Thanks, selfAdjoint and Kneemo
I presume this topology is well-developed and mathematics is not going to tremble because I cough about it. Oh well.
Still, stubborn individualist that I am, I have to examine the ground carefully before I can commit myself to walk upon it, no matter how many others have already danced lightly across the gap.
The essense of my complaint is that the mathematics of topology, beautiful as it is, starts with the assumption of a one-to-one correspondence between points, hence the mapping from the two-sphere pole to the plane. Points are perfectly small, so there is no problem mapping the two-sphere to the plane, until you come to the final, polar point, which then has to have lines that map out to the infinite edges of the plane, and therefore has to have a one-to-infinity correspondance. The lines from the pole to infinity are all parallel to the plane, but of course they can't be because they have to meet the plane at infinity...but hey, it's only the one point that is the exception to prove the rule, and all goes well as long as you don't get too close to the singularity. In mathematics. Where points are perfectly small.
However, if the plane and the sphere are quantized, so that the points are not perfectly small, we immediately run into trouble with the topology. It is no longer possible to draw a line from the pole to the plane which passes though only one point on the sphere and one point on the plane. That works pretty well for the southern hemisphere, but the the closer one comes to the north pole position, the more points the line has to intersect, if the points have measurable size. This reflects the fact that, intuitively, the plane, which is open to infinity, should be larger in surface area and so have more (quantized) points than the sphere can have.
If we assume a quantized surface on the sphere, there is a different problem. How do you build a perfect sphere of finite size from other, smaller spheres? My conjecture is that small spheres of uniform size cannot be tiled perfectly on the surface of a larger sphere without leaving irregular gaps on the surface.
This leads me to wonder about the geometry of the gaps. If we define the radius of the large sphere R and the radius of the tiling spheres r then there must be a relationship between R and r that would minimize the amount of gap. If there are minima there must also be maxima. Perhaps the maxima occurs when the gap becomes large enough to admit one more sphere on the surface.
But I have not had much luck finding a mathematics of the gap. (I bow here to Garth, who put forward the idea of a "God of the Gaps", altho I can't say that what I am describing has anything to do with what he was talking about.)
Leaving math and physics for a moment, as long as I am thinking of it, Garth's God of the Gaps seems to me to be the God of the leftover places, widely worshipped in Europe and America to this day, by means of ancient custom and ritual, who was also associated with the commons, the green spaces, the unfenced land. Probably a descendent of Pan, the great god of wilderness, no longer contiguous.
People harvesting fields in Europe used to leave a small patch uncut, to honor the god of the leftovers. The idea was that the harvestors drove the god back swath by swath, until at the end, the leftover god was confined to a single sheaf of grain. This sheaf was cut and tied with special honors, brought into the house and hung on the wall all winter, as a way to ensure a good harvest for the following year.
Today many people like to decorate their walls each autumn with wreaths and sprays of wheat or other grain, or even the boughs of trees and weeds picked from the roadsides. Ok, they just do it because it is pretty, not to honor the Great God Pan.
I suppose that the fencing of the commons, the death of Pan, autumnal decoration, and god of the gaps has little to do with that single point at the pole that has to stand in for everything. It is a rainy day in May in Minnesota, and this new moisture should bring the leaves out. They are tardy this year, having suffered a late frost again. My world is closing on the singularity, where everything is nothing. I hold the fragrant spring soil in my fingers, knowing that someday even this will be dust scattered in darkness.
But for this little time we have light and warmth and fragrance.
I bid you all enjoyments, mapping this infinity onto one grain of sand.
Be well,
Richard T. Harbaugh