The ninth and last of the essential principles is, in reality, more than a mere principle of language-study, it is even more than a principle of study, it is almost a philosophy in itself. It seems to be a special application of a doctrine which, to many, constitutes a line of conduct, an attitude, towards most of the problems and interests of our daily existence. This attitude is fairly well designated by the termeclectic; this, however, is not an ideal term, seeing that, like so many others, it possesses a double connotation. Its first sense is distinctly pejorative; it suggests unoriginality, a lack of coherent system, a patchwork of other people’s opinions. In its second and broader sense, so far from being a term of disparagement or reproach it implies the deliberate choice of all things which are good, a judicious and reasoned selection of all the diverse factors the sum of which may constitute a complete and homogeneous system. If, therefore, we speak here of the doctrine or attitude of eclecticism, we are obviously using the term in its second and broader connotation; used in this way it stands as the antithesis of prejudice, of faddiness, of crankiness, and of fixed ideas. Many of those who practise eclecticism call it the ‘philosophy of the complete life’; whether this is or is not a philosophy in the true sense of the term, we will leave to philosophers to discuss; we will content ourselves by quoting a fewmaxims or aphorisms which will serve to make clear the attitude in question.
All is good which tends towards good.
The recognition and appreciation of any particular good thing does not necessarily invalidate those things which do not resemble it, nor even cause us to disparage or deprecate things which are seemingly in conflict with it.
Let us neglect nothing except futilities and things which we have proved to our satisfaction to be in themselves bad and harmful.
Two or more opposing principles, ideas, likes, operations, interests, in short any two or more conflicting tendencies, may be combined, and this combination can be effected by other means than the expedient of compromising. Lobster salad and fruit salad may be attractive to the gourmet, but no compromise between the two would be palatable.
It is not always the height of wisdom and expediency to kill too many birds with one stone.
This attitude towards life in general does indeed solve many problems and vexed questions. It constitutes a method of conciliating inconsistencies, both real and apparent. It explains how it is that one can appreciate both classical and popular music, classical and light literature, how idealism may exist side by side with a keen interest in material things. The real and the ideal, scientific precision and unscientific emotion, patriotism and internationalism, are not incompatible with each other in the ‘philosophy of the complete life.’
And what has all this to do with language-study? What bearing have these fanciful or fantastical philosophical considerations on the problem of teaching or learning a language rapidly and well? The connexion is clearer than one might imagine at first sight, for each of the aphorisms quoted above may serve, if not as a definition of the ninth principle, at least as a strong suggestion of what the principle implies.
Those who have followed us, point by point, in our enumeration and analysis of the eight preceding principles may be in perfect agreement with our conclusions, but may, nevertheless, be sorely troubled as to how they are to be carried out in practice. On many points there appear to be conflicts and inconsistencies; in many cases it would appear to be exceedingly difficult, if not impossible, to observe two or more of these principles simultaneously. How is habit-forming consistent with interest? How can we combine a study of phonetics with a study of orthography? How can we combine the development of our spontaneous capacities with that of our studial capacities? How can we observe the principle of accuracy and combine it with other principles which are seemingly in conflict with it—such as the inhibition of our powers of analysis and synthesis? How are we to foster a keen appreciation of the classical or literary style of composition, and yet concentrate on the colloquial and trivial? The principles of gradation and of order of progression seem to reveal inconsistencies when they are compared with each other; there is more than a seeming inconsistency between the process of unconscious assimilation and the principle of concreteness. Translation is destructive, or is often considered so, of the power of ‘thinking in the foreign language,’ and yet it is suggested that the student should do translation work and at the same time train himself to think in the foreign language.
These and many other problems or difficulties suggested by the careful study of the foregoing eight principles can only be solved by the thorough understanding of the spirit of eclecticism underlying this ninth principle. We have alluded to the philosophy of the complete life in order that we may better realize the significance of what we may term the complete method.
This complete method, mark you, is not a compromise between two or more antagonistic schools; it boldly incorporates what is valuable in any system or method of teaching and refuses to recognize any conflict, except the conflict between the good and the inherently bad. The complete method will embody every type of teaching except bad teaching, and every process of learning except defective learning.
The complete method (of which the multiple line of approach is the expression) is the antithesis of the special or patent method. Patent or proprietary methods very often, but not always, resemble patent medicines. We know what they are. A patent language method, like a patent medicine, claims to prevent or to cure all possible ills (linguistic or physical, as the case may be) by repeated applications of one special device or drug; both of them claim to kill innumerable birds with one stone. One is always inclined to doubt the efficiency of an instrument which is designed to perform too many distinct functions; a tool designed to serve both as a hairbrush and as a hammer is not likely either to brush or to hammer very efficiently, and our imagination refuses to picture what one vehicle could possibly afford us all the advantages of a bicycle, a motor-car, a wheelbarrow, and an express train, not to mention those of a boat or balloon. One dish, however nutritive, succulent, and satisfying, will not constitute a complete banquet.
Let us apply the principle of the multiple line of approach to the solving of a number of vexed questions, well known to all those who have read or participated in discussions and controversies on the subject of language-teaching.
Shall reading be intensive or extensive? That is to say, shall we take a text, study it line by line, referring at every moment to our dictionary and our grammar, comparing, analysing, translating, and retaining every expression that it contains? Or shall we take a large number of texts and read them rapidly and carelessly, trusting that quantity will make up for the lack of quality in our attention and the lack of intensity?
Shall we translate? We can learn much from translation; it affords us many types of interesting and valuable exercises. Or shall we ban translation? For we know that under certain conditions translation may foster and encourage more than one vicious tendency.
Shall we memorize sentences or shall we learn to construct them, both synthetically and by the substitution process?[5]Either plan seems to have its advantages and its disadvantages.
Which is better: drill-work or free work? The principle of accuracy inclines us towards the former; the principle of interest and our instinctive striving for naturalness incline us towards the latter.
Are we to study with conscious attention or with effortless attention? In the average lesson or language-course, the former alone is considered, but the young child, or the adult assimilating a language under ideal conditions, knows no other than the latter.
Shall we assimilate our language-material by readingor by listening to people? Many claim to have mastered a language rapidly and successfully by the one method, while many others ascribe their success to the fact that they have learnt exclusively by the other.
Which is the best method of retaining language-material: by repeating it aloud or by writing it? There again, we find many who are staunch adherents of either method (and consequently opponents of the other).
Active or passive work? Do we gain and retain our impressions by speaking and writing, or do we in reality acquire proficiency in the use of language by the processes of reading and listening?
Without the principle of the multiple line of approach there are only two ways of settling these and all similar questions. One is to adopt one alternative, rejecting the second; the other is to effect a working compromise between the two. Shall we read intensively or extensively? “Read intensively,” says one; “No, read extensively,” says another; and the compromiser comes along and says, “Read neither very intensively nor very extensively.” Shall we translate or shall we banish translation? “Translate by all means,” says one; “Banish translation,” says another; and the compromiser says, “Translate a little occasionally, but do not let the translation be particularly good.” Drill-work or free work? The compromiser suggests something between the two, mechanical enough to destroy naturalness, and free enough to encourage inaccuracy. Shall we memorize sentences, or shall we construct them? The compromiser suggests that we should aid our memory by doses of mental synthesis, in fact just enough to prevent the laws of memorizing from operating.
The principle of the multiple line of approach suggests a third and better procedure. Instead of accepting theone and rejecting the other, instead of adopting the middle course which frequently militates against the success of either extreme, this principle says, “Adopt them both concurrently, but not in one and the same operation. At times read intensively; at others read extensively. At appropriate moments, and for specific purposes, make the fullest use of all sorts of translation work; at other moments, and for other specific purposes, banish translation entirely. At times, more especially during the early stages, let there be an abundance of drill-work; later, but not before the student is perfectly ripe for it, let us introduce free work; and then let the two types alternate. At certain moments, more especially during the early stages, let the memorizing of sentences be carried out on a most extensive scale; at other moments, as a distinctly separate operation, let us cause the student to perform exercises in constructing correct sentences himself.”
We have had occasion to note that this principle suggests the inadvisability of killing too many birds with one stone. The principle goes farther and adds to the figure of speech just quoted the two following corollaries, viz.: “Find the right stone to kill the right bird,” and “It is often advisable to kill one bird with more than one stone.” There are many different ways of teaching a difficult sound, there are many different ways of teaching a difficult point in grammar, a curious form of construction, or of causing the student to discriminate between two things which ought not to be confused. In these and in all similar cases, there is no reason why several methods should not be used concurrently; they need not be strictly co-ordinated. The cumulative effect of approaching the difficulty from different and independent angles will certainly secure the desired result. Superficial and rapid work on most points plus intensive and thorough work on certain essential specific points will generally ensure a well-assimilated whole. Either of these methods will tend to correct any disadvantages attached to the other and will be complementary to the other. The high degree of accuracy which results from intensive work will tend to spread by contagion to that portion of the work which must necessarily be done in a more summary fashion.
This principle, which underlies all others, leaves the door open for new devices, new methods, and improvements on the old ones. It leaves us free to welcome and to adopt all sorts of innovations, provided such innovations are likely to prove of value.
We will quote one example of what may happen when we do not sufficiently realize the importance or the scope of the ninth principle.
The teacher of French may consider that a certain amount of theory is useful and helpful; he may consider it necessary to explain all manner of things to students—how certain sounds are formed, how certain verbs are conjugated, why certain constructions must be used; he may consider it his duty to give information on hundreds of doubtful or difficult points. And he is often perfectly justified in doing so; explanations of the right sort and given at the right moment are indeed valuable.
This same teacher considers also that many opportunities should be given of hearing French spoken, in order to train his student’s powers of observation and of semantic association. This also is good and reasonable; passive audition, unconscious or semi-conscious assimilation, immediate understanding and expression, are processes the value of which we have always insisted upon.
But this teacher, too anxious to kill two birds with onestone, combines the two forms of work; he says, “I have a number of difficult things to explain, and I will explain them in French; the student will therefore have a double gain.” The student, however, unless already very considerably advanced, is not a gainer but a loser; he fails to understand the explanation, and in his efforts to do so he fails to adopt the proper receptive attitude towards the actual language material. After all, we do not learn how to write shorthand from books written exclusively in shorthand, and the book which teaches us how to use the Morse code is not printed exclusively in the Morse code. To use the foreign language for the purposes of a vehicular language under the pretext that the more the student hears of the foreign language the better he will learn, is a method which stands fully condemned when we properly realize the nature and scope of the principle we are now examining.
We may sum up this principle of the multiple line of approach fairly concisely in the following terms: Let us approach the language, or any specific point in the language, simultaneously from several distinct points of departure, by several distinct but gradually converging avenues. The observing of this principle will alone enable us to observe consistently and successfully the eight other vital principles which it has been the object of this book to set forth.
Until we know more about speech-psychology and the ultimate processes of language-study, it is doubtful whether we can embody in the form of a concrete principle the subject treated in this chapter. The writer would prefer, at this stage of our knowledge, simply to submit the following considerations in the hope that future research will throw further light on the subject and render it possible to co-ordinate it with those branches of linguistic pedagogy which are more familiar to us. Indeed, when we have ascertained experimentally the exact nature of what we shall call ‘memorized’ and ‘constructed’ speech-material, it is conceivable that the whole subject will become so clarified that it will be possible to reduce to one main principle all or most of what has been said in the foregoing chapters.
Now, whenever we open our lips to speak, or whenever we set pen to paper, it is with the object of producing one or moreunits of speech. These units may be short and simple, such as:Yes,No,Here, or they may be word-groups, such as:Very well,I don’t know,Yes, if I can, or they may be complete and even complicated sentences containing one or more subordinate clauses. But whatever the unit may be, long or short, simple or complex, one thing is clear:each unit has either been memorized by the user integrally as it stands or else is composed by the userfrom smaller and previously memorized units. This is a fundamental fact about speech which stands out clearly and unmistakably; it is not a fanciful supposition or an idle conjecture, it is an axiomatic truth.
Now let us term ‘memorized matter’ everything that we have memorized integrally, and ‘constructed matter’ everything that we have not so memorized, but which we compose or build up as we go on. Can we distinguish the two things? In most cases we can. Monosyllabic words have generally (although not necessarily) been memorized as they stand; we say and understand the wordcat, because once upon a time we had the occasion to hear the word in question and the opportunity to connect it with its meaning and to retain it. The wordcatis included in our memorized matter. Probably most words of two or even more syllables have been acquired as memorized matter. Great numbers of compound words have also been acquired in the same way. A considerable number of word-groups and sentences are included in our memorized matter. Such sentences asI don’t know,Just come here,Pick it up,I don’t want it, are most probably memorized with most speakers.
Now consider a unit of speech such as:I saw Henry Siddings between six and half-past at the corner of Rithington Lane. Is it the sort of unit which we should use as a result of having memorized it integrally? An actor or reciter may indeed have occasion to do so, but apart from those whose duty or hobby it is to memorize ‘lines’ it is an extremely unlikely specimen of memorized matter. The writer has just composed it, and does not even know whether there exists such a surname as Siddings or a place called Rithington Lane; there are millions of chances to one that it is an entirely original sentence. Most of the things we utter or write come into the category of constructed matter; their component parts have been memorized integrally and so constitute memorized matter; but the complete units areconstructed, they are the result of rapid and probably unconscious acts of synthesis.
This is no place for statistics, even if data were available; it must be left to investigators to ascertain the relative amount of memorized and constructed matter used by the young child in his first months or years of speech. Inquiries of this sort should afford some valuable and surprising evidence; the writer has had occasion to note that a French-speaking child of about ten was even unconscious of the composition of units such aspomme de terreorquatre-vingts, just as the average adult English person is unconscious of the composition offortnightornevertheless.[6]What will certainly complicate such research work is the paradoxical fact that constructed matter may become memorized by dint of frequent repetition. A further complication is added by the fact that the two types of matter may also be considered from the point of view, not of the speaker, but of the auditor.
One of the questions that concerns us at present is to ascertain what should be the right proportions of memorized and constructed matter in the initial stages of learning a foreign language.
Too large a proportion of memorized matter will render study unnecessarily tedious, for memorizing work, even under the best of conditions, is less interesting than the piecing together of known units. Too large a proportion of constructed matter, on the other hand, will certainly result in an artificial sort of speech or a pidgin form, with all its evil consequences. At the present day, asin the past, the tendency in language-study is to pay far too much attention to constructing and not nearly enough to memorizing.
What concerns us still more is to ascertain definitely by experiment what is the exact nature of those processes by which constructed matter is derived from memorized matter. We must find out what really does happen in the case of young children in the first stages of their speech-experience, and by what mental processes those persons called born linguists attain their results.
There would appear to be three distinct manners of producing constructed matter; these may be termed respectively:
(a) Grammatical construction.(b) Ergonic construction.(c) Conversion.
(a) Grammatical construction.(b) Ergonic construction.(c) Conversion.
This process consists in memorizing ‘dictionary words’ (the infinitives of verbs, the nominative singular of nouns, the masculine nominative singular of adjectives, etc.) and of forming sentences from them (with or without the intervention of translation) by means of applying the various rules of accidence, syntax, derivation, and composition.
The following is a typical example of the process. An English student wishes to form as constructed matter the German sentence:Ich habe mit grösstem Vergnügen seinen freundlichen Vorschlag angenommen, from the previously memorized unitsich,haben,mit,gross,Vergnügen,sein,freundlich,Vorschlag,annehmen. Besides having to determine (in accordance with rules of word-order) therelative position of the nine primary units, he has to perform the twelve following operations:
(1) Choose the appropriate form of the pronoun of the first person singular.(2) Choose the appropriate tense of the verbannehmen.(3) Derive the present tense first person singular form ofhaben.(4) Determine the case governed by the prepositionmit.(5) Derive the superlative form of the adjectivegross.(6) Determine the gender of the nounVergnügen.(7) Derive the masculine dative singular form of the superlative adjectivegrösst—when not preceded by a determinative.(8) Determine the gender of the nounVorschlag.(9) Determine the function of the same in this particular sentence.(10) Determine the form of the possessive adjective of the third person masculine singular when modifying a masculine accusative singular noun.(11) Determine the form of the adjectivefreundlichwhen preceded by a possessive adjective and when modifying a masculine accusative noun.(12) Derive the past participleangenommenfrom the infinitive.
(1) Choose the appropriate form of the pronoun of the first person singular.
(2) Choose the appropriate tense of the verbannehmen.
(3) Derive the present tense first person singular form ofhaben.
(4) Determine the case governed by the prepositionmit.
(5) Derive the superlative form of the adjectivegross.
(6) Determine the gender of the nounVergnügen.
(7) Derive the masculine dative singular form of the superlative adjectivegrösst—when not preceded by a determinative.
(8) Determine the gender of the nounVorschlag.
(9) Determine the function of the same in this particular sentence.
(10) Determine the form of the possessive adjective of the third person masculine singular when modifying a masculine accusative singular noun.
(11) Determine the form of the adjectivefreundlichwhen preceded by a possessive adjective and when modifying a masculine accusative noun.
(12) Derive the past participleangenommenfrom the infinitive.
It will be noticed that most of these operations require, in addition to a perfect memory of the grammatical rules (including numbers of word-lists), a fine power of logical discrimination. Needless to say, no speaker of German actually does perform any of these operations (except perhaps on very special and rare occasions), and we dismiss as a patent absurdity the supposition that the young native child constructs his matter in any such way.
In this process we work from an entirely different sort of memorized matter; instead of being merely ‘dictionary words’ it consists of (a) more or less complete sentences, and (b) units of speech which we may term ‘ergons,’i.e.‘working units’ derived and inflected in advance by the teacher (or the author of the course), each ergon being thus quite ready for use.
The following is a typical example of the process:
A fairly simple sentence is memorized; let us say,Ich kann meinen Stock heute nicht nehmen, “I can’t take my stick to-day.” Appropriate groups of ergons are also memorized, such as:
Aich,IBkann,canmuss,mustsoll,am towerde,shallkönnte,couldmusste,had tosollte,ought towürde,shouldCmeinen Stock,my stickmeinen Bleistift,my pencilIhren Regenschirm,your umbrelladen Stuhl,the chairdenselben,the sameihn,him,itsie,her,ites,itDheute,to-daymorgen,to-morrowheute morgen,this morningmorgen früh,to-morrow morningum zwei Uhr,at two o’clocknächsten Monat,next monthnächste Woche,next weeknächstes Jahr,next yearEnicht,notFnehmen,takesehen,seebringen,bring,taketragen,carry,takesuchen,look forfinden,findbekommen,get
Aich,IBkann,canmuss,mustsoll,am towerde,shallkönnte,couldmusste,had tosollte,ought towürde,shouldCmeinen Stock,my stickmeinen Bleistift,my pencilIhren Regenschirm,your umbrelladen Stuhl,the chairdenselben,the sameihn,him,itsie,her,ites,itDheute,to-daymorgen,to-morrowheute morgen,this morningmorgen früh,to-morrow morningum zwei Uhr,at two o’clocknächsten Monat,next monthnächste Woche,next weeknächstes Jahr,next yearEnicht,notFnehmen,takesehen,seebringen,bring,taketragen,carry,takesuchen,look forfinden,findbekommen,get
The student will then form (as constructed matter) as many of the 16,128 resultant sentences[7]as is considered necessary for this particular vocabulary. This will be done by means of drills and habit-forming exercises based on the following substitution table:
ABCDEFIchkannmeinen Stockheutenichtnehmenmussmeinen BleistiftmorgensehensollIhren Regenschirmheute morgenbringenwerdeden Stuhlmorgen frühtragenkönntedenselbenum zwei Uhrsuchenmussteihnnächsten Monatfindensolltesienächste Wochebekommenwürdeesnächstes Jahr
The essential difference between grammatical and ergonic construction lies in the sort of memorized matter used in either case. In grammatical construction the memorized matter consists exclusively of what we have called ‘dictionary words’ (a large proportion of which require modifying in some form or other before being available for use in a sentence), whereas in ergonic construction two sorts of memorized matter are required: a more or less complete sentence and a number of ergons (units of language inflected or composed in advance for the student, instead of by the student).
This process consists in memorizing a number of sentences all composed in a more or less uniform way.
When these sentences have been memorized, the student is taught by a series of appropriate drills and habit-forming exercises to convert each sentence into another form.
The following is a typical example of the process. The student memorizes the ten following sentences:
(1)He goes to the station.(2)He comes here.(3)He takes it.(4)He waits for it.(5)He stays there.(6)He writes a letter.(7)He reads a book.(8)He speaks French.(9)He gets up.(10)He’s here.[8]
(1)He goes to the station.(2)He comes here.(3)He takes it.(4)He waits for it.(5)He stays there.(6)He writes a letter.(7)He reads a book.(8)He speaks French.(9)He gets up.(10)He’s here.[8]
He then listens to the teacher, who says:
and after one or more repetitions performs the conversion himself in the same way, with or without prompting by the teacher or the book.
The teacher will then change the sentences in some other manner, for instance:
The student listens, and subsequently performs the same series. On other occasions each of the ten sentences may be converted into forms such as:
He’ll go to the station, etc.He wants to go to the station, etc.He’s going to the station, etc.He didn’t go to the station, etc.He went to the station, etc.He’s gone to the station, etc.It’s impossible for him to go to the station, etc.He always goes to the station, etc.
He’ll go to the station, etc.He wants to go to the station, etc.He’s going to the station, etc.He didn’t go to the station, etc.He went to the station, etc.He’s gone to the station, etc.It’s impossible for him to go to the station, etc.He always goes to the station, etc.
In the case of conversion the difference between memorized and constructed matter is not so marked as in the two synthetic operations, nor is the yield of constructed matter so great. Indeed, in extreme cases, the form into which the original sentence is to be converted will have to be learnt integrally, and so becomes in itself memorized matter. On the other hand, some forms of this type of work are practically identical with exercises based on ergonic construction, and for these two reasons it has been held that conversion is not a distinct process for forming constructed matter, but merely a modified form of ergonic work. Whether this view is justified or not is a matter more of academic than of practical interest to the language-teacher.
These then appear to be the only three processes known by which memorized matter can be developed and expanded into original composition. What we have called grammatical construction is the classical and almost universal method. What we have called ergonic construction is embodied more or less unsystematically in a number of language-courses and the more enlightened books of instruction. Conversion is also practised, but still in a sporadic and desultory fashion.
Now, some thirty years ago the reform movement started. In several different countries bands of zealous pioneers took up arms against the then prevailing system and sought to put an end to it. The reform prospered. The reformers have carried all before them, and the daring innovators of twenty or thirty years ago now enjoy the prestige that their efforts have earned for them.
What was the nature of this reform? What abuses has it swept away? And for what innovations have we to thank it? It would appear, on analysis, to have had a threefold object:
(a) To promote the rational and systematic study of pronunciation by means of phonetic theory and transcription.(b) To promote the idea that a language is used primarily as a means of communicating thoughts.(c) To promote the idea that foreign languages should be learned by methods approximating to those by which we learn our native tongue.
(a) To promote the rational and systematic study of pronunciation by means of phonetic theory and transcription.
(b) To promote the idea that a language is used primarily as a means of communicating thoughts.
(c) To promote the idea that foreign languages should be learned by methods approximating to those by which we learn our native tongue.
The first two objects have certainly been attained; phonetics is the order of the day, and both teachers and students have to use phonetic symbols whether they like it or not; moreover, the new generation does recognize that the deciphering and analysis of ancient texts is not the primary use of language.
The third object has not been so successfully pursued; indeed, we are still very far from learning the foreign tongue by the same processes as those by which we learnt our own. The chief reason for this failure was a bad diagnosis of the chief evils of the system hitherto employed. Many of the reformers and most of their disciples imagined ‘translation’ to be the root of the evil, and so translation in every shape or form was banned; there must be no bilingualism at all, and so the mother-tongue must be excluded from the course, the lessons must be conducted entirely in the foreign language.
But translation and the use of the mother-tongue, as it turns out, are perfectly harmless and in many cases positively beneficial; the evil lay in the exaggerated attention which had always been paid to grammaticalconstruction; that was the dragon that the St Georges might well have slain had not the red herring of ‘translation’ unfortunately been drawn across the track. As it was, the red herring was duly run down and annihilated, and the dragon still lives!
The misunderstanding was natural enough; logicians would quote it as an example of the fallacy of the False Cause. The process of grammatical construction was carried out by means of a vicious form of translation exercise, and the result was utterly bad. Two important reforms might have been effected: in the first place, the vicious form of translation might have been replaced by a beneficial form; and secondly, new and more worthy uses of translation might have been found. But the act of translation itself (nay, the mere use of the mother-tongue) was made the scapegoat and so paid the penalty. It is now time for a second band of reformers to attack and to destroy the original cause of unsuccessful language-study, viz. grammatical construction, or at any rate to limit it to special cases and to appropriate occasions. It is time, too, to rehabilitate in some measure the character of the comparatively innocent process of translation, and to remove the stigma attached to those who still use the mother-tongue as a vehicular language, and by so doing proceed naturally enough from the known to the unknown.
These are no reactionary suggestions; they are made in the spirit of the nine essential principles treated in the previous chapters, and are not in contradiction to the urgent plea set forth in these pages for the recognition and fostering of our ‘spontaneous’ capacities for language-study. We can afford to ignore no necessary tool in our efforts to teach well and to produce perfect results, and translation is often a necessary tool, especially duringthe process of deriving constructed from memorized matter.
We suggest for the moment no tenth principle based on these considerations; we submit the problem and we more than hint at a solution. It is now time for experimental work on ‘ergonic’ lines, and the data to be obtained thereby will enable us to form our conclusions and to embody them among the principles of language-study.