Becoming Fluent

by Richard M Roberts

  Be Specific

  When Richard was a student, he would study for tests in the same classroom and the same seat where he learned the material and where he would later take the test (nerd alert!). Before a test, he would go to the classroom at night and write his notes on the blackboard. Then he would sit in his seat and study the board, so that on the day of the test, if he had trouble remembering something, he could visualize what he had written on the board in hopes of recalling the information. What Richard was trying to do, without knowing it at the time, was to take advantage of a cognitive phenomenon called encoding specificity.

  Encoding specificity refers to the fact that memory improves when the context in which you learned material (the encoding) matches the context in which you are asked to remember the material.13 Conversely, when these contexts do not match, memory ability can suffer. Perhaps this has happened to you. You may have found that you are great at remembering vocabulary words in the classroom and can pass a test with ease. But as soon as you try to apply these words in a real-life setting, they seem to vanish into thin air. When this happens, don’t blame your age: blame encoding specificity. The problem arises when there is a mismatch between where and how you learned the words and where and how you want to use them.

  Keep in mind too that context does not only mean your external surroundings. Although many studies have measured encoding specificity by manipulating external features like where the material is learned, other characteristics such as one’s internal affective state are also susceptible to encoding specificity. For example, people who learn a list of words when they have been drinking do better on recall after drinking again than when they are sober. Also, some veterans of the Gulf War exhibit more negative symptoms of PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder) near the anniversary of the their initial traumatic event.14

  One’s mood also influences the ability to recall information. In general, memory improves if the mood when the material was learned matches the mood when the material was recalled.15 For example, when you are angry it’s easier to remember other events or situations that also made you angry. Such mood-dependent memories may be one reason why during an argument a person brings up prior anger-inducing events—even if they have nothing to do with the situation at hand.

  Mood-dependent learning would predict that being calm and relaxed in class, but anxious and worried during an exam, will lead to impaired test performance. We don’t recommend that you make yourself anxious and worried in class. Rather, if you end up recalling the information better in class than on a test, keep in mind that it’s a not a reflection of your age or overall cognitive ability, but merely a consequence of encoding specificity. It’s normal and happens to people of all ages, so don’t become discouraged!

  Of course, it’s impossible to study information in every possible context and mood in order to avoid memory lapses due to encoding specificity or mood-dependence. However, there are several things that adult language learners can do to make encoding specificity work for them, or at least to lessen its influence. One method would be to learn the language in a way that is as close as possible to how you will eventually use it.

  For example, at one point when Richard was studying Portuguese, he was living in Iceland. He went to Brazil for a month of intensive study and then returned to Iceland where he took a telephone test in Portuguese. He failed it. But since he was a cognitive scientist, he thought about what had gone wrong and was determined to try again. So he returned to Brazil for a second round of studying, but this time he tried to match the internal and external encoding context with what he knew he would have to do during the phone test. He even spoke to his Portuguese teacher by phone to practice. He took the phone test again—this time while he was still in Brazil—and passed, which enabled him to join the Foreign Service. Not surprisingly, however, when he took the language test in person (which is required to make sure that the person who takes the phone test is the same person who shows up at work), he did not score as well—since of course the live test was contextually quite different, and he was not proficient enough to be free of context effects. He did score high enough, however, so that the testers knew he hadn’t been cheating.

  Be Expansive

  Although encoding specificity is real—even for native speakers—most of us strive for a level of linguistic proficiency that is not so heavily dependent on context. To do this, it is important to vary where, when, and how we learn and study a language. In other words, to lessen the impact of encoding specificity, take advantage of the distributed practice effect. If you have two hours to study, it is better to study for one hour, then take a break by doing something completely different, and then come back and study the material again. Although distributed practice is specific to time, we suggest that you should study the material again in different contexts as well. That doesn’t mean to study your notes at home and then study your notes in the library. Rather, you might want to study your notes for an hour, then meet a native speaker with whom you can practice the words you’ve just been studying in a conversation.

  Keep in mind that with distributed practice, each time you return to the material, you will do worse than you had been doing when you left off previously. Not only is this normal, but it is exactly what you want to happen. That’s because the goal of distributed practice is to give yourself the opportunity to forget and then relearn the material at a new time. Since relearning is faster than learning, each time you forget something and then relearn it, you reinforce the material in a slightly different way. If you vary the place where you relearn the material as well, you will lessen the specificity of the previous encoding, allowing you to use the language more fluidly in a variety of situations.

  Not only that, but taking time away from your studies will allow what are called incubation effects to occur. That is, stepping back from a task has been shown, paradoxically, to lead to better problem solving and creativity. Evidence also suggests that even sleep and dreaming promote incubation effects. And not to put too fine a point on it, but don’t forget the phenomenon of release from proactive interference mentioned earlier.16

  So what’s the bottom line? Relax. Be sure to study, but when you find yourself getting confused or no longer improving, stop. Do something else—anything else. You might even want to sleep on it. When you come back to the material, you may be surprised at how much you actually remember.

  A Little Knowledge Is a Dangerous, Yet Helpful, Thing

  Adult language learners possess an array of highly organized knowledge structures that can serve to aid memory in a top-down, conceptually driven way. By the same token, it is important to recognize that preexisting knowledge structures can create expectations that could be problematic. Consider what happened to Roger.

  Famished and exhausted, Roger had just arrived at his destination: a small city in eastern Switzerland. It was his first trip to Europe as an adult, and after two long flights and a journey by train, his top priority was finding something to eat. He entered the first restaurant he found, and waited impatiently to be seated. After a while, it became apparent that he was being ignored. He began to pace back and forth a bit, and tried to make himself as conspicuous as possible. Then he realized he wasn’t being ignored any longer. The wait staff of the restaurant had gathered at the back. They were eyeing him with some concern, and holding an animated discussion. Finally, one of the servers approached him, and asked, with some degree of trepidation, “What do you want?” Amazed by this question, Roger blurted out “I want to eat!” Now it was the server’s turn to be astonished. “If you want to eat, then sit down!” Roger meekly followed her instruction, and was soon enjoying his meal.

  Later in his visit, he picked out a couple of books at a bookstore. He took his selections to the cashier, who proceeded to ring them up. After totaling the price, she looked at him expectantly. He, in turn, looked expectantly back at her. After a moment, it became clear that both of them were waiting for the other to do something. With barely
controlled exasperation, she informed Roger of the total price—the same amount clearly visible to him on the front of the cash register. She spoke to him slowly, loudly, and distinctly, the way you might address a not-so-bright child. Chastened, he paid for his purchases and beat a hasty retreat.

  Before Roger began this trip, he had been feeling rather smug about his ability to cope with the rigors of foreign travel. Unlike the stereotypical “ugly American,” who expects everyone to speak English, his knowledge of German was serviceable, and he had made a point of practicing the language well in advance of his trip. He had memorized the requisite tourist expressions in his phrasebook. He had read the relevant sections in a couple of guidebooks for the region. In short, he felt well prepared for interacting with the locals. His subsequent difficulties with tasks as basic as restaurant dining and book buying, therefore, were more than a little disconcerting.

  So, what was the cause of Roger’s problems? Could he blame jet lag, or the unaccustomed altitude, or the Swiss work force? As you may have guessed by now, his difficulties arose because of a mismatch between Roger’s expectations and the expectations of the servers and cashier. The confusion at the restaurant was the result of his experience dining in the United States. Almost invariably, patrons are greeted by a server, or a prominent sign will instruct them to “Please seat yourself” or “Please wait to be seated.” In Switzerland, however, no guidance is required, because everyone knows that they should seat themselves. Roger’s confusion at the bookstore stemmed from having previously made countless purchases in which the local sales tax was added to the sale price to arrive at a final total. This tax varies by state and even from city to city in the United States, so no one tries to calculate it in advance—you simply wait to be informed of the grand total. In Switzerland, however, taxes are already included in the sale price, so the steps he was waiting for—the addition of the sales tax, and then the announcement of the total—would not occur. Despite his best efforts, Roger had become what he had fervently hoped to avoid: a clueless American abroad.

  Roger’s training as a cognitive scientist (and perhaps his wounded pride) led him to reflect on these experiences, and to think about them from the perspective of his Swiss hosts. In hindsight, it was apparent why his behavior had mystified the wait staff at the restaurant. In their eyes, he clearly wasn’t there to eat, because if he had been, he would have sat down. He didn’t seem to be waiting for anyone else—he never glanced at his watch or back at the entrance, for example. And his impatience and pacing only unnerved them further. In a similar way, the cashier at the bookstore couldn’t figure out what he was waiting for: the amount that he was required to pay was displayed in large numbers just a few inches from his eyes.

  Psychologists have a name for such mismatching expectations: they’re called script errors. A script is one’s mental checklist for events and the order in which they occur. For Americans, the “dining at a restaurant” script would include at least fourteen steps:

  1.Enter the restaurant.

  2.Seat oneself or wait to be seated (as indicated).

  3.Receive menus from the server, and place drink orders.

  4.Decide on what food to order.

  5.Wait.

  6.Give the food order to the server.

  7.Wait.

  8.Food is prepared and brought to the table by the server.

  9.Eat the food.

  10.Wait.

  11.Receive the check and pay for the food and tip.

  12.Wait.

  13.Receive the receipt from the server.

  14.Exit the restaurant.

  This is all blindingly obvious, right? And yet, we’re also aware of the subtle and not-so-subtle variations that exist for this script. At a fast food restaurant, for example, one can jump directly from step 1 to step 6, and the food must be paid for before it is consumed. Tipping is not expected, unless there is a very prominent tip jar on the counter. And if someone took a seat at a McDonald’s and waited to be served, they would probably end up waiting for a very long time. At many diners and Chinese restaurants in the United States, there is another deviation from the standard script: the check is brought to the table, but the patron must then take it to the counter in order to pay.

  So Roger’s difficulty at the Swiss restaurant was caused by his assumption that the choice point at step 2 of his dining script was universal. The Swiss wait staff can shoulder some of the blame as well—they were apparently unaware that in their restaurant script, step 2 (Always seat yourself)—is not universal.

  We all possess many, many scripts (also called schemata) for actions that we engage in repeatedly. These scripts form part of what psychologists refer to as semantic memory, or our general world knowledge. Scripts and schemata are mental frameworks that are based on our shared cultural experiences. As such, they form part of the common ground we use when we communicate. Scripts enable the quick and effortless processing of information, but as Roger’s experiences in Switzerland demonstrate, adhering too closely to a script can be dangerous.17

  These concepts were first investigated by the British experimental psychologist Frederic Bartlett. His research during the 1920s convinced him that the act of remembering involved reconstructing a previous experience, based on the information that is easily retrieved. Any gaps in this retrieval are filled in with inferences based on our existing schemata.18

  Bartlett came to these conclusions by studying the recall of stories he gave to participants who were undergraduates at Cambridge University. He made a point of using narratives drawn from less familiar cultures in an attempt to see this “gap filling” process at work. In his most well-known research, he used a Native American legend called “The War of the Ghosts.” From a British perspective, the story involves many hard–to-understand elements: it’s not clear, for example, whether the aforementioned war is fought with the living or with the dead. It also includes many details that would have been part of the Native Americans’ schemata, but not that of Bartlett’s participants. For example, the story contains reference to two boys engaged in seal catching, and paddling in canoes. When asked to recall this story at a later time, many participants reported that the boys had been fishing, or had been in boats.

  According to Bartlett’s reasoning, although his participants were unable to remember exactly what the boys had been up to, they could vaguely remember that they had been standing at the water’s edge. They were doing something, but they couldn’t remember what it was. What would one do at the edge of a river? Using their schematic knowledge, the participants filled in the gap by “remembering” that the boys had been fishing.

  Just like the Cambridge undergraduates, it’s possible that when you are learning a new language (which includes the culture), you may rely on a script or schema from your native language to fill in the gaps. For example, Americans end most of their casual conversations with the phrase “Have a nice day,” which is part of the US script for closing a conversation. When Americans study a foreign language they often want to learn how to say, “Have a nice day” even though to end a conversation this way is odd in many other cultures. However, for an American, stopping a conversation after “thank you” or “you’re welcome” can feel like something is missing. To fill in the gap the American may look for an alternative phrase that, although not strictly needed in the target language, does not sound odd and will give the American the sense of closure they expect because of their script.

  The Art of Memory

  The Roman orator Cicero tells the story of Simonides of Ceos who narrowly escaped a gruesome death. The Greek lyric poet, who lived in the fifth century BC, had offended Scopas, a nobleman of Thessaly, by composing a victory ode that was not to his liking. Scopas was irritated by the inclusion of an extended decorative passage concerning the mythological twins Castor and Pollux. While dining in a banquet hall with Scopas, Simonides was suddenly summoned outside by two young men. At that moment, the roof of the dining hall collapsed, an
d Scopas and a number of his relatives were killed. In addition, the summoning visitors were nowhere to be found. According to legend, the two young men were said to be—you guessed it—Castor and Pollux, who saved Simonides’s life in gratitude for their inclusion in his poem.

  When the hall was excavated, it was discovered that the bodies of the dinner guests had been crushed beyond recognition, making it impossible to identify the remains for burial. Simonides was summoned and asked if he could help. He was able to figure out who was who by remembering where the various guests had been seated around the table before he left the building.19 Recognizing the utility of this technique as an aid to remembering, Simonides is said to have gone on to develop the memory aid now referred to as the method of loci (loci is the plural of the Latin word locus, meaning “place” or “location”). It is also sometimes referred to as the Memory Palace technique or the memory theater. No matter what it is called, the idea is the same: a familiar location or route is used as a cue to remember a list of items in a specific order. This technique exemplifies one of the major themes of this book: you can take advantage of what you already know to learn something new, such as vocabulary in your target language.

  Imagine that you want to remember to buy bagels, milk, and eggs for tomorrow’s breakfast. In your mind’s eye, you can “drive” a familiar route, such as your daily commute to the office, to help you remember your grocery list. As you pass familiar landmarks, you can associate them with the items you need to buy. If your route takes you past a church with a tall steeple, for example, you could imagine a gigantic bagel speared by the church’s spire. If your commute includes driving past a tall apartment building, you could imagine milk running down the building’s sides and forming puddles on the ground. And the eggs can be remembered by making use of the golf course near the end of your commute. Just form a mental picture of a gigantic egg cracking down the middle, and disgorging golfers onto the links. When you enter the grocery store, all you’ll have to do is hop in your mental vehicle and drive to work. As you pass the church, apartment tower, and golf course, you’ll “see” the items on your list.