{"id":857,"date":"2010-05-03T19:35:52","date_gmt":"2010-05-03T19:35:52","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/scientopia.org\/blogs\/goodmath\/2010\/05\/03\/the-danger-when-you-dont-know-what-you-dont-know\/"},"modified":"2010-05-03T19:35:52","modified_gmt":"2010-05-03T19:35:52","slug":"the-danger-when-you-dont-know-what-you-dont-know","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/www.goodmath.org\/blog\/2010\/05\/03\/the-danger-when-you-dont-know-what-you-dont-know\/","title":{"rendered":"The Danger When You Don&#039;t Know What You Don&#039;t Know"},"content":{"rendered":"<p> A little bit of knowledge is a dangerous thing.<\/p>\n<p> There&#8217;s no shortage of stupidity in the world. And, alas, it comes in many, <em>many<\/em> different kinds. Among the ones that bug me, pretty much the worst is the stupidity that comes from <em>believing<\/em> that you know something that you don&#8217;t.<\/p>\n<p> This is particularly dangerous for people like me, who write blogs like this one where we try to explain math and science to non-mathemicians\/non-scientists. Part of what we do, when we&#8217;re writing our blogs, is try to take complicated ideas, and explain them in ways that make them at least somewhat comprehensible to non-experts.<\/p>\n<p> There are, arising from this, two dangers that face a math or science blogger.<\/p>\n<ol>\n<li> There is the danger of screwing up ourselves. I&#8217;ve demonstrated this plenty of times. I&#8217;m not an expert in all of the things that I&#8217;ve tried to write about, and I&#8217;ve made some pretty glaring errors. I do my best to acknowledge and correct those errors, but it&#8217;s all too easy to deceive myself into thinking that I understand something better than I actually do. I&#8217;m embarrassed every time that I do that.<\/li>\n<li> There is the danger of doing a good enough job that our readers believe that <em>they<\/em> really understand something on the basis of our incomplete explanation. When you&#8217;re writing for a popular audience, you don&#8217;t generally get into every detail of the subject. You do your best to just find a way of explaining it in a way that gives people some intuitive handle on the idea. It&#8217;s not perfect, but that&#8217;s life. I&#8217;ve read a couple of books on relativity, and I don&#8217;t pretend to really fully understand it. I can&#8217;t quite wrap my head around all of the math. That&#8217;s after reading several entire <em>books<\/em> aimed at a popular audience. Even at that length, you can&#8217;t explain all of the details if you&#8217;re writing for non-experts. And if you can&#8217;t do it in a three-hundred page book, then you certainly can&#8217;t do it in a single blog post! But sometimes, a reader will see a simplified popular explanation, and believe that because they understand <em>that<\/em>, that they&#8217;ve gotten the whole thing. In my experience, relativity is one of the most common examples of this phenomenon. <\/li>\n<\/ol>\n<p> Todays post is <a href=\"http:\/\/www.cosmicfingerprints.com\/blog\/incompleteness\/\">an example of how terribly wrong you can go<\/a> by taking an intuitive explanation of something, believing that you understand the whole thing from that intuitive explanation, and running with it, headfirst, right into a brick wall.<\/p>\n<p><!--more--><\/p>\n<p> As any long-time reader of this blog knows, I&#8217;m absolutely fascinated by Kurt G&ouml;del, and his incompleteness theorem. Incompleteness is, without a doubt, one of the most important, most profound, most surprising, and most world-changing discoveries in the history of mathematics. It&#8217;s also one of the most misunderstood.<\/p>\n<p> The problem is exactly what I described up above. It&#8217;s a really complicated idea. You can&#8217;t fully grasp it without having a really good understanding of logic and proof, and spending time going through the whole proof, in all of its gory details. But you can get across the gist of it with a simple explanation &#8211; and therein lies the problem. The gist that you can grasp with a simple explanation <em>isn&#8217;t<\/em> the real meaning of the incompleteness theorem. It&#8217;s an approximation &#8211; something close enough to what the theorem says to help you understand it &#8211; but it&#8217;s not the real meaning of the theorem. And if you don&#8217;t realize that you don&#8217;t understand all of the details, you can wind up making some really serious errors.<\/p>\n<p> One of the common ways that G&ouml;del&#8217;s incompleteness theorem is explained is by a metaphor. Incompleteness shows how, when you&#8217;re working inside of a formal mathematical system, you can find statements that can&#8217;t be proven true or false from within the system. So as an approximation of that, people sometimes say something like &#8220;If you&#8217;ve got all of the true statements you can prove inside of a circle, then G&ouml;del shows that there&#8217;s something <em>outside<\/em> of that circle.&#8221; That&#8217;s a nice metaphor, which is certainly clearer, on an intuitive level than the earlier, but more correct, statement.<\/p>\n<p> People often try to make it even a bit clearer, by extending that metaphor: If you&#8217;ve got a set of tools for drawing geometric systems, and you use them to draw a circle, part of the field that you use to draw on must be outside your circle. No matter how careful you are, you&#8217;ll can&#8217;t draw a line around an area of the field without leaving part of the field outside of it. G&ouml;del&#8217;s theorem describes a mathematical form of the same sort of problem: if you have a good enough set of mathematical tools for showing what&#8217;s true and what&#8217;s false, there will be things that fall outside of the range of those mathematical tools.<\/p>\n<p> The problem is, that&#8217;s just an intuitive explanation. It misses the depth of incompleteness. It both makes incompleteness seem like something <em>more<\/em> than it really is, and also like something <em>less<\/em> than it really is.<\/p>\n<p> You can try to make the statement of the theorem closer to accurate. That&#8217;s what I just did two paragraphs ago: I restated it in terms of a mathematical toolkit. That&#8217;s closer. But it still stinks.<\/p>\n<p> I can get even closer, by saying something like &#8220;In any valid, consistent, formal mathematical system that&#8217;s capable of expressing Peano arithmetic, there will be true statements that cannot be proved within the system.&#8221; That&#8217;s considerably closer, but it <em>still<\/em> misses some of the essential points. After all, what does &#8220;true&#8221; mean in a formal system? And it misses one of the big facets of incompleteness, which is that no matter how careful you are to create a careful model that&#8217;s constrained to prevent self-referential statements, you can always create an alternative and equally valid model that <em>does<\/em> include problematic statement. Grasping that fact, that there&#8217;s more than one model that can be fit to any consistent system, and what that really means, is absolutely crucial to fully understanding incompleteness.<\/p>\n<p> The point, however, is that just because you&#8217;ve understood some intuitive explanation of something doesn&#8217;t mean that you really understand it. And using your incomplete understanding as the basis for building a proof of something else is, pretty much inevitably, going to be a total disaster.<\/p>\n<p> Our target in this post is the author of an argument that tries to use G&ouml;del&#8217;s incompleteness theorem as a proof of the existence of God. It&#8217;s a perfect example of what I&#8217;ve just gone on at great length explaining. The author takes the &#8220;no circle without something outside of it&#8221; explanation of G&ouml;del, and abuses it horribly. He really believes that he gets it, and that he&#8217;s doing valid reasoning on the basis of incompleteness. But because he doesn&#8217;t know that he doesn&#8217;t really understand it, he makes a mess.<\/p>\n<p> Here&#8217;s his explanation of G&ouml;del:<\/p>\n<blockquote>\n<p><b>G\u00f6del&#8217;s Incompleteness Theorem says:<\/b><\/p>\n<p>&#8220;Anything you can draw a circle around cannot explain itself without referring to something outside the circle &#8211; something you have to assume but cannot prove.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p> You can draw a circle around all of the concepts in your high school geometry book. But they&#8217;re all built on Euclid&#8217;s 5 postulates which we know are true but cannot be proven. Those 5 postulates are outside the book, outside the circle.<\/p>\n<p> You can draw a circle around a bicycle. But the existence of that bicycle relies on a factory that is outside that circle. The bicycle cannot explain itself.<\/p>\n<p> You can draw the circle around a bicycle factory. But that factory likewise relies on other things outside the factory.<\/p>\n<p> G\u00f6del proved that there are ALWAYS more things that are true than you can prove. Any system of logic or numbers that mathematicians ever came up with will always rest on at least a few unprovable assumptions.<\/p>\n<p> G\u00f6del&#8217;s Incompleteness Theorem applies not just to math, but to everything that is subject to the laws of logic. Everything that you can count or calculate. Incompleteness is true in math; it&#8217;s equally true in science or language and philosophy. <\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<p> Anyone who knows math can tell you that most of that has nothing to do with G&ouml;del. It&#8217;s mostly confused babble. G&ouml;del didn&#8217;t prove that you need to start any proof with a set of unproven axioms. That was part of math and logic long before G&ouml;del ever came along. But our author believes that that&#8217;s what G&ouml;del actually talked about.<\/p>\n<p> It isn&#8217;t. G&ouml;del showed that given a formal mathematical system of sufficient power, you can produce a statement in the system which is true, but which is not provable within the system. Like I said before, that&#8217;s still a wretched oversimplification, but it&#8217;s a whole lot closer to the real meaning. What G&ouml;del did was show how you can use simple arithmetic to encode logical statements into numbers; and then that you could use that encoding to create a number which encodes the statement &#8220;This statement cannot be proven true within this system&#8221;. It&#8217;s true: you can&#8217;t prove it within the system. You can use a different system to show that it&#8217;s true; but in <em>that<\/em> system, you can do a similar construction, and show how that system includes statements that are true, but not provable within it.<\/p>\n<p> But he&#8217;s convinced that he understands it, and that what it really means is that you need axioms that are outside of the system. He really believes that the &#8220;something is outside of the circle&#8221; explanation really does express the full meaning of G&ouml;del, and that the things outside of the circle are the basic axioms.<\/p>\n<p> Of course, he&#8217;s only just begun. Nothing demonstrates your command of a subject better than your ability to take it and try to apply it to a domain where it makes <em>absolutely no sense at all<\/em>. <\/p>\n<blockquote>\n<p>A &#8220;theory of everything&#8221; &#8211; whether in math, or physics, or philosophy &#8211; will never be found. Because it is mathematically impossible.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<p> Does G&ouml;del really say that you can&#8217;t describe the physics of reality mathematically? No. We&#8217;re actually pretty close to nailing down something like a grand unification theory, which would be a physical theory of everything. And G&ouml;del&#8217;s theorem has <em>nothing<\/em> to do with whether or not it&#8217;s possible.<\/p>\n<blockquote>\n<p>OK, so what does this really mean? Why is this super-important, and not just an interesting geek factoid?<\/p>\n<p>Here&#8217;s what it means:<\/p>\n<ul>\n<li> <b>Faith and Reason are not enemies.<\/b> In fact, the exact opposite is true! One is absolutely necessary for the other to exist. All reasoning ultimately traces back to faith in something that you cannot prove.<\/p>\n<\/li>\n<\/blockquote>\n<p> Once again, completely wrong. G&ouml;del&#8217;s theorem says nothing of the sort. He&#8217;s still making the same basic mistake &#8211; that what G&ouml;del did was show that logic requires axioms. That&#8217;s not what it says, and even if it was, this kind of vague, fuzzy, feel-good statement wouldn&#8217;t follow logically from it.<\/p>\n<blockquote>\n<ul>\n<li>All closed systems depend on something outside the system.<\/li>\n<li> You can always draw a bigger circle but there will still be something outside the circle.<\/li>\n<\/ul>\n<\/blockquote>\n<p> You should be starting to see the pattern by now. He really doesn&#8217;t understand what incompleteness means. But he&#8217;s got one silly metaphor about circles, which he&#8217;s misinterpreted, and which he&#8217;s absolutely convinced is <em>the whole truth<\/em>. G&ouml;del&#8217;s theorem doesn&#8217;t say either of those things. It doesn&#8217;t come close to saying anything like those things, and no one who even comes <em>close<\/em> to understanding what it says could possibly make that mistake.<\/p>\n<p> The problem with all of the statements above is (apart from his confusion about axioms) the fact that G&ouml;del&#8217;s incompleteness theorem is a statement about <em>formal logical systems<\/em>, and <em>statements within those systems<\/em>. Incompleteness doesn&#8217;t talk about religion, faith, god, circles, or open or closed systems. It talks about formal logical inference systems.<\/p>\n<p> Anyway, we&#8217;re just finally coming to the point of his argument. But first he needs to take even more of logic and push it into his &#8220;circles&#8221; rubbish:<\/p>\n<blockquote>\n<p>Reasoning inward from a larger circle to a smaller circle (from &#8220;all things&#8221; to &#8220;some things&#8221;) is deductive reasoning.<\/p>\n<p>Example of a deductive reasoning:<\/p>\n<ol>\n<li> All men are mortal<\/li>\n<li> Socrates is a man<\/li>\n<li> Therefore Socrates is mortal<\/li>\n<\/ol>\n<p> Reasoning outward from a smaller circle to a larger circle (from &#8220;some things&#8221; to &#8220;all things&#8221;) is inductive reasoning.<\/p>\n<p>Examples of inductive reasoning:<\/p>\n<ul>\n<li>\n<ol>\n<li>All the men I know are mortal<\/li>\n<li> Therefore all men are mortal<\/li>\n<\/ol>\n<\/li>\n<li>\n<ol>\n<li> When I let go of objects, they fall<\/li>\n<li>Therefore there is a law of gravity that governs all falling objects<\/li>\n<\/ol>\n<\/li>\n<\/ul>\n<p> Notice than when you move from the smaller circle to the larger circle, you have to make assumptions that you cannot 100% prove.<\/p>\n<p> For example you cannot PROVE gravity will always be consistent at all times. You can only observe that it&#8217;s consistently true every time.<\/p>\n<p> Nearly all scientific laws are based on inductive reasoning. All of science rests on an assumption that the universe is orderly, logical and mathematical based on fixed discoverable laws.<\/p>\n<p> You cannot PROVE this. (You can&#8217;t prove that the sun will come up tomorrow morning either.) You literally have to take it on faith. In fact most people don&#8217;t know that outside the science circle is a philosophy circle. Science is based on philosophical assumptions that you cannot scientifically prove. Actually, the scientific method cannot prove, it can only infer.<\/p>\n<p> (Science originally came from the idea that God made an orderly universe which obeys fixed, discoverable laws &#8211; and because of those laws, He would not have to constantly tinker with it in order for it to operate.)<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<p> Those are just about the <em>worst<\/em> definitions of &#8220;inductive&#8221; and &#8220;deductive&#8221; that I&#8217;ve seen. But worse is that they&#8217;re part of a purportedly mathematical argument: in math, &#8220;inductive&#8221; and &#8220;deductive&#8221; mean something specific, and <em>it&#8217;s not this<\/em>. In math, inductive reasoning absolutely does produce proofs.<\/p>\n<p> But the worst part of that is: &#8220;the scientific method cannot prove, it can only infer&#8221;. What does &#8220;infer&#8221; mean? In mathematical terms &#8211; in the terms that we&#8217;re using because we&#8217;re talking about the implications of a logical proof! &#8211; it means <em>prove using mechanical inference rules within a formal mathematical system&#8221;<\/em>. So his statement, in mathematical terms, reduces to a contradiction: &#8220;the scientific method cannot prove, it can only prove&#8221;.<\/p>\n<p> And now, finally, we get to the point:<\/p>\n<blockquote>\n<p> <b>Now please consider what happens when we draw the biggest circle possibly can &#8211; around the whole universe.<\/b> (If there are multiple universes, we&#8217;re drawing a circle around all of them too):<\/p>\n<ul>\n<li>There has to be something outside that circle. Something which we have to assume but cannot prove<\/li>\n<\/ul>\n<\/blockquote>\n<p> Nope. Doesn&#8217;t say that.<\/p>\n<blockquote>\n<ul>\n<li> The universe as we know it is finite &#8211; finite matter, finite energy, finite space and 13.8 billion years time<\/li>\n<\/ul>\n<\/blockquote>\n<p> Nope. Doesn&#8217;t say anything like that. How can you <em>possibly<\/em> get from G&ouml;del&#8217;s theorem to a statement that the universe can&#8217;t be infinite? There&#8217;s a reason why he just pretends to &#8220;prove&#8221; this, but doesn&#8217;t actually connect it to anything, even by the most flimsy informal reasoning: because he <em>can&#8217;t<\/em>. The only reason that it&#8217;s here is because he wants God to be the only infinite thing, so he just threw it in, even though it doesn&#8217;t come close to making any sense.<\/p>\n<blockquote>\n<ul>\n<li> The universe (all matter, energy, space and time) cannot explain itself<\/li>\n<\/ul>\n<\/blockquote>\n<p> Again, nope. G&ouml;del&#8217;s theorem says nothing remotely like this. G&ouml;del&#8217;s incompleteness theorem doesn&#8217;t say anything about <em>explanations<\/em>. It only talks about <em>proofs<\/em>, in the formal mathematical sense of proof. The whole concept of <em>explanation<\/em> is completely outside the bounds of G&ouml;del.<\/p>\n<blockquote>\n<ul>\n<li> Whatever is outside the biggest circle is boundless. So by definition it is not possible to draw a circle around it.<\/li>\n<\/ul>\n<\/blockquote>\n<p> Once again, this is a total non-sequitur. It simply <em>does not follow<\/em> from incompleteness. <\/p>\n<blockquote>\n<ul>\n<li> If we draw a circle around all matter, energy, space and time and apply G\u00f6del&#8217;s theorem, then we know what is outside that circle is not matter, is not energy, is not space and is not time. Because all the matter and energy are inside the circle. It&#8217;s immaterial.<\/li>\n<\/blockquote>\n<p> And this is just word-games. &#8220;If we draw a circle around all of the gribble, then whatever isn&#8217;t in the circle can&#8217;t be gribble&#8221;.  It doesn&#8217;t <em>mean<\/em> anything. <\/p>\n<blockquote>\n<ul>\n<li> Whatever is outside the biggest circle is not a system &#8211; i.e. is not an assemblage of parts. Otherwise we could draw a circle around them. The thing outside the biggest circle is indivisible.<\/li>\n<\/ul>\n<\/blockquote>\n<p> Isn&#8217;t this circle rubbish getting tiresome? Actually, it sort of makes sense: all of his arguments are going in circles, so why not express circular arguments in term of a circular metaphor?<\/p>\n<blockquote>\n<ul>\n<li>Whatever is outside the biggest circle is an uncaused cause, because you can always draw a circle around an effect.<\/li>\n<\/ul>\n<\/blockquote>\n<p> It&#8217;s right back to one of the classic crackpot arguments for god: the uncaused cause. Every effect <em>must<\/em> have a cause; before the universe was created, there was nothing to cause anything, so there must be something outside of it, therefore god.<\/p>\n<p> It&#8217;s a dreadful argument in general. But it&#8217;s worse here. He&#8217;s just spent all of this time arguing that you <em>can&#8217;t<\/em> prove anything  by what he calls inductive reasoning. Just because every event that you&#8217;ve ever seen has a cause, by his own argument, that doesn&#8217;t mean that you can conclude that every event <em>must<\/em> have a cause. <\/p>\n<p> And even that isn&#8217;t the worst of it: he&#8217;s claiming that all of this is &#8220;proven&#8221; by G&ouml;del&#8217;s theorem. It&#8217;s not. The universe isn&#8217;t a formal mathematical system. And even if it <em>was<\/em>, by this argument, God wouldn&#8217;t be what religious folks think of as God; God wouldn&#8217;t be a sentient force that created the universe; God would just be a self-referential statement encoded in arithmetic. Not exactly what most of us religious folks believe.<\/p>\n<p> And then, he needs to repeat that <em>whole<\/em> stupid argument again, this time using &#8220;information&#8221; instead of &#8220;matter and energy&#8221;.  It&#8217;s like he wants to make my argument for me. You can substitute <em>anything<\/em> into that, and repeat the argument. Matter, space, information, intelligence, consciousness, colors, shapes. Seriously &#8211; just try it. &#8220;If we draw a circle around all of the colors in the universe, then anything outside of the circle can&#8217;t have a color: it must be colorless! Therefore, by G&ouml;del&#8217;s theorem, there must be a colorless thing outside of the circle of color which is the creator of all color!&#8221;<\/p>\n<p> A little bit of knowledge is a dangerous thing. It can convince you that an argument this idiotic and this sloppy is actually <em>profound<\/em>. It can convince you to publicly make a raging jackass out of yourself, by rambling on and on, based on a stupid misunderstanding of a simplified, informal, intuitive description of something complex. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>A little bit of knowledge is a dangerous thing. There&#8217;s no shortage of stupidity in the world. And, alas, it comes in many, many different kinds. Among the ones that bug me, pretty much the worst is the stupidity that comes from believing that you know something that you don&#8217;t. This is particularly dangerous for [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[73],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-857","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-bad-logic"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p4lzZS-dP","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.goodmath.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/857","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.goodmath.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.goodmath.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.goodmath.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.goodmath.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=857"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"http:\/\/www.goodmath.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/857\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.goodmath.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=857"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.goodmath.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=857"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.goodmath.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=857"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}