Work for Lesser Minds, And the Ivory Tower
of Mathematics
This week was the first one of our semester
here in Germany. That means that after the weeks and weeks of feverishly
studying for exams, the strange sad let-down that follows after the exam is
over, and after the subsequent weeks of relaxing and visiting family, all of a
sudden, I’m on that bus again, heading to the campus every morning.
I am one of those people who tends to work
better within the confines of a schedule, so I’m not that upset about the
semester starting again, but there are a few things that are intimidating me
about this semester (see my other entry about TAing and writing a Bachelor’s
thesis!). Also, another plan for this semester for me is to be more engaged in
the math department – not just going to the lectures I’m supposed to attend,
but also going to talks from visiting professors and seeing what other folks in
that area are up to.
So, on Thursday, I went to my first colloquium given by a visiting professor from Smith College, no less. “A female mathematician from a liberal arts women’s college?”, I thought. I just had to go! It had been such a damn mathematical day, too. I had Projective Geometry starting at 8 in the morning, then worked on a Topology homework assignment for about three hours, then prepped my own Linear Algebra workshop for next Wednesday, and then had my “office hour” (I don’t have an office, but I’m available for students if they have math-y questions). In between I also had some food and plenty of coffee. And then it was 5 in the evening and I finally went to this colloquium.
Her talk was on an international quarterly
called The Mathematical Intelligencer – which is very much unique. Not specific
to one area of mathematics, the Intelligencer encourages experts in various
fields to write about what is important and happening in their field – but to
write it for other experts, not just ones in their field. (For people of high mathematical literacy, as she
explained.) The Intelligencer also prints columns on things like the history of
mathematics, looking at what was happening 50 or 100 years ago – and it even includes
articles simply on the inherent beauty of certain mathematical concepts, such
as space-filling curves (look here!), fractals, or other amazing constructions. They
also print articles about math education –
a subject I care very strongly about.
However, this makes them a very strange
quarterly. And from the perspective of their publisher, they aren’t doing well
as a quarterly. How many times were they cited in mathematical papers in the
last year? Not that many. How many new, young professors do they have writing
for them? Also not many, since they all are worried that they need to print
things in more traditional journals. So we have lots of metrics that don’t put
the Intelligencer in the best light. But that doesn’t mean it’s not important.
What do to? This was the main question the professor had for us and quite a
lively discussion ensued, during which the following quote came up. I warn you,
this quote contains the true epitome of mathematical and academic snobbery,
from the heart of what I call the Ivory Tower of mathematics:
It is a melancholy experience for a professional mathematician to find himself writing about mathematics. The function of a mathematician is to do something, to prove new theorems, to add to mathematics, and not to talk about what he or other mathematicians have done. Statesmen despise publicists, painters despise art-critics, and physiologists, physicists, or mathematicians have usually similar feelings: there is no scorn more profound, or on the whole more justifiable, than that of the men who make for the men who explain. Exposition, criticism, appreciation, is work for second-rate minds.
G.H. Hardy, A Mathematician’s Apology
Oh, it’s quite a thing, that essay! It also
contains such nuggets as: “Most people can do nothing at all well”. (I feel
like I can just hear Saruman reading it. Okay, obviously in Christopher Lee’s
voice.) A professor had brought the essay up to give some context to some of
the critiques the Intelligencer has received within the mathematical community.
As soon as this quote came up, it was
rebuffed by others. No one really admits to agreeing with that sentiment – and
indeed, I think most do not. (Although some do.) At that point many things I
have thought before were streaming through my mind:, about how well mathematics
needs to be explained; how difficult and simultaneously crucial it is to be
able to explain mathematics in prose, or hell, even poetry; to make it
accessible and exciting and to make folks want to take part.. And as I heard
some of the folks quoting Hardy and talking about the attitude within a lot of
pure math circles, I remembered what I heard just a few days ago from a friend:
“The trouble with exclusive communities is that they tend to die out over time.”
What was so very exciting is that I have
had lots of thoughts about the teaching of mathematics, and about making it
accessible – and I’ve held many a minor soap box lecture on this topic among my
friends – but I’ve never really spoken to professors or graduate students about
it or heard them speak on it – so to suddenly hear some of my own arguments
coming from other people’s lips was so very exciting. And I spoke up, too.
Sometimes it’s difficult to fathom doing anything except that which is expected
of me in my classes, but I do think I might want to start being a bit more
active in this whole field. Who knows. Maybe the local math department magazine
needs another editor.
This is Why
This story comes right at the end of the
one I just told. After the colloquium I was heading into town to meet up with
some friends for Pub Quiz, our weekly tradition. And as I was in the bus, I was
standing there, holding on to the rail to keep from falling over and all of a
sudden, I felt like I had a very specific type of x-ray sense. I looked at my
feet on the floor, shifting to keep me from falling over as the bus turned, and
I felt like I could see through to the wheel and axles and mechanics of the
whole bus – I saw signs flashing past on the road and thought about the
machines that made them – my music came through my headphones and I saw the
chords in my mind like graphs, the harmonies corresponding with beautiful
visual symmetry. And I just thought – this is why I study math. Because the
world is math. The language of the
universe. Yes, I felt like a nerd – but I also felt like I was flying. I’ll
take the one to have the other.
That Small Town Feel
At Pub Quiz, one of the waitresses who
usually works Thursday nights came over to our table and was taking our order –
and as she brought our food and drinks a bit later, she said to me, “Did you
cut your hair?” – I was so surprised I couldn’t stop smiling! I’d been
recognized, without ever realizing that I’d been noticed in the first place.
And then the next morning, I went to the bouldering hall where I’ve been going
climbing for the past several months – and the woman who checked me in said,
“You DID cut your hair! I saw you in the bus yesterday but I wasn’t sure if it
was you, so I didn’t say anything! It looks great!” I never realized . And it’s
not that I think I’m incredibly important – or indeed at all important – to any
of these people. But it just enhances the feeling of belonging in a place that
is just so, so lovely.
