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The Sapir-Whorf Hypothesis

LANGUAGE AND THOUGHT

In discussing message encoding we've seen that language and thought are often said to be interrelated. But the nature of their relationship is far from clear. Is language a precondition of human thought? Is thinking simply inner speech? There are no easy answers. Students of communication have been particularly concerned with the question: Does language shape our ideas, or is it merely an instrument of thought?

The Sapir-Whorf Hypothesis

One version of the view that our thought is shaped by the language we speak is the Sapir-Whorf hypothesisthat the world is perceived differently by members of different linguistic communities and that this perception is transmitted and sustained by language. Benjamin Lee Whorf (1956), whose work was shaped by that of the great linguist Edwin Sapir, regards language as the primary vehicle of culture. In short, the language we speak influences our experience of the world, while the evolution of language also reflects changes in the predominant modes of expression.

Whorf supports this theory with findings from studies of American Indian languages. In English, he points out, we tend to classify words as nouns or verbs; in Hopi the words tend to be classified by duration. For example, in Hopi "light­ning," "flame," "wave," and "spark" are verbs, not nouns; they are classified as events of brief duration. In Nootka, which is spoken by the inhabitants of Vancouver Island, categories such as things and events do not exist; thus it is said that "A house occurs" or "It houses."

Is it the case that differences in language reflect differences in perception? An Amazon tribe called the Bororo have several different single words for types of parrots. The Hanunoo of the Philippines have single words for ninety-two different kinds of rice. The Eskimos distinguish at least three kinds of snow in this way. We have only one word for parrot, one for rice, and one for snow. Does this mean that we are incapable of perceiving several types of each? Probably not. Social psychologist Roger Brown (1958) suggests that the perceptual categories we use more frequently are merely more "available" to us: "It is proposed, really, that categories with shorter names (higher codability) are nearer the top of the cog­nitive deck—more likely to be used in ordinary perception, more available for expectancies and inventions" (p. 236).

Linguistic distinctions tell us something about priorities within a given culture. Eskimos have several words for snow because they need to make finer verbal distinctions than we do when communicating about it. By and large, we are unaffected by different kinds of snow and therefore expend little effort on making such distinctions. This does not mean that we are incapable of doing so. In fact, members of certain subgroups within our own linguistic community make more verbal distinctions about snow than the rest of us—weather forecasters, bobsled owners, ski resort managers, and so on. We can qualify the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis by saying that as a person learns the language of a given culture or subculture, his or her attention is directed toward aspects of reality or relationships that are important in that context, and this focus affects the category system in the memory. Similarly, if someone tells you about several ways to view a certain painting, you will in some sense see more when you look at it—but not because the image on the retina is different.



Language does two important things. First, it serves as an aid to memory. It makes memory more efficient by allowing us to code events as verbal categories. Researchers have shown, for example, that we find it easier to recognize colors of low codability again if we named them for ourselves the first time we saw them (Brown and Lenneberg, 1954). It is now believed that an adult's memory is primarily verbal. And second, language also enables us to abstract indefinitely from our experience, which is especially important in communicating about ab­stract relationships (something animals are unable to do).

Language Problems

Ideally, language is a valuable instrument of thought; yet we know that language can sometimes interfere with our ability to think critically. Although Whorf was best known for his writings on linguistics, he was trained as an engineer. When he became an accident investigator he began to realize that a certain percentage of accidents occurred as a result of what might be called "careless thinking." For example, people would be very careful around barrels labeled "gasoline" but would smoke unconcernedly around barrels labeled "empty gasoline barrel," though the fumes in the empty barrels were more likely to ignite than the actual gasoline (Whorf, 1956, p, 135). There are many ways in which an imprecise use of language interferes with our thought processes. We shall examine several that have a direct influence on our communication.

Abstract Language

When people use abstractlanguage, they frequently cause communication difficulties that have to do with the vagueness of words. As concepts become more vague, or abstract, it gets harder and harder to decode the intended meaning. S. I. Hayakawa has written several books on semantics, and in one he included the so-called abstraction ladder we see in Figure 4.2.

In general, the more abstract the term, the greater our chances of misunder­standing. Consider this exchange between father and teen-age son:

Father: Have a good time, and don't stay out too late.

Son: Thanks, I will. Don't worry. I'll be home early.

The next day they may get into a disagreement because they were not thinking the same things when they used the words "early" and "late." Perhaps the son purposely did not clarify what the father meant by "too late" because he didn't want to be held to a strict time limit. And the father may have been vague intentionally so that his son would have a chance to exercise judgment and learn to become more adult. On the other hand, if the son came home at 4:00 a.m., both father and son would probably agree that he had indeed stayed out "late."

Speaking of being more adult, how old is an adult? Do you become an adult when you are allowed to drive? Is it when you are allowed to drink? Is it when you are allowed to see "adult" movies? Or is it when you become financially independent? In our society, the term "adult" is variously defined, and the age at which such privileges are granted varies.

Often, in an attempt to avoid ambiguity, we use very- precise wording to clarify meaning. Legal contracts are such an example. In signing a purchase agreement on a house, one of your authors learned that even carefully worded contracts can be ambiguous. The purchase agreement included the following terms of sale:

It is hereby agreed that the following items are included in the price of the property herein described; window shades, Venetian blinds, curtain rods and drapery brackets, window screens and doors, storm doors, awnings, linoleum, water heater, lighting fixtures, shrubbery, bulbs and trees if now on property.

Yet when he moved into the house, the mailbox, the electric rotor for the TV antenna, and every light bulb in the house had been removed. Did this violate the agreement? He felt that although it did not violate the letter of the agreement, it did violate the spirit or intent of that document. The point is that no amount of care is sufficient to avoid all ambiguity of interpretation. We need only look at the differences in how Supreme Court justices have interpreted the Constitution, or at the different ways in which the Bible has been interpreted, to see the inherent ambiguity in our use of language. Keep in mind the abstraction ladder, however, for some terms are considerably more abstract, and therefore more subject to misinterpretation, than others.

 

Inferences

An inferenceis a conclusion or judgment derived from evidence or as­sumptions. Every day you make dozens of inferences. When you sit down, you infer that the chair will support your weight. When you go through a green light, you infer that the traffic moving at right angles to you will stop at the red light. When you drive down a one-way street, you infer that all the traffic will be going in one direction. You may have good reason to expect these inferences to be correct, but there is also some uncalculated probability that events will not go as you expect. Drivers who have been involved in traffic accidents frequently say that the accident occurred because they inferred that the other party would act in a certain way when in fact he or she did not. Every year we read of people who were accidentally shot with guns they inferred were not loaded.

As students of communication we are concerned with the inferences implicit in verbal messages. If you say, "It is sunny outside today," your statement can be easily verified. It is a factual statement based on an observed and verifiable event. If you say, "It is sunny outside; therefore, it is sunny fifty miles from here," you draw a conclusion based on more than what you have observed. You have made a statement based in part on an inference.

Consider a more complex situation. Sheila Waring has broken off a substantial part of one of her front teeth. Her dentist takes an x-ray, covers the tooth with a temporary, and gives her an appointment for the following week; she may, he mentions, need root canal work. The next week Sheila returns, and as she walks into the office the dentist says "I'm sorry, Sheila. You do need root canal work. This calls for a heroic effort." Hearing this, Sheila is terrified and during the next hour sits in the chair awaiting the awful pain that never comes. "There. Finished—" says the dentist, "I've taken out the nerve." "But I didn't feel it at all. I thought you said I would have to be heroic about it." "No. I said 'a heroic effort,' " answers the dentist. "I didn't say your effort."

We make inferences in even- imaginable context, and it is neither possible nor desirable to avoid them entirely. Nevertheless, to use language more precisely and to be more discerning when we hear others speak, we should learn to distinguish between factual and inferential statements. "You spend a great deal of time with my roommate" is a statement of fact. It involves a low level of uncertainty, it is made as a result of direct observation, and it can be verified. Add to it ''I'm sure he won't mind if you borrow his coat," and you have an inferential statement that may well jeopardize a friendship. In becoming more conscious of inference making, we can at least learn to calculate the risks involved.

To compound the problem, our language is structured so that no distinction is made between facts and inferences. It is the verb "to be" that creates the difficulty: there is no grammatical distinction made between a fact verified through sense data (for example, "she is wearing a red coat") and a statement that cannot be verified through sense data and is merely an inference (for example, "She is thinking about her upcoming date this weekend").

Dichotomies

Dichotomies,or polar words, are frequently responsible for another type of language problem. Some semanticists classify English as a two-valued rather than a multivalued language. By this they mean that English has an excess of polar words and a relative scarcity of words to describe the wide middle ground between these opposites. Obviously, even,' person, entity; or event can be described in terms of a whole array of adjectives ranging from very favorable to very unfavor­able. (Recall the Semantic Differential, discussed earlier in this chapter, which uses a seven-interval scale.) Yet we tend to say that a student is a "success" or a "failure," that a child is "good" or "bad," that a woman is "attractive" or "unattractive." Try, for example, to think of some words to describe the spots marked on the continua in the scale of dichotomies in Figure 4.3. As you search for words, you begin to see that there are a lot of distinctions for which we lack single words. The continua also illustrate how our language suggests that certain categories of experience are mutually exclusive, when in truth they are not.

Consider the first set of terms, "success" and "failure." Even- human being undoubtedly meets with some success and some failure during the course of a lifetime. An insurance broker unemployed for many months and unable to find work may also be a supportive and much-loved father and husband. Yet our language suggests that he be classified as either a success or a failure. Similar difficulties crop up if we are asked to apply such adjectives as "brilliant" and "stupid" or "winner" and "loser" to other people. Is the math major with a straight A average brilliant or stupid if she can't learn to drive a car or ride a bike? If the author of a recent best-seller is divorced for the third time, is he a winner or a loser?

Even the distinction between life and death now involves more than just two mutually exclusive categories. With the perfection of heart transplants, for example, has come the problem of how to decide when a heart donor is beyond all hope so that his or her heart may be taken for another human being. We know today that there is usually a time lag between the loss of some capacities (brain func­tioning, for example) and others (heartbeat and respiration) and in that interval the person is not "dead." Compare this with the days when the absence of breathing and pulse alone meant that life was gone.

When polar terms are used in a misleading way, they suggest false dichotomies, reducing experience in a way that it need not be reduced. Differences are em­phasized and similarities are overlooked, and in the process a great deal of information is lost. This is certainly true in our country at election time. During a political campaign each candidate presents his or her finest qualities and avoids mention of any shortcomings. At the same time the candidate calls as much attention as possible to his or her opponent's shortcomings while ignoring the person's good qualities. Each candidate tries to create the impression of great contrast between his or her position and the opponent's, even when it does not exist. The voter is encouraged to vote a straight ticket. But must one be either a Democrat or a Republican, a Liberal or a Conservative? Don't we sometimes split our votes? Don't we vote differently in different elections?

One way to avoid making false dichotomies, as Haney (1973, p. 374) has pointed out, is to make use of the questions "How much?" and "To what extent?":

How much of a success am I?

How much of a change is this from his former stand on gun control?

To what extent is he honest?

To what extent is her plan practical?

With the aid of such questions, perhaps we can keep in mind that we have many-options, that we need not cast our messages in black-and-white terms, and that we need not accept these either-or distinctions when they are made by others.

 

Euphemisms

Through euphemismswe substitute mild, vague, or less emotionally charged terms for more blunt ones—"campaign of disinformation" for "smear campaign "memory garden" for "cemetery" "powder room" for "bathroom," "attack" for "rape." "Portly," "stout," and "heavy-set" are ways to avoid saying "fat." Of course, they also lack the specificity of "fat" as well as the affect attached to the word. If we hear that a woman was "attacked," we don't know if she was assaulted or raped. Often the problem created by using euphemisms is that the intent may be conveyed but not the degree to which the intent is felt. So-called '"empty words" are euphemisms because they are pleasant sounding yet indirect enough to avoid being blunt: "nice," "wonderful," and "pleasant" appear to be all-purpose euphe­misms. They make for dull conversations. And on many occasions, euphemistic language is used to misrepresent what is being said. For example, one high school counselor revealed several phrases he used in writing student recommendations for college applications: describing a student with serious emotional problems as "having peaks and valleys"; saying a student "likes to take risks" when referring to a drug problem; characterizing an arrogant student as "pushing against the limits" (Carmody, 1989, B6).

At a course in competitive decision making taught at Harvard's Graduate School of Business Administration, the instructor discussed situations in which being honest made the negotiator vulnerable. One option proposed by the instruc­tor was bluffing or misleading: he called it "strategic misrepresentation"—a name, comments William Safire, "which the earliest residents of this continent called 'speaking with forked tongue' and which we honestly called 'lying' " (Safire, 1980, p. 82; 1985, pp. 9-10).

 

Equivocal Language

Misunderstandings often occur because people assume that a word, a phrase, or even a sentence is unequivocal—that is, it has only one meaning. Hayakawa refers to this as "the 'one word, one meaning' fallacy" (1978). But much of the language we use is equivocal;it has two or more possible interpretations.

We've seen the problems created by disagreements over the referents of such words as "peace," "truth" and "freedom." Misunderstandings are also quite com­mon when the words and phrases in question sound far more concrete. If your date says "Let's get a drink after the show" the drink may refer to an alcoholic beverage, continuing the evening in a club, or simply a desire to stay together for simple conversation.

There seem to be two sources of confusion about words or phrases. First, people may assume that because they are using the same word, they agree, when in fact each interprets the word differently. In a comical incident a woman asks a pharmacist for a refill of her prescription for "the pill." "Please hurry," she adds. "I've got someone waiting in the car." Much humor is based on such double meanings. In daily communication this type of confusion may not be so funny. For example, one of the authors and spouse—and we're not saying which one— were drawn into a needless argument:

Husband: You know, the travel literature on Switzerland that I borrowed is still in the house. Since we're not going I'd better return it to that fellow in my office. Could you get it together for me so I can take it in tomorrow?

Wife: I don't know where it is.

Husband: What kind of an answer is that? If it's too much trouble, forget it.

Wife: What do you mean, "What kind of an answer is that?" How can I do anything with it if I can't find it?

Husband: There's nothing to do. All I asked you to do was find it. You don't have to give me a smart answer.

Wife: But you said "get it together." I thought you meant put it in some sort of order.

Husband: I meant "find it." Don't you know what "get it together" means?

Wife: Well, I didn't know it meant that.

Husband: If you didn't know, why didn't you ask me?

Wife: Because I thought I knew. I speak English, too, you know.

For a time this misunderstanding created a lot of ill feeling. Both husband and wife were insulted—the husband because he felt his wife had refused to do something relatively simple for him, and the wife because she felt her husband had insulted her intelligence.

A second type of misunderstanding occurs when two people assume that they disagree because they are using different words when actually they may agree on the concept or entity represented by those words. That is, they use different terms that have the same referent. For example, a school psychologist and a guidance counselor were discussing a student who was failing several of her classes though she was of above-average intelligence. A disagreement developed when the coun­selor insisted that the girl definitely needed "help." "She certainly does not," countered the psychologist. "She needs psychological intervention." "That's what I'm saying," said the counselor. "She should be getting psychological counseling." "Well, then we agree," answered the psychologist. "When you said 'help,' I thought you were talking about tutoring." The psychologist and counselor were able to resolve their apparent differences because they did stop and redefine their terms.

Although our attention has been given to words or phrases, most messages take the form of sentences. "It's a rainy day," remarks Jack to Jill. What could be clearer than the meaning of that sentence? Yet Laing (1972) suggests five ways in which Jack might intend his statement. Perhaps he wishes to register the fact that it is a rainy day. If yesterday Jack and Jill agreed to go for a walk instead of going to a movie, he might be saying that because of the rain he will probably get to see the movie. He might be implying that because of the weather Jill should stay at home. If yesterday the two argued about what the weather would be like, he might mean that Jill is right again or that he is the one who always predicts the weather correctly. If the window is open, he might be saying that he would like Jill to close it. No doubt each of us could come up with several other interpreta­tions. The point is that any message derives a great part of its meaning from the context in which it is transmitted. Our knowledge of the speaker and the speaker's use of language, our own associations with the words he or she chooses, our previous relationship, and the messages we have already exchanged should all play a part in how we interpret what is said.

Culture as Our Frame of Reference

Although all our behaviors have possible meaning for a receiver, language is by far our most explicit form of communication. In using it our desire is to facilitate thought, not to obscure it. Language is potentially the most precise vehicle we have for human communication. Even if we grant the infinite richness of language" and the precision it is capable of expressing, however, a look at intercultural communication makes clear that often people are divided not because of a failure to understand grammar or vocabulary but to understand rhetoric or point of view. "Grammar," one communication expert has observed, "is an instrument used to provide clarity and understanding, but often the problems between Blacks and whites do not suffer as much for clarity as for the ability to look beyond the words to the source of the other person's ideas and to his frame of reference" (Smith, in Samovar and Porter, 1972, p. 296).

Kenneth Kaunda, the president of Zambia, insists that Westerners and Africans have very different ways of seeing things, solving problems, and thinking in general. He characterizes the Westerner as having a "problem-solving mind." Once a Westerner perceives a problem, he or she feels compelled to solve it. Unable to live with contradictory ideas, the Westerner excludes all solutions that have no logical basis. Supernatural and nonrational phenomena are regarded as supersti­tion. The African, on the other hand, allows himself or herself to experience all phenomena, nonrational as well as rational. The African has a "situation-experi­encing mind." Kaunda believes that "the African can hold contradictory7 ideas in fruitful tension within his mind without any sense of incongruity7, and he will act on the basis of the one which seems most appropriate to the particular situation" (Legum, 1976, pp. 63-64).

In ancient India, according to Kirkwood (1989) and other students of Indian rhetoric, truthfulness was considered the prime standard for speech. Emphasis was placed not only on the value of truthful speech to listeners but on the profound effects for the speaker as well. The practice of speaking truthfully was regarded as spiritually liberating, and the performance itself—the act of speaking the truth— brought with it self-knowledge as well as freedom, thus transforming the speaker. Such ideas date back to the tenth century b.c. and are an enduring aspect of India's culture.

On the other hand, a study of Chinese and Japanese attitudes toward speech communication in public settings offers several reasons for the lack of argumen­tation and debate in the Far East (Becker, 1988). According to Becker, social history contributed to an aversion to public debate. For example, in the Chinese and Japanese traditions, "taking opposite sides of an argument necessarily meant be­coming a personal rival and antagonist of the one who held the other side. The more important concomitant of this idea was that if one did not wish to become a lifelong opponent of someone else, he would not venture an opinion contrary to the other person's opinions in public. Even the legal system was set up in such a way that it avoided direct confrontations" (p.245)

In addition, various linguistic features of Chinese and Japanese (for example, Chinese lacks plurals and tenses) as veil as great differences between Western and Eastern philosophy and religion all presented powerful harriers to the wide­spread use of debate and argumentation for considering new proposals or strat­egies for implementing social and political change (p. 251). Becker emphasizes that the Westerner's ideal speech situation requiring "equality of participants, freedom from social coercion, suspension of privilege, and free expression of feeling ... [would be] both impractical and even theoretically inconceivable to traditionally educated Chinese and Japanese" (p. 251).

In looking at different cultural frames of reference, we seem to have come full circle, recalling elements of the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis. To some degree, linguistic traditions help shape our thought processes, but for members of different cultures, traditions can be a barrier.

We've considered several language-related problems that interfere with your ability to think and communicate clearly. Of course, there are numerous others. But just being aware of the possibility that language can be a source of misunder­standing should enable you to be more perceptive about verbal messages.

ACTION

In this final section of our chapter, we will examine some ways in which words influence human actions, both directly and indirectly. In ancient times, people of many diverse cultures believed that words had magical powers. For example, in ancient Egypt a man received two names: his true name, which he concealed, and his good name, by which he was known publicly. Even today many primitive societies regard words as magical. Members of some cultures go to great lengths to conceal their personal names. They avoid saying the names of their gods. The names of their dead are never uttered. Presumably, we moderns are far more sophisticated. Yet we have our own verbal taboos. And the euphemisms we've just talked about are part of our everyday vocabulary. Thus we often hear not that someone "died" but that he or she "passed away." When the airline industry switched over from propeller aircraft to jets, flight crew members whose services were no longer needed were "furloughed," not "fired." Similarly, a sudden drop in the stock market is often termed a "correction."

Some empirical studies of word power examine the ways in which a speaker s use of profane words affects our judgment of his or her credibility. (See Chapter 10 for a discussion of credibility.) Three classes of profanity were used: religious, excretory, and sexual. The experimenters hypothesized that religious profanity would be least offensive and referred to it as "mild usage ; sexual profanity was referred to as "extreme usage." Subjects were asked to rate speakers who included various degrees of profanity in their messages. Under some conditions the speaker seemed to be provoked by the circumstances surrounding the speech: at other times the profanity seemed unjustified. Although religious profanity was less offensive when circumstances appeared to justify it, sexual profanity—whether provoked or unprovoked—always seemed to bring the speakers significantly lower credibility ratings. These results are surprisingly consistent: they are the same for males and females, older and younger women, and freshmen and graduate students (Rossiter and Bostrom, 1968; Bostram et al., 1973; Mabry, 1975).

Writers on public communication traditionally refer to the effective use of language as eloquence. In public speaking, eloquence describes a more dramatic, stirring use of language—often for the purpose of inspiring or persuading others. For example, recently Rev. James Forbes of Manhattan, a "preacher's preacher" who is known for his eloquence, spoke before a group of ministers on the need for compassion in preaching about AIDS. "In an existential sense," he said, "we all have AIDS, and the question is how we want to be treated as dying men and women" (Goldman, 1989, B3). One thinks also of the famous speech of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., "I Have a Dream," through which thousands were inspired to work for equal rights:

I have a dream that one day, even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice…

With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood.

With these words. Dr. King was able to move people's feelings more powerfully than he could have with more commonplace language. Lamenting the "eloquence gap" in contemporary politics, poet Michael Blumenthal expressed his sense that "a nation that no longer expects and demands eloquence and statesmanship from its politicians no longer expects and demands grandeur from itself—or precision of belief from those who lead it" (1988, p. 18).

In addition to affecting our feelings, words may have a direct effect on the way we behave. Novelist Herbert Gold was advised by one publisher that any book with the word "virgin" in the title would automatically receive an advance of $25,000—presumably because the book's sale was guaranteed. In other words, sometimes our decisions are based in part on how a thing is labeled.

Some words clearly have greater prestige than others. A "classic car" is better than an old one. "Vintage clothing" is more appealing than old secondhand clothing. The same desk commands different prices when it is called "used," "second-hand," or "antique." "Doctor" is another powerful word. In many situa­tions, for example, it is undeniable that "Dr." Bradley will get more attention than "Ms." Bradley or "Mr." Bradley. This is as true in law as it is in medicine. For years the basic law degree was called a "bachelor of laws," or "LL.B." Early in the 1960s, some law schools began to call the same degree by a more prestigious title: ''juris doctor" ("doctor of law"), or "J.D." By 1969 more than 100 of the nation's 150 law schools had switched over and were granting J.D.s instead of LL.B.s. In the mean­time J.D.s were getting better job offers than LL.B.s.

Sexist Language

Since the late 1960s many students of language, a good many feminists among them, have argued that our language is sexist, that it reflects a bias affecting how to respond much less favorably than men to the following words (Arnold and Libby, 1970):

Wife swapping Prostitute

Husband swapping Whore

In another investigation subjects were exposed to various words on a tachis-toscope, and their galvanic skin responses were measured. Although there were nonsignificant differences between responses to "good" words ("beauty," "love," "kiss," and "friend," for example) and "aversive" words ("cancer," "hate," "liar," and "death," for example), some words caused significant reactions in both men and women. These were called "personal" words and included the subject's first name, last name, father's first name, mother's first name, major in school, year in school, and school name. Subjects were more physiologically aroused by the personal words than by either the good or the aversive words (Crane et al., 1970). (For a discussion of "What makes bad language bad," see Davis [1989].)

 


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