The Silent Way and I

A prominent insight I gained from our Silent Way studies is that the affective filter, once raised, is hard to lower.

My first contact with the Silent Way was through our readings, and my reaction then was, “I wonder what kind of learner benefits from this approach, because it’s sure not gonna work for me.” Two factors drove that response. First, because I’ve had many frustrating second-language learning experiences, I’m highly susceptible to feeling like the slowest learner in a group. A method with performance as its core intimidates me. Second, I find it difficult to remember without a pen and paper by my side. Knowing I wouldn’t be able to jot down notes worried me.

Still, I suspended judgment — Played the Believing Game, in our parlance — when it came time to get to know the Silent Way first-hand. I even volunteered to be part of the “inner circle” learning group, thinking, “Well, I may surprise myself!”

In fact, for the first minute or two, as Bev introduced us to the rods, I was relaxed and open to learning. I was fine through “n staffi” and was beside myself with joy to learn that the plural is staffis and not something like staeffinskien. Bev’s style was calm and reassuring, her pace measured and steady. I was doing okay. Her choice of introducing us to a color that sounded like its English counterpart strengthened my feeling of competence: “I understand!” I was keeping up: the words were sticking and, more importantly, I could see the larger context and direction of the exercise.

But alas, my capacity for memory beyond three seconds is no longer functional. As we moved to a second color, I forgot the first. Up edged the affective filter, but slowly, because even though I was forgetting vocabulary I was understanding the “big picture” of the activity and its grammatical gist. Then along came the third and fourth and fifth colors and a verb or two, and then the numbers. With the introduction of each, I could practically see the wall rising and thickening between me and everyone else. By the end of the activity, I felt so hopeless that — despite the intense concentration that comes from high motivation — I just wanted to tune out.

Then we had a second chance to experience the Silent Way. It was a new day in a new classroom with new languages and new (peer) teachers, so once again I came into the activity with an open mind and a low affective filter, though not quite as low as before.

Despite motivation and effort, to my frustration my experience was nearly identical: beginning with comprehension and gradually falling behind, forgetting one thing as we moved on to the next. I felt that both my teachers did an excellent job, particularly with pacing and encouragement. But once again, I felt I did not succeed, with “success” meaning (to me) my ability to remember and produce five or so words. At the conclusion of the class, I was low, irritated with myself, and feeling as though I’m rotten at language-learning. Had this been an actual language class and had I thought this was the primary teaching method, I would have dropped the class.

Insights I’ve Gained

• The affective filter is fickle. It rises even when one is conscious of it and actively trying to keep it low.
• By extension, I infer that when one is not aware of the filter, it has the potential to be even more destructive to learning.
• Motivation can sometimes mediate between the emotions and the mind, and can knock the filter back down.
• When a certain exercise or methodology consistently leads to what a learner perceives as failure, the affective filter gets stuck fully raised, no matter how skilled the teacher.
• I am guessing at this, but I suspect that the longer the person’s learning style remains unrecognized (and the longer their frustration and self-doubt), the more rusted in place the filter will become.

Effect on My Teaching

I consider myself fairly observant of the subtleties of emotion, and think that I have skill at noticing the approximate level of a student’s affective filter (assuming I don’t have more students than I can monitor). When I sense that someone is feeling lost or frustrated, I generally provide reassurance (verbal or unspoken), and/or downsize the task.

Now, instead (or in addition), I will think about shifting teaching methodologies in response. I’ll need a hefty bag of tricks, imagination and experience to be able to do that on the fly. But at the very least I’ll need to be prepared to switch methodological gears by the next class session. I’d already been aware of the teacher’s need to address a range of learning styles, but now I see how time-critical that really is. If we don’t engage a student in an activity in which they feel they are learning, we stand to diminish their capacity for learning. That’s a sobering thought, and frankly a bit frightening.

Motivation is another factor I need to be aware of. Though a teacher can’t manufacture motivation, s/he can certainly inspire it. I will need to understand each student’s purpose in learning, their language-study background, their personal interests and character traits. That knowledge will be the source that rich source, I can develop the most effective lesson plans.

I’ve alluded to my perception of my own success (or lack thereof). I’m left with the question: is there a way to establish some objective measure of “success” and convey that to the students? I can’t imagine there is (unless in a one-on-one situation), because 1) setting any kind of benchmark is artificial and could hold back some people, and 2) our affective filters are too smart to fall for the old reassurance trick, when we can see — or think we can — that others are learning more quickly than we.

Beverly’s Response, 10/6/09

Ginna – Silent Way Response Paper

Ginna, you get right to the point in your first sentence. This bodes well for the rest of the paper.

Your insight is valuable because it has led to greater awareness of the teaching/learning process. You reacted as a learner but thought it through as a teacher and this has led to a couple of notions you want to pursue, both in terms of understanding and of actions.

Shakti Gattegno writes that Caleb Gattegno’s contribution to education philosophy has two questions that form the backdrop: 1) What does it mean to be human? 2) How to humanize teaching?

It seems to me that what underlies your new awareness is exactly this.  Affect is part of what it means to be human (Gattegno writes of awareness, will and affectivity) and we have to work with it as both learner and as teacher. Indeed we have to work with all three aspects. This is where I think your reflection has taken you – into the domains of awareness, will and affectivity. I agree that motivation and affective filter can be linked. I also agree with the time critical factor.

While I can suggest ways to individualize learning goals and steps of progress, I think you know your own answers to these questions. What might be fruitful to ponder is the degree to which awareness of one’s own learning process and how it is affected (as you have done with these exercises) might pay dividends in terms of increased concentration and noticing of progress.

Keep going, Ginna!