Kernels of critical graph components

This post is motivated by G(N,p), the classical Erdos-Renyi random graph, specifically its critical window, when p=p(N)=\frac{1}{N}(1+\lambda N^{-1/3}).

We start with the following observation, which makes no restriction on p. Suppose a component of G(N,p) is a tree. Then, the graph geometry of this component is that of a uniform random tree on the appropriate number of vertices. This is deliberately informal. To be formal, we’d have to say “condition on a particular subset of vertices forming a tree-component” and so on. But the formality is broadly irrelevant, because at the level of metric scaling limits, if we want to describe the structure of a tree component, it doesn’t matter whether it has \log N or \frac{1}{7}N vertices, because in both cases the tree structure is uniform. The only thing that changes is the scaling factor.

In general, when V vertices form a connected component of a graph with E edges, we define the excess to be E-V+1. So the excess is non-negative, and is zero precisely when the component is a tree. I’m reluctant to say that the excess counts the number of cycles in the component, but certainly it quantifies the amount of cyclic structure present. We will sometimes, in a mild abuse of notation, talk about excess edges. But note that for a connected component with positive excess, there is a priori no way to select which edges would be the excess edges. In a graph process, or when there is some underlying exploration of the component, there sometimes might be a canonical way to classify the excess edges, though it’s worth remarking that the risk of size-biasing errors is always extremely high in this sort of situation.

Returning to the random graph process, as so often there are big changes around criticality. In the subcritical regime, the components are small, and most of them, even the largest with high probability, are trees. In the supercritical regime, the giant component has excess \Theta(N), which is qualitatively very different.

It feels like every talk I’ve ever given has begun with an exposition of Aldous’s seminal paper [Al97] giving a distributional scaling limit of the sizes of critical components in the critical window, and a relation between the process on this time-scale and the multiplicative coalescent. And it remains relevant here, because the breadth-first exploration process can also be used to track the number of excess edges.

In a breadth-first exploration, we have a stack of vertices we are waiting to explore. We pick one and look its neighbours restricted to the rest of the graph, that is without the vertices we have already fully explored, and also without the other vertices in the stack. That’s the easiest way to handle the total component size. But we can simultaneously track how many times we would have joined to a neighbour within the stack, which leads to an excess edge, and Aldous derives a joint distributional scaling limit for the sizes of the critical components and their excesses. (Note that in this case, there is a canonical notion of excess edge, but it depends not just on the graph structure, but also on the extra randomness of the ordering within the breadth-first search.)

Roughly speaking, we consider the reflected exploration process, and its scaling limit, which is a reflected parabolically-drifting Brownian motion (though the details of this are not important at this level of exposition, except that it’s a well-behaved non-negative process that hits zero often). The component sizes are given by the widths of the excursions above zero, scaled up in a factor N^{1/3}. Then conditional on the shape of the excursion, the excess is Poisson with parameter the area under the excursion, with no rescaling. That is, a critical component has \Theta(1) excess.

So, with Aldous’s result in the background, when we ask about the metric structure of these critical components, we are really asking: “what does a uniformly-chosen connected component with fixed excess look like when the number of vertices grows?”

I’ll try to keep notation light, but let’s say T(n,k) is a uniform choice from connected graphs on n vertices with excess k.

[Note, the separation of N and n is deliberate, because in the critical window, the connected components have size n = \Theta(N^{2/3}), so I want to distinguish the two problems.]

In this post, we will mainly address the question: “what does the cycle structure of T(n,k) look like for large n?” When k=0, we have a uniform tree, and the convergence of this to the Brownian CRT is now well-known [CRT2, LeGall]. We hope for results with a similar flavour for positive excess k.

2-cores and kernels

First, we have to give a precise statement of what it means to study just the cycle structure of a connected component. From now on I will assume we are always working with a connected graph.

There are several equivalent definitions of the 2-core C(G) of a graph G:

  • When the excess is positive, there are some cycles. The 2-core is the union of all edges which form part of some cycle, and any edges which lie on a path between two edges which both form part of some cycle.
  • C(G) is the maximal induced subgraph where all degrees are at least two.
  • If you remove all the leaves from the graph, then all the leaves from the remaining graph, and continue, the 2-core is the state you arrive at where there are no leaves.

It’s very helpful to think of the overall structure of the graph as consisting of the 2-core, with pendant trees ‘hanging off’ the 2-core. That is, we can view every vertex of the 2-core as the root of a (possibly size 1) tree. This is particular clear if we remove all the edges of the 2-core from the graph. What remains is a forest, with one tree for each vertex of the 2-core.

In general, the k-core is the maximal induced subgraph where all degrees are at least k. The core is generally taken to be something rather different. For this post (and any immediate sequels) I will never refer to the k-core for k>2, and certainly not to the traditional core. So I write ‘core’ for ‘2-core’.

As you can see in the diagram, the core consists of lots of paths, and topologically, the lengths of these paths are redundant. So we will often consider instead the kernel, K(G), which is constructed by taking the core and contracting all the paths between vertices of degree greater than 2. The resulting graph has minimal degree at least three. So far we’ve made no comment about the simplicity of the original graphs, but certainly the kernel need not be simple. It will regularly have loops and multiple edges. The kernel of the graph and core in the previous diagram is therefore this:

Kernels of critical components

To recap, we can deconstruct a connected graph as follows. It has a kernel, and each edge of the kernel is a path length of some length in the core. The rest of the graph consists of trees hanging off from the core vertices.

For now, we ask about the distribution of the kernel of a T(n,K). You might notice that the case k=1 is slightly awkward, as when the core consists of a single cycle, it’s somewhat ambiguous how to define the kernel. Everything we do is easily fixable for k=1, but rather than carry separate cases, we handle the case k\ge 2.

We first observe that fixing k doesn’t confirm the number of vertices or edges in the kernel. For example, both of the following pictures could correspond to k=3:

However, with high probability the kernel is 3-regular, which suddenly makes the previous post relevant. As I said earlier, it can introduce size-biasing errors to add the excess edges one-at-a-time, but these should be constant factor errors, not scaling errors. So imagine the core of a large graph with excess k=2. For the sake of argument, assume the kernel has the dumbbell / handcuffs shape. Now add an extra edge somewhere. It’s asymptotically very unlikely that this is incident to one of the two vertices with degree three in the core. Note it would need to be incident to both to generate the right-hand picture above. Instead, the core will gain two new vertices of degree three.

Roughly equivalently, once the size of the core is fixed (and large) we have to make a uniform choice from connected graphs of this size where almost every vertex has degree 2, and \Theta(1) of the rest have degree 3 or higher. But the sum of the degrees is fixed, because the excess is fixed. If there are n vertices in the core, then there are \Theta(n) more graphs where all the vertices have degree 2 or 3, than graphs where a vertex has degree at least 4. Let’s state this formally.

Proposition: The kernel of a uniform graph with n vertices and excess k\ge 2 is, with high probability as n\rightarrow\infty, 3-regular.

This proved rather more formally as part of Theorem 7 of [JKLP], essentially as a corollary after some very comprehensive generating function setup; and in [LPW] with a more direct computation.

In the previous post, we introduced the configuration model as a method for constructing regular graphs (or any graphs with fixed degree sequence). We observe that, conditional on the event that the resulting graph is simple, it is in fact uniformly-distributed among simple graphs. When the graph is allowed to be a multigraph, this is no longer true. However, in many circumstances, as remarked in (1.1) of [JKLP], for most applications the configuration model measure on multigraphs is the most natural.

Given a 3-regular labelled multigraph H with 2(k-1) vertices and 3(k-1) edges, and K a uniform choice from the configuration model with these parameters, we have

\mathbb{P}\left( K \equiv H \right) \propto \left(2^{t(H)} \prod_{e\in E(H)} \mathrm{mult}(e)! \right)^{-1},

where t(H) is the number of loops in H, and mult(e) the multiplicity of an edge e. This might seem initially counter-intuitive, because it looks we are biasing against graphs with multiple edges, when perhaps our intuition is that because there are more ways to form a set of multiple edges we should bias in favour of it.

I think it’s most helpful to look at a diagram of a multigraph as shown, and ask how to assign stubs to edges. At a vertex with degree three, all stub assignments are different, that is 3!=6 possibilities. At the multiple edge, however, we care which stubs match with which stubs, but we don’t care about the order within the multi-edge. Alternatively, there are three choices of how to divide each vertex’s stubs into (2 for the multi-edge, 1 for the rest), and then two choices for how to match up the multi-edge stubs, ie 18 in total = 36/2, and a discount factor of 2.

We mention this because in fact K(T(n,k)) converges in distribution to this uniform configuration model. Once you know that K(T(n,k)) is with high probability 3-regular, then again it’s probably easiest to think about the core, indeed you might as well condition on its total size and number of degree 3 vertices. It’s then not hard to convince yourself that a uniform choice induces a uniform choice of kernel. Again, let’s state that as a proposition.

Proposition: For any H a 3-regular labelled multigraph H with 2(k-1) vertices and 3(k-1) edges as before,

\lim_{n\rightarrow\infty}\mathbb{P}\left( K(T(n,k)) \equiv H \right) \propto \left(2^{t(H)} \prod_{e\in E(H)} \mathrm{mult}(e)! \right)^{-1}.

As we said before, the kernel describes the topology of the core. To reconstruct the graph, we need to know the lengths in the core, and then how to glue pendant trees onto the core. But this final stage depends on k only through the total length of paths in the core. Given that information, it’s a combinatorial problem, and while I’m not claiming it’s easy, it’s essentially the same as for the case with k=1, and is worth treating separately.

It is worth clarifying a couple of things first though. Even the outline of methods above relies on the fact that the size of the core diverges as n grows. Again, the heuristic is that up to size-biasing errors, T(n,k) looks like a uniform tree with some uniformly-chosen extra edges. But distances in T(n,k) scale like n^{1/2} (and thus in critical components of G(N,p) scale like N^{1/3}). And the core will be roughly the set of edges on paths between the uniformly-chosen pairs of vertices, and so will also have length \Theta(n^{1/2}).

Once you have conditioned on the kernel structure, and the (large) number of internal vertices on paths in the core (ie the length of the core), it is natural that the assignment of the degree-2 vertices to core paths / kernel edges is uniform. A consequence of this is that if you record (Y_1,\ldots,Y_m) the lengths of paths in the core, where m=3(k-1), then

\frac{(Y_1,\ldots,Y_m)}{\sum Y_i} \stackrel{d}\rightarrow \mathrm{Dirichlet}(1,1,\ldots,1).

This is stated formally as Corollary 7 b) of [ABG09]. It’s worth noting that this confirms that the lengths of core paths are bounded in probability away from zero after the appropriate rescaling. In seeking a metric scaling limit, this is convenient as it means there’s so danger that two of the degree-3 vertices end up in ‘the same place’ in the scaling limit object.

To recap, the only missing ingredients now to give a complete limiting metric description of T(n,k) are 1) a distributional limit of the total core length; 2) some appropriate description of set of pendant trees conditional on the size of the pendant forest. [ABG09] show the first of these. As remarked before, all the content of the second of these is encoded in the unicyclic k=1 case, which I have written about before, albeit slightly sketchily, here. (Note that in that post we get around size-biasing by counting a slightly different object, namely unicyclic graphs with an identified cyclic edge.)

However, [ABG09] also propose an alternative construction, which you can think of as glueing CRTs directly onto the stubs of the kernel (with the same distribution as before). The proof that this construction works isn’t as painful as one might fear, and allows a lot of the other metric distributional results to be read off as corollaries.

References

[ABG09] – Addario-Berry, Broutin, Goldschmidt – Critical random graphs: limiting constructions and distributional properties

[CRT2] – Aldous – The continuum random tree: II

[Al97] – Aldous – Brownian excursions, critical random graphs and the multiplicative coalescent

[JKLP] – Janson, Knuth, Luczak, Pittel – The birth of the giant component

[LeGall] – Le Gall – Random trees and applications

[LPW] – Luczak, Pittel, Wierman – The structure of a random graph at the point of the phase transition

 

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Random 3-regular graphs

A graph is d-regular if every vertex has degree d. Probably the easiest examples of d-regular graphs are the complete graph on (d+1) vertices, and the infinite d-ary tree. A less trivial example is the Petersen graph, which is 3-regular. 3-regular graphs will be the main focus for some of this post, but initially we lose nothing by considering general d.

Throughout, a necessary condition for the existence of a d-regular graph with N vertices is that at least one of d and N is even, as the sum of the degrees of a graph must be even. We will always assume that this holds, so that when d=3, we are always taking N to be even.

A natural pair of questions for a probabilist is ‘can we sample a d-regular graph with N vertices uniformly at random?’ and ‘what does a typical large d-regular graph look like?’

In a rather old post, I addressed some aspects of the first question, but revisit it briefly here. A good idea, due to Bollobas [B80] is to assign to all the vertices d stubs (or half-edges), and choose a matching of the Nd stubs uniformly at random. This works as a method to generate a random graph with any fixed degree sequence.

If you want your graphs to be simple, this can go wrong, because there’s a chance you get loops (that is, an edge from a vertex v to itself) and multiple edges between the same pair of vertices. It would be nice the graph formed in this fashion was simple with high probability when N\rightarrow\infty. Unfortunately that’s not the case, however the probability that the graph is simple remains asymptotically bounded away from 0 and 1. Indeed, because the presence of a loop / multiple edge is asymptotically independent of the presence of a loop / multiple edge elsewhere, it’s unsurprising we have a Poisson limit for the number of such occurences. So from a sampling point of view, it’s reasonable to sample a graph in this way until you find a simple one. This takes O(1) steps, and it’s O(N) steps to check whether a given multigraph is simple.

It’s clear that conditional on the graph generated in this fashion being simple, its distribution is uniform on the set of simple graphs with the correct degree distribution. If you are happy for your graphs to have loops, then it’s a little bit more complicated, because if an edge has multiplicity k, these can appear in k! ways in the configuration construction.

Other asymptotic properties

Loops and multiple edges can be thought of as cycles of length 1 and 2 respectively if you want. We might ask about other small cycles. A calculation in expectation is relatively straightforward. Given three vertices, the probability they form a triangle (in at least one way) is \Theta(N^{-3}), and there are \Theta(N^3) ways to choose three vertices. Thus the expected number of triangles is \Theta(1). Finally, the edge structure induced on disjoint triples is asymptotically independent, and hence a Poisson limit. (See [J06] for details, including more detail on the general configuration construction.) The same result holds for the same reasons for cycles of any fixed finite length.

We might also ask about connectivity. At a heuristic level, there are two ways for the graph to be disconnected: it could have some small components; or it could have two components of size \Theta(N). The smallest possible component is K_4, and an argument like for the cycles above shows that the number of copies of K_4 vanishes in expectation. Now, consider having two components of size roughly N/2. There are \binom{N}{N/2} \sim 2^{2N} ways to make this choice. However, given such a choice, we can handle the probability that all the stubs from one class match within that class by going through the class one stub at a time:

\frac{\frac{3N}{2}-1}{3N-1} \times \frac{\frac{3N}{2}-3}{3N-3} \times \cdots \times \frac{1}{\frac{3N}{2}+1}.

We approximate this as

\frac{\sqrt{(3N/2)!}}{\sqrt{ (3N)!}} \sim  e^{3N/2} 2^{-3N/2} \left(3N\right)^{-3N/2},

and this dominates the number of choices powerfully enough that we might believe it remains valid for a broader range of class sizes. In fact we have a much stronger statement, namely that G(N,3) is 3-connected with high probability. This means that the graph cannot be disconnected by removing two vertices, or equivalently that there are three vertex-disjoint paths between any pair of vertices in the graph, essentially one emerging from each stub. See this note by David Ellis for a quick proof. We might return to this later.

You might ask about planarity. It’s clear from degree consideration that there are no induced copies of K_5 in any random 3-regular graph, and since K_{3,3} contains a cycle of length 4, and with high probability G(N,3) doesn’t, that takes care of that possibility too. However, there might be minors of this form. This seemed a good example of the Kuratowski criterion not actually being that useful, since I certainly don’t find the minors of the 3-regular graph an obvious structure to handle.

However, we can use Euler’s formula V – E + F = 2 for planar graphs. Here V = N, E = 3N/2. Faces are described by (a subset of the) cycles, and we there are asymptotically O(1) small cycles, so most faces include a large number of edges. But each edge corresponds to at most two faces. So we have F \ll E, and so with high probability Euler’s formula can’t hold in G(N,3) for large N.

We can also ask about the local limit of G(N,3). Since the vertices are exchangeable, we don’t need to worry about whether we choose the root uniformly at random (often referred to as the Benjamini-Schramm sense) or by some other method.

The root has up to three neighbours, and with high probability it has exactly three neighbours. These neighbours have at most two other neighbours themselves. However, we’ve already seen that there are asymptotically O(1) cycles, and so with high probability there are no small cycles near a fixed root vertex. So the six neighbours-of-neighbours are with high probability different to the root and the root’s neighbours and to each other. We can make this argument at arbitrary finite radius from the root, to conclude that the local limit of G(N,3) is the infinite 3-ary tree.

Spectral expansion

[Caveat – this is something I read about and wanted to mention, but I really don’t know much at all about any of this theory, and it’s definitely not certain that what follows wouldn’t be better replaced by a set of links.]

This straightforward local limit offers good heuristics on some of the more global properties. Almost by definition, the d-ary tree expands as rapidly as is possible away from the root among infinite d-regular graphs. There are a number of ways to measure the expansion of a graph, and some methods transfer better to the infinite setting than others. The adjacency matrix of an infinite graph can be defined similarly to that of a finite graph, and it remains possible to talk about eigenfunctions and spectrum. As for the finite setting, d is an eigenvalue because the tree is d-regular, and -d is an eigenvalue because it is also bipartite.

The next largest eigenvalue \lambda_2 governs the spectral gap d-\lambda_2 which is a measure of the expansion of a graph. A graph is a good (spectral) expander if all the non-trivial eigenvalues are close to zero. A priori, all we know is that |\lambda_2|\le d. For the infinite d-ary tree, we have \lambda_2 = 2\sqrt{d-1}. This blog post by Luca Trevisan gives a very readable proof.

A key result is that finite graphs can have \lambda_2 \le 2\sqrt{d-1}, but not asymptotically. That is, taking N to be the number of vertices:

\lambda_2 \ge 2\sqrt{d-1} - o_N(1).

This is the content of the Alon-Boppana theorem [Al86]. In fact the error can be quantified as O(\frac{1}{\log N}) – the diamater of the graph is relevant here. A finite d-regular graph for which \lambda_2\le 2\sqrt{d-1} is called a Ramanujan graph. The existence of Ramanujan graphs has been much studied, and various constructions often rely on number theoretic properties of N, and lie at the interface of disparate branches of mathematics where my understanding is zero rather than epsilon.

Now return to our view of the d-ary tree as the local limit of a d-regular graph on N vertices for large N. We might expect from everything above that the uniform d-regular graph is a good expander. Bollobas shows that in the sense of edge-expansion, asymptotically almost all d-regular graphs have edge-expansion bounded away from zero. (See Section 2 of [Ell], including history of the d=3 case.) Friedman [Fri08] proves the conjecture of Alon that for every \epsilon>0, a.a.s. \lambda_2 for G(N,d) is at most 2\sqrt{d-1}+\epsilon. In this sense, G(N,d) is asymptotically ‘almost Ramanujan’. (See also [Bor17] for another proof and an introduction including history, context and references.)

Some other links: The Wikipedia page on expanders, which includes a discussion of the different descriptions of expansion, and the Cheeger inequalities and other relations between them; slides for a talk by Spielman on spectra and Ramanujan graphs; a survey by Murty on Ramanujan graphs;.

What next?

This post took a slightly different direction from what I had intended, and rather than make a halting U-turn back to my planned finale, I’ll postpone this. However, a short overture is that I’m interested in the structure of critical components of random graphs during the critical window. This is the window during which the largest components first have cycles with probability \Theta(1). Indeed, the critical components have size \Theta(N^{2/3}) and \Theta(1) surplus edges. Conditional on their size, and number of surplus edges, the choice of the graph structure on the component is uniform among such (connected) graphs.

Addario-Berry, Broutin and Goldschmidt [ABG09] study scaling limits of such components. Central to this analysis is the 2-core of such components, which can be described in terms of 3-regular (multi)graphs. Various processes we are now interested in running on the critical components of critical RGs can then be studied in terms of related processes on random 3-regular graphs.

References

[ABG09] – Addario-Berry, Broutin, Goldschmidt – Critical random graphs: limiting constructions and distributional properties

[Al86] – Alon – Eigenvalues and expanders

[B80] – Bollobas – A probabilistic proof of an asymptotic formula for the number of labelled regular graphs

[B88] – Bollobas – The isoperimetric number of random regular graphs

[Bor17] – Bordenave – A new proof of Friedman’s second eigenvalue theorem and its extension to random lifts. Arxiv.

[Ell] – Ellis – The expansion of random regular graphs

[Fri08] – Friedman – A proof of Alon’s second eigenvalue conjecture and related problems

[J06] – Janson – The probability that a random multigraph is simple by

Random transpositions

We study a procedure for generating a random sequence of permutations of [N]. We start with the identity permutation, and then in each step, we choose two elements uniformly at random, and swap them. We obtain a sequence of permutations, where each term is obtained from the previous one by multiplying by a uniformly-chosen transposition.

Some more formality and some technical remarks:

  • This is a Markov chain, and as often with Markov chains, it would be better it was aperiodic. As described, the cycle will alternate between odd and even permutations. So we allow the two elements chosen to be the same. This laziness slows down the chain by a factor N-1/N, but removes periodicity. We will work over timescales where this adjustment makes no practical difference.
  • Let \tau_1,\tau_2,\ldots be the sequence of transpositions. We could define the sequence of permutations by \pi_m= \tau_m\cdot\tau_{m-1}\cdot \ldots\cdot \tau_1. I find it slightly more helpful to think of swapping the elements in places i and j, rather the elements i and j themselves, and so I’ll use this language, for which \pi_m = \tau_1\cdot \tau_2\cdot\ldots \cdot \tau_m is the appropriate description. Of course, transpositions and the identity are self-inverse permutations, so it makes no difference to anything we might discuss.
  • You can view this as lazy random walk on the Cayley graph of S_N generated by the set of transpositions. That is, the vertices of the graph are elements of S_N, and two are connected by an edge if one can be obtained from the other by multiplying by a transposition. Note this relation is symmetric. Hence random transposition random walk.
  • Almost everything under discussion would work in continuous time too.

At a very general level, this sort of model is interesting because sometimes the only practical way to introduce ‘global randomness’ is repeatedly to apply ‘local randomness’. This is not the case for permutations – it is not hard to sample uniformly from S_N. But it is a tractable model in which to study relevant questions about the generating randomness on a complicated set through iterated local operations.

Since it is a Markov chain with a straightforward invariant distribution, we can ask about the mixing time. That is, the correct scaling for the number of moves before the random permutation is close in distribution (say in the sense of total variation distance) to the equilibrium distribution. See this series of posts for an odd collection of background material on the topic. Diaconis and Shahshahani [DS81] give an analytic argument for mixing around \frac{N\log N}{2} transpositions. Indeed they include a constant because it is a sharp cutoff, where the total variation distance drops from approximately 1 to approximately 0 in O(N) steps.

Comparison with Erdos-Renyi random graph process

In the previous result, one might observe that m=\frac{N\log N}{2} is also the threshold number of edges to guarantee connectivity of the Erdos-Renyi random graph G(N,m) with high probability. [ER59] Indeed, there is also a sharp transition around this threshold in this setting too.

We explore this link further. We can construct a sequence of random graphs simultaneously with the random transposition random walk. When we multiply by transposition (i j), we add edge ij in the graph. Laziness of RTRW and the possibility of multiple edges mean this definition isn’t literally the same as the conventional definition of a discrete-time Erdos-Renyi random graph process, but again this is not a problem for any of the effects we seek to study.

The similarity between the constructions is clear. But what about the differences? For the RTRW, we need to track more information than the random graph. That is, we need to know what order the transpositions were added, rather than merely which edges were added. However, the trade-off is that a permutation is a simpler object than a graph in the following sense. A permutation can be a described as a union of disjoint cycles. In an exchangeable setting, all the information about a random permutation is encoded in the lengths of the these cycles. Whereas in a graph, geometry is important. It’s an elegant property of the Erdos-Renyi process that we can forget about the geometry and treat it as a process on component sizes (indeed, a multiplicative coalescent process), but there are other questions we might need to ask for which we do have to study the graph structure itself.

Within this analogy, unfortunately the word cycle means different things in the two different settings. In a permutation, a cycle is a directed orbit, while in a graph it has the usual definition. I’m going to write graph-cycle whenever relevant to avoid confusion.

A first observation is that, under this equivalence, the cycles of the permutation form a finer partition than the components of the graph. This is obvious. If we split the vertices into sets A and B, and there are no edges between them, then nothing in set A will ever get moved out of set A by a transposition. (Note that the slickness of this analogy is the advantage of viewing a transposition as swapping the elements in places i and j.)

However, we might then ask under what circumstances is a cycle of the permutation the same as a component of the graph (rather than a strict subset of it). A first answer is the following:

Lemma: [Den59] The permutation formed by a product of transpositions corresponding in any order to a tree in the graph has a single cycle.

We can treat this as a standalone problem and argue in the following predictable fashion. (Indeed, I was tempted to set this as a problem during selection for the UK team for IMO 2017 – it’s perfectly suitable in this context I think.) The first transposition corresponds to some edge say ab, and removing this edge divides the vertices into components A \ni a, B\ni b. Since no further transposition swaps between places in A and places in B, the final permutation maps a into B and b into A, and otherwise preserves A and B.

This argument extends to later transpositions too. Now, suppose there are multiple cycles. Colour one of them. So during the process, the coloured labels move around. At some point, we must swap a coloured label with an uncoloured label. Consider this edge, between places a and b as before, and indeed the same conclusion holds. WLOG we move the coloured label from a to b. But then at the end of the process (ie in the permutation) there are more coloured labels in B than initially. But the number of coloured labels should be the same, because they just cycle around in the final permutation.

We can learn a bit more by trying thinking about the action on cycles (in the permutation) of adding a transposition. In the following pair of diagrams, the black arrows represent the original permutation (note it’s not helpful to think of the directed edges as having anything to do with transpositions now), the dashed line represents a new transposition, and the new arrows describe the new permutation which results from this product.

It’s clear from this that adding a transposition between places corresponding to different cycles causes the cycles to merge, while adding a transposition between places already in the same cycle causes the cycle to split into two cycles. Furthermore the sizes of the two cycles formed is related to the distance in the cycle between the places defining the transposition.

This allows us to prove the lemma by adding the edges of the tree one-at-a-time and using induction. The inductive claim is that cycles of the permutation exactly correspond to components of the partially-built tree. Assuming this claim guarantees that the next step is definitely a merge, not a split (otherwise the edge corresponding to the next step would have to form a cycle). If all N-1 steps are merges, then the number of cycles is reduced by one on each step, and so the final permutation must be a single cycle.

Uniform split-merge

This gives another framework for thinking about the RTRW itself, entirely in terms of cycle lengths as a partition of [N]. That is, given a partition, we choose a pair of parts in a size-biased way. If they are different, we merge them; and if it is the same part, with size k, we split them into two parts, with sizes chosen uniformly from { (1,k-1), (2,k-2), …  (k-1,1) }.

What’s nice about this is that it’s easy to generalise to real-valued partitions, eg of [0,1]. Given a partition of [0,1], we sample two IID U[0,1] random variables U_1,U_2. If these correspond to different parts, we replace these parts by a single part with size given by the sum. If these correspond to the same part, with size \alpha, we split this part into two parts with sizes |U_1-U_2| and \alpha - |U_1-U_2|. This is equivalent in a distributional sense to sampling another U[0,1] variable U and replacing \alpha with (\alpha U, \alpha(1-U)). We probably want our partition to live in \ell^1_\searrow, so we might have to reorder the parts afterwards too.

These uniform split-merge dynamics have a (unique) stationary distribution, the canonical Poisson-Dirichlet random partition, hereafter PD(0,1). This was first shown in [DMZZ04], and then in a framework more relevant to this post by Schramm [Sch08].

Conveniently, PD(0,1) is also the scaling limit of the cycle lengths in a uniform random permutation (scaled by N). The best way to see this is to start with the observation that the length of the cycle containing 1 in a permutation chosen uniformly from S_N has the uniform distribution on {1,…,N}. This matches up well with the uniform stick-breaking construction of PD(0,1), though other arguments are available too. Excellent background on Poisson-Dirichlet distributions and this construction and equivalence can be found in Chapter 3 of Pitman’s comprehensive St. Flour notes [CSP]. Also see this post, and the links within, with the caveat that my understanding of the topic was somewhat shaky then (as presently, for now).

However, Schramm says slightly more than this. As the Erdos-Renyi graph passes criticality, there is a well-defined (and whp unique) giant component including \Theta(N) vertices. It’s not clear that the corresponding permutation should have giant cycles. Indeed, whp the giant component has \Theta(N) surplus edges, so the process of cycle lengths will have undergone O(N) splits. Schramm shows that most of the labels within the giant component are contained in giant cycles in the permutation. Furthermore, the distribution of cycle lengths within the giant component, rescaled by the size of the giant component, converges in distribution to PD(0,1) at any supercritical time \frac{(1+\epsilon)N}{2}

This is definitely surprising, since we already know that the whole permutation doesn’t look close to uniform until time \frac{N\log N}{2}. Essentially, even though the size of the giant component is non-constant (ie it’s gaining vertices), the uniform split-merge process is happening to the cycles within it at rate N. So heuristically, at the level of the largest cycles, at any supercritical time we have a non-trivial partition, so at any slightly later time (eg \frac{(1+\epsilon/2)N}{2} and \frac{(1+\epsilon)N}{2} ), mixing will have comfortably occurred, and so the distribution is close to PD(0,1).

This is explained very clearly in the introduction of [Ber10], in which the approach is extended to a random walk on S_N driven by a uniform choice from any conjugacy class.

So this really does tell us how the global uniform randomness emerges. As the random graph process passes criticality, we have a positive mass of labels in a collection of giant cycles which are effectively a continuous-space uniform split-merge model near equilibrium (and thus with PD(0,1) marginals). The remaining cycles are small, corresponding to small trees which make up the remaining (subcritical by duality) components of the ER graph. These cycles slowly get absorbed into the giant cycles, but on a sufficiently slow timescale relevant to the split-merge dynamics that we do not need to think of a separate split-merge-with-immigration model. Total variation distance on permutations does feel the final few fixed points (corresponding to isolated vertices in the graph), hence the sharp cutoff corresponding to sharp transition in the number of isolated vertices.

References

[Ber10] – N. Berestycki – Emergence of giant cycles and slowdown transition in random transpositions and k-cycles. [arXiv version]

[CSP] – Pitman – Combinatorial stochastic processes. [pdf available]

[Den59] – Denes – the representation of a permutation as a product of a minimal number of transpositions, and its connection with the theory of graphs

[DS81] – Diaconis, Shahshahani – Generating a random permutation with random transpositions

[DMZZ04] – Diaconis, Mayer-Wolf, Zeitouni, Zerner – The Poisson-Dirichlet distribution is the unique invariant distribution for uniform split-merge transformations [link]

[ER59] – Erdos, Renyi – On random graphs I.

[Sch08] – Schramm – Compositions of random transpositions [book link]

DGFF 4 – Properties of the Green’s function

I’m at UBC this month for the PIMS probability summer school. One of the long courses is being given by Marek Biskup about the Discrete Gaussian Free Field (notes and outline here) so this seems like a good moment to revive the sequence of posts about the DGFF. Here’s DGFF1, DGFF2, DGFF3 from November.

The first draft of this post was about the maximum of the DGFF in a large box V_N, and also about the Green’s function G^{V_N}(x,y), which specifies the covariance structure of the DGFF. This first draft also became too long, so I’m splitting it into two somewhat shorter ones. As we’ll see, some understanding and standard estimates of the Green’s function is enough to say quite a bit about the maximum. In this first post, we’ll explore some ‘low-hanging fruit’ concerning the Green’s function, as defined through a simple random walk, which are useful, but rarely explained in the DGFF literature.

Symmetry of Green’s function

We start with one of these low-hanging fruit. If G^{V_N} is to be a covariance matrix, it has to be symmetric. In the first post, showing that the definition of the DGFF as a random field with given Hamiltonian is equivalent to \mathcal{N}(0,G^{V_N}) certainly can be viewed as a proof of symmetry. However, it would be satisfying if there was a direct argument in the language of the definition of the Green’s function.

To make this self-contained, recall the random walk definition of G^{V_N}(x,y). Let (S_m)_{m\ge 0} be simple random walk on V_N, and \mathbb{P}_x,\,\mathbb{E}_x denote starting the random walk at x\in V_N. As usual, let \tau_y,\,\tau_A denote the hitting time of a vertex y or a set A respectively. Then

G^{V_N}(x,y):= \mathbb{E}_x \left[ \sum_{m=0}^{\tau_{\partial V_N}}1_{(S_m=y) }\right].

That is, G^{V_N}(x,y) is the expected number of visits to y by a random walk from x, before it exits V_N.

Let’s drop the superscript for now, as everything should hold for a more general subset of the lattice. I don’t think it’s immediately obvious at the level of Markov chains why G(x,y)=G(y,x). In particular, it’s not the case that

\mathbb{P}_x(\tau_y < \tau_{D^c}) = \mathbb{P}_y(\tau_x <\tau_{D^c}),

and it feels that we can’t map between paths x \to \partial D and y\to \partial D in a way that preserves the number of visits to y and x, respectively. However, we can argue that for any m

\mathbb{P}_x(S_m=y, \tau_{D^c}>m) = \mathbb{P}_y(S_m=x, \tau_{D^c}>m),

by looking at the suitable paths of (S_m). That is, if we have a path x=S_0,S_1,\ldots,S_m=y that stays within D, then the probability of seeing this path starting from x and its reverse direction starting from y are equal. Why? Because

\mathbb{P}_x(S_0=x,S_1=v_1,\ldots,S_{m-1}=v_{m-1},S_m=y) = \prod_{\ell=0}^{m-1} \frac{1}{\mathrm{deg}(v_\ell)},

and

\mathbb{P}_y(S_0=y,S_1=v_{m-1},\ldots,S_{m-1}=v_1, S_m=x) = \prod_{\ell=0}^{m-1} \frac{1}{\mathrm{deg}(v_{m-\ell})} = \prod_{\ell=1}^m \frac{1}{\mathrm{deg}(v_\ell)}.

Since D\subset \mathbb{Z}^d and x,y are in the interior of D, we must have \mathrm{deg}(x)=\mathrm{deg}(y), and so these two expressions are equal. Summing over all such two-way paths, and then all m gives the result.

Fixing one argument

We now focus on G^D(\cdot,y), where the second argument is fixed. This is the solution to the Poisson equation

\Delta G^D(\cdot,y) = -\delta_y(\cdot),\quad G^D(x,y)=0,\; \forall x\in \partial D.

To see this, can use a standard hitting probability argument (as here) with the Markov property. This is harmonic in D\backslash \{y\}, and since we know

G^D(y,y)= \frac{1}{\mathbb{P}_y(\text{RW hits }\partial D\text{ before returning to }y)},

this uniquely specifies G^D(\cdot,y). Anyway, since harmonic functions achieve their maxima at the boundary, we have G(y,y)\ge G(x,y) for all x\in D. We can also see this from the SRW definition as

G(x,y)=G(y,x) = \mathbb{P}_y (\tau_x < \tau_{\partial D} ) G(x,x) \le G(x,x).

Changing the domain

Now we want to consider nested domains D\subset E, and compare G^D(\cdot,\cdot) and G^E(\cdot,\cdot) on DxD. The idea is that for SRW started from x\in D, we have \tau_{\partial D}\le \tau_{\partial E}, since one boundary is contained within the other. From this, we get

G^D(x,y)\le G^E(x,y),\quad \forall x,y\in D,

and we will use the particular case y=x.

For example, if x\in V_N, the box with width N, then the box with width 2N centred on x contains the whole of V_N. So, if we set \bar {V}_{2N}:= [-N,N]^d, then with reference to the diagram, we have

G^{V_N}(x,x)\le G^{\bar{V}_{2N}}(0,0),\quad x\in V_N.

As we’ll see when we study the maximum of the DGFF on V_N, uniform control over the pointwise variance will be a useful tool.

Maximising the Green’s function

The idea of bounding G^{V_N}(x,x) by G^{\bar V_{2N}}(0,0) for any x\in V_N is clever and useful. But a more direct approach would be to find the value of x that maximises G^{V_N}(x,x). We would conjecture that when V_N has a central vertex, then this is the maximiser.

We can prove this directly from the definition of the Green’s function in terms of random walk occupation times. Let’s assume we are working with \bar{V}_N for even N, so that 0 is the central vertex. Again, since

G^D(x,x)=\frac{1}{\mathbb{P}_x(\text{RW hits }\partial D\text{ before returning to }x)}, (*)

it would suffice to show that this probability is minimised when x=0. This feels right, since 0 is furthest from the boundary. Other points are closer to the boundary in some directions but further in others, so we can’t condition on the maximum distance from its start point achieved by an excursion of SRW (we’re vertex-transitive, so these look the same from all starting points), as even allowing for the four possible rotations, for an excursion of diameter slightly larger than N, starting at the centre is maximally bad.

However, intuitively it does feel as if being closer to the boundary makes you more likely to escape earlier. In fact, with a bit more care, we can couple the SRW started from 0 and the SRW started from r=(r^x,r^y)\ne 0 such that the latter always exits first. For convenience we’ll assume also that r^x,r^y are both even.

I couldn’t find any reference to this, so I don’t know whether it’s well-known or not. The following argument involves projecting into each axis, and doing separate couplings for transitions in the x-direction and transitions in the y-direction. We assume WLOG that x is in the upper-right quadrant as shown. Then, let 0=S_0,S_1,S_2,\ldots be SRW started from 0, and we will construct r=R_0,R_1,R_2,\ldots on the same probability space as (S_m)_{m\ge 0} as follows. For every m, we set the increment R_{m+1}-R_m to be \pm(S_{m+1}-S_m). It remains to specify the sign, which will be determined by the direction of the S-increment, and a pair of stopping times. The marginal is therefore again an SRW, started from r. Temporarily, we use the unusual notation S_m= (S^x_m,S^y_m) for the coordinates of S_m.

So, if S_{m+1}-S_m=(1,0), (-1,0), ie S moves left or right, then we set

R_{m+1}-R_m = \begin{cases} -(S_{m+1}-S_m) &\quad \text{if }m<T^x\\ S_{m+1}-S_m&\quad \text{if }m>T^x.\end{cases} (*)

where T^x:= \min\{m\,:\, R^x_m=S^x_m\}. That is, R^x moves in the opposing direction to S^x until the first time when they are equal (hence the parity requirement), and then they move together. WLOG assume that r^x>0. Then suppose S^x_m=\pm N and such m is minimal. Then by construction, if m\ge T^x, then R^x_m=\pm N also. If m<T^x, then we must have S^x_m=-N, and so since R^x‘s trajectory is a mirror image of S^x‘s, in fact R^x_m = N+r^x>N, so R^x hit +N first. In both cases, we see that R^x hits \pm N at the same time or before S^x.

In other words, when S^x_m has non-negative x coordinate, the lazy random walk R^x follows the same trajectory as S^x, and when it has negative x coordinate, the R^x mirrors S^x. At some time, it may happen that S^x_m= R^x_m=0 (recall the parity condition on r). Call this time T^x. We then adjust the description of the coupling so that (*) is the mechanism for m<T^x, and then for m\ge T^x, we take S^x_m=R^x_m.

Similarly, if S_{m+1}-S_m =(0,1), (0,-1), ie S moves up or down, then we set

R_{m+1}-R_m = \begin{cases} -(S_{m+1}-S_m)&\quad \text{ if }m<T^y\\  S_{m+1}-S_m&\quad \text{if }m\le T^y,\end{cases}

with corresponding definition of the stopping time T^y.

This completes the coupling, and by considering T^x\wedge T^y, we have shown what that the exit time for the walk started from zero dominates the exit time for walk started from r. Recall that so far we are in the case where the box has even width and r=(r^x,r^y) has even coordinates.

This exit time comparison isn’t exactly what we need to compare G^N(0,0) and G^N(x,x). It’s worth remarking at this stage that if all we cared about was the Green’s function on the integer line [-N,N], we would have an easier argument, as by the harmonic property of G(\cdot,y)

G^{[-N,N]}(0,r)=\frac{N-r}{N}G^{[-N,N]}(0,0),

G^{[-N,N]}(r,0) = \frac{N}{N+r}G^{[-N,N]}(r,r),

and so G(0,0)>G(r,r) follows by symmetry. To lift from 1D to 2D directly, we need a bit more than this. It’s possible that S returns in both x- and y- coordinates more often than R, but never at the same time. Fortunately, the coupling we defined slightly earlier does give us a bit more control.

Let \tau^x(S), \tau^x(R) be the first times that S^x, R^x hit \pm N. Under this coupling, for any m\ge 0

\mathbb{P}(S^x_m=0, m<T^x) = \mathbb{P}(R^x_m=r^x, m<T^x)

since these events are literally equal. Since we showed that \tau^x(R)\le \tau^x(S) almost surely, we can further deduce

\mathbb{P}(S^x_m=0,m<T^x\wedge \tau^x(S)) \ge \mathbb{P}(S^x_m=0,m<T^x\wedge \tau^x(R))

=\mathbb{P}(R^x_m=r^x, m <T^x \wedge \tau^x(R)).

To address the corresponding events for which m\ge T^x, we apply the strong Markov property at T^x, to obtain SRW Z_m started from r/2, and let \tau_{-N},\tau_{+N} be the hitting times of -N,+N respectively and \tau_{\pm N}=\tau_{-N}\wedge \tau_{+N}. It will now suffice to prove that

\mathbb{P}(Z_m=0, m< \tau_{\pm N}) \ge \mathbb{P}(Z_m=r,m<\tau_{\pm N}), (**)

as then we can apply the law of total probability and sum over values of T^x and m\ge 0.

To prove this result, we consider the following bijection between trajectories of length m from r/2 to {0,r}. We decompose the trajectories into excursions away from r/2, and then a final meander from r/2 to {0,r} that stays on the same side of r/2. We construct the new trajectory by preserving all the initial excursions, but reversing all the steps of the final meander. So if the original trajectory ended up at 0, the image ends up at r. Trivially, the initial excursions in the image only hit \pm N if the excursions in the original trajectory did this too. But it’s also easy to see, by a similar argument to the coupling at the start of this section, that if the original trajectory ends at r and does not hit \pm N, then so does the image. However, the converse is not true. So we conclude (**), and thus

\mathbb{P}(S_m^x=0) \ge \mathbb{P}(R_m^x=0)

for all m by combining everything we have seen so far. And so we can now lift to a statement about S_m itself, that is considering both coordinates separately.

 

The remaining cases for r require a little more care over the definition of T^x, though the same projection argument works, for fundamentally the same reason. (Note that in the above argument, if S^x_m=-N and m<T^x, then in fact R^x_m\ge N+2, and so it’s not hard to convince yourself that a sensible adjustment to the stopping time will allow a corresponding result with R^x_m\ge N+1 in the odd r^x case.) The case for N odd is harder, since in one dimension there are two median sites, and it’s clear by symmetry that we can’t couple them such that RW from one always exits at least as early as RW from the other. However, the distributions of exit times started from these two sites are the same (by symmetry), and so although we can’t find a coupling, we can use similar stopping times to obtain a result in probability.

In the next post, we’ll see how to apply this uniform bound on G^{V_N}(x,x) to control the maximum of the DGFF on V_N. In particular, we address how the positive correlations of DGFF influence the behaviour of the maximum by comparison with independent Gaussians at each site.

Generating uniform trees

A long time ago, I wrote quite a few a things about uniform trees. That is, a uniform choice from the n^{n-2} unrooted trees with vertex set [n]. This enumeration, normally called Cayley’s formula, has several elegant arguments, including the classical Prufer bijection. But making a uniform choice from a large set is awkward, and so we seek more probabilistic methods to sample such a tree, which might also give insight into the structure of a ‘typical’ uniform tree.

In another historic post, I talked about the Aldous-Broder algorithm. Here’s a quick summary. We run a random walk on the complete graph K_n started from a uniformly-chosen vertex. Every time we arrive at a vertex we haven’t visited before, we record the edge just traversed. Eventually we have visited all n vertices, so have recorded n-1 edges. It’s easy enough to convince yourself that these n-1 edges form a tree (how could there be a cycle?) and a bit more complicated to decide that the distribution of this tree is uniform.

It’s worth noting that this algorithm works to construct a uniform spanning tree on any connected base graph.

This post is about a few alternative constructions and interpretations of the uniform random tree. The first construction uses a Galton-Watson process. We take a Galton-Watson process where the offspring distribution is Poisson(1), and condition that the total population size is n. The resulting random tree has a root but no labels, however if we assign labels in [n] uniformly at random, the resulting rooted tree has the uniform distribution among rooted trees on [n].

Proof

This is all about moving from ordered trees to non-ordered trees. That is, when setting up a Galton-Watson tree, we distinguish between the following two trees, drawn extremely roughly in Paint:

That is, it matters which of the first-generation vertices have three children. Anyway, for such a (rooted) ordered tree T with n vertices, the probability that the Galton-Watson process ends up equal to T is

\mathbb{P}(GW = T) = \prod_{v\in T} \frac{e^{-1}}{C(v)!} = e^{-n} \prod_{v\in T}\frac{1}{C(v)!},

where C(v) is the number of children of a vertex v\in T. Then, since \mathbb{P}( |GW|=n ) is a function of n, we find

\mathbb{P}(GW=T \,\big|\, |GW|=n) = f(n)\prod_{v\in T} \frac{1}{C(v)!},

where f(n) is a function of n alone (ie depends on T only through its size n).

But given an unordered rooted tree t, labelled by [n], there are \prod_{v \in t} C(v)! ordered trees associated to t in the natural way. Furthermore, if we take the Poisson Galton-Watson tree conditioned to have total population size n, and label uniformly at random with [n], we obtain any one of these ordered trees with probability \frac{f(n)}{n!} \prod_{v\in t} \frac{1}{C(v)!}. So the probability that we have t after we forget about the ordering is \frac{f(n)}{n!}, which is a function of n alone, and so the distribution is uniform among the set of rooted unordered trees labelled by [n], exactly as required.

Heuristic for Poisson offspring distribution

In this proof, the fact that \mathbb{P}(C(v)=k)\propto \frac{1}{k!} exactly balances the number of orderings of the k children explains why Poisson(1) works out. Indeed, you can see in the proof that Poisson(c) works equally well, though when c\ne 1, the event we are conditioning on (namely that the total population size is n) has probability decaying exponentially in n, whereas for c=1, the branching process is critical, and the probability decays polynomially.

We can provide independent motivation though, from the Aldous-Broder construction. Both the conditioned Galton-Watson construction and the A-B algorithm supply the tree with a root, so we’ll keep that, and look at the distribution of the degree of the root as constructed by A-B. Let \rho=v_1,v_2,v_3,\ldots be the vertices [n], ordered by their discovery during the construction. Then \rho is definitely connected by an edge to v_2, but thereafter it follows by an elementary check that the probability \rho is connected to v_m is \frac{1}{n-1}, independently across all m. In other words, the distribution of the degree of \rho in the tree as constructed by A-B is

1+ \mathrm{Bin}\left(n-2,\frac{1}{n-1}\right) \approx 1+\mathrm{Poisson}(1).

Now, in the Galton-Watson process, conditioning the tree to have fixed, large size changes the offspring distribution of the root. Conveniently though, in a limiting sense it’s the same change as conditioning the tree to have size at least n. Since these events are monotone in n, it’s possible to take a limit of the conditioning events, and interpret the result as the Galton-Watson tree conditioned to survive. It’s a beautiful result that this interpretation can be formalised as a local limit. The limiting spine decomposition consists of an infinite spine, where the offspring distribution is a size-biased version of the original offspring distribution (and so in particular, always has at least one child) and where non-spine vertices have the original distribution.

In particular, the number of the offspring of the root is size-biased, and it is well-known and not hard to check that size-biasing Poisson(c) gives 1+Poisson(c) ! So in fact we have, in an appropriate limiting sense in both objects, a match between the degree distribution of the root in the uniform tree, and in the conditioned Galton-Watson tree.

This isn’t supposed to justify why a conditioned Galton-Watson tree is relevant a priori (especially the unconditional independence of degrees), but it does explain why Poisson offspring distributions are relevant.

Construction via G(N,p) and the random cluster model

The main reason uniform trees were important to my thesis was their appearance in the Erdos-Renyi random graph G(N,p). The probability that vertices {1, …, n} form a tree component in G(N,p) with some particular structure is

p^{n-1} (1-p)^{\binom{n}{2}-(n-1)} \times (1-p)^{n(N-m)}.

Here, the first two terms give the probability that the graph structure on {1, …, n} is correct, and the the final term gives the probability of the (independent) event that these vertices are not connected to anything else in the graph. In particular, this has no dependence on the tree structure chosen on [n] (for example, whether it should be a path or a star – both examples of trees). So the conditional distribution is uniform among all trees.

If we work in some limiting regime, where pn\rightarrow 0 (for example if n is fixed and p=\frac{1}{N}\rightarrow 0), then we can get away asymptotically with less strong conditioning. Suppose we condition instead just that [n] form a component. Now, there are more ways to form a connected graph with one cycle on [n] than there are trees on [n], but the former all require an extra edge, and so the probability that a given one such tree-with-extra-edge appears as the restriction to [n] in G(N,p) is asymptotically negligible compared to the probability that the restriction to [n] of G(N,p) is a tree. Naturally, the local limit of components in G(N,c/N) is a Poisson(c) Galton-Watson branching process, and so this is all consistent with the original construction.

One slightly unsatisfying aspect to this construction is that we have to embed the tree of size [n] within a much larger graph on [N] to see uniform trees. We can’t choose a scaling p=p(n) such that G(n,p) itself concentrates on trees. To guarantee connectivity with high probability, we need to take p> \frac{\log n}{n}, but by this threshold, the graph has (many) cycles with high probability.

At this PIMS summer school in Vancouver, one of the courses is focusing on lattice spin models, including the random cluster model, which we now briefly define. We start with some underlying graph G. From a physical motivation, we might take G to be \mathbb{Z}^d or some finite subset of it, or a d-ary tree, or the complete graph K_N. As in classical bond percolation (note G(N,p) is bond percolation on K_N), a random subset of the edges of G are included, or declared open. The probability of a given configuration w, with e open edges is proportional to

p^e (1-p)^{|E(G)| - e} q^{k(w)}, (*)

where the edge-weight p\in(0,1) as usual, and cluster weight q\in (0,\infty), and k(w) counts the number of connected components in configuration w. When q=1, we recover classical bond percolation (including G(N,p) ), while for q>1, this cluster-reweighting favours having more components, and q<1 favours fewer components. Note that in the case q\ne 1, the normalising constant (or partition function) of (*) is generally intractable to calculate explicitly.

As in the Erdos-Renyi graph, consider fixing the underlying graph G, and taking p\rightarrow 0, but also taking \frac{q}{p}\rightarrow 0. So the resulting graph asymptotically ‘wants to have as few edges as possible, but really wants to have as few components as possible’. In particular, 1) all spanning trees of G are equally likely; 2) any configuration with more than one component has asymptotically negligible probability relative to any tree; 3) any graph with a cycle has #components + #edges greater than that of a tree, and so is asymptotically negligible probability relative to any tree.

In other words, the limit of the distribution is the uniform spanning tree of G, and so this (like Aldous-Broder) is a substantial generalisation, which constructs the uniform random tree in the special case where G=K_n.

 

Characterising fixed points in geometry problems

There’s a risk that this blog is going to become entirely devoted to Euclidean geometry, but for now I’ll take that risk. I saw the following question on a recent olympiad in Germany, and I enjoyed it as a problem, and set it on a training sheet for discussion with the ten British students currently in contention for our 2017 IMO team.

Given a triangle ABC for which AB\ne AC. Prove there exists a point D\ne A on the circumcircle satisfying the following property: for any points M,N outside the circumcircle on rays AB, AC respectively, satisfying BM=CN, the circumcircle of AMN passes through D.

Proving the existence of a fixed point/line/circle which has a common property with respect to some other variable points/lines/circles is a common style of problem. There are a couple of alternative approaches, but mostly what makes this style of problem enjoyable is the challenge of characterising what the fixed point should be. Sometimes an accurate diagram will give us everything we need, but sometimes we need to be clever, and I want to discuss a few general techniques through the context of this particular question. I don’t want to make another apologia for geometry as in the previous post, but if you’re looking for the ‘aha moment’, it’ll probably come from settling on the right characterisation.

At this point, if you want to enjoy the challenge of the question yourself, don’t read on!

Reverse reconstruction via likely proof method

At some point, once we’ve characterised D in terms of ABC, we’ll have to prove it lies on the circumcircle of any AMN. What properties do we need it to have? Well certainly we need the angle relation BDC = A, but because MDAN will be cyclic too, we also need the angle relation MDN = A. After subtracting, we require angles MDB = NDC.

Depending on your configuration knowledge, this is all quite suggestive. At the very least, when you have equal angles and equal lengths, you might speculate that the corresponding triangles are congruent. Here that would imply BD=CD, which characterises D as lying on the perpendicular bisector of BC. D is also on the circumcircle, so in fact it’s also on the angle bisector of BAC, here the external angle bisector. This is a very common configuration (normally using the internal bisector) in this level of problem, and if you see this coming up without prompting, it suggests you’re doing something right.

So that’s the conjecture for D. And we came up with the conjecture based on a likely proof strategy, so to prove it, we really just need to reverse the steps of the previous two paragraphs. We now know BD=CD. We also know angles ABD = ACD, so taking the complementary angles (ie the obtuse bit in the diagram) we have angles DBM = DCN, so we indeed have congruent triangles. So we can read off angles MDB = NDC just as in our motivation, and recover that MDAN is cyclic.

Whatever other methods there are to characterise point D (to follow), all methods will probably conclude with an argument like the one in this previous paragraph, to demonstrate that D does have the required property.

Limits

We have one degree of freedom in choosing M and N. Remember that initially we don’t know what the target point D is. If we can’t see it immediately from drawing a diagram corresponding to general M and N, it’s worth checking some special cases. What special cases might be most relevant depends entirely on the given problem. The two I’m going to mention here both correspond to some limiting configuration. The second of these is probably more straightforward, and was my route to determining D. The first was proposed by one of my students.

First, we conjecture that maybe the condition that M and N lie outside the circumcircle isn’t especially important, but has been added to prevent candidates worrying about diagram dependency. The conclusion might well hold without this extra stipulation. Remember at this stage we’re still just trying to characterise D, so even if we have to break the rules to find it, this won’t damage the solution, since we won’t be including our method for finding D in our written-up solution!

Anyway, WLOG AC < AB. If we take N very close to A, then the distances BM and MA are c and b-c respectively. The circumcircle of AMN is almost tangent to line AC. At this point we stop talking about ‘very close’ and ‘almost tangent’ and just assume that N=A and the so the circle AMN really is the circle through M, tangent to AC at A. We need to establish where this intersects the circumcircle for a second time.

To be clear, I found what follows moderately tricky, and this argument took a while to find and was not my first attempt at all. First we do some straightforward angle-chasing, writing A,B,C for the measures of the angles in triangle ABC. Then the angle BDC is also A and angle BDA is 180-C. We also have the tangency relation from which the alternate segment theorem gives angle MDA = A. Then BDM = BDA – MDA = 180 – C – A = B. So we know the lengths and angles in the configuration BDAM.

At this point, I had to use trigonometry. There were a couple of more complicated options, but the following works. In triangle BDM, a length b is subtended by angle B, as is the case for the original triangle ABC. By the extended sine rule, BDM then has the same circumradius as ABC. But now the length BD is subtended by angle DMB in one of these circumcircles, and by DAB in the other. Therefore these angles are either equal or complementary (in the sense that they sum to 180). Clearly it must be the latter, from which we obtain that angles DMA = MAD = 90 – A/2. In other words, D lies on the external angle bisector of A, which is the characterisation we want.

Again to clarify, I don’t think this was a particularly easy or particularly natural argument for this exact problem, but it definitely works, and the idea of getting a circle tangent to a line as a limit when the points of intersection converge is a useful one. As ever, when an argument uses the sine rule, you can turn it into a synthetic argument with enough extra points, but of the options I can currently think of, I think this trig is the cleanest.

My original construction was this. Let M and N be very very far down the rays. This means triangle AMN is large and approximately isosceles. This means that the line joining A to the circumcentre of AMN is almost the internal angle bisector of MAN, which is, of course, also the angle bisector of BAC. Also, because triangle AMN is very large, its circumcircle looks, locally, like a line, and has to be perpendicular to the circumradius at A. In other words, the circumcircle of AMN is, near A, approximately line perpendicular to the internal angle bisector of BAC, ie the external angle bisector of BAC. My ‘aha moment’ factor on this problem was therefore quite high.

Direct arguments

A direct argument for this problem might consider a pairs of points (M,N) and (M’,N’), and show directly that the circumcircles of ABC, AMN and AM’N’ concur at a second point, ie are coaxal. It seems unlikely to me that an argument along these lines wouldn’t find involve some characterisation of the point of concurrency along the way.

Do bear in mind, however, that such an approach runs the risk of cluttering the diagram. Points M and N really weren’t very important in anything that’s happened so far, so having two pairs doesn’t add extra insight in any of the previous methods. If this would have been your first reaction, ask yourself whether it would have been as straightforward or natural to find a description of D which led to a clean argument.

Another direct argument

Finally, a really neat observation, that enables you to solve the problem without characterising D. We saw that triangles DBM and DCN were congruent, and so we can obtain one from the other by rotating around D. We say D is the centre of the spiral similarity (here in fact with homothety factor 1 ie a spiral congruence) sending BM to CN. Note that in this sort of transformation, the direction of these segments matters. A different spiral similarity sends BM to NC.

But let’s take any M,N and view D as this spiral centre. The transformation therefore maps line AB to AC and preserves lengths. So in fact we’ve characterised D without reference to M and N ! Since everything we’ve said is reversible, this means as M and N vary, the point we seek, namely D, is constant.

This is only interesting as a proof variation if we can prove that D is the spiral centre without reference to one of the earlier arguments. But we can! In general a point D is the centre of spiral similarity mapping BM to CN iff it is also the centre of spiral similarity mapping BC to MN. And we can find the latter centre of spiral similarity using properties of the configuration. A is the intersection of MB and CN, so we know precisely that the spiral centre is the second intersection point of the two circumcircles, exactly as D is defined in the question.

(However, while this is cute, it’s somehow a shame not to characterise D as part of a solution…)

Random walks conditioned to stay positive

In this post, I’m going to discuss some of the literature concerning the question of conditioning a simple random walk to lie above a line with fixed gradient. A special case of this situation is conditioning to stay non-negative. Some notation first. Let (S_n)_{n\ge 0} be a random walk with IID increments, with distribution X. Take \mu to be the expectation of these increments, and we’ll assume that the variance \sigma^2 is finite, though at times we may need to enforce slightly stronger regularity conditions.

(Although simple symmetric random walk is a good example for asymptotic heuristics, in general we also assume that if the increments are discrete they don’t have parity-based support, or any other arithmetic property that prevents local limit theorems holding.)

We will investigate the probability that S_n\ge 0 for n=0,1,…,N, particularly for large N. For ease of notation we write T=\inf\{n\ge 0\,:\, S_n<0\} for the hitting time of the negative half-plane. Thus we are interested in S_n conditioned on T>N, or T=N, mindful that these might not be the same. We will also discuss briefly to what extent we can condition on T=\infty.

In the first paragraph, I said that this is a special case of conditioning SRW to lie above a line with fixed gradient. Fortunately, all the content of the general case is contained in the special case. We can repose the question of S_n conditioned to stay above n\alpha until step N by the question of S_n-n\alpha (which, naturally, has drift \mu-\alpha) conditioned to stay non-negative until step N, by a direct coupling.

Applications

Simple random walk is a perfectly interesting object to study in its own right, and this is a perfectly natural question to ask about it. But lots of probabilistic models can be studied via naturally embedded SRWs, and it’s worth pointing out a couple of applications to other probabilistic settings (one of which is the reason I was investigating this literature).

In many circumstances, we can desribe random trees and random graphs by an embedded random walk, such as an exploration process, as described in several posts during my PhD, such as here and here. The exploration process of a Galton-Watson branching tree is a particularly good example, since the exploration process really is simple random walk, unlike in, for example, the Erdos-Renyi random graph G(N,p), where the increments are only approximately IID. In this setting, the increments are given by the offspring distribution minus one, and the hitting time of -1 is the total population size of the branching process. So if the expectation of the offspring distribution is at most 1, then the event that the size of the tree is large is an atypical event, corresponding to delayed extinction. Whereas if the expectation is greater than one, then it is an event with limiting positive probability. Indeed, with positive probability the exploration process never hits -1, corresponding to survival of the branching tree. There are plenty of interesting questions about the structure of a branching process tree conditional on having atypically large size, including the spine decomposition of Kesten [KS], but the methods described in this post can be used to quantify the probability, or at least the scale of the probability of this atypical event.

In my current research, I’m studying a random walk embedded in a construction of the infinite-volume DGFF pinned at zero, as introduced by Biskup and Louidor [BL]. The random walk controls the gross behaviour of the field on annuli with dyadically-growing radii. Anyway, in this setting the random walk has Gaussian increments. (In fact, there is a complication because the increments aren’t exactly IID, but that’s definitely not a problem at this level of exposition.) The overall field is decomposed as a sum of the random walk, plus independent DGFFs with Dirichlet boundary conditions on each of the annuli, plus asymptotically negligible corrections from a ‘binding field’. Conditioning that this pinned field be non-negative up to the Kth annulus corresponds to conditioning the random walk to stay above the magnitude of the minimum of each successive annular DGFF. (These minima are random, but tightly concentrated around their expectations.)

Conditioning on \{T > N\}

When we condition on \{T>N\}, obviously the resulting distribution (of the process) is a mixture of the distributions we obtain by conditioning on each of \{T=N+1\}, \{T=N+2\},\ldots. Shortly, we’ll condition on \{T=N\} itself, but first it’s worth establishing how to relate the two options. That is, conditional on \{T>N\}, what is the distribution of T?

Firstly, when \mu>0, this event always has positive probability, since \mathbb{P}(T=\infty)>0. So as N\rightarrow\infty, the distribution of the process conditional on \{T>N\} converges to the distribution of the process conditional on survival. So we’ll ignore this for now.

In the case \mu\le 0, everything is encapsulated in the tail of the probabilities \mathbb{P}(T=N), and these tails are qualitatively different in the cases \mu=0 and \mu<0.

When \mu=0, then \mathbb{P}(T=N) decays polynomially in N. In the special case where S_n is simple symmetric random walk (and N has the correct parity), we can check this just by an application of Stirling’s formula to count paths with this property. By contrast, when \mu<0, even demanding S_N=-1 is a large deviations event in the sense of Cramer’s theorem, and so the probability decays exponentially with N. Mogulskii’s theorem gives a large deviation principle for random walks to lie above a line defined on the scale N. The crucial fact here is that the probabilistic cost of staying positive until N has the same exponent as the probabilistic cost of being positive at N. Heuristically, we think of spreading the non-expected behaviour of the increments uniformly through the process, at only polynomial cost once we’ve specified the multiset of values taken by the increments. So, when \mu<0, we have

\mathbb{P}(T\ge(1+\epsilon)N) \ll \mathbb{P}(T= N).

Therefore, conditioning on \{T\ge N\} in fact concentrates T on N+o(N). Whereas by contrast, when \mu=0, conditioning on \{T\ge N\} gives a nontrivial limit in distribution for T/N, supported on [1,\infty).

A related problem is the value taken by S_N, conditional on {T>N}. It’s a related problem because the event {T>N} depends only on the process up to time N, and so given the value of S_N, even with the conditioning, after time N, the process is just an unconditioned RW. This is a classic application of the Markov property, beloved in several guises by undergraduate probability exam designers.

Anyway, Iglehart [Ig2] shows an invariance principle for S_N | T>N when \mu<0, without scaling. That is S_N=\Theta(1), though the limiting distribution depends on the increment distribution in a sense that is best described through Laplace transforms. If we start a RW with negative drift from height O(1), then it hits zero in time O(1), so in fact this shows that conditonal on \{T\ge N\}, we have T= N +O(1) with high probability. When \mu=0, we have fluctuations on a scale \sqrt{N}, as shown earlier by Iglehart [Ig1]. Again, thinking about the central limit theorem, this fits the asymptotic description of T conditioned on T>N.

Conditioning on T=N

In the case \mu=0, conditioning on T=N gives

\left[\frac{1}{\sqrt{N}}S(\lfloor Nt\rfloor ) ,t\in[0,1] \right] \Rightarrow W^+(t), (*)

where W^+ is a standard Brownian excursion on [0,1]. This is shown roughly simultaneously in [Ka] and [DIM]. This is similar to Donsker’s theorem for the unconditioned random walk, which converges after rescaling to Brownian motion in this sense, or Brownian bridge if you condition on S_N=0. Skorohod’s proof for Brownian bridge [Sk] approximates the event \{S_N=0\} by \{S_N\in[-\epsilon \sqrt{N},+\epsilon \sqrt{N}]\}, since the probability of this event is bounded away from zero. Similarly, but with more technicalities, a proof of convergence conditional on T=N can approximate by \{S_m\ge 0, m\in[\delta N,(1-\delta)N], S_N\in [-\epsilon \sqrt{N},+\epsilon\sqrt{N}]\}. The technicalities here emerge since T, the first return time to zero, is not continuous as a function of continuous functions. (Imagine a sequence of processes f^N for which f^N(x)\ge 0 on [0,1] and f^N(\frac12)=\frac{1}{N}.)

Once you condition on T=N, the mean \mu doesn’t really matter for this scaling limit. That is, so long as variance is finite, for any \mu\in\mathbb{R}, the same result (*) holds, although a different proof is in general necessary. See [BD] and references for details. However, this is particularly clear in the case where the increments are Gaussian. In this setting, we don’t actually need to take a scaling limit. The distribution of Gaussian *random walk bridge* doesn’t depend on the mean of the increments. This is related to the fact that a linear transformation of a Gaussian is Gaussian, and can be seen by examining the joint density function directly.

Conditioning on T=\infty

When \mu>0, the event \{T=\infty\} occurs with positive probability, so it is well-defined to condition on it. When \mu\le 0, this is not the case, and so we have to be more careful.

First, an observation. Just for clarity, let’s take \mu<0, and condition on \{T>N\}, and look at the distribution of S_{\epsilon N}, where \epsilon>0 is small. This is approximately given by

\frac{S_{\epsilon N}}{\sqrt{N}}\stackrel{d}{\approx}W^+(\epsilon).

Now take \epsilon\rightarrow\infty and consider the RHS. If instead of the Brownian excursion W^+, we instead had Brownian motion, we could specify the distribution exactly. But in fact, we can construct Brownian excursion as the solution to an SDE:

\mathrm{d}W^+(t) = \left[\frac{1}{W^+(t)} - \frac{W^+(t)}{1-t}\right] \mathrm{d}t + \mathrm{d}B(t),\quad t\in(0,1) (**)

for B a standard Brownian motion. I might return in the next post to why this is valid. For now, note that the first drift term pushes the excursion away from zero, while the second term brings it back to zero as t\rightarrow 1.

From this, the second drift term is essentially negligible if we care about scaling W^+(\epsilon) as \epsilon\rightarrow 0, and we can say that W^+(\epsilon)=\Theta(\sqrt{\epsilon}).

So, returning to the random walk, we have

\frac{S_{\epsilon N}}{\sqrt{\epsilon N}}\stackrel{d}{\approx} \frac{W^+(\epsilon)}{\sqrt{\epsilon}} = \Theta(1).

At a heuristic level, it’s tempting to try ‘taking N\rightarrow\infty while fixing \epsilon N‘, to conclude that there is a well-defined scaling limit for the RW conditioned to stay positive forever. But we came up with this estimate by taking N\rightarrow\infty and then \epsilon\rightarrow 0 in that order. So while the heuristic might be convincing, this is not the outline of a valid argument in any way. However, the SDE representation of W^+ in the \epsilon\rightarrow 0 regime is useful. If we drop the second drift term in (**), we define the three-dimensional Bessel process, which (again, possibly the subject of a new post) is the correct scaling limit we should be aiming for.

Finally, it’s worth observing that the limit \{T=\infty\}=\lim_{N\rightarrow\infty} \{T>N\} is a monotone limit, and so further tools are available. In particular, if we know that the trajectories of the random walk satisfy the FKG property, then we can define this limit directly. It feels intuitively clear that random walks should satisfy the FKG inequality (in the sense that if a RW is large somewhere, it’s more likely to be large somewhere else). You can do a covariance calculation easily, but a standard way to show the FKG inequality applies is by verifying the FKG lattice condition, and unless I’m missing something, this is clear (though a bit annoying to check) when the increments are Gaussian, but not in general. Even so, defining this monotone limit does not tell you that it is non-degenerate (ie almost-surely finite), for which some separate estimates would be required.

A final remark: in a recent post, I talked about the Skorohod embedding, as a way to construct any centered random walk where the increments have finite variance as a stopped Brownian motion. One approach to conditioning a random walk to lie above some discrete function is to condition the corresponding Brownian motion to lie above some continuous extension of that function. This is a slightly stronger conditioning, and so any approach of this kind must quantify how much stronger. In Section 4 of [BL], the authors do this for the random walk associated with the DGFF conditioned to lie above a polylogarithmic curve.

References

[BD] – Bertoin, Doney – 1994 – On conditioning a random walk to stay nonnegative

[BL] – Biskup, Louidor – 2016 – Full extremal process, cluster law and freezing for two-dimensional discrete Gaussian free field

[DIM] – Durrett, Iglehart, Miller – 1977 – Weak convergence to Brownian meander and Brownian excursion

[Ig1] – Iglehart – 1974 – Functional central limit theorems for random walks conditioned to stay positive

[Ig2] – Iglehart – 1974 – Random walks with negative drift conditioned to stay positive

[Ka] – Kaigh – 1976 – An invariance principle for random walk conditioned by a late return to zero

[KS] – Kesten, Stigum – 1966 – A limit theorem for multidimensional Galton-Watson processes

[Sk] – Skorohod – 1955 – Limit theorems for stochastic processes with independent increments

Symmedians and Balkan MO 2017 Q2

While I was away, I wrote about my latest approach to teaching geometry at olympiad camps. This post will end up being about Q2 from the Balkan MO which took place yesterday in Macedonia, but first there is quite a long prelude. My solution, and probably many solutions, to this problem made use of a standard configuration in triangle geometry, namely the symmedian. I want to introduce the configuration, give some simpler examples in practice, and along the way talk about my slightly patched-together philosophy about the merits of practising Euclidean geometry.

The symmedian

Draw a triangle ABC, with A at the top of the page, and extend the rays AB and AC. The median is the line from A through M, the midpoint of BC. Now take points D and E on AB and AC respectively. The following properties are equivalent:

  • DE is parallel to BC;
  • triangle ADE is similar to triangle ABC;
  • the median of ABC passes through the midpoint of DE, and thus is also the median of ADE.

I think it’s a little awkward to prove either of the first two from the third – ratios of areas works – but the rest of the equivalences are straightforward. Later I’m going to talk about the difference between an exercise and a problem. These are all, at best, exercises.

Now take B’ on the ray AC, and C’ on the ray AB such that triangle AB’C’ is similar to triangle ABC. One way to achieve this is to take B’ and C’ to be the reflections in the angle bisector of A of B and C respectively (so then AB’=AB and AC’=AC). We say the line B’C’ is antiparallel to BC, as is any other line DE parallel to B’C’. (Probably this should say ‘with respect to triangle ABC’ or similar, but the context here is very clear, and I want this to seem natural rather than opaque.) Note that DE is an antiparallel line iff BCED is a cyclic quadrilateral. We should remember that, as cyclic quadrilaterals are the signposts for progress in both exercises and problems.

The median of triangle AB’C’ obeys the same equivalences as described above, and so bisects any antiparallel segment. We call the median of triangle AB’C’ the symmedian of triangle ABC. Using the first set of equivalences, the symmedian of triangle ABC bisects any line antiparallel to BC. Furthermore, by construction, the symmedian is the image of the median of ABC under reflection in the bisector of the angle at A. We sometimes say that the symmedian is the isogonal conjugate of the median.

That’s my definition. Note that there was essentially one definition then a couple of easy equivalent definitions. At no point again will I discuss the equivalence of these definitions – we have to take that for granted if we want to get on to more interesting things.

Intersection of tangents + concurrency

Now, in triangle ABC, draw the tangents to the circumcircle at B and C. These meet at P. It turns out that AP is the symmedian. This could have been our definition of a symmedian, but it wasn’t, so let’s quickly prove this.

Trigonometric arguments are very accessible, but I’ll give a Euclidean argument. Draw the antiparallel DE through P, as shown. Our task is to show that EP=PD. At this point, I would again say that this is an exercise.

We colour the angle ABC in green. Two angles around point C share this measure by the alternate segment theorem. The angle at E shares this measure because DE is antiparallel. Therefore CPE is isosceles, and so EP=CP. But CP=BP, so by applying the same argument for the orange angles, we get EP=CP=BP=DP as required.

Pause to regroup. Proving this wasn’t hard, but it was perhaps surprising. If this was all new to you, and I told you to consider the reflection of the median in the angle bisector, you probably wouldn’t instantly exclaim “it goes through the tangent intersection!” So this is a useful piece of knowledge to have gained, in case we ever have to work with the intersection of two tangents like this. Maybe it won’t be useful, but maybe it will. Maybe the statement itself won’t but some extra insights from the proof will be useful, like the fact that we actually showed P is the centre of the circle BCED, and thus angles ECD=EBD=90.

A second property is that in a triangle ABC, the symmedian from A, the symmedian from B and the symmedian from C intersection at, naturally, the symmedian point, which is usually denoted K. This comes from the fact that each symmedian is the isogonal conjugate of the respective median, and the medians are known to concur at the centroid. I’m not going to get into this now.

Configurations – an example

Here’s a problem. Take an isosceles trapezium ABCD as shown (ie throughout I don’t want to worry about alternative diagrams).

Let M be the midpoint of AD, and let E be the point on CM such that angle DBM = EBA. Prove that ABCDE is cyclic.

Well, certainly ABCD is cyclic. So we just need to show E also lies on that circle. And we have two equal angles, but they aren’t in the right place to conclude this immediately. However, we have angle MCA = DBM = EBA, so ABCE is cyclic, and the result follows.

Why is angle MCA = DBM? Well, the isosceles trapezium has an axis of (reflective) symmetry, and MCA is the is image of DBM under that reflection. Simple. If we wanted to do it with congruent triangles, this would all be a bit more laborious. First have to show BD=AC using one set of congruent triangles, then CM=BM using another, finally finishing using DM=MA. This is much less interesting. The symmetry of the configuration is a higher-level observation which could be proved from the axioms of geometry if necessary, but gives us more information more quickly. When we use a configuration like the symmedian configuration, we are really doing a higher-again-level version of this.

Anyway, that problem is fine, but it’s not especially difficult.

Consider instead the following problem. (I saw this online, possibly with slightly different notation, a few days ago and can no longer find the link. If anyone can help, I will add the link.)

Let AB be a chord of a circle, with midpoint M, and let the tangents at A and B meet at P. Consider a line through P which meets the circle at C and D in that order. Extend CM to meet the circle again at E. Show DME is isosceles.

Here’s a diagram, though it includes some clues.

I thought this was a fun problem, and for a while I couldn’t do it because despite lots of equal angles and equal lengths, I couldn’t conjure any congruent triangles in the right places, and I didn’t care enough about solving it to get involved in trigonometry. Then came the moment of insight. We have a midpoint, and also the intersection of the tangents. So DP is the symmedian of triangle DAB, and DM is the median. This gives us the two equal orange angles. Cyclicity gives us an extra equal angle at E as well.

Note now that the situation is very very similar to the previous question (after changing some of the labels), only this time we know ACBDE is cyclic, but don’t know that ABDE is an isosceles trapezium. If ABDE is an isosceles trapezium, we are clearly finished, as then by the same symmetry argument, EM=DM. This direction is probably harder to prove than the direction of the previous problem. Again there are a couple of ways to proceed, but one way is to consider the point E’ such that ABDE’ is an isosceles trapezium, and arguing that E’ lies on the given circle, and the circle through BME, and thus must coincide with E, in a reverse reconstruction argument.

Anyway, this is all slightly a matter of taste, but I would say the second problem is much much more fun than the first problem, even though the second part of the solution is basically the first problem but in a more awkward direction. If you’re going to do Euclidean geometry at all (very much another question), I think you should do questions like the second question wherever possible. And the enjoyable ‘aha moment’ came from knowing about the symmedian configuration. Is it really plausible that you’d look at the original diagram (without the dashed orange lines) and think of the antiparallel to AB in triangle DAB through point P? Probably not. So knowing about the configuration gave access to the good bit of a nice problem.

‘Philosophy of this sort of thing’

If the goal was to solve the second problem in a competition, knowing about the symmedian configuration would be a big advantage. I’ve tried to justify a related alternative view that knowing about the configuration gave access to an enjoyable problem. The question is how many configurations to study, and how hard to study them?

We tend not to think of cyclic quadrilaterals as a special configuration, but that is what they are. We derived circle theorems from the definition of a circle so that we don’t always have to mark on the centre, every single time we have a cyclic quadrilateral. So becoming familiar with a few more is not unreasonable. In particular, there are times when proofs are more important than statements. In research (certainly mine), understanding how various proofs work is the most important aspect, for when you try to extend them or specialise. And in lots of competition problems, the interesting bit is normally finding the argument rather than basking in wonder at the statement (though sometimes the latter is true too!).

To digress briefly. In bridge, I don’t know enough non-obvious motifs in bidding or gameplay to play interesting hands well. I trust that if I thought about some of it very very carefully, I could come up with some of them, especially in gameplay, but not in real time. And it is supposed to be fun right?! Concentrating very very hard to achieve a basic level of competence is not so enjoyable, especially if it’s supposed to be a break from regular work. The end result of this is that I don’t play bridge, which is a shame, because I think the hurdles between where I am currently and a state where I enjoy playing bridge are quite low. If I knew I was going to play bridge regularly, a bit of time reading about conventions would be time well spent. And obviously this applies equally in pursuits which aren’t directly intellectual. Occasionally practising specific skills in isolation broadens overall enjoyment in sport, music, and probably everything. As anyone who’s played in an orchestra knows, there are standard patterns that come up all the time. If you practise these occasionally, you get to a stage where you don’t really need to concentrate that hard in the final movement of Beethoven 5, and instead can listen to the horns, make funny faces at the first violins, and save your mental energy for the handful of non-standard tricky bits. And of course, then move on to more demanding repertoire, where maybe the violas actually get a tune.

This is highly subjective, but my view is that in all these examples are broadly similar to configurations in geometry, and in all of them a little goes a long way.

How? In lots of the geometry configurations you might meet in, for example, a short session at a training camp, most of the conclusions about the configurations have proofs which, like in our symmedian case, are simple exercises. Once you’ve got over some low initial experience hurdles, you have to trust that you can normally solve any simple exercise if required. If you can’t, moving on and returning later, or asking for help is a good policy. The proof shown above that symmedians pass through tangent meet points (and especially a trigonometric alternative) really isn’t interesting enough to spend hours trying to find it. The statements themselves are more useful and interesting here. And it can often be summarised quite quickly: “symmedians are the isogonal conjugates of the medians, so they bisect antiparallels, meet at K, and pass through the alternate tangent meeting points.” Probably having a picture in your mind is even simpler.

There’s a separate question of whether this is worthwhile. I think solving geometry problems occasionally is quite fun, so I guess yes I do think it is worthwhile, but I understand others might not. And if you want to win maths competitions, in the current framework you have to solve geometry problems under time pressure. But from an educational point of view, even though the statements themselves have no real modern research value, I think a) that’s quite a high bar to set, and there’s no a priori reason why they should – >99.9% of things anyone encounters before university have no value to modern research maths; b) in terms of knowledge acquisition, it’s similar in spirit to lots of things that are relevant to later study. I don’t have to solve PDEs very often, but when I do, I hope they are equivalent or similar to one of the small collection of PDEs I do know how to solve. If I worked more with PDEs, the size of this collection would grow naturally, after some initial struggles, and might eventually match my collection of techniques for showing scaling limits of random processes, which is something I need to use often, so the collection is much larger. Maybe that similarity isn’t enough justification by itself, but I think it does mean it can’t be written off as educationally valueless.

Balkan MO 2017 Question Two

An acute angled triangle ABC is given, with AB<AC, and \omega is its circumcircle. The tangents t_B,t_C at B,C respectively meet at L. The line through B parallel to AC meets t_C at D. The line through C parallel to AB meets t_B at E. The circumcircle of triangle BCD meets AC internally at T. The circumcircle of triangle BCE meets AB extended at S. Prove that ST, BC and AL are concurrent.

Ok, so why have I already written 1500 words about symmedians as a prelude to this problem? Because AL is a symmedian. This was my first observation. This observation is then a route into non-Euclidean solutions. It means, for example, that you can describe the point of concurrency fairly explicitly with reference to triangle ABC. If you wish, you can then proceed using areal coordinates. One member of the UK team, whom I know is perfectly capable of finding a synthetic solution, did this. And why not? It’s a competition, and if you can see a method that will definitely work, and definitely take 45 minutes (or whatever) then that’s good.

I was taking a break from work in my office, and had no interest in spending the time evaluating determinants because that isn’t enjoyable at any level, so I focused on the geometry.

I think there’s a good moral from the diagram above, which is the first moderately correct one I drew. I often emphasise that drawing an accurate diagram is important, as it increases the chance that you’ll spot key properties. In this case though, where you’re trying to examine a known configuration, I think it’s more important what you choose to include on your diagram, than how accurately you draw it. (In a moment, we’ll see why it definitely wasn’t very accurate.)

In particular, what’s not on the diagram? E is not on the diagram, and S got added later (as did the equal length signs in TB and CS, which rather spoil what’s about to happen). My first diagram was wildly incorrect, but it also suggested to me that the line ST was hard to characterise, and that I should start by deducing as much as possible about S and T by themselves. So by symmetry, probably it was enough just to deduce as much as possible about T.

Label the angles of triangle ABC as <A, <B, And therefore TB is an antiparallel in triangle ABC. (Note this doesn’t look antiparallel on my diagram at all, but as I said, this didn’t really matter.) Obviously you then guess that CS is also an antiparallel, and on a different diagram I checked this, for essentially the same reasons.

We haven’t yet made any use of the symmedian, but this is clearly where it’ll be useful. Note that if we didn’t know about everything in the prelude, we might well have deduced all of this, but we might not have thought to prove that AL bisects TB unless we’d drawn a very accurate diagram.

At this point, we have to trust that we have enough information to delete most of the diagram, leaving just {A,B,C,S,T} and the line AL. There are a few ways to finish, including similar triangles if you try very hard or trigonometry if you do it right, but again knowledge of some standard configurations is useful. Probably the quickest way is to use Ceva’s theorem in triangle ACS. You can also use Menelaus’ theorem in ABC, so long as you know a little bit about where the symmedian meets the opposite side.

An alternative is the following. We have a complete quadrilateral here, namely BTCS, and the intersection of all its diagonals. One is A, one is the proposed point of concurrency, and one is the point at infinity, since TB || CS. You can chase that, but I found it more clear to let P be the intersection of ST and BC (which we want to prove lies on AL), then look at the complete quadrilateral ATPB. Then AT and BP meet at C, and AB and TP meet at S. So if we look at where the diagonals of ATPB meet the line CS, we have a harmonic range.

If I’d wanted, I could instead have written the prelude about harmonic ranges, but I had fewer ideas how to set these up in a slick Euclidean way. Also, it feels better to talk about the start, rather than the end of a proof, especially when there were alternative endings. Anyway, a harmonic range is a collection of two pairs of points on a line (A, B; C, D), satisfying the following ratio of directed lengths:

\frac{AC}{BC} = -\frac{AD}{BD}.

A classic example is when D is the point at infinity, the RHS is -1, and so C is the midpoint of AB. Being happy about using the point at infinity is a property of projective geometry, of which this is a good first example. Anyway, returning to the problem, we are looking at where the diagonals of ATPB meet line CS, and this pair of points forms a harmonic range with (C,S). TB meets CS at the point at infinity, and so AP meets CS at the midpoint of CS. But from the symmedian configuration, AL bisects CS, so AP and AL are in fact the same line, and so P lies on AL as required.

I think was a brilliant example of when knowing a bit of theory is enjoyable. It wasn’t at all obvious initially how to use the symmedian property, but then the observation that TB is antiparallel felt like a satisfying breakthrough, but didn’t immediately kill the problem.

Balkan MO 2017 – Qs 1, 3 and 4

The UK is normally invited to participate as a guest team at the Balkan Mathematical Olympiad, an annual competition between eleven countries from South-Eastern Europe. I got to take part in Rhodes almost exactly ten years ago, and this year the competition was held in Ohrid, in Macedonia. There’s one paper, comprising four questions, normally one from each of the agreed olympiad topic areas, with 4.5 hours for students to address them. The contest was sat this morning, and I’m going to say quite a bit about the geometric Q2, and a little bit about Qs 1 and 3 also. In all cases, this discussion will include most of a solution, with some commentary, so don’t read these if you are planning to try the problems yourself.

I’m not saying anything about Q4, because I haven’t solved it. (Edit: I have solved it now, so will postpone Q2 until later today.)

Question One

Find all ordered pairs of positive integers (x,y) such that

x^3+y^3=x^2+42xy+y^2.

The first thought is that if either of x or y is ‘large’, then the LHS is bigger than the RHS, and so equality can’t hold. That is, there are only finitely many solutions. The smallest possible value of y is, naturally, 1, and substituting y=1 is convenient as then y^2=y^3, and it’s straightforward to derive x=7 as a solution.

Regarding the non-existence of large solutions, you can make this precise by factorising the LHS as

(x+y)(x^2-xy+y^2) = x^2+42xy+y^2.

There are 44 terms of degree two on the RHS, and one term of degree in the second bracket on the LHS. With a bit of AM-GM, you can see then that if x+y>44, you get a contradiction, as the LHS will be greater than the RHS. But that’s still a lot of possibilities to check.

It struck me that I could find ways to reduce the burden by reducing modulo various primes. 2, 3 and 7 all divide 42, and furthermore cubes are nice modulo 7 and squares are nice modulo 3, so maybe that would bring the number of possibilities down. But my instinct was that this wasn’t the right way to use the fact that we were solving over positive integers.

The second bracket in the factorisation looks enough like the RHS, that it’s worth exploring. If we move x^2-xy+y^2 from the right to the left, we get

(x+y-1)(x^2-xy+y^2) = 43xy. (1.1)

Now it suddenly does look useful that we are solving over positive integers, because 43 is a prime, so has to appear as a factor somewhere on the LHS. But it’s generally quite restrictive that x^2-xy+y^2 | 43xy. This definitely looks like something that won’t hold often. If x and y are coprime, then certainly x^2-xy+y^2 and y are coprime also. But actually if x and y have a non-trivial common factor d, we can divide both sides by d^2, and it still holds. Let’s write

x=dm,\quad y=dn,\quad\text{where }d=\mathrm{gcd}(x,y).

Then m^2 -mn+n^2 really does divide 43, since it is coprime to both m and n. This is now very restrictive indeed, since it requires that m^2-mn+n^2 be equal to 1 or 43. A square-sandwiching argument gives m^2-mn+n^2=1 iff m=n=1. 43 requires a little bit more work, with (at least as I did it) a few cases to check by hand, but again only has one solution, namely m=7, n=1 and vice versa.

We now need to add the common divisor d back into the mix. In the first case, (1.1) reduces to (2d-1)=43, which gives (x,y)=(22,22). In the second case, after cancelling a couple of factors, (1.1) reduces to (8d-1)=7, from which (x,y)=(7,1),(1,7) emerges, and these must be all the solutions.

The moral here seemed to be that divisibility was a stronger tool than case-reduction. But that was just this question. There are other examples where case-reduction is probably more useful than chasing divisibility.

Question Three

Find all functions f:\mathbb{N}\rightarrow\mathbb{N} such that

n+f(m) \,\big|\, f(n)+nf(m)

for all m,n\in\mathbb{N}.

What would be useful here? There are two variables, and a function. It would be useful if we could reduce the number of variables, or the number of occurences of f. We can reduce the number of variables by taking m=n, to get

n+f(n) \,\big|\, f(n) [1+n]. (3.1)

From this, we might observe that f(n)\equiv 1 is a solution. Of course we could analyse this much more, but this doesn’t look like a 10/10 insight, so I tried other things first.

In general, the statement that a\,|\,b also tells us that a\,|\, b-ka. That is, we can subtract arbitrary multiples of the divisor, and the result is still true. A recurring trope is that the original b is elegant, but an adjusted b-ka is useful. I don’t think we can do the latter, but by subtracting n^2 +nf(m) from the problem statement, we get

n+f(m) \,\big|\, n^2-f(n). (3.2)

There’s now no m on the RHS, but this relation has to hold for all m. One option is that f(n)=n^2 everywhere, then what we’ve deduced always holds since the RHS is zero. But if there’s a value of n for which f(n)\ne n^2, then (3.2) is a very useful statement. From now on, we assume this. Because then as we fix n and vary m, we need n+f(m) to remain a divisor of the RHS, which is fixed, and so has finitely many divisors. So f(m) takes only finitely many values, and in particular is bounded.

This ties to the observation that f\equiv 1 is a solution, which we made around (3.1), so let’s revisit that: (Note, there might be more elegant ways to finish from here, but this is what I did. Also note, n is no longer fixed as in previous paragraph.)

n+f(n) \,\big|\, f(n) [1+n]. (3.1)

Just to avoid confusion between the function itself, and one of the finite collection of values it might take, let’s say b is a value taken by f. So there are values of n for which

n+b \,\big|\, b(1+n).

By thinking about linear equations, you might be able to convince yourself that there are only finitely many solutions (in n) to this relation. There are certainly only finitely many solutions where LHS=RHS (well, at most one solution), and only finitely many where 2xLHS=RHS etc etc. But why do something complicated, when we can actually repeat the trick from the beginning, and subtract b(n+b), to obtain

n+b \,\big|\, b^2-b.

For similar reasons to before, this is a great deduction, because it means if b\ne 1, then the RHS is positive, which means only finitely many n can satisfy this relation. Remember we’re trying to show that no n can satisfy this relation if b\ne 1, so this is definitely massive progress!

If any of what’s already happened looked like magic, I hope we can buy into the idea that subtracting multiples of the divisor from the RHS is the only tool we used, and that making the RHS fixed gives a lot of information about the LHS as the free variable varies. The final step is not magic either. We know that f is eventually 1. If you prefer “for large enough n, f(n)=1,” since all other values appear only finitely often. I could write this with quantifiers, but I don’t want to, because that makes it seem more complicated than it is. We genuinely don’t care when the last non-1 value appears.

Anyway, since we’ve deduced this, we absolutely have to substitute this into something we already have. Why not the original problem statement? Fix m, then for all large enough n

n+f(m) \,\big|\, 1+nf(m). (3.3)

To emphasise, (3.3) has to hold for all large enough n. Is it possible that f(m)=2? Again, it’s easy to convince yourself not. But, yet again, why not use the approach we’ve used so profitably before to clear the RHS? In fact, we already did this, and called it (3.2), and we can make that work [3.4], but in this setting, because f(m) is fixed and we’re working with variable large n, it’s better to eliminate n, to get

n+f(m)\,\big|\, f(m)^2-1,

again for all large enough n. By the same size argument as before, this is totally impossible unless f(m)=1. Which means that in fact f(m)=1 for all m. Remember ages ago we assumed that f(n) was not n^2 everywhere, so this gives our two solutions: f(n)=1,\, f(n)=n^2.

Moral: choosing carefully which expression to work with can make life much more interesting later. Eliminating as many variables or difficult things from one side is a good choice. Playing with small values can help you understand the problem, but here you need to think about soft properties of the expression, in particular what happens when you take one variable large while holding another fixed.

[3.4] – if you do use the original approach, you get n^2-1 on the RHS. There’s then the temptation to kill the divisibility by taking n to be the integer in the middle of a large twin prime pair. Unfortunately, the existence of such an n is still just a conjecture

Question Four

(Statement copied from Art of Problem Solving. I’m unsure whether this is the exact wording given to the students in the contest.)

On a circular table sit n>2 students. First, each student has just one candy. At each step, each student chooses one of the following actions:

(A) Gives a candy to the student sitting on his left or to the student sitting on his right.

(B) Separates all its candies in two, possibly empty, sets and gives one set to the student sitting on his left and the other to the student sitting on his right.

At each step, students perform the actions they have chosen at the same time. A distribution of candy is called legitimate if it can occur after a finite number of steps.
Find the number of legitimate distributions.

My moral for this question is this: I’m glad I thought about this on the bus first. What I found hardest here was getting the right answer. My initial thoughts:

  • Do I know how to calculate the total number of possibilities, irrespective of the algorithm? Fortunately yes I do. Marbles-in-urns = barriers between marbles on a line (maybe add one extra marble per urn first). [4.1]
  • What happens if you just use technique a)? Well first you can get into trouble because what happens if you have zero sweets? But fine, let’s temporarily say you can have a negative number of sweets. If n is even, then there’s a clear parity situation developing, as if you colour the children red and blue alternately, at every stage you have n/2 sweets moving from red children to blue and vice versa, so actually the total number of sweets among the red children is constant through the process.
  • What happens if you just use technique b)? This felt much more promising.
  • Can you get all the sweets to one child? I considered looking at the child directly opposite (or almost-directly opposite) and ‘sweeping’ all the sweets away from them. It felt like this would work, except if for some parity reason we couldn’t prevent the final child having one (or more, but probably exactly one) sweets at the crucial moment when all the other sweets got passed to him.

Then I got home, and with some paper, I felt I could do all possibilities with n=5, and all but a few when n=6. My conjecture was that all are possible with n odd, and all are possible with n even, except those when none of the red kids or none of the kids get a sweet. I tried n=8, and there were a few more that I couldn’t construct, but this felt like my failure to be a computer rather than a big problem. Again there’s a trade-off between confirming your answer, and trying to prove it.

Claim: If n is even, you can’t achieve the configurations where either the red children or the blue children have no sweets.

Proof: Suppose you can. That means there’s a first time that all the sweets were on one colour. Call this time T. Without loss of generality, all the sweets are on red at T. Where could the sweets have been at time T-1? I claim they must all have been on blue, which contradicts minimality. Why? Because if at least one red child had at least one sweet, they must have passed at least one sweet to a blue neighbour.

Now it remains to give a construction for all other cases. In the end, my proof has two stages:

Step One: Given a configuration, in two steps, you can move a candy two places to the right, leaving everything else unchanged.

This is enough to settle the n odd case. For the even case, we need an extra step, which really corresponds to an initial phase of the construction.

Step Two: We can make some version of the ‘sweeping’ move precise, to end up in some configuration where the red number of children have any number of sweets except 0 or n.

Step one is not so hard. Realising that step one would be a useful tool to have was probably the one moment where I shifted from feeling like I hadn’t got into the problem to feeling that I’d mostly finished it. As ever in constructions, working out how to do a small local adjustment, which you plan to do lots of times to get a global effect, is great. (Think of how you solve a Rubik’s cube for example.)

Step two is notationally fiddly, and I would think very carefully before writing it up. In the end I didn’t use the sweeping move. Instead, with the observation that you can take an adjacent pair and continually swap their sweets it’s possible to set up an induction.

Actual morals: Observing the possibility to make a small change in a couple of moves (Step one above) was crucial. My original moral does still hold slightly. Writing lots of things down didn’t make life easier, and in the end the ideas on the bus were pretty much everything I needed.

[4.1] – one session to a group of 15 year olds is enough to teach you that the canon is always ‘marbles in urns’ never ‘balls’ nor ‘bags’, let alone both.