Invariant
Named by 57 essays across 10 fields — each of them below, with the objects they name alongside it.
Three moves, and what they cannot undo
A knot is a closed loop of string, and two knots are the same if one can be wiggled into the other. Reidemeister reduced all possible wiggling to three local pictures — which is what makes it possible to prove that a knot is knotted.
Eight ways to leave a square alone
A square can be picked up and put back so that nothing looks different. There are exactly eight ways to do it, and the number is not asserted here — it is what a search through all twenty-four relabellings of the corners comes back with.
The rule that forgets where it came from
A walk between a few states, with the next step decided by the current one and nothing else. Run it long enough and the starting point stops mattering — but only when two conditions hold, and both of them have a picture in which they fail.
Area by counting dots
Draw a polygon with every corner on a grid of dots. Count the dots strictly inside, add half the dots on the edge, subtract one — and the answer is the area, exactly, with no measuring anywhere.
Nine points on one circle
Three midpoints, three feet of altitudes and three more midpoints. Nine points defined in three unrelated ways, on an arbitrary triangle, and all nine sit on one circle — checked here on two hundred and forty triangles as well as on the drawn one.
A loop that cannot be pulled tight
A hole is a strange thing to point at, because it is precisely where the surface is not. What can be pointed at is a loop of string lying on the surface — and the hole announces itself by refusing to let that loop be pulled in to a point.
Colours that count more than three
Three colours prove the trefoil is knotted and say nothing at all about the figure-eight, which refuses them exactly as an unknotted loop does. The repair is to stop colouring and start counting — with five colours, or seven, and with the arithmetic done modulo the number of them.
Three colours force a triangle
Cut a triangle into small ones and colour the corners under one restriction. However the cutting and the colouring are done, some small triangle ends up with all three colours — and the number of them is always odd.
The shape that averaging leaves alone
Adding independent quantities blurs their distributions together, and rescaling restores the width. Almost every shape is changed by that operation. Exactly one is returned unaltered, and that is why sums of unrelated things keep arriving at it.
Zero can mean two different things
The linking number counts how often one loop pierces a surface the other one bounds. Two punctures of opposite sign add to nothing, and a loop that never goes through adds to nothing as well — so the answer zero is two pictures wearing one number.
The crossings that will not come out even
Draw a rearrangement as strings from one row of pegs to another and count where they cross. The count depends on how the strings are drawn; whether it is odd or even does not, and that single bit is what makes determinants exist and a sliding puzzle unsolvable.
Equal area is enough, and equal volume is not
Any two polygons of the same area can be cut into each other with finitely many straight cuts. The same sentence with area replaced by volume and polygon by polyhedron is false, and what blocks it is an angle.
One point in every big enough shape
A determinant measures a lattice, not the basis that happened to describe it — and that measurement is an exchange rate. Any symmetric convex region with more than four times that area has to swallow a lattice point.
A room that cannot be lit
Mirror the walls of a room and put a lamp inside it. Every point should be lit, since light bounces forever — and there are rooms with a dark spot no ray from the lamp ever reaches.
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 number four points agree on
One inversion is a reflection and reverses orientation. Two of them compose to a motion, and what that motion leaves alone is a single number computed from any four points.
The chain that stops
Give a chain a state it cannot leave and there is no long run to find — every walk ends. What is worth computing instead is how long it lasts and where it finishes, and both are exact answers to a linear system rather than limits of anything.
The chain that runs the same backwards
Put weights on the edges of a graph, step to a neighbour in proportion to them, and the long-run share of a state is its own weight over the total — read straight off the picture, with nothing to solve. The condition that makes that work is strictly stronger than being stationary.
The time spent and the share held
Stationary shares are a limit of distributions — where the walk probably is after many steps. Here the question is about a single walk: the fraction of its time spent in each state is that state's share, and the expected wait between visits is exactly the reciprocal.
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.
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.
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.
Slid, but never turned
The classical dissections all turn their pieces. Forbid the turn — allow the pieces to be slid and nothing else — and equal area stops being enough, for a reason that is a single number attached to each direction and that a cut cannot change.
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.
The obstruction that was the only one
Dehn showed in 1901 that a cube cannot be cut into a regular tetrahedron of the same volume, because a number built from edges and angles disagrees. For sixty-four years nobody knew whether that number was the whole story. Sydler proved in 1965 that it is: volume and Dehn's number together decide every case.
Equal area on a sphere, without a rectangle
On a sphere, two polygons of the same area can still be cut into each other, exactly as in the plane. Almost nothing in the plane proof survives the move: a sphere has no rectangles, no parallel strips and no similar triangles of different sizes. What carries the theorem instead is a quadrilateral with two right angles, built from a triangle's midline.
How fast the ball fills
Count the elements within r steps of doing nothing. The count grows like a polynomial in some groups and like a power of three in others, the distinction survives every change of generating set, and which polynomial degrees are possible is a theorem nobody expected.
The edge that is as big as the ball
In a lattice the boundary of a large ball is a negligible fraction of it. In a tree it is two thirds of it at every size — and that single ratio, not the group's size, is what decides whether a set can be cut into pieces and reassembled into two copies of itself.
One circle touching four
The nine-point circle touches the inscribed circle and each of the three escribed ones. Nothing in its construction mentions them, the two families of centres are built from different kinds of number, and the tangency is four exact equalities between distances and radii.
A centre is three weights
Write each classical centre as a weighted average of the corners and a coincidence becomes a determinant. The Euler line is then one number rather than a construction, the whole catalogue becomes mechanical, and the reason one centre is missing from it is visible in the weights.
One gadget defeats every refinement
Colour refinement fails on two triangles against a hexagon; its two-dimensional version fixes that and fails on a pair of strongly regular graphs. For every k there are two graphs the k-dimensional version cannot separate, and they are built from one local piece whose only symmetry is a parity.
A polynomial behind the colourings
The figure-eight knot and the cinquefoil both have determinant five, so they admit exactly the same colourings, and every counting argument treats them as one. Put a variable where the colouring rule has a two and the determinant becomes a polynomial — and the two knots come apart.
The surface a knot bounds
Every knot is the edge of a surface with two sides, and Seifert found a way to build one from any diagram: smooth the crossings, fill the circles that result with discs, and join them with twisted bands. Counting the handles gives an upper bound on how complicated the knot is, the Alexander polynomial gives a lower one, and for the simplest knots the two meet.
The people every stable answer leaves out
Let the lists be short and let one side take several partners. Stable matchings still exist and there can be many of them — but every one leaves out exactly the same people, and a member who is left with an empty place holds exactly the same partners in every one. A three-line count proves it.
A ring that no pairing can break
Put everybody in one pool and a stable pairing may not exist. Allow rings as well as pairs and something stable always exists — and the pairs-only answer fails exactly when that stable arrangement contains a ring of odd length. Two sides make every ring even, which is the whole reason the two-sided theorem holds.
Moves that only ever add edges
Turán's theorem says the densest graph avoiding a complete graph on r + 1 points is the balanced r-part graph. Zykov's proof finds it by a sequence of moves — turn a point into a copy of a better-connected one it is not joined to — each of which adds edges and none of which can create the forbidden clique. A second proof spreads a unit of weight over the points and gets the same bound from a maximum.
A road where nobody overtakes
Rule 184 moves every 1 one cell to the right whenever the cell ahead is empty. It is one of only five elementary rules that never change the number of 1s, and that single property turns it into a model of traffic with an exact transition: below half density every jam dissolves, above it jams can never all clear and drift backwards against the flow.
The loops on a torus that never cross themselves
Every loop on a torus is classified by two whole numbers: how often it goes round one way and how often the other. Some classes can be drawn without the loop ever crossing itself and some cannot, and the rule is the oldest in arithmetic — the two numbers must have no common factor. The same two numbers say how often any two loops must meet.
A twist that carries one loop to another
Cut a torus along a loop, turn one side of the cut once round, and glue it back. Nothing is torn, so every loop that did not cross itself still does not — but a loop of class (0, 1) is now a loop of class (1, 1). Two such twists reach every loop that never crosses itself, by Euclid's algorithm, and the symmetries they generate are exactly the whole-number matrices of determinant one.
The ball that stays outside the table
Turn billiards inside out. A point outside a convex table looks at the corner on its right, jumps straight through it, and lands as far beyond as it started before. Round a square every orbit closes; round a circle every orbit keeps to its own circle; round a regular pentagon the orbits form islands with a fractal between them. Whether some table lets a point wander off to infinity was Moser's question, and the answer — yes, for a kite — took until 2007.
A polynomial that tells left from right
The trefoil and its mirror image have the same colourings, the same determinant and the same Alexander polynomial, and the first proof that they differ was a hard argument about groups. Smooth every crossing both ways, count the circles in each of the resulting pictures, and add up the counts with the right weights: the total changes when the knot is reflected.
The crossings an alternating knot cannot lose
Peter Guthrie Tait drew knots for years and believed, without proof, that a diagram whose crossings alternate over and under, and which has no twist that can be undone, is already drawn with the fewest crossings the knot allows. The proof took a century, and when it came it needed only the two most extreme ways of smoothing the diagram and Euler's count of the regions of a map.
What is left when the middle is taken out
Cut a finite piece out of a group's picture and count the parts of what remains that run off forever. The integers leave two, the plane one, a tree more with every cut — and no group anywhere leaves exactly three, because a third end is always the first of infinitely many.
How many changes undo a knot
Cut the string at a crossing, pass it through the other strand and join it up again, and any knot can be undone by doing that often enough. The fewest changes needed is the unknotting number, and proving that fewer will not do needs a number that each change can move only a little. The signature moves by at most two per change — enough to settle thirteen of the fourteen knots up to seven crossings, and not the fourteenth.
A whole number split into two that are not
Run a ribbon round a closed loop and its two edges link a whole number of times. That number is shared between two quantities that are nothing like whole numbers: how far the ribbon twists about its core, and how far the core coils about itself. Bend the loop and the twist and the coiling trade continuously, to three decimal places, while their sum stays fixed — the arithmetic behind a coiled telephone cord and a supercoiled loop of DNA.
Six points in space and a pair that must link
Put six points anywhere in space and join every pair with a straight segment. Split the six into two triangles — there are ten ways — and at least one of the ten pairs of triangles is linked like two rings of a chain. No placement avoids it. The reason is a parity: moving an edge through another changes exactly two of the ten linking numbers, so their sum stays odd whatever is done.
Thirty-one moves from solved
Parity settles which half of a sliding puzzle's arrangements can be reached and is silent about how far away any of them is. Searching every reachable arrangement of the three-by-three tray answers the second question exactly — two arrangements sit thirty-one moves out — and parity turns up again, this time as a law about distance.
A rectangle made only of squares
A rectangle can be cut into finitely many squares — of any sizes, as many as wanted — exactly when its two sides are in whole-number proportion. Max Dehn proved it in 1903, and the proof that stuck, found by four Cambridge undergraduates in 1940, reads the squares as currents in an electrical circuit.
No odd number of equal triangles
A square can be cut into two triangles of equal area, or four, or any even number. It cannot be cut into three, or five, or any odd number — whatever shapes the triangles take. Paul Monsky's proof of 1970 has no geometry in its engine at all: it colours the points of the plane by how divisible their coordinates are by two.
The count a fold cannot change
A curved map can fold the plane over itself, so that one point has three preimages and its neighbour has one. Count each preimage with the sign of the determinant there and the jump disappears — the signed count is the same everywhere, and it is a whole number.
The centre a straightedge cannot find
Give a straightedge one circle and its centre, and it can do everything a compass can. Take the centre away and it cannot even find it again — because to a straightedge a circle has no centre. The maps that keep a circle and its straight lines are the motions of the hyperbolic plane, and in that plane the centre is a point like any other.
A jam that comes from nowhere
Give cars on a ring road a top speed of five cells a step, let each slow to the gap ahead, and add one more rule: now and then, at random, a driver eases off by one. That is the whole of the Nagel–Schreckenberg model, and it produces what the exactly solvable rule 184 could not — jams that form in free traffic with no obstacle, drift backwards against the flow, and cost the road more than a third of its capacity. Set the top speed to one and remove the chance, and it is rule 184 again, cell for cell.
A rule that remembers one row back
Only six of the 256 elementary cellular automata can be run backwards, and all six are trivial: shifts, copies and complements. Every interesting rule forgets. But make the new row depend on the row before the current one as well — combine the rule's output with it cell by cell — and every rule, rule 30 included, becomes exactly reversible: run forwards, swap the last two rows, run the same rule again, and the starting row comes back cell for cell. Nothing is lost, and yet the patterns still look as disordered as ever.
Six sticks tie a trefoil, and five cannot
Build a knot from straight sticks joined end to end and ask for the fewest. A trefoil takes six, and the six corners can be whole-number points in a box ten units wide. Five sticks can cross one another five times in a picture, as often as a cinquefoil needs, and still tie nothing — the five crossings always twist three one way and two the other. The fewest sticks is a measure of how knotted a knot is that no diagram shows directly.
Almost every long loop is knotted
Close a random walk into a loop and ask whether it is knotted. With ten steps almost never; with a hundred, more than one time in five it can be proved knotted by a single number; with two hundred and fifty, more than half. The chance of staying unknotted falls exponentially with length — Frisch, Wasserman and Delbrück guessed it for polymer rings around 1961, and it was proved in 1988 — because a knot needs only one small tangle somewhere, and a long loop has room for many.
Three sines tie a knot
Let a point move with a different sine wave in each of the three directions of space, the three frequencies whole numbers with no common factor, and it traces a closed curve that is usually knotted. With frequencies 2, 3 and 7 the curve is the knot 5₂. The trefoil, the simplest knot of all, can never be made this way: the half-turn that shifting time by half a period performs forces a condition on the knot's polynomial that the trefoil fails.
Named alongside it
The objects these essays reach for when they reach for this one.
KnotExhaustive searchAreaDissectionParityCounterexampleCounting argumentRandom walkKnot determinantOperation setPermutationSymmetry