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.]
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.
The model assumes that serious attempts at advocacy or involvement must gain a strong foothold in our consciousness. Those messages that get scant attention are said to be “peripherally processed.” A message like an advertisement or a casual request from another may wash over us quickly. We are not especially interested or motivated to hang on every word. And, as you would guess, the message is not likely to produce significant or lasting change. It has not created an impression that sticks.
