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Fri, 22 Dec 2017 A couple of years ago I wrote here about some interesting projects I had not finished. One of these was to enumerate and draw orthogonal polygons. An orthogonal polygon is simply one whose angles are all right angles. All rectangles are orthogonal polygons, but there are many other types. For example, here are examples of orthogonal decagons: If you ignore the lengths of the edges, and pay attention only to the direction that the corners turn, the orthogonal polygons fall into types. The rectangle is the only type with four sides. There is also only one type with six sides; it is an Lshaped hexagon. There are four types with eight sides, and the illustration shows the eight types with ten sides. Contributing to OEIS was a life goal of mine and I was thrilled when I was able to contribute the sequence of the number of types of orthogonal !!2n!!gons. Enumerating the types is not hard. For !!2n!!gons, there is one type for each “bracelet” of !!n2!! numbers whose sum is !!n+2!!.[1] In the illustration above, !!n=5!! and each type is annotated with its !!52=3!! numbers whose sum is !!n+2=7!!. But the number of types increases rapidly with the number of sides, and it soons becomes infeasible to draw them by hand as I did above. I had wanted to write a computer program that would take a description of a type (the sequence) and render a drawing of one of the polygons of that type. The tricky part is how to keep the edges from crossing, which is not allowed. I had ideas for how to do this, but it seemed troublesome, and also it seemed likely to produce ugly, lopsided examples, so I did not implement it. And eventually I forgot about the problem. But Brent Yorgey did not forget, and he had a completely different idea. He wrote a program to convert a type description to a set of constraints on the !!x!! and !!y!! coordinates of the vertices, and fed the constraints to an SMT solver, which is a system for finding solutions to general sets of constraints. The outcome is as handsome as I could have hoped. Here is M. Yorgey's program's version of the handdrawn diagram above: M. Yorgey rendered beautiful pictures of all types of orthogonal polygons up to 12 sides. Check it out on his blog. [1]
“Bracelet”
is combinatorist jargon for a sequence of things where the ends are
joined together: you can start in the middle, run off one end and come
back to the other end, and that is considered the same bracelet. So
for example [ Addendum 20180202: M. Yorgey has more to say about it on his blog. ] [Other articles in category /math] permanent link Thu, 21 Dec 2017
Philadelphians, move to the back of the bus!
I have lived in Philadelphia almost 28 years, and I like it very much. I grew up in New York, and I have some of the typical New Yorker snobbery about the rest of the world, a sort of patronizing “oh, isn't that cute, at least you tried” attitude. This is not a good thing, and I have tried to get rid of it, with only partial success. Philadelphia is not New York and it is never going to be New York, and I am okay with that. When I first got here I was more doubtful, but I made an effort to find and appreciate things about Philadelphia that were better than in New York. There are many, but it took me a while to start noticing them. In 1992 I wrote an article that began:
But the article explained explained that since then, I had found an excellent answer. I wrote about how I loved the Schuylkill river and how New York had nothing like the it. In Philadelphia you are always going back and forth across the Schuylkill river, sometimes in cars or buses or trains, sometimes on a bike, sometimes on foot. It is not a mighty river like the Hudson. (The Delaware fills that role for us.) The Schuylkill is smaller, but still important. The 1992 article said:
New York has rivers you can cross, but, like much of New York, they are not to human scale. Crossing the Brooklyn Bridge or the George Washington Bridge on foot are fun things to do, once in a while. But they are big productions, a thing you might want to plan ahead, as a special event. Crossing the Schuylkill on foot is something you do all the time. In 1993 I commuted across the Schuylkill on foot twice a day and it was lovely. I took a photograph of it each time, and enjoyed comparing the many looks of the Schuylkill. Once I found that point of attachment, I started to find many more things about Philadelphia that are better than in New York. Just a few that come to mind:
This is only a partial list. Philadelphia is superior to New York in many ways, and I left out the most important ones. I am very fond of Philadelphia, which is why I have lived here for 28 years. I can appreciate its good points, and when I encounter its bad points I no longer snarl and say “In New York we knew how to do this right.” Usually. Usually. One thing about Philadelphia is seriously broken. Philadelphians do not know how to get on a bus. Every culture has its own customs. Growing up as a New Yorker, I learned early and deeply a cardinal part of New York's protocol: Get out of the way. Seriously, if you visit New York and you can't get anything else right, at least get out of the way. Here is advice from Nathan Pyle's etiquette guide for newcomers to New York: Insofar as I still have any authority to speak for New Yorkers, I endorse the advice in this book on their behalf. Quite a lot of it consists of special cases of “get out of the way”. Tip #41 says so in so many words: “Basically anything goes as long as you stay out of the way.” Tip #31 says to take your luggage off the subway seat next to you, and put it on your lap. Tip #65 depicts the correct way of stopping on the sidewalk to enjoy a slice of pizza: immediately adjacent to a piece of street furniture that the foot traffic would have had to have gone around anyway. Suppose you get on the bus in New York. You will find that the back of the bus is full, and the front is much less so. You are at the front. What do you do now? You move as far back as is reasonably possible — up to the beginning of the full section — so that the next person to get in can do the same. This is (obviously, if you are a New Yorker) the only way to make efficient use of the space and fill up the bus. In Philadelphia, people do not do this. People get on the bus, move as far back as is easy and convenient, perhaps halfway, or perhaps only a few feet, and then stop, as the mood takes them. And so it often happens that when the bus arrives the new passengers will have to stand in the stepwell, or can't get on at all — even though the bus is only half full. Not only is there standing room in the back, but there are usually seats in the back. The bus abandons people at the stop, because there is no room for them to get on, because there is someone standing halfway down blocking the aisle, and the person just in front of them doesn't want to push past them, and those two people block everyone else. In New York, the passengers in front would brusquely push their way past these people and perhaps rebuke them. New Yorkers are great snarlers, but Philadelphians seem to be too polite to snarl at strangers. Nobody in Philadelphia says anything, and the space is wasted. People with kids and packages are standing up because people behind them can't be bothered to sit down. I don't know what the problem is with these people. Wouldn't it easier to move to the back of the bus and to sit down in the empty seats than it is to stand up and block the aisle? I have tried for a quarter of a century to let go of the idea that people in New York are smarter and better and people elsewhere are slowwitted rubes, and I have mostly succeeded. But where Philadelphians are concerned, this bus behavior is a major sticking point. In New York we knew how to do this right. [Other articles in category /misc] permanent link Mon, 18 Dec 2017A few weeks ago I was writing something about Turkey, and I needed a generic Turkish name, analogous to “John Doe”. I was going to use “Osman Yılmaz”, which I think would have been a decent choice, but I decided it would be more fun to ask a Turkish coworker what the correct choice would be. I asked Kıvanç Yazan, who kindly allowed himself to be nerdsniped and gave me a great deal of information. In the rest of this article, anything about Turkish that is correct should be credited to him, while any mistakes are surely my own. M. Yazan informs me that one common choice is “Ali Veli”. Here's a link he gave me to Ekşisözlük, which is the Turkish analog of Urban Dictionary, explaining (in Turkish) the connotations of “John Doe”. The page also mentions “John Smith”, which in turn links to a page about a footballer named Ali Öztürk—in fact two footballers. ([1] [2]) which is along the same lines as my “Osman Yılmaz” suggestion. But M. Yazan told me about a much closer match for “John Doe”. It is:
which translates as “Mehmet Agha with yellow boots”. (‘Sarı’ = ‘yellow’; ‘çizmeli’ = ‘booted’.) This oddly specific phrase really seems to be what I was looking for. M. Yazan provided several links:
Another source I found was this online TurkishEnglish dictionary which glosses it as “Joe Schmoe”. Finding online mentions of sarı çizmeli Mehmet Ağa is a little bit tricky, because he is also the title of a song by the very famous Turkish musician Barış Manço, and the references to this song swamp all the other results. This video features Manço's boots and although we cannot see for sure (the recording is in grayscale) I presume that the boots are yellow. Thanks again, Kıvanç! [ Addendum: The Turkish word for “in style” is “moda”. I guessed it was a French loanword. Kıvanç tells me I was close: it is from Italian. ] [ Addendum 20171219: Wikipedia has an impressive list of placeholder names by language that includes Mehmet Ağa. ] [ Addendum 20180105: The Hebrew version of Mehmet Ağa is at least 2600 years old! ] [Other articles in category /lang] permanent link Fri, 15 Dec 2017
Wasteful and frugal proofs in Ramsey theory
This math.se question asks how to show that, among any 11 integers, one can find a subset of exactly six that add up to a multiple of 6. Let's call this “Ebrahimi’s theorem”. This was the last thing I read before I put away my phone and closed my eyes for the night, and it was a race to see if I would find an answer before I fell asleep. Sleep won the race this time. But the answer is not too hard.
Here is a randomlygenerated example: $$3\quad 17\quad 35\quad 42\quad 44\quad 58\quad 60\quad 69\quad 92\quad 97\quad 97$$ Looking at the first 5 numbers !!3\ 17\ 35\ 42\ 44!! we see that on division by 3 these have remainders !!0\ 2\ 2\ 0\ 2!!. The remainder !!2!! is there three times, so we choose those three numbers !!\langle17\ 35\ 44\rangle!!, whose sum is a multiple of 3, and set them aside. Now we take the leftover !!3!! and !!42!! and supplement them with three more unused numbers !!58\ 60\ 69!!. The remainders are !!0\ 0\ 1\ 0\ 0!! so we take !!\langle3\ 42\ 60\rangle!! and set them aside as a second group. Then we take the five remaining unused numbers !!58\ 69\ 92\ 97\ 97!!. The remainders are !!1\ 0\ 2\ 1\ 1!!. The first three !!\langle 58\ 69\ 92\rangle!!have all different remainders, so let's use those as our third group. The three groups are now !! \langle17\ 35\ 44\rangle, \langle3\ 42\ 60\rangle, \langle58\ 69\ 92\rangle!!. The first one has an even sum and the second has an odd sum. The third group has an odd sum, which matches the second group, so we choose the second and third groups, and that is our answer: $$3\qquad 42\qquad 60\qquad 58 \qquad 69 \qquad 92$$ The sum of these is !!324 = 6\cdot 54!!. This proves that 11 input numbers are sufficient to produce one output set of 6 whose sum is a multiple of 6. Let's write !!E(n, k)!! to mean that !!n!! inputs are enough to produce !!k!! outputs. That is, !!E(n, k)!! means “any set of !!n!! numbers contains !!k!! distinct 6element subsets whose sum is a multiple of 6.” Ebrahimi’s theorem, which we have just proved, states that !!E(11, 1)!! is true, and obviously it also proves !!E(n, 1)!! for all larger !!n!!. I would like to consider the following questions:
I am specifically not asking whether !!E(10, 1)!! or !!E(11, 2)!! are actually false. There are easy counterexamples that can be found without reference to the proof above. What I want to know is if the proof, as given, contains nontrivial information about these questions. The reason I think this is interesting is that I think, upon more careful examination, that I will find that the proof above does prove at least one of these, perhaps with a very small bit of additional reasoning. But there are many similar proofs that do not work this way. Here is a famous example. Let !!W(n, k)!! be shorthand for the following claim:
Then:
!!W()!!, like !!E()!!, is monotonic: van der Waerden's theorem trivially implies !!W(n, 1)!! for all !!n!! larger than 325. Does it also imply that !!W(n, 1)!! is false for smaller !!n!!? No, not at all; this is actually untrue. Does it also imply that !!W(325, k)!! is false for !!k>1!!? No, this is false also. Van der Waerden's theorem takes 325 inputs (the integers) and among them finds one output (the desired set of three). But this is extravagantly wasteful. A better argument shows that only 9 inputs were required for the same output, and once we know this it is trivial that 325 inputs will always produce at least 36 outputs, and probably a great many more. Proofs of theorems in Ramsey theory are noted for being extravagant in exactly this way. But the proof of Ebrahimi's theorem is different. It is not only frugal, it is optimally so. It uses no more inputs than are absolutely necessary. What is different about these cases? What is the source the frugality of the proof of Ebrahimi’s theorem? Is there a way that we can see from examination of the proof that it will be optimally frugal? Ebrahimi’s theorem shows !!E(11, 1)!!. Suppose instead we want to show !!E(n, 2)!! for some !!n!!. From Ebrahimi’s theorem itself we immediately get !!E(22, 2)!! and indeed !!E(17, 2)!!. Is this the best we can do? (That is, is !!E(16, 2)!! false?) I bet it isn't. If it isn't, what went wrong? Or rather, what went right in the !!k=1!! case that stopped working when !!k>1!!? I don't know. [Other articles in category /math] permanent link Sat, 09 Dec 2017The Volokh Conspiracy is a frequentlyupdated blog about legal issues. It reports on interesting upcoming court cases and recent court decisions and sometimes carries thoughtful and complex essays on legal theory. It is hosted by, but not otherwise affiliated with, the Washington Post. Volokh periodically carries a “roundup of recent federal court decisions”, each with an intriguing oneparagraph summary and a link to the relevant documents, usually to the opinion itself. I love reading federal circuit court opinions. They are almost always carefully thought out and clearlywritten. Even when I disagree with the decision, I almost always concede that the judges have a point. It often happens that I read the decision and say “of course that is how it must be decided, nobody could disagree with that”, and then I read the dissenting opinion and I say exactly the same thing. Then I rub my forehead and feel relieved that I'm not a federal circuit court judge. This is true of U.S. Supreme Court decisions also. Back when I had more free time I would sometimes visit the listing of all recent decisions and pick out some at random to read. They were almost always really interesting. When you read the newspaper about these decisions, the newspaper always wants to make the issue simple and usually tribal. (“Our readers are on the (Red / Blue) Team, and the (Red / Blue) Team loves mangelwurzels. Justice Furter voted against mangelwurzels, that is because he is a very bad man who hates liberty! Rah rah team!”) The actual Supreme Court is almost always better than this. For example we have Clarence Thomas's wonderful dissent in the case of Gonzales v. Raich. Raich was using marijuana for his personal medical use in California, where medical marijuana had been legal for years. The DEA confiscated and destroyed his supplier's plants. But the Constitution only gives Congress the right to regulate interstate commerce. This marijuana had been grown in California by a Californian, for use in California by a Californian, in accordance with California law, and had never crossed any state line. In a 6–3 decision, the court found that the relevant laws were nevertheless a permitted exercise of Congress's power to regulate commerce. You might have expected Justice Thomas to vote against marijuana. But he did not:
Thomas may not be a fan of marijuana, but he is even less a fan of federal overreach and abuse of the Commerce Clause. These nine people are much more complex than the newspapers would have you believe. But I am digressing. Back to Volokh's federal court roundups. I have to be careful not to look at these roundups when I have anything else that must be done, because I inevitably get nerdsniped and read several of them. If you enjoy this kind of thing, this is the kind of thing you will enjoy. I want to give some examples, but can't decide which sound most interesting, so here are three chosen at random from the most recent issue:
[ Addendum 20171213: Volokh has just left the Washington Post, and moved to Reason, citing changes in the Post's paywall policies. ] [ Addendum 20210628: Much has changed since Gonzales v. Raich, and today Justice Thomas observed that even if the majority's argument stood up in 2004, justified by the Necessary and Proper clause, it no longer does, as the federal government no longer appears consider the prohibition of marijuana necessary or proper. ] [ Addendum 20231218: This article lacks a clear, current link to the Short Circuit summaries that it discusses. Here's an index of John Ross' recent Short Circuit posts. ] [Other articles in category /law] permanent link Fri, 08 Dec 2017I drink a lot of coffee at work. Folks there often make a pot of coffee and leave it on the counter to share, but they never make decaf and I drink a lot of decaf, so I make a lot of single cups of decaf, which is timeconsuming. More and more people swear by the AeroPress, which they say makes single cups of excellent coffee very quickly. It costs about $30. I got one and tried it out. The AeroPress works like this: There is a cylinder, open at the top, closed but perforated at the bottom. You put a precut circle of filter paper into the bottom and add ground coffee on top of it. You put the cylinder onto your cup, then pour hot water into the cylinder. So far this is just a regular singlecup drip process. But after a minute, you insert a plunger into the cylinder and push it down gently but firmly. The water is forced through the grounds and the filter into the cup. In theory the press process makes better coffee than drip, because there is less opportunity to overextract. The AeroPress coffee is good, but I did not think it tasted better than drip. Maybe someone else, fussier about coffee than I am, would be more impressed. Another the selling points is that the process fully extracts the grounds, but much more quickly than a regular pourover cone, because you don't have to wait for all the dripping. One web site boasts:
It does shorten the brew time. But you lose all the time again washing out the equipment. The pourover cone is easier to clean and dry. I would rather stand around watching the coffee drip through the cone than spend the same amount of time washing the coffee press. The same web site says:
This didn't work for me. I can't put it in my desk because it is still wet and it is difficult to dry. So it sits on a paper towel on top of my desk, taking up space and getting in the way. The cone dries faster. The picture above makes it look very complicated, but the only interesting part itself is the press itself, shown at upper left. All the other stuff is unimportant. The intriguing hexagon thing is a a funnel you can stick in the top of the cylinder if you're not sure you can aim the water properly. The scoop is a scoop. The flat thing is for stirring the coffee in the cylinder, in case you don't know how to use a spoon. I threw mine away. The thing on the right is a holder for the unused paper filters. I suspect they were afraid people wouldn't want to pay $30 for just the press, so they bundled in all this extra stuff to make it look like you are getting more than you actually are. In the computer biz we call this “shovelware”. My review: The AeroPress gets a solid “meh”. You can get a drip cone for five bucks. The advantages of the $30 AeroPress did not materialize for me, and are certainly not worth paying six times as much. [Other articles in category /tech] permanent link Wed, 06 Dec 2017As I mentioned before, I have started another
blog, called
I plan to continue to post monthly summaries here. [Other articles in category /meta/shitpost] permanent link Fri, 01 Dec 2017
Slaughter electric needle injector
[ This article appeared yesterday on At the end of the game Portal, one of the AI cores you must destroy starts reciting GLaDOS's cake recipe. Like GLaDOS herself, it starts reasonably enough, and then goes wildly off the rails. One of the more memorable ingredients from the end of the list is “slaughter electric needle injector”. I looked into this a bit and I learned that there really is a slaughter electric needle injector. It is not nearly as ominous as it sounds. The needles themselves are not electric, and it has nothing to do with slaughter. Rather, it is a handheld electricpowered needle injector tool that happens to be manufactured by the Slaughter Instrument Company, Inc, founded more than a hundred years ago by Mr. George Slaughter. Slaughter Co. manufactures tools for morticians and enbalmers
preparing bodies for burial. The electric needle
injector
is one such tool; they also manufacture a cordless electric needle
injector,
mentioned later as part of the same cake recipe.
The needles themselves are quite benign. They are small, with delicate sixinch brass wires attached, and cost about twentyfive cents each. The needles and the injector are used for securing a corpse's mouth so that it doesn't yawn open during the funeral. One needle is injected into the upper jaw and one into the lower, and then the wires are twisted together, holding the mouth shut. The mortician clips off the excess wire and tucks the ends into the mouth. Only two needles are needed per mouth. There are a number of explanatory videos on YouTube, but I was not able to find any actual demonstrations. [Other articles in category /tech] permanent link Thu, 30 Nov 2017Another public service announcement about Git. There are a number of commands everyone learns when they first start out using Git. And there are some that almost nobody learns right away, but that should be the first thing you learn once you get comfortable using Git day to day. One of these has the uninterestingsounding name
A pretty frequent question is: How do I find out the commit ID of the current HEAD? And the answer is:
or if you want it abbreviated:
But more important than the command itself is the manual for the command. Whether you expect to use this command, you should read its manual. Because every command uses Git's bewildering variety of notations, and that manual is where the notations are completely documented. When you use a ref name like Did you know that if you have an annoying long branch name like
into Did you know that you can write Did you know that you can write Did you know that there's a powerful sublanguage for ranges that you can
give to Once I got comfortable with Git I got in the habit of rereading the
Check it out. It's an important next step. [ Previous PSAs:
] [Other articles in category /prog] permanent link Mon, 27 Nov 2017National Coming Out Day began in the U.S. in 1988, and within couple of years I had started to observe it. A queer person, to observe the event, should make an effort, each October 11, to take the next step of coming out of the closet and being more visible, whatever that “next step” happens to be for them. For some time I had been wearing a little pin that said BISEXUAL QUEER. It may be a bit hard for younger readers of my blog to understand that in 1990 this was unusual, eccentric, and outré, even in the extremely permissive and liberal environment of the University of Pennsylvania. People took notice of it and asked about it; many people said nothing but were visibly startled. On October 11 of 1991, in one of the few overtly political acts of my life, I posted a carefullycomposed manifesto to the departmentwide electronic bulletin board, explaining that I was queer, what that meant for me, and why I thought Coming Out Day was important. Some people told me they thought this was brave and admirable, and others told me they thought it was inappropriate. As I explained in my essay:
I'm not sure what I would have said if you has asked me in 1991 whether I thought this extravagant fantasy would actually happen. I was much younger and more naïve than I am now and it's possible that I believed that it was certain to happen. Or perhaps I would have been less optimistic and replied with some variant on “maybe, I hope so”, or “probably not but there are other reasons to do it”. But I am sure that if you had asked me when I thought it would happen I would have guessed it would be a very long time, and that I might not live to see it. Here we are twentyfive years later and to my amazement, this worked. Holy cow, it worked just like we hoped! Whether I believed it or not at the time, it happened just as I said! This wild fantasy, this cottoncandy dream, had the result we intended. We did it! And it did not take fifty or one hundred years, I did live to see it. I have kids and that is the world they are growing up in. Many things have gotten worse, but not this thing. It has not yet worked everywhere. But it will. We will keep chipping away at the resistance, one person at a time. It worked before and it will continue to work. There will be setbacks, but we are an unstoppable tide. In 1991, posting a public essay was considered peculiar or inappropriate. In 2017, it would be eccentric because it would be unnecessary. It would be like posting a long manifesto about how you were going to stop wearing white shirts and start wearing blue ones. Why would anyone make a big deal of something so ordinary? In 1991 I had queer coworkers whose queerness was an open secret, not generally known. Those people did not talk about their partners in front of strangers, and I was careful to keep them anonymous when I mentioned them. I had written:
This had the effect I hoped, at least in some cases; some of those people came to me privately to thank me for my announcement. At a different job in 1995 my boss had a samesex partner that he did not mention. I had guessed that this was the case because all the people with oppositesex partners did mention them. You could figure out who was queer by keeping a checklist in your mind of who had mentioned their oppositesex partners, dates, or attractions, and then anyone you had not checked off after six months was very likely queer. (Yes, as a bisexual I am keenly aware that this does not always work.) This man and I both lived in Philadelphia, and one time we happened to get off the train together and his spouse was there to meet him. For a moment I saw a terrible apprehension in the face of this confident and selfpossessed man, as he realized he would have to introduce me to his husband: How would I respond? What would I say? In 2017, these people keep pictures on their desks and bring their partners to company picnics. If I met my boss’ husband he would introduce me without apprehension because if I had a problem with it, it would be my problem. In 2017, my doctor has pictures of her wedding and her wife posted on the Internet for anyone in the world to see, not just her friends or coworkers. Around here, at least, Coming Out Day has turned into an obsolete relic because being queer has turned into a big fat nothing. And it will happen elsewhere also, it will continue to spread. Because if there was reason for optimism in 1991, how much more so now that visible queer people are not a rare minority but a ubiquitous plurality, now that every person encounters some of us every day, we know that this unlikely and even childish plan not only works, but can succeed faster and better than we even hoped? HA HA HA TAKE THAT, LOSERS. [Other articles in category /politics] permanent link Fri, 24 Nov 2017Over the years many people have written to me to tell me they liked my blog but that I should update it more often. Now those people can see if they were correct. I suspect they will agree that they weren't. I find that, especially since I quit posting to Twitter, there is a
lot of random crap that I share with my coworkers, friends, family,
and random strangers that they might rather do without. I needed a
central dumping ground for this stuff. I am not going to pollute
The Universe of Discourse with this material so I started
a new blog, called
WARNING: Shitposts may be pointless, incomplete, poorly considered, poorly researched, offensive, vague, irritating, or otherwise shitty. The label is on the box. If you find yourself wanting to complain about the poor quality of a page you found on a site called shitpost.plover.com, maybe pause for a moment and consider what your life has come to. I do not recommend that you check it out. [Other articles in category /meta] permanent link Wed, 22 Nov 2017
Mathematical pettifoggery and pathological examples
This example is technical, but I think I can explain it in a way that will make sense even for people who have no idea what the question is about. Don't worry if you don't understand the next paragraph. In this math SE question: a user asks for an example of a connected topological space !!\langle X, \tau\rangle!! where there is a strictly finer topology !!\tau'!! for which !!\langle X, \tau'\rangle!! is disconnected. This is a very easy problem if you go about it the right way, and the right way follows a very typical pattern which is useful in many situations. The pattern is “TURN IT UP TO 11!!” In this case:
I emphasized the important point here. It is: Moving toward finer !!\tau!! can't hurt the situation and might help, so the first thing to try is to turn the fineness knob all the way up and see if that is enough to get what you want. Many situations in mathematics call for subtlety and delicate reasoning, but this is not one of those. The technique here works perfectly. There is a topology !!\tau_d!! of maximum possible fineness, called the “discrete” topology, so that is the thing to try first. And indeed it answers the question as well as it can be answered: If !!\langle X, \tau\rangle!! is a connected space, and if there is any refinement !!\tau'!! for which !!\langle X, \tau'\rangle!! is disconnected, then !!\langle X, \tau_d\rangle!! will be disconnected. It doesn't even matter what connected space you start with, because !!\tau_d!! is always a refinement of !!\tau!!, and because !!\langle X, \tau_d\rangle!! is always disconnected, except in trivial cases. (When !!X!! has fewer than two points.) Right after you learn the definition of what a topology is, you are presented with a bunch of examples. Some are typical examples, which showcase what the idea is really about: the “open sets” of the real line topologize the line, so that topology can be used as a tool for studying real analysis. But some are atypical examples, which showcase the extreme limits of the concept that are as different as possible from the typical examples. The discrete space is one of these. What's it for? It doesn't help with understanding the real numbers, that's for sure. It's a tool, it's the knob on the topology machine that turns the fineness all the way up.[1] If you want to prove that the machine does something or other for the real numbers, one way is to show that it always does that thing. And sometimes part of showing that it always does that thing is to show that it does that even if you turn the knob all the way to the right. So often the first thing a mathematician will try is:
And that's why, when you ask a mathematician a question, often the first thing they will say is “ťhat fails when !!x=0!!” or “that fails when all the numbers are equal” or “ťhat fails when one number is very much bigger than the other” or “that fails when the space is discrete” or “that fails when the space has fewer than two points.” [2] After the last article, Kyle Littler reminded me that I should not forget the important word “pathological”. One of the important parts of mathematical science is figuring out what the knobs are, how far they can go, what happens if you turn them all the way up, and what are the limits on how they can be set if we want the machine to behave more or less like the thing we are trying to study. We have this certain knob for how many dents and bumps and spikes we can put on a sphere and have it still be a sphere, as long as we do not actually puncture or tear the surface. And we expected that no matter how far we turned this knob, the sphere would still divide space into two parts, a bounded inside and an unbounded outside, and that these regions should behave basically the same as they do when the sphere is smooth.[3] But no, we are wrong, the knob goes farther than we thought. If we turn it to the “Alexander horned sphere” setting, smoke starts to come out of the machine and the red lights begin to blink.[4] Useful! Now if someone has some theory about how the machine will behave nicely if this and that knob are set properly, we might be able to add the useful observation “actually you also have to be careful not to turn that “dents bumps and spikes” knob too far.” The word for these bizarre settings where some of the knobs are in the extreme positions is “pathological”. The Alexander sphere is a pathological embedding of !!S^2!! into !!\Bbb R^3!!. [1] The leftmost setting on that knob, with the fineness turned all the way down, is called the “indiscrete topology” or the “trivial topology”. [2] If you claim that any connected space can be disconnected by turning the “fineness” knob all the way to the right, a mathematican will immediately turn the “number of points” knob all the way to the left, and say “see, that only works for spaces with at least two points”. In a space with fewer than two points, even the discrete topology is connected. [3]For example, if you tie your dog to a post outside the sphere, and let it wander around, its leash cannot get so tangled up with the sphere that you need to walk the dog backwards to untangle it. You can just slip the leash off the sphere. [4] The dog can get its leash so tangled around the Alexander sphere that the only way to fix it is to untie the dog and start over. But if the “number of dimensions” knob is set to 2 instead of to 3, you can turn the “dents bumps and spikes” knob as far as you want and the leash can always be untangled without untying or moving the dog. Isn't that interesting? That is called the Jordan curve theorem. [Other articles in category /math] permanent link
An instructive example of expected value
I think this example is very illuminating of something, although I'm not sure yet what. Suppose you are making a short journey somewhere. You leave two minutes later than planned. How does this affect your expected arrival time? All other things being equal, you should expect to arrive two minutes later than planned. If you're walking or driving, it will probably be pretty close to two minutes no matter what happens. Now suppose the major part of your journey involves a train that runs every hour, and you don't know just what the schedule is. Now how does your two minutes late departure affect your expected arrival time? The expected arrival time is still two minutes later than planned. But it is not uniformly distributed. With probability !!\frac{58}{60}!!, you catch the train you planned to take. You are unaffected by your late departure, and arrive at the same time. But with probability !!\frac{2}{60}!! you miss that train and have to take the next one, arriving an hour later than you planned. The expected amount of lateness is $$0 \text{ minutes}·\frac{58}{60} + 60 \text{ minutes}·\frac{2}{60} = 2 \text{ minutes}$$ the same as before. [ Addendum: Richard Soderberg points out that one thing illuminated by this example is that the mathematics fails to capture the emotional pain of missing the train. Going in a slightly different direction, I would add that the expected value reduces a complex situation to a single number, and so must necessarily throw out a lot of important information. I discussed this here a while back in connection with lottery tickets. But also I think this failure of the expected value is also a benefit: it does capture something interesting about the situation that might not have been apparent before: Considering the two minutes as a time investment, there is a sense in which the cost is knowable; it costs exactly two minutes. Yes, there is a chance that you will be hit by a truck that you would not have encountered had you left on time. But this is exactly offset by the hypothetical truck that passed by harmlessly two minutes before you arrived on the scene but which would have hit you had you left on time. ] [Other articles in category /math] permanent link Mon, 20 Nov 2017
Mathematical jargon for quibbling
Mathematicians tend not to be the kind of people who shout and pound their fists on the table. This is because in mathematics, shouting and pounding your fist does not work. If you do this, other mathematicians will just laugh at you. Contrast this with law or politics, which do attract the kind of people who shout and pound their fists on the table. However, mathematicians do tend to be the kind of people who quibble and pettifog over the tiniest details. This is because in mathematics, quibbling and pettifogging does work. Mathematics has a whole subjargon for quibbling and pettifogging, and also for excluding certain kinds of quibbles. The word “nontrivial” is preeminent here. To a first approximation, it means “shut up and stop quibbling”. For example, you will often hear mathematicians having conversations like this one:
Notice that A does not explain what “nontrivial” is supposed to mean here, and B does not ask. And if you were to ask either of them, they might not be able to tell you right away what they meant. For example, if you were to inquire specifically about !!2^1  1^y!!, they would both agree that that is also excluded, whether or not that solution had occurred to either of them before. In this example, “nontrivial” really does mean “stop quibbling”. Or perhaps more precisely “there is actually something here of interest, and if you stop quibbling you will learn what it is”. In some contexts, “nontrivial” does have a precise and technical meaning, and needs to be supplemented with other terms to cover other types of quibbles. For example, when talking about subgroups, “nontrivial” is supplemented with “proper”:
Here the “proper nontrivial” part is not merely to head off quibbling; it's the crux of the theorem. But the first “nontrivial” is there to shut off a certain type of quibble arising from the fact that 1 is not considered a prime number. By this I mean if you omit “proper”, or the second “nontrivial”, the statement is still true, but inane:
(It is true, but vacuously so.) In contrast, if you omit the first “nontrivial”, the theorem is substantively unchanged:
This is still true, except in the case of the trivial group that is no longer excluded from the premise. But if 1 were considered prime, it would be true either way. Looking at this issue more thoroughly would be interesting and might lead to some interesting conclusions about mathematical methodology.
[ Addendum: Kyle Littler reminds me that I should not forget “pathological”. ] [ Addendum 20240706: I forgot to mention that I wrote a followup article that discusses why this sort of quibbling is actually useful. ] [Other articles in category /math] permanent link Thu, 16 Nov 2017[ Warning: This article is meandering and does not end anywhere in particular ] My recent article about system software errors kinda blew up the Reddit / Hacker News space, and even got listed on Voat, which I understand is the Group W Bench where they send you if you aren't moral enough to be in Reddit. Many people on these fora were eager to tell war stories of times that they had found errors in the compiler or other infrastructural software. This morning I remembered another example that had happened to me. In the middle 1990s, I was just testing some network program on one of the Sun Solaris machines that belonged to the Computational Linguistics program, when the entire machine locked up. I had to go into the machine room and powercycle it to get it to come back up. I returned to my desk to pick up where I had left off, and the machine locked up, again just as I ran my program. I rebooted the machine again, and putting two and two together I tried the next run on a different, less heavilyused machine, maybe my desk workstation or something. The problem turned out to be a bug in that version of Solaris: if you bound a network socket to some address, and then tried to connect it to the same address, everything got stuck. I wrote a fiveline demonstration program and we reported the bug to Sun. I don't know if it was fixed. My boss had an odd immediate response to this, something along the lines that connecting a socket to itself is not a sanctioned use case, so the failure is excusable. Channeling Richard Stallman, I argued that no userspace system call should ever be able to crash the system, no matter what stupid thing it does. He at once agreed. I felt I was on safe ground, because I had in mind the GNU GCC bug reporting instructions of the time, which contained the following unequivocal statement:
I love this paragraph. So clear, so pithy! And the second sentence! It could have been left off, but it is there to articulate the writer's moral stance. It is a rockfirm committment in a wavering and uncertain world. Stallman was a major influence on my writing for a long time. I first encountered his work in 1985, when I was browsing in a bookstore and happened to pick up a copy of Dr. Dobb's Journal. That issue contained the very first publication of the GNU Manifesto. I had never heard of Unix before, but I was bowled over by Stallman's vision, and I read the whole thing then and there, standing up. (It hit the same spot in my heart as Albert SzentGyörgyi's The Crazy Ape, which made a similarly big impression on me at about the same time. I think programmers don't take moral concerns seriously enough, and this is one reason why so many of them find Stallman annoying. But this is what I think makes Stallman so important. Perhaps Dan Bernstein is a similar case.) I have very vague memories of perhaps finding a bug in Why was I trying to connect a socket to itself, anyway? Oh, it was a bug. I meant to connect it somewhere else and used the wrong variable or something. If the operating system crashes when you try, that is a bug. Reliable operating systems never crash. [ Final note: I looked for my fiveline program that connected a
socket to itself, but I could not find it. But I found something
better instead: an email I sent in April 1993 reporting a program that
caused [Other articles in category /prog] permanent link Wed, 15 Nov 2017[ Credit where it is due: This was entirely Darius Bacon's idea. ] In connection with “Recognizing when two arithmetic expressions are essentially the same”, I had several conversations with people about ways to normalize numeric expressions. In that article I observed that while everyone knows the usual associative law for addition $$ (a + b) + c = a + (b + c)$$ nobody ever seems to mention the corresponding law for subtraction: $$ (a+b)c = a + (bc).$$ And while everyone “knows” that subtraction is not associative because $$(a  b)  c ≠ a  (bc)$$ nobody ever seems to observe that there is an associative law for subtraction: $$\begin{align} (a  b) + c & = a  (b  c) \\ (a b) c & = a(b+c).\end{align}$$ This asymmetry is kind of a nuisance, and suggests that a more symmetric notation might be better. Darius Bacon suggested a simple change that I think is an improvement:
The !!\star!! operation obeys the following elegant and simple laws: $$\begin{align} a\star\star & = a \\ (a+b)\star & = a\star + b\star \end{align} $$ Once we adopt !!\star!!, we get a huge payoff: We can eliminate subtraction:
The negation of !!a+b\star!! is $$(a+b\star)\star = a\star + b{\star\star} = a\star +b.$$ We no longer have the annoying notational asymmetry between !!ab!! and !!b + a!! where the plus sign appears from nowhere. Instead, one is !!a+b\star!! and the other is !!b\star+a!!, which is obviously just the usual commutativity of addition. The !!\star!! is of course nothing but a synonym for multiplication by !!1!!. But it is a much less clumsy synonym. !!a\star!! means !!a\cdot(1)!!, but with less inkjunk. In conventional notation the parentheses in !!a(b)!! are essential and if you lose them the whole thing is ruined. But because !!\star!! is just a special case of multiplication, it associates with multiplication and division, so we don't have to worry about parentheses in !!(a\star)b = a(b\star) = (ab)\star!!. They are all equal to just !!ab\star!!. and you can drop the parentheses or include them or write the terms in any order, just as you like, just as you would with !!abc!!. The surprising associativity of subtraction is no longer surprising, because $$(a + b)  c = a + (b  c)$$ is now written as $$(a + b) + c\star = a + (b + c\star)$$ so it's just the usual associative law for addition; it is not even disguised. The same happens for the reverse associative laws for subtraction that nobody mentions; they become variations on $$ \begin{align} (a + b\star) + c\star & = a + (b\star + c\star) \\ & = a + (b+c)\star \end{align} $$ and such like. The !!\star!! is faster to read and faster to say. Instead of “minus one” or “negative one” or “times negative one”, you just say “star”. The !!\star!! is just a number, and it behaves like a number. Its role in an expression is the same as any other number's. It is just a special, oneoff notation for a single, particularly important number. Open questions:
Curious footnote: While I was writing up the draft of this article, it had a reminder in it: “How did you and Darius come up with this?” I went back to our email to look, and I discovered the answer was:
I wish I could take more credit, but there it is. Hmm, maybe I will take credit for inspiring Darius! That should be worth at least fifty percent, perhaps more. [ This article had some perinatal problems. It escaped early from the laboratory, in a notquitefinished state, so I apologize if you are seeing it twice. ] [Other articles in category /math] permanent link Sun, 12 Nov 2017
No, it is not a compiler error. It is never a compiler error.
When I used to hang out in the When I worked at the University of Pennsylvania, a grad student posted to one of the internal bulletin boards looking for help with a program that didn't work. Another graduate student, a superannoying knowitall, said confidently that it was certainly a compiler bug. It was not a compiler bug. It was caused by a misunderstanding of the way arguments to unprototyped functions were automatically promoted. This is actually a subtle point, obscure and easily misunderstood.
Most examples I have seen of people blaming the compiler are much
sillier. I used to be on the mailing list for discussing the
development of Perl 5, and people would show up from time to time to
ask if Perl's Here's something I wrote in October 2000,
which I think makes the case very clearly, this time concerning a
claimed bug in the
Presumably I had to learn this myself at some point. A programmer can waste a lot of time looking for the bug in the compiler instead of looking for the bug in their program. I have a file of (obnoxious) Good Advice for Programmers that I wrote about twenty years ago, and one of these items is:
Anyway, I will get to the point. As I mentioned a few months ago, I built a simple phone app that Toph and I can use to find solutions to “twentyfour puzzles”. In these puzzles, you are given four singledigit numbers and you have to combine them arithmetically to total 24. Pennsylvania license plates have four digits, so as we drive around we play the game with the license plate numbers we see. Sometimes we can't solve a puzzle, and then we wonder: is it because there is no solution, or because we just couldn't find one? Then we ask the phone app. The other day we saw the puzzle «5 4 5 1», which is very easy, but I asked the phone app, to find out if there were any other solutions that we missed. And it announced “No solutions.” Which is wrong. So my program had a bug, as my programs often do. The app has a prepopulated dictionary containing all possible
solutions to all the puzzles that have solutions, which I generated
ahead of time and embedded into the app. My first guess was that bug
had been in the process that generated this dictionary, and that it
had somehow missed the solutions of «5 4 5 1». These would be indexed
under the key So then I looked into the app itself to see where the bug was. Code Studio's underlying language is Javascript, and Code Studio has a nice debugger. I ran the app under the debugger, and stopped in the relevant code, which was:
This constructs a hash key ( the builtin was sorting the numbers into the wrong order. For a while I could not believe my eyes. But after another fifteen or thirty minutes of tinkering, I sent off a bug report… no, I did not. I still didn't believe it. I asked the frontend programmers at my company what my mistake had been. Nobody had any suggestions. Then I sent off a bug report that began:
I was about 70% expecting to get a reply back explaining what I had
misunderstood about the behavior of Javascript's But to my astonishment, the reply came back only an hour later:
In case you're curious, the bug was as follows: The
but it should have been:
Ouch. The Code Studio folks handled this very creditably, and did indeed fix it the same day. (The support system ticket is available for your perusal, as is the Github pull request with the fix, in case you are interested.) I still can't quite believe it. I feel as though I have accidentally spotted the Loch Ness Monster, or Bigfoot, or something like that, a strange and legendary monster that until now I thought most likely didn't exist. A bug in the [ Addendum 20171113: Thanks to Reddit user spotter for pointing me to a related 2008 blog post of Jeff Atwood's, “The First Rule of Programming: It's Always Your Fault”. ] [ Addendum 20171113: Yes, yes, I know [ Addendum 20171116: I remembered examples of two other fundamental system software errors I have discovered, including one honesttogoodness compiler bug. ] [ Addendum 20200929: Russell O'Connor on a horrifying GCC bug ] [Other articles in category /prog] permanent link Sat, 11 Nov 2017
Randomized algorithms go fishing
A little while back I thought of a perfect metaphor for explaining what a randomized algorithm is. It's so perfect I'm sure it must have thought of many times before, but it's new to me. Suppose you have a lake, and you want to know if there are fish in the lake. You dig some worms, pick a spot, bait the hook, and wait. At the end of the day, if you have caught a fish, you have your answer: there are fish in the lake.[1] But what if you don't catch a fish? Then you still don't know. Perhaps you used the wrong bait, or fished in the wrong spot. Perhaps you did everything right and the fish happened not to be biting that day. Or perhaps you did everything right except there are no fish in the lake. But you can try again. Pick a different spot, try a different bait, and fish for another day. And if you catch a fish, you know the answer: the lake does contain fish. But if not, you can go fishing again tomorrow. Suppose you go fishing every day for a month and you catch nothing. You still don't know why. But you have a pretty good idea: most likely, it is because there are no fish to catch. It could be that you have just been very unlucky, but that much bad luck is unlikely. But perhaps you're not sure enough. You can keep fishing. If, after a year, you have not caught any fish, you can be almost certain that there were no fish in the lake at all. Because a yearlong run of bad luck is extremely unlikely. But if you are still not convinced, you can keep on fishing. You will never be 100% certain, but if you keep at it long enough you can become 99.99999% certain with as many nines as you like. That is a randomized algorithm, for finding out of there are fish in a lake! It might tell you definitively that there are, by producing a fish. Or it might fail, and then you still don't know. But as long as it keeps failing, the chance that there are any fish rapidly becomes very small, exponentially so, and can be made as small as you like. For notmetaphorical examples, see:
[1] Let us ignore mathematicians’ pettifoggery about lakes that contain exactly one fish. This is just a metaphor. If you are really concerned, you can catchandrelease. [Other articles in category /CS] permanent link Tue, 07 Nov 2017
A modern translation of the 1+1=2 lemma
W. Ethan Duckworth of the Department of Mathematics and Statistics at Loyola University translated this into modern notation and has kindly given me permission to publish it here: I think it is interesting and instructive to compare the two versions. One thing to notice is that there is no perfect translation. As when translating between two natural languages (German and English, say), the meaning cannot be preserved exactly. Whitehead and Russell's language is different from the modern language not only because the notation is different but because the underlying concepts are different. To really get what Principia Mathematica is saying you have to immerse yourself in the Principia Mathematica model of the world. The best example of this here is the symbol “1”. In the modern translation, this means the number 1. But at this point in Principia Mathematica, the number 1 has not yet been defined, and to use it here would be circular, because proposition ∗54.43 is an important step on the way to defining it. In Principia Mathematica, the symbol “1” represents the class of all sets that contain exactly one element.[1] Following the definition of ∗52.01, in modern notation we would write something like: $$1 \equiv_{\text{def}} \{x \mid \exists y . x = \{ y \} \}$$ But in many modern universes, that of ZF set theory in particular, there is no such object.[2] The situation in ZF is even worse: the purported definition is meaningless, because the comprehension is unrestricted. The Principia Mathematica notation for !!A!!, the cardinality of set !!A!!, is !!Nc\,‘A!!, but again this is only an approximate translation. The meaning of !!Nc\,‘A!! is something close to
(So for example one might assert that !!Nc\,‘\Lambda = 0!!, and in fact this is precisely what proposition ∗101.1 does assert.) Even this doesn't quite capture the Principia Mathematica meaning, since the modern conception of a relation is that it is a special kind of set, but in Principia Mathematica relations and sets are different sorts of things. (We would also use a onetoone function, but here there is no additional mismatch between the modern concept and the Principia Mathematica one.) It is important, when reading old mathematics, to try to understand in modern terms what is being talked about. But it is also dangerous to forget that the ideas themselves are different, not just the language.[3] I extract a lot of value from switching back and forth between different historical views, and comparing them. Some of this value is purely historiological. But some is directly mathematical: looking at the same concepts from a different viewpoint sometimes illuminates aspects I didn't fully appreciate. And the different viewpoint I acquire is one that most other people won't have. One of my current lowpriority projects is reading W. Burnside's important 1897 book Theory of Groups of Finite Order. The value of this, for me, is not so much the grouptheoretic content, but in seeing how ideas about groups have evolved. I hope to write more about this topic at some point. [1] Actually the situation in Principia Mathematica is more complicated. There is a different class 1 defined at each type. But the point still stands. [2] In ZF, if !!1!! were to exist as defined above, the set !!\{1\}!! would exist also, and we would have !!\{1\} \in 1!! which would contradict the axiom of foundation. [3] This was a recurring topic of study for Imre Lakatos, most famously in his little book Proofs and Refutations. Also important is his article “Cauchy and the continuum: the significance of nonstandard analysis for the history and philosophy of mathematics.” Math. Intelligencer 1 (1978), #3, p.151–161, which I discussed here earlier, and which you can read in its entireity by paying the excellent people at Elsevier the nominal and reasonable—nay, trivial—sum of only US$39.95. [Other articles in category /math] permanent link Thu, 02 Nov 2017
I missed an easy solution to a silly problem
A few years back I wrote a couple of articles about the extremely poor macro plugin I wrote for Blosxom. ([1] [2]). The featurepoorness of the macro system is itself the system's principal feature, since it gives the system simple behavior and simple implementation. Sometimes this poverty means I have to use odd workarounds to get it to do what I want, but they are always simple workarounds and it is never hard to figure out why it didn't do what I wanted. Yesterday, though, I got stuck. I had defined a macro,
and the macro plugin duly transformed this to
creating an unterminated comment. Normally the way I would deal with this would be to change the name of
the macro from I then tried replacing Eventually, I just deleted the comment and moved on. That worked, although it was obviously suboptimal. I was too tired to think, and I just wanted the problem out of the way. I wish I had been a little less impulsive, because there are at least two other solutions I overlooked:
Yesterday morning I asked my coworkers if there was an alternative HTML comment syntax, or some way to modify the comment ending sequence so that the macro plugin wouldn't spoil it. (I think there isn't, and a short look at the HTML 5.0 standard didn't suggest any workaround.) One of the coworkers was Tye McQueen. He said that as far as he knew
there was no fix to the HTML comments that was like what I had asked
for. He asked whether I could define a second macro, I carefully explained why this wouldn't work: when two macro definitions share a prefix, and they both match, the macro system does not make any guarantee about which substitution it will perform. If there are two overlapping macros, say:
then the string Then M. McQueen gently pointed out that When I write an Oops post I try to think about what lesson I can learn from the mistake. This time there isn't too much, but I do have a couple of ideas:
(I haven't published an oops article in far too long, and it certainly isn't because I haven't been making mistakes. I will try to keep it in mind.) [Other articles in category /oops] permanent link Tue, 31 Oct 2017
The Blind Spot and the cut rule
[ The Atom and RSS feeds have done an unusually poor job of preserving the mathematical symbols in this article. It will be much more legible if you read it on my blog. ] Lately I've been enjoying The Blind Spot by JeanYves Girard, a very famous logician. (It is translated from French; the original title is Le Point Aveugle.) This is an unusual book. It is solidly full of deep thought and technical detail about logic, but it is also opinionated, idiosyncratic and polemical. Chapter 2 (“Incompleteness”) begins:
He continues a little later:
As you can see, it is not written in the usual dry mathematicaltext style, presenting the material as a perfect and aseptic distillation of absolute truth. Instead, one sees the history of logic, the rise and fall of different theories over time, the interaction and relation of many mathematical and philosophical ideas, and Girard's reflections about it all. It is a transcription of a lecture series, and reads like one, including all of the speaker's incidental remarks and offhand musings, but written down so that each can be weighed and pondered at length. Instead of wondering in the moment what he meant by some intriguing remark, then having to abandon the thought to keep up with the lecture, I can pause and ponder the significance. Girard is really, really smart, and knows way more about logic than I ever will, and his offhand remarks reward this pondering. The book is profound in a way that mathematics books often aren't. I wanted to provide an illustrative quotation, but to briefly excerpt a profound thought is to destroy its profundity, so I will have to refrain.[1]) The book really gets going with its discussion of Gentzen's sequent calculus in chapter 3. Between around 1890 (when Peano and Frege began to liberate logic from its medieval encrustations) and 1935 when the sequent calculus was invented, logical proofs were mainly in the “Hilbert style”. Typically there were some axioms, and some rules of deduction by which the axioms could be transformed into other formulas. A typical example consists of the axioms $$A\to(B\to A)\\ (A \to (B \to C)) \to ((A \to B) \to (A \to C)) $$ (where !!A, B, C!! are understood to be placeholders that can be replaced by any wellformed formulas) and the deduction rule modus ponens: having proved !!A\to B!! and !!A!!, we can deduce !!B!!. In contrast, sequent calculus has few axioms and many deduction rules. It deals with sequents which are claims of implication. For example: $$p, q \vdash r, s$$ means that if we can prove all of the formulas on the left of the ⊢ sign, then we can conclude some of the formulas on the right. (Perhaps only one, but at least one.) A typical deductive rule in sequent calculus is: $$ \begin{array}{c} Γ ⊢ A, Δ \qquad Γ ⊢ B, Δ \\ \hline Γ ⊢ A ∧ B, Δ \end{array} $$ Here !!Γ!! and !!Δ!! represent any lists of formulas, possibly empty. The premises of the rule are:
From these premises, the rule allows us to deduce:
The only axioms of sequent calculus are utterly trivial: $$ \begin{array}{c} \phantom{A} \\ \hline A ⊢ A \end{array} $$ There are no premises; we get this deduction for free: If can prove !!A!!, we can prove !!A!!. (!!A!! here is a metavariable that can be replaced with any wellformed formula.) One important point that Girard brings up, which I had never realized despite long familiarity with sequent calculus, is the symmetry between the left and right sides of the turnstile ⊢. As I mentioned, the interpretation of !!Γ ⊢ Δ!! I had been taught was that it means that if every formula in !!Γ!! is provable, then some formula in !!Δ!! is provable. But instead let's focus on just one of the formulas !!A!! on the righthand side, hiding in the list !!Δ!!. The sequent !!Γ ⊢ Δ, A!! can be understood to mean that to prove !!A!!, it suffices to prove all of the formulas in !!Γ!!, and to disprove all the formulas in !!Δ!!. And now let's focus on just one of the formulas on the left side: !!Γ, A ⊢ Δ!! says that to disprove !!A!!, it suffices to prove all the formulas in !!Γ!! and disprove all the formulas in !!Δ!!. The allsome correspondence, which had previously caused me to wonder why it was that way and not something else, perhaps the other way around, has turned into a simple relationship about logical negation: the formulas on the left are positive, and the ones on the right are negative.[2]) With this insight, the sequent calculus negation laws become not merely simple but trivial: $$ \begin{array}{cc} \begin{array}{c} Γ, A ⊢ Δ \\ \hline Γ ⊢ \lnot A, Δ \end{array} & \qquad \begin{array}{c} Γ ⊢ A, Δ \\ \hline Γ, \lnot A ⊢ Δ \end{array} \end{array} $$ For example, in the righthand deduction: what is sufficient to prove !!A!! is also sufficient to disprove !!¬A!!. (Compare also the rule I showed above for ∧: It now says that if proving everything in !!Γ!! and disproving everything in !!Δ!! is sufficient for proving !!A!!, and likewise sufficient for proving !!B!!, then it is also sufficient for proving !!A\land B!!.) But none of that was what I planned to discuss; this article is (intended to be) about sequent calculus's “cut rule”. I never really appreciated the cut rule before. Most of the deductive rules in the sequent calculus are intuitively plausible and so simple and obvious that it is easy to imagine coming up with them oneself. But the cut rule is more complicated than the rules I have already shown. I don't think I would have thought of it easily: $$ \begin{array}{c} Γ ⊢ A, Δ \qquad Λ, A ⊢ Π \\ \hline Γ, Λ ⊢ Δ, Π \end{array} $$ (Here !!A!! is a formula and !!Γ, Δ, Λ, Π!! are lists of formulas, possibly empty lists.) Girard points out that the cut rule is a generalization of modus ponens: taking !!Γ, Δ, Λ!! to be empty and !!Π = \{B\}!! we obtain: $$ \begin{array}{c} ⊢ A \qquad A ⊢ B \\ \hline ⊢ B \end{array} $$ The cut rule is also a generalization of the transitivity of implication: $$ \begin{array}{c} X ⊢ A \qquad A ⊢ Y \\ \hline X ⊢ Y \end{array} $$ Here we took !!Γ = \{X\}, Π = \{Y\}!!, and !!Δ!! and !!Λ!! empty. This all has given me a much better idea of where the cut rule came from and why we have it. In sequent calculus, the deduction rules all come in pairs. There is a rule about introducing ∧, which I showed before. It allows us to construct a sequent involving a formula with an ∧, where perhaps we had no ∧ before. (In fact, it is the only way to do this.) There is a corresponding rule (actually two rules) for getting rid of ∧ when we have it and we don't want it: $$ \begin{array}{cc} \begin{array}{c} Γ ⊢ A\land B, Δ \\ \hline Γ ⊢ A, Δ \end{array} & \qquad \begin{array}{c} Γ ⊢ A\land B, Δ \\ \hline Γ ⊢ B, Δ \end{array} \end{array} $$ Similarly there is a rule (actually two rules) about introducing !!\lor!! and a corresponding rule about eliminating it. The cut rule seems to lie outside this classification. It is not paired. But Girard showed me that it is part of a pair. The axiom $$ \begin{array}{c} \phantom{A} \\ \hline A ⊢ A \end{array} $$ can be seen as an introduction rule for a pair of !!A!!s, one on each side of the turnstile. The cut rule is the corresponding rule for eliminating !!A!! from both sides. Sequent calculus proofs are much easier to construct than Hilbertstyle proofs. Suppose one wants to prove !!B!!. In a Hilbert system the only deduction rule is modus ponens, which requires that we first prove !!A\to B!! and !!A!! for some !!A!!. But what !!A!! should we choose? It could be anything, and we have no idea where to start or how big it could be. (If you enjoy suffering, try to prove the simple theorem !!A\to A!! in the Hilbert system I described at the beginning of the article. (Solution) In sequent calculus, there is only one way to prove each kind of thing, and the premises in each rule are simply related to the consequent we want. Constructing the proof is mostly a matter of pushing the symbols around by following the rules to their conclusions. (Or, if this is impossible, one can conclude that there is no proof, and why.[3]) Construction of proofs can now be done entirely mechanically! Except! The cut rule does require one to guess a formula: If one wants to prove !!Γ, Λ ⊢ Δ, Π!!, one must guess what !!A!! should appear in the premises !!Γ, A ⊢ Δ!! and !!Λ ⊢ A, Π!!. And there is no constraint at all on !!A!!; it could be anything, and we have no idea where to start or how big it could be. The good news is that Gentzen, the inventor of sequent calculus, showed that one can dispense with the cut rule: it is unnecessary:
Gentzen's demonstration of this shows how one can take any proof that involves the cut rule, and algorithmically eliminate the cut rule from it to obtain a proof of the same result that does not use cut. Gentzen called this the “Hauptsatz” (“principal theorem”) and rightly so, because it reduces construction of logical proofs to an algorithm and is therefore the ultimate basis for algorithmic proof theory. The bad news is that the cutelimination process can superexponentially increase the size of the proof, so it does not lead to a practical algorithm for deciding provability. Girard analyzed why, and what he discovered amazed me. The only problem is in the contraction rules, which had seemed so trivial and innocuous—uninteresting, even—that I had never given them any thought: $$ \begin{array}{cc} \begin{array}{c} Γ, A, A ⊢ Δ \\ \hline Γ, A ⊢ Δ \end{array} & \qquad \begin{array}{c} Γ ⊢ A, A, Δ \\ \hline Γ ⊢ A, Δ \end{array} \end{array} $$ And suddenly Girard's invention of linear logic made sense to me. In linear logic, contraction is forbidden; one must use each formula in one and only one deduction. Previously it had seemed to me that this was a pointless restriction. Now I realized that it was no more of a useless hair shirt than the intuitionistic rejection of the law of the proof by contradiction: not a stubborn refusal to use an obvious tool of reasoning, but a restriction of proofs to produce better reasoning. With the rejection of contraction, cutelimination no longer explodes proof size, and automated theorem proving becomes practical:
The book is going to get into linear logic later in the next chapter. I have read descriptions of linear logic before, but never understood what it was up to. (It has two logical and operators, and two logical or operators; why?) But I am sure Girard will explain it marvelously.
A brief but interesting discussion of The Blind Spot on Hacker News. [Other articles in category /math/logic] permanent link Sun, 15 Oct 2017
Counting increasing sequences with Burnside's lemma
[ I started this article in March and then forgot about it. Ooops! ] Back in February I posted an article about how there are exactly 715 nondecreasing sequences of 4 digits. I said that !!S(10, 4)!! was the set of such sequences and !!C(10, 4)!! was the number of such sequences, and in general $$C(d,n) = \binom{n+d1}{d1} = \binom{n+d1}{n}$$ so in particular $$C(10,4) = \binom{13}{4} = 715.$$ I described more than one method of seeing this, but I didn't mention the method I had found first, which was to use the CauchyFrobeniusRedfeldPólyaBurnside counting lemma. I explained the lemma in detail some time ago, with beautiful illustrated examples, so I won't repeat the explanation here. The Burnside lemma is a kind of big hammer to use here, but I like big hammers. And the results of this application of the big hammer are pretty good, and justify it in the end. To count the number of distinct sequences of 4 digits, where some sequences are considered “the same” we first identify a symmetry group whose orbits are the equivalence classes of sequences. Here the symmetry group is !!S_4!!, the group that permutes the elements of the sequence, because two sequences are considered “the same” if they have exactly the same digits but possibly in a different order, and the elements of !!S_4!! acting on the sequences are exactly what you want to permute the elements into some different order. Then you tabulate how many of the 10,000 original sequences are left fixed by each element !!p!! of !!S_4!!, which is exactly the number of cycles of !!p!!. (I have also discussed cycle classes of permutations before.) If !!p!! contains !!n!! cycles, then !!p!! leaves exactly !!10^n!! of the !!10^4!! sequences fixed.
(Skip this paragraph if you already understand the table. The four rows above are an abbreviation of the full table, which has 24 rows, one for each of the 24 permutations of order 4. The “How many permutations?” column says how many times each row should be repeated. So for example the second row abbreviates 6 rows, one for each of the 6 permutations with three cycles, which each leave 1,000 sequences fixed, for a total of 6,000 in the second row, and the total for all 24 rows is 17,160. There are two different types of permutations that have two cycles, with 3 and 8 permutations respectively, and I have collapsed these into a single row.) Then the magic happens: We average the number left fixed by each permutation and get !!\frac{17160}{24} = 715!! which we already know is the right answer. Now suppose we knew how many permutations there were with each number of cycles. Let's write !!\def\st#1#2{\left[{#1\atop #2}\right]}\st nk!! for the number of permutations of !!n!! things that have exactly !!k!! cycles. For example, from the table above we see that $$\st 4 4 = 1,\quad \st 4 3 = 6,\quad \st 4 2 = 11,\quad \st 4 1 = 6.$$ Then applying Burnside's lemma we can conclude that $$C(d, n) = \frac1{n!}\sum_i \st ni d^i .\tag{$\spadesuit$}$$ So for example the table above computes !!C(10,4) = \frac1{24}\sum_i \st 4i 10^i = 715!!. At some point in looking into this I noticed that $$\def\rp#1#2{#1^{\overline{#2}}}% \def\fp#1#2{#1^{\underline{#2}}}% C(d,n) = \frac1{n!}\rp dn$$ where !!\rp dn!! is the socalled “rising power” of !!d!!: $$\rp dn = d\cdot(d+1)(d+2)\cdots(d+n1).$$ I don't think I had a proof of this; I just noticed that !!C(d, 1) = d!! and !!C(d, 2) = \frac12(d^2+d)!! (both obvious), and the Burnside's lemma analysis of the !!n=4!! case had just given me !!C(d, 4) = \frac1{24}(d^4 +6d^3 + 11d^2 + 6d)!!. Even if one doesn't immediately recognize this latter polynomial it looks like it ought to factor and then on factoring it one gets !!d(d+1)(d+2)(d+3)!!. So it's easy to conjecture !!C(d, n) = \frac1{n!}\rp dn!! and indeed, this is easy to prove from !!(\spadesuit)!!: The !!\st n k!! obey the recurrence $$\st{n+1}k = n \st nk + \st n{k1}\tag{$\color{green}{\star}$}$$ (by an easy combinatorial argument^{1}) and it's also easy to show that the coefficients of !!\rp nk!! obey the same recurrence.^{2} In general !!\rp nk = \fp{(n+k1)}k!! so we have !!C(d, n) = \rp dn = \fp{(n+d1)}n = \binom{n+d1}d = \binom{n+d1}{n1}!! which ties the knot with the formula from the previous article. In particular, !!C(10,4) = \binom{13}9!!. I have a bunch more to say about this but this article has already been in the oven long enough, so I'll cut the scroll here. [1] The combinatorial argument that justifies !!(\color{green}{\star})!! is as follows: The Stirling number !!\st nk!! counts the number of permutations of order !!n!! with exactly !!k!! cycles. To get a permutation of order !!n+1!! with exactly !!k!! cycles, we can take one of the !!\st nk!! permutations of order !!n!! with !!k!! cycles and insert the new element into one of the existing cycles after any of the !!n!! elements. Or we can take one of the !!\st n{k1}!! permutations with only !!k1!! cycles and add the new element in its own cycle.) [2] We want to show that the coefficients of !!\rp nk!! obey the same recurrence as !!(\color{green}{\star})!!. Let's say that the coefficient of the !!n^i!! term in !!\rp nk!! is !!c_i!!. We have $$\rp n{k+1} = \rp nk\cdot (n+k) = \rp nk \cdot n + \rp nk \cdot k $$ so the coefficient of the the !!n^i!! term on the left is !!c_{i1} + kc_i!!. [Other articles in category /math] permanent link Wed, 20 Sep 2017
Gompertz' law for wooden utility poles
Gompertz' law says that the human death rate increases exponentially with age. That is, if your chance of dying during this year is !!x!!, then your chance of dying during next year is !!cx!! for some constant !!c>1!!. The death rate doubles every 8 years, so the constant !!c!! is empirically around !!2^{1/8} \approx 1.09!!. This is of course mathematically incoherent, since it predicts that sufficiently old people will have a mortality rate greater than 100%. But a number of things are both true and mathematically incoherent, and this is one of them. (Zipf's law is another.) The Gravity and Levity blog has a superb article about this from 2009 that reasons backwards from Gompertz' law to rule out certain theories of mortality, such as the theory that death is due to the random whims of a fickle god. (If death were entirely random, and if you had a 50% chance of making it to age 70, then you would have a 25% chance of living to 140, and a 12.5% chance of living to 210, which we know is not the case.) Gravity and Levity says:
To this list I will add wooden utility poles. A couple of weeks ago Toph asked me why there were so many old rusty staples embedded in the utility poles near our house, and this is easy to explain: people staple up their yard sale posters and lostcat flyers, and then the posters and flyers go away and leave behind the staples. (I once went out with a pliers and extracted a few dozen staples from one pole; it was very satisfying but ultimately ineffective.) If new flyer is stapled up each week, that is 52 staples per year, and 1040 in twenty years. If we agree that 20 years is the absolute minimum plausible lifetime of a pole, we should not be surprised if typical poles have hundreds or thousands of staples each. But this morning I got to wondering what is the expected lifetime of a wooden utility pole? I guessed it was probably in the range of 40 to 70 years. And happily, because of the Wonders of the Internet, I could look it up right then and there, on the way to the trolley stop, and spend my commute time reading about it. It was not hard to find an authoritative sounding and widelycited 2012 study by electric utility consultants Quanta Technology. Summary: Most poles die because of fungal rot, so pole lifetime varies widely depending on the local climate. An unmaintained pole will last 50–60 years in a cold or dry climate and 3040 years in a hot wet climate. Wellmaintained poles will last around twice as long. Anyway, Gompertz' law holds for wooden utility poles also. According to the study:
The Quanta study presents this chart, taken from the (then forthcoming) 2012 book Aging Power Delivery Infrastructures: The solid line is the pole failure rate for a particular unnamed utility company in a median climate. The failure rate with increasing age clearly increases exponentially, as Gompertz' law dictates, doubling every 12½ years or so: Around 1 in 200 poles fails at age 50, around 1 in 100 of the remaining poles fails at age 62.5, and around 1 in 50 of the remaining poles fails at age 75. (The dashed and dotted lines represent poles that are removed from service for other reasons.) From Gompertz' law itself and a minimum of data, we can extrapolate the maximum human lifespan. The death rate for 65yearold women is around 1%, and since it doubles every 8 years or so, we find that 50% of women are dead by age 88, and all but the most outlying outliers are dead by age 120. And indeed, the human longevity record is currently attributed to Jeanne Calment, who died in 1997 at the age of 122½. Similarly we can extrapolate the maximum service time for a wooden utility pole. Half of them make it to 90 years, but if you have a large installed base of 110yearold poles you will be replacing about oneseventh of them every year and it might make more sense to rip them all out at once and start over. At a rate of one yard sale per week, a 110yearold pole will have accumulated 5,720 staples. The Quanta study does not address deterioration of utility poles due to the accumulation of rusty staples. [ Addendum 20220521: More about utility poles and their maintenance ] [Other articles in category /tech] permanent link Sun, 27 Aug 2017This is a collection of leftover miscellanea about twentyfour puzzles. In case you forgot what that is:
How many puzzles have solutions?For each value of !!T!!, there are 715 puzzles «a b c d ⇒ T». (I discussed this digression in two more earlier articles: [1] [2].) When the target !!T = 24!!, 466 of the 715 puzzles have solutions. Is this typical? Many solutions of «a b c d» puzzles end with a multiplication of 6 and 4, or of 8 and 3, or sometimes of 12 and 2—so many that one quickly learns to look for these types of solutions right away. When !!T=23!!, there won't be any solutions of this type, and we might expect that relatively few puzzles with prime targets have solutions. This turns out to be the case: The xaxis is the target number !!T!!, with 0 at the left, 300 at right, and vertical guide lines every 25. The y axis is the number of solvable puzzles out of the maximum possible of 715, with 0 at the bottom, 715 at the top, and horizontal guide lines every 100. Dots representing prime number targets are colored black. Dots for numbers with two prime factors (4, 6, 9, 10, 14, 15, 21, 22, etc.) are red; dots with three, four, five, six, and seven prime factors are orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple respectively. Two countervailing trends are obvious: Puzzles with smaller targets have more solutions, and puzzles with highlycomposite targets have more solutions. No target number larger than 24 has as many as 466 solvable puzzles. These are only trends, not hard rules. For example, there are 156 solvable puzzles with the target 126 (4 prime factors) but only 93 with target 128 (7 prime factors). Why? (I don't know. Maybe because there is some correlation with the number of different prime factors? But 72, 144, and 216 have many solutions, and only two different prime factors.) The smallest target you can't hit is 417. The following numbers 418 and 419 are also impossible. But there are 8 sets of four digits that can be used to make 416 and 23 sets that can be used to make 420. The largest target that can be hit is obviously !!6561 = 9⁴!!; the largest target with two solutions is !!2916 = 4·9·9·9 = 6·6·9·9!!. (The raw data are available here). There is a lot more to discover here. For example, from looking at the chart, it seems that the locallybest target numbers often have the form !!2^n3^m!!. What would we see if we colored the dots according to their largest prime factor instead of according to their number of prime factors? (I tried doing this, and it didn't look like much, but maybe it could have been done better.) Making zeroAs the chart shows, 705 of the 715 puzzles of the type «a b c d ⇒ 0», are solvable. This suggests an interesting inverse puzzle that Toph and I enjoyed: find four digits !!a,b,c, d!! that cannot be used to make zero. (The answers). Identifying interesting or difficult problems(Caution: this section contains spoilers for many of the most interesting puzzles.) I spent quite a while trying to get the computer to rank puzzles by difficulty, with indifferent success. FractionsSeven puzzles require the use of fractions. One of these is the notorious «3 3 8 8» that I mentioned before. This is probably the single hardest of this type. The other six are:
(Solutions to these (formatted image); solutions to these (plain text)) «1 5 5 5» is somewhat easier than the others, but they all follow pretty much the same pattern. The last two are pleasantly symmetrical. Negative numbersNo puzzles require the use of negative intermediate values. This surprised me at first, but it is not hard to see why. Subexpressions with negative intermediate values can always be rewritten to have positive intermediate values instead. For instance, !!3 × (9 + (3  4))!! can be rewritten as !!3 × (9  (4  3))!! and !!(5  8)×(1 9)!! can be rewritten as !!(8  5)×(9 1)!!. A digression about tree shapesIn one of the earlier articles I asserted that there are only two possible shapes for the expression trees of a puzzle solution:
(Pink square nodes contain operators and green round nodes contain numbers.) Lindsey Kuper pointed out that there are five possible shapes, not two. Of course, I was aware of this (it is a Catalan number), so what did I mean when I said there were only two? It's because I had the idea that any tree that wasn't already in one of those two forms could be put into form A by using transformations like the ones in the previous section. For example, the expression !!(4×((1+2)÷3))!! isn't in either form, but we can commute the × to get the equivalent !!((1+2)÷3)×4!!, which has form A. Sometimes one uses the associative laws, for example to turn !!a ÷ (b × c)!! into !!(a ÷ b) ÷ c!!. But I was mistaken; not every expression can be put into either of these forms. The expression !!(8×(9(2·3))!! is an example. Unusual intermediate valuesThe most interesting thing I tried was to look for puzzles whose solutions require unusual intermediate numbers. For example, the puzzle «3 4 4 4» looks easy (the other puzzles with just 3s and 4s are all pretty easy) but it is rather tricky because its only solution goes through the unusual intermediate number 28: !!4 × (3 + 4)  4!!. I ranked puzzles as follows: each possible intermediate number appears in a certain number of puzzle solutions; this is the score for that intermediate number. (Lower scores are better, because they represent rarer intermediate numbers.) The score for a single expression is the score of its rarest intermediate value. So for example !!4 × (3 + 4)  4!! has the intermediate values 7 and 28. 7 is extremely common, and 28 is quite unusual, appearing in only 151 solution expressions, so !!4 × (3 + 4)  4!! receives a fairly low score of 151 because of the intermediate 28. Then each puzzle received a difficulty score which was the score of its easiest solution expression. For example, «2 2 3 8» has two solutions, one (!!(8+3)×2+2!!) involving the quite unusual intermediate value 22, which has a very good score of only 79. But this puzzle doesn't count as difficult because it also admits the obvious solution !!8·3·\frac22!! and this is the solution that gives it its extremely bad score of 1768. Under this ranking, the bestscoring twentyfour puzzles, and their scores, were:
(Something is not quite right here. I think «2 5 7 7» and «2 5 5 7» should have the same score, and I don't know why they don't. But I don't care enough to do it over.) Most of these are at least a little bit interesting. The seven puzzles that require the use of fractions appear; I have marked them with stars. The top item is «1 2 7 7», whose only solution goes through the extremely rare intermediate number 49. The next items require fractions, and the one after that is «5 6 6 9», which I found difficult. So I think there's some value in this procedure. But is there enough value? I'm not sure. The last item on the list, «4 4 8 9», goes through the unusual number 36. Nevertheless I don't think it is a hard puzzle. (I can also imagine that someone might see the answer to «5 6 6 9» right off, but find «4 4 8 9» difficult. The whole exercise is subjective.) Solutions with unusual tree shapesI thought about looking for solutions that involved unusual sequences of operations. Division is much less common than the other three operations. To get it right, one needs to normalize the form of expressions, so that the shapes !!(a + b) + (c + d)!! and !!a + (b + (c + d))!! aren't counted separately. The Ezpr library can help here. But I didn't go that far because the preliminary results weren't encouraging. There are very few expressions totaling 24 that have the form !!(a÷b)÷(c÷d)!!. But if someone gives you a puzzle with a solution in that form, then !!(a×d)÷(b×c)!! and !!(a×d) ÷ (b÷c)!! are also solutions, and one or another is usually very easy to see. For example, the puzzle «1 3 8 9» has the solution !!(8÷1)÷(3÷9)!!, which has an unusual form. But this is an easy puzzle; someone with even a little experience will find the solution !!8 × \frac93 × 1!! immediately. Similarly there are relatively few solutions of the form !!a÷((bc)÷d)!!, but they can all be transformed into !!a×d÷(bc)!! which is not usually hard to find. Consider $$\frac 8{\left(\frac{6  4}6\right)}.$$ This is pretty weirdlooking, but when you're trying to solve it one of the first things you might notice is the 8, and then you would try to turn the rest of the digits into a 3 by solving «4 6 6 ⇒ 3», at which point it wouldn't take long to think of !!\frac6{64}!!. Or, coming at it from the other direction, you might see the sixes and start looking for a way to make «4 6 8 ⇒ 4», and it wouldn't take long to think of !!\frac8{64}!!. Ezpr shapeEzprs (see previous article) correspond more closely than abstract syntax trees do with our intuitive notion of how expressions ought to work, so looking at the shape of the Ezpr version of a solution might give better results than looking at the shape of the expression tree. For example, one might look at the number of nodes in the Ezpr or the depth of the Ezpr. AdhockeryWhen trying to solve one of these puzzles, there are a few things I always try first. After adding up the four numbers, I then look for ways to make !!8·3, 6·4,!! or !!12·2!!; if that doesn't work I start branching out looking for something of the type !!ab\pm c!!. Suppose we take a list of all solvable puzzles, and remove all the very easy ones: the puzzles where one of the inputs is zero, or where one of the inputs is 1 and there is a solution of the form !!E×1!!. Then take the remainder and mark them as “easy” if they have solutions of the form !!a+b+c+d, 8·3, 6·4,!! or !!12·2!!. Also eliminate puzzles with solutions of the type !!E + (c  c)!! or !!E×\left(\frac cc\right)!!. How many are eliminated in this way? Perhaps most? The remaining puzzles ought to have at least intermediate difficulty, and perhaps examining just those will suggest a way to separate them further into two or three ranks of difficulty. I give upBut by this time I have solved so many twentyfour puzzles that I am no longer sure which ones are hard and which ones are easy. I suspect that I have seen and tried to solve most of the 466 solvable puzzles; certainly more than half. So my brain is no longer a reliable gauge of which puzzles are hard and which are easy. Perhaps looking at puzzles with five inputs would work better for me now. These tend to be easy, because you have more to work with. But there are 2002 puzzles and probably some of them are hard. Close, but no cigarWhat's the closest you can get to 24 without hitting it exactly? The best I could do was !!5·5  \frac89!!. Then I asked the computer, which confirmed that this is optimal, although I felt foolish when I saw the simpler solutions that are equally good: !!6·4 \pm\frac 19!!. The paired solutions $$5 × \left(4 + \frac79\right) < 24 < 7 × \left(4  \frac59\right)$$ are very handsome. Phone appThe search program that tells us when a puzzle has solutions is only useful if we can take it with us in the car and ask it about license plates. A phone app is wanted. I built one with Code Studio. Code Studio is great. It has a nice web interface, and beginners can write programs by dragging blocks around. It looks very much like MIT's scratch project, which is much betterknown. But Code Studio is a much better tool than Scratch. In Scratch, once you reach the limits of what it can do, you are stuck, and there is no escape. In Code Studio when you drag around those blocks you are actually writing JavaScript underneath, and you can click a button and see and edit the underlying JavaScript code you have written. Suppose you need to convert In Scratch, if you want to use a data structure other than an array, you are out of luck, because that is all there is. In Code Studio, you can drop down to the JavaScript level and use or build any data structure available in JavaScript. In Scratch, if you want to initialize the program with bulk data, say a precomputed table of the solutions of the 466 twentyfour puzzles, you are out of luck. In Code Studio, you can upload a CSV file with up to 1,000 records, which then becomes available to your program as a data structure. In summary, you spend a lot of your time in Scratch working around the limitations of Scratch, and what you learn doing that is of very limited applicability. Code Studio is real programming and if it doesn't do exactly what you want out of the box, you can get what you want by learning a little more JavaScript, which is likely to be useful in other contexts for a long time to come. Once you finish your Code Studio app, you can click a button to send the URL to someone via SMS. They can follow the link in their phone's web browser and then use the app. Code Studio is what Scratch should have been. Check it out. ThanksThanks to everyone who contributed to this article, including:
[Other articles in category /math] permanent link Sun, 20 Aug 2017
Recognizing when two arithmetic expressions are essentially the same
[ Warning: The math formatting in the RSS / Atom feed for this article is badly mutilated. I suggest you read the article on my blog. ]
My first cut at writing a solver for twentyfour puzzles was a straightforward search program. It had a couple of hacks in it to cut down the search space by recognizing that !!a+E!! and !!E+a!! are the same, but other than that there was nothing special about it and I've discussed it before. It would quickly and accurately report whether any particular twentyfour
puzzle was solvable, but as it turned out that wasn't quite good
enough. The original motivation for the program was this: Toph and I
play this game in the car. Pennsylvania license plates have three
letters and four digits, and if we see a license plate But this wasn't quite good enough either, because after we would find that first solution, say !!2·(5 + 9  2)!!, we would wonder: are there any more? And here the program was useless: it would cheerfully report that there were three, so we would rack our brains to find another, fail, ask the program to tell us the answer, and discover to our disgust that the three solutions it had in mind were: $$ 2 \cdot (5 + (9  2)) \\ 2 \cdot (9 + (5  2)) \\ 2 \cdot ((5 + 9)  2) $$ The computer thinks these are different, because it uses different data structures to represent them. It represents them with an abstract syntax tree, which means that each expression is either a single constant, or is a structure comprising an operator and its two operand expressions—always exactly two. The computer understands the three expressions above as having these structures: It's not hard to imagine that the computer could be taught to understand that the first two trees are equivalent. Getting it to recognize that the third one is also equivalent seems somewhat more difficult. Commutativity and associativityI would like the computer to understand that these three expressions should be considered “the same”. But what does “the same” mean? This problem is of a kind I particularly like: we want the computer to do something, but we're not exactly sure what that something is. Some questions are easy to ask but hard to answer, but this is the opposite: the real problem is to decide what question we want to ask. Fun! Certainly some of the question should involve commutativity and associativity of addition and multiplication. If the only difference between two expressions is that one has !!a + b!! where the other has !!b + a!!, they should be considered the same; similarly !!a + (b + c)!! is the same expression as !!(a + b) + c!! and as !!(b + a) + c!! and !!b + (a + c)!! and so forth. The «2 2 5 9» example above shows that commutativity and associativity are not limited to addition and multiplication. There are commutative and associative properties of subtraction also! For example, $$a+(bc) = (a+b)c$$ and $$(a+b)c = (ac)+b.$$ There ought to be names for these laws but as far as I know there aren't. (Sure, it's just commutativity and associativity of addition in disguise, but nobody explaining these laws to school kids ever seems to point out that subtraction can enter into it. They just observe that !!(ab)c ≠ a(bc)!!, say “subtraction isn't associative”, and leave it at that.) Closely related to these identities are operator inversion identities like !!a(b+c) = (ab)c!!, !!a(bc) = (ab)+c!!, and their multiplicative analogues. I don't know names for these algebraic laws either. One way to deal with all of this would to build a complicated comparison function for abstract syntax trees that tried to transform one tree into another by applying these identities. A better approach is to recognize that the data structure is overspecified. If we want the computer to understand that !!(a + b) + c!! and !!a + (b + c)!! are the same expression, we are swimming upstream by using a data structure that was specifically designed to capture the difference between these expressions. Instead, I invented a data structure, called an Ezpr (“Ezpur”), that can represent expressions, but in a somewhat more natural way than abstract syntax trees do, and in a way that makes commutativity and associativity transparent. An Ezpr has a simplest form, called its “canonical” or “normal” form. Two Ezprs represent essentially the same mathematical expression if they have the same canonical form. To decide if two abstract syntax trees are the same, the computer converts them to Ezprs, simplifies them, and checks to see if resulting canonical forms are identical. The EzprSince associativity doesn't matter, we don't want to represent it. When we (humans) think about adding up a long column of numbers, we don't think about associativity because we don't add them pairwise. Instead we use an addition algorithm that adds them all at once in a big pile. We don't treat addition as a binary operation; we normally treat it as an operator that adds up the numbers in a list. The Ezpr makes this explicit: its addition operator is applied to a list of subexpressions, not to a pair. Both !!a + (b + c)!! and !!(a + b) + c!! are represented as the Ezpr
which just says that we are adding up !!a!!, !!b!!, and !!c!!. (The
Similarly the Ezpr To handle commutativity, we want those Subtraction and divisionThis doesn't yet handle subtraction and division, and the way I chose
to handle them is the only part of this that I think is at all
clever. A
and this is also the representation of !!a + c  b  d!!, of !!c + a
 d  b!!, of !!c  d+ ab!!, and of any other expression of the
idea that we are adding up !!a!! and !!c!! and then deducting !!b!!
and !!d!!. The Either of the two bags may be empty, so for example !!a + b!! is just
Division is handled similarly. Here conventional mathematical
notation does a little bit better than in the sum case: Ezprs handle the associativity and commutativity of subtraction and division quite well. I pointed out earlier that subtraction has an associative law !!(a + b)  c = a + (b  c)!! even though it's not usually called that. No code is required to understand that those two expressions are equal if they are represented as Ezprs, because they are represented by completely identical structures:
Similarly there is a commutative law for subtraction: !!a + b  c = a  c + b!! and once again that same Ezpr does for both. Ezpr lawsEzprs are more flexible than binary trees. A binary tree can represent the expressions !!(a+b)+c!! and !!a+(b+c)!! but not the expression !!a+b+c!!. Ezprs can represent all three and it's easy to transform between them. Just as there are rules for building expressions out of simpler expressions, there are a few rules for combining and manipulating Ezprs. Lifting and flatteningThe most important transformation is lifting, which is the Ezpr
version of the associative law. In the canonical form of an Ezpr, a
you should lift the terms from the inner sum into the outer one:
effectively transforming !!a+(b+c)!! into !!a+b+c!!. More generally, in
we lift the terms from the inner Ezprs into the outer one:
This effectively transforms !!a + (b  c)  d  (e  f))!! to !!a + b + f  c  d  e!!. Similarly, when a Say we are converting the expression !!7 ÷ (3 ÷ (6 × 4))!! to an Ezpr. The conversion function is recursive and the naïve version computes this Ezpr:
But then at the bottom level we have a
which represents !!\frac7{\frac{3}{6\cdot 4}}!!.
Then again we have a
which we can imagine as !!\frac{7·6·4}3!!. The lifting only occurs when the subnode has the same type as its
parent; we may not lift terms out of a Trivial nodesThe Ezpr An even simpler case is CancellationConsider the puzzle «3 3 4 6». My first solver found 49 solutions to this puzzle. One is !!(3  3) + (4 × 6)!!. Another is !!(4 + (3  3)) × 6!!. A third is !!4 × (6 + (3  3))!!. I think these are all the same: the solution is to multiply the 4 by the 6, and to get rid of the threes by subtracting them to make a zero term. The zero term can be added onto the rest of expression or to any of its subexpressions—there are ten ways to do this—and it doesn't really matter where. This is easily explained in terms of Ezprs: If the same subexpression appears in both of a node's bags, we can drop it. For example, the expression !!(4 + (3 3)) × 6!! starts out as
but the duplicate threes in
The sum is now trivial, as described in the previous section, so can be eliminated and replaced with just 4:
This Ezpr records the essential feature of each of the three solutions to «3 3 4 6» that I mentioned: they all are multiplying the 6 by the 4, and then doing something else unimportant to get rid of the threes. Another solution to the same puzzle is !!(6 ÷ 3) × (4 × 3)!!. Mathematically we would write this as !!\frac63·4·3!! and we can see this is just !!6×4!! again, with the threes gotten rid of by multiplication and division, instead of by addition and subtraction. When converted to an Ezpr, this expression becomes:
and the matching threes in the two bags are cancelled, again leaving
In fact there aren't 49 solutions to this puzzle. There is only one, with 49 trivial variations. Identity elementsIn the preceding example, many of the trivial variations on the !!4×6!! solution involved multiplying some subexpression by !!\frac 33!!. When one of the input numbers in the puzzle is a 1, one can similarly obtain a lot of useless variations by choosing where to multiply the 1. Consider «1 3 3 5»: We can make 24 from !!3 × (3 + 5)!!. We then have to get rid of the 1, but we can do that by multiplying it onto any of the five subexpressions of !!3 × (3 + 5)!!: $$ 1 × (3 × (3 + 5)) \\ (1 × 3) × (3 + 5) \\ 3 × (1 × (3 + 5)) \\ 3 × ((1 × 3) + 5) \\ 3 × (3 + (1×5)) $$ These should not be considered different solutions.
Whenever we see any 1's in either of the bags of a
but then the 1 is eliminated from the
The fourth expression, !!3 × ((1 × 3) + 5)!!, is initially converted to the Ezpr
When the 1 is eliminated from the inner
which is the same Ezpr as before. Zero terms in the bags of a Multiplication by zeroOne final case is that The question about what to do when there is a zero in the denominator
is a bit of a puzzle.
In the presence of division by zero, some of our simplification rules
are questionable. For example, when we have ResultsThe Associativity is taken care of by the Ezpr structure itself, and
commutativity is not too difficult; as I mentioned, it would have been
trivial if Perl had a builtin bag structure. I find it much easier
to reason about transformations of Ezprs than abstract syntax trees.
Many operations are much simpler; for example the negation of
It took me a while to get the normalization tuned properly, but the results have been quite successful, at least for this problem domain. The current puzzlesolving program reports the number of distinct solutions to each puzzle. When it reports two different solutions, they are really different; when it fails to support the exact solution that Toph or I found, it reports one essentially the same. (There are some small exceptions, which I will discuss below.) Since there is no specification for “essentially the same” there is no hope of automated testing. But we have been using the app for several months looking for mistakes, and we have not found any. If the normalizer failed to recognize that two expressions were essentially similar, we would be very likely to notice: we would be solving some puzzle, be unable to find the last of the solutions that the program claimed to exist, and then when we gave up and saw what it was we would realize that it was essentially the same as one of the solutions we had found. I am pretty confident that there are no errors of this type, but see “Arguable points” below. A harder error to detect is whether the computer has erroneously conflated two essentially dissimilar expressions. To detect this we would have to notice that an expression was missing from the computer's solution list. I am less confident that nothing like this has occurred, but as the months have gone by I feel better and better about it. I consider the problem of “how many solutions does this puzzle really have to have?” been satisfactorily solved. There are some edge cases, but I think we have identified them. Code for my solver is on
Github. The Ezpr code
is in the Some examplesThe original program claims to find 35 different solutions to «4 6 6 6». The revised program recognizes that these are of only two types:
Some of the variant forms of the first of those include: $$
6 × (4 + (6  6)) \\
6 + ((4 × 6)  6) \\
(6  6) + (4 × 6) \\
(6 ÷ 6) × (4 × 6) \\
6 ÷ ((6 ÷ 4) ÷ 6) \\
6 ÷ (6 ÷ (4 × 6)) \\
6 × (6 × (4 ÷ 6)) \\
(6 × 6) ÷ (6 ÷ 4) \\
6 ÷ ((6 ÷ 6) ÷ 4) \\
6 × (6  (6  4)) \\
6 × (6 ÷ (6 ÷ 4)) \\
\ldots In an even more extreme case, the original program finds 80 distinct expressions that solve «1 1 4 6», all of which are trivial variations on !!4·6!!. Of the 715 puzzles, 466 (65%) have solutions; for 175 of these the solution is unique. There are 3 puzzles with 8 solutions each («2 2 4 8», «2 3 6 9», and «2 4 6 8»), one with 9 solutions («2 3 4 6»), and one with 10 solutions («2 4 4 8»). The 10 solutions for «2 4 4 8» are as follows:
A complete listing of every essentially different solution to every «a b c d» puzzle is available here. There are 1,063 solutions in all. Arguable points There are a few places where we have not completely pinned down what it means for two solutions to be essentially the same; I think there is room for genuine disagreement.
It would be pretty easy to adjust the normalization process to handle these the other way if the user wanted that. Some interesting puzzles«1 2 7 7» has only one solution, quite unusual. (Spoiler) «2 2 6 7» has two solutions, both somewhat unusual. (Spoiler) Somewhat similar to «1 2 7 7» is «3 9 9 9» which also has an unusual solution. But it has two other solutions that are less surprising. (Spoiler) «1 3 8 9» has an easy solution but also a quite tricky solution. (Spoiler) One of my neighbors has the license plate What took so long?
And here we are, five months later! This article was a huge pain to write. Sometimes I sit down to write something and all that comes out is dreck. I sat down to write this one at least three or four times and it never worked. The tortured Git history bears witness. In the end I had to abandon all my earlier drafts and start over from scratch, writing a fresh outline in an empty file. But perseverance paid off! WOOOOO. [ Addendum 20170825: I completely forgot that Shreevatsa R. wrote a very interesting article on the same topic as this one, in July of last year soon after I published my first article in this series. ] [ Addendum 20170829: A previous version of this article used the notations [Other articles in category /math] permanent link Tue, 08 Aug 2017I should have written about this sooner, by now it has been so long that I have forgotten most of the details. I first encountered Paul Erdős in the middle 1980s at a talk by János Pach about almostuniversal graphs. Consider graphs with a countably infinite set of vertices. Is there a "universal" graph !!G!! such that, for any finite or countable graph !!H!!, there is a copy of !!H!! inside of !!G!!? (Formally, this means that there is an injection from the vertices of !!H!! to the vertices of !!G!! that preserves adjacency.) The answer is yes; it is quite easy to construct such a !!G!! and in fact nearly all random graphs have this property. But then the questions become more interesting. Let !!K_\omega!! be the complete graph on a countably infinite set of vertices. Say that !!G!! is “almost universal” if it includes a copy of !!H!! for every finite or countable graph !!H!! except those that contain a copy of !!K_\omega!!. Is there an almost universal graph? Perhaps surprisingly, no! (Sketch of proof.) I enjoyed the talk, and afterward in the lobby I got to meet Ron Graham and Joel Spencer and talk to them about their Ramsey theory book, which I had been reading, and about a problem I was working on. Graham encouraged me to write up my results on the problem and submit them to Mathematics Magazine, but I unfortunately never got around to this. Graham was there babysitting Erdős, who was one of Pách's collaborators, but I did not actually talk to Erdős at that time. I think I didn't recognize him. I don't know why I was able to recognize Graham. I find the almostuniversal graph thing very interesting. It is still an open research area. But none of this was what I was planning to talk about. I will return to the point. A couple of years later Erdős was to speak at the University of Pennsylvania. He had a stock speech for general audiences that I saw him give more than once. Most of the talk would be a description of a lot of interesting problems, the bounties he offered for their solutions, and the progress that had been made on them so far. He would intersperse the discussions with the sort of Erdősism that he was noted for: referring to the U.S. and the U.S.S.R. as “Sam” and “Joe” respectively; his evergrowing series of styles (Paul Erdős, P.G.O.M., A.D., etc.) and so on. One remark I remember in particular concerned the $3000 bounty he offered for proving what is sometimes known as the ErdősTúran conjecture: if !!S!! is a subset of the natural numbers, and if !!\sum_{n\in S}\frac 1n!! diverges, then !!S!! contains arbitrarily long arithmetic progressions. (A special case of this is that the primes contain arbitrarily long arithmetic progressions, which was proved in 2004 by Green and Tao, but which at the time was a longstanding conjecture.) Although the $3000 was at the time the largest bounty ever offered by Erdős, he said it was really a bad joke, because to solve the problem would require so much effort that the perhour payment would be minuscule. I made a special trip down to Philadelphia to attend the talk, with the intention of visiting my girlfriend at Bryn Mawr afterward. I arrived at the Penn math building early and wandered around the halls to kill time before the talk. And as I passed by an office with an open door, I saw Erdős sitting in the antechamber on a small sofa. So I sat down beside him and started telling him about my favorite graph theory problem. Many people, preparing to give a talk to a large roomful of strangers, would have found this annoying and intrusive. Some people might not want to talk about graph theory with a passing stranger. But most people are not Paul Erdős, and I think what I did was probably just the right thing; what you don't do is sit next to Erdős and then ask how his flight was and what he thinks of recent politics. We talked about my problem, and to my great regret I don't remember any of the mathematical details of what he said. But he did not know the answer offhand, he was not able solve it instantly, and he did say it was interesting. So! I had a conversation with Erdős about graph theory that was not a waste of his time, and I think I can count that as one of my lifetime accomplishments. After a little while it was time to go down to the auditorium for the the talk, and afterward one of the organizers saw me, perhaps recognized me from the sofa, and invited me to the guest dinner, which I eagerly accepted. At the dinner, I was thrilled because I secured a seat next to Erdős! But this was a beginner mistake: he fell asleep almost immediately and slept through dinner, which, I learned later, was completely typical. [Other articles in category /math] permanent link Sun, 06 Aug 2017Yesterday I discussed an interesting failure on the part of Shazam, a phone app that can recognize music by listening to it. I said I had no idea how it worked, but I did not let that stop me from pulling the following vague speculation out of my butt:
Julia Evans provided me with the following reference: “An IndustrialStrength Audio Search Algorithm” by Avery LiChun Wang of Shazam Entertainment, Ltd. Unfortunately the paper has no date, but on internal evidence it seems to be from around 2002–2006. M. Evans summarizes the algorithm as follows:
She continues:
Thanks Julia! Moving upwards from the link Julia gave me, I found a folder of papers maintained by Dan Ellis, formerly of the Columbia University Electrical Engineering department, founder of Columbia's LabROSA, the Laboratory for the Recognition and Organization of Speech and Audio, and now a Google research scientist. In the previous article, I asked about research on machine identification of composers or musical genre. Some of M. Ellis’s LabROSA research is closely related to this. See for example: There is a lot of interestinglooking material available there for free. Check it out. (Is there a word for when someone gives you a URL like
[Other articles in category /tech] permanent link Sat, 05 Aug 2017
Another example of a machine perception failure
IEEE Spectrum has yet another article about fooling computer vision algorithms with subtle changes that humans don't even notice. For more details and references to the literature, see this excellent article by Andrej Karpathy. Here is a frequentlyreprinted example: The classifier is 57.7% confident that the lefthand image is a panda. When the image is perturbed—by less than one part in 140—with the seeminglyrandom pattern of colored dots to produce the seemingly identical image on the right, the classifier identifies it as a gibbon with 99.3% confidence. (Illustration from Goodfellow, Shlens, and Szegedy, “Explaining and Harnessing Adversarial Examples”, International Conference on Learning Representations 2015.) Here's an interesting complementary example that surprised me recently. I have the Shazam app on my phone. When activated, the app tries to listen for music, and then it tries to tell you what the music was. If I'm in the pharmacy and the background music is something I like but don't recognize, I can ask Shazam what it is, and it will tell me. Magic! Earlier this year I was in the car listening to the radio and I tried this, and it failed. I ran it again, and it failed again. I pulled over to the side of the road, activated the app, and held the phone's microphone up to the car's speaker so that Shazam could hear clearly. Shazam was totally stumped. So I resumed driving and paid careful attention when the piece ended so that I wouldn't miss when the announcer said what it was. It had been Mendelssohn's fourth symphony. Shazam can easily identify Mendelssohn's fourth symphony, as I confirmed later. In fact, it can identify it much better than a human can—in some ways. When I tested it, it immediately recognized not only the piece, but the exact recording I used for the test: it was the 1985 recording by the London Symphony Orchestra, conducted by Claudio Abbado. Why had Shazam failed to recognize the piece on the radio? Too much background noise? Poor Internet connectivity? Nope. It was because the piece was being performed live by the Detroit Symphony Orchestra and as far as Shazam was concerned, it had never heard it before. For a human familiar with Mendelssohn's fourth symphony, this would be of no import. This person would recognize Mendelssohn's fourth symphony whenever it was played by any halfwaycompetent orchestra. But Shazam doesn't hear the way people do. I don't know what it does (really I have no idea), but I imagine that it does some signal processing to remove background noise, accumulates digests of short sections of the audio data, and then matches these digests against a database of similar digests, compiled in advance from a corpus of recordings. The Detroit Orchestra's live performance hadn't been in the corpus, so there was no match in the database. Shazam's corpus has probably a couple of dozen recordings of Mendelssohn's fourth symphony, but it has no idea that all these recordings are of the same piece, or that they sound very similar, because to Shazam they don't sound similar at all. I imagine it doesn't even have a notion of whether two pieces in the corpus sound similar, because it knows them only as distillations of short snatches, and it never compares corpus recordings with one another. Whatever Shazam is doing is completely different from what people do. One might say it hears the sound but not the music, just as the classifier from the Goodfellow paper sees the image but not the panda. I wonder about a different example. When I hear an unfamiliar piece on the radio, I can often guess who wrote it. “Aha,” I say. “This is obviously Dvořák.” And then more often than not I am right, and even when I am not right, I am usually very close. (For some reasonable meaning of “close” that might be impossible to explain to Shazam.) In one particularly surprising case, I did this with Daft Punk, at that time having heard exactly two Daft Punk songs in my life. Upon hearing this third one, I said to myself “Huh, this sounds just like those Daft Punk songs.” I not claiming a lot of credit for this; Daft Punk has a very distinctive sound. I bring it up just to suggest that whatever magic Shazam is using probably can't do this even a little bit. Do any of my Gentle Readers know anything about research on the problem of getting a machine to identify the author or genre of music from listening to it? [ Addendum 20170806: Julia Evans has provided a technical reference and a highlevel summary of Shazam's algorithm. This also led me to a trove of related research. ] [Other articles in category /tech] permanent link Mon, 31 Jul 2017
Sabotaged by Polish orthography
This weekend my family was doing a bookstore event related to Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. One of the movie's characters, Jacob Kowalski, dreams of becoming a baker, and arrives to a bank appointment with a suitcase full of Polish confections, including pączki, a sort of Polish jelly donut. My wife wanted to serve these at the event. The little tail on the ą in pączki is a diacritical mark called an ogonek, which is Polish for “little tail”. If I understand correctly, this nasalizes the sound of the a so that it is more like /an/, and furthermore in modern Polish the value of this particular letter has changed so that pączki is pronounced something like “pawnchkee”. (Polish “cz” is approximately like English “ch”.) I was delegated to travel to Philadelphia's Polish neighborhood to obtain the pączki. This turned out to be more difficult than I expected. The first address I visited was simply wrong. When I did find the bakery I was looking for, it was sold out of pączki. The bakery across the street was closed, so I started walking down Allegheny Avenue looking for the next bakery. Before I got there, though, I passed a storefront with a sign listing its goods and services in blue capital letters. One of the items was PACZKI. Properly, of course, this should be PĄCZKI but Poles often omit the ogonek, especially when buying blue letter decals in Philadelphia, where large blue ogoneks are often unavailable. But when I went in to ask I immediately realized that I had probably made a mistake. The store seemed to sell toiletries, paper goods, and souvenirs, with no baked goods in sight. I asked anyway: “Your sign outside says you sell PĄCZKI?” “No,” replied the storekeeper. “Pachkee.” I thought she was correcting my pronunciation. “But I thought the ogonek made it ‘pawnchkee’?” “No, not pawnchkee. Pachkee. For sending, to Poland.” She pointed at a box. I had misunderstood the sign. It did not say PĄCZKI, but PACZKI, which I have since learned means “boxes”. The storekeeper directed me to the deli across the street, where I was able to buy the pączki. I also bought some interestinglooking cold roast pork loin and asked what it was called. A customer told me it was “polendwitsa”, and from this I was able to pick out the price label on the deli case, which said “POLEDWICA”. After my embarrassment about the boxes I was concerned that I didn't understand ogoneks as well as I thought I did. I pointed to the ‘E’. “Shouldn't there be an ogonek on the ‘E’ here?” “Yes,” he said, and shrugged. They had left it off, just as I had (incorrectly) thought had happened on the PACZKI sign. I think the only way to win this one would have been to understand enough of the items in blue capital letters to guess from context that it really was PACZKI and not PĄCZKI. [ Addendum 20170803: A thirtyyearold mystery has been cleared up! When I was a teenager the news was full of the struggles of the Polish workers’ union Solidarity and its charismatic leader, Lech Walesa, later president of Poland. But his name was always pronounced ‘walensa’. Why? Last night I suddenly understood the mysterious ‘n’: the name was actually ‘Walęsa’! ] [ (Well, not quite. That does explain the mystery ‘n’. But on looking it up, I find that the name is actually ‘Wałęsa’. The ‘W’ is more like English ‘v’ than like English ‘w’, and the ‘ł’ is apparently very much like English ‘w’. So the correct pronunciation of ‘Wałęsa’ is more like ‘vawensa’ than ‘walensa’. Perhaps the people who pronounced the ę but not the W or the ł were just being pretentious.) ] [ Addendum 20170803: Maciej Cegłowski says that “paczki” is more like “packages” than like “boxes”; Google translate suggests “parcels”. He would also like me to remind you that “paczki” and “pączki” are plural, the singulars being “paczka” and “pączek”, respectively. Alicja Raszkowska she loves my use of “ogoneks” (the English plural) in place of the Polish “ogonki”. ] [ Addendum: Maciej also says “For Polish speakers, your post is like watching someone dive from a high platform onto a cactus.” ] [ Addendum 20210710: Today I was looking at a list of common Polish surnames, and one was Dąbrowski. Trying to pronounce this out loud, I suddenly understood where the American name “Dombrowski” comes from. As with pączki (pronounced like “pawnchkee”), Dąbrowski is pronounced something like “dawmbrovski”, with the nasalization of the /a/ sounding to an Anglophone more like an /m/ than an /n/ because of the following labial consonant. So “Dombrowski” is a pretty good representation English represenation of this name. ] [Other articles in category /lang] permanent link Fri, 28 Jul 2017Neal Stephenson's Seveneves is very fat, so I bought it to read on a long trip this summer. I have mixed feelings about Stephenson, but there are a lot of things I like about his writing. A few years ago I wrote a long review of his “Baroque Cycle” in which I said:
I am a fan of short books. Usually, I agree with the opinion of Jorge Luis Borges, who said “Writing long books is a laborious and impoverishing act of foolishness: expanding in five hundred pages an idea that could be perfectly explained in a few minutes.” But Stephenson, I think, is one of very few exceptions who does better writing longer books than shorter ones. I said:
I was interested to see how that bore out in Seveneves. The good news: Stephenson has learned how to write a good 600page book. The bad news: Seveneves is 900 pages long. Seveneves is in three parts of roughly equal size. The first two parts deal with an astronomical catastrophe (never explained) that destroys the moon and renders the earth uninhabitable, and with the efforts of humans to establish a space habitat that will outlive the catastrophe. These first two parts told a story with a beginning and an end. They contain a lot of geeky details about the technical aspects of setting up a space habitat, which I enjoyed. I would gladly read any number of 600page Stephenson books about space technology, an area in which he is an expert. I said ten years ago that his article Mother Earth, Mother Board about undersea telecommunications cables was brilliant. Ten years on, I'm giving it a promotion: it's one of the best nonfiction essays I've ever read on any topic. If you are one of the people who consider the mass of technical detail in Stephenson's novels to be tedious bloat, I think you probably don't want to read Seveneves. But then, if that's you, you probably gave up on Stephenson a long time ago. Anyway, the first two parts begin with the destruction of the moon, and end with the establishment of the human space colony. Along the way there are many challenges faced by some fairly interesting characters. Had Stephenson stopped there, I think nobody would have complained. I realized partway through that he was not going to stop there and I was excited. “Aha!” I said. “The book is in four parts! The first two will deal with the establishment of the colony, and then the last two will take place thousands of years in the future, and deal with the resettlement of Earth.” I was pleased with Stephenson's daring: So many writers would have written just the first two parts, and would not been confident enough to go on. Stephenson has many flaws, but an excess of caution is not one of them, and I was looking forward to parts 3 and 4. Then something went terribly wrong: He wrote part 3, but not part 4. At the end of part 2, Seveneves takes all the characters and the world of the first two parts, wipes the blackboard clean and starts over. Which would be fine, if what followed was complete and welldeveloped. But it is only 300 pages long and Stephenson has never been able to write a 300page story; Stephenson at 300 pages is a blatherer. The 300 pages contains a lot of implausibleseeming stuff about future technology. In 2006 I said that while I loved his long descriptions of real technologies, I found his descriptions of fanciful technology vacuous:
Much of the appeal was gone for me. I can enjoy 600 pages of talk about how people in the 21st century would construct the cheapest possible space habitat. I cannot tolerate that much material about how Stephenson imagines people in the 71st century might organize their flying cities. And the plot is just awful. The new characters are onedimensional, and they spend most of the third part literally doing nothing. They are assembled into a team of seven by a nebulous authority for some secret purpose; neither they nor we are told what it is. They go from place to place to investigate something or other, making several pointless stops and excursions and wondering, as I did, what was going on and when something was actually going to happen. Nothing happens for 250 pages, and then when finally something does happen there is not enough space left in the book to finish it up, and the novel ends in the air, as so many of Stephenson's novels do. There were several ways this could have been fixed. The whole third part could have gotten the axe. Considered as a 600page novel, I think the first two parts of Seveneves are excellent. I said before that “Stephenson at 600 pages is a semicoherent rambler”. That is clearly no longer true. Or the third part could have been delayed for a year or two, after Stephenson had first expanded it from 300 to 900 pages and then trimmed it back down to 600 pages. The resulting novel of the 71st century could have been published separately, or the first two parts of Seveneves could have been held back until it was ready; it doesn't matter. In some alternate universe he wrote that second novel and it could be have been really good, even great. The character development might have been better. The mysterious project organizers might have been revealed. We might have gotten some wonderful fishoutofwater moments with Sonar Taxlaw. (Sonar Taxlaw fanfic, please!) The book could have ended with the characters finding out what actually happened to the moon back on page 1. So that's my review: once again, people will say this book's great defect was that it was too long, but actually, the real problem is that it was too short. I used to hope that Stephenson's editors would take him more firmly in hand and make him write books that started in one place and ended in another, but by now I have given up. It is too late. The books keep selling and at this point nobody is going to mess with success. Having bought Seveneves because of its fatness, I then decided it was too fat to actually carry around on my trip. Instead I took YoonHa Lee's Ninefox Gambit, which is not fat. But it didn't need to be fat, because instead it was so brilliant that when I finished reading the last page I turned back to the first page and started over, something I don't think I have done in the last thirty years. I may have something more to say about Ninefox Gambit another time; it fits right into an unfinished article I was writing in 2012 about Stephenson's Anathem and Burgess’ A Clockwork Orange. [ Addendum: It occurred to me on the bus that that putative fourpart novel makes sense in another way. The Seven Eves themselves lie at the exact center of the fourpart novel, bridging the transition between the first half and the second half, a structure that perfectly justifies the title's palindromic styling as “Seveneves”. Except no, part 4 is missing and the promised symmetry is spoiled. ] [ Addendum 20191216: I revived an article I wrote in 2002 about Stephenson's first novel The Big U. ] [Other articles in category /book] permanent link Mon, 19 Jun 2017On Saturday I posted an article explaining how remote branches and remotetracking branches work in Git. That article is a prerequisite for this one. But here's the quick summary: When dealing with a branch (say, master) copied from a remote repository (say, origin), there are three branches one must consider: We will consider the following typical workflow:
But step 3 fails, saying something like:
In older versions of Git the hint was a little shorter:
Everyone at some point gets one of these messages, and in my experience it is one of the most confusing and distressing things for beginners. It cannot be avoided, worked around, or postponed; it must be understood and dealt with. Not everyone gets a clear explanation. (Reading it over, the actual message seems reasonably clear, but I know many people find it long and frighting and ignore it. It is tough in cases like this to decide how to trade off making the message shorter (and perhaps thereby harder to understand) or longer (and frightening people away). There may be no good solution. But here we are, and I am going to try to explain it myself, with pictures.) In a large project, the remote branch is always moving, as other
people add to it, and they do this without your knowing about it.
Immediately after you do the fetch in step 1 above, the
tracking branch Typical workflowWe were trying to do this:
and the failure occurred in step 3. Let's look at what each of these operations actually does. 1. Fetch the remote

Cheryl Burke  Huckleberry 
I thought Cheryl Burke was sufficiently famous, sufficiently recently, that most people might have heard of her. (Even I know who she is!) But I gave a version of the !!Con talk to the Philadelphia Perl Mongers the following Monday and I was the only one in the room who knew. (That version of the talk took around 75 minutes, but we took a lot of time to stroll around and look at the scenery, much of which is in this article.)
I had a struggle finding the right Cheryl Burke picture for the !!Con talk. The usual image searches turned up lots of glamour and fashion pictures and swimsuit pictures. I wanted a picture of her actually dancing and for some reason this was not easy to find. The few I found showed her from the back, or were motion blurred. I was glad when I found the one above.
A few days before the !!Con talk my original anagramscoring article hit #1 on Hacker News. Hacker News user Pxtl suggested using the Wikipedia article title list as an input lexicon. The article title list is available for download from the Wikimedia Foundation so you don't have to scrape the pages as Pxtl suggested. There are around 13 million titles and I found all the anagrams and scored them; this took around 25 minutes with my current code.
The results were not exactly disappointing, but neither did they deliver anything as awesomely successful as “cinematographer” / “megachiropteran”. The top scorer by far was “ACEEEFFGHHIILLMMNNOORRSSSTUV”, which is the pseudonym of 17thcentury German writer Hans Jakob Christoffel von Grimmelshausen. Obviously, Grimmelshausen constructed his pseudonym by sorting the letters of his name into alphabetical order.
(Robert Hooke famously used the same scheme to claim priority for discovery of his spring law without actually revealing it. He published the statement as “ceiiinosssttuv” and then was able to claim, two years later, that this was an anagram of the actual law, which was “ut tensio, sic vis”. (“As the extension, so the force.”) An attendee of my Monday talk wondered if there is some other Latin phrase that Hooke could have claimed to have intended. Perhaps someone else can take the baton from me on this project.)
Anyway, the next few top scorers demonstrate several different problems:
21 Abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz / Qwertyuiopasdfghjklzxcvbnm
21 Abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz / Qwertzuiopasdfghjklyxcvbnm
21 Ashland County Courthouse / Odontorhynchus aculeatus
21 Daniel Francois Malherbe / Mindenhall Air Force Base
20 Christine Amongin Aporu / Ethnic groups in Romania
20 Message force multiplier / Petroleum fiscal regimes
19 Cholesterol lowering agent / North West Regional College
19 Louise de Maisonblanche / Schoenobius damienella
19 Scorpaenodes littoralis / Steroidal spirolactones
The “Qwerty” ones are intrinsically uninteresting and anyway we could have predicted ahead of time that they would be there. And the others are just sort of flat. “Odontorhynchus aculeatus” has the usual problems. One can imagine that there could be some delicious irony in “Daniel Francois Malherbe” / “Mindenhall Air Force Base” but as far as I can tell there isn't any and neither was Louise de Maisonblanche killed by an S. damienella. (It's a moth. Mme de Maisonblanche was actually killed by Variola which is not an anagram of anything interesting.)
Wikipedia article titles include many trivial variations. For example, many people will misspell “Winona Ryder” as “Wynona Rider”, so Wikipedia has pages for both, with the real article at the correct spelling and the incorrect one redirecting to it. The anagram detector cheerfully picks these up although they do not get high scores. Similarly:
The anagram scorer often had quite a bit of trouble with items like these because they are long and full of repeated letter pairs. The older algorithm would have done even worse. If you're still wondering about the difference between two exponential algorithms, some of these would make good example cases to consider.
As I mentioned above you can download the Wikipedia anagrams from my web site and check for yourself. My favorite item so far is:
18 Atlantis Casino Resort Spa / Carter assassination plot
Some words appear with surprising frequency and I don't know why. As I mentioned above one of the top scorers was “Ethnic groups in Romania” and for some reason Romania appears in the anagram list over and over again:
20 Christine Amongin Aporu / Ethnic groups in Romania
17 List of Romanian actors / Social transformation
15 Imperial Coronation / Romanian riot police
14 Rakhine Mountains / Romanians in the UK
14 Mindanao rasbora / Romanians abroad
13 Romanian poets / ramosopinnate
13 Aleuron carinatum / Aromanian culture
11 Resita Montana / Romanian state
11 Monte Schiara / The Romaniacs
11 Monetarianism / Romanian Times
11 Marion Barnes / Romanian Serb
11 Maarsen railway station / Romanian State Railways
11 Eilema androconia / Nicolae de Romania
11 Ana Maria Norbis / Arabs in Romania
( 170 more )
Also I had never thought of this before, but Romania appears in this unexpected context:
09 Alicia Morton / Clitoromania
09 Carinito Malo / Clitoromania
(Alicia Morton played Annie in the 1999 film. Carinito Malo is actually Cariñito Malo. I've already discussed the nonequivalence of “n” and “ñ” so I won't beat that horse again.)
Well, this is something I can investigate. For each string of letters, we have here the number of Wikipedia article titles in which the string appears (middle column), the number of anagram pairs in which the string appears (left column; anagrams with score less than 6 are not counted) and the quotient of the two (right column).
romania 110 4106 2.7%
serbia 109 4400 2.5%
croatia 68 3882 1.8%
belarus 24 1810 1.3%
ireland 140 11426 1.2%
andorra 7 607 1.2%
austria 60 5427 1.1%
russia 137 15944 0.9%
macedonia 28 3167 0.9%
france 111 14785 0.8%
spain 64 8880 0.7%
slovenia 18 2833 0.6%
wales 47 9438 0.5%
portugal 17 3737 0.5%
italy 21 4353 0.5%
denmark 19 3698 0.5%
ukraine 12 2793 0.4%
england 37 8719 0.4%
sweden 11 4233 0.3%
scotland 16 4945 0.3%
poland 22 6400 0.3%
montenegro 4 1446 0.3%
germany 16 5733 0.3%
finland 6 2234 0.3%
albania 10 3268 0.3%
slovakia 3 1549 0.2%
norway 9 3619 0.2%
greece 10 8307 0.1%
belgium 3 2414 0.1%
switzerland 0 5439 0.0%
netherlands 1 3522 0.0%
czechia 0 75 0.0%
As we see, Romania and Serbia are substantially ahead of the others.
I suspect that it is a combination of some lexical property (the
interesting part) and the relatively low coverage of those countries
in English Wikipedia. That is, I think if we were to identify the
lexical component, we might well find that russia
has more of it,
but scores lower than romania
because Russia is much more important.
My apologies if I
accidentally omitted your favorite European country.
[ Oh, crap, I just realized I left out Bosnia. ]
Another one of the better high scorers turns out to be the delightful:
16 Lesbian intercourse / Sunrise Celebration
“Lesbian”, like “Romania”, seems to turn up over and over; the next few are:
11 Lesbian erotica / Oreste Bilancia
11 Pitane albicollis / Political lesbian
12 Balearic islands / Radical lesbians
12 Blaise reaction / Lesbian erotica
(43 more)
Wikipedia says:
The Blaise reaction is an organic reaction that forms a βketoester from the reaction of zinc metal with a αbromoester and a nitrile.
A hundred points to anyone who can make a genuinely funny joke out of this.
Oreste Bilancia is an Italian silentfilm star, and Pitane albicollis is another moth. I did not know there were so many anagrammatic moths. Christian Bale is an anagram of Birthana cleis, yet another moth.
[ Addendum 20220227: Sean Carney has applied my method to the headwords from Urban Dictionary and says “even though it doesn’t score quite as well, in my mind, the clear winner is genitals be achin / cheating lesbian”. ]
I ran the same sort of analysis on lesbian
as on romania
, except
that since it wasn't clear what to compare it to, I picked a bunch of
random words.
nosehair 3 3 100.0%
margarine 4 16 25.0%
penis 95 573 16.6%
weasel 11 271 4.1%
phallus 5 128 3.9%
lesbian 26 863 3.0%
center 340 23969 1.4%
flowers 14 1038 1.3%
trumpet 6 487 1.2%
potato 10 941 1.1%
octopus 4 445 0.9%
coffee 12 1531 0.8%
It seems that lesbian
appears with unusually high but not remarkably
high frequency. The unusual part is its participation in so many
anagrams with very high scores. The outstanding item here is
penis
. (The top two being rare outliers.) But penis
still wins
even if I throw away anagrams with scores less than 10 (instead of
less than 6):
margarine 1 16 6.2%
penis 13 573 2.3%
lesbian 8 863 0.9%
trumpet 2 487 0.4%
flowers 4 1038 0.4%
center 69 23969 0.3%
potato 2 941 0.2%
octopus 1 445 0.2%
coffee 1 1531 0.1%
weasel 0 271 0.0%
phallus 0 128 0.0%
nosehair 0 3 0.0%
Since I'm sure you are wondering, here are the anagrams of margarine
and nosehair
:
07 Nosehair / Rehsonia
08 Aso Shrine / Nosehairs
09 Nosehairs / hoariness
04 Margaret Hines / The Margarines
07 Magerrain / margarine
07 Ramiengar / margarine
08 Rae Ingram / margarine
11 Erika Armstrong / Stork margarine
I think “Margaret Hines” / “The Margarines” should score more than 4, and that this exposes a defect in my method.
Here is the graph constructed by the MIS algorithm for the pair “acrididae” / “cidaridae”, which I discussed in an earlier article and also mentioned in my talk.
Each maximum independent set in this graph corresponds to a minimumchunk mapping between “acrididae” and “cidaridae”. In the earlier article, I claimed:
This one has two maximum independent sets
which is wrong; it has three, yielding three different mappings with five chunks:
My daughter Katara points out that the graphs above resemble grasshoppers. My Gentle Readers will no doubt recall that acrididae is the family of grasshoppers, comprising around 10,000 species. I wanted to find an anagram “grasshopper” / “?????? graph”. There are many anagrams of “eoprs” and “eoprss” but I was not able to find anything good. The best I could do was “spore graphs”.
Thank you, Gentle Readers, for taking this journey with me. I hope nobody walks up to me in the next year to complain that my blog does not feature enough anagramrelated material.
[ Addendum 20230423: A discussion on LanguageHat of the original article includes the interesting Russian pair австралопитек / ватерполистка. австралопитек is an Australopithecus. ватерполистка is a female water polo player. ]
[Other articles in category /lang] permanent link
Mon, 08 May 2017
An anagrammatic cautionary tale
I previously claimed that “cinematographer” / “megachiropteran” was the best anagram in English. Scoring all the anagrams in the list of 13 million Wikipedia article titles did not refute this, but it did reveal that “cinematographer” is also an anagram of “Taichang Emperor”.
The Taichang Emperor (泰昌) lived from 1582 to 1620 and was the 14th emperor of the Ming Dynasty. His reign as emperor lasted only 29 days, after which he died of severe diarrhea. Wikipedia says:
According to nonofficial primary sources, the Taichang Emperor's illness was brought about by excessive sexual indulgence after he was presented with eight maidens by Lady Zheng.
To counteract the diarrhea, the emperor took a “red pill” offered to him by a court official:
It was recorded in official Ming histories that the Taichang Emperor felt much better after taking the red pill, regained his appetite and repeatedly praised Li Kezhuo as a "loyal subject". That same afternoon, the emperor took a second pill and was found dead the next morning.
Surely this tale of Ming China has something to teach us even today.
[Other articles in category /misc] permanent link
Sun, 02 Apr 2017A Unix system administrator of my acquaintance once got curious about
what people were putting into /dev/null
. I think he also may have
had some notion that it would contain secrets or other interesting
material that people wanted thrown away. Both of these ideas are
stupid, but what he did next was even more stupid: he decided to
replace /dev/null
with a plain file so that he could examine its
contents.
The root filesystem quickly filled up and the admin had to be called
back from dinner to fix it. But he found that he couldn't fix it: to
create a Unix device file you use the mknod
command, and its
arguments are the major and minor device numbers of the device to
create. Our friend didn't remember the correct minor device
number. The ls l
command will tell you the numbers of a device file
but he had removed /dev/null
so he couldn't use that.
Having no other system of the same type with an intact device file to
check, he was forced to restore /dev/null
from the tape backups.
[Other articles in category /Unix] permanent link
Sun, 05 Mar 2017Lately my kids have been interested in puzzles of this type: You are given a sequence of four digits, say 1,2,3,4, and your job is to combine them with ordinary arithmetic operations (+, , ×, and ÷) in any order to make a target number, typically 24. For example, with 1,2,3,4, you can go with $$((1+2)+3)×4 = 24$$ or with $$4×((2×3)×1) = 24.$$
I said I had found an unusually difficult puzzle of this type, which is to make 2,5,6,6 total to 17. This is rather difficult. (I will reveal the solution later in this article.) Several people independently wrote to advise me that it is even more difficult to make 3,3,8,8 total to 24. They were right; it is amazingly difficult. After a couple of weeks I finally gave up and asked the computer, and when I saw the answer I didn't feel bad that I hadn't gotten it myself. (The solution is here if you want to give up without writing a program.)
From now on I will abbreviate the two puzzles of the previous paragraph as «2 5 6 6 ⇒ 17» and «3 3 8 8 ⇒ 24», and others similarly.
The article also inspired a number of people to write their own solvers and send them to me, and comparing them was interesting. My solver followed the tree search technique that I described in chapter 5 of HigherOrder Perl, and which has become so familiar to me that by now I can implement it without thinking about it very hard:
Invent a data structure that represents the state of a possiblyincomplete search. This is just a list of the stuff one needs to keep track of while searching. (Let's call this a node.)
Build a function which recognizes when a node represents a successful search.
Build a function which takes a node, computes all the ways the search could proceed from that point, and returns a list of nodes for those slightlymoreadvanced searches.
Initialize a queue with a node representing a search that has just begun.
Do this:
until ( queue.is_empty() ) {
current_node = queue.get_next()
if ( is_successful( current_node ) ) { print the solution }
queue.push( slightly_more_complete_searches( current_node ) )
}
This is precisely a breadthfirst search. To make it into depthfirst
search, replace the queue with a stack. To make a heuristically
directed search, replace get_next
with a function that looks at the
queue and chooses the bestlooking node from which to proceed. Many
other variations are possible, which is the advantage of this
synthetic approach over letting the search arise organically from a
recursive searcher. (HigherOrder Perl says “Recursive functions
naturally perform depthfirst
searches.” (page
203)) In Python or Ruby one would be able to use yield
and would
not have to manage the queue explicitly, but in this case the queue
management is trivial.
In my solver, each node contains a list of available expressions, annotated with its numerical value. Initially, the expressions are single numbers and the values are the same, say
[ [ "2" => 2 ], [ "3" => 3 ], [ "4" => 4 ], [ "6" => 6 ] ]
Whether you represent expressions as strings or as something more structured depends on what you need to do with them at the end. If you just need to print them out, strings are good enough and are easy to handle.
A node represents a successful search if it contains only a single expression and if the expression's value is the target sum, say 24:
[ [ "(((6÷2)+3)×4)" => 24 ] ]
From a node, the search should proceed by selecting two of the expressions, removing them from the node, selecting a legal operation, combining the two expressions into a single expression, and inserting the result back into the node. For example, from the initial node shown above, the search might continue by subtracting the fourth expression from the second:
[ [ "2" => 2 ], [ "4" => 4 ], [ "(36)" => 3 ] ]
or by multiplying the second and the third:
[ [ "2" => 2 ], [ "(3×4)" => 12 ], [ "6" => 6 ] ]
When the program encounters that first node it will construct both of these, and many others, and put them all into the queue to be investigated later.
From
[ [ "2" => 2 ], [ "(3×4)" => 12 ], [ "6" => 6 ] ]
the search might proceed by dividing the first expression by the third:
[ [ "(3×4)" => 12 ], [ "(2÷6)" => 1/3 ] ]
Then perhaps by subtracting the first from the second:
[ [ "((2÷6)(3×4))" => 35/3 ] ]
From here there is no way to proceed, so when this node is removed from the queue, nothing is added to replace it. Had it been a winner, it would have been printed out, but since !!\frac{35}3!! is not the target value of 24, it is silently discarded.
To solve a puzzle of the «a b c d ⇒ t» sort requires examining a few thousand nodes. On modern hardware this takes approximately zero seconds.
The actual code for my solver is a lot of Perl gobbledygook that may not be of general interest so I will provide a link for people who are interested in deciphering it. It also represents my second attempt: I lost the code that I described in the earlier article and had to rewrite it. It is rather bigger than I would have liked.
People showed me a lot of programs to solve this, and many didn't work. There are a few hard cases that several of them get wrong.
Some puzzles require that some subexpressions have fractional values. Many of the programs people showed me used integer arithmetic (sometimes implicitly and unintentionally) and failed to solve those puzzles. We can detect this by asking for a solution to «2 5 6 6 ⇒ 17», which requires a fraction. The solution is !!6×(2+(5÷6))!!. A program using integer arithmetic will calculate !!5÷6 = 0!! and fail to recognize the solution.
Several people on Twitter made this mistake and then mistakenly claimed that there was no solution at all. Usually it was possible to correct their programs by changing
inputs = [ 2, 2, 5, 6 ]
to
inputs = [ 2.0, 2.0, 5.0, 6.0 ]
or something like that.
Some people also surprised me by claiming that I had lied when I stated that the puzzle could be solved without any “underhanded tricks”, and that the use of intermediate fractions was itself an underhanded trick. Your Honor, I plead not guilty. I originally described the puzzle this way:
You are given a sequence of four digits, say 1,2,3,4, and your job is to combine them with ordinary arithmetic operations (+, , ×, and ÷) in any order to make a target number, typically 24.
The objectors are implicitly claiming that when you combine 5 and 6 with the “ordinary arithmetic operation” of division, you get something other than !!\frac56!!. This is an indefensible claim.
I wasn't even trying to be tricky! It never occurred to me that fractions were something that some people would consider underhanded, and now that it has been suggested, I reject the suggestion. Folks, the result of division can be a fraction. Fractions are not some sort of obscure mathematical pettifoggery. They have been with us for at least 3,500 years now, so it is time everyone got used to them.
Some programs used floatingpoint arithmetic to deal with the fractions and then fell foul of floatingpoint error. I will defer discussion of this to a future article.
I've complained about floatingpoint numbers on this blog before. ( 1 2 3 4 5 ) God, how I loathe them.
[ Addendum 20170825: Looking back on our old discussion from July 2016, I see that Lindsey Kuper said to me:
One nice thing about using Racket or Scheme is that it handles the numeric stuff so nicely. If you weren't careful, I could imagine in Python a solution failing because it evaluated to 16.99999999999999997 or something.
Good call, Dr. Kuper! ]
A more subtle error that several programs made was to assume that all expressions can be constructed by combining a previous expression with a single input number. For example, to solve «2 3 5 7 ⇒ 24», you multiply 3 by 7 to get 21, then add 5 to get 26, then subtract 2 to get 24.
But not every puzzle can be solved this way. Consider «2 3 5 7 ⇒ 41». You start by multiplying 2 by 3 to get 6, but if you try to combine the 6 with either 5 or 7 at this point you will lose. The only solution is to put the 6 aside and multiply 5 by 7 to get 35. Then add the 6 and the 35 to get 41.
Another way to put this is that an unordered binary tree with 4 leaves can take two different shapes. (Imagine filling the green circles with numbers and the pink squares with operators.)
The righthand type of structure is sometimes necessary, as with «2 3 5 7 ⇒ 41». But several of the proposed solutions produced only expressions with structures like that on the left.
Here's Sebastian Fischer's otherwise very elegant Haskell solution, in its entirety:
import Data.List ( permutations )
solution = head
[ (a,x,(b,y,(c,z,d)))
 [a,b,c,d] < permutations [2,5,6,6],
ops < permutations [((+),'+'),((),''),((*),'*'),((/),'/')],
let [u,v,w] = map fst $ take 3 ops,
let [x,y,z] = map snd $ take 3 ops,
(a `u` (b `v` (c `w` d))) == 17
]
You can see the problem in the last line. a
, b
, c
, and d
are
numbers, and u
, v
, and w
are operators. The program evaluates
an expression to see if it has the value 17, but the expression always
has the lefthand shape. (The program has another limitation: it
never uses the same operator twice in the expression. That second
permutations
should be (sequence . take 3 . repeat)
or
something. It can still solve «2 5 6 6 ⇒ 17», however.)
Often the way these programs worked was to generate every possible permutation of the inputs and then apply the operators to the input lists stackwise: pop the first two values, combine them, push the result, and repeat. Here's a relevant excerpt from a program by Tim Dierks, this time in Python:
for ordered_values in permutations(values):
for operations in product(ops, repeat=len(values)1):
result, formula = calc_result(ordered_values, operations)
Here the expression structure is implicit, but the current result is always made by combining one of the input numbers with the old result.
I have seen many people get caught by this and similar traps in the
past. I once posed the problem of enumerating all the strings of
balanced parentheses of a given length,
and several people assumed that all such strings have the form ()S
,
S()
, or (S)
, where S
is a shorter string of the same type. This
seems plausible, and it works up to length 6, but (())(())
does not
have that form.
A less common error exhibited by some programs was a failure to properly deal with division by zero. «2 5 6 6 ⇒ 17» has a solution, and if a program dies while checking !!2+(5÷(66))!! and doesn't find the solution, that's a bug.
Ingo Blechschmidt showed me a solution in
Haskell. The code is quite short.
M. Blechschmidt's program defines a synthetic expression type and an
evaluator for it. It defines a function arb
which transforms an
ordered list of numbers into a list of all possible expressions over
those numbers. Reordering the list is taken care of earlier, by
Data.List.permutations
.
By “synthetic expression type” I mean this:
data Exp a
= Lit a
 Sum (Exp a) (Exp a)
 Diff (Exp a) (Exp a)
 Prod (Exp a) (Exp a)
 Quot (Exp a) (Exp a)
deriving (Eq, Show)
Probably 80% of the Haskell programs ever written have something like this in them somewhere. This approach has a lot of boilerplate. For example, M. Blechschmidt's program then continues:
eval :: (Fractional a) => Exp a > a
eval (Lit x) = x
eval (Sum a b) = eval a + eval b
eval (Diff a b) = eval a  eval b
eval (Prod a b) = eval a * eval b
eval (Quot a b) = eval a / eval b
Having made up our own synonyms for the arithmetic operators (Sum
for
!!+!!, etc.) we now have to explain to Haskell what they mean. (“Not
expressions, but an incredible simulation!”)
I spent a while trying to shorten the code by using a less artificial expression type:
data Exp a
= Lit a
 Op ((a > a > a), String) (Exp a) (Exp a)
but I was disappointed; I was only able to cut it down by 18%, from 34 lines to 28. I hope to discuss this in a future article. By the way, “Blechschmidt” is German for “tinsmith”.
Shreevatsa R. showed me a solution in Python. It generates every possible expression and prints it out with its value. If you want to filter the voluminous output for a particular target value, you do that later. Shreevatsa wrote up an extensive blog article about this which also includes a discussion about eliminating duplicate expressions from the output. This is a very interesting topic, and I have a lot to say about it, so I will discuss it in a future article.
Jeff Fowler of the Recurse Center wrote a compact solution in Ruby that he described as “hot garbage”. Did I say something earlier about Perl gobbledygook? It's nice that Ruby is able to match Perl's level of gobbledygookitude. This one seems to get everything right, but it fails mysteriously if I replace the floatingpoint constants with integer constants. He did provide a version that was not “egregiously minified” but I don't have it handy.
Lindsey Kuper wrote a series of solutions in the Racket dialect of Scheme, and discussed them on her blog along with some other people’s work.
M. Kuper's first draft was 92 lines long (counting whitespace) and when I saw it I said “Gosh, that is way too much code” and tried writing my own in Scheme. It was about the same size. (My Perl solution is also not significantly smaller.)
I saved the best for last. Martin Janecke showed me an almost flawless solution in PHP that uses a completely different approach than anyone else's program. Instead of writing a lot of code for generating permutations of the input, M. Janecke just hardcoded them:
$zahlen = [
[2, 5, 6, 6],
[2, 6, 5, 6],
[2, 6, 6, 5],
[5, 2, 6, 6],
[5, 6, 2, 6],
[5, 6, 6, 2],
[6, 2, 5, 6],
[6, 2, 6, 5],
[6, 5, 2, 6],
[6, 5, 6, 2],
[6, 6, 2, 5],
[6, 6, 5, 2]
]
Then three nested loops generate the selections of operators:
$operatoren = [];
foreach (['+', '', '*', '/'] as $x) {
foreach (['+', '', '*', '/'] as $y) {
foreach (['+', '', '*', '/'] as $z) {
$operatoren[] = [$x, $y, $z];
}
}
}
Expressions are constructed from templates:
$klammern = [
'%d %s %d %s %d %s %d',
'(%d %s %d) %s %d %s %d',
'%d %s (%d %s %d) %s %d',
'%d %s %d %s (%d %s %d)',
'(%d %s %d) %s (%d %s %d)',
'(%d %s %d %s %d) %s %d',
'%d %s (%d %s %d %s %d)',
'((%d %s %d) %s %d) %s %d',
'(%d %s (%d %s %d)) %s %d',
'%d %s ((%d %s %d) %s %d)',
'%d %s (%d %s (%d %s %d))'
];
(I don't think those templates are all necessary, but hey, whatever.)
Finally, another set of nested loops matches each ordering of the
input numbers with each selection of operators, uses sprintf
to plug
the numbers and operators into each possible expression template, and
uses @eval
to evaluate the resulting expression to see if it has the
right value:
foreach ($zahlen as list ($a, $b, $c, $d)) {
foreach ($operatoren as list ($x, $y, $z)) {
foreach ($klammern as $vorlage) {
$term = sprintf ($vorlage, $a, $x, $b, $y, $c, $z, $d);
if (17 == @eval ("return $term;")) {
print ("$term = 17\n");
}
}
}
}
If loving this is wrong, I don't want to be right. It certainly satisfies Larry Wall's criterion of solving the problem before your boss fires you. The same approach is possible in most reasonable languages, and some unreasonable ones, but not in Haskell, which was specifically constructed to make this approach as difficult as possible.
M. Janecke wrote up a blog article about this, in
German. He says “It's not an elegant
program and PHP is probably not an obvious choice for arithmetic
puzzles, but I think it works.” Indeed it does. Note that the use of
@eval
traps the divisionbyzero exceptions, but unfortunately falls
foul of floatingpoint roundoff errors.
Thanks to everyone who discussed this with me. In addition to the people above, thanks to Stephen Tu, Smylers, Michael Malis, Kyle Littler, Jesse Chen, Darius Bacon, Michael Robert Arntzenius, and anyone else I forgot. (If I forgot you and you want me to add you to this list, please drop me a note.)
I have enough material for at least three or four more articles about this that I hope to publish here in the coming weeks.
But the previous article on this subject ended similarly, saying
I hope to write a longer article about solvers in the next week or so.
and that was in July 2016, so don't hold your breath.
[ Addendum 20170820: the next article is ready. I hope you weren't holding your breath! ]
[ Addendum 20170828: yet more about this ]
[Other articles in category /math] permanent link
Thu, 23 Feb 2017
Miscellaneous notes on anagram scoring
My article on finding the best anagram in English was wellreceived, and I got a number of interesting comments about it.
A couple of people pointed out that this does nothing to address the issue of multipleword anagrams. For example it will not discover “I, rearrangement servant / Internet anagram server” True, that is a different problem entirely.
Markian Gooley informed me that “megachiropteran / cinematographer” has been long known to Scrabble players, and Ben Zimmer pointed out that A. Ross Eckler, unimpressed by “cholecystoduodenostomy / duodenocholecystostomy”, proposed a method almost identical to mine for scoring anagrams in an article in Word Ways in 1976. M. Eckler also mentioned that the “remarkable” “megachiropteran / cinematographer” had been published in 1927 and that “enumeration / mountaineer” (which I also selected as a good example) appeared in the Saturday Evening Post in 1879!
The Hacker News comments were unusually pleasant and interesting. Several people asked “why didn't you just use the Levenshtein distance”? I don't remember that it ever occured to me, but if it had I would have rejected it right away as being obviously the wrong thing. Remember that my original chunking idea was motivated by the observation that “cholecystoduodenostomy / duodenocholecystostomy” was long but of low quality. Levenshtein distance measures how far every letter has to travel to get to its new place and it seems clear that this would give “cholecystoduodenostomy / duodenocholecystostomy” a high score because most of the letters move a long way.
Hacker News user
tyingq
tried it
anyway, and reported that it produced a poor
outcome.
The topscoring pair by Levenshtein distance is
“anatomicophysiologic physiologicoanatomic”, which under the
chunking method gets a score of 3. Repeat offender “cholecystoduodenostomy / duodenocholecystostomy”
only drops to fourth place.
A better idea seems to be Levenshtein score per unit of length,
suggested by lobste.rs user
cooler_ranch
.
A couple of people complained about my “notaries / senorita” example, rightly observing that “senorita” is properly spelled “señorita”. This bothered me also while I was writing the article. I eventually decided although “notaries” and “señorita” are certainly not anagrams in Spanish (even supposing that “notaries” was a Spanish word, which it isn't) that the spelling of “senorita” without the tilde is a correct alternative in English. (Although I found out later that both the Big Dictionary and American Heritage seem to require the tilde.)
Hacker News user
ggambetta
observed
that while ‘é’ and ‘e’, and ‘ó’ and ‘o’ feel interchangeable in
Spanish, ‘ñ’ and ‘n’ do not. I think this is right. The ‘é’ is an
‘e’, but with a mark on it to show you where the stress is in the
word. An ‘ñ’ is not like this. It was originally an abbreviation
for ‘nn’, introduced in the 18th century. So I thought it might
make sense to allow ‘ñ’ to be exchanged for ‘nn’, at least in some
cases.
(An analogous situation in German, which may be more familiar, is that it might be reasonable to treat ‘ö’ and ‘ü’ as if they were ‘oe’ and ‘ue’. Also note that in former times, “w” and “uu” were considered interchangeable in English anagrams.)
Unfortunately my Spanish dictionary is small (7,000 words) and of poor quality and I did not find any anagrams of “señorita”. I wish I had something better for you. Also, “señorita” is not one of the cases where it is appropriate to replace “ñ” with “nn”, since it was never spelled “sennorita”.
I wonder why sometimes this sort of complaint seems to me like useless nitpicking, and other times it seems like a serious problem worthy of serious consideration. I will try to think about this.
Mike Morton, who goes by the anagrammatic nickname of “Mr. Machine Tool”, referred me to his Higgledypiggledy about megachiropteran / cinematographer, which is worth reading.
Regarding the maximum independent set algorithm I described yesterday, Shreevatsa R. suggested that it might be conceptually simpler to find the maximum clique in the complement graph. I'm not sure this helps, because the complement graph has a lot more edges than the original. Below right is the complement graph for “acrididae / cidaridae”. I don't think I can pick out the 4cliques in that graph any more than the independent sets in the graph on the lowerleft, and this is an unusually favorable example case for the clique version, because the original graph has an unusually large number of edges.
But perhaps the cliques might be easier to see if you know what to look for: in the righthand diagram the four nodes on the left are one clique, and the four on the right are the other, whereas in the lefthand diagram the two independent sets are all mixed together.
An earlier version of the original article mentioned the putative 11pointer “endometritria / intermediator”. The word “endometritria” seemed pretty strange, and I did look into it before I published the article, but not carefully enough. When Philip Cohen wrote to me to question it, I investigated more carefully, and discovered that it had been an error in an early WordNet release, corrected (to “endometria”) in version 1.6. I didn't remember that I had used WordNet's word lists, but I am not surprised to discover that I did.
A rare printing of Webster's 2¾th American International Lexican includes the word “endometritriostomoscopiotomous” but I suspect that it may be a misprint.
Philippe Bruhat wrote to inform me of Alain Chevrier’s book notes / sténo, a collection of thematically related anagrams in French. The full text is available online.
Alexandre Muñiz, who has a really delightful blog, and who makes and sells attractive and clever puzzles of his own invention. pointed out that soapstone teaspoons are available. The perfect gift for the anagramlover in your life! They are not even expensive.
Thanks also to Clinton Weir, Simon Tatham, Jon Reeves, WeiHwa Huang, and Philip Cohen for their emails about this.
[ Addendum 20170507: Slides from my !!Con 2017 talk are now available. ]
[ Addendum 20170511: A large amount of miscellaneous related material ]
[Other articles in category /lang] permanent link
Tue, 21 Feb 2017
Moore's law beats a better algorithm
Yesterday I wrote about the project I did in the early 1990s to find the best anagrams. The idea is to give pair of anagram words a score, which is the number of chunks into which you have to divide one word in order to rearrange the chunks to form the other word. This was motivated by the observation that while “cholecystoduodenostomy” and “duodenocholecystostomy” are very long words that are anagrams of one another, they are not interesting because they require so few chunks that the anagram is obvious. A shorter but much more interesting example is “aspired / diapers”, where the letters get all mixed up.
I wrote:
One could do this with a clever algorithm, if one were available. There is a clever algorithm, based on finding maximum independent sets in a certain graph. I did not find this algorithm at the time; nor did I try. Instead, I used a bruteforce search.
I wrote about the bruteforce search yesterday. Today I am going to discuss the clever algorithm. (The paper is Avraham Goldstein, Petr Kolman, Jie Zheng “Minimum Common String Partition Problem: Hardness and Approximations”, The Electronic Journal of Combinatorics, 12 (2005).)
The plan is to convert a pair of anagrams into a graph that expresses
the constraints on how the letters can move around when one turns into
the other. Shown below is the graph for comparing
acrididae
(grasshoppers)
with cidaridae
(sea
urchins):
The “2,4” node at the top means that the letters ri
at position
2 in acrididae
match the letters ri
at position 4 in cidaridae
;
the “3,1” node is for the match between the first id
and the first
id
. The two nodes are connected by an edge to show that the two
matchings are incompatible: if you map the ri
to the ri
, you
cannot also map the first id
to the first id
; instead you have to
map the first id
to the second one, represented by the node “3,5”,
which is not connected to “2,4”. A maximum independent set in this
graph is a maximum selection of compatible matchings in the words,
which corresponds to a division into the minimum number of chunks.
Usually the graph is much less complicated than this. For simple cases it is empty and the maximum independent set is trivial. This one has two maximum independent sets, one (3,1; 5,5; 6,6; 7,7) corresponding to the obvious minimum splitting:
and the other (2,4; 3,5; 5,1; 6,2) to this other equallygood splitting:
[ Addendum 20170511: It actually has three maximum independent sets. ]
In an earlier draft of yesterday's post, I wrote:
I should probably do this over again, because my listing seems to be incomplete. For example, it omits “spectrum / crumpets” which would have scored 5, because the Webster's Second list contains crumpet but not crumpets.
I was going to leave it at that, but then I did do it over again, and this time around I implemented the “good” algorithm. It was not that hard. The code is on GitHub if you would like to see it.
To solve the maximum independent set instances, I used a guided bruteforce search. Maximum independent set is NPcomplete, and so the best known algorithm for it runs in exponential time. But the instances in which we are interested here are small enough that this doesn't matter. The example graph above has 8 nodes, so one needs to check at most 256 possible sets to see which is the maximum independent set.
I collated together all the dictionaries I had handy. (I didn't know yet about SCOWL.) These totaled 275,954 words, which is somewhat more than Webster's Second by itself. One of the new dictionaries did contain crumpets so the result does include “spectrum / crumpets”.
The old scored anagram list that I made in the 1990s contained 23,521 pairs. The new one contains 38,333. Unfortunately most of the new stuff is of poor quality, as one would expect. Most of the new words that were missing from my dictionary the first time around are obscure. Perhaps some people would enjoy discovering that that “basiparachromatin” and “Marsipobranchiata” are anagrams, but I find it of very limited appeal.
But the new stuff is not all junk. It includes:
10 antiparticles paternalistic
10 nectarines transience
10 obscurantist subtractions11 colonialists oscillations
11 derailments streamlined
which I think are pretty good.
I wasn't sure how long the old program had taken to run back in the early nineties, but I was sure it had been at least a couple of hours. The new program processes the 275,954 inputs in about 3.5 seconds. I wished I knew how much of this was due to Moore's law and how much to the improved algorithm, but as I said, the old code was long lost.
But then just as I was finishing up the article, I found the old bruteforce code that I thought I had lost! I ran it on the same input, and instead of 3.5 seconds it took just over 4 seconds. So almost all of the gain since the 1990s was from Moore's law, and hardly any was from the “improved” algorithm.
I had written in the earlier article:
In 2016 [ the brute force algorithm ] would probably still [ run ] quicker than implementing the maximum independent set algorithm.
which turned out to be completely true, since implementing the maximum independent set algorithm took me a couple of hours. (Although most of that was building out a graph library because I didn't want to look for one on CPAN.)
But hey, at least the new program is only twice as much code!
[ Addendum: The program had a minor bug: it would disregard
capitalization when deciding if two words were anagrams, but then
compute the scores with capitals and lowercase letters distinct. So
for example Chaenolobus
was considered an anagram of unchoosable
,
but then the Ch
in Chaenolobus
would not be matched to the ch
in
unchoosable
, resulting in a score of 11 instead of 10. I have
corrected the program and the output. Thanks to Philip Cohen for
pointing this out. ]
[ Addendum 20170223: More about this ]
[ Addendum 20170507: Slides from my !!Con 2017 talk are now available. ]
[ Addendum 20170511: A large amount of miscellaneous related material ]
[Other articles in category /lang] permanent link
I found the best anagram in English
I planned to publish this last week sometime but then I wrote a line of code with three errors and that took over the blog.
A few years ago I mentioned in passing that in the 1990s I had constructed a listing of all the anagrams in Webster's Second International dictionary. (The Webster's headword list was available online.)
This was easy to do, even at the time, when the word list itself, at 2.5 megabytes, was a file of significant size. Perl and its cousins were not yet common; in those days I used Awk. But the task is not very different in any reasonable language:
# Process word list
while (my $word = <>) {
chomp $word;
my $sorted = join "", sort split //, $word; # normal form
push @{$anagrams{$sorted}}, $word;
}
for my $words (values %anagrams) {
print "@$words\n" if @$words > 1;
}
The key technique is to reduce each word to a normal form so that
two words have the same normal form if and only if they are anagrams
of one another. In this case we do this by sorting the letters into
alphabetical order, so that both megalodon and moonglade become
adeglmnoo
.
Then we insert the words into a (hash  associative array  dictionary), keyed by their normal forms, and two or more words are anagrams if they fall into the same hash bucket. (There is some discussion of this technique in HigherOrder Perl pages 218–219 and elsewhere.)
(The thing you do not want to do is to compute every permutation of the letters of each word, looking for permutations that appear in the word list. That is akin to sorting a list by computing every permutation of the list and looking for the one that is sorted. I wouldn't have mentioned this, but someone on StackExchange actually asked this question.)
Anyway, I digress. This article is about how I was unhappy with the results of the simple procedure above. From the Webster's Second list, which contains about 234,000 words, it finds about 14,000 anagram sets (some with more than two words), consisting of 46,351 pairs of anagrams. The list starts with
aal ala
and ends with
zolotink zolotnik
which exemplify the problems with this simple approach: many of the 46,351 anagrams are obvious, uninteresting or even trivial. There must be good ones in the list, but how to find them?
I looked in the list to find the longest anagrams, but they were also disappointing:
cholecystoduodenostomy duodenocholecystostomy
(Webster's Second contains a large amount of scientific and medical jargon. A cholecystoduodenostomy is a surgical operation to create a channel between the gall bladder (cholecysto) and the duodenum (duodeno). A duodenocholecystostomy is the same thing.)
This example made clear at least one of the problems with boring anagrams: it's not that they are too short, it's that they are too simple. Cholecystoduodenostomy and duodenocholecystostomy are 22 letters long, but the anagrammatic relation between them is obvious: chop cholecystoduodenostomy into three parts:
cholecysto duodeno stomy
and rearrange the first two:
duodeno cholecysto stomy
and there you have it.
This gave me the idea to score a pair of anagrams according to how many chunks one had to be cut into in order to rearrange it to make the other one. On this plan, the “cholecystoduodenostomy / duodenocholecystostomy” pair would score 3, just barely above the minimum possible score of 2. Something even a tiny bit more interesting, say “abler / blare” would score higher, in this case 4. Even if this strategy didn't lead me directly to the most interesting anagrams, it would be a big step in the right direction, allowing me to eliminate the least interesting.
This rule would judge both “aal / ala” and “zolotink / zolotnik” as being uninteresting (scores 2 and 4 respectively), which is a good outcome. Note that some other boringanagram problems can be seen as special cases of this one. For example, short anagrams never need to be cut into many parts: no fourletter anagrams can score higher than 4. The trivial anagramming of a word to itself always scores 1, and nontrivial anagrams always score more than this.
So what we need to do is: for each anagram pair, say
acrididae
(grasshoppers)
and cidaridae
(sea
urchins), find the smallest number of chunks into which we can chop
acrididae
so that the chunks can be rearranged into cidaridae
.
One could do this with a clever algorithm, if one were available. There is a clever algorithm, based on finding maximum independent sets in a certain graph. (More about this tomorrow.) I did not find this algorithm at the time; nor did I try. Instead, I used a bruteforce search. Or rather, I used a very small amount of cleverness to reduce the search space, and then used bruteforce search to search the reduced space.
Let's consider a example, scoring the anagram “abscise / scabies”.
You do not have to consider every possible permutation of
abscise
. Rather, there are only two possible mappings from the
letters of abscise
to the letters of scabies
. You know that the
C
must map to the C
, the A
must map to the A
, and so
forth. The only question is whether the first S
of abscise
maps to
the first or to the second S
of scabies
. The first mapping gives
us:
and the second gives us
because the S
and the C
no longer go to adjoining positions. So
the minimum number of chunks is 5, and this anagram pair gets a score
of 5.
To fully analyze cholecystoduodenostomy
by this method required considering 7680
mappings. (120 ways to map the five O
's × 2 ways to map the two
C
's × 2 ways to map the two D
's, etc.) In the 1990s this took a
while, but not prohibitively long, and it worked well enough that I
did not bother to try to find a better algorithm. In 2016 it would
probably still run quicker than implementing the maximum independent
set algorithm. Unfortunately I have lost the code that I wrote then
so I can't compare.
Assigning scores in this way produced a scored anagram list which began
2 aal ala
and ended
4 zolotink zolotnik
and somewhere in the middle was
3 cholecystoduodenostomy duodenocholecystostomy
all poor scores. But sorted by score, there were treasures at the end, and the clear winner was
I declare this the single best anagram in English. It is 15 letters
long, and the only letters that stay together are the E
and the R
.
“Cinematographer” is as familiar as a 15letter word can be, and
“megachiropteran” means a giant bat. GIANT BAT! DEATH FROM
ABOVE!!!
And there is no serious competition. There was another 14pointer, but both its words are Webster's Second jargon that nobody knows:
14 rotundifoliate titanofluoride
There are no score 13 pairs, and the score 12 pairs are all obscure. So this is the winner, and a deserving winner it is.
I think there is something in the list to make everyone happy. If you are the type of person who enjoys anagrams, the list rewards casual browsing. A few examples:
7 admirer married
7 admires sidearm8 negativism timesaving
8 peripatetic precipitate
8 scepters respects
8 shortened threnodes
8 soapstone teaspoons9 earringed grenadier
9 excitation intoxicate
9 integrals triangles
9 ivoriness revisions
9 masculine calumnies10 coprophagist topographics
10 chuprassie haruspices
10 citronella interlocal11 clitoridean directional
11 dispensable piebaldness
“Clitoridean / directional” has been one of my favorites for years. But my favorite of all, although it scores only 6, is
6 yttrious touristy
I think I might love it just because the word yttrious is so delightful. (What a debt we owe to Ytterby, Sweden!)
I also rather like
5 notaries senorita
which shows that even some of the lowscorers can be worth looking at. Clearly my chunk score is not the end of the story, because “notaries / senorita” should score better than “abets / baste” (which is boring) or “Acephali / Phacelia” (whatever those are), also 5pointers. The length of the words should be worth something, and the familiarity of the words should be worth even more.
Here are the results:
In former times there was a restaurant in Philadelphia named “Soupmaster”. My best unassisted anagram discovery was noticing that this is an anagram of “mousetraps”.
[ Addendum 20170222: There is a followup article comparing the two algorithms I wrote for computing scores. ]
[ Addendum 20170222: An earlier version of this article mentioned the putative 11pointer “endometritria / intermediator”. The word “endometritria” seemed pretty strange, and I did look into it before I published the article, but not carefully enough. When Philip Cohen wrote to me to question it, I investigated more carefully, and discovered that it had been an error in an early WordNet release, corrected (to “endometria”) in version 1.6. I didn't remember that I had used WordNet's word lists, but I am not surprised to discover that I did. ]
[ Addendum 20170223: More about this ]
[ Addendum 20170507: Slides from my !!Con 2017 talk are now available. ]
[ Addendum 20170511: A large amount of miscellaneous related material ]
[Other articles in category /lang] permanent link
Thu, 16 Feb 2017
Automatically checking for syntax errors with Git's precommit hook
Previous related article
Earlier related article
Over the past couple of days I've written about how I committed a syntax error on a cron script, and a coworker had to fix it on Saturday morning. I observed that I should have remembered to check the script for syntax errors before committing it, and several people wrote to point out to me that this is the sort of thing one should automate.
(By the way, please don't try to contact me on Twitter. It won't work. I have been on Twitter Vacation for months and have no current plans to return.)
Git has a “precommit hook” feature, which means that you can set up a program that will be run every time you attempt a commit, and which can abort the commit if it doesn't like what it sees. This is the natural place to put an automatic syntax check. Some people suggested that it should be part of the CI system, or even the deployment system, but I don't control those, and anyway it is much better to catch this sort of thing as early as possible. I decided to try to implement a precommit hook to check syntax.
Unlike some of the git hooks, the precommit hook is very simple to use. It gets run when you try to make a commit, and the commit is aborted if the hook exits with a nonzero status.
I made one mistake right off the bat: I wrote the hook in Bourne shell, even though I swore years ago to stop writing shell scripts. Everything that I want to write in shell should be written in Perl instead or in some equivalently good language like Python. But the sample precommit hook was written in shell and when I saw it I went into automatic shell scripting mode and now I have yet another shell script that will have to be replaced with Perl when it gets bigger. I wish I would stop doing this.
Here is the hook, which, I should say up front, I have not yet tried in daytoday use. The complete and current version is on github.
#!/bin/bash
function typeof () {
filename=$1
case $filename in
*.pl  *.pm) echo perl; exit ;;
esac
line1=$(head 1 $1)
case $line1 in '#!'*perl )
echo perl; exit ;;
esac
}
Some of the sample programs people showed me decided which files
needed to be checked based only on the filename. This is not good
enough. My most important Perl programs have filenames with no
extension. This typeof
function decides which set of checks to
apply to each file, and the minimal demonstration version here can do
that based on filename or by looking for the #!...perl
line in the
first line of the file contents. I expect that this function will
expand to include other file types; for example
*.py ) echo python; exit ;;
is an obvious next step.
if [ ! z $COMMIT_OK ]; then
exit 0;
fi
This block is an escape hatch. One day I will want to bypass the hook
and make a commit without performing the checks, and then I can
COMMIT_OK=1 git commit …
. There is actually a noverify
flag to
gitcommit
that will skip the hook entirely, but I am unlikely to
remember it.
(I am also unlikely to remember COMMIT_OK=1
. But I know from
experience that I will guess that I might have put an escape hatch
into the hook. I will also guess that there might be a flag to
gitcommit
that does what I want, but that will seem less likely to
be true, so I will look in the hook program first. This will be a
good move because my hook is much shorter than the gitcommit
man
page. So I will want the escape hatch, I will look for it in the best place,
and I will find it. That is worth two lines of code. Sometimes I feel
like the guy in Memento. I have not yet resorted to tattooing
COMMIT_OK=1
on my chest.)
exec 1>&2
This redirects the standard output of all subsequent commands to go to
standard error instead. It makes it more convenient to issue error
messages with echo
and such like. All the output this hook produces
is diagnostic, so it is appropriate for it to go to standard error.
allOK=true
badFiles=
for file in $(git diff cached nameonly  sort) ; do
allOK
is true if every file so far has passed its checks.
badFiles
is a list of files that failed their checks. the
git diff cached nameonly
function interrogates the Git index
for a list of the files that have been staged for commit.
type=$(typeof "$file")
This invokes the typeof
function from above to decide the type of
the current file.
BAD=false
When a check discovers that the current file is bad, it will signal
this by setting BAD
to true
.
echo
echo "## Checking file $file (type $type)"
case $type in
perl )
perl cw $file  BAD=true
[ x $file ]  { echo "File is not executable"; BAD=true; }
;;
* )
echo "Unknown file type: $file; no checks"
;;
esac
This is the actual checking. To check Python files, we would add a
python) … ;;
block here. The * )
case is a catchall. The perl
checks run perl cw
, which does syntax checking without executing
the program. It then checks to make sure the file is executable, which
I am sure is a mistake, because these checks are run for .pm
files,
which are not normally supposed to be executable. But I wanted to
test it with more than one kind of check.
if $BAD; then
allOK=false;
badFiles="$badFiles;$file"
fi
done
If the current file was bad, the allOK
flag is set false, and the
commit will be aborted. The current filename is appended to badFiles
for a later report. Bash has array variables but I don't remember how
they work and the manual made it sound gross. Already I regret not
writing this in a real language.
After the modified files have been checked, the hook exits successfully if they were all okay, and prints a summary if not:
if $allOK; then
exit 0;
else
echo ''
echo '## Aborting commit. Failed checks:'
for file in $(echo $badFiles  tr ';' ' '); do
echo " $file"
done
exit 1;
fi
This hook might be useful, but I don't know yet; as I said, I haven't
really tried it. But I can see ahead of time that it has a couple of
drawbacks. Of course it needs to be built out with more checks. A
minor bug is that I'd like to apply that isexecutable check to Perl
files that do not end in .pm
, but that will be an easy fix.
But it does have one serious problem I don't know how to fix yet. The hook checks the versions of the files that are in the working tree, but not the versions that are actually staged for the commit!
The most obvious problem this might cause is that I might try to commit some files, and then the hook properly fails because the files are broken. Then I fix the files, but forget to add the fixes to the index. But because the hook is looking at the fixed versions in the working tree, the checks pass, and the broken files are committed!
A similar sort of problem, but going the other way, is that I might
make several changes to some file, use git add p
to add the part I
am ready to commit, but then the commit hook fails, even though the
commit would be correct, because the incomplete changes are still in
the working tree.
I did a little tinkering with git stash save k
to try to stash the
unstaged changes before running the checks, something like this:
git stash save k "precommit stash"  exit 2 trap "git stash pop" EXIT
but I wasn't able to get anything to work reliably. Stashing a modified index has never worked properly for me, perhaps because there is something I don't understand. Maybe I will get it to work in the future. Or maybe I will try a different method; I can think of several offhand:
The hook could copy each file to a temporary file and then run the check on the temporary file. But then the diagnostics emitted by the checks would contain the wrong filenames.
It could move each file out of the way, check out the currentlystaged version of the file, check that, and then restore the working tree version. (It can skip this process for files where the staged and working versions are identical.) This is not too complicated, but if it messes up it could catastrophically destroy the unstaged changes in the working tree.
Check out the entire repository and modified index into a fresh working tree and check that, then discard the temporary working tree. This is probably too expensive.
This one is kind of weird. It could temporarily commit the current
index (using noverify
), stash the working tree changes, and
check the files. When the checks are finished, it would unstash the
working tree changes, use gitreset soft
to undo the temporary
commit, and proceed with the real commit if appropriate.
Come to think of it, this last one suggests a much better version of
the same thing: instead of a precommit hook, use a postcommit
hook. The postcommit hook will stash any leftover working tree
changes, check the committed versions of the files, unstash the
changes, and, if the checks failed, undo the commit with gitreset
soft
.
Right now the last one looks much the best but perhaps there's something straightforward that I didn't think of yet.
[ Thanks to Adam Sjøgren, Jeffrey McClelland, and Jack Vickeridge for discussing this with me. Jeffrey McClelland also suggested that syntax checks could be profitably incorporated as a postreceive hook, which is run on the remote side when new commits are pushed to a remote. I said above that running the checks in the CI process seems too late, but the postreceive hook is earlier and might be just the thing. ]
[ Addendum: Daniel Holz wrote to tell me that the Yelp precommit frameworkhandles the worrisome case of unstaged working tree changes. The strategy is different from the ones I suggested above. If I'm reading this correctly, it records the unstaged changes in a patch file, which it sticks somewhere, and then checks out the index. If all the checks succeed, it completes the commit and then tries to apply the patch to restore the working tree changes. The checks in Yelp's framework might modify the staged files, and if they do, the patch might not apply; in this case it rolls back the whole commit. Thank you M. Holtz! ]
[Other articles in category /prog] permanent link
Tue, 14 Feb 2017
More thoughts on a line of code with three errors
Yesterday I wrote, in great irritation, about a line of code I had written that contained three errors.
I said:
What can I learn from this? Most obviously, that I should have tested my code before I checked it in.
Afterward, I felt that this was inane, and that the matter required a little more reflection. We do not test every single line of every program we write; in most applications that would be prohibitively expensive, and in this case it would have been excessive.
The change I was making was in the format of the diagnostic that the program emitted as it finished to report how long it had taken to run. This is not an essential feature. If the program does its job properly, it is of no real concern if it incorrectly reports how long it took to run. Two of my errors were in the construction of the message. The third, however, was a syntax error that prevented the program from running at all.
Having reflected on it a little more, I have decided that I am only really upset about the last one, which necessitated an emergency Saturdaymorning repair by a coworker. It was quite acceptable not to notice ahead of time that the report would be wrong, to notice it the following day, and to fix it then. I would have said “oops” and quietly corrected the code without feeling like an ass.
The third problem, however, was serious. And I could have prevented it with a truly minimal amount of effort, just by running:
perl cw thescript
This would have diagnosed the syntax error, and avoided the main problem at hardly any cost. I think I usually remember to do something like this. Had I done it this time, the modified script would have gone into production, would have run correctly, and then I could have fixed the broken timing calculation on Monday.
In the previous article I showed the test program that I wrote to test the time calculation after the program produced the wrong output. I think it was reasonable to postpone writing this until after program ran and produced the wrong output. (The program's behavior in all other respects was correct and unmodified; it was only its report about its running time that was incorrect.) To have written the test ahead of time might be an excess of caution.
There has to be a tradeoff between cautious preparation and risk. Here I put everything on the side of risk, even though a tiny amount of caution would have eliminated most of the risk. In my haste, I made a bad trade.
[ Addendum 20170216: I am looking into automating the perl cw
check. ]
[Other articles in category /prog] permanent link
Mon, 13 Feb 2017
How I got three errors into one line of code
At work we had this script that was trying to report how long it had
taken to run, and it was using DateTime::Duration
:
my $duration = $end_time>subtract_datetime($start_time);
my ( $hours, $minutes, $seconds ) =
$duration>in_units( 'hours', 'minutes', 'seconds' );
log_info "it took $hours hours $minutes minutes and $seconds seconds to run"
This looks plausible, but because
DateTime::Duration
is shit,
it didn't work. Typical output:
it took 0 hours 263 minutes and 19 seconds to run
I could explain to you why it does this, but it's not worth your time.
I got tired of seeing 0 hours 263 minutes
show up in my cron email
every morning, so I went to fix it. Here's what I changed it to:
my $duration = $end_time>subtract_datetime_absolute($start_time)>seconds;
my ( $hours, $minutes, $minutes ) = (int(duration/3600), int($duration/60)%60, $duration%3600);
I was at some pains to get that first line right, because getting
DateTime
to produce a useful time interval value is a tricky
proposition. I did get the first line right. But the second line is
just simple arithmetic, I have written it several times before, so I
dashed it off, and it contains a syntax error, that duration/3600
is
missing its dollar sign, which caused the cron job to crash the next
day.
A coworker got there before I did and fixed it for me. While he was
there he also fixed the $hours, $minutes, $minutes
that should have
been $hours, $minutes, $seconds
.
I came in this morning and looked at the cron mail and it said
it took 4 hours 23 minutes and 1399 seconds to run
so I went back to fix the third error, which is that $duration%3600
should have been $duration%60
. The thricecorrected line has
my ( $hours, $minutes, $seconds ) = (int($duration/3600), int($duration/60)%60, $duration%60);
What can I learn from this? Most obviously, that I should have tested my code before I checked it in. Back in 2013 I wrote:
Usually I like to draw some larger lesson from this sort of thing. … “Just write the tests, fool!”
This was a “just write the tests, fool!” moment if ever there was one. Madame Experience runs an expensive school, but fools will learn in no other.
I am not completely incorrigible. I did at least test the fixed code before I checked that in. The test program looks like this:
sub dur {
my $duration = shift;
my ($hours, $minutes, $seconds ) = (int($duration/3600), int($duration/60)%60, $duration%60);
sprintf "%d:%02d:%02d", $hours, $minutes, $seconds;
}
use Test::More;
is(dur(0), "0:00:00");
is(dur(1), "0:00:01");
is(dur(59), "0:00:59");
is(dur(60), "0:01:00");
is(dur(62), "0:01:02");
is(dur(122), "0:02:02");
is(dur(3599), "0:59:59");
is(dur(3600), "1:00:00");
is(dur(10000), "2:46:40");
done_testing();
It was not necessary to commit the test program, but it was necessary to write it and to run it. By the way, the test program failed the first two times I ran it.
Three errors in one line isn't even a personal worst. In 2012 I posted here about getting four errors into a oneline program.
[ Addendum 20170215: I have some further thoughts on this. ]
[Other articles in category /oops] permanent link
Tue, 07 Feb 2017
How many 24 puzzles are there?
[ Note: The tables in this article are important, and look unusually crappy if you read this blog through an aggregator. The properlyformatted version on my blog may be easier to follow. ]
A few months ago I wrote about puzzles of the following type: take four digits, say 1, 2, 7, 7, and, using only +, , ×, and ÷, combine them to make the number 24. Since then I have been accumulating more and more material about these puzzles, which will eventually appear here. But meantime here is a delightful tangent.
In the course of investigating this I wrote programs to enumerate the solutions of all possible puzzles, and these programs were always much faster than I expected at first. It appears as if there are 10,000 possible puzzles, from «0,0,0,0» through «9,9,9,9». But a moment's thought shows that there are considerably fewer, because, for example, the puzzles «7,2,7,1», «1,2,7,7», «7,7,2,1», and «2,7,7,1» are all the same puzzle. How many puzzles are there really?
A backoftheenvelope estimate is that only about 1 in 24 puzzles is really distinct (because there are typically 24 ways to rearrange the elements of a puzzle) and so there ought to be around !!\frac{10000}{24} \approx 417!! puzzles. This is an undercount, because there are fewer duplicates of many puzzles; for example there are not 24 variations of «1,2,7,7», but only 12. The actual number of puzzles turns out to be 715, which I think is not an obvious thing to guess.
Let's write !!S(d,n)!! for the set of sequences of length !!n!! containing up to !!d!! different symbols, with the duplicates removed: when two sequences are the same except for the order of their symbols, we will consider them the same sequence.
Or more concretely, we may imagine that the symbols are sorted into nondecreasing order, so that !!S(d,n)!! is the set of nondecreasing sequences of length !!n!! of !!d!! different symbols.
Let's also write !!C(d,n)!! for the number of elements of !!S(d,n)!!.
Then !!S(10, 4)!! is the set of puzzles where input is four digits. The claim that there are !!715!! such puzzles is just that !!C(10,4) = 715!!. A tabulation of !!C(\cdot,\cdot)!! reveals that it is closely related to binomial coefficients, and indeed that $$C(d,n)=\binom{n+d1}{d1}.\tag{$\heartsuit$}$$
so that the surprising !!715!! is actually !!\binom{13}{9}!!. This is not hard to prove by induction, because !!C(\cdot,\cdot)!! is easily shown to obey the same recurrence as !!\binom\cdot\cdot!!: $$C(d,n) = C(d1,n) + C(d,n1).\tag{$\spadesuit$}$$
To see this, observe that an element of !!C(d,n)!! either begins with a zero or with some other symbol. If it begins with a zero, there are !!C(d,n1)!! ways to choose the remaining !!n1!! symbols in the sequence. But if it begins with one of the other !!d1!! symbols it cannot contain any zeroes, and what we really have is a length!!n!! sequence of the symbols !!1\ldots (d1)!!, of which there are !!C(d1, n)!!.
0 0 0 0  1 1 1 
0 0 0 1  1 1 2 
0 0 0 2  1 1 3 
0 0 0 3  1 1 4 
0 0 1 1  1 2 2 
0 0 1 2  1 2 3 
0 0 1 3  1 2 4 
0 0 2 2  1 3 3 
0 0 2 3  1 3 4 
0 0 3 3  1 4 4 
0 1 1 1  2 2 2 
0 1 1 2  2 2 3 
0 1 1 3  2 2 4 
0 1 2 2  2 3 3 
0 1 2 3  2 3 4 
0 1 3 3  2 4 4 
0 2 2 2  3 3 3 
0 2 2 3  3 3 4 
0 2 3 3  3 4 4 
0 3 3 3  4 4 4 
Now we can observe that !!\binom74=\binom73!! (they are both 35) so that !!C(5,3) = C(4,4)!!. We might ask if there is a combinatorial proof of this fact, consisting of a natural bijection between !!S(5,3)!! and !!S(4,4)!!. Using the relation !!(\spadesuit)!! we have:
$$ \begin{eqnarray} C(4,4) & = & C(3, 4) + & C(4,3) \\ C(5,3) & = & & C(4,3) + C(5,2) \\ \end{eqnarray}$$
so part of the bijection, at least, is clear: There are !!C(4,3)!! elements of !!S(4,4)!! that begin with a zero, and also !!C(4,3)!! elements of !!S(5, 3)!! that do not begin with a zero, so whatever the bijection is, it ought to match up these two subsets of size 20. This is perfectly straightforward; simply match up !!«0, a, b, c»!! (blue) with !!«a+1, b+1, c+1»!! (pink), as shown at right.
But finding the other half of the bijection, between !!S(3,4)!! and !!S(5,2)!!, is not so straightforward. (Both have 15 elements, but we are looking for not just any bijection but for one that respects the structure of the elements.) We could apply the recurrence again, to obtain:
$$ \begin{eqnarray} C(3,4) & = \color{darkred}{C(2, 4)} + \color{darkblue}{C(3,3)} \\ C(5,2) & = \color{darkblue}{C(4,2)} + \color{darkred}{C(5,1)} \end{eqnarray}$$
and since $$ \begin{eqnarray} \color{darkred}{C(2, 4)} & = \color{darkred}{C(5,1)} \\ \color{darkblue}{C(3,3)} & = \color{darkblue}{C(4,2)} \end{eqnarray}$$
we might expect the bijection to continue in that way, mapping !!\color{darkred}{S(2,4) \leftrightarrow S(5,1)}!! and !!\color{darkblue}{S(3,3) \leftrightarrow S(4,2)}!!. Indeed there is such a bijection, and it is very nice.
To find the bijection we will take a detour through bitstrings. There is a natural bijection between !!S(d, n)!! and the bit strings that contain !!d1!! zeroes and !!n!! ones. Rather than explain it with pseudocode, I will give some examples, which I think will make the point clear. Consider the sequence !!«1, 1, 3, 4»!!. Suppose you are trying to communicate this sequence to a computer. It will ask you the following questions, and you should give the corresponding answers:
At each stage the
computer asks about the identity of the next symbol. If the answer is
“yes” the computer has learned another symbol and moves on to the next
element of the sequence. If it is “no” the computer tries guessing a
different symbol. The “yes” answers become ones and “no”
answers become zeroes, so that the resulting bit string is 0 1 1 0 0 1 0 1
.
It sometimes happens that the computer figures out all the elements of the sequence before using up its !!n+d1!! questions; in this case we pad out the bit string with zeroes, or we can imagine that the computer asks some pointless questions to which the answer is “no”. For example, suppose the sequence is !!«0, 1, 1, 1»!!:
The bit string is 1 0 1 1 1 0 0 0
, where the final three 0
bits are
the padding.
We can reverse the process, simply taking over the role of the
computer. To find the sequence that corresponds to the bit string
0 1 1 0 1 0 0 1
, we ask the questions ourselves and use the bits as the
answers:
We have recovered the sequence !!«1, 1, 2, 4»!! from the
bit string 0 1 1 0 1 0 0 1
.
This correspondence establishes relation !!(\heartsuit)!! in a different way from before: since there is a natural bijection between !!S(d, n)!! and the bit strings with !!d1!! zeroes and !!n!! ones, there are certainly !!\binom{n+d1}{d1}!! of them as !!(\heartsuit)!! says because there are !!n+d1!! bits and we may choose any !!d1!! to be the zeroes.
We wanted to see why !!C(5,3) = C(4,4)!!. The detour above shows that there is a simple bijection between
!!S(5,3)!! and the bit strings with 4 zeroes and 3 ones
on one hand, and between
!!S(4,4)!! and the bit strings with 3 zeroes and 4 ones
on the other hand. And of course the bijection between the two sets of bit strings is completely obvious: just exchange the zeroes and the ones.
The table below shows the complete bijection between !!S(4,4)!! and its descriptive bit strings (on the left in blue) and between !!S(5, 3)!! and its descriptive bit strings (on the right in pink) and that the two sets of bit strings are complementary. Furthermore the top portion of the table shows that the !!S(4,3)!! subsets of the two families correspond, as they should—although the correct correspondence is the reverse of the one that was displayed earlier in the article, not the suggested !!«0, a, b, c» \leftrightarrow «a+1, b+1, c+1»!! at all. Instead, in the correct table, the initial digit of the !!S(4,4)!! entry says how many zeroes appear in the !!S(5,3)!! entry, and vice versa; then the increment to the next digit says how many ones, and so forth.
!!S(4,4)!!  (bits)  (complement bits)  !!S(5,3)!! 

0 0 0 0  1 1 1 1 0 0 0  0 0 0 0 1 1 1  4 4 4 
0 0 0 1  1 1 1 0 1 0 0  0 0 0 1 0 1 1  3 4 4 
0 0 0 2  1 1 1 0 0 1 0  0 0 0 1 1 0 1  3 3 4 
0 0 0 3  1 1 1 0 0 0 1  0 0 0 1 1 1 0  3 3 3 
0 0 1 1  1 1 0 1 1 0 0  0 0 1 0 0 1 1  2 4 4 
0 0 1 2  1 1 0 1 0 1 0  0 0 1 0 1 0 1  2 3 4 
0 0 1 3  1 1 0 1 0 0 1  0 0 1 0 1 1 0  2 3 3 
0 0 2 2  1 1 0 0 1 1 0  0 0 1 1 0 0 1  2 2 4 
0 0 2 3  1 1 0 0 1 0 1  0 0 1 1 0 1 0  2 2 3 
0 0 3 3  1 1 0 0 0 1 1  0 0 1 1 1 0 0  2 2 2 
0 1 1 1  1 0 1 1 1 0 0  0 1 0 0 0 1 1  1 4 4 
0 1 1 2  1 0 1 1 0 1 0  0 1 0 0 1 0 1  1 3 4 
0 1 1 3  1 0 1 1 0 0 1  0 1 0 0 1 1 0  1 3 3 
0 1 2 2  1 0 1 0 1 1 0  0 1 0 1 0 0 1  1 2 4 
0 1 2 3  1 0 1 0 1 0 1  0 1 0 1 0 1 0  1 2 3 
0 1 3 3  1 0 1 0 0 1 1  0 1 0 1 1 0 0  1 2 2 
0 2 2 2  1 0 0 1 1 1 0  0 1 1 0 0 0 1  1 1 4 
0 2 2 3  1 0 0 1 1 0 1  0 1 1 0 0 1 0  1 1 3 
0 2 3 3  1 0 0 1 0 1 1  0 1 1 0 1 0 0  1 1 2 
0 3 3 3  1 0 0 0 1 1 1  0 1 1 1 0 0 0  1 1 1 
1 1 1 1  0 1 1 1 1 0 0  1 0 0 0 0 1 1  0 4 4 
1 1 1 2  0 1 1 1 0 1 0  1 0 0 0 1 0 1  0 3 4 
1 1 1 3  0 1 1 1 0 0 1  1 0 0 0 1 1 0  0 3 3 
1 1 2 2  0 1 1 0 1 1 0  1 0 0 1 0 0 1  0 2 4 
1 1 2 3  0 1 1 0 1 0 1  1 0 0 1 0 1 0  0 2 3 
1 1 3 3  0 1 1 0 0 1 1  1 0 0 1 1 0 0  0 2 2 
1 2 2 2  0 1 0 1 1 1 0  1 0 1 0 0 0 1  0 1 4 
1 2 2 3  0 1 0 1 1 0 1  1 0 1 0 0 1 0  0 1 3 
1 2 3 3  0 1 0 1 0 1 1  1 0 1 0 1 0 0  0 1 2 
1 3 3 3  0 1 0 0 1 1 1  1 0 1 1 0 0 0  0 1 1 
2 2 2 2  0 0 1 1 1 1 0  1 1 0 0 0 0 1  0 0 4 
2 2 2 3  0 0 1 1 1 0 1  1 1 0 0 0 1 0  0 0 3 
2 2 3 3  0 0 1 1 0 1 1  1 1 0 0 1 0 0  0 0 2 
2 3 3 3  0 0 1 0 1 1 1  1 1 0 1 0 0 0  0 0 1 
3 3 3 3  0 0 0 1 1 1 1  1 1 1 0 0 0 0  0 0 0 
Observe that since !!C(d,n) = \binom{n+d1}{d1} = \binom{n+d1}{n} = C(n+1, d1)!! we have in general that !!C(d,n) = C(n+1, d1)!!, which may be surprising. One might have guessed that since !!C(5,3) = C(4,4)!!, the relation was !!C(d,n) = C(d+1, n1)!! and that !!S(d,n)!! would have the same structure as !!S(d+1, n1)!!, but it isn't so. The two arguments exchange roles. Following the same path, we can identify many similar ‘coincidences’. For example, there is a simple bijection between the original set of 715 puzzles, which was !!S(10,4)!!, and !!S(5,9)!!, the set of nondecreasing sequences of !!0\ldots 4!! of length !!9!!.
[ Thanks to Bence Kodaj for a correction. ]
[ Addendum 20170829: Conway and Guy, in The Book of Numbers, describe the same bijection, but a little differently; see their discussion of the Sweet Seventeen deck on pages 70–71. ]
[ Addendum 20171015: More about this, using Burnside's lemma. ]
[Other articles in category /math] permanent link
Tue, 31 Jan 2017Below, One Liberty Place, the secondtallest building in my home city of Philadelphia. (Completed 1987, height 288 meters.)
Below, Zhongtian International Mansion at Fortune Plaza, the tallest building in Ürümqi, capital city of Xinjiang in northwest China.
(Completed 2007, height 230 meters.)
[ Addendum: Perhaps I should mention that One Liberty Place is itself widely seen as a knockoff of the much more graceful and elegant Chrysler Building in New York City. (Completed 1930, height 319 meters.) ]
[ Addendum: I brought this to the attention of GroJLart, the foulmouthed architecture blogger who knows everything, absolutely everything, about Philadelphia buildings, and he said “Thanks. I wrote an article on the same subject in 2011”. Of course. ]
[Other articles in category /misc] permanent link
Mon, 30 Jan 2017
Digit symbols in the Parshvanatha magic square
In last month's article about the magic square at the Parshvanatha temple, shown at right, I said:
It has come to my attention that the digit symbols in the magic square are not too different from the current forms of the digit symbols in the Gujarati script. The temple is not very close to Gujarat or to the area in which Gujarati is common, so I guess that the digit symbols in Indian languages have evolved in the past thousand years, with the Gujarati versions remaining closest to the ancient forms, or else perhaps Gujarati was spoken more widely a thousand years ago. I would be interested to hear about this from someone who knows.
Shreevatsa R. replied in detail, and his reply was so excellent that, finding no way to improve it by adding or taking away, I begged his permission to republish it without change, which he generously granted.
Am sending this email to say:
The Parshvanatha temple is located in the current state of Madhya Pradesh. Here is the location of the temple within a map of the state:
And here you can see that the above state of Madhya Pradesh (14 in the image below) is adjacent to the state of Gujarat (7):
The states of India are (sort of) organized along linguistic lines, and neighbouring states often have overlap or similarities in their languages. So a priori it shouldn't be too surprising if the language is that of a neighbouring state.
But, as you rightly say, the location of the Parshvanatha temple is actually quite far from the state (7) where Gujarat is spoken; it's closer to 27 in the above map (state named Uttar Pradesh).
Well, the Parshvanatha temple is believed to have been built "during the reign of the Chandela king Dhanga", and the Chandela kings were feudatories (though just beginning to assert sovereignty at the time) of the GurjaraPratihara kings, and "Gurjara" is where the name of the language of "Gujarati" comes from. So it's possible that they used the "official" language of the reigning kings, as with colonies. In fact the green area of the GurjaraPratihara kings in this map covers the location of the Parshvanatha temple:
But actually this is not a very convincing argument, because the link between GurjaraPratiharas and modern Gujarati is not too strong (at least I couldn't find it in a few minutes on Wikipedia :P)
So moving on...
Are the numerals really similar to Gujarati numerals? These are the numbers 1 to 16 from your blog post, ordered according to the usual order:
These are the numerals in a few current Indic scripts (as linked from your blog post):
Look at the first two rows above. Perhaps because of my familiarity with Devanagari, I cannot really see any big difference between the Devanagari and Gujarati symbols except for the 9: the differences are as minor as variation between fonts. (To see how much the symbols can change because of font variation, one can go to Google Fonts' Devanagari page and Google Fonts' Gujarati page and click on one of the sample texts and enter "० १ २ ३ ४ ५ ६ ७ ८ ९" and "૦ ૧ ૨ ૩ ૪ ૫ ૬ ૭ ૮ ૯" respectively, then "Apply to all fonts". Some fonts are bad, though.)
(In fact, even the Gurmukhi and Tibetan are somewhat recognizable, for someone who can read Devanagari.)
So if we decide that the Parshvanatha temple's symbols are actually closer not to modern Gujarati but to modern Devanagari (e.g. the "3" has a tail in the temple symbols which is present in Devanagari but missing in Gujarati), then the mystery disappears: Devanagari is still the script used in the state of Madhya Pradesh (and Uttar Pradesh, etc: it's the script used for Hindi, Marathi, Nepali, Sanskrit, and many other languages).
Finally, for the complete answer, we can turn to history.
The Parshvanatha temple was built during 950 to 970 CE. Languages: Modern Gujarati dates from 1800, Middle Gujarati from ~1500 to 1800, Old Gujarati from ~1100 to 1500. So the temple is older than the earliest language called "Gujarati". (Similarly, modern Hindi is even more recent.) Turning to scripts instead: see under Brahmic scripts.
So at the time the temple was built, neither Gujarati script nor Devanagari proper existed. The article on the Gujarati script traces its origin to the Devanagari script, which itself is a descendant of Nagari script.
At right are the symbols from the Nagari script, which I think are closer in many respects to the temple symbols.
So overall, if we trace the numerals in (a subset of) the family tree of scripts:
Brahmi > Gupta > Nagari > Devanagari > Gujarati
we'll find that the symbols of the temple are somewhere between the "Nagari" and "Devanagari" forms. (Most of the temple digits are the same as in the "Nagari" example above, except for the 5 which is closer to the Devanagari form.)
BTW, your post was about the numerals, but from being able to read modern Devanagari, I can also read some of the words above the square: the first line ends with ".. putra śrī devasarmma" (...पुत्र श्री देवसर्म्म) (Devasharma, son of...), and these words have the top bar which is missing in Gujarati script.
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