Most people who encounter the formula
π/4 = 1 − 1/3 + 1/5 − 1/7 + 1/9 − …are taught it as an algebraic fact. You take the Taylor series for arctan(x), set x = 1, and out falls π. It appears in textbooks as a curiosity of infinite series — symbol manipulation that happens to produce a circle constant. The geometry is stripped out. The meaning is lost.
But π is geometry. It is the ratio of a circle's circumference to its diameter — a statement about perimeter. Everything else flows from this basic inception. If an infinite series produces π, that series must be doing geometry.
And it is — in two distinct ways. First, the series is an arc length. On a unit circle, arctan(1) = π/4 radians = 45°. Each term of the series is a hop along the circumference: go forward 1 radian (overshoot), come back 1/3 radian (undershoot), go forward 1/5 radian (overshoot again). The hops get shorter. The position oscillates around 45° and converges. You are literally tracing the perimeter of the circle.
Second, the same series is a sequence of area slabs. Inside a unit square, the curve y = 1/(1+x²) encloses exactly π/4 worth of area — one quarter of a unit circle. The Taylor expansion breaks that area into layers: add the full square, subtract the region under x², add back the sliver under x⁴, subtract x⁶. Each term is a geometric cut. You are sculpting a circle's worth of area from a square.
Around 250 BC, Archimedes inscribed polygons in a circle and doubled their sides, watching the perimeter converge on the circumference. The Taylor series does the same thing — once via perimeter, once via area — in the language of algebra. The algebra was never anything other than geometry in disguise.