Approximation
Named by 34 essays across 8 fields — each of them below, with the objects they name alongside it.
Three gaps and no more
Turn a circle by the same irrational angle over and over. The points never repeat and never settle, and yet at every single stage the gaps they leave take at most three different lengths — never four, at any number of steps, for any angle.
Nobody gets their own hat
Hand back a pile of hats at random and ask for the chance that not one person gets their own. The answer barely moves as the crowd grows — it is a third and a bit at four people, and a third and a bit at four thousand.
How long until every one turns up
Draw at random from six equally likely kinds until all six have appeared. The wait is not six draws, and it is not sixty; it is fourteen point seven, and the number is a harmonic sum wearing a hat.
The staircase that is not the diagonal
A staircase can be made to follow a quarter circle as closely as anyone likes. Its length is 2 at every stage and the arc's length is 1.5708, and no amount of refinement closes the gap — which is a fact about length rather than about staircases.
A map that shrinks everything
One extra hypothesis — that every distance is shortened by at least a fixed factor — turns the existence of a fixed point into its uniqueness, an algorithm for finding it, and a bound on the error after any number of steps.
Counting what has no formula
There is no expression that gives the nth prime, and yet the number of primes below a bound is predictable to within a fraction of a per cent — by a function that is not a formula for the primes but an integral of the wrong-looking quantity.
How fast the bell arrives
The limit theorem says a standardised sum approaches the bell curve and says nothing about when. The rate is one over the square root of the number of terms, the constant in front is made of the third moment, and both are visible.
A rectangle grown on two sides
A product of two changing quantities is the area of a rectangle whose sides both move. The extra area is two strips and a corner, and the whole of the product rule is the observation that the corner is negligible and the strips are not.
The flat map that fits closest
A derivative is usually met as a number, which works because a line through a point is described by one. In more than one dimension the object that plays the same role is a linear map, and the number was always a one-by-one instance of it.
The slope of the mirror image
Undoing a function is reflecting its graph in the diagonal, and a reflection turns a slope into its reciprocal. That single observation supplies the derivative of every inverse — the logarithm, the roots, the inverse trigonometric functions — without differentiating any of them.
![What the map does to a circle. The unit circle with two perpendicular directions marked, and its image under [1.6, 1.2, −0.4, 1.1] — an ellipse whose axes are the images of those two directions, of lengths 2.04 and 1.10.](/f/what-the-map-does-to-a-circle-29ac1dac.svg)
What a map does to a circle
Every linear map sends the unit circle to an ellipse. Two perpendicular directions go to two perpendicular directions, whatever the map is — even a map with no invariant direction at all, and even one that is not square.
The constant that counts what does not happen
Nothing grows in a shuffled pack of cards, and nothing grows in a factorial. Yet e sits in the middle of both — as the chance that a shuffle leaves nothing in place, and as the base that makes n! nearly a power.
Too many orders to list
The rule is an average over every order the players could have arrived in. At seven players that is five thousand orders and at twenty it is more than there are seconds in the age of the universe — so the average is sampled, and the error falls at a rate that can be measured.
One point in every big enough shape
A determinant measures a lattice, not the basis that happened to describe it — and that measurement is an exchange rate. Any symmetric convex region with more than four times that area has to swallow a lattice point.
The size of a number with no formula
There is no closed expression for the number of partitions of n. There is an expression for how large it is — with a square root in the exponent and a π in front — and it is accurate enough that rounding a few terms of its refinement gives the exact count.
One subtraction clears a direction
A basis is a set of directions to measure along, and most bases are awkward because the directions get in each other's way. Removing one shadow at a time turns any basis into one where every coordinate is a shadow and nothing interferes.
The nearest point of a flat thing
More equations than unknowns almost never have a solution. Asking instead for the point of a plane nearest to where the answer should have been turns an unanswerable question into a shadow, and the shadow is what a line of best fit is.
An error with an unknown in it
Taylor's theorem does not say a partial sum is close to anything. It says the error is one more derivative evaluated somewhere nobody can name, and everything the theorem is worth comes from what happens when that somewhere is replaced by the worst case.
The points that ruin the fit
A polynomial through eleven points of a gentle curve should be a good approximation to it, and adding more points should make it better. On evenly spaced points it makes it worse, without limit, and the reason is not the polynomial but where the points were put.
A denominator that reaches past the radius
The Taylor series of ln(1 + x) is useless beyond x = 1 however many terms it is given. The same coefficients spent on a numerator and a denominator converge at x = 3, and at x = 100, because a polynomial cannot imitate a singularity and a quotient of two polynomials can.
A series that converges nowhere
Expand Euler's integral in powers of x and the coefficients are the factorials, so the series converges at no x but nought. Stopped at its smallest term it still computes the integral to within about e^(−1/x) — and every term added after that makes the answer worse.
Averaging down the triangle
Change one word in the rule that builds Pascal's triangle — take a share of each entry above instead of adding them — and the triangle stops counting and starts averaging. The same rule then draws smooth curves from polygons and approximates every continuous function by polynomials, at a rate that no amount of smoothness can improve.
A sum stopped early still says something
Inclusion–exclusion corrects an overcount, then the correction's overcount, and so on to the end. Stop after any number of terms and the result is not merely an approximation: after an odd number it is too high and after an even number too low, always. So two or three terms bracket an answer whose full sum is out of reach — as long as the events being counted are rare.
Which curves have a length at all
A length is defined as a supremum over inscribed polygons, which behaves because every refinement is longer than the last. It is also sometimes infinite — and the condition separating the two cases is a sum of absolute differences that either settles or does not.
The length belongs to the journey
Three maps from an interval with exactly the same image, and three different lengths. The picture of a curve is the set of points it passes through, and that set does not determine how far anything travelled along it.
Almost no number is one
Sums of two squares look common — a sixth of all numbers up to a million are one. The fraction is falling to nothing, at a rate so slow that no computation will ever make it obvious, and the constant in front of it has been computed to fifty places and identified with nothing.
The one that hardly ever comes up
Make the kinds unequally likely and the tidy decomposition into stages fails, because a stage's rate now depends on which kinds turned up rather than on how many. What replaces it is an alternating sum over every subset — and the rarest kind turns out to be nearly the whole answer.
Pinned between two sequences
The ring dissection makes the answer obvious and proves nothing. Archimedes' method proves it and makes nothing obvious — it never exhibits the area at all, it rules out every other value — and the recursion that drives it computes π by hand with one square root a step.
Sums of powers, read off a staircase
Add the first n squares, or cubes, or seventh powers, and the answer is always a polynomial in n. Its first term is the area under a curve, its second is half of the last step, and every term after that is a correction for the corners of a staircase — which is where the Bernoulli numbers come from, and why they eventually grow without bound.
Three places cut apart
Separating two places as cheaply as possible is solved exactly by a flow. Separating three from one another is a different problem: no flow measures it, the pairwise answers do not add up to it, and the best shortcut known in 1994 — cut each place off on its own and throw the dearest cut away — is guaranteed only to within a third of the truth.
The error that keeps coming back to its worst
Judge a polynomial by its largest error on an interval and there is exactly one best one of each degree. It is recognised without comparing it to anything else — its error rises to the same largest size, alternately above and below, one more time than there are coefficients.
An ellipse, not a disc
A Taylor series converges on a disc, and the disc's radius is the distance to the nearest singularity. Ask instead how well polynomials can follow a function on an interval, and the answer is an ellipse with the interval's ends as its foci — the largest one the function is smooth inside.
A slope for a curve that is no function
The folium x³ + y³ = 3xy loops back over itself, so no formula y = f(x) describes it, and yet at almost every point it has a perfectly good tangent. Differentiating the equation as it stands gives the slope, −(∂F/∂x) ÷ (∂F/∂y), and the only points where that fails are the ones where the curve turns vertical or crosses itself — which are exactly the points where it stops being a graph.
The fewest swaps to a winner
When no candidate beats every other head to head, Charles Dodgson proposed in 1876 to elect the one that is closest to doing so — the candidate that the fewest swaps of neighbouring names on the ballots would turn into a winner of every contest. The rule is easy to state and hard to compute: the count needs a search, and deciding the winner is provably among the hardest problems of its kind. A much simpler count, the votes still to be won, usually agrees, more often the larger the electorate.
Named alongside it
The objects these essays reach for when they reach for this one.
LimitConvergenceConvergence rateDerivativeCounterexampleCounting argumentLinearityBasisContinuityOrthogonalityRadius of convergenceTaylor series