RISHI SUNAK would like maths to be compulsory in school up to the age of 18. Having never taken a national maths exam — I was advised against even attempting O level — I felt vaguely aggrieved at his suggestion. Academically, I managed pretty well without maths. I have run my own company, and worked to a budget without mishap.
But, on reflection, I have realised that these require fairly low levels of mathematical ability. Real maths requires a capacity for abstract thought. This is not so obvious in simple arithmetic, which can be learnt by rote, or in geometry, when you at least work with shapes. But in algebra and onwards you need a capacity for abstract thought.
My mind always wanted to give shape to letters and symbols. I found it hard to solve problems by letting them stand for unknown unknowns. Every now and then, I managed to solve a problem, but it was always with great effort and probably often a fluke. I suspect that I could have learnt to do better, but the maths teacher at school seemed to regard my case as hopeless.
Left to myself, I think in pictures, images, sounds, words. The thought of trying to code, for example, makes me feel slightly dizzy and even nauseous. And yet the technology that we rely on every day depends on minds that can master code and other abstract and probabilistic forms of calculation — which is, of course, why Mr Sunak wants more of us to be competent at maths.
Perhaps there are parallels between maths and prayer. I rather hope not. But I cannot help but be aware that contemplation is often described as a form of prayer which is both wordless and imageless. I love the idea of pure contemplation, but, in reality, I cannot empty my mind of its visual and verbal contents. Even the word “apophatic” comes out in my mind as a shape: a large, dark, concave curve.
The best that I can do with being beset with images is to try to work with them, recognising that I am probably missing something important. But there it is. Too late now. I am comforted, though, by the example of St Augustine of Hippo, who admitted to finding it difficult to think of God without imagining “a luminous body of immense size” (Confessions 4.31).
Theologically, I accept that God is beyond imagery, but my mind still insists on producing shapes, swirls, suggestions. Thank goodness for icons, which seem to reach down a ladder to our human weakness. The Word became flesh for all of us, but perhaps especially for maths dolts. Mr Sunak, take note — and make some extra provision for those of us who, even after endless explanation and practice, still don’t quite get what is going on in a quadratic equation.