LET’S START with these two basic questions.
I’ll begin with the second because it’s easier to answer.
We should learn languages because language is the only thing worth knowing even poorly.
If someone knows how to play the violin only a little, he will find that the painful minutes he causes are not in proportion to the possible joy he gains from his playing. The amateur chemist spares himself ridicule only as long as he doesn’t aspire for professional laurels. The man somewhat skilled in medicine will not go far, and if he tries to trade on his knowledge without certification, he will be locked up as a quack doctor.
Solely in the world of languages is the amateur of value. Well-intentioned sentences full of mistakes can still build bridges between people. Asking in broken Italian which train we are supposed to board at the Venice railway station is far from useless. Indeed, it is better to do that than to remain uncertain and silent and end up back in Budapest rather than in Milan.
Linguists have written a lot on the first question: why we learn languages. The chief focus, motivation, is such a central problem that a six-day conference was devoted to
38 / POLYGLOT: HOW I LEARN LANGUAGES
it in Germany a couple of years ago. The reason why I am interested in it is because the way motivation is achieved affects the way of dealing with it to a certain degree. To use a metaphor, consider language a building and language learning its construction. The Russian language is a complicated, massive cathedral harmoniously fashioned in every arch and corner. The learner must accept this in order to have sufficient motivation to “build” it. In contrast, the Italian language, praised as easy to learn, has a simpler structure and a more lucid floorplan; but if any detail is skimped in its construction, it will collapse.
Not long ago, I heard the following story from the mother of a small child. Pete received a whistle, a drum, and a trumpet for his birthday. The little boy asked if he could hang each of his toys one by one on the wall of his room.
“We can’t,” his mom said. “The local government will punish us if we drive so many nails into the wall.”
“Why drive them?” the child said. “I don’t need the inside part of the nails. I only need the part that juts out!”
I am always reminded of little Pete whenever I hear that someone wants to learn a language only passively. Knowledge—like a nail—is made load-bearing by being driven in. If it is not driven deep enough, it will break when any weight is put upon it.
The building of language has four large halls. Only those who have acquired listening, speaking, reading, and writing can declare themselves to be its dwellers. Those wanting to inhabit these halls will have to overcome obstacles just as the mythological heroes did. Like Odysseus, they will have to defeat the Cyclops of “I can’t remember it again” and resist the Siren’s song of “there is a good program on TV.” The comparison is, however, not precise. The cunning Greek was able to defeat every challenge through his desire for home—his motivation. For us, the passage through the building of language alone will bring its own joy and motivation, if we tackle the task in a sensible and prudent way.
Taken From POLYGLOT , (KATO LOMB'S BOOK)
I’ll begin with the second because it’s easier to answer.
We should learn languages because language is the only thing worth knowing even poorly.
If someone knows how to play the violin only a little, he will find that the painful minutes he causes are not in proportion to the possible joy he gains from his playing. The amateur chemist spares himself ridicule only as long as he doesn’t aspire for professional laurels. The man somewhat skilled in medicine will not go far, and if he tries to trade on his knowledge without certification, he will be locked up as a quack doctor.
Solely in the world of languages is the amateur of value. Well-intentioned sentences full of mistakes can still build bridges between people. Asking in broken Italian which train we are supposed to board at the Venice railway station is far from useless. Indeed, it is better to do that than to remain uncertain and silent and end up back in Budapest rather than in Milan.
Linguists have written a lot on the first question: why we learn languages. The chief focus, motivation, is such a central problem that a six-day conference was devoted to
38 / POLYGLOT: HOW I LEARN LANGUAGES
it in Germany a couple of years ago. The reason why I am interested in it is because the way motivation is achieved affects the way of dealing with it to a certain degree. To use a metaphor, consider language a building and language learning its construction. The Russian language is a complicated, massive cathedral harmoniously fashioned in every arch and corner. The learner must accept this in order to have sufficient motivation to “build” it. In contrast, the Italian language, praised as easy to learn, has a simpler structure and a more lucid floorplan; but if any detail is skimped in its construction, it will collapse.
Not long ago, I heard the following story from the mother of a small child. Pete received a whistle, a drum, and a trumpet for his birthday. The little boy asked if he could hang each of his toys one by one on the wall of his room.
“We can’t,” his mom said. “The local government will punish us if we drive so many nails into the wall.”
“Why drive them?” the child said. “I don’t need the inside part of the nails. I only need the part that juts out!”
I am always reminded of little Pete whenever I hear that someone wants to learn a language only passively. Knowledge—like a nail—is made load-bearing by being driven in. If it is not driven deep enough, it will break when any weight is put upon it.
The building of language has four large halls. Only those who have acquired listening, speaking, reading, and writing can declare themselves to be its dwellers. Those wanting to inhabit these halls will have to overcome obstacles just as the mythological heroes did. Like Odysseus, they will have to defeat the Cyclops of “I can’t remember it again” and resist the Siren’s song of “there is a good program on TV.” The comparison is, however, not precise. The cunning Greek was able to defeat every challenge through his desire for home—his motivation. For us, the passage through the building of language alone will bring its own joy and motivation, if we tackle the task in a sensible and prudent way.
Taken From POLYGLOT , (KATO LOMB'S BOOK)
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