Scaling
Named by 22 essays across 5 fields — each of them below, with the objects they name alongside it.
A constant that does not care which map
The gaps between successive period doublings shrink by a factor. Measure that factor for the logistic map and you get 4.669. Measure it for a completely different map and you get 4.669, and nobody expected that.
The number that says how much room is left
A linear map takes the unit square to a parallelogram. The area of that parallelogram is one number, it is computable from the four entries of the matrix, and almost everything the determinant is used for is a restatement of that sentence.
The most area a fence can hold
One length of boundary, and the question of what shape to bend it into. The answer is a circle, everybody knows it, and the argument that convinced the nineteenth century turned out to prove something slightly different.
The average settles and the wobble does not
Two theorems are usually met a page apart and sound as though one is a sharper version of the other. They are the same sums looked at through two different magnifying glasses: divide by the number of them and everything collapses to a point, divide by its square root and a shape appears.
The walk that becomes a curve
Shrink the steps of a random walk and it disappears. Shrink them while stretching the time in the right proportion — space by the square root of whatever time is divided by — and something is left behind, which is a curve nobody could draw.
The shape that averaging leaves alone
Adding independent quantities blurs their distributions together, and rescaling restores the width. Almost every shape is changed by that operation. Exactly one is returned unaltered, and that is why sums of unrelated things keep arriving at it.
An average that never settles
The average of many independent quantities is supposed to steady as their number grows. For one famous distribution it does not steady at all — the average of a thousand draws has exactly the same distribution as a single draw, and no amount of further averaging changes it.
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 dimension that is not a whole number
Cover a set with boxes of side ε and count how many are needed. For a line the count grows like 1/ε, for a region like 1/ε². For the Koch curve it grows like 1/ε to the power 1.26, and that exponent is as good a definition of dimension as the other two.
The area that names the number
The number e can be defined without mentioning slopes at all. Slide right along the curve 1/x until the area underneath reaches exactly one, and stop. That is where e is, and the reason logarithms turn multiplication into addition is visible in the same picture.
The window where the giant is born
Below the threshold the largest piece is a few dozen points, above it a definite fraction of everything. At the threshold it is neither, and the size it does take — the two-thirds power — is an exponent with no elementary derivation that a measurement finds immediately.
Infinite on one side and nought on the other
Box counting returns a growth rate. Hausdorff's definition returns a measure — a quantity that is infinite for every exponent below the dimension and zero for every exponent above it, and the dimension is the one place where it is neither.
A carpet with two dimensions
For every self-similar set met so far the two definitions of dimension agree, and the agreement is a theorem about sets built from copies of themselves scaled equally. Stretch one direction more than the other and the two numbers come apart, by an amount that can be computed exactly.
A dimension from the stretching rates
An attractor has no construction rule, so its dimension has to be counted — which was the whole case for defining dimension by counting. Kaplan and Yorke's formula computes it instead, from two numbers that describe the map and never look at the set.
A dimension for every rate of crowding
Spread a unit of mass over an interval by splitting it unevenly, again and again, and the result covers the whole interval while crowding almost all of its weight onto a set of smaller dimension. Every rate of crowding picks out its own set of points with its own dimension, and the whole family is read off one curve.
The room a jagged graph takes up
The graph of a continuous function is a curve, and a curve ought to have dimension one. Build the function by raising midpoints — by an amount that shrinks more slowly than the intervals do — and its graph needs more boxes than any line, at a rate fixed by one ratio. A random path built the same way needs exactly as many.
The window that opens with a stutter
The period-three window does not fade in. At r = 1 + √8 a cycle of three appears out of nothing, and just before it does, the chaotic orbit keeps imitating the cycle that is not there yet — for twenty steps, then fifty, then hundreds, in quiet stretches whose length grows as one over the square root of the distance to the window.
One number under every bell
The area under e^(−x²) has no formula in terms of the usual functions, and yet the area under e raised to any downward quadratic is known exactly. Completing the square in the exponent moves and squeezes every such curve into the same one, so a single number — √π — pays for all of them.
A walk that may not step where it has been
Forbid a walk on the square grid from ever revisiting a site and the number of possible n-step walks grows like 2.638ⁿ instead of 4ⁿ — a number nobody can write down exactly. On the honeycomb it is exactly √(2 + √2), proved in 2010. And the walks spread out like n to the three-quarters, faster than any ordinary walk, which physicists have used since 1949 and mathematicians still cannot prove.
![A strand of the logistic map's diagram between r = 3.8284 and 3.8572, upside down. The bifurcation diagram of the logistic map cropped to r in [3.8284, 3.8572] and x in [0.44, 0.565], with the value axis inverted.](/f/a-strand-of-the-logistic-map-s-diagram-between-r-3-8284-36b84e6c.svg)
Every window is the whole diagram again
Zoom into one strand of the period-three window of the logistic map and the whole bifurcation diagram is there again — a single value, a fork, a cascade of doublings, chaos, bands and windows — upside down and ninety-seven times narrower. The doublings inside it shrink by Feigenbaum's 4.669, exactly as the originals do, because near the top of its hump the map's third iterate is itself a one-humped map, turned over.
Two numbers in one jagged record
A measured record comes with no rule, so its dimension has to be estimated from a finite stretch of samples — and two things go wrong that never trouble a graph built from a formula. The popular estimator depends on the units the record is written in, and the dimension, which describes the record up close, turns out to be independent of its memory, which describes it from far away. For a self-affine path the two are tied by D = 2 − H; for a record, they are two numbers.
An urn forgets its start only below one half
Let each draw from an urn add balls of both colours in fixed amounts, and the long run depends on a single ratio of two eigenvalues. Below one half the urn behaves like a coin, its fluctuations spread like the square root of the draws and settle into a bell. Above one half the first few draws decide most of the outcome, the spread grows faster, and the shape that results is not a bell and depends on how the urn began.
Named alongside it
The objects these essays reach for when they reach for this one.
Self-similarityBox dimensionNormal distributionVarianceConvergenceHausdorff dimensionIterated function systemSelf affinityAreaBifurcationCantor setCovering