On April 17, a paper arrived in the inbox of Annals of Mathematics, one of the discipline’s preeminent journals. Written by a mathematician virtually unknown to the experts in his field — a 50-something lecturer at the University of New Hampshire named Yitang Zhang — the paper claimed to have taken a huge step forward in understanding one of mathematics’ oldest problems, the twin primes conjecture.
Editors of prominent mathematics journals are used to fielding grandiose claims from obscure authors, but this paper was different. Written with crystalline clarity and a total command of the topic’s current state of the art, it was evidently a serious piece of work, and the Annals editors decided to put it on the fast track.
Just three weeks later — a blink of an eye compared to the usual pace of mathematics journals — Zhang received the referee report on his paper.
“The main results are of the first rank,” one of the referees wrote. The author had proved “a landmark theorem in the distribution of prime numbers.”
This is very exciting news, and the whole story has a fantastic David & Goliath feel–“little known mathematician delivers a crushing blow to a centuries old problem” (not a fatal blow, but a crushing one). It’s such a feel-good story, almost like Andrew Wiles and Fermat’s Last Theorem. Here’s my favorite part of the article:
…during a half-hour lull in his friend’s backyard before leaving for a concert, the solution suddenly came to him. “I immediately realized that it would work,” he said.
Just chillin’ in his friend’s backyard…and it came to him! Anyone who has worked on math problems or puzzles has had this experience, right? It seems like an experience common to all people. This has definitely happened to me lots of times–an insight hits me out of nowhere and unlocks a problem I’ve been working on for weeks. It’s one of the reasons we do mathematics!
This website, along with the Calc book we’re teaching from, define it this way:
A point where the graph of a function has a tangent line and where the concavity changes is a point of inflection.
No debate about there being an inflection point at x=0 on this graph.
There’s no debate about functions like , which has an unambiguous inflection point at .
In fact, I think we’re all in agreement that:
There has to be a change in concavity. That is, we require that for we have and for we have , or vice versa.*
The original function has to be continuous at . That is, does not have a point of inflection at even though there’s a concavity change because isn’t even defined here. If we then piecewise-define so that it carries the same values except at for which we define , we still don’t consider this a point of inflection because of the lack of continuity.
The point of inflection x=0 is at a location without a first derivative. A “tangent line” still exists, however.
But the part of the definition that requires to have a tangent line is problematic, in my opinion. I know why they say it this way, of course. They want to capture functions that have a concavity change across a vertical tangent line, such as . Here we have a concavity change (concave up to concave down) across and there is a tangent line () but is undefined.
Is x=0 a point of inflection? Some definitions say no, because no tangent line exists.
So It’s clear that this definition is built to include vertical tangents. It’s also obvious that the definition is built in such a way as to excludecusps and corners. Why? What’s wrong with a cusp or corner being a point of inflection? I would claim that the piecewise-defined function shown above has a point of inflection at even though no tangent line exists here. [Edit: Originally I had used as my example, but as my dad so astutely pointed out, that does have a tangent line at zero. Doh! Thanks dad!]
I prefer the definition:
A point where the graph of a function is continuous and where the concavity changes is a point of inflection.
That is, I would only require the two conditions listed at the beginning of this post. What do you think?
Once you’re done thinking about that, consider this strange example that has no point of inflection even though there’s a concavity change. As my colleague Matt suggests, could we consider this a region of inflection? Now we’re just being silly, right?
A region/interval of inflection?
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Footnotes:
* When we say that a function is concave up or down on a certain interval, we actually mean or for the whole interval except at finitely many locations. If there are point discontinuities, we still consider the interval to have the same concavity.
** This source, interestingly, seems to require differentiability at the point. I think most of us would agree this is too strong a requirement, right?
I’ve been loving the videos that SpikedMathGames has been posting on youtube. Check out their channel here. In particular, I’ve enjoyed Paradox Tuesday. Here’s one from a few weeks ago which really interested me (if you go to the youtube page, you’ll see I’ve been active in the comments!):
I’m especially interested in paradoxes that deal with infinity, countability, and probability. Here’s another great paradox that deals with just those issues that my friend Matthew Wright shared with me a few months ago (thanks Matthew!). It’s called the Grim Reaper paradox (can’t link to the Wikipedia article–it doesn’t yet exist), proposed in 1964 by José Amado Benardete in his book Infinity: an essay in metaphysics, and I first read about it on Alexander Pruss’s blog here, and I quote:
Say that a Grim Reaper is a being that has the following properties: It wakes up at a time between 8 and 9 am, both exclusive, and if you’re alive, it instantaneously kills you, and if you’re not alive, it doesn’t do anything. Suppose there are countably infinitely many Grim Reapers, and before they go to bed for the night, each sets his alarm for a time (not necessarily the same time as the other Reapers) strictly between 8 and 9 am. Suppose, also, that no other kind of death is available for you, and that you’re not going to be resurrected that day.
Then, you’re going to be dead at 9 am, since as long as at least one Grim Reaper wakes up during that time period, you’re guaranteed to be dead. Now whether there is a paradox here depends on how the Grim Reapers individually set their alarm clocks. Suppose now that they set them in such a way that the following proposition p is true:
(p) for every time t later than 8 am, at least one of the Grim Reapers woke up strictly between 8 am and t.
Here’s a useful Theorem: If the Grim Reapers choose their alarm clock times independently and uniformly over the 8-9 am interval, then P(p)=1.
Now, if p is true, then no Grim Reaper kills you. For suppose that a Grim Reaper who wakes up at some time t1, later than 8 am, kills you. If p is true, there is a Grim Reaper who woke up strictly between 8 am and t1, say at t0. But if so, then you’re going to be dead right after t0, and hence the Grim Reaper who woke up at t1 is not going to do anything, since you’re dead then. Hence, if p is true, no Grim Reaper kills you. On the other hand, I’ve shown that it is certain that a Grim Reaper kills you. Hence, if p is true, then no Grim Reaper kills you and a Grim Reaper kills you, which is absurd.
Go visit his blog post for a discussion of why this seems unresolvable, and how it may actually put forward a case for time being discrete rather than continuous. Crazy thought.
There’s something deeply unsettling about this paradox and also the Unexpected Hanging paradox. Anytime we deal with probabilities and certainty, paradox seems to be lurking nearby.
I sometimes ask my students this somewhat related question–perhaps you’ve heard it too:
How many positive integers have a 3 in them? (That is, in their decimal representation. 6850104302 has a 3 but 942009947 does not.)
If you haven’t ever considered this question, take the time to do it now.
Though I actually once worked out the result using limits (like Alexander Bogomolny does marvelously here), it’s easy enough to work out the result in our heads:
First ask yourself how many digits a randomly selected integer has. The number of digits is almost certainly greater than 2, right? There are only 90 two-digit positive integers, a finite number, and there are an infinite number of integers with more than two digits. It follows that if you were to pick one at random from among all positive integers*, it would be almost certain to contain more than two digits.
The same argument could be applied to a larger number of digits. By the same logic as above, we can convince ourselves that ‘most randomly selected integers have more than a trillion digits’. It’s a bit of an incredible statement, really. We rarely ever work with the ‘most-common’ kind of numbers (the big ones!).**
What is the probability that a number with a trillion digits has a 3 in it? Well, it’s almost certain. The probability approaches 100%. If we consider ALL numbers, the probability IS 100% (or is it?). This is a real dilemma. How can we say that 100% of numbers have a 3 in them when this is clearly not true?
We’ve been pretty sloppy here, but regardless, this kind of fast-and-loose infinite probability question is unsettling.
Do you want to try taking a crack at these? Feel free to comment below.
Oh, and Happy Birthday Euler!
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Footnotes:
* Picking a number from the set of all positive integers requires the axiom of choice.
** My comment that the ‘most-common’ kind of numbers are the big ones reminds me of Ronald Graham’s quote: “The trouble with integers is that we have examined only the very small ones. Maybe all the exciting stuff happens at really big numbers, ones we can’t even begin to think about in any very definite way. Our brains have evolved to get us out of the rain, find where the berries are, and keep us from getting killed. Our brains did not evolve to help us grasp really large numbers or to look at things in a hundred thousand dimensions.” Love that quote, especially considering it comes from Ronald Graham, an expert in Ramsey Theory, and the creator of one of the largest named numbers . The fact that we have only ever studied the most common kinds of numbers is also confirmed by the fact that most numbers are irrational. Worse, most numbers are indescribable!
Here’s a thoughtful TED talk from Laura Overdeck of bedtime math. I’ve highlighted this website before and I think it’s such a brilliant idea for kids! Laura was the lone girl in her astrophysics undergraduate studies, so she has a great vantage point from which to give this stellar talk (pun intended! ).
She has lots of great points. In particular, I liked these three simple recommendations for women–and for everyone:
Before you read any of my own commentary, what do you think? Does this integral converge or diverge?
image from illuminations.nctm.org
Many textbooks would say that it diverges, and I claim this is true as well. But where’s the error in this work?
Did you catch any shady math? Here’s another equally wrong way of doing it:
This isn’t any more shady than the last example. The change in the bottom limit of integration in the second piece of the integral from a to 2a is not a problem, since 2a approaches zero if a does. So why do we get two values that disagree? (In fact, we could concoct an example that evaluates to ANY number you like.)
Okay, finally, here’s the “correct” work:
But notice that we can’t actually resolve this last expression, since the first limit is and the second is and the overall expression has the indeterminate form . In our very first approach, we assumed the limit variables and were the same. In the second approach, we let . But one assumption isn’t necessarily better than another. So we claim the integral diverges.
All that being said, we still intuitively feel like this integral should have the value 0 rather than something else like . For goodness sake, it’s symmetric about the origin!
In fact, that intuition is formalized by Cauchy in what is called the “Cauchy Principal Value,” which for this integral, is 0. [my above example is stolen from this wikipedia article as well]
I’ve been debating about this with my math teacher colleague, Matt Davis, and I’m not sure we’ve come to a satisfying conclusion. Here’s an example we were considering:
If you were to color in under the infinite graph of between -1 and 1, and then throw darts at the graph uniformly, wouldn’t you bet on there being an equal number of darts to the left and right of the y-axis?
Don’t you feel that way too?
(Now there might be another post entirely about measure-theoretic probability!)
What do you think? Anyone want to weigh in? And what should we tell high school students?
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**For a more in depth treatment of the problem, including a discussion of the construction of Reimann sums, visit this nice thread on physicsforums.com.
Do you ever get the feeling that Lego Bricks are becoming more expensive? When we were kids, boy, it felt like they were cheaper, right? I mean, the biggest sets were $150 at most. I have a HUGE Lego collection, and it definitely seems like Legos back in my day were more affordable.
Trouble is, that’s not really true. It turns out that Lego bricks have actually gotten cheaper, by almost every measure you can think of (weight/number of pieces/licensed sets). Check out this incredibly thorough post on Lego Price statistics over time. The article is entitled, “What Happened with LEGO” by Andrew Sielen. It’s very thoughtfully done.
Looking for a great application of systems of linear inequalities for your Algebra 1 or 2 class? Look no further than today’s GraphJam contribution:
You might just give this picture to students and ask THEM to come up with the equations of the three lines.
There’s also a nice discussion to be had here about inverse functions, or about intersecting lines. And there might also be a good discussion about the domain of reasonableness.
Here are the three functions:
This is especially interesting because I never think of the rule as putting boundaries on a person’s dating age range. Usually people talk about it in the context of “how old of a person can I date?” not “how young of a person can I date?” Or rather, if you’re asking the second question, it’s usually phrased “how young of a person can date me?” (All of these questions relate to functions and their inverses!) But in fact, the half-your-age-plus-seven rule puts a lower and and upper bound on the ages of those you can date.
As far as reasonableness, is it fair to say that my daughter who is 1 can date someone who is between the age of -12 and 8.5? I don’t think so! I’m definitely going to be chasing off those -12 year-olds, I can already tell .
For my daughter, the domain of reasonableness might be !