Nowfree workin all its varied forms, such as free conversation, free translation, and free composition, differs greatly from drill-work, and we can all testify to the ludicrous results these forms of work yield when performed by one who has had no previous drilling. If thestudent has not been put through a proper course of drill-work, all his efforts at free work will be based on that most unnatural and vicious of processes—conventional translation from the mother-tongue. The undrilled French student will be speaking and writing not English as we understand the term, but anglicized French. Having formed no English language habits, he will cast all his thoughts in the French mould, and when the exact English equivalents to his French words and phrases are missing he will break down.
Free work without the essential preparation means faulty work, uncertain and erratic work; it means the formation of nearly all the bad habits which characterize the average student and which mar his work.
In language-study as in any other branch of activity we must observe a sense of proportion; we must pay due attention to the various aspects of the question in order to ensure a harmonious whole. It is possible to devote too much time and effort to a given aspect or branch; this is the case when such time and effort are spent at the expense of an aspect or branch of equal or of greater importance. It is necessary, for instance, to give much attention to the understanding of the language as spoken rapidly and idiomatically by natives; but if this occupies the whole of our time we shall be able to do nothing else, and shall neither learn to speak, nor to read, nor to write. This would be an obvious violation of the principle of proportion. It is necessary to know something of the grammar of the language, but if we devote every lesson of a three years’ course to the study of grammar we shall again be offending against this principle.
We tend to give too much attention to things which interest us, and too little to those things in which we are not particularly interested. Such inequality of treatment is more particularly apt to occur in these days of specialization; the intonation specialist thinks of little but intonation, and tends to think that everything else is of secondary importance; the phonetician is so keenlyalive to the immense importance of ear-training and of correct articulation that he may tend to dismiss all other things as trivialities; the grammarian grinds away at declensions and conjugations regardless of the existence of such things as sounds and tones; the semantician is so intent on meanings that all has to be sacrificed to his special branch.
The most typical example of disproportionate treatment is, of course, that afforded by the orthographist of the old school; for him language is nothing but a set of spelling rules; pronunciation for him is the interpretation of spellings; grammar is a branch of orthography, and meanings themselves are largely dependent on the way a word is spelt. In the present-day reaction against the orthographist we may expect a swing to the other extreme, and we may find schoolmasters welcoming spelling mistakes as the signs of a healthy tendency towards phoneticism.
Already the reaction against the over-use and abuse of translation exercises has resulted in an almost equally grave over-use and abuse of the ‘direct’ method.
There are, however, times when a seemingly undue proportion of attention should be directed to certain things, notably when we have to react against a vicious tendency. If our student is too keenly interested in orthography and oblivious to the importance of phonetics, we may be justified in excluding orthography from his programme. If he is morbidly interested in grammar and analysis, we may find it necessary to give him overdoses of semantics and unconscious assimilation in order to re-establish some sort of equilibrium. With the student who refuses to learn a word until he sees it written we must for some time make an exclusive and seemingly disproportionate use of oral work and phonetic writing.
The principle of proportion, then, does not necessarily implyequalityof treatment nor even a fixed standard of ratios; it simply means that all the items in the whole range of subjects and aspects must receive an appropriate degree of attention, so that the student’s knowledge of them may ultimately form a harmonious whole.
It is impossible to observe the principle of proportion without having in view the ultimate aim of the student. If his sole object is to become a master of colloquial expression, our sense of proportion will tell us to exclude in a very large measure the study of the conventional orthography.
The ultimate aim of most students is fourfold:
(a) To understand the language when spoken rapidly by natives.(b) To speak the language in the manner of natives.(c) To understand the language as written by natives (i.e.toreadthe language).(d) To write the language in the manner of natives.
(a) To understand the language when spoken rapidly by natives.
(b) To speak the language in the manner of natives.
(c) To understand the language as written by natives (i.e.toreadthe language).
(d) To write the language in the manner of natives.
Each of these four aspects requires special methods of teaching. A method or device which will rapidly enable the student to understand the language when spoken will be inefficacious as a method for teaching him to produce a written composition. No amount of composition work, on the other hand, will teach him how to understand what is rapidly uttered by natives. If (as is freely admitted) a command of the spoken language is a great help towards acquiring command of the written, the converse is not the case; proficiency in written work does not imply progress in oral work. To pay too muchor too little attention to any of these four aspects is a violation of the principle of proportion.
The principle may also be violated by paying too much or too little attention to any of the five chief branches of practical linguistics: phonetics, orthography, word-building, sentence-building, and semantics. Let us pass them in review in order to make quite sure that we understand the scope of each and have properly discriminated between them.
Phoneticsteaches us how to recognize and how to make the sounds of which the language is composed; it teaches us the difference between two or more sounds which resemble each other, and between a given foreign sound and its nearest native equivalent.
Orthography(with which we may associate orthoepy) teaches us how to spell what we have already learnt by ear; it also teaches us how to pronounce what we have learnt by eye from an ordinary orthographic text.
Word-building(accidence and etymology) teaches us inflexions, prefixes, and suffixes, and how to use them, how to form plurals from singulars, accusatives from nominatives, finite tenses from infinitives; most of the mysteries of declension and conjugation are included under this heading; the collecting of word-families pertains to this branch.
Sentence-building(syntax and analysis) teaches us how to combine words into sentences, how to form compound tenses, phrases, and clauses; it teaches us the places of the various sentence-components, the nature and use of concord or agreement; it shows us the differences between regular and irregular sentences. When properly systematized (according to a special science to which the name of ‘ergonics’ has been given) this particular branch of linguistics shows us how toform the largest possible number of sentences with the fewest words.
Semanticsteaches us the meaning of words, of inflexions, and of compounds; it shows us how to transform our thoughts into language, to select the most appropriate word or form, and to interpret correctly what we hear and read. It is more especially this branch which teaches us the differences in style and dialect, and enables us to distinguish the colloquial from the classical and to keep either from contaminating the other.
If we are to judge by the average teacher and the average language-course, the principle of proportion is usually violated by teaching:
(a) No phonetics at all.(b) Too much orthography or orthoepy.(c) Too much word-building.(d) Too little sentence-building.(e) Practically no semantics.
(a) No phonetics at all.(b) Too much orthography or orthoepy.(c) Too much word-building.(d) Too little sentence-building.(e) Practically no semantics.
The principle of proportion may also be observed or violated in the selection of vocabularies and of grammatical material. To include in early lessons words or forms which are comparatively rare, archaic, and useless, while excluding some of the commonest and most useful items of language-material, is an offence not only against the principle of gradation but also against the principle of proportion. Too little attention also is usually paid to ensuring a just proportion between the various parts of speech. There is a fairly well defined series of laws which determine the relative number of nouns, verbs, and adjectives occurring in a given vocabulary radius, and with the growing attention which is being given to this sort of statistical work these laws are standing out more clearly and are coming to be better understood. Wehave also to note a regrettable tendency to give preference in vocabularies to words of special utility (such as names of plants, animals, parts of the body, tools, implements, and such-like semi-technical words) and to neglect unduly words of general utility, words which may occur in any context and which are common to any subject. This is a particularly grave case of disproportion when we consider that the bulk of any given text (probably from 80 per cent. to 90 per cent. of it) is made up of these general words.
Proportion must be observed in determining the respective quantities of drill-work and free work, of translation-work and ‘direct work,’ of intensive reading and extensive reading, of chorus-work and individual work needed; throughout the whole range of the subject there are possibilities of good or of bad proportion. It is for the teacher or for the designer of language-courses to see that the principle is reasonably well observed.
Such expressions asfor instance,for example, orhere is a case in pointare fairly common in our speech. Whenever we hear somebody explaining something we may be certain that one of these expressions will occur not once but many times. When we ourselves set out to explain anything we may be quite sure that in a very few moments we shall use one of the expressions in question, and indeed our certainty is justified in almost every case. The reason for using such phrases is quite clear; every time we do so it is because we feel instinctively that we have just made a statement which is not sufficiently explicit; we are more or less aware that we have expressed something in terms rather too abstract, and we wish to reduce our statement to more concrete terms; we feel the necessity forconcreteness. There is a similar reason for using such expressions asin other terms,in other words, orthat is to say. We feel in these cases that an explanation just given is wanting in lucidity, and we add a supplementary explanation in order to make our point more concrete.
The substance of the principle of concreteness is contained in the maxim, “Example is better than precept”; we intuitively know this to be true, and our own experience confirms our judgment; we remember on how many occasions a few typical examples have been of greater help to our understanding than the best-wordeddefinitions or the most detailed descriptions. Psychologists confirm us in our impression and assure us that it is correct; indeed, one of the fundamental principles of the psychology of study is that we must work from the concrete to the abstract.
Let us take a concrete example to serve as an illustration. One of the things we have to teach the French student of English is that anterior duration is expressed in English by the use of the perfect tenses (if possible in their progressive form) and not by the use of the ordinary non-perfect tenses as in French, and thatdepuisor its equivalent is not merelysince. The whole point can be expressed more or less abstractly by the following formula:
FrenchEnglishNon-perfect tense +depuis+ measure of durationorIl y+ (non-perfect tense ofavoir) + measure of duration +que+ non-perfect tense=Corresponding perfect (progressive) tense + (for) + measure of duration.Non-perfect tense +depuis+ term signifying initial moment of duration=Corresponding perfect (progressive) tense +since+ term signifying initial moment of duration.
Now this is a very concise formula and probably covers the whole of the ground. But it is expressed in such abstract terms that we cannot expect the average student to grasp it, still less to apply it in his speech. We can concretize it by furnishing one or two typical examples. We can say: “Look at the clock, it’s just half-past twelve—we started this lesson at twelve, didn’t we? Well, it means that we have been working since twelve o’clock; we have been working for half an hour. Howlong have we been working? For half an hour. Since when have we been working? Since twelve o’clock. Repeat that after me. Repeat it again. Now just note that we sayWe have been working, notWe workorWe are working. Now, then, how do you sayNous travaillons depuis midi? AndNous travaillons depuis une demi-heure? Note thatnous sommessometimes becomeswe have been.”
That would be a fairly concrete (but not ideally concrete) way of teaching the point in question. The average student would grasp the point, and the conscientious student would probably observe it and incorporate it into his usage.
But the principle of concreteness goes beyond this; it does not merely state that examples of every rule should be given, it specifies various degrees and various kinds of concreteness. An example in itself is more concrete than a rule, but one example may be more concrete than another; let us therefore choose the more concrete examples, that is to say, those which will create the strongest semantic associations. Concreteness will be the chief determining factor in the choice of the early vocabularies; it will tend to make us give a preference to words and compounds lending themselves to ‘direct’ work. It will not, however, be the sole factor, for if we decided to make an exclusive use of such words it would be at the expense of the principle of proportion.
Here is another example of what is implied by concreteness. It often occurs that a student will learn how to construct a sentence—indeed, he may even memorize it—and yet fail to realize that it is a real living sentence, an integral part of his linguistic repertory ready for immediate use. He may have learnt the constructionWould you mind ——ingand be able to translate it backwards and forwards and invariably to quote it in his list of compounds requiring the use of theing-form, and yet, instead of using it in actual practice, may replace it byWould you be so kind as toor some such stilted equivalent. In such cases we may be sure that the principle of concreteness has not been sufficiently observed.
The ‘direct methodists’ of the more extreme type interpret concreteness in a curious way, and identify it with the non-translation principle and with the principle of the exclusion of the mother-tongue as a vehicular language. They tend to think that by keeping English out of the French lesson, the teacher causes French to be acquired concretely. In certain cases this is true, but there are probably far more contrary cases.
In the example relating to the expression of anterior duration the concreteness consists very largely in pointing out the difference of usage in the two languages. In order to make the constructionWould you mindperfectly concrete to a Frenchman, we must insist on its semantic equivalence to hisEst-ce que ça ne vous ferait rien de. One of the things we must do to concretize the difference betweenI did so,So I did, andSo did I, is to furnish the student with his respective native equivalents.
There are four ways and four ways only of furnishing a student with the meaning of given foreign units:
(1)By immediate association, as when we point to the object or a picture of the object designated by a noun or pronoun, when we perform the action designated by a verb, when we point to a real example of the quality designated by an adjective, or when we demonstrate in similar ways that which is designated by a preposition of place or certain categories of adverbs.
(2)By translation, as when we give the nearest native equivalent or equivalents of the foreign unit.
(3)By definition, as when we give a synonym or paraphrase of the word or word-group or a description of that which is designated by it.
(4)By context, as when we embody the unit in sentences which will make its meaning clear (e.g.January is thefirstmonth of the year; London is thecapitalof England).
These four methods or modes of ‘semanticizing’ a unit are here given in order of what are generally their relative degrees of concreteness. There may, however, be some cases in which translation will be more concrete than immediate association. Translation is not in itself necessarily ‘indirect’ (or ‘inconcrete,’ as we should prefer to express it); it may be relatively indirect when compared with good examples of immediate association, but it is undoubtedly more ‘direct’ than a cumbrous or vague definition, or an obscure context.
The following precepts may serve as concrete examples of the way we can carry the principles of concreteness into practice:
(1) Let the example precede or even replace the rule. A well-chosen example or set of examples may so completely embody the rule that the rule itself will be superfluous.
(2) Givemanyexamples to each important rule. We have noted that the suggested treatment of the problem of anterior duration was not an ideal one. In order to make it ideal we should have taken a second example (e.g.How long have you been learning English?) and still more examples (e.g.How long have you been in this room?—been living in England?—been living at your present address? Have you been sitting here since twelve o’clock or since a quarter past twelve? How long has France beena republic?). Too often the teacher imagines that one example constitutes a complete exposition of a given point: whereas in reality it is by finding (consciously or unconsciously) the common element in many examples that we come to grasp the usage exemplified.
(3) When teaching or alluding to the peculiarities connected with nouns, choose as examples the nouns which are the names of various objects actually in the room, and in each case point to or handle the object in question. Handling pencils, pens, and books while talking about them very much facilitates the grasping of principles of declension.
(4) When teaching or alluding to the peculiarities connected with verbal forms, choose as examples verbs such astake,put,see,go,come,sit,stand, etc.—that is to say, verbs that can be ‘acted.’ Present, past, and future tenses are much more easily distinguished and retained if the teacher illustrates them by actions. (In a moment I shall take the book—Je prendrai le livre. J’ouvrirai le livre—J’ouvre le livre—J’ai ouvert le livre.) If a Frenchman cannot grasp the difference betweento go inandto come in, it is because the explanations given to him are lacking in concreteness.
(5) When teaching or alluding to the peculiarities connected with adjectives, choose as examples such words asblack,white,large,small,round,square, etc., and avoid the traditionalgood,bad,beautiful,idle,diligent, etc.
(6) When teaching or alluding to the peculiarities and semantic values of prepositions choose as far as possible prepositions such asin,on,under,over,in front of,behind,beside, etc. Useful work in this connexion can be done with a match and a matchbox (in the box,on the box,under the box, etc., etc.).
(7) Choose as many real examples as possible, examples suggested by present and actual conditions. Do not teach the mechanism of direct and indirect objects by allusions to imaginary farmers giving imaginary oats to imaginary horses, but give books, pencils, and pens to the students and make them give them to you, and then talk to them about what you are doing. Do not illustrate the active and passive voices by reference to men beating boys and boys being beaten, but speak about writing words and words being written or about speaking English and English being spoken.
(8) In as many cases as possible cause the student to make active use of any form he has just learnt. When you have taught him to sayI don’t understandgive him an opportunity of using the sentence. If you teach him to sayIt’s time to stopsee that he duly makes use of the expression at the end of the lesson.
(9) Encourage gestures, even in the case of English students. In the earlier stages they should shake their heads when uttering a negative sentence, raise their eyebrows when using an interrogative form, and use other appropriate gestures for such words ashere,there,me,that,these, etc.
In short, observe the principle of concreteness by using examples, many examples, cumulative examples, real examples, and examples embodying the personal interest.
We have laid great stress on the necessity for drill-like work, for mechanical work, for exercises calculated to secure automatism, for habit-forming types of work. It has even seemed at times that we take a malicious pleasure in pillorying and condemning precisely those forms of work which are generally the most attractive to the average student. “The writer of this book,” some may say, “takes a savage delight in reproving teacher and student whenever they contemplate work of an interesting nature, heads them off whenever they approach anything resembling intellectual work, and turns them into channels of routine and repetition. He positively gloats over words like ‘automaticity,’ ‘passivity,’ ‘mechanism,’ or ‘unconscious assimilation,’ and apparently glories in the theory that language-learning like life itself should be ‘one demd horrid grind.’”
We readily plead guilty to a firm insistence on habit-forming exercises and drills, but continue to urge in mitigation that the practical study of language, the mastery of any form of actual speech, is a habit-forming process and little else. We must have the courage and honesty to face facts as we find them: a language cannot be mastered by learning interesting things about that language, but only by assimilating the material of which that language is made up.
But our attitude, far from being a pessimistic one, is positively optimistic. We are prepared to deny most emphatically that good drill-workisdull and uninteresting, and if some teachers make it so it is our duty to tell them not to. Those who have seen the sort of lessons that embody the forms of teaching which result from the rigid observance of these principles all testify that they are ‘live’ lessons (to use the term they most generally employ), that the students are keen and the teachers enthusiastic.
It is only too evident that every lesson must be made as interesting as is compatible with pedagogic soundness. Few people learn anything well unless they are interested in what they are learning. Hope of reward and fear of punishment are certainly stimuli to work, but very poor stimuli compared with that represented by interest. If the method is the machinery of language-study (or any other study for the matter of that), then interest is the motive power. Be the clock ever so well and ingeniously constructed, it will not go without some sort of mainspring; be the method ever so efficient as a method, it will not work unless the student is interested. All these statements are of course truisms and are accepted as axiomatic; the trouble comes when we discuss the means by which interest can be induced and maintained, for we are not all in agreement on this point.
There is, too, the question of intrinsic and extrinsic interest; the subject may be interesting in itself or it may derive an artificial sort of interest from some attendant circumstance, such as the hope of reward and fear of non-success and all that that may imply.
But a point arises at the outset which deserves our attention. A fallacy exists in connexion with interest, a fallacy which is the cause of much error and of much badteaching. This fallacy when reduced to the absurd consists in saying, “We can make a subject of study interesting by changing the subject of study.” Now obviously it is absurd to say that we can make the study of French interesting by teaching geometry in its stead, or that we can make arithmetic interesting by replacing the arithmetic lesson by a history lesson. And yet this is the sort of thing that frequently does take place in some form or other.
It is necessary that the student shall learn how to understand spoken French, spoken English, or spoken Pekingese; it is assumed that the necessary phonetic and oral repetition work will be uninteresting, so we change the subject and teach the student toreadFrench, English, or Mandarin Chinese, or to analyse these languages or to construct sentences in them by synthesis. Now reading and analysis and synthesis may to some people be more interesting than ear-training and oral memorizing, but whether this is the case or not it is certainly beyond the point. If we wish to learn to read, let us read; if we wish to do analytic and synthetic work, let us analyse and synthesize; but if the object of our study happens to be the command of thespokenlanguage, it is no use to amuse ourselves by doing work which does not further our aim.
“Parrot-work is so monotonous, uninspiring, and uninteresting: let us rather translate the work of some author into our mother-tongue.” “I don’t find the study of the colloquial language elevating: I prefer to work at the classical.” Very well, we will not quarrel about tastes, but we will ask you to make it quite clear what you are setting out to learn and what your object really is; when we have ascertained that, we will see how we can make your path an easy and pleasant one. Ajourney to London may or may not be an interesting one, but if your object is to get to London it is no use taking a ticket to the Isle of Wight or to the Highlands of Scotland, however interesting such journeys may be.
The general tendency among educationalists to-day is towards interesting methods, methods involving the intelligent use of the intelligence, methods which develop the reasoning capacities, methods which form the judgment, which proceed from the trivial, familiar, and known towards the more profound, unfamiliar, and unknown. Geography is no longer a process of learning lists of place-names by heart, history is no longer represented as a catalogue of dates, arithmetic is taught by playing with cubes, chemistry is presented as a series of experiments in the laboratory, botany and geology are studied in the field. The old cramming process is being replaced by the method of discovery; the teacher furnishes the documents and the students discover the rules; the teacher suggests the problems and the pupils set their wits to work and find out the solutions. All of which is very interesting and, on the whole, very good.
There is, however, this danger: these interesting and mind-developing methods do not tend towards automatism and habit-formation; they are, indeed, not intended to foster any form of mechanical command.
Proficiency in shorthand cannot be gained by any method of discovery, and the capacity for doing good and rapid work on a typewriter is not attained by the heuristic method. Mathematics is a science, but the absolute mastery of the multiplication table is an art and cannot be gained by the exclusive practice of playing with cubes.
“The memorizing of the multiplication table is a wearisome grind; let us therefore make it interesting by teaching in its place the theory of numeration!” “Practising scales on the piano is monotonous and inartistic; let us therefore abolish such finger-gymnastics and replace all such work by the theory of harmony!” “Learning sentences by heart and performing these drills are so tedious; let us therefore reject these forms of work, and replace them by analysing a text or by trying our hand at literary composition!”
Now, as we have seen and proved to our satisfaction, language-learning is essentially a habit-forming process, is anartand not ascience, and if we insist on considering as a science what is an art we are confusing the issues and creating a breeding-ground for all sorts of fallacies. Linguistics is a science, language-teaching is largely a science, but the practical study of languages is not; let us remember this primordial fact while we are endeavouring to make our subjects interesting.
What are the chief things making for interest? We suggest six rational and reasonable factors calculated to produce interest if not enthusiasm without any detriment to any of the eight other fundamental principles, viz.:
(1) The elimination of bewilderment.(2) The sense of progress achieved.(3) Competition.(4) Game-like exercises.(5) The right relation between teacher and student.(6) Variety.
(1) The elimination of bewilderment.(2) The sense of progress achieved.(3) Competition.(4) Game-like exercises.(5) The right relation between teacher and student.(6) Variety.
(1)The Elimination of Bewilderment.—“I can’t make out what it’s all about! What on earth is the teacherdriving at? I don’t understand these new terms nor the use of them. What is it all for? What good is it going to do me? I do hate this lesson!”
Have you ever heard comments of this sort? Have you ever made them yourself? The attitude of one making such comments (either openly or inwardly) is not a hopeful one; it gives no promise of successful work; it shows that interest is entirely lacking. What is the cause of this attitude, and how can we change it? Is it because the subject is too difficult? No, surely not, for some of the most difficult subjects may be most fascinating, even for the average student; difficulty often adds to the attractiveness of work and may even induce interest. Difficulty is not necessarily an unfavourable factor. But bewilderment invariably is!
There is an immense difference between difficult work and bewildering work; of difficulties there must necessarily be many, but of bewilderment there should be none.
New methods often bewilder those who have become used to the old ones; unfamiliar grammatical systems are bewildering to those who think that one system of grammar is common to all the languages of the world. It is disconcerting to face the fact that languages have classical and colloquial grammars existing side by side, which grammars are mutually exclusive in many respects; it is more especially bewildering to those who have never made any study of colloquial language. Easy things and easy systems are more bewildering than difficult ones if one has already become more or less familiar with the difficult system. To those who have wrestled for years with difficult and tangled orthographies a phonetic system of writing, the acme of ease and simplicity, may appear bewilderingly difficult. A good deal of bewilderment may be ascribed to prejudice or to preconceived notions concerning the nature of language; this is why (other things being equal) children are generally less bewildered than adults when learning how to use the spoken form of language; they have fewer prejudices or even none at all.
There are two ways of eliminating bewilderment. One is to give in the clearest possible way certain fundamental explanations whenever there appears to be confusion in the mind of the student; the other is to see that the programme is properly graded. Once the student grasps the scope of the particular problem or series of problems, and once the programme is reasonably well graded, there will be no more bewilderment and there will be no more puzzled learners.
We might perhaps add here that there are times, strangely enough, when the teacher finds it necessary to induce a temporary bewilderment. Categoric and unconventional devices have occasionally to be adopted in order to break certain undesirable associations; ‘mystery words’ and ‘mystery sentences’ often play a useful part in destroying false associations and vicious linguistic habits. But these intentionally created mysteries, puzzling for the time being, are not of the same order as those hopeless and perpetual mysteries which are the cause of so much discouragement and discomfiture.
It is a subject of debate whether we ought to use explanations at all for the purpose of teaching anyone to use a language. Some maintain that we should no more explain a point of theory to a schoolchild or an adult than we should to a child of eighteen months. The young child, it is said, learns to speak the language which he hears around him by dint of sheer imitation; he learnsno theory and would understand no explanations; why therefore should we explain at all?
We would suggest that the chief function of explanations is to prevent bewilderment. It may or may not be useful for a schoolchild or an adult to know why certain things are so, why French nouns are either masculine or feminine, why it is sometimesavoirand sometimesêtre, why we do not say in English hecomesn’t, why we do not sayI had better to go, and why certain French conjunctions require the use of the subjunctive. Appropriate explanations may induce a more rapid rate of progress or they may not (probably in the long run generally not), but they certainly do have the effect of satisfying that instinctive curiosity which, if unappeased, will induce bewilderment and so cause the student to lose interest.
We might add (although this is not pertinent to the subject under discussion) that in the case of a ‘corrective course’ simple and rational explanations should form an essential part of the treatment.
With regard to the second manner of eliminating the factor of bewilderment, viz. the proper grading of the course, we would refer the reader to the chapter dealing specifically with this subject.
(2)The Sense of Progress Achieved.—All work becomes more interesting when we are conscious that we have made and are making progress in that work. That sense of discouragement which is so inimical to interest arises when, in spite of our efforts, we seem to be no nearer to our goal. Statistics compiled by those who have made a special study of the psychology of learning show us that periods frequently occur in which there is no apparent progress and during which, as a necessary consequence, the interest of the student diminishes. It is generallyduring such periods (technically calledplateaux) that the adult student gives up his study as a bad job and retires from the contest.
The cause of suchplateauxwould appear to be a defective system of gradation; the student has overreached himself and has temporarily absorbed more material than he can retain permanently; he has worked too fast for his habit-forming capacities and has to mark time until the previously acquired material has been properly assimilated.
Novelty always gives a certain amount of interest to a new subject, and during the first period students often gain the idea that they are making more progress than is warranted by the facts; when the novelty wears off the reaction occurs, and a period of depression follows.
In order, therefore, to make it possible for the student always to feel he is making progress, and thus to maintain interest and zest, it is necessary to see that the course is properly graded, that the repetitions are kept up regularly and systematically, and that the rate of progression is consistently increased.
(3)Competition.—The spirit of emulation gives zest to a study. The fear of being outdistanced by one’s fellow-students or rivals, the satisfaction of gaining ground on them, and the hope of becoming or remaining the best student in the class is a stimulus not to be despised. This is really one of the chiefraisons d’êtrefor examinations, tests, and registers of progress.
(4)Game-like Exercises.—In the case of young students a considerable amount of interest can be induced by making certain forms of exercise so resemble games that the pupils do not quite know whether they are playing or working. Games of skill such as chess are almostindistinguishable from many subjects of scholastic study, and many types of puzzles and problem-games are practically identical with mathematical problems. The only danger here is that language-games may not further the student sufficiently in the habit-forming process; some types certainly will not; indeed, we can imagine types of exercise-games which would tend to inhibit it. If, however, the necessity for habit-forming is constantly present to the teacher’s mind, it is permissible to introduce at appropriate moments forms of exercise such as ‘action drill,’ ‘living grammar,’ or ‘sorting exercises,’ possessing real educative value and an interest-giving value at the same time.
(5)The Relation between Teacher and Student.—“No, I don’t take French lessons now. M. Untel used to be my teacher, but he went away, and I didn’t much like the man who took his place, and so I lost interest and stopped. The new man was all right in his way, but it wasn’t at all the same thing as with M. Untel; he didn’t have the same way of giving the lessons, and somehow or other I didn’t seem to get on with him.”
“I like the French lesson; M. Untel makes it so interesting; he’s got a nice way of explaining things, and we are never afraid of asking him questions. He doesn’t laugh at you if you say something that sounds silly; he understands what you’re trying to drive at, and always knows what the trouble is. I didn’t use to like French lessons at all. We had another master then; he always seemed to be telling you things that you didn’t feel you wanted to know, and yet when you did want to know something he never understood what it was you wanted to know.”
These expressions of opinion (written in colloquial English) give us a good idea of why two students (one anadult and the other a schoolchild) are interested in learning French when M. Untel gives the lesson.
(6)Variety.—A monotonous type of drill-work is performed during an entire lesson. In the next lesson a second and different type of monotonous drill-work is performed. The third lesson is devoted to a third type of drill-work. A fourth lesson consists of sixty minutes of another sort of grind. A fifth and a sixth lesson are similarly devoted to two other sorts of mechanical work. The net result is six dull and monotonous lessons.
Another case. Six lessons are given. Each lesson is divided into six periods of ten minutes. Each period is devoted to a different type of mechanical work or drill-work. The net result is six moderately interesting lessons.
Not that any lesson should consist exclusively of drill-work or mechanical work; there is a place in every lesson for listening to the living language in actual use; there is a place in every lesson for interesting explanations and for the factor of human interest, for the use of devices which usually engage the keenest attention of the students. If, however, there are forms of work which generally appear less popular or less vivacious, if the repeating of word-lists and the reciting of groups of sentences do tend towards dullness, then we can compensate for this temporary lack of vivacity by introducing an extra dose of variety.
A change of work is in itself a factor of interest even if the work should not be particularly interesting; variety will relieve any tedium which may possibly be associated with mechanical work. Let us suppose that on one or more occasions we do find it necessary for some particular purpose to introduce an unpopular form of exercise; we can sandwich that exercise between twopopular forms of work, and the evil ten minutes will pass unnoticed.
This point will be treated incidentally when we come to examine principle 9 (the multiple line of approach); we shall see what bearing this theory has on the question of variety and the interest engendered thereby.
One of the greatest differences between the old-fashioned manner of teaching languages and the new manner towards which we are feeling our way is a difference in what we call ‘order of progression.’ This term and the principle which is involved therein cannot, at the present stage of our knowledge, be defined in very categoric terms; its connotation is somewhat loose, for it may be applied to the general programme of study and also to any particular item of study. In some ways the principle seems to have a close connexion with gradation, and yet on the whole it appears to cover other ground, for we can imagine entirely different orders of progression, and each may be well or badly graded.
Under this particular heading we have to consider the order in which the various aspects and branches of a language may be dealt with. We may conceivably work from the written to the spoken orvice versa; we may start with systematic ear-training and articulation exercises or leave these to a later stage; we may advise or we may reject the use of a phonetic alphabet; we may teach or we may leave intonation; we may proceed from the word towards the sentence or we may take the sentence as our starting-point; we may exclude irregularities during the early stages or we may include them; we may insist on a slow and distinct pronunciation at theoutset and leave abbreviations and shortened forms to a later stage. In all these matters, and in other cases as well, we have to consider very seriously two alternatives; we have to weigh the respective advantages and disadvantages, remembering always that our object is to secure rapid but permanent progress. Each of the pairs of alternatives enumerated above has been and still is the subject of discussion and controversy; there is much to be said on both sides, and an argument in favour of the one side may seem conclusive—until we have heard the argument for the other. Let us examine each of the points we have mentioned and place the opposing views in parallel columns; for the sake of convenience we will in each case place the arguments of the older school on the left-hand side and the modern answer on the right.
Written or spoken first?
The most stable form of speech is written speech; it does not vary from one person to another or from one region to another as spoken language always does. In the written form we find the essence of a language and its treasure-house. Spoken language is a faint and attenuated counterpart, generally more or less debased and altered by slang, dialect, and slovenly habits of utterance.
The only true form of speech is spoken speech; it constitutes the living language itself. All languages were spoken long before they were written. Orthographies are comparatively recent inventions, and have no more claim to being the essence of language than shorthand.
The written aspect of language is artificial; the spoken aspect alone is pursuing the normal course of evolution, and is always freeing itself from archaic and useless encumbrances. The spoken language is a token of life, for dead languages are those which exist but in written form.
An unwritten language is almost a contradiction in terms, for a language without a literature is but a barbarous jargon, primitive in its structure, weak in vocabulary and in means of expression.
The facts are all wrong. Most, if not all, unwritten languages so far investigated prove to be of a remarkable richness. The Bantu group, to quote one example, has an inflexional system rivalling and excelling those of Latin and Greek, and possesses wonderfully rich syntactical and semantic systems.
When a child goes to school, he starts learning his language on its written basis. He starts at the A B C.
In the meantime he has already become an expert user of the spoken language, including the complete phonetic system unconsidered in written speech and a most complex and beautiful system of intonation unknown to orthographies.
Grammar only exists in written language.
If the grammar of the written language only exists in the written language, the grammar of the spoken language only exists in the spoken language.
It is easier to learn a written word than a spoken word, for the written word remains before the eyes, whereas the spoken word is intangible and evanescent.
Consequently if we learn the written word we are unable to understand what is said to us and to express ourselves orally.
It is easy to convert eye-knowledge into ear-knowledge. Once we know how a word is written we easily learn how to pronounce it.
The facts are all wrong again. The most difficult thing in language-study is to convert eye-knowledge into ear-knowledge. Once we know how a word is pronounced we can recognize and reproduce its written form with the greatest ease.
Shall we start with systematic ear-training and articulation exercises?
No. Both are of doubtful value under the best of conditions. The majority of students manage eventually to understand and to make themselves understood without such adventitious and fanciful aids.
Certainly. Unless the teaching rests on this foundation all the subsequent work will be distorted and false.
The young child does not have to undergo such processes when learning his native tongue, and yet he succeeds in hearing and in articulating correctly.
The young child at the cradle age does little else than go through a course of such exercises. He listens and imitates, at first imperfectly, but later with great expertness, recognizing and reproducing isolated sounds and complex combinations of these.
Such exercises are extremely monotonous and dull; they are likely to kill interest and to cause the students to dislike the whole process of language-learning.
Such exercises are always found extremely interesting, and tend to constitute an additional attraction to the study of the language.
Few language-teachers know how to make the foreign sounds correctly, and therefore few can give such exercises without causing the students to acquire bad habits.
No teacher should be allowed to do language-work who is not proficient in the sounds of the foreign language, for those who are incapable of making the sounds cannot be good language-teachers.
It is useless to attempt to teach systematically the sounds of the language, seeing that these vary from one region to another and from one person to another.
Any form of normal speech will serve as a model, provided that the speech is that of educated natives. In the absence of anymodel at all, the student will speak the foreign language with the sounds of his mother-tongue!
Shall we admit or reject the use of phonetic transcription?
Reject it certainly, for various reasons.
Accept it certainly for various reasons.
It is extremely difficult; those who have been learning languages for years, even languages with strange alphabets, find phonetic symbols so puzzling that they are forced to discontinue their efforts.
It is extremely easy; young children learn to use it readily and accurately. Those who experience any difficulty are those who are unable or unwilling to form new habits. A language is such a difficult thing that we must utilize every means of making our work easier.
It would take weeks or even months to learn the strange and unnatural symbols.
The half a dozen strange symbols usually required in addition to those of the ordinary alphabet can usually be learnt at sight without any special practice. Even a strange ‘orthographic alphabet’ such as the Russian one can be mastered in a few days.
The whole proceeding is an unnatural one, contrary to all the laws of language.
All writing is an unnatural process in the sense that it is not performed by instinct, but has to be learnt as an art. Of all systems of writing, however, the phonetic system is the one most in accordance with logic and natural law.
It is trying to the eyes.
Most phonetic alphabets are clearer than those used in German and Russian, for instance.
It is a waste of valuable time to learn an artificial alphabet.
The learning of a perfectly natural alphabet is in itself of educative value; it inculcates the idea of phonetic writing andserves once for all as an essential preparation for the study of any number of foreign languages.
It is evident that the use of a phonetic alphabet will make havoc of the ordinary spelling to be learnt subsequently.
It has been ascertained experimentally that those who have been taught to read and to write a language phonetically become quite as efficient spellers as those not so trained. In many cases the phonetically trained student becomes the better speller.
To learn phonetic writing means learning two languages instead of one.
In all cases where the traditional orthography is not in agreement with the native pronunciation the student is necessarily forced to learn the two things. The use of a phonetic alphabet is the only way to perform this double work rapidly, rationally, and with the minimum of confusion.
Phonetic texts always give slovenly and incorrect manners of pronouncing words.
Authors of phonetic texts always strive to give an accurate rendering of the language as really and effectively spoken by educated natives; they rarely attempt to teach forms that have no existence in the language as actually used in ordinary speech.
Should we teach intonation in the early stages?
No. It is a fancy subject of little or no importance and certainly forms no integral part of language-study.
Yes. It is a subject of great importance and forms an integral part of language-study. In many languages speech without the correct tones is only half intelligible; in Chinese and other languages it is perfectly unintelligible.
In any case it can be left to the very final stage of the programme.
If it is not taught in the very earliest stage correct intonation will be very difficult to acquire. Language-study is a habit-forming process, and the habit of speaking with wrong tones is a bad habit.
Word or sentence first?
The word is the unit of language.
Whatever the unit of language is, it is not the word.
Words are definite entities and constitute the component parts of sentences.
Sentences may be reduced to component parts; sometimes these are words, but quite as often they are word-groups (such as compounds and phrases) or units less than words (such as affixes).
The word, not the sentence, is the basis of translation. Since a word has a definite meaning and conveys a definite idea it is easy to find the foreign equivalent.
A sentence has generally, if not always, a definite foreign equivalent. A word is so unstable that it may entirely change its meaning when used with other words.
It is easy to memorize words and difficult to memorize sentences.
It is as easy to memorize a six-word sentence as six words.
We speak in words.
We express our thoughts in sentences.
If we learn a few dozen words we can build up thousands of sentences from these by the synthetic process.
If we learn a few dozen sentences we can construct thousands of others from these by disintegration and substitution, and, what is more, we can recognize them and use them even in rapid speech.
Words are the basis of grammar.
Sentences are the basis of syntax.
The collection of word-families is a valuable way of enriching one’s vocabulary.
The enriching of one’s vocabulary should be left to a comparatively late stage in the study of language, especially in the study of most derivatives and compounds.
Words constitute the ‘primary matter’ (i.e.matter to be memorized integrally without analysis or synthesis). Sentences constitute the ‘secondary matter’ (i.e. matter to be derived synthetically from primary matter).
It is precisely because sentences are so rarely considered as ‘memorized matter’ that so few people manage to understand the foreign language when spoken or to express themselves correctly in it.
Take care of the words and the sentences will take care of themselves.
Take care of the sentences and the words will take care of themselves.
Should irregularities be included or excluded during the earlier stages?
The regular is easy, the irregular is difficult; in the interest of gradation let us therefore exclude temporarily the irregular.
Irregular forms are generally more used and more useful than regular ones; in the interest of gradation let us therefore include all necessary irregularities even in the earlier stages.
Irregular forms make it difficult to formulate precise rules.
Rules with numerous exceptions are not worth formulating at all.
The normal and logical should precede the abnormal and illogical.
Then, as natural languages are full of abnormalities and bad logic, let the student start with an artificial language!
Immediate fluency or gradual fluency?
It is easy to pronounce a sentence slowly and distinctly; difficult to pronounce it rapidly and fluently.
It is just as easy to pronounce a sentence rapidly and fluently as to pronounce it slowly; it is even easier in some cases. The converse is only true when we are constructing our sentences synthetically, word by word, but this is not a sound process.
It is more correct to articulate clearly and deliberately.
To articulate more clearly and deliberately than the average educated native is a mark of inaccuracy, for, as Dr Cummings says, “fluency is an integral part of accuracy.”
‘Shortened forms,’ such asdon’torI’m, should never be taught. The student, alas! will only too soon pick up these undesirable vulgarisms. Don’t hasten the process.
All ‘shortened forms’ which are invariably used in normal speech by educated natives (e.g.don’t,I’m) should be taught to the exclusion of the longer form. The student, alas! will only too soon acquire the habit of using pedanticisms. Let us not hasten the process.
It is always easy, too easy, to transform clear and incisive speech into a blurred and slovenly style of speaking.
It is almost impossible, in the case of foreign students, to convert an over-distinct and halting speech into a smooth, harmonious style of utterance with the proper cadence and rhythm. It is for this reason that when a foreigner wishes to saySunday,two to two, orfour for four, we so frequently understandsome day, 2, 2, 2, or 4, 4, 4.
A vowel or even a consonant may perhaps disappear when we are speaking very rapidly or very carelessly. When, however, we are deliberately teaching a word, we should give the most perfect model and employ the most sonorous forms.
The maintenance of such syllables in ordinary rapid speech is one of the characteristics ofpidgin or foreigner’s speech. It is not yet sufficiently realized that the use of certain sounds is only correct in slow speech or in isolated words. If ‘stayshun’ is a more sonorous and correct rendering of s-t-a-t-i-o-n than ‘stayshn,’ then ‘stayshon’ is still better, and ‘stay-si-on’ or ‘stay-ti-on’ better still.
Conclusion
On the basis of the foregoing considerations, we conclude that it is desirable, if not essential:
On the basis of the foregoing considerations, we conclude that it is desirable, if not essential:
(a) To learn to read and to write before learning to speak and to understand what is said.
(a) To learn to speak and to understand what is said before learning to read and to write.
(b) To avoid systematic ear-training and articulation exercises, at any rate in the early stages.
(b) To start a language-course with systematic ear-training and articulation exercises.
(c) To reject the use of phonetic transcription.
(c) To make a most extensive use of the phonetic transcription, especially in the early stages.
(d) To leave to a very late stage or to omit altogether the study of intonation.
(d) To teach intonation at a very early stage.
(e) To memorize words and to learn to inflect them, before memorizing and learning how to construct sentences.
(e) To memorize sentences and to learn how to construct them, before memorizing words and learning how to build either inflected forms or derivatives.
(f) To avoid irregular and idiomatic forms in the earlier stages.
(f) To include irregular and idiomatic forms even in the earlier stages.
(g) To pronounce very slowly and distinctly, leaving fluency to a later stage.
(g) To teach from the outset a rapid and fluent style of pronunciation, reserving more distinct utterance to a later stage.
All our experience leads us to endorse most emphatically all the statements made in the right-hand column.
Numbers of those who were formerly of the opinion expressed in the left-hand column have become and are becoming converted to the opposite view; the contrary case is practically unknown. The modernists are not arguing in the dark; they have their data and their evidence, and are perfectly well acquainted with the arguments of the ancients, whereas few of those professing the older views have ever even heard of the modernists’ case, still less given it any reasonable amount of consideration.
We should note that the protagonists of each of the two schools are not invariably as sharply and as consistently divided as in the foregoing comparison. It is only natural that we should find individuals taking the modern view in the case of certain of the points quoted, and the ancient view in the other cases.
An enthusiastic adherent of the phonetic theory will not necessarily endorse the view that rapid and fluent speech should precede slow and distinct speech. One may believe in teaching sentences before words and yet be unconvinced as to the necessity for phonetics and all that that implies. Some may favour the memorizing of sentences at an early stage, but will not agree that the colloquial language should be given a more favoured place than the classical.
The two schools, however, do appear to be fairly well defined, for in the majority of cases it will most probably be found that those who favour the ancient view in any one respect will generally favour the whole of the ancient programme and regard with distrust and misgivings the order of progression generally recommended by the modernists.
Let us sum up, and set forth in parallel columns the two most widely differing orders of progression in order that we may fully realize that each is the antithesis of the other.
The Ancient Order(based on tradition)
The Modern Order(based on psychology)
First, learn how to convert ‘dictionary-words’ (i.e.etymons) into ‘working sentence-units’ (i.e.ergons). This will be done by memorizing the rules of accidence and derivation.
First, become proficient in recognizing and in producing foreign sounds and tones, both isolated and in combinations.
Secondly, learn the general structure of sentences. This will be done chiefly by reading and translation exercises.
Secondly, memorize (without analysis or synthesis) a large number of complete sentences chosen specifically for this purpose by the teacher or by the composer of the course.
Thirdly, memorize the irregular or idiomatic phenomena of the language.
Thirdly, learn to build up all types of sentences (both regular and irregular) from ‘working sentence-units’ (i.e.ergons) chosen specifically for this purpose by the teacher or by the composer of the course.
Lastly, (if necessary) convert the eye-knowledge’ of the language into ‘ear-knowledge’ by means of reading aloud and by ‘conversation-lessons.’
Lastly, learn how to convert ‘dictionary words’ (i.e.etymons)into ‘working sentence-units’ (i.e.ergons).
An irrational order of progression is bound to entail much ‘cramming,’ a process by which much information (valuable or valueless) is retained for a short time (generally for examination purposes), but without ensuring any permanent results except bad results.
A rational order of progression will not only rapidly secure useful and desirable results, but will also encourage the formation of the right sort of language-habits and ensure as a permanent result the capacity for using the foreign language in the fullest sense of the term.