Tag Archives: linguistic determinism

The Grammar of Hubris

verb word cloudIt’s natural that we will place ourselves and our institutions in the driver’s seat.  We assume we can be in charge because our language lets us imagine it.   

Rhetoricians like to say that language has its way with us. The phrase is meant as a reminder that everyday language steers us to conclusions that usually promise more than we as individual agents or nations can deliver.  Word choice can easily create perceptions that can make the unlikely more likely, the improbable possible, the fantasy an imagined outcome that will surely happen.  We can tie a wish to an action verb and we are off and running, creating expectations for things that probably will not materialize. Who knew that simple verbs like “is” and “will” can be phantoms of deceit?

I was reminded of this by a recent article in The Atlantic by Stephen Biddle and Jacob Shapiro. Their thesis is the title of their piece: “America Can’t Do Much About ISIS.” (April 20, 2016).  The article includes a solid analysis of the roots of ISIS in the civil wars affecting Syria and neighboring states. Their point is that internal struggles like these have to “burn out” from the inside.  This kind of civil war cycle might take nine or ten years to complete, an outcome outsiders can’t change very much.

What seems inescapable is that the rhetorical ease of committing ourselves to the control or transformation of complex political forces is too easy. That’s something we’ve come to know all too well since the Vietnam era, reconfirmed more recently in Afghanistan and Iraq. The military and social problems associated with nation-building are unforeseeable.  Substantive reasons for caution tend to get lost behind the neon glow of action verbs.

Blame our overly-deterministic language.

We construct the world as a web of causes and effects.  It’s natural that we will place ourselves and our institutions in the driver’s seat.  We assume we can be in charge because our language so easily lets us imagine it.  Blame our overly-deterministic language, along with the hubris that comes with being the world’s preeminent military power.  Both set up tight effects loops that seem clear on the page but elusive in real life.

If we put individual culprits in a lineup they all look more or less innocent: verbs like affect, make, destroy, brake, results in, causes, starts, produce, alters, stops, triggers, controls, contributes to, brings about, changes, and so on.

In the right company these can be companionable terms.  But let them loose within the rhetoric of a leader determined to make his or her mark on the public stage and they can turn lethal. This is the realm of the familiar idea of “unintended effects.”  Fantasies of power and control impose more order on human affairs than usually exists.  They depend on verbs that flatter us by making us active agents.

This is ironically aggravated by our devotion to the scientific method. As Psychologist Steven Pinker has observed, we can’t do science without buying into the view that we can identify first causes. That’s surely fine for discovering the origins of a troublesome human disease. But even though this logic is diffused through the culture, it cannot hold when we immerse ourselves in the infinite complexities of human conduct.  Discovering the reasons and motivations of others is far more difficult.  Add in entities such as nations or tribes, and first causes are often unknowable.  And so strategic calculations based on efforts to influence or control behavior are bound to produce disappointment.

It’s a great paradox that we are easily outgunned by ourselves: by the stunningly capricious nature of the human condition. Take it from someone who has spent a lifetime studying why people change their minds.  We have models, theories, tons of experimental research and good guesses.  But making predictions about any specific instance is almost always another case of hope triumphing over reality. We may be able to say what we want, giving eloquent expression to the goals we seek.  Our verbs may sing their certainty, but forces we can’t predict are going to produce their own effects.

Comments: Woodward@tcnj.edu


The Power to Name is the Power to See


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.

Comments: Woodward@tcnj.edu