Tuesday, 8 December 2020

Professor E. Brian Davies’s Mathematical Empiricism


 

Edward Brian Davies was born in 1944. He is a Fellow of the Royal Society and was Professor of Mathematics at King’s College London (1981–2010). Davies has written papers on spectral theory, non-self-adjoint operators, operator theory/functional analysis, elliptic partial differential operators, Schrodinger operators (in quantum theory) and so on. He was awarded a Gauss Lectureship by the German Mathematical Society in 2010.

This commentary is on the relevant parts of Davies’s book, Science in the Looking Glass. The following is not a book review.

A Short Introduction to Mathematical Empiricism

E. Brian Davies’s own position on mathematics (or at least on numbers) is generally called mathematical empiricism.

The following short introduction is a basic account of such a position as it relates specifically to what Davies has to say on the subject. Nonetheless, this isn’t to say that Davies would endorse everything in this account of empiricism and its relation to mathematics.

Mathematical empiricism has it (in very broad terms) that mathematics simply can’t be known a priori. (Something that is known a priori is something that can be known by “reason alone”.) As Davies will state later (if very broadly and in a slightly different way), the mathematical empiricist believes that “mathematical facts” are discovered by empirical research. Indeed this position can be traced back to the philosopher John Stuart Mill in the 19th century — and probably before him. Davies’s own position is close to Mill’s in that the latter believed that the empirical justification for mathematics (or at least for certain types of number) comes directly from empirical objects.

In more concrete terms, “quasi-empiricists” argue that when doing their research, mathematicians “test hypotheses”; as well as prove theorems.

Mathematical empiricism can again be found in the 20th century in the works of (among many others) W. V. O. Quine and Hilary Putnam .

Without going into great detail, the most obvious argument against mathematical empiricism is that this position must have in it that literally all the results (or theorems) of mathematics are as fallible as the results in the empirical sciences. Or, alternatively put, that mathematical results are always contingent and never necessary. Of course this position is — many would argue — hugely problematic and that’s obviously so (or so it would seem). However, this isn’t the place to go into detail on this specific issue. (See the short note at the end of this piece.)

E. Brian Davies’s Mathematical Empiricism

At first glance it’s difficult to see how mathematics generally, and numbers specifically, have anything to do with what philosophers call “the empirical” (This is obviously the case for the mathematicians and philosophers whom call themselves Platonists). Nonetheless, most people are aware of the fact that mathematics is applied to the world and is an extremely useful — indeed necessary — tool for describing empirical reality. However, empiricists go one step further than this by arguing that mathematics itself is empirical in nature. Or they argue - at the least in E. Brian Davies’s case — that certain types of real number have an empirical status.

Quickly, it’s worth pointing out here that one can make a distinction between two things when it comes to empiricism and mathematics:

  1. Having an empiricist (philosophical) position on mathematics itself.
  2. Making one’s own philosophical empiricism more scientific by making it more mathematical.

Although these are two different positions, it can be said that both apply to Davies’s own position.

Small Real Numbers

E. Brian Davies puts his position at its most simple when he says that for a “‘counting’ number its truth is simply a matter of observation”. Here there’s a reference to “counting”; which is a psychological (or cognitive) phenomenon. By inference, it also refers to what we count. And what we count are empirical objects (i.e., objects we can experience using our sense organs). That means that empirical objects need to be experienced (or observed) in the psychological (or cognitive) act of counting.

Prima facie, it’s hard to know what Davies means when he writes that

“[s]mall numbers have strong empirical support but huge numbers do not”.

Even if that means that we can count empirical objects easily enough with numbers, does that alone give small numbers “strong empirical support”? Perhaps we’re still talking about two completely different (or separate) things: small numbers and empirical objects. Simply because numbers can be used to count objects, does that (on its own) confer some kind of empirical reality on such numbers? We’re obviously justified in using numbers for counting objects; though that may just be a matter of usefulness. Again, do small numbers themselves have the empirical nature of objects (as it were) passed onto them simply by virtue of their being used in acts of counting?

Davies then mentions Peano’s axioms in this respect.

Surely small numbers existed before “assenting to Peano’s axioms”.

Davies believes that by accepting such axioms we then have the means to create, produce or construct small numbers. That is, we firstly take the axioms; and then we derive all the small numbers from them. However, before the creation of these axioms, and the subsequent generation of small numbers as theorems, didn’t the small numbers already exist? A realist (or Platonist) would say, “Yes”. A constructivist (of some kind) would say, “No”.

Davies appears to put a set-theoretic position on numbers in that he tells us that “‘counting’ numbers [do] exist in some sense”. (I say set-theoretic in the sense that the nature of each number is determined by its one-to-one correspondence — i.e., bijection - with other members of other sets.) What sense? In the sense that

“we can point to many different collections of (say) ten objects, and see that they have something in common”.

Prima facie, I can’t see how numbers suddenly spring into existence simply because we count the members of one set and them put the members of other equal-membered sets in a relation of one-to-one correspondence with the original set. In other words, how numbers are used can’t give them an empirical status. Something is used. However, does that use entirely determine the metaphysical nature of (small) numbers? (We use pens; though the use of a pen and the pen itself are two different things.)

In any case, what these “collections” have in common (according to Davies) is that we can “see” their equivalences. So do we also see the relevant numbers rather than count them?

How do we count without using numbers? That is, even if there are equivalence classes, are numbers still surreptitiously used in the very definition of numbers?

Davies then goes on to argue a case for the empirical reality of small real numbers. There is a logical problem here, which he faces.

Davies offers a (kind of) numerical version of the sorites paradox for vague concepts (or even vague objects). Let me put his position in the following logical form; using Davies’s own words:

  1. “If one is prepared to admit that 3 exists independently of human society.”
  2. “Then by adding 1 to it one must believe that 4 exists independently…
  3. “[Therefore] the number 1010100 must exist independently.”

This would work better if Davies hadn’t used the clause “exists independently of human society”. I say that because it’s empirically possible (or psychologically possible) that there must be a finite limit to human counting-processes. Thus counting to 4 is no problem. However, according to Davies, counting to 1010100 may not be something “human society” can do. Yet 1010100 exists even though Davies believes that mathematics tells us that

“It is not physically possible to continue repeatedly the argument in the manner stated until one reaches the number 1010100”.

Extremely Large Real Numbers

Davies begins his case for what he calls the “metaphysical” or “questionable” nature of extremely large numbers by saying that they “never refer to counting procedures”. Instead,

“they arise when one makes measurements and then infers approximate values for the numbers”.

The basic idea (again) is that there must be some kind of one-to-one correlation (or correspondence) between real numbers and empirical objects. If this isn’t forthcoming, then certain real numbers have a “questionable” (or “metaphysical”) status.

From his position on small numbers, Davies also concludes that “huge numbers have only metaphysical status”.

I don’t really understand this.

Which position in metaphysics is Davies referring to? His use of the words “metaphysical status” makes it seem like some kind of synonym for “lesser status”. However, everything has some kind of metaphysical status — from coffee cups to atoms. Numbers do as well. So it makes no sense to say that “huge numbers have only metaphysical status” until you define what status that is within metaphysics. Perhaps the statement should be: “Huge numbers only have a … metaphysical status.” In that statement, the three dots should be filled with some kind of position (or “mode of being”) within metaphysics.

Davies goes on to say similar things about “extremely small real numbers” which “have the same questionable status as extremely big ones”. I said earlier that the word “metaphysical status” (within this context) seems as if it is some kind of synonym for “lesser status”. That conclusion is backed up when Davies also uses the phrase “questionable status”. Thus a metaphysical status is also a questionable status

Nonetheless, I still can’t see how the words “metaphysical status” can be used in this way. Despite that, I’m happier with the latter locution (i.e., “extremely small real numbers have the same questionable status as extremely big ones”), than I am with the former (i.e., “huge numbers have only metaphysical status”).

Since Davies believes that there must be some kind of relation (or correspondence) between real numbers and empirical things (or objects), he also sees a problem with extremely small real numbers. Davies argues that physicists or philosophers may attempt to set up a relation between extremely small numbers and “lengths far smaller than the Planck length”. Thus the idea would be that Planck lengths divide up single empirical objects. Small numbers, therefore, correlate with individual empirical objects; whereas extremely small numbers correlate with the various Planck lengths of an object (i.e., rather than with objects in the plural).

Yet Davies doesn’t believe that this approach works.

He argues that this is because Planck lengths “have no physical meaning anyway”. By inference, this also means that extremely small numbers don’t have any empirical support. In other words, they have either a “questionable status” or a “metaphysical status” (perhaps both).

Models, Real Numbers and the External World

Davies’s more general position is that

“real numbers were devised by us to help us to construct models of the external world”.

As stated earlier, does this mean that numbers gain their empirical status simply because they’re “used to help us construct models of the external world”? However, even though real numbers are used in this way, that still may not give them an empirical status. Can’t numbers be abstract objects and still have a role to play in constructing models of the external world? (There is the problem — among other problems - of our causal interaction with abstract non-spatiotemporal numbers or objects.)

In terms of a vague analogy. We use cutlery to eat our breakfast. Yet breakfast and cutlery are completely different things. Nevertheless, they’re both (as empirical objects) in the same ballpark. What about using a pen to write about an event in history? A pen is an empirical object. What about an historical event? We can say that the pen which writes about an historical event exists. Can we also say the same about the historical event itself? Yet there’s still a relation between what the pen does and a historical event even though they have two very different metaphysical natures.

Non-physicists may also want to know how real numbers “help us to construct models of the external world”. Are the models literally made up of real numbers? If the answer is “Yes”, then what does that actually mean? Do real numbers help us measure the external world via the use of models? That is, do the numbered relations of a model match the unnumbered relations of an object (or bit of the external world)? Or do numbers actually (metaphorically?) belong to the external world just as much as they belong to the (mathematical) models we have of the external world? In other words, is the world already numerical (i.e., as in the Pythagorean position in which “all is number”)? Have we the philosophical right to say of the studied objects (or bits of the world) what we also say of the models of those studied objects (or bits of the world)?

Conclusion

E. Brian Davies puts the (or his) empiricist position on mathematics at its broadest by referring to philosophers and mathematicians whom he sees as being fellow empiricists. He cites John von Neumann, W.V.O. Quine, Alonzo Church and Hermann Weyl. These mathematicians and philosophers “accepted that mathematics should be regarded as semi-empirical science”. Of course saying that maths is “semi-” anything is open to many interpretations. Nonetheless, what Davies says about real numbers above (at least in part) clarifies this position.

Davies then brings the debate up to date when he tells us that contemporary mathematicians are “[c]ombining empirical methods with traditional proofs”. What’s more, “the empirical aspect [is often] leading the way”. Indeed Davies says that this empiricist position is “increasingly common even among pure mathematicians”.


Note:

The bald empiricist position on mathematics — or on numbers — is very easy to attack.

So just to take one example (which was aimed at J.S. Mill). The English philosopher A.J. Ayer (who was himself an empiricist… of sorts) stated (in his Language, Truth, and Logic) that if we took an empiricist position on mathematics (or specifically on arithmetic) itself, then the statement “2 + 2 = 4” would need to be seen as contingent and even uncertain. Indeed we’d also need to rely on observing two pairs coming together in order to formulate the statement in the first place.

This isn’t to say that empiricists don’t have counter-arguments to this. After all, once two pairs coming together (as it were) has been observed (either collectively or by an individual), then that doesn’t mean that all further uses of arithmetic require that we keep on matching empirical objects together in such a manner. So, sure, an abacus (or an empirical equivalent) may be psychologically and historically important for (most people) when it comes to learning arithmetic. However, that’s a fact about the human process of learning arithmetic: it’s not a fact about arithmetic itself.

Sunday, 29 November 2020

A Modern Day Mathematical Platonist — Alain Badiou


 

Alain Badiou (1937-) is a French philosopher. At one point he was the chair of Philosophy at the École normale supérieure (ENS) and founder (with Michel Foucault, Gilles Deleuze and Jean-François Lyotard) of the Faculty of Philosophy at the Université de Paris VIII. He’s now René Descartes Chair and Professor of Philosophy at The European Graduate School. Badiou has also been involved in a politics and political organisations since early in his life. Indeed he has often commented on both French and global political affairs.

More relevantly to this piece, Badiou has a strong mathematical background. He’s the son of the mathematician Raymond Badiou (1905–1996). And, according to Badiou himself, by 1967 he “already had a solid grounding in mathematics and logic”. Badiou again describes his own history when he tells us that he studied “contemporary mathematics in greater depths by taking the first two years of university math”. He then goes on to say that “[t]his was from 1956 to 1958, my first two years at at the École Normale Supérieure”.

Introduction

Despite writing this piece, much — or at least some — of the philosophical things Badiou says about mathematics I (to be honest) find incomprehensible. Either that or plain pretentious. And many of the explanations (or “textual analyses”) of Badiou’s ideas by other academics are even worse than his own. I’m not alone here. Various critics have a problem with Badiou’s philosophy of mathematics. For example, the English philosopher Roger Scruton (who died in January this year) questioned Badiou’s knowledge of the foundations of mathematics. He once wrote that Badiou doesn’t

“really understand [philosophically or mathematically?] what he is talking about when he invokes (as he constantly does) Georg Cantor’s theory of transfinite cardinals, the axioms of set theory, Gödel’s incompleteness proof or Paul Cohen’s proof of the independence of the continuum hypothesis”.

Added to all that, the mathematician Alan Sokal and physicist Jean Bricmont can be quoted stating the following words:

“Badiou happily throws together politics, Lacanian psychoanalysis and mathematical set theory […] After a brief discussion on the situation of immigrant workers, Badious refers to the continuum hypothesis.”

All the above is odd if one considers Badiou’s background and grounding in mathematics (which has just been mentioned). Then again, a grounding and background in mathematics doesn’t guarantee Badiou — or anyone else — anything. It certainly doesn’t guarantee that Badiou’s philosophy of mathematics will offer us anything worthwhile — or, in his case, comprehensible.

Having said all that, some of what Badiou says about mathematics is both crystal clear and informative. Indeed obviously this piece wouldn’t have been written if that weren’t the case. However, it’s interesting to note that most of the comprehensible quotes in the following piece are from Badiou’s book In Praise of Mathematics. Now that book is actually a translation (by Susan Spitzer) of Badiou’s “dialogue” with Gilles Haéri (who’s the Director General of the publishing house Éditions Flammarion). And one can only assume that the fact that it’s both an introductory dialogue and a (perhaps liberal) English translation may help explain its comprehensibility.

Alain Badiou’s Platonism

Alain Badiou is a Platonist. Or, more accurately, he’s a mathematical Platonist. This isn’t to say that Badiou expresses his Platonism in precisely the same way in which other Platonists have done so in the past. And Badiou is certainly a considerable distance from Plato himself on many matters (which is hardly a surprise).

In any case, Badiou says that Plato is “my old master”. He also tells us about Plato’s own position on the importance of mathematics. Badiou writes:

“For Plato… mathematics was the very foundation of universal rational knowledge: the philosopher absolutely had to begin with mathematics. Even if he ultimately went beyond it, he had to learn mathematics first. Plato thought that political leaders, for example, would be well advised to study higher mathematics for at least ten years. He indicated that they were not to be satisfied with just the minimum, since they had to do geometry in space in particular.”

Badiou also explains the “Platonic” position on mathematics . He states that

“the realist (or Platonic) conception, which holds that the object of mathematics exists outside of us”.

More specifically on mathematics and its relation to the world (or to nature), Badiou says that the “Platonic” vision has it that “mathematics is part of the thinking of what there is, of what is”.

All this can be turned into a specific position on the nature of physics.

Badiou expresses a view of mathematics that’s fairly standard among the more philosophical of physicists. That is, he believes that maths “is the science of everything that is”. Indeed with mathematics everything is “grasped as its absolutely formal level”. And Badious certainly believes that mathematics can be used to describe and explain “everything that is”.

Platonism is also tied to a belief in what Badiou himself calls “absolute truths”. Having said that, Badiou does offer a very 21st-century take on such absolute truths — as can be seen in the following passage:

“I am convinced that there are absolute truths, which, although extracted at the time of their creation from a particular soil (a moment in history, a country, a language, and so on), are nevertheless constructed in such a way that their value becomes universalized.”

I’ve just used the modifying phrase “a very 21st-century take” (i.e., on absolute truth), and that certainly applies to Badiou’s sociological and historical claim that mathematical truths are

“extracted at the time of their creation from a particular soil (a moment in history, a country, a language, and so on)”.

This means that Badiou’s position can be seen as a sociological and historical account of absolute truth. And that account certainly goes against many strong — indeed Platonic — philosophical stances on absolute truth. Or, at the very least, Badiou’s account muddies the philosophical water in that although he accepts absolute truths, he still places them within various contingent contexts. (This may seem — at least to some — to be an oxymoronic position.) The basic point is that although absolute truths do indeed exist, they’re still “discovered” within very specific historical and sociological contexts. And therefore their constructions (if that’s an appropriate word here) display the contingencies of these domains.

Is this, then, simply an ornate way of saying that the equation 2 + 2 = 4 has been expressed by many different symbols and in many different languages? Indeed the same — almost exactly the same — kind of argument is made by philosophers when they talk about propositions. That is, the very same proposition can be expressed in many different languages and in many different ways (see here).

Whatever kind of Platonism Badiou’s philosophy of mathematics actually is, it’s still clear that it can be strongly distinguished from mathematical empiricism — or, indeed, from any kind of empiricism. Badiou is explicit about this when he says that he “reject[s] the theory that mathematics derives from sensory experience”. He then explains his position in a semi-Kantian manner in the following:

“[T]he real of sensory experience is thinkable only because mathematical formalism thinks, ‘ahead of time,’ the possible forms of everything that is.”

Badiou’s Pythagoreanism or Platonism?

Badiou defends his Platonic position by citing the case of the complex numbers, the imaginaries”. These were initially “invented as a pure game”. (See the later section on formalism.) That’s why they were called “imaginaries”: in order “to make it clear that they didn’t exist”. However, later they “became a basic tool used in electromagnetism in the nineteenth century, something that no one could have foreseen”.

What point is Badiou making here?

Basically, Badiou’s point is that mathematics is always found to be instantiated in the actual world (or “the real” as he puts it). Perhaps Badiou means “nearly always” as it’s certainly the case that some mathematics (or some mathematical ideas) are certainly not instantiated in nature. The physicist Roger Penrose, for example, cites various examples of this. The argument is that if mathematics and the world are one, then why are there (to use Penrose’s words) “bodies of maths with no discernible relations to the physical world”? In terms of Penrose’s actual examples, we have the following:

“Cantor’s theory of the infinite is one noteworthy example… extraordinary little of it seems to have relevance to the workings of the physical world as we know it… The same issue arises in relation to… Gödel’s famous incompleteness theorem. Also, there are the wide-ranging and deep ideas of category theory [mentioned by Badiou too — see later section] that have yet seen rather little connection with physics.”

However, is saying that mathematics is instantiated in nature (or even that maths can describe nature) the same as saying that (as Badiou does) “everything” literally is mathematical? Perhaps, then, this is (almost) a definitional truth. That is:

  1. If everything can be described by mathematics,
  2. Then everything must be mathematical.

This takes us on to the subject of Pythagoreanism.

It’s often difficult to tell whether a philosopher of mathematics is taking a Pythagorean or a Platonic position on the relation between mathematics and the world (or nature). Indeed it is sometimes difficult to distinguish the two regardless of the philosopher — or physicist! — being commented upon.

Badiou himself tells us that “mathematics touches the real”. Mathematics does so “in a way that is not experimental”. Badiou goes on to say that mathematics can’t be experimental because it is “presupposed in experience”. The ultimate reason for this is that “the real” is mathematical — or, perhaps more tellingly, already mathematical.

Yet surely if mathematics “touches the real”, then it can’t actually be “the real”. That is, if a finger touches a flower, then the finger isn’t the actual flower it touches. Perhaps this is simply a problem brought about by Badiou’s metaphor “touches”. Yet that metaphor (if it is a metaphor) does at least hint at a separation between mathematics and the world (or the real). That’s unless mathematics is touching itself! In that case, do we have the following Pythagorean identity? -

The Real = mathematics
(The Slovenian philosopher Slavoj Žižek always capitalises the word “real” — à la Hegel — and puts the definite article before it.)

Badiou then goes on to argue that

“even the great instruments that are used in experiments, from telescopes to giant particle accelerators, are ‘materialized theory,’ and presuppose, even in the way they’re constructed, extremely complex mathematical formalisms”.

This reads like a reworking of the Pythagorean phrase “all things are numbers”. That is, mathematics is immanent in the world. Indeed mathematics is even immanent in the instruments which manipulate that world. To put it plainly, this isn’t the case of mathematics describing the world. This is a case of mathematics — or numbers — literally being instantiated in the world (or, in this particular case, in instruments).

Yet even here we can question any commitment to the world actually being mathematical. After all, Badiou uses the phrase “materialized theory”. Doesn’t that hint at a separation between mathematical theory and its materialization? That is, firstly there is the (mathematical) theory, and only then is that theory materialized. Thus the mathematics must surely antedate its materialization (in this case, in instruments).

This situation is not unlike Plato’s ante rem position on universals in which universals exist before they are instantiated by (or in) particulars. Aristotle, on the other hand, believed that universals exist post rem — i.e., only after they’re instantiated by (or in) particulars. So now it can now be said that just as there’s a separation between a universal and its instantiation (or exemplification), so there’s also a separation between a mathematical theory and its instantiation in the guise of a instrument — or its instantiation in anything else in the world. Thus if the mathematics antedates (“its”) instantiations (or concretisations), then doesn’t that call into question the idea that the world (or its parts) is (or are) literally mathematical? The most we can say is that the world can embody mathematical (to use Badiou’s term) “formalisms” — not that it is mathematics.

It’s true that instruments (to stick with Badiou’s own example) “presuppose” the mathematics in that they (metaphorically at least) abide by the mathematics. Or, more correctly, mathematics describes the instruments and the instruments must also adhere to mathematical formalisms. But simply because these instruments — and all the parts of the natural world — can be described by mathematics, that doesn’t mean that the world literally is mathematics. And the metaphorical word “abide” (or “adhere”) may not help in that the instruments must have mathematical properties (or properties that can be described by mathematics) in order for them to be what they are. However, almost all things can be described by maths — even random or chaotic events. Yet that still doesn’t mean that they actually are mathematical.

Platonic Structuralism

Alain Badiou is explicit about his structuralism — specifically when it comes to mathematics. He writes:

“Structures are first and foremost the business of mathematicians.”

He then cites his influence which not many mathematical structuralists will recognise. In more direct terms, Badiou appears to suggest that his mathematical structuralism came via his interest in — and knowledge of — Claude Lévi-Strauss’s anthropological structuralism. Badiou tells us that

“[a]t the very end of [Levi-Strauss’s] seminal book, The Elementary Structures of Kinship, the great anthropologist [] referred to the mathematician Weil to show the exchange of women could be understood by using the algebraic theory of groups”.

So the interesting thing about Badiou’s mathematical Platonism is that it’s a Platonism about structures, not numbers.

In terms of what Badiou calls “being”, the only way to to capture “being” is “to think purely formal structures”.

So what are “formal structures”?

They’re “structures indeterminate as their physical characteristics”. How does this connect to mathematics? It does so because “the science of these structures is mathematics”.

Badiou also cites a specific example of mathematical structuralism from the world of mathematics: category theory. Badiou tells us category theory

“is roughly the theory of relations ‘in general,’ with no pre-specification of given objects”.

Badiou then goes into more detail when he refers to the nature of category theory. Here he emphasises relations rather than structures. Indeed it can be seen that relations and structures are intimately tied together. Badiou tells us that

“a structural edifice is gradually built up in which relations seem to prevail over entities, or objects, or even to determine their nature and properties”.

Badiou then makes the obvious conclusion:

“So it is tempting to reduce all the so-called ‘intuitive’ objects to structural, or formal, manipulations whose principles only objects the mathematician’s decisions or choices. What then ‘exists’ are structured domains, which are accountable only to the formalism by which they are exhibited.”

The problem here is that Badiou is against what he calls “formalism”. Yet it’s the formalism that brings about the structures and relations which Badiou believes trump mathematical “entities, or objects”. That is, numbers are the children of the structures and relations and therefore of the formalisms which bring about the structures and relations.

Badiou then gives a more concrete and everyday example of mathematical structuralism.

He concentrates on the word “successor”. Firstly Badiou tells us that “[m]athematical thinking makes a tentative appearance if you say that 235,678,982 is the ‘successor’ of the number 235,678,981”. More relevantly:

“But you can then see that what really matters is the word ‘successor,’ which actually denotes an operation and therefore, ultimately, a structure, in this case addition: if the number n exists, whatever n may be, then there also exists the number n + 1, which will be called the successor of n.”

The English cosmologist and mathematician John D. Barrow also makes similar points (though he stresses operation, not structure). He writes:

“This is done by focusing attention upon the operation by which numbers are changed rather than upon the numbers themselves. Thus, a simple counting process like 1, 2, 3 … is seen not as a list of particular numbers but as the result of carrying out a particular operation of change upon a number, thereby generating its successor.”

Both the quoted passages directly above are slightly problematic in that even if numbers are generated by a structure (in this case addition), then this very structure also begins with a number — even if only an unspecified n. In other words, the operations and nature of the successors — and therefore the structure itself — seem to be dependent on the “existence” of n (which is an unspecified number). Even though n is unspecified and Badiou uses the words “carrying out a particular operation of change upon a number”, it’s still a number (or something which is taken to be a number) that begins the show: that is, not a structure or an operation.

It can of course be argued that n itself is a product of prior structures. But that simply replicates the problem in that these prior structures might also have depended on the existence of prior numbers. This means that the numbers (on this reading at least) generate the structures, rather than vice versa.

It may be concluded, then, that the reality of succession and addition (as well as of relations and structures) are distinguishable from the reality of numbers. That means that the successor relation and the operation of addition (as well as structures and relations — at least in mathematics) all depend on the prior existence of numbers. In other words, the prior nature of numbers generate the nature of the structures. Consequently, why can’t we make, say, the number 2 have a prior nature which is completely separate from it having a place in a structure — or, indeed, from it having any relations at all to other numbers?… Having said all that, this position hardly makes sense either!

Against Formalism

As many Platonists have done, Badiou pits himself against what he and many others have called “formalist” accounts of mathematics. Indeed his account of mathematical formalism is also — at least in part — an account of Ludwig Wittgenstein’s ostensibly extreme constructivism when it came to mathematics (see here).

Badiou’s fundamental point is that mathematics isn’t “purely and simply a formal, arbitrary game”. He claims that the formalist simply desires a

“codification of a language that is of course formally rigorous, since the concepts of deduction and proof are normative and formalized in it, but whose rigor cannot claim to have an ongoing relationship with empirical reality”.

In other words, maths in neither about the world nor derived from the world. One reason for this is that formalists believe (at least according to Badiou) that “[m]athematical axioms can be changed, after all”. It is, therefore, the axioms (along with the logical rules) that (as it were) create their own formal worlds.

Badiou, on the other hand, believed that maths has “content”. He says that “there is a real ‘content’ to mathematical thought”. Badiou continues:

“[Maths is] neither a language game — even if complex formalisms are required — nor is it an offshoot of pure logic.”

Indeed Badiou believes that “the majority of mathematicians” take this position too.

The mathematical physicist and mathematician Roger Penrose also replicates Badiou’s position on mathematical formalism. Penrose writes:

“The point of view that one can dispense with the meanings of mathematical statements, regarding them as nothing but strings of symbols in some mathematical system, is the mathematical standpoint of formalism.”

Penrose has a serious problem with the “point of view”. He goes on to say that “[s]ome people like this idea, whereby mathematics becomes a kind of ‘meaningless game’”. Penrose concludes:

“It is not an idea that appeals to me, however. It is indeed ‘meaning’ — not blind algorithmic computation — that gives mathematics its substance. Fortunately, Gödel dealt formalism a devastating blow!”

Perhaps Penrose’s quote above sums up what it is that Alain Badiou’s own mathematical Platonism is all about.

Thursday, 19 November 2020

Gödel’s First Incompleteness Theorem in Simple Symbols and Simple Terms


 


The following piece explains a particular symbolic expression (or version) of Kurt Gödel’s first incompleteness theorem. It also includes a particular expression (or example) of a Gödel sentence (i.e., “This statement is false” — this link takes you to a humorous entry!). In terms of the actual symbols used, this representation of the theorem expresses a (slight) philosophical and logical bias. So it’s worth noting that almost every symbolisation of the theorem is unique — if sometimes only in tiny detail. (In logic and mathematical logic there’s the common phenomenon of various symbolic “dialects” competing with — or simply complementing — each other.) And this representation and explanation exclude all the other details which surround the bare theorem itself. Indeed this symbolic representation alone doesn’t prove or demonstrate anything. And even when the symbols are defined or interpreted, that’s still the case. In addition, it’s worth distinguishing the truth (and lack of proof ) of a Gödel sentence from any proof of the first incompleteness theorem itself — even if the two can’t be entirely disentangled!

Thus the following words don’t attempt to tackle the arguments and extra details which are required to establish the theorem. And neither do they extrapolate anything from it. However, even this basic approach is bound to leave out much detail. And that’s simply because this is a short introduction to a particular symbolisation of Gödel’s first incompleteness theorem.


Three things need to be noted to begin with:

  1. The first incompleteness theorem is essentially about systems and the truth-values of certain statements within those systems. (Alternatively, the first incompleteness theorem is about a particular system and a Gödel sentence within that particular system.)
  2. Those systems and statements are arithmetical and therefore use natural numbers. (In other words, the first incompleteness theorem is not applied across the board — as it often is.)
  3. Within those systems there are some true statements about natural numbers which cannot be proved within those systems. (Alternatively, within a given system there will be a true statement about natural numbers that cannot be proved within that system.)

To get to the core of Kurt Gödel’s first incompleteness theorem, let’s sum it up in its bare logical (or symbolic) form. This particular symbolism (just one among many) will hopefully capture what’s at the heart of the theorem.

Take the following symbolic representation from the logician and philosopher Professor Alasdair Urquhart (as found in his paper ‘Metatheory’):

G ↔ ¬Prov(G⌝)

The following is a list of definitions of the symbols in the biconditional theorem above:

G = a Gödel sentence
= if and only if (i.e., the biconditional symbol)
¬ = negation (or “not”)
Prov = provable
¬Prov = not provable
G = The “code number” of the Gödel sentence G. (The superscripted Quine corners are — basically — quotation marks.)

Thus G ¬Prov (⌜G⌝ ) means:

The sentence “This sentence is false” is true if and only if it is not provable in system T (i.e., the system to which it belongs).

Or:

Gödel sentence G is true if and only if there is no proof of G in system T (i.e., the system to which it belongs).

So why is the symbol G put in brackets after the if and only if (i.e., ↔) sign and the sign (i.e., ¬) for negation? Why do we have the symbol ⌜ G rather than plain G? This is because the brackets (i.e., ⌜ and ⌝) symbolise self-reference or “quotation”. That is, firstly we have the symbol G, and then when we refer to G we get ⌜G ⌝.

Thus ⌜ G⌝ is a “code number”.

A code number is a number which is used to identify something. This means that ⌜ G⌝ is the code number of the Gödel sentence G (i.e., the symbol G without brackets). Furthermore, a Gödel number is a specific kind of code number. In mathematical logic, Gödel numbers are natural numbers which are assigned to statements (as well as to the individual symbols within those statements ) within a given system or formal language.

In terms of the biconditional symbol (i.e., ↔).

This symbolises that both sides of the equality sign (i.e., =) are logically equivalent in that both are either jointly true or jointly false. Note: this doesn’t also mean that they have the same meaning.

This is one expression of the aforesaid biconditional:

i) G 
is true
if and only if 
ii) ¬Prov(⌜
G⌝) 
is true.

Alternatively, the inversion (i.e., since the theorem includes a biconditional):

i) ¬Prov(⌜ G⌝)
is true
if and only if
ii)
G
is true.

The Gödel sentence G (in this instance, “This statement is false”) is self-referential. That is, it refers to itself (or G refers to G). The archetype of this Gödel sentence is the Liar paradox; which is also self-referential. Indeed self-reference is at the heart of the whole show! Without self-reference we wouldn’t have a Gödel sentence or the problems and insights which arise from it. (See my ‘Why Empty Logic Leads to the Liar Paradox’.)

In addition, Gödel sentence G is true if and only if there is no proof of G. Ordinarily it’s taken that a mathematical statement P is taken to be true if and only if there is a proof of P. Gödel’s first incompleteness theorem is saying the literal opposite of that.

What’s also important here is to note the Gödel sentence’s position in a system (or theory). None of this makes any sense outside the context of the system (or theory) to which Gödel sentence G belongs. In other words, taking G entirely on its own makes no sense at all.