Dynamics — page 2
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 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 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.
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.
Almost every number comes down
The Collatz conjecture is open and a great deal about it is not. Whether a number falls below its own start in the first few steps is decided entirely by its remainder on division by a power of two, and the share of numbers for which it happens can be counted exactly.
The heuristic that cannot be a proof
There is a two-line argument that the Collatz conjecture is true, it is convincing, and everybody who works on the problem believes it. It also cannot be turned into a proof, and understanding exactly where it fails is more instructive than the argument itself.
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.
Infinite on one side and nought on the other
Box counting returns a growth rate. Hausdorff's definition returns a measure — a quantity that is infinite for every exponent below the dimension and zero for every exponent above it, and the dimension is the one place where it is neither.
A carpet with two dimensions
For every set on this ladder so far the two definitions of dimension agree, and the agreement is a theorem about sets built from copies of themselves scaled equally. Stretch one direction more than the other and the two numbers come apart, by an amount that can be computed exactly.
A dimension from the stretching rates
An attractor has no construction rule, so its dimension has to be counted — that was the rung below's argument for defining dimension by counting at all. Kaplan and Yorke's formula computes it instead, from two numbers that describe the map and never look at the set.