Once upon a time, I met a His Royal Highness the Duke of Kent.
The story of how that happened was pretty cool from my perspective, but every so often I wonder about it from his perspective. The Duke is the patron of the Royal Institution of Australia, and was in Australia just as they were displaying their installation of the Institute for Figuring’s Hyperbolic Crochet Coral Reef. So they organised a special viewing for him, to which a few key people were invited. One of those people was me, since I was the mathematician involved in the project.
I had a short but pleasant conversation with an old man about geometry and what it was like to be a man crocheting in public. We’re laughing in the photo, so somebody must have said something funny, though I don’t remember what it was. And that was it.
I suppose His Royal Highness meets a lot of people, so I might not make much of a difference to him. But every so often I think about how when he thinks about his time in Adelaide, there I am, if even for a moment (perhaps made just a little more memorable due to the rarity of meeting people standing in a roomful of coral made of yarn). I am part of the life memory of the Queen’s cousin.
Which gets me thinking…
Many of the students who I meet through my work in the MLC, I only meet once. Yet what happens with me will be a part of their memory of their time at university, however small. My short time with them is entangled forever with the events of their lives during their study. Will that moment with me make their memories more or less pleasant? Will it encourage them or discourage them? Will I just confirm their worst fears about themselves, or will it be at all like this student, who one visit to a lab in one class made all the difference?
From Ashleigh Geiger on Twitter 23 Aug 2020
For me, at school, the focus on memorising rather than understanding is what fostered a fear of maths. Returning to uni later in life and needing to use maths (biochem and genetics) showed me there was nothing wrong with my abilities, just my perception of my abilities. And the way the maths was taught in my degree showed me how powerful and interesting it can be, and helped me learn to enjoy it again. I never ended up visiting the MLC but having your team wander around in prac classes, peer over my shoulder and tell me I’d nailed it did wonders for my confidence! 😊 So whilst I did have experiences early on that made me fear/hate maths, take heart that they can be turned around by positive and empowering experiences with the right teacher. Love your work!
Every one of these students is important to someone, much more than a Royal who lives on the other side of the world is important to me. And I am there in their memory for better or for worse. This inspires me regularly to be the best I can be with each and every one of the students, especially that very first time I meet them.
Because once upon a time, His Royal Highness the Duke of Kent met me.
One of my favourite puzzles is the Twelve matchsticks puzzle. It goes like this:
Twelve matchsticks can be laid on the table to produce a variety of shapes. If the length of a matchstick is 1 unit, then the area of each shape can be found in square units. For example, these shapes have areas 6, 9 and 5 square units.
Arrange twelve matchsticks into a single closed shape with area exactly 4 square units.
I will tell you soon why this is one of my favourite puzzles, but first I want to tell you where I first learned this puzzle.
Once upon a time, about ten years ago, I met a lecturer at my university who was designing a course called Puzzle-Based Learning. It was an interesting course, whose premise was that puzzles ought to provide a useful tool for teaching general problem-solving, since they are (ostensibly) context free, so that problem-solving skills are not confounded with simultaneously learning content. Anyway, when he was first telling me about the course, he shared with me the Twelve Matchsticks puzzle, because it was one of his favourite puzzles. The reason it was his favourite appeared to be because the solution used a particular piece of maths trivia.
And the puzzle has become one of my favourite too, but for very different reasons! Indeed, I strongly disagree with my colleague’s reasons for liking the puzzle.
The first thing I disagree with is the use of the word “the” in “the solution”, because this puzzle has many solutions! Yet my colleague presented it to me as if it had just one.
The second thing I disagree with is that using a specific piece of trivia makes it likeable. I do recognise that knowing more stuff makes you a better problem-solver in general for real-world problems, but even so I always feel cheated when solving a puzzle requires one very specific piece of information and you either know it or you don’t. It seems to me it sends a message that you can’t succeed without knowing all the random trivia in the world, when of course it is perfectly possible to come up with acceptable solutions to all sorts of problems with a bit of thinking and investigating.
The main reason I love the Twelve Matchsticks puzzle is because it does have many solutions, and because this fact means that different people can have success coming up with their own way of doing it, and feel successful. Not only that, if I have several different people solving it in different ways, I can ask people to explain their different solutions and there is a wonderful opportunity for mathematical reasoning.
Another reason I like it is that people almost always come up with “cheat” solutions where there are two separate shapes or shapes with matchsticks on the inside. I always commend people on their creative thinking, but I also ask if they reckon it’s possible to do it with just one shape, where all the matchsticks are on the edge, which doesn’t cross itself. I get to talk about which sorts of solutions are more or less satisfying.
The final reason is that most of the approaches use a lovely general problem-solving technique, which is to create a wrong answer that only satisfies part of the constraints, and try to modify it until it’s a proper solution. This is a very useful idea that can be helpful in many situations. As opposed to “find a random piece of trivia in the puzzle-writer’s head”.
Which brings me to the second part of the title of this blog post. Let me take a moment to describe two different experiences of being helped to solve this puzzle.
When I was first shown this puzzle, my colleague thought there was only one solution, and his help was to push me towards it. He asked “Is the number 12 familiar to you? What numbers add up to 12? Is there a specific shape that you have seen before with these numbers as its edges?” He was trying to get me closer and closer to the picture that was in his head and was asking me questions that filled in what he saw as the blanks in my head. And there were also some moments where he just told me things because he couldn’t wait long enough for me to get there.
I did get to his solution in the end, and I felt rather flat. I was very polite and listened to his excitement about how it used the piece of trivia, but inside I was thinking it was just another random thing to never come back to again. It wasn’t until much later that I decided to try again, wondering if I could solve the problem without that specific piece of trivia.
So I just played around with different shapes with twelve matchsticks and found they never had the right area. And I wondered how to modify them to have the right area. And I played around with maybe using the wrong number of matchsticks but having the right area, and wondered how to change the number of matchsticks but keep the same area. This experience where I used a general problem-solving strategy of “do it wrong and modify” was much more fun and much more rewarding.
When I help people with the Twelve Matchsticks puzzle, this second one is the approach I take. I ask them to try making shapes with the matchsticks to see what areas they can make. I ask what all their shapes have in common other than having 12 matchsticks. I notice when they’ve made a square with lines inside it and wonder how they came up with that. Can they do something similar but not put the extra ones in the middle? In short, I use what they are already doing to give them something new to think about. I encourage them to do what they are doing but more so, rather than what I would do.
The approach where you have an idea in your head of how it should be done and you try to get the student to fill in the blanks is called funnelling. When you are funnelling, your questions are directing them in the direction you are thinking, and you will get them there whether they understand or not. Often your questions are asking for yes-or-no or one-word answers to a structure in your head which you refuse to reveal to the student in advance, so from their perspective there is no rhyme or reason to the questions you are asking.
The approach where you riff off what the student is thinking and help them notice things that are already there is called focussing. When you are focussing, you are helping the student focus on what’s relevant, and focus on what information they might need to find out, and focus on their own progress, but you are willing to see where it might go.
Interestingly, when you are in a focussing mindset as a teacher, you often don’t mind just telling students relevant information every so often (such as a bit of maths trivia), because there are times it seems perfectly natural to the student that you need such a thing based on what is happening at that moment.
From my experience with the Twelve Matchsticks, it’s actually a rather unpleasant experience as a student to be funnelled by a teacher. You don’t know what the teacher is getting at, and often you feel like there is a key piece of information they are withholding from you, and when it comes, he punchline often feels rather flat. Being focussed by a teacher feels different. The things the teacher says are more obviously relevant because they are related to something you yourself did or said, or something that is already right there in front of you. You don’t have to try to imagine what’s in the teacher’s head.
So the last reason the Twelve Matchsticks is one of my favourite puzzles is that it reminds me to use focussing questions rather than funnelling questions with my own students, and I think my students and I have a better experience of problem-solving because of it.
Quarter the Cross is one of my favourite activities of all time, whether in maths or just life. I learned about it way back in 2015 and have been mildly or very obsessed with it ever since. You can read about my obsession in my first Quarter the Cross blog post, and you can read about how I implemented it in a classroom in the Day of Maths series blog post.
This blog post is about one particular version of the Quarter the Cross problem you might like: the colouring version!
Back in 2017 I made a version of the cross with a lot of straight and circular lines on it so that instead of drawing your own lines, you could simply colour in the existing ones. I say “simply”, but… well look for yourself:
There are a LOT of lines there. If you look closely you can see lines cutting each smaller square into quarters in two directions, the diagonals of each square, lines connecting the centres of each side of the square to the corners, and circular arcs of two different sizes in various different locations. Plenty of scope to create your own fancy designs, or just make designs you think are less fancy look more like stained-glass windows!
You can download the Quarter the Cross colouring template in PDF, SVG and high resolution PNG formats here:
Here are some designs made by me and Simon Gregg using the colouring template:
by David Butler 2017by David Butler 2017by Simon Gregg 2017by Simon Gregg 2017by Simon Gregg 2017by Simon Gregg 2017by David Butler 2020by David Butler 2020
So there it is. I hope you have fun with it, and if you do make something I’d love you to share it with me!
I’ve just started teaching an online course, and one module is a very very introductory statistics module. There are a couple of moments when we ask the students to describe how they interpret some hypothesis tests and p-values, and a couple of the students have written very lengthy responses describing all the factors that weren’t controlled in the experiments outlined in the problem, and why that means that the confidence intervals/p-values are meaningless. When all we wanted was “we are 95% confident that the mean outcome in this situation is between here and here”.
It’s happened to me a lot before. Many students in various disciplines are extremely good at coming up with worries about experimental design or validity of measurement processes, and so they never get to the part where they deal with the statistics itself. They seem to treat every problem like the classic “rooster on the barn roof” problem, essentially declaring that “roosters don’t lay p-values” and choosing not to answer the question at all.
Don’t get me wrong, I really do want the students to be good worriers: they should be able to think about experimental design and validity and bias and all those things that impact on whether the statistics answers the question you think it does. But what they can’t do is use it to avoid talking about statistics at all! There are quite a few students who seem to be using those worries to discount all statistical calculations, and to sidestep the need to understand the calculation processes involved. “Your question is stupid, and I refuse to learn until it’s less stupid,” they implicitly say.
The weirdest part is that the assignment or discussion questions don’t usually discuss enough details for the students to actually conclude there is a problem. They say “the groupss were not kept in identical conditions”, but nowhere does it say they weren’t. I realise that in a published article if it doesn’t say they were then you might worry, but this is just an assignment question whose goal is to try to make sense of what a p-value means! Why not give the fictitious researchers the benefit of the doubt? And also, take some time to learn what a p-value means!
I do realise it’s a bit of a paradox. In one part of the intro stats course, we spend time getting them to think about bias and representativeness and control, and in another part, we get grumpy when they think about that at the expense of the detail we want them to focus on today. It must be a confusing message for quite a few students. But on the other hand, even when reading a real paper, you still do need to suspend all of that stuff temporarily to assess what claim the writer is at least trying to make. It’s a good skill to be able to do this, even if you plan to tear down that claim afterwards!
I am thinking one way to deal with this is to start asking questions the other way around. Instead of asking only for “what ways could this be wrong?”, ask “how would you set this up to be right?” And when I ask about interpreting a p-value, maybe I need to say “What things should the researcher have considered when they collected this data? Good. Now, suppose they did consider all those things, how would you interpret this p-value?” Then maybe I could honour their worries, but also get them to consider the things I need them to learn.
I have learned a lot from Twitter about how to treat my students, and most of it has been through being treated in ways I do not like. Recently I have been searching my own tweets to find things I’ve said before, and as I’ve dipped into old conversations, several unpleasant feelings have resurfaced when I read the way I’ve been treated. I don’t want to make my students feel that way, so I want to avoid doing those things to my students.
So, here are some ways I don’t want to treat my students, based on ways I have been treated on Twitter. To my shame, I have done most of these to others on Twitter too, and I am trying hard not to. I know most of the people who have done this to me will be mortified to know they have, so I am not going to call anyone out here. I just want to share what I have learned.
So, here is a list of things I don’t want to do to the students, because I don’t like it when they happen to me:
Offer solutions when they haven’t asked for any.
Interrupt their problem-solving process.
Ignore their feelings when they express them.
Tell them their feelings are wrong.
Respond with a story about me rather than seek more from them.
Completely ignore the main point of what they said and respond to just one word or phrase.
Respond to them telling me something they like by giving recommendations for new things.
Respond with a fire hose of even more technical terminology.
Tell them they are wrong to be confused.
Tell them the thing they like is wrong because I like something else.
Discount their success by pushing to the extension straight away.
Respond to everything with sarcasm.
Focus only on the bit I think is wrong.
My original plan was to elaborate on each of these, but I have kept coming back to this post for months and feeling overwhelmed with that task, so I think it’s time to just push send. And maybe it’s a good thing each time I read this to have to imagine what each of these things looks like. I’m hoping it’s useful to you to have to think about what these might mean too. But of course if you want me to explain a particular one of them more, do ask and I will do my best.
Last year I invented a game called Digit Disguises and it has become a regular feature at One Hundred Factorial and other events. But before Digit Disguises came along, there was another game with a similar style of interaction that we played regularly, and this blog post is about that game. The game is called “Which Number Where?”
Which Number Where: A Game of Logical Deduction
Players:
This game is designed for two players, or two teams.
Setting up:
Each player/team has two grids with six large boxes arranged in two rows, each containing little squares, one grid is labelled MINE and one is labelled THEIRS. See the picture below.
Each player/team writes the numbers 1 to 8, each in a separate smaller square in the MINE grid, keeping the grid where the other player/team can’t see it. (I have a printable version with the rules on it that can be turned into battleships-style game stands here.)
The six larger boxes are called “rooms”, and their location can be described by left, middle and right, and by top and bottom.
The goal:
There are six rooms in the grid: top left, top middle, top right, bottom left, bottom middle, bottom right. You need to find out which room each of the other player’s eight numbers are in. It does not matter which box within the room each number is in, you just need to know which room each number is in.
Your turn:
On your turn, ask any Yes or No question to the other player/team. You cannot ask any question other than one whose answer is Yes or No. Some examples are: “Is 1 in a top room?”, “Are there any empty rooms?”, “Are there any rooms with two even numbers?”
The other player answers the question truthfully with either a Yes or a No.
You can write notes to help you figure out what you know from the information you have so far.
If the answer is YES, then you get another turn. If the answer is NO, then that is the end of your turn.
Ending the game:
On your turn, if you think you know where the other player’s numbers are, then ask one at a time if each number is in the location you think. If the answer is YES to all eight questions then you win! (If not, then at the first NO it’s the other player’s turn and the game continues.)
The story of Which Number Where
Once my wife and I were in a toy shop and we saw a game called “Guess Where?” by Milton Bradley for my family. It was pretty cute. Each player had a battleships-style fold-out stand with a picture of a house, which had slots in them to put little pictures of family members. The goal was to find out where the family members were in the house. For example, maybe Grandpa and the Cat were in the Kitchen. The thing that really intrigued me about the game was the fact that you were allowed to ask *any* yes or no question, and that a yes resulted in an extra turn.
I loved playing the game in our house, and so I wanted to buy a Guess Where set for the Maths Learning Centre, but when I tried, I discovered that the game was out of print. So instead in 2015 I designed a pen-and-paper version that I could print and play, or draw on a whiteboard and play. Of course to make it mathsy and easier to describe, I just used numbers instead of people, and so the game Which Number Where was born.
It’s been quite a staple at One Hundred Factorial over the years, and when I came to write this post, I was actually surprised at just how many years it had been since I made it! Here is a video from three years ago of a piece of a game in action so you can see how it works with real people:
And photos of the two sides of the board during that same game.
I love Which Number Where! In many ways it’s quite similar to Battleships, but it is SO much cooler for two important reasons.
Firstly, you can ask any Yes-or-No question you like. This gives enormous freedom to the players, and people who play it really try to exploit this to get a lot of information all at once. Players also seem to like that they can be creative, and will tend to ask questions in a new or less obvious way even when a simple “Is 1 in the top left room?” would produce the same information.
Interestingly, using numbers allows for more freedom than the original Guess Where game. Numbers have a lot of features and properties that distinguish them, allowing for more creative ways to group them or refer to them. In games I have played, people have referred to even and odd numbers, prime numbers, powers of two, greater or less than a specific number, and several other properties. You can also use arithmetic on the numbers to help you get information. One of my personal favourite questions is of the form “Is the sum of the numbers in [insert collection of rooms] row even?”. This tells you how many odd or even numbers might be there, and if you’ve already located a few numbers, can actually give you rather a lot of information.
Secondly, the fact that you get another turn if you get a Yes answer forces people to think about how to ask their question. If you have a feeling about which answer is the most likely, you need to ask your question in such a way that that answer will produce a Yes rather than a No. And this makes you think about negating statements logically, which to me is really cool. My favourite is when someone asks something like “Is 8 outside the top left room?” as opposed to “Is 8 in the top left room?”
The two reasons above are inherent in the game itself, even just playing one-on-one. But the other thing that makes me love the game even more is when we play in teams. I adore listening to the discussion between the players in a team about what question to ask next, and about what information they have from the questions they have asked so far. It’s always fascinating to hear people’s thinking, and this game of pure logic is such an easy way to get that thinking on display.
I hope you enjoy playing (and listening to others playing) as much as I do.
It’s been four years since I came up with the idea of iplanes as a way to organise the complex points on a graph, and in the intervening time I have thought about them on and off. For some reason right now I am thinking about them a lot, and I thought I would write down some of what I am thinking.
A recap of the iplane idea
At every point in the real plane, there are a real-plane’s-worth of complex points attached. The complex points attached to the real point \((p,q)\) are all of the form \((p+si,q+ti)\). That is, the real parts of the two coordinates are \((p, q)\). I imagine them as a plane, with x-axis showing what imaginary part we’ve added to the x-coordinate, and y-axis showing what imaginary part we’ve added to the y-coordinate. The real point itself is in the centre of this plane. I call this plane of complex points the iplane at \((p,q)\). Every complex point is in one of these iplanes. The complex point \((3+i,5-2i)\) is in the iplane attached to the real point \((3,5)\); the complex point \((2i, -6+7i)\) is in the iplane attached to the real point \((0,-6)\); and the complex points \((i,0)\) and \((-i,0)\) are both in the iplane attached to the real point \((0,0)\).
I imagine the iplanes as transparent sheets attached at each real point, that are usually rolled up like an umbrella, but can be flattened out to sit on top of the ordinary real plane when you need to. And yes I imagine them as transparent red or pink, because that’s the colour cellophane I had in my original model.
The points on a complex line
Last time, I did a thorough investigation into the points on a complex line, stepping through the points on a real line, a line with real slope but non-real intercept, and a line with non-real slope. But I’ve always been a little unsatisfied with my treatment of it. I really wanted to have a unified approach to all three types of lines, since they are all just complex lines. I was sure there was a way of dealing with them that could allow me to just take a complex line with a standard equation and know what it should look like.
Well there is a way and I’ve done it. I am very proud of it, and not least of the things making me proud is a GeoGebra page that allows you to choose any complex line and then see what points are on the line in the iplane attached to a moving point, but with all kinds of complex lines together in one GeoGebra tool, rather than separate like last time. But we’ll get to that soon…
First, the calculations.
Consider a line \(L\) with equation \((a+\alpha i)x+(b+\beta i)y=(c+\gamma i)\), for real numbers \(a\),\(\alpha\), \(b\), \(\beta\), \(c\), \(\gamma\) with with \(a\),\(\alpha\), \(b\), \(\beta\) not all zero. This is the most general form of a complex line. Given a real point \((p,q)\), I am going to find all the complex points in the iplane attached at \((p,q)\) that are on the line \(L\). I will suppose that the point \((p+si,q+ti)\) is on \(L\) and try to find the imaginary parts of its coordinates (\(s\) and \(t\)).
Since \((p+si, q+ti)\) is on the line \(L\), it satisfies the equation, and so:
\[\begin{aligned} (a+\alpha i)(p+si)+(b+\beta i)(q+ti) &=(c+\gamma i)\\ ap + asi +\alpha pi +\alpha si^2+ bq + bti +\beta qi +\beta ti^2 &= c+\gamma i\\ ap-\alpha s + bq-\beta t + (as+\alpha p+bt+ \beta q)i &= c+\gamma i\end{aligned}\]
Equating real and imaginary parts, I get two equations:
\[\begin{aligned}ap-\alpha s + bq-\beta t &= c\\ as+\alpha p+bt+\beta q &= \gamma\end{aligned}\]
Which I can rearrange into:
\[\begin{aligned}\alpha s + \beta t &= ap + bq – c\\ as+bt &= \gamma-\alpha p-\beta q\end{aligned}\]
Whatever points \((p+si,q+ti)\) inside the iplane at \((p,q)\) are on the line \(L\), they must have their \(s\) and \(t\)’s satisfy these two equations.
But look closer at them! These two equations are the equations of lines! So whatever points in the iplane lie on both of these lines are the points of the original complex line \(L\) in this iplane. Two lines meet in exactly one point, which means there is exactly one point in the iplane on the complex line \(L\)!
They are not just any lines either: the coefficients are chosen from the real and imaginary parts of the original line equation. Equation 1 has \(s\) and \(t\) coefficients which are the imaginary parts of the original line’s coefficients, while Equation 2 has \(s\) and \(t\) coefficients which are the real parts of the original line’s coefficients. That means these two lines inside the iplane are parallel to the “real part” and “imaginary part” of the original line equation, with equations \(ax+by=c\) and \(\alpha x+\beta y=\gamma\) respectively.
And those two equations appear again in the equations inside the iplane at \((p,q)\). The constant term in Equation 1 is \(ap+bq-c\), which you would get if you substituted the point \((p,q)\) into the real part of the original equation. The constant term in Equation 2 is \(\gamma – \alpha p – \beta q\), which you would get if you substituted \((p,q)\) into the imaginary part of the original equation. If \((p,q)\) satisfies both of these equations, then Equation 1 and 2 both have constant 0, and so have \(s=0\), \(t=0 \)as a solution. But if \(s=0\) and \(t=0\), that means the point in the iplane is \((p,q)\), which is a real point! That is, there is one real point on the complex line \(L\) with equation \((a+\alpha i)x+(b+\beta i)y=(c+\gamma i)\), and this one real point is the intersection of the two real lines with equations \(ax+by=c\) and \(\alpha x + \beta y = \gamma\). I think that is so cool!
Technicalities
Of course, I have glossed over a few technical details. What if the two lines with equations \(\alpha s + \beta t = ap+bq-c\) and \(as+bt=\gamma-\alpha p-\beta q\) are parallel? Then there would be no intersection and so no points of the line \(L\) at all in this iplane. When would this happen? This would happen when the coefficients \(\alpha\) and \(\beta\) were the same multiple of \(a\) and \(b\), so \(\alpha = ka \) and \(\beta = kb\) for some \(k\). And then the original equation for \(L\) would have been
So the line \(L\) can be rewritten to have real coefficients for x and y, which means it has real slope! So a line with real slope will have many iplanes with no points of the line at all. Which ones will have actual points? Well, two parallel lines will share points (indeed all their points) if they are actually the same line after all. This would happen when as well as \(\alpha=ka\) and \(\beta=kb\), we also have the constant terms being related in the same way:
\[\begin{aligned} ap + bq – c &= k(γ – \alpha p -\beta q)\\ ap + bq – c &= k\gamma – k\alpha p – k\beta q\\ ap + bq – c &= k\gamma – kka p – kkb q\\ ap+k^2 ap + bq + k^2 bq &= k\gamma+c\\ ap(1+k^2) + bq(1+k^2) &= k\gamma+c\\ ap + bq = \frac{k\gamma+c}{1+k^2}\end{aligned}\]
This is the equation of a straight line parallel to the one with equation \(ax+by=c\), which is the real part of the original line \(L\)’s equation! So either an iplane will have no points of \(L\) at all, or it will have a whole line of points of \(L\), whenever the point \((p,q)\) is on a specific line parallel to the real part of the original line.
If the line \(L\) itself was a real line all along, then this could only happen if \((c+\gamma i)/(1+ki)\) was real, so \(\gamma\) would have to be \(kc\) as well, and the original line equation becomes \(ax+by=c\). There will be points in the iplane at \((p,q)\) when
This is the actual real line again! So a real line has points only in those iplanes attached to the real line itself, and in those iplanes, the points form a line parallel to the real line.
There is one final technical detail. What if both \(a\) and \(b\) are zero, or both \(alpha\) and \(\beta\) are zero? If both \(\alpha\) and \(\beta\) are zero, then the two equations inside the iplane become
\[\begin{aligned}0 &= ap + bq – c\\ as+bt&=\gamma\end{aligned}\]
If \(ap+bq-c\) is not zero, then Equation 1 has no solutions and there will be no points of the original line \(L\) in this iplane; if \(ap+bq-c\) is zero, then Equation 1 is 0=0, which is always true, and so any point satisfying Equation 2 is a point in this iplane. But wait, the points satisfying \(ap+bq-c=0\) are exactly the points on the real line with equation \(ax+by=c\). And since \(\alpha\) and \(\beta\) are zero, the original equation was \(ax+by=c+\gamma i\) anyway. So this matches with what we found before: a line of real slope has points only in the iplanes attached to a real line parallel to the real part of the original line. In this case, not just parallel but equal to the real part of the original line!
The same thing happens when both \(a\) and \(b\) are zero. Then the two equations inside the iplane become
\[\begin{aligned}\alpha s + \beta t &= -c\\ 0 &= \gamma – \alpha p – \beta c\end{aligned}\]
And now there are no points of \(L\) in the iplane unless \(\alpha p + \beta q = \gamma\), which is still the equation of a real line. Indeed, the original equation is \((\alpha i)x+(\beta i)y=c+γi\), which is the same as \(\alpha x + \beta y = -ci+\gamma\), so the line with equation \(\alpha p + \beta q = \gamma\), is actually the real part of one version of the original line’s equation.
Conclusion
So after all this, we find that the complex line \(L\) with equation \((a+\alpha i)x+(b+\beta i)y=(c+\gamma i)\) behaves like this in the iplanes:
The points \((p+si,q+ti)\) of the complex line \(L\) in the iplane attached at \((p,q)\) satisfy the two equations \(\alpha s+\beta t=ap+bq-c\) and \(as+bt=\gamma – \alpha p – \beta q\).
If the complex line \(L\)’s equation cannot be turned into one with real coefficients for both x and y, then every iplane has one point of \(L\), at the intersection of two lines inside the iplane. There is exactly one real point on the line \(L\), which is the intersection of the real lines with equations \(ax+by=c\) and \(\alpha x+\beta y=\gamma\).
If the equation can be turned into one with real coefficients for both x and y, then there are no points of the line \(L\) in most iplanes. The only iplanes with points on \(L\) are those attached to a real line parallel to the real (or imaginary) part of the original line equation.
If the equation can be turned into one with real coefficients for x and y and real constant term, then \(L\) is a real line and the only iplanes with points on \(L\) are attached to the points on \(L\) itself. The points of \(L\) in each iplane form a line appearing to lie on top of \(L\) itself.
You can investigate all of this in this GeoGebra applet, which allows you to choose coefficients for the equation of \(L\) and move the point \((p,q)\) to see the point(s) of \(L\) in the iplane attached there.
Thanks for being here for my mathematical scribblings. I worry that it might not make any more sense than the old version, but I feel a deeper sense of satisfaction having tried it both ways (and having one GeoGebra applet with all the types of lines at once).
This blog post is about a piece of the MLC learning environment which is very special to me: the date blocks. It’s a set of nine blocks that can be arranged each day to spell out the day of the week, the day number, and the month. I love changing them when I set up the MLC in the morning, so much so that since the face-to-face MLC closed due to COVID-19, I brought them home and have been changing them each morning here in the dining room, and sharing a video on Twitter.
This video is of the first 15 days (up until this blog post was made).
[UPDATE: I shared a video of me changing the date blocks every day from 27th March 2020 to 27th July 2020, the whole time the MLC Drop-In Centre was closed during the 2020 COVID-19 lockdowns in Adelaide. I was going to make a high speed video of that whole time, but I couldn’t find all the original videos.]
The story of how this object came into the MLC is the reason it is so special to me.
It began with a Christmas countdown calendar that my wife’s brother and his wife gave to us one year. It has two blocks that are able to spell out how many days there are until Christmas. Every year in our house we hang it up on the 1st of December and take turns changing it each day.
A couple of days before Christmas in 2012, I was thinking about how very soon it would be 365 days until Christmas. I knew that even though we only use our countdown calendar for the numbers from 25 to 00, it is possible for it to count down from 32, and I wondered if you could make a set of blocks that counted all the way down from 365.
I asked this question in the online One Hundred Factorial discussion area that we had at the time. Over a couple of weeks of very slow discussion, we discovered you can only count to at most 87 with three blocks if you must have all three on display, and so you need at least four and (possibly even more) blocks to be able to count all the way from 365 to 0.
At this point someone suggested that since we already had the ability to spell 1 to 31 with two blocks, maybe we could use three extra blocks to spell the month. This was an intriguing suggestion. If you’d like to think about it yourself for a bit, then I suggest you look away now, because there are about to be spoilers…
If you look at the first three letters of all twelve months, there are 19 letters: JANFEBMRPYULGSOCTVD. This would seem to say it’s not possible to spell all the three-letter months with three blocks because three cubes only have 18 faces.
However, the number blocks that inspired all of this are only able to produce all the numbers they do by allowing the 6 to also represent a 9 when you turn it upside-down. So we thought maybe there are letters in the list that could be other letters if you turn them the other way. The only candidates we could see were U and C if we drew them in exactly the right way.
Unfortunately, even with the C and U as the same letter, it still wasn’t possible. Since we have to spell both JAN and JUN, that means that A and U have to be on the same block. But since we also have to spell AUG, that means that A and U have to be on different blocks. They can’t be on both the same block and different blocks, which means it’s not possible to do it with three blocks. (This right here is one of my favourite proofs by contradiction of all time.)
Or is it really impossible after all? We couldn’t see any letters that could be turned into each other, but we were using capital letters. I suggested that perhaps we could use small letters instead. Then the u could be turned upside-down to be an n, which means it might be possible for a and u to be both on the same block and different blocks, if the u from the other block was actually an upside-down n. We still need to have both u and n for this of course, so unfortunately that’s still 19 letters to fit onto 18 faces. The letters p and d to the rescue! They can be rotated into each other, and they don’t have to both appear in the same month abbreviation!
Now you know why I used lower case letters for my date blocks: because it’s not possible with upper case letters!
Of course, you still have to figure out exactly how to put the letters onto the blocks, and that I was able to do on the 14th of January 2013. This is a photo I took at the time.
But I couldn’t stop there. The days of the week also have three-letter abbreviations, and so I made a set of three blocks for those too. These were much quicker to figure out because there are only seven days after all!
This left the day number, which I knew already could be done with two blocks, but it seemed weird to have only two blocks for that when the weekday and the month had three each. I decided that since I wanted to use three blocks, I might have the leeway to have blank faces so I could spell the one-digit numbers without a leading 0, and so that there weren’t redundant faces, I decided to try to include the “st”, “nd”, “rd”, “th” suffixes too. I did in fact figure out how to do this, though I am not at all sure it’s the most efficient solution.
And so after a day of avoiding other work by playing with cubes, I came up with a solution on the 15th of January 2020. I chose to display the 1st of January so that I could make it clear there were blank faces and more than just “th”.
I put these paper blocks on display in the MLC next to the sign-in sheet box (yes we had a paper sign-in system in 2013), and I changed them every day through Summer School. When first semester arrived with a crop of new students, I decided it was high time for a sturdier more permanent-looking set. This set is made of cardboard, which was painted in dark paint, pasted with printed letters, then painted over with PVA glue as a lacquer.
This would be the end of the story except for one extraordinary epilogue. One of our regular students had observed me changing the blocks every day, and had noticed that while I could stack them on top of each other to make the date visible, they were a little precarious. So he took measurements and made a case for them that they could fit into, to be properly on display. He presented it to me on 22nd April 2012. The most impressive part is the handle at the top, which is an MLC and Writing Centre branded pencil. The MLC and Writing Centre shared a room when we moved into the Hub Central building in 2011 and even though they moved into their own room just around the corner in early 2012, we used these pencils for some years later.
So that’s the story of the MLC date blocks. They are special to me because they grew out of a wondering, that became a puzzle at One Hundred Factorial, that inspired a new puzzle following our MO of “the goal is not the goal”, and the solution has some really lovely reasoning and problem-solving. They remind me of all this wonderful mathematical thought, but even more than this, they are also connection to a student who loves the MLC environment so much he would build something for us.
Not many things hold so many special memories, and a calendar seems an appropriate sort of thing to do so.
The weekly puzzle session that I run at the University of Adelaide is called One Hundred Factorial. In the middle of the night, I suddenly realised that I have never written about why it is called One Hundred Factorial, and so here is the story.
The very beginning
Once upon a time I was a PhD student in the School of Mathematical Sciences at the University of Adelaide. Sometime during the third year of my PhD program (2007), I was asked to give a talk to the first year undergraduate students as part of an evening event where the goal was to hopefully convince them to keep studying maths at a higher level next year. I titled my talk “How to Tell If You Are a Mathematician”. I don’t remember any of the things I spoke about, except for one thing. Before I started talking, I put a puzzle up on the document camera. I did not mention the puzzle in any way or look at the screen at all. I just did my little talk as if it wasn’t there. But right at the end of my talk I said this:
The final and truest way to tell that you are a mathematician is that you haven’t been listening to any of what I just said, and instead have been trying to solve this puzzle.
Cue guilty looks and nervous laughter from all of the academic staff in the audience, which successfully proved my point. Anyway it worked. Several students came up to me to talk about the puzzle, and I was able to direct them to lecturers who could talk to them about their study options. Yay for puzzles, right?!
This was the puzzle I used so neatly to make my point about the mathematician’s mind:
The number 100! (pronounced “one hundred factorial”) is the number you get when you multiply all the whole numbers from 1 to 100. That is, 100! = 1×2×3×…×99×100. When this number is calculated and written out in full, how many zeros are on the end?
I don’t remember where I got the puzzle from, but it is a pretty famous one that’s been around for some time. I actually hadn’t even thought through a solution at the time either. I just knew that it mentioned a concept that had been in the first year lectures recently.
The puzzle sessions begin
The other thing that happened that night was that a group of students and staff stood at the blackboard in the School of Maths tea room to nut out a solution to the 100! puzzle. I can’t even remember if we finished it or not, but we did decide that we should get together regularly to solve puzzles together, and a weekly puzzle session was born. At the first session, we started with the 100! problem again, and an extension of it, which is to find out what the last digit is before all those zeros start. Then as the weeks went on, we would do puzzles that I would find and bring to the sessions.
When I finished my PhD in mid-2008 and took up the job in the Maths Learning Centre, I took my little puzzle session with me, and was able to invite more students to come along, and it slowly morphed into a student event more than a staff event, which really pleased me. In fact, a regular at these puzzle sessions for years was that first student who had come up to me after my talk at the first-year event, and he eventually became one of my tutors at the MLC.
The name of the event
Over the years the puzzle session has had many names. We started out calling ourselves “People with Problems”, and then simply “Puzzle Club”. For a while it was called “The Hmm… Sessions” after the sound we made very often while thinking about puzzles. Indeed, there is a reference to the Hmm Sessions inside this very blog. But in 2012 after the website where I was hosting our online discussion was decommissioned, I decided it was time to change the name. I was also starting to think about moving the sessions out of the MLC itself and into a public space, and to match with this move I wanted a new name. I thought long and hard, and decided to name it after the first puzzle we ever did, the puzzle that first inspired staff and students to talk and think about maths together, the puzzle that helped students decide they really were mathematicians after all.
The legacy
So the regular puzzle session of the MLC became One Hundred Factorial at the end of 2012, and here we are in 2020 still going, so that now it’s been One Hundred Factorial longer than it’s been any other name. It’s been my testing-ground for new puzzles and games and teaching ideas, a place where I have made friends and welcomed people from around the country and the world. And it has become a glowing island of mathematical play in the middle of the stressful university life, and indeed the middle of a stressful life generally. In recent weeks it is a glowing island of community in a world of pandemic-induced isolation.
One Hundred Factorial reminds us that there is always something joyful to think about if you are looking for it, and that it’s okay to pause and ignore your responsibilities for a while to think about it, and that doing this with people is a source of shared joy. I hope the puzzle and the event can keep reminding us of that for a long time yet.
I don’t like BODMAS/BEDMAS/PEMDAS/GEMS/GEMA and all of the variations on this theme. I much prefer to use something else, which I have this week decided to call “The Operation Tower”.
In case you haven’t heard of BODMAS/BEDMAS/PEMDAS/GEMS/GEMA, then you should know they are various acronyms designed to help students remember the order of operations that mathematics users around the world agree upon so that we can write our mathematical expressions simply and unambiguously. For example, the most common here in Australia is BEDMAS, which stands for “Brackets, Exponents, Division, Multiplication, Addition, Subtraction”. The idea being that things in brackets are calculated first, followed by the rest. There are some technical details there, where Division and Multiplication are not strictly in that order, and instead ought to be done in whatever order they come, with a similar rule for Addition and Subtraction. This is one of the reasons I don’t like these acronyms, because if people only remember the list, then they tend to think that addition is always before subtraction. Indeed, I observed someone doing this within the last month.
The acronym GEMA is supposed to get around this by not explicitly mentioning the Division or Subtraction, and by using Grouping symbols to cover all grouping-type things. (If any Australians are wondering what the P in PEMDAS stands for, it’s “parenthesis”. People in the USA actually do use this fancy-sounding word and in their language they think that “brackets” means only the square ones.)
But this still makes me uncomfortable. The first way it makes me uncomfortable is that all of these acronyms seem to imply that brackets (or parentheses) are operations. But they aren’t. I mean, some types of brackets are operations, sure, but at the life stage when you usually learn this order, they’re not. Even if you do know about something like the absolute value, when you do calculate |-4+8| you don’t do the absolute value first do you? You do the thing inside the absolute value brackets first and it would be just wrong to do the absolute value to each piece first.
For your ordinary brackets this idea of focusing your attention on the thing inside is their whole purpose. In general brackets aren’t operations but just a way of holding things together so you do the actual operations at the proper time. It really bothers me to have them in a list of operations at all. I do understand they need to be mentioned somewhere, but still it bothers me.
The second thing that makes me uncomfortable is naming the concept by the acronym you use to remember it. I can’t count the number of people who I have heard say “should I use BEDMAS?” when they ask how to evaluate or read an expression. The concept is called “the Order of Operations” or “Operation Precedence” people! Get it right!
Anyway, this makes me less uncomfortable than it used to. It feels more like a mild transient little itch than a raging angry rash. I mostly made my peace with it by imagining they are saying “should I use BEDMAS to remember the right order?” which is perfectly fine. While there is reasoning behind why we do it in the order we do, it is more-or-less an aesthetic choice that could have been made a different way in an alternate reality, and aesthetic or arbitrary choices often need supports to help remember them. Also I realised that people need names for things, including mnemonic tools, and one of the nice things about acronyms is that they are already a name. It’s natural for the acronym, which has a ready-made name, to end up being the name for the thing itself. It doesn’t mean the itch isn’t there though!
So how do I reconcile all of this when I teach people about the order of operations? I use the Operation Tower.
It’s a visual representation of the order of operations, that keeps the same-level things at the same level, and carefully separates the brackets and other grouping symbols out from the operations themselves to make the point that they are different things. The innovation in the last couple of days is giving this thing a name, so that students can talk about it both to themselves and to others (thank you to a friend online for pushing me to do so!)
Here is how I usually introduce it: I start at the bottom, drawing the + and – first, saying that they are the most basic operations. Then I draw the × and ÷ above that, saying that they have to be done before + and – nearby. Then I draw the ^ and √ above that, saying they have to be done before any of the lower ones nearby. Finally I draw the box on the side with the (), [], ___, saying they are designed to hold things together in order to override the usual hierarchy. I also point out that the horizontal bar is usually seen as part of the root symbol, which is why it holds things in.
(Note I have been careful to say “nearby” in that previous paragraph. It’s not actually true that all the multiplications have to be done before all of the additions. Only the ones that are near to additions. Indeed, the whole point of the brackets is to put new boundaries on what “nearby” means!)
I also use the operation tower to help students remember some other rather nice properties of operations. Notice how the operations in each box distribute across the operations in the box below. For example √(4×9) = √4×√9 and (2+10)×4 = 2×4 + 10×4 (though you have to be a bit careful with division). Also notice how the higher things inside a log turn into the lower things outside the log. That makes the Operation Tower a reusable tool for multiple different things, which I rather like.
But the thing I like the most is how students respond to it. It really seems to make sense to them to organise the operations spatially as they learn for the first time that there is an order mathematicians prefer to work in, and they seem to understand that the brackets are a different sort of thing and appreciate having them listed separately. For those who are like me and have serious trouble remembering the correct order of letters, it’s much easier to process than an acronym, too.
I hope you like using the Operation Tower yourself.
PS: I have actually written about this before, and you can track the change in how I have used it over time if you read the previous blog posts about it.
These comments were left on the original blog post:
Adelaide MCELHINNEY 1 June 2021 Much as you dislike BODMAS et. al., perhaps it might be a good idea to use it in conjunction with your tower? Your tower is a wonderful representation of the order of operations and is a great way to demonstrate the equality of +, – or x, / etc. However, people (like myself) who aren’t visual learners may need the additional mnemonic to remember. My teacher in primary school really hammered in that multiplication and division were equal and done in the order they appear in the equation, as were plus and minus. I recognise, though, that not every child learns, or remembers this, so your tower is something I’ll be sharing with my niece.
NOTE: My thinking about this evolved over the years. Earlier blog posts on related ideas are here: