The Mathematician in Ordinary Intercourse

Extract

I received this morning a pamphlet in which the master of Stowe School, describing the Acropolis, says: “The physical beauty of the place alone would have moved even a mathematician’s heart,” and that appears to be what the world thinks of us, or, at any rate, a different part of the scholastic world. I am, of course, speaking to mathematicians and not to teachers, and I suppose we have all at one time or another suffered from the misguided hostess who introduces one as a mathematician. When that terrible word is mentioned the other person instantly curls up and says to the so-called mathematician, “How terribly clever you must be,” or else, “I never could do maths, at school.” Neither is a good opening in conversation, and it takes some time to beat down that barrier and get back to ordinary friendly terms. A mathematical reputation is rather like a clerical collar; it is a hindrance to intercourse and condemns one to a very great deal of loneliness. This may, of course, be partly due to jealousy of those who are academically superior on one particular point, although they are inferior on a great many other points, because there is a certain amount of truth in the gibe that a specialist is a person who has failed in every subject except one, having had neither time nor energy to succeed in the others.