By Matthew Pons

Recently I’ve had the opportunity to read Mathematics for Human Flourishing with my math students and a group of colleagues from a variety of disciplines and these conversations have elevated the reading experience. My students were in a capstone seminar, and about forty percent of the course time was spent discussing Flourishing, using a wonderful set of discussion questions shared by Nick Scoville. The discussion with colleagues was part of a book club I’m in with professors from biology, computer science, economics, English, and management. In thinking about how to write this post, I spent several days grappling with perspective. I knew I wanted to write about those conversations, but I couldn’t put all the pieces together in a cohesive way. I could have simply written about my reflections, but the emotions behind the reflections are what makes this a “living proof” post. When it finally crystalized in my mind, what I was feeling was gratitude! And I wanted anyone reading this to have that lens from the beginning as well, and here’s why. 

As a mathematician, when “math” comes up outside the classroom or a math-focused talk, often at least one person in the room grimaces blatantly or groans audibly. This is usually followed with “are we doing math?” or “well, someone else can figure out the math,” or “math is hard.” When our colleagues or students offer these responses, it points to their own past experiences with mathematics. But it can make me feel a little isolated and undervalued. And what I’m grateful for recently are math books that I can read with those new to the mathematical community and colleagues from other disciplines.

For those of you who haven’t had the chance to read Mathematics for Human Flourishing, the basic premise is that, as humans, we share basic desires. Each chapter focuses on one such desire and argues that mathematics can teach us virtues that lead us toward those desires. It is then those virtues that lead to a well lived life. In the opening chapter Francis writes: “Human flourishing refers to a wholeness–of being and doing, of realizing one’s potential and helping others do the same, of acting with honor and treating others with dignity, of living with integrity even in challenging circumstances. It is not the same as happiness, and it is not just a state of mind.” As an example, the second chapter focuses on the desire for exploration and examines the virtues of imagination, creativity, and expectation of enchantment that mathematics can cultivate. Each chapter culminates with a correspondence from Christopher Jackson, a prison inmate. These letters tie in beautifully to the content of the chapters and we are given a glimpse into how Christopher is using mathematics to change the trajectory of his life. There are also some problems and puzzles sprinkled throughout the book, sixteen in total, which allow the reader to play and struggle along the way (hints and solutions are included).

I had read Flourishing a few years back, but I didn’t really take the time to digest it deeply or let it change my daily practices. One reason for this lack of action was in part due to the added stressors of teaching during COVID-19. But the primary reason was an attitude that I wasn’t part of the problem, meaning that I saw myself as a welcoming professor who was accessible and invited all students into the community. And it’s hard to admit that I might not be as accessible and welcoming as I need to be. Around last August, I started rereading Flourishing because I was planning to use it with students during a seminar course the following spring. As I read it again–with the added benefit of having taught through the COVID-19 pandemic and with a new understanding of grace, compassion, and the privilege of meeting in-person–I started to see the cracks in my self-perception. I saw how I needed to make more of an effort to connect with my quiet students. I saw that my accessibility wasn’t as openly available as I thought it was. And I started to understand how my concept of “welcome” is tied to my identity (my upbringing and other factors), and that concept might not be what a particular student connects with as welcoming.

In reading the book with my students, who are relatively new to the mathematical community, I knew there was potential for our perspectives to be at odds. And yes, there were moments where they expressed a sense of confusion due to a lack of experience (the “Meaning” and “Permanence” chapters were hard for some of them), but what surprised me was their openness to the ideas in the text. At times, each of them shared stories of being discouraged for a variety of reasons, they acknowledged that they had witnessed injustices in the classroom, and they reflected on the fact that our current educational system often portrays mathematics as simply facts and procedures. On the other hand, they noted that their “favorite” classes tended to be ones where the desires (exploration, play, beauty, truth) were front and center. They wanted to learn more about certain desires (meaning, permanence, freedom, love) and how they connect to mathematics.  And many of them commented in course evaluations that they wished they had been able to read the text earlier in their mathematical journey.

The fact that my students took the text to heart and analyzed each chapter in the context of their own lives’ is enough reason for me to leave that course with a sense of gratitude. But my gratitude stems from something deeper than that – hopefulness. What I saw in this group of young mathematicians was inspiring. They want a mathematical community that is welcoming, a community that encourages reflection, supports them through struggles, and gives them the space to play and appreciate the truth and beauty of our discipline. They want unjust systems to change, they want ability to be fostered rather than measured, and they want to feel deeply loved in a community that celebrates humans rather than a cold system that only values perceived ability. This course has left me a changed mathematician. The words Francis wrote are timely and profound but listening to my students discuss these ideas has impacted me in a way I cannot fully articulate. So, if you have a chance, read this book with your students!

The book club with my colleagues was equally delightful and sometimes paralleled the student discussions. This was the first discipline-specific book we have read, but what we agreed on early in the discussion is that the heart of the book is not specific to mathematics. They remarked that much of the text applies to almost any discipline, particularly the latter chapters (struggle, justice, power, freedom, community, love). Perhaps not unsurprising was that several of them felt like they would have continued their mathematical journeys longer had they had better instruction, with teachers who encouraged play and supported them through struggle. They also enjoyed tackling the problems sprinkled throughout the text. There was some frustration on problems they couldn’t solve quickly or even at all, and they pulled out their notepads with work as we talked. It brought me joy to see those attempts, and they were surprised to know that most of my research looks, at first, like similar scribbles on a notepad. They were also eager to discuss the problems they couldn’t quite solve. As we moved into the more philosophical side of the text, one of my colleagues from English talked about pattern recognition in literature, how Francis’ discussion of patterns in mathematics made so much sense to her, and how she wished she had known this as a student. Another shared how she had not performed well on a statistics exam in graduate school, and she described the impact of the words her professor said to her when she went to discuss her poor performance: “But did you learn anything?” A second English professor talked about teaching poetry, the methods he uses, and how, after reading this book, he realized how very mathematical his methods are.

What I found at the end of our discussion was, again, gratitude. Not only that my colleagues let me lead us to a “mathy” place, but that they were able to see connections between what I do and what they do. They commented that all of us (discipline aside) need to figure out how to foster growth and not simply measure ability. We discussed the importance of the freedom of welcome and how culture and identity play a role in what makes a student feel welcome in our spaces. And we spent some time discussing the need for systems that don’t fault students for failing when they are making an honest effort to learn and challenge themselves. One idea arose that would likely frighten my CFO–charging for a degree rather than a semester.

All in all, this book is transformative if you take it to heart. Let’s write more books like this. Let’s read them with our students. Let’s read them with our colleagues. May we all flourish.