Category Archives: Rhetorical Mastery

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What We are Saying is Less Transmissible Than We Think

In theory, communication looks straightforward. When we address others to pass on what we assume are clear ideas with unambiguous meanings we have confidence that the effects we intended will actually happen. Not so much.

[We speak. We write. We create works of art. All the while, we try to have confidence that the effects we intended will register with audiences. If it were only so. This reworked essay from 2015 argues that a presumption of alignment is reassuring, but also an illusion: an insight we sense this most when a friend or family member reminds us that we have not really understood them.]

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All communication is translation. Accurate communication as a form of simple transfer is not so easy. Shared meaning as a requisite of clear understanding is harder to achieve than we imagine. It turns out that we aren’t very good at transferring even simple information or individual preferences to others. Even when the language remains the same, there is always an interpretive function which requires that the words pass through the filter of our experiences. Linquists can especially get deep in the weeds of dissecting translation that does not really work. And teachers working the divide between western and non-western languages know that exact equivalents are difficult. For example, a Japanese dictionary apparently can have the same word or phrases for the English forms of “ask”, “depend”, and “rely.”

This doesn’t mean that we are always in a solipsistic fog.  Some statements are relatively obvious and can produce a quick consensus. “Turn right” is not a vague command, but it can be ambiguous if the sender and receiver are facing each other. Similarly, statements like “He failed algebra in high school” or “She dislikes liver and onions” are mostly concrete and stipulative: two features shared with most kinds of mathematical statements. In math, common agreement about basic terms leaves little room for confusion. Yet, even moving to the slightly more complex task of naming simple objects can be problematic;  my idea of a “camera” is one that uses film and yours is the digital device in your phone.

These simple challenges with individual words are heightened when we scale up to the meanings of cultural products like speeches, songs or movies. At this level, the hope for uniformity of meaning pretty much goes out the window. For example, ask someone what songs are on their music player, and you will get a list of favorites that are likely to be more personal than communal. What means so much to one enthusiast is often unlistenable to another. Young adults are especially tuned in to hit the scorn button when they hear the favorites of older family members. I can still see my parents brace themselves for the inevitable taunt when I passed nearby as they were listening to completely uncool music. Similarly, in the presence of my favorites, my children returned the favor with polite silence. Who could not love jazz played on steel drums?

There’s a simple lesson here.  Never assume too much. Don’t overestimate the potency of your own fluency. It is not a bad idea to periodically check with a receiver to see if what you intended is what they actually heard.

Refining Communication as Feeling and Thinking

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Feeling must be given its due, not as the absence of thought or  logic, but as an ingredient fully melted into the mix of communication.

We can communicate feelings in the tonalities of speech. Any actor needs to be able to pull off this feat. There’s a feeling of defiance in Clark Gable’s famous line, “Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn” or in Judy Garland’s tentative wonder that “We’re not in Kansas anymore.” But the ideal machine for feeling is music, with its cues imbedded in the ways that keys, chords, fifths, and so many other variations of the 12-note chromatic scale are used.  Yip Harburg’s words to Harold Arlen’s Over the Rainbow for the Wizard of Oz marry its central idea of yearning to a rising pitch sequence ending in a high C. He could have easily written affettuoso (“with feeling”) to set the tone for the music. Harburg famously noted that “Words make you think thoughts, music makes you feel a feeling . . .” Music is the tonal and non-stipulative dimension of communication. It pushes the process of connecting into a larger sphere. It follows, as Harburg noted, that “a song makes you feel a thought:” a natural marriage of what is too often represented as polar opposites.

You can easily assess your response to music as feeling triggered by sound in this unusual example of Over the Rainbow—usually sung in a hopeful key of Ab Major—transposed here into a minor key. It conveys more of a feeling of melancholy than hope: not what we would expect to hear from a child with more visceral emotions. The unusual departure to a minor key version of the song  below by sillyjet invites us feel differently about what it means.

Why does this matter? Music is more than a metaphor here. Quite simply, like spoken language, music is another form of aurality  that reminds us that communication as a medium of exchange is not a one dimensional process. Like a phrase or a chord, any word from a source sets in motion a dynamic progression of listening and reacting that is more open-ended than the idea of communication as ‘exchange’ would suggest. In essence, our reception of another’s message triggers projections from within that surface in the form of feelings.

The use of language or its musical equivalents always have tendency.  Through our unique perceptions we are the co-creators of another’s message. So, feeling must be given its due, not as the absence of the logical, but as a sum of all of its parts melted into the mix.