Language is the foundation of culture.
I doubt very much that you could find someone to dispute the above claim. Language—the way we communicate—is a necessary tool in shaping our communities, our economies and is woven inextricably into the minutia of society. Without effective communication we cannot organize, we cannot create and we cannot move forward together.
Now, I’m no linguist. I’m not trained in the study of words. But I’m a writer. I use language all the time. As a matter of fact, it’s one of the few things I feel I can use well. Granted, my English isn’t perfect and it’s the only language I can speak fluently; but I acknowledge and respect every language and the contributions communication has made to humankind.
I was thinking after writing yesterday’s post about the stories we tell and the ways we tell them. If we are (as Thomas King suggests) the stories we tell, and if (as Marshall McLuhan reckons) the medium is the message; then it stands to reason that we may all be in very deep doo-doo.
Now, I don’t want to come off as a stuffy highschool English teacher here. Monika has presented to me a hypothesis formulated by one of her linguist friends that English is a “living language”. This is a hypothesis I am willing to accept. I think that any language currently in widespread use has a right to evolve; and we, as the users of language, have a duty to push it forward and make it better.
I have nothing against a language that grows and becomes more malleable and, in doing so, improves communication. I have nothing against portmanteaus or Stephen Colbert’s contributions to the lexicon of modern discourse. I think words like “truthiness” and “wikiality” are very useful in discussion of current events and the trends that concern our civilization. I think the addition of Homer Simpson’s “D’oh” to the dictionary is a good thing; even if they chose to use an unconventional spelling.
What I take issue with is the dumbing down of language. Things like replacing a word with a letter or number: “u” instead of “you” and “2” instead of “to” or “too”. I am offended by the fact that a good number of kids these days can’t make heads or tails of Tom Sawyer or Huck Finn because they can’t understand a written language more complex than, “u r 2 cute.” I am even more put-off by the number of adults I see communicating in this way.
You would think that the brevity of message and the economy of language necessitated by modern forms of communication like text messaging and email would please a minimalist writer like me. Certainly I think there’s a lot of garbage in language that we can do without. And I think there are times when it is acceptable to ignore various rules of grammar and usage. I think we could all cut out some of the fat in our communication—language that is lean and muscular is more useful than language that is doughy and slow.
But what I think I’m seeing is a perversion of language that leaves a lot of the garbage in place and removes the meat with less-than-surgical precision. If language were a chicken wing we’d be eating the skin and throwing the rest away. The meat, the bone, the marrow… gone. Instead of communicating with the exactitude of haikus we’re talking about nothing in misspelled words.
I think part of this has to do with the fact that no one really reads anymore. We have no appreciation for a well-constructed sentence. We can’t admire wordplay because we don’t get it anymore. We can’t relish effective communication because we barely read the newspaper. The fiction we ingest (if we bother with fiction at all) is garbage: Danielle Steele, John Grisham, Stephen King and Dan Brown. We don’t read poetry—when was the last time you saw a book of verse on someone’s shelf?
And so our culture suffers. No one can say what it is they want to say because they no longer know how. Our art, music and entertainment has become obtuse as our language has been hobbled: reality television, pop music, Larry the Cable Guy… can it get any worse?
And the intelligent voices are obliged to stand out on the fringe. The voices that are relevant are only relevant to a few. The ideas that can shake up a person’s mind and get him or her to change are inaccessible. Those of us who want to take a big hearty bite out of culture are forced to seek out the meat that’s been thrown from the table.
Which brings us back to the point of this ramble.
If you enjoy watching culture as much as I do you might have noticed an interesting undercurrent lately—one that I’ve reflected in my blog. One that I commented on very specifically in my last entry.
I think we have come to know—subconsciously—that we have entered a twilight. That we have reached the end of something. Maybe it’s not the doom-and-gloom stuff I wrote about yesterday. But it feels like the future is uncertain and that at very least a chapter of civilization is coming to a close.
But we’re ignoring it.
I think we have also begun to realise the importance of the stories we tell. We’re starting to understand how our perception of reality is determined by our histories. We’re finally seeing that our myths are the source of both our joys and our sorrows.
But our mythmakers are fools.
And so we have a question to ask ourselves: If language is the basis of culture, if we are the stories we tell and if the medium is the message, what happens when our stories suck and the medium is atrophied and useless?
Rule number three in The Thinking Person’s Guide to Suicide is:
If you intend to check out; leave a legible, coherent note. It’s important that those who find you know what happened and why.
I’ll try to post more fiction soon. Maybe tomorrow.
I doubt very much that you could find someone to dispute the above claim. Language—the way we communicate—is a necessary tool in shaping our communities, our economies and is woven inextricably into the minutia of society. Without effective communication we cannot organize, we cannot create and we cannot move forward together.
Now, I’m no linguist. I’m not trained in the study of words. But I’m a writer. I use language all the time. As a matter of fact, it’s one of the few things I feel I can use well. Granted, my English isn’t perfect and it’s the only language I can speak fluently; but I acknowledge and respect every language and the contributions communication has made to humankind.
I was thinking after writing yesterday’s post about the stories we tell and the ways we tell them. If we are (as Thomas King suggests) the stories we tell, and if (as Marshall McLuhan reckons) the medium is the message; then it stands to reason that we may all be in very deep doo-doo.
Now, I don’t want to come off as a stuffy highschool English teacher here. Monika has presented to me a hypothesis formulated by one of her linguist friends that English is a “living language”. This is a hypothesis I am willing to accept. I think that any language currently in widespread use has a right to evolve; and we, as the users of language, have a duty to push it forward and make it better.
I have nothing against a language that grows and becomes more malleable and, in doing so, improves communication. I have nothing against portmanteaus or Stephen Colbert’s contributions to the lexicon of modern discourse. I think words like “truthiness” and “wikiality” are very useful in discussion of current events and the trends that concern our civilization. I think the addition of Homer Simpson’s “D’oh” to the dictionary is a good thing; even if they chose to use an unconventional spelling.
What I take issue with is the dumbing down of language. Things like replacing a word with a letter or number: “u” instead of “you” and “2” instead of “to” or “too”. I am offended by the fact that a good number of kids these days can’t make heads or tails of Tom Sawyer or Huck Finn because they can’t understand a written language more complex than, “u r 2 cute.” I am even more put-off by the number of adults I see communicating in this way.
You would think that the brevity of message and the economy of language necessitated by modern forms of communication like text messaging and email would please a minimalist writer like me. Certainly I think there’s a lot of garbage in language that we can do without. And I think there are times when it is acceptable to ignore various rules of grammar and usage. I think we could all cut out some of the fat in our communication—language that is lean and muscular is more useful than language that is doughy and slow.
But what I think I’m seeing is a perversion of language that leaves a lot of the garbage in place and removes the meat with less-than-surgical precision. If language were a chicken wing we’d be eating the skin and throwing the rest away. The meat, the bone, the marrow… gone. Instead of communicating with the exactitude of haikus we’re talking about nothing in misspelled words.
I think part of this has to do with the fact that no one really reads anymore. We have no appreciation for a well-constructed sentence. We can’t admire wordplay because we don’t get it anymore. We can’t relish effective communication because we barely read the newspaper. The fiction we ingest (if we bother with fiction at all) is garbage: Danielle Steele, John Grisham, Stephen King and Dan Brown. We don’t read poetry—when was the last time you saw a book of verse on someone’s shelf?
And so our culture suffers. No one can say what it is they want to say because they no longer know how. Our art, music and entertainment has become obtuse as our language has been hobbled: reality television, pop music, Larry the Cable Guy… can it get any worse?
And the intelligent voices are obliged to stand out on the fringe. The voices that are relevant are only relevant to a few. The ideas that can shake up a person’s mind and get him or her to change are inaccessible. Those of us who want to take a big hearty bite out of culture are forced to seek out the meat that’s been thrown from the table.
Which brings us back to the point of this ramble.
If you enjoy watching culture as much as I do you might have noticed an interesting undercurrent lately—one that I’ve reflected in my blog. One that I commented on very specifically in my last entry.
I think we have come to know—subconsciously—that we have entered a twilight. That we have reached the end of something. Maybe it’s not the doom-and-gloom stuff I wrote about yesterday. But it feels like the future is uncertain and that at very least a chapter of civilization is coming to a close.
But we’re ignoring it.
I think we have also begun to realise the importance of the stories we tell. We’re starting to understand how our perception of reality is determined by our histories. We’re finally seeing that our myths are the source of both our joys and our sorrows.
But our mythmakers are fools.
And so we have a question to ask ourselves: If language is the basis of culture, if we are the stories we tell and if the medium is the message, what happens when our stories suck and the medium is atrophied and useless?
Rule number three in The Thinking Person’s Guide to Suicide is:
If you intend to check out; leave a legible, coherent note. It’s important that those who find you know what happened and why.
I’ll try to post more fiction soon. Maybe tomorrow.
No comments:
Post a Comment