Refraction — where it appears
Named by 14 essays across 4 fields — each of them below, with the objects they name alongside it.
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.
The ring at twenty-two degrees
A halo round the sun is a caustic in orientation rather than in space. Most of the ice crystals in a cirrus cloud send light nowhere in particular; the ones near minimum deviation all send it to nearly the same angle, because a minimum is flat — and the angle they pick has a red inner edge, which is the reverse of a rainbow.
A refraction with no wave in it
A field line crossing from one dielectric into another bends, by a law that looks exactly like Snell's with the sines replaced by tangents. Nothing is oscillating, nothing is travelling, and no speed appears anywhere in the derivation — only the two conditions that say what a boundary may and may not do to a field.
The law that only asks about one component
A boundary between two media cannot change the part of a wave that runs along it, because both sides have to agree on the phase at every point of the surface at every instant. That single restriction produces the refracted ray, the critical angle, the evanescent field and every order of a diffraction grating, out of one drawing made with a compass.
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.
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.
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 reflection that needs no surface
Change the refractive index of a whole medium at one instant and a wave already travelling through it splits in two, one part running on and one running back, though there is no surface anywhere for it to reflect from. A boundary in time is Snell's law with space and time exchanged: the wavelength is kept and the frequency changes, momentum is conserved and energy is not.
The sound sand carries faster the deeper it goes
A solid carries sound at a speed set by what it is made of. A heap of quartz grains is made of quartz, and near its surface it carries sound more slowly than the air above it. The grains are not the solid; their contacts are, and a contact between two spheres grows stiffer the harder it is pressed. So the speed of sound in dry sand rises as the sixth root of the load on it — from about air's speed a few centimetres down to twice that at six metres — the paths of sound in a beach curve back up to the surface, and a water table is a mirror to one kind of wave and almost invisible to the other.
The drop that cannot hold the light it lets in
Light inside water meeting the surface at more than 48.6° is totally reflected, and every raindrop is made of water. Yet no ray of sunlight that enters a raindrop is ever totally reflected inside it. A sphere's geometry forbids it: a ray refracted on the way in meets the inside of the surface at its refraction angle, and keeps meeting it at that same angle every time it bounces, and that angle is always smaller than the critical one. The light leaks out a little at every bounce, which is why there are rainbows at all. Light born inside the drop is another matter, and a sphere can keep it for ever.
The lens with its glass taken out
Snell's law turns a ray at a surface by an angle set by the slope of the surface where the ray crosses, and the glass behind the surface does not enter it. So a lens can be sliced into rings, the glass between the slopes thrown away, and the rays will not notice. Fresnel did it for lighthouses in 1822. The waves notice — every step cuts a few hundred wavelengths out of them — unless the steps are made exactly one wavelength deep, and then the lens becomes something else: a diffractive element whose colours run backwards, and which can cancel a glass lens's colour with a twentieth of its power.
The shadow that shows the core is liquid
Nobody has been more than a few kilometres into the Earth, and its interior was mapped from the timing of earthquake waves alone. The decisive observations were of waves that do not arrive. Seismometers between about 100° and 140° from a large earthquake record no direct compressional wave, because something deep inside bends the rays away; and over two-fifths of the planet beyond 100° no direct shear wave arrives at all, because that something cannot be sheared. A slow, liquid core casts both shadows, and a few faint waves inside the first one revealed a solid core within it.
The thunder that passes over the listener's head
Lightning twenty-five kilometres away is plainly visible and usually silent, though the air between is clear and absorbs the low notes of thunder hardly at all. The thunder has not faded; it has gone over the listener's head. Daytime air cools upwards, sound slows as it climbs, and Huygens's wavelets, smaller at the top of every front than at the bottom, tilt each front towards the sky. Beyond the ray that just grazes the ground there is a shadow the sound cannot enter — and a hundred and fifty kilometres further out, the stratosphere can bend it back down.
The eye that loses its lens in water
Eyes opened under water see only a blur, and the reason is not water in the eye or salt or murk. The human eye does two-thirds of its focusing not with its lens but with the curved front of its cornea, whose power comes from the jump in refractive index between air and tissue. Water is almost as dense optically as the cornea, and the jump all but disappears: about forty-three of the eye's sixty dioptres vanish, and the focus moves to three times the eye's own length behind the retina. A mask gives the cornea back its air; a small pupil and a hard squint buy back a little; animals that hunt in both worlds have flattened their corneas and given the work to the lens.
Named alongside it
The objects these essays reach for when they reach for this one.
Snell's lawBoundary conditionDispersionPhase matchingRefractive indexEvanescent wavePermittivityTotal internal reflectionCausticDispersion relationHuygens principleSeismic waves