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 TEACHING LANGUAGE:
FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

Diane Larsen-Freeman
The University of Michigan
and
The School for International Training

A TeacherSource Book

Donald Freeman
Series Editor

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Grammaring
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 Thank You
The series editor, authors, and publisher would like to thank the following individuals who
offered many helpful insights throughout the development of the TeacherSource series.
Linda Lonon Blanton University of New Orleans
Tommie Brasel New Mexico School for the Deaf
Jill Burton University of South Australia
Margaret B. Cassidy Brattleboro Union High School, Vermont
Florence Decker University of Texas at El Paso
Silvia G. Diaz Dade County Public Schools, Florida
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 EOTe CO INMENTS

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TABLE OF CONTENTS @ V
 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Cee when I write, I feel as if Iam a ventriloquist. I am the one writing, but the
ideas of others come through. Although I cannot credit everyone who has helped
shape the ideas I have written about in this book, there is no doubt that I have had
numerous “teachers” over the years. And so, it seems appropriate here to first acknowl-
edge my teachers, both formal and informal.
Therefore, let me thank Mrs. Rouse, whose first name I never knew, my high school English
teacher, who showed me the power of grammar; Professor Gubbi Sachidananden, one of my
first professors of Psychology, who inspired my lifelong fascination with learning, a fascination
which led me later to undertake research in second language acquisition; Professor Kenneth
Pike, one of my Linguistics professors, who helped me appreciate the systematicity of language
and its interconnectedness to other aspects of human life; Professor of Applied Linguistics and
friend, Marianne Celce-Murcia, with whom I have spent many hours happily attempting to
resolve grammatical conundrums; Dr. Earl Stevick, Dr. Caleb and Shakti Gattegno, and my
present and former colleagues at the School for International Training, who have shown me
the power of teaching in a learning-centered way.
Then, there are the many “informal” teachers, too numerous to mention as individuals,
from whom I have learned a great deal—especially my students at the School for International
Training, where I have taught for 24 years. To them, I would add students with whom I have
had contact for lesser periods of time: my first EFL students in Sabah, Malaysia, my first ESL
students at the English Language Institute at the University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, my first
graduate students at UCLA, and since my recent return to Ann Arbor, EAP and graduate stu-
dents at the University of Michigan, and students I have taught in a number of short-term
courses at summer institutes and academies over the years. My other “informal” teachers have
been workshop participants and audiences in many parts of the world and friends and col-
leagues within the profession with whom I have enjoyed conversations in conference hotel hall-
ways and over dinner. I cannot name them all here, but hopefully, some of them, at least, will
recognize their contribution to the ideas I present in this book.
Second, I want to acknowledge those that had a more immediate impact on this pro-
ject, beginning with Donald Freeman, for his invitation to write this book and for his
guidance and his patience throughout its evolution. I am also grateful to the teachers who
have contributed their voices to this book. Then, too, special acknowledgment should go
to Nat Bartels, Patsy Lightbown, Michael McCarthy, Katie Sprang, Hide Takashima, and
Elka Todeva, who have read portions of this manuscript and have generously offered me
feedback. I am also grateful to Sherrise Roehr and Audra Longert, from Heinle, for skill-
fully moving the manuscript through the various phases of its production into a book.
Last, but not least, 1 owe an enormous debt of gratitude to my spouse, Elliott
Freeman, who has always supported me with kindness and with grace. Given the recent
loss of my mother and of my brother-in-law, to whom I have chosen to dedicate this
book, Elliott’s emotional support and untiring patience has meant even more.
Thank you all.

vi © TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

 SERIES EDITOR’S PREFACE

As I was driving just south of White River Junction, the snow had started falling in earnest.
The light was flat, although it was mid-morning, making it almost impossible to distinguish
the highway in the gray-white swirling snow. I turned on the radio, partly as a distraction and
partly to help me concentrate on the road ahead; the announcer was talking about the snow.
“The state highway department advises motorists to use extreme caution and to drive with
their headlights on to ensure maximum visibility.” He went on, his tone shifting slightly, “Ray
Burke, the state highway supervisor, just called to say that one of the plows almost hit a car
just south of Exit 6 because the person driving hadn’t turned on his lights. He really wants
people to put their headlights on because it is very tough to see in this stuff.” I checked, almost
reflexively, to be sure that my headlights were on, as I drove into the churning snow.
How can information serve those who hear or read it in making sense of their own worlds?
How can it enable them to reason about what they do and to take appropriate actions based
on that reasoning? My experience with the radio in the snowstorm illustrates two different
ways of providing the same message: the need to use your headlights when you drive in heavy
snow. The first offers dispassionate information; the second tells the same content in a person-
al, compelling story. The first disguises its point of view; the second explicitly grounds the gen-
eral information in a particular time and place. Each means of giving information has its role,
but I believe the second is ultimately more useful in helping people make sense of what they
are doing. When I heard Ray Burke’s story about the plow, I made sure my headlights were on.
In what is written about teaching, it is rare to find accounts in which the author’s
experience and point of view are central. A point of view is not simply an opinion; nei-
ther is it a whimsical or impressionistic claim. Rather, a point of view lays out what the
author thinks and why; to borrow the phrase from writing teacher Natalie Goldberg, “it
sets down the bones.” The problem is that much of what is available in professional
development in language-teacher education concentrates on telling rather than on point
of view. The telling is prescriptive, like the radio announcer’s first statement. It empha-
sizes what is important to know and do, what is current in theory and research, and
therefore what you—as a practicing teacher—should do. But this telling disguises the
teller; it hides the point of view that can enable you to make sense of what is told.
The TeacherSource series offers you a point of view on second/foreign language teaching.
Each author in this series has had to lay out what she or he believes is central to the topic, and
how she or he has come to this understanding. So as a reader, you will find this book has a per-
sonality; it is not anonymous. It comes as a story, not as a directive, and it is meant to create a
relationship with you rather than assume your attention. As a practitioner, its point of view can
help you in your own work by providing a sounding board for your ideas and a metric for your
own thinking. It can suggest courses of action and explain why these make sense to the author.
You in turn can take from it what you will, and do with it what you can. This book will not
tell you what to think; it is meant to help you make sense of what you do.
The point of view in TeacherSource is built out of three strands: Teachers’ Voices,
Frameworks, and Investigations. Each author draws together these strands uniquely, as suits ie Teachers
his or her topic and—more crucially—his or her point of view. All materials in TeacherSource Voices

have these three strands. The Teachers’ Voices are practicing language teachers from various

SERIES EDITOR’S PREFACE ® Vii

 seems to me, for teachers to be able to articulate and examine their personal views of language
and of grammar—views that, like mine, are doubtless influenced by their experiences
both as learners and as teachers and by the views of their instructors, researchers, and
colleagues. Thus, by the end of the book, I would hope that readers would be able to
complete the following statements: “For me, language is...”; “For me, grammar is...”
I, too, will complete these statements in time. I will also put forth a grammar teaching
approach that follows from my definitions. Although the examples in this text are drawn
for the most part from English, the ideas and suggestions hold for all languages. I have
been reassured in this regard by the many teachers of a variety of languages with whom
I have been privileged to work over the years. For this reason, I will use the terms target
language or second language or foreign language when generic reference is being made
to the language being taught. I also intend to impute no special meaning to the words
learning and acquisition, using them interchangeably sometimes, and at other times
conventionally to distinguish tutored from untutored development.
We are ready to begin. To underscore the importance I accord to having you articulate
your own views and begin to cultivate an attitude of inquiry, I will start right off with an
Investigation. I will also use it as a way to introduce some of the terminology that you
will encounter in the remainder of the text. It is my sincere hope that you will find your
reading of this text an invitation to continue to explore language on your own, preferably
in collaboration with others. I wish you well as you work to define your own personal
approach to the teaching of language in general and grammar in particular.

xX © TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

 1
LEFINING LANGUAGE AND
LINDERSTANDING THE PROBLEM

THE IMPORTANCE OF DEFINING LANGUAGE

What Is Language?
hat is language? You may or may not have thought about this question
before, but it is an important question that anyone who is or wants to be
a language teacher should consider. It is important because your answer to this
question will inform your beliefs about language teaching and learning and what
you do in the classroom as you teach language. As Becker (1983) put it, “Our
‘picture’ of language is the single most important factor... in determining the way
we choose to teach one.” It would therefore be useful to start off reading this
book by answering the question for yourself.

Take a moment to think about what it is you teach: What is language? Write your
answer down. Then put your answer aside. I will ask you to come back to it from
time to time throughout this book and to amend, expand upon, or reaffirm it.

Here is a list of other language educators’ answers to the questions about the
nature of language, which I have culled and paraphrased from the literature of
the past 100 years or so. I present them in the order in which they were first
introduced to the field.

DEFINITIONS OF LANGUAGE FROM THE LITERATURE

1. Language is a means of cultural transmission.

2. Language is what people use to talk about the things that are impor-
tant to them, for example, occurrences in their everyday lives.
3. Language is a set of sound (or, in the case of sign language, sign) and
sentence patterns that express meaning.
4. Language is a set of rules through which humans can create and
understand novel utterances, ones that they have never before
articulated or encountered.

DEFINING LANGUAGE AND UNDERSTANDING THE PROBLEM ® 1

 5. Language is a means of interaction between and among people.
6. Language is the means for doing something—accomplishing some
purpose, for example, agreeing on a plan of action for handling
a conflict.
uage is a vehicle for communicating meaning and messages.
ge is an instrument of power (those who know a language
, 4 ywered\ in a way that those who do not are not).
5, Language is a medium through which one can learn other things.
10. Language is holistic and is therefore best understood as it is manifest
in discourse or whole texts.

Syllabus Units Corresponding to Definitions of Language

After reading these definitions, it should be clear why I chose to begin this book
by asking you to define language for yourself. Despite some overlap among the
ten definitions, each presents a view of language that may be realized in a language
classroom in quite distinct ways. For instance, depending upon your view of
language, you may choose different elements or aspects of language to fore-
ground. To illustrate this point more concretely, the following are examples of
syllabus units corresponding to each definition:
1. Cultural transmission: works of literature, poetry, history, and the
vocabulary words and grammar structures that constitute them
2. Everyday life: talking about family, daily routines, situations (e.g.,
shopping, going to the post office)
3. Sound and sentence patterns: fixed and semi-fixed sentence patterns
and sequences such as statements, questions, and negative state-
ments, and sound (or sign) contrasts, intonation, rhythm, stress
patterns that result in differences in meaning \
4. Rules: rules of sentence construction related to permissible word
combinations and word orders, for example, forming sentences,
questions, negative sentences
5. Means of interaction: interactional language (language for interpersonal
communication), that is, choosing and using appropriate language
within a social context
6 Means of doing something: functions such as agreeing, disagreeing,
proposing, clarifying, expressing preferences
7. Vehicle for communicating meaning: transactional language
(language that functions primarily to communicate meaning),
especially lexical items
8. Instrument of power: competencies such as finding a place to live,
interviewing for a job, making medical appointments; sociopolitical
skills such as negotiating with one’s landlord, writing letters of
protest, learning civic rights and responsibilities

2 ¢ TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

 9. Medium: content such as geography (learning about latitude and longi-
tude, topographical features, climates), along with language learning
strategies such as reading a passage for its gist, editing one’s own writing,
guessing word meaning from context
10. Holistic: reading and writing different texts, learning about rhetorical
and genre patterns such as what distinguishes the language of narrative
from that of expository prose in particular disciplines, working on
the cohesion and coherence of language that hold a text together

The Link Between Definitions of Language and Theories of Learning

Not only may your definition of language influence your decisions about se
units, it “may goa shape your view of learning.inner there As.1 que

some theories of lea

arni more nat y with certain
For example, structural ceunets—— as Bloomfield and
Fries, ato saw pane as a set of sound/sign and sentence patterns (definition 3),
promoted the s (ALM’s) mimicry-memorization and pat-
tern and dialogue practice. Consistent with their conception of language was the
habit-formation view of language learning, in which it was seen to be the respon-
sibility of the teacher to help students overcome the habits of the native language
and replace them with the habits of the second language. Later, the psychologist
B.F. Skinner’s behaviorist perspective contributed the idea that what was important
in establishing new habits was the reinforcement of student responses.
In contrast, those who, following Chomsky, saw language as a set of rules
(definition 4) might embrace a cognitivist explanation for learning and expect
students to formulate and test hypotheses so that they could discover and
internalize the rules of the language they were learning. Those who defined language
as a means of interaction among people (definition 5) probably subscribed to an
interactionist view of the learning process—one that called for students to interact
with each other, however imperfectly, right from the beginning of instruction,
believing that such interaction facilitated the language acquisition process.

Associating Teaching Practices with Definitions of Language

In addition to foregrounding certain syllabus units and privileging certain theories of
language learning, your choice of teaching practices might also follow from your
definition of language. Of course, your definition of language does not prevent you
from making use of a range of pedagogical practices; nonetheless, particular
practices are consistent with certain types of syllabi. Indeed, each of the ten
definitions of language above can easily be associated with common language
teaching practices. To cite just an example or two for each:
1. Cultural transmission: translation exercises
2. Everyday life: situational dialogues
3. Sound and sentence patterns: sentence pattern practice and minimal
pair discrimination drills

DEFINING LANGUAGE AND UNDERSTANDING THE PROBLEM @ 3

 4. Rules: inductive/deductive grammar exercises
Means of interaction: role plays
6. Means of doing something: communicative activities and tasks, for
example, asking for and giving directions, surveying class preferences
7. Vehicle for communicating meaning: Total Physical Response (TPR)
activities in which the meaning of lexical items and messages is made
clear through actions
8. Instrument of power: problem-posing activities in which students
discuss solutions to their own real-world problems
9. Medium: content-based activities, through which students attend to
some subject matter, for example doing math problems, at the same
time that language objectives are being addressed
10. Holistic: text analysis activities in which students examine the features
of texts that promote their cohesion, or process writing, whereby stu-
dents produce successive drafts of their writing, receiving feedback after
each draft

SOME CAVEATS
So far I have suggested that your definition of language has a powerful influence
that extends beyond a conception of language and could affect your view of language
acquisition and your teaching ppractice. However, before we proceed any further,
some caveats are in order.First of any people’s definitions of language are
broader than any one of the ten that we have considered, overlapping with some
of them, but not quite lining up with any one definition. Because language is as
complex as it is, the ten definitions are not mutually exclusive.
ena, the coherence among language, learning, and teaching beliefs is often
more theoretical than actual. This is because there are many important consider-
ations in teaching. Primary among these is taking inte 0 account who the students

ae We are, after all, teaching ec. notjust aching language.

Marie Nestingen GES Spanish in a high school in Central Wisconsin. Here
is how she sees the matter of teaching students.
Reflecting back to my first years of teaching Spanish, I can definitely
Teachers’ see how the pendulum swings of methods have influenced the way
UTES I think of language. And its swinging continues to affect my teaching
as I continue to learn. [However] a huge factor for me in my
Marie Nestingen teaching seems to be who my students are and why they are taking
the class: their attitude towards a second language, their expectations,
and their idea of what is involved in learning a second language play
a factor in the class. I had one class of Spanish II students this year
who seemed very adamant (more than previous classes) about
learning the grammatical points. They wanted the rules! [However],
in addition to the students’ attitudes are the attitudes of their

4 e TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

 parents. The question of why they are or need to take the class
and/or learn a second language affects the choices I make as a
teacher. I know it does.
As Marie says, students’ reasons for second language learning affect teachers’
decisions about what and how to teach. Having to prepare one’s students to pass
a particular standardized examination, for instance, can be a powerful influence
on what one teaches. This is why I have been careful to use words such as may,
might, could, and likely when I have been discussing the links among an individual’s
“picture” of language, theory of learning, and teaching practice. In language
teaching, everything is connected to everything else. It is difficult to conceive of
language apart from who one is as a teacher, who one’s students and colleagues
are, what the demands of the curriculum are, and so forth. Indeed, at the level of
practice, most teachers are less likely to adhere to a narrow view of language,
learning, or teaching. Most teachers, as well as the texts that they use, are more
eclectic, 1interweav ing a variety of syllabus and activity types into Peete
\ -aveat is that presenting definitions in chronological order, as I have
chosentoSit makes the sequence seem orderly and lockstep, which is not the case.
It is not as though at one time all teachers embraced one of these definitions of
language, then suddenly abandoned it when another was proposed. It should also
be recognized that, although I have presented the ten in the order in which they
were first proposed during the previous century, many of these views persist today.
Finally, I do not mean to imply that the stimulus for innovation was always a new
definition of language, or that all change emanated from within the language
teaching field. Change has often been inspired by new theories of learning or con-
Ccnensaireaehinesane has sometimes originated from advances in related disci-
such as linguistics, psychology, or education, or even technology.
ae illustrate the impact of technology, one can attribute many linguists’ and
educators’ recent fascination with multiword strings of regular construction,
such as and all that stuff, to the fact that powerful computers and million-word
corpora highlight the existence of, and facilitate the exploration of, such pat-
terns of language use. Of course, examining language texts to identify patterns
of language use is not a new enterprise in linguistics. It is simply that comput-
ers allow for principled collection, and systematic analysis, of huge numbers of
texts. As a result, we have been able to appreciate how formulaic, as opposed
to how completely original, our use of language is. And this appreciation has
given rise to instructional approaches such as the lexical approach, which cen-
ters instruction on multiword strings and lexical patterns. The acquisition of
such patterns can be accounted for by associationist learning, which highlights
the brain’s ability to process the huge amount of linguistic input to which it is
exposed and, from it, to extract and retain frequently occurring sequences.
In all this, the point should not be missed that how we conceive language can
have widespread consequences. Indeed, some have gone further than I in sug-
gesting that “A definition of language is always, implicitly or explicitly, a defin-
ition of human beings in the world” (Williams, 1977: 21).

DEFINING LANGUAGE AND UNDERSTANDING THE PROBLEM ® 9

 This would be a good time to read over your definition of language and determine
if, in the light of the foregoing discussion, you want to make any changes to it.
If you are doing this exercise with others, it would be useful to then discuss your
definitions and any changes you may have made.

ACCOUNTING FOR THE SHIFTS IN DEFINITIONS OF LANGUAGE

Des the caveats above, it is worth attempting to understand what motivated
the shifts from one definition of language to another during the previous
century. This is not the place to trace the history of the language teaching
field, but simply to point out that a major contributor to the shifts was the
For histories
dialectic between the function of language and its forms. In other words,
Sate some of the definitions follow from the conception of language in terms of
(1969) she its function—that is, accomplishing some nonlinguistic purpose (language as
Howatt (1984), |4 means of cultural transmission, a way of discussing everyday life, a means
of interaction, a vehicle for accomplishing some task, an instrument of power,
a medium of instruction)—and others in terms of its linguistic units or forms
(language as grammar structures and vocabulary words, sound/sign/sentence
patterns, rules, lexical items, rhetorical patterns, genre patterns, multiword
lexical strings and patterns).
It is essential to note that, regardless of whether a functional or a formal view
of language is adopted, language teachers have commonly sought to develop in
their students the ability to use the language, whether to develop spoken com-
munication skills, to become literate, or both. Indeed, even those who have
advocated a form-based approach to language teaching do so because they
believe that mastery of its forms is an effective means of learning to use the lan-
guage for some nonlinguistic purpose. For example, Robert Lado, an adherent
of pattern practice drills, insisted that ‘
Nothing could be more enslaving and therefore less worthy of the
human mind than to have it chained to the mechanics of the language
rather than free to dwell on the message conveyed through the language
(Lado, 1957 as cited in Widdowson, 1990).
Thus, the debate has not been about the goal of instruction but rather about
the means to the end. At issue is the question of whether it makes more sense to
teach others to use a language by preparing them to do so—systematically
helping students develop control of the forms of language, building their com-
petence in a bottom-up manner—or to have students learn in a top-down
manner—learning to use another language by using it. In the latter instance, stu-
dents’ use of language may be halting and inaccurate at first, but it is thought
that eventually students will gain control of the linguistic forms and use them
accurately and fluently.

6 © TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

 Now you may be thinking that the form—function dichotomy is a false one
and that neither a bottom-up nor a top-down approach should be practiced
exclusively, that both means should be integrated. Such an answer is in keeping
with the laudable pragmatism of teachers. However, before dismissing the
dichotomy, I think that we should recognize not only that the pendulum swing
between function and form is characteristic of the field at large, but also that the
same dynamic also takes place at the local level within our classrooms. We may
include both foci—function and form—but we do not routinely integrate them.
Typically, a teacher or a textbook will use both activities that are primarily
communicatively focused and activities that primarily deal with the parts of
language—yet these will occur in different lessons, or different parts of lessons,
or in different parts of a textbook unit. In other words, even at the microlevel
of a lesson, the two approaches remain segregated.

UNDERSTANDING THE “INERT KNOWLEDGE PROBLEM”

I believe that including both means is an improvement over solely practicing
one or the other; however, this approach is not without its problems. The first
problem has to do with the uneven distribution of student energy. Few students
sustain their enthusiasm for learning when the lesson focuses on the parts of
language. Indeed, when students are asked to shift from a communicative activity
to, say, a grammar exercise, there is often an audible response of displeasure.
In spite of the fact that many students find it difficult to muster much enthusiasm
for the study of grammatical rules, vocabulary items, and pronunciation
points, most students acknowledge the value of studying them and willingly
make the effort. Indeed, as we saw from Marie Nestingen’s comments, some
students will demand their inclusion if they are not part of what is regularly
worked on in class.
Student ambivalence is not difficult to understand. First, although many students
do not necessarily enjoy studying grammar rules, memorizing vocabulary, or
practicing pronunciation points, learning the parts of a language is a very traditional
language practice, one that many students have come to associate with language
learning. Second, learning the parts gives students a sense of accomplishment;
they feel that they are making progress. Third, learning the parts provides secu-
rity. Students have something almost tangible to hold onto as they tally, for
example, the number of vocabulary items that they have learned in a given
week. Fourth, students believe in the generative capacity of grammatical rules,
that knowing the rules of the language will help them to create and understand
new utterances.
Although some of these beliefs could be challenged, for student-affective con-
siderations alone, there is a reason to focus on the parts of language as well as
its function. A greater concern remains, however. As many language teachers
and learners will attest, what students are able to do in the formal part of a lesson
often does not carry over or transfer to its use in a more communicative part of
a lesson, let alone to students’ using what they have learned in a noninstructional
setting. Even though students know a rule, their performance may be inaccurate,
or disfluent, or both.

DEFINING LANGUAGE AND UNDERSTANDING THE PROBLEM e 7

 Here is what Jane, an ESL teacher in a midwestern U.S. university intensive
English program, has to say about her students.
They oftentimes don’t understand the rules. They just read a rule
> Teachers’ and go, “OK, I’ve read this since I was eleven years old. I’ve read it
Voices” : .a million times back in my country and here.” And they’re still not
using it right. They all know they need to use the third person sin-
Jane gular “s” but half the class still doesn’t use it. They use it in the
grammar exercises, but they don’t apply it while they’re speaking
or writing. (Johnston and Goettsch, 2000: 456)
It is easy to understand Jane’s frustration. The third-person singular “s” on
ce 99

English present-tense verbs has been a challenge to many teachers and students,
and no one is absolutely certain why this form presents such a learning burden.
The fact is that even if students understand the explicit rule, they do not neces-
sarily apply it. Indeed, as most teachers will attest, Jane’s observation is not only
true of the third-person singular verb marking in English; it also applies to many
other examples, in English and in other languages. Long ago, Alfred North
Whitehead (1929) referred to Jane’s dilemma as “the inert knowledge problem.”
Knowledge that is gained in (formal lessons in) the classroom remains inactive
or inert when put into service (in communication within and) outside the class-
room. Students can recall the grammar rules when they are asked to do so but
will not use them spontaneously in communication, even when they are rele-
vant. Besides the frustration that this engenders in students and teachers, I
would imagine that it contributes to a great deal of attrition from language
study. Students become discouraged when they cannot do anything useful with
what they are learning.
It would be too ambitious to think that we can solve the inert knowledge
problem, a problem that has plagued teachers ands students for centuries.
However, we can begin by rejecting the dichotomous thinking that has made the
problem intractable. This will not be easy to accomplish.

To appreciate the magnitude of the change we will need to make, you only have
to ask yourself what associations you make with the words grammar and com-
munication. Do so now by completing the following sentences.
When I think of grammar, I think of...
When I think of communication, I think of...

8 © TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

 Here is what other teachers have said when asked to freely associate with the
words grammar and communication:

Figure 1.1: Teachers’ Associations with Grammar and Communication

When I think of grammar, When I think of communication,

I think of... I think of ...
= - Tea STATE a
@ rules
* parts of speech; verb paradigms ¢ the four skills
* structures; forms ® meaning
¢ word order in sentences ¢ accomplishing some purpose
* memorizing ® interacting
¢ red ink ¢ establishing relationships
¢ drills ¢ small group activities
¢ boring ¢ fun

Not everyone I have asked agrees with all these associations, of course. Some
educators find the discovery of the workings of a language a joyful process, not
a boring one. Even so, I think it should not be difficult to understand why forms
(here, illustrated by grammar) and use (here, illustrated by communication)
have so often been segregated in textbook pages and lesson segments. They
appear to be completely different, a view embedded in dichotomous thinking.

CHANGING THE Way WE THINK

f we aspire to build the bridge between forms and use that our students need in
order to overcome the inert knowledge problem, to enhance their attitudes, and to
sustain their motivation, we will need to change the way we think. I believe that it is
our dichotomous thinking that needs to change, and I will illustrate the necessary
change by considering grammar. Thus, for remainder
the of this book, I will treat —
grammar as the forms of the form-function dichotomy, even though I acknowledge
that there are more forms to language than grammatical forms. Let me be even more
emphatic about this point. I certainly do not equate grammar with all the parts of
language, let alone with communication. Two decades ago, in fact, in an article titled
“The ‘what’ of second language acquisition” (Larsen—Freeman, 1982), I pointed out
the multifaceted nature of communicative competence. I also acknowledge that
choosing to focus on one subsystem of the whole has its risks. I have worried for some
time about the tendency to isolate one of the subsystems of language and to study it
in a decontextualized manner. Nevertheless, it is undeniably methodologically con-
venient, perhaps even necessary, to attend to one part of language and not to take on
the whole in its many diverse contexts of use. At this point in the development of the
field and in the development of my own thinking, the only thing I know how to do
is to focus on one part while simultaneously attempting to hold the whole.
And I have chosen to work with grammar as the one part because it seems to
me that it is the vortex around which many controversies in language teaching
have swirled. Further, it is the subsystem of language that has attracted much

DEFINING LANGUAGE AND UNDERSTANDING THE PROBLEM e 9

 attention from linguists, certainly ever since Chomsky, and in second language
acquisition, ever since its Chomsky-inspired inception. Above all, I have chosen
to write about grammar because I have always been intrigued by grammar and
the paradoxes that surround it. It is at one and the same time an orderly system
and one that can be characterized by many exceptions. Control of the grammar
of a language can be empowering, but following its rules unswervingly can be
imprisoning. The study of grammar is both loved and loathed.
In this book, I will be attempting to demonstrate that the associations in the
right-hand column in Figure 1.1 are no less true of grammar than of communica-
tion. In the next chapter, I will introduce the changes in my thinking about
grammar by challenging common conceptions concerning grammar. In chapters
3 to 7 I will present a view of grammar very different from those reflected in the
left-hand column in Figure 1.1. In chapters 8 to 10 I will explore the acquisition
of grammar in order to arrive at an understanding that will ensure the creation
of optimal conditions for its learning and for unifying the form—function dichotomy.
Finally, in the last chapter, I will offer an approach to teaching that builds on
the insights gained from viewing grammar and its learning in a different way.

Suggested Readings
The particular views of language and common language teaching practices dis-
cussed in this chapter are associated with particular language teaching methods
or approaches in Larsen-Freeman (2000a). Also, Wilkins (1976) discusses the
difference between synthetic syllabi, where students are presented language
units, usually structures, with which they synthesize or build up their competence,
and analytic syllabi, where language is presented functionally, leaving it to students
to analyze the language into its component parts. However, later, Widdowson
(1979) pointed out that a syllabus organized by functions is also an example of
a synthetic syllabus, not an analytic one. Graves’ (2000) book in this TeacherSource
series, Designing Language Courses, has a useful discussion on.syllabus units.
The dichotomy between formal and functional views of language presented in
this chapter also exists in linguistics. See, for example, the introduction in
Tomasello (1998) for a discussion. Finally, although more will be said later
about multiword strings and lexical patterns in language, a seminal article in
contributing to my awareness of the ubiquity of such patterns is Pawley and
Syder (1983).

10 ¢ TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

 2
(CHALLENGING CONCEPTIONS
OF GRAMMAR

le this chapter, I will challenge some conceptions of grammar. I do so moti-

vated by my conviction that we language educators have to change the way
we think about the elements of language, particularly grammar, if we expect to
help our students overcome the dual problems of their lack of engagement in
learning the forms and their inability to call upon their knowledge of forms
when they must put their knowledge to use.
I do not mean to imply, however, that all teachers are currently of one mind
when it comes to conceptions of, and attitudes about, grammar and its teaching.
Clearly there is no consensus about grammar teaching in the views of teachers
surveyed by Eisenstein Ebsworth and Schweers (1997). The teachers surveyed
were all experienced teachers of English teaching college-level students. Half of
the teachers were from Puerto Rico and half were from the New York area.
In Puerto Rico we respect tradition; we’re careful about implementing
new ideas just because they’re new. Grammar has always been part Teachers’
Voices
of our language learning experience. We see no reason to abandon
it totally. (Puerto Rican teacher, interview)
I would not consciously teach grammar, no. Students can easily get
bogged down with too many rules and exceptions. I use thematic
units in teaching. I feel that using a whole language approach exposes
students to a broad range of language. (New York teacher, interview)
I usually try to teach English implicitly. But if there is something
unclear or confusing, I supply a mini-lesson: explicit grammar with
rules and lots of examples....The mini-lesson lowers the anxiety
level. Often my students have been taught explicitly before, so
some connection to what they are used to also seems to help.
(Puerto Rican teacher, questionnaire)
My own education included very formal language study including
memorization, reading, writing, and grammar. Now I’m using a
communicative approach, but I won’t completely abandon the
teaching that worked for me. Grammar helped me and I can see
that it also helps my students. I have confidence in my own experience.
(Puerto Rican teacher, interview)

My students are adults who often know the grammar of their native
language and benefit from this kind of meta-cognitive information.
(New York teacher, interview)

CHALLENGING CONCEPTIONS OF GRAMMAR ® 171

 I believe that substantial access to input in the English-speaking
community explains the belief of many teachers and theorists in the
U.S. that formal grammar presentation is unnecessary. (New York
expert, interview)
My students want grammar; I believe they need it. (Puerto Rican
teacher, questionnaire)
You can’t start too early. If students learn correct grammar and
practice it from the beginning, they will have a good foundation to
build on. (Puerto Rican teacher, interview)
When I was working on my master’s, we used to debate a lot about
teaching grammar in our ESL classes. Everybody had studied some
grammar. Personally, I enjoyed it. Some of us had a real love-hate
feeling about it. Eventually, I guess we all have to make up our
own minds about it. (New York teacher, questionnaire)
Even from this limited sample, we can see that teachers hold divergent beliefs
and attitudes. Still, some themes emerge from more than one of these teachers’
comments: the decision to teach grammar must take into account who the stu-
dents are, what the students’ experience has been, what the students want, what
the teachers’ experience has been, and what the teachers believe would be helpful
to students. Interestingly, all the teachers who mention teaching grammar refer to
teaching explicit rules, including exceptions, and giving a lot of examples. Before
I share with you my thinking about some of these matters,. please do the follow-
ing Investigation, which will help you clarify your own beliefs about grammar.

Please ask yourself the extent to which you believe the-following assertions.
1. Grammar is an area of knowledge.
2. When we say something is grammatical, we mean that it is accurate.
3. Grammar has to do with rules.
4. Grammar is arbitrary.
5 One good thing about grammar is that there is always one right
answer.
6. Grammar has to do with word order within sentences and struc-
tures, such as word endings or morphology.
7. Grammar is acquired naturally; it doesn’t have to be taught.
Grammar structures are acquired in a set order, one after another.
9. All aspects of grammar are learned in the same way.
10. Learners will eventually bring their performance into alignment with
the target language; error correction or feedback is unnecessary.

12 ¢ TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

 11. Grammar (teaching and/or learning) is boring.
12. Not all students need to be taught grammar. Children, for instance,
do not benefit from formal grammar instruction.
If you found yourself wanting at the same time to both agree and disagree
with some of these, that is not surprising. I have come to believe that these
are myths and, as with all myths, there is likely an element of truth to each.
However, if we continue to focus on what about them is true, we will never
be able to meet the double challenge of engaging our students and helping
them overcome inertia in using what they have learned. Therefore, while I
acknowledge that these twelve statements are partially true, I will challenge
them. I will be very brief here, elaborating in subsequent chapters of this book.

THE NATURE OF GRAMMAR

he first six statements have to do with the nature of grammar. Here are my
thoughts about these six:

1. Grammar is an area of knowledge.

Grammar is an area of knowledge that linguists and language teachers study.
However, if my students possessed grammatical knowledge for the language that
I am teaching, but could not use the knowledge, I would not have done my job.
Some psychologists (e.g., Anderson, 1983), therefore, have distinguished two
types of knowledge: knowledge about the language system (declarative knowledge)
and knowledge of how to use the language (gece San hees
However, I think that it is more helpful to think about grammar as a skill rather
than as an area of knowledge; this underscores the imporeance of students’
developing an ability to do uM not Oe storing knowledge about the lan-
guage or its use. I have m grammaring (Larsen-Freeman, 1992) to high-
light the skill dimension o grammar, I AAR find this term helpful in reminding us that
grammar is not so fixed and rigid as the term grammar implies. It is far more
mutable. I will amplify on the dynamism of grammar in the next chapter.
When I ask teachers how many skills there are in language teaching, most
answer four: reading, writing, speaking, and listening. The truth is that there are
moreouliesssfour, and one of my goals in writing this book is to convince you that
ammar is the fifth skill (hence the title: From Grammar to Grammaring).
When vwe view grammar as a skill, we are much more inclined to create learn-
ing situations that overcome the inert knowledge problem. We will not ask our
students to merely memorize rules and then wonder why they do not apply them
in communication. Skill development takes practice, and learning grammar
takes practice. However, as we will come to see, it is not the sort of practice that
involves a lot of rote repetition, which is boring, and which is not the most effec-
tive way to overcome the inert knowledge problem

2. When we say something is grammatical, we mean that tt ts accurate.

Grammar does have to do with accuracy. However, for me, grammar is not only

CHALLENGING CONCEPTIONS OF GRAMMAR ® 13

 about accuracy of form. If a student of English says It’s a pencil on the table,
with the intended meaning There is a pencil on the table, 1 would say that the
form is accurate but its meaning does not convey the student’s intended mean-
ing. The statement with,it is used to show identity (It’s a pencil, not a pen, on
the table) whereas the sentence with there shows location. Grammar is not sim-
ply about form; it is about meaning as well.
Furthermore, there are other ways to indicate the location of the pencil. A
speaker might have used the perfectly accurate sentence A pencil is on the table.
Notice, however, that although this statement conveys more or less the same
meaning as the sentence with there, it is not equally appropriate. Imagine, for
example, that I was on the telephone, and I motioned to another person that I
needed something to write with. It would not please me to be told A pencil is
on the table, but There is a pencil on the table would be acceptable under the
circumstances and (assuming that it was within my reach) would meet my need
for a writing implement. In other words, grammar is also about appropriateness
of use. It is not incorrect, but it is insufficient, to say that grammar has to do
with accuracy of form; it relates to meaningfulness and appropriateness as well.
In Chapter 4 I return to expand on the complexity of grammar in general, and
on these three dimensions of grammar in particular.

3. Grammar has to do with rules.

“Grammar and rules” is, of course, probably the most common association, and
in pedagogy, grammar rules—or perhaps better put, grammatical “rules of
thumb”—certainly have their place. For one thing, they often provide students
with security, something to hold onto. They provide useful guidance about how
a language is structured. However, there are limits to their usefulness. For one
thing, they deal mostly with accuracy of form, less so with meaningfulness, and
rarely with appropriateness of use. For another, as teachers and students all too
well know, rules have exceptions and are often quite abstract.
However, there are three additional reasons to justify my claiming that statement
3 is only partially true. First of ail, it has become increasingly clear these days, with
the use of million-word language corpora, that a great deal of our ability to control
language is due to the fact that we have committed to memory thousands of multi-
word sequences, lexicogrammatical units or formulas that are preassembled (e.g., I
see what you mean; Once you have done that, the rest is easy) or partially assem-
bled (e.g., NP + tell + tense + the truth as in “Jo seldom tells the truth”; “I wish you
had told me the truth”). Clearly, then, if what we do when we use these formulas is
retrieve the fully or partially assembled units from memory, not all of our gram-
matical performance can be attributed to the application of grammatical rules.
Second, at a more abstract level, there are grammatical patterns or construc-
tions that signal the same grammatical meaning over and above the words that
instantiate them and the rules of syntax that string the words together
(Goldberg, 1999). For example, theditransitive construction, where a verb is
followed by two objects, has the meaning of “the subject (X) causes the object
(Y) to receive something (Z),” as in “Pat faxed Bill the letter.”

14 ¢ TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

 Ditransitive X causes Y to receive Z_ — Subj V Obj Obj Pat faxed Bill
the letter.
Two other constructions tell us that X causes Y to move to position Z (the
caused motion construction) or that X causes Y to become Z (the resultative
construction).

Caused Motion X causes Y to move Z Subj V Obj Obl Pat sneezed the
napkin off the
table.
Resultative X causes Y tobecome Z — Subj V Obj Xcomp_— Pat ran Bill ragged.

Goldberg (1999) points out that these constructions have a meaning unto them-
selves. In other words, I can change the verb in a ditransitive construction (e.g.,
Pat paid Bill a visit; Pat gave Bill the message; Pat granted Bill his request; Pat
sold Bill a bill of goods)—and it will still have the meaning of “the subject caus-
es the object to receive something.” Furthermore, Goldberg asserts that no
innate rules need to be posited to account for the existence of constructions in
the grammar.
Third, even for language that might be considered generated by rules, the col-
location of grammar with rule is not all that helpful for overcoming the dual
challenge with which we are contending. Knowing a rule will not guarantee that
learners will invoke it when needed. This is why I prefer to think of teaching
rules and reasons. By “teaching reasons” I mean helping my students realize that
there is an underlying logic to the language they are learning—that grammar is
rational. I need to help give them access to the reasons so that they will not only
understand the logic, they will also be able to use it to express themselves the
way they want to and, conversely, to understand utterances that are spoken to
them. If they understand the logic of the language, they will be able to under-
stand both the rules and their “exceptions.”
For instance, if students have only learned the rule that tells them that stative
verbs in English do not take the present participle morpheme -ing, they may feel
confused, or even deceived, when they hear someone use the present participle
with a stative verb, such as:
| am loving every minute of this class.

And yet, most English speakers would agree that combining the present
participle with a stative verb, as has been done here with the stative verb
love, accomplishes the special effect of intensifying the emotion expressed
by the verb, which makes it at least conversationally acceptable, and mean-
ingful, in English. Chapter 5 in this text elaborates on the distinction
between reasons and rules.
When you say that the association between grammar and rules
is only partially true, | think OK, but I also think about some che
of the Spanish students I had this year. For them, things had to Voices

be black and white—they wanted rules and didn’t want to hear

about exceptions. Other students in the class more easily went Marie Nestingen

CHALLENGING CONCEPTIONS OF GRAMMAR e 19

 with the flow. They seemed better able to reason things and to
grasp the exceptions. Personally, when I was first learning
Spanish, I realize how rule-oriented I was. But the more I
learned about Spanish (I am still learning!), the more and more
I could understand the exceptions. So, I guess what I am coming
‘to is that there may be a real difference in students’ need for
rules and their perception of them, based.on who they are and
their language level.
What Marie says makes a lot of sense to me. I am writing about grammar as
an abstract system and Marie is thinking about grammar as embodied in the
responses of her high school Spanish students. Clearly my discomfort in seeing
grammar treated only as a set of rules does not matter to students who are try-
ing to hold onto something while their linguistic feet are being pulled out from
under them. Nevertheless, I persist. Iwant to understand the logic of the system,
whether or not I ever use rules or reasons to teach my students, because I know
that I can only be helpful to my students when I have first made sense of the
subject matter for myself.

4. Grammar is arbitrary.
As I have just suggested, speakers use their knowledge of grammar for
particular reasons. Grammatical resources are limited and precious. They are dis-
tributed in a nonarbitrary manner. Of course, the fact that language uses a par-
ticular form to convey a particular meaning may be arbitrary, at least from the
vantage point of a single point in time. For instance, that English uses -ed to mark
the past tense of regular verbs can be said to be arbitrary. The arbitrariness of the
connection between sound and meaning was one of the important insights made
by the Swiss linguist de Saussure. However, once a form has been settled upon to
convey a particular meaning, then arbitrariness is less of an issue.
In order to experience the nonarbitrary nature of grammar, please do the fol-
lowing Investigation. %

1. Make a list of all the different places in the English language where -ed
occurs—I don’t mean in words such as red and bed, but rather as a gram-
matical marker or morpheme. I can think of eight.
2. Now that you have made your list, see if you can account for the use of
-ed. In other words, what is the meaning of-ed in each item on your list?
Here are the eight that I thought of. I have identified the grammatical struc-
ture, given an example, and tried to ascribe a meaning or a function to the
marker in each case.

16 ¢ TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

Figure 2.1 The Meaning and Function of -ed in wer
eats i A A
Grammatical om
_ Structure Example Meaning
Past Tense I walked to ehieal secierday Past time
Perfective Aspect I have finished my homework. Completeness
Passive Voice The field was planted with corn. Marks the receiver
of the action
Conditional If he finished his homework, Hypotheticality
he would go.
Indirect Speech Diane said that she liked grammar. | Report
Adjective I was bored by the lecture. Marks the experiencer :
of the feeling
Question as Offer Did you want something to eat? Politeness
(The past tense with “do” is irregular.) |
Question as Inquiry What sort of price did you have Politeness
in mind?

3. Upon initial consideration of this list, it would appear that the use of -ed is
polysemous and quite arbitrary. But ask yourself now, what do all the
items listed—yours or mine—have in common?

My answer (informed by Knowles, 1979) is that they all signal some sort of
remoteness—whether in time (the past tense of the first example); an action that
has been terminated (perfective aspect as it is used in the second example);
because it focuses on the receiver of the action, not the performer or agent of
the action (passive voice); removed from reality (the hypothetical conditional);
not a direct quotation but an indirect one, offered as a report of what has been
said (indirect speech); because it marks the experiencer, removed from the cause
(when used as an adjective); and since indirectness or distancing conveys polite-
ness, it can be used with offers and inquiries to increase the politeness, as in the
use of do versus did here.
Tn Investigation 2.2, I attempted to demonstrate that a grammatical resource
of the language—in this example the morpheme -ed—has been distributed and
utilized for a specific purpose, not on the basis of some whim. If we looked at
language from a satellite or aerial photograph perspective, rather than from the
ground, we would see the systematicity of grammar. Of course, it may make lit-
tle sense to inform students of English that the morpheme -ed conveys remote-
ness or distance. This meaning is probably too abstract to be of use to them.
Later in this text, we will see how the nonarbitrariness of language and gram-
mar has pedagogic relevance. For now, my intention was simply to dissuade you
of the notion that grammar is arbitrary, an issue I shall return to in Chapter S.

CHALLENGING CONCEPTIONS OF GRAMMAR ® 17

 5. One good thing about grammar is that there is always one right answer.
Teachers know this to be untrue, either intuitively or because they recollect the
times when a student has asked if a particular way of saying something is cor-
rect and they have felt compelled to answer, “It is right if you mean....”
Grammar is not the linguistic straitjacket it is made out to be. It is true that one
meaning of the word grammatical has to do with whether or not a given utter-
ance is consistent with normative conventions; for example, it is grammatical to
use whom, not who, when asking a question about an object, not a subject:
Whom did you see?
However, although prescriptive grammars precepts such as this one have their
place, normally, there is much more choice when it comes to decisions about
which linguistic form to use to convey a certain meaning. Indeed, options
abound, depending on psychological variables such as presupposition, focus, and
emphasis, and social variables such as politeness, attitude, status, and register.
Are you going downtown after class?

Aren’t you going downtown after class?

Are you not going downtown after class?

You're not going down town after class, are you?

You're going downtown after class, aren’t you?

You're going downtown after class?

You aren’t going downtown after class?

Going downtown after class? ~

I will have much more to say about flexibility and the grammar of choice in
Chapter 6. Suffice it for the present to note that speakers of a language,
although they must conform in part to the conventions of the language, have a
great deal of choice in other ways, and that how they exercise that choice will
influence how they and their ideas are perceived.

6. Grammar has to do with word endings and word order within a sentence
and structures, such as word endings or morphology.
Grammar does have to do with the sentence and subsentence levels. Grammar
is about word order in sentences (syntax) and word formation processes (mor-
phology); it is also about using the correct function words. However, impor-
tantly, grammar plays a role in the construction and interpretation of texts.
Grammatical resources are marshaled to contribute to the discourse coherence
and cohesion, the interconnectedness of text. In other words, grammar is a dis-
cursive tool. I will take up this important function of grammar in Chapter 7, so
for the time being, let me simply illustrate the discourse application of grammar.
For example, fill in the blanks in the following sentence with the English articles
a or the:
boy jumped over stream.

18 © TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

At the sentence level you cannot be certain which article to use. Either a or the
would be possible in both blanks. However, if you were asked to fill in the blanks
for the same sentence in the text below, it should be clear which articles to use.
A young boy was hurrying home from school and decided to take a
shortcut through the woods. He entered the woods behind the school
by climbing over a fence. He began to follow a familiar path. Later,
boy jumped over stream.

You knew to write the boy, because the boy had already been introduced and
thus needed to be marked with the definite article. You probably chose a before
stream because the existence of a stream was not yet established in the dis-
course. While controlling the article system obviously requires knowledge of
how grammar operates at the level of discourse, so do many other less obvious
structures, as we will see in Chapter 7.
I would like to make another point here. If grammar is held to deal only with
the morphosyntactic structure of sentences, then it may be unable to account for
spoken discourse because, after all, people do not speak in sentences. Yet, of
course, people do speak grammatically, so our definition of grammar will have
to be broad enough to include speech. While there are clearly overlaps between
a grammar of written sentences and a grammar of speech, there are differences
as well. For example, given the pressure of real-time language use, English adver-
bials not normally found in clause final position occur there quite regularly:
We have saved enough money almost.

It will be important, therefore, to be clear whether patterns in speech or in the

written form of the language are being described.

THE LEARNING OF GRAMMAR

; |‘he next three statements apply to the learning of grammar.

7. Grammar is acquired naturally; it doesn’t have to be taught.

It is difficult to refute the statement that grammar can be acquired naturally
because such is the case with native language acquisition. More to the point
here, many of us know of successful second language learners who have picked
up the language on their own, that is, have learned it implicitly through immer-
sion in an environment where the language is spoken. However, compelling
counterevidence to this statement is the experience of all those learners who
have lived for a long time in an environment where the target language is spo-
ken all around them yet who have failed to acquire even its rudimentary mor-
phology. So perhaps this statement is more a comment on language learners
than it is on language learning.
To this qualification, Lilia Topalova would add that it also depends on the learn-
ing circumstances. Lilia, who taught English for 18 years in Bulgaria and spent 2
years in Ukraine as a teacher trainer, has the following to say concerning the state-
ment that grammar is acquired naturally; it doesn’t have to be taught.

CHALLENGING CONCEPTIONS OF GRAMMAR ° 19

 Well, maybe this is true if you are teaching English here in the
United States. But I know it is not true of English learners in
Bulgaria and Ukraine. My students, whose native language is very
different from English, definitely have to be taught grammar. They
Lilia Topalova really have very little opportunity to hear or speak English outside
-of class. And even in class, their opportunities to do so are limited.
How would they ever learn grammar if I didn’t teach them?
Thus, underlying statement 7 is the highly questionable assumption that what
works well in natural environments is what should be adhered to in the lan-
guage classroom. I have referred to this as the reflex fallacy (Larsen-Freeman,
1995), the assumption that it is our job to re-create in our classrooms the nat-
ural conditions of acquisition present in the external environment. Instead, what
we want to do as language teachers, it seems to me, is to improve upon natural
acquisition, not emulate it. We do want our teaching to harmonize with our stu-
dents’ natural tendencies, but we want our teaching to accelerate the actual rate
of acquisition beyond what students could achieve on their own. As Lilia noted,
the time to learn is so limited. Accelerating natural learning is, after all, the pur-
pose of formal education. And helping our students learn faster than they would
on their own may well call for explicit teaching and learning to complement the
implicit learning that they naturally do. I will elaborate on one way this is
accomplished when I discuss consciousness-raising in Chapter 8.

8. Grammar structures are acquired in a set order, one after another.

; Second language acquisition (SLA) researchers have found evidence of develop-
mental sequences for particular grammatical structures, such as questions. For
instance, we know that ESL students begin learning yes—no questions with ris-
ing intonation, but without inversion. Later, they learnto invert. Still later, they
overgeneralize inversion in embedded wh-questions—for example, “He asked
what time is it?”—and must learn to “uninvert.”
Howevei, no acquisition order has been worked out for when questions are
acquired as opposed to other structures in a language. And it probably never
will be worked out, because it is not the case that learners tackle one structure
at a time, first mastering one and then turning to another, like beads on a string.
Even when learners appear to have mastered a particular form, it is not uncom-
mon to find backsliding, where students’ performance regresses, when new
forms are introduced. The nonlinear nature of the language acquisition process
will be taken up further in Chapter 8.

9. All aspects of grammar are learned in the same way.

I am not aware of anyone who boldly asserts that there is a single mechanism
that would account for all aspects of grammatical structure acquisition. Even
those who subscribe to an innatist Universal Grammar (UG) perspective, for
instance, allow that the core grammar may be innate but that peripheral gram-
mar may be learned through a different mechanism. However, it is the case that
language teaching methods have sometimes been based exclusively on one view
of the language acquisition process. Thus, for example, there was an affinity

20 © TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

between audiolingualism and behaviorism, and between the cognitive code
approach and cognitivism. Such affinities gave rise to general claims about the
whole of language acquisition, that is, that language acquisition is a product of
habit formation or of rule formation.
More recently, reprises of this theme have taken the form of claims about lan-
guage acquisition resulting from setting/resetting of parameters (UG), or from the
strengthening of connections in complex neural networks (connectionism), or
from scaffolded interactions by a more proficient speaker of the language _inter-
acting with a less proficient one (Vygotskyan sociocultural theory). The problem
is not that we have competing theories vying to explain the process; the problem
is the expectation that all SLA will be explicable by a single process. With lan-
guage as complex as it is, why should we expect that a single explanation will
suffice? More will be said about this in Chapter 9 when I discuss how we can
draw upon all these explanations to inform the design of output practice.

THE TEACHING OF GRAMMAR

‘ ‘he final three statements relate to the teaching of grammar.

10. Learners will eventually bring their performance into alignment

with the target language; error correction or feedback is unnecessary.
Error correction may be unnecessary for those few gifted language learners who
have the aptitude to learn a language on their own. In fact, from the perspective
of an earlier model of UG theory, the presence of positive evidence alone—actu-
al instances of particular grammar structures in the input—was seen to be suf-
ficient for the parameters of particular principles to be set. Negative evidence—
evidence that something was unacceptable—was thought to be unnecessary.
However, such claims bring me back to the reflex fallacy. While positive evi-
dence may be all that is minimally necessary for acquisition, our job as language
teachers is to maximize learning by creating optimal conditions for it to take
place. Receiving feedback on one’s performance so that one can see what is
acceptable and what is not is one of those optimal conditions. Therefore, we
must think in terms of providing feedback in helpful ways, something I will dis-
cuss in Chapter 10.

11. Grammar (teaching and/or learning) is boring.

Grammar is never boring. What we ask students to do to learn it can be.
Statement 11 is problematic on a number of counts. First, although I do not
think that it is my job to entertain my students, I do believe that it is my job to
engage them. It is at the point of engagement that most learning is likely to take
place—when students are focused, relaxed, and attentive. Second, if grammar is
presented as a system of static rules, students may not put in the time that they
will need to master it. I will need to find a way to make grammar practice mean-
ingful. Third, I will have to work on the attitude of (some of) my students. Just
as I believe that teachers are well served when they cultivate attitudes of inquiry,
I suggest that this is a good attitude to nurture in students. I cannot teach my

CHALLENGING CONCEPTIONS OF GRAMMAR ® 21

 students everything there is to teach about a language, and even if I could, lan-
guage is always changing. What I can do is to give them the tools to learn. I will
return to this point in Chapter 11.
For now, let me make the point about engagement by offering a simple con-
trast. When I started teaching, I had been trained to conduct pattern practice
and structure drills. Thus, when I wanted to teach my students the inversion rule
in English question formation, I would relate the:details of my morning to my
students and ask them to transform what I said into questions.
Diane: I got up at 7. Students: Did you get up at 7?
I took a shower. Did you take a shower?
I got dressed. Did you get dressed?
I ate breakfast. Did you eat breakfast?
And so on. Now, this could have been an engaging exercise if I had had an
unusual morning, perhaps. But, more often than not, my mornings followed this
predictable routine. There was not much student engagement in this transfor-
mation drill, |am afraid.
However, on one occasion, I asked my students to close their eyes. I allowed
a few seconds to pass, then continued:
Diane: Now open your eyes. I just changed five TREN about myself. Can
you guess what they are?

$1: Did you take off your watch?

$2: Did you open a button?
$2: Did you take off your shoe? at
$4: Did you comb your hair?
I found that this exercise elicited a very different response from my students. While
I had to help them a bit with the vocabulary, it turned out to be considerably more
engaging than the first exercise. Understanding what makes it so proved to be very
important in my teaching; I will discuss this further in Chapter 11.

12. Not all students need to be taught grammar. Children, for instance,
do not benefit from formal grammar instruction.
The answer to the question of which learners benefit from studying grammar
hinges on one’s definition of grammar. While children, for instance, might not
benefit from the study of explicit metalinguistic rules, there is no reason that
they should be denied grammar instruction any more than any other segment of
the language student population. Even though young children may be more
receptive to implicitly “picking up” the forms of the language, they still should
not be victimized by the reflex fallacy. We should always be looking for ways to
facilitate the acquisition of language, and this includes helping children unlock
its system. This question of for whom and when grammar instruction should
take place will be further discussed in Chapter 11.

22 ¢ TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

 We have begun the important work of challenging some fundamental
assumptions concerning grammar and disabusing ourselves of some of the more
questionable ones. The twelve statements discussed in the chapter are partially
true. But if we hope to liberate ourselves and our students from an unhelpful
way of construing grammar, we must let ourselves be open to a different way of
conceiving our subject matter. In the five chapters that follow I will elaborate in
turn on the five attributes of grammar that have been introduced in this chap-
ter: its dynamic, complex, rational/systemic, flexible, and discursive nature.

Suggested Readings
I discuss several of these grammar myths (and others as well) in a 1994 paper
delivered at the Second Language Acquisition and Language Pedagogy
Conference at the University of Wisconsin, Milwaukee (Larsen-Freeman, 1995).
At the 1996 TESOL Convention, as a participant in a debate on the art and sci-
ence of teaching, I was asked to defend the proposition that teaching is a sci-
ence. I chose to do this by arguing that good practitioners, both scientists and
teachers alike, are well served by cultivating attitudes of inquiry. See my remarks
and those of the other debaters in the Journal of Imagination in Language
Learning 2000 (Larsen-Freeman, 2000d).

CHALLENGING CONCEPTIONS OF GRAMMAR ® 23

 3
THE DYNAMICS OF LANGUAGE
(GRAMMARING)
or the purposes of teaching and learning a language, I suggest that it would be
better to think of grammar as a skill or dynamic process, something that I have
called grammaring, rather than as a static area of knowledge. Of course, the term
grammar has many meanings, and certainly some s of these can be a at
with knowledge. rammars by v F
. Writers, especialy a

their language. Teachers ask students

e mars. However, if we language teachers
make a steinSavion between grammar and knowledge, then we run the risk
of grammar’s remaining inert, not available for use by our students.
Moreover, when grammar is taught solely as a body of knowledge—a collection
of rules, norms, parts of speech, and verb paradigms—it is not surprising that
the mention of grammar invokes a negative response on the part of many students.
Most students find it hard to be enthusiastic about having to learn what appear
to be arbitrary facts about a language, let alone sometimes being asked to learn
them by rote. While I will have more to say later in this book about what sort
of grammatical knowledge our students do need and how to teach grammar as
a skill, for now I submit that there is another very good reason to entertain an
alternative view of grammar, one that is less knowledge-centered. Indeed, not
doing so obscures important truths about the nature of grammar and, more
broadly, of language itself. It is these truths, expressly concerning the dynamic
nature of language, that are addressed in this chapter.

The dictionary defines dynamic as “characterized by continuous movement or

change in time.” In what ways do you think that language is dynamic?

Now, besides thinking of grammar as a skill, there are at least four additional
ways in which I think of grammar, or indeed of language itself, as dynamic.
While I do not want to be guilty of conflating grammar and language, I do
believe that my remarks about dynamics in this chapter apply both to grammar
and, more generally, to language.

24 ¢ TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

OVER-TIME DYNAMISM
aes first way that grammar and language are dynamic is that they change
over time. It is common knowledge that the language and grammar of today
are not the same as the language and grammar of several centuries ago, even
though English is undeniably the same language. For example, in an earlier state
of the English language, the second-person pronoun you was defined by its
opposition to ye (ye being a subject pronoun and you being an object pronoun)
and to thee and thou (thee and thou being singular forms and ye and you plur-
al forms). Later, you became a respectful way of addressing one person, like the
modern French vous or the Spanish usted. Today, in modern English, you refers
to both one person and to many and can function as either the subject or object
in a sentence, not especially connoting respect. Languages are thus dynamic.
Their state at one point in time stems from their development over time.

You have just been reading about language change and how many older second-
person pronoun forms died out, leaving modern English with just the one form,
you. As a result, you refers both to one person (What are you doing! said with exas-
peration to a careless person) and to many people (Thank you, said to express grat-
itude to a group). What are some ways that English speakers of today compensate
for the fact that the second-person pronoun you does not allow them to distinguish
between singular and plural? In other words, what forms have been developed to
refer in the second person to more than one person? And what do English speak-
ers do without a distinctly respectful form of a second-person pronoun?

Concern about language change has led some countries to feel that the best way
to look after a language was to place it in the care of an academy. In Italy, the
Accademia della Crusca was founded as early as 1582, with the object of puri-
fying the Italian language. In France, in 1635, Cardinal Richelieu established the
Académie frangaise
to labour with all possible care and diligence to give definite rules
to our language, and to render it pure, eloquent, and capable of
treating the arts and sciences.
There is a widely held belief that language change must mean deterioration,
which leads to sloppy thinking. Older people observe the casual speech of the
young and conclude that standards have fallen markedly. They place the blame
in various quarters, from poor upraising to permissive schooling to pop culture.
However, much teeth-gnashing could be avoided if the critics realized that lan-
guage change over time is inevitable and rarely predictable or controllable.

Have you noticed ways in which English is changing these days? It will take a
while longer for the changes to make their way into the written language, and still

THE DYNAMICS OF LANGUAGE (GRAMMARING) ® 25

 longer for the grammatical system to be restructured, but there are changes
underway in the spoken language that you may have noticed. Pick one of the
following structures and, first, state the rule regarding its use. Then say how the
structure is being altered in speech today. Can you appreciate how difficult it would
be to.try to incorporate these changes into a grammar in any definitive manner?
e The reflexive pronouns, especially myself.
¢ The use of more for comparison with adjectives
¢ The modal-like form had better
e The interrogative/relative pronoun whom

Sometimes these changes come as a shock to language learners. It is easy to

see how much more challenging the task of learning a language is when lan-
guage is always changing. Michael Kozden, formerly an EFL teacher in Korea,
found that his Korean colleagues were aware of the over-time dynamism of
English and would look to him for what was acceptable.
Many of my fellow teachers believed that I, as a native speaker of
Teachers’ English, had the final word on the way English was. They were
Voices aware that the grammar books they used were sometimes out of
date. They would quiz me on the subject of changing forms in
Michael Kozden English. What struck me at the time was my insecurity in answering
their questions. I, too, recognized that the language was changing,
but I was reluctant to answer based on my intuitions alone. I really
wanted to have a community of native speakers to confer with.
It is not always easy to draw a line between what is acceptable and what is
not. What is the distinction between an error and a new form, which is the product
of the dynamic and relentless process by which all new forms of language
evolve? As Michael Kozden saw, acceptability of new forms is not individually
determined; it is socially defined.

REAL-TIME DYNAMISM
hile we might call such evolutionary changes over-time dynamism, the
second well-known way that languages can be said to be dynamic can
be referred to as real-time dynamism. To understand the second type of
dynamism, it is helpful to think of the contrast between product and process.
It is true that language can be described as an aggregation of static units or
products—for example, parts of speech such as nouns and verbs—but their
use requires activation, a real-time process. Language users must constantly
scan the environment (an immediate one in speech, a more remote one in
writing), consider their interlocutors/readers, and interpret what they are hear-
ing/seeing in order to make decisions about how to respond in accurate, mean-
ingful, and appropriate ways and then carry out their decisions in real time—
that is, they must then somehow activate what they have decided upon. This
clearly entails a dynamic process.

26 © TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

STASIS IN LANGUAGE DESCRIPTION
If language is dynamic in these two ways, why is it that linguistic descriptions do not
reflect its dynamism? It would be worthwhile digressing for the moment to under-
stand that the stasis in linguistic description is intentional. The Swiss linguist
Ferdinand de Saussure, who has been called the founder of modern linguistics, deter-
mined that in order to define a proper object of study, the chaos of language in use
would have to be stripped away. Saying “language is speech less speaking” (de
Saussure, 1916, in Baskin, 1959: 17), de Saussure first isolated the category of
langue (the abstract system of the shared code) from the category of parole (the indi-
vidual utterances of speech) and declared the former the rightful object of linguistic
investigation. In other words, he distinguished the underlying system that makes
possible particular behaviors from actual instances of the behaviors, what I have
been calling real-time dynamism.
Another position de Saussure took was to isolate the category of historical or
diachronic linguistics from the category of contemporary or synchronic linguistics.
In other words, he eliminated over-time dynamism as well. Remarking that “A
panorama must be made from a single vantage point” (de Saussure, 1916, in Baskin,
1959: 82) and that “language is a system whose parts must be considered in their
synchronic solidarity” (de Saussure, 1916, in Baskin, 1959: 87), he admonished lin-
guists to ignore diachrony. Of course, de Saussure was well acquainted with the his-
toricity and changing nature of language, but he determined that it was important
to distinguish the facts about the linguistic system from facts about linguistic evolu-
tion. In order to reduce the noise or chaos of the dynamism of language, de Saussure
encouraged the fixing of language as an idealization to facilitate its investigation
(Harnett, 1995).
There was good reason for de Saussure’s taking the position he did. After all,
diachronic information is not especially relevant if we are to understand the sys-
tem of a language operating at a particular point in time. If we want to describe
modern English, for example, knowing that you is the second-person pronoun,
singular and plural, is sufficient to describe its function in the pronominal sys-
tem of modern English, without knowing anything about its earlier partnership
with ye, thee, and thou. Similarly, in French, the noun pas, meaning step, and
the negative adverb pas derive from the same source, but this fact is irrelevant
to a description of how negation is expressed in modern French (Culler, 1976).
To try to incorporate these historical facts into a description of the contempo-
rary linguistic system would be adding unnecessary complexity.
It would also be overwhelming if linguists tried to account for all of the differ-
ences in the way individuals speak at a single point in time. When we talk about a
linguistic system at a given time, we are abstracting common features from a very
large number of idiolects, or personal dialects of individuals. Nevertheless, the lin-
guistic system of a language exists to the extent that all the individuals understand
one another, whereas individuals who speak a different language cannot understand
them, or certainly not to the same degree. Since we want to represent this fact and
speak of the system that these native speakers have in common, de Saussure advises
that we study the linguistic system in a particular synchronic state. Thus, de Saussure
fully appreciated the dynamics of language but, motivated by a search for the under-
lying system, proclaimed the synchronic system as the proper domain of linguistics.

THE DYNAMICS OF LANGUAGE (GRAMMARING) ® 27

 ™ Pree system by sartltiries Einar — ipemren.mance a |
The former refers to “the actual use of language in concrete situations” (Chomsky,
1965: 4) and is not deemed the province of linguistics. Linguistics is, for Chomsky,
Later primarily concerned with explaining homogeneous invariable competence, or the ide-
E-language
alized speaker’s knowledge of his or her language system. Chomsky’s competence is
(externalized)
not a social construct, as was de Saussure’s langue, but rather psychological, a
and l-language : : eset .
(internalized) genetic endowment in each individual. Nonetheless, they both adopted a similar
(Chomsky, 1986), dichotomy of knowledge and behavior and proposed that it was the former that was
within the scope of linguistic inquiry.
Both these towering figures in linguistics, and many others 1inn the field, have
reached the same conclusion Becalise ay believe that, to have any hope

A over time or languz ete included in the

investigation. Reales as allats have attempted to construct a grammar will
attest, it is by no means clear how to write grammars that capture the dynamism
of language. How do you turn a camera into a camcorder? For now, we may only
be able to content ourselves with the awareness of the need for a new metaphor.

INTRODUCING DYNAMISM INTO LINGUISTIC DESCRIPTION

Not all linguists have limited grammatical competence to knowledge, however.
Roman Jakobson, for instance, argued that linguists must study parole, and his
, work on the roots of sound change in synchrony led him to claim that syn-
chrony can be both static and dynamic (Waugh, 1997). Then, too, anthropo-
logical linguist Dell Hymes (1972), in addition to expanding Chomsky’s notion
of (primarily grammatical) competence to communicative competence, included
in competence not only knowledge but also the ability to use the knowledge,
what I have been calling a skill.
Michael Halliday (1994) also observes that we would be well served by
encouraging more dynamic models of language and of grammar. Working with-
in a Hallidayan framework, David Brazil (1995) has attempted to produce a
real-time description of syntax, an account of how people produce specch in real
time. Brazil’s Incremental Grammar focuses on a step-by-step construction of
speech over time, building incrementally from one element to the next.
Another linguist, Paul Hopper (1988), objecting to Chomsky’s depiction of
grammar as a static object that is fully present at all times in the mind of the
speaker, proposes instead that grammar is a phenomenon “whose status is con-
stantly being renegotiated in speech and which cannot be distinguished in prin-
ciple from strategies for building discourses” (Hopper, 1988: 118). As Hopper
puts it, “Its forms are not fixed templates, but arise out of face-to-face interac-
tion in ways that reflect the individual speakers’ past experience of these forms,
and their assessment of the present context, including especially their interlocu-
tors, whose experience and assessments may be quite different” (1998: 156).
In the following table, adapted from Hopper (1998), the contrast is made
clearly between a Chomskyan rule-based grammar, which Hopper calls an a
priori grammar, and one that is emergent.

28 ¢ TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

Figure 3.1 Contrasting A Priori and Emergent Grammar
A Prion. Grammar Emergent Grammar
Discrete set of rules Regularity comes out of use in discourse;
“sedimented” patterns _
Logically and mentally detachable Cannot be distinguished in principle
from discourse from discourse
Prerequisite for generating discourse Emerges in discourse (“an effect”)
(“a cause”) |
Sentence is unit Clause is unit
Data supplied by intuition | Data come from actual discourse
A static entity, fullyce at all Regularities are always in flux
times in the mind of the speaker and provisional and are continuously
subject to negotiation, renovation, and
abandonment
Essentially atemporal ; A real-time activity
Homogeneous Heterogeneous (many different kinds
of regularities)
Analyzes all examples equall Investigates strategies for constructing
within the rule system; indifferent texts that produce the fixing or
to prior texts sedimentation of forms that are
understood to constitute grammar

hose Ly visional and are continually subjectto

neg ent” (Hopper, 1988: 120). We can see
from Hopper’s words that he finds no incompatibility with the notion of gram-
mar and the contingent, provisional disorderliness of its use in real time.
Not everyone sees grammar in perpetual flux the way Hopper does. Talmy
Givon (1999), objecting to the absolutism of both Chomsky’s a priori and
Hopper’s emergent grammar viewpoints, asserts that both views represent
extremes. Giv6n maintains that the facts of grammar in natural language use
tend to uphold a middle-ground position. Language must possess a certain rigid-
ity for rapid speech-processing purposes, along with a flexibility that allows for
change, adaptive innovation, and learning, not to mention the need to deal with
contexts of high informational ambiguity and uncertainty. Thus, any model of
grammar must be able to accommodate both rigidity and flexibility.
Also seeking a middle ground between the two positions, Adele Goldberg
(1999) claims that the flexible, emergent quality of grammar is only apparent dur-
ing initial grammar acquisition. “Once grammar is acquired, it is assumed that it
has a highly conventionalized status, and that although minute changes in the sys-
tem constantly occur, the system as a whole is fairly stable” (Goldberg, 1999: 200).
While Goldberg’s position seems quite sensible, note that it still dichotomizes sta-
bility and flux, just as Chomsky and Hopper did in their respective positions.
Moreover, while Givén recognizes the need to accommodate both, he does not
address the nature of the relationship between stability and flux. To do so, we must
consider a third type of dynamism.

THE DYNAMICS OF LANGUAGE (GRAMMARING) ¢ 29

 ORGANIC DYNAMISM
vehave spoken of two notions of the term dynamic: chang
e use in real time. e is yet a ihusirmsot en mism w
wortt while to consider: the ynamic connection that is made at the intersecti
oO. chefirsttwo types. After all, when we say that egrarerenychanges over time, what
do we - really mean? Language does not change of its own accord. On the other hand,
changes in a language are not usually the product of willful attempts on the part of
users to alter the code. This is not to deny that a user may from time to time deliber-
ately strive to create linguistic innovations, as I have done by coining the term gram-
maring. The point is that individuals may not intentionally seek to change language,
but they do so by their day-to-day interactions in using it. Rudy Keller (1985) observes
that language is a phenomenon whereby change in the macrolevel system results from
the microlevel behaviors of individuals unintentionally acting to bring about such con-
sequences. Thus, the behavior of the system as a whole is the result of the See ete
of local interactions. I will AS OTZANIC «
Biologists know about organic dy
mate connection between variation at one time and evolutionary change. The evo-
lutionary biologist Douglas Futuyama has the following to say about the matter:
.. Variation is the heart of the scientific study of the living world.
As long as essentialism, the outlook that ignored variation in its
focus on fixed essences, held sway, the possibility of evolutionary
change could hardly be conceived, for variation is both the product
and foundation of evolution (Futuyama, 1986: 82).
Linguists recognize Futuyama’s statement as the “Labov principle” (named for the
sociolinguist William Labov), which attests to the link between (synchronic) variation
and (diachronic) change. To put it in plain language, “the act of playing the game has
a way of changing the rules” (Gleick, 1987: 24). James Gleitk wrote this when he was
describing what insights chaos theory yielded concerning naturally occurring systems,
such as the weather and the rise and decline of animal species. I have applied many of
these insights to language (Larsen-Freeman, 1997), feeling that language too is a natu-
rally occurring system that, like the other systems with which chaos/complexity theory
deals, involves dynamism, complexity, systematicity, flexibility, and interconnectedness.
One of the promises of this way of looking at language, therefore, is that it connects
real-time processing to change over time (see, for example, Smith and Thelen, 1993).
In short, the third meaning of dynamic makes no distinction between current
individual use of language (real-time dynamism) and its evolutionary change
(over-time dynamism)—they just occur at different levels of scale. As I am writing
this and you are reading it, we are changing English. By analogy, at another level
of scale, we are not only changing English, we are changing English in ourselves.
“The act of using the language meaningfully has a way of changing the grammar
in the user,” as Karl Diller put it (1995: 116).
Charles Hockett has made a related comment:
An individual’s speech habits, at any moment, constitute a system
which underlies and conditions what the individual says and how
the individual interprets the speech of others; and every such
episode of the use of language modifies the individual’s system at

30 © TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

 least a little. Quite clearly there is no such thing as a stable état de
langue of the sort Saussure proposed, in either an individual or a
\ community—or if there is, it is stable for only a fraction of a second
* (Hockett, 1987: 157-158n).
In sum, it is important to recognize that while freezing and homogenizing lan-
guage, as de Saussure and Chomsky have sought to do, has its theoretical/method-
ological advantages and its adherents, it also has its liabilities and its critics. When
linguists hypostasize language for the purpose of studying its systematicity, language
becomes an idealized, objectified, atemporal “thing.” In order to know it, we feel
we have to describe it in terms of its parts. The result is that we come to think of
language in a mechanistic fashion.
William Rutherford (1987) comments:
The notion of language as a machine works satisfactorily for us in
certain respects—language after all contains systems, and to probe the
intricacies of any system is at least to impute to it the components
that ostensibly comprise it. Yet there is another side of language that
is not very machine-like at all, a side in which the edges become
blurred or disappear altogether. Language is constantly in the act of
change or growth.... Growth of course is quite unmachine-like, or
alien to that which we can conceive of in purely mechanical terms.
The apt descriptive term for growth then is not mechanic but organic.
Thus, although language has characteristics that lend themselves to
the machine metaphor, it has a great deal to it that also suggests very
aptly the metaphor of organism (Rutherford, 1987: 36-37).
Others have said similar things. Humboldt (1949, cited in Robins, 1967) stressed
that “a language is to be identified with a living capability by which speakers pro-
duce and understand utterances, not with the observed products of the acts of speak-
ing and writing.” Still earlier, commenting on what I have called over-time
dynamism, (Schleicher, 1863, cited in Robins, 1967) went so far as to say that lan-
guage is “one of the natural organisms of the world to be treated by the methods of
natural science, one moreover that independently of its speakers’ will or conscious-
ness has its periods of growth, maturity and decline.” In fact, it was Charles Darwin
himself who alluded to the notion that languages evolve and diverge as species do.

Echoing some of the observations above, it has recently been suggested that lan-
guages should be treated as biological species to which the analytical methods
of evolutionary biologists could then be applied (Pickrell, 2002).
What does it mean to say that a language should be treated as a biological
species or as an organism? Have you ever thought about it this way? If so, what
does this suggest for teaching and learning?

While not many people would embrace Schleicher’s animism, it is appealing to

me to view language in this way. While I have to be careful not to ascribe to a code
a vitality of its own, since it is the people who use it who make it “come alive,” it is

THE DYNAMICS OF LANGUAGE (GRAMMARING) ® 31

 nevertheless attractive to think of language as a natural phenomenon, a dynamic
organism. Indeed, I was very moved the day that I realized that the structure of lan-
guage and the structure of a natural es) such as a tree were both fractals. A fre

For other ways oes ona ae pence you see essentially the same shape, with “ovis emanating
in which language — from a central stalk. At the end of the twigs are leavés with central veins and arter-
is a fractal, see ies radiating outward. Thus, each level of scale of a tree reveals the same basic shape.
Larsen-Freeman, The same is true for language: It is self-similar at every level of scale. For instance,
noEN the ten most frequent words in a given text will be rank-ordered in the same
sequence as in a much larger text which in turn will occupy the ten highest ranks in
a word-frequency list of a much larger corpus of the language.
The fractal image was very appealing to me, perhaps because I am a gardener. It
is important to me to be in contact with the natural world. And, no doubt, the
appeal of fractals was that they presented me with the opportunity to find common
ground (pardon the pun) between my avocation and my vocation. In fact, I once
went so far as to give a paper with David Nunan on “Grammaring and
Gardening,” where we discussed grammaring from the standpoint of gardening.
There are many parallels between the two processes, such as preparing the ground,
planting the seeds, watering, pulling weeds, pruning the plants, and so forth.
Being similarly inspired, Kim Murday, a teacher of Spanish at Carnegie
Mellon University, once wrote in a paper for a course that I was teaching on
dynamical systems theory and language/language acquisition:
eachers’
: Voices The idea that language is a fractal, as much as any tree or [ecosystem],
is a powerful reminder that we, and the results of our behavior
Kim Murday (such as language), are part of nature (Murday, 2000).
~
N

THE DYNAMISM OF INTERLANGUAGE

Nie another application of dynamism may have occurred to you as you thought
about the first iyessiea on in this chapter. Set a

ieee (idee acquisition (SLA) researchers oR eae attempted to write descrip-

tive grammars of learners’ interlanguage have found it hard to keep up with the
moment-by-moment changes in the learners’ systems. Even those who have resorted to
employing variable rules (e.g., Stauble and Larsen-Freeman, 1978) and distribution
tables (Heubner, 1979), which capture the variability of rule application in different lin-
guistic contexts, acknowledge the difficulty of capturing the mutability of interlan-
guage. Significantly, though, such research has been puadieice on a rather fixed view
of language. It has been assumed that successful SLA is accom emit... 3
acquisition of| es that bring the learner’s periOnene into greater conformity —
with the targetlanguage. This perspective reflects an “acquisition metaphor” of learn-
ing (Sfard, 1998), that is, that human learning is conceived of as an acquisition of some-
thing, that “something” being an a priori category such as rules or units of language.
Once rules or structures are owned or acquired, according to the acquisition metaphor,
they may be applied, transferred (to a different context), and shared with others.

32 ¢ TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

 Since I have been entertaining a more dynamic view of language, a different
metaphor of learning may be needed. Sfard offers the “participation metaphor.”
ation mete iphor, rather than talking about acquiring entities,
en to activities. “In the image of learning that emerges from ane
eee turn, the permanence of having gives way to the flux of doing. While
the concept of acquisition implies that there is a clear endpoint to the process of
learning, the new terminology leaves no room” (Sfard, 1998: 6) for such.
This view leads to a much more dynamic concept of educational success.
According to the participation metaphor, learning a language is conceived of as
a process of becoming a member of a certain community.
This entails, above all, the ability to communicate in the language
of this community and act according to its norms.... While the
acquisition metaphor stresses the individual mind and what goes
“into it,” the participation metaphor shifts the focus to the evolving
bond between the individual and others (Sfard, 1998: 6).
Learning is taking part and at the same time becoming a part of a greater whole.
What Sfard describes is very much in keeping with a Vygotskyan sociocultural view of
language learning in whichBs useSeine
ech spoonsare not Suewellan as
different processes. Indeed point of view, ot lang whi

I hope aenow it is clear why ie CRUE has ned subtitled ie To

me the term gr ture the process nature of langua e—its dynam- _
ic ae es macamental to understand that language ccan be ae both
as a collection ofproducts and asprocess.
a However, since the product view has
dominated in recent times, I have given the other side more attention in this chap-
ter. Besides, I believe that “organism” is a better general metaphor of developing
interaction among humans. As Rutherford (1987: 37) put it so well:
Machines are constructed, whereas organisms grow. Machines have
precision; organisms have plasticity. Machines have linear connections;
organisms have cyclical interconnections. And, perhaps most
important of all, machines are sterile, whereas organisms are fecund.

Suggested Readings
Much has been written about chaos/complexity theory since I first began read-
ing about it in the early 1990s. Reading Gleick (1987) or Briggs and Peat (1989)
is still a good way to start. Another accessible source is Waldrop (1992). More
recent treatments of the theory abound. I have found Gell-Man (1994),
Kauffman (1995), Kelso (1995), and Holland (1998) very informative. Some of
the themes in this chapter have also been discussed within the ecology of lan-
guage by Larsen-Freeman (2002d), van Lier (2002), and other contributors to
Kramsch (2002). Also, although I have not yet had a chance to read it thor-
oughly, I have just received a new book by Herdina and Jessner (2002), who dis-
cuss a dynamic model of multilingualism.

THE DYNAMICS OF LANGUAGE (GRAMMARING) ¢ 33

 4

THE [THREE DIMENSIONS

[ this chapter, I will begin by adopting a more conventional product view of lan-
guage, that is, I will first analyze language into its component parts. However, my
treatment of language parts will differ from customary practice in two ways. First, most
analyses of language arrange the subsystems of language in an ascending hierarchy:
phonemes, morphemes, words, syntax, and so forth. Such an arrangement is under-
standable, because phonemes are constitutive of morphemes, which are constitutive of
words, and so on. Nevertheless, I have decided to present the parts in a nonhierarchi-
cal fashion because I wish to emphasize the dynamic interplay of the subsystems.
The second departure from customary practice is that I will treat the mor-
phological and syntactic subsystems as a resource for making meaning in a
context-sensitive manner. This will necessitate dealing with the complexity of
grammar, demonstrating that there is much more of concern in the teaching and
learning of grammar than whether or not students produce grammatical forms
accurately. The complexity is partly captured by the fact that form is only one
of three dimensions, all of which play a part in grammaring, as described below.

THE THREE DIMENSIONS APPLIED TO LANGUAGE

IN COMMUNICATION 4
Form: Phonology/Graphology/Semiology, Morphology, Syntax
he first dimension, the forms of a language, consists of the visible or audible
units: the sounds (or signs, in the case of sign language), written symbols,
inflectional morphemes, function words (e.g., of), and syntactic structures. The
sounds or phonemes of the language are accounted for by the study of phonolo-
gy. Graphology is the study of graphemes, the minimal contrastive units in the
writing system of a language. Semiology is the science that deals with signs or sign
language. Morphology is the study of morphemes, the minimal meaningful units
of grammar; in the form category, morphology is limited to inflectional mor-
phemes (e.g., the -ing of the present participle) and to function words (e.g., the).
A study of syntax determines what combinations of word and morpheme
sequences are permitted and how they are sequenced in sentences.

Meaning: Semantics
The second dimension is meaning. Semantics is the study of meaning encoded in lan-
guage; we will think of it here as the essential denotation of a decontextualized form,
what we would learn about a particular form if we were to consult a dictionary. For
instance, if an ESL student asked you what the word cousin means, you might say
something like, “Your cousin is the son or daughter of your aunt and uncle.”

34 ¢ TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

Although the expression of meaning is distributed across all three dimensions, its pro-
totypical units are words (lexemes), derivational morphemes such as non-, and mul-
tiword lexicogrammatical units—multiword strings that are semantically complete
but have not fused into a single form, such as and so forth. Some language teaching
syllabus developers might want to include general categories of meaning, called
notions, in this dimension as well. Notions deal with, for example, space (location,
distance, motion, size) and time (indications of time, duration, sequence).
It may be more helpful to think of semantics as the study of meaning potential,
because we are well aware that the meaning of a word or lexicogrammatical string
that is actually realized in communication may be quite different from its dictionary
definition. For instance, Good morning is typically a pleasant and appropriate greet-
ing in the morning when extended to family members and others. If, on a given occa-
sion, I were to use Good morning to greet someone in the afternoon, you might
point out that I had inadvertently committed a semantic error: I should have said
Good afternoon. However, as I have just claimed, the meaning in a word or lexi-
cogrammatical string is only a potential meaning. I could have deliberately used the
same greeting of Good morning in the afternoon, fully aware of the time, but using
it nonetheless to teasingly greet my teenage son, who had just arisen. Using the greet-
ing as mild sarcasm illustrates the third dimension of language, pragmatics.

Use: Pragmatics
Pragmatics is not the meaning encoded in language, but what people mean by the
language they use. The units of this dimension are social functions (such as
promising, inviting, agreeing, disagreeing, and apologizing) and discourse patterns
(such as those that contribute to the cohesion of texts).

Figure 4.1 Prototypical Units of the Three Dimensions

Form Meaning/Semantics
Phonemes Words (lexemes)
Graphemes Derivational morphemes
Signs (sign language) | Multiword lexical strings
Grammatical
eoeee morphemes | Notions
(inflections and |
function words) i
¢ Syntactic patterns o~
wn

Use/Pragmatics
e Social functions (speech
acts such as promising,
inviting, etc.)
e Discourse patterns
(e.g., contributing to
cohesion within text)

THE THREE DIMENSIONS @ 39

 THE THREE DIMENSIONS APPLIED TO DIFFERENT LINGUISTIC UNITS

Different Levels of Scale

@) of the things that I find remarkable about this tripartite scheme is that
although there are prototypical units that can be associated with each of
the three dimensions, in order to arrive at a complete understanding of any one
of the units, it must be described from all three perspectives, not just its “pro-
totypical home.” In other words, the same tripartite scheme can be applied at
different levels of scale. Indeed, not to do so is to treat language in a very impov-
erished manner. Thus, being able to use grammar structures does not only mean
using the forms accurately; it means using them meaningfully (semantics) and
appropriately (pragmatics) as well. With the pie chart, and the following three
questions, we can easily map the form, meaning, and-use of any language unit:
Form: How is the unit formed?
Meaning: What does it mean (its essential meaning)?
Use: When and why is it used?

Meaning Units
Take, for instance, a vocabulary item—the noun house. An analysis of its form
would include its pronunciation or sign, knowing that it has a diphthong vowel
(/aw/), for instance. Part of knowing its form is also knowing its spelling. In the case
of house, the silent e is noteworthy. Then, too, knowing that it is a common count
noun would be necessary form information so that house could be used accurate-
ly in syntax. We might want to include other observations as well, such as that
house takes a long or syllabic plural (houses), but this sketch should give you an
idea of what is involved when we consider form. .
Consulting a dictionary for its meaning, we would learn that house means a “con-
struction intended to be used for human habitation” (Webster’s Third International).
This definition might have to be adjusted for students, especially those for whom no
cognates exist, perhaps to something like “a place where people live.”
But although knowing its form and meaning are important, having this knowl-
edge is not sufficient for someone to be able to use house appropriately. In order
to do so, the person must be able to distinguish house from home. He or she must
know when to choose house as opposed to one of its near synonyms: dwelling,
domicile, residence, habitat, abode. The person must know, too, how house is dif-
ferent from flat, apartment, pad, digs, condominium, and so forth. Of course, a
student does not need to know all this the first time the word house is encoun-
tered; indeed a student may never know all the terms above. But it may not be
long before a student has to complete some official document. When this time
comes, it is not likely that the student will be asked for the address of his or her
house, but might be asked this of his or her residence. Thus, to say that someone
“knows a word” entails a great deal more than simply knowing its meaning.
This is true more generally of semantic notions such as temporality. I will not
fully explicate this notion here, but I will use it to exemplify the point I made
earlier when I wrote “meaning may be conveyed through all three dimensions.”
Temporality, for instance can be signaled through form: the use of verb tense-

36 © TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

morphology. It can also be signaled lexically through adverbials, such as today,
in the evening, and afterward. Finally, it can be conveyed pragmatically, simply
by relating events in a text in the chronological order in which they took place.

Use Units
Similarly, one could take a prototypical unit from the pragmatic dimension—
say, a social function of offering an apology for a slight transgression—and
describe it using all three dimensions. First of all, we know that there are many
possible exponents for this particular function:

I’m (terribly, very) sorry.

Pardon me.
(Please) Excuse me.

We can describe their general forms: statements with and without an intensifier,
and imperatives with and without modulation, here achieved with please.
Students would have to be able to pronounce all the sounds in these exponents, of
course, but we will confine our comments on the phonology to those that may
present special problems to all students. The essential meaning of these forms is to
apologize for something we did or did or did not do or will or will not do when
we were/are supposed to. Specifically, excuse me is a formula to remedy a past or
immediately forthcoming breach of etiquette or other minor offense on the part of
the speaker. I’m sorry is an expression of dismay or regret at an unpleasantness
suffered by the addressee. Borkin and Reinhart (1978) have discussed how ESL
students have to learn to use them appropriately. The following was elicited from
a nonnative speaker of English, declining an invitation to the movies.
Excuse me. I’d like to go but | don’t have time.

Native speakers whom Borkin and Reinhart consulted agreed that declining an
invitation would be better accomplished with I’m sorry, and thus the use of
excuse me is a pragmatic error.
Of course, the student’s reply would be perfectly comprehensible, so this may not
seem a very grave error. The point has been made that for many students of lan-
guage, native speaker use is not the goal. This applies particularly to the use dimen-
sion because the use dimension deals with appropriateness, and when one is dealing
with appropriateness one is forced to ask, “appropriate for whom?” Because appro-
priateness is socially constructed and context-dependent, in certain situations, adher-
ing to native speaker conventions might be inappropriate for learners.
However, in situations of contact between native and non-native speakers of
a language, pragmatic errors are insidious in that they often lead proficient
speakers of a language to misjudge the intentions of less proficient speakers.
Particularly if the speakers are fluent and accurate, listeners do not realize that
a pragmatic error has been committed, instead misconstruing what was intend-
ed by the speaker and sometimes judging the speaker harshly as a result. Even
though I work with language all the time, I myself have been guilty of making
false inferences about the intentions of others.

THE THREE DIMENSIONS ° 87

 One summer I was working with a group of teachers from a particular coun-
try. During the course of the summer program, these teachers developed a rep-
utation among the native speakers of English for being quite rude. It was only
after I was able to distance myself from the interaction that I realized that the
evidence upon which the character of the teachers was being assessed (or assas-
sinated?) was their “inappropriate” linguistic behavior. The teachers would
often say of course to indicate agreement. Of course is a perfectly proper way
to show agreement when one is responding to a request. If you answer of course
to my request to help me move this table, your response shows your willingness
to cooperate. However, saying of course to a statement of fact (“The square root
of 144 is 12.” “Of course.”) implies that the speaker is not saying anything that
the listener does not already know. There were other such responses that were
interpreted by native speakers of English as a sign of rudeness. Only later, when
I asked, did I find out that of course was taught to these English teachers as a
direct equivalent of a form in their language that could be used to show agree-
ment on all occasions. The point is that a pragmatic misstep can be judged
harshly, and knowing when to use a particular form should not be treated as
simple fine-tuning to be dealt with at advanced levels of language instruction.

Form Units
Interestingly, as I have illustrated earlier, the same three dimensions apply to all
prototypical units, including those of form. For example, using the three ques-
tions in the pie chart, I compiled the following information about the form,
meaning, and use of the existential there in English.

Figure 4.2 Form, Meaning, and Use of English Existential There

~
N

Form Meaning
How is it formed? What does it mean?
e There in subject position e Existence
e Usually followed by ¢ Location
be verb
e The logical subject
follows the verb and
governs its number.
e A prepositional phrase
often follows the
logical subject.

Use
When/why is it used?
e To introduce new information
in end-focus position

38 © TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

Using an example will help ground the following analysis:
There are Canada geese on the river.
There is an invariant form, occupying the subject position in the sentence. It is
followed by a verb, usually a form of be, whose form in turn governs the form
of the noun phrase that follows, or the logical subject. The logical subject is also
typically indefinite—here, for instance, it is Canada geese, not the Canada geese.
A prepositional phrase—here, on the river—often follows the logical subject.
The name of the structure, the existential there, gives us a clue about its mean-
ing. It fits into the semantic category of asserting the existence of something or
showing the location of something. It is used to introduce new information. The
preferred position for new information is in end-focus position toward the end of
the clause, and by using there to fill the subject position, the new information—in
this case the whole proposition, Canada geese and their location—can be post-
poned until further in the sentence, in the preferred end-focus position.
Knowing this explains why, if ]asked someone else for a writing implement while
I was on the phone, I would be pleased to hear There is a pencil on the table, because
I would have received the information that I needed in an appropriate form, but I
would not be pleased to be told A pencil is on the table, because with this form
comes the pragmatic implication that this is not new information and that I should
not have had to be told. It would therefore be as much irritating as helpful.

I asked Peter, a high school English teacher, to conduct a form, meaning, use
analysis of the English possessive or genitive. I gave him the example Diane’s book,
but asked him not to confine his analysis to this example. Using the questions and
the pie chart, first try to do this yourself; then read Peter’s answer below.

Peter said:
Teachers
Let’s see. The form of the English possessive is “s”, although with Voices
more than one possessor, it could be “s’” or just “’ ”, like with
“Chris’ pen.” In any case, it is attached to the possessor. Its pro- Peter
nunciation can also vary, of course, depending on the sound that
precedes it. Here it is pronounced as a /z/. And, oh yes, regarding
its syntax, the possessor precedes the possession—here, the book.
Its meaning is obvious, isn’t it? It means ownership. Diane owns the
book. Wait a minute. I can see that “Diane’s book” is ambiguous.
Diane could be the author of the book, and so I can say “Diane’s
book” about a book I possessed that you wrote. I suppose, then,
that the “’s” can show authorship as well. As for its use, it is used
when I want to show ownership or authorship, I guess.
Peter has made some important observations about the possessive in English.
His description of the form is clear, and he saw the ambiguity of the ’s in denot-
ing ownership or authorship. There remains one point to clarify, though. Filling
the use wedge of the pie does not entail simply listing occasions when a struc-

THE THREE DIMENSIONS e 29

 ture is used. Instead, it asks what is distinctive about the use of two or more
structures with the same meaning. Remember, we had to work out the differ-
ence in use between There is a pencil on the table and A pencil is on the table.
As I said earlier, use has to do with the distribution of forms.
For example, why would someone choose to say Diane’s pen versus her pen?
Both’of these forms show possession by the same possessor. You might say that
someone could use the form with the possessive: adjective or determiner her
when it was clear who was being referred to. While this is true enough, it is not
the complete story. For instance, another factor in choosing to use the deter-
miner versus the ’s form to show possession is whether or not the possessor is
present. So if I were conversing with two other people and one of them were to
say to the other in my presence I am reading her book, meaning Diane’s book,
the speaker might be considered ill-mannered. In other words, when I am pre-
sent, saying I am reading Diane’s book would be more appropriate.
And what about the periphrastic possessive with of the, such as the pages of the
book, rather than the inflectional possessive the book’s pages? The book’s pages may
seem incorrect because human possessors are usually modified with the ’s form;
however, this generalization is by no means applied across the board. Many speak-
ers of English would accept the ’s with an inanimate possessor. They would find
nothing remarkable if someone were to say The book’s pages are torn. Then, too, it
is possible to use the periphrastic possessive with a human possessor, for example,
to speak of the works of Shakespeare, which a speaker might do to be more formal.
More could be said about the possessive, but for our purposes here, the point is that
there is more to knowing a grammar structure than how to form it.

I have found that no matter how many examples I give.of the three dimensions,
people’s comprehension is really aided by their actually doing an analysis them-
selves. Therefore, try to use the questions in the pie chart to analyze the English
demonstratives: this, that, these, those. =

Here is my analysis:
Form: This and that are the singular forms; these and those are the plural. They
can be used as adjectives or determiners, in which case they precede the noun—
e.g., this pen—or they can be pronouns, in which case they stand alone as noun
phrases: This is the answer to that. Non-English-speaking students often have
trouble with the pronunciation of the initial consonant in each of these terms.
Meaning: Demonstratives point to something in the situation. This and these
point to proximate things, that and those to distant things. Notice that distance
can be spatial (This pen here rather than that pen there), but demonstratives can
also be used to convey temporal distance (this week [now] rather than that week
[e.g., future]), psychological distance (I prefer this wine to that one), and
sequential distance in a text (That last point is more controversial than this one).

Use: Here we need to be concerned with when the demonstratives are used for
reference purposes and when they are not. For example, while it is accurate and

40 ¢ TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

meaningful, it is not appropriate to answer a language teacher’s favorite ques-
tion (What's this?) using a demonstrative. Personal pronouns are preferred:
Teacher: What is this? What are these?
Student: It’s a book. They’re books.
(NOT: This is a book.) (NOT: These are books.)
It is also important to understand when demonstratives are used versus articles
or personal pronouns in extended texts. In other words, the grammatical choices are
not always within intact paradigms, such as the four forms of demonstratives. For
instance, this gives more focus than it and thus is preferred for initial reference, even
though both it and this refer to the same noun phrase—in this example, warranty:
If you buy a newly built home, you may have trouble getting a
mortgage unless it has a warranty such as the Buildmark Warranty
from the National Housebuilding Council (NHBC). This covers
most defects for ten years. It offers valuable insurance cover if the
builder goes bust while the house is being built or if major structural
faults develop (example from Hughes and McCarthy, 1998).
In other words, part of knowing a structure in language involves knowing both
when to use it and when not to.

Distinguishing Meaning from Use

When I talk about these matters, teachers sometimes have trouble distinguish-
ing meaning from use. Here is a conversation I recently had with Ed, a teacher
who attended an inservice teacher education course that I was teaching.
Ed: I am having a hard time seeing meaning from use.
, Teach
Diane: Yes. | can understand why. The two-headed arrows connect- Vilas.
ing the wedges in the pie chart are supposed to suggest the inter-
connectedness of the three dimensions. And some boundaries are Ed
more permeable than others.
Ed: Why is it important to make the difference then?
Diane: For several reasons. One is that I believe the dimensions are
learned differently. Therefore, they should be taught differently. Also,
the learning challenge that each presents to our students may be
different. We need to be clear what the learning challenge is for a
given grammatical structure. Consider modals in English, for instance.
There are two types of modals: logical probability modals and social-
interactional modals. Many modal verbs belong to both types. For
instance, “may” can be used as a logical probability modal:
It may rain tomorrow.
Or it can be used in its social interactional sense:
You may leave now.
In the first example, “may” is being used to make a prediction, in
the second to grant permission. Choosing among the logical proba-
bility modals for the right degree of certainty regarding one’s pre-

THE THREE DIMENSIONS @ 41

 diction is a meaning dimension challenge. Choosing the right way
to request and grant permission depends not so much on meaning
as it does on who is being asked and who is asking and what is
being asked for. This represents a challenge in the Use dimension.
_Finally, if the learning challenge is different for different structures,
then presumably one would want to teach them differently.
Ed: OK. I guess that it will just take me some practice to see lan-
guage this way.
Diane: Yes. I think it helps to use the wh-questions in the pie
wedges as a tool to distinguish among the three dimensions: how is
something formed, what does it mean, and, given two or more
forms with the similar meanings, when or why is one used in one
context versus another.
I have to confess to some uneasiness with Ed’s question. I must step back
from my own analytic proclivity and linguistic training to ask whether or not it
really does make sense to distinguish meaning from use. Many treatments of
language do not make the distinction. Indeed, it is commonplace to hear the
binary oppositions, form—meaning and form—function, not the ternary one that
Iam making. However, it seems inadequate to me to say that what learners have
to learn is to connect form to meaning because they have to learn when to use
those form-meaning connections as well. Then, too, sometimes linguists talk
about pragmatic meaning, noting that meaning cannot be determined apart
from its use in context. While this again may be true enough, I feel learners do
need to learn the meaning of linguistic units that transcends context. However,
I do have to ask myself, just because I can make the three-way distinction, is it
really worth the effort?
Clearly, this is a place where research is needed. Happily, this is beginning to
take place. Jim Purpura’s students at Teacher’s College, Columbia University, for
example, have been conducting studies to determine if the three dimensions are, in
fact, independent constructs. And even if they are shown to be, the question still
remains as to whether pulling them apart enhances pedagogical effectiveness.

The Three Dimensions are Learned Differently

Despite being cautious, I will persevere at this point in claiming that a three-dimen-
sional model of grammar makes sense. I believe that the three dimensions are
learned differently and that therefore they have to be taught differently. For exam-
See Eubank ple, countless cases in the research literature attest to the existence of instantaneous
and Gregg, learning, where very few instances of a particular phenomenon are needed for it to
2002 for be learned. I think that this is often the case with semantics. A few instances of asso-
references. ciating a lexical item or a grammatical structure with its meaning is sometimes all
it takes. A colleague once told me that he learned the Japanese word for pear blos-
som from one exposure to it. Now, I would think that pear blossom is probably
not very frequent in the input, nor especially communicatively useful. However,
sometimes we can make such strong semantic bonds that they stick. On the other
hand, I have had to practice particular syntactic permutations over and over again
when I have studied a foreign language. Thus, when it comes to form, I think many

42 ¢ TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

instances may be necessary for mastery. Learning use requires that learners devel-
Op a sensitivity to context, which is different from associative learning.
As for pedagogical practice, again, it makes sense to me that certain techniques lend
themselves more to teaching one dimension rather than the others. Take role plays, for
instance. Role plays are ideal for working on pragmatics because the variables in role
plays can be altered to help learners see and practice how context and interlocutor vari-
ables affect choice of form. Conversely, I do not think role plays would be especially
suited for teaching the meaning or form of grammatical structures. Of course, it should
always be acknowledged that the motivation for our choosing a particular pedagogi-
cal activity does not guarantee that students will use it for the same purpose.
Before concluding, we should remember that a great deal of our ability to
control form consists of controlling unanalyzed multiword strings or formulas.
These, too, can be—and for now I will say, should be—analyzed with the pie
chart. For instance, earlier I made the point that knowing the phrase of course
requires knowing its form, its meaning, and its use.

THE IMPORTANCE OF ALL THREE DIMENSIONS

In Linguistics
Knowledge that there are three dimensions, not one, enriches our understanding
of language in communication. As Bourdieu (1991: 31-32) writes:
The illusion of the autonomy of the purely linguistic order, asserted
in the privilege accorded to the internal logic of language at the
expense of the social conditions of its opportune use, opened the
way to all the subsequent research that proceeds as if mastery of
the code were sufficient to confer mastery of the appropriate usage,
or as if one could infer the usage and meaning of linguistic expressions
from analysis of their formal structure, as if grammaticality were the
necessary and sufficient condition of the production of meaning.
As Bourdieu states, the primary concern of many linguists until recently has
been form. The growing interest in cognitive linguistics, which sees forms as
meaning-motivated, and functional linguistics, which sees forms as socially—func-
tionally motivated, is testament to the broader view of language entertained by
linguists these days. While clearly much remains to be discovered concerning lin-
guistic form, knowing everything there is to know about how to form a gram-
mar structure will not satisfy language teaching needs.

In Language Teaching
Of course, applied linguists are not immune to showing preference, either. It is
the case that methods of language teaching commonly emphasize one or the
other of these three dimensions.

Think of language teaching methods with which you are familiar (or see Larsen-
Freeman, 2000a). Now think about the way language is defined in each. It is
often the case that a method has focused on one particular wedge of the pie,

THE THREE DIMENSIONS @ 43

 treating the other dimensions only incidentally or not at all. Which wedge of the
pie does each method you have considered to focus upon$ Which does it ignore?

It is also important to make clear that analyzing language according to the three
dimensions by no means obligates teachers to present all this information to stu-
dents, let alone to try to do so in a single lesson. We cannot and should not teach
everything there is to know about the language we are teaching. It is important to
be selective, a point that I shall return to later in this chapter. However, I do not think
that we should be selective by ignoring an entire dimension. I further think that in
order for teachers to know what to select, they need a sense of the whole of what
there is to teach, and the pie chart can be a valuable tool for visualizing the whole.

A LINGUISTIC HEURISTIC PRINCIPLE +

t is time to be explicit about an important heuristic principle in linguistics that

I have been putting into practice: A difference in form always spells a differ-
ence in meaning or use. Therefore, if the form wedge of the pie chart is changed
in some way in real-time use or over-time change, it will have the effect of chang-
ing one or the other of the remaining two wedges. Conversely, if the meaning or
use wedges change, this will affect the form wedge. The system is holistic. This is
what the double-headed arrows connecting the wedges in the pie are meant to
depict. If grammar is a dynamical system—a view that I entertain in this bbok—
the parts of a system mutually interact. Mutual interaction implies that they
influence and co-determine each other’s changes over time (van Geert, 1994). For
example, consider these two sentences with different forms of Nan:
| can't imagine Nan’s doing such a thing.

| can't imagine Nan doing such a thing. \

In the first sentence, the ’s marks Nan as the subject of a gerund doing such a
thing. In the second sentence, without the ’s marker, Nav is simply the object of
the sentence, being modified by the present participial phrase doing such a thing.
Some prescriptivist grammarians consider the second sentence to be erroneous—
a malformed gerund. However, many English speakers these days consider such
forms perfectly acceptable.
As our principle tells us, with the difference of form comes a difference in mean-
ing. The gerund in the first sentence invites us to imagine the episode as a whole,
whereas in the second sentence, with the object followed by a participle, the focus
is primarily on Nav, not on the entire episode. The difference between the two is
admittedly subtle, but it illustrates the fact that grammar is a tool of exquisite pre-
cision, allowing us to create forms in order to express delicate shades of meaning.
Here is what Pam, a university ESL teacher in a study by Yang and Ko
(1998), had to say about shades of meaning with regard to modals, a structure
I have just discussed. The class is going over an exercise on modals and dis-
cussing the sentence You should get a call from him tonight. Pam’s student, Lee,
> Teachers asks, “Is the use of ‘should’ in this sentence common?”
Voices
Pam responds: Yes. I can say to my TOEFL class, ‘Oh, don’t worry.
Pam You should do well on the test. You studied really hard, you should

44 e TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

 do a good job. Or, you can say, ‘You shouldn’t have any problems
finding a hotel.’
Lee then asks: “So the meaning of ‘should’ is similar to the meaning
of ‘must’? I know that ‘must’ can also be used to express certainty.”
Here is Pam’s reflection afterward.
Basically, this question is about the meaning of “must” and
“should.” What’s interesting to me is that Lee said that “must” can
also be used to express certainty.” It’s like “Wait a minute,” that is
“must.” Why does he think “should” is for certainty? “Should” is a
little bit different from certainty. There’s a misunderstanding between
the levels of certainty. Like high probability and a lower level of
probability. You do have to be careful because there’s a conclusion
that the student has already drawn and you have to be careful to
address that confusion. That word “also”—that’s what scares me.
“Uh-oh [I think to myself], there’s a strange conclusion there.”
As Yang and Ko note, two things in Pam’s reflection are significant. First of all, Pam
demonstrates explicit knowledge of the meaning of the English modals must and
should. Additionally, Pam shows that she understands the student’s thought processes,
pinpointing how the phrasing of the question shows exactly what the student is con-
fused about. In other words, Pam has achieved a level of intersubjectivity with Lee that
allows her to understand Lee’s confusion and to define the learning challenge for Lee.
DEFINING THE LEARNING CHALLENGE
n important responsibility of teachers is to be selective about what they
wish to present to students. It is impossible to present everything, and even
if teachers had unlimited time and all was known about a given language, they
still could not teach it all, because as we saw in the last chapter, language keeps
changing. Instead, we must be judicious about what we choose to work on with
our students. Let me offer an important principle in this regard, one that should
be applied in tandem with use of the pie chart. I call this the challenge principle.
The challenge principle says that one of the three dimensions almost always
affords the greatest long-term challenge to language students. It is important to
remember that, with any given piece of language, all three dimensions of language
are present. It is impossible to separate form from meaning from use. However, for
pedagogical reasons, it is possible to focus student attention on one of these dimen-
sions within the whole. Of course, for a given group of students, the immediate
challenge may differ from the overall long-term challenge, depending on the char-
acteristics of the students, such as their native language and their level of target lan-
guage proficiency. However, it is possible to anticipate which dimension is likely to
afford the greatest long-term challenge for all students, and it is important to do so,
for being clear about the overall challenge will give you a starting point and sug-
gest an approach that is consistent with the long-term challenge.
To illustrate this principle and its significance, consider the passive voice in
English. First, we shall need to do a pie-chart analysis of the passive voice. Here
is what one would look like.

THE THREE DIMENSIONS @ 45

 Figure 4.3 Form, Meaning, and Use of the English Passive Voice

|
Form Meaning
How is it formed? What does it mean?
e With auxiliary verb e Focus construction—
be or get. defocuses agent.
e Followed by past
participle.

ieee
e Add by before agent.

Use
When/why is it used?
Agent is unknown.
Agent is redundant.
Agent should be concealed.
Agent is new information (thematic).
To provide objectivity,
i.e., “scientific voice.”

The next step is to ask ourselves in which dimension the long-term learning chal-
lenge lies. Is it how to form the passive, knowing what it means, or learning when to
use it? (Of course, students will have to learn all three, although we do not necessari-
ly have to teach all three.) Let us look at what learning challenges each wedge presents.
Students will have to learn how to form the passive voice, as I have said, but
this should not create too much difficulty, since the passive is formed in English
with the ubiquitous be and get verbs, which students have probably learned to
conjugate correctly by the time the passive is introduced. Similarly, forming the
passive requires that students use a structure they will have encountered before,
namely, the past participle. This is not to say that students will not struggle with
the various tense and aspect combinations for the passive voice; however, the
problems should not be insurmountable because the combinations are regular.
The meaning of the passive should also not be difficult to learn. All languages
have ways to shift the focus in an utterance, and the passive exists to do just this
in English, shifting the focus from the agent of the action to the receiver.
This leaves us with the use dimension. Indeed, my experience has been that the
greatest challenge is usually learning to use the passive voice appropriately. Learning
when to use the passive voice versus the active voice for a sentence with more or less
the same meaning is a formidable challenge. For example, which is the better way
to complete this mini-text, with the active voice (a) or passive voice (b)?
Some of the Olympic athletes from the smaller countries, such as Korea
and Romania, were truly remarkable. In fact,
(a) the Romanians won three gold medals in gymnastics.
(b) three gold medals in gymnastics were won by Romanians.

46 © TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

I would say that (a) is the better answer because the idea of athletes from
Romania has already been introduced, and so they are known agents and thus
natural subjects of the next sentence.
If the first sentence, however, had been about gold medals, the Romanians
would have been unknown agents and the second version would have complet-
ed the text better:
Many medals were awarded to athletes from smaller countries. In fact,
three gold medals in gymnastics were won by the Romanians.

If the challenge of the passive is indeed use, what, then, is the problem with
presenting the passive to students, as it is often done, as a transformation of the
active voice sentence?
Romanian athletes won three gold medals.
Three gold medals were won by Romanian athletes.

The problems are many. First of all, introducing the passive as a transformed ver-
sion of the active implies that the latter is derived from the former. This is simply
not the case. Worse, it implies that they are interchangeable. Nothing could be fur-
ther from the truth. Use of the two is motivated by completely different reasons,
and it is no help to students to mislead them when the challenge is figuring out
when to use each. Finally, this approach leaves the impression that the agent pre-
ceded with by is very common in passive sentences. Once again, this is false. In fact,
only about 15 percent of all passive sentences include the agent.
So we see that even if we are introducing the passive voice to students for the
first time, it is important to bear in mind what their ultimate learning challenge
will be, because that should inform how we proceed. The ultimate challenge of
the passive voice is not form, as introducing the passive by transforming an active
voice sentence would imply; although it is a grammatical form, it is not the form
that presents the learning challenge. I trust the example with the passive serves to
make the point that we must be clear about our students’ learning challenges—
and, of course, be prepared to switch if we discover, once we engage them in a
particular activity, that we have anticipated their challenge incorrectly.

Consider the following English grammatical structures. Which dimension do

you think presents the greatest long-term challenge for each: how it is formed,
what it means, or when and why to use it, as opposed to another structure with
a similar meaning?
(a) the present perfect “tense”
(b) phrasal verbs
(c) indirect, or reported, speech
(d) too vs. very as intensifiers

The point should be clear: although we are dealing with forms, it is not
always form that presents the greatest long-term challenge.

THE THREE DIMENSIONS ¢ 47

 USING THE PIE CHART FOR PROFESSIONAL DEVELOPMENT PURPOSES
It may be discouraging at first to realize that one’s knowledge is inadequate to
address all three dimensions. However, it would certainly be contrary to my inten-
tions to leave readers feeling overwhelmed. Instead, it should be enough to recog-
nize that it is important to be able to fill in all three wedges for anything we teach.
Not being able to do so for a particular wedge of the pie can help prov ide direction
for where we need to work to fill in the lacunae in our own unde rstanding. | have
certainly found this to be the case in my own professional development. | attempt
to assign what I know about a particular structure to the three wedges of the pie,
only to discover that there are certain pie wedges where I have very little to say.
This tips me off that there is research to be done to fill my own knowledge gaps.
Sometimes, when I have talked about the pie chart to teachers who are not
native speakers of the language they teach, they despair most about the use wedge
of the pie. Since they lack the intuitions of native speakers, and since they them-
selves were not necessarily taught about the pragmatics of grammar, they feel it is
hopeless to think that they will be able to do an adequate job with their own stu-
dents. Such a feeling is certainly understandable. However, there is some comfort
to be derived from knowing that they themselves have learned a great deal of the
pragmatic conventions governing a structure, even if only implicitly. Besides, once
one accepts that grammaring involves knowing when to use a structure, in addition
to knowing how to form it and what it means, then one has no recourse. One has
to accept that there will always be something to learn about one’s subject matter.
This is how Cindy Gunn (1997: 60), a teacher from British Columbia who
was teaching EFL in Japan, put it: :
: This paper has examined one way that helped me as a teacher of
Teachers’ EFL students become better prepared to meet my goal of teaching
Voices grammar in a communicative classroom. This was done by looking
at grammar through the pie chart lens as suggested by Diane Larsen-
Cindy Gunn Freeman and then defining the challenge for my students. The pie
chart allowed me to learn while preparing to help my students. For
myself, and possibly tor other teachers as well, this may be the most
useful part of the pie chart, as John Cotton Dana eloquently points
out: “Who dares to teach must never cease to learn.”
And to my way of thinking, Dana’s comment can be just as much a promise as
an injunction.

Suggested Readings
Cognitive and functional linguists are interested in the meaning and use dimensions of
grammar structures. A good introduction to cognitive and functional approaches can
be found in Tomasello (1998). This is an anthology with chapters written oe some of
the leading cognitive ee Of course, Halliday (1994) and Langacker (1987; 1991)
fit this category. Also, in Celce-Murcia and Larsen-Freeman (1999), we im analyzed
the major grammatical structures of English from the perspective of form, meaning, and
use. Larsen-Freeman (2001) contains additional teaching suggestions for the three
dimensions.

48 e TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

 5
RULES AND REASONS

GRAMMAR RULES AND REASONS

Ger and rules are undoubtedly synonymous in the minds of learners
and teachers—in fact, in the minds of most people. This is not surprising,
of course, because linguists hypothesize about rules, theorists highlight them,
applied linguists write or interpret them, textbooks feature them, teachers pre-
sent them, and students memorize them. The association between grammar and
rules is powerful because the partnership has been fruitful.
Rules have served the learning of language by capturing generalizations
about morphosyntactic regularities in a language, such as that the finite verb
is Clause final in a German subordinate clause. They represent generalizations
that are helpful for learners, telling learners of Spanish, for example, that
masculine nouns end in -o and feminine nouns end in -a. Rules also allow
materials developers to work with “right-sized” chunks of language, to help
students deal in an orderly and systematic way with the grammar of the target
language. They provide a modicum of security to language learners—they give
them something to hold onto in the vast rush of noise that is the new language.
Finally, they also vest a certain amount of authority in the source of rules—the
materials and the teacher.

Have you found rules helpful in your teaching or learning of language? How do
you work with rules in your teaching? Do you give them to your students or do
you have students figure them out? Do you state, or do you have your students
state, the rules explicitly? Do your students memorize explicit rules? Do they do
practice exercises with them? If you do a variety of things with rules, what
makes you choose to work with rules one way sometimes and another way at
other times? What are the pluses and minuses to working with rules in the way
you dof

Most language teachers work with rules in some way, even if the rules are not
stated in formal metalinguistic terms. And most learners find learning about
them satisfying. Jennifer Monahan Roca, who teaches English in a
Massachusetts high school, speaks for many teachers and learners when she
offers this anecdote as an example of her experience with rules.

RULES AND REASONS e 49

 Once a student asked me, “Why can’t I write ‘more easy’?” My
eu response was that with certain adjectives you add “-er” instead of
Voices
“more.” She understood this, but she wanted to know why. I had
to tell her that I didn’t know why. I searched my grammar books
Jennifer
and discovered that any adjectives with one syllable and any adjec-
Monahan
- tives with two syllables, one being a y, take the “-er” or
Roca
“ier” ending. All other adjectives with two or more syllables take
“more.” I explained this to the rest of the class. They were amazed.
I could see the lightbulbs going on in their heads. So I truly feel
that if you offer reasons for the rules the students will feel more
confident with the language.
I can relate to Jennifer’s experience. I have watched the lightbulbs go on in my
students’ heads. Watching the dawning of awareness in my students is one of my
most inspiring moments in teaching. And giving students a rule does in fact offer a
type of explanation for a linguistic phenomenon, which can turn on the lightbulbs.
However, when I use the word reasons in conjunction with rules, as I have done in
the title of this chapter, I have in mind something deeper than a generalization
about the language. The rule about -er and more with adjectives in English captures
an important, though changing, generalization about how the language works; it
does not, however, explain why the language behaves in this way.

THE REASON FOR THE RULE

N& maybe it is because I am by nature inquisitive, and I have always been
curious about language—after all, I have made understanding it part of my
life’s work. However, to my way of thinking, it is important for learners not only
to know the rules, but also to know why they exist. I am not referring to how
the language came to be; I am referring to what I call the “reasons” underlying
the rules. Rules have to do with how, reasons with why. If one understands the
why underlying the how, one appreciates how much more rational grammar is
than it is normally given credit for being. I think it is important for learners to
know the reasons because this knowledge is empowering. It helps make the
acquisition of a language less rote, less mechanical. After all, our learners are
thinking human beings; why not tap their cognitive powers and help them engage
with the language they encounter, help them cultivate an attitude of inquiry?
Furthermore, rules tend to be limited to generalizing about the form of language,
but grammatical forms have meanings and uses as well, which students also need to
learn. And proficient speakers of a language will override rules of form when they are
motivated to express certain meanings or are influenced by certain conditions of use.
If second language students know the reasons why a rule exists, they may also know
when it is possible to “violate” it in the service of meaning or use, just as proficient
speakers of the language would do. For instance, they will know, as we have seen,
that it is possible to use the present progressive with a stative verb in English, even
when the rule about form says that this is not so. A rule of English grammar
proscribes using the progressive with stative verbs. The reason for the rule is due to
the semantic incompatibility between processes depicted by the progressive, which
typically involve change, and unchanging states embodied in stative verbs. Thus,
English does not permit:

50 © TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

 *He is owning a car.
because, in English, ownership is considered an unchanging state. Of course, he
could sell his car, in which case he would no longer own it. But at the time of
the utterance, ownership is conceived of as a state.
However, certain states are interpretable in the present progressive, especial-
ly if there is an assumption of change in the degree of relation between the sub-
ject and object of the verb. Thus, while Jove is also classified as a stative verb in
English, English speakers will say
| am loving this class.

because they mean to convey the changing, intensifying nature of the relation.
If there is an assumption of change, the semantic incompatibility between the
progressive and stative verbs is diminished.
Knowing the reason for a rule also gives language students an understanding of
the logic that speakers of another language use. It may help students learn to see
the world as the speakers do. This may not only facilitate students’ internalization
of language, it may also contribute to their understanding of difference in the
world, that is, it may help them understand different worldviews, different ways
that speakers of other languages construct experience in the world. For some
learners, it may provide access to enhanced cultural understanding, which may be
their purpose or their reward for studying a language in the first place.
While I have been careful to acknowledge that rules have their place in language
teaching and learning, I think that there are drawbacks to associating grammar
strictly with rules. Rules are static descriptions of, or prescriptions/proscriptions
about, the forms of language, when, in fact, grammar (language) is anything but
static. Furthermore, the generalizations that rules attempt to capture are never
broad enough to prevent exceptions. These are not necessarily due to the fact that
the rules are poorly formulated, but rather that grammar is flexible, allowing for
the expression of new meanings—a vital quality, because we humans are meaning-
making beings.
Linguist John Haiman (1985: 260) points to
a fundamental difference between the laws of physics and the laws
of language. The law of gravity is not modified by use: no matter
how many times we throw a ball into the air, it will fall to the
ground with the same acceleration. Rules of grammar, on the other
hand, are modified by use (i.e., languages change)...
The final problem is not a linguistic one. It is political, having to do with the
distribution and the withholding of power. It can be asked, “Who owns the rules?”
“Who makes them up?” The answer to these questions is not “language stu-
dents.” This is a problem if we truly want our students to feel that they own the
language. I think one solution to this problem is to help language students under-
stand the internal logic of the language that they are studying so that they will be
free to express the meaning that they want in accurate and appropriate ways.

RULES AND REASONS e 51

 COUNTERING THE ARBITRARINESS OF RULES THROUGH REASONS
Rules of form often seem sterile and arbitrary to students. An example is the
English rule that, when the existential there fills the subject position in the sen-
tence, the determiner preceding the noun phrase following the verb (the logical
subject) must be indefinite:
There is a Snowstorm coming.
In other words, the rule tells us that snowstorm requires the indefinite a in this
sentence because the existential there is serving as a surrogate subject.

Can you figure out the reason underlying this seemingly arbitrary rule, which
accounts for the use ofa before snowstorm?

Now, upon first consideration, the rule requiring an indefinite article in this
sentence might seem rather sterile and arbitrary. It certainly appears to be the
result of a rather convoluted set of conditions. It turns out, though, that the
answer is not at all arbitrary. As I pointed out in the previous chapter, the
function of there is to introduce new information, information that is being
introduced into the discourse for the first time. In this case, the coming of a
snowstorm is the new information. And, in English, new information is marked
with an indefinite determiner. If someone were to say
. There is the snowstorm coming.

he or she might be reminding listeners of the snowstorm (i.e., We had better not
plan to drive to Denver because, remember, there is the saowstorm coming), and
thus the snowstorm would not be new information. Alternatively, if it were pos-
sible to perceive an expected snowstorm developing at a distance, someone
might be able to say x
There is the snowstorm coming.

But notice that in this instance, there receives stress, and thus its meaning has
been changed by this change in form. The there in this sentence is not the exis-
tential there but is rather the locative adverbial there. We know this because not
only is there stressed in this sentence, the sentence would also likely be accom-
panied by a gesture pointing in the direction of the approaching storm.
I am convinced that it would be helpful for English language learners to
understand the reasons for the form-based rules—in this case, to understand
that the function of there is to introduce new information into the discourse,
and because of this function, English requires that information in the predicate
be marked as new. Not everyone would agree with me, however. Here is what
Monika Floyd, a teacher of beginning-level ESL in Massachusetts, has to say
acher about the matter of rules and reasons.
Voices
From my experience in the classroom and my own L2 acquisition
Monika Floyd process, being aware of grammar rules and their exceptions is vital

52 e TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

 for the understanding and production of language. I surely concede
that there are reasons for the rules and that there is logic in the lan-
guage. But what’s the point in expanding on the fact that there is a
third person singular “s” in the present tense? Let the beginner
have his rules; save reasons for the advanced.
I understand Monika’s position. I note that Kathryn, a teacher of advanced
level English language students at a Midwestern university, makes a similar
point, observing that “It’s not so much how you do it, it’s why you do it, I think,
for students, when you’re talking about grammar, at least at this level”
(Johnston and Goettsch, 2000: 456).

USING REASONS IN LANGUAGE TEACHING

evertheless, I maintain that helping students understand why things are the
way they are is as important a part of teaching grammar as is showing stu-
dents how things are done. Of course, I would not go into a class of advanced
students, let alone beginners, lecturing about reasons, any more than I would
lecture about rules. Still, it seems to me that reasons have their place in language
instruction at all levels, even if the reasons only inform the choices that I make
as a teacher.
For instance, if I were teaching there to beginners, I would want to choose or
craft an activity carefully so that the function of there was made clear.
Therefore, knowing that there introduces new information, which is marked
with an indefinite article, would help me avoid teaching there in a misleading
way, such as bringing in a picture, putting it in front of the classroom, and ask-
ing students to make statements with there about things they observe in the pic-
ture. This activity would be misleading because when the teacher and the stu-
dents are looking at the same picture, the function of there, to introduce new
information, is not on display. I can get students to practice the form of sen-
tences with there using this activity, but I am misrepresenting the use of the
structure. On the other hand, if I used two similar, but not identical, pictures
and had the students all look at one while I, the teacher, looked at the other, we
could legitimately use statements with there to introduce new information,
describing the pictures and attempting to identify the contrasts between them.
A follow-up activity to this one might involve having students work in pairs
with two different pictures, contrasting them in a similar manner. I might con-
clude this pair of activities with a consciousness-raising activity by pointing
out—or having students induce for themselves—that the function of there is to
introduce new information, information that is not known to the listener or
reader, and that all the grammatical forms used in conjunction with this struc-
ture support this function. To me, this provides a more satisfying way of teach-
ing there and counters the arbitrariness of the rule governing the form of the
noun phrase following the be verb.

ACCOUNTING FOR “VIOLATIONS” OF FORM-BASED RULES

I take Monika’s point, though. Clearly, there are rules that capture form-based
generalizations about English that are useful as rules of thumb, especially for

RULES AND REASONS @ 53

 beginning-level learners. As she says, one simple, helpful rule that students of
English are given early in instruction is the rule of subject-verb agreement. In
English, as in many other languages, the verb must agree in number and person
with the subject. Of course, in English, this rule only applies in the present tense
unless it is the be verb. But since the be verb is usually introduced to beginners,
it is commonplace to furnish the rule of subject—verb agreement in some form
to students, either as a statement or as a verb paradigm.
| am here.

He/She/The cat is here.

We/You/They/The cats are here.

Again, I am not questioning the wisdom of this practice, something that I myself
have done. However, I do want to illustrate the consequences of providing stu-
dents with deterministic form-based rules or paradigms only, because at some
point students will hear or read sentences such as
Ten miles is a long way to hike.

where the singular verb is preceded by an overtly plural subject, and

My family are all coming for dinner.

where an overtly singular subject is followed by a plural verb.

Such sentences demonstrate that the system is more flexible than an absolute
form-based rule would suggest. Both of the above sentences are perfectly accurate,
of course. Putting them in this form tells us that the speaker has opted to see ten
miles as comprising a hike and, therefore, as a single entity, and, conversely, to see
family as a collection of individuals. Clearly, then, semantic considerations can
often override formal constraints. .

5.3 | .
There is a rule of tense harmony or tense concord with reported or indirect
speech in English that requires the verb in the complement clause to be in the
same tense as the verb in the main clause.
The man said that the weather was going to be good.

While this rule is adhered to for the most part, it can be “violated” for certain
purposes. What do you think are the motivations ofspeakers of English who produce
the following?
He said that you divide the numerator by the denominator.

He said that his name is Paul.

She mentioned that she will be taking the day off today.

To cite a final example, many teachers tell their students that, in English, the
adjective precedes the noun.

54 © TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

 The yellow field
Again, this is a good rule of thumb, especially helpful to students whose native
language requires adjectives to follow the nouns they modify:
*The field yellow

But notice that, in English, it is also possible for the adjective to follow the noun
it modifies:
The field yellow with goldenrod

While we understand the prenominal adjective to refer to a characteristic endur-

ing quality of the field, the position following the noun is reserved for adjectives
depicting a more temporary quality, resulting from a specific cause.
The point of all this is, of course, that rules tend to be stated and conceived
of in deterministic ways, when in actuality many, although not all, are more
probabilistic, flexible even, bending when it comes to expressing meaning.

DEALING WITH THE ARBITRARINESS

Another limitation of rules that was alluded to earlier is their apparent arbi-
trariness. Nothing could be truer of the way in which verbs that take infinitives
and gerunds as objects in English are usually presented. Often students are
referred to long lists of verbs that take infinitive complements, verbs that take
gerund complements, and verbs that take both types of complements, and are
then told to memorize the lists. For example:

Figure 5.1 Verbs Taking Infinitive and Gerund Complements

Verbs That Take Infinitives | Verbs That Take Gerunds | Verbs That Take Both
aim admit begin
dare appreciate continue
expect defend forget
hope deny hate
intend enjoy try

However, this approach puts a great deal of the learning burden on students of
English and is of no help to them when deciding on a given occasion whether to
use an infinitive or a gerund with a verb from the third column. Instead of seeing
the verbs as equivalent except for the complements that they take, it is helpful to
have students understand the reason for the categories of verbs. Linguist Dwight
Bolinger (1968) offers a semantic explanation. The infinitive tends to go with
events that are hypothetical, future, unfulfilled; conversely, the gerund goes with
events that are real, vivid, fulfilled. In other words, one can only aim to go because
at the time of the utterance, the going has not yet taken place. On the other hand,
one can admit going because with a verb that takes a gerund, one assumes that the
going has occurred.
With verbs that take both an infinitive and a gerund, a meaning difference cari be
perceived, depending on which complement follows the verb. Compare, for instance,

RULES AND REASONS e 55

 He tried to go, which suggests that he did not succeed in going, with He tried going,
which suggests that he did indeed go but left for some reason. Even with emotive
verbs, a slight difference in meaning can be detected. For instance, if the speaker is
engaged in the activity at the time—say, dancing—he or she is more likely to say I
hate dancing, rather than I hate to dance. While this distinction is admittedly subtle,
and not failproof, it can be an aid to students who are trying to decide which form
conveys the meaning they intend, or how to interpret something someone else had
said to them.
Jane, who teaches an advanced ESL class, makes the point this way.
So I sort of assume that they know a certain level of all this, but
Teachers maybe they have forgotten or never understood it when they first
Voices
learned it. They maybe just memorized the rules and studied for the
test and took the test.... They just maybe never.understood why
there was a possessive gerund or why it was like this (Johnston and
Goettsch, 2000: 455).
To remove the burden of rote learning from my students, I want them to
know why. There is, after all, a great deal of systematicity to grammar.

REASONS ARE BROADER BASED THAN RULES

Because of the systematicity of grammar, reasons are broader based than rules.
They apply to more phenomena than single syntactic structures. For example,
English has a rule that states if the direct object is a lexical noun and the verb is
transitive, phrasal, and separable, speakers have a choice as to where to put the
direct object—before the particle of the phrasal verb or after it.
She looked the word up in the dictionary.

She looked up the word in the dictionary.

However, when the direct object is a pronoun, it must come between the verb
and particle, not after the particle: \
She looked it up in the dictionary.

*She looked up it in the dictionary.

This condition does seem arbitrary. However, if we start from the premise that
there is an underlying reason, we will come to see that this condition is far from
arbitrary and has to do with the information status of the noun phrase. As we
saw in the previous chapter, a fundamental fact about English word order is that
the preferred position for new information is toward the end of a clause. Again,
this is called end focus or end weight. Given a choice, and unless some extra
nuance of meaning is intended, English speakers will choose not to put a pro-
noun in clause-final position, since pronouns are by definition not new infor-
mation. In order to use a pronoun, its referent must be clear from the context,
for example, through prior mention. Thus, the pronoun it is old information
and should not occupy clause-final position.

56 © TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

A rule is often given to English learners that claims that the indirect object can-
not immediately follow the verb when the direct object is a pronoun and the
indirect object is a noun:

*We sent John it.

Conversely, when the indirect object is a pronoun and the direct object is a noun
(especially a nonspecific one), the indirect object is likely to precede the direct object:

We sent him a package.

Can you find a reason for this rule?

The observations in Investigation 5.4 can be explained, as we have just seen,

by noting that pronouns refer to old information and are therefore not likely to
be put in end-focus position. This is not to say that an indirect object that is a
pronoun can never occupy the position at the end of a clause, but when it is
placed there, a different interpretation would probably be made—for example,
a contrastive one.
We sent a package to him. (not her)

Furthermore, with verbs that allow two different word orders with direct and
indirect objects:
Meredith gave Jack advice.

Meredith gave advice to Jack.

the choice, as you may have guessed, is determined by what speakers want to
give end focus to. In a full-sentence answer to the question What did Meredith
give Jack? the first would be appropriate. The question To whom did Meredith
give advice? would be answered by the second version.
The fact that English speakers tend to put new information at the end of a clause
thus accounts for word order phenomena in a wide range of syntactic structures.
This fact is much broader than a rule that only applies to one syntactic structure,
evidence of the systematicity of grammar. Moreover, there is a pragmatic explana-
tion for it. By ordering information from old to new in a clause, speakers or writ-
ers are orienting their listeners or readers to the new information being presented.
Incidentally, it may seem arbitrary from a present-day (synchronic) perspective
that certain verbs—such as give—allow the direct and indirect object alternation
patterns while others—such as explain—do not:
Meredith explained the situation to Jack.

*Meredith explained Jack the situation.

This is less arbitrary than it seems, however. Although it is admittedly difficult

to know which verbs allow both patterns and which do not, the difference has

RULES AND REASONS e 57

 to do with the source language from which the verbs were borrowed into
English. In general, Germanic verbs permit both sequences, verbs of Romance
origin do not.

LEARNER SECURITY, TEACHER AUTHORITY,

AND THE POLITICAL QUESTION
It is important to underscore that part of the attractiveness of rules for language
learners is learners’ need for security. Deterministic rules—what we have been
calling rules of thumb, such as subject-verb agreement—have their place.
However, the first time students encounter an instance where the rule is violat-
ed, a good deal of their security is undermined. On the other hand, one can
build a great deal of confidence in one’s students when they themselves can fig-
ure out how a part of the system works.
Here is what Kathryn, the teacher of advanced ESL students whom I intro-
duced earlier, has to say about this matter.
They have a tendency to think that anything that looks like a prepo-
Teachers sition is a preposition and that it’s too overwhelming for them to
Voices
handle prepositions in general so we’ve found it somewhat comfort-
ing to students to separate out which are prepositions and which are
Kathryn particles attached to a verb, so they can have some sense that there
is some logic somewhere in this whole system. There’s a comfort
factor here for students. By the end of the term, they generally say
they start to feel somewhat more confident that they can manage
these words that they had a feeling they couldn’t manage before.
Because particles and prepositions, all kinds of adverbials, all look
the same to them, they don’t know what to do with them. That’s
what I am after in this (Johnston and Goettsch, 2000: 460-461).
Teachers, like Kathryn, know the power their students feel when they learn
to figure out for themselves the reasons underlying the grammatical forms.
Encouraging students to be curious, to see that there is a logic to the language
they are learning, and giving students the tools to understand it and to make it
their own—these are the things I like to do when I teach. I believe that these
practices will serve their learning well, long after they leave my classroom. And
that is reason enough.

Suggested Readings
Givon’s (1993) two volumes offer a good resource for meaning and use insights
into English grammar structures, as does Celce-Murcia and Larsen-Freeman
(1999). For a discussion of the given—new distinction as applied to reading and
writing, see Vande Kopple’s and Fries’ chapters in Miller’s (1997) anthology.
Also, see Larsen-Freeman (2000c) for another rendition on the theme of rules
and reasons working together.

58 © TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

 6
THE GRAMMAR OF CHOICE

S peakers of a language will choose certain grammar structures in keeping with

the meaning they wish to express. However, it is not only the intention to
express a particular meaning that motivates speakers to use a particular struc-
ture. In fact, when the meaning is held more or less constant, speakers still face
socially or discursively motivated grammatical choices. The discussion of such
choices involves the dimension of use.
The use dimension is often neglected in materials and in instruction. To my
way of thinking, this is most unfortunate. I hope to compensate for this situa-
tion by dedicating two chapters to matters of language use, this one to social
factors and the one that follows to discourse factors.

THE “ONE RIGHT ANSWER” MYTH

ne of the enduring myths about grammar is that there is always one right
way to convey a particular meaning. Contrary to this myth, which pre-
sumably arose in the context of prescriptive grammar and discrete point gram-
mar tests, t (nat rnere s often more than one right answer toa
ammat. In fact, they frequently find themselves hedging when
th ask them if a particular way of saying something is “right.” A very
common teacher response to such a question is: “It depends.”
Meg teaches English in a community college in the United States. When she
heard me say that it is common for teachers to answer students’ question about
correctness with “It depends,” she interjected:
Yes. It is true. Just yesterday, this student from Venezuela asked me
if it is possible to say “If I was rich,” rather than “If I were rich.” I eache
Voices
know sometimes people say this and so I said, “Well, I have heard
people say ‘was,’ but it is better to say ‘were.’” The student wasn’t
satisfied though, and he said, “Yes, but which is correct?” I found Meg
myself saying what I always say on such occasions, “Well, it
depends. If you are talking to someone informally, then you might
say or hear ‘was,’ but if you are taking the TOEFL, you’d better
use ‘were’.” That was the best that I could do, but I know that it
was not a very satisfying answer. I also worry about saying too
much. “How much do they really need to know?” I often wonder.
While we have all experienced Meg’s desire to give an authoritative answer, we
should not fail to appreciate that Meg’s reply reflects an important understanding
of the contingent and complex intersection of grammar and context. The choice of
which grammar structure to use depends on the context or the purpose for which

THE GRAMMAR OF CHOICE ® 59

 the language is being used. However, we can also appreciate the student’s conster-
nation, his or her concern with having to get it right. “Getting it right,” it turns out,
does not always involve an exclusive solution. But in the drive for uncertainty
reduction, sometimes teachers want absolute answers as much as students.
Here is what Barb, a student in a teacher education course, had to say when
she was asked, “What do you do when you are asked a question and you don’t
know how to answer it at all?”
Barb: In a classroom full of Asian people who expect that you
tachers know your subject matter, it is difficult to say “I don’t know” and
o1ces
you might lose the respect or the credibility from your students. So
I think it would make me very very nervous when a student asked
me a question and I do not know the answer. If I didn’t know the
answer, maybe I shouldn’t be a teacher (Yang and Ko, 1998).
And now here is what Pam, an experienced teacher, offers on the matter of
not always knowing the “correct” answer:
Pam: You know what has helped me? I’ll say, “You know in many
cultures you lose face if you don’t answer the question.” I say, “In
our culture it’s better to admit that you don’t know the answer.
You'll lose more face if you give the wrong answer, than if you say
T’ll find out for you.’” I talk directly about the fact that different
cultures look at it differently. Sometimes by just talking about that,
it clears the air and they don’t disrespect you (Yang and Ko, 1998).
That the students want to know and the teachers want to give them the correct
answer is understandable. Barb’s concern, and Pam’s strategy for handling a student’s
question when she does not know how to respond, both make sense. However,
teachers and students also need to know, if they don’t already, that grammar is not
a linguistic straitjacket. It is much more flexible. Thereis rarely one right answer
to a grammar question. There is a lot of latitude in the forms that we use, which
is why I have elected to title this chapter the grammar of choice.
‘pando
BASING CHOICES ON SOCIAL-INTERACTIONAL FACTORS
|lst the choice is not stochastic. There are reasons for our choices. We
often base our choices on social-interactional factors, those factors that have
to do with the interpersonal relationships we establish and nurture.
Our students will be judged for the way they say something as much as for the
forms they use or the meaning they express. Sometimes the judgment may even be
harsher because the judge is unaware that his or her assessment is based on lin-
guistic factors, not character. I can recall working in a department where the sec-
retary used to complain about the rudeness of the international students. A little
investigation showed that the students would often couch their requests in the form
of statements such as I want a schedule or I need a catalogue. While they were able
to communicate their requests and have them met, their linguistic behavior made
them appear rude. A simple lesson on using the modal form would like, accompa-
nied by please, would have made a world of difference in the impression they made.

60 © TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

Oo Habis contcrnrd voylh Vie “yr/a honsAws L
Mindful of the work of Leslie Beebe (1995) on rudeness, I, for one, recognize that of StH VICT
sometimes language students need to be rude, or at least assertive. I therefore would te Yar CAVIY
not want to encourage my students to be courteous conformists who are robotically
polite. As Beebe (1995: 167) notes, “students do have to get power/control and
ncn /f- JP whi
express negative feelings, but in appropriate ways.” Furthermore, I am not recom- Iheg Ct CO}
mending that we judge our students’ performance against native speaker norms, nor
is it likely that all students will aspire to conform to such norms. It is the students who
must (and will) decide how they wish to position themselves as speakers of a given
language. They will need to understand that, as speakers or writers, they have choic-
es to make, and that those choices have consequences, so that they can learn to use
the language in a way that honors their intentions. Besides, students need to be able
to draw inferences about the intentions of others. To the best of our ability, therefore,
we should help students understand the linguistic options available. Thus, an under-
standing of when or why to use a particular grammatical form should be part of
teachers’ understanding of grammar so that they will avoid giving students easy
answers in the moment that contribute to confusion later on.

CAVEATS TO TEACHING PRAGMATICALLY APPROPRIATE CHOICES

There are several important caveats to all this. First, as a teacher, I do not want to
be prescriptive about the behavior of my students. I am not in the business of giving
my students guidance on how to behave appropriately. Nonetheless, it seems to me
that I should be giving my students information about how they might be perceived
if they exercise particular linguistic options in particular contexts. I need to ensure
that my students have knowledge of what is normal and customary in such contexts.
However, besides knowledge of social convention, they also need to know
the ways such conventions can be circumvented or subverted by
individual initiative. Uses of language are, in one respect, necessarily
acts of conformity. But they are not only that: they are also acts of
identity whereby people assert themselves and manipulate others.
concerned with how people negotiate meaning, but
also how they negotiate social relations (Widdowson, 1996: 68).
This leads me to my second caveat. It is impossible to anticipate how someoue
will be perceived by others in the moment. Clearly, perceptions are not influenced
only by linguistic performance. At best, all that we can do is call our students’ atten-
tion to the norms of linguistic usage. We cannot be sure that these will be operational
in all exchanges, nor can we be sure that everyone would agree on the conventions
by which we abide, since norms are not conveniently homogeneous. We can, how-
ever, help our students to become sensitive to differences among forms in general as
a way to make them aware of the possible implications of their choices. Even when
students are studying a foreign language that is not the language of the environment,
pragmaticsis an issue. After all, they still need to understand how to interpret what
is said or written by others, beyond what the words themselves literally mean.
A final caveat regarding teaching about appropriateness in grammatical choice is
to acknowledge that it is always possible to alter the meaning and certainly the prag-
matics through paralinguistic or extralinguistic means. A speaker can use the most
polite lexicogrammatical form imaginable, but if his or her voice is dripping with sar-

THE GRAMMAR OF CHOICE 61

 | part ih AMiglogve
CH wr 4 et A 7 \

casm (such as with an exaggerated publeeze), we know that the politeness is ironic.
Or if a student is fluent and accurate in a language but has not mastered the interac-
tional norm of maintaining eye contact with her interlocutors, then she may be mis-
judged all the same.
Of course, while it could be argued that a learner should attempt to understand
and practice the sociocultural mores of the society in which he or she is a guest, there
may be no cause for learners of a language to adopt the interactional norms of its
speakers in order to use the language in most of the situations in which they find
themselves. Learners of a foreign language often do have to pass discrete-point gram-
mar tests, containing items for which there is “one right answer.” Then, too, in the
case of English—a world language in the process of being set adrift from its cultural
moorings—there is even more reason to question whether the interactional norms of
English speakers should be adhered to at all. For instance, English is increasingly used
br long 1G by non-anglophone Europeans to communicate with each other. Although they may
be curious about the interactional patterns of English speakers, knowing them may
O Lnghoh be of little help when French meets Italian. In such cases, perhaps norms of appro-
priateness different from those of native speakers of English are warranted. Thus, all
pea 1G we can do is talk about norms and help raise our students’ consciousness regarding
popula hon what pragmatic factors may be at stake.
In this chapter, I will not attempt a thorough inventory of all the pragmatic factors
that can be signaled by a change in form. A further qualification is the reminder that
the use dimension involves an active process of fitting the language to the context. All
I can do here is look at language excerpts, snapshots of decontextualized language,
and assign possible social implications to the use of the forms..To illustrate the impact
of grammatical choice on interpersonal interaction, I will briefly touch upon the para-
meters of attitude, power, and identity. This important topic of grammatical choice
will also be taken up in the next chapter, when I explore the consequences of exer-
cising choice in the construction of text.

PRAGMATIC FACTORS SIGNALED BY A CHANGE IN FORM

Attitude

Consider the following short dialogue from Riddle (1986):

Anne: Jane just bought a Volvo.
John: Maureen has one.
Anne: John, you’ve got to quit talking about Maureen as if you were still
going together. You broke up three months ago.
What is the cause of Anne’s chiding John? How could John have avoided the
scolding if he had wanted to?

One pragmatic effect of grammatical choice is that we convey a particular

attitude depending on the grammatical forms (among other things) that we
choose to use. In Investigation 6.1, John could have stated the same proposi-

62 ¢ TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

tional content using the past tense, even though the case may be that Maureen
still owns the Volvo. If he had done so, he might have avoided the rebuke from
Anne because his use of past tense would have made his relationship with
Maureen appear more psychologically distant. Either the past tense or the pre-
sent tense is “correct” here, but deciding which to use, while not necessarily a
conscious choice, can clearly have an impact on one’s listener. It all depends!
Here is another example of the use of tense to indicate attitude. This time the
example comes from Batstone (1995: 197):
Smith (1980) argued that Britain was no longer a country in which
freedom of speech was seriously maintained. Johnson (1983),
though, argues that Britain remains a citadel of liberty.
Batstone points out that the use of the past tense with Smith and the present tense
with Johnson has nothing to do with their chronology; rather, the author is indicat-
ing that Smith’s argument is not worthy of current interest, whereas Johnson’s argu-
ment is held to be of continuing relevance. Of course, the writer’s lexical choices
reinforce this interpretation; it is not all in the grammar. For instance, had the writer
used demonstrated, rather than argued, to describe the position taken by Smith, our
perception of the writer’s attitude toward Smith might have been different.
Sarah Kipp-McGowan, who teaches language arts to deaf adolescents using
American Sign Language, recognizes the link between language use and attitude,
and the importance of making her students aware of what is appropriate.
I do address issues of “spoken” (signed) language and use in my
classroom. Our students need to finesse the cultures of two worlds and acher.
Voices
cultures: the culture of the Deaf community and the culture of the
hearing world. For this reason, and because adolescents are inherently
struggling with, and challenging, appropriate use of language, I provide Sarah
much feedback to my students about the type of language use that Kipp-McGowan
is appropriate within the classroom. They need reminders at times
about how to “appropriately” (by my standards) respond to staff
and peers. Terms used or attitudes conveyed within peer discourse
are often not appropriate within the more formal setting of a class-
room. Therefore, this aspect of language becomes a daily, incidental
element of instruction.
Importantly, Sarah reminds students about issues of appropriateness as defined
by her own standards. As I mentioned in Chapter 4, sometimes teachers who teach
a foreign language that is not native to them are concerned that their intuitions
about what is appropriate are not reliable. It seems to me quite natural to have such
feelings. I know that when I was teaching Indonesian, I was aware of my limits
when it came to giving my students information about appropriate use of gram-
matical structures. However, we can only teach what we know, although we can
make it our professional responsibility to expand our knowledge. Teachers who
teach a foreign language can also derive comfort from the fact that sharing a native
language with their students, which they often do, makes them more sensitive to
their students’ expectations in terms of the social norms of language use.

THE GRAMMAR OF CHOICE ® 63

 Power
I have already acknowledged that knowing a language can be empowering, and
hence that there is a political dimension to language proficiency. At a more con-
crete level, the continuous choices that speakers face in exploiting the potential
of the grammatical code can also hinge on issues of power. This is an extremely
important awareness when it comes to the grammar of choice, because when you
are teaching the social aspects of use, you always have to remember that appro-
priateness is relative to a particular time, place, the social status and relationship
of the interlocutors, and so forth. Neglecting to teach this reality could lead to
our teaching language use only as an act of conformity, inadvertently perpetuat-
ing inequalities in language use, such as explaining to students that in the lan-
guage we are teaching, women have to defer to men (Norton Peirce, 1989).
Critical discourse analysis is concerned with issues of power imbalances in
society, and those who practice it examine language for the subtle, yet influen-
tial, way in which power can be conferred on certain participants at the expense
of others. Stubbs (1990 as cited in Batstone, 1995), for instance, finds it signif-
icant that in South African newspaper accounts dealing with events surround-
ing the release of Nelson Mandela, agency was often ascribed to Black South
Africans by making them the subject of the clause when reporting acts of vio-
lence. Here is an example from a newspaper report:
Jubilant Blacks clashed with police...

The same propositional content could have been conveyed if the roles of the
subject and the object had been reversed (i.e., Police ‘clashed with jubilant
Blacks...). Since such texts are not ideologically neutral, it seems that the order
chosen was intended to assign responsibility to Black South Africans.
The point is that as language teachers, we should never forget that issues of
power and language are intimately connected. For example, it is unfair, but nev-
ertheless true, that native speakers of a language are permitted to create neolo-
-gisms, as | have done with grammaring. Such a coinage, however, might have been
corrected if a nonnative speaker of English had been its author. Of course, the very
issue of who a native speaker is is socially constructed. And when it comes to
English, native-speaker status becomes more nuanced, given the evolving World
Englishes. Teachers of English must decide which norms to teach and to accept.

Identity
The final area that I shall take up in this limited examination of pragmatic consider-
ations of grammatical choices is the rather large one of identity. Henry Widdowson
(1996: 20-21) has written that “although individuals are constrained by conventions
of the code and its use, they exploit the potential differently on different occasions for
different purposes.... The patterning of a person’s use of language is as naturally dis-
tinctive as a fingerprint.” Widdowson’s observation relates to how we use language
to establish and maintain personal identity. There are a number of contributing fac-
tors to identity development that may influence the patterns of grammar use.
For example, Roger Putzel (1976) administered the Myers-Briggs personality
type indicator to a group of male graduate students at UCLA, whom he also

64 «© TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

 Sta CeCe a Se ~ iv = tx ty a eee

pupils Whe ner mal! Use @ hon Standard

interviewed. He later transcribed the interviews and correlated the patterns of WA GF jhea
language use with the results of the personality tests. Putzel found a number of
significant correlations between the grammar the students used and their per-
sonality type. To offer just one example, Putzel found that extroverted students
used modal forms such as I am going to more often than introverts, who
favored I should.
To cite another factor, it is well known that language use is age-graded.
Adolescents in particular are known to adopt a special argot to distinguish
themselves from the adults they have not yet become. Currently, one pattern of
usage is to use the preposition like as in the following:
Emily: He told me like...

This is not as indiscriminate a use of a preposition as it may appear to any adult

eavesdropper. The like actually has several functions. The one illustrated here
could be the functional use of distancing the speaker from what he or she is
about to report.
Many other identity factors influence the forms we use: our origin, social sta-
tus, group membership, and so on. Certainly most language teachers have to
wrestle with the question of which dialect of the language they are going to
teach. In some cases the choice is clear; teachers are expected to teach the stan-
dard dialect. An example would be the situation in Italy, where different people
in different geographic areas speak different dialects but children in school learn
standard Italian, which is used for national communicative purposes and to fos-
ter national identity. Some teachers in North America seek to have their students
become bidialectal, so teachers are extremely careful to treat the grammar in a
child’s dialect not as less than, but simply as different from, the standard dialect.
The students’ dialect is more useful in certain social situations, less so in oth-
ers—just as is the case with the standard dialect. As many language teachers will
attest, it is important, though not always straightforward, to distinguish an
error from a dialect feature.
And, as we are always reminded, languages are in a state of flux themselves.
Even powerful governmental agencies like the Académie frangaise generally can-
not make language flow in a predetermined direction. “In 1994, for example,
France’s National Assembly enacted the so-called Loi Toubon, a law named for
its champion, the French culture minister Jacques Toubon. The law called for a
ban, enforceable by fines of up to US$1,800 and by prison terms, on the use of
foreign words in business or government communications, in broadcasting, and
in advertising, if “suitable equivalents” existed in French. (A committee had pre-
viously been established to draw up suitable equivalents where none existed in
French; the committee’s work has resulted in the coining of 3,500 new French
words, mostly to replace borrowed English-language ones.) [However, eventu-
ally,] France’s Constitutional Council, the country’s highest judicial body, weak-
ened the law, applying it only to government documents” (Murphy, 1997).
Attempts to prescribe language use almost always prove futile.
As | indicated at the outset of this chapter, I have only chosen some of the
ways that social issues impact grammar use. I have also pointed out that many
other systems of language play a role here. Certainly, one’s accent is usually a

THE GRAMMAR OF CHOICE e 65

 good indication of one’s place of origin, lexical choices mark membership in dif-
ferent discourse communities, and so forth. Further, sometimes what is not said
is as clear a mark of, say, attitude as what is said. Silence is ambiguous in this
regard. It can be the silence of those who feel they have no voice, or the willful
withholding of information or refusal to participate of those who feel that they
do have a voice. For example, a teacher who writes a letter of recommendation
for a student in which the teacher’s highest praisé is for the student’s penman-
ship or regular attendance leaves the recipient of the letter to infer a great deal
about the student—not all of it favorable!
Not all of the distinctions discussed here should be taught, of course. A lot of
these distinctions are acquired by students without their being explicitly includ-
ed on a syllabus. If students are studying a language in an environment in which
it is spoken outside the classroom, they will probably have already encountered
a great deal of linguistic variety. Then, too, they may already have chosen the
particular group of speakers of the language with whom they would like to iden-
tify or disidentify. When the need for instruction arises, teachers can inform
their students, for example, that a particular form is associated with a particu-
lar regional dialect, without teaching the form for production. Yet, there are dis-
tinctions among the ones I have illustrated that do enable students to express
meaning in a way they would choose, and that would therefore be candidates
See Chapter 8 for instruction. Much of the initial instruction might be of the consciousness-
for a raising sort, where students are made aware of the choices they have.
discussion of In conclusion, far from being a linguistic straitjacket,-grammar is a flexible,
aur aa incredibly rich system that enables proficient speakers to. express meaning in a
raisin way appropriate to the context, to how they wish to present themselves, and to
activities.
the particular perspective they wish to contribute. While accuracy is an issue in
grammar, so are meaningfulness and appropriateness of.use. A better way to con-
ceive of grammar for pedagogical purposes, then, might be a grammar of choice.

Suggested Readings -
For elaboration on attitude, power, and identity and a discussion of other types of
pragmatic difference, see my chapter (Larsen-Freeman 2002a) in New
Perspectives in Grammar Teaching, S. Fotos and E. Hinkel, eds. Close (1992) dis-
cusses grammatical choices governing the meaning and use dimensions of gram-
mar, although he does not make a distinction between them. Cook (1999) explains
why nonnative learners should not be held to native speaker norms. An article
entitled “The decline of grammar,” written by Geoffrey Nunberg and published in
the magazine Atlantic Monthly in December, 1983, drew one of the greatest vol-
umes of reader response ever. Mark Halpern’s article, entitled “Language: A war
that never ends” in the same magazine in March, 1997, continues to fuel the con-
troversy between prescriptivist and descriptivist grammarians.

66 «© TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

 7p
THE GRAMMAR OF DISCOURSE

he fact that we have grammatical options helps us negotiate social relation-

ships. We can choose certain grammar structures over others to express our
attitudes, to allocate power, and to establish and maintain our identities, among
other things. Understanding the choices that people exercise helps us interpret
the intentions of others. As important and overlooked as these choices are, there
are several other areas of choice in grammar that need to be considered in order
to fully explicate appropriateness in the use dimension. These areas are united
by the fact that they all involve the grammar of discourse.
To learn about the grammar of discourse, we will examine texts, the coherent
product of the discursive process. A text is any stretch of language that functions
as a whole unit, no matter how brief, even something as short as No smoking.
However, in this chapter we will be concerned with texts of multiple sentence or
utterance length because it is with these that the dynamics of language use can be
especially appreciated. See
In order to make a full accounting of the article system in English, we needed to Chapter 2.
consider the use of articles at the suprasentential level. It is not hard to think of
other structures that fit into this category. Considerations of when to use personal
pronouns, demonstrative determiners and pronouns, and the existential there often
transcend individual clause or sentence boundaries and depend upon context and
he linguistic context). However, there are many other pervasive, yet less
ial realized, linguistic dependencies among sentences or utterances in texts.

THE ROLE OF GRAMMAR IN TEXTS

[- this chapter we will focus on choices that are made to enhance the processabili-
ty of texts—options that are exercised to assist the listener or reader in interpret-
ing what is being expressed. This will involve an examination of the co-text, the
language environment surrounding the structure under scrutiny. One of the reasons
that grammar appears arbitrary is that we only look at it at the sentence level. When
we adopt a broader perspective we come to realize that there is a lot less arbitrari-
ness than appeared at a narrower perspective. We begin to see the patterns in texts
in the way that we can see weather patterns from an aerial photograph or a satellite
transmission—patterns that cannot be appreciated from a ground-level perspective.
By elevating our perspective to the level of discourse, we will be able to see five
additional roles of grammar, that is, how grammar structures:
1. work to organize a text, to make it cohesive;
2. connect ideas, thereby improving the coherence of a text;
3. contribute texture, making a text whole;

THE GRAMMAR OF DISCOURSE ® 67

 4. work together to create discourse patterns; and
5. fulfill discourse functions.

The following seven sentences come from a paragraph that has been scrambled.
Unscramble them to restore the paragraph to its original form. Then examine why
you put the sentences in the order that you did. What linguistic clues helped yous
1. When all her friends were applying for college admission, my sister
went job-hunting.
Thus, her grades weren’t the reason.
You know, she may never go to college, and rguess that’s OK.
My sister has never wanted to go to college.
She did so well that she had many offers.
When she was in high school, she was always a good student.
WN
wR
NN She accepted one of them and has been happy ever since.

GRAMMAR AND THE ORGANIZATION OF DISCOURSE

Did your unscrambled paragraph look like this? ;
My sister has never wanted to go to college. When she was in high school, she
was always a good student. Thus, her grades weren’t the reason. When all her
friends were applying for college admission, my sister Went job-hunting. She did
so well that she had many offers. She accepted one of them and has been happy
ever since. You know, she may never go to college, and I guess that’s O.K.
SS
Even if you did not reproduce this paragraph exactly as I did, your version was
probably very close. This may have seemed an easy task, but do not let its ease
be deceptive. Stop a moment and consider that from the seven sentences in this
paragraph there are 5,040 possible sentence sequences (7x6x5x4x3x2x1). Now
are you impressed that we reconstructed the paragraph identically, or at least
similarly? In addition to any connection that we were able to make among the
propositions, we were enabled to do this by the number of linguistic devices in
the paragraph, devices whose purpose is to organize texts.
Units of spoken or written language have an organizational structure of
their own. Putting the second or third sentence in this paragraph into initial
position would have created an anomaly. We can no more move sentences
around ina paragraph (unless we alter them in some way) than we can move _
words around in a sentence without making other modifications. There is,
then, a grammar of discourse.

68 © TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

 XN
As a graduate student I took a course called Experimental Syntax with the eminent
linguist Kenneth Pike. One of the heuristic procedures that Professor Pike used
in the course was to have us rewrite a paragraph, making the necessary changes
to the syntax of sentences in order to preserve the meaning of the original text.
This procedure revealed a great deal about the grammar of discourse. Try it
yourself. Reorder the sentences of the paragraph in Investigation 7.1 and see what
changes you need to make in order to have the paragraph retain its meaning.

Cohesion
Halliday and Hasan (1976; 1989) have pointed to a number of linguistic mech-
anisms that give cohesion or structure to a text. Each of the following was rep-
resented at least once in the paragraph in Investigation 7.1.
e Reference
My sister has never wanted to go to college. When she... (She refers
to my sister and contributes to the cohesion among sentences.)
e Conjunctions
...She was always a good student. Thus (Thus makes explicit the
causal relationship between the second and third sentences.)
¢ Substitution
...my sister went job-hunting. She did so well ... (Did substitutes for
job-hunted.)
¢ Lexical Cohesion
...job hunting. ...offers. (We understand offers in the context of job-
hunting.)
Other common mechanisms that were not illustrated in the paragraph include:

A: Who didn’t want to go to college?

B: My sister. (My sister elliptically signals My sister didn’t want to
o to college.)
» Ouamasive
Still, my sister never wanted to go to college.
° -y pairs
A: Why didn’t your sister want to go to college?
B: She wanted to be independent.
(An adjacency pair is simply two conversational turns that work
together. For example, we expect a question to be followed by an
answer, an offer to be followed by acceptance or refusal, etc.)
¢ Parallelism :
My sister didn’t want to go to college. Her friends didn’t want to get jobs.
In addition to the above cohesive devices, Halliday and Hasan also discuss
theme-rheme development and given-new information, which I will elaborate on
the following page.

THE GRAMMAR OF DISCOURSE e 69

 Perhaps it is clear now why I have chosen to call this chapter “the grammar of
discourse.” Grammar structures contribute greatly to the processability of texts,
enabling others to follow or interpret what is being said or written without the
speaker’s or writer’s being overly redundant. However, it is not only cohesion among
sentences that a discourse grammar fosters; it is also coherence among ideas.

Coherence
English has fairly fixed word order in sentences; still, variations are possible. For
example, here are three of the possible word orderings for a single proposition:
The Yankees beat the Red Sox despite the fact that Pedro Martinez struck
out a record number of Yankee batters.

Despite the fact that Pedro Martinez struck out a record number of Yankee
batters, the Yankees beat the Red Sox.

The Red Sox were beaten by the Yankees despite the fact that Pedro
Martinez struck out a record number of batters.
Again, then, we see that we are dealing with the matter of choice. Of course, I
am not suggesting that it is free choice, because presumably one of these will fit
better with a certain co-text than the others. For instance,
What happened to the Red Sox yesterday?
With this as the opening question in a conversation, I would say that the pas-
sive, the third sentence, fits best, although the cohesion would be further
improved with the use of a co-referential pronoun, they, in subject position.

This example illustrates another concept helpful in understanding the organiza-

tion of text. The concept is the distinction that Hallidayan systemic—functional lin-
guistics, following the Prague School of Linguistics, makes between theme and
rheme. The theme provides the point of departure and offers a framework through
which to make sense of what follows in the rheme. A common pattern of develop-
ment in texts is to first introduce new information in the rheme of one clause, then
treat it as given information in the theme of a subsequent clause. Given informa-
tion is that which is assumed by the writer or speaker to be known by the reader
or listener. This assumption is made either because the given information has been
previously mentioned or because it is in some way shared between the writer/speak-
er and reader/listener. New information, on the other hand, is “newsworthy”—not
something the writer/speaker can assume that the reader/listener knows.
Look at this adjacency pair:
What happened to the Red Sox yesterday?

They were beaten by the Yankees despite the fact that Pedro Martinez
struck out a record number of batters.

In the second sentence, they is the given information—information that has

already been introduced in the co-text by the questioner. It is made the theme
of the reply through the use of the passive voice. The new information is

70 © TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

what happened to the Red Sox. We are told this in the rheme of the passive
voice sentence.

Return to your version of the unscrambled paragraph in Investigation 7.1. See ifyou
can see linguistic dependencies of the theme-rheme variety among the sentences.
This pattern of development in this paragraph is often referred to as the Z-shaped
pattern of discourse. Why do you think it is given this name?

I have already called attention several times to the tendency to place new
information toward the end of a clause, called end focus, which presumably aids
listeners/readers by directing their attention to the new information. In some
informal conversations (data from Hughes and McCarthy, 1998: 272), infor-
mation is even provided in a slot before the theme, presumably stemming from
a sensitivity to what the listener does not know.
It was strange cos one of the lads | live with, Dave, his parents were looking
into buying that pub.

This friend of ours, his son’s gone to Loughborough University.

While such a sentence may appear “ungrammatical,” providing some intro-

duction to a new theme is a characteristic pattern in the spoken language of
many languages and, according to Hughes and McCarthy, is “presumably a
reflection of the exigencies of face-to-face interaction and the real-time nature
of talk.”

Texture
‘One way to create texture, a feeling that the text is a coherent whole, is through
the use of verb tenses. Veteran language teachers know that the challenge of
learning verb tenses is not how to form them (although students do need to
know how to do so) and is not what they mean (although students need to know
this, too); it is knowing when to use the tenses that is problematic—especially
when to use one over another in a particular co-text. The problem is exacer-
bated by a teaching strategy that presents the tenses one by one without show-
ing students how each fits into a system. The problem is compounded because
often new tenses are introduced at the sentence level, obscuring the system oper-
ating at the suprasentential level.

Here is a composition written for pedagogical purposes by Tom Kuehn, an ESL

teacher at Portland State University. How would you assess the writer’s use of
verb tenses?

THE GRAMMAR OF DISCOURSE e 71

 I don’t know what to do for my vacation. It will start in three weeks. I saved
enough money for a really nice trip. I already went to Hawaii. It will be too
early to go to the mountains. I worked hard all year. I really need a break.

Now this composition would be considered grammatical by many, and a

teacher of English might be pleased if her English students wrote this well. After
all, each individual sentence is well formed, the use of tenses is temporally con-
sistent and meaningful. However, Tom created this composition to exemplify a
disjointed text. Several factors contribute to its lack of texture, but one of them
is that the tense usage violates the maxim that texture is enhanced when we
adopt a particular perspective on an event and adhere to that perspective until
we are given license to depart from it. If the author of this paragraph had stayed
within one axis of orientation—say, for example, the present—the discourse
would have been less disjointed and more coherent. Here is Tom’s rewrite with
a fixed present axis of orientation:
I don’t know what to do with my vacation. It starts in three weeks. I have
saved enough money for a really nice trip. I have already been to Hawaii. It
is too early to go to the mountains. I have worked hard all year. I really
need a break.
While there are still some stylistic infelicities, when you compare the two ver-
sions, you see that a number of persistent questions that students have about
tense usage can be answered. For instance, the question of when to use the pre-
sent perfect and when to use the past is at least partially answered by saying that
when a writer has adopted a present time frame as the axis of orientation, the
present perfect is the appropriate tense, even when, as is the case here with the
trip to Hawaii, the event has been completed. ey
Then, too, the question often comes up of when to use the simple present ver-
sus the simple future to express future time in English. You can see that the sim-
ple present is being used in the second version to refer to a future event because
the writer is viewing it from the vantage point of the present. Questions about
tense usage such as these are difficult to answer if you think about tense/aspect
as purely a sentence-level phenomenon.

Co-occurring Structures in Discourse

Sometimes a discourse-level perspective can also clear up other grammatical
conundrums. For example, consider the difference in English between used to
and would. Again, if we confine our observations to the sentence level, it is dif-
ficult to tell them apart; they are both modal forn ey both have a shar
meaning of past habit. If, however, we adhere One Bedrisderbtingiolgstat
changing the form changes the ineaning or use, we should be looking fora dif-
ference in use. Although the difference is elusive at the sentence level:
| used to worry a lot when | was younger.

| would worry a lot when | was younger.

it is easier to discern at the level of text.

72 © TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

 Suh (1992) noticed that the temporally more explicit used to tends to mark an
episode boundary or set up a frame for a past habitual event, whereas the more
contingent form would or ’d supplies details or elaborates the topic, with the sim-
ple past also occurring as an alternative to would. In the following example from
Terkel (1974: 32), cited in Celce-Murcia and Larsen-Freeman (1999), a speaker is
complaining about the discrimination he faced as a child in the United States.
Notice that used to sets the frame, and the details are supplied with would:

The bad thing was they used to laugh at us, the Anglo kids. They
would laugh because we’d bring tortillas and frijoles to lunch. They
would have their nice little compact lunch boxes with cold milk in their
thermos and they’d laugh at us because all we had was dried tortillas.
Not only would they laugh at us, but the kids would pick fights.

Discourse Function
Another function of tenses iin discourse, beyond marking temporality, is to dis- _
tinguish the main story line from less important information. It has been
observed that, in a discourse narrative, certain sentences provide background
information while others function in the foreground to carry the main plot.
These sentences are often distinguished from each other by verb tenses. For
instance, in the following (not very inspired) narrative, the past tense is used for
the foregrounded information, the present tense for the background:
Yesterday I went to the market. It has lots of fruit that I like. I bought several
different kinds of apples. I also found that plums were in season, so I bought
two pounds of them.
In this short text, the foregrounded past narrative is interrupted by the second
sentence with a present tense verb. This second sentence provides informa-
tion—a statement about the market—that is general background information
to the story.
Another example of a discourse function is illustrated by the use of the pre-
sent perfect as a discourse “bridge.” In the following excerpt from a newspaper
article, notice how the present perfect (All that has changed now) helps form a
bridge from the way Chattanooga was a few years ago to the way it is today:

“Downtown was basically a ghost town,” said Rich Bailey, director

of the local chamber of commerce’s news bureau. “That was a
result of economic changes all across the country. Historically,
Chattanooga was a manufacturing town, and many of the manu-
facturers left the city. We had entire blocks with almost empty
buildings and parking lots. It was scary.”

All that has changed now. The air is much cleaner, the warehouses
have either been torn down or renovated to accommodate the new
businesses, and the Tennessee River waterfront that had once been
used for slag heaps and empty coke furnaces is today lush, green
and vibrant. (The Brattleboro Reformer, July 7, 1999)

THE GRAMMAR OF DISCOURSE @ 73

 Examining the grammar of discourse shows us its function in shaping texts and
improving their processability. Further, it suggests that facts about grammar that are
elusive at the sentence level—such as the use of the present perfect—begin to make
much better sense and are easier to teach at the level of text. As a further demonstra-
tion of this, Hughes and McCarthy (1998) point out that the past perfect, which
occurs in the last sentence of this excerpt (that had once been used...), is often used
for discourse-level backgrounding, providing an explanation for the main event,
which it does here with a description of Chattanooga prior to its rehabilitation.
A final example of grammar structures that have discourse functions involves
the use of actually. This is a single adverb in form, and consulting a dictionary
tells us that it means fact or reality. Notice, though, its use at the beginning of
the following telephone conversation, an excerpt I have borrowed and modified
from Clift (2001): :

Ida: Hello.
Jenny: Hello, Ida. It’s Jenny.
Ida: Hello Jenny. How are things? All right?
Jenny: Yes. Fine. Yes. I am ringing up about tomorrow actually. I’ll do
coffee tomorrow morning.
In this extract, we see that actually initiates a topic, the reason for the call. Its
function is best understood as part of one turn in a series of turns to organize
the structure of the conversation. x

SPOKEN GRAMMAR VERSUS WRITTEN GRAMMAR

As this last example is from a conversation, at this point, it would be worth con-
sidering to what extent the grammar of written texts differs from that of spoken
texts. The grammar of speech is often seen against a written grammar backdrop.
It probably makes more sense to see the grammar of speech in its own right than
as something less than written grammar. The new electronic availability of spo-
ken language corpora has allowed us to more easily investigate the formerly elu-
sive nature of spoken language. In so doing, certain features of spoken texts
become obvious. For instance, face-to-face interaction, where a context is shared,
permits a great deal ofellipsis, where parts of a sentence are “omitted” since they
can be retrieved from the context. In the following short conversation, I have put
the elided material in parentheses:
Joe: (Do you) Wanna go to the movies?
Jim: Sure. (I want to go to the movies)
Joe: Which one? (do you want to see)
Jim: (It) Doesn’t matter.
As can be seen in this brief exchange, the basic organizational unit of most con-
versations is short, averaging six words, presumably to relieve pressure on
working memory. This is true even when a speaker’s turn is much longer, where
short chunks are chained together in a simple incremental way for ease of pro-

74 ¢ TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

cessing. This occurs especially in narratives, where the chunks correspond with
intonation units (Chafe, 1987):
You know | was on my way here when | ran into Dan.

Earlier in this chapter, I mentioned Hughes and McCarthy’s data that show
that speakers have a tendency to encode information before the theme in a
clause to aid the listener’s processing of what is being said. “Tails” (Carter and
McCarthy, 1995) that occur at the end of a clause are presumably motivated by
the same reason. For example:
Do | stir it first, the tea?
As fascinating and important as these and other characteristics of spoken text
are, they provoke the worrisome thought that a spoken grammar and a written See McCarthy,
grammar constitute two different systems, both of which need to be taught to 1998 and
language students. However, I derive comfort from Leech (2000), who tenta- Leech, 2000.

tively adopts the position that spoken and written grammars share the same
grammatical repertoire, but with different frequencies. Besides, as Leech points
out, since features of spoken grammars tend to be found among different lan-
guages, students may already possess strategies for handling speech that they
can apply to the target language.

CONTEXTUAL ANALYSIS AND Corpus LINGUISTICS

Now would be a good time to digress a little and explain how I became interested
in discourse grammar. The initial stimulus for my interest was my recurring expe-
rience with my ESL students. They would produce texts where something was not
quite right, but it was sometimes difficult to pinpoint what was wrong, or identify
ways to improve it. Later, while working with my colleague at UCLA, Marianne
Celce-Murcia, I became interested in contextual analysis, a methodology for study-
ing grammar use in context. Marianne, our students, and I would pore over issues
of news magazines, listen to radio talk shows, and skim novels, looking for suffi-
cient instances of a particular grammar structure to show how this structure
behaved. Needless to say, it was tedious—though usually rewarding—work.
These days, the rewards can be obtained with much less tedium. Huge corpora
of oral and written texts of different languages have been amassed as computer
databases that are made available for research purposes. The corpus revolution has
meant that researchers have ready access to attested instances of language, enabling
them to, among other things, construct performance grammars. Corpus linguists
can make use of concordance software to locate and display many instances of the
particular pattern, lexical item, or grammar structure that they wish to study. In
some cases, corpora of language learner texts are also available. When this is the
case, contrastive interlanguage research can take place.
For instance, Lin (2002) found her Hong Kong Chinese students writing
paragraphs such as the following:
That’s means more graduate students feels hopeless. A lot of graduate stu-
dents are difficult to find job from 1997-1998. A lot of graduate students
need about three months to find first job. Then, some graduate students
cannot find first job after?

THE GRAMMAR OF DISCOURSE e 75

 Lin focused on problems such as the one in the second sentence, which she
diagnosed as the common problem of students failing to use an anticipatory 7t.
Lin then went to a learner corpus at the Hong Kong Polytechnic University; it
consisted of 160,000 words, mainly argumentative essays and reports of stu-
dents’ writing. She compared this to in a corpus from the production of native
English speakers, known as LOCNESS (Louvain Corpus of Native English
Essays). Through this comparison, she discovered that the Hong Kong students
significantly underused it compared with native English speakers. Using a con-
cordancing software program, she produced the following three groups of con-
cordances, partial sentences from student essays:

sults show that graduates are hard to seek their “perfect job”
s in the black market will be hard to control as those criminals
nal factor makes the disabled hard to find a job isthe economic

ed into the community becomes difficult from social public to the ind
lous society. This makes them difficult to integrate into the communi
refore, the disabled are very difficult to find a job is the economic

her practices the skills were easy to be forgotten. Tabl

d that the graduates were not easy to have a job which is mush
of the disables, they are not easy to do some daily works in the

These concordances showed Lin that many errors related to the underuse of it
stemmed from students’ failure to use an anticipatoryit with certain common
adjectives. For example, the second sentence in the student’s paragraph above
could be corrected by rewriting it as:
It was difficult for graduate students to find jobs from 1997-1998.
Lin attributes the lack of anticipatory it use to the fact that Chinese discourse
structure calls for maintaining topic continuity by repeating the topic (topic
chaining). In order to maintain a flow of ideas inside a paragraph, the writers
transferred a typological feature of Chinese into their English interlanguage,
repeating the topic of their paragraph at the beginning of each sentence.
The example of Lin and her Chinese students also speaks to the issue of inter-
bjectivity, in this case, the importance of a teacher’s establishing just what it
is that the student is trying to express, and why. Lin’s knowledge of Chinese
helped her in this regard. The importance of understanding “where a student is
coming from” is key to helping students express themselves in the manner they
intend and in a manner that will assist the listener or reader to interpret their
intentions.
The use choices I have discussed in this chapter are important ones. I am cer-
tainly not proposing that a discourse grammar should replace a sentence-level
grammar, for there are insights into grammar that a sentence-level view affords;
however, it is an incomplete view, and sometimes one that is even contradicted
at a higher level. The higher level—what I have referred to as an aerial photo-

76 © TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

graph view of grammar—shows the dynamic interplay between expressing one-
self and taking into account the way such an expression will be interpreted by
one’s listener or reader. In this way, a grammar of discourse is constitutive—crit-
ical to both text building and text interpretation. Thus, a grammar of discourse
reveals the pattern in the path, in the same way that an eddy in a stream is only
visible in the flow of water.

Suggested Readings
Work by Celce-Murcia has done much to advance our understanding of the role
of grammar at the discourse level. Early on, she wrote of her contextual analy-
sis approach to understanding grammar use (Celce-Murcia, 1980). Since then
she has written a lot about grammar and discourse, for example, Celce-Murcia
(1991) and (1992). Hughes and McCarthy (1998) is another good source in this
regard. Larsen-Freeman, Kuehn, and Haccius (2002) discuss the English verb
tense/aspect system and its operation at the level of discourse. Much is being
written about corpus linguistics these days (Sinclair, 1991). Good sources for
teachers are Partington (1998), McCarthy (2001), and Tan (2002). Biber,
Conrad, and Reppen (1998) provide an introduction to corpus linguistics.
Hunston and Francis (2000) have written a corpus-driven “lexical grammar.”
A number of electronic corpora are available, usually accessible for a modest
fee. For a list of corpora of natural spoken English discourse, see Leech (2000).
The one with which I am most familiar, the Michigan Corpus of Spoken
Academic English (MICASE), a 1.8-million word corpus of oral academic
English, is a resource that has been made available without cost on the web by
researchers at the English Language Institute, the University of Michigan
(www.hti.umich.edu/m/micase). For discussion of a corpus of international
English, see Seidlhofer (2001) and for discussion of a corpus of learner English,
see Granger (1998) and Granger, Hung and Petch-Tyson (2002).

THE GRAMMAR OF DISCOURSE ® 77

 ae

LEARNING GRAMMAR: INSIGHTS

FROM SLA RESEARCH AND
(CONSCIOUSNESS-=RAISING

have spent the last five chapters viewing grammar in a rather unconventional way.
No matter how edifying it is to see grammar as a dynamic, complex, rational, flex-
ible, and discursive interconnected system, we still have to answer the “so what?”
question: Does seeing it so help our students to learn any better? Whatever our stu-
dents’ purpose is in studying a language, one fact, to which all teachers can testify,
remains: There will never be enough time to do all that could be/should be done to
help guide students’ learning. Of course, my students’ and my goals may include more
than my students’ learning of language. For instance, one of my goals might be to help
my students cultivate more positive attitudes toward speakers of the target language.
Another might be to motivate my students to want to persist in their study in order
to attain higher levels of proficiency. I might seek to help my students increase their
awareness of their own language or to enjoy literature written in the target language.
No matter what the goals, we are still held to the same standard: Did we achieve our
goals to the degree we sought in the time we had available?
This is why I believe it is a myth that grammar can be learned on its own,
that it need not be taught. While some people can pick up the grammar of a lan-
guage on their own, few learners are capable of doing so efficiently, especially if
_ they are postpubescent or if their exposure to the target language is somehow
f limited, such as might be the case where a foreign language is being acquired.
Furthermore, very few learners, even if they have the opportunity to live in a
community where the target language is spoken, would learn the grammar as
efficiently outside the classroom as they can within it. The point of education is
to accelerate the language acquisition process, not be satisfied with or try to
emulate what learners can do on their own. Therefore, what works in untutored
language acquisition should not automatically translate into prescriptions and
proscriptions for pedagogical practice for all learners.
This cautionary note also applies to what we know about native language
acquisition or even about the second language acquisition of young learners.
While there may be characteristics common to all language acquisition, it is not
hard to make a case for a fundamental difference (Bley-Vroman, 1988) between,
on the one hand, first language (L1)/early second language (L2)/bilingual acqui-
sition and, on the other hand, older learner/adult L2 acquisition. It is plausible,
for instance, that adult second language acquisition depends more upon gener-

78 © TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

al problem-solving strategies than upon any specific language acquisition capac-
ity of the sort that has been posited for young language acquirers.
Having said this, I would add that it would nevertheless serve us well to know
as much as possible about natural, untutored—as well as tutored—language acqui-
sition in order to better understand how learning may unfold. Indeed, I mean the
term grammaring to reflect not only a dynamic view of grammar—its over-time
evolution and real-time processing, and its sense of being an ability to use structures
accurately, meaningfully, and appropriately—but also the dynamic process of its
development. Thus the focus of the next three chapters will be on the development
of learners’ grammar. The specific foci of the three chapters will be “the big three”:
consciousness-raising (helping to raise students’ awareness about grammatical fea-
Bees) practice, and feedback. In this chapter I will briefly review what second lan-
lage acquisition (SLA) research can tell us in general about the development of
» grammar. Then I will discuss various proposals from the research com-
munity for raising the consciousness of grammar students. In the next chapter I will
consider what insights we can gain from research from other disciplines concern-
ing the matter of output practice. And in the third chapter in this sequence on learn-
ing, Chapter 10, I will discuss feedback.
Before proceeding, one comment is in order. The language acquisition
research | will consider in these chapters takes place in a context different from
the one in which you are teaching. Ultimately, it is the particular needs and
responses of the students with whom you work and the conditions under which
you work every day that will significantly shape your practice. Ido not, there-
fore, see research as the ultimate arbiter of pedagogical practice, though I do see
it as giving us one way to interpret the needs and responses of students.
Sometimes research findings confirm what experience tells us; at other times
they challenge it, not permitting us to get complacent in our thinking or overly
routinized in our practice.
It would be impossible to review all the literature that pertains to the acqui- For other
sition of grammar as, due to its theoretical implications, this issue has been reviews, see
prominent on SLA research agendas for many years. I have therefore been high- Pica, 1994;

ly selective, simply highlighting some of the relevant themes in the SLA research ieee ee
literature. Finally, since teachers often ask me for insights from SLA research, | UiAnte
have chosen to organize the presentation according to questions that teachers 2000
have posed to me.

1. WHAT DOES SLA RESEARCH SAY ABOUT THE PROCESS

OF GRAMMAR ACQUISITION IN GENERAL?
Overall, most language acquisition researchers operate under the assumption
that grammatical development begins when learners entertain hypotheses about
features of the target language. If the researchers’ theoretical commitment is to
Chomsky’s universal grammar (UG), then the “hypotheses” would be seen to
arise from an innate UG, consisting of a set of core principles common to all lan-
guages, and parameters, which vary among the world’s languages. Since
Chomsky believes that L1 input is too incomplete and fragmentary to enable
children to induce a grammar, the innate principles (increasingly abstract in
Chomsky’s [1995] minimalist program) are thought to guide the L1 acquisition

INSIGHTS FROM SLA RESEARCH & CONSCIOUSNESS-RAISING ¢@ 79

 process. Then, with exposure to language, the parameters of a given principle
would be set. (See example below.) Second language learners, on the other hand,
would come into contact with a target language with hypotheses about its
parameter settings based on the settings for their L1. Their job would be to reset
the parameters for the L2 when necessary.
See Larsen- Alternatively, if the researchers’ theoretical predisposition is more to an envi-
Freeman and ronmentalist/empiricist, rather than an innatist’ UG perspective, hypotheses
Long, 1991 would not come from an a priori UG but would be generated by learners’ analy-
for a discussion sis of the target language input.
of the different In both cases, the learners would then proceed to subject the hypotheses to the
types of
cognitive process of inferencing. If the hypotheses about the L2 are derived from
theories.
L1 parameter settings, the inferencing is said to be deductive. In other words,
learners approach the L2 with a set of hypotheses about its parameters that either
are confirmed by some structural feature in the L2 input, or are not confirmed.
If not, the parameter setting would have to be adjusted for the L2. For example,
y there is a binary parameter in UG that exists because the languages of the world
can be divided into two categories: those that allow the subject of a sentence to
be dropped when understood from the context (e.g., Spanish esta contenta, “is
happy”) and those that do not (e.g., English, She is happy.). A Spanish-speaking
learner of English would, upon being exposed to English, infer that the (pro-
drop) setting of this parameter is different in the second language than in the first
and “reset” this parameter for English. This should be relatively easy to do unless
the L2 parameter is more marked than that of the L1—that is, unless it is more
complex and/or is infrequent among the languages of the world.
Instead of starting with the parameters and deductively seeking confirmatory
or disconfirmatory evidence of their settings, empiricists would claim that the
inferencing is inductive, that is, learners come with no built-in hypotheses; instead,
they infer generalizations about the target language on the basis of specific exam-
Sager ples. For example, after some exposure to Spanish, a student of Spanish might
hypothesize that there are two markers for singular common nouns in Spanish: la,
which seems to correlate with nouns that end in -a, and el, for nouns that end in
-o. The student might go on to “test” this hypothesis by trying to put la before
other singular nouns ending with -a. This hypothesis would be confirmed for
many nouns, but if the learner tried it with a noun such as dia (the Spanish word
for day), the learner would come to realize that the hypothesis needs to be modi-
fied, for dia takes el, not la. At this point the learner might either revise the
hypothesized rule or correctly infer that dia is an exception.
Of course, no one believes that learners are scientists, consciously doing all this
analysis. Sometimes learners may have explicit hypotheses that they are testing; at
other times they may not. Sometimes they may pay attention to relevant evi-
dence—that is, linguistic data; at other times they may not. But overall, from an
empiricist’s perspective, it is assumed that learners are engaged in construction of
the L2 gramn ar rules, based on inductive inferencing from target language forms.
iscins is also the cognitive process used by researchers as they attempt
to understand language learners’ behavior. When such behavior includes over-
generalizations of rules, such as English learners’ producing eated or sleeped,
researchers infer that learners have made a generalization based on exposure to

80 © TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

many regular English verbs, which are marked with an -ed for past tense; that
they are trying out these “interlanguage rules” in practice; and that, ultimately,
they will notice discrepancies between their own performance and that of oth-
ers, causing them to reject or adjust their rule for past tense formation.

2. Is THE SLA OF GRAMMAR ALWAYS A MATTER OF FIGURING OUT

THE RULES?
A newer approach, called connectionism, also relies on inductive inferencing to
model learners’ performance, but it rejects an account that claims that it is rules
that are being induced. Connectionists have developed computer models of net-
works, which are held to be analogous to the neural networks in the brain. The net-
works consist of interconnected nodes. The nodes are taken to represent neurons,
which are connected with one another through synapses. The computer models are
“trained” by receiving massive amounts of target language input. As the language
data are taken in, certain connections in the networks are strengthened. Connection
weights are thus tunable; they fluctuate from second to second. At any given time,
the weights are settling into or moving away from certain states. At any point in
the “training” of these computer networks, the distribution of weighted connec-
tions represents the network’s current map of the structure of the target language.
The
networks are self-organizing, meaning they organize themselves in
response to positive evidence, that is, the patterns in the input. However, some
connectionist models use other learning algorithms, such as back propagation,
in which connections are weakened when incorrect outputs are produced (i.e.,
they are “corrected”). In any event, although there is no conscious hypothesis
formation of rules occurring, the networks model bottom-up inductive learning,
mapping patterns that are present in the input and increasingly approximating
the target in response to more and more input.
Another fascinating characteristic of such networks is that sometimes addition-
al strengthening of connections results in output containing overgeneralization
errors of the eated sort, even though such forms are not present in the input. In
other words, the computer simulations appear to be producing rule-governed
behavior, even though they do not follow rules—that is, they are not programmed
to follow rules. Connectionists have even been able to model the U-shaped learn-
ing curve, known to exist for English past tense formation, whereby learners’ per-
formance on both regular and irregular verbs is initially accurate, then reaches its
nadir when learners overgeneralize the regular -ed ending to irregular verbs, and
finally is restored to accuracy as the learners incorporate the irregular verb forms
into their interlanguages. Plunkett and Marchman (1993) have pointed out that the
U-shaped function reflects a dynamic competition between regular and irregular fy
past tense verb endings in English.

As the number of verbs in the competition pool expands across the

course of learning, there are shifts in the relative strengths of regular
and irregular forms. The U-shaped dip in the learning curve occurs
around the point in development in which there is a change in the
proportional strength of regular -ed compared to other mappings.
Thus, sharp changes in behavior can be due to the natural evolution

INSIGHTS FROM SLA RESEARCH & CONSCIOUSNESS-RAISING @ 81

 of a nonlinear system even when the external forces are constant “
(Elman et al., 1996: 202-203). P
Other dynamic systems also experience this dynamic instability or bifurcation
oint. Referred to in Chaos/Complexity Theory as the “camel’s back phenome-
non,” at some point in time “the last straw” is placed and the system undergoes
a perturbation. Since such systems are self-organizing, the chaos subsides and
new order emerges; the interlanguage has been restructured. A speaker’s gram-
mar is thus seen not as a fixed body of rules but rather as “a statistical ensemble
of language experiences” (N. Ellis, 2002) that changes every time a new utter-
ance is processed—usually slightly, but on some occasions dramatically.
But connectionism does not merely help to model emergent approximations
to the target language. Unlike behaviorists, connectionists are interested in cog-
nitive processes, not just responses to stimuli (Gasser, 1990; McCarthy, 2001).
For instance, it is known that “in connectionist networks, items of new infor-
mation are more easily incorporated when analyzed as variations on known
information; new patterns are automatically assimilated to old patterns as much
as possible” (Goldberg, 1995: 71). Shirai (1992) therefore suggests that con-
nectionism can illuminate crosslinguistic transfer. When new languages are
encountered, the existing representations of L1 or other previously learned lan-
guages are activated to reshape the incoming L2 data.
As attractive as connectionist models are, they clearly do not explain all
human acquisitional experience. No computer can be programmed to reflect
human agency or intentionality. Computers are basically passive; they are not
goal-directed. There is no computer program that only selectively attends because
it is daydreaming about the upcoming football game and not focusing on the lan-
guage input. While they provide good models of implicit learning, they do not
take into account attention. Because of this, they are slow to learn. Nevertheless,
the results so far are intriguing and provide support for a claim I made long ago
that frequency in the input is an important factor in second language acquisition
(Larsen-Freeman, 1976). It pays to stick around! By the way, none of this
redeems the practice of merely subjecting students to abundant comprehensible
input, for the reason I gave earlier. It is still our professional responsibility to seek
the most efficacious way to acquire a language, and merely providing learners
with comprehensible input is not likely to be it (see #7 that follows).

3. WHAT ABOUT PATTERNED SEQUENCES OR

LEXICOGRAMMATICAL UNITS?
Connectionist modeling may be very useful in accounting for the acquisition of
multiword strings/sequences or lexicogrammatical patterns, especially if
Bolinger (1975) is correct that language, rather than being subserved by a rule
system, is produced on the basis of “a large, capacious and redundantly struc-
tured memory system” (Skehan, 1994: 181).
Well before the advent of computer-driven corpus linguistics, it had become
increasingly clear that native speakers of a given language control thousands and
thousands of fixed and semi-fixed patterned sequences that behave as single lexical
units. Fixed expressions in English, such as “at any rate” and semi-fixed open expres-

82 «© TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

 sions such as “I’m not at all sure that...” have been credited with contributing a great
deal of fluency to English native speaker speech (Pawley and Syder, 1983). In other
words, according to Pawley and Syder, every time we speak, our utterances are not
created anew by the application of rules, but are at least partly composed of these
meaningful, unanalyzed chunks of language, which are retrieved holistically from
memory, saving time in planning and carrying out syntactic operations.
Of course, while retrieving patterned sequences from memory might explain real-
time language processing, not everyone would accept that acquisition of fixed pat-
terned SeSWlesss accounts for all
PMN: pon: Surely, for example, there must
: a istic innovation. Although the posi-
tion is somewhat Lary some SLA ie contend that a likely scenario is
that learners acquire a stock of fixed and semi-fixed chunks of language, which they
later analyze to discover generative grammatical rules (Wong Fillmore, 1976). In the
case of first language acquisition, it is possible that the stock of patterned sequences
becomes the material on which universal grammar operates (Peters, 1983).
n other words, grammar acquisition may be first characterized as a period
lexicalization, in which learners use prefabricated sequences or chunks of lan-
age, followed by a period of syntacticization, in which learners are able to
infer a creative rule-governed system. The sequence may conclude with a period
of relexicalization, in which learners, like native speakers, use patterned
sequences to produce accurate and fluent speech (Skehan, 1994). This sequence
may not characterize the learning of all L2 learners, though. It is possible, for
example, that some second language learners, having satisfied their commu-
nicative needs, will stop at the lexicalization stage. Then, too, more analytically See Hatch’s
inclined learners may push quickly into the syntacticization phase, while more (1974)
memory-orie nted learners may, tend to treat wabeuaze more in terms ofchunks. distinction
eatheselpror ey sh oua between rule
formers and
data gatherers
operate. For instance, penironteemission Pon eenhy (PET) scansane orn dif
and Peters’
ferent patterns of brain activation for human subjects asked to produce past tense
(1977) gestalt
of English regular and irregular verbs (Jaeger et al., 1996). From this finding, the versus analytic
researchers draw support for Pinker and Prince’s (1994) dual-“systems hypothesis, as depicting
which proposes that regular past tense is computed by rule and past tense forms of different
irregular verbs are computed by activating some aspect of lexical memory. learning styles.
However, some believe that a dual mechanism account is unnecessary and argue
against its application to SLA (e.g., Murphy, unpublished manuscript). The fact that
different areas of the brain are activated offers no insight into functional differences.
Besides, Jaeger et al.’s methodology is flawed, it is claimed. And even if there is a pro-
cessing difference between regular and irregular forms, it may have less to do with
the regular-irregular difference and more to do with their different frequencies of
occurrence in the input (Seidenberg and Hoeffner, 1998). Indeed, research by N. Ellis
and Schmidt (1998) suggests that both regular and irregular forms can be account-
ed for by associative memory using a simple connectionist model.
In sum, there may be a lot of truth to the statement that what we humans do
is “push old language into new” (Becker, 1983), or retrieve chunks of language
from our memories of discourse and reconfigure them in novel, principled ways.
How we do this, of course, is the big question.

INSIGHTS FROM SLA RESEARCH & CONSCIOUSNESS-RAISING © 83

 4. HOW ARE PATTERNED SEQUENCES RECONFIGURED TO PRODUCE
NEW FORMS?
Just how are new forms to be reconfigured from an acquired stock of patterned
sequences? No one knows for sure, but perhaps the philosopher C. S. Peirce’s
concept of abduction offers an explanation. I first learned about abduction in a
talk given in 1990 by John Oller at the Georgetown University Round Table on
Languages and Linguistics. I listened very keenly to what Oller had to say that
day because it seemed to me even then that abduction might represent a missing
link in the hypothesis-testing model of SLA. After all, with deduction, hypothe-
sis space is defined from the start by a set of principles. With induction, while
patterns in the input are revealed, there are no built-in principles to explain why
the data pattern as they do, and Chomsky has argued that, given time con-
straints, a learner cannot possibly test all possible explanations. Therefore, to
my way of thinking, a different type of inferencing would seem to be needed to
complement induction—and this could be abduction. The function of abduction
is to identify the explanations that are most likely to be fruitful in accounting
for a given pattern of data. Abduction involves after-the-fact reasoning in order
to determine why something happened as it did. Learners of a language, for
example, attempt to make sense of the input forms, fitting the new forms into
the network of interrelated constructions or patterns that constitutes their
knowledge of language (Goldberg, 1995: 71).

The following are illustrations of deduction, induction, and abduction, based on

Yu (1994). After reading the examples, see if you can understand why Yu writes
that abduction creates, deduction explicates, induction verifies.

Figure 8.1 (llustrating Deduction, Induction, and Abduction <

Induction Abduction

All As are Bs. Al, AD,Aon A100 are

a an The surprisingeahoenenon
X is observed.
Cis B. Al Az AS HAL UOlare Ge Among A, B, and C, A is
capable of explaining X.
Therefore, C is A. Therefore, B is C. | Hence, there is reason to
pursue A.

An example may help your understanding of abduction of new forms from

patterned sequences. Data from a study by Myles, Hooper, and Mitchell (1998)
show that their subjects, students of French, began by learning a number of set
formulas or patterns. One such pattern was j’aime, the contracted form for the
English I like. Since it was a fixed pattern, the students would use it correctly to
refer to themselves, but incorrectly overextend or overgeneralize it to refer to

84 © TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

others. For example, they would say Richard j’aime le musée (Richard | like the
museum) for Richard likes the museum. Eventually, most of the learners,
although not all, “unpacked” the j’aime chunk. Presumably they encountered
other patterns that did not conform to their knowledge/use of the language.
There was thus a disconnect between what they were saying and the patterns
they were hearing. In order to make sense of the input, they had to entertain the
most plausible explanation to account for the data. The need to establish explic-
it reference (third person, in particular) apparently triggered the breakdown of
the chunk and the acquisition of other subject pronouns by analogy.

5. My STUDENTS’ LANGUAGE SEEMS TO BE CONSTANTLY

FLUCTUATING; ONE DAY THEY SEEM TO HAVE IT, THE NEXT
DAY, THEY DON To
A common observation in SLA research is that the language that learners produce,
their interlanguage (IL), changes rapidly. Thus, ILs exhibit a high degree of vari-
ability. Sometimes learners use one form for a given meaning, sometimes another,
although both may be non-targetlike. This does not mean, however, that ILs are
constructed arbitrarily any more than are other natural languages. For instance,
certain UG-oriented SLA researchers find evidence of learners adhering to the
abstract principles of universal grammar, although researchers are not of one mind
with regard to how accessible UG principles are to second language learners as
compared to first language learners (cf., for example, Hawkins, 2001 with White,
forthcoming). Other researchers find that learners systematically rely on their
knowledge of their L1 to compensate for their underdeveloped L2 proficiency. Still
others seek and find evidence that learners are testing hypotheses and systematically
applying particular learning strategies when they produce the target language.

Examine the following data from a Hmong-speaking adult learner of ESL stud-
ied by Huebner (1980, cited in Larsen-Freeman and Long, 1991). The assumed
glosses appear in parentheses following the learner's utterances. What hypothe-
sis do you think the learner may be testing?
Waduyu kam from? (Where are you from?)

Waduyu kam Tailaen? (How did you come to Thailand?)

Waduyu kam? (Why did you come?)

Waduyu sei? (What did you say?)

Does it make sense to you to consider the SLA process one of hypothesis formation
and testing? Why or why not?

Besides its variability and its systematicity, another striking feature of learn-
ers’ IL is its nonlinearity. Although we sometimes treat interlanguage metaphor-
ically as a path traversed by learners journeying from the L1 to the L2, learners’
grammars do not, of course, develop in such a linear fashion. Learners do not

INSIGHTS FROM SLA RESEARCH & CONSCIOUSNESS-RAISING ¢ 85

 tackle structures one at a time, first mastering one and then turning to another.
Even if we have evidence that learners have “acquired” a rule, there is no guar-
antee that they will apply it consistently.
Furthermore, even when learners appear to have mastered a particular aspect
of the target language, and even when they sustain the same degree of effort, it
is not uncommon to find backsliding occurring when new forms are introduced.
For instance, it has been commonly observed that students of Spanish who
know the preterite tense reasonably will regress in their performance on the
preterite when they first encounter the imperfective. It is not until the learners
have sorted out the differences between the two, and their internal grammars
have been restructured to capture the difference, that their performance
_ improves. Assuming, then, that the conditions of learning are propinous, accu-
rate formation OF the Carpe eonelertrclnentGalG restored. Such being the case,
we might characterizetheleannineyassst OTC inaclilcer nae inear stagelike.
v The following is a quotation from an article in the Science News. It describes
the learning in general of children, but it could just as easily be describing SLA:

Traditional developmental researchers want to narrow down chil-

dren’s various attempts at solving specific problems. In experiments to
explore learning, these scientists weed out such variability so that they
can discern typical, age-specific thinking strategies. Such studies por-
tray kids as moving, one step at a time, from simpler to more com-
plex types of thought.
On closer inspection, this developmental staircase vanishes like a
statistical mirage.... Microgenetic [looking more closely at particular
children’s performance in an attempt to detect the origin of a given
form or strategy] evidence shows that children usually make mental
advances by riding‘‘overlapping waves” of learning strategies.... At any
one time, some strategies are cresting, some are waning, some are gain-
ing renewed force, and new ones are forming just below the surface of
conscious deliberations (Science News, March 17, 2001, p. 122).
This is no less true of SLA. At any one time a learner’s interlanguage may
include many overlapping forms. Such is the case, for example, in the develop-
ment of English negation, where learners may be using he no go, he don’t go,
and he doesn’t go—all at the same point in time. However, if we were to inspect
the overall genesis and use of these forms, we might discover that the second
type of negation was predominant, with the first and third representing earlier
and later strategies, what have been called trailing patterns and scouting pat-
terns, respectively. Or we might find that the learner is experiencing tension
between a lexicalized phase (he don’t go on analogy with the chunk I don’t
know) and a syntactic phase (where through abduction the learner has analyzed
don’t into its component parts of do + not in its third person singular present
tense form). Still another possibility is that the communicative task demands too
much of learners’ attention for them to be able to perform syntactic operations,
so they rely on their lexical knowledge to get by in the moment. In any event,
the variation exhibited in learners’ production at one point in time may encap-
sulate the variation of the same learners over time.

86 © TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

 Paradoxically, although the overall language acquisition process is nonlinear,
there remains evidence of common developmental sequences for specific aspects of
grammar to which all learners adhere. In addition to the attested sequence for
English negation, there have been many others in English and other languages. For
instance, word order in German sentences was widely studied in the 1970s and
1980s by German researchers (Meisel, Clahsen and Pienemann, 1981). Such
researchers found a developmental sequence to which learners of German adhered.
They didn’t abandon one interlanguage rule for another; they accumulated rules,
adding new ones while retaining the old. Here are three of the attested stages.
Verb separation—nonfinite verbal elements are moved to clause-final
position in a number of linguistic contexts, for example, Morgen Abend
rufe ich dich nochmals an. (Tomorrow evening call I you once again up.)
Inversion—finite verb form precedes the subject of its clause in certain
linguistic contexts, for example, Wann gehen wir ins Kino? (When go we
into the cinema?)
Verb-end—finite verbs are placed in final position in all subordinate
clauses, for example, Ich trank das Glas Milch als ich den Brief schrieb.
(I drank the glass of milk while I the letter wrote.)
It is important to note that instruction can accelerate the overall rate of acqui-
sition, but developmental sequences seem to be impervious to instruction. For
instance, R. Ellis (1989) found that students learning German word-order rules
applied the rules in their interlanguage in the sequence established above, no
matter how much instructional emphasis each was given.
As the learners proceed through developmental sequences, the learning process
is gradual. As we have seen, learners do not master forms with their first encounter.
Even if they start using the form soon thereafter, its use might not coincide with its
target language function. For this reason, we have been urged to view learners’
interlanguage as a developing system in its own right, a basic variety (Klein and
Perdue, 1997), not as a deficient form of the target language (Bley-Vroman’s [1983]
comparative fallacy). Acquisition is a gradual process involving the mapping of
form, meaning, and use. Form—meaning-—use correspondences do not simply first
appear in the interlanguage in target form. Unfortunately, sometimes non-target
forms remain in a “frozen” form in learners’ interlanguage, the result of fossiliza-
tion, which I will discuss further in Chapter 10.

6. WHAT CAN MY STUDENTS LEARN FROM EACH OTHER?

So far in this chapter I have discussed many considerations affecting individual
language acquisition. This is understandable, given the psycholinguistic origin
of the field. Also, from your reading so far, it should not surprise you to learn
that I majored in psychology as an undergraduate student. Even then, I was
intrigued by the question of how people learned. Nevertheless, I have also been
aware of the social-contextual dimension of the language acquisition process for
a lone time due tot work zsTarone (1979), Beebe (1980), and other Miineeeree -
elieve guage aaquisaios takes place through some sort of
e leading “psychologically oriented” theorists
make interaction their
t Pentre As Hatch has often been quoted as saying,

INSIGHTS FROM SLA RESEARCH & CONSCIOUSNESS-RAISING ¢ 87

 “one learns how to do conversation, one learns how to interact verbally and out
of this interaction syntactic structures are developed” (1978: 409). Hatch cites
vertical structures, such as the following from L1 data, as evidence in support
of this proposition:
Child: Kimby
Mother: What about Kimby?
Child: Close
The typical vertical structure is a joint construction, here of a mother and her
child. The child nominates a topic, the mother seeks elaboration, and the child
responds. As the child’s ability progresses, the child’s initial turn is longer includ-
ing both topic and comment; thus the child’s ability to construct an utterance
moves from “vertical” collaboration to “horizontal” autonomous production.
Vygotsky’s sociocultural theory, which has had increasing influence on SLA
research, is even more explicit about the essential role of social interaction.
Vygotsky (1989: 61) asserts that “social interaction actually produces new, elab-
orate, advanced psychological processes that are unavailable to the organisms
working in isolation.” The metaphor of scaffolding is used for the means by
which this is brought about. Through social interaction, knowledgeable partic-
ipants (teachers or fellow students) can create supportive conditions where stu-
dents oflesser proficiency can participate, even solve a problem that they could
not solve on their own. According to Wood, Bruner, and Ross (1976) (in
Donato, 1994: 40-41), the supportive conditions include:

recruiting interest in the task

simplifying the task
maintaining pursuit of the goal ‘
eemarking critical features and discrepancies between what has
ies
am
been produced and the ideal solution
5. controlling frustration during problem solving, and
6. demonstrating an idealized version of the act to be performed.
Through their participation in a scaffolded interaction, students of lesser pro-
ficiency can extend their current skills and knowledge to higher competence
(Donato, 1994: 40). In other words, they can jointly construct with their more
knowledgeable partner a zone of proximal development (ZPD), “the distance
between the actual developmental level as determined by independent problem
solving and the level of potential development as determined through problem
solving under adult guidance or in collaboration with more capable peers”
(Vygotsky, 1978: 86).
The following data, extracted from a Japanese lesson for elementary school
students, illustrates scaffolding (Takahashi, 1998: 399). The English translation
for the Japanese utterances is on the right:

88 © TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

Japanese English

T: Hat. ([Teacher] shows a picture T: Here you go.

ofa man eating an apple.)
S1: Denisu wa ringo o tabemasu. S1: Dennis eats an apple. Eats!
Masu!
T: Denisu wa ringo o tabemasu, ii T: Dennis eats an apple. Good.
desu ne. Mary? (Calling on S2, Mary?
named Mary.) -

(Teacher shows a picture of a boy

who is thinking about eating an
apple.)
S2: Denisu wa ringo o tabe... $2: Dennis an apple...ea
T: Tabe...? Tora.
S2: Tabemasu. oz bie eats.
S3 (directed to $2): Tabetai. S3: He wants to eat. He eats. He
Tabemasu. Tabemasen. doesn’t eat.

(S2 is silent.)

(Teacher begins singing the “I T: Remember this song? Tai, tai, tai.
want” song.)
T/Ss: Ta tai, tai, nomitai, tabetai, T/Ss: I want, I want, I want to drink,
hon yomitai, netai, kaitai, terebi want to eat, want to read, want to
muta. buy, want to watch TV.
T: Haaaai, tabetai! li desu ka? T: Goooood! He wants to eat! All
Tabetai. right? He wants to eat.
Ss: Tabetai. Ss: He wants to eat.

T: Tabetai, hai, Mary? T: He wants to eat. Here you go.

Mary?

$2: Denisu wa ringo o tabetai. $2: Dennis wants to eat an apple.

T: Hai, ii desu ne! T: Yes. That’s great!

INSIGHTS FROM SLA RESEARCH & CONSCIOUSNESS-RAISING ¢ 89

 In her initial turn, $2 (Mary) begins to use the same verb form as S1.
However, the teacher is showing a different picture, so she should no longer be
using the verb form for eats but the form for wants to eat. $3 apparently intends
to remind Mary of verb conjugations that they have learned before. When Mary
still does not respond, the teacher and the students sing a song that features the
want to form of many verbs. After assistance from the teacher and students,
Mary produces the correct form of the verb. Takahashi states that although
Mary’s actual developmental level did not allow her to accomplish this linguis-
tic task, guidance from her peers and her teacher allowed her to outperform her
present competence (see Cazden, 1981). In this way, learning and teaching were
realizedas a co-constructed process within the child’s zone of proximal devel-
opment, and teacher and peers, rather than being suppliers of input, are cast in
the role of joint constructors of the arena for development. In sum, the origin of
the individual’s higher mental functions is situated in the dialectical processes
embedded in the social context (Vygotsky, 1978 in Donato, 1994: 45-46).

7. WHAT DOES THE EVIDENCE SAY ABOUT THE VALUE OF TEACHING

GRAMMAR IN ACCELERATING OR COMPLEMENTING THE NATURAL
PROCESS ?
One influential SLA researcher, Stephen Krashen (1981; 1982), would answer
this question by saying that explicit grammar instruction has very little impact
on the natural acquisition process because studying grammar rules can never
lead to their unconscious deployment in fluent communication. This position
has been referred to as the non-interface position because‘of the claim that there
is little or no interaction between conscious, explicit learning and implicit learn-
shesor acquisition that takes place without conscious operations. According to
Krashen, the only way for students to a yramuiar is to get exposureto
comprehensible input in the target language, inely tunec o their level of profi-
ciency. Krashen believes that if the input is understood and there is enough of it,
the necessary grammar will automatically be acquired. <
Many other researchers dispute this claim. In support of the argument for the
necessity of attention to linguistic form, Long (Schmidt, 1994: 176) cites the fact
that adults often fail to incorporate basic target structures into their interlanguage,
despite their prolonged exposure to comprehensible input. Another consequence is
premature stabilization of their interlanguages. After conducting a meta-analysis of
research studies conducted during the last twenty years, Norris and Ortega (2000)
conclude that focused L2 instruction results in large target-oriented gains, that
explicit types of instruction are more effective than implicit types, and that instruc-
tional effects are durable. Since it is central to the focus of this book, it is worth
highlighting the work of Lightbown and Spada from among the studies reviewed.
They found that teachers who integrate grammar lessons into their communicative
teaching are more effective than teachers who never work on grammar or who do
so only in decontextualized grammar lessons (Spada and Lightbown, 1993;
Lightbown, 1998). Finally, White (1987) also counters Krashen’s claim by propos-
ing that it is actually incomprehensible input that stimulates the necessary grammar
building, not comprehensible input. When the learner cannot parse the input, a
restructuring of the grammar to account for the input is motivated.

90 © TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

 It is particularly telling that in the case of immersion students in Canada,
who have abundant opportunity to receive comprehensible input in French, the
students’ performance nevertheless falls short of what one might expect. While
the children make great strides in French, they still commit some fundamental
morphosyntactic errors, calling into serious question the assumption that just
being exposed to the language is sufficient to enable students in classroom sit-
uations to acquire accurate production skills. An explanation for the basic
morphosyntactic errors committed by immersion students is that the students
have created a classroom dialect from the self-reinforcing nature of peer inter-
language. As a counterpoint to what has just been discussed about the benefits
of peer—peer interaction, this explanation would argue against the unremitting
use of such interaction.
Indeed, Higgs and Clifford (1982), drawing on their many years of teaching
foreign language, warn RRS Merceapinbtcant language forms
canacm’, cause sos ation. Learners acquire certain ungrammatical forms
in their interlanguage that are extremely difficult to dislodge. Thus most SLA
resegupers concur on the need to teach grammar. However, they advise doing_
so by “focusing on form” within a meaning-based or communicative approach
in order to avoid a return to a “focus on forms” approach in which language
forms are studied in isolation (Long, 1991).
Incidentally, although I welcome the calls and the empirical support behind
efforts to focus on form within a communicative approach, I do feel that the
term “focusing on form” is misleading because its shorthand suggests that
teaching/learning grammar is all about teaching/learning form, which, I believe,
underestimates what is involved in the acquisition of grammar especially,
although not exclusively, by ignoring the dimensions of meaning and use.

8. WHAT PEDAGOGICAL PRACTICES FOR GRAMMAR TEACHING ARE

SUBSTANTIATED BY RESEARCH FINDINGS?
Very few form-focused practices have been thoroughly substantiated. This is in
part because the research remains in its infancy. It is also because it is thought
better to be cautious than to return to a pure focus on forms. Nevertheless, in
the interest of raising awareness concerning researchers’ agendas, I will discuss
some pedagogical practices that I have culled from the research literature.
Significantly, much of SLA research has centered on consciousness-raising prac-
tices as opposed to grammar production activities. Rutherford and Sharwood
Smith (1988) were among the first SLA researchers to discuss the long-held
assumption that raising students’ consciousness about target language rules facil-
itates language acquisition. In doing so they left the definition of consciousness-
raising broad enough to embrace a continuum ranging from mere exposure to
grammatical phenomena at the one end to explicit pedagogical rule articulation at
the other. Within this broad range, a variety of practices have been investigated.

Promoting Noticing
In a study of his own acquisition of Portuguese in Brazil, SLA researcher
Richard Schmidt observed that he was not able to assimilate a new linguistic
item until he first noticed it (Schmidt and Frota, 1986). In other words, in order

INSIGHTS FROM SLA RESEARCH & CONSCIOUSNESS-RAISING @ 91

 for the new item to become intake, he had to first attend to it in the input.
Karen Stanley, an ESL teacher in a community college in the United States,
describes the various levels of awareness she experienced in her acquisition of
items in a new language:
~ 1. Iam unaware of an item.
seen 2. I become aware of an item (either through being told about it
or through noticing that someone else’s production is different
from my own).
Karen Stanley ; } P
3. In production, I catch myself right after a non-use situation, and
self-correct.
4. In production, I catch myself in the middle of production, and
self-correct.
5. Icatch myself before production, and Eeooee the “correct”
form.
: 6. I produce the pattern without thinking about it at all.
I do not mean that these “stages” are clearly separate from each
other. Depending on stress, time available, fatigue, etc., these differ-
ent “points” overlap; I regress so to speak. [However,] I still clearly
remember the first time I became aware that the Greek subjunctive
had sprung out of my mouth without my thinking or being aware
of it until afterward, and I was so shocked at my success that I had
to go back and check to see that the automatic usage had, indeed,
been correct. It had been. I felt triumphant. ‘

For example, Few learners are as in touch with their learning processes as Stanley.
see McLaughlin, Nevertheless, her experience speaks to the power of noticing in SLA.
Rossman, Unfortunately, the ein O Oe Sounding PODS TENE murky in
and (1983)
McLeods the SLA literature, wit . arabes = ith awareness,
4
Seat ea NAN consciousness, detection, ad HOR Still, narenauaHtthere isdisagreement
(1994), over how inany types of attention there are, , most SLA researchers acknowledge
Siimandand the value of promoting noticing, some even considering it a necessary condition
Wong (2001). t© Convert input into intake in order for learning to take place (Schmidt, 1990).
Thus focusing on form is said to be of benefit because it helps guide learners’
particular attentional resources. Now, there are a number of ways in which this
can happen. For example, simply presenting students with a traditional expla-
nation of some grammar structure might prime their subsequent noticing.
Priming makes a second instance of a phenomenon more readily accessible
without necessarily bringing its learning back to conscious attention (Stevick,
1996). Another way this is talked about in the SLA literature is using the term
“trace.” When learners notice a structure, they are said to store a trace, which
will help them to process the structure more fully at a subsequent time (R. Ellis,
1993a). Less explicit, less obtrusive means of focusing students’ attention on
form areto underscore, use boldface, use different fonts, use color, and so forth
to heighten the saliency of some particular grammatical feature in written texts,
thereby presumably drawing learners’ attention. Also fitting into this category
is an input flood, that is, exposing learners to texts with particularly high fre-
quencies of the target structure. Of course, all teachers can do is enhance the

92 ¢ TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

input (Sharwood Smith, 1993); they cannot guarantee that learners will actual-
ly notice and take in what the teachers have in mind.

Consciousness-Raising Tasks
I have already discussed exposure under the heading of ways to promote noticing.
The other end of the consciousness-raising continuum, explicit rule articulation, has
been investigated by Fotos and Ellis (1991), who have designed consciousness-
raising tasks for this purpose. In these tasks, learners worked interactively in small
groups to solve grammar problems in the target language. Fotos (1993) showed that
learners are more likely to notice target structures in consciousness-raising
tasks than
when not directed in any way toward the target (i.e., in purely communicative tasks)
and that learning outcomes in consciousness-raising tasks where students figure out
therules are as least as effective as students’ being given the rules.
Here is an example adapted from Fotos and Ellis (1991: 626) of a con-
sciousness-raising task:

Put students in groups of four. Hand each group a set of cards.

For example:
1. Correct The teacher pronounced the difficult word for the class.
2. Incorrect The teacher pronounced the class the difficult word.
3. Correct 1 bought many presents for my family.
4. Correct I bought my family many presents.
Students are told that different verbs may have their objects in dif-
ferent orders. In groups they are to study the correct and incorrect
English sentences, then work together to decide where the direct
and indirect objects can be located for the verbs in their sentences.
Thus these consciousness-raising tasks work to make students aware of specific
features of the target language by figuring out for themselves the properties of
these features.
Perhaps the experienced teacher of EFL in Malta in Borg’s (1998) study put
it most cogently when he said:
I find that when I learn languages I like finding out about rules
myself. It helps me if I can perceive patterns, it really helps me.
And I think that’s true for many students, and I think it’s part of
their expectations too. And I see it as part of my role to help them
to become aware of language rules...whenever possible, yes. And
lying behind that is the rationale that if they can be guided towards
a reformulation of a rule through largely their own endeavours, it
is more likely to be internalised than if it was explained to them.

Input Processing
VanPatten’s (1996) theory of input processing holds that processing instruction
is key to development of learners’ IL systems. Ininput processing, learners are
guided to pay particular attention to a feature in the target language input that
is likely to cause a processing problem, thereby increasing the chances of the fea-

INSIGHTS FROM SLA RESEARCH & CONSCIOUSNESS-RAISING ® 93

 ture’s becoming intake, “that subset of filtered input that the learner actually
processes and holds in working memory during on-line comprehension.” (Van
Patten, 2002: 761). Since humans are limited in their processing capacity, and
since, according to VanPatten, learners cannot attend to the content and the form
of a,message simultaneously, they need assistance in attending to a selective sub-
set of the input. Input-processing tasks seek to alter the way in which learners
perceive and process the input by pushing learnefs to attend to form differently
than they would with their L1.
Here is an example of an input-processing task designed by Cadierno (1992)
and discussed in Doughty and Williams (1998).
For this task, students are shown a picture and are asked to imagine that they
are one of the characters in the picture. They have to listen to a sentence in the
target language and to select the picture that best matches.
For example, the target language is Spanish and the students hear:
Te busca el senor. (“The man is looking for you.”)
Later when viewing two more pictures, the students hear:
Tu buscas al senor. (“You are looking for the man.”)
English speakers use word order to determine subjects and objects. Presumably,
however, with information about differences in Spanish and with enough of this
input-processing practice, students will learn to discern the difference in mean-
ing, and that distinguishing subjects from objects requires paying attention to
the ends of words and to small differences in the function words themselves
(e.g., te vs. tu and el vs. al). é

Collaborative Dialogues
Thus far I have discussed noticing, consciousness-raising, and input processing,
but have made no mention of output practicing. We will later see that the value
of output practice is rather controversial. However, a role for speaking, which
relates to consciousness-raising, has been proposed by Swain (1985; 1995).
Swain has argued that learners need to produce the language in order to notice
the gap between what they want to say and what they are able to say.
Production forces learners to pay attention to the form of intended messages. By
doing so they will recognize the areas where they have problems and will seek
out relevant input in a more focused way.
In keeping with sociocultural theory is the use of collaborative dialogues for
promoting learners’ attention to form. As learners work together, they are able
to use the language and reasoning of others both to expand their knowledge of
the language and to regulate their own cognitive functioning.
In the following excerpt from Swain and Lapkin (1998: 332), two learners of
French, Rick and Kim, discuss the verb sortir, which does not take the reflexive
form in French. Rick begins, hesitates, and then seeks guidance from Kim as to
the form of the verb.
Rick: Un bras...wait...mécanique...sort?
Rick: An arm...wait...a mechanical [arm] comes out?

94 © TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

 Kim: Sort, yeah.
Kim: Comes out, yeah.

Rick: Se sort?
Rick: Comes out [itself]? [incorrect reflexive form]
Kim: No, sort.

Kim: No, comes out. [correct nonreflexive form]

Having to produce the French sentence causes Rick to discover what he does not
know and to seek Kim’s focused feedback in order to co-construct the sentence.
In this way, as Swain and Lapkin note, their dialogue serves as a tool both for
L2 learning and for communicating with each other. In Kim and Rick’s language
use, the processes of language learning and communication are simultaneous.

Instructional Conversations or Prolepsis

Another name for a scaffolding-teaching process is instructional conversation
(Tharp and Gallimore, 1988) or prolepsis. I like the concept of proleptic teach-
ing because I now have a name for what I have done as a teacher for many years.
I used to think that my teaching approach was inductive. I used a discovery
process—some might call it a constructivist approach—to encourage students to
come to their own understanding of a particular linguistic point. However, I
now believe that prolepsis is a more apt description than either of these for what
I do. Prolepsis requires teacher and students to achieve a degree of intersubjec-
tivity, which makes it possible for the teacher to guide the student and for the
student to be guided through the process of completing a task. In other words,
both teacher and student try to come to an understanding of how each of them
views the task and its solution, with the goal of helping the student reshape and
extend his or her use of language.
Here is an example of proleptic instruction being used in a French lesson
(data from Donato and Adair-Hauck, 1992):
T: You have chosen number 10 then? It’s on the outside of the car.
(S1 writes “de l’essuie” [pauses] “de” [pauses])
Ss: Oh no, no...

T (to S1): Write what you think it ts.

(S1 hesitates. He begins to erase “essuie.”)
T: That’s it. You have it, “essuie.”

(S1 writes “essuie de glace.”)

T: That would make sense, but it’s shorter. What would it be?
$1: Hyphen.
T: Hypen.

INSIGHTS FROM SLA RESEARCH & CONSCIOUSNESS-RAISING @ 95

 (Student writes “essuie-glace.”)
T: Yes, “essuie-glace.”
We see that the teacher uses several ways to engage the student in the task of writ-
ing the French for windshield wiper. First, the teacher encourages the student to
stay involved, to ignore what the other students say and to go with his own sense
of what is right. She marks the critical features of the problem for him. She does
not give him the answer or solve the linguistic form problem for him, but coach-
es him to do so. Thus, through proleptic instruction, formal instruction can take
on an evolving and dynamic relationship embodied in the discourse.

Community Language Learning Dialogues

See a Based on principles from Carl Rogers’ humanistic psychology, Charles Curran
discussion of developed a language teaching method called Community Language Learning.
this method One of the tenets of this approach to language ce is to provide for learn-
and others in er security. One way to do this is to have students choose for themselves what
Zea ae St they wish to learn to say in the target language. Thestudents first speak in their
a. native language, what they say is translated, and then they are recorded speak-
ing the translations. Next, a transcript of the recording is made and the native
language equivalents are added. Then students are invited to reflect on the tran-
scribed dialogue. They can ask questions about what they observe.
I have found this to be a particularly good way in which to raise conscious-
ness because, since learners generated the dialogue, they are invested in it.
Furthermore, they know the meaning of what they have said in the L2. What is
left for them to focus on is how the target language forms are mapped onto the
meaning in an appropriate manner.
A related pedagogical approach that has been used to teach literaccy is the
Language Experience Approach (LEA). In the LEA, students dictate to the
teacher something that they want to express accurately in the target language.
As the teacher writes down what the student is saying, the teacher modifies it so
that it adheres to the grammatical conventions of the target language. Students
can then compare what they said with what the teacher has written in order to
raise their consciousness about target language features.

9, SHOULD I GIVE MY STUDENTS EXPLICIT RULES?

I argued in Chapter 2 that it was a mistake to equate the teaching of grammar
with giving students grammatical rules. However, I did not, and would not,
deny that there might be merit to explicit rule-giving as one means of teaching
grammar. Although the results of research conducted to date are somewhat
mixed, the trend does favor giving students explicit rules if the rules are rela-
tively straightforward. If the rules are complex, students may be better off being
exposed to examples rather than to an explicit rule, or to a combination of an
explicit rule and carefully considered examples. Nevertheless, research by
Carroll and Swain (1993) suggests that even complex rules may be helpful if
they are given to students after they commit errors that knowledge of the rule
might have averted.

96 ¢ TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

 Researchers have also speculated that acquisition of certain aspects of an L2
may require more conscious explicit instruction. This may be true, for instance,
of particular L1 and L2 differences where an L2 feature is more marked than
the L1. It may also be true with pragmatic differences, or what I have been call-
ing differences of use, which are not as salient as more formal grammar phe-
nomena. Another category that explicit knowledge may help with is particular
patterned sequences, that is, lexicogrammatical units and collocations.
Rejecting polarized views of explicit provision versus implicit inferencing of
rules, Adair-Hauck, Donato, and Cumo-Johanssen (2000) carve out a middle
ground. Rather than the teacher providing the learner with explanations, or the
learners being left to analyze the grammar explanation implicitly for themselves,
Adair-Hauck, Donato, and Cumo-Johanssen recommend that teachers and
learners collaborate on and co-construct the grammar explanation. From the
vantage point of a Vygotskyan approach to instruction, they suggest that a guid-
ed participatory approach to rule formulation is the best procedure.
Of course, verbal rules are not the only way to capture generalizations about the
language and to make important relationships salient, and, in fact, verbal rules have
the distinct disadvantage that students have to be able to process language in order
to understand the rule. Other, perhaps more direct approaches that make general-
izations explicit include the use of charts, formulas (S+V+O), or iconic devices, such
as scales (e.g., showing the degree of probability that certain modal verbs convey),
or even pictures to show such things as the relationship among spatial prepositions.
With this caveat, I will leave MacWhinney to sum up my position on the giv-
ing of explicit instruction:

Students who receive explicit instruction as well as implicit expo-

sure to forms, would seem to have the best of both worlds. They
can use explicit instruction to allocate attention to specific types of
input..., narrow their hypothesis space..., tune the weights in their
neural networks,...or consolidate their memory traces. ...From the
viewpoint of psycholinguistic theory, providing learners with
explicit instruction along with standard implicit exposure would
seem to be a no-lose proposition (MacWhinney, 1997: 278).

10. SHOULD I USE LINGUISTIC TERMINOLOGY (METALANGUAGE)

WITH MY STUDENTS?
When verbal rules are employed, a corollary issue of fundamental concern to
teachers is raised: whether or not—and if so, to what degree—to use explicit
metalinguistic terminology with students. I know of no SLA study that has
resolved the matter with regard to the efficacy of language acquisition, and as
Sharwood Smith (1993) has noted, its use is still an empirical question. As
Alison d’Anglejan pointed out long ago (Lightbown, personal communication),
some languages (e.g., French) would be almost impossible to write correctly
without a knowledge of some explicit grammar terms. For example, the mascu-
line and feminine forms often sound the same (bleu, masculine for blue, and
bleue, feminine), so that the concept of masculine and feminine gender and the
associated grammatical markers would be needed to disambiguate them.

INSIGHTS FROM SLA RESEARCH & CONSCIOUSNESS-RAISING @ 97

 As far as teachers are concerned, there appears to be a range of views, with
some teachers feeling that the use of metalanguage provides a useful shortcut to
refer to grammatical phenomena, while others feel that the proliferation of
grammatical terminology only adds to students’ learning burden. Here is what
some teachers from Borg’s (1999) study have to say about the matter of using
linguistic terms with students.
Hannah, a 27-year-old native speaker of English who has taught EFL for four
years, answers the question of whether she ever labels grammar structures in her
approach to teaching grammar in this way:
My God, no. Why is it necessary? I don’t do it because I don’t real-
Teachers’ ly think that it’s necessary. I could write it up on the board and I
Voices
could label them all but it doesn’t help, after they’ve done that they
know the labels of each part, but it doesn’t help them to be able to
Hannah, go out and use that. That’s the reason I think.
Martha, Tina
Martha, a 24-year-old female native speaker of English who has been teach-
ing EFL for three years, was teaching an intermediate level class when she
offered this:
A lot of people get worried about what a name is, when the most
important thing is to understand why we’re using it and when
we’re using it.... So if they know it, fine, they give you the name; if
they don’t know it, I’ll give them the name. I'll say “Usually in a
grammar book this is what it’s called, so if you come across it
again, you'll recognize it.” Often they know the names and don’t
even know what it’s for. So I’'d rather they know what it’s for
rather than its name. But I know they like to have labels and Ill
give them the name if they haven’t got it.
And this is what Tina, a woman in her late 30s} also a native speaker of
English, who has been involved in TEFL for over 10 years, said about the issue:
If they can name the pattern it’s easier to remember... when you
give them the different parts and name them you’re sort of explain-
ing what they’re doing, “This is the ‘if? clause plus ‘would’ plus the
past participle.” Well, obviously if you can generalize it, I suppose
it could be a generalization.
It is interesting to note that Tina teaches advanced-level students. So perhaps,
in addition to the teachers’ beliefs and degree of comfort in using metalanguage,
we might add that teachers’ decisions about whether or not to use grammatical
terminology are often informed by their assessment of their students’ metalin-
guistic sophistication. Eric, a 40-year-old TEFL teacher, also takes into account
his students’ learning styles. His sensitivity to these has meant for him that
“some students like and feel comfortable with grammatical labels. This needs to
be respected” (Borg, 1999: 109). Like Martha, though, Eric cautions that teach-
ing the terminology is no substitute for what he calls the “crux of the matter—
what is this language and how is it being used?”
It should be clear by now that much of the SLA research on the learning of
grammar has been directed at consciousness-raising, in the broad sense of the

98 © TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

term, rather than output practice. There is considerable agreement that learner
awareness is required in order for grammatical acquisition to be accelerated
beyond what ordinarily takes place in naturalistic acquisition. Pure implicit
learning may work, but it is very slow. Researchers remain divided on whether
or not learners’ attention has to be conscious and focal, and even more so on
whether there has to be accompanying output practice. This is because the tra-
ditional rationale for practice derived from habit formation—the idea that
grammar patterns should be repeated and repeated, in fact overlearned, in order
to overcome the habits of the native language and to establish firm new habits
in the target language. It is understandable why SLA researchers are reluctant to
endorse any practice that risks a return to pure behaviorism.
However, I have often seen the futility of teachers’ attempts to move directly
from raising students’ awareness about a grammar point to expecting them to use
it in communication. Students’ understanding is necessary for expedient learning,
but by itself is insufficient. Grammaring is a skill, and as a skill, requires prac-
tice. Meaningful practice of a particular type not only helps learners consolidate
their understanding or their memory traces or achieve fluency, it also helps them
to advance in their grammatical development. This train of thought led me to lit-
erature in psychology, to which I will turn in the next chapter.

Suggested Readings
Research on second language acquisition has been compiled and discussed in
Larsen-Freeman and Long (1991), R. Ellis (1994), and Gass and Selinker (2001).
As I have indicated several times in this book, very interesting work on multi-
word lexical strings or formulaic language is being done at this time. Nattinger
and DeCarrico (1992) and Wray (2002) are worth reading. N. Ellis’s (1994)
anthology on implicit and explicit learning of language deals with some of the
issues discussed in this chapter. The case for a connectionist account of language
acquisition is cogently put forth in Rethinking Innateness by Elman et al. (1998).

INSIGHTS FROM SLA RESEARCH & CONSCIOUSNESS-RAISING ® 99

 2
CULAR PRN TAICE
AND PRODUCTION

DIFFERENT PERCEPTIONS OF THE VALUE OF QUTPUT PRACTICE

had originally intended to entitle this chapter simply “Practice.” Recently,
however, the term practice has been applied to both input processing and out-
put activities. Having dealt with input processing in the previous chapter, it is
the latter that I want to discuss here. Output practice entails using the produc-
tive skills of writing and speaking, although unless qualified in some way,
output practice or productive practice is usually reserved for speaking. For me,
output practice to learn grammar means using the target patterns or structures
in a meaningful, hopefully engaging, focused way.
Practice has long been a mainstay in grammar teaching. After all, teachers
who follow the commonplace Present—Practice-—Produce (PPP) sequence in
grammar teaching have felt that some sort of practice is obligatory. Here is what
Ed (a name I have given a subject in a study by Borg, 1998), a teacher in a lan-
guage institute in Malta, has to say about the matter of output practice:
The underlying principle of everything is that iffyou’re going to
ach have a language focus, and there’s going to be conscious language
Voices
learning in the classroom, then I think I would do practice activities
as well. So they’ve reached awareness, they’ve come to a sonclusion
about a rule, then they need some kind of practice of that rule.
That’s the underlying principle there...as a general principle I give
learners controlled (if possible, communicative) practice when it
comes to accuracy work (cited in Borg, 1998: 24-25).
Ed is a highly experienced teacher of EFL and probably speaks for many
teachers in acknowledging the value of practice, albeit in a qualified manner.
However, Ed may not speak for you. Take a moment, therefore, to think about
your position on the issue of practice.

What do you think about output practice in grammar teaching? Define for
yourself what output practice is and what benefits or drawbacks it holds.

While I have already speculated that there are many teachers who think as Ed
does, Pica (1994) reminds us that, at least at the level of approach, the place of
practice in language teaching has diminished over the past two decades.

100 © TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

 Under the influence of the Natural Approach (Krashen and Terrell,
1983) and indeed the broader spectrum of communicative
approaches to language teaching, the engagement of learners in
drill and practice has been on the decrease in many classrooms...
(Pica, 1994: 58).
Communicative approaches to language teaching have had a major impact on
language teaching. However, to my mind, they have not eliminated the need for
practice, though not necessarily the practice associated with drills. It seems to
me that the great contribution of communicative approaches is that they turn
the Present—Practice-Produce sequence upside down (Willis, 1996; Skehan,
1998). Students first work on comprehension and production through engage-
ment with meaningful content or tasks. This initial phase should be followed by
teacher-supported input and output practice, still meaningful and engaging.
Later a consciousness-raising phase may take place in which teachers guide
learners to induce particular grammatical explanations. In short, the “P” for
practice should still occupy a central position.
My support for practice in grammar teaching stems from both my own expe-
rience of teaching and learning languages over the years and my role as a teacher
educator. For instance, I have been an observer in classrooms where I have been
told that communicative language teaching is the methodology being used. As
opposed to the “inverted PPP” scenario I have just depicted, I have seen novice
teachers introduce a grammar point or function and then ask students to role
play, problem solve, or use the teaching point in some other rather open-ended
way. And I have witnessed these attempts fail. Students do not speak, or if they
do, they do not use the function or structure that has just been presented. While
there could be many explanations for the students’ reluctance to speak, one
highly plausible explanation for why students do not use the target structure is
that they have not had practice in doing so.
It has long been held in the language teaching field—and most learners would
attest to this—that comprehension most often precedes production, but I believe
that comprehension does not guarantee production. Of course, this is not to say
that there is no overlap between the two; however, there is evidence that input
processing and speech production require distinct types of processing mecha-
nisms (White, 1991). Other research suggests that comprehension skills and
production skills are to some extent learned separately (DeKeyser and Sokalski,
2001). My own experience as a learner of Spanish bolsters this claim. Having
earlier been a student of Spanish for several years, J am able to understand a
great deal of spoken and written Spanish. However, when it comes to speaking
Spanish, which I have had very little practice doing, my production is not only
halting, but also inaccurate. I find that I cannot worry much about the endings
on verbs, for example, when I am preoccupied with just getting something out
that is meaningful, relevant, and timely.
Before going on to discuss what sort of output practice would be helpful, it is
worth considering what arguments have been made for and against practice in the
language classroom. Some may be content to use practice because “it works.”
Although I respect this position, I myself have never found such
pragmatism very satisfying. Given the attitude of inquiry I bring to bear on

OUTPUT PRACTICE AND PRODUCTION ® 101

 professional issues, I want to know more. I want to know why “it works,” and
conversely, why some people feel that practice is not necessary, is even counter-
productive. At the 1999 TESOL Convention I made a presentation in which I
stated that in contrast to the recent theoretical justification for promoting
noticing, consciousness-raising, input processing, and so forth, and the earlier the-
oretical justification for practice in the ALM, the role of output/productive
practice in modern grammar teaching had been”neglected and that post-ALM
empirical investigation and clarification were needed in this area as well. Following
my presentation, a colleague critiqued what I had said, implying that there was
no justification whatsoever for output practice. In the spirit of inquiry, I ask,
“What can I learn from this colleague and others who do not believe as I do?”
Further, if practice “works,” I want to know what function it serves. I cer-
tainly do not dismiss intuitions and experience, but whenever possible, I want
to dig deeper. I want to understand why things are the way they are or work/do
not work as they do in order to understand and be able to offer a rationale for
my experience and/or to know how to change what I do when it does not appear
to work with a particular group of students.
Having raised the expectation that I will offer a definitive rationale for the
value of practice, I now risk failing to deliver. The truth is that there are hypothe-
ses about why practice does or does not “work” in language teaching, but as
with so many other issues, there is no accord on the value of practice, and little
empirical evidence to support one position over another. Nevertheless, in the
spirit of inquiry, I would like to examine the various positions held with regard
to practice, beginning with why some researchers question the value of practice.

SLA RESEARCH ON THE VALUE OF OUTPUT PRACTICE

It is certainly the case that SLA researchers have not.thosen to investigate out-
put practice as much as form-focused activities of the consciousness-raising or
input-processing sort, which were reviewed in the previous chapter, and there
are some researchers who consider such research a waste oftime. However,
given that practice occupies an important place in most teachers’ grammar ped-
agogy, and in most language teaching materials, researchers’ disinterest, skepti-
cism, or even outright rejection may be difficult to comprehend. It may be more
understandable, though, when we realize that their attitude can be traced to the
long-term association between grammar practice and meaningless drills
(Lightbown, 2000). Many an ALM veteran will attest to the soporific effects of
an unremitting series of form-based repetition, slot and filler, and transforma-
tion drills designed to establish and reinforce speech habits.
Then, too, as always, there is the inert knowledge problem, which I have con-
sidered several times already in this book. The fact is that it is all too common
for students to practice a grammar point in the classroom only to find that dur-
ing another part of the lesson, or outside the classroom, what has been practiced
is not transferred. A strong interface position, which is implicit in traditional
grammar teaching, assumes that learners will acquire what they are taught and
that, with practice, they will be able to use the structure in communicative situ-
ations—in other words, that there is a direct, proximate connection or interface
between practice and use. Clearly this is not the case. We know that learners

102 © TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

require time to integrate new grammatical structures into their interlanguage
systems. However, it is not only that the transfer is delayed. For instance, learn-
ers often produce forms that bear no resemblance to what has been presented to
them or practiced. From such observations, R. Ellis (1998) concludes: “It is
uncertain, then, whether production practice directed at...structures in the
course of a lesson, or even a series of lessons, can enable learners to construct
the kind of knowledge needed for communication.” In order to accommodate
such observations, R. Ellis (1993b) has proposed a weak interface position, sug-
gesting that instruction draws learners’ attention to language features and per-
mits them to develop knowledge of those features, but that learners will not
incorporate such features into their interlanguage until they reach the requisite
developmental stage.
Not only are structures that have been taught not always available for trans-
fer, even material that appears to “stick” during and after practice does not
endure. Teachers can certainly vouch for the fact that students appear to have
mastered a particular form at the end of the week, only to return the next week
with no evidence of anything having been retained. In terms of SLA research,
one explanation for this observation would be that students may not be devel-
opmentally ready to assimilate the structure, and therefore the practice is in
vain. Corder (1967) hypothesizes that learners have a built-in syllabus accord-
ing to which they acquire some structures before others. Motivated to search for
an explanation for observed stages of development in the acquisition of
German, Pienemann (1998) proposed Processability Theory, which accounts for
the stages by pointing to their differences in syntactic processing requirements.
“If the production practice is directed at a structure the learners are not yet
ready to acquire, it is likely to fail (Pienemann, 1984) or [worse] to result in
some misrepresentation of the rule (Eubank, 1987)” (R. Ellis, 1998: 51).
It was problems such as these that led Krashen to adopt a non-interface posi-
tion, postulating that there would be no crossover from explicit form-focused
practice to language acquisition. “Practice does not make perfect,” Krashen
(1982: 60) has written. “For him [Krashen], speaking skills are improved more
from getting comprehensible input when reading a book than from practice in
speaking” (DeKeyser, 1998: 51), although he notes that speaking does present
the possibility that learners will then be in a position to elicit more input from
their interlocutors. Krashen weighs in more recently (Krashen, 1998: 177):
“There are numerous studies that confirm that we can develop extremely high
levels of language and literacy competence without any language production at
all (Krashen, 1994).” Further, “there is no direct evidence that CO [compre-
hensible output] leads to language acquisition” (1998: 180), opportunities for
producing comprehensible output are scarce in language classrooms, and
increasing these by pushing students to speak before they are ready can have
negative consequences.
The comprehensible output hypothesis (Swain, 1985) emerged from the
observation that, despite Canadian French immersion students’ having received
comprehensible input for years, their French interlanguage, though fluent, was
grammatically inaccurate. In other words, even massive quantities of compre-
hensible input were insufficient for immersion students to develop an interlan-

OUTPUT PRACTICE AND PRODUCTION ® 103

 guage that conformed to the target grammar. The students could understand the
meaning of what was said to them through understanding some vocabulary and
making use of extralinguistic cues; similarly, they could get their message across,
even with grammatically incorrect forms. What they were missing, according to
Swain and Lapkin (1995: 375), were opportunities to produce comprehensible
output, which might force the learner to move from semantic processing preva-
lent in comprehension to the syntactic processing needed in production. It might
be that producing language forces learners to recognize what they do not know
or know only partially. This may trigger an analysis of incoming data—that is,
a syntactic analysis of input—or it may trigger an analysis of existing internal
linguistic resources in order to fill the knowledge gap.
Earlier Schachter (1984) had suggested that producing output affords learn-
ers an opportunity to test their hypotheses about the target language—to see if
they work. Others see output production as desirable because it is through inter-
action with others that learners get the opportunity to negotiate meaning, which
leads to interactional modifications that make the input easier to process. In
other words, when meaning is not clear, steps have to be taken to clarify what
is intended. These steps, such as in the use of a confirmation check by a native
speaker of English (NS) (“You’re a worker”) while engaged in conversation with
a nonnative speaker of English (NNS), are exemplified in the following (data
from Larsen-Freeman and Long, 1991):
NS: Good. Are you a student in Japan?
NNS: No I am not... I am worker.
NS: You’re a worker. What kind of work do you do?
Cues such as this that occur naturally in interaction might help learners notice
linguistic forms in the input (here, perhaps, the use of an article before worker);
when these forms lie within the learner’s processing capacity, they can become
intake (Long, 1996). Notice that the important thing about negotiation is that
it enables learners to receive positive evidence (what is grammatical in the tar-
get language) and negative evidence (indirect or direct evidence to the learner
that something is ungrammatical).
Some proponents of a Universal Grammar perspective on SLA see correction
or negative evidence following learner output as necessary for SLA, but they do
not see speech production itself as contributing to grammar building. “In other
words, speech processing relates more to language use than the building of
grammatical competence” (White, 1991 in Braidi, 1999: 135). Long (1996:
448) also sees spoken production as “useful...because it elicits negative input
and encourages analysis and grammaticization; it is facilitative but not neces-
sary” (in R. Ellis, 1999: 13).
Notice that, while these are modest endorsements for encouraging learner
output, they are not arguments for output practice; rather, the benefits that are
hypothesized to accrue for producing output have to do with its potential for
facilitating noticing, its role in testing hypotheses, encouraging analysis, and its
elicitation of more input. Others who do address the value of output practice
directly hold a correspondingly circumscribed view of such practice, saying that

104 © TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

it may have a role in the development of explicit conscious linguistic knowledge
or in increasing learners’ access to the implicit acquired system, but not in the
development of the acquired system itself (Schwartz, 1993; VanPatten and
Cardierno, 1993; however, see Salaberry, 1997).

The following is a compilation of the views on output production that have just
been reviewed. Is there one or more that seems plausible based on your experi-
ence? Why or why not?

Figure 9.1: Benefits and Drawbacks of Output Production/Practice

Moves learners from semantic to syn- Is not needed for language acquisition,
tactic processing; encourages syntactic or at best is out of sync with the
analysis natural development of grammatical
competence

Promotes noticing, especially of what Is scarce in the classroom

learners do not know

Learners can test hypotheses and gain Pushes learners to speak before they
negative feedback through which to are ready, which might lead to negative
modify their hypotheses affect and misrepresentation of the
grammatical rule

May help learners gain more Does not directly affect the
comprehensible input or better access system itself
to the developing system

As can be seen from the table in Investigation 9.2, even the benefits of out-
put production/practice are indirect, affecting the developing systems only after
some sort of cognitive processing by the learners, such as analyzing or noticing
features in the input. Most SLA researchers would say that output production
has little direct influence on the development of the underlying grammatical sys-
tem itself. Further, the feeling is that output practice may help with fluency or
facilitating access to grammatical competence, but not with construction of new
grammatical knowledge, with Swain’s (1985) semantic to syntactic processing
hypothesis being a possible exception. This is presumably why SLA researchers,
who are primarily concerned with the acquisition of learners’ mental grammars
(Long, 1997), have not paid much attention to output practice. Nothing is
directly hypothesized to occur as a result of production itself. Such positions are
a very far cry from the ALM days when practice was deemed essential in order

OUTPUT PRACTICE AND PRODUCTION e 105

 to establish and reinforce speech habits.
I am certainly not about to advocate a return to the ALM, with its limited
role for learners and its view that language teaching involves modifying verbal
behavior. Nevertheless, despite the retrospective criticisms of the ALM, let me
run.the risk once again of saying that while the ALM may have been short on
teaching students to communicate in the target language, no matter what the
context was or who the interlocutors were, one thing that the ALM was long on
was a theoretical rationale for practice. The target goal was clear: to overcome
old habits and establish new ones, and these goals were thought unlikely to be
accomplished without abundant practice. Furthermore, the rationale was
accompanied by a theoretical framework for categorizing and sequencing
drills—from completely manipulative, to predominantly manipulative, to pre-
dominantly communicative, to completely communicative (Prator, 1965) or
from mechanical, to meaningful, to communicative, M-M-C, as Paulston
(1970) framed it. Since the decline from dominance of the ALM, no coherent
framework for practice activities has taken its place.
Having reviewed the SLA research literature, I now understand why output
practice has been ignored in comparison to consciousness-raising. Many
researchers associate output practice with mechanical drills that seek to alter
verbal behavior. There is no regard for human cognition in such a view. With
the metamorphosis of research focus from the shaping of human behavior to the
acquisition of mental grammar, output production was seen to be possibly use-
ful, but output practice was considered, at best, unnecessary.
However, based on my combined experience as a language learner, teacher,
and teacher educator, I believe that output practice has an important role to play
in language learning. Furthermore, I believe that its role is not only in enhanc-
ing fluency; I believe it can also impact the underlying grammatical system. This
requires a certain type of practice, however. Two questions will therefore occu-
py me for the remainder of this chapter. First, is there any theoretical basis or
empirical evidence to support my belief in the value of practice? Second, if so,
is there a theoretical framework that I can adopt (besides a truncated version of
the M—M-C) or create in designing suitable practice activities?

SUPPORT FROM PSYCHOLOGY FOR OUTPUT PRACTICE:

AN INFORMATION-PROCESSING PERSPECTIVE

Automaticity
ae look for a theoretical position, I have to leave SLA and linguistics and make
a foray into the psychological literature, that branch of cognitive psychology
known as information processing. A prominent position on practice in cognitive
psychology is represented in the work of John Anderson (e.g., 1985), who has
distinguished declarative knowledge from procedural knowledge. Anderson has
proposed a three-stage model of skill learning. In the first stage, learners acquire
declarative knowledge, or “knowledge about.” For example, in the case of gram-
mar, DeKeyser (1998) equates declarative knowledge with knowing a grammar
rule such as that English requires an s at the end of a third person singular verb in

106 «© TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

the present tense. In the second stage, the declarative knowledge is proceduralized,
which means that “a method for performing the skill is worked out” (Anderson,
1985), that is, learners develop procedural knowledge, “knowledge of how to.”
The third stage is when the procedural knowledge is automatized, that is, when
one uses the rule without having to think about it. Thus, according to an infor-
mation-processing approach to skill acquisition, learners move from controlled-
information processing, which requires a great deal of attention on the part of
learners, to automaticity in information processing, in which the procedure is
executed with little attention, leaving more capacity for further action planning.
This model represents the experience many of us have in learning some skill,
such as how to drive a car. Then, too, most teachers will find this theoretical
model compatible with a traditional approach to grammar teaching, and many
researchers would not object to this portrayal of skill learning if incorporation
of the target form into learners’ interlanguages was not expected to be immedi-
ate and the purpose of the practice was to develop fluency. One limitation of the
third person singular example used, however, is that it is clearly not the case that
all grammatical knowledge is rule-governed.
Especially if one broadens one’s view of grammar to embrace patterned
sequences, which are so important for fluency, then one would have to include
knowledge of such patterns in declarative knowledge. Indeed, this is just what
Gatbonton and Segalowitz (1988) do, proposing that productive practice should
be directed at formulaic patterns, not grammatical rules. They believe this is the
type of practice that can lead to automaticity of certain aspects of performance,
which in turn frees up students’ attentional resources to be allocated elsewhere.
It can also contribute to a degree of fluency that may make users of the target
language more willing to engage in conversation with the learners, thereby gain-
ing the learners’ affective support as well as increased access to input.

Arevart and Nation (1991) conducted a simple study. Students were asked to
deliver a four-minute talk on a familiar topic to a partner. They then changed
partners and delivered the same talk to a different partner, but with a three-
minute time limit. Finally, they changed partners again and delivered the same
talk in two minutes to their new partner. The mere repetition of the talk under
increasingly severe time constraints was effective not only in enhancing fluency
but also, somewhat unexpectedly, in improving grammatical accuracy.

Can you account for their finding from a cognitive psychological point of view?

Restructuring
An important additional awareness concerning practice also comes to us from
an information-processing approach in cognitive psychology. Practice does not
merely automatize procedures; it also involves “the establishment of new pro-
cedures which reorganize a body of facts and rules previously acquired”
(Hulstijn, 1990). As cognitive psychologist/SLA researcher McLaughlin (1987:

OUTPUT PRACTICE AND PRODUCTION 107

 136) has written:

But there is more to learning a complex cognitive skill than autom-

atizing subskills. The learner needs to impose organization and to
structure the information that has been acquired. As more learning
- [in 1990, he says “practice”] occurs, internalized, cognitive repre-
sentations change and are restructured. This restructuring process
involves operations that are different from; but complementary to,
those involved in gaining automaticity.
While no one knows exactly what operations are involved in restructuring,
the development of organizational schemata might provide an example. For
instance, research on chess masters has demonstrated that, given only five sec-
onds to view a midgame chessboard, chess masters can remember with 90 per-
cent accuracy where all the pieces are placed—something that eludes chess
novices. Experts are able to do this because the practice in which experts have
engaged enables them to recall clusters that form attack or defense configura-
tions—schemata—whereas beginners lack the skill to form such higher-order
See Chapter 2. abstract representations. Thus experts replace complex sub-elements with
schemata that allow more abstract processing.
Analogous to this in grammar might be rules and constructions, or higher-
level systematicities that emerge from the interactions of lower-level forms. For
example, in construction grammar, the meaning of a clause or sentence is depen-
dent on the pattern of elements at the subclausal level. Thus sentences such as
Pat mailed Bill a letter, Pat faxed Bill a letter, Pat left Bill a message, and so forth
have the clausal meaning of Bill’s receiving something, whereas sentences such
as Pat ran Bill ragged, Pat made Bill happy, Pat knocked Bill silly, and so forth
have the clausal meaning of Bill’s becoming something. With enough examples
of these two patterns, learners could presumably abstract the clausal meaning of
See these constructions. They could then call upon these clausal meanings to facili-
Prototype Theory _ tate their processing of subsequent tokens of the constructions.
(Rosch, 1978). Prototypes are another example of abstract patterns that ntight result from
the organizing and structuring of information. For example, a learner of English
may hear and use the preposition on a number of times. At some point the learn-
er may be able to abstract from all these encounters with on its prototypical
meaning of to come into contact with a flat surface. Doing so will presumably
not only help learners use om prototypically but may also facilitate their acqui-
sition of the preposition’s extended meanings, such as on time and on task (see
Celce-Murcia and Larsen-Freeman, 1999).
Instance-based theories (see Truscott, 1998) offer a fourth example of how
information that has been processed might subsequently be organized. Again,
the learner encounters a number of instances of a given grammar structure. Each
instance is analyzed into a number of basic features. It is then categorized based
on the similarity of its features to other members of a given category. This dif-
fers from the creation of rules and prototypes in that when a new instance of a
particular grammar structure is encountered, it is not categorized in terms of
necessary conditions for clausal meaning or by its resemblance to a prototype,
“...but on the basis of comparisons with the features of one or more (usually

108 © TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

more) of those instances already stored.... As the store of instances becomes
large, instances appropriate to the current task are more quickly and efficiently
retrieved from memory, and are therefore more easily and effectively applied to
the task” (Truscott, 1998: 259-260). Truscott notes that such an explanation is
more in keeping with the attested gradual, incremental character of language
learning than is a notion such as resetting a UG parameter, which would regis-
ter an abrupt shift in a learner’s grammar.
Unlike schemata, rules, and prototypes, instance-based theories de-emphasize
abstraction and instead treat knowledge as a collection of discrete, experienced
items. It is important, however, to recognize that even practices that involve
abstraction are not solely unidirectional from the bottom up of specific tokens to
their abstractions in the form of schemata, rules, constructions, or prototypes.
For instance, practice might lead to the formation of a schema, which might
direct what we pay attention to as we continue to practice, but then, in turn, the
schema might be modified by additional practice. The process is therefore a cycli-
cal one, with bottom-up and top-down processes in continual interaction.
Whether or not these particular implicit abstraction processes have a role in
SLA restructuring remains to be seen. The important point, not to be missed in
this discussion of restructuring operations, is the underlying assumption that
“learning involves a constant modification of organizational structures...[or]
internal representations” (McLaughlin, 1987: 138-139). It is also important to
realize that practice can sometimes lead to decrements in performance as the
system is reorganized. In McLaughlin’s words (1987: 152):

It seems that the effects of practice do not accrue directly or

automatically to a skilled action, but rather accumulate as learners
develop more efficient procedures.... Performance may follow a
U-shaped curve, declining as more complex internal representations
replace less complex ones, and increasing again as skill
becomes expertise.
I am now in a position to add possible benefits of output practice to the list
of hypothesized benefits of output production described in Investigation 9.2.
Output practice potentially:
e helps learners develop fluency through the control of formulaic speech;
e increases automaticity, which in turn frees up attentional resources;
and
e leads to restructuring, which modifies and reorganizes underlying rep-
resentations.
This last benefit of output practice is quite different from the function normally
ascribed to practice. Notice that most teachers and researchers assume that students
achieve fluency or automaticity by practicing preexisting knowledge; practice is not
seen as a means of modifying, and thereby altering, such knowledge (Gass, 1997).
However, if the practice is meaningful and engaging, and if McLaughlin is
right, I can see no reason why output practice cannot contribute to both auto-
maticity and restructuring. In sum, an information-processing perspective

OUTPUT PRACTICE AND PRODUCTION e 109

 accounts for how a learner might somehow “know” the grammar explicitly, but
not be able to produce it consistently, due to the limited attentional resources
available. It suggests that the automaticity, which can be achieved with increas-
ing control of rule-governed or formulaic utterances, frees up attentional
resources to be directed elsewhere, such as to the necessary syntactic processing.
It also shows how understanding the message is not immediately transferable to
output production. Output practice is necessary for this to happen. Finally,
restructuring explains that information that has been stored needs reorganizing
at some point, and that when this occurs, performance regresses. For a while, at
least, learners are no longer able to correctly produce target structures that they
once were able to produce.

SUPPORT FOR PRACTICE: CONNECTIONISM

NG insightful as an information-processing perspective seems to be with regard
See Chapter 8. to the value of practice and its role in SLA, there is a newer modeling
approach from psychology, connectionism, which also deserves consideration.
Connectionists attribute implicit learning to unconscious associative learning. As
the language data are taken in to connectionist neural network models, certain
connections in the networks are strengthened, others weakened. In this way, lan-
guage is seen to be a “statistical ensemble” of interacting elements (Cooper, 1999:
ix). Nothing is static. A connectionist model of language is therefore constantly
changing, best depicted by the dynamic relationships among the network connec-
tions. Learning is thus a consequence of repeated neural network activation that
results in stronger, and therefore more easily activated, connections.
However, connectionist models have also demonstrated that repeated activa-
tion can result in temporary degradation of performance, modeling the now-
familiar U-shaped learning curve. Notice that whereas information-processing
theory necessitates a separate process—restructuring—to account for declines in
performance, connectionism accounts for incremental and decremental learning
with a single process, the continual adjustment of patterns of.connectivity in
response to the continual processing of examples. Thus connectionist models
have certain advantages over information-processing theory. They account for
the same phenomena—the incremental learning with periodic and unpredictable
decrements in performance—but they do so utilizing a single process (Mellow
and Stanley, 2001). In the case of N. Ellis (1996), that one associative process is
sequence learning, the gradual strengthening of memory for language sequences
or chunks. They also combine a way to represent language and a way to model
its development, obviating the need for two different theories (Hulstijn, 2002).
Also a commendable quality is that connectionist models offer a neurologically
plausible account of brain processing. They are constructed based on what is
known about the brain and its functioning, and thus conceivably provide a good
model of how the brain works (but, see Gregg, forthcoming).
Of course, there are limitations to connectionist accounts, as well. For one
thing, connectionists model implicit learning, perhaps more relied on in first than
in second language acquisition. After all, not all second language acquisition is
successful. For another, computer models are disembodied from the world, and
they are asocial (Elman, undated manuscript); they purport to model brain

110 ¢ TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

processes but they ignore the social dimension to human behavior, the very rea-
son for the existence of language.

SUPPORT FOR PRACTICE:

CHAOS/COMPLEXITY THEORY
[ may be too much to expect everything in one theory or model. They are,
after all, only partial models of reality. Nevertheless, before concluding this
part of Chapter 9, I would like to briefly explore a somewhat related theory,
Chaos/Complexity Theory (C/CT). C/CT deals with the study of complex,
dynamic, nonlinear systems, usually naturally occurring systems such as those
studied by meteorologists and population biologists. However, I can think of
few phenomena more complex, dynamic, and nonlinear than language, and so
I have justified appropriating its perspective to matters concerning language and
language acquisition (Larsen-Freeman, 1997).
There is much to be said about C/CT and its close cousin, dynamical systems
theory, but that is the stuff of another book, one I have been writing in my head
for a few years now. For my purposes here, I would like to point out that both
information-processing and connectionist perspectives stop short of a more rad-
ical position, a position that I have been drawn to for almost a decade. From a
C/CT perspective, one might argue that the language system is not only restruc-
tured or reweighted as a result of use; it is created. For in a dynamical system it
is not just the state of a system that changes over time; the nature of the rela-
tions among the elements that constitute it also change, as with a developing
embryo. And, after all, language is not a closed, entropic system. It does not set-
tle down to a point of equilibrium. Instead, as with other naturally occurring
systems, language is dynamic, constantly evolving, self-organizing. As Harris
pointed out “We do not communicate through reference to prior fixed abstract
forms, but rather ‘...we create language as we go, both as individuals and as
communities...” (Bybee and Hopper, 2001: 19).
And although I may be criticized for collapsing time scales, (which should not
matter if there is a self-similarity at different levels of scale, see also MacWhinney,
1999) what is true of evolution of language in general may be no less true of the
interlanguage development of individuals. In other words, every use of language
changes its resources, and the changed resources are then used in the next learn-
ing event (Cameron, n.d.). I am not merely speaking of the creation of novel
forms, such as the well-known case of overgeneralization of the past tense mor-
pheme to irregular verbs, whereby first and second language learners produced
eated and goed. Rather, I am speaking of the generation of novel forms by
learners that are more complex than the input language.
One objection to analogizing language evolution to language acquisition
might be that evolution is a slow process, one in which change occurs over gen-
erations, not within the life span of a language learner. However, these days, a
great deal of research by evolutionary biologists is pointing to the nonlinear
nature of evolution—to the rapid unleashing of novel forms in response to
changes in the environment, often triggering changes from one generation to the
next. For instance, scientists have recently learned that Galapagos Island finch-
es, once studied by Charles Darwin, respond quickly to changes in food supply

OUTPUT PRACTICE AND PRODUCTION ® 111

 by evolving new beaks and body sizes, all within a very short span of time—a
few generations at most. (See, for example, the June 22, 2002 issue of Science
News). Such observations corroborate Stephen Jay Gould’s theory of punctuat-
ed equilibrium (Gould, 1977), wherein evolution is punctuated by bursts,
(Could these be like the attested rapid “vocabulary bursts” of first language
acquisition?) not always marked by gradual development.

Morphogenesis
In any case, if the same type of evolutionary process is operable at the level of
the individual, the nonlinear rate of language development would occur much
faster anyway. And so, as with other dynamic systems, language development
may be characterized by morphogenesis, or the generation of new patterns.
After all, human brains are fundamentally pattern detectors (Harris, 1993) and
creators. As Mohanan (1992: 653-654) puts it, “Suppose we free ourselves
from the idea that [first] language development is the deduction of the adult
grammar from the input data, and think of it as the formation of patterns trig-
gered by the data.” In other words, rather than viewing grammar development
solely as a process of conforming to the grammar of the community, which is
governed by deductive and inductive operations, it is suggested in addition that
language development involves the spontaneous creation of grammatical pat-
terns, which then, as speakers communicate with each other, adapt themselves
to the overt patterns of the grammars of other individuals in the community.
Besides the attractive (to me) idea of allowing for the creativity of new pat-
terns in language, which are triggered by the input data but which are not pure
imitations of it, this point of view has the added advantage of including a social
dimension. After all, interacting with others provides the stimulus as well as the
check, which keeps individuals’ idiolects mutually intelligible. Of course, since
the language development process is nonlinear, interaction may be followed by
more interaction with little obvious lasting change in learners’ interlanguage.
Then, one day, for any given learner, the penny will drop. All we.can say for sure
is that it is a very lucky teacher who is there to witness its happening.

Emergentism
Emergentism refers to the fact that dynamical systems exhibit complexity that is not
due to any specific innate capacity and is not a priori predictable or obvious from any
input. Nor is the complexity the creation of some central executive who oversees the
system. Instead, the complexity emerges at the global level from the repetition of fair-
ly simple processes or the actions and interactions of agents at the local level.
Simulations of bird flocks, for instance, have been achieved by observing how each
bird interacts with its neighbors. The macro level flock emerges from the actions of
the individual birds acting at a micro level within their own “neighborhood.”
Also, honeycombs take the shape they do, because each of its cell is hexago-
nal in shape. Cells of that shape are structurally strong and represent the emer-
gent solution to the problem of packing relatively uniformly sized balls of honey
together. The shape of a honeycomb does not derive from properties of the wax
or of the honey, or from the packing behavior of bees (Bates and Goodman,
1999: 32). Because it is assumed in C/CT that dynamic processes such as emer-

112 © TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

gentism can apply to all forms of systems, animate as well as inanimate, a sim-
ilar argument has been made to explain the emergence of grammars in human
beings: they represent the class of possible solutions to the problem of how to
map a rich set of meanings onto a limited speech channel, heavily constrained
by the limits of memory, perception, and motor planning (Bates and
MacWhinney, 1989 cited in Bates and Goodman, 1999).

Those who subscribe to an emergentist view of language acquisition might say

that “the complexity of a solution emerges from the interaction of problem and
solver.” Explain why the fact that the number of people queued up in checkout
lines at a supermarket stays roughly the same is an example of an emergent solu-
tion (MacWhinney, 1999: ix).

In sum, thought and behavior emerge as dynamic patterns of activity. They

arise in response to the intended task at hand, shaped by the organism’s archi-
tecture and previous history of activity. Along with the assumption that patterns
emerge in the process, C/CT erases the traditional boundaries of mental life.
There can be no description of a purely “inner life.” Every mental and behav-
ioral act is always emergent in a social context (Thelen, 1995).
Thus, both morphogenesis and emergentism present us with intriguing alter-
natives to the way that practice/production has been recently construed. These
alternatives allow output production and practice to contribute to the creation
of new language forms; they are not limited to imitation and rehearsal of previ-
ously learned material. They also account for the acquisition of grammar as dif-
ferent from the acquisition and application of rules and, finally, they unite the
cognitive with the social.

ON THE UNITY OF LANGUAGE ACQUISITION AND LANGUAGE USE

arlier, in conjunction with my proposal that language use and language
Bee were synchronous, I quoted Gleick’s remark about complex, dynam- —_ See Chapter 3.
ic, nonlinear systems (1987: 24): “The act of playing the game has a way of
changing the rules.” It seems to me that, in light of the discussion on emergen-
tism, I can analogize this same dynamic to language acquisition. Complexity can
emerge out of the iteration of relatively simple processes. In this way, connec-
tionist/emergentist models can be said to straddle the performance/competence See also
distinction (Broeder and Plunkett, 1994). In other words, real-time performance Dickerson
or practice is simultaneous with changes in underlying competence. From this (1976)
i v e , th hl
perspective, through language ue use, guag
language g
changes; through g guag
language use, lan- concerning
eae eae
the

guage is acquired. Use, change, and acquisition are all instances of the same
underlying dynamic process and are mutually constitutive. As MacWhinney eee
(1999) observes, all three are examples of emergentism (use or real-time emer- earningeee
gence, change or diachronic emergence, and acquisition or developmental emer- language
gence) operating in different time frames—and, I would add, at different levels change.
of scale.

OUTPUT PRACTICE AND PRODUCTION ®e 113

 Although sociocultural theory is not the source of my thinking about these
ideas, it is similar to what I have just claimed about the unity of language acqui-
sition and language use. According to Lantolf and Pavlenko (1995: 116), socio-
cultural theory “...erases the boundary between language learning and language
using.” Newman and Holzman (1993: 39), discussing Vygotsky’s notion of lin-
guistic tool(s), state, “... their function is inseparable from the activity of their
development.” Output practice, then, does not simply serve to increase access to
previously acquired knowledge. Doing and learning are synchronous. On this
point, there appears to be convergence between newer psychological and social
perspectives (Larsen-Freeman, 2002b).
Just to be clear, from my point of view, although acquisition and use are syn-
chronous, this does not mean that they are indistinguishable. Because someone is
able to use a new structure in a scaffolded practice activity does not mean that the
structure is necessarily available for later use during a nonmediated activity. Since
acquisition and use are operating at different time scales, mediated practice can go
on for some time before someone is able to use a structure independently.
I am aware that this is still a radical departure from the given view. In other
words, it is different from other intuitively appealing accounts that distinguish
between competence and control (Bialystok and Sharwood Smith, 1985)—that
is, the learner may have acquired a given grammar structure but may not have
the requisite processing control to produce the structure. It is also different from
accounts that attribute only enhanced fluency or automaticity to practice activ-
ities. 1 am also aware that I have overlooked the incredibly complex issues of
language processing, such as those captured in Levelt’s (1989) model. Also,
while Chaos/Complexity Theory’s morphogenesis and emergentism offer us
interesting and potentially profitable ways to think about and model language
acquisition, I do not want to be guilty of reductionism. At the very least, I need
to further consider the relationship among accuracy, fluency, and complexity in
learners’ developing grammars (Wolfe-Quintero et al., 1998; Larsen-Freeman,
2002c). I also do not want to be guilty of the same perspective that I criticized
earlier—ignoring the learners’ autonomy. Clearly, the emergentist process as I
have just described it is highly simplified and completely overlooks the impor-
tant issue of human agency.
Furthermore, there is a great deal of imprecision in the account I have just
given. I could be persuaded that I have just replaced the black box of the
input-output model with one labeled connectionism, morphogenesis, and emer-
gentism. Nevertheless, the second black box has the desirable qualities of being
neurologically plausible (although see Gregg, forthcoming); having a biological
corollary; taking into account both individual creativity and social interaction
and adaptation; treating language and humans as open, not closed, systems
(not entropic systems); and unifying change at all levels of scale—that is, that
the language system is created by output practice and production within the
individual, the classroom community, and the wider community of users of the
language is a very intriguing idea. For all these reasons, I will continue to think
and explore such matters.

114 ¢ TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

A LESSON IN HUMILITY
Having acknowledged that there remain issues to be addressed, but having
found theoretical support for the value of output practice and perhaps even
more profound insight into the dynamics of acquisition/use, it is time now to
take up the other question I posed earlier: What theoretical support or empiri-
cal evidence can I draw on in designing appropriate post-ALM practice activi-
ties? But before I attempt to answer this question, for the sake of humility, it is ach
important to consider teacher Elsa Del Valle’s voice. Voices

As a teacher and a former language learner, I have always thought Elsa Dell Valle
that grammar practice was critical. My thoughts about grammar
practice come from my own language learning and language teach-
ing experiences. I am a heritage speaker of Spanish and learned
English as a child. In college (late 70s and early 80s), I studied
Portuguese through the ALM for two semesters and a summer and
later lived in Brazil for a year. After about a month in Brazil, the
drills really paid off. I really feel that what came out of my mouth
then had already been learned even though I had never actually
used Portuguese before going to Brazil. The regular forms, the
irregular subjunctives, the word order, etc. seemed to just “be
there” when I needed it. My grammar and pronunciation were
native by the time I left.
By the time I started studying my third language (Hebrew) in 1986,
the communicative method was in full swing. I took two semesters
of Hebrew at the University of Texas before moving to Israel. The
Hebrew course at UT was not ALM but grammar-based, and I
liked it, but I would prepare my own practice drills. I had not stud-
ied nearly as much Hebrew as I had Portuguese before going to
Israel, and I was looking forward to the intensive language study
that I would do there. But, as I said, the no-explicit-grammar vari-
ety of the communicative method was in style. I felt cheated in the
intensive Hebrew language program (ULPAN). Little or no gram-
mar explanations were given and we did mostly pair work. (I have
no problem with pair work or with using communicative activities
in class, but I felt that it was inefficient since I lived in the country
and had ample opportunities to use Hebrew with native speakers,
who by the way, could never explain their language to me. I hoped
that my class would do that and also serve as a laboratory for the
practice I couldn’t do in the real world.)
The difference between these two experiences for me as a learner
was in the practice and the presentation of the grammatical syl-
labus. I would have liked more grammatical explanation in
Portuguese, but since I knew Spanish, the drills were enough. I fig-
ured out the grammar by analogy. For Hebrew, I always felt that I
never got a complete foundation in the basics and that the gram-
mar practice in those communicative activities was a waste of time.
It all felt so incomplete and sporadic, and I spent a lot of time
learning on my own.... I understand the goals of my ULPAN
teacher, but I didn’t agree that hers was the best or most efficient

OUTPUT PRACTICE AND PRODUCTION @ 115

 way to get there. Furthermore, it was no less boring than the ALM
drills, which weren’t all that boring for me. Learning the skill
aspects of language has never been boring or meaningless to me.
I suppose one could argue that I was so motivated to learn
Portuguese, that the meaningfulness was in my personal goal, and
* so the repetitive drills didn’t bother me. In fact, I rather liked them.
It may also be that one can’t learn everything one needs in a lan-
guage class meaningfully. I do remember making the drills more
interesting by changing the names of the people in the drills to
names of people I knew. When it did get tedious, I’d play around
with the meaning. Another reason I liked the ALM aspect of the
practice was that it was so controlled [that] I was able to focus on
one thing at a time and master it (form and pronunciation) before I
had to use it. In a sense, the ALM practice was the pedagogical
equivalent of the sub-vocalized rehearsing learners often do—it was
non-threatening and necessary. I do have to admit that I learned
Hebrew very well, and although I was always frustrated with the
instruction I got, I probably learned it as well as I did Portuguese.
Still, I think it could have been even better if I had learned it as sys-
tematically as I did Portuguese.
One thought Elsa’s voice prompts in me is the need to bear in mind individual
learner differences. When someone says that “ALM didn’t work,” the
experience of such learners as Elsa is disregarded. Unqualified criticisms or endorse-
ments will never apply to all learners and learning contexts: In fact, contrary to the
case I have been working so hard to make in this chapter, I admit that there is anec-
dotal evidence of learners who never or rarely engage in output practice, but when
they do speak, they do so perfectly. In addition, Elsa’s voice is a reminder of the
importance of learner agency. Elsa created drills to compensate for the practice she
felt that she needed, but was not getting, in her study of Hebrew. I sometimes feel
that we teachers do not get accurate feedback on our teaching because humans,
being such versatile and gifted learners, compensate for our inadvertent oversights.
Then, too, building on the idea of learner agency, we must always remember that
all we teachers can create, together with our students, is learning opportunities. We
cannot say a priori whether learning will take place or even that our students will
undertake a particular task in the way that we anticipate (see, for example,
Coughlan and Duff, 1994). Whether and to what extent our students see the tasks
we set for them as opportunities for learning and utilize them accordingly is beyond
our control. As I have written elsewhere (Larsen-Freeman, 2000a), we know that
teaching does not cause learning, but we must act as if it does.
Having had my sense of humility renewed, let me be clear: My purpose here
is to share my explorations in thinking about questions I have had. Indeed, some
of the research and theoretical positions I have reviewed are nascent. The dust
has hardly settled. It is not my purpose to declare with finality here or anywhere
that I have found answers that will work for or satisfy everyone. Nevertheless,
I am satisfied that I have found theoretical justification for the value of practice:
From an information-processing perspective, practice activities are essential in
language teaching because they encourage automaticity, which frees learners’
attention to be directed elsewhere, and they may contribute to restructuring

116 ¢ TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

learners’ grammars. From the perspective of connectionism, practice strengthens
the connections among the nodes in a neural network, accelerating future
access. From the perspective of C/CT, practice may even lead to the creation of
new language forms. And from a C/CT and sociocultural perspective, practice
(of the right sort) and learning are synchronous.

ESSENTIAL CRITERIA FOR DESIGNING OUTPUT PRACTICE ACTIVITIES

rom my readings in applied linguistics and in educational psychology, and
from my experience, I would say that two essential criteria must be met
when designing practice activities of the right sort. First, the activities should be
meaningful and engaging. Second, they should be focused. More specifically,
practice activities should be designed in such a way that the learning challenge
is in focus. I will address each of these criteria in turn.

Be Meaningful and Engaging

Grammar practice activities are designed to facilitate students’ acquisition of the
target grammar by systematically focusing on grammatical structures or patterns.
However, students will best acquire the structures or patterns when they are put
into situations that require them to use structures and patterns for some mean-
ingful purpose other than decontextualized or mechanistic practice. Indeed, a neu-
rological perspective suggests that the kind of language practiced in meaningless
drills is unavailable for use beyond the classroom (Lamendella, 1979). Thus, the
conjunction of grammar and meaningfulness will, to some measure, help over-
come the inert knowledge problem (See discussion of psychological authenticity
on page 122). If done well, grammar capacity will be built up at the same time
that students will come to know grammar as a resource for meaning-making.
Meaningful practice activities also serve to engage learners. As I have said, I
do not think that my function as a teacher is to entertain my students, but it is
crucial to engage them. If they are not engaged, then they are probably not
attending, and their attention is important. Thus, any practice activities have to
be independently motivating, seen by learners as worth doing.

Focus on the Learning Challenge, Be It Form, Meaning, or Use

Again, we have little or no control over what learners choose to focus on, but On the multiplicity
at least for planning purposes it is important to recognize that different types of _ of interpretations
activities address different dimensions of grammar. regarding
Activities that address grammatical form (morphology and syntax) need to _‘frequency, see
provide frequent opportunities to use a target structure/pattern. As we have ‘'"Y discussion
already seen, frequency is important in learning form, whether one is a behav- aut
iorist (repetition conditions and reinforces verbal habits), a cognitivist (frequent 2002b) ee
exposure provides more opportunities to figure out the rules and then con- N. Ellis (2002).
tributes to automaticity in applying them), a connectionist (frequent tokens
strengthen nodes in a neural network), or a socioculturalist (repetition improves
the chances of alignment between the student’s internal objective and the exter-
nal objective of the activity, without which learning would not take place)
(Donato, 2000; Talyzina, 1981).

OUTPUT PRACTICE AND PRODUCTION e 117

Also, of course, In any event, in keeping with the first essential criterion of grammar practice
repetition inthe — activities, the frequent use of a structure will not be mechanical repetition.
classroom Instead, students should engage in a meaningful activity that requires the fre-
gO NSE quent use of a form. An example of an oft-used activity that does this quite nat-
inne a urally is the game “twenty questions,” where players attempt to guess what
Cook. 1994: Someone else has in mind by asking up to twenty yes-no questions. If this is
Duff, 2000: done as a whole-class activity the teacher, or othér more proficient students, can
Tarone, 2002). scaffold the grammar and vocabulary for all students, enabling them to pose the
questions that they wish to pose.
Gatbonton and Segalowitz (1988), who also call for repeated use of forms in
their creative automatization approach, point out that an additional advantage
to a whole-class activity is that students get many exposures to the target pat-
tern. Another way that they recommend for making an activity inherently repet-
itive is to have students carry out a series of related activities. For example, one
could establish conditions for the repetition of the pattern “X is (not) working”
by setting up a situation where one student tries to get a photocopier repaired
and has to report and elaborate on the problem, first to an office secretary (a
second student), who in turn explains it to the person who answers the phone
at the repair shop (a third student), who has to inform the repair person (a
fourth student), and so forth. Then, after the repair is made, the message that
the photocopier is working again can be passed along the chain in reverse order.
While frequent use is important for activities that are designed to work on the
form of a grammar structure, it is not so much of an issue when the challenge is
for students to learn the meaning of a grammar structure: This is because, when
the challenge is a structure’s meaning, students need to make an association
between a grammar form and its essential meaning. Output production in
the form of frequent use may facilitate the bonding, but it may not be altogether
necessary. As I mentioned in the previous chapter, there are attested cases of
instantaneous learning, especially when it comes to meaning. The fact that learn-
ing meaning can be accomplished by association is the reason Krashen (1994) can
make the claim that a lot of language can be learned without output production.
He is speaking of vocabulary in particular when he says language.
A typical meaning-focused activity that allows for form and meaning of sev-
eral different forms to be connected is the use of Total Physical Response (TPR).
For instance, students can first be directed to, and later direct others to, place
an object under their chairs, on their desks, next to their books, and so forth. In
this way, rather than focusing on a single pattern or structure, the contrasting
meaning of three to six prepositions (the ideal number of new forms, according
to TPR originator and psychologist James Asher) can be associated with their
meanings at one point in time.
When working on the use dimension, neither frequent use nor association is
the operating mode. Instead, students must learn to make the appropriate choice
according to given contextual constraints. Rea, Dickins, and Woods (1988)
speak of this as the challenge in learning grammar—and it is an important one
to my mind—but choosing appropriately is the challenge in working on use, not
so much when working on form or meaning. In practice activities that work on

118 «© TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

use, students must be put into a situation where, given two or more different
forms, they have to choose the most appropriate form for that context. They
must then receive feedback on the appropriateness of the choice they have made.
A classic example of an activity where use is in focus is when students are
asked to role play an interview. The interviewer and interviewee must choose
between using the present perfect and the past tense to refer to past events. For
example:
Student A: Have you had any experience with computer programming?
Student B: Yes, I have. I worked as a computer programmer for two years.
In the discussion above, I used three common activities (a game, an activity
sequence, a role play) to illustrate the features (frequent use, association, choice)
that apply to practice activities that focus on the different dimensions of gram-
mar. These same three features can also be applied to the design of more creative
activities.

WORKING WITH TEXTBOOKS

An important point, not to be missed in this discussion of designing activities, is
that the criteria also apply to selecting activities. Textbook exercises and activi-
ties should be inspected carefully to see which dimension of language is being
addressed. Just because a student is having trouble with the present perfect in
English does not mean that any exercise labeled “present perfect” will do. The
precise source of the problem will have to be diagnosed (this will be discussed
in the next chapter) and the correct kind of exercise selected.

Here are four practice activities drawn from the textbook series Grammar
Dimensions: Form, Meaning and Use, for which I am Series Director. Decide
which dimension of grammar each one addresses.

1. Conditionals: Consider some of the family or school rules that you

had to follow when you were younger. Create a list of rules that
could be expressed with if, unless, or only if conditions. Use the cat-
egories below for ideas. If possible, form groups that include differ-
ent cultural backgrounds and discuss some of the cultural similarities
and differences revealed by your lists.
¢ eating snacks
¢ watching television
e dating
¢ visits with friends
e classroom rules
Examples: In Taiwan, we could speak in class only if we raised our
hand. I couldn’t visit with my friends unless one of my parents was
home. (Adapted from Frodesen and Eyring, 2000: 281)

OUTPUT PRACTICE AND PRODUCTION e 119

 2. Indirect Objects: Work with a partner. Write sentences about North
American customs using the words below. Then write sentences
about customs in the country you come from.
Birth: When a baby is born:
1. mother / flowers / the / to /give / friends.
2. cigars / gives / friends / father / his / the*/ to
3. send / and / parents / friends / family / to / birth / announcements/
their / the
(Adapted from Badalamenti and Henner Stanchina, 2000: 207)

3. Passive Voice: Decide whether active or passive forms should be used

in sentences, and write the correct form in the blank.
The age of pyramid-building in Egypt (1) _s (begin) about —
2900 B.C. The great pyramids (2) (intend) to serve as
burial places for the pharaohs, as the kings of Egypt (3)
(call). (Adapted from Thewlis, 2000: 59)

4, The phrase “Would you like...?”: Work with a partner on each of

the following situations. The first person should make a polite offer
using “Would you like...? and the other person should politely
accept or refuse the offer.
Take turns making and replying to the offers.
1. The English teacher is ready to show a video. The switch to turn
on the video player is next to Stefan.
2. The dinner at Mrs. Zimunga’s house is almost finished. Mrs.
Zimunga sees that some of the guests ate their dessert—cherry
pie—very quickly, and she thinks they might want another piece.
3. Alfredo has a seat at the front of the city bus. He sees that an
elderly woman has just gotten on, but there are no more seats left.
(Adapted from Riggenbach and Samuda, 2000: 243-44)
What the features of frequent use (activities 2 and 4), association (activity 1),
and choice (activity 3) offer is a principled means for practicing grammar. They
should help teachers be clear about the reasons behind the decisions they make
when teaching grammar. They should help teachers design effective activities, or
choose from those in a textbook, without making the assumption that just
because a textbook activity deals with the target structure, it necessarily
addresses the particular learning challenge that their students are experiencing.

GRADING (OVERCOMING THE INERT KNOWLEDGE PROBLEM)

From my reading of the psychological literature I have gathered that, when the
conditions of learning match the conditions of use/recall, the inert knowledge
problem can be overcome. In other words, in order for transfer to occur, the prac-
tice activity has to be “psychologically authentic: The activity should be designed
to allow learners to experience some of the normal psychological pressures felt by
people engaged in real communication” (Gatbonton and Segalowitz, 1988: 486).

120 © TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

According to Johnson (1994), it was the remoteness of the cognitive demands
during productive practice as compared with the cognitive demands of produc-
tion in communication that caused the ALM to fail.
Indeed, extrapolating from the psychological research on procedural reinstate-
ment (Healy and Bourne, 1995) or transfer-appropriate processing (Blaxton, 1989;
Roediger, 1990) leads one to conclude that practice activities should meet the min-
imal conditions present in target performance. In the case of language learning,
when fluent and accurate spoken communication is the end goal, this would mean
that practice activities should be communicative, where learners perform indepen-
dently, with little or no planning time, at a certain rate of speed, using the same
modality as is expected in the performance, conveying messages with the same
information density, (un)predictability, linguistic complexity, and so on. However,
these are clearly conditions that students have to learn strategies to deal with. I am
reminded of Widdowson’s apt warning: “The central question is not what learners
have to do to use language naturally, but what they have to do to learn to use
language naturally” (1990: 46-47). Therefore, rather than manipulative to com-
municative and mechanical to communicative frameworks, I propose a new frame-
work that would grade activities, starting from at least minimally meaningful
practice activities and stretching to psychologically authentic communication.
Although we want to ensure transfer from what has been practiced in the
classroom to use for other purposes, it is clear that learning to cope with the
conditions of psychological authenticity needs to operate along a gradient. The
following parameters for output production of informal speaking, then, would
be adjusted, depending on the grammatical proficiency of the students:
¢ Social scaffolding to independent production—From a greater to
lesser degree of reliance on the teacher or classmates for assistance in
producing the target form accurately, meaningfully, appropriately.
e Planning time—From more time for planning and rehearsal to less
time. Informal speaking, of course, unlike planned speech or writing,
entails an immediacy of response that permits little time for reflect-
ing, planning, or monitoring.
¢ Modality match—From writing to speaking. Sometimes students are
asked to practice grammar points by completing written grammar
exercises. Written grammar exercises have their place in language
teaching, but we should not be too surprised to find that students
are not able to use the grammar correctly in speech if they have only
practiced it in written form. The shift of modality leads to a change
in cognitive demands, and transfer will be unsuccessful.
e Speed of output production—From slower to faster, increasingly
approximating the speed at which ordinary communication takes
place (see the earlier investigation based on Arevart and Nation for
one way that this may be accomplished). As Johnson (1994) notes,
this may be a good use of computer-assisted instruction, where the
time learners take to produce a form can be attenuated.
e Information density—From shorter utterances to longer utterances,
lengthening the information students have to remember as they

OUTPUT PRACTICE AND PRODUCTION @ 121

 engage in output practice. Length would be a crude measure, at
least, of information density.
e Predictability of language use—From greater to lesser predictability,
where students have to rely less on formulaic language and more on
syntactically processed output.
e Complexity of language use—From shorter texts to longer texts.
e Self-generated language use—From lesser to greater generation of
what one says.
Stevick (1996) cites psychological research in support of the generation
effect—that is, that students remember best what they themselves construct.
However, he also astutely points out that there are tasks—such as being able to
identify a word quickly and accurately—where subjects are aided more by read-
ing practice than by self-generating associations. In other words, the advantage
for constructing or generating what one says may simply be another manifesta-
tion of transfer-appropriate processing. When the demands of output practice
match the demands of subsequent use, students’ performance is maximized.
Of course, none of these parameters is precisely calibrated. Teaching is a contin-
gent activity. Teachers must continually adjust the parameters of a given activity as
they learn what the appropriate level of challenge is for a given group of students or,
as is commonly the case, for the heterogeneous challenges present in a given class. It
is worth underscoring the idea that psychological authenticity is the goal but that
“_,inauthentic language-using behavior might well be effective language-learning
behavior...” (Widdowson, 1990: 46-47). Thus, practice activities will not always be
authentically communicative, but will work toward authenticity.
I have yet to discuss the circumstances of practice. I have in mind such fac-
tors as the spacing of practice, whether or not students teceive feedback on their
performance during practice activities, and the “power law of practice,” which
states that the effects of practice are often greatest at early stages of learning.
However, these are matters that will be taken up in the next twovchapters, which
look specifically at feedback and at syllabus design/pedagogy, respectively.

Suggested Readings
Doughty and Williams (1998), R. Ellis (2001), and Hinkel and Fotos (2002) contain
chapters/articles of interest in terms of designing form-focused and innovative activ-
ities to teach grammar. Platt and Brooks (2002) contrast interactionist and socio-
cultural approaches to the study of task engagement. So much has recently been
written concerning connectionism and emergentism that it is difficult to know what
to mention. I should at least include Clark’s (1997) Being There, Elman et. al.’s
(1998) Rethinking Innateness, MacWhinney’s (1999) anthology, The Emergence of
Language, and Bybee and Hopper’s (2001) Frequency and the Emergence of
Linguistic Structure. Larsen-Freeman (1997), N. Ellis (1998; 2002), Meara (1997;

122 ¢ TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

1999), and Cameron (n.d.) discuss modeling of second language acquisition process-
es in terms of connectionism, emergentism, and chaos/complexity or dynamical
systems theory.

10
FEEDBACK

FEEDBACK VERSUS CORRECTION

will use the term feedback to mean evaluative information available to learn-
ers concerning their linguistic performance. It can be positive (“That’s correct”)
or negative (“That’s not the right verb tense”). It can be explicit and direct, as in
the two examples I have just given, or explicit and indirect, such as someone say-
ing to a language learner “I don’t understand,” or giving a learner a bewildered
look in response to the learner’s saying something perceived to be incomprehen-
sible. It can also be implicit, as when a learner’s interlocutor, in the next turn of
a conversation, correctly recasts or reformulates what the learner has just pro-
duced incorrectly. Feedback can be initiated by others, as in the examples given
so far, or it can be self-generated, as when learners notice a match or mismatch
between what they wanted to say and what they actually said. Compared to the
traditional term error correction, (negative) feedback is broader in scope. It also
has a less punitive connotation. And while error is by definition an externally eache
norm-referenced notion, feedback, as we will see later, is not necessarily so. Voices

I tell my students that they don’t need to be accurate to communi-

Zoe Morosini
cate. They do need to be accurate to be respected.
Which norm to use in determining whether some learner production is an error is
not, of course, purely a linguistic question, but also a sociopolitical one, as Zoe, a
teacher of elementary-level ESL high school students in the U.S., rightly implies in
her comment above. A student of Zoe’s who said “No want read” could well be
understood, but Zoe would probably respond to the form of this student’s utter-
ance because of its pronounced deviation from native speaker norms.
The question arises, though, as to whether learners, particularly where a lan-
guage is taught as a foreign language, should be expected to conform to native
speaker norms. Even if the answer to this question is affirmative, which native
speaker norms are appropriate? For instance, in the English-speaking world,
there are many “Englishes.” Should learners of English be held to the same
norms as native BANA (British, Australian/New Zealand, North American)
English speakers, or should they adopt a regional English—Nigerian,
Singaporean, South Asian—as their standard? Regardless of the answer to this
question, another question remains: whether second language learners should be
assessed in light of what native speakers do, no matter what the norm. Cook

FEEDBACK e 123
 asks, “Should acquisition of a second language be measured against monolin-
gual standards, or should second language learners be viewed as language users
who can use more than one language, and not as ‘failed monolinguals’?” (Cook,
1999: 46). These contextually embedded and value-laden questions are impor-
tant ones that teachers and their students should answer for themselves.
For now, let me note that a final reason that I prefer the term negative feed-
back to error correction is that the former is neutfal with regard to expectation.
This is why I wrote that feedback is information “available to learners.” As we
know, written or oral input does not necessarily become intake, let alone
uptake—the term used to mean that learners have not only perceived the feed-
back, they have altered their performance as a consequence. The neutrality of
feedback also respects the agency of the learner. Learners who receive negative
feedback may be left to do with it what they will and are able to do. Elimination
of errors will not necessarily be an immediate or even a remote consequence.

A Most CONTROVERSIAL AREA

Since, for many teachers, providing feedback is an important function in their
teaching, it may be surprising to learn that treatment of learner errors is one of
the most controversial areas in language pedagogy (Larsen-Freeman, 1991).
One end of a continuum of theoretical positions is represented by those who say
that negative feedback or error correction is unnecessary, counterproductive,
and even harmful. (See, for example, Truscott, 1996; 1999.) Such thinking has
been partly shaped by Chomsky’s claim (Chomsky, 1981: 9) that negative feed-
back is unnecessary in L1 acquisition: “There is good reason to believe that
direct negative evidence is not necessary for language acquisition...” Children
can learn from positive evidence (evidence of what is permissible in the lan-
guage). Of course, L1 learners also have access to indirect negative evidence in
the language itself, in that they may notice what is not said. In addition to
Chomsky’s observation concerning L1 acquisition, opponents of correcting
errors or giving negative feedback in SLA contend that negativeteacher evalua-
tions of student performance provokes anxiety in students, which adversely
affects their learning. Besides, opponents argue, under propitious conditions,
learners will eventually self-correct—provided that they continue to be open to
input and, therefore, positive evidence.
At the other end of the continuum is the behaviorist view of language acqui-
sition, one with no tolerance for errors. According to behaviorists, errors are to
be prevented if possible, in order to avoid learners’ establishing bad habits.
Learners are exposed to tightly controlled input, carefully calibrated in terms of
differences between the L1 and L2, so as to anticipate where errors would be
likely to occur, and thus prevent them. If prevention fails, as it always does,
errors should be corrected immediately.
In between these two poles on the continuum are less extreme views. One
such view comes from a cognitive perspective. According to this view, learners
are bound to commit errors. This is inevitable, not regrettable. Errors arise
when learners test hypotheses about the target language. For instance, a learner
of English who is aware that sick can be used both predicatively and prenomi-

124 «© TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

nally, as in:
John is sick. He is a sick man.
might incorrectly infer that the same is true for the adjective ill:
John is ill. *He is an ill man.
How, Bley-Vroman (1986) asks, are learners to know that ill is not used
prenominally? No matter how many times learners receive positive evidence
that ill is used predicatively and sick used predicatively and prenominally, they
will not necessarily conclude that il] cannot be used in the same positions as
sick. Indirect negative evidence, such as never hearing il! used prenominally, may
easily escape learners’ attention. In such cases learners may need to be told
about the limitations of ill and/or they may need to make an error and receive
negative feedback on their performance in order to learn its restricted syntactic
distribution.
Errors do not merely present opportunities for feedback. They can also pro-
vide helpful windows on learners’ minds, showing teachers and researchers
what learners are thinking, their stage of development, and what strategies they
are adopting.

Here are some actual errors made by young ESL students. Can you imagine
what they are thinking? In other words, what hypotheses about English might
they be entertaining?

1. *He is a seven-years-old boy.

2. Do you like ice cream? *Yes. | like.

3. *We discuss about that.

Of course, analyzing errors is only the first step in a teacher’s knowing how
to respond. A teacher must also consider whether any feedback should be given
at all and, if it should, which feedback strategy is likely to be most effective.

For many teachers, introduction of communicative language teaching, and the

accompanying shift of focus from the form of the target language to tts use,
encouraged a more tolerant attitude toward learner errors.

This would be a good time to clarify your own position with regard to feedback
and error correction. What do you think about the use of feedback in the language
classroom? Do you use it or support its use? Why or why not?

PROVIDING FEEDBACK IS ESSENTIAL

FEEDBACK e 125
 He are my answers to these questions. Providing feedback is an essential
function of teaching. In fact, research has shown that students want to be
corrected more than teachers generally feel is necessary (Cathcart and Olsen,
1976; Chenoweth et al., 1983). One of the subjects in Cohen and Robbins’ study
(1976) offers an explanation. The subject, Ue-Lin, reported that being corrected
contributed to her feeling that she was learning something. As Lyster Lightbown
and Spada (1999) assert, just because it is difficult'to know when, how, and what
to correct does not mean that “error correction” should be abandoned. Indeed,
Francisco Gomes de Mateo (2002), in drafting a declaration of learners’ gram-
matical rights, asserts that learners have the right to receive “constructive,
humanizing feedback on their grammatical errors.” All the same, it is important
to be mindful of many people’s fear of failure, fear of making mistakes. Thus, in
my opinion, affectively supportive, nonjudgmental, judicious, focused feedback
that helps students say what they wish to say is vital to successful teaching.
One way to remain affectively supportive when it comes to giving feedback is
to see oneself less as the guardian of the norms and more as a nurturer of stu-
dents’ language development. Some years ago, Bley-Vroman (1983) pointed out
that we language teachers and researchers operate under the comparative fallacy.
We see learner errors as failures to achieve target language norms rather than as
evidence of what learners have achieved in terms of their own evolving interlan-
guage. For instance, if a learner of English were to say I goed yesterday or I go
yesterday, both utterances could be said to contain errors—that is, non-targetlike
productions. However, the first one shows that the learner has some knowledge
AY about the need to mark past tense in English. Thus, on the.face of it at least, goed
See Chapter 2. could be evidence of interlanguage development. In other words, learners’ errors
can be interpreted as showing development rather than deficiency. Bearing this in
mind may lead to a more respectful treatment of learners’ efforts.
The other fallacy that is relevant here is the reflex fallacy, of which I have
written earlier in this book. Teaching is not a mere reflex of natural language
acquisition. Our job as teachers is to accelerate, not to emulate, the natural lan-
guage acquisition process. It is doubtful that naturalistic learners have much
access to negative feedback. Conversational analysts, for instance, tell us that
there is decided dispreference for other-initiated repair. This means that it is
unlikely that learners will receive direct explicit feedback from their conversa-
tional partners. Even when indirect feedback does present itself in naturalistic
situations, it is questionable how much feedback the learner can notice and
process when there are competing demands for the learner’s time and attention.
Conversely, feedback on learners’ performance in an instructional environment
presents an opportunity for learning to take place. An error potentially repre-
sents a teachable moment. As Chaudron (1988) asserts, “for most learners, the
use of feedback may constitute the most potent source of improvement in target
language development.”
Before proceeding to an exploration of ways of working with errors, it is, as is my
custom, important for me to try to understand views that differ from my own. I need,
therefore, first to consider the arguments against providing explicit negative feedback.

126 ¢ TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

What are the criticisms of error correction?
As we have seen, in light of assertions (although some maintain that they are
unfounded) that children acquire their native language in the absence of nega-
tive feedback, it has been argued that negative feedback is unnecessary for
native language acquisition. Some SLA researchers have followed suit, arguing
that feedback on the part of the teacher can be futile, even harmful, ambiguous,
and inconsistent. I would like to discuss each of these criticisms in turn.

Futile
Many teachers have questioned whether their efforts are well spent. Do learners
even pay attention to the circled errors on a composition, for instance, and do
they actually learn from them if they do? Quite honestly, the answers to these
questions derived from research studies are very mixed. Some studies suggest
that students benefit from focused attention to their errors; other studies show
no enduring gain from such attention.
If there is a question about whether or not learners pay attention to marks on
a paper when they have ample time to do so, their doing so during some com-
municative activity would seem even less likely. Further, it has been suggested
that the alleged futility of teachers’ efforts might stem from failure to respect
developmental sequences. In other words, it may be in vain to correct students
on grammatical items that they are not yet ready to acquire.
The perception of futility can also be attributed to the existence of seeming-
ly intractable errors that appear to be very resistant to correction. Sometimes it
happens that, despite continued exposure to the target language, motivation to
learn it, and opportunity to practice it, learning ceases. When such is the case,
a learner’s interlanguage is said to have fossilized, to have reached a terminal
learning plateau. While no one knows for sure what causes fossilization, its exis-
tence is said to distinguish L1 from L2 acquisition.

Harmful
Truscott worries that error correction will lead students to limit the complexity
of their writing as an avoidance strategy. Students who are frequently corrected
may become inhibited. It is not only negative feedback that some feel is poten-
tially harmful. Gattegno (1976) cautions against the use of positive feedback. If
a teacher praises students often, then students will get the impression that learn-
ing a language is something out of the ordinary—something supposed to be dif-
ficult. Such an impression may make learning a language more difficult than it is.

Ambiguous
In an attempt to draw a student’s attention to an error, it is quite common for a
teacher to repeat what a student has just said. However, as Lyster and Ranta
(1997) point out, repetition can be ambiguous because it can be used for differ-
ent functions. While one function of repetition may be to provide students with
an opportunity to self-correct, at other times a teacher’s repetition of a student’s
utterance may simply be a request for confirmation of the sort that any two pro-
ficient speakers of a language may engage in. Such is the case with the follow-

FEEDBACK e 127
 ing French example taken from Lyster (1998).
Student: || faut qu’ils fassent plein de travail. (They have to do a lot of work.)
Teacher: || faut qu’ils fassent plein de travail? (said with rising intonation)

There is nothing wrong with what the student has said in French. However, the
teacher’s confirmation request might be misinterpreted as suggesting that a
problem exists.

Inconsistent
A long time ago, Allwright (1975) pointed out that teachers were inconsistent
in correcting students’ errors. Of course, teachers may have very good reasons
for varying how they respond to students’ errors. Teachers may know that cer-
tain learners benefit from encouragement while others gain more from direct,
explicit negative feedback. A teacher may be inconsistent in that a particular
error may sometimes be corrected while at other times, when an activity is
aimed more at developing fluency, it may be ignored. Or a teacher may use one
type of feedback with a particular error at one time and, seeing it fail, may
resort to a different type another time. A teacher’s “inconsistency” can derive
from legitimate, nuanced, and rational pedagogical decisions.
By the same token, one can understand Truscott’s alarm at the inconsistency
in the way errors are treated. As Truscott (1998) notes, a teacher who ignores
one student’s error and corrects another is sending a mixed and confusing mes-
sage to the class as a whole that may compound the learning difficulty.

Responding to the Criticisms

While these criticisms of error correction may have merit, notice that they deal
with error correction in general. To appreciate the importance of supplying neg-
ative feedback, it may be useful to adopt a particularistic stance, that is, to look
more narrowly at error types. For example, Pica (1983) reports the interesting
finding that tutored and untutored learners make different types of errors.
Tutored learners tend to make errors of commission; they overuse forms, pre-
sumably because the forms have received attention during instruction.
Untutored learners, on the other hand, tend to make errors of omission; they
tend not to use certain structures. Significantly, Long (1988) notes that errors of
omission are more likely to persist in a learner’s interlanguage. It is easier to
notice that something is superfluous than to notice that one is not doing some-
thing. In this way, feedback may reduce the likelihood of inflexibility and fos-
silization in language development.
Another type of error that may be persistent unless students receive feedback
is L1-induced errors in conspiracy with violations of natural principles in UG
(White, 1987). Margaret Rogers (1994), in discussing the learning of German
word order, makes much the same point. Where there is an L1-L2 contrast, the
learner may need direct explicit negative feedback from the teacher to notice
that the input only provides evidence about the non-application of a rule.
For example, there is a contrast between English and German with regard to
adverbial fronting. In German, one can front an adverbial, but must adhere to

128 © TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

the word order of Adv + V + Sub + Obj when doing so:
Gestern sah ich den Film.
Yesterday saw | the film.
When learning German, an English speaker’s original hypothesis might be that the
order Adv + Sub + V + Obj is possible, as it is in English. Without negative feed-
back, learners may never receive evidence that the English word order is impossi-
ble in German. In other words, they would receive positive evidence about the
German word order, but without feedback, they might never notice the negative
evidence that would show that the English word order does not occur in German.
Thus, the logic goes, if the learner has positive evidence about the application of
a rule in natural input, then that is sufficient to accelerate learning. But if the nat-
ural input only provides negative evidence about the non-application of a rule,
then explicit negative feedback from the teacher is required.
We also need to ask what the critics mean when they say that error correc-
tion does not work. Learners’ performance may not immediately be altered after
learners receive negative feedback; however, that does not mean that nothing
has been registered. For instance, priming may be occurring, from which future
benefits will be derived. Moreover, Schachter (1991) observes that even telling
a learner “No, it’s not that way” may be of tremendous help by reducing the
learner’s hypothesis space, thereby narrowing the set of possible hypotheses to
be tested. While it is true that there have been long-term studies that showed no
evidence of beneficial effects for negative feedback (Robb et al., 1986), there is
also research that reaches the opposite conclusion. For example, in a recent lon-
gitudinal study of Thai-Norwegian interlanguage, Han and Selinker (1999)
documented that fine-tuned corrective feedback provides a cure for persistent
errors that result from multiple factors working in tandem.
As for fossilization, it seems to me that teachers still have the responsibility
to provide learners feedback on even the most persistent of errors. If they abdi-
cate this responsibility, fossilization becomes inevitable. While our expectations
about feedback must be realistic, we should never abandon the quest for a way
to help students when it is their goal to use a standard form for what they wish
to convey. As is well known, the acquisition of grammar is a gradual process;
what teachers tell students and what students learn are not always directly and
proximally linked.

THE ROLE OF FEEDBACK

hat I conclude from the research literature, then, is that the issue of feed-
back is a complex one. Blanket proscriptions and prescriptions are unlike-
ly to be reliable. This is an area where local, particularistic research—research
that takes into account the contingent nature of teaching, characteristics of the
context, the nature of the native language and the target language, and the goals
of both teachers and students—is more likely to shed light.
I do not mean to overlook the powerful lessons of my own experience, and the
experience of others, as learner, teacher, and teacher educator. For example, Schulz
(2001) surveyed Colombian and U.S. foreign language teachers and their students

FEEDBACK e 129
 and found that there was considerable agreement concerning the value of error
correction. Such experience alone might be reason enough to endorse the use of
feedback. But there is more. Another reason for my belief in the value of feedback
stems from my interest in looking at problems and issues in second language
acquisition and second language teaching from a Chaos/Complexity or dynamical
systems perspective. One prominent characteristic of such systems is that they are
responsive to feedback. In nature this means that’ such systems can “learn,” that
is, they can change and develop in ways that are novel. When an innovation
occurs within a species, positive feedback will cause it to endure, even amplify;
negative feedback will contribute to its eradication. As Joseph Ford put it,
“Evolution is chaos with feedback” (in Gleick, 1987: 314). Moreover, with newer
models of evolution, such as the late biologist’s Stephen Jay Gould’s pugctuated
equilibrium, evolutionary changes do not always take place in a linear fashion, at
a fairly constant rate. When confronted by environmental stresses (negative feed-
back), genetic diversity that is normally concealed can emerge and generate diverse
physical forms in surprisingly short order. Thus, change can occur rather rapidly
within a single generation, overnight from an evolutionary sense of time.
From a dynamical systems perspective, then, I take all this to mean that feed-
back is not merely useful in corralling the linguistic performance of learners.
See Feedback can also be very helpful in stimulating the growth of a linguistic system
Larsen-Freeman — (except when it has fossilized) while keeping it within limits that are neither com-
(1997) and pletely flexible nor rigidly inflexible in nature. In other words, from a dynamical
Cooper (1992). systems perspective, feedback is not simply about maintaining equilibrium. This
would be true if the system were simple and closed; however, in complex, open
systems, feedback is not about closing the loop between input and output.
Feedback helps a system develop beyond the set point of the norms, stimulating
the creative pattern-formation process that results in dinguistic novelty or mor-
phogenesis. And, finally, the consequences of feedback may be nonlinear; some-
times nothing will seem to occur, while at other times change will be sudden.
Now, of course, language acquisition does not exist independently of the lan-
guage learner. It is embodied in the language learner. Nevertheless, if the neural
networks of the brain are forged by the same processes that are responsible for
evolution—morphogenesis, emergentism, self-organization, nonlinear dynam-
ics—then it may not be too much of a stretch to claim that, since the same
underlying processes characterize both evolution and the creation of neural net-
works, the outcomes of both processes are altered by feedback. After all, even
the most elementary connectionist models of neural networks have feedback
loops built in, whereby the output is compared to the input and adjustments in
the connection weights are made through a process called backpropagation.

CHARACTERISTICS OF EFFECTIVE FEEDBACK

hether this turns out to be the case or not, for the time being, in this chap-
ter, I will take a stance that argues for the value of feedback when done
judiciously, using appropriate techniques, appropriately focused, in an affec-
tively supportive, nonjudgmental manner. I will elaborate on each of these char-
acteristics in the text that follows.

130 © TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

Judicious
Even if correcting students’ every error were pedagogically feasible, socially
acceptable, not demoralizing to learners, and did not lead to their undue depen-
dence on the teacher, it would still not be a psychologically sound practice.
Pervasive correction ignores such important psychological limitations as memo-
ry capacity and attention span. Negative feedback, therefore, has to be judicious
to be effective. However, selectivity is not sufficient in and of itself.
One of the criticisms of traditional error correction is that it is often directed
at isolated points “without reference either to the processes by which the lin-
guistic system develops or the learner’s current developmental stage” (Truscott,
1996: 347). While it seems to me that this is a valid criticism from a psycholin-
guistic perspective, it presents a tall order for any teacher to fulfill. How are
teachers to decide which learner errors impede the development of the learner’s
systemic knowledge?
There are no absolute answers to this question, of course, because it will
depend as much on the learner as it will on any linguistic system; however, the
following guidelines, extrapolated from the literature and the experience of
practitioners, including my own experience, may be of use in helping teachers
attend judiciously to certain errors.

1. Attend to errors that show that a student is ready to learn.

Errors in structures that learners appear to be newly producing with some fre-
quency are likely candidates. Research has shown that such structures, called
emergent forms, are much more likely to be influenced by feedback than are
structures that are rarely attempted. For instance, research by Williams and
Evans (1998) has demonstrated that students’ acquisition of an emergent form,
participial adjectives, was facilitated by an input flood, and even more so by
contextualized explanations, whereas the same learners did not benefit from
similar explanations directed at the passive voice, presumably because the learn-
ers were not ready to sort out the complex form, meaning, use relationship
involved in the passive. Participial adjectives were already being used by these
students, though often inaccurately, and when students received consistent cor-
rective feedback concerning them, greater accuracy resulted.
Chaos/Complexity theorists have a colorful way of putting it. They claim that
complex, adaptive, dynamical systems evolve “at the edge of chaos” (Kauffman,
1995), a zone between order and disorder. Identifying emergent forms in stu-
dents’ interlanguage requires a close monitoring of students’ performance.
Significantly, it also suggests a somewhat unusual dynamic in that, rather than
teachers leading learners, teaching is learning to follow the students’ lead. In
other words, the students’ errors will tell us where to teach. I will return to this
theme in the next chapter.

2. Work on errors, not mistakes.

Another judgment on the part of the teacher is whether a non-target form is a
mistake or an error, a distinction proposed by Corder (1967). Whereas an error
results from lack of knowledge about the correct form, a mistake is merely a

FEEDBACK e 131
 performance slip. Errors, being systematic, would be natural candidates for
feedback, while mistakes might better be ignored. Further discernment by teach-
ers is called for, with the suggestion that error gravity should be a criterion and
that only those errors that most egregiously interfere with communication
should be marked for feedback.
Here is what a teacher in the ELI (English Language Institute) at Malta has
" Teachers
“Voices to say about exercising judgment when providing feedback.
Occasionally when I’m writing down errors they’re making during
speaking fluency, well first of all I’m discarding a lot of slips and a
lot of errors which I don’t think are especially important... and I
occasionally slip in something which they may not have made that
day but is often made by students at that level, and I know inseffic-
tively and from experience that that is something which they need
to come to grips with or they want to come to grips with (Borg,
1998-16):
Thus, this EFL teacher is not only selecting errors to focus on, the teacher is
also anticipating students’ needs even before an error has been made. Such a
practice would seem to draw support from Lightbown’s (1991: 193) observa-
tion that focusing on form is most effective when “learners know what they
want to say, indeed are trying to say something, and the means to say it more
correctly are offered to them.” The next characteristic follows from this.

3. Work with errors where students show that they know what they want
to say, recognize that they do not know how to doo, and try anyway.
Realizing that such is the case requires that teacher and students achieve a cer-
tain level of intersubjectivity so that the teacher is aware of what the student is
trying to say and can supply an acceptable linguisti¢ formulation. Although
there is no guarantee that one’s feedback will be heeded, of course, knowing
one’s students well enough to infer their intentions would seem to increase the
chance of this happening. This is why blanket proscriptions and prescriptions
fail. While linguistic and psycholinguistic considerations are important, they are
not the whole story. If a teacher fails to achieve intersubjectivity with her stu-
dents, her efforts may be fruitless.

Identifying the source of an error can be very helpful in determining what sort of
feedback to offer in response. To put it in the vernacular, it helps to know where
one’s students “are coming from.” Consider the following error in English. Can
you figure out what the student was trying to say and why he or she was misled?

*| hope | could go.

4. Deal with errors that are committed during accuracy activities.

Unlike my other suggestions, this one has less to do with learners’ development

132 ¢ TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

and more to do with the nature of the activity they are engaged in and the social
dynamics of the classroom. It is an old pedagogical adage that there are times
when students should have opportunities to develop fluency without worrying
much about accuracy. Of course, during fluency activities, students’ errors can
still be discreetly noted by the teacher, but providing feedback on them can be
che
put off for another time. As the EFL teacher from Malta in Borg’s study puts it: Voices

We do a lot of fluency work, and sometimes learners’ expectations

of the language classroom differ from this reality. Giving them
opportunities to focus on accuracy in language work that springs
from (or is related to) these fluency activities helps these types of
learners to accept more enthusiastically the fluency activities.
Even during fluency activities, however, there may be times when unobtrusive
feedback may be warranted. Such might be the case, for example, when a stu-
dent describes an event using verb forms that create confusion about time. The
point is that during a fluency-based activity, the goal should simply be to achieve
successful unself-conscious communication, not to make everything a student
says accurate.
A final consideration concerning judicious feedback is based on the language
system itself.

5. Give feedback on errors where learners need negative evidence in

order to eliminate a hypothesis.
Not all hypotheses are of the type that may benefit from negative evidence.
Some incorrect hypotheses are compatible with a certain subset of the available
data. For example, in English, the following are all acceptable:
John was fearful.
John was frightened.
John was afraid.

An English learner might make note of such sentences. Later, when the learn-
er hears that John is a fearful person or John is a frightened person, the learner
might incorrectly infer that it is also possible to say John is an afraid person.
Overgeneralization errors such as this may benefit more than others from
error correction. In fact, Tomasello and Herron (1988) have demonstrated that,
when learners are in the process of generalizing and make an overgeneralization,
an effective technique is to point out the error at the moment the overgeneral-
ization is made. Tomasello and Herron call this the “garden path” technique. It
receives its name from the fact that learners may be “led down the garden path.”
In other words, learners may not know or may not be told that there are prob-
lems with a particular structure. For example, English learners may believe that
all English past tense verbs are regular. Initially, they may be given the rule for
forming regular past tense verbs without being told of the existence of irregular
verbs. It would be quite natural for such learners to produce overgeneralization
errors, saying eated for ate, for example. Once they do, and only after they do,
learners would receive feedback concerning their errors. Tomasello and Herron

FEEDBACK e 133
 found the “garden path” technique to be more effective than telling learners in
advance about exceptions to a rule.

Appropriate techniques appropriately focused

By bringing up the “garden path” technique I have moved from discussing
which errors to correct to which techniques to use. In actual fact, a great vari-
ety of feedback techniques exists. For instance, Aljaafreh and Lantolf (1994)
offer a thirteen-point scale of feedback practices, from more implicit techniques
to more explicit ones. At the implicit end of the scale, students are asked to find
their errors in an essay they have written and to correct the errors on their own.
Toward the middle of the scale, the nature of the error is identified for the stu-
dent using explicit direct negative feedback of a metalinguistic ature (ese
“There is something wrong with the tense marking here”) but it is left up to the
student to identify the precise error and to correct it. At the explicit end of the
scale, when other forms of help fail to produce an appropriate action, the learn-
er is given an explanation for the use of the correct form and, if needed, exam-
ples of the correct form.
It is often assumed that self-correction is best because, when learners do their
own correcting, they are more likely to remember it. Then, too, simply telling stu-
dents what is wrong or giving them the correct answer does not teach students to
correct themselves. In general, many teachers and teaching methodologists suggest
abiding by conversational maxims that favor self-repair over other-repair.
A variety of techniques have been proposed to help learners identify the prob-
lem in what they have said and to self-correct, such as various forms of repeti-
tion and elicitation (echoaic, echoaic with rising intonation, echoaic stressing
the trouble spot, etc.). Schachter (1986) suggests that even such indirect means
of negative feedback as signaling a failure to understand can be helpful to learn-
ers. However, favoring self-correction does not mean that teachers should
eachers
Voices always be so indirect.
I think there is a place ... for leading students to a situatidn where
they perceive that they need this knowledge and want this knowledge,
and trying to lead them to an awareness of it themselves, and
providing the knowledge if they can’t get to it themselves (A
teacher in Borg, 1998: 22-23).
When it is necessary for a teacher to provide explicit feedback, it is impor-
tant to let students know that the corrections are offered as help, not criticism.
To this end, it is sometimes pointed out that teachers should highlight not only
what is wrong, but what is right in what their students say or write as well.

Here is a short piece of writing produced by a male intermediate ESL student,

a native speaker of Arabic. What would you tell a student to correct here? What
would you tell the student is right?

| saw a movie about a man in a city (big city). | want to tell you what | saw

1384 © TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

 and what is my opinion. The movie began with a man about forty years old,
in his apartment in a big city. He was disturbed by many things like Alarm
O'Clock, T.V., Radio and noisy outside. He want a fresh air, but he could not
because the city is not a good place for fresh air. There are many factories
which fill the air with smoke. The movie showed the daily life of a man in the
city. He is very busy day and night. He had to go to his work early by any
means of transportation, car, bus, bicycle. The streets are crowded, every-
thing in the city is crowded with people, the houses, streets, factories, insti-
tutions, even the seashores...

(Data from Selinker and Gass, 1984)

Of course, the teacher is not the only purveyor of feedback. Students can
learn a great deal from their peers. Here is an example of peer correction given
to French learner $1 by learner $2 (Swain, 1998: 78):
$1: La nuit derniére je marchais dans un long passage étroit.
(Last night I was walking in a long narrow passage.)
$2: Non, étroite.

(No, narrow [feminine form].)

$1: Avec uni “e”?
(With an “e”?)
§2: Oui.
(Yes.)

A lot of attention in the second language acquisition literature has been given
to a feedback strategy known as a recast. Perhaps the most widespread of all
teacher responses to learner errors, recasting involves teachers reformulating all
or part of what a student has just said so that it is correct. For example:
Teacher: What did you do this weekend?
Student: I have gone to the movies.
Teacher: Oh. You went to the movies last night. What did you see?
Han (in press) suggests that the most successful recasts are ones where students
receive individual attention, where recasts deal with a consistent focus—for exam-
ple, for a period of time, all recasts might deal with verb tense usage—where it
appears that learners are developmentally ready to benefit from the evidence pro-
vided by recasts, and when there is a certain level of intensity to the recasts, there-
by heightening their frequency and saliency. However, the “success” of a recast
cannot be determined by an immediate change in learner performance alone. For
one thing, the learning process is nonlinear, and so a shift in performance may not
immediately follow the recast. For another, the learner may find the recast useful
for his or her own purposes, such as its use in private speech rehearsal, again with

FEEDBACK e 135
 no immediate concomitant change in performance (Ohta, 2000).
Of course no technique—even giving the student the correct form, as the
teacher in the example did with the past tense of go—is effective unless the stu-
dent can perceive the difference between the recast and what he or she has just
said. It would seem necessary, therefore, that students notice the gap between
what they are producing and what the target language demands at that point.
The same could be said for the teacher’s efforts at’correction. Indeed, Nicholas,
Lightbown, and Spada (2001), in their review of the research literature on
recasts, concluded that recasts are most effective when they are not ambiguous,
that is, when learners perceive that the recast is in reaction to the form, not the
content, of what they have just said. Otherwise, there could be a mismatch
between the teacher’s intent and the learner’s perception of it. Han (2002:
24-25) recognizes the need for fine-tuning, for achieving

1) congruence between a teacher’s intention‘and a student’s

interpretation, and 2) between a teacher’s correction and a stu-
dent’s readiness for it.... In tuning feedback to learning problems,
it seems important that a teacher has a range of strategies readily
available so as to be able to adopt one that is most fitting to the
targeted problem as well as to the ongoing dynamics of the
communicative activities.
In other words, it is unlikely that there is one feedback strategy that is better
than others for all occasions. Instead, teachers need to develop a repertoire of
techniques that can be deployed as appropriate. Effective use of strategies results
when teachers adapt their practice to their students’ learning. Thus, error cor-
rection ultimately comes down to adjusting feedback to the individual learner.
Adjustments cannot be determined a priori; rather, they must be collaborative-
ly negotiated on-line with the learner. As Aljaafreh and Lantolf (1994) explain,
from a sociocultural or Vygotskyan perspective, learning takes place when there
is a bridge between the dialogic activity, collaboratively constructed by the
teacher and the student, and the student’s internal mental functioning. Here is
an example from their study (page 477) illustrating this point. The student (S)
is going over an essay she has written with her teacher (T):
T: We can see a grey big layers in the sky with a dense smog. What is...do
you see anything wrong here?
S: Dense smog with ah heavy or...
T: That’s fine, yeah this is good
S: This is good?
T: But what do you see wrong in these sentences...
S: Ah just a moment. “We can...see we can...we can...see
T: Uhum
Db: It... grey:

1386 ¢ TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

 T: Okay
S: Big
T: Okay, grey big
S: Layers
T: Layers
S: Layers in the sky
T: Uhum
S: Because is no one only, is all...
T: Layers, it is not singular. Right, that’s good.
S: Grey big layers...yes (laughs)
T: In the sky
S: With dense
T: Okay
S: (laughs)

T: Dense, that’s good

S: Dense smoke
T: With dense smog
S: Produced by carbon monoxide of the vehicle.

Aljaafreh and Lantolf note that:

the learner is immediately able to correct her misuse of the indefinite
article with the mass noun “smog” in line 1. Of even more interest is
what we observe in lines 6 and 7, where the learner overtly interrupts
the tutor’s utterance and subsequently inhibits his attempt to offer
assistance. In so doing, she assumes fuller responsibility for finding
and correcting the error in “a grey big layers.” (1994: 477)

Much of what has been written in this section conforms to the traditional view
that learning grammar means learning formal accuracy. In this book, though, I
have challenged this notion and explained that, for me, learning grammar is also
learning to use grammar structures meaningfully and appropriately. As such,
any feedback techniques that are used not only have to be appropriate, they
have to be appropriately focused.

10.5

FEEDBACK 137
 To drive this point home, consider the following English learner statements.
Each contains an error (although you undoubtedly will find some more obvious
than others). Can you sort them into the categories of form, meaning, and use’

1. A: | like math.
B: Really? | am boring in math class.
2. Please explain me the answer.
3. Our company has a lot of people.
4. Please extinguish your cigarette here. This is a non-smoking area.
5. The cocoa tasted good. It was too hot.
6. Give the person sitting at the end of the table the salt.

Affectively supportive and nonjudgmental

Teachers try to be affectively supportive of their students. As teachers learn that
some of their students have a greater fear of rejection than others, they may pro-
vide feedback selectively. Then, too, learners differ in the degree to which they
commit errors. Some learners are cautious; they do not speak until they are quite
sure that what they say will be right. Others are more impulsive, and they active-
ly participate in class whether or not what they say is in acceptable form. “Igor,”
a language learner given this pseudonym and studied by Allwright (1980), was
such a learner. Igor was extroverted and unafraid to say things that were not tar-
getlike. Allwright speculates that all students might benefit from having an
“Igor” as a classmate, someone who asks questions that other students may be
reluctant to ask and who receives feedback from the teacher from which every-
one can learn. s"
So far I have said little about positive feedback. Of course, positive feedback
was considered very important from a behaviorist standpoint. Giving students
positive comments about their successful performance was considered crucial in
reinforcing target language habits. Many teachers who do not see themselves as
behaviorists nonetheless quite naturally praise students when they are successful
in their language learning efforts, or give them positive feedback for their efforts
even when their performance does not conform to target language norms.
However, being affectively supportive does not necessarily mean giving posi-
tive feedback. For one thing, giving students positive feedback on their linguistic
performance may send the implicit message that students are succeeding at some-
thing extraordinary, whereas perhaps we should be suggesting instead that lan-
guage learning is quite natural and not that difficult (Gattegno, 1976). Another
concern about providing students with positive feedback is that it may be con-
fusing to students if they are not sure what they are being praised for. A number
of years ago, Vigil and Oller (1976) made a useful distinction between cognitive
feedback and affective feedback. Both types of feedback can be negative or pos-
itive. These researchers reported that a combination of negative cognitive feed-
back and positive affective feedback was most likely to stimulate development in
learners’ interlanguage. Thus, giving students evaluative information on their lin-

1388 «© TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

guistic performance in a nonjudgmental manner, while being affectively support-
ive of them and their efforts, may be the best combination to strive for.
In this chapter I have taken up the matter of feedback, what I have called one
of “the big three” (consciousness-raising and output practice being the other
two). Although noting that the need for feedback is controversial, I have staked
out a position in favor of providing students with feedback. Further, I believe
that feedback provision is most effective when it is judicious, appropriate, and
nonjudgmental. If this seems like a tall order to fill, it is. If it seems unrealistic,
it may well be. But if we abandon the quest, we give up an essential function of
teaching, for how else are students to efficiently learn where they are on target
and where they are off? Thus, “feedback” is one answer to a question I often
ask myself: “What is it that I can give my students that they can’t (easily) get on
their own?”

Suggested Readings
A great deal has been written over the years on error correction, and more
recently on feedback. A classic treatment of the former is H. V. George (1972).
Of course, Selinker (1972) coined both the terms interlanguage and fossiliza-
tion. Han (2002; in press) is a researcher who has recently written a great deal
about feedback. Recent reviews of the literature concerning the role of recasts
can be found in Nicholas, Lightbown, and Spada (2001) and Braidi (2002).

FEEDBACK ® 139
 11
TEACHING GRAMMARING

do not intend to be prescriptive in this chapter. Grammar teaching (any teach-

ing!) is a complex process, which cannot be treated by repeating tl
the same set
of procedures while expecting the same results.
To briefly connect with the complexity, consider the following excerpt from
Lampert’s (2001) Teaching Problems and the Problems of Teaching. In this
excerpt Lampert reports her thinking as she condutts a fifth-grade mathematics
lesson. Earlier, one of the students, Richard, gave the incorrect answer “eigh-
teen” to one of the problems that Maggie had posed.
Still puzzled about where “eighteen” came from, I ask the class if
eacher “anybody” can “explain what Richard was thinking.” This was
Voices
something I had by now done several times this year in response to
a student’s answer, and I had done it in every lesson. It often gives
Maggie me an insight about how to proceed when I cannot explain the stu-
Lampert dent’s answer to myself. And it draws more students into practicing
how to talk about mathematics. =

Several hands go up. I look around and take note of who wants to
say something, checking on who seems to be paying attention to the
discussion at this point. It is a few minutes from the end of class,
and we are working on the most complex part of today’s work. I
wonder if we should just hold off until the next day to continue the
discussion. I call on Catherine. My experience with her contribu-
tions to class discussions so far leads me to expect that shé-will be
polite and articulate, whatever she says, possibly helping me out of
the impasse with Richard. But instead of trying to explain Richard’s
thinking, she says, hesitatingly, “Ummmm, I disagree with that.”
She pauses for a moment, looks at me, and begins again,
“Ummmm...” indicating that she is getting ready to tell us why she
disagrees. Do I let her continue? (Lambert, 2001: 15-16)
In this brief reflection, we see the tremendous complexity of the situa-
tion that Maggie is trying to manage. If such complexity were not enough
to discourage me from offering pedagogic recipes, I know from personal
experience the stultifying effects of mechanical teaching for both teachers
and students. Such teaching is frequently a consequence of teaching being
See, for
example,
divorced from the perceptions and conceptions of teachers. I therefore do
Doughty and not wish to use this chapter to discuss applications of the ideas of this book
Williams (1998) for others. Neither is it is my intent here to review the research literature
and Mitchell on grammar pedagogy, looking for implications, although others have ably
(2000). done so.

140 © TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

 What I will do instead is play out the ideas I have been discussing in this book
in order to make pedagogic sense of them for me. However, I should first warn
readers that not all that I discuss here—perhaps precious little—will differ dra-
matically from past practice. On my bad days, I worry about this. I am impa-
tient with my inability to “think outside the [pedagogical] box.” On my good
days, I imagine that fresh pedagogical ideas may yet occur to me or to others
and that it is an act of hubris to think that I can solve the inert knowledge prob-
lem. I am also consoled by the fact that people have found a way to learn sec-
ond languages for centuries without the benefit of modern theories. Besides, I
have been able to interpret research findings, make sense of my own experience,
and come to an understanding that has some coherence and some ideas that are
likely to keep me engaged for some time to come.
I also intend in this chapter to deliver on promises that I have made through-
out this book. The first was made in the Introduction, where I promised to
define language and grammar by completing an open-ended sentence. Before I
fulfill that promise, you may wish to try it for yourself.

Look over the definitions of language that you wrote for Investigations 1.1 and 1.2.
Do you want to change them in any way? How would you complete the following?
Language Is...
Next, do so for grammar.
Grammar Is...

DEFINING LANGUAGE AND GRAMMAR AGAIN

or my answer, I am tempted to go back to the ten definitions of language I culled
from the literature and listed in Chapter 1 and say “My definition of language is
all of the above.” As Cook and Seidlhofer note, language can indeed be viewed as

a genetic inheritance, a mathematical system, a social fact, the

expression of individual identity, the expression of cultural identity,
the outcome of dialogic interaction, a social semiotic, the intuitions
of native speakers, the sum of attested data, a collection of memo-
rized chunks, a rule-governed discrete combinatory system, or elec-
tric activation in a distributed network....We do not have to
choose. Language can be all of these things at once (Cook and
Seidlhofer, 1995: 4).
I believe this to be true enough because perceptions differ depending on the eyes
of the beholder. Besides, I believe that language is a fractal, composed of many
different interacting levels of scale; thus, depending on which level of scale one
is observing, a different perspective of the same phenomenon is entirely possi-
ble. Nevertheless, an all-embracing definition is rather unwieldy if one’s inten-
tion is to use the definition to inform one’s practice. So, instead, I will answer
simply. Here is my definition of language:

TEACHING GRAMMARING ® 141

 Language is a dynamic process of pattern formation by which humans use
linguistic forms to make meaning in context-appropriate ways.
Although my definition features patterns, language is not seen as a set of
patterns (as in definition 3 in Chapter 1) but rather as a process of pattern
formation. It is not the only such pattern-formation process available to
humans, but it is certainly a potent one, for it allows people to draw on the
systemic nature of language to build and interpret texts. As such, it facilitates
wos
communication with others. Communication with others, though, is a pri-
mary, but not exclusive, function of language. Language also facilitates
thinking and allows self-expression and creativity. Then, too, appropriateness
does not necessarily mean conformity to norms, and context does not only mean
_ the physical context. A context is also created by the relationship between and
~ among people. (See Chapter 6.) :
Following from this definition, I can then say that grammar(ing) is one of
the dynamic linguistic processes of pattern formation in language, which can
be used by humans for making meaning in context-appropriate ways.
In order to elaborate on this second definition, the remainder of this chapter
is organized into sections around the Wh-questions: what, in which grammar-
ing will be further defined; when, the all-important question of the timing of
grammaring; why and how to teach grammaring; and to whom to teach it.

WHAT?
Grammar
Oe of my goals in writing this book was to deconstruct the conception of
grammar as a static product that consists of forms that are rule-governed,
sentence-level, absolute, and constitute a closed system. I have suggested that,
by viewing it solely this way, we have overlooked important qualities of gram-
mar, such as that it is a dynamic process in which forms have meanings and uses
in a rational, discursive, flexible, interconnected, and open system. I do not wish
to perpetuate the dichotomous thinking that I have sought to Overcome in this
book. Nevertheless, I have found myself arguing against the “left-column” char-
acterizations of grammar in Figure 1 in Chapter 1 as a counterpoint to what I
feel is a misconception about grammar. This misconception contributes to con-
fusion about the role of grammar, sometimes generates negative affect, and even
makes the matter of whether grammar should be taught at all subject to the
caprice of methodological fashion.
e I have also tended to favor a dynamic view of grammar because the tradi-
tional view of grammar is biased in the other direction. Grammar is much more
about our humanness than some static list of rules and exceptions suggests.
Grammar allows us to choose how we present ourselves to the world, some-
times conforming to social norms yet all the while establishing our individual
identities. Further, we can marshal the grammatical resources at our disposal to
guide our readers’ or listeners’ interpretations of what we are saying or writing.
_ Thus, rather than promoting the association in students’ minds between gram-
matical failure and punitive repercussions (the red ink), we should seek to pro-
mote the positive association between grammar and empowerment.

142 ¢ TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

 And I have argued that a better way to think of grammar, which may help
learners overcome the inert knowledge problem, is to think of grammar as
something we do, rather than only something we know. But doing implies an
ongoing process, so the question naturally arises as to how to help students par-
ticipate in the process. Or another way to ask the question, if I may be permit-
ted a linear metaphor, is “How do we help our students get on a train that is
moving and has already left the station?” And my answer, at this moment in
time, is “by grammaring.”

Grammaring
At various times in this book I have discussed grammaring in the context of
language change over time, language use in real time, an organic process con-
necting the two, learning and participating. Perhaps it is a mistake to imbue
grammaring with such polysemy. However, I have done so to underscore the
dynamism connecting these processes. At the risk of compounding the mistake,
let me restate an additional, but here most relevant, definition of grammaring.
Grammaring is the ability to use grammar structures accurately, meaningful-
ly, and appropriately. To help our students cultivate this ability requires a shift in
the way grammar is traditionally viewed. It requires acknowledging that gram-
mar can be productively regarded as a fifth skill, not only as an area of knowl-
edge. It may be that the fifth skill is intimately interconnected with the other
skills; nevertheless, mindful practicing with grammatical structures, and using
them for one’s own purpose(s), will hone the grammaring skill. Innovation, as
opposed to imitation, will also be facilitated if our students are grammatically
aware—aware not only of rules, but also, importantly, of reasons. The rules and
reasons may not need to be stated in metalinguistic terms, but they should always
inform the nature of the pedagogical activity. As the specific nature of the learn-
ing challenge will shift among the three dimensions of form, meaning, and use,
due to the inherent complexity of the target structure and the characteristics of
the students—for example, their native language and target language proficien-
cy—the learning challenge will always have to be determined anew.

Imagine that you are a teacher of beginning-level English students. Arrange the
following structures in the order in which you would teach them.
e the verb to be (present tense)
¢ possessive determiners (my, her, etc.)
e subject pronouns (J, you, etc.)
e articles (a and the)
e basic statement word order
e yes—no questions with the verb to be
e negative statements with the verb to be
e the present progressive
e singular and plural nouns

TEACHING GRAMMARING ® 143

 In doing this Investigation, many of you probably sequenced the structures
according to tried-and-true pedagogic sequencing principles. For example, appeal-
ing to the principle of sequencing from linguistic simplicity to linguistic complex-
ity may have led you to place the articles toward the end of the sequence. Others
of you may have resorted to the principle that certain structures would be needed
to form complete sentences—for example, subject pronouns and the verb to be,
along with basic word order—and therefore shotild be taught together. Perhaps
you took into account the communicative utility of the structures and determined,
for example, that the possessive determiners, or at least a few of them, and the
verb to be and basic word order should be taught early on to allow students to be
able to introduce themselves and others, saying “My/his/her name is ...”. Knowing
that the present progressive requires the verb to be may have persuaded you to
teach the simple present with to be prior to presenting the present progressive. Or,
because of frequency of occurrence, you may have decided to do just the reverse—
that is, to teach the prevalent present progressive before the simple present. Maybe
you took into account discourse organization, realizing that learning how to ask
yes—no questions should arguably precede being able to make negative statements,
so that one’s students can truthfully answer questions that they are asked.
Now, one or more of these principles, and perhaps others that you may have
invoked, have at one time or other been offered as a rationale for sequencing
grammatical structures in a syllabus or in a grammar textbook. They do address
the real issues of selection and grading—how to segment and sequence the sub-
ject matter. After all, the grammar of a language cannot all be taught on the first
day of a course. However, there are several drawbacks to.applying one or more
of these principles in order to construct a pedagogical sequence. For one thing,
even the most carefully considered sequence will always be decontextualized,
and unless it is created with a particular group of students in mind, it will not
necessarily take into account particular learners’ neéds or learning readiness.
Then, too, such a sequence overlooks the fact that a pedagogical grammar is
prone not the same as a learner’s internal mental grammars. Moreover, ped-
agogical sequences are linear; the learning of grammar is not.

Not Aggregation but Morphogenesis

Selecting and sequencing grammar structures also runs contrary to the holistic view
of language and grammar that I have been extolling in this book. There may be
developmental sequences for individual structures such as negatives, interrogatives,
and relative clauses. But overall, learners use a whole linguistic system from the
beginning in however a simple or incomplete a form. This imperfect system is then
revised and elaborated successively as a system. The development of grammar in the
learner is thus seen to be more organic and holistic than linear and atomistic.
Building grammar in students bit by bit makes sense if what we are building is
a grammar machine. But if we are instead trying to promote growth, albeit of the
grammatical system, then we must think differently. And borrowing a term from
biology, I have proposed that we think not in terms of our students aggregating
grammar structures, but rather that they are involved in a process of morphogen-
esis, generating new patterns that are not pure imitations of parts of the grammar

144 ¢ TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

of a language. As Van Lier (2002) notes, by mentally taking apart a butterfly, we
can identify a leg, an antenna, and a wing, but we would miss the stages of a but-
terfly’s growth, never discovering its life as an egg, a pupa, and a caterpillar.
By the same reasoning, looking at the target language and dividing it up into
bits and pieces to be acquired gives us an inventory of the target language but
overlooks the process of its morphogenetic development in which “not every
phase and transformation looks unambiguously like a step closer to the goal of
proficient language use” (Van Lier, 2002: 159). While I think teachers should
seek to improve upon, not to emulate, the natural process of language acquisi-
tion, I do think that good teaching harmonizes rather than conflicts with the
natural process, so recognizing that it is a morphogenetic process rather than an
aggregative one is important. And this is no less true of a foreign language teach-
ing/learning environment than it is of a second language environment.

WHEN?
A Responsive Approach
o matter how skillful the syllabus developer, it is impossible to create a syl-
labus that will work for all learners in all situations. I acknowledge that we
cannot teach everything at once, but what we can do is to use the natural learn-
ing process as a guide as to when to teach certain aspects of grammar. So during
the course of normal classroom activity, teachers need to be alert to “teachable
moments” when they can focus learners’ attention on emergent forms in learners’
interlanguage, the forms around which learners are beginning to create new, albeit
non-targetlike, patterns (Long and Robinson, 1998). In such a responsive
approach, the grammaring lesson may not take place immediately, but the need
for it will be triggered by something in the learners’ performance that tells a
teacher that the learner is open to its learning. As I proposed in the previous chap-
ter, it is thus students’ learning that guides the teaching rather than vice versa.

A Proactive Approach
At other times it may be necessary for teachers to be more proactive in creating activ-
ities where grammar structures and patterns are needed, ones that do not arise dur-
ing the course of normal classroom activity, a teaching function that has been called
filling the gap in the input (Spada and Lightbown, 1993; Lightbown, 1998). For
instance, it is known that linguistically unplanned teacher talk uses mainly impera-
tives and present tense verbs, providing little exposure to other tenses (Harley,
1993). Activities that are designed to elicit specific structures and patterns are impor-
tant because of the issue of avoidance. In certain open-ended communicative activi-
ties, students may well use only those structures to which they have already been
introduced or with which they feel somewhat comfortable, avoiding those with
which they do not feel comfortable. However, teachers must look as much at what
students are not using as what they are using. Whether students are unaware of the
existence of certain grammatical structures or are consciously avoiding ones that
they find difficult, students need to have practice with all grammar structures and
patterns in order to truly be free to express the meanings they want in the ways that
are appropriate to them. Of course, if the grammar structures are not ones that stu-

TEACHING GRAMMARING @ 145

 dents are ready to learn, perhaps all that can be accomplished is priming for subse-
quent use. Perhaps Vygotskyans would describe this as trailblazing. As Dunn and
Lantolf put it, teaching activities “do not ride the tail of development but instead
blaze the trail for development to follow” (Dunn and Lantolf, 1998: 419).
Allison Petro, a teacher in my TESOL Summer Institute course in 1995, sum-
marized the issues nicely in a note to me after class one day.
r Dear Diane,
ye I was talking with fellow students after class, and then thinking
some more on my own, and IJ had a revelation about why the
Allison Petro process of teaching beginners and teaching high intermediate/
advanced students is so different for me.
With beginners, the process is that of building up form, meaning
and use. The teacher should control and choose input carefully. It
should be meaningful, useful, and challenging. Meaningful drills and
grammar lessons have their place as long as there is also a place for
communication. With high intermediate or advanced learners, the
process is that of breaking down their fossilized systems and trying
to rebuild by focusing on careful noticing of form, meaning, and
use. In this case, teachers should be building sensitivity and working
on students’ noticing skills.
Allison

I am not sure that I would agree entirely with Allison’s characterization, and
I think the two processes are rather more braided than sequential; however, I do
find her distinction between building up and breaking down illuminating—and
I think that her distinction does overlap somewhat with my discussions of
proactive, trailblazing (building up) approaches and arganic, responsive (break-
ing down) approaches. Allison has also contributed the point that one type may
be more at play than the other depending on the students’ level of proficiency.
XN
A Checklist, Not a Sequence
It is frequently the case that a particular grammatical syllabus or a particular gram-
mar text has been adopted, and it is the teacher’s responsibility to “cover” certain
grammatical structures. In such common circumstances it may be helpful to think of
transforming the syllabus into a checklist rather than a sequence. This means that
teachers are freed from teaching the grammar structures in a strict linear order. As
new material is introduced—say, a reading passage—the teacher looks to see which
grammar structures it contains that correspond to items on the checklist. These
See Breen’s could then be taught as advanced organizers to help students process the reading
(1984) process _ passage and enhance their ability to monitor their subsequent performance (Terrell,
syllabus. 1991). Along these same lines, Willis (2002) discusses the importance of the report-
ing phase after a task has been completed for giving students the necessary oppor-
tunity to work on the grammar the task naturally elicits. In this way, some grammar
structures and patterns can be taught as they arise in the context of skills-based, task-
based, or content-based work, as long as their immediate mastery is not expected.

146 © TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

Selective Focus
Another common situation is that the book being used has an underlying gram-
matical sequence in which later chapters build on earlier ones. In such a case
teachers may feel that they have no choice but to follow the order set down in
the book. In order to avoid such a situation, when I directed a student grammar
series, Grammar Dimensions, it was decided to make each unit freestanding; thus
teachers could cycle back and forth in the book, working with only part of a unit
at one time, skipping parts, or returning to activities in earlier units, constructing
a responsive syllabus based on the learning readiness and needs of their students.
However, in some cases, the texts that are being used follow a sequence in which
work done later in the book depends on the groundwork laid earlier in the book.
When this is the case, teachers may need to follow the sequence in the book. Even
here, though, selectivity of focus is important. Just because a particular structure
appears as a unit in a textbook does not mean that students know nothing about
it. So whether or not a linear sequence is prescribed, a good place to begin is to
find out just what the students already know and are able to do. This is an essen-
tial step in responsive teaching.

This was the rationale for having diagnostic tasks open each unit of Grammar
Dimensions. To cite one example of an opening task from Book 1 of the series,
students are asked to look at a picture of a room that might be a studio apartment.
There is a desk with books and a computer, a small kitchenette, a closet, a bed, a
dresser, and so forth. Students are then asked to figure out the identity of the occu-
pant. For instance, they are asked in turn if they think that the occupant of the
room is a man or a woman, an athlete, someone who likes animals, and so on.
After each answer, students are asked why they have answered as they did.
Proficient users of English do not always answer in the same way, but they do
frequently answer using the same form. They give answers such as the following:
| think it is a man because there are dishes in the sink.
Or
| think that it is a woman because there is a jewelry box on the dresser.

Since the tasks are meant to be diagnostic, what would be your diagnosis of the
following ESL student’s answer to the question, “Is tt a man or a woman?”
ESL student: “A woman. Because it has a jewelry box.”

I would say that in the absence of other evidence, nothing definitive could be
inferred, but if this pattern persisted in all the answers to the questions, a plau-
sible hypothesis would be that the student does not know that an answer with
the existential there is appropriate, that is, that a better answer would be “A
woman...because there is a jewelry box (there).” Whether or not the student
knows how to form sentences with the existential there cannot be determined
by such an answer, but this should and could be ascertained. “Teaching” some-

TEACHING GRAMMARING ° 147

 thing to students that they already know is hardly teaching, and the time saved
by avoiding this unnecessary step can more appropriately be spent addressing
genuine learning challenges.
Of course, students can learn something that they have not been taught,
either because they were able to learn it on their own or because they were able
to generalize from something for which they had received instruction. Gass
(1982), for instance, showed how teaching students a particular type of relative
clause allowed them to generalize to other types of relative clauses that they had
not yet been taught. On a closely related note, one of the more attractive,
though as yet unfulfilled, promises of the principles-and-parameters model of
UG is the claim that the setting of one parameter could determine a whole range
of syntactic options. For example, the pro-drop parameter not only sets up
See Chapter 8. empty pronoun slots when they are easily supplied from the context, it also
licenses subject—verb inversion. It may be the case therefore that teaching one
syntactic option of a parameter would facilitate the learning of other options
such that the learning return could exceed the teaching time investment.

Horizontal Planning
Another factor in considering the “when” of grammaring has to do with the
timing of practice. Research has suggested that spacing practice is more effective
than concentrating it all into a single point in time. Therefore, in order to
achieve more synchronization between the rhythms of teaching and those of
learning, I have suggested to teacher interns with whom [have worked that they
_ plan “horizontally.” By this I mean not planning to teach a different structure
each class and therefore moving “vertically” through the various phases of the
lesson in one class, butplanning to string these phases out “horizontally”—over
the course of several class sessions. It may seem that lam advocating a spiral or
£ cyclical syllabus, but I think of horizontal planning as a bit different. I don’t
mean merely returning to a structure or pattern from time to time, but rather
if spreading the various phases of a lesson—be it presentation, practice, produc-
tion or its more modern, inverted counterpart—across a period of time. For
example, for several sessions, a teacher might spend five minutes or less pro-
moting the noticing of a particular grammatical structure or pattern. At some
later point in time the teacher might provide appropriate tasks or content in
which the structures are contained with greater frequency (along with other nat-
urally occurring structures or patterns). Next some consciousness-raising activ-
ity might take place. Still later the teacher might create an additional activity or
series of activities that would require meaningful use of the structure or pattern.
Such a horizontal or elongated treatment of the target structure takes into
account the nonlinearity of the learning process, spacing practice sessions
optimally, allowing for recycling, allowing the necessary learning time, and
conceivably allowing the teaching to be better synchronized with the learning
process in that learners may learn the system sketchily at first, but through the
process of morphogenesis or pattern formation, the imperfect system can be
subsequently fleshed out and elaborated as a system over time.

148 © TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

Fractals and Nucleation
Because the teaching of a single structure occurs over time, as a corollary, horizon-
tal planning permits several structures/patterns to be worked on simultaneously.
Since language is a fractal, its nested levels of scale compress a significant amount
of information into a small space. In each of its parts there is an image of the whole
(Briggs and Peat, 1989). Therefore, working on structures/patterns that naturally
cluster together in texts can give students a great deal of information about the
whole system. To make this point, I once boasted to a group of teachers that I could
teach an entire grammar course to second language learners using a single para-
graph. Of course, no student would want to take such a course, and I would not
get very far ignoring the interaction of grammar and the lexicon. I exaggerated to
underscore the fact that even a restricted sample of language can be exploited to
reveal much about the underlying grammatical system. Thus the syllabus units that
would follow from my definition of language and grammar would be short writ-
ten and oral texts—co nd coherent stretches of meaningful language.
A powerful learning experience can be created by giving students a lot of
practice creating meaningful patterns with a limited set of co-occurring struc-
tures. Having students talk about topics or related topics again and again over
time is one way to make this happen. In my experience, having them do so by
playing with patterns in the target language, probing the system in order to learn
what can be put together and what cannot, can make for powerful learning
opportunities. As one teacher of Italian in Rome put it:
To offer a rule to a student puts him or her in a false position
because it makes the student believe that it is enough to learn the eacliers
Voices
rules in order to use a language, while we know that to acquire a
language is quite a different process. Learning a language involves — 3
__experimenting until one discovers
how it functions. se |
I believe that experimenting with language, as Filippo puts it, works because
it enlists learners in active pattern formation and contributes to nucleation.
Kenneth Pike wrote about nucleation in 1960. Just as I have drawn ideas from
the physical sciences, specifically Chaos/Complexity Theory, Pike (1960)
applied Pie concept of nucleation from physics to language learning. Nucleation
occurs “...when a droplet is condensed out of a gas, or when a crystalline solid
Piema eee out of a liquid... . [It] is involved in the first small clustering of
molecules...into a structural pattern, which will then be extensively duplicated
in a repetitive fashion to form a crystal” (Pike, 1960: 291). Initially, it is diffi-
cult for these molecules to clump together, but once they do, growth is rapid.
According to Pike, language nucleation occurs within the ERIE, He
writes that “Language is more than organized verbal sound. It is a structural
part of a larger whole—part of life’s total behavioral action and structure, inti-
mately linked to social interaction” (1960: 292).
Although I was Pike’s student, I do not recall reading the nucleation article at
the time, or his ever mentioning it. Perhaps I was influenced in ways | am unaware
of. In any case, the notion of working on a small set of co-occurring structures or
patterns in a social context seems to me to be a means of overcoming the dichoto-
my between Sfard’s acquisition and participation metaphors. It is through partic-

TEACHING GRAMMARING ° 149

See Chapter 3. ipation/use of language in a social context that the system grows, which in turns
allows for greater or more satisfying participation in social contexts. As Atkinson
(2002) has recently put it, it is not just that the cognitive and social interact, it is
that they are mutually constituted. Then, too, Hall and Verplaetse (2000: 8), dis-
cussing the work of A. A. Leontiev (1981), note, “The fundamental core of what
gets learned and the shape it takes are defined by the environment, constituted by
the myriad activities available to us and our particular ways of participating in
them. These dynamic environments shape at the same time both the conditions for
and the consequences of our individual development.”
Ultimately, of course, there is a diminishing rate of return from the practice
of a small set of forms, and it becomes time to work on new structures in anoth-
er context. If the new structures can be linked to the first set in some way, the
system will continue to grow in a radiating network, like the fractal that it is.

WHy (AND How)?

Explicit Teaching of Form, Meaning, and Use
have written several times in this book of the value of harmonizing teaching with
the natural process of learning. However, no matter how hard I work to set up
conditions that enhance the implicit learning of language, I feel that Iwould be doing
my students a disservice if I did not also try to tap their potential to learn from
explicit teaching of form, meaning, and use. In most cases, students do not need to
know about the language—they need to be able to use the language. However, there
is no doubt that some analytically-inclined students are aided by explicit attention
and explanations of form, meaning, and use, be they reasons or rules of thumb, espe-
cially when the reasons/rules are abstract or complex. While these are but means to
an end, they can be effective means, at least for some students. Attending to features
that differ in unexpected ways from the L1, are irregular, infrequent, or non-salient,
differences in the L2 that are likely to create confusion or invoke negative attitudes
among speakers (Harley, 1993) are good candidates for form, meaning, use focused
L2 teaching. Explicit teaching can speed up the learning of these features/patterns by
making them more salient, encouraging students to allocate attention to them and
by narrowing learners’ hypothesis space concerning their behavior.
Thus, in addition to the consciousness-raising activities (Chapter 8), output
production practice (Chapter 9), and feedback strategies (Chapter 10) that I
have already discussed, what follows are some additional explicit grammaring
teaching practices. To illustrate them I will appeal to another metaphor, that of
four different types of camera or camera lens: slow motion, zoom, wide-angle,
and camcorder. I use these metaphors because I believe that an important func-
tion of teaching lies in helping students “learn to look” (Larsen-Freeman,
2000d). I once heard a radio interview of an entomologist. The entomologist
said that there was more insect diversity among beetles in Glacier National Park
than in the tropics. The interviewer expressed disbelief and asked why, then, we
don’t see all the beetles around us, why are we oblivious to beetles? The ento-
mologist replied, “Ah. But you have to learn to see.” I was very taken by this
reply because I do believe that an important function of explicit teaching is help-
ing students learn to look.

150 © TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

 By using slow motion, a teacher can slow the language action down, perhaps
even freeze it. In this way the teacher can call students’ attention to a particular
structure or pattern and its meaning or discourse function. For instance, if I had
decided that students were having problems with particular structures, I might
provide anexplanation and then highlight one or more of them in reading pas-
sages for a while. Or I might tell students the same story several times over time
in a way that highlights critical grammar structures (Adair-Hauck, Donato, and
Cumo-Johansen, 2000). In this way I would transform the language movie into
a series of frames, slowing down the discourse in order to promote the noticing
of the target structure.
There is an output production counterpart. In discussing my concept of gram-
maring, Thornbury (2001: 25) writes about computer-mediated communication
as offering a “rich site for grammaring.” Live chats “allow people to communi-
cate across distances by sending and receiving short written messages to each
other in real time. Because the communication is both informal and immediate,
but slightly delayed by the demands of writing, it has been called a ‘conversation
in slow motion.’” By asking my students to have a written live chat with another
person in the class either on-line that night for homework, or right there in a triad
in the classroom (so that everyone is always responding to someone), the interac-
tion can be slowed down. This should enable students to focus a bit more on the
problematic target structures, assuming that the chat topic I assign elicits their use.
A final example of the effectiveness of slowing language down in order to promote
attention to forms comes from Arabic teaching materials prepared by Mahmoud
Al-Batal at Emory University. Arabic language radio broadcasts are recorded.
Then, they are slowed down to 75% speed. This rate is fast enough to keep the
speech from becoming distorted, but slow enough to be able to promote students’
noticing of particular features of the language code.
In addition to using slow motion, I might use a zoom or telescopic lens. Here, I
would give students another text with the difficult structure(s). Depending on the
nature of the learning challenge, I would invite students to examine the passage dif-
ferently, in order to encourage their abductive reasoning. For a form challenge, I
would suggest that they look at the form of the structure itself, what precedes and
what follows it, and “the company the structure keeps”—what sort of collocations
frequently accompany it. For meaning, I would ask them to see if they could deter-
mine the meaning being expressed by the form. And for use, I would ask them why
they thought that a particular form was being used as opposed to another form that
would convey more or less the same meaning. I might suggest an alternative way
of conveying the same meaning and ask students what constituted the difference
between the two in order to encourage them to become sensitive to the contextual
differences in the use of target structures.
If I were working top-down on a reason instead of a particular linguistic
structure, I might again work with contrasts. For example, if ] were working on
the principle that given information occurs in initial position in a sentence, fol-
lowed by new information, I might describe a scene like the following, or con-
struct one with Cuisenaire rods, and ask students why there is used in the first
two sentences in my description and not in the second two sentences:

TEACHING GRAMMARING ® 151

 There is a town common or plaza in the heart of town. On the common there
are trees, park benches, and a war memorial. Running south from the common
is Main Street. The library is on one side, the town hall on the other.

Together we would become co-observers of this bit of language, with me guid-

ing their looking so that they learn to see that there introduces new information
in the first two sentences, but is not needed in the second two sentences because
the existence of Main Street, a library, and a town hall has been presupposed.
On another day I might ask them to describe a place that is especially meaning-
ful to them, using manipulables such as the Cuisenaire rods to make the abstract
concrete and to give them something to associate with the need to mark given
and new information for their listeners.
At another time I might use a wide-angle lens approach, or what I earlier
called an aerial view. I would want my students to understand that structures
are part of a system, and that they are defined not.only by their inherent mean-
ing but also by their relationship to other members of the system. For example,
just as it is difficult to say where one vowel leaves off and another begins, it is
impossible, in my opinion, to understand what distinguishes the present perfect
from the past tense—a persistent learning challenge for many students of
English—if students do not understand how they relate in the overall system
(Larsen-Freeman, Kuehn, and Haccius, 2002).
Finally, I would want to restore the flow by using a camcorder approach. I
would want my students to encounter target structures once again in the normal
flow of discourse, as they are used in texts. Having students retell a story or an
anecdote that I have told them or using a dictogloss might be a perfect activity
for this step. In the dictogloss, texts are created that contain structures with
which students are having difficulty. The teacher reads the text to students. Then,
either alone or with another student, using a collaborative dictogloss (Todeva,
1998), the students try to reconstruct the original text. This process could be iter-
ative in the sense that the teacher at some point might want to read the text again
so students can check their work and fill in what they are missing. Requiring stu-
dents to aim for an exact replication means that students have to negotiate gram-
mar structures that are difficult for them to produce on their own.
Students have to be helped to go beyond what they know already—it is not just a
process of mapping forms on existing meaning. And for this, they will need feedback
from others. In fact, it is this feedback from teachers and students that keeps their
developing system intelligible, just as the greater speech community keeps its users’
idiolects from evolving along completely different trajectories. While the process of
morphogenesis may be aided by interaction and negotiation of meaning with peers,
to prevent the creation of a classroom dialect, there should also be opportunity for
interaction with, and feedback from, more proficient users of the language.

Engagement
No matter what type of activity is designed, student engagement is essential.
Earlier I stated that I did not think it was important for students to be entertained,
but I did think it was important for them to be engaged. Unmotivated learners will
learn despite themselves when they are engaged, and the learning of motivated and

152 © TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

 unmotivated students alike will be enhanced when they are able to interact in a
way that is meaningful to them. Engaged learners are the ones who are most like-
ly to continue with their language study, thereby achieving higher levels of profi-
ciency. As McIntyre and Clement (2002) put it, language learners’ willingness to
communicate should be a fundamental goal of language instruction. Engagement
does not merely increase the quantity of language or the time spent on task, it
increases the quality of the production as well (D6rnyei, 2002).
These days, engaging activities often take the form of tasks. Some advocates
of task-based approaches to language pedagogy have proposed the creation of
tasks that by their nature require that particular structures be used (Nunan,
1989). Others find this unnecessary. However, one potential advantage of cre-
ating tasks that require the use of certain structures is that task-essential use can
provide practice of structures that are rarely found in other communicative
activities. As we found out with Grammar Dimensions, though, and as Loschky
and Bley-Vroman (1993) acknowledge, creating tasks where certain structures
must be used not for comprehension, but for production, is very difficult.
Indeed, Widdowson pointed out some years ago the difficulty of reconciling the
exactness of linguistic analysis with the open-endedness of communication
(Widdowson, 1979: 243 cited in Rutherford, 1987: 32).
It is also difficult to set up strict criteria for engagement, as what is boring for
the teacher is not necessarily so for students (and vice versa). And since engage-
ment presumably differs from one group of students to the next, what works
with certain students one term might not work with a different group at anoth-
er time. Thus there are no absolute criteria I can offer in this regard, although I
have long promoted Stevick’s concept of technemes to my teacher interns.
Stevick (1959) wrote about technemes and the rhythm of class activity in 1959.
Although some of the examples are out of date, the underlying principle remains
sound. Stevick maintains—correctly, I think—that a teacher need not always
turn to a completely new activity to restore student engagement. Instead, alter-
ing a technique a little bit sometimes re-engages students in the practice that
they need. For example, if their attention appears to be waning, changing the
activity from whole class to pair work, or from writing to speaking, or adjust-
ing any one of the grading parameters that I listed at the end of Chapter 9, may
be enough to restore engagement. Of course, this means that once again teach-
ers need to be responsive to students, reading and responding to their energy.

Tools of Inquiry
Even if grammar were a set of finite, static rules, we simply do not have enough
time to teach it all. We must help students learn how to learn—to become our
partners in the teaching/learning process. Now, the usual response to such
observations is to discuss learning strategies. While I have nothing against learn-
ing strategies, their use is not what I wish to discuss here. Instead, my message
should be obvious, given the stance that I have adopted in this book. In order
to help students learn how to learn grammar, I believe that we must work to
_. change what ‘students think grammar is. This, in turn, requires that they be
given tools of inquiry. Here is what I have done.

TEACHING GRAMMARING @ 153

 1. LTve given students the pie chart with the three wedges corresponding
to the three dimensions of grammar and with the wh-questions in
each wedge. I’ve helped them learn to use the questions to analyze
target structures.
2.. I’ve introduced students to the linguistic principle that no two forms
will have the same meaning and the same use. I have co-constructed
with students reasons for why things are the way they are.
3. ve taught students to learn to look. I’ve given them time in class to
report what they have observed about language use from that day’s
activities. At times, I’ve presented them with data and asked them
what they see. In a second language context, I’ve given them assign-
ments to bring to class some observation that they have made con-
cerning language use outside the class.
4. I’ve encouraged them to formulate hypotheses and think of ways
that they might be able to test them; encouraged them to experiment
and to play with language patterns.
5. ve encouraged them to see that mistakes they make are “gifts” to
them and to class members (S. Gattegno, personal communication).
The teacher’s attitude toward mistakes frees students to make bolder
and more systematic explorations of how the new language functions.
6. I’ve been mindful of the need for learner security. Students often ask
for rules—rules are their security blanket. However, as much as pos-
sible, I have avoided the “one-right-answer” syndrome.
7. Ihave shown students that grammar can be fun, that it can be a puz-
zle to figure out. Teachers’ attitudes make a big difference. I have culti-
vated an attitude of inquiry and have become a co-learner along with
my students. Of course, this is not feigned. I am‘genuinely interested in
language and can learn much from my students’ observations.
~
To WHOM?
have earlier made the point that we are not teaching language, rather, we are
teaching students. From age-related language learner research it is clear that
postpubescent learners need, or at least benefit from, instruction in order to
attain levels that younger learners come to naturally. But even young learners
gain from grammar instruction of the right sort (Cameron, 2001). Giving young
learners appropriate instruction accelerates learning in children as it does in
adults. Of course, the type of grammar instruction needs to take into account
age differences, but many of the activities that I have discussed here, including
games and role plays, tasks and communicative activities, stories and dic-
toglosses would serve children’s learning equally well.
I once observed a very skillful first grade teacher in a bilingual school in
Mexico. Every day she would bring the children to the front of the class where
they would read a letter she had written to them on the blackboard. The letter
told them what they would be doing that day. It also contained errors that she
had observed the students making. Their job was to find the “teacher’s mis-

154 © TEACHING LANGUAGE: FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

takes” and to correct them. The children loved doing this; they may or may not
have known that what they were actually doing was working on aspects of the
target language that were causing them difficulty.
It is also clear from language learner research, and from any teacher’s observa- See Breen’s
tions, that there are individual differences among students that will also have to (2001) book for
be taken into account. Perhaps the most oft-discussed individual difference trait more information
that has relevance for grammaring is the contrast between data gatherers and rule on these.
formers, although clearly there are other individual differences that are germane.
Then, of course, every teacher, as we were reminded most graphically by
Maggie Lambert at the beginning of this chapter, needs to be mindful of stu-
dents’ affect. Since some students have a grammar phobia, such sensitivity may
be all the more necessary.

A RELATIONSHIP, NOT A RECORD

With all this talk of being mindful of students’ affect and my earlier metaphor
of viewing and lenses (slow it down, zoom in on it, use a wide-angle lens, use a
camcorder to speed it up), I would like to make one final point by way of con-
clusion. On one occasion several years ago I had the good fortune of watching
local puppeteer Eric Bass perform a series of vignettes. At the conclusion of the
performance, in the intimate setting of a small theater, Eric Bass invited ques-
tions from the audience. One of the questions from an admirer was actually a
suggestion. The audience member asked if the puppeteer had ever considered
videotaping his performances. In that way, more people would be able to enjoy
his artistry. I will never forget Bass’ reply. He said that while he was not against
videotaping the performance, such a tape would be only a record, not a rela-
tionship, and it was a relationship that he strove to create with us, his audience.
As with performances, good teaching depends on a teacher’s ability to create
a positive, trusting relationship with his or her students. No matter how well
versed in grammaring teachers are, absent a relationship with their students,
they will fail. By writing in the personal genre of this series, I hope that I have
begun something of a relationship with you, the reader. What I have tried to
offer here is not a prescription for institutional or individual actions, but rather
some ideas that have fascinated me. I have offered them with the hope that you
may find them useful to interact with and perhaps be influenced by in pursuit
of your own professional growth and in your commitment to your students’
learning. Happy Grammaring!

TEACHING GRAMMARING e 155

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Kathleen M. Bailey Patrick R. Moran
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Learning New Languages: Teaching ESL K-12:

A Guide to Second Views from the Classroom
Language Acquisition Helene Becker
Tom Scovel Else Hamayan
0-8384-6677-X 0-8384-7901-4
 Teaching Language
FROM GRAMMAR TO GRAMMARING

Diane Larsen-Freeman

A must-read for every language teaching professional, Teaching Language: From

Grammar to Grammaring explores the regular, predictable elements of language as
well as the potential creativity of its underlying system. By combining a wide range
of view points with her own personal experiences and studies, Diane Larsen-Freeman
challenges the static descriptive ideas of grammar, based on rules, and promotes
the more fluid and dynamic notions of reason-driven grammaring, which she defines
as “the ability to use grammar structures accurately, meaningfully, and appropriately.”
The reader is left not with an encyclopedic set of definitions, but rather with a
deeper understanding of the organic nature of language and its acquisition, and
a honed set of tools with which to approach language in language teaching.

TeacherSource is an authoritative professional By focusing on three interdependent perspectives,

series for teacher training courses, those interested TeacherSource uniquely blends three books into one:
in the study of language, and current practitioners
* © Teacher's Voices provide teachers with opportu-
involved in ongoing study. Recognizing that teachers
nities to explore and know about teaching
refine their craft more by reflecting on their own
learning and teaching experience than by acquiring e Frameworks help teachers understand the
theoretical knowledge about teaching, each practical applications of recent theoretical
TeacherSource title offers pre- and in-service research on teachers and teaching
teachers provocative insights into authentic e Investigations encourage teachers to participate
classroom experiences, opportunities to debate in a variety of classroom-based tasks as they
theoretical issues, and inquiry-based activities to investigate their own teaching
examine their own teaching practices.
Used independently or in combination, the volumes
in the series are the ultimate TeacherSource.

ISBN-13: 978-0-8384-6675-9
ISBN-10: 0-8384-6675-3
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