Phase — where it appears
Named by 20 essays across 5 fields — each of them below, with the objects they name alongside it.
The spiral that says how much light arrives
Huygens' construction says where a wave has got to and refuses to say how bright it is, because an envelope is a locus and a locus has no amplitude. Adding the wavelets with their phases instead of taking their envelope turns the whole subject into one curve, and every near-field pattern there is becomes a chord of it.
The mass that makes another stand still
Bolt a small mass on a spring to a machine that is shaking itself apart, tune it to the frequency that is doing the damage, and the machine stops moving. Not moves less — stops, exactly, at that one frequency. The price is two new resonances either side of it, and the whole device is a bet that the drive stays where it was put.
The crystal that answers twice
Lay a piece of calcite on a printed page and the print appears twice. One image sits still when the crystal is turned and the other goes round it. Nothing has been done to the light except pass it through a material whose response to a field is not a number.
The reflection that happens where the glass is not
Total internal reflection sends back every photon, which is why it is called total. It does not send them back from where they arrived — the beam re-emerges displaced along the surface, by a fraction of a wavelength, and a displacement is only possible if the light spent time on the far side of a boundary it never crossed.
The whirlpool that comes in one size
Spin a bucket of ordinary liquid and it ends up turning with the bucket. Spin a bucket of superfluid helium slowly and it does not turn at all. Spin it faster and it does not turn either — until a threshold, at which a single line of circulation appears, carrying not some amount but exactly h/m. There is nothing in between, because the velocity is the gradient of a phase and a phase has to come back to itself.
The grating that photographs itself
Put a grating in a beam of light and hold a screen behind it. At one particular distance the screen shows the grating again — sharp, at full contrast, right way up, with no lens anywhere in the apparatus. Half way there it shows the grating shifted sideways by half a period. A quarter of the way there, a half-open grating shows nothing at all.
The cone the source leaves behind
Take the Doppler construction past the speed of the wave and the wavefronts acquire an envelope. Its half-angle obeys sin θ = 1/M, an expression with no pressure, no density and no shape of the object in it — so a photograph of the cone is a speedometer. And the bang is not an event at the moment of crossing — it is a signature dragged along the ground for the whole of the flight.
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.
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 backward wave Huygens had to remove
Every point of a wavefront is a source of a spherical wavelet, and a spherical wavelet goes in every direction — so the construction predicts a wave travelling backwards as well as forwards. Nothing of the kind exists, and the repair is a factor that Huygens' geometry has no room for.
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.
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.
The phases that turn a glow into pulses
A laser oscillates on many frequencies at once, spaced by the time light takes to go round its cavity. Add those waves with random phases and the output is a steady glow with noise in it. Add exactly the same waves with their phases equal and the output is a train of pulses, each N² times brighter than one wave and a fraction 1/N of the round trip long. Nothing about the frequencies, the amplitudes or the average power changes — only the phases, and they decide everything a detector fast enough would see.
The lattice no phase can bend
Cross a few laser beams of one colour and they paint a crystal of light in the space where they overlap. The beams' phases drift whenever a mirror trembles, and it would seem the pattern must tremble with them. Whether it does depends on a count. Three beams in a plane, or four in space, give a lattice whose shape no change of phase can alter — the phases can only slide it. One beam more and the phases decide the shape, and must be held still.
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 field that turns with nothing turning
A coil fed with alternating current makes a magnetic field that grows, shrinks and reverses along the coil's axis and never leaves it. Put three such coils at 120° to one another and feed them currents a third of a cycle apart, and their fields add to one of constant strength that turns steadily round the centre — a rotating magnet made of nothing that moves. The trick is superposition read backwards: a field pulsing along a line is already two fields turning opposite ways, and the three coils are arranged so that one pair cancels and the other adds. Everything that goes wrong afterwards is a field turning the wrong way.
The clock that is pulled into step
In 1665, ill in bed, Christiaan Huygens noticed that two of his pendulum clocks hanging from the same beam were swinging in exact opposition, and that however he disturbed them they returned to it within half an hour. A clock is not a passive resonator waiting to be pushed; it keeps its own time, by its own mechanism. What a weak push can do to it is not change how strongly it swings but pull its phase — and within a range of frequencies set by the push's strength, pull it all the way into step. The same arithmetic locks lasers, pacemaker cells, power stations and the body's daily clock.
The dark lines a wave cannot avoid
Overlap three waves of light and there are places where they cancel exactly — not along fringes, as two waves cancel, but at isolated points, round which the phase of the light turns through a full circle. They cannot be removed by any small change, they can only be created or destroyed two at a time, and random light is full of them, about three to every square wavelength. A grating with a fork in it writes one into a beam on purpose, and the beam that comes out has a dark core and carries angular momentum in its twist.
The speeds a pulsed radar folds into one
A weather radar measures the wind inside a storm by the Doppler shift of its echoes, but it never hears the shift itself. It listens in pulses, and between pulses it notes only how far the echo's phase has turned — which is known only to within a whole turn. So speeds that differ by a fixed amount give identical echoes, and every speed is folded into a window. Make the window wider by pulsing faster, and the echoes from distant rain arrive after the next pulse has gone and land at the wrong range. The two limits multiply to a constant the designer cannot touch.
The kick that does not change the beat
A pendulum clock has to push its pendulum, or friction would stop it within minutes, and every push risks disturbing the very period the clock exists to keep. In 1826 George Airy worked out exactly when a push does no harm: at the bottom of the swing, where the pendulum is moving fastest, an impulse changes how far it swings and leaves the timing untouched. A push before the bottom makes the clock gain; after it, lose. Three centuries of escapement design are a search for a mechanism that pushes where Airy said — or that pushes in the wrong place in a way that cancels some other error.
Named alongside it
The objects these essays reach for when they reach for this one.
SuperpositionInterferenceDiffractionWavefrontFourier transformHuygens principleObliquity factorRefractive indexAmplitudeBandwidthBeatsBoundary conditions