Most of us assume that math is a science and writing is an art.
Math is a science in that there are formulas. Logic. There's an established way to learn and teach math, with clear steps and explanations.
Writing is an art in that it is completely undefined. Mystical. There's no "right" way to write. You either "have it," or you don't.
This separation has caused high schoolers to box themselves into one of two groups: the STEM kids versus the liberal arts kids.
These group distinctions, while seemingly helpful, have set these two beautiful subjects as an “either-or.”
Half of high schoolers can't write anything beyond a five-paragraph essay, and the other half can't calculate a tip without their phone. Both groups have simply given up at understanding the other.
Not because we can’t actually be good at both, but because humanity has decided that writing and math are opposites.
Most people assume it’s clear: Math is logical and defined and writing is intuitive and imaginative.
I disagree.
Really, the passion in mathematics comes from imagination, and the beauty in writing comes from logic.
I used to think like that.
I dreaded the hours spent memorizing formulas and glaring at numbers.
I stared at my fourth-grade teacher as the Expo marker squeaked across the whiteboard, scribing mathematical rules and shapes, not comprehending the information. My friends and I complained during recess about how useless learning math seemed, while the "smart boys" boasted their 100%s.
But then, my parents made my sister and I move schools.
And we didn't simply move to another Catholic private school, but instead, we were pushed into Alpha, a school where students learn exclusively from online, adaptive apps. On top of that, a core value of Alpha is that students "take ownership over their education." That meant that I had to make academics interesting for me to learn, otherwise I would fall behind.
It was easy to do for writing. I liked writing. I was good at it. I was a liberal arts kid.
But, I wasn't a STEM kid.
In order to get through my math courses, I had to force myself to think of reasons why math equations were useful to me, or I would just get stuck.
And if I got stuck, I got frustrated and I couldn't see why math was useful in any way, which made me more stuck.
I slugged through middle school math to Pre-Calculus, still dreading the hours of staring at formulas on my computer screen. For ten years of math courses, I was unable to truly understand the reason and beauty behind math. I was utterly blinded by the idea that I was only a writing kid.
But then.
Then came calculus.
The year I learned calculus was the year I learned that math is beautiful.
In calculus, we learn math the way it should always be learned: as an art.
Calculus teaches the "why" before the formula.
What is infinity? How do we move? How do objects take up space in the world? How are those ideas connected?
We ask these questions before we even glance at a derivative formula sheet.
And those questions, they get you curious.
Can one formula really explain movement? What about all of those area formulas we learned in fourth grade?
And once you're curious, once you yearn to understand the secrets the universe is hiding, learning formulas and equations comes naturally.
These real-world connections, practical applications, and answers to impossible questions are what pushed the earliest mathematicians to explore numbers and calculations.
Archimedes did not discover Pi by learning formulas.
Archimedes questioned the mystery of curves. In his time, the methods to calculate the areas of rectangles and squares were known–but not the area of a circle.
His inquiries sparked curiosity, which inspired his tedious journey of discovering Pi, where he carefully multiplied the radius of a circle squared by increasingly precise fractions, before declaring Pi to lie between 3-and-1/7 and 3-and-10/71.
Archimedes understood that math is an incredible journey of discovery. Every answer exists, we just have to uncover it.
That is how we should think about math. Math is not rigid or finished. It is a constant exploration and search to explain why the world is the way it is.
Math can act as a new filter through which to see the world.
After learning derivatives and integrals, a string connects the way something moves and how much space it takes up.
A baseball is no longer just a baseball. It's the area under a curve with a position, velocity, and acceleration. A crown and a water bottle and a pillow are all the same–because they can all be described through numbers.
The flexibility of numbers and existence of variables allows anyone to create their own problems and describe their own scenarios that they wish to resolve through mathematics. Math allows for the final step of Bloom's Taxonomy, creation, because of this ability to craft original questions and answers.
Millions of kids are stuck in the pattern of hating math, simply because they cannot remember every single formula–or don't care.
To them, math is memorization. Boring. Too complicated. Impossible to understand.
Instead of first drowining them in boring facts, let them experience the beauty of math. The intuition. The imagination. The exploration.
Teach math as an art.
If math is an art, then, is writing a science? My logic-driven, pattern-loving brain had a new mission: to find the science behind writing.
There has to be a reason why certain pieces of writing went ‘viral’ and others didn’t. What’s the difference between The Great Gatsby and Tender Is the Night by F. Scott Fitzgerald? Why did one become the great American novel and the other a note in his Wikipedia page? What’s the secret formula?
Well, the classic three-paragraph essay is the simplest formula you can use to write something. And although it can be extremely repetitive and boring, you can use the basic structure to build complex essays and articles. I, for example, was able to get a 5 on AP Language and Composition by creating a formula for my essays (that built off of the three-paragraph essay) that forced me to add nuance and sophistication to my arguments and clarity to my evidence.
I even use a formula to write this newsletter.
Every piece of writing can be broken down into an equation: the purpose and the parts needed to solve it. You can add a metaphor, thesis statement, personification, dialogue, or pretty much anything to this equation. The more proficient you are at solving these equations, the more complex you can make them.
Solving the equation comes down to writing sentences–and at its core, a sentence is simply another equation with variables. Add together nouns and verbs to create simple sentences. Derive appositive phrases from those nouns to clarify or multiply the meaning of a verb with a direct object.
You know the basic equation and have the variables; you just need to figure out what values make sense in the context of each problem.
Think of MadLibs–putting in different values can change the entire meaning of a sentence, even if the structure is the same.
And if you’re wondering how to choose your words, think about how you want someone to walk away feeling after reading your piece. There are many common words that lead to specific emotional responses in the majority of people. Breaking the words down even more, sounds like “-k” and “-s” elicit different reactions and associations. Combine soft-sounding letters (sibilance) with long, flowing sentences to create a feeling of love, or hard-sounding letters with short, punchy sentences to create a feeling of frustration.
Writing is simply one big equation that each writer has to solve. And I suppose that whoever finds the best answer will be rewarded–like F. Scott Fitzgerald, whose The Great Gatsby is still in print today.
Math and writing are extraordinarily interconnected.
Both disciplines have the same goal: to simplify problems and make sense of the world around us. If you’re ever stuck on a math problem, approach it like you would an art piece–with creativity and experimentation. And if you can’t figure out what to write next, use logic and formulas to find your answer.
Scholar’s Sources: The Infinite Powers of Math and Writing
The number one piece that exemplifies the connection between math and writing is Steven Strogatz’s Infinite Powers. This book will take you through the captivating history of Calculus, which is filled with controversy, competition, and death. And it’s written in the most magical way possible.
You will fall in love with math after reading this book, and, consequently, see how meaningful writing stems from logic.
Thanks for reading. Go crush the week! See y'all on Sunday.
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Loving this reframe. Treating writing like a science allows you to test optimize and rely on proven patterns rather than just waiting for inspiration. Just like in data verification where precise numbers matter for instance running clean data through an email address checker: https://giggal.ai/email-verifier writing benefits immensely when you treat it as a structured process with clear data points behind emotional responses.