We tend to not notice what we cannot name. Indeed, a lot of high-order thinking depends upon language. So there is truth in the counter-intuitive conclusion that language guides thought. Language is the great engine of consciousness.
Nothing is so disorienting and also exhilarating than introducing an idea that has the effect of turning the world as we think we know it upside down. And so it is with the Whorf-Sapir Hypothesis, a theory of language use and acquisition that proposes a very different relationship to experience than what we usually assume.
For most people, language is a tool for communicating experience. It is common to believe that words function as mostly inadequate snapshots of a far more vivid reality. We may hastily put the words together. But the reality is always there. Or so we think. But what if the reverse was true? What if language is in fact the primary window for perceiving, and not having a vocabulary for experience means that we don’t have the experience? That’s the essence of the hypothesis proposed years ago by two linguists working independently of each other. Among their studies, Benjamin Whorf and Edward Sapir noted, among many other things that in the Hopi Language of the Southwest some colors familiar to English speakers are not named and often not noticed. In addition, Hopi doesn’t usually specify past and future tenses, as many other languages do. Not having these “semantic domains” usually means not organizing our thoughts in these categories.
Since a lot of higher order cognition depends upon language, we don’t consciously focus on what we cannot name. Hence, we get to the startling and counter-intuitive conclusion that language guides thought. Language is the great engine of high-order consciousness. For example, English exists within a grammar of binaries. We think of something that “is” or “isn’t,” sometimes a far cry from more nuanced Asian languages that more easily accommodate the idea that something can be both at the same time.
At some levels this kind of linguistic relativity is obvious. Some languages make feminine and masculine references part of nearly every sentence. They are much more gendered. We also know that children usually acquire the impulse for racist actions often from the language of peers or parents, not their daily interactions with others. And more hopefully, we delight when a child acquires a name for an activity and expands her world into it. Indeed, we organize our educational system mostly around the idea of literacy. Reading and writing are justifiably considered the gateways to a richer cognitive life. There’s good reason to worry if Johnny doesn’t want to read, or isn’t acquiring the kind of extended vocabulary we expect through each stage of the graded school system.
A great deal of education even at advanced levels essentially continues the process of vocabulary expansion. This kind of linguistic determinism explains how we acquire the insights of an expert. Working as a lawyer is functionally the process of making use of the generative power of legal terminology.
Consider another example: Most of us at a party just see a room full of people. But a person who has just finished a course in Abnormal Psychology is probably going to notice more: perhaps the “bi-polar” behavior of the guy in the corner, the clinical “depression” evident in the young woman who went on at length about her family, and the “obvious paranoia” of the couple engaged in all kinds of survivalist activities. We tend to notice what we can name. “Depression,” “paranoia,” “bi-polar:” this partial lexicon of mental health diagnosis leads us into a world of ostensible maladies we would otherwise miss.
Even so, taking the theory as a core operating principle in communication is a hard sell to most Americans, who see language as a residue rather than a driver of experience. We routinely underestimate the verbal roots of most of our perceptions: constructions that only come to life because we have the right verbal equipment.
Applying Quaker principles to even secular discussions sometimes means withholding a final decision until there is agreement on what to do.
If you should find yourself in a meeting that is chaired by a Quaker the odds are pretty good that you will not be steamrolled. One of the features of working with members of the Society of Friends is that they usually prefer to withhold making a group decision if there is no emerging consensus on the best action to take. No 3/4 split decisions here. The group can wait until everyone is more or less on board. This is democracy at the grassroots, and–quite often–democracy with a heart.
As a tract from a British group describes the process, “So rather than stop at an arbitrary point and take a vote, the meeting continues the consideration of the matter until such time as the whole meeting agrees on the decision to be taken.” 1
The theological justification for delay is that some members have perhaps not “seen the Light.” God has not given them a clear solution to the problem at hand. Quakers also follow norms of the faith that place added value patience and silence. In time both may produce a better decision. Patience always seems to be in short supply, and an attribute that can allow us to hear more than what impatience usually allows. As for saying less: sometimes it means that we don’t have to find a way around verbal potholes of our own creation.
Then there’s the problem of the traditional “majority rules” outcome. A badly split group can make dissenters feel like they have less of a stake in a final decision. A meeting that ends in a perceived defeat for some and triumph for others is not very helpful to a community that must remain cohesive.
My experience with a Quaker Chairperson in a work setting was mostly positive. Academics in particular can spend an afternoon debating what color of Number 2 pencils to buy. As the cliche goes, the debating is so intense because the stakes are so small. But after a rousing discussion with lots of different viewpoints–eight faculty members can usually be counted on to produce eight different ideas–it was not uncommon for our leader to postpone a decision rather than force a vote that would split the group.
Delay provides time to find essential values or principles that everyone in the group wants to honor.
The choice to not to decide can have useful effects. From a social functions perspective, meetings are mostly about expression and recognition. Members want the chance to be heard, and look for evidence that their views are respected. This expressive function of communication is usually its own reward: reason enough to consume large amounts of time. So tabling a decision can have the effect of avoiding the loss of face that comes when vocal members are defeated by the majority. Once the ardor of a meeting has cooled, it is often easier to reach agreement at the next gathering. Finding common ground can be facilitated when members have more time to mull over options that have the advantage of standing alone as ideas, without the complicating effects of their association with distinct advocates. Delay also gives everyone time to find essential values or principles that the group feels duty-bound to fulfill.
My impression is that we exercise this choice of seeking full consensus less and less. Organizations often seem anxious to register a final action, even a questionable one, and even when the decision leaves some in the group feeling disenfranchised.
