ABC's of Languages and Linguistics A Practical Primer To Language

THE NEW • REVISED
EXPANDED
EDITION
OF THE
nguages
and Linguistics
by Curtis W. Hayes, Jacob Ornstein
and William W. Gage
A PRACTICAL PRIMER TO LANGUAGE SCIENCE

IN TODAY’S WORLD
Joseph Velez
Baylor U
Waco TX 76703
The New, Revised, and Expanded Edition
ABC’S
of
LANGUAGES AND LINGUISTICS

A Practical Primer to Language Science in Today ’s World
The New, Revised, and Expanded Edition
ABC’S
of
LANGUAGES AND LINGUISTICS

A Practical Primer to Language Science in Today’s World
by
Curtis W. Hayes, Ph.D.

Jacob Ornstein, Ph.D.
William W. Gage, Ph.D.
INSTITUTE OF MODERN LANGUAGES, INC.

Silver Spring, Maryland
© 1977 by Institute of Modern Languages, Inc.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in

any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,
including, but not limited to, photocopy, mimeograph,
recording, or by any information or retrieval system,
without the express written permission of the Institute of
Modern Languages, Inc.
Published by
Institute of Modern Languages, Inc.
the language people
2622-24 Pittman Drive
Silver Spring, Maryland 20910
Printed in the United States of America

ISBN 0-88499-0664
Library of Congress Catalog Card No. 77-075915
IV
Table of Contents
Preface to the Second Edition. vii
I. Facts and Fantasies About Language . 1

The importance of language, its intricacies, and some myths and
misconceptions unraveled.
II. The Beginnings of Language. 10

An insight into past theories of language origin and the research being
done to come to some conclusions about its origin.
III. Languages and More Languages: A Tour. 18

Mapping and comparing the many languages of the world, including
Indo-European and other language families.
IV. Winds of Change: The New Linguistics. 28

Tradition vs. change; grammar viewed through a traditional, structuralist,
and generative-transformational perspective.
V. Phonology: A Sign of Structure. 36

A comprehensive exploration of language sounds and their distribution:
phonemes, morphemes, consonants, vowels, and semivowels.
VI. Morphology and Syntax: More Signs . 64

A discussion, viewed through a variety of models, of the two systems
which, together with semantics, form the grammar of a language.
VII. Semantics: The Study of Meaning. 94

Some inadequacies associated with human communication, including
a discussion of Standard Theory and Generative Semantics.
VIII. Writing Systems of the World.109

A tour of orthographies around the globe, including Semitic, Cyrillic,
Sanskrit, and Runes, and a discussion of picture-writing systems.
IX. Other Systems of Communication..118

Non-verbal expression through a variety of systems: gestures, body
language, kinesics, and codes.
v
X. One Language for the World?. 123
An exploration of man’s constant quest to break the language barrier, and
some possibilities for a new universal tongue.
XI. Implications and Applications: Social, Political, and Educational Consequences .... 131
The consequences of linguistic nationalism around the world, and a
discussion of first-language teaching in the United States today.
XII. Second Language Learning and Teaching: Gaps in a Crucial Area ..148
An historical account of second-language teaching in the United States,
its present status, and some conclusions as to future prospects.
XIII. The X, Y, Z’s of Language Learning: Bilingual and Second Language Education .... 155
A practical combination of linguistics, psychology, and teaching
techniques for increased language learning motivation and competency,
now and in the years ahead.
Appendix: Languages of the World .181
Index.191
vi
Preface to the Second Edition
Much has transpired in the field of linguistic science since the publication of The ABC’s of
Languages and Linguistics (Chilton Books, 1964), and hence the need for revision. A new
coauthor, Curtis W. Hayes, has joined us, bringing to the revision a great deal of experience and
fresh insight in the realms of both pure and applied linguistics. Great effort by all three of us
has been made to incorporate new and significant data into this current book.
There is, by now, such a large number of language texts on the market that it is desirable to
offer something quite different, to make a unique contribution, lest our effort be redundant.
Through our joint endeavors, it has been possible to retain in the present volume a broadness of
scope that has been of note in reviews following the first appearance of the ABC’s. One
indication of such breadth may be seen in the chapters that include discussions of the most
dynamic linguistic schools of thought. Recent developments in sociolinguistics and psycho¬
linguistics are touched upon, and we also direct the reader’s attention to a number of topics in
the burgeoning and ever-expanding discipline of applied linguistics. For example, in the latter
chapters, we introduce the reader to new trends in language teaching; and there, too, we discuss
frankly the decline in language requirements and enrollments. The latest enrollment figures
have been received from the Modern Language Association of America, as well as from other
authoritative sources. At the same time, positive and encouraging developments in the language
teaching field are also detailed.
The ABC’s has been utilized as a broad orientation to the discipline of language study rather
than as an introduction to be employed in technical linguistics classes. Our revision attempts to
serve in the same capacity as the original ABC’s. Above all, the ABC’s is intended to interest
students in pursuing the study of language. For this purpose we have at the end of each chapter
thought-provoking, purposeful study questions, and a list of texts and articles which may be
consulted for further reference.
All three of us have benefited from the suggestions and criticisms of a number of scholars
and teachers. We must express appreciation to Professors Carolyn Kessler, Hassan Sharifi, and
Archibald A. Hill for their careful reading of the manuscript, and to Mr. Alfred Pietrzyk of the
Center for Applied Linguistics for his valuable suggestions in the chapters in which we discuss
the political and social ramifications of language. Our profound gratitude goes to Mr. Richard
Brod, member of the Association of the Departments of Foreign Languages (ADFL), for
furnishing the most recent figures on language trends based upon Modern Language Association
surveys. This information has aided us in providing a valid and comprehensive view of the
current foreign language teaching practices in the United States. It is also with deep gratitude
that we acknowledge the extremely valuable assistance and insights of the following: Dr.
Richard E. Wood of Adelphi University and Dr. Margaret Hagler, Lincoln Land Community
College, who shared their expertise for “One Language for the World?” (Chapter 10); Professor
Edward L. Blansitt Jr., University of Texas, El Paso, on whom we relied greatly; and Mrs. Sarah
B. Boyer, Senior Secretary of the Cross-Cultural Southwest Ethnic Study Center, University of
Texas at El Paso, for her assistance.
And finally, to our students, who offered judicious criticism, we give special recognition.
The Authors
vii
.
'
A Caveat to the Reader
The science of linguistics, particularly “pure linguistics” (as opposed to its applications), is at
present in an extreme state of flux. While the ferment is in its way fascinating to professional
linguists, it poses real danger of confusion to those less familiar with the field. Despite the zeal
and persuasiveness of certain linguistic theoreticians, almost “charismatic” in their approach,
there are few if any categorical or indisputable “truths” in linguistic doctrine.
Hence it is the better of sanity for readers to peruse those sections concerning linguistic
theory open-mindedly, regarding the theories as essentially successive approximations leading to
a more profound and sophisticated understanding of universal principles applying to language
systems as a whole. In this manner, as in physics, chemistry, botany or another natural science,
an ongoing “symbiosis” can be reached; or more simply put, some sort of “consensus” can be
achieved, generally acceptable to many, if not all, professional linguists.
Jacob Ornstein, Ph.D.

March 1977
I. Facts and Fantasies About Language
THE IMPORTANCE OF LANGUAGE
In all probability one of our first actions of the day is to talk to someone. What is so
remarkable about that? Most of the other three billion people in the world do the same thing.
But suppose a dog, or any animal, awoke one morning and started talking. It would make the
front page of every newspaper in the world as well as the evening news.
We are so accustomed to talking, and hearing other people talk, that we occasionally forget
what a marvelous attribute language is. Only when we consider the plight of not being able to
talk do we fully appreciate its importance.
Consider an aphasiac, a person, that is, who has lost the ability to talk. He may still
understand what is said and even communicate in writing; but such a person is as badly
handicapped as one with the most distressing physical impairment. He needs institutional care
in the same way as any disabled person, or special training, at least, to enable him to carry on in
the outside world.
One of the authors recently communicated with an aphasiac who could say almost nothing,
and even said the reverse of what he meant—an intended “No” coming out “Yes,” and vice
versa. The man was a wealthy Florida realtor, yet one day he wrote: “Believe me, I’d give all
my property and savings if I could only talk again.”
By contrast, reading and writing—marks on paper that stand for speech—are much less
important. In fact, half the adults on earth, even in this modern and advanced day, are illiterate
or unable to read and write. And many of the world’s languages, probably a large majority, have
no writing system at all.
Although literacy is a tremendous advantage in modern industrialized societies, it is by no
means essential. That is, we can still get along without being able to read or write. Of course,
this does not alter the fact that illiteracy is one of the world’s great social and educational
problems. The point is that illiteracy does not incapacitate humans as greatly as aphasia does.
People who cannot read and write can still get along reasonably well in our society, but the
aphasiac must seek professional help until he is cured or rehabilitated.
There is a well-known story in the Bible that reflects the importance of language in human
society. According to the Old Testament, mankind spoke only one language until Nimrod began
to build a tower that was to reach heaven. “And the Lord said, ‘Behold, they are one people,
and they have all one language, and this is only the beginning of what they will do; and nothing
that they propose to do will now be impossible for them. Come, let us go down, and there
confuse their language, that they may not understand one another’s speech.’ ”
Some scholars attribute the source of this legend to the many languages of the slaves who
were gathered together to build the famous “hanging gardens” of Babylon. The name “Babel”
is said to be a variation of the word “Babylon,” rather than the Hebrew balal, meaning “to
confuse.”
1
2 The ABC’s of Languages and Linguistics
Some people believe there is nothing men could not do if they really understood each
other’s language. Utopia requires far more than that, no doubt, but it is true that a shared
language tends to unite people, while different languages divide them. Those of us who have
ever lived in an environment in which we did not understand the language know from personal
experience how welcome a few words of our native speech can sound. Even in the strange
accents of strangers, our native language seems lovely to us, and we have a shared feeling for
those who speak as we do.
George Bernard Shaw said that England and America are two countries separated by the
same language. The wit of this remark results, partly, from the way it clashes with our
conviction that the same language really unites people. A New York psychiatrist’s experience
corroborates this. By learning the argot of emotionally disturbed hot-rodders, he was able to
communicate with them by discussing drag racing and other “tribal customs.”
LANGUAGE: AN INFINITE, HUMAN CAPABILITY
While the legend of the Tower of Babel shows how speaking different languages divides
people, an even sharper distinction is that between users and non-users of language. The ability
to learn languages is, perhaps, the chief difference separating man from all other animals. Let us
first briefly approximate what we feel to be the attributes of a language. One traditional
(pre-1960) linguistic definition of language is that a language consists of a structural system of
vocal symbols by which a social group cooperates. But this definition is not too helpful, since
animals may have social groups, and they may interact through a system of vocal sounds. A
study of porpoises indicates that this interaction may go much further in complexity than we
ever imagined. A more recent definition is that a language consists of a system of rules which
relate sound sequences to meanings. The terms “system of rules,” “sound sequences,” and
“meaning” we will define and discuss later. All languages—it is important for us to point out at
the onset—have distinctive sets of sounds called phonemes; these sets are grouped together into
utterances called morphemes (phonemes containing meaning); and morphemes fit into patterns
called words, phrases, clauses, and sentences.
The concept of a sentence is especially vital in linguistic studies today. Some linguists believe
that a language is an unbounded set of sentences. The important term is “unbounded.” More
specifically, a speaker or hearer has control over and knowledge of an indefinitely large number
of sentences. The idea that a set may be indefinite may boggle the mind for the moment; but if
we consider that we “know” more sentences than we can hope to hear or speak in our lifetimes,
the concept becomes clearer. Many of the sentences that we speak or hear (or even read) are
new sentences, never having been spoken or heard before. As a test, how many sentences in this
book, or even on this page, are new? And if these sentences are new, consider all of the
sentences that we have not heard or spoken that will be new. In fact, tomorrow’s sentences are
new, as are the next day’s. There is the possibility that each sentence represents a creative act.
What is basic, however, is that there is no end to the sentences of a language.
If we were to put a limit on the capability of a human being to understand sentences, then
we would not have a language. He would not only run out of things to say but the capability to
say something new would be absent. Yet a limit is precisely what we have in animal
communication. In fact, since the noises that animals make do not constitute an unbounded
set, linguists would say that animals do not have language. Animal noises—be they of
chimpanzees, porpoises, dogs—are a closed set. Bees have been said to have language. A
bee—forgetting for the moment that bees are unvocal—can communicate the direction and
distance of nectar to other bees, but that is all the information that it can communicate. It
cannot say anything about the weather, flowers, or the presence of animals in the near vicinity,
all of which, it would seem, are important for the successful taking of nectar. A chimpanzee
may be conditioned to make noises or to move symbols about in response to a number of
Facts and Fantasies About Language 3
stimuli, but there is a limit to what a chimpanzee can communicate; and we must teach him to
communicate. More basically, he cannot understand or speak novel utterances, a capability
within the competence of a normal human being. By way of contrast, a child is not taught his
language; he has only to be exposed to a language to learn it. In fact, we cannot prevent
children from learning the language(s) of their environment.
Except in those cases in which brain damage has occurred, or in which a child is severely
retarded, language learning (the more technical term is acquisition) occurs. Even in the
retarded, as Eric Lenneberg has demonstrated in his study of mongoloid children, language
development takes place. If we consider the size of the brain, we find that even nanocephalic
dwarfs have the ability to leam language. Language, as far as we can determine, is
species-specific. The reason that higher-ordered primates cannot leam language is that they are
not human.
THE UNEXPECTED INTRICACIES OF OTHER PEOPLE’S LANGUAGES
At a party recently a linguist was asked whether people like the Eskimos had a “real”
language or whether they just communicated through gestures and grunts. The gentleman who
asked this question, a well-educated person with a master’s degree, was truly amazed when he
learned that the Eskimos not only have a real language but that it is very complex in stmcture
from a linguistic point of view. Then the linguist completely overwhelmed the linguistically-
naive guest by writing for him a single word in Eskimo which is equivalent to an entire sentence
in English or any European tongue. It was a:slisa-ut-issar-si-niarpu-ba, which simply means “I
am looking for something suitable for a fishline.”
There is probably no subject about which there are so many errors and downright
misinformation as that of language—even among persons of higher education. One of the most
widespread of these misconceptions is that the language of technologically underdeveloped or
“primitive” peoples must be very simple and crude. The fact of the matter is that from the
standpoint of the speaker of English or a European tongue the languages of such groups often
contain subtleties that do not exist in his own.
Although English speakers may think it is unusual that certain languages mark verbs for
gender, much stranger features may be found. In the Nahuatl (Modern Aztec) language of
northern Mexico, for example, it is necessary in certain verbal forms to express whether the
purpose of the action affects an animate being or an inanimate object. In English we say “I see
the women” and “I see the house,” but the verb does not change. In Nahuatl, however, in using
the verb “to eat” with the root cua, the Aztec speaker makes certain to prefix tla to indicate
that he is not eating a human being. It has been pointed out that this distinction appears most
clearly in such words as tetlazohtlani, “one who loves (people),” as contrasted with
tlatlazohtlani, “one who loves (things).”
In Hupa, an Indian language of northern California, nouns as well as verbs are marked for
time. Thus one finds the following distinctions:
xonta: house (now existing)
xontate: house which will exist in the future
xontaneen: house which formerly existed
Even speakers of many non-Western languages have convinced themselves that their language
has no “grammar,” believing that the users merely make up structure as it comes into their
minds. The same sort of impression may hold true for a linguistically naive, well-educated
speaker of a Western language-our party guest for example-who may believe that he does not
know the grammar of English. Linguists, in recent times, have made the useful distinction
between “knowledge of language” and “knowledge about language.” Our knowledge of
language is often a tacit or subconscious one that we draw upon when speaking our language.
Our knowledge about language is usually taught knowledge, which makes explicit what we
know implicitly. Native speakers of any language, for instance, have knowledge of their
language, but few have knowledge about their language, unless they have taken a course on its
structural characteristics.
All languages have structure. The linguist’s task has been to describe this structure and to
make explicit what the native speaker knows subconsciously about his language.
When we attempt to learn a non-Western language, we are usually confronted by a system
with many bewildering intricacies and complexities. There may be the necessity for
distinguishing between objects which are in sight and those which are not, as in southern Paiute
where ma avaaniaak’a a means “He will give something visible to someone in sight.”
There is the possibility of having different verb forms, not only to show whether the
principal object involved is an agent or something acted on—as with active and passive voice in
some familiar languages—but in addition, as in many Philippine languages, to show that it is the
instrument or that it is the beneficiary of an action. Thus, in Maranao:
somobali so mama sa sapi ko gelat (em¬ “The man slaughters the cow with a
phasis on so mama, “the man”) knife.”
or
isomabali o mama so gelat ko sapi (em¬ “With a knife, the man slaughters the
phasis on so gelat, “a knife”) cow.”
begen ian reka “He’ll give it to you.” (give-something he

to-you)
or
began ka ian “You he’ll give it to.” (give-for someone
you-he)
Different verb forms may be used to indicate who does what when relating an incident. In
English our use of he, she, it, and they is often ambiguous: “When Tom went hunting with
Harry, he shot a moose.” Who shot a moose? In Cree when the “party of the first part,” “of the
second part,” and sometimes “of the third part” are indicated, one says:
wapamew (A saw B); wapamik (B saw A); or wapameyiwa (B saw C)
Returning to Eskimo, which was thought to be so primitive by the aforementioned guest, we

ought to point out that its structure does appear formidable to one acquainted with only
Indo-European patterns. Eskimo is what is known as a poly synthetic language, which means
that entire sentences are incorporated into a single word. Each element of the word carries
meaning but does not have an independent existence; that is, it cannot be pronounced alone,
like such English words as “king” or “banana” can be. The Eskimo elements are more nearly
like the “-ness” of “kindness.” We see immediately that the traditional parts of speech of Latin
or of English grammar become inadequate or actually misleading in describing a polysynthetic
language. For example, “Do you think he really intends to go to look after it?” can be
expressed in Eskimo by the word: takusar-iartor-uma-faluar-nerp-a.
This brings us to the familiar and commonplace notion that all languages can be analyzed as
one would analyze Latin, Greek, French, or English. A school of American linguists, those
associated with structural or descriptive linguistics, and who have taken the descriptive label
“Bloomfieldian” after Leonard Bloomfield, the eminent and brilliant linguist who gave
direction to this school, did extensive research and field work on this subject in such remote
areas as Africa and Malayo-Polynesia. Bloomfield also worked on North and South American
Indian languages, and helped to dispel a particular version of universal grammar: that all
languages were similar to Latin and Greek, a notion which emanated from the 18th century and
was based upon the notion of a universal logic. Bloomfield and his fellow structural linguists
Facts and Fantasies A bout Language 5
believed that each language was in a way an island, a unique entity unto itself, and should be
approached as such. Any similarity among such diverse languages was purely accidental. They
felt that the 18th century tendency to describe all languages as having derived from one source,
in this case Latin or Greek, obscured important differences in other, less well-known languages.
The tendency to look for logical similarities among diverse languages was misdirected but not,
as we shall find, misguided.
Linguists who broke away from the influence of European grammatical practices and models
to approach each language without prejudice found that distinctions that are important in one
language or group of languages may be insignificant or entirely lacking in another. For example,
in Hungarian and the Uralic languages gender (masculine, feminine, or neuter), which is so
important in the Romance languages and German, is for the most part not signaled. This is
carried so far that no separate words exist for “he” and “she,” both of which are expressed by
6. Within a sentence, however, it becomes clear that one is talking about a female, of either the
human or animal species. While the Romance languages, as well as English, make the distinction
between present and past tense (time of action), such as “I looked” and “I look,” Chinese has
basically only one form for the verb, such as kan, “look,” “looked.” However, suffixes may be
added to Chinese verbs to indicate various aspects {aspect refers to distinctions of duration of
time, continuity of time, and completion of time). Kan-le can mean “had looked,” “have
looked,” or “will have looked.” Chinese aspect parallels English aspect, usually termed perfective
and signaled by forms of have, which may be found in the past (“had looked”), the present
(“have looked”), and the future (“will have looked”)—though the English speaker, including
many who have learned Chinese or have studied Chinese grammar, is inclined to feel that -le
equates with the English past tense. There are other aspects in Chinese, but we leave the
analysis of these to those who may wish to study in more detail the grammar of the Chinese
language.
In summary, it remains interesting, and even fascinating, to observe the distinctions that
some languages make, which in others may be nonexistent. One of the commonest of these is
between a “we” that includes “you” and a “we but not you,” distinguished in the Maranao
tongue:
inclusive exclusive
tano kami
Let us consider another example of linguistic variety: the Turkish language makes a strict
distinction between hearsay and personally observed or attested past. For instance, to express
the sentence, “His daughter was very beautiful,” one of the two following forms must be used:
hearsay attested
kiz cok giizel imis kiz cok guzel idi
In the first example imis is used because the speaker does not know the statement to be a fact
since he has no personal knowledge of it, while in the second idi is employed because he has
personally verified that the young lady in question was beautiful.
MISCONCEPTIONS ABOUT LANGUAGE
Perhaps we assume that other people must express their thought precisely the way it is done
in English, German, or other European languages, because for centuries we have been under the
influence of the classical traditions. It was the custom in centuries past to regard Greek and
Latin as ideal languages, the proto-types (the first or parent) for other languages, and to speak
of other languages as being derived, albeit imperfectly, from these two classical languages. It is
not difficult to understand the reason for the preeminence of Greek and Latin. Most of the
learned manuscripts, including translations of the Bible, were written in Latin and Greek.
Implicit was the assumption that, since the Roman Catholic Church used Latin in its liturgy,
even God spoke Latin. This particular, biased orientation to language was partially changed
with the advent, in the first part of the 20th century, of various modern approaches to the
description and analysis of language.
That other people must necessarily express a given thought as we do in English is far from
the case. No two languages in the world express all concepts and thoughts in exactly the same
way. We say in English “I am hungry,” but in French it is J’ai faim and in Spanish, Tengo
hambre—which is more literally in both languages, “I have hunger.” All European languages
have some way of saying “How are you?”, but Burmese has no such expression and one must
employ instead one of five or six levels of politeness. We say, “I feel sorry for you,” but
Japanese renders this expression by o kinodoku desu, or literally, “It’s a poison for your soul.”
Information about the world is organized according to the linguistic patterns of a given
language community in ways which, while not totally arbitrary, are not according to the canons
of Western logic. All grammars contain a great deal that is contrary to what we would regard as
the “sensible” ways of organizing experience, and it would be a mistake to believe that any
language is particularly logical or that the more exotic languages are, as a whole, less logical
than the more familiar ones.
This divergence in patterns of expression accounts for the fact that many of us “feel” that
every language has its own soul or spirit. No matter how well done a translation may be, some
meaning will always be lost from the original because every language is inextricably interwoven
with the peculiar culture of its speakers. As the late Dr. W. R. Parker of Indiana University
remarked, when observing in Goethe’s Faust that Dr. Faustus stops addressing Margaret by the
formal Sie (for “you”) and uses the intimate du, this subtle yet significant change in tone, so
much a part of the German language, could not be signaled in English by the same grammatical
means. Here again, the individual who in learning a language goes beyond its basic everyday
expressions and becomes acquainted with its nuances and fine distinctions is in the best
position to analyze what makes its speakers tick linguistically—and perhaps to a large extent,
psychologically.
Yet the practice of structural linguists to seek and to emphasize differences between and
among languages rather than similarities led to a further misconception: that a language may
differ from any other in an infinite number of ways. This view distorted, as it were, an
important 17th century notion, expressed by the language philosopher Descartes and his
followers, who believed that languages are far more alike than they are different. Since
languages are learned by human beings, and since human beings do not appear more
predisposed to learn one language than another, and since all human beings seem to be
equipped with the same neurological equipment, then it must follow, according to Descartes,
that languages share a number of important features (features that are now called language
universals). Noam Chomsky has resurrected this 17th century notion of universal grammar in
his book Cartesian Linguistics and has made it a premise of his own brand of linguistic analysis.
It is a sign of a healthy and viable science, surely, that such questions as universal grammar
are being reexamined and that earlier theories, such as the theory of innate ideas, are being
given explicit characterization. Suffice it for us to say here that languages which appear, upon
superficial examination, to be totally different may, upon a closer, deeper analysis, be more
similar than different.
Still another misconception is the one regarding the superiority and inferiority of languages.
There is in fact a tremendous body of folklore built up about most languages. Regarding
French, there is the legend that it possesses special attributes which enable it to express
thoughts more clearly than any other language. There is even a saying in French, Ce quin'est
pas clair, nest pas franqais: “What is not clear, is not French.” Nationalistic Germans have
attributed to their language mystic qualities that supposedly give it special powers of vigorous
expression. About Italian there exist many beliefs regarding its seniority and musicality.
Incidentally, in this vein the Spanish emperor Charles V once said that English was the language
to speak with merchants, German with soldiers, French with women, Italian with friends, and
Spanish with God!
These beliefs have no basis in scientific linguistic fact any more than the assertion that any
given language is prettier than another. Like the beauty of a painting or that of a woman, the
charm of any language lies solely in the eyes—or ears—of the beholder. One often hears that
German is not as beautiful as Spanish or Italian because it is “guttural,” and in the aesthetic
judgment of some people gutturalness sounds harsh. From the linguistic viewpoint this
judgment is meaningless; a linguist would merely say that German has more “guttural sounds”
than English, French, or Italian, or in more technical phraseology, that German has a high
number of sounds produced with the velum, the flap of soft flesh that is part of the back of the
mouth and that cuts off the breath stream between the oral and nasal cavities. Yet to many
speakers of Semitic languages, gutturalness is not only not a defect but is a positive virtue. In
Israel to speak Hebrew with a markedly “guttural” pronunciation is considered very chic.
Arabic has an unusually high number of “guttural” sounds but few persons who claim Arabic as
their mother tongue would consider it one iota less beautiful than French or English.
It is equally false to believe that the sounds of a particular language are in themselves easy or
difficult to the native speaker, although some sounds encountered by young children learning
their language appear to be harder to learn than others. The degree of difficulty is dependent on
the language background with which we start, and there are probably no sounds with which the
native speakers of other languages would not have trouble. Incidentally, children of, say, a year
and a half, who have not yet mastered their own language, often make use of many sounds that
the adults of their speech communities would class as extremely difficult. Learning the sounds
of a first language is in part a process of eliminating sounds that do not belong to it.
At the root of many linguistic misconceptions is the undeniable fact that many people
regard language as static and inflexible rather than as dynamic and ever-changing. It is common
to hear and read statements to the effect that a certain language is incapable of expressing the
concepts of modern society. This is a fallacy, and from the evidence of linguistic research there
does not appear to be any language that cannot be harnessed to serve any verbal
communication need. In fact, any linguistic system can be “developed” to accommodate new
terminology and concepts by means of its rule system. The fact that languages may express
concepts through different patterns or rules does not alter this principle at all. When Wycliffe
was told that English was too “rude” for the Scriptures to appear in, he retorted, “It is not so
rude as they are false liars.”
It is, however, undeniable that the Wichita language of an Oklahoma Indian tribe is not
suitable in its present state for discussing nuclear physics or celestial navigation. But this is
primarily because the speakers of Wichita have never had to cope with such problems. If,
however, the roles of Wichita and English were reversed, it predictably would be English that
would lack specialized terminology and expressions.
We do not know the details of the origin of language. But we do know that languages have
an organic existence, and that they develop semantically according to the needs of the
community employing them. The more technologically advanced the speakers are, the more
equipped the language will be to cope with science, technology, and the concepts of an
industrialized society. Conversely, the languages of such advanced nations as the United States,
Germany, and France may and often do lack numerous concepts and nuances referring to the
phenomena of nature and to pursuits like herding, hunting, and fishing, which are elaborately
present in many languages of people of nonindustrialized cultures. Berber has a far richer
vocabulary for discussing camels and livestock and their care than has Danish or Italian.
There are languages in existence in which there is no way of saying stereophonic playback
recorder or nuclear warhead without a lengthy paraphrase, since no such words or compounds
as these exist. But this does not mean that the speakers of these languages could not coin such
expressions. The coining of new terms—and this important fact is often not realized—is part of
the organic development of any living language in a dynamically growing society. For example,
the reason that Homer had no word for “motorcar” is simply because he did not have such a
vehicle to convey him over the hills of ancient Greece. The modern Greeks, however, have
coined a word for this useful vehicle, terming it autokineto, composed of autos (sell) and
kinetos (moving thing). That, after all, is the way the term automobile, used in somewhat
varying shapes in most European languages, was also conceived and constructed (autos plus an
original Latin root mobilis, through Old French mobile). But tastes vary in languages, and
although Czech, for example, uses the word automobil, Polish has preferred to express the same
concept by the word samochod (with sam roughly meaning “selF’ and chod, “locomotion ).
Thai was not equipped until a few years ago with words for most modern innovations. There
was a tradition in Thailand of using Sanskrit roots in technical vocabulary, much as we make
use of Greek {astronomy, epiglottis, etc.). With modernization the Thais have avidly set about
the business of coining new words, even to the extent of having contests for the best word
made up to express some new Western-derived concept. Preferably, the new words should
include Sanskrit elements already used in Thai and, ideally, should have some resemblance in
sound to the term used in European languages.
The growth and development of languages presents still other opportunities for myth¬
building. It has been difficult for people to realize that every language is in a constant state of
flux and is at any period moving in new directions usually considered to be corrupt and
decadent by the purists. The constant mutability of language is obscured because of the
tendency for people to think in terms of the standardized written form of a language. People
believed that classical Latin was perfect and unchanging even while spoken Latin was becoming
French, Spanish, Italian, and the other modern Romance languages. Beliefs in immunity to
change on the part of any living language are totally without foundation.
Many of the most persistent myths about language occur in speculations concerning the
relation of speech to writing. Commonly, people feel that a language which has never been
written is not really a language at all. In point of fact, an unwritten language can have all the
attributes of any written language and may have a rich literature, although necessarily a
literature limited to what is handed down by oral tradition. In the case of languages which have
been written for centuries, people often feel that the written language represents the real
language and the spoken form only a pale and probably corrupted reflection of it. Linguists,
while understanding the great importance of the written form and recognizing the many ways
in which writing and speech interact with each other, nevertheless maintain that speaking is the
basic symbol-using activity of human beings, with writing being a superstructure built upon it,
and that, while spoken language is an attribute of the species, writing is culturally determined.
Facts, fantasies, and even prejudice exist about languages just as they do about individuals
and nations. While some of these beliefs are romantic and many appeal to the imagination, it
would seem to be far better to know more about the nature of language as a branch of the
cognitive and behavioral sciences than to perpetuate old wives’ tales about it. We propose in the
following chapters to examine what human language is and what general principles apply to its
function and use in the world. We can enjoy this excursion all the more if we rid ourselves of
our misconceptions before embarking. Even if we find that we cannot easily discqss the bullish
and bearish fluctuations of Wall Street ticker tapes in fluent Eskimo, it may turn out that for
the fine points of under-ice fishing Eskimo may be superior to English and French combined.
I. QUESTIONS AND ACTIVITIES
1. How do we “intuitively” know that there is no end to the sentences of a language?
2. Some languages have been described as “primitive.” What is meant by that term?
3. Is there a social status associated with the particular language that we speak? What accounts
for the fact that certain languages are “prestigious” while others are not?
4. Coining of words: we coined a word for the man who traveled around earth in a space
module, “astronaut.” What does it mean? Are there other words that have “astro” or “naut”
within them?
5. Can you list some of your observations about language? For example, is the statement
“There is a ‘correct’ way to talk” a myth? Why or why not?
6. There are a number of vocabulary items that distinguish American English from British
English. “Paving,” for instance, may refer to either a “sidewalk” or to “street” depending
upon whether our speaker is in England or in the United States. “Bonnet,” “boot,” and
“windscreen” are British terms for parts of the automobile. What are their counterparts in
American English? What are some other vocabulary differences?
I. FOR FURTHER REFERENCE
Bloomfield, Leonard. 1933. Language. New York: Holt.

Carroll, John B., ed. 1957. Language, Thought, and Reality. Cambridge, Mass.: The Technology
Press of M.I.T.
Chomsky, Noam A. 1966. Cartesian Linguistics. New York: Harper and Row.
Fromkin, Victoria and Robert Rodman. 1974. “What is Language,” “Animal ‘Languages,’ ” in
Introduction to Language. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston.
Lenneberg, Eric H. 1967. Biological Foundations of Language. New York: John Wiley.
Lilly, John C. 1969. The Mind of the Dolphin: A Non-Human Intelligence. New York: Avon
Books.
Postal, Paul. 1968. “Epilogue,” in Roderick Jacobs and Peter Rosenbaum: English Transforma¬
tional Grammar. Lexington, Mass.: Xerox.
Premack, Ann James and David Premack. 1972. “Teaching Language to an Ape.” Scientific
American October, 92-99.
Steiner, George. 1971. “A Future Literacy.” The Atlantic Monthly August, 41-44.
Von Frisch, K. 1967. The Dance Language and Orientation of Bees. C. E. Chadwick, trans.
Cambridge, Mass.: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press.
Wang, William S-Y. 1973. “The Chinese Language.” Scientific American February, 50-63.
II. The Beginnings of Language
HOW DID IT ALL BEGIN?
Before we begin this chapter on the origins of language, perhaps we should point out that there
is little evidence available to substantiate any theory on the origin and evolution of language in
Homo sapiens. Neither is there evidence that language becomes more “effective” or less
“effective” with time; nor is there support for the contention that one language is intrinsically
better than another, represented by the claim that “French is the most logical language, Italian
the most musical, German the most scientific.” It has been claimed that languages spoken in
primitive societies are less sophisticated, linguistically speaking, than languages spoken in highly
developed technological societies. Some have even said that language tends to degenerate
through time, from a pure, or standard, language to one that is incapable of expressing subtle
nuances. Professor Maynard Mack, a renowned literary scholar, may have had this in mind
when, in his presidential address to the members of the Modern Language Association (printed
in the May 1971 issue of the Publication of the Modem Language Association), he said,
“Language is susceptible to pollution, becomes murky, noisome, suffocating. That is the
condition we face now. Never, I suspect, has our common tongue been so debased and
vulgarized as it is today in commerce, so pretentious, over-blown, and empty as it is in the
babble of the learned and bureaucratic jargons, not excepting ours, so tired, mechanical, and
unimaginative as it is in the obscenities of the young.”
There is no proof that would serve to corroborate Professor Mack’s eloquent assertions, just
as there is no evidence that would sustain a particular theory on the origin of language. While
there continues to be research attempting to distinguish the neural capacities of Neanderthal
(first man), Cro-Magnon (later man), and Homo sapiens (modern man), we have no evidence
that language has in any sense evolved since the appearance of Homo sapiens. Numerous
theories have been and continue to be proposed, and, although scholars have debated the issue,
sometimes heatedly, we still do not know a great deal about the origin of language. Yet some
will likely continue to search for an origin for some time to come.
Many of the books and articles written about the origin of language contain a good deal of
fantasy, and occasionally, nonsense. Some linguistic societies will not permit a paper to be read
on language origins, believing that any attempt to explain this elusive and frustrating question
results in idle speculation and tends to become a vacuous exercise in futility. Yet a few of the
theories are interesting, if only for their historical perspective. One of the first Biblical accounts
can be found, appropriately, in Genesis, though it does not explain when and how man began
to speak, but only that speech (the power to name things) arose through the power of God. The
description is an attempt, clearly, to offer an explanation for the unexplainable: “And out of
the ground the Lord God formed every beast of the field, and every fowl of the air, and
brought them unto Adam to see what he would call them; and whatsoever Adam called every
10
The Beginnings of Language 11
creature, that was the name thereof. And Adam gave names to all cattle, and to the fowl of the
air, and to every beast of the field.”
Although the Biblical account relates nothing of the origin of speech, nor of the language
first spoken by Adam, it does reflect a skill associated with language, especially the young
child’s capability, that of naming. In the March 27, 1960, New York Times Book Review
Section, literary critic J. Donald Adams suggested much the same thought: “It is indeed hard to
rid ourselves of the idea that the desire to name things lies at the root of language.”
There has even been conjecture concerning the language of Adam and Eve. Until very
recently the stock answer was that Adam and Eve spoke Hebrew, a Semitic language, from
which all others ultimately derived. It is not difficult to see why this notion still persists: the
Bible was first written in Hebrew, and Jesus spoke a Semitic dialect. There is, however, no
reason to believe that Hebrew even remotely resembles the first language of man since we can
prove that most of the languages of the world do not stem from Hebrew. As readers of the
Bible know, the Old Testament does not mention specifically which language was spoken by
Adam and Eve. But myths seem to propagate others, for as late as the 17th century a Swedish
philologist claimed that in the Garden of Eden God spoke Swedish, Adam spoke Danish, and
the serpent spoke French.
Furthermore, any attempts to trace all language back to a common source have not been
particularly convincing in their conclusions. The 18th century Russian empress Catherine the
Great wrote to Benjamin Franklin inquiring of him how American Indian languages showed
their relationship to Hebrew. As late as 1934, at a Turkish linguistics congress someone seriously
argued that Turkish is at the root of all languages—all words being derived from gtines, the
Turkish word for “sun,” very likely the first object to attract man’s attention and demand a
name.
We know that the origin of language goes so far back in history that any attempt to deduce
what actual elements of the first language are found in any known language is bound to fail. We
can only surmise from what we know that languages at that time must have resembled those of
today, in that each had a phonological, syntactic, and semantic component. Our ability to delve
accurately into history is so limited that we cannot yet determine whether there was a single
language from which all present languages descended or whether there were several languages.
Language changes with time, and dialects become separate languages, obscuring, occasionally,
the genetic relationships which sometimes exist between and among diverse languages.
About all we have for any information about the linguistic past are inscriptions on objects and
artifacts, and these are from a relatively late period in human history. The written documents
that have come down to us in both the Occident and the Orient, dating from 5000 B.C. at the
earliest, represent from the historical viewpoint a fairly recent time considering the millennia
that man has been known to exist. The British linguist Louis H. Gray wrote in 1939, “If we are
unable to affirm that the earliest men could speak (except in the sence that animals and birds
can speak), no skeletal remains thus far found show any evidence that they could not.
Anthropology throws no light on the problem.”
In 1939, linguists could not say much about the appearance of speech in man, except to
note, like Gray, that what evidence there was tended to show that man could always speak. In
an article, “On the Speech of Neanderthal Man” (Linguistic Inquiry, Vol. II, Spring 1971),
Professors Philip Liberman and Edmund S. Crelin, both of Yale University and Haskins
Laboratories, reported on their extensive anatomical studies of the “vocal” apparatus of the
newborn child, the restructured tract of Neanderthal man, and Homo sapiens. They found that
the vocal tract of Neanderthal man, unlike those of Cro-Magnon and Homo sapiens, was similar
in anatomical proportion to the tract of the newborn, and that each was incapable of speech
because of the high position of the larynx (voice box) in the throat. They concluded that
although it was difficult to determine whether Neanderthal man had the mental capacity for
articulate speech, it was reasonably certain that he lacked the “anatomical prerequisites” for
speech and specifically lacked the ability to make the full range of human speech sounds.
Liberman and Crelin also discovered that non-human primates, such as the ape and the
chimpanzee, have anatomical advantages: having a higher larynx greatly reduces the chances of
choking to death. “The only function,” they say, “for which the adult vocal human tract is
better suited is speech.” Perhaps the reason for our knowing little about the evolution of speech
is that “the intermediate stages in its evolution are represented by extinct species. The
disappearance of Neanderthal man “may have been a consequence of his linguistic—hence
intellectual—deficiencies with respect to his sapiens competitors. In short, we can conclude that
Man is human because he can say so.” An interesting hypothesis, we might admit, especially
when we examine the noises of the animal world.
Although animals and birds can be taught to perform certain feats and even to utter
individual words, man is the only being who is able to accomplish the act of speaking; that is, to
make the complex sequence of organized noises adding up to definite meanings. Just how
unique language is we will touch on at a later point.
VARIOUS PAST THEORIES
The ancient Greek philosophers, much given to speculation, theorized considerably about
language. Socrates, as recorded in the Cratylus of Plato, notes that in Greek the sound r often
appears in words denoting motion and / in those referring to smoothness. (Note in English: run,
river, ripple, ride, race, rise.) He submits that onomatopoeia, or the imitation of the sounds of
actions, was the basis of the origin of language and the reason why the “correct” name was
found for all things.
The 18th century German philosopher Leibnitz represented the view that all languages came
from a proto- or beginning speech. In the next century Darwin hypothesized that speech
originated from “mouth pantomime”—that the vocal organs unconsciously imitated gestures
performed by the hands. As recently as 1962, one of the two speakers who dealt with this
question at the meeting of the American Anthropological Association presented ideas that
followed this general tack.
Many theories of language have been proposed—and nearly all of them have been accorded
fanciful names which neatly catalogue them according to the type of words envisioned as
forming the first instance of speech. One of these was what the German scholar Max Mueller
christened the “bow-wow” theory, which states that language arose in imitation of the sounds
of nature, such as the babbling of a brook, the murmur of the wind, and so on. Since a dog
barks, for example, and says “bow-wow,” man referred to him as a “bow-wow.” This theory,
however, appears not to hold, since the same noise is often interpreted differently by different
language groups. In imitating a rooster, for instance, English speakers say “cock-a-doodle-doo,”
the Spanish and French “cocorico,” and the Chinese “go-go-gooo.” Most of the so-called
onomatopoeic words are made according to the sound patterns of a particular language system.
The “ding dong” theory tries to establish a mystical and difficult-to-fathom relationship
between sound and meaning. This label refers to the notion that the primeval term for an object
could represent any noise associated with it, including ones made by hitting it, blowing on it, or
the like. The “ta ta” theory, in line with Darwin, holds that language originated from verbal
imitation of bodily movements and gestures, gesticulating with the mouth and tongue, so to
speak.
We may smile when we consider still other theories. The “yo-he-ho” theory argues that
language arose as exclamatory utterances brought about by intense physical effort. When used
they presumably meant such things as “Heave on that rock.” The “pooh-pooh” theory
maintains that language first consisted of exclamations prompted by such emotions as fear,
pleasure, pain, and the like. Present-day examples in this classification, like the onomatopoeic
words, turn out to be rather closely bound to a particular language.
Interestingly, even the linguist Otto Jespersen formulated a theory of original language.
Realizing that the reconstructions of earlier stages of language merely scratch the surface of the
long period of human speech, he felt that linguists could work themselves further back into
history by observing general tendencies and directions of change. In his work on language
history he was impressed by the “breaking-down” processes that are found whenever there is
evidence of an earlier and a later stage of a language, for instance, Old, Middle, and Modern
English. “We must imagine primitive language as consisting (chiefly at least) of very long words,”
he writes, “full of difficult sounds, and sung rather than spoken.. .. The evolution of language
shows a progressive tendency from inseparable conglomerations to freely and regularly
combinable short elements.” Yet language has been around too long for this theory to hold. If,
for the sake of argument, breaking-down processes took place faster than building-up processes,
language would have ceased long ago when the last speaker could say nothing but “Uh.”
Languages for most of human history must have been much like languages as we now find
them.
A few years ago, D. S. Diamond, an English lawyer and sociologist, wrote a book titled The
History and Origins of Language, in which he attempted to prove that the first words were brief
interjections, something like the first instinctive utterances of infants. At first these sounds
were made as calls for assistance, accompanied by gestures designed to illustrate the sort of aid
desired. To his credit, Diamond seeks empirical evidence in a vast variety of languages, including
Hebrew and the African languages, to support his theory. Captivating as his theory may be,
however, it does represent, to a large extent, sheer speculation.
G. Revesz, late Professor of Psychology at the University of Amsterdam, in his book, The
Origins and Prehistory of Language, feels that human speech developed through various stages
that we may find in animal noises. The ultimate root is to be found in contact sounds which
merely serve to identify members of the same species and to promote a sense of collectiveness.
Communication begins with the cry specific to some internal state of the animal, so that the
other members can determine whether it is frightened, angry, hungry, or hurt, and can act
accordingly. A cry does not need to be anything we would consider a deliberate message. The
last stage of pre-speech, believed by Revesz to be limited to the most highly developed
mammals, such as cats, dogs, and monkeys, is the call, a sound addressed to one member of the
species. Revesz believes that it was specialization in the development of calls that led to the
word, which in its first unrecoverable rudimentary stage of imperative language was most nearly
analogous to the imperatives (commands) and vocatives (names called out) of later fully
functioning human speech.
A FEW CONCLUSIONS
It would be helpful if we could synthesize, out of the pieces of all the laboriously
elaborated theories that have been offered, the genesis of a reasonable or consistent explanation
for the origin of language. We do not have to delve deeply, however, to see that the proposals
are so disparate as to be virtually unconnectable.
The conclusion is obvious: to paraphrase a German philosopher, “We only know that we
don’t know.” We cannot reconstruct any vestige of original language; we cannot even
extrapolate back from recent trends, from a modern language like English to an earlier one like
Sanskrit, as Jespersen tried to do. The beginnings—if we can even speak of a beginning—are too
far lost in the midst of antiquity.
Neither can we recapture glimpses of the original language from observing children. Children
learning their language do not go through its linguistic history all over again. They are immersed
in a world of talking from the beginning. Well before they use anything we might want to call
words, influences of the language they hear can be detected in their babbling. Gradually,
according to a biological schedule, they learn their language, absorbing the particular structures
at their own individual and maturational pace.
Earlier scholars even tried experiments with children to determine whether, if left to their
own resources, they would develop a language. We must perhaps grant that what would happen
would no doubt be interesting to know, and it could at least make a good science fiction plot to
have a Mad Linguist abducting babes for his origin-of-language researches. But, since it is
“impossible, unnatural, and illegal to try the experiment,” as Max Mueller reasonably put it, it
would not really be relevant to the beginning of language. In the last analysis, theories on the
origin of language may be speculative, but even in this day and age there is a continuing interest
in how it all began.
Two points do stand out in the theories we have just discussed. One, to talk about origin
means that there had to be an origin. No serious thought is given by the various theorists to the
notion that there perhaps was no beginning, or that when modern man made his appearance he
had language. No invention was involved. As Eric Lenneberg puts it, “Knowledge of language
precedes speech and may exist without speech.” We know that language is a biological fact, that
young children are not “conditioned” to leam a language (being exposed to one is enough), and
that differences among languages do not outweigh their similarities. All languages are
spoken—each puts words together into phrases, sentences, discourse; and each language has a
syntax—no language has a random word order. “Consider,” Lenneberg continues, “the vast
differences in the forms and semantics of languages (making a common and focal origin of
language most unlikely); consider the geographical separation of some human societies that
must have persisted for thousands of years; consider the physical differentiation into a number
of different stocks and races. Yet, everywhere man communicates in a strikingly similar
pattern.”
The second point is that some investigators have attempted to correlate the behavior of
higher primates with man. No animal has ever attained the mastery of even the rudimentary
language skills of a very young child. The difference between man and the higher primates
appears not to be one of degree of complexity but one of quality of complexity.
ANIMAL RESEARCH AND ITS IMPLICATIONS
Two avenues of research have appeared in recent times. The first is the classical study of
animal behavior, of attempting, for instance, to hypothesize about linguistic skills from
observing the behavior of rats and pigeons. The second is ethology, the study of instinctive
behavior in animals. Revesz made certain steps in this direction by endeavoring to investigate
the sounds, calls, and cries that animals make, attempting to determine whether there was, in
fact, a pre-speech associated with the ancestors of man. Other animal researchers are
investigating the social behavior of higher primates—chimpanzees and gorillas in the wild. The
results of this research have demonstrated that many prior notions about the behavior of
anthropoids were wrong.
Evidently, these investigators hoped that such research could establish a base for a type of
communication system from which human language may have developed. Such attempts to
relate the “linguistic behavior” of higher primates to man and his ability to learn language
appear unpromising. In 1951, two researchers, Dr. and Mrs. Keith J. Hayes, raised a chimpanzee
baby (Viki) in their home and attempted to teach her language. They found, even after
intensive instruction, that Viki could say only a few words, and only after the appropriate
stimulus. She never learned the spoken language.
Research and experimentation with chimpanzees continue, however. Drs. R. Allen and
Beatrice Gardner also raised a chimp, whom they named Washoe, in their home. Unlike the
Hayeses, who attempted to teach Viki to speak, the Gardners taught Washoe a portion of the
American Sign Language, the language of the deaf. They found that, through instrumental
conditioning (tickling was one of her rewards), Washoe could be taught a number of signs. At
the end of two years, Washoe had learned approximately 35 signs that she could use
individually or in combinations to communicate her feelings and desires. She could manipulate
about 30 different two-sign combinations and four three-sign combinations. Whether there is a
relationship here between what Washoe learned and the early development of language in a
child will have to wait for further research.
Roger Brown, who has been researching the similarities, poses the question, “Why should
anyone care?” He answers, “For the same reason, perhaps, that we care about space travel. It is
lonely being the only language-using species in the universe. We want a chimp to talk so that we
can say: ‘Hello, out there! What’s it like, being a chimpanzee?’ ”
A more promising approach involves looking more closely at the fundamental characteristics
of human language. In the past we often took for granted that we knew what they were, but
research, especially since 1960, has shown that we did not really understand too much about
the intricate and complex skills of the language user. One thing we do know, from studies in
psycholinguistics and in the biological foundations of language, is that language appears to be a
human trait and that it is also species-uniform, that is, no normal person fails to learn a
language.
Perhaps the essential property of language, according to Professor Noam Chomsky, is that it
provides the means for “expressing indefinitely many thoughts and for reacting appropriately in
an indefinite range of new situations.”
ASPECTS AND CHARACTERISTICS OF LANGUAGE
To some language theorists, a language is an unbounded set of sentences; each sentence is

limited in length and each is constructed out of a limited number of elements or constituents.
To be technical for the moment, a theory of a specific language like English, for example,
defines the sentences of that language. By examining the theories of a number of languages,
linguists hope that they can extrapolate a number of linguistic generalizations that are common
to and shared by all languages in the world; to determine, in other words, characteristics of
languages that are universal to all languages. Emmon Bach and Robert Harms, in their book,
Universals in Linguistic Theory, point to the basic goals and methods of this kind of linguistic
investigation. “What is linguistic theory itself,” they submit, “if not the attempt to discover
what is common to all languages, what is essential in the notion ‘natural language,’ what are the
limits within which languages vary, what are the (universal!) terms by means of which this
variation can be described?”
To Charles F. Hockett (Course in Modern Linguistics), an essential feature of language is
displacement, or the ability to talk about objects that are not present. Other features of
importance are productivity, or the ability to formulate new messages; duality, or the capacity
to attach symbolic meaning to linguistic units; and cultural transmission, or the ability to pass
language from one generation to another.
Above all, Hockett points out, normal language behavior is stimulus-free. Noam Chomsky
reminds us, in Language and Mind, that the proper study of language may lead us closer to an
understanding of human nature. But honesty forces him to admit “that we are as far today as
Descartes was three centuries ago from understanding just what enables a human to speak in a
way that is innovative, free from stimulus control, and also appropriate and coherent.”
II. QUESTIONS AND ACTIVITIES
1. Read several accounts of attempts to teach language to chimps, and then decide whether
these chimps had actually learned “language.” Why or why not?
2. What are some common, everyday definitions of language?
3. If language is partially defined as communication, can we call the noises that dogs make
language? Why or why not?
4. If they are not language noises, what are the noises that animals make?
5. What kind of teaching/learning is involved in training an animal, say a dog, to respond to

verbal stimuli? How much can an animal learn in this way?
6. What seems to be the difference between the kind of learning that goes on when a child is
learning his/her native language and the kind when a dog is taught how to “speak”?
7. What are some other traits or skills that seem to be species-specific—unique to the human
race?
8. Linguists point out that we know far more about our language than we can actually explain.
What are some activities/skills that we know but would find it difficult to explain without
diagrams, pictures, and gestures? For instance, try explaining to someone (perhaps a young
child) how to tie shoe laces.
II. FOR FURTHER REFERENCE
Bach, Emmon and Robert Harms, eds. 1968. Universals in Linguistic Theory. New York: Holt,
Rinehart and Winston.
Bellugi, Ursula. 1970. “Learning the Language.” Psychology Today 7:32-35, 66.
Bender, M. Lionel. 1973. “Linguistic Indeterminacy: Why You Cannot Reconstruct ‘Proto-
Human.’ ” Language Sciences 26:7-12.
Brown, Roger. 1973. A First Language: The Early Stages. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University
Press.
_ 1970. “The First Sentences of Child and Chimpanzee,” in Psycholinguistics. New York:
Free Press.
Chomsky, Noam A. 1972. Language and Mind. New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich.
Diamond, A. S. 1962. The History and Origin of Language. New York: Philosophical Library.
Edmonds, Marilyn H. 1976. “New Directions in Theories of Language Acquisition.” Harvard
Educational Review May, 179-97.
Gardner, R. Allen and Beatrice T. Gardner. 1969. “Teaching Sign Language to a Chimpanzee.”
Science 165:664-72.
Grabbe, Lester. 1970. “Origin of Languages.” The Plain Truth August-September, 00-00.
Gray, Louis H. 1939. Foundations of Language. New York: MacMillan.
Hayes, Catherine. 1951. The Ape in Our House. New York: Harper.
Hayes, K. J. and C. Hayes. 1952. “A Home-Raised Chimpanzee,” in R. G. Kuhlen and G. G.
Thompson, eds.: Psychological Studies of Human Development. New York: Appleton-
Century-Crofts.
Herder, J. G. 1969. “Essay on the Origin of Language,” in Peter H. Salus, ed.: On Language.
New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston.
Hewes, Gordon W., William Stokoe, and Roger W. Wescott, eds. 1975. Language Origins. Silver
Spring, Md.: Linstok Press.
Hockett, Charles F. 1958. A Course in Modern Linguistics. New York: MacMillan.
Jespersen, Otto. 1922. Language: Its Nature, Development and Origin. London: Allen and
Unwin.
Kolata, Gina B. 1974. “The Demise of the Neanderthals: Was Language a Factor?” Science
186:618-19.
Lenneberg, Eric H. 1967. Biological Foundations of Language. New York: John Wiley.
Liberman, Philip and Edmund S. Crelin. 1971. “On the Speech of Neanderthal Man.” Linguistic
Inquiry Spring, 203-222.
Linden, Eugene. 1975. Apes, Men, and Language. New York: Saturday Review Press.
Mack, Maynard. 1971. “To See It Feelingly.” Publications of the Modern Language Association
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Menyuk, Paula. 1970. Sentences Children Use. Cambridge, Mass.: M.I.T. Press.
Newman, Edwin H. 1974. Strictly Speaking: Will America Be the Death of English? New York:
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Premack, David. 1970. “The Education of Sarah: A Chimp Learns the Language.” Psychology
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Revesz, G. 1956. The Origins and Prehistory of Language. New York: Philosophical Library.
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Thorndike, E. L. 1900. “The Origin of Language.” Science 77:173-75.
III. Languages and More Languages: A Tour
MAPPING LANGUAGES
If we could project a language map of the world upon this page, four to five thousand languages
would be included, and probably many more, the exact number depending upon our definition
of language. Africa south of the Sahara has no less than 800 separate languages, a number that
does not even come close to approximating the number of dialects spoken in that region.
The terms dialect and language are often confusing and misleading. Distinctions made in the
past between dialect and language have not always been clear, consistent, or accurate. The
speech of Florence and Palermo are every bit as different as the speech of Lisbon and Madrid,
but it is common to be told that Florentines and people from Palermo speak the same language,
while, at the same time, it is maintained that Spanish and Portuguese are two separate
languages. From this we may infer that the distinction between dialect and language appears to
be based more upon political than linguistic considerations. The school child of Palermo does
not learn to write the dialect he speaks; he learns a standard Italian based on the dialect of
Florence, just because the central government of his country has decreed an arbitrary standard
and has directed that every child adhere to it. Portugal, of course, has been politically separate
from Spain since the Middle Ages. The people of each country learn to read and write the
dialect of their respective capitals or of cities of cultural prestige; the Portuguese learn a
standard dialect based on the form of the language spoken in Coimbra, the Spanish a form of
the dialect of Madrid.
An even more curious and perplexing situation exists in the geographical area where the
northern Germanic languages-Swedish, Norwegian, and Danish-are spoken. Before standardi¬
zation occurred in Norway, the Norwegians—when Norway was part of Denmark—were believed
to be speaking a dialect of Danish. Nobody “wrote” Norwegian any more than anybody today
writes Texan, Nebraskan, or Canadian. When Norwegians wrote their own language, they wrote
standard Danish, just as today Texans, Nebraskans, and Canadians write English. After the
separation from Denmark, a new Norwegian written language was developed, based on the
western Scandinavian dialect spoken in Norway.
Even though these northern Germanic languages are labeled separate, “They have continued
to influence each other,” says Winfred P. Lehmann in his book Historical Linguistics, “so that
to this day Norwegian and Swedish are mutually intelligible; Danes can readily understand
Norwegian and Swedish, though their own speech may cause Norwegians and Sw'edes
difficulties. Technically such mutually intelligible forms of speech are known as dialects. For
national forms of speech the term is apparently undignified. The Scandinavian languages are
therefore excellent examples of the nonlinguistic designation ‘language’ for forms of speech
used by a nation rather than for forms of speech which are unintelligible to native speakers of
other languages.”
18
Languages and More Languages: A 7'our 19
Our imaginary linguistic map is defined more in shades of color than in patches. The dialects
of Spain and Portugal blend into each other in some areas with few pronounced differences
along the political boundary. Certainly, centuries of writing the languages differently has had an
effect, but the Spanish and Portuguese spoken on either side of the border are more similar
than many realize. Seas and uninhabitable mountains make natural breaks in the color
gradation, and even more pronounced differences occur where languages of different groups
border on each other. The colors on either side of the linguistic boundary between French and
the Germanic languages tend to be quite different, yet the boundary itself is extremely
complex, with areas like Belgium and Alsace, where both languages exist side by side.
Our imaginary language map shows a few isolated areas of highly contrasting colors. The
Basque language of the western Pyrenees bears no relation to its nearest neighbors, or
apparently to any other language. Another such area of isolated color appears in the Caucasus
region, where Georgia and the other Caucasian languages form another linguistic island.
Soviet and other linguists (such as the late Norwegian Alf Sommerfelt) claim a connection
between these two groups, placing Basque and the Caucasian languages together into an
Ibero-Caucasian unit, although some linguists feel that the evidence is inadequate. It is
nonetheless theoretically impossible to make a categorical statement that one language is totally
unrelated to another language. After millennia of separate development, all evidence of
relationship may disappear. With evidence to the contrary, there are those who still claim that
all languages derive from one single source (monogenesis). Those who favor a multiple
beginning {polygenesis) have no way to prove their hypothesis either. “It is perfectly
conceivable,” Ronald Langacker submits, “that all human languages are in fact related but that
proof of this universal genetic relationship will never be forthcoming. It is equally conceivable
that human languages are not all related; in this event, proof is ruled out in principle.”
A language map such as the one we have proposed is practically an impossibility. For one
thing, finer and finer distinctions in dialects can be drawn until we arrive at small differences
even among members of a single family. For this reason linguists have had to recognize the
concept of idiolect, the speech of an individual.
On another scale, the map is impossible because of bilingualism, the use of two (or more)
languages by the same people, a fairly common phenomenon in various parts of the world. A
good example is Paraguay, where a major part of the population speaks both Spanish and the
American Indian language Guarani. Another is Texas and parts of the Southwest, where a major
ethnic group speaks both English and Spanish, most of them employing the Southwest Spanish
dialect, a variant of Mexican Spanish heavily influenced by English.
A further complicating situation is a kind of “bidialectism,” which linguists refer to as
diglossia. In diglossia two different forms of what can be recognized easily as the same language
are used by the same people for different purposes. Switzerland serves as an excellent
illustration of diglossia. A form of standard German is taught in the schools and generally used
for most cultural and intellectual purposes, but the Swiss dialects are maintained as the means
for ordinary, everyday communication.
COMPARATIVE LINGUISTICS
Methods employed by historical linguists of the 19th century serve to point up the
similarities that exist between and among apparently different languages. Most of the languages
of Europe belong to the Indo-European family. English, for instance, is a Low German dialect
that belongs to Western Germanic; Western Germanic belongs to Germanic; and Germanic
belongs to Indo-European. The basis for statements Unking two or more languages Ues in
similarities that each of the many languages share. Three languages as geographicaUy disparate
as Polish, Spanish, and English resemble each other to such a degree that we are forced to posit
their relatedness:
The ABC’s of Languages and Linguistics
20
English: His mother is old.

Spanish: Su madre es vieja.
Polish: Jego matka jest stara.
Upon first glance these three sentences show more differences than similarities, and it is certain
that speakers of each language could not understand the spoken sentences of the others. Yet
there remain some underlying similarities, not apparent upon superficial examination. First, the
word order is the same. Second, the words for mother show some correspondence, and words
for is in Spanish and Polish share es. Vieja and stara appear completely different, and they do
come from different roots. But both must be in the feminine singular form (to agree with the
feminine singular mother) and in both cases the feminine singular sign is the -a suffix.
Historical linguists have in the past compared the records of languages in terms of their
structures, and from these records have reconstructed earlier stages of languages, in some cases
reconstructing a proto-, or earlier, stage of the one language from which all the other dialects
have ensued.
Word histories, for instance, have been employed to trace the relationship among languages
which may be now far apart in geographical distance. Let us examine the words for mother and
three in the languages that follow:
GREEK LATIN GERMAN ENGLISH NORWEGIAN GAELIC
mater mater Mutter mother mor(moder) mathair
treis tres drei three tre Tri
RUSSIAN LITHUANIAN ALBANIAN ARMENIAN SANSKRIT PERSIAN

mat motina (noma) mair matr mader
tri tris tre (erek) tri (se)
The Albanian word for mother does not belong in the same group as the rest, and the Armenian
and Persian words for three, though related to the others, reveal no obvious correspondences;
yet, the observed similarities are much more impressive than the differences. There are
thousands of other words as well which reveal further similarities among the languages that we
commonly assign to the Indo-European group.
These correspondences can be traced to the fact that the above twelve languages (and we
have not presented an exhaustive list) are all related, emanating from a common source, called
Proto-Indo-European, the parent language. Linguists have followed two lines of inquiry into
P.I.E. From studies of the recorded Indo-European languages, by a process known as
reconstruction, they deduce what the forms of the source may have been like. In a few cases
the answer is obvious—for instance, since the apprently related words for mother all begin with
an m, an m is reconstructed as having stood at the beginning of this word in Proto-Indo-
European. More often than not, some reconstructions involve considerably more ingenuity to
produce simple, consistent, and sensible forms from which development could have taken place
in the recorded forms of the various members of Indo-European.
The ancient Indian Sanskrit, preserved as a religious language (we have a grammar dating
from the 4th century B.C.), is a dialect of Proto-Indo-European. Of living languages, Lithuanian
in many respects may be nearest to the parent, since it still preserves word pitch, which has
been lost in Sanskrit. Lithuanian is geographically near to the probable location of
Proto-Indo-European, and it has developed in the relative isolation of the primeval Baltic
forests.
There have been many attempts to approximate the original home of the Indo-European
speech community. Since we have no attested records from this community, our conjectures
are little more than highly educated guesses. Scholars, moreover, do not agree entirely as to
what pieces of evidence give most weight to attempts to locate the original home. The general
picture that is obtained from the words we can verify by reconstruction as having existed in the
original language would lead us to conclude the existence of a community near, but not on, the
Languages and More Languages: A Tour 21
open steppe country of eastern Europe. Nearness to open country is suggested by the
reconstruction of words for horse, wheel, and spoke, implying the use of carts, if not chariots.
The number of tree names, which reasonably solid evidence would ascribe to the vocabulary of
the speakers of P.I.E., inclines us toward assigning these people to a forested region. The most
significant tree for locating the community is the beech. We can confidently associate the
meaning of beech with a Proto-Indo-European word whose derivation from a verb meaning eat
indicates that gathering beechnuts provided this community with at least some part of its diet.
Knowing this, we can eliminate from consideration as the original home all of Europe north and
east of the Konigsberg-Odessa (now Kaliningrad) line.
An additional item, the word for salmon, gives another indication of the approximate
location of this speech community. Here, there is not such general agreement about the
evidence. This reconstructed word is the one which was borrowed into English as lox. If the
original word in P.I.E. referred to the Atlantic salmon, we could then tie the community down
to the valleys of the Vistula, the Oder, the Elbe, and conceivably the Weser (any place farther
west can be eliminated on other grounds, including rather clear archeological evidence). One of
the languages that has preserved the word, however, is Ossetic, an Iranian language from the
region of the Caucasus. Some proponents who favor a homeland in that region can therefore
argue that the Caspian species of salmon was originally designated by the word. The suggestion
of a sojourn in the area of transition from the steppe to the forested northern Caucasus may be
considered as a possible alternative hypothesis; however, the more popular theory posits a
journey from the steppe to a forested northern zone.
From this tentative location, the members of the Indo-European community spread until the
language stretched from Iceland in the west to its eastern limit, where the Brahmaputra River
pushes up between Burma and Tibet. In more recent times, the various members of the
Indo-European language group have scattered even farther, until today they cover the Americas
and a large part of Africa, as well as Australia and the Pacific Islands. Only in the last decade
has it started to ebb as new nations, once dependent upon the West, have asserted their
independence.
The remainder of this chapter will be devoted to a discussion of the languages and groups
within the Indo-European family and a sketch of the other language families and the areas they
cover; in other words, a “tour of Babel.” The Appendix includes a listing of those languages
which we will discuss.
THE INDO-EUROPEAN LANGUAGES
Indo-European is divided into eastern and western groups. The eastern group includes the
languages of India and Persia, the Baltic and Slavic languages, and two groups now found only
in one isolated language each: Armenian and Albanian.
Western Indo-European includes the Hellenic group, whose only modern representative is
Greek. It also includes the Italic languages (represented by the Romance group and several dead
languages of Italy), the Germanic group, and the Celtic. An extinct language called Tocharian
once spoken in central Asia, belonged—strangely enough—to the western group. The Hittites, a
people mentioned in the Bible, once ruled an empire centered in what is now eastern Turkey.
The inscriptions they left give us only an imperfect picture of their language but it was
obviously related to Indo-European. Some scholars feel it may have become separated from the
parent Indo-European stock before divisions within the stock, such as into the eastern and
western groups, were relevant.
An accurate chart of all these languages is shown under “Indo-European” in Webster’s Third
International Dictionary and goes into far more detail than is practical here. A few points are
worth mentioning. The largest language in the Indie or Indo-Aryan branch of Indo-European is
Hindustani, which in two somewhat different standard forms is the principal official language
of two of the heavily populated countries of the world—India and Pakistan. Pakistan uses a
form of this language which is called Urdu and has a great many more words borrowed from
Persian and Arabic than does the Hindi used in India. Two other Indo-Aryan tongues of the
subcontinent are spoken by large numbers of people and embody long established and
flourishing literary traditions; these two are Marathi, with more than 30 million speakers in the
Bombay region, and Bengali, the language of Bangladesh and the Calcutta area in India. The
latter, with probably 75 million speakers, is ninth largest in number of speakers among the
languages of the world. Singhalese, the major language of Sri Lanka (formerly Ceylon), is
another important Indie language. Besides the large number of languages spoken throughout
India, the Indie group includes the language of the gypsies (Romany) and Sanskrit. The latter is
the Hindu classical language. As we said before, it is probably the closest we can come to
Proto-Indo-European in a recorded language. A grammar of Sanskrit, written more than 2,000
years ago by a man named Panini, gives surprisingly modern insights into the structure of the
language.
The Iranian language group includes Persian, Pashto of Afghanistan, and Kurdish, a language
whose speakers are divided among Iran, Iraq, Turkey, and the USSR. Minor members of the
family include the Ossetic language spoken in the northern Caucasus-which we have already had
cause to mention—and the languages of various tribes of the Pamir plateau, which Soviet
linguists have only recently begun to study.
The Slavic (Russian, Polish, Czech, etc.) and Baltic (Lettish and Lithuanian) languages also
belong to the eastern division of Indo-European. These languages use either of two different
alphabets. The difference traces back to the time the Slavic peoples were Christianized. The
missionaries from Rome brought with them the Latin alphabet—the same one that came to
England. The modifications in each case were slight, so Polish, Czech, and the other languages
that use the Roman letters look fairly familiar to us. The use of this alphabet still characterizes
the countries whose people are principally Roman Catholic or Protestant. There were other
missionaries in the area from the earliest times—those from the Byzantine church. One of these,
St. Cyril from Macedonia, gave his name to the Cyrillic alphabet. He is said to have been the
first to adapt the Greek alphabet to the writing of Slavic languages. Like the Roman alphabet in
this area, the Cyrillic alphabet is associated with a church, in this case the Eastern Orthodox
Church. Russian and Bulgarian use the Cyrillic alphabet and in these countries the influence of
the Eastern Orthodox Church is strongest. Serbian and Croatian are just dialects of a single
language. The principal reason for listing them separately is that Croatian is written in Roman
letters and Serbian in Cyrillic. Again the difference in alphabets reflects the difference between
the Catholic Croatians and the Eastern Orthodox Serbs.
Turning to the western group, we have the Romance languages, which are all descendants of
Latin. As the Latin-speaking Roman Empire disintegrated, the speech of the various areas
became differentiated. The major modern descendants of Latin are French, Spanish,
Portuguese, Italian, Rumanian, and Catalan (Catalonian). There are half a dozen or so less
prominent Romance languages including Romansch, which is the fourth official language of
Switzerland even though it is spoken by less than a hundred thousand Swiss.
The Celtic group is struggling to hold its own. The whole Celtic-speaking world was overrun
by speakers of Germanic and Romance tongues and the Celtic languages began to fade away.
Now that Ireland is self-governing, great efforts are being made to promote the use of Irish
Gaelic, but in the other Celtic areas the speakers are fewer every year. Cornish has died out, and
improved communications are spreading the use of English and French where Scots Gaelic,
Welsh, Manx, and Breton once flourished. Welsh is the best preserved, having taken a new lease
on life during the religious movements of the late eighteenth century. Recent decades have seen
the official recognition of the language and the safeguarding of its position in the schools.
Perhaps the current phase of Welsh nationalism will avert any further erosion of the language.
Finally, we have the Germanic languages. These include the Scandinavian, extinct Gothic,
and the Germanic-Dutch group. Both English and Yiddish belong in the latter group. The
relationship is disguised in both cases. Yiddish has a great many Slavic and other loan words and
is written in the Hebrew alphabet. It is, however, basically a Germanic language.
English has several distinguishing characteristics. It has “simplified” itself more than most
other Indo-European languages by dropping many of the word endings (inflection) that
characterized P.I.E. Its vocabulary is unusually complex as a result of the Norman Conquest of
1066. Sir Walter Scott in Ivahoe has the jester point out that domestic animals use their
Anglo-Saxon names when in the field (cow, calf, pig, sheep) but are served up to the Norman
overlord as beef, veal, pork, and mutton—words borrowed from Norman French. This double
vocabulary goes much further than most of us may realize. Usually the Germanic word is
considered direct, or even vulgar, and the word of Romance derivation is considered refined.
This starts with the well-known “four-letter,” Anglo-Saxon words with their acceptable,
Romance-derived alternates and goes through such other pairs as sweat—perspire, brave-
valorous, think—cogitate, and literally myriads of others. Its final claim to fame is that English
is second to none as a second language. More than any other language in the world, people learn
English in addition to their native language.
THE OTHER LANGUAGE FAMILIES
Leaving the Indo-European, only one other language family covers anything like the same
land area. This is the Altaic group, which includes Turkish and extends past the Altai mountains
of Central Asia. Just how far it goes is still under investigation, though it is clear it goes far
enough to include the Yakut of northern Siberia. Almost all experts include the Mongol and
Manchu dialects, but the status of Korean and Japanese is not clear. Some include both the
latter languages in the Altaic group; some include only Korean; others group them separately
as an unrelated family; and still others put both outside the Altaic family and furthermore
separate them from each other, leaving three distinct divisions. Many, but by no means all,
linguists see a connection between the Finno-Ugric group (Finnish, Hungarian, and Estonian)
and the Altaic group. It is probably best to wait for further investigations before taking a
definite position on these questions. The connection between all these languages would be
based on their spread from a central Asian source with the expansion of the nomadic tribes.
In the Middle East the principal language family is the Semitic. The largest group included is
Arabic, spreading from Arabia northward into Iraq, Jordan, Syria, and west across the upper
portion of Africa. In addition, it is the liturgical language of Islam and, as such, reaches far
south into Africa and east and north into Asia and nearby Europe. Other Semitic languages are
Hebrew and Amharic. The latter is the official language of Ethiopia, spoken by Coptic
Christians claiming descent from one of the ten lost tribes of Israel. Hebrew is basically the
language of the Old Testament. It has more recently been modernized by the linguistic
architects of Israel and is now the official language of the modern Israeli state.
Semitic languages take their name from Shem, the second son of Noah. Shem’s brother Ham
gave his name to the Hamitic languages, which seem to be distantly related to the Semitic.
Hamitic languages border the great deserts of Africa. They are spoken by the Berbers and
Tuaregs of northwest Africa and the Sahara. Hausa, Galla, and Somali in Ethiopia and Somalia
continue the spread of this family to Africa’s opposite coast. Semitic and Hamitic are grouped
together by linguists in one larger family called Afro-Asiatic.
If we were to draw a line east and slanting a bit down on the map all the way across Africa
from the point where the western coast makes its right-angle bend to the south, we would have
approximately demarcated the northern Emit of the vast Bantu family of languages. Most of the
languages of western Africa south of the Sahara are now believed to be related, and Bantu is
grouped among them in the Niger-Congo family, which is among the more extensive language
families of the world. Sandwiched between the Niger-Congo and the Afro-Asiatic languages are
many others. In a belt from the eastern Sahara stretching south and east as far as Tanganyika
24
are found several families, such as the Nilotic languages, whose possible relationships are not y. t
thoroughly explored.
A peculiar feature of certain south African languages is their use of click consonants. We
hear some of these clicks in the sound of a kiss, the deprecating sound usually spelled tsk-tsk,
and the sound used to start a horse or a mule moving. The very fact that we cannot spell these
sounds shows how foreign they are to Indo-European speech. Clicks are found in some of the
southern Bantu languages, the best known of which is Zulu, but historical study has shown that
these sounds did not originally exist in any Bantu languages but were imported from another
family-the Bushman or Khoisan group of languages spoken by the earlier inhabitants of the
region.
Afrikaans is a dialect of Dutch derived from the immigrants who helped settle South Africa.
This makes it a transplanted Indo-European language. Its use is being furthered by the present
government of the Republic of South Africa.
Starting at Madagascar, a language family of the Islanders, the Austronesian family, spreads
through Indonesia, the Philippines, Maori of New Zealand, all the islands of Micronesia, and on
east to Hawaii, Easter Island, and Tahiti. Javanese, with more than 40 million speakers, is the
largest member of the family. This language group reaches the mainland only in Malayan and
scattered hill tribes of southeast Asia. There are still some hundred thousand aboriginal
Formosans in the eastern half of the island of Taiwan whose languages belong to this group.
The last major language family of the non-Western world is the Sino-Tibetan. This includes
the Chinese language family. It is customary to speak of the several dialects of the Chinese
language, probably because there is a common writing system that speakers of any dialect of
Chinese can use. However, it would be more accurate to speak of separate Chinese languages,
since the speaker from Peking can understand a speaker from Canton no better than a
Frenchman can understand an Italian.
The Northern Chinese or Mandarin language is spoken by two-thirds of China, which gives it
the greatest number of native speakers of any language in the world. The most closely related
language to Mandarin is the Wu language of Shanghai, Wenchow, and the surrounding region.
Cantonese is the major south-China language, spoken throughout the densely populated Canton
region, including the British-controlled island of Hong Kong. Its use extends west as far as the
island of Hainan. Also, it is a major language among the overseas Chinese—including most of the
Chinese in the continental United States. The coastal languages between Cantonese and Wu in
Fukien and eastern Kuangtung provinces are referred to as Min. It is linguistically most
reasonable to regard these as belonging to two languages. The more prominent is spoken in the
region of the cities of Amoy and Swatow and by most of the native Chinese of the island of
Taiwan. Together with Cantonese, it is spoken in the cities of all the countries around the
South China Sea. The other Min language is spoken in the districts about the city of Foochow.
The two inland Chinese languages are called Hakka and Hsiang and are found principally in
Kiangsi and Hunan provinces respectively. Hakka is also the language of the earliest Chinese
settlers of Taiwan, mostly now confined to rural districts, and is the major Chinese language
spoken in the Hawaiian Islands. How speakers of such different languages can communicate in
writing is a secret we will share with you in the chapter on writing. (Japanese, a language as far
removed from Chinese as either of them is from English, also uses an adaptation of this same
system of characters of writing).
Besides the Chinese language group, the Sino-Tibetan family includes the languages of Tibet
and southeast Asia. Burmese is possibly the most prominent. These are generally tone languages
like Chinese. What sounds to us like the same word said four different ways-with high, low,
rising, or falling tones-can have meanings as different as “to meow like a kitten,” “secret,”
“uncooked rice,” and “honey.” All four of these words in Mandarin Chinese sound to an
English speaker like our pronoun “me.”
0
The Dravidian language family was in India before the invasion of Indo-Europeans and many
Dravidian languages are still spoken in south India. Four of these-Tamil, Telugu, Kannada, and
Malayalam—have speakers numbering in the millions. There are more isolated families in Asia,
too. Cambodian is the only widely spoken language in the Mon-Khmer family. Vietnamese is
thought by some scholars to be a remote relative even though it is a tone language while
Cambodian and languages closely related to it are not. This question, like so many others, must
still be considered unsettled.
The Australian aborigines and the Papuans of New Guinea all live in the general area of
Austronesian languages; however, none of their languages are Austronesian. Some linguists
classify the Hyperborean languages of northern Siberia with the Eskimo languages of North
America. Others feel that these, the Eskimo, and even some American Indian languages should
be grouped with the Ural-Altaic.
The languages of the Americas are divided into hundreds of families and even more
individual tongues usually classed as Amerindian. Some of these were widespread; more than
half the area of North and South America was covered by only sixteen of the groups. Even
today the Quechua language of Peru, which was one of the principal languages of the vast Inca
empire, is still spoken by a few million people. Other South American Indian languages which
continue to be important are Aymara, used in parts of Peru and Bolivia, and Guarani, spoken
together with Spanish by most Paraguayans. At least a hundred thousand Araucanians in Chile
still maintain their language, and Goajiro (Wahiro) in Colombia and Venezuela may have even
more speakers. The Mayan languages of Yucatan and Guatemala and the Nahuatl or Aztec
languages of Mexico also continue to be used by sizable groups.
In the United States and Canada there are not native American languages spoken by groups
anywhere as large as those we have mentioned farther south. At least three, though, show a
considerable measure of vitality. The largest of these is Navajo, spoken by more than 50,000
people. At least 40,000 Cree are the principal human population of the vast stretches of muskeg
extending both east and west from the southern portion of Hudson Bay. South of them, and
likewise covering a belt stretching half the distance across the continent, there are probably as
many speakers of Ojibway. Other Amerindian groups are represented by the isolated languages
of single, small tribes. The relationships between the groups are tentative. This multiplicity of
languages made problems for the Indians themselves. If a man traveled out of his own tribal
area, he was likely to Fmd that the local inhabitants could not understand a word he said. The
nomadic Indians of the great plains of North America had a solution for this problem. They
developed a gesture language with a sign of the hands standing for each word.
This tour of the world’s languages has been necessarily very sketchy. The subject is just too
great for proper presentation in a few pages. More detailed treatment can be carried out and has
been completed in several areas. Linguistic atlases of parts of Europe and the United States have
been prepared. These are immense projects tracing hundreds and thousands of dialect
variations. Thus, each study must decide just how deep to push its differences and distinctions,
and a quick sketch like ours pays for its speed with many rough and indistinct edges.
A LIST OF LANGUAGES
We will conclude our brief survey by including in the Appendix a list of the 300 languages
that were considered of sufficient importance or interest to Americans for Files of information
about them to be kept at the Center for Applied Linguistics in Arlington, Virginia. Many of the
languages also have other names. Decisions as to whether we are dealing in some cases with two
separate languages or two variants of one and the same language are often difficult, as we have
warned earlier in this chapter. The figures are intended to represent the number of persons for
whom the language is the main medium of communication; the paucity of accurate surveys
makes these educated guesses subject to constant revision.
III. QUESTIONS AND ACTIVITIES
1. Is there a regional dialect in the United States that has more status than the other regional
dialects?
2. Which do you suppose has more status, British English or American English?
3. On the national news networks, the various correspondents are from different geographical
regions of the country. Can we tell from listening to them which region they are from? For
example, Roger Mudd, Dan Rather, Walter Cronkite, and Harry Reasoner are from different
regions. Harry Reasoner grew up in Iowa. Can you tell where the others are from?
4. During the 1976 presidential campaign, a Georgia state official was hoping that Governor
Carter would be the next president, saying that it would be nice to have a president who did
not have an accent. What do you think the state official meant by his remark?
5. The Spanish spoken in the Southwest is often called a dialect, while the Spanish spoken in
Madrid or Mexico City is called a language, and in Mexico, the Indian languages are referred
to as dialects. Why would one spoken form be called a “dialect” while the other form is
called a “language?”
III. FOR FURTHER REFERENCE
Allen, Harold B. and Gary Underwood, eds. 1971. Readings in American Dialectology. New
York: Appleton-Century-Crofts.
Bloomfield, Morton W. and Leonard Newmark. 1963. A Linguistic Introduction to the History
of English. New York: Alfred A. Knopf.
Haugen, Einar. 1970. “The Ecology of Language.” Linguistic Reporter Winter, Supplement 25.
- 1969. The Norwegian Language in America: A Study in Bilingual Behavior. 2nd ed.
Bloomington: Indiana University Press.
Langacker, Ronald W. 1968. Language and Its Structure. New York: Harcourt, Brace and
World.
Lehmann, Winfred P., ed. 1975. Language and Linguistics in the People’s Republic of China.
Austin: University of Texas Press.
- 1973. Historical Linguistics: An Introduction. 2nd ed. New York: Holt, Rinehart and
Winston.
Mackey, William F. 1968. Bilingualism as a World Problem. Montreal: Harvest House.
Marckwardt, Albert H. 1958. American English. New York: Oxford University Press.
McDavid, Raven I., Jr. 1958. “The Dialects of American English,” in W. Nelson Francis: The
Structure of American English. New York: Ronald Press.
Muller, Siegfried H. 1964. The World’s Living Languages. New York: Unger.
Ornstein, Jacob. 1960. “Passport from Babel.” Texas Quarterly 3:150-55.

Pederson, Holger. 1962. The Discovery of Language. Bloomington: Indiana University Press.
Weinreich, Uriel. 1953. Languages in Contact. New York: Linguistic Circle of New York.
Williamson, Juanita V. and Virginia Burke. 1971. A Various Language: Perspectives on
American Dialects. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston.
IV. Winds of Change: The New Linguistics
LINGUISTIC REVOLUTIONS
In 1954, W. Nelson Francis wrote, “A long overdue revolution is at present taking place in the
study of English grammar—a revolution as sweeping in its consequences as the Darwinian
revolution in biology. It is the result of the application to English of methods of descriptive
analysis originally developed for use with languages of primitive people.” And approximately
twenty years later, in a text entitled A New English Grammar, N. R. Cattell writes, In the last
twenty or thirty years, a revolution has taken place in the academic approach to grammar.
Grammar, instead of being a dead subject, with all its facts compiled for all time, has become
part of the lively young social science of linguistics, in which what we know is dwarfed by what
we do not know but are fascinated to find out.”
Both men wrote of revolution; and today it remains common to find such an epithet as
“revolution” assigned to each advance in linguistic science. Perhaps “revolution” is too strong a
label to describe the changes that have swept through the linguistic world since the early
1950s—changes whose roots can be traced back as far as the beginning of this century and even
earlier.
In a discipline that has been characterized as “revolutionary,” differing views may
occasionally lead to schism. A few years ago two young instructors at a western university
resigned over ideological differences—in language theory. To an outsider it may seem
incongruous that matters pertaining to the theory of language could attract such loyalty and
arouse such wrath. We might hope that if linguistics purports to be a science, its practitioners
would assume a more dispassionate stance toward their subject. But such has not been, and is
not now, the case.
Linguists Paul Garvin (“Moderation in Linguistic Theory”) and Victor Yngve (“On
Achieving Agreement in Linguistics”) observe that this kind of extremism still exists within the
discipline of language study. Garvin, an explicator and interpreter of theoretical linguistics,
argues for moderation because he believes that “only a moderate theoretical position can assure
the continuity and further development of one’s discipline,” while Yngve pleads for an
ecumenical spirit and observes that a “kind of generation gap in the discipline exists: The
younger generation is not content to accept the values of their parents.”
Before we examine the effects of the linguistic revolution, a caveat is in order for our reader.
“Revolution,” we feel, has a way of implying that truth resides with the rebel and that there is
something peculiar and even pernicious about those “unenlightened” who choose to maintain
the faith. Discovery can lead to violent disagreements, as we have seen, and yet disagreements
within a discipline are healthy signs that research is on-going and that questions are being asked
and answers sought. To disparage the research of previous generations of scholars as somehow
vacuous and trivial and its progenitors as the advocates of falsehoods is quite another matter,
28
Winds of Change: The New Linguistics 29
however. We must always remind ourselves that for a science to be viable it must be
incremental; dogma in any form tends to be stifling and unproductive.
While it is true that great and revolutionary changes have occurred and will continue to
occur in linguistic science, much to the consternation of teachers, textbook writers, publishers,
and students, it is fascinating, nevertheless, to observe what in the short space of twenty years
has occurred to cause Francis and Cattell to call such changes “revolutionary.” Francis, in his
bold statements, refers to the then revolutionary kind of language study called structural or
descriptive-, structural linguistics was designed to replace the older and more traditional study of
language, designated pre- or unscientific by himself and other structuralists. Cattell not only
acknowledges the revolutionary fervor of structural linguistics but also presents the outlines of
a current “new” grammar, called generative-transformational by its most famous advocate,
Noam A. Chomsky of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology.
Generative-transformational grammar is revolutionary, according to Cattell, since it marks a
distinct step forward in the study of language. Not surprisingly, some of the early papers
explicating generative-transformational theory argue against the principles of language study
associated with structural linguistics. Since the publication of Syntactic Structures, Chomsky’s
initial monograph which served to give impetus to this theory, generative-transformational
theory has undergone major modifications, one made by Chomsky himself, as contained in his
Aspects of the Theory of Syntax, the others by his students and colleagues. We shall examine the
revision proposed by Charles Fillmore, which he has labeled Case Grammar, in our chapter on
Semantics.
We must not, however, in our resume, give the impression that these two “revolutions”
comprise the linguistic world as it exists today. On the contrary, there are various “schools” of
language study, each claiming its place in the dynamic discipline of linguistics and each with its
own advocates and critics. In reading through the linguistic literature we may come upon
references to Leonard Bloomfield’s Neo-structuralism, Kenneth L. Pike’s Tagmemics, Sydney
Lamb’s Stratificational Analysis, M. A. K. Halliday’s Scale and Category Grammar, and Andre
Martinet’s Functional Theory.
While structural and generative-transformational grammars are perhaps the most current in
the United States, perhaps in the world, we do not wish to suggest that these other theories
hold less promise or contain less truth than those we will examine. Perhaps any one of the
theories we have mentioned will rise to prominence in the years ahead. In the sciences, as well
as linguistics, theories are constantly being revised, or even replaced, by those which hold more
insight.
These theories—and we have listed only a few—with their unfamiliar and esoteric titles
reflect a much changed attitude toward the study of language. Just a few short years ago,
Cattell reminds us, grammarians thought they knew most of what there was to know about
language and the theories employed to explain and describe it. As a beginning point of our
survey, we shall first examine a few of the characteristics of traditional (18th-19th century)
grammar, as newer theories stand either in refutation (structural grammar) or in partial
agreement (generative-transformational grammar) with the aims of this tradition. Traditional
grammar is also perhaps the best known of all current English grammars-at least to many
generations of school children. Its study still is associated in many parts of the country with the
learning of definitions and of certain rules for speaking and writing “correct” English, and with
an emphasis on writing. These attributes were the very ones later criticized and attacked by the
structural grammarians.
Our purpose here and in the chapters that follow will not be to present detailed technical
introductions or even to survey all current schools of modern linguistic theory. Rather, we aim
to examine in outline in these chapters what we believe to be the major thrust of modern
linguistic study, beginning with traditional grammar, followed by structural and generative-
transformational grammars. Current from the early part of this century and still viable today,
structural grammar was a reaction to the concepts held by traditional grammarians.

Generative-transformational grammar, in turn, is in part a reaction to the concepts held by
structural grammarians.
PARTS OF SPEECH: SOME TRADITIONAL DEFINITIONS
The definitions of the parts of speech do provide us with a convenient point of departure.
Most traditional grammars list and define eight parts of speech, commonly called noun, verb,
pronoun, adjective, adverb, conjunction, preposition, and interjection. The parts of speech are
classified on the basis of two criteria: notional (meaning) and functional (relation). Notion
refers to the qualities of a word. For instance, a noun in this grammar is the “name of a person,
place, or thing.” We must know the meaning of the word before we can classify it. Function
refers to what a word does in a sentence. An adjective in traditional grammar is any word that
“modifies a noun.”
There is, of course, the obvious difficulty of defining a category without first defining the
terms word and modify. What is most striking about traditional grammar, however, is that the
classification system—meaning and function—is mixed. It would be as difficult, for instance, to
separate black rough beans from white smooth beans if we happened occasionally to discover
that we had a black smooth bean or a white rough bean. A noun, traditional grammar tells us, is
the “name of something,” yet we have difficulty in categorizing a word such as “effect.”
Obviously it is neither a “person,” nor a “place,” nor is it a “thing.” Most of the definitions run
into the same sort of difficulty. For example, a pronoun is described as any word that “takes
the place of a noun”; but while nobody is an indefinite pronoun, we would be hard put to
determine what nobody stands for.
Another example is the definition for a preposition. A preposition is a word that “relates a
noun or pronoun in a sentence with another word.” This definition is functional. Yet in the
sentence I am a student, am relates / to another word in the sentence, student. The conclusion
that follows is that am is a preposition, which is an obviously wrong conclusion. And finally the
definition of a sentence states that it contains a “complete thought.” Yet, when we query, what
is a “complete thought,” we may hear, “a sentence is.” The traditional definitions, structural
grammarians concluded, are either circular or too vague to be of much value. As we shall see, it
was just this particular defect that the structuralists attempted to correct by suggesting a set of
explicit guidelines for determining the parts of speech of any language.
How then, we ask, could a student or a grammarian correctly label the parts of speech in
English using these traditional definitions? May we suggest that it is because he already knows,
by virtue of his being a native speaker, what the sentences and the word classes of his language
are. He relies upon his own intelligence (he knows how to apply the traditional definitions), and
his own intuition, to judge whether he has labeled correctly. Since the definitions are vague, he
could not rely upon the substance of the definitions.
TO BE OR NOT TO BE-CORRECT
The 19th century “Doctrine of Correctness,” which aims for a standard of writing and
speaking to be observed by every educated person, reflects, in part, attempts of the schools in
the United States to teach a “common” dialect to immigrants and the children of immigrants.
In England, on the other hand, the “Doctrine” was applied largely to the lower socio-economic
classes who wished to shed their linguistic identity-a liability, they felt, that stood in their way
to social mobility. George Bernard Shaw’s Pygmalion, his “Fair Lady,” is an account of one
attempt of a teacher to purge the dialect of a lower-class girl of certain “linguistic impurities”
which had socially stigmatized her.
In the United States it was not surprising to encounter various communities in which English
was not the first language of the populace. Children of these communities spoke the language of
their parents: various Slavic dialects, German, Norwegian, Swedish, Danish, and some
non-Indo-European languages, including Finnish and Chinese. The function of the school
superintendent in these linguistically diverse areas included the supervision of the language of
instruction, to make certain that instruction was being carried on in English. Today, the
language of instruction, except in some foreign language classes, remains English. We might add
that the practice of teaching a “standard” variety of English during a time of heavy immigration
made sense, for if the children of immigrants were to be acculturated, then the “proper” English
dialect could act as one catalyst. Yet in the 1970’s the practice of teaching a “standard” or
“correct” form of English still persists in most English classes.
ACCORDING TO THE RULE
Since Latin was considered by some grammarians to be the perfect language, it was logical to
force Latinate structure onto a language as different as English. Especially significant in the
transference of the categories of Latin grammar to English was the listing of rules, called
prescriptive rules today, which decreed how English must be spoken or written, and not how it
actually was spoken or written. Traditional grammar, then, was an attempt to bend the children
to the grammar rather than to bend the grammar to reflect the language habits of the children,
or even of adults: to teach students how they must write and talk rather than to describe how
they actually talked and wrote. Such prescriptive rules as, “Don’t end a sentence with a
preposition” (which was sometimes put, “Don’t use a preposition to end a sentence with”);
“Don’t split infinitives”; “Use I shall rather than / wz'//”; and similar rules, had as much weight
in the language class as the Biblical Commandments, and were taught to the student through
exercises: he was taught what was “right” by having him correct sentences that were “wrong.”
WRITING
Traditional grammar tended to emphasize the written language, ignoring, for the most part,
the spoken; we suspect this was primarily because the sacred documents and literature were
written. But it is speech rather than writing, that is primary, countered the structuralists.
Writing, a late innovation of the human race, is a way of recording speech. Traditionalists
pointed to the written language as preserving the “correct” or “pure” way of using language.
And even here, we may recognize, they may have missed an important distinction between
writing and speech: although writing is a way of recording the spoken language, we do not
always talk as we write, nor do we often write as we talk. Examples of the difference between
writing and speech can be found in all languages that have a writing system. The long and
complex sentence structures that are often found in written German discourses, for example,
can very seldom be heard in actual speech; in English, extemporaneous, daily speech and report
writing often bear no similarity.
The above criticisms, which serve to point up the various shortcomings of traditional
grammar, were stated by those revolutionaries who were to call themselves structuralists. We do
not wish, however, in this review to lump all traditional grammars together. We have been
reviewing the tradition of the 18th century, a tradition that has been called “prescientific,” a
tradition that gave little attention to the spoken language, that placed emphasis on the way
people should be using the language, and a tradition that employed two different criteria to
classify the words of the English language. We have yet to mention other important traditional
grammars, those associated with the work of Otto Jespersen, G. O. Curme, E. Kruisinga, Henry
Sweet (the professor who inspired Pygmalion), and other scholars who wrote important
grammars of the English language, grammars that have been called “pre-descriptive” because
they anticipated the advent of structuralism.
While it is sometimes useful to disparage one’s adversary, in this case traditional grammar, we
must not be so hasty in our condemnation that we overlook the fact that traditional grammar
established high goals for itself. For one, by the traditional grammarian’s attempts to transfer
the categories of Latin to a superficially different language such as English, he may have been
seeking attributes common not only to Latin and English but attributes common to all
languages. While structuralists tended to emphasize the differences to be found among
languages, later linguists—for example, the generative-transformational grammarians—have
returned to the goals of traditional grammar and are investigating the possibility that all
languages, in a deep abstract sense, are alike.
WINDS OF CHANGE
At the end of the 19th century, language study, we have seen, was oriented toward the
written word and documents, and tended to look backward, being more concerned with the
history of languages than with how they were then spoken and written. In universities and
colleges, departments of language and literature flourished, with literature dominating. The
department devoted exclusively to the study of language had not yet appeared. The principal
product of these language and literature departments, the public school teacher, sallied forth
to classroom assignments armed with a modicum of language skill and knowledge, more
knowledge of literature than of language, and less knowledge of “how to teach.” However,
during this time the seeds of revolution were being strewn.
The Swiss scholar, Ferdinand de Saussure, is often considered to be the father of modern
structural linguistics. His lectures were gathered by his students and published in 1916 under
the title Cours de Linguistique Generate. Nevertheless, it was Leonard Bloomfield who later
gave impetus to the distinct brand of American linguistics called structural or descriptive. All
linguists have been profoundly affected by Bloomfield and his insights into language, and owe a
great debt to the research of this significant scholar. He was for many years at the University of
Chicago, and later at Yale University, where he enjoyed the prominence he so richly deserved.
Early in his career, Bloomfield became dissatisfied with the traditionalism of the existing
professional organizations and, discouraged with them as a forum for new ideas in language
study, helped found the Linguistic Society of America in 1924. The LSA, as it is called,
continues to meet twice a year to hear and discuss papers on language. Together with his
followers, Bloomfield attacked what he felt to be the subjective, vague, and unsubstantiated
claims of traditional grammar and hammered away against the centuries-old confusion between
writing and speech-for it was, above all, speech that intrigued Leonard Bloomfield and his
colleagues. However, as structuralism progressed, Bloomfield and other American structuralists
came to pay increasing amounts of attention to reading and writing.
The Bloomfieldiam, as they are now called, submitted that language consisted of levels, each
level hierarchically linked to the one above and below it. In 1914, discussing the goals of the
linguist, Bloomfield said, “The first task of the linguistic investigator is the analysis of a
language into distinctive sounds, their variations, and the like. When he has completed this, he
turns to the analysis of the semantic structure,—to what we call the morphology and syntax of
the language, its grammatical system.” These early views have been refined, systematized, and
codified and may be found in his monumental book, Language, which was published in 1933.
Bloomfield knew traditional grammar well and also had access to the works of many gifted
predecessors and contemporaries. The earliest of these was the Hindu grammarian we know by
the name of Panini, who, as early as the 4th century B.C., had written an amazingly perceptive
description of the sounds and structure of Sanskrit, the ancient religious language of India.
Nevertheless, not until the 19th century, when manuscripts became more available, did western
scholars learn of the descriptive methods of Panini.
Of importance also in the development of American structuralism was the work of the
German-trained anthropologist Franz Boas, who emigrated to American in 1886 and began to
work with American Indian languages. His writings on the Indians of British Columbia set a new
standard in the description of American Indian languages, and his Introduction to the
Handbook of American Indian Languages, reprinted by Georgetown University Press, still

remains a benchmark in the history of linguistic description.
American-educated Edward Sapir followed the course charted by his teacher, Boas,
contributing his own analyses of the American Indian languages. The most extensive of these
was his description of the Southern Paiute language. Sapir is also noted for his general
theoretical works on linguistic subjects. One of these prepared specifically for the general
reader, his book titled Language, still enjoys wide popularity, although written in 1921. In it,
he relates what he conceives language to be, “what is its variability in place and time, and what
are its relations to other fundamental human interests—the problem of thought, the nature of
historical process, race, culture, art.”
The structuralists spent a great deal of effort analyzing the “exotic” languages of the world.
Bloomfield himself did a structural analysis of Tagalog, now one of the official languages of the
Philippines, and fairly recently his important linguistic study, The Menomini Language, a
grammar of an American Indian language of the Algonquin family, made its appearance. Other
structuralists interested themselves in such widely divergent languages as Melanesian Pidgin,
Hungarian, Japanese, and the various dialects of Chinese.
An emphasis in these studies was upon the level of language called phonological. An
extremely significant role in the development of the phonological level was played by another
linguistic tradition, the Prague Linguistic Circle, founded in Czechslovakia in 1927 by Vilem
Mathesius and Josef Mukarovsky, who headed a group of scholars that developed the concept
of the phoneme—Bloomfield’s “distinctive sounds and their variations.” The concept of the
phoneme was proposed first about 1812 by Baudouin de Courtenay, a Russo-Polish scholar.
Although the concept of the phoneme that these scholars introduced, and other new
formulations, may at first appear difficult and even confusing to individuals accustomed only to
traditional grammar, abstractions such as the phoneme are necessary to linguistic science and
serve to give order to disorder.
The phoneme is an important concept in linguistics—just how important we will see in the
following chapter. Boas and Bloomfield, we must remember, both believed that an analysis of a
language must begin with the study of its “distinctive sounds, their variations, and the like”—its
phonemes, in other words. Only when the phonemes were determined could analysis begin on
the next level of language, the “morphology and syntax of the language, its grammatical
system.” And once the phonemes were determined for a language, analysis could begin on the
next unit of language, the morpheme (minimal unit of meaning). Syntax (the arrangement of
words in a sentence) would depend upon a previous determination of the morphemic level of
that language.
In the chapters immediately following, we will introduce our readers to some perhaps
mystifying concepts, drawing from a number of schools of linguistic thought. No particular
linguistic theory is advocated; we draw from several, concentrating upon structural,
generative-transformational, and case grammars, in the belief that our readers need the breadth
that such an approach entails.
IV. QUESTIONS AND ACTIVITIES
1. Examine some pre-1950 English grammars that have been used in the public schools. Do the
definitions of the parts of speech differ?
2. What do grammars say about usage (the “correct” way to speak and write)? Are there any
rules of language use that seem to be contradictory or arbitrary?
3. The use of two negatives in one sentence (“I don’t have none") is used to categorize speakers
of the English language. Supposedly speakers who use double negatives are less educated
(and may be from a different socioeconomic class) than those who do not. Can you think of
any situation in which an educated speaker could utter two negatives?
4. Is there a “standard” or “correct” English? Who establishes the “standard”? What role does
the English teacher play or assume in matters of “correct” usage?
5. Look at a transcript (or record one of your own) of an extemporaneous speech. What do we
do in speech that we cannot do in writing? How do we know that someone is reading from
(or has memorized) a carefully prepared speech?
6. Is it possible to be ironical in speech? For instance, can we call someone a name and not
mean it? How do we do this?
7. What is contained in a school grammar? Is the grammar solely confined to a description of

language? In order to respond to this query, compare pre-1950 with current grammars. Why
would publishers include within school grammars information other than language
information?
IV. FOR FURTHER REFERENCE
Algeo, John. 1970. “Tagmemics: A Brief Overview "Journal of English Linguistics 4:1-6.
Bloomfield, Leonard. 1933. Language. New York: Holt.
-- 1944. “Secondary and Tertiary Responses to Language.” Language 20:45-55.
Cattell, N. R. 1969. The New English Grammar. Cambridge, Mass.: M.I.T. Press.
Chomsky, Noam A. 1966. Cartesian Linguistics. New York: Harper and Row.
- 1966. “The Current Scene in Linguistics: Present Directions.” College English 27:587-95.
Davis, Philip W. 1973. Modern Theories of Language. Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall.
Francis, W. Nelson. 1954. “Revolution in Grammar.” Quarterly Journal of Speech 40:299-312.
Garvin, Paul. 1970. “Moderation in Linguistic Theory.” Language Sciences February, 1-3.
Gray, Bennison. 1974. Toward a Semi-Revolution in Grammar.” Language Sciences 29:1-12.
Griffin, Peg. 1974. “Linguistic Terminology.” Linguistic Reporter 16(9):2.
Halliday, M. A. K. 1961. “Categories of the Theory of Grammar.” Word 17:241-292.
Hill, Archibald A. 1958. An Introduction to Linguistic Structures. New York: Harcourt, Brace,
and World.
Lamb, Sydney. 1966. Outline of Stratificational Grammar. Washington, D.C.: Georgetown
University Press.
Lehmann, Winfred P. 1975. “Linguistics-What Are They?” Journal of the Linguistic
Association of the Southwest 1(2).
Martinet, Andre. 1962. A Functional View of Language. Cambridge: Oxford University Press.
O’Neil, Wayne. 1970. “Comes the Revolution.” Harvard Graduate School of Education Bulletin
14:2-3.
Pike, Kenneth L. 1967. Language in Relation to a Unified Theory of the Structure of Human
Behavior. 2nd ed, rev. The Hague: Mouton.
Robins, R. H. 1970. “General Linguistics in Great Britain, 1930-1960,” in Diversions of
Bloomsbury: Selected Writings on Linguistics. Amsterdam: North-Holland Publishing.
Saussure, Ferdinand de. 1916. Corns de Linguistique Generate. Paris: Payot.
Sapir, Edward. 1921. Language. New York: Harcourt, Brace and World.
Smart, Walter Kay. 1957. English Review Grammar. 4th ed. New York: Appleton-Century-
Crofts.
Trager, George L. and Henry Lee Smith, Jr. 1957. An Outline of English Structure. Washington,
D.C.: American Council of Learned Societies.
Yngve, Victor. 1969. “On Achieving Agreement in Linguistics,” in Papers from the Fifth
Regional Meeting of the Chicago Linguistic Society, Department of Linguistics. Chicago:
University of Chicago.
V. Phonology: A Sign of Structure
MAKING SOUNDS
Phonology, or the study of language sounds and their distribution, is the subject of this
chapter. A description of the distinctive sounds and their variations (the phonemes) of any
language is dependent upon the science of phonetics, especially articulatory phonetics. Articu¬
latory phonetics provides a means of describing each and every language sound made.
Phoneticians employ a special alphabet, the International Phonetic Alphabet, which features
many more symbols than the conventional western alphabet to characterize and describe the
sounds of language. These phoneticians believe that the study of speech sounds is that aspect of
linguistic science nearest to the physical sciences, since a description of sounds involves not
only a description of the actual physiological organs employed in the production of speech but
also a description of the acoustic effects that sounds make on the ear.
It has been proposed that the concept of the phoneme has been to language science what the
discovery of the atom has been to the natural sciences, particularly physics. Although it is true
that certain contemporary schools of linguistics are less concerned today with the phoneme
than the Bloomfieldian structuralists were, the concept still remains of fundamental significance
for a large number of linguists. Any theory of language, moreover, must take phonology into
account; and in this chapter we shall be discussing two accounts, or theories, of phonological
structure. We shall begin our examination of the phonological facts of language with an analysis
and description of some of the principles and descriptive techniques associated with the
structural school of linguistics, to be followed by a description of some of the principles and
descriptive techniques of generative-transformational grammar.
STRUCTURAL PHONOLOGY
Structural (descriptive) linguists, following Leonard Bloomfield and his European predeces¬
sors, remind us that language sounds are “organized” noises, which is another way of stating
that language consists of units, classes, or families of sounds that we call phonemes. The very
term phoneme reflects an abstract entity, one that is not perceivable to the average speaker of a
language; and the terms that are used to describe the variations of the phoneme, the phone and
allophone, describe concrete phonetic facts about a language. We have slipped in here, quite on
purpose, a number of terms that we will need to define further. But let us not get ahead of our
story. We must first discuss what we mean by “speech sound.”
There are a number of speech sounds that human beings can make and a number of organs
that are involved. To make a speech sound in English, breath is expelled from the lungs through
the larynx (the “voice box”) into the oral cavity or mouth and the breath is emitted either
from the mouth or from the mouth and nose. The manner in which it is expelled or released
determines what sort of sound will be heard. There may be a point of constriction in the
36
Phonology: A Sign of Sturcture 37
ORAL ^1
CAVITY
The Vocal Tract. Places of Articulation: 1. bilabial; 2. labiodental; 3. dental or interdental;

4. alveolar; 5. palatoalveolar; 6. palatal; 7. velar; 8. uvular; 9. glottal
mouth; and what takes place at the point of constriction, such as the interruption of air, either
partially or completely, aids in determining the kind of sound that is made.
Although there are certain organs of the oral tract that are important in the production of
sounds, these organs have other functions besides the production of language noises, such as
aiding in breathing, eating, drinking, and coughing. These organs are the lungs, the bronchial
tubes, and the throat, including the larynx, which contains the vocal bands and glottis. In the
back of the throat is the uvula (Latin for “little grape”), which is the soft, pointed organ at the
rear of the palate. The palate or roof of the mouth is divided into the back portion known as
the velum or “soft palate,” and the front portion, which has bone underneath and is known as
the “hard palate.” Finally, there are the tongue, alveolar ridge, teeth, and lips. The most mobile
of all of these components of production is the'tongue, which plays an important role in
determining the kind of sound that will be produced by the speaker. We have provided a chart
of the mouth and throat with the appropriate organs of speech labeled.
These components, which we have briefly described, act in concert to produce the sounds of
language. A speaker may want, for instance, to say the word “too.” He pushes air into the
mouth, and as he slightly opens his lips, his tongue touches the ridge of gum behind the upper
teeth. When the tongue retracts to release the air, t is heard. A split second afterward, in fact
merged with the sound t, comes the sound symbolized in writing by oo, during which time the
lips are kept slightly parted and are, at the same time, rounded. As the air is pushed out, the
tongue is raised and glides toward the soft palate.
What we have described, albeit impressionistically, is a brief and simple illustration of what is
involved in making the sounds for the word “too.” It has been found convenient to devise
special alphabets to aid in the representation of not only these sounds but all language sounds;
the best known of these is the revised and widely used alphabet of the International Phonetic
Association (commonly referred to as the I.P.A.). We present here, in a chart organized
according to articulatory phenomena (which we explain below), the major types of sounds (the
phones) which a phonetician might observe in many, if not most, varieties of American English.
Our reader will notice that our chart contains a number of symbols, some with diacritics, that
may be unfamiliar. These symbols are employed to signify what is heard. We have listed beside
each symbol a word indicating the pronunciation of that symbol in context. Pronunciations
can, and do, differ, however. The reader, therefore, must be certain that the sound actually
occurs in his dialect. For instance, if the speaker pronounces “which” and “witch” differently,
then he possibly pronounces “which” with initial [m] and “witch” with initial [w]. If there is
no difference in pronunciation between these words for the speaker, then both are pronounced
with [w].
Even though there is an I.P.A., phonetic symbols employed by phoneticians and linguists
may differ from those advocated by the I.P.A. The symbols which we employ in our text may
well differ from those employed in others. We offer these symbols as a representative set. Let us
now look at a sentence reduced to these phonetic symbols:
[Micbuk ar yu kipiq m 6a baram av 6aet trAqk]
(“Which book are you keeping at the bottom of that trunk?”)
For clarity, we have put spaces between the words in the sample sentence; in actual speech, of
course, there would be no spaces. We will return to this alphabet when we discuss the phoneme.
* * *
As the Phonetic Alphabet illustrates, there are two basic kinds of language sounds, quite
commonly called vowels and consonants. A third set is neither totally consonant nor totally
vowel, but shares characteristics of both; these sounds are sometimes called semivowels. In the
production of vowels the tongue and the lips are of greatest importance. As the tongue is raised
or lowered, pulled back or pushed upward, and as the lips are rounded or kept neutral, different
vowels are formed. We can feel these organs at work if we pronounce the vowels of the English
Phonology: A Sign of Structure 39
PHONETIC ALPHABET
(Partial Listing of Symbols: Consonants and Vowels)
Consonants
[p] spy sty [k] sky

STOPS
[t]
[ph] pie [th] tie [kh] kind
[b] buy [d] die [g] gh\
frl atom*
AFFRICATES
[c] chump
D1 /ump
NASALS FRICATIVES
[f] free [0] tking [s] sigh [s] shy [h] Mgh
[v] vise [6] the [z] zoo [z] Asia
[m] my [n] nigh [q ] young
[1] lip [l] hull

[r] three
LIQUIDS
[j] rye
Semivowels
[w] witch [y] .yet

[m] which*
Vowels
[i] meet [u] boot

[i] mzt [u] foot
[a] mutt
[e] mate [o] pork*
[a] sofa
[e] met [ou] bout*
[se ] mat [a] pot [o] caught
[ai] m/ght* [oi] bo_y

[du] house
*reader’s pronunciation may differ

alphabet: a, e, i, o, u. Vowels are also characterized by the free and unimpeded flow of air
through the mouth. Consonants, by way of contrast, are characterized by total or partial
closure of the vocal tract. We will point to these distinctions as we describe the sounds of
English. We begin our structural description of the phonological system of English with the
consonants.
ENGLISH SOUNDS: CONSONANTS

In producing consonants, we must remind ourselves that the air coming from the lungs
through the mouth (the vocal tract) is totally or partially impeded somewhere along its path.
Consonants may be classified into sets or classes on the basis of three phonetic criteria or
features:
1. Manner of articulation (the kind of sound being produced in the mouth or the kind of
impedance which the air undergoes). Air may be completely or partially stopped.
2. The point or place of articulation (the important parts of the vocal tract which are used in
making the sound). These include the lips, various parts of the tongue, the teeth, the alveolar
ridge (the ridge of gum behind the upper teeth), the soft and hard palates, the vocal cords, and
the glottis. The glottis is like the hole in the donut; it is the space between the vocal bands.
3. The presence or absence of voicing. The larynx contains two cords, or bands, which may
close off air completely, or may be kept open, permitting them to vibrate while allowing air to
pass through. In English, certain consonant sounds are voiced (vibration of vocal bands) while
others are voiceless (no vibration of vocal bands).
We will explore each of these three features as we describe the various kinds of consonants that
the English language has.
Voicing
Perhaps the easiest characteristic to define is voicing. English consonants may be voiced or
voiceless. For instance, if we make the sound s as in “sip,” and then make the sound for z as in
“zip,” we notice that z is characterized by a “buzzing” noise while s is not'. The difference
between z and s is a difference in voicing, the s being voiceless and the z voiced. Phonetically,
the vocal cords vibrate when making z; they do not when making s. We will see that English has
sets of consonants which are distinguished on the basis of voicing.
Manner of Articulation
The manner of articulation (the kind of sound being formed) may be a bit more difficult to
perceive. There are various kinds of consonantal sounds in English. One kind is the stop (or
plosive). When we make the initial consonant sound in the word “top,” and hold it, we notice
that the air is completely stopped by the tongue, which is placed on the upper ridge of gum
behind the teeth, the alveolar ridge. Thus, the t consonant is called a stop. English has six
consonants that are stops. These are the p and b\ the t and d\ and the k and g. What
distinguishes the stop consonant p from b, t from d and k from#, is the feature of voice: b,d,
and g are voiced, and p, t, and k are usually voiceless.
Another kind of consonant in English is characterized by the sound that occurs first in the
word “sap.” As we make the s, which is voiceless, we notice that the air is not stopped
completely but moved gradually and continually from the lungs past the tongue and out
through the lips. This sound, symbolized by s, is called a fricative or spirant. English has four
sets of fricative consonants; four are voiced and four are voiceless. We are already familiar with
the distinction between voiceless s and voiced z. The feature of voice serves to distinguish, also,
the v from the/: “vat” versus “fat.”
There are two sets of fricatives that we must describe with symbols which are not in the
English alphabet. One set is commonly referred to as the th sound, or sounds, and occurs in the
words “thin” and “then.” We observe that we do not have merely one th sound but two th
sounds, which are distinguished by the feature of voice. The th sound in “thin,” similar to the
th sounds that we have in “think,” “thatch,” and “ether,” is voiceless. The symbol which is
employed to describe this voiceless fricative is 9 (a Greek symbol), called the theta, as the th
sound in “theta” is voiceless. The other th sound, as found in “then,” “they,” “than,” and
“either,” is voiced. The symbol employed to describe this th sound is 6, called, mnemonically,
the “eth,” as “eth” contains the voiced th fricative.
The remaining set of fricatives can be symbolized by symbols found in the I.P.A. or by
modified symbols of the English alphabet. One fricative is symbolized in the English alphabet
by the diagraph (two letters) sh, as in the sh sounds of “shoot,” “shone,” and “shame.”
Phonetically, this sh sound is indicated by s. It is voiceless. If we voice the sh, we hear the first
sound in “Zhivago” and the middle sound (represented by the s) that we have in “allusion.”
This fricative is indicated by z. We have, then, eight fricatives in English or four sets of two
,
each, the members of each set distinguished by voice. /, s, 0 and s are voiceless while v, z, 6,
and z are voiced. One additional fricative remains in the sound pattern of English—the h sound,
as found in the words “hot,” “ham,” and “hit.” We will have more to say about the fricative
consonant class below.
The next kind of sound may also be difficult to conceptualize as it consists of a stop
followed by a fricative. If we slowly make the sound that occurs first in the word “chop,” we
notice that as we make the ch we first make the t (the air is completely stopped) while at the
same time we slowly move our tongue down from the alveolar ridge, causing air to be released.
This sound of a stop followed by the slow release of the tongue into a fricative is called an
affricate. English has two affricates, one of which can be symbolized by the written ch as in
“chip.” Ch is voiceless. The other affricate is voiced and is occasionally symbolized by ], as in
“judge.” In structural phonology, we employ the symbol cfor the written ch andffor / (in the
I.P.A., two symbols are used—tf for c and d3 for f).
English also has nasal consonants. If we make the sound which occurs first in the word
“mop,” we have articulated a nasal consonant. Nasal consonants are characterized by the
dropping of the velum (the soft palate), which allows air to go up through the nasal passages
and out through the nose. What makes the articulation of nasals possible is the flexibility of the
velum, which can stop air from going up through the nasal passages or can allow air to be
emitted from the nose. English has three nasal consonants, symbolized in writing by m, n, and
ng (as in “sing”). The m is a bilabial nasal, the n an alveolar, and the ng a velar. The ng is used in
the writing system since there is no one symbol that can accurately symbolize it. In phonology,
the ng is symbolized by q.
English has one lateral and one retroflex consonant, commonly called liquids. The lateral is
symbolized in English orthography (the writing system) by l, as in the initial sound of “lip.” We
should notice that the / involves raising the tongue, as in “lip,” and allowing, at the same time,
air to escape from one or both sides of the tongue. The variety of the / sound that occurs in the
word “pool,” however, is different. This l [l] involves raising the back of the tongue, while the
/ in “lip” involves raising the front of the tongue. The / in “lip” is occasionally called a front l,
while the l in “pool” is oftentimes called a back l.
The retroflex, the r, is made by curling the tongue back toward the hard palate, as in the
initial sound of “rap.” Retro (back) and flex (curl) characterize the movement of the tongue.
While all English speakers pronounce the r when it occurs initially, as in “rap” (or after an
initial consonant, as in “spray”), some speakers in areas of the United States do not pronounce
the r when it occurs in final word position, as in words like “car,” or in positions before
consonants which appear in the middle or at the end of words, such as “park.” Parts of New
England are famous for “r-dropping,” pronouncing “car” as “cah.” There are other variants of r
which occur, too-the r which occurs in “rye” [j] or “three,” for example.
Point of Articulation
The third characteristic that linguists employ to classify consonants is the point of
articulation: the significant parts of the mouth (oral tract) that come into play in the
production of sounds. The two lips come together in the articulation of the sounds b,p, and m.
We therefore call these sounds bilabial. The lower lip may touch the upper teeth, for instance in
the pronunciation of v. The v is labial (lip) and dental (teeth), or labio-dental.
The tip of the tongue is an important instrument in the articulation of sounds. The tongue
may, for certain consonants, touch the bottom portion of the upper teeth or even slightly
protrude between the teeth, as in the initial sound of “then.” The fricative sound in “then” is
dental or interdental. The th sound that occurs in the word “thin” is also dental or interdental.
The tip of the tongue may touch the alveolar ridge, as in the t of “tar” or the d of “din.”
The middle of the tongue, the blade, is also important in the production of English consonants,
for instance in the articulation of the s and z sounds in “sap” and “zap.” The tongue does not
touch the ridge (these are fricatives) but air is directed from the lungs into the groove of the
tongue toward the alveolar ridge. The sh sound, as in “shoot,” is articulated just behind the
alveolar ridge where the hard palate begins, and is the reason for describing it as an alveo-palatal
fricative.
The back of the tongue also functions in the production of English consonants. For k, as in
the word “kit,” the back of the tongue touches the velum, closing off the air passage. The back
of the tongue as a major articulation device is also apparent in the pronunciation of the word
“kosher.”
If we review the entire range of consonants in English, we find that there are six sets:
stops (also called plosives)-, fricatives (spirants); affricates (stop plus fricative); semivowels;
nasals; and liquids (lateral and retroflex). Occasionally, the nasal, lateral, and retroflex
consonants are grouped together into one set, since they share the feature, or quality, of
resonance', the nasals, lateral, and retroflex sounds can be held indefinitely, and all are voiced.
Resonance is thus a kind of acoustic effect that these sounds have in common.
THE PHONEME
In our discussion of the consonants in English we have been referring to “sound” as though
each consonant consists of the identical sound wherever it might appear in a word. Most,
especially those who have had no training in phonetics, believe that the t sound is just that: a t
sound. However, linguists have found that language sounds can be classified into larger abstract
units, and these units are the phonemes of a language. However, we are usually not aware of
this language fact until it is pointed out to us, perhaps in a beginning class on the nature of
language.
The abstract unit called the phoneme actually consists of a “family” of sounds, all of which
are phonetically similar. Native speakers “hear” in phonemes and are usually unaware that each
phoneme consists of a variety of slightly different sounds, depending upon where the sound
occurs in a word. To make the concept of the phoneme clearer, we only have to listen carefully
to the various pronunciations of the t. Linguists do not talk about the varieties of the t sound,
but refer to the allophones that are members of the phoneme /t/. An individual allophone is
enclosed in phonetic brackets, for example [th]. Phonemes, on the other hand, are enclosed
within slant lines, for example /t/. The I.P.A. chart indicates some but not all of the sounds that
may be heard in English, and we will be referring to this chart as we discuss some of the
phonemes of the English language.
One pronunciation of the phoneme /t/ is that which occurs in the initial position of a word
when it is accompanied by a strong puff of air, as in the word “tin.” You can feel the puff of
air if you hold your hand in front of your lips while pronouncing “tin.” The I.P.A. symbol used
to indicate this fact is [t ]. The [h] mark accompanying the [th] means that it occurs with a
strong puff of air. When the phoneme ft/ follows s, as in “stake,” almost no air follows. This
phonetic fact is indicated in the I.P.A. by the symbol [t], with no mark following the [t]. Or
when /1/ occurs between vowels, as in “butter,” “letter,” “sitter,” the sound (allophone) that is
heard is not distinct (at least in most American dialects) from /d/ as in “ladder.” The I.P.A.
symbol employed to record this manifestation of the /t/ phoneme is [r]. In spite of these
variations, and others we have not mentioned, all variations belong to one class that we call the
phoneme /t/. We hear the abstract unit /t/ but usually ignore (or are not aware of) these
allophonic variations.
The phoneme /k/ also consists of a family of related sounds. In initial position, /k/ is
pronounced like /t/, with a strong puff of air (technically called aspiration), as in “kit.” There is
little or no aspiration if /k/ follows s, as in “skin.” Both [kh] and [k] belong to the same
phoneme, however, and native speakers do not pay attention to the actual variants in
pronunciation. We could perform a similar analysis with all the consonant phonemes of English,
as well as with the vowels, but we shall leave any further analysis to the reader. We have
included at the end of this chapter some exercises designed to sharpen our reader’s ear.
By way of summarizing, we have three columns: the first column contains a word with the
phoneme; the second column a physical description of the sound; and the third the phoneme to
which the sound belongs.
word allophone phoneme
top [th] N
stop [t] It/
letter W It 1
Now we are ready to describe the entire set of phonemes of the English language, and we begin
with the consonants. We shall commence with the stops, one of the six classes of consonants we
referred to earlier. We will employ our three criteria, or features {voicing, point of articulation,
and manner of articulation), to classify the consonant phonemes of English.
CONSONANT PHONEMES
The stops are made when the air is completely impeded at some point in the oral cavity. The
stop consonants can be arrayed on a chart in the following manner:
Point of Manner of Sample

Articulation Articulation Voicing Word
bilabial stop N + bob
Ivl - pop
alveolar stop HI + dad
It/ - tap
velar stop /g/ + gag
N - kick
We can now say, using these three criteria, that /b/ is a voiced bilabial stop, and that /p/ is a
voiceless bilabial stop. All consonants, not only stops, may now be classified in a similar
fashion.
The sounds classifed as spirants ox fricatives result if the air passage is not completely sealed.
Again, the point at which the narrowing is made determines the kind of fricative that we hear.
The fricatives of English are the following:
labio-dental fricative M + vat

/f/ - fat
interdental fricative /&/ + then

/e/ - thin
alveolar fricative /z / + zen

/s/ - sin
alveo-palatal fricative HI + vision

Is/ - s/zin
glottal fricative Ihl - hot
The affricates, which we have described previously, consist of a stop plus a following
fricative, described in phonetics as /c/. /c/ is the ch sound we have in check. The voiced
counterpart of /c/ is described as /j7 in phonemics, and is the initial consonant sound we have in
“Jane.”
palatal affricate /j7 + jerk

affricate /c/ — chief
There is one lateral phoneme in English, the /l/. For classification purposes we list it as
alveolar, recognizing, however, that there are variants (allophones) of this phoneme which occur
in the velar region, and elsewhere. We described one variant in the section in which we discussed
point of articulation. There is one retroflex consonant, /r/, which occurs initially as in “ring”
and in final position in most American dialects, as in “fur.” There are also other positions in
which /r/ can occur.
Nasals in English are usually voiced, with the nasal passage open. The point of articulation
determines which type of nasal is heard.
bilabial nasal lm/ man

alveolar nasal In/ nan
velar nasal M sing
sometimes called a “hooked” n, does not occur in word-initial position in English; it occurs
/rjl,
in medial position (“singer”) or in final position (“sing”) only.
One last category remains, the semivowels, /w/ and /y/, which function both as consonants,
as in “wet” and “yet,” and as vowels. (We will discuss their vocalic nature below.) /w/ is a
bilabial semivowel, as in “water,” and /y/ is an alveolar semivowel, as in “young.” Occasionally
/h/, for reasons that need not detain us here, is classified as a semivowel.
This concludes our discussion of the consonants of English. We have included an exercise in
transcription at the end of this chapter so that our readers may have the opportunity of
becoming proficient in transcribing the sounds of English.
The consonants may be placed on a chart in such a way as to show their relationship and
position in respect to each other:
Labio- Inter¬ (Alveo—)

Bilabial dental dental Alveolar palatal Velar Glottal
Stops pb t d kg
Fricatives fV 0 6 s z sz h
V V
Affricates C J
Nasals m n q
Lateral ) 1
Retroflex / r
Semivowels w y
A number of excellent texts have been added recently to those already in existence on
articulatory and acoustic phonetics. We cannot here hope to cover the subject except briefly,
but for those who might develop an interest in phonology we recommend they pursue the
subject using the texts in our bibliography.
“STRANGE” CONSONANT SOUNDS IN OTHER LANGUAGES

It is patently parochial but rather understandable to believe that the sounds of one’s own
language constitute a basic set and the sounds of other languages are derivatives of this set.
Many languages, of course, use rather un-English sounds, but we also must remember that some
English sounds impress the speakers of many other languages in much the same way. It is
merely a question of what the speakers of languages are accustomed to hearing. The th/Q/
sound of “thin”—to use an example from English—can strike the uninitiated (for example, the
native German speaker) as suitable for nothing except imitating a leak in an inner tube; the wh
sound in “which” /hw/, used by those English speakers who make a distinction between
“which” /hw/ and “witch” /w/ may seem to some naturally designed only for blowing out
candles.
Consonant sounds produced by simultaneous blocking at two points in the vocal tract also
may seem unusual to some speakers, not only to English speakers. An example is the single
sound at the beginning of the name of A'pelle, a name of a language spoken in Liberia and
Guinea. At the beginning of this word the back of the tongue is closed against the soft palate as
for English /k/ while at the same time the lips are closed as for English /p/. When the glottis
closes simultaneously with another blockage of air and the air trapped above the glottis is
forced out, we have the ejective or emphatic consonants [p!], [t!], and [k!], found in some
American Indian languages.
The so-called implosive stops [b ] and [d], of many African languages similarly involve
double blockage. For these speakers the glottis (the space between the vocal bands) is not so
tightly closed and a little air passes up through it so that the bands vibrate, making these sounds
voiced. At the same time, the larynx moves down and the throat is expanded so that when the
upper blockage by the lips [b] or tongue [d] is opened, air moves slightly inward at the front
of the mouth. Implosive [g], a sound children sometimes use to imitate frogs, is formed in the
same way.
Often considered to be some of the more unusual sounds are the sounds called clicks found
in the Bushman languages of South Africa and also in two neighboring Bantu languages, Zulu
and Xhosa. Clicks make use of the air space between two points of articulation, one of which is
at the back of the mouth. Air is sucked in past a point of articulation made by the front of the
tongue. The name “Xhosa” begins with one of these sounds. American English speakers use
clicks, although not as speech sounds. A lateral click is used to start horses and a dental
tongue-tip click to express disapproval—a sound often symbolized in the orthograph by
“tsk-tsk.” The sound made by a kiss is a bilabial click.
The glottis itself is the place of formation of a voiceless plosive produced by the vocal cords
exactly as./p/ is formed by the lips. The glottis is closed and when released suddenly the effect
resembles a weak cough. Heard before initial vowels when the speaker hesitates or says “uh-uh”
for “no,” it is a sound that can be distinctive (phonemic), as in the contrast in Danish between
/hun/“her” and /hun?/“dog.” The glottal sound in English is the fricative /h/, which occurs in
“how.”
ENGLISH SOUNDS: VOWELS

Vowels differ from consonants in the gross and obvious sense that the air passage is not
impeded. Consonants are characterized by partial or complete interruption of the air from the
lungs. A vowel may be defined as a sound produced by the passage of air through the oral
cavity without appreciable stoppage or obstruction. Vowels in English differ from consonants
in other ways, too. Vowels are voiced; some consonants are voiceless. Even though we here
make the distinction between vowels and consonants, some linguists prefer to emphasize the
similarities between the two categories, stating in effect that vowels are merely minus
consonantal and that consonants are merely minus vocalic (see below). Structuralists, however,
prefer to emphasize the distinction.
Vowels are more difficult to categorize than consonants, we believe, partly because English
dialects differ more in the quality of vowels (the actual variation of the vowel heard) than in
the quality of consonants. A warning here is perhaps appropriate: we are describing the most
general dialect of English that is available to the authors, the dialect of the upper Midwest.
Vowels in the New England region, the South, and other regions will differ in quality, some
appreciably.
Vowel Quality
The quality of the vowel is chiefly determined by whether the tongue (an important organ in
the production of vowels) is high in the mouth, at midpoint in the mouth, or low. The tongue,
in the articulation of vowels, may be in the front of the mouth, the central region of the
mouth, or in the back. Thus, there are two essential criteria, or features, that linguists employ
in the description of vowels, one vertical (high, mid, low) and the other horizontal (front,
central, back). We shall begin our description with the vowels articulated in the front region of
the mouth, and also describe their height—high, mid, or low.
The front vowel—so named because they are articulated in the front position of the mouth-
are symbolized as /I/, /i/, /e/, /e/, and /ae/. We have provided a list of words that may be useful
in “hearing” these vowels; but we must remember that these words and their vowels approxi¬
mate upper Midwest pronunciation. Our reader, therefore, should not be confused or concerned
if he finds that he pronounces these words differently. The examples:
/I/ (high-front)-, the vowel of “sit.”
li/ (high -front)-. the vowel of “seat.”
/e / (mid-front): the vowel of “set.”
/e/ (mid-front): the vowel of “say.”
lx I (low-front): the vowel of “sat.”
The back vowels are the following:
/ u/ (high-frack): the vowel of “look.”
/u/ (high-hack): the vowel of “boot.”
/ 0/ (mid-hack): the vowel of “pork,” in some dialects, or of “coat.”
/o/ (low-hack): the vowel in some pronunciations of “caught.”
The symbol /a/ is occasionally called “open o.” Some American dialects do not contain the /o/.
The authors have differentiated the vowel in the word “caught,” which has /a/, from that in
the word “cot,” which contains /a/ (see below). Speakers of other dialects may pronounce the
words identically and thus may have only the vowel /a/ (see below).
The central vowels occur in the following words:
/a/ (low-central): the vowel of “psalm” or “father,” or “cot” (see above),
/a/ (mid-central): the vowel of “cut” or “but.”
This vowel occurs in words whose vowels may not be stressed. The vowel is also called schwa.
Each vowel may be placed on a chart which shows its height and position in relationship to
the others. The vowel chart is an attempt to chart the position of the tongue when it is
articulating the vowel sound, and it may help to think of the chart as a side-view of the mouth.
F -*- Tongue -► B
t
c
o
H
i— I
The Diphthong
Single vowels may combine with the semivowels (/w/ and /y/) to form a diphthong, a glide
of the tongue from one vowel position or region in the mouth to another. In the dialect of the
upper Midwest which we are describing we have the following diphthongs:
/oy/ (mid-back): the vowel of “boy.” Some dialects pronounce “boy” with /oy/,
however.
/ay/ (low-central): the vowel of “bite.” Some dialects, especially in the South and
Southwest, do not have this glide.
/aw/ (low-central): the vowel of “bout.”
/w/ and /yl indicate the direction of the glide, /w/ is a back glide, with the tongue rising and
moving back, /y/ is a front glide, also with the tongue rising but moving toward the front of the
mouth. In some dialects of American English, speakers also glide the mid- and high-front and
the high-back vowels, as in “seed,” “paid,” “food,” and “boat.” These vowels plus glides are
often described, especially in spelling books, as long vowels. The long vowels, so called, are
distinguished from the short vowels by three phonetic qualities: the vowels plus glide take
longer to say; they are higher in the mouth; and the vowels end in an up-glide. Whether we
record these phonological facts with a single vowel symbol or with a vowel plus glide is a matter
of choice of symbol. Structuralists have preferred to record “seed” as /siyd/ while generative-
transformational grammarians have preferred the single symbol: /sid/. Whichever symbol is
chosen (and symbols based on all three qualities have been employed) some qualities are then
regarded as redundant. The chart below shows the direction of these glides.
F - Tongue -► B
We must remember, finally, that the words and their pronunciations cited here only approxi¬
mate the sounds that are heard. We have not indicated the allophones of these phonemes and
their distribution. In addition, many speakers do not have all the distinctions we have indicated.
There remains one additional feature about English vowels that we should point out: in
English the high back vowels are automatically pronounced with lips rounded and the front
vowels are pronounced with lips flat, or in neutral position. Such may not be the case in other
languages. In German and French, for instance, some front vowels are round and sonie un¬
round. Whether a vowel is rounded or unrounded is not automatically determined in these
languages as it is in English. In German, the umlaut sign (" ) is placed over front vowels that are
rounded: u is actually a high-front round vowel. In early Old English (about the 8th century), a
vowel symbolized as y in the written documents was a round high-front vowel. While French
and German have round high-front vowels, it is also possible for languages to have unrounded
vowels pronounced in the back of the mouth, for example, Vietnamese u and 6.
This brings us to the conclusion of our structural discussion of English consonants and
vowels. We are ready now to rewrite the sentence in phonemic symbols which we wrote
previously in phonetic symbols:
/hwicbuk ar yuw kipii] in 6a batam av bsi traqk/
THE UNIVERSAL PHONEME

As we have learned, the phoneme was, and still is, an extremely important discovery in
linguistics. All languages have a set of phonemes, and all native speakers of these languages are
intuitively, but not consciously, aware of the various differences in the sounds that constitute
one phoneme. All languages, it was determined, have a limited number of distinctive units; the
number may be different for any one language, each language having between 25 and 50.
English, again depending upon the dialect analyzed, has approximately 45 phonemes.
Charles A. Ferguson, former Director of the Center for Applied Linguistics, has this to say
about the phonemic principle: “The fundamental discovery of structural linguistics in the realm
of speech sounds is that in any given language certain distinctions between sounds matter, and
others do not, while the differences that matter for one language are not necessarily those that
matter for another.” He points out that the s sound in the word “seat” and the s sound in the
word “salt” are not phonemic differences in English, and in fact it is difficult to persuade the
speaker of English that there is any difference at all between the two pronunciations of s. Yet
the two s sounds are quite different and a speaker of Arabic would note that the s sound of
“seat” is like his Arabic sin LH , while the s of English “salt” is like Arabic sad U° . The two
s's in Arabic constitute phonemic differences while the two s’s in English are merely phonetic
differences. English speakers do not hear the differences in s sounds. By way of contrast, we
find in Arabic the sounds of English /e/ in “bet” and /a/ in “but,” but they d6 not matter in
Arabic, that is, they do not differentiate one word from another and hence they are not
phonemic. These differences in Arabic are nondistinctive, or noncontrastive, and, similarly,
Arabic speakers do not actually hear the difference between /e / and /a/.
There is much more to a description of organized speech sounds than a mere description of
the type or quality of sounds. For one, there is the quantity or length of sound—the duration
required to produce the sound or the length of time that the air stream is emitted. Even in
English, in environments in which there is no phonemic distinction, there are very real phonetic
differences in length. Vowels followed by voiced consonants are usually longer than vowels
followed by voiceless ones; or to follow Samuel Morse’s formulation (Historical Outlines of
English Phonology and Morphology):
1. Unstressed vowels are always short (peanut)
2. Diphthongs are always long (meet) (shoot)
3. Stressed vowels are always long or half-long
a. Long if before a voiced sound or voiced combination (bid)
b. Half-long before voiceless sounds or voiceless combinations (bit)
For one last example we can compare the duration of the vowel o in “rope” and “robe,” or
the a in “bat” and “bad.” We find that in most American dialects the vowel followed by the
voiced consonant is perceptibly longer in duration. In the I.P.A. the difference in vowels
between “rope” and “robe” would be signaled as follows: [o] — [o:]. We should notice, too,
that the difference between short and long vowels in English does not appear to be phonemic.
Length of vowel is predictable, for example, in the words “bat” and “bad;” however, some
linguists believe that length is phonemic in certain dialects of English. In these dialects, the
words “Polly” and “Pali,” and “bomb” and “balm” exhibit a difference in quantity of vowel:
“Polly” is pronounced with a short vowel [a] and “Pali” with a long vowel [a:]; “bomb” is
pronounced with a short vowel [a] and “balm” with a long vowel [a:]. In these dialects we
would have a distinction between /pali/ and /pa:li/ and a distinction between /bam/ and /ba:m/.
In languages such as Czech and German, which have short and long vowels in which length is
phonemic, length is marked by diacritics. Thus, in the Czech word vidite (“you see”) the
second i has the accent sign to indicate its length and that it is longer than the first i. In
Russian, however, a language related to Czech, length is not phonemic and most vowels are of
“medium” length.
Consonants may be long or short, also. In effect, double consonants are long consonants. In
English length of consonants is not phonemic, but in Italian and Japanese long consonants are
frequent and phonemic. In Japanese, kite means “stamp,” kitte (with long t) means “come.”
We still have not said anything about the suprasegmental phonemes: stress, pitch, juncture,
and tone, so termed because they are written over the segmentals, the consonants and vowels,
and because they spread in time (except for juncture) over more than one segmental phoneme.
Although we can only briefly mention them here, it is no less true that the suprasegmentals are
not mere garnishes but are part and parcel of the grammar of any language. Stress is a difficult
notion to define, but we usually mean by it prominence of syllable. In English, for example,
heavy stress usually falls on the first syllable if the word is Germanic in origin—Sweden,
Norway, oxen—but moves, according to predictable rules, if the word is derived from Greek,
Latin, French—psycho, psychology, psychological. In French, word stress is also predictable,
and one of the characteristics of a French accent, as so many successful comedians have
learned, is that stress placement falls on the last syllable. Stress varies greatly in languages, and
in some languages it is phonemic. In Japanese, having the stress fall on the last or first syllable
in the word ham determines whether “nose” or “flower” is said.
Another type of suprasegmental is the pitch or tonal accent. While all languages have pitch,
in some languages it assumes a much more important status. Mandarin Chinese has four tones,
as follows:
high level yi “1” low falling-rising wu “5”
mid, rising to high shr “10” falling lyou “6”
Serbo-Croatian, one of the languages of Yugoslavia, has the same number of tones but its
tones occur only on the stressed syllable of a word, and length is involved with tone. Swedish
and Norwegian also make tonal distinctions associated with a stress accent. In Swedish, for
instance, Ibcjmerj, with stress and tonal contour on the first syllable, indicates the word “pea¬
sants,” while when it is pronounced with stress but with a different tonal contour, it means
“beans.” Mandarin Chinese has a system both of the tonal and of the stress type. Mandarin
/iantzin/ with stress on the first syllable means “eye;” with stress and falling tone on the second
syllable it means “glass.”
Pitch is also important in English. If we say, “I am going downtown,” and we hear from one
of our colleagues, “Where?” with rising pitch, we know that he did not hear us the first time
and wants the statement repeated. But if our colleague says, “Where?” with falling pitch, we
know that he has heard but wants us to tell him which specific department store we intend to
visit.
GENERATIVE-TRANSFORMATIONAL PHONOLOGY
Within the linguistic tradition that we term structural, we have described the consonant
phonemes in terms of three criteria, and the vowel phonemes in terms of two. For the conso¬
nants, structuralists employ three features: voice, manner of articulation, and point of articula¬
tion. For the vowels, structuralists employ the criteria of tongue height and tongue depth.
Within structural phonology the phoneme is regarded as an autonomous, independent unit—and
these are the labels which structuralists employ to describe this concept. Contrast is employed
to isolate and identify the phonemes of a language. The contrast between “fuss”/fas/ and
“fuzz’Vfaz/ is the contrast between /s/ and /z/. These words, which constitute a minimal pair,
are pronounced identically except for this difference or contrast of one phoneme.
Generative-transformational linguists argue that the “autonomous,” independent phoneme
obscures a number of general phonological facts, facts that all language speakers are intuitively,
but perhaps not consciously aware of. They also argue that the concept of the phoneme
advocated by the structuralists tends to obscure generalizations that can be revealed at a more
abstract level of analysis. Their own research leads them away from the articulatory features
that structuralists use to describe segments (consonants and vowels) to a limited set of features
that can theoretically characterize any segment in the language—past, present, and future.
Specifically, generative phonologists wish to reveal and emphasize the following:
1. There are similarities among consonants and vowels. In descriptions prepared by structural
grammarians, the consonants and vowels are defined with two different and unrelated sets of
features. Consonants and vowels are even displayed, as we have indicated, on two separate
charts. Here the structuralists tend to emphasize the differences in phonological representations
while the generative grammarians emphasize the similarities. Morris Halle and Noam Chomsky
in their work The Sound Pattern of English submit that between 15 and 25 features, a relatively
small set, can be combined in ways to define the segmental phonemes of any language.
2. The distinctive features advocated by Halle and Chomsky would constitute a universal set
and would account for all the possible sound types in language. Here then is an attempt to
relate the sound segments of all languages—to emphasize their similarities and to describe how
their sound segments interrelate. Each speaker would use these features in different ways,
depending upon the language(s) that he speaks. Generative grammarians are interested, too, in
defining “possible sound” for language in general.
3. Structural grammarians fail to define a natural class of sounds and how these classes relate to
other classes of sounds. There are, as pointed out by generative grammarians, a number of
classes of sound types in any language. We shall explore this concept below.
4. The phoneme in the view of the generative grammarian is a systematic phoneme-, this
concept is useful to explain how sound segments behave in morphemes, words and even higher
units, such as phrases, clauses, and sentences. They are, in other words, interested in the
dependent relationships between and among segments at more abstract levels.
All of the above attempts at explanation may, at first glance, seem rather obtuse, vague,
academic, and recondite to our reader; but we wish to point out that what the generative
grammarians have contributed through their new way of looking at the world of phonology is
an attempt at explaining the knowledge that is available to the fluent speaker of any language.
This knowledge, a great deal of which is tacit, is the linguistic knowledge that the speaker brings
to bear when actually using language. A theory is basically explanatory: it forces us to look at
data in a certain way, occasionally ignoring data that do not fit into the theory (the excep¬
tions). We have good evidence that structural theorists (of autonomous phonemics) view lan¬
guage in one way. Their theory obscured facts and relations that later generative-
transformational theorists (of systematic phonemics) would find crucial for an understanding of
the principles of language. However, to be cautious for the moment, it might well be that as
time goes on, generative-transformational grammar will be shown to have missed some of the
insights of structural grammar, just as time has shown that structuralism obscured some of the
insights of traditional neogrammarian study.
We will simplify to a degree the feature classification system employed by generative phonol-
ogists. The features that we shall incorporate into our sketch are the following:
Vocalic: no obstruction in the oral passage
Consonantal: major obstruction in the oral passage
Continuant: air is continuous in the air passage
Nasal: air is emitted from the nasal passage—the velum is lowered
Abrupt release: a feature to characterize stops
Lateral: the tongue is raised and air escapes from one or both sides of the tongue
Voice: the vocal chords vibrate
Tense: the vocal organs are tense; the opposite of tense is lax
Strident: sounds have friction or “noisiness”
Coronal: the blade of the tongue is raised and sound is articulated in the middle region of
mouth. This feature includes palatal articulation but excludes velars and labials.
Anterior: sound is made in the front of the mouth, from the alveolar ridge forward; excludes
palatals and velars
Front: the tongue is in front region of the mouth
High: the tongue is high in the mouth
Low: the tongue is low in the mouth
Back: the tongue is in the back region of the mouth
These 15 features will enable us to characterize groups of sound segments into classes or sets
and to describe each member of a set. Before we begin to illustrate this particular system we
need to advise our reader that:
1. This is not the only set of features available. Revisions in the system are constantly taking
place as new languages are analyzed and new features are found.
2. Each feature is indicated by its presence (a plus sign) or its absence (a minus sign), The
choice is binary: a segment is either +vocalic or -vocalic. To use an analogy, we can say that a
person is either +thin or -thin. He cannot be both thin and not thin, -thin, however, does not
mean that the person is fat. He could be medium. We could employ additional features to
characterize a person as tall or short, as adult or child, and so on. This convention we will have
to keep in mind as we proceed.
3. Following a distinctive feature analysis is similar to following or playing a game according to

its rules, for instance, the game of duplicate bridge. In bridge we must keep track of the number
of points in our own and our partner’s hand, the bidding, the order in which trump is drawn,
and so on. Bridge is a very complicated game. Following an explication of, or attempting to
read, a distinctive feature analysis of a language is also complicated.
We will also have to follow an order in determining distinctive features. Features are listed
according to their generality. A more general classification contains more segments in the set; a
less general classification contains fewer segments in its set. For instance, a decision as to
whether a segment is vocalic is made before we enquire whether a segment is strident. We will
have more segments in the set distinguished by vocalic than we will have in the set distinguished
by strident.
We are prepared now to commence with our explanation of the feature system. We will be
using a new convention to illustrate the use of distinctive features; and this convention is an
upside down branching-tree (also important for the explication of syntactic relationships). Each
plus or minus (the presence or absence of a feature) is indicated by two branches, the plus
branch and the minus branch. For a simple example, let us look to electricity: electricity may
be either on (+) or off (-). It cannot be both. We can display such knowledge on a branching-
tree diagram:
ELECTRICITY
The point at which the branches separate (or are joined) may be called “point of reference” or
the “node.” We have indicated, in this example, the “node” with a large point.
DISTINCTIVE FEATURE ANALYSIS: ENGLISH VOWELS AND CONSONANTS
Vocalic
Beginning with the distinctive feature analysis of the segmentals of English, we first deter¬
mine whether a segment is vocalic:
VOCALIC
On the left side (under the left branch, the - side) we have all consonants, including h, w, andy;
and on the right side of the tree (the + side) we have all the vowels, including l and r. We thus
have two natural classes or sets: those segments which are +vocalic and those which are not.
Consonantal
We next determine whether a segment is consonantal (merely designating a segment as plus
or minus vocalic does not determine the “true” consonants and “true” vowels, as we shall see).
We now have six branches in our tree:
h w CONSONANTS VOWELS 1
y r
Let us look at the right side of the tree diagram first. A segment that has been initially identified
as +vocalic may be further categorized as either + or -consonantal. If it is -consonantal we have
the class of segments called vowels. If it is +consonantal we have the set / and r, which have,
according to this classification, attributes of both vowels and consonants (/ and r are commonly
referred to as “liquids”). Thus, on the right side of the diagram we have characterized two sets:
the vowels and the liquids. On the left side of the diagram, the class of segments that are -vocalic
and +consonantal are the consonants, and the segments that are -vocalic and -consonantal are
the semivowels (which includes h). With the use of two features, vocalic and consonantal, we
have characterized four classes of segments:
Vowels Liquids Consonants Semivowels

+V +V -V -V
-CNS +CNS +CNS -CNS
Continuant
The next feature in our list is continuant. This feature distinguishes the fricatives as a class
from the stops, affricates, and nasals. The fricatives are all continuants, and the feature charac¬
terizes the natural class of fricatives. We also need to notice that
1. all vowels, by definition, are continuants,
2. stops, nasals, and affricates form a class separate from the fricatives, and
3. as we make finer and finer distinctions the classes of segments become smaller.
[f] would be described at this level (as would all fricatives) as:
Nasal
The feature nasal distinguishes the class of nasals from the class that includes stops and
affricates. The nasals ([m], [n], and [q]) all have the features
■-V “
+CNS
-CT
_+NS .
Let us recapitulate for the moment what our four features {vocalic, consonantal, continuant,
and nasal) have defined. We have characterized a number of different but related classes of
segments: we have identified the classes of nasals, stops-fricatives, liquids, and semivowels, and
the large class of vowels. On a diagram the classification would yield the following:
Stops, Affricates Nasals

[m] (like all nasals) has the following feature classification:

[m]
" -V '
+CNS
-CT
_ +NS _
and [p] (and the rest of the stops and affricates) has the classification:
[p]
-V “
+CNS
-CT
_ -NS _
Lateral
The feature lateral pertains to the set that we have identified as liquids: [1] and [r]. Both are
+vocalic and +consonantal. Laterality distinguishes [1] from [r]. [1] is +lateral and [r] is
-lateral. In some languages, Japanese happens to be one of them, laterality is not a distinctive
feature of the sound system; the Japanese do not distinguish the sound [1] from the sound [r].
To the Japanese, the English sound [1] and [r] sound like the same sound; thus, we have the
anecdotal “flied lice.” The feature system has faithfully captured their relatedness, and helps to
explain why some language groups find it difficult to distinguish these two sounds.
Abrupt Release
(see Julia Falk, Linguistics and Language)
The feature abrupt release serves to distinguish the affricate class [c] and [j] —which are
combinations of stop and a following fricative—from the class of stops [p b t d k g]. Our
diagram, after the addition of the features lateral and abrupt release, has the following configu¬
ration:
We need to remind ourselves that as we “climb down” the branches, each additional feature
specifies a class of segments, but with each feature that we specify the classes become smaller.
Our ultimate goal is to reach the specification for each individual segment.
Phonology : A Sign of Structure 55
Anterior
The feature anterior can aid us in characterizing and identifying a further class of segments.
This feature is employed to distinguish consonants articulated from the alveolar region forward
from those made from the alveolar region backward. With the addition of this feature our tree
has the following design (we are working with the -vocalic side of the diagram):
CNS
[k] [g] [p b t d]
We should also notice that the feature anterior identifies and isolates a class of consonants that
are articulated from the alveolar region forward [wypbtdmnfvQ&sz],
Our tree diagram begins to articulate greater degrees of abstractness as we add more and
more distinctive features, and at the same time the diagram becomes more and more specific in
the classification of the segments of English. As we distinguish the presence or absence of a
feature we identify and characterize the notion of a class or set of segments. We have found
that classes of segments may share one or more features (indeed, that is a defining charac¬
teristic). Classes “act” in the same manner in phonology. For instance, the class identified with
these features —
-V
+ CNS
-CT
-NS
+ AR
may appear in similar phonological environments, say before [r], as in the following words:
pray, brag, treat, drag, grey, and Kremlin. If we change one feature, the NS to a plus (+), then
we change the class of segments. We do not have words with the following phonological shape:
mrag, nrik, and rjrep. We should add a reference here to the unacceptable words, “as every
native speaker of English knows,” for this statement is precisely what the feature system
attempts to capture: the phonological knowledge of the fluent speaker of English. Every fluent
speaker knows that there are no words in English in which we have an initial nasal followed
immediately by [r].
Coronal
The feature coronal refers to the position of the,tongue. The blade of the tongue is raised
when articulating coronal sounds. The feature coronal serves to distinguish [p b] from [t d];
[w] from [y]; [m]' from [n] ; and [f v] from [s z 9 6]. With the addition of this feature we
have the following classification (0 indicates an empty set):
AT
Strident and Voice

Two additional features are important for the classification of the consonants. These are the
features ± (plus or minus) strident and the feature ± voice. Stridency serves to distinguish [0]
and [6] which are strident from those fricatives which are +strident [f v s z s z]. The two
affricates are also +strident.
Voicing serves to differentiate voiced consonants from those which are not: [b] from [p];
[d] from [t]; [g] from [k]; [c] from [j]; [v] from [f]; [0] from [6]; [s] from [z]; and [S]
from [z]. With the addition of these two features, the classification of the consonants (those
which we initially identified as -vocalic) has been completed (we have already specified those
segments belonging to the nasal and semivowel subsets). Various stages of our tree diagram
would indicate the following information (stops, affricates, and fricatives):
Phonology: A Sign of Structure
57
Each segment that we initially listed as -vocalic can now be given a unique set of features
which identify and characterize only it. When we return to the various stages of our tree
diagram, we find that we can “trace” the features associated with any -vocalic segment, say [f].
[f], beginning with the first and most general feature we identified, is
" -V "
+CNS
+CT
+AT
-CR
_ -VC _
[f] differs from [v] by one feature—voice; from [s] by two; and from [s]by three. (The class
we identified as [f] and [v] also shares with [szszcj] the feature strident.)
Back to Vocalic
The vowels are the (” +V ~| class.

L-CNSJ
Vowels can also be specified by a set of features. We have already specified the general class of
vowel and now we need to distinguish subsets within the class of vowel (as we did for the
consonants). The feature back will distinguish those vowels which are articulated in the back
region of the mouth from those which are not:
[uuoo]
We know from the previous section on articulatory phonetics that the back vowels of English
are [uuoo]. Vowels that are -back are either + or - front:
Vowels that are +front are [I i E e se]. Those that are -front and -back are [a] and [a].
With two features (back and front) we have identified three general sets of vowels: front
vowels, back vowels, and those which are neither. If vowels are -back and -front, they are
central. We do not have to employ the feature central since any vowel which is -back and -front
is by definition central.
Vowels are also characterized as ±high and ±low. Vowels may be either +high and -low or
-high and +low. They cannot be both +high and +low. If vowels are neither +high nor +low
(that is, they are -high and -tow) then they are mid. Our diagram, with the features of front,
back, high, and low specified, will give us the following set of vowels:
BK
BK
We still have not distinguished [e] from [e]; [u] from [u]; and [i] from [I]. The first member
of each pair is designated as +tense; and the second number is -tense (or lax). Tense vowels
(including [o]) are those which are glided in American English (and these may impressionis¬
tically be called “long” vowels):
HI
IMPLICATIONS
Now that we have taken our reader through a set of features similar to those advocated by
generative phonologists, the obvious question which remains is, “What are the implications for
this way of looking at language noises?”
1. One obvious implication, and one that we continue to emphasize, is that distinctive feature
analysis reflects the linguistic competence of the native speaker; the native speaker is aware of
and operates within the set of generalizations that generative phonologists term “distinctive
features.” For example, the speaker of English is aware that for the words “cat” and “dog”
there is a plural: “cats,” “dogs.” Yet even though the native speaker is aware that the s denotes
the plural, he may not be aware of the fact that he pronounces the written s differently. He
pronounces the plural of “cat” as [s] and the plural of “dog” as [z]. The [s] and [z] are
related; and they differ by one distinctive feature—voice. At this level, the word level, the [s]
and [z] are related and the native speaker, even though not consciously aware of how he
pronounces the plural, must intuitively be aware of this phonological rule or principle of
pronunciation.
Another example of a phonological rule is seen in the past tense of a category of English
verbs. The verb “walk” has a past tense which is symbolized as -ed in the writing system.
“Walk” becomes “walked.” “Appeal” has the identical -ed in the past tense—“appealed.”
However, the past tense of “walk” is pronounced as [t] while the past tense of “appeal” is
pronounced [d]., The distinction of voice, which is important for the correct pronunciation of
the plural, is also important for the correct pronunciation of the past tense. What is important,
and what we wish to emphasize, is that there is a close and systematic relationship between [s]
and [z] and between [t] and [d] at a higher and more abstract level of analysis—the word.
2. We have already indicated an implication for the teaching of foreign or second languages.
The [1] and [r] distinction causes many pronunciation and hearing problems for the Japanese
and other East Asians.
Speakers of Spanish tend to confuse the [b] with the [v]. The distinction in this case is
between +continuant and -continuant. Spanish speakers do not “hear” the distinction between
[b] and [v] because they learned to disregard the distinction between -continuant [b] and
+icontinuant [v].
English speakers learning a foreign language often encounter the same sorts of difficulties
experienced by the Japanese and the Spanish speaker. English speakers hearing ich (the German
word for “I”) will pronounce the ch (a velar fricative or a -anterior, -coronal, +continuant
segment) as [k]. Here we have a -continuant [k] substituting for a +continuant in German. In
sum, an account of a “foreign accent” may partially be characterized by reference to a set of
distinctive features.
3. In regional and social dialects of American English we have instances of features employed
differently and in different combinations. In one dialect spoken by lower socio-economic
groups in the inner city (a dialect that we may call Black English) a difference in pronunciation
may be explained if we look to a distinctive feature analysis. The word “brother,” which is
pronounced with a -strident fricative (continuant) [6] in Standard English is pronounced with a
+strident [v] in Black English, [bra&ar] is pronounced as [bravg] (also with the deletion of
final [r]).
4. There is evidence from the discipline of speech disorders (speech pathology) that a person
having difficulty with pronouncing a particular class or subset of sounds has only to learn to
pronounce one member of the set in order to pronounce all members of the set correctly. A
person, for instance, who has difficulty in voicing [p t k] has only to learn to voice one
member of the set, say [p], in order to learn to pronounce all members of the set correctly.
This gives evidence that speakers are intuitively aware of general sets of sounds.
5. In the area of language acquisition (studies in psycholinguistics) we find that babies gradu¬
ally refine their phonological system by adding distinctive features according to a maturational
timetable. All children, it appears, acquire the distinction between vocalic and consonantal very
early, which accounts, partially, for the widespread “ma” as a first utterance in many languages.
Further research reveals that features are learned in an order, from most general to most
specific.
This concludes our discussion of the level of language that we have called phonological.
From this discussion we can see that an adequate understanding of the phonological system of
even one language is a matter of enormous significance and complexity.
V. QUESTIONS AND ACTIVITIES
1. Record in writing the following phonemic notation:

twIqloltwIgkallitalstarhawaywDndarwatyuarapabav&aWDrldsowhay
2. Write in phonemic notation:

like a diamond in the sky
twinkle, twinkle little star
how I wonder what you are.
3. What is the phonological rule that serves to capture the difference in pronunciation in the
following set of words?
loaf loaves
house (noun) house (verb)
tithe (noun) tithe (verb)
4. What is the systematic relationship in the above set of words? Are there other pairs of
words in English that demonstrate the existence of the same relationship?
5. '“Rinso” was the name of a popular soap product a number of years ago. Why is this
“made up” term a good choice for the name of a soap? Examine other names used for
detergents. If you were to select a name for a new soap, would you suggest “puz?” Why or
why not?
6. Imagine that you have the responsibility for selecting, from three names submitted, the
name for a new candy bar. The three names are “tak,” “dink,” and “firch.” Which one do
you think is most appropriate? Perhaps you might want to propose a different name. What
one would you suggest? Why?
7. Consider the following two columns of words:
deduce deduction
ration rational
divine divinity
sign signature
convene convention
phone phonic
nation national
The first column contains words with tense vowels. The second column contains words
with lax vowels. After we transcribe these words, we may ask: Does each pair represent
instances of different words or of related words? What is the nature of the phonological
distinction between column one and column two? Is there a generalization to be drawn?
Why doesn’t the spelling system indicate the change in vowel quality? How regular, then, is
the spelling system in the cases above?
8. Record these words in phonemics:
cat cad
right ride
sit Syd
beat bead
What is the phonemic difference between the last consonant in column one and the last
consonant in column two? Listen to the vowels of column one and those of column two. Is
there a difference in length (duration) of the vowel in column two? What can account for
this difference?
9. The /t/ appears to be a difficult sound for children to learn. In the phonological system of
many young children the /w/ substitutes for initial /r/. Can you think of a reason for this
substitution? Are /r/ and /w/ similar in articulation?
10. Consider the following list of words:
astonish maintain collapse
edit carouse exhaust
consider appear elect
imagine cajole usurp
cancel careen lament
Can we predict where stress will fall in each word? that is, is stress predictable? First
record each word in phonemic notation. Then attempt to construct a rule of stress place¬
ment in these words. (In column two, each word is stressed on the last syllable: what kinds
of vowels appear in the last syllable? How does the syllabic structure of column three differ
from one and two?)
V. FOR FURTHER REFERENCE
Chomsky, Noam A. and Morris Halle. 1968. The Sound Pattern of English. New York: Harper
and Row.
Falk Julia S. 1973. “Phonetic Features” and “Phonemics,” in Linguistics and Language. Lexing¬
ton, Mass.: Xerox.
Gleason, Henry A. 1955. Workbook in Descriptive Linguistics. New York: Holt, Rinehart and
Winston.
Lehmann, Winfred P. 1971. “Articulatory Phonetics,” “Acoustic Phonetics,^ “Autonomous
Phonemics,” and “Distinctive Features Analysis of Sounds,” in Descriptive Linguisticsi An
Introduction. New York: Random House.
Makkai, Valerie Becker. 1972. Phonological Theory. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston.
Wang, William S-Y. 1973. “Approaches to Phonology,” in Thomas A. Sebeok, ed.: Current
Trends in Linguistics: Linguistics in North America. The Hague: Mouton.
VI. Morphology and Syntax: More Signs
ANALYZING A GRAMMAR
In the next two chapters we shall examine the structural systems termed morphology, syntax,
and semantics. In the study of language, morphology and syntax are sometimes grouped
together and studied as a system, and we shall follow that tradition. Like phonology,
morphology and syntax both comprise a system or level of language, and both also fit into what
linguists call a grammar, which we have learned is a theory of one or more languages.
MORPHOLOGY
We have previously described the abstract unit called the phoneme. Like the phoneme, the
morpheme is an abstract unit, but on a higher level of abstraction; it might be said, generally, to
consist of a sequence of classes of phonemes that have meaning. The -erne is part of both terms
and refers to a classification of units. Just as the phoneme consisted of a family of similar sound
types, the morpheme consists, also, of a family of units. As the phoneme is the minimal unit in
the sound system, the morpheme (from morphe, a Greek word meaning “shape” or “form”) is
the minimum unit of meaning. Words, sentences, and even entire paragraphs can all be regarded
as being built ultimately out of morphemes.
“Minimal” means that an utterance cannot be divided into other, smaller meaningful units.
By way of contrast, phonemes do not have meaning: there is no meaning attached to any one
phoneme of /kset/. If we examine the entire sequence, however, we have a meaningful item.
Moreover, we have three phonemes—/k/, /ae/, and /t/—which, placed together into this particular
order, have meaning as a unit. There is a morpheme { ae t }(morphemes are denoted by braces)
but this would leave the single phoneme /k/, which has no meaning. Therefore, /kaet/ is a
minimal unit of meaning and is thus a morpheme.
Still another definition of morpheme is that it is a sequence of sounds that has function in a
word. “Distrustfulness” has four functional parts: dis, trust, ful, and ness. All four parts of this
word function in other words of the language: disprove, trusty, beaufiful, and happiness. We
should notice, too, that these parts cannot be broken into smaller meaningful units.
All languages have morphemes, just as all languages have phonemes. Phonemes consist of a
set or family of variant but phonetically similar sounds; for example, the phoneme /t/ has a set
of variants called allophones. Morphemes also have variants and these variants are called
allomorphs. While allophones must be phonetically similar, allomorphs must be similar in
meaning. For instance, the most widely used form of the plural in English has three variants.
(We have already discussed two of these variants in the chapter on phonology.) If we say that
the plural is denoted by the symbol {s}, then we can establish that the plural has three
alternate pronunciations: /s/, /az/, and /z/. The pronunciation /az/ occurs if the noun ends in
any one of these consonants /c jvs z s z/. Two are affricates /c J/ and four are fricatives /s z s z/.
The following nouns illustrate the pronunciation of the /az/ allomorph of the plural morpheme:
64
Morphology and Syntax: More Signs 65
the horse the horses

the buzz the buzzes
the brush the brushes
the garage the garages (some may pronounce “gar¬
age” with /z/ and some with
/]/. In any case, however, the
word is pronounced accord¬
ing to the rule)
the catch the catches
the judge the judges
The pronunciation of the plural as /s/ occurs after nouns ending in voiceless consonants,
other than the voiceless consonants listed above. We notice that voicing is important since the
voiceless alternate (allomorph) of the plural occurs after nouns whose last consonant is voice-
less, as in the following set of nouns:
the cat the cats
the book the books
the desk the desks
the mat the mats
the chunk the chunks
The /z/ allomorph of the plural occurs after nouns whose last phoneme is voiced—either
consonants other than fricatives and affricates or vowels. We have the following set of words
with this variant:
the dog the dogs
the pencil the pencils
the table the tables
the chair the chairs
the pen the pens
the play the plays
The /s/, /z/, and /az/ are allomorphs of the plural morpheme that we can symbolize as { s }.
Native speakers, we must assume, are aware only of the abstraction that we call plural and not
of the various ways to pronounce the plural morpheme. Occasionally speakers will even deny
that they pronounce the plural differently. Children, however, will learn these rules of
pronunciation and will attempt to force exceptions into the “regular” rules of pronunciation.
Children can be heard to pronounce the plural of “ox” as “oxes,” the plural of “child” as
“childs,” and the plural of “foot” as “foots,” until told differently.
Morphological analysis is not without its complications, however. Let us consider the
following set of English words:
rejection reversion reception
conjecture conversion conception
injection inversion inception
We may not feel that the forms ject, vers, and cept, or re, con, and in share in each case a visible
meaning-similarity to go with the similarity in sound. Indeed, we do have identical sounds in
language which have completely different meanings. Words that have the same spelling and
sound, such as “bear,” but that have different meanings are termed homonyms: “She could not
bear the pain,” and “She killed the bear.” Some morphemes are spelled differently but sound
identical in speech: “She killed the bear with her bare hands.” Punsters have always made use
of this characteristic of English. The technical term that we employ to describe words or
morphemes that sound the same is homophonous morpheme (or, less accurately, homophonous
word): homo means “the same” and phonous means “sound.”
From an analysis of the Latinate morphemes, we can see that it is often difficult to
categorize morphemes. In the above set of words derived from Latin, we might have difficulty
in assigning a meaning to the various morphemes that occur in the words. Even so, we can and
do create new words from Latin morphemes. The anthropological terms “uxorilocal” and
“virilocal,” employed to distinguish whether a newly married couple establishes housekeeping
in the wife’s former place of residence or in the husband’s, are “made up” or created by the
anthropologist to describe these two situations.
A word may consist of one or more morphemes—which is one definition for word. Some
morphemes, notably prefixes and suffixes, must be attached to other morphemes—they cannot
stand alone—while other morphemes may stand alone. If a morpheme cannot stand alone, it is
called bound, and if it can stand alone, it is called free. All prefixes and suffixes in English are
bound morphemes.The morphemes in { kae ts} consist of the bound plural morpheme { s } and
the morpheme { kaet}, which is a free base. A base is a unit to which other morphemes may be
added. Not all base morphemes are free, however; some are bound, as in our Latin examples:
ject, vers, and cept. These Latin bases are bound and must therefore have other morphemes
attached to them before they can be said.
In English there are both bound and free bases, as we have described. All prefixes and
suffixes are bound. Linguists also subcategorize suffixes and prefixes into inflectional and
derivational. While all prefixes in English are derivational, suffixes may be either inflectional or
derivational. There is a distinction between derivation and inflection: inflectional suffixes do
not change the basic meaning of the word or its grammatical class, while derivational
morphemes may involve a change in meaning and/or grammatical class.
An example of a derivational suffix is ment. Ment is derivational, since it changes a word
from one grammatical class to another, in this case from verb to noun. “Govern,” a verb (“The
president’s job is to govern the nation”), becomes a noun when ment is added: “government.”
There is a rather rich set of derivational prefixes and suffixes that have come to English from
Latin, French, and Greek. In the word “distrustfulness” we had four functioning parts. Now we
are able to analyze this word using our morphological criteria. “Distrustfulness” contains the
free base trust, the prefix dis, and the suffixes ful and ness. We notice, too, that the prefix and
suffixes are derivational: “trust” with the addition of dis becomes “distrust” (still a verb but
the meaning has changed); “distrust” becomes “distrustful,” an adjective, as in the phrase, “The
distrustful man”; “distrustful” becomes “distrustfulness,” a noun, as in “He hated the man’s
distrustfulness.”
In contrast to the derivational suffix { ment}, the plural morpheme { s} is inflectional. If
we add the plural to “cat” the basic meaning of the word remains unchanged and “cat” also
remains a noun. We will employ the set of inflectional suffixes in English to define some of the
parts of speech. The inflections in English are the following:
1. Plural (attaches to most nouns): We have already isolated the allomorph of the regular plural
morpheme.
2. Possessive: The possessive is attached to a noun and has the following characteristics:
Sarah’s coat (an apostrophe plus s)
The boys’ coats (here, an s plus apostrophe to denote that there is more than one boy)
3. Third-person singular: The third-person singular is the morpheme which is attached to the
verb.
Singular Plural
First I play the game We play the game
Second You play the game You play the game
Third He/she/it plays the game They play the game
The only change to the verb “play” is the third-person singular (“He/she/it plays the game”),
to which the third-person singular morpheme { s } is added.
4. Past Tense: The past tense morpheme can be symbolized as { -ed }, and is attached to most
verbs. Although more verbs add {-ed } to indicate past time—“He played ball”—there
remains a set of verbs that indicate past tense by changing the vowel of the base—“He drove
downtown yesterday”; “He sang in the choir two years ago.”
5. Present Participle: The present participle is signaled by the -ing which is attached to a verb:
“She is playing ball.”
6. Past Participle-. The past participle (-ed or -en) also attaches to the verb: “He had driven to
Dallas before” or “He has walked to school before.”
7. Comparative and Superlative-. The comparative and superlative attach to adjectives: “hard,”
“harder,” and “hardest.”
We could be accused, quite rightly, of putting the cart before the horse by saying certain
inflections attach themselves to certain parts of speech, before we define part of speech. Before
going on, let us now examine the parts of speech in English.
PARTS OF SPEECH
Unlike traditional grammarians, who relied upon notional and relational criteria to define
the parts of speech, linguists have categorized and defined parts of speech both through the use
of inflectional morphemes and through positions that inflectional parts of speech occupy in
sentences.
The inflections which we will employ to define a set of speech parts are the following:
1. plural { s }
2. possessive {’s } or { s'}
3. third-person singular { s }
4. past tense { -ed } or change of vowel
5. present participle {-ing}
6. past participle { -ed } or { -en }
7. comparative { -er } and superlative { -est}
NOUN: any word which can take a plural and/or possessive morpheme. Both the plural and
the possessive are inflectional morphemes. “Cat” is a noun by this definition.
VERB: a word which takes the inflectional morpheme third-person singular and which fits
into the following pattern:
Base
1. walk
2. sing
Third-person singular
1. (He) walks
2. (She) sings
Past tense
1. (He) walked
2. (She) sang
Present participle
1. (He is) walking
2. (She is) sing ing
Past participle
1. (He has) walked
2. (She has) sung
Verbs which follow pattern 1 (most verbs do) have historically been called weak or regular, and
verbs which follow pattern 2 have been called strong or irregular.
ADJECTIVE: a word which takes the inflection -er and -est, as in the words “pretty,”
“prettier,” “prettiest.” “Pretty” is categorized then as an adjective.
PRONOUN: may be partially defined as any word which fits into the following pattern:
Nominative (subject)
I (I like ice cream)
Accusative (object)
me (She loves me)
Possessive
a. my (book)
b. mine (That book is mine)
ADVERBS: cannot be categorized morphologically. Though it was possible to read in some

traditional grammars that adverbs take -ly, this was not sufficient to categorize adverbs such as
“fast.” In the sentence “Don’t drive fast,” the adverb does not take -ly. And in the phrase “the
lonely man,” “lone” takes -ly but is not an adverb. “Lonely” in this phrase is an adjective
(lonely, lonelier, loneliest).
For the categories of preposition (in, on, to, by,...), conjunction (and, but, or,...), article
(the, a), and interjection (oh, well, hey,.. .), we find no morphological criteria, and in order to
define these classes we must list the members of the entire class. Morphological identification
has other difficulties as well. When we attempt to determine the status of words such as “hit”
(is “hit” a noun or verb?), and the status of words such as “beautiful” (which is intuitively an
adjective but which cannot be inflected with the -er and -est) and compare them with words
such as “poor” (morphologically an adjective) which may appear in positions in sentences
which are “normally” noun positions (for instance, “The poor are always at a disadvantage”),
we see that “poor,” an adjective, functions as a noun in this sentence and not as an adjective.
We must use an additional criterion to categorize this word in terms of a part of speech.
Inflectional criteria are just not sufficient.
Linguists (following Charles C. Fries and his colleagues) posited a set of position slots
wherein the various parts of speech (those morphologically defined) may occur. One of the
more innovative contributions of Professor Fries has been to point out that languages operate
with grammatical indicators, as he called them, and these indicators are useful in determining
the positions in which inflectional parts of speech occur. Linguists have pointed to the various
indicators of English sentences as seen in the following sentence: “The vencular lobemities may
have been molently perfluced.”
Here, in spite of the nonsensical nature of some of the words, there is every indication that
“vencular” is an adjective, “lobemities” a noun in the plural, “molently” an adverb derived
from an adjective (molent), and “perfluced” the past participle of a verb', “vencular,”
“molently,” “lobemities,” and “perfluced” could all very well be technical terms in English.
What, in part, provides the sentence with its plausibility are its morphological signals. The
suffixes -s, -ly, and -ed are a few of the strongest; there are also -ar and -ent, which are common
suffixes of adjectives, the suffix -ity which is attached to the noun, and the familiar verb prefix
per. Also, familiar words like “the” and “may have been” are as important for their signals as
for the information which they provide to the reader about the class of words in the sentence.
For instance, we notice the clear meaning of the word “ship” in the sentence, “The ship sails
today,” whereas the sentence without “the” would be ambiguous: “Ship sails today.”
The label “function word” has been given to a fairly small closed set of words that serve as
grammatical indicators', this list includes prepositions, conjunctions, articles, pronouns, and
auxiliary (helping) verbs. These sets are closed, since it seems extremely unlikely that they will
ever add new members. The open sets include nouns, adjectives {adverbs), and verbs. New
words are constantly being added to these classes every day.
Word order serves to mark function in the above nonsense sentence. The position of vencular
before lobemities, a noun, leads to the assumption that vencular is an adjective. Lewis Carroll’s
Looking-Glass poem “Jabberwocky” begins with such a skeleton of indicators accompanied by
unfamiliar words where we would anticipate the nouns, verbs and adjectives (adverbs) would
occur:
’Twas_and the_y_s
Did_and_in the_
All_y were the_s,
And the_s out_
The mood of the full poem is captured beautifully in Alice’s reaction: “Somehow it seems to
fill my head with ideas—only I don’t exactly know what they are!”
Linguists have used the grammatical indicators to posit test frames to determine the part of
speech status for any word. We will not list here all the frames available (for a more complete
set see James Sledd’s book, A Short Introduction to English Grammar)', one test frame for the
noun will be sufficient to give an illustration of this method:
The_seemed good.
_seemed good.
Any form which fits into one or both of the above frames will be a noun. We can say the beer
seemed good and Dallas seemed good', beer and Dallas would then be nouns. We can also say
that the poor seemed good. Poor, a morphological adjective, functions as a noun if it occurs in
this position.
The three grammatical characteristics we have mentioned—prefixes and suffixes, function
words, and word order—are fairly universal in language. The extent to which they are employed
and/or important for particular languages is, of course, subject to variation. Latin, for instance,
relies more heavily on inflectional suffixes than English, while in Vietnamese, inflection and
derivation do not play a role. Each language has its own patterns for creating words, word
groups, clauses, sentences, and connected units of discourse.
IMMEDIA TE CONSTITUENT ANAL YSIS

It should be apparent now that morphemes combine to make larger units of discourse. In
order to examine the structure of words and sentences, including clauses and phrases, linguists
employ a method they have labeled Immediate Constituent analysis. Expressed simply, IC
analysis employs a scheme whereby chunks of language are examined to determine structural
relationship. For one example, let us examine ungentlemanly. Ungentlemanly consists of the
constituents, un (a derivational prefix) and gentlemanly. Gentlemanly may be divided into
gentleman and ly (a derivational suffix), gentleman into gentle and man. Gentle and man are
parts of the word that may not be further divided.
The manner in which we have provided an IC analysis of ungentlemanly depends, in this and
other examples, upon our feeling for word structure. When approaching a language not
previously studied, very little about structure may be apparent at first glance. The linguist
would be forced to examine, to compare and to contrast, lists of words, or sets of sentences. If,
for instance, English happened to be unfamiliar, then to determine the constituents or parts of
ungentlemanly he would have to encounter words like unfair and unknown, words which would
serve as models for ungentlemanly, and words, too, which have no readily conceivable analysis
except into un and a base.
Immediate Constituent analysis is pursued, as we have indicated, to the point at which there
are no more divisible chunks. At this point we have reached the ultimate morphemes, the
ultimate constituents. Just where this point lies is not always an easy question. Leonard
Bloomfield once felt that both fl- as found in flash, flicker, flare, flame, and gl- as found in
gleam, glimmer, glitter, glow, glint represented morphemes. Some linguists feel, however, that
they are no longer dealing with recombinable units, and it is difficult to determine whether the
pieces remaining, like earn, immer, itter, ow, int are morphemes. Instead they have named fl
and gl phonesthemes— sound groups that convey a certain impression about the words of which
they are a part. The theory that purports to deal with such word phenomena is not highly
developed, but obviously such phenomena will have to be accounted for in any analysis of the
English language.
Sentences can also be analyzed using the principle of IC analysis. The sentence, the old man
hit the muddy ball, can first be segmented into the old manlhit the muddy ball, hit the muddy
ball into hit I the muddy ball, the old man into the I old man; old man into old\man\ the muddy
ball into the/muddy ball, muddy ball into muddy/ball. The relationship of these constituents,
as they are called, can be portrayed using the following Immediate Constituent diagram:
the old man hit the muddy ball
In linguistics, such diagrams are also called “Chinese boxes.” One box fits inside another, which
fits inside another, and so on. If we look within the diagram, we can see displayed a number of
relationships. For example each word has a box around it.
the old man hit the muddy ball
These words, then, are the ultimate constituents of the sentence. Linguists posit that old and
man are more immediately related than the is to old-, hence, they would show this relationship
with a box surrounding old and man.
the old man
The words of the phrase the old man are more immediately related than they are to the
constituents of the rest of the sentence. Therefore, another box would be placed around the
words, signifying this relationship.
the old man

Several relationships are clearly indicated in this diagram: the generalization that old man is
more immediately related than is the constituent the to old or the to man, and that the phrase
the old man is a unit (constituent) as is hit the muddy ball. More relationships can be perceived
if we examine the right side of the diagram; however, we will leave further analysis to our
reader.
To talk about relationships and order of words within a sentence, as we have been doing, is
to talk about syntax. And it is in the area of syntax that the linguistic revolution described by
Cattell had its initial impact, and perhaps its greatest contribution.
A NEW APPROACH TO SYNTAX
Linguistics is, and continues to be, the study of language. Any approach to a description of
language is based upon a set of axioms and postulates, and the more popular school of linguistic
thought in the United States during the first half of the present century employed a set of
axioms and postulates that were later to be called structural. In 1957, with the publication of
Syntactic Structures by Noam Chomsky, the linguistic world dramatically changed. A new set
of axioms and postulates was presented. No one, least of all linguists, could foresee at that time
the wide impact of the theory that Chomsky called generative-transformational and its effect
not only on linguistics but on the closely allied disciplines of philosophy, psychology, and
sociology.
Syntactic Structures, a formal and technical brief of generative-transformational theory,
marshalled a number of criticisms that were leveled at the more entrenched school of
linguistics. Although we are, in this text, not concerned with settling or even pursuing these
theoretical issues, we - do hope to present a reasonably cogent explanation of the general
characteristics of generative-transformational theory and to consider in broad outline a few of
its major tenets.
If we look upon the history of theoretical thought in linguistics as a continuum, it is not
surprising to see therein a struggle between established theory, the conservatives, and the
revolutionaries, the radicals. Just as structural theory contained criticisms of traditional
grammar, so too we might expect generative-transformational theory to contain criticisms of
the older, more established school of linguistic inquiry. And just as structural theory purported
to present a more insightful theory of language than that presented in traditional grammar, so
too does generative-transformational theory purport to offer a more insightful grammar
than structural. A viable science, we must always remind ourselves, never stands still. Like
language itself it is always changing.
Since 1957, almost a generation has passed, and generative-transformational theory has un¬
dergone such major modification that today there is no one general generative-transformational
theory that we can point to as the accurate representative of this school. On the contrary, there
are many generative-transformational theories. One is even called “standard” theory, a revision
advocated by Professor Chomsky himself in his book Aspects of the Theory of Syntax (1965).
There are also an “extended standard” theory, and “interpretive” theory, a “generative
semantic” theory, and case grammar, a revision. We shall examine case grammar in the
following chapter. And we have not exhausted the possibilities. All generative-transformational
theories, however, have evolved to a certain extent from the theory explicated in Syntactic
Structures.
The theory, or theories, associated with generative-transformational grammars continues to
be the most influential, not to mention the most controversial, on the linguistic scene today;
and whether Chomsky is ultimately more right or wrong, “no linguist,” John Lyons sagely
points out, “who wishes to keep abreast of current developments in his subject can afford to
ignore Chomsky’s theoretical pronouncements. Every other ‘school’ of linguistics at the present
time tends to define its position in relation to Chomsky’s views on particular issues.”
Structural linguistics was criticized on several counts. As a point of departure, let us examine
Charles C. Fries’ definition of grammar, which, as we shall see, conflicted with Chomsky’s.
“The grammar of a language,” Fries argued, “consists of the devices that signal structural
meaning.” Robert B. Lees, Chomsky’s student, explored this definition of grammar in his
article, “Transformational Grammar and the Fries Network.” He maintained that the “main
contribution of.. . structuralism to our understanding of language has been its replacement of
vague notional definitions of parts of speech by very precise so-called ‘formal’ definitions of
word classes. While in certain respects,” he continued, “a so-called structural grammar is very
precise, it is so just by virtue of the fact that it attempts to accomplish so little of interest.”
We can imagine that the above criticism, and others similar to it, created deeply felt
animosity within the discipline of linguistics. Yet “turn about is fair play”: traditional
grammarians were the recipients of some harsh criticism from the structuralists. Chomsky,
however, was more charitable in his assessment of the linguistics of the first half of this century.
“The major achievement of structural linguistics,” Chomsky maintains (“The Current Scene in
Linguistics: Present Directions”), “is to have provided a factual and methodological basis that
makes it possible to return to the problems that occupied the traditional universal grammarians
with some hope of extending and deepening their theory of language structure and language
use. Modern descriptive linguistics has enormously enriched the range of factual material
available, and has provided entirely new standards of clarity and objectivity. Given this advance
in precision and objectivity, it becomes possible to return, with new hope for success, to the
problem of constructing the theory of a particular language—its grammar—and to the still more
ambitious study of the general theory of language.”
The goal of language study has usually been directed toward the preparation of a description
of a language. More than a description is needed, Chomsky argues, and a study should not only
list and describe the language data of a particular language, but it should reveal what its
speakers know about the language. (We will discuss this kind of “knowledge” below.) Linguistic
study should also be concerned with what Descartes, a 17th century philosopher, termed the
faculte de langage: the ability, believed by Descartes to reflect the innate properties of mind, of
the human being to learn language. Linguistic study should begin where Descartes left off,
according to Chomsky, with studying these supposedly innate principles of linguistic behavior.
Not only could this kind of language study reveal the properties of a single language, but it
could also reveal the properties common to all languages. Languages sound different, and some
may be more difficult than others for us to learn. Yet, Chomsky argues, we should not be
misled: languages are more alike than they are different. What else would account for the fact
that children have little difficulty in learning the language or languages of their environment?
This 17th-century notion of language has guided the research of modern-day generative-
transformational linguists.
We shall not be discussing the complete theory of language associated with generative-
transformational linguists. It would be impossible for us to do so in one section of one chapter
of a book. In keeping with the major thrust of our text, we shall explore a few of the major
tenets of generative-transformational theory, leaving to our reader, if he chooses, to explore
further the axioms and postulates of this major school of linguistic science. We have fisted in
the bibliography a few appropriate texts with which this study can continue.
We will discuss a few of the tenets of generative theory under two headings—Creativity and
Linguistic Engineering.
CREATIVITY
In our first chapter we pointed to the linguistic fact that a speaker of a language has
knowledge of an unbounded set of sentences of that language. “Knowledge” is the important
word here. In Fries’ view, a grammar of a language “consists of the devices that signal structural
meaning.” In contrast, generative-transformational grammarians argue that since a language
consists of an infinite set of sentences, a grammar should go beyond the describing of the
“devices that signal structural meaning” and should describe the knowledge of language that
every native speaker has.
The notion of “novel” is given much emphasis in generative-transformational grammar.
Since, generative-transformational grammarians maintain, a language consists of an unbounded
set of sentences, most of these sentences that we hear or that we ourselves speak must be new.
When we actively use language, we are therefore creating new sentences, and this ability to
create new utterances is unique to the human race. Chomsky and others maintain that language
is a species-specific attribute. The implications of this view of language have been influential in
education and are particularly important for speech pathologists, psychologists, and language
teachers.
Generative grammarians speak about “knowledge of language” in a particular sense, and
employ terms that characterize what a native speaker knows about his language, his linguistic
competence, and what a native speaker actually does when he speaks his language, his linguistic
performance. Linguistic competence is often equated with subconscious or even tacit
knowledge. Linguistic performance characterizes the activities of the speaker while actually
using the language: his style, the mistakes that he makes, the hesitation phenomena like “uh,”
and so on.
Native speakers have a number of capabilities that are illustrative of this kind of language
knowledge. Among these are the following; we shall speak of these as “feelings” or
“intuitions.”
1. A feeling that some sounds or arrays of sounds belong to the English language while
others do not. “Nadack” is a possible English word while “Ndcak” is not.
2. A feeling that some words go together while others do not; we can say, for instance, “The
dog looks terrifying,” but we cannot so easily say, “The dog looks barking.”
3. A feeling for the word classes of his language—the parts of speech. This sentence is
possible: “He saw a picture of Redford,” while this one is not: “He saw a difficult of.” Native
speakers, especially children, may have difficulty in labeling the parts of speech when called
upon to do so. Yet they must know the parts of speech or they will have difficulty speaking
their language, putting the words in their proper positions. The inability to label is perhaps
more an indictment of the exercise, and the practice of the educational system to promote such
an exercise, than it is of the child himself.
4. A feeling that certain sentences are structurally related to others while others are not
related. The sentence, “The hot dog was eaten by the boy,” is not structurally related to the
sentence, “The hot dog was eaten by the river.” In the first sentence, “the boy” is the “doer,”
or agent, while in the second the agent has been deleted: someone ate the hot dog by the river.
And if we examine the following sentences we see that they appear superficially to be different,
but that they really are expressing similar content:
John broke the window.

The window was broken by John.
It was the window that John broke.
What John broke was the window.
What John did to the window was to break it.
The window, John broke it.
John broke it, the window.
This is the window John broke.
This is the window (which was) broken by John.
John’s breaking of the window (caused a stir on campus).
The breaking of the window by John (signaled an end to the violence).
For John to break the window (was a mistake).
(It was said) that John broke the window.
5. A feeling for structural differences. Some sentences may appear to have identical
structure but when examined more closely they are found to have distinct structures. The two
sentences, now classics, that generative grammarians use to illustrate this intuition are the
following:
(1) John is easy to please.
(2) John is eager to please.
These sentences appear to have similar structures, to portray similar relationships, and to
receive identical immediate constituent analysis. Yet the sentences are different, more different
than the two words, “eager” and “easy,” would lead us to believe. Even though “John” appears
first in each sentence, its roles or functions in the sentences differ. In sentence (1), “John is
the one being pleased (John is easy for someone to please), while in sentence (2) “John” is
doing the pleasing (John is eager to please someone).
We have other evidence that these sentences differ structurally. For (1), we can say, “It is
easy to please John” and “To please John is easy.” Both of these sentences share or have the
same meaning as sentence (1). We have no comparable sentences for (2): we cannot say, “It is
eager to please John,” or “To please John is eager,” and retain the same meaning.
6. A feeling that some sentences have more than one meaning. The sentences
(1) Visiting relatives bored me.
(2) The shooting of the hunters surprised no one.
are ambiguous. “Visting relatives,” the source of ambiguity in sentence (1), could mean, to
paraphrase, “Relatives who visit are boring,” or “To visit relatives bores me.”
That native speakers have these intuitions is prima facie evidence to generative grammarians
that language is characterized by “rule-governed behavior.” “Rule-governed behavior” is an
abstract characterization of the speaker’s linguistic competence. Even though a language is an
unlimited number of sentences, an infinite set, a native speaker neither (a) memorizes all the
sentences that he will ever say in his lifetime, nor (b) hears all the sentences that will be said in
his lifetime. Life, obviously, is far too limited for those tasks. What he does is assimilate a
number of rules or principles that will give him access to the set of sentences that he will
encounter in his lifetime.
We were taught and learned rules or principles, other than those of language, in school. In
our arithmetic lessons we were instructed in the rules of addition, subtraction, division, and
multiplication. And these rules of arithmetic were replaced by more abstract, general rules as
we became more adept at mathematics. The rules or principles of algebra are far more complex,
abstract, and general than the rules of simple addition.
What is important in our rule learning is that we did not have to memorize all the answers to
the arithmetic problems that we encountered or would encounter in our lifetimes. We learned a
limited set of rules that would enable us to arrive at an unlimited number of solutions.
If we take the rules of multiplication as examples, we can see that as children we learned a
system which would give us all possible products-not just a few, or even one million, but all.
We had “knowledge” of an infinite set, an unbounded number of possible products. The rules
that we learned were finite and limited in number. We learned the products of multiples from 1
to 9, including 0, but we did not have to learn the products of numbers Uke 18 times 27, or
43502.34 times 76023.978. If we followed the rules, we could obtain the correct answers.
A similar kind of rule learning is characteristic of language, although there is one crucial and
very important difference. We have to be taught arithmetic; we do not have to be taught how to
speak our first language. Even for a language-related activity, reading, a great majority of us
were formally instructed in its rules. A child, though, in learning his language, assimilates a
finite set of rules which guides him in the use of his native language and enables him to
understand and speak novel sentences. As we “know” an infinite set of products, we also
“know” an infinite set of sentences.
The skills associated with arithmetic provide us with still another analogy that we can
associate with “rule-governed behavior.” In simple arithmetic we have a hierarchy of skills. We
must be able to do one task before we learn another. That is, we must be able to add before we
learn to multiply. We cannot be taught how to multiply before we know how to add. The same
ordered-task relationship also holds for the skill of division. We must know how to add,
subtract, and multiply before we can be instructed in division. One set of principles must be
learned first, followed by another set, which is followed by still another. A similar kind of
hierarchical relationship occurs in generative-transformational grammar. While the rules are
limited in number, like the rules of multiplication, they are carefully ordered. We will explore
this relationship in the next section, entitled “Linguistic Engineering.”
LINGUISTIC ENGINEERING
There are a number of excellent introductory texts to generative-transformational grammar

which instruct the student to write increasingly more complex and general rules of the language
or languages which he is studying and analyzing. The bibliography following this chapter lists a
number of these texts designed for the student of linguistics. Here, we are limited in our
approach, and we list some of the attributes of one kind of generative-transformational
grammar in order to provide our reader with an understanding of the form such a grammar
might take in texts or articles on the subject. We will be working in this section with a set of
rules and a new set of terminology, since every school of linguistics has its own technical
language—a language to talk about language. Just as the principles of multiplication are a
grammar of multiplication, the rules that we will specify in our short grammar of the syntax of
English are a characteristic part of one kind of generative-transformational grammar of English.
Three features peculiar to a generative-transformational grammar are the following:
1. There is a limited number of rules or principles which serve to reflect the language
competence or knowledge of a native speaker. Rules must be limited, as we have said, since the
brain is finite and is incapable of acquiring an infinite set.
2. These rules are arranged in an order: rule 1 must precede rule 2, which must precede rule
3, and so on. Some rules are not ordered, but these will not concern us here.
3. The rules can be equated with instructions:

Sentence Sentence Indicator + Noun Phrase + Auxiliary + Verb Phrase
This can be abbreviated to: S -> SI + NP + Aux + VP
The arrow is a symbol for the instruction “rewrite.” This rule instructs us to “rewrite”
Sentence as Sentence Indicator plus Noun Phrase plus Auxiliary plus Verb Phrase. A GT
grammar consists of a limited number of these rules, with one important addition: the property
of “recursiveness” or “repeatability” (which we will discuss below). These rules will specify the
sentences of English. (Of course, no complete grammar has ever been written, and all grammars
are imperfect.)
Properties of GT Grammar
In this section, we shall be employing the following terminology to describe generative-
transformational grammar, which may, perhaps, be new to our reader:
1. Generate. The term generate is often confusing in discussions of generative-transformational
grammar. Its precise meaning is often not even clear among theoretical linguists of this school
of linguistics. A GT grammar, it is often put, is designed to generate all and nothing but the
sentences of a language, and for each sentence it generates it will provide a structural
description (“structural”, in this sense, means an explicit description). Similarly, a good
zoology will generate all and nothing but animals-even the giraffe, as Robert Lees once said.
Speakers produce sentences; GT grammars generate them. Thus a synonym for generate is
“specify” or “enumerate.”
2. Phrase Structure Rules (PSR) and Transformational Rules (TR); surface and deep structure.
Phrase structure rules specify (generate) the deep or abstract structure of a sentence. Or
conversely, a deep structure is generated by PSR’s. PSR’s generate the underlying structure of
the sentence (containing the meaning of the sentence), which provides the input structure for
various transformations, which, when applied, yield less abstract structures. Ultimately, after
transformations have been applied, the surface structure of the sentence (what we actually see,
hear, or speak) is reached. For instance, the two sentences, “John is easy to please” and “John
is eager to please” have identical surface structures but different deep structures (John is, after
all, doing something in one sentence and in the other having something done to him).
We have mentioned that speakers have certain linguistic sensitivities, and one of these is a
sensitivity that allows them to discern ambiguities. Ambiguous sentences, we can now say, are
sentences that have two (or more) surface meanings; and since they are ambiguous they must
have two (or more) deep structures, with each deep structure characterizing one of the
meanings. The sentence, “She loves exciting men,” must have two deep structures. In the
language of the linguist, the surface structure is derived from two deep structures.
It is important that a grammar have a deep structure component since surface structures
tend to obscure relationships that can only be perceived by positing a set of PSR’s that generate
deep, abstract structures, for example, the “eager” and “easy” sentences. All of this
terminology is “heady” material to digest at one sitting; but if our reader is still with us, let’s
proceed.
3. Recursion or repeatability (the property that allows a set of finite rules to be used over, and
over, and over, and over .. . again). Since GT grammars consist of a finite set of rules, there
must be a way to apply these rules more than once; otherwise there would be no way that a
grammar could reflect the ability of a native speaker to understand and speak, theoretically, an
infinite number of new sentences. The property that is added is one of recursion.
Generative grammarians often employ alphabetic symbols to explain principles of grammar;
and we shall follow that tradition briefly. Suppose we wish to add to our grammar the property
of recursiveness. We need that property to generate an infinite set of results from our finite set
of rules. And suppose we have one rule in our alphabetic grammar that reads:
XÂ + B
This rule instructs us to rewrite A as A + B (wherever we find X we replace it with A + B). We
can portray the result of this instruction on a tree-diagram:
A B
A + B is the result of following the rule that says rewrite X as A + B. The rule can only give one
A + B, however. There is no set of instructions to get us back to X. In other words, there is no
language that says, “Go back and go through the rule as many times as you want.” In generative
grammars we must have explicit rules: we do not do anything unless there is a rule. In order for
a grammar to yield an infinite number of outputs we need to add the property of recursiveness,
which will allow us to use the rule as many times as we want. We can add recursiveness to our
Morphology and Syntax: More Signs
77
grammar by placing X, which is on the left side of the arrow, on the right side of the arrow as
well. Our revised rule now reads:
X -* A + B + (X)
On a tree diagram we could have this result:
A B X
The addition of the X to the right side of the arrow enables us to employ the rule again, and
again, to yield an infinite number of A + B’s. Having the identical symbol to the left and to the
right of the arrow provides us with the option (denoted by the parentheses) of going back to
the rule and rewriting X as many times as we want. Our use of the rule three times would give
us the following diagram:
A B X
For every X that we choose to the right, we are able to employ the rule again. We can specify in
this way in infinite number of A + B's (AB, ABAB, ABABAB, ABABABAB, and so on).
Our explanation above may seem to our reader a difficult and arduous, and perhaps
unnecessary, trip around Dobbins’s barn; but we wish to point out, and argue at the same time,
that language works in the same way. We need the kind of rule described above to reflect an
important characteristic of language and to explain the language competence of the native
speaker—namely, his ability to create a large number of sentences that he has never heard, never
spoken, never read, and never written before. The native speaker does not memorize all the
sentences that he will need in his lifetime; instead he acquires a system that will enable him to
create just those sentences which he will need. We, therefore, must build into our grammar the
property of sentence recursiveness.
Since our first rule reads
1. S^SI + NP +Aux + VP
we know that for it to be adequate there must be a way to return to the rule in order to specify
more than one sentence. How this is accomplished we shall see in our explication of sentence
embedding.
To sum up: the rules that we list are indicative of those which we might expect to find in
some formal presentations of generative-transformational theory. Let us now consider the
following set of phrase structure and transformational rules.
PHRASE STR UCTURE R ULES
1. Sentence -*■ Sentence Indicator + Noun Phrase + Auxiliary + Verb Phrase
2. SI -*• { Positive
\ Command (Imperative)
\ Negative
I Passive
\ Question
(Brackets indicate that a choice is to be made from the constituents listed.)

SI is the constituent that indicates in the deep structure the kind of sentence that is to be
generated:
Positive: John shot the mongoose
Negative: John didn’t shoot the mongoose
Command: Shoot the mongoose
Passive: The mongoose was shot by John
Question: Did John shoot the mongoose?
Who shot the mongoose?
Rule #2 actually says that SI may be replaced by one of the above constituents; but we know
that the constituents may occur in the same sentence: for example, Question + Negative =
Didn’t John shoot the mongoose? Yet there are certain restrictions: there is no Passive +
Command sentence.
3. Verb Phrase -> Verb + f Noun Phrase

j Prepositional Phrase
\ Adjective
(0
Rule #3 is an instruction to replace Verb Phrase with a Verb and one of the following
constituents: Noun Phrase, Prepositional Phrase, Adjective, or Nothing (0). We may choose
either a Verb plus a Noun Phrase, a Verb plus a Prepositional Phrase, a Verb plus an Adjective,
or a Verb plus Nothing (0). We cannot choose all four possibilities at the same time.
So far, we have listed three rules. By following the first three rules, we can generate at least
four different results:
4. Prepositional Phrase -► Preposition + NP
5. NP -*■ (Article) + Noun + (Sentence)

A Noun Phrase consists of an optional Article, a Noun, and an optional Sentence. Here is where
we can add the property of recursiveness in the form of an optional S to the right of the arrow.
One possible result of the first five phrase structure rules is displayed in the following diagram:
A N S V NP
A N
6. Auxiliary -> Tense Marker + (Modal)

Tense is either the third-person singular morpheme or the past tense morpheme.
7. Modal -> can, may, shall, will

Modal may be any of the above words (there are additional modals in English but for our
purposes the above will be sufficient).
The next five rules will give us additional lexicon (words).

8. Noun -> boy, dog, animal, woman, park, dog, year, mongoose, brother
9. Adjective -+ red, blue, dilapidated, cool, beautiful, handsome, old
10. Verb -► eat, elapse, shoot, please, laugh, be
11. Article -> the, a(n)
12. Preposition -► to, on, at

For expediency and simplicity, we have left the categories incomplete. There are many more
Prepositions, Modals, Nouns, Verbs, and Adjectives than we have indicated here.
PSR’s: A Summary
A summary of the rules is in order. We have twelve rules, and if we follow the rules until we
reach Rule # 12 a number of possible sentences will be generated. Among the deep structures
that the above phrase structure rules can generate are the following set:
1. S
A N
the woman
2. S
the park
jtf
These simplified rules have explicated some important notions about English syntax. There
are four major abstract units, which are called Sentence Indicator, Noun Phrase, Auxiliary, and
Verb Phrase. Within the major units there are a number of optional subunits. We have sentences
that are +Question, +Negative, and so on. The NP constituent must have a noun, but the other
constituents (.Article and Sentence) are optional. The Auxiliary constituent must have a Tense
Marker but a Modal is optional. The VP must have a Verb but, as we have seen, the constituents
that can follow the Verb are optional.
Our rules are not complete, of course; and there are a number of additional sentences that
may be generated by following the rules, not all of which are sentences that are well formed.
Our rules would therefore not “generate all and nothing but the sentences of the English
language.” On the contrary, there are a number of unwanted consequences (an infinite number,
in theory). To restrict our grammar, or any grammar to generate only those sentences which are
possible English sentences is impossible at the present time; and it is incumbent on us to
recognize that the Phrase Structure component of generative grammars is inadequate. For
instance, the verb “elapse” in our grammar can only occur after a noun that is associated with
time. Sentences such as “The year elapsed,” “The month elapsed,” and “The day elapsed” are
sentences that could occur in English; but sentences such as “The boy elapsed” or “The dog
elapsed the woman” are sentences that lie outside the possible sentences of English, and we
would therefore not want our grammar to generate them. If we were to make our rules more
restrictive, we would have to make them sensitive to what words and constituents can come
before and after such verbs as “elapse.”
We have been rather redundant in the above paragraph for the purpose of pointing to a fact
of life in language research. Because one grammar, or a set of grammars, may be imperfect is
not a reason for abandoning research into the problems that beset such grammars. As linguistic
research progresses, we shall have more insightful grammars replacing those which are less so;
and perhaps in time generative theory itself will prove to be invalid and another theory will be
substituted in its place. As we work within the discipline of language research and as we learn
more about language competence and linguistic knowledge, we learn more about the intricacies
of the human brain. So if “grammar” has become to our reader an esoteric subject pursued only
by those whom we call linguists, and if he wishes to return to the “good old days,” we hope
that he will reconsider—give it a second thought—and bear with us as we continue into the
subject that is for us, and that we hope will become for our reader, a most rewarding study.
TRANSFORMATIONAL RULES
We have as yet not said much about the transformational component of a generative-
transformational grammar. The transformational part of the grammar operates on the deep,
abstract structures as specified by the PSR’s of the grammar. Transformational rules operate on
bits and pieces of the deep structure: these rules may delete constituents (see the Command
Transformation), add constituents (see the Reflexive Transformation), or change constituents
around (see the Question Transformation). We will follow, as much as possible, the
transformational rules as specified in Aspects of the Theory of Syntax, but modified for our
purposes.
For illustrative purposes, let us take two sentences generated by our PSR’s: “The boy shot
the mongoose” and “The boy could shoot the mongoose.” Transformations that could apply to
these sentences (if the correct deep structure is specified) are the following:
Question transform: Did the boy shoot the mongoose?
Could the boy shoot the mongoose?
Negative transform: The boy didn’t shoot the mongoose

The boy couldn’t shoot the mongoose
Passive transform: The mongoose was shot by the boy

The mongoose could be shot by the boy
Command transform: Shoot the mongoose!

In order for these sentences to appear in their correct surface structure forms, the
transformational rules would need to be applied to their deep structures. The modified deep
structures, as specified by our PSR’s, are represented by the following trees:
the mongoose
the mongoose
We need to notice that the above sentences, as generated by PSR’s, are in non-sayable forms.
The PSR’s generate an abstract deep structure, within which the meaning of the sentence is
specified.
The Aux constituent generates a tense marker in sentence # 1 (obligatory) and a tense
marker plus a modal in sentence #2.
Let us work with sentence # 1 first and compare it with sentence # 2 as we do. In sentence
# 1 we have a tense marker (the past tense morpheme) that needs to be attached to another
constituent (all tense markers are bound morphemes). We cannot, in other words, leave it
hanging. If we have a positive declarative sentence (one without negative, questions, or passive
transformations), the tense morpheme is attached to shoot (whose past tense has a change in
vowel) and the surface sentence reads
The boy shot the mongoose
If there is a modal in the sentence, the tense marker is attached to the modal: can becomes
could {could has other meanings than the past of can).
The abstract structure provided by the PSR’s becomes increasingly important as we examine
the yes/no question (a question that can be answered by “yes” or “no”). In sentence #2, the
yes/no question is:
Could the boy shoot the mongoose?

We need to be aware of the fact that the constituents tense marker and modal move to sentence
initial position. The verb remains. In the case of the sentence with no modal, the yes/no
question is
Did the boy shoot the mongoose?

Our reader’s own question might well be: “Where did the ‘did’ come from?” If we look upon
both surface manifestations of the yes/no question as exhibiting the same process (instead of
two different processes) we have the answer. In yes/no questions the tense marker always
moves to sentence initial position, and just in case there is a modal it also moves. In general
terms, the constituents which fall under the Aux in our PSR’s moves to the beginning of the
sentence. For the yes/no transformation to apply to deep structure we need to have indicated
by the sentence indicator that the deep structure contains a question. In formal terminology,
we can describe the process as follows (double arrows are a convention to indicate
transformations):
Q + NP + Aux + VP => Aux + NP + VP
There is no problem if there is a modal, since the tense marker attaches itself to the modal
(“Could the boy shoot the mongoose?”). But there appears to be a problem if we have no
modal. We cannot say the sentence, “Tense marker the boy shoot the mongoose?” And since all
tense markers are bound morphemes they must be attached to another constituent: for that
purpose, English provides a form of “do.” Tense markers attach themselves to “do.” In the
sentence that we have, the tense marker is past; past attaches itself to “do”; the past tense of
“do” is “did”; and the surface sentence then reads, “Did the boy shoot the mongoose?” Let us
rehearse for the moment:
1. We first generate a deep structure that contains a question (specified by the sentence
indicator). The surface form of the sentence is a yes/no question.
2. We are reminded that deep structures reveal relationships that are occasionally absent in the
surface structures. How could we relate, for example, the two sentences, “Could the boy shoot
the mongoose” and “Did the boy shoot the mongoose” without having an abstract structure?
In terms of language acquisition, what we have said is important. Instead of the child learning
two rules, one for sentences containing modals and the other for sentences that do not, the
child learns one rule that applies to the deep structure of the kind we have described.
Command (Imperative) and Reflexive Transformations

A typical command sentence is, “Shoot the mongoose” and a typical reflexive sentence is,
“He shot himself.” In traditional grammar, the sentence “Shoot the mongoose” was said to
have an “understood you” as its subject. This intuition was correct, but traditional grammar did
not offer an explanation for the supposition.
Generative-transformational grammarians agree with the “you understood” intuition but
wish to offer explicit proof that the “you” is really there. Here is an instance of where
grammars with deep underlying structures have the capacity to prove what heretofore could
only be accepted on faith. As we have said, there are transformations that delete deep structure
constituents. The command transformation is one such transformation that deletes deep
structure constituents. Let us begin our explanation of the “you understood” with an analysis
of the reflexive (which we have not talked about before) followed by an examination of the
command sentence. Our purpose for ordering our explanations will become clear as we proceed.
We can encounter English sentences similar to those of the following set:

He shot himself
She shot herself
We shot ourselves
They shot themselves
You shot yourself
From an examination of these sentences it is rather clear that for the reflexive transformation
to apply (which involves the attachment of a form of the morpheme self) there must be two
Noun Phrases in the deep structure, and these Noun Phrases must be identical. A tree diagram
demonstrating this relationship follows:
SI NP1 AUX , VP
X\
1 1
1 1
Reflexive N TNS
John 1 V NP2
Past Shoot
John
NP1 must equal NP2. If there are two identical NP’s in the deep structure, where one NP appears
directly under S and the other NP directly under the VP in the same sentence, the second NP
must be replaced by a reflexive pronoun. We have no sentence in English like “John shot
John,” except where we are talking about two different persons. And, furthermore, we have no
reflexive sentences of the following type:
John shot myself
John shot yourself
John shot ourselves
We can only have “John shot himself.” Continuing this line of reasoning, let us now examine
the sentence “You shot yourself.” The deep structure for this sentence must be an abstract
!
structure with each NP specifying “you.”
The above analysis will aid us in determining the deep structure analysis of the command
sentence. Command sentences have the following surface form:
Shut the door \
Go to the board /
Don’t throw erasers >
Stand back V
Wash yourself /
With the last sentence, our reader may say, “aha!” He knows what the explanation is. If
reflexives must have two identical NP’s, then it is clear that the deep structure for a sentence
such as, “Wash yourself,” must be the following:
SI NP AUX VP
/\ 1 1 /\
Refl. Com.
N
|
1
TN
V
Z'Y NP
you 1 1
wash you
We first apply the reflexive transformation: “You wash yourself.” Then the command
transformation deletes the “you” and we have in the surface form, “Wash yourself.” Arguments
similar to the one above have led generative-transformational grammarians to posit that
language consists of two structures: deep and surface. Deep structures, once again, reveal the
linguistic knowledge that is available to the speaker. A speaker “knows” that for the reflexive
sentence there must be two identical NP’s, and he knows, also, that the command
transformation deletes a “you,” a constituent that appears in the deep structure.
Embedding and Adding (the recursive S)

There are also sentences that are a product of subordination (to use the traditional
term—embedding is the modern term) and addition. A favorite story of children, for example, is
the one about the house that Jack built. This story is made longer and more complicated by
embedding a number of sentences into the main sentence, “This is the house.” Beginning with
this sentence, the story becomes increasingly more complicated, as illustrated by the following
set of sentences:
1. This is the house that Jack built.

2. This is the malt that lay in the house that Jack built.
3. This is the rat that ate the malt, that lay in the house that Jack built.
4. This is the cat that worried the rat that ate the malt that lay in the house that Jack built.
Each instance of “that” is followed by a sentence that has been inserted or embedded into the
one before it. Sentences similar to the ones we have indicated give a fairly clear indication that
speakers may build up sentences into more complex ones, and that there is no longest sentence
in the language. We can just add another word or embed another sentence. That a young child,
perhaps not yet in school, can understand such ‘This is the house that Jack built” sentences
reflects an ability that cannot be taught. It can only be learned. What is significant is that the
child who can understand sentences similar to the above must already have a sophisticated
grammar of his language.
In order to account for complex structures and sentences we need to look to PSR # 5, which
specifies an optional recursive S. Sentences similar to the following set consist of two
sentences, one of which is embedded into the other:
1. John thought that the senator was a fool
2. For John to cheat Gertrude was unthinkable
3. John’s protesting alerted the assembly
4. The boy who laughed is my brother
The portions of each sentence that we have italicized are sentences that have been embedded.
The embedded sentences are then
1. The senator was a fool
2. John cheat Gertrude
3. John protest
4. (The boy) laughed
Sentence embedding reflects the ability of speakers to create longer and more complicated
sentences. For sentence 1, a possible underlying structure, abbreviated here, would be the
following (triangles are incorporated to signify the sentence that has been embedded):
N S
Something
the Senator was

a fool
The constituent sentence, “The senator was a fool,” is embedded into the NP of the main
sentence, “John thought (something),” employing a transformation that is called a that (or
factive) transformation.
Sentence 2 has the following abbreviated structure:
N
I
0
John cheat Gertrude
The sentence, “John cheat(s) Gertrude” becomes a part of the main sentence through a
transformation that may be called the for-to or the infinitive transformation: “for John to
cheat Gertrude.”
Sentence 3 has the following abstract structure:
John protest
the assembly
The underlying sentence, “John protest(s),” is embedded into the main sentence by using the
possessive + -ing or gerundive transformation (which involves attaching the possessive marker to
John and the -ing marker to protest): John’s protesting.
Sentence 4 has the underlying structure:
The sentence, “The boy laughed,” is embedded into the main sentence with the use of the
relative clause transformation. Let us examine more closely the deep structure of sentence 4, to
determine exactly what is involved in relative clause embedding. We have two sentences:
sentence 1 is the “frame” (or main) sentence and sentence 2 is the constituent sentence. In
order for the relative clause transformation to apply there must be two sentences with identical
NP’s, one of which will be replaced by which, who(m), or that. The “lower” NP is replaced by
who in the sentence which appears on the surface as, “The boy who laughed is my brother.”
Additional Transformations
We have listed in this chapter a fragment of a transformational component that serves to

reflect the ability of a language user to construct negative, question, reflexive, and passive
sentences, and that also enables him to make more complicated structures through the use of
sentence embedding. Other than the transformational component that we have listed and
explained above, there remain additional transformations that serve to conjoin words, phrases,
clauses, and sentences. These transformations also involve, as did the embedding transforma¬
tions, two sentences. The results from such transformations are the following set of examples:
1. Apples and oranges are my favorites
N+N
2. The man and the boy pleased the woman
NP + NP
3. He washed the dishes and she waxed the floor
S+S
This exhausts our explanation of some of the attributes of the syntactic component of
generative-transformational grammar. We might imagine that even this rather brief presentation
has exhausted our reader. We hope, however, that our reader is left with the impression of how
complex and how symmetrical and beautiful the wonderful world of language is.
We have learned, in summary, that the study we call linguistics involves learning a new
language, similar in many respects to the language of mathematics and logic, from which
generative-transformational grammarians have borrowed. Anyone who wants to pursue the
study of language in this modern context must first leam the language associated with this
study.
Since the appearance of the revolutionary Syntactic Structures, there have been extensive
revisions proposed by language theorists. One revision is the important attempt by Charles
Fillmore of the University of California (Berkeley) to account not only for syntactic
relationships but for semantic relationships as well. We will cover semantics in the next chapter.
LANGUAGE VIEWED THROUGH OTHER MODELS
In a work of this sort, a few words ought to be said about other significant linguistic
theoretical models. The reader is encouraged to use the bibliography in order to learn more
about the models briefly discussed here.
TAGMEMICS: Originally known as “gramemics” or “grammemics,” this model developed
out of Bloomfieldian Structuralism, incorporating a number of its concepts and approaches,
although with significant modifications. One of tagmemics’ main points of difference with
structuralism is its rejection of binary constituent analysis, in which the constituents or parts of
an utterance are “sliced” into related groups, until each item is paired with another with which
it is closely related. Instead, tagmemics prefers to analyze the constituents though “strings,”
consisting of closely related segments. The basic unit of analysis is the tagma, which in an
utterance comprises a string replaceable or substitutable by any similar string. Here is a simple
example:
The boy / saw / a telescope.
Subject Predicate Direct object
In the above example, the string within or before each slash is a tagma, whose slot could be
filled by strings of similar class and relationship, such as:
The girl / bought / a dress.
As may then be seen, in this model “slot” or “function” and “class” or “set” are essential
notions expressing the relationships. In the above samples, each of the tagmas (or strings)
before the slashes also corresponds to a tagmeme. Two types of tagmas are distinguished:
1) Those which are essential constructions in a given type of utterance, called “nuclear” or
“obligatory” (as are all those presented above) and 2) optional constructions or complements,
considered “peripheral.” For example, to any of the above models one could add a temporal
tagma, such as “last week” or a locative one, like “in Boston”.
Archibald Hill, in Linguistics Today(211) terms tagmemics: “ ... one of the very vigorous
schools of American linguistics.” Without a doubt, more languages of the world have been
described through the tagmemic model than any other. The reason for this is that it has been
utilized in general (although not always) by the Summer Institute of Linguistics, an
interdenominational organization of Protestant missionary-linguists, active in many parts of the
world, particularly in Latin America, Africa, and Asia. Undoubtedly the leading theoretician
has been Kenneth L. Pike, the “father” of the school, who divides his time between the SIL and
the University of Michigan. The reader is also encouraged to explore the contributions of
Robert Longacre, Peter Fries, Edward L. Blansitt, Jr., and William Merrifield, among others.
STRATIFICATIONAL GRAMMAR: Stratificational Grammar was developed by Yale’s

Sydney Lamb, who based it partially on the Danish Hjelmslev’s Prolegomena to a Theory of
Language. Very briefly, this model holds that in language there are at least four strata (some
even posit six):
sememic
lexemic
morphemic
phonemic
Grammatical functions are divided between the lexemic and morphemic strata, while the
sememic one, at the top, basically refers to semantics, or meaning.
The structures of all strata are interconnected by a network, with branches extending both
upward and downward. Rather than rules, stratificationalists rely upon “tactics”, or the
combinatory arrangements which are grammatical in any given language. Diagrams analyzing
sentences resemble flow charts. This is not accidental, since Lamb gleaned many of his insights
through experience with Russian-English mechanical translation, in which such charts explicitly
detail the steps involved in rendering an utterance from one language to another.
There are types of algebraic or other formulations which may be employed by
stratificationalists for the sake of speed and simplicity, in place of these complex diagrams.
Practitioners include Henry Gleason, David Lockwood, Adam Makkai and others. A promising
forum for this and other “minority” models (although TG is by no means excluded) is the
young Linguistic Association of Canada and the United States (LACUS), which publishes the
journal Forum Linguisticum.
DEPENDENCY GRAMMAR: This model grew out of the syntactic theories of Lucien
Tesniere, a Frenchman. Dependency grammar (or valence grammar) holds that structures
contain a nucleus (or governor), which may have dependents. The central nucleus of the clause
or sentence is a verb; the nouns are called actants. The first actant refers to the subject, the
second, to the direct object and the third, to the indirect object. The other (basically adverbial)
elements are termed circonstants. Diagrams, known as stemmas, resemble transformational
trees, in the Chomskyan tradition.
In recent years, dependency grammar has attracted increasing attention in the German¬
speaking world, with such figures as Hans-Jiirgen Heringer, who introduced modifications.
Among American practitioners is David Hays of the State University of New York (Buffalo).
SYSTEMIC GRAMMAR: The father of this school is Michael A. K. Halliday, who owes
some of his ideas to J. R. Firth, who we will mention briefly below. In systemic grammar, the
elements of clause or sentence structure are subject (S), predicator (P), complement (C) and
adjunct (A). One might say that the complement corresponds to direct and indirect objects,
while adjuncts largely correspond to adverbial constructions (or peripheral tagmemes, in
tagmemics.)
90 The ABCs of Languages and Linguistics
In systemic grammar, a type of string constituent analysis is employed, like that used in
tagmemics. The main differences between the two are terminological. Basic to the model is the
concept of a systems network to show the interrelations of the constituents of a sentence.
Proceeding from left to right, and becoming increasingly explicit, the diagram indicates the
respective “entry conditions” and the available choices. These are mostly “either/or”
conditions. For instance, given the entry condition “clause,” this must be either “transitive” or
“intransitive”; given the entry condition “verb,” this must be “active” or “passive” (although in
some languages other choices are also present).
Although Halliday himself is deeply interested, as was Firth, in the social dimension of
language, he does not explicitly bring this into his theoretical formulations. Aside from this,
however, he also pursues sociolinguistics, and is responsible for contributing the term speech
register, roughly equivalent to the styles to which a speaker may shift according to the needs of
the situation.
FIRTHIAN CONCEPTS: As the first linguist in the School of Oriental and Slavic Studies,
University of London, Firth exercised a strong influence on colleagues throughout the British
Isles from the 1930’s through the 1950’s. Falling under the influence of the anthropologist
Bronislaw Malinowski, he came to articulate his belief in language as a social process, at that
time regarded somewhat askance by American structuralists. By his concept of restricted
language, he appears to have meant the social context where certain types of language might be
employed.
J. C. Catford, now in the United States, has said that few scholars on the British Isles
(probably not excluding himself) could be said to be “pure Firthians.” Firth’s prose was rather
complex to grasp and much remained vague. He deigned to concern himself with such aspects
of applied linguistics as the theory and practice of translation and pedagogy, often disdained by
theoreticians.
MARTINET’S FUNCTIONAL SYNTAX: As set forth in Martinet’s Elements de Lin-

guistique Generate, language is divided into two components, termed articulations. The first
articulation, whose basic unit is the moneme, corresponds roughly to the morpheme in other
models. The second is the phoneme, paralleling the concept as it is known in other schools.
Moreover, functional syntax considers that human speech consists fundamentally of the
minimum utterance, with more complex sentences merely constituting expansions of it.
Certainly one of the most productive scholars in our field, Martinet’s influence is
world-wide. He enjoys a numerous following, particularly in Spanish-speaking countries.
STRING GRAMMAR: As has been pointed out by Blansitt and Ornstein (1969), this model
and tagmemics, both developing from structuralism, have much in common. Although both
reject binary immediate constituent analysis, tagmemics tends to be more oriented toward
anthropological linguistics, while string grammar has been primarily developed for automatic
sentence recognition in major world languages, particularly as applied to scientific writings. In
this model the “elementary sentence” is considered to consist of three components: subject,
verb and object-the latter subsuming both direct and indirect object, as well as adverbial and
other complements. String grammar is utilized in the Courant Institute of Applied Mathematics
at New York University, with Naomi Sager heading a governmentally-funded project. Zellig
Harris, the developer of the model, continues to be a practitioner of it.
*
VI. QUESTIONS AND ACTIVITIES
1. Why is there no “longest” sentence in any language?
2. Go through the rules of syntax in this chapter and generate five well-formed sentences. Are
there sentences that can be generated from these rules that are ill-formed (some rule of
English grammar is broken)?
3. What are the differences between function words (preposition, article, etc.) and content
words (nouns, verbs, adjectives, adverbs)? Why is it possible to send a telegram without
using function words?
4. In the sentence, “Send money today. Broke,” what words have been deleted?
5. Write a telegram using ten words or fewer.
6. She said, “I love exciting dates.” Is this sentence ambiguous? How would you paraphrase
the two meanings?
7. “The goat is too hot to eat.” What do you know about this sentence?
8. “John married Barbara.” Is this sentence ambiguous? What could you add to this sentence
and the ones above to resolve the ambiguity?
9. Draw tree diagrams for the following sentences:

Jack kicked the can.
Gertrude shot the snake.
10. What are the derivational morphemes in the word antidisestablishmentarianl What is the
base? Is it free or bound? If you reach establish in your analysis and wish to call it the base,
go to a good dictionary and see whether the word can be broken into still smaller
constituents.
11. Draw a tree diagram for “I hate spinach.” Draw a possible diagram for the sentence
“Mother knows that I hate spinach.” Draw a possible diagram for the sentence “Father
believes that mother knows that I hate spinach.”
Can you make a generalization about English syntax based upon the above?
* * *
As the “other models” have only been briefly described, merely attempt to answer as many
as you can of the following questions. All that can reasonably be expected are, of course, some
general notions about them:
1. In your own words, try to give some idea of the notion of the tagmeme (or tagma) in
tagmemics.
2. What particular group has utilized tagmemics to describe some hundreds of languages in the
world? (Some linguists feel sure that the tagmemic model has thus been applied more than
any other.)
3. In stratificational grammar, what are the “strata”? How are they connected?
4. Where has Tesniere’s Dependency Grammar aroused particular interest?
5. In Halliday’s systemic networks, what is the general function of the “entry condition”?
6. In Martinet’s Functional Syntax, is the “phoneme” similar to the same term as utilized in
other models? How about the “moneme”?
7. Comment freely on your reactions, both positive and negative, to any three of the models
described.
VI. FOR FURTHER REFERENCE
(See also Chapters IV and V)
Adams, Valerie. 1973. An Introduction to Modern English Word Formation. London: Long¬
man.
Bach, Emmon. 1968. An Introduction to Transformational Grammar. New York: Holt, Rine¬
hart and Winston.
Blansitt, Edward L. Jr. 1967. “On Defining the Tagmeme,” in Don G. Stuart, ed.: Linguistic
Studies in Memory of Richard S. Harrell. Washington, D.C.: Georgetown University.
_and Jacob Ornstein. 1969. “Tagmemics and String Grammar.” Anthropological Lingui¬
stics 11:167-176 (June).
Catford, J. C. 1969. “J. R. Firth and British Linguistics,” in A. A. Hill, ed.: Linguistics Today.
New York: Basic Books.
Davis, Philip H. 1973. Modern Theories of Language. Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall.
Fries, Charles C. 1952. The Structure of English. New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich.
Garvin, Paul L. 1969. “The Prague School of Linguistics,” in A. A. Hill, ed.: Linguistics Today.
Grinder, J. and Suzette Elgin. 1973. Guide to Transformational Grammar. New York: Holt,
Halliday, Michael A. K. 1973. Explorations in the Functions of Language. London: Edward
Arnold.
Harris, Zellig S. 1962. String Analysis of Sentence Structure. The Hague: Mouton.
Hays, David G., ed. 1966. Readings in Automatic Language Processing. New York: Elsevier.
Heringer, Hans-Jiirgen. 1971. “Ergebnisse und Probleme der Dependenz-grammatik.” Deut-
schunterricht 22.4: 42-98.
Hill, Archibald A., ed. 1969. Linguistics Today. New York: Basic Books.
Jacobs, Roderick A. and Peter S. Rosenbaum. 1967. Grammar 1 and 2. Boston: Ginn and
Company.
-, eds. 1970. Readings in English Transformational Grammar. Waltham, Mass.: Blaisdell.

Jakobson, Roman and Morris Halle. 1975. Fundamentals of Language. 2d. ed. rev. The Hague:
Mouton.
Lamb, Sydney M. 1966. Outline of Stratificational Grammar. Rev. ed. Washington, D.C.:
Georgetown University Press.
Lees, Robert B. 1964. “Transformation Grammars and the Fries Network,” in Harold B. Allen:
Readings in Applied English Linguistics. New York: Appleton-Century-Crofts.
Lester, Mark. 1971. Introductory Transformational Grammar of English. New York: Holt,
Liles, Bruce L. 1972. Linguistics and the English Language. Pacific Palisades, Calif.: Goodyear
Publishing Company.
Lyons, John. 1970. Noam Chomsky. New York: Viking Press.
Makkai, Adam and David G. Lockwood. 1973. Readings in Stratificational Linguistics. Univer¬
sity, Ala.: Univ. of Alabama Press.
Marchand, H. 1966. The Categories and Types of Present-Day English Word-Formation. Univer¬
sity, Ala.: University of Alabama Press.
Martinet, Andre. 1960. Corns de Linguistique Generale. Paris: Armand Colin.
Muir, James. 1972. A Modern Approach to English Grammar. London: Batsford.
Nida, Eugene A. 1949. Morphology: The Descriptive Analysis of Words. 2d. ed. Ann Arbor:
University of Michigan Press.
Pike, Kenneth L. 1967. Language in Relation to Unified Theory of the Structure of Human
Behavior. 2d. ed. rev. The Hague: Mouton.
_ 1970. Tagmemics and Matrix Linguistics Applied to Selected African Languages. Santa
Ana, Ca.: Summer Institute of Linguistics.
Sager, Naomi. 1972. “The Sublanguage Method in String Grammar,” in Ralph W. Ewton Jr. and
Jacob Ornstein, eds.: Studies in Language and Linguistics II, El Paso: Texas Western Press,
University of Texas.
Sledd, James. 1959. A Short Introduction to English Grammar. Chicago: Scott, Foresman and
Company.
Tesniere, Lucien. 1959. Elements de Syntaxe Structurale. Paris: Klincksieck.
Thomas, Woen and Eugene Kintgen. 1974. Transformational Grammar and the Teacher of
English. 2d. ed. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston.
VII. Semantics: The Study of Meaning
WORDS, WORDS, WORDS
Semantics is the study of meaning. In reading history, we may discover that scholars seem
always to have been singularly fascinated with the subject of meaning. Hsiin Tzu, a Chinese
philosopher, said more than 2,000 years ago that even names have no fixed meaning. “It is only
by agreement that we apply a name. Once agreed, it becomes customary, and the standard is
thus fixed.... A name has no fixed actuality; it is only a product of such agreement.”
We may thus infer from Hsiin Tzu’s observation that the only useful definition is the one
which all can accept. What happens, though, if we cannot agree on a definition? In the interest
of clear understanding, we must agree to disagree. We submit, also, that one definition is not
necessarily “better” than any other, and suggest, too, that it can be misleading to accuse
someone of “misusing” a word or term. For example, the concept and the various meanings
associated with “democracy” have caused much confusion in recent times. A Soviet citizen may
ask us, “What do you mean, ‘democracy’? The people of the United States are not the
beneficiaries of a democratic state since they do not own the means of production.” But we
may counter that “democracy” has little to do with “means of production” or the ownership
of such means. “Democracy” consists of government constituted by freely elected repre¬
sentatives who govern with the consent of the governed. The semanticist asks us to accept the
fact that we and the Soviet citizen are employing the same word with entirely different
meanings. When we cannot agree on a definition we can only cease to employ the word in
question and explore alternative words for expressing our message. Although this may at times
be awkward, we should, however, note that it may prevent useless arguments. By dropping or
clarifying any word we cannot agree on, such as “democracy,” we can eliminate a source of
misunderstanding-for, as long as we continue to argue about the correct meaning of
“democracy,” we inhibit understanding and communication.
If there is no such thing as a “correct” definition, what is the purpose of the dictionaries, we
may ask ourselves? A dictionary is a history of the meaning of words; it is not a lawbook. If we
do not know the meaning of a word, a dictionary can tell us how the word has been employed
in the past. Time magazine phrased it beautifully in reviewing a newly published dictionary:
“When he set out in 1746 to write the first great English dictionary, Samuel Johnson intended
his definitions to be laws that would firmly establish meanings. But usage thumbs its nose at
laws; the dictionary nowadays is more a Social Register of words than a Supreme Court of
language.”
Time surely states the modern case. Choice of words is a matter of fashion, custom,
tradition, learning and environment. “Correct” definitions are like “correct” clothes. They are
the ones in favor with the people with whom we associate. Insisting on dictionary definitions is
a type of snobbery, no better than insisting that all of our friends must share our values.
94
Semantics: The Study of Meaning 95
Even when we can agree on definitions, problems remain. In the sentence: “He sat in a
chair,” the meaning of “chair” is clear and matter-of-fact. But we say a murderer “got the
chair” and the word suddenly has a very different meaning. We may “address the chair” or
“approach the chair” at an organized meeting. And if someone talks about “calling a chair” it
probably means nothing to any of us. In some remote hill towns of the Far East, however, the
sedan-chair is still a normal way to travel. There we could call for a chair, just as we in the
United States can call for a taxi. “Calling a chair” and other uses of “chair” make sense in
particular contexts.
Words defy strict compartmentalization in other ways, too. What a word refers to in the
world of facts is called its denotation. If we do not know the denotation of a word we simply
fail to understand it. The word “chair,” for instance, would denote little to an African
Bushman or to anyone else who had never seen or used one. The connotation of a word
supplements its denotation. The same individual in the world of facts may be called “American
Indian,” “noble savage,” or “red varmint.” Since all these terms are applied to the same
individual they have the same denotation; they all point to the same person in the world of
facts. This may be difficult to accept because the three expressions do not have the same
nuances. They differ in their connotation. Although the three terms point to the same
referent—the same person in this case—there are three entirely different connotations involved.
Of course, only the term “American Indian” is an objective description. The American Indians
were neither noble savages nor red varmints. They were, and are, good and bad, trustworthy
and treacherous—they are human, in other words.
Differences in connotation can lead to utter confusion, even to international incidents.
According to Edmund Glenn of the State Department’s Language Services Division, a reference
to the “expanding economy” of the United States in an international congress produced a
violent burst of Soviet opposition. The United States delegate was nonplussed, especially by the
attitude of his European allies. The French delegation supported the United States publicly but
privately criticized the mistake of backing the Soviets into a corner by such a “rigid and
overbearing” attitude. The problem arose from the translation. The Russian translation,
rasshiraysshchayasya ekonomiya, means “expanding economy” but it has a connotation of an
economy that is expanding because of its own inherent characteristics. This interpretation runs
counter to the Marxist insistence that capitalism carries the seed of its own destruction and will
inevitably collapse of its own weight. The Soviet delegates, of course, were steeped in Marxist
doctrine; to them the phrase was no less than rank heresy.
The original phrase in English had no such connotation. It simply referred to the American
economy, which is in fact expanding. The Russian phrase, moreover, was the best simple
translation. A more accurate translation would involve an explanatory footnote or circumlocu¬
tion.
The moral of this incident is plain. If we are to translate accurately, or even to work
accurately in a second language, we must pay close heed to secondary meanings and
connotations. As was noted with the word “chair,” the simplest word may not have the same
meaning to any two different people.
CHARACTERISTIC FLAVORS
An object borrowed from another culture often brings its name with it: “moccasins” or
“pemmican” in English, for instance, or teburu (table) and taipuraita in Japanese, or beisbol
and jonron (home run) in Latin-American Spanish. Occasionally even the borrowing of an
abstract concept occurs between languages. In such a case, the new word often seems especially
typical of the culture that furnishes it. The French word eclat seems to mean much more than
the English “sparkle.” As a result, the word has been adopted, at least at the literary level, not
only into English but also into most other European languages.
As another example, the Spanish “guerrillas” of the Peninsular Campaign who fought against
Napoleon were by no means the first partisan fighters. Many populations before and since have
resisted aggression long after their organized armies have been defeated. But something special
about the effectiveness of the Spaniards, or English interest in the outcome of their struggle,
carried their name solidly into the English language. So much is this true that the word is no
longer written with italics as a more foreign word such as the previous eclat.
A final example is the English concept of “fair play.” This word has carried over into several
foreign languages. Other people know perfectly well what is fair, of course, but just as eclat is
peculiarly French, the idea of fair play seems peculiarly Anglo-Saxon. Pictures of German
workers show them carrying signs with the word “unfair.” This word has entered the German
language, just as eclat and “guerrilla” have entered the English language.
LANGUAGE AND ITS CULTURE
Anthropologists have long been conscious of the relationship between a language and its
culture. When we are face to face with a radically different culture, such as that of the
American Indian, we find ourselves in a new world of strange concepts. Appreciation of this
fact led to the Whorfian Hypothesis, which takes its name from Benjamin Lee Whorf, who
suggested that a person’s native language defines the way he perceives and interprets his world.
Whorf was interested in determining the possible concepts that a language can express. One
possible concept is “snow.” “Snow” can have various meanings in those cultures which
experience snowfall. We, of course, say “snow,” but an Eskimo may ask, “Which ‘snow’?
Falling snow, snow on the ground, snow in blocks for building igloos, or what?” Similar
relationships are expressed with our concept for “water.” We have a separate word for water
while it is falling from the sky—“rain.” At any other time, it is merely water. The Japanese do
not have a general word for “water.” The Japanese language obligates its speakers to specify
whether the water is cold (mizu) or hot (oyu).
Whorf found that the Hopi Indian language had one word for “object moving in the
aii”—masa’ytaka. We could ask the Hopi, “What do you mean by your term masa’ytaka—a
dragonfly, an airplane, or a pilot?” All would be called masa’ytaka in Hopi. The Hopi is
constrained by his language to use one word for anything that flies, as long as it is not a
bird—for which he uses another word.
These examples are just a few of the many which may give rise to confusion among speakers
of different languages. Our reactions to the concepts and connotations of languages other than
English are not logically based, however. The Eskimo’s various words for “snow” may seem
unreasonable to a culture that has only one word for the concept. Yet when English speakers
live in the Arctic they may begin to use different words, also. Satrugi, a word borrowed from
Russian (meaning wavelike ridges of hard snow formed on a level surface by the action of the
wind), is an extremely useful word to those engaged in Antarctic exploration.
We may have similar reactions to languages that divide the color spectrum differently than
we do. The Russian language employs two words for “blue”: siniy for dark blue and goluboy
for light blue. “Blue is blue,” might be our reaction, yet we do the same thing for the red part
of the spectrum. When red becomes pale enough we call it “pink.” In English, “pink” is so
different from “light red” that the latter term is used for a color that is known as “burnt
ocher,” a bright, brownish-red color. But technically and even logically the siniy-goluboy
difference is similar to the contrast in intensity as between our “red” and “pink.” A color is
siniy on the painter’s palette until he mixes enough white with it. Then it becomes goluboy. It
is the same with “red” in English. When the painter mixes enough white with “red” on his
palette, it becomes “pink.”
What of the occasional complaint that we hear that the Eskimo language has too many
words for “snow” or the Russian language has too many words for “blue”? We must finally
admit that these are complaints of prejudice, caused by our familiarity with English. After all,
any division of the color spectrum into colors is arbitrary. A cylinder, for example, could be
painted with a white ring around the top, a black ring around the bottom, and the rainbow
colors running vertically between them around the cylinder. By careful blending, all of these
colors could be spread into each other without any visible border between any color or the
next, or between the lighter and darker shades of each colors. In other words, all of the hues of
the rainbow and all of their shades and tints merge into each other without any definite
borders.
Any division of this merging continuum into separate colors is also arbitrary. It would
indeed be surprising to discover that any two unrelated languages make exactly the same
divisions. We should also not be too surprised if we find that some languages make as few as
three major divisions while others make distinctions that are not found in English.
A single name for colors in the “cool” part of the spectrum—indigo, blue, and blue-green—is
common. Chinese has such a word, which may also refer to our gray or black, and the color also
carries an idea of the thing being described. The word, ch’ing, would not be applied to colors
for dyes. For paper and paint there are separate words. But ch’ing sky is blue, ch’ing grass is
green, ch’ing mountains are purple, ch’ing cattle are black, and ch’inghorses are gray.
Kinship terminology (names assigned to the members of the family) is another source of
difference. It may be difficult for us to understand how some African languages do without a
common term for a male parent. Their words for “my father,” or “his father,” or “your father”
are all different. In English we do not say “brother and/or sister” as a single word. There is the
word “sibling,” of course, but this word is usually used in a technical sense. Old English had a
word for “sibling” but the word disappeared from the language after the Norman Conquest.
German still retains the word in the form of Geschwister, an everyday word used in contexts such
as Hat er Geschwister? (“Does he have any brothers and sisters?”). German psychologists
naturally use this word in concepts like “sibling rivalry,” but to translate these terms into
English, the obsolete word “sibling” was resurrected.
Or again, for one last example, we may find it strange that Navajo uses different words to
describe the action of handing something to somebody. The following words all have the same
first syllable, san-, but the rest of the word varies according to the shape of the object passed:
sanleh: long, flexible, like string.
sanlin: long, rigid, like a stick.
sanilcos: flat, flexible, like a piece of paper.
TRANSLATION AND BETRAYAL
Rhetorically, we may ask ourselves, “Is a perfect translation possible from one language to
another?” How difficult would it be to translate English language concepts into Hopi and
Navajo? Even translating from English to Russian is difficult, and English and Russian are
related languages. The task of the translator is complex. Between any two languages,
denotations and connotations can vary tremendously. The translator must tread a narrow path
between literal translation and free composition. Differing connotations between words that are
literal equivalents force him one way, but if he goes all the way, he ends up with a new
composition in the second language. Any translator will tell us that there is no simple answer.
Bible translation offers many examples. A phrase, “from the heart,” occasionally is
rendered, “from the liver” or “from the throat” or even “from the belly,” depending on the
language being used. To a Chinese the “Apostle’s Creed” makes good sense only if the ascended
Christ sits “on the left hand of God, the Father Almighty.”
The problem is compounded when faced with the task of translating the literature of one
language into the literature of another. Boris Pasternak and Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn electrified
the world with their books containing an implied tone of criticism of the Soviet Union. Yet when
a book of Pasternak’s earlier poems was reviewed by the New York Times, the reviewer, while
admitting that the poem had been competently translated into English, still maintained that
they were little more than an echo of the originals. We should hardly expect more. (The
translator just cannot satisfy everyone’s notion of what is a good translation. The Italians put it
well: Traduttore-traditore, “Translator—traitor.”)
PRELINGUISTIC APPROACHES TO SEMANTICS
A book of special importance to the discipline of semantics was The Meaning of Meaning, by
C. K. Ogden and I. A. Richards. The book is difficult even for the linguist, yet it has increased
the interest of linguists in semantics. The authors state that the basic referents in the semantic
system of any language are vastly fewer than the total vocabulary would suggest, since simpler
synonymous expressions are available. They claim that a study of these referents or basic
irreducible designations, as they called them, would lead to a much clearer understanding of
meanings.
One activity to which their theory led is known as “content analysis.” After World War II a
large body of German propaganda was subjected to this process. In short, the analysts tried to
pierce through the fog of what was written to determine the real meaning of the statements. It
was claimed by some that content analysis applied to the speeches of Hitler and his colleagues
could have aided in preventing World War II. Today, we can only recognize this claim as
hindsight and conjecture, at best.
Another important contribution to the study of meaning and human reactions to words and
other symbols is the book, Science and Sanity, by the late Count Alfred Korzybski. This book
is the source of an approach to the study of meaning called “General Semantics.” Some
adherents of Korzybski promise just as much as the adherents of content analysis and claim
that semantic reconditioning can solve almost all of the world’s problems. But most students of
general semantics make no such claim, nor do such authorities in the field as Wendell Johnson,
S. I. Hayakawa, Harry Weinberg, and the late Irving J. Lee.
SEMANTICS AND LINGUISTICS
We have been examining the elusive notion of meaning and have referred to some of the
earlier attempts to explain it—theories which we have termed “pre-linguistic” because they were
never part of a general theory of language. It has not been until recently that linguists have
attempted to include in a theory of language an analysis and explication of meaning. A theory
of language must explain and include not only general principles of phonology, morphology,
and syntax, but also meaning.
The revival of interest in meaning closely approximates the rise in importance of
generative-transformational theory. Although Chomsky does not include a semantic component
in his first grammar of English {Syntactic Structures), even maintaining that “semantic
considerations play no role in the linguistic analysis of syntactic structures,” later grammars
based upon a generative-transformational format include a syntactic component. Since 1957,
meaning has increasingly become more important in linguistic research, and this research has
taken several paths. One path is described by Chomsky in his Aspects of the Theory of Syntax,
which stands as a major modification to the grammar contained in Syntactic Structures. Within
Aspects, Chomsky draws upon the earlier research of Jerrold Katz, Jerry Fodor, and Paul
Postal.
In Aspects, syntax remains as the central component of the grammar, with the semantic and
phonological components “interpreting” the output of the syntactic rules. This version of
generative-transformational grammar is now called “standard theory,” to distinguish it from
other generative-transformational models which were later offered as modifications or even as
substitutes to the theory as contained in Aspects. As modifications to generative-

transformational grammar continued, the model of grammar as contained in Aspects would be
called standard theory or interpretive theory.
Serious questions concerning the primacy of syntax were raised by linguists soon after the
publication of Aspects. These linguists questioned the central role of syntax and insisted that
“at the heart of an adequate theory of language must be an adequate theory of semantic
structure.” The advocates of modification including George Lakoff, James McCawley, John
Robert Ross, Charles Fillmore, and Wallace Chafe, among others. They postulated that
semantics, instead of syntax, would be the primary component of a generative-transformational
grammar and went as far as to insist that syntax was not a “well-motivated” component of a
grammar. They would argue, moreover, that semantic structures specified the shape of syntactic
structures. Lakoff, McCawley, and Ross call their version of generative-transformational
grammar generative semantics while Fillmore and Chafe call theirs case grammar. In recent
years, however, Chafe has moved away from Fillmore’s version of case.
Interpretive semantics, generative semantics, and case grammar are the labels which we will
employ when we point to some of the differences among these three versions of generative-
transformational grammar.
INTERPRETIVE SEMANTICS (Standard Theory)

The benchmark article that placed semantics within the mainstream of a theory of language
was Katz’ and Fodor’s article “The Structure of a Semantic Theory” in which they state that
“A semantic theory of a natural language is part of a linguistic description of that language,”
and must be included as a component of a generative-transformational grammar. Katz and
Fodor attempt to maintain distinct and separate (“automonous” is the label which has wide
currency) levels of syntax and semantics. They submit that “Linguistic description minus
grammar equals semantics.” Syntax provides data to the semantic component which then
interprets (gives meaning to) the sentence.
One reason for adding a semantic component to a grammar was the existence of two kinds
of ambiguity—structural and lexical. Structural ambiguity can be revealed by deep syntactic
structures. For instance, the ambiguity in the surface sentence, “Flying planes can be
dangerous,” is the result of two different deep structures which happen, in this case, to have
one surface form. In one sentence, someone is flying planes; in the other, there are planes which
are flying. A different kind of ambiguity could not be explained by referring back to deep
structures but could only be explained by appealing to the senses of the lexical item. The
sentence, “The suit is too light to wear,” is often cited as an example of this type of ambiguity.
“Light” can mean “not heavy” or “not dark in color.” A desire to characterize lexical
ambiguity and to provide a reading (meaning) for each sentence generated led to the inclusion
of a semantic component in a grammar of a language.
Katz’ and Fodor’s semantic component consists of a dictionary of lexical items and a set of
projection rules (reading rules) which amalgamate the meaning(s) of the lexical items into the
readings (meaning) of each sentence. The dictionary contains three kinds of information about
each lexical item in the language:
1. Information on the grammatical category of each lexical item. While some lexical items may
occur in two or three different syntactic environments (for instance, as either a noun or verb),
other words may occur in only one. “Play” is an example of the first (noun or verb) and
“entry” an example of the second (noun).
2. General semantic information. In Aspects, Chomsky says that a word consists of a bundle of
distinctive semantic markers or features. For instance, if we look at the nouns “dog,” “girl,”
“nationalism,” “oatmeal,” “chair,” “Fido,” “George,” and “Boston” we can see that while the
words are from one syntactic class (noun) they will differ in their semantic designations. The
features associated with these words are the following (although not all features are associated
with each word): common, count, animate, human, and mass. D. Terrence Langendoen observes
that these features, which are semantic in nature, “do not represent properties of the universe
but innate properties of the human mind itself and of the human perceptual apparatus.” These
are universal features, in other words, common to all languages.
An individual word will reflect the present (+) or absence (-) of these features and the
features will govern the role of the word in a sentence or constrain its appearance before or
after verbs. If a word is + common, then it is spelled with a small letter — except when it appears
as the first word in a sentence (“dog” is an example); if the word is -common (a -common word
is a proper noun) then it is spelled with a capital letter (“George”). The feature count refers to
the fact that some words may appear with a numerical counter or indefinite article in front of
them. We can count chairs and we can say “one chair, two chairs, three chairs,” or “a chair,”
and so on. “Oatmeal” and “sugar” are among the many -count words. We cannot say “one
oatmeal, two oatmeals, three oatmeals,” or “an oatmeal,” or “one sugar, two sugars, three
sugars,” or “a sugar,” except in a specialized sense. “Nationalism” and “pluralism” are also
-count nouns. We cannot say “one nationalism, two nationalisms, three nationalisms” or “one
pluralism, two pluralisms,” and so forth. However, there is a distinction to be made in the
category of -count nouns. “Oatmeal” and “sugar,” -count nouns, are also +mass nouns, while
“nationalism” and “pluralism” are -mass nouns. +Mass nouns are concrete: we may actually
touch, feel or smell “oatmeal” and “sugar,” while the -mass nouns, such as “nationalism” and
“pluralism” cannot be touched, felt, or smelled. Animate nouns may be classified into nouns
which are +human (girl) and those which are -human (dog).
Implicit in the use of features to classify nouns into semantic categories is the notion of
absence of redundancy. Certain features do not have to be explicitly stated. A -common noun is
a +proper noun and must be spelled with a capital. It would be redundant to categorize a noun
as both -common and +proper. -Common is sufficient to give us all the proper nouns in the
language.
We have already pointed to the feature that separated “oatmeal” from “nationalism.” We do
not have to specify any other feature than -mass. -Mass also says that “nationalism” and
“pluralism” are abstract nouns; and we know that an abstract noun is -concrete. The -mass
feature implies +abstract. We have listed in the following matrix a number of nouns with their
features specified.
FEATURE(S) EXAMPLE(S)
+common girl, dog, chair, oatmeal, nationalism
-common George, Fido, Boston
+common
oatmeal, nationalism
-count
+common
girl, dog, chair
+count
+common
-count nationalism
-mass
FEATURE(S) EXAMPLE(S)
+common
-count oatmeal
+mass
+common
+count dog, girl
+animate
+common
+count chair
-animate
+common
+animate girl
+human
+common
+animate dog
-human
-common
Boston
-animate
-common
+animate Fido
-human
-common
+animate George
+human
These semantic relationships can also portrayed on an inverted tree diagram:
common
Boston
Thus, “girl” has the bundle of semantic features labeled common, count, animate, human.
These features aid in explaining feelings or intuitions about relationships within sentences that
we can judge to be semantic, as in the following sentences:
1. My toothbrush kicked the vase.

2. He amazed the injustice of that act.
3. Colorless green ideas sleep furiously.
By any standard, when we hear or read these sentences they are anomalous, or a bit
weird—resembling sentences that we might find in literary works, especially in modem poetry.
Semantic rules have been broken, since we “know” the verb “kicked” must have a +animate
“doer,” that after the verb “amazed” there must be an animate noun. Some speakers would
even insist that after “amazed” the feature animate is not specific enough; the noun must also
be +human, since the sentence, “He amazed the elephant with his performance,” is not a
possible sentence for them.
*%
3. Semantic Distinguishes. In addition to indicating the possible syntactic category of each

lexical item, along with its set of semantic markers, the Katz and Fodor dictionary also
distinguishes the various meanings that each word has. For instance, the word “light” in
isolation can mean “not heavy” or “not dark.” There are many words which have more than
one meaning, and these meanings are distinguished by the dictionary.
Projection Rules
A semantic component as developed by Katz, Fodor and Chomsky contains a set of
projection rules which scan the deep structures generated by the syntactic rules to give the
meaning(s) of each sentence. These rules combine or amalgamate the senses of each lexical item
specified in a tree-structure, reading from the bottom of the tree to the top; a reading
for each sentence is a combination of its lexical items. In the sentence, “The suit is too light,”
the projection rules correctly indicate that there are two distinct meanings for the sentence,
depending upon the meaning of “light.” The rules also indicate that only one possible meaning
for “light” is possible in the sentence, “The suit is light enough for Mary to carry.” Projection
rules, then, add to the capacity of the semantic component to assign meanings to sentences.
ALTERNATIVES TO STANDARD THEORY: GENERATIVE SEMANTICS
We have been describing a semantic component that is now termed interpretive, one which
assumes that there is a distinction between syntax and semantics. Linguists whom we have
already mentioned argue that the distinction between syntax and semantics is artificial,
arbitrary, and even redundant. James McCawley, in his article “Where do Noun Phrases come
From?” suggests “that there is no natural breaking point between a ‘syntactic component’ and
‘semantic component’ of grammar such as the level of deep structure as seen in the Aspects
model.” Generative semanticists, as they are called, and case grammarians (discussed later)
maintain that syntax is determined by semantics (syntax “clothes” meaning). Instead of having
rules which generate deep syntactic structures which are then interpreted by semantic rules,
these linguists would have a grammar generate abstract semantic structures which determine
various syntactic structures.
Generative-semanticists (and case grammarians) believe that their way of perceiving the
speech act comes closer to portraying the capacities of the language user. The speech act, they
maintain, begins with concepts which are then encoded into syntax. Thus, semantics is the
focus of language; they hope to find that semantic concepts are universal, while syntax and
phonology are language-specific.
There are a number of arguments which are employed in attacking the adequacy of
interpretive theory. It is not our purpose to discuss them all, but to present the following in
order to give our reader a sense of the conflict.
1. The passive transformation argument. In interpretive theory, transformations are “meaning¬

preserving.” No transformation can change the deep structure meaning of any sentence. For
example, the passive transformation preserves the meaning of the active:
Active: The dog bit the man.
Passive: The man was bitten by the dog.
Although the passive transformation does not change the meaning of the active sentence above,
it does change the meaning of the following sentence:
Active: Everyone loves someone.
Passive: Someone is loved by everyone.
The counter-argument, to summarize briefly, is that some transformations do not preserve

meaning, and that interpretive theory therefore contradicts itself. Generative semanticists
sought to prove that this was a major flaw in interpretive theory.
2. Syntactic Configurations. Some sentences which consist of the same meaning cannot be
related syntactically:
The boys piled the wagon with hay.
The boys piled hay onto the wagon.
The acid dissolved the metal.

The metal dissolved in the acid.
These sentences, similar in meaning, could not be related in a grammar that held that syntax
was the primary component.
3. Verbs and Adjectives. Verbs and adjectives derive from one constituent class, although on a
more abstract level. The traditional definition of a verb, as a word expressing “action” or “state
of being,” correctly captures the semantic distinction between two kinds of verbs. By
reinterpreting this intuition, we can say that a verb is either +stative (“state of being”) or
-stative (“action”).
Verbs therefore can fit into two paradigms (patterns), depending upon whether they are
+stative (“own,” “know,” and “resemble”) or -stative (“look,” “paint,” and “wash”). Verbs
which are +stative cannot appear in imperative sentences:
Own that house.

Know that book.
Resemble that picture.
-stative verbs can appear in imperative sentences:

Look at that tree.
Paint that house.
Wash that car.
Another test which determines the category of verb is the “progressive” test. +stative verbs
cannot occur with the progressive (a form of the verb “be” and the inflection “-ing”):
I am owning that house.
She is knowing that fact.
They are resembling that picture.
-stative verbs can:

I am looking at that house.
She is painting that bike.
They are washing that car.
Adjectives are similar to verbs in the above respects, as some can be categorized as stative
while others cannot (a fact that has pointed to the existence of languages without adjectives).
+stative adjectives cannot occur in imperative sentences:
Be tall.
Be short.
-stative adjectives can occur in imperative sentences:
Be noisy.
Be good.
+stative adjectives cannot occur with the progressives:

He is being tall.
She is being short.
-stative adjectives can:
He is being noisy.
He is being bad.
The features that adjectives and verbs share have led generative semanticists to the
conclusion that there is an abstract constituent called a verbal which includes both verb and
adjective. These facts about the similarity of verb and adjective were not (and according to
generative semanticists, could not be) characterized by interpretive theory.
4. The nature and relationship of words. Another characteristic of generative semantics is that
its proponents insisted that deep structures had to be far more abstract than they were in
Aspects. Words not phonetically related were so close in meaning that they must be derived
from the same constituent class of word; the notion of “word” is much more abstract in this
analysis. The sentence, “Gertrude killed Pete,” provides an example of how abstract this
analysis can be. The simplified tree-diagram for this sentence is:
As each sentence is lifted, or raised, into'the sentence immediately above it, different
word-constructs are formed. Sentence 4 (S4) is raised into Sentence 3 (S3), and “not alive” is
read in the sentence as the following:
Gertrude caused Pete to become not alive. (“Not alive” equals “dead”)
Gertrude caused Pete to become dead.
Sentence 3 can then be raised into Sentence 2 producing:

Gertrude caused Pete to become not alive, (“to become not alive” equals “die”)
Gertrude caused Pete to die.
Finally, Sentence 2 is raised into Sentence 1:

Gertrude caused Pete to become not alive, (“caused Pete to become not abve”
equals “kill”)
Gertrude killed Pete.
5. Various functions within the sentence. In interpretive theory, the function of a lexical item
is determined by its position in the deep structure. A challenge to this notion was most notably
led by Charles Fillmore, who said that other considerations are involved in determining the
roles of lexical items in the surface structure. This leads us to a discussion of Case Grammar.
CASE GRAMMAR
Charles Fillmore argues in his article, “The Case for Case,” that semantic features and
syntactic features may be combined; he uses “the term case to identify the underlying
syntactic-semantic relationships.” Fillmore hypothesizes that “The case notions comprise a set
of universal, presumably innate concepts which identify certain types of judgments human
beings are capable of making about the events that are going on around them, judgments about
such matters as who did it, who it happened to, and what got changed.”
Case relationships in some older stages of Indo-European (the parent language of English)
such as Indo-European itself, Sanskrit, Greek, and Latin were signaled by suffixes (inflections)
placed on nouns. What was signaled by placing suffixes on nouns in the above languages is
signaled by word order and prepositions in English. The case relationships for English, and
presumably for other languages as well, include:
Name of Case Definition Example

(case is italicized)
Agent (A) Instigator of action. Sam opened the door.

Must be +animate. The door was opened by
Sam.
Instrumental (I) The -animate force involved The key opened the door.
in the event as stated or Sam opened the door
named by the verb. with a key.
Dative (D) Indicates animate being Sam sees Bill.

affected by events named Sam gave the book to
by the verb. Bill.
Factive (F) The object or being result¬ Sam built a chair.

ing from the state or action God created the universe.
indicated by the verb.
Name of Case Definition Example

(case is italicized)
Locative (L) Location as specified by The book is on the chair.

the verb. San Antonio is warm.
Sam ran to the store.
Objective (O) The most neutral semantic Sam sees Mary.

k
case. The case of anything Sam opened the door.

represented by a noun whose
role in the action or state
identified by the verb de¬
pends on the meaning of the
verb itself.
Fillmore uses the cases to classify verbs. The verbs “open” may appear with objective,
instrumental, and agent cases. “Open” would appear in Fillmore’s theory within a “case
frame.”
[open 0 (I) (A)]
Parentheses point to the fact that the (I) and (A) do not have to be specified in a sentence
containing “open.” The objective case, with no parentheses, has to appear, however. This is a
constraint on the use of “open.” Let us examine the following sentences containing “open” as
the verb.
The door opened, [open 0]
Here we have the objective case occurring in first position in the sentence. We “know” that
“someone” or “something” had to open the door, and we “know” this without having the
agent specified.
John opened the door, [open O (A)]
We have the obligatory O, which appeared in first position in the previous sentence, appearing
here after the verb, with the agent “John” (the “someone” (A) appearing in the first position).
The key opened the door, [open 0 (I)]
In this sentence, the objective case appears along with the instrumental (I), with the (I)
occurring in first position.
John opened the door with the key. [open O (A) (I)]
All three case relationships are explicit.
We can see from these examples that syntax and semantics are closely related. Syntax can
express semantic relationships and semantic relationships can be expressed by positions in sen¬
tence or by a preposition. Fillmore believes that the above cases [A, O, D, I, L, F] are the
absolute minimum for any language, but he also says that there may be other case relationships.
Case relationships, to sum up, express the experience of the speaker as to:
1. who did what,
2. who it happened to, and
3. what got changed.
With case grammar, our analysis of the systems of language ends. Research continues, of
course, into the various systems which fit a theory of language, and we can look forward to
grammars that come ever closer to approximating the knowledge that native speakers bring to
the task of learning, speaking, and understanding the languages of their environment.
VII. QUESTIONS AND ACTIVITIES
1. Euphemisms abound for “toilet” (which is itself a euphemism). What are some of them? Can
you judge them in terms of acceptability for various kinds of social functions and inter¬
actions?
2. Why does a language have euphemisms? During the Viet Nam war occasionally the phrase
“surgical strike” was employed in place of “bombing.” What are other euphemisms associ¬
ated with war?
3. “That bachelor is pregnant.” Knowing what you do now about nouns and their features,
what additional feature must be associated with “bachelor” (one that we did not discuss in
this chapter)?
4. What “case” is assigned to the following noun? The mirror cracked.
What semantic features are associated with the following nouns?

fact frog Kissinger
horse linguist nationalism
lid teacher oats
Georgetown Lassie (the dog)
Can “oats” ever appear in the singular? In what contexts?
6. The language of the Eskimo has a number of terms for snow, depending upon the kind of
snow, and whether it is falling or on the ground. English has one word for snow but various
words for rain, some of which are regional. Name some of them. Why are there more words
for various kinds of rain in English than there are for snow?
7. Instead of “first class,” “second class,” and “third class” accommodations, airlines now have
“first class,” “tourist (coach),” and “economy.” What are the reasons for these changes in
labels?
8. “Detente” was a term used during former President Ford’s administration to describe the
relationships between the Soviet Union and the United States. In 1976, Mr. Ford decided
not to employ the term, and in fact had it excised from his public addresses. What can
account for the former President’s action?
9. “Bread,” “butter,” “milk,” and “sugar” are a few of the many mass nouns. We normally do
not count them as we count non-mass nouns—for example, “chair” and “table.” If we want
to count mass nouns, we have to employ a phrase. What are these phrases? Name some other
mass nouns that have to be counted in this way.
VII. FOR FURTHER REFERENCE
Allen, J. P. B. and Paul Van Buren, eds. 1971. Chomsky: Selected Readings. London: Oxford
University Press.
Austin, J. L. 1962. How to Do Things with Words. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press.
Carroll, Lewis. 1946. Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass. New York: Grosset
and Dunlap.
Chafe, Wallace. 1970. Meaning and the Structure of Language. Chicago: University of Chicago
Press.
Fillmore, Charles J. 1968. “The Case for Case,” in Emmon Bach and Robert T. Harms, eds.:
Universals of Linguistic Theory. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston.
Hayakawa, S. I. 1964. Language in Thought and Action. Rev. ed. New York: Harcourt Brace
Jovanovich.
Hechinger, Fred M. 1974. “In the End Was the Euphemism.” Saturday Review/World March,
50-52.
Jacobs, Roderick A., and Peter S. Rosenbaum, eds. 1970. Readings in English Transformational
Grammar. Waltham, Mass.: Blaisdell.
Katz, Jerrold J. and Jerry Fodor. 1963. “The Structure of a Semantic Theory.” Language
39:170-210.
Korzybski, Alfred. 1933. Science and Sanity: An Introduction to Non-Aristotelian Systems and
General Semantics. Lancaster, Pa.: Science Press.
Lakoff, George. 1970. Irregularity in Syntax. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, Inc.
_1971. “On Generative Semantics,” in D. Steinberg and L. Jakobovits, eds. Semantics: an
Interdisciplinary Reader in Philosophy, Linguistics, and Psychology. New York: Cambridge
University Press.
Langendoen, D. Terence. 1970. “Roles and Role Structure,” in Essentials of English Grammar.
New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston.
Leech, Geoffrey. 1974. Semantics. Harmonsworth, England: Penguin.
Liles, Bruce L. 1972. “English Sentence Structure,” in Linguistics and the English Language.
Pacific Palisades, Calif.: Goodyear Publishing Company.
McCawley, James D. “Where do Noun Phrases Come From?” in R. Jacobs and P. Rosenbaum,
eds.: Readings in English Transformational Grammar. Waltham, Mass.: Blaisdell.
Nilsen, Don L. F. and Alleen Pace Nilsen. 1976. Semantic Theory: A Linguistic Perspective.
Rowley, Mass.: Newbury House.
Ogden, C. K. and I. A. Richards. 1930. The Meaning of Meaning. 3rd ed. New York: Harcourt
Brace and World.
Osgood, Charles E. 1971. “Explorations in Semantic Space: A Personal Diary.” Journal of
Social Issues 27:5-64.
Perlmutter, David M. 1971. Deep and Surface Structure Constraints in Syntax. Holt, Rinehart
and Winston, Inc.
Postal, Paul. 1970. “On the Surface Verb ‘Remind’.” Linguistic Inquiry I: January, 137.
Searle, John R., ed. 1971. The Philosophy of Language. London: Oxford University Press.
_ 1969. Speech Acts. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Sledd, James and Wilma R. Ebbit. 1962. Dictionaries and THAT Dictionary. Chicago: Scott,
Foresman and Company.
Whorf, Benjamin Lee. 1956. Language, Thought, and Reality: Selected Writings. Cambridge,
Mass.: Technology Press of M.I.T.
VIII. Writing Systems of the World
THE PLACE OF WRITING
“Put it in writing” is a familiar request, as is “Drop me a line.” Yet almost half of the
world’s adult population cannot fulfill these two simple requests, since in many communities of
the world only a small minority are literate. An example of a country that has a low level of
literacy is Nepal in South Asia, where only one of every ten adults has the ability to read and
write. In such societies the ability to read and write is a mark of status. And in some areas of
Africa, the public scrivener is still a well paid and highly respected person. Even in the United
States, there are many illiterates and semi-literates. Literacy societies have sprung up in various
urban centers to teach reading and writing; and the three branches of the military have found
that sometimes they must teach these skills to new enlistees. Writing and reading, then, are not
universal traits; and while we do not have to teach children to talk, we usually have to teach
them to read and write.
How did the art of writing first develop? Probably no one will ever know just when and
where the first person made a mark that had meaning. However, when this occurred, it was an
instance of written symbolization. If these marks functioned then as they do today, we can call
them “written symbolization of a verbal symbolization.” Writing serves partially to capture in a
semipermanent form a verbal message, although there are differences, as we have said, between
writing and speech.
The earliest records that we have of marks intended to communicate are inscriptions on
caves, rocks, artifacts, or articles of daily use. The inscriptions occasionally resemble actual
drawings of objects; these are sometimes crude approximations but they leave no doubt as to
what they were meant to accomplish. The earliest records of writing are to be found on clay,
bone, shell, and stone, yet it is not always clear what the early “writer” meant to convey.
ORIGINS OF WRITING SYSTEMS
There exist many myths among the peoples of the world about the origins of writing, or
orthography. The ancient Egyptians, the Mayans of Mexico and Central America, and the
Japanese all have myths that attribute their writing systems to divinities. Originally, the
Egyptian system of hieroglyphics (meaning “sacred stone writing”) was based upon pictorial or
facsimile representations. Thus, to indicate “man,” “woman,” “sun,” and similar concrete
concepts the Egyptians merely drew pictures of these objects. But since there is much that
cannot be presented pictorially-for example, concepts such as love, hate, honor, pity-attempts
were made to revise the writing system so as to include a way to represent these abstract
notions.
The story of how the Egyptians expanded their system for writing is worthy of note. In
Egyptian, for instance, the word for sun was re. The symbol for sun came to be employed not
109
only for the star but occasionally for the written representation of any word in which the
sound re occurred. The Phoenicians, neighbors to the Egyptians, generalized the Egyptian
writing system further. Five thousand years ago, the graphic shape which had earlier
represented an entire word in Egyptian evolved into a symbol which was employed for the
initial consonant which began that word.
ORTHOGRAPHIES OF THE WORLD
SEMITIC
The Hebrew orthography still reflects traces of its pictorial origin. The a, called aleph,
originally stood for the head of an ox. The b is referred to in Hebrew as beth, which is the word
for “house.” The letter g is known as gimel, for “camel,” the head of which is represented by
the Hebrew version of this symbol. An example of Hebrew writing follows.
Ku b nnn11 1
ivniann »ik hvv tmnan km turomtona K^saa...

,afrtsr rw iwanrun wmaiir ,nwran
waoa kVi W? an ,mi amir bv nawV
'lain bs nav an „,DMnK EPTirp Trna
nvaoia impn ,mrrpn rpjirn mica Vsr
.mêd miK bbsb an' wtoju n^K toi anVwa
xwb m*p ib& a.vroVfto *ipina ,p bv
MODERN HEBREW
The Semitic writing system spread with the growth and spread of Islam. The contemporary
Arabic symbols show little if any obvious resemblance to the earlier Semitic script from which
they are historically derived. The most important reason for the discrepancy might be explained
by the fact that all Arabic script is based upon a cursive, or handwritten, form. The Arabic
writing system spread even farther than the Arabic language. With some modifications and
adaptations it serves today as the mode for writing Persian, Pushtu, Urdu, and Hindi. Formerly
it was the system for Turkish, Malay, Hausa, Swahili, and most of the languages of Muslim
peoples in what is now the Soviet Union. This script has had at least some use wherever the
Moslem religion has spread. Some historically interesting cases are seen in its use for Somali in
East Africa, Malagasy on Madagascar, and Sulu in the southern Philippines. Only the Roman
and Cyrillic alphabets can claim wider use.
ARABIC (MODERN AMERICAN USE)

Writing Systems of the World 111
*
The Semitic system of writing served as a partial basis for the earliest Greek alphabet. The
Greeks, however, made an important stride in that they were the first to record vowels. Only
consonants were recorded in the writing systems employed by the Phoenicians and Jews.
The Roman, or Latin, alphabet developed mainly from the capital letters of the Greek
alphabet. From these letters a large number of variants evolved, such as the Irish and Gothic
alphabets. The Irish alphabet was first used around the 12th century and was employed until
the 16th century, when the less ornate Roman form took its place. The use of German Gothic,
however, continued in the Scandinavian countries until the 19th century; and in Germany
today, it is still employed about half of the time, and alternates with the Roman form.
Another variant of the Greek alphabet became the basis for the Coptic and Ethiopic systems
of writing. The latter is in current use in Ethiopia and Eritrea today. Coptic survives, for
religious purposes only, among the minority of native Christians in Egypt.
ARMENIAN
An Armenian legend credits the invention of the Armenian letters, by Mesrop Mashtots in
the 4th century, to divine revelation. There was clearly a human component involved in the
origin of this alphabet, as Mesrop had studied the Greek system of writing, and many of the
capital letters in Armenian show a clear resemblance to the small letters in the Greek alphabet.
The Georgian alphabet, employed in the Soviet republic of Georgia in the Caucasus, may have
been adapted from the Armenian system.
„ U jh a tit, ui jh n i'll fitT fugtyfi ifow

in l vtudurfufi uiauiLOin
bpijfc /jifU/v tfi/u/l/a; J
*»/>
Puin pwuin i%bmg tuivuitmnn i^bu/h jbutaj,

propi«L'hfi'bb pn i/ptuj iji/iton/j Aa/J /»2”
|u(u<blf6p utuiljaiL qo pw'Vrni sfbn i /i 2 /uu/ififcp fcti
Ibt.n'u P. p n b t wp^n iftbwlj i%np<(ii liwpda-
j [duq-ujia pwlfaiV n l fpil wj p
fba i pji "Ubm^J 4wp own l [dina'lif
ARMENIAN
CYRILLIC
Still another variant of the Greek alphabet is the Cyrillic or Slavic alphabet, which was
devised by the monks Cyril and Methodius, who were sent from Constantinople to convert the
Slavs to Christianity. This alphabet is used by the Russians, Serbs, Bulgarians, Ukrainians, and
Byelorussians, and has been adapted to serve for many other languages spoken in the Soviet
Union.
IIpHpofloii 3«eci> HaM cyxeuo,
B EBpony npopytfHTb okho.
CYRILLIC: RUSSIAN (PRESENT SPELLING)
RUNES
One of the more intriguing variations of the alphabet is the runes, used by the early
Germanic scribes. The runes, supposedly possessed of magical power, were scratched in armor,
on horns, and on obituary stones. Their exact origin is unknown, although Greek, Thracian, and
Etruscan and Latin sources have been suggested. In Wagner’s Siegfried, the Dragon Slayer
climbed a mountain surrounded by fire and awakened a sleeping Valkyrie, Brunnhilde, with a
kiss. Brunnhilde was a daughter of the gods and therefore skilled in all forms of magic,
including the runes, which he asked her to teach him.
SANSKRIT AND SYLLABARIES

Another derivation from the Semitic system is the ancient Devanagari of India in which
Sanskrit is written. The Devanagari in turn was the ancestor of the present-day alphabets of
India and of various systems employed to record some Southeast Asian languages, such as Thai
and Burmese. A few of these are rather more complicated writing systems, with each symbol
representing a consonant or group of consonants followed by a vowel.
One of these, the writing system of Ceylon, has more than 300 symbols and makes the
English alphabet, with its 26 letters, seem quite simple. However, the system employed in
Ceylon is clearly not an alphabet, but a syllabary. One symbol stands for one syllable,
consisting of one or more consonants and a following vowel. In contrast to a syllabary, an
alphabet employs one or more symbols for each consonant and one or more symbols for each
vowel.
inon
DEVANAGARI: SANSKRIT
Even though syllabic writing systems may appear to be less efficient and more cumbersome
than our more familiar alphabetic system of writing, some newly created writing systems have
been of the syllabic type. The best established of the syllabary systems is employed in northern
Canada by the Cree and the Eskimo. In this system the basic shape of the letter represents a
consonant sound, and the way it is turned indicates what vowel follows the consonant.
v c ° a 3 «■»
peT fa w pi to s
“he brings it” “differently”
Another region of the world where a syllabary was introduced was southwestern China,
among the non-Chinese of that region. The Pollard script for the language called Miao is now
dying, a result of the standardizing influence of the government of the People’s Republic of
China, which insists that there be no foreign writing systems employed there.
A. L t, cP
TC'CCI»I!\ A S Ct, G T“ Ct>>KAj/T.T"G’<, G
n.t»j°cHct. Ao>ceGans.L‘tt.Y
WO (I _ .
XCT’Y>rC“. t"T-rctT,T,. [>YA.>

TC'L-A'a-trS. Ao > G r CTo CTo T*>
MIAO: HWA DIALECT, POLLARD SCRIPT

0
-f
71 ty
6 -r
ik ifij
*
>\2l a
7f
/T'
Tjfi
# •i h
-f t
■f
CHINESE
SIGNS FOR WORDS
The descendants of picture-writing systems (also called ideographic writing) have by no

means vanished. Both China and Japan, and, to a certain degree, Korea, still make use of the
Chinese characters. Similar in purpose to the ancient Egyptian system, the Chinese symbols
were designed originally to represent certain concrete objects. What makes the Chinese writing
system particularly difficult is the number of combinations of elements that a learner must
memorize. For instance, the symbol for “good,” , consists of elements meaning “woman”
and “son.” The character for “love,”ai consists of four elements meaning “claws,” “a roof,”
“heart,” and “move slowly.” Nang, “nasal stoppage,” written , consists of eleven identifiable
separate units or combinations, a total of 38 strokes. The symbol is the most complex character
listed in Matthews’ Dictionary, the standard reference on Chinese character writing.
Very early in their history the Japanese adopted many features of Chinese culture, including
its system of writing. Instead of one pronunciation for each character, Japanese has three, or
more, pronunciations for each. One pronunciation is the Japanese version of the Chinese
pronunciation of the symbols as of the date first borrowed (the Go-on pronunciation). Another
pronunciation reflects a later pronunciation (the Kun-on pronunciation); the third way to
pronounce the character reflects a Japanese pronunciation. The Chinese charactery^. , jen is
pronounced in various Japanese compound words as nit\ (Go-on), jin (kun-on), and hito. This
last pronunciation is the Japanese word for “person.” , men is “door” or “gate” in Chinese.
The Japanese pronunciation is mon (Go-on), or to. To is used in the Japanese word kado (the t
voices), and is the Japanese word for “gate.”
It is rather obvious that to master a writing system such as Chinese or Japanese takes years
and years, even for the native Chinese and Japanese. To read Japanese we must memorize at
least 1,850 characters and their various pronunciations. To read Chinese we would have to
memorize even more characters. Because of the extreme amount of memorization involved for
anyone wishing to learn how to read these languages, attempts have been made in the past to
simplify the Chinese and Japanese writing systems; but change has been difficult and slow, since
both cultures take enormous pride in the artistic and esthetic appearance of the graphs. At
present, the People’s Republic of China appears to be attempting to simplify the characters
employed in everyday communication by reducing the number of strokes for the more complex
ones. The People’s Republic has also made a number of attempts to institute a Romanized
(alphabetic) writing system. The April 10, 1972, Asahi Evening News, an English language
paper published in Japan, reported that Kiro-Mo-Jo, the President of the Academy of Sciences
and Vice-Chairman of the National People’s Congress, said that Chairman Mao was urging that
the “Chinese characters... be reformed and that reform ... take the form for the rest of the
world—romanization.” He added, however, that it would be difficult to adopt the ideas of
“certain Japanese friends who recommended the amalgamation of the simplified characters of
the two countries.”
There have been previous successful attempts to reform the writing system of Japan.
Approximately thirty years ago, the Japanese, under the urging of General Douglas MacArthur,
who was then Chief of Occupational Forces in Japan, simplified the system, reducing the basic
character inventory from 5,000 characters to a more manageable 1,850. This one reduction
encouraged and provided the opportunity for a greater number of Japanese to become literate.
The Japanese, however, do not employ only Chinese characters in their writing system.
While Chinese makes use only of characters, the Japanese have developed two additional sets of
symbols called hiragana and katakana, which are syllabaries. These symbols are employed to
indicate grammatical forms, such as verb suffixes. For instance, kaku is the base of “to write.”
The past “I wrote” is expressed as follows: kakimashita. Kaki is symbolized by the character
m ) and mashita, which indicates the past tense, has three syllables (ma-shi-ta) and is
symbolized by three syllabics (<£ b £ ).Ma is £ ; shi is V; and ta is .
JAPANESE: CONVENTIONAL (KAISHO), GRASS (SOSHO), HIRAGANA, KATAKANA

The Koreans, unlike the Chinese and Japanese, employ an alphabet that is just as efficient as
the Greek or Latin, with letters that resemble Chinese characters. Interspersed among the
Korean script are large numbers of Chinese characters that are still used to represent older
Korean words. Still, the move toward the use of an alphabet is an important innovation.
Direction of writing also differs among the world’s writing systems. The Roman, Greek, and
Cyrillic alphabets are written from left to right. The Arabic and Hebrew syllabaries, by contrast,
are written from right to left. The Chinese and Japanese systems are written from top to
bottom and then from right to left.
PROBLEMS AND HORIZONS
No writing (or orthographical) system, regardless of the direction in which it is written, is

totally efficient in representing speech. Intonation, which can often reflect a speaker’s attitude,
receives only rudimentary representation in English with the use of commas, periods, question
marks, and exclamation points. And tone of voice can be inferred only from parenthetical
remarks or third-person narrative: “he said ironically.”
In literate societies writing develops to a certain extent on its own. Often writing has an
influence on speech—most noticeably when “spelling pronunciations” develop—such as the
pronunciation of the t in often, or even the b in subtle. Writing will at times convey
information that the spoken version of a message leaves out, as for example, when English
writing distinguishes pear from pair, right from write, and pale from pail, to mention only a
few. Writing systems employ certain conventions that are unrelated to what we do in speech.
Examples of this in our own system would include the use of capital letters, italics in printing,
and much of our punctuation.
In this era of rapid communication the trend has been more and more to a simplification of
writing systems. Alphabet reform has been an extremely lively issue in world affairs. In his
program of modernization, Kemal Ataturk adopted the Roman alphabet for Turkish, in place
of the Arabic syllabary previously employed in that country.
With all due admiration for the beauty of the writing systems of Japan and China, they both
take an inordinate amount of time to master. Yet we must admit, for China especially—with its
many dialects—the character system can be read throughout the nation with the same meaning.
This occurs even when one speaker of Chinese cannot understand a speaker of another dialect.
Tone is also difficult to indicate in an alphabetic system. Vietnamese, for example, has
attempted to solve the problem in its use of an alphabet, by writing symbols over and under the
vowels to indicate the proper tone, leaving tone number one unmarked. Thus, in Vietnamese
one writes:
, , z
ma ma ma ma ma mao
The above syllable has six different meanings according to its tone quality. Nevertheless, there
remains another problem. The Vietnamese language has at least ten different vowels, the exact
number depending on the dialect spoken. The Latin vowel letters are rather insufficient to
indicate all the vowels, and the result is that a letter may have both a mark for tone and another
(a diacritic) mark that indicates that pronunciation of the vowel, as in the following:
rang giam
From time to time, there have been attempts to change English spelling. George Bernard
Shaw made a provision in his will for an award to be made to the inventor of the best new
system. President Theodore Roosevelt attempted to employ the resources and power of his
office to insitute a new, simplified, more phonetically based writing system. No public
enthusiasm has been exhibited for such changes. To the contrary, Morris Halle and Noam
Chomsky (The Sound Pattern of English) maintain that the present spelling system, discounting
the irregularities, is a good system for English. And although movements for spelling reform
occur, there appears little likelihood for spelling reform in the near future. Edgar Sturtevant
once suggested that the best way to reform English spelling would be to quit teaching it.
One observation is certain: when a country adopts an orthography, it is extremely reluctant
to change. Charles F. Hockett notes: “The language changes as languages always change; but for
some reason peoples are more conservative about writing systems than about any other human
institution that can be named—even religion.”
The tendency for writing systems to become more conservative with time deserves comment.
Few advances were made in the writing process until the printing press was developed in the
15th century by the German inventor Gutenberg. At that time, it became possible to make
thousands of copies of any book. Previously, each book had to be laboriously copied by hand,
and each copier varied the spelling of some of the words. Even proper names were given various
spellings, as attested by the different ways that Shakespeare (Shakspear, Shakespear) spelled his
own name. The printing press changed this attitude toward spelling. Henceforth, there would be
one, and only one, way to spell a word, and any deviation from the norm, however logical it
might be, was a certain sign of ignorance.
Nineteenth and twentieth century technology further revolutionized written communica¬
tion. First came the telegraph, capable of transmitting messages around the world in a split
second. Then the typewriter, which was developed late in the 19th century, greatly increased
the speed at which a book could be copied. And now we have the electric typewriter, and
typewriters that can be linked to mechanical scanners. Although typewriters are efficient for
alphabetic systems, with their very small inventory of symbols, they are inefficient to transcribe
the complex systems employed in Japan, China, and Korea.
Modern technology is bringing tremendous changes to written communication, thanks to
such processes as offset printing, multilithing, mimeography, and the ubiquitous Xerox
machine. Computers and input-output electric typewriters ensure storage and retrieval of vast
amounts of information in a fraction of the time formerly required. Thus, librarians and
researchers are developing the new science of information dissemination and retrieval, skills that
are now a vital part of a librarian’s training.
Daring advances are now commonplace in the discipline of space communications. We have
learned to use the moon as a point from which signals can be ricocheted over vast distances.
Telestar, an earth satellite, has led to international television programs broadcast simultaneously
from one source to various places around the globe.
The first mark on an object, the first attempt to record and preserve a message, has led to
this age, in which we can scarcely do without the medium of writing.
VIII. QUESTIONS AND ACTIVITIES
1. The Japanese child must learn at least 2,000 symbols to be highly literate. It takes him most
of his public school years to learn them. How many years does it take an American child to
learn the alphabet? Who would you rather be: a Japanese child who must learn the alphabet
or an American child who must learn the symbols of Japanese writing?
2. Cite ten general spelling regularities in English. Cite ten words that do not conform to any
rule and must therefore be memorized.
3. What is shorthand? How does it differ from regular writing?
4. Why is it that solemn is spelled with a final n\ damn with a final n\ and sign with a final gnl
Are these spellings arbitrary or rule-governed?
5. Why is there so much emphasis in our culture on spelling correctly?
VIII. FOR FURTHER REFERENCE
Chomsky, Carol. 1970. “Reading, Writing, and Phonology.” Harvard Educational Review May,
40:287-309.
Diringer, D. 1948. The Alphabet. New York: Philosophical Library.
__ 1962. Writing. New York: Praeger.
Francis, W. Nelson. 1974. “Language, Speech, and Writing.” Spelling Progress Bulletin
14:00-00.
Garvin, Paul L., ed. 1963. Natural Language and the Computer. New York: McGraw-Hill.
Gelb, I. J. 1963. A Study of Writing. Rev. ed. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Hays, David G. 1967. Introduction to Computational Linguistics. New York: American
Elsevier.
Hockett, Charles F. 1958. A Course in Modern Linguistics. New York: MacMillan.
Irwin, Keith Gordon. 1958. Man Learns to Write. London: Dobson Books.
Kavanagh, James F. and Ignatius G. Mattingly, eds. 1972. Language by Ear and Eye.
Cambridge, Mass.: The MIT Press.
Mey, Jacob. 1971. “Computational Linguistics in the ‘Seventies.” Linguistics 74:36-61.
Venezky, Richard L. 1970. The Structure of English Orthography. The Hague: Mouton.
Walpole, Jane R. 1974. “Eye Dialect in Fictional Dialogue.” College Composition and
Communication 25:191-96.
Wang, William S-Y. 1973. “The Chinese Language.” Scientific American February, 228:50-63.
IX. Other Systems of Communication
GESTURES, BODY LANGUAGE, OR KINESiCS
In recent years much attention has been directed toward the variety of gestures people make.
While some gestures are universal to all cultures, others are unique to one. We might assume, for
instance, that the nodding of the head in an up-down motion means “yes” to all people, and
similarly that the shaking of the head from side to side means “no.” But in India the converse is
true: up-and-down means “no” and sideways means “yes.” In the United States we shrug our
shoulders if we are puzzled, slap our forehead if we forget, lift our eyebrows if we wish to
question the veracity of a statement or position, wink one eye for intimacy, and so on. A
fascinating study of gestures, or as it is technically called, kinesics, is to be found in Julius
Fast’s book, Body Language, and in E. T. Hall’s The Silent Language.
Meaning is conveyed in many non-verbal ways. We are all accustomed to divining another
person’s meaning without a word being spoken. The hero says to the heroine, “Don’t say
anything—I understand.” And we may drive along a road and suddenly see a sign; or arrive at a
busy intersection where the traffic officer makes a signal for us to stop, then signals when it is
safe to drive on. A car ahead makes a left turn, but before it does, the driver stretches out his
left arm and points in the direction in which he intends to go. This is communication, and yet
not a single word has been uttered. But that is not the extent of this kind of communication. A
wife strongly hints that she would like to go out, so her husband takes her to a movie, where
the ushers make signs to one another to find two seats together.
And this by no means exhausts the repertoire of ways in which messages can be sent. There
appears to be no language in which speakers do not make use of gestures, or pasimology, as it is
called. Athletic games such as baseball, boxing, and football have a definite set of hand symbols
understandable to participants from any part of our country. The American Indians often made
use of a code of gestures for intertribal conferences. In 1936 such a conference was called in
Oklahoma, and pictures as well as a record of the gestures used may be consulted in the
Smithsonian Institution in Washington.
We have all heard others, particularly southern Europeans and Mediterraneans, criticized
because “they talk with their hands.” E. T. Hall, an eminent anthropologist, points out in his
book The Silent Language that gestures are used by all peoples although they differ in form and
meaning. The classic example of this is that a wave of the hand with palms down means
“goodbye” or “go away” in America, but a wave of the hand with the palm up means “come
here’’-while just the opposite can be signified by these gestures in parts of Italy.
Although there is a myth that the Anglo-Saxon cultural pattern is undemonstrative this is
not really so. We gesticulate far more than we imagine. If we try to talk without making any
sort of movement of the hands, body, forehead, or face, we will probably soon find
communication almost impossible. Another revealing experiment is to turn on the television
118
Other Systems of Communication 119
*
but turn off the sound. You will notice that there is scarcely a moment when the actors do not
make some kind of non-verbal symbol.
A number of attempts have been made to harness gestural symbols to the task of helping
man solve his international communication problem. The most successful attempt so far has been
in the International Sign Language for Tourists devised by the late Stephen Streeter, a
Washington travel expert. This language consists of 72 symbols to express basic concepts such
as “I’m hungry,” “Send a doctor,” etc. A manual is available with explanations in nine world
languages.
In developing his International Sign Language, Streeter found that there were a number of
booby-traps. For example, he learned that one of his symbols meant “go to the devil” in Brazil,
while he was obliged to give a wide berth to others which might have been offensive to certain
religious and ethnic groups. The Silent Language gives many additional examples of how
ignorance of the symbols of various cultures causes misunderstanding even when we have
mastered the mechanics of the language involved.
In the Far East, there is the traditional dancing language of China, Korea, Japan, Vietnam,
Indochina, and Indonesia where hands, rather than feet (as in Western dancing), carry the
message. According to Mario Pei, a prolific writer on language subjects, there are in those
conventionalized gestures 200 symbols to express various states of love.
The Trappist monks, whose rule includes a particularly rigorous discipline of silence, have
developed an elaborate set of gesture symbols to enable them to carry on necessary
communication without speaking. This is, of course, a higher level of organization in the use of
gestures. Most gesture communication represents the largely unconscious accompaniment to
speech. We also find isolated conventional signs like the hitch-hiker’s thumbed request for a
ride. The football referee’s hand signals represent a small system of deliberately organized signs.
Most gesture systems are limited to use for special purposes. Only in a few cases do we find
basic communication carried out by gestural means, such as in the sign language of the deaf.
Normal conversation can be carried on with only occasional recourse to spelling out English
words by means of special alphabet-letter signals. An investigation into the functioning of this
system, using methods comparable to those employed in the investigation of spoken language,
has been inaugurated recently by the American linguist, William C. Stokoe, Jr., who says: “A
symbol system by means of which persons carry on all the activities of their ordinary lives is,
and ought to be treated as, a language.” He has recently published a dictionary of this language
and is in the process of bringing out other badly needed works.
People often ask why sign language did not originally develop instead of speech. Darwin
attempted an answer to this question by pointing out that it was a matter of efficiency,
basically, since gestural language demands the use of hands while oral speech leaves the hands
free for other tasks. Gestural language also requires light while oral speech can proceed in the
dark and at some distance from the person being addressed. It is obvious when one examines
the matter that, compared with oral speech, manual (and other systems of) communication has
many disadvantages which limit its range of expression. And of course it now appears likely
that man was born to speak.
CODES
One of the most interesting forms of language is the whistle speech of the natives of Gomera
in the Canary Islands, by which the islanders communicate for miles. Meanings in it are carried
by modulations in the whistling pattern. Similar systems have been reported as being in use in
the French Pyrenees and Haiti.
Another intriguing “language” is that of the drums, a standard medium of communication in
many parts of Africa south of the Sahara. So effective is this that natives are able to
communicate from one village to another through the drumbeats. From all indications,
however, the inroads of modem communication, including radio, loudspeakers, and television,
are taking their toll of these primitive systems of communication.
Drum signal messages often follow the tonal patterns of words they represent. Mazateco, a
language of Central America with an elaborately complicated tonal system, is also associated
with a form of whistle speech, in which ups and downs of pitch that ordinarily go with words
are whistled.
While systems such as these derive from the spoken language, others derive from writing;
Morse code and semaphore signals are examples. In these the basic units stand for letters of the
alphabet:
a b c d e
International Morse Code: •— ' *
Semaphore flag:
The Semaphore Signaling Code.
To this brief list may be added cable code and the international weather reporting code,
elaborated by the Methodological Division of International Civilian Aviation, which operated
according to five-figure groups.
Then there is the language of flowers, which, particularly in the days of chivalry, had
definite meanings according to how the flowers were arranged. In past centuries, flicking a fan
in a certain way had a definite meaning in the language of love. The language of bobby-soxers
from an era long past reflects a certain kind of communication: the bobby sox straight up
meant “available,” one fold meant “going steady,” rolled down meant “taken,” beads knotted
at the neck meant “dated,” and so on.
Engagement and wedding bands also exercise communicative functions. They have their
“grammar rules” too, for if a woman in America wears a certain type of ring on the third finger
of her left hand she is probably engaged or married. In certain African tribes marriageable girls
have definite styles of headdress and married women another. These are all systems in which
Other Systems of Communication 121
only a small number of possible messages need to be kept straight. Perhaps as most typical we
might cite the storm-warning flags hoisted at Coast Guard stations. Their meanings are: storm
winds from the northeast; storm winds from the northwest; storm winds from the southeast;
storm winds from the southwest; winds dangerous only to small craft; and HURRICANE!
^ n r 8
We can see that signaling systems exist all around us. Some we do not even suspect. For
example, beggars and vagabonds have a way in which they write on the walls of a house which
warns their brethren either to avoid or approach it: “hostile” or “soft touch.”
Codes can be, and actually are, devised constantly for special purposes. For instance, the
message of the fall of Troy was sent to Greece by lighting an immense fire on hill after hill. A
bonfire is still a symbol of “help, come rescue us” on land and sea. In a recent movie, police
planning a raid agreed on a series of symbols, the first of which was the Chief of Police lighting a
cigarette. Translated, the message was, “Begin the raid.” Of course, we all remember Paul
Revere’s famous lanterns: “One if by land and two if by sea.” Finally, graffiti, appearing often
in the most unexpected places, as well as in restrooms, run a wide gamut of messages and
sentiments, ranging from love and friendliness to pornography, hostility, and threats.
MORE DIFFUSE SYSTEMS
The pictorial form of communication is less tangible but very real. We all know the cliche
that a picture is worth a thousand words. Actually, pictures are messages. People who know art
can look at a picture, just as one listens to a speech or reads a letter, and interpret the message
through the various clues given. Art interpreters refer to clues given by color, texture, shadings,
tone, and arrangement. Abstract art was a reaction against the traditional pictorial realism and
favors paintings and designs that are abstract. Instead of delivering an unmistakable message, it
merely suggests objects, moods, or concepts. However, pictorial representation may be the
oldest written language known to man.
Music has also been called a language. Styles and patterns vary—as we quickly notice when
listening to native Chinese music consisting of only a few chords, as compared with the current
hard rock—but the musical scale is a real alphabet, understood by musicians throughout the
civilized world.
Music is even more symbolic than art and more subjective in interpretation, for the same
musical selection that communicates a sense of joy to one person may bring a message of
sorrow to his neighbor. The appeal of music is so universal that a 19th-century Frenchman
devised an international world language based on the musical scales, and called it “Solresol.” If
this language had persisted, we might today walk into a restaurant and sing out in Solresol, “A
hamburger with French fries and a malt, please.”
A language of fabrics is used by the cognoscenti in the textile field; and even today schools
in Japan teach the language or art of ikebana (flower arranging) and the language of the highly
ritualistic tea ceremony.
Each time that we stop for a traffic light we are responding to one of a vast complex of
non-verbal systems that we use to send messages to one another. We know that there are more
than 4,000 different verbal languages, and if it were possible to enumerate non-verbal systems
of communication, we might discover an even greater number.
IX. ACTIVITIES AND QUESTIONS
1. Describe ten gestures that accompany speaking, for instance, shrugging the shoulders.
2. How close can we get to a person when we are talking to him? Ask a person of another
language whether the distance is the same in his culture.
3. What sorts of gestures do children learn early?
4. What are some of the differences between male and female gestures?
5. Demonstrate five nonverbal ways that we can use to indicate that a person is
“out-of-his-mind.”
6. Are there any gestures that have more than one meaning?
IX. FOR FURTHER REFERENCE
Birdwhistell, Ray L. 1970. Kinesics and Contexts. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania

Press.
Burling, Robbins. 1970. Man’s Many Voices: Language in its Cultural Context. New York:
Holt, Rinehart and Winston.
Engel, Walburga von Raffler. 1975. “The Correlation of Gesture and Vocalizations in First
Language Acquisition,” in Adam Kendon, Mary Ritchie Key, and Richard M. Harris, eds:
Organization of Behavior in Face-to-Face Interaction. The Hague: Mouton.
Fast, Julius. 1970. Body Language. New York: M. Evans.

Green, Jerald R. 1968. A Gesture Inventory for the Teaching of Spanish. Philadelphia: Chilton
Books.
Key, Mary Ritchie. 1970. “Preliminary Remarks on Paralanguage and Kinesics in Human
Communication.” La Linguistique. 2:17-36.
Hall, Edward T. 1959. The Silent Language. New York: Doubleday.
Jakobson, Roman. 1972. “Motor Signs for ‘Yes’ and ‘No’.” Language in Society 1:91-96.
Ruesch, Jurgen and Weldon Kees. 1956. Non-Verbal Communications: Notes on the Visual
Perception of Human Relation. Berkeley: University of California Press.
X. One Language for the World?
THE LANGUAGE BARRIER
The Old Testament described the multiplicity of languages as an affliction visited upon
mankind, and history is replete with misunderstandings resulting from language barriers.
Examples are at hand: A Venezuelan shipper sends an order for automobile spare parts to
Italy—and is shipped tractor parts instead. The British Foreign Office uses the word requerir
(“to demand”) incorrectly—and the incensed French government demands an apology.
American tourists in a Far Eastern city attempt to communicate in sign language—and are
severely mauled because their gestures are interpreted as insults. People drown in a sea disaster
(the Andrea Doha) because they cannot understand rescue directions given in a language other
than their own.
Why not merely devise a universal language acceptable to all? Surely we were better off
during the Middle Ages, when everything of international importance was expressed in Latin.
And since then, a world language has been one of man’s most persistent dreams. No fewer than
600 plans for a universal language have been proposed by men and women seeking a solution to
the problems of communication. The parade of language planners has been a colorful and varied
one and has included learned scholars and dilettantes, scientists and even crackpots.
Descartes, for example, speculated about a language so perfect in its symbolism that it would
be impossible for human beings to err in it. In the 19th century a man named Sodre invented
Solresol, a universal language based on the musical scale. And in this century some scholars
devised Translingua Script, which makes use of numerical codes. For example, a tree would be
known in every country by the number 31 and a man by 10 and so on.
Several billion people have, however, remained blissfully unaffected by the hundreds of
schemes that have been devised to free them from their linguistic imbroglio. Most of the
languages that have been invented have never traveled much farther than the walls of the
inventor’s own study or at least beyond a handful of devotees. Only a few of the remainder
have made any kind of impact at all.
VOLAPUK
The first constructed language to enjoy mass appeal was Volapuk, devised in 1879 by a
German monsignor by the name of Johann Martin Schleyer, a man whose linguistic prowess
became legendary—he was reputed to have spoken more than 70 languages. Schleyer created
Volapuk (meaning “world speech”) out of English, French, German, and the Romance
languages, with reliance upon his native German as a source of word basis. The Lord’s Prayer in
Volapuk appeared as follows:
O Fat obas, kel binol in sills, paisaludomoz nem ola! Komomod monargan ola!
Jenomoz vil olik, as in sill i su tal! Bodi obsik vadeliki givolos obes adelo! E
123
pardolos obes debis obsik, as id obs aipardobs debeles obas. E no obis nindukolas in
tentadi; sed aidalivolos obis de bad. Jenosdd!
Volapiik appeared at a time when the world was particularly receptive to a world language.
It was the rage of Europe from 1879 to 1889, and societies were formed in which pastry cooks
hobnobbed with archdukes in a fraternal effort to master the new “world” language. In the
United States, the American Philosophical Society (founded by Benjamin Franklin) considered
supporting the language, but eventually decided that it was too difficult. Some Parisian
department stores even gave their sales personnel lessons in the new language.
The success of Volapiik was, however, shortlived, largely because of the difficulty of its
grammar, with complicated case-endings and a sound system that included the front round
vowels, symbolized in German by u and d. The language collapsed in 1889 at an international
conference of Volapiik speakers when enthusiasts, attempting to deliver speeches in the
language, found it too “cumbersome” to use.
ESPERANTO
After Volapiik, a new language appeared -Esperanto, the creation of Dr. Lukwik Zamenhof,
a Polish doctor reared in the city of Bialystok where Poles, Lithuanians, Ukrainians, Germans,
Russians, and Jews lived together in uneasy hostility. The idealistic doctor came to feel that the
basis of tension among peoples resulted from language, and that a universal language would
bring peace and understanding.
Zamenhof based his international language on English, German, and the Romance languages,
with the heaviest reliance on the latter. Profiting from the experience of Volapiik, Zamenhof
aimed—quite successfully, we believe—at utmost simplicity in designing Esperanto. Neverthe¬
less, Professor Richard E. Wood of Adelphi University, a leading linguist, polyglot and
Esperantist, observes that the language is only Romance-Germanic in basic word stock,
although it follows a largely independent pattern in word-formation processes, the coining of
compound words, and the like. He adds, moreover, that, “the philosophical basis of Esperanto
is independent (as was that of Volapiik) rather than neo-Romance.”
The rules of Esperanto can actually be learned in a few hours. To learn to use the language is
quite another matter, however. The sound system is familiar for most Indo-European speakers
and difficult for speakers of many Oriental and African languages.
Here is a sample of Esperanto:
Esperanto English
La astronomo, per speciala teleskopo foto- The astronomer, by means of a special

grafas la sunon, la lunon, kaj la planedojn. telescope, photographs the sun, the moon,
and the planets.
Modernaj delikataj instrumentoj permesas
la detalan ekzamenon de la strukturo de la Modern, delicate instruments permit the
atomo. detailed examination of the structure of
the atom.
La teorio de Einstein, la nova principo de
relativeco, presentas komplikan prob- The Einstein theory, the new principle of
lemon. relativity, presents a complex problem.
A few degrees greater in difficulty is the following technical passage, furnished by Professor
Margaret Hagler of Lincoln Land Community College, Springfield, Illinois:
One Language for the World? 125
Esperanto
Ekologio estas la fako de biologio pri reciprokaj rilatoj inter vivantaj

organismoj—kaj plantoj kaj animaloj —kaj ties cirkauajoj. Modernaj ekologistoj
emfazis la studadon de la rilatoj de homaroj al iliaj naturaj kaj urbaj cirkauajoj.
Ekologistoj asertas, ke la evoluo de moderna teknologio okazigis grandajn
avantagojn, sed ankah pliigis malpurigon de la aero, akvo, kaj grundo. Tamen la
eldono de ekologiaj esploradoj igis plej grandan publikan scion de la graveco de tia
fako.
English
Ecology is the field of biology concerned with relationships between living

organisms—plant and animal—and their environments. Modern ecologists have
emphasized the study of the relationship of human beings to their natural and
urban surroundings. Ecologists point out that the development of modern
technology has brought great benefits, but has also caused increased pollution of
the air, water, and soil. However, publication of ecological research has led to
greater public knowledge of the importance of this field.
Today, almost 85 years since its genesis and 67 years after the first Esperanto World
Congress, which ushered in the period of its practical use, Esperanto remains alive. But many
students consider it to be more of a philosophical movement than a language. Still, each year,
Esperantists hold a Universal Congress. A wide range of programs in cultural and social activities
is offered, as well as several score of specialized conferences, all in the internacia lingvo. In
many places in the world, the wearer of the Esperantists’ green badge (green for hope) can rely
upon fellow members for assistance in getting around. At the various World’s Fairs, for
instance, Esperanto interpreters are available along with those in national languages.
One of the co-authors of this book was invited to participate in a newly formed “Seminar on
Esperanto Language and Literature and Interlanguages,” as part of the annual meeting of the
prestigious Modem Language Association of America, held in New York in December, 1972;
the seminar was attended by more than 50 persons, which gave evidence of the rather
remarkable vigor of the Esperanto movement. The participants included a number of
well-known linguists, and discussions were conducted on the future of Esperanto (and other
interlanguages), on literary production in the language, and on the development of teaching
programs. A modest number of high schools and colleges in this country offer the language,
though mostly not for credit.
One of the more interesting papers at the seminar was that of Howard P. French, a professor
of German at Southern Illinois University, whose remarks on “Esperanto and Academic
Respectability” emphasized the need for a more scholarly image of the movement. Following
French’s paper, Margaret Hagler addressed herself to “Esperanto as a Poetic Medium.” Finally,
William Solzbacher, a policy officer at the Voice of America, pointed out that more than 50
scholarly publications in 15 countries now publish articles or summaries in Esperanto, and
about 145 periodicals are printed entirely in the language. Fifteen radio stations in Rome,
Vienna, Warsaw, Sofia, Valencia, Peking, Stoke-on-Trent, and Berne broadcast programs in
Esperanto. In the 1960s the Voice of America employed Esperanto in four series of shortwave
programs and received almost 2,000 letters in Esperanto from 91 countries. From one count,
Esperanto is taught in at least 700 schools in 40 countries. When the University of Leningrad,
years ago, broke a long-standing ban and announced classes in Esperanto, there was a surge of
appli cants.
Esperanto organizations today number about 110,000 actual members. Esperanto remains
the only interlanguage that can claim a considerable literature, with some 8,400 titles that
include original works as well as translations of the Bible, the Divine Comedy, and even Winnie
the Pooh, recently translated by Professor Humphrey Tankin, former vice provost for
Undergraduate Education at the University of Pennsylvania.
The seeming vitality of Esperanto is perhaps best reflected by the variety of spoken and
written uses to which it continues to be put. The official Finnish tourist agency put out a guide
to Finland in Esperanto, and the International Confederation of Free Syndicates in Paris
distributes a pamphlet in this language. The July 11, 1966, issue of Business Abroad, a Dun and
Bradstreet publication, in its article, “How European Businessmen Use Esperanto,” pointed out
that the Volkswagen, Gevaert, Philips, and Fiat concerns, as well as KLM Dutch Airlines, find
Esperanto valuable for printed advertising matter. Recently, two publishers, E. P. Dutton in
New York and the Channing Bete Company of Greenfield, Massachusetts, have reacted to an
interest in Esperanto by preparing various new materials in it. The latter firm has produced a
14-hour cassette course.
As the above may suggest, Esperanto is intended to cut across ethnic, political, religious, and
ideological boundaries. Its proponents point to the argument of its founder Zamenhof that its
use shows neither favoritism nor prejudice to any politico-social group. They feel that, since it
is not tied to any specific nationality, state, or culture, Esperanto has an advantage over
culture-bound languages. Finally, they deny the notion that it seeks to replace national and
ethnic languages, but declare that it merely provides a needed auxiliary communicative tool.
INTERLINGUA
As inevitably occurs, one group after another has broken away from Esperanto to form
offshoots, such as Ido, Novial, and Occidental. Nevertheless, none of these has ever made much
progress.
The only language that has seriously challenged Esperanto is Interlingua, presented to the
world by the late American linguist Dr. Alexander Gode, whose work over a period of 20 years
was supported by Mrs. Alice Vanderbilt Morris, who believed in a world language.
Interlingua is what its founder calls an “extracted” rather than a “derived” language. This
means that a given word is generally taken in toto and subjected to little or no modification.
Other constructed languages have generally altered words considerably to make them conform
to prescribed patterns. The Interlingua vocabulary is taken from French, Italian, Spanish,
English, and, to a much lesser extent, German and Russian. Only words that appear in at least
three of these languages are adopted. When no word meets this requirement, a word is usually
taken from Latin. Gode made attempts to construct the language as carefully as possible in an
effort to arrive at what he calls “standard average European.” Interlinguists claim that the
language can be read with little or no previous study by educated persons. Its structure
resembles Esperanto and can be learned in a few hours. A book comparing the difficulties of
these two languages recently appeared. It was written by an Esperantist, and, not surprisingly,
his conclusions were favorable to Esperanto.
Here is an example of Interlingua:
In terlingua English
Professor H. Oberth, un del pioneros in le Professor H. Oberth, one of the pioneers in
campo del rochetteria scientific in Ger¬ the field of scientific rocketry in Germany
mania e plus recentemente un associato de and more recently an associate of Dr. W.
Dr. W. von Braun in su recercas de rocche- von Braun in his research on rocketry at
teria al arsenal Redstone in Alabama, ha the Redstone Arsenal in Alabama, has
elaborate un vehiculo adoptate al explora¬ elaborated plans for a vehicle adapted for
tion del luna. Un tal vehiculo debe esser lunar exploration. Such a vehicle must be
capace a superar le difficultates extra- capable of overcoming the extraordinary
ordinari del terreno e del ambiente del luna difficulties of the terrain and surroundings
que es characterisate per le absentia de of the moon, characterized by the absence
omne atmosphere, per un gravitate of any atmosphere, by reduced gravity, by
reducite, per extrememente acute altera- extremely sharp changes of temperature,
tiones de temperatura, e per un superficie and by a more dusty surface than any
plus pulverose que ullo cognoscite in terra. known on earth.
For the present at least, the aims of Interlingua are more modest than those of Esperanto.
No real attempt has been made to promote it as a spoken language, although one of the authors
heard and even understood a talk given in it at a meeting of the Modern Language Association
of America. Its First objective is to gain acceptance as a medium of scientific and scholarly
communication. It has done quite well in the 20 years of its existence, and by now, 20 journals
make use of Interlingua, mostly for summaries. The Interlingua Division of Science Service,
Inc., in Washington, D.C., attempts to promote Interlingua by offering to provide summaries
and abstracts in that language for specialized journals and resumes for conferences of
international research significance. (This organization also publishes an Interlingua version of
Science News Letter.) By now there are several newsletters in Interlingua for subdisciplines in
which no specific periodicals are available.
According to Gode, “The community of those who can be reached through Interlingua
includes anyone with fair or full qualifications to grasp the technical import of the same
message if presented in either French, Italian, Spanish, English, Greek, or Latin. In many
scientific disciplines this makes for the possibility of complete and world-wide coverage through
Interlingua ... on the basis of what the reader knows and has known all along by virtue of his
professional training.”
Archibald A. Hill, in an article in Texas Quarterly, reviewed the status of constructed and
simplified languages. Hill, who entitled his paper “Esperanto au Dubitanto” (“Hope or Doubt,”
in Esperanto), feels that a serious shortcoming of all the contenders so far is their failure to
embody new insights and understandings from recent linguistic theory, particularly as regards
phonological and suprasegmental features. Hill grants, however, that these constructed
languages have a utility in limited-scope communicative tasks, such as serving as the language
for learned and scientific papers at multilingual conferences. He concludes, though, that:
“Auxiliary languages are not now, and to me seem unlikely ever to become, substitutes for
natural languages, the media in which men have always expressed everything that is important
to them. In an age when communication in depth, reaching into all levels of cultural activity, is
a necessity for survival, anything which discourages us from the hard labor of language and
culture study by offering a simple and easy kind of ersatz is a genuine and serious peril.” This
view by a respected linguist should temper all future attempts to construct artificial languages.
At the present time, the principal moving spirit of the Interlingua movement is Frank
Esterhill, Executive Director of the Interlingua Institute in New York City (P.O. Box 126,
Canal Street Station), where activities appear to be concentrated. He edits the Interlingua
Institute Newsletter, performs translations and summaries (mostly of scientific work) and,
possessing a knowledge of modern linguistics, appears frequently at scholarly conferences, or at
panels where the relative merits of Esperanto and Interlingua are debated. Interlingua has been
offered in the Division of General Education of York University and elsewhere.
OTHER APPROACHES
Another method of arriving at an artificial international auxiliary language has been

suggested to the authors. The Russian linguist N. D. Andreyev believes that intermediary
languages containing most of the features shared by the major natural languages will necessarily
be developed in work on machine translation done by electronic computers. When the ideal
intermediate language has been devised, Andreyev feels that it will be usable for human
international communication.
Another suggestion recommends the simplification of existing languages. The best known of
these attempts has resulted in Basic English, devised by the British philosopher, C. K. Ogden,
and promoted in America by I. A. Richards. With its limited vocabulary of 800 words and 16
general-purpose verbs, “Basic” may sound easy. In reality, however, we have found that it
requires skill to manipulate this small stock of words so that complex concepts may be
expressed. Even to say “The watermelon tastes good,” we are required to say, “The large,
round, sweet vegetable has a good taste.” Basic English reached its peak during World War II
when it received a strong endorsement from Prime Minister Winston Churchill and the British
Government.
Here is a sample of Basic English:
King James Bible (Acts 4:32)

Basic English (New Testament)
And the multitude of them that believed
And all those who were of the faith were were of one heart and one soul: neither
one in heart and soul: and not one of them said any of them that ought of the things
said that any of the things which he had which he possessed was his own; but they
was his property only; but they had all had all things common. . . . Neither was
things in common. . . . And no one among there any among them that lacked: for as
them was in need; for everyone who had many as were possessors of lands or houses
land or houses, exchanging them for sold them, and brought the prices of the
money, took the price of them, and put it things that were sold, and laid them down
at the feet of the Apostles for distribution at the apostles’ feet: and distribution was
of everyone as he had need. made unto every man according as he had
need.
While Basic English appears to have lost the support of the British Government, the Voice of
America’s Special English (also with an 800-word vocabulary) has made some inroads. For
example, in various parts of the world (such as San Andreas Island, Colombia, where Spanish is
the language of instruction) people can learn English from those broadcasts. (Vocabularies and
explanatory material are available to listeners upon request from the Voice of America
headquarters in Washington.)
And progress has been made by the Federal Aviation Agency with Basic or Special English
for international aviation communication, since its short vocabulary is useful for limited
conversations such as those between air and ground. Unfortunately, the use of English in any
form presents problems. Certain phonemes, such as /{/ and /s/ (both fricatives), do not transmit
well and can be confused. Monosyllables, as in the case of five and nine, can be confused also.
Moreover, there is scarcely an English phoneme that is not difficult to pronounce for one
language group or another. Scandinavians have trouble with /j7 and the Japanese with /l/ and
/r/.
Some scholars have vigorously opposed “constructed” or “simplified” languages, and
advocate that a number of natural languages can assume the position of a world language. These
languages include French, English, German, Russian, Spanish, Italian, Greek, Chinese, Latin,
Hebrew, and even Yiddish. Only French and English have any real chance of acceptance in the
Western world, because these two languages are actually functioning as second or foreign
languages on almost every continent.
OTHER ATTEMPTS
Codes are being devised in other disciplines as well. Specialists in documentation, concerned
with the worldwide collection and retrieval of information, have made increasing use of data
processing machines and have developed international codes and symbols to control greater
amounts of information than ever before.
One of the challenging by-products of “intelligent machine” research is the development of
an international computer language. According to Bell Telephone research scientist John R.
Pierce, an international computer language would consist of various forms of an “artificial,
unambiguous, logical, mathematical language” understandable to all computer programmers.
Development of a “metalanguage,” which would not be read or spoken by anyone but
would merely be usable by computers that would “read” and “translate” it into any language
desired, may become a possibility. Walter Sullivan, writing in the October 11, 1971, New York
Times, discussed the World Science Information System (UNISIST) in Paris. He touched upon
its aim to “bring the many national and international systems for processing information into
line so that information recorded for storage in one computer system can be fed into any
other.” At that same meeting, Dr. Harris Brown, foreign secretary of the National Academy of
Sciences, pointed out that today’s researcher is confronted by more than 35,000 journals in at
least 50 languages, with the likelihood that in the future, he might have to reckon with
8,000,000 fellow investigators and a pool of 350,000 scientific and technical journals in various
foreign languages.
PROSPECTS
And so the search continues. Esperanto and Interlingua advocates argue that their
“languages” are easy to learn. They point out that since these “languages” are not identified
with any specific nation, they are free of political overtones that make other languages—for
instance, English and French—unacceptable to some countries, particularly the small, new
nations. Yet, languages that are not rooted in a specific nation deprive their learners of access to
the rich cultural heritage that the major languages afford. Others argue that a natural language
such as English, German, Arabic, Russian, and Chinese is well worth learning since it provides
access not only to a major culture but also to millions of people.
What remains of the prospects for a universally acceptable auxiliary language? Mario Pei, in
his One Language for the World, says the answer will not come through creating new, artificial
languages, since some natural languages are adequate for the task. Pei proposed that an
international conference be called to discuss the merits of a number of languages and that one
be adopted. Each nation would then pledge itself to teach that language in its school system.
Pei believes that the world would become bilingual within a generation, and that bilingualism
would sweep away many of the barriers that plague international communication today.
Since this second language would be taught mainly to children, the difficulties that adults
might experience in learning it would not be a consideration. Pei suggests, for that reason,
Mandarin Chinese—written in an alphabet—as his choice, however unlikely it might have seemed
in yesterday’s political situation. Although Pei sent copies of his book containing these
suggestions to the heads of many governments, there has been no wholesale movement to date
to take concerted action on this matter.
X. QUESTIONS AND ACTIVITIES
1. Children as well as adults can, if taught, learn a rule that will enable them to make English
“deviant.” “Pig Latin” is a deviation. Have someone demonstrate “Pig Latin and then
attempt to extrapolate the rule that is learned. What must an English speaker know to speak
“Pig Latin?”
2. Why do certain languages become world languages? For example, French was often called
“the language of diplomacy.”
3. In Viet Nam, French was the second language, at least of the intelligentsia. Why?
4. In South Africa, Afrikaans is the official language. How did Afrikaans become the official
language of an African state?
5. Is Esperanto growing in popularity or decreasing? What is your view of the future of

“languages” like Esperanto?
6. What language would you propose as a world language? Why?
X. FOR FURTHER REFERENCE
Connor, George Alan, D. T. Connor, and William Solzbacher. 1948. Esperanto: The World
Inter-Language. New York: Bechhurst Press.
Descartes, Rene. 1966. The Meditations and Selections from the Principles of Rene Descartes.
John Veitch, translator. La Salle, Ill.: The Open Court Publishing Company.
Encyclopaedia Britannica. 11th ed. 1910-11. “Universal Languages.”
Greenberg, Joseph, ed. 1966. Universals of Language. 2nd ed. Cambridge, Mass.: M.I.T. Press.
Hill, Archibald A. 1960. “Esperanto au Dubitanto.” Texas Quarterly 3:150-55.
Pei, Mario. 1961. One Language for the World. New York: Devin-Adair.
Samarin, W. J. 1962. “Lingua Francas, with Special Reference to Africa,” in Frank A. Rice,
ed.: Study of the Role of Second Languages in Asia, Africa, and Latin America. Washington:
Center for Applied Linguistics.
White, Ralph G. 1972. “Toward the Construction of a Lingua Humana.” Current Anthropology
13:113-23.
XI. Implications and Applications:
Social, Political, and Educational Consequences
INDIA
“Language Riots in Assam! Scores Killed! Forty People Die! 40,000 Flee!”
It may be hard to believe the headlines printed in the international press in July 1960,
concerning a region that many of us never knew existed. The speakers of Assamese (comprising
about half of the nine million population of Assam) were rebelling against what they considered
to be domination by persons of Bengali origin. When demands for adoption of Assamese as the
official state language were not met by the Delhi government, the streets ran wild. The violence
lasted for more than two months, and frantic appeals for national unity echoed throughout the
land.
Bloodshed over language differences may startle us, yet from time immemorial people have
been willing to risk their lives to defend ethnic and language rights. Language riots, we can see,
are often the simple result of the competition among different language communities for
predominance. Attachment to one’s native language is a universal characteristic, and
emotionalism is likely to flare up when one group is convinced that its language and culture are
receiving less recognition and status than another. At the present time, when so many peoples
are demanding self-determination, language rights have become one of the most visible issues of
the day.
There is probably no greater example of the kinds of linguistic problems which exist than
those of the Indian subcontinent. In 1946, after Great Britain released its hold on India, this
vast area split into Pakistan and India. The language problem was immediate because of the
number of languages and dialects which abound in that region. A sequel was recently written as
the predominantly Bengali-speaking East Pakistan (or a large portion of it) broke away from
Pakistan and became the new nation of Bangladesh.
Estimates of the number of major languages and dialects spoken today on the Indian
subcontinent range as high as 500. However, after many years of British rule, English has
become a convenient interlanguage, used both to communicate with people from other regions
and to conduct official business; in reality, though, only an elite minority of about five percent
are able to speak English. Independence gave the various language groups an opportunity to
press their claims, while at the same time plans were being made by the government to abandon
English entirely.
We believe that a glance at the diversified linguistic picture of the Indian subcontinent is
essential if we are to gauge its import in other areas. No fewer than five main language families
exist: Aryan or Indie (Indo-European), Dravidian, Munda, Tibeto-Chinese, and Mon-Khmer; for
years the speakers of these languages have eyed one another with hostility. The largest and
apparently the most important language family is Aryan, which has existed in India for the last
3,000 years and to which ancient Sanskrit and modern Hindi both belong. Dravidian is second
131
in importance, covering roughly most of southern India and including the separate languages of
Tamil, Telugu, Kanarese, and Malayalam. The speakers of Munda are much more economically
primitive than the Aryans and Dravidians, although there is reason to believe that they may
have been the first inhabitants of the subcontinent. The Tibeto-Chinese and the Mon-Khmer are
fairly recent arrivals and are small in number and influence.
When India became independent, the government declared Hindi to be the overall “union”
language, but it also granted official status to twelve other important regional languages of the
country: Assamese, Bengali, Gujarati, Kannada (Kanarese), Kashmiri, Malayalam, Marathi,
Oriya, Punjabi, Tamil, Telugu, and Urdu. In addition, Sanskrit enjoys official status and is
employed as a classical lingua franca among highly educated Hindus. English exists, in effect, as
a co-partner with Hindi as an interlanguage.
The preferred position given to Hindi, however, provoked linguistic jealousy among the
Dravidians in the south. Even other Aryan speakers, such as the Bengalis, who think of
themselves as the cultural leaders of India, felt that they had been forced to take the proverbial
back seat. In Pakistan, the choice of Urdu, although acceptable in West Pakistan, was
questioned in East Pakistan (from which it was separated by almost 1,000 miles), where Bengali
was the vernacular. By now, of course, as a result of bloody conflict, chronicled in detail in the
world press, the independent nation of Bangladesh has been created in East Pakistan, with
Bengali remaining as the official language.
If there was, however, a single point which all linguistic factions agreed upon, it was that
English must be replaced as the official language. (India in its constitution had committed
itself to displacing English by 1960 while Pakistan specified no date.) But this was easier in
theory than in practice as both countries find themselves today still leaning heavily on the
language of their former British rulers.
Not so many years ago when Russian Premier Khrushchev visited India, he repeated the
slogan, “Hindi Rusi Bhai bhai,” or, “Indians and Russians are brothers.” His listeners,
particularly in the south, appeared confused because few could understand what he had said.
And even in India’s north, a considerable part of the population is not able to understand
Hindi. Professor W. Norman Brown of the University of Pennsylvania noted at an educational
conference in Pakistan that delegates from Bangladesh frequently complained that they could
not understand speeches in Urdu. That this should obtain should not surprise us, however.
There are also tremendous obstacles to be overcome whenever the use of a new language is
extended to old fields. All terminology, all reference books, all written precedents cannot be
erased, forgotten, or translated overnight. It also should not surprise us that in India the courts,
except on the lower levels, conduct their business even today in English only. Though
terminology can be coined or borrowed from Sanskrit or Persian, it would be so new and
unfamiliar that much of it would have little immediate meaning to its listeners. Indian and
Pakistani lexicographers have simply not been able to coin and popularize new vocabulary
rapidly enough to keep up with the needs of the country and its growing industrialization and
intellectual development. Even in the universities, professors resort to the use of English almost
entirely in their courses.
Insight into some of the major problems associated with multilingualism is treated in a field
study by John Gumperz of the University of California. He studied at firsthand the languages
spoken in a fairly typical Indian village whose inhabitants, mostly illiterate or barely
semiliterate, could speak a Hindi dialect. Yet they had difficulty in understanding technical
presentations and lectures by speakers of the Hindi dialect spoken in Delhi. He found that few
persons listened to the All India Radio news broadcasts because of their inability to understand
the dialect and the terminology. India’s Community Development Project is striving to mitigate
these obstacles. Gumperz’ study, however, illustrates how the striving for literacy may
complicate the task of “language engineering” involved in. encouraging or even requiring the use
of one language by all the people of a nation state.
Implications and Applications: Social, Political, and Educational Consequences 133
Selig S. Harrison may be slightly overstating his case when he comments in his book, India:
The Most Dangerous Decades, that “Unless central educational controls can assure sufficient
learning in English or unless Hindi is taught on a scale which now seems unimaginable, it is
entirely possible that India will be led in not too many years by a generation of bureaucrats and
politicians literally unable to talk meaningfully to one another on a national stage.”
In the meantime, the linguistic cauldron continues to boil. For example, a few years ago in
Orissa, state police were forced to use tear gas to disperse mobs, while other demonstrators
stopped trains in Madras state. And in central India, upon learning that language problems were
to be discussed, groups of demonstrators broke into the legislature of Madhya Pradesh state,
throwing stones, articles of clothing, paper files, and miscellaneous objects at the legislators.
Several years ago the Sikhs, a sect numbering five million in Punjab province, agitated for
their language rights. Fearing that they would be swallowed up by Hindi speakers, they
continued to clamor for greater use of Punjabi, emphasizing their point with planned
demonstrations.
The Sikhs finally settled for a language formula in which their native language, Punjabi,
written in a special alphabet called Gurmukhi, would be used in grade school, while in the later
school years Hindi would be the language of instruction. But conservative leaders, including
Arya Samaj, preaching “Hindi for Indians,” noisily protested this policy.
Many Indian students have expressed concern that India may dangerously weaken itself by
granting too many small groups linguistic and cultural autonomy; they fear that India may fall
prey to the dread specter of “balkanization,” the splitting of a country into a patchwork of
ineffectual rival groups, all competing for power. This fear, even with the recent disappearance
of democratic government, remains strong today.
The states of the Indian subcontinent are finding it necessary to depend heavily on English
in communicating not only with one another but with the rest of the world as well. There has
not yet been time enough to translate texts and reference books. For this reason a special
committee on higher education in India has steadily warned against a tendency on the part of
the universities to replace English as a medium of instruction before these universities are
equipped sufficiently to carry on instruction in the native languages. This same committee also
pointed out that it is in the national interest to retain English as the second language in all
universities, that any change should proceed in gradual stages, and that the government ought
to provide for a proper foundation in English for secondary school students who plan to attend
a university. Yet, English as a medium of instruction has virtually disappeared from the
elementary and secondary schools, being retained only as a foreign language. While India’s
universities vary, in most cases there is a trend toward the increased use of regional languages.
Why, we may ask, does India appear unwilling to adopt English as a second language? The
answer appears quite simple. It is primarily a matter of national or ethnic pride. To the people
of the Indian subcontinent, English will always be the language of their former conqueror, the
British Empire. At the same time, the Hindus, at least, have not forgotten that India has
produced a highly advanced civilization and a philosophy and literature written in Sanskrit, the
parent of modern Hindi-Urdu.
ISRAEL
Perhaps an even more striking example of language planning exists in Israel, with its
immigrants from some 70 countries. Hebrew, a language not spoken for millennia, was
“revived” and made the official language, an action related to the Israelis’ consciousness of their
past, a regard for the role of Hebrew in the development of Judeo-Christian tradition, and a
desire to avoid any language reminiscent of former persecutors. Naturally, new terminology has
to be coined or borrowed, but structure and basic vocabulary remain the same as in the Old
Testament. Hebrew began to be “modernized” in the late 19th century and was becoming
“sociologically complete” by the time it was officially adopted in 1946. Now used in all phases
of life, it is probably one of the most rapid cases in history of the adoption of a language by a
whole nation. English, however, is still spoken by virtually all educated people in Israel.
IRELAND
In decided contrast, however, is the sad case of modern Ireland, or Eire, which, on achieving
independence in the 1920s, declared Irish Gaelic, spoken by only a small group in a few counties,
co-official with English and a compulsory school subject. Societies have been formed in Eire to
further the use of Irish. Literary competitions have been arranged and folk festivals are
organized by the government. Nevertheless, while feeling no less Irish, the citizens of Ireland
apparently do not feel a strong need for the ancestral language. It is doubtful that Irish Gaelic
will ever replace English, which, although spoken by Cromwell and other anti-Irish Britishers,
has been the principal language of Ireland since the 16th century and earlier.
AFRICA
Even though the Irish continue to employ English rather than the older Irish Gaelic, we still
maintain that language—like religion—can become a symbol of solidarity or even emancipation
when a people feel insecure, threatened, and unprotected; as, for instance, appears to be the
case in parts of Africa, where today the flame of nationalism burns brightly. The desire for
self-government brings political groups forward with demands for independence and the right to
provide education in a native African language.
Africa south of the Sahara Desert represents a startling linguistic enigma. A few years ago an
editor of an African daily was beaten in Uganda for using the “wrong” forms of the Luganda
dialect, which had shortly before been standardized. This incident reflects the emotionalism
attached to matters of language on that continent, where countries are desperately seeking a
common language with which to communicate with their citizens, their neighbors, and the
world.
The immensity of the language problems encountered in Africa can be grasped if we glance
at a linguistic map of the continent. South of the Sahara alone there are 800 distinct languages.
Instead of the neat, monolithic language families found in areas of western Europe or Latin
America or even in India, the number of dialects and languages here may remind us of a crazy
quilt. What makes matters even more difficult is that there are no languages which are spoken
by a majority of the population. Swahili and Hausa, two of the larger language groups, are
spoken by approximately eight percent of the population. In large parts of Africa many tribes
in neighboring villages can communicate only through French, English, or in some instances,
Portuguese or Arabic.
No one is more aware than Africans themselves of the obstacles confronting them in their
quest for political solidarity, respectability, and technological progress. Nations such as those in
Africa can neglect major Western languages at their technological peril, for according to some
recent UNESCO figures, approximately 70 percent of all scientific writing is in French,
German, and English, with English accounting for 62 percent of the total. Sociologist Janet
Roberts remarks that, “The scientific and technical material needed to convert basically
agricultural states to industrial nations is largely restricted to three or four languages, including
Russian, in which a growing bulk of research is being printed.”
Yet technological progress is only one face of the coin; the other is that of political,
economic, and social solidarity, which is even more difficult to achieve when mutual
intelligibility is not present, a fact recognized by Africa’s leaders. On the eve of Ghana’s
independence, President Kwame Nkrumah said before that country’s Parliament, “One of the
most obvious difficulties which faces Africa south of the Sahara is the multiplicity of languages
and dialects. Every one of us in this Assembly today has to conduct parliamentary business in a
language which is not his own. I sometimes wonder how well the House of Commons in the
United Kingdom, or the Senate of the United States, would manage if they suddenly found that
they had to conduct their affairs in French or Spanish.”
Let us glance for a moment at Ghana’s linguistic composite. Its six and a half million
people speak approximately 100 different languages, six of which are spoken by sizable
populations. These are Twi, with almost three million, and Dagari, Ewe, Ga, Moshi-Dagbande,
and Nzema, none of which is used by more than a quarter of a million people, while Hausa is
understood in some areas as a lingua franca. Viewing this linguistic mosaic, the newly created
state decided to adopt English as its official language. English is used in governmental and
commercial situations with native languages employed for more informal exchange. Never¬
theless, only a tiny minority, or an estimated 120,000, speak English, comprising an elite that
has access to leadership and professional advancement.
If the African states are to become bilingual or trilingual, assuming that English or French
will continue to be spoken, which native languages are to be selected? Here it is almost
impossible to make choices without treading on tribal and group sensitivities. For example, the
Nandis and Kipsigis of Kenya speak mutually intelligible languages but have refused to accept
literature in the other’s language because they “could not understand it.” A committee
established to solve this problem soon realized that the lack of comprehension stemmed from
political rather than linguistic causes, and gave them both equal status under the blanket term
“Kalenjin.”
In Uganda, a mission committee attempted to solve the language problem of a northern
province in which tribes refused to communicate with one another despite great similarity in
languages. It created a composite language only to have one tribe whose language differed
greatly reject it completely. Finally, the language did come into use and was known as the
“church language.” The Baganda of Uganda are extremely jealous and refuse to allow any other
language to be given preference over their native Luganda, which at present shares official status
with English. It is not strange, therefore, that even in Uganda, where political parties have had
20 years of experience under British tutelage, that Minister of Agriculture Joseph Mukasa once
termed tribalism the greatest threat to that country.
It would not surprise us if the emerging African governments, themselves sensitive to
problems of self-determination, were eager to accord as much autonomy as possible to separate
ethnic groups and their languages. There have been some steps in this direction. Nigeria, for
example, has been allowing regional governments to establish advisory councils for the ethnic
minorities which before independence were demanding the creation of autonomous states. But
there exists in this practice the danger of “balkanization.” The number of languages in Africa
obviously both aids and abets this threat. In Nigeria itself, an unsuccessful attempt to secede
and establish an Ibo-speaking independent Biafra took place, and a certain number of Ibos in
exile have not yet given up these aspirations.
There are at least two contradictory forces at work in Africa today. One is tribalism (or
pluralism) and the other is nationalism. Africa’s leaders vary, which means that views of
self-determination for ethnic groups vary. For example, Nkrumah, Ghana’s late “Osafegyo,”
favored pluralism, while Julius Nyerere, Prime Minister of Tanzania, stood opposed and urged
unification.
All African states are striving for an ideal termed “Africanization”—in practice the replacing
of Europeans by Africans in as many technical, social, and political positions as possible. But
the accomplishment of this task depends greatly upon two factors—ability to speak and write a
Western language, and education.
It is for reasons like these that “neutral” languages are of special interest. A few years ago
Professor Gilbert Ansre of the University of Ghana at Accra conducted a language poll at his
university. Of his respondents, almost 100 percent favored the continued use of English as the
official language. Queries about other choices were inconclusive, with at least one student giving
a reply that might be typical of the thinking of many young Africans. He said, “I won’t like my
language not to be chosen.”
Other neutral possibilities in Africa are the pidgins and creoles. The best known is Swahili, a
lingua franca which developed from a pidgin used by Arab slave traders and native Bantu
peoples. There are 19 different dialects of Swahili today, with the recognized standard that of
Zanzibar, erstwhile center of the slave traffic. But since it is not a tribal language, it is accepted
as a useful means of communication in all of East Africa (although its former association with
the slave trade still makes it repugnant to a few).
Another example of a lingua franca is Sango in the Central African Republic. Still others are
Town Bemba in northern Rhodesia and Kitchen or Mine Kafir in South Africa, a means of
communication that was employed by workers in the diamond mines. The point that has been
made is that one or two of these mediums could be adopted as a common language only with
the agreement of a number of African nations.
MULTILINGUAL STATES
Implementation of any language policy ultimately rests on the educational system and, as
the experience of multilanguage states reveals again and again, conducting instruction in two
languages imposes a heavy burden on any school system. This raises serious questions regarding
language use in government offices and administrations—witness the past language riots by
Flemish-speaking citizens of Belgium, protesting alleged discrimination by French speakers.
And in Canada, similar agitation took place among French Canadians protesting the favored
position of English. Although Canada is “officially” bilingual, only about thirteen percent of
Canadians can actually speak both languages, and of these nine percent are French Canadians. A
French separatist movement has existed for some time, and extremist elements have carried out
several acts of violence.
Angry slogans of separatism have appeared in French Canada, proclaiming: “L’inde-
pendence! Quebec out! Canada non!” Quite recently the Canadian government, wishing to
make French a working language in the civil service, established a bilingual school in Hull,
Quebec. Selected officials are sent to 10- to 12-week intensive courses in French or English,
whichever is their second language. Half of the students will be native French speakers, and half
English.
Meanwhile, tensions and incidents have continued as separatist movements remain a part of
the Canadian political scene. The Canadian government has appointed a Royal Commission on
Bilingualism whose published reports detail and define the findings of specialists on the
problems of ethnic groups.
Not surprisingly, the Canadians find that in attempting to please one bilingual group the
other may be displeased. In the national electoral campaign in 1972, Prime Minister Pierre
Elliot Trudeau of the Liberal Party found that prairie farmers in the West tended to be
displeased with the upgrading of the status of French. Voters in Neepawa, Manitoba, where
very few speak French, questioned the value of having the words “Bureau de Poste” as well as
“Post Office” lettered on the wall.
Canada, with its history, does seem to be on the path to becoming a true bilingual nation.
The government acted in 1974 to make French coequal in status with English. And in an
innovative educational experiment, children who live in Quebec and speak English at home have
the opportunity to attend public schools in which the French language is the medium of
instruction.
Another important multilingual area faced with similar problems lies within the borders of
the Soviet Union. Much speculation exists regarding the loyalty to the regime of the numerous
people who make up that vast state. With at least 200 distinct languages, the Soviet government
has made Great Russian the language of intercommunication. This policy seemed to attract the
interest of the leaders of India. When India received its independence, its government sent a
commission to the Soviet Union to see how their government had “solved” the multilanguage
problem. The Russian government had created alphabets (mostly an adaptation of the Cyrillic)
for languages that had not been committed to writing and had established primary education in
60 regional languages. This policy has served the Soviet Union well, and is used as evidence that
the Soviet Union is the friend of small and oppressed peoples. For example, in Rumania, near
neighbor of the Soviet Union, the government created an alphabet (Cyrillic) for the language of
the Gagauzy, a seminomadic Turkic group numbering about 100,000, and also established
primary schools taught in this language. Such a limited number of people could hardly pose
much of a threat to the government, and yet gestures such as this one are attractive to people
bent on self-determination. Rumania, of all the East European nations, has the largest
proportion and number of minorities, and the government provides primary education and
radio broadcasts in Hungarian, Slovak, Yiddish, German, and Ukrainian. The main radio station
in Bucharest also transmits programs in English, French, Russian, and even Spanish.
LINGUISTIC MINORITIES
In the Middle East there are four million or more Kurds, a seminomadic Indo-Iranian people,
related to the Persians, and living in Iraq, Iran, Turkey, and Lebanon. The Kurds, who have
staged more than one rebellion, seem determined to claim their own language and other
privileges and are now in fact clamoring for the creation of an independent Kurdistan, where
Kurdish would be the official language.
As in the case with the Kurds, language acquires a special significance for peoples who have
no political homeland. And we have pointed out that agitation for language rights is often
tantamount to a general appeal for improvement in status. More than one observer has pointed
to the old Austro-Hungarian Empire where the ruling oligarchy and the “Ukrainophiles”
struggled furiously over the use of the Ukrainian language in the schools and courts. This
struggle was no mere argument over language. Rather, it was a bid by the Ukrainian peasantry
to obtain a greater voice in national economic and political affairs.
While some language conflicts are acute and explosive, others are either mild, dormant, or
merely irritants that potentially might be fanned into violence. Examples of these less volatile
language conflicts can be found in Spain. The Basques are an intensely proud people and
inhabit the Pyrenees around Bilbao (and across the border in France). While they are mostly
bilingual, they hold tenaciously to their own language, which is spoken by very few outsiders.
Separatist tendencies have arisen among them from time to time. In much greater numbers are
the Catalonians, who live in Catalonia and Valencia, with Barcelona as the principal city. The
Catalonians (whose language is closely related to Provencal, a language spoken across the
France-Spain border) are also largely bilingual; they are hard-working, enterprising people who
have more than once displayed strong separatist feelings and whose history includes periods of
independence. If historical events had occurred otherwise, Catalonia might have become the
political center of Spain, rather than Castile. The Spanish Republic had looked with favor upon
the claims of these two ethnic groups, and there are signs that the present government is
encouraging literary composition in these languages.
Once again, we cannot overemphasize that language claims are often reflections or an
integral part of political, economic, social, and cultural conflicts within a country. John
Gumperz of California warns that failure to specify the exact nature of the language conflict
may result in a confusion between two rather different kinds of sociopolitical problems,
commonly discussed and studied as problems associated with “language policy and planning.”
In one case, he notes, “a small elite using a literary language maintains a social control over a
mass of illiterates, restraining access to power by artificially maintaining a language barrier.”
Medieval Europe with Latin and Greece with Katharevousa (classical) and Demotike (popular)
forms are examples of these barriers. In the other case, two already literate groups may be
struggling for political supremacy. Instances of this kind of dissension are the Hindi-Punjabi
rivalry in Delhi and the rivalry in Norway between riksmal, the traditional literary form heavily
influenced by Danish, and landsmal, which is based on a dialect of West Norway.
Students of nationality and language often despair, believing that animosity between people
speaking different languages is inevitable. True, there is little basis for the belief that people
who speak similar or the same languages will love one another. Wars among brothers and
“sisters” are usually unparalleled in their ferocity, as witness our own Civil War, one of the
most savage in all military history; or the Spanish Civil War; or the war between the Irish and
the English, or the present war in Northern Ireland; or the conflicts between the Czechs and the
Slovaks, the Serbs and the Croats, and the Indians and Pakistanis. Moslems speak the same or
similar languages, and yet conflicts and tensions among them have often been severe.
We have cited this evidence to suggest that the study of language policies—a branch of the
language sciences called sociolinguistics—consists of a large number of elusive and sensitive
issues. Consequently, passions and feelings of those affected may on occasion run high. Various
nations which predate the United States still continue to experience difficulties and problems
concerning the selection of a national language or a language variety which will serve as the
standard. And just as we have a number of language-related issues in the world requiring
resolution, so too do we have a number of language-related issues in the United States, no less
serious and no less demanding of action.
Linguists for years have been questioned: “What is linguistics good for?” In response, they
have made serious attempts to apply the insights of the language sciences to the practical
concerns of the everyday world. We now turn to a discussion of some of the implications of
language study in this country and to a few selected applications of the insights from
theoretical linguistics.
IN THE UNITED STATES: LANGUAGE VARIETY
We have discovered that in this country language has social, political, and, even more
important for us here, educational consequences. Applied linguists have had much to say,
suggest, and offer about how first languages and second languages ought to be taught. We will
discuss second language teaching and learning in Chapters XII and XIII, and first language
teaching here. By “first language teaching” we mean the activities in the classroom associated
with teaching composition, reading, and a standard variety of English to the native speaker.
It is especially difficult to address ourselves to the notion of how linguistics can aid in
education, as the term “linguistics” has so often struck fear in the heart of a teacher who has
been repelled by the technical and engineering aspects of the science and has virtually no
knowledge of how some of these theoretical insights can be applied to the immediate concerns
of the classroom. In this regard, Robin Lakoff says, “While doing linguistics is often both an
enjoyable and scholarly activity, it is also distressingly ivory-towerish; many theoretical linguists
have assumed that their work has no direct relevance to the outside, or real, world, and often
seem rather proud of the fact that anything ‘applied’ is of necessity soiled by its very
usefulness. They console themselves by thinking that if indeed their work is not able to be a
force for good, at least it cannot be a force for evil.” She continues, “There is a sense of despair
at the thought of working in vacuo, of training students to teach linguistics to students who will
teach linguistics, etc. It is heartening, therefore, to see linguists now taking the first tottering
steps toward relevance.”
STANDARD AND NONSTANDARD ENGLISH

We will begin our description of some of these first “tottering steps” by noting that while
linguistic science has been applied to the teaching of foreign and second languages for years,
today there are new avenues of application being explored. Perhaps the most visible new
application today is seen in its use in a native English classroom.
One of the perennial and traditional tasks of the English teacher is to maintain and teach the
“standard” variety of English. This task, even in the 1950s, drew its share of criticism. Donald
J. Lloyd then made the point that “There is at large among us today an unholy number of
people who make it their business to correct the speech and writing of others.” Lloyd was
directing this “unholy” epithet, it seems, to all the English teachers of the nation.
Scholars such as Lloyd were among the first to confront the issue of “standard English” by
pointing to the difficulty and perhaps impossibility of defining a standard. Everyone thinks that
he knows what the standard is; few have a concrete notion of what it really is. Martin Joos
addressed the issue of standard English variety in his monograph, The Five Clocks. In his study,
Joos defines a number of spoken styles that each native speaker employs in appropriate social
contexts. In effect, he describes a number of standards, and notes that the style that the
speaker employs depends upon the context of the social situation and the familiarity of the
speakers with each other. Among his styles are the following:
1. Consultative style: a style of speaking between strangers. Consultative style is not

characterized by the use of slang or ellipsis.
2. Casual style: a style employed with friends and good acquaintances. In contrast to
consultative style, casual style is denoted by the use of slang and sentences which may be
truncated (“Believe me, it’s fishy”).
3. Intimate style: a style used between very good friends, between, for example, spouses or
lovers. This style is denoted by excessive ellipsis, as in, “Don’t say a word. I know what you
mean.” Communication can take place without excessive words because good friends can
literally anticipate what is going to be said next.
4. Formal style-, a style designed to inform, perhaps in the manner of a speech or presentation
before a gathering of colleagues. This style is characterized by the use of full sentences and
the avoidance of slang.
A style contains a number of characteristics (we have listed only a few). Each style can
generally be defined on the basis of how much slang is employed, the proportion of sentences
which are elliptical, and the amount of information provided to the person addressed—the more
formal style requiring more information to be given to the addressee. By this model, Martin
Joos seeks to prove that there are standards rather than a standard. Within this context let us
continue our discussion.
One difficult problem for the schools in the past was in identifying, explicitly, just what
constitutes the standard variety of English that should be taught. Paul Postal maintains that
even “the standard which is taught is not very standard and may vary considerably from place
to place.” The concern with standard English, however defined, still occupies the attention of
the schools today. Roger Shuy, Associate Director of the Center for Applied Linguistics, makes
the point that “It has never been very clear what the schools can or should do about the speech
of the students and it is not at all clear what direct good the study of social dialects has
provided thus far.” Perhaps it is only wishful thinking on our parts, but we do believe that the
study of the varieties of English can sensitize the schools to the problems involved in teaching a
standard.
In the past, children who did not speak a standard variety of English were often ostracized
until they assumed the dialect spoken in the schools. The children who brought a nonstandard
variety of English to the classroom were usually those whose parents were from the socially and
economically disadvantaged class. For this reason, and also because of the stigma attached to
the language varieties of the minorities, socio- and psycho-linguistic studies of language
variation in the past 10 to 15 years have received enormous impetus and encouragement from
anti-poverty and civil rights groups.
The varieties of English spoken by lower socioeconomic groups, both in urban and rural
areas, have been studied by an increasing number of linguists and other social scientists in an
attempt to determine the characteristics of nonstandard speech. Research into language vari¬
eties has truly revealed that certain varieties of English have had the effect of stigmatizing its
users, socially and economically, and that these attitudes toward the users of the nonstandard
have on occasion been perpetuated by the schools. An important investigator of language

variation, particularly of the inner city, is William A. Labov of the University of Pennsylvania,
whose book The Social Stratification of the English of New York City (1966) was as revolu¬
tionary, in the way that it perceived language variety, as any text on linguistics in the last 15 to
20 years. Labov, whose work concentrates upon the surface features of spoken English, has
given definition to the concept of the linguistic variable. In recent years he and his colleagues
have convincingly demonstrated that there is no one feature that uniquely identifies a person as
belonging to one socioeconomic class or other. Most speakers use language features that have
been identified as nonstandard. However, some speakers employ more nonstandard features
than other speakers. What identifies the user as educated, as middle class, as uneducated, or as
socially and economically deprived, is that in his or her speech the proportion of nonstandard
features is higher or lower. The multiple negative (“They don’t have none”) or the dropping of
“g’s” (He’s swimmin’ ”) are only two examples of features that have been identified as non¬
standard. There are more, of course; some deal with syntax (question formation), and others
with phonology (dropping of “r’s”). The “more” or “less” is what is crucial for gauging the
variety. Frequency of occurrence of nonstandard features is what Labov submits marks a
nonprestigious language speaker.
Labov offered this hypothesis after investigating the speech of the lower East Side of New
York City and the variety of English employed by a sizable proportion of blacks. There seems
to be little doubt today that the Black English vernacular of the inner city has been the most
studied of any American social variety of English. A veritable “Labovian” group of researchers
has developed, dedicated to the investigation of social varieties of English in large metropolitan
areas. These investigators include such scholars as Roger W. Shuy, Ralph Fasold of Georgetown
University, Walter Wolfram, William A. Stewart, Joan Baratz, and Irwin Feigenbaum of the
Education Study Center in Washington, D.C.
A parallel area of language variety research today is in the study of the varieties of Mexican-
American English and Spanish. The Mexican-American constitutes the nation’s second largest
minority. Seven million bilingual Spanish-English speakers live in the five-state southwestern
area of California, Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado, and Texas. Although the use of Spanish by
students on school premises is no longer prohibited, a large number of bilingual and bicultural
problems still remain and beg for resolution.
At the University of Texas at El Paso a Cross-Cultural Southwest Ethnic Study Center has
recently been established with a grant from the Spencer Foundation of Chicago. The Center
seeks to support research on regional minorities, particularly the Mexican-American, with a
view to applying the data obtained for educational innovation and improvement. The Center is
mentioned here as an example of the national movement toward the establishment of ethnic
study departments, although the emphasis is upon research more than it is upon actual teach¬
ing. The Center has sponsored a number of activities, including an interdisciplinary survey of
the linguistic and socioeducational characteristics of the entire UT-E1 Paso undergraduate
student body, stratified into 16 subgroups according to Mexican-American versus “Anglo,” age,
sex, year of college, and place of birth. Since the enrollment of UT-E1 Paso consists of one-third
Mexican-Americans, the results from this study may have important implications for “applied
educational sociolinguistics.”
Social scientists have joined linguists in probing the deeper implications of human language.
Susan Ervin-Tripp, a psycholinguist, carries out research on several types of bilinguals. Her studies
aim to assess the intimate interaction between language topic and listener, and the motivations
for shifts in language and style of speaking. New frontiers in this kind of linguistic research are
being opened in what is known as ethnomethodology, a discipline that focuses upon the
conversational situation-what people do and the conversational rules they obey when they
converse with one another. Leon Jakobovits, also a psycholinguist, studies what he terms the
“syntax of conversational interaction” and draws upon the research of ethnomethodologists in
his text, Preliminaries to thePsychology of Ordinary Language. We shall have more to say about
the pragmatics of language use in our chapter on bilingual and second language education.
What people say and how they say it remains a topic of considerable importance to educa¬
tion today. Schools have (at least) two positions on the question of what variety of language to
teach:
1. The eradicationist position: This position advocates teaching a standard variety by identify¬
ing the variables and characteristics of nonstandard varieties of English and prohibiting their use
in the classroom and the school. There is considerable popular support for this strategy, not only
from middle class white parents but also from some lower socioeconomic parents who believe
that standard varieties of English must be learned if their children are to have the necessary lin¬
guistic equipment to escape the ghetto. The school, in this view, is an agent which encourages
social and economic mobility; if students do not assume the language habits of the middle and
upper middle class then they will be shut off irrevocably from a “better life.”
A question has been raised, however, concerning the school’s proper role: does the school
have the right to correct a student who writes or speaks a variety of language employed in the
ghetto or lower socioeconomic neighborhood? This question is fraught with implications. Or -
ganizations which represent English teachers have been drawn into the fray. The Conference on
College Composition and Communication issued a policy statement in 1974 saying, “The
school does not have the right to correct the linguistic habits of those who do not speak the
school variety.” The title appended to this policy statement is “Students’ Right to Their Own
Language.” Perhaps this organization feels that it is “undemocratic” to attempt to eradicate a
variety of English merely because it has low social prestige.
2. The bidialectal position: This opinion advocates “accepting” the variety of English brought
to the classroom, but teaching the student the variety of English which is currently employed
by the middle and upper middle classes. In other words, allow one dialect while teaching and
encouraging the standard at the same time. Other nations teach a standard variety but accept
other varieties if these are employed in the appropriate context. Great Britain is an example,
where children may still employ their home language in their everyday affairs but must employ
the standard in school.
Controversy over the bidialectal position arises from its implications. James Sledd, a vocifer¬
ous critic of bidialectalism, says that the acceptance of two dialects, but only one for school,
actually masks the wishes of the school to eradicate the variety which the child brings with him.
Others have pointed to the pretense of accepting a dialect but rejecting it for school use-a
practice, they believe, that is potentially damaging psychologically. Some feel that the policy is
racist; the practice of accepting one dialect while rejecting the other does little to encourage
and foster cultural pluralism.
The question of what to do with children who speak a dialect other than the one spoken in
school has yet to be answered-if, indeed, it ever will. The study of language varieties, an
example of applied linguistic research, takes into account the ways that people actually employ
language and the reasons they employ it as they do, and will help to answer this question. This
relatively new area of linguistic study is what we have labeled sociolinguistics. Psycholinguistics
has also made a contribution. Research involving language varieties is open to anyone who is
sensitive to how language is used and who exhibits an open mind concerning the uses of
language in a society that prides itself on the fact that it is pluralistic.
The discipline of linguistics will have an ever increasing impact on education, especially as
the curriculum in language turns away from the emphasis upon right versus wrong and standard
versus nonstandard to an analysis, and appreciation, of why various socioeconomic groups,
various occupations, and various age groups, actually employ language in all areas in which they
function. In conclusion, may we remind our readers of the remarks attributed to the late Dr.
Martin Luther King who, when queried about his change in language variety from white educat-
ed to black noneducated as he addressed a large assembly of black industrial workers, said, If I

didn’t speak ‘our’ language, they wouldn’t listen to me.”
SPELLING AND READING

In recent years much attention has been directed to the failure of our schools to teach
reading to all children. Many children were found to be reading behind their age group or not
reading at all. Packaged reading programs were published by various textbook companies, each
promising a success rate above that of the national average. Reading programs such as OPEN
COURT and DISTAR were sold to school districts which were experiencing serious problems in
reading, and the “Right to Read” project was begun.
Whether this attention to reading is effective or not is not our concern here. We only suggest,
in passing, that other variables may likely be involved for the failure of children to learn to
read. Most reading problems were found to be indigenous to low income neighborhoods, where
children did not have enough to eat, where reading was not a prized activity of the home, and
where homes, in fact, had no reading materials because parents could barely provide enough
sustenance for their children. Linguistics cannot feed children, but we feel that it can provide
some interesting insights into the spelling and reading processes which can aid the teacher in the
presentation of reading and spelling data.
Linguists have long had an interest in language arts. Leonard Bloomfield published an
article on spelling and reading in 1942, in which he attempts to correlate, in part, the letters of
the alphabet with the phonemes of the language. He maintains that the regularities of the
English spelling system should be displayed before the irregularities. He advocates, for instance,
that beginning reading texts employ sentences such as “Jan planned her tan.” Bloomfield’s
efforts resulted in some changes in reading data, but his suggestions were not an overwhelming
success. His efforts were followed by those of Charles C. Pries (1962), who attempted to
correlate structural linguistics with the problems of teaching reading. Yet with these efforts
there remained the myth that English spelling was full of irregularities that outweighed its
regularities.
It was not until linguists could “look beneath the surface” that they could maintain that
English spelling, for the most part, was regular. Carol Chomsky, whose research into spelling
and reading rests upon Halle’s and Chomsky’s book The Sound Pattern of English, says that
“Good spellers, children and adults alike, recognize that related words are spelled alike even
though they are pronounced differently. They seem to rely on an underlying picture of the
word that is independent of its varying pronunciation.” For instance, the lexical item
“telegraph” is pronounced differently depending upon the suffix which is attached:
telegraph /telagrsef/
telegraphic /telagnbfik/
telegraphy /tale grafi/
If we spell these related lexical items as they sound, we would lose the written identity that
they share. Chomsky advocates that children can be taught these regularities if, at the same
time, they are not taught that there is a one-to-one fit between the sound and the letter. This is
occasionally maintained in reading programs which emphasize the surface relationship between
sounds and letters.
Carol Chomsky proposes spelling lessons partially based upon the comparison of stressed and
unstressed vowels in words which are spelled the same but are pronounced differently:
Unstressed Stressed
(supply the
missing vowel)
pre-dent preside
comp-able compare, comparison
maj-r majority
Consonants, too, may be pronounced differently depending upon their phonetic environment,
and Chomsky would have her spelling lessons capture this relationship:
criticize critical
medicine medical
nation native
Even in words having a “silent” letter, there are environments where this letter is pronounced:
muscle muscular
bomb bombastic
sign signify
By portraying the deep and abstract relationship between letters and sounds, the writing
system is made much more accessible to the student. There is even a reason for spelling words
differently if they have the same sound but differ in meaning. For these words, which would be
ambiguous in print, the system provides a convenient out:
site cite sight
pear pare pair
by bye buy
These are the relationships that are important in language, that allow students to relate one
word to another. Yet a caveat is in order here: if the surface relationship between the sounds
and the letters is emphasized—to the virtual exclusion of the regularities as revealed by an
examination of the underlying structure of the sound-letter correlation—we may be impeding
children from learning, in the most efficient way possible, the correspondence between the
alphabet and the phonological system of the English language.
Some linguists have also made the suggestion that reading programs use language that is
realistic and believable. They have also recommended that the stilted language sometimes found
in primers be removed and replaced by language which is more natural.
Linguists have also made suggestions on how to test for reading proficiency—or, more
accurately, how not to test. Among the tests that teachers employ to gauge reading progress is
the “reading-aloud” test. Occasionally, linguists have found, children who can relate marks on
paper to English sounds do not comprehend what they have read as well as they understand
speakers who either “sound different” (who do not speak a standard variety of English) or who
make mistakes (called miscue by Kenneth Goodman) while reading orally. Especially at a
disadvantage in the latter process are children who do not speak the language variety employed
in the school and whose pronunciation is different from that of the teacher. There is here a
confusion, we suggest, of the linguistic and reading abilities of children with comprehension
difficulties. Reading is, after all, extracting meaning from printed marks. Whether dialect differ¬
ences constitute a hurdle for the beginning reader is not at all clear at the present time-
although there are readers printed in black vernacular which attempt to bridge the gap between
the students’ variety of English and the language that they may find in primers. Nevertheless, as
Rose-Marie Weber argues, “. .. there is little evidence to support the contention that dialect
differences in English significantly increase the difficulty experienced in learning to read.” But
we have learned something about reading performance: it is risky to judge reading proficiency
solely upon oral production.
There are several other applications of linguistics to first language teaching, and we have
listed texts in “For Further Reference” that describe some applications that we have not
included here. These applications include linguistics and the teaching of writing, theorists in
composition have used a model of generative-transformational grammar to teach sentence¬
combining and sentence subordination. Especially important is the research of Kellog Hunt.
Transformational-generative grammar has also been employed notably by Richard Ohmann to
explain the intricacies found in various literary styles, to explicitly indicate the differences
between and among the literary styles of Ernest Hemingway, William Faulkner, Samuel John¬
son, and Edward Gibbon. Other linguists, also interested in style, have employed the phono¬
logical component of generative-transformational grammar to develop the concept of a metrical
line. Exactly, what is metrical and what is not? What do critics mean, for instance, when they
say that Chaucer writes in iambic pentameter?
Linguists also conduct research on the brain and on speech disorders, and their findings are
of immense value to psychologists, psychiatrists, and speech pathologists.
One far-reaching and important application is in the teaching of second and foreign
languages, on which our last two chapters will focus.
XI. ACTIVITIES AND QUESTIONS
1. Robert Hall, Jr., published a descriptive grammar of English in the 1950s entitled Leave
Your Language Alone. He subsequently changed the title to Linguistics and Your Language.
What is implied in the first title that is missing in the second? How might English teachers
react to the first edition?
2. How do you react to a person who says, “I don’t got none”? What is the basis of your
reaction?
3. What is the social status of persons who, when asked, “Who is it?”, answer, “It is I”? What
would you answer? Is “It is I” taught as the “correct” response?
4. Why do socio-dialects exist? What are some linguistic traits of some socio-dialects that you
know or speak?
5. Is it possible to teach a socio-dialect?
6. In 1976, airline pilots went out on strike in Canada. The strike was over the issue of which
language the pilots and the ground controller could use to receive and give instructions for
landings and take-offs. The pilots and the controllers wished to use both English and French,
but the government decreed that only English was to be employed. Who do you think won
in the dispute? Present an argument for or against the use of French in this situation.
7. Conflict caused by language policy continues to be in the news. In South Africa in the first
half of 1976, 176 persons were killed and more than 1,000 were seriously injured as a result
of rioting over the question of which language was to serve as the medium of instruction in
the public schools. The government legislated Afrikaans but the blacks wanted English. What
was the outcome? Which language won? What was the government’s official policy as of July
1976?
8. Is there such a thing as “standard English”? How does the work of Joos and Labov con¬
tribute to the study and debate of this issue?
9. What theory of teaching reading and spelling do you favor? Why?
XI. FOR FURTHER REFERENCE
Bloomfield, Leonard, 1942. “Linguistics and Reading.” Elementary English Review

19:125-130, 183-86.
Burling, Robbins. 1970. Man’s Many Voices. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston.
Burr, Elizabeth, Susan Dunn, and Norma Farquar. 1972. “The Language of Inequality.” ETC
29:414-16.
Cazden, Courtney B. 1972. Child Language and Education. New York: Holt, Rinehart and
Winston.
Dasgupta, Jyotirindra. 1970. Language Conflict and National Development: Group Politics and
National Language in India. Berkeley: University of California Press.
Dietrich, Daniel J. 1974. “Public Doublespeak: Teaching About Language in the Market Place.”
College English 36:477-81.
Dillard, J. L. 1972. Black English: Its History and Usage in the United States. New York:
Random House.
Ferguson, Charles A. 1962. “The Language Factors in National Development,” in Frank A.
Rice, ed.: Study of the Role of Second Languages in Asia, Africa and Latin America.
Washington, D.C.: Center for Applied Linguistics.
Fishman, Joshua A. and et al, eds. 1968. Language Problems in Developing Nations. New York:
John Wiley.
Freeman, Donald C. 1970. Linguistics and Literary Style. New York: Holt, Rinehart and
Winston.
_ 1976. “Literature,” in Ronald Wardhaugh and H. Douglas Brown, eds.: A Survey of
Applied Linguistics. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press.
Fries, C. C. 1962. Linguistics and Reading. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, Inc.
Gage, William W. 1971. “The African Language Picture.” Linguistic Reporter 13 (Summer):
15-27.
_ 1974. Language in Its Social Setting. Washington, D.C.: Anthropological Society of
Washington.
Goodman, Kenneth S. and C. Burke. 1970. “When a Child Reads: a Psycholinguistic Analysis.”
Elementary English 47:121 -29.
Gumperz, John J. 1969. “Communication in Multilingual Societies,” in S. A. Tyler, ed.:
Linguistic Sciences and Language Teaching. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston.
_ 1967. “Linguistic Repertoires, Grammar, and Language Instruction,” in C. J. Kreidler,

ed.: Report of the Sixteenth Roundtable. Washington, D.C.: Georgetown University Press.
Hall, Edward T. 1976. “How Cultures Collide.” Psychology Today July, 66-74, 97.
Hall, Robert A., Jr. 1966. Pidgin and Creole Languages. Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press.
Halle, Morris and Samuel J. Keyser. 1971. English Stress: Its Form, its Growth, and its Role in
Verse: New York: Harper and Row.
Harrison, Selig S. 1960. India: The Most Dangerous Decades. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton Uni¬
versity Press.
Haugen, Einar. 1971. “The Ecology of Language.” Linguistic Reporter 13:19-26.
Hunt, K. W. 1970. Syntactic Maturity in School Children and Adults. Monograph of the
Society for Research in Child Development 35: No. 1.
Hymes, Dell, ed. 1971. Pidginization and Creolization of Languages. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
_ 1973. “Speech and Language: On the Origins and Foundations of Inequality Among
Speakers.” Daedalus 102:59-85.
Joos, Martin. 1967. The Five Clocks. New York: Harcourt Brace and Jovanovich.
Key, Mary R. 1975. Male/Female Language. Metuchen, N.J.: Scarecrow Press.
Labov, William. 1966. The Social Stratification of the English of New York City. Washington,
D.C.: Center for Applied Linguistics.
- 1972. The Study of Nonstandard English. Champaign, Ill.: National Council Teachers of
English.
Lakoff, Robin. 1975. Language and Woman’s Place. New York: Harper and Row.
Lakoff, Robin. 1976. “Language and Society,” in Wardhaugh and Brown, eds.: A Survey of
Landar, Herbert. 1966. Language and Culture. New York: Oxford University Press.
Le Page, R. B. 1964. The National Language Question: Linguistic Problems of Newly Inde¬
pendent States. London: Oxford University Press.
Lloyd, Donald J. 1951. “Snobs, Slobs, and the English Language.” The American Scholar 20:
Summer, 279-288.
Madsen, William. 1964. The Mexican-Americans of South Texas. New York: Holt, Rinehart and
Winston.
Malmstrom, Jean and A. Ashley. 1963. Dialects-U.S.A. Urbana, Ill.: National Council of
Teachers of English.
Malstrom, Jean. 1976. “First Language Teaching,” in Wardhaugh and Brown, eds.: A Survey of
Mellon, J. 1969. Transformational Sentence-Combining: a Method for Enhancing the Develop¬
ment of Syntactic Fluency in English Composition. Urbana, Ill.: National Council of Teach¬
ers of English.
Ohmann, Richard. 1964. “Generative Grammars and the Concept of Literary Style.” Word
20:423-39.
Rank, Hugh, ed. 1974. Language and Public Policy. Urbana, Ill.: National Council of Teachers
of English.
Shuy, Roger W. 1967. Discovering American Dialects. Urbana, Ill.: National Council of Teach¬
ers of English.
Sledd, James. 1969. “Bi-dialectalism: the Linguistics of White Supremacy.” English Journal
58:1307-15, 1329.
Stewart, William A. 1968. “An Outline of Linguistic Typology for Describing Multilingualism,”
in Joshua A. Fishman, ed.: Readings in the Sociology of Language. The Hague: Mouton.
Von Malitz, Frances Willard. 1975. Living and Learning in Two Languages. New York:
McGraw-Hill.
Wardhaugh, Ronald and H. Douglas Brown, eds. 1976. A Survey of Applied Linguistics. Ann
Arbor: University of Michigan Press.
Weber, Rose-Marie. 1976. “Reading,” in Wardhaugh and Brown, eds.: A Survey of Applied
Linguistics.
XII. Second Language Learning and Teaching:
Gaps in a Crucial Area
APPLYING THEORY TO PRACTICE
Within the previous eleven chapters we have repeatedly and persistently referred to and
examined the various attributes of language, the skills and capacities that a fluent speaker brings
to the task of using his language, and various theoretical positions adopted by the linguist in his
attempt to describe those attributes, skills, and capacities. In the two concluding chapters
we will seek to identify and examine the relationship between formal language study and the
teaching of language, in the broadest context possible. We will not confine our discussion in
these chapters to the teaching of language as a subject, as for instance in a class entitled Spanish
1; we will also examine the recent experience of teaching language in a context that has been
given the name bilingual education.
We may well refer to the recent changes in language education as a revolution. Just as there
has been a revolution in the way that the linguist perceives language, so too has there been a
revolution in the approaches, methods, and techniques of teaching language. And we maintain
that these two revolutions are related; the revolution in pedagogy could not have occurred
without the impetus of the revolution in theory.
Let us begin, then, with the following anecdotes, which we employ to preface a history of
language teaching in the United States.
LANGUAGE UNPREPAREDNESS: AN HISTORICAL ACCOUNT
During the war in Viet Nam, an American Army squad was moving cautiously along a path
separating two rice paddies when a villager ran up and attempted desperately to make himself
understood: a Viet Cong unit was in the area. The squad was badly bloodied because no one
was able to understand the friendly villager’s simple warning that it was about to be ambushed.
In Japan, after World War II, a woman scavenging for scraps around an Army perimeter was
shot because she misunderstood an American sentry’s gesture to move away from a restricted
zone. Instead of moving off, she walked toward the sentry. The sentry did not know that his
gesture to move off had exactly the opposite meaning for a Japanese. These two language
incidents-one verbal, the other gestural-are significant, yet they were scarcely the first ex¬
amples of language ignorance as the cause of such events.
The United States has always been language conscious, with a consciousness derived prin¬
cipally from an Old World concept that an educated person knows more than one language. Yet
throughout the history of the United States, foreign language enrollments have risen and fallen.
Periods of xenophobia, both before and after wars, have contributed to an irrational intolerance
for foreign languages. World War I especially, with its strong wave of hysteria against everything
German—and by extension anything at all foreign—is a case in point. Sauerkraut was renamed
‘ liberty cabbage.” And some 20 states, most of which had large ethnic populations, passed
148
Second Language Learning and Teaching: Gaps in a Crucial Area 149
legislation banning any language except English as a medium of instruction. (Such legislation
was annulled by the Supreme Court in 1924, however.)
The isolationism of the years following the World War I extended well into the 1930s, and
was reinforced by a view of the oceans as permanent, impregnable defenses. After World War II
broke out, eleven million American men and women were deployed over a global battlefront—
and found themselves handicapped by ignorance of the languages of their allies as well as those
of their enemies. “Snafus,” misunderstandings, and spilled blood were the result. Intensive
programs to give GIs basic instruction in 40 languages were launched. It was a concerted effort,
and highly successful in many cases, yet it could not overcome previous language handicaps.
THE FEDERAL ROLE
Emerging as a world leader after World War II, the United States found that it needed people
proficient in foreign languages to conduct the day-to-day task of diplomacy and international
business. The ability to speak the language of a country has always been important for the
diplomat. Yet we still hear queries similar to the following: “What difference does it make
whether we know more than the rudimentary phrases of the language of the foreign country in
which we are to reside? There are few persons in places of power who do not know English.”
Perhaps the most appropriate rejoinder is this true story: When the United States first esta¬
blished a mission in a Far Eastern nation about 20 years ago, it had no one who could speak the
official language of this state. It was necessary to rely upon native translators to read and digest
the opinions of the leaders of this government as expressed in the press. The translators, out of
their sense of deference to their employers, chose only those items that were favorable to the
United States. When, finally, officers trained in the language, able to read periodicals and attend
sessions of the lesiglature, were sent out, they found that the entire country was in the grip of a
virulent wave of anti-Americanism. Thanks to the knowledge of several officers who knew the
language, the United States was able to redirect its entire foreign policy in a strategic region of
the Far East.
The acute need for language skills, as indicated by the above, motivated the government of
the United States to establish its own language teaching facilities. In 1945, the Army began its
Language School in Monterey, California, with the teaching of 29 Eastern and Western lan¬
guages. The Navy established its Intelligence School, and the Department of State its Foreign
Service Institute in Washington, D.C. The Naval Intelligence School has offered, usually, eight
languages, while the Foreign Service Institute has provided instruction in more than 40. The
Defense Language Institute, West Coast Branch, Monterey, California, with some 15,000 stu¬
dents and 500 instructors, is perhaps the largest full-time language school in the West. Members
of the language profession generally consider that the scope and quality of the work being done
at this school are extremely high.
The role of the Foreign Service Institute has been of special significance, particularly since it
has accepted as students a large number of employees of the United States Information Agency,
the Agency for International Development, and the Department of Agriculture. Yet, despite its
genuine successes, Under Secretary of State Walter Bedell Smith in 1954 charged the Wriston
Committee with presenting a plan whereby the Institute’s work could be made even more
effective.
The results of the Wriston report were of the utmost significance, since it expressed dissatis¬
faction with the relatively low language competence of the government’s Foreign Service offi¬
cers. On November 2, 1956, the Secretary of State approved a new language policy that is still
in effect today: “Each officer will be encouraged to acquire a ‘useful’ knowledge of two foreign
languages, as well as sufficient command of the language of each post of assignment to be able
to use greetings, ordinary social expressions, and numbers; ask and give simple questions and
directions; and recognize proper names, street signs, and office and shop designations.’
These measures were followed by policy statements from the International Cooperation
Administration and the United States Information Agency. In 1960, Congress made the follow¬
ing statement: “It is the policy of the Congress that Chiefs of Mission and Foreign Service
officers appointed or assigned to serve in foreign countries shall have, to the maximum practi¬
cable extent, among their qualifications, a useful knowledge of the principal language or dialect
of the country in which they serve.”
The Defense Department has recently consolidated language efforts under a single Defense
Language Institute, still located in Monterey, California. The Foreign Service Institute con¬
tinues to expand, adding courses as needed. An African department was added in the last few
years, and FSI continues to offer courses in Swahili, Hausa, and other African languages. As the
number of black governments in African nations increases, the African department of FSI will
become even more important in the years ahead. With the aid of the government, the Institute
has undertaken a broad program of publishing its texts through the U.S. Government Printing
Office.
“Language is ordnance” might well be considered a byword of government service today.
Even the Marine Corps guards bound for duty overseas must take a minimum of 100 hours of
the language of the country to which they are assigned. The Peace Corps also offers a successful
example of language teaching, with 450 hours in language required of all volunteers. Thus far,
instruction has been given in 72 languages, including Nepali, Nyanja (an African language),
Farsi, Tagalog, and Quechua, an important Indian language of the South American Andes
region.
Despite these encouraging examples of language teaching, the need remains great. Dr. James
B. Frith, Dean of the School of Languages of the Foreign-Service Institute, spoke to the 14th
Georgetown University Roundtable Conference on Languages and Linguistics on “Language
Learning in the Foreign Affairs Community.” Fie pointed out at the outbreak of World War II
there were only 58 countries in which the United States had embassies or legations. There are
four times as many now. Although 12 languages might have been useful in 1941, it was actually
possible to conduct all official business in French or English. Today, Dr. Frith emphasized,
Foreign Service officers find themselves “eyeball to eyeball” with an increasing number of
peoples and lands. Based on a systematic study of the language situation in the various coun¬
tries to which the United States sends representatives, the Department of State came to the
conclusion that Foreign Service officers might have a genuine need for between 97 and 154
languages.
LANGUAGE, GOVERNMENT, AND SCIENCE
Occasionally the cost of not knowing a language runs high. Not many years ago an article
that appeared in a Soviet scientific journal on contact-relay networks went unnoticed in this
country while a government-funded project was duplicating the identical experiment. Writing in
the Scientific American, William Locke of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology estimated
that the cost to the U.S. scientific establishment in duplicated research was extremely high. The
Soviet Union not only places great emphasis on language study by their scientists, but also has
facilities for rapid abstracting and translating of practically everything of technical importance
appearing in foreign periodicals.
Recently, members of the Stanford Research Institute at Menlo Park, California, pointed out
that one of the best and most effective ways for an American scientist to keep abreast of
developments in his own field in the United States is to follow Russian summaries and ab¬
stracts. It is, of course, encouraging that serious attention has been paid to translation and that
the National Science Foundation has taken important measures to assure rapid perusal of
important research in Russian and other languages, and to make abstracts and translations
available. But we must emphasize that if a researcher cannot scan and read materials in the
original, an even greater time lag between researcher and reader usually results.
In an issue of the Journal of Geological Education, Dorothy B. Vitaliano of the U.S.

Geological Survey at Indiana University presented a convincing case for more language power
for scientists. She maintains that the researcher who cannot do his own reading in foreign
literature has a tremendous handicap since translations are often expensive, out of date, and
inept. In one paper on the internal combustion of the earth, the Russian word kora (crust) was
consistently mistranslated as “core,” while the Russian equivalent for “barren strata” came out
“unpregnant beds.” She concludes that, “Before dismissing as unrealistic the thought that the
day might ever come when every American geologist—or every American scientist for that
matter—will have a working knowledge of three other languages, remember that Europeans have
long achieved this as a matter of course.”
Scientists and others who had been pinning their hopes on an early breakthrough in machine
translation—perhaps out of an understandable concern over the toil and strain of language
study—might be less sanguine today. Mechanical translation is still in the embryonic state,
although at least 15 centers in several countries are experimenting with methods and techniques
(largely through the use of computers) for improving machine translation. Translations of
scientific texts have been done by machine, but human translators are still less expensive—and
more accurate. The so-called “intelligent” machines can do only what humans program into
them. Until now the difficulties experienced have done more to inform programmers about the
structure of language than to reduce the backlog of untranslated writings. A prominent theoret¬
ical linguist has even gone so far as to say that machine translation has drawn many capable
scholars into activities of dubious value. He believes that a great deal more and better research
could have been performed if even a fraction of the funds spent on machine translation had
been allotted directly to basic research on linguistic theory.
FOUNDATION AND GOVERNMENTAL SUPPORT
Second-language teaching was also given impetus in those years immediately following World
War II by the hysteria generated in educational circles as a result of the launching of Sputnik.
Efforts were made to “upgrade” instruction in foreign languages as well as in science and
mathematics. In this period new courses were introduced, in both language and area studies.
The number of non-Western courses increased. Enrollments spiraled. Foundations, particularly
Ford, Carnegie, and Rockefeller, made grants available for increasing the status of language
teaching. An example of this encouragement was the Program in Oriental Languages, under¬
written by the Ford Foundation and administered by the American Council of Learned Socie¬
ties. This program supplied funds for new language and area courses in Eastern languages, as well
as for the production of texts. In 1952 the Rockefeller Foundation awarded a $235,000 grant
to the Modern Language Association of America for a six-year study of foreign language
teachers’ recommendations to strengthen and improve instruction at all levels of American
education.
On the basis of the information thus gathered from this survey, the National Defense
Education Act (NDEA) was passed by the 85th Congress, which authorized the expenditure of
700 million dollars for the improvement of instruction in language, science, and mathematics.
Among NDEA’s most positive accomplishments was the encouragement of the study of non-
Westem languages. In the first five years of the program more than 1,000 fellowships were
awarded to graduate students for the study of more than 50 of the 83 languages on a “critical
list” compiled for the Office of Education, ranging from Swedish to Yoruba, an important
African language. The NDEA also supplied matching funds to 56 universities for establishing
language-area centers in Slavic, Latin American, Oriental, and African languages. In 1960,
according to figures from the Modern Language Association, there were 12,000 students
learning critical languages, many of them at NDEA-supported language and area centers.
Support for foreign language programs was also made available in the form of matching
funds for the building of more than 4,000 language laboratories in public schools and for
financing the costs of state foreign language supervisors. Summer NDEA institutes held at
colleges and universities gave more than 10,000 public school teachers the opportunity to study
applied linguistics, and more important, to improve their fluency in the languages they taught.
Finally, NDEA funds were granted for various kinds of research projects in linguistics and
language teaching methodology. One project studied the accomplishments of two groups of
students learning German, one group taught by the conventional or classical grammar-
translation method (which emphasized reading and writing), the other by the audiolingual
method (which emphasized hearing and speaking rather than reading and writing).
Rising enrollments, which begin in 1945, continued to increase for the next 20 years, after
which they began to decrease. In 1955, halfway into this period, enrollments were still low and
caused Secretary of State John Foster Dulles to observe: “The United States carries new
responsibilities in many quarters of the globe, and we are at a serious disadvantage because of
the difficulty of finding persons who can deal with the foreign language problem. Interpreters
are no substitute.”
Testifying before the 85th Congress in 1957, Dulles pointed out that fully one-half of our
Foreign Service officers did not at that time have a “useful” knowledge of any second language,
while of the incoming class of Foreign Service officers only 25 percent could speak any
language except English with moderate fluency. We should point out here that by “useful” the
State Department means a knowledge adequate to handle routine matters at a Foreign Service
post.
In 1965, at the height of foreign language enrollments, it was estimated that more than 30
percent of all secondary and college students had taken a foreign language. Most popular during
this era were Russian and other Slavic languages, Chinese, Japanese, Arabic, French, German,
and Spanish.
PROSPECTS
The number of people studying the geopolitically significant languages has risen in the last
generation, but on a relatively small scale. Czech, an important language of eastern Europe, rose
in one five-year period from 90 to 154 enrollments, Arabic from 994 to 1,324, and Hindi from
106 to 281. More encouragingly, especially with the prospect of increased intercourse with the
People’s Republic of China, Chinese rose from 1,771 to approximately 10,000 today, with
Japanese showing a similar increment to a total of 8,000. Hebrew, a favorite with Jewish
students in this ethnic-minded era, has quadrupled in the last 20 years, now claiming 19,000
enrollments (the population of Israel is currently three million), but Hebrew also has a strong
ethnic and religious significance.
In these days of shrinking public school and university budgets, we find it difficult to plead
for the teaching of “exotic” languages that draw only a small number of students; yet the value
of and need for small numbers of language-area experts is indisputable. Much of the teaching of
these languages is done by Government and Defense Department organizations, the most impor¬
tant, as we mentioned, being the School of Language Studies of the Department of State’s
Foreign Service Institute and the Defense Language Institute. Nevertheless, the fact is that, for
certain purposes, the nation’s “overseasmanship” tasks must depend upon academically trained
specialists whose commitment is a lifetime one, rather than a “duty-related” one, subject to
change with little notice.
Just how well equipped is the United States with personnel able to speak important world
languages? Approximately 30 years ago the American Council of Learned Societies in its survey
of personnel in the humanities made an attempt through questionnaires to identify the indivi¬
duals with a knowledge of non-Western languages and areas. The Center for Applied Linguistics
has made similar studies.
Figures, however, are cold bits of information in comparison with the “real life” situations
arising in encounters with the peoples of the world. Significantly enough, however, in such
cases the needed language is not always a language like Tigrinya, Malagasy, or Burmese. The
Department of State’s Language Services Division, charged with supplying interpreters (as well
as translators) for most official purposes, is at times hard put to furnish personnel in the less
exotic languages. A good case in point is Portuguese. The Division would probably have to go to
Brazil to recruit speakers well enough versed in both English and Portuguese to be able to
perform interpretation at a conference or for escort-group functions.
We need to realize that for many languages we cannot indefinitely rely upon emigres and
refugees, yet at the same time we are faced with the fact that college graduates, for the most
part, cannot pass the demanding interpreter examinations merely on the basis of their academic
studies. We note here that although the regular staff of the Language Services Division is mostly
American, it requires additional aid in the form of part-time contract personnel of foreign birth.
The Division ordinarily will not consider anyone who has not lived for at least two years in the
country where the language is spoken, since competent translation depends on both a knowl¬
edge of the language and a knowledge of the sociocultural background of its speakers. Interpret¬
ing, is one of the most complex skills, as visitors to the United Nations will attest. Only one
bilingual person in ten can pass the State Department’s test for conference interpreting, be it
simultaneous (in which he is required to interpret in unison with the speaker) or consecutive (in
which he translates afterwards).
In this chapter we have attempted to present a few of the problems associated with language
learning in the United States, the need for speakers of other languages, and the vicissitudes
associated with past attempts at encouraging foreign language enrollments. We might, in con¬
clusion, say that languages have not always been taught and learned successfully in this country,
especially in our public institutions. The topic of our next and final chapter is devoted to a
discussion of language learning and teaching, and the research associated with current trends,
which can be subtitled, “the search for the right method.”
XII. QUESTIONS AND ACTIVITIES
1. Which languages are usually offered in junior and senior high schools, and in colleges and
universities? Are there any languages other than French, German, and Spanish offered? How
popular are language courses? Are they required or can they be taken as electives?
2. How well can students use the language after one or more of these courses?
3. Cite some of the problems you feel might be associated with decreased language enrollment
in the U.S. How might these problems be alleviated?
XII. FOR FURTHER REFERENCE
Alatis, James E. and Kristie Twaddell. 1976. English as a Second Language in Bilingual Educa¬
tion. Washington, D.C.: TESOL.
Andersson, Theodore. 1969. Foreign Languages in the Elementary School: A Struggle Against
Mediocrity. Austin: University of Texas Press.
Burt, Marina K. and Heidi C. Dulay, eds. 1975. New Directions in Second Language Learning,
Teaching and Bilingual Education. Washington, D.C.: TESOL.
Curtiss, Susan, Stephen Krashen, Victoria Fromkin, David Rigler, and Marilyn Rigler. 1973.
“Language Acquisition After the Critical Period: Genie as of April 1973,” in Papers from the
Ninth Regional Meeting, Chicago Linguistic Society. Chicago: Chicago Linguistic Society.
Ervin-Tripp, Susan. 1974. “Is Second Language Learning Like the First?” TESOL Quarterly
June, 111-27.
Lambert, Wallace E. and G. Richard Tucker. 1973. “The Benefits of Bilingualism.” Psychology
Today September, 89-91.
Paulston, Christina Bratt. 1974. “Linguistic and Communicative Competence.” TESOL

Quarterly December, 347-62.
Penfield, Wilder. 1953. “A Consideration of the Neuro-Physiological Mechanism of Speech and

Some Educational Consequences.” Proceedings of the American Academy of Arts and Sci¬
ences 82:201-14.
Pillet, Roger. 1974. Foreign Language Study. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Rivers, Wilga. 1964. The Psychologist and the Foreign Language Teacher. Chicago: University
of Chicago Press.
-- 1973. “From Linguistic Competence to Communicative Competence.” TESOL Quarterly
March, 25-34.
Slobin, Dan I. 1972. “Children and Language: They Learn the Same Way All Around the
World.” Psychology Today July, 71-74, 82.
Stevick, Earl W. “What Seems to Be What in Language Teaching,” in Adapting and Writing
Language Lessons. Washington, D.C.: Foreign Service Institute.
XIII. X, Y, Z’s of Language Learning:
Bilingual and Second Language Education
RELEVANCE AND MOTIVATION
From 1945 until 1968, ten years after the NDEA, foreign and second language enrollments
continued to increase; but after 1968, while university and college enrollments continued to
increase slightly, enrollments in foreign language classes fell drastically and with unprecedented
swiftness. Foreign language enrollments at the level of 30 percent of the total university and
college enrollments in 1968 have fallen today to 20 percent of total student enrollments, and
they appear to be sliding downward even further.
In the most popular languages—Spanish, French, and German, the languages that attract the
most students—enrollments dropped by an average of 13 percent. Spanish enrollments are down
by 7 percent, French 19 percent, and German 13 percent. These drops appear to reflect a
general concern of students who believe that programs of study must be “relevant,” a word that
has found increasing popularity of late. Heretofore, high schools as well as most colleges and
universities required at least two years of foreign language study for graduation. Students now
cannot see why they should be required to learn what they may possibly never use. It has
indeed been difficult to argue with this notion of relevancy, just as it is difficult for students to
see the relevance of foreign language instruction if they are not living in a bilingual-bicultural
community, and are not planning to travel or live abroad, or are not convinced by the argument
that their learning of foreign languages will enable them to contribute toward world under¬
standing.
Concrete instances of disenchantment have taken several forms. A candidate who advocated
the removal of the language requirement for graduation was elected as student-body president
at the University of Texas at Austin. A few years ago at the University of Nebraska, an ad hoc
curriculum committee, composed of faculty and students, was formed to examine the language
offerings and endorsed the elimination of a foreign language from the requirements of the Arts
and Science College.
Parents, too, have voiced their concern about the language class, and it is not so unusual to
hear a parent challenge: “Give me one good reason why my son, about to enter high school,
should waste his time studying a foreign language. Three of my children took foreign languages
in high school and college—and today not one of them can so much as order a cup of coffee in
the language which he studied.” Parents like this might join with Walter Pitkin, who said almost
a century ago in Life Begins at Forty that language study is not worth the candle. In response
to these criticisms the number of universities that retain the language requirement for gradu¬
ation has dropped from a high of 89 percent in 1968 to 77 percent today. Universities and
colleges have also gradually eliminated the language requirement for admission, thereby causing
many secondary schools to cut back their range of language courses.
Admittedly, the students’ demand for relevance has caused a change in curriculum; and
admittedly, little has been done to justify a place in the curriculum for learning a second
155
language. And we would agree that it is next to impossible to teach students to read, write, and
speak a foreign language with any kind of skill in the traditional two-year, three-hours-per-week
class. But we also need to point out that it is extremely difficult to teach students these skills
even if the time is extended—and it has been—when there is no basic need to communicate in
the language. We suggest here that it is extremely difficult to create this need in the typical
classroom environment.
Even if we agree that bilingualism is impossible for the great majority of our students, other
reasons for studying a foreign language come readily to mind, all worthy of consideration.
1. We learn about a foreign culture if we study a foreign language, especially if the teacher is
a native speaker from the area in which the language is spoken. The Fulbright-Hays Act,
designed to provide teachers and students with opportunities to study and to teach abroad, has
as its purpose, other than the sharing of skills and research, acquainting foreign students and
faculty with various cultures. Learning a language can lead to a kind of biculturalism, even
without bilingualism. There are other ways to learn about a culture, but studying a language is
one effective “window upon culture.”
For example, John Gumperz, Director of the South Asia Language and Area Center at the
University of California, Berkeley, went to India and Pakistan, where, together with several
colleagues, he prepared sound films of people speaking in such typical situations as the market,
home and family, and at work. These films provided valuable data on the way that these people
actually used the language.
There is a growing tendency to pay more attention to the culture and background of the
people whose language is being learned. Speaking at the Washington Area chapter meeting of
the American Association of Teachers of Slavic and East European Languages, Professor Hugo
Mueller of American University defined the study of a foreign language as the process of
learning to “regard reality through another language,” to understand the cultural elements
iirvolved in a given speech situation and the type of response that it would likely evoke from
a native speaker. It is a fact, for example, that in the Hindi and other Eastern societies, one does
not ask about the health of the members of the interlocutor’s family. Modern texts for Hindi
should alert students to this and supply conversational material that would be appropriate for a
casual chat with a Hindi-speaking acquaintance.
2. There is, to be sure, the joy and wonder of being able to enjoy literature and to under¬
stand movies without surreptitious glances at the subtitles.
3. By studying a foreign language we become aware of our own language again (we perceive
a different reality) as we become increasingly able to manipulate the language of the foreign
culture. The grammatical structure of our own language, we learn, does not always conform to
what we feel to be logical.
Here then are some perfectly valid reasons to support the study and teaching of foreign or
second languages in the United States.
We have pointed already to the persistent notion that knowing more than one language ap¬
pears to be a “cultural ideal.” If we grant that for the above reasons languages should be taught
(requiring study maybe another matter, however), what are the factors that curriculum planners
and teachers should consider and understand when establishing a foreign or second language
program? The remainder of this chapter will be devoted to a consideration of that question.
APPROACHES, METHODS, AND TECHNIQUES
Edward Anthony, one of the world’s foremost language-teaching theorists, maintains that
language teaching can be viewed as a tripartite division consisting of an approach, a set of
methods that follow from an approach, and a set of techniques that implement a method.
X, Y,Z’s of Language Learning: Bilingual and Second Language Education 157
A language-teaching approach is a set of assumptions about the nature of language, language

teaching, and language acquisition. We know from our past discussions that assumptions about
the nature of language and about language acquisition differ. Structural theory and generative-
transformational theory each embody a set of different assumptions about the skills and capaci¬
ties of the typical language user, for instance.
A language-teaching method is based upon, and has as its source, a set of assumptions about
the nature of language. A language-teaching technique is a “particular trick, strategem or
contrivance used to accomplish an immediate objective.” We must remember that “techniques
carry out a method that is consistent with an approach.” It will be useful to keep these
distinctions in mind as we consider, and try to clarify, the nature of language teaching and
language acquisition.
Our purpose here is not to advocate a particular approach, method, or technique—although
our biases may creep through. Instead, we wish to indicate the particular set of assumptions,
especially from language acquisition theory, that have influenced and directed language teach¬
ing practices in the last 25 years—a set of assumptions about language which are wedded to a set
of assumptions about learning behavior. We believe that language teachers and curriculum
specialists should be aware of both sets of theoretical assumptions. Even though it is our
contention that a teacher should be aware of approaches, methods, and techniques, we do not
advocate that this awareness should lead to dogmatism. Ronald Wardhaugh makes the following
point in talking about theory: “We can never,” he says, “ignore theory in talking about
classroom practices, because good practices must necessarily be built on good theory. A good
teacher,” he maintains, “is someone who continually examines what he does, and continually
tries to steer a course between doubt and dogma. Good teaching practice is based on good
theoretical understanding. There is indeed nothing so practical as a good theory.” With these
preliminary words serving as background, let us now turn to the matter of approach.
The Chomskyan revolution in theoretical linguistics eventually spawned a similar kind of
revolution in the teaching of language. There are two approaches which we will refer to: the
structural approach (also called behavioristic) and the generative-transformational approach
(also called cognitive). “Behavioristic” and “cognitive” are two terms employed by psycholo¬
gists to codify, explain, and label a set of assumptions on learning. We will have more to say
about these two terms as we proceed.
“Structural” and “generative-transformational” do not refer to methods, or even to tech¬
niques. They are terms that describe a set of assumptions or beliefs about the nature of
language and language structure, from which language-teaching methods and techniques follow.
Thus, approaches are important for the discipline of language teaching, since the particular
approach the language teacher subscribed to would dictate which methods and techniques he
would choose to employ in his classroom.
STRUCTURAL LINGUISTICS AND BEHAVIORISTIC PSYCHOLOGY
We have referred to the fact that World War II and succeeding events were primarily the
cause for a strongly increased interest in foreign and second language teaching and learning, the
impetus of which was not blunted until 1968, the year of student protest at the height of the
hostilities in Viet Nam. Between these two wars, enrollments soared and structural linguists,
employing their particular insights as to the structure of language, became very much involved
in promoting the study of language: first, because they were language teachers during the war
and thus had knowledge of a great many languages that held strategic value; and second,
because they offered an alternative to the grammar-translation method that emphasized reading
and writing; and third, because they advocated a set of methods through which the spoken
language, in particular, could be taught. These methods, which were based upon a set of
assumptions about the nature of language and learning, were called by a variety of different
names, and it is not uncommon to find them referred to as “the linguistic method,” “the Army
158
method,” “the mim-mem method,” “the oral/aural method,” “the pattern practice method,”
and perhaps most commonly, as the “audiolingual method.’
Eminent linguists, including Leonard Bloomfield himself, wrote language-teaching texts that
reflected many of the insights of structural linguistics and behavioristic psychology, and since
these methods were designed to offer an alternative to the current grammar-translation method,
textbooks that were predicated upon these assumptions found a ready and profitable market.
In these methods, structural theory is related to, and is interwoven with, the psychological
theory called empiricism or behaviorism: the belief that learning is a result of stimuli and the
various responses to them. The set of assumptions that reflect and embody this view of learning
had, as we shall learn, an important effect on the discipline of language teaching. Let us now
examine those assumptions.
Assumption Number One: Language is primarily speech, not writing. This assumption was a
reaction to classical or traditional grammar, which emphasized the primacy of reading and
writing.
Assumption Number Two: Language is a set of speech habits iargely learned through a
process of conditioning and many repetitive drills, with emphasis upon mimicry and memoriza¬
tion of utterances and dialogues.
Assumption Number Three: The actual language should be taught, not merely the facts
about the language being taught. Again, this assumption was a reaction to the traditional
practice of emphasizing grammatical explanation.
Assumption Number Four: Language is what native speakers say, not what someone thinks
they ought to say. This assumption was a reaction to rules that purport to prescribe “correct”
speech.
Assumption Number Five: Languages are more different than they are alike.
Structural theory held, simply, that to teach a language one had to teach a set of language
habits. In order for these responses to be learned certain habit-producing activities were advo¬
cated. These activities were: pattern-practice drills first enunciated by the teacher, mimicry of
the teacher, and the memorization of dialogues. If only enough emphasis and time were spent
upon these exercises, it was believed language fluency would soon follow.
The emphasis on the teaching of the spoken language would also take precedence over all
other language skills, such as reading and writing—the classical concerns. In a representative text
(Beginning Japanese) that remains popular even today, Eleanor Jorden voiced the opinion that
“Language learning is overlearning. Through memorization of whole utterances and substitution
within and manipulation of these utterances, a student achieves the fluency and automaticity
that are necessary for control of a language. Language learning involves acquiring a new set of
habits, and habits must be automatic.”
Students were subjected to the spoken pattern drills of the audiolingual, or audio-oral,
method, in which much emphasis was placed upon first hearing (stimuli) and then repeating
(response). Pattern practice still remains an important aspect of the audiolingual teaching
method. Robert Lado, who, along with Charles C. Fries, designed and wrote a number of
language-teaching texts now famous the world over, says that in pattern practice drill “the
student is led to practice a pattern, changing some elements of the pattern each time, so that
normally he never repeats the same sentence twice. Furthermore, his attention is drawn to
changes, which are stimulated by pictures, oral substitutions, etc., and this, the pattern itself,
the significant framework of the sentence, rather than the particular sentence, is driven inten¬
sively into his habit reflexes.” Students often found activities such as these boring and stifling,
particularly when the entire lesson would consist of only these and related activities. Part of the
X,Y,Z’s of Language Learning: Bilingual and Second Language Education 159
current malaise existing in foreign language instruction can probably be attributed to this
emphasis on the spoken language and to this set of methods and techniques employed to teach
it.
To summarize, language lessons that reflect structural linguistic theory and behavioristic
psychology contain dialogues to be memorized and a set of various kinds of “habit-producing”
pattern drills. Until recently most language-teaching methods based upon linguistics were struc¬
tural in orientation. Now generative-transformational theory and cognitive psychology promise
to open up new vistas and alternatives to the language teacher. We turn to those now.
GENERATIVE-TRANSFORMATIONAL GRAMMAR AND COGNITIVE PSYCHOLOGY
All language teaching methods nowadays appear to have a linguistic and a psychological
base. Noam Chomsky, in Language and Mind, has even suggested that linguistics can be con¬
sidered a branch of cognitive psychology. At the same time that he urges the language teacher
to question the insights of linguistics and psychology, as well as their application and relevance
to the teaching of language, he also submits that “it is possible—even likely—that principles of
psychology and linguistics, and research in these disciplines, may supply insights useful to the
language teacher.”
While keeping Chomsky’s admonition in mind—that linguistics and psychology may not
solve all of the problems that beset the language teaching profession—we believe, still, that these
two disciplines, especially the varieties termed generative-transformational grammar and cogni¬
tive psychology, can provide useful “roadsigns” for those persons involved in teaching, evaluat¬
ing, and writing language programs. Some of these roadsigns are ambiguous, however, and they
may not become clear for some time to come. The process of acquiring language, or as it is
called, language acquisition, is a useful point of departure.
LANGUAGE ACQUISITION
Under the topic of language acquisition there are a number of subcategories and trends, each
one deserving more attention than it is possible to provide here. First, let us look at the nature
of language acquisition and the theories which are employed to explain the process of language
acquisition.
Structural grammarians, it is important to restate, emphasize the distinctiveness found
among languages. Martin Joos said in 1957 that “Languages can differ from each other without
limit and in unpredictable ways.” By way of contrast, transformational theorists emphasize the
similarities among languages, maintaining that while languages may appear to be very different,
an analysis of their deep, abstract structures reveals they are more similar than they are differ¬
ent. Languages, these theorists submit, can only differ from each other in a limited number of
ways.
That all languages share structures makes it simpler to account for the fact that children
learn, without the benefit of formal instruction, the language(s) of their immediate environ¬
ment. Chomsky’s hypothesis about language acquisition is that every normal child is pro¬
grammed with a capacity (a language acquisition device) to learn language, fluently, by the time
he is five to six years old. That a child learns language(s) quickly, easily, and efficiently is
observable by anyone who has lived in a foreign country with small children. And it is not
uncommon to encounter children who have learned two or even more languages fluently, with
native-like pronunciation. The processes that enable children to learn language(s) are still poorly
understood and a great deal of current research-research that we label as developmental
psycholinguistics—focuses itself upon discerning the language-learning attributes of the human
species.
We can distinguish three areas of current developmental research.
1. Some research seeks to accumulate evidence which may demonstrate that children learn
language by imitating the language patterns of adults. According to this theory, a child speaks
an imperfect version of adult speech, and eventually reaches the model of adult speech through
closer and closer approximation of it. The imitative theory of language acquisition has assumed
less importance today, for reasons that we will explore below, and is being supreseded by other
theories of language acquisition. A version of imitative language learning is developed by B. F.
Skinner in his book, Verbal Behavior.
2. Another avenue of research is based upon Noam Chomsky’s hypothesis about language
acquisition. Chomsky theorizes that very basic linguistic concepts are native to the human
species and that the young child arrives at the monumental task of learning a language already
programmed with the knowledge of what language is. We find that Chomsky’s theory consists
of a syntactic component that is generative and phonological and semantic components that are
interpretive.
David McNeil and others have done empirical research on the language of children, employ¬
ing the theoretical constructs of language developed in Aspects. McNeil and his associates find
that all children pass through the same states of language acquisition on their way to adult
speech; the ages of children who reach a particular stage may vary, but never more than a few
months. At approximately twelve months, children are speaking their first word; at 18 months,
utterances consist of two to three words; and at two to three years, sentences can be heard. At
the age of 18 months (the 2-3 word state) McNeil found that child language is as patterned,
constrained, and rule-governed as adult language is; he also finds that children at this stage do
not imitate the speech of parents or older siblings. Words at this early age do not occur in adult
order nor in random order.
McNeil and others described the grammar that served to explain language behavior of 18-
month old children as pivot. A pivot generative grammar will specify just those sentences that
occur or might occur at various stages in children’s speech.
The rules of pivot grammar, in brief, consist of the following:
• Sentence -* Open + (Pivot)
Sentences of approximately 18-month old children consist of two classes of words: an obliga¬
tory open class and an optional pivot class.
• Open -* a large number of words, including the following: boat, mommy, toy, come,
shoe, milk, and sock.
• Pivot -> a small number of high frequency words: allgone, big, my, and see.
Sentences generated by this brief sketch of a stage of young children’s grammar might
consist of the following set:
boat
shoe
see toy
allgone milk
my toy
Thus, children s language is not a copy, however imperfect, of adult grammar. Pivot grammar
had its own set of rules, from which new sentences could be generated.
3. While Chomsky s and McNeil s notion of the principles of language acquisition is based
upon the primacy of syntax, a more recent explanation and set of hypotheses rest upon the
primacy of semantics. In this view, the essence of language is meaning-, the child has something
X.Y.Z’s of Language Learning: Bilingual and Second Language Education 161
*
meaningful to say, and syntax merely “clothes” meaning. Thus, in this theory semantics be¬
comes generative and syntax becomes interpretive.
Lois Bloom, in her study of early language acquisition, finds that a sentence with the same
syntactic shape, such as “Mommy sock,” can have various meanings, each meaning dependent
upon the context in which the sentence is uttered. We can think of a number of possible
meanings for the sentence, “Mommy sock,” including the following:
That is mommy’s sock
Bring me my sock
The sock fell (off the table)
Is that Mommy’s sock?
What is perhaps the most important development in this area of language acquisition is that
Jean Piaget’s research on the intellectual and cognitive development of children can be cor¬
related with generative semantics. Piaget’s research identifies various stages of intellectual and
cognitive growth and development, and these states can be linked to the various stages of
language acquisition of the young child. Bloom submits, “Piaget’s contention that language
depends upon, as a logical consequence of, the prior development of relevant cognitive struc¬
tures is strongly supported by the result of research in early language development.” Bloom
further makes the point that “children learn precisely those words and structures which en¬
coded their conceptual notions about the world of objects, events and relations.” Syntax, from
this point of view, is not a crucial variable; meaning is.
Arguing for a semantically-based explanation of language acquisition, M. Bowerman says,
“The structural component of the rules underlying children’s early two- and three-word utter¬
ances may be semantic concepts like ‘agent,’ ‘action,’ and ‘object acted upon,’ rather than
grammatical concepts like ‘subject,’ ‘predicate’ and ‘direct object.’ ”
THE CRITICAL AGE
That children leam languages better, faster, and more efficiently than adults is a popular
view. Critical age factor is a term employed by psychologists and linguists (including Chomsky
and Lenneberg) to reflect the assumption that children do learn languages better, more easily,
and more efficiently than adolescents and adults. The late Dr. Wilder Penfield of the Montreal
Neurological Institute researched the psychological development of the brain and found that it
is “specialized” in the learning of languages if the learning took place before the onset of
puberty. After that age, he postulated, “gradually, inevitably, it seems to become rigid, slow,
less receptive.”
The age factor gives rise to the notion and the belief that the “language acquisition device”
atrophies early in life, and that if language learning is to “take” children must be taught a
language at an early age; this age “just happens” to coincide with the beginning of formal
education. There were early advocates of teaching foreign languages in the elementary school
even before current linguistic and psychological research. Among the early advocates was Dr.
Earl J. McGrath, former United States Commissioner of Education, who in 1952, six years
before the NDEA and five years before the publication of Syntactic Structures, helped to
trigger the teaching of “FLES,” as it was to be called. He observed that “for some years I
unwisely took the position that a foreign language did not constitute an indispensable element
in a general education program. This position, I am happy to say, I have reversed.”
Support for McGrath’s position of FLES came from psychologists Arnold Gesell and Frances
L. Ilg of the Gesell Institute of Child Development, who declared that they were happy to see
school systems providing opportunities for second-language learning in the elementary curricu¬
lum. They submitted that this practice “indicates a clearer recognition of the pattern and
sequences of child development. The young child enjoys language experiences. With favorable
motivation he is emotionally amenable to a second and even a third language. This holds true
for nursery school and kindergarten age levels.”
Since 1952, however, the movement to include foreign languages as a regular part of the
elementary school curriculum has seen both success and failure—mostly failure. More than one
million children were eventually introduced to a modern foreign language in the lower grades.
Yet while some excellent FLES programs have existed, well over half of them were conducted
after school hours, and outside the regular school curriculum. And many of these classes met
for only 15 or 20 minutes, twice a week, with the students learning only a few phrases and
songs. Moreover, and perhaps an even greater factor in their lack of success, language was taught
as a subject. Children never learned in the language, as is done in some forms of bilingual
education.
At the present time FLES appears to be moribund and, to A. Bruce Gaarder and others, it
was not notably successful. The newest trend in second-language instruction and learning is
reflected in various bilingual programs in the United States, a topic that we shall return to soon.
SECOND-LANGUAGE LEARNING
It may seem that our discussion of languages in the early grades has led us far afield from our
discussion of language acquisition, or more specifically, from our inquiry: “Is second-language
learning like the first?” There are a number of prominent scholars, psychologists, sociologists,
and educators, as well as linguists, interested in finding an answer to this important question.
Heidi Dulay, Marina K. Burt, Stephen D. Krashen, Jack Richards, Susan Ervin-Tripp, John
McNamara and others all have been sorting through evidence, seeking to prove that it is the same
or that it is not the same. While the jury is still out, evaluating all the evidence, what evidence
there is seems to indicate that first- and second-language learning/acquisition is not qualitatively
different (and some doubt there is any difference at all).
Research has focused upon the language learning skills and strategies of adults and children.
Stephen D. Krashen and his fellow researchers believe that there is a natural developmental
sequence to language learning in the adult, and these processes parallel the processes employed
by the young child learning his first language. Their research leads H. Douglas Brown and others
to suggest that “there is absolutely no conclusive evidence that the adult is cognitively deficient
in his ability to acquire a foreign language.” Susan Ervin-Tripp also finds in many important
respects that development of communicative capacity in a second language follows the order
found in mother tongue acquisition. One of these processes that eventually leads to fluency,
which is found both in mother tongue and second-language acquisition, is the development of
an “interlanguage,” a language that is deficient from the fluent speaker’s in many respects. The
adult language learner, similar in strategy to the child in the process of acquiring his first
language, will attempt to communicate before he has mastered sufficiently all levels of the
target language—and this “imperfect” product is an “interlanguage.”
Jack Richards, Marina Burt and Heidi Dulay have also suggested the close approximation of
first- and second-language acquisition. They have examined the errors that second-language
learners make and have compared them to the errors that first-language learners make. Struc¬
tural linguists felt at one time that the errors made by language learners were due to interfer¬
ence from the first language. Richards, Dulay, Burt, and others now maintain that, in general,
learner errors are due to language development factors rather than to the interference of the
first language with the second. Contrastive analysis (as advocated by structuralists) is now being
replaced by the notion of error analysis (which encompasses both language interference errors
and developmental errors). While it is true that the phonological system of the first language
usually leads to an accent in the second, it is not clear whether the morphology, syntax, and
semantic structures of the first language produce errors in the same way. There is even the
suggestion that developmental errors are sequential, and that all language learners, whether first
or second, whether native speakers of Japanese, Polish, English, or any other language, experi¬
ence the same kinds of difficulties and make the same kinds of errors in learning language-a
hypothesis that serves to support the notion that there is a set of learning strategies and
language skills shared by all.
“But I am not convinced,” our reader might say: “There is a difference.” We would agree
that the older learner does experience difficulty that the younger does not. What the difference
is, whether neurological (the Penfield, Chomsky and Lenneberg hypothesis), cognitive (learning
strategies), or affective, we do not know as yet. We are not saying that the scholars we have
cited above are correct in their premises, only that what they have discovered gives further
evidence to support the notion of “universal learning strategy.” And Joan Rubin, in her article,
“What the ‘Good Language Learner’ Can Teach Us,” recognizes the same ambivalence: while all
people can learn one or more languages, some people seem to be more successful at it than
others. She finds that successful language learners exhibit certain personality traits and employ
identifiable strategies:
1. They are good, willing, and accurate guessers.
2. They are not afraid to appear foolish, so they take chances.
3. They are not afraid to attempt to construct sentences that they have never heard before.
4. They constantly look for new patterns in the target language.
5. They look for opportunities to practice, even to the point of seeking out native speakers.
As all good teachers know, there is much more to the learning and teaching of language than
the appropriate approach, methods, and techniques. Rubin’s research would attest to that, and
leads us into a discussion of a topic of language teaching that has attracted much attention
lately. If linguistics and psychology cannot provide us with answers to all of our questions that
concern the difference, if any, between the adult and child language learner, what can? We
suggest that the notion of the “affective domain” can give us additional answers.
THE AFFECTIVE DOMAIN

In a collection of papers given at the TESOL convention, there is a section entitled, “Human
Relations, Affect, and Communicative Competence”; these three factors all pertain to the
“affective domain,” which includes a number of variables:
1. The emotional response of the student: his motivation; how he feels about himself, his
peers, his teacher (the authority figure); his interactions with his peers and his teacher; how
secure he feels; and even his reaction to his physical surroundings. His affective responses may
be either positive or negative. For instance, a gloomy, unattractive classroom would be negative
and would constitute a possible barrier to learning.
2. The student’s reaction to the language that he is learning. He may experience “language
shock.” The language that he is attempting to learn may lack status; it may be, or may have
been, the language of an oppressor; or it may sound so different from his native language as not
to sound like a language at all-one that is worth learning.
3. The student’s reaction to the culture of the people whose language he is learning. Some¬
times students experience a reaction known as “cultural shock.” A negative reaction to a
culture may also cause a similar reaction to the language of that culture.
These are just a few of the variables in learning that have little to do with approach but may
have a great deal to say about what methods or techniques will be employed in the classroom.
Motivation is an important criterion, and teachers always seem to talk about how to moti¬
vate students. Earl W. Stevick of the Foreign Service Institute makes the useful distinction
between instrumental motivation and integrative motivation. Instrumental motivation in the
classroom may be conditioned and directed by the teacher who awards grades, perhaps money
and various prizes, sweets, the promise of employment or travel abroad, while integrative
motivation “goes very deep—direct to the level of identity and reflects a genuine interest in
learning the language. Leon A. Jakobovits speaks to this point in his article, The Psychological
Bases of Second Language Learning,” in which he submits that to spend “massive educational
efforts in teaching FL’s in the absence of genuine interest in that type of knowledge is not only
futile but harmful.” Affective factors, according to John H. Schumann, may indeed play a more
vital and important role “than does biological maturation in problems associated with adult
second language acquisition.”
The reduction of tension in the classroom, perhaps with the teacher assuming a completely
different role-relationship with his students, seems to have a corresponding effect on learning. A
teacher has a tremendous effect on the learning climate in the classroom, and it is useful to
report what one has said (from Ginott):
I have come to a frightening conclusion. I am the decisive element in the class¬
room. It is my personal approach that creates the climate. It is my daily mood that
makes the weather. As a teacher I possess tremendous power to make a child’s life
miserable or joyous. It can be a tool of torture or an instrument of inspiration. I
can humiliate or humor, hurt or heal. In all situations it is my response that decides
whether a crisis will be escalated or de-escalated, and a child humanized or de¬
humanized.
Two methods, in particular, that we will discuss below, Community Language Learning and
the Silent Way, certainly have among their aims to reduce tension and the threatening aspect of
the teacher in the classroom. Hopefully, the reduction of tension and threat will lead to more
“receptive” learning (real learning) rather than to “defensive” learning (shallow or short-term
learning), which is learning designed to avoid pain. But before we turn to methods and tech¬
niques, we will discuss one of the most important, to our minds, recent developments in
education—bicultural-bilingual education.
BILINGUAL-BICULTURAL EDUCATION:
A RETURN TO THE PAST
“Thank God for the dispossessed American-Indian, for the disadvantaged Mexican-American,
for the dislocated Puerto Rican! Without them (and the political leverage that they are only just
beginning to exercise) there would be no publicly subsidized bilingual education (and, there¬
fore, no semblance of public concern for cultural pluralism in American life) even today.” So
states Joshua Fishman in the foreword to William F. Mackey’s book Bilingual Education in a
Binational World.
Bilingual education is a recent educational phenomenon in the United States, or we should
say, a recently renewed phenomenon. The United States was engaged in bilingual-bicultural
education during the early part of its history. In 1774, John Adams wrote to his wife Abigail:
“Above all... let your ardent Anxiety be to mould the Minds and Manners of our Chil¬
dren .. . Fix their ambition upon great and solid objects, and their Contempt upon little frivo¬
lous and useless ones. It is Time, my dear, for you to begin to teach them French.” Yet after
the outbreak of World War I, with its accompanying restrictions on immigration, the status of
bilingual education began to change. Anyone who spoke any language other than English was
suspect, at the least, for not being a “true American.”
In recent years, however, bilingualism has become, according to Dell Hymes, a “socio-
linguistic subject par excellence,” and constitutes one of the newest areas of linguistic research.
Mandated by the Bilingual Education Act (revised in 1976), by the Supreme Court Decision of
Lau vs. Nichols, and by the Office of Civil Rights’ Guidelines, public schools must provide
initial instruction in the child’s home language if he does not know English. We have come a
long way from the “low prestige syndrome” suffered by the sons and daughters of immigrants
in the United States, who experienced contempt in their bilingual or bidialectal community.
Yet there are still problems in fostering minority languages, as some say pride in the minority
culture may compete with national identification and prove detrimental to national unity.
These arguments provide evidence for the fact that bilingualism has many complex social,
political, and psychological implications that must be studied, adding the research to the corpus
of information on second-language learning and maintenance in the United States.
Bilingual education in the U.S. is not a unique phenomenon, since more than 100 nations of
the world have bilingual programs. Bruck, Lambert, and Tucker assert that “living in North
America, we frequently tend to forget that bilingualism and education in one’s second language
is the rule rather than the exception for most of the world’s population.” In these countries it is
a way of life to attend schools where a second language is the medium of instruction.
Increasing attention has been paid to the study of bilingual communities in the world.
Emeritus Professor Einar Haugen of Harvard University wrote a monumental study of Nor-
wegian-English bilingualism in the United States. Languages in Contact, a text by Uriel Wein-
reich, presents a kaleidoscopic view of bilingual situations throughout the western world. New
studies are constantly being published. Works by eminent researchers like Joshua Fishman,
William F. Mackey, Wallace Lambert, G. Richard Tucker, Andrew Cohen, and Carolyn Kessler,
to mention only a handful, are available for the reader, and we have listed some of these in the
extensive “For Further Reference” section at the end of this chapter.
In Canada, an experiment in bilingual education is ongoing, and a large majority of English-
speaking children in Quebec attend school where French is the medium of instruction. This
particular model of bilingual education is called the immersion model. Instruction is available,
more importantly, for most monolingual English-speaking children—not merely for the low
socio-economic groups; in this way, this model differs from most bilingual programs which exist
in the United States. (A notable exception, the Culver City Project, has attempted to replicate
the Canadian experiment.)
The Canadian experiment in bilingual education began about ten years ago, when psycho¬
linguists Wallace Lambert and G. Richard Tucker asked themselves, “What would happen if
children were to attend kindergarten and elementary school where a foreign or second language
was used as the major medium of instruction?” They, and a group of supportive parents, were
mindful of the ineffectiveness of traditional foreign language instruction and even of FLES. The
parents were also mindful and concerned about the current political situation in Canada, where
both French- and English-speaking citizens reside and compete for political power. They also
wanted to develop in their children a mutual understanding and respect for the French-speaking
minority.
The experiment began when monolingual English-speaking children were placed in class¬
rooms where instruction was carried on in French, and where teachers, although knowing
English, responded and spoke in French. The St. Lambert Bilingual Project, as it was called, has
become a prototype of a kind of bilingual-bicultural education, replicated in the United States
and elsewhere; by most accounts, it is a tremendously successful model.
Another question which has been raised by many researchers and parents is, “If I put my
child into a class where a second language is employed for instruction, will it make any
difference to his or her cognitive development and growth?” In other words, does bilingual
education work, and is it worth it? This remains a question, even into the tenth year of the St.
Lambert experiment. Here are some of the research findings of the St. Lambert experiment and
other projects administered by Lambert and Tucker on this question:
1. After several years of monitoring student performance, “no signs of negative effects in
cognitive development” were found.
2. In math, or in any other of the “intellectual” subjects, there have been no significant
differences in cognitive development.
3. There appears to be more cognitive flexibility demonstrated by the students: “What is

particularly encouraging,” Lambert and Tucker point out, “is that by grades four and five the
children’s attitude toward French people appear to reflect more understanding, charity, and
friendliness than is the case for the English-speaking control [group of children]
An academic question that should perhaps remain moot is whether the cognitive skills and
development of children are adversely affected by learning in two languages. Bilingualism has
been a world-wide part of much education for such a long period, and English children, German
children, and other children who participate in bilingual education are not known to be defi¬
cient in cognitive growth. There is, however, evidence gathered by John McNamara, in his study
of bilingual education, that seems to indicate that Irish children do suffer cognitive lag. This lag
may be explained by the fact that the Irish language has not been the national language of
Ireland for long and is not spoken widely, rather than upon the weakness of any bilingual
education program being administered in Ireland. Perhaps it is sufficient to postulate that
children will do better learning a second language if the language is heard outside the school—as
in Canada, where both English and French are used in everyday activities.
In the United States, bilingual-bicultural education has had a different thrust than in Canada.
Bilingual education, or education in a second language, has not been based upon, nor has it
evolved from, any research indicating the optimum chronological time to teach a language; it
has also not been, in the main, a program for children from homes of the more educated or the
more affluent (socially and economically) segment of the school-attending population. Rather,
bilingual education in the U.S. has developed from the great concern that sizable minorities of
young children are being deprived of their equal educational rights by having to attend schools
where the language of instruction is not their home language. (It is rather ironic, we submit, that
English-speaking Canadian children, by design, can attend schools where French is the medium
of instruction, and that Canadian children appear to develop cognitively and socially as well, or
perhaps better, than children who participate in monolingual education programs.)
There are other crucial differences, of course, between the Canadian experience and the
experience of bilingual education in the United States. The emphasis in Canada is on the
opportunity to become bilingual; in the United States, it is, in the main, to educate the
bilingual. This distinction can be made a bit clearer if we look again to the philosophy of
bilingual education in the two countries. In Canada, bilingual education is offered to the middle
and upper socioeconomic classes (although lower socioeconomic classes do also participate). In
the United States, bilingual education has been a compensatory program, implemented for the
disadvantaged.
The experience of the United States in bilingual education is unique. Before any legislation
was passed, children who spoke no English at home attended schools where there was little if
no provision made to help them make the transition to the English-speaking environment.
Teachers who often could speak the language of their students were required to speak only in
English, and children were often penalized by the school administration for speaking their
home language in class or at play. As a result, these children, because of their lack of English
language skills, were retained or-worse yet-shunted off to classes for special education (de¬
signed for the slow learner and the mentally retarded). It is easy to see that the school was a
hostile environment for these children, and it is no wonder then that the drop-out rate was
in excess of 85 percent in some school districts.
The Bilingual Education Act, as Title VII of the Elementary and Secondary Education Act
(revised in 1976), provides funds to school districts for use in funding bilingual-bicultural
education programs designed for students who need aid in coping with the curriculum. An
important Supreme Court decision, Lau vs. Nichols, requires school districts to provide instruc¬
tion in the child’s home language if he does not know English. A child therefore has the
constitutional right, the Supreme Court has declared, to attend a school where his language will
be employed to instruct him.
The interest that the federal government has demonstrated toward making the schools
instruments of instruction for every child has resulted in the development of a number of
a
different kinds of bilingual programs. In his article on the typology of bilingual education
programs, William F. Mackey identifies many kinds. We shall distinguish two of the major
types:
First there is the general type of bilingual program in which instruction is carried on in the
child’s first language, and the target language (the language to be learned) is taught as a subject.
This may be called the transitional model of bilingual education, since there are specific classes
to teach English until the time that the child can learn in English. At that time his mother
tongue is replaced as a medium of instruction.
There is another general type of bilingual program, differing in a crucial aspect. In this type,
both the mother tongue and the target language are employed as a means of instructing the
child. If both languages are employed as mediums of instruction throughout the child’s school
career, language maintenance is one result. This program can also be transitional if one lan¬
guage, the school language, eventually replaces the mother tongue as the only language of
instruction.
The distinction between the two general models is a qualitative one. In the first model,
instruction is given in the language—language is treated as a subject, as arithmetic and social
studies are. In the second model, language is employed as a vehicle of instruction, perhaps to
teach arithmetic and social studies. William Mackey has always maintained that language treated
as a subject will always remain a subject, learnable by few but not by many. One of the major
reasons for the failure of FLES was that the target language was taught as a subject; it was never
consistently employed to instruct.
THE YEARS AHEAD

Since we have a federally-mandated bilingual-bicultural education policy in the United
States, let us now examine some of the possible difficulties that bilingual-bicultural education
may face in the years ahead.
Perhaps the most serious problem is that bilingual education is mainly designed or intended
for teaching the “different” language user rather than for creating a population of bilinguals.
Albar Pena, former director of the Bilingual Education Office in H.E.W., says that this policy
smacks of the melting-pot concept—a concept that says, in part, that everyone should become
primarily English-speaking. As a result of this concept, there is a stigma attached to being
bilingual, especially if one of the languages is the language of a segment of society which is
economically deprived. Education aimed at the “disadvantaged minorities” is thus labeled
compensatory education, geared to “rehabilitate” children so that they can enter and partici¬
pate in the mainstream educational system.
A bilingual educational program of the compensatory type is a deficit model. To Bernard
Spolsky, it is as if you are moving “people from one kind of monolingualism to another.”
Spolsky calls bilingual education practiced in this way “a gimmick for the disadvantaged,”
which, he maintains, is patronizing to the children who participate. Joshua Fishmatn argues that
“compensatory-transitional bilingual education is self-liquidating at best and self-frustrating at
worst: it is patronizing, apologetic, invidious, one-sided and unidirectional.”
Bilingual education based on the compensatory model is thus basically a one-way street, and
that is perhaps its most serious flaw. It is a two-way street in Canada where, in time, partici¬
pants eventually consider themselves as both English and French-Canadian. In order for bi¬
lingual education to become more than compensatory in scope, we believe that the middle and
upper classes must desire and be motivated to participate in it as well. As Fishman says, “It is
the poor little rich kids who most desperately need bilingual and bicultural education. It is they
who lack education for world-cultural realism and for global-cultural desiderata.”
To succeed even more than it has, bilingual education should be much more than trans¬
itional. We believe that it can be. Bilingual-bicultural education, and the manner in which it can
be implemented for the benefit of all societies in the United States, remains a topic of much
concern. While the compensatory model has led the United States into the area of bilingual
education, it has not as yet provided a viable educational opportunity for the majority. Perhaps
as more is known about the benefits of knowing two languages, bilingual education will be
offered for the many rather than for the few.
We leave our reader, in this first year of the third century for our nation, with this appro¬
priate visionary statement from Fishman:
In sum, my prediction is that when your great-grandchildren and mine celebrate
the 300th anniversary of the U.S.A., there will still be non-Anglo ethnic main¬
tenance and non-English language maintenance. They will find them changed.
They will find them enriched. They will find them creative. They will find them
stimulating. They will find them self-critical and critical of others. They will find
them wonderful. They will find them part and parcel of America, just as they
have always been. And they will find America richer because of them, more
exciting because of them, and matured because of them, much as it has always
been. Via bilingual education your great-grandchildren and mine can partake of
this richness, this excitement, and this maturity. I pray that they will.
WHAT DID I SAY THAT WAS WRONG?
Christina Bratt Paulston tells a story about a recent visit that she made to her homeland,
Sweden. Being fluent in Swedish, she had no difficulty in understanding the language or making
herself understood. Where she had difficulty was in certain social situations, in which she used
language that was inappropriate. Language, we find, also comes hand-in-hand with a set of
social rules dictating how to use language in an appropriate manner. Paulston had invited dinner
guests over for a typical American Thanksgiving feast. At one point, she had to leave her guests
for a moment because she had to be in the kitchen. While she was attending to her culinary
chores, another guest arrived who did not know any of the others. When Paulston returned to
the room and asked her recent arrival, as any American would, “Have you met everyone?”, the
rather chagrined guest answered, “Of course I have.” It is a rule of social etiquette in Sweden,
but not in America, that one introduces himself to other strangers and does not wait to be
formally introduced. In fact, it is obligatory that one Swede introduces himself to another, and
a social insult (which reflects lack of good manners) if he does not.
Language, then, is not merely an array of well-formed responses to stimuli, but also an array
of rules as to the appropriateness of these responses. Some matters that have to be taken into
account when teaching or learning any language are the following:
1. The role of silence (Americans always want to fill the void, usually with small talk, while
other cultures value silence—for instance, the Japanese).
2. Speaking volume and intonation (how softly, for example, does one speak in a
restaurant?).
3. The use of formula utterances. “How are you?” does not really mean that the questioner
is interested in the health of the person addressed. In fact, if given a long answer consisting of a
list of facts about his health, the questioner might learn to avoid the person in the future—or at
least to avoid asking the question.
4. How personal can we be? It has been said by many that Americans ask extremely
personal questions of one another, and so they become adept at “missing the point” or avoiding
direct answers (“How old are you?” can be answered by the evasive “Old enough to know
better”). In Sweden, if one asks a direct personal question, the person is constrained to answer
fiuthfully. It is a social rule in Sweden that one does not ask such personal questions.
Rules that we have been talking about are called pragmatic rules, and they must be learned
along with the phonology, morphology, syntax, and semantics of any language. Spies have been
known to have been tripped up on less.
CHOOSING WHICH LANGUAGES TO TEACH
Now that we have identified some of the factors that influence language teaching, what
languages, if we had a choice, should be offered? In general, and following Earl Stevick’s
guidelines, the range of languages to be taught would be determined by what students find to
be of deep interest. Charles A. Ferguson, former Director of the Center for Applied Linguistics,
suggests that students would find useful any of the major “culture” languages, which provide
the key to a rich written literature and which serve as mediums of communication for large
segments of the world’s population. They include: Arabic, Chinese, French, German, Hebrew,
Hindi-Urdu, Indonesian, Italian, Japanese, Persian, Portuguese, Russian, Spanish, and Swahili.
Other factors in the choice of languages include the availability of instructors and ethnic
considerations. In areas with a concentration of persons of a particular national origin, there
could be interest in learning the ancestral speech. Many public schools in Hawaii prefer now to
offer Chinese and Japanese. In parts of the Midwest and Pennsylvania, German and Scandi¬
navian languages may be favored, while in the East, particularly in the industrial centers, the
Slavic languages, Hungarian, and Italian may be of interest. Certain cities have for one reason or
another attracted particular groups. Boston has the largest number of Armenians and Albanians;
Cleveland, Ohio, of Hungarians, Slovenes, and Croatians; New Bedford, Massachusetts, of Portu¬
guese; Indianapolis, of Bulgarians; and sheep raising areas in Nevada and California have drawn
concentrations of Basques from Spain.
Most of the large cities have other ethnic groups. It is our belief that too little has been done
to encourage the teaching of these languages on a regional basis. It also seems incomprehensible
that the various languages of the American Indian are not offered more frequently—although it
would be rather ironic to offer them as “foreign” languages.
Curiously, however, parents’ support of ancestral languages is often weak or nonexistent,
perhaps because of the fear that their children will remain too “foreign,” that the language in
question is not of “practical” importance, that the language represents an ethnic group that has
not been prosperous or respected, or that these languages don’t stand as much chance of being
learned as the more popular ones. According to Theodore Heubener, a former supervisor of
foreign language instruction in New York City, a city that leads in the number of varied ethnic
backgrounds, neither parents nor students have in the past appeared to be much influenced by
national origin, or availability of a language. This tendency may be changing, however. As we
have already indicated, enrollments in Hebrew are increasing in the public schools as well as at
Yeshiva University. By way of contrast, although Brooklyn has a fairly substantial Norwegian
community, very few elect to study the ancestral language. In other states, for instance in
Wisconsin, where there is a high Polish population, enrollments have never been high.
To attract the Polish vote, a state legislator in the 1930s set up a chair of Polish at the
University of Wisconsin. A visiting professor from Poland was hired, a collection of Polish
books was purchased, and excellent courses were organized. Yet in 1938 the annual enrollment
for all courses amounted to only twenty. Recent interest in the Slavic world, however, vindi¬
cates the Wisconsin politician, and the university’s Polish facilities are among the best in the
country.
There are areas in the United States in which languages are being taught even though few, if
any, native speakers of the language reside there. A few years ago in Utah, several high schools
introduced Arabic, Chinese, and Japanese, mostly taught by Mormon missionaries with first¬
hand experience of the languages and cultures. From all indications, their efforts have been
successful.
Inspired by these examples, one secondary school in Colorado has introduced Arabic, while
several California schools are teaching Chinese and Japanese. Sometimes the initiative comes
from the pupils themselves. A few years ago students of a New Jersey high school petitioned for
an after-hours course in Swahili. The school board supported their request, an instructor was
located, and this African language was introduced. However, Richard Brod of the Modern
Language Association staff has expressed the opinion that such moves reflect more the results
of social pressures than intrinsic interest in languages.
We realize that Eastern languages take a great deal of time to learn. Educators are now,
however, making them available at the precollegiate level. Columbia University, with the aid of
a grant from the Carnegie Foundation, has brought Chinese to New York City high schools.
New York City has one of the largest contingents of Chinese living outside of China, and now
that the People’s Republic of China is participating in the United Nations, Chinese may become
even more important and popular.
We present these examples to show that American students are interested in learning foreign
languages. But we must also recognize that what is good, or interesting, or of value to a few
students may not be for all. We merely suggest that there be made available more opportunities
to learn.
We would also like to encourage the teaching of a course in secondary schools and colleges
on “Languages and Linguistics in the World Today.” It could, in simple terms, introduce young
people to the basic facts of language knowledge and language performance. It would give a
picture of the language families of the world, and some notions of sociolinguistic problems in
domestic and international affairs. Such a course ought to help dispel any myths concerning
language that the students had absorbed, replacing them with a realistic notion of the structure
of language and its role in society.
CHOOSING A LANGUAGE-TEACHING METHOD
We have discussed various concerns of the language-teaching art, but we have not so far
discussed how a good language learner becomes a user of the language that he is studying.
Somewhere in the process of learning a language there must be, to cite Wilga Rivers, a transition
from skill-getting to skill-using, or from linguistic competence to communicative competence.
We should ask ourselves just what sorts of language activities language users do during a
normal day; some, but not all, are the following:
Elicit information from someone; express an opinion; report an event or any other “happen¬
ing”; elaborate a statement; justify or make an alibi; engage in small talk (about the weather,
for example); tell a joke; compliment someone; disagree with someone in an acceptable manner;
refuse, politely, an invitation; make an excuse; tell a lie; appear to be objective (even when not).
In changing the focus of our attention from what the language learner has to do linguistically
to the communicative acts that he will have to engage in, we must not permit our linguistics to
get in the way. We should, according to Rivers, engage in interaction activities as soon as
possible, perhaps even on the first day of instruction. While audiolingual practices emphasized
the acquisition of the structure of the sentence, other methods that have been suggested
recently are less linguistic-directed and more communicative-directed. The method that is called
Situational Reinforcement® is an excellent example of a communicative-directed method. There
are, in addition, several language teaching activity texts published by the University of Pitts¬
burgh that list situations, and strategies for coping with them, in a conversational context; and
these we have listed in our section, “For Further Reference.”
We have suggested several times in our last two chapters that there may be ways to improve
the teaching of language in our educational institutions. We have not suggested any concrete
proposals on how improvement in foreign language teaching may occur, however. What we have
said is that modern linguistic theory may provide useful insights into the language learning
process. We are now in much the situation of a flying instructor, who has taught his students
the theory of aerodynamics (what keeps an airplane in the air) and the various kinds of motor
coordination needed to fly the airplane. Yet, if after these explanations they were told, “Go
fly,” they would still be at a loss as to what to do.
The following, then, is a “what the teacher can do” in the classroom to facilitate the learning
of a foreign language. We refer to the teacher as a facilitator because we believe that what the
learner does to learn a foreign language is far more important that what the teacher teaches.
Hence a change in focus, as indicated by our terminology, from “teacher” to “facilitator.”
There are various techniques and methods for teaching language on the market, some new
and some old, some useful and some not. Some of the new approaches reflect current research
in psychology as well as in linguistics. We do not advocate any particular brand of language
teaching, but, on the contrary, we adhere to enlightened eclecticism, believing that methods
and techniques must appeal to the student’s interests, his needs, and his particular set of
learning strategies. As in all discussions of teaching methods, there are caveats to be considered:
methods and techniques are in the province of the teacher and better methods and better
techniques can lead to better learning. But additional variables in the learning situation must
also be considered:
1. Interest or perseverance of the student. How badly does he want to learn the language?
2. The time available for the task of learning.
3. The various language learning aptitudes of the students.
Another possible roadblock is that adherence to one method, without the possibility of
variation, can lead to boredom in the classroom. As noted, language teaching methodology has
been almost exclusively audiolingual (mimicry, memorization, pattern drills), and the adherence
to this approach (coupled with unimaginative teaching) may have contributed to the recent
reaction to the language requirement. Boredom is pain and the bored will take measures, some
extreme, to alleviate it. In sum, it is our belief that for instruction to be effective, a variety of
methods and techniques must be employed.
With these preliminary remarks serving as our guide, let us examine four current methods of
teaching language. These range from the familiar audiolingual to the less familiar “Silent Way.”
We will be looking at the following methods: St. Cloud, Community Language Learning,
Situational Reinforcement, and the “Silent Way.”
ST. CLOUD
The St. Cloud method places emphasis on the spoken language and is a variation of the
audiolingual method. The St. Cloud variation originated in France, where the Centre de Recher¬
che et d’Etude pour la Diffusion du Frantâis of the Ecole Normale Superieure, located at St.
Cloud, has been engaged in significant research. Their courses are based on what constitutes the
most basic, frequently used, and culturally essential vocabulary and grammatical patterns of
French. This study is explained in a book titled L’Elaboration du Frangais Elementaire: Etude
sur Vetablissement d’un vocabulaire et d’une grammaire de base (Development of Elementary
French: Study of the Determinations of a Basic Vocabulary and Grammar). A team of scholars,
consisting of Georges Gougenheim, Paul Rivene, Rene Michea, and Aurelien Sauvageot, deter¬
mined the frequency of words and grammatical constructions in a broad sample of spoken
French. One of the most novel aspects of the study was the emphasis on the quality that some
words have for readily coming to mind in discussions of a given topic. The basic vocabulary
totaled 1,500 words.
The method developed at St. Cloud has been adopted by the General Office of Cultural and
Technical Affairs of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs for the teaching of French as a second
language. It has helped establish more than 40 audiovisual teaching centers in more than 20
countries. Their instructors have taken an orientation course at St. Cloud and are expected to
employ the methods and materials developed at the Ecole Normale Superieure. The language
material is recorded on magnetic tapes, which are coordinated with filmstrips designed to show
the meaning of the taped phrase or of the cultural situation in which it would be used; the
appropriate name given these materials is Voix et Images de France. The use of filmstrips in this
manner is noteworthy since, by and large, these have been neglected by American language
teachers.
The basic St. Cloud course consists of 32 lessons. In a typical lesson the essential material to
be covered is learned in the dialogue; sentences involving grammatical manipulations of the
same material are introduced in the second phase; a final segment is devoted to sentences
picked to highlight certain French sounds. As each frame of the filmstrip is projected on the
screen, the instructor clarifies the meaning through mimicry, gestures, and drawings. There is a
constant endeavor to maintain, through speech and pictures, a “transposed reality” in which
the new language comes to seem an integral part of the situation. Next comes the stage of active
repetition and memorization, with close attention to the pronunciation of the students as they
repeat. After this the lesson enters the phase of using sentences that illustrate certain grammati¬
cal alterations or variations of dialogue material. The immediate goal of these manipulations is
to lead the student to the point at which he can participate in conversation in the context of
situations similar to those presented in the lessons.
In the United States, St. Cloud is represented by Rand-McNally. In the past, two-day
orientation seminars, one-week workshops, and four-week institutes have been conducted by
the Center for American and Canadian Teachers for those interested in applying the St. Cloud
method at their schools. A certain number of scholarships are available to applicants from the
United States and abroad. Materials have also been developed for German, Russian, Italian,
Hebrew, and Swahili.
SITUATIONAL REINFORCEMENT®
Situational Reinforcement® (SR®) is the trade name for a method of teaching developed by
the Institute of Modern Languages, Inc. There are four basic characteristics in the SR method
and materials:
1. Emphasis is placed upon natural communication. Students are led to talk about familiar
persons, objects, actions, and situations. They extend what they learn inside of the classroom to
situations outside.
2. The situation in which the student is placed controls the complexity of the language
structure presented. SR makes the point that natural learning of a language is not structured
learning, that a student should not be forced to master present tense before past (as is often
advocated in audiolingual materials) or the active before the subjunctive-. At the onset of
instruction, there should be a mixture of structures, as in natural speech. Emphasis is thus
placed on situations in order to force the student to “think” in the language that he is learning,
not merely to manipulate the structure of the language.
3. Gradual mastery of the language is emphasized. Structures, since they occur in situations,
are continually reviewed, corrected, and reinforced, all within a context that is real. Reinforce¬
ment of the language by real situations eliminates the need for translation in the SR method.
4. An alternative response is accepted if it is appropriate and correct. Here, following

Chomsky’s observation that language is creative, is where SR reflects, to a great degree, the
research of modern linguistics.
The basic unit of the SR method is the Response Sequence, which includes a sequential
presentation and the use of commands, questions, and answers, focusing on language situations
in which communication occurs naturally. A sample of a Response Sequence follows.
X, Y,Z s of Language Learning: Bilingual and Second Language Education
173
Unit 1. Mr--> Pick up your pencil. [Student performs action]

Ms-, what did Mr_do?
He picked up his pencil.
Unit 2. Mr.-, write your name/the date/your address in your notebook.
What’s he doing?
He’s writing his address in his notebook.
Unit 3. Where’s he writing his address?
In his notebook.
Unit 4. What did he do?
He wrote his address in his notebook.
Unit 5. Where did he write his address?
In his notebook.
After each unit is learned, all of the units are employed in a conversation sequence.
Mr-, pick up your pencil.
What did Mr_do?
He picked up his pencil.
Mr-, write your address in your notebook.
What’s he doing?
He’s writing his address in his notebook.
Where’s he writing his address?
In his notebook.
What did he do?
He wrote his address in his notebook.
Where did he write his address?
In his notebook.
“The aim,” according to the Institute of Modern Languages, “is to guide the students into
connected discourse with each other with minimum instructor involvement.”
To recapitulate, SR calls upon the student to participate actively in the language to be
learned in as typical a situation as possible and calls upon his ability to infer from the data the
“rules” of the languages. As it stands, SR emphasizes reality with its setting of responses and
participation and offers a method that emphasizes language performance. As such, it differs
from classical audiolingualism, with its emphasis upon disconnected drills and patterns.
COMMUNITY LANGUAGE LEARNING
Community Language Learning (CLL) was developed by Father Charles A. Curran, a psycho¬
logist, and emerges from the premise that adults have a basic, primitive resistance to a new
learning situation, and feel the need to protect their egos. CLL theorizes that students will
learn much more effectively if their defenses are lowered, being then free to invest themselves
in learning. A teacher, then, is trained to become a counselor-teacher in a potentially anxiety-
provoking situation.
CLL places the responsibility for the data that is to be learned more on the student than on
the teacher, who is called the “knower” or counselor. Students, and not the knower, initiate all
language activity. From six to twelve students sit in a circle; on the outside of the circle there
are one or more speakers of the target language. The emphasis is on conversation, carried on at
first with the high dependence upon the informant or knower; but as time goes on students
become more proficient with less and less dependence upon the knower. The “conversation” is
carried on in the following manner:
1. A student who wishes to say something first utters the statement in his native language.
The knower whispers the same sentence in the target language into the ear of the speaker, who
repeats it.
2. The person to whom the speaker addresses his remarks now goes through the same
process in responding, saying his response in his native language to the knower. The knower
then whispers the equivalent into the respondent’s ear, who repeats it to the questioner.
3. The activity goes on for 20 minutes, and is recorded on tape. Then the conversation is
played back and analyzed.
This method of language instruction is clearly “student-centered.” Activity is initiated by
the student. He says what he wants to say. He monitors his own speech; he is actively engaged
in communication. Highly dependent at first, he becomes less so as he increases in proficiency.
Unlike audiolingualism, which we may call “teacher-centered,” CLL forces the student to use
his own mental powers to engage in conversation; in this way it is similar to SR, which is also
highly dependent upon the students to actively participate in conversation. Moreover, under¬
lying the CLL model are the assumptions that everyone needs to be understood and to belong.
Therefore, in CLL the teacher-counselor establishes an atmosphere in which the “whole per¬
son” participates and in which a sense of community develops.
THE SILENT WA Y
The Silent Way, based upon the research of Caleb Gattegno, is perhaps the greatest departure
in language instruction that has been proposed in the last twenty-five years. Called “silent”
because students rather than the teacher do more than 90 percent of the talking, the Silent Way
has the following characteristics:
1. Only the target language is employed in instruction. The students’ native language is not
used.
2. Talk concentrates around a set of multicolored rods (blocks) of differing shapes and sizes.
Students and teacher sit in a circle and the teacher passes a block to a student, commenting on
its size, color, and/or shape. Initially, the teacher may call the block by its name in the target
language. The student then passes the block on to another student, repeating what he has heard
the teacher say. The block eventually returns to the teacher, who may then continue to pass the
block around: but this time he may say something different, or he may send a different size or
shape of block around. The teacher says his utterance in the target language only once, how¬
ever.
Although conversation is initially rather simple, and may consist of only a few words or
phrases, communication becomes more complex, to the point where relationships between and
among blocks are discussed. Students are urged to talk, to the teacher as well as to the other
students, about the blocks.
3. To an extent this method reflects the influence of the cognitive-code theory of learning,
which may be contrasted to the behavioristic theory of learning. Behavioristic theory is reflec¬
ted in the methods of audiolingualism, where students hear a stimulus and then are told to
respond by mimicing or memorizing the stimulus. In cognitive-code learning, emphasis is placed
upon the student’s mental powers to make hypotheses about the language he is learning. In SW,
students are motivated to think and say the appropriate sentences to accompany actions under
the guidance of the teacher. Perhaps the most remarkable characteristic of SW, according to
Earl Stevick, who has used and observed this method in teaching, is “the keen attention with
which the student watches the actions and listens to the utterances of the teacher and his fellow
students, as he strives to grasp the meaning as well as the form of these utterances.”
In summary, the Silent Way holds much promise as another effective method of teaching
language where students are encouraged to employ their cognitive powers of language acquisi¬
tion to extract hypotheses from the language data which are presented to them. The learner
employs the target language to communicate immediately. Since the teacher speaks only once,
students are forced to turn to their colleagues for support or confirmation. In Gattegno’s
words, in the Silent Way “teaching is subordinated to learning.”
* * *
Each of these methods and techniques can be employed at various times by one teacher with
a single group of students. Just as students have “favorite and idiosyncratic” strategies for
learning, teachers, too, may have “favorite” strategies of teaching. Some prefer the methods
with more teacher involvement, while others would find methods that encouraged their stu¬
dents to participate more to their liking. There is no single way, no panacea for good language
teaching. For our reader who may wish to learn more about the various approaches, methods,
and techniques for teaching and learning languages, we have listed references on language
teaching at the end of this chapter.
PUBLIC PARTICIPATION
Suggestions for learning a foreign language are not limited only to methods and techniques
that can be employed in a classroom. The day is over when knowledge (or the opportunity to
acquire knowledge) is the privilege only of those who can afford to attend college or enroll in
adult education programs. Today, with more emphasis upon traveling, there are many oppor¬
tunities to learn and employ foreign languages. For these reasons language training, we feel,
ought not to be exclusively tuned to the utilitarian uses of languages, as if languages were useful
only for Foreign Service officers and international business managers. Language can be used
both as a practical tool and as an effective instrument of communication between and among
peoples.
Fortunately, we feel, in contrast with the era of the 1930s and the last half of the 1960s,
there appears today evidence of resurgent citizen interest in learning and promoting the use of
foreign languages, despite the evidence of our colleges and universities. Classes for adult learn¬
ers, at both commercial schools like Berlitz and adult continuing education centers, are
expanding. And today it is not necessary to leave the United States in order to participate in
diplomacy or to speak a foreign language. The United States Travel Service, for example, seeks
out and maintains contact with volunteer citizen groups interested in providing hospitality and
assistance to foreign travelers.
In a small Iowa town a group of citizens, cooperating with the local hotels and Chamber of
Commerce, holds coffee get-togethers for foreign tourists who stop there. If a tourist with a
language difficulty signs in at Washington’s Statler-Hilton Hotel, a clerk hands him a card that
says in 32 languages: “I speak_and I require an interpreter.” The hotel then provides an
interpreter from its staff or furnishes the name, address, and telephone number of one. That
Americans maintain a posture of great friendliness to people from other areas is attested by
Mr. Voit Gilmore, at one time Director of the U.S. Travel Service, who has remarked, “People
want to do something for their country. They want to be hospitable.” But most of us can do
little more than exchange glances.
Moreover, a most welcome type of “hot line” for language-distressed visitors in the United
States has recently been established by the Travel-Lodge motel chain. A toll-free number
reaches Shawnee Mission, Kansas, where the reservation central for Travel-Lodge is located.
German, Japanese, French, and Spanish are used most. A wide range of “emergencies” have
been attended to, some trivial, others serious. Among the most amusing, perhaps, was a call on
behalf of a Spanish-speaking woman in Chicago’s enormous O’Hare International Airport, who
was unable to locate the ladies’ room. An upset Bolivian father reported his daughter to have
been bitten by a squirrel. A German gentleman had been enticed to watch someone flip pennies
and had been relieved of his wallet. A concerned Frenchman requested to know what precau¬
tions should be taken on his trip west in case of an attack from an Indian reservation.
And a few years ago, Lois Hallin in “They Talk Your Language” {Parade, April 30, 1972)
described a Language Bank that was developed in Seattle, Washington, an international cross¬
roads city and port, at the suggestion of the U.S. State Department and assisted by the
Foundation for International Understanding Through Students. Aimed at assisting visitors and
others who are “language stranded,” 350 volunteer interpreters in 80 languages and major
dialects are made available around the clock by the King County Medical Telephone Exchange.
A wealth of human interest stories have been accumulated in the several years of operation of
the project. The Language Bank has explained the techniques of operating a kidney machine in
both Portuguese and Mexican Spanish, interpreters have been supplied at murder trials, and
bilingual baby-sitters have been furnished for mothers and fathers in a state of utter exhaustion
and frustration.
AND WE MAY CONCLUDE THEN . . .
In summary, although recent research in linguistic and psychological theory cannot support
a language teaching technology, we do suggest that research can provide useful directions for
the language teacher. We do believe that we would do well to reappraise the way languages have
been taught, to question whether certain teaching practices and strategies lead and encourage
students to learn and to use a second language. We know that we must provide an environment
in which students can give free rein to the creative impulses of language, to be encouraged to be
as spontaneous as children learning their first language. We must be certain to expose our
students to as much language as we can, for as long as we can, and encourage them to use the
language and recognize the fact that language learners will need to make errors in order to learn.
From “Facts and Fantasies About Language,” our first chapter, to “The X, Y, Z’s of
Language Learning: Bilingual and Second Language Education,” our last, we have run the
gamut. Perhaps then it is fitting to end this chapter, and our text, with a comment that we
heard recently from one of our colleagues: that the future will be assured not on the athletic
field or through physical fitness programs—however necessary these are—but in classrooms
where science, mathematics, the humanities, and foreign languages all are taught. Echoing this,
we might paraphrase King Lear and say: “Let us mend our foreign speech, lest it may mar our
national fortune.”
XIII. QUESTIONS AND ACTIVITIES
1. What are some of the philosophical differences between FLES (Foreign Languages in the
Elementary. School) and Bilingual Education?
2. What are the three areas of current research in developmental psycholinguistics? How does
this research affect language teaching?
3. Examine any language teaching textbook. Can you tell anything about what the author
thinks language is?
4. Visit a foreign language class. Is the class conducted in the target language or in the native
language of the student? Do the students do most of the talking or do the teachers?
5. Ask one of the foreign language teachers at your school what he/she feels should be the
goal(s) of a language class. Compare his/her answer with your own.
6. Compare the features of Audiolingual, Situational Reinforcement, The Silent Way, and
Community Language Learning. How might one be viewed to have certain advantages over
the other?
XIII. FOR FURTHER REFERENCE
Alatis, James. 1976. “The Past as Prologue.” TESOL Quarterly 10:7-18.

Altman, Howard B., ed. 1972. Individualizing the Foreign Language Classroom. Rowley, Mass.:
Newbury House.
Anthony, Edward M. 1963. “Approach, Method, and Technique.” English Language Teaching
17:63-67.
Applegate, Richard B. 1975. “The Language Teacher and the Rules of Speaking.” TESOL
Quarterly 9:271-381.
Asher, James J., Jo Anne Kusudo, and Rita de la Torre. 1974. “Learning a Second Language
Through Commands: The Second Field Test.” Modern Language Journal 58:12, 24-32.
Asher, James and R. Garcia. 1969. “The Optimal Age to Learn a Foreign Language.” Modern
Language Journal 53:334-341.
Bailey, N., C. Madden, and Stephen D. Krashen. 1974. “Is there a ‘Natural Sequence’ in Adult
Second Language Learning?” Language Learning 24:235-43.
Bloom, Lois. 1970. Language Development: Form and Function in Emerging Grammars. Cam¬
bridge, Mass.: M.I.T. Press.
Bowerman, M. 1973. Learning to Talk: A Cross-linguistic Study of Early Syntactic Develop¬
ment, with Special Reference to Finnish. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Brown, H. Douglas. 1975. “The Next 25 Years: Shaping the Revolution,” in Marina K. Burt
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Appendix:
Languages of the World
The following list of 300 languages was originally designed for a set of language files at the
Center for Applied Linguistics. Languages were chosen for inclusion principally as ones in
which Americans might have some interest. In a few instances—where the individual languages
seemed quite minor for purposes of the listing, but where a considerable interest was
apparent—a family of closely-related languages appears as a single entry; the notable cases are
Iroquois and Polynesian.
NAME OF LANGUAGE
Many languages are known by more than one name, and it is an impossibility to make a list
such as this entirely satisfactory from that point of view. In the particular case of Bantu
languages, which normally employ a “language prefix,” the prefix has been included beginning
with a small letter, and the name is alphabetized according to the capitalized letter which begins
the stem of the word.
WHERE SPOKEN
The places “where spoken” are put in order of size of the groups of speakers thought to be
found there. For many widely dispersed languages, only a few of the places where they are
known to be spoken are listed.
MILLIONS OF SPEAKERS
The figures given are attempts to calculate the sizes of population in 1976, using these
languages as their first language, allowing for expected growth in numbers since the time of a
census or other base data. In many instances the figures represent risky extrapolations from
rather shaky estimates made some time ago. Even in countries which have taken a language
census in relatively recent years, the data published often leave considerable problems of
interpretation. Most figures in the millions are to the nearest million, and above 100,000,000 to
the nearest five million.
MILLIONS
NAME OF OF
LANGUAGE WHERE SPOKEN FAMILY SPEAKERS
Achincse Sumatra Malayo-Polynesian 2.0

Achooli-Luo Kenya, Uganda, Sudan Nilotic (Chari-Nile) 3.6
Afrikaans South Africa Germanic (Indo-European) 5.2
Akan (Twi-Fante) Ghana Guinean (Niger-Congo) 4.4
Akha Yunnan (China), Burma, Tibeto-Burman 0.7
Thailand
Albanian Albania, Yugoslavia, Albanian (Indo-European) 3.6
Italy, Greece
Amharic Ethiopia Semitic (Afro-Asiatic) 8.4
181
MILLIONS
NAME OF OF
Amoy Fukien and Kwangtung Chinese (Sino-Tibetan) 39.0

(China), Formosa,
Thailand
Anyi-Baule Ivory Coast, Ghana Guinean (Niger-Congo) 2.0
Arabic Northern Africa, Semitic (Afro-Asiatic) 130.0
Middle East
Araucanian Chile Araukan 0.44
Armenian Armenia (USSR), Armenian (Indo-European) 4.5
Middle East
Assamese Assam (India) Indie (Indo-European) 10.4
Avar Caucasus (USSR) Northeast Caucasic 0.42
Awadhi (Eastern Uttar Pradesh (India) Indie (Indo-European) 43.0
Hindi)
Aymara Bolivia, Peru Kicua-Aymara 1.7
Azerbaijani Iran, Soviet Azerbaidzhan Turkic (Altaic) 10.0
Balante Guinea-Bissau West Atlantic 0.22
Balinese Bali, Lombok Malayo-Polynesian 2.5
Baluchi Pakistan, Iran, Afghanistan Iranian (Indo-European) 2.5
Banda Central African Republic, Eastern (Niger-Congo) 1.1
Congo
Bari Sudan Nilotic (Chari-Nile) 0.34
Bariba Benin (Dahomey) Voltaic (Niger-Congo) 0.29
Bashkir Bashkir ASSR* (USSR) Turkic (Altaic) 1.0
Basque Spain, France (Isolate) 1.1
Western U.S.A.
Karo Batak Sumatra Malayo-Polynesian 0.4
Simalungun Batak Sumatra M alay o -Polyne sian 0.8
Toba Batak Sumatra Malayo-Polynesian 1.6
Beja Sudan, Ethiopia, Egypt Cushitic (Afro-Asiatic) 1.02
Belu Timor Malayo-Polynesian 0.42
iciBemba Zambia, Zaire Bantu (Niger-Congo) 2.2
Bengali Bangladesh, West Bengal Indie (Indo-European) 125.0
(India)
Bete Ivory Coast Guinean (Niger-Congo) 1.2
Bhojpuri Bihar and Uttar Pradesh Indie (Indo-European) 41.0
(India), Nepal, Mauritius
Bicol SE Luzon (Philippines) Malayo-Polynesian 3.2
Bini (Edo) Mid-Western State Guinean (Niger-Congo) 0.97
(Nigeria)
Boro (Kachari) Assam (India) Tibeto-Burman (Sino- 0.56
Tibetan)
Breton NW France Celtic (Indo-European) 1.2
Buginese Celebes, Borneo Malayo-Polynesian 3.2
Bulgarian Bulgaria, Yugoslavia, Slavic (Indo-European) 8.1
Greece
Buriat Buriat ASSR* Mongol (Altaic) 0.33
(Siberia, USSR)
Appendix: Languages of the World 183
MILLIONS
NAME OF OF
Burmese Burma, Bangladesh Tibeto-Burman 23.0

(Sino-Tibetan)
Byelorussian Byelorussia (USSR) Slavic (Indo-European) 10.0
Cakchikel Guatemala Mayan 0.54
Cambodian Cambodia, Thailand, Mon-Khmer 8.4
Viet Nam
Cantonese South China Chinese (Sino-Tibetan) 55.0
Catalan NE Spain, Balearic Islands, Romance (Indo-European) 6.2
Sardinia, France,
Andorra, Argentina
kiChagga Tanzania Bantu (Niger-Congo) 0.80
Chamorro Guam M alay o -Polyne si an 0.05
Chechen Caucasus (USSR) North-Central Caucasic 0.64
Cheremis Mari ASSR* (USSR) Finnic (Uralic) 0.64
Cherokee Oklahoma, North Carolina Iriquoian 0.01
Chocktaw Oklahoma, Mississippi Muskogean 0.01
chiChopi Mozambique Bantu (Niger-Congo) 0.40
Chuvash Chuvash ASSR* (USSR) Turkic (Altaic) 1.8
Circassian Caucasus (USSR), Turkey, Northwest Caucasic 0.62
Syria, Jordan, Israel
ciCokwe Angola, Zaire, Zambia Bantu (Niger-Congo) 1.23
Cree-Montagnais Canada, U.S. Algonquian 0.06
Creek Oklahoma, Florida, Muskogean 0.01
Alabama
Creole French Haiti, Lesser Antilles, Romance (Indo-European) 6.5
Mauritius & other
Indian Ocean Islands
Crioulo Cape Verde Islands, Romance (Indo-European) 0.25
Guinea-Bissau, Senegal
Czech Czechoslovakia Slavic (Indo-European) 10.1
Dagomba Ghana Voltaic (Niger-Congo) 2.0
Dan Ivory Coast, Liberia, Guinea Mande (Niger-Congo) 0.41
Danish Denmark, Germany Germanic (Indo-European) 5.3
Dinka Sudan Nilotic (Chari-Nile) 1.8
Duala Cameroun Bantu (Niger-Congo) 0.85
Dusun Sabah (Malaysia) Malayo-Polynesian 0.26
Netherlands, Belgium, Germanic (Indo-European) 20.0
Dutch
Canada, France
South-East State Guinean (Niger-Congo) 3.0
Efik
(Nigeria)
North America, British Germanic (Indo-European) 275.0
English
Isles, Australia, New
Zealand, South Africa
Greenland, Canada, Alaska Esquimo-Aleut 0.065
Eskimo (Inupik)
Alaska, Siberia Esquimo-Aleut 0.02
Eskimo (South
Alaskan)
Estonia Finnic (Uralic) 1.2
Estonian
184 The ABC's of Languages and Linguistics
MILLIONS
NAME OF OF
Ewe-Fon Benin (Dahomey), Togo, Guinean (Niger-Congo) 4.5

Ghana
Fang-Bulu Cameroun, Gabon, Bantu (Niger-Congo) 1.7
Equatorial Guinea
Fijian Fiji M alay o -Polyne si an 0.26
Finnish Finland, USSR, Sweden Finnic (Uralic) 5.1
Foochow Fukien (China) Chinese (Sino-Tibetan) 12.0
French France, Belgium, Canada, Romance (Indo-European) 58.0
United States, Switzer¬
land
Frisian Netherlands, Germany Germanic (Indo-European) 0.47
Fulani Nigeria, Guinea, Senegal, West Atlantic (Niger-Congo) 12.0
Mali, Niger, Cameroun
Ga Ghana Guinean (Niger-Congo) 0.91
Gaelic Ireland, Scotland Celtic (Indo-European) 0.22
Galla (Oromo) Ethiopia, Kenya Cushitic (Afro-Asiatic) 8.0
luGanda Uganda Bantu (Niger-Congo) 2.9
Garo Meghalaya (India) Tibeto-Burman (Sino-Tibetan) 0.46
Georgian Georgia (USSR) Kartvelian 3.4
German Germany, Austria, Germanic (Indo-European) 105.0
Switzerland, U.S., USSR
Goajiro Colombia, Venezuela A raw ak an 0.03
chiGogo Tanzania Bantu (Niger-Congo) 1.4
Gorontalo North Celebes M alay o -Polynesi an 0.35
Gondi Andhra Pradesh (India) Dravidian 1.9
Greek Greece, Cyprus, Turkey Hellenic (Indo-European) 10.0
Guarani Paraguay Tupi-Guarani 2.7
Gujerati Gujarat (India), Bombay, Indie (Indo-European) 32.0
Pakistan, South Africa
ikiGusii Kenya Bantu (Niger-Congo) 1.4
Hakka Kiangsi and Kwangtung Chinese (Sino-Tibetan) 24.0
(China), Formosa,
Hawaii
Hausa Northern Nigeria, Niger, Chadic (Afro-Asiatic) 15.0
Cameroun
ekiHavu Zaire Bantu (Niger-Congo) 1.7
Hebrew Israel Semitic (Afro-Asiatic) 2.3
ekiHehe Tanzania Bantu (Niger-Congo) 1.1
Hin di-Urdu India, Pakistan, Trinidad, Indie (Indo-European) 130.0
Guyana, Fiji, Mauritius
Hsiang Hunan (China) Chinese (Sino-Tibetan) 7.0
Huayhuash Peru Kicua-Aymara 1.7
(Quecha B)
Hungarian Hungary, Romania, Yugo¬ Ugric (Uralic) 14.0
slavia, Czechoslovakia
Ibanag NE Luzon (Philippines) Malayo-Polynesian 0.62
Icelandic Iceland Germanic (Indo-European) 0.22
Igala Kwara (Nigeria) Guinean (Niger-Congo) 0.65
MILLIONS
NAME OF OF
Igbo East-Central State (Nigeria) Guinean (Niger-Congo) 8.1

Western Ijaw Niger Delta (Nigeria) Guinean (Niger-Congo) 0.33
cilla-ciTonga Zambia, Rhodesia Bantu (Niger-Congo) 0.88
Ilocano NW Luzon (Philippines), Malayo-Polynesian 5.4
California, Hawaii
Indonesian- Indonesia, Malaysia, Malayo-Polynesian 22.0
Malay Thailand, Singapore,
Brunei
Iroquois Ontario, New York, Iroquoian 0.01
«*• sconsin, Quebec
Ishan Mid-Western State (Nigeria) Guinean (Niger-Congo) 0.42
Italian Italy, U.S., France, Argen¬ Romance (Indo-European) 65.0
tina, Switzerland,
Canada, Brazil
Japanese Japan, Brazil, California, Japanese 110.0
Hawaii
Javanese Java, Malaysia, Surinam Malayo-Polynesian 60.0
Jwang-Bui Kwangsi and Kweichow Tai 9.0
(China)
Kabre Togo, Benin (Dahomey) Voltaic (Niger-Congo) 0.48
Kabyle Algeria Berber (Afro-Asiatic) 1.6
Kachin Burma, Yunnan (China) Tibeto-Burman (Sino-Tibetan) 0.60
kiKamba Kenya Bantu (Niger-Congo) 1.6
Kannada Karnatuka (India) Dravidian 25.0
Kanuri North-Eastern State Central Saharan 3.9
(Nigeria) Niger, Chad
Kasem Ghana, Upper Volta Voltaic (Niger-Congo) 0.3
Kashmiri Kashmir (India-Pakistan) Indie (Indo-European) 3.0
Kazakh Kazakhstan (USSR), Turkic (Altaic) 6.4
Sinkiang (China),
Afghanistan
Khalkha Outer Mongolia, Mongol (Altaic) 2.9
North China
Khasi Meghalaya (India) Mon-Khmer 0.5
kiKikuyu Kenya Bantu (Niger-Congo) 3.9
Kipsigis Kenya Nilotic (Chari-Nile) 0.57
Kirgiz Kirgizia (USSR), Turkic (Altaic) 1.3
Sinkiang (China),
Afghanistan
Kissi Guinea, Sierra Leone, West Atlantic (Niger-Congo) 0.35
Liberia
kiKongo Zaire, Angola, Congo Bantu (Niger-Congo) 4.5
Korean Korea, NE China, Japan, (Altaic ? ) 53.0
Siberia, Hawaii
Kpelle Liberia, Guinea Mande (Niger-Congo) 0.52
Sierra Leone Germanic (Indo-European) 0.15
Krio
Kru-Bassa Liberia, Ivory Coast Guinean (Niger-Congo) 1.3
MILLIONS
NAME OF OF
Kurdish Turkey, Iran, Iraq, Iranian (Indo-European) 9.0

Syria, USSR
Kurukh Madhya Pradesh and Dravidian 1.4
Orissa (India)
Lahnda (Western Pakistan, India Indie (Indo-European) 15.0
Punjabi)
Latvian Latvia Baltic (Indo-European) 1.6
Lisu Yunnan (China), Tibeto-Burman (Sino-Tibetan) 0.50
Burma, Thailand
Lithuanian Lithuania Baltic (Indo-European) 3.1
Lolo Szechuan and Yunnan Tibeto-Burman (Sino-Tibetan) 4.6
(China), Burma
Loma Liberia, Guinea Mande (Niger-Congo) 0.29
siLozi Zambia Bantu (Niger-Congo) 0.28
chiLuba Zaire, Zambia Bantu (Niger-Congo) 3.8
Lugbara Uganda, Zaire, Sudan Central Sudanic (Chari-Nile) 0.7
luLuhya Kenya, Uganda Bantu (Niger-Congo) 2.0
Macedonian Yugoslavia, Bulgaria, Greece Slavic (Indo-European) 2.0
Madurese Java, Madura Malayo-Polynesian 7.5
Magahi Bihar and West Bengal Indie (Indo-European) 12.0
(India)
Maithili Bihar (India), Nepal Indie (Indo-European) 20.0
Makassarese Celebes, Borneo Malayo-Polynesian 1.6
chiMakonde Tanzania, Mozambique Bantu (Niger-Congo) 1.0
iMakua Mozambique, Malawi, Bantu (Niger-Congo) 5.8
Tanzania
Malagasy Madagascar (Malagasy Malayo-Polynesian 7.5
Republic)
Malayalam Kerala (India) Dravidian 23.0
Maldivian Maidive Islands Indie (Indo-European) 0.12
Mam Guatemala Mayan 0.42
Mandarin China, Formosa Chinese (Sino-Tibetan) 610.0
Mandekan Mali, Guinea, Ivory Coast, Mande (Niger-Congo) 4.8
(Bambara- Senegal, Gambia
Malinke)
Manipuri (Meithei) Manipur (India), Burma Tibeto-Burman (Sino-Tibetan) 0.9
Mano Liberia, Guinea Mande (Niger-Congo) 0.14
Marathi Maharashtra (India) Indie (Indo-European) 52.0
Masai Kenya, Tanzania Nilotic (Chari-Nile) 0.54
Mazatec Mexico Otomanguean 0.22
kiMbundu Angola Bantu (Niger-Congo) 1.6
uMbundu Angola Bantu (Niger-Congo) 2.3
Menangkabao Sumatra Malayo-Polynesian 4.6
Mende Sierra Leone Mande (Niger-Congo) 0.96
Miao Southern China, Miao-Yao (Sino-Tibetan) 3.8
Northern Vietnam, Laos
Mixtec Mexico Otomanguean 0.50
Mon Burma, Thailand Mon-Khmer 0.73
MILLIONS
NAME OF OF
loMongo- Zaire Bantu (Niger-Congo) 3.2

loNkundo
Mordvin Mordvin ASSR* (USSR) Finnic (Uralic) 1.4
More Upper Volta Voltaic (Niger-Congo) 3.4
Motu Papua, New Guinea Malayo-Polynesian 0.01
Nahuatl Mexico, El Salvador Uto-Aztecan 1.9
kiNande Zaire, Uganda Bantu (Niger-Congo) 0.48
Nandi Kenya Nilotic (Chari-Nile) 0.28
Navajo Southwestern U.S. Athabascan (Na-Dene) 0.12
Nepali Nepal, Uttar Indie (Indo-European) 8.0
Pradesh (India)
Newari Nepal Tibeto-Burman (Sino-Tibetan) 0.64
Ngadju Borneo Malayo-Polynesian 0.17
liNgala Zaire, Congo Bantu (Niger-Congo) 1.7
Norwegian Norway Germanic (Indo-European) 4.7
Nubian Sudan, Egypt Nubian (Chari-Nile) 0.33
Nuer Sudan, Ethiopia Nilotic (Chari-Nile) 0.79
Nupe Kwara (Nigeria) Guinean (Niger-Congo) 1.75
kiNyamwezi- Tanzania Bantu (Niger-Congo) 2.9
kiSukuma
chiNyanja Malawi, Mozambique, Bantu (Niger-Congo) 4.9
Zambia
oruNyoro- Uganda Bantu (Niger-Congo) 3.2
runyNkole-
ruHaya
Ojibway Canada, Northern U.S. Algonquian 0.04
Okinawan Okinawa Japanese 0.08
Oriya Orissa (India) Indie (Indo-European) 22.0
Ossetic Caucasus (USSR) Iranian (Indo-European) 0.52
Otomi Mexico Otomanguean 0.75
Ovambo Southwest Africa, Bantu (Niger-Congo) 0.45
(ociKuanyama) Angola
Pampanga South Central Luzon Malayo-Polynesian 1.35
(Philippines)
Pangasinan South Central Luzon Malayo-Polynesian 1.25
(Philippines)
Papago Arizona, Mexico Uto-Aztecan 0.01
Papiamento Netherlands Antilles Romance (Indo-European) 0.22
Pashto Afghanistan, Pakistan Iranian (Indo-European) 19.0
Persian-Tajiki Iran, Afghanistan, Iranian (Indo-European) 26.0
Tadzhikstan (USSR)
Polish Poland, U.S. Slavic (Indo-European) 39.0
Polynesian Polynesia, New Zealand Malayo-Polynesian 0.48
Portuguese Brazil, Portugal, Spain, Romance (Indo-European) 125.0
Uruguay, Argentina,
Azores, Goa, Madeira
Proven9al Southern France Romance (Indo-European) 4.0
Punjabi Punjab (India), Pakistan Indie (Indo-European) 51.0
MILLIONS
NAME OF OF
Pwo Burma Karen (Sino-Tibetan ? ) 0.75

Quechua[A] Peru, Ecuador, Bolivia Kicua-Aymara 7.1
Quekchi Guatemala Mayan 0.36
Quiche Guatemala Mayan 0.84
Rajasthani Rajasthan (India) Indie (Indo-European) 26.0
Rif Morocco Berber (Afro-Asiatic) 1.05
Romanian Romania, USSR Romance (Indo-European) 21.7
Romansch Switzerland Romance (Indo-European) 0.10
kinyaRuanda- Rwanda, Burundi, Uganda, Bantu (Niger-Congo) 11.1
kiRundi Zaire, Tanzania
Russian USSR Slavic (Indo-European) 140.0
Sangir North Celebes Malayo-Polynesian 0.25
Sango-Ngbandi Central African Republic, Adamawa-Eastern (Niger- 0.28
Zaire Congo)
SantaU West Bengal and Bihar Munda 4.2
(India)
Sardinian Sardinia Romance (Indo-European) 0.92
Sasak Lombok (Indonesia) Malayo-Polynesian 1.4
Senari Ivory Coast Voltaic (Niger-Congo) 1.04
Serbo-Croatian Yugoslavia Slavic (Indo-European) 16.2
Serer Senegal West Atlantic (Niger-Congo) 0.62
Sgaw Burma, Thailand Karen (Sino-Tibetan ?) 0.9
Shan Burma, Thailand, Tai 2.1
Yunnan (China)
Shilha Morocco Berber (Afro-Asiatic) 2.0
chiShona Rhodesia, Mozambique Bantu (Niger-Congo) 4.9
Sidamo Ethiopia Cushitic (Afro-Asiatic) 0.96
Sindhi Pakistan, India Indie (Indo-European) 9.7
Sinhalese Sri Lanka Indie (Indo-European) 10.1
Sioux Dakotas Siouan 0.01
Slovak Czechoslovakia Slavic (Indo-European) 5.2
Slovene Yugoslavia, Italy, Austria Slavic (Indo-European) 2.1
Somali Somalia, Ethiopia, Kenya Cushitic (Afro-Asiatic) 4.7
Songhai Niger, Mali, Upper Volta Songhai 1.4
Soninke Mali, Upper Volta, Senegal Mande (Niger-Congo) 0.9
Spanish Latin America, Spain, U.S.A. Romance (Indo-European) 210.0
Sulu Southern Philippines Malayo-Polynesian 0.75
Sudanese West Java Malayo-Polynesian 16.5
Suppire Mali Voltaic (Niger-Congo) 1.1
Susu Guinea, Sierra Leone Mande (Niger-Congo) 0.8
siSuthu South Africa, Lesotho, Bantu (Niger-Congo) 6.7
Botswana
kiSwahili Tanzania, Comoro Islands, Bantu (Niger Congo) 2.5
[native] Kenya, Mozambique,
Zaire
Swedish Sweden, Finland Germanic (Indo-European) 8.9
Tagalog Philippines Malayo-Polynesian 8.8
Tamazight Morocco Berber (Afro-Asiatic) 1.8
MILLIONS
NAME OF OF
Tamil Tamil Nadu (India), Dravidian 47.0

Sri.Lanka, Malaysia,
Singapore
Tarascan Mexico Tarascan 0.19
Tatar USSR (Central) Turkic (Altaic) 6.4
kiTeke Zaire, Congo Bantu (Niger-Congo) 0.76
Telugu Andhra Pradesh (India) Dravidian 52.0
Tem (Kotokole) Togo, Ghana, Benin Voltaic (Niger-Congo) 0.21
(Dahomey)
Temne Sierra Leone West Atlantic (Niger-Congo) 0.93
Teso Uganda, Kenya Nilotic (Chari-Nile) 1.0
Thai-Lao Thailand, Laos Tai 36.0
Tho Kwangsi (China), Tai 3.2
Northern Viet Nam
shiThonga Mozambique, South Bantu (Niger-Congo) 3.0
Africa, Rhodesia
Tibetan Tibet, Bhutan, Nepal, Tibeto-Burman (Sino-Tibetan) 4.5
India
Tigrinya Ethiopia, Eritrea Semitic (Afro-Asiatic) 3.4
Tiv Benue-Plateau State Benue (Niger-Congo) 2.7
(Nigeria)
Totonac Mexico Zoque-Maya 0.31
Tuareg Niger, Mali, Algeria Berber (Afro-Asiatic) 0.8
(Tamashek)
Tulu Karnataka (India) Dravidian 1.3
chiTumbuka Malawi, Zambia, Tanzania Bantu (Niger-Congo) 0.87
Turkish Turkey, Bulgaria, Yugo¬ Turkic (Altaic) 37.0
slavia, Cyprus, Greece
Turkmen Turkmenistan (USSR), Turkic (Altaic) 2.6
Iran, Afghanistan
Tzeltal Mexico Mayan 0.18
Tzotzil Mexico Mayan 0.22
Uigur Sinkiang (China), Turkic (Altaic) 5.2
USSR, Afghanistan
Ukrainian USSR, Canada, U.S. Slavic (Indo-European) 46.0
Urhobo Mid-Western State Guinean (Niger-Congo) 0.90
(Nigeria)
Uzbek Uzbekstan and Tadzhikstan Turkic (Altaic) 11.5
(USSR), Afghanistan
Vai Sierra Leone, Liberia Mande (Niger-Congo) 0.28
chiVenda South Africa, Rhodesia Bantu (Niger-Congo) 0.44
Vietnamese Viet Nam, Thailand, Muong 40.0
Cambodia, Laos, New
Caledonia, France,
Dakar
Visayan Central Philippines Malayo-Polynesian 19.0
Votyak Udmurt ASSR* (USSR) Finnic (Uralic) 0.75
Welamo Ethiopia Cushitic (Afro-Asiatic) 1.18
MILLIONS
NAME OF OF
Welsh Wales Celtic (Indo-European) 0.80

Wolof Senegal, Gambia West Atlantic (Niger-Congo) 1.8
Wu Chekiang (China) Chinese (Sino-Tibetan) 68.0
Yakut Yakut ASSR* Turkic (Altaic) 0.31
(Siberia, USSR)
Yao Southern China, Viet Nam, Miao-Yao (Sino-Tibetan) 1.2
Laos
chiYao Malawi, Tanzania, Bantu (Niger-Congo) 1.4
Mozambique
Yiddish U.S., Israel, USSR, Latin Germanic (Indo-European) 3.0
America, Canada, Eastern
Europe
Yoruba Western, Lagos, and Guinean (Niger-Congo) 11.5
Kwara States (Nigeria),
Benin (Dahomey)
Yucatec Mexico, British Honduras, Mayan 0.92
Guatemala
Zande Zaire, Sudan, Central Adamawa-Eastern (Niger- 2.1
African Republic Congo)
Isthmus Zapotee Mexico Otomanguean 0.41
isiZulu- South Africa, Rhodesia, Bantu (Niger-Congo) 12.6
isiXhosa- Swaziland
siSwati (Nguni)
Zyrien Komi ASSR* Finnic (Uralic) 0.51
*ASSR-Autonomous Soviet Socialist Republic, a second-level administrative unit, coming under a Union
Republic. Each is inhabited by a large ethnic minority.
Index
This index does not include entries from the questions or references at the end of each chap¬
ter or from the Appendix. Major topics like “syntax” or “origin of language” are not included
if they are clearly identifiable in the Table of Contents.
abrupt release-51, 54 Bengali-22, 131-132

Adams, J.-164 Berber-23
Adams, J. D.—11 bicultural education-164, 166-168
adjective-30, 68, 69, 79, 103-104 bilabial-4 2
adverb-68, 69 bilingual education-148, 164-168
affricate-41, 44, 53-54 bilingualism-19, 129, 136, 140, 164-166
Afrikaans—24 Black English-60-61, 140
Afro-Asiatic languages-24 Blansitt, E. L., Jr.-89, 90
Albanian-20, 21 Bloom, L. —161
allomorph—64 Bloomfield, L.-4, 29, 32, 33, 36, 70, 142, 158
allophone—36, 42-43 Boas, F.-32-33
Altaic languages-23 Bowerman, M.—161
alveolar-42, 55 Breton-22
alveo-palatal-42 Brod, R. —170
ambiguity-76, 99 Brown, H.—129
American Sign Language-14, 119 Brown, H. D.-162
Amerindian languages-25 Brown, R. —15
Amharic-23 Brown, W. N.-132
Andreyev, N. D. —127 Bruck, M. —165
Ansre, G.—135 Bulgarian-22
anterior-51, 55 Burmese-6, 24, 153
Anthony, E.-156 Burt, M. K.—162
Arabic-23, 48, 110, 152, 169-170
Araucanian-25
Armenian—20, 21, 111
article—68, 69, 79 Cambodian-25
articulation, manner-40-41; point-40, 42 Cantonese-24
aspiration-43 case grammar—29, 71, 99, 102, 105-106
Assamese-131-132 Catalan-22, 137
audiolingual method-158, 172-174 Cattell, N. R.-28-29
Austronesian languages-24, 25 Caucasian languages-19
Aymara—25 Celtic languages-21, 22
Center for Applied Linguistics-25,152
Chafe W.—99
Chinese-5,24,49,97, 113-115, 152, 169-170
Bach, E.—15
Baltic languages-21, 22 Chomsky, C.-142-143
Chomsky, N.-6, 15, 29, 50, 71-73, 98-99, 102,
Bantu languages-23-24, 45
Baratz, J.-140 115, 159-161, 163, 172
click consonants-23, 45
Basque-19, 137
Bemba, Town-136 Cohen, A.-165
191
Community Language Learning-164,171,173-174 French, H. P.-125

conjunction-68, 69 fricative-40-41, 43-44, 53, 54
consonant—38, 40-45, 51-53, 56-57 Fries, C. C.-68, 72, 142, 158
continuant-51, 53 Fries, P.-89
Cornish-22 Frith, J. B.—150
coronal-51, 55-56 function words-69
de Courtenay, B.-33 functional syntactic theory-29, 90
Cree-4, 25,112
Crelin, E. S.-11-12
Curme, G. O.—31 Ga-135
Curran, C. A.-173 Gaarder, A.B.-162
Cyrillic alphabet-22,111 Gaelic-20, 22; Irish-22, 111, 134, 166;Scots-
Czech-22,49, 152 22
Gagauzy-137
Galla-23
Dagari-135 Garvin, P.-28
Danish-18 Gattegno, C.—174-175
Darwin, C.-12, 119 generative semantics-99, 102-105
Defense Language Institute-149-150, 152 generative-transformational linguistics—29-30, 32,
dental—42 50, 71-88, 98-99, 143-144, 157, 159-161
dependency grammar-89 German-6, 20, 48, 49, 60, 96, 152, 155, 169, 172
Descartes, R.—6, 72, 123 Germanic languages-21, 22-23
Devanagari-112 Gesell, A.-161
dialect-18, 30-31,143 Ginott, H.-164
Diamond, D. S.-13 Gleason, H.-89
diphthong-4 7, 48 Glenn, E.-95
distinctive features—50-61 glide-47, 59
Dravidian languages-25, 131-132 Goajiro-25
Dulay, H.-162 Gode, A.-126-127
Dulles, J. F. —152 Goodman, K. —143
Dutch-22 Gothic-22, 111
Gougenheim, G.-171
Gray, L. H.-ll
embedding-85-87 Greek-20, 21, 111, 137
English-20, 22-23, 131-133;Basic-127-128; Guaranf-25
standard and nonstandard—138-141; Black- Gujarati-132
60-61, 140 Gumperz, J.-132, 137, 156
Ervin-Tripp, S.—140, 162 Gurmukhi-133
Eskimo-3, 4, 25, 96, 112
Esperanto-124-126, 129
EsterhiU, F.-127 Hagler, M.-124-125
Estonian-23 Hakka-24
Ewe—135 Hall, E. T. —118
Halle, M.-50, 115
Halliday, M. A. K.-29, 89-90
Falk, J.-54 Hallin, L.-176
Fasold, R.-140 Hamitic languages-23
Fast, J. —118 Harms, R.-15
Feigenbaum, I.—140 Harris, Z.-90
Ferguson, C. A.-48, 169 Harrison, S. S.-133
Fillmore, C.-29, 88, 99, 105-106 Haugen, E. —165
Finnish-23 Hausa-23, 134-135, 150
Finno-Ugric languages-23 Hayakawa, S. I.—98
Firth, J. R.—89-90 Hays, D.-89
Fishman, J.—164, 165, 167-168 Hebrew-23, 110, 133, 152, 169, 172
Flemish—136 Heringer, H. J.-89
FLES—161-162, 165, 167 Heubener, T.-169
Fodor, J.-98, 99, 102 hieroglyphics-109
Foreign Service Institute-149-150, 152 Hill, A. A.-89, 127
Francis, W. N.-28-29 Hindi-21-22, 131-133, 152, 156, 169
French-6, 22, 48, 49, 136, 152, 155, 165, 169, Hjelsnslev, A.-89
171-172 Hockett, C. F.-15, 116
Index 193
Hopi-96 Lehmann, W. P.-18

Hsiang-24 Lenneberg, E.-3, 161, 163
Hungarian-5, 23, 169 Lettish—22
Hunt, K.—143 Liberman, P.-11-12, 14
Hupa-3 Linguistic Society of America-32
Hymes, D.-164 liquids—41, 52-54
Hyperborean languages—25 Lithuanian-20, 22
Lloyd, D. J.-138-139
Locke, W.-150
Ido-126 Lockwood, D.-89
Ilg, F. L.—161 Longacre, R.-89
immediate constituents—69-71, 88 Luganda—134-135
Indo-Aryan languages-21-22, 131-133 Lyons, J.-71
Indo-European languages-20, 21-22
Indonesian-169
interdental—42
Mack, M.—10
Interlingua-126-127, 129
Mackey, W. F.—164, 165,167
International Phonetic Alphabet-36, 38
Makkai, A.—89
Irish alphabet-111
Malagasy-153
Italian-18, 21, 22, 49, 169, 172
Malayalam-25, 132
Malayan-24
Malinowski, B.-90
Jakobovits, L. A.—140, 164
Manchu-23
Japanese-6, 23, 24, 49, 54, 96, 113-115, 152,
Mandarin—24, 49
169,170
Manx-22
Javanese—24
Maranao-4, 5
Jesperson, 0.-13, 31
Marothi-22, 132
Johnson, S.-94
Martinet, A.-29, 90
Johnson, W.—98
Mathesius, V.-33
Joos, M. —139, 159
Mayan languages-25
Jorden, E.—158
Mazateco—120
McCawley, J.-99, 102
McGrath, E. J. —161
Kafir, Kitchen or Mine—136
McNamara, J.-162, 166
Kannada (Kanarese)—25,132
McNeil, D.-160
Kashmiri-132
Menomini-33
Katz, J.-98, 99, 102
Merrifield, W.—89
Kessler, C. —165 Miao—112
Khoisan languages—24
Michea, R.-171
kinesics-118 Min—24
Korean—23, 115 modal—79, 82-83
Korzybski, A.—98 Mongol-23
Kpelle-45 Mon-Khmer languages-25, 131-132
Krashen, S. D.—162 morpheme—2, 33, 64-71, 82
Kruisinga, E.-31 Morris, A. V.—126
Kurdish-22, 137 Morse, S.-48
Moshi-Dagbande-135
Mueller, H. —156
labio-dental-42 Mueller, M.-12, 14
Labov, W. A. —140 Mukarovsky, J.-33
Lado, R.—158 Munda-131-132
Lakoff, G.-99
Lakoff, R.-138
Lamb, S.-29, 89
Lambert, W. E.-165 Nahuatl-3, 25
nasal-41,44,51,53-54
Langacker, R.-19
Langendoen, D. T. —100 National Defense Education Act-151-152, 155
language acquisition-3, 61, 157, 159-164 Navajo-25, 97
lateral-41, 44, 51, 54 Nepali-150
Latin-20, 22, 31, 69 Niger-Congo languages-23
Lee, I. J.—98 Nilotic languages-23

Lees, R. B.-72, 75 Norwegian-18, 20, 49, 137
noun-30, 67, 69, 79, 100-101; noun phrase-79, Richards, I. A.-98, 127
81, 84, 102 Richards, J.—162
Novial-126 Rivene, P.-171
Nyanja-150 Rivers, W.-170
Nzema-135 Roberts, J.-134
Romance languages-5, 22
Romansch—22
Occidental-126 Romany-22
Ogden, C. K.-98, 127 Ross, J. R.—99
Ohmann, R.-143 Rubin, J.—163
Ojibway-25 Rumanian—22
organs of speech-36-38 runes-111-112
Oriya-132 Russian-20, 22, 49, 96, 136, 152, 169, 172
Ornstein, J.—90
Ossetic—21, 22
Sager, N.—90
St. Cloud method—171-172
Paiute—4, 33 St. Lambert Bilingual Project-165
Panini—22, 32 Sango —136
Parker, W. R.-6 Sanskrit-20, 22, 32, 112, 131-132
parts of speech-30, 67-69, 73 Sapir, E.—33
Pashto—22 de Saussure, F.—32
pattern-practice drills—158-159 Sauvageot, A. —171
Paulston, C. B.—168 scale and category grammar-29
Peace Corps-150 Scandinavian languages-18, 22, 169
Pei, M. —119, 129 Schleyer, J. M.—123
Pena, A.—167 Schumann, J. H. —164
Penfleld, W.-161, 163 Semitic languages-23, 110-111, 115
Persian (Farsi)-20, 22, 132, 150, 169 semivowels—38, 44, 53
Philippine languages-4, 33 sentence—2, 15, 30, 78; sentence indicator—78,
phoneme—2, 33, 36, 42-61, 64 81, 83
phonology, generative-transformational—50-61; Serbo-Croatian-22, 49
structural—36-50 Shaw, G. B.-2, 30, 115
phrase structure rules—76, 78-81 Shuy, R.-139, 140
Piaget, J.—161 Silent Way method-164, 171, 174-175
pidgin languages-135-136 Singhalese-22
Pike, K.—29, 89 Sino-Tibetan languages-24
pitch—49 Situational Reinforcement—170-174
Polish-22, 169 Skinner, B. F. —160
Pollard script—112 Slavic languages—21, 22, 152, 169
Portuguese—18, 22, 153, 169 Sledd, J.-69, 141
Postal, P.—98, 139 sociolinguistics-13 8, 141
Prague Linguistic Circle—33 Solresol—121, 123
prefix—66, 69 Solzbacher, W.—125
preposition—30, 68, 69, 79; prepositional phrase- Somali—23
79 Sommerfelt, A.—19
pronoun—30, 68, 69 Spanish-6, 18, 22, 60, 140, 152, 155, 169
Proto-Sudo-European-20-21, 22 spelling-142-143
Provencal—137 Spolsky, B.-167
psycholinguistics-141; developmental-15 9 Stevick, E. W.-163, 169, 174
psychology, behavioristic-157-159; cognitive- Stewart, W. A. —140
157,159-161 Stokoe, W. C., Jr.-119
Punjabi—132-133 stop-40, 43, 45, 53-54
stratificational analysis—29, 89
Streeter, S.-l 19
Quechua—25, 150 stress—49
strident—51, 56-57
string-88, 90
reading-142-143 structural (descriptive) linguistics-4-5, 29-33,
recursion-76-77, 85-87 71-72, 157-159
retroflex—41, 44 structure, deep-76, 80, 85, 102, 105; surface-76,
Revesz, G.-13 85, 99, 105
Index 195
Sturtevant, E.—116 verb—67, 69, 79, 81, 103-104; verb phrase-78, 81

suffix—66-69 Vietnamese—25, 48, 69, 115
Sullivan, W.-128 Vitaliano, D. B.—151
Summer Institute of Linguistics-89 vocalic-51, 52, 58
Swahili-134-136, 150, 169-170, 172 voice-40, 51, 56-57, 60
Swedish-18, 49, 151, 168 V olapiik—123-124
Sweet, H.—31 vowels-38, 40, 45-48, 51, 52-53, 58
syllabaries-112, 114
systemic grammar—89
Wardhaugh, R.-157
Weber, R. M.-143
Tagalog—33, 150
Weinberg, H.-98
tagmemics—29, 88-89, 90
Weinreich, U.-165
Tamil—25, 132
Welsh-22
Tankin, H. —125
whistle speech—119-120
Telugu—25, 132
Whorf, B. L.-96
tense—51, 59
Wolfram, W.—140
Tesniere, L.-89
Wood, R. E.—124
Tibeto-Chinese-131-132
word-60, 66; word order—69
Tigrinya—153 writing—8, 31
Tocharian-21 Wu-24
tone—49
transformational rules—76, 81-85
translation—97-98, 151
Translingua script—123 Xhosa—45
Tuareg-23
Tucker, G. R.—165
Turkish-5, 11, 23, 115 Yiddish-22-23
Twi—135 Yngve, V.—28
Yoruba-151
Ukrainian—137
universals of language-15, 100, 105
Ural-Altaic languages-5, 25 Zamenhof, L.—124, 126
Urdu-22, 132 Zulu-24, 45
'
.
<9
THE AUTHORS and Linguistics
Curtis W. Hayes, Ph.D. (University of Texas, Austin) is Director of Eng¬

lish Language Programs at the University of Texas, San Antonio. As the
new co-author for The ABC’s, Dr. Hayes brings with him an extensive
theoretical and practical language background. He has served as a Ford
Foundation Fellow, as a consultant for bilingual programs, and as a
Fullbright-Hays Professor and Lecturer in Japan, among numerous other
positions.
Jacob Ornstein received his Ph.D. from The University of Wisconsin in

1940, and has since come to be one of the most highly regarded scholars
in the fields of Bilingualism and sociolinguistics. Now Professor Emeritus
at University of Texas, El Paso, Dr. Ornstein continues to devote himself
to research and lecturing in those fields. He has authored numerous pub¬
lications, in addition to having taken government proficiency exams in 25
languages, 7 of which he speaks fluently.
William W. Gage received a Ph.D. in Genera! Linguistics from Cornell

University in 1958 and has since had experience working as a supervising
linguist in intensive Vietnamese courses at Cornell and as Research Lin¬
guist at the Center for Applied Linguistics in Arlington, Virginia. At present
he is a consultant to the Center, where he works on a variety of projects
and pursues his special interest, organizing information about the lan¬
guages of the world.
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THE NEW • REVISED

A PRACTICAL PRIMER TO LANGUAGE SCIENCE

The New, Revised, and Expanded Edition

LANGUAGES AND LINGUISTICS

LANGUAGES AND LINGUISTICS

Curtis W. Hayes, Ph.D.

INSTITUTE OF MODERN LANGUAGES, INC.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in

Printed in the United States of America

Preface to the Second Edition. vii

I. Facts and Fantasies About Language . 1

II. The Beginnings of Language. 10

III. Languages and More Languages: A Tour. 18

IV. Winds of Change: The New Linguistics. 28

V. Phonology: A Sign of Structure. 36

VI. Morphology and Syntax: More Signs . 64

VII. Semantics: The Study of Meaning. 94

VIII. Writing Systems of the World.109

IX. Other Systems of Communication..118

Appendix: Languages of the World .181

Jacob Ornstein, Ph.D.

THE IMPORTANCE OF LANGUAGE

LANGUAGE: AN INFINITE, HUMAN CAPABILITY

THE UNEXPECTED INTRICACIES OF OTHER PEOPLE’S LANGUAGES

begen ian reka “He’ll give it to you.” (give-something he

wapamew (A saw B); wapamik (B saw A); or wapameyiwa (B saw C)

Returning to Eskimo, which was thought to be so primitive by the aforementioned guest, we

MISCONCEPTIONS ABOUT LANGUAGE

I. QUESTIONS AND ACTIVITIES

1. How do we “intuitively” know that there is no end to the sentences of a language?

I. FOR FURTHER REFERENCE

Bloomfield, Leonard. 1933. Language. New York: Holt.

HOW DID IT ALL BEGIN?

VARIOUS PAST THEORIES

ANIMAL RESEARCH AND ITS IMPLICATIONS

ASPECTS AND CHARACTERISTICS OF LANGUAGE

To some language theorists, a language is an unbounded set of sentences; each sentence is

II. QUESTIONS AND ACTIVITIES

2. What are some common, everyday definitions of language?

5. What kind of teaching/learning is involved in training an animal, say a dog, to respond to

II. FOR FURTHER REFERENCE

English: His mother is old.

RUSSIAN LITHUANIAN ALBANIAN ARMENIAN SANSKRIT PERSIAN

THE INDO-EUROPEAN LANGUAGES

THE OTHER LANGUAGE FAMILIES

III. QUESTIONS AND ACTIVITIES

III. FOR FURTHER REFERENCE

Ornstein, Jacob. 1960. “Passport from Babel.” Texas Quarterly 3:150-55.

structural grammar was a reaction to the concepts held by traditional grammarians.

PARTS OF SPEECH: SOME TRADITIONAL DEFINITIONS

ACCORDING TO THE RULE

Handbook of American Indian Languages, reprinted by Georgetown University Press, still

IV. QUESTIONS AND ACTIVITIES

7. What is contained in a school grammar? Is the grammar solely confined to a description of

IV. FOR FURTHER REFERENCE