Mathematicians are People, Too

 

               The Apology and Hardy’s own “Ramanunjan” piece seem to portray a dichotomous picture of the manner in which mathematicians (and, to a greater but less specific extent, creative artists in general) come into being. We have a stark contrast between two individuals: Hardy himself and “The Indian Mathematician” whom, from nearly unrecognizable backgrounds, play a part in the further development of mathematics as a whole. And finally, we are given Ellenburg’s article, which I think was a very interesting choice made by our professors to pair with these two. What I want to talk about, then,  is both the explicit and implicit relationships given between creative work, humanity, and our own mortality – how each is influenced by the other, and create a unique experiences for each individual.

               I think it is obvious that these pieces illustrate that neither man’s accomplishments can be separated from the men themselves, both in how they are perceived today and how they were perceived at the time. Ramanunjan’s story is a good illustration of this. The Apology mentions that the first documents that Hardy received for review from Ramanunjan had already been ignored by two other esteemed mathematicians, and Hardy mentions that Englishmen have difficulty in “relating” to an Indian. Hardy himself dismisses these documents at first. I think that this is more indicative of the social climate of the time period than anything mathematical. Coming from almost no educational background, he obviously would have been dismissed had it not been for Hardy’s sponsorship. The foreword to the Apology mentions that Hardy once (erroneously, in his estimation) wrote that had Ramanunjan had a better education, he would have been less than Ramanunjan. Both Hardy and the author think that this statement is false; however, we are all by-products of the manner in which we were raised, and mathematicians are no exception. Rather, I think that we should embrace this statement as one of wholehearted truth: had Ramanunjan been indoctrinated within the colonial education system of India under England, I highly doubt the world would have received the same product. Hardy himself, a Victorian scholar who dwelt in the Olympus of academia in England, should credit his upbringing as much as his own skills in mathematics for his success.

               As Ramanunjan died young, it is hard to apply Ellenburg’s article to him. Applying it to Hardy, however, is a very easy thing to do, at least on the surface. In an examination of his story, it would seem that yes, mathematics is a young man’s game; and yet, one need only look at his life experiences to see what other factors may have led to his creative end. Having lived through the First World War, Hardy (like many others) believed that nothing could be as bad as that war had been. I think that having to live through the Second World War caused Hardy, troubles at Cambridge, and a certain loneliness that he must have felt did more to dampen his creative drive than age. I am convinced that age has nothing to do with creative drive in any subject matter (save, perhaps, the actual deterioration of the brain). At least, in Hardy’s case, there are just too many other factors to assuredly state that his age had anything to do with possible future accomplishments. It is more important, I think, to look at how a person thinks and feels about themselves and their past work; if they believe they’ve done the very best that they can, then what possible drive can they have to go even farther?