Periodic orbit
Named by 39 essays across 6 fields — each of them below, with the objects they name alongside it.
The staircase that shows the whole orbit
Take a number, feed it to a rule, feed the answer back in. There is a way of drawing that on the rule's own graph which turns the entire future of a starting point into a shape — and the shape is legible.
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 bounce is a fold of the table
Reflect the room instead of the ball and every bounce disappears — the trajectory becomes a straight line through a tiled plane, and questions about what a ball does forever become questions about the slope of that line.
A twist that cannot avoid two points
Turn the two edges of a ring in opposite directions without changing any area, and something in between must stay exactly where it is — not one point, but at least two, and the reason is that two loops enclosing the same area have to cross.
The staircase that is flat almost everywhere
A map of the circle advances by an average amount each step. Plot that average against the parameter driving it and the graph is flat over an interval at every rational, rises only on a set of measure zero, and still climbs from nothing to one.
The orbit written as a word
Cut the interval in two and record which half each step of an orbit lands in. The orbit becomes an infinite string of two letters, the map becomes the act of deleting the first letter, and questions about trajectories turn into questions about words.
The same map in different coordinates
The tent map and the logistic map at four look nothing alike and are the same map, carried onto each other by a change of variable. Everything either one does the other does, and the change of variable is a sine squared.
The orbit a computer draws
A chaotic orbit computed in floating point is not the orbit of the point it started from. Sometimes it is the true orbit of a nearby point, which is enough; sometimes the arithmetic simply runs out, and the picture is of the rounding.
A table folded into a surface
Unfolding a square billiard gives a straight line on a torus. Unfolding any table whose angles are whole fractions of half a turn gives a straight line on some surface — and which surface it is decides how hard the dynamics will be.
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 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.
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.
A matrix that counts the returns
Draw a map straight through the cycle 0 → 1/3 → 1 and its two pieces carry each other in a fixed pattern: the left piece only across the right, the right across both. The orbits' words are then walks on a two-node graph, and the number of points that come back after n steps is the trace of that graph's matrix to the nth power — 1, 3, 4, 7, 11, 18 — each one checked by solving for the points exactly.
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.
How a lock comes apart
Inside a plateau the map has two periodic orbits, one attracting and one pushing away. Track them to the plateau's edge and they run into each other and vanish together — so the edge of a tongue is a collision, and the width of the plateau is how far the two can be pulled apart.
An area that never finishes
Newton's method's famous failure is a boundary, and a boundary has no area — a random start misses it with probability one. The real failure is different in kind: a polynomial with small whole-number coefficients whose method has a region of starting points, with area, from which it provably never terminates.
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.
A cubic method that is Newton's in disguise
Halley's method, from 1694, uses the second derivative as well as the first and cubes the error at every step where Newton's squares it. It is also, exactly, Newton's method applied to a different function — p divided by the square root of p′ — and that single fact explains why its basins are calmer, why it walks out of the trap that holds Newton for ever, and why its boundaries are still fractal.
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 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.
Where the time goes on an attractor
A chaotic orbit's position is unpredictable within a few dozen steps. How it divides its time is not — start anywhere, follow long enough, and the fraction of time spent in each region comes out the same. That distribution lives on a set of no area, and among the infinitely many ways an orbit could spend its time, typical starts pick exactly one.
![A strand of the logistic map's diagram between r = 3.8284 and 3.8572, upside down. The bifurcation diagram of the logistic map cropped to r in [3.8284, 3.8572] and x in [0.44, 0.565], with the value axis inverted.](/f/a-strand-of-the-logistic-map-s-diagram-between-r-3-8284-36b84e6c.svg)
Every window is the whole diagram again
Zoom into one strand of the period-three window of the logistic map and the whole bifurcation diagram is there again — a single value, a fork, a cascade of doublings, chaos, bands and windows — upside down and ninety-seven times narrower. The doublings inside it shrink by Feigenbaum's 4.669, exactly as the originals do, because near the top of its hump the map's third iterate is itself a one-humped map, turned over.
Windows counted like necklaces
The logistic map has one window of period three, two of period four, three of period five, five of period six, nine of period seven — and the sine map, which shares no algebra with it, has exactly the same numbers, in exactly the same order along the parameter. The counts are 1, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 9, 16, 28, 51, and they are the number of ways to thread a necklace of beads in two colours.
Square it and keep the middle
John von Neumann's first generator of random numbers squared a number and kept its middle digits. Followed from every four-digit seed, it never lasts more than 111 steps before a value repeats — a third of what the birthday problem allows a truly random rule — and one seed in five ends at zero for ever. A counter added before each squaring cures the collapse.
Two chaotic orbits made to agree
Chaos means two copies of a system started a hair apart soon have nothing in common. Couple them — let each take a fraction ε of its next step from the other — and above a definite strength they agree to every digit for ever, while each stays exactly as chaotic as before. The strength needed is read off the same number that measured the chaos: the Lyapunov exponent.
Chaos on the line between two roots
Newton's method for a quadratic is the one case solved completely: every starting point goes to the nearer root, and the plane splits into two half-planes. Cayley did it in 1879. What his solution also contains is a line on which the method never settles — and a change of variable shows that on that line Newton's method is exactly the doubling map, the simplest chaos there is. Run on the real line for x² + 1, which has no real root to find, it becomes a source of Cauchy-distributed randomness.
Small Mandelbrot sets among the cubics
For most cubics Newton's method finds a root from almost every start. For some it does not: a whole region of starting points falls into a cycle and never finishes. Which cubics are the bad ones is decided by a single starting point — the one critical point that is not a root — and when the cubics are laid out in a plane and coloured by where that point goes, the bad ones form small, exact copies of the Mandelbrot set.
Every loop of the butterfly links every other
The Lorenz equations have infinitely many periodic orbits, each a closed loop winding round the two lobes in its own order. Name each loop by that order — LR, LLR, LLRLR — and the linking number of any two can be read off the names, without solving anything: it is half the number of times a left-going strand passes a right-going one. Every such crossing has the same sign, so every pair of loops links, positively. Computing forty-five pairs from the equations themselves, the Gauss integral lands on the predicted whole number every time.
Stable cycles a hair from Hénon's chaos
Nobody knows whether the Hénon map at a = 1.4 is chaotic, because a stable cycle in a window too thin to see would look exactly the same. So hunt the windows: a stable orbit of period 19 at a = 1.4001616, proved to exist and to attract by interval arithmetic, in a window 15 hundred-millionths wide and 0.00016 from the classical value — and nothing nearer, down to a spacing of a ten-billionth.
The caustics only an ellipse keeps
A billiard ball in an elliptical table touches the same confocal ellipse or hyperbola with every segment of its path, for ever. Bend the table by a percent and a half and most of those curves survive, but the one turning a quarter-turn per bounce breaks into a chain of four islands whose width grows like the square root of the bend. Birkhoff asked in the 1920s whether the ellipse is the only table that keeps them all; it is still not known.
The fraction written on every bulb
Round the edge of the Mandelbrot set's cardioid hangs one bulb for every fraction between nought and one. The fraction is the bulb's address, its period, and the turn its cycle makes round a fixed point, all at once, and it sets the bulb's size as well: sin(πp/q)/q², which 245 computed bulbs obey to within fourteen per cent.
Two rays for every fraction
Seen from far away, every point of the Mandelbrot set's outside has an angle, and the curves of constant angle come in to land on the set. At the root of the p/q bulb exactly two of them land, and their angles are written by the staircase under a line of slope p/q. The limbs those pairs fence off share out the whole circle of angles between them, by the identity Σ φ(q)/(2^q − 1) = 1.
A best reply to the past
Let two players each answer the whole history of the other's play as though it were a fixed plan. In a zero-sum game the history closes in on the equilibrium, as Julia Robinson proved in 1951. In Lloyd Shapley's three-by-three game it never does: play runs round six profiles for ever, each run the one before plus the one three before plus two, so the runs grow by the real root of x³ = x² + 1 and every run is a fixed share of all the history.
An ant that builds a highway
Two rules: on a white cell turn right, on a black cell turn left, and flip the colour as you leave. From an empty grid the ant wanders for 9,975 steps without visible order, then falls into a cycle of 104 steps that carries it diagonally for ever. That it always escapes to infinity is proved; that it always ends on a highway is not.
Chords that never cross
Every component of the Mandelbrot set's interior has a root, and exactly two external rays land there, with angles that repeat under doubling. Which two can be found without drawing the set at all: list the angles of each period in order, and join each to the next one whose chord crosses no chord already drawn. The rule makes 63 pairs at period 7 and 2,010 at period 12, one for every component; traced into the plane, every pair's two rays end together, beside a centre of the right period and no other.
Named alongside it
The objects these essays reach for when they reach for this one.
ChaosLogistic mapBifurcationOrbitStabilityBilliardsIterationRotation numberDoubling mapExhaustive searchMandelbrot setNewtons method