I’ll admit it: I exasperate a lot of my friends during
everyday conversation. The thing is, I have a keen ear and a love for words in
general. What that then often results in is me correcting something a friend is
saying, sometimes highlighting the error just because I get a kick out of it;
well, actually, the kick comes from the reactions
I get.
A typical exchange goes something like this:
Ayanda: Can I see that, dude?
Me: I don’t know, dude. Can you?
[insert punch here]
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| The author claims no intellectual property over the image. |
In this case I dwell on the fact that, when we’re being
linguistically precise, ‘can’ is a function of ability while ‘may’ has to do
with permission. Of course, the fun is that I almost always know (sometimes I
get the Micky taken outa me too!) exactly
what the person intends- or ‘means’- to say, but I make it a thing anyway.
But what, other than the laughs, is at stake when it comes
to being deliberate with our language usage? I’d say the answer lies in two
common responses that pop up in arguments between couples or in banter between
two co-stars on Oprah: You know what I
meant and let’s not make
it about
semantics.
What those two statements have in common, of course, is an
underlying concern with meaning. In the first instance, it is taken for
granted. In the second, it is shied away from like a bad rash. There’s much to
be said about both, but for now I’ll focus on the second one.
I think it’s worth pondering because if we let each other
get away with too much ‘meaning-go-lucky’, then we perpetuate an environment
where we can’t hold each other to stuff. I’ll always be able to get away with
not delivering on a promise if I use my ‘it-aint-about-semantics’ card: “You
see, bro, when I said ‘it will be done’, technically I wasn’t lying because I
did not say it would be done by me”.
In fact, I think we human beings value meaning- semantics-
so much that we rank it even above intention. Think of intention is the
end-goal behind what is being said, and meaning as the substance of what is being said. When the person you love says
something spiteful in a heated exchange, for instance, the first question we
ask isn’t, are you trying to hurt me? Instead,
what escapes our lips with barely any thought is, uzam’ ukuthini? What’s THAT supposed to mean?
There’s our first clue that, under certain conditions, whether
or not you want to hurt me matters
less than what you say to do so. It’s
almost as if, in the heat of an argument, we become brutally honest with
ourselves and our counterpart: ‘Since we are having an argument, I know you are trying to hurt me with that
spiteful remark. That’s why it’s called spiteful. That’s your intention. But
what do you MEAN by that?
I’m not trying to split hairs here. I know that meaning and
intention are usually not exclusive categories that we separate in our social
interactions. I’m simply trying to highlight the sheer weight, the massive
importance we attribute, without even consciously processing it, to meaning. It’s
why presidents have entire speech-writing departments dedicated to honing in on
a very particular meaning using very particular words, tone, imagery, and so
on. It’s why the first Justin Bieber single to ever chart at #1 in the UK and
in Australia is the one in which he
asks (28 times throughout the song) What
Do You Mean? It’s why we have existential crises, which are actually meaning crises: what does my being here
MEAN? What does all this growing up and learning and getting a picket-fenced yard
and 2.5 kids after graduation MEAN??
I think the splitting hairs thing is what people are really trying to get at when we use the
retort ‘it’s not about semantics’. But then we have to be careful because
splitting hairs is one thing, while holding each other accountable to the
weight and substance of our words is quite another. As a Christian I place even
more of a premium on the power of the word- spoken and written- because it’s
how God literally spoke the universe into existence, and I know according to
that beautifully phrased passage in the First Letter of John that “[i]n the
beginning was the word, and the word was with God, and the word was God”. It’s a crazy piece of
scripture logically speaking, but I dare say its truth is very real and very
profound.
Semantics is why South Africans get mad when our president
offers an apology for the confusion as
opposed to his wrongdoing. That’s not
splitting hairs; that’s holding the Prime Servant accountable to his oath of
office and constitutional mandate.
So ultimately, what I mean to say by writing this is that
it’s always about semantics; it always has been. We can’t simply not make it about semantics- know what I
mean?
