The
following is Chapter 2 of the symposium volume, __What's at Stake in the K-12
Standards Wars__, subtitled __A Primer for Educational Policy Makers__,
edited by Sandra Stotsky and copyright 2000 by Peter Lang Publishing Company,
New York. It is reprinted here by permission of Peter Lang.

Chapter 2

Judging State Standards for K‑12 Mathematics Education

Ralph A. Raimi

University of
Rochester

In the summer of 1997, Lawrence Braden
and I were commissioned by Chester E. Finn, Jr., president of the Thomas E.
Fordham Foundation, to conduct a survey of the mathematics standards published
by each of the states of the Union. Our report was issued by Fordham in March
of 1998, along with or following corresponding reports, written by
corresponding specialists, for state standards in English, history, geography
and science.

Lawrence Braden is a mathematics
teacher at St. Paul's School in Concord, New Hampshire, and I am professor
emeritus of mathematics at the University of Rochester. We are thus at first
glance an unlikely pair for such a job, as neither of us has any credentials in
"mathematics education." To understand our enterprise one must know
that "math education" is not to be confused with mathematics on the
one hand, nor with teaching on the other. Systematic mathematics is at least
four thousand years old, and teaching is surely older than that, but
"mathematics education" is strictly a 20th Century phenomenon. This
specialty is the domain of professors in the education colleges, members of the
State and Federal education departments, officers of the teachers' unions and
professional associations, and writers, consultants, and editors of school
textbooks and books designed for use in teachers' colleges as well. Many of
those one calls "math educators" also conduct research in methods of
mathematics education, but this is not the same as research in mathematics
itself, which is also abundant, though necessarily arcane. There is some
apparent overlap between the three categories (mathematicians, teachers of
mathematics in the schools, and math educators) in that a given person might
move from one to another during his lifetime, but that person cannot
simultaneously be an active member of more than one of these groups. The jobs
are simply different.

For the Fordham Foundation analysis of
the state standards in Kû12 Mathematics, then, Braden, a teacher, and I, a
mathematician, temporarily took on a task more usually associated with
mathematics educators, those whose business it is, or should be, to compose and
analyze such documents and their use. Our main results are only partly
contained in the grades we assigned to this or that state, though these
judgments were the primary purpose of our study. While the details will be
given below, there is no need to conceal, even at the outset, that those grades
were terrible.

More important for the long run, I believe, was our more general
conclusion that the divorce of the math education community from that of the
mathematicians, and to some degree of the teachers, too, has led to a
disastrous decline in our traditionally low expectations for student
performance in school mathematics, as evidenced in the state standards we read
and judged; and that this division cannot help contributing to the miserable
standing of American students on international assessments such as the recent
"TIMSS" (Third International Mathematics and Science Study). We
further concluded that to reverse this trend, the nation requires an
unprecedented increase in participation of mathematicians in what is today
regarded as the domain of math education specialists, both in the establishment
of curricula for the schools and in the education of the cadre of teachers
needed to understand and use such improved curricula.

As with every other problem, the
improvement in school mathematics, that is, in the mathematical education of
children in the Kindergarten through high school levels ("K-12"), is
a problem with a history, which will be outlined in the first section. This
history is more than background, for it helps explain the nature of the
problem, not just its past, and it contains elements that are already
illuminating its future. The present, too, is much misunderstood. The second
section deals with today's math education community's influence on present‑day
curricula and pedagogy, for this is essentially the subject of our actual
findings concerning the state standards we studied. Those standards were
largely written by math educators, and certainly inspired by the earlier
writings of that group. To the attitudes implied by these writings, we oppose
the criteria by which our own judgments were formed; and as we shall see, they
are quite different. Examples given here should illustrate the points; many
more will be found in the Fordham Foundation report itself. The third section
will describe some parallel assessments of the state standards which were made
by two other organizations, the Council for Basic Education (CBE) and the
American Federation of Teachers (AFT), and will explain why their conclusions
differed so from those we made for the Fordham Foundation. Fundamentally, the
Fordham Foundation report reflects a view from outside the math education
community, while the other two represent the currently predominant philosophy
of the National Council of Teachers of Mathematics and the State Education
Departments being judged. State standards judged by their own writers, in
effect, are like the famous lawyer who argues his own case. His case is a
winner with his family, but open court is another matter. In conclusion, the
fourth will return to the recent history of the relationship between the two
domains, of mathematics itself on the one hand, and school curricula and
teaching on the other, and some consequent recommendations for the future.

**From "New Math" to "Reform
Math" (1951‑1989)**

Before about 1900 there was nothing
special about math education in the schools. One presumed that a teacher,
whether in mathematics, history, or Latin, merely taught what he knew, using
textbooks written by those who knew even more. In the case of mathematics in
the American public schools, practical arithmetic was the norm, and only a
small minority went to high school at all. For the upper levels, the
universities' entrance requirements pretty well dictated what the high schools
(most importantly, private "prep schools") were to teach. With the great changes due to
immigration and technologically driven increases in standard of living in the
new century, however, the high schools of this century were no longer for only
a privileged few, and the earlier grades had to take account of a possible high
school future for their grade 8 graduates. For mathematics this presented a
special problem, since its more advanced levels --- algebra, geometry,
trigonometry --- were not the stuff of daily life; nor was the average product
of a normal school (as teachers colleges were once styled) equipped to teach
it. Mathematicians (university professors mainly) were before World War II very
few indeed, and remote from the schools in distance as well as interest.

Thus inevitably grew up was what
William Duren, a mathematician influential during the middle of this century,
called the "PEB," meaning Professional Educational Bureaucracy.
Someone had to govern the teaching of mathematics in the schools, with due
regard to the new constraints and demands, and this group, which had not
existed before, emerged to perform that task. That they did not do it well is
not a reflection on their labor and dedication, for the problem had many
dimensions, and amounted to raising a nation by its own bootstraps.

By 1940 it became something of a
public scandal that Army draftees knew so little of mathematics that the Army
itself had to undertake their training in the arithmetic necessary for even
the most mundane bookkeeping and gunnery; and by 1945 the deficiency became
even more evident when the wartime developments in radar, navigation,
operations analysis, cryptography, rockets and atomic weapons (among others)
showed the extent of mathematical accomplishment needed for a modern society,
at war or at peace. "Practical" mathematics was not just arithmetic
and interest rates any more, and whatever it was, America didn't have it. About
1950 there arose the beginnings of an attempt at reform, generated by some
previously indifferent mathematicians among others, an attempt that burgeoned
when the Soviet Sputnik of 1957 plunged Congress into shock.

Thus there arrived the one brief
period in the history of mathematics education when professional mathematicians
did come to exert some influence, and that was this era of the "New
Math," which can be placed between the establishment of Max Beberman's
University of Illinois project in 1951 and the gradual discrediting of all
"New Math" projects with loss of Federal grant support in the early
1970s. The (temporary) prestige of science and mathematics during this time
emboldened mathematicians, who had always found school mathematics preparation
of college students inadequate anyhow, to organize projects to rewrite
curricula and train teachers in different ways; but these reform efforts would
have had no more effect than earlier ones had not Sputnik goaded Congress into
financing such projects on a hitherto undreamed‑of scale.

The exact nature of these failed
reforms makes a long story; so do the reasons for that failure. For the present
purpose it is enough to say that the intent of the reform was to introduce the
essentials of mathematical reasoning, of logic and rigor, into all parts of the
curriculum, on the hypothesis that this was necessary if the later teachings
were to be more than a drill in mindless algebraic abracadabra. The main
hypothesis underlying those attempts were that essentially all children could
be taught these things and would ultimately learn more sophisticated
mathematics and with less time and effort, than by any other means.

Another hypothesis, this one totally
unrealistic, was that teachers could be trained overnight (as Congress seemed
to expect) to accomplish all this, and for the whole nation, once a group of
mathematicians could construct the correct curriculum and test it out. This
last requirement was nearest the truth, for such curricula were indeed
constructed, if not perfectly, at least by very competent mathematicians, and
with the help of practicing and experienced school teachers. But though testing
was as thorough as time permitted, it appears that this was mainly done by
specially trained teachers who would have had a hard time failing whatever
curriculum they used.

In some places and in some small part
the mathematicians were able to accomplish a good bit, but it was still only
experimental, and only a beginning, on a task destined for the generations.
Nonetheless, the popular desire to be up with the times immediately generated a
flood of commercial textbooks affecting to be "new math," and school
boards and superintendents were swept along with a meretricious tide of
puffery. The result was far from what the experimenters had arrived at,
imperfect though that already was. The public made no distinctions, however;
in a few years the entire enterprise was judged to have failed, and the country
clamored for a return to the familiar: "Back to basics" became the
motto of the 1970s.

Actually, the true attempts at reform
hadn't traveled very widely, and despite the incessant journalistic debates
concerning "new math" and its successes and failures, the great
majority of students never saw more than the slogans. "Back to
basics" in 1975 was therefore business as usual for most schools anyway,
and for the others the residue of the experiment was rather slight, with the
exception of some changes in the senior high schools for college‑preparatory
students, changes that would have taken place anyway.

From 1970 to 1990, then, the schools
were not far from 1950 in their math programs, with one sad exception, though
an exception that had already been under way before the Sputnik‑induced
revolutions: The total collapse of deductive Euclidean geometry, to which at
least lip-service had been given before the New Math. Geometry was already only
a carryover from 19th century high school practice, and in pre‑New‑Math
times a last remaining beacon of reason in school mathematics. But as the
tenets of "progressive education" gained currency in all fields in
the early years of this century, the writers of geometry texts, too, were
increasingly slighting what was geometry's principal value, and were themselves
becoming downright ignorant of the logical structures of mathematics itself.

Like Latin, history, and rhetoric,
geometry had been a liberal art in the 19th century, studied mainly by those
intending a university education. Nobody then regarded Euclid as a practical
guide to carpentry or navigation; it was an intellectual exercise. Abraham
Lincoln was proud to have studied the first six books of Euclid during the
years he was also studying for the bar, though he had no intention of becoming
a carpenter. During the more egalitarian 20th century, however, geometry
gradually became downgraded in favor of what was deemed more practical and more
in alignment with the "felt needs" of school children.

Such a development was convenient for
those who didn't understand Euclid anyway. Some Euclidean geometry, with some
formal constructions and proofs, remained in some schools, but textbooks were
increasingly taking the attitude that geometry was a sort of science of
description of natural objects, with mensuration formulas its goal. By 1950
there were very few children getting the real thing, though even today one may
sometimes meet an old‑timer (non‑scientist) who remembers
Euclidean geometry as one of the thrills of an otherwise drab school experience
of long ago. The New Math reforms did attempt to deal intelligently with
geometry, but it was difficult, and the form in which the commercial world of
publishers then took it up was a travesty. By 1975, Euclid was dead in the
schools.

With the decline and fall of the New
Math, the mathematicians went home to their universities and their researches,
and the PEB tried to make sense of "basics." Parents might have been
mollified for a while by the fact that their children were no longer bringing
home weird tales of "set intersections" and "truth tables"
as they had done in the 1960s. But their accomplishment in terms of such
national assessments as the National Assessment of Educational Progress
continued to show the American children no better off in mathematics --- even
in "basics" --- than they had been in 1950. The federal government
established a National Institute of Education in 1972, intending it to conduct
research towards improvement; and little by little the professional educators,
who had, by and large, tried to celebrate and participate in the New Math projects
while they seemed popular, recovered their nerve and reassumed direction of
school mathematics.

In 1980 the National Council of
Teachers of Mathematics (NCTM), their principal professional organization,
issued a brief report, "An Agenda for Action," announcing that school
mathematics should have "problem solving" as its primary focus. Other
features of this manifesto, which showed no signs of mathematicians' influence,
are also of interest, but apart from its emphasis on the calculator or computer
as a tool for the future, all of it could have been written before 1950. In
particular, the Agenda did not portray mathematics in any way as an
intellectual adventure, or as a preparation for scientific studies, or as a
thing of beauty.

That the document urged
"understanding" of mathematics over memorization and routine did not
reflect an attachment to the sort of reasoning one finds in either Euclid or
the New Math axiomatic systems for algebra. Earlier educators, both traditional
and those attempting reform, had always exalted "understanding." Who
would not? But the profession's understanding of "understanding"
seems to shift with the times. The new "understanding" was to be the
relationship of mathematics with the "real world" rather than with
reason. And with the interpretation of "real world" now being given,
not much mathematics could be made relevant. In short, a dumbing‑down was
in process, mathematics to be made palatable by a diminution of content, accompanied
by a sugarcoating labeled improved pedagogy.

Over the next decade the NCTM formed
committees to fill in the specifics, culminating in the 1989 publication of the
rather large and ambitious Curriculum and Evaluation Standards for School
Mathematics. This volume was actually only one of three allied
"standards" reports, the others more narrowly concerning pedagogy and
testing, but the 1989 volume is the one commonly referred to as "the NCTM
standards," and the one that was to have a decisive influence on the
developments Lawrence Braden and I were to study in 1997.

The National Science Foundation,
following publication of the NCTM standards (which had not been federally
financed but was the product of NCTM alone), undertook to help finance a
similar study on the part of every state that would itself create a similar
document for use in that state. Some states, of course, had long had standards
in one form or another, to guide school districts in their choice of textbooks
and curricular emphases, and in many cases as syllabi for statewide examinations.
But with the federal legislation of the 1980s came a wholesale production of
such standards, many of them in avowed imitation of the one produced by NCTM,
though generally much shorter, and different in other ways.

The American tradition of local
control of education more or less forbids a national curriculum, except de
facto in some degree. These state standards, though federally encouraged and
supported, are supposed to be each state's vision of the future, of what
mathematics education ought to be. Some were apparently written by enormous
committees of teachers and math education specialists, but the final texts
obviously were assembled and organized at the state education department level,
sometimes with the help of one of the regional educational
"laboratories" set up and financed by the U.S. Department of
Education. Despite the regional differences, the influence of NCTM and these
laboratories has imparted a certain sameness to many of the state standards we
ended up studying. Almost all of them had publication dates of 1996 or 1997.

Braden and I got the documents, we
read them, we graded them. We could grade only 47, counting D.C., as three were
incomplete drafts we could not cite or quote, and Iowa on principle does not
produce one. Our grades were divided by criteria of our own devising, of which
there were four: their Clarity, their demands for mathematical Content, their
demand for what we call Mathematical Reasoning throughout the curriculum, and
their freedom from the Negative Qualities we called False Doctrine and
Inflation. Each criterion had parts, that is, subcriteria, but our overall
judgment gave equal weight to these four groupings, producing a grade of
A,B,C,D, or F (for "failure").

In all, 16 states got an F and 12 more
got a D, making a clear majority at the more melancholy levels. Not that the C
and B states were admirable. There were only three grades of A: North Carolina,
Ohio, and California.

Japan got an A, too, but not as a 51st
state. When we decided to include the Japanese document, our copy of which was
dated 1990, we hadn't yet known that any American ones would receive a good
grade, and we wanted to make sure our report contained some good examples for
comparison's sake. In truth, the Japanese document (despite its high grade)
could not really be used verbatim by any of our states, even if it were better
translated, because of cultural differences that allow Japan's standards a
rather allusive, if not cryptic, style, one that would not easily explain
itself to American school systems. Just the same, it is well worth study by
every one of our states, and some of the best American standards were written
by states that had avowedly considered the Japanese model during their
deliberations.

To our minds, anything less than a
grade of A should be unacceptable. Grades of "B" and "C"
are counted respectable for college students and children, but states are
different. States can and should hire their best talent to write their papers,
something frowned on in rich and lazy undergraduates but which in a state is
not plagiarism. Nor can a state be excused for lack of sleep the night before
the exam, or an attack of mononucleosis. Under these circumstances, the overall
failure of all but (generously) thirteen of our states, those graded A or B, to
produce a sensible document that simply and adequately delineates even what it
hopes for in its citizens' mathematical education, must be considered a
national disaster.

We didn't have to look hard to find
faults; they hit us in the face. First off was the bloated language, which even
in mathematics can only be called Educationese. It was our duty to read it
anyhow; perhaps it was only an unfamiliar jargon which, once penetrated, does
in fact make sense. Every trade has its jargon, after all. We persevered, we
penetrated, but we found no bottom to it. This sort of thing we downgraded as
Inflation, a gentler word than our in‑house use of "blather".
Now one can say that blather is really only a matter of style; was there
anything really wrong about what was written in these standards? Well, yes,
there was. Some of what we read did make sense, but in places we would rather
it had not, for the sense it made was too often destructive of mathematical
learning. Such things we called False Doctrine, a telling example of which we
shall come back to later in some detail. For now, the principal false doctrines
we found prevalent in state standards were these:

1. The denial of the
value of memorizing anything, especially the basic definitions and facts of
arithmetic, and their computational algorithms; also the concomitant notion
that since the hand calculator and computer largely replace the computational
skills of the past in daily life, they should do so during the arithmetic
learning process as well.

2. The urging of
"real‑life" experience as the touchstone of value in
mathematical knowledge, i.e. that mathematical ideas without immediate
physical realization should not be imposed on children, or cannot.

3. The idea that
whatever cannot, or apparently cannot, be taught to all children should be
taught to none.

Not
every failing state exhibited all of these doctrines at every turn, and
certainly never in so bald a statement of principle as here summarized, though
the philosophy is plain enough: "rote learning" should give place to
"real understanding of concepts," for example. Rather than say all
mathematical truths of value must have a physical realization, the state will
prescribe "manipulatives" such as "algebra‑tiles,"
and team projects such as measuring playgrounds, so insistently that
mathematics can no longer be seen as an intellectual adventure. And, rather
than say that the curriculum is to be limited to what average and below‑average
students of previous generations seem to have been able to accomplish, states
combine the language of inclusiveness and equity with the omission of
everything difficult in order to accomplish that end quietly. Other false
doctrines will be considered in their turn, below. ("Manipulatives"
are objects designed to teach mathematical lessons by analogy. Kindergarten blocks
are an example, and for the early grades many other devices are convenient and
instructive, but the genre has recently passed all bounds, both intellectual
and financial, with the enthusiastic advocacy of most states' standards. One
state even mentions the possible purchase, for educational purposes, of a
Pascal's Triangle; but we have not yet seen advertisements for Occam's razors.)

Overlying each false doctrine there is
usually a fog of reference to high‑sounding psychological theories of
cognition, learning‑style differences, and the like, making it sound as
if the mathematical contents of a program are quite unproblematical, and that
the only real problems are how to transmit or cause the student to discover a
well-understood body of mathematical material. That the relevant body of
mathematical material is not so well understood by the educators themselves can
be seen from the multitude of mathematical solecisms and errors with which so
many of the state standards are sprinkled, and the vagueness of much of the
rest. A small selection of these are quoted, though with minimal explanation,
in our report for the Fordham Foundation. Alas, the cited errors are not mere
oversights or misprints, but represent a genuine reservoir of mathematical
ignorance.

Our second criterion, __Content__,
was split three ways: primary school, middle school, high school. There has
long been a traditional content in American schools: arithmetic for primary
schools, geometry and algebra for the high schools, and time‑wasting
reviews, usually called "ratio and proportion," or "business
applications," for the middle schools. Fitful and shifting reforms since
1950 have, we found, improved things somewhat in some directions, especially
for college‑intending high school students, but have degraded geometry
on the whole, and have unreasonably delayed the introduction of algebra in the
middle schools in most States.

__Reason__ was our third criterion
of judgment. Euclidean geometry is not its only home in school mathematics, of
course, and the New Math of the era 1955‑1975, led by mathematicians, had
made the attempt to introduce rigorous reasoning throughout the curriculum, and
genuine algebra earlier than high school. The "back to basics"
movement of the 1970s and 1980s therefore generated a tragedy of its own, for
it helped render the community of mathematicians suspect and even excluded by
the mathematics educators of the generations since. And not just the
mathematicians, but the lessons of mathematics itself.

In today's most widely used textbooks
the logical structures of algebra have disappeared, though some few items of
vocabulary remain. The emphasis on "problem‑solving" has
exalted the linear equation and its uses to a veritable definition of algebra,
with such things as the binomial theorem and the quadratic formula downplayed
or omitted. "Euclidean geometry" is in practice regarded by most
state standards as a sort of empirical study of the shape of the world around
us, dimensions of playgrounds and soup cans, augmented by some exercises (aided
by computer software) in naming symmetries and looking at things in mirrors.
While geometry as a deductive system has had some small staying power in actual
classrooms, present "math‑education" philosophy, as expressed
in most state standards, would guarantee that in another generation no teachers
will be left us who are competent to handle the Euclidean system.

Reason in other parts of the school
curriculum, especially in algebra, became so discredited during the New Math
era that it is only sporadically visible today. "Deductive and inductive
reasoning" may be a mantra in standards‑land, but by "inductive
reasoning" is mostly meant extrapolating number sequences and playing with
geometric manipulatives. Most states in most contexts, moreover, confuse
mathematical, i.e., deductive, reasoning with the process by which real-life
problems are converted into algebraic equations, a process better described as
mathematical modeling. So, led by the bellwether NCTM standards of 1989, most
State standards lump "problem‑solving" with "mathematical
reasoning" under a single rubric, which might be termed the burial shroud
of the New Math.

Comparing 1998 with 1948 overall, as
seen in the content of the state standards taken together, there are visible a
few, but very few, noticeable effects or legacies of the intervening reform
efforts. One of these is the presence of some of the ideas of statistics in the
school math curriculum, and another is the recurrent attempt to leap‑frog
the time‑wasting of the middle school by "acceleration," at
least for the better students, leading to Advanced Placement calculus in the
12th grade. This is not much, and not entirely to the good, either, for it has
often been accomplished by some curricular thinning in other directions.

Furthermore, the ignorant descriptions
the new topics (along with the old) are so often given in the state standards
betoken a national cadre of math educators unable to lead the nation's teachers
to a suitable intellectual plane. For example, the definitions given
mathematical terms in the glossaries that so many standards (unnecessarily)
include are sometimes real howlers. This one from Tennessee, for example,
exhibits the straining after "humanistic" values in math education
that someone who didn't understand its really humanistic values was forced to
invent:

*Algebraic Thinking: thinking skills
which are developed by working with problems which require students to
describe, extend, analyze, and create a variety of oral, visual, and physical
patterns (such as ones based on color, shape, number, sounds) from real life
and other subjects such as literature and music.*

Nobody
will be particularly misled by this definition when preparing for examinations,
of course, but a later definition from the same glossary is more
characteristic:

*Equation: two mathematical
expressions joined by an equals sign. *

While
this describes the physical appearance of an equation, it omits the essence,
that an equation is a sentence, or clause in a sentence, helping make a statement
of a certain sort. Students and teachers who take this definition's attitude
cannot learn to make use of equations, except to pass certain multiple choice
examinations.

Today's NCTM‑led movement to a
"reform" math runs along different lines from either "new
math" or the "back‑to‑basics" that succeeded it. It
would replace what it calls "mindless drill" by "real
understanding of concepts." But "mindless drill" is a straw man
and characterizes bad teaching rather than a bad curriculum. Meanwhile, today's
touted "concepts" are little connected with mathematical reasoning
and instead said to be connected with "problem‑solving" and the
"real world." This new attitude, which has been relentlessly
propagandized by the NCTM, underlies the main substantive failings in the
standards we were reading and judging last fall.

One difficulty in invoking "the
real world" as a touchstone of value in school math is that the real
"real world" is one quite unknown to children and generally of little
interest. A real‑world arithmetic problem might concern the amount of
paint to order for the redecorating of an office building. What could be more
tedious and unenlightening for a child learning to multiply numbers? Children
are imaginative and in fact can become more interested in the decomposition of
an integer into primes than in any amount of schoolyard measurement.

Other so‑called "real‑world"
problems are too often strained attempts to attach names to old routine
exercises. "A candy store sells n(n+1) boxes of candy on the nth
day..." Why a candy store? Because the author can't think of any other
real‑world application of the equation he plans to introduce. Any child
will see this is not even sugar‑coating of the algebraic pill; it is
saccharine. Genuine quadratic equations are actually more interesting than
phony candy stores.

The 1989 NCTM standards document
(which was not one of the documents graded in our Fordham Foundation report but
is their progenitor) is longer than almost every set of state standards we
read. It is not too hard to write state standards that resemble the NCTM
document, and most States tried. The difficulty is this: NCTM is very vague
about a lot of things and doesn't make it entirely clear what the content
should be at each stage of schooling. One would think a set of standards should
tell a new teacher what to teach in each grade, or at least what a student
should know at the end of, say, grades 6, 9, and 12, if not year by year.

Instead, NCTM offers aspirations of a
more general sort, though still classified by year or range of years. Here is
an example (p.81):

* In
grades 5-8, reasoning shall permeate the mathematics curriculum so that
students can: *

* *

* *
recognize and apply deductive and inductive reasoning;*

* *

** understand
and apply reasoning processes, with special attention to spatial reasoning and
reasoning with proportions and graphs;*

* *

* *
make and evaluate mathematical conjectures and arguments;*

* *

* *
validate their own thinking;*

* *

* appreciate the pervasive use and power of reasoning as a part of mathematics.

These
points are typical of NCTM rhetoric in that however many times I read them I
cannot remember all five, even in paraphrase, and would fail any test on the
whole statement. I invite any amateur (or professional) actor reading these
words to try to memorize them; they rival __The Bald Soprano__ in their
structureless difficulty, and most of the works of Gertrude Stein.

The quoted standard is followed by
examples of problems ---classroom exercises meant to illustrate some of these
demands; but it does not outline or even suggest a coherent program. Following
the five points quoted above, one example concerns tiling a plane, a second
concerns the search for prime integers, and a third shows how a graph can
represent a plot of speed against time for a pictured roller coaster.

All worthy exercises but in context
typical of an unworkable current dogma, which is to have all the possible
threads of mathematics appear in some form in each year of schooling. Tiling a
plane might be called geometry, study of the primes might be called number
theory, graphing speed against time might be called analysis (or "pre‑calculus"
in the schools). Placing three such diverse examples under one rubric is here a
deliberate NCTM invitation to "integrate" the curriculum. But the
straining for integration leads more often to mathematical incoherence. In an
outline for a mathematics curriculum one should invoke some system, something
memorable, as for example Euclidean geometry does by the very ordering of its
theorems. The examples for Reason should, as in the Japanese standards, be
organized by subject matter or by year, to exhibit a progression of skill in
reasoning; it is not something to be isolated as a subject of its own, to be
illustrated by random examples.

Almost all the state standards imitate
NCTM in this regard, though usually rather more dangerously than the national
organization. The result has been characterized by one critic as a curriculum
that is "a mile wide and an inch deep." Some of the standards we read
have something called "algebra" in every grade, K-12, but manage to
end the series (as Connecticut does) without the quadratic formula, without
geometric series, and without the binomial theorem: a triumph of nomenclature
over substance. Such algebra should rather be called "algebra
appreciation," unless, as in some "reform" textbooks, it is also
tricked out with today's political virtues and may better be called, to quote
an unfriendly but accurate critic, "rain‑forest algebra."

NCTM, and hence most states, have
taken up another popular doctrine, which is that children should
"discover," maybe even construct, knowledge for themselves. They
should not be told things; the teacher is to be a "guide on the side"
rather than a "sage on the stage." This Rousseauean idea has gone
through many generations of educational theorists, including our own John Dewey
and his followers. In the legendary case of Mark Hopkins and a log, it has some
validity; but in the schools of middle America it leads to such absurdities as
the "discovery" of the Pythagorean Theorem by children instructed
exactly how to spend their hours communally cutting out appropriately shaped
pieces of paper.

Certainly children do not learn by
having knowledge laid upon them like a blanket, and if we do not participate in
our own educations we will learn nothing. But this obvious insight has been
elevated into a doctrine that in practice often excuses the teacher from ever
bringing a lesson to a conclusion, or even knowing the answers.

As another example, New Jersey's 1996
Framework, avowedly "built on" the 1989 NCTM standards, contains, in
addition to its own content standards, a great deal of amplifying educational
philosophy and pedagogical advice, some of it revealing in this regard. Under
Number Sense (Standard 6: "All students will develop number sense and an
ability to represent numbers in a variety of forms and use numbers in diverse
situations"), the Framework offers extra advice according to grade level.
For grades 5 and 6, it explains,

*Models are essential for the continued
exploration of fraction meaning... Fraction circles and Fraction Bars help
children... establish rudimentary meaning for fractions but have the drawback
of using the same size unit for all the pieces. This is a fairly serious
drawback leading to the misconception, for instance, that 1/3 is always less
than 1/2 without regard to the units in which these fractions are expressed;
students need to be aware, for example, that 1/3 of a large pizza is frequently
larger than 1/2 of a small one. *

* *

This
might sound like a deep insight to someone, but certainly not to a
mathematician, for whom 1/3 has always been less than 1/2 and always will be.
New Jersey is for some reason deliberately confusing the numbers 1/2 and 1/3
with the use of their names as adjectives in practical applications. If there
is any point to the study of mathematics, it is exactly in the distinctions it
draws between objects one might wish to eat and numerical abstractions which
can partially describe them. Certainly mathematics does not take account of
flavor and material, and only somewhat of shape and weight; but if a child is
ever to make use of the properties of fractions, what is truly
"essential" is not the use of manipulatives like "fraction
circles," but rather the distinction between "1/3" and "1/3
of a large pizza."

The person who wrote about "the
misconception that 1/3 is always less than 1/2" was suffering from an
overdose of Piaget, the psychologist who most perceptively wrote of the
development of number sense in small children. Children develop concepts of
"large" and "small," "few" and "many,"
by stages, and their early perceptions sometimes lead them to believe, or say, e.g.,
that an apple divided in two parts is thereby diminished. There may even be a
sense in which the division does lead a child to prefer the whole, or to call
it "bigger" (or is it "smaller"?), and there is no denying
that such perceptions slow the child's early understanding of the
mathematician's vocabulary of halves and thirds. But this does not make 1/3
greater than the number 1/2 --- ever. The child will simply have to learn that
while the third part of a very large pizza, or of a galaxy, still lacks two
parts of the whole, we are not thereby insisting it is "small"
compared to half a banana. We are duty bound to explain the meaning of the
words --- a restricted meaning, to be sure, but a necessary one. It is for the
child to learn the world's conventions and the world's science, and not for the
world to defer to the child's initial imaginings, even though understanding
the sources of a child's difficulties is of high importance in teaching. The
notion that "in this case one third is greater than one half" is
simply mischievous, an exaltation of psychological insight and sympathy over
the demands of reason.

In passing, it is a pity that students
at the sixth grade level are not yet, and not only in New Jersey, weaned from
such material objects as the "fraction circles" prototypes of simple
fractions. Of course, a child begins life with material experiences: in number,
in vocabulary, in the study of ethics for that matter. But the genius of
mathematics is that it organizes raw experience by means of a universe of
ideals whose manipulation is for some purposes easier and more illuminating
than living the experiences themselves. Yet, rather than giving life to the
abstractions, a process essential in every science, the New Jersey standards
counts it "essential" that the objects themselves be used in the
classroom and indeed confounded with their numerical abstractions. Their only
caution in the present case is that all the pieces marked "1/3" are
unfortunately the same size, as if that were a hindrance to the truth of their
representation of numbers. It is not a hindrance. The day will come when the
mere symbol "1/3" will have to replace even the "fraction
circles" in describing pizzas and galaxies alike.

Another example of a mathematically
mischievous doctrine deriving from a pedagogical insight that has become all
but forgotten in the transition is found under New Jersey's Standard #4,
Reasoning: ("All students will develop reasoning ability and will become
self‑reliant, independent, mathematical thinkers"). The "K-12
Overview" section under Reasoning contains the following philosophical
note:

*Multiple solutions. There is no single
"best" solution; rather, there are many solutions, each with costs
and benefits. *

* *

Solution to what, one might ask --- to
a __mathematical__ problem? Surely twice two hasn't become ambiguous in
recent times? No, the examples show that no such thing is meant. New Jersey
offers in this context a "vignette" of a second grade classroom
exercise: "Can a dinosaur fit in this room?" Children are to make or
find appropriate measurements, define "fit in the room," etc. It
looks like a pleasant enough exercise, which teaches among other things that
dinosaurs come in several sizes, as do classrooms; and it certainly has no
single "best" solution. But the question is not a mathematical one.
Even at the second grade level, the mathematical component of a problem should
be separated from the empirical part; such separation is later essential in all
science, though it is hard in a brief space to indicate its importance. That
the "many solutions" doctrine is correct in many human endeavors is
plain obvious, and nobody needs to be taught that. But this lesson is not
mathematics.

Yet this false (mathematical) doctrine
has a history in pedagogy that goes beyond today's unreasonable emphasis on
"real‑life" problems. In the days of the Three R's, legend has
it, children were lined up in rows and taught to shout viva voce, or write on their slates, the answers to an
interminable list of identical exercises. "Drill and kill" is the
derisory phrase used by today's pedagogy to describe this sort of teaching, and
if one looks at a common textbook of the year 1910 one does see pages gray with
routine exercises of this sort. Whether this implies that classroom activity
was equally rigid is hard to say; certainly the other legend, that of the one‑room
schoolhouse for all grades, implies otherwise. However that might be, the
picture is certainly that of "one question, one answer," and the
object of most mathematics reform efforts of the past century has been to avoid
catechism and to open the mind.

One observable aspect of most non‑trivial
reasoning is that there is often no single road to the answer. A proof of a
Euclidean proposition should not be memorized as if it were a simple fact, for
example, but should be analyzed and understood; and a student who finds an
alternate proof is deserving of praise. The same is true of all sufficiently
complicated problems, and not only in mathematics. But this idea of several
roads to a (mathematical) solution of a (mathematical) problem has become
conflated with the idea of several solutions to a non‑mathematical
problem, resulting in the confused notion that mathematical problems may have
several answers.

The NCTM insistence on this theme,
visible in many state standards, has led to the creation of whole curricula
where students are not only invited to create their own mathematical methods
but are not told whether what they have created is right. And while the students
struggle to create their own rivals to the algorithms mankind has developed
over the centuries, they do not get to take advantage of the efforts of their
ancestors. While it is true that a rote memorization may be unaccompanied by
understanding, it does not follow that it is the cause of mindlessness.
Beethoven didn't have to invent the well‑tempered scale --- it was taught
to him; but his imagination survived this quite well. Learning how mankind has
already arrived at the single correct solution to a certain well‑defined
problem is not necessarily going to cripple the math student's imagination. To
insist otherwise is false doctrine.

John Adams (1735‑1826), a
schoolmaster before he took up the Law, wrote in his Diary the following entry:

* *

* June
1, 1756 Drank Tea at the Majors. The Reasoning of Mathematicians is founded on
certain and infallible Principles. Every Word they Use, conveys a determinate
Idea, and by accurate Definitions they excite the same Ideas in the mind of
the Reader that were in the mind of the Writer. When they have defined the
Terms they intend to make use of, they premise a few Axioms, or Self evident
Principles, that every man must assent to as soon as proposed. They then take
for granted certain Postulates, that no one can deny them, such as, that a
right Line may be drawn from one given Point to another, and from these plain
simple Principles, they have raised most astonishing Speculations, and proved
the Extent of the human mind to be more spacious and capable than any other
Science.*

Adams
was certainly aware that the law employs reason in somewhat the same way, and
that a carpenter must measure and calculate elaborately from a simple set of
tools. But he shows his astonishment at the extent to which a single line of
reason can lead, in this case in the single science of Euclidean geometry. Such
an appreciation is lost in a splintered curriculum of the current dispensation.
NCTM's standards has no place for an edifice so great as that which astonished
Adams and which no classroom full of cooperative children is likely to "discover,"
even when aided by a guide on the side. First a bit about tilings, then a bit
about primes, and then some measurements in the schoolyard, all in the name of
"integrating" the strands of a diverse mathematical education.

Well,
Braden and I arrived at our list of grades, and the results have been
published. Two other organizations have also produced comparable studies of
state math standards: the American Federation of Teachers and the Council for
Basic Education. Their grades differed from ours. Michigan got a C from AFT, a
B+ from CBE, and an F from us (Fordham). A Michigan State official remarked
wryly, for the newspapers, that standards seem to be in the eyes of the
beholders, as if to say he had no cause for anxiety if the experts could not
agree. New Jersey, which got from the CBE the only pure grade of A they gave,
received only a C from us, and a D from AFT.

Thus our grades were not merely lower
than the others on average, they showed a different spectrum entirely. For
another example, where CBE graded New Jersey and New York A and B+,
respectively, our Fordham report gave them C and B, respectively. CBE gave
Alabama a C (and they gave very few grades that low) where we gave them a B,
one of the few states scoring that high. AFT gave Alabama a B as well, though
they were quite free with grades that high. Why? There is clearly a difference
of "expert" opinion across the country; is it idiosyncratic, principled,
careless?

In the case of the AFT we are unable
to analyze the reasons for the grades they gave, except to say that they
apparently valued most highly the seriousness with which each document was
prepared, its definiteness and suitability as a guide to statewide evaluations,
and so on, but have little to say about actual curricular or content choices,
at least in mathematics. We may also note that the AFT evaluators were few and
"in‑house," with mathematicians having no hand in the judgment.

In the case of the Council for Basic
Education we can say much more because CBE has published its method of judgment
in a separate report. CBE says it collected a panel comprising "subject
specialists, teachers, parents, and business representatives to help to 'develop'
CBE's definition of rigor in standards?" The definition was in fact
written by an in‑house group apparently called "CBE." There
were 81 items they ended with (51 at the eighth grade level and 30 at the
twelfth), but rather than being criteria by which to judge standards, they were
actual statements of content or pedagogical desiderata, of the sort one might
expect to find as entries in a standards document. These were avowedly drawn
from a combination of the two most authoritative sources in the country: the
1989 NCTM standards and the NAEP guidelines for the periodic national
diagnostic tests at certain grade levels. The ultimate author of all these
statements, for all that CBE winnowed them out a bit, is the math education
community, not including mathematicians.

Some of the entries were exactly the
sort of thing Braden and I considered unhelpful or vague, though others were
reasonable. For example, from the eighth grade level: "Add, subtract
multiply, and divide with rational numbers." This isn't really bad but
avoids the question of how far the required algorithms are to be carried.
Braden and I downgraded states that insisted on calculator calculations
whenever one of the factors was of more than two digits; CBE had no way to
notice such a subtlety and in fact found that almost all states satisfied the
CBE standard in this case. (CBE's own explanatory text states that it will
consider the use of calculators in its next such evaluation.) Others of CBE's
81 items were much more vague: "Ask clarifying and extending questions
related to mathematics;" and (under "reasoning"), "Make and
test conjectures."

As a four‑word summary of the
purpose of all science and philosophy, this last demand, "Make and test
conjectures," is not bad. As a guide to teachers and test‑makers it
is impossibly broad; it won't do without further guidance. In the NCTM
standards that phrase appears on page 143 (for grades 9-12) and (slightly
varied) on page 61 (for grades 5-8). NCTM follows these headlines with a good
deal of commentary, but the CBE evaluators, according to their explanation of
method, would give full marks on that "reasoning," item for the four
words alone, provided they appeared at the twelfth grade level. At the eighth
grade level, also under "reasoning" the following words produce
another four‑point (full marks) score: "Make and evaluate
mathematical conjectures and arguments."

Their scoring method was this: CBE
trained panels made up entirely of teachers or former teachers to judge the
state standards, giving instructions designed to make the procedure almost
automatic and in any case uniform in result when two different panelists graded
the same document. The 81 statements, three of which have been quoted above,
were taken as a template, and if a state contained one of them verbatim, or
essentially verbatim though perhaps divided into parts appearing in different
parts of the document, it received a full 4 points. If the corresponding
statement, or combination of desiderata, in a state document asked a bit less
than CBE did in its own formulation, the state got 3 points. And so on, down to
zero if the state standards contained nothing mentioned in the template
statement. Finally, the points were added and grades assigned.

Had the system worked perfectly, any state
repeating the 1989 NCTM standards plus NAEP benchmarks would have got a near
perfect score. CBE did not make any independent judgment second‑guessing
the experts as to the desirability of these items, though it had necessarily to
omit or combine some of the many items to be found among the NCTM and NAEP
guidelines and standards. But, even so, the system didn't work perfectly. How
imperfect the judgment was, even by template standards, we can only judge by
the few examples the CBE report gave to illustrate the way 4, or 3, or 2, or 1,
or no points might be given to a standard intended to cover a template item.

One example was this: Under the rubric
Data Analysis, Statistics, and Probability is found the twelfth grade
benchmark, "Model real‑world situations to determine the
probabilities of dependent and independent events and compare these
experimental probabilities with what would be expected based on theoretical
models." Any state essentially repeating this benchmark gets 4 points. A
state whose corresponding standard "omits one of the essential concepts or
skills or a few minor components" or which "aligns with the
framework benchmark, but is written at a lower degree of sophistication"
receives a 3. Here the CBE document gives as an example of what would be worth
3 points rather than 4: "Model real world situations to determine the
probabilities of dependent events and compare these experimental probabilities
with what would be expected based on theoretical models."

Now the 3‑point benchmark differs
from the template benchmark by omitting only the two words, "and
independent." That's all. Anyone unacquainted with probability theory
might be fooled into thinking something was thereby left out of the shorter
statement, but this is not so. It is impossible to understand or use the phrase
"dependent events" without also understanding and being able to use
the phrase "independent events;" thus, while it is not usual to say
it this way, to ask a student to understand and use formulas and insights
concerning "dependent events" is asking no less than did the
original formulation.

The degree of ignorance or
carelessness demonstrated in considering the second of these two formulations
less inclusive (or "rigorous") than the first is exhibited even more
strikingly in a (doubtless hypothetical) example that CBE said it would have
awarded 2 points: For example, the CBE document says, "Explain the
difference between a dependent and an independent event and..."

Two points? There is no such thing as
an independent event or a dependent event. Dependence is a property of sets of
events, not of events singly. Hence any state writing "Explain the
difference between a dependent and an independent event..." should be
scored zero on grounds of ignorance, carelessness, false doctrine and pretence
of understanding. In this case, having most of the words right is something
like omitting a "not" when quoting a theater reviewer for advertising
purposes. The conjectured 2 point "standard" would be a positive
disservice to its users.

Thus the system of scoring employed by
the CBE misses its target in two ways: First, in that it chooses as
"benchmarks" those published by the authoritative mathematics
education establishment of the day, rather than collecting its own judges and
having them begin the process from the beginning, using criteria for genuine
judgment rather than template exhortations for imitation; and second, in
imagining that subjective standards of judgment can be eliminated by its
"quantitative" evaluation of adherence, item by item, to its own
model benchmarks. If the NCTM and NAEP model of standards is accepted without
further debate there is no need for state standards at all, and every state
would score well by reprinting the relevant parts of documents already in
print. But even if this model of judgment were taken as informative, an
ignorant judgment of the intellectual distance between a benchmark being judged
and the template (as in the case of the notion of "an independent
event") renders the numerical scale untrustworthy even as measured against
the template. A judgment of whether a mathematical statement makes sense, or is
in a correct context, or is worth teaching, can only be made by persons who
understand the mathematics in question. The ultimate lesson of the CBE
judgments is that they fail because the judges didn't know enough mathematics.

Knowledge
of mathematics makes a difference, even in the prescriptions for the earliest
grades. This statement needs defending, for it is hard for a member of the
general public to believe, concerning such elementary things as the fourth
grade rules for arithmetic or the sixth grade calculations with fractions,
which everyone knows, that the educator's mathematical ignorance can be a
factor in the educational program. Since the arithmetic of the primary grades
apparently presents no great intellectual or philosophical challenge, one
might imagine the problem of the schools to be a matter of good teaching style,
small classes, discipline, and so on, but not a question of what is truth
concerning fractions or multiplication.

There are two considerations allied
here. As to "what is truth," I would like to assure the reader that
fractions are more complicated than one might remember, and that calculators
don't render their understanding and applications a whit easier, except for
the mindless part of the computations. But more important than the
mathematical content of such elementary lessons is their intellectual setting
in the classroom. That will critically affect future understanding. In the
earliest grades are developed, for example, the baneful reflexes of
"getting the answer" from key words of standardized questions and
explanations, reflexes that are actually generated by teaching that has no
regard for future progress because it proceeds from its own ignorance of what
that future can contain. A piano teacher who has never actually played Chopin
(let alone Prokofiev) will give misdirected lessons in finger placement,
arpeggios, and scales, and teach "shortcuts" that will return a year
or two later to cripple the student's sincerest efforts. That analogy with
arithmetic is precise.

Among other things, there is today,
despite lip service to the contrary in the NCTM standards and most state
standards, a sad misapprehension of the role of deductive reasoning in school
mathematics. Teachers and their own mentors in the schools of education all too
often consider rigorous mathematics, based on careful definitions and using
logically structured arguments, to be "difficult," and a fortiori too
difficult for the children they will be teaching. But people untaught in
mathematical reasoning are not being saved from something difficult; they are,
rather, being deprived of something that makes easy all that follows. And this
observation applies to children having difficulty with their lessons in
fractions even more than to children who begin their intellectual lives with
every advantage of educated parents and peaceful environments.

That a proper intellectual setting is
needed beyond the mere facts of mathematical information transmission is, of
course, realized by the math education community, too; but its estimate of
proper intellectual setting is in too many cases faulty through lack of a
sufficient understanding of mathematics itself. The standards documents we
awarded low grades could not possibly have been passed by any mathematician at
the local state university, although their solecisms and inappropriate
prescriptions were passed through a multitude of reviews (according to their
Introductions) by certified math educators.

That the general public does not
appreciate the difference between a mathematician and a math educator choosing
curriculum for a school district is understandable, but the difference is
enormous and should be understood by the educator and made use of.
Mathematicians by definition don't teach in the schools, nor can they
administer a school district; but to do either without the scrutiny of mathematicians
is like building a house with skilled carpenters and no architect.

Every state has a state university
with mathematicians in it, almost across the street from the state education
department in many cases. Is it not unconscionable that a governor or a board
of education wanting advice on a mathematics curriculum doesn't pick up the
telephone and give it a call? They go, if at all, to the school of education,
thinking this the obvious place where advice is to be had when in‑house
experts in the department of education seem to want it.

But in the school of education, most
math educators have retreated into a culture of their own, with a language of
their own, devoted to pedagogy as if it were a skill that could be applied
irrespective of subject. As evidenced in the standards they have been writing,
this attention to just one part of the educational process will not do. That
this division between the mathematicians and the math educators is partly the
legacy of the failed intervention of mathematicians in the era of "the new
math" doesn't make it correct. Every other course has failed, too, after
all; that is why we are where we are today.

Since the publication of the Fordham
Foundation report on mathematics standards, I have received several invitations
to review a new edition of the standards whose earlier drafts were the subject
of our study, or from states not included in our report. Some I answered, but
as I could not participate in every case, and since there is nothing unique
about my own expertise anyway, I answered a couple of the others in this way:

*If your standards were composed without
the significant participation of mathematicians, let me advise you to go down
to your best state university and find a professor of mathematics, at least 40
years old, who is willing to help you. He need not have heard of Piaget and
Bruner, and he might very well be of such a personality that you would never
trust him in a fifth grade class, but he should be an English‑speaking
American who himself has gone through our public school system, and he should
be a genuine mathematician who has published at least a handful of research
articles in the refereed professional journals of pure or applied mathematics.
(Not journals of math education; you have such people in your department of
education already.) Find out that this mathematician is willing to devote a
few days to your project. Give him a copy of the Fordham Foundation report on
the state standards to read, with particular attention to the criteria for
judgment contained therein, and give him copies of the printed school
mathematics standards of California, Ohio, North Carolina, and Japan. (These
were the ones we counted best in our report.) Then give him a copy of your own
state's draft standards and ask for a written commentary. Then use it.*

It is not possible to put school
mathematics education in the hands of the mathematicians. If we did, they would
cease to be mathematicians. Theirs is another trade. But math education in the
schools, while conducted by school teachers, must still be done in a climate
of mathematical understanding. At the present time and for the foreseeable
future this understanding is insufficient among those who need it. The reasons
are complex and are not unique to the present generation, either; they
constitute a whole story of their own, and they may never be satisfactorily
repaired. But one should not deduce from this that the educators should be
exterminated and replaced by mathematicians, or even that mathematicians' ideas
of what and how to teach should automatically be credited and put into practice
at once.

However that may be, the education community cannot get along
without the advice of the mathematicians, and many more mathematicians than now
do should learn something of the problems of school mathematics and stand ready
to provide that advice. Among other things, the teaching of mathematics to
future teachers is done in colleges or universities, but not enough of it is
done by mathematicians, who today take more care with the teaching of future
engineers and scientists than future teachers, and who today almost never see
future elementary school teachers at all. College textbooks in algebra and
geometry, and more advanced topics for undergraduates as well, are written by
mathematicians. But not enough of them are written with sufficient attention to
the needs of future teachers.

To repair all of this is the work of
generations. What is most serious at the present time is that the math
education community demonstrably needs more such advice now, today, than it
thinks it needs. A quick mathematical fix, a Fordham Foundation Report, even a
brilliant textbook, will of course not suffice, but beginnings are necessary if
never sufficient.

In one of Edgar Allan Poe's stories
there is recounted an anecdote about the famous 18th Century Scottish
physician, John Arbuthnot. At a dinner party he was seated next to a lady who
at some length described to him her symptoms, ending with, "Well, then,
Doctor, what should I take?" "Take?" said Arbuthnot, "Why,
take advice, of course."