Question Templates for Asking PICOT Questions Intervention In ____.docx

Question Templates for Asking PICOT Questions Intervention
In __________ (P), how does __________ (I) compared with
__________ (C) affect __________ (O) within __________
(T)?Prognosis/Prediction In __________ (P), how does
__________ (I) compared with __________ (C)
inﬂuence/predict __________ (O) over __________
(T)?Diagnosis or Diagnostic Test In __________ (P) are/is
__________ (I) compared with __________ (C) more accurate
in diagnosing __________ (O)?Etiology Are __________ (P),
who have __________ (I) compared with those without
__________ (C) at __________ risk for/of __________ (O) over
__________ (T)?Meaning How do __________ (P) with
__________ (I) perceive __________ (O) during __________
(T)?
SIGNED LANGUAGE
The Structure of American Sign Language (ASL)
Goals
-fledged
language with the same range of expression as
spoken languages
format. ASL is an independent language with its
own vocabulary and grammar

Signed Languages
produced through hand movements and facial
expressions
Deaf communities in the United States and Canada
language
ASL Versus English
modeled on spoken English (developed
independently)
” in English has two meanings: (1) opposite of
“left” and (2) opposite of “wrong”
meanings
—the structure of words in a sentence
ASL Versus English

-Visual Mode: transmission from hand to eye
(ASL)
-Aural Mode: transmission from mouth to ear
(spoken English)
The Structure of Signs
production of a sign
produced
during the movement, or it can change
*All produced simultaneously to make up a sign
*These four elements are considered “phonemes” in ASL
Signs That Differ Only in Handshape
(location and movement are the same)
Signs That Differ Only in Location
(handshape and movement are the same)

Signs That Differ Only in Movement
(handshape and location are the same)
Sign Language Prosody
fashion
duration of the sign, or producing it in a more
energized manner
—facial expressions and body
movements that convey meaning
-manual markers (e.g., brow movements)
Signing Space
—a designated region of the
signing space during discourse (e.g., Mike on the
LEFT and Megan on the RIGHT)
individuals by their location in the signing space
Conclusions

perceived visually and produced with hand
movements and facial expressions
languages
SIGNED LANGUAGE
The Acquisition of American Sign Language (ASL)
Goals
conditions
ren of Hearing Parents
Language Acquisition in Deaf Children
children are born to deaf parents)
environment
¤

children, but some are reached sooner
development occurs before vocal tract development)
deaf children grow up in hearing families)
sign language
Hearing loss may not be detected immediately
language

—signed and spoken language are
often produced simultaneously
-age hearing
individuals
Conclusions
deaf parents learn sign language
in the same way that hearing children learn speech
who can’t sign, as a result their language acquisition
is delayed
n
language at home and speech outside of the home
10
Language
The Organization of Language

Language use involves a special type of translation. I might, for
example, want to tell you about a happy event in my life, and so
I need to translate my ideas about the event into sounds that I
can utter. You, in turn, detect those sounds and need to convert
them into some sort of comprehension. How does this
translation-from ideas to sounds, and then back to ideas-take
place?
The answer lies in the fact that language relies on well- defined
patterns-patterns in how individual words are used, patterns in
how words are put together into phrases. I follow those patterns
when I express my ideas, and the same patterns guide you in
figuring out what I just said. In essence, then, we're both using
the same "codebook" with the result that (most of the time) you
can understand my messages, and I yours.
But where does this "codebook" come from? And what's in the
codebook? More concretely, what are the patterns of English (or
whatever language you speak) that-apparently-we all know and
use? As a first step toward tackling these issues, let's note that
language has a well-defined structure, as depicted in Figure
10.1. At the highest level of the structure (not shown in the
figure) are the ideas intended by the speaker, or the ideas that
the listener derives from the input. These ideas are typically
expressed in sentences-coherent sequences of words that
express the speaker's intended meaning. Sentences, in turn, are
composed of phrases, which are composed of words. Words are
composed of morphemes, the smallest language units that carry
meaning. Some morphemes, like "umpire" or "talk," are units
that can stand alone, and they usually refer to particular objects,
ideas, or actions. Other morphemes get "bound" onto these
"free" morphemes and add information crucial for
interpretation. Examples of bound morphemes in Figure 10.1 are
the past-tense morpheme "ed" and the plural morpheme "s."
Then, finally, in spoken language, morphemes are conveyed by
sounds called phonemes, defined as the smallest unit of sound
that serves to distinguish words in a language.

Language is also organized in another way: Within each of these
levels, people can combine and recombine the units to produce
novel utterances-assembling phonemes into brand-new
morphemes or assembling words into brand-new phrases.
Crucially, though, not all combinations are possible-so that a
new breakfast cereal, for example, might be called "Klof but
would probably seem strange to English speakers if it were
called "Ngof." Likewise, someone might utter the novel
sentence "I admired the lurking octopi" but almost certainly
wouldn't say, "Octopi admired the I lurking" What lies behind
these points? Why are some sequences acceptable-even if
strange-while others seem awkward or even unacceptable? The
answers to these questions are crucial for any understanding of
what language is.
Phonology
Let's use the hierarchy in Figure 10.1 as a way to organize our
examination of language. We'll start at the bottom of the
hierarchy-with the sounds of speech.
The Production of Speech
In ordinary breathing, air flows quietly Figure 10.2). There will
usually be some sort of sound, though, if this airflow is
interrupted or out of the lungs and up through the nose and
mouth (see altered, and this fact is crucial for vocal
communication.
For example, within the larynx there are two flaps of muscular

tissue called the "vocal folds." (These structures are also called
the "vocal cords," although they're not cords at all.) These folds
can be rapidly opened and closed, producing a buzzing sort of
vibration known as this vibration by putting your palm on your
throat while you produce a [z] sound. You'll feel no vibration,
though, if you hiss like a snake, producing a sustained [s]
sound. Try it! The [z] sound is voicing. You can feel voiced; the
[s] is not.
You can also produce sound by narrowing the air passageway
within the mouth itself. For example, hiss like a snake again and
pay attention to your tongue's position. To produce this sound,
you placed your tongue's tip near the roof of your mouth, just
behind your teeth:; the [s] sound is the sound of the air rushing
through the narrow gap you created.
If the gap is somewhere a different sound results. For example,
to produce the [sh] sound (as in "shoot" or "shine"), the tongue
is positioned so that it creates a narrow gap a bit farther back in
the mouth; air rushing through this gap causes the desired
sound. Alternatively, the narrow gap can be more toward the
front. Pronounce an [f] sound; in this case, the sound is
produced by air rushing between your bottom lip and your top
teeth.
These various aspects of speech production provide a basis for
categorizing speech sounds. We can distinguish sounds, first,
according to how the airflow is restricted; this is referred to as
manner of production. Thus, air is allowed to move through the
nose for some speech sounds but not others. Similarly, for some
speech sounds, the flow of air is fully stopped for a moment
(e.g., [p], [b], and [t). For other sounds, the air passage is
restricted, but air continues to flow (e.g., [f], [z], and [r]).
Second, we can distinguish between sounds that are voiced-
produced with the vocal folds vibrating-and those that are not.
The sounds of [v], [z], and [n] (to name a few) are voiced; [f],
[s], [t], and [k] are unvoiced. (You can confirm this by running
the hand-on-throat test while producing each of these sounds.)

Finally, sounds can be categorized according to where the
airflow is restricted; this is referred to as place of articulation.
For example, you close your lips to produce "bilabial" sounds
like [p] and [b]; you place your top teeth close to your bottom
lip to produce "labiodental" sounds like [f] and [v]; and you
place your tongue just behind your upper teeth to produce
"alveolar" sounds like [t] and [d].
This categorization scheme enables us to describe any speech
sound in terms of a few simple features. For example, what are
the features of a [p] sound? First, we specify the manner of
production: This sound is produced with air moving through the
mouth (not the nose) and witha full interruption to the flow of
air. Second, voicing: The [p] sound happens to be unvoiced.
Third, place of articulation: The [p] sound is bilabial. These
features are all we need to identify the [p], and if any of these
features changes, so does the sound's identity.
In English, these features of sound production are combined and
recombined to produce 40 or so different phonemes. Other
languages use as few as a dozen phonemes; still others use
many more. (For example, there are 141 different phonemes in
the language of Khoisan, spoken by the Bushmen of Africa;
Halle, 1990.) In all cases, though, the phonemes are created by
simple combinations of the features just described.
The Complexity of Speech Perception
This description of speech sounds invites a simple proposal
about speech perception. We've just said that each speech sound
can be defined in terms of a small number of features. Perhaps,
then, all a perceiver needs to do is detect these features, and
with this done, the speech sounds are identified.
It turns out, though, that speech perception is more complicated.
Consider Figure 10.3, which shows the moment-by-moment
sound amplitudes produced by a speaker uttering brief greeting.
It's these amplitudes, in the form of air-pressure changes, that

reach the ear, and so, in an important sense, the figure shows
the pattern of input with which "real" speech perception begins.
Notice that within this stream of speech there are no markers to
indicate where one phoneme ends and the next begins.
Likewise, there are, for the most part, no gaps to indicate the
boundaries between successive syllables or successive words.
Therefore, as your first step toward phoneme identification, you
need to "slice" this stream into the appropriate segments-a step
known as speech segmentation.
For many people, this pattern comes as a surprise. Most of us
are convinced that there are brief pauses between words in the
speech that we hear, and it's these pauses, we assume, that mark
the word boundaries. But this perception turns out to be an
illusion, and we are "hearing" pauses that aren't actually there.
This is evident when we "hear" the pauses in the "wrong places"
and segment the speech stream in a way the speaker didn't
intend (see Figure 10.4). The illusion is also revealed when we
physically measure the speech stream (as we did in order to
create Figure 10.3) or when we listen to speech we can't
understand-for example, speech in a circumstance, we lack the
skill needed to segment the stream, so we're unable to "supply"
the word boundaries. As a consequence, we hear what is really
there: a continuous, uninterrupted flow of foreign language. In
the latter sound. That is why speech in a foreign language often
sounds so fast.
Speech perception is further complicated by a phenomenon
known as coarticulation (Liberman, 1970; also Daniloff &
Hammarberg, 1973). This term refers to the fact that in
producing speech, you don't utter one phoneme at a time.

Instead, the phonemes overlap, the [s] sound in "soup," for
example, your mouth is getting ready to say the vowel. While
uttering the vowel, you're already starting to move your tongue,
lips, and teeth into position for producing the [P].
This overlap helps to make speech production faster and
considerably overlap also has consequences for the sounds
produced, ready for one upcoming vowel is actually different
from the [s] you produce while getting ready for a different
vowel. As a result, we can't point to a specific acoustical
pattern and say, "This is the so that while you're producing
more fluent. But the so that the [s] you produce while getting
[s] sound." Instead, the acoustical pattern is different in
different contexts. Speech pattern of an perception therefore has
to "read past" these context differences in order to identify the
phonemes produced.
Aids to Speech Perception
The need for segmentation in a continuous speech stream, the
variations caused by coarticulation, and also the variations from
speaker to speaker all make speech perception rather complex.
Nonetheless, you manage to perceive speech accurately and
easily. How do you do it?
Part of the answer lies in the fact that the speech you encounter,
day by day, is surprisingly limited in its range. Each of us
knows tens of thousands of words, but most of these words are
rarely used. In fact, we've known for many years that the 50
most commonly used words in English make up roughly half of
the words you actually hear (Miller, 1951).
In addition, the perception of speech shares a crucial attribute
with other types of perception: a reliance on knowledge and
expectations that supplement the input and guide your
interpretation. In other words, speech perception (like
perception in other domains) weaves together "bottom-up" and
"top-down" processes-processes that, on the one side, are driven
by the input itself, and, on the other side, are driven by the

broader pattern of what you know.
In perceiving speech, therefore, you don't rely just on the
stimuli you receive (that's the bottom- up part). Instead, you
supplement this input with other knowledge, guided by the
context. This is evident, for example, in the phonemic
restoration effect. To demonstrate this effect, researchers start
by recording a bit of speech, and then they modify what they've
recorded. For example, they might remove the [s] sound in the
middle of "legislatures" and replace the [s] with a brief burst of
noise. This now-degraded stimulus can then be presented to
participants, embedded in a sentence such as
The state governors met with their respective legi*latures.
When asked about this stimulus, participants insist that they
heard the complete word, "legislatures," accompanied by a burst
of noise (Repp, 1992; Samuel, 1987, 1991). It seems, then, that
they use the context to figure out what the word must have
been, but then they insist that they actually heard the are often
inaccurate if asked when exactly they heard the noise burst.
word. In fact, participants They can't tell whether they heard the
noise during the second syllable of "legislatures" (so that it
blotted out the missing [s], forcing them to infer the missing
sound) or at some other point (so that they were able to hear the
missing [s] with no interference). Apparently, the top-down
process literally changes what participants hear-leaving them
with no way to distinguish what was heard from what was
inferred.
How much does the context in which we hear a word help us? In
a classic experiment, Pollack and Pickett (1964) recorded a
number of naturally occurring conversations. From these
recordings they spliced out individual words and presented them
in isolation to their research participants. With no context to
guide them, participants were able to identify only half of the
words. If restored to their original context, though, the same
stimuli were easy to identify. Apparently, the benefits of

context are considerable.
Categorical Perception
Speech perception also benefits from a pattern called
categorical perception. This term refers to the fact that people
are much better at hearing the differences between categories of
sounds than they are at hearing the variations within a category
of sounds. In other words, you're very sensitive to the
differences between, [k], between a [d] and a [t]. But you're
surprisingly [gl sound and a or the differences say, a insensitive
to differences within each of these categories, have hard time
So you a distinguishing, say, one somewhat different [pl sound.
And, of course, [p] sound from another, this pattern is precisely
what you want, because it enables you to hear the differences
that matter without hearing (and being distracted by)
inconsequential variations within the category.
Demonstrations of categorical perception generally rely on a
series of stimuli, created by bal sound. Another stimulus might
be a ba] computer. The first stimulus in the series might be a
that has been distorted a tiny bit, to make it a little bit closer to
a [pa] sound. A third stimulus might be a [ba] that has been
distorted a bit more, so that it's a notch closer to a [pa], and so
on. In this way we create a series of stimuli, each slightly
different from the one before, ranging from a clear [ba sound at
one extreme, through a series of "compromise" sounds, until we
reach at the other extreme a clear [pa] sound.
How do people perceive these various sounds? Figure 10.5A
shows the pattern we might expect. gradually shading from a
clear [ba] to a clear [pa]. Therefore, as we move might expect
people to be less and less likely to identify each stimulus as a
pa]. In the terms we used in After all, our stimuli are through
the series, we [ba], and correspondingly more and more likely
to identify each as a Chapter 9, this would be a "graded-

membership" pattern: Test cases close to the [ba] as we move
away from this prototype, cases should be harder and harder to
categorize.
However, the actual data, shown in Figure 10.5B, don't fit with
this prediction. Even though the stimuli are gradually changing
from one extreme to another, participants "hear" an abrupt shift,
so that roughly half the stimuli are reliably categorized as [ba]
and half are reliably categorized as [pa]. Moreover, participants
seem indifferent to the differences within each category. Across
the first dozen stimuli, the syllables are becoming less and less
[ba]-like, but this is not reflected in how the listeners identify
the sounds. Likewise, across the last dozen stimuli, the syllables
are becoming more and more [pa]-like, but again, this trend has
little effect. What listeners seem to hear is either a [pa] or a
[ba], with no gradations inside of either category. (For early
demonstrations, see Liberman Harris, Hoffman, & Griffith,
1957; Lisker & Abrahmson, 1970; for reviews, see Handel,
1989; Yeni- Komshian, 1993.)
It seems, then, that your perceptual apparatus is "tuned" to
provide just the information you need. After all, you want to
know whether someone advised you to "take a path" or "take a
bath." You certainly care whether a friend said, "You're the
best" or "You're the pest." Plainly, the difference between [b]
and [p] matters to you, and this difference is clearly marked in
your perception. In contrast, you usually don't care how exactly
the speaker pronounced "path" or "best"-that's not information
that matters for getting the meaning of these utterances. And
here too, your perception serves you well by largely ignoring
these "subphonemic" variations. (For more on the broad issue of

speech perception, see Mattys, 2012.)
Combining Phonemes
English relies on just a few dozen phonemes, but these sounds
can be combined and recombined to produce thousands of
different morphemes, which can themselves be combined to
create word after word after word. As we mentioned earlier,
though, there are rules governing these combinations, and users
of the language reliably respect these rules. So, in English,
certain sounds (such as the final sound in "going" or "flying")
can occur at the end of a word but not at the beginning. Other
combinations seem prohibited outright. For example, the
sequence "tlof" seems anomalous to English speakers; no words
in English contain the "tl" combination within a single syllable.
(The "sweetly") combination can, however, occur at the
boundary between syllables-as in "motley" or These limits,
however, are simply facts about English; they are not at all a
limit on what human ears can hear or human tongues can
produce, and other languages routinely use combinations that
for unspeakable. English speakers seem
There are also rules governing the adjustments that occur when
certain phonemes are uttered one after another. For example,
consider the "s" ending that marks the English plural-as in
"books," "cats," and "tapes." In these cases, the plural is
pronounced as an [s]. In other contexts, though, the plural
ending is pronounced differently. Say these words out loud:
"bags," "duds," "pills." If you listen carefully, you'll realize that
these words actually end with a [z] sound, not an [s] sound.
English speakers all seem to know the rule that governs this
distinction. (The rule hinges on whether the base noun ends
with a voiced or an unvoiced sound; for classic statements of
this rule, see Chomsky & Halle, 1968; Halle, 1990.) Moreover,
they obey this rule even with novel, made-up cases. For
example, I have one wug, and now I acquire another. Now, I

have two . . . what? Without hesitation, people pronounce
"wugs" using the [z] ending-in accord with the standard pattern.
Even young children pronounce "wugs" with a [z], and so, it
seems, they too have internalized- and obey- the relevant
principles (Berko, 1958).
e. Demonstration 10.1: Phonemes and Subphonemes
A phoneme is the smallest unit of sound that can distinguish
words within a language. The difference between "bus" and
"fuss," therefore, lies in the initial phoneme, and the difference
between "bus" and "butt" lies in the words' last phoneme.
However, not all sound differences are phonemic differences.
For example, the word "bus" can be pronounced with a slightly
longer [s] SOund at the end, or with a slightly shorter [s]. Even
with this difference, both of these pronunciations refer to the
motor vehicle used to transport groups of people. The difference
between the long [s] and the short [s], in other words, is a
subphonemic difference-one that does not distinguish words
within the language.
What counts as a subphonemic difference, however, depends on
the language. To see this imagine that you were going to say the
word "key" out loud. Get your tongue and teeth in position so
that you're ready in an instant to say this word-but then freeze
in that position, as if you were waiting for a "go" signal before
making any noise. Now, imagine that you were going to say
"cool" out loud. Again, get your tongue and teeth in position so
that you're ready to say this word. Now, go back being ready, in
an instant, to say "key." Now, go back to being ready, in an
instant, to say "cool." to
Can you feel that your tongue is moving into different positions
for these two words? That's because, in English, the k] sound
used in the word "key" is different from the [k] sound used in
"cool," and so, to make the different sounds, you need to move

your tongue into different positions.
The difference between the two [k] sounds is, however,
subphonemic in English (so it doesn't
matter for meaning). In other words, there is an acoustic
difference between the two sounds, but this difference is
inconsequential for English speakers. The difference does
matter, though, in other languages, including several Arabic
languages. In these languages, there are two distinct [k] sounds,
and changing from one to the other will alter the identity of the
word being spoken, even if nothing [k] sounds is phonemic in
else in the word changes. In other words, the difference between
the two [k] sound is phonemic in Arabic, not subphonemic.
These differences languages actually lead to changes in how we
perceive sounds. Most English speakers, for example, cannot
hear the difference between the two [k] sounds, or an Arabic
speaker, the difference is obvious. A related example is the
difference between the starting sound in "led" and the starting
sound in "red." This difference is phonemic in English, so that
(for example) "led" and "red" are different words, and English
speakers easily hear the difference. The same acoustic
difference, however, is subphonemic in many Asian languages,
and speakers of these languages have trouble hearing the
difference between words like "led" and "red" or between "load"
and "road." It seems, then, that speakers of different languages
literally hear the world differently.
Can you learn to control which [k] sound you produce? Once
again, get your mouth ready to say "key" out loud, but freeze in
place before you make any sound. Now, without changing your
tongue position at all, say "cool" out loud. If you do this
carefully, you'll end up producing the [k] sound that's normally
the start for "key," but you'll pronounce it with the "oo" vowel.
If you practice a little you'll get better at this; and if you listen
very carefully, you can learn to hear the difference between

"cool" pronounced with this [k] and "cool" pronounced with its
usual [k]. If so, you've mastered one (tiny) element of speaking
Arabic!
In this exercise, you've received instruction in how to produce
(and perhaps perceive) these distinct sounds. Most people,
however, receive no such instruction, leading us to ask: How do
they required by the language they ordinarily speak? The
answer, oddly enough, is that they don't learn. Instead, young
infants just a perfectly capable of hearing the difference
between the two [k] sounds, or an Arabic-speaking community.
Likewise, young infants a few months old seem perfectly
capable of hearing the difference between "led" and English-
speaking environment or in Tokyo. However, if a to hear these
differences. learn to hear these different sounds, and to produce
them, as couple of months old seem English-speaking
community whether they live in an "red," whether they're born
in an distinction is not phonemic in their language, the infants
lose the ability This is, in other words, a clear case of "use it or
lose it," and so, in a sense, very young infants (say, 3 months of
age) can hear and make more distinctions than older infants (10
or 11 months).
e. Demonstration 10.2: The Speed of Speech
Humans are incredibly skilled in most aspects of language use,
including the "decoding" of the complex acoustic signals that
reach our ears whenever we're listening to someone speaking.
There some observations about how well we can are many ways
to document this skill, including understand fast speech.
The "normal" rate of speaking is hard to define. People from
New York, for example, have a reputation for speaking quickly
(although most New Yorkers are convinced that they speak at a
"normal" speed and everyone else speaks slowly!). Likewise,
people from America's South have a reputation for speaking
slowly (although, again, they're convinced that theirs is the

normal rate, and everyone else is in too much of a hurry).
Across this variation, though, the rate of 180 words per minute
(roughly 15 phonemes per second) is often mentioned as a
normal rate for spoken English.
Languages also differ in their speed. According to one recent
estimate, Japanese speakers typically fire off speech at a pace of
7.84 syllables per second; Spanish is a bit slower, at 7.82
syllables per second. English is slower still (6.19 syllables per
second) but not as slow as Mandarin Chinese (5.18). We need to
be clear, though, that languages also differ in how much
information they pack into a single syllable. Chinese speakers,
for example, provide further information via the "tone" with
which the syllable is pronounced, so even if they produce fewer
syllables per second, they may provide more information per
syllable!
In any language, though, what happens with faster speech?
Some "fast talkers" are hard to understand because they slur
their speech or blur their pronunciation; this is true, for
example, of many auctioneers, who may be blurring their speech
deliberately to create a sense of excitement in the auction (with
the aim of encouraging more bids!). For examples, visit
YouTube and search for "fastest talker" You'll find videos of
individuals who hold the (www.youtube.com) Guinness Record
for fast talking (about 600 words per minute), and you'll see
that, at this speed, these people are almost impossible Instead,
these super-fast speakers use various shortcuts to achieve their
speed, and the shortcuts create difficulties for the listener. For
example, these fast talkers don't change their pitch as much as
to understand. However, the problem here isn't the speed itself.
in a monotone. This is a concern for listeners, who they end up
speaking other people do, so ordinarily use prosody as one of
the cues marking phrase boundaries, and also as a cue
highlighting key words. (Hearing these key words helps the
listener to understand the gist of what's being said, which in
turn helps the listener to "decode" the speech.) In addition,

ordinary speakers use variations in speed as a further cue,
slowing down (for example) mark the end of a phrase. Fast
talkers, in contrast, don't just talk at a high speed; they also talk
at a to put emphasis on a word or to uniform speed, and this
impedes the listener.
If we set all these shortcuts to the side, what is the fastest
speech we can understand? Again, the answer varies, and some
of us seem to be "faster listeners," just as some of us are "faster
talkers." As a rough estimate, though, most English-speakers
can follow speech at 250 words per minute (40% faster than
"normal"). But this estimate may be conservative. Again, visit
YouTube, and search for some of the classic TV commercials
for FedEx starring John Moschitta. (Or search for Moschitta's
appearance on Sesame Street.) You'll need to pay close
attention to follow his speech, but you probably can do it!
For more on this topic, see Pellegrino, F., Coupé, C., &
Marsico, E. (2011). Across-language perspective For more on
this topic, speech information rate. Language, 87, 539-558
e. Demonstration 10.3: Coarticulation
Speech perception is made more challenging by the fact of
coarticulation-the fact that as you pronounce each phoneme,
you're already getting ready for the next phoneme.
Coarticulation guarantees variation in the actual sounds
associated with each phoneme-because the pronunciation (and
therefore the sound) is shaped by the phoneme before and the
phoneme after the one you're uttering right now.
We've already encountered coarticulation in an earlier
demonstration, focused on the contrast between phonemic and
subphonemic differences. (Specifically, in Demonstration 10.1,
your pronunciation of the "k" sound was influenced by the
upcoming vowel.) But the variations caused by quite
widespread. As another example, consider the shape of your

mouth when coarticulation are you pronounce the "s" in "seat"
and the shape of your mouth when you pronounce the "s" in
"suit." phoneme (the [s] ) in both cases, but your mouth shapes
(and hence the You're producing the same sounds) are quite
different because as you pronounce the "s" sound, you're
already getting ready to produce the vowel-and that alters how
you pronounce the "s" itself.
In fact, if you focus your attention in the right way, you can
hear the difference between these two sounds. Get your mouth
ready to say "seat," and with your mouth "frozen" in that
position, hiss the "s" sound. Now, get your mouth ready to say
"suit," and with your mouth again frozen in place, hiss this "s"
sound. You may have to alternate back and forth once or twice
to hear the difference. easure the sound using the appropriate
instruments, and But, in truth, the difference is large if we mea
with a tiny bit of effort, you can hear the difference too.
e. Demonstration 10.4: The Most Common Words
The text describes several complexities in speech perception,
but there are also factors that make speech perception easier.
One important factor lies in the observation that, even though
there are tens of thousands of words in our language, most of
what we hear, minute by minute or day by day, relies on a tiny
vocabulary. Indeed, George Miller estimated, many years ago,
that the 50 most commonly used words make up roughly half of
what we hear.
So what are these commonly used words? You can probably
guess most of them. Take a blank piece of paper, and write
down your nominees for English's most commonly used words.
Then, once you've finished, you can check your list against the
list compiled by the people who publish the Oxford English
Dictionary (hidden below). Their list of the 100 most commonly
used words can be found below. How many of the (actual) top
10 appeared on your list? How many of the (actual) top 20? The

Most Commonly Used Words in English
SHOW
Source:http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Most_common_words_in_E
nglish#cite_note -langfacts-0
Morphemes and Words
A typical college graduate in the United States knows between
75,000 and 100,000 different words. These counts have been
available for many years (e.g., Oldfield, 1963; Zechmeister,
Chronis, Cull, D'Anna, & Healy, 1995), and there's no reason to
think they're changing. For each word, the speaker knows the
word's sound (the sequence of phonemes that make up the word)
and its orthography (the sequence of letters that spell the word).
The speaker also knows how to use the word within various
governed by the rules of syntax (see Figure 10.6). Finally,
speakers know the meaning of a word; they have a semantic
representation for the word to go with the phonological
representation.
Building New Words
Estimates of vocabulary size, however, need to be interpreted
with caution, because the size of someone's vocabulary is
subject to change. One reason is that new words are created all
the time. For example, the world of computers has demanded
many new terms-with the result that someone who wants to
know something will often "google" it; many of us get
information from "blogs"; and most of us are no longer fooled
by the "phishing" we sometimes find in our "email." The terms
"software" and "hardware" have been around for a while, but
"spyware" and "malware" are relatively new.
Changes in social habits and in politics also lead to new
vocabulary. It can't be surprising that slang terms come and go,
but some additions to the language seem to last. Changes in
diet, for example, have put words like "vegan,"

"localvore/locavore," and "paleo" into common use. The term
"metrosexual" has been around for a couple of decades, and
likewise "buzzword" It was only in 2012, that Time magazine
listed "selfie" as one of the year's top ten buzzwords, and it was
a 2016 vote in Great Britain that had people talking about
"Brexit."
Often, these new words are created by combining or adjusting
existing words (and so "Brexit" combines "Britain" and "exit;"
"paleo" is a shortened form of "Paleolithic"). In addition, once
these new entries are in the language, they can be combined
with other elements-usually by adding the appropriate
morphemes. Imagine that you've just heard the word "hack" for
the first time. You know that someone who does this activity is
a "hacker" and that the activity itself is "hacking" and you
understand someone who says, "I've been hacked"
Once again, therefore, note the generativity of language-that is,
the capacity to create an endless series of new combinations, all
built from the same set of fundamental units. Therefore,
someone who "knows English" (or someone who knows any
language) hasn't just memorized the vocabulary of the language
and some set of phrases. Instead, people who "know English"
know how to create new forms within the language: They know
how to combine morphemes to create new words, know how to
"adjust" phonemes when they're put together into novel
combinations, and so on. This knowledge isn't conscious-and so
most English speakers could not articulate the principles
governing the sequence of morphemes within a word, or why
they pronounce "wugs" with a [z] [s]. Nonetheless, speakers
honor these principles with remarkable consistency sound rather
than an use of the language and in their day-to-day creation of
novel words.
e. Demonstration 10.5: Patterns in Language
Chapter 10 argues that in many ways our language is generative

but also patterned. The generativity is evident in the fact that
new forms can always be developed-and so you can create new
words and phrases that no one has ever uttered before. The
patters, though, new are evident in the observation that some
sequences of words (or morphemes, or phonemes) do not-as if
the generativity seem acceptable and some were governed by
rules of some sort. Thus, the rules allow you to create novel
sentences like "Comical cartons cruise carefully," but not the
sequence "Cruise cartons carefully comical." Likewise, you
might say, "The leprechaun envied the cow's artichoke," but not
"Artichoke cow's the envied leprechaun the."
apparently governing these sequences? As o
But what is the nature of the "rules" that are apparently
governing these sequences? As one way to explore this issue,
ask the following questions couple of friends:
to a If you later should see the tree, you'll
· Imagine that a beaver has been gnawing see the on a tree. If
you later should see the tree, you'll see marks the beaver has
left behind. Are these tooth-marks or teeth-marks?
· Imagine that a hundred field mice are living in a farmhouse. Is
the house mouse-infested or mice-infested?
· Now, imagine that 50 rats have also moved into the
farmhouse. Is the house now rat-infested or rats-infested?
· Or, if 4-year-old Connor has written on the wall with three
pens, did he leave behind pen- marks or pens-marks?
For the first two questions, most people feel like they could go
either way-tooth-marks or teeth- marks; mouse-infested or
mice-infested. They may have a preference for one form or the
other, but the preference is usually weak, and they regard the
other form as acceptable. For the next two questions, though,
people reliably reject one of the options and insist that the

house is rat-infested and that Connor left pen-marks. Is this
consistent with how your friends answered?
What's going on here? It turns out that these combinations
follow a rule-one that governs how morphemes combine. In
essence, the rules says that if a noun has an irregular plural,
then it can be combined with other morphemes in either its
plural form or its singular form. But if a noun has a regular
plural, it can be combined with other morphemes only in the
singular form.
Our point here, though, is not to explore this particular rule. (In
fact, this rule is derived from other rules governing how
morphemes combine.) Our point instead is that this regular
pattern exists within English, even though most people have
never been trained on this pattern, have never thought about the
pattern, and may not even realize the pattern is in place. In
following this rule therefore, people are surely not consciously
aware of the rule. Nonetheless, it's a rule they've been following
since they were 3 or 4 years old. This by itself makes it clear
that language is in fact heavily patterned, and that a large part
of what it means to "know a language" is to learn (and to
respect) these patterns.
Syntax
The potential for producing new forms is even more remarkable
when we consider the uppèr levels in the language hierarchy-the
levels of phrases and sentences. This point becomes obvious
when we ask: If you have 60,000 words in your vocabulary, or
80,000, how many sentences can you build from those words?
Sentences range in length from the very brief ("Go!" or "I do")
to the absurdly long. Most sentences, though, contain 20 words
or fewer. With this length limit, it has been estimated that there
are 100,000,000,000,000,000,000 possible sentences in English
(Pinker, 1994). If you could read these sentences at the insane
rate of 1,000 per second, you'd still need over 30,000 centuries

to read through this list! (In fact, this estimate may be too low.
Decades before Pinker's work, Miller, Galanter, & Pribram,
1960, estimated that the number of possible sentences is
actually 1050-billions of times larger than the estimate we're
using here.)
Once again, though, there are limits on which combinations
(i.e., which sequences of words) are acceptable and which ones
are not. For example, in English you could say, "The boy hit the
ball" but not "The boy hit ball the." Likewise, you could say,
"The moose squashed the car" but not "The moose squashed the"
or just "Squashed the car." Virtually any speaker of the
language would agree that these errant sequences have
something wrong in them, but what exactly is the problem with
these "bad" strings? The answer lies in the rules of syntax-rules
that govern the structure of a phrase or sentence.
One might think that the rules of syntax depend on meaning, so
that meaningful sequences are accepted as "sentences" while
meaningless sequences are rejected as non-sentences. This
suggestion, though, is wrong. As one concern, many non-
sentences do seem meaningful, and no one's confused when
Sesame Street's Cookie Monster insists "Me want cookie"
Likewise, viewers understood the monster's wistful comment in
the 1935 movie Bride of Frankenstein: "Alone, bad; friend,
good."
In addition, consider these two sentences:
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the
wabe.
Colorless green ideas sleep furiously.
(The first of these is from Lewis Carrol's famous poem
"Jabberwocky"; the second was penned by the linguist Noam

Chomsky.) These sentences are, of course, without meaning:
Colorless things aren't green; ideas don't sleep; toves aren't
slithy. Nonetheless, speakers of English, after a moment's
reflection, regard these sequences as grammatically acceptable
in a way that "Furiously sleep ideas green colorless" is not. It
seems, therefore, that we need principles of syntax that are
separate from considerations of semantics or sensibility.
Phrase Structure
The rules of syntax take several forms, but they include rules
that specify which elements must appear in a phrase and (for
some languages) that govern the sequence of those elements.
These phrase-structure rules also specify the overall
organization of the sentence-and therefore determine how the
various elements are linked to one another.
One way to depict phrase-structure rules is with a tree structure
like the one shown in Figure 10.7. You can read the structure
from top to bottom, and as you move from one level to the next,
you can see that each element (e.g., a noun phrase or a verb
phrase) has been "expanded" in a way that's strictly governed by
the phrase-structure rules.
Prescriptive Rules, Descriptive Rules
We need to be clear, though, about what sorts of rules we're
discussing. Let's begin with the fact that most of us were taught,
at some stage of our education, how to talk and write "properly"
We were taught never to say "ain't." Many of us were scolded
for writing in the passive voice or starting a sentence with
"And." Warnings like these are the result of prescriptive rules-
rules describing how something (in this case: language) is
"supposed to be" Language that doesn't follow these rules, it's
claimed, is "improper" or maybe even "bad."
You should, however, be skeptical about these prescriptive
rules. After all, languages change with the passage of time, and

what's "proper" in one period is often different from what seems
right at other times. In the 1600s, for example, people used the
pronouns "thou" and "ye," but those words are gone from
modern usage. In more recent times, people just one generation
back insisted it was wrong to end a sentence with a preposition;
modern speakers think this prohibition is silly. Likewise
consider the split infinitive. Prominent writers of the 18th and
19th centuries (e.g., Ben Franklin, William Wordsworth, Henry
James) commonly split their infinitives; grammarians of the
early 20th century, in contrast, energetically condemned this
construction. Now, in the 21st century, most English speakers
seem even know what split infinitive is). entirely indifferent to
whether their infinitives are split or not (and may not
This pattern of change makes it difficult to justify prescriptive
rules. Some people, for example, still insist that split infinitives
are improper and must be avoided. This suggestion, however,
seems to rest on the idea that the English spoken in, say, 1926
was proper and correct, and that the English spoken few decades
before or after this "Golden Age" is somehow inferior. It's hard
to think of any basis for this claim, so it seems instead that this
prescriptive rule reflects only the habits and preferences of a
particular group at a particular time-and there's no reason why
our usage should governed by their preferences. In addition, it's
not surprising that the groups that set these rules are usually
groups with high prestige or social standing (Labov, 2007).
When people strive to follow prescriptive rules, then, it's often
because they hope to join (or, at least, be associated with) these
elite groups.
Phrase-structure rules, in contrast, are not prescriptive; they are
descriptive rules-that is, rules characterizing the language as it's
ordinarily used by fluent speakers and listeners. There are, after
all, strong regularities in the way English is used, and the rules
we're discussing here describe these patterns. No value
judgment is offered about whether these patterns constitute
"proper" or "good" English. These patterns simply describe how

English is structured-or perhaps we should say, what English is.
The Function of Phrase Structure
No one claims that language users are consciously aware of
phrase-structure rules. Instead, the idea is that people have
somehow internalized these rules and obey the rules in their use
of, and judgments about, language.
For example, your intuitions about whether a sentence is well
formed or not respect phrase- structure rules-and so, if a
sequence of words lacks an element that should, according to
the rules, be in place, you'll probably think there's a mistake in
the sequence. Likewise, you'll balk at sequences of words that
include elements that (according elements that should be in a
different position to the rules) shouldn't be there, or within the
string. These points allow us to explain why you think
sequences like these need some sort of repair: "His argument
emphasized in modern society" "Susan or appeared cat in the
door."
Perhaps more important, phrase-structure rules help you
understand the sentences you hear or read, because syntax in
general specifies the relationships among the words in each
sentence. For example, the NP+VP sequence typically divides a
sentence into the "doer" (the NP) and some information about
that doer (the VP). Likewise, the V + NP sequence usually
indicates the action described by the sentence and then the
recipient of that action. In this way, the phrase structure of a
sentence provides an initial "road map" that's useful in
understanding the sentence. For a simple example, it's syntax
that tells us who's doing what when we hear "The boy chased
the girl." Without syntax (e.g., if our sentences were merely
lists of words, such as "boy, girl, chased"), we'd have no way to
know who was the chaser and who (if anyone) was chaste. (Also

see Figure 10.8.)
Sometimes, though, two different phrase structures can lead to
the same sequence of words, and if you encounter one of these
sequences, you may not know which structure was intended.
How will this affect you? We've just suggested that phrase
structures guide interpretation, and so, with multiple phrase
structures available, there should be more than one way to
interpret the sentence. This turns out to be correct-often, with
comical consequences (see Figure 10.9).
e. Demonstration 10.6: Ambiguity
Language is a remarkable tool for conveying ideas from one
person to another. Sometimes, however, the transmission of
ideas doesn't work quite the way it should. In some cases, the
sentencès you hear (or read) are unclear or misleading. In other
cases, the sentences you encounter are ambiguous, so the
meaning you draw from them may be different from the
meaning that the speaker (or writer) intended.
Sometimes the ambiguity you encounter concerns just one word:
If you hear "Sam is looking for the bank" do you think Sam is
looking for the river's edge or a financial institution?
Sometimes the ambiguity is tied to the sentence's structure: If
you hear "I saw a man on a horse wearing armor," then who is
wearing the armor? Is it the man or the horse?
Remarkably, though, ambiguity in language is often overlooked.
That's because we're all so skilled at picking up the intended
meaning of the speaker that we don't even realize there's
another way we might have interpreted the words. (We'll return
to this point in Chapter 14.) This failure to detect ambiguity is
usually a good thing, because if we're oblivious to the
alternative meaning, we won't be distracted or misled by it. But
the failure to detect ambiguity can sometimes be a problem. In
many cases, for example, newspapers have printed headlines

without realizing that there was more than one way to interpret
what they'd printed-leading to considerable embarrassment. In
fact, all of the following are actual headlines that were printed
in real newspapers. In each case, can you find both ways to
interpret each headline?
EYE DROPS OFF SHELF
KIDS MAKE NUTRITIOUS SNACKS
STOLEN PAINTING FOUND BY TREE
DEALERS WILL HEAR CAR TALK AT NOON
MINERS REFUSE TO WORK AFTER DEATH
MILK DRINKERS ARE TURNING TO POWDER
COMPLAINTS ABOUT NBA REFEREES GROWING UGLY
POLICE BEGIN CAMPAIGN TO RUN DOWN JAYWALKERS
GRANDMOTHER OF EIGHT MAKES HOLE IN ONE
HOSPITALS ARE SUED BY 7 FOOT DOCTORS
ENRAGED COW INJURES FARMER WITH AX
SQUAD HELPS DOG BITE VICTIM
HERSHEY BARS PROTEST
Sentence Parsing
A sentence's phrase structure, we've said, conveys crucial
information about who did what to whom. Once you know the
phrase structure, therefore, you're well on your way to
understanding the sentence. But how do you figure out the
phrase structure in the first place? This would be an easy
question if sentences were uniform in their structure: "The boy
hit the ball. The girl drove the car. The elephant trampled the
geraniums." But, of course, sentences are more variable than
this, and this variation makes the identification of a sentence's
phrase structure much more difficult.
How, therefore, do you parse a sentence-that is, figure out each
word's syntactic role? It seems plausible that you'd wait until
the sentence's end, and only then go to work on figuring out the
structure. With this strategy, your comprehension might be

slowed a little (because you're waiting for the sentence's end),
but you'd avoid errors, because your interpretation could be
guided by full information about the sentence's content.
It turns out, though, that people don't use this wait-for-all-the-
information strategy. Instead, they parse sentences as they hear
them, trying to figure out the role of each word the moment it
arrives (e.g., Marcus, 2001; Savova, Roy, Schmidt, &
Tenenbaum, 2007; Tanenhaus & Trueswell, 2006). This
approach is efficient (since there's no waiting) but, as we'll see,
can lead to errors.
Garden Paths
Even simple sentences can be ambiguous if you're open-minded
(or perverse) enough:
Mary had a little lamb. (But I was quite hungry, so I had the
lamb and also a bowl of soup.)
Time flies like an arrow. (But fruit flies, in contrast, like a
banana.)
Temporary ambiguity is also common inside a sentence. More
precisely, the early part of a sentence is often open to multiple
interpretations, but then the later part of the sentence clears
things up. Consider this example:
The old man the ships.
In this sentence, most people read the initial three words as a
noun phrase: "the old man" However, this interpretation leaves
the sentence with no verb, so a different interpretation is

needed, with the subject of the sentence being "the old" and
with "man" being the verb. (Who mans the ships? It is the old,
not the young. The old man the ships.) Likewise:
The secretary applauded for his efforts was soon promoted.
Here, people tend to read "applauded" as the sentence's main
verb, but it isn't. Instead, this sentence is just a shorthand way
of answering the question, "Which secretary was soon
promoted?" (Answer: "The one who was applauded for his
efforts.")
These examples are referred to as garden-path sentences: You're
initially led to one interpretation (you are, as they say, "led
down the garden path"), but this interpretation then turns out to
be wrong. So you need to reject your first interpretation and
find an alternative. Here are two more examples:
Fat people eat accumulates.
Because he ran the second mile went quickly
Garden-path sentences highlight the risk attached to the strategy
of interpreting a sentence as it arrives: The information you
need in order to understand these sentences arrives only late in
the sequence, and so, to avoid an interpretive dead end, you'd be
better off remaining neutral about the sentence's meaning until
you've gathered enough information. That way, you'd know that
"the old man" couldn't be the sentence's subject, that
"applauded" couldn't be the sentence's main verb, and so on.
But this isn't what you do. Instead, you commit yourself fairly
early to one interpretation and then try to "fit" subsequent
words, as they arrive, into that interpretation. This strategy is

often effective, but it does lead to the "double-take" reaction
when late-arriving information forces you to abandon your
initial interpretation (Grodner &Gibson, 2005).
Syntax as a Guide to Parsing
What is it that leads you down the garden path? Why do you
initially choose one interpretation of a sentence, one parsing,
rather than another? Many cues are relevant, because many
types of information influence parsing. For one, people usually
seek the simplest phrase structure that will accommodate the
words heard so far. This strategy is fine if the sentence structure
is indeed simple; the strategy produces problems, though, with
more complex sentences. To see how this plays out, consider the
earlier sentence, "The secretary applauded for his efforts was
soon promoted." As you phrase plus the beginning of a separate
clause modifying "secretary." This is the correct interpretation,
and it's required by the way the sentence ends. However, you
ignored this possibility, at least initially, and went instead with
a simpler interpretation-of a noun phrase plus verb, with no idea
of a separate read "The secretary applauded," you had the
option of interpreting this as a noun embedded clause.
People also tend to assume that they'll be hearing (or reading)
active-voice sentences rather than passive-voice sentences, so
they generally interpret a sentence's initial noun phrase as the
"doer" of the action and not the recipient. As it happens, most
of the sentences you encounter are active, not passive, so this
assumption is usually correct (for early research, see Hornby,
1974; Slobin, 1966; Svartik, 1966). However, this assumption
can slow you down when you do encounter a passive sentence,
and, of course, this assumption added to your difficulties with
the "secretary" sentence: The embedded clause there is in the
passive voice (the secretary was applauded by someone else);
your tendency to assume active voice, therefore, works against
the correct interpretation of this sentence.

Not surprisingly, parsing is also influenced by the function
words that appear in a sentence and by the various morphemes
that signal syntactic role (Bever, 1970). For example, people
easily grasp the structure of "He gliply rivitched the flidget"
That's because the "-ly" morpheme indicates that "glip" is an
adverb; the "-ed" identifies "rivitch" as a verb; and "the" signals
that "flidget" is a noun-all excellent cues to the sentence
structure. This factor, too, is relevant to the "secretary"
sentence, which included none of the helpful function words.
Notice that we didn't say, "The secretary who was applauded. .
", if we had said that, the chance of misunderstanding would
have been greatly reduced.
With all these factors stacked against you, it's no wonder you
were (temporarily) confused about "the secretary." Indeed, with
all these factors in place, garden-path sentences can sometimes
be enormously difficult to comprehend. For example, spend a
moment puzzling over this (fully grammatical) sequence:
The horse raced past the barn fell.
(If you get stuck with this sentence, try adding the word "that"
after "horse")
Background Knowledge as a Guide to Parsing
Parsing is also guided by background knowledge, and in
general, people try to parse sentences way that makes sense to
them. So, for example, readers are unlikely to misread the
headline Drunk Gets Six Months in Violin Case (Gibson, 2006;
Pinker, 1994; Sedivy, Tanenhaus, Chambers, & Carlson, 1999).
And this point, too, matters for the "secretary" sentence: Your
background knowledge tells you that women secretaries are
more common than men, and this added to your confusion in
figuring out who was applauding and who was applauded.

How can we document these knowledge effects? Several studies
have tracked how people move their eyes while reading, and
these movements can tell us when the reading is going smoothly
and when the reader is confused. Let's say, then, that we ask
someone to read a garden-path sentence. The moment the person
realizes he has misinterpreted the words so far, he'll backtrack
and reread the sentence's start, and, with appropriate
instruments, we can easily detect these backwards eye
movements (MacDonald, Pearlmutter, & Seidenberg, 1994;
Trueswell, Tanenhaus, & Garnsey, 1994).
Using this technique, investigators have examined the effects of
plausibility on readers interpretations of the words they're
seeing. For example, participants might be shown a sentence
beginning "The detectives examined. . . "; upon seeing this, the
participants sensibly assume that "examined" is the sentence's
main verb and are therefore puzzled when the sentence
continues "by the reporter..." (see Figure 10.10A). We detect
this puzzlement in their eye movements: They pause and look
back at "examined" realizing that their initial interpretation was
wrong. Then, after this recalculation, they press onward.
Things go differently, though, if the sentence begins "The
evidence examined. (see Figure 10.10B). Here, readers can draw
on the fact that "evidence" can't examine anything, so
"examined" can't be the sentence's main verb. As a result,
they're not surprised when the sentence continues "by the
reporter.. ." Their understanding of the world had already told
them that the first three words were the start of a passive
sentence, not an active one. (Also see Figures 10.11 and 10.12.)
The Extralinguistic Context

We've now mentioned several strategies that you use in parsing
the sentences you encounter. The role of these strategies is
obvious when the strategies mislead you, as they do with
garden-path sentences. Bear in mind, though, that the same
strategies are used for all sentences and usually do lead to the
correct parsing.
It turns out, however, that our catalogue of strategies isn't
complete, because you also make use of another factor: the
context in which you encounter sentences, including the
conversational context. For example, the garden-path problem is
much less likely to occur in the following setting:
Jack: Which horse fell?
Kate: The horse raced past the barn fell.
Just as important is the extralinguistic context-the physical and
social setting in which you encounter sentences. To see how this
factor matters, consider the following sentence:
Put the apple on the towel into the box.
At its start, this sentence seems to be an instruction to put an
apple onto a towel; this interpretation must be abandoned,
though, when the words "into the box" arrive. Now, you realize
that the box is the apple's destination; "on the towel" is simply a
specification of which apple is to be moved. (Which apple
should be put into the box? The one that's on the towel.) In
short, this is another garden-path sentence-initially inviting one
analysis but eventually requiring another.
This confusion is avoided, however, if the sentence is spoken in

the appropriate setting. Imagine that two apples are in view, as
shown in Figure 10.13. In this context, a listener hearing the
sentence's start ("Put the apple...") would immediately see the
possibility for confusion (which apple is being referred to?) and
so would expect the speaker to specify which one is to be
moved. Therefore, when the phrase "on the towel" comes along,
the listener immediately understands it as the needed
specification. There is no confusion and no garden path
(Eberhard, Spivey- (correctly) Knowlton, Sedivy, & Tanenhaus,
1995; Tanenhaus & Spivey-Knowlton, 1996).
Prosody
One other cue is also useful in parsing: the rise and fall of
speech intonation and the partern of pauses. These pitch and
rhythm cues, together called prosody, can communicate a great
deal of information. Prosody can, for example, reveal the mood
of a speaker; it can also direct the listener's attention by
specifying the focus or theme of a sentence (Jackendoff, 1972;
also see Kraus & Slater, 2016). Consider the simple sentence
"Sol sipped the soda" Now, imagine how you'd pronounce this
sentence in response to each of these questions: "Was it Sue
who sipped the soda?"; "Did Sol gulp the soda?"; or "Did Sol
sip the soup?" You'd probably say the same words ("Sol sipped
the soda") in response to each of these queries, but you'd adjust
the prosody in order to highlight the information crucial for
each question. (Try it. Imagine answering each question and pay
attention to how you shift your pronunciation.)
Prosody can also render unambiguous a sentence that would
otherwise be entirely confusing (Beach, 1991). This is why
printed versions of garden-path sentences, and ambiguous
sentences general, are more likely to puzzle you, because in

print prosody provides no information. Imagine, therefore, that
you heard the sentence "The horse raced past the barn fell." The
speaker would probably pause momentarily between "horse" and
"raced," and again between "barn" and "fell." making it likely
that you'd understand the sentence with no problem.
As a different example, consider two objects you might buy for
your home. One is a small box as a house for bluebirds. The
other is a small box that can be used by any type of bird, and
designed the box happens to be painted blue. In print, we'd call
the first of these a "bluebird house," and the second a "blue
birdhouse." But now, pronounce these phrases out loud, and
you'll notice how prosody serves to distinguish these two
structures.
Some aspects of prosody depend on the language being spoken,
and even on someone's dialect distinguish these two structures.
serves to cues-especially cues that signal the speaker's emotions
and within a language. Other prosodic attitudes-seem to be
shared across languages. This point was noted more than a
century ago by Charles Darwin (1871) and has been amply
confirmed in the years since then (e.g., Bacharowski, 1999;
Pittham & Scherer, 1993).
Pragmatics
What does it mean to "know a language"-to "know English" for
example? It should be clear by now that the answer has many
parts. Any competent language user needs somehow to know
(and obey) a rich set of rules about how (and whether) elements
can be combined. Language users rely further set of principles
whenever they perceive and understand linguistic inputs. Some
of these on a principles are rooted in syntax; others depend on
semantics (e.g., knowing that detectives can "examine" but
evidence can't); still others depend on prosody or on the
extralinguistic context. All these factors then seem to interact,

so that your understanding of the sentences you hear (or see in
print) is guided by all these principles at the same time.
These points, however, still understate the complexity of
language complexity of the knowledge someone must have in
order to use a language. This point becomes clear when we
consider language use at levels beyond the hierarchy shown in
Figure 10.1-for use and, with that, the example, when we
consider language as it's used in ordinary conversation. As an
illustration, consider the following bit of dialogue (after Pinker,
1994; also see Gernsbacher & Kaschak, 2013: Graesser &
Forsyth, 2013; Zwaan, 2016):
Woman: I'm leaving you.
Man: Who is he?
You easily provide the soap-opera script that lies behind this
exchange, but you do so by drawing on a fabric of additional
knowledge-in this case, knowledge about the vicissitudes of
romance. Likewise, in Chapter 1 we talked about the importance
of background knowledge in your understanding of a simple
story. (It was the story that began, "Betsy wanted to bring Jacob
a present "). There, too, your understanding depended piggy
banks, and more. Without those facts, the story would have been
incomprehensible.
Your use of language also depends communicate with each
other-assumptions that involve the pragmatics of language use.
For on you providing a range of facts about gift-giving, on your
assumptions about how, in general, people example, if someone
asks, "Do you know the time?" you understand this as a request
that you report the time-even though the question, understood
literally, is a yes/no question about the extent of your temporal
knowledge.

What do the pragmatics of language-that is, your knowledge of
how language is ordinarily used- actually involve? Many years
ago, philosopher Paul Grice described the conversational "rules"
in terms of a series of maxims that speakers follow and listeners
count on (Grice, 1989). The "maxim of relation," for example,
says that speakers should say things that are relevant to the
conversation. For example, imagine that someone asks, "What
happened sure looks happy." Here, your assumption of
relevance will most to the roast beef?" and gets a reply, "The
dog likely lead you to infer that the dog must have stolen the
meat. Likewise, the "maxim of quantity" specifies that a speaker
shouldn't be more informative than is necessary. On this point,
imagine that you ask someone, "What color are your eyes?" and
he responds, "My left eye is blue." The extra detail here invites
you to assume that the speaker specified "left eye" for a reason-
and so you'll probably infer that the person's right eye is some
other color. In these ways, listeners count on speakers to be
cooperative and collaborative, and speakers proceed knowing
that listeners make these assumptions. (For more on the
collaborative nature of conversation and the assumptions that
conversational partners make, see Andor, 2011: Clark, 1996;
Davis & Friedman, 2007; Graesser, Millis, & Zwaan, 1997;
Holtgraves, 2002; Noveck & Reboul, 2008; Noveck & Sperber,
2005).
e. Demonstration 10.7: Language Use in Jokes
Language is an extraordinary tool. We use it to communicate
information, to make inquiries, language to tell to share our
feelings, to express our intentions, and much, much more. But
we also use jokes.
One type of joke depends on the lowest level of the hierarchy
shown in Figure 10.1; these jokes play with the sounds of
language, and so these jokes work in spoken form, but they
work less well (if at all) in print.

"Becoming a vegetarian can be a missed steak."
"Once you've seen one shopping center, you've seen the mall."
Notice also that these jokes play with the processes of speech
perception-so that, for example, you need to re-segment "them
all" as "the mall."
Other jokes also play with the sounds of language, but they rely
on the fact that your enormous skill in understanding language
allows you to make sense of sounds that aren't quite right.
Consider for example., all of the answers to this question: "Did
you hear about the Italian chef who was thrown out of cooking
school because he failed the exam?"
"He couldn't pasta test."
"He cannoli do so much."
"His failure will become a pizza history."
"Here today, gone tomato."
"You never sausage a sad thing."
Other jokes depend on the morpheme level and on your "taking
apart" a word and rethinking how the elements are related to
each other.
"Whiteboards are remarkable."
"What do you call an alligator in a vest? An inwestigator"
Still other jokes depend on the ambiguity of intact single words-
but with the reinterpretation of the word often forcing a
reinterpretation of the entire sentence.

"Santa's helpers are subordinate Clauses." "An E-Flat, a G-Flat.
and a B-Flat walked into a bar. The bartender said, I'm sorry,
but we don't serve minors."
"Once the magician used trapdoors in every act, but he stopped.
It was, it seems, just a stage he was going through."
And still more jokes play with the rules of conversation-usually,
by deliberately breaking the rules. So Related, some jokes play
with the "standard" pattern for jokes-often, by saying something
pointless that it's funny.
"Knock knock." "Who's there?" "Spell." "Spell who?" "Okay, I
will. W. H. O."
"What does Tarzan say when he sees a herd of elephants in the
distance?"
"Look, a herd of elephants in the distance."
"What does Tarzan say when he sees a herd of elephants
wearing sunglasses?"
"Nothing. He doesn't recognize them."
"How do you get an elephant into the refrigerator?"
"Open the door. Insert the elephant. Close the door."
Do you think that jokes at one of these levels are more
effective-that is, funnier!-than jokes at the other levels? Do you
have a favorite joke? If so, what aspects of language does it
exploit?
The Biological Roots of Language
Each of us uses language all the time-to learn, to gossip, to
instruct, to persuade, to warn, to express affection. We use this
tool as easily as we breathe; we spend far more effort in

choosing our clothes in the morning than we do in choosing the
words we will speak. But these observations must not hide the
facts that language is a remarkably complicated tool and that we
are all exquisitely skilled in its use.
How is all of this possible? How is it that ordinary human
beings-even ordinary two-and-a-half- year-olds-manage the
extraordinary task of mastering and fluently using language?
According to equipped with sophisticated neural many authors,
the answer lies in the fact that humans are machinery
specialized for learning, and then using, language. Let's take a
quick look at this machinery.
Aphasias
disruption of As we described at the chapter's start, damage to
specific parts of the brain can cause a aphasia. Damage to the
brain's left frontal lobe, especially a region known as language
known as Broca's area (see Figure 10.14), usually produces a
pattern of symptoms known as nonfluent aphasia. People with
this disorder can understand language they hear but cannot write
or speak. In extreme cases, a patient with this disorder cannot
utter any words at all. In less severe cases, only part of the
patient's vocabulary is lost, but the patient's speech becomes
labored and fragmented and articulating each word requires
special effort. One early study quoted a patient with aphasia as
saying, "Here. . . head... operation... here... speech . . . none... .
. . what ... illness" (Luria, 1966, p. 406).
Different symptoms are associated with damage to a brain site
known as Wernicke's area (again see Figure 10.14). Patients
with this sort of damage usually suffer from a pattern known as
fluent aphasia. These patients can talk freely, but they say very
little. One patient, for example, uttered, "I was over the other
one, and then after they had been in the department, I was in
this one" (Geschwind, 1970, p. 904). Or another patient: "Oh,

I'm taking the word the wrong way to say, all of the barbers
here whenever they stop you it's going around and around, if
you know what I mean, that is tying and tying for repucer,
repuceration, welll, we were trying the best that we could while
another time it was with the beds over there the same thing"
(Gardner, 1974, p. 68).
This distinction between fluent and nonfluent aphasia, however,
captures the data only in the broadest sense. One reason lies in
the fact that-as we've seen-language use involves the
coordination of many different steps, many different processes.
These include processes needed to "look up word meanings in
your "mental dictionary," processes needed to figure out the
structural relationships within a sentence, processes needed to
integrate information about a sentence's structure with the
meanings of the words within the sentence, and so on. Each of
these processes relies on its own set of brain pathways, so
damage result, the language loss in aphasia can sometimes be
quite specific, with impairment just to a specific processing step
(Cabeza & Nyberg, 2000; Demonet, Wise, & Frackowiak, 1993;
Martin, 2003).
Even with these complexities, the point here is that humans
have a considerable amount of neural tissue that is specialized
for language. Damage to this tissue can disrupt language
understanding, language production, or both. In all cases,
though, the data make it clear that our skill in using language
rests in part on the fact that we have a lot of neural apparatus
devoted to to those pathways disrupts the process. As a
precisely this task.
The Biology of Language Learning
The biological roots of language also show up in another
manner-in the way that language is learned. This learning
occurs remarkably rapidly, and so, by the age of 3 or 4, almost
every child is able to converse at a reasonable level. Moreover,
this learning can proceed in an astonishingly wide range of

environments. Children who talka lot with adults learn
language, and so do children who talk very little with adults. In
fact, children learn language even if their communication with
adults is strictly limited. Evidence on this last point comes from
children who are born deaf and have no opportunity learn sign
language. (In some cases, this is because their caretakers don't
know how to sign; in other cases, it's because their caretakers
choose not to teach signing.) Even in these extreme cases,
language emerges: Children in this situation invent their own
gestural language (called "home sign") and teach the language
to the people in their surroundings (Feldman, Goldin- Meadow,
& Gleitman, 1978; Goldin-Meadow, 2003, 2017; Senghas,
Román, & Mavillapalli, 2006).
How should we think about this? According to many
psychologists, the answer lies in highly sophisticated learning
capacities that have specifically evolved for language learning.
Support for this claim comes from many sources, including
observations of specific-language impairment (SLI). Children
with this disorder have normal intelligence and no problems
with the muscle movements needed to produce language.
Nonetheless, they are slow to learn language and, throughout
their lives, have difficulty in understanding and producing many
sentences. They are also impaired on tasks designed to test their
linguistic knowledge. They have difficulty, for example,
completing passages like this one: "I like to blife. Today I blife.
Tomorrow I will blife. Yesterday I did the same thing.
Yesterday I _______”. Most 4-year-olds know that the answer is
"Yesterday I blifed." But adults with SLI cannot do this task-
apparently having failed to learn the simple rule of language
involved in forming the past tense of regular verbs (Bishop &
Norbury, 2008; Lai, Fisher, Hurst, Vargha-Khadem, & Monaco,
2001; van der Lely, 2005; van der Lely & Pinker, 2014).
Claims about SLI remain controversial, but many authors point
to this disorder as evidence for brain mechanisms that are
somehow specialized for language learning. Disruption to these

mechanisms throws language off track but seems to leave other
aspects of the brain's functioning undisturbed.
The Processes of Language Learning
Even with these biological contributions, there's no question
that learning plays an essential role in the acquisition of
language. After all, children who grow up in Paris learn to
speak French; children who grow up in Beijing learn to speak
Chinese. In rather obvious way, language learning depends on
the child's picking up information from her environment.
But what learning mechanisms are involved here? Part of the
answer rests on the fact that exquisitely sensitive to patterns
and regularities in what they hear, as though each child children
are were an astute statistician, keeping track of the frequency-
of-occurrence of this form or that. In one a 2-minute recording
that sounded something like study, 8-month-old infants heard
"bidakupadotigolabubidaku." These syllables were spoken in a
monotonous tone, with no difference in stress from one syllable
to the next and no pauses in between the syllables. But there
was a pattern. The experimenters had decided in advance to
designate the sequence "bidaku" as a word. Therefore, they
arranged the sequences so that if the infant heard "bida," then
"ku" was sure to follow. For other syllables, there was no such
pattern. For instance, "daku" (the end of the nonsense word
"bidaku") would sometimes be followed by "go," sometimes by
"pa," and so on.
The babies reliably detected these patterns. In a subsequent test,
babies showed no surprise if they heard the string
"bidakubidakubidaku." From the babies' point of view, these
were simply repetitions of a word they already knew. However,
the babies showed surprise if they were presented with the
string "dakupadakupadakupa." This wasn't a "word" they had
heard before, although they had heard each of its syllables many

times. It seems, then, that the babies had learned the
"vocabulary" of this made-up language. They had detected the
statistical pattern of which syllables followed which, despite
their brief, passive exposure to these sounds and despite the
absence of any supporting cues such as pauses or shifts in
intonation (Aslin, Saffran, & Newport, 1998; Marcus, Vijayan,
Rao, & Vishton, 1999; Saffran, 2003; Xu & Garcia, 2008).
In addition, children don't just detect patterns in the speech they
hear. Children also seem to derive broad principles from what
they hear. Consider, for example, how English-speaking
children they memorize learn to form the past tense. Initially,,
they proceed in a word-by-word fashion, so that the past tense
of "play" is "played," the past tense of "climb" is "climbed,"
and so on. By age 3 or so, however, children seem to realize
that they don't have to memorize each word's past tense as a
separate vocabulary item. Instead, they realize they can produce
the past tense by manipulating morphemes-that is, by adding the
"-ed" ending onto a word. This is, of course, an important
discovery for children, because this principle allows them to
generate the past tense for many new verbs. including verbs
they've never encountered before.
However, children over-rely on this pattern, and their speech at
this age contains "Yesterday I runned." The goed" or
overregularization errors: thing happens with other morphemes,
so that children of this age also overgeneralize their use They
say things like "Yesterday we same of the plural ending-they
say things like, "I have two foots" or "I lost three tooths"
(Marcus et al., 1992). They also generalize the use of
contractions; having heard "she isn't" and "you aren't," they say
things like "I amn't."
It seems, then, that children (even young infants) are keenly
sensitive to patterns in the language that they're learning, and
they're able to figure out the (sometimes rather abstract)
principles that govern these patterns. In addition, language

learning relies on a theme that has been in view throughout this
chapter: Language has many elements (syntax, semantics,
phonology, prosody, etc.), and these elements interact in
ordinary language use (so that you rely on a sentence's syntactic
form to figure out its meaning; you rely on semantic cues in
deciphering the syntax). In the same way, language learning
also relies on all these elements in an interacting fashion. For
example, children rely on prosody (the rise and fall of pitch, the
pattern of timing) as clues to syntax, and adults speaking
helpfully exaggerate these prosodic signals, easing the
children's interpretive burden. Children also rely on their
vocabulary, listening for words they already to children know as
clues helping them to process more complex strings. Likewise,
children rely on their knowledge of semantic relationships as a
basis for figuring out syntax -a process known as semantic
bootstrapping (Pinker, 1987). In this way, the very complexity
of language is both a burden for the child (because there's so
much to learn in "learning a language") and an aid (because the
child can use each element as a source of information in trying
to figure out the other elements).
Animal Language
We suggested earlier that humans are biologically prepared for
language learning, and this claim has many implications.
Among other points, can we locate the genes that underlie this
preparation? Many researchers claim that we can, and they point
to a gene called "FOXP2" as crucial; people who have a mutated
form of this gene are markedly impaired in their language
learning (e.g., Vargha-Khadem, Gadian, Copp, & Mishkin,
2005).
As a related point, if language learning is somehow tied to
human genetics, then we might expect not to find language
capacity in other species. Of course, many species do have
sophisticated including the songs and clicks of dolphins and
whales, the dances of honeybees, and the various alarm calls of

monkeys. These naturally communication systems- occurring
systems, however are extremely limited-with small vocabularies
and little (or perhaps nothing) that corresponds to the rules of
syntax that are evident in human language. These systems will
certainly not support the sort of generativity that is a prominent
feature sort of generativity that is a prominent feature of human
language-and so these other species don't have anything
approaching our capacity to produce or understand an unending
variety of new sentences.
Perhaps, though, these naturally occurring systems understate
what animals do. can Perhaps animals can do more if only we
help them a bit. To explore this issue, researchers have tried to
train animals to use more sophisticated forms of
communication. Some researchers have tried to train dolphins to
communicate with humans; one project involved an African
grey parrot; other projects have focused on primates-asking
what a chimpanzee, gorilla, or bonobo might be capable of. The
results from these studies are impressive, but it's notable that
the greatest success involves animals that are quite similar to
humans genetically (e.g., Savage- Rumbaugh & Lewin, 1994;
Savage-Rumbaugh & Fields, 2000). For example, Kanzi, a male
bonobo, seems to understand icons on a keyboard as symbols
that refer to other ideas, and he also has some mastery of
syntax-so he responds differently and (usually) appropriately,
using stuffed animals, to the instructions "Make the doggie bite
the snake" or "Make the snake bite the doggie."
Kanzi's abilities, though, after an enormous amount of careful
training, are way below those of the average 3- or 4-year-old
human who has received no explicit language training. (For
example, as impressive as Kanzi is, he hasn't mastered the
distinction between present, past, and future tense, although
every human child effortlessly learns this basic aspect of
language.) Therefore, it seems that other species (especially
those closely related to us) can learn the rudiments of language,

but nothing in their performance undercuts the amazing
differences between human language capacity and that in other
organisms.
"Wolf Children"
Before moving on, we should address one last point- one that
concerns the limits on our "biological our human biology gives
us a fabulous start on preparation" for language. To put the
matter simply language learning, but to turn this "start" into
"language capacity," we also need a communicative partner. In
1920, villagers in India discovered a wolf mother in her den
together with four cubs. Two were baby wolves, but the other
two were human children, subsequently named Kamala and
Amala. No one knows how they got there or why the wolf
adopted them. Roger Brown (1958) tells us what these children
were like:
Kamala was about eight years old and Amala was only one and
one-half. They were thoroughly wolfish in appearance and
behavior: Hard callus had developed on their knees and palms
from going on all fours. Their teeth were sharp edged. They
moved their nostrils sniffing food. Eating and drinking were
accomplished by lowering their mouths to the plate. They ate
raw meat. . . . At night they prowled and sometimes howled.
They shunned other children but followed the dog and cat They
slept rolled up together on the floor. . . . Amala died within a
year but Kamala lived to be eighteen. ... In time, Kamala
learned to walk erect, to wear clothing, and even to speak a few
words. (p. 100)
The outcome was similar for the 30 or so other wild children for
whom researchers have evidence. When found, they were all
shockingly animal-like. None could be rehabilitated to use

language normally, although some (like Kamala) did learn to
speak a few words.
Of course, the data from these wild children are difficult to
interpret, partly because we don't know why the children were
abandoned in the first place. (Is it possible that these children
were abandoned because their human parents detected some
birth defect? If so, these children may have been impaired in
their functioning from the start.) Nonetheless, the consistency
of these findings underscores an important point: Language
learning may depend on both a human genome and a human
environment.
Language and Thought
Virtually every human knows and uses a language. But it's also
important that people speak different languages-for example,
some of us speak English, others German, and still others
Abkhaz or Choctaw or Kanuri or Quanzhou. How do these
differences matter? Is it possible that people who speak
different languages end up being different in their thought
processes?
Linguistic Relativity
The notion that language shapes thought is generally attributed
to the anthropologist Benjamin Whorf and is often referred to as
the "Whorfian hypothesis." Whorf (e.g., 1956) argued that the
language you speak forces you into certain modes of thought.
He claimed, therefore, that people who speak different
languages inevitably think differently-a claim of linguistic
relativity.
To test this claim, one line of work has examined how people
perceive colors, building on the fact languages have many terms
for colors (red, orange, mauve, puce, salmon, fawn, ocher etc.)
and others have few (see Figure 10.15). Do these differences

among languages affect that some perception? Evidence
suggests, in fact, that people who speak languages with a richer
color vocabulary may perceive colors differently-making finer
and more (Özgen, 2004; Roberson, Davies, & Davidoff, 2000;
Winawer et al., 2007). sharply defined distinctions
Other studies have focused on other ways in which languages
differ. Some languages, for example, emphasize absolute
directions (terms like the English words "east" or "west" that
are defined independently of which way the speaker is facing at
the moment). Other languages on which way the speaker is or
"left" that do depend emphasize relative directions (words like
"right" facing). Research suggests that these language
differences can lead to how people remember-and perhaps how
they perceive-position (Majid, Bowerman, Kita, Haun, &
corresponding differences in Levinson, 2004; Pederson et al.,
1998).
Languages also differ in how they describe events. In English,
we tend to use active-voice sentences that name the agent of the
action, even if the action was accidental ("Sam made a
mistake"). It sounds awkward or evasive to describe these
events in other terms ("Mistakes were Spanish, it's common not
to mention the agent for made"). In other languages, including
Japanese or an accidental event, and this in turn can shape
memory: After viewing videos of accidental events, Japanese
and Spanish speakers are less likely than English speakers to
remember the person who triggered the accident (Boroditsky,
2011).
How should we think about all these results? One possibility-in
line with Whorfs original hypothesis-is that language has a
direct impact on cognition, so that the categories recognized by
your language become the categories used in your thought. In
this view, language has a unique effect on cognition (because no
other factor can shape cognition in this way), and because
language's influence is unique, it is also irreversible: Once your

language has led you to think in certain ways, you will forever
think in those ways. From this perspective, therefore, there are
literally some ideas that, say, a Japanese speaker can
contemplate but that an English speaker cannot, and vice versa-
and likewise, say, for a Hopi or a French speaker.
A different possibility is more modest-and also more plausible:
The language you hear guides what you pay attention to, and
what you pay attention to shapes your thinking. In this view,
language does have an influence, but the influence is indirect:
The influence works via the mechanisms of attention. Why is
this distinction (direct effect vs. indirect effect) important? The
key is that other factors can also guide your attention, with the
result that in many settings these factors will erase any impact
that language might have. Put differently, the idea here is that
your language might bias your attention in one way, but other
factors will bias your attention in the opposite way-canceling
out language's impact. On this basis, the effects of language on
cognition might easily be reversible, and certainly not as
fundamental as Whorf proposed.
To see how this point plays out, let's look at a concrete case.
We've mentioned that when English speakers describe an event,
our language usually requires that we name (and so pay
attention to) the actor who caused the event; when a Spanish
speaker describes the same event, her language doesn't have this
requirement, and so it doesn't force her to think about the actor.
In this way, the structure of each language influences what the
person will pay attention to, and the data tell us that this
difference in focus has consequences for thinking and for
memory.
But we could, if we wished, simply give the Spanish speaker
actor." Or we could make sure that the actor is wearing a
brightly colored coat, using a perceptual an instruction: "Pay
attention to the guide attention. These simple steps can (and
often do) offset the bias created by language. cue to The logic is

similar for the effect of language on color perception. If you're
a speaker of Berinmo (a language spoken in New Guinea), your
language makes no distinction between "green" and "blue," so it
never leads you to think about these as separate categories. If
you're an English speaker, your language does make this
distinction, and this can draw your attention to what all green
objects have in common and what all blue objects have in
common. If your attention is drawn to this point again and
again, you'll gain familiarity with the distinction and eventually
become better at making the distinction. Once more, therefore,
language does matter-but it matters because of language's
impact on attention.
Again, let's be clear on the argument here: If language directly
and uniquely shapes thought, then the effects of language on
cognition will be systematic and permanent. But the alternative
is that it's your experience that shapes thought, and your
experience depends on what you pay attention to, and (finally)
language is just one of the many factors guiding what you pay
attention to. On this basis, the effects of language may
sometimes be large, but can be offset by a range of other
influences. (For evidence, see Boroditsky, 2001; and then Chen,
2007, or Abarbanell, Gleitman, & Papafragou, 2011; Li &
Gleitman, 2002.)
More than a half-century ago, Whorf argued for a strong claim-
that the language people speak plays a unique role in shaping
their thought and has a lifelong impact, determining what they
can or cannot think what ideas they can or cannot consider.
There is an element of truth here, because January & Kako,
2007. Also see Li, language can and does shape cognition. But
language's impact is neither profound nor permanent, and there
is no reason to accept Whorfs ambitious proposal. (For more on
these issues, see Gleitman & Papafragou, 2012; Hanako &
Smith, 2005; Hermer-Vazquez, Spelke, & Katsnelson, 1999;
Kay & Regier, 2007; Özgen & Davies, 2002; Papafragou, Li,
Choi, & Han, 2007; Stapel & Semin, 2007.)

Bilingualism
There's one more-and intriguing-way that language is said to
influence cognition. It comes from cases in which someone
knows more than one language.
Children raised in bilingual homes generally learn both
languages quickly and well (Kovelman Shalinksy, Berens, &
Petitto, 2008). Bilingual children do tend to have smaller
vocabularies, compared to monolingual children, but this
contrast is evident only at an early age, and bilingual children
soon catch up on this dimension (Bialystok, Craik, Green, &
Gollan, 2009).
These findings surprise many people, on the expectation that
bilingual children would become confused-blurring together
their languages and getting mixed up about which words and
which rules belong in each language. But this confusion seems
not to occur. In fact, children who are raised bilingually seem to
develop skills that specifically help them avoid this sort of
confusion-so that they develop a skill of (say) turning off their
French-based habits in this setting so that they can speak
uncompromised English, and then turning off their English-
based habits in that setting so that they can speak fluent French.
This skill obviously supports their language learning, but it may
also help them in other settings. (See Bialystok et al., 2009;
Calvo & Bialystok, 2013; Engel de Abreau, Cruz- Santos,
Tourinho, Martion, & Bialystok, 2012; Hernández, Costa, &
Humphreys, 2012; Hilchey & Klein, 2011; Kroll, Bobb, &
Hoshino, 2014; Pelham & Abrams, 2014; Zelazo, 2006.) In
Chapter 5 we introduced the idea of executive control, and the
suggestion here is that being raised bilingually may encourage
better executive control. As a result, bilinguals may be better at
avoiding distraction, switching between competing tasks, or
holding information in mind while working on some other task.

There has, however, been considerable debate about these
findings, and not all experiments find a bilingual advantage in
executive control. (See, e.g., Bialystok & Grundy, 2018; Costa,
Hernández, Costa-Faidella, & Sebastián-Galés, 2009; de Bruin,
Treccani, & Della Salla, 2015; Goldsmith & Morton, 2018; Von
Bastian, Souza & Gade, 2016; Zhou & Kross, 2016.) There is
some suggestion that this advantage only emerges with certain
tasks or in certain age groups (perhaps in children, but not
adults). There is also some indication that other forms of
training can improve executive control- and so bilingualism may
be just one way to achieve this goal. Obviously, further research
is needed in this domain, especially since the alleged benefits of
bilingualism have important implications-for intriguing public
policy, for education, and for parenting. These implications
become all the more when we bear in mind that roughly a fifth
of the population in the United States speaks a language at
higher in home that is different from the English they use in
other settings; the proportion is even some states, including
California, Texas, New Mexico, and Nevada (Shin & Kominski,
2010). These points aside, though, research on bilingualism
provides one more (and perhaps which scholars continue to
explore the ways in which language surprising) arena in a use
may shape cognition.
COGNITIVE PSYCHOLOGY AND EDUCATION
writing
Students are often required to do a lot of writing-for example,
in an essay exam or a term paper. Can cognitive psychology
provide any help in this activity-specifically, helping you to
write more clearly and more persuasively?
Research tells us that people usually have an easier time
understanding active sentences than passive, and so (all things
being equal) active sentences are preferable. We also know that
people approach a sentence with certain parsing strategies, and
that's part of the reason why sentences are clearer if the

structure of the sentence is laid out early, with the details
following, rather than the other way around. Some guidelines
refer to this as an advantage for "right-branching sentences"
rather than "left-branching sentences." The idea here is that the
"branches" represent the syntactic and semantic complexity, and
you want that complexity to arrive late, after the base structure
is established.
By the same logic, lists are easier to understand if they arrive
late in the sentence ("I went to the store with Juan, Fred,
George, Sue, and Judy") than arriving early ("Juan, Fred,
George, Sue, Judy, and I went to the store") before the
structure. so that they can be fitted into the structure, rather
Readers are also helped by occasional words or phrases that
signal the flow of ideas in the material they're reading.
Sentences that begin "In contrast," or "Similarly," or
"However," provide the reader with some advance warning
about what's coming up and how it's related to the ideas covered
so far. This warning, in turn, makes it easier for the reader to
see how the new material fits into the framework established up
to that point. The warning also requires the writer to think about
these relationships, and often that encourages the writer to do
some fine-tuning of the sequence of sentences!
In addition, it's important to remember that many people speak
more clearly than they write, and it's interesting to ask why this
is so. One reason is prosody-the pattern of pitch changes and
pauses that we use in speaking. These cannot be reproduced in
writing-although prosodic cues can sometimes be mimicked by
the use of commas (to indicate pauses) or italics (to indicate
emphasis). These aspects of print can certainly be overused, but
they are in all cases important, and writers should probably pay
more attention to them than they do-in order to gain in print
some of the benefits that (in spoken language) are provided by
prosody.
But how should you use these cues correctly? One option is to
rely on the fact that as listeners and speakers we all know how

to use prosodic cues, and we can exploit that knowledge when
we write by means of a simple trick: reading your prose out
loud. If you see a comma on the page but you're not inclined, as
a speaker, to pause at that moment, then the comma is probably
unnecessary Conversely, if you find yourself pausing as you
read aloud but there's no comma, then you may need one.
Another advantage of spoken communication, as opposed to
written, is the prospect of immediate feedback. If you say
something that isn't clear, your conversation partner may frown,
look confused, or say something to indicate misunderstanding.
What can take the place of this feedback when you're writing?
As one option, it's almost always useful to have someone (a
friend, perhaps) read over your drafts; this peer editing can
often catch ambiguities, absence of clarity, or absence of flow
that you might have missed on your own. Even without a peer
editor, you can gain some of the same benefits from reading
your own prose out loud. Some studies suggest that reading
your own prose out loud helps you to gain some distance from it
that you might not have with ordinary (silent) reading, so that
you can, at least in a rough way, provide your own peer editing.
As a related point, we know that people routinely skip words
when they're reading (this was important in the Chapter 4
discussion of speed-reading). The skipping helps when you're
reading, but it's a problem when you're editing your own prose
(how can you edit words that you didn't even see?). It's
important, therefore that the skipping is less likely when you
read the prose out loud-another advantage of reading aloud
when you're checking on your own writing.
Finally, many people shift into a different style of expressing
themselves when they're writing. Maybe they're convinced that
they need some degree of formality in their written expression.
Maybe they're anxious while writing, and this stiffens their
prose. Or maybe they're trying to impress the reader, so they
deliberately reach for more complex constructions and more

obscure vocabulary. Whatever the reason for these shifts, they
are often counterproductive and make your writing less clear,
wordier, and stiffer than your ordinary (spoken) expression.
Part of the cure here is to abandon the idea that complex and
formal prose is better prose. And part of the cure lies in peer
editing or reading aloud. In either case, the question to ask is
this: Would you express these ideas more clearly, more simply,
if you were speaking them rather than writing them? Often, this
will lead you to better writing.
Will these simple suggestions improve every writer? Probably
not. Will these suggestions take obscure, fractured prose and
lift it to a level that makes you eligible for a Pulitzer Prize?
Surely not. Even so, the suggestions offered here may well help
you in some ways, and for anyone's writing, any source of
improvement should be welcome!
COGNITIVE PSYCHOLOGY AND THE LAW
remembering conversation
Many legal cases hinge on a witness reporting details of how a
conversation unfolded. Did the shooter say, "Die, fool!" just
before pulling the trigger? If so, this provides evidence that the
murder was (at leastbriefly) premeditated. Did Fred tell Jim
about the new product when they were together at the business
meeting? If so, this might indicate that Jim is guilty of insider
trading.
How accurate is memory for conversation? The answer reflects
two themes. First, in most conversations, people have no reason
to care about the exact sequence of words or how exactly the
ideas are expressed. Instead, what people usually care about and
pay attention to is the "propositional content" of the
conversation- the underlying gist.
If people are focused on the gist and remember what they've
paid attention to, then we should expect them to remember the
gist and not the wording. We should expect, in other words, that
people will have difficulty recalling how utterances were

phrased or how exactly a conversation unfolded.
Second, in most conversations, a lot of information goes unsaid,
but the people involved effortlessly make inferences to fill in
the bits that aren't overtly expressed. This filling-in is made
possible by the fact that participants in a conversation draw on
their "common ground"-that is, beliefs shared by the individuals
taking part in that conversation. When there is no common
ground the risk of misunderstanding is increased.
Again, note the implication. We've just said that the gist of a
conversation depends on inferences and assumptions. We've
also said that people tend to remember the gist of a
conversation, not the actual spoken words. Putting these pieces
together, we're led to the expectation that people will often blur
together in their recall the propositions that were merely
implied. Said differently, people will often recall fragments of
conversation that weren't actually expressed and those that were
spoken at all.
A range of evidence supports these claims. In one study,
mothers had a conversation with their 4-year-old daughters and
then, three days later, were asked to recall exactly how the
conversation had unfolded. The mothers' memories for the exact
words spoken were quite poor, and they had difficulty recalling
(among other points) whether their child's statements were
spontaneous or prompted by specific questions. They even had
difficulty recalling which utterances were spoken by them and
which ones by the children.
This study (and others making the same point) is worrisome for
law enforcement. In evaluating a child's report, we want to
know if it was spontaneous or prompted; we want to know if the
details in the report came from the child or were suggested by
an adult. Unfortunately, evidence suggests that memory for
these crucial points is often inaccurate. Here's a different line of
evidence, with its own implications for the justice system.
Memory for conversations, we've said, usually includes many

points that were actually absent from the conversation but were
instead supplied by the conversational participants, based on the
"common ground" they brought to the conversation. But what
happens if there is no common ground-if the individuals bring
different assumptions to the conversation?
Think about the "conversation" that takes place between a
police detective and a suspect in an interrogation room. The
suspect's statement will be inadmissible at trial if the detectives
make any promises or threats during the interrogation, but
detectives can (and often do) imply promises or threats. The
problem with this lies in the fact that the investigator and the
suspect are "playing by different rules." The investigator's
perspective emphasizes the specific words spoken (words that
don't contain an overt promise or threat). The suspect, in
contrast, will likely adopt a perspective that's sensible in most
settings-one that (as we've said) focuses on the gist of the
exchange, with minimal attention to how that gist is expressed.
The suspect, in other words, has no reason to focus on whether
a promise was expressed or merely implied. As a result, the
suspect is likely to "hear" the (implied) promise or threat, even
though the investigator uttered neither.
COGNITIVE PSYCHOLOGY AND THE LAW
jury instructions
In some countries-including the United States-court cases are
often decided by juries, and because most jurors aren't lawyers,
they need to be instructed in the law. This is usually
accomplished by having the judge provide jury instructions as
the last step of the trial-just before the jury begins its
deliberation. The instructions in a typical case might include a
reminder of the jury's overall task, the exact definition of the
crime being considered, the elements that must be proved in
order to count a person as guilty of that crime, and so on.
These instructions need to be accurate, and so they must capture

the precision and exact definitions involved in the law. But the
instructions also need to be clear-so that ordinary jurors (often,
people with just a high school education) can understand and
remember the instructions and thus be guided by the law in their
deliberation. It turns out, however, that these two requirements
are often in conflict with each other, and sometimes perfectly
precise language isn't the same as clear and comprehensible
language. As a result, the judges' instructions are often difficult
to understand.
Research suggests, in fact, that jurors often misunderstand
judges' instructions; in some studies jurors understand less than
half of what the judge tells them and, moments later, remember
even less. These failures to understand instructions can be
documented in college students who are given the instructions
as part of an experiment, and in actual jurors who hear the
instructions as part of a real trial. In some cases the
misunderstandings concern subtle details, but in other cases
jurors seem to misunderstand fundamental points about the law.
For example, law in the United States rests on the idea that
someone is innocent until proven guilty and that the defendant
must, in a criminal trial, be proven guilty beyond a reasonable
doubt. There's room for discussion about what "reasonable
doubt" means exactly, but the implication of this idea is very
clear: When the jurors are genuinely uncertain about the
verdict, they cannot vote "guilty." Nonetheless, juries
sometimes seem to misunderstand this point and adopt a rule of
"If in doubt, then be careful, and that means don't risk letting
the defendant go free-and so, if in doubt, convict."
What can we do about this? Studies of language processing tell
us that people understand more when participating in a
conversation than when merely hearing a conversation. It's
troubling therefore, that jurors are expected to sit passively as
the judge recites the instructions; they are almost never allowed
to ask questions during the instructions about things they don't
understand. And if the jurors realize, during their subsequent

discussion, that they didn't understand the instructions, there's
often little they can do. Requests for clarification often result in
the judge simply repeating the same words that caused the
confusion in the first place.
The instructions themselves are also a problem, but
psycholinguistic studies provide guides for how the instructions
can be simplified. For example, we know that people generally
have an easier time understanding active-voice sentences than
passive-voice ones, affirmative sentences rather than negative
ones. We also know that sentence understanding often depends
on certain well- defined strategies, with the result that sentences
are easier to understand if they have a structure that's
compatible with these strategies. Using principles such as these,
a number of researchers have developed jury instructions that
still reflect the law correctly but are much easier to understand.
We also know that vocabulary matters and that language
comprehension suffers if the vocabulary is abstract or
unfamiliar. It's troubling, therefore, that instructions for juries
often contain a lot of legal jargon. Another forward step, then,
is simply to seek ways to replace this vocabulary with easier,
more concrete, more familiar words!
Where does this leave us? It is of paramount importance that
jurors understand the law; otherwise, the jury system cannot
function properly. It is therefore worrisome that jurors
comprehension of their instructions is so limited. However, it's
encouraging that by using what we know about language
processing, we can make easy adjustments to improve the
situation significantly.
Reisberg:
Chapter
10—Language

• What
is
a
morpheme?
What
is
the
difference
between
a
bound
morpheme
and
a
free
morpheme?
• What
is
a
phoneme?
• While
producing
a
sound
what
is

voicing?
What
is
manner
of
production?
What
is
place
of
articulation?
• What
factors
make
speech
perception
difficult?
• What
is
categorical
perception?
How
does
categorical
perception
make

speech
perception
easier?
• What
is
syntax?
• What
are
phrase
structure
rules?
You
should
be
able
to
parse
a
very
simple
sentence
that
contains
a
NP
and
a
VP.

• How
does
extralinguistic
context
help
one
parse
a
sentence?
• What
is
the
function
of
Broca’s
area?
Where
is
it
located?
Describe
the
type
of
aphasia
you
see
when
Broca’s
area

is
damaged.
• What
is
the
function
of
Wernicke’s
area?
Where
is
it
located?
Describe
the
type
of
aphasia
you
see
when
Wernicke’s
area
is
damaged.
• What
is
an
overregularization
error?

• How
can
language
influence
thought?

Question Templates for Asking PICOT Questions Intervention In ____.docx

More Related Content

Similar to Question Templates for Asking PICOT Questions Intervention In ____.docx (20)

More from audeleypearl (20)

Recently uploaded (20)

Question Templates for Asking PICOT Questions Intervention In ____.docx