I’m a math major and a math tutor. In my three years of doing the latter, primarily focused on introductory calculus, I have struggled with how to explain the concepts and processes in an understandable way to my students. And it is a struggle because math has become so internal that it becomes hard to even see what would be difficult about it, especially with the straightforward processes of introductory calculus.
But beyond that, I want to show my students the beauty of mathematics. I loved math from a very young age, but it was not until I took classes here that I really understood the inner beauty, hidden from the world by proofs, technical definitions, and layers of abstraction. How do you show someone what makes Galois theory incredible or topology so interesting without immersing them in these technicalities?
As Christians, we are confronted with the same problem. Bringing someone to faith is an attempt to make them see the inner beauty of the story and how much better our lives are when living in faith. But, as we have already discussed in class, that’s difficult to do, especially when you’re so immersed in it. How do you externalize yourself from it to see it from a non-Christian perspective? How do you bring people in?
Christianity has the additional problem of faith. Nobody really rejects the reality of math; no matter how much someone may dislike it, he does not deny its truth. But that’s not the case with Christianity. Plenty of people will reject God even if the best arguments and evidence are brought to them. Faith is a decision we cannot make for someone else; to quote The Matrix (my favorite film), “I can only show you the door. You're the one that has to walk through it.”
So, with the problem established, we can ask the obvious question: how do we get people in the story? The answer? The same way we do with math.
What do most math classes consist of? Lectures and problem sets. In lectures, the teacher explains the information and usually goes through a few examples. In lower level math classes, those examples are generally computations, whereas in higher levels they are proving important results. Problem sets are where the knowledge is tested by going through computations individually or practicing with the definitions and theorems. In my experience, this is where the real learning happens, especially with proof-based math; I don’t really understand anything until I’ve worked with it directly. Thus, the practice improves my knowledge, allowing me to advance to new topics which I can then practice. It becomes cyclic.
Likewise, Christian faith comes in two parts: knowledge and practice. The knowledge comes from reading the scriptures and listening to sermons, as one would expect, but also from making those arguments ourselves; the true test of understanding is whether you can explain it to someone else. The practice also comes in familiar forms, prayer and church attendance. Faith is not just about “knowing” Jesus is Lord but acting on that faith, to the best of your abilities. You cannot truly understand without the practice.
This is what the monks see. When looking at St. Benedict’s Rules for Monasteries, specifically Chapters 8 to 20, it details a thorough schedule for saying the entirety of the Psalms each week. The practice is vital to the monks and centers everything they do. The effect the practice has on one’s spirit is absolutely crucial; gathering together in praise of God, each and every day, and multiples times therein, allows for spiritual edification of potent strength.
And I can speak to this in my own practice. During my participation in Professor Fulton Brown’s prayer group, we have had many fluctuations in attendance. Sometimes, it has simply been the two of us; other times, we are joined by a larger group. And there is power in both. The larger group is great because we are able to gather in fellowship and raise our voices in praise to God. But the smaller group has its own quality, as I know that we gather every week, rain or shine (and I do mean that!), to come together and praise our Lord. No matter the circumstances, I count on gathering together, and I know my faith has grown stronger as a result of it.
Through their disciplined practice, then, the monks are able to see what they do. Bede’s On the Tabernacle or Gregory’s Moralia in Job are clearly the result of knowledge from practice. For example, consider this quote from Bede: “The width of the ark was one cubit on account of the dispensation of the Lord’s own charity, with which he took care to unite his elect in God” (Bede, 12). The symbolism Bede sees in the measurements of the ark is something that most would never notice, and something I admittedly struggled to understand the precise grounding of. It is only through the result of their practice that one could hope to understand the texts the way they do. And that is unique, among scholarly considerations, since it is not merely an object of study and knowledge, but also one of worship for those considering it. I do not worship math nor use it to worship in the way that I do with the Scriptures.
Speaking again from personal experience, I have experienced something similar, though on a much smaller scale. When we first started I would trip over the words and was still learning their cadence. But now that we have practiced together for five quarters (and counting!), Psalm 94 has become known to me in a way it was not before. Lines like “make a joyful noise to him with psalms” (Psalm 94:2) have taken on a new meaning as we do that weekly, or “To day if you shall hear his voice, harden not your hearts” (Psalm 94:8) feels like reaching out to those around us as we pray in the Quad. I had not really thought about it before my reflection in class, but I realize that I understand them differently now versus when we started.
Thus, just as in math, faith comes through knowledge and practice, and they act cyclically: practice gives way to greater knowledge, and the deeper understanding brings a deeper faith and better knowledge.
Thus, let us return to the original question: how do we bring people into the faith, to see its inner beauty? There is not a perfect answer, since faith is a personal choice that we cannot control. But, for both ourselves and for others, we must both share and participate in knowledge, the intellectual grounds of faith, but also practice our faith to the best of our abilities. In trying to demonstrate the inner beauty of the story and of faith, both are necessary and cannot be substituted.
I will conclude with a question, then, that I do not have a proper answer to: considering the benefits the monks reap from their practice, why don’t we all become monks?
—Chad Berkich
I have taught you the way of the monks! And they would, in turn, enjoy the analogy you draw with math, as much of their training in chanting the psalms involved music, which is mathematical. Music, like math, is one of those things difficult to put into words, precisely because it is NOT words, and yet even experiences that depend on words (e.g. saying the psalms) seem to defy expression except with the insistence, "You have to be there!” Be there in the rain, saying psalms that you have said dozens of times before, and find them opening out ever new layers of meaning, even as you say the words you thought you knew. I am certain there is a mathematical analogy for this...
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