Epsilon

Years ago, when I taught calculus, I’d usually include the following extra credit question on the first exam: “In the small box, write a good value for \varepsilon. A valid answer gets 4 points; the smallest answer in the class will get 5 points.” It was basically free extra credit… any positive number would work, but it was a (hopefully) fun way for students to be a little competitive in coming up with small positive numbers, which is the intuitive meaning of \varepsilon in mathematics. (I still remember when my high school math teacher was giving me directions to a restaurant, concluding “You’ll know you’re within \varepsilon of the restaurant when you see the signs for Such-and-Such Mall.”)

Most students volunteered something like 0.0000001 or 10^{-9999999999999999}. Except for one particularly gutsy student who wrote, “The probability that Dr. Q gets a date on Friday night.” For sheer nerve, he got the 5 points that year.

Also getting 5 points that year was the best answer of the class: “Let x be the smallest answer that anyone else wrote. Then \varepsilon = x/2.” That was especially clever from a calculus student, as that’s the essence of a fairly common technique when writing proofs in real analysis.

Something we’ve lost

A quote from George Will, from the extended commentary of Ken Burns’ excellent series on the Civil War.

How the common men and women of [the Civil War era] used the English language at that time is worth pondering. I think the normally literate 19th century American had as his entertainment popular novels: Balzac, Dickens, George Eliot. They didn’t turn on the television; they weren’t in that passive receiving mode. They were in the active mode, which reading is, and popular entertainment then was popular novels. Dickens: not bad. Also, they didn’t pick up the phone when they wanted to communicate. They wrote letters. They had the discipline of expressing themselves in complete sentences and rounded paragraphs. And that’s something we’ve lost.