I am a person, more specifically a man, that tends, at most times, to look at the universe as a giant system that obeys some fundamental principals, laws if you will. Application of these laws allow engineers to build bridges and skyscrapers, doctors to cure diseases or redesign faces, scientists to piece together where we've come from, what is happening, and where we could be going. The practical application of logic has allowed us, as a species, to progress in so many ways that I will not continue to extrapolate on them here, as that is not my point.
In a high school geometry class, one expects to learn how to calculate the area and perimeter of basic shapes, to memorize a bunch of formulas, and to apply those skills to the 'real world' through the solving of word problems. Our teacher used the same standardized text as the rest of the mathematics faculty, but he had more to impress onto us than solely geometry. Many of my classmates said that he was not a math teacher and did not appreciate him. At least, they didn't appreciate him at the time.
One day he asked the class how fast we were moving. Puzzled, looking around, the class assessed itself. Everyone was in their chairs, not moving at all. After an uncomfortable silence Dr. LaFruit explained to us that our speed is relative to other objects. For instance, even though we felt as if we were sitting still, we were traveling at hundreds of miles per hour relative to earth's axis, tens of thousands of miles an hour relative to the sun and hundreds of thousands of miles an hour relative to the center of the milky way galaxy. All while sitting on your ass, perhaps even sleeping through a freshman geometry class. Quite possible this fact might expand your mind, if you weren't sleeping of course.
Logic is learned but it comes from that Ah-Ha moment that jumps up to surprise us. I remember when I was a young boy, playing outside on a rainy day. I watched with amazement as rain fell across the street and my side of the street stayed dry. Before that experience, I had never really thought about the fact that the rain had an edge. My world had grown slightly bigger and more complicated.
Some teachers, the good ones, teach by leading a student to that moment. On multiple occasions, Mr. LaFruit had started class by holding up a map of our galaxy, the Milky Way, that had a small point away from the center labeled with an arrow an the text, "You Are Here." He would explain to us that the sun would, in 4 billion years, swell into a red giant and engulf the first four planets of our solar system. "This will destroy the planet earth," he would say, "your grade in geometry does not matter."
This was an odd thing for a math teacher to be telling a class full of math students. Perhaps that is why I remember it over a dozen years later, while many other memories of high school fade into the background noise of life. I think now, I'm beginning to realize what he was trying to lead us to.
