The Quality of Mercy

The Thought For The Day:
I don't do drugs anymore... I find I get the same effect just standing up fast.


I received a letter I'd like to share with you:

Dear Bubba,

I’m writing to you as a last resort. I am an enigma, a formula to be more precise, and I’ve enticed and enchanted mathematical theorists for centuries. You have the most wonderful readership known to man, and I’m hoping there’s someone among them capable of understanding me. I guess I really shouldn’t complain, I’ve gotten lots and lots of attention over the years, but sometimes it seems that no one understands me, at least not in a deep and abiding way.

I’m the equation xn + yn = zn, where n represents a whole number greater than two. That’s it... as theorems go, I’m really pretty simple, but I have no solution. That’s me in a nutshell, but for some reason, men are fascinated by me and no one, no matter how hard they might try, can come up with my solution. It’s depressing...

Like any beautiful woman, I attracted some men who only wanted to fool around with me a little before moving on. They manipulated me in un-Godly ways and forced me to commit perverse acts of atrocity just so they could chart my curves and revel in my many provocative undulations on or about the x-y axis. Take that bastard, Yarosh, for example, who went out of his way to prove me for n=2. Do you have any idea how that made me feel? It was so incredibly degrading. Would you want to be proven for just n=2 and nothing else?

At first, I thought Euler was different from all the others. He spent every waking moment thinking only of me... and I held such great hopes for the future. But, alas, it was not to be; he failed to understand me like all the others.

And don't bring up that tired old argument about Andrew Wiles, either. He’s the worst of them all. Sure, in 1994, he proved me, like that’s the end-all of end-alls... he walks in, manipulates me and gets lucky. Slam, bam, thank you, ma’am... but that's not the same thing as understanding me, as truly knowing what makes me tick. Did he once, in his 20-year obsession, ask me what kind of music I liked? Or inquire as to my favorite scent? No.

In the final analysis, he used that easy Taniyama-Shimura conjecture to get to me—I was reduced to becoming the product of an Oriental gang-bang! That hurt. It reduced a big part of me to a semi-stable case and I thought I had, for all time, lost my identity. In all his years of fondling me (and never to completion), the only time he ever spoke directly to me was late at night when he'd been working too hard, and he was depressed and embarrassed by allowing his Japanese buddies to share me.

Screw Andrew Wiles and everyone who looks like him! I haven’t heard from him for nearly ten years now, and I hope I never do again. More than likely, he’s off solving three-body problems using only odd numbers, if you get my gist... he’s into that sort of group thing.

Bubba, if people care about you, they don’t need proof. They can find out all about you by merely trusting their feelings and communicating. I have lots and lots of experience with mathematicians, and late at night, when I’m really most vulnerable, is when they are at their worst. They’ll tell you anything. They say they want to understand you, but it’s really only the thrill of the hunt... the conquest. They never stop to ask me HOW I can be understood. It’s then I want to scream at them, “Hey! Put down that calculator and just talk to me! I’ll tell you anything you want to know if only you’ll think about ME for a change!”

Maybe that’s how they all are. They use their fanciful explanations, always dancing around the true essence, but they never really get to know you. Okay, I admit, I’m not the easiest theorem in the world. There... I said it, are you happy now? But I hardly think I’m impossible! At one time, no one could prove the Pythagorean Theorem, either... nowadays, nine-year-olds understand his entire essence. Maybe it’s our age difference, I don’t know... he’s a very old theorem.

I just know I can't give up hope. However, I also know I can't rely on imaginary numbers to make me complete, either. That's just not the kind of theorem I am. Deep down, I have some really complex variables. There may be no solution for me for whole numbers greater than two, but I've learned to live with that. All I need is one, just one person who truly understands me, and I'll finally consider myself a complete, happy, balanced equation.

Bubba, do you know anyone who can complete me? I’m not asking that he be rich or good-looking, or even smart, for that matter... I just want to find a quiet, unassuming mathematician (please, no engineers) who holds the key to my future happiness. I’m begging you, please help me.

Waiting,

Fermat’s Last Theorem

Folks, I don't ask for much... could one of you please answer this cry for help? You could possibly save a life this morning. Honestly, I think she's desperate. Look into your heart and sharpen your pencil... you can do it, I know you can.