The Case for Explicit Maths: Lessons from Neurodiversity

Let's talk about maths. Or more specifically, let's talk about why maths often feels like being handed a fork and told to eat soup with it. Why have you given me a fork? Where's the spoon? Where's the point? Also, is there any bread available?

In wine, the difference between a £20 bottle and a £200 bottle could hinge on a single factor, like which day you harvest the grapes, or the particular makeup of soil on a plot of land. In teaching business English, the difference between a confused student and a confident one could hinge on a single, precise, and often boring but necessary explanation. Now diving into the BSc in Combined STEM, I'm seeing a similar pattern: the difference between thinking you know something and understanding it, a meaningless equation and a powerful tool, is context.

And yet, maths education often feels like your mum asking you to clean your room when you were a teenager. "Do this equation." "Why?" "Because I said so." "But why does it matter?" "Because you have to." Where's the teaching in that? (No offense, mum. I still won't clean my room.)

Maths, as it's often taught, is like a novel with all the adjectives removed. You're left with the skeleton of the story: this happens, then this and then this. Without the adjectives, there's a lot less of the why or how or what if, and without that, it's also just a dry read.

So putting the adjectives back into the story, the context as to why we do the maths, gives the reason I love engineering - it's maths with a purpose. Differentiation can sure be an exercise in calculus but it's also how you fin the most efficient amount of steel to use to build a structure. And isn't that cool.

So my qualm with doing equations until the cows come home is this: not everyone's brain is wired to care about abstract puzzles for the sake of puzzles. And I think that's a feature, not a bug.

Neurodivergent thinkers, especially autistic individuals, often thrive when information is presented with clarity, logic and context. They're less likely to accept "just because" as an answer and more likely to demand the reasoning behind the rules. This is what I think could make maths click for everyone.

In their 1995 paper, Theory of Mind in Autism, Francesca Happé and Uta Frith argue that many people with autism struggle with representing the mental states of others, which is a cognitive skill neurotypical people often take for granted. Theory of Mind (ToM) is the ability to attribute beliefs, intentions and emotions to others, and to understand that these might differ from one's own. For autistic folk, these social nuances can often be opaque, leading to misunderstandings or frustration when instructions lack clarity or purpose.

This is where the urge to know why comes in. If ToM challenges make it harder to assume the intentions behind a task, then explicit reasoning becomes non-negotiable. It's not about being difficult. It's needing a logical framework to engage. Think of it like this:

Brain A: "The teacher says this is important, so I'll trust that and do it."

Brain B: "The teacher says this is important, but why? What's the mechanism? How important is it? Is is pertinent to other things we're going to learn? What's the outcome?"

Happé and Frith's research suggests that autistic individuals often seek out patterns, rules and concrete explanations to compensate for difficulties in interpreting social cues. This aligns with the systemising theory (Baron-Cohen, 1997) which proposes that autistic individuals are driven to understand systems. If you frame a task as part of a system with a clear purpose, suddenly it clicks.

This article isn't about autism. It's about clear communication for everyone. If autistic individuals thrive when given explicit, context-rich explanations, then why wouldn't everyone? After all, who hasn't zoned out in a meeting where the speaker keeps on talking without actually ever getting to the point? Or forgotten to send an important document over in a timely manner because the timely manner wasn't actually expressed in the original request?

Happé and Frith's work also highlights that not all autistic people struggle with ToM in the same way. Some develop strategies to navigate social situations, especially in areas where logic and structure are prioritised (like STEM fields). The variability is the key: the need for why isn't a deficit at all. It forces us to clarify our reasoning, which benefits all sorts of people, not just neurodivergent ones.

It's not all about deadlines and targets. It's about treating people like collaborators, not subordinates. And yes, it's more words upfront, but it's fewer frustrated questions (and fewer blank stares) later.

This approach can be for everyone. Because here's the truth: no one cares about the equation itself. It's what you can do with it that counts. When you lead with context, you teach critical thinking, not just maths. And it's a skill that matters in every field, from engineering to hospitality to, well, life.

So here's my challenge to educators, managers, or anyone trying to communicate complex ideas: Stop treating your audience like they're just there to follow orders. Next time you're explaining something abstract, ask yourself:

• What's the story here?

• Why does this matter?

• How can I make this tangible?

  
  

By answering questions, we're not testing compliance, but teaching. In a world where information is everywhere, compliance isn't enough. Understanding is the only thing that sticks.

P.S. Bring back maths questions that contain a person having an unholy amount of fruit. That's way more engaging.

Citations

Happé, F., Frith, U. (1995). Theory of Mind in Autism. In: Schopler, E., Mesibov, G.B. (eds) Learning and Cognition in Autism. Current Issues in Autism. Springer, Boston, MA. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-1-4899-1286-2_10

Frith, U. (1994), Autism and theory of mind in everyday life. Social Development, 3: 108-124. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1467-9507.1994.tb00031.x