Poets have used tree metaphors in their works. Natural scientists continuously marvel at the tree’s remarkable efficiency. And philosophers have long debated the question: If a tree falls in the woods and no one hears it, does it make a sound? These are just some of the ways that an education rooted in the arts and sciences helps us reflect on the ordinary — and extraordinary — world around us.

A mathematician and a student wander into a forest and peer up at a gigantic oak. The mathematician contemplates the keen relationship between physics and the tree: the diameter of the base of the branch is proportional to the length to the three-halves power. The tree is dependent on this formula to support itself. “You see,” the mathematician tells his friend the
student. “Mathematics is at the heart of everything, especially nature.”

The student scans the tree’s trunk, branches and leaves. She contemplates the parts that not only make up the whole, but that also can be seen and recognized.
“But what about what you can’t see?” she muses. “What about the roots? We know that roots provide physical support by anchoring the tree. But don’t roots also nourish the tree? It seems that in order to support itself, this tree is beholden not only to your formula, but to so much more.”

“Maybe you’re right,” the mathematician replies. “It is as much what you see as what you don’t see.”

The student sits quietly for a minute. “I wonder what makes a tree a tree?” she finally asks.

“Well, look,” says the mathematician, pointing. “It has a trunk, leaves, branches. Obviously, its physical properties make it a tree.”

A biologist and historian arrive. Curious, they start listening.

“But a tree is also a tree because of the way we humans break up the world into parts, isn’t it?” asks the student. “So why do trees need to be the way we see them? Why don’t we call bushes trees?”

“If I may,” the biologist pipes up, “some bushes are merely small trees, perhaps cultivated over centuries to be smaller or greener or to keep their leaves all winter. There are thousands of tree species on the planet, each unique. I look at a tree and marvel at its efficiency. Each lives in symbiosis with the surrounding plants, animals and insects, sustaining all kinds of life — insects live on trees, mosses also call trees home. A network of roots follows a mathematically derived formula that dictates how much roots will grow proportional to the tree’s height. Trees constantly strain toward the light, growing taller than most competing species; they adapt and grow and are great survivors. Why, trees are among the oldest living organisms on earth.”

 “That’s true,” the historian says. “Trees are remarkable artifacts of the ages. We can learn a lot about the relationship of forests and societies by analyzing trees. We know from historic record how trees were used to provide shelter to colonialists and fuel to early pioneers. We can see how industrialization affects our forests.”

A poet joins the group. “It is amazing, isn’t it?”

“You mean this tree?” asks the mathematician.

“Or the notion of a tree?” chimes the student.

“You mean the efficiency of the tree, right?” inquires the biologist.

“Or the role of a tree in society?” adds the historian.

“None of that,” counters the poet. “I mean the inspiration. The quiet calm of the forest. The babbling brook and the babbling of the debate.”

The poet continues, “Looking up at the tree, I see the meanderings of gossamer clouds and am touched by the filtered sunlight. I hear the gentle sway of the leaves and smell the wildflowers. I’ll remember this moment later, when I’ll stay up late scribbling in my notebook and trying to recapture this scene. And when I’ve finished writing, I’ll return to this place to be inspired again. Perhaps next time, I’ll describe the tree’s bark using only words that begin with ‘b.’”

“Wow!” the student says. “I guess trees mean different things to each of us.”

“I’m not so certain about that,” says the mathematician. “Sure, the poet writes, the student questions, the historian relates, but we all found inspiration. Indeed, it was only by looking at the tree that I was able to discover that the diameter of the base of the branch is proportional to the length to the three-halves power…”