2-D or not 2-D

From MathWiki

We invite others to suggest improved, more twisted or pointed alterations to our final soliloquy!

Here it is (the original is below):

CMESG 2007 Working Group B

2D or not 2D, that is the question;

Whether 'tis more global in the mind to suffer

The axioms and deductions of outrageous proofs,

Or to take arms against a sea of formalisms,

And by opposing, make sense of them. To glide, to turn;


No more; and by a turn to say we end

The heart-ache and the thousand unnatural fears

That mathematics is heir to — 'tis a transformation

Devoutly to be wish'd. To glide, to turn;

To turn, perchance to reflect. Ay, there's the rub,


For in that turn of half what revelations may come,

When we have shuffled off this mathematical toil,

Must give us pause. There's the respect

That makes geometry of so long in math class,

For who would bear the distractions and disconnect of courses in mathematics.


Th' professor's wrong, the proud student's frustration,

The pangs of “why”, the delay of “how”,

The insolence of PhD, and the cognitive bullying

That the student of th'unworthy takes,

When he himself might his sense make

With a box of polydron? who would Euclidean proofs bear,


To think and sweat under a weary math,

But that the dread of something higher dimensional after Flatland,

The undiscovered country from whose fourth dimension

No investigator returns, puzzles the will,

And makes us rather repeat those deductions we have

Than to try others that we know not of?


This curriculum does make cowards of us all,

And this resolve of making meaning

Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of high stakes testing,

And math ed fori of great pitch and moment

With this regard their currents turn awry,

And lose the name of action.


3D and then 2D, that is our final answer.


Back to main working group page

Shakespeare

To be or not to be, that is the question;

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,

And by opposing, end them. To die, to sleep;


No more; and by a sleep to say we end

The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks

That flesh is heir to — 'tis a consummation

Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;

To sleep, perchance to dream. Ay, there's the rub,


For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,

Must give us pause. There's the respect

That makes calamity of so long life,

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,


Th'oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,

The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,

The insolence of office, and the spurns

That patient merit of th'unworthy takes,

When he himself might his quietus make

With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,


To grunt and sweat under a weary life,

But that the dread of something after death,

The undiscovered country from whose bourn

No traveller returns, puzzles the will,

And makes us rather bear those ills we have

Than fly to others that we know not of?


Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,

And thus the native hue of resolution

Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,

And enterprises of great pitch and moment

With this regard their currents turn awry,

And lose the name of action.