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{经典演讲}庞加莱关于数学发现的心理学的演讲

 
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{经典演讲}庞加莱关于数学发现的心理学的演讲

By 刘未鹏(pongba)

C++的罗浮宫(http://blog.csdn.net/pongba)

虽然在讨论组上发过了,但还是忍不住转载过来。上次从认知学角度总结了一下关于算法学习为何应该知其所以然,收到一些批评,但其实我说的早就不是什么新鲜的观点,关于知识讲授过程中的思维呈现西方早有评论和建设性的做法,尤其是对于数学。而我只是加了点认知科学解释而已(而这方面的解释则是基于我大半年来在心理学和认知科学方面做的功课(这里,和这里))。想来是开头对著作们的批评语气所致(但其实我完全没有否认它们的价值,只是建议多做一些寻根究底的功课而已)。

好吧,那就再来看看庞加莱是怎么说的(如果我没记错的话,欧拉也非常注重思维的讲述,并认为不能讲述数学发明背后的思维的教学是没有意义的)。注意,庞加莱那个时候,心理学和认知科学差不多才起步。关于学习和记忆的研究也不是很清晰。(关于学习与记忆的神经生物学基础是Eric Kandel做的(《追寻记忆的痕迹》),那都已经是晚近的事情了,Kandel因此获得2000年诺贝尔奖。关于记忆的系统介绍强烈推荐《找寻逝去的自我》。)庞加莱是基于内省方法来研究问题解决心理学的,但基于一个最牛数学家的大量解决问题的心理体验,庞加莱基本上把解题心理学归纳了个八九不离十,从今天的认知科学角度来看是他总结得是相当准确的。

感谢微软百科全书收藏了科学美国人曾经重新刊印的这篇经典演讲。

以下是导读和自己的一点感想,如果不想被先入为主地干扰请略过直接浏览全文:

在读《数学领域发现的心理学》的时候看到脚注里面提到庞加莱的这篇演讲。最喜欢数学家讲problem solving心理学了。认知科学家、神经科学家没有数学家解决复杂问题时候的心理体验,所以做的研究缺乏一些也许只能靠内省来获得的知识,而且使用的问题也趋于简单。而数学家又往往不通心理学,或者干脆就不关心问题到底是怎么解决的,只关心能否解决。
所幸庞加莱,这个被称为最后一位全才的人,对解题的心理学也非常有兴趣和研究。在演讲中可以发现,他对于自己解决数学问题过程中的心理过程作了深刻的反省,虽然庞加莱不是认知神经科学家,但演讲中的使用的类比以及描述基本上都是靠谱的。

其中最有意思的是他也提到了自己的几次顿悟的瞬间(其中有一次就是著名的踏上马车一瞬间想到解的那次)。

庞加莱认为下意识里面会对问题的各个元素(条件)进行组合,然后根据人对于知识的某种美感上的偏好筛选出来,那些足够"美"的东西就会浮上意识层面,于是产生顿悟。这也是我看了一些认知科学的书之后得到的说法。但此外庞加莱同时也认为下意识进行的探索是相当多的,他认为也许远远大于意识层面进行的探索(组合)。而我倾向于认为下意识层面能进行的逻辑推理是有限远的,一般一到两步就了不得了。下意识里面更多的进行的是某种模糊的模式匹配,或者说模糊联想。这就是为什么对问题有一个全局感性认识那么重要的原因,这样的认识足够模糊足够全局,有助于提取出重要的相关知识来。此外,一个总体的认识往往包含了问题的最重要(往往也是最本质的)要素,将这些要素同时装进工作记忆有着非常重要的意义——使它们有机会组合在一起,衍生出新的知识。否则就是陷在在问题的某个局部(某几个局部条件)下,得到不相干的知识。

另外他也提到了对问题整体理解的另一个好处:当你对解的大致过程有了一个整体认识之后,即便缺乏某个局部的细节,也可以在这个整体视图的指导下将其推导出来(填充出来)。说到这里顺便说一个有关的思维心理学实验:大家知道围棋高手能够记忆非常复杂的残局,而新手简直连半部残局也记忆不了。原因其实就是围棋高手具有领域知识:对各种各样围棋套路的知识,对各种局面的形态的知识。有了这些知识,只要记住局面的一个大概,就可以推导出那些细节了。事实上,当让高手们记忆一盘毫无规律放置的棋局时,他们的表现并不比门外汉好。

以下是全文转载(via):(文章不长;况且,如果庞加莱的文章不值得你捏着鼻子看中古英文,什么人的才值得呢?:-))

Mathematical Creation

How is mathematics made? What sort of brain is it that can compose the propositions and systems of mathematics? How do the mental processes of the geometer or algebraist compare with those of the musician, the poet, the painter, the chess player? In mathematical creation which are the key elements? Intuition? An exquisite sense of space and time? The precision of a calculating machine? A powerful memory? Formidable skill in following complex logical sequences? A supreme capacity for concentration?

The essay below, delivered in the first years of this century as a lecture before the Psychological Society in Paris, is the most celebrated of the attempts to describe what goes on in the mathematician's brain. Its author, Henri Poincaré, cousin of Raymond, the politician, was peculiarly fitted to undertake the task. One of the foremost mathematicians of all time, unrivaled as an analyst and mathematical physicist, Poincaré was known also as a brilliantly lucid expositor of the philosophy of science. These writings are of the first importance as professional treatises for scientists and are at the same time accessible, in large part, to the understanding of the thoughtful layman.

Poincaré on Mathematical Creation

The genesis of mathematical creation is a problem which should intensely interest the psychologist. It is the activity in which the human mind seems to take least from the outside world, in which it acts or seems to act only of itself and on itself, so that in studying the procedure of geometric thought we may hope to reach what is most essential in man's mind...

A first fact should surprise us, or rather would surprise us if we were not so used to it. How does it happen there are people who do not understand mathematics? If mathematics invokes only the rules of logic, such as are accepted by all normal minds; if its evidence is based on principles common to all men, and that none could deny without being mad, how does it come about that so many persons are here refractory?

That not every one can invent is nowise mysterious. That not every one can retain a demonstration once learned may also pass. But that not every one can understand mathematical reasoning when explained appears very surprising when we think of it. And yet those who can follow this reasoning only with difficulty are in the majority; that is undeniable, and will surely not be gainsaid by the experience of secondary-school teachers.

And further: how is error possible in mathematics? A sane mind should not be guilty of a logical fallacy, and yet there are very fine minds who do not trip in brief reasoning such as occurs in the ordinary doings of life, and who are incapable of following or repeating without error the mathematical demonstrations which are longer, but which after all are only an accumulation of brief reasonings wholly analogous to those they make so easily. Need we add that mathematicians themselves are not infallible?...

As for myself, I must confess, I am absolutely incapable even of adding without mistakes... My memory is not bad, but it would be insufficient to make me a good chess-player. Why then does it not fail me in a difficult piece of mathematical reasoning where most chess-players would lose themselves? Evidently because it is guided by the general march of the reasoning. A mathematical demonstration is not a simple juxtaposition of syllogisms, it is syllogisms placed in a certain order, and the order in which these elements are placed is much more important than the elements themselves. If I have the feeling, the intuition, so to speak, of this order, so as to perceive at a glance the reasoning as a whole, I need no longer fear lest I forget one of the elements, for each of them will take its allotted place in the array, and that without any effort of memory on my part.

We know that this feeling, this intuition of mathematical order, that makes us divine hidden harmonies and relations, cannot be possessed by every one. Some will not have either this delicate feeling so difficult to define, or a strength of memory and attention beyond the ordinary, and then they will be absolutely incapable of understanding higher mathematics. Such are the majority. Others will have this feeling only in a slight degree, but they will be gifted with an uncommon memory and a great power of attention. They will learn by heart the details one after another; they can understand mathematics and sometimes make applications, but they cannot create. Others, finally, will possess in a less or greater degree the special intuition referred to, and then not only can they understand mathematics even if their memory is nothing extraordinary, but they may become creators and try to invent with more or less success according as this intuition is more or less developed in them.

In fact, what is mathematical creation? It does not consist in making new combinations with mathematical entities already known. Anyone could do that, but the combinations so made would be infinite in number and most of them absolutely without interest. To create consists precisely in not making useless combinations and in making those which are useful and which are only a small minority. Invention is discernment, choice.

It is time to penetrate deeper and to see what goes on in the very soul of the mathematician. For this, I believe, I can do best by recalling memories of my own. But I shall limit myself to telling how I wrote my first memoir on Fuchsian functions. I beg the reader's pardon; I am about to use some technical expressions, but they need not frighten him, for he is not obliged to understand them. I shall say, for example, that I have found the demonstration of such a theorem under such circumstances. This theorem will have a barbarous name, unfamiliar to many, but that is unimportant; what is of interest for the psychologist is not the theorem but the circumstances.

For fifteen days I strove to prove that there could not be any functions like those I have since called Fuchsian functions. I was then very ignorant; every day I seated myself at my work table, stayed an hour or two, tried a great number of combinations and reached no results. One evening, contrary to my custom, I drank black coffee and could not sleep. Ideas rose in crowds; I felt them collide until pairs interlocked, so to speak, making a stable combination. By the next morning I had established the existence of a class of Fuchsian functions, those which come from the hypergeometric series; I had only to write out the results, which took but a few hours.

Then I wanted to represent these functions by the quotient of two series; this idea was perfectly conscious and deliberate, the analogy with elliptic functions guided me. I asked myself what properties these series must have if they existed, and I succeeded without difficulty in forming the series I have called theta-Fuchsian.

Just at this time I left Caen, where I was then living, to go on a geologic excursion under the auspices of the school of mines. The changes of travel made me forget my mathematical work. Having reached Coutances, we entered an omnibus to go some place or other. At the moment when I put my foot on the step the idea came to me, without anything in my former thoughts seeming to have paved the way for it, that the transformations I had used to define the Fuchsian functions were identical with those of non-Euclidean geometry. I did not verify the idea; I should not have had time, as, upon taking my seat in the omnibus, I went on with a conversation already commenced, but I felt a perfect certainty. On my return to Caen, for conscience's sake I verified the result at my leisure.

Then I turned my attention to the study of some arithmetical questions apparently without much success and without a suspicion of any connection with my preceding researches. Disgusted with my failure, I went to spend a few days at the seaside, and thought of something else. One morning, walking on the bluff, the idea came to me, with just the same characteristics of brevity, suddenness and immediate certainty that the arithmetic transformations of indeterminate ternary quadratic forms were identical with those of non-Euclidean geometry.

Returned to Caen, I meditated on this result and deduced the consequences. The example of quadratic forms showed me that there were Fuchsian groups other than those corresponding to the hypergeometric series; I saw that I could apply to them the theory of theta-Fuchsian series and that consequently there existed Fuchsian functions other than those from the hypergeometric series, the ones I then knew. Naturally I set myself to form all these functions. I made a systematic attack upon them and carried all the outworks, one after another. There was one, however, that still held out, whose fall would involve that of the whole place. But all my efforts only served at first the better to show me the difficulty, which indeed was something. All this work was perfectly conscious.

Thereupon I left for Mont-Valérien, where I was to go through my military service; so I was very differently occupied. One day, going along the street, the solution of the difficulty which had stopped me suddenly appeared to me. I did not try to go deep into it immediately, and only after my service did I again take up the question. I had all the elements and had only to arrange them and put them together. So I wrote out my final memoir at a single stroke and without difficulty.

I shall limit myself to this single example; it is useless to multiply them...

Most striking at first is this appearance of sudden illumination, a manifest sign of long, unconscious prior work. The role of this unconscious work in mathematical invention appears to me incontestable, and traces of it would be found in other cases where it is less evident. Often when one works at a hard question, nothing good is accomplished at the first attack. Then one takes a rest, longer or shorter, and sits down anew to the work. During the first half-hour, as before, nothing is found, and then all of a sudden the decisive idea presents itself to the mind...

There is another remark to be made about the conditions of this unconscious work; it is possible, and of a certainty it is only fruitful, if it is on the one hand preceded and on the other hand followed by a period of conscious work. These sudden inspirations (and the examples already cited prove this) never happen except after some days of voluntary effort which has appeared absolutely fruitless and whence nothing good seems to have come, where the way taken seems totally astray. These efforts then have not been as sterile as one thinks; they have set agoing the unconscious machine and without them it would not have moved and would have produced nothing...

Such are the realities; now for the thoughts they force upon us. The unconscious, or, as we say, the subliminal self plays an important role in mathematical creation; this follows from what we have said. But usually the subliminal self is considered as purely automatic. Now we have seen that mathematical work is not simply mechanical, that it could not be done by a machine, however perfect. It is not merely a question of applying rules, of making the most combinations possible according to certain fixed laws. The combinations so obtained would be exceedingly numerous, useless and cumbersome. The true work of the inventor consists in choosing among these combinations so as to eliminate the useless ones or rather to avoid the trouble of making them, and the rules which must guide this choice are extremely fine and delicate. It is almost impossible to state them precisely; they are felt rather than formulated. Under these conditions, how imagine a sieve capable of applying them mechanically?

A first hypothesis now presents itself; the subliminal self is in no way inferior to the conscious self; it is not purely automatic; it is capable of discernment; it has tact, delicacy; it knows how to choose, to divine. What do I say? It knows better how to divine than the conscious self, since it succeeds where that has failed. In a word, is not the subliminal self superior to the conscious self? You recognize the full importance of this question...

Is this affirmative answer forced upon us by the facts I have just given? I confess that, for my part, I should hate to accept it. Re-examine the facts then and see if they are not compatible with another explanation.

It is certain that the combinations which present themselves to the mind in a sort of sudden illumination, after an unconscious working somewhat prolonged, are generally useful and fertile combinations, which seem the result of a first impression. Does it follow that the subliminal self, having divined by a delicate intuition that these combinations would be useful, has formed only these, or has it rather formed many others which were lacking in interest and have remained unconscious?

In this second way of looking at it, all the combinations would be formed in consequence of the automatism of the subliminal self, but only the interesting ones would break into the domain of consciousness. And this is still very mysterious. What is the cause that, among the thousand products of our unconscious activity, some are called to pass the threshold, while others remain below? Is it a simple chance which confers this privilege? Evidently not; among all the stimuli of our senses, for example, only the most intense fix our attention, unless it has been drawn to them by other causes. More generally the privileged unconscious phenomena, those susceptible of becoming conscious, are those which, directly or indirectly, affect most profoundly our emotional sensibility.

It may be surprising to see emotional sensibility invoked à propos of mathematical demonstrations which, it would seem, can interest only the intellect. This would be to forget the feeling of mathematical beauty, of the harmony of numbers and forms, of geometric elegance. This is a true esthetic feeling that all real mathematicians know, and surely it belongs to emotional sensibility.

Now, what are the mathematic entities to which we attribute this character of beauty and elegance, and which are capable of developing in us a sort of esthetic emotion? They are those whose elements are harmoniously disposed so that the mind without effort can embrace their totality while realizing the details. This harmony is at once a satisfaction of our esthetic needs and an aid to the mind, sustaining and guiding. And at the same time, in putting under our eyes a well-ordered whole, it makes us foresee a mathematical law... Thus it is this special esthetic sensibility which plays the role of the delicate sieve of which I spoke, and that sufficiently explains why the one lacking it will never be a real creator.

Yet all the difficulties have not disappeared. The conscious self is narrowly limited, and as for the subliminal self we know not its limitations, and this is why we are not too reluctant in supposing that it has been able in a short time to make more different combinations than the whole life of a conscious being could encompass. Yet these limitations exist. Is it likely that it is able to form all the possible combinations, whose number would frighten the imagination? Nevertheless that would seem necessary, because if it produces only a small part of these combinations, and if it makes them at random, there would be small chance that the good, the one we should choose, would be found among them.

Perhaps we ought to seek the explanation in that preliminary period of conscious work which always precedes all fruitful unconscious labor. Permit me a rough comparison. Figure the future elements of our combinations as something like the hooked atoms of Epicurus. During the complete repose of the mind, these atoms are motionless, they are, so to speak, hooked to the wall...

On the other hand, during a period of apparent rest and unconscious work, certain of them are detached from the wall and put in motion. They flash in every direction through the space (I was about to say the room) where they are enclosed, as would, for example, a swarm of gnats or, if you prefer a more learned comparison, like the molecules of gas in the kinematic theory of gases. Then their mutual impacts may produce new combinations.

What is the role of the preliminary conscious work? It is evidently to mobilize certain of these atoms, to unhook them from the wall and put them in swing. We think we have done no good, because we have moved these elements a thousand different ways in seeking to assemble them, and have found no satisfactory aggregate. But, after this shaking up imposed upon them by our will, these atoms do not return to their primitive rest. They freely continue their dance.

Now, our will did not choose them at random; it pursued a perfectly determined aim. The mobilized atoms are therefore not any atoms whatsoever; they are those from which we might reasonably expect the desired solution. Then the mobilized atoms undergo impacts which make them enter into combinations among themselves or with other atoms at rest which they struck against in their course. Again I beg pardon, my comparison is very rough, but I scarcely know how otherwise to make my thought understood.

However it may be, the only combinations that have a chance of forming are those where at least one of the elements is one of those atoms freely chosen by our will. Now, it is evidently among these that is found what I called the good combination. Perhaps this is a way of lessening the paradoxical in the original hypothesis...

I shall make a last remark: when above I made certain personal observations, I spoke of a night of excitement when I worked in spite of myself. Such cases are frequent, and it is not necessary that the abnormal cerebral activity be caused by a physical excitant as in that I mentioned. It seems, in such cases, that one is present at his own unconscious work, made partially perceptible to the over-excited consciousness, yet without having changed its nature. Then we vaguely comprehend what distinguishes the two mechanisms or, if you wish, the working methods of the two egos. And the psychologic observations I have been able thus to make seem to me to confirm in their general outlines the views I have given.

Surely they have need of [confirmation], for they are and remain in spite of all very hypothetical: the interest of the questions is so great that I do not repent of having submitted them to the reader.

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