Introduction To Mathematical Thinking Algebra and Number Systems 1St Edition Gilbert Solutions Manual Full Chapter PDF

Introduction To Mathematical Thinking
Algebra And Number Systems 1st

Edition Gilbert Solutions Manual
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Chapter 6 Solutions
An Introduction to Mathematical Thinking:
Algebra and Number Systems
William J. Gilbert and Scott A. Vanstone, Prentice Hall, 2005
Solutions prepared by William J. Gilbert and Alejandro Morales
Exercise 6-1:
Which of the following are functions from {1, 2, 3} to {a, b, c}?
1 a
2 b
3 c
Solution:
It is not a function because 2 in the domain does not have an image in
{a, b, c}.
Exercise 6-2:
1 a
2 b
3 c
Solution:
It is a function because every element of {1, 2, 3} has assigned a unique
element of {a, b, c}.
Exercise 6-3:
1 a
2 b
3 c
Solution:
It is not a function because 1 from the domain is assigned to a and c from
the codomain.
Exercise 6-4:
1 a
2 b
3 c
6.1
Solution:
It is a function because every element of {1, 2, 3} has assigned a unique
element of {a, b, c}.
Exercise 6-5:
For each of the following formulas, find the largest set X ⊆ R for which f :
X → R defines a real valued function of a real variable. Sketch the graph of
each function and find the image Y = f (X). State whether or not the function
f : X → Y has an inverse f −1 : Y → X, and give a formula for f −1 (x) when
the inverse exists.
f (x) = x2 − 1.
Solution:
Let f (x) = x2 − 1. f is defined for all x ∈ R. so X = R.
y0
0
x
Because x2 ≥ 0 for all x ∈ R then f (x) = x2 − 1 ≥ −1. So the image Y = f (X)

is Y = {y ∈ R | y ≥ −1}. Since f (x) is not injective (f (x) = f (−x)) then the
function f does not have an inverse.
Exercise 6-6:
the inverse
√ exists.
f (x) = x − 2.
Solution: √
Let f (x) = x − 2. f is not real when x − 2 < 0 so X = {x ∈ R | x ≥ 2}.
6.2
y1
1.5
x
Because f (x) ≥ 0 for all x ∈ R then the image Y = f (X) is Y = {y ∈ R | y ≥

0}. Since f : X → Y is both injective and surjective√ then f has an inverse. To
find the formula we interchange x and y to get x = y − 2. Squaring both sides
we get x2 = y − 2 so f −1 : Y → X is given by f −1 (x) = x2 + 2.
Exercise 6-7:
the inverse exists.
x
f (x) = 2 .
x +x
Solution:
Let f (x) = x/(x2 + x). f is not defined when x = 0 or x = −1, then
X = {x ∈ R | x 6= −1, 0}.
-1 0
f (x) is not defined for x = 0. So X = {x ∈ R | x 6= 0}. When x 6= 0

then f (x) = 1/(x + 1), so for x 6= 0, f (x) 6= 0. Moreover, 1/(1 + x) = 1 when
x = 0, but the function is not defined at this point. So the image Y = f (X)
is Y = {y ∈ R | y 6= 0, 1}. Since f : X → Y is both injective and surjective
then f has an inverse. To find the formula we interchange x and y which gives
x = y/(y 2 + y). Because 0 ∈ / Y we can divide the numerator and denominator
by y to get x = 1/(y + 1). Solving for y we get
1
(y + 1) =
x
1
y = −1
x
6.3
Then f −1 : Y → X given by f −1 (x) = (1 − x)/x.
Exercise 6-8:
the inverse exists.
x
f (x) = .
x+1
Solution:
Let f (x) = x/(x + 1). f is not defined when x = −1, then X = {x ∈ R | x 6=
−1}.
0.5y
-0.5
x
Now for x ∈ X,
x x+1−1 1
f (x) = = =1− .
x+1 x+1 x+1
Because 1/(x + 1) 6= 0 for all x ∈ X then f (x) 6= 1 for all x ∈ X. So the image
Y = f (X) is R = {y ∈ R | y 6= 1}.
Since f : X → Y is both injective and surjective then f has an inverse. To
find the formula for f −1 we interchange x and y which gives x = y/(y + 1).
Solving for y gives,
y
x =
y+1
xy − y = −x
−x x
y = = .
x−1 1−x
Then f −1 : Y → X given by f −1 (x) = x/(1 − x).
6.4
Exercise 6-9:
f : X → Y has an inverse f −1 : Y → X, and give a formula for
f (x) = sin 5x
Solution:
Let f (x) = sin 5x.
The domain of f (x) is the same as the domain of the sine function. So the
largest set for which f defines a real valued function of a real variable is X = R.
−π π
Now for x ∈ X, −1 ≤ sin 5x ≤ 1. So Y = f (X) = [−1, 1].

f (x) is periodic with period 2π/5. Clearly f (x) is not bijective and does not
have an inverse f −1 : Y → X.
Exercise 6-10:
f (x) = 5x
Solution:
Let f (x) = 5x .
f (x) is an exponential function. The largest set for which f defines a real
valued function of a real variable is X = R.
y 1.5
0
x
6.5
Now for x ∈ X, 5x > 0. So Y = f (X) = {y ∈ R | y > 0}.
Because f (x) is both injective and surjective then f has an inverse. To find
the function of f −1 we interchange x and y which gives x = 5y . Solving for y
we get
5y = x
log5 5y = log5 x
y = log5 x
Then f −1 : Y → X given by f −1 (x) = log5 x.
Exercise 6-11:
f (x) = log10 (3 − x)
Solution:
Let f (x) = log10 (3 − x).
f (x) is a logarithmic function. In order for f to be defined 3 − x > 0, then
x < 3. Therefore the largest set for which f defines a real valued function of a
real variable is X = {x ∈ R | x < 3}. And the image Y = f (X) = R.
0 3
Because g(x) = 3 − x, and h(x) = log10 x are both bijective in X → Y , then

so is h ◦ g = f . So f has an inverse. To find the formula we interchange x and
y. This gives x = log10 (3 − y). Solving for y we get
log10 (3 − y) = x
10log10 (3−y) = 10x
3 − y = 10x
Then f −1 : Y → X given by f −1 (x) = 3 − 10x .
Exercise 6-12:
6.6
p
f (x) = 4
2 − log3 x
Solution: p
Let f (x) = 4 2 − log3 x.
log3 x is only defined for x > 0 and because f (x) is not real when 2−log3 x <
0 then x ≤ 32 = 9.
Therefore the largest set for which f defines a real valued function of a real
variable is X = {x ∈ R | 0 < x ≤ 9}.
y2
4.5
x
And because f (x) ≥ 0 then Y = f (X) = {y√ ∈ R | y ≥ 0}.

Because g(x) = 2 − log3 x, and h(x) = 4 x are both bijective in X → Y then
by Proposition 6.54 so is h ◦ g = f . Sopf has an inverse. To find the formula
we interchange x and y which gives x = 4 2 − log3 y. Solving for y we get
p
4
2 − log3 y = x
2 − log3 y = x4
4
3log3 y = 32−x
4
y = 32−x .
4
Then f −1 : Y → X given by f −1 (x) = 32−x .
Exercise 6-13:
f :X→Y√ has an inverse f −1 : Y → X, and give a formula for
f (x) = sin x
Solution: √
Let f (x) = sin x
Because f (x) is not real when sin x < 0, then x ∈ [ 2kπ, (2k + 1)π ] for
k ∈ Z. Therefore theSlargest set for which f defines a real valued function of a
real variable is X = k∈Z [2kπ, (2k + 1)π]
6.7
−2π −π 0 π 2π 3π
√
And for x p∈ X, 0 ≤ sin x √
≤ 1 so 0 ≤ sin x ≤ 1. Then Y = f (X) = [0, 1].
Because sin(x + 2π) = sin x then f (x) is not bijective and does not have
an inverse f −1 (x) : Y → X.
Exercise 6-14:
f (x) = Sin−1 3x
Solution:
Let f (x) = Sin−1 3x
The domain of Sin−1 x is [−1, 1]. So if −1 ≤ 3x ≤ 1 then −1/3 ≤ x ≤ 1/3.
So the largest set for which f defines a real valued function of a real variable is
X = [−1/3, 1/3].
0.5y
-0.5
x
The image Y = f (X) is the same as the image of Sin−1 , that is Y =

[−π/2, π/2].
Since f : X → Y is both injective and surjective, it has an inverse. To find
the formula for the inverse we interchange x and y which gives x = Sin−1 3y.
Solving for y we get
Sin−1 3y = x
sin(Sin−1 3y) = sin x
3y = sin x
sin x
y =
3
6.8
Then f −1 : Y → X defined as f −1 (x) = (sin x)/3.
Exercise 6-15:
Below are three diagrams defining functions f, g and h from P5 to itself.
1 1 1 1 1 1
2 2 2 2 2 2
3 3 3 3 3 3
4 4 4 4 4 4
5 5 5 5 5 5
f g h
Draw similar diagrams for the following functions.

f ◦ g and g ◦ f .
Solution:
1 1
1 1 PP 1
S PP
2 S 2 2 q2
@
3 S - 3 3 @ - 33

S-
4 1
w4 4 @-4
S R
@
5 5 5 5
f ◦g g◦f
Exercise 6-16:
1 1 1 1 1 1
2 2 2 2 2 2
3 3 3 3 3 3
4 4 4 4 4 4
5 5 5 5 5 5
f g h

f ◦ h and h ◦ g.
Solution:
1 1 1 1
@ S
2 Q@ 2 2 PSP 2
PP
3

3 Q Q
Q @
33 3 Sq
- 3
QR
@
s S
4 Q Q-4 4 1w4
S
5 s5
Q 5 5
f ◦h h◦g
Exercise 6-17:
6.9
1 1 1 1 1 1
2 2 2 2 2 2
3 3 3 3 3 3
4 4 4 4 4 4
5 5 5 5 5 5
f g h

g ◦ h, f ◦ (g ◦ h) and (f ◦ g) ◦ h.
Solution:
1 1 1Q 1 1Q 1
@
2 @
3
2 2 QQ 3
2 2 QQ 3
2
@ QQ s QQ s
3 @
@
33 3 Q
Qs13
3 Q
Q13
@
R Q Q s
4 @ -4 4 14 4 14
R
@
5 5 5 5 5 5
g◦h f ◦ (g ◦ h) (f ◦ g) ◦ h
Exercise 6-18:
For each of the following formulas, specify subsets X and Y of R so that
f : X → Y is a bijective function. Find a formula for each inverse function.
f (x) = x4
Solution:
Let f (x) = x4 . Clearly f is defined for all x ∈ R. However, f (x) = f (−x)
for all x ∈ R, so in order for f : X → Y to be bijective X must not contain both
positive and negative numbers. We will choose X = {x ∈ R | x ≥ 0}. Then
Y = {x ∈ R | x ≥ 0} is such that f : X → Y is bijective. The inverse function,
f −1 : Y → X is given by f −1 (x) = x1/4 .
Exercise 6-19:
f :X→Y√ is a bijective function. Find a formula for each inverse function.
f (x) = 3 − x
Solution: √
Let f (x) = y = 3 − x. f (x) is not real when 3 − x < 0. So for X = {x ∈
R | x ≤ 3}, f (X) is real valued. Then Y = f (X) = {y ∈ R | y ≥ 0} is such
bijective. To find the formula for f −1 we interchange x and
that f : X → Y is √
y which gives x = 3 − y. Solving for y we get,
p
3−y = x
3 − y = x2
Hence, the inverse function, f −1 : Y → X is given by f −1 (x) = 3 − x2 .
6.10
Exercise 6-20:
f (x) = (tan x)2
Solution:
Let f (x) = y = (tan x)2 . tan(x + π) = tan(x) for x 6= (2k + 1)π/2, k ∈ Z
and tan(x + π/2) = − tan(x) for x 6= kπ, k ∈ Z. So f (x + π) = f (x) and
f (x + π/2) = f (x) for x 6= π(2k + 1)/2 and x 6= kπ respectively. So in order for
f : X → Y to be bijective, X must be an interval of length π/2. We will choose
X = [0, π/2]. Then Y = {x ∈ R | x ≥ 0} is such that f : X → Y is a bijection.
To find the formula of f −1 we interchange x and y which gives x = (tan y)2 .
Solving for y we get
(tan y)2 = x
√
tan y = x
√
y = Tan−1 x
√
Hence, the inverse function f −1 : Y → X is given by f −1 (x) = Tan−1 x.
Exercise 6-21:
x+2
f (x) =
2x − 1
Solution:
Let f (x) = y = (x + 2)/(2x − 1). f (x) is not defined when x = 1/2, choosing
X = {x ∈ R | x 6= 1/2},
x+2 2x − 4 1 5
= = + ,
2x − 1 2(2x − 1) 2 4x − 2
then for all x ∈ X, 5/(4x − 2) 6= 0 so f (x) 6= 1/2. Then Y = {x ∈ R | x 6= 1/2}

is such that f : X → Y is a bijection. If we look at f (f (x)) we get
f (x) + 2
f (f (x)) =
2f (x) − 1
x+2
2x−1 + 2
= 2(x+2)
2x−1 −1
x + 2 + 4x − 2 5x
= = =x
2x + 4 − 2x + 1 5
x+2
So f −1 (x) = f (x) = .
2x − 1
6.11
Exercise 6-22:
f :X→Yp is a bijective function. Find a formula for each inverse function.
f (x) = loge x
Solution: p
Let f (x) = y = loge x.
loge x is only defined for x > 0 and f (x) is not real when loge x < 0. There-
fore for X = {x ∈ R | x ≥ 1}, f is real valued and it is also injective. Then for
Y = f (X) = {x ∈ R | x ≥ 0}, f : X → Y is a p bijection. To find the formula for
f −1 we interchange x and y which gives x = loge y. Solving for y we get
p
loge y = x
loge y = x2
2
eloge y = ex
2
y = ex
2
So, the inverse function f −1 : Y → X is given by f −1 (x) = ex .
Exercise 6-23:
f : X → Y is a bijective
√ function. Find a formula for each inverse function.
f (x) = f (x) = 3 x
Solution: √ √
Let f (x) = y = 3 x , x is not real for x < 0. So, choosing X = {x ∈ R | x ≥
0}, then Y = f (X) = {x ∈ R | x ≥ 1}. X and Y are such that f : X → Y
is a bijection.
√
To find the formula for f −1 we interchange x and y which gives
x = 3 y . Solving for y we get
√
3 y = x
√
log3 3 y = log3 x
√
y = log3 x
y = (log3 x)2
So, the inverse function f −1 : Y → X is given by f −1 (x) = (log3 x)2 .
Exercise 6-24:
Which of the following functions are injections?
The function that assigns to everybody their height, to the nearest millime-
ter.
Solution:
It is not injective because there can be many people with the same height
to the nearest millimeter.
6.12
Exercise 6-25:
The function that assigns to everybody their maternal grandfather.
Solution:
It is not injective because any two brothers will have the same maternal
grandfather.
Exercise 6-26:
The function that assigns to each ship at sea, its latitude and longitude.
Solution:
Assuming that only one ship can be in a certain latitude and longitude at a
given point in time, the function is injective.
Exercise 6-27:
The function that assigns to everybody their name.
Solution:
It is not injective because two different people can have the same name.
Exercise 6-28:
The function that assigns to every worker their social security number
Solution:
Because no two people have legally the same social security number then the
function is injective.
Exercise 6-29:
Draw the graph of each of the following functions
f : P4 −→ P6 defined by f (n) = n
Solution:
6
5
4 •
3 •
2 •
1 •
1 2 3 4
6.13
Exercise 6-30:
f : P6 −→ P6 defined by f (n) = gcd(2, n)
Solution:
6
5
4
3
2 • • •
1 • • •
1 2 3 4 5 6
Exercise 6-31:
f : P3 −→ P10 defined by f (n) = n2 + 1
Solution:
10 •
9
8
7
6
5 •
4
3
2
1 •
1 2 3
Exercise 6-32:
Sketch the graph of the greatest integer function f : R → R, where f (x) = bxc,
the greatest integer less than or equal to x. What is the image of this function?
Solution:
6.14
y0
0
x
The image of the greatest integer function is Z, because for every z ∈ Z then
bz + (1/2)c = z.
Exercise 6-33:
Let f : R → R and g : R → R be defined by f (x) = x2 − 1 and g(x) = x − 1.
Find formulas for f ◦ g, g ◦ f , f ◦ f and g ◦ f ◦ g.
Solution: Let f, g : R → R by f (x) = x2 − 1, g(x) = x − 1. Then,
f ◦ g(x) = f (x − 1) = (x − 1)2 − 1 = x(x − 2)

g ◦ f (x) = g(x2 − 1) = x2 − 1 − 1 = x2 − 2
g ◦ f ◦ g(x) = g(f ◦ g) = g(x(x − 2)) = x(x − 2) − 1 .
Exercise 6-34:
Let X = R − {0, 1}, the set of all real numbers, except for 0 and 1. Find
all the possible functions obtained by taking composites of the two functions
f : X → X and g : X → X where f (x) = 1 − x and g(x) = x1 .
Solution:
For notational convenience we shall denote f i = f ◦ f . . . f ◦ f , composing f
i times. By Theorem 6.33. composition of functions is associative, therefore
there is no ambiguity in the order of composition of f i . And f 0 = g 0 = 1R .
The composites of f and g are all defined since f and g have the same
domain and codomain X. Now f ◦ f (x) = f (1 − x) = 1 − (1 − x) = x and
g ◦ g(x) = g(1/x) = x. Hence f 2 = g 2 = 1R . Now f ◦ g = 1 − (1/x) and
6.15
g ◦ f = 1/(1 − x). Also for f ◦ g ◦ f and g ◦ f ◦ g we have,

1
(f ◦ g ◦ f )(x) = f (g(1 − x)) = f
1−x
1 x
= 1− = .
1−x x−1

1 1
(g ◦ f ◦ g)(x) = g f =g 1−
x x

x−1 x
= g = .
x x−1
It follows that f ◦ g ◦ f = g ◦ f ◦ g.
So far we have six different functions: 1R , f, g, f ◦ g, g ◦ f and g ◦ f ◦ g. Now,
we will prove that these are the only possible functions.
Because composition of functions is associative, any composite of f and g
can be written as
f n1 ◦ g n2 ◦ · · · ◦ g nk−1 ◦ f nk
where each ni is a nonnegative integer. Because g 2 = f 2 = 1R , each term f ni is
either 1R or f , and g ni is either 1R or g. The composite therefore simplifies to
f ◦ g ◦ ··· ◦ g or f ◦ g ◦ ··· ◦ f or g ◦ f ◦ ··· ◦ f or g ◦ f ◦ ··· ◦ g
which can be written as
(f ◦ g)m or (f ◦ g)m ◦ f or (g ◦ f )m or (g ◦ f )m ◦ g.
We want to show that each of these composites is one of the six functions
1R , f, g, g ◦ f, f ◦ g and g ◦ f ◦ g. Using the fact that f ◦ g ◦ f = g ◦ f ◦ g we have
(f ◦ g)2 = (f ◦ g) ◦ (f ◦ g) = f ◦ (g ◦ f ◦ g) = f ◦ (f ◦ g ◦ f ) = g ◦ f ;
(f ◦ g)3 = (f ◦ g) ◦ (f ◦ g)2 = (f ◦ g) ◦ (g ◦ f ) = f ◦ g ◦ g ◦ f = 1R .
Similarly, (g ◦ f )2 = f ◦ g and (g ◦ f )3 = 1R . Hence all the composites can be

reduced to the cases in which m = 0, 1, 2. When m = 0, we obtain 1R , f , and
g. When m = 1, we obtain f ◦ g, g ◦ f , and g ◦ f ◦ g. When m = 2, we do not
obtain any new functions.
Hence the only possible composites of g and f are the functions 1R , f , g,
f ◦ g, g ◦ f and g ◦ f ◦ g.
Exercise 6-35:
of each of the following bijective functions, f : Z → Z.
Find inverses
n + 5 if n is even
f (n) =
n − 5 if n is odd
Solution:
Lets consider f (f (n)). For n even we have f (f (n)) = f (n + 5). Because
n + 5 is odd then f (n + 5) = n + 5 − 5 = n. If n is odd then f (f (n)) = f (n − 5).
6.16
Because n − 5 is even then f (n − 5) = n − 5 + 5 = n. Therefore f (f (n)) = n for
all n ∈ Z.
It follows that f −1 (n) = f (n).
Exercise 6-36:
 of each of the following bijective functions, f : Z → Z.
Find inverses
 n + 4 if n ≡ 0 (mod 3)
f (n) = −n − 3 if n ≡ 1 (mod 3)
n + 1 if n ≡ 2 (mod 3)

Solution: 
 n − 1 if n≡0 (mod 3)
f −1 (n) = n − 4 if n≡1 (mod 3)
−n − 3 if n≡2 (mod 3)

Exercise 6-37:
If f : X → Y is a bijective function, prove that its inverse is unique.
Solution:
Suppose that both g : Y → X and h : Y → X are inverses of f : X → Y .
Both g and h have the same domain and codomain. Then g ◦ f = 1dx and
f ◦ h = 1dY .
Using this we see that
g = g ◦ 1dy = g ◦ (f ◦ h) = (g ◦ f ) ◦ h = 1dx ◦ h = h .
Thus the inverse is unique.

Solution 2:
If f : X → Y is a bijection, then given y ∈ Y , there is precisely one x ∈ X such
that f (x) = y. The inverse of f must take y back to x (and this is true for each
y ∈ Y ), so the inverse is unique.
Exercise 6-38:
Let f : X → Y and g : Y → Z be bijective functions. Prove that
(g ◦ f )−1 = f −1 ◦ g −1 .
Solution:
Let h = g ◦ f then f −1 ◦ g −1 : Z → X. Using the fact that composition of
functions is associative,
(g ◦ f ) ◦ (f −1 ◦ g −1 ) = g ◦ (f ◦ f −1 ) ◦ g −1 = g ◦ 1Y ◦ g −1 = g ◦ g −1 = 1Z .
And
(f −1 ◦ g −1 ) ◦ (g ◦ f ) = f −1 ◦ (g −1 ◦ g) ◦ f = f −1 ◦ 1Z ◦ f = f −1 ◦ f = 1X
6.17
It follows that (g ◦ f )−1 = f −1 ◦ g −1 .
Exercise 6-39:
Determine which of the following functions are injective, surjective, and bijec-
tive. Find the inverses of the bijective functions.
f : R −→ R defined by f (x) = (x − 2)3 .
Solution:
For f (x) = y = (x − 2)3 . If we let g : R → R to be g(x) = x3 and h : R → R
to be h(x) = x − 2. Then both g and h are bijections. So by Proposition
6.54., f = g ◦ h is also a bijection. Therefore f is also injective, surjective and
it has an inverse.
To get the formula for f −1 we √can interchange x and y and solve for y. This
gives f −1 : R → R as f −1 (x) = 3 x + 2.
Exercise 6-40:
g : R − {0} −→ R defined by g(x) = log2 |x|.
Solution:
g(−x) = log2 | − x| = log2 |x| = g(x). So g is not injective.
log2 : X → R where X are the positive real numbers is a surjective function.
Also |x| : R − 0 → X is surjective. So by Proposition 6.54. the composition
of these functions g(x) = log2 |x| is also surjective.
Because g(x) is not injective then it is not bijective and it does not have an
inverse g −1 : R → R − {0}.
Exercise 6-41:
h : Z −→ Z defined by h(n) = n3 .
Solution:
The function f : R → R defined by f (x) = x3 is injective so in particular
for m, n ∈ Z, if f (m) = h(m) = h(n) = f (n) then m = n. It follows that h is
injective.
h(n+1) = (n+1)3 > n3 = h(n) for all n ∈ Z, then h is monotone increasing.
Because 13 < 2 < 23 , then there is no n such that h(n) = n3 = 2. So, h is not
surjective.
Because h is not surjective then it is not bijective and it does not have an
inverse h−1 : Z → Z.
Exercise 6-42:
6.18
k : X −→ X, where X = P − {1} is the set of integers greater than 1, and
k(n) is the greatest prime factor of n.
Solution:
Let us determine a few small values of the function k.
k(2) = 2
k(3) = 3
k(4) = 2
k(5) = 5
k(6) = 3 .
Now k is not injective since, for example, k(2) = k(4) = 2.

Also k is not surjective since k(n) is always a prime number, so the image
of k is the set of prime numbers, not equal to the codomain X.
The function is not bijective.
Exercise 6-43:
Let f : X → Y and g : Y → X be functions so that g ◦ f = 1X . Prove that f is
injective and g is surjective. Need either be bijective?
Solution:
f is injective: Let f (x1 ) = f (x2 ); x1 , x2 ∈ X. Then g(f (x1 )) = g(f (x2 ))
because g is a function. And so because g ◦ f = 1X then 1X (x1 ) = 1X (x2 ).
By the definition of 1X , x1 = x2 .
g is surjective: Let x ∈ X. Then,
g(f (x)) = g ◦ f (x) = 1X (x) = x.
Neither need be a bijection. For example, define f : P → P by f (n) = 2n.

Then f is injective but not surjective. Further define g(m) by g(n) = b n2 c
(greatest integer less than or equal to n2 ). Then g is surjective (g : P → P) but
not bijective. However, g ◦ f = 1P .
Exercise 6-44:
1. Prove that #A = #A for every set A.
2. If #A = #B, prove that #B = #A.
3. If #A = #B and #B = #C, prove that #A = #C.
Solution:
(a) The identity function on A, 1A : A → A, is a bijection because it is injective
and surjective. Therefore, by the definition of cardinality #A = #A.
(b) If #A = #B then there exists a bijection f : A → B. Because f is bijective
then it has an inverse f −1 : B → A. Because f is the inverse of f −1 then f −1
is also a bijection. Thus, by the definition of cardinality, #B = #A.
6.19
(c) If #A = #B and #B = #C then there exist bijections f : A → B and
g : B → C. By Proposition 6.54. g ◦ f : A → C is also a bijection. Therefore,
by the definition of cardinality #A = #C.
Exercise 6-45:
If A, B and C are finite sets, show that
#(A∪B∪C) = #A+#B+#C −#(A∩B)−#(A∩C)−#(B∩C)+#(A∩B∩C).
Solution:
We will use Exercise 1-71, the distributive law, A ∩ (B ∪ A
C) = (A ∩ B) ∪ (A ∩ C). Also, we know that #(A ∪ B) =

#A + #B − #(A ∩ B).
Therefore, B C
#(A ∪ B ∪ C)
= #(A ∪ (B ∪ C)) = #A + #(B ∪ C) − #(A ∩ (B ∪ C))
= #A + #B + #C − #(B ∩ C) − #((A ∩ B) ∪ (A ∩ C))
= #A + #B + #C − #(B ∩ C) − #(A ∩ B) − #(A ∩ C)
+#((A ∩ B) ∩ (A ∩ C))
= #A + #B + #C − #(A ∩ B) − #(A ∩ C) − #(B ∩ C) + #(A ∩ B ∩ C).
Exercise 6-46:
In a regiment returning from war, 70% of the men had lost an eye, 80% an arm
and 85% a leg. What percentage, at least, must have lost all three? (Adapted
from Lewis Carroll, “A Tangled Tale”.)
Solution:
Let E be the set of men that lost an eye, let A be the set of men that lost an
arm and let L be the set of men that lost a leg. We know that E ∪ A ∪ L is the
set of men that lost an eye, an arm or a leg. Lets find a formula for E ∪ A ∪ L.
By Exercise 6-45 we know that
#(E ∪A∪L) = #E +#A+#L−#(A∩L)−#(E ∩A)−#(E ∪L)+#[E ∩A∩L]
Working with percentages we have that #(E ∪ A ∪ L) is the 100% of the

men that lost an eye, arm or leg. So
100% =
#E + #A + #L − #(A ∩ L) − #(E ∩ A) − #(E ∪ L) + #(E ∩ A ∩ L)
= 70% + 80% + 85% − #(A ∩ L) − #(E ∩ A) − #(E ∪ L) + #(E ∩ A ∩ L)
= 235% − #(A ∩ L) − #(E ∩ A) − #(E ∩ L) + #(E ∩ A ∩ L)
6.20
So
#(E ∩ A ∩ L) = #(A ∩ L) + #(E ∩ A) + #(E ∩ L) − 135%
Now,
#(A ∪ L) = #A + #B − #(A ∩ B)
= 80% + 85% − #(A ∩ B)
Because (A ∪ L) is some percentage of the wounded, then 165% − #(A ∩ L) ≤

100%. Therefore #(A∩L) ≥ 65%. Similarly, #(E ∩A) ≥ (70%+80%)−100% =
50% and #(E ∩ L) ≥ (70% + 85%) − 100% = 55%. Hence, #(E ∩ A ∩ L) ≥
65% + 50% + 55% − 135% = 35%.
So the least percentage of the regiment that lost an eye an arm and a leg is
#(E ∩ A ∩ L) ≥ 65% + 50% + 55% − 135% = 35%.
Exercise 6-47:
Show that the set of even positive integers has the same cardinality as the set
of all positive integers. Show that the set of odd positive integers also has the
same cardinality.
Solution:
Let f : 2P → P be defined by f (n) = n/2. If f (n) = f (m) then m = n
so f is injective. And for every k ∈ P, 2k ∈ 2P and f (2k) = k. So, f is also
surjective. Thus, f is bijective and by definition of cardinality #2P = #P.
Now let g : 2P → O, where mathbbO is the set of odd positive integers, be
defined by g(n) = n − 1. Again if g(n) = g(m) then n = m and for every k ∈ O,
k + 1 ∈ 2P and g(k + 1) = k. So, g is also surjective. Thus, g is bijective and
by definition of cardinality#2P = #O.
Exercise 6-48:
Let P(X) denote the set of all subsets (including ∅ and X) of a set X. Write
out the elements of P(∅), P({a}) and P({r, s, t}). If #X = n, a finite number,
what is #P(X)? Prove your assertion.
Solution:
P(∅) = {∅}
P({a}) = {∅, {a}}
P({r, s, t}) = {∅, {r}, {s}, {t}, {r, s}, {r, t}, {s, t}, {r, s, t}}
Claim: If #X = n, #P(X) = 2n
Proof: by induction:
n = 0: When n = 0, X = ∅, P(x) = {∅}, #X = 1 = 20 .
As induction hypothesis assume that the result holds for n = k: that is if
#X = k, then #P(X) = 2k .
Then for n = k + 1, let #Y = k + 1, let Y = X ∪ {yk+1 } where X =
{y1 , y2 , . . . , yk }, #X = k.
6.21
Any subset of Y either contains yk+1 or it doesn’t. The number which don’t
include yk+1 is equal to the number of subsets of X, namely 2k . The number
which do include yR+1 is also 2k , since any such subset is the union of {yk+1 },
and a subset of X.
Therefore #P(Y ) = 2k + 2k = 2k+1 .
The result holds for n = k+1 and by the Principle of Mathematical Induction
the claim is true.
Exercise 6-49:
Define the function Sec−1 x, giving its domain and image.
Solution:
sec(x) = 1/ cos(x)
y0
0
x
Because sec(x) is not defined when cos(x) = 0 then the graph of sec(x)
has asymptotes at odd multiples of π/2. Therefore, the domain of sec(x) is
X = {x ∈ R | x 6= π(2k + 1)/2 k ∈ Z}. Because | cos x| ≤ 1 then | sec x| ≥ 1.
So the image of the function is Y = f (X) = {x ∈ R | |x| ≥ 1}.
We will use the branch through the origin to define the inverse. If the secant
function is restricted to Sec : [0, π/2) ∪ (π/2, π] → Y , where Y is as defined
above, we get a bijection. Then Sec−1 : Y → [0, π/2) ∪ (π/2, 1].
6.22
2
y p
_
2
0
0
x
Exercise 6-50:
Define the function Cot−1 x, giving its domain and image.
Solution:
cot(x) = cos(x)/ sin(x)
y0
0
x
Because cot(x) is not defined when sin(x) = 0 then the graph of cot(x) has
asymptotes at multiples of π. Therefore, the domain of cot(x) is X = {x ∈
R | x 6= kπ k ∈ Z}. The image of cot(x) is Y = f (X) = R.
We will use the branch starting at the origin to define the inverse. If the
cotangent function is restricted to mboxCot : (0, π) → R, we get a bijection.
Then Cot−1 : R → (0, π).
6.23
2
y p
_
2
0
0
x
Exercise 6-51:
Solve the equation Sin−1 x + Sin−1 1 = π.
Solution:
Because sin(π/2) = 1 then Sin−1 1 = π/2. So we have
Sin−1 x = π − π/2.
Applying sin to both sides of the equation we get
sin Sin−1 x = sin π/2

x = 1
Check: Sin−1 1 + Sin−1 1 = π/2 + π/2 = π.
Exercise 6-52: √
Solve the equation Sin−1 12 + Sin−1 2
3
= x.
Solution: √
Because sin(π/6) = 1/2, and sin(π/3) = 3/2 and both π/2 and π/3 ∈
[−π/2, π/2] then
1 3 π π
x = Sin−1 + Sin−1 = +
2 2 6 3
π
= .
2
Exercise 6-53:
What is the relationship between Cos−1 x and Sin−1 x in the domain in which
they are both defined.
Solution:
6.24
Because sin(x + π/2) = cos x then for x ∈ [0, π/2] (where both Sin−1 x and
Cos−1 x are defined), x − π/2 ∈ [−π/2, 0] we have Cos−1 x = Sin−1 x − π/2.
Check: If we take cos on both sides we get
cos(Cos−1 x) = cos(Sin−1 x − π/2)

x = sin(Sin−1 x − π/2 + π/2)
= x.
Exercise 6-54:
Prove that the shaded segment of the circle of radius r A
has area p p r
r2 Cos−1 − p r 2 − p2 O p
r C
where p is the perpendicular distance from the center to
the segment. B
Solution:
The angle AOC is certainly between 0 and π, and its cosine is p/r. So the
angle is Cos−1 (p/r).
The area of the shaded segment of the circle can be calculated by subtracting
the area of the isosceles triangle AOB from the arc region AOB.
The area of the arc region AOB is
p p
πr2 2Cos−1 /2π = r2 Cos−1 .
r r
And the area of the triangle AOB is (1/2)bh where b and h p are the base and
height of the triangle. h = pp and by Pythagoras Theorem b = 2 r2 − p2 . Hence
the area of the triangle is p r2 − p2 .
So, the area of the shaded region is
p p
r2 Cos−1 − p r 2 − p2 .
r
Exercise 6-55:
1
Sketch the graph of y = .
10x
Solution:
f (x) = 1/10x = (1/10)x is an exponential function. Because 0 < 1/10 < 1
then f is monotone decreasing.
The domain of the function is X = R and its image is Y = f (X) = {y ∈
R | y > 0}. We also know that f (0) = 1 and f (1) = 1/10.
6.25
1
-1 0 1
Exercise 6-56:
Sketch the graphs of y = (1/2)x , y = 2x and y = 3x in the same diagram.
Solution:
f (x) = 1/2x = (1/2)x , g(x) = 2x and h(x) = 3x are all exponential
functions. Because 0 < 1/2 < 1 then f is monotone decreasing. And be-
cause 1 < 2 < 3 then both g and h are monotone increasing. For x ≥ 0,
(1/2)x ≤ 2x ≤ 3x and for x < 0 then (1/2)x ≥ 2x ≥ 3x .
The domain of all three functions is X = R and their image is Y = f (X) =
g(X) = h(X) = {y ∈ R | y > 0}. We also know that f (0) = g(0) = h(0) = 1
and f (1) = 1/2 , g(1) = 2 and h(x) = 3.
x x x
y=(1/2) y=3 y=2
y 1.5
0
x
Exercise 6-57:
2x + 2−x
Sketch the graph of y = .
2
Solution: For f (x) = y = (2x +2−x )/2, f (x) = f (−x) so f is even or symmetric
with respect to the y axis.
6.26
For x > y ≥ 0, because g(x) = 2x is monotone increasing then 2x > 2y and
1
1 >
2x+y
2x − 2y 1
>
2x − 2y 2x+y
2x − 2y
2x − 2y >
2x+y
2x + 2−x > 2 + 2−y .
y
Dividing the inequality by 2 we get that f (x) > f (y). Therefore f is monotone
increasing in {x ∈ R | x ≥ 0}.
And for 0 > y > x then −x > −y > 0 which implies that f (−x) > f (−y)
by what was proven above. And because f is even or symmetric with respect
to the y axis, then f (x) = f (−x) and f (y) = f (−y) so f (x) > f (y). Therefore
f is monotone decreasing in {x ∈ R | x < 0}.
R | y > 0}. Also f (0) = 1 and f (1) = 3/4.
-2 -1 0 1 2
Exercise 6-58:
2
Sketch the graph of y = e−x . (This is a simple form of the normal probability
curve in statistics.)
2
Solution: For f (x) = y = e−x , f (x) = f (−x) so f is even or symmetric with
respect to the y axis.
2 2
For x > y ≥ 0 then −x2 < −y 2 and e−x < e−y because g(x) = ex is
monotone increasing. So f (x) is monotone decreasing in {x ∈ R | x ≥ 0}. And
for 0 > y > x then −x > −y > 0 which implies that f (−x) < f (−y) because f
is monotone decreasing for −x > −y > 0. And because f is even or symmetric
with respect to the y axis, then f (x) = f (−x) and f (y) = f (−y) so f (x) < f (y).
Therefore f is monotone increasing in {x ∈ R | x < 0}.
R | y > 0}. Also f (0) = 1 and f (1) = 1/e.
6.27
y1
0
x
Exercise 6-59:
Solve the following equation.
8 = log2 x
Solution:
8 = log2 x if and only if 28 = x. So x = 256.
Check: log2 256 = log2 28 = 8.
Exercise 6-60:
2 = logx 10
Solution: √ √ √
2 = logx 10 if and only if x2 = 10. So x = 10 = 2 5.
Check: log√10 10 = 2.
Exercise 6-61:
Solve
√ the following equation.
x
2 = e2
Solution:
If we take loge on both sides we get
√x
loge 2 = 2
1
loge 2 x = 2
1
loge 2 = 2
x
Solving for x we get x = (loge 2)/2
Check: 22/(loge 2) = (eloge 2 )2/(loge 2) = e2 .
6.28
Exercise 6-62:
loge (loge x) = 5
Solution:
loge (loge x) = 5 if and only if e5 = loge x. And e5 = loge x if and only if
5
x = ee .
5
Check: loge (loge ee ) = loge e5 = 5.
Exercise 6-63:
10−3 log10 x = 5
Solution:
10−3 log10 x = 5
(10log10 x )−3 = 5
x−3 = 5
x = 5−1/3
−1/3
Check: 10−3 log10 5 = (5−1/3 )−3 = 5.
Exercise 6-64:
5 = 2loge x
Solution:
By Theorem 6.84., loge x = (log2 x)/(log2 e), so
5 = (2log2 x )1/(log2 e)
5 = x1/ log2 e .
Raising to the power of log2 e we get x = 5log2 e .

Check:
log2 e
2loge 5 = 2(log2 e)(loge 5) = (2log2 e )loge 5 = eloge 5 = 5.
Exercise 6-65:
If x > 0, write xx as a power of e.
Solution:
Because x > 0 then loge x is defined. Using y = eloge y then
x
xx = eloge x
= ex(loge x)
6.29
Exercise 6-66:
If a piece of paper 0.2 mm thick could be folded in half 20 times, approximately
how thick would the resulting paper be?
(Use the fact that log10 2 is approximately 0.3.)
Solution:
Every time the paper is folded in half, its thickness is doubled. The thickness
of the resulting paper after being folded by half 20 times is 220 (0.2) mm. Using
the fact that log10 2 as approximately 0.3, the thickness of the resultant paper
after being folded 20 times is
20
220 (0.2) mm = 10log 2 (0.2) mm
0.3 20

≈ 10 (0.2) mm
= 106 (0.2) mm
= 2 · 105 mm
= 200 meters.
Exercise 6-67:
An archaeologist claims that a bone he has discovered is seventeen thousand
years old. If this were true, how much of the original amount of carbon 14
would you expect to remain in the bone?
Solution:
The carbon 14 has a half-life of 5700 years. If the bone discovered by the
archeologist is seventeen thousand years old and r is the fraction of the original
amount of carbon 14 left in the bone,
17000/5700
1
r =
2
3
1 1
≈ = .
2 8
Approximately 1/8 ≈ 13% of the original amount of carbon 14 should be left in
the bone.
Exercise 6-68:
The earth’s population is now 6 billion, and is increasing at the rate of 2% a
year. If it continues at this rate, how long will it take to double? What would
be the population in 100 years time?
(Use the fact that log10 2 ≈ 0.3 and log10 1.02 ≈ 0.0086.)
Solution:
If the rate of growth continues, after t years the population of the world
would be
p = (1.02)t 6 × 109 .
6.30
So if t0 is the number of years necessary for the population of the world to
double, then
12 × 109 = (1.02)t0 6 × 109

2 = (1.02)t0
If we take log10 on both sides we get log10 2 = t0 log10 1.02. Using the fact
that log10 2 ≈ 0.3 and log10 1.02 ≈ 0.0086. then t0 = log10 2/ log10 1.02 ≈
0.3/0.0086 ≈ 35. If the rate of growth continues then the population of the
world will double in 35 years.
Applying the same formula, if the rate of growth continues then after 100
years,
p
r= = (1.02)100
6 × 109
If we take log10 on both sides then
log10 r = 100 log10 1.02

≈ 0.86
Because log10 r ≈ 0.86 then

p
= 100.86
6 × 109
p ≈ 6 × 100.89 × 109
p ≈ 6 × 7.24 × 109 ≈ 4.34 × 1010 .
Hence the population after 100 years will be approximately 43.4 billion people.
Exercise 6-69:
When a ship docks, its rope is thrown
to the quay, wound round a bollard, θ
and then held by a sailor. If θ is
the angle that the rope turns through
when wound round the bollard, then
a sailor exerting a tension of M kilo- to the
sailor to the ship
grams on the rope can hold a tension
of T kilograms from the ship, where T
M
µθ
T = Me .
The constant µ is the coefficient of friction between the rope and the bollard.
How many times would the sailor have to wrap the rope around the bollard to
hold a tension of 160 tonnes, if µ = .5 and the sailor could exert a tension of 20
kilograms?
Solution:
6.31
Using the given formula for T = 1.6 × 105 kilograms, M = 20 kilograms≈ e3
and µ = .5, if θ is the angle that the rope turns through when wound round the
bollard then,
(20)e0.5θ = 1.6 × 105

e3+0.5θ = 1.6 × 105
Taking log10 on both sides and using the fact that log10 e ≈ .4343 then
log10 e3+(0.5)θ = log10 (1.6 × 105 )

(3 + (0.5)θ) log10 e = (log10 1.6) + 5
5 + (log10 1.6)
(0.5)θ ≈ −3
.4343

5 + 0.20
θ ≈ 2 − 3 ≈ 18 radians.
.4343
To find the number of times the sailor has to wrap the rope around the bollard
we divide θ ≈ 18 by 2π ≈ 6.28 to get 2.87. Hence, the sailor has to wrap the
rope around the bollard about 3 times.
Exercise 6-70:
If $1000 is placed in a savings bank at 10% interest, compounded daily, how
much will be in the account after one year?
Solution:
The annual rate is 10% therefore the daily rate is (10/365)%. After 365 days
the amount of money in the account will be
m = 1000(10/365 + 1)365 = 1000(375/365)365 .
If we take log10 on both sides we get
log10 m = log10 1000 + 365 log10 (375/365)

= 3 + 365(log10 375 − log10 365)
≈ 3 + 365(0.012)
≈ 3 + 4.28 = 7.28
The amount of money in the bank after one year will be approximately 107.28 =
1.90 × 107 .
Exercise 6-71:
If X is a finite set, show that the following conditions on a function f : X → X
are equivalent.
(a) f is an injection.
(b) f is a surjection.
6.32
(c) f is a bijection.
Solution:
We have a function f : X → X for X = {x1 , x2 , . . . , xn } for some n ∈ P.
First we will show that condition (a) implies condition (b). Because f is an in-
jection, then f (x1 ), f (x2 ), . . . , f (xn ) are all distinct elements of X. But because
X has n elements then {f (x1 ), f (x2 ), . . . , f (xn )} = X in some particular order.
Therefore f is surjective.
Now we show that condition (b) implies condition (c).
If f is not injective then f (xi ) = f (xj ) for some xi , xj ∈ X i 6= j. Then
f (x1 ), f (x2 ), . . . , f (xn ) are at most n − 1 different elements of X. This implies
that f is not surjective. Therefore if f : X → X is surjective it is also injective
and thus it is a bijection.
Now we show that condition (c) implies condition (a).
If f is a bijection then it is also an injection.
It follows that the three conditions are equivalent.
Exercise
6-72:

1234 1234 1234
If ρ = ,σ= and τ = are permutations of the
2143 2341 3241
set P4 = {1, 2, 3, 4}, find the following permutations.
ρ ◦ σ.
Solution: To compute ρ ◦ σ : P4 → P4 we must first apply σ and then ρ. Since
σ(1) = 2 and ρ(2) = 1 then ρ(σ(1)) = 1. Similarly , ρ(σ(2)) = 4, ρ(σ(3)) = 3
and ρ(σ(4)) = 2. Hence

1234 1234 1234
ρ◦σ = ◦ = .
2143 2341 1432
Exercise
6-73:

1234 1234 1234
2143 2341 3241
σ ◦ ρ.
Solution: To compute σ ◦ ρ : P4 → P4 we must first apply ρ and then σ. Since
ρ(1) = 2 and σ(2) = 3 then σ(ρ(1)) = 3. Similarly , σ(ρ(2)) = 2, σ(ρ(3)) = 1
and σ(ρ(4)) = 4. Hence

1234 1234 1234
σ◦ρ= ◦ = .
2341 2143 3214
6.33
Exercise
6-74:

1234 1234 1234
2143 2341 3241
ρ2 = ρ ◦ ρ.
Solution: To compute ρ ◦ ρ : P4 → P4 we must apply ρ twice. Since ρ(1) = 2
and ρ(2) = 1 then ρ(ρ(1)) = 1. Similarly , ρ(ρ(2)) = 2, ρ(ρ(3)) = 3 and
σ(ρ(4)) = 4. Hence

1234 1234 1234
ρ◦ρ= ◦ = .
2341 2341 1234
Exercise
6-75:

1234 1234 1234
2143 2341 3241
(ρ ◦ σ) ◦ τ .
Solution: By Exercise 6-72 we know that

1234
ρ◦σ = .
1432
So, to compute (ρ ◦ σ) ◦ τ : P4 → P4 we must first apply τ and then apply

ρ ◦ σ. Since τ (1) = 3 and (ρ ◦ σ)(3) = 3 then (ρ ◦ σ)(τ (1)) = 3. Similarly
(ρ ◦ σ)(τ (2)) = 4, (ρ ◦ σ)(τ (3)) = 2 and (ρ ◦ σ)(τ (4)) = 1. Hence

1234 1234 1234 1234
(ρ ◦ σ) ◦ τ = ◦ ◦ = .
2134 2341 3241 3421
Exercise
6-76:

1234 1234 1234
2143 2341 3241
ρ−1 .
Solution: By Exercise 6-74 we know that

1234
ρ2 = .
1234
So ρ2 = ι, the identity permutation. By Proposition 6.92. then

1234
ρ−1 = ρ = .
2143
6.34
Exercise
6-77:

1234 1234 1234
2143 2341 3241
τ −1 .
Solution: By Proposition 6.92., τ ◦ τ −1 = τ −1 ◦ τ = ι. Because τ (1) = 3 and
τ −1 (τ (1)) = 1 so τ −1 (3) = 1. Similarly τ −1 (2) = 2, τ −1 (4) = 3 and τ −1 (1) = 4.
Hence,
−1 1234
τ = .
4213
Indeed τ (τ −1 (1)) = 1, τ (τ −1 (2)) = 2, τ (τ −1 (3)) = 3, and τ (τ −1 (4)) = 4 so
τ τ −1 = ι.
Exercise
6-78:

1234 1234 1234
2143 2341 3241
ρ−1 ◦ τ −1 .
Solution: By Exercises 6-76 and 6-77,

1234 1234
ρ−1 = and τ −1 = .
2143 4213
Then to compute ρ−1 ◦ τ −1 : P4 → P4 we must first apply τ −1 and then apply

ρ−1 . Since τ −1 (1) = 4 and ρ−1 (4) = 3 then ρ−1 (τ −1 (1)) = 3. Similarly,
ρ−1 (τ −1 (2)) = 1, ρ−1 (τ −1 (3)) = 2 and ρ−1 (τ −1 (4)) = 4. Hence

−1 −1 1234 1234 1234
ρ ◦τ = ◦ = .
2143 4213 3124
Exercise
6-79:

1234 1234 1234
2143 2341 3241
(τ ◦ ρ)−1 .
Solution:
By Proposition 6.92. the composition of permutations is associative, if we
compose τ ◦ ρ with ρ−1 ◦ τ −1 then,
(τ ◦ ρ)(ρ−1 ◦ τ −1 ) = τ ◦ (ρ ◦ ρ−1 ) ◦ τ −1 = τ ◦ τ −1 = ι.
Similarly,
(τ −1 ◦ ρ−1 )(ρ ◦ τ ) = τ −1 ◦ (ρ−1 ◦ ρ) ◦ τ = τ −1 ◦ τ = ι.
6.35
Therefore (τ ◦ ρ)−1 = ρ−1 ◦ τ −1 . And by Exercise 6-78,

−1 −1 −1 1234
(τ ◦ ρ) = ρ ◦ τ = .
3124
Exercise 6-80:
If S is a finite set with more than two elements, show that there are permutations
σ and τ of S such that σ ◦ τ 6= τ ◦ σ.
Solution: The set S = {i1 , i2 , . . . , in } where n > 2. Let σ and τ be per-
mutations of S such that σ(i1 ) = i2 , σ(i2 ) = i3 , σ(i3 ) = i1 and everything
else is fixed, and τ (i1 ) = i2 , τ (i2 ) = i1 , and everything else is fixed. Then
σ(τ (i1 )) = σ(i2 ) = i3 and τ (σ(i1 )) = τ (i2 ) = i1 . Because σ(τ (i1 )) 6= τ (σ(i1 ))
then σ ◦ τ 6= τ ◦ σ.
Problem 6-81:
For each of the following functional equations satisfied by the function f : R →
R, find:
(a) f (0),
(b) f (−x) in terms of f (x),
(c) f (n) where n ∈ P,
(d) f (n) where n ∈ Z,
(e) f (r) where r ∈ Q.
f (x + y) = f (x) + f (y) and f (1) = p.

Solution:
(a) f (0 + 0) = f (0) + f (0) = 2f (0). f (0) = 0 satisfies this equation. If f (0) 6= 0
then we can divide both sides by it to get 1 = 2 which is a contradiction. Hence
the only possible value for f (0) is 0.
(b) 0 = f (0) = f (x + −x) = f (x) + f (−x) so f (−x) = −f (x).
(c) Claim: for n ∈ P, f (n) = np. We will prove this by induction on n.
(i). For n = 1, f (1) = p. So the result holds.
(ii). As induction hypothesis suppose that the result holds for n = k that is
f (k) = kp. Then for n = k + 1, f (k + 1) = f (k) + f (1) = kp + p = (k + 1)p.
Therefore, the result is true for n = k + 1.
By the Principle of Mathematical induction the result holds for all n ∈ P.
(d) By part (c) we already know that f (n) = np for n ∈ P. By part (b) we have
f (−n) = −f (n) = −np, and by part (a) f (0) = 0. So we can conclude that
f (n) = np for all n ∈ Z.
6.36
(e) For n ∈ P,

1 1 1
f (1) = f + + ... + ,
n n n

1 1 1
= f +f + ... + f
n n n

1
= nf .
n
Therefore f (1/n) = f (1)/n = p/n.

So for r ∈ Q we can express r = a/b where a, b ∈ Z, gcd(a, b) = 1 and b > 0.
So
a
f (r) = f
b
1 1 1
= f + + ... +
b b b

1 1 1
= f +f + ...f
b b b

1
= af .
b
But f (1/b) = p/b, so f (r) = f (a/b) = (ap/b) = rp.
Problem 6-82:
For each of the following functional equations satisfied by the function f : R →
R, find:
(a) f (0),
(b) f (−x) in terms of f (x),
(c) f (n) where n ∈ P,
(d) f (n) where n ∈ Z,
(e) f (r) where r ∈ Q.
f (x + y) = f (x) · f (y) and f (1) = q.

Solution:
If f : R → R is such that f (x) = 0 for all x ∈ R, then f satisfies f (x + y) =
f (x) · f (y) = 0. Also if f (0) = 0 then for all x ∈ R, f (x) = f (x + 0) =
f (x) · f (0) = 0. So, f (x) = 0 for all x ∈ R if and only if f (0) = 0.
Assuming that f (0) 6= 0, then:
(a) f (0) = f (0 + 0) = f (0) · f (0) = (f (0))2 . We can divide by f (0) 6= 0 to get
f (0) = 1.
6.37
(b) 1 = f (0) = f (x + −x) = f (x) · f (−x). Because f (x) · f (−x) 6= 0 then
f (x) 6= 0. Dividing by it gives f (−x) = 1/f (x).
(c) For n ∈ P, f (n) = q n . We will prove this by induction on n.
(i). For n = 1, f (1) = q. So the result holds.
(ii). As induction hypothesis assume that the result holds for n = k, that is
f (k) = q k . Then for n = k + 1, f (k + 1) = f (k) · f (1) = q k · q = q k+1 .
By the Principle of Mathematical induction the result holds for all n ∈ P.
(d) By part (c) we already know that f (n) = q n for n ∈ P. By part (b) then
f (−n) = 1/f (n) = 1/(q n ) = q −n , and by part (a) f (0) = 1 = q 0 . So we can
conclude that f (n) = q n for n ∈ Z.
(e) For n ∈ P,

1 1 1
f (1) = f + + ... + ,
n n n

1 1 1
= f ·f ···f
n n n
n
1
= f .
n
If f (1) = q < 0 and n is odd then f (1/n) is not real which is a contradiction.
√
Because f is real valued at 1/n then q ≥ 0 and f (1/n) = n q.
So for r ∈ Q we can express r = a/b where a, b ∈ Z, gcd(a, b) = 1 and b > 0.
So
a
f (r) = f
b
1 1 1
= f + + ... +
b b b

1 1 1
= f ·f ···f
b b b
a
1
= f .
b
But f (1/b) = q 1/b , so f (r) = f (a/b) = (q 1/b )a = q a/b .
Problem 6-83:
Give one example of a function f : R → R satisfying f (x + y) = f (x) · f (y) with
f (1) = 2.
Solution:
By Problem 6-82 we know that if f : R → R and f (x + y) = f (x) · f (y)
and f (1) = q for q > 0 then f (r) = q r for r ∈ Q. So if f (1) = 2 then
f (x) = 2x is the desired function because f (1) = 21 = 2 and for all x, y ∈ R,
f (x + y) = 2x+y = 2x · 2y = f (x) · f (y).
6.38
Problem 6-84:
Give two examples of functions f : R → R satisfying f (x + y) = f (x) · f (y).
Solution:
The exponential function f (x) = bx for b > 0 is such that for all x and
y ∈ R, then f (x + y) = bx+y = bx · by = f (x) · f (y). So for 2, 3, f (x) = 2x
and f (x) = 3x , are two examples of functions f : R → R satisfying the given
functional equation.
Problem 6-85:
Solve the functional equation
f (xy) = f (x) + f (y)
when f is a function from R to R.

Solution:
For all x ∈ R, f (0) = f (0 · x) = f (0) + f (x). Hence f (x) = 0 for all x ∈ R
is a necessary condition.
But because the function f : R → R defined by f (x) = 0 for all x ∈ R
satisfies the functional equation then it is the only solution.
Problem 6-86:
If f (x + y) = f (x) · f (y) and f is a bijection, show that its inverse satisfies the
functional equation
f −1 (xy) = f −1 (x) + f −1 (y).
Solution:
Because f is a bijection then it has an inverse f −1 . And for all x, y in the
domain of f −1 , there exists u, v in the domain of f such that f (u) = x and
f (v) = y. Then
f −1 (xy) = f −1 (f (u) · f (v))

= f −1 (f (u + v))
= u + v = f −1 (f (u)) + f −1 (f (v))
= f −1 (x) + f −1 (y).
Problem 6-87:
Find all real functions f , of a real variable, of the form
ax + b
f (x) = where a, b, c, d ∈ R
cx + d
such that f (f (x)) = x for all x except when cx + d = 0.
Solution:
6.39
We want to find all a, b, c, d ∈ R such that f (f (x)) = x. That is,
x = f (f (x))

a ax+b
cx+d + b
=
c ax+b
cx+d + d
a(ax + b) + b(cx + d)
=
c(ax + b) + d(cx + d)
a2 x + ab + cbx + db
=
cax + cb + cdx + d2
x(a2 + cd) + ab + db
=
x(ca + cd) + cb + d2
In order for the function to be defined the denominator x(ca+cd)+cb+d2 6=

0, so c(a + d) and cb + d2 cannot be both zero.
Multiplying both sides by the denominator we get
x2 (ca + cd) + x(cb + d2 ) = x(a2 + cd) + b(a + d)

x c(a + d) + x(c(b − d) + d2 − a2 ) − b(a + d) = 0
2
If we consider g(x) = x2 c(a+d)+x(c(b−d)+d2 −a2 )−b(a+d), then f (f (x)) = x

if and only if g(x) = 0 for all x ∈ R. g(x) is a polynomial functions and this
only happens if all the coefficients are equal to zero. Then
c(a + d) = 0
c(b − d) + d2 − a2 = 0
b(a + d) = 0
Recalling that c(a + d) and cb + d2 cannot be both equal to zero, because

c(a + d) = 0 then cb + d2 6= 0. c(a + d) = 0 if c = 0 or a = −d.
Case 1: c = 0 then cb+d2 = d2 6= 0 so d 6= 0. And c(b−d)+d2 −a2 = d2 −a2 = 0.
If d2 = a2 then a = ±d.
Case 1a: a = d. Because b(a + d) = 0 and a + d 6= 0 then b = 0. So we have
b = c = 0, d 6= 0, a = d. Notice that d 6= 0 is equivalent to ad − bc = d2 − 0 6= 0.
Case 1b: a = −d. Because a+d = 0 then b can take any real value. So we have
c = 0, d = −a 6= 0. Notice that d = −a 6= 0 is equivalent to ad−bc = −d2 −0 6= 0.
Case 2: a = −d. Then cb + d2 = bc − ad 6= 0. Because c(b − d) + d2 − a2 =
c(b − d) = 0 then either c = 0 which is Case 1b or b = d = −a. So we have
a = −d = −b and ad − bc 6= 0.
Combining these cases we have bc−ad must be nonzero and d = −a or a = d
and b = c = 0.
6.40
Problem 6-88:
Find a function f : R → R, different from any of those of the previous example,
for which f ◦ f = 1R .
[Noncontinuous functions are allowed, though there are continuous examples.]
Solution:
Let f : R → R be defined by

−2x if x ≥ 0
f (x) = −1
2 x if x < 0.
If x = 0 then f (f (0)) = f (0) = 0. If x > 0 then f (f (x)) = f (−2x). Because

−2x < 0 then f (−2x) = (2/2)x = x. And if x < 0 then f (f (x)) = f ((−1/2)x).
Because (−1/2)x > 0 then f ((−1/2)x) = −2(−1/2)x = x. Hence, f (f (x)) = x
for all x ∈ R.
Another example is g : R → R, defined by

x if x ∈ Q
g(x) =
−x if x ∈
/ Q.
So, if x ∈ Q then g(g(x)) = g(x) = x. And if x ∈ / Q then so is −x, therefore
g(g(x)) = g(−x) = −(−x) = x. Hence, g(g(x)) = x for all x ∈ R.
Notice that the first function is continuous while the second is not.
Problem 6-89:
What are all the elements of the subset P4 × P4 that define the relation ‘greater
than’ ?
Solution:
We want all the (x, y) ∈ P4 × P4 such that x > y. The first element x can
be 4, 3 or 2. Then all the elements of the relation are
{(2, 1), (3, 2), (3, 1), (4, 3), (4, 2), (4, 1)}
Problem 6-90:
Which subset of P6 ×P6 defines the relation ‘divides’ ? Is this relation a function
from P6 to P6 ?
Solution:
We want all the (x, y) ∈ P6 × P6 such that x|y. Clearly x ≤ y. So for each
x ∈ P6 ,
1|1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 2|2, 4, 6 3|3, 6 4 6 | 5 6 | 6|6
So the desired subset is
{(1, 1), (1, 2), (1, 3), (1, 4), (1, 5), (1, 6), (2, 4), (2, 6), (3, 3), (3, 6), (6, 6)}.
This relation is not a function. For example, 1 is assigned to 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6.
6.41
Problem 6-91:
Sketch the subset of R × R that defines the ‘equals’ relation. Do the same for
the ‘less than or equals’ relation. Are either of these relations functions from R
to R ?
Solution:
For the ’equals’ relation, we want S = {(x, y) ∈ R × R | x = y} = {(x, x) ∈
R × R}.
This relation is a function because each element x is assigned uniquely to x.
For the ’less than’ relation, we want T = {(x, y) ∈ R × R | x < y}.
This relation is not a function because for any x ∈ R, there exist y and
z ∈ R with x < y and y < z. Because x < z then (x, y), (x, z) ∈ T . So x is not
assigned to a unique element of R.
R R
R R
Problem 6-92:
Sketch the subset of R × R that defines the relation R where xRy if and only if
x2 + y 2 = 4. Is this relation a function from R to R ?
Solution:
For the given relation, we want S = {(x, y) ∈ R × R | x2 + y 2 = 4}. These
are all the points on a circle of radius 2 centered at the origin.
Because (0, 2) ∈ S, then S 6= ∅. And if (x, y) ∈ S, then x2 +y 2 = x2 +(−y)2 =
4 so (x, −y) ∈ S. If y 6= 0, x is not assigned to a unique element of R. It follows
that this relation is not a function.
2
6.42
Problem 6-93:
If the telephone directory defines a bijection from the set of listed subscribers
to the set of listed numbers, how would you find the inverse of a given number?
Solution:
Call the number and see who answers. Then check this name in the telephone
directory to see if it corresponds to the given number. Alternatively see if the
web has a Reverse Phone Number Search for your area; in this case a computer
has been used to find the inverse function.
Problem 6-94:
Let ` and m be lines and P a point in a plane. We try to define a function f ,
from the points of ` to the points of m, by taking any point X on `, and letting
the line P X intersect m in the point f (X). Under what geometric conditions
will f be a bijection?
Solution:
l
x•
• P
m
f (x)
Drop a perpendicular from line l at a point x through point p intersecting

line m at point f (x).
The point P cannot be on either line (otherwise we do not have a function
or it is not injective.) The line XP (extended) must meet m and so the line
through P parallel to m cannot meet l (otherwise we do not have a function).
It follows that l is parallel to m. The precise conditions required for f to be a
bijection are
1) P is not on m or l
2) m is parallel to l
Problem 6-95:
Does the function f : R → R defined by f (x) = x3 + x + 1 have an inverse? If
so, can you find an equation for the inverse function?
Solution:
If f (x) = f (y) then
x3 + x + 1 = y 3 + y + 1
x − y = y 3 − x3
x − y = (y − x)(y 2 + yx + x2 )
6.43
Let’s assume that x 6= y. We can then divide both sides by (y − x) to get
y 2 + yx + x2 = −1. Now,
x 2 3y 2
y 2 + yx + x2 = y + + .
2 4
Because both (y + (x/2))2 , 3y 2 /4 ≥ 0 for all x, y ∈ R then they cannot add up
to give -1. Therefore our assumption that x 6= y was incorrect.
Hence, f is injective.
Looking at the graph of the function we can argue that the function is
surjective.
Hence f (x) = x3 + x + 1 is a bijection and it has an inverse. The explicit
formula of the inverse f −1 involves solving the particular cubic equation x3 +x+1
which is somewhat cumbersome. Solving a general cubic equation is discussed
in Chapter 9.
Problem 6-96:
How many functions are there from Pr to Pn ?
Solution:
Pr = {1, 2, 3, . . . , r} and Pn = {1, 2, 3, . . . , n}. For every function from Pr to
Pn , each element of Pr is assigned to a unique element of Pn . So every element
of the domain, Pr can be assigned to any of the n elements of Pn . Therefore
# functions =
(# choices for 1) × (# choices for 2) × . . . × (# choices for r)
= n × n × n... × n
= nr .
Problem 6-97:
How many injections are there from Pr to Pn ?
Solution:
Pr = {1, 2, 3, . . . , r} and Pn = {1, 2, 3, . . . , n}. By Problem 6-96 there are nr
functions from Pr to Pn . In order for a function to be an injection, each element
of Pr must be assigned to a distinct element of Pn .
If r > n then there are 0 injections because there are not enough elements
in the codomain to be assigned uniquely with elements in the domain.
But if r ≤ n then 1 ∈ Pr can be assigned to any of the n elements of Pn .
2 ∈ Pr can be assigned to any of the n elements of Pn except the one that was
assigned with 1 ∈ Pr . Generally, if there are k elements of Pr assigned to k
distinct elements of Pn , the k + 1th element can be assigned to any of the n − k
6.44
elements left in Pn . Because r ≤ n and k ≤ r then n − k ≥ 0. Therefore
# injections =
(# choices for 1) × (# choices for 2) × . . . × (# choices for r)
= n × (n − 1) . . . × (n − r + 1)
n!
= .
(n − r)!
The number of injections is n!/r! if r ≤ n and 0 if r > n.
Problem 6-98:
(a) Find the number of surjections from a 3-element set to a 2-element set.
(b) How would you tackle the problem of finding the number of surjections
from Pr to Pn in general? [There is no simple formula.]
Solution:
(a) We want to find the number of surjections from a 3-element set, like P3 ,
to a 2-element set, like P2 . For every surjection f : P3 → P2 , all the elements
of the codomain will be an image of at least one element of the domain. So if
a1 and a2 are the number of elements in the domain mapped to 1 and 2 in P2
respectively, then a1 + a2 = 3 because f is a function and a1 , a2 ≥ 1.
The only possibilities are a1 = 2, a2 = 1 or a1 = 1, a2 = 2.
For a1 = 2, a2 = 1, if 1 ∈ P2 is the image of two elements of P3 then there
are 32 possibilities of choosing these two elements. Once these are chosen the
element sent to 2 ∈ P2 will be determined. Hence, in total there are 32 11 = 3

surjections.
For a1 = 1, a2 = 2 the same argument applies so there are 3 more surjections.
In total there are 6 surjections.

1
-1
1
1 -1 1 PP 1 1
3
P 3
2 12 2 -2 2 P q2

3 3 3
a1 = 2, a2 = 1 a1 = 2, a2 = 1 a1 = 2, a2 = 1

1 -1 1 PP 11 1 PP 1
P
q P3
2
-2
1 2 P 12
2 - q2
P

3 3 3
a1 = 1, a2 = 2 a1 = 1, a2 = 2 a1 = 1, a2 = 2
(b) Generalizing the argument above, if f : Pr → Pn is a surjection, let ai be

the number of elements of Pr that f sends to i ∈ Pn , then a1 + a2 + · · · + an = r
6.45
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being taken in at one glance. But already it appears heavier and
richer in the ornament of the Imperial Fora (Nerva’s, Trajan’s) and
that of the temple of Mars Ultor; the organic disposition has become
so complicated that, as a rule, it requires to be studied, and the
tendency to fill up the surfaces appears. In Byzantine art—of which
Riegl thirty years ago noticed the “latent Saracenic character” though
he had no suspicion of the connexion brought to light here—the
acanthus leaf was broken up into endless tendril-work which (as in
Hagia Sophia) is disposed quite inorganically over whole surfaces.
To the Classical motive are added the old-Aramæan vine and palm
leaves, which have already played a part in Jewish ornamentation.
The interlaced borders of “Late-Roman” mosaic pavements and
sarcophagus-edges, and even geometrical plane-patterns are
introduced, and finally, throughout the Persian-Anatolian world,
mobility and bizarrerie culminate in the Arabesque. This is the
genuine Magian motive—anti-plastic to the last degree, hostile to the
pictorial and to the bodily alike. Itself bodiless, it disembodies the
object over which its endless richness of web is drawn. A
masterpiece of this kind—a piece of architecture completely opened
out into Ornamentation—is the façade of the Castle of Mashetta in
Moab built by the Ghassanids.[268] The craft-art of Byzantine-Islamic
style (hitherto called Lombard, Frankish, Celtic or Old-Nordic) which
invaded the whole youthful West and dominated the Carolingian
Empire, was largely practised by Oriental craftsmen or imported as
patterns for our own weavers, metal-workers and armourers.[269]
Ravenna, Lucca, Venice, Granada, Palermo were the efficient
centres of this then highly-civilized form-language; in the year 1000,
when in the North the forms of a new Culture were already being
developed and established, Italy was still entirely dominated by it.
Take, lastly, the changed point of view towards the human body.
With the victory of the Arabian world-feeling, men’s conception of it
underwent a complete revolution. In almost every Roman head of
the period 100-250 that the Vatican Collection contains, one may
perceive the opposition of Apollinian and Magian feeling, and of
muscular position and “look” as different bases of expression. Even
in Rome itself, since Hadrian, the sculptor made constant use of the
drill, an instrument which was wholly repugnant to the Euclidean
feeling towards stone—for whereas the chisel brings out the limiting
surfaces and ipso facto affirms the corporeal and material nature of
the marble block, the drill, in breaking the surfaces and creating
effects of light and shade, denies it; and accordingly the sculptors,
be they Christian or “pagan,” lose the old feeling for the phenomenon
of the naked body. One has only to look at the shallow and empty
Antinous statues—and yet these were quite definitely “Classical.”
Here it is only the head that is physiognomically of interest—as it
never is in Attic sculpture. The drapery is given quite a new meaning,
and simply dominates the whole appearance. The consul-statues in
the Capitoline Museum[270] are conspicuous examples. The pupils
are bored, and the eyes look into the distance, so that the whole
expression of the work lies no longer in its body but in that Magian
principle of the “Pneuma” which Neo-Platonism and the decisions of
the Church Councils, Mithraism and Mazdaism alike presume in
man.
The pagan “Father” Iamblichus, about 300, wrote a book
concerning statues of gods in which the divine is substantially
present and working upon the beholder.[271] Against this idea of the
image—an idea of the Pseudomorphosis—the East and the South
rose in a storm of iconoclasm; and the sources of this iconoclasm lay
in a conception of artistic creation that is nearly impossible for us to
understand.
CHAPTER VII | | MUSIC AND PLASTIC
I
THE ARTS OF FORM
CHAPTER VII
MUSIC AND PLASTIC

I
THE ARTS OF FORM
I
The clearest type of symbolic expression that the world-feeling of

higher mankind has found for itself is (if we except the mathematical-
scientific domain of presentation and the symbolism of its basic
ideas) that of the arts of form,[272] of which the number is legion. And
with these arts we count music in its many and very dissimilar kinds;
had these been brought within the domain of art-historical research
instead of being put in a class apart from that of the pictorial-plastic
arts, we should have progressed very much further in our
understanding of the import of this evolution towards an end. For the
formative impulse that is at work in the wordless[273] arts can never
be understood until we come to regard the distinction between
optical and acoustic means as only a superficial one. To talk of the
art of the eye and the art of the ear takes us no further. It is not such
things that divide one art from another. Only the 19th Century could
so over-estimate the influence of physiological conditions as to apply
it to expression, conception or communion. A “singing” picture of
Claude Lorrain or of Watteau does not really address itself to the
bodily eye any more than the space-straining music since Bach
addresses itself to the bodily ear. The Classical relation between art-
work and sense-organ—of which we so often and so erroneously
remind ourselves here—is something quite different from, something
far simpler and more material than ours. We read “Othello” and
“Faust” and we study orchestral scores—that is, we change one
sense-agency for another in order to let the undiluted spirit of these
works take effect upon us. Here there is always an appeal from the
outer senses to the “inner,” to the truly Faustian and wholly un-
Classical power of imagination. Only thus can we understand
Shakespeare’s ceaseless change of scene as against the Classical
unity of place. In extreme cases indeed, for instance in that of
“Faust” itself, no representation of the work (that is, of its full content)
is physically possible. But in music too—in the unaccompanied “A
capella” of the Palestrina style as well as a fortiori in the Passions of
Heinrich Schütz, in the fugues of Bach, in the last quartets of
Beethoven, and in “Tristan”—we livingly experience behind the
sensuous impressions a whole world of others. And it is only through
these latter that all the fullness and depth of the work begins to be
present to us, and it is only mediately—through the images of blond,
brown, dusky and golden colours, of sunsets and distant ranked
mountain-summits, of storms and spring landscapes, of foundered
cities and strange faces which harmony conjures up for us—that it
tells us something of itself. It is not an incident that Beethoven wrote
his last works when he was deaf—deafness merely released him
from the last fetters. For this music, sight and hearing equally are
bridges into the soul and nothing more. To the Greek this visionary
kind of artistic enjoyment was utterly alien. He felt the marble with his
eye, and the thick tones of an aulos moved him almost corporally.
For him, eye and ear are the receivers of the whole of the impression
that he wished to receive. But for us this had ceased to be true even
at the stage of Gothic.
In the actual, tones are something extended, limited and
numerable just as lines and colours are; harmony, melody, rhyme
and rhythm no less so than perspective, proportion, chiaroscuro and
outline. The distance separating two kinds of painting can be
infinitely greater than that separating the painting and the music of a
period. Considered in relation to a statue of Myron, the art of a
Poussin landscape is the same as that of a contemporary chamber-
cantata; that of Rembrandt as that of the organ works of Buxtehude,
Pachelbel and Bach; that of Guardi as that of the Mozart opera—the
inner form-language is so nearly identical that the difference
between optical and acoustic means is negligible.
The importance which the “science of art” has always attached to
a timeless and conceptual delimitation of the individual art-spheres
only proves that the fundamentals of the problem have not been
attacked. Arts are living units, and the living is incapable of being
dissected. The first act of the learned pedant has always been to
partition the infinitely wide domain into provinces determined by
perfectly superficial criteria of medium and technique and to endow
these provinces with eternal validity and immutable (!) form-
principles. Thus he separated “Music” and “Painting,” “Music” and
“Drama,” “Painting” and “Sculpture.” And then he proceeded to
define “the” art of Painting, “the” art of Sculpture, and so on. But in
fact the technical form-language is no more than the mask of the real
work. Style is not what the shallow Semper—worthy contemporary of
Darwin and materialism—supposed it to be, the product of material,
technique, and purpose. It is the very opposite of this, something
inaccessible to art-reason, a revelation of the metaphysical order, a
mysterious “must,” a Destiny. With the material boundaries of the
different arts it has no concern whatever.
To classify the arts according to the character of the sense-
impression, then, is to pervert the problem of form in its very
enunciation. For how is it possible to predicate a genus “Sculpture”
of so general a character as to admit of general laws being evolved
from it? What is “Sculpture?”
Take painting again. There is no such thing as “the” art of Painting,
and anyone who compares a drawing of Raphael, effected by
outline, with one of Titian, effected by flecks of light and shade,
without feeling that they belong to two different arts; any one who
does not realize a dissimilarity of essence between the works of
Giotto or Mantegna—relief, created by brushstroke—and those of
Vermeer or Goya—music, created on coloured canvas—such a one
will never grasp the deeper questions. As for the frescoes of
Polygnotus and the mosaics of Ravenna, there is not even the
similarity of technical means to bring them within the alleged genus,
and what is there in common between an etching and the art of Fra
Angelico, or a proto-Corinthian vase-painting and a Gothic cathedral-
window, or the reliefs of Egypt and those of the Parthenon?
If an art has boundaries at all—boundaries of its soul-become-
form—they are historical and not technical or physiological
boundaries.[274] An art is an organism, not a system. There is no art-
genus that runs through all the centuries and all the Cultures. Even
where (as in the case of the Renaissance) supposed technical
traditions momentarily deceive us into a belief in the eternal validity
of antique art-laws, there is at bottom entire discrepance. There is
nothing in Greek and Roman art that stands in any relation whatever
to the form-language of a Donatello statue or a painting of Signorelli
or a façade of Michelangelo. Inwardly, the Quattrocento is related to
the contemporary Gothic and to nothing else. The fact of the archaic
Greek Apollo-type being “influenced” by Egyptian portraiture, or early
Tuscan representation by Etruscan tomb-painting, implies precisely
what is implied by that of Bach’s writing a fugue upon an alien theme
—he shows what he can express with it. Every individual art—
Chinese landscape or Egyptian plastic or Gothic counterpoint—is
once existent, and departs with its soul and its symbolism never to
return.
II
With this, the notion of Form opens out immensely. Not only the
technical instrument, not only the form-language, but also the choice
of art-genus itself is seen to be an expression-means. What the
creation of a masterpiece means for an individual artist—the “Night
Watch” for Rembrandt or the “Meistersinger” for Wagner—that the
creation of a species of art, comprehended as such, means for the
life-history of a Culture. It is epochal. Apart from the merest
externals, each such art is an individual organism without
predecessor or successor. Its theory, technique and convention all
belong to its character, and contain nothing of eternal or universal
validity. When one of these arts is born, when it is spent, whether it
dies or is transmuted into another, why this or that art is dominant in
or absent from a particular Culture—all these are questions of Form
in the highest sense, just as is that other question of why individual
painters and musicians unconsciously avoid certain shades and
harmonies or, on the contrary, show preferences so marked that
authorship-attributions can be based on them.
The importance of these groups of questions has not yet been
recognized by theory, even by that of the present day. And yet it is
precisely from this side, the side of their physiognomic, that the arts
are accessible to the understanding. Hitherto it has been supposed
—without the slightest examination of the weighty questions that the
supposition involves—that the several “arts” specified in the
conventional classification-scheme (the validity of which is assumed)
are all possible at all times and places, and the absence of one or
another of them in particular cases is attributed to the accidental lack
of creative personalities or impelling circumstances or discriminating
patrons to guide “art” on its “way.” Here we have what I call a
transference of the causality-principle from the world of the become
to that of the becoming. Having no eye for the perfectly different logic
and necessity of the Living, for Destiny and the inevitableness and
unique occurrence of its expression-possibilities, men had recourse
to tangible and obvious “causes” for the building of their art-history,
which thus came to consist of a series of events of only superficial
concordance.
I have already, in the earliest pages of this work, exposed the
shallowness of the notion of a linear progression of “mankind”
through the stages of “ancient,” “mediæval” and “modern,” a notion
that has made us blind to the true history and structure of higher
Cultures. The history of art is a conspicuous case in point. Having
assumed as self-evident the existence of a number of constant and
well-defined provinces of art, one proceeded to order the history of
these several provinces according to the—equally self-evident—
scheme of ancient-mediæval-modern, to the exclusion, of course, of
Indian and East-Asiatic art, of the art of Axum and Saba, of the
Sassanids and of Russia, which if not omitted altogether were at
best relegated to appendices. It occurred to no one that such results
argued unsoundness in the method; the scheme was there,
demanded facts, and must at any price be fed with them. And so a
futile up-and-down course was stolidly traced out. Static times were
described as “natural pauses,” it was called “decline” when some
great art in reality died, and “renaissance” where an eye really free
from prepossessions would have seen another art being born in
another landscape to express another humanity. Even to-day we are
still taught that the Renaissance was a rebirth of the Classical. And
the conclusion was drawn that it is possible and right to take up arts
that are found weak or even dead (in this respect the present is a
veritable battle-field) and set them going again by conscious
reformation-program or forced “revival.”
And yet it is precisely in this problem of the end, the impressively
sudden end, of a great art—the end of the Attic drama in Euripides,
of Florentine sculpture with Michelangelo, of instrumental music in
Liszt, Wagner and Bruckner—that the organic character of these arts
is most evident. If we look closely enough we shall have no difficulty
in convincing ourselves that no one art of any greatness has ever
been “reborn.”
Of the Pyramid style nothing passed over into the Doric. Nothing
connects the Classical temple with the basilica of the Middle East,
for the mere taking over of the Classical column as a structural
member, though to a superficial observer it seems a fact of the first
importance, weighs no more in reality than Goethe’s employment of
the old mythology in the “Classical Walpurgis Night” scene of
“Faust.” To believe genuinely in a rebirth of Classical art, or any
Classical art, in the Western 15th Century requires a rare stretch of
the imagination. And that a great art may die not merely with the
Culture but within it, we may see from the fate of music in the
Classical world.[275] Possibilities of great music there must have been
in the Doric springtime—how otherwise can we account for the
importance of old-fashioned Sparta in the eyes of such musicians as
there were later (for Terpander, Thaletas and Alcman were effective
there when elsewhere the statuary art was merely infantile)?—and
yet the Late-Classical world refrained. In just the same fashion
everything that the Magian Culture had attempted in the way of
frontal portraiture, deep relief and mosaic finally succumbed before
the Arabesque; and everything of the plastic that had sprung up in
the shade of Gothic cathedrals at Chartres, Reims, Bamberg,
Naumburg, in the Nürnberg of Peter Vischer and the Florence of
Verrocchio, vanished before the oil-painting of Venice and the
instrumental music of the Baroque.
III
The temple of Poseidon at Pæstum and the Minster of Ulm, works

of the ripest Doric and the ripest Gothic, differ precisely as the
Euclidean geometry of bodily bounding-surfaces differs from the
analytical geometry of the position of points in space referred to
spatial axes. All Classical building begins from the outside, all
Western from the inside. The Arabian also begins with the inside, but
it stays there. There is one and only one soul, the Faustian, that
craves for a style which drives through walls into the limitless
universe of space and makes both the exterior and the interior of the
building complementary images of one and the same world-feeling.
The exterior of the basilica and the domical building may be a field
for ornamentation, but architecture it is not. The impression that
meets the beholder as he approaches is that of something shielding,
something that hides a secret. The form-language in the cavern-
twilight exists for the faithful only—that is the factor common to the
highest examples of the style and to the simplest Mithræa and
Catacombs, the prime powerful utterance of a new soul. Now, as
soon as the Germanic spirit takes possession of the basilical type,
there begins a wondrous mutation of all structural parts, as to both
position and significance. Here in the Faustian North the outer form
of the building, be it cathedral or mere dwelling-house, begins to be
brought into relation with the meaning that governs the arrangement
of the interior, a meaning undisclosed in the mosque and non-
existent in the temple. The Faustian building has a visage and not
merely a façade (whereas the front of a peripteros is, after all, only
one of four sides and the centre-domed building in principle has not
even a front) and with this visage, this head, is associated an
articulated trunk that draws itself out through the broad plain like the
cathedral at Speyer, or erects itself to the heavens like the
innumerable spires of the original design of Reims. The motive of the
façade, which greets the beholder and tells him the inner meaning of
the house, dominates not only individual major buildings but also the
whole aspect of our streets, squares and towns with their
characteristic wealth of windows.[276]
The great architecture of the early period is ever the mother of all
following arts; it determines the choice of them and the spirit of them.
Accordingly, we find that the history of the Classical shaping art is
one untiring effort to accomplish one single ideal, viz., the conquest
of the free-standing human body as the vessel of the pure real
present. The temple of the naked body was to it what the cathedral
of voices was to the Faustian from earliest counterpoint to the
orchestral writing of the 18th Century. We have failed hitherto to
understand the emotional force of this secular tendency of the
Apollinian, because we have not felt how the purely material,
soulless body (for the Temple of the Body, too, has no "interior"!) is
the object which archaic relief, Corinthian painting on clay, and Attic
fresco were all striving to obtain until Polycletus and Phidias showed
how to achieve it in full. We have, with a wonderful blindness,
assumed this kind of sculpture as both authoritative and universally
possible, as in fact, “the art of sculpture.” We have written its history
as one concerned with all peoples and periods, and even to-day our
sculptors, under the influence of unproved Renaissance doctrines,
speak of the naked human body as the noblest and most genuine
object of “the” art of sculpture. Yet in reality this statue-art, the art of
the naked body standing free upon its footing and appreciable from
all sides alike, existed in the Classical and the Classical only, for it
was that Culture alone which quite decisively refused to transcend
sense-limits in favour of space. The Egyptian statue is always meant
to be seen from the front—it is a variant of plane-relief. And the
seemingly Classically-conceived statues of the Renaissance (we are
astounded, as soon as it occurs to us to count them, to find how few
of them there are[277]) are nothing but a semi-Gothic reminiscence.
The evolution of this rigorously non-spatial art occupies the three
centuries from 650 to 350, a period extending from the completion of
the Doric and the simultaneous appearance of a tendency to free the
figures from the Egyptian limitation of frontalness[278] to the coming of
the Hellenistic and its illusion-painting which closed-off the grand
style. This sculpture will never be rightly appreciated until it is
regarded as the last and highest Classical, as springing from a plane
art, first obeying and then overcoming the fresco. No doubt the
technical origin can be traced to experiments in figure-wise treatment
of the pristine column, or the plates that served to cover the temple
wall,[279] and no doubt there are here and there imitations of Egyptian
works (seated figures of Miletus), although very few Greek artists
can ever have seen one.[280] But as a form-ideal the statue goes back
through relief to the archaic clay-painting in which fresco also
originated. Relief, like fresco, is tied to the bodily wall. All this
sculpture right down to Myron may be considered as relief detached
from the plane. In the end, the figure is treated as a self-contained
body apart from the mass of the building, but it remains essentially a
silhouette in front of a wall.[281] Direction in depth is excluded, and the
work is spread out frontally before the beholder. Even the Marsyas of
Myron can be copied upon vases or coins without much trouble or
appreciable foreshortenings.[282] Consequently, of the two major
“late” arts after 650, fresco definitely has the priority. The small stock
of types is always to be found first in vase-figuring, which is often
exactly paralleled by quite late sculptures. We know that the Centaur
group of the West pediment at Olympia was worked out from a
painting. On the Ægina temple, the advance from the West to the
East pediment is an advance from the fresco-character to the body-
character. The change is completed about 460 with Polycletus, and
thenceforward plastic groups become the model for strict painting.
But it is from Lysippus that the wholly cubic and “all-ways” treatment
becomes thoroughly veristic and yields “fact.” Till then, even in the
case of Praxiteles, we have still a lateral or planar development of
the subject, with a clear outline that is only fully effective in respect of
one or two standpoints. But an undeviating testimony to the picture-
origin of independent sculpture is the practice of polychroming the
marble—a practice unknown to the Renaissance and to Classicism,
which would have felt it as barbaric[283]—and we may say the same
of the gold-and-ivory statuary and the enamel overlaying of bronze, a
metal which already possesses a shining golden tone of its own.
IV
The corresponding stage of Western art occupies the three

centuries 1500-1800, between the end of late Gothic and the decay
of Rococo which marks the end of the great Faustian style. In this
period, conformably to the persistent growth into consciousness of
the will to spatial transcendence, it is instrumental music that
develops into the ruling art. At the beginning, in the 17th Century,
music uses the characteristic tone-colours of the instruments, and
the contrasts of strings and wind, human voices and instrumental
voices, as means wherewith to paint. Its (quite unconscious)
ambition is to parallel the great masters from Titian to Velasquez and
Rembrandt. It makes pictures (in the sonata from Gabrieli [d. 1612.]
to Corelli [d. 1713] every movement shows a theme embellished with
graces and set upon the background of a basso continuo), paints
heroic landscapes (in the pastoral cantata), and draws a portrait in
lines of melody (in Monteverde’s “Lament of Ariadne,” 1608). With
the German masters, all this goes. Painting can take music no
further. Music becomes itself absolute: it is music that (quite
unconsciously again) dominates both painting and architecture in the
18th Century. And, ever more and more decisively, sculpture fades
out from among the deeper possibilities of this form-world.
What distinguishes painting as it was before, from painting as it
was after, the shift from Florence to Venice—or, to put it more
definitely, what separates the painting of Raphael and that of Titian
as two entirely distinct arts—is that the plastic spirit of the one
associates painting with relief, while the musical spirit of the other
works in a technique of visible brush-strokes and atmospheric depth-
effects that is akin to the chromatic of string and wind choruses. It is
an opposition and not a transition that we have before us, and the
recognition of the fact is vital to our understanding of the organism of
these arts. Here, if anywhere, we have to guard against the abstract
hypothesis of “eternal art-laws.” “Painting” is a mere word. Gothic
glass-painting was an element of Gothic architecture, the servant of
its strict symbolism just as the Egyptian and the Arabian and every
other art in this stage was the servant of the stone-language. Draped
figures were built up as cathedrals were. Their folds were an
ornamentation of extreme sincerity and severe expressiveness. To
criticize their “stiffness” from a naturalistic-imitative point of view is to
miss the point entirely.
Similarly “music” is a mere word. Some music there has been
everywhere and always, even before any genuine Culture, even
among the beasts. But the serious music of the Classical was
nothing but a plastic for the ear. The tetrachords, chromatic and
enharmonic, have a structural and not a harmonic meaning:[284] but
this is the very difference between body and space. This music was
single-voiced. The few instruments that it employed were all
developed in respect of capacity for tone-plastic; and naturally
therefore it rejected the Egyptian harp, an instrument that was
probably akin in tone-colour to the harpsichord. But, above all, the
melody—like Classical verse from Homer to Hadrian’s time—was
treated quantitatively and not accentually; that is, the syllables, their
bodies and their extent, decided the rhythm. The few fragments that
remain suffice to show us that the sensuous charm of this art is
something outside our comprehension; but this very fact should
cause us also
to reconsider our ideas as to the impressions purposed and
achieved by the statuary and the fresco, for we do not and cannot
experience the charm that these exercised upon the Greek eye.
Equally incomprehensible to us is Chinese music: in which,
according to educated Chinese, we are never able to distinguish gay
from grave.[285] Vice versa, to the Chinese all the music of the West
without distinction is march-music. Such is the impression that the
rhythmic dynamic of our life makes upon the accentless Tao of the
Chinese soul, and, indeed, the impression that our entire Culture
makes upon an alien humanity—the directional energy of our
church-naves and our storeyed façades, the depth-perspectives of
our pictures, the march of our tragedy and narrative, not to mention
our technics and the whole course of our private and public life. We
ourselves have accent in our blood and therefore do not notice it. But
when our rhythm is juxtaposed with that of an alien life, we find the
discordance intolerable.
Arabian music, again, is quite another world. Hitherto we have
only observed it through the medium of the Pseudomorphosis, as
represented by Byzantine hymns and Jewish psalmody, and even
these we know only in so far as they have penetrated to the
churches of the far West as antiphons, responsorial psalmody and
Ambrosian chants.[286] But it is self-evident that not only the religious
west of Edessa (the syncretic cults, especially Syrian sun-worship,
the Gnostic and the Mandæan) but also those to the east
(Mazdaists, Manichæans, Mithraists, the synagogues of Irak and in
due course the Nestorian Christians) must have possessed a sacred
music of the same style; that side by side with this a gay secular
music developed (above all, amongst the South-Arabian and
Sassanid chivalry[287]); and that both found their culmination in the
Moorish style that reigned from Spain to Persia.
Out of all this wealth, the Faustian soul borrowed only some few
church-forms and, moreover, in borrowing them, it instantly
transformed them root and branch (10th Century, Hucbald, Guido
d’Arezzo). Melodic accent and beat produced the “march,” and
polyphony (like the rime of contemporary poetry) the image of
endless space. To understand this, we have to distinguish between
the imitative[288] and the ornamental sides of music, and although
owing to the fleeting nature of all tone-creations[289] our knowledge is
limited to the musical history of our own West, yet this is quite
sufficient to reveal that duality of development which is one of the
master-keys of all art-history. The one is soul, landscape, feeling, the
other strict form, style, school. West Europe has an ornamental
music of the grand style (corresponding to the full plastic of the
Classical) which is associated with the architectural history of the
cathedral, which is closely akin to Scholasticism and Mysticism, and
which finds its laws in the motherland of high Gothic between Seine
and Scheldt. Counterpoint developed simultaneously with the flying-
buttress system, and its source was the “Romanesque” style of the
Fauxbourdon and the Discant with their simple parallel and contrary
motion.[290] It is an architecture of human voices and, like the
statuary-group and the glass-paintings, is only conceivable in the
setting of these stone vaultings. With them it is a high art of space, of
that space to which Nicolas of Oresme, Bishop of Lisieux, gave
mathematical meaning by the introduction of co-ordinates.[291] This is
the genuine “rinascita” and “reformatio” as Joachim of Floris saw it at
the end of the 12th Century[292]—the birth of a new soul mirrored in
the form-language of a new art.
Along with this there came into being in castle and village a
secular imitative music, that of troubadours, Minnesänger and
minstrels. As “ars nova” this travelled from the courts of Provence to
the palaces of Tuscan patricians about 1300, the time of Dante and
Petrarch. It consisted of simple melodies that appealed to the heart
with their major and minor, of canzoni, madrigals and caccias, and it
included also a type of galante operetta (Adam de la Hale’s “Robin
and Marion”). After 1400, these forms give rise to forms of collective
singing—the rondeau and the ballade. All this is “art” for a public.[293]
Scenes are painted from life, scenes of love, hunting, chivalry. The
point of it is in the melodic inventiveness, instead of in the symbolism
of its linear progress.
Thus, musically as otherwise, the castle and the cathedral are
distinct. The cathedral is music and the castle makes music. The one
begins with theory, the other with impromptu: it is the distinction
between waking consciousness and living existence, between the
spiritual and the knightly singer. Imitation stands nearest to life and
direction and therefore begins with melody, while the symbolism of
counterpoint belongs to extension and through polyphony signifies
infinite space. The result was, on the one side, a store of “eternal”
rules and, on the other, an inexhaustible fund of folk-melodies on
which even the 18th Century was still drawing. The same contrast
reveals itself, artistically, in the class-opposition of Renaissance and
Reformation.[294] The courtly taste of Florence was antipathetic to the
spirit of counterpoint; the evolution of strict musical form from the
Motet to the four-voice Mass through Dunstaple, Binchois and Dufay
(c. 1430) proceeded wholly within the magic circle of Gothic
architecture. From Fra Angelico to Michelangelo the great
Netherlanders ruled alone in ornamental music. Lorenzo de’ Medici
found no one in Florence who understood the strict style, and had to
send for Dufay. And while in this region Leonardo and Raphael were
painting, in the north Okeghem (d. 1495) and his school and Josquin
des Prés (d. 1521) brought the formal polyphony of human voices to
the height of fulfilment.
The transition into the “Late” age was heralded in Rome and
Venice. With Baroque the leadership in music passes to Italy. But at
the same time architecture ceases to be the ruling art and there is
formed a group of Faustian special-arts in which oil-painting
occupies the central place. About 1560 the empire of the human
voice comes to an end in the a cappella style of Palestrina and
Orlando Lasso (both d. 1594). Its powers could no longer express
the passionate drive into the infinite, and it made way for the chorus
of instruments, wind and string. And thereupon Venice produced
Titian-music, the new madrigal that in its flow and ebb follows the
sense of the text. The music of the Gothic is architectural and vocal,
that of the Baroque pictorial and instrumental. The one builds, the
other operates by means of motives. For all the arts have become
urban and therefore secular. We pass from super-personal Form to
the personal expression of the Master, and shortly before 1600 Italy
produces the basso continuo which requires virtuosi and not pious
participants.
Thenceforward, the great task was to extend the tone-corpus into
the infinity, or rather to resolve it into an infinite space of tone. Gothic
had developed the instruments into families of definite timbre. But
the new-born “orchestra” no longer observes limitations imposed by
the human voice, but treats it as a voice to be combined with other
voices—at the same moment as our mathematic proceeds from the
geometrical analysis of Fermat to the purely functional analysis of
Descartes.[295] In Zarlino’s “Harmony” (1558) appears a genuine
perspective of pure tonal space. We begin to distinguish between
ornamental and fundamental instruments. Melody and
embellishment join to produce the Motive, and this in development
leads to the rebirth of counterpoint in the form of the fugal style, of
which Frescobaldi was the first master and Bach the culmination. To
the vocal masses and motets the Baroque opposes its grand,
orchestrally-conceived forms of the oratorio (Carissimi), the cantata
(Viadana) and the opera (Monteverde). Whether a bass melody be
set against upper voices, or upper voices be concerted against one
another upon a background of basso continuo, always sound-worlds
of characteristic expression-quality work reciprocally upon one
another in the infinity of tonal space, supporting, intensifying, raising,
illuminating, threatening, overshadowing—a music all of interplay,
scarcely intelligible save through ideas of contemporary Analysis.
From out of these forms of the early Baroque there proceeded, in
the 17th Century, the sonata-like forms of suite, symphony and
concerto grosso. The inner structure and the sequence of
movements, the thematic working-out and modulation became more
and more firmly established. And thus was reached the great,
immensely dynamic, form in which music—now completely bodiless
—was raised by Corelli and Handel and Bach to be the ruling art of
the West. When Newton and Leibniz, about 1670, discovered the
Infinitesimal Calculus, the fugal style was fulfilled. And when, about
1740, Euler began the definitive formulation of functional Analysis,
Stamitz and his generation were discovering the last and ripest form
of musical ornamentation, the four-part movement[296] as vehicle of
pure and unlimited motion. For, at that time, there was still this one
step to be taken. The theme of the fugue “is,” that of the new sonata-
movement “becomes,” and the issue of its working out is in the one
case a picture, in the other a drama. Instead of a series of pictures
we get a cyclic succession,[297] and the real source of this tone-
language was in the possibilities, realized at last, of our deepest and
most intimate kind of music—the music of the strings. Certain it is
that the violin is the noblest of all instruments that the Faustian soul
has imagined and trained for the expression of its last secrets, and
certain it is, too, that it is in string quartets and violin sonatas that it
has experienced its most transcendent and most holy moments of
full illumination. Here, in chamber-music, Western art as a whole
reaches its highest point. Here our prime symbol of endless space is
expressed as completely as the Spearman of Polycletus expresses
that of intense bodiliness. When one of those ineffably yearning
violin-melodies wanders through the spaces expanded around it by
the orchestration of Tartini or Nardini, Haydn, Mozart or Beethoven,
we know ourselves in the presence of an art beside which that of the
Acropolis is alone worthy to be set.
With this, the Faustian music becomes dominant among the
Faustian arts. It banishes the plastic of the statue and tolerates only
the minor art—an entirely musical, refined, un-Classical and counter-
Renaissance art—of porcelain, which (as a discovery of the West) is
contemporary with the rise of chamber-music to full effectiveness.
Whereas the statuary of Gothic is through-and-through architectural
ornamentation, human espalier-work, that of the Rococo remarkably
exemplifies the pseudo-plastic that results from entire subjection to
the form-language of music, and shows to what a degree the
technique governing the presented foreground can be in
contradiction with the real expression-language that is hidden behind
it. Compare Coysevox’s[298] (1686) crouching Venus in the Louvre
with its Classical prototype in the Vatican—in the one plastic is
understudying music, in the other plastic is itself. Terms like
“staccato,” “accelerando,” “andante” and “allegro” best describe the
kind of movements that we have here, the flow of the lines, the
fluidity in the being of the stone itself which like the porcelain has
more or less lost its fine compactness. Hence our feeling that the
granular marble is out of keeping. Hence, too, the wholly un-
Classical tendency to work with reference to effects of light and
shade. This is quite in conformity with the principles of oil-painting
from Titian onwards. That which in the 18th Century is called “colour”
in an etching, a drawing, or a sculpture-group really signifies music.
Music dominates the painting of Watteau and Fragonard and the art
of Gobelins and pastels, and since then, have we not acquired the
habit of speaking of colour-tones or tone-colours? And do not the
very words imply a recognition of a final homogeneity between the
two arts, superficially dissimilar as they are? And are not these same
words perfectly meaningless as applied to any and every Classical
art? But music did not stop there; it transmuted also the architecture
of Bernini’s Baroque into accord with its own spirit, and made of it
Rococo, a style of transcendent ornamentation upon which lights (or
rather “tones”) play to dissolve ceilings, walls and everything else
constructional and actual into polyphonies and harmonies, with
architectural trills and cadences and runs to complete the
identification of the form-language of these halls and galleries with
that of the music imagined for them. Dresden and Vienna are the
homes of this late and soon-extinguished fairyland of visible
chamber music, of curved furniture and mirror-halls, and
shepherdesses in verse and porcelain. It is the final brilliant autumn
with which the Western soul completes the expression of its high
style. And in the Vienna of the Congress-time it faded and died.
The Art of the Renaissance, considered from this particular one of

its many aspects,[299] is a revolt against the spirit of the Faustian
forest-music of counterpoint, which at that time was preparing to
vassalize the whole form-language of the Western Culture. It was the
logical consequence of the open assertion of this will in matured
Gothic. It never disavowed its origin and it maintained the character
of a simple counter-movement; necessarily therefore it remained
dependent upon the forms of the original movement, and
represented simply the effect of these upon a hesitant soul. Hence, it

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Introduction To Mathematical Thinking Algebra and Number Systems 1St Edition Gilbert Solutions Manual Full Chapter PDF

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Introduction To Mathematical Thinking

Algebra And Number Systems 1st

Solutions prepared by William J. Gilbert and Alejandro Morales

Because x2 ≥ 0 for all x ∈ R then f (x) = x2 − 1 ≥ −1. So the image Y = f (X)

Because f (x) ≥ 0 for all x ∈ R then the image Y = f (X) is Y = {y ∈ R | y ≥

f (x) is not defined for x = 0. So X = {x ∈ R | x 6= 0}. When x 6= 0

Now for x ∈ X, −1 ≤ sin 5x ≤ 1. So Y = f (X) = [−1, 1].

Then f −1 : Y → X given by f −1 (x) = log5 x.

Because g(x) = 3 − x, and h(x) = log10 x are both bijective in X → Y , then

Then f −1 : Y → X given by f −1 (x) = 3 − 10x .

And because f (x) ≥ 0 then Y = f (X) = {y√ ∈ R | y ≥ 0}.

The image Y = f (X) is the same as the image of Sin−1 , that is Y =

Draw similar diagrams for the following functions.

Draw similar diagrams for the following functions.

Draw similar diagrams for the following functions.

Hence, the inverse function, f −1 : Y → X is given by f −1 (x) = 3 − x2 .

then for all x ∈ X, 5/(4x − 2) 6= 0 so f (x) 6= 1/2. Then Y = {x ∈ R | x 6= 1/2}

So, the inverse function f −1 : Y → X is given by f −1 (x) = (log3 x)2 .

f ◦ g(x) = f (x − 1) = (x − 1)2 − 1 = x(x − 2)

f ◦ g ◦ ··· ◦ g or f ◦ g ◦ ··· ◦ f or g ◦ f ◦ ··· ◦ f or g ◦ f ◦ ··· ◦ g

which can be written as

Similarly, (g ◦ f )2 = f ◦ g and (g ◦ f )3 = 1R . Hence all the composites can be

Thus the inverse is unique.

Now k is not injective since, for example, k(2) = k(4) = 2.

g(f (x)) = g ◦ f (x) = 1X (x) = x.

Neither need be a bijection. For example, define f : P → P by f (n) = 2n.

#(A∪B∪C) = #A+#B+#C −#(A∩B)−#(A∩C)−#(B∩C)+#(A∩B∩C).

C) = (A ∩ B) ∪ (A ∩ C). Also, we know that #(A ∪ B) =

#(E ∪A∪L) = #E +#A+#L−#(A∩L)−#(E ∩A)−#(E ∪L)+#[E ∩A∩L]

Working with percentages we have that #(E ∪ A ∪ L) is the 100% of the

Because (A ∪ L) is some percentage of the wounded, then 165% − #(A ∩ L) ≤

Applying sin to both sides of the equation we get

sin Sin−1 x = sin π/2

Check: Sin−1 1 + Sin−1 1 = π/2 + π/2 = π.

cos(Cos−1 x) = cos(Sin−1 x − π/2)

Raising to the power of log2 e we get x = 5log2 e .

12 × 109 = (1.02)t0 6 × 109

log10 r = 100 log10 1.02

Because log10 r ≈ 0.86 then

(20)e0.5θ = 1.6 × 105

log10 e3+(0.5)θ = log10 (1.6 × 105 )

m = 1000(10/365 + 1)365 = 1000(375/365)365 .

If we take log10 on both sides we get

log10 m = log10 1000 + 365 log10 (375/365)

So, to compute (ρ ◦ σ) ◦ τ : P4 → P4 we must first apply τ and then apply

So ρ2 = ι, the identity permutation. By Proposition 6.92. then

Then to compute ρ−1 ◦ τ −1 : P4 → P4 we must first apply τ −1 and then apply

(τ −1 ◦ ρ−1 )(ρ ◦ τ ) = τ −1 ◦ (ρ−1 ◦ ρ) ◦ τ = τ −1 ◦ τ = ι.

f (x + y) = f (x) + f (y) and f (1) = p.

Therefore f (1/n) = f (1)/n = p/n.

But f (1/b) = p/b, so f (r) = f (a/b) = (ap/b) = rp.

f (x + y) = f (x) · f (y) and f (1) = q.

But f (1/b) = q 1/b , so f (r) = f (a/b) = (q 1/b )a = q a/b .

f (xy) = f (x) + f (y)

when f is a function from R to R.

f −1 (xy) = f −1 (f (u) · f (v))

In order for the function to be defined the denominator x(ca+cd)+cb+d2 6=

x2 (ca + cd) + x(cb + d2 ) = x(a2 + cd) + b(a + d)

If we consider g(x) = x2 c(a+d)+x(c(b−d)+d2 −a2 )−b(a+d), then f (f (x)) = x

Recalling that c(a + d) and cb + d2 cannot be both equal to zero, because

If x = 0 then f (f (0)) = f (0) = 0. If x > 0 then f (f (x)) = f (−2x). Because

This relation is not a function. For example, 1 is assigned to 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6.

Drop a perpendicular from line l at a point x through point p intersecting