The Myth of The Boiling Point
The Myth of The Boiling Point
The Myth of The Boiling Point
ABSTRACT
Introduction
We all learn at school that pure water always boils at 100 C
(212 F), under normal atmospheric pressure. Like surprisingly
many things that ‘‘everybody knows’’, this is a myth. We ought
to stop perpetuating this myth in schools and universities and in
everyday life: not only is it incorrect, but it also conveys misleading
ideas about the nature of scientific knowledge. And unlike some
other myths, it does not serve sufficiently useful functions.
There are actually all sorts of variations in the boiling temperature
of water. For example, there are differences of several degrees
depending on the material of the container in which the boiling
takes place. Removing dissolved air from water can easily raise its
boiling temperature by about 10 degrees centigrade.
The fickleness of the boiling point is something that was once
widely known among scientists. It is quite easy to verify, as I have
learned in the simple experiments that I discuss below. And it is
still known by many of today’s experts. So actually the strange
thing is: why don’t we all hear about it? Not only that, but why do
most people believe the opposite of what is the case, and maintain it
with such confidence? How has a clear falsehood become scientific
common sense?
History
History of science provides the most convenient entry to the
constellation of issues discussed in this paper. The old thermometer
shown in Figure 1 is emblematic. This instrument, dating from the
1750s, is preserved at the Science Museum in London; the glass
stems have broken off, so all we have is the frame, which shows
four different scales on it. The third one is the familiar Fahrenheit
scale. (The second one, due to Delisle, is ‘‘upside down’’, with 0
at the boiling point and increasing numbers as it gets colder1.)
There are two boiling points marked on this thermometer. At the
familiar 212 F it says ‘‘water boyles vehemently’’. Down at about
204 F it says ‘‘begins to boyle’’. What is going on here? You may
think that the artisan who made this thermometer must have been
pretty incompetent on scientific matters. But it turns out that this
thermometer was the work of George Adams, official scientific
instrument-maker to King George III. And the idea of two boiling
points actually came straight from Isaac Newton, whose temperature
scale published in 1701 was indeed the first of Adams’s four
scales2.
Fig. 1. George Adams’s thermometric scale, showing two boiling points (inventory
no. 1927 – 1745). Science MuseumyScience & Society Picture Library.
Experiments
I was very surprised to read these reports. Having put a detailed
account of them in the first chapter of my book on the history and
philosophy of thermometry1, I was still left with a problem of
incredulity. Were the 18th- and 19th-century scientists right? Or
was this an error like the infamous recent case of ‘‘cold fusion’’, or
the older case of ‘‘N-rays’’? I decided that there was only one way
to find out: see for myself, in the lab.
In six sets of experiments, I confirmed and extended the
seemingly anomalous results that I found in the scientific literature
from the late 18th century and the early 19th century. (Video clips
showing some highlights of these experiments are available
online12.) These experiments were initially carried out in the
summer of 2004, and repeated with very similar results in the
summer of 2007, in the Graham Laboratory at the Department of
Chemistry at University College London. The basic setup was very
simple: distilled water boiled in various containers, with various
heat sources. The temperature was monitored by three types of
thermometers: (a) ordinary mercury thermometers, graduated down
to one degree (centigrade); (b) Beckmann thermometers, which are
very large mercury thermometers with a very fine scale (graduated
down to one-hundredth of a degree), whose zero can be set at any
point in a wide temperature range; (c) a platinum electric-resistance
thermometer, with a digital display, reading down to one-tenth of a
degree.
of the main body of the water is much below 100 C, these bubbles
get collapsed before making it through to the surface. This is called
‘‘subcooled’’ boiling by modern engineers. In older terminology,
what we have is ‘‘hissing’’ (sifflement in French), in which the
vapour bubbles are collapsed, with a characteristic noise, before
reaching the surface of the water. It was also known as the ‘‘singing
of the kettle’’ to serious tea-drinkers – the peculiar noise heard just
before full boiling sets in.
What exactly is boiling, then? If one considers that boiling begins
when the bubbles start breaking the surface, then it seems that water
‘‘begins to boyle’’ around 96 C (204.8 F), in fact just around where
Adams had marked it (Figure 1)! There is quite active boiling from
around 98 C. After ‘‘vehement boiling’’ starts, the temperature does
seem to settle around 100 C (with expected slight variations linked
to atmospheric pressure). But in fact the temperature creeps up
slowly, often reaching around 101 C, consistent with Gay-Lussac’s
report. The maximum attainable temperature after prolonged vehe-
ment boiling is quite a stable point in each instance, but it is not
constant across different circumstances, even under fixed pressure.
that nothing had happened to the water chemically, I poured out the
same water to an ordinary beaker and boiled it again; normal
boiling behaviour was observed, with a higher temperature and
only a few spots of active bubble-formation at the bottom surface.
(a) Imagine a civilization with no access to open flames, but only to hot
stones or sand; there, boiling would be done in narrow-necked
flasks, routinely producing the kind of superheated boiling that I
have observed in volumetric flasks heated with a graphite bath or a
hotplate. Such people would not dream of drawing a sharp line
between the ‘‘liquid’’ and ‘‘gas’’ regions in a temperature-pressure
phase diagram.
(b) Coming back to real life in the 20thy21st century, note widespread
reports of the superheating of water in microwave ovens, which heat
water directly and evenly, not by means of a hot solid surface. This
phenomenon is often noticed because the superheated water is apt
to boil over violently when instant coffee is dropped into it. (Try
putting ‘‘superheated water’’ into an internet search engine; Joe
Wolfe of the University of New South Wales has a particularly good
online discussion13.) Some recent researchers on boiling have
employed laser pulses as a heating mechanism.
(c) In the 19th century, the age of the steam engine, boiler explosions
resulting from superheating created a real concern, and various
methods of preventing superheating were devised successfully. I
have not seen a good theoretical or historical account of this
business, but I suspect that the water in the steam-engine setup is
prone to de-gassing, and that the explosive force would have been
quite considerable in high-pressure engines. In the 20th century,
mechanical and chemical engineers encountered a wide variety of
situations in which boiling takes place, and have been accumulating
experimental and theoretical knowledge of various different types of
boiling that take place in different situations, as I will explain briefly
in the next section14,15,16.
Fig. 6. A standard boiling curve, from Incropera and DeWitt (1996), p. 502 (figure
10.4). Courtesy of John Wiley and Sons.
Concluding remarks
My investigation has revealed some significant gaps in the common
knowledge of boiling in standard physics and chemistry, especially
in the way these subjects are taught, even in higher education.
These gaps exist not because science is incapable of filling them,
but because science needs to set aside many questions and facts in
order to allow its focus on the current cutting-edge of research.
History and philosophy of science can serve the function of
preserving and developing aspects of scientific knowledge that are
lost and neglected in the process of scientific progress. I would have
not learned all the good things about boiling that I have presented in
this paper, if I had not started by learning from historical sources.
And I would not have looked into that history if I had not been
investigating philosophical questions about how we can know
whether our thermometers are reliable. Using history and philo-
sophy of science to improve our knowledge of nature is a program
of research that I call ‘‘complementary science’’ because it supple-
ments current specialist science without disputing its legitimacy1. I
hope that this brief presentation of a concrete question has given
you a glimpse of the potential of this research programme.
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank colleagues in the UCL Department of
Chemistry, especially Andrea Sella and Crosby Medley, for their
help with the experiments. I thank the Leverhulme Trust for
providing funding for the experimental work. Thanks are due to
many more people, who are listed in the online paper accompanying
the video clips.
References
1. Chang, H. (2004) Inventing temperature: measurement and scientific progress.
Oxford University Press, New York.
2. Newton, I. (1701) Scala Graduum Caloris. Calorum Descriptiones et Signa.
Phil. Trans. Roy. Soc. Lond., 22, 824 – 829.
3. Cavendish, H., Heberden, W., Aubert, A., De Luc, J.-A., Maskelyne, N.,
Horsley, S. and Planta, J. (1777) The Report of the Committee appointed by
the Royal Society to consider of the best method of adjusting the fixed points of
thermometers; and of the precautions necessary to be used in making experi-
ments with those instruments. Phil. Trans. Roy. Soc. Lond., 67, 816 – 857.
4. Cavendish, H. (1921) Theory of boiling. The scientific papers of the Honour-
able Henry Cavendish, F.R.S., Vol. 2, Chemical and dynamical, Edward Thorpe
(ed.), pp. 354 – 362. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.