Have we ever lost mathematics?

May 9, 2012

If you study the history of modern mathematics one of the recurring themes is the collapse of the foundations. A realisation that the assumptions underlying a topic were not as strong as might be hoped. There are three classics, which (with a broad brush) might be described as:

  • The collapse of Analysis
    The problems with infinity and infinitesimals had been known to the Greeks who discussed their paradoxes. In the seventeenth century, however, arguments and proofs involving infinitesimals became more acceptable. A powerful system started to emerge developed most clearly by Newton and Liebniz: the Calculus. Some still had issues, Berkeley famously mocked the “ghosts of departed quantities”, but most persisted and were greatly rewarded. The problems did eventually arise in mathematical settings, for example in Fourier’s study of heat, and it required most of the nineteenth century for Cauchy and Weierstrass to give a rigorous version based on limits.
  • The collapse of Geometry
    With issues arising in the basic assumptions of Analysis, mathematicians looked for firmer ground. Many felt that Geometry and, in particular the great work of Euclid’s Elements might provide this. Unfortunately there was a wrinkle in the Elements, often known as the Parallel Postulate, a statement that seemed far too complicated to be an assumption. Many had tried to show that the parallel postulate could be proved from the other axioms, and failed. Some had actually glimpsed something further, notably Khayyam and Saccheri. In fact, as Bolyai and Lobachevsky would eventually show, there are perfectly good geometries that obey all the axioms apart from the Parallel postulate. With the zoo of examples that started to be considered, could geometry did not look like such a good foundation.
  • The collapse of Arithmetic
    Instead of geometry, therefore other systems were considered, ideas from logic, and Cantor’s set theory were brought into play. Hilbert hoped that a system could be created that was consistent, complete and decidable. Many took on the challenge, Russell and Whitehead created the magnificent Principia Mathematica that famously does not prove that 1+1=2 until page 362. As the ideas started to become clearer, however, the way was left clear for a deeper issue. The results of Kurt Gödel showed that, if we want to include arithmetic, we cannot hope for a system for mathematics that is both complete and consistent. Furthermore,  we cannot even prove the consistency of our systems without resorting to a more powerful one (who’s own consistency cannot be proved without a more powerful system still). Some even wonder whether arithmetic is consistent!

As these collapses hit the ideas that fields rest on, one would expect there to be some consequences. Some areas that turn out to be fallacies. Yet this does not seem to be the case.  The fundamental ideas of calculus remained the same, although one had to be careful about the exact functions you were talking about. The discovery of non-Euclidean geometries simply revealed additional worlds, all the old results held but some now needed to note an additional assumption. Even the work on undecidability leads, most obviously through Alan Turing, to the theoretical underpinnings of computers. In fact studying the deeper issues seems to open up new areas but not harm those that have been established.

I therefore have a question:

Have we ever lost any mathematics?

Are there mathematical areas that have simple collapsed, having been accepted widely as true, even rigorous? I would like to rule out the case where an area has been rendered unimportant by the development of different techniques. In that case the results still hold, but are no longer as interesting.

Edit: 10/5/12

Some great discussion on math overflow, including one serious candidate, Italian algebraic geometry.


Being wrong

February 24, 2012

I hate being wrong, ask anyone in my family, they will get that slightly weary look and agree (and I am not the only one). I have tried to counter this by learning and improving my knowledge, which helps me, but if I am honest doesn’t help my family. In addition I am a teacher and so, in many situations, could just fall back on authority. Yet in teaching I have realised something important, I actually like it when my students are wrong. I would not say it is the best situation, perhaps, but it is positive. The reason is simple: to be wrong you have to be engaged.

I was thinking about this as I read the post on The Renaissance Mathematicus  talking about the birth of HistSci Hulk, sworn enemy of anyone who is wrong about the history of science (a noble and dangerous quest). This might seem to be the opposite position to the one that I gave above. I have felt the sting of his corrections myself, luckily in private not public! It is not opposite, in fact it is the essential counterpart. Being wrong is positive, but only as it helps on the way to better understanding. Reading about how the concepts of gravity were starting to come together before Galileo, and that he did not experiment by dropping things from the tower of Pisa, does take one further. Yet this does not make the original story worthless. It introduces the idea of gravity, the sense there was a change in understanding and  Galileo, himself.  The correction builds far more happily on this knowledge than it would standing on its own. For this to be effective, of course, we have to accept that stories (especially much loved ones) can be wrong, and more to the point we ourselves might be wrong.

I believe this is actually the great strength of the scientific method, and mathematical proof. Not that they can be used to show things are right, not even that they can show things to be wrong, but that they give a framework to persuade someone they are wrong. They help to develop understanding faster and further.

So do not get embarrassed when you are wrong. Do not get defensive. Learn to embrace it, be grateful, admit it. Then you are learning.

“It is better to open your mouth and learn that you were a fool, than to remain silent and never know.”

Some other takes on the same idea come from the inventor James Dyson and the author Kathryn Schulz.


Don Quixote tilts at Zeta functions

October 11, 2011

A friend of mine, Rohit Gupta (@fadesingh) has been doing some of the most creative mathematics communication out there. Using myths, stories, puzzles and poetry he has been making deep questions of mathematics accessible to others in online workshops and now a newspaper column in India. He is about to start a crazy and fascinating project, taking on possibly the greatest challenge of modern mathematics, the Riemann Hypothesis, which plunges the depths of the mysterious structure of the prime numbers. This would be an ambitious project for a group of mathematicians to take on. Current wisdom is probably that there are not even realistic routes to solve the problem. For a group with little or no mathematical training it is just crazy. That is what I love about the project.

Regular readers of this blog will know that I am a fan of impossible quests, and this one comes damn close. In the classic tradition of Don Quixote (which even mentions prime numbers) the value of a quest lies in the seeking, not the goal. Why should the privilege of failing to prove the Riemann Hypothesis be reserved to mathematicians? At worst a group of people will learn a lot, just getting an idea of the prime number theorem, or a clue about what a zeta function even is, is already an achievement. Can that be bad?

Even better the project emphasises that whatever your philosophy of mathematics, its actual study is a very human process. Baring some fairly extreme situations, if the Riemann Hypothesis is proved it will be by humans. Possible special and weird humans, but humans nonetheless. Just as the problem itself was discovered/dreamt up/found by one. Changing the perception of mathematicians as priests with almost magical abilities, to smart, professionals who have been through a tough training again cannot be a bad thing.

I am therefore proud to be part of this project, and see my role as that of Sancho Panza, sometimes bringing the flights of fancy down to earth, but increasingly fascinated and invested in the quest and where it might lead.

Of course it doesn’t hurt that the first stage of the project is playing with quasi-crystals, which have been a large part of my research life.


The Academy: Axiom 1

September 3, 2011

The rule

This post is not trying to do anything clever. It is making a statement that seems self-evident:

There are three ways to gain understanding of the world:

  • Personal experience
  • Systems of rules
  • Stories

All are equally important, and each has its strengths and weaknesses.

The important point is not the content of the statement but the stating of it. This is not just something that feels correct (to me) but something that feels fundamental. This mirrors one of the quests of mathematics to find the simplest statements on which to build the whole subject. I have my suspicions that the same thing would not work completely here, though writing the “Elements of the Academy” with this as one of the axioms might make a curious exercise!

This axiom maps onto the world of academia. The Sciences are primarily concerned with the use of rules to understand the world; the Arts centred on the creation of objects that attempt to transfer personal experience; and the Humanities write, dissect and try to understand the stories of the world.

All three areas, of course, do and should take advantage of the strengths of the other two methods as well as their primary concern.

The story

As a mathematician I obviously come from the grand tradition of finding rules to understand the world. For much of human history this was known to be rather limited in its scope. It was applicable to commerce, certainly; but also to questions of measurement, and to the study of the stars and music. Then, with the acceptance of arguments based on infinitesimals and the genius of Newton and Liebniz, the models of calculus opened up a vast array of phenomena to understanding through rules. It was so successful that many started to believe that it would eventually explain everything.

I do not believe this to be the case. Chaos theory shows that even perfect models can be severely limited by small, unavoidable, measurement errors. The work of Gödel and Turing shows that even in the purely theoretical world, there are unanswerable questions. Some even believe that as fundamental a system as arithmetic might contain contradictions. Before we even get to these hard limits we must deal with the soft limits imposed by the great ideas that we have yet to have.

Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on situation and personal preference,  the world offers many questions that we cannot answer with a systematic, rules based approach. Questions we cannot ignore. I wanted to define for myself the other options, and place them in some imagined framework.

The personal experience

I don’t believe I have said much here. It is, as I stated, self-evident. I also think it is important. It has been useful and practical to me. So, if you have managed to read this far, I thank you, but ask one further thing. Think about it yourself and see if it is a useful for you too.

Acknowledgements

This post grew out of a string of tweets, out of which grew very valuable discussion with  Colin Wright (@ColinTheMathmo) and Daniel Colquitt (@danielcolquitt), on twitter and elsewhere.


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