Fractality

Fractality

Fractals describe patterns across scales. That makes them useful for thinking about both geometric forms and scalable patterns in randomness.

Fractal is a word Mandelbrot coined to describe the geometry of the rough and broken—from the Latin fractus, the origin of fractured. Fractality is the repetition of geometric patterns at different scales, revealing smaller and smaller versions of themselves. Small parts resemble, to some degree, the whole. Taleb connects this idea with a brand of uncertainty he calls Mandelbrotian randomness.

The veins in leaves look like branches; branches look like trees; rocks look like small mountains. There is no qualitative change when an object changes size. If you look at the coast of Britain from an airplane, it resembles what you see when you look at it with a magnifying glass. This character of self-affinity implies that one deceptively short and simple rule of iteration can be used, either by a computer or, more randomly, by Mother Nature, to build shapes of seemingly great complexity. This can come in handy for computer graphics, but, more important, it is how nature works. Mandelbrot designed the mathematical object now known as the Mandelbrot set, the most famous object in the history of mathematics. It became popular with followers of chaos theory because it generates pictures of ever increasing complexity by using a deceptively minuscule recursive rule; recursive means that something can be reapplied to itself infinitely. You can look at the set at smaller and smaller resolutions without ever reaching the limit; you will continue to see recognizable shapes. The shapes are never the same, yet they bear an affinity to one another, a strong family resemblance.

These objects play a role in aesthetics. Consider the following applications:

Visual arts: Fractal methods can generate natural-looking landscapes and other complex shapes in computer graphics. We can also see fractals in architecture, paintings, and many works of visual art—of course, not consciously incorporated by the work’s creator.

Music: Slowly hum the four-note opening of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony: ta-ta-ta-ta. Then replace each individual note with the same four-note opening, so that you end up with a measure of sixteen notes. You will see (or, rather, hear) that each smaller wave resembles the original larger one. Bach and Mahler, for instance, wrote submovements that resemble the larger movements of which they are a part.

Poetry: Emily Dickinson’s poetry, for instance, is fractal: the large resembles the small. It has, according to a commentator, “a consciously made assemblage of dictions, metres, rhetorics, gestures, and tones.”

Fractals initially made Benoît M. a pariah in the mathematical establishment. French mathematicians were horrified. What? Images? Mon dieu! It was like showing a porno movie to an assembly of devout Eastern Orthodox grandmothers in my ancestral village of Amioun. So Mandelbrot spent time as an intellectual refugee at an IBM research center in upstate New York. It was a f*** you money situation, as IBM let him do whatever he felt like doing.

But the general public (mostly computer geeks) got the point. Mandelbrot’s book The Fractal Geometry of Nature made a splash on publication. It spread through artistic circles and led to studies in aesthetics, architectural design, even large industrial applications. Benoît M. was even offered a position as a professor of medicine! Supposedly the lungs are self-similar. His talks were invaded by all sorts of artists, earning him the nickname the Rock Star of Mathematics. The computer age helped him become one of the most influential mathematicians in history, in terms of the applications of his work, way before his acceptance by the ivory tower. The basic idea offers an accessible way into the relationship between simple rules and complex forms.

A few words on his biography. Mandelbrot came to France from Warsaw in 1936, at the age of twelve. Owing to the vicissitudes of a clandestine life during Nazi-occupied France, he was spared some of the conventional Gallic education with its uninspiring algebraic drills, becoming largely self-taught. He was later deeply influenced by his uncle Szolem, a prominent member of the French mathematical establishment and holder of a chair at the Collège de France. Benoît M. later settled in the United States, working most of his life as an industrial scientist, with a few transitory and varied academic appointments.

The computer played two roles in the new science Mandelbrot helped conceive. First, fractal objects, as we have seen, can be generated with a simple rule applied to itself, which makes them ideal for the automatic activity of a computer (or Mother Nature). Second, in the generation of visual intuitions lies a dialectic between the mathematician and the objects generated.

Mandelbrot’s early work in probability connects this geometric perspective with the study of randomness.