Ancient geometry: abstract and applied
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The three classical problems
In addition to proving mathematical theorems, ancient mathematicians constructed various geometrical objects. Euclid arbitrarily restricted the tools of construction to a straightedge (an unmarked ruler) and a compass. The restriction made three problems of particular interest (to double a cube, to trisect an arbitrary angle, and to square a circle) very difficult—in fact, impossible. Various methods of construction using other means were devised in the classical period, and efforts, always unsuccessful, using straightedge and compass persisted for the next 2,000 years. In 1837 the French mathematician Pierre Laurent Wantzel proved that doubling the cube and trisecting the angle are impossible, and in 1880 the German mathematician Ferdinand von Lindemann showed that squaring the circle is impossible, as a consequence of his proof that π is a transcendental number.
Doubling the cube
The Vedic scriptures made the cube the most advisable form of altar for anyone who wanted to supplicate in the same place twice. The rules of ritual required that the altar for the second plea have the same shape but twice the volume of the first. If the sides of the original and derived altars are a and b, respectively, then b3 = 2a3. The problem came to the Greeks together with its ceremonial content. An oracle disclosed that the citizens of Delos could free themselves of a plague merely by replacing an existing altar by one twice its size. The Delians applied to Plato. He replied that the oracle did not mean that the gods wanted a larger altar but that they had intended “to shame the Greeks for their neglect of mathematics and their contempt for geometry.” With this blend of Vedic practice, Greek myth, and academic manipulation, the problem of the duplication of the cube took a leading place in the formation of Greek geometry.
Hippocrates of Chios, who wrote an early Elements about 450 bce, took the first steps in cracking the altar problem. He reduced the duplication to finding two mean proportionals between 1 and 2, that is, to finding lines x and y in the ratio 1:x = x:y = y:2. After the intervention of the Delian oracle, several geometers around Plato’s Academy found complicated ways of generating mean proportionals.
A few generations later, Eratosthenes of Cyrene (c. 276–c. 194 bce) devised a simple instrument with moving parts that could produce approximate mean proportionals.
Trisecting the angle
The Egyptians told time at night by the rising of 12 asterisms (constellations), each requiring on average two hours to rise. In order to obtain more convenient intervals, the Egyptians subdivided each of their asterisms into three parts, or decans. That presented the problem of trisection. It is not known whether the second celebrated problem of archaic Greek geometry, the trisection of any given angle, arose from the difficulty of the decan, but it is likely that it came from some problem in angular measure.
Several geometers of Plato’s time tried their hands at trisection. Although no one succeeded in finding a solution with straightedge and compass, they did succeed with a mechanical device and by a trick. The mechanical device, perhaps never built, creates what the ancient geometers called a quadratrix. Invented by a geometer known as Hippias of Elis (flourished 5th century bce), the quadratrix is a curve traced by the point of intersection between two moving lines, one rotating uniformly through a right angle, the other gliding uniformly parallel to itself. (See Sidebar: Trisecting the Angle: The Quadratrix of Hippias.)
The trick for trisection is an application of what the Greeks called neusis, a maneuvering of a measured length into a special position to complete a geometrical figure. A late version of its use, ascribed to Archimedes (c. 285–212/211 bce), exemplifies the method of angle trisection. (See Sidebar: Trisecting the Angle: Archimedes’ Method.)
Squaring the circle
The pre-Euclidean Greek geometers transformed the practical problem of determining the area of a circle into a tool of discovery. Three approaches can be distinguished: Hippocrates’ dodge of substituting one problem for another; the application of a mechanical instrument, as in Hippias’s device for trisecting the angle; and the technique that proved the most fruitful, the closer and closer approximation to an unknown magnitude difficult to study (e.g., the area of a circle) by a series of known magnitudes easier to study (e.g., areas of polygons)—a technique known in modern times as the “method of exhaustion” and attributed by its greatest practitioner, Archimedes, to Plato’s student Eudoxus of Cnidus (c. 408–c. 355 bce).
While not able to square the circle, Hippocrates did demonstrate the quadratures of lunes; that is, he showed that the area between two intersecting circular arcs could be expressed exactly as a rectilinear area and so raised the expectation that the circle itself could be treated similarly. (See Sidebar: Quadrature of the Lune.) A contemporary of Hippias’s discovered that the quadratrix could be used to almost rectify circles. These were the substitution and mechanical approaches.
The method of exhaustion as developed by Eudoxus approximates a curve or surface by using polygons with calculable perimeters and areas. As the number of sides of a regular polygon inscribed in a circle increases indefinitely, its perimeter and area “exhaust,” or take up, the circumference and area of the circle to within any assignable error of length or area, however small. In Archimedes’ usage, the method of exhaustion produced upper and lower bounds for the value of π, the ratio of any circle’s circumference to its diameter. This he accomplished by inscribing a polygon within a circle, and circumscribing a polygon around it as well, thereby bounding the circle’s circumference between the polygons’ calculable perimeters. He used polygons with 96 sides and thus bound π between 310/71 and 31/7.
Idealization and proof
The last great Platonist and Euclidean commentator of antiquity, Proclus (c. 410–485 ce), attributed to the inexhaustible Thales the discovery of the far-from-obvious proposition that even apparently obvious propositions need proof. Proclus referred especially to the theorem, known in the Middle Ages as the Bridge of Asses, that in an isosceles triangle the angles opposite the equal sides are equal. The theorem may have earned its nickname from the Euclidean figure or from the commonsense notion that only an ass would require proof of so obvious a statement. (See Sidebar: The Bridge of Asses.)
The ancient Greek geometers soon followed Thales over the Bridge of Asses. In the 5th century bce the philosopher-mathematician Democritus (c. 460–c. 370 bce) declared that his geometry excelled all the knowledge of the Egyptian rope pullers because he could prove what he claimed. By the time of Plato, geometers customarily proved their propositions. Their compulsion and the multiplication of theorems it produced fit perfectly with the endless questioning of Socrates and the uncompromising logic of Aristotle. Perhaps the origin, and certainly the exercise, of the peculiarly Greek method of mathematical proof should be sought in the same social setting that gave rise to the practice of philosophy—that is, the Greek polis. There citizens learned the skills of a governing class, and the wealthier among them enjoyed the leisure to engage their minds as they pleased, however useless the result, while slaves attended to the necessities of life. Greek society could support the transformation of geometry from a practical art to a deductive science. Despite its rigour, however, Greek geometry does not satisfy the demands of the modern systematist. Euclid himself sometimes appeals to inferences drawn from an intuitive grasp of concepts such as point and line or inside and outside, uses superposition, and so on. It took more than 2,000 years to purge the Elements of what pure deductivists deemed imperfections.
The Euclidean synthesis
Euclid, in keeping with the self-conscious logic of Aristotle, began the first of his 13 books of the Elements with sets of definitions (“a line is breadthless length”), common notions (“the whole is greater than the part”), and axioms, or postulates (“all right angles are equal”). Of this preliminary matter, the fifth and last postulate, which states a sufficient condition that two straight lines meet if sufficiently extended, has received by far the greatest attention. In effect it defines parallelism. Many later geometers tried to prove the fifth postulate using other parts of the Elements. Euclid saw farther, for coherent geometries (known as non-Euclidean geometries) can be produced by replacing the fifth postulate with other postulates that contradict Euclid’s choice.
The first six books contain most of what Euclid delivers about plane geometry. Book I presents many propositions doubtless discovered by his predecessors, from Thales’ equality of the angles opposite the equal sides of an isosceles triangle to the Pythagorean theorem, with which the book effectively ends. (See Sidebar: Euclid’s Windmill.)
Book VI applies the theory of proportion from Book V to similar figures and presents the geometrical solution to quadratic equations. As usual, some of it is older than Euclid. Books VII–X, which concern various sorts of numbers, especially primes, and various sorts of ratios, are seldom studied now, despite the importance of the masterful Book X, with its elaborate classification of incommensurable magnitudes, to the later development of Greek geometry. (See Sidebar: Incommensurables.)
Books XI–XIII deal with solids: XI contains theorems about the intersection of planes and of lines and planes and theorems about the volumes of parallelepipeds (solids with parallel parallelograms as opposite faces); XII applies the method of exhaustion introduced by Eudoxus to the volumes of solid figures, including the sphere; XIII, a three-dimensional analogue to Book IV, describes the Platonic solids. Among the jewels in Book XII is a proof of the recipe used by the Egyptians for the volume of a pyramid.
Gnomonics and the cone
During its daily course above the horizon the Sun appears to describe a circular arc. Supplying in his mind’s eye the missing portion of the daily circle, the Greek astronomer could imagine that his real eye was at the apex of a cone, the surface of which was defined by the Sun’s rays at different times of the day and the base of which was defined by the Sun’s apparent diurnal course. Our astronomer, using the pointer of a sundial, known as a gnomon, as his eye, would generate a second, shadow cone spreading downward. The intersection of this second cone with a horizontal surface, such as the face of a sundial, would give the trace of the Sun’s image (or shadow) during the day as a plane section of a cone. (The possible intersections of a plane with a cone, known as the conic sections, are the circle, ellipse, point, straight line, parabola, and hyperbola.)
However, the doxographers ascribe the discovery of conic sections to a student of Eudoxus’s, Menaechmus (mid-4th century bce), who used them to solve the problem of duplicating the cube. His restricted approach to conics—he worked with only right circular cones and made his sections at right angles to one of the straight lines composing their surfaces—was standard down to Archimedes’ era. Euclid adopted Menaechmus’s approach in his lost book on conics, and Archimedes followed suit. Doubtless, however, both knew that all the conics can be obtained from the same right cone by allowing the section at any angle.
The reason that Euclid’s treatise on conics perished is that Apollonius of Perga (c. 262–c. 190 bce) did to it what Euclid had done to the geometry of Plato’s time. Apollonius reproduced known results much more generally and discovered many new properties of the figures. He first proved that all conics are sections of any circular cone, right or oblique. Apollonius introduced the terms ellipse, hyperbola, and parabola for curves produced by intersecting a circular cone with a plane at an angle less than, greater than, and equal to, respectively, the opening angle of the cone.
