All physics (and by extension, all natural sciences) are an attempt to describe complex and messy real world phenomena in discrete, categorically rigorous, and in the case of physics, strictly mathematical analogues. In order to do this we first have to abstract the problem so as to create some kind of boundary between the specific phenomenon of interest and its interactions with the rest of the world, and then find some mechanism which describes and predicts the behavior to a limit of measurement, or at least accurate enough for our immediate needs. For any real problem these interactions with reality are highly complex and too involved to teach as a gestalt to someone who is just being introduced to basic concepts. So in the beginning, at least, a teacher introduces a new phenomenon or mechanism by talking about it as an abstraction, and then once the basic principles are addressed, expands upon it.
Take, for instance, the case of work (in the strict technical sense). Work is fundamentally the effort done upon a mass to raise its energy potential. It is typically introduced in basic mechanics as moving a big blue mass m up a distance h, giving the resultant work product W=mgh, where g is acceleration due to gravity and W is the work (energy) done on the mass, equal to the increase in gravitational potential energy the mass now enjoys. The student is then told that the mass can now do work on something else equal to the work done upon it; that is, if we put the mass on a pulley or lever it can do an amount of work w on some other object as it returns to the ground state.
This description, of course, misses the entire business of loss due to friction, acoustics, the second law of thermodynamics, momentum dynamics, et cetera, and furthermore avoids the entire question of what this “gravity” business–the disturbing and mysterious action at a distance–is about anyway. But if you tried to go into the holistic explanation of all of this you’d never get anywhere and the student would give up in frustration. (Many do anyway, no matter how simple you make it.) But once you’ve got the concept of work down, then you can extend the concept to address the reality of work and its inherent connection to all motion and transfer of energy. Then work isn’t just about moving blocks up and down; it’s about expanding gas driving a piston, diffusion through membranes from ionic potentials, binding energy between nucleons, and all other physical phenomena involving energy exchange.
Of course, even once we’ve learned of greater complexities, we still typically return to a simplified concept of phenomena in order to solve actual problems, because trying to model every possible contribution is not only impossible but unnecessary. When I model the dynamics of a vehicle suspension of a car I don’t model the motion of the passengers or movements of the engine, because their contribution is too small to affect the results to within my calculation error. I might even leave out things that part of the primary system (like deformation of the chassis) because it is too complicated and not important enough to model accurately, or abstract other aspects (like tire squash, slew, and slip) will be replaced by a semi-empirical or regime-dependent response submodel.
In the case of the light entering and exiting a prism, the application of a Fourier series to describe the behavior of light is a simple and applicable abstraction, and very accurate in terms of getting a usable result as long as you are not interested in the specifics of how the beam enters and exits the prism. If you do want to delve into those specifics you need to get down into quantum field theory, which is beyond the scope of introduction to classical optics, or even basic modern optics.
Where the problem comes in is not that the explanation is incomplete–this is fundamentally true of all sciences, which always aspire to greater refinement and understanding–but that it is implicitly presented as a complete explanation without a nod to the greater complexity of real interactions.
Stranger