Sensitive dependence — the series
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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A growth rate no step contains
Start with 1, 1 and at every step either add the last two numbers or subtract them, choosing by a coin. The sequence wanders, shrinks, even returns near zero — and grows, almost surely, like 1.13198824 to the power of the step. That number is a Lyapunov exponent of a product of random matrices, and it cannot be found by averaging anything about a single step: the two steps do not commute, and the rate depends on which way the vector is pointing when each one is applied.
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A threshold no average can see
Damp the random Fibonacci sequence — add or subtract β times the term before last, by a coin — and somewhere between β = 0.6 and β = 0.8 almost every run stops shrinking and starts growing. The switch is at β ≈ 0.70258. The average of the squares, which can be computed exactly, grows for every β there is, so the one number that decides the sequence's fate is invisible to the one number anybody can compute.
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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.
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A crowd of clocks that falls into step
Give a thousand oscillators a thousand different natural rhythms and let each be pulled towards the average phase. Below a definite pull nothing happens; above it a cluster forms and grows, and Kuramoto's 1975 calculation says exactly where: at twice the spread of the frequencies, with the order growing as the square root of one minus the threshold over the pull. A simulation lands on that curve to the third decimal.
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A long enough chain never locks
Line oscillators with different natural rhythms up in a row and let each feel only its two neighbours. The chain locks into one frequency exactly when the coupling exceeds the largest running total of their frequency differences — a random walk tied down at both ends — so the coupling needed grows like √N, and its law is Kolmogorov's, the same distribution that tests whether a sample fits a curve.
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A ring of clocks settles into a twist
Put identical oscillators round a ring, each pulled only by its neighbours, and start them at random. They always lock — every one ends at the same frequency — but most of the time not in step: the angles wind round the ring a whole number of times and stay wound. The winding number a random start chooses is spread like a bell whose width grows like the square root of the ring, and only coupling to about a third of the ring makes full synchrony certain.
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A chaotic map that always comes back
Arnold's cat map stretches a square by the golden ratio squared and wraps it round, and any two nearby points fly apart: a difference of a million-millionth fills the square in twenty-seven steps. Apply the same map to a picture made of pixels and it dissolves into noise within a few steps — and then, after exactly thirty steps on a 61 × 61 grid, every pixel is back where it started. Chaos and exact return are both true, and the Fibonacci numbers decide how long the return takes.