The Telepathy of Louis Armstrong
June 10th 2009 05:44
:
The Telepathy of Louis Armstrong
I've noticed a trend in America (it could be in other countries as well, but I've only noticed it happening in America) to say the word "redundant", when I think what they mean is "tautological". For instance: "So, on the news last night they were interviewing this corrupt politician... though I realise that's probably redundant!" (Truth be told, they likely said "realize" instead of "realise", but I couldn't bring myself to type it. Even though I just did. Hey, now I'm redundant!)
Sentences like that always require an extra moment or two to decipher. "Hang on, which bit is redundant? The interview was redundant? Why? Had someone else interviewed him earlier?" Then it becomes clear it was the word "corrupt" that was redundant, not the entire statement, and suddenly everything makes sense, even if you then missed the following sentence to figure it out.
I don't know why they do this. "Tautology" is brief and to-the-point. It highlights the fact that there is an adjective-noun combination (or, sometimes, an adjective-adjective combination) that you immediately know to hone in on. "Redundant" is too broad, too generic. You could be referring to anything with "redundant", including, pertinently, the fact that you said anything at all.
A bigger problem for me is that this imprecise language is used by people I admire -- really smart people, at that -- leaving me unable to engage in that terrifically fun exploit of insulting their overall intelligence based on a singular word. (Insulting the intelligence of such people is not something I'm proud of, but it is immensely satisfying, particularly if you already harbour a dislike of them.) When it's someone you like who does it, it immediately becomes nothing more than a perfectly-acceptable mistake, and even calling it a mistake is a bit on the harsh side. Keep in mind, I'm someone who used to say "for all intensive purposes", right up until the day I realised it didn't make sense, and that I should have been saying "for all intents and purposes". I'm man enough to admit that.
Another redundant tautology* is the phrase "I thought to myself". It's easy to see why people say it: it's lyrical, and so much more poetically satisfying than just saying "I thought". Again, I refrain from making fun at the expense of such people, because of the most popular iteration of that phrase. Think Louis Armstrong. Think songwriters Bob Thiele, George David Weiss, and George Douglas. Think one of the greatest songs of all time.
If you're going to tear the tautological "I think/thought to myself" asunder, you're going to have to dismiss "What a Wonderful World", the ballad that rendered nearly every subsequent ballad as being, well, redundant. The word "sentimental" is often used pejoratively, but this song is one of the few great defences that sentimentality has left. At less than three minutes long it doesn't overstay its welcome, and the incomparable Louis Armstrong elevates it stratospherically. "And I think to myself" is infinitely more beautiful a turn of phrase than "And I thiiiiiink". Even if the dragging out of "think" is done so with Armstrong's addictive vocals, I still prefer the "to myself", despite its position as the ultimate tautology.
Or, he asks enigmatically, is it?
Language changes over time. This is a fact of life. It evolves as society and humanity evolve, and even if this evolution is sometimes used a pathetic excuse by a minority of lazy educators to justify not teaching spelling and grammar, it's still fascinating to watch. The most alarmingly sudden evolution of language -- and I suspect that if it happens suddenly, it might no longer be called evolution -- has happened only recently, and I'm not sure anyone noticed.
I have only recently heard of Professor Kevin Warwick, so I won't presume to talk about his work with any authority. He is Professor of Cybernetics at the University of Reading in England, as well as, amongst many other things, one of the first proper cyborgs that humanity has produced. A chip he had implanted in his head allowed him to control a robotic arm that was hooked up to said chip via the internet. From New York's Columbia University, he was able to control the robot arm which was, at the time, at the University of Reading, all simply by thinking. The implications for this are astonishing and wide ranging, but I am, at the moment, primarily concerned with how it affects "What a Wonderful World".
You see, the next stage of Warwick's experiment was communication. An array was implanted in the brain of Warwick's wife -- who, in terms of spousal support, must surely win a prize of some kind -- and the two were able to communicate basic levels of empathic emotion from a remote distance. That, right there, is surely the future, and I suspect that Kevin Warwick may one day be a name that's casually rattled off with other scientists the general public may be aware of (Newton, Einstein, Hawkings, Feynman, etc).
His vast array of achievements, both in this field and similar fields, are deserving of acclaim, but they may cause a significant tangental achievement to be swept under the carpet: thanks to Warwick's work, the phrase "I think to myself" will, soon, no longer be a tautology. Once we gain the ability to think at another person, think at a wide range of people, and have them all think back at us, thinking to yourself will be an important distinction worth making. Suddenly, a classic song with an endearing and forgivable slip-up becomes a classic song with a poignant message pertaining to the modern human condition. All thanks to the extraordinary unpredictable relationship between scientific advancement and language.
What a wonderful world.
* In a fit of paradoxical irony, it should be noted that "redundant tautology" is, in fact, a redundant tautology.
Sentences like that always require an extra moment or two to decipher. "Hang on, which bit is redundant? The interview was redundant? Why? Had someone else interviewed him earlier?" Then it becomes clear it was the word "corrupt" that was redundant, not the entire statement, and suddenly everything makes sense, even if you then missed the following sentence to figure it out.
I don't know why they do this. "Tautology" is brief and to-the-point. It highlights the fact that there is an adjective-noun combination (or, sometimes, an adjective-adjective combination) that you immediately know to hone in on. "Redundant" is too broad, too generic. You could be referring to anything with "redundant", including, pertinently, the fact that you said anything at all.
A bigger problem for me is that this imprecise language is used by people I admire -- really smart people, at that -- leaving me unable to engage in that terrifically fun exploit of insulting their overall intelligence based on a singular word. (Insulting the intelligence of such people is not something I'm proud of, but it is immensely satisfying, particularly if you already harbour a dislike of them.) When it's someone you like who does it, it immediately becomes nothing more than a perfectly-acceptable mistake, and even calling it a mistake is a bit on the harsh side. Keep in mind, I'm someone who used to say "for all intensive purposes", right up until the day I realised it didn't make sense, and that I should have been saying "for all intents and purposes". I'm man enough to admit that.
Another redundant tautology* is the phrase "I thought to myself". It's easy to see why people say it: it's lyrical, and so much more poetically satisfying than just saying "I thought". Again, I refrain from making fun at the expense of such people, because of the most popular iteration of that phrase. Think Louis Armstrong. Think songwriters Bob Thiele, George David Weiss, and George Douglas. Think one of the greatest songs of all time.
If you're going to tear the tautological "I think/thought to myself" asunder, you're going to have to dismiss "What a Wonderful World", the ballad that rendered nearly every subsequent ballad as being, well, redundant. The word "sentimental" is often used pejoratively, but this song is one of the few great defences that sentimentality has left. At less than three minutes long it doesn't overstay its welcome, and the incomparable Louis Armstrong elevates it stratospherically. "And I think to myself" is infinitely more beautiful a turn of phrase than "And I thiiiiiink". Even if the dragging out of "think" is done so with Armstrong's addictive vocals, I still prefer the "to myself", despite its position as the ultimate tautology.
Or, he asks enigmatically, is it?
Language changes over time. This is a fact of life. It evolves as society and humanity evolve, and even if this evolution is sometimes used a pathetic excuse by a minority of lazy educators to justify not teaching spelling and grammar, it's still fascinating to watch. The most alarmingly sudden evolution of language -- and I suspect that if it happens suddenly, it might no longer be called evolution -- has happened only recently, and I'm not sure anyone noticed.
I have only recently heard of Professor Kevin Warwick, so I won't presume to talk about his work with any authority. He is Professor of Cybernetics at the University of Reading in England, as well as, amongst many other things, one of the first proper cyborgs that humanity has produced. A chip he had implanted in his head allowed him to control a robotic arm that was hooked up to said chip via the internet. From New York's Columbia University, he was able to control the robot arm which was, at the time, at the University of Reading, all simply by thinking. The implications for this are astonishing and wide ranging, but I am, at the moment, primarily concerned with how it affects "What a Wonderful World".
You see, the next stage of Warwick's experiment was communication. An array was implanted in the brain of Warwick's wife -- who, in terms of spousal support, must surely win a prize of some kind -- and the two were able to communicate basic levels of empathic emotion from a remote distance. That, right there, is surely the future, and I suspect that Kevin Warwick may one day be a name that's casually rattled off with other scientists the general public may be aware of (Newton, Einstein, Hawkings, Feynman, etc).
His vast array of achievements, both in this field and similar fields, are deserving of acclaim, but they may cause a significant tangental achievement to be swept under the carpet: thanks to Warwick's work, the phrase "I think to myself" will, soon, no longer be a tautology. Once we gain the ability to think at another person, think at a wide range of people, and have them all think back at us, thinking to yourself will be an important distinction worth making. Suddenly, a classic song with an endearing and forgivable slip-up becomes a classic song with a poignant message pertaining to the modern human condition. All thanks to the extraordinary unpredictable relationship between scientific advancement and language.
What a wonderful world.
* In a fit of paradoxical irony, it should be noted that "redundant tautology" is, in fact, a redundant tautology.
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