Exhaustive search
Named by 32 essays across 8 fields — each of them below, with the objects they name alongside it.
Three trisectors and a triangle nobody expected
Cut every angle of a triangle into three. The trisectors nearest each side meet in three points, and those three points are always the corners of an equilateral triangle — for every triangle there is, with no exceptions and no reason anybody finds obvious.
A game that decides what can be said
Two players take turns pointing at elements of two structures; if the second can survive k rounds, then no sentence with k quantifiers tells the structures apart — a statement about infinitely many formulas, settled by a finite search.
Every word once, around a cycle
A cyclic string of eight bits holds all eight three-bit words, each exactly once — and the reason such a thing exists is that the constraint linking overlapping windows is itself the construction.
The order everybody arrives in
Three people jointly earn nine, and the question is what each is owed. Ask instead what each adds on walking into a room the others are already in, average that over every order they could have arrived in, and four modest conditions leave no other answer.
A split nobody can walk away from
Every way of dividing what a group earns is a point of a triangle, and every coalition's threat to leave cuts a straight line across it. What survives all the cuts is the set of stable divisions — and for one three-player game there is nothing left.
The court that contradicts itself
Three judges each answer three questions, and each answers them consistently. Take the majority on each question separately and the answers no longer hang together — the body as a whole asserts a combination no member of it holds, and no rearrangement of the procedure removes the problem.
The planes a recurrence cannot leave
One multiplication and one addition, taken modulo a fixed number, produce a sequence that passes for random one value at a time. Taken two or three at a time it does not, and the reason is a whole-number relation that pins every point onto one of a small family of parallel lines.
The axiom is the shape of the graph
Add one operator meaning necessarily and the choice of which axioms to accept stops being a matter of taste. Each candidate axiom is true of exactly those worlds-and-arrows diagrams whose arrows have a stated property, and a logic is a class of graphs.
The edge that forces a triangle
A graph on six points can carry nine edges with no three of them closing a triangle. It cannot carry ten. The bound is n²/4, the graphs that achieve it are all the same shape, and both facts fall out of examining every graph there is.
Three in a row on the number line
Colour the numbers one to eight in two colours and it can be arranged that no three equally spaced numbers agree. Add the ninth and it cannot. The structure being forced is arithmetic rather than graphical, and the proof is a different proof.
The plane hiding in the squares
A complete family of orthogonal squares is not a collection of squares that happen to agree nowhere. It is a geometry — a plane with n² points in which every two points lie on exactly one line — and reading it that way is how the impossible orders were found.
Nine thousand four hundred and eight
There are four Latin squares of order four once the first row and column are fixed, fifty-six of order five, and nine thousand four hundred and eight of order six. The exact answer is known for eleven orders and for no more — and yet a half-finished square can always be finished.
Sixteen of five hundred and seventy-six
A Latin square is a multiplication table in which every equation has exactly one solution. Ask it to be associative as well and almost every square drops out — sixteen of the five hundred and seventy-six of order four survive, and they are the two groups.
The triangle nobody can settle
Does every triangular billiard table have a path that closes on itself? Acute triangles do, right triangles do, triangles with rational angles do — and for the rest the question has been open since it was asked.
Two diagrams the language cannot tell apart
A modal formula sees a diagram of worlds and arrows through a very narrow window. Exactly how narrow is settled by a game: where one player can answer every move, no formula whatever separates the two starting worlds, however different the diagrams look.
The axiom with no property of the arrows
The first rung matched each axiom to a condition on the arrows by hand. There is a recipe that does it for a whole class of axioms, and there is an axiom the recipe cannot reach — not because nobody has looked, but because no condition on the arrows defines it at all.
Nearly always, or nearly never
Toss a coin for every pair of points and ask whether the graph that results has some property. For a property a first-order sentence can state, the answer in the limit is never a genuine probability — it is zero or it is one, and the game is what proves it.
The distance a sentence can see
A first-order sentence with three quantifiers cannot notice anything about a graph beyond a fixed distance from the points it names. That single limitation is why it cannot say connected, and why the failure survives every attempt to add more quantifiers.
The only bit that survives
A shuffle can be called even or odd, and the label behaves under composition. Ask whether some cleverer label — a number out of three, or out of four — could behave the same way, and the answer is that nothing else can — one bit is exactly what a permutation gives up.
The puzzle that is exactly half solvable
A sliding puzzle sold with two tiles swapped is not a hard puzzle; it is an impossible one, and the proof is a quantity that no slide can change. The same argument, run three times at once, says that one arrangement of a scrambled cube in twelve is reachable.
Three points, however many there are
A point inside the hull of a thousand points is inside the hull of three of them. Any four points split into two groups whose hulls meet. And a family of convex sets, every three of which have a common point, has one common to all — three, in each case, being one more than the dimension.
Four ways out, and what each costs
An impossibility theorem lists conditions and says no rule has them all. That leaves exactly as many escapes as there are conditions, each of them a real institution — a dictator, a two-stage procedure, a supermajority, a restricted agenda — and each escape's price can be counted rather than argued about.
The best a code can be
A code is a set of words chosen far apart, and every construction answers "here is one" rather than "here is the best". The best can be computed at small lengths, and putting four classical bounds beside the exact answer shows which of them is doing the work and where none of them is.
![How many codewords lie within each radius, for a [7,3] code over 11 symbols. A bar for each decoding radius, its height the largest number of codewords found inside a ball of that radius around a randomly drawn received word, with the unique-decoding radius and the Johnson radius marked.](/f/how-many-codewords-lie-within-each-radius-for-a-7-3-code-e1fb4777.svg)
Past half the distance
A code of minimum distance five corrects two errors, and every account stops there. Two is the largest number for which the answer is unique — and a decoder that returns a short list instead of one answer reaches considerably further, which can be measured by counting the codewords in a ball.
Sixteen polygons with one dot inside
Fix one of Pick's two counts at one and ask what is left. The answer is a finite list, the list has exactly sixteen entries, each one is its own kind of object with a dual that is another entry, and the whole classification is a search a page can carry out.
The dots a circle catches
Pick's theorem gives a lattice polygon's area exactly, with no error term anywhere. Ask a circle the same question and the exactness is gone: the count is the area plus something, the something has been measured for two centuries, and nobody knows how big it is.
How short a cycle could be
The drift argument cannot see cycles at all, which is why it is not a proof. What can see them is arithmetic — a cycle's shape has to be a fraction that approximates the logarithm of three to base two extraordinarily well, and there are very few such fractions.
Every pattern happens exactly once
Choose any sequence of odds and evens and there is exactly one residue class whose orbit follows it, and exactly one fraction that cycles through it forever. The Collatz conjecture is then the statement that only one of those infinitely many cycles is made of whole numbers.
The game the algorithm was playing
Change what Duplicator has to offer — a whole bijection instead of one element — and the game stops measuring first-order logic and starts measuring colour refinement, the algorithm every practical graph-isomorphism test begins with. Two subjects that grew apart are one game with the moves relabelled.
A signal both can see
Two choosers who randomise privately can reach a set of outcomes that is smaller, and worse, than the set they reach when a device draws one cell and whispers each of them their half of it. Nothing is enforced and nobody is bound, and the arrangement is stable anyway.
The landscape nobody is looking at
Letting participants move one at a time to whatever is currently better can cycle forever, and on a network of congestible roads it cannot. The reason is a single number attached to each state that falls by exactly what the mover saves.
Finitely many, and nobody says how many
The theorem promises a dissection exists and the proof produces one. Running the proof on a hexagon produces thirty-nine pieces, ingenuity produces five, and there is no method for proving that five cannot be four.
Named alongside it
The objects these essays reach for when they reach for this one.
Expressive powerInvariantAxiomCounterexampleCounting argumentAccessibilityDecision procedureElementary equivalenceImpossibilityKripke modelLatin squareLattice