Every essay — page 11
How it was found
The theory looks inevitable in retrospect and the record says otherwise. The older arguments are run here rather than recounted — and one of them still answers a question nothing since has answered.
The step nobody took for thirty-four years
Bouton's criterion is that the heap sizes exclusive-or to nothing. The 1935 theorem is that the heap Grundy values do. The exclusive-or is the same operation in both and it is his, so the whole of the intervening thirty-four years is one substitution — and run over eight games and 672 positions, the substituted criterion is exact on every one while the original is exact on Nim and nowhere else.
The picture Bouton's proof leaves behind
His argument is two closure properties of one set, and the Sprague–Grundy theorem is the same two sentences with nought replaced by a variable — checked here on five games and every value in range, with no move staying inside a class and no class failing to be reachable from above. What the argument also leaves behind is a picture in which the values descend, and that is false: 99 of 444 moves here raise a value, and none of them is in Nim.
Four thousand nine hundred regions with no name
Two positions give 256 regions and ten names cover every side of all of them. Three positions give 262,144 graphs, 110,934 genuine loopy regions — and 4,931 of those have a side that no name in the two-position vocabulary reproduces, with 3,990 of them named on one side and blank on the other. The count the earlier essay left open comes back in the affirmative.
The names are not built out of the old ones
The guess was that a three-position region's missing names would be sums of two loopy ones — on plus over, and that family. Built and tried, every pair of the six stoppers covers none of the 4,931 regions that need one, and so does every two-position stopper there is, all seventy-nine of them with small games added. Thirteen names have to be invented, and forty-eight cover the whole census against ten at two positions.
Four positions, sampled
Ten names write both sides of every loopy region of two positions, and forty-eight every region of three. Four positions are over four billion graphs and cannot be counted, but they can be drawn. Three thousand regions at each of three densities: the forty-eight names cover between 95.9 and 99.5 per cent, the thirteen names invented for three positions come back at four almost all of them, and the sparsest sample meets thirty-five sides nothing earlier reproduces — a floor of eighty-three names, and a curve that grows by accretion rather than collapse.
Each size is built from the last
At three positions the sides that needed new names were sums of nothing older: no pair of stoppers, and no two-position stopper with a small game beside it, wrote any of them. At four positions the thirteen names three positions forced are available as parts, and they change the answer. Of the fifty sides the samples met that nothing earlier names, twenty-three are sums of two earlier games — fifteen of them using a three-position name — and twenty-seven are not.
Composition at every size
Twenty-seven of the fifty new four-position sides were written by no sum of two earlier games. Sums of three write sixteen of them — seven plain finite games born after day two, nine built on the names three positions forced — and leave eleven, met seventeen times in nine thousand regions. Run the same test one size down and the story the counts told falls apart: eight of the thirteen names three positions were thought to invent are sums of up to three older parts, two of them just two finite values. Every size composes. What each invents is a residue — five, then eleven.
A machine that knew one theorem
In 1940 a machine of relays played Nim against the public at the New York World's Fair, on four rows of up to seven lamps, and is reported to have won about nine games in ten. Everything it knew was Bouton's theorem, which is three column parities and one test per row. The record is the interesting number, and it is a measurement of the visitors rather than of the machine: against a visitor choosing at random the machine wins 98.5 per cent, and nine in ten is what a visitor earns by playing perfectly once seven lamps or fewer are lit. On the board the game is usually set up on, a visitor handed the first move cannot win at all.
A current through the board
In the early 1950s Shannon and Moore built a machine that played Hex by wiring the board as a network of resistors and reading its move off the electrical potential. There is no theorem behind that rule, and on every Hex board small enough to solve it can be scored against perfect play. On boards to twelve cells it takes a winning cell on more than 98 per cent of the positions where one exists, far above chance. And it loses: every board of three rows or more it has to defend, and four by four moving first, because an opponent needs only one of the two per cent and can steer the game to it.
A circuit asked once
The Hex machine's circuit rule loses every board past two rows that it has to defend, and the strategy that holds those boards is a pairing — a partner for every cell, fixed before the game begins. So make the circuit commit: consult it once per cell on an empty board and never again. Its table answers twelve openings with four cells, and loses every board the running circuit lost. Forced to choose a whole pairing, it picks a losing one under seven of eight ways of reading its scores; the eighth finds the winning pairing of three by four by a margin of rescaling and gives up two by four for it.
A pairing is checked, not measured
The Hex machine's circuit chose pairings near the winning ones and never at them, which left a finite question: does any score of a pair of cells, computed from the board alone, have a winning pairing as its best? The obvious scores count the chains a pair shares. All four hold two by three; on three by four the plain count cannot choose between a winning pairing and a losing one, and the corrected counts choose the loser; on four by five every one loses. The reason is arithmetic — a sum will give up one chain to cover two others twice. Told which chains it missed, the count finds the diagonal pairing at one rate in three, and by then it is checking, not measuring.
The weights were not the argument
A chain count corrected by its own misses held the four-by-five Hex board with the diagonal pairing, the one pairing there with a sentence behind it, and the hope was that its weights were the sentence in numbers. They are not. One rate in twelve holds the board and one start in twenty; the weights it ends on survive five per cent of noise and not twenty; and weighting exactly the chains the argument relies on finds no winning pairing at all. Told which pairing to prefer, a measurement reaches any of the three in a dozen corrections. What chain weights can do is rule a pairing out, and on three by four they rule out one that wins.
The teacher's game
A machine that weighs Across's chains could be taught every winning Hex pairing on four by five, and on three by four it could never be taught the one pairing another winner covers chain by chain. Whether anything else could hide from it — a winner covered not by one rival but by a mixture of several — is a question about a game between a teacher choosing weights and a rival choosing pairings, and Jean Ville's 1938 theorem of the alternative, written for von Neumann's games, answers it in general. On five by six and six by seven every winner is taught in sixteen corrections or fewer, and nothing hides at all.
The rows that cancel
Every one of Dawson's diagrams that failed to be the sum of its rows had an even number of rows, and twenty-one with an odd number all added. One file past the edge of that sweep, four files beside three beside one fails: three rows, worth ∗ against ∗3 by its rows. What the parity was tracking is two deletions a sum allows — a row worth nought, and two identical rows — which the compulsory board turns out to allow as well. Each of 44 diagrams is worth exactly what is left after them, and in the fifty-diagram sweep that remainder happened to have as many rows, odd or even, as the diagram it came from.
Two losers that average to a winner
On Hex boards to 6 × 7, a machine that weighs the opponent's winning sets could be taught every winning pairing except one, which another single winner covered. Ville's alternative allowed a second way to be out of reach — covered only by a mixture — and the switching game on points, where winners are many, is where it turns up. None in all graphs of seven points or in 4,000 of eight; 35 covers at nine and ten points. Every one is the even average of two losing pairings, and on six graphs Short wins and no weighting can teach the machine any winning pairing at all.
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