English mathematician (1885–1977)
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[For an unproved Lemma] I had what looked like a promising idea for this, but it was fallacious. In the middle of a three week holiday - mathematics completely below the horizon - the idea came again out of the blue when I was in bed. I forgot it had been rejected as fallacious, and this forgetting did the trick; because this time I noticed that it did prove something, and, by what was nearly, or quite, automatic writing, a proof got written down which deduced the Lemma from the something. ... I did experience automatic writing again. ... my pencil wrote down the formula [omitted] for no reason at all, and almost unattended by consciousness. On the face of it the formula has no apparent connexion with the problem, but it turns out to be an essential key to the proof. ... as if my subconsciousness knew the thing all the time, and finally got impatient.
I read in the proof-sheets of Hardy on Ramanujan: 'As someone said, each of the positive integers was one of his personal friends.' My reaction was, 'I wonder who said that; I wish I had.' In the next proof-sheets I read (what now stands): 'It was Littlewood who said...' (What had happened was that Hardy had received the remark in silence and with a poker face, and I wrote it off as a dud....)
There is much to be said for being a mathematician. To begin with, he has to be completely honest in his work, not from any superior morality, but because he simply cannot get away with a fake. ... A mathematician's normal day contains hours of close concentration, and leaves him jaded in the evening. ... This is why we tend to relax either on mild nonfiction like biographies, or - to be crude, and to the derision of arts people - on trash. There is, of course, good trash and bad trash. ... Minor depressions will occur, and most of a mathematician's life is spent in frustration, punctuated with rare inspirations. A beginner can't expect quick results; if they are quick they are pretty sure to be poor. ... When one has finished a substantial paper there is commonly a mood in which it seems that there is really nothing in it. Do not worry, later on you will be thinking 'At least I could do something good then.' At the end of a particularly long and exacting work there can be a strange melancholy. This, however, is romantic, and mildly pleasant, like some other melancholies.
The Astronomer's fallacy. It is very hard to make a random selection of stars. If, for example, you see a star (with the naked eye) it is probably bright (as stars go). A lecturer was once making the point that middle class families were smaller than lower class ones. As a test he asked everyone to write down the number of children in his family. The average was larger than the lower class average. The obvious point he overlooked were that zero families were unrepresented in the audience. But further, families of n have a probability of being represented proportional to n; with all this, the result is to be expected.
If he is consistent a man of the mathematical school washes his hands of applications. To someone who wants them he would say that the ideal system runs parallel to the usual theory: 'If this is what you want, try it: it is not my business to justify application of the system; that can only be done by philosophizing; I am a mathematician'. In practice he is apt to say: 'try this; if it works that will justify it'. But now he is not merely philosophizing; he is committing the characteristic fallacy. Inductive experience that the system works is not evidence.
G. H. Hardy said he thought on paper ('with my pen'). He wrote everything out (in his invariably admirable handwriting), scrapping and copying whenever a page got into a mess. When I am thinking about a difficult problem everything goes onto a single page - all over the place with odd equations, diagrams, rings. However appalling the mess, I feel that to scrap this page would somehow break threads in the unconscious.
The derivates theorem enables one to reject certain parts of the thing one wants to tend to zero. One day I was playing round with this, and a ghost of an idea entered my mind of making r, the number of differentiations, large. At that moment the spring cleaning that was in progress reached the room I was working in, and there was nothing for it but to go walking for 2 hours, in pouring rain. The problem seethed violently in my mind: the material was disordered and cluttered up with irrelevant complications cleared away in the final version, and the 'idea' was vague and elusive. Finally I stopped, in the rain, gazing blankly for minutes on end over a little bridge into a stream (near Kenwith wood), and presently a flooding certainty came into my mind that the thing was done. The 40 minutes before I got back and could verify were none the less tense.