Arcavi, Problem-Driven Research in Mathematics Education

Journal of Mathematical Behavior
19 (2000) 141 ± 173
Problem-driven research in mathematics education

Abraham Arcavi*
Department of Science Teaching, Weizmann Institute of Science, Rehovot, Israel
Abstract
How does one get started with research in mathematics education? What are ``good'' research
problems to investigate? Answers to these questions largely depend on the research tradition one
selects, and on the main issues driving the research (e.g. theory? problems?). Often, we are unable to
determine the initial impetus of a research project, because researchers usually present finished
polished results and say little about the ways in which the projects started and developed. This paper is
an attempt to uncover the often messy early stages of several research studies driven by didactical
problems. Some of these projects were successfully completed, some are in progress and others are just
starting and may end up stillborn. This paper presents a classification of the possible points of
departure of research studies, a discussion of some heuristics, which may be helpful when choosing
and pursuing research, and an analysis of some examples, including some methodological issues.
D 2000 Elsevier Science Inc. All rights reserved.
Keywords: Mathematics education research; Research questions and heuristics; Theory and research
1. Introduction
The title of Professor Freudenthal's plenary address at ICME 4 in Berkeley (1980)

was ``Major Problems of Mathematics Education'' (Freudenthal, 1983). In spite of the
fact that:
(a) ``Mathematics Education'' and ``Mathematics Education Research'' were far from
being synonymous to Freudenthal (who did not think very highly of the latter); and
(b) Most of the problems are phrased as ``how's'' (and thus can be read as design problems);
* Dr. Abraham Arcavi, Department of Science Teaching, Weizmann Institute of Science, 76100 Rehovot,
Israel.
E-mail address: abraham.arcavi@weizmann.ac.il (A. Arcavi).
0732-3123/00/$ ± see front matter D 2000 Elsevier Science Inc. All rights reserved.
PII: S 0 7 3 2 - 3 1 2 3 ( 0 0 ) 0 0 0 4 2 - 0
142 A. Arcavi / Journal of Mathematical Behavior 19 (2000) 141±173
Freudenthal's list is striking, because it can indeed be considered as setting a research

agenda, with many of the problems still of interest and unanswered today. And as Adda
(1998, p. 49) points it, they can be springboards for new problems.
Mathematics education research has worked on Freudenthal's problems and on others with
considerable intensity, but the approaches have been very varied.
Freudenthal in that address, as well as many others, have discussed extensively the many
differences between mathematics and mathematics education as fields of study. However, it is
worth quoting Schoenfeld (1999, p. 168), who describes what may be an interesting parallel
between the two: ``The hard part of being a mathematician is not solving problems; it is
finding problems that one can solve and whose solution the mathematical community will
recognize as significant enough to constitute an advance in the field. For most students,
problem identification is not part of the research apprenticeship process. Typically, the
selection and shaping of the problem that the student will work on is done by the advisor. Yet
that is the hard part of doing research.''
In mathematics education, what may be a ``good problem'' to investigate may largely
depend on one's perspective on research. Therefore, in order to discuss how to develop a
researchable project, it is worth preceding that discussion with a quick survey of different
approaches to research.
The value and status of educational research in general, and of research in mathematics
education in particular, is questioned time and again, both from within the professional
community and by the public at large. The following are just two examples:
1. Shimshon Amitsur, a distinguished algebraist, was involved for many years in

mathematics education in Israel (mostly curriculum development). In an interview
(Sfard, 1998, vol. 2, p. 448) some months before he died, he was asked among other
things: `Àre you acquainted with recent literature on research in mathematics
education? Are you used to reading on the topic?''. He replied: `Ònly if I am forced to.
In the beginning, I used to read quite a lot, but I found most of the papers non-
significant and uninteresting''. Later on in the interview (p. 455), he says: ``To
strengthen the status of the research in mathematics education, one has to prove its
usefulness. The onus of proof is on the researchers themselves. They have to show that
they have a theory of mathematical thinking which convincingly explains observed
phenomena. Only when they can provide such a theory will mathematics education turn
into a true academic discipline. Not even one day earlier.''
2. Penelope Peterson, former president of the American Educational Research Association
(AERA), quotes poignant questions posed by her adolescent son about the impact of
research on reform (of his own school surroundings) and which are summarized in his
incisive question ``What good are you doing anyway?'' (Peterson, 1998, p. 4).
We can always deal with such legitimate, albeit acrimonious criticisms, not by really
engaging with the issues raised, but by dismissing them: (a) as being ``naive, uneducated,
misinformed'', and/or (b) by delegating the responsibility, stating that ``we do `basic'
research, and . . . it's the job of others to find the connections, the applications to practice,
to reform'' (Peterson, 1998, p. 4, emphasis in the original). Also, we can assert that only those
A. Arcavi / Journal of Mathematical Behavior 19 (2000) 141±173 143
who engage in research are valid interlocutors for discussing these questions. However, none
of the answers above is satisfactory, as Peterson herself states, and if the research community
fails to communicate and explain the gist of its work, it becomes a problem of the community
and not of those who criticize. However, the problem of research in mathematics education is
more complex than just unsuccessful public relations.
Even professional researchers, whose main occupation (and preoccupation) is research,
do not seem to agree on what research is and what its role should be. The International
Commission on Mathematics Instruction (ICMI) recently published a two-volume collection
of papers by distinguished mathematics educators from all over the world under the title:
``Mathematics Education as a Research Domain: A Search for Identity'' (Sierpinska &
Kilpatrick, 1998, vol. 1, p. 4). The very title is suggestive. The basis for the collection was
a Discussion Document, in which the complexity of the issue and the multiplicity of
perspectives are acknowledged. It is explicitly stated that the collection of papers ``does not
seek to describe the state of the art. Nor does it intend to tell anyone what research in
mathematics education is or is not, or what is or is not a result. Instead, the organizers of
the study propose to clarify the different meanings these ideas have for mathematics
educators Ð to pinpoint the different perspectives, goals, research problems, and ways of
approaching problems.''
In order to get a feeling for the multiplicity of perspectives on research in mathematics
education, I looked at some ``definitions,'' approaches and opinions about the role, value and
status of research. I propose to reflect upon them, and try to analyze what are their main
emphases, characteristics and components.
Before considering other people's definitions, I suggest the reader pause and think for a
while, and propose one of his/her own. If the formulation of a full definition is too
demanding, I suggest instead thinking of key words related to research which could be used
in such a definition, and to try to rank them in order of importance. Compare what you think
with the following sample of (slightly edited) ``quotes'' extracted from various sources.
1. ``Research in mathematics education consists of the appropriate use of methods (often

borrowed from, or adapted from, research in other fields Ð psychology, artificial
intelligence, anthropology to mention just three, or created ad hoc) in order to provide
theoretically based, disciplined ways of enhancing our understanding of mathematical
thinking, learning and teaching.'' (Schoenfeld, 1995, p. 4, emphasis in the original)
2. ``My conception of research is broad. I will count as research reflective efforts to study
the world and to create ways to share what we have learned about it. Research can take
the forms that echo the forms of the arts and humanities or those of the natural and
social sciences. Its forms of data representation are open to invention. Ultimately its
value as research is determined by the judgment of a critical community.'' (Eisner, 1997,
p. 8)
3. ``. . . wanting to construct a rationality of phenomena as complex as those that cover the
relationships between teaching and learning . . . '' The main concern is ``setting up an
original theoretical framework developing its own concepts and methods and satisfying
three criteria: relevance in relation to observable phenomena, exhaustivity in relation to
all relevant phenomena, consistency of the concepts developed within the theoretical
framework.'' It includes ``the methodological requirement of using experimentation in

dialectic interaction with theory.'' It is described as a national program to be carried out
not by single researchers, neither by single teams, but by several institutional sites.
(Laborde, 1989)
4. ``The research aspect [of curriculum development] has been at the forefront from early
on. . . . the developmental research has not only to produce curriculum products, but also
instructional theory and justification of that theory. . . . the question with which the
researchers are struggling is . . . How to design instructional activities that (a) link up the
informal situated knowledge of the students, and (b) enable them to develop more
sophisticated, abstract, formal knowledge, while (c) complying with the basic principle
of intellectual autonomy.'' (Gravemeijer, 1998, pp. 278±279)
5. `Ìn the seventeenth century, Spinoza set out three levels of understanding of the rule of
three (which, incidentally, can be viewed as an elaboration of the instrumental±
relational model of Skemp and Mellin-Olsen expounded over three centuries later).
This, like the well-known levels of the van Hieles, was based on observation and
experience. On the other hand, for example, CSMS [Concepts in Secondary
Mathematics and Science] used specially mounted classroom studies to develop and
investigate similar hierarchies of understanding. Do we rule out the work of Spinoza as
research in mathematics education? If we do, then we lose much valuable knowledge,
especially that resulting from curriculum development? If we do not, then it becomes
difficult to find a workable definition [of research in mathematics education]'' (Quote
from Howson as it appears in Sierpinska & Kilpatrick, 1998, vol. 1, p. 7)
I see the following as being the (implicit or explicit) key words (and thus emphases), to
describe research in each quote:
1. Theory, methods, purpose (enhancing our understanding);

2. Study, reflection, creation of ways to share knowledge;
3. Theory building (with original concepts and methods which is relevant, exhaustive,
consistent), blended with experimentation;
4. Integral part of curriculum design;
5. Role of informal, anecdotal, practical wisdom.
As stated above, this sample gives the flavor of the multiplicity of perspectives, which
many in the community will greet as desirable. Kilpatrick (1993, p. 17), referring to different
approaches to research, said: ``researchers in mathematics education should never become
wedded to a single approach, epistemology, paradigm, means of representation, or method.
All are partial and provisional, none can tell the whole story.''
For beginning researchers, such a multiplicity may be perplexing: How does one get
started? ``Shall I first select one of the existing approaches, adhere to it and pursue the
questions established by its research agenda?'' This is certainly a respectable option, and in
this case, it is possible that most of the ``good problems'' will be posed and researched within
the paradigm selected. It is likely that many problems will be designed to enhance, sharpen,
and extend the theory/paradigm, others will apply it (them) to yet unexplored issues.
However, there is certainly another option: ``Shall I choose a problem of interest

(regardless of any theoretical/paradigmatical preconception), pursue it, and then try to shop
around for frames which may help me to make sense of what I find?''
One can object to the above distinction in at least two ways.
1. These dichotomic options are extreme, even caricatures. The first seems to suggest
that we may be guided blindly by a chosen paradigm; in which case there is little
room for interesting problems which are not dictated by it or which may not fit with
it. The second option may imply that we are free of any theoretical or paradigmatic
bias, and we can choose ``problems'' as if we were not subliminally guided by a
certain world view.
2. Probably most researchers use a dialectic integration of the two, and thus the distinction
is artificial anyway.
However, I would claim that the above descriptions, extreme as they may seem, help to
pinpoint the main initial impetus of what we do: ``Problem-driven research,'' as opposed to
``Theory-driven research'' in mathematics education.
It is not always easy to identify these initial impetuses. Researchers usually present a
polished product which may hide the ways in which projects got started, the insights on how
they evolved, the hesitations, crossroads, decisions taken, the role of theory, and how and
when it shaped the research. I have reviewed and reflected on these issues with respect to
work I have done as a member of a research team or alone. The following is an attempt to
reconstruct my own past experiences, which were mostly driven by educational problems
considered as relevant and intriguing.
I describe first some heuristics which have worked for me when choosing and pursuing a
problem. This is followed by brief descriptions of several examples of how these heuristics
were used in different contexts (with varying degrees of ``success''). The examples are
classified according to the initial motivation, which triggered questions and ideas worth
pursuing. Finally, I reflect on the whole and make some concluding remarks.
2. Some research heuristics
Schoenfeld (1985, p. xii) defined heuristics in mathematical problem-solving as `rules of

thumb' ``for making progress in difficult situations.'' The heuristics I have been using in
research are:
Try to do research in a broad context of teaching and learning mathematics. Most of my

research has been an integral component of curriculum design and teacher development
programs. Each of the three (research, curriculum design, and teacher development)
interact, guide, feed, and are at the service of the other two. Such a broad context may
increase the likelihood of the emergence of ``significant'' researchable problems.
Make explicit and examine your beliefs and theoretical predilections about learning and
teaching mathematics (including your beliefs about mathematics), and then
Follow questions which puzzle you, which engage your intellectual curiosity, and which
you suspect may have an insightful answer; pursue work whose results you believe will
have an impact (either by changing a perspective which was taken for granted, or by
confirming, in sound and founded ways, what was assumed to be common knowledge).
Examine available theories, which may help to make sense of what you see, find, and
experiment with. Do not become wed too quickly to a single perspective. Eclecticism
and syncretism are not necessarily negative, quite the contrary, they may enrich the
work, and possibly prevent one from disregarding what might otherwise be considered
as noise.
Whatever ``good'' may mean as a qualification of a research problem, it need not mean
a certain grain size. Comprehensive and encompassing research questions, such as
Freudenthal's number 2 ``How do people learn?'' can supply work for teams for many
years Ð whereas ``How do students learn linear functions?'' can be the topic of a
dissertation, provided that appropriate subquestions are formulated and some variables
established (e.g. age, links to specific curricula, etc.).
It helps to be critical of one's expectations regarding the future outcomes of a research
project. Precise prescriptive conclusions may not be achievable. However, insightful
descriptions shedding light on previously undescribed phenomena can become a strong
research result. Professor Bruckheimer, my one-time advisor and teacher, puts a very
minimalist demand on research by saying that it is the process of doing research that (a)
helps to understand better some aspects of mathematics education, and (b) can make one
accountable for what one does [in teaching, in curriculum design and in teacher
education]. He emphasizes that what are usually called the ``results'' of the research are
probably less important than the insight gained by the process of doing the research, or
even by reading about it. In brief, he claims, we do research to sharpen our wits and
powers of observation of the learning process.
Dare to ask why? what if? what if not? can it be otherwise? If something is disturbing,
puzzling, interesting, work hard to make explicit the sources of those feelings, and try
not to allow theory to gloss over them. Challenge and question whatever does not make
sense, and in contrast, attempt to verbalize why something does make sense. Is it really
relevant? What can be learned from it? In general, if a research project does not
enlighten you in very deep ways, there is a good chance that it will not enlighten the
community either.
3. Examples
The following examples of problem-driven research, are classified precisely as such,

namely according to their initial points of departure:
1. Interesting/puzzling behaviors,
2. A curriculum or a practice,
3. Didactical opportunities.
3.1. Interesting/puzzling behaviors
Under this heading, I present four ``stories'': the y-intercept, aspects of understanding,
symbol sense, and contextualization. In each case, I describe how a research project got
started or may get started, on the basis of the encounter with an interesting and puzzling
behavior strongly related to issues of teaching and learning mathematics.
3.1.1. The y-intercept story

In Berkeley, as a postdoctoral fellow during 1986±1988, I became a member of the then
recently established ``Functions Group'' led by Alan Schoenfeld. In those days, the primary
focus was to ``help students understand the mathematical ideas underlying the graphing of
algebraic functions in the Cartesian plane, and the properties of the resulting graphs.'' In other
words, a rather broad but meaningful goal at the service of teaching and learning mathematics
(see Section 2 above).
The Group developed a computer-based microworld called GRAPHER, and started to use
it with students, in an unstructured way with no rigid experimental design. The purpose was
to see how the software worked, if students found it engaging, and what were the kinds of
things they did with it. JS, then a doctoral student, interviewed IN, a 16-year-old, very
motivated, and articulate student. She liked the software and came for four sessions (a total of
7 h), which were videotaped. JS did not act as a ``frontal teacher,'' rather he introduced IN to
the software, and prompted her to pursue some interesting questions on the basis of her
entrance knowledge. At first glance, the tapes seemed erratic, the interactions looked
unstable, and the data seemed messy to the point that there appeared not to be any puzzling
questions to pursue.
However, when JS and I reviewed the tapes, one issue which caught our attention was IN's
different reactions to situations in which the y-intercept of a line was involved. It seemed that
this idea, so simple to us, was complicated and meant to her very different things according to
the different contexts in which it appeared (for details, see Appendix A). These observations
were indeed puzzling and interesting and certainly deserved further investigation. What could
we discover about IN's evolving understandings and what she seemed to learn and not to
learn? This research project started with a mixed perception that the data contained interesting
behaviors (as described in Appendix A), but at the same time they were messy, the data
collection had not been preplanned, and the student±tutor interactions seemed confusing.
However, the questions emerging from the data were puzzling enough to lead us into a year
and a half of analysis, which resulted in a 120-page paper (Schoenfeld, Smith, & Arcavi,
1993). Aspects of how this research started and developed are described in detail in at least
two sources (Schoenfeld, 1989, 1992a). The first describes the synergy of a small group
doing research, and the second provides details about the ways the research evolved. The
following is a brief summary.
Given IN's puzzling behaviors, we agreed to do some preliminary analysis, as a pilot to
prepare ourselves for a next, cleaner study. It was clear to us that we did not want what
Sierpinska (1993, p. 57) describes as just studying ``very closely students' mathematical
behavior, [describing] it in every fine detail,'' but `àvoid any generalization,'' and ``don't say
much beyond reading the protocols.'' We also thought that, for us as researchers, our
`Ùnderstanding requires that something important be identified, that this something be

sufficiently general, that it be well distinguished from some other things, and that a synthesis
of this and other ideas be made. Otherwise, we just look without seeing.'' (Sierpinska, 1993,
p. 57, emphasis in the original.)
We started with the assumption that if we were able to make ``snapshots,'' that is, models
of IN's cognitive states at different times, and if we were able to pinpoint ``learning events,'' a
quick view of successive snapshots would provide us with a ``motion picture'' of the
``learning process.'' By learning event, we meant a situation in which a change of under-
standing occurred or a new connection was established.
It turns out that (see Schoenfeld, 1992a, for further details), we were wrong on several
counts. (a) The data were compelling and we did a very complete analysis. This analysis
indeed served as a predecessor for further studies, but was much more than just a pilot. (b) We
could not produce the motion picture, it was very difficult to pinpoint ``learning events,'' and
we learned that the nature of cognitive change was much more complex and subtle than we
had anticipated. (c) What we thought were messy interactions, were analyzed with socio-
cultural theoretical perspectives, which among other things, helped to identify and study, for
example, the construct of `àppropriation'' (described in Moschkovich, 1989).
Another problem was that we had no ready-made methods of analysis. Thus, they evolved
as an integral part of what we were doing. We borrowed the methodology of ``competitive
argumentation'' from VanLehn, Brown, and Greeno (1982), and adapted it for this study. In
this methodology, the interpretation of an event or action should account for current
phenomena, but also should be consistent with explanations of prior events, and serve as
the basis for the explanation of future ones. And if there is more than one plausible
explanation, the competitors should be compared and revised until one satisfies the criteria
of consistency over time. In case a decision is impossible, competing explanations should be
reported. Further, colleagues were sent the tapes and the transcripts in order to inspect and
validate our interpretations.
Many reactions were critical of the n = 1 sample, which may make the data largely
idiosyncratic. And indeed, because n = 1, no matter how `thick' the description may be and
how deep the analysis, the particular and the incidental can easily obscure the general, if it
exists at all.
One response to this problem, which we elaborated during the work, is that we should
learn to distinguish (within the data) between what is generalizable and what is not. The
following analogy may illustrate that distinction. Imagine extraterrestrial creatures landing on
one apartment in a European city. Their description of this very apartment would include
details about the particulars seen, like color of the walls, style of furniture, number of
windows, etc. However, it might include aspects of a general nature: humans in Europe live in
apartments in which they have sleeping spaces, cooking places, living spaces, and so on. In
that respect, n = 1 has the potential to provide the basis of the characterization of architectural
invariants. In a similar way, the story about the y-intercept (and many others in the same
study, which appear in the paper) has some particulars. But, issues of general structure may
shed some light on the generalities of conceptual development: the process of learning about
graphs can be quite complex and context-dependent. Features of a situation, or properties of
an entity, that experts have learned to consider incidental or irrelevant (for example, whether
the two ``blobs'' (points) we use to generate a line straddle the y-axis or lie on the same side
of it), and to which they pay no attention, may be quite significant to a learner. The context of
appearance/applicability of a concept shapes the ways in which that concept will be
understood and learned, and thus learning may not be a linear accumulation of new
knowledge, it has regressions and confusions which may depend on local situations. If the
learner perceives two such situations to be different, he or she may have difficulty perceiving
common invariants. Part of learning about the domain undoubtedly involves ``bridging
between contexts'' learning which properties are incidental, and perceiving common features.
How one does this is very much an open question, and one of major theoretical interest. But
unraveling such complexity, even through one instance, is a contribution whose character
may have general features.
The question is how can we distinguish between what may be generalizable and what is
particular (in the same way in which IN had to learn what is generalizable and what is
particular about the y-intercept). Can we leave that to our intuitions, perceptions, and
experience? I would not dismiss them, quite the contrary, on many occasions we ought to
heed those ``voices.'' But, we need more. Follow-up studies (which we did) are needed to
confirm the most salient phenomena and what we think may be general.
The issue of n = 1, can also be regarded in a different light. A single instance may be
instrumental in raising an issue, in pointing to new complexities, in identifying disregarded
variables, or in providing examples of how what was considered ``noise'' may become a
central object of study. For example, in Arcavi and Schoenfeld (1992), on the basis of data
from one tutoring session, we point to the complexity of the teacher's decision-making
process, while she is trying to shift from explaining and telling to facilitating the development
of students' knowledge structures or co-constructing knowledge with the student. The
outcome of the research in that case is not just a set of findings, in the traditional meaning
of the word, it is rather the description of dilemmas teachers may face if they try to live up to
the constructivist ideals.
I conclude this subsection by returning to some of the heuristics listed above, which came
into play in the IN study:
The study of IN was a component in a large research and development project. As such,
it increased the likelihood of the emergence of significant teaching/learning situations,
which are worth observing and analyzing. Nevertheless, it was not preplanned, as many
other studies within that project were. It evolved as a result of our paying attention to
interesting behaviors which puzzled us, our daring to ask why, sensing that if we are
able to propose answers, they might have significance to the community. In the end, the
study turned out to be a major piece of research.
Even though our approach was mostly cognitivist, it was not limited by theoretical or
methodological blinders, except for our predilection for a constructivist perspective in
its wider meaning. Quite the contrary, the questions engendered by our intellectual
curiosity led us to search for suitable methodological tools (e.g. competitive
argumentation). Moreover, as stated above, the data were analyzed, not only from a
cognitivist perspective, but also from a sociocultural perspective (Moschkovich, 1989),
shedding light on issues which would otherwise have remained in the background. By
analyzing the data from different perspectives, a richer picture of the complexity of the
learning process unfolded.
Instead of rejecting the very idea of embarking on n = 1 studies because they may be
methodologically misleading, we came to consider the idea of distinguishing between
what may be generalizable from what may be idiosyncratic. As a consequence, an
insightful description of general mechanisms of change in cognitive structures emerged.
For me, an important outcome of this research was also what I learned by doing it, as
Maxim Bruckheimer said. I learned to listen very carefully to what students have to say,
to trace possible difficulties, and to be less sanguine about displays of performance
(which may be strongly dependent on the particulars of a context). These and other
things, not only taught me how to do better research, it made me a more sensitive
teacher, and a more aware curriculum developer.
3.1.2. Aspects of understanding

One of the many outcomes of the study described above was, that it may take a while
for students to fully understand what we called the Cartesian Connection: ``The point
(x0,y0) is on the graph of the function y = f(x) if and only if the point satisfies the equation
Ð that is, y0 = f(x0).'' It turns out that this `simple' connection between graphs and
equations may have multiple implications and during the learning process, students tend to
see equations and graphs as relatively unrelated entities (for an instance of this see
Situation #5, in Appendix A).
The elusive nature of the full understanding of the Cartesian Connection guided me both in
teaching and in curriculum development. For example, in the design of: (a) simple, but
important tasks, which probably would not have been designed otherwise (for an example,
see Appendix B); and (b) a whole curriculum on linear functions, which was the basis of the
design of a preplanned and structured follow-up study to the IN research. That curriculum
was tested with four tutor±student pairs. The tutors were instructed on how to implement the
curriculum. The sessions were videotaped, and each tutor was interviewed immediately after
each session. In that study, we observed another puzzling behavior: why are students not
using what they know, and resort instead to unsystematic trials? (for details, see Appendix C).
This question inspired us, and helped us to enlarge and enrich our analysis of the how student
may learn the Cartesian Connection and its subtleties.
This and other pieces of data from this study (Moschkovich, Schoenfeld, & Arcavi, 1993),
led us to propose that competence should include the understanding of the different
perspectives, beyond the Cartesian Connection: concepts as processes and as objects (for
more details, see Appendix C) and the performance within each. We noticed that competence
also includes the ability to move flexibly between the two, when required in the process of
solving a problem. Therefore, we found that the Cartesian Connection, characterized in the
previous study, is only part of what students need to learn. Working competently in this
domain should involve thinking along at least two dimensions: different representations of
linear functions/relations (our focus was on Cartesian graphs and symbols, but we also
decided to include tables), and the perspective from which a linear function/relation is
regarded. And these two dimensions are `òrthogonal.''
Table 1
Solution process of a task
Representation
Perspective Tabular Algebraic Graphical
Process
Object
The solution process of a task may involve one cell of the matrix, may move across
representations within one perspective or across perspectives within one representation, or
may involve movement across both dimensions (Table 1).
What can such a table be useful for? First, it can be used as a curriculum designer's guide:
tasks whose solution process is confined to one cell (for example, in y = 3x + 1, find the y-
value for x = 5) will rarely stimulate students to make deep connections. The curriculum
should have a balance of tasks whose solutions require changes of representations, changes of
perspectives, and both.
Second, such a matrix can be used as a guide to analyze student behavior, and to pinpoint
and understand which passages are more difficult and how they can be supported. In
Appendix D, we present a particularly rich task in terms of the connections it promotes across
cells in the framework.
Our work confirmed the usefulness of the matrix framework, both for curriculum design and
for analyzing student actions. We also found that in rich tasks (as the one described in Appendix
D), different students produced different solutions, yet, for all of them, the ``switching points''
in which they faced a change of representation or a change of perspective, were difficult.
A by-product of this study was also to notice that, given the available technology, the
process±object distinction need not be a hierarchy. The object perspective can be an intuitive
experiential entry point (see ``Starburst'' in Appendix C) even when the process perspective is
not yet fully developed. It is not the hierarchical sequence that is important, rather it is helping
and nudging students to be flexible in their use of perspectives and representations, and to
move between them.
This story exemplifies how, within a preplanned study, a puzzling behavior, of which we
wanted to make sense with the aid of available theories, evolved into a useful research and
development tool.
3.1.3. The symbol sense story

It is difficult to trace exactly how this story evolved and I hope I am reconstructing it
faithfully. I think one of its starting points was while I was helping a junior high school
student with her homework. During the simplification of a linear equation to obtain a
solution, she arrived at 3x + 5 = 4x. Instead of proceeding mechanically, namely ``subtracting-
3x-from-both-sides,'' she stopped and observed that in order to obtain 4x on the right from
the 3x on the left, one would have to add an x, therefore the addend 5 must be the value of x.
Even though the standard method and hers are mathematically indistinguishable, I was struck
by the subtle yet important psychological difference. The student was not blindly driven by
the automatism of a procedure; she was able to stop, to read, and to notice the meaning of a
symbolic relationship.
On the basis of the existing literature on ``number sense,'' I started to think about the
possibility of finding an equivalent construct ``symbol sense.'' This led me to look for
interesting instances, both from students and teachers, in which I intuitively felt the use of
symbols in high school algebra were revealing more than just ``manipulation.'' I came up
with a collection, which I categorized, and on that basis, I attempted to make a definition of
the construct. Notice that, in this case, the result of observation and analysis of a collection of
n = 1 cases, had no pretense of generalizability. Instead, the goal was to identify, describe,
categorize, and analyze understandings, intuitions, and competencies people have when
using symbols.
In Arcavi (1994), I describe in detail eight behaviors. Each is analyzed and serves as a case
in point for proposing that a definition of ``symbol sense'' would include:
An understanding of, and an aesthetic feel for, the power of symbols: how and when
symbols can and should be used in order to display relationships, generalizations,
and proofs.
A feeling for when to abandon symbols in favor of other approaches in order to
make progress with a problem, or in order to find an easier or more elegant solution
or representation.
An ability to manipulate and to ``read'' symbolic expressions, as two complementary
aspects in solving algebraic problems. On the one hand, the detachment of meaning
necessary for manipulations coupled with a global `gestalt' view of symbolic
expressions, makes handling relatively quick and efficient. On the other hand, the
reading of the symbolic expressions towards meaning can add layers of connections and
reasonableness to the results.
The awareness that one can successfully engineer symbolic relationships, which express
verbal or graphical information needed to make progress in a problem, and the ability to
engineer those expressions.
The ability to select a symbolical representation for a problem, and, if necessary, to have
the courage to recognize and heed one's dissatisfaction with that choice, and then the
resourcefulness to search for a better one as replacement.
The realization of the constant need to check the symbol meanings while solving a
problem, and to compare and contrast those meanings with our own intuitions or with
the expected outcome of that problem.
Sensing the different roles symbols can play in different contexts.
Assuming one agrees with the construct as presented in that paper, the symbol sense story
is an example of a research project which is still incomplete. First, the characterization of the
construct can be widened and refined. Second, and more importantly, it says little about how
people develop ``symbol sense'' Ð a question which follows naturally and which interests me
a lot. Third, when I wrote the paper, David Wheeler, then editor of the journal For the
Learning of Mathematics in which the paper was published, suggested I write a section at the
end on instructional implications. Although I wrote it, still more empirical work needs to be
done in order to understand (in curricula and in classroom practices) how to help students
develop ``symbol sense.''
The two points above are intertwined: if we were to know a little about how some people
develop ``symbol sense,'' we might be able to design ways to help it happen for many more;
and conversely, if we somehow managed to design some ways of helping people develop
symbol sense, by observing them we might understand better how it develops.
3.1.4. The contextualization story

My last example of how a puzzling or interesting observed behavior may be a springboard
for research, is even less complete than the previous one: what I did is nothing more than just
record and reflect upon a behavior. I am not sure whether I will pursue it further and how, but
I think it is worth bringing an example, which may or may not turn into research, as it may
illustrate how potential questions may arise. p
While attempting to sketch the graph of the function y x2 1, the `formula' suggested
the Pythagorean
p theorem, where x is one leg of the triangle, 1 the other, and y the hypotenuse.
Thus, x2 1 can be envisioned as the a diagonal of a rectangle of sides 1 and x (or the
hypotenuse of a right-angled triangle) (Fig. 1).
Since the diagonal is always greater than the each of the sides, the graph sought, in the first
quadrant, will be `àbove'' the graphs of f(x) = 1 and f(x) = x (Fig. 2).
But, since the diagonal is less than the sum of the sides, the graph will be below the graph
of f(x) = x + 1 (Fig. 3).
When x = 0, the diagonal coincides with 1, and as x increases, the diagonal tends to x. And
that is all one needs to sketch the graph in the first quadrant. For the rest, symmetry suffices.
It could be that this is no more than an imaginative solution. It could be even less. When I
show it to teachers, many of them react with disbelief, saying that, they do not know of any
students who could produce such solution. Thus, perhaps, this is an idiosyncratic datum,
which not only shows nothing, but it may even antagonize certain audiences if communicated
as a ``result.'' If the issue is how many students will produce such behavior, certainly, its
value as a research problem is null. However, on the shoulders of this example, one may raise
questions of a completely different nature, which may inspire a research project. For example,
What may this solution be an instance of? Possibly, it shows, for example, that problems are
conceptualized through the lens of one's knowledge. But this is not world-shattering news:
what we do (either successfully or not) is to a large extent shaped by what we know and are
familiar with.
A finer rephrasing of the question may be more inspiring. The reasoning could be as
follows. Roughly and simplisticly put, it is claimed that in mathematics, we usually proceed
from the experiential and concrete, via reflective abstraction, towards the formal and the
abstract. In the process, we decontextualize and generalize, we proceed towards ``con-
p
Fig. 1. Geometrical context for y x2 1.
Fig. 2. Graphs of f (x) = 1 and f (x) = x.
solidation of information. Several closely related facts are wrapped up neatly and
economically in a single package'' (Davis & Hersh, 1981, p. 135). Several research studies
show that this process may alienate many students, who can be very successful and
Fig. 3. Graphs of f (x) = 1, f (x) = x, and f (x) = x + 1.

inventive in out of school contextualized mathematically rich environments and fail in

similar tasks when these are given in decontextualized form at school (Nunes, Schliemann,
& Carraher, 1993). This example, could be a further indication of the power of context
even for mathematically competent people. Sketching the graph of a function, is indeed a
decontextualized piece of mathematics. However, it can be accomplished by imagining or
fabricating a context (even if mathematical), which helps to make sense and guide the
solution of the problem. Thus, the interesting question, which may arise here as a possible
starting point for a research study, could be: to what extent, when, why, and how, do
mathematically competent people spontaneously contextualize problems in order to make
progress with them? And, is this teachable?
The four stories described so far are examples of one of the categories of triggers for
research: an interesting/puzzling behavior, which opens up a question, or a set of questions. In
the first story, a messy collection of data, gathered in an unorganized fashion, became the
object of study. In the second example, this time within an organized study, a puzzling piece
inspired questions, which coupled with existing theories evolved into a framework for
curriculum development and research. In the third example, a behavior triggered the
collection of similar instances towards the creation and definition of a construct. The fourth
example remains at the level of question formulation.
The common element in all of them is the trigger: usually data which could have
been thrown away as messy, or irrelevant, or idiosyncratic, but which upon examination,
raise important issues to pursue Ð even before many methodological and theoretical
details are elaborated.
The following are other possible points of departure for posing problems that may serve as
basis for research.
3.2. A curriculum or a practice
Many research projects are immersed within the development of curricula or the follow-up
and understanding of a practice. A curriculum project or the implementation of a certain
classroom practice may raise many issues. However, the formulation of research problems
may still not be straightforward. In the following, I illustrate some of the many questions,
which may arise, which are related to: (1) a specific curriculum project and (2) a special
classroom practice.
3.2.1. The three units curriculum

In order to obtain a secondary school certificate in Israel (which is required for many
jobs and for further studies in universities and colleges), students have to pass
``matriculation examinations.'' Mathematics is one of the compulsory subjects, and (at
the time of writing) it can be taken at three different levels (3, 4, or 5 credit points).
However, even at the lowest level, a large percentage of students fail the exam, and
many more do not even attempt it. Some even stop learning mathematics altogether in
grade 10. In the belief that this situation is socially (and morally) intolerable, and on the
assumption that something is wrong with instruction and not with the students, we
proposed (and were granted funds for) the development of a new curriculum for grades
10±12. We did not propose a change in the topics of the existing syllabus1 but a radical
change in the approach.
The syllabus includes: analytic geometry, basic linear programming, basic calculus (notion
of derivative and its uses to explore polynomial functions, an acquaintance with rational,
exponential, and trigonometric functions, and basics of integration), trigonometry, stereo-
metry, statistics, and basic notions of probability.
We characterized the target population of 10±12 graders, as having a history of past
failures in mathematics, probably because their past experiences were mostly based on
techniques and procedures of which they never managed to make sense (Arcavi, Hadas, &
Dreyfus, 1994).
Our premise in preparing the curriculum was that, with an appropriate approach, which
takes into account students' common sense and which builds on their particular ways of
learning, they would become motivated and would experience the joy of sense-making and
understanding (at least for a large part of the mathematics they learn).
Why should these kids learn mathematics? Certainly not to become mathematicians.
Possibly not because they will choose a university career, which requires mathematics as
prerequisite. More probably because they need to become literate citizens and because
mathematics opens up the possibility of obtaining a certificate with high social and pragmatic
value (for example, as an `èntry visa'' to many occupations). I would add also that
mathematics can provide the intellectual satisfaction and self-confidence of having experi-
enced, at least a few times, the joy of understanding and succeeding.
What is the approach? Basically, it is learning by doing, most of the time (as opposed
to learning by receiving or by following rules, dropped from the teacher or the textbook
to ``solve'' exercises) with some time allotted for class discussions. The doing begins, in
general, with some practical, common-sense experiences. The use of visual aids, guesses,
approximations, and estimates are legitimate and encouraged as are informal reasoning,
graph handling, seeing the same idea in different representations and contexts, and
supporting the making of explicit connections among them, playing down formal
treatments, heavy notation, and very formal proofs. Thus, for example, students learn
about the slope of a line by handling movable lines (drawn on a transparency) on a
Cartesian grid and reading the rise and the run from the graph. This ``concrete'' way of
handling lines to learn about slope, makes a lot of visual sense when dealing, for
example, with parallel lines and concluding that they have the same slope. Slowly,
students drop the use of the movable lines and turn to sketches of graphs in order to
calculate slopes. The formula m = ( y2 ÿ y1)/(x2 ÿ x1), which has little meaning for many
such students (even if they manage to master it), is not presented, since it is not really
needed for the problems they will encounter. The movable line returns when we
1
There are several definitions of the terms ``curriculum'' and ``syllabus'' (see, for example, Conelly & Lantz,
1991; Eash, 1991). The definitions used here are as follows. Curriculum: a conglomerate of materials of different
kinds (textbooks, teacher guides, problem books, activity kits, games, material displays, computer software,
teacher resource files, etc.) designed to teach and learn mathematics, which share an implicit or explicit rationale
on both (a) the goals and (b) the nature of teaching and learning and of mathematical activity. Syllabus is just a
listing of the topics to be taught.
introduce the notion of slope of a function at a point, which is first done qualitatively,
and then by placing the movable line tangent to the given graph of a function. The
notion of derivative thus becomes visual and meaningful, a sound basis for further
studies. For example, students learn visually (some discover it for themselves) that
functions, such as quadratics, which differ by a constant (and whose graphs they also
learn to translate vertically on movable transparencies), have the same derivative at all
corresponding points.
We build into the subject matter the minimal technical prerequisites needed and encourage
the use of calculators at all times. Alternative solutions are encouraged, estimation of a
solution before the solving process and its reasonability after, are stimulated. Connections
between different topics are promoted through ad hoc questions.
The learning units are built around a central idea, for example, in analytic geometry and
calculus, the idea of the Cartesian Connection (Schoenfeld et al., 1993).
There are several ways in which we thought to integrate research in this project. The
first and very obvious way was in the development process itself. The materials needed to
pass the classroom ``test,'' and thus, we decided that the process of textbook writing would
be done `òn students.'' In the first stage, we, the members of the development team,
taught three experimental grade 10 nonmatriculation bound classes throughout the entire
year. By choosing them, we deliberately made it hard on ourselves, because we intended
that the students would take the exam at the end of 3 years (and they did). A colleague
and I taught the first of those three classes (throughout the year), and the other two were
taught by members of our team. There was a time lag of about 2 weeks between our class
and the others, which allowed us to reflect on our experiences: what seemed to work, and
more importantly, what did not work and possibly why. When we saw engaged students
who seemed to understand, we took it as a partial indication that the materials ``worked.''
Otherwise, students were noisy, not paying attention, and disturbing each other. We took
these as symptoms of difficulty and frustration and as a clue to go back and revise the
materials. The speculations about why materials worked or not were based on observations
of their work, on questions they asked, and on comments they made. As a consequence,
we were usually able to detect unreasonable ``leaps'' in the materials, unwarranted
assumptions about student prior knowledge, too hasty abandoning of the concrete
beginnings, etc. We went back to the ``drawing board'' to redesign the materials for the
next trials in the two other classes, taking into account what we saw and our interpreta-
tions of it, The other classes were also observed in order to monitor whether the changes
incorporated were on target.
The process of refinement and adequacy of problems and problem sequencing, and the
creation of new tasks following classroom observations, is in itself a kind of research. We
might call it also proto-research, or some version of research in action. Its main questions
are how can we better design the learning materials to match student ability, keep them
working, engage their common sense, and strengthen their confidence in their abilities to
do meaningful mathematics and succeed. The data informally collected on how students
approach and work the problems and what difficulties they encounter, served us well in
the writing of the teacher's guides and in in-service courses. The data also offered insights
for further development.
In addition, the design and testing of the materials helped us to gain a lot of
practical wisdom about classroom strategies. For example, an estimate of the optimal
length of time a whole class discussion can be held before it falls apart, how to cope
with difficulties, and how to listen to what students have to say and incorporate it in
the process.
Most students in the first three experimental classes took the matriculation exam, which
was similar to the national exam, but was specially designed to take into account the
emphases of the approach. The statistics of success for the experimental class were
compelling, but to us not enough. The question for us became to look for indications of if
and how the approach made its impact on students. Therefore, we analyzed all the exams
(more than 50). Here is one example.
The student is answering the following problem:
``The circle x2 + y2 = 25 was moved three units to the right. Write the equation of the
new circle''
The following is a copy of the original answer (Fig. 4).
From this answer, we took the following as important indications of the kinds of learning
which had taken place.
The student's natural and first reaction is to make sense of the problem via the graphical
representation (in Hebrew the writing is from right to left, thus the graph was drawn
before the student produced the accompanying written text).
Fig. 4. A student's graphical and verbal solution.

The student explained her solution as follows (the translation is almost literal): ``The
new center is at the point (3,0) because I moved the same circle along the x-axis and I
got to x = 3 and always when I translate the circle I first of all move the center and then I
complete the circle. Then the center is on x = 3 because I moved the center along the x-
axis and I did not move it along the y-axis then the y-coordinate is y = 0. The radius is
the same radius because I moved the circle with the same radius. The equation of the
moved circle is (x ÿ 3)2 + y2 = 25.''
Given the difficulties, which most of the students of our target population have (especially
with verbal expression), we take the rather long explanation preceding the solution as an
indication of the student's need to display her understanding, which, we suggest, goes quite
beyond the merely technical.
Furthermore, in another item of the same problem, the student had to show that the
triangle ABC is right-angled. The whole question was part of the exam section whose
heading was `Ànalytic Geometry.'' The intention of the test was to have the student
show that the segments BC and CA have slopes, which are multiplicative inverses and
are of opposite signs. (Note that this student had not studied Euclidean geometry, and
thus did not know that the angle in a semicircle is a right angle.) Surprisingly, the
student did not use analytic geometry. Instead, she used her knowledge of trigonometry,
as follows (Fig. 5).
From the graph, she calculated the tangent of angles A and B (by ``rise over run''),
used the calculator to find the values of the angles, added them, and noticed that what
missing to complete 180°, is just 90°. She was not bothered by the approximation, nor
was she aware that this is not a proof. However, it was for us a further indication that
Fig. 5. A student's trigonometrical solution.

this student profited from our teaching approach: she disregarded the heading (which
explicitly related the problem to analytic geometry) and looked for tools that make
sense to her at the moment, she connected several facts, and was able to use her
calculator wisely.
These, and other, data were an indication to us that, at least for some students, we
made a difference in a significant way. I neither want to make general claims nor to praise
our curriculum approach. The point I am making is how the practice of a curriculum
development and its implementation may lead us to pose and to pursue research questions.
For example: if/how do students with a very weak background in math develop their
understandings, when given curricular opportunities which seem to take into account their
learning abilities? Or, the literature is full of descriptions of what is difficult for students,
where and why they fail. It is less rich in capturing, describing, and capitalizing on what
students are strong at, and under what conditions their strengths and common sense can
be harnessed.
3.2.2. A problem-solving course

This research evolved from the observation by Luciano Meira, Jack Smith, Cathy Kessel,
and myself of a problem-solving course, which Alan Schoenfeld designed and taught for
many years on the basis of the theoretical framework he developed (see, for example,
Schoenfeld, 1985, 1992b).
I was in charge of videotaping the entire course, and debriefing Schoenfeld before and after
many of the class sessions. The result was 56 h of videotape (of 28 2-h class sessions), which
could become the raw material for many research questions. So where to start, on what to
focus? We could have taken a traditional research path and looked for indications of success,
whatever success may mean in this context. We elected not to, in part, because some of it was
already documented.
We decided to focus on how this class functioned. But this focus needed to be sharpened.
When we started to look at the tapes, we decided to focus on how such a course needs to be
started. What are the initial teaching decisions Schoenfeld makes to set the scene for students
becoming independent problem-solvers in a free atmosphere, which is expected to function as
some version of a mathematical community?
We then found that each of the four of us was focusing on different aspects of
the launching of that course. Our analysis evolved along parallel and yet comple-
mentary tracks and is fully described in a 70-page paper (Arcavi, Kessel, Meira, &
Smith, 1998).
To me, one striking result, posed in a very general form can briefly be summarized as
follows. Even when Schoenfeld's overall goal is to develop a class of independent thinkers,
he initially structures the interactions very tightly in ways, which at first glance may seem
to contradict his philosophy and his goals. It is only later on, that he ``lets go,'' when the
classroom habits, new norms, and mutual confidence are established. An interesting finding
whose simplistic version seems to be: you may need tight control at the beginning even if
you want to develop independence and autonomy. The details of the analysis include a
description of the subtle components of his structuring, his decision-making process given
students, actions and responses, and the situations in which he somewhat releases the tight
control, to retake it when needed. The decision to focus on the launching of the class
proved fruitful.
To summarize, in this section, I have focused on research, which emerges from within and
is closely related to an existing project. Be it a curriculum development project, or a special
classroom practice, the boundaries of the ballpark are established Ð the questions and the
results will be tightly linked to aspects of the specific project. The research problems would
seem to pop up quite naturally since they are so closely related to what the project does.
However, the territory is still enormous, and the decision on what to focus on is still wide
open (and such a decision will certainly influence not only the research but aspects of the
project itself). Again here, what determines the research focus are the perception of the
relevance of the questions to be pursued, individual theoretical predilections, and what one
believes will strengthen the project, namely the potential relevance of the answers.
3.3. Didactical opportunities
I would define ``didactical opportunities'' as collections of circumstances, which seem

propitious to the development of learning environments on the basis of existing ``raw
materials.'' For example, I describe here two such didactical opportunities. In the first, the
``raw materials'' were issues from the history of mathematics, and in the second, features of
some computerized tools. In both cases, we intuitively felt that innovative learning materials
can be developed which may have some influence on the way and depth in which some
mathematical (and metamathematical) topics are learned.
The history project started from readings and conversations with Professor Bruckheimer,
my PhD advisor on a dissertation devoted to ways of using history to enhance the
mathematical background and literacy of teachers. We sensed that history of mathematics
might have much to offer in terms of educational objectives such as: to provide an image of
mathematics in the making (which includes doubts, hesitations, dilemmas as unavoidable
even for great mathematicians), to learn about the evolving nature of mathematical concepts
and ideas, to enlarge the didactical repertoire of several topics, and more.
However, we felt that we have to face questions of design and research: how to bring
history to teachers, which history and how to evaluate its use, and what does such history
really do to teachers who are exposed to it.
As an attempt to reply to these questions, we designed original ways of using history,
mostly the history of a mathematical topic around primary sources to be worked aided by
leading questions. These experiences were widely implemented and many of them were
evaluated. In this case, what we took to be a relevant question for practical research is: given a
rich didactical opportunity Ð history of mathematics Ð what can we do and how to take
advantage of what we believe is its potential? For details, see, for example, Arcavi and
Bruckheimer (2000), Arcavi, Bruckheimer, and Ben-Zvi (1982, 1987), and Bruckheimer and
Arcavi (2000).
We asked similar questions about the potential of using features of a computerized tool,
called the Geometry Inventor. This software is an open dynamic geometry environment not
very different from Cabri or the Geometer's Sketchpad. We were attracted by a feature, which
allows the real time drawing of a Cartesian graph of the relationship between two declared
variables. Thus, it is possible to investigate, for example, how the area of an isosceles triangle
changes (given fixed lengths for the equal sides), as a function of the variable third side. This
can be done by (a) observing how the triangle itself changes dynamically (by dragging it), (b)
observing the changes of the numerical values of the variables, and (c) by observing the graph
of the function (the area as a function of the triangle's base) being drawn as the triangle is
dragged. Some surprising characteristics of the graph lead the investigation into the nature of
such variation, and to conclusions which would have been hidden if the variation were
described directly and only by the symbolic representation (which in any case is more
difficult for students). For a detailed description see Arcavi and Hadas (2000).
Seizing a didactical opportunity, in this case, meant to develop activities to take advantage
of the dynamic capabilities of the software in order to investigate geometrical phenomena
through the phenomenon itself and its graphical representation. Many research questions may
arise from having students work in such computerized environments. For example, that the
Cartesian graph, obtained simultaneously with the dynamic change of the variables in a
geometric situation, would seem to become a tool to think with, and to learn about the
phenomenon itself, before it is described symbolically. Would students develop a predilection
to think about variable phenomena mostly through their Cartesian graphs? In which situations
would this help them to develop understandings, and in which not? Work in this direction is
just beginning.
Didactical opportunities can be of diverse nature. We described two above, which are very
different: history of mathematics and computerized tools. However, they are similar in the
sense that they offer a wealth of opportunities, which have the potential for nontraditional
ways of learning mathematics and about mathematics, with the ensuing research questions
they pose. Seizing these opportunities, designing materials and implementing them has the
flavor of what Gravemeijer (1998) calls ``developmental research,'' opening questions about
the nature of learning (and teaching) with new tools.
4. Concluding remarks
Undertaking research in mathematics education is indeed a very complex endeavor. I have

illustrated the list of heuristics, which serves me well in the initial stages (and which are
reinspected along the way), and described some examples of initial departures points. I have
concentrated on descriptions of three possible sources for research, or in other words, ``how a
research study may get started, how research questions may emerge and become established.''
The categories presented may be part of a longer list, which may include many other
departure points. For example, consider replication studies.
Kilpatrick (1993, p. 24) regards replication not just as a mindless repetition of somebody
else's work, but as an extension of it, showing old things in a new light, refining findings,
or even refuting them. It becomes research, and we may have new insights even if, or
precisely because, we know the situation well. By amassing a body of studies on similar
phenomena, we may have better chances to enhance our understanding of specific areas.
Thus, the starting points are precisely where other research studies ended, namely research
results themselves.
Another departure point could be practical wisdom. The analogy would be new research
investigating folk remedies (which were used for centuries and were passed on by oral tradition)
with the purpose of establishing a scientific basis for their apparent success. Similarly, the
teaching profession has accumulated a lot of practical, intuitive, and sound wisdom, much of
which can become the subject of systematic observation and analysis, supplying interesting
research problems. For example, one can often hear teachers saying that when they teach a
certain subject, it seems that they understand it in deeper ways than when they just had studied it.
This statement, which seems to be intuitively true from experience, can certainly become a
research problem in itself: To what extent is this true? And more importantly, what are the
underlying mechanisms, which make teaching a way of developing deep understandings about
the content taught? Can students be put in a teaching situation in order to enhance their
opportunities for meaningful learning? Two research studies in which these questions are
explored with interesting results are Harel (1991) and Palincsar and Brown (1988).
Serendipity, which is the faculty for making fortunate discoveries by accident,2 or a need
well established by new educational policies can be two other sources for research studies.
In all those cases, the somehow dichotomic option between theory-driven research and
problem-driven research to which I alluded before (and to which method-driven can also be
added, see, for example, Schoenfeld, 1992a), may still hold. In the examples I proposed above, I
have placed myself closer to the problem-driven orientation. However, I attempted to illustrate
how (a) a broad theoretical predilection underlies all what we do (but does not blind us) and (b)
theory (or, in some cases, theories) is to help us find ways and insights to conduct the research.
Acknowledgments
I am very grateful to Maxim Bruckheimer and to Alan Schoenfeld, who generously taught
me, as only master teachers can do, what studying and advancing mathematics education may
mean. I would like to thank Johan Lithner and Hans Wallin, for inviting me to lecture at the
Nordic Research Workshop on ``Problem Driven Research in Mathematics Education,''
which took place in the Department of Mathematics at UmeaÊ University, Sweden, during
August 5±9, 1998. The focus of that workshop was ``how to initiate, formulate, structure, and
carry out a research project, starting from an educational problem'' (Lithner & Wallin, 2000,
p. iii). Their invitation was the trigger to think about the issues, to prepare my three lectures at
UmeaÊ (whose full original version can be found in that reference), and on that basis, to write
this paper. Carolyn Kieran and Tommy Dreyfus read the manuscript with their characteristic
thoroughness and attention. Their detailed and insightful comments, together with those of
two anonymous reviewers, were very helpful in the rewriting of the manuscript. I thank the
editors of this journal, Carolyn Maher and Robert Speiser, for their suggestions and for their
decision to include a paper like this, which is an account of the initial stages of research,
rather than the research itself. As one of the reviewers said, this paper may be helpful for
beginning graduate students in mathematics education. I hope this will be the case.
2
The word derives from the characters in the Persian fairy tale ``The Three Princes of Serendip,'' who made
such discoveries.
Appendix A
In the following, I bring some details of the behaviors we observed and which we tried
to analyze.
These behaviors occurred while IN played with a game called ``Black Blobs'' (a part of
GRAPHER), inspired by the (quasi-homonymous) game ``Green Globs'' (Dugdale & Kibbey,
1986). It consists of a screen displaying a Cartesian grid with randomly placed ``blobs.'' The
object of the game is to input a function in algebraic form whose graph will ``hit'' the largest
possible numbers of blobs. Thus, the problem for the player is to envision a desired graph and
to engineer its corresponding algebraic form (since this is the only way in which the computer
will draw the graph) to hit the selected targets.
IN, worked mostly with linear functions in the general form y = mx + b, and tried to figure
out which values of `m' and `b' to use in order to produce the equation of a line which would
hit the selected blobs. The following situations occurred.
A.1. Situation #1
IN selected three blobs (see Fig. 6), but then concentrated on the search for a linear
function that would hit P2 and P3.
After calculating the slope to be 1, she turned to the intercept.
IN: The y-intercept is where the point touches y . . . oh!, OK, so then, but then it could
be either 3.5 or 2.5.
JS: Well, 3.5 is the, is where the line is on one side of the y-axis, and 2.5 is where it is
on the other side . . .
IN: So which one should I use?
JS: So, if the line passes through this point and this point [points to P2 and P3], then
the, where is . . ., does that give you an idea where the y-intercept's gonna be?
IN: [no response]
JS: OK, it's going to be going like this [traces the line with his pen from the 4th
quadrant to the 1st quadrant], so just knowing that's gonna go like this, can you
tell where the y-intercept is?
IN: Oh, Oh, Oh!! [gestures with both hands], it's going to be at . . . 3?
A.2. Situation #2
After ``shooting'' the line y = x + 3 and succeeding to hit P2 and P3, she selected P4, P5, and
P6 as the next targets (see Fig. 7).
Here, her only problem was to calibrate a good estimate of the y-intercept, she tried 5.5 and
then 6 and succeeded.
It would now seem, that after the initial confusion of Situation #1, the graphical meaning of
y-intercept was clear to her.
Fig. 6. Initial blob selection by IN in Grapher.
A.3. Situation #3
After selecting P1, P2 and P3 (see Fig. 8), miscalculating the slope to obtain ÿ 1.5, she
declared that the y-intercept should be zero. Thus, she entered the equation y = ÿ 1.5x + 0,
obtaining the following graph (Fig. 8).
JS: OK, well, let's see if we can take it apart. The two things we found were the slope
and the y-intercept?
IN: Yes.
JS: OK, did either of them come out the way that you wanted, or is, are they both wrong?
IN: Well, the y-intercept should be zero, shouldn't it, because that third dot on the top
is zero, isn't it?
JS: This one? [points to P1]
IN: Yes.
JS: Ah, well, let's see, it has two coordinates, right? an x and a y?
IN: Yes. [in a flat tone]
JS: And, one of the coordinates is zero.
N: Yes, the x, and the y is 1,2,3,4,5,6,7, 7, zero seven.
JS: So if we need to include the y intercept,
IN: Aha.
Fig. 7. Second blob selection by IN.
JS: Which one of those numbers, zero or seven, is the y-intercept?

IN: Oh, 7! Oh, I didn't know that. Okay.
Good performance in the previous situation (which took place 6 days earlier) did not show
here. What was going on? Our first intuition was that it certainly had to do with the saliency
of the zero and its relation to the y-intercept.
A.4. Situation #4
In the same session, 15 min later, she was aiming at P4 and P5 (see Fig. 9).
IN: [writing ``y = mx + b'' and then ``y = ÿ 1x + ''] How do I find the y-intercept?
JS: Ah . . . What is the y-intercept?
IN: Yeah, or how do I find it?
JS: I know, but why would, what can we, what can we remember from just the
word, y-intercept?
IN: Where it touches the y-axis.
JS: OK. Um . . .
IN: But it would be too far away, see, and so I'd have, I'd probably make a mistake if I
just guessed at it.
JS: Well, let's be a little bit experimental. Let's see if we can guess.
And the situation ended successfully.
Fig. 8. The `èffect'' of ``shooting'' y = ÿ 1.5x + 0.
A.5. Situation #5
Later on in the same session, with the blob arrangement as in Fig. 10, IN had made a
number of shots of the form y = mx ÿ 2. JS asked her if she could use a similar line to hit P.
IN: OK, ah, but what other point would it, would it reach? because if I, if I went through
these points [points to the blobs Q and R], it wouldn't touch this axis [points to the y-
intercept (0, ÿ 2)] and if I went this way, there's no more points, there is no point that I
can reach that would make me go through that ax . . ., through that intercept.
JS: Right, OK, so the problem there is what? We only have one point?
IN: Ah, yes.
JS: OK, is there anything else on the screen that we could treat as another point?
IN: That would make this, that would be straight here, [traces the requested line with
the mouse] No. See. [continues to trace the line] There's nothing else here.
JS: All right . . . so we need another point?
IN: Yes.
JS: OK, well, I'm gonna just tell you. Why don't we just elect to use the y-intercept as
if it was a blob?
IN: OK.
Fig. 9. Aiming at P4 and P5.
With this simple suggestion, IN made her shots with y = 0.3x ÿ 2, and watched intently as
GRAPHER drew her shot, reacting with pleasure and surprise as it passed `èxactly'' through
(0, ÿ 2).
It seemed that for each new selection of blobs, y-intercept meant different things for IN.
When the blobs straddled the axis, was different from when one of them was on the axis,
which was different again from the situation of two blobs far away from the axis on the same
side. Also, blobs and points seemed to be very different objects, and going through a point
required IN to imagine a blob. Finally, having y = 0.3x ÿ 2, she needed reassurance from the
graph the computer drew to be completely sure that it went `èxactly'' through (0, ÿ 2), the
intended intercept.
Appendix B
On a Cartesian grid, draw a line through (2,3), and by reading from the grid the extra data
needed, write its equation. Draw another line through (2,3), and write its equation. Now
solve the system of equations you have written.
Experts may be `àppalled'' by the tautological nature of this task. However, for many
students who are in the process of constructing the connection, their finding the solution (2,3)
Fig. 10. Aiming at P with y = mx ÿ 2.
and realizing that it is indeed the original point, can be a compelling support to the building of
connections. I was involved in the design of many problems which were intended to support
the building of the Cartesian Connection, some trivial, some much more sophisticated (see,
for example, Arcavi et al., 1994).
Appendix C
A task in one of the first sessions of the curriculum was the ``Starburst'' (Magidson, 1992).
Students were presented with the following (see Fig. 11).
Their task was to reproduce the ``Starburst'' with the help of GRAPHER. They can type in
equations of the form y = _x, fill in a number in the blank slot, and the computer will produce
the corresponding graphs. This activity was used before students had seen any definition of
slope. The task is engaging and students usually play with it for a long time until they are
satisfied with their final reproduction. The purpose is to stimulate phenomenological
observations (such as a large number in the blank slot produces a steeper line, the sign of
the number correspond to ``rising'' or ``falling'' lines, and so on). The students' observations
serve as the informal, empirical preparation for the definition.
Fig. 11. Starburst.
One of the students fixed his attention on how the numbers should change to obtain regular
spacing between the lines. Equal spacing of the numbers in the slot, did not give the expected
result. In particular, he wanted a line through (5,10). He knew how to find the ``number that
multiplies the x,'' because the previous part of the curriculum dealt with plotting points and
with verbal descriptions of the relationship between the x- and y-values of points on a line.
Nevertheless, he proceeded by inputting trial numbers into the empty slot of y = _x, requesting
from the software to graph the lines, and adjusting accordingly.
The issue we raised was why is he not using the knowledge he possesses to establish the
value of the parameter that multiplies x? We supposed that if we were able to propose and test
an answer to this question, we would make progress in understanding how students
understand, learn, and use their knowledge.
Fig. 12. Cartesian graph of two parallel lines and special points.
After several analyses of this and other data, we are able to propose that in order to access
his knowledge, the student needed to switch from one mode of working to another. But what
does this switch consist of? At this point, we turned to existing theoretical approaches, and we
borrowed the process±object distinction from several authors (for example, Breidenbach,
Dubinsky, Hawks, & Nichols, 1992; Schwartz & Yerushalmy, 1992; Sfard, 1992). The
process perspective regards a function or relation as a procedural link between x- and y-
values. The object perspective regards a function or relation as an entity, as a whole, which
can be manipulated (translated, rotated), operated on, and considered as member of a family
of such objects.
In our case, the student was playing with different values of the parameter m, namely
considering the graphs obtained as whole objects, which change and depend on that single
value. Calculating a particular m by looking at the `ènd point'' and at the relationship
between its coordinates, implies a rather drastic change of perspective Ð from seeing the line
as a whole manipulable object, to seeing the line as a conglomerate of points/coordinates,
each of which satisfies the relationship. The relationship, which was looked as a whole,
needed to be unpacked for one specific pair of numbers.
Appendix D
The following problem is borrowed from Resnick (1987, p. 158) (Fig. 12).
(a) What can you say about the slopes of these two lines?
(b) What can you say about the y-intercepts of these two lines?
(c) The following list includes the equations of the two lines. Match each line with
its equation.
y 2x 6 y 2x ÿ 2 y ÿ2x ÿ 2 y ÿ2x 6
(d) Find the coordinates of points A, B, C, and D, knowing that the line segments CD and
EF are parallel to the y-axis.
(e) If the x-coordinate of point E is 5, find its y-coordinate and the coordinates of point F.
(Does it look right on the graph?)
(f) Find the lengths of segments EF, CD, and AB. Does your result make sense? Why?
(g) Draw another segment connecting the two lines which is parallel to the y-axis. Can you
predict its length without knowing the coordinates of the end points? Explain. Would
the equation help in this task? Why?
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Journal of Mathematical Behavior

19 (2000) 141 ± 173

Problem-driven research in mathematics education

The title of Professor Freudenthal's plenary address at ICME 4 in Berkeley (1980)

Freudenthal's list is striking, because it can indeed be considered as setting a research

1. Shimshon Amitsur, a distinguished algebraist, was involved for many years in

1. ``Research in mathematics education consists of the appropriate use of methods (often

framework.'' It includes ``the methodological requirement of using experimentation in

1. Theory, methods, purpose (enhancing our understanding);

However, there is certainly another option: ``Shall I choose a problem of interest

2. Some research heuristics

Schoenfeld (1985, p. xii) defined heuristics in mathematical problem-solving as `rules of

 Try to do research in a broad context of teaching and learning mathematics. Most of my

The following examples of problem-driven research, are classified precisely as such,

3.1. Interesting/puzzling behaviors

3.1.1. The y-intercept story

``Understanding requires that something important be identified, that this something be

3.1.2. Aspects of understanding

3.1.3. The symbol sense story

3.1.4. The contextualization story

Fig. 2. Graphs of f (x) = 1 and f (x) = x.

Fig. 3. Graphs of f (x) = 1, f (x) = x, and f (x) = x + 1.

inventive in out of school contextualized mathematically rich environments and fail in

3.2. A curriculum or a practice

3.2.1. The three units curriculum

Fig. 4. A student's graphical and verbal solution.

Fig. 5. A student's trigonometrical solution.

3.2.2. A problem-solving course

3.3. Didactical opportunities

I would define ``didactical opportunities'' as collections of circumstances, which seem

Undertaking research in mathematics education is indeed a very complex endeavor. I have

Fig. 6. Initial blob selection by IN in Grapher.

Fig. 7. Second blob selection by IN.

JS: Which one of those numbers, zero or seven, is the y-intercept?

Fig. 8. The ``effect'' of ``shooting'' y = ÿ 1.5x + 0.

Fig. 9. Aiming at P4 and P5.

Fig. 10. Aiming at P with y = mx ÿ 2.

Fig. 11. Starburst.

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Try to do research in a broad context of teaching and learning mathematics. Most of my