On…Writing
Writing is the attempt at perfect communication.
That’s the definition I have come up with, and of course it always fails–no good perfectionist (who tend to be the ones that try it) will ever totally approve of anyone else’s combination of words.
But written communication seems to be our best–arguably, only–hope. Language itself is a shorthand, a set of imprecise symbols. Our “left hemisphere” friends may better understand words by relating them to calculus, our best attempt yet to accurately measure irregular areas. Compared to math, however, language still is very inaccurate: compare reactions to such a basic word as “tree” from residents of the Pacific Northwest, the Sahara desert, or Easter Island. We’ve cleverly come up with adjectives and other modifiers to make our communication more precise, but they only get us so close.
Humans have gotten quite proud of themselves in the age of science, using mathematical tools to ever more accurately measure and explain the universe. Language doesn’t seem to be evolving in kind, since we fail to communicate as spectacularly as ever. Of course, communication is attempting a much bigger job. We’ve added words themselves by the thousands, but many of us–even in so-called “enlightened” cultures–are so afraid of knowledge that we actively try to avoid new input. Communication is at best a “soft” science, an abstract pursuit of the sort increasingly disdained by our “A-type,” short-term oriented society; thus, our citizens’ language skills are frequently less developed than their grasp of addition and subtraction.
Stretching the math analogy further…imagine every subgroup of humans had their own system of numbers; the rise of the machine wouldn’t even be a possibility to worry about. But that is the case with language symbols, in the form of languages. As Steve Martin once said of the French, “it’s like they have a different word for everything.” It’s understandable how the variations would arise in isolation, less logical why they would persist. Ham-handed attempts to impose math-like universality always fail, however (see Esparanto).
So language itself is imprecise, but we get by (unless you have something against armed conflict). But, how do we use it? In considered, practiced, polished forms? Heavens, no.
We converse. Conversation is how most humans use language (most use this form exclusively). Yet, it is at best the toddler stage of communication. Despite the patina of respectability lent by James Joyce or Mark Twain to stream-of-consciousness and colloquial speech, conversation is at best a first draft–and more often an argument against evolution (if you’re trying to measure “progress”).
Lest you think I’m some stereotypical elitist snob, I’m not mocking the average Joe. In fact, I’ve often found a perfectly enunciated sigh or grunt to convey volumes of nuanced feeling about live, love, and the pursuit of both. On the hand, a favorite old poster says “It often shows a fine command of language to say nothing.” Are 90% of the words we utter even necessary? I feel sorry for the employees of shady government agencies who monitor phone calls; hours of conversations can be summarized down to a few words. Just as overimbibers can be shamed into contemplating lifestyle change by seeing video of themselves a day later, the average conversation played back will convince one more could have been made of that time and oxygen.
So we come to writing–as close as we get to calculus in the communication business. The very nature of collecting thoughts, over time, the culling and ordering them in a precise order, gives us our best chance to convey things to others (both now, and for years to come). After all, if it was worth saying once, surely someone else–even in another time–might benefit from it?
We use all the devices of written communication to persuade, in some way; along the way, we can entertain, encourage, educate, and/or emotionally move an audience. Of course, like calculus, not just anyone will be able to follow our message. So we simile, metaphor, selected levels of vocabulary, and other tools to reach the widest possible number. Long before math types figured out how to put multiple channels on one cable, writers were able to construct pages so that multiple audience types were able to take something away from reading them.
So kids, by all means stay in school and take math. It’s a sweet science, with lots of absolute rights and wrongs–so reassuring to so many. But don’t be afraid to man up and devote some time to writing. Perfection is impossible, but the pursuit helps us all. The more you’ve worked at crafting your messages, the better you’ll hear others’–and be less easy to fool.
A sentence can soften a stance, which can influence minds…which can reduce conflict. And conflict is truly the biggest waste of human energy.