Chi-square goodness of fit test example with primes

chi squared

Yesterday Brian Hayes wrote a post about the distribution of primes. He showed how you could take the remainder when primes are divided by 7 and produce something that looks like rolls of six-sided dice. Here we apply the chi-square goodness of fit test to show that the rolls are too evenly distributed to mimic randomness. This post does not assume you’ve seen the chi-square test before, so it serves as an introduction to this goodness of fit test.

In Brian Hayes’ post, he looks at the remainder when consecutive primes are divided by 7, starting with 11. Why 11? Because it’s the smallest prime bigger than 7. Since no prime is divisible by any other prime, all the primes after 7 will have a remainder of between 1 and 6 inclusive when divided by 7. So the results are analogous to rolling six-sided dice.

The following Python code looks at prime remainders and (pseudo)random rolls of dice and computes the chi-square statistic for both.

First, we import some functions we’ll need.

    from sympy import prime
    from random import random
    from math import ceil

The function prime takes an argument n and returns the nth prime. The function random produces a pseudorandom number between 0 and 1. The ceiling function ceil rounds its argument up to an integer. We’ll use it to convert the output of random into dice rolls.

In this example we’ll use six-sided dice, but you could change num_sides to simulate other kinds of dice. With six-sided dice, we divide by 7, and we start our primes with the fifth prime, 11.

    num_sides = 6
    modulus = num_sides + 1

    # Find the index of the smallest prime bigger than num_sides
    index = 1
    while prime(index) <= modulus:
        index += 1

We’re going to take a million samples and count how many times we see 1, 2, …, 6. We’ll keep track of our results in an array of length 7, wasting a little bit of space since the 0th slot will always be 0. (Because the remainder when dividing a prime by a smaller number is always positive.)

    # Number of samples
    N = 1000000
    observed_primes = [0]*modulus
    observed_random = [0]*modulus

Next we “roll” our dice two ways, using prime remainders and using a pseudorandom number generator.

    for i in range(index, N+index):
        m = prime(i) % modulus
        observed_primes[m] += 1
        m = int(ceil(random()*num_sides))
        observed_random[m] += 1

The chi-square goodness of fit test depends on the observed number of events in each cell and the expected number. We expect 1/6th of the rolls to land in cell 1, 2, …, 6 for both the primes and the random numbers. But in a general application of the chi-square test, you could have a different expected number of observations in each cell.

    expected = [N/num_sides for i in range(1, modulus)]

The chi-square test statistic sums (O – E)2/E over all cells, where O stands for “observed” and E stands for “expected.”

    def chisq_stat(O, E):
        return sum( [(o - e)**2/e for (o, e) in zip(O, E)] )

Finally, we compute the chi-square statistic for both methods.

    ch = chisq_stat(observed_primes[1:], expected[1:])

    ch = chisq_stat(observed_random[1:], expected[1:])

Note that we chop off the first element of the observed and expected lists to get rid of the 0th element that we didn’t use.

When I ran this I got 0.01865 for the prime method and 5.0243 for the random method. Your results for the prime method should be the same, though you might have a different result for the random method.

Now, how do we interpret these results? Since we have six possible outcomes, our test statistics has a chi-square distribution with five degrees of freedom. It’s one less than the number of possibilities because the total counts have to sum to N; if you know how many times 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5 came up, you can calculate how many times 6 came up.

A chi-square distribution with ν degrees of freedom has expected value ν. In our case, we expect a value around 5, and so the chi-square value of 5.0243 is unremarkable. But the value of 0.01864 is remarkably small. A large chi-square statistics would indicate a poor fit, the observed numbers being suspiciously far from their expected values. But a small chi-square value suggests the fit is suspiciously good, closer to the expected values than we’d expect of a random process.

We can be precise about how common or unusual a chi-square statistic is by computing the probability that a sample from the chi square distribution would be larger or smaller. The cdf gives the probability of seeing a value this small or smaller, i.e. a fit this good or better. The sf gives the probability of seeing a value this larger or larger, i.e. a fit this bad or worse. (The scipy library uses sf for “survival function,” another name for the ccdf, complementary cumulative distribution function).

    from scipy.stats import chi2
    print(chi2.cdf(ch, num_sides-1), chi2.sf(ch, num_sides-1))

This says that for the random rolls, there’s about a 41% chance of seeing a better fit and a 59% chance of seeing a worse fit. Unremarkable.

But it says there’s only a 2.5 in a million chance of seeing a better fit than we get with prime numbers. The fit is suspiciously good. In a sense this is not surprising: prime numbers are not random! And yet in another sense it is surprising since there’s a heuristic that says primes act like random numbers unless there’s a good reason why in some context they don’t. This departure from randomness is the subject of research published just this year.

If you look at dice with 4 or 12 sides, you get a suspiciously good fit, but not as suspicious as with 6 sides. But with 8 or 20-sided dice you get a very bad fit, so bad that its probability underflows to 0. This is because the corresponding moduli, 9 and 21, are composite, which means some of the cells in our chi-square test will have no observations. (Suppose m has a proper factor a. Then if a prime p were congruent to a mod m, p would be have to be divisible by a.)

Update: See the next post for a systematic look at different moduli.

You don’t have to use “dice” that correspond to regular solids. You could consider 10-sided “dice,” for example. For such numbers it may be easier to think of spinners than dice, a spinner with 10 equal arc segments it could fall into.

Related post: Probability that a number is prime

How to create Green noise in Python

This is a follow-on to my previous post on green noise. Here we create green noise with Python by passing white noise through a Butterworth filter.

Green noise is in the middle of the audible spectrum (on the Bark scale), just where our hearing is most sensitive, analogous to the green light, the frequency where our eyes are most sensitive. See previous post for details, including an explanation of where the left and right cutoffs below come from.

Here’s the code:

from import write
from scipy.signal import buttord, butter, filtfilt
from scipy.stats import norm
from numpy import int16

def turn_green(signal, samp_rate):
    # start and stop of green noise range
    left = 1612 # Hz
    right = 2919 # Hz

    nyquist = (samp_rate/2)
    left_pass  = 1.1*left/nyquist
    left_stop  = 0.9*left/nyquist
    right_pass = 0.9*right/nyquist
    right_stop = 1.1*right/nyquist

    (N, Wn) = buttord(wp=[left_pass, right_pass],
                      ws=[left_stop, right_stop],
                      gpass=2, gstop=30, analog=0)
    (b, a) = butter(N, Wn, btype='band', analog=0, output='ba')
    return filtfilt(b, a, signal)

def to_integer(signal):
    # Take samples in [-1, 1] and scale to 16-bit integers,
    # values between -2^15 and 2^15 - 1.
    signal /= max(signal)
    return int16(signal*(2**15 - 1))

N = 48000 # samples per second

white_noise= norm.rvs(0, 1, 3*N) # three seconds of audio
green = turn_green(white_noise, N)
write("green_noise.wav", N, to_integer(green))

And here’s what it sounds like:

(download .wav file)

Let’s look at the spectrum to see whether it looks right. We’ll use one second of the signal so the x-axis coincides with frequency when we plot the FFT.

from scipy.fftpack import fft

one_sec = green[0:N]
plt.xlim((1500, 3000))

Here’s the output, concentrated between 1600 and 3000 Hz as expected:

spectral plot of green noise

How to digitize a graph

Suppose you have a graph of a function, but you don’t have an equation for it or the data that produced it. How can you reconstruction the function?

There are a lot of software packages to digitize images. For example, Web Plot Digitizer is one you can use online. Once you have digitized the graph at a few points, you can fit a spline to the points to approximately reconstruct the function. Then as a sanity check, plot your reconstruction to see if it looks like the original. It helps to have the same aspect ratio so you’re not distracted by something that doesn’t matter, and so that differences that do matter are easier to see.

For example, here is a graph from Zwicker and Fastl’s book on psychoacoustics. It contains many graphs with no data or formulas. This particular one gives the logarithmic transmission factor between free field and the peripheral hearing system.

Here’s Python code to reconstruct the functions behind these two curves.

import matplotlib.pyplot as plt
import numpy as np
from scipy import interpolate 

curve_names = ["Free", "Diffuse"]
plot_styles = { "Free" : 'b-', "Diffuse" : 'g:'}

data = {}
for name in curve_names:
    data = np.loadtxt("{}.csv".format(name), delimiter=',')

    x = data[:,0]
    y = data[:,1]
    spline = interpolate.splrep(x, y)
    xnew = np.linspace(0, max(x), 100)
    ynew = interpolate.splev(xnew, spline, der=0)
    plt.plot(xnew, ynew, plot_styles[name])
logical_x_range  = 24    # Bark
logical_y_range  = 40    # dB
physical_x_range = 7     # inch
physical_y_range = 1.625 # inch

plt.legend(curve_names, loc=2)
plt.xlabel("critical-band rate")
plt.xlim((0, logical_x_range))

    (physical_y_range/logical_y_range) / 
    (physical_x_range/logical_x_range) )
ax = plt.gca()
ax.get_xaxis().set_ticks([0, 4, 8, 12, 16, 20, 24])
ax.get_yaxis().set_ticks([-10, 0, 10, 20, 30])

Here’s the reconstructed graph.

Creating police siren sounds with frequency modulation

Yesterday I was looking into calculating fluctuation strength and playing around with some examples. Along the way I discovered how to create files that sound like police sirens. These are sounds with high fluctuation strength.

police car lights

The Python code below starts with a carrier wave at fc = 1500 Hz. Not surprisingly, this frequency is near where hearing is most sensitive. Then this signal is modulated with a signal with frequency fm. This frequency determines the frequency of the fluctuations.

The slower example produced by the code below sounds like a police siren. The faster example makes me think more of an ambulance or fire truck. Next time I hear an emergency vehicle I’ll pay more attention.

If you use a larger value of the modulation index β and a smaller value of the modulation frequency fm you can make a sound like someone tuning a radio, which is no coincidence.

Here are the output audio files in .wav format:



from import write
from numpy import arange, pi, sin, int16

def f(t, f_c, f_m, beta):
    # t    = time
    # f_c  = carrier frequency
    # f_m  = modulation frequency
    # beta = modulation index
    return sin(2*pi*f_c*t - beta*sin(2*f_m*pi*t))

def to_integer(signal):
    # Take samples in [-1, 1] and scale to 16-bit integers,
    # values between -2^15 and 2^15 - 1.
    return int16(signal*(2**15 - 1))

N = 48000 # samples per second
x = arange(3*N) # three seconds of audio

data = f(x/N, 1500, 2, 100)
write("slow.wav", N, to_integer(data))

data = f(x/N, 1500, 8, 100)
write("fast.wav", N, to_integer(data))

Related posts:

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The empty middle: why no one is average

In 1945, a Cleveland newspaper held a contest to find the woman whose measurements were closest to average. This average was based on a study of 15,000 women by Dr. Robert Dickinson and embodied in a statue called Norma by Abram Belskie. Out of 3,864 contestants, no one was average on all nine factors, and fewer than 40 were close to average on five factors. The story of Norma and the Cleveland contest is told in Todd Rose’s book The End of Average.

People are not completely described by a handful of numbers. We’re much more complicated than that. But even in systems that are well described by a few numbers, the region around the average can be nearly empty. I’ll explain why that’s true in general, then look back at the Norma example.

General theory

Suppose you have N points, each described by n independent, standard normal random variables. That is, each point has the form (x1, x2, x2, …, xn) where each xi is independent with a normal distribution with mean 0 and variance 1. The expected value of each coordinate is 0, so you might expect that most points are piled up near the origin (0, 0, 0, …, 0). In fact most points are in spherical shell around the origin. Specifically, as n becomes larger, most of the points will be in a thin shell with distance √n from the origin. (More details here.)

Simulated contest

In the contest above, n = 9, and so we expect most contestants to be about a distance of 3 from average when we normalize each of the factors being measured, i.e. we subtract the mean so that each factor has mean 0, and we divide each by its standard deviation so the standard deviation is 1 on each factor.

We’ve made several simplifying assumptions. For example, we’ve assumed independence, though presumably some of the factors measured in the contest were correlated. There’s also a selection bias: presumably women who knew they were far from average would not have entered the contest. But we’ll run with our simplified model just to see how it behaves in a simulation.

import numpy as np

# Winning critera: minimum Euclidean distance
def euclidean_norm(x):
    return np.linalg.norm(x)

# Winning criteria: min-max
def max_norm(x):
    return max(abs(x))

n = 9
N = 3864

# Simulated normalized measurements of contestants 
M = np.random.normal(size=(N, n))

euclid = np.empty(N)
maxdev = np.empty(N)
for i in range(N):
    euclid[i] = euclidean_norm(M[i,:])
    maxdev[i] = max_norm(M[i,:])

w1 = euclid.argmin()
w2 = maxdev.argmin()

print( M[w1,:] )
print( euclidean_norm(M[w1,:]) )
print( M[w2,:] )
print( max_norm(M[w2,:]) )

There are two different winners, depending on how we decide the winner. Using the Euclidean distance to the origin, the winner in this simulation was contestant 3306. Her normalized measurements were

[ 0.1807, 0.6128, -0.0532, 0.2491, -0.2634, 0.2196, 0.0068, -0.1164, -0.0740]

corresponding to a Euclidean distance of 0.7808.

If we judge the winner to be the one whose largest deviation from average is the smallest, the winner is contestant 1916. Her normalized measurements were

[-0.3757, 0.4301, -0.4510, 0.2139, 0.0130, -0.2504, -0.1190, -0.3065, -0.4593]

with the largest deviation being the last, 0.4593.

By either measure, the contestant closest to the average deviated significantly from the average in at least one dimension.

* * *

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Maximum principle and approximating boundary value problems

Solutions to differential equations often satisfy some sort of maximum principle, which can in turn be used to construct upper and lower bounds on solutions.

We illustrate this in one dimension, using a boundary value problem for an ordinary differential equation (ODE).

Maximum principles

If the second derivative of a function is positive over an open interval (ab), the function cannot have a maximum in that interval. If the function has a maximum over the closed interval [ab] then it must occur at one of the ends, at a or b.

This can be generalized, for example, to the following maximum principle. Let L be the differential operator

L[u] = u” + g(x)u’ + h(x)

where g and h are bounded functions on some interval [a, b] and h is non-positive. Suppose L[u] ≥ 0 on (a, b). If u has an interior maximum, then u must be constant.

Boundary value problems

Now suppose that we’re interested in the boundary value problem L[u] = f where we specify the values of u at the endpoints a and b, i.e. u(a) = ua and u(b) = ub. We can construct an upper bound on u as follows.

Suppose we find a function z such that L[z] ≤ f and z(a) ≥ ua and z(b) ≥ ub. Then by applying the maximum principle to u – z, we see that u – z must be ≤ 0, and so z is an upper bound for u.

Similarly, suppose we find a function w such that L[w] ≥ f and w(a) ≤ ua and w(b) ≤ ub. Then by applying the maximum principle to w – u, we see that w – u must be ≤ 0, and so w is an lower bound for u.

Note that any functions z and w that satisfy the above requirements give upper and lower bounds, though the bounds may not be very useful. By being clever in our choice of z and w we may be able to get tighter bounds. We might start by choosing polynomials, exponentials, etc. Any functions that are easy to work with and see how good the resulting bounds are.

Tomorrow’s post is similar to this one but looks at bounds for an initial value problem rather than a boundary value problem.

Airy equation example

The following is an elaboration on an example from [1]. Suppose we want to bound solutions to

u”(x) – x u(x) = 0

where u(0) = 0 and u(1) = 1. (This is a well-known equation, but for purposes of illustration we’ll pretend at first that we know nothing about its solutions.)

For our upper bound, we can simply use z(x) = x. We have L[z] ≤ 0 and z satisfies the boundary conditions exactly.

For our lower bound, we use w(x) = x – βx(1 – x). Why? The function z already satisfies the boundary condition. If we add some multiple of x(1 – x) we’ll maintain the boundary condition since x(1 – x) is zero at 0 and 1. The coefficient β gives us some room to maneuver. Turns out L[w] ≥ 0 if β ≥ 1/2. If we choose β = 1/2 we have

(xx2)/2 ≤ u(x) ≤ x

In general, you don’t know the function you’re trying to bound. That’s when bounds are most useful. But this is a sort of toy example because we do know the solution. The equation in this example is well known and is called Airy’s equation. The Airy functions Ai and Bi are independent solutions. Here’s a plot of the solution with its upper and lower bounds.

Here’s the Python code I used to solve for the coefficients of Ai and Bi and make the plot.

import numpy as np
from scipy.linalg import solve
from scipy.special import airy
import matplotlib.pyplot as plt

# airy(x) returns (Ai(x), Ai'(x), Bi(x), Bi'(x))
def Ai(x):
    return airy(x)[0]

def Bi(x):
    return airy(x)[2]

M = np.matrix([[Ai(0), Bi(0)], [Ai(1), Bi(1)]])
c = solve(M, [0, 1])

t = np.linspace(0, 1, 100)
plt.plot(t, (t + t**2)/2, 'r-', t, c[0]*Ai(t) + c[1]*Bi(t), 'k--', t, t, 'b-',)
plt.legend(["lower bound $(x + x^2)/2$", 
    "exact solution $c_0Ai + c_1Bi$", 
    "upper bound $x$"], loc="upper left")

SciPy’s function airy has an optimization that we waste here. The function computes Ai and Bi and their first derivatives all at the same time. We could take advantage of that to remove some redundant computations, but that would make the code harder to read. We chose instead to wait an extra nanosecond for the plot.

Help with differential equations

* * *

[1] Murray Protter and Hans Weinberger. Maximum Principles in Differential Equations.

Musical pitch notation

How can you convert the frequency of a sound to musical notation? I wrote in an earlier post how to calculate how many half steps a frequency is above or below middle C, but it would be useful go further have code to output musical pitch notation.

In scientific pitch notation, the C near the threshold of hearing, around 16 Hz, is called C0. The C an octave higher is C1, the next C2, etc. Octaves begin with C; other notes use the octave number of the closest C below.

C4, middle C

The lowest note on a piano is A0, a major sixth up from C0. Middle C is C4 because it’s 4 octaves above C0. The highest note on a piano is C8.


A4, the A above middle C, has a frequency of 440 Hz. This is nine half steps above C4, so the pitch of C4 is 440*2-9/12. C0 is four octaves lower, so it’s 2-4 = 1/16 of the pitch of C4. (Details for this calculation and the one below are given in here.)

For a pitch P, the number of half steps from C0 to P is

h = 12 log2(P / C0).


Here is a page that will let you convert back and forth between frequency and music notation: Music, Hertz, Barks.

If you’d like code rather than just to do one calculation, see the Python code below. It calculates the number of half steps h from C0 up to a pitch, then computes the corresponding pitch notation.

from math import log2, pow

A4 = 440
C0 = A4*pow(2, -4.75)
name = ["C", "C#", "D", "D#", "E", "F", "F#", "G", "G#", "A", "A#", "B"]
def pitch(freq):
    h = round(12*log2(freq/C0))
    octave = h // 12
    n = h % 12
    return name[n] + str(octave)

The pitch for A4 is its own variable in case you’d like to modify the code for a different tuning. While 440 is common, it used to be lower in the past, and you’ll sometimes see higher values like 444 today.

If you’d like to port this code to a language that doesn’t have a log2 function, you can use log(x)/log(2) for log2(x).

Powers of 2

When scientific pitch notation was first introduced, C0 was defined to be exactly 16 Hz, whereas now it works out to around 16.35. The advantage of the original system is that all C’s have frequency a power of 2, i.e. Cn has frequency 2n+4 Hz. The formula above for the number of half steps a pitch is above C0 simplifies to

h = 12 log2P – 48.

If C0 has frequency 16 Hz, the A above middle C has frequency 28.75 = 430.54, a little flat compared to A 440. But using the A 440 standard, C0 = 16 Hz is a convenient and fairly accurate approximation.

Related posts

General birthday problem

The birthday problem, sometimes called the birthday paradox, says that it’s more likely than you’d expect that two people in a group have the same birthday. Specifically, in a random sample of 23 people, there’s about a 50-50 chance that two people share the same birthday.

The birthday problem makes a nice party trick, but generalizations of the problem come up frequently in applications. I wrote in the previous post how it comes up in seeding distributed Monte Carlo simulations. In computer science, it’s a concern in hashing algorithms.

If you have a set of N things to choose from, such as N = 365 birthdays, and take r samples, the probability that all r samples are unique is

p = \frac{N!}{N^r (N-r)!}

and the probability that at least two of the samples are the same is 1 – p. (This assumes that N is at least as big as r. Otherwise the denominator is undefined, but in that case we know p is 0.)

With moderately large values of N and r the formula is likely to overflow if implemented directly. So as usual the trick is to use logarithms to avoid overflow or underflow. Here’s how you could compute the probability above in Python. SciPy doesn’t have a log factorial function, but does have a log gamma function, so we use that instead.

    from scipy import exp, log
    from scipy.special import gammaln

    def prob_unique(N, r):
        return exp( gammaln(N+1) - gammaln(N-r+1) - r*log(N) )
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Related: How to calculate binomial probabilities

Spectral coordinates in Python

A graph doesn’t have any geometric structure unless we add it. The vertices don’t come with any position in space. The same graph can look very different when arranged different ways.

Spectral coordinates are a natural way to draw a graph because they are determined by the properties of the graph, not arbitrary aesthetic choices. Construct the Laplacian matrix and let x and y be the eigenvectors associated with the second and third eigenvalues. (The smallest eigenvalue is always zero and has an eigenvector of all 1’s. The second and third eigenvalues and eigenvectors are the first to contain information about a graph.) The spectral coordinates of the ith node are the ith components of x and y.

We illustrate this with a graph constructed from a dodecahedron, a regular solid with twenty vertices and twelve pentagonal faces. You can make a dodecahedron from a soccer ball by connecting the centers of all the white hexagons. Here’s one I made from Zometool pieces for a previous post:

Although we’re thinking of this graph as sitting in three dimensions, the nodes being the corners of pentagons etc., the graph simply says which vertices are connected to each other. But from this information, we can construct the graph Laplacian and use it to assign plane coordinates to each point. And fortunately, this produces a nice picture:

Here’s how that image was created using Python’s NetworkX library.

    import networkx as nx
    import matplotlib.pyplot as plt
    from scipy.linalg import eigh

    # Read in graph and compute the Laplacian L ...
    # Laplacian matrices are real and symmetric, so we can use eigh, 
    # the variation on eig specialized for Hermetian matrices.
    w, v = eigh(L) # w = eigenvalues, v = eigenvectors

    x = v[:,1] 
    y = v[:,2]
    spectral_coordinates = {i : (x[i], y[i]) for i in range(n)}
    G = nx.Graph()

    nx.draw(G, pos=spectral_coordinates)

Update: After posting this I discovered that NetworkX has a method draw_spectral that will compute the spectral coordinates for you.

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Estimating the exponent of discrete power law data

Suppose you have data from a discrete power law with exponent α. That is, the probability of an outcome n is proportional to n. How can you recover α?

A naive approach would be to gloss over the fact that you have discrete data and use the MLE (maximum likelihood estimator) for continuous data. That does a very poor job [1]. The discrete case needs its own estimator.

To illustrate this, we start by generating 5,000 samples from a discrete power law with exponent 3.

   import numpy.random

   alpha = 3
   n = 5000
   x = numpy.random.zipf(alpha, n)

The continuous MLE is very simple to implement:

    alpha_hat = 1 + n / sum(log(x))

Unfortunately, it gives an estimate of 6.87 for alpha, though we know it should be around 3.

The MLE for the discrete power law distribution satisfies

\frac{\zeta'(\hat{\alpha})}{\zeta(\hat{\alpha})} = -\frac{1}{n} \sum_{i-1}^n \log x_i

Here ζ is the Riemann zeta function, and xi are the samples. Note that the left side of the equation is the derivative of log ζ, or what is sometimes called the logarithmic derivative.

There are three minor obstacles to finding the estimator using Python. First, SciPy doesn’t implement the Riemann zeta function ζ(x) per se. It implements a generalization, the Hurwitz zeta function, ζ(x, q). Here we just need to set q to 1 to get the Riemann zeta function.

Second, SciPy doesn’t implement the derivative of zeta. We don’t need much accuracy, so it’s easy enough to implement our own. See an earlier post for an explanation of the implementation below.

Finally, we don’t have an explicit equation for our estimator. But we can easily solve for it using the bisection algorithm. (Bisect is slow but reliable. We’re not in a hurry, so we might as use something reliable.)

    from scipy import log
    from scipy.special import zeta
    from scipy.optimize import bisect 

    xmin = 1

    def log_zeta(x):
        return log(zeta(x, 1))

    def log_deriv_zeta(x):
        h = 1e-5
        return (log_zeta(x+h) - log_zeta(x-h))/(2*h)

    t = -sum( log(x/xmin) )/n
    def objective(x):
        return log_deriv_zeta(x) - t

    a, b = 1.01, 10
    alpha_hat = bisect(objective, a, b, xtol=1e-6)

We have assumed that our data follow a power law immediately from n = 1. In practice, power laws generally fit better after the first few elements. The code above works for the more general case if you set xmin to be the point at which power law behavior kicks in.

The bisection method above searches for a value of the power law exponent between 1.01 and 10, which is somewhat arbitrary. However, power law exponents are very often between 2 and 3 and seldom too far outside that range.

The code gives an estimate of α equal to 2.969, very near the true value of 3, and much better than the naive estimate of 6.87.

Of course in real applications you don’t know the correct result before you begin, so you use something like a confidence interval to give you an idea how much uncertainty remains in your estimate.

The following equation [2] gives a value of σ from a normal approximation to the distribution of our estimator.

\sigma = \frac{1}{\sqrt{n\left[ \frac{\zeta''(\hat{\alpha}, x_{min})}{\zeta(\hat{\alpha}, x_{min})} - \left(\frac{\zeta'(\hat{\alpha}, x_{min})}{\zeta(\hat{\alpha}, x_{min})}\right)^2\right]}}

So an approximate 95% confidence interval would be the point estimate +/- 2σ.

    from scipy.special import zeta
    from scipy import sqrt

    def zeta_prime(x, xmin=1):
        h = 1e-5
        return (zeta(x+h, xmin) - zeta(x-h, xmin))/(2*h)

    def zeta_double_prime(x, xmin=1):
        h = 1e-5
        return (zeta(x+h, xmin) -2*zeta(x,xmin) + zeta(x-h, xmin))/h**2

    def sigma(n, alpha_hat, xmin=1):
        z = zeta(alpha_hat, xmin)
        temp = zeta_double_prime(alpha_hat, xmin)/z
        temp -= (zeta_prime(alpha_hat, xmin)/z)**2
        return 1/sqrt(n*temp)

    print( sigma(n, alpha_hat) )

Here we use a finite difference approximation for the second derivative of zeta, an extension of the idea used above for the first derivative. We don’t need high accuracy approximations of the derivatives since statistical error will be larger than the approximation error.

In the example above, we have α = 2.969 and σ = 0.0334, so a 95% confidence interval would be [2.902, 3.036].

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* * *

[1] Using the continuous MLE with discrete data is not so bad when the minimum output xmin is moderately large. But here, where xmin = 1 it’s terrible.

[2] Equation 3.6 from Power-law distributions in empirical data by Aaron Clauset, Cosma Rohilla Shalizi, and M. E. J. Newman.


Numerical differentiation

Today I needed to the derivative of the zeta function. SciPy implements the zeta function, but not its derivative, so I needed to write my own version.

The most obvious way to approximate a derivative would be to simply stick a small step size into the definition of derivative:

f’(x) ≈ (f(x+h) – f(x)) / h

However, we could do much better using

f’(x) ≈ (f(x+h) – f(x-h)) / 2h

To see why, expand f(x) in a power series:

f(x + h) = f(x) + h f‘(x) + h2 f”(x)/2 + O(h3)

A little rearrangement shows that the error in the one-sided difference, the first approximation above, is O(h). Now if you replace h with –h and do a little algebra you can also show that the two-sided difference is O(h2). When h is small, h2 is very small, so the two-sided version will be more accurate for sufficiently small h.

So how small should h be? The smaller the better, in theory. In computer arithmetic, you lose precision whenever you subtract two nearly equal numbers. The more bits two numbers share, the more bits of precision you may lose in the subtraction. In my application, h = 10-5 works well: the precision after the subtraction in the numerator is comparable to the precision of the (two-sided) finite difference approximation. The following code was adequate for my purposes.

    from scipy.special import zeta

    def zeta_prime(x):
        h = 1e-5
        return (zeta(x+h,1) - zeta(x-h,1))/(2*h)

The zeta function in SciPy is Hurwitz zeta function, a generalization of the Riemann zeta function. Setting the second argument to 1 gives the Riemann zeta function.

There’s a variation on the method above that works for real-valued functions that extend to a complex analytic function. In that case you can use the complex step differentiation trick to use

Im( f(x+ih)/h )

to approximate the derivative. It amounts to the two-sided finite difference above, except you don’t need to have a computer carry out the subtraction, and so you save some precision. Why’s that? When x is real, xih and xih are complex conjugates, and f(x – ih) is the conjugate of f(x + ih), i.e. conjugation and function application commute in this setting. So (f(x+ih) – f(x-ih)) is twice the imaginary part of f(x + ih).

SciPy implements complex versions many special functions, but unfortunately not the zeta function.

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Anthony Scopatz on xonsh and shells in general

Anthony Scopatz did an interview for Podcast.__init__ recently talking about xonsh, a command shell that blends Python and some traditions from bash. One line from the interview jumped out at me:

… thinking very critically about what shells get used for and what they’re actually good at and what they’re not good at.

I’ve wondered about this but never reached any satisfying conclusions. I was curious to hear Anthony’s ideas, so I asked him for another interview. (I interviewed Anthony and his co-author Katy Huff regarding their book Effective Computation in Physics.

* * *

JC: If your shell speaks your programming language, then what else does it need to do?

AS: It’s an interesting question. People have tried to use Python as a shell for years and years and they came up with a bunch of different potential solutions, but none of them quite worked because the language wasn’t built around that idea. It ended up being more verbose than people want from a shell. The main purpose of the shell, in my opinion, is to run other code and to glue things together. Python does that really well for libraries and functions, but it doesn’t do that so well for executables. Bash deals with executables really well, but it’s terrible for dealing with even simple conditional logic. Like a lot of people, I wanted something that would do all these things simultaneously and do them all well. But you quickly end up where many traditional computer science people are not willing to go: context-sensitive parsing. It’s something they teach you to be afraid of in school .

JC: But you do it all the time. How can you get away from it?

AS: You can’t, but people want to avoid it in their core languages. The major programming languages keep it out. You’ll find it quarantined to domain-specific languages where the damage is small.

JC: So you have something in mind like Perl? There the behavior of a function can depend entirely on whether it’s being used in a scalar context or an array context.

AS: That’s right. Perl does some of this. The language Forth is completely built around this. It’s all context-sensitive.

You brought up something interesting [in a previous email] about the overlap between shells and editors. Those things are completely separate in my mind, but for a lot of people they get merged very quickly. For instance, Emacs has the ability to run a shell inside the editor, and people use that all the time.

JC: The way I work is that I start something at the command line, then it gets a little complicated, and I switch over to writing a script and regret not having done that sooner. I especially do that with something like R. This is just going to be a few quick calculations, so I’ll do it right from the REPL. Then things get more complicated …

AS: IPython sorta has that too, the old IPython readline shell. You just wanted to do something simple that bash couldn’t do quickly or easily, so you open up the IPython command line. Inevitably it ends up taking more lines than you wanted it to.  That is part of why the Jupyter notebook is so great.

JC: One thing I noticed about PowerShell was that system administrators were ecstatic when it came out and would say how much they loved the command line. Then Microsoft put out this ISE, sort of an IDE for PowerShell, and everyone moved there. So they’re not really using the command line anymore. They’re excited about PowerShell as a programming language, not as an interactive shell per se.

In Bruce Payette’s PowerShell book he fields questions asking why PowerShell did something some way they find odd and his answer is always “Because it’s a shell.”

AS: Do you have any examples?

JC: For example, functions don’t use parentheses around their arguments or commas between their arguments because that’s not what people expect from a shell. You expect to type something like ls, not ls() with parentheses at the end. There were more subtle examples than this, but they’re not fresh on my mind.

AS: That’s where I think that tools like Python plumbum are lacking. It’s an all-Python environment, so you have to use Python syntax even when it’s cumbersome. It prevents you from having to import subprocess and worry about that all the time, but it doesn’t do much more than that.

JC: When you were writing xonsh, where there times you wished you could change the Python language? Or things you’d do differently in the shell if you weren’t aiming for 100% Python compatibility?

AS: That’s interesting. Python is deceptively simple. It has a lot of little pieces to it. It’s very natural and intuitive to use, but re-implementing the parser for Python was more work than I expected. There are a lot of little gotchas in the parser. I spent a lot of time on tuples and function argument grouping. The way they’re handled looks very similar but they’re handled completely differently for no reason that’s readily apparent.

There’s also this ambiguity between Python commands and shell commands if you’re trying to do both simultaneously, and that’s frustrating. That’s the hard part, figuring out when you’re in a subprocess and when you’re in Python mode.

JC: It’s hard for you as an implementer, but hopefully users can be blissfully ignorant of the issues and it just does what they expect.

I guess you’re walking a fine line, because as soon as you say you want the shell to infer what people mean, you start getting into the kinds of complications you have in Perl where things depend so heavily on context, and that sort of thing is contrary to the spirit of Python.

AS:  Yeah, exactly! After going through this exercise, there is one thing I’d like to change about Python. Python is white space-sensitive at the beginning of a line, but not after the first non-white space character. For example, you can put as many spaces around a binary operator as you like, or none at all. That’s really, really frustrating. If you enforced PEP 8, requiring exactly one white space around every binary operator, you’d be able to resolve these currently ambiguous cases between subprocess mode and Python mode very naturally. But I can’t imagine a world in which people would agree to this.

JC: What shell would you use if you weren’t using xonsh?

AS: I probably would use bash. Fish is really nice in some ways, and things like zsh have nice features too. What I used to do is go back and forth between working in an IPython shell and a bash shell, and between those two I could pretty much get the job done.

JC: Do you use Emacs?

AS: No, I don’t use Emacs or Vim or any of those editors. I use an editor I wrote, kinda like nano. I’ve used Emacs and Vim, but they got in my way too much, so I wanted something else. This is sort of the same thing as xonsh; I want my tools to get out of my way. I want the barrier to entry to doing what I want to be basically zero. You can spend years and years becoming a master of some of these tools and then you’re really effective, but I want to just open up the editor and start typing text. The same thing with the shell. I just want to open it up and get to work and not have to keep going back to the documentation.

Distance to Mars

The distance between the Earth and Mars depends on their relative positions in their orbits and varies quite a bit over time. This post will show how to compute the approximate distance over time. We’re primarily interested in Earth and Mars, though this shows how to calculate the distance between any two planets.

The planets have elliptical orbits with the sun at one focus, but these ellipses are nearly circles centered at the sun. We’ll assume the orbits are perfectly circular and lie in the same plane. (Now that Pluto is not classified as a planet, we can say without qualification that the planets have nearly circular orbits. Pluto’s orbit is much more elliptical than any of the planets.)

We can work in astronomical units (AUs) so that the distance from the Earth to the sun is 1. We can also work in units of years so that the period is also 1. Then we could describe the position of the Earth at time t as exp(2πit).

Mars has a larger orbit and a longer period. By Kepler’s third law, the size of the orbit and the period are related: the square of the period is proportional to the cube of the radius. Because we’re working in AUs and years, the proportionality constant is 1. If we denote the radius of Mars’ orbit by r, then its orbit can be described by

r exp(2πi (r-3/2 t ))

Here we pick our initial time so that at t = 0 the two planets are aligned.

The distance between the planets is just the absolute value of the difference between their positions:

| exp(2πit) – r exp(2πi (r-3/2 t)) |

The following code computes and plots the distance from Earth to Mars over time.

from scipy import exp, pi, absolute, linspace
import matplotlib.pyplot as plt

    def earth(t):
        return exp(2*pi*1j*t)

    def mars(t):
        r = 1.524 # semi-major axis of Mars orbit in AU
        return r*exp(2*pi*1j*(r**-1.5*t))

    def distance(t):
        return absolute(earth(t) - mars(t))

    x = linspace(0, 20, 1000)
    plt.plot(x, distance(x))
    plt.xlabel("Time in years")
    plt.ylabel("Distance in AU")
    plt.ylim(0, 3)

And the output looks like this:

Notice that the distance varies from about 0.5 to about 2.5. That’s because the radius of Mars’ orbit is about 1.5 AU. So when the planets are exactly in phase, they are 0.5 AU apart and when they’re exactly out of phase they are 2.5 AU apart. In other words the distance ranges from 1.5 – 1 to 1.5 + 1.

The distance function seems to be periodic with period about 2 years. We can do a little calculation by hand to show that is the case and find the period exactly.

The distance squared is the distance times its complex conjugate. If we let ω = -3/2 then the distance squared is

d2(t) = (exp(2πit) – r exp(2πiωt)) (exp(-2πit) – r exp(-2πiωt))

which simplifies to

1 + r2 – 2r cos(2π(1 – ω)t)

and so the (squared) distance is periodic with period 1/(1 – ω) = 2.13.

Notice that the plot of distance looks more angular at the minima and more rounded near the maxima. Said another way, the distance changes more rapidly when the planets leave their nearest approach than their furthest approach. You can prove this by taking square root of d2(t) and computing its derivative.

Let f(t) = 1 + r2 – 2r cos(2π(1 – ω)t). By the chain rule, the derivative of the square root of  f(t) is 1/2  f(t)-1/2 f‘(t). Near a maximum or a minimum, f‘(t) takes on the same values. But the term f(t)-1/2 is largest when f(t) is smallest and vice versa because of the negative exponent.

Related links:

Julia for Python programmers

One of my clients is writing software in Julia so I’m picking up the language. I looked at Julia briefly when it first came out but haven’t used it for work. My memory of the language was that it was almost a dialect of Python. Now that I’m looking at it a little closer, I can see more differences, though the most basic language syntax is more like Python than any other language I’m familiar with.

Here are a few scattered notes on Julia, especially on how it differs from Python.

  • Array indices in Julia start from 1, like Fortran and R, and unlike any recent language that I know of.
  • Like Python and many other scripting languages, Julia uses # for one-line comments. It also adds #= and =# for multi-line comments, like /* and */ in C.
  • By convention, names of functions that modify their first argument end in !. This is not enforced.
  • Blocks are indented as in Python, but there is no colon at the end of the first line, and there must be an end statement to close the block.
  • Julia uses elseif as in Perl, not elif as in Python [1].
  • Julia uses square brackets to declare a dictionary. Keys and values are separated with =>, as in Perl, rather than with colons, as in Python.
  • Julia, like Python 3, returns 2.5 when given 5/2. Julia has a // division operator, but it returns a rational number rather than an integer.
  • The number 3 + 4i would be written 3 + 4im in Julia and 3 + 4j in Python.
  • Strings are contained in double quotes and characters in single quotes, as in C. Python does not distinguish between characters and strings, and uses single and double quotes interchangeably.
  • Julia uses function to define a function, similar to JavaScript and R, where Python uses def.
  • You can access the last element of an array with end, not with -1 as in Perl and Python.

* * *

[1] Actually, Perl uses elsif, as pointed out in the comments below. I can’t remember when to use else if, elseif, elsif, and elif.

Effective Computation in Physics

Earlier this week I had a chance to talk with Anthony Scopatz and Katy Huff about their new book, Effective Computation in Physics.

JC: Thanks for giving me a copy of the book when we were at SciPy 2015. It’s a nice book. It’s about a lot more than computational physics.

KH: Right. If you think of it as physical science in general, that’s the group we’re trying to target.

JC: Targeting physical science more than life science?

KH: Yes. You can see that more in the data structures we cover which are very float-based rather than things like strings and locations.

AS: To second that, I’d say that all the examples are coming from the physical sciences. The deep examples, like in the parallelism chapter, are most relevant to physicists.

JC: Even in life sciences, there’s a lot more than sequences of base pairs.

KH: Right. A lot of people have asked what chapters they should skip. It’s probable that ecologists or social scientists are not going to be interested in the chapter about HDF5. But the rest of the book, more or less, could be useful to them.

JC: I was impressed that there’s a lot of scattered stuff that you need to know that you’ve brought into one place. This would be a great book to hand a beginning grad student.

KH: That was a big motivation for writing the book. Anthony’s a professor now and I’m applying to be a professor and I can’t spend all my time ramping students up to be useful researchers. I’d rather say “Here’s a book. It’s yours. Come to me if it’s not in the index.”

JC: And they’d rather have a book that they could access any time than have to come to you.  Are you thinking of doing a second edition as things change over time?

AS: It’s on the table to do a second edition eventually. Katy and I will have the opportunity if the book is profitable and the material becomes out of date. O’Reilly could ask someone else to write a second edition, but they would ask us first.

JC: Presumably putting out a second edition would not be as much work as creating the first one.

KH: I sure hope not!

AS: There’s a lot of stuff that’s not in this book. Greg Wilson jokingly asked us when Volume 2 would come out. There may be a need for a more intermediate book that extends the topics.

KH: And maybe targets languages other than Python where you’re going to have to deal with configuring and building, installing and linking libraries, that kind of stuff. I’d like to cover more of that, but Python doesn’t have that problem!

JC: You may sell a lot of books when the school year starts.

KH: Anthony and I both have plans for courses based around this book. Hopefully students will find it helpful.

JC: Maybe someone else is planning the same thing. It would be nice if they told you.

AS: A couple people have approached us about doing exactly that. Something I’d like to see is for people teaching courses around it to pull their curriculum together.

JC: Is there a web site for the book, other than an errata page at the publisher?

KH: Sure, there’s Anthony put that up.

AS: There’s also a GitHub repo, physics-codes. That’s where you can find code for all the examples, and that should be kept up to date. We also have a YouTube channel.

JC: When did y’all start writing the book?

AS: It was April or May last year when we finally started writing. There was a proposal cycle six or seven months before that. Katy and I were simultaneously talking to O’Reilly, so that worked out well.

KH: In a sense, the book process started for me in graduate school with The Hacker Within and Software Carpentry. A lot of the flows in the book come from the outlines of Hacker Within tutorials and Software Carpentry tutorials years ago.

AS: On that note, what happened for me, I took those tutorials and turned them into a masters course for AIMS, African Institute for Mathematical Sciences. At the end I thought it would be nice if this were a book. It didn’t occur to me that there was a book’s worth of material until the end of the course at AIMS. I owe a great debt to AIMS in that way.

JC: Is there something else you’d like to say about the book that we haven’t talked about?

KH: I think it would be a fun exercise for someone to try to determine which half of the chapters I wrote and which Anthony wrote. Maybe using some sort of clustering algorithm or pun detection. If anyone wants to do that sort of analysis, I’d love to see if you guess right. Open competition. Free beer from Katy if you can figure out which half. We split the work in half, but it’s really mixed around.  People who know us well will probably know that Anthony’s chapters have a high density of puns.

AS: I think the main point that I would like to see come across is that the book is useful to a broader audience outside the physical sciences. Even for people who are not scientists themselves, it’s useful to describe the mindset of physical scientists to software developers or managers. That communication protocol kinda goes both ways, though I didn’t expect that when we started out.

JC: I appreciate that it’s one book. Obviously it won’t cover everything you need to know. But it’s not like here’s a book on Linux, here’s a book on git, here are several books on Python. And some of the material in here isn’t in any book.

KH: Like licensing. Anthony had the idea to add the chapter on licensing. We get asked all the time “Which license do you use? And why?” It’s confusing, and you can get it really wrong.

* * *

Check out Effective Computation in Physics. It’s about more than physics. It’s a lot of what you need to know to get started with scientific computing in Python, all in one place.


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