The Death of the Talent Fairy: Why I’m Learning Calculus

It is an often-overlooked truth that a mathematician is a good friend to have. In my case, I happen to have a best friend who has dedicated years of his life to the study of mathematics. We make quite a pair, and there is a unique quality to our friendship in that our conversations often dwell on how the other might inform each field of study. Lately, though, our friendship has been focused toward the alleviation of a nagging conviction:

There is no reason why I should not learn Calculus.

Let me backtrack a bit. While writing my senior thesis, I came across John Henry Newman’s The Idea of a University. In the course of my reading, I came across the idea that education ought to accurately represent truth, and truth is known through a unity of all the sciences (science is used here to signify the study of some aspect of knowledge). In short, Newman argues that the quality of one’s view of truth is proportional to the quality of one’s exposure to the sciences and their relations. In other words, a person needs to study literature as well as mathematics. Otherwise, that person risks forming a disproportionate favoritism to the one over the other, and one field of knowledge usurps the rightful place of another, causing distortions to develop in one’s view of truth.

Quite struck by this idea, I quickly realized that my own education had tended toward favoritism of my major (English Literature) over all other areas. Following from this came the realization that I tended to favor knowledge from my own field to an immoderate extent, to the point of allowing it to impinge upon the territory of other sciences. I recognized my own attempts to use knowledge of literature to answer theological or psychological questions. Needless to say, this was a significant problem.

To return, then, to my glorious friendship with the mathematician, I have begun answering a pressing conviction that stems from my own disproportionate view of truth.

I am learning Calculus.

Given the present academic atmosphere—which tends to push students into specialization rather than generalization—expending efforts on areas that do not pertain to my field might appear to be a waste of energy. There is also the consideration of innate inclinations. I was told in high school that some people (like me) are naturally better at the humanities, whereas some are more inclined toward the hard sciences.

But if Newman is correct that truth is a unity accessed through all the sciences, then specialization must be pursued with great caution. Otherwise, one risks allowing one field of knowledge to annex the rightful place of another, and one’s perception of truth is distorted. This also provides a reason to be cautious about only pursuing areas in which we are naturally inclined. In education, if we allow mere proclivity to govern what is to be learned, we mount the slippery slope of determining curricula based on perceived difficulty. In an article for Scriptorium Daily, Dr. Paul Spears writes,

People in general are not born with amazing intellectual or physical giftedness. I continually have to remind myself of this. Most individuals have to work very hard to attain the level of excellence that we admire. Our culture reinforces this belief about natural abilities with language of giftedness—as if some “talent fairy” is throwing around skills in a way that is totally random and completely outside of our power to obtain on our own.

This comment reinforces the point that we cannot allow our education to be determined by perceived inclinations. Sure, I might be better now at English scholarship than mathematics. Looking back, though, there was a distinct time when I was having a hard time with math, and someone told me that I was just built for something different. Believing them, I relegated math to the back-burner (working only hard enough to secure my grade) and pursued the humanities with gusto. I can find no reason for why I should not have been just as excellent at math, should I have clawed at it with ardor and sought extra help. Just so, I am convinced that when intellectual pursuits are difficult, when it seems like we have hit an academic wall, we must keep kicking at it until it breaks down.

The myth of the talent fairy must be retold in our imaginations. Otherwise, we run the risk of inhibiting the physics major from learning philosophy, the computer programmer from picking up the violin, or the business major from writing poetry. The fact that a mathematician and a literature student can have a meaningful intellectual discussion is proof that this idea is possible. There is no reason why a literature student should not learn advanced mathematics.

And so I’m learning Calculus.

Published by

Hayden Butler

Hayden Butler is an ardent student of Literature. He is passionate about the role of narrative as a cultural device, and believes that the careful study and enjoyment of story can make us deeper and more virtuous as Christians and as human beings. He recieved his B.A. in English Literature at Biola University, graduating summa cum laude and receiving the Inez McGahey Award for Literary Scholarship. He graduated from the Torrey Honors Institute, attaining to the Order of Peter and Paul. Hayden’s academic interests include critical theory, metaphysical poetry, and philosophy of education. Outside of the classroom, he is a student of martial arts and oil painting, loves a good cup of tea, and owns an embarrassing number of Star Wars novels. He seeks to live an examined life in peace and beauty. He currently teaches AP Literature and Geometry at Capistrano Valley Christian High School and works as a waiter at a Victorian Tea House.

  • Sean Patterson

    Well said Hayden,

    I received my Computer Engineering/Computer Science degree with a lot of philosophy/theology reading under my belt. To some degree I feel more “amateur” than most folks in both lines of thought (that and it makes my brain hurt a lot 8^D), but in the bigger picture I think my experience is richer for having the two aspects working together in my day to day life.

  • Jason Pettus

    I did my doctoral thesis on John Frame’s tri-perspectivalism applied to leadership. I found that only Jesus was the perfect prophet, priest and king and that all others seem to be good at doing one, decent at another and weak in the third. I agree with what you are saying and believe that leaders need to pursue all functions of leadership. A prophet weak in pastoral care (priestly function) would be a better prophet and overall leader by studying and advancing in care for people. All three perspectives are of Christ and are vital and will encourage stronger leadership as they are all three applied and apprehended

  • Elizabeth Bush

    Thank you for sharing this Hayden. I definitely agree, that most people lean towards their area of skill or talent to the extent of causing them to be imbalanced. If we are striving to be well-balanced souls, this would probably require not just balancing the intellectual, emotional, and physical, but balancing all types of physical, emotional, and intellectual exercises, yes?

  • Hayden Butler

    I am talking mostly about intellectual exercise in this post, and have not thought through the sentimental and physical aspects of this theory. All I am saying here is that if Newman is correct, then the quality of our perception of truth will be heavily impacted by the quality of this diversification of knowledge accessed through the various sciences.

  • Wry Mouth

    Math teacher here, coming over from Infinite Monkeys blog.

    Calculus, done properly (as I try to do) is really very much easier than the “kitchen sink” courses like Algebra 2 and precalculus. Especially if one studies the thinking behind the math — the philosophy of it — more than the actual calculations-by-hand stuff.

    It becomes a “CSI” or forensic exercise in indirect evidence, and can be riveting for high school students. One of the fundamental theorems can be boiled down very nicely into a thought problem:

    If a friend of yours drives from San Diego to Los Angeles, and tells you he averaged 55 mph, can you *guarantee* that, at some point in the journey, he was going *exactly* 55 mph?

    Enjoy the ride! I certainly loved my course on Milton! ;o/