Friday, January 3, 2014

23 and Me. Play it again, Sam

It’s one of the most famous lines from one of the most famous movies of all time, Casablanca. Except it’s not what Ilsa, played by Ingrid Bergman, actually said, which was “Play it once, Sam, for old times' sake . . . [NO RESPONSE] . . . Play it, Sam. Play 'As Time Goes By.'”

This month’s column is in response to the emails I receive from time to time asking for a reference to articles I have written for the MAA since I began on that mathemaliterary journey back in 1991. (Yes, I just made that word up. Google returns nothing. But it soon will.)

I first started writing monthly articles for the MAA back in September 1991 when I took over as editor of the Association’s monthly print magazine FOCUS. When I stepped down as FOCUS editor in January 1996, the MAA launched its website, and along with it Devlin’s Angle.

During that time, in addition to moving from print to online, the MAA website went through two overhauls, leaving the archives spread over three volumes:

January 1996 – December 2003

January 2004 – July 2011

August 2011 – present

Throughout those 23 years, I’ve wandered far and wide across the mathematical and mathematics education landscape. But three ongoing themes emerged. None of them was planned. In each case, I simply wrote something that generated interest – and for one theme considerable controversy – and as a result I kept coming back to it.

I continue to receive emails asking about articles I wrote on the first two of those three themes, and the third is still very active. So I am devoting this month’s column to providing an index to those three themes.

I’ll start with the most controversial: what is multiplication? This began innocently enough, with a throw-away final remark to a piece I wrote back in 2007. I little knew the firestorm I was about to unleash.

What is Multiplication?

September 2007, What is conceptual understanding?

June 2008, It Ain't No Repeated Addition

July-August 2008, It's Still Not Repeated Addition

September 2008, Multiplication and Those Pesky British Spellings

December 2008, How Do We Learn Math?

January 2009, Should Children Learn Math by Starting with Counting?

January 2010, Repeated Addition - One More Spin

January 2011, What Exactly is Multiplication?

November 2011, How multiplication is really defined in Peano arithmetic


Mathematical Thinking

I first started making the distinction between mathematics and mathematical thinking in the early 1990s, when an extended foray into mathematical linguistics and then sociolinguistics led to an interest in mathematical cognition that continues to this day.

April 1996, Are Mathematicians Turning Soft?

October 1996, Wanted: A New Mix

September 1999, What Can Mathematics Do For The Businessperson?

January 2008, American Mathematics in a Flat World

February 2008, Mathematics for the President and Congress

October 2009, Soft Mathematics

July 2010, Wanted: Innovative Mathematical Thinking

September 2012, What is mathematical thinking?


MOOCS

No introduction necessary. MOOCs are constantly in the news. Though I was one of the early pioneers in developing the Stanford MOOCs that generated all the media interest in 2012, and I believe the first person to offer a mathematics MOOC (Introduction to Mathematical Thinking), the idea goes back to a course given at Athabasca University in Canada, back in 2008.

May 2012, Math MOOC – Coming this fall. Let’s Teach the World

November 2012, MOOC Lessons

December 2012, The Darwinization of Higher Education

January 2013, R.I.P. Mathematics? Maybe.

February 2013, The Problem with Instructional Videos

March 2013, Can we make constructive use of machine-graded, multiple-choice questions in university mathematics education?

September 2013, Two Startups in One Week


More about MOOCs

In addition to the MOOC articles listed above, I have also written articles about the topic in my own blog MOOCtalk.org and for the Huffington Post. Here are the references:

MOOCTALK

An irregular series of posts starting on May 5, 2012

HUFFINGTON POST

December 2013, MOQR, Anyone? Learning by Evaluating

March 2, 2013, MOOCs and the Myths of Dropout Rates and Certification

March 27, 2013, Can Massive Open Online Courses Make Up for an Outdated K-12 Education System?

August 19, 2013, MOOC Mania Meets the Sober Reality of Education

November 18, 2013, Why MOOCs May Still Be Silicon Valley's Next Grand Challenge
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/dr-keith-devlin/why-moocs-remain-silicon-_b_4289739.html

Monday, December 2, 2013

MOQR, Anyone? Learning by Evaluating

Many colleges and universities have a mathematics or quantitative reasoning requirement that ensures that no student graduates without completing at least one sufficiently mathematical course.

Recognizing that taking a regular first-year mathematics course—designed for students majoring in mathematics, science, or engineering—to satisfy a QR requirement is not educationally optimal (and sometimes a distraction for the instructor and the TAs who have to deal with students who are neither motivated nor well prepared for the full rigors and pace of a mathematics course), many institutions offer special QR courses.

I’ve always enjoyed giving such courses, since they offer the freedom to cover a wide swathe of mathematics—often new or topical parts of mathematics. Admittedly they do so at a much more shallow depth than in other courses, but a depth that was always a challenge for most students who signed up.

Having been one of the pioneers of so-called “transition courses” for incoming mathematics majors back in the 1970s, and having given such courses many times in the intervening years, I never doubted that a lot of the material was well suited to the student in search of meeting a QR requirement. The problem with classifying a transition course as a QR option is that the goal of preparing an incoming student for the rigors of college algebra and real analysis is at odds with the intent of a QR requirement. So I never did that.

Enter MOOCs. A lot of the stuff that is written about these relatively new entrants to the higher education landscape is unsubstantiated hype and breathless (if not fearful) speculation. The plain fact is that right now no one really knows what MOOCs will end up looking like, what part or parts of the population they will eventually serve, or exactly how and where they will fit in with the rest of higher education. Like most others I know who are experimenting with this new medium, I am treating it very much as just that: an experiment.

The first version of my MOOC Introduction to Mathematical Thinking, offered in the fall of 2012, was essentially the first three-quarters of my regular transition course, modified to make initial entry much easier, delivered as a MOOC. Since then, as I have experimented with different aspects of online education, I have been slowly modifying it to function as a QR-course, since improved quantitative reasoning is surely a natural (and laudable) goal for online courses with global reach—that “free education for the world” goal is still the main MOOC-motivator for me.

I am certainly not viewing my MOOC as an online course to satisfy a college QR requirement. That may happen, but, as I noted above, no one has any real idea what role(s) MOOCs will end up fulfilling. Remember, in just twelve months, the Stanford MOOC startup Udacity, which initiated all the media hype, went from “teach the entire world for free” to “offer corporate training for a fee.” (For my (upbeat) commentary on this rapid progression, see my article in the Huffington Post.)

Rather, I am taking advantage of the fact that free, no-credential MOOCs currently provide a superb vehicle to experiment with ideas both for classroom teaching and for online education. Those of us at the teaching end not only learn what the medium can offer, we also discover ways to improve our classroom teaching; while those who register as students get a totally free learning opportunity. (Roughly three-quarters of them already have a college degree, but MOOC enrollees also include thousands of first-time higher education students from parts of the world that offer limited or no higher education opportunities.)

The biggest challenge facing anyone who wants to offer a MOOC in higher mathematics is how to handle the fact that many of the students will never receive expert feedback on their work. This is particularly acute when it comes to learning how to prove things. That’s already a difficult challenge in a regular class, as made clear in this great blog post by “mathbabe” Cathy O’Neil. In a MOOC, my current view is it would be unethical to try. The last thing the world needs are (more) people who think they know what a proof is, but have never put that knowledge to the test.

But when you think about it, the idea behind QR is not that people become mathematicians who can prove things, rather that they have a base level of quantitative literacy that is necessary to live a fulfilled, rewarding life and be a productive member of society. Being able to prove something mathematically is a specialist skill. The important general ability in today’s world is to have a good understanding of the nature of the various kinds of arguments, the special nature of mathematical argument and its role among them, and an ability to judge the soundness and limitations of any particular argument.

In the case of mathematical argument, acquiring that “consumer’s understanding” surely involves having some experience in trying to construct very simple mathematical arguments, but far more what is required is being able to evaluate mathematical arguments.

And that can be handled in a MOOC. Just present students with various mathematical arguments, some correct, others not, and machine-check if, and how well, they can determine their validity.

Well, that leading modifier “just” in that last sentence was perhaps too cavalier. There clearly is more to it than that. As always, the devil is in the details. But once you make the shift from viewing the course (or the proofs part of the course) as being about constructing proofs to being about understanding and evaluating proofs, then what previously seemed hopeless suddenly becomes rife with possibilities.

I started to make this shift with the last session of my MOOC this fall, and though there were significant teething troubles, I saw enough to be encouraged to try it again—with modifications—to an even greater extent next year.

Of course, many QR courses focus on appreciation of mathematics, spiced up with enough “doing math” content to make the course defensibly eligible for QR fulfillment. What I think is far less common—and certainly new to me—is using the evaluation of proofs as a major learning vehicle.

What makes this possible is that the Coursera platform on which my MOOC runs has developed a peer review module to support peer grading of student papers and exams.

The first times I offered my MOOC, I used peer evaluation to grade a Final Exam. Though the process worked tolerably well for grading student mathematics exams—a lot better than I initially feared—to my eyes it still fell well short of providing the meaningful grade and expert feedback a professional mathematician would give. On the other hand, the benefit to the students that came from seeing, and trying to evaluate, the proof attempts of other students, and to provide feedback, was significant—both in terms of their gaining much deeper insight into the concepts and issues involved, and in bolstering their confidence.

When the course runs again in a few week's time, the Final Exam will be gone, replaced by a new course culmination activity I am calling Test Flight.

How will it go? I have no idea. That’s what makes it so interesting. Based on my previous experiments, I think the main challenges will be largely those of implementation. In particular, years of educational high-stakes testing robs many students of the one ingredient essential to real learning: being willing to take risks and to fail. As young children we have it. Schools typically drive it out of us. Those of us lucky enough to end up at graduate school reacquire it—we have to.

I believe MOOCs, which offer community interaction through the semi-anonymity of the Internet, offer real potential to provide others with a similar opportunity to re-learn the power of failure. Test Flight will show if this belief is sufficiently grounded, or a hopelessly idealistic dream! (Test flights do sometimes crash and burn.)

The more people learn to view failure as an essential constituent of good learning, the better life will become for all. As a world society, we need to relearn that innate childhood willingness to try and to fail. A society that does not celebrate the many individual and local failures that are an inevitable consequence of trying something new, is one destined to fail globally in the long term.


For those interested, I’ll be describing Test Flight, and reporting on my progress (including the inevitable failures), in my blog MOOCtalk.org as the experiment continues. (The next session starts on February 3.)

Monday, November 4, 2013

The Educational Power of Elementary Arithmetic

The trouble with writing about, or quoting, Liping Ma, is that everyone interprets her words through their own frame, influenced by their own experiences and beliefs.

“Well, yes, but isn’t that true for anyone reading anything?” you may ask. True enough. But in Ma’s case, readers often arrive at diametrically opposed readings. Both sides in the US Math Wars quote from her in support of their positions.

That happened with the book that brought her to most people’s attention, Knowing and Teaching Elementary Mathematics: Teachers' Understanding of Fundamental Mathematics in China and the United States, first published in 1999. And I fear the same will occur with her recent article "A Critique of the Structure of U.S. Elementary School Mathematics," published in the November issue of the American Mathematical Society Notices.

Still, if I stopped and worried about readers completely misreading or misinterpreting things I write, Devlin’s Angle would likely appear maybe once or twice a year at most. So you can be sure I am about to press ahead and refer to her recent article regardless.

My reason for doing so is that I am largely in agreement with what I believe she is saying. Her thesis (i.e., what I understand her thesis to be) is what lay behind the design of my MOOC and my recently released video game. (More on both later.)

Broadly speaking, I think most of the furor about K-12 mathematics curricula that seems to bedevil every western country except Finland is totally misplaced. It is misplaced for the simple, radical (except in Finland) reason that curriculum doesn’t really matter.  What matter are teachers. (That last sentence is, by the way, the much sought after “Finnish secret” to good education.) To put it simply:

BAD CURRICULUM + GOOD OR WELL-TRAINED TEACHERS = GOOD EDUCATION

GOOD CURRICULUM + POOR OR POORLY-TRAINED TEACHERS = POOR EDUCATION

I am very familiar with the Finnish education system. The Stanford H-STAR institute I co-founded and direct has been collaborating with Finnish education researchers for over a decade, we host education scholars from Finland regularly, I travel to Finland several times a year to work with colleagues there, I am on the Advisory Board of CICERO Learning, one of their leading educational research organizations, I’ve spoken with members of the Finnish government whose focus is education, and I’ve sat in on classes in Finnish schools. So I know from firsthand experience in the western country that has got it right that teachers are everything and curriculum is at most (if you let it be) a distracting side-issue.

The only people for whom curriculum really matters are politicians and the politically motivated (who can make political capital out of curriculum) and publishers (who make a lot of financial capital out of it).

But I digress: Finland merely serves to provide an existence proof that providing good mathematics education in a free, open, western society is possible and has nothing to do with curriculum. Let’s get back to Liping Ma’s recent Notices article. For she provides a recipe for how to do it right in the curriculum-obsessed, teacher-denigrating US.

Behind Ma’s suggestion, as well as behind my MOOC and my video game (both of which I have invested a lot of effort and resources into) is the simple (but so often overlooked) observation that, at its heart, mathematics is not a body of facts or procedures but a way of thinking. Once a person has learned to think that way, it becomes possible to learn and use pretty well any mathematics you need or want to know about, when you need or want it.

In principle, many areas of mathematics can be used to master that way of thinking, but some areas are better suited to the task, since their learning curve is much more forgiving to the human brain.

For my MOOC, which is aimed at beginning mathematics students at college or university, or high school students about to become such, I take formalizing the use of language and the basic rules of logical reasoning (in everyday life) as the subject matter, but the focus is as described in the last two words of the course’s title: Introduction to Mathematical Thinking.

Apart from the final two weeks of the course, where we look at elementary number theory and beginning real analysis, there is really no mathematics in my course in the usual sense of the word. We use everyday reasoning and communication as the vehicle to develop mathematical thinking.

[SAMPLE PROBLEM: Take the famous (alleged) Abraham Lincoln quote, “You can fool all of the people some of the time and some of the people all of the time, but you cannot fool all the people all the time.” What is the simplest and clearest positive expression you can find that states the negation of that statement? Of course, you first have to decide what “clearest”, “simplest”, and “positive” mean.]

Ma’s focus in her article is beginning school mathematics. She contrasts the approach used in China until 2001 with that of the USA. The former concentrated on “school arithmetic” whereas, since the 1960s, the US has adopted various instantiations of a “strands” approach. (As Ma points out, since 2001, China has been moving towards a strands approach. By my read of her words, she thinks that is not a wise move.)

As instantiated in the NCTM’s 2001 Standards document, elementary school mathematics should cover ten separate strands: number and operations, problem solving, algebra, reasoning and proof, geometry, communication, measurement, connections, data analysis and probability, and representation.

In principle, I find it hard to argue against any of these—provided they are viewed as different facets of a single whole.

The trouble is, as soon as you provide a list, it is almost inevitable that the first system administrator whose desk it lands on will turn it into a tick-the-boxes spreadsheet, and in turn the textbook publishers will then produce massive (hence expensive) textbooks with (at least) ten chapters, one for each column of the spreadsheet. The result is the justifiably maligned “Mile wide, inch deep” US elementary school curriculum.

It’s not that the idea is wrong in principle. The problem lies in the implementation. It’s a long path from a highly knowledgeable group of educators drawing up a curriculum to what finds its way into the classroom—often to be implemented by teachers woefully unprepared (through no fault of their own) for the task, answerable to administrators who serve political leaders, and forced to use textbooks that reinforce the separation into strands rather than present them as variations on a single whole.

Ma’s suggestion is to go back to using arithmetic as the primary focus, as was the case in Western Europe and the United States in the years of yore and China until the turn of the Millennium, and use that to develop all of the mathematical thinking skills the child will require, both for later study and for life in the twenty-first century. I think she has a point. A good point.

She is certainly not talking about drill-based mastery of the classical Hindu-Arabic algorithms for adding, subtracting, multiplying, and dividing, nor is she suggesting that the goal should be for small human beings to spend hours forcing their analogically powerful, pattern-recognizing brains to become poor imitations of a ten-dollar calculator. What was important about arithmetic in past eras is not necessarily relevant today. Arithmetic can be used to trade chickens or build spacecraft.

No, if you read what she says, and you absolutely should, she is talking about the rich, powerful structure of the two basic number systems, the whole numbers and the rational numbers.

Will that study of elementary arithmetic involve lots of practice for the students? Of course it will. A child’s life is full of practice. We are adaptive creatures, not cognitive sponges. But the goal—the motivation for and purpose of that practice—is developing arithmetic thinking, and moreover doing so in a manner that provides the foundation for, and the beginning of, the more general mathematical thinking so important in today’s world, and hence so empowering for today’s citizens.

The whole numbers and the rational numbers are perfectly adequate for achieving that goal. You will find pretty well every core feature of mathematics in those two systems. Moreover, they provide an entry point that everyone is familiar with, teacher, administrator, and beginning elementary school student alike.

In particular, a well trained teacher can build the necessary thinking skills and the mathematical sophistication —and cover whatever strands are in current favor—without having to bring in any other mathematical structure.

When you adopt the strands approach (pick your favorite flavor), it’s very easy to skip over school arithmetic as a low-level skill set to be “covered” as quickly as possible in order to move on to the “real stuff” of mathematics. But Ma is absolutely right in arguing that this is to overlook the rich potential still offered today by what are arguably (I would so argue) the most important mathematical structures ever developed: the whole and the rational numbers and their associated elementary arithmetics.

For what is often not realized is that there is absolutely nothing elementary about elementary arithmetic.

Incidentally, for my video game, Wuzzit Trouble, I took whole number arithmetic and built a game around it. If you play it through, finding optimal solutions to all 75 puzzles, you will find that you have to make use of increasingly sophisticated arithmetical reasoning. (Integer partitions, Diophantine equations, algorithmic thinking, and optimization.)

I doubt Ma had video game instantiations of her proposal in mind, but when I first read her article, almost exactly when my game was released in the App Store (the Android version came a few weeks later) that’s exactly what I saw.

Other games my colleagues and I have designed but not yet built are based on different parts of mathematics. We started with one built around elementary arithmetic because arithmetic provides all the richness you need to develop mathematical thinking, and we wanted our first game to demonstrate the potential of game-based learning in thinking-focused mathematical education (as opposed to the more common basic-skills focus of most mathematics-educational games). In starting with an arithmetic-based game, we were (at the time unknowingly) endorsing the very point Ma was to make in her article.

Tuesday, October 1, 2013

Math Ed? Sometimes It Takes a Team

In last month’s column, I reflected on how modern technology enables one person—in my case an academic—to launch enterprises with (potential) global reach without (i) money and (ii) giving up his day job. That is true, but technology does not replace expertise and its feeder, experience.

In the case of my MOOC, now well into its third offering, I’ve been teaching transition courses on mathematical thinking since the late 1970s, and am able to draw on a lot of experience as to the difficulties most students have with what for most of them is a completely new side to mathematics.

Right now, as we get into elementary, discrete number theory, the class (the 9,000 of 53,000 registrants still active) is struggling to distinguish between division—a binary operation on rationals that yields a rational number for a given pair of integers or rationals—and divisibility—a relation between pairs of integers that is either true or false for any given pair of integers. Unused to distinguishing between different number systems, they suddenly find themselves lost with what they felt they knew well, namely elementary arithmetic.

Anyone who has taught a transition course will be familiar with this problematic rite of passage. I suspect I am not alone in having vivid memories of when I myself went through it, even though it was many decades ago!

As a result of all those years teaching this kind of material, I pretty well know what to expect in terms of student difficulties and responses, so can focus my attention on figuring out how to make it work in a MOOC. I know how to filter and interpret the comments on the discussion forum, having watched up close many generations of students go through it. As a result, doing it in a MOOC format with a class spread across the globe is a fascinating experiment, when it could so easily have been a disaster.

My one fear is that, because the course pedagogy is based on Inquiry-Based Learning, it may be more successful with experienced professionals (of whom I have many in the class), rather than the course’s original target audience of recent high school graduates. In particular, I suspect it is the latter who constantly request that I show them how to solve a problem before expecting them to do so. If all students have been exposed to is instructional teaching, and they have never experienced having to solve a novel problem—to figure it out for themselves—it is probably unrealistic to expect them to make that leap in a Web-based course. But maybe it can be made to work. Time will tell.

The other startup I wrote about was my video game company. That is a very different experience, since almost everything about this is new to me. Sure, I’ve been studying and writing about video game learning for many years, and have been playing video games for the same length of time. But designing and producing a video game, and founding a company to do it, are all new. Although we describe InnerTube Games as “Dr. Keith Devlin’s video game company,” and most of the reviews of our first release referred to Wuzzit Trouble as “Keith Devlin’s mathematics video game,” that was like referring to The Rolling Stones as “Mick Jagger’s rock group.” Sure he was out in front, but it was the entire band that gave us all those great performances.

In reality, I brought just three new things to our video game design. The first is our strong focus on mathematical thinking (the topic of my MOOC) rather than the mastery of symbolic skills (which is what 99% of current math ed video games provide). The second is that the game should embed at least one piece of deep, conceptual mathematics. (Not because I wanted the players to learn that particular piece of mathematics. Rather that its presence would ensure a genuine mathematical experience.) The third is the design principle that the video game should be thought of as an instrument on which you “play math,” analogous to the piano, an instrument on which you play music.

In fact, I was not alone among the company co-founders in favoring the mathematical thinking approach. One of us, Pamela, is a former middle-school mathematics teacher and an award winning producer of educational television shows, and she too was not interested in producing the 500th animated-flash-card, skills-mastery app. (Nothing wrong with that approach, by the way. It’s just that the skills-mastery sector is already well served, and we wanted to go instead for something that is woefully under-served.) I may know a fair amount about mathematics and education, and I use technology, but that does not mean I'm an expert in the use of various media in education. But Pamela is.

And this is what this month’s column is really about: the need for an experienced and talented team to undertake anything as challenging as designing and creating a good educational learning app. Though I use my own case as an example, the message I want to get across is that if, like me, you think it is worthwhile adding learning apps and video games to the arsenal of media that can be used to provide good mathematics learning, then you need to realize that one smart person with a good idea is not going to be anything like enough. We need to work in teams with people who bring different expertise.

I’ve written extensively in my blog profkeithdevlin.org about the problems that must be overcome to build good learning apps. In fact, because of the history behind my company, we set our bar even higher. We decided to create video games that had all the features of good commercial games developed for entertainment. Games like Angry Birds or Cut the Rope, to name two of my favorites. Okay, we knew that, with a mathematics-based game, we are unlikely to achieve the dizzying download figures of those industry-leading titles. But they provided excellent exemplars in game structure, game mechanics, graphics, sounds, game characters, etc. In the end, it all comes down to engagement, whether the goal is entertainment and making money or providing good learning.

In other words, we saw (and see) ourselves not as an “educational video game company” but as a “video game company.” But one that creates video games  built around important mathematical concepts. (In the case of Wuzzit Trouble, those concepts are integer arithmetic, integer partitions, and Diophantine equations.)

Going after that goal requires many different talents. I’ve already mentioned Pamela, our Chief Learning Officer. I met her, together with my other two co-founders, when I worked with them for several years on an educational video game project at a large commercial studio. That project never led to a released product, but it provided all four of us with the opportunity to learn a great deal about the various crucial components of good video game design that embeds good learning. Enough to realize, first, that we all needed one another, and second that we could work well together. (Don’t underestimate that last condition.)

By working alongside video game legend John Romero, I learned a lot about what it takes to create a game that players will want to play. Not enough to do so myself. But enough to be able to work with a good game developer to inject good mathematics into such a game. That’s Anthony, the guy on our team who takes a mathematical concept and turns it into a compelling game activity. (The guy who can give me three good reasons why my “really cool idea” really won’t work in a game!) Pamela, Anthony, and I work closely together to produce fun game activities that embed solid mathematical learning, each bringing different perspectives. Take any one of us out of the picture, and the resulting game would not come close to getting those great release reviews we did.

And without Randy, there would not even be a game to get reviewed! Video games are, after all, a business. (At some point, we will have to bring in revenue to continue!) The only way to create and distribute quality games is to create a company. And yes, that company has to create and market a product—something that’s notoriously difficult. (Google “why video game companies fail.”) Randy (also a former teacher) was the overall production manager of the project we all worked on together, having already spent many years in the educational technology world. He’s the one who keeps everything moving.

Like it or not, the world around us is changing rapidly, and with so many things pulling on our students’ time, it’s no longer adequate to sit back on our institutional reputations and expect students to come to us and switch off the other things in their lives while they take our courses.

One case: I cannot see MOOCs replacing physical classes with real professors, but they sure are already changing the balance. And you don’t have to spend long in a MOOC to see the similarities with MMOs (massively multiplayer online games).

We math professoriate long ago recognized we needed to acquire the skills to prepare documents using word processing packages and LaTeX, and to prepare Keynote or PowerPoint slides. Now we are having to learn the rudiments of learning management systems (LMSs), video editing, the creation of applets, and the use of online learning platforms.

Creating video games is perhaps more unusual, since it requires so many different kinds of expertise, and I am only doing that because a particular professional history brought me into contact with the gaming industry. But plenty of mathematical types have created engaging math learning apps, and some of them are really very good.

Technology not only makes all of these developments possible, it makes it imperative that, as a community, we get involved. But in the end, it’s people, not the technology, that make it happen. And to be successful, those people may have to work in collaborative teams. 

Wednesday, September 4, 2013

Two Startups in One Week

Last week turned out to be far more hectic than most, with the simultaneous launch of two startups I have been involved in for the past few years.

When I went into the life of academic mathematics some 42 years ago, I could never have imagined ever writing such a sentence. Nor, for that matter, would I have had the faintest idea what a “startup” was. It’s a measure of how much society has changed since 1971, when I transitioned from being a “graduate student” to a “postdoc,” that today everyone knows what a startup is, and many of my doctorate-bearing academic colleagues have, as a sideline to their academic work, started up labs, centers, or companies. What was once exceptional is now commonplace.

Massive changes in technology have made it, while not exactly easy, at least possible for anyone in academia to become an “edupreneur,” to use (just once, I promise) one of the more egregious recent manufactured words. This means that, when our academic work leads to a good idea or a product we think could be useful to many of our fellow humans, we don’t have to sit back and hope that one day someone will come along and turn it into something people can access or use. We can make it available to them ourselves.

MOOCs are one of the most recent examples. If any of us in the teaching business finds we have developed a course that students seemed to have benefited from and we are proud of, we can (at least to some extent) bottle it and make it available to a much wider audience.

Of course, we have had versions of that ability since the invention of the printing press. Today, millions of people, academics and non-academics alike, use those printing press descendants, websites and blogs, to achieve a much wider audience for their written word.

A somewhat smaller (but growing) number have used platforms such as YouTube and Vimeo to make video-recordings of their lectures widely available.

To some extent, MOOCs can be viewed as an extension of both of those Internet media developments. A MOOC sets out to achieve the very ambitious goal of bottling an entire college course and making it available to the entire world—or at least, that part of the world with broadband access.

The launch this past weekend of the third iteration of my constantly-evolving MOOC on Mathematical Thinking was one of the two startups that gobbled up massive amounts of my time over the past few weeks. Even though, having given essentially the same course twice before, the bulk of the preparatory work was done, implementing the changes I wanted to make and re-setting all the item release dates/times and the various student submission deadlines was still a huge undertaking. For with a MOOC, pretty well everything for the entire course needs to be safely deposited on (in my case, with my MOOC on Coursera) Amazon’s servers before the first of my 41,000 registered students logged on over the weekend.

When you think about it, the very fact that a single academic can do something like this, is pretty remarkable. What makes it possible is that all the components are readily available. To go into the MOOC business, all you need is a laptop, a word processor (and LaTeX, if you are giving a math course), possibly a slide package such as PowerPoint, some kind of video recording device (I use a standard, $900 consumer camcorder, others use a digital writing tablet), a small microphone (possibly the one already built in to your laptop), and a cheap consumer video editing package (I use Premiere Elements, which comes in at around $90). Assuming you already have the laptop and a standard office software package, you can set up in the MOOC business for about $1500.

Sure, it helps if your college or university gives you access to the open source MOOC platform edX, or is willing to enter an agreement with, say, the MOOC platform provider Coursera. But if not, there are options such as YouTube, websites, Wikis, and blogs, all freely available.

My second startup was supposed to launch at least a month before my MOOC, but a major hacking event at Apple’s Developer Site delayed their release of the first (free) mathematical thinking mobile game designed by my small educational software company, InnerTube Games. Both launches falling in the same week is not something I’d want to do again!

Why form a company to create and distribute mathematics education video games that incorporate some of the findings and insights I’d developed over several years of research? The brutal answer is, I had no other viable option. Though several years of research had convinced me that it was possible to design and build “instruments” on which you can “play” parts of mathematics, in the same way a musical instrument such as a piano can be used to play music (in both cases by passing the need for static symbolic representations on a page, which are known to be a huge barrier to learning for many people), I simply was not successful in convincing funders it was a viable approach.

Clearly then, I had to build at least one such instrument. More precisely, I had to team up with a small number of friends who brought the necessary expertise I did not have. Again, a few years ago, it would have been impossible for an academic to found and build a small company and create and launch a product in my spare time. But today, anyone can.

Sure, even more so than with MOOCs, to form and operate an educational software company, you need to work with other people—three in my case. (That, at least, has been my experience.) But the key point is, the technology and the resources infrastructure make it possible. You don’t have to give up your day job as an academic to do it! And just as a MOOC provider (or a YouTube, website, blogging platform combo) takes care of the distribution of your course, so too the Web (in my case, in the form of Apple’s App Store) can make your creation available to the world. At no cost.

We are not talking about enterprises designed with the purpose of making money here—I am essentially in the same game as the writing of academic works or textbooks, and in my case less so, since my books cost money but my MOOC and my game are free. Rather we are making use of a global infrastructure to make our work widely accessible. If that infrastructure involves for-profit MOOC platforms or software companies, so be it.

The fact is, it has never been as easy as it is today for each one of us to take an idea or something we have created and make it available to a wide audience. Sure, for both my examples, I have left a lot unsaid, focusing on one particular aspect. (Take a glance at my video game website to see who else was involved in that particular enterprise and the experience they brought to the project. That was a team effort if ever there was!) But the key fact is, it is now possible!

For more about my MOOC, and MOOCs in general, see my blog MOOCtalk.org. For my findings and thoughts on mathematics education, see many of the posts on my other blog profkeithdevlin.org together with some of the articles and videos linked to on the InnerTube Games website.

And for another (dramatic) example of how one person with a good idea can quickly reach a global audience, see Derek Muller’s superb STEM education resource Veritasium. 

Thursday, August 1, 2013

“Will this (mathematics) be of any use?”

Readers who follow me on Twitter will have noticed many tweets on the recent revelations about illegal NSA surveillance. Here is why I think that none of us in mathematics and mathematics education can ignore that debate.

There’s a popular conception that mathematicians are unworldly, and that mathematics is, at its heart, walled off from the real world, its pursuit a form of escapism that takes the pursuer into a realm of pure, abstract thoughts.

Certainly, that’s a general sense of mathematics that I held for many years. Yes, like all my fellow mathematicians, I always knew that mathematics – all of it – arose, directly or indirectly, from real world problems, and that any branch of mathematics having any discipline-internal significance almost always turns out to have real-world applications. But neither of those was why I did mathematics. For most of my life as a mathematician, I simply did not care about the history or application of what I was doing. It was all about the chase – the search for new knowledge in a beautiful domain.

Early on in my career, when more politically active colleagues urged me to boycott conferences and workshops funded by NATO (a big issue back in the 1970s), or to avoid applying for research funds from commercial or military sources, I essentially turned a deaf ear to what they were saying, and got on with the work that interested me.

As a mathematician working in axiomatic set theory, with particular foci on the properties of sets of large infinite cardinality and on undecidability proofs, I felt fairly confident that nothing I did would ever find practical application, so for me the issue was purely one of where the money came from to support my research. I felt “clean,” and not under any moral pressure regarding potential unethical uses being made of my work.

True, I was aware that the famous early twentieth century mathematician G. H. Hardy had made the same claim about his work in number theory, yet in the mid-1970s his work found highly significant application in the design of secure cryptographic systems. But I felt that a similar outcome was unlikely in the case of infinitary set theory. (I am no longer quite as sure about that; I speculated about possible applications of Cantor’s set theory in my June column.)

I think we all have to address the morality-of-possible-applications question about our work as mathematicians at one time or another. Some, from Archimedes to Alan Turing, have actively engaged in military research; others try to avoid any direct contact with commercial or warfare-related activities.

The rise of math-based corporations such as Google that form a large and influential part of today’s global world, and the closely related growth of the modern, math-driven security state, as iconicized by the NSA, make it impossible to maintain any longer the fiction (for such it always was) that we can pursue mathematics as a pure activity, separate from applications, be they good or ill.

The uncomfortable fact is, we are in no different a situation than manufacturers of sporting guns who deny any agency when their product is used to kill people. (Yes, people pull the trigger, but as comedian Eddie Izzard pointed out, “the gun helps.”)

If we want to be able to maintain that our work will not play a role in someone’s death, torture, or incarceration – or in someone else achieving enormous wealth and power – our only option is to not go into mathematics in the first place. The subject is simply way too powerful as a force – for good or for evil.

Shortly after September 11, 2001, I was asked to join a research project funded by the U.S. intelligence service. For me, that was my crunch time. The work that led to that invitation was an outgrowth (described in my 1995 book Logic and Information) of my earlier research in mathematical logic and set theory. Like it or not, I was already in deep. To say no to that invitation would have been every bit a positive action as to say yes. Sitting on the fence was not a possibility. I was a mathematician. I’d already made the gun.

As the Google founders Larry Page and Sergei Brin eventually discovered, “Do no evil” is a wonderful grounding principle, but the power of mathematics renders it an impossible goal to achieve. The best we can do is try to make our voice heard, as many mathematicians and nuclear physicists did during the Cold War, who spoke publicly about the massive scale of the danger raised by nuclear weapons.

Finding out (as I have over the past few weeks) that the work I’d done over the past twelve years – for various branches of the U.S. government (intelligence and military) and for commercial enterprises (in my case, the video game industry) – was part of a body of research that had been subverted (as I see it) to create a massive global surveillance framework, I felt I could not remain silent.

Not because I felt that I, as an individual, did anything of significance. I worked on non-classified projects, and made no major breakthroughs. I was a very tiny cog in a very big machine. (If “they” are keeping an eye on me, they are definitely wasting our tax dollars!)

But I did take the money and I did do the work. I don’t regret doing so. The fact is, I’d made the crucial choice long before 2001; back in my youth when I decided to become a mathematician.

Those of us in mathematics education have always told our students that math is useful. In today’s world more than ever, we cannot at the same time pretend it is free of moral issues. Agnosticism is not an option (if it ever really was). To say or do nothing is inescapably a positive act, just as significant as saying or doing something.

We humans have created our mathematics, and used it to help shape our world. Now we have to live in it. Not only are we the ones who bear a large responsibility for that world, we are also, by our very expertise, the ones who (in many fundamental ways) understand it best. (It often seems that only the mathematically sophisticated really appreciate that an American is more likely to die in his or her bathtub than from a terrorist attack, and that more people died on the roads due to increased traffic during the time after 9/11 when all flights were grounded than did in the Twin Towers attack.)

So, to return to the question implicit in my title, “What is mathematics used for?” Douglas Adams provided the answer: “Life, the universe, everything.” With such reach and power comes responsibility. 

FOOTNOTE: For a more personal take on the above issues, see the interview I did on June 21 on Shecky Riemann’s Math Tango blog.

Tuesday, July 2, 2013

“It Only Takes About 42 Minutes To Learn Algebra With Video Games”

When tech folk dabble in education (and tech writers cover it), the excess of hype is sometimes matched only by their breathtaking lack of knowledge about education. Even so, the above headline to the July 1 post by Forbes contributor Jordan Shapiro must rank as one of the most stupid and ignorant statements in human history.

It would be somewhat less ludicrous, though still open to debate, if the headline had said “learn some algebra.” But “algebra”? All of it?

Almost certainly, Shapiro himself did not write the headline—writers rarely do. In fact, the article itself is fine. I have no problem with what Shapiro wrote. But the fact that the ludicrous headline had not been changed 24 hours later indicates that Forbes’ editors feel happy with it. Sigh.

What the article itself reports is that, on average, students who played a particular video game (DragonBox, of which more later) completed a sufficient part of it in 42 minutes. Since the game itself is based on algebraic principles, they could, therefore, be said to have engaged in algebraic thinking. (I would be inclined to say just that, though with any kind of machine learning—and human teaching if the instructor is not paying close attention—one should always be on the lookout for an instance of Benny’s Rules.)

Whether such performance in a video game justifies saying that the students learned some (!) algebra in 42 minutes depends on what metric you use to determine what learning has taken place.

Of course, if you define algebra to be (or to include) symbolic manipulation, then successful completion of any video game is not going to count as “doing algebra.” That is why I used the term “algebraic thinking” a couple of paragraphs back. (See my previous blog post What is Algebra? for a discussion of the distinction.) But is that the appropriate measure? What do we want K-12 students to learn under the title “algebra”?

[ASIDE: There is another definitional question as to the classification of DragonBox as a video game. Game developers have different views as to what constitutes a video game. Some would describe DagonBox as an entertaining, interactive, digital app, but would stop short at classifying it as a game.]

Before I go any further, I should give some disclaimers. First, as readers of my blog profkeithdevlin.org (or my book Mathematics Education for a New Era) will be aware, I am a strong proponent of the use of video games in mathematics education. In fact, I advocate an approach to the design of math ed video games that definitely includes DragonBox. I’ve met the developer, Jean-Baptiste Huynh, and one of the co-founders of his company WeWantToKnow, and I used their game as an example in a feature article on math ed video games I wrote for American Scientist in March of this year. I am about three-quarters of the way through the second, greatly expanded version of the game, DragonBox2. Among the designs for math ed video games that my own company, InnerTube Games, has been working on for several years, are a couple that have much in common with DragonBox. (We are due to release our first one, Wuzzit Trouble, this summer, but chose one based on arithmetic and number theory to be our initial release, with algebra-based games to come later.) So I am not a dispassionate outsider here.

For his Forbes article, Shapiro interviewed Jean-Baptiste Huynh, and everything the DragonBox designer says, I agree with 100%. Here is my take on the benefits of playing DragonBox (besides the fact that is it fun).

A student who plays through the new, greatly expanded version of the game will undoubtedly engage in a substantial amount of (contextualized) algebraic thinking focused on the solution of linear equations in one variable. The score they obtain in the game will provide a good measure of how well they have mastered that form of thinking (i.e., solving single-variable linear equations).

Does that mean the student can then sit down and ace a standard written algebra exam? Not at all. Even though the later stages of DragonBox and DragonBox2 involve on-screen manipulations of the standard symbolic representations of equations, the step from physically moving digital objects to manipulating symbolic expressions on a page is a much harder cognitive challenge than one might first think. The human mind simply finds it very difficult to reason in a purely abstract fashion. (In my book The Math Gene, published in 2000, I investigated the reasons for that difficulty.)

At issue is the notorious transfer problem, which, roughly speaking, is the difficulty humans face in taking something that has been learned in one context and applying it in another.

Huynh is of the opinion that it requires a human teacher to help the student take the difficult step from completion of his game to mastery of symbolic algebra, and I agree with him. I suspect that not everyone will be able to make the transition, no matter how good the teaching, but many will.

There is certainly a lot to be gained from mastery of symbolic algebra. First of all, learning at that level of abstraction is readily applicable to any specific domain. Second, being able to reason free of the complexities of any application domain is extremely powerful.

On the other hand algebra (or, more accurately, algebraic thinking) was successfully used in commerce for many hundreds of years before the modern, symbolic variety was introduced in the sixteenth century. So acquiring useful algebra skills is not totally dependent on mastery of symbolic algebra.

A major question is, will playing DragonBox increase the likelihood that a student will be able to master symbolic algebra, compared with a student who does not have that game experience? There is good reason to assume the answer is “Yes,” but that remains to be fully tested—something that can be done only now the game (and others like it) is out. (The analogous question remains to be answered for my own company’s forthcoming games.)

My reason for suspecting that playing video games like DragonBox is highly beneficial in learning symbolic mathematics—the kind that is tested in our school system—is perhaps best explained by an analogy from Hollywood. In the 1984 movie The Karate Kid (I can’t bring myself to watch the 2010 remake) and its sequel (KK2), martial arts instructor Mr Miyagi prepares his young pupil Daniel for Karate tournaments by getting him to polish a car, sand a floor, catch a fly with chopsticks, and paint a fence, all of which develop the reflexes and muscle memory required for key Karate moves, which Daniel uses to great effect later in the movies.

True, this is not sound educational theory, though many teachers (and most athletic coaches) adopt a similar approach. (This is a blog, remember, not a research journal.) But until we have something more concrete, the analogy works for me. Indeed, I am betting my company on it—as is Jean-Baptiste Huynh.