Reflection — where it appears
Named by 10 essays across 4 fields — each of them below, with the objects they name alongside it.
The path that does not change
Reflection, refraction and the angle of the rainbow are not three laws. They are one condition — that the optical path length is stationary — and the word stationary rather than shortest is the whole of what makes an elliptical mirror and a rainbow the same statement.
The path that takes the longest time
Light is said to take the quickest route. Put a source and a detector in front of a mirror curved a little more than the ellipse through them, and the route it takes is slower than every route beside it — by construction, not by exception. The principle was never about least; it was about stationary, and the difference is where optics stops being geometry.
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.
The shift a mirror gives twice
A moving reflector is a receiver and a source in one, so it shifts a wave twice — and the two shifts are different functions of the speed, which is why the round trip is not the square of either. Everything a speed radar does follows from that, including the two things it cannot do.
The reflection that changes the wavelength
An internal wave's frequency fixes the angle its energy makes with gravity, so a sloping wall cannot send it back the way a mirror would. The reflected beam leaves at the same angle to the vertical rather than the same angle to the wall, its wavelength changes by a factor that diverges when the slope matches the ray, and in a closed basin the changes accumulate until every ray in the fluid lies on one line.
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 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 lever that lets air speak to water
Sound in air striking a surface of water is almost entirely reflected: 99.9 per cent bounces off, which is why a swimmer underwater hears the world above as a muffled murmur. The inner ear is filled with fluid, and the eardrum faces air, so every land animal has the problem of getting sound across that boundary. The answer is three tiny bones and a difference in area, which together multiply the pressure about twenty-fold and turn a thousandth of the power into nearly half. The middle ear is an impedance transformer, the mechanical twin of the one in every radio, and it works best over just the band where speech carries its meaning.
The rough surface that is a mirror at a glance
A sheet of office paper is matt from above and shines when sighted along its surface. A choppy sea scatters a radar beam from overhead and returns it like a mirror near the horizon. An X-ray mirror polished to a third of a nanometre is still rough to X-rays except at angles below a degree. All three are one rule: two rays reflected from points at different heights differ in path by twice the height times the sine of the grazing angle, so roughness is measured in wavelengths times that sine — and every surface, however rough, is a mirror for light that skims it closely enough.
The photograph that keeps the spectrum
Light falling on a mirror adds to its own reflection, and the sum does not travel: it stands, with sheets of darkness every half-wavelength. Otto Wiener photographed those sheets in 1890 and found the film clear where it touched the mirror, which settled which of light's two fields acts on matter. A year later Gabriel Lippmann recorded the sheets through the depth of an emulsion and developed them into stacked layers that, lit with white light, send back exactly the colours that wrote them. His photographs store the spectrum itself, so they can tell apart two yellows that every colour film and every eye records as one.
Named alongside it
The objects these essays reach for when they reach for this one.
InterferenceBandwidthImpedanceImpedance-matchingOptical path lengthRadarSpectrumVariational principleAbsorptionAcoustic impedanceAnalyticityAnisotropy