Jeffrey Lee.

What We Know and How we Know It: Memoir

I tilted my chair back to relax as my Honors Chemistry teacher strode through the
classroom handing back our first tests. Judgmental thoughts dawdled in my head: Tom - he
probably got an F Slacker. Hopefully Brian didnt beat me. Ive got to be the highest!
Our TA, Eric, finally arrived in front of me, and I looked upward with a triumphant grin.
With a comforting smile, he reminded me, You shouldnt worry; its only the first test of the
quarter.
My grin vanished and was replaced with a bewildered frown. Time seemed to slow,
haunting me as my brain processed the ugly number and revealed my devastating score a 70%.
How could I, the straight-A student, possibly perform so horrendously? For me, a B was as
unfamiliar as the countryside to a wealthy urbanite or the city to a modest farmer. An F was as
unknown to me as the face of Mars! This first test score seemed like a vicious mark and ominous
signal that I was not suited for my future career path.
After that humiliating defeat, I promptly fell into a miserable state of despair. Thankfully,
once I arrived back at my dorm and threw my backpack on my desk in frustration, the sting of
defeat began to subside. I could have succumbed to the mindless comfort of television and video
games, but something had begun to blossom within me at the very sight of the test score. I started
the tedious process of correcting the test and providing explanations for missed questions.
Surprisingly, I enjoyed this new challenge. I spent the rest of the night glued to my computer,
writing explanations far more analytical and in-depth than originally required. Analyzing why
something was wrong quickly became a means to fulfill my growing curiosity. This new
methodology seemed quite familiar in fact, it seemed to directly parallel a philosophers way of
deciphering an argument. Just as the question why slowly helps unravel the premises of a wellformed argument, so too does it serve as a way to the heart of a concept.
That failed test strengthened me in ways I could not have anticipated. Not only did this
experience help me to redouble my efforts, but it also sparked my curiosity to answer the universal
question, Why? This ultimately led me to a new, higher realm of learning. It was yet another

Jeffrey Lee.
What We Know and How we Know It: Memoir

step toward a fuller understanding of knowledge. Although I was learning material before this
incident, I was still partially fueled by the prospect of a good grade. Ultimately, this limited my
ability to take risks and think creatively. My new path toward knowledge was the [road] less
traveled by, and that has made all the difference, as Robert Frost once wrote.
This new drive to know why something was wrong directed me along on a new quest for
knowledge. The As I now earned symbolized something greater than simply knowing the material
learned in class; they represented my wish to explore and understand the far-reaching impacts of
those simple concepts.
This active state of learning carried over directly into my autumn quarter calculus class. In
this second stage of my journey, I ventured into the seemingly dull, cold, and lifeless realm of
mathematics, initially only fueled by the flames of curiosity.
It was September 24th, and my brain simply ached as I walked out of my first day of
Calculus II. I shook my head in confusion, and, like many classmates, wondered what the point of
calculus was. While chemistry offered me tools that could potentially cure cancer, calculus seemed
to offer nothing more than meaningless numbers.
I opened my backpack and glanced over the take-home portion of my midterm. Something
intrigued me: the problem did not ask me to simply solve an equation. Of all things, I must assume
the role of a coroner and determine when a certain murder was committed. I scoffed; math cannot
have that capability! Nonetheless, I was intrigued and began working immediately.
I vividly recalled my excitement, as strong as lightning, after I finished the problem. I sat
back in astonishment, struck with a new realization. For the first time, I grasped the entirety of a
math concept, beyond its numbers to its applicability in other disciplines. No longer was math
simply an interesting puzzle, a fun diversion, the Rubiks Cube of academia. If calculus could
provide precious information about a medical examiner's dead patients, then perhaps it would
someday give me vital clues about my future living patients. I now appreciated that math offered
this myriad of applicable concepts.

Jeffrey Lee.
What We Know and How we Know It: Memoir

Much to my amazement, this particular class sparked a new desire -- to learn math! Math
had previously served as a tedious brain exercise, something that I endured to achieve my future
goals. Before, I thought that calculus did not apply to fascinating subjects like biology or
chemistry. Now, I realize otherwise. Regardless, the excitement of understanding and appreciating
the process is more than enough reason to continue learning it. In the future, being able to endure
and overcome initial distaste will truly bring me to that new, higher realm of learning, which I
have pursued even more strongly since my failed test in chemistry.
My experiences and curiosity in chemistry and calculus soon transcended the boundaries of
the classroom and even helped nurture my interest in medicine. Before coming to the university,
my medical research was simply a desire to provide knowledge for a healthier lifestyle. Since
coming to the university, I have joined several clubs dedicated to serving the community. Through
this network, I have pursued volunteering opportunities with a new enthusiasm, using my
knowledge to lend a hand to a stranger at the hospital, or help pioneer new research in a
laboratory. Now, the eyes with which I examine the world not only see depth, but also breadth.
My quest for knowledge is no longer limited to academia; it now reveals a human
dimension. The concept of knowledge quickly expanded from a purely factual perspective to a
more open, mindful approach. By beginning to focus more on the wellbeing of others around me, I
began to see human interaction as a method to learn more about the intangible, the immeasurable.
With this new perspective, I quickly started to change how I interacted with other people.
I remember standing in Denny Hall earlier this quarter, surrounded by hundreds of other
students. Surprisingly, it was not for lecture rather, it was for a church worship that was meeting
for the first time that year. It was my first time I had ever participated in such an event, and I was
genuinely nervous. I didnt know what to expect, or even what to do. Questions of whether I
actually believed in the idea of a God swam through my mind, clouding my thought process.
Suddenly, the hundreds of people around me burst into song, startling and distracting me from my
deep thoughts. The music flooded my entire body, beautiful and heavenly. I could practically feel
the joy that simply saturated the room. Looking around, I suddenly realized how connected

Jeffrey Lee.
What We Know and How we Know It: Memoir

everyone was to one another and to God. It was not the time for me to debate with myself over the
existence of God; rather, it was an opportunity to step back and realize the astonishing hope and
meaning that such an event could provide. I finally realized that although I had seen breakthroughs
in chemistry and calculus, there was something infinitely more powerful. Being able to see the
formerly invisible thread running through and tying together the academic world and the
emotional, spiritual world would lead to a far greater potential.
Just as when Walter Anderson, in Four Ways to be Absolutely Right, encourages us to
reconcile our differing worldviews, so too we should realize the personal significance of culture
and religion. In doing so, we emerge as individuals who realize the potential importance of every
idea, concept, and person, even when it simply feels entirely incongruent with our own values and
beliefs. It is only when we adopt this open-mindedness that we connect with others on more than
just a physical level. By reconciling my own academic, logical perspective with my emotional
and spiritual perspective, I go forth on my journey with far more confidence and potential. Not
only do I learn more, but I can also approach ideas from different angles, coming to a more
cohesive understanding. While these different ways of thinking may seem entirely separate, as
though they were different lenses with which I could choose to view the world, they actually
function in unison, integrated in such a way that they have become part of my deeper, unconscious
self. Ultimately, my new way of knowing not only applies to academic issues, but also
fundamentally changes how I perceive and approach personal relationships and my place in
society.
From that point on, I continuously asked myself whether or not I was putting another
persons interests in front of my own. Never again do I wish to accidentally misinterpret a
situation, or even worse, offend someone as a result of my single-minded way of viewing the
world. It would appear incredibly difficult for some people to think in this fashion, but this selfless
attitude is slowly becoming a part of my identity. Because of this new perspective, I now see the
formerly hidden connections between academics and social interaction. I had always thought of
chemistry as a battlefield, a combat zone where only the strongest survived. As a result, I began

Jeffrey Lee.
What We Know and How we Know It: Memoir

the quarter cooped up in my dorm studying alone, honing my intellectual weaponry for every
upcoming battle. In the past few weeks, however, I have used academics as a bridge to connect
with my fellow classmates, tutoring and encouraging them. I know, I know. It seems as though I
have little credibility after my failed test, but this new optimistic and selfless mentality has
propelled me to succeed and do well with assignments since my first midterm. The time spent
tutoring my classmates, which would have formerly seemed a colossal waste of time, now serves
as both a service to my classmates and an opportunity to test my own understanding of the
material. This was the first of many independent steps to come in the new world of knowledge that
I had arrived at earlier this quarter.
So far on my journey, I have come to view knowledge as encompassing countless fields;
it involves and connects the intellectual, physical, spiritual, and emotional ways of knowing. There
is always a limit, a threshold to how far we can progress by only seeing through a single lens.
Ultimately, it takes a delicate balance between contrasting forces to reach equilibrium - the cold,
hard logic of science must be balanced with the intuitive interpretations of the heart. As Howard
Gardner taught us, the biggest challenge is how to best take advantage of the uniqueness
conferred on us as a species exhibiting several intelligences. Hopefully, each one of us will heed
Gardners words in a constructive manner. In doing so, we allow ourselves to truly understand an
issue and realize how emotion can vitalize scientific study, giving it color and voice, or conversely,
how research studies can provide the evidence needed to influence our own value systems.
The new combined lens for interpreting knowledge can lead to new clarity and creativity.
These attributes supersede any materialistic success, allowing each one of us to move forward in
our own intellectual journey. Most importantly, this mindset will shape how each generation will
think, act, and feel in ways necessary for us to continue evolving as a species.