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WHEN I consider the transition students face between intermediate and advanced study of foreign languages, literatures, and cultures, several professional experience lead me to believe that literature has been unjustly divided from language:
Sitting at the back of two different intermediate French classes, I observe two graduate-student teaching assistants—and their undergraduate students. One instructor regales students with a Ronsard poem in the original sixteenth-century version, complete with Renaissance spelling and verb forms; the other delivers a ten-minute French lecture on Baudelaire and symbolism. In each class, one student in front answers several of the teacher's questions and asks one or two more; the students sitting near me in the back are doodling, reading their chemistry textbooks, or falling asleep.
At a conference, a successful applicant for a National Endowment for the Humanities grant whispers, “Yes, we did help the participating teachers improve their language skills—but we had to tell the NEH we were discussing literature all the time.”
In a 1986 survey, Richard V. Teschner found that, on average, 59% of United States foreign language program supervisors in French, German, and Spanish had completed their doctoral work with a specialization in literature; German had the highest percentage, with 74% of program supervisors specializing in literature (29).
During a discussion of conversation and composition courses at a faculty meeting in a typical department of language and literature, one teacher comments, “I'm not sure we ought to count that course toward the major; this is after all, a department of literature.”
Nationwide, universities call for setting up language centers, outside departments, where language specialists would work together. At Johns Hopkins University, the National Foreign Language Center, founded by a sociologist, now exists (Lambert; Jacobson). How do we reconcile this reality with the fact that in the United States most languages are currently taught through entities that label themselves departments of language and literature?
Visualizing these events together, I see language and literature as allegorical figures caught up in some arcane ritualistic dance, in which it is hard to determine who's partnering whom; and I return to a question close to the hearts of many of us who have literary training and inclinations as well as day-to-day language classes and enthusiasms: Why do language and literature often seem at odds with each other, though closely bound together? We see many examples of this conflict, of what we might call, without exaggeration, mutual hostility. Colleagues say, “Oh, I never go to that conference; all they talk about there is language ” or “That conference is boring; it's all about literature. ” Literary faculty members complain that colleagues in charge of preceding courses in a sequence, normally language courses, have “not prepared students to write satisfactorily,” meaning “students make too many grammatical mistakes.” College teachers sometimes argue that high school teachers are “only” language teachers who cannot present literature. Graduate-student teaching assistants vie with one another to teach the “prestigious” Introduction to Literature course. Advanced undergraduate students say they are through with language courses and now want to read literature; other students vocally avoid literature courses, claiming a desire for studying “real” language.
We must investigate and combat the subtle (and usually subconscious) assumptions that underlie such attitudes, so that foreign language, literature, and culture can work in American education in the mutually supportive network in which they actually exist. Although I focus on the dichotomy that has been created between language and literature, some civilization specialists may perceive an equally great chasm gaping between their work and that of language and literature specialists. Still, second-language-acquisition theorists recognize the vital role of culture in language; literary specialists regularly teach literary works through an understanding of cultural perspectives. Because triangulating the issue would result in a remarkably complex essay, I prefer to analyze the sources of the traditional language-literature conflict.
These mutually antagonistic attitudes reflect the apparent belief of many literary professors that their students should arrive in class with language proficiency as standard equipment—with proficiency defined as fluent, accurate analytical writing. Some of these professors may well have come with such standard equipment, having had a bilingual childhood or the opportunity to live in another country. Most are good to excellent language learners, or they would not have chosen this profession. How many students major in a subject in which they earn Cs? How many people of average enthusiasms and skills pursue graduate study—and complete it? Some teachers speak the target language as natives; if they improved their English in an immersion experience in the United States or Great Britain, they may not remember how to learn a language in a classroom setting. In fact, recalling language-learner struggles is difficult when one travels abroad and maintains language facility, as do nearly all foreign language faculty members at major colleges and universities. Hence, for many advanced-level teachers and scholars, language rather easily becomes a given, a base for literary analysis.
Yet tests, research studies, and personal experience confirm that mastering a language is an ongoing phenomenon. Definitive data exists for speaking proficiency: graduating American language majors taking the ACTFL oral-proficiency test in relatively “easy” languages like Spanish and French normally speak at only a high intermediate or advanced level (“ACTFL Proficiency”; Magnan 435). They cannot support their opinions in the foreign language and may not consistently communicate correctly in past or future tenses. The discrepancy between the amount of time for Foreign Service Institute needs to train highly motivated adults to learn a language in an immersion environment and the time available in college is all too familiar: 480 FSI hours to reach advanced oral proficiency in French versus 224 hours in a three-year college language sequence (Omaggio 21). The college student takes fewer than half as many hours while simultaneously studying three or four other subjects. And we have not yet considered motivation and language-learning ability. Therefore, how can we expect proficient language use from students after they complete their “last” language course, whether an advanced-placement language course or a 300- or 400-level college course? We need to be more realistic. ACTFL trainers point out that learners must make a tremendous leap to move from advanced plus to superior in speaking ability and that this transition usually takes place in an immersion environment. Students have little hope of improving their language skills in our educational system if we assume that they have finished their language studies after any particular course.
Let's also think about this language-proficiency issue on a more personal level. As foreign language professionals, we have completed a decade or more of specialized training, but when do we ever learn all the vocabulary we might need? Do we always pronounce correctly the words we do know? Don't we listen to and imitate native speakers' intonation patterns because we know ours need help? Do we never check subtitles in foreign films? Even in our first languages, when do we learn to write perfectly? Clearly, language proficiency is a moving target. Compared with the average undergraduate student, we language professionals have a special interest in constantly improving our skills and probably have superior language-learning ability, yet we still normally never reach our goals. Why don't we consciously recognize the reality of continuous language development and help our students progress—in whatever type of course they choose?
A second prevailing assumption, a corollary to the belief that students should come equipped with language skills, is the doctrine that language serves as a mere tool without which literary appreciation cannot go forward. The problem is not the designation of language as a tool—after all, without tools, we can't build houses or publish books—but the attitude that tools are perforce inferior and subordinate to the products they construct. Not only does this perspective fly in the face of intellectual disciplines such as linguistics and second-language acquisition, It strikes at the very foundation of literature. Obviously, neither literature nor literary appreciation could exist without language. Basic to communication, language cannot be viewed as subsidiary. Without language, we would have no onomatopoeia, no alliteration, no rhyme, no metaphors, only the rhythm of music, only symbols without words. Moreover, the sounds, rhythm, and beauty of language often initially prompt one to recognize that a piece of writing is more than communication alone. Pleasing rhymes may first draw a reader to poetry—the charm, for instance, of Poe's “tintinnabulation of the bells”—and the mental images provoked by vibrant character descriptions may intrigue a reader to further analysis: who can ignore a Mr. Micawber or a Huck Finn?
One of the most provocative and productive channels of literary analysis is linguistic. Consider the effects of a sentence from Absalom, Absalom , in which Faulkner juxtaposes contradictory words and piles adjective on adjective without benefit of commas: “There would be the dim coffin-smelling loom sweet and oversweet with the twice-bloomed wistaria [sic] against the outer wall by the savage quiet September sun impacted distilled and hyperdistilled …” (4). We are struck by the “savage quiet sun,” and we struggle to untangle the undivided list “impacted distilled and hyperdistilled.” Faulkner's literature grows from language; without a knowledge of standard word order and the functions of adjectives, readers could not notice this usage and wonder about it. By analyzing literary applications, learners enhance their understanding of language. Certainly, this give-and-take both profits from and intensifies the natural interdependence of language and literature.
The myth that language is only a tool further implies that language teaching is beneath faculty members, a service job relegated to graduate-student teaching assistants at large institutions. Of course, most of these graduate students are studying to undertake “prestigious” literary criticism and teaching; they are professors in the making, ironically asked to teach a very difficult and different discipline, a discipline many of their faculty advisers have not encountered in years, if not decades. For the professional development of our graduate students—the future of our profession—as well as for the motivation of our undergraduates, we must break down this barrier between language and literature. Graduate students who plan to teach at institutions of higher education need apprentice training and experience in teaching the types of literature and civilization they will encounter as assistant professors. Why not expand our assistantships to include opportunities for TAs to assist faculty mentors in teaching advanced courses while encouraging faculty members to spend an occasional semester teaching language? Working directly with students struggling to master relative pronouns gives a teacher much more reasonable expectations vis-à-vis language proficiency.
A final assumption rampant in our profession, a corollary to the notion that literature is preeminent, asserts that literary appreciation is the primary motive for studying a foreign language. This long-entrenched view of literary study as the ultimate good and the highest intellectual endeavor seems to have intensified in response to growing enrollments in business French, German, and Spanish and increasing interest in language options for majors. This attitude does not lead to a healthy competition for students or a broadening of perspective and offerings but to narrowness and antagonism. Instead of encouraging foreign language professionals by esteeming language study, the awakening of business and industry to the value of foreign languages seems to have frightened many purely literary specialists. Yet why not take advantage of this interest? Well-educated German business executives know something of their literary heritage. Why shouldn't our American international business executives be able to discuss it with them? American international economic viability depends in great measure on our ability to communicate with, for instance, Japanese or Soviet managers in a culturally comfortable way, to acknowledge their need for an indirect approach to a contract or for strict adherence to the etiquette of seniority. As specialists in language and literature, we know that the study of literature opens many cultural vistas. So why be defensive? Why can't we approach literature, culture, and language together, recognizing them as naturally intertwined?
The strength of the whole foreign language experience depends on the interconnectedness of all three elements: without the key of language, we cannot understand a civilization and its literature, since they express themselves by means of language. Inversely, language can be incomprehensible without the context provided by culture and literature. Unless each element is taught well, deficiencies must arise not just in one but in all three. The teaching methods are also comparable: inductive presentation of elementary grammar follows a pattern not unlike the apparently sporadic questioning that guides students to define central themes of a novel. Analyzing a nonfiction text for cultural bias differs little from interpreting literary points of view and the perspectives resulting from them. Mine is, then, a clarion call for parity among language, literary, and cultural studies. If we do not integrate civilization, literature, and language in a concerted way, we will get only a veneer of language, literary, or cultural appreciation.
Those are the problems; what are the solutions? How do we alter deeply entrenched attitudes? Such complex questions necessitate diverse answers. We can appeal to the academic intellectual on the logical grounds that literature cannot survive without language and that skills in literary analysis and language proficiency normally develop concurrently and interdependently. Alternatively, we can appeal to the pragmatic scholar-teacher on the basis of self-preservation. Although foreign language study in America is now riding on a fairly high wave of acceptance, it has not always done so and perhaps will not continue to do so—unless we make language study more pertinent to the American public and to our legislators by offering numerous reasons for its existence.
Finally, we can change attitudes through hands-on involvement, that is, by acknowledging and implementing the interconnections of language and literature. Beginning in elementary and secondary schools and continuing through postsecondary institutions, we need to articulate a coherent curriculum that integrates language, literature, and culture from the elementary through the most advanced levels of study (see also Hoffmann and James; James). Specifically, we must define three levels that normally exist in a language and literature department or program: first, the elementary level, where students focus on learning vocabulary, pronunciation, grammar, and the like—the language basics; second, a transitional level, where the emphasis moves from language to literature and culture, usually and third-year college courses; third, the advanced level, where students concentrate on literary and cultural texts and history.
At the elementary level, literature as well as contemporary cultural realia should enter the curriculum early, offering students a variety of interesting approachable material without subjecting them to lectures on Baudelaire and symbolism. As teachers, we use stories, magazine articles, poems, short plays, and advertisements to give students insights into the ways people in the target countries view life and themselves. But we must focus first on comprehension, later on analysis. Although beginning students may not have the language skills to analyze texts closely, we can and should develop their critical thinking skills: for instance, they can analyze some word meanings from context, compare what they already know about the world with what they are learning, and make inferences.
The transitional phase will be truly transitional if we frankly acknowledge where these students are coming from and where they are heading. For example, we must continue to verify comprehension before analysis; students int heir fifth year of high school or third year of college language study are not proficient language users. But analysis must certainly follow comprehension if these students are to prepare themselves for more profound literary and cultural studies. Instead of entering literary analysis by defining conceptual terms such as symbol, metaphor , and irony , the teacher must first provoke readers to recognize and analyze what they find striking and remarkable in the text. Literary terms then help label concepts already understood and explained, and literary criticism is held in abeyance. Comprehension occurs before analysis when we compare the way an author presents people and events with the way we view them. For example, Edgar Allan Poe's black cat is hardly a typical family pet; its role as symbol grows from its unnatural rapport with its master.
In this phase, students must also learn to monitor their language use. Instructors who teach peer-editing techniques (see Gaudiani) offer students another skill they can use independently, and these students arrive in advanced courses able to develop with little teacher input. Finally, transitional-course instructors need to expand students' perspectives by balancing traditional literary readings with contemporary insights into the target culture. The transitional phase is a difficult time of passage; students demonstrate widely varying language skills and preparation in literature, reflecting their personal interests and backgrounds. Some still struggle with basic forms and meanings; others read easily but may be less adept at understanding spoken language. These learners are, moreover, normally attempting the leap from high intermediate to advanced levels of speaking proficiency, learning to be understood and accepted by nonsympathetic native speakers.
Of course, even after a successful transitional phase, students are not fully proficient language users; thus, as instructors of literature and civilization courses, we must cultivate language use while discussing texts and authors. We can integrate language with relatively little effort, especially in an articulated program in which transitional-level instructors set patterns of self-correction. To polish language skills, students need feedback: for example, the advanced-level teacher correcting essays can swiftly note for each student two or three repeated or offensive errors to be eliminated in the future (Chastain). Language becomes a viable part of the course when students can demonstrate learning and skills in a variety of ways (short-answer quizzes, essay exams, short and long papers) and when teachers grade language quality as well as knowledge and analysis, remembering that we cannot legitimately expect perfection. Students need frequent opportunities to speak the target language, even when much of the course is lecture: small-group discussions, discussion sections, short student presentations Unmixed lecture can be a huge mistake at an undergraduate level, for language learning has to be participatory.
These few ideas are general enough, I hope, to refer to a number of specific situations. The key to success in this endeavor is obvious: as professionals specializing in different aspects of language, culture, and literary study, we must talk to one another, articulating our programs not only in individual departments but across institutions, from the earliest language study to the most advanced literary pursuits. This goal seems large, but certainly language and literature can harmonize in our curricula if we work toward integration. As we have seen, our all too often disjointed endeavors have grown out of assumptions based on narrow, specialized views of what constitutes foreign language study. Advocates of both language and literature need to broaden their perspectives and see that, at the most basic level, both language and literature are meaning, the basis for communication. Often enough research specialization drives wedges between colleagues, and teaching specialization hands students pieces of the puzzle of learning without showing them its framework or dimensions. Too often specialization spells segregation. We must resolve to place the common good above the individual's desire and to battle ignorance, distrust, and narrowness of mind. Only in this spirit can we reunify literature and culture and language and make them jointly strong.
The author is Director of the Teaching Resource Center and Associate Professor of French at the University of Virginia. This text was presented as the keynote address at the colloquium Beyond the Fundamentals, 12–14 October 1989, at Washington and Lee University.
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Chastain, Kenneth. Toward a Philosophy of Second-Language Learning and Teaching. Boston: Heinle, 1980.
Faulkner, William Absalom, Absalom. New York: Random, 1936.
Gaudiani, Claire. Teaching Writing in the Foreign Language Curriculum. Language in Education: Theory and Practice 43. Washington: Center for Applied Ling, 1981.
Hoffmann, Ernst Fedor, and Dorothy James. “Toward the integration of Foreign Language and Literature Teaching at All Levels of the College Curriculum.” ADFL Bulletin 18.1 (1986): 29–33. [Show Article]
Jacobson, Robert L. “Teachers' Organizations Assail Planning for National Foreign Language Center.” Modern Language Journal 71 (1987): 171–73.
James, Dorothy. “Re-shaping the ‘College-level’ Curriculum.” Shaping the Future: Challenges and Opportunities. Ed. Helen S. Lepke. Middlebury: Northeast Conference, 1989. 79–110.
Lambert, Richard D. “The Case for a National Foreign Language Center: An Editorial.” Modern Language Journal 71 (1987): 1–11.
Magnan. Sally Sieloff. “Assessing Speaking Proficiency in the Undergraduate Curriculum: Data from French.” Foreign Language Annals 19 (1986): 429–38.
Omaggio, Alice. Teaching Language in Context: Proficiency-Oriented Instruction. Boston: Heinle, 1986.
Teschner, Richard V. “A Profile of the Specialization and Expertise of Lower Division Foreign Language Program Directors in American Universities.” Modern Language Journal 71 (1987): 28–35.
© 1991 by the Association of Departments of Foreign Languages. All Rights Reserved.
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