Polynomial
Named by 28 essays across 8 fields — each of them below, with the objects they name alongside it.
A polynomial through the gaps
Write the message as the coefficients of a polynomial and send its values instead. Any k of them determine the polynomial, so it does not matter which ones are lost — and it does not matter how many, as long as k survive.
A loop that cannot miss the middle
Feed a circle into a polynomial and a closed loop comes out. A small circle gives a loop that does not enclose the origin; a large one gives a loop that goes round it as many times as the degree. Something has to happen in between, and that something is a root.
What the coefficients already know
Finding the roots of a polynomial is hard and often impossible in closed form. Reading off their sum, their product and how many of them are real is none of those things — those numbers are sitting in the coefficients, and no root-finding is required to get at them.
Counting the colourings
Asking whether a graph can be coloured with four colours gives a yes or a no. Asking how many ways there are gives a polynomial — and the polynomial answers the first question, and several others nobody asked.
A shared root, found without finding it
Two polynomials have a root in common exactly when one determinant built from their coefficients is zero. No root is computed, nothing is approximated, and the same construction turns two equations in two unknowns into one equation in one.
The polynomial whose roots are the stretches
Finding the directions a map leaves alone means finding the numbers at which it crushes something to nothing. Those numbers are the roots of one quadratic, and everything the map does is written in its two coefficients.
An integral that cannot be a whole number
Niven's proof that π is not a fraction is the same squeeze as the one for e, with a much harder multiplier. A polynomial supplies the whole number; its own smallness supplies the contradiction; and both halves are computable.
A memory of four bits
A register holding four bits, shifting them along and adding two of them back, runs through all fifteen nonzero states before it repeats. Which two are added back is a question about a polynomial, and getting it wrong costs fourteen of the fifteen.
Nineteen thousand bits of state
The generator most simulations actually use is not clever. It is a linear recurrence over the two-element field with an enormous state, and its virtues are a proved period, a proved equidistribution and speed — none of which is unpredictability, which it does not have and does not claim.
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.
Solutions that come in multiples of p
Count the solutions of x² + y² + z² = 0 in the field with five elements and there are 25; with seven, there are 49. Whenever a system of equations has more unknowns than its total degree, its number of solutions is a multiple of the characteristic — which forces a solution besides zero, and the reason is a sum over the field that vanishes because its non-zero elements form one cycle.
Give or take twice the square root
A cubic curve over the integers mod 43 should have about 44 points — one for each value of x, on average, and one at infinity. No curve misses by more than 13, the largest whole number below 2√43, and every count from 31 to 57 belongs to some curve. The first fact is Hasse's theorem, the second Deuring's, and the way the counts spread between the limits is a semicircle.
A polynomial behind the colourings
The figure-eight knot and the cinquefoil both have determinant five, so they admit exactly the same colourings, and every counting argument treats them as one. Put a variable where the colouring rule has a two and the determinant becomes a polynomial — and the two knots come apart.
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.
Every power sum, from the coefficients alone
Raise the roots of a polynomial to the k-th power and add them. However the roots turn, the total is a whole number when the coefficients are, and Newton's identities produce it from the coefficients one step at a time — no root is ever found. Run the rule on x³ − x − 1 and out comes Perrin's sequence, whose terms know which numbers are prime, nearly.
The roots of the slope stay inside
Mark the roots of a polynomial in the complex plane and stretch a band around them. However the roots are arranged, the roots of the derivative land inside the band — never outside, never on a new frontier. The reason is a balance of pushes, the same reason makes the derivative of a cubic mark the foci of an ellipse nobody asked for, and a question about how far inside the roots must sit has been open since 1958.
A quantifier is a shadow
'There is an x such that …' asks whether a column of a grid contains a mark — which is the same as asking whether a shape casts a shadow on the axis below it. Over the real numbers every such shadow can be described without the quantifier, by polynomial inequalities: 'x² + ax + 1 = 0 has a solution' is just a² ≥ 4. Over the whole numbers the same kind of shadow can carve out the primes, and any set a computer can list.
The remainders that count the roots
Run Euclid's algorithm on a polynomial and its derivative, flipping the sign of each remainder, and write down the signs of the whole chain at any point. The number of sign changes drops by exactly one each time the point passes a real root — so the roots in any interval can be counted, exactly, without finding a single one.
Three ways to pair four roots
Four roots can be split into two pairs in exactly three ways, and the three numbers r·r′ + r″·r‴ those pairings give are the roots of a cubic whose coefficients can be read straight off the quartic. That cubic is where Ferrari's formula gets its cube roots, and it is also a verdict: whether its roots are rational decides which of the twenty-four symmetries the quartic's roots actually have.
No set with a line in every direction is small
In the plane over the integers modulo 7 there are 49 points and lines in 8 directions. A set holding a whole line in every direction needs 31 of the points — more than half — and in any dimension such a set fills a fixed share of the space. In the real plane the same sets can have area zero. Over a finite field one polynomial of low degree shows they cannot be small.
A sum of two sets modulo a prime cannot be small
Add every element of one set of residues to every element of another. Over the whole numbers the sums always number at least |A| + |B| − 1. Modulo a prime the sums can wrap round and collide, and still they never number fewer — the theorem Cauchy proved in 1813 and Davenport again in 1935. Modulo 12 they can. A polynomial of low degree explains the difference in a paragraph.
A polynomial that tells left from right
The trefoil and its mirror image have the same colourings, the same determinant and the same Alexander polynomial, and the first proof that they differ was a hard argument about groups. Smooth every crossing both ways, count the circles in each of the resulting pictures, and add up the counts with the right weights: the total changes when the knot is reflected.
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.
The row that proves a prime
Fermat's little theorem can be fooled: 561 passes it for every base and is not prime. Thread necklaces with a fixed number of black beads instead of any colours at all, and the count becomes a statement about a whole row of Pascal's triangle — every middle entry of row n is a multiple of n exactly when n is prime — which no composite can fake. Written as polynomials it is (x + a)ⁿ = xⁿ + a, and cut down to size it is the first proof that primes can be recognised in polynomial time.
Almost none of the roots are real
Pick the coefficients of a polynomial of degree a thousand at random, each one an independent draw from the bell curve, and ask how many of its thousand roots are real. The answer is about five. Mark Kac found in 1943 that the average grows only like (2/π) ln n, and the reason can be read off the real line itself: the real roots crowd towards +1 and −1 and spread evenly on a logarithmic scale of distance from them.
Random roots crowd onto the circle
The roots of a random polynomial are not scattered across the plane. They gather within about 1/n of the unit circle, and their directions spread evenly round it. Paul Erdős and Pál Turán proved in 1950 that this is not a fact about randomness at all: any polynomial whose coefficients are all of roughly one size has roots whose directions are nearly even, and the inequality says exactly how nearly, in terms of nothing but the coefficients.
What the signs allow
Descartes' rule reads the signs of a polynomial's coefficients and bounds its positive roots by how often they change — a bound set by the number of terms, not the degree, and proved by nothing more than Rolle's theorem. Each count the rule allows can be had. But not every pair of counts, positive and negative, that the rule allows together can be had together: the first combination that never occurs is at degree four, and the list of impossible ones is still being worked out.
Five where four were promised
In one unknown, a polynomial with three terms has at most two positive roots, whatever its degree. The natural guess for two equations in two unknowns, each with three terms, was two times two: four. It is wrong. Bertrand Haas found two such equations in 2002 whose curves cross five times in the positive quadrant, all five crowded within a tenth of one corner, and five turned out to be the most there can ever be.
Named alongside it
The objects these essays reach for when they reach for this one.
RootsFinite fieldComplex numbersDegreeDerivativeDiscriminantModular arithmeticSymmetric functionApproximationBinomial coefficientCoefficientCounting argument