Here’s a foolproof method for triggering a futile, frustrating argument with your partner, best friend, parent, child – anyone, really. First, make an observation that’s factually correct, but implies a critical judgment. (Upon returning home in the evening: “Wow, it’s pretty untidy in here.”) The other person will react angrily to the implied criticism. (“For God’s sake, I’ve been at work all day, too, you know!”) Next, defend your initial statement vigorously, but focus only on the surface-level meaning. (“I’m just stating a fact. Surely you’re not denying it’s untidy?”) Congratulations: you’ve established a textbook case of cross-purposes, in which both parties are right in different ways – yes, it’s untidy; no, that’s not all you meant when you said so – thereby all but guaranteeing several hours of increasingly petty sniping, until sleep descends, or a more fulfilling alternative presents itself, such as finally cleaning the grout between the bathroom tiles.
I don’t really suggest doing this deliberately, of course – but you may well find yourself caught up in such rows anyway. To grasp why, ignore the countless self-help books on communication in relationships and turn instead to an old, rather technical work, How To Do Things With Words, by the philosopher JL Austin. Austin’s mission is to demolish what he calls the “descriptive fallacy” – the idea that all language does is describe the world. In fact, it does all sorts of other things, too. When I say, “I’d like another glass of wine”, I’m not merely telling the waiter about my desires, in case he’s interested; I’m politely instructing him to fetch one. Likewise, “It’s untidy in here” may describe the situation accurately. But my intention – the “illocutionary force”, in Austin’s jargon – is to try to make you feel bad, or get you to tidy up. On one hand, there’s what the sentence means; on the other, there’s what you mean by saying it.
This isn’t rocket science, yet it sometimes seems as if half of all arguments result from people forgetting the distinction, or trying to blur it. This is nowhere truer than in the more outraged crevices of the internet: read any comment thread beneath an article on the US anti-racism campaign Black Lives Matter, for example, and you’ll find someone countering with “all lives matter”; then someone saying that’s racist; then someone else saying it can’t be, because all lives do matter… “All lives matter” is a classic case of muddling the levels. The descriptive content isn’t racist, but the illocutionary force – the meaning of saying it – may well be. So both sides argue past each other, interminably, each convinced of their rightness.
Remembering this distinction won’t magically end hostilities, not least because the confusion is often deliberate. (The “all lives matter” crowd know exactly what they’re playing at, I suspect: they get to be racist, but with an alibi.) Still, it’s worth bearing in mind, if only to avoid getting drawn into long fights you’ll never win. There’s never a good reason to argue at cross-purposes, unless your purpose is to make someone cross.
• oliver.burkeman@theguardian.com
