Order out of noise — page 1
Pascal's triangle, in two colours
Shade the odd numbers in Pascal's triangle and a fractal appears. Nothing was designed to produce it, and the same shape arrives independently from a completely different construction.
The primes on a spiral, and a pattern nobody ordered
Wind the whole numbers outward in a square spiral, mark the primes, and they line up on diagonals. The observation is a hundred years old and there is still no proof it means anything.
A bell curve assembled out of coin flips
Drop six hundred balls through a board of pegs, each bouncing left or right at random, and they pile up in a shape that can be predicted precisely. Nothing coordinated them.
Getting pi by dropping needles on the floor
Throw a needle at a lined floor enough times, count how often it crosses a line, and pi falls out. There is no circle anywhere in the experiment.
Twenty-three people
A room needs 253 people before someone probably shares a birthday with you. It needs 23 before two of them probably share one with each other. The gap between those numbers is the whole problem.
Six people at a party
Among any six people, three are mutual acquaintances or three are mutual strangers. Five is not enough, and the arrangement that saves five is a pentagon. Beyond that the numbers become unknowable.
A walk that always comes home, until it does not
Step left or right at random, forever, and the walk returns to where it started with certainty. On a grid it also returns. In space it does not, and about a third of walks leave and never come back.
The rule that forgets where it came from
A walk between a few states, with the next step decided by the current one and nothing else. Run it long enough and the starting point stops mattering — but only when two conditions hold, and both of them have a picture in which they fail.
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.
Half the time is the rarest answer
In a fair game of many rounds, the fraction of the time one side is ahead is not usually near a half. It is usually near nought or one, and an even split is the single least likely outcome there is.
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.
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.
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.
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.
The tail is not a bell
The limit theorem describes a window of width one over the root of n around the mean; ask instead for the chance that an average lands a fixed distance away and the answer falls exponentially, at a rate computed from the summand before any n is chosen.
When the whole histogram deviates
A rare average has a price, an exponent that grows with the number of trials. Ask instead for the chance that the whole tally of outcomes comes out wrong, and the exponent is no longer a function of one number — it is a distance between two distributions, and every rare-average rate is a shadow of it.
The staircase that is flat almost everywhere
A map of the circle advances by an average amount each step. Plot that average against the parameter driving it and the graph is flat over an interval at every rational, rises only on a set of measure zero, and still climbs from nothing to one.
The moment everything joins up
Add edges to a set of points one chance at a time and the graph goes from dust to a single piece — not gradually, but over a window that narrows as the point count grows. The last obstacle is almost always a single point with no edge at all, and that is what fixes where the change happens.
The equation with only one answer
A rate of change proportional to the current amount is the most common description in nature, and it pins down the function completely. There is exactly one curve through each starting point, and a half-life and a doubling time are the same measurement.
The error that does not care how many dimensions
A grid gets rapidly better in one dimension and hopelessly worse in twenty. Random points get better at the same slow rate whatever the dimension, which is why a method that is bad everywhere ends up being the only one that works.
Sampling where the answer lives
Monte Carlo error cannot be made to fall faster than the square root, so the only thing left to attack is the constant in front of it. Drawing points where the integrand is large, and dividing by how often they were drawn, leaves the answer alone and can shrink the noise many times over.
A walk that samples a distribution
When a distribution can be evaluated but not drawn from, a wandering point can be arranged to visit each state as often as its weight says. The rule needs no normalising constant, compares two weights and steps or stays.
Points too even to be random
Independent random points clump, and the clumping is what makes the error fall only as the square root. Points chosen to be evenly spread rather than independently beat that rate, and the price is that nothing about them is random at all.
The colouring nobody has ever seen
Count the monochromatic sets a random colouring is expected to contain. If the average is below one, some colouring has none — and the argument is finished, having produced nothing anyone can look at.