QED

It was declared that the rules had been discovered. The axioms of the universe had, finally, been revealed to us by le mafcre be la mumplin.—the Wizard of Jupiter. It was a closed question, there was no doubting his insight or the correctness of his discovery, for through his le so’i makfa, which are deeper than anyone else’s, he spoke with the universe directly. Thus, it was put in stone.

“The axioms must surely be consistent. After all, it seems absurd to claim that every proposition is simultaneously true in this universe,” said Felt the dime-store logician, who quite liked when stones were written on.

“What?” replied Wheel.

“The principle of explosion, Wheel. If the axioms were inconsistent, then you could infer any proposition. But it certainly doesn’t seem like every proposition is true.”

“I sure hope not.”

Felt wheeled Wheel, who sat in a felt-bottomed wheelbarrow, up the hill. This was Felt’s wheeling routine, and Wheel’s felt routine. Or something of that nature.

Felt felt that wheeling a 150-or-so-pound human in a wheelbarrow up a hill was tough work. But work is always tough, and Felt didn’t mind so much. There was a tree atop the hill, where Felt and Wheel sat for a while every-ish day and looked out over the town. That is what they did that day as well once Felt had pushed the wheelbarrow all the way to the top.

Wheel, leaning against the tree, looked into the red eye of Jupiter. Or, into the red eye of the sculpture of Jupiter in the center of town. “The Wizard couldn’t actually be on Jupiter,” said Wheel the dime-store physicist, “It’s gas.”

“Actually, one can prove that there exists someone who could be on Jupiter,” replied Felt.

“Who’s that?”

“Oh, well, it’s known to be impossible to find an example. You can only prove that some such person exists.”

Well, what good does that do, thought Wheel. But Wheel didn’t say it aloud, because logicians and mathematicians get upset when they’re asked questions like that. Wheel wouldn't want Felt to stop wheeling Wheel up the hill.

“How about a card game?” Felt suggested. Felt dealt the cards.

“Which one?” asked Wheel after the cards had been dealt.

“I hadn’t thought quite that far ahead.” A breeze kicked up and whisked away the cards. Felt and Wheel sat under the tree, now cardless, bar the two of clubs in Wheel’s hand. They listened to the breeze upon the leaves of the tree and the blades of the grass.

“The Gödel theorem must surely apply to the universe’s axioms. How could it be that they’re not powerful enough?” said Felt.

“Gödel has lots of theorems,” replied Wheel.

“The one that says that there are truths the axioms cannot prove.”

“I’m sure there are,” said Wheel.

“Do you think that the axioms of the universe generate every model that’s consistent with the axioms? Do you think we’re in only one of many different models that exist out there?” posed Felt.

“Do you have any idea what you're talking about?”

“Not really.” Felt was, after all, only a dime-store logician.

After a while, Wheel got back into the felt-bottomed wheelbarrow, and Felt wheeled Wheel back down the hill.

It was a normal day that day. Quod erat demonstrandum.