## ADDITION

**ADDITION **, the basic arithmetic operation, is not quite so straightforward and unambiguous as one might suppose. When we ‘add’ one thing to another, or to a collection, the originally separate items remain separate after combination : they do not fuse or merge.

Addition is a strictly numerical operation which tells us nothing about the sizes of the objects that are brought together, nor their colour, mass and so forth. The only assumption made is that the items with which arithmetic deals are discrete and remain so. Even when dealing with liquids which *do *combine together imperceptibly to form a whole, we often tend to still think in terms of discrete items : when we talk of ‘adding’ a bucketful of water to a pond, the implication is that the water in the pond is made up of ‘so many bucketfuls’, i.e. could be broken down into units. If we want to take merging into account we end up with the formula **1 + 1 = 1 **which, though it is a perfectly correct representation of what goes on when, say, we combine two droplets of rainwater, looks extremely peculiar. It would be quite possible, though probably not worthwhile, to develop ‘Rainwater Arithmetic’ where no matter how many items you add together the net result is **1**. Many liquids have an upper limit to merging : if you carry on adding droplets of oil to an initial droplet lying on water, the sheet of oil eventually splits in two. In such a case **1 + 100,000,000 = 2 **or something of that order of magnitude. Our arithmetic, then, concerns entities with an upper limit of **1** , i.e. substances which never merge at all or, if they do , immediately break apart.

There are at least three different senses to addition which we might call ‘adding’, ‘adding on’ and ‘adding up’. In the first case we join together two groups or collections of comparable size. In the second case we tack on a smaller collection to a larger, and in the third case we do not so much join together as rearrange. In abstract mathematics there is no difference in the operations involved but in concrete terms there is all the difference in the world.

The most ancient of the three types of addition is undoubtedly ‘adding on’. If we go back to the time when objects or events were recorded by notches on a bone or knots in a cord (which I shall call the tally system) there is nothing to ‘add up’ because there is no numerical base : what is on the stick or bone *is* the ‘total’ and that’s all there is to it. A new item, the birth of a child or a caribou kill, will be recorded at the end of the list which will, if there are very few items most likely be arranged in a row, or in several rows more or less underneath each other as on the Ishango bone, perhaps the earliest example of written numerals. In Wild West days, Billy the Kid “had so many notches on his gun” — one notch, one dead person. The amount grows by accretion just like an organism : the longer the list the more items, children born, midsummers, caribou kills and so on.

But when you add ciphered numbers the final amount does *not* grow noticeably : **2 + 3 = 5 **where **5** is no larger or longer than **2** or **3**. This is not in the least a trivial observation since it is the root cause of the current very widespread misunderstanding of what numbers essentially are, namely the symbolic representation of real or imaginary collections of certain objects, collections which increase or diminish in size.

And when you add up a column of figures all you are doing is getting the separate amounts into a tidier form. What was separate (distinct) before addition remains separate after addition : the difference is that the whole lot is now grouped in a systematic fashion according to the powers of the base, usually *ten*. But what is there at the end was there at the beginning.

However, when you ‘add’ fresh recruits to a regiment, new employees to a firm’s workforce or money to someone’s bank account you are not just rearranging what is already there but bringing in someone or something new from outside. It is at first sight somewhat surprising that this makes no difference arithmetically speaking, the reason being that by the time the new objects are actually joined to the existing group they are no longer completely ‘new’ since they are already in existence, even if, as in the case of an ‘addition’ to a family they have only just been born.

Despite the difference between adding up and adding on, the operation of addition remains, like division, an ‘inert’ one : strictly speaking nothing is created or destroyed. A primary schoolteacher teaching addition to a child has to have the extra building blocks required concealed to one side : if there is nothing there to add, addition cannot take place. This is quite distinct from a truly ‘creative’ operation where something new is produced from within as when a mother gives birth or when unicellular organisms like bacteria reproduce by splitting in two (mitosis). I did as a matter of fact start to construct an arithmetical system where the basic operations are *splitting* and *merging* instead of adding and subtracting. *SH 14/9/13*

## Bases

## Bases

The first thing to realize about bases is that Nature does not bother with them. Nature does not group objects into *tens*, *hundreds, thousands *and so on, not even into *twos, fours, eights*. Bases in the mathematical sense are *entirely* a matter of human convenience — Nature only uses base one. We are so used to thinking decimally and writing numbers in columns that we tend to consider that an amount, expressed in our modern Hindu-Arabic positional numerals, is somehow *truer *than if it were expressed in, say, Chinese Stick Numbers. Even, there is a tendency to think that the modern representation of a quantity is somehow numerically *truer *or *more real * than the *actual quantity * — an example of the delusionary thinking that doing mathematics all too readily gives rise to. Asked how many stones there are in a certain pile, an unhelpful but perfectly correct answer would be to transfer all the stones into a wheelbarrow and empty them out at the enquirer’s feet.

** **So why do we bother with bases? Partly for reasons of space : an amount expressed in base one requires a lot of paper or wood or whatever material we are employing and this was and is an important consideration. But the main reason is that our perception of number is so defective that we find it very hard indeed to distinguish between amounts of similar objects or marks beyond a certain very small quantity (*seven* at most). So what do we do? What we need is a second fixed quantity, a second ‘unit’, in terms of which we can assess larger quantities. What do we choose?

‘Ones’ are given us by Nature and the sort of objects we shall want to assess either are collections of ‘ones’, like trees or sheep, or can be treated as if they were, e.g. mountains, villages and so on. We speak of ‘whole’ numbers thus implying that they are in some sense ‘entire’, ‘indivisible’. If our standard ‘one-object’ is a pebble it really is indivisible in a pre-industrial society and a cowrie shell, though it can be broken in two, ceases to be a proper shell if this is done. There is, in concrete number systems, no question of dividing a ‘one’ and ‘fractions’ (‘broken numbers’), if defined at all, are represented by smaller objects or marks, not by splitting up the ‘one-object’. Whole number arithmetic was by Greek times firmly associated with the physical theory of atomism as put forward by Democritus who himself wrote works on arithmetic now lost.

A mass of ‘ones’ is perceptually unmanageable unless related to certain standard amounts we are familiar with. But Nature is extremely unhelpful in providing us with exact standard amounts. Litters of kittens and puppies are by no means standard, and apart from a slight prejudice in favour of the quantity *five*, the amount of petals in a flower or branches on a tree varies amazingly.

Familiar fixed amounts such as the ‘number’ of hills on the skyline could only be of strictly local relevance and at the end of the day about the only available standard amounts given to man by Nature are the fingers which, counting the thumbs, come in fives. It is thus no surprise that number systems are dominated by the amounts *five, ten *and *twenty*.

Alternatively, of course, we could start from the other end and opt for a ‘man-made’ secondary unit whose size would depend on our perceptual needs and what exactly it is we want to assess or measure. These three criteria **1.) **availability of a standard amount; **2.) **human perceptual limitations and **3.) **appropriateness for assessment purposes, conflict and one of the main problems of early numbering was how to reach an acceptable compromise between them.

*Two* is the first possibility for a ‘secondary unit’ but, although it has come into its own in the computer era (because of the two states *On* and *Off*), it is clearly too small to be of much use for ordinary purposes. A language spoken in the Torres Straits had a word for our ‘one’, namely *urapan* and a word for our ‘two’ *okasa* and that was about it. Their numerals went

**1. ***urapan ***4.** *okasa okasa*

**2. ***okasa* **5. ***okasa okasa urapan*

**3. ***okasa urapan *

Understandably, since even a number as small as **11 **would require six words, the natives referred to anything above **6** as *ras *— ‘a lot’ (Conant, p. 105).

A few things, or rather events, are viewed in *threes* witness phrases like “*third time lucky” *and we group quite a lot of things in *fours *(seasons, points of the compass &c.) but the obvious first choice for a ‘secondary unit’ is *five*. Beyond *five *we really feel the need for a ‘secondary unit’ since collections like ** l l l l l l l l **and

*re practically indistinguishable. Also, as it happens we have the five fingers to be able to check (by pairing off) whether we are separating out the items into groups correctly.*

**l l l l l l**The Old Man of the Sea in Homer *‘fives’ *his seals but for most herdsmen *five* would still have been rather too small as a secondary unit. So where do we go next? If we remain guided by the fingers the next possibilities are *‘both hands’* and what many primitive languages referred to as *‘the whole man’* i.e. *ten *and *twenty*. *Twenty *is in some ways a better choice since, if we keep the option open of reverting to *five* for trifling amounts we can cope with very sizeable collections using batches of *twenty*. The Yoruba used *twenty *cowrie shells as their principal counting amount after the unit. Some modern European languages which have long since become decimal show traces of an earlier vigesimal (twenty-based) system which probably suited farmers better. Hence Biblical terms like *‘three score years and ten’* in English and the French *soixante dix-huit *(sixty-eighteen).

A secondary unit is, unlike the unit, not actually indivisible — since it is still made up of standard ones — so how do we keep it together if we are using objects as numbers? This depends on the choice of standard object and in practice is one of the motivations for the choice of object in the first place (or second place at least). Heaps of pebbles are heavy enough not to blow away but can all too easily be disturbed by people bumping into them, while piles of flat objects unless they are paper thin readily tip over and in any case really flat objects are hard to come by in nature. This is where shells are advantageous since if of the cowrie variety they stack up neatly and, even better, can be pierced and threaded on strings to make number rosaries. Beads make good numbers but since they are manufactured items they would not have been amongst the very earliest examples of object numbers.

The clay Number Ball I have already mentioned would not be suitable for secondary (or tertiary) standard amounts precisely because the bits tend to adhere together : its use would be for assessing limited quantities in the field which, if required, could be recorded back at the Number Hut using a different system, knotting or incising.

On my island I opt for a stick of standard length as my ‘one-object’ and I instruct the natives to tie sticks together into a bundle when we reach the fixed secondary amount which tentatively I fix at our *twelve*. Lacking a sign on this computer for a bundle of sticks I represent this amount by **∏**. At the back of the Number Hut I set up partitions to make alleyways for concrete numbers and I suspend from the roof an example of the bundle the alleyway is to contain and its decomposition into smaller bundles or individual sticks as a sort of Système Internationale prototype. For the moment I only propose to use the extreme right two alleyways, the first for individual sticks and the second for bundles of the specified size. Whenever we have * ⁄*** **sticks in the extreme right alley, they are tied together and transferred (literally ‘carried’) to the next alleyway. The system can be used for the temporary recording of data but it is best to restrict its use to calculation, simple additions and subtractions, while using a different system for recording purposes. I can, for example, paint three vertical lines on a piece of bark to make it into a Number Board and paint in particular configurations of the sticks and bundles. When painting I do not use short cuts, I just represent the sticks and bundles as well as I can turning stick numbers into stroke numbers. As yet I do not proceed any further : all quantities are to be represented by sticks and/or Number Bundles of a single fixed amount and, for the time being, I do not set an upper limit to the amount of bundles. Thus the components of our number system so far are only ** l ** and **∏** where

** ∏ = l l l l l l l l l l l l **

A feature of this still very rudimentary system is that at any moment a bundle **∏** can be reduced to so many sticks simply by untying the cord and transferring them into the appropriate alley. Even, it is possible to have second thoughts about the ‘secondary unit’ and change it for another, since all you have to do is untie the bundles and tie the sticks up again using a different set amount. We might, for example, want to revert to *five* if the quantity to be assessed turns out not to be so great, or, conversely, jump ahead to *twenty *for a really large herd of goats or clump of trees. With systems that depend on threading objects on a string or wire, changing the secondary unit is either impossible or time-consuming and so would tend not to be done.

If the first ‘greater unit’ is set at *ten* and we are dealing with sticks, the problem of distinguishing different numbers less than *ten * remains — we have met requirements **1.) **and **3.) **but not **2.)** . The earliest Egyptian written numbers, perhaps based on still earlier number sticks, got round this problem, or tried to, by arranging the sticks in set patterns. But the patterns are not very distinctive or memorable. Far more striking are the excellent domino or dice dot numbers. Domino patterned numbers stop at *six *and the arrangements for the playing-card *seven, eight *and *nine *are not so striking — I have sometimes I caught myself having to look at the corner to distinguish between a *seven* and a *nine*.

The stratagem of arranging near identical marks in a pattern is an attempt to enlist shape in the service of number : if you recognize the shape you don’t need to count the dots. Shape recognition is distinction by type which the principle of distinction by number must displace in the cultural development of the species. For all that , even today, we feel at ease with shape and respond to it ‘naturally’ (perhaps because of the sexual instinct and childhood memories) while number is at first unappealing, it appears cold and inhuman. The supposedly artificial distinction between the arts and the sciences is rooted in this primeval struggle between distinction by shape and distinction by number, a struggle which the latter is obviously winning. In the pre-industrial past it was quite the reverse : most ‘primitive’ tribes considered that distinctions of shape and thickness were so much more significant than numerical distinctions that they developed a large and sophisticiated vocabulary to deal with the former while contenting themselves with half a dozen number words. And even in the domain of number itself shape cast its shadow: many societies used different number words depending on the overall shape of the objects being counted. The Nootkans, for example, used special terms for counting round objects and traces of this practice persist in the ‘numerical classifiers’ of modern Japanese and Chinese^{1}.

A drawback of numerical distinction by patterning is that every new number requires its own special arrangement which must then be committed to memory. This certainly limits the range but the same patterns could be re-used with slight differences or could be combined in various ways. One would not have thought the effort involved was that great, not that much more than is involved in learning the alphabet. Also, the idea of familiarising people with numerals by way of card and board games is delightful (though presumably not done deliberately). For some reason this promising system never got extended beyond *six* (otherwise we would have in our heads patterns for higher numbers) and taken in itself constitutes something of a dead-end in the history of numbering.

Domino numbers are a curious and attractive relic of days long gone.* *

*Q1. If we use dominoes as numbers, what base are they in? And what is the largest amount that can be represented by a single set of dominoes ? *

(To be continued)

## Bases

*“He who examines things in their growth and first origins will obtain the clearest view of them” (*Aristotle).

The first thing to realize about bases is that Nature does not bother with them. Nature does not group objects into *tens*, *hundreds, thousands *and so on, not even into *twos, fours, eights*. Bases in the mathematical sense are *entirely* a matter of human convenience — Nature only uses base one. We are so used to thinking decimally and writing numbers in columns that we tend to consider that an amount, expressed in our modern Hindu-Arabic positional numerals, is somehow *truer *than if it were expressed in, say, Chinese Stick Numbers. Even, there is a tendency to think that the modern representation of a quantity is somehow numerically *truer *or *more real * than the *actual quantity * — an example of the delusionary thinking that doing mathematics all too readily gives rise to. Asked how many stones there are in a certain pile, an unhelpful but perfectly correct answer would be to transfer all the stones into a wheelbarrow and empty them out at the enquirer’s feet.

** **So why do we bother with bases? Partly for reasons of space : an amount expressed in base one requires a lot of paper or wood or whatever material we are employing and this was and is an important consideration. But the main reason is that our perception of number is so defective that we find it very hard indeed to distinguish between amounts of similar objects or marks beyond a certain very small quantity (*seven* at most). So what do we do? What we need is a second fixed quantity, a second ‘unit’, in terms of which we can assess larger quantities. What do we choose?

‘Ones’ are given us by Nature and more often than not this is all we are given. The sort of objects we shall want to assess either are collections of ‘ones’, like trees or sheep, or can be treated as if they were, e.g. mountains, villages and so on. We speak of ‘whole’ numbers thus implying that they are in some sense ‘entire’, ‘indivisible’. If our standard ‘one-object’ is a pebble it really is indivisible in a pre-industrial society and a cowrie shell, though it can be broken in two, ceases to be a proper shell if this is done. There is, in concrete number systems, no question of dividing a ‘one’ and ‘fractions’ (‘broken numbers’), if defined at all, are represented by smaller objects or marks, not by splitting up the ‘one-object’. Whole number arithmetic was by Greek times firmly associated with the physical theory of atomism as put forward by Democritus who himself wrote works on arithmetic now lost.

A mass of ‘ones’ is perceptually unmanageable unless related to certain standard amounts we are familiar with. But Nature is extremely unhelpful in providing us with exact standard amounts. Litters of kittens and puppies are by no means standard, and apart from a slight prejudice in favour of the quantity *five*, the amount of petals in a flower or branches on a tree varies amazingly. Familiar fixed amounts such as the ‘number’ of hills on the skyline could only be of strictly local relevance and at the end of the day about the only available standard amounts given to man by Nature are the fingers which, counting the thumbs, come in fives. It is thus no surprise that number systems are dominated by the amounts *five, ten *and *twenty*.

**The Secondary Unit **

** **What there is no doubt we *do* need and have done from very remote times is a secondary unit. This must be clearly distinguished from a **base **since the latter** **is an extendable sequence of ‘unit’ sizes, a ‘geometric series’ like *1, 10, 100, 1000 *and so on. Why didn’t ‘early’ societies (with some exceptions) go straight for the base system? The answer is that they didn’t need it and that it doesn’t come naturally, at any rate to practical people. For most purposes two ‘significant amounts’ or the first and second powers of the base are quite sufficient. Even one will do if it is of reasonable size because you don’t actually have to stop at the ‘square’ of the base as if it were a brick wall cutting off all access to a numerical beyond. *Fifteen hundred*, apart from being more succinct, sounds a good deal more natural than the pedantic *‘one thousand and five hundred’ *which is what we ought to say by rights (**Note 1**). Without even defining the *hundred * we could still cope perfectly well with quantities up to *999 *reckoning in so many *tens *e.g. by speaking of *810 *as *eighty-one tens and a five*. Generally we do not need to go anything like so far and the language is littered with sets of number words which, though they show base potential, peter out into nothingness without ever even making it to the ‘cube’ stage.

The ‘natural’ way of cultivating the wilderness is to clear an area and then when you’ve planted that, to clear another. Natural at any rate if you have to do a fair amount of the work yourself. If you are a conqueror you may, of course, have an eye on infinity and eternity from the start but this is *folie de grandeur*. The first man to introduce wholesale decimalisation was the Ch’in Emperor and he is thought to have hastened his death by imbibing elixirs of immortality.

Numbers were measures before they became numbers ¾ even ‘one’ itself, the ‘father (better mother) of all numbers’, is essentially a measure, one drop, one mouthful, one foot. Our standard weights and measures are really only numbers that remain tied to particular contexts and functions. The Imperial system of liquid measures is an application of base two with *four* left out since the numbers involved are **1, 2 **and **8**.

** 1 pint = 1 pint**

** 2 pints = 1 quart**

** 4 quarts = 1 gallon = 8 pints **

Verbally, the number system stops here : although there are obviously larger quantities than the gallon we have no special words for them, it is someone else’s job to work them out.

In our number words and pre-decimal measures we find a surface order with an underlying picturesque confusion where all sorts of sets of numbers leave their traces. In the Avoirdupois weights we seem to have two sets of numbers, one proceeding from the ‘small’ end and one from the ‘large’ end, most likely developed by persons performing different functions. It makes sense to have the pound finely divided for sales over the counter to individuals, thus the appearance of the large, but not too large, secondary unit *16 *in *sixteen ounces to a pound*. From the wholesaler’s point of view we want a large quantity defined straight off, the hundredweight (which is not a hundredweight). We now quarter the hundredweight as it is always useful to divide something into four equal parts and we nearly but not quite converge with the rising *16 *system. But there are not *32* pounds to a quarter but the anomalous *28*. Is a systematic base system preferable even supposing we had a more suitable base than *10*? Not necessarily for the people doing the work. Their principal concern is not logical consistency but the ready availability of convenient set amounts which the chosen number system or systems should favour and promote. Moreover, once they have what they want, various landmark fixed amounts, they leave the system to its own devices.

There is certainly, within the context of a pre-industrial economy, no need for a number sequence stretching out into infinity : on the contrary this very feature would have in many cultures provoked a certain malaise as indeed it still does to persons like myself. The idea of really large magnitudes is frightening like the idea of really large intervals of time. Although it is now unfashionable, even politically incorrect, to speak of cultures having specific traits, it is surely no accident that it was the Hindu mathematicians who gave us the first fully positional indefinitely extendable written number system. Indian thinkers, both Hindu and Buddhist, were obsessed with large numbers and vast spans of time : the *kalpa *for example is a period which lasts 4320 million years. Armed with the decimal base number system the Indians built ‘number towers’ reaching unimaginable heights and not only could they write down these quantities but they had names for many of them. In one legend the Buddha, challenged to list the numbers (read ‘powers’) beyond *10 ^{7}*, answers with the names for all the powers up to the colossal

*tallaksana*or

*10*

^{53}*¾*

*i.e. 1*followed by fifty-three zeroes (

**Note 2**) . The Indian approach to large numbers is quite different from that of Archimedes who is, surprisingly in some ways, much more in line with the earlier ‘clear an area’ approach. He wrote a treatise on large numbers but showed none of the delectation and religious awe that the Hindu and Buddhist mathematicians clearly felt. Archimedes was concerned to show that the finite Greek number system

*could*be extended upwards and outwards to deal with colossal quantities like the amount of grains of sand in the, for him finite, universe. But his aim was to tame the beyond not to lose himself in admiration of it. To the amazement of modern commentators, he did not quite hit upon the artifice of full positional notation.

The acceptance (or imposition) of a

*single*indefinitely extendable base system has taken a very long time and is of comparatively recent date. For centuries individual and local numbering systems co-existed with the State imposed one, Roman or Napoleonic, especially in country areas. Until very recently by far the greater part of the inhabitants of Europe were illiterate and many of them used their own numbering systems and ‘peasant numerals’ like the notched sticks of Swiss cowmen. Inns could scarcely have carried on at all without the one-base slate and chalk system where the reckoning was totted up at the end of the evening or month, and in Spain it was once common for the innkeeper to toss a pebble into the hood of a traveller’s cape for each drink consumed. Today rustic numbering systems like the ‘milk sticks’ of cowmen in the upper Alps or the use of knots or pebbles are things of the past : everyone has at long last agreed to at least

*write*numbers in the approved standard decimal fashion. But for all that we do not think or feel in the way we write. In effect we still use the Babylonian secondary unit, sixty, for the subdivision of the hour, although we express the quantity in a ten-base. We think ‘sixty minutes’ as a ‘chunk of time’ divisible into so many units, not as

*six tens*of time. We do indeed have the availability of intermediate amounts,

*five minutes, ten minutes, quarter of an hour*, but they are subordinate to the

*hour*and the

*minute*. A day is experienced as a unity which is in the first place decomposable into the unequal ‘halves’ of daytime and nighttime. We do not experience or think the day as

*two tens*of time plus

*four units*.

To the administrator, of course, the use of a consistent base-system is as necessary as the use of a ‘universal’ official language (Latin, English in the Commonwealth &c.). To him numbers have finally ceased to be tied to objects or activities, have become contextless, in much the same way as, at a further level of abstraction, functions, to the contemporary mathematician, have ceased to be tied to numbers.

Alternatively, of course, we could start from the other end and opt for a ‘man-made’ secondary unit whose size would depend on our perceptual needs and what exactly it is we want to assess or measure. These three criteria **1.) **availability of a standard amount; **2.) **human perceptual limitations and **3.) **appropriateness for assessment purposes, conflict and one of the main problems of early numbering was how to reach an acceptable compromise between them.

*Two* is the first possibility for a ‘secondary unit’ but, although it has come into its own in the computer era (because of the two states *On* and *Off*), it is clearly too small to be of much use for ordinary purposes. A language spoken in the Torres Straits had a word for our ‘one’, namely *urapan* and a word for our ‘two’ *okasa* and that was about it. Their numerals went

** 1. ***urapan ***4.** *okasa okasa
*

**2.**

*okasa*

**5.**

*okasa okasa urapan*

**3.**

*okasa urapan*

* *

Understandably, since even a number as small as **11 **would require six words, the natives referred to anything above **6** as *ras *— ‘a lot’ (Conant, p. 105).

A few things, or rather events, are viewed in *threes* witness phrases like “*third time lucky” *and we group quite a lot of things in *fours *(seasons, points of the compass &c.) but the obvious first choice for a ‘secondary unit’ is *five*. Beyond *five *we really feel the need for a ‘secondary unit’ since collections like ½½½½½½ and ½½½½½½½ are practically indistinguishable. Also, as it happens we have the five fingers to be able to check (by pairing off) whether we are separating out the items into groups correctly.

The Old Man of the Sea in Homer *‘fives’ *his seals but for most herdsmen *five* would still have been rather too small as a secondary unit. So where do we go next? If we remain guided by the fingers the next possibilities are *‘both hands’* and what many primitive languages referred to as *‘the whole man’*‘ i.e. *ten *and *twenty*. *Twenty *is in some ways a better choice since, if we keep the option open of reverting to *five* for trifling amounts we can cope with very sizeable collections using batches of *twenty*. The Yoruba used *twenty *cowrie shells as their principal counting amount after the unit. Some modern European languages which have long since become decimal show traces of an earlier vigesimal (twenty-based) system which probably suited farmers better. Hence Biblical terms like *‘three score years and ten’* in English and the French *soixante dix-huit *(sixty-eighteen).

A secondary unit is, unlike the unit, not actually indivisible — since it is still made up of standard ones — so how do we keep it together if we are using objects as numbers? This depends on the choice of standard object and in practice is one of the motivations for the choice of object in the first place (or second place at least). Heaps of pebbles are heavy enough not to blow away but can all too easily be disturbed by people bumping into them, while piles of flat objects unless they are paper thin readily tip over and in any case really flat objects are hard to come by in nature. This is where shells are advantageous since if of the cowrie variety they stack up neatly and, even better, can be pierced and threaded on strings to make number rosaries. Beads make good numbers but since they are manufactured items they would not have been amongst the very earliest examples of object numbers.

However, on reflection I decide that introducing such a system would be premature. Within the bounds of a self-sufficient fishing, hunting or agricultural economy there would neither be any need for an indefinitely extendable number system nor would it have any special appeal. In the first place an inhabitant of such a society would not anticipate needing to assess really big quantities. Although a peasant needs more numbers than a hunter, in the past he probably rarely if ever needed numbers extending beyond about *400 *, supposedly the upper numerical limit of a typical 19^{th} century Russian peasant. Large amounts of fruit, potatoes and so on would, of course, not be counted but be assessed by weight just like coins that we hand in to the bank. (Banknotes are still counted but in most banks the work is now done by a machine.)

The practical man, craftsmen, herdsman or farmer does not deal in ‘numbers’, he deals in fixed amounts that are significant in terms of his or her daily work and/or perceptual apparatus. And such quantities do not usually correspond to the transition points of an extendable base system like our own. To judge by the traces they have left on our language the two most popular ‘significant amounts’ beyond the unit in English speaking countries were, and to a certain extent still are, the *dozen *and the *score*. Although *twelve *as such is beyond our perceptual capacity, the image of *two* boxes each containing *half a dozen *eggs must by now have penetrated to the collective unconscious, at any rate the English speaking one. *Twelve*, like *ten*, seems about the right size for making bundles or piles, but is better than *ten* in many ways because it can be halved, quartered and chopped into three equal portions. For dealing with larger amounts, the *score *which was originally a ‘score’ or notch a farmer made on a piece of wood as twenty animals passed through a gate, is about all you need so long as you know at least twenty number words off by heart. The publisher of the red book travel guides to Europe is said to have counted the steps leading up to Milan Cathedral by transferring a pebble from one pocket to the other each time he mounted twenty steps.

A brief list of ‘significant quantities’ on a world-wide scale with reasons for their significance would perhaps be:

** 5 ** hand, fingers, right size perceptually

**6 ** half of dozen

**10** both hands, right size for base

**12 ** right size for base, many factors

** 20 ** hands and feet, multiple of *5* and *10*

**60** many factors, multiple of all previous

**100 ** square of 10, many factors

Some of the above numbers are significant perceptually, notably *5* since this is around the stage when we cease to be able to assess objects numerically without counting them individually. Thus *5* combines significance because of its use in one-one correspondences (by way of the fingers) with significance as a perceptual ‘unit’. But it has the serious drawback that it cannot be divided up at all (has no factors). It is thus significant but not convenient as a ‘secondary amount’.

Having many factors is really more a matter of convenience than significance as such but since previous significant amounts are amongst the factors of *60* and *100* these numbers acquire significance acquire significance by proxy. *60* is particularly rich in factors and has the remarkable property of being a multiple of *all* previous significant amounts.

*100* means nothing to us perceptually though it undoubtedly did to a Roman centurion who would have had in his mind’s eye the terrain covered by his infantry when lined up ready to give battle. *100* is around the ‘acquaintance’ mark, i.e. near the maximum number of persons one is able to relate to personally ¾ I believe I have read somewhere (Desmond Morris?) that *128* is about the limit and that this generally corresponds to the maximum number of persons one has in one’s address book.

But of course *60* and *100* are above all significant because of their divisibility ¾ the main use of *100* is in percentages though it still has the defect that one cannot divide it into three properly. It must be stressed that a number’s divisibility is not just a matter of interest to modern number theorists : wholesalers or state suppliers receive commodities in bulk which they must subsequently sell or distribute to individuals and it is important that standard quantities should be easy to divide up. This is the reason why so many of the old Imperial measures are built around *20* or the powers of *2 *¾ as it is one of the main reasons why there is such hostility to metric weights and measures.

** ** One of the troubles with the transition points of a base-system, the ‘powers’ of the base, is that they are significant and convenient not in a practical but purely mathematical sense. Technically speaking, the unit, the base and its powers are the successive terms of a geometric sequence *1, b, b ^{2}, b^{3}, b^{4} ……*. with common ratio

*b*. My choice of

*twelve*for the bundles that are to go into the second alleyway means setting

*b*at

*12*. We would thus have

*1, 12, 144, 1728…*(since

*144 = 12*). Now

^{2}, 1728 = 12^{3}*144*and

*1728*apart from being too large are not meaningful amounts in our day to day experience. The same goes for smaller choices of base.

*5*is perhaps the most ‘significant amount’ of all in real-life terms but

*5*is nothing special and

^{2}= 25*5*

^{3}= 5*´*

*5*

*´*

*5 = 125*even less.

*6*certainly has some valid claims on our attention as a significant quantity but

*36*has none.

One suspects that the success of a

*hundred*as a ‘significant amount’ is due to its being a multiple of the significant amounts

*5*and

*20*¾ it is actually

*5*

*´*

*20*¾ rather than it being the square of

*ten*. A

*thousand*is just a word meaning ‘large quantity’ and the ambiguous meaning of

*billion*(a million millions or a thousand millions?) shows how vague such large quantities are. A

*million*only has meaning with respect to wealth — and even this sense has been eroded by devaluation so that we find it necessary to replace the word

*millionaire*by

*multi-millionaire*which is even vaguer

*.*

* ***Non-base extendable systems **

Most people assume that once you have defined your ‘secondary unit’ you are somehow obliged to turn it into a true base (and I tended to think along these lines myself before writing this book). But of course you aren’t. The ‘tertiary unit’ or next standard amount we choose to define can be anything at all in principle. One of the few numerically advanced peoples that still used object numbers, the Yoruba, took a pile of *twenty *cowrie shells as their ‘secondary unit’. They then combined *five *such piles of cowrie shells to make *100 *in our reckoning, and combined two such piles to define their second most important amount after the unit, *200 *in modern numbers. If they had operated a true base system the next halting point would have been *20 ^{2} *or

*400*which presumably they considered too large. (Algebraically the Yoruba sequence goes

*1, b, 10b*and not

*1, b, b*). For a somewhat different, but nonetheless pragmatic reason, the Mayans, who also took

^{2 }*20*as their ‘secondary unit’, then moved on to

*360*(instead of

*400*)

*for the next transition point in order to get close to the number of days in a year — or so it has been conjectured.*

It does not in practice matter too much for addition and subtraction if the transition points are not in proper sequence (‘proper’ as we see it today) though it is desirable that they should be *multiples *of the first ‘significant amount’. Thus, anticipating a further fixed amount in my stick system I have already decided to opt for *60* since it is a multiple of *12* while *20* or *100 *are not. Odd though it sounds, there is much to be said for defining a large ‘secondary unit’ and then defining ‘units’ rather *smaller* instead of larger than it. This is in effect what the Babylonians did by taking *60* as principal amount after the unit which they noted as . Such an enormous secondary unit makes it absolutely essential to have one or more halting points, or sub-bases, in the intermediary territory which the Babylonians provided at the *five* and *ten* points. They defined the *five* transition by grouping the one-symbols and introduced a special mark for *ten * but otherwise they used only the ‘one-symbol’ right up to *60* itself. For quantities > *60* the Babylonians proceeded by using *60* as a true base, i.e. the next halt was at *60 ^{2} = 3,600*. In their case they seemed to have no misgivings about using such a huge amount as tertiary unit which seems to contradict what I said earlier. But the Babylonian scribes who developed and used the sexagesimal number system were not hunters or herdsmen but officials helping to run a vast empire. They needed large numbers and spent their lives dealing in them as did the Egyptian scribes.

Practically speaking we require very different fixed standard amounts depending on the context. To divide a pound weight into sixty ounces would appear slightly crazy but we find it most convenient to divide up a fairly short interval of time, the hour, into sixty minutes, while we divide up a somewhat larger interval, the day, much less finely. The numbers *60, 12 *and *24* are not imposed on us in the way the number of days in the year is : we could divide up the day into *60* or *72 * or any (even) number of ‘hours’ and divide each ‘hour’ into *12 *or for that matter *17 *‘minutes’. The unsystematic way in which we divide up the day seems *right *: there is, as far as I know, no SI project to decimalise time (though the ancient Egyptians did just this) and the very idea fills me with horror.

___________________________

**Note 1 **

“Yet it was the Indians who reckoned the age of the Earth as 4.3 billion years, when even in the 19th century many scientists were convinced it was at most 100,000 years old ( the current estimate being 4.6 billion).” The apparent source for this is: Pingree, David, *Astronomy in India, *in *Astronomy Before the Telescope,* p.123-42. Quoted *Chasing the Sun* by Richard Cohen, p. 132

^{1} I recently came across an interesting example of how restricting the idea of always keeping to a base is. I noticed, or had read somewhere, that the Binomial Coefficients were powers of *11* and this made sense since they can be defined by starting with *1* and getting the next term by shifting what you’ve got across one column and adding. Thus

** 1 1 = 11 ^{0}**

** 1 0 **

** 1 1 11 = 11 ^{1}**

** 1 1 0 **

** 1 2 1 121 = 11 ^{2}**

** 1 2 1 0**

** 1 3 3 1 1331 = 11 ^{3} **

** 1 3 3 1 0**

** 1 4 6 4 1 14641 = 11 ^{4}**

** **

** **However, what happens now? The next line of Pascal’s Triangle is supposed to be

**1 5 10 10 5 1 **

** **This isn’t a power of **11** surely. But who says you can’t overstep the base if you want to?

(**1 x**** 10 ^{5}) + **(

**5 x**

**10**(

^{4}) +**10 x**

**10**(

^{3}) +**10 x**

**10**

^{2}) + (5 x**10) + 1**

** **** = 100,000 + 50,000 + 10,000 + 1,000 + 51 = 161,051 = 11 ^{5} **

** **

**Classifiers** ** **In other cultures different bases were used depending on the different objects being counted. Flat objects like cloths were counted by the Aztecs in twenties, while round objects like oranges were counted in tens. The use of classifiers obviously marks an intermediary stage between the era when numbers were completely tied to objects and the era when they became contextless as now. We still retain words like ‘twin’ and ‘duet’ to emphasize special cases of ‘twoness’, note also ‘sextet’, ‘octet’ &c. ** ** The complete dissociation of verbal and written numerals from shape and substance is today universally seen as ‘a good thing’ especially by mathematicians. But classifiers were doubtless once extremely useful because they emphasized what people at the time felt to be important about certain everyday objects and activities, and they remain both a picturesque reminder of the origins of mathematics in the world of objects and our sense-perceptions. The removal of all such features from mathematics proper seems to be a necessary evil but at least let us recognize that it is in part an evil : the banning of contextual meaning from mathematics, the language of science and administration, is typical of the depoeticization of the modern world.

**Base sixty **

It is not known why the Babylonians chose *60* as their most significant amount after the unit. The fact that *60 ^{2} = 360 * is close to the number of days in the year may have something to do with it. Certainly,

*60*would not have been the original choice. It has been suggested that

*60*evolved as a compromise solution to the separate claims of

*5*and

*12*which were already well established as ‘secondary units’ within the territories conquered by the Babylonians. Since

*60*has as factors all the main bases and significant amounts smaller than it, including

*10*and

*20*, it had something for everyone : it was a numerical

*Pax Romana.*

** **

## Gnomon :The World’s First Scientific and Mathematical Instrument ?

A *gnomon* was originally a sort of set-square that could be stood on its edge and was used to measure the lengths of shadows — present-day sundials have a ‘gnomon’ on the top though the shape is more complicated (**Note 1**). Thales is supposed to have used a gnomon to estimate the height of the Great Pyramid by employing properties of similar triangles and it was data amassed by similar methods that enabled Eratosthenes to estimate the circumference of the Earth by comparing noonday shadows cast at different localities (**Note 2**). The gnomon thus provided a precious link between three different disciplines : geometry, astronomy and, as we shall see, arithmetic : it was perhaps the first precision instrument of physical science.

Sets of gnomons put together — or drawings of them — became a surprisingly useful early calculator and enabled the early Greek mathematicians to investigate spatial properties of numbers.

Each coloured inverted L shape border in the above represents an odd number with the unit in the top left hand corner. The early Greek mathematicians deduced the important property that *Any square number can be represented by successive odd numbers commencing with* *unity.* As we would put it: * n ^{2 }*=

*1 + 3 + 5 + ……(2n + 1)*For example,

*4*=

^{2 }*1 + 3 + 5 + 7*.

*And this can be extended to the observation that*

*Every difference between two squares can be represented by a sum of successive odd*

*numbers*. Thus, 5

*– 2*

^{2 }*=*

^{2 }*5 + 7 + 9*(It was in fact this relation which struck me as being quite astounding that instigated my interest in mathematics which up to then I had despised.)

But much more can be got out of the simple diagram above. The Egyptians were certainly aware of certain cases of the the property forever associated with Pythagoras, namely that

*The Square on the hypotenuse is equal to the sum of the squares on the other two sides of a right-angled triangle*since they used stretched ropes with lengths in the ratio 3, 4, 5 to lay out an accurate square corner. However, they may not have realized that this property applied to all right angled triangles. The question provided a fruitful contact between geometry, the science of shape, and arithmetic, the science of exact quantity and the gnomon most likely played an important role here. Greek mathematicians were interested in sets of numbers that were ‘Pythagorean triples’, i.e. numbers

*a, b, c*where

*a*

^{2}*= b*+

^{2 }*c*.

^{2}Now, adding on a gnomon “preserves the square form” and, more significantly for the present discussion, that the

*difference of two successive squares is an odd number.*

+ =

** **

Some sharp sighted mathematician, perhaps Pythagoras himself or one of his disciples, realized that *if the gnomon is itself a square we have a Pythagorean triple. *(This follows from the observation that adding on the relevant gnomon leads from one square to the next.) So, if we select an odd square number, we can make it the gnomon and thus give an example of a Pythagorean triple. The first odd square is

** ** ** **(our *9*) and to make it into a gnomon we stretch it out into three parts , two equal and the third a unit

** ** ** ** This provides the outer framework for the two squares :

** ** **** The inner square has side *4* and the outer side *5*. This gives the simplest

** ** **** Pythagorean triple *5*^{2}*= 4 ^{2 }* +

*3*.

^{2}** **

****

** ****** ****

However, any odd square will do and, since *49 = 7 ^{2 }*we can construct a Pythagorean triple involving it. The gnomon is

*24 + 1 + 24*giving

*24*for the side of the larger square and

*23*for the smaller one. This gives the triple

*24*

^{2}*= 23*+

^{2 }^{ }*7*. The series of Pythagorean triples using this procedure is endless : it suffices to find an odd square number.

^{2}This procedure can be generalised if we allow a

*gnomon*to be made up of more than one row + column. For example, we might allow the gnomon to have

*three*rows + three columns.

**……………… **

**……………… **

**……………… **

**…
…
… **

If *r* is the side of the inner square, the outer square is *(r + 3) *instead of *(r + 1)* and the little square in the bottom right hand corner will be *3 x 3 = 9 *instead of *1*. The gnomon is made up of two rectangles (*r x 3)* *+ *the little square giving (*6r + 9) = 3(r + 3)* We must thus find a square which is equal to the gnomon or solve * 3(2r + 3) = m ^{2} * for some

*m*. Since

*m*is divisible by

^{2}*3*this makes

*m*a multiple of

*3*as well. We must also have

*m*large enough so that

*r*is at least

*1*. The first possibility is

*m = 21 = 7 x 3*so that

*3(2r + 3) = 21*This makes

^{2}*r = 72*This will be the side of the inner square while the outer one will be

*72 + 3 = 75*. So, if this reasoning is correct, we should find that

*75*

^{2}*= 72*+ 21

^{2 }*which is indeed the case (check this). So a rather more spaced out but still unending set of Pythagorean triples can be manufactured where the difference between the sides of the squares is*

^{2 }*3*rather than

*1*. It is left to the interested reader to concoct other sets.

As a matter of fact we have reason to believe that the early Pythaogoreans knew of such sets of triples and it is plausible that they hit upon them using some such method which has its basis in the manipulation of sets of wooden gnomons and/or actual counters on actual boards. Interestingly enough, the Babylonians a thousand years earlier were aware of Pythagorean triples and seem to have had some method of concocting them (

**Note 3**)

**.**The basic formula for all Pythagorean Triples is given in Euclid — or rather can be deduced from the argument given in Euclid which is mainly verbal since the Greeks did not have our algebraic notation. I shall not give it here — you can get it from Wikipedia or some other site by the click of a key — as I am more interested in seeing how such formulae arose in the first place and indeed in (re)discovering them for myself, something that I encourage you to do as well. In the next post I will examine the slightly more complicated problem of an isosceles right-angled triangle, i.e. one where the two smaller sides are equal. This provoked a trmendous rumpus at the time because it raised the issue of so-called ‘incommensurables”. If the short side is set at unity, the square on the hypotenuse comes out at of

*1*+

^{2 }*1*= 2 so the side itself is the square root of

^{2}*2*. But was there such a number? In the ideal world of Platonic forms (not yet elaborated) certainly there was, but in the Pythagorean world of number where number meant ratio between two integers there was apparently no such quantity and thus no such length.

*SH 1/1/13*

**Note 1 **“The word *gnomon* ….literally means an “indicator”, or “one who knows”. Specifically, it was the name of the sundial first brought to Greece from Babylonia by Anaximander, who was probably one of Pythagoras’s teachers. The word also serves to indicate any vertical object like an obelisk which serves to indicate time by means of a shadow.” Valens, *The Number of Things** *

“*gnomon* : Stationary arm that projects a shadow on a sundial” (Collins)

**Note 2** Actually, it seems that Eratosthenes’ data did not depend on gnomons as such but it did rely on the measurement of noonday shadows. Reputedly, Eratosthenes based his remarkably good estimate of the circumference of the Earth on the information. presumably relayed by a traveller, that the sun at noon at midsummer’s day at Syene was directly overhead because it was reflected at the bottom of a deep well. Eratosthenes, as Librarian at Alexandria some 500 miles or so due north of Syene, knew that the shadow of a pillar cast by the sun at the same moment in time was a little more than 7 and a half degrees off the vertical . This enabled him to come up with an estimate of *4,000* miles in our reckoning for the Earth’s radius using geometrical techniques. Current estimates put the Earth’s mean radius at about *3960 *miles.

**Note 3 **“The Babylonian tablet called Plimpton 322 (dating from between 1900 and 1600 B.C.) shows that the Babylonians had studied this problem [of Pythagorean triples] much earlier. The tablet merely lists a series of Pythagorean triples but the order in which they are listed makes us believe that the Babylonians had a general and systematic solution for the problem of finding Pythagorean triples.”

Bunt, Jones & Benient, *The Historical Roots of Elementary Mathematics *

## Cosines and Sines

*“He who sees things in their growth and first origins will obtain the clearest view of them” *(Aristotle)

Our most basic ‘mathematical’ impressions are neither numerical nor geometrical. We situate an object (desired or feared) relative to certain familiar objects whose position we know or think we know. We position the new object by means of words such as ‘near’, ‘under’, ‘on top of’, ‘alongside’ and so forth. Babies and toddlers are not alone in working this way : even adults (including mathematicians and scientists) fall back on this method when confronted by a real life situation as opposed to a situation in a laboratory). If I ask where the nearest church or Post Office is, no one turns on their mobile phone complete with SATNAP (?) and tells me the latitude and longitude or even the exact distance and orientation with respect to the present location. He or she would say, “Go right, then left, it’s the other side of the Church”, where the church is an easily recognizable landmark. If I ask where my pen or pencil is, I won’t be given the co-ordinates relative to the bottom left hand corner of the room; I will be told *“It’s under the table”*.

Now these relations are neither numerical or geometrical, even less algebraic : they are, as Bohm pertinently pointed out in an interview ‘topological’. Topology is that branch of geometry that deals with proximity and connectivity to the exclusion of metrical concepts. Perhaps we ought to make topology the first ‘science’ learned at school, though it probably does not need to be taught at this stage. Regrettably, topology is an exceedingly abstruse (and largely useless) branch of mathematics that only specialists study.

After ‘topological’ concepts, we have numerical ones, ‘How many of this?’ ‘How many of that?’ So-called primitive tribes get on perfectly well in their environment without numbers and arithmetic operations but the latter become necessary when we have a commercial and bureaucratic society such as developed in the Middle East in Assyria, Babylon and so on. Geometry was a somewhat later development, becoming necessary only when it was vital to assess accurately the areas of plots of land (for taxation purposes and also when State buildings became so large and complex that the *coup d’oeil *and rule of thumb of the craftsman/builder was no longer adequate. You can raise a pretty good straight wall without any calculation or mathematics but if you want to build a pyramid orientated in a particular way with regard to the stars, you require both a relatively advanced arithmetic and geometry.

After geometry came algebra (unknown to the Greeks) and algebra has so swamped mathematics that even Euclidian geometry, itself thoroughly idealized and remote from the natural world, seems homely and ‘concrete’ today since you can at least draw lines and, if you wish, even *make* spheres out of Blu-tack and play around with them.

A problem that was posed in the mathematical magazine M500 prompted some reflections on the gulf between geometry and Calculus and the even greater gulf between both of these and physical reality. The problem was about proving the basic limit lim *(sin θ)/θ = 1
*

*θ → 0 .*As a mathematical fundamentalist, I view sines and cosines as essentially ratios between line segments rather than infinite series.

**lim sin θ)/θ = 1**as

*θ → 0*If ** **angle **PÔD **= *θ * in radians, **PE**, the arc subtended by the angle *θ*, is *rθ* and *rθ * > **PD **= *r sin θ*. Also, **QE **= *r tan θ > rθ> PD*

So * r sin θ < rθ < r tan θ *

This inequality holds for any circle with *r* *> 0 *and all angles *θ *for which *sin θ, cos θ *and *tan θ *are defined*. *We take *θ *as positive (clockwise from the *x* axis) and, since we are only concerned with small angles, * 0 < θ < π/2*.

Dividing by *r sin θ *which is positive and non-zero we have

* 1 < θ/(sin θ) < 1/cos θ
*

*1*has limit

*1*since it is never anything else.

If we can show that the limit of

*1/cos θ*is

*1*as

*θ → 0*the expression

*θ/(sin θ)*will be squeezed between two limits.

What can at once be deduced from the diagram is :

**1. ** *r cos θ *must be smaller than the radius and so, for unit radius, * 0 < cos θ < 1*

**2. **As *θ* decreases, *cos θ *increases, or “If *f** < θ, cos **f** > cos θ*”

*1/cos θ* is thus monotonic decreasing and has a lower limit of *1 *which is sufficient to establish convergence. If one wants to apply the canonical test, we have to find a *δ* such that, for *any ε* * > 0 * whenever *0 < θ < * *δ*

*1– 1/cos θ)* *< **e
*With

*δ*<

*cos*we should be home and, applying the ‘sandwich principle’ for limits, we have

^{–1}((1/(1+ ε))lim *θ/(sin θ) = 1
*

*θ → 0*

Turning this on its head, we finally obtain

lim *(sin θ)/θ = 1
*

*θ → 0*

Note, however, that *θ* is the *independent *variable — *sin θ *depends on *θ *and not the reverse. * *

** **From here we can find the derivative of *sin θ * in a straightforward manner by using nothing more than the definition of the derivative and the ‘Double Angle’ formula *sin (A + B) = sin A cos B + cos A sin B *which can be easily proved geometrically for all angles *A, B * where

*0 < A < π /2 *and

*0 < B <*π

*/2 (*.

**Note 1**)However, what’s all this got to do with the well-known power series?

*sin θ = θ – θ ^{3}/3! + *

*θ*

^{5}/5! – θ^{7}/7! + ……Define a convergent power series *f(x) *with the convenient property that *d ^{2 }f(x)/dx^{2} = – f(x)*

* *Setting *A _{0} = 0, A_{1} = 1 *and equating coefficients we eventually end up with

* f(x) = x –x ^{3}/3! + x^{5}/5! – x^{7}/7! ……+ (–1)^{n} x^{2n+1} /(2n–1)!… *

But I’m none too happy about identifying the above series with *sin x* (and its derivative with *cos x*). For, if *sin x *and *cos x *are geometric relations between line segments, when there is no triangle, there can be no sine or cosine. For me, geometric *sin x *is undefined at *x = 0 *(and likewise at *x = π/2 &c.) *although the *limit *of *sin x *as *x → 0 *is certainly *0*. (It is distressing how often it seems necessary to point out, even to mathematicians, that the existence of a limit does not in any way guarantee that this limit is actually attained.)

All in all, I would feel a lot easier if the ‘*sin x* power series’ were derived (or defined) recursively *term by term* along with a demonstration that the difference between *f(x) *and *sin x *is *always decreasing* as we add more terms with limit zero. For *sin x *is, in my eyes, *itself* the limit of a power series as *n *increases without bound, i.e. If *0 < x < π/2 *

lim *f(x) = x –x ^{3}/3! + x^{5}/5! …+ (–1)^{n} x^{2n+1}/(2n–1)! = sin x*

*n →*

**Realirty is Discrete**

A more general point needs to be made. Practically all proofs in analysis and Calculus depend on the assumption that the independent variable (in this case the angle *θ*) can be made arbitrarily small. This is quite legitimate if we restrict ourselves to pure mathematics. But Calculus was invented by Newton and Leibnitz to elucidate problems in physics. Translated into physical terms, the basic assumption of Calculus, is equivalent to the presumption that space and time are ‘infinitely divisible’. But I do not believe they are for both logical and observational reasons. There is a growing (but still minority) view amongst theoretical physicists that Space/Time is ‘grainy’, i.e. that there are minimal distances and minimal intervals of time just as there are minimal transfers of energy (quanta). If this proves to be the case, Calculus and a lot else besides constitutes a very misleading model of a reality that is essentially discrete. The great majority of differential equations are, in any case, unsolvable analytically and increasingly the trend is to slog things out iteratively with high-speed computers taking things to the level of precision required by the conditions of the problem and then stopping. Dreadful to say so, but it looks like Calculus’s reign, like that of the dinosaurs, is drawing to a close and that the future will go to algorithmic methods, genetic or otherwise.

*Sebastian Hayes *

**Note 1 Theorem**** **d(*sin x)** = cos x
*

*dx*

**Proof **By the definition of the derivative we have

*d(sin x) = lim sin (x + h) – sin x
*

*dx*

*h → 0*

*h*

= lim (

*sin x) (cos h) + (cos x)(sin h) – sin x*

*h → 0*

*h*

= lim (*sin x) (cos h – 1)* + lim (*cos x)(sin h)
*

*h → 0*

*h*

*h → 0*

*h*

It is not obvious that *(cos h – 1)/h *has a limit but (after consulting a Calculus textbook) I substitute

*– 2 sin ^{2} (h/2) *for

*(cos h – 1)*and, employing the limit we have already found (

*(sin θ)/θ = 1*) we have

lim (*sin x) (cos h – 1)* = *sin x* lim *{– (sin h/2)(sin h/2)}
*

*h → 0*

*h*

*h → 0*

*h/2*

* = sin x* lim *(– (sin h/2)) (1) * = *sin x × 0 = 0
*

*h → 0*

* *So all we have left is lim (*cos x)(sin h)
*

*h → 0*

*h*

Employing once again the ubiquitous lim *sin θ/θ = 1 *as *θ → 1 * I end up with the desired

*d(sin x) = cos x lim (sin h)/h *= *cos x
*

*dx*

*h → 0*

## Our dreadful mathematical terminology

Open just about any book on numbers (in the English language) and you will come across the boastful claim that we have the best number system there ever has been, so good that, according to one author, it is inconceivable that it could be improved upon in any significant manner. Granted, this claim has *some* justification : we do indeed have a remarkably supple system of notation since we can cope with quantities as inconceivably large as the American deficit or quantities as inconceivably small as the diameter of a proton. However, *“you don’t get owt for nowt” *and the flexibility of this system of notation — which we Westerners did not invent but owe to the medieval Hindu and Arabic mathematicians — comes at a cost. As I pointed out in my article on Egyptian numerals, a child at the time of the Pharaohs could see at a glance that the quantity we note as *100000 *was larger than the quantity we record as *10000 *since different picture signs were used for hundreds, thousands and so on. More serious still, no one stranger to our language and notation could possibly tell whether the quantity we call *seven* and record as *7 *was larger or smaller than the quantity we call *nine* and record as *9*. Indeed, a visitor from another world might deduce that *seven* was ‘larger’ than *nine *since it has more letters.

Indeed, when you examine the language of basic arithmetic as it is still taught in Britain and America, you wonder how anyone ever manages to become numerate at all! The thoughtful child or adult — not quite the same as the intelligent one — is immediately repulsed by the illogicality of our far-famed system (as I was). Apart from cyphered numerals such as *7* and *9* which are perhaps a necessary evil, there is the complicated and incoherent way we form our number words beyond ten. Instead of *ten-one’ *we have *‘**e**leven’ *which has nothing to do with either *ten* or *one*. Naturally, it takes a non-mathematician to see this and point it out to the world :

“In English we say fourteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, and ineteen, so one might expect that we wouild say oneteen, twoteen, threeteen, and fiveteen. But we don’t. (…) We have forty and sixty, which sound like the words they are related to (four and six). But we also say fifty and tirty and twenty, which sort of sound like five and three and two, but not really. And, for that matter, for numbers above twenty, we put the “decade” first and the unit number second (twenty-one, twenty-two), whereas for the teens, we do it the other way around (fourteen, seventeen, eighteen). The number system in English is highlym irregular.” (Malcolm Gladwell, *Outliers* p. 119).

“Ask an English-speaking seven year-old to add thirty-seven plus twenty-two in her head, and she has to convert the words to numbers (37 + 22). Only then can she do the math: 2 plus 7 is 9 and 30 plus 20 is 50, which makes 59. Ask an Asian child to add three-tens-seven and two-tens-two, and then the necessary equation is right there. embedded in the sentence. No number translation is necessary: it’s five-tens-nine.”

“For fractions, we say three-fifths. The Chinese is literally ‘out of five parts, take three’. That’s telling you conceptually what a fraction is. It’s differeentiating the denominator and the numerator” (Karen Fuson, quoted Gladwell) (**Note 1**).

**Division ** Let us go further. What about this nonsense about *“division by”* in phrases like “*ten divided by five*“* ? *Who on earth is doing the dividing? ‘Five’? This is what *we* do when we carry out the operation but numbers can’t ‘divide’ other numbers. In reality we asre modelling a situation where we have ▄ ▄ ▄ ▄ ▄ objects and we sort them into groups each containing ▄ ▄ ▄ ▄ ▄ no more, no less.

▄ ▄ ▄ ▄ ▄

How many groups do we have? □ □ using a different symbol. If you envisage division as the sorting out a mass of similar objects into bundles or bags, an activity that still consumes a lot of time and energy in the world today, division at once makes sense. We are a magpie species and seem to have an obsessive interest in collecting objects and storing them in containers : hence the importance of division in our arithmetic system, indeed I consider it more fundamental than adding.

The rule that you are not allowed to divide by zero, which is supposed to be so bizarre and/or profound, is imposed on us by the world we live in like all the rules of arithmetic. It is simply impossible to divide up a mass of objects into so many bundles that have *strictly nothing* in them. Division ‘by’ zero is not allowed, not because the mathematical establishment have decreed this to be so, but because it *actually is the case *that you can’t divide a quantity into bundles with strictly nothing in each bundle. What you *can*, of course, do is divide up a massive composite object into smaller and smaller *equal* groups (the ‘equality’ being tested by pairing off the groups member to member) and stopping when you get to a certain point. We might decide to call it a day when we reach, for example, the size of a bean, or, more likely in modern times, the size of a molecule.

**Infinite Series** In a different website someone queried my claim that infinity is “everywhere present in mathematics and everywhere absent in the real world”. It is true that infinity is not directly involved in the construction of the natural numbers themselves *1, 2, 3….* but even here we are confronted with a series that can be ‘indefinitely extended’. And every time you carry out a division of *1* into *3* and, using a claculator, get *0.33333333333,,,,,,,, * you are in reality being confronted with a *sum *which goes on for ever, literally *3/10 + 3/100 + 3/1000 + 3/10000 + …..*and so on. We have a cake or anything you like that can be divided up and we make ‘three’ roughly equal portions or bundles. Nothing mysterious about that. Not only is it impossible for the most sophisticated machines to divide up an object into say a hundred billion bits, but this monster *0.33333333333,,,,,,,, * does not even ‘equal’ *1/3 * exactly since the series never terminates whereas *1/3 *does. (The subject of ‘equality’ in mathematics will be dealt with in a suibsequent post.)

The child is quite right to reject the absurd adult rule that a wretched stream of figures that never ends represents the simple operation of ‘dividing an object into three roughly equal bits’. It is lamentable that in this technological era, most people actually believe that *0.33333333….. *is somehow ‘truer’ than the banal and homely *1/3 *because this is what you get when you feed in the numbers plus the division sign into a calculator. Entirely the reverse is true : a non-terminating decimal fraction like *0.33333333333…… *does not correspond to any actual state of affairs or operation in the real world that ever has or ever will exist but division into three does correspond to actual operations with actual objects. We do not in our daily life use non-terminating decimal fractions and even quite rarely do we use proper decimals since *10* is such a wretched because it can only be divided into fives and twos (as opposed to *12* where we have quarters and thirds as well as halves). In day to day activities we use an appropriate *temporary* base when the quantity to be divided is small, or use the very convenient base ‘hundred’ for this is what a percentage is, i.e. so many out of a hundred. As I said, the wonder is not that there are so few people who take to mathematics with enthusiasm in the West but that there are any at all given the linguistic and conceptual muddle of our number system and its operations. * SH 11 December 2012 *

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**Note 1 ** These excerpts are taken from the extremely interesting book *Outliers *written by a non-academic, Malcolm Gladwell, a book which I thoroughly recommend along with his other insightful books, *Blink* and *The Tipping Point*. I trust the author if he ever hears of this site will, because of the nice things I say about his books, forgive me for not obtaining official permission to quote him which would be time-wasting if not impossible. *SH *

## Desert Island Numbers : The Number Ball, Number Marks and Number Bearers

*(New readers may find it useful to read the preceding post first.) *

**The ‘Number Ball’**

For my island paradise awaiting its Robinson Crusoe or Raffles I hit upon the idea of a clay ‘Number Ball’. The advantage of this device is that, apart from being portable, it allows one to get rid of a number once it is of no further interest and start again. A native might be sent, for example, by a chief to find out how many palm trees there were on a particular beach. Equipped with his Number Ball issued at the Central Data Hut he would arrive at the site and tear off as many little bits of clay as there were trees. He would report back to Central Office where the bits of clay would be recorded by an equivalent amount of scratches on a bone or knots in a cord, and he would then squash everything together to recover the original ball.

This system has an interesting feature : it is two-way in the sense that you can use the same apparatus for recording data but can then ‘de-record’ (wipe out) the data to recover the original set-up and start again. This means, firstly, that there is no wastage. There is also something aesthetically satisfying about such a simple apparatus having an ‘inverse’ procedure built into it : once you have completed your task, the Number Ball is returned to what it was *in the beginning* like the visible universe being absorbed back into the Tao from which it sprang.

Most recording systems do not have this feature : if you make a scratch on a bone you cannot ‘de-record’ without damaging the recording device, and crossing out something written with pen and ink is both messy and inefficient (in films a crossed out line often gets deciphered and leads to the conviction of a criminal). Destroying data has in fact become a considerable problem in modern society, hence the sale of shredders and civil servants’ perpetual fear of e-mails being picked up.

Clay Number Balls would be too messy for modern interior use but Blu-Tack is an alternative I have experimented with a little. There is, however, a certain risk of the little bits of clay or Blu-Tack sticking together and thus falsifying the reckoning.

The Number Ball is something of an anomaly mathematically and even philosophically. The object-numbers produced, i.e. the little bits of clay, do *not* strictly fulfil the requirement that number objects should not merge on being brought into close proximity — they can be made to merge or kept apart at will, so we have an interesting intermediate case somewhat comparable to that of semi-conductors.

Also, and this is more significant, the Number Ball is not, properly speaking, a number but rather a *source* of numbers, a number *generator*. In this respect it resembles an algebraic formula since the latter is not in itself a number (in any sense) but can be made to spew out numbers, as many numbers as you require. (For example the formula **f(n) = **(*2n –1***)** gives you the odd numbers (counting **1**) if you turn the handle by fitting in **1, 2, 3….. **for **n **e.g.** (2 ×**** 1) – 1 = ** **1; (2 ×**** 2) – 1 = 3; (2 ×****3) – 1 = 5 **and so on.)

Yet a Number Ball is not a formula or an idea : it remains an object. Of course, one could also call a box of matches or a set of draughtsmen ‘number generators’ but there is a difference here : the object-numbers are present in the box as distinct items (matches, counters) and are thus already numbers at least potentially, whilst bits of clay of Blu-Tack are not. A Clay Number Ball is actually a special type of generator since everything it produces comes from within itself and can be returned to itself. I have coined a term for this particular case : I call such an object an *Aullunn*. Although there are no complete *Aullunn Generators* in nature — not even, seemingly, the universe itself — many natural phenomena approximate to this condition. The varied life in and around a pond to all intents and purposes emerges spontaneously ‘from inside’ and dies back into it each winter; though we know that without some interaction with the environment, especially with sunlight, no generation would be possible.

Surprisingly I have not come across any accounts of tribes using clay Number Balls.

**Number Marks and Number Bearers **

A very different method of producing a set of numbers is to have an object or substance which is not itself a number (or a number generator) but a ‘bearer of numbers’ : the numbers are marks on the surface of the number bearer or deformations of it. This system, which at first sight seems a lot closer to the written system we use today, is extremely ancient and possibly pre-dates the widespread use of distinct number objects. The markings on the *Ishango Bone*, which dates back to about 20 000 B.C., are thought by archaeologists to have numerical significance. Other bones have been found dating almost as far back with scratches on them that are thought by some to indicate the number of kills to a hunter’s credit — one thinks at once of Billy the Kid, the “boy who had so many notches on his gun” (or was it Davy Crockett?).

The limitation of the notch system is that an incision is permanent which means that once the ‘number-bearer’ gets filled up it has to be stored somewhere or discarded like a diary. It thus tends to be used in rather special circumstances, either when one does not expect to be dealing with large quantities (rivals killed) or when one wants the information recorded to be permanent as, for example, in the case of inscriptions on State monuments.

Making charcoal marks on a wall, also an ancient practice, is ‘two-way’ in that one can rub out what one has written but the system would not be reliable for long-term recording of data because of effects of weather, flaking of surface &c. But numbers on a number bearer do not have to be marks : they can be reversible deformations, the prime example being knots in a cord. The great advantage of such systems is that, though very long lasting if the material is itself durable, the numerical data *can* easily be got rid of when no longer needed since knots can be untied. On the other hand because they take a lot of time to tie and untie, knots are unsuitable for rapid calculation and it would seem that the Inca State officials used *quipus* for storing data whilst they had some form of a counting-board system for calculations. Knots in a cord constitute a partial ‘two-way’ recording system — what is done can be undone — but they are at the same time quasi-permanent, indeed are in a sense the arithmetical equivalent of semi-conductors.

Knotted cords were in widespread use all over the world at one time and it is thought that mankind may even have gone though a ‘knotted cord’ era. Lao-Tse, the author of the *Tao Te Ching* (VIth century B.C.) who was a Luddite hostile to new-fangled inventions and to civilization generally speaks nostalgically of the days when mankind used knotted cords instead of written numbers.

In practice both systems are required, a ‘two-way’ number system which allows one to carry out calculations and then to efface them, plus a more permanent system which is used to record results if they are considered important enough. Thus the Incas (so it is thought) used *quipus* for permanent or semi-permanent records while they used stones and a counting board for calculation. The lack of a suitable ‘number-bearer’ to receive marks meant that inscribed number systems were a rarity until comparatively recently — baked clay tablets and papyrus were reserved for the bureaucratic elite and paper, a Chinese invention, only entered Europe in the latter Middle Ages and was expensive. Traders, even money-lenders and bankers, when they did not use finger-reckoning of which more anon, used a two-way system, namely counters and counting boards, right into the Renaissance. The abacus, a two-way system, was never widespread in Europe for some reason except in Russia, but in the East has remained in use right through to modern times. The *soroban* or Japanese abacus is still used today and as late as the nineteen-fifties a Japanese clerk armed with a *soroban* competed successfully with an American naval rating using an early electronic calculator. However, it must be pointed out that the Japanese achievement with the *soroban* depends on extensive practice in mental arithmetic rather than any particular merits of the device itself.

The drawback of a ‘two-way’ system such as an abacus where you erase as you go is that you cannot check for mistakes and even the result itself, once reached, has to be erased when we perform our next calculation i.e. there is no inbuilt recording element, no memory. But when there is no easy way of erasing we oscillate wildly between conservation and destruction : we tend to accumulate a vast amount of stuff, then periodically have a sort out and throw it all away, the pearls with the dross. Like most authors and mathematicians from time to time I have to tip out the entire contents of a large dustbin to search for a scrap of paper with some idea or formula written on it.

The principal drawback of a one-way semi-permanent system such as ink on paper is that it is incredibly wasteful and was until recently so expensive that the bulk of the world’s population, the peasantry, practically never used it and employed a pocket knife and a flat piece of wood to record data. Even in the computer era we still use the chalk and blackboard two way system though the chalked notice-board in the hall of buildings or private residences — to mark who is in or out — which was once commonplace is now virtually a thing of the past. I myself buy rolls of lining paper (which I clip down over a table) partly because I like to have plenty of room for drawing and calculation but also partly for reasons of economy — you get a lot of paper in a roll compared to an exercise book. It is a sobering thought that no less than a hundred years ago Ramanujan, one of the greatest names in Number Theory, like so many other Indian mathematicians of the time worked with slate and chalk because he found paper too expensive. Although to my knowledge no one has suggested this, I would guess that this is one of the main reasons why his early mathematical writings are so hard to follow — he left no tracks because he generally just copied out his conclusions, then literally wiped the slate clean (**Note 1**). To many people the results seemed to come from nowhere and indeed he was often incapable of explaining how he got them. (Ramanujan lived a century too early : today we have an improved ‘chalk and board’ system, the Whiteboard. At last marks can be easily erased without mess. I use large boards everyday and have somewhat moved on from lining paper to a more up to date recording system.)

*To be continued *

**Note 1 ** A brief article on Ramanujan *“Is there a Ramanujan problem?” * reprinted from an edition of the magazine *M500* can be found on my website www.sebastianhayes.co.uk

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