A Late Solution

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When the 15th-century Benedictine abbot Johannes Trithemius died in 1516, he left behind a three-volume work that was ostensibly about magic — specifically, how to use spirits to send secret messages over distances. Only when the Steganographia and its key were published in 1606 did it become clear that it was really a book of ciphers — the “incantations” were encrypted instructions for concealing secret messages in letters sent between correspondents.

Books I and II were now plain enough, but Book III remained mysterious — it was shorter than the first two books, and its workings were not mentioned in the key that explained the ciphers in those volumes. Scholars began to conclude that it was simply what it appeared to be, a book on the occult, with no hidden content. Amazingly, nearly 400 years would go by before Book III gave up its secrets — Jim Reeds of AT&T Labs finally deciphered the mysterious codes in the third volume in 1998.

It turned out to be still more material on cryptography. But it’s still not clear why Trithemius had couched this third book in magical language. Did he think that his subject was inherently magical, or was he simply trying to enliven a tedious subject? We’ll probably never know. “Trithemius’s use of angel language might … be a rhetorical strategy to engage the reader’s interest,” Reeds writes. “If so, he was vastly successful, even if he completely miscalculated how his book would be received.”

(Jim Reeds, “Solved: The Ciphers in Book III of Trithemius’s Steganographia,” Cryptologia 22:4 (October 1998), 291-317.)

In a Word

arrident
adj. pleasant

agrised
adj. terrified

presentific
adj. causing something to be present in the mind

cacology
n. a bad choice of words

Shortly after physicist Anthony French joined the MIT faculty in 1962, he was asked to teach an introductory mechanics course to hundreds of freshmen.

“I wanted to be cautious about giving it a name,” he said. “So I called it, blandly, ‘Physics: A New Introductory Course.’

“I couldn’t imagine how I could have been so stupid. The students read that as ‘PANIC’ … it was known forever afterwards as the PANIC course.”

The Feynman Sprinkler

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In the early 1940s a curious question began to circulate among the members of the Princeton physics department. An ordinary lawn sprinkler like the one shown here would turn clockwise (in the direction of the long arrow) as its jets ejected water (short arrows). If you reversed this — that is, if you submerged the sprinkler in a tank of water and induced the jets to suck in the fluid — would the sprinkler turn in the opposite direction?

The problem is associated with Richard Feynman, who was a grad student at the time (and who destroyed a glass container in the university’s cyclotron laboratory trying to find the answer).

In fact Ernst Mach had first asked the question in an 1883 textbook. The answer, briefly, is no: The submerged sprinkler doesn’t turn counterclockwise because counterbalancing forces at the back of the nozzle result in no net torque. Experiments tend to bear this out, although in some cases the sprinkler turns slightly counterclockwise, perhaps due to the formation of a vortex within the sprinkler body.

Math Notes

honsberger howler

I don’t know whether this is contrived or whether a student offered it on an actual exam — Ed Barbeau presented “this little beauty of a howler” in the January 2002 College Mathematics Journal, citing Ross Honsberger of the University of Waterloo in Ontario.

Music of the Spheres

In his Harmonices Mundi of 1619, Johannes Kepler wrote, “The heavenly motions are nothing but a continuous song for several voices, to be perceived by the intellect, not by the ear; a music which, through discordant tensions, through syncopations and cadenzas as it were, progresses toward certain pre-designed six-voiced cadences, and thereby sets landmarks in the immeasurable flow of time.” In 1979 Yale geologist John Rodgers and musician Willie Ruff scaled up the frequencies of the planetary orbits into the range of human hearing so that Kepler’s “harmony of the world” could become audible:

Mercury, as the innermost planet, is the fastest and the highest pitched. It has a very eccentric orbit (as planets go), which it traverses in 88 days; its song is therefore a fast whistle, going from the E above the piano (e′′′′′) down more than an octave to about C# (c#′′′′) and back, in a little over a second. Venus and Earth, in contrast, have nearly circular orbits. Venus’s range is only about a quarter tone, near the E next above the treble staff (e′′′); Earth’s is about a half tone, from G (g′′) to G# at the top of that staff. … Next out from Earth is Mars, again with an eccentric orbit … it ranges from the C above middle C (c′′) down to about F# (f#′) and back, in nearly 10 seconds. The distance from Mars to Jupiter is much greater than that between the inner planets … and Jupiter’s song is much deeper, in the baritone or bass, and much slower. It covers a minor third, from D to B (D to B1) just below the bass staff. Still farther out and still lower is Saturn, only a little more than a deep growl, in which a good ear can sometimes hear the individual vibrations. Its range is a major third, from B to G (B2 to G2), the B at the top being just an octave below the B at the bottom of Jupiter’s range. Thus the two planets together define a major triad, and it may well have been this concord … that made Kepler certain he had cracked the code and discovered the secret of the celestial harmony.

(The outer planets, discovered after Kepler’s time, are represented here with rhythmic beats.) “The Earth sings Mi, Fa, Mi,” Kepler wrote. “You may infer even from the syllables that in this our home misery and famine hold sway.”

(John Rodgers and Willie Ruff, “Kepler’s Harmony of the World: A Realization for the Ear,” American Scientist 67:3 [May-June 1979], 286-292.)

Dues Process

A curious puzzle by Dartmouth mathematician Peter Winkler: You’ve just joined the Coin Flippers of America, and fittingly the amount of your dues will be decided by chance. You’ll name a head-tail sequence of length 5, and then a coin will be flipped until that sequence appears in five consecutive flips. Your dues will be the total number of flips in U.S. dollars; for instance, if you choose HHHHH and it takes 36 flips to produce a run of five heads, then your annual dues will be $36. What sequence should you pick?

At first it seems that it shouldn’t matter — any fixed sequence should have the probability (1/2)5, or 1/32. But “Not so fast,” Winkler writes. “Overlapping causes problems.” It is true that in an infinite sequence of random flips, the average distance between one occurrence and the next of any fixed sequence is 1/32. But if you choose HHHHH (for example), one occurrence of this outcome gives a huge head start to the next — if the next flip is a tail, then you’re starting over cleanly, but if it’s a head then you’ve already produced the next occurrence.

“If X is the average time needed to get HHHHH starting fresh, the average of 1 + X and 1 is 32,” Winkler writes. “Solving for X yields a startlingly high 62 flips.” To get your expected dues down to $32, you need to pick a sequence where this “head start” effect doesn’t obtain. There are 10 such sequences; one is HHHTT.

(Peter Winkler, “Coin Flipping,” Communications of the ACM 56:11 [November 2013], 120.)

Succinct

An observation by Oxford University mathematician Nick Trefethen:

A student leaves university in America with a transcript full of information. Even with grade inflation, there are thirty marks of A or A- or B+ or B to look at, each one attached to a different course like Advanced Calculus or 20th Century Philosophy or Introduction to Economics. Grade-point averages are constructed from these transcripts and reported to three digits of accuracy.

An Oxford graduate finishes with no transcript, just a degree result which may be a First, a II.1, a II.2, a Third, a Pass, or a Fail. Failures are more or less nonexistent, and the numbers last year [2000] for the other degrees were 691, 1925, 374, 39, and 3, respectively. The corresponding probabilities are 23%, 63%, 12%, 1%, and 0.1%.

If you add up these probabilities times their base 2 logarithms, all times minus one, you find out how much information there is in an Oxford degree. The result is: 1.37 bits of information.

(From Trefethen’s Index Cards, 2011.)

The Frog Battery

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Early experimenters in electricity sometimes dealt in frogs’ thighs. Dissecting a frog creates an “injury potential” in its muscles, which can then be arranged in series to produce a kind of biological battery. Carlo Matteucci strung together 12 to 14 half-thighs to make a “frog battery” strong enough to decompose potassium iodide; he was able to induce some effect even with living frogs.

Matteucci did similar work with eel, pigeon, and rabbit batteries. In 1803 Giovanni Aldini used a galvanoscope made of frogs to detect current in a circuit that ran from an ox’s tongue to its ear through Aldini’s own body. The mechanisms underlying these results weren’t always clearly understood, but they formed important early strides in bioelectrochemistry.