Correctness versus Communication

The discussion of the debate over whether to call certain guitar chords “barre” or “bar” has pushed me to contemplate the idea that sometimes “correctness” conflicts with “communication”.

These days, any mention of “correctness” with regard to “communication” brings up the idea of “politically correct” -- which is actually not my focus here, but I guess I need to briefly address it.

Though phrases like “politically incorrect” or “politically correct” or even the abbreviation “P.C.” get tossed around a lot, the precise definition of these terms is not widely agreed upon. I am generally a fan of Merriam-Webster, and their online dictionary defines “politically correct” as “conforming to a belief that language and practices which could offend political sensibilities (as in matters of sex or race) should be eliminated”. A similar definition is posted in the “Free Online Dictionary” -- “Of, relating to, or supporting broad social, political, and educational change, especially to redress historical injustices in matters such as race, class, gender, and sexual orientation.”

Various sources cite the fact that the phrase “politically correct” is general used in a disparaging manner -- it is commonly thought to be a BAD thing to be “politically correct”. Without going into a thorough discussion, I will agree that I consider “political correctness” to, in general, be a negative thing, if for no other reason than it inhibits free-flowing communication -- but I acknowledge that political correctness is a complicated topic.

My focus here, though, is actually other forms of correctness, and the extent to which they can interfere with communication. Here are two real-life examples:

My late father was a physician, and regularly attended medical conferences where guest experts would lecture on medical topics. There was a certain lecturer who my father particularly enjoyed, and encountered various times over the years. Sadly, I do not know this lecturer’s name. My father mentioned that eventually this lecturer became totally blind, but still delivered flawless commentaries to his slide shows, from memory. At one lecture, when referring to the large intestine, or “colon”, the lecturer repeatedly pronounced “colon” in an unusual manner, placing equal accent on both syllables, and saying “ahn” rather than “in” or “en” for the second syllable. At the end of the lecture, a member of the audience criticized the lecturer for “mispronouncing” the word “colon”. As my father related the story to me, the lecturer responded that he prepared his lectures very carefully, rehearsing and fine-tuning before a variety of listeners. He had discovered that when he pronounced “colon” CORRECTLY, his listeners often had trouble understanding what word he was saying. When he MISPRONOUNCED it, they understood he was saying the word “colon”, though they believed he was mispronouncing it. So, in the interest of clearer communication, he now consciously mispronounced the word “colon”.

When I tell people the story of this deliberate mispronunciation, they often seem to find it troubling. I find it difficult to argue with the goal of clear communication.

Example number two: I knew an intelligent, well-educated, highly skilled musician, who had strong feelings about the terms used to name her primary instrument, which many people would call the “French horn”. My friend insisted that the correct term was simply “horn”, citing, among other things, the idea that there has never been anything particularly “French” about the “French horn”. I should note that I never completely understood her objections to the term “French horn”; perhaps I am misrepresenting her views. Personally, I lack the expertise to know whether it is truly incorrect to refer to the instrument as a “French horn”. I know that among orchestral musicians, the word “horn” is sometimes adequate to refer to that particular instrument. Unfortunately, to many people, in many contexts, the word “horn” refers to a wide variety of instruments, rather than just the “French horn”, including trumpets, trombones, and tubas, and sometimes even things like saxophones and clarinets. So, when people would ask my friend what instrument she played, and she would reply “horn”, they would often follow up by asking “WHICH horn?” My friend, though possibly being “correct”, was standing in the way of clear communication, refusing to use the terms which would be understood by the larger audience.

These two examples show two sides of the problem, or at least two totally different ways of dealing with it. The medical lecturer believed his top priority was to be understood, and was willing to be viewed as guilty of mispronouncing a word. The musician was more concerned about using the “correct” terminology for her instrument, and was willing to sacrifice clarity of communication and possibly necessitate follow-up questions. As with so many subjects, there are differences regarding personal priorities.

This is a complicated issue, and I do not claim to have the answers.

There is a separate but related issue regarding communication that is so potentially offensive or inflammatory that the clarity is impeded, as in matters of race and ethnicity, among other things. I had intended to go ahead and discuss that issue, but have decided to wait, so as to not risk impeding the clarity of what I have already written.

Truth is complicated.