Thinking About
Language and Teaching
Sometimes when I overhear a conversation...the question, and
the way it was being addressed, sticks in my head. Recently, I overheard some friends discussing
language. Should we think of language as
a living thing or is language universal.
This is clearly a huge and hugely complicated question, and a topic I
have no special expertise in, but it stuck in my head and seems worth
considering, even if only partially by a non-expert.
Language changes.
This observation alone is neither disputable nor controversial. My good friend Alan has to translate for me
the meaning of texts written in my own language long ago because I can no
longer understand them (and I am a reasonably educated person). That is some serious change. Thankfully, Alan's decoder ring allows communication to remain possible. The nature of that change, however, is another story.
Is the best language to describe this calling it a ‘living
language.’ Arguing about this phrase seems to distract
us from what is interesting here. In
fact, when we argue about the meaning of that phrase our protestations
demonstrate the ongoing struggle, the push and pull, that results in language
changing (or not) over time.
At the same time, the fact that language changes over time
does not mean that at any given time there are no rules or customs or
conventions that must be understood, ideally mastered, for communication to
happen. Just like the invention of
moving pictures did not erase the existence of still photos, language is both fluid
and concrete, contested and deployed as if agreed upon.
Chomsky and others, of course, advance the argument that there
is a fundamental and universal structure to all languages over all time. True or not, this contention is not contrary
to the fact that the historically specific artifacts of a language, its
specific symbols and representations, change—that the precise meaning of words
and phrases, conventions about word order and grammar, as well as the existence
and extinction of words and conventions at all, are all both (somewhat) stable
at any given time even as they have clearly and indisputably changed over time.
This paradox of fluidity and stasis can be difficult to
grasp. While thinking about it now, I do
not pretend to fully grasp it, but I do think it worth considering. It is as least as valuable as memorizing my
times tables! And this brings us to the
aspect of the question of interest to me: teaching and learning.
Arguably, grasping the paradoxical nature of language (and
life) is not required to learn to write a proper sentence. And there is no doubt that learning the basic
building blocks of any discourse—from language to music to math to baseball—is a
good place to start, for perhaps the first few thousand of the 10,000 hour rule.
There is real teaching value in focusing our students and
children on mastering the basics first.
In most areas of our lives we never get beyond the basics. We are lucky if we become expert in a few
things and rely on others (who chose to be experts in other areas) to be our
pharmacist or auto mechanic or governor.
For most of our students, like ourselves, when we do well in
life we have likely mastered what Sheldon Wolin calls the role of a normal
scientist. That is, we have found a way
to carve out a life for ourselves that makes sense within the dominant paradigm,
even as we try to subvert it. Only a few
of us will rise to the role of ‘epic scientist’ and create a new (dominant)
paradigm. But we should all aspire to at
least see the distinction, to wrestle with paradox, and to reject any notion
that today’s dominant paradigm is simply all we need to understand or, worse
yet, all there is to understand.
The point here is that there is no doubt that learning the
basics first is a sound approach to (eventually, perhaps) mastering a subject
or to just understanding a subject enough to be able to intelligently interact
with others who have mastered it.
At the same time: beware.
When we slice the paradoxical nature of life into a simple
two-dimensional matrix to help our children or students learn the basics first
we need to do so in a way that does
not make it impossible for them to see and understand and appreciate the
paradox, the miracle, once they go beyond the fundamentals. In this way, the challenge requires as much a
mastery of doublethink as it does a rejection of Doublethink.
Take for instance, the time-tested parental warning ‘do not
talk to strangers.’ This ‘just the
basics’ approach makes sense on one level and for a certain time, but if the
sensibility of this introductory and time-limited teaching tool is reified into
a universal rule…we risk harming our children by erasing their imagination,
obscuring the inescapably contingent and intersubjective aspects of living, by
replacing an ability to wrestle with paradox…with a rigid and unimaginative
shorthand that pretends we live in a snapshot when we actually (or also) live
in a movie.
Yes, Virginia you can talk to this stranger, whom you will
someday fall in love with and marry…and this one is okay too since she is your
philosophy professor and you want to know her, and this new neighbor and these new
friends, well it is okay to talk with strangers there as well, and by the way,
Uncle Fred might not be a stranger at all but it is best not to talk with him,
or the parish priest, or the raging boyfriend.
Language is a set of agreed upon (mostly) conventions we
need to master in order to communicate.
Conventions that are (sometimes) contested and change over time. This paradox of insurgency and preservation, living and dead, creates
space for both imagination and illiteracy.
This tension between our film, photo, and digitized images of self and
community is not likely the first thing
we teach our students or children, but the
way we teach the first things should open a window to appreciating, and being
able to negotiate, and navigate within, this tension.
In this tension, push and pull, over the meaning of language
and the constrain-y-ness of linguistic structures and conventions lives many
things…including the worst imaginable college term paper, where it seems the
student took ‘language is living’ to mean that any combination of signs,
symbols, letters, coffee stains, dots and dashes would be a suitable reply to a
question about Hamlet. In fact, beyond suitable, a brilliant reply
and the professor simply fails to see his brilliance.
But in this tension we also find poetry and satire, humor
and the Declaration of Independence. We find the Prince of Peace toppling kiosks
in the temple. We find MLK reminding us
that ‘Power without love is abusive and love without power is sentimental and
anemic.’ We are at our best, as teachers
and students, when we find ways to frame our world that remain open to making
sense of things.
No comments:
Post a Comment