Month: June 2021

The outmoded gender stereotype that women lack mathematical ability suffered a major blow in 2014, when Maryam Mirzakhani became the first woman to receive the Fields Medal, math’s most prestigious award.

An equally important blow was struck by an Italian mathematician Maria Gaetana Agnesi in the 18th century. Agnesi was the first woman to write a mathematics textbook and to be appointed to a university chair in math, yet her life was marked by paradox.

Though brilliant, rich and famous, she eventually opted for a life of poverty and service to the poor. Her remarkable story serves as a source for mathematical inspiration even today.

Early years

Born May 16, 1718 in Milan, Agnesi was the eldest of her wealthy silk merchant father’s 21 children. By age 5 she could speak French, and by 11 she was known to Milanese society as the “seven-tongued orator” for her mastery of modern and classical languages. In part to give Agensi the best education possible, her father invited leading intellectuals of the day to the family’s home, where his daughter’s gifts shone.

When Agnesi was 9, she recited from memory a Latin oration, likely composed by one of her tutors. The oration decried the widespread prejudice against educating women in the arts and sciences, which had been grounded in the view that a life of managing a household would require no such learning. Agnesi presented a clear and convincing argument that women should be free to pursue any kind of knowledge available to men.

Agnesi eventually became tired of displaying her intellect and expressed a desire to enter a convent. When her father’s second wife died, however, she assumed responsibility for his household and the education of her many younger siblings.

Through this role, she recognized that teachers and students needed a comprehensive mathematics textbook to introduce Italian students to the many recent Enlightenment-era mathematical discoveries.

Agnesi’s textbook

Portrait of Maria Agnesi by an unknown artist.

Agnesi found a special appeal in mathematics. Most knowledge derived from experience, she believed, is fallible and open to dispute. From mathematics, however, come truths that are wholly certain, the contemplation of which brings particularly great joy. In writing her textbook, she was not only teaching a useful skill, but opening to her students the door to such contemplation.

Published in two volumes in 1748, Agnesi’s work was entitled the “Basic Principles of Analysis.” It was composed not in Latin, as was the custom for great mathematicians such as Newton and Euler, but Italian vernacular, to make it more accessible to students.

Hers represented one of the first textbooks in the relatively new field of calculus. It helped to shape the education of mathematics students for several generations that followed. Beyond Italy, contemporary scholars in Paris and Cambridge translated the textbook for use in their university classrooms.

Agnesi’s textbook was praised in 1749 by the French Academy: “It took much skill and sagacity to reduce to almost uniform methods discoveries scattered among the works of many mathematicians very different from each other. Order, clarity, and precision reign in all parts of this work. … We regard it as the most complete and best made treatise.”

In offering similarly fine words of praise, another contemporary mathematician, Jean-Etienne Montucla, also revealed some of the mathematical sexism that persists down to the present day. He wrote: “We cannot but behold with the greatest astonishment how a person of a sex that seems so little fitted to tread the thorny paths of these abstract sciences penetrates so deeply as she has done into all the branches of algebra.”

Agnesi dedicated the “Basic Principles” to Empress Maria Theresa of Austria, who acknowledged the favor with a letter of thanks and a diamond-bearing box and ring. Pope Benedict XIV praised the work and predicted that it would enhance the reputation of the Italians. He also appointed her to the chair of mathematics at the University of Bologna, though she never traveled there to accept it.

A life of service

A passionate advocate for the education of women and the poor, Agnesi believed that the natural sciences and math should play an important role in an educational curriculum. As a person of deep religious faith, however, she also believed that scientific and mathematical studies must be viewed in the larger context of God’s plan for creation.

When Maria’s father died in 1752, she was free to answer a religious calling and devote herself to her other great passion: service to the poor, sick and homeless. She began by founding a small hospital in her home. She eventually gave away her wealth, including the gifts she had received from the empress. When she died at age 80, she was buried in a pauper’s grave.

To this day, some mathematicians express surprise at Maria’s apparent turn from learning and mathematics to a religious vocation. To her, however, it made perfect sense. In her view, human beings are capable of both knowing and loving, and while it is important for the mind to marvel at many truths, it’s ultimately even more important for the heart to be moved by love.

“Man always acts to achieve goals; the goal of the Christian is the glory of God,” she wrote. “I hope my studies have brought glory to God, as there were useful to others, and derived from obedience, because that was my father’s will. Now I have found better ways and means to serve God, and to be useful to others.”

Though few remember Agnesi today, her pioneering role in the history of mathematics serves as an inspiring story of triumph over gender stereotypes. She helped to blaze a trail for women in math and science for generations to follow. Agnesi excelled at math, but she also loved it, perceiving in its mastery an opportunity to serve both her fellow human beings and a higher order.

For more insights like this, visit our website at www.international-maths-challenge.com.
Credit of the article given to Richard Gunderman, David Gunderman

Dialogue is a key part of all lively classrooms, but how do we ensure this dialogue is effective? How do we give students the tools they need to discuss mathematical ideas? What are the components of effective classroom dialogue? Let’s take a look at dialogic teaching and explore how it can encourage deeper mathematical learning.

What is dialogic teaching?

Dialogic teaching is grounded in active and meaningful dialogue between teacher and students. A dialogue is not a teacher standing in front of a class delivering a lesson – it is an active back and forth that promotes questioning and reasoning. The goal is to foster a collaborative and interactive learning environment where students actively engage in building their understanding of the subject.

Shyam Drury from Scitech explores the specifics of dialogic teaching in mathematics in this fantastic podcast  on the Maths in Schools Strategies for Explicit Teaching podcast series. Drury observes, ‘When teaching mathematics in a dialogical classroom, the authority in the room is not the teacher or the student, instead it is mathematical truth.’

Questioning

Questions are a part of every classroom, but what kind of questions encourage dialogue? Is it a matter of open-ended versus closed questions? Closed questions are important for checking comprehension, but they don’t promote dialogue. Open-ended questions promote dialogue, but discussions can easily get off track.

The key to constructing productive questions is to ensure that they promote focused dialogue. The mathematical idea you are teaching – and the desired learning outcome – should always direct the conversation and inform the questions you ask. This may include both open-ended and closed questions.

If you want to learn more about questioning, listen  to the fascinating conversation with Professor Helen Chick from the University of Tasmania as she explores the ‘how to’ of questions in teaching.

ow do you build a dialogic classroom?

Now we understand what dialogical teaching is, let’s explore how we put it into practice.

Mathematics teaching is largely based around an IRE dialogue pattern: initiate, respond, evaluate. For example:

• Initiate: What’s 6 x 7?
• Respond: 42
• Evaluate: That’s right!

How do we extend this dialogue pattern? Instead of the conversation ending with the ‘evaluate’ response, ask your students a question. How did you come to that answer? Why did you use that method?

Bring in how and why questions to provoke thinking. How questions unpack and make more explicit a student’s approach to a mathematical problem and why questions promote reasoning.

How does it feel as a learner?

Dialogic teaching is only effectively within the right classroom culture. A learner needs to feel safe to engage, enquire and take risks.

Here are some tools to help create a safe space for dialogic teaching:

• Provide opportunities for students to speak to each other in low-risk situations, such as peer-to-peer discussions or small-group discussions. This way, every student in the room is expressing their thinking, not just those who arrive at the answer first.
• Place whiteboards around the room displaying what you want your class to tackle. When everyone is looking at the same piece of mathematics, it encourages working together.
• Set up challenges that provide a framework for students to share ideas.

Dialogue leads to deeper understanding

When learners feel safe, dialogic teaching helps construct a shared understanding of the strategies and tools required for mathematical learning.

Encouraging dialogue helps students develop the language they need to unpack and explore mathematics.

If they can talk about, they can share it!

For more such insights, log into our website https://international-maths-challenge.com

Credit of the article given to The Mathematics Hub

Credit: PK Flickr(CC BY 2.0)

The mathematics that is most important to society is the province of the exceptional few—and that’s always been true

Most people never become mathematicians, but everyone has a stake in mathematics. Almost since the dawn of human civilization, societies have vested special authority in mathematical experts. The question of how and why the public should support elite mathematics remains as pertinent as ever, and in the last five centuries (especially the last two) it has been joined by the related question of what mathematics most members of the public should know.

Why does mathematics matter to society at large? Listen to mathematicians, policymakers, and educators and the answer seems unanimous: mathematics is everywhere, therefore everyone should care about it. Books and articles abound with examples of the math that their authors claim is hidden in every facet of everyday life or unlocks powerful truths and technologies that shape the fates of individuals and nations. Take math professor Jordan Ellenberg, author of the bestselling book How Not to Be Wrong, who asserts “you can find math everywhere you look.”

To be sure, numbers and measurement figure regularly in most people’s lives, but this risks conflating basic numeracy with the kind of math that most affects your life. When we talk about math in public policy, especially the public’s investment in mathematical training and research, we are not talking about simple sums and measures. For most of its history, the mathematics that makes the most difference to society has been the province of the exceptional few. Societies have valued and cultivated math not because it is everywhere and for everyone but because it is difficult and exclusive. Recognizing that math has elitism built into its historical core, rather than pretending it is hidden all around us, furnishes a more realistic understanding of how math fits into society and can help the public demand a more responsible and inclusive discipline.

In the first agricultural societies in the cradle of civilization, math connected the heavens and the earth. Priests used astronomical calculations to mark the seasons and interpret divine will, and their special command of mathematics gave them power and privilege in their societies. As early economies grew larger and more complex, merchants and craftsmen incorporated more and more basic mathematics into their work, but for them mathematics was a trick of the trade rather than a public good. For millennia, advanced math remained the concern of the well-off, as either a philosophical pastime or a means to assert special authority.

The first relatively widespread suggestions that anything beyond simple practical math ought to have a wider reach date to what historians call the Early Modern period, beginning around five centuries ago, when many of our modern social structures and institutions started to take shape. Just as Martin Luther and other early Protestants began to insist that Scripture should be available to the masses in their own languages, scientific writers like Welsh polymath Robert Recorde used the relatively new technology of the printing press to promote math for the people. Recorde’s 1543 English arithmetic textbook began with an argument that “no man can do any thing alone, and much less talk or bargain with another, but he shall still have to do with number” and that numbers’ uses were “unnumerable” (pun intended).

Far more influential and representative of this period, however, was Recorde’s contemporary John Dee, who used his mathematical reputation to gain a powerful position advising Queen Elizabeth I. Dee hewed so closely to the idea of math as a secret and privileged kind of knowledge that his detractors accused him of conjuring and other occult practices. In the seventeenth century’s Scientific Revolution, the new promoters of an experimental science that was (at least in principle) open to any observer were suspicious of mathematical arguments as inaccessible, tending to shut down diverse perspectives with a false sense of certainty. During the eighteenth-century Enlightenment, by contrast, the savants of the French Academy of Sciences parlayed their mastery of difficult mathematics into a special place of authority in public life, weighing in on philosophical debates and civic affairs alike while closing their ranks to women, minorities, and the lower social classes.

Societies across the world were transformed in the nineteenth century by wave after wave of political and economic revolution, but the French model of privileged mathematical expertise in service to the state endured. The difference was in who got to be part of that mathematical elite. Being born into the right family continued to help, but in the wake of the French Revolution successive governments also took a greater interest in primary and secondary education, and strong performance in examinations could help some students rise despite their lower birth. Political and military leaders received a uniform education in advanced mathematics at a few distinguished academies which prepared them to tackle the specialized problems of modern states, and this French model of state involvement in mass education combined with special mathematical training for the very best found imitators across Europe and even across the Atlantic. Even while basic math reached more and more people through mass education, math remained something special that set the elite apart. More people could potentially become elites, but math was definitely not for everyone.

Entering the twentieth century, the system of channeling students through elite training continued to gain importance across the Western world, but mathematics itself became less central to that training. Partly this reflected the changing priorities of government, but partly it was a matter of advanced mathematics leaving the problems of government behind. Where once Enlightenment mathematicians counted practical and technological questions alongside their more philosophical inquiries, later modern mathematicians turned increasingly to forbiddingly abstract theories without the pretense of addressing worldly matters directly.

The next turning point, which continues in many ways to define the relations between math and society today, was World War II. Fighting a war on that scale, the major combatants encountered new problems in logistics, weapons design and use, and other areas that mathematicians proved especially capable of solving. It wasn’t that the most advanced mathematics suddenly got more practical, but that states found new uses for those with advanced mathematical training and mathematicians found new ways to appeal to states for support. After the war, mathematicians won substantial support from the United States and other governments on the premise that regardless of whether their peacetime research was useful, they now had proof that highly trained mathematicians would be needed in the next war.

Some of those wartime activities continue to occupy mathematical professionals, both in and beyond the state—from security scientists and code-breakers at technology companies and the NSA to operations researchers optimizing factories and supply chains across the global economy. Postwar electronic computing offered another area where mathematicians became essential. In all of these areas, it is the special mathematical advances of an elite few that motivate the public investments mathematicians continue to receive today. It would be great if everyone were confident with numbers, could write a computer program, and evaluate statistical evidence, and these are all important aims for primary and secondary education. But we should not confuse these with the main goals and rationales of public support for mathematics, which have always been about math at the top rather than math for everyone.

Imagining math to be everywhere makes it all too easy to ignore the very real politics of who gets to be part of the mathematical elite that really count—for technology, security, and economics, for the last war and the next one. Instead, if we see that this kind of mathematics has historically been built by and for the very few, we are called to ask who gets to be part of that few and what are the responsibilities that come with their expertise. We have to recognize that elite mathematics today, while much more inclusive than it was one or five or fifty centuries ago, remains a discipline that vests special authority in those who, by virtue of gender, race, and class, are often already among our society’s most powerful. If math were really everywhere, it would already belong to everyone equally. But when it comes to accessing and supporting math, there is much work to be done. Math isn’t everywhere.

For more insights like this, visit our website at www.international-maths-challenge.com.

Credit of the article given to New York University