Composite Functions
Drive through a car wash and your car goes through two machines: first the washer
soaks and scrubs it, then the dryer blasts it with air. The dryer never sees your original
muddy car — it only ever receives whatever the washer hands it. Two machines,
bolted in series, the output of one becoming the input of the next.
Shops do the same thing with prices — and here the order genuinely changes what you pay.
Suppose a £50 hoodie is in a 20%-off sale, and you also have a
£5-off voucher. Which gets applied first?
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Sale first, voucher second: 20% off £50 is £40; then the voucher takes it
to £35.
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Voucher first, sale second: £50 minus £5 is £45; then 20% off gives
£36.
Same hoodie, same two rules — but chaining them in a different order costs you an extra
pound. Chaining rules together, and caring about the order, is exactly what a
composite function is. This page teaches you how to chain functions, how to
evaluate the chain, how to write the chained rule as a single formula, and how to take a
complicated function apart back into a chain.
The notation, and the golden rule
We know function notation:
f(x) means "run the rule f on the input
x". A composite function simply chains two rules
together — you do one, then feed its output straight into the other.
We write the composite of f and g as
fg(x), or more clearly as f(g(x)).
(Some books write (f \circ g)(x) with a little circle — it means
exactly the same thing. And f^2(x) usually means
ff(x), the function f applied twice —
not f(x) squared.) The golden rule is to
work from the inside out:
f(g(x)) \;=\; \text{do } g \text{ first, then } f
The function nearest the x goes first. So in
f(g(x)) the inner function g runs first,
and whatever it produces becomes the input to f. Notice something
slightly uncomfortable: even though we say "f of g", it is g
that acts first — you read a composite right to left, like unwrapping a parcel
from the inside.
Two machines in series
Think of it as two
function
machines bolted together, just like the washer and the dryer. A number drops into the first
machine g; its output slides along and drops into the second machine
f; what comes out the far end is
f(g(x)). Press play to watch the number 3
travel through both.
Watch carefully what arrives at f. It is not the
3 we started with — f never sees the
3 at all. It receives the 6 that
g produced, and works on that. This is the single most
important picture on the page: the second machine works on the first machine's
output, not on the original input.
Evaluating a composite: numbers first
Before we build formulas, let's just evaluate composites at a number — that's where the
habit of "inside out" is formed. Take the pair we will use for the rest of the page:
f(x) = x^2 \qquad g(x) = x + 1
Find fg(3). Inside out: the inner function is
g, so it goes first.
g(3) = 3 + 1 = 4 \qquad\Rightarrow\qquad fg(3) = f(4) = 4^2 = 16
Now find gf(3). This time f
is the inner function — it sits nearest the 3 — so it goes
first.
f(3) = 3^2 = 9 \qquad\Rightarrow\qquad gf(3) = g(9) = 9 + 1 = 10
Same two functions, same input, but fg(3) = 16 while
gf(3) = 10. The order you chain the machines changes the answer —
just like the sale and the voucher. Notice also that
fg(3) is a number: once you feed in a specific
input, out comes a specific output. Only when we leave the input as
x do we get a formula.
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fg(x) means f(g(x)) — read it
right to left. The letter written last (nearest the
x) acts first. It is not "f then g"; it is "g, then f".
Exam papers love this trap.
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fg \ne gf in general. With
f(x) = x^2 and g(x) = x + 1,
fg(x) = (x+1)^2 but gf(x) = x^2 + 1.
Test x = 2: (2+1)^2 = 9, while
2^2 + 1 = 5. Not even close. (They occasionally agree —
if f and g are both "add a number",
say — but never assume it.)
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fg(3) is a number; fg(x) is a
formula. If a question asks for fg(3), the answer is a
single value like 16 — not an expression with an
x in it. If it asks for fg(x), the
answer is a rule, usually simplified. Writing a formula where a number was wanted (or vice
versa) throws away easy marks.
Building the new rule
Evaluating one input at a time is fine, but the real power move is combining the two rules
into one new formula that does the whole chain in a single step. The method
is substitution:
wherever the outer function expects its input, substitute the entire inner rule.
Warm up with the machines from the animation: f(x) = x + 1 and
g(x) = 2x. The rule f says "take the
input and add one" — and its input is now the whole of 2x:
f(g(x)) = f(2x) = (2x) + 1 = 2x + 1
Check it against the animation: with x = 3,
g(3) = 6 and then f(6) = 7, which matches
2(3) + 1 = 7. One formula, same answer, no intermediate step.
Now the classic pair. With f(x) = x^2 and
g(x) = x + 1, the rule f says "square
the input" — so it squares all of x + 1, brackets and all:
fg(x) = f(x + 1) = (x + 1)^2 = x^2 + 2x + 1
The other way round, g says "add one to the input" — and its input
is now the whole of x^2:
gf(x) = g(x^2) = x^2 + 1
Two genuinely different rules: x^2 + 2x + 1 versus
x^2 + 1 — they differ by 2x, the
cross-term the brackets create. The brackets are doing real work: forgetting them (writing
x^2 + 1 for fg) is exactly the error of
computing gf by accident.
See the difference
Because fg and gf are different rules,
they draw different curves. Below are fg(x) = (x+1)^2 and
gf(x) = x^2 + 1 on the same axes. Both are parabolas — but
fg has its lowest point at x = -1 (where
the inner x + 1 is zero), while gf sits
at height 1 above the origin. They agree at exactly one place,
x = 0, where both give 1 — everywhere
else the extra 2x pushes them apart.
Order matters — always check which way round
Back to the animation's pair to drive it home. Doing f first
and then g is the composite g(f(x)):
g(f(x)) = g(x + 1) = 2(x + 1) = 2x + 2
That is not the same as f(g(x)) = 2x + 1. It is the hoodie
all over again: "double, then add one" and "add one, then double" disagree by exactly the
doubled one. Whenever you meet a composite, your first job — before any algebra — is to read
off which function is the inner one. Get that right and the rest is careful
substitution.
Khan Academy introduces composing functions here:
Intro to composing functions.
Chains of three (and more)
Nothing stops you bolting a third machine on the end — or a tenth. The golden rule
doesn't change: start at the innermost function and work outwards, one layer at a time. Take
f(x) = x + 1 \qquad g(x) = 2x \qquad h(x) = x^2
Evaluate h(g(f(2))). Innermost is
f:
f(2) = 3 \;\;\longrightarrow\;\; g(3) = 6 \;\;\longrightarrow\;\; h(6) = 36
And as a formula? Substitute outwards, one layer at a time:
g(f(x)) = 2(x + 1) \qquad\Rightarrow\qquad h(g(f(x))) = \bigl(2(x+1)\bigr)^2 = 4(x+1)^2
Sanity-check with the number: 4(2+1)^2 = 4 \times 9 = 36. ✓ Long
chains look scary but are just the same move repeated — which is why the inside-out habit is
worth drilling now.
Going backwards: decomposing a function
So far we've built composites. The reverse skill — looking at a complicated function and
spotting the chain inside it — turns out to be even more valuable. Consider
y = (x + 3)^5
Expanding that bracket would be miserable. But describe it as a recipe: "add 3, then
raise to the fifth power". That's a chain! Set g(x) = x + 3 (the
inner step, done first) and f(x) = x^5 (the outer step), and
(x + 3)^5 = f(g(x))
The trick for finding the inner function: ask "what would I compute first if I plugged in
a number?" For (x+3)^5 you'd add 3 first — so
x + 3 is the inner function. Try it on
\sqrt{x^2 + 1}: first you'd square and add one
(g(x) = x^2 + 1), then square-root
(f(x) = \sqrt{x}).
Why bother? Because calculus differentiates complicated functions by exactly this move: the
chain rule differentiates
(x+3)^5 by treating it as f(g(x)) and
handling the layers one at a time. Learn to see the chain now and the chain rule will feel
like an old friend rather than a new monster.
The instruction on a shampoo bottle — "lather, rinse, repeat" — is a composite
function applied to your hair, and the famous joke about it (a literal-minded robot would
loop forever, since "repeat" never says when to stop) is really a joke about reading a
composition too literally. Recipes, IKEA instructions, morning routines: any "do this, then
that, then that" is composition, and in each one the order is load-bearing. Socks then shoes
is not shoes then socks.
Mathematicians take this seriously because almost every function you'll ever meet is
secretly a composite. \sin(3x),
e^{-x^2}, \sqrt{1 - x^2},
\frac{1}{x^2+1} — none of these is a "new" function. Each is a
short assembly line of simple parts: triple it then take sine; square it, negate, then
exponentiate. Computer programs run the same way — the output of one function is piped into
the next, and a whole program is one enormous composition. When calculus arrives, its
greatest hit — the chain rule — is nothing more than a rule for how assembly lines change
speed: it handles any function you can build, because you built it from parts it understands.
See it explained