Doing infinitely many things — page 2
A dimension that is not a whole number
Cover a set with boxes of side ε and count how many are needed. For a line the count grows like 1/ε, for a region like 1/ε². For the Koch curve it grows like 1/ε to the power 1.26, and that exponent is as good a definition of dimension as the other two.
One solution that makes all the others
The equation x² − 2y² = 1 has infinitely many whole-number solutions, and every one of them is a power of the smallest. The multiplication that produces them is what multiplying two numbers of the form a + b√2 comes to when the √2 terms are collected — so an equation about a hyperbola turns out to carry a group.
The choice nobody can write down
Given finitely many pairs, picking one thing from each is a finite list of decisions and needs no justification. Given infinitely many, the list cannot be finished — and whether one exists anyway is an axiom, independent of everything else, whose consequences include a theorem most people refuse to believe.
A tail too small to be a whole number
If e were a fraction with denominator q, then q! times e would be a whole number. It splits into a whole part and a tail, the tail is squeezed strictly between nothing and one, and there is no whole number there.
The arithmetic that loses subtraction
Adding one to an infinite collection changes nothing, and neither does doubling it, or squaring it. What that costs is the two operations that were doing the work — an equation between infinite sizes cannot be cancelled, and how many are left stops being a question.
A line with as many points as a square
Interleave the decimal places of two numbers and one number comes out; take every other place back and the two return. The square has no more points than the segment, and dimension turns out to be invisible to counting.
Countable, and everywhere
The numbers a polynomial can catch arrive in finite batches, so they can be listed. They are also in every interval, however short. Being listable turns out to say nothing whatever about being sparse.
The size that cannot be pinned down
There is no largest infinity, because no collection has as many members as it has sub-collections. What is not settled is whether anything sits between the first two — and that is not an open problem but a proved absence of an answer.
One step in front of infinitely many
Put one step before an infinite run of them and nothing has changed; put it after and something has. Ordinal addition records that difference, which is why it is not commutative — and why it keeps information that counting throws away.
Every ordinal in base omega
Every ordinal below a certain point is a descending sum of powers of ω, in exactly one way. That notation makes comparison mechanical, it is what hereditary base notation becomes when the base is replaced, and it stops at the first ordinal it cannot name.
Reached from below, or not at all
Every limit ordinal anybody meets is the end of an increasing sequence — ω, ω·2, ω^ω, all of them approached one step at a time. The first uncountable ordinal is not, and the reason it is not constrains the size of the continuum.
An ordinal as a growth rate
Index a family of functions by the ordinals, each one iterating the last, and the index becomes a measure of how fast a function grows. The point where the index leaves what arithmetic can prove is exactly where the Goodstein sequence became unprovable.
Every partition, hidden in a product
Multiply out one factor for each part size and the coefficient of q to the n is the number of partitions of n. Nothing is being approximated: the product is a bookkeeping device that does the counting by multiplying.
The size of a number with no formula
There is no closed expression for the number of partitions of n. There is an expression for how large it is — with a square root in the exponent and a π in front — and it is accurate enough that rounding a few terms of its refinement gives the exact count.
A ball whose outside is not one
Alexander's sphere separates space into two pieces, exactly as the theorem promises. Its inside is an ordinary ball. Its outside is not, and the obstruction is a tree of clasped horns whose tips never stop.
Curvatures that stay whole
Four circles touching one another satisfy an equation in their curvatures. Read it as a quadratic and the second solution is the first subtracted from something — so a packing that starts with whole numbers stays whole forever.
No interval in it, and length to spare
The middle-thirds set has no length because the removed pieces add to one. Remove shrinking middles instead and they add to a half — leaving a set that still contains no interval anywhere, and still has half the length it started with.
Covering a set from outside
To say how long a set is, cover it with intervals and add their lengths, then take the smallest total any covering achieves. That definition is short, obviously right for an interval, and gives the rationals a length of nothing.
A set that has no size at all
Slide the unit interval along itself by every rational and the points fall into classes. Choose one point from each and the resulting set has no length — not zero, not positive, none: countably many disjoint copies of it would have total length nought or infinity, and the union needs something in between.
Where the shares have nowhere to go
On finitely many states, a chain that can reach everywhere and is not forced into a rhythm settles down. Give it infinitely many and both conditions can hold while the walk leaves and never returns — or returns with certainty and takes an unbounded average time about it.
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.
A staircase with no steps
A function that rises from nought to one, is continuous everywhere, and has derivative zero at almost every point. All of its climbing happens on a set of no length at all, which is possible because that set has uncountably many points.
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.