The Limitations of Language

In a recent comments thread, I began a discussion about the communication issue facing us humans, and it occurs to me that a big part of the problem is our expectations regarding the capabilities of language itself. It may seem a bit odd, given that the entire purpose of writing is to communicate, that what I want to explore here is how inadequate language ever really is for that purpose.

It depends, of course, on subject matter. If one is writing an operation manual, I suppose language is just fine, though I do recall bewildered, angst-ridden comments from many trying to decipher programming instructions for their VCR. So there are exceptions, but for the most part written language works sufficiently for many mundane purposes. The deeper the subject matter though, the more inadequate language becomes, and the topics I intend to explore as I move forward are definitely towards the deeper end of the spectrum.

So what’s the problem with language?

Let me begin by recalling an incident from a past holiday season. I was with my sister’s extended family, just chatting in the kitchen, when her then three-year old granddaughter came bursting into the room, clutched my leg, peered at me with deeply pleading eyes, and breathlessly exclaimed, “There’s a deer outside!” Four simple words. Yet, her entire affect was filled with a sense of delight and wonder, and it was clear that she was trying to share her emotional experience, which went way beyond the mere observation of a doe in the yard. She wanted others to see the doe for sure, but her real objective was in sharing the excitement and enthusiasm of her experience; it was so much more about what she felt than what she’d seen. And this is where language, especially written language, tends to fall woefully short. Good parents understand this when listening to their kids, responding more often to the feeling behind the words their children have expressed than to the words themselves; most parents don’t assume the role of art critic when their five-year-old reveals his or her most recent finger-painted masterpiece. And all intimate human interactions always go beyond words – how often have the poets reflected on the infinite depth of a lover’s eyes for example, and who hasn’t shared a quiet moment with someone special, when speaking would ruin the experience?

Spoken language has more potential for depth of feeling than the written form. If someone is engaging as a speaker, it implies that they are reaching their audience at a level beyond the intellect. An engaging speaker will move us, inspire us, will awaken powerful feelings. Spoken words have the advantage of tone and inflection, there’s the aspect of physical expression, more tools for the speaker to access as they try to express what they are feeling. The reliance on the carefully written, formulaic speeches practiced by modern politicians is, to my mind, why we are so often left bored or uninspired by their polemic. There is no life left to their words following the pasteurization process deemed necessary by contemporary politics. I think this is a large part of the current enthusiasm about Barack Obama’s presidential campaign. He’s willing to speak from his heart on occasion, and it has resonated with many.

Much of the failure of deep communication stems from the fact that most of us aren’t very good listeners in the first place. We’re good at intellectually grasping the ideas the speaker is presenting for sure, and we can generally repeat what someone just said to us, but we’re not so good at feeling what they are trying to say. Most of us multitask while listening, constantly evaluating, considering various responses, evaluating some more, wondering about our next appointment and when the kids will be getting home, developing our own response and generally spending at least as much time paying attention to our own self-chatter as we are to the person who’s talking to us. I suspect we’d all find our relationships more fulfilling if we started listening to each other as if we were all three-year olds, making an effort to hear the excitement about seeing the deer, rather than simply grasping that someone just saw a deer.

The tendency to multitask is even more pronounced as we take in written words. To begin with, the writer cannot use voice inflections, facial expressions or gestures. A good writer will find words and phrasing to help him in his task, but he’s always more limited than the speaker. And the audience has all the time in the world to evaluate and consider alternative ideas that can support other views. Anyone reading this can choose at anytime to do a web search on ‘listening skills’ or ‘retention’ and come back in a month, if at all. I’m not complaining. It’s all part of the process, but I’d like to ask the objective reader to try and notice what they are paying attention to as they read these words. Is your attention fully upon what is written here, or are you paying attention to your own inner commentary as well? Are you aware of your own inner dialogue, whether that dialogue is whispering, “that makes sense”, or barking about the inanity of the subject matter, or something in between? And what about the music in the background, or the wind rattling the window next to you? We’re remarkable at multitasking with our attention.

The reading process is a little different with fiction. A fiction writer is working with the assumption that the reader will suspend disbelief in order to enjoy the story. The reader will let the words flow through their consciousness, immersing themselves in the fictional world for those moments. Getting lost in it is a big part of enjoying a story. The reader still has distractions, but carrying on an internal argument with the writer isn’t usually one of them. Though I’m not intending to write fiction as I proceed with other topics, I would suggest that those who read as if it were fiction, allowing the words to flow without an initial intellectual evaluation will be the ones who get the most from it. (Did someone just say that it’s appallingly arrogant for the writer to assume there could actually be some value in anything he might suggest?)

I don’t want to discourage discourse, which I look forward to and encourage, but I do think it’s important to address this. I like to explore big questions, and I do have some trepidation in utilizing the written word to do so. There are no words that begin to clearly get across the deepest feelings that are part and parcel of the human experience. Words can point the way, but the feeling always lies beyond, in the realm of the deeply personal and experiential. It’s that realm I hope to communicate from, and that realm always, always exists behind, before and beyond the language used to express it.