# Earthmover Distance

Problem: Compute distance between points with uncertain locations (given by samples, or differing observations, or clusters).

For example, if I have the following three “points” in the plane, as indicated by their colors, which is closer, blue to green, or blue to red?

It’s not obvious, and there are multiple factors at work: the red points have fewer samples, but we can be more certain about the position; the blue points are less certain, but the closest non-blue point to a blue point is green; and the green points are equally plausibly “close to red” and “close to blue.” The centers of masses of the three sample sets are close to an equilateral triangle. In our example the “points” don’t overlap, but of course they could. And in particular, there should probably be a nonzero distance between two points whose sample sets have the same center of mass, as below. The distance quantifies the uncertainty.

All this is to say that it’s not obvious how to define a distance measure that is consistent with perceptual ideas of what geometry and distance should be.

Solution (Earthmover distance): Treat each sample set $A$ corresponding to a “point” as a discrete probability distribution, so that each sample $x \in A$ has probability mass $p_x = 1 / |A|$. The distance between $A$ and $B$ is the optional solution to the following linear program.

Each $x \in A$ corresponds to a pile of dirt of height $p_x$, and each $y \in B$ corresponds to a hole of depth $p_y$. The cost of moving a unit of dirt from $x$ to $y$ is the Euclidean distance $d(x, y)$ between the points (or whatever hipster metric you want to use).

Let $z_{x, y}$ be a real variable corresponding to an amount of dirt to move from $x \in A$ to $y \in B$, with cost $d(x, y)$. Then the constraints are:

• Each $z_{x, y} \geq 0$, so dirt only moves from $x$ to $y$.
• Every pile $x \in A$ must vanish, i.e. for each fixed $x \in A$, $\sum_{y \in B} z_{x,y} = p_x$.
• Likewise, every hole $y \in B$ must be completely filled, i.e. $\sum_{y \in B} z_{x,y} = p_y$.

The objective is to minimize the cost of doing this: $\sum_{x, y \in A \times B} d(x, y) z_{x, y}$.

In python, using the ortools library (and leaving out a few docstrings and standard import statements, full code on Github):

from ortools.linear_solver import pywraplp

def earthmover_distance(p1, p2):
dist1 = {x: count / len(p1) for (x, count) in Counter(p1).items()}
dist2 = {x: count / len(p2) for (x, count) in Counter(p2).items()}
solver = pywraplp.Solver('earthmover_distance', pywraplp.Solver.GLOP_LINEAR_PROGRAMMING)

variables = dict()

# for each pile in dist1, the constraint that says all the dirt must leave this pile
dirt_leaving_constraints = defaultdict(lambda: 0)

# for each hole in dist2, the constraint that says this hole must be filled
dirt_filling_constraints = defaultdict(lambda: 0)

# the objective
objective = solver.Objective()
objective.SetMinimization()

for (x, dirt_at_x) in dist1.items():
for (y, capacity_of_y) in dist2.items():
amount_to_move_x_y = solver.NumVar(0, solver.infinity(), 'z_{%s, %s}' % (x, y))
variables[(x, y)] = amount_to_move_x_y
dirt_leaving_constraints[x] += amount_to_move_x_y
dirt_filling_constraints[y] += amount_to_move_x_y
objective.SetCoefficient(amount_to_move_x_y, euclidean_distance(x, y))

for x, linear_combination in dirt_leaving_constraints.items():

for y, linear_combination in dirt_filling_constraints.items():

status = solver.Solve()
if status not in [solver.OPTIMAL, solver.FEASIBLE]:
raise Exception('Unable to find feasible solution')

return objective.Value()


Discussion: I’ve heard about this metric many times as a way to compare probability distributions. For example, it shows up in an influential paper about fairness in machine learning, and a few other CS theory papers related to distribution testing.

One might ask: why not use other measures of dissimilarity for probability distributions (Chi-squared statistic, Kullback-Leibler divergence, etc.)? One answer is that these other measures only give useful information for pairs of distributions with the same support. An example from a talk of Justin Solomon succinctly clarifies what Earthmover distance achieves

Also, why not just model the samples using, say, a normal distribution, and then compute the distance based on the parameters of the distributions? That is possible, and in fact makes for a potentially more efficient technique, but you lose some information by doing this. Ignoring that your data might not be approximately normal (it might have some curvature), with Earthmover distance, you get point-by-point details about how each data point affects the outcome.

This kind of attention to detail can be very important in certain situations. One that I’ve been paying close attention to recently is the problem of studying gerrymandering from a mathematical perspective. Justin Solomon of MIT is a champion of the Earthmover distance (see his fascinating talk here for more, with slides) which is just one topic in a field called “optimal transport.”

This has the potential to be useful in redistricting because of the nature of the redistricting problem. As I wrote previously, discussions of redistricting are chock-full of geometry—or at least geometric-sounding language—and people are very concerned with the apparent “compactness” of a districting plan. But the underlying data used to perform redistricting isn’t very accurate. The people who build the maps don’t have precise data on voting habits, or even locations where people live. Census tracts might not be perfectly aligned, and data can just plain have errors and uncertainty in other respects. So the data that district-map-drawers care about is uncertain much like our point clouds. With a theory of geometry that accounts for uncertainty (and the Earthmover distance is the “distance” part of that), one can come up with more robust, better tools for redistricting.

Solomon’s website has a ton of resources about this, under the names of “optimal transport” and “Wasserstein metric,” and his work extends from computing distances to computing important geometric values like the barycenter, computational advantages like parallelism.

Others in the field have come up with transparency techniques to make it clearer how the Earthmover distance relates to the geometry of the underlying space. This one is particularly fun because the explanations result in a path traveled from the start to the finish, and by setting up the underlying metric in just such a way, you can watch the distribution navigate a maze to get to its target. I like to imagine tiny ants carrying all that dirt.

Finally, work of Shirdhonkar and Jacobs provide approximation algorithms that allow linear-time computation, instead of the worst-case-cubic runtime of a linear solver.

# NP-hard does not mean hard

When NP-hardness pops up on the internet, say because some silly blogger wants to write about video games, it’s often tempting to conclude that the problem being proved NP-hard is actually very hard!

“Scientists proved Super Mario is NP-hard? I always knew there was a reason I wasn’t very good at it!” Sorry, these two are unrelated. NP-hardness means hard in a narrow sense this post should hopefully make clear. After that, we’ll explore what “hard” means in a mathematical sense that you can apply beyond NP-hardness to inform your work as a programmer.

When a problem is NP-hard, that simply means that the problem is sufficiently expressive that you can use the problem to express logic. By which I mean boolean formulas using AND, OR, and NOT. In the Super Mario example, the “problem” is a bundle of (1) the controls for the player (2) the allowed tiles and characters that make up a level, and (3) the goal of getting from the start to the end. Logic formulas are encoded in the creation of a level, and solving the problem (completing the level) is the same as finding conditions to make the logical formula true.

The clause gadget for the original Super Mario Brothers, encoding an OR of three variables.

In this sense, NP-hardness doesn’t make all of Super Mario hard. The levels designed to encode logical formulas are contrived, convoluted, and contorted. They abuse the rules of the game in order to cram boolean logic into it. These are worst case levels. It’s using Mario for a completely unintended purpose, not unlike hacking. And so NP-hardness is a worst case claim.

To reiterate, NP-hardness means that Super Mario has expressive power. So expressive that it can emulate other problems we believe are hard in the worst case. And, because the goal of mathematical “hardness” is to reason about the limitations of algorithms, being able to solve Super Mario in full generality implies you can solve any hard subproblem, no matter how ridiculous the level design.

The P != NP conjecture says that there’s no polynomial time algorithm to determine whether boolean logic formulas are satisfiable, and so as a consequence Super Mario (in full generality) also has no polynomial time algorithm.

That being said, in reality Super Mario levels do not encode logical formulas! If you use the knowledge that real-world Super Mario levels are designed in the way they are (to be solvable, fun), then you can solve Super Mario with algorithms. There are many examples.

In general, the difficulty of a problem for humans is unrelated to the difficulty for algorithms. Consider multiplication of integers. This is a trivial problem for computers to solve, but humans tend to struggle with it. It’s an amazing feat to be able to multiply two 7 digit numbers in less than 5 seconds, whereas computers can multiply two thousand-digit numbers in milliseconds.

Meanwhile, protein folding is known to be an NP-hard problem, but it’s been turned into a game sufficiently easy for humans to solve that players have contributed to scientific research. Indeed, even some of the most typically cited NP-hard problems, like traveling salesman, have heuristic, practical algorithmic solutions that allow one to solve them (very close to optimally) in hours on inputs as large as every city on earth.

So the mathematical notions of hardness are quite disconnected from practical notions of hardness. This is not even to mention that some NP-hard problems can be efficiently approximated to within any desired accuracy.

Let’s dig into the math a bit more. “Hardness” is a family of ideas about comparisons between problems based on reusability of algorithmic solutions. Loosely speaking, a problem $R$ is hard with respect to a class of problems $C$ if an algorithm solving $R$ can be easily transformed into an algorithm solving any problem in $C$. You have to say what kinds of transformations are allowed, and the transformation can be different for different target problems in $C$, but that’s the basic idea.

In the Super Mario example, if you want to solve logical formulas, you can transform a hypothetically perfect mario-level-playing algorithm into a logic solver by encoding the formula as a level and running the mario-level-playing algorithm on it as a black box. Add an if statement to the end to translate “level can/can’t be finished” to “formula can/can’t be satisfied,” and the transformation is complete. It’s important for NP-hardness that the transformation only takes polynomial time. Other kinds of hardness might admit more or restrict to fewer resources.

And so this is what makes Mario NP-hard, because boolean logic satisfiability is NP-hard. Any problem in NP can be solved by a boolean logic solver, and hence also by a mario-level-player. The fact that boolean logic solving is NP-hard is a difficult theorem to prove. But if we assume it’s true, you can compose the transformations to get from any NP problem to Super Mario.

As a simple example of a different kind of hardness, you can let $C$ be the class of problems solvable using only a finite amount of memory (independent of the input). You have probably heard of this class of problems by another name, but I’ll keep you guessing until the end of the post. A $C$-hard problem $R$ is one for which an algorithmic solution can be repurposed to solve any finite-memory-solvable problem.

We have to be careful: if the transformation between solutions allows us polynomial time (in the size of the input) like it did for NP-hardness, then we might have enough time in the transformation alone to solve the entire problem, removing the need for a solution to $R$ in the first place! For this reason, we have to limit the amount of work that can be done in the transformation. We get a choice here that influences how interesting or useful the definition of hardness is, but let’s just pick one and say that the transformation can only use finite time (independent of the input).

To be fair, I actually don’t know if there are any hard problems with respect to this definition. There probably are, but chances are good that they are not members of $C$, and that’s where the definition of hardness gets really interesting. If you have a problem in $C$ which is also $C$-hard, it’s called complete for $C$. And once you’ve found a complete problem, from a theoretical perspective you’re a winner. You’ve found a problem which epitomizes the difficulty of solving problems in $C$. And so it’s a central aim of researchers studying a complexity class to find complete problems. As they say in the business, “ABC: always be completing.”

As a more concrete and interesting example, the class $P$ of all polynomial-time solvable problems has a complete problem. Here the transformations are a bit up in the air. They could either be logarithmic-space computations, or what’s called NC, which can be thought of as poly-logarithmic time (very fast) parallel computations. I only mention NC because it allows you to say “P-complete problems are hard to parallelize.”

Regardless of the choice, there are a number of very useful problems known to be P-complete. The first is the Circuit Value Problem, given a circuit (described by its gates and wires using any reasonable encoding) and an input to the circuit, what is the output?

Others include linear programming (optimize this linear function with respect to linear constraints), data compression (does the compressed version of a string $s$ using Lempel–Ziv–Welch contain a string $t$?), and type inference for partial types. There are many more in this compendium of Greenlaw et al. Each one is expressive enough to encode any instance of the other, and any instance of any problem in P. It’s quite curious to think that gzip can solve linear programs, but that’s surely no curiouser than super mario levels encoding boolean logic.

Just as with NP-hardness, when a problem is P-hard that doesn’t automatically mean it’s easy or hard for humans, or that typical instances can’t be easily parallelized. P-hardness is also a worst case guarantee.

Studying P-completeness is helpful in the same way NP-completeness is helpful. Completeness informs you about whether you should hope to find a perfect solution or be content with approximations and heuristics (or incorporate problem context to make it easier). Knowing a problem is P-complete means you should not expect perfect efficient parallel algorithms, or perfect efficient algorithms that use severely limited space. Knowing a problem is NP-hard means you should not expect a perfect polynomial time solution. In other words, if you are forced to work with those restrictions, the game becomes one of tradeoffs. Hardness and completeness focus and expedite your work, and clarify a principled decision making process.

Until next time!

P.S. The class of problems solvable in a finite amount of memory is just the class of regular languages. The “finite memory” is the finite state machine used to solve them.

# Binary Search on Graphs

Binary search is one of the most basic algorithms I know. Given a sorted list of comparable items and a target item being sought, binary search looks at the middle of the list, and compares it to the target. If the target is larger, we repeat on the smaller half of the list, and vice versa.

With each comparison the binary search algorithm cuts the search space in half. The result is a guarantee of no more than $\log(n)$ comparisons, for a total runtime of $O(\log n)$. Neat, efficient, useful.

There’s always another angle.

What if we tried to do binary search on a graph? Most graph search algorithms, like breadth- or depth-first search, take linear time, and they were invented by some pretty smart cookies. So if binary search on a graph is going to make any sense, it’ll have to use more information beyond what a normal search algorithm has access to.

For binary search on a list, it’s the fact that the list is sorted, and we can compare against the sought item to guide our search. But really, the key piece of information isn’t related to the comparability of the items. It’s that we can eliminate half of the search space at every step. The “compare against the target” step can be thought of a black box that replies to queries of the form, “Is this the thing I’m looking for?” with responses of the form, “Yes,” or, “No, but look over here instead.”

As long as the answers to your queries are sufficiently helpful, meaning they allow you to cut out large portions of your search space at each step, then you probably have a good algorithm on your hands. Indeed, there’s a natural model for graphs, defined in a 2015 paper of Emamjomeh-Zadeh, Kempe, and Singhal that goes as follows.

You’re given as input an undirected, weighted graph $G = (V,E)$, with weights $w_e$ for $e \in E$. You can see the entire graph, and you may ask questions of the form, “Is vertex $v$ the target?” Responses will be one of two things:

• Yes (you win!)
• No, but $e = (v, w)$ is an edge out of $v$ on a shortest path from $v$ to the true target.

Your goal is to find the target vertex with the minimum number of queries.

Obviously this only works if $G$ is connected, but slight variations of everything in this post work for disconnected graphs. (The same is not true in general for directed graphs)

When the graph is a line, this “reduces” to binary search in the sense that the same basic idea of binary search works: start in the middle of the graph, and the edge you get in response to a query will tell you in which half of the graph to continue.

And if we make this example only slightly more complicated, the generalization should become obvious:

Here, we again start at the “center vertex,” and the response to our query will eliminate one of the two halves. But then how should we pick the next vertex, now that we no longer have a linear order to rely on? It should be clear, choose the “center vertex” of whichever half we end up in. This choice can be formalized into a rule that works even when there’s not such obvious symmetry, and it turns out to always be the right choice.

Definition: median of a weighted graph $G$ with respect to a subset of vertices $S \subset V$ is a vertex $v \in V$ (not necessarily in $S$) which minimizes the sum of distances to vertices in $S$. More formally, it minimizes

$\Phi_S(v) = \sum_{u \in S} d(v, u)$,

where $d(u,v)$ is the sum of the edge weights along a shortest path from $v$ to $u$.

And so generalizing binary search to this query-model on a graph results in the following algorithm, which whittles down the search space by querying the median at every step.

Algorithm: Binary search on graphs. Input is a graph $G = (V,E)$.

• Start with a set of candidates $S = V$.
• While we haven’t found the target and $|S| > 1$:
• Query the median $v$ of $S$, and stop if you’ve found the target.
• Otherwise, let $e = (v, w)$ be the response edge, and compute the set of all vertices $x \in V$ for which $e$ is on a shortest path from $v$ to $x$. Call this set $T$.
• Replace $S$ with $S \cap T$.
• Output the only remaining vertex in $S$

Indeed, as we’ll see momentarily, a python implementation is about as simple. The meat of the work is in computing the median and the set $T$, both of which are slight variants of Dijkstra’s algorithm for computing shortest paths.

The theorem, which is straightforward and well written by Emamjomeh-Zadeh et al. (only about a half page on page 5), is that this algorithm requires only $O(\log(n))$ queries, just like binary search.

Before we dive into an implementation, there’s a catch. Even though we are guaranteed only $\log(n)$ many queries, because of our Dijkstra’s algorithm implementation, we’re definitely not going to get a logarithmic time algorithm. So in what situation would this be useful?

Here’s where we use the “theory” trick of making up a fanciful problem and only later finding applications for it (which, honestly, has been quite successful in computer science). In this scenario we’re treating the query mechanism as a black box. It’s natural to imagine that the queries are expensive, and a resource we want to optimize for. As an example the authors bring up in a followup paper, the graph might be the set of clusterings of a dataset, and the query involves a human looking at the data and responding that a cluster should be split, or that two clusters should be joined. Of course, for clustering the underlying graph is too large to process, so the median-finding algorithm needs to be implicit. But the essential point is clear: sometimes the query is the most expensive part of the algorithm.

Alright, now let’s implement it! The complete code is on Github as always.

## Always be implementing

We start with a slight variation of Dijkstra’s algorithm. Here we’re given as input a single “starting” vertex, and we produce as output a list of all shortest paths from the start to all possible destination vertices.

from collections import defaultdict
from collections import namedtuple

Edge = namedtuple('Edge', ('source', 'target', 'weight'))

class Graph:
# A bare-bones implementation of a weighted, undirected graph
def __init__(self, vertices, edges=tuple()):
self.vertices = vertices
self.incident_edges = defaultdict(list)

for edge in edges:
edge[0],
edge[1],
1 if len(edge) == 2 else edge[2]  # optional weight
)

self.incident_edges[u].append(Edge(u, v, weight))
self.incident_edges[v].append(Edge(v, u, weight))

def edge(self, u, v):
return [e for e in self.incident_edges[u] if e.target == v][0]


And then, since most of the work in Dijkstra’s algorithm is tracking information that you build up as you search the graph, we define the “output” data structure, a dictionary of edge weights paired with back-pointers for the discovered shortest paths.

class DijkstraOutput:
def __init__(self, graph, start):
self.start = start
self.graph = graph

# the smallest distance from the start to the destination v
self.distance_from_start = {v: math.inf for v in graph.vertices}
self.distance_from_start[start] = 0

# a list of predecessor edges for each destination
# to track a list of possibly many shortest paths
self.predecessor_edges = {v: [] for v in graph.vertices}

def found_shorter_path(self, vertex, edge, new_distance):
# update the solution with a newly found shorter path
self.distance_from_start[vertex] = new_distance

if new_distance < self.distance_from_start[vertex]:
self.predecessor_edges[vertex] = [edge]
else:  # tie for multiple shortest paths
self.predecessor_edges[vertex].append(edge)

def path_to_destination_contains_edge(self, destination, edge):
predecessors = self.predecessor_edges[destination]
if edge in predecessors:
return True
return any(self.path_to_destination_contains_edge(e.source, edge)
for e in predecessors)

def sum_of_distances(self, subset=None):
subset = subset or self.graph.vertices
return sum(self.distance_from_start[x] for x in subset)


The actual Dijkstra algorithm then just does a “breadth-first” (priority-queue-guided) search through $G$, updating the metadata as it finds shorter paths.

def single_source_shortest_paths(graph, start):
'''
Compute the shortest paths and distances from the start vertex to all
possible destination vertices. Return an instance of DijkstraOutput.
'''
output = DijkstraOutput(graph, start)
visit_queue = [(0, start)]

while len(visit_queue) > 0:
priority, current = heapq.heappop(visit_queue)

for incident_edge in graph.incident_edges[current]:
v = incident_edge.target
weight = incident_edge.weight
distance_from_current = output.distance_from_start[current] + weight

if distance_from_current <= output.distance_from_start[v]:
output.found_shorter_path(v, incident_edge, distance_from_current)
heapq.heappush(visit_queue, (distance_from_current, v))

return output


Finally, we implement the median-finding and $T$-computing subroutines:

def possible_targets(graph, start, edge):
'''
Given an undirected graph G = (V,E), an input vertex v in V, and an edge e
incident to v, compute the set of vertices w such that e is on a shortest path from
v to w.
'''
dijkstra_output = dijkstra.single_source_shortest_paths(graph, start)
return set(v for v in graph.vertices
if dijkstra_output.path_to_destination_contains_edge(v, edge))

def find_median(graph, vertices):
'''
Compute as output a vertex in the input graph which minimizes the sum of distances
to the input set of vertices
'''
best_dijkstra_run = min(
(single_source_shortest_paths(graph, v) for v in graph.vertices),
key=lambda run: run.sum_of_distances(vertices)
)
return best_dijkstra_run.start


And then the core algorithm

QueryResult = namedtuple('QueryResult', ('found_target', 'feedback_edge'))

def binary_search(graph, query):
'''
Find a target node in a graph, with queries of the form "Is x the target?"
and responses either "You found the target!" or "Here is an edge on a shortest
path to the target."
'''
candidate_nodes = set(x for x in graph.vertices)  # copy

while len(candidate_nodes) > 1:
median = find_median(graph, candidate_nodes)
query_result = query(median)

if query_result.found_target:
return median
else:
edge = query_result.feedback_edge
legal_targets = possible_targets(graph, median, edge)
candidate_nodes = candidate_nodes.intersection(legal_targets)

return candidate_nodes.pop()


Here’s an example of running it on the example graph we used earlier in the post:

'''
Graph looks like this tree, with uniform weights

a       k
b     j
cfghi
d     l
e       m
'''
G = Graph(['a', 'b', 'c', 'd', 'e', 'f', 'g', 'h', 'i',
'j', 'k', 'l', 'm'],
[
('a', 'b'),
('b', 'c'),
('c', 'd'),
('d', 'e'),
('c', 'f'),
('f', 'g'),
('g', 'h'),
('h', 'i'),
('i', 'j'),
('j', 'k'),
('i', 'l'),
('l', 'm'),
])

def simple_query(v):
ans = input("is '%s' the target? [y/N] " % v)
if ans and ans.lower()[0] == 'y':
return QueryResult(True, None)
else:
print("Please input a vertex on the shortest path between"
" '%s' and the target. The graph is: " % v)
for w in G.incident_edges:
print("%s: %s" % (w, G.incident_edges[w]))

target = None
while target not in G.vertices:
target = input("Input neighboring vertex of '%s': " % v)

return QueryResult(
False,
G.edge(v, target)
)

output = binary_search(G, simple_query)
print("Found target: %s" % output)


The query function just prints out a reminder of the graph and asks the user to answer the query with a yes/no and a relevant edge if the answer is no.

An example run:

is 'g' the target? [y/N] n
Please input a vertex on the shortest path between 'g' and the target. The graph is:
e: [Edge(source='e', target='d', weight=1)]
i: [Edge(source='i', target='h', weight=1), Edge(source='i', target='j', weight=1), Edge(source='i', target='l', weight=1)]
g: [Edge(source='g', target='f', weight=1), Edge(source='g', target='h', weight=1)]
l: [Edge(source='l', target='i', weight=1), Edge(source='l', target='m', weight=1)]
k: [Edge(source='k', target='j', weight=1)]
j: [Edge(source='j', target='i', weight=1), Edge(source='j', target='k', weight=1)]
c: [Edge(source='c', target='b', weight=1), Edge(source='c', target='d', weight=1), Edge(source='c', target='f', weight=1)]
f: [Edge(source='f', target='c', weight=1), Edge(source='f', target='g', weight=1)]
m: [Edge(source='m', target='l', weight=1)]
d: [Edge(source='d', target='c', weight=1), Edge(source='d', target='e', weight=1)]
h: [Edge(source='h', target='g', weight=1), Edge(source='h', target='i', weight=1)]
b: [Edge(source='b', target='a', weight=1), Edge(source='b', target='c', weight=1)]
a: [Edge(source='a', target='b', weight=1)]
Input neighboring vertex of 'g': f
is 'c' the target? [y/N] n
Please input a vertex on the shortest path between 'c' and the target. The graph is:
[...]
Input neighboring vertex of 'c': d
is 'd' the target? [y/N] n
Please input a vertex on the shortest path between 'd' and the target. The graph is:
[...]
Input neighboring vertex of 'd': e
Found target: e


## A likely story

The binary search we implemented in this post is pretty minimal. In fact, the more interesting part of the work of Emamjomeh-Zadeh et al. is the part where the response to the query can be wrong with some unknown probability.

In this case, there can be many shortest paths that are valid responses to a query, in addition to all the invalid responses. In particular, this rules out the strategy of asking the same query multiple times and taking the majority response. If the error rate is 1/3, and there are two shortest paths to the target, you can get into a situation in which you see three responses equally often and can’t choose which one is the liar.

Instead, the technique Emamjomeh-Zadeh et al. use is based on the Multiplicative Weights Update Algorithm (it strikes again!). Each query gives a multiplicative increase (or decrease) on the set of nodes that are consistent targets under the assumption that query response is correct. There are a few extra details and some postprocessing to avoid unlikely outcomes, but that’s the basic idea. Implementing it would be an excellent exercise for readers interested in diving deeper into a recent research paper (or to flex their math muscles).

But even deeper, this model of “query and get advice on how to improve” is a classic  learning model first formally studied by Dana Angluin (my academic grand-advisor). In her model, one wants to design an algorithm to learn a classifier. The allowed queries are membership and equivalence queries. A membership is essentially, “What’s its label of this element?” and an equivalence query has the form, “Is this the right classifier?” If the answer is no, a mislabeled example is provided.

This is different from the usual machine learning assumption, because the learning algorithm gets to construct an example it wants to get more information about, instead of simply relying on a randomly generated subset of data. The goal is to minimize the number of queries before the target hypothesis is learned exactly. And indeed, as we saw in this post, if you have a little extra time to analyze the problem space, you can craft queries that extract quite a lot of information.

Indeed, the model we presented here for binary search on graphs is the natural analogue of an equivalence query for a search problem: instead of a mislabeled counterexample, you get a nudge in the right direction toward the target. Pretty neat!

There are a few directions we could take from here: (1) implement the Multiplicative Weights version of the algorithm, (2) apply this technique to a problem like ranking or clustering, or (3) cover theoretical learning models like membership and equivalence queries in more detail. What interests you?

Until next time!

# Formulating the Support Vector Machine Optimization Problem

## The hypothesis and the setup

This blog post has an interactive demo (mostly used toward the end of the post). The source for this demo is available in a Github repository.

Last time we saw how the inner product of two vectors gives rise to a decision rule: if $w$ is the normal to a line (or hyperplane) $L$, the sign of the inner product $\langle x, w \rangle$ tells you whether $x$ is on the same side of $L$ as $w$.

Let’s translate this to the parlance of machine-learning. Let $x \in \mathbb{R}^n$ be a training data point, and $y \in \{ 1, -1 \}$ is its label (green and red, in the images in this post). Suppose you want to find a hyperplane which separates all the points with -1 labels from those with +1 labels (assume for the moment that this is possible). For this and all examples in this post, we’ll use data in two dimensions, but the math will apply to any dimension.

Some data labeled red and green, which is separable by a hyperplane (line).

The hypothesis we’re proposing to separate these points is a hyperplane, i.e. a linear subspace that splits all of $\mathbb{R}^n$ into two halves. The data that represents this hyperplane is a single vector $w$, the normal to the hyperplane, so that the hyperplane is defined by the solutions to the equation $\langle x, w \rangle = 0$.

As we saw last time, $w$ encodes the following rule for deciding if a new point $z$ has a positive or negative label.

$\displaystyle h_w(z) = \textup{sign}(\langle w, x \rangle)$

You’ll notice that this formula only works for the normals $w$ of hyperplanes that pass through the origin, and generally we want to work with data that can be shifted elsewhere. We can resolve this by either adding a fixed term $b \in \mathbb{R}$—often called a bias because statisticians came up with it—so that the shifted hyperplane is the set of solutions to $\langle x, w \rangle + b = 0$. The shifted decision rule is:

$\displaystyle h_w(z) = \textup{sign}(\langle w, x \rangle + b)$

Now the hypothesis is the pair of vector-and-scalar $w, b$.

The key intuitive idea behind the formulation of the SVM problem is that there are many possible separating hyperplanes for a given set of labeled training data. For example, here is a gif showing infinitely many choices.

The question is: how can we find the separating hyperplane that not only separates the training data, but generalizes as well as possible to new data? The assumption of the SVM is that a hyperplane which separates the points, but is also as far away from any training point as possible, will generalize best.

While contrived, it’s easy to see that the separating hyperplane is as far as possible from any training point.

More specifically, fix a labeled dataset of points $(x_i, y_i)$, or more precisely:

$\displaystyle D = \{ (x_i, y_i) \mid i = 1, \dots, m, x_i \in \mathbb{R}^{n}, y_i \in \{1, -1\} \}$

And a hypothesis defined by the normal $w \in \mathbb{R}^{n}$ and a shift $b \in \mathbb{R}$. Let’s also suppose that $(w,b)$ defines a hyperplane that correctly separates all the training data into the two labeled classes, and we just want to measure its quality. That measure of quality is the length of its margin.

Definition: The geometric margin of a hyperplane $w$ with respect to a dataset $D$ is the shortest distance from a training point $x_i$ to the hyperplane defined by $w$.

The best hyperplane has the largest possible margin.

This margin can even be computed quite easily using our work from last post. The distance from $x$ to the hyperplane defined by $w$ is the same as the length of the projection of $x$ onto $w$. And this is just computed by an inner product.

If the tip of the $x$ arrow is the point in question, then $a$ is the dot product, and $b$ the distance from $x$ to the hyperplane $L$ defined by $w$.

## A naive optimization objective

If we wanted to, we could stop now and define an optimization problem that would be very hard to solve. It would look like this:

\displaystyle \begin{aligned} & \max_{w} \min_{x_i} \left | \left \langle x_i, \frac{w}{\|w\|} \right \rangle + b \right | & \\ \textup{subject to \ \ } & \textup{sign}(\langle x_i, w \rangle + b) = \textup{sign}(y_i) & \textup{ for every } i = 1, \dots, m \end{aligned}

The formulation is hard. The reason is it’s horrifyingly nonlinear. In more detail:

1. The constraints are nonlinear due to the sign comparisons.
2. There’s a min and a max! A priori, we have to do this because we don’t know which point is going to be the closest to the hyperplane.
3. The objective is nonlinear in two ways: the absolute value and the projection requires you to take a norm and divide.

The rest of this post (and indeed, a lot of the work in grokking SVMs) is dedicated to converting this optimization problem to one in which the constraints are all linear inequalities and the objective is a single, quadratic polynomial we want to minimize or maximize.

Along the way, we’ll notice some neat features of the SVM.

## Trick 1: linearizing the constraints

To solve the first problem, we can use a trick. We want to know whether $\textup{sign}(\langle x_i, w \rangle + b) = \textup{sign}(y_i)$ for a labeled training point $(x_i, y_i)$. The trick is to multiply them together. If their signs agree, then their product will be positive, otherwise it will be negative.

So each constraint becomes:

$\displaystyle (\langle x_i, w \rangle + b) \cdot y_i \geq 0$

This is still linear because $y_i$ is a constant (input) to the optimization problem. The variables are the coefficients of $w$.

The left hand side of this inequality is often called the functional margin of a training point, since, as we will see, it still works to classify $x_i$, even if $w$ is scaled so that it is no longer a unit vector. Indeed, the sign of the inner product is independent of how $w$ is scaled.

## Trick 1.5: the optimal solution is midway between classes

This small trick is to notice that if $w$ is the supposed optimal separating hyperplane, i.e. its margin is maximized, then it must necessarily be exactly halfway in between the closest points in the positive and negative classes.

In other words, if $x_+$ and $x_-$ are the closest points in the positive and negative classes, respectively, then $\langle x_{+}, w \rangle + b = -(\langle x_{-}, w \rangle + b)$. If this were not the case, then you could adjust the bias, shifting the decision boundary along $w$ until it they are exactly equal, and you will have increased the margin. The closest point, say $x_+$ will have gotten farther away, and the closest point in the opposite class, $x_-$ will have gotten closer, but will not be closer than $x_+$.

## Trick 2: getting rid of the max + min

Resolving this problem essentially uses the fact that the hypothesis, which comes in the form of the normal vector $w$, has a degree of freedom in its length. To explain the details of this trick, we’ll set $b=0$ which simplifies the intuition.

Indeed, in the animation below, I can increase or decrease the length of $w$ without changing the decision boundary.

I have to keep my hand very steady (because I was too lazy to program it so that it only increases/decreases in length), but you can see the point. The line is perpendicular to the normal vector, and it doesn’t depend on the length.

Let’s combine this with tricks 1 and 1.5. If we increase the length of $w$, that means the absolute values of the dot products $\langle x_i, w \rangle$ used in the constraints will all increase by the same amount (without changing their sign). Indeed, for any vector $a$ we have $\langle a, w \rangle = \|w \| \cdot \langle a, w / \| w \| \rangle$.

In this world, the inner product measurement of distance from a point to the hyperplane is no longer faithful. The true distance is $\langle a, w / \| w \| \rangle$, but the distance measured by $\langle a, w \rangle$ is measured in units of $1 / \| w \|$.

In this example, the two numbers next to the green dot represent the true distance of the point from the hyperplane, and the dot product of the point with the normal (respectively). The dashed lines are the solutions to <x, w> = 1. The magnitude of w is 2.2, the inverse of that is 0.46, and indeed 2.2 = 4.8 * 0.46 (we’ve rounded the numbers).

Now suppose we had the optimal hyperplane and its normal $w$. No matter how near (or far) the nearest positively labeled training point $x$ is, we could scale the length of $w$ to force $\langle x, w \rangle = 1$. This is the core of the trick. One consequence is that the actual distance from $x$ to the hyperplane is $\frac{1}{\| w \|} = \langle x, w / \| w \| \rangle$.

The same as above, but with the roles reversed. We’re forcing the inner product of the point with w to be 1. The true distance is unchanged.

In particular, if we force the closest point to have inner product 1, then all other points will have inner product at least 1. This has two consequences. First, our constraints change to $\langle x_i, w \rangle \cdot y_i \geq 1$ instead of $\geq 0$. Second, we no longer need to ask which point is closest to the candidate hyperplane! Because after all, we never cared which point it was, just how far away that closest point was. And now we know that it’s exactly $1 / \| w \|$ away. Indeed, if the optimal points weren’t at that distance, then that means the closest point doesn’t exactly meet the constraint, i.e. that $\langle x, w \rangle > 1$ for every training point $x$. We could then scale $w$ shorter until $\langle x, w \rangle = 1$, hence increasing the margin $1 / \| w \|$.

In other words, the coup de grâce, provided all the constraints are satisfied, the optimization objective is just to maximize $1 / \| w \|$, a.k.a. to minimize $\| w \|$.

This intuition is clear from the following demonstration, which you can try for yourself. In it I have a bunch of positively and negatively labeled points, and the line in the center is the candidate hyperplane with normal $w$ that you can drag around. Each training point has two numbers next to it. The first is the true distance from that point to the candidate hyperplane; the second is the inner product with $w$. The two blue dashed lines are the solutions to $\langle x, w \rangle = \pm 1$. To solve the SVM by hand, you have to ensure the second number is at least 1 for all green points, at most -1 for all red points, and then you have to make $w$ as short as possible. As we’ve discussed, shrinking $w$ moves the blue lines farther away from the separator, but in order to satisfy the constraints the blue lines can’t go further than any training point. Indeed, the optimum will have those blue lines touching a training point on each side.

I bet you enjoyed watching me struggle to solve it. And while it’s probably not the optimal solution, the idea should be clear.

The final note is that, since we are now minimizing $\| w \|$, a formula which includes a square root, we may as well minimize its square $\| w \|^2 = \sum_j w_j^2$. We will also multiply the objective by $1/2$, because when we eventually analyze this problem we will take a derivative, and the square in the exponent and the $1/2$ will cancel.

## The final form of the problem

Our optimization problem is now the following (including the bias again):

\displaystyle \begin{aligned} & \min_{w} \frac{1}{2} \| w \|^2 & \\ \textup{subject to \ \ } & (\langle x_i, w \rangle + b) \cdot y_i \geq 1 & \textup{ for every } i = 1, \dots, m \end{aligned}

This is much simpler to analyze. The constraints are all linear inequalities (which, because of linear programming, we know are tractable to optimize). The objective to minimize, however, is a convex quadratic function of the input variables—a sum of squares of the inputs.

Such problems are generally called quadratic programming problems (or QPs, for short). There are general methods to find solutions! However, they often suffer from numerical stability issues and have less-than-satisfactory runtime. Luckily, the form in which we’ve expressed the support vector machine problem is specific enough that we can analyze it directly, and find a way to solve it without appealing to general-purpose numerical solvers.

We will tackle this problem in a future post (planned for two posts sequel to this one). Before we close, let’s just make a few more observations about the solution to the optimization problem.

## Support Vectors

In Trick 1.5 we saw that the optimal separating hyperplane has to be exactly halfway between the two closest points of opposite classes. Moreover, we noticed that, provided we’ve scaled $\| w \|$ properly, these closest points (there may be multiple for positive and negative labels) have to be exactly “distance” 1 away from the separating hyperplane.

Another way to phrase this without putting “distance” in scare quotes is to say that, if $w$ is the normal vector of the optimal separating hyperplane, the closest points lie on the two lines $\langle x_i, w \rangle + b = \pm 1$.

Now that we have some intuition for the formulation of this problem, it isn’t a stretch to realize the following. While a dataset may include many points from either class on these two lines $\langle x_i, w \rangle = \pm 1$, the optimal hyperplane itself does not depend on any of the other points except these closest points.

This fact is enough to give these closest points a special name: the support vectors.

We’ll actually prove that support vectors “are all you need” with full rigor and detail next time, when we cast the optimization problem in this post into the “dual” setting. To avoid vague names, the formulation described in this post called the “primal” problem. The dual problem is derived from the primal problem, with special variables and constraints chosen based on the primal variables and constraints. Next time we’ll describe in brief detail what the dual does and why it’s important, but we won’t have nearly enough time to give a full understanding of duality in optimization (such a treatment would fill a book).

When we compute the dual of the SVM problem, we will see explicitly that the hyperplane can be written as a linear combination of the support vectors. As such, once you’ve found the optimal hyperplane, you can compress the training set into just the support vectors, and reproducing the same optimal solution becomes much, much faster. You can also use the support vectors to augment the SVM to incorporate streaming data (throw out all non-support vectors after every retraining).

Eventually, when we get to implementing the SVM from scratch, we’ll see all this in action.

Until then!