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Preface for Teachers
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Introduction to Orientability: A Fable
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The Math of Non-Orientable Surfaces
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Surface and Manifold
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Non-Orientable Surface
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Orientable Surfaces: Sphere, Torus
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Möbius Band
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Klein Bottle
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Real Projective Plane
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And Beyond: 3-Manifolds
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What Would it Be Like to Live on a...?
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Homework Exercises about Math
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The History and Philosophy of Non-Orientability
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The Original Topological Tyrant
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Klein Bottles and Kant
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Homework Exercises about History and Philosophy
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Literature
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"The No-Sided Professor"
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"A Subway Named Moebius"
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Extra Short Stories
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The Bald Soprano
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The Gift
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Homework Exercises about Literature
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Music
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Bach and Schoenberg
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The Moebius Strip Tease
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If You're Musically Inclined...
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Homework Exercises about Music
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Other Topics
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Knit Hats and Scarves
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Fun Toys on the Internet
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Non-Orientable Housing
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The Marvelous Moebius Molecule
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Moebius Mistakes
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Non-Orientable Surfaces in Art
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Homework Exercises on These Topics
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Bibliography
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August Ferdinand Moebius: The Original Topological
Tyrant
Ferdi, as we shall henceforth call him in affection, was an only child
born in a town in Saxony whose name is unpronounceable in our language,
or almost. Saxony went on to become part of Germany, but the name of Ferdi’s
home town is still very hard to say. Try it yourself: “Schulpforta.” That’s
a good approximation. “Schulpforta, Saxony.” It has a certain ring to it.
Ferdi stayed at home in the unpronounceable town with his mother (who
was a descendant of that original theological tyrant, Martin Luther) until
he was sent to the College of Schulpforta (shew!) in 1803. After graduation,
he started studies at the University of Leipzig.
Like so many families, not only Saxonian ones, Ferdi’s mom and dad wanted
him to be a lawyer. “Nope,” said Ferdi. “It is the numbers that numb me!”
He took up the studies of mathematics, astronomy, and physics.
In 1813, Ferdi trucked it over to Gottingen, a city that is a little
easier to say. There, he studied with Gauss,
who was director of the Observatory in Gottingen but also, well, the greatest
mathematician of the day. Ferdi’s dissertation was called The Occultation
of Fixed Stars. (This has nothing to do with witches.)
Ferdi dodged the army, and was appointed to an “Extraordinary Professorship”
in Leipzig. (Funny how those things worked back then...). Unfortunately,
Ferdi was not a very entertaining or scintillating lecturer, and had to
advertise (really) and offer his courses free of charge.
To make a long story short, Ferdi then, between the years of 1816 and
1827:
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got passed over for the chair of the mathematics department at Leipzig.
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moved sullenly to the University of Jena, where they gave him the full
professorship he deserved.
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held the title of “Observer” at the “Observatory” in Leipzig
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got hitched
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passed up the chance to review Grassmann’s
Die lineale Ausdehnundslehre, ein neuer Zweig der Mathematik, which
contained lots of findings similar to Ferdi’s own. (Graussman went on to
submit the paper for a prize, and won.)
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wrote secondary works on astronomy on the subjects of the “occulations
of the planets, principles of astronomy, and celestial mechanics.”
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published Der barycentrische Calkul, a classic on analytical geometry,
Uber eine besondere Art von Umkehrung der Reihen, a paper which
introduced the Moebius function, and Lehrbuch der Statik, a “geometric
treatment of statics.”
It was only after old Ferdi’s death in 1868 that the reason for his current
acclaim was unearthed. Ferdi had been working to win a contest on polyhedra
theory given by the Academie des Sciences, and in a memoir post-humously
presented to that scientific society, discussed the now-famous Moebius
strip.
So it goes.
Philosophy: Klein Bottles and
Kant
Immanuel Kant was a German philosopher in the eighteenth century, a man
so intent on engaging in and reforming the current debates of his day,
that he demanded there be a Copernican Revolution in philosophy. Just as
the astronomer Copernicus proclaimed that the earth (and planets) revolved
around the sun, Kant proclaimed the same thing in the language of philosophy:
“Our understandings of what the outside world looks like,” Kant seemed
to tell us, “depend on the ‘position’ and ‘movement’ of our own thoughts!”
In Kant’s field in that day, there were two schools battling to claim
they had discovered the best way of understanding this outside world. The
Rationalists held reason sacred, claiming our human knowledge unquestionable.
The Empiricists disagreed: “Knowledge comes from experience, not from ourselves,”
they said.
Kant believed neither school of thought, but set out on his own. He
thought the key to resolving the whole problem might be to change the way
we look at it: instead of asking how we can “bring ourselves” to understand
the world, to ask instead: “How does the world come to be understood by
us?” He began answering this question in his most well-known work: A Critique
of Pure Reason.
Once
we have achived some sort of knowledge, Kant says, we can ask how this
becomes possible. He separates the judgements we make about our world into
two classes. A priori judgements are universal; they are based on
internal human reason and not in experience. A posteriori judgments
are more limited; they come from very specific interactions we have with
the world.
Here we come to Kant’s relevance to our study of mathematics. Kant believed
that forms of mathematics like arithmetic and geometry comprise sorts of
a priori judgements. We know that 2 and 2 make four: this is grounded
in our reason. Facts like these apply to many experiences we have in the
world, but do not come from these experiences. They come from us, Kant
says.
We understand the spatial and mathematical world we live in by these
a priori judgements, says Kant. This special framework of
judgements, rooted in our human intuition, is what helps us relate the
facts we know about things (like 2 + 2 = 4) to the things themselves (like
a square). Kant called space and time “pure forms of sensible intuition”
in his Critique. They are absolute, and derived from our very minds.
Kant had made a solid case, up until now. “But what about the things
we can’t perceive?” you may ask. “How do they even exist under this
system Kant has set up?”
And it is a very good question.
If you will recall our original discussion of orientability, you may
remember that a right handed cut-out may “flip over” into 3-space to cover
a congruent left-handed handprint. Our three-dimensional minds, equipped
with their fixed a priori judgements about space and time, can handle this
fine. But what about the three-dimensional equivalent of a right handprint?
We cannot merely “flip this over” in the world we know to make it “cover”
a 3D “left” handprint. In fact, what do “left” and “right” really mean
if something has no other-handed counterpart?
All these problems are solved when we let go of our a priori
judgements about time and space. This is what angered the followers of
Kant so. They needed static intuition-based judgements to base any description
of the world in-- yet the fourth dimension frequently evades this set of
judgements.
(As you and I know, the addition of the fourth dimension into our thinking
can produce its own kind of “Copernican Revolution” in our minds.)
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This section written by EEC.
The picture of Moebius come from St. Andrew's MacTutor
project. Kant's picture comes from The
Proceedings of the Friesian School, Fourth Series.
For further reading, look at the following books:
Banchoff, Thomas F. Beyond the Third Dimension. New
York: Scientific American Library, 1996.
Fauvel, John, et al., eds. Moebius and His Band.
Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993.
On the web, you can look at the following sites:
MacTutor's
biography of Moebius.
An introduction to Kant
from the Proceedings of the Friesian School, Fourth Series.
For more information on sources and other ideas for further reading,
see the bibliography. |