By the 1870s the pieces of this reading existed in scattered form — d’Alembert’s travelling waves, Bernoulli’s and Fourier’s modal sums, George Green’s impulse responses, Helmholtz’s resonators. John William Strutt, third Baron Rayleigh, assembled them into a single coherent theory in The Theory of Sound (two volumes, 1877–78; Rayleigh 1894). His organising move was the one this lesson takes: treat the wave equation as a linear operator, expand every problem in its normal modes, and read energy, radiation, and resonance off the expansion. Much of the vocabulary of acoustics — “normal mode,” the Rayleigh quotient for estimating frequencies, the Rayleigh integral for radiation — descends directly from it.
4.10 Reading the solutions — what the wave equation does
The previous nine lessons derived
four separate ways. Deriving it tells us why it holds. This lesson tells us how to read it: what its solutions can and cannot do, and which feature of the equation is responsible for which physical fact. The same equation — with standing for a string’s displacement, an electromagnetic field, a seismic disturbance, or a quantum amplitude — governs all of them, so what follows is the operating manual for waves in general, written in the language of sound.
It is a guided tour. Each idea below gets one sentence of statement and one live demonstration; each also points to the later lesson that develops it in full. Treat the page as the map for chapters 5 through 10, and the summary as the territory drawn small.
1. Curvature causes acceleration
Read the equation as a sentence. The left side is an acceleration; the right side is a curvature — measures how far at a point sits below the average of its neighbours. The equation makes them proportional: a point accelerates because its neighbours are out of line with it. A pressure valley is pulled up, a crest is pushed down. That is the entire local mechanism; everything else is consequence.
Each arrow is the acceleration the wave equation assigns to that point — equal to c² times the local curvature of the profile. Arrows are largest at the crests and troughs (most sharply bent) and vanish at the flat zero-crossings (no curvature), always pointing back toward the axis. Increase the wavenumber and the same amplitude curves more sharply, so the accelerations grow as k².
▶ Reading as a neighbour-difference Derivation
On a grid of spacing the second derivative is the three-point difference
whose numerator is twice the gap between and the average of its neighbours. Lag below the neighbour average and the acceleration is positive; bulge above and it is negative. The Laplacian is the same statement in three dimensions, comparing each point to the average over a small surrounding sphere — and it is exactly what a finite-difference solver computes (Foundations 9.3).
The three symbols divide the labour cleanly: holds the medium (through , lesson 4.9), holds the space, and the boundary conditions — still unwritten — hold the object. Change the gas and only moves; change the container and only the boundaries move. One equation, a violin string and a concert hall.
2. Disturbances travel at a finite speed
Everything in this section follows from one fact: a disturbance spreads through the medium at a fixed speed , and no faster. d’Alembert’s solution (3.3) is just that fact written down — a shape sliding right and a shape sliding left, each at speed (refresher: characteristics →). From it come two questions, mirror images of each other.
Where can a disturbance get to? Suppose something happens at a single place at one instant — a spark at the origin. A time later the news has travelled a distance in each direction and no further, so it can be felt only within . As grows that set grows: a widening interval in one dimension, a growing disk in two, an expanding sphere in three. Swept out over all time it is the region of influence. Outside it, as far as the target is concerned, the event has not happened yet.
Where could the field here-and-now have come from? Turn it around. To know the field at one chosen place and time — a target — what must we know about the starting conditions? A disturbance that began a distance away takes a time to arrive, so by the time only starting points within of the target have had time to reach it. The field at the target is fixed entirely by the initial data on the interval , and not at all by anything outside it. That interval is the target’s domain of dependence.
Two features of that interval are where intuition usually slips, so they are worth stating plainly:
- It is an interval, not a point. One might guess the field at a place depends only on what was happening at that same place to begin with. It does not — the wave carries news inward from both sides, so the value at the target is assembled from all the initial data within of it.
- Its width is set by how long you wait, and it is never all of space. The interval has width . A target just after the start ( small) needs only a sliver of initial data around it; a target far in the future needs a wider stretch, because the wave has had longer to bring in news from afar. As the interval shrinks to the single point beneath the target — a point depends only on itself — and it fans outward from there. Only after infinite time would it cover everything. (So in the diagram below, the lit band at is not “all ”; it is this finite interval, drawn against the full initial profile to show how much of it actually matters.)
The two questions are one relationship read in opposite directions: a starting point can influence a target exactly when — equivalently, the target lies in ‘s region of influence, and lies in the target’s domain of dependence. The diagram is the bookkeeping of that relationship: signals run along the slanted characteristics , and the cone — a triangle in one dimension — is the set of all initial points wired to the target.
One event, three views. On the map the wavefront is an expanding ring of radius ct — the shape a textbook can draw but not animate. The profile is the wave along the dashed cut: the ring meets the cut at two points, and those are the two pulses. The spacetime plot stacks every profile into the light cone, whose edges are the same two points traced through time. Everything outside the ring — the wedge, the flat profile — has not yet heard the event.
Three views of one event, side by side. The map shows the wavefront as an expanding ring of radius — the picture a textbook draws but cannot animate; the profile is the actual wave along a cut through that ring; the spacetime plot stacks every profile into the light cone. The link to hold onto: the ring meets the cut at , and those two points are simultaneously the two pulses in the profile and the two edges of the cone. Toggle to domain of dependence to read it backward — the disk of data that can reach a target. Either way the boundary moves at exactly . (One consequence is hiding here: every disturbance moves at the same , so a 1-D pulse keeps its shape — the wave equation is non-dispersive, a fact that fails only when a medium, geometry, or nonlinearity intervenes.)
The “cone” is only a wedge because the picture above is one-dimensional. Add a second spatial dimension and it becomes a genuine cone: a point event radiates an expanding circle, and stacking that circle along the time axis is the 3-D light cone itself.
Two-dimensional space plus time is the most we can draw, and there the light cone is a real cone. A point event sends out a wavefront that is an expanding circle of radius ct (the field, top-left); the wave along a horizontal cut through it is the profile beneath, where the ring shows up as a bump on each side at ±ct. Stacking that circle along the time axis sweeps out the cone (right), so the cone's cross-section at any instant is exactly the ring in the field. Raise c and the cone flares wider — the wavefront covers ground faster. In true three-dimensional space the wavefront becomes an expanding sphere and the cone a four-dimensional object we can no longer picture, but the logic is unchanged.
The cross-section of the cone at any instant is exactly the wavefront circle beside it. (In true three-dimensional space the wavefront is an expanding sphere and the cone gains a fourth dimension we can no longer draw — but the rule is the same.)
3. Solutions add
The equation is linear: if and solve it, so does . Interference is therefore not a force but bookkeeping — waves pass through one another and simply sum where they overlap. The sharpest consequence: a standing wave is two equal travelling waves moving oppositely,
With the balance centred the two travellers are equal and the sum is a pure standing wave: the dashed nodes never move, while the antinodes between them flap in place. Tip the balance and a travelling component returns — the nodes lift off the axis and the pattern drifts. Standing and travelling are the same object in different proportions.
Equal and opposite, the sum has fixed nodes — a standing wave (3.5). Tip the balance and a travelling component returns. Standing and travelling are one object in different proportions.
4. Every wave is a sum of pure tones
Linearity pays a second dividend. The complex exponentials with are the eigenfunctions of the equation: each evolves on its own, merely acquiring a phase. So any field — speech, a handclap, an orchestra — is a superposition of these modes (Foundations 7.1), and propagating an arbitrary signal reduces to propagating its spectrum. The Fourier basis diagonalises the wave equation, exactly as the spectral theorem diagonalises a self-adjoint operator.
Add harmonics one at a time and an arbitrary target shape assembles from pure sinusoids — the operational content of “any wave is a sum of tones,” made into the whole frequency picture in chapter 8.
5. Boundaries select a spectrum
In free space every wavelength is allowed; the spectrum is continuous. Confine the wave — a string fixed at both ends, a tube, a room, a drumhead — and the boundary conditions admit only a discrete ladder of modes, for the simplest 1-D case
The object chooses its own spectrum: this is why a tube has a pitch and a room has a colour (chapter 7). Resonance is the same fact seen dynamically — drive near an and energy piles into that mode (2.4).
- f₁
- 3.43 kHz
- f₂
- 10.29 kHz
- f₃
- 17.15 kHz
- f₄
- 24.01 kHz
Open or close each end of the tube and the allowed modes — and the pitch — jump to a new ladder set entirely by the boundary conditions (7.6).
6. The wave carries energy, split two ways
A wave transports energy, held half in motion and half in compression:
- acoustic energy density J/m³
- ambient density of the medium kg/m³
- particle velocity m/s
The two halves trade back and forth as the wave oscillates, and in the lossless equation their total is conserved and flows at speed (chapter 5).
In a plane sound wave, kinetic energy density (red) and potential energy density (green dashed) oscillate *in phase* — they are simultaneously maximum at the wave crests and zero at the nodes. On time-average they are equal (acoustic equipartition), each contributing ½ to the total energy density. The total (black) is twice the time-average of either part — a clean instance of the chapter's energy bookkeeping.
Kinetic and strain energy pass through zero together and peak together; their running total is flat. Energy is the conserved currency the rest of chapter 5 spends.
7. Impedance decides what reflects
Where two media meet, what crosses and what bounces back is set by one number per medium — the specific acoustic impedance . The pressure reflection coefficient is
- specific acoustic impedance of a medium Pa·s/m
- impedance of the incoming and far media Pa·s/m
- pressure reflection coefficient (fraction of amplitude returned) —
Matched impedances () transmit everything; a large mismatch returns nearly all of it. Echoes, anechoic foams, and the middle ear’s job are all this one ratio (5.4, 7.1).
At an interface between two media with impedance Z₁ and Z₂, the reflection amplitude is R = (Z₂−Z₁)/(Z₂+Z₁). For air-to-water (Z₂/Z₁ ≈ 3500), R ≈ 1.0 and 99.9% of the power reflects — the impedance-matching problem the middle ear is built to solve. When Z₁ = Z₂ (perfect match), R = 0 and all power transmits.
Slide the second medium’s impedance: at a match the wave passes whole; widen the gap and a reflected wave grows, flipping sign as crosses .
8. Every source is a sum of point responses
Everything above is the free field. A source adds a term to the right-hand side, and the device that solves the forced equation is the Green’s function — the field of a single point impulse. Linearity then gives the field of any source as a weighted sum of impulse responses: a convolution of the source with the Green’s function. Monopole, dipole, and piston are all this one idea (6.6).
Slide one signal across the other and the running overlap traces the output: the source, smeared by the medium’s impulse response, is the field it radiates.
Summary
Eight readings, one equation. Stripped to its load-bearing ideas:
with the division of labour , , boundary conditions . The canonical order in which the book builds on these:
- Travelling waves — the raw solution (3.3).
- Fourier — arbitrary waves as sums of modes (chapter 8).
- Boundaries and modes — the discrete spectrum a bounded object allows (chapter 7).
- Energy — the conserved currency the wave carries (chapter 5).
- Impedance — how that energy divides at a junction (5.4).
- Forcing — how sources launch waves in the first place (chapter 6).
- Dispersion and damping — where the ideal picture finally bends (chapter 10).
Each later complication — geometric spreading, forcing, damping, dispersion, a moving medium (chapter 9), the failure of linearity at large amplitude (10.4) — bends one bone of this skeleton without breaking it. Hold the skeleton in mind and the rest of the book is variations on a theme.