Surfers, we say, ride a wave. But do they? This might seem a little silly, but it’s a matter that physicists take seriously. What is a wave? Consider again. In an arena or stadium, a crowd “does the wave” that appears to circle the stadium.
Science books simplify water waves by three properties: Length, height,* and frequency. Length is simply a measure from one wave crest to the following crest. Height is the vertical measure from the deepest part of the trough that lies between successive crests to the elevation of the crests. Frequency is a repetition in a given time. We are familiar with all three properties because we have all seen waves on water, and most of us have seen waves on an oscilloscope, either in a hospital or in some video or movie. And we have all noted that another common property of waves is that they occur in “trains.” So, surfers, hearing that a wave train is characterized by crests of great heights, hustle to the beach to catch that perfect “wave.”
Back to the first question: If the defining properties of a wave include the distance between two crests, then how do the surfers “ride a wave”? And what is the amount of water involved in the “wave”?
“What do you mean?” you ask.
There’s obviously a volume of water through which a wave moves, the water itself serving as a medium through which the energy, typically from storm winds, moves. And the same water that transfers the energy of one wave train can transfer energy that produces other wave trains simultaneously. In the “train” one crest usually catches the attention and effort of the surfers. In a crowd doing the “wave” in a stadium, there’s obviously a collection of individuals. Which individual constitutes the wave? Each? Some? All? Strange. But we focus on the overall effect, the “crest,” rather than on any individual.
In other words, if we ignore what quantum physicists tell us about “light waves” or “electron waves,” we can say “A single crest does not a wave make” in our world of common experiences. Two crests do, or two troughs do, but not just one of either. If a wave constitutes two of either, then a surfer rides the leading edge of a crest, the first or the second crest, but not both simultaneously. A crowd makes a moving “crest,” also. In both instances an individual water molecule or an individual fan, though necessary to the composition of the wave, doesn’t make the entire phenomenon. Yet, we commonly call a single crest a wave, and we might chuckle when a sole fan rises and sits repeatedly in a wave simulation. We seem to understand “wave parts” and partial waves. And we recognize frequency. A surfer can’t finish “riding a wave,” as we say, and immediately “catch the next wave,” meaning the following crest that “completes” the wave length and frequency. There’s a similar temporal limitation in a “crowd wave.”
There’s something in the definition of a water wave that seems to apply to how we measure one another. Yes, we’re always measuring people, particularly when it comes to their repetitive behavior, which we take as a defining property of their character.
“The measure of a man is what he does with power.”—Plato
“The true measure of a man is how he treats someone who can do him absolutely no good.”—Samuel Johnson
“The true measure of a man is what he would do if he knew he would never be caught.”—Lord Kelvin
“The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.”—Martin Luther King, Jr.
“The measure of a man is yada, yada, yada…”—Others, including you, probably
There are many kinds of measures when humans are the object of measurement, and all of them fail for the same reason that we aren’t really correct when we say that surfers ride a wave. If a single wave is a complex of two crests divided by a trough, how much more complex is the life of anyone that we reduce to the frequency of some recurring motive and behavior?
Stand in a swimming pool with a measure and measure a wave. Waves don’t stand still, do they? As you hold your measure from crest to crest, the wave occurs by cycling through crest-trough-crest. You might note that while you attempt to take your measurement, other waves also pass beneath your measure. You might also note that just as the surface responds to the passage of energy, the water below is also responding. So, how do you take the measure? With respect to a single “wave,” you probably choose its surface manifestation. “Hey, all you intermixed waves, stand still. I’m trying to take a measurement here.”
Oceans and big lakes have waves because of winds that transfer their energy to the water. Because there can be multiple storms, there can be multiple wave trains superimposed on one another. As we know, when crests coincide, they produce a “higher” crest; when troughs and crests coincide, they “cancel” some or all of the wave height. That coincidental merging makes the ocean surface movements very complex. But we, like the surfers, concentrate on a single dominating crest.
Just as we ignore that moving complex of multiple crests and troughs with different frequencies, we ignore a similar complex when we “take the measure of a man—or woman.” We might say, “She’s definitely a Type A individual.” That’s not just a description; that’s a measurement, as is “He’s a bad actor.”
As you know from experience and from your own personality and talents, people aren’t just the front of a wave, aren’t just the leading crest. Everyone’s life is a series of superimposed waves of motives and behaviors. We’re all sloshing oceans. If we choose to measure a wave—or a “wave train”—by taking its length, height, and frequency, we have isolated only part of the energy moving through an ocean. Similarly, when we choose to accept a wave “crest” as representative of an individual, we have isolated what we believe is the important measure. We take that as “the measure of a man” though we know that each “man” is a wave train of motives and behaviors.
We tend to see others as individual crests they appear to ride. We tend to ignore that in everyone there lies an ocean through which energy from multiple sources—often storms—passes. Think about that the next time you take the measure of anyone. None of us is just a crest or a trough. We are all superimposed wave trains.
*Height is twice the amplitude.
Science books simplify water waves by three properties: Length, height,* and frequency. Length is simply a measure from one wave crest to the following crest. Height is the vertical measure from the deepest part of the trough that lies between successive crests to the elevation of the crests. Frequency is a repetition in a given time. We are familiar with all three properties because we have all seen waves on water, and most of us have seen waves on an oscilloscope, either in a hospital or in some video or movie. And we have all noted that another common property of waves is that they occur in “trains.” So, surfers, hearing that a wave train is characterized by crests of great heights, hustle to the beach to catch that perfect “wave.”
Back to the first question: If the defining properties of a wave include the distance between two crests, then how do the surfers “ride a wave”? And what is the amount of water involved in the “wave”?
“What do you mean?” you ask.
There’s obviously a volume of water through which a wave moves, the water itself serving as a medium through which the energy, typically from storm winds, moves. And the same water that transfers the energy of one wave train can transfer energy that produces other wave trains simultaneously. In the “train” one crest usually catches the attention and effort of the surfers. In a crowd doing the “wave” in a stadium, there’s obviously a collection of individuals. Which individual constitutes the wave? Each? Some? All? Strange. But we focus on the overall effect, the “crest,” rather than on any individual.
In other words, if we ignore what quantum physicists tell us about “light waves” or “electron waves,” we can say “A single crest does not a wave make” in our world of common experiences. Two crests do, or two troughs do, but not just one of either. If a wave constitutes two of either, then a surfer rides the leading edge of a crest, the first or the second crest, but not both simultaneously. A crowd makes a moving “crest,” also. In both instances an individual water molecule or an individual fan, though necessary to the composition of the wave, doesn’t make the entire phenomenon. Yet, we commonly call a single crest a wave, and we might chuckle when a sole fan rises and sits repeatedly in a wave simulation. We seem to understand “wave parts” and partial waves. And we recognize frequency. A surfer can’t finish “riding a wave,” as we say, and immediately “catch the next wave,” meaning the following crest that “completes” the wave length and frequency. There’s a similar temporal limitation in a “crowd wave.”
There’s something in the definition of a water wave that seems to apply to how we measure one another. Yes, we’re always measuring people, particularly when it comes to their repetitive behavior, which we take as a defining property of their character.
“The measure of a man is what he does with power.”—Plato
“The true measure of a man is how he treats someone who can do him absolutely no good.”—Samuel Johnson
“The true measure of a man is what he would do if he knew he would never be caught.”—Lord Kelvin
“The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.”—Martin Luther King, Jr.
“The measure of a man is yada, yada, yada…”—Others, including you, probably
There are many kinds of measures when humans are the object of measurement, and all of them fail for the same reason that we aren’t really correct when we say that surfers ride a wave. If a single wave is a complex of two crests divided by a trough, how much more complex is the life of anyone that we reduce to the frequency of some recurring motive and behavior?
Stand in a swimming pool with a measure and measure a wave. Waves don’t stand still, do they? As you hold your measure from crest to crest, the wave occurs by cycling through crest-trough-crest. You might note that while you attempt to take your measurement, other waves also pass beneath your measure. You might also note that just as the surface responds to the passage of energy, the water below is also responding. So, how do you take the measure? With respect to a single “wave,” you probably choose its surface manifestation. “Hey, all you intermixed waves, stand still. I’m trying to take a measurement here.”
Oceans and big lakes have waves because of winds that transfer their energy to the water. Because there can be multiple storms, there can be multiple wave trains superimposed on one another. As we know, when crests coincide, they produce a “higher” crest; when troughs and crests coincide, they “cancel” some or all of the wave height. That coincidental merging makes the ocean surface movements very complex. But we, like the surfers, concentrate on a single dominating crest.
Just as we ignore that moving complex of multiple crests and troughs with different frequencies, we ignore a similar complex when we “take the measure of a man—or woman.” We might say, “She’s definitely a Type A individual.” That’s not just a description; that’s a measurement, as is “He’s a bad actor.”
As you know from experience and from your own personality and talents, people aren’t just the front of a wave, aren’t just the leading crest. Everyone’s life is a series of superimposed waves of motives and behaviors. We’re all sloshing oceans. If we choose to measure a wave—or a “wave train”—by taking its length, height, and frequency, we have isolated only part of the energy moving through an ocean. Similarly, when we choose to accept a wave “crest” as representative of an individual, we have isolated what we believe is the important measure. We take that as “the measure of a man” though we know that each “man” is a wave train of motives and behaviors.
We tend to see others as individual crests they appear to ride. We tend to ignore that in everyone there lies an ocean through which energy from multiple sources—often storms—passes. Think about that the next time you take the measure of anyone. None of us is just a crest or a trough. We are all superimposed wave trains.
*Height is twice the amplitude.
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