Chaos — where it appears
Named by 16 essays across one field — each of them below, with the objects they name alongside it.
The road paved with doublings
Turn one dial slowly and watch what a map settles into. It settles on a point, then on two points, then four, then eight — faster and faster, and the doublings run out at a parameter that is finite.
A difference too small to draw
Two starting points a ten-thousandth apart, under the same rule, with nothing random anywhere. Within forty steps they have nothing in common — and the rule was not doing anything to them that it does not do to everything.
How fast two orbits part
The word "sensitive" is an adjective. Averaging the logarithm of one derivative along an orbit turns it into a number — one that says how many steps of prediction the map allows, and whose sign says whether it allows any.
The obstacle that makes a table chaotic
Put one round post in the middle of a square table and every trace of order goes. Two paths that start a hundred-thousandth of a degree apart end up on opposite sides of the table, and the reason is that a wall curving outwards multiplies a gap where a flat one only adds to it.
The flow that is really a map
A trajectory wandering through three dimensions is hard to reason about. Record only the successive maxima of one coordinate and the wandering collapses onto a curve — a map of an interval to itself, with a corner in the middle, which is a thing the theory can handle.
A closer start buys only time
Two trajectories from almost the same place separate exponentially, and the rate does not depend on how close they began. Halving the initial error buys one fixed interval of extra agreement, and no amount of precision buys more than a fixed number of those.
Stretch, fold, and what is left
A system that pushes every pair of nearby points apart and keeps them all inside a bounded region has only one option, and it is the one a baker uses. Stretching and folding is the mechanism, and what survives infinitely many folds is a Cantor set.
Neither a surface nor a solid
The attractor has no volume, because the flow shrinks volumes at a rate that can be read off the equations. It is also not a surface, because a surface cannot carry chaotic dynamics. What is left is an object of dimension a little over two, and that number is measurable.
The folds that measure chaos
Apply the logistic map six times and its graph goes up and down 38 times at r = 3.5 and 64 times at r = 4. How fast that number of folds multiplies with each further step is the map's topological entropy: zero through the whole cascade of period doublings, log of the golden ratio in the window of three, log 2 at the top — and it never decreases as r rises.
The dark lines are one point's orbit
Past the end of the period-doubling cascade the bifurcation diagram turns into grey bands crossed by darker curves. Every one of those curves is the orbit of a single point — the top of the hump — and the places where they meet are exactly where the bands merge, in a second cascade that runs backwards at the same rate.
The window that opens with a stutter
The period-three window does not fade in. At r = 1 + √8 a cycle of three appears out of nothing, and just before it does, the chaotic orbit keeps imitating the cycle that is not there yet — for twenty steps, then fifty, then hundreds, in quiet stretches whose length grows as one over the square root of the distance to the window.
A solvable chaos of every degree
The logistic map at four is chaotic and, through a change of coordinates, completely solvable: its orbits are cosines of doubling angles. The trick is not a one-off. For every whole number n there is a polynomial of degree n that multiplies angles by n instead of 2, and every one of them is exactly as solvable, has exactly nᵏ points of period k, and preserves the same distribution — and any two of them commute, which almost no two polynomials do.
Sensitivity comes free
The standard definition of chaos asks for three things: an orbit that goes everywhere, periodic orbits everywhere, and sensitive dependence on the starting point. The third, the one the word chaos is usually taken to mean, turns out to follow from the other two. A periodic point and a wandering point that start side by side must eventually part, because the wanderer has to visit places the periodic orbit never goes.
Chaos on a set nobody lands on
Stretch the interval by three and fold it, and a third of it lands outside. Almost every starting point wanders chaotically for a few steps and then leaves for good; the points that never leave form a Cantor set of no length, on which the map is as chaotic as any map can be. How fast points escape, how fast they are stretched, and how thin the surviving set is are three numbers tied by one equation: the dimension is one minus their ratio.
A whole interval of speeds
Below the critical line every orbit of the circle map goes round at the same average speed. Above it the map folds back on itself, and the speed depends on where the orbit starts — not a few different values but a whole interval of them, every fraction in it the speed of some periodic orbit, and almost none of them ever seen by an orbit started at random.
The last circle to break
Kick a spinning rotor once a turn and most of its motions stay on curves that wind round forever, walls no orbit can cross. As the kick grows the walls break one by one, and the last to go is the one whose winding is the golden ratio — at a kick of 0.9716, found by watching a sequence of periodic orbits approximate it and asking whether they are stable.
Named alongside it
The objects these essays reach for when they reach for this one.
Logistic mapPeriodic orbitOrbitSensitive dependenceBifurcationLyapunov exponentIterationStrange attractorAttractorCantor setPeriod-doublingSelf-similarity