Imagine a lottery with 1,000 tickets.
It’s rational to believe that one ticket will win.
But it’s also rational to believe that the first ticket will not win—nor the second, nor the third, and so on.
And isn’t that equivalent to believing that no ticket will win?
Here are two envelopes. One contains twice as much money as the other. You must choose one, and then consider whether to keep it or exchange it for mine. Which should you do?
It would seem advantageous to switch: Depending on which envelope you started with, you’ll either lose a little or gain a lot. (If your unopened envelope contains $10, for example, the other must contain $5 or $20.)
So we trade envelopes and I offer you the same deal. But now the same reasoning applies, so it makes sense to trade again. Indeed, it seems reasonable to keep exchanging envelopes forever, without ever opening one. How can this be?
-40° Celsius = -40° Fahrenheit
407 = 43 + 03 + 73
142857 is a cyclic number — you can find its multiples simply by rotating its digits:
Also: 1428572 = 20408122499, and 20408 + 122449 = 142857.
We’ve had some pretty smart presidents. James Garfield devised this proof of the Pythagorean theorem in 1876, while serving in the House of Representatives:
The area of the trapezoid above is
The area of each green triangle is
And the yellow triangle is
So:
Suppose we hold an election with three candidates, X, Y, and Z. And suppose the voters fall into three groups:
Group 1 prefers, in order, X, Y, Z
Group 2 prefers, in order, Y, Z, X
Group 3 prefers, in order, Z, X, Y
Now, if Candidate X wins, his opponents can rightly object that a majority of voters would have preferred Candidate Z. And corresponding arguments can be made against the other candidates. So even though we’ve held a fair election, it’s impossible to establish majority rule.
The Marquis de Condorcet noted this oddity in the 1700s; it’s sometimes known as Condorcet’s paradox.
32 – 23 = 3 – 2
Georg Wilhelm Richmann was attending a meeting at the St. Petersburg Academy of Sciences in August 1753 when he heard thunder. He ran home with another man, hoping to record how an insulated rod responded to an electrical storm.
He succeeded, in a way: A ball of lightning leapt from the rod and struck Richmann in the head, killing him instantly and knocking his companion unconscious. That makes Richmann the first person in history to die while conducting electrical experiments.
Joseph Priestley wrote, “It is not given to every electrician to die in so glorious a manner as the justly envied Richmann.” That’s one way to look at it.