The colour fringe no aperture can close
Assumes: The flat scene that comes back curved · Two glasses that cancel a derivative
The flat scene that comes back curved ends by pointing at the place where the field of view and colour interact: a surface of best focus that sits at a different place for each wavelength. That is one member of a family of faults that appear only away from the centre of the picture, and it is the least dramatic of them. The dramatic one is lateral colour, and it has a property that sets it apart from almost everything else that can go wrong in an image. It cannot be improved by closing the aperture.
Every photographer learns that stopping a lens down sharpens it. Spherical aberration, coma, most of the blur from field curvature and the coloured halo of two glasses that fail to cancel a derivative all shrink as the aperture closes, because each of them is a disagreement between rays passing through different parts of the lens, and a smaller aperture keeps fewer of the disagreeing rays. Lateral colour is a disagreement between colours along the same ray. Nothing an aperture does can remove it, and the drawings follow it from its cause to the tricks that do.
The ray through the centre of the stop
The central character is the chief ray — the ray from an off-axis point that passes through the centre of the aperture stop. Every other ray from that point passes through the stop somewhere else, and the bundle of them is centred on the chief ray, so wherever the chief ray lands is where the image of the point is centred. The chief ray is the one ray that belongs to every aperture: close the stop to a pinhole, and it is all that remains.
If the stop is at the lens, the chief ray passes through the lens’s centre, where a thin lens is a flat plate and bends nothing. Every colour goes straight through, and they all land at the same height. There is no lateral colour at all, which the generator checks before drawing anything. Most lenses cannot have their stop there: a camera lens has glass on both sides of its diaphragm, an eyepiece’s stop is the pupil of the eye in front of it, and a telescope’s stop is its objective, far from the eyepiece. Put the stop 20 millimetres in front of the lens, as in the drawing, and the chief ray meets the lens 3.5 millimetres off centre, where the lens is a weak prism — the shape of lens the three-ray construction treats as a stack of prisms. A prism disperses: it bends blue by more than red, for the reason that puts the rainbow at its angle. So the three colours leave the lens at slightly different angles and land at slightly different heights.
The spread is tiny at the scale of the drawing and large at the scale of a photograph: 55 micrometres, about fourteen pixels of a modern sensor. Its size follows from one line. The prism bends the ray by the height at which it meets the lens divided by the focal length, and the fractional difference between blue and red focal lengths is one over the Abbe number — 64 for this glass — so the spread on the image plane is the height at the lens divided by 64.
Stopping down removes one colour error and not the other
The same lens has both faults at once, and the drawing sets them side by side. Axial colour arises because the blue focus is nearer the lens than the red, by the focal length divided by the Abbe number — 0.78 millimetres here. At the yellow focus, the blue and red cones of light from a point are both slightly out of focus, and each spreads into a disc whose size is the focus error divided by the f-number. Close the aperture and the cones narrow, the discs shrink, and the coloured blur falls in proportion.
Lateral colour does not blur anything. The blue image of the point is exactly as sharp as the red one; it is simply centred somewhere else. Closing the aperture narrows both cones around their chief rays and leaves the chief rays where they were. So at wide apertures axial colour dominates and stopping down helps; past about f/14 in this lens, lateral colour dominates and stopping down does nothing. The focus that is a slab describes stopping down as buying depth of field at the cost of diffraction; for lateral colour it buys nothing at any cost.
This distinction also shows up in how lenses are tested. A lens’s axial colour appears as coloured halos round a point source at the centre of the field, which change size as the aperture changes. Lateral colour appears as a coloured fringe along edges that run tangentially across the corners of the frame — edges at right angles to the line from the centre — with blue on one side and red on the other, and a lens tester can tell the two apart by stopping down and watching which one stays.
Lateral colour grows with the field and with the stop’s distance
The one-line formula has two lengths in it, and the drawing varies both. The height at which the chief ray meets the lens is the stop distance times the tangent of the field angle, so lateral colour is proportional to both. At the centre of the frame the chief ray is the axis, meets the lens at its centre and is not dispersed; at the corners the chief ray meets the lens far off centre and is dispersed most. Doubling the stop distance doubles the effect everywhere.
That is why lateral colour is a problem of wide-angle lenses and of long telescopes’ eyepieces, where the chief ray from the edge of the field meets the glass far from the axis, and why it hardly matters for a narrow-field lens like a telephoto’s rear element or a microscope objective used near its centre. It is also why lateral colour is a difference of magnification rather than a blur. The image in blue is a slightly smaller copy of the image in red, scaled about the centre of the frame, and the fringe at any point is the difference between the two copies there.
This makes lateral colour, alone among the aberrations, easy to remove after the picture is taken. Since each colour channel is sharp and differs from the others only in scale, resampling the blue and red channels by their own magnifications lines them up again. Every camera and every raw-photo converter now does this from a table of the lens’s measured lateral colour, and the fringes that were once the signature of cheap wide-angle lenses have largely vanished from photographs — not because the lenses changed but because a difference of magnification is information, and a blur is not.
Two lenses of one glass with a colour-free focal length
The standard cure for colour is the achromatic doublet, two lenses of different glasses cemented together so that their dispersions cancel. It removes axial colour, and for a thin doublet with the stop at it, it removes lateral colour as well. But there is an older cure, needing only one kind of glass, and it works on lateral colour specifically.
Two thin lenses separated by a distance have a combined power . Each lens’s power varies with wavelength in proportion to , and if both are made of the same glass the variations are proportional. Differentiating the combined power with respect to the index and setting the result to zero gives a condition on the spacing alone:
At that spacing the combined focal length is stationary with wavelength, although neither lens’s is, and the drawing confirms it: the curve for 40 millimetres is flat across the centre of the spectrum. The pair still has axial colour — its focus moves with wavelength, because its principal planes move — but its focal length, and therefore the magnification it gives to an eye looking through it, does not. For an eyepiece, whose job is to magnify an image already formed by a telescope’s objective, that is the fault that matters: an eyepiece with lateral colour shows every star near the edge of the field as a short spectrum.
This is the spacing of the two-lens eyepiece Christiaan Huygens introduced in the 1660s, before Newton had shown that white light is a mixture of colours, and it remained the commonest eyepiece for two centuries. A design that removes one colour fault with one glass is also the clearest demonstration that “the colour correction of a lens” is not one condition but several, each on a different derivative of a different quantity, and each removable by a different trick.
The coloured edge at the corner of a photograph
The drawing shows what lateral colour looks like when it reaches a sensor. Each colour’s image of the edge is equally sharp, a smooth step a few micrometres wide. The three steps are simply in different places, and across the band between them the light is out of balance: on the inner side blue has already risen to full brightness while red is still dark, and on the outer side the reverse. A grey edge becomes a blue-violet line on one side and a red one on the other, a band several pixels wide running along every tangential edge near the corners.
The band’s width is set by the stop position and the field height, and nothing else about the picture: not the subject, not the focus, not the exposure. It is the same in every photograph taken with the same lens at the same zoom setting. That repeatability is what lets software correct it from a table, and it distinguishes it from the violet fringes that appear on overexposed highlights in any part of the frame, which come from a mixture of axial colour, the sensor’s own response and the spreading of charge between saturated pixels, and which a table cannot remove.
Why a mirror has no colour
The most complete cure for colour of either kind is not to use glass. A mirror reflects every wavelength at the same angle, because the law of reflection contains no refractive index, so a mirror has neither axial nor lateral colour however far off axis the light arrives and wherever its stop is. Isaac Newton built his reflecting telescope in 1668 for exactly this reason. He had concluded, wrongly as it turned out, that the colour of a lens could never be corrected, because he believed every glass dispersed in proportion to its refraction; a mirror side-stepped the problem.
Mirrors have faults of their own — a sphere cannot focus parallel light to a point, and a paraboloid that can is ruined by coma a fraction of a degree off axis — but colour is not among them. Every large astronomical telescope is therefore a reflector, and the lateral colour that remains in a telescopic image comes from whatever glass the light meets after the mirrors: a corrector plate, a field flattener, or an eyepiece. The Huygens eyepiece’s single-glass correction was, for two centuries, the finishing step of a system whose main optics had no colour to begin with.
The same division appears in instruments that must work across wide bands of wavelength. Infrared and ultraviolet instruments, and spectrographs that must bring many wavelengths to one focus, are built from mirrors wherever possible, and a designer adds glass only where a mirror cannot do the job — accepting, with each lens, a lateral colour that has to be corrected by the tricks above.
Symmetry, the other cure
There is one more way to remove lateral colour, and it removes several other faults at once. Arrange the elements of a lens symmetrically about its stop — the same lenses, in mirror image, on either side — and use it at unit magnification, as a copying lens does. Every ray’s path through the first half is then reversed through the second, and any fault that depends on an odd power of the chief ray’s height at the stop is introduced by one half and cancelled by the other. Lateral colour is such a fault; so are distortion and coma. It is the reason that so many classic camera lenses — the Rapid Rectilinear, the Double Gauss that nearly every standard lens since the 1950s descends from — are built as two nearly symmetric halves around a central diaphragm, and why their lateral colour is small even though no glass was chosen to correct it.
The symmetry is only exact at unit magnification, and a camera lens photographing a distant scene is far from that. But a design that starts symmetric starts with those faults nearly cancelled, and the designer’s work is to recover the small remainder rather than to fight the whole of it. The condition a lens must meet describes coma’s cure as the sine condition; symmetry is the same cure reached by geometry rather than by calculation.
Where the thin-lens picture stops
Thin lenses and paraxial rays. Every number here is from tracing rays close to the axis through lenses of zero thickness. A real lens’s lateral colour also has higher-order terms that grow faster than the field height, and they are why many modern lenses have lateral colour that rises, falls and changes sign across the frame.
Three wavelengths. The drawings trace the F, d and C lines, or red, green and blue. Real light is a continuous spectrum, and glass’s index curves across it in a way no pair of glasses can straighten entirely — the curvature a fibre exploits to hold a pulse together — and a lens corrected so that red and blue land together usually leaves green slightly elsewhere — the secondary spectrum, which for lateral colour shows as a green–magenta fringe rather than a red–blue one.
A stop that stays put. In a zoom lens the stop moves relative to the groups of glass as the focal length changes, so the lateral colour changes with zoom, and the correction tables have to be indexed by focal length as well as by lens.
What the pictures cannot show
The drawings show heights and spreads on a line. A photograph shows lateral colour in two dimensions, and it combines with the finite sharpness every lens owes to diffraction, as a pattern of fringes that point radially: every point’s blue image is displaced towards the centre of the frame and its red image away from it, so the fringes run along tangential edges and vanish on radial ones. A spoke pattern photographed with such a lens shows clean spokes and coloured rings. None of that geometry fits on a graph of one variable, and it is the geometry that tells an experienced eye which aberration it is looking at.
Still open: whether glass will still correct colour
Lens design is moving away from choosing glasses. Diffractive surfaces — fine gratings on a lens surface — disperse light in the opposite sense to glass, with an effective Abbe number of about −3.5, and a weak diffractive surface can correct the colour of strong glass lenses with far less material; several camera and telescope lenses use them. Flat metalenses, built from arrays of nanostructures, can in principle shape the phase of each wavelength separately. Both carry new problems — stray light diffracted into unwanted orders, efficiency that falls away from the design wavelength — and whether a flat lens can be made achromatic over the whole visible spectrum at an aperture and field of view useful to a camera is being argued about with theorems on both sides, bounding the bandwidth such a surface can correct against its size and numerical aperture.
The habit worth carrying away is to ask of any fault which ray carries it. An aberration carried by rays that pass through different parts of the aperture shrinks when the aperture closes; one carried by the chief ray does not, because the chief ray is the ray every aperture keeps — and a fault that is a difference of magnification rather than a blur can be removed after the fact by anyone who knows how large it is.
Part 7 of 7
This essay is one argument about Imaging. The others:
The objects named here
The third axis, after the field and the reading path: the things themselves, and every essay that touches each one.
Abbe numberAperture stopChief rayChromatic aberrationDispersionF numberLateral colourLens design