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MY CHARGE in preparing this paper was “to present [my] overview of the ongoing differences within the field with respect to goals and approaches for foreign language education, and identify what [I] see as intellectual and systematic obstacles to achieving consensus on articulation in foreign language education.” This double assignment has made me uneasy. I am not sure that “achieving consensus” is the proper phrase for what we should be doing in foreign language education. Consensus can sometimes be the death of intellectual inquiry; it can be a major obstacle to educational change. Furthermore, I do not share the opinion that intellectual and systemic differences are undesirable “obstacles” to the articulation we seek between the different sectors of the educational system. Rather, they might be viewed as opportunities for an ongoing dialogue that respects differences instead of trying to erase them.
In this paper, I attempt to describe, not decry the ongoing differences in the field. I propose to situate the different discourse communities that have an interest in foreign language education, as well as the intellectual and systemic contexts that provide the raison d'être for these differences. As I articulate these various subject positions, I remain aware of my own. My perspective is that of a United States citizen, born in France and educated in the French educational system, then professionally active in American higher education. My position is therefore that of both an insider and an outsider to American education. It is my hope that this double perspective will perhaps facilitate an intellectual dialogue within a field that has been characterized up to now by its missionary rhetoric and its factional rivalries.
It is worth noting, because it is so unlike what happens in other industrialized countries, that foreign language education in the United States is driven mostly by the needs of the job market, the perceived demands of international competition, the competition for power and prestige among educational institutions, and the competition for funds from public and private agencies. The enormous variety of goals and approaches in foreign language education is typical of a unique educational pluralism or laissez-faire that is one more facet of American exceptionalism. It has both advantages and disadvantages.
Because foreign languages have traditionally had low priority on the national educational agenda, competition for visibility and funds is more acute in this field than in others. This competition has acted as an incentive to develop some of the most innovative pedagogies and imaginative modes of delivery, as well as skills that are of immediate relevance to society. But also because of the staunch monolingualist ideology of this competitive spirit, and because of an imported academic prejudice that favors literary studies over language studies, foreign language education has had to stay close to the sources of political power for support and funding; and this situation, in turn, has singularly affected educational discourse about goals and approaches in the field.
Before I examine the fundamentally different ways of talking about foreign language education in this country, let me review the historical axes along which these differences are played out.
Different traditions can account for the different ways scholars in the same department or in the same school talk about foreign language education. Let us take three examples.
Example 1: In French and German departments, the Bildungs tradition of the European elite, represented by European-born, usually native-speaking literature professors, coexists willy-nilly with the more pragmatic tradition of undergraduate mass education represented by American-born scholars and language teachers. In many departments of modern languages, the French tradition of explication de textes and its attention to form coexists without much cross-fertilization with the German tradition of Besinnungsaufsätze and its attention to ideas. Educational pluralism here means the free juxtaposition of educational goals, not cross-cultural dialogue.
Example 2: The ESL pedagogic tradition, with its strong functional bent, its powerful political and financial backing (Phillipson), and its link to second language acquisition research, is seen either as a strong inspiration or as a strong rival by foreign language researchers, who are anxious to stake their own territory and assert their own claim to legitimacy in the overwhelmingly Anglocentric American university system. Many educators who transfer ESL pedagogy to foreign language classrooms often import uncritically a certain Anglo-Saxon professionalism into fields that do not follow an Anglo-Saxon intellectual tradition.
Example 3: In language pedagogy in Deutsch als Fremdsprache (DaF) and Français langue étrangère (FLe) traditions compete both with American German and French textbooks and with ESL professional practices for the favors of American language teachers. German teachers in the United States, for example, have a double allegiance to both Goethe Institute pedagogical philosophy and practices, and to American proficiency-oriented pedagogy. The two have very different historical origins. The hermeneutic strand that runs through many of the DaF materials on teaching German as a second language and the language games particularly favored by FLe are often totally foreign to American students (Kramsch, “Cultural Discourse”). And yet these traditions represent the discourse of the cultures whose language the students are learning.
Differences among regional cultures play a subtle but no less decisive role in the choice of textbooks and the hiring of teachers in American foreign language education. For example, every teacher can intuitively feel whether a textbook is an East Coast, a Midwest, or a West Coast text—not only because of the pictures and the layout but because of the choice of topics and the general style of presentation. Similarly, departments base their hiring decisions to a much greater degree on compatibilities of style, ways of talking, and reasoning between members of a department and candidates for a job than they usually admit.
As happens in all areas of the humanities, the social class of students or teachers can be a strong source of disagreement about the value of foreign language study. Some view foreign language study as the acquisition of a mental discipline, a cultural broadening of the mind, a familiarization with other civilizations that provides students the benefits of a traditional liberal arts education originally associated with the middle class. Others view it as an asset in the competition for jobs, an opportunity chip in the “global marketplace” that provides students the benefits of a vocational education originally associated with the working class. The mobility of American society may have blurred certain more blatant indicators of class, but everyone recognizes differences in social origins, even though it is not as politically correct to talk about them as it is to talk about ethnic or gender differences.
The sometimes virulent controversies over language-teaching methods (e.g., over the proficiency movement in the eighties) have to be viewed within the larger current debates over literacy, its nature, and its role in American education. On the one hand, we have the gatekeepers of the academy, for whom knowledge is essentially written knowledge stored in texts that can be neatly listed on syllabi and reading lists, in the rules of grammar and the standard vocabulary lists of written French or Italian. All this written, literate knowledge can be easily tested on pencil-and-paper tests. It is also easy to control the quality of delivery and transmission of such knowledge, for the evaluation and rewards of faculty members are also based on written texts that are published in the right presses and reviewed in the right professional journals. On the other hand, the wave of orality that has swept foreign language education in the last fifteen years cannot but clash with the traditional literate emphasis of academia. Establishing spoken language and conversational competence as central to foreign language study constitutes a direct challenge to the exclusive monopoly of essayist literacy. When other, more oral, more vernacular forms of language use receive academic legitimation, quality control becomes more difficult, as the difference between street learning and academic learning is blurred. Schools don't like to give academic credit for knowledge that could as well have been learned on the street or in the home.
But another aspect of this debate is worth mentioning. The emphasis on speaking and acting rather than on writing and talking about writing potentially enacts the same politically conservative agenda as did the bards of yesteryear. Action, if not followed by reflection, ensures socialization and integration into the workforce but cannot bring about social change. All liberation movements in Latin America have insisted that people learn to read and write, not how to talk better.
Just as we see differences in the value attached to various types of literacy, we also observe widespread differences in foreign language educators' modes of thought and ways of reasoning—for some, more concrete and practical, for others, more abstract and theoretical. For instance, the same language-teaching problem will be addressed differently by colleagues writing for the Foreign Language Annals , the ADFL Bulletin , or Profession . Differences in learning traditions can also make articulation between institutions difficult: some schools have a tradition of learning by doing (e.g., the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, whose motto is “mens et manus,” or schools like Deep Springs College that offer a rounded education), others are proud of their more mental—one could say “academic” or “rabbinical”—approach to the transmission of knowledge (e.g., the University of Chicago or schools like the Montgomery County schools in Washington and the Commonwealth school in Boston).
Differences in research methods, in second language acquisition and foreign language education research on the one hand, literary and cultural criticism on the other, create special difficulties for department chairs in evaluating the achievements of second language researchers versus those of literature scholars for promotion and tenure. For example, good second language acquisition research is empirically based; it is valued for the rigor of its research methodology, the integrity of its data collection and its readings of the data, the soundness of its measurements, the well-foundedness of its claims. By contrast, good literary research is valued for the richness of its textual interpretations, for its verbal eloquence, its theoretical sophistication, its broad erudition. Each field has its own discourse that is often viewed by the other as inferior simply because it is different. This situation can make articulation between language and literature programs in the same department inordinately difficult.
As we know, the same prejudices abound in this country between schools of education and humanities departments; they hinder dialogue between foreign language educators and their colleagues working on similar issues in language and literacy programs for immigrants and speakers of languages other than English.
Politics is an axis of difference that is not talked about much, but, yes, the rifts among foreign language educators are often political. This phenomenon is nowhere more apparent than in the way foreign language textbooks depict the target culture: conservative, liberal, left-wing, and Marxist ideologies, with regard to both American culture and the target culture, are reflected in dialogues, grammatical exercises, and multiple-choice answers on reading selections, as they are in turns at talk in the discourse of the classroom (Kramsch, “Foreign Language Textbooks' Construction”).
The seven fundamental differences I have just mentioned—differences in educational tradition, geographical setting, social class, views on literacy, intellectual style, research tradition, and political leanings—are played out between and within the various professional foreign language organizations (e.g., ACTFL, MLA, TESOL, AAAL), which are each positioned at different points along the axes of difference I have just mentioned. It is these historically determined social conditions that serve as the backdrop for the different ways of talking about goals and approaches in language teaching—different discourses—to which I now turn.
The closer we are to taxpayers, parents, communities, local employers, big corporations, and local politicians, the more foreign language educators talk about “establishing goals and objectives,” “setting priorities,” “setting up procedures,” “evaluating progress,” “determining outcomes” (e.g., ACTFL National Standards 1994). Such phrases echo the discourse of organizational management, the idiom of American business and industry. That type of discourse shows evidence of efficiency and utility and measurable evidence of success. It often uses for maximum political effect on the American public a quasi-religious missionary tone (e.g., the ACTFL “We Believe…” statement [ACTFL 7]) or recycles from Department of Education or NEH grant application forms those phrases that echo the current political rhetoric such as “working together toward a common goal,” “finding a common ground,” and “resolving differences.”
Note that this is not the way scholars in the social sciences or the humanities talk about goals in language education. Their discourse is concerned with “fostering critical reflection,” “demystifying ideologies,” “empowering students,” “acquiring voice,” and “developing an awareness of self and other” (e.g., Giroux and McLaren; Aronowitz and Giroux; Fairclough, Language and Critical Language Awareness ). Theirs is the discourse of critical pedagogy, cultural criticism, and postmodern thought. It shows evidence of social and political consciousness—what Paulo Freire calls “conscientizacão.” It stresses the importance of using theory to an understanding of concrete realities.
This kind of discourse should not be confused with the discourse of some hermeneutically oriented scholars on the teaching of German as a foreign language, for example. These philosophically inclined educators are interested in “the languageness of language” ( die Sprachlichkeit der Sprache ), the “ontological experience” of acquiring or losing another tongue, and the deep “identity” crisis that this experience may entail (Seeba; Krusche). Theirs is the discourse of metaphysics, literary criticism, and—to be honest—sometimes obfuscation.
We can contrast both the corporate discourse and the critical discourse with the discourse of teachers and researchers in second language acquisition and psycholinguistics. They write about describing learners' “interlanguage development” and about observing the way students “process input,” “make input comprehensible,” and “negotiate meaning” and the way they use or do not use “good learning strategies” (e.g., Selinker; Van Patten; Long, “Native Speaker/Non-native Speaker Conversation”; Pica, Doughty, and Young; Breen and Candlin; Rubin; Oxford). This way of talking about language learning is the discourse of linguistic observation and experimentation. It shows evidence of scientific objectivity and stresses the importance of empirical research to understand how human beings actually learn foreign languages.
Finally, contrast these discourses with that of methodologists and teacher trainers. They are likely to talk about ways of “integrating skills,” “contextualizing activities,” stating pedagogical “objectives,” “procedures,” and means of evaluating the “outcomes.” This is the discourse of instructional learning in institutional settings. It focuses on professional expertise and instructional management and control (e.g., Omaggio).
Note that these forms of discourse are not merely different means of talking about the same thing. Different ways with words create different ways of viewing the world to which these words refer, ways that bear the mark of different institutional histories and individual trajectories. These differences cannot be “resolved” through talk; they can only be acknowledged and respected for what they are.
As I mentioned above, the discourse of various pedagogical “methods” or “approaches” is determined to a large degree by the previous discourses they are trying to counteract. I present two examples.
Example 1: The discourse of proficiency/performance. The proficiency approach called national attention to the importance of oral communication in all languages, even in the less commonly taught ones and in the ones with strong literary traditions. At many elementary and secondary public institutions, the term proficiency , defined as “the attainment of a usable level of skill” (Liskin-Gasparro 13), had a tremendous effect because it made foreign language education more relevant to taxpayers' needs for concrete action and practical gains (as I discuss above). The term usable was important as it clearly identified the proficiency movement against other, less pragmatically oriented, more contemplative (ergo useless?) methodologies. The passions it unleashed were to a large extent due to that subtext and to the clash of these incompatible metaphors. Defined as the “mastery of a subject” (Liskin-Gasparro 13) or the ability to “perform a given art or skill … with expert correctness and facility” (Omaggio 2), proficiency was also familiar to those professional educators who had been trained in the practice of “mastery learning.” It therefore fit easily into the dominant educational discourse.
In higher education, however, the word proficiency had a more varied fate: at large public institutions like the University of Minnesota and the University of Pennsylvania, it brought about major changes in foreign language instruction; at small private institutions or in departments with a strong high-culture, literature-oriented tradition, proficiency sometimes became as scorned as Berlitz , or, on the contrary, it gave new legitimation and a “scientific” discourse base to a field that had largely been viewed as the domain of the amateur native speaker.
Example 2: The discourse of content and procedure. The current approaches that purport to go “beyond proficiency” are reactions to general trends in education that themselves respond to international competition and national political agendas. They indicate a general retreat from a focus on language itself, as well as a greater focus on informational content and procedure. Thus we see the emergence of four teaching methods:
All these recent hyphenated methodologies attempt to make language study more relevant to present-day learners, but they also indicate a potentially dangerous tendency to separate once again linguistic form and ideational content, as if the latter had universal meaning beyond the discourse community in which it is embedded.
Although foreign language educators have used corporate and political types of discourse to be heard, they have also tried to promote their own counterdiscourse, borrowed from second language acquisition research. There are, in the field of foreign language education, differences in opinion about courses of action, because of disagreements among experts in second language acquisition research.
Differing second language acquisition (SLA) theories have differing implications for teachers and learners in classrooms. Whereas linguistic SLA, based on Noam Chomsky's linguistic theory, has little to say as yet to foreign language educators, psycholinguistic SLA is by far the more popular among American language educators. But in that field, passions are unleashed because the stakes and commercial interests are sometimes high. The followers of Stephen Krashen and the advocates of the “natural approach” (Terrell) are scorned by the cognitivists (McLaughlin), who pay more attention to form (Long, “Focus”); the followers of Vygotsky (Frawley and Lantolf) vie with the developmentalists (Pienemann) to explain the psychological processes at work in language acquisition. Sociolinguistic SLA has not yet emerged in the consciousness of foreign language educators in this country, but it is rapidly gaining ground in Australia and Europe (Candlin; McCarthy and Carter; Cook).
Even in psycholinguistic theory, the results of research are so complex that they can be applied to foreign language instruction only with extreme caution. For example, it has been shown that younger children learn “better,” whereas older learners learn faster, because the more fully developed cognitive apparatus of the adult compensates for diminished malleability after puberty (Larsen-Freeman and Long 155). But the term better has been measured against a standard native-speaker norm that is being increasingly put in question both as a norm and as a desirable goal in foreign language education (see, e.g., Paikeday; Davies, Native Speaker in Applied Linguistics and “Native Speaker Not Dead!”; Birdsong). It may be, for example, that younger children can acquire a nativelike pronunciation that is out of the reach of an adult, but do we really want American students to be able to pass for native speakers, with all the cultural expectations that that entails (Kramsch, “Privilege”)? In addition, when school educators and administrators make curricular decisions, they may have to consider factors besides psycholinguistic ones, such as the need to draw American children early out of their Anglocentric mind-sets. And that is a political decision, not a developmental factor.
Second language acquisition research itself has not been able to provide clear-cut answers to the multiple instructional concerns of foreign language educators. These concerns are generally presented in dichotomous phrases that draw attention and capture the imagination but don't yield a single, simple answer: Should students learn grammar by focusing on the rules or by focusing on the meaning? Should one read to learn or learn to read? Should teachers correct errors or not? Should teachers process the output or the input? Can we sequence texts according to their level of difficulty, or can we only sequence readers' abilities? Is communicative ability the ability to process information or the ability to create worlds? Should everyone be able to read and interpret literary texts or should only literature majors?
The teaching of culture has emerged as one of the main concerns of foreign language educators. Should they teach big C or little c culture? Should they stress the commonalities or the differences between C1 and C2? Should they start from C1 or from C2? Should they simply provide information about the target culture or also teach their students how to critique that information? And why should language teachers teach culture at all? These questions are complex and would require much educational dialogue and thought (see Kramsch, Context ). However, when it comes to teaching culture, many foreign language educators do not turn to research in sociolinguistics, cultural theory, or critical pedagogy but instead conduct polls to find out what their students' needs are and how these needs may match those of the job market. Note that the instinctive response of many American educators is to find out what students' needs are, instead of deciding what would best spark students' interests . The latter approach would perhaps in fact change the needs of the job market.
In all these dilemmas the question is where to lay the emphasis; what is important, what is less important. The temptation is great to defer one's educational responsibility to SLA research experts or to market analysts and consumer polls. And yet education is neither a marketplace nor a mere site for the brokering of research findings. Education requires judgment . To exercise enlightened judgment, we must understand not only the data but the larger questions that led to the collection of this rather than that set of data.
I try to show above that what separate us are not the answers we give (of which there are bound to be many) but the kinds of questions we ask.
Too many foreign language educators believe that if only research could give them the ultimate answers, then they could make “good,” that is, informed, decisions. I would like to suggest that they ask instead, at all levels of the American educational system: “Given the conclusive and the inconclusive information I get from the various fields of research and the various needs assessments, what do I believe is in the best interest of my students in my school, community, or state, knowing what I know about how the students go to be the way they are?” Ultimately, of course, any action is a question of personal judgment and institutional responsibility. All individuals, all institutions must reassess their educational values in the light of other values, both American and non-American.
The difficulty of conducting the urgently needed conversation about goals and approaches in foreign language education stems from the incompatibility of the different questions. These questions are irreducible to any common ground, because they are born of incommensurable historical experiences and social conditions. And we cannot hope to resolve our differences by looking at our answers, because the discourse of these answers itself reflects deep, historically determined differences in ideological agendas and educational visions. How could it be otherwise, given what foreign languages represent in the American national imagination (e.g., for many people, a non-English language is viewed as a symbol of the poverty one has left behind, as the outsider's identity one has tried to shed, as the hallmark of countries that have not yet achieved the English-speaking American dream)? The only common ground we have is dialogue itself and the struggle to understand one another's historical positions. It is through this struggle that we may come to the realization that historical positions can change if they first are understood and accepted.
In reaching this understanding, we may profit from looking at the type of questions that other countries' educational systems ask, for the United States will have to enter into dialogue with these countries. Looking abroad may make us realize that we are unique in viewing knowledge of a foreign language only as an economic asset. We may start understanding language as other countries do, namely, for its sociocultural value and its symbolic power (Garcia and Otheguy). At least we would deal with the problem, then, together with our colleagues from the English departments, the schools of education, and the ESL programs, instead of trying to deal with it, as with a foreign disease, in the isolation of our foreign language departments.
Echoing Gerald Graff's argument in favor of “teaching the conflicts,” I argue here that consensus is not a goal to be reached or achieved but a process to be engaged in among the many cultures encompassed by the field of foreign language education. One can apply to educators the statement Graff makes about students in the humanities:
The goal of dramatizing and clarifying conflicts should not be confused with disputation, or with getting warring factions talking to one another. The important thing is that students get a sense of what is at issue in the cultural controversies they have a stake in. (Graff, “Conflicts”)
What is at issue are the multiple historical traditions that make up the very fabric of our immigrant society and that are, like the worlds these immigrants came from, fundamentally incompatible with one another. Instead of seeking consensus, we should then, as Graff suggests, “be looking for ways to make the most of the unruly conversation that democratic education is necessarily all about” (“Conflicts”).
The author is Professor of German and Foreign Language Acquisition at the University of California, Berkeley.
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© 1995 by the Association of Departments of Foreign Languages. All Rights Reserved.
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