It can hardly be said without understatement: math is a part of almost every human activity directly or indirectly. It is apocryphally said that every human (or even dog) “does” calculus when it catches a ball thrown at it… Really, I think that is (possibly) overstated, but surely we do a lot of math and mathematical approximation in our everyday life. A short list:[ul][li]Estimating time to drive to various locations, near and (especially) far[]Balancing or roughly balancing the amount of money in our accounts[]Estimating the time it takes to pay off debts[]Deciding what size bookshelf, or how many bookshelves of a particular size, to purchase[]Counting caloriesDetermining what errors are acceptable[/ul]Really, the list seems endless. What strikes me about these things is not that they can be represented mathematically (as catching a ball) but that they are a direct and immediate application of mathematics and mathematical thought.[/li]
Let’s return to the ball-catching or ball-throwing example, because it is slightly more complicated than simple arithmetic and, I think, illustrates important points. There are three ways to look at the situation. One is that we have inductively “got a feel” for where a ball will land given its apparent speed and angle, and we can explain a ball’s motion given certain assumptions with math. Another is that we inductively “got a feel” for the math behind the motion itself, and have managed to formalize this motion with what is normally understood as math (that is, symbolic manipulation). Finally, the third possibility that I see is that we are actually doing the math (insert vague behaviorist “in some way” here as desired).
Mankind’s philosophical relationship with math has been very peculiar over the years. We’ve come, at various times, to try and discern what math means in a subjective and objective sense, and some have discerned a complicated game (formalists) while others a near-divine intuition (platonists). Still others have attempted to divine other isms to encapsulate the mathematical experience.
I think they have fallen short. I think the most suitable way to approach mathematics is as a language in a Wittgensteinian sense: an activity, a way-of-doing. This activity has no natural or artificial boundries. Any attempt to define mathematics qua mathematics or mathematics as an activity will result in the unfortunate circumstance of excluding obviously mathematical behavior. If we adopt Hilbert’s formalism, for example, balancing a checkbook and trusting that balance is a mystery. If we adopt mathematical platonism, we can be forced into a holier-than-thou stance where some of us have special access to an eternal realm, and balancing a checkbook properly is still a mystery.
Instead let us pursue mathematics as the grammar of certainty. Logic, set theory, number theory, algebra, the calculus, analytic geometry, ideal geometry: these, to us, are the language of certainty. To the extent that our activities or interests lie in certainty, our activities will tend towards mathematics. To the extent that I am certain of something, I can use mathematical speech or writing to show that certainty. A argument used as a tool for transferring certainty or knowledge has a symbolic form just as any word, sentence, or (public) thought. To the extent that my certainty can be shared, it is mathematical. (Contrast: “To the extent that I only feel certain, it cannot be shared.”)
I do mean to partially dismiss the symbology of mathematics inasmuch as English does not demand a symbology, but I do not mean to dismiss the symbology in that it is somehow distinct or seperate or useless in general. Where homophones fail, symbology succeeds; and where the mind fails to grasp large propositions holistically, symbology aids in that task. But it is important to remember that English is not as it is written, and math is not as it is done on paper.
We, as humans, do math all the time, but we have not all learned to speak math. Those who have not developed the ability to do math as an activity of symbolic manipulation are no less mathematical than the fact that I can’t speak French implies a failing on my part to speak a conversational language.
As with any language, the ability to master it (and I don’t mean “get a PhD”!) opens doors, enables pursuits, and increases one’s ability to assemble relationships and analogies. But also as with any language, its mastery comes from expediency or desire than a tabula rasa simply being written on.
Math per se is not a thing, nor is it strictly a tool for abstraction, a kind of representation. It is a language, and we learn it in the way we have found a need or desire to in our own daily pursuits. As a language, the meaning of math is in its use. For what does the symbol “this” mean? Well, we use it thusly. What does “x[sup]2[/sup] + y[sup]2[/sup] = 1” mean? Well, in these cases… and in these… and we treat it so.
The test for mastery of mathematics is the same as the test of mastery of a language: its use. We use this symbol as such, and those who use it otherwise are not violating reality but convention.
Mathematics, then, is not a part of, a result of, indicative of, or an ontology. The use of mathematics in science, for example, does nothing other than encode our certainty. Electrons aren’t points, even if our mathematical theories of electrons never ever say otherwise, anymore than I am literally solving a calculus problem when I catch a ball. We encapsulate the non-psychological rules of certainty with mathematics. We are sure electrons behave this way, and I don’t mean “we have a feeling of certainty”; I mean we explain electrons mathematically in order to demonstrate and transfer our certainty of how electrons behave.
Mathematics, then, is not a tool. It is not a metaphor, because if it were it would have to be “a metaphor for what it is” which is absurd (as if a sex scene was a metaphor for sex). The attempt to strain “tool” to include mathematics creates a container so big that everything is a tool. (And then what use is the word? What is is supposed to distinguish?) Math is not simply something we use to solve problems, because to say so we’d again return to the person throwing or catching a ball and suggesting, quite contrary to events, that the person is “really” doing calculus. The calculus equation in question requires the accelleration due to gravity, and then we’d be forced to suggest that the person “really” knows that value even if they cannot answer the question “what is accelleration due to gravity?” And that would abuse the verb “to know” which implies the ability to demonstrate (contrast: “to believe”, which makes no presumption of demonstration). So we can’t say math is a tool, or we’re still left holding the bag without explaining how people catch a ball.
No, the person catching a ball is “doing math” inasmuch as they have a behavioral certainty in their actions (again, not “a feeling of certainty”). “I knew the ball was going to be there.” Note that here the person demonstrates their knowledge by catching a ball enough times to satisfy the questioner–it is not required that he pull out a piece of paper. Note again the similarity to language, as we learn a language (say, from our parents), the test of our vocabulary is in a word’s use, not in our ability to scribble down a sentence and mark its position, its position’s name, et cetera.
As an activity, its test of compency or mastery is the performing of the activity itself in any way which that activity is used. Catching a ball, balancing a checkbook, estimating travel time: these are math just as much as proving the limit of an infinite series.
This is a testament to math’s generality. It is an abuse of the mathematical experience to suggest that people don’t know math because they can’t perform the symbolic manipulations, just as it is an abuse of the English experience to suggest that people don’t know English because they are illiterate.
The boundry between natural language and mathematics is also not distinct, which is further evidence of my suggestion. For consider, where do we place the following proposition, “Twelve times twelve is one hundred forty-four.” Is that a mathematical proposition, or an English proposition? Can we try and back away from the abiguity and suggest, “It is is a mathematical proposition in English”? But how did the certainty of math arrive in English if they do not have, as it were, a link? Is it merely a convenience that we have words in English for mathematical propositions? To me the answer is obviously no. Language as a behavior is not mere representation, or a tool, or an isomorphism of some kind. Mathematics is in various languages because it is a language and translation is possible, build on the bedrock of human activity.
Above, I noted, “Logic, set theory, number theory, algebra, the calculus, analytic geometry, ideal geometry: these, to us, are the language of certainty.” Now we see why the question, “Certain of what?” can lead us down strange ontological paths like formalism and platonism: the question is somewhat improper, and the answer is simply, “Certain of whatever we’re doing.” It also shows why math itself is so certain, because any attempt to determine its certainty is circular. Math is certain because certainty (as a public phenomenon) is characterized by math (as an activity).
To those of you who have a position on “what math is”, has my exposition made you rethink your stance? Do you agree with it? Disagree? Why?