The Rhetorics of Reference As The Politics Of Language
(Paper originally submitted to a panel on Critical Linguistics organized by Paul J. Hopper, Distinguished Service Professor, Department of English, Carnegie-Mellon University. MLA Annual Convention, Toronto)
Language, especially its reference, remains a riddle, while the politics of language—at least in their effects—are all too obvious. Individuals, sexes, sexual orientations, entire communities and nations can feel 'put down' by the words chosen in 'referring' to them. The feeling of being put down or offended can only grow out of the conviction that the 'act of reference' always has a mechanical or automatic success and is not to be seen as a rhetoric. The following paradox then appears: why, when we don't understand how language works in its most basic assumed function (referring), do we get so upset about the assumed consequences of this assumed function? Even more simply, why, when we seem to understand that words can never hurt us although sticks and stones may break our bones, are we hurt by words, and try to hurt others with them? What light can critical linguistics throw on this question?
In answering, I will take advantage of two somewhat disparate references on the subject of reference—an article by the philosopher Hilary Putnam called “A Theory of Reference” in his recent book Renewing Philosophy (the Gifford Lectures for 1990), and a paper by Ronald Schleifer of the University of Oklahoma called “The Anxiety of Allegory: De Man, Greimas, and the Problem of Referentiality” that appeared in the volume Rhetoric and Form: Deconstruction at Yale in 1985. For background I shall also be drawing on Roy Harris's Language, Saussure and Wittgenstein: How to Play Games with Words, a volume that I had the privilege of reviewing for the journal Semiotica. The following sentence from this book would serve well as an epigraph: “In one sense, the whole debate about human knowledge in the Western tradition has always revolved around the relationship between words and the world, between language and reality” (8). Later in the paper I shall try to connect some of this theoretical discussion to controversies over slur words and the politics of language in general, as well as to some questions in the teaching of writing and composition.
Let me proceed by trying to clarify the phrase 'rhetorics of reference' in the title. It stands in distinction to phrases like 'acts of reference' or even 'theories of reference'. For acts of reference to be truly so, my criterion is that they be completely systematic, as in Jerry Fodor's 'tokenistic' theory of reference, refuted in Putnam's article just mentioned. Stray acts of reference do not count. This is simply to say that reference must be explained before it can be so called. Anything short of explanation is a rhetoric of reference, and since it is agreed that reference has not been successfully explained, any approach to reference is no more—and no less—than a rhetoric. To understand this further it might be best to sample the approaches to--or rhetorics of—reference that are on the market, with the caveat that even an accepted scientific explanation—say, of evolution, or plate techtonics—is at its earlier stages a persuasive rhetoric, then a successful persuader, and finally perhaps a failed or no longer persuasive rhetoric, should the relevant scientific community adopt what it deems a more fitting explanation. Thus it may be argued—and has been—that scientific explanations are rhetorical in nature also and cannot claim reference to reality in a manner superior to the capacities of natural language.
With the help of the three texts already cited, let me review the main postures on reference adopted in the past, so that their rhetorical qualities can be considered. Putnam begins his discussion of reference by conceiving of it as “Kant's problem, the problem of explaining the referential connection between our 'representations' and the world” (35). While this is the Enlightenment version of the problem, earlier ideologies of reference linger on, and for accounts of these we turn to Roy Harris's book. One ideology of reference that predates Kant is surrogationalism, which
accepts as axiomatic the principle that words have meaning for us because words 'stand for'—are surrogates for—something else. Hence the key question is always 'How does this word relate to what it stands for?' This question in turn divides into two parts, or further questions. One is 'Does this relationship depend on a natural connection of some kind?' (This is the issue which surfaces in the twentieth century as the Saussurean principle of the arbitrariness of the linguistic sign). The other question is: 'What is it that the word stands for?' (In particular, does it stand for something independently existing in the world, or does it stand simply for an idea in the mind?). Different answers to these further questions distinguish different versions of surrogationalism. (10-11)As Harris mentions later in his book (98), the surrogational framework was also adopted by Aristotle. If we share “Aristotle's assumption that the human race shares a common set of 'mental affections', of which words are simply signs, then a word automatically means the same for any two or more individuals acquainted with its proper use” (Harris 98). The link between Aristotle and Jerry Fodor is provided by Putnam, who speaks of the latter's “hypothetical innate language of thought, 'Mentalese'. According to Fodor, all the concepts that appear in all natural languages are already available in Mentalese, available innatelyÉ” (Putnam 43). While Fodor may not accept Aristotle's surrogationalism, his 'Mentalese' is very close to Aristotle's account of 'mental affections' common to all speakers of all languages.
The obvious alternative to surrogationalist view is a contractualist one. Roy Harris indicates that it is hard to give an account of this, but presumably it includes a game played by rules and agreements. The third and last view he mentions is nomenclaturist, which holds that “to understand language is to understand how a name is related to the holder of that name” (8). Now, what I wish to point about these three Ðisms is not what is different about them but what they actually have in common. This seems to be twofold. (1): They seek to tie two things together: the word and what it stands for are tied together (surrogationalism); the game and its players are tied together by rules (contractualism); and the name and its bearer are tied together (nomenclaturalism). (2): These 'tying togethers' are each an automatic process, leaving no possibility of random or free or sporadic tying together. With both these points I am trying to bring up the question of metaphor, which along with reference has provided a major headache for Western thought. 'Tying together' inevitably seeks to make equivalent, to remove difference, to reduce the possibility of diversity, departure, deviance, and play. In short, it seeks to remove freedom of speech and of interpretation, taking us from the politics of language into politics itself. To be a surrogate, to have something stand for the meaning of a word, to have 'tokens' arise in the mind when an object is seen—quite apart from the fact that adherents of each of these views have successfully knocked down their rivals—are attempts to control, regularize, systematize—according to my other main reference, Schleifer, grammaticalize—language.
Reference is a suitable area for critical linguistics to investigate critically, for it provides insight not only into the ideology of the political community involved, but, at a meta-level, of the investigation itself. It is potentially subversive at all levels. No wonder its study has been skirted. Kant, for instance, it has been said, avoided the question of language (i.e. its reference) because he felt that there lay within it an 'explosive charge.'
Those who do attempt to propound a theory of reference, of whatever ilk, may be seen as 'magical' rhetoricians of reference, in that they seek to establish (and this their magic) a stable connection between word and referent; the stability and identity implies magical control, i.e. political power. Those who seek to derail and debunk all theories of reference may be said to practice a metaphorical and critical rhetoric that leads uncertainly, perhaps dangerously, into a recasting of politics itself, leaving behind the Enlightenment prospects of equality, identity and representation for the negotiation of ethical responsibilities with one's other. Even an attack on all possible rhetorics of reference is a rhetoric of reference, having its political consequences—good ones, we hope! One immediate consequence, which might remind us why formidable intellects like Immanuel Kant steered clear of this area, is that it quickly leads to the questioning of the 'telementational model of communication' that is the very frame for our present setting—speakers and audience 'communicating' mouth to ear and ear to mouth through the unproblematic 'conduit' of language.
Let me now try to sketch, however briefly, how some of the foregoing considerations impinge upon an issue that we have all encountered over the last several years: political correctness. While the various rhetorics of reference are not credible as fact or proven theory, taking one or the other of them as fact can land the speech community involved in this terminological quagmire (PC). The 'Political Correctness' controversy has in it something reminiscent of this comedy routine: a drunk searches on stage for a lost object by the light of a lamp-post. A companion joins him in the search. After a while of careful searching the companion asks: Are you sure this is where you lost your key? No, replies the drunk, but this is where the light is. The proponents of 'politically correct speech,' those who favor the enforcement of speech codes decreeing what words may or may not be used on college campuses, have restricted their search for a solution to a serious ethical problem to what is readily perceptible: the words people use. Those against the PC agenda quite rightly avail themselves of the most convenient defense: nobody has the right to tell us what words to use. Indeed, thinking one is solving a profound ethical issue by banning words is taking Contac as a cure for the common cold, trying to suppress the symptoms without tackling or even diagnosing the disease. The issue is profound because it leads us to ask: why do groups of people cast entire “other” groups as hostile, threatening or base, and go on to commit violence against them? What does language (i.e., name-calling) have to do with it? Yes, the issue can be put in these very general terms, and I've put quote marks around “other” in language is something that has received a lot of attention lately.
Slur words, and a lot of other problem-causing words and concepts, will starve to death if we can change the dominant way of thinking about language which is their source of nourishment. We labor under a magical view of language usage: labeling someone something is to make that person that thing. This is the virus to be rid off. Both labeler and labelee are complicit in believing that this magic works.
We forget that the meaning of a particular remark can be clear only to the extent that we have total agreement, among all who hear it, about 'who' is speaking (including all details of the individual's psychological cultural and historical complexities), at what time (agreement on the political atmosphere is involved here), and with what emotional attitude (as far as this can be unambiguously judged from expression, body language, verbal nuance, and claims to being funny, dramatic, satirical, or playful). These are highly specific details that cannot be generalized or legislated about, and that certainly even the speaker may not grasp. It's not a black-and-white affair, so to speak, although although we might want it to be every time so that we would not have think that slavery or discrimination against Blacks or Christian atrocities against Jews or genocidal campaigns against native peoples of the New World (to confine ourselves to the “West”) are clear facts of history.
The attempt to pin meaning down unambiguously follows in any case from holding a magical theory of language, of the efficacy of labeling. The complaint “He called me a wog!” suggests “I've come under his spell and become a wog”—whatever that is—“by his magical use of the word.” Language, however, is metaphorical—it no more reflects reality than a metaphor does, and no less. We fail to cope with this slippery fact. One could quite easily resist or break the spell sought to be cast by the incantation “Wog!” by interpreting the word as an acronym for “Westernized oriental gentleman' or an infinity of other things. Every use of a 'slur' like nigger does not necessarily call attention to the negative historical experiences or perceived inferiority of dark-complexioned people. Consider its meaning in common locutions such as “You're a bad nigger!” Furthermore, what seems a perfectly neutral term like 'Englishman' may be used as a slur, as W. Somerset Maugham noted in one of his short stories. There are no general laws or rules for the 'correct' use of every term thought to imply discrimination, or of every term introduced to reduce or eliminate it. This is ironic about PC. Belief in correctness is belief in the efficacy—read magic—of language. Correctness is an impossible concept to apply generally in language, and yet any argument for the concept of correctness depends on its generality.
Supposing we were told in kindergarten or at some subsequent point: “You can use any words you like. You can call somebody a blank. That doesn't make a person a blank. Perhaps it only shows that you would like it to. Even if the blank is a 'good' word. Calling people 'good' things doesn't make them good or prove you're a good person either. You could be doing it to manipulate them. So don't waste your energy labeling people. Look into yourself and try to work out what the best things to do are with regard to other people.” We might have been put on our way to raising a generation that does not fritter away its moral energy on debating if they should say 'nigger' in public or in private. Hence the great importance in education of linguistic ideology, of making sure we are not saddled willy nilly with a magical view of language that distorts our entire relationship to others. Labeling people, naming them names that we think are pleasant or unpleasant, is a way of manipulating them—with rhetoric, if you like. For the theologically aware, this is why God refused to oblige Moses with a name such as each of the pagan gods had—because He did not want people to think that He could be manipulated. Saying 'I am that I am' (also translatable as 'I shall be what I shall be') is a prescient way of saying: 'Don't make the mistake of labeling me. It leads to the mistake that you control me or you even created me. Let me be whatever I will, and be concerned about yourself.'
Once we have named someone, or some group, it seems to be deucedly difficult to maintain a balanced approach—both to grant this person or group a chosen identity and also extend to them the same consideration and respect we accord ourselves. Who is the other, and how do I think of and treat my other? It's been suggested that the inability to face and answer this question is the chief failing of Western thought, at least, leading to the grossest violence. It may be a failing of other typologically similar thought too, but the economic and political dominance of the West makes its failing more consequential.
How can we make some progress, let in some light over the PC controversy? The pro-PC people are right, there is a problem. Lookism, judging and treating people on the basis of a judgment of their physical features, is clearly a moral failing. But to suggest substituting words like 'vertically challenged' for 'short' is to drag everybody back into the magical theory of language. The anti-PC people are right, censorship is a superficial move, out of sync with our tradition of free speech. The solution: point out to people the weakness of their view of language, while assuring them that their moral concerns are valid and will be approached by dealing with the metaphorical nature of language; tell the anti-PC people that there will be no censorship; and tell all concerned how the real problem is our commonsense magical theory of language, something that we don't look at, although contemporary intellectuals (not to mention older religious traditions) have equipped us to do so. Language must be used to understand the limitations of language; or we allow our moral natures to be circumscribed by what we believe to be its magical efficacy.
Critical linguistics should not support either the 'banning by code' of offensive words or their free use on campuses and elsewhere—rather it should unfailingly draw attention to the rhetorical nature of the speech acts involved against their assumed referentiality.
The response or rhetoric and composition teachers to problems of political correctness may then be twofold or dialectical; as a thesis a simple ethical line could be taken, discouraging—never suppressing—terms that arouse hate or cause emotional injury to 'ethnic groups' and individual members of groups. The antithesis of this would be the basic argument of this paper: hate terms do not deserve to be dignified with success-- they never succeed in consummating reference. And the synthesis of the suggested dialectical pedagogical process would be the necessity of understanding late twentieth-century critiques of language and their general intellectual and perhaps religious consequences. Perhaps a Freshman English or Writing Program imbued with such thoughts is not completely impossible.
Derrida in the Discourse ..