The Art of Learning a Language

Learning a foreign language is a concept that entralls, and a practice that bores. And why should it not be? When the vast, unbounded creativity of communication is reduced to the mathematical tedium of verb tenses and grammatical structures, the luster of language of dulled. What is the appeal of something that teaches one how to memorize rather than to learn, to think, to create, to use? Education, it seems, is not always the desired outcome of schooling. As Mark Twain puts it, “Education consists mainly in what we have unlearned.” Thus, I think it is now time – and probably overdue - to unlearn our prior, ineffective methods of foreign language “education,” and seek something more beneficial.

Art, Not Math

Language is the applied art of expression. Unfortunately, it is usually taught like calculus rather than the art it yearns to be. The great minds of the world have been influenced not by quizzes and tests, but by the minds, thoughts, and words of others. Engineers do not find the thrill of their work in the fundamentals of algebra, but in the solving of structural problems, the construction of skyscrapers, the designing of cities. They use, and use well, the mathematic disciplines they have become adept at, but they are only a means to a greater, more exhilarating end. A composer does not write a symphony to confirm the truths of music theory, but to express himself through soaring song and booming percussion. Authors do not write to vindicate the laws of grammar, but to convey their ideas and revelations to the rest of humanity. Language is like art -meant to appeal to minds, not to computers. An artist’s “spark” very often comes from viewing the works of those greater than himself. Conversely, I would imagine that there are few great painters who drew their initial inspiration from a Drawing 101 class lecture.

To test well in a class on the English language, one reads a grammar textbook. To understand and enjoy the English language, one makes a habit of reading the masters: Joyce, Thoreau, Emerson, Austen, Fitzgerald, Vonnegut, Wells, Twain, Conrad - men and women who are skilled in their field, who have pioneered new ideas and styles, who have added their own color to the current hue of the language. Invariably, our heroes of English literature were influenced by other, older heroes. No author’s thoughts are completely independent of all others, but were spurred on by things other writers, philosophers, or thinkers said.

A mere spectator of a language is less able to appreciate it than one who is immersed in it. Therefore, rather than endlessly circling, vulture-like, over the details and exceptions of subjunctive, past progressive, and preterite tenses, why not assign literature? Why the reluctance towards having students read what they wish to learn? In what way could one be exposed to a greater variety of vocabulary and grammar than reading it the way the great speakers and writers have demonstrated for years? Instead of math, why not art? Math serves as an excellent discipline for applied logic, but there is a significant part of language that is illogical and subjective. Different words mean different things in different situations, and it is infinitely more useful to see those words in play instead of poring over flash cards that describe the “variant usage of the infinitive.”

Immersion, Not Memorization

If one cannot be immersed in a village of native speakers, the next best way to learn is through reading it. Books are visual speech, and reading is the silent act of listening. Become immersed in literature. To describe language through grammar alone is to describe the taste of food through a listing of polyatomic ions – accurate in a scientific sense, perhaps, but also confusing and thoroughly dissatisfying.

This is why foreign language is “boring” to students, and usually largely forgotten after a summer out of class. There is no utility to remembering extensive laws of grammar, especially for a language not spoken regularly. So it goes that useless information is pushed aside and ultimately lost. Thoreau say it quite nicely: “To my astonishment, I was informed upon leaving college that I had studied navigation! – why, if I had taken one turn down the harbor I should have known more about it.”

This is not to say that grammar is worthless and should not be taught; indeed, such knowledge is useful, even vital to proper speech and writing. But it should not be the end of the language. A writer’s grammar is an artist’s paint - and paint is not art until the artist applies it to something meaningful. Things are meaningful when they are found to be useful, whether to practicality, to emotion, or to thought. If language is confined only to the classroom, then there is no utility, no practice, and no purpose – unless one has an aesthetic love for verb conjugation matrices.

There is, then, an obvious disparity between classroom learning and kinesthetic learning, and it is difficult to argue against the latter being more effective. To simply read the language – albeit quite slowly at first - is the most hands-on way of learning it. Once again, Thoreau provides a wonderful illustration: “Which would have advanced the most at the end of a month – the boy who had made his own jackknife from the ore which he had dug and smelted…or the boy who had attended the lectures on metallurgy at the University, and had received a penknife from his father? Which would be most likely to cut his fingers?”