Description
Questions
Use the attached article to answer the questions below;
.
1. What is the main claim of the article?
2. In what ways are words (language) related to human nature (biology)?
3. In what ways are words (language) related to the social nature of human beings?
4. How are words (language) related to thought and memory? Explain your answer.
Unformatted Attachment Preview
We Are Our Words- by Diane Ackerman (Published: May 30, 2004)
Babies are citizens of the world, whether they’re born into a world of high-rises or tundra,
jackhammers or machine guns, Quechua or French. The ultimate immigrants, babies arrive ready
to learn the language of their parents, with a brain flexible enough to adapt to any locale.
Whatever language they hear becomes an indelible part of their lives, providing the words they’ll
use to know and be known. If two languages are spoken at home, they’ll become bilingual. One
of my nieces is trilingual, because her Brazilian mother spoke Portuguese as well as English to her
from birth, and then together they learned Italian. A bonus of bilingualism is that it forces a child
to favor one set of rules while ignoring another, and that trains the brain early on to focus and
discriminate, to ignore what’s irrelevant and discover the arbitrariness of words. Learning
language can begin surprisingly early, at around 6 months, when babies start to identify the
special sounds of their native tongues, like the umlauted ü of German that requires a little lip
pucker or the squeaky e of American English’s “street.” Long before words make sense, babies
learn a circus of familiar sounds—all the exotic vowels and leaping rhythms. Before their first
birthday, they can recognize a foreign language, analyze word order and memorize sentence and
sound patterns in their native language. Babies the world over babble alike at first, then gradually
babble in their own language. Children born deaf can babble with their hands. But we’re not the
planet’s only babblers. Some monkeys babble, which suggests that babbling evolved long before
language, perhaps as a plea for affection or to summon Mom. In that case, language may have
bloomed from a natural urge to babble. Human babies learn language the way most baby birds
learn their songs—by imitating grown-ups. Like birds, we have a learning window. A bird or child
raised in isolation, then introduced to its song or language later in life, won’t be able to fully learn
it. There’s a prime time—the first few years—during which the brain is so plastic, so busily
restructuring itself, that one can almost inhale a language. Children acquire the basic rules of
grammar before they enter school, and it doesn’t matter which language or how complicated the
rules. By puberty, the process requires active learning skills, repetition and hard work. Learning a
language as a grown-up is heavy lifting. Language is so difficult, only children can master it. How
miraculous human language seems. But no more so than hummingbirds being born with the
ability to navigate through jungles, over mountains and open seas; or bloodhounds with a talent
for discriminating among thousands of odors. Because species evolve what serves them best, the
ability to decipher complex rules of language is woven into our genetic suit. We use words to
label and categorize, to discern subtle differences, to group related things, to build endless lists.
But also to create false divisions, false distinctions and false unities, which become possible the
moment they’re put into words. Thanks to language, we have a verbal memory that allows us to
learn and remember without physically experiencing something. Through writing and other
technology, we no longer have to memorize the endless fine rubble that passes for everyday life.
We make lists, we take notes, we file things away. Books invite one to view another’s mind, self,
suite of defining memories. Instead of straining to remember everything, we can deploy our
attention (and many neurons and synapses) to toil at other jobs—coining new games and ideas,
for instance. Words can gap gushing emotions and trawl for memories. They can highlight and
name things when we need perspective, and they’re excellent handles when we need to grip a
slippery notion. As social beasts, we trade words with others, negotiate meanings, use words as
currency. Words form the backbone of what we think. So, although it is possible to have thought
without words, it’s rarely possible to know what one thinks without bronzing it in words.
Otherwise, the thoughts seem to float away. Refine the words, and you refine the thought. But
that sometimes means squishing a square thought into a round hole and saying what you can
instead of what you mean. We try to remedy that by piling up words like brushstrokes in what we
call descriptions or explanations or by blending images (words, paint, brushstrokes) or by adding
emotional sounds to what we say. “Please do that for me” means altogether different things if
you say it pleadingly or in separate jabs. How eager humans are to complicate things. Isn’t
language complicated enough? Apparently not. Every family invents its own dialect, as members
bring home this or that expression from school or work and add television or song lyrics to the
general mix. A separate lingo binds people, but I find another motive persuasive too: our endless
need to express the sheer feel of being alive. How does the brain convey that to itself and
others? Only through language, memory’s accomplice.
The Speech Center of the Brain
Broca’s area is the “speech center” of the brain. MRI studies show that when children learn a
second language as toddlers, they use the same part of Broca’s area for both. To the brain, they
are one language. But learning a language later in life takes more brainwork and recruits other
parts of the brain.
The Broca area is the section of the human brain (in the opercular and triangular sections of the
inferior frontal gyrus of the frontal lobe of the cortex) that is involved in language processing,
speech production and comprehension.
Purchase answer to see full
attachment
