Absorption — where it appears
Named by 19 essays across 6 fields — each of them below, with the objects they name alongside it.
How a wave thins out
A wave gets weaker with distance for two quite different reasons, and only one of them is a loss. Geometry alone fixes the first exactly — three exponents for three dimensions, with nothing about the medium in them — and whatever is left over is the medium eating the wave.
The constant that depends on how fast it is asked
Water's relative permittivity is 80.1. Its refractive index is 1.333, and the square of 1.333 is 1.777. The identity n = √ε_r is exact, the two numbers differ by a factor of forty-five, and nothing is wrong with either — because a permittivity is a function of frequency and the two measurements were made eight orders of magnitude apart.
The glow that says nothing about the surface
A thermal camera pointed at a saucepan of boiling water reads a hundred degrees. Pointed at a polished aluminium block at the same temperature it reads about twenty-five, and the instrument is working perfectly. What it is measuring is emissivity as much as temperature — and a surface's emissivity is forced to equal its absorptivity, at every wavelength and every angle, by an argument with no physics of matter in it at all.
Why a litre of water is not blue for the reason the sky is
The same molecules that make the sky blue also make the refractive index of air, and the two numbers agree because the sideways sum has random phases and the forward one does not. Condense those molecules into a liquid and the sideways sum collapses by a factor of sixteen — and what is left is thirty-four times smaller than the absorption that actually colours the water.
The distance that takes the treble out
Spreading treats every frequency alike; absorption does not. The loss per cycle is roughly fixed and the number of cycles per metre goes as the frequency, so absorption climbs as f² and a sound gets duller with distance as well as quieter — which is the whole account of why a nearby thunderclap cracks and a distant one rumbles.
The answer that cannot come first
A medium absorbs at some frequencies and bends light at all of them, and those look like two separate facts to be measured separately. They are one fact. The requirement that a material respond after it is asked rather than before ties the absorption at every frequency to the refraction at every other, by an integral — and a material given the two halves independently answers before the question arrives.
Everything a scatterer removes, from one direction
How much light a particle takes out of a beam — by scattering it anywhere at all, and by absorbing it — is fixed entirely by what it does in the forward direction, where its scattered wave cannot be told apart from the incident one. The mechanism is interference, and it also gives the refractive index.
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 angle that is two angles
Snell's law survives a complex index by giving a complex answer, and a complex angle is not an angle. What the phase-matching argument actually fixes is the tangential wavenumber, and when the medium absorbs, the surfaces of constant phase and the surfaces of constant amplitude stop being parallel. In silver at 550 nanometres the phase fronts run within four degrees of the surface while the amplitude decays straight into it.
Where the loudness goes
An absorption coefficient removes energy from a wave, and energy removed has to appear somewhere. It appears twice, from the same coefficient: as heat, and as momentum. So a beam of sound has a weight — a watt absorbed in water weighs sixty-eight milligrams — and acoustic power is measured by putting an absorber on a balance. The ratio of the force to the heating contains no intensity at all.
The steps in an absorption curve
Every absorption law up to this point is smooth — a fixed loss per cycle, a relaxation, a power of frequency. Take the photon energy up to where it can eject an electron from an atom and the curve acquires steps, and they go the wrong way: the material becomes suddenly more opaque to a harder photon. Iodine absorbs four times as strongly at 33.4 keV as at 33.0, and that discontinuity is why it is injected into people.
The ripple that counts the neighbours
An absorption edge is drawn as a step and it is a step with a ripple on it — a modulation of eleven per cent in copper, five in a zinc site buried in a protein. The ripple is the ejected electron's own wave, scattered back onto the atom that emitted it, so its period is a distance. It is the only way of measuring where an atom's neighbours are that does not need a crystal.
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 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 pigment that absorbs less for being packed
Dissolve a dye evenly in water and it absorbs a certain fraction of the light passing through. Gather the same dye into grains — the same molecules, the same amount, in the same volume — and it absorbs less. The light has not changed and neither have the molecules. The grains shadow their own insides, and the light that would have been caught by the shaded molecules slips through the gaps between grains instead. The effect is called packaging, and it is why the chlorophyll inside large algae is worth less per molecule than the chlorophyll in small ones, and why an ocean's colour does not say directly how much chlorophyll is in it.
The sand that darkens when it is wet
Wet sand is darker than dry sand, a wet stone darker than a dry one, a splashed pavement darker in patches, and a wet white shirt turns grey and then see-through. Water is clear and absorbs almost nothing, so it cannot be adding darkness. What it does is change where the light goes. A film of water on a surface traps light that has been scattered back up, returning most of it for another chance to be absorbed. Water in the pores between grains replaces air with something closer to the grains' own refractive index, so each grain turns light aside less, and light wanders deeper before it gets out. Both lengthen the path, and on a longer path more light is absorbed by the material that was there all along.
The hydrogen atom inside a crystal
Light absorbed by a semiconductor lifts an electron across the gap and leaves a hole behind, and the two attract. In an ordinary crystal they bind into a copy of the hydrogen atom, with the same series of levels and the same 1/n² — but the crystal screens their attraction and lends them light masses, so the copy is a few thousand times shallower and several hundred times larger. That rescaling is the whole theory, it predicts lines below the gap and a finite step at it where no attraction would give a smooth rise from zero, and it says which crystals keep their excitons at room temperature.
The pond that is hottest at the bottom
Water heated from below rises, which is why a pond in the sun is never much warmer than the air: the heat is carried to the surface and lost there. Put a metre of salt gradient in the way and the hot water at the bottom is also the heaviest, cannot rise, and keeps its heat, behind an insulating layer that sunlight passes straight through. Ponds built this way reach eighty degrees under an ordinary sky. The salt does not collect any extra light. What it buys is temperature.
The hooks that weigh an absorption line
A strong absorption line is black at its centre, and how black it is says almost nothing about how many atoms made it — double them and the line hardly darkens. The atoms are still there, and they still bend light: on either side of the line, where the vapour is transparent, its refractive index rises and falls by an amount proportional to their number. In 1912 Dmitry Rozhdestvensky found a way to read that index straight off a photograph. Interference fringes passed through a spectrograph curl into hooks beside the line, and the distance between the hooks, squared, counts the atoms — whatever the line's shape and however saturated its core.
Named alongside it
The objects these essays reach for when they reach for this one.
AttenuationRefractive indexDispersionIntensityTransportAlbedoAnomalous dispersionBand gapBinding energyBlackbodyBohr radiusCausality