thin
Viscosity has no units anybody would call fundamental, and nothing obviously stops it being as small as you like. Divide it by the entropy in a cubic metre and the units become Planck's constant over Boltzmann's — and a conjecture from 2005 says that ratio has a floor. Across fourteen decades of ordinary fluid nothing has been measured below it, the closest thing to it is the hottest matter ever made, and a kinetic-theory argument reaches the same number from the opposite direction.
The ring that does not come back
Every picture of a passing gravitational wave shows a ring of free masses stretched, squeezed and let go. The last frame is wrong. The ring ends a different shape — permanently, with the masses at rest at new separations — by about a fifth of the largest distortion the wave itself produced. What sources the offset is the energy the wave carried away, so the wave is remembering itself, and nobody has measured it.
How accurate a mirror has to be
The pupil's amplitude decides the rings; its phase decides the peak. A wavefront error of a fourteenth of a wave root-mean-square leaves eighty per cent of the peak intensity, which is the whole of what 'diffraction-limited' means — a convention laid over a computed number. And the number barely depends on what the error is, only on how large: four quite different aberrations of the same magnitude give nearly the same answer.
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.
An engine with one number in it
A thermoelectric couple has no moving part and no working fluid, and its efficiency is the Carnot value multiplied by a factor containing exactly one dimensionless group of material properties. Sixty years of effort have moved that group from about one to about two, and the reason it is hard is that its three ingredients are not independent: raising the conductivity ruins the coefficient it is squared against, and the only lever that is really free is the heat the lattice carries.
The body that has no temperature when it moves
Energy, momentum, length, duration and field strength all change when the observer moves. Temperature was argued about for sixty years, with three transformation laws proposed and each defended by people making no mistake. The resolution is that a moving blackbody is a perfect blackbody in every direction at a different temperature in each — so a thermometer's reading depends on where it is put, and the quantity the law was for is not there.
The throw most likely to go in
A free throw can be launched at 51.4° with less speed than at any other angle, and there a small error of angle hardly moves the ball at all. It is still not the best aim. Once the question is which throw most often goes in rather than which is cheapest, the thrower's scatter has to be laid over the launches that succeed — and for a hoop the answer moves steeper, while for a board the same scatter moves it flatter.
The orbit that ages less than a throw
A clock in orbit and a clock thrown straight up leave the same point at the same moment and meet there again one period later. Both fall freely the whole way, so both follow paths of stationary proper time — and the thrown clock comes back 4.1 microseconds older. Even a clock held still by a rocket, which is not falling at all, beats the orbit. Free fall picks out a path that is stationary, not one that is longest.
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.
The field outside that cannot find the core
Gauss's law gives the field outside a body from what it encloses, and read backwards it is a limit. A uniform ball, a planet with an iron core and a hollow shell of the same mass have identical gravity everywhere outside. The field fixes a list of numbers — the mass, the flattening, higher moments — and leaves free everything else, including the moment of inertia; the Earth's core was weighed by its wobble, not by its pull.
The orbit special relativity cannot close
An inverse-square orbit closes on itself because of a conserved vector that nothing else has. Give the orbiting body an inertia that grows with its speed, as special relativity requires, and the vector turns — the orbit becomes a rosette, advancing by a sixth of Mercury's famous 43 arcseconds a century. A different theory that respects special relativity just as well turns the rosette backwards by the same amount. The 43 is not special relativity plus a correction; it is a measurement of what gravity pulls on.
The metal that is yellow because it is heavy
Gold sits directly below silver in the periodic table, with the same arrangement of outer electrons, and by every non-relativistic calculation it should look like silver. It is yellow because its innermost electrons move at more than half the speed of light. The mass that motion adds pulls the s orbitals in, the tightened s level drops towards the d band beneath it, and the gap an absorbed photon must bridge shrinks from the ultraviolet into the blue. The same contraction is why mercury is a liquid.
The speed below which nothing can be made
An object moving through an ordinary liquid always feels drag, because it can always pass some of its energy to the liquid. In a superfluid there may be nothing it can pass it to. Landau's argument turns the question into geometry: an excitation of momentum p and energy ε can be made only by a body moving faster than ε/p, so a liquid flows without friction below the smallest value of that ratio. For helium the smallest value is not the speed of sound but 57 m/s, set by the dip in its spectrum called the roton — and an ideal gas, with no dip and no sound, has no such speed at all.
The wiggle faster than any wave in it
Light passing through a lens carries no detail finer than half a wavelength, because no travelling wave in it varies faster than that. It would seem to follow that the light itself cannot vary faster anywhere. It can. A sum of slow waves can be arranged to wiggle faster than any of them over a stretch of any length chosen — and to focus to a spot as narrow as wanted — provided the stretch sits between side lobes that grow exponentially with every extra wiggle.
The mass a charge's field gets wrong by a third
Give a charged sphere's field its energy U and divide by c², and the field has a mass. Move the sphere and ask the field's momentum what the mass is, and it says four-thirds of that. The discrepancy took from 1881 to the 1960s to understand, and the answer is not a better calculation of the field. It is that a charge cannot hold itself together, and whatever does has energy too.
The faint light a bright one makes measurable
A photodetector does not respond to a light wave's field; it responds to the square of it. Shine a strong beam onto the detector together with a weak one at a slightly different frequency, and the square contains a term that is the weak field multiplied by the strong one — oscillating at the difference frequency, carrying the weak light's phase, and as large as the strong beam cares to make it. That product lifts a picowatt out of an amplifier's noise to the limit set by counting photons, turns an optical frequency shift into a radio one, and carries with it a quantum price that decides why radio telescopes and optical telescopes are built so differently.
The heat that turns into matter
Thermodynamics counts particles and relativity lets them be made. Heat a gas to a billion kelvin and its light carries enough energy to create electrons and positrons, which the gas then holds in equilibrium like any other ingredient. The heat spent making them raises neither the temperature nor the pressure, so the gas grows soft — softer, in the cores of the most massive stars, than a star can survive. Those stars collapse, ignite their oxygen all at once and blow themselves entirely apart; and the same pairs, vanishing a few seconds after the Big Bang, left the universe's light hotter than its neutrinos by a factor that is the cube root of eleven over four.
The circuit that goes through a wall
Tunnelling is usually told about electrons and alpha particles — single, small, quantum things passing through barriers they cannot climb. In 1985 it was seen in an electrical circuit: the phase difference across a Josephson junction, a coordinate shared by all the electrons in two pieces of superconducting metal, trapped in a well and escaping from it through the barrier rather than over it. The evidence was a temperature below which the circuit's escape rate stopped caring how cold it was. The same circuit showed discrete energy levels, and its descendants are the qubits of superconducting quantum computers.
The hole that makes the sharpest picture
A pinhole camera makes a picture without bending any light: a small hole lets through, from each point of the scene, only the rays that reach one small patch of the screen. A smaller hole makes a sharper picture — until it does not. Below a certain size the hole spreads light by diffraction faster than it narrows the shadow, and the picture blurs again. The best hole balances the two, and at that balance it turns out to pass about half of the first Fresnel zone of the incoming wave: the sharpest pinhole is already beginning to behave like a lens.
The spectrum that is a thermometer at every height
A satellite looking down at the Earth in the infrared sees, at each wavelength, the glow of whatever layer of air that wavelength escapes from. In the wings of carbon dioxide's great absorption band the air is transparent and the satellite sees the ground; towards the band's centre the gas grows opaque and each wavelength escapes from higher up. A single spectrum is therefore a stack of thermometers at different heights, and weather forecasts are built on reading it. What cannot be read from it is anything much thinner than the ten to twenty kilometres of air each of those thermometers averages over.
The pressure that ionises
Squeeze a hot gas of hydrogen and Saha's equation says it recombines: a free electron has less room to be in, and room was what paid for its freedom. Squeeze it far enough and it comes apart again, completely, at any temperature — not because the room has grown but because the atom has nowhere left to be. Crowded to within a few atomic radii of each other, hydrogen atoms have no bound state, and their electrons, freed by pressure alone, form a metal. Deep inside Jupiter most of the planet's hydrogen is in that state.
The layer too thin to see
A seismic survey sends a pulse of sound into the ground and listens to the echoes from every boundary where the rock changes. A thick layer returns two echoes, one from its top and one from its base, and the time between them gives its thickness. A thin one returns one echo, and below about a quarter of a wavelength the timing says nothing more: every thin layer looks the same, just weaker as it thins. It has not become invisible. It has become unmeasurable in the one way that was being used, and its thickness has moved into the echo's strength and its spectrum.
The protons a star cannot afford
A free neutron decays in fifteen minutes into a proton, an electron and an antineutrino. Inside a neutron star it cannot, and the star is made of neutrons because of it. Beta decay is a reaction like any other, and at equilibrium the neutron's chemical potential must equal the proton's plus the electron's. In a crowded star an electron can only be added at the top of a sea tens of megaelectronvolts deep. So the matter settles where protons are rare: half a per cent of the nucleons at nuclear density, if nucleons were free, and never more than one in nine at any density.
The two laws absolute zero will not allow
The ideal-gas law and Curie's law are the first two equations of state most people meet. The third law of thermodynamics says both must be wrong at low temperature, and it says so without any model of what replaces them. A Maxwell relation turns every derivative of the entropy into something measurable with a ruler or a magnetometer: the thermal expansion, the slope of the magnetisation with temperature. If the entropy stops depending on pressure and field at absolute zero, those must vanish. The classical gas expands as 1/T and Curie's magnetisation climbs as 1/T, and both slopes grow without limit instead.