Math Equals Incomprehensible

Last week I bashed all the history classes I’d ever had. This week I thought I’d give equal time to the math classes I suffered through.

It didn’t happen right away. I could add, subtract, multiply, and divide with the best. I could do much of it in my head. Long division was a breeze. Percentages were a bit of a problem at first, until I learned how useful they were in figuring out sale prices. I did fine at algebra up to a certain point. I don’t remember what that point was. I think the trauma of being completely, totally lost wiped all memories of it out of my head.

My teacher for high school Algebra I, and heaven help me, Algebra II, was the department chair. Remember The Peter Principle--the theory that a person who does well in their job is promoted until they reach a position that they don’t do well? Then they don’t get promoted any more, and we’re stuck with someone incompetent in that position basically forever.

I used to think of that teacher that way, but in retrospect, it’s hard to imagine that he was ever a good teacher.

He never answered a question. He just kept saying, “What don’t you understand?” That’s it. He could have been a wind-up doll. I’ve always wondered if he thought he was cleverly using the Socratic method, leading us to our own conclusions. But I think he was just lazy, and probably had no idea how to explain any of the concepts.

This has been my experience with math instructors, all of them. It seems to me that many people who major in math do so because they understand the concepts naturally. They can’t explain anything because they find it all self-explanatory and don’t know what to do with those of us who don’t.

So, what made math less confusing to me? A couple of books. You might have guessed that by now.

The first one I read so long ago that I don’t remember the title. The first thing that hit me was the author’s saying that many of us regular, non-math people can do lots of math, but don’t admit it because we think we’re not doing it the “right” way. Uh-huh. Remember having to use all those specific rules and explain your work? It was a downward spiral from there.

The second book, Zero, The Biography of a Dangerous Idea, by Charles Seife, came years later.

I had asked my daughter, ironically a math major, when we stopped using Roman numerals and changed to Arabic. She said, “Very roughly, 1500,” and sent me to this book.

It was so well-written that it was like reading a novel. The author follows the history of numbers: basic counting, through discovering Arabic numerals, including 0, which allowed the creation of all the mathematical functions we’re familiar with. And all those that are beyond the understanding of many of us. You can’t even add and subtract with Roman numerals.         

I was amazed at how much I was able to understand about advanced math—meaning the concepts, not actually being able to do them.

Those two books completely changed my attitude toward math. I can’t honestly say that I’m excited by the subject, but it’s not a total fog of incomprehension anymore.