IT WAS one of those conversations that only old friends can have—casual enough to begin anywhere, yet deep enough to end somewhere unexpected.
The friend happens to be a mathematics professor. We spent more than a decade working together in a Jesuit school before both of us eventually found ourselves teaching in a state university. We have solved different problems over the years—his often expressed in symbols and equations, mine usually in stories, people, and institutions—but every now and then mathematics quietly wanders into philosophy.
This time, he remarked that he liked the mathematical image of approximating a person’s sense of right and wrong.
The idea lingered with me.
In mathematics, approximation is an admission of humility. We rarely know the exact value, yet through careful observation and sound reasoning, we can come remarkably close. Human beings seem to work that way. None of us is perfectly consistent. We all contradict ourselves occasionally. But if someone watched us long enough—our choices, our conversations, the people we admire, the compromises we repeatedly justify—they could probably approximate our moral compass with surprising accuracy.
Then another mathematical thought occurred to me.
Perhaps we are not simply an average of the people around us. We are a weighted mean.
In statistics, not every value contributes equally. Some observations carry more weight than others. The same is true in life.
The opinion of someone we casually meet online hardly shapes us. But the people we work with every day, the friends we call after midnight, the mentors whose approval we quietly seek, the family members whose voices echo in our decisions—they receive much heavier weights in the equation of who we become.
The closer they are, the greater their influence.
Eventually, their values begin approximating ours.
That realization has become increasingly important as another season unfolds in many universities.
Promotion papers are being assembled. Academic portfolios are being updated. For some friends, everything else understandably waits. Research deadlines, committee work, even ordinary conversations are postponed because the next rank requires attention today. There is nothing inherently wrong with that. Career advancement matters. It rewards years of sacrifice and opens new opportunities.
But I have also noticed something else.
There are colleagues who, despite equally demanding promotion requirements, refuse to abandon certain responsibilities. They continue mentoring struggling students. They still answer messages that no one expects them to answer. They remain present in extension work, committee meetings, or difficult conversations because they believe some commitments cannot simply be suspended whenever personal milestones arrive.
Many would probably say that is impractical. Perhaps even unwise. “You can always come back to those later,” someone would advise.
Maybe.
But to some people, those are not optional tasks. They are non-negotiables.
Their mental health is non-negotiable.
Their integrity is non-negotiable.
The students who depend on them are non-negotiable.
Promises already made are non-negotiable.
The mission entrusted to them remains non-negotiable.
That does not necessarily make them morally superior. It simply reveals what carries the greatest weight in their personal equation. (To be continued)/PN
