No, not the Beatles’ song, the advice column on Slate.com! I love Emily Yoffe’s advice, and the sense of humor in her columns and videos, but I have to say I found something lacking in the answers she gave regarding this math grad student who wrote to her during a Washington Post chat a few days ago. Here’s the student’s original question and her reply.
Philadelphia, Penn.: I’m a graduate student in mathematics, and my particular area is very abstract. When people ask me what I do, or see me with a textbook and ask what I’m reading, no matter how simplified an explanation I give them, inevitably the person remarks that my area is “way beyond” them or that they’d “never be able to grasp that”. I always want to tell them, “You definitely won’t with that attitude.” To me, all of these concepts are perfectly intuitive, and while I’m certainly aware that not everyone has my capacity for, or interest in, mathematics, I am still annoyed by all of these people putting themselves down to me—did they ever try to understand the subject? At least some of them might find it easier and more interesting than they expected! For some reason, they all seem to take pride in how poor their math ability is, or at the very least they aren’t troubled by it. Should I be harsher and just say “Yes indeed, this is much too hard for you”? How do you suggest I respond to these kind of comments?
Emily Yoffe: A few years ago, in an attempt to help my daughter with her math homework, I enrolled in the elementary school math prep program, Kumon. I scored at the first grade level. Even if I tried, I probably couldn’t truly understand what you’re doing. But I would be interested if you could explain what this math is used for—modeling subprime mortgages? Global warming? Then we’d have something to talk about. So ignore the self-put downs, and don’t add any of your own. Instead think of it as an opportunity to show that what you do is interesting and can—on some level—be grasped.
Later in the chat, someone else wrote in to say exactly what I’d been thinking. If I didn’t know better (I didn’t even know about this chat thing until yesterday), I’d have sworn it was actually me.
“Math? That’s over my head”: I think this writer deserves more of an answer. I’m a woman in physics, and nearly everyone makes a self-deprecating comment when I say so. The point really is this: there is a cultural pride in innumeracy that doesn’t exist for illiteracy—no one will brag about not being able to read, yet feel free to essentially brag about not being good at math. This is not people being candid about their abilities. It actually is a way of dismissing the importance of the field of study by implying that it has no cultural necessity or meaning. There has to be a way of responding to this, but subtly encouraging people to believe that it can be understood (with perhaps some effort—but what doesn’t take effort?). Most people can do math to at least the calculus level with time and effort, not talent. And most people can understand even high mathematical concepts, if not perform them, if they’d get past the mental block. This hurts everybody!
Emily Yoffe: I’m sure most people could change their carburetor with some time and effort, too. Instead of lecturing people about how their innumeracy hurts everyone, understand that people are complimenting you on your impressive skills. So come up with some things to say about your field that can engage even the innumerate, like me, in conversation.
I get what she’s saying here. In terms of polite conversation, certainly it’s inappropriate to lecture and berate someone who was just trying to make small talk with you. And people in math/science fields should certainly work on a simplified, clear description of their job so that they can explain it to people without four hours and a chalkboard. That part, I buy.
What I think Emily doesn’t understand, though, is that it’s quite possible (really, extremely probable) that this math grad student is not doing anything that is useful for anything, in a way that could be explained without four hours and a chalkboard. There’s a whole lot more to math than calculus and statistics. She asks, “But I would be interested if you could explain what this math is used for—modeling subprime mortgages? Global warming?” I can easily imagine the answer is, “Nothing.” Nothing like that, at least. Maybe it’s just used for solving other problems that pretty much only exist in the world of mathematics.
That’s not to say that it will never be used for anything else. There are plenty of theorems proved long ago by mathematicians that were only recently discovered to be useful for describing physical systems. The thing is, that’s not the point. We don’t expect all occupations or fields of study to be “useful” in some way that drastically betters the course of human history. Sometimes, they’re just interesting or enjoyable. Sometimes, it’s not useful in the sense of building a better mousetrap or curing the common cold, but useful in the sense of adding to our understanding of what we are made of and how the universe works. Even if we can’t build tiny computers out of that understanding, it’s good that people are developing it.
My advice to the math grad student would be: tell people how interested you are in your research. Tell them how much you love solving puzzles, and how satisfying it is to complete a proof. Then ask them about their job, and move the conversation along elsewhere.
I was saddened to see that our Dear Prudence doesn’t give any advice to the people approaching math grad students everywhere and saying things like, “Pshew, math! That stuff is way over my head.” My guess is, from the way she answers, that she has on occasion been that person. I would hope that people who make those kind of comments learn two things. First, it’s incredibly other-izing; second, it kills the conversation and puts the burden of recovery on the person you’re speaking to. Those two things make it rude, so you should find some other way to respond.
Let’s deal with the first issue. Comments like “Oh, I could never do that” and the like make it sound as though the mathematician (or scientist) is some kind of alien being imbued with freakish abilities. You may think it sounds like a compliment, but it doesn’t feel like one. It’s usually said with a tone of surprised disdain—it’s not just that you don’t know the math, but also that you would never, ever want to—so it sounds like you’re saying, “You could never be a normal person like me.”
Secondly, when people say things like, “I could never do that”… we already know. We operate under the assumption that most of the people we interact with outside the university do not have graduate degrees in math or science. You are saying something as obvious as, “Occasionally, it is cloudy outside.” Additionally, the natural responses to a statement such as this are either self-aggrandizing, insulting, or patronizing, and that is an awkward position to be put in. We struggle to find a way to respond to your remarks—hence the letter to an advice columnist. Good small talk doesn’t just mean saying the first thing that comes to mind, no matter how inane or impossible it is to answer. If you’re going to kill the conversation, do it in such a way that places the burden on yourself, and transition to a new thing to talk about.
There are bigger issues here—as we’ve said before, they encourage the already-widespread belief that it’s fine to be bad at math—but I thought it was worth pointing out that, in addition, they make for really unpleasant conversation.
Tags: education, math, science
