{"id":190,"date":"2012-02-02T15:48:28","date_gmt":"2012-02-02T21:48:28","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/linesoftangency.wordpress.com\/?p=190"},"modified":"2012-02-02T15:48:28","modified_gmt":"2012-02-02T21:48:28","slug":"greek-to-me","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/blog.chrislusto.com\/?p=190","title":{"rendered":"Greek to Me"},"content":{"rendered":"

I recently had a chance to do one of my favorite (and my students' least<\/em> favorite) things: talk about words in math class.\u00a0 Math words.\u00a0 I also had the opportunity to use one of my favorite math-teacher-type resources: a dictionary.\u00a0 I don't mean the glossary out of a math book, or a page from Wolfram MathWorld<\/a>, or any one of the approximately 10.5 million web results (as of this writing) that the Google<\/a> spits out when prompted with \"math\" + \"dictionary.\"\u00a0 I'm talking about a good, old fashioned English dictionary, one of three left in my room by the previous English-teaching occupant: Webster's Ninth New Collegiate<\/em>, circa 1989.<\/p>\n

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Let me bracket this entire discussion by saying that I in no way endorse the use of English dictionaries for math definitions.\u00a0 They're horrible.\u00a0 Even more horrible, if that's possible, than math texts.\u00a0 For instance, I die a tiny little death every time I see the phrase \"straight line.\"\u00a0 But where dictionaries really shine, and where textbooks are almost wholly silent, is in etymology.\u00a0 So the other day, instead of doing an activity titled (really) Investigation: An Asym...What?<\/em>, I thought it would be much more interesting for us to do a lexicographical investigation into the roots of the asymptote<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

Asymptotes get a bad rap.\u00a0 They are, I think, right up there with logarithms in the category of High School Math Concepts Most Likely to Turn Your Stomach as an Adult Reflecting Upon High School Math Concepts.\u00a0 They're kind of abstract, philosophically suspect, and limited to one or two sections in the average textbook.\u00a0 Not exactly auspicious.<\/p>\n

And then of course there's the name.\u00a0 It sounds ridiculous.\u00a0 Even as math teachers, we think of it primarily as a punchline.\u00a0 I'll bet that you, dear reader, can currently name at least two math blogs, twitter handles, math team names, lessons, or activities that play on \"asymptote.\"\u00a0 But, like most inside jokes, it's funny to us insiders primarily because it's confounding to everybody else, e.g. our students.\u00a0 In that light, An Asym...What? <\/em>is supremely unhelpful.\u00a0 After all, shouldn't we be making math things (including words) seem less<\/em> mysterious?\u00a0 So, in that spirit, wherefore \"asymptote?\"<\/p>\n

Let us begin with a bird.\u00a0 A Greek bird.\u00a0 Upon that bird you will likely find a wing<\/strong> [pteron<\/em>].\u00a0 Upon that wing you might find feathers, which are wont to<\/strong> fall<\/strong> [piptein<\/em>] from time to time.\u00a0 With such concepts established, you might then want to consider, in a particularly lovely and poetic way, what happens when two things come together<\/strong> [sym<\/em>].\u00a0 In fact, you might say they \"fall together,\" which is to say that they meet<\/strong> [sympiptein<\/em>].\u00a0 You might then inflect that infinitive to capture the idea of meeting<\/strong> [symptotos<\/em>].\u00a0 And, naturally, since you have a prefix that denotes without<\/strong> or not<\/strong> [a-<\/em>], you can succinctly capture the idea of not meeting<\/strong> [asymptotos<\/em>].<\/p>\n

By inspecting the language with the same scientific curiosity that we loose upon the mathematics, we can demystify it.\u00a0 In fact, \"asymptote\" is an incredibly simple and apt description of precisely the feature we hope our students understand!\u00a0 Plus, as a bonus, that's a freaking cool story.<\/p>\n

SEE ALSO:<\/p>\n