Thoughts on The Crest of the Peacock

Some things really stood out to me in this introduction. I had taken a history and philosophy of mathematics course about six years ago, and that class - along with the professor (the late Thomas Fox) -  completely changed my previously one-dimensional perspective of math. It transformed how I saw the subject, filling it with the vibrant colours of culture, philosophy, and human story. 

1) In that course, we covered Babylonian mathematics, but it wasn’t until this week — through this chapter — that I learned "Babylonian" is actually an umbrella term. It encompasses various regions and civilizations such as the Sumerians, Assyrians, and Babylonians themselves. That realization really made me reflect on how history often gets simplified — sometimes to the point of distortion. It reminds me of the importance of being mindful about how we teach history: what gets emphasized, what gets left out, and whose voices are being centered — or erased.

I also think about my experience as a student in that class. Not once did I truly question the history or philosophies being taught. Ironically, Dr. Fox would often scold our class for being too complacent in our learning - especially when it came to mathematics. sMoving forward, I want to be more intentional with how I refer to "Babylonian" mathematics in my classroom, acknowledging that it encompasses more than just Babylon itself.

2) Figure 1.3, which presents an alternative trajectory for the so-called "Dark Ages," really struck me. Compared to Figure 1.1, it highlights just how much the contributions of non-European peoples have been minimized or erased in mainstream historical narratives. It made me think about the origins of our number system — the Hindu-Arabic numerals — and how much of mathematics we take for granted without acknowledging its deeply multicultural roots.

Mathematics, like every other subject we study, is a human endeavor. Yet colonialism, historical neglect, and deliberate erasure have shaped the way it’s remembered and taught - often giving disproportionate credit to white European men while ignoring or downplaying the achievements of others.

3) On the same note of cultural erasure and epistemicide, I’ve been reminded of what I know about Al-Khwarizmi and his immense contributions to mathematics -  especially algebra. When I think about what’s often referred to as “Arabic mathematics,” I’m reminded that it was shaped not just by intellectual innovation but also by displacement. Around 700 AD, conflict forced many mathematicians to flee to Constantinople (Byzantium, now Istanbul). It's a reminder that social and political violence have long disrupted knowledge production, forcing people to carry ideas across borders - or lose them entirely.

What I found particularly striking - and frankly, a bit depressing - is that Al-Khwarizmi himself acknowledged the Indian origins of the number system we now use. Yet over time, repeated translations of his work erased this attribution. This really highlights how translation is not a neutral act. What gets translated? What gets lost? Who gets credited? The process of translation can subtly (or not so subtly) reshape our understanding of math and its origins.

At the same time, I also find myself wondering: without translation, would we have anything at all? It’s a paradox. Translation has preserved so much, yet it has also distorted and erased. It makes me think more critically about how knowledge is passed down - and who controls that narrative.