82

A FIRST LOOK AT
COMMUNICATION
THEORY
NINTH EDITION
EM GRIFFIN
ANDREW LEDBETTER
GLENN SPARKS
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A FIRST LOOK AT
COMMUNICATION
THEORY
NINTH EDITION
EM GRIFFIN
Wheaton College
ANDREW LEDBETTER
Texas Christian University
GLENN SPARKS
Purdue University
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A FIRST LOOK AT COMMUNICATION THEORY, NINTH EDITION
Published by McGraw-Hill Education, 2 Penn Plaza, New York, NY 10121. Copyright © 2015 by McGraw-Hill Education. All
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ABOUT THE AUTHORS
v
Em Griffi n is Professor Emeritus of Communication at Wheaton College in Illinois,
where he taught for over 35 years and was chosen Teacher of the Year. He received
his M.A. and Ph.D. in communication from Northwestern University; his research
interest is in the development of close friendships. Em is the author of three applied
communication books: The Mind Changers (persuasion), Getting Together (group
dynamics), and Making Friends (close relationships). For three decades, Em has
been an active volunteer with Opportunity International, a nonprofi t development
organization providing fi nancial solutions and training to empower people living
in poverty to transform their lives. He also serves as a mediator and coach at the
Center for Confl ict Resolution in Chicago. Em’s wife, Jean, is an artist and a musi-
cian. They recently celebrated 50 years of marriage and have two adult children, Jim
and Sharon, and six grandchildren, Josh, Amy, Sam, Kyle, Alison, and Dan. You can
reach Em at em.griffi n@wheaton.edu.
Andrew Ledbetter is an Associate Professor of Communication Studies at Texas
Christian University. He received his M.A. and Ph.D. in communication studies
from the University of Kansas. His research addresses how people use commu-
nication technology to maintain their interpersonal relationships. A related inter-
est concerns how parent–child communication predicts health and well-being.
Andrew has published more than 35 articles and received recognition for teaching
excellence from both the National Communication Association and Central States
Communication Association. His wife, Jessica, is a former attorney who teaches
business law at Texas Christian University. With their daughters, Sydney and
Kira, they enjoy involvement in their church, playing board and card games, read-
ing, cooking, and following the TCU Horned Frogs and Kansas Jayhawks. You can
reach Andrew at a.ledbetter@tcu.edu, visit his blog at www.andrewledbetter.com,
or follow him on Twitter via @dr_ledbetter.
Glenn Sparks is a professor in the Brian Lamb School of Communication at Pur-
due University in Indiana, where he has taught for 28 years. He received his Ph.D.
in communication arts from the University of Wisconsin–Madison; his research
focuses on the effects of media. Glenn is the author of Media Effects Research: A
Basic Overview and a personal memoir, Rolling in Dough: Lessons I Learned in a
Doughnut Shop. He’s co-author of Refrigerator Rights: Our Crucial Need for Close
Connection. Glenn is an avid sports fan and also enjoys trying to increase his skill
playing the theremin. He is married to Cheri, a developmental therapist; they
have three adult children, David, Erin, and Jordan, and one grandchild, Caleb.
You can reach Glenn at sparks@purdue.edu.
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DEDICATION
We dedicate this book to our wives, Jeanie, Jessica , and Cheri,
who encouraged us to work together, celebrated with us when
the process went well, and comforted us when it didn’t. Just
as they lovingly supported us in this project, we commit to
being there for them in what they feel called to do.
Em, Andrew, Glenn
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CONTENTS
Preface for Instructors x
DIVISION ONE
OVERVIEW
CHAPTER 1
Launching Your Study
of Communication Theory 2
CHAPTER 2
Talk About Theory 13
CHAPTER 3
Weighing the Words 24
CHAPTER 4
Mapping the Territory (Seven Traditions in
the Field of Communication Theory) 37
DIVISION TWO
INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
Interpersonal Messages 52
CHAPTER 5
Symbolic Interactionism
of George Herbert Mead 54
CHAPTER 6
Coordinated Management of Meaning (CMM)
of W. Barnett Pearce & Vernon Cronen 66
CHAPTER 7
Expectancy Violations Theory
of Judee Burgoon 81
Relationship Development 94
CHAPTER 8
Social Penetration Theory
of Irwin Altman & Dalmas Taylor 96
CHAPTER 9
Uncertainty Reduction Theory
of Charles Berger 108
CHAPTER 10
Social Information Processing Theory
of Joseph Walther 121
Relationship Maintenance 134
CHAPTER 11
Relational Dialectics
of Leslie Baxter & Barbara Montgomery 136
CHAPTER 12
Communication Privacy Management Theory
of Sandra Petronio 151
CHAPTER 13
The Interactional View
of Paul Watzlawick 164
Infl uence 175
CHAPTER 14
Social Judgment Theory
of Muzafer Sherif 177
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viii CONTENTS
CHAPTER 15
Elaboration Likelihood Model
of Richard Petty & John Cacioppo 188
CHAPTER 16
Cognitive Dissonance Theory
of Leon Festinger 200
DIVISION THREE
GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
Group Communication 214
CHAPTER 17
Functional Perspective
on Group Decision Making
of Randy Hirokawa & Dennis Gouran 216
CHAPTER 18
Symbolic Convergence Theory
of Ernest Bormann 230
Organizational Communication 242
CHAPTER 19
Cultural Approach to Organizations
of Clifford Geertz & Michael Pacanowsky 244
CHAPTER 20
Communicative Constitution of Organizations
of Robert McPhee 255
CHAPTER 21
Critical Theory of Communication
in Organizations
of Stanley Deetz 267
Public Rhetoric 281
CHAPTER 22
The Rhetoric
of Aristotle 283
CHAPTER 23
Dramatism
of Kenneth Burke 293
CHAPTER 24
Narrative Paradigm
of Walter Fisher 303
DIVISION FOUR
MASS COMMUNICATION
Media and Culture 314
CHAPTER 25
Media Ecology
of Marshall McLuhan 316
CHAPTER 26
Semiotics
of Roland Barthes 327
CHAPTER 27
Cultural Studies
of Stuart Hall 339
Media Effects 351
CHAPTER 28
Uses and Gratifi cations
of Elihu Katz 353
CHAPTER 29
Cultivation Theory
of George Gerbner 363
CHAPTER 30
Agenda-Setting Theory
of Maxwell McCombs & Donald Shaw 375
DIVISION FIVE
CULTURAL CONTEXT
Intercultural Communication 389
CHAPTER 31
Communication Accommodation Theory
of Howard Giles 391
CHAPTER 32
Face-Negotiation Theory
of Stella Ting-Toomey 404
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CONTENTS ix
CHAPTER 33
Speech Codes Theory
of Gerry Philipsen 418
Gender and Communication 430
CHAPTER 34
Genderlect Styles
of Deborah Tannen 432
CHAPTER 35
Standpoint Theory
of Sandra Harding & Julia T. Wood 444
CHAPTER 36
Muted Group Theory
of Cheris Kramarae 457
DIVISION SIX
INTEGRATION
Integration 470
CHAPTER 37
Common Threads in Comm Theories 472
Appendix A: Abstracts of Theories A-1
Appendix B: Feature Films That Illustrate
Communication Theories A-6
Appendix C: NCA Credo for
Ethical Communication A-8
Endnotes E-1
Credits and Acknowledgments C-1
Index I-1
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PREFACE FOR INSTRUCTORS
If you’re already familiar with A First Look at Communication Theory and under-
stand the approach, organization, and main features of the book, you may want
to jump ahead to the “Major Changes in the Ninth Edition” section. For those who
are new to the text, reading the entire preface will give you a good grasp of what
you and your students can expect.
A Balanced Approach to Theory Selection. We’ve written A First Look for
students who have no background in communication theory. It’s designed for
undergraduates enrolled in an entry-level course, regardless of the students’ clas-
sifi cation. The trend in the fi eld is to offer students a broad introduction to theory
relatively early in their program. But if a department chooses to offer its fi rst
theory course on the junior or senior level, the course will still be the students’ fi rst
comprehensive look at theory, so the book will meet them where they are.
Our goal in this text is to pres ent 32 communication theories in a clear and
interesting way. After reading about a given theory, students should understand
the theory, know the research that supports it, see useful applications in their
lives, and be aware of the theory’s possible fl aws. We hope readers will discover
relationships among theories located across the communication landscape—a
clear indication that they grasp what they’re reading. But that kind of integra-
tive thinking only takes place when students fi rst comprehend what a theorist
claims.
With the help of more than 200 instructors, we’ve selected a range of theories
that refl ect the diversity within the discipline. Some theories are proven candi-
dates for a Communication Theory Hall of Fame. For example, Aristotle’s analysis
of logical, emotional, and ethical appeals continues to set the agenda for many
public-speaking courses. Mead’s symbolic interactionism is formative for inter-
pretive theorists who are dealing with language, thought, self-concept, or the ef-
fect of society upon the individual. Berger’s uncertainty reduction theory was the
fi rst objective theory to be crafted by a social scientist trained in the fi eld. And no
student of mediated communication should be ignorant of Gerbner’s cultivation
theory, which explains why heavy television viewing cultivates fear of a mean
and scary world.
It would be shortsighted, however, to limit the selection to the classics of
communication. Some of the discipline’s most creative approaches are its newest.
For example, Sandra Petronio’s theory of communication privacy management
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PREFACE FOR INSTRUCTORS xi
undergirds much of the research conducted in the fi eld of health communication.
Leslie Baxter and Barbara Montgomery’s theory of relational dialectics offers
insight into the ongoing tensions inherent in personal relationships. And Robert
McPhee’s communicative constitution of organizations describes how the prin-
ciple of social construction works in an organizational context.
Organizational Plan of the Book. Each chapter introduces a single theory in
10 to 15 pages. We’ve found that most undergraduates think in terms of discrete
packets of information, so the concentrated coverage gives them a chance to focus
their thoughts while reading a single chapter. This way, students can gain an
in-depth understanding of important theories rather than acquire only a vague
familiarity with a jumble of related ideas. The one-chapter–one-theory arrange-
ment also gives teachers the opportunity to drop theories or rearrange the order
of presentation without tearing apart the fabric of the text.
The fi rst four chapters provide a framework for understanding the theo-
ries to come. The opening chapter, “Launching Your Study of Communication
Theory,” presents working defi nitions of both theory and communication, and also
prepares students for the arrangement of the chapters and the features within
them. Chapter 2, “Talk About Theory,” lays the groundwork for understanding
the differences between objective and interpretive theories. Chapter 3, “Weigh-
ing the Words,” presents two sets of criteria for determining a good objective or
interpretive theory. Based on Robert Craig’s (University of Colorado) conception,
Chapter 4, “Mapping the Territory,” introduces seven traditions within the fi eld
of communication theory.
Following this integrative framework, we feature 32 theories in 32 self-
contained chapters. Each theory is discussed within the context of a commu-
nication topic: interpersonal messages, relationship development, relationship
maintenance, infl uence, group communication, organizational communication,
public rhetoric, media and culture, media effects, intercultural communication, or
gender and communication. These communication context sections usually con-
tain three theories. Each section’s two-page introduction outlines a crucial issue
that theorists working in this area address. The placement of theories in familiar
contexts helps students recognize that theories are answers to questions they’ve
been asking all along. The fi nal chapter, “Common Threads in Comm Theories,”
offers students a novel form of integration that will help them discern order in the
tapestry of communication theory that might otherwise seem chaotic.
Because all theory and practice has value implications, we briefl y explore a
dozen ethical principles throughout the book. Consistent with the focus of this
text, each principle is the central tenet of a specifi c ethical theory. Other disciplines
may ignore these thorny issues, but to discuss communication as a process that is
untouched by questions of good and bad, right and wrong, or questions of char-
acter would be to disregard an ongoing concern in our fi eld.
Features of Each Chapter. Most people think in pictures. Students will have a
rough time understanding a theory unless they apply its explanations and inter-
pretations to concrete situations. The typical chapter uses an extended example
to illustrate the “truth” a theory proposes. We encourage readers to try out ideas
by visualizing a fi rst meeting of freshman roommates, responding to confl ict
in a dysfunctional family, trying to persuade other students to support a zero-
tolerance policy on driving after drinking, and many others. We also use speeches
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xii PREFACE FOR INSTRUCTORS
of Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X, and scenes from Mad Men, The Offi ce,
The Help, Bend It Like Beckham, and Thank You for Smoking to illustrate principles
of the theories. The case study in each chapter follows the pedagogical principle
of explaining what students don’t yet know in terms of ideas and images already
within their experience.
Some theories are tightly linked with an extensive research project. For exam-
ple, the impact of cognitive dissonance theory was greatly spurred by Festinger’s
surprising fi nding in his now classic $1/$20 experiment. And Philipsen’s speech
codes theory began with a three-year ethnographic study of what it means to
speak like a man in “Teamsterville.” When such exemplars exist, we describe the
research in detail so that students can learn from and appreciate the benefi ts of
grounding theory in systematic observation. In this way, readers of A First Look are
led through a variety of research designs and data analyses.
Students will encounter the names of Baxter, Berger, Bormann, Burgoon,
Burke, Deetz, Fisher, Giles, Kramarae, Pacanowsky, Pearce, Philipsen, Ting-
Toomey, Walther, Wood, and many others in later communication courses. We
therefore make a concerted effort to link theory and theorist. By pairing a particu-
lar theory with its originator, we try to promote both recall and respect for a given
scholar’s effort.
The text of each chapter concludes with a section that critiques the theory.
This represents a hard look at the ideas presented in light of the criteria for a
good theory outlined in Chapter 3. Some theorists have suggested that we are
“friends” of their theory. We appreciate that because we want to present all of
the theories in a constructive way. But after we summarize a theory’s strengths,
we then discuss its weaknesses, unanswered questions, and possible errors that
remain. We try to stimulate a “That makes sense, and yet I wonder . . .” response
among students.
We include a short list of thought questions at the end of each chapter. Labeled
“Questions to Sharpen Your Focus,” these probes encourage students to make
connections among ideas in the chapter and also to apply the theory to their
everyday communication experience. As part of this feature, words printed in
italics remind students of the key terms of a given theory.
Each chapter ends with a short list of annotated readings entitled “A Second
Look.” The heading refers to resources for students who are interested in a theory
and want to go further than a 10- to 15-page introduction allows. The top item is
the resource we recommend as the starting point for further study. The other list-
ings identify places to look for material about each of the major issues raised in
the chapter. The format is designed to offer practical encouragement and guidance
for further study without overwhelming the novice with multiple citations. The
sources of quotations and citations of evidence are listed in an “Endnotes” section
at the end of the book.
We think professors and students alike will get a good chuckle out of the
cartoons we’ve selected for each chapter and section introduction. The art’s main
function, however, is to illustrate signifi cant points in the text. As in other edi-
tions, we’re committed to using quality cartoon art from The New Yorker and Punch
magazines, as well as comic strips such as “Calvin and Hobbes” and “Dilbert.”
Perceptive cartoonists are modern-day prophets—their humor serves the educa-
tion process well when it slips through mental barriers or attitudinal defenses that
didactic prose can’t penetrate.
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PREFACE FOR INSTRUCTORS xiii
While no author considers his or her style ponderous or dull, we believe
we’ve presented the theories in a clear and lively fashion. Accuracy alone does not
communicate. We’ve tried to remain faithful to the vocabulary each theorist uses
so that the student can consider the theory in the author’s own terms, but we also
translate technical language into more familiar words. Students and reviewers cite
readability and interest as particular strengths of the text. We encourage you to
sample a chapter so you can decide for yourself.
In 13 of the chapters, you’ll see photographs of the theorists who appear in
“Conversations with Communication Theorists,” eight-minute video clips of our
discussions together. The text that accompanies each picture previews intriguing
comments the theorists made so students can watch the interview with a specifi c
purpose in mind. You can fi nd these videos, as well as auto-graded quizzes,
theory abstracts, web links, and crossword puzzles on the book’s two websites,
www.mhhe.com/griffi n9e and the author-driven www.afi rstlook.com.
Both sites offer password-protected features for instructors. The most
selected resource is Emily Langan’s world-class Instructor’s Manual, which offers
additional commentary, discussion questions, and classroom activities for each
chapter. In addition, the McGraw-Hill Online Learning Center contains a test
bank, fl ashcards, and PowerPoint presentations. The First Look site offers anno-
tated movie clips that illustrate theories, a comparison chart showing theories
covered in major communication theory texts, and chapter-by-chapter changes
from the previous edition.
Major Changes in the Ninth Edition. Andrew Ledbetter and Glenn Sparks
have become co-authors with Em. They were special consultants for the previous
edition, but we now join together as equal partners. Both men are highly recog-
nized scholars in their fi eld—Andrew in computer-mediated communication and
family communication; Glenn in media effects and interpersonal communication.
Glenn was a student in Em’s fi rst persuasion course at Wheaton; Andrew aced
the last communication theory class Em taught before he retired from full-time
teaching. Despite differences in our ages of up to 45 years, the three of us are
close friends and colleagues who have published together before. Each of us vets
and edits what the other two write and offers advice on what to cover. We believe
this interactive process ensures that students will read up-to-date information
presented in the same “voice” that has characterized the book throughout eight
editions.
Responding to instructors’ desire to have at least one more organizational
theory, we’ve added a chapter on Robert McPhee’s theory, the communicative
constitution of organizations. McPhee’s conception of four fl ows of communication
that create and sustain an organization is just one of several versions of CCO, but
we think it’s the account easiest to understand and most useful for students. In
order to make room for McPhee’s theory, we’ve moved our coverage of Delia’s
constructivism to the theory archive at www.afi rstlook.com.
We’ve made a concerted effort to update examples that no longer have the
explanatory power or appeal they did when introduced in previous editions.
References to old fi lms are a case in point. As apt as these movies are to illustrate
symbolic interactionism or critical theory of communication in organizations, the major-
ity of college students aren’t familiar with Nell or Erin Brockovich. We’ve replaced
many of these examples with cultural material more relevant to students.
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xiv PREFACE FOR INSTRUCTORS
Half the chapters in the book have undergone major additions, deletions, or
alterations. Here’s a sample:
• In the “Talk About Theory” chapter, Glenn’s and Marty’s analyses of the
most popular commercial of the 2013 Super Bowl telecast highlight the dif-
ferences between objective and interpretive scholarship.
• In the “Weighing the Words” chapter, a discussion of communication appre-
hension now illustrates the explanation-of-data standard for objective
theories.
• The chapter on the coordinated management of meaning has been completely
rewritten. It’s shorter, less complex, and faithful to the new direction the
theory has taken. The CMM Institute will use it on its website to introduce
the theory.
• In the “Uncertainty Reduction Theory” chapter, the section on anxiety/uncer-
tainty management theory has been replaced with an in-depth section on the
relational turbulence model, which is on the cutting-edge of research in the URT
tradition.
• The revised chapter on social information processing theory begins by ref-
erencing the hit 2010 movie The Social Network and then uses an ongoing
example of a Facebook friendship to illustrate key components of the theory.
Walther’s hyperpersonal perspective is applied to online dating.
• The “Three State-of-the-Art Revisions” section of the “Cognitive Dissonance”
chapter has been largely rewritten. The edits more clearly differentiate among
the three revisions and use the example of President Obama’s struggle with
smoking to illustrate those differences.
• In Deetz’ “Critical Theory of Communication” chapter, there’s an extensive
elaboration of his Politically Attentive Relational Constructivism (PARC).
This is followed by an account of how Deetz applies the theory to his work
with the International Atomic Energy Agency to prevent nuclear plant melt-
downs.
• We’ve made a major reorganization of the chapter on Burke’s dramatism.
The order of the fi rst four sections is now (1) an expanded presentation of
the dramatistic pentad, (2) a new section on language as the genesis of guilt,
(3) the guilt–redemption cycle, and (4) identifi cation as the necessary condi-
tion for persuasion to occur.
• In the chapter on cultural studies, we rewrote the section on broadcast and
print news supporting dominant ideology, using Obamacare as a case study.
We then discussed satire as a possible form of resistance to the dominant
ideology, using The Daily Show and The Colbert Report as examples.
• In the “Genderlect Styles” chapter, we replaced the When Harry Met Sally
example with new material on rules of conversation that boys and girls learn
early in life, and discuss how childhood speech communities may be the
origin of genderlect.
• The revised chapter on muted group theory introduces Orbe’s co-cultural
theory, which charts how muted groups desire assimilation, separation, or
accommodation.
Bottom-line numbers on important features of the text are an index of addi-
tional changes we’ve made in this edition. We’ve created two new “Conversations
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PREFACE FOR INSTRUCTORS xv
with Communication Theorists” videos—Glenn interviewing Sandra Petronio
about her communication privacy management theory and Andrew discussing com-
munication accommodation theory with Howie Giles. We’ve selected six new appli-
cation logs that show how students use theories in their lives, and captured seven
new cartoons that cleverly highlight a crucial claim of a particular theory. You’ll
also fi nd 50 new annotated citations in the “Second Look” feature at the end of
the chapters.
McGraw-Hill Education offers a robust custom publishing program, Create,
that you may want to consider. Create enables you to build a book with only the
chapters you need, and arrange them in the order you’ll teach them. There’s also
the option of adding materials you prepare or using chapters from other McGraw-
Hill books or resources from their library. When you build a Create book, you will
receive a complimentary print review copy in just a few days or a complimentary
eBook via email in about one hour.
Acknowledgments. We gratefully acknowledge the wisdom and counsel of
many generous scholars whose intellectual capital is embedded in every page
you’ll read. Over the last 27 years, hundreds of communication scholars have
gone out of their way to make the book better. People who have made direct
contributions to this edition include Ron Adler, Santa Barbara City College; Ed
Appel, Lock Haven University; Ryan Bisel, University of Oklahoma; Dan Brown,
Grove City College; Kristen Carr, Texas Christian University; Ken Chase, Wheaton
College; Stan Deetz, University of Colorado; Chip Eveland, Ohio State University;
Darin Garard, Santa Barbara City College; Howard Giles, University of California,
Santa Barbara; Cheris Kramarae, University of Oregon; Glen McClish, San
Diego State University; Max McCombs, University of Texas; Marty Medhurst,
Baylor University; Rebecca Meisenbach, University of Missouri; Melanie Mills,
Eastern Illinois University; James Olufowote, Boston College; Mark Orbe, Western
Michigan University; Doug Osman, Purdue University; Kim Pearce, CMM Institute
for Personal and Social Evolution; Sandra Petronio, University of Indiana–Purdue
University Indianapolis; Gerry Philipsen, University of Washington; Russ Proctor,
Northern Kentucky University; Linda Putnam, University of California, Santa
Barbara; Derrick Rosenoir, Vanguard University; Alan Rubin, Hebrew University
of Jerusalem; Christa Sloan, Pepperdine University; Jordan Soliz, University of
Nebraska; Stella Ting-Toomey, California State University, Fullerton; Mina Tsay,
Boston University; Paul Witt, Texas Christian University; Robert Woods Jr., Spring
Arbor University. Without their help, this edition would be less accurate and
certainly less interesting.
Em has great appreciation for two Wheaton undergraduate research assis-
tants. David Washko juggled his responsibilities while playing two seasons of
varsity football at Wheaton. Laurel Porter constructed the comprehensive index
that contains thousands of entries—a task no one should do more than once in life.
Glenn is grateful for Lewis Day and Beth Stanley, two Purdue student production
assistants who made recording his conversation with Sandra Petronio possible.
Our relationships with the professionals at McGraw-Hill have been highly sat-
isfactory. Susan Gouijnstook was our initial Development Editor, but a maternity
leave and well-deserved promotion to Director of Communication brought Adina
Lonn to the Development Editor role. Both women were incredibly responsive to
our needs, and their care for the entire project matched ours. They were backed
up by Lisa Pinto, Executive Director of Development; David Patterson, Managing
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xvi PREFACE FOR INSTRUCTORS
Director; Penina Braffman, Managing Editor; Jessica Portz, Project Manager; and
Jamie Daron, Brand Coordinator. Other authors are envious when they hear of our
experience working with these professionals.
We’ve been fortunate to work closely with four outside contractors: Jenn
Meyer, a commercial computer artist, created and revised fi gures on 24-hour
notice; Judy Brody achieved the impossible by making the extensive permissions
process enjoyable; Robyn Tellefsen, freelance writer and editor, was my student
research assistant for the fourth edition of the book and proofreader for editions
six through eight. When others saw her abilities and thoroughness, they recom-
mended she be the copy editor for this edition. She also edited a book Glenn
wrote. Robyn is quite familiar with communication theory and is someone whose
edits we trust implicitly. Thus, the book your students read is better than the one
we wrote. Rebecca Lazure is a project manager at SPi Global who took our com-
ments on Robyn’s edits and guided the manuscript and images through the pro-
duction process and ultimately turned over the fi nal digital package to the printer.
She did it well and with grace.
We offer a special word of appreciation to Emily Langan, Em’s former student
who now teaches the courses he taught at Wheaton. This edition is Emily’s fourth
as writer of the ever-evolving Instructor’s Manual that is famous among commu-
nication theory instructors. Em recalls the time when he fi rst introduced Emily at
a National Communication Association short course on teaching communication
theory. The participants stood and applauded. Now, at the NCA short courses, she
introduces Em. The three of us are grateful for her wisdom, dedication, creativity,
and friendship.
Em Griffi n
Andrew Ledbetter
Glenn Sparks
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1
DIVISION ONE
Overview
CHAPTER 1. Launching Your Study of Communication Theory
CHAPTER 2. Talk About Theory
CHAPTER 3. Weighing the Words
CHAPTER 4. Mapping the Territory (Seven Traditions in the Field of Communication Theory)
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2
1 C H A P T E R
Launching Your Study
of Communication Theory
This is a book about theories—communication theories. After that statement you
may already be stifl ing a yawn. Many college students, after all, regard theory
as obscure, dull, and irrelevant. People outside the classroom are even less
charitable. An aircraft mechanic once chided a professor: “You academic types
are all alike. Your heads are crammed so full of theory, you wouldn’t know which
end of a socket wrench to grab. Any plane you touched would crash and burn.
All Ph.D. stands for is ‘piled higher and deeper.’”
The mechanic could be right. Yet it’s ironic that even in the process of
knocking theory, he resorts to his own theory of cognitive overload to explain
what he sees as the mechanical stupidity of scholars. I appreciate his desire to
make sense of his world. Here’s a man who spends a hunk of his life making
sure that planes stay safely in the air until pilots are ready to land. When we
really care about something, we should seek to answer the why and what if
questions that always emerge. That was the message I heard from University of
Arizona communication theorist Judee Burgoon when I talked with her in my
series of interviews, Conversations with Communication Theorists. 1 If we care about
the fascinating subject of communication, she suggested, we’ve got to “do  theory.”
WHAT IS A THEORY AND WHAT DOES IT DO?
In earlier editions I’ve used theory as “an umbrella term for all careful,
systematic, and self-conscious discussion and analysis of communication
phenomena,” a defi nition offered by the late University of Minnesota commu-
nication professor Ernest Bormann. 2 I like this defi nition because it’s general
enough to cover the diverse theories presented in this book. Yet the description
is so broad that it doesn’t give us any direction on how we might construct a
theory, nor does it offer a way to fi gure out when thoughts or statements about
communication haven’t attained that status. If I call any idea a “theory,” does
saying it’s so make it so?
In my discussion with Judee Burgoon, she suggested that a theory is nothing
more than a “set of systematic hunches about the way things operate.” 3 Since
Burgoon is the most frequently cited female scholar in the fi eld of communication,
2
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CHAPTER 1: LAUNCHING YOUR STUDY OF COMMUNICATION THEORY 3
I was intrigued by her unexpected use of the nontechnical term hunch . Would it
therefore be legitimate to entitle the book you’re reading Communication Hunches ?
She assured me that it would, quickly adding that they should be “informed
hunches.” So for Burgoon, a theory consists of a set of systematic, informed hunches
about the way things work. In the rest of this section, I’ll examine the three key
features of Burgoon’s notion of a theory. First, I’ll focus on the idea that theory
consists of a set of hunches. But a set of hunches is only a starting point. Second,
I’ll discuss what it means to say that those hunches have to be informed. Last, I’ll
© 1986 by Matt Groening Productions, Inc. All Rights Reserved. Reprinted from The Big Book of Hell
© 1990 by Pantheon Books, a division of Random House, Inc.
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4 OVERVIEW
highlight the notion that the hunches have to be systematic. Let’s look briefl y at
the meaning of each of these core concepts of theory.
A Set of Hunches
If a theory is a set of hunches, it means we aren’t yet sure we have the answer.
When there’s no puzzle to be solved or the explanation is obvious, there’s no
need to develop a theory. Theories always involve an element of speculation, or
conjecture. Being a theorist is risky business because theories go beyond accepted
wisdom. Once you become a theorist, you probably hope that all thinking people
will eventually embrace the trial balloon you’ve launched. When you fi rst fl oat
your theory, however, it’s defi nitely in the hunch category.
By referring to a plural “set of hunches” rather than a single “hunch,” Bur-
goon makes it clear that a theory is not just one inspired thought or an isolated
idea. The young theorist in the cartoon may be quite sure that dogs and bees
can smell fear, but that isolated conviction isn’t a theory. A developed theory
offers some sort of explanation. For example, how are bees and dogs able to sniff
out fright? Perhaps the scent of sweaty palms that comes from high anxiety is
qualitatively different than the odor of people perspiring from hard work.
A theory will also give some indication of scope. Do only dogs and bees possess
this keen sense of smell, or do butterfl ies and kittens have it as well? Theory
construction involves multiple hunches.
Informed Hunches
Bormann’s description of creating communication theory calls for a careful, self-
conscious analysis of communication phenomena, but Burgoon’s defi nition asks
for more. It’s not enough to think carefully about an idea; a theorist’s hunches
should be informed . Working on a hunch that a penny thrown from the Empire
State Building will become deeply embedded in the sidewalk, the young theorist
has a responsibility to check it out. Before developing a theory, there are articles
to read, people to talk to, actions to observe, or experiments to run, all of which
can cast light on the subject. At the very least, communication theorists should
be familiar with alternative explanations and interpretations of the type of com-
munication they are studying. (Young Theorist, have you heard the story of
Galileo dropping balls from the Leaning Tower of Pisa?)
Pepperdine University communication professor Fred Casmir’s description
of theory parallels Burgoon’s call for multiple informed hunches:
Theories are sometimes defi ned as guesses—but signifi cantly as “educated”
guesses. Theories are not merely based on vague impressions nor are they
accidental by-products of life. Theories tend to result when their creators have
prepared themselves to discover something in their environment, which triggers
the process of theory construction. 4
Hunches That Are Systematic
Most scholars reserve the term theory for an integrated system of concepts.
A theory not only lays out multiple ideas, but also specifi es the relationships
Theory
A set of systematic, in-
formed hunches about
the way things work.
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CHAPTER 1: LAUNCHING YOUR STUDY OF COMMUNICATION THEORY 5
among them. In common parlance, it connects the dots. The links among the
informed hunches are clearly drawn so that a pattern emerges.
None of the young theories in the cartoon rise to this standard. Since most of
the nine are presented as one-shot claims, they aren’t part of a conceptual frame-
work. One possible exception is the dual speculation that “adults are really Martians,
and they’re up to no good.” But the connecting word and doesn’t really show the
relationship between grown-ups’ unsavory activity and their hypothesized other-
world origin. To do that, the young theorist could speculate about the basic character
of Martians, how they got here, why their behavior is suspicious, and whether
today’s youth will turn into aliens when they become parents. A theory would then
tie all of these ideas together into a unifi ed whole. As you read about any theory
covered in this book, you have a right to expect a set of systematic , informed hunches.
Images of Theory
In response to the question What is a theory? I’ve presented a verbal defi nition.
Many of us are visual learners as well and would appreciate a concrete image
that helps us understand what a theory is and does. So I’ll present three metaphors
that I fi nd helpful, but will also note how an over-reliance on these representations
of theory might lead us astray.
Theories as Nets: Philosopher of science Karl Popper said that “theories are
nets cast to catch what we call ‘the world’.  .  .  .  We endeavor to make the mesh
ever fi ner and fi ner.” 5 I appreciate this metaphor because it highlights the ongoing
labor of the theorist as a type of deep-sea angler. For serious scholars, theories
are the tools of the trade. The term the world can be interpreted as everything
that goes on under the sun—thus requiring a grand theory that applies to all
communication, all the time. Conversely, catching the world could be construed
as calling for numerous special theories—different kinds of small nets to capture
distinct types of communication in local situations. Either way, the quest for
fi ner-meshed nets is somewhat disturbing because the study of communication
is about people rather than schools of fi sh. The idea that theories could be woven
so tightly that they’d snag everything humans think, say, or do strikes me as
naive. The possibility also raises questions about our freedom to choose some
actions and reject others.
Theories as Lenses: Many scholars see their theoretical constructions as similar to
the lens of a camera or a pair of glasses, as opposed to a mirror that accurately
refl ects the world out there. The lens imagery highlights the idea that theories shape
our perception by focusing attention on some features of communication while
ignoring other features, or at least pushing them into the background. Two theorists
could analyze the same communication event—an argument, perhaps—and, depend-
ing on the lens each uses, one theorist may view the speech act as a breakdown of
communication or the breakup of a relationship, while the other theorist will see it
as democracy in action. For me, the danger of the lens metaphor is that we might
regard what is seen through the glass as so dependent on the theoretical stance of
the viewer that we abandon any attempt to discern what is real or true.
Theories as Maps: I use this image when I describe the First Look text to others.
Within this analogy, communication theories are maps of the way communica-
tion works. The truth they depict may have to do with objective behaviors “out
there” or subjective meanings inside our heads. Either way, we need to have
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6 OVERVIEW
WHAT IS COMMUNICATION?
To ask this question is to invite controversy and raise expectations that can’t be
met. Frank Dance, the University of Denver scholar credited for publishing the
fi rst comprehensive book on communication theory, cataloged more than 120 defi –
nitions of communication —and that was more than 40 years ago. 7 Communication
scholars have suggested many more since then, yet no single defi nition has risen
to the top and become the standard within the fi eld of communication. When it
comes to defi ning what it is we study, there’s little discipline in the discipline.
At the conclusion of his study, Dance suggested that we’re “trying to make
the concept of communication do too much work for us.” 8 Other communication
theorists agree, noting that when the term is used to describe almost every kind
of human interaction, it’s seriously overburdened. Michigan Tech University
communication professor Jennifer Slack brings a splash of reality to attempts to
draw defi nitive lines around what it is that our theories and research cover. She
declares that “there is no single, absolute essence of communication that
adequately explains the phenomena we study. Such a defi nition does not exist;
neither is it merely awaiting the next brightest communication scholar to nail it
down once and for all.” 9
Despite the pitfalls of trying to defi ne communication in an all-inclusive way,
it seems to me that students who are willing to spend a big chunk of their college
education studying communication deserve a description of what it is they’re
looking at. Rather than giving the fi nal word on what human activities can be
legitimately referred to as communication , this designation would highlight the
essential features of communication that shouldn’t be missed. So for starters, I
offer this working defi nition:
Communication is the relational process of creating and interpreting messages that elicit a
response.
To the extent that there is redeeming value in this statement, it lies in drawing
your attention to fi ve features of communication that you’ll run across repeatedly
as you read about the theories in the fi eld. I’ll fl esh out these concepts in the rest
of this section.
1. Messages
Messages are at the core of communication study. University of Colorado
communication professor Robert Craig says that communication involves
“talking and listening, writing and reading, performing and witnessing, or,
more generally, doing anything that involves ‘messages’ in any medium or
situation.” 10
Communication
The relational process of
creating and interpreting
messages that elicit a re-
sponse.
theory to guide us through unfamiliar territory. In that sense, this book of theories
is like a scenic atlas that pulls together 32 must-see locations. It’s the kind of
travel guide that presents a close-up view of each site. I would caution, however,
that the map is not the territory. 6 A static theory, like a still photograph, can never
fully portray the richness of interaction between people that is constantly
changing, always more varied, and inevitably more complicated than what any
theory can chart. As a person intrigued with communication, aren’t you glad it’s
this way?
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CHAPTER 1: LAUNCHING YOUR STUDY OF COMMUNICATION THEORY 7
When academic areas such as psychology, sociology, anthropology, political
science, literature, and philosophy deal with human symbolic activity, they inter-
sect with the study of communication. The visual image of this intersection of
interests has prompted some to refer to communication as a crossroads discipline .
The difference is that communication scholars are parked at the junction focusing
on messages, whereas other disciplines are just passing through on their way to
other destinations. All of the theories covered in this book deal specifi cally with
messages.
Communication theorists use the word text as a synonym for a message that
can be studied, regardless of the medium. This book is a text. So is a verbatim
transcript of a conversation with your instructor, a recorded presidential news
conference, a silent YouTube video, or a Justin Timberlake song on your iPod.
To illustrate the following four parts of the defi nition, suppose you received this
cryptic text message from a close, same-sex friend: “Pat and I spent the night
together.” You immediately know that the name Pat refers to the person with
whom you have an ongoing romantic relationship. An analysis of this text and
the context surrounding its transmission provides a useful case study for
examining the essential features of communication.
2. Creation of Messages
This phrase in the working defi nition of communication indicates that the
content and form of a text are usually constructed, invented, planned, crafted,
constituted, selected , or adopted by the communicator. Each of these terms is used
in one or more of the theories I describe, and they all imply that the
communicator is making a conscious choice of message form and substance.
For whatever reason, your friend sent a text message rather than meeting face-
to-face, calling you on the phone, sending an email, or writing a note. Your
friend also chose the seven words that were transmitted to your cell phone.
There is a long history of textual analysis in the fi eld of communication, wherein
the rhetorical critic looks for clues in the message to discern the motivation
and strategy of the person who created the message.
There are, of course, many times when we speak, write, or gesture in
seemingly mindless ways—activities that are like driving on cruise control.
These are preprogrammed responses that were selected earlier and stored for
later use. In like manner, our repertoire of stock phrases such as thank you, no
problem, whatever , or a string of swear words were chosen sometime in the past
to express our feelings, and over time have become habitual responses. Only
when we become more mindful of the nature and impact of our messages will
we have the ability to alter them. That’s why consciousness-raising is a goal of
fi ve or six of the theories I’ll present—each one seeks to increase our commu-
nication choices.
3. Interpretation of Messages
Messages do not interpret themselves. The meaning that a message holds for the
creators and receivers doesn’t reside in the words that are spoken, written, or
acted out. A truism among communication scholars is that words don’t mean
things, people mean things . Symbolic interactionist Herbert Blumer stated its
Text
A record of a message
that can be analyzed by
others; for example, a
book, film, photograph,
or any transcript or re-
cording of a speech or
broadcast.
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8 OVERVIEW
implication: “Humans act toward people or things on the basis of the meanings
they assign to those people or things.” 11
What is the meaning of your friend’s text message? Does “spent the night
together” mean talking until all hours? Pulling an all-night study session? Sleeping
on the sofa ? Making love? If it’s the latter, was Pat a willing or unwilling partner
(perhaps drunk or the victim of acquaintance rape)? How would your friend
characterize their sexual liaison? Recreational sex? A chance hookup? Friends with
benefi ts? Developing a close relationship? Falling in love? The start of a long-term
commitment? Perhaps of more importance to you, how does Pat view it? What
emotional meaning is behind the message for each of them? Satisfaction? Disap-
pointment? Surprise? The morning-after-the-night-before blahs? Gratefulness? Guilt?
Ecstasy? And fi nally, what does receiving this message through a digital channel
mean for you, your friendship, and your relationship with Pat? None of these
answers are in the message. Words and other symbols are polysemic—they’re
open to multiple interpretations.
4. A Relational Process
The Greek philosopher Heraclitus observed that “one cannot step into the same
river twice.” 12 These words illustrate the widespread acceptance among com-
munication scholars that communication is a process . Much like a river, the fl ow
of communication is always in fl ux, never completely the same, and can only be
described with reference to what went before and what is yet to come. This
means that the text message “Pat and I spent the night together” is not the whole
story. You’ll probably contact both your friend and Pat to ask the clarifying
questions raised earlier. As they are answered or avoided, you’ll interpret the
message in a different way. That’s because communication is a process, not a
freeze-frame snapshot.
In the opening lines of her essay “Communication as Relationality,”
University of Georgia rhetorical theorist Celeste Condit suggests that the
communication process is more about relationships than it is about content.
Communication is a process of relating. This means it is not primarily or essen-
tially a process of transferring information or of disseminating or circulating
signs (though these things can be identifi ed as happening within the process
of relating). 13
Communication is a relational process not only because it takes place between
two or more persons, but also because it affects the nature of the connections
among those people. It’s obvious that the text message you received will infl u-
ence the triangle of relationships among you, Pat, and your (former?) friend. But
this is true in other forms of mediated communication as well. Television view-
ers and moviegoers have emotional responses to people they see on-screen. And
as businesses are discovering, even the impersonal recorded announcement that
“this call may be monitored for quality assurance purposes” has an impact on
how we regard their corporate persona.
5. Messages That Elicit a Response
This fi nal component of communication deals with the effect of the message
upon people who receive it. At the end of his groundbreaking book on
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CHAPTER 1: LAUNCHING YOUR STUDY OF COMMUNICATION THEORY 9
communication theory, Dance concludes, “ ‘Communication,’ in its broadest
interpretation, may be defi ned as the eliciting of a response.” 14 If a message fails
to stimulate any cognitive, emotional, or behavioral reaction, it seems pointless
to refer to it as communication. We often refer to such situations as a message
“falling on deaf ears” or the other person “turning a blind eye.”
Picture a mother driving her 10-year-old son home from school. He’s strapped
in the seat behind her playing Angry Birds on his smartphone, equipped with
earbuds. His mother asks if he has any homework. Is that communication? Not
if he doesn’t hear the question or see her lips moving. What if he isn’t wired for
sound and hears her voice? It depends. If he’s glued to the screen and totally
engrossed in wiping out pigs before they eat eggs, he may literally tune her
out—still no communication.
Suppose, however, the boy hears her words and feels bad that he has home-
work, sad that his mom’s so nosy, mad that she broke his game-playing concen-
tration, or glad that he fi nished the assignment in study hall. Although these are
internal feelings that his mother may miss, each response would have been trig-
gered by Mom’s question and would therefore qualify as communication. And
of course any vocal response, even a noncommittal grunt, indicates that some
form of communication has occurred.
In like manner, surely you would respond to your friend’s cryptic message
about the night spent with Pat—one way or another. In fact, the text seems
to have been crafted and sent to provoke a response. How closely your
thoughts, feelings, words, or actions would match what your friend expected
or intended is another matter. Successful or not, the whole situation
surrounding the text and context of the message fi ts the working defi nition
of communication that we hope will help you frame your study of commu-
nication theory. Communication is the relational process of creating and interpreting
messages that elicit a response.
AN ARRANGEMENT OF IDEAS TO AID COMPREHENSION
Now that you have a basic understanding of what a communication theory is,
knowing how we’ve structured the book and arranged the theories can help
you grasp their content. That’s because we’ve organized the text to place a
given theory in a conceptual framework and situational context before we
present it. After this chapter, there are three more integrative chapters in the
“Overview” division. For Chapter 2 , I’ve asked co-author Glenn Sparks and
another leading communication scholar to analyze a highly acclaimed TV ad
in order to illustrate how half the theories in the book are based on objective
assumptions, while the other half are constructed using an interpretive set of
principles. Chapter 3 presents criteria for judging both kinds of theory so you
can make an informed evaluation of a theory’s worth rather than relying solely
on your gut reaction. Finally, Chapter 4 describes seven traditions of commu-
nication theory and research. When you know the family tree of a theory, you
can explain why it has a strong affi nity with some theories but doesn’t speak
the same language as others.
Following this overview, there are 32 chapters that run 10–15 pages apiece, each
concentrating on a single theory. we think you’ll fi nd that the one-chapter, one-theory
format is user-friendly because it gives you a chance to focus on a single theory at a
time. This way, they won’t all blur together in your mind. These chapters are arranged
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10 OVERVIEW
into four major divisions according to the primary communication context that they
address. The theories in Division Two, “Interpersonal Communication,” consider one-
on-one interaction. Division Three, “Group and Public Communication,” deals with
face-to-face involvement in collective settings. Division Four, “Mass Communica-
tion,” pulls together theories that explore electronic and print media. Division Five,
“Cultural Context,” explores systems of shared meaning that are so all-encompassing
that we often fail to realize their impact upon us.
These four divisions are based on the fact that theories are tentative answers
to questions that occur to people as they mull over practical problems in specifi c
situations. It therefore makes sense to group them according to the different
communication settings that usually prompt those questions. This organizational
plan is like having four separately indexed fi le cabinets. Although there is no
natural progression from one division to another, the plan provides a convenient
way to classify and retrieve the 32 theories.
Finally, Division Six, “Integration,” seeks to distill core ideas that are common
to a number of theories. Ideas have power, and each theory is driven by one or
more ideas that may be shared by other theories from different communication
contexts. For example, in each of the four context divisions, there’s at least one
theory committed to the force of narrative. They each declare that people respond
to stories and dramatic imagery with which they can identify. Reading about key
concepts that cut across multiple theories wouldn’t mean much to you now, but
after you become familiar with a number of communication theories, it can be
an eye-opening experience that also helps you review what you’ve learned.
CHAPTER FEATURES TO ENLIVEN THEORY
In many of the chapters ahead, we use an extended example from life on a
college campus, a well-known communication event, or the conversations of
characters in movies, books, or TV shows. The main purpose of these illustra-
tions is to provide a mind’s-eye picture of how the theory works. The imagery
will also make the basic thrust of the theory easier to recall. But if you can think
of a situation in your own life where the theory is relevant, that personal
application will make it doubly interesting and memorable for you.
You might also want to see how others put the theories into practice. With
our students’ permission, we’ve weaved in their accounts of application for
almost all the theories featured in the text. We’re intrigued by the rich connections
these students make—ones we wouldn’t have thought of on our own. Some
students draw on scenes from short stories, novels, or movies. To see an annotated
list of feature fi lm scenes that illustrate the theories, go to the book’s website,
www.afi rstlook.com, and under Theory Resources, click on Suggested Movie
Clips. As co-authors of this book, we’ll draw upon our life experiences as well.
We’ve been professional colleagues for years and are close friends, so we’d like
that warmth to extend to readers by writing in a direct, personal voice. That
means using I, my, and me when referring to individual thoughts or stories from
our lives. We think that’s much better than stating them in the passive voice or
referring to ourselves in an arms-length, third-person way. We don’t use per-
sonal references in every chapter, but when we do, we want you to know whose
voice you’re “hearing.”
The three of us contributed to every chapter and jointly edited the fi nal
version. But in each case one of us took the lead and wrote most of the words.
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CHAPTER 1: LAUNCHING YOUR STUDY OF COMMUNICATION THEORY 11
For the fi rst four introductory chapters and more than half of the theory chapters,
that was me. So unless you see a reference in a chapter that Andrew or Glenn
is sharing his own ideas, feelings, or experiences, you can assume that the “I”
refers to Em—just as it does in this chapter.
We also make a consistent effort to link each theory with its author. It takes
both wisdom and courage to successfully plant a theoretical fl ag. In a process
similar to the childhood game king-of-the-hill, as soon as a theorist constructs
a theory of communication, critics try to pull it down. That’s OK, because the
value of a theory is discerned by survival in the rough-and-tumble world of
competitive ideas. For this reason we always include a section in theory chapters
labeled “Critique.” Theorists who prevail deserve to have their names associ-
ated with their creations.
There is a second reason for tying a theory to its author. Many of you will
do further study in communication, and a mastery of names like Deetz, Giles,
Walther, Baxter, Berger, and Burke will allow you to enter into the dialogue
without being at a disadvantage. Ignoring the names of theorists could prove to
be false economy in the long run.
Don’t overlook the three features at the end of each chapter. The queries
under the title “Questions to Sharpen Your Focus” will help you mull over key
points of the theory. They can be answered by pulling together information from
this text and from the text of your life. The italicized words in each question
highlight terms you need to know in order to understand the theory. Whenever
you see a picture of the theorist, it’s captured from one of our Conversations with
Communication Theorists and shown alongside a brief description of what we
talked about. You can view these 6- to 8-minute interviews at www.afi rstlook
.com . And the feature entitled “ A Second Look ” offers an annotated bibliography
of resources should you desire to know more about the theory. You’ll fi nd it a
good place to start if you are writing a research paper on the theory or are
intrigued with a particular aspect of it.
You’ve already seen the last feature we’ll mention. In every chapter and
section introduction we include a cartoon for your learning and enjoyment.
Cartoonists are often modern-day prophets. Their incisive wit can illustrate a
feature of the theory in a way that’s more instructive and memorable than a few
extra paragraphs would be. In addition to enjoying their humor, you can use the
cartoons as minitests of comprehension. Unlike my comments on “Young Theo-
ries” earlier in this chapter, we usually don’t refer to the art or the caption that
goes with it. So if you can’t fi gure out why a particular cartoon appears where
it does, make a renewed effort to grasp the theorist’s ideas.
Some students are afraid to try. Like travelers whose eyes glaze over at the
sight of a road map, they have a phobia about theories that seek to explain
human intentions and behavior. We sympathize with their qualms and misgivings,
but fi nd that the theories in this book haven’t dehydrated life or made it more
confusing. On the contrary, they add clarity and provide a sense of competence
as we communicate with others. We hope they do that for you as well.
Every so often a student will ask me, “Do you really think about communi-
cation theory when you’re talking to someone?” My answer is “Yes, but not all
the time.” Like everyone else, I often speak on autopilot—words, phrases,
sentences, descriptions rolling off my tongue without conscious thought. Old
habits die hard. But when I’m in a new setting or the conversational stakes are
high, I start to think strategically. And that’s when the applied wisdom of theories
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12 OVERVIEW
A SECOND LOOK Recommended resource: Gregory Shepherd, Jeffrey St. John, and Ted Striphas (eds.),
Communication as  .  .  .  Perspectives on Theory , Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 2006.
Diverse defi nitions of communication: Frank E. X. Dance, “The Concept of Communica-
tion,” Journal of Communication, Vol. 20, 1970, pp. 201–210.
Communication as human symbolic interaction: Gary Cronkhite, “On the Focus, Scope and
Coherence of the Study of Human Communication,” Quarterly Journal of Speech, Vol. 72,
No. 3, 1986, pp. 231–246.
Theories of communication as practical: J. Kevin Barge, “Practical Theory as Mapping,
Engaged Refl ection, and Transformative Practice,” Communication Theory, Vol. 11, 2001,
pp. 5–13.
Multidimensional view of theory: James A. Anderson and Geoffrey Baym, “Philosophies
and Philosophic Issues in Communication, 1995–2004,” Journal of Communication, Vol. 54,
2004, pp. 589–615.
To access 50 word summaries of theories
featured in the book, see Appendix A or click on
Theory Overview under Theory Resources at
www.afi rstlook.com .
1. Suppose you share the aircraft mechanic’s suspicion that scholars who create
theories would be all thumbs working on a plane’s ailerons or engine. What
would it take to transform your hunch into a theory ?
2. Which metaphor of theory do you fi nd most helpful—theory as a net , a lens ,
or a map ? Can you think of another image that you could use to explain to
a friend what this course is about?
3. Suppose you want to study the effects of yawns during intimate conversa-
tions. Would your research fall under communication as defi ned as the rela-
tional process of creating and interpreting messages to elicit a response ? If not, how
would you change the defi nition to make it include your interest?
4. You come to this course with a vast array of communication experiences in
interpersonal, group and public, mass media, and intercultural contexts . What are
the communication questions you want to answer, puzzles you want to solve,
problems you want to fi x?
QUESTIONS TO SHARPEN YOUR FOCUS
that fi t the situation comes to mind. By midterm, many of our students discover
they’re thinking that way as well. That’s our wish for you as you launch your
study of communication theory.
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13
Talk About Theory
I met Glenn Sparks and Marty Medhurst my fi rst year teaching at Wheaton
College. Glenn and Marty were friends who signed up for my undergraduate
persuasion course. As students, both men were interested in broadcast media.
After graduating from Wheaton, each went on for a master’s degree at Northern
Illinois University. Each earned a doctorate at a different university, and both are
now nationally recognized communication scholars. Marty is on the faculty at
Baylor University; Glenn is at Purdue University and is a co-author of this book.
Despite their similar backgrounds and interests, Glenn and Marty are quite
different in their approaches to communication. Glenn calls himself a behavioral
scientist , while Marty refers to himself as a rhetorician . Glenn’s training was in
empirical research; Marty was schooled in rhetorical theory and criticism. Glenn
conducts experiments; Marty interprets texts.
To understand the theories ahead, you need to fi rst grasp the crucial differ-
ences between the objective and interpretive approaches to communication. As
a way to introduce the distinctions, I asked Glenn and Marty to bring their
scholarship to bear on a television commercial that fi rst aired during Super Bowl
XLVII, the game where the lights went out. It’s a stealth ad for beer that doesn’t
show booze on a beach, men in a bar fl irting with a waitress serving brew, or a
guy tapping a keg yelling, “Party all night!” These are typical images that turn
off a signifi cant portion of viewers who see them as silly, distasteful, or unethi-
cal. That’s because those ads appear to promote the dangerous practice of binge
drinking among young adults as a way to gain acceptance or get a buzz. Instead,
this ad portrays the bond that develops between a shaggy-hooved Clydesdale
horse and his young trainer. 1
TWO COMMUNICATION SCHOLARS VIEW A HEARTWARMING AD
Using no dialogue or voice-over, the Super Bowl commercial tells a visual story in
60 seconds. We see scenes of the newborn foal, his trainer asleep in the sick colt’s
stall, horseplay between them as the animal gains stature, and the fully grown
animal running free alongside the trainer’s truck. When it’s time for this magnifi-
cent animal to become part of a working team of Clydesdales promoting beer, the
trainer leads him into the company’s horse van and gazes wistfully as it disap-
pears down the road.
Three years later, the man discovers the Clydesdales will be in a Chicago
parade and drives to the city to reconnect with his horse. He smiles with pride
Behavioral scientist
A scholar who applies
the scientific method to
describe, predict, and
explain recurring forms
of human behavior.
Rhetorician
A scholar who studies the
ways in which symbolic
forms can be used to
identify with people, or
to persuade them toward
a certain point of view.
2 C H A P T E R
13
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14 OVERVIEW
as the horse prances by, but blinders keep the animal from seeing him. As the
trainer walks sadly back to his truck, the harness is removed and the horse
catches a glimpse of him. The fi nal shots show the Clydesdale galloping down
the street to catch up with his human friend, who then buries his face in the
horse’s mane as they are reunited.
Since the sponsor spent $7 million to air this one-minute commercial—and
more than that to fi lm it—its marketing department obviously believed that fea-
turing this huge draft horse would sell huge amounts of draft beer. There’s no
doubt that most critics and viewers liked the ad. Advertising Age analyst Ken
Wheaton concludes, “Weepy, sentimental, nostalgic. I don’t care. This is every-
thing I want from a Budweiser Super Bowl spot.” 2 Yet as you’ll see, social
scientist Glenn and rhetorical critic Marty take different theoretical approaches
as they analyze the intent of the ad and how it works.
Glenn: An Objective Approach
After the 2013 Super Bowl ended, a research company announced that the
Clydesdale ad was the year’s commercial winner. 3 The researchers tracked 400 viewers
who used a phone app to express their feelings during the broadcast. Viewers’ lik-
ing for the Clydesdale ad was on par with what they felt when their favorite team
scored a touchdown. Social scientists wonder why the commercial produced so
much positive sentiment and whether it resulted in action. They want to explain
and predict human behavior.
How do scientists satisfy these interests? After observing behavior, we iden-
tify or construct a theory that offers insight into what we’ve observed. In this
case, advertising guru Tony Schwartz’ resonance principle of communication is a
promising theoretical idea. 4 Although Schwartz passed away in 2008, his theory
lives on.
According to Schwartz, successful persuasive messages evoke past experi-
ences that create resonance between the message content and a person’s thoughts
or feelings. Schwartz believed that resonance leads to persuasion. It’s not argu-
ments that persuade people as much as it is memories of personal experiences
triggered by the message.
The heartwarming story of a worker dedicated to a horse he loves may tap
into viewers’ deep memories of their own devotion to animals they once nur-
tured. The emotional scene at the end of the ad might stir reminiscence of your
pet’s excitement when you would return home or the tremendous relief at being
reunited with one you thought lost. Once these good feelings are evoked,
Schwartz believed people associate them with the advertised product. For beer
drinkers, those good feelings may lead to more sales. For viewers who see drink-
ing beer as a health risk, the good feelings may lead to positive thoughts about
a company that seems to care not only about selling beer, but also about taking
good care of those splendid Clydesdales. In this case, persuasion may be mea-
sured both in beer sales and positive thoughts about Budweiser—a company
well aware that its success may lead to alcohol abuse among consumers and a
bad corporate reputation.
Theories need to be validated. For scientists, it’s not enough to identify a
theory that seems to apply to the situation. We want an objective test to fi nd out
if a theory is faulty. For example, I’d want to discover if commercials that trigger
warm emotional memories are better than other ads at selling products or
Objective approach
The assumption that truth
is singular and is acces-
sible through unbiased
sensory observation;
committed to uncovering
cause-and-effect
relationships.
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CHAPTER 2: TALK ABOUT THEORY 15
generating good feelings toward the sponsor. Testing audience response is a
crucial scientifi c enterprise. Even though a theory might sound plausible, we
can’t be sure it’s valid until it’s been tested. In science, theory and research walk
hand in hand.
Marty: An Interpretive Approach
There is more going on here than a simple reunion of man and horse. The
entire ad is structured by an archetypal mythic pattern of birth-death-rebirth.
Archetypal myths are those that draw upon a universal experience—what psy-
choanalyst Carl Jung called the “collective unconscious.” 5 Deep within the
mental makeup of all human beings is the archetype of the birth-death-rebirth
cycle. The use of such archetypes, according to rhetorical theorist Michael
Osborn, touches off “depth responses” that emotionally resonate at the core of
our being. 6 The ad activates these emotions by incorporating the form of the
cycle within a mini-narrative.
We fi rst see the newborn colt in the barn as the breeder feeds him, strokes
his coat, and even sleeps next to him in the stall. Birth naturally leads to growth,
as we watch the colt mature before our eyes. But just as this Clydesdale grows
to full stature, the Budweiser 18-wheeler arrives to take away the treasured
horse. Symbolically, this is a death because it represents an absence or void. What
once was is no more. Then, three years later, the breeder and his horse are
reunited in an act of rebirth. The former relationship, which had been shattered
by the symbolic death, is now restored with the reunion of man and horse.
It is signifi cant that the passage of time is three years. Just as Christians
believe Jesus lay in the tomb for three days before his resurrection, so the horse
is gone for three years before he reappears. But once he reemerges, it is as though
he never left. That which was lost has been found. The emotions evoked by this
ad are strong because we are dealing with life and death, with loss and restora-
tion. All of us unconsciously long for a reunion with those people or things in
our lives that have been most important to us. Even the music—“Landslide” by
Fleetwood Mac—underscores the archetypal pattern, as it speaks of love, loss,
change, and being afraid. Fear of death is a primordial human instinct. It is only
through a rebirth that we can reclaim what time and change have taken from us.
The ad subtly suggests that Budweiser beer is our constant mainstay. Life
changes and losses happen, but Bud never changes, never disappears. We see
that in the shots of the beer bottle on the breeder’s table as he reads about the
upcoming parade in Chicago. Bud is portrayed as our companion and our
comforter, something that will be with us through the dark nights of separation
and loss.
Interpretive approach
The linguistic work of as-
signing meaning or value
to communicative texts;
assumes that multiple
meanings or truths are
possible.
OBJECTIVE OR INTERPRETIVE WORLDVIEWS: SORTING OUT THE LABELS
Although both of these scholars focus on the warm feelings viewers have when
seeing the Budweiser Clydesdale ad, Glenn’s and Marty’s approaches to com-
munication study clearly differ in starting point, method, and conclusion. Glenn
is a social scientist who works hard to be objective. When I refer to theorists and
researchers like Glenn throughout the book, I’ll use the terms scientist and
objective scholar interchangeably. Marty is a rhetorical critic who does interpretive
study. Here the labels get tricky.
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16 OVERVIEW
While it’s true that all rhetorical critics do interpretive analysis, not all
interpretive scholars are rhetoricians. Most (including Marty) are humanists who
study what it’s like to be another person in a specifi c time and place. But a
growing number of postmodern communication theorists reject that tradition.
These interpretive scholars refer to themselves with a bewildering variety of
brand names: hermeneuticists, poststructuralists, deconstructivists, phenomenol-
ogists, cultural studies researchers, and social action theorists, as well as combi-
nations of these terms. Writing from this postmodernist perspective, University
of Utah theorist James Anderson observes:
With this very large number of interpretive communities, names are contentious,
border patrol is hopeless and crossovers continuous. Members, however, often see
real differences. 7
All of these scholars, including Marty, do interpretive analysis—scholarship
concerned with meaning—yet there’s no common term like scientist that includes
them all. So from this point on I’ll use the designation interpretive scholars or the
noun form interpreters to refer to the entire group, and use rhetoricians, humanists,
postmodernists, or critical scholars only when I’m singling out a particular
subgroup.
The separate worldviews of interpretive scholars and scientists refl ect con-
trasting assumptions about ways of arriving at knowledge, the core of human
nature, questions of value, and the purpose of having theory. The rest of this
chapter sketches out these differences.
Humanistic scholarship
Study of what it’s like to
be another person in a
specific time and place;
assumes there are few
important panhuman
similarities.
WAYS OF KNOWING: DISCOVERING TRUTH OR CREATING MULTIPLE REALITIES?
How do we know what we know, if we know it at all? This is the central question
addressed by a branch of philosophy known as epistemology . You may have been
in school for a dozen-plus years, read assignments, written papers, and taken
tests without ever delving into the issue What is truth? With or without in-depth
study of the issue, however, we all inevitably make assumptions about the nature
of knowledge.
Scientists assume that Truth is singular. They see a single, timeless reality
“out there” that’s not dependent on local conditions. It’s waiting to be discovered
through the fi ve senses of sight, sound, touch, taste, and smell. Since the raw
sensory data of the world is accessible to any competent observer, science seeks
to be bias-free, with no ax to grind. The evidence speaks for itself. As Galileo
observed, anyone could see through his telescope. Of course, no one person can
know it all, so individual researchers pool their fi ndings and build a collective
body of knowledge about how the world works.
Scientists consider good theories to be those that are faithful representations
of the way the world really is. Of the metaphors introduced in Chapter 1, they
like the image of theory as a mirror that refl ects reality, or a net that captures
part of it. Objective theorists are confi dent that once a principle is discovered
and validated, it will continue to hold true as long as conditions remain relatively
the same. That’s why Glenn believes the theory of resonance can explain why
other media messages succeed or fail.
Interpretive scholars seek truth as well, but many interpreters regard that
truth as socially constructed through communication. They believe language cre-
ates social realities that are always in fl ux rather than revealing or representing
Epistemology
The study of the origin,
nature, method, and lim-
its of knowledge.
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CHAPTER 2: TALK ABOUT THEORY 17
fi xed principles or relationships in a world that doesn’t change. Knowledge is
always viewed from a particular standpoint. A word, a gesture, or an act may
have constancy within a given community, but it’s dangerous to assume that
interpretations can cross lines of time and space.
Texts never interpret themselves. Most of these scholars, in fact, hold that
truth is largely subjective—that meaning is highly interpretive. But rhetorical
critics like Marty are not relativists, arbitrarily assigning meaning on a whim.
They do maintain, however, that objectivity is a myth; we can never entirely
separate the knower from the known.
Convinced that meaning is in the mind rather than in the verbal sign, inter-
preters are comfortable with the notion that a text may have multiple meanings.
Rhetorical critics are successful when they get others to view a text through their
interpretive lens—to adopt a new perspective on the world. For example, did
Marty convince you that the Budweiser ad draws upon a deep-seated pattern of
birth-death-rebirth ingrained in all of us? As Anderson notes, “Truth is a struggle,
not a status.” 8
Determinism
The assumption that be-
havior is caused by he-
redity and environment.
HUMAN NATURE: DETERMINISM OR FREE WILL?
One of the great philosophical debates throughout history revolves around the
question of human choice. 9 Hard-line determinists claim that every move we make
is the result of heredity (“biology is destiny”) and environment (“pleasure stamps
in, pain stamps out”). On the other hand, free-will purists insist that every human
act is ultimately voluntary (“I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my
soul” 10 ). Although few communication theorists are comfortable with either
extreme, most tend to line up on one side or the other. Scientists stress the forces
that shape human behavior; interpretive scholars focus on conscious choices
made by individuals.
The difference between these two views of human nature inevitably creeps into
the language people use to explain what they do. Individuals who feel like puppets
on strings say, “I had to . . . ,” whereas people who feel they pull their own strings
say, “I decided to. . . .” The fi rst group speaks in a passive voice: “I was distracted
from studying by the argument at the next table.” The second group speaks in an
active voice: “I stopped studying to listen to the argument at the next table.”
In the same way, the language of scholarship often refl ects theorists’ views
of human nature. Behavioral scientists usually describe human conduct as
occurring because of forces outside the individual’s awareness. Their causal
explanations tend not to include appeals to mental reasoning or conscious
choice. They usually describe behavior as the response to a prior stimulus.
Schwartz’ theory of resonance posits that messages triggering emotional mem-
ories from our past will inevitably affect us. We will be swayed by an ad that
strikes a responsive chord.
In contrast, interpretive scholars tend to use explanatory phrases such as in
order to and so that because they attribute a person’s action to conscious intent.
Their word selection suggests that people are free agents who could decide to
respond differently under an identical set of circumstances. Marty, for example,
uses the language of voluntary action rather than knee-jerk behavior when he writes,
“It is only through a rebirth that we can reclaim what time and change have taken
from us.” If someone reclaims what was lost, it is an act of volition. The trainer
decided to go to Chicago. Others who felt loss might not. The  consistent interpreter
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18 OVERVIEW
DILBERT © Scott Adams. Used By permission of UNIVERSAL UCLICK. All rights reserved.
doesn’t ask why this man made that choice. As Anderson explains, “True choice
demands to be its own cause and its own explanation.” 11
Human choice is problematic for the behavioral scientist because as indi-
vidual freedom goes up, predictability of behavior goes down. Conversely, the
roots of humanism are threatened by a highly restricted view of human choice.
In an impassioned plea, British author C. S. Lewis exposes the paradox of strip-
ping away people’s freedom and yet expecting them to exercise responsible
choice:
In a sort of ghastly simplicity we remove the organ and expect of them virtue and
enterprise. We laugh at honor and are shocked to fi nd traitors in our midst. We
castrate and bid the geldings be fruitful. 12
Lewis assumes that signifi cant decisions are value laden; interpretive scholars
would agree.
THE HIGHEST VALUE: OBJECTIVITY OR EMANCIPATION?
When we talk about values, we are discussing priorities, questions of relative
worth. 13 Values are the traffi c lights of our lives that guide what we think, feel,
and do. The professional values of communication theorists refl ect the commit-
ments they’ve made concerning knowledge and human nature. Since most social
scientists hold to a distinction between the “knower” and the “known,” they
place value on objectivity that’s not biased by ideological commitments. Because
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CHAPTER 2: TALK ABOUT THEORY 19
humanists and others in the interpretive camp believe that the ability to choose
is what separates humanity from the rest of creation, they value scholarship that
expands the range of free choice.
As a behavioral scientist, Glenn works hard to maintain his objectivity. He is
a man with strong moral and spiritual convictions, and these may infl uence the
topics he studies. But he doesn’t want his personal values to distort reality or
confuse what is with what he thinks ought to be. As you can see from Glenn’s
call for objective testing, he is frustrated when theorists offer no empirical evi-
dence for their claims or don’t even suggest a way in which their ideas could
be validated by an independent observer. He is even more upset when he hears
of researchers who fudge the fi ndings of their studies to shore up questionable
hypotheses. Glenn shares the research values of Harvard sociologist George
Homans—to let the evidence speak for itself: “When nature, however stretched
out on the rack, still has a chance to say ‘no’—then the subject is science.” 14
Marty is aware of his own ideology and is not afraid to bring his values to
bear upon a communication text and come under scrutiny. He doesn’t take an
overtly critical stance toward advertising or the capitalist system. But his insight
of Bud framed as a constant companion and comforter gives us the resource to
laugh at the irony of hugging a bottle of beer whenever we feel lonely or a sense
of loss.
Critical interpreters value socially relevant research that seeks to liberate
people from oppression of any sort—economic, political, religious, emotional, or
any other. They decry the detached stance of scientists who refuse to take respon-
sibility for the results of their work. Whatever the pursuit—a Manhattan Project
to split the atom, a Genome Project to map human genes, or a class project to
analyze the effectiveness of an ad—critical interpreters insist that knowledge is
never neutral. “There is no safe harbor in which researchers can avoid the power
structure.” 15
In the heading for this section, I’ve contrasted the primary values of scientifi c
and interpretive scholars by using the labels objectivity and emancipation . Univer-
sity of Colorado communication professor Stan Deetz frames the issue somewhat
differently. He says that every general communication theory has two
priorities— effectiveness and participation. 16 Effectiveness is concerned with suc-
cessfully communicating information, ideas, and meaning to others. It also
includes persuasion. Participation is concerned with increasing the possibility
that all points of view will affect collective decisions and individuals being open
to new ideas. It also encourages difference, opposition, and independence. The
value question is Which concern has higher priority? Objective theorists usually
foreground effectiveness and relegate participation to the background. Interpre-
tive theorists tend to focus on participation and downplay effectiveness.
Empirical evidence
Data collected through
direct observation.
Emancipation
Liberation from any form
of political, economic,
racial, religious, or sex-
ual oppression; empow-
erment.
PURPOSE OF THEORY: UNIVERSAL LAWS OR INTERPRETIVE GUIDES?
Even if Glenn and Marty could agree on the nature of knowledge, the extent of
human autonomy, and the ultimate values of scholarship, their words would still
sound strange to each other because they use distinct vocabularies to accomplish
different goals. As a behavioral scientist, Glenn is working to pin down universal
laws of human behavior that cover a variety of situations. As a rhetorical critic,
Marty strives to interpret a particular communication text in a specifi c context.
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20 OVERVIEW
Why is it important to grasp the differences between objective and interpretive
scholarship? The fi rst answer is because you can’t fully understand a theory if
you aren’t familiar with its underlying assumptions about truth, human nature,
the purpose of the theory, and its values. If you’re clueless, things can get confus-
ing fast. It’s like the time my wife, Jeanie, and I were walking around the Art
Institute of Chicago, enjoying the work of French impressionists who painted
realistic scenes that I could recognize. Then I wandered into a room dedicated
to abstract expressionism. The paintings seemed bizarre and made no sense to
me. I was bewildered and somewhat disdainful until Jeanie, who is an artist,
explained the goals these painters had and the techniques they used to achieve
them. So too with interpretive and objective communication theories. Right now
you are probably more familiar and comfortable with one approach than you are
with the other. But when you understand what each type of theorist is about,
your comfort zone will expand and your confusion will diminish.
There’s another reason to master these metatheoretical differences. After
exposure to a dozen or more theories, you may fi nd that they begin to blur
together in your mind. Classifying them as scientifi c or interpretive is a good way
to keep them straight. It’s somewhat like sorting 52 cards into suits—spades,
hearts, diamonds, and clubs. In most sophisticated card games, the distinction is
crucial. By the end of this course you could have up to 32 cards in your deck of
communication theories. Being able to sort them in multiple combinations is a
Metatheory
Theory about theory; the
stated or inherent assump-
tions made when creating
a theory.
OBJECTIVE OR INTERPRETIVE: WHY IS IT IMPORTANT?
If these two scholars were engaged in fashion design rather than research
design, Glenn would probably tailor a coat suitable for many occasions that cov-
ers everybody well—one size fi ts all. Marty might apply principles of fashion
design to style a coat that makes an individual statement for a single client—a
one-of-a-kind, custom creation. Glenn adopts a theory and then tests it to see if it
covers everyone. Marty uses theory to make sense of unique communication
events.
Since theory testing is the basic activity of the behavioral scientist, Glenn starts
with a hunch about how the world works—perhaps the idea that stories are more
persuasive than arguments. He then crafts a tightly worded hypothesis that
temporarily commits him to a specifi c prediction. As an empiricist, he can never
completely “prove” that he has made the right gamble; he can only show in test
after test that his behavioral bet pays off. If repeated studies uphold his hypoth-
esis, he can more confi dently predict which media ads will be effective, explain
why, and make recommendations on how practitioners can craft messages that stir
up memories.
The interpretive scholar explores the web of meaning that constitutes human
existence. When Marty creates scholarship, he isn’t trying to prove theory. How-
ever, he sometimes uses the work of rhetorical theorists like Michael Osborn to
inform his interpretation of the aural and visual texts of people’s lives. Robert
Ivie, former editor of the Quarterly Journal of Speech, suggests that rhetorical crit-
ics ought to use theory this way:
We cannot conduct rhetorical criticism of social reality without benefi t of a guiding
rhetorical theory that tells us generally what to look for in social practice, what to
make of it, and whether to consider it signifi cant. 17
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CHAPTER 2: TALK ABOUT THEORY 21
good way to show yourself and your professor that you’ve mastered the material.
When you can compare and contrast theories on the basis of their interpretive or
objective worldview, you’ve begun an integration that’s more impressive than
rote memorization.
Understanding the objective/interpretive choice points I’ve described can
also help you decide the direction you want to take in your remaining course
work. Some concentrations in the fi eld of communication tend to have either a
scientifi c or an interpretive bias. For example, all the theories we present in the
relationship development, infl uence, and media effects sections of the book
are proposed by objective scholars. Conversely, most of the theories we cover in
the public rhetoric, media and culture, organizational communication, and gen-
der and communication sections are interpretive. You’ll want to see if this is true
at your school before you choose the specifi c route you’ll take.
Finally, theorists in both camps hope you’ll care because each group
believes that its brand of work holds promise for improving relationships and
society. The scientist is convinced that knowing the truth about how com-
munication works will give us a clearer picture of social reality. The inter-
preter is equally sure that unearthing communicator motivation and hidden
ideologies will improve society by increasing free choice and discouraging
unjust practices.
PLOTTING THEORIES ON AN OBJECTIVE–INTERPRETIVE SCALE
In this chapter I’ve introduced four important areas of difference between objec-
tive and interpretive communication scholars and the theories they create.
A basic appreciation of these distinctions will help you understand where like-
minded thinkers are going and why they’ve chosen a particular path to get there.
But once you grasp how they differ, it will be helpful for you to realize that not
all theorists fall neatly into one category or the other. Many have a foot in both
camps. It’s more accurate to picture the objective and interpretive labels as anchor-
ing the ends of a continuum, with theorists spread out along the scale.
Objective __________________________________________ Interpretive
Figure 2–1 displays our evaluation of where each theory we feature fi ts on an
objective–interpretive continuum. For easier reference to positions on the scale,
we’ve numbered the fi ve columns at the bottom of the chart. In placing a theory,
we’ve tried to factor in choices the theorists have made about ways of knowing,
human nature, what they value most, and the purpose of theory. We’ve consulted
a number of scholars in the fi eld to get their “read” on appropriate placements.
They didn’t always agree, but in most cases the discussion has sharpened our
understanding of theory and the issues to be considered in the process of creating
one. What we learned is refl ected in the chapters ahead.
Of course, the position of each dot won’t make much sense to you until
you’ve read about the theory. But by looking at the pattern of distribution,
you can see that roughly half the theories have an objective orientation, while
the other half refl ect an interpretive commitment. This 50–50 split matches
the mix of scholarship we see in the fi eld. When talking about relationships
among the theories and the common assumptions made by a group of
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22 OVERVIEW
Interpersonal Communication
Symbolic Interactionism
Coordinated Management of Meaning
Expectancy Violations Theory
Social Penetration Theory
Uncertainty Reduction Theory
Social Information Processing Theory
Relational Dialectics
The Interactional View
Communication Privacy Management
Social Judgment Theory
Elaboration Likelihood Model
Cognitive Dissonance Theory
Group and Public Communication
Functional Perspective on Group Decision Making
Symbolic Convergence Theory
Cultural Approach to Organizations
Communicative Constitution of Organizations
Critical Theory of Communication Approach
The Rhetoric
Dramatism
Narrative Paradigm
Mass Communication
Media Ecology
Semiotics
Cultural Studies
Uses and Gratifications
Cultivation Theory
Agenda-Setting Theory
Cultural Context
Communication Accommodation Theory
Face-Negotiation Theory
Speech Codes Theory
Genderlect Styles
Standpoint Theory
Muted Group Theory
Objective Interpretive
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•

•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
1 2 3 4 5
FIGURE 2–1 Classifi cation of Communication Theories According to Objective/
Interpretive Worldview
theorists, your instructor may frequently refer back to this chart. So for easy
reference, we reproduce the appropriate “slice” of the chart on the fi rst page
of each chapter.
Now that you have an idea of the differences between objective and interpre-
tive theories, you may wonder whether some of these theories are better than
others. We think so. Chapter 3, “Weighing the Words,” offers a set of six stan-
dards you can use to judge the quality of objective theories, and a half dozen
alternative criteria to discern the worth of interpretive theories. By applying the
appropriate criteria, you can see if you agree with our evaluations.
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CHAPTER 2: TALK ABOUT THEORY 23
1. Compare Glenn Sparks’ and Marty Medhurst’s approaches to the Clydesdale
commercial. Which analysis makes the most sense to you? Why?
2. How do scientists and interpretive scholars differ in their answers to the
question What is truth? Which perspective do you fi nd more satisfying?
3. How do you account for the wide-ranging diversity among types of interpre-
tive theories (rhetorical, critical, humanistic, postmodern, etc.) as compared to
the relative uniformity of objective theories?
4. Think of the communication classes you’ve taken. Did an objective or interpre-
tive orientation undergird each course? Was this due more to the nature of
the subject matter or to the professor’s point of view?
QUESTIONS TO SHARPEN YOUR FOCUS
A SECOND LOOK Recommended resource: James A. Anderson and Geoffrey Baym, “Philosophies and
Philosophic Issues in Communication 1995–2004,” Journal of Communication, Vol. 54, 2004,
pp. 589–615.
Metatheoretical overview: James A. Anderson, Communication Theory: Epistemological
Foundations, Guilford, New York, 1996, pp. 13–77.
Metatheory: Robert T. Craig, “Metatheory,” in Encyclopedia of Communication Theory,
Sage, Los Angeles, CA, 2009, pp. 657–661.
Contemporary scientifi c scholarship: Charles Berger, Michael Roloff, and David Roskos-
Ewoldsen (eds.), Handbook of Communication Science, 2nd ed., Sage, Los Angeles, CA, 2010.
Contemporary rhetorical scholarship: Sonja Foss, Karen Foss, and Robert Trapp,
Contemporary Perspectives on Rhetoric, 3 rd ed., Waveland, Prospect Heights, IL, 2000.
Defense of empirical scholarship: Robert Bostrom and Lewis Donohew, “The Case for
Empiricism: Clarifying Fundamental Issues in Communication Theory,” Communication
Monographs, Vol. 59, 1992, pp. 109–129.
Defense of interpretive scholarship: Arthur Bochner, “Perspectives on Inquiry II: Theories
and Stories,” in Handbook of Interpersonal Communication, 2 nd ed., Mark Knapp and Gerald
Miller (eds.), Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 1994, pp. 21–41.
Scientifi c research: Glenn Sparks, Media Effects Research: A Basic Overview, 4 th ed.,
Wadsworth, Belmont, CA, 2013.
Rhetorical analysis: Martin J. Medhurst, “Mitt Romney, ‘Faith in America,’ and the
Dance of Religion and Politics in American Culture,” Rhetoric & Public Affairs, Vol. 12,
2009, pp. 195–221.
For a historical perspective on the place of objective and
interpretive theory in the fi eld of communication,
click on Talk about Theory in the Archive
under Theory Resources at
www.afi rstlook.com .
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24
Weighing the Words
In Chapter 2 we looked at two distinct approaches to communication theory—
objective and interpretive. Because the work of social scientists and interpreters is
so different, they often have trouble understanding and valuing their counterparts’
scholarship. This workplace tension parallels the struggle between Democrats and
Republicans. Members of both political parties study the same fi nancial reports,
projected statistics, and potential solutions for fi xing the nation’s economic woes.
Nevertheless, when it comes to proposing a plan of action, the two parties are often
miles apart. The distance is usually due to the different assumptions each party
uses to guide its thinking. Their philosophies can be so divergent that signifi cant
agreement seems impossible, and meaningful compromise only a pipe dream.
In politics, when it gets down to the nitty-gritty of adopting specifi c proposals
and passing concrete laws, the partisan bickering can make the conversation
tense. The same can be said of the disputes that are common between objective
and interpretive communication scholars. Differences in ways of knowing, views
of human nature, values, goals of theory building, and research methods seem
to ensure tension and misunderstanding.
Friendly attitudes between empiricists and interpreters are particularly hard
to come by when each group insists on applying its own standards of judgment
to the work of the other group. As a fi rst-time reader of communication theory,
you could easily get sucked into making the same mistake. If you’ve had training
in the scientifi c method and judge the value of every communication theory by
whether it predicts human behavior, you’ll automatically reject 50 percent of the
theories presented in this book. On the other hand, if you’ve been steeped in the
humanities and expect every theory to help unmask the meaning of a text, you’ll
easily dismiss the other half.
Regardless of which approach you favor, not all objective or interpretive
communication theories are equally good. For each type, some are better than
others. Like family members trying to decide which pizza to order, you’ll want
a way to separate the good, the bad, and the nasty. Since we’ve included theories
originating in the social sciences as well as the humanities, you need to have
two separate lenses through which to view their respective claims. This chapter
offers that pair of bifocals. We hope by the time you fi nish you’ll be on friendly
terms with the separate criteria that behavioral scientists and a wide range of
interpretive scholars use to weigh the words of their colleagues. We’ll start with
the standards that social scientists use to judge the worth of objective theories,
and then turn to the criteria that interpretive scholars employ to evaluate their
communication theories.
3C H A P T E R
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CHAPTER 3: WEIGHING THE WORDS 25
An objective theory is credible because it fulfi lls the twin objectives of scientifi c
knowledge. The theory predicts some future outcome, and it explains the
reasons for that outcome. Social scientists of all kinds agree on four additional
criteria a theory must meet to be good— relative simplicity, testability, practical
utility, and quantifi able research. As we discuss these standards, we will use the
terms objective and scientifi c interchangeably.
Scientific Standard 1: Prediction of Future Events
A good objective theory predicts what will happen. Prediction is possible only
when we are dealing with things we can see, hear, touch, smell, and taste over
and over again. As we repeatedly notice the same things happening in similar
situations, we begin to speak of invariable patterns or universal laws. In the
realm of the physical sciences, we are seldom embarrassed. Objects don’t have
a choice about how to respond to a stimulus. The sun can’t choose to rise in the
west instead of the east.
The social sciences are another matter. Although theories of human behavior
often cast their predictions with confi dence, a good measure of humility on the
part of the theorist is advisable. Even the best theory may only be able to speak
about people in general, rather than about specifi c individuals—and these only
in terms of probability and tendencies, not absolute certainty.
What do good scientifi c communication theories forecast? Some predict that
a specifi c type of communication triggers a particular response. (Mutual
self-disclosure creates interpersonal intimacy.) Other theories predict that people
will use different types of communication depending upon some pre-existing
factor. (People avoid messages that they think will be disagreeable so they won’t
experience cognitive dissonance.) These claims may or may not be true, but you
should regard the scientifi c theories presented in this book as valuable to the
extent that theorists are willing to make confi dent predictions about communica-
tion behavior.
Scientific Standard 2: Explanation of the Data
A good objective theory explains an event or human behavior. Philosopher of
science Abraham Kaplan said that theory is a way of making sense out of a
disturbing situation. 1 An objective theory should bring clarity to an otherwise
jumbled state of affairs; it should draw order out of chaos.
A good social science theory describes the process, focuses our attention on
what’s crucial, and helps us ignore that which makes little difference. But it also
goes beyond raw data and explains why . When Willie Sutton was asked why he
robbed banks, urban legend says the Depression-era bandit replied, “Because
that’s where the money is.” It’s a great line, but as a theory of motivation, it
lacks explanatory power. There’s nothing in the words that casts light on the
internal processes or environmental forces that led Sutton to crack a safe while
others tried to crack the stock market.
Sometimes a communication theory can sound great but, upon closer inspec-
tion, it doesn’t explain much. Years ago, researchers discovered that by having
people answer a few key questions about the emotions they felt prior to giving
a speech, they could predict which people would be the most nervous or
WHAT MAKES AN OBJECTIVE THEORY GOOD?
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26 OVERVIEW
apprehensive during the talk itself. A theory based on the research claimed that
communication apprehension was a trait only some people possess. The theory had
great predictive power in identifying nervous public speakers, but it lacked a
good explanation for why some people became nervous and others didn’t. 2 It
merely suggested that nervous speakers possessed the trait of communication
apprehension.
You can probably sense that this circular thinking leaves something to
be desired. How do people acquire the trait? Are they born with it? Can they
get rid of it through some type of intervention? Over the past few decades,
theorists have grappled with the question of how well “trait” theories explain
behavior. 3 If the rationale behind why people engage in certain behaviors is
simply That’s the kind of people they are, objective scholars won’t be happy
with the theory’s explanatory power. As a student of communication theory,
you shouldn’t be either. When you evaluate an objective theory, keep in
mind that the reason something happens becomes as important as the fact
that it does.
Scientific Standard 3: Relative Simplicity
A good objective theory is as simple as possible—no more complex than it has
to be. A few decades ago a cartoonist named Rube Goldberg made people laugh
by sketching plans for complicated machines that performed simple tasks. His
“better mousetrap” went through a sequence of 15 mechanical steps that were
triggered by turning a crank and ended with a bird cage dropping over a cheese-
eating mouse.
Goldberg’s designs were funny because the machines were so needlessly
convoluted. They violated the scientifi c principle called Occam’s razor, so
named because philosopher William of Occam implored theorists to “shave
off” any assumptions, variables, or concepts that aren’t really necessary to
explain what’s going on. 4 When you’ve concentrated on a subject for a long
time, it’s easy to get caught up in the grandeur of a theoretical construction.
Yet the rule of parsimony —another label for the same principle—states that
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CHAPTER 3: WEIGHING THE WORDS 27
given two plausible explanations for the same event, we should accept the less
complex version. Theoretical physicist Albert Einstein put it this way: “Any
intelligent fool can make things bigger and more complex.  .  .  .  It takes a touch
of genius—and a lot of courage—to move in the opposite direction.” 5
Einstein practiced what he preached. His elegant formula ( E 5 mc 2 ) explains
the relationships among energy, mass, time, and the speed of light using just
three terms, and history credits him with more than a touch of genius. But
relative simplicity doesn’t necessarily mean easy to understand . Trained physicists
admit they’re still struggling to fully comprehend the theory of relativity. That
theory is parsimonious not because it’s a no-brainer, but because it doesn’t carry
the extraneous baggage rival theories carry as they try to explain why time
stands still when you approach the speed of light.
Scientific Standard 4: Hypotheses That Can Be Tested
A good objective theory is testable. If a prediction is wrong, there ought to be
a way to demonstrate the error. Karl Popper called this requirement falsifi –
ability, and saw it as the defi ning feature of scientifi c theory. 6 But some theories
are so loosely stated that it’s impossible to imagine empirical results that could
disprove their hypotheses. And if there is no way to prove a theory false, then
any claim that it’s true seems hollow. A boyhood example may help illustrate
this point.
When I was 12 years old I had a friend named Mike. We spent many
hours shooting baskets in his driveway. The backboard was mounted on an
old-fashioned, single-car garage with double doors that opened outward like
the doors on a cabinet. In order to avoid crashing into them on a drive for a
layup, we’d open the doors during play. But since the doors would only
swing through a 90-degree arc, they extended about 4 feet onto the court
along the baseline.
One day Mike announced that he’d developed a “never-miss” shot. He took
the ball at the top of the free-throw circle, drove toward the basket, then cut to
the right corner. When he got to the baseline, he took a fade-away jump shot,
blindly arcing the ball over the top of the big door. I was greatly impressed as
the ball swished through the net. When he boasted that he never missed, I
challenged him to do it again, which he did. But his third shot was an air ball—
it completely missed the rim.
Before I could make the kind of bratty comment junior high school boys
make, he quickly told me that the attempt had not been his never-miss shot.
He claimed to have slipped as he cut to the right and therefore jumped from
the wrong place. Grabbing the ball, he drove behind the door again and
launched a blind arcing shot. Swish. That, he assured me, was his never-miss
shot.
I knew something was wrong. I soon fi gured out that any missed attempt
was, by defi nition, not the ballyhooed never-miss shot. When the ball went in,
however, Mike heralded the success as added evidence of 100 percent accuracy.
I now know that I could have called his bluff by removing the net from the
basket so he couldn’t hear whether the shot went through. This would have
forced him to declare from behind the door whether the attempt was of the
never-miss variety. But as long as I played by his rules, there was no way to
disprove his claim.
Rule of parsimony
(Occam’s razor)
Given two plausible ex-
planations for the same
event, we should accept
the simpler version.
Falsifiability
The requirement that a
scientific theory be stated
in such a way that it can
be tested and disproved
if it is indeed wrong.
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28 OVERVIEW
Unfortunately, some theories are stated in a way that makes it impossible to
prove them false. They shy away from the put-up-or-shut-up standard—they
aren’t testable. If it isn’t possible to gather clear evidence that goes against a
theory’s claims, then it’s also impossible to collect evidence that clearly supports
those claims.
Scientific Standard 5: Practical Utility
Over time, a good objective theory is useful. Since an oft-cited goal of social
science is to help people have more control over their daily lives, people facing
the type of thorny social situations that the theory addresses should be able to
benefi t from its wisdom. This requirement is consistent with social psychologist
Kurt Lewin’s claim that there is nothing as practical as a good theory. A theory
that communication practitioners fi nd helpful may not be more valid than one
to which few folks turn for guidance, but because of its infl uence, it may prove
to be more valuable.
As you read about theories crafted from an objective perspective, let
usefulness be one measure of their worth. A word of caution, however: Most of
us can be a bit lazy or shortsighted, having a tendency to consider unimportant
anything that’s hard to grasp or can’t be applied to our lives right now. Before
considering a theory irrelevant, make certain you understand it and consider
how others have made use of its insight. We’ll try to do our part by presenting
each theory as clearly as possible and suggesting potential applications. Perhaps
you’ll be even more interested in how other students have found a theory useful
in their lives. That’s why we’ve included a student-written application in almost
all of the 32 chapters that feature a specifi c theory.
Scientific Standard 6: Quantitative Research
As the heading suggests, scientists tend to appeal to numbers as they gather
evidence to support their theories. Almost all scientifi c research depends on a
comparison of differences —this group compared to that group, this treatment as
opposed to that treatment, these results versus those results. Since objective
theorists aim to mirror reality, it makes sense for them to measure and report
what they discover in precise numerical terms rather than in linguistic terms,
which are open to interpretation. Enlightenment philosopher David Hume
insisted on the superiority of quantitative methods over qualitative research:
If we take in our hand any volume . . .  let us ask: Does it contain any abstract
reasoning concerning quantity or number? No. Does it contain any experimental
reasoning concerning the matter of fact or existence? No. Commit it then to the
fl ames, for it can contain nothing but sophistry and illusion. 7
Given the radical nature of Hume’s over-the-top pronouncement, we can wryly
imagine the English philosopher making daily trips to a used bookstore for fuel
to heat his home in winter. But the idea that numbers are more reliable than
words does run deep in the scientifi c community. More than other quantitative
methods, objective theorists use experiments and surveys to test their predictions.
Experiments. Working under the assumption that human behavior is not
random, an experimenter tries to establish a cause-and-effect relationship by
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CHAPTER 3: WEIGHING THE WORDS 29
systematically manipulating one factor (the independent variable) in a tightly
controlled situation to learn its effect on another factor (the dependent variable).
A laboratory experiment would be an appropriate way to answer the question,
Does greater perceived attitude similarity lead to increased interpersonal attraction?
The experimenter might fi rst identify a range of attitudes held by the partici-
pating subjects and then systematically alter the attitude information provided
about an experimental confederate before they met. A similarity-causes-
attraction hypothesis would be supported if the subjects whose attitudes
meshed with what they thought the confederate believed ended up liking that
person better than did those who thought they were quite different from the
confederate. 8
Surveys. Whether using questionnaires or structured interviews, survey
researchers rely on self-reported data to discover people’s past behavior and
what they now think, feel, or intend to do. For example, media-effects researchers
have used survey methodology to answer the research question, Do people who
watch a high amount of dramatic violence on television hold an exaggerated belief that
the world is a mean and scary place? They asked the number of hours a day the
respondents watched TV and then gave a series of forced-choice options that
tapped into respondents’ perceived odds of becoming a victim of violence. The
researchers discovered a positive relationship between the amount of viewing
and the amount of fear. 9
Although the presence of a correlation doesn’t necessarily imply a causal
relationship, it keeps that possibility alive. It’s also the case that if a survey shows
Experiment
A research method that
manipulates a variable in
a tightly controlled situa-
tion in order to find out if
it has the predicted effect.
Survey  
A research method that
uses questionnaires and
structured interviews to
collect self-reported data
that reflects what respon-
dents think, feel, or
intend to do.
“Are you just pissing and moaning, or can you verify what you’re saying with data?”
© Edward Koren/The New Yorker Collection/www.cartoonbank.com
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30 OVERVIEW
Unlike scientists, interpretive scholars don’t have an agreed-on, six-point set of
criteria for evaluating their theories. But, even though there is no universally
approved model, rhetoricians, critical theorists, and other interpreters repeatedly
urge that interpretive theories should accomplish some or all of the following
functions: identify values, create understanding, inspire aesthetic appreciation, stimulate
agreement, reform society, and conduct qualitative research . The rest of this chapter
examines these oft-mentioned ideals.
Interpretive Standard 1: Clarification of Values
A good interpretive theory brings people’s values into the open. The theorist
actively seeks to acknowledge, identify, or unmask the ideology behind the
message under scrutiny.
Interpretive theorists should also be willing to reveal their own ethical commit-
ments. As Webster University dean of communication Eric Rothenbuhler states,
“Theoretical positions have moral implications, and when we teach them, advocate
their use by others, or promote policies based upon them they have moral conse-
quences.” 10 Of course, not all interpretive scholars occupy the same moral ground,
but there are core values most of them share. For example, humanists usually place
a premium on individual liberty. Klaus Krippendorff of the Annenberg School for
Communication at the University of Pennsylvania wants to make sure that scholars’
drive for personal freedom extends to the people they study. His ethical imperative
directs the theorist to “grant others that occur in your construction the same
autonomy you practice constructing them.” 11 When theorists follow this rule,
scholarly monologue gives way to collegial dialogue. In this way people have a say
in what’s said about them. This kind of communal assessment requires reporting
multiple voices rather than relying on one or two informants.
Some interpretive scholars value equality as highly as they do freedom. This
commitment leads to continual examination of the power relationships inherent
in all communication. Critical theorists, in particular, insist that scholars can no
longer remain ethically detached from the people they are studying or from the
political and economic implications of their work. For critical theorists, “There is
no safe harbor in which researchers can avoid the power structure.” 12
Interpretive Standard 2: New Understanding of People
Interpretive scholarship is good when it offers fresh insight into the human
condition. Rhetorical critics, ethnographers, and other humanistic researchers
seek to gain new understanding by analyzing the activity that they regard as
uniquely human—symbolic interaction. As opposed to social science theorists
who attempt to identify communication patterns common to all people, an
Ethical imperative
Grant others that occur in
your construction
the same autonomy you
practice constructing them.
WHAT MAKES AN INTERPRETIVE THEORY GOOD?
two variables aren’t correlated, that’s a powerful clue that one of the variables
isn’t a cause of the other. A survey can save valuable time that would otherwise
be needed to establish cause-and-effect by conducting an experiment. In addition
to the clues they provide about causal relationships, surveys are often the most
convenient way to discover what people are thinking, feeling, and intending to
do—the key components of our attitudes.
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CHAPTER 3: WEIGHING THE WORDS 31
interpretive scholar typically examines a one-of-a-kind speech community that
exhibits a specifi c language style. By analyzing this group’s communication
practice, the researcher hopes to develop an understanding of local knowledge
or members’ unique rules for interaction. Interpretive theories are tools to aid
this search for situated meaning.
Some critics fear that by relying on rhetorical theory, we will read our
preconceived ideas into the text rather than letting the words speak for
themselves. They suggest that there are times when we should “just say no” to
theory. But University of Minnesota communication theorist Ernest Bormann
noted that rhetorical theory works best when it suggests universal patterns of
symbol-using: “A powerful explanatory structure is what makes a work of
humanistic scholarship live on through time.” 13
Bormann’s claim is akin to the behavioral scientist’s insistence that theory
explains why people do what they do. But the two notions are somewhat different.
Science wants an objective explanation; humanism desires subjective understand-
ing. Krippendorff urges us to recognize that we, as theorists, are both the cause and
the consequence of what we observe. His self-referential imperative for building
theory states, “Include yourself as a constituent of your own construction.” 14
Interpretive Standard 3: Aesthetic Appeal
The way a theorist presents ideas can capture the imagination of a reader just
as much as the wisdom and originality of the theory he or she has created. As
with any type of communication, both content and style make a difference.
Objective theorists are constrained by the standard format for acceptable scientifi c
writing—propositions, hypotheses, operationalized constructs, and the like. But
interpretive theorists have more room for creativity, so aesthetic appeal becomes
an issue. Although the elegance of a theory is in the eye of the beholder, clarity
and artistry seem to be the two qualities needed to satisfy this aesthetic
requirement.
No matter how great the insights the theory contains, if the essay describing
them is disorganized, overwritten, or opaque, the theorist’s ideas will come
across murky rather than clear. A student of mine who fought through a theorist’s
monograph fi lled with esoteric jargon likened the experience to “scuba diving
in fudge.”
According to University of Pittsburgh professor Barbara Warnick, a rhetorical
critic can fi ll one or more of four roles—artist, analyst, audience, and advocate. 15
As an artist, the critic’s job is to spark appreciation. Along with clarity, it’s
another way to construct an interpretive theory with aesthetic appeal. By artfully
incorporating imagery, metaphor, illustration, and story into the core of the
theory, the theorist can make his or her creation come alive for others. We can’t
illustrate all of these artful devices in a single paragraph, but many students of
rhetoric are moved by the way University of Wisconsin rhetorical critic Edwin
Black summed up his analysis of Lincoln’s Gettysburg address:
The Gettysburg Address is, fi nally and inevitably, a projection of Lincoln himself,
of his discretion, of his modesty on an occasion which invited him to don the
mantle of the prophet, of his meticulous measure of how far he ought to go, of the
assurance of his self-knowledge: his impeccable discernment of his own
competence, his fl awless sense of its depth and its limits. As an actor in history
and a force in the world, Lincoln does not hesitate to comprehend history and the
Self-referential
imperative
Include yourself as a
constituent of your own
construction.
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32 OVERVIEW
world. But he never presumes to cast his mind beyond human dimensions. He
does not recite divine intentions; he does not issue cosmic judgments. He knows,
to the bottom, what he knows. Of the rest, he is silent. 16
Interpretive Standard 4: Community of Agreement
We can identify a good interpretive theory by the amount of support it generates
within a community of scholars who are interested and knowledgeable about
the same type of communication. Interpretation of meaning is subjective, but
whether the interpreter’s case is reasonable or totally off the wall is ultimately
decided by others in the fi eld. Their acceptance or rejection is an objective fact
that helps verify or vilify a theorist’s ideas.
Sometimes interpretive theorists present a controversial thesis to an
audience restricted to true believers—those who already agree with the author ’s
position. But an interpretive theory can’t meet the community of agreement
standard unless it becomes the subject of widespread analysis. For example,
former National Communication Association president David Zarefsky warns
that rhetorical validity can be established only when a work is debated in the
broad marketplace of ideas. For this Northwestern University rhetorical critic,
sound arguments differ from unsound ones in that “sound arguments are
addressed to the general audience of critical readers, not just to the adherents
of a particular ‘school’ or perspective. . . . They open their own reasoning pro-
cess to scrutiny.” 17
John Stewart is the editor of Bridges, Not Walls, a collection of humanistic
articles on interpersonal communication. As the book has progressed through
11 editions, Stewart’s judgment to keep, drop, or add a theoretical work has been
made possible by the fact that interpretive scholarship is “not a solitary enterprise
carried out in a vacuum.” It is instead, he says, “the effort of a community of
scholars who routinely subject their fi ndings to the scrutiny of editors, referees,
and readers.” 18
Interpretive Standard 5: Reform of Society
A good interpretive theory often generates change. Some interpretive scholars,
but by no means all, aren’t content merely to interpret the intended meanings
of a text. Contrary to the notion that we can dismiss calls for social justice or
emancipation as mere rhetoric, critical interpreters are reformers who can have
an impact on society. They want to expose and publicly resist the ideology
that permeates the accepted wisdom of a culture. Kenneth Gergen, a
Swarthmore College social psychologist, states that theory has the capacity
to challenge the guiding assumptions of the culture, to raise fundamental
questions regarding contemporary social life, to foster reconsideration of that
which is “taken for granted,” and thereby to generate fresh alternatives for
social action. 19
Along with many interpretive scholars, critical theorists tend to reject any
notion of permanent truth or meaning. They see society’s economic, political,
social, religious, and educational institutions as socially constructed by unjust
communication practices that create or perpetuate gross imbalances of power.
The aim of their scholarship is to unmask these communication practices in an
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CHAPTER 3: WEIGHING THE WORDS 33
attempt to stimulate change. To traditional thinkers, their activity looks like a
few angry children in kindergarten knocking over other kids’ blocks, but they
are intentionally using theory to carve out a space where people without power
can be heard. For example, a critical theorist working from a Marxist, feminist,
or postmodern perspective might craft a theory to support an alternative inter-
pretation of the Golden Rule, namely, He who has the gold, rules. The theorist
would then apply this reinterpretation to a specifi c practice, perhaps the publish-
ing and pricing of required textbooks such as the one you’re reading. To the
extent that the theory stimulates students to rethink, respond, and react to this
“free-market” process, it is a good interpretive theory.
Interpretive Standard 6: Qualitative Research
While scientists use numbers to support their theories, interpretive scholars use
words . That’s the basic difference between quantitative and qualitative research.
As the editors of the Handbook of Qualitative Research describe the process,
“Qualitative researchers study things in their natural settings, attempting to
make sense of, or to interpret, phenomena in terms of the meaning people bring
to them.” 20 A focus on meaning and signifi cance is consistent with the maxim
that once hung on the wall of Einstein’s Princeton University offi ce: 21
Not everything that can be counted counts, and
not everything that counts can be counted.
The interpretive scholar’s qualitative tools include open-ended interviews,
focus groups, visual texts, artifacts, and introspection. But textual analysis and
ethnography are the two methods most often used to study how humans use signs
and symbols to create and infer meaning.
Textual Analysis. The aim of textual analysis is to describe and interpret the
characteristics of a message. Communication theorists use this term to refer to
the intensive study of a single message grounded in a humanistic perspective.
Rhetorical criticism is the most common form of textual research in the
communication discipline. For example, rhetorical critics have asked, What does
Martin Luther King’s choice of language in his “I Have a Dream” speech on the
Washington mall reveal about his strategic intent? They’ve then undertaken a close
reading of the text and context of that famous speech and concluded that King
was trying to simultaneously appeal to multiple audiences without alienating
any of them. 22
Ethnography. The late Princeton anthropologist Clifford Geertz said that
ethnography is “not an experimental science in search of law, but an interpretive
[approach] in search of meaning.” 23 As a sensitive observer of the human scene,
Geertz was loath to impose his way of thinking onto a society’s construction of reality.
He wanted his theory of communication grounded in the meanings that people
within a culture share. Getting it right means seeing it from their point of view.
When Stan Musial—one of the greatest baseball players in history—passed
away in January 2013 at the age of 92, his many admirers took the opportunity
to share their memories. One story that circulated revealed that Musial was
an amateur ethnographer. After baseball was desegregated in 1945, Musial
noticed a group of black players on his all-star team congregating in the back
Critical theorists
Scholars who use theory
to reveal unjust commu-
nication practices that
create or perpetuate an
imbalance of power.
Textual analysis
A research method that
describes and interprets
the characteristics of
any text.
Ethnography
A method of participant
observation designed to
help a researcher experi-
ence a culture’s complex
web of meaning.
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34 OVERVIEW
Throughout this chapter we have urged using separate measures for weighing
the merits of objective and interpretive theories. That’s because the two sets of
criteria refl ect the divergent mindsets of scientists and interpretive scholars as
outlined in Chapter 2. Perhaps the fi eld of personality assessment offers a way
to understand how deeply these differences run. Some of you have taken the
Myers-Briggs Type Indicator, a test that measures individual preferences on
four bipolar scales. The sensing–intuition scale shows how people perceive or
acquire information—how they seek to fi nd out about things. As you read
through the descriptions of sensing and intuition below, consider how closely
they refl ect the contrast of objective and interpretive epistemology—different
ways of knowing. 25
Sensing. One way to “fi nd out” is to use your sensing function. Your eyes,
ears, and other senses tell you what is actually there and actually happening, both
inside and outside of yourself. Sensing is especially useful for appreciating the
realities of a situation.
Intuition. The other way to “fi nd out” is through intuition, which reveals the
meanings, relationships, and possibilities that go beyond the information from your
senses. Intuition looks at the big picture and tries to grasp the essential patterns.
These are differences that make a difference. It’s hard to imagine two theorists
becoming intellectual soul mates if each discounts or disdains the other’s starting
point, method, and conclusion. Does that mean they can’t be friends? Not
necessarily. There are at least three reasons for guarded optimism.
A fi rm foundation for their friendship would be a mutual respect for each
other ’s curiosity about the communication process and a recognition that they
are both bringing the very best of their intellect to bear on what they study.
A second basis for mutual appreciation would be an understanding that
the strong point of science is a rigorous comparison of multiple messages
or groups, while the forte of humanism is its imaginative, in-depth analysis
of a single message or group. Anthropologist Gregory Bateson described rigor
and imagination as the two great contraries of the mind. He wrote that either
“by itself is lethal. Rigor alone is paralytic death, but imagination alone is
insanity.” 26
A third reason for mutual appreciation can be seen in a side-by-side
comparison of the two sets of criteria in Figure 3–1 . The chart suggests that the
standards set by scientists and the evaluative criteria used by interpretive theorists
CONTESTED TURF AND COMMON GROUND AMONG THEORISTS
corner of the dugout to play poker. In an effort to start dialogue, foster team
spirit, and begin friendships, Musial cautiously approached the table and sat
down. He felt like he had entered another world. In order to befriend his black
teammates, he had to learn their group rituals, linguistic expressions, and
cultural experiences that were all unfamiliar to him. His task was even more
diffi cult because he didn’t know the fi rst thing about poker. Gradually, through
listening and making careful mental notes, Musial began to understand his
teammates and see the game of baseball through their eyes instead of his.
That’s ethnography. 24
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CHAPTER 3: WEIGHING THE WORDS 35
Scientific Theory Interpretive Theory
Prediction of Future Clarification of Values
Explanation of Data Understanding of People
Relative Simplicity Aesthetic Appeal
Testable Hypothesis Community of Agreement
Practical Utility Reform of Society
Quantitative Research Qualitative Research
FIGURE 3–1 Summary of Criteria for Evaluating Communication Theory
share some similarities. Work down through the chart line-by-line and note a bit
of overlap for each pair of terms. Here are the points of contact we see:
1. Both prediction and value clarifi cation look to the future. The fi rst suggests
what will happen, the second, what ought to happen.
2. An explanation of communication behavior can lead to further
understanding of people’s motivation.
3. For many students of theory, simplicity has an aesthetic appeal .
4. Testing hypotheses is a way of achieving a community of agreement .
5. What could be more practical than a theory that reforms unjust practices?
6. Both quantitative research and qualitative research refl ect a commitment to learn
more about communication.
Identifying reasons for mutual appreciation doesn’t guarantee respect. Republicans
and Democrats have a common goal to bring about a more perfect union, but it’s
often impossible to see anything more than political gridlock when members of
the two parties get together. Similarly, when objective and interpretive theorists
work in the same academic department, tensions can run high. At the very least,
the two scholarly communities should have a familiarity with each other’s work.
That’s one reason we’ve elected to present objective as well as interpretive theories
in this book.
You’ll fi nd that we often refer to these requirements for good theory in the
critique sections at the end of each chapter. As you might expect, the 32 theories
stack up rather well—otherwise we wouldn’t have picked them in the fi rst place.
But constructing theory is diffi cult, and most theories have an Achilles’ heel that
makes them vulnerable to criticism. All of the theorists readily admit a need for
fi ne-tuning their work, and some even call for major overhauls. We encourage
you to weigh their words by the standards you think are important before
reading the critique at the end of each chapter.
1. How can we call a scientifi c theory good if it is capable of being proved wrong ?
2. How can we decide when a rhetorical critic provides a reasonable interpretation ?
QUESTIONS TO SHARPEN YOUR FOCUS
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36 OVERVIEW
A SECOND LOOK Scientifi c evaluation: Steven Chaffee, “Thinking About Theory,” in An Integrated
Approach to Communication Theory and Research, 2 nd ed., Don Stacks and Michael Salwen
(eds.), Routledge, NY, 2009, pp. 13–29.
Interpretive evaluation: Klaus Krippendorff, “On the Ethics of Constructing Commu-
nication,” in Rethinking Communication: Vol. 1, Brenda Dervin, Lawrence Grossberg,
Barbara O’Keefe, and Ellen Wartella (eds.), Sage, Newbury Park, CA, 1989, pp. 66–96.
Progress in scientifi c research: Franklin Boster, “On Making Progress in Communica-
tion,” Human Communication Research, Vol. 28, 2002, pp. 473–490.
Quantitative theory: Michael Beatty, “Thinking Quantitatively,” in Stacks and Salwen,
pp. 30–39.
Qualitative theory: James A. Anderson, “Thinking Qualitatively,” in Stacks and Salwen,
pp. 40–58.
Quantitative methods: Franklin Boster and John Sherry, “Alternative Methodological
Approaches to Communication Science,” in The Handbook of Communication Science, 2 nd
ed., Charles Berger, Michael Roloff, and David Roskos-Ewoldsen (eds.), Sage, Los Angeles,
CA, 2010, pp. 55–71.
Qualitative methods: Norman Denzin and Yvonna Lincoln, Collecting and Interpreting
Qualitative Materials, Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 1998.
To view a chapter-by-chapter list of changes from the previous edition,
click on Changes under Theory Resources at
www.afi rstlook.com.
3. All theories involve trade-offs; no theory can meet every standard of quality
equally well. Of the 12 criteria discussed, which two or three are most impor-
tant to you? Which one is least important?
4. Do you think objective scholars have any room in their approach for intuition?
If so, how might that work? Do interpretive scholars have any space for sensing?
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37
Mapping the Territory
(Seven Traditions in the Field
of Communication Theory)
In Chapter 1, we presented working defi nitions for the concepts of communication
and theory . In Chapters 2 and 3, we outlined the basic differences between objec-
tive and interpretive communication theories. These distinctions should help
bring order out of chaos when your study of theory seems confusing. And it may
seem confusing. University of Colorado communication professor Robert Craig
describes the fi eld of communication theory as awash with hundreds of unrelated
theories that differ in starting point, method, and conclusion. He suggests that
our fi eld of study resembles “a pest control device called the Roach Motel that
used to be advertised on TV: Theories check in, but they never check out.” 1
My mind conjures up a different image when I try to make sense of the often
baffl ing landscape of communication theory. I picture a scene from the fi lm Harry
Potter and the Chamber of Secrets in which the boy wizard ventures into the Forbid-
den Forest. Inside, he fi nds it teeming with all kinds of spiders. Some are big,
others small, but all look like they might want to eat him for lunch. He’s over-
whelmed at the sight of them—perhaps not unlike how you felt when you fi rst
saw the table of contents for this book. Harry discovers that the spiders momen-
tarily retreat from the bright light of his wand, letting him secure a safe place to
stand. It’s my hope that the core ideas of Chapters 1–3 will provide you with that
kind of space. The fantasy nature of the fi lm is such that I could even imagine
Harry emerging from the forest with all the spiders bound together in two sticky
webs—the objective batch in his right hand and the interpretive batch in his left.
But that’s an overly simplistic fantasy. Craig offers a more sophisticated solution.
Craig agrees that the terrain is confusing if we insist on looking for some kind
of grand theoretical overview that brings all communication study into focus—a
top-down, satellite picture of the communication theory landscape. He suggests,
however, that communication theory is a coherent fi eld when we understand com-
munication as a practical discipline. 2 He’s convinced that our search for different
types of theory should be grounded where real people grapple with everyday
problems and practices of communication. Craig explains that “all communication
theories are relevant to a common practical lifeworld in which communication is
already a richly meaningful term.” 3 Communication theory is the systematic and
thoughtful response of communication scholars to questions posed as humans
interact with one another—the best thinking within a practical discipline.
37
4C H A P T E R
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38 OVERVIEW
The socio-psychological tradition epitomizes the scientifi c or objective perspec-
tive described in Chapter 2. Scholars in this tradition believe there are commu-
nication truths that can be discovered by careful, systematic observation. They
look for cause-and-effect relationships that will predict the results when people
communicate. When they fi nd causal links, they are well on the way to answer-
ing the ever-present question that relationship and persuasion practitioners
ask: How can I get others to change? In terms of generating theory, the socio-
psychological tradition is by far the most prolifi c of the seven that Craig names.
This disciplinary fact of life is refl ected in the many theories of this type that we
present in the book.
When researchers search for universal laws of communication, they try to
focus on what is without being biased by their personal view of what ought to
be. As social scientists, they heed the warning of the skeptical newspaper editor:
“You think your mother loves you? Check it out—at least two sources.” For
communication theorists in the socio-psychological tradition, checking it out usu-
ally means designing a series of surveys or controlled experiments. That’s been
our approach.
Teaching at a small liberal arts college where I’ve had the opportunity to be
personally involved in the lives of my students, I’ve always wondered if there’s
a way to predict which college friendships will survive and thrive after gradu-
ation. As someone trained in the socio-psychological tradition, I began a longi-
tudinal study spanning two decades to fi nd out the answer. 6 I asked 45 pairs of
best friends to respond to questions about (1) when they became close friends;
(2) the similarity of their academic majors; (3) their range of mutual-touch behavior;
Craig thinks it’s reasonable to talk about a fi eld of communication theory if we
take a collective look at the actual approaches researchers have used to study
communication problems and practices. He identifi es seven established tradi-
tions of communication theory that include most, if not all, of what theorists
have done. These already established traditions offer “distinct, alternative vocab-
ularies” that describe different “ways of conceptualizing communication problems
and practices.” 4 This means that scholars within a given tradition talk comfort-
ably with one another but often take potshots at those who work in other camps.
As Craig suggests, we shouldn’t try to smooth over these between-group battles.
Theorists argue because they have something important to argue about.
In the rest of the chapter I’ll outline the seven traditions Craig describes.
Taken together, they reveal the breadth and diversity that span the fi eld of com-
munication theory. The classifi cations will also help you understand why some
theories share common ground, while others are effectively fenced off from each
other by confl icting goals and assumptions. As I introduce each tradition, I’ll
highlight how its advocates tend to defi ne communication, suggest a practical
communication problem that this kind of theory addresses, and provide an
example of research that the tradition has inspired. 5 Since I fi nd that the topic
of friendship is of great interest to most college students, the seven research
studies I describe will show how each tradition approaches this type of close
relationship.
THE SOCIO-PSYCHOLOGICAL TRADITION
Communication as Interpersonal Interaction and Influence
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CHAPTER 4: MAPPING THE TERRITORY 39
(4) their perceived status difference; and (5) the extent to which they avoided
discussing awkward topics. I also (6) assessed their self-disclosure to each other
and (7) measured their communication effi ciency by watching them play two
rounds of the cooperative word game Password . Would any of these measures
forecast who would be friends forever?
In order to determine the answer, I needed a reliable and valid measure of
relational closeness. Based on social psychologist Harold Kelley’s interactional
theory, which suggests that close relationships are characterized by “strength,
frequency, diversity, and duration,” Glenn and I developed a composite measure
that assessed these properties. 7 For example, we gauged relative strength by ask-
ing the pair how many friends they now have to whom they feel closer than
their college best friend. And we assessed frequency of contact by counting the
number of times over the last year that the pair communicated face-to-face, over
the phone, by letter, and through email.
Nineteen years after the initial study, Andrew helped me locate the study
participants and asked them to respond to the measures of relational closeness
mentioned above. We weren’t surprised that participants with a longer history
as best friends when they came to the study were most likely to remain close
two decades later. Past behavior tends to be a good predictor of future behavior.
Of more interest to us as communication scholars was the fact that those with
similar academic majors and those with better scores on the Password game also
remained close. 8 Remember that participants’ choice of major and the Password
game occurred about two decades earlier, yet these factors still predicted friend-
ship long after college. It appears that communicating on the same wavelength
and sharing common academic interests is a boon to long-lasting friendship.
Maybe it’s no surprise, then, that working together on this research project solid-
ifi ed our friendship with each other. Eventually, that friendship led to the three
of us joining together to write the book you’re reading now.
Theorists and researchers working within the socio-psychological tradition
often call for longitudinal empirical studies. Only by using this type of research
design could we predict which pairs were likely to be friends forever.
THE CYBERNETIC TRADITION
Communication as a System of Information Processing
MIT scientist Norbert Wiener coined the word cybernetics to describe the fi eld of
artifi cial intelligence. 9 The term is a transliteration of the Greek word for “steers-
man” or “governor,” and it illustrates the way feedback makes information pro-
cessing possible in our heads and on our laptops. During World War II, Wiener
developed an anti-aircraft fi ring system that adjusted future trajectory by taking
into account the results of past performance. His concept of feedback anchored
the cybernetic tradition, which regards communication as the link connecting the
separate parts of any system, such as a computer system, a family system, a
media system, or a system of social support. Theorists in the cybernetic tradition
seek to answer such questions as How does the system work? What could change it?
and How can we get the bugs out?
University of Washington communication professor Malcolm Parks studies
personal relationships by asking both partners to describe their social network.
In one major study of college students’ same-sex friendships, he separately asked
Cybernetics
The study of information
processing, feedback,
and control in communi-
cation systems.
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40 OVERVIEW
each partner to prepare a list of his or her closest relationships, including four
family members and eight non-family ties. 10 In almost all cases, the eight people
who weren’t family were other friends or romantic partners rather than co-workers,
coaches, or teachers. Parks then had the two friends trade their lists and asked
them questions that probed their relationship with the key people in their friend’s
social network. These included:
1. Prior contact: Which people did you know before you met your friend?
2. Range of contact: How many of them have you now met face-to-face?
3. Communication: How often do you communicate with each of them?
4. Liking: How much do you like or dislike each of the ones you know?
5. Support: To what extent does each of them support your friendship?
6. Support: To what extent does your own network support your friendship?
Note that the fi rst four questions establish the links within and between the
friends’ social networks. Both support questions reveal the feedback friends
receive from these support systems.
Using a number of traditional measures that assess personal relationships,
Parks measured the amount of communication between the friends, the closeness
of their relationship, and their commitment to see it continue. When he compared
these three measures to the quantity and quality of links to their friend’s social
network, the results were striking. Friends who had multiple and positive inter-
actions with their partner ’s social networks had more communication with,
closeness to, and commitment toward their partner than friends who had little
involvement and felt little support from these folks. Friendships don’t exist in a
vacuum; they are embedded in a network that processes social information.
THE RHETORICAL TRADITION
Communication as Artful Public Address
Whether speaking to a crowd, congregation, legislative assembly, or jury, public
speakers have sought practical advice on how to best present their case. Well
into the twentieth century, the rhetorical theory and advice from Plato, Aristotle,
Cicero, Quintilian, and other Greco-Roman rhetors served as the main source of
wisdom about public speaking. There are a half-dozen features that characterize
this infl uential tradition of rhetorical communication:
• A conviction that speech distinguishes humans from other animals. Cicero
suggested that only oral communication had the power to lead humanity out
of its brutish existence and establish communities with rights of citizenship. 11
• A confi dence that public address delivered in a democratic forum is a more
effective way to solve political problems than rule by decree or resorting to
force. Within this tradition, the phrase mere rhetoric is a contradiction in terms.
• A setting in which a single speaker attempts to infl uence multiple listeners
through persuasive discourse. Effective communication requires audience
adaptation.
• Oratorical training as the cornerstone of a leader’s education. Speakers learn
to deliver strong arguments in powerful voices that carry to the edge of a
crowd.
Rhetoric
The art of using all avail-
able means of persua-
sion, focusing on lines of
argument, organization
of ideas, language use,
and delivery in public
speaking.
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CHAPTER 4: MAPPING THE TERRITORY 41
• An emphasis on the power and beauty of language to move people emotion-
ally and stir them to action. Rhetoric is more art than science.
• Oral public persuasion as the province of males. A key feature of the wom-
en’s movement has been the struggle for the right to speak in public.
Readers of Aristotle’s The Rhetoric may be surprised to fi nd a systematic
analysis of friendship. He defi nes a friend as “one who loves and is loved in
return.” 12 The Greek word for this kind of love is philia, as in Philadelphia (the
city of brotherly love). Based on this mutual love, Aristotle says a friend takes
pleasure when good things happen to the other and feels distress when the other
goes through bad times—emotions experienced for no other reason than the fact
that they are friends. Aristotle then catalogs more than 20 personal qualities that
make people attractive to us as friends. For example, we have friendly feelings
toward those who are pleasant to deal with, share our interests, aren’t critical of
others, are willing to make or take a joke, and show that they “are very fond of
their friends and not inclined to leave them in the lurch.” 13 Although Aristotle
wrote 2,500 years ago, this last quality resonates with Bill Withers’ classic song
“Lean On Me,” recently covered by the cast of the hit Fox comedy Glee. A good
friend helps you make it through tough times. 14
You might have trouble seeing the link between the main features of the
rhetorical tradition and Aristotle’s comments on friendship. After an in-depth
study on Aristotle’s entire body of work—not just The Rhetoric —St. John’s
University philosopher Eugene Garver concluded that Aristotle didn’t analyze
friendship as a way to help Greek citizens develop close relationships. 15 Rather,
he was instructing orators on how to make their case seem more probable by
creating a feeling of goodwill among the audience. If by word and deed a speaker
appears friendly, listeners will be more open to the message.
Twenty-fi ve years ago I wrote a book on friendship and suggested the title
Making Friends . The publisher liked my proposal, but at the last minute added
a phrase. I was startled when the book came out entitled Making Friends (and
Making Them Count). 16 I’m uncomfortable with the idea of using friends as a
means to achieve other goals. According to Garver, Aristotle had no such qualms.
Rhetoric is the discovery of all available means of persuasion.
THE SEMIOTIC TRADITION
Communication as the Process of Sharing Meaning Through Signs
Semiotics is the study of signs. A sign is anything that can stand for something
else. High body temperature is a sign of infection. Birds fl ying south signal the
coming of winter. A white cane signifi es blindness. An arrow designates which
direction to go.
Words are also signs, but of a special kind. They are symbols. Unlike the
examples I’ve just cited, words are arbitrary symbols that have no inherent
meaning, no natural connection with the things they describe. For example,
there’s nothing in the sound of the word share or anything visual in the letters
h-u-g that signifi es a good friendship. One could just as easily coin the term snarf
or clag to symbolize a close relationship between friends. The same thing is true
for nonverbal symbols like winks or waves.
Cambridge University literary critic I. A. Richards railed against the seman-
tic trap that he labeled “the proper meaning superstition”—the mistaken belief
Semiotics
The study of verbal and
nonverbal signs that can
stand for something else,
and how their interpreta-
tion impacts society.
Symbols
Arbitrary words and non-
verbal signs that bear no
natural connection with
the things they describe;
their meaning is learned
within a given culture.
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42 OVERVIEW
that words have a precise defi nition. For Richards and other semiologists, mean-
ing doesn’t reside in words or other symbols; meaning resides in people. Most
theorists grounded in the semiotic tradition are trying to explain and reduce the
misunderstanding created by the use of ambiguous symbols.
Communication professor Michael Monsour (Metropolitan State University
of Denver) recognized that the word intimacy used in the context of friendship
might mean different things to different people, and the disparity could lead
to confusion or misunderstanding. So he asked 164 communication students
what they meant by intimacy when used in reference to their same-sex and their
opposite-sex friends. Roughly two-thirds of the respondents were female, two-
thirds were single, and two-thirds were under the age of 30. Participants offered
27 distinct interpretations of intimacy between friends, and the number of mean-
ings suggested by each respondent ranged from 1–5, with an average of two
different meanings per person. 17
Seven meanings were mentioned often enough to include them in the fi nal
analysis. Self-disclosure was by far the meaning of intimacy mentioned most. In
rank-order of frequency, the seven interpretations were:
1. Self-disclosure: Revelations about self that the friend didn’t know
2. Emotional expressiveness: Closeness, warmth, affection, and caring
DILBERT © Scott Adams. Used By permission of UNIVERSAL UCLICK. All rights reserved.
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CHAPTER 4: MAPPING THE TERRITORY 43
The socio-cultural tradition is based on the premise that as people talk, they
produce and reproduce culture. Most of us assume that words refl ect what actu-
ally exists. However, theorists in this tradition suggest that the process often
works the other way around. Our view of reality is strongly shaped by the lan-
guage we’ve used since we were infants.
University of Chicago linguist Edward Sapir and his student Benjamin Lee
Whorf were pioneers in the socio-cultural tradition. The Sapir–Whorf hypothesis
of linguistic relativity states that the structure of a culture’s language shapes
what people think and do. 18 “The ‘real world’ is to a large extent unconsciously
built upon the language habits of the group.” 19 Their theory of linguistic relativ-
ity counters the assumption that words merely act as neutral vehicles to carry
meaning. Language actually structures our perception of reality.
Contemporary socio-cultural theorists grant even more power to language.
They claim that it is through the process of communication that “reality is pro-
duced, maintained, repaired, and transformed.” 20 Or, stated in the active voice,
persons-in-conversation co-construct their own social worlds. 21 When these worlds
collide, the socio-cultural tradition offers help in bridging the culture gap that
exists between “us” and “them.”
Patricia Sias, a communication professor at the University of Arizona, takes
a socio-cultural approach when studying friendships that form and dissolve in
organizational settings. She writes that “relationships are not entities external to
the relationship partners, but are mental creations that depend on communica-
tion for their existence and form.  .  .  .  If relationships are constituted in commu-
nication they are also changed through communication.” 22 Sias uses a social
construction lens through which to view deteriorating friendships in the work-
place.
Sias located 25 people in a variety of jobs who were willing to talk about
their failing workplace friendships. Some relationships were between peer
Sapir–Whorf hypothesis
of linguistic relativity  
The claim that the struc-
ture of a language shapes
what people think and
do; the social construc-
tion of reality.
3. Physical contact: Nonsexual touch
4. Trust: Confi dence that the other is reliable
5. Unconditional support: Being there for the other in good times and bad
6. Sexual contact: Overt sexual activity
7. Activities: Doing things together of a nonsexual nature
The content and order of the top fi ve interpretations of intimacy held rela-
tively constant for both opposite-sex and same-sex friendships, whether the
respondent was a man or a woman. The notable deviations were that a few more
men in opposite-sex friendships thought of intimacy as sexual contact, but in
same-sex relationships characterized intimacy as activities together. For Mon-
sour, the major contribution of this study is that for friends in both kinds of
relationships, the word intimacy is multidimensional—a polysemic linguistic
sign. A symbol like this can easily be misunderstood. Yet if two of the students
in Monsour’s study referred to intimacy in a conversation, with a few exceptions,
it’s likely that they’d understand what the other was talking about.
THE SOCIO-CULTURAL TRADITION
Communication as the Creation and Enactment of Social Reality
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44 OVERVIEW
co-workers, others between a supervisor and a subordinate. All the workers spon-
taneously told stories about their deteriorating friendship that revealed how
communication between the two co-workers had changed. Although the friend-
ships went sour for a variety of reasons—personality problems, distracting life
events, confl icting expectations, betrayal, and promotion—the way the friend-
ships dissolved was remarkably similar. Almost all workers told stories of using
indirect communication to change the relationship.
While their friendships were deteriorating, the former friends still had to
talk with each other in order to accomplish their work. But these co-workers
stopped eating lunch together and spending time together outside the offi ce.
While on the job they avoided personal topics and almost never talked about
the declining state of their relationship. Even seemingly safe topics such as
sports or movies were no longer discussed; small talk and watercooler chitchat
disappeared.
Although linguistic connection was sparse, nonverbal communication spoke
loudly. The workers who talked with Sias recalled the lack of eye contact, snappy
or condescending tones of voice, and physically backing away from the other.
Ideally, social construction research in the offi ce would capture the real-time
communication of co-workers, but that would require a video-recorded account
of offi ce conversations when the friendship was in the process of deteriorating—
a high hurdle for Sias to clear. As for contrasting narratives, she notes that “the
damaged nature of the relationships made it diffi cult to recruit both partners in
each friendship.” 23 Yet without the actual dialogue of both conversational part-
ners to examine, any statement about their co-creation of social reality must remain
tentative.
THE CRITICAL TRADITION
Communication as a Reflective Challenge to Unjust Discourse
The term critical theory comes from the work of a group of German scholars
known as the “Frankfurt School” because they were part of the independent
Institute for Social Research at Frankfurt University. Originally set up to test the
ideas of Karl Marx, the Frankfurt School rejected the economic determinism of
orthodox Marxism yet carried on the Marxist tradition of critiquing society.
What types of communication practice and research are critical theorists
against? Although there is no single set of abuses that all of them denounce,
critical theorists consistently challenge three features of contemporary society:
1. The control of language to perpetuate power imbalances. Critical theorists con-
demn any use of words that inhibits emancipation.
2. The role of mass media in dulling sensitivity to repression. Critical theorists see
the “culture industries” of television, fi lm, music, and print media as repro-
ducing the dominant ideology of a culture and distracting people from rec-
ognizing the unjust distribution of power within society.
3. Blind reliance on the scientifi c method and uncritical acceptance of empirical
fi ndings. Critical theorists are suspicious of empirical work that scientists say
is ideologically free, because science is not the value-free pursuit of knowl-
edge that it claims to be.
Culture industries  
Entertainment businesses
that reproduce the domi-
nant ideology of a cul-
ture and distract people
from recognizing unjust
distribution of power
within society; e.g., film,
television, music, and
advertising.
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CHAPTER 4: MAPPING THE TERRITORY 45
University of Louisville communication professor Kathy Werking agrees that
personal relationship research decisions aren’t neutral. In a chapter titled “Cross-
Sex Friendship Research as Ideological Practice,” Werking acknowledges that the
reigning cultural model of relationships between women and men is one of
romance. Yet she is critical of scholars for continually reproducing this hetero-
sexual ideology to the point where it seems natural or just common sense to
assume that all close male–female relationships are about sex and romance. 24
In support of her ideological critique, Werking notes that academic journals
devoted to the study of personal relationships publish vastly more articles on
dating, courtship, and marriage than they do on opposite-sex friendships. Even
when a rare study of opposite-sex friendship is reported, the author usually
compares this type of relationship unfavorably with romantic ties that “may or
may not include equality, are passionate, and have the goal of marriage.” 25
Friendship, Werking claims, is best “based on equality, affection, communion,
and is an end in itself.” 26 This disconnect puts opposite-sex friends in a bind.
They have no language that adequately describes or legitimizes their relation-
ship. The term just friends downplays its importance, platonic friends has an
archaic connotation, and if they use the word love, it must be qualifi ed so that
no one gets the wrong idea.
Werking also criticizes Western scholars for the individualistic ideology that
permeates their opposite-sex research. She says they equate biological sex char-
acteristics with gender identity—an assumption that precludes the possibility
that masculine and feminine orientations are socially created and can change
over time. They also assume that the perceptions of one friend adequately rep-
resent the complexity of what’s going on in the relationship. And rather than
observe friends’ actual interactions over time, they naively rely on freeze-frame
responses on a structured survey to provide suffi cient information to understand
a relationship. Werking claims that all of these research practices do an injustice
to men and women in opposite-sex relationships.
THE PHENOMENOLOGICAL TRADITION
Communication as the Experience of Self and Others Through Dialogue
Although phenomenology is an imposing philosophical term, it basically refers
to the intentional analysis of everyday life from the standpoint of the person
who is living it. Thus, the phenomenological tradition places great emphasis
on people’s perception and their interpretation of their own experience. For the
phenomenologist, an individual’s story is more important, and more authorita-
tive, than any research hypothesis or communication axiom. As psychologist
Carl Rogers asserted, “Neither the Bible nor the prophets—neither Freud nor
research—neither the revelations of God nor man—can take precedence over
my own direct experience.” 27
The problem, of course, is that no two people have the same life story. Since
we cannot experience another person’s experience, we tend to talk past each
other and then lament, “Nobody understands what it’s like to be me.” Thus,
theorists who work within the phenomenological tradition seek to answer two
questions: Why is it so hard to establish and sustain authentic human relationships?
and How can this problem be overcome?
Phenomenology
Intentional analysis of
everyday experience
from the standpoint of
the person who is living
it; explores the possibility
of understanding the
experience of self and
others.
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46 OVERVIEW
Communication professor Bill Rawlins (Ohio University) works within this
tradition as he studies friendship by taking an in-depth look at the actual con-
versations between friends. In his book The Compass of Friendship: Narratives,
Identities, and Dialogues, he devotes an entire chapter to a 90-minute recorded
conversation between Chris and Karen, two women who agree they’ve been
friends for “30 years and counting.” 28 Rawlins provided no guidelines or instruc-
tions. The women only know that he is interested in their friendship. After an
hour of recounting stories about shared experiences, Chris brings up Karen’s
slow retreat into silence the past winter. Obviously bothered by losing contact,
Chris continues . . .
Chris: And I thought, “Well that’s okay; everybody has these times when they
feel this way.” But I feel like you should alert people that care about you [laughs]
to the fact that this is what is goin’ on—
Karen: [laughs] Yeah . . .
Chris: “I’m going into my cave. See ya in the spring,” or whatever. Or “I don’t
wish to have anything, writing or any communications for a while. Not to worry.
Adios. Bye to everybody. Hasta la vista or whatever.”
Karen: Yeah.
Chris: Or something, because I [pause], I [pause], I . . .
Karen: You were worried. 29
The dialogue above is less than a minute of the women’s conversation,
yet it provides a rich resource for Rawlins’ insight into their friendship.
Chris says to herself at the time that such feelings are commonplace and
“OK.” Even so, she believes that Karen “should alert people that care about
you to the fact that this is going on.  .  .  .” They both laugh at this paradoxi-
cal recommendation that Karen communicate to significant others that she
does not intend to communicate with them. Chris rehearses two voices for
Karen here: a humorous one that trades on a hibernation metaphor, and then
a more serious, explicit statement with Spanish flourishes at the end that
seem to add a comical flavor. As Karen affirms this idea, however, Chris
surrenders her comic tone and makes the frank request, “Or something,”
haltingly trying to offer her reasons, “I [pause], I [pause], I  .  .  .  ,” which
Karen completes for her: “You were worried.” In short, Karen again recog-
nizes the emotional basis of Chris’ concerns and legitimates Chris’ suggested
policy for communicating social withdrawal. 30
Rawlins’ reconstruction of this segment reveals how he experiences the
women’s friendship. After reading his interpretation of the entire conversa-
tion, the women independently tell him that he was “right on” and had
“nailed it.” 31 That’s because he paid attention to their interpretation of their
experience.
The seven traditions I’ve described have deep roots in the fi eld of communica-
tion theory. Team loyalties run strong, so theorists, researchers, and practitioners
working within one tradition often hear criticism from those in other traditions
that their particular approach has no legitimacy. In addition to whatever arguments
FENCING THE FIELD OF COMMUNICATION THEORY
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CHAPTER 4: MAPPING THE TERRITORY 47
FIGURE 4–1 A Survey Map of Traditions in the Field of Communication Theory
Cybernetic
Objective
Territory
Interpretive
Territory
Socio-
psychological
Rhetorical
Socio-cultural
Critical
Semiotic
Phenomenological
each group might muster to defend their choice, they can also claim “squatters’
rights” because scholars who went before had already established the right to
occupy that portion of land. Taking the real estate metaphor seriously, in
Figure 4–1 , I’ve charted the seven traditions as equal-area parcels of land that
collectively make up the larger fi eld of study. A few explanations are in order.
First, it’s important to realize that the location of each tradition on the map
is far from random. My rationale for placing them where they are is based on
the distinction between objective and interpretive theories outlined in Chapter 2.
According to the scientifi c assumptions presented in that chapter, the socio-
psychological tradition is the most objective, and so it occupies the far left posi-
tion on the map—solidly rooted in objective territory. Moving across the map
from left to right, the traditions become more interpretive and less objective.
Some students wonder why rhetoric is rated more objective than semiotics. It’s
because rhetoricians have traditionally regarded what language refers to as
“real,” whereas semiologists perceive the relationship between a word and its
referent as more tenuous. I see the phenomenological tradition as the most sub-
jective of the seven traditions, and so it occupies the position farthest to the
right—fi rmly grounded in interpretive territory. The order of presentation in this
chapter followed the same progression—a gradual shift from objective to inter-
pretive concerns. Scholars working in adjacent traditions usually have an easier
time appreciating each other’s work. On the map they share a common border.
Professionally, they are closer together in their basic assumptions.
Second, hybrids are possible across traditions. You’ve seen throughout this
chapter that each tradition has its own way of defi ning communication and its
own distinct vocabulary. Thus, it’s fair to think of the dividing lines on the map
as fences built to keep out strange ideas. Scholars, however, are an independent
bunch. They climb fences, read journals, and fl y to faraway conferences. This cross-
pollination sometimes results in theory grounded in two or three traditions.
Finally, the seven charted traditions might not cover every approach to
communication theory. Craig recently suggested the possibility of a pragmatist
tradition —a pluralistic land where different perspectives on truth could all be
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48 OVERVIEW
legitimate in different ways. He pictures it as a tradition that “orients to practical
problems, and evaluates ideas according to their usefulness rather than by an
absolute standard of truth.” 32 It would be a location where he sees his own work
fi tting in well. Craig’s openness to considering new territories leads us to offer
a quite different stream of theory running through the fi eld of communication.
Our candidate is an ethical tradition.
THE ETHICAL TRADITION
Communication as People of Character Interacting in Just and Beneficial Ways
More than many academic disciplines, the fi eld of communication has been con-
cerned with ethical responsibility. Since the time of Plato and Aristotle, commu-
nication scholars have grappled with the obligations that go along with the
opportunities we have to communicate. Contemporary discussions of morality
are increasingly beleaguered by the rise of ethical relativism. 33 Yet despite the
postmodern challenge to all claims of Truth, at the turn of the century, the
National Communication Association (NCA) adopted a “Credo for Ethical Com-
munication” (see Appendix C). 34 Like most attempts to deal with communication
ethics, it addresses the problem of what is ethical and starts with the issue of
honesty versus lying. I’ll cite three of the creed’s nine principles in order to
illustrate the major streams of thought within the ethical tradition: 35
1. We advocate truthfulness, accuracy, honesty, and reason as essential to the integrity
of communication. This principle centers on the rightness or wrongness of a
communication act regardless of whether it benefi ts the people involved. It
speaks to the question of obligation. Is it always our duty to be honest?
2. We accept responsibility for the short- and long-term consequences of our own com-
munication and expect the same of others. This principle is concerned with the
harm or benefi t that results from our words. It raises the question of outcomes.
Will a lie promote well-being or prevent injury?
3. We strive to understand and respect other communicators before evaluating and
responding to their messages. This principle focuses on the character of the com-
municator rather than the act of communication. It bids us to look at our
motives and attitudes. Do I seek to be a person of integrity and virtue?
These are diffi cult questions to answer, and some readers might suggest that
they have no place in a communication theory text. But to deal with human inter-
course as a mechanical process separate from values would be like discussing sexual
intercourse under ground rules that prohibit any reference to love. And within the
ethical tradition, communication theorists do offer answers to these questions.
Many ethical theorists come out of interpretive traditions. For example, the
fi nal chapter of Bill Rawlins’ book The Compass of Friendship suggests what a
friendship aligned with a moral compass looks like. The friends negotiate their
relationship voluntarily, care about each other’s well-being, respect each other as
equals, and engage in ongoing learning about each other.36 But some objective
scholars care about ethical communication, too. Andrew’s TCU friend and col-
league Paul Witt is steeped in the socio-psychological tradition. He also teaches
“Communication and Character,” a course that examines honesty, compassion,
courage, patience, and humility—important ingredients for ethical friendships.
Thus, we won’t try to locate the ethical tradition in any single spot on the
Pragmatism
An applied approach to
knowledge; the philoso-
phy that true understand-
ing of an idea or situation
has practical implica-
tions for action.
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CHAPTER 4: MAPPING THE TERRITORY 49
objective–interpretive landscape in Figure 4–1. We have, however, encapsuled the
thoughts of some infl uential ethical theorists into 13 summary statements. Each
of these ethical refl ections appears in this book alongside a theory with which it
naturally resonates.
With or without our addition of an ethical tradition, Craig’s framework can
help make sense of the great diversity in the fi eld of communication theory. As
you read about a theory in the section on media effects, remember that it may
have the same ancestry as a theory you studied earlier in the section on relation-
ship development. On the fi rst page of each of the next 32 chapters, we’ll tie
each theory to one or more traditions. Hopefully this label will make it easier
for you to understand why the theorist has made certain choices. The labels are
signposts that will help you navigate the world of communication theory.
1. Considering the differences between objective and interpretive theory, can you
make a case that the rhetorical tradition is less objective than the semiotic one
or that the socio-cultural tradition is more interpretive than the critical one?
2. Suppose you and your best friend have recently been on an emotional roller
coaster. Which of the seven highlighted defi nitions of communication offers the
most promise of helping you achieve a stable relationship? Why?
3. Communication departments rarely have a faculty representing all seven
traditions. In order to create specialties and minimize confl ict, some recruit
from just one or two. What tradition(s) seems well-represented in your
department?
4. The map in Figure 4–1 represents seven traditions in the fi eld of communica-
tion theory. In which region do you feel most at home? What other areas
would you like to explore? Where would you be uncomfortable? Why?
QUESTIONS TO SHARPEN YOUR FOCUS
A SECOND LOOK Recommended resource: Robert T. Craig, “Communication Theory as a Field,” Commu-
nication Theory, Vol. 9, 1999, pp. 119–161.
Communication as a practical discipline: Robert T. Craig, “Communication as a Practical
Discipline,” in Rethinking Communication: Vol. 1, Brenda Dervin, Lawrence Grossberg,
Barbara O’Keefe, and Ellen Wartella (eds.), Sage, Newbury Park, CA, 1989, pp. 97–122.
Anthology of primary resources for each tradition: Heidi L. Muller and Robert T. Craig
(eds.), Theorizing Communication: Readings Across Traditions, Sage, Los Angeles, CA, 2007.
Socio-psychological tradition: Carl Hovland, Irving Janis, and Harold Kelley, Communi-
cation and Persuasion, Yale University, New Haven, CT, 1953, pp. 1–55.
Cybernetic tradition: Norbert Wiener, The Human Use of Human Beings, Avon, New
York, 1967, pp. 23–100.
Rhetorical tradition: Thomas M. Conley, Rhetoric in the European Tradition, Longman,
New York, 1990, pp. 1–52.
Semiotic tradition: C. K. Ogden and I. A. Richards, The Meaning of Meaning, Harcourt,
Brace & World, New York, 1946, pp. 1–23.
Phenomenological tradition: Carl Rogers, “The Characteristics of a Helping Relationship,”
in On Becoming a Person, Houghton Miffl in, Boston, MA, 1961, pp. 39–58.
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50 OVERVIEW
Socio-cultural tradition: Benjamin Lee Whorf, “The Relation of Habitual Thought and
Behaviour to Language,” in Language, Culture, and Personality: Essays in Memory of Edward
Sapir, University of Utah, Salt Lake City, UT, 1941, pp. 123–149.
Critical tradition: Raymond Morrow with David Brown, Critical Theory and Methodol-
ogy, Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 1994, pp. 3–34, 85–112.
Ethical tradition: Richard L. Johannesen, “Communication Ethics: Centrality, Trends,
and Controversies,” in Communication Yearbook 25, William B. Gudykunst (ed.), Lawrence
Erlbaum, Mahwah, NJ, 2001, pp. 201–235.
Pragmatic tradition: Robert T. Craig, “Pragmatism in the Field of Communication
Theory,” Communication Theory, Vol. 17, 2007, pp. 125–145.
Critique of Craig’s model and his response: David Myers, “A Pox on All Compromises:
Reply to Craig (1999),” and Robert T. Craig, “Minding My Metamodel, Mending Myers,”
Communication Theory, Vol. 11, 2001, pp. 218–230, 231–240.
To access three-level sentence outlines for all 37 chapters,
click on Outline under Theory Resources at
www.afi rstlook.com.
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51
DIVISION TWO
Interpersonal
Communication
INTERPERSONAL MESSAGES
CHAPTER 5. Symbolic Interactionism (Mead)
CHAPTER 6. Coordinated Management of Meaning (CMM) (Pearce & Cronen)
CHAPTER 7. Expectancy Violations Theory (Burgoon)
RELATIONSHIP DEVELOPMENT
CHAPTER 8. Social Penetration Theory (Altman & Taylor)
CHAPTER 9. Uncertainty Reduction Theory (Berger)
CHAPTER 10. Social Information Processing Theory (Walther)
RELATIONSHIP MAINTENANCE
CHAPTER 11. Relational Dialectics (Baxter & Montgomery)
CHAPTER 12. Communication Privacy Management Theory (Petronio)
CHAPTER 13. The Interactional View (Watzlawick)
INFLUENCE
CHAPTER 14. Social Judgment Theory (Sherif )
CHAPTER 15. Elaboration Likelihood Model (Petty & Cacioppo)
CHAPTER 16. Cognitive Dissonance Theory (Festinger)
51
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52
I n t e r p e r s o n a l M e s s a g e s
Communication theorists often use the image of a game to describe interpersonal
communication. Various scholars refer to language games, rules of the game, gamelike
behavior, and even game theory . I’ll use three specifi c game metaphors to illustrate
what interpersonal communication is , and what it is not .1
Communication as Bowling The bowling model of message delivery is
likely the most widely held view of communication. I think that’s unfortunate.
This model sees the bowler as the sender, who delivers the ball, which is the
message. As it rolls down the lane (the channel), clutter on the boards (noise) may
defl ect the ball (the message). Yet if it is aimed well, the ball strikes the passive
pins (the target audience) with a predictable effect.
In this one-way model of communication, the speaker (bowler) must take
care to select a precisely crafted message (ball) and practice diligently to deliver it
the same way every time. Of course, that makes sense only if target listeners are
static, interchangeable pins waiting to be bowled over by our words—which they
aren’t. Communication theory that emphasizes message content to the neglect of
relational factors simply isn’t realistic. Real-life interpersonal communication is
sometimes confusing, often unpredictable, and always involves more than just the
speaker’s action. This realization has led some observers to propose an interactive
model for interpersonal communication.
Communication as Ping-Pong Unlike bowling, Ping-Pong is not a solo
game. This fact alone makes it a better analogy for interpersonal communication.
One party puts the conversational ball in play, and the other gets into position to
receive. It takes more concentration and skill to receive than to serve because while
the speaker (server) knows where the message is going, the listener (receiver)
doesn’t. Like a verbal or nonverbal message, the ball may appear straightforward
yet have a deceptive spin.
Ping-Pong is a back-and-forth game; players switch roles continuously. One
moment the person holding the paddle is an initiator; the next second the same
player is a responder, gauging the effectiveness of his or her shot by the way the
ball comes back. The repeated adjustment essential for good play closely paral-
lels the feedback process described in a number of interpersonal communication
theories. There are, however, two inherent fl aws in the table-tennis analogy.
The fi rst defect is that the game is played with one ball, which at any point
in time is headed in a single direction. A true model of interpersonal encounters
would have people sending and receiving multiple balls at the same time. The
other problem is that table tennis is a competitive game—there’s a winner and a
loser. In successful dialogue, both people win.
Communication as Charades The game of charades best captures the
simultaneous and collaborative nature of interpersonal communication. A charade
is neither an action, like bowling a strike, nor an interaction, like a rally in
Ping-Pong. It’s a transaction.
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INTERPERSONAL MESSAGES 53
Charades is a mutual game; the actual play is cooperative. One member draws
a title or slogan from a batch of possibilities and then tries to act it out visually for
teammates in a silent minidrama. The goal is to get at least one partner to say the
exact words that are on the slip of paper. Of course, the actor is prohibited from
talking out loud.
Suppose you drew the saying “God helps those who help themselves.” For
God you might try folding your hands and gazing upward. For helps you could act
out offering a helping hand or giving a leg-up boost over a fence. By pointing at a
number of real or imaginary people you may elicit a response of them, and by this
point a partner may shout out, “God helps those who help themselves.” Success.
Like charades, interpersonal communication is a mutual, ongoing process of
sending, receiving, and adapting verbal and nonverbal messages with another
person to create and alter the images in both our minds. Communication between
us begins when there is some overlap between two images, and is effective to the
extent that overlap increases. But even if our mental pictures are congruent, com-
munication will be partial as long as we interpret them differently. The idea that
“God helps those who help themselves” could strike one person as a hollow prom-
ise, while the other might regard it as a divine stamp of approval for hard work.
The three theories in this section reject a simplistic, one-way bowling analogy
and an interactive Ping-Pong model of interpersonal communication. Instead,
they view interpersonal communication in a way more akin to charades—a com-
plex transaction in which overlapping messages simultaneously affect and are
affected by the other person and multiple other factors.
© John O’Brien/The New Yorker Collection/www.cartoonbank.com
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5454
Symbolic Interactionism
of George Herbert Mead
George Herbert Mead was an early social constructionist. Mead believed that our
thoughts, self-concept, and the wider community we live in are created through
communication—symbolic interaction. The book that lays out his theory, Mind,
Self, and Society, describes how language is essential for these three critical human
characteristics to develop.1 Without symbolic interaction, humanity as we know
it wouldn’t exist.
Symbolic interaction isn’t just talk. The term refers to the language and ges-
tures a person uses in anticipation of the way others will respond. The verbal
and nonverbal responses that a listener then provides are likewise crafted in
expectation of how the original speaker will react. The continuing process is like
the game of charades described in the introduction to this section; it’s a full-
fl edged conversation.
Mead was a philosophy professor at the University of Chicago for the fi rst
three decades of the twentieth century. As a close personal friend of renowned
pragmatist John Dewey, he shared Dewey’s applied approach to knowledge. Mead
thought the true test of any theory is whether it is useful in solving complex social
problems. If it doesn’t work in practice, forget it! He was a social activist who
marched for women’s suffrage, championed labor unions in an era of robber-baron
capitalism, and helped launch the urban settlement house movement with pioneer
social worker Jane Addams.
Although Mead taught in a philosophy department, he is best known by soci-
ologists as the professor who trained a generation of the best minds in their fi eld.
Strangely, he never set forth his wide-ranging ideas in a book or systematic treatise.
After he died, his students pulled together class notes and conversations with their
mentor and published Mind, Self, and Society in his name. It was only then that his
chief disciple, Herbert Blumer at the University of California, Berkeley, coined the
term symbolic interactionism. This phrase captures what Mead claimed is the most
human and humanizing activity that people can engage in—talking to each other.
Blumer stated three core principles of symbolic interactionism that deal with
meaning, language, and thinking. 2 These premises lead to conclusions about the
creation of a person’s self and socialization into the larger society. The rest of this
chapter discusses these fi ve related topics one by one. I’ll offer a variety of inter-
actionist stories and qualitative research to illustrate Mead’s claims.
Symbolic interaction
The ongoing use of lan-
guage and gestures in
anticipation of how the
other will react; a con-
versation.
5C H A P T E R
Objective Interpretive
Socio-cultural tradition
●
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CHAPTER 5: SYMBOLIC INTERACTIONISM 55
MEANING: THE CONSTRUCTION OF SOCIAL REALITY
Blumer started with the premise that humans act toward people or things on the
basis of the meanings they assign to those people or things. Facts don’t speak for
themselves; it’s our interpretation that counts. And once people defi ne a situation
as real, it’s very real in its consequences. 3
For Mead, meaning-making isn’t an individual undertaking. Interpretations
are a joint venture. This idea is illustrated in Jane Wagner’s one-woman play
The Search for Signs of Intelligent Life in the Universe, in which Trudy, an urban
bag lady, views society from her perspective on the street. Her words underscore
the interactionist position that social reality is created and validated within
community:
It’s my belief we all, at one time or another,
secretly ask ourselves the question,
“Am I crazy?”
In my case, the answer came back: A resounding
YES!
You’re thinkin’: How does a person know if they’re crazy or not? Well, sometimes
you don’t know. Sometimes you can go through life suspecting you are but never
really knowing for sure. Sometimes you know for sure ’cause you got so many
people tellin’ you you’re crazy that it’s your word against everyone else’s.  .  .  .
After all, what is reality anyway? Nothin’ but a collective hunch. 4
What causes people to react this way toward Trudy? For followers of Mead
that’s a loaded question, one that refl ects the stimulus–response thinking of
behavioral scientists. Interactionists are united in their disdain for deterministic
thinking. The closest they come to the idea of causality is to argue that humans
act on their defi nition of the situation.5 An interactionist revision of the way
scientists diagram stimulus–response causality might look like this:
Stimulus ➔ Interpretation ➔ Response
The middle term in the chain shows that it’s the meaning that matters. As Trudy
notes, however, when those interpretations are shared throughout society, they
become hard to resist.
LANGUAGE: THE SOURCE OF MEANING
Blumer ’s second premise is that meaning arises out of the social interaction that
people have with each other. In other words, meaning is not inherent in objects; it’s
not pre-existent in a state of nature. Meaning is negotiated through the use of
language —hence the term symbolic interactionism.
As human beings, we have the ability to name things. We can designate a
specifi c object (person), identify an action (scream), or refer to an abstract idea
(crazy). Occasionally a word sounds like the thing it describes (smack, thud, crash),
but usually the names we use have no logical connection with the object at hand.
Symbols are arbitrary signs. There’s nothing inherently small, soft, or lovable in
the word kitten. 6 It’s only by talking with others—symbolic interaction—that we
come to ascribe that meaning and develop a universe of discourse.
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56 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
Mead believed that symbolic naming is the basis for human society. The book
of Genesis in the Judeo-Christian Scriptures states that Adam’s fi rst task was to
name the animals—the dawn of civilization. Interactionists claim that the extent of
knowing is dependent on the extent of naming. Although language can be a prison
that confi nes us, we have the potential to push back the walls and bars as we
master more words. From your experience taking the SAT or ACT college entrance
exams, you probably recall a major focus on linguistic aptitude. The construction
of the test obviously refl ects agreement with the interactionist claim that human
intelligence is the ability to symbolically identify much of what we encounter.
But symbolic interaction is not just a means for intelligent expression; it’s
also the way we learn to interpret the world. A symbol is “a stimulus that has
a learned meaning and value for people.” 7 A symbol conveys messages of how
we are to feel about and respond to the object, event, or person to which it
refers.8 Consider the puzzle posed by the following story:
A father and his son were driving to a ball game when their car stalled on the
railroad tracks. In the distance a train whistle blew a warning. Frantically, the
father tried to start the engine, but in his panic, he couldn’t turn the key, and the
car was hit by the onrushing train. An ambulance sped to the scene and picked
them up. On the way to the hospital, the father died. The son was still alive but
his condition was very serious, and he needed immediate surgery. The moment
they arrived at the hospital, he was wheeled into an emergency operating room,
and the surgeon came in, expecting a routine case. However, on seeing the boy the
surgeon blanched and muttered, “I can’t operate on this boy—he’s my son.” 9
How can this be? How do you explain the surgeon’s dilemma? If the answer
isn’t immediately obvious, I encourage you to close the book and think it through.
This puzzle is the opening paragraph of an article that appears in a fascinat-
ing book of readings that is my Second Look resource for applications of sym-
bolic interactionism. Douglas Hofstadter, the man who poses the problem, is
adamant that readers mull it over until they fi gure out the answer. There’s no
doubt, he assures us, that we’ll know it when we get it.
I fi rst heard this puzzle in a slightly different form about a decade ago. I’m
ashamed to admit that it took me a few minutes to fi gure out the answer. My cha-
grin is heightened by the fact that my doctor is the wife of a departmental colleague
and my daughter-in-law is a physician as well. How could I have been taken in?
Hofstadter’s answer to my question is that the words we use have default
assumptions. Since the story contains no reference to the doctor’s gender, and the
majority of surgeons in America are men, we’ll likely assume that the surgeon
in the story is male. While such an assumption may have some basis in fact, the
subtle tyranny of symbols is that we usually don’t consciously think about the
mental jump we’re making. Unless we’re brought up short by some obvious
glitch in our taken-for-granted logic, we’ll probably conjure up a male fi gure
every time we read or hear the word surgeon. What’s more, we’ll probably assume
that the way we think things are is the way they ought to be.
Signifi cant symbols can of course be nonverbal as well as linguistic. When I
asked my students to apply a feature of symbolic interaction to their own expe-
rience, Glynka wrote the following:
A ring. A class ring. A guy’s class ring. In high school it was the ultimate symbol
of status, whether dangling from a chain or wrapped with a quarter inch of yarn.
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CHAPTER 5: SYMBOLIC INTERACTIONISM 57
Without ever speaking a word, a girl could tell everybody that she was loved (and
trusted with expensive jewelry), that she had a protector (and how big that protec-
tor was, based, of course, on ring size—the bigger the better), the guy’s status
(preferably senior), and his varsity sport (preferably football). Yes, if you had the
(right) class ring, you were really somebody.
She then noted it was only through hundreds of conversations among students
at her school that the privileges and responsibilities that went with wearing the
ring became something “everyone knows.” Without symbolic interaction, there’s
no shared meaning.
THINKING: THE PROCESS OF TAKING THE ROLE OF THE OTHER
Blumer’s third premise is that an individual’s interpretation of symbols is modifi ed
by his or her own thought processes. Symbolic interactionists describe thinking as
an inner conversation. Mead called this inner dialogue minding.
Minding is the pause that’s refl ective. It’s the two-second delay while we
mentally rehearse our next move, test alternatives, anticipate others’ reactions.
Mead said we don’t need any encouragement to look before we leap. We natu-
rally talk to ourselves in order to sort out the meaning of a diffi cult situation.
But fi rst, we need language. Before we can think, we must be able to interact
symbolically.
The Lion King, Finding Nemo, and Dr. Dolittle movies aside, Mead believed
that animals act “instinctively” and “without deliberation.” 10 They are unable
to think refl ectively because, with few exceptions, they are unable to commu-
nicate symbolically. The human animal comes equipped with a brain that is
wired for thought. But that alone is not suffi cient for thinking. Interactionists
maintain that “humans require social stimulation and exposure to abstract
symbol systems to embark upon conceptual thought processes that characterize
our species.” 11 Language is the software that activates the mind, but it doesn’t
come pre-installed. Without the symbolic interaction that learning a language
requires, we wouldn’t be able to think through our responses—we’d
only react.12
If the idea that language is required for mulling over ideas or interpersonal
situations strikes you as far-fetched, consider the plight of a baby born deaf. If
the condition isn’t spotted early and the infant isn’t taught sign language, the
result is a case of arrested cognitive development that is often misdiagnosed as
retardation or autism. That’s how the phrase deaf and dumb came to carry the
unfortunate connotation of stupid. But as psychologist Oliver Sacks documents
in his book Seeing Voices, if the child is immersed in a signing community early
on, by age three he or she will develop cognitive skills equal to or better than
those of kids who have normal hearing. 13 It appears Mead had it right. Symbolic
interaction—whether verbal or nonverbal—activates our cognitive ability for
inner dialogue that, once switched on, won’t shut down.
Mead’s greatest contribution to our understanding of the way we think is
his notion that human beings have the unique capacity to take the role of the other.
Early in life, kids role-play the activities of their parents, talk with imaginary
friends, and take constant delight in pretending to be someone else. As adults,
we continue to put ourselves in the place of others and act as they would act,
although the process may be less conscious. Mead was convinced that thinking
Minding
An inner dialogue used
to test alternatives, re-
hearse actions, and an-
ticipate reactions before
responding; self-talk.
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58 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
is the mental conversation we hold with others, always with an eye toward how
they might see us and react to what we might do.
In Harper Lee’s novel To Kill a Mockingbird, Scout stands on Boo Radley’s
porch and recalls her father’s words, “You never really know a man until you
stand in his shoes and walk around in them.” 14 That’s a clear statement of what
symbolic interactionism means by role-taking. The young, impulsive girl takes
the perspective of a painfully shy, emotionally fragile man. Note that she doesn’t
become him—that would be Invasion of the Body Snatchers. She does, however,
look out at the world through his eyes. More than anything else, what she sees
is  herself.
Taking the role of the
other
The process of mentally
imagining that you are
someone else who is
viewing you.
THE SELF: REFLECTIONS IN A LOOKING GLASS
Once we understand that meaning, language, and thinking are tightly intercon-
nected, we’re able to grasp Mead’s concept of the self. Mead dismissed the idea
that we could get glimpses of who we are through introspection. He claimed,
instead, that we paint our self-portrait with brush strokes that come from taking
the role of the other —imagining how we look to another person. Interactionists
call this mental image the looking-glass self and insist that it’s socially constructed.
Mead borrowed the phrase from sociologist Charles Cooley, who adapted it from
a poem by Ralph Waldo Emerson. Emerson wrote that each close companion . . .
Is to his friend a looking-glass
Refl ects his fi gure that doth pass. 15
Stated more formally, the Mead–Cooley hypothesis claims that “individuals’ self-
conceptions result from assimilating the judgments of signifi cant others.”16
Symbolic interactionists are convinced that the self is a function of language.
Without talk there would be no self-concept. ”We are not born with senses of
self. Rather, selves arise in interaction with others. I can only experience myself
in relation to others; absent interaction with others, I cannot be a self—I cannot
emerge as someone.” 17 To the extent that we interact with new acquaintances or
have novel conversations with signifi cant others, the self is always in fl ux. This
means that there is no etched-in-stone Em Griffi n inside my body waiting to be
discovered or set free.
According to Mead, the self is an ongoing process combining the “I” and the
“me.” The “I” is the spontaneous, driving force that fosters all that is novel,
unpredictable, and unorganized in the self. For those of you intrigued with brain
hemisphere research, the “I” is akin to right-brain creativity. We know little about
the “I” because it’s forever elusive. Trying to examine the “I” part of the self is
like viewing a snowfl ake through a lighted microscope. The very act causes it to
vanish. Put another way, you can never know your “I,” because once it is known
it becomes your “me.”18
The “me” is viewed as an object—the image of self seen in the looking
glass of other people’s reactions. Do you remember in grammar school how
you learned to identify the personal pronoun me in a sentence as the object of a
verb? Because of the role-taking capacity of the human race, we can stand out-
side our bodies and view ourselves as objects. This refl exive experience is like
having the Goodyear blimp hover overhead, sending back video images of our-
selves while we act. Mead described the process this way: “If the ‘I’ speaks, the
Looking-glass self
The mental self-image
that results from taking
the role of the other; the
objective self; me.
I
The subjective self; the
spontaneous driving force
that fosters all that is
novel, unpredictable, and
unorganized in the self.
Me
The objective self; the
image of self seen when
one takes the role of the
other.
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CHAPTER 5: SYMBOLIC INTERACTIONISM 59
© Roz Chast/The New Yorker Collection/www.cartoonbank.com
‘me’ hears.” 19 And “the ‘I’ of this moment is present in the ‘me’ of the next
moment.” 20
Sociologist Thomas Scheff uses Mead’s distinction between the “I” and the
“me” to explain the creative genius of Beethoven, Bach, Brahms, and other
renowned composers. In each case, the creative impulse of their subjective “I”
was tutored and nurtured by a close relative who himself was a gifted musician.
The abundance of positive feedback they received early on as opposed to ridicule
for any errors they might make created an objective “me” with a high level of
self-esteem. Thus, each composer could later trust his creative impulses when
audiences were critical.
Scheff defi nes self-esteem as “freedom from chronic shame.”21 Even if we
don’t share the musical genius of these classical composers, Scheff suggests that
affectionate or good-humored laughter almost always dispels shame and boosts
our evaluation of the “me” we perceive.
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60 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
SOCIETY: THE SOCIALIZING EFFECT OF OTHERS’ EXPECTATIONS
Mead and other symbolic interactionists refer to the composite person in our
mind with whom we are in dialogue as our generalized other. Our conversational
partner is a blend of not only signifi cant others—family, close friends, an outside
authority fi gure—but also voices from the broader society. Although Mead died
before the impact of television and the Internet, I believe he’d regard the hours
we’re glued to a screen and the responses we receive through social media as
playing a big part in shaping the content of that inner dialogue.22 Those mental
conversations are important because:
The generalized other is an organized set of information that the individual carries
in her or his head about what the general expectation and attitudes of the social
group are. We refer to this generalized other whenever we try to fi gure out how to
behave or how to evaluate our behavior in a social situation. We take the position
of the generalized other and assign meaning to ourselves and our actions. 23
Unlike most sociologists, Mead saw society as consisting of individual
actors who make their own choices—society-in-the-making rather than society-
by-previous-design.24 Yet these individuals align their actions with what others
are doing to form education systems, health care systems, legal systems, eco-
nomic systems, and all the other societal institutions in which they take part.
It is unclear from Mind, Self, and Society whether Mead regarded the generalized
other as (1) an overarching looking-glass self that we put together from the
refl ections we see in everyone we know or (2) the institutional expectations,
rules of the game, or accepted practices within society that infl uence every con-
versation that takes place in people’s minds. Either way, the generalized other
shapes how we think and interact within the community.
To summarize, there is no “me” at birth. The “me” is formed only through
continual symbolic interaction—fi rst with family, next with playmates, then in
institutions such as schools. As the generalized other develops, this imaginary
composite person becomes the conversational partner in an ongoing mental dia-
logue. In this way, kids participate in their own socialization. The child gradually
acquires the roles of those in the surrounding community. Mead would have us
think of the “me” as the organized society within the individual.
But society does not always speak in a single, consistent voice. The
application log of Andrew’s student Cody strikingly reveals how a person’s
generalized other can change in a short period of time when a single group
holds sway.
I joined the military at age 18 and in three hellish months of basic training wit-
nessed fi rsthand how the Army used language to create a new reality and alter my
self-concept. I was told to stand in line and “shut my mouth.” My orders were to
follow orders. I was not to ask why, or question the judgment of my leaders. As
one of my drill sergeants so eloquently stated, “You were not issued an opinion.”
All of the sergeants made us repeat mantras such as “BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD,
MAKES THE GREEN GRASS GROW” and “Two in the chest, one in the head,
KILL, KILL, KILL.”
The Army created a new social reality. The drill sergeants were the models for
what we as soldiers were to become. They would recite tales of killing like normal
men would recall catching a touchdown pass in high school. I was told over and
over, “Killing is what we do; it is a privilege. You all will learn to do so effi ciently
Generalized other
The composite mental
image a person has of
his or her self based on
societal expectations and
responses.
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CHAPTER 5: SYMBOLIC INTERACTIONISM 61
and without remorse.” Only through killing the enemy could we neutralize any
threat our republic deemed dangerous.
Where previously I thought of killing as a practice reserved for villains and
tyrants, I came to see it as not only acceptable but something worthy of praise.
I thirsted for the opportunity to prove myself worthy of the task; I longed to
belong to the hall of hallowed combat vets. When my father looked me in the eyes
and my drill sergeant shook my hand at my graduation from Basic Combat
Training, I knew that I had changed. I was able to defi ne myself by what others
expected and the way others treated me. In Mead’s terms, I had become a new
“me.” I later served as a drill sergeant.
A SAMPLER OF APPLIED SYMBOLIC INTERACTION
Since Mead believed that a theory is valuable to the extent that it is useful, I’ve
pulled together six separate applications of symbolic interactionism. Not only
will this provide a taste of the practical insights the theory has generated,
it will give you a chance to review some of the theoretical ideas covered in the
chapter.
Creating Reality. Shakespeare wrote, “All the world’s a stage, and all the
men and women merely players.” 25 In his book The Presentation of Self in Every-
day Life, University of California, Berkeley, sociologist Erving Goffman described
social interaction as a dramaturgical performance. 26 Consistent with that
character-in-a-play metaphor, Goffman claimed that we are all involved in a
constant negotiation with others to publicly defi ne our identity and the nature
of the situation. He warned that “the impression of reality fostered by a perfor-
mance is a delicate, fragile thing that can be shattered by minor mishaps.” 27 His
colleague Joan Emerson outlines the cooperative effort required to sustain
the defi nition of a gynecological exam as a routine medical procedure. 28 The
doctor and nurse enact their roles in a medical setting to assure patients that
“everything is normal, no one is embarrassed, no one is thinking in sexual
terms.” The audience of one is reassured only when the actors give a consistent
performance.
Meaning-ful Research. Mead advocated research through participant
observation, a form of ethnography in which researchers systematically set
out to share in the lives of the people they study. The participant observer
adopts the stance of an interested—yet ignorant—visitor who listens carefully
to what people say in order to discover how they interpret their world.
Mead had little sympathy for tightly controlled behavioral experiments or
checklist surveys. The results might be quantifi able, but the lifeless numbers
are void of the meaning the experience had for the person. Mead would
have liked the wrangler who said that the only way to understand horses is
to smell like a horse, eat from a trough, and sleep in a stall. That’s participant
observation.
Generalized Other . The sobering short story “Cipher in the Snow” tells the
true account of a boy who is treated as a nonentity by his parents, his teachers,
and other children. Their negative responses gradually reduce him to what they
perceive him to be—nothing. He eventually collapses and dies in a snowbank
for no apparent reason. The interactionist would describe his death as symbolic
Participant observation
A method of adopting
the stance of an ignorant
yet interested visitor who
carefully notes what peo-
ple say and do in order
to discover how they in-
terpret their world.
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62 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
manslaughter. 29 This sad outcome brings to mind the 2012 Sandy Hook school
massacre and many other events where a single shooter turns a gun on a group
of people and then commits suicide. In the bloody aftermath, the authorities
discover that the killer was a detached soul who lived a life of social isolation
and alienation after years of verbal and nonverbal put-downs. Interactionists
might call this symbolic destruction.
Naming . Here’s a partial list of epithets I heard in public places over a
one-year period; they were all spoken in a demeaning voice: dummy, ugly, slob,
fag, nigger, retard, fundamentalist, liberal, Neanderthal, slut, liar. Sticks and stones
can break my bones, but names can really hurt me. Name-calling can be devastat-
ing because the labels force us to view ourselves in a warped mirror. The gro-
tesque images aren’t easily dismissed.
Self-Fulfi lling Prophecy. One implication of the looking-glass-self hypoth-
esis is that each of us has a signifi cant impact on how others view themselves.
That kind of interpersonal power is often referred to as self-fulfi lling prophecy , the
tendency for our expectations to evoke responses in others that confi rm what we
originally anticipated. The process is nicely summed up by Eliza Doolittle, a
woman from the gutter in George Bernard Shaw’s play Pygmalion, the inspiration
for the musical My Fair Lady: “The difference between a lady and a fl ower girl
is not how she behaves, but how she’s treated.” 30
Symbol Manipulation . Saul Alinsky was a product of the “Chicago School”
of sociology at a time when Mead was having his greatest infl uence. Similar to
Barack Obama, Alinsky became a community organizer in Chicago when he fi n-
ished grad school, and applied what he learned to empower the urban poor. For
example, in the early 1960s he helped found The Woodlawn Organization (TWO)
to oppose his alma mater’s complicity in substandard neighborhood housing.
He searched for a symbol that would galvanize Woodlawn residents into united
action and stir the sympathies of other Chicago residents. He had previously
described his technique for selecting a symbolic issue:
You start with the people, their traditions, their prejudices, their habits, their atti-
tudes and all of those other circumstances that make up their lives. It should
always be remembered that a real organization of the people  .  .  .  must be rooted in
the experiences of the people themselves. 31
Alinsky found his symbol in the rats that infested the squalid apartments. TWO’s
rallying cry became “Rats as big as cats.” Not only did the city start to crack
down on slum landlords, but for the fi rst time Woodlawn residents gained a
sense of identity, pride, and political clout.
Self-fulfilling prophecy
The tendency for our ex-
pectations to evoke re-
sponses that confirm
what we originally an-
ticipated.
ETHICAL REFLECTION: LEVINAS’ RESPONSIVE “I”
European Jewish philosopher Emmanuel Levinas agreed with Mead that the self
is socially constructed. He stated that “without the Other, there is no ‘I.’ ”32 (Note
that Levinas used the term “I” to refer to what Mead called the self—the “I” and
the “me.”) But there’s a striking difference between how the two theorists thought
this construction project takes place. Mead contended that the looking-glass self
develops through the way others respond to us; Levinas insisted that the identity
of our “I” is formed by the way we respond to others.
Responsive “I”
The self created by the
way we respond to
others.
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CHAPTER 5: SYMBOLIC INTERACTIONISM 63
Levinas used the term ethical echo to designate the responsibility he believed
we all have to take care of each other. That ethical echo has existed since the
beginning of human history and is summed up in the words, “I am my brother’s
keeper.” The way each of us meets that obligation shapes our “I.” Levinas said
that every time we gaze at the face of the Other, we are reminded of our caretak-
ing responsibility. Thus, each person’s face is a signpost pointing to the panhu-
man ethical requirement to actively care for all people. Since the “I” fi nds its
identity in responding to and caring for the Other, not allowing the humanity of
that face to register puts our identity at risk.
Levinas was clear about the burden that comes with looking at the face of
the Other:
My world is ruptured, my contentment interrupted. I am already obligated. Here is
an appeal from which there is no escape, a responsibility, a state of being hostage.
It is looking into the face of the Other that reveals the call to a responsibility that
is before any beginning, decision or initiative on my part.  .  .  .  I am responsible for
the Other without waiting for reciprocity, [even if I were] to die for it. Reciprocity
is his affair.33
Duquesne University communication ethicist Ron Arnett regards Levinas as
the premier ethical voice of the twentieth century. Arnett acknowledges that urging
others to adopt a responsive “I” ethical standard is not an easy sell in this post-
modern age, with its quest for comfort and self-actualization.34 Yet Levinas noted
that even in his dark hours as a prisoner in a World War II German concentration
camp, he found joy in embracing the human responsibility of being for the Other
before oneself. To the extent that we follow Levinas’ lead, Arnett suggests that our
interpersonal communication will be characterized more by listening than telling.35
Ethical echo
The reminder that we are
responsible to take care
of each other; I am my
brother’s keeper.
Face of the “Other”
A human signpost that
points to our ethical obli-
gation to care for the
other before we care for
self.
CRITIQUE: SETTING THE GOLD STANDARD FOR FOUR INTERPRETIVE CRITERIA
“Viewing theory as testable explanations of directly or indirectly observable
social regularities, Mead’s ideas are seriously fl awed.”36 That’s the judgment of
Indiana University sociologist Sheldon Stryker, and I agree. If we treat symbolic
interactionism as an objective theory that must meet scientifi c standards of pre-
diction and testability, it’s a poor theory. But Mead’s work was highly interpre-
tive and deserves to be evaluated on the six criteria for good interpretive theories
offered in Chapter 3, “Weighing the Words.”
Let’s start with clarifi cation of values, which Mead did exceedingly well.
Drawing upon William James, John Dewey, and other pragmatists, Mead pro-
claimed that humans are free to make meaningful choices on how to act when
facing problems. In his critique, Stryker reveals, “What fascinated me as an
undergraduate and graduate student was in part the dignity accorded humans
by seeing them as important determiners of their lives rather than the pure
product of conditioning.”37 Of course, this freedom and dignity are dependent
upon our ability to communicate.
Certainly Mead offered a marvelous new understanding of people by showing
how humans socially construct their concept of self as well as the way society
infl uences—yet doesn’t dictate—that construction project. We also can gain a
new appreciation of human diversity from extensive, theory-inspired ethnographic
research that describes individuals in similar situations responding in strikingly
different ways.
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64 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
Both the theory and the theorist have more than satisfi ed a fourth inter-
pretive requirement for a good theory—the emergence of a community of
agreement. The once-radical Mead–Cooley looking-glass-self hypothesis has
now become a truism in the fi eld of sociology.38 Mead, a philosopher who
saw communication as the most human thing people do, has been called
“America’s greatest sociological thinker.”39 Even if the text you use in your
interpersonal course doesn’t mention the theorist or the theory by name, you
can spot Mead’s pervasive infl uence by the way the book treats the topic of
self-concept.
Symbolic interactionism doesn’t meet the other two criteria for an interpre-
tive theory nearly as well as the four discussed above. Given Mead’s personal
efforts to help the displaced and distressed amid urban industrialization, it’s
puzzling that Mead’s theory doesn’t call for reform of society. His theory says
little about power or emotion—realities that a community organizer deals with
every day.
In contrast to aesthetic appeal, most readers of Mind, Self, and Society get
bogged down in the baffl ing array of ideas Mead tried to cover. The theory’s
fl uid boundaries, vague concepts, and undisciplined approach don’t lend them-
selves to an elegant summary. There are no CliffsNotes for this one. Perhaps Mead
was precise when he presented his ideas in class, but their exact meaning became
blurred in the years before his students compiled the manuscript. Whatever the
explanation, the theory suffers from a lack of clarity.
A fi nal note: Symbolic interactionism may also suffer from overstatement.
Mead repeatedly declared that our capacity for language—the ability to use
and interpret abstract symbols—is what distinguishes humans from other ani-
mals. My former graduate assistant is the mother of a son who has a permanent
peripheral nerve disorder. His eyes, ears, and other sense receptors work fi ne,
but the messages they send get scrambled on the way to his brain. Doctors
say that he is, and always will be, unable to talk or interact with others on
a symbolic level. After reading an early draft of this chapter, my assistant
asked, “So this means that Caleb is less than human?” Her haunting question
serves as a caution to any theorist who claims to have captured the essence
of humanity.
1. Blumer’s three core premises of symbolic interactionism deal with meaning, lan-
guage, and thinking. According to Blumer, which comes fi rst? Can you make
a case for an alternative sequence?
2. What do interactionists believe are the crucial differences between human
beings and animals ? What would you add to or subtract from the list?
3. As Mead used the terms, are the looking-glass self, the objective self, a per-
son’s “me,” and the generalized other all referring to the same thing? Why
or why not?
4. Think of a time in your life when your self-concept changed in a signifi cant
way. Do you think the shift occurred because others viewed you differently or
because you treated others differently? Could Mead and Levinas both
be right?
QUESTIONS TO SHARPEN YOUR FOCUS
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CHAPTER 5: SYMBOLIC INTERACTIONISM 65
For chapter self-quizzes, go to the book’s Online Learning Center at
www.mhhe.com/griffi n9e.
SELF-QUIZ
A SECOND LOOK Recommended resource: Larry T. Reynolds and Nancy J. Herman-Kinney (eds.), Hand-
book of Symbolic Interactionism, AltaMira, Walnut Creek, CA, 2003:
Gil Musolf, “The Chicago School,” pp. 91–117.
Bernard Meltzer, “Mind,” pp. 253–266.
Andrew Weigert and Viktor Gecas, “Self,” pp. 267–288.
Michael Katovich and David Maines, “Society,” pp. 289–306.
Primary source: George Herbert Mead, Mind, Self, and Society, University of Chicago,
Chicago, IL, 1934.
Development of Mead’s ideas: Herbert Blumer, Symbolic Interactionism, Prentice-Hall,
Englewood Cliffs, NJ, 1969, pp. 1–89.
Summary statement: Herbert Blumer, “Symbolic Interaction: An Approach to Human
Communication,” in Approaches to Human Communication, Richard W. Budd and Brent
Ruben (eds.), Spartan Books, New York, 1972, pp. 401–419.
Basic concepts of symbolic interactionism: John Hewitt, Self and Society: A Symbolic Inter-
actionist Social Psychology, 10 th ed., Allyn and Bacon, Boston, MA, 2006, pp. 36–81.
The self as a social construction: Susan Harter, “Symbolic Interactionism Revisited:
Potential Liabilities for the Self Constructed in the Crucible of Interpersonal Relation-
ships,” Merrill-Palmer Quarterly, Vol. 45, 1999, pp. 677–703.
Looking-glass self—a research review: David Lundgren, “Social Feedback and Self-
Appraisals: Current Status of the Mead–Cooley Hypothesis,” Symbolic Interaction, Vol. 27,
2004, pp. 267–286.
Generalized other: Clare Holdsworth and David Morgan, “Revisiting the Generalized
Other: An Exploration,” Sociology, Vol. 41, 2007, pp. 401–417.
Theory application: Jodi O’Brien (ed.), The Production of Reality, 5th ed., Pine Forge,
Thousand Oaks, CA, 2011.
Levinas’ responsive “I”: Ronald C. Arnett, “The Responsive ‘I’: Levinas’ Derivative
Argument,” Argumentation and Advocacy, Vol. 40, 2003, pp. 39–50.
Critique: Peter Hull, “Structuring Symbolic Interaction: Communication and Power,”
Communication Yearbook 4, Dan Nimmo (ed.), Transaction Books, New Brunswick, NJ, 1980,
pp. 49–60.
Critique: Sheldon Stryker, “From Mead to a Structural Symbolic Interactionism and
Beyond,” Annual Review of Sociology, Vol. 34, 2008, p. 18.
For self-scoring quizzes for this and all other chapters, click on
Self-Help Quizzes under Theory Resources at
www.afi rstlook.com.
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66
6C H A P T E R
Coordinated Management
of Meaning (CMM)
of W. Barnett Pearce & Vernon Cronen
Barnett Pearce and Vernon Cronen bemoan the fact that most communication
theorists and practitioners hold to a transmission model of communication. This
model depicts a source that sends a message through a channel to one or more
receivers.
Source ➔ Message ➔ Channel ➔ Receiver
In this model, communication is considered successful to the extent that a high-
fidelity version of the message gets through the channel and the receiver’s
interpretation of it closely matches what the sender meant. People who picture
communication this way tend to focus either on the message content or on what
each party is thinking, but CMM says that they lose sight of the pattern of com-
munication and what that pattern creates.
Pearce, a communication professor at the Fielding Graduate Institute before
he died in 2010, and Cronen (University of North Carolina Wilmington) would
undoubtedly extend their critique to the defi nition of communication we offer
in Chapter 1. We suggested that communication is the relational process of creating
and interpreting messages that elicit a response. What’s wrong with this description?
Although the two theorists would appreciate our concern for relationship and
response, they would note that our defi nition continues to treat communication
as merely a means of exchanging ideas. They’d say that our defi nition looks
through communication rather than directly at it. It renders the ongoing process
invisible.
In contrast, Pearce and Cronen offer the coordinated management of meaning
(CMM) as a theory that looks directly at the communication process and what
it’s doing. Because that process is complicated, the theory offers multiple insights
into what communication is creating and a number of tools for changing our
communication patterns. This way, we can grasp the essentials of the theory
without being overwhelmed. Kimberly Pearce, Barnett’s wife and president of
the CMM Institute for Personal and Social Evolution, boils down CMM into four
claims about communication.
Transmission model
Picturing communication
as a transfer of meaning
by a source sending a
message through a
channel to a receiver.
Objective Interpretive
Socio-cultural tradition
Phenomenological tradition
●
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CHAPTER 6: COORDINATED MANAGEMENT OF MEANING (CMM) 67
FIRST CLAIM: OUR COMMUNICATION CREATES OUR SOCIAL WORLDS
Kim Pearce starts with what we’ve just covered and then adds what communica-
tion does: “Communication is not just a tool for exchanging ideas and informa-
tion. . . . It ‘makes’ selves, relationships, organizations, communities, cultures, etc.
This is what I’ve referred to as taking the communication perspective . ” 1
Selves, relationships, organizations, communities, and cultures are the “stuff”
that makes up our social worlds. For CMM theorists, our social worlds are
not something we fi nd or discover. Instead, we create them. For most of his
professional life, Barnett Pearce summed up this core concept of the theory by
asserting that persons-in-conversation co-construct their own social realities and are
simultaneously shaped by the worlds they create. 2 Figure  6–1 presents artist
M. C. Escher’s 1955 lithograph Bond of Union, which strikingly illustrates a number
of CMM’s notions of how persons-in-conversation are making the social worlds
of which they are a part. I see three parallels between the picture and the theory.
First, Escher’s art foregrounds interpersonal communication as the primary
activity that’s going on in the social universe. This squares with CMM’s claim
that the experience of persons-in-conversation is the primary social process of human
life. 3 Barnett Pearce said this idea runs counter to the prevailing intellectual view
of “communication as an odorless, colorless vehicle of thought that is interesting
or important only when it is done poorly or breaks down.” 4 He saw the ribbon
in Escher’s drawing as representing patterns of communication that literally form
who the persons-in-conversation are and create their relationship. Their conver-
sation does something to them quite apart from the issue they’re discussing.
Communication
perspective
An ongoing focus on
how communication
makes our social worlds.
FIGURE 6–1 M. C. Escher’s Bond of Union
© 2013 The M.C. Escher Company, The Netherlands. All rights reserved. www.mcescher.com.
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68 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
Second, the fi gures in the lithograph are bound together regardless of what
they are talking about. This refl ects Barnett Pearce’s belief that the way people
communicate is often more important than the content of what they say. The
mood and manner that persons-in-conversation adopt play a large role in the
process of social construction. He pointed out that the faces in Bond of Union
have no substance; they consist in the twists and turns of the spiraling ribbon:
Were the ribbon straightened or tied in another shape, there would be no loss of
matter, but the faces would no longer exist. This image works for us as a model of
the way the process of communication (the ribbon) creates the events and objects
of our social worlds (the faces), not by its substance but by its form. 5
Third, the endless ribbon in Bond of Union loops back to re form both persons-
in-conversation. If Escher’s fi gures were in confl ict, each person would be wise to
ask, “If I win this argument, what kind of person will I become?” Barnett Pearce
said it’s the same for us. Our actions are refl exively reproduced as the interaction
continues; any action we take will bounce back and affect us. That’s also true with
the social worlds we create. Pearce wrote, “When we communicate, we are not just
talking about the world, we are literally participating in the creation of the social
universe.” 6 And, like the fi gures in the lithograph, we then have to live in it.
These ideas identify CMM theorists and practitioners as social constructionists —
curious participants in a pluralistic world. Barnett Pearce said they are curious
because they think it’s folly to profess certainty when dealing with individuals
acting out their lives under ever-changing conditions. They are participants rather
than spectators because they seek to be actively involved in what they study.
They live in a pluralistic world because they assume that people make multiple
truths rather than fi nd a singular Truth. 7 So Escher’s Bond of Union is an apt
representation of persons-in-conversation even when one or both of the parties
are CMM advocates.
Social constructionists
Curious participants in a
pluralistic world who
believe that persons-in-
conversation co-construct
their own social realities
and are simultaneously
shaped by the worlds
they create.
SECOND CLAIM: THE STORIES WE TELL DIFFER FROM THE STORIES WE LIVE
CMM uses the term story to refer to much of what we say when we talk with oth-
ers about our social worlds—ourselves, others, relationships, organizations, or the
larger community. Pearce and Cronen claim that communication is a two-sided
process of stories told and stories lived. 8 Stories told are tales we tell to make sense
of the world and tame the terrors that go bump in the night. CMM calls this mak-
ing and managing meaning. Stories lived are the ongoing patterns of interaction we
enact as we seek to mesh our lives with others around us. CMM calls this effort
coordinating our actions together. Pearce and Cronen labeled their theory coordinated
management of meaning to encompass both types of stories.
Stories Told: Making and Managing Meaning
The stories we tell or hear are never as simple as they seem. Take, for example, the
story that appeared in my inbox a month before my high school reunion. Decades
earlier, the writer (Bea) and I had been in the same 7 th and 8 th grade class where we
engaged in what I would describe as mild flirtation. Here’s what I read:
I’m writing because I still think about the mystery of you not speaking to me all
the way through high school. You may not even remember that you ignored me,
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CHAPTER 6: COORDINATED MANAGEMENT OF MEANING (CMM) 69
but I do. What did I do to make you so angry? My mother always wondered if
someone had said something to you about me that wasn’t true. I just never knew.
I would feel better if we could say “hello” at least at the gathering.
This seems to be a rather straightforward tale of a young girl who felt bad when
a guy ignored her. If so, you might expect a that-was-years-ago reaction, a get-a-life
response, or a quick mouse click on delete. Pearce and Cronen suggest, however,
that there’s always much more to stories told that could enrich or alter their
meaning. Emphasizing that CMM is a practical theory, they offer a number of
analytical tools to help the listener consider alternative or additional interpreta-
tions. When I got this message from Bea, I used their LUUUUTT model pictured
in Figure  6–2 to help me expand the story and possibly narrow the disparity
between her account of me in the distant past and the stories each of us might
want to live now.
LUUUUTT is an acronym to label the seven types of stories identifi ed in the
model. 9 The focus of the model depicts the tension between our stories lived and
our stories told. That tension can be increased or decreased by the manner in
which the stories are presented. The four descriptions of non-obvious stories
radiating toward the corners remind us there’s always more to the situation that
we haven’t seen or heard. Barnett and Kim Pearce use the term mystery to cover
everything relevant that is not, or cannot, be said. As I reread Bea’s message, I
tried to imagine what each of those seven interrelated stories in the LUUUUTT
model might be.
1. L ived stories— what we actually did or are doing. I have no reason to doubt
Bea’s claim. Although I can’t recall intentionally avoiding conversation
with her in high school, neither do I have a mental image of us talking
together, even though we were both cast members in the school play. In
contrast, I know we chatted in junior high.
2. U nknown stories— information that’s missing. Bea’s mother suggested that
I was turned off by lies I heard about her daughter. Not so. But the mul-
tiple possibilities that Bea imagined and couldn’t discount would surely be
distressing.
FIGURE 6–2 CMM’s LUUUUTT Model
LUUUUTT Model from CMM Institute for Personal and Social Evolution, www.cmminstitute.net. © 2014 CMM
Institute. All rights reserved. Used by permission.
STORIES TOLD
STORIES LIVED
STORY TELLING
U
N
H
E
A
R
D
S
TO
R
IE
S
U
N
T
E
LLA
B
LE
S
TO
R
IE
S
U
N
TO
LD
S
TO
R
IE
S
U
N
K
N
O
W
N
S
TO
R
IE
S
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70 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
3. U ntold stories— what we choose not to say. There was nothing in Bea’s mes-
sage about the attention I paid to her in junior high or anger she might
have felt at  the abrupt change in my behavior. Nor did she say anything
about her current life.
4. U nheard stories— what we say that isn’t heard or acknowledged. Did Bea try to
reach out to me during those four years of silence and, if so, did I snub
her? To ignore her email message now would add insult to injury.
5. U ntellable stories— stories that are forbidden or too painful for us to tell. It
would be the height of arrogance on my part to think that I had the power
to ruin Bea’s life back then. Yet I did wonder what she couldn’t say.
6. Story T elling— the manner in which we communicate. “Why” questions often
impute blame, but the tone of Bea’s message struck me as a mix of curiosity,
sadness, courage, and an honest effort to clear the air before the class reunion.
7. Stories T old— what we say we are doing. With Bea’s permission, I’ve already
cited the story she told in her email. The additional six stories that the
LUUUUTT model generated don’t negate what she expressed. As Kim
Pearce explains,
The point of the LUUUUTT model is not to “fi nd the correct story” or “the
correct interpretation” as much as enlarging your awareness of how complex
our social worlds are. The more aware we are of the complexity of our social
worlds, the greater our capacity for holding frustrating situations and people
more compassionately. 10
I’ll revisit these stories told and my response to Bea when we examine the third
claim of CMM.
Stories Lived: Coordinating Our Patterns of Interaction
There’s almost always a difference or tension between our stories told and stories
lived. That’s because we can craft the stories we tell to be coherent and consis-
tent, but the stories we live intersect with the actions and reactions of others. That
makes them messy.
As communication scholars, Pearce and Cronen were particularly concerned
with the patterns of communication we create with others. They offered the
serpentine model shown in Figure  6–3 as a tool to capture what’s taking place
between persons-in-conversation. Without such a tool, we may miss the repeti-
tive patterns that either benefi t or pollute the social environment. Pearce wrote
that the model is called serpentine because it “looks like a snake crawling from
one person or group to another and back again. This model directs our attention
to the ‘back and forth-ness’ of social interaction. Every aspect of our social worlds
is made by the collaborative action of multiple people.” 11 Note that the model
almost seems to be a schematic drawing of Escher ’s Bond of Union, which
is utterly different from the standard one-way message transmission model of
communication.
The serpentine model can analyze any conversation and map out its history.
The conversation between Wilson and Larry has only six turns and clearly reveals
the deterioration of their stories lived. Turns 1 and 2 show an honest difference
of opinion, each stated vehemently. In turn 3, Wilson’s comment about the fi lm
director expands on his enthusiasm. But he also shows disdain for anyone who
doesn’t agree with him, lumping Larry with a class of people who are mentally
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CHAPTER 6: COORDINATED MANAGEMENT OF MEANING (CMM) 71
handicapped. Larry then goes on the attack—no surprise. Note that in just four
turns the guys have moved into an escalating pattern in which both are compet-
ing to see who can say the most hurtful things to the other. The original topic
of conversation has become irrelevant. Trapped in a sense of oughtness that has
them in its grip, they can continue this feud forever, fueled only by the logical
force of the interaction. 12
CMM describes this type of conversational sequence as an unwanted repetitive
pattern (URP). 13 It’s likely that neither party wants it, yet both seem compelled
to relive it over and over. Those who’ve seen Bill Murray’s classic fi lm Groundhog
Day will appreciate the irony. And all Americans have seen this URP reenacted
in the reciprocated diatribe between Republicans and Democrats. 14 Yet Pearce
and Cronen maintained that it’s possible for people to mesh their stories lived
without agreeing on the meaning of their stories told. That’s the coordination
part of CMM.
According to Barnett Pearce, coordination refers to the “process by which
persons collaborate in an attempt to bring into being their vision of what is
necessary, noble, and good, and to preclude the enactment of what they fear,
hate, or despise.” 15 This intentional meshing of stories lived doesn’t require peo-
ple to reach agreement on the meaning of their joint action. They can decide to
coordinate their behavior without sharing a common interpretation of the event.
For example, conservative activists and staunch feminists could temporarily join
forces to protest the public showing of a hardcore pornographic movie. Although
Logical force
The moral pressure or
sense of obligation a per-
son feels to respond in a
given way to what some-
one else has just said or
done—“I had no
choice.”
Coordination
People collaborating in
an attempt to bring into
being their vision of what
is necessary, noble, and
good, and to preclude
the enactment of what
they fear, hate, or
despise.
I saw a great movie last night,
The Life of Pi. Really artistic.
WILSON LARRY
I saw that. It was confusing and boring.
A guy and a tiger on a boat. Get real.
What a dumb thing to say. That comment
just shows you’re a closed-minded snob.
Up yours! (giving him the finger)
Boring! You’ve got to be kidding. Ang Lee
is a genius. Anyone who can’t appreciate
his art is seriously handicapped.
You’re the one who’s closed-minded.
Your head must be up your butt.
1
2
4
6
3
5
FIGURE 6–3 Serpentine Model of a Deteriorating Conversation
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72 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
CALVIN AND HOBBES © Watterson. Distributed by UNIVERSAL UCLICK. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
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CHAPTER 6: COORDINATED MANAGEMENT OF MEANING (CMM) 73
they have discrepant views of social justice and different reasons for condemning
the fi lm, they might agree on a unifi ed course of action.
Pearce used the phrase coordination without coherence to refer to people coop-
erating for quite different reasons. Sarah’s application log for CMM provides a
striking example:
CMM suggests that people may synchronize their actions even if they don’t share
the other’s motives. This was the case with my core group of friends in high
school. Our group consisted of Colin—a gay atheist, Stephany—a non-practicing
Jewish girl, Aliza—a devout Jewish girl, and me—a Christian. We all abstained
from drinking, drugs, and sex, but the reasons for our behavior were extremely
different.
In light of the way real groups of people coordinate their actions without
a great amount of mutual understanding, Calvin and Hobbes’ game of “Calvinball”
on page 72 doesn’t seem that strange.
THIRD CLAIM: WE GET WHAT WE MAKE
Since CMM claims we create our social worlds through our patterns of communi-
cation, it follows that we get what we make. Kim Pearce explains, “If your patterns
of interaction contain destructive accusations and reactive anger, you will most
likely make a defensive relationship; if your patterns contain genuine questions
and curiosity, you will have a better chance of making a more open relationship.” 16
In the last major article he wrote before his death, Barnett Pearce urged that
we ask three questions when we refl ect on past interactions, are in the midst of
a current conversation, or contemplate what we might say in the future: 17
How did that get made?
What are we making?
What can we do to make better social worlds?
These questions motivated me to do the LUUUUTT analysis of Bea’s email mes-
sage that I outlined in the “Stories Told” section. The How did that get made? ques-
tion is easy to figure out, although I don’t like the answer. Bea’s angst seemed to
be the product of my total disregard over a four-year period. My behavior may
not have been the sole cause of the confusion and hurt she felt, but after reading
the story she told I wished I had lived a story back then that created something
positive.
The second question was more pressing. What were Bea and I making
through the pattern of our email exchange? You’ve already read Bea’s query and
request expressed below in turn 3. But CMM theorists believe you can only come
to understand what we were creating by looking at the twists and turns of the
whole serpentine fl ow.
A Digital Conversation between Bea and Em
#1 Bea: Hi Emory. Are you the Emory Griffi n that went to Morgan Park High School?
If so, I saw your name on the list as coming to the reunion.
#2 Em: Hi Bea. That’s me. I look forward to seeing you and everyone else next month.
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74 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
#3 Bea: I’m writing because I still think about the mystery of you not speaking to me
all the way through high school. You may not even remember that you ignored
me, but I do. What did I do to make you so angry? My mother always won-
dered if someone had said something to you about me that wasn’t true. I just
never knew. I would feel better if we could say “hello” at least at the gathering.
#4 Em: Wow, I am so sorry. Please forgive me for this hurtful behavior, and even more
so that I’m not even conscious that I didn’t speak. Thank you for having the
courage to raise the issue. I feel bad that on the basis of my stupid behavior,
for decades you’ve thought there was something wrong with you. Obviously
the problem was in me. Was I too conceited, insecure, insensitive, or oblivious?
Probably all of the above.
No, you didn’t say or do anything to make me angry and I never heard
anything derogatory about you from others. So why didn’t I talk to you?
I honestly don’t know. And I feel bad that I wasn’t approachable enough that
you could say something back then. (“Excuse me, Em. Why aren’t you talking
to me?”) Not likely I guess. I’d like to spend some time together at the
reunion catching up, if you’re willing. But I’d understand if “Hello” is all you
want. Again, thanks so much for writing.
#5 Bea: Was that ever nice! I’ve been doing computer stuff all day and receiving your
email was the best part. Thanks for your response, it felt so good. Yes, I’ll
enjoy catching up at the reunion. What is it that you teach?
#6 Em: You’ll laugh! I teach communication. I’m even supposed to be an expert.
An additional four turns set up where and when we’d meet at the reunion. We ate
dinner together with other friends at the table and swapped stories and pictures.
That night our stories told and our stories lived seemed to mesh well. I had the
rest of the night and breakfast in the morning to enjoy the company of old friends.
A CMM Interpretation
Turns 1 and 2 are noteworthy for their guarded tone. Bea is checking to see if I’m
the right guy—a reasonable caution because it was only in high school that friends
started to call me Em. I respond that it’s me, but my “looking forward” state-
ment covers all who come to the party. I’ve expressed no special encouragement
or excitement to Bea. If the pattern continued in that noncommittal tone, Barnett
Pearce would have called it a “dead snake.”
Bea then shares her bewilderment, desire for online clarity, and a request for
face-to-face civility at the reunion. Given my lack of responsiveness throughout
high school, it struck me as a gutsy move. After reading this message I sat back
and mulled over how I wanted to respond. This is when I did the LUUUUTT
analysis described earlier. We were at the crucial place in our email exchange
that Barnett and Kim Pearce called a bifurcation point . They said it’s the turn “in
a conversation where what happens next will affect the unfolding pattern of
interaction and take it in a different direction.” 18
I was at a fork in the road. I could deny that I had ignored Bea, stonewall
her query, or casually reply that I would “of course say hello” when we met.
That kind of response would likely have created more tension, hurt, anger, guilt,
fear, and all the other yucky stuff that pollutes the social environment. And for
sure it would take away any desire to attend the class reunion. Instead, I chose
Bifurcation point
A critical point in a con-
versation where what
one says next will affect
the unfolding pattern of
interaction and poten-
tially take it in a different
direction.
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CHAPTER 6: COORDINATED MANAGEMENT OF MEANING (CMM) 75
the route shown in turn 4. As Bea’s and my comments in turns 5 and 6 reveal,
we created a social world more to our liking—one that may have even benefi tted
others at the reunion.
I was fortunate that Bea raised these issues through email rather than con-
fronting me with the same words face-to-face at the reunion. The time lag pos-
sible in computer-mediated communication offered me an opportunity to do the
LUUUUTT analysis, which got me in touch with the depth and complexity of
the story Bea told. That gap gave me a chance to craft what I hoped would be
a thoughtful and caring response. The privacy also made it possible for me to
convey my apology without a bunch of onlookers weighing in or taking sides.
But it was Barnett Pearce’s hope that every student majoring in communication
would become adept at spotting the bifurcation points in the midst of tough
discussions and have the desire and skill to craft a response on the fl y that would
make better social worlds. If the current crop of more than 400,000 undergradu-
ate communication majors developed that mindset and ability, he was convinced
we could make a radically different social world. 19
FOURTH CLAIM: GET THE PATTERN RIGHT, CREATE BETTER OUTCOMES
What do the best social worlds look like? Barnett Pearce admitted he couldn’t be
specific, because each situation is different. He also feared that those who have a pre-
cise image of what the ideal social world should be will try to compel others to live
within their vision and end up making things worse. 20 But throughout their most
recent publications on CMM, Barnett and Kim Pearce described better social worlds
as replete with caring, compassion, love, and grace among its inhabitants—not the
stated goal of most communication theories. 21 And Kim stresses that these
are not just internal emotional experiences. Rather, they are “a way of being with
others that makes a space for something new to emerge.” 22
This interpersonal goal of CMM raises a serious question for students of
communication. What personal characteristics or abilities does it take for a per-
son to create conversational patterns that will change the social world for the
better? The theorists’ answer is that one does not need to be a saint, a genius,
or an orator. The communicator, however, must be m indful . 23
Mindfulness is a presence or awareness of what participants are making in
the midst of a diffi cult conversation. It’s paying less attention to what they are
talking about and focusing on what they are doing. Mindful participants don’t
speak on mental automatic pilot or cognitive cruise control. They are partici-
pant observers willing to step back and look for places in the conversational
fl ow where they can say or do something that will make the situation better
for everyone involved. For example, are you willing and able to be mindful
when
.  .  .  talking to your roommate about the mess in your apartment?
.  .  .  replying to your mom’s phone plea to spend spring break at home?
.  .  .  listening to your teammates complain about the coach?
.  .  .  responding to a sarcastic comment posted on Facebook?
.  .  .  dealing with a demanding customer at your minimum-wage McJob?
.  .  .  fending off unwelcome advances during a Friday night pub crawl?
To the extent that your answer is yes, CMM claims you have the capacity to make
better social worlds.
Mindfulness
The presence or
awareness of what
participants are making
in the midst of their own
conversation.
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76 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
Once the mindful communicator spots a bifurcation point in a pattern of
communication that’s deteriorating, what should he or she say? Barnett Pearce
found it helpful to respond to challenging or boorish statements with phrases
that showed curiosity rather than offense. 24 Tell me more about that. What else was
going on at the time? What experiences have led you to that position? Why don’t people
understand? Those familiar with Hebrew wisdom literature will recognize the
parallel with Proverbs 15:1, “A gentle answer turns away wrath.”
Even a single word like yes can change the direction of the conversational
pattern. In her autobiography, Bossypants, actress, comedian, writer, and
producer Tina Fey offers “The Rules of Improvisation That Will Change Your
Life  .  .  .”
The fi rst rule of improvisation is AGREE. Always agree and SAY YES . When
you’re improvising, this means you are required to agree with whatever your part-
ner has created. So if we’re improvising and I say, “Freeze, I have a gun,” and you
say, “That’s not a gun. It’s your fi nger. You’re pointing your fi nger at me,” our
improvised scene has ground to a halt. But if I say, “Freeze, I have a gun!” and
you say, “The gun I gave you for Christmas. You bastard!” then we have started a
scene because we have AGREED that my fi nger is in fact a Christmas gun.
Now, obviously in real life you’re not always going to agree with everything
everyone says. But the Rule of Agreement reminds you to respect what your part-
ner has created and to at least start from an open-minded place. Start with a YES
and see where it takes you.
As an improviser, I always fi nd it jarring when I meet someone in real life
whose fi rst answer is no. “No we can’t do that.” “No that’s not in the budget  .  .  .”
What kind of way is that to live? 25
For an overall remedy to unsatisfactory or destructive patterns of interac-
tion, CMM theorists advocate dialogue , a specifi c form of communication that
they believe will create a social world where we can live with dignity, honor,
joy, and love. 26 Although the term is used in multiple ways within our discipline,
Barnett and Kim Pearce have adopted the perspective of Jewish philosopher
Martin Buber.
For Buber, dialogue “involves remaining in the tension between holding our
own perspective while being profoundly open to the other.” 27 This of course
takes “courage because it means giving up a person-position of clarity, certainty,
or moral/intellectual superiority.” 28 We might actually learn something new that
will change what we think, or even who we are. 29 The following ethical refl ection
expands on Buber’s concept of dialogue.
Dialogic communication
Conversation in which
parties remain in the ten-
sion between holding
their own perspective
while being profoundly
open to the other.
ETHICAL REFLECTION: MARTIN BUBER’S DIALOGIC ETHICS
Martin Buber was a German Jewish philosopher and theologian who immi-
grated to Palestine before World War II and died in 1965. His ethical approach
focuses on relationships between people rather than on moral codes of conduct.
“In the beginning is the relation,” Buber wrote. “The relation is the cradle of
actual life.” 30
Buber contrasted two types of relationships— I-It versus I-Thou. In an I-It
relationship we treat the other person as a thing to be used, an object to be
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CHAPTER 6: COORDINATED MANAGEMENT OF MEANING (CMM) 77
manipulated. Created by monologue, an I-It relationship lacks mutuality. Parties
come together as individuals intent on creating only an impression. Deceit is a
way to maintain appearances.
In an I-Thou relationship we regard our partner as the very one we are. We
see the other as created in the image of God and resolve to treat him or her as
a valued end rather than a means to our own end. This implies that we will seek
to experience the relationship as it appears to the other person. Buber said we
can do this only through dialogue.
For Buber, dialogue was a synonym for ethical communication. Dialogue is
mutuality in conversation that creates the Between, through which we help each
other to be more human. Dialogue is not only a morally appropriate act, but it
is also a way to discover what is ethical in our relationship. It thus requires self-
disclosure to, confi rmation of, and vulnerability with the other person.
Buber used the image of the narrow ridge to illustrate the tension of dialogic
living. On one side of the moral path is the gulf of relativism, where there are
no standards. On the other side is the plateau of absolutism, where rules are
etched in stone:
On the far side of the subjective, on this side of the objective, on the narrow ridge,
where I and Thou meet, there is the realm of the Between. 31
Duquesne University communication ethicist Ron Arnett notes that “living
the narrow-ridge philosophy requires a life of personal and interpersonal concern,
which is likely to generate a more complicated existence than that of the egoist
or the selfl ess martyr.” 32 Despite that tension, many interpersonal theorists and
practitioners have carved out ethical positions similar to Buber’s philosophy. Con-
sistent with CMM’s foundational belief that persons-in-conversation co- construct
their own social realities, Barnett and Kim Pearce were attracted to Buber’s core
belief that dialogue is a joint achievement that cannot be produced on demand,
but occurs among people who seek it and are prepared for it.
Narrow ridge
A metaphor of I-Thou
living in the dialogic
tension between ethical
relativism and rigid
absolutism.
CRITIQUE: HIGHLY PRACTICAL AS IT MOVES FROM CONFUSION TO CLARITY
Because CMM is an interpretive theory, I’ll apply the six criteria suggested in
Chapter 3 as I did when evaluating Mead’s theory of symbolic interactionism in the
previous chapter.
New understanding of people. By offering such diagnostic tools as the
serpentine and LUUUUTT models of communication, CMM promotes a deeper
understanding of people and of the social worlds they create through their conver-
sation. Those models are just two of the tools the theorists offer. Students who
take a further look at the theory will find the daisy model, the hierarchical model,
and strange loops equally helpful.
Clarifi cation of values. For interpretive scholars, CMM leaves no doubt as
to the commitments and practices that make better social worlds. Barnett and
Kim Pearce are clearly on record as valuing curiosity, caring, compassion, mind-
fulness, gratitude, grace, and love. They have invited us to join them in an ongo-
ing effort to enact these qualities in our stories lived. Some objective theorists
may personally share these values, but believe a communication theory holding
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78 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
out the promise of making better social worlds should describe that goal in terms
of specific behaviors and outcomes.
Community of agreement. Although many objectivist theorists dismiss
CMM because of its social constructionist assumptions, CMM has generated
widespread interest and acceptance within the community of interpretive commu-
nication scholars. For example, when Robert Craig proposed that a pragmatic
tradition be added to his original list of seven traditions of communication
theory (see Chapter 4), he cited CMM as the exemplar of a practical theory. 33
Reform of society. If changing destructive patterns of communication in
whole communities strikes you as a bit of a stretch, you should know that pur-
suit of this goal is why Barnett and Kim Pearce founded the Public Dialogue
Consortium and the CMM Institute. 34 Not only have many associates signed on
to the cause, but these groups have also demonstrated that a dialogic form of
communication is “learnable, teachable, and contagious.” 35
Qualitative research. CMM scholars and practitioners use a wide range of
qualitative research methods—textual and narrative analyses, case studies, inter-
views, participant observation, ethnography, and collaborative action research. 36
It’s not clear that this research has spawned new theoretical development, 37 but
these studies have definitely helped refine the models of communication that
practitioners use in their training and consulting.
Aesthetic appeal. Despite meeting the previous five criteria with ease,
lack of clarity has seriously limited CMM’s wider use. The theory has a repu-
tation of being a confusing mix of ideas that are hard to pin down because
they’re expressed in convoluted language. In 2001, when Pearce asked those
who use CMM in their teaching, training, counseling, and consulting what
changes or additions they thought should be made to the theory, the most
frequent plea was for user-friendly explanations expressed in easy-to- understand
terms. The following story from the field underscores why this call for clarity
is so crucial:
My counseling trainees often fi nd CMM ideas exciting, but its language
daunting or too full of jargon. Some trainees connect with the ideas but most
feel intimidated by the language and the concepts—diminished in some way
or excluded! One trainee sat in a posture of physically cringing because she did
not understand. This was a competent woman who had successfully completed
counselor training three years ago and was doing a “refresher” with us. I don’t
think she found it too refreshing at that moment. CMM ideas would be more
useful if they were available in everyday language—perhaps via examples and
storytelling. 38
I’ve tried to heed this advice while writing about CMM. Hopefully, you
haven’t cringed. But in order to reduce the wince factor, I’ve had to leave out
many of the valued terms, tools, and models that are the working vocabulary of
this complex theory. I’ve been guided by Kim Pearce’s new book, Compassionate
Communicating Because Moments Matter, where she lays out the essentials of CMM
in the way the advocate requested. 39 This little volume, which is my recom-
mended resource, is a clear statement of CMM’s four core claims. In user-friendly
language, Kim illustrates them with stories from her work and life together with
her husband, Barnett. CMM’s aesthetic appeal is on the rise.
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CHAPTER 6: COORDINATED MANAGEMENT OF MEANING (CMM) 79
QUESTIONS TO SHARPEN YOUR FOCUS
1. Social constructionists see themselves as curious participants in a pluralistic
world. Are you willing to accept uncertainty, abandon a detached perspec-
tive, and not insist on a singular view of Truth so that you can join them?
2. Can you provide a rationale for placing this chapter on CMM immediately
after the chapter on symbolic interactionism?
3. CMM suggests that we can take part in joint action without a common
understanding— coordination without shared meaning. Can you think of exam-
ples from your own life?
4. Can you recall an important conversation in which you were mindful of what
you were making and you spotted a bifurcation point where you could change
the pattern of conversation so as to create a better social world?
CONVERSATIONS As you watch my conversation with Barnett Pearce, you might think of us as the
persons-in-conversation pictured in Escher’s Bond of Union. What kind of social
world do you see us creating as we talk? I like to think that our conversation
displays a few examples of dialogic communication. If so, was Pearce right in
thinking that you’ll fi nd this kind of talk contagious? At one point I repeat my
“Questions to Sharpen Your Focus” query about how social constructionists
must give up claims of certainty, objectivity, and Truth. I then ask if that’s a fair
question. See if you agree with Pearce’s response and the reason he gave.
A SECOND LOOK Recommended resource: Kimberly Pearce, Compassionate Communicating Because Moments
Matter: Poetry, Prose, and Practices, Lulu, 2012. www.lulu.com
Brief overview: W. Barnett Pearce, “The Coordinated Management of Meaning (CMM),”
in Theorizing About Intercultural Communication, William Gudykunst (ed.), Sage, Thousand
Oaks, CA, 2004, pp. 35–54.
Comprehensive statement: W. Barnett Pearce, Making Social Worlds: A Communication
Perspective, Blackwell, Malden, MA, 2008.
Original statement: W. Barnett Pearce and Vernon E. Cronen, Communication, Action,
and Meaning: The Creation of Social Realities, Praeger, New York, 1980; also www.cios.org/
www/opentext.htm .
Evolution of the theory: W. Barnett Pearce, “Evolution and Transformation: A Brief
History of CMM and a Meditation on What Using It Does to Us,” in The Refl ective, Facil-
itative, and Interpretative Practice of the Coordinated Management of Meaning: Making Lives,
Making Meaning, Catherine Creede, Beth Fisher-Yoshida, and Placida Gallegos (eds.), Fair-
leigh Dickinson, Madison, NJ, 2012, pp. 1–21.
Social construction: W. Barnett Pearce, “Communication as Social Construction:
Reclaiming Our Birthright,” in Socially Constructing Communication, Gloria J. Galanes and
Wendy Leeds-Hurwitz (eds.), Hampton, Cresskill, NJ, 2009, pp. 33–56.
Making meaning and coordinating actions: W. Barnett Pearce, Communication and the
Human Condition, Southern Illinois University, Carbondale, IL, 1989, pp. 32–87.
Intellectual heritage: Vernon E. Cronen, “Coordinated Management of Meaning: The Con-
sequentiality of Communication and the Recapturing of Experience,” in The Consequentiality
of Communication, Stuart Sigman (ed.), Lawrence Erlbaum, Hillsdale, NJ, 1995, pp. 17–65.
View this segment online at
www.mhhe.com/griffi n9e or
www.afi rstlook.com.
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80 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
Peacemaking: W. Barnett Pearce and Stephen W. Littlejohn, Moral Confl ict: When Social
Worlds Collide, Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 1997.
Dialogic communication: W. Barnett Pearce and Kimberly A. Pearce, “Combining Pas-
sions and Abilities: Toward Dialogic Virtuosity,” Southern Communication Journal, Vol. 65,
2000, pp. 161–175.
Buber’s dialogic ethics: Martin Buber, I and Thou, 2 nd ed., R. G. Smith (trans.), Scribner,
New York, 1958.
Research review of CMM: J. Kevin Barge and W. Barnett Pearce, “A Reconnaissance of
CMM Research,” Human Systems, Vol. 15, 2004, pp. 13–32.
CMM as a practical theory: J.  Kevin Barge, “Articulating CMM as a Practical Theory,”
Human Systems, Vol. 15, 2004, pp. 193–204.
To access scenes from feature fi lms that illustrate CMM and other theories,
click on Suggested Movie Clips under Theory Resources at
www.afi rstlook.com.
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81
7C H A P T E R
Expectancy Violations
Theory
of Judee Burgoon
Early in my teaching career, I was walking back to my offi ce, puzzling over
classroom conversations with four students. All four had made requests. Why, I
wondered, had I readily agreed to two requests but just as quickly turned down
two others? Each of the four students had spoken to me individually during the
class break. Andre wanted my endorsement for a graduate scholarship, and
Dawn invited me to eat lunch with her the next day. I said yes to both of them.
Belinda asked me to help her on a term paper for a class with another professor,
and Charlie encouraged me to play water polo that night with guys from his
house, something I had done before. I said no to those requests.
Sitting down at my desk, I idly fl ipped through the pages of Human Com-
munication Research (HCR), a relatively new behavioral science journal that had
arrived in the morning mail. I was still mulling over my uneven response to the
students when my eyes zeroed in on an article entitled “A Communication
Model of Personal Space Violations.” 1 “That’s it,” I blurted out to our surprised
department secretary. I suddenly realized that in each case my response to the
student may have been infl uenced by the conversational distance between us.
I mentally pictured the four students making their requests—each from a
distance that struck me as inappropriate in one way or another. Andre was liter-
ally in my face, less than a foot away. Belinda’s 2-foot interval invaded my
personal space, but not as much. Charlie stood about 7 feet away—just outside
the range I would have expected for a let’s-get-together-and-have-some-fun-that-
has-nothing-to-do-with-school type of conversation. Dawn offered her luncheon
invitation from across the room. At the time, each of these interactions had
seemed somewhat strange. Now I realized that all four students had violated
my expectation of an appropriate interpersonal distance.
Because I describe my impressions and reactions to these students, I’ve
changed their names, and replaced them with names that start with the letters
A, B, C, and D to represent the increasing distance between us when we spoke.
(Andre was the closest; Dawn, the farthest away.) Figure 7–1 plots the intervals
relative to my expectations.
Objective Interpretive
Socio-psychological tradition
●
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82 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
Judee Burgoon, a communication scholar at the University of Arizona, wrote
the journal article that stimulated my thinking. The article was a follow-up piece
on the nonverbal expectancy violations model that she had introduced in HCR two
years earlier. Since my own dissertation research focused on interpersonal distance,
I knew fi rsthand how little social science theory existed to guide researchers study-
ing nonverbal communication. I was therefore excited to see Burgoon offering a
sophisticated theory of personal space. The fact that she was teaching in a com-
munication department and had published her work in a communication journal
was value added. I eagerly read Burgoon’s description of her nonverbal expectancy
violations model to see whether it could account for my mixed response to the
various conversational distances chosen by the four students.
PERSONAL SPACE EXPECTATIONS: CONFORM OR DEVIATE?
Burgoon defi ned personal space as the “invisible, variable volume of space sur-
rounding an individual that defi nes that individual’s preferred distance from
others.” 2 She claimed that the size and shape of our personal space depend on
our cultural norms and individual preferences, but our space always refl ects a
compromise between the confl icting approach–avoidance needs that we as
humans have for affi liation and privacy.
The idea of personal space wasn’t original with Burgoon. In the 1960s, Illinois
Institute of Technology anthropologist Edward Hall coined the term proxemics to
refer to the study of people’s use of space as a special elaboration of culture. 3
He entitled his book The Hidden Dimension because he was convinced that most
spatial interpretation is outside our awareness. He claimed that Americans have
four proxemic zones, which nicely correspond with the four interpersonal dis-
tances selected by my students:
1. Intimate distance: 0 to 18 inches (Andre)
2. Personal distance: 18 inches to 4 feet (Belinda)
3. Social distance: 4 to 12 feet (Charlie)
4. Public distance: 12 to 25 feet (Dawn)
Hall’s book is fi lled with examples of “ugly Americans” who were insensi-
tive to the spatial customs of other cultures. He strongly recommended that in
order to be effective, we learn to adjust our nonverbal behavior to conform to
the communication rules of our partner. We shouldn’t cross a distance boundary
uninvited.
Personal space
The invisible, variable
volume of space sur-
rounding an individual
that defines that individ-
ual’s preferred distance
from others.
Proxemics
The study of people’s use
of space as a special
elaboration of culture.
FIGURE 7–1 Expectancy Violations in a Classroom Setting
0 1 ft. 2 ft. 3 ft. 4 ft.
Professor’s Expected
Interaction Range
5 ft. 6 ft. 7 ft. 8 ft. 25 ft.
Professor Andre Belinda
Threat Threshold
Charlie Dawn
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CHAPTER 7: EXPECTANCY VIOLATIONS THEORY 83
In his poem “Prologue: The Birth of Architecture,” poet W. H. Auden echoes
Hall’s analysis and puts us on notice that we violate his personal space at our
peril:
Some thirty inches from my nose
The frontier of my Person goes,
And all the untilled air between
Is private pagus or demesne.
Stranger, unless with bedroom eyes
I beckon you to fraternize,
Beware of rudely crossing it:
I have no gun, but I can spit. 4
Burgoon’s nonverbal expectancy violations model offered a counterpoint to
Hall’s and Auden’s advice. She didn’t argue with the idea that people have
defi nite expectations about how close others should come. In fact, she would
explain Auden’s 30-inch rule as based on well-established American norms, plus
the poet’s own idiosyncracies. But contrary to popular go-along-to-get-along
wisdom, Burgoon suggested that there are times when it’s best to break the rules.
She believed that under some circumstances, violating social norms and personal
expectations is “a superior strategy to conformity.” 5
Cartoon by Peter Steiner. Reprinted with permission.
AN APPLIED TEST OF THE ORIGINAL MODEL
Whether knowingly or not, each of the four students making a request deviated
from my proxemic expectation. How well did Burgoon’s initial model predict
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84 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
my responses to these four different violations? Not very well. To help you
capture the fl avor of Burgoon’s early speculation and recognize how far her cur-
rent theory has come, I’ll outline what the model predicted my responses would
be and, in each case, compare that forecast to what I actually did.
Andre. According to Burgoon’s early model, Andre made a mistake when
he crossed my invisible threat threshold and spoke with me at an intimate eyeball-
to-eyeball distance. The physical and psychological discomfort I’d feel would
hurt his cause. But the model missed on that prediction, since I wrote the recom-
mendation later that day.
Belinda. In the follow-up article I read that day, Burgoon suggested that
noticeable deviations from what we expect cause us to experience a heightened
state of arousal. She wasn’t necessarily referring to the heart-pounding, sweaty-
palms reaction that drives us to fi ght or fl ight. Instead, she pictured violations
stimulating us to mentally review the nature of our relationship with the person
who acted in a curious way. That would be good news for Belinda if I thought
of her as a highly rewarding person. But every comment she made in class
seemed to me a direct challenge, dripping with sarcasm. Just as Burgoon pre-
dicted, the narrow, 2-foot gap Belinda chose focused my attention on our rocky
relationship, and I declined her request for help in another course. Score one for
the nonverbal expectancy violations model.
Charlie . Charlie was a nice guy who cared more about having a good time
than he did about studies. He knew I’d played water polo in college, but he may
not have realized that his casual attitude toward the class was a constant reminder
that I wasn’t as good a teacher as I wanted to be. In her 1978 HRC article, Bur-
goon wrote that a person with “punishing power” (like Charlie) would do best
to observe proxemic conventions or, better yet, stand slightly farther away than
expected. Without ever hearing Burgoon’s advice, Charlie did it right. He backed
off to a distance of 7 feet—just outside the range of interaction I anticipated.
Even so, I declined his offer to swim with the guys.
Dawn . According to this nonverbal expectancy violations model, Dawn
blew it. Because she was an attractive communicator, a warm, close approach
would have been a pleasant surprise. Her decision to issue an invitation from
across the room, however, would seem to guarantee a poor response. The farther
she backed off, the worse the effect would be. There’s only one problem with
this analysis: Dawn and I had lunch together in the student union the follow-
ing day.
Obviously, my attempt to apply Burgoon’s original model to conversational
distance between me and my students didn’t meet with much success. The the-
oretical scoreboard read:
Nonverbal expectancy violations model: 1
Unpredicted random behavior: 3
Burgoon’s fi rst controlled experiments didn’t fare much better. But where I was
ready to dismiss the whole model as fl awed, she was unwilling to abandon
expectancy violation as a key concept in human interaction. At the end of her
journal article she hinted that some of her basic assumptions might need to be
tested and reevaluated.
Threat threshold
The hypothetical outer
boundary of intimate
space; a breach by an
uninvited other occa-
sions fight or flight.
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CHAPTER 7: EXPECTANCY VIOLATIONS THEORY 85
Of course, that was then; this is now. For more than three decades, Judee
Burgoon and her students have crafted a series of sophisticated laboratory exper-
iments and fi eld studies to discover and explain the effects of expectancy viola-
tions. One of the reasons I chose to write about her theory is that the current
version is an excellent example of ideas continually revised as a result of empirical
disconfi rmation. As she has demonstrated, in science, failure can lead to success.
A CONVOLUTED MODEL BECOMES AN ELEGANT THEORY
When applied to theories, the term elegant suggests “gracefully concise and sim-
ple; admirably succinct.” 6 That’s what expectancy violations theory has become.
Burgoon has dropped concepts that were central in earlier versions but never
panned out. Early on, for example, she abandoned the idea of a “threat thresh-
old.” Even though that hypothetical boundary made intuitive sense, repeated
experimentation failed to confi rm its existence.
Burgoon’s retreat from arousal as an explanatory mechanism has been more
gradual. She originally stated that people felt physiologically aroused when their
proxemic expectations were violated. Later she softened the concept to “an ori-
enting response” or a mental “alertness” that focuses attention on the violator.
She now views arousal as a side effect of a partner’s deviation and no longer
considers it a necessary link between expectancy violation and communication
outcomes such as attraction, credibility, persuasion, and involvement.
By removing extraneous features, Burgoon has streamlined her model. By
extending its scope, she has produced a complete theory. Her original nonverbal
expectancy violations model was concerned only with spatial violations—a rather
narrow focus. But by the mid-1980s, Burgoon concluded that proxemic behavior
is part of an interconnected system of nonlinguistic cues. It no longer made sense
to study interpersonal distance in isolation. She began to apply the model to a
host of other nonverbal variables—facial expression, eye contact, touch, and
body lean, for example. Burgoon continues to expand the range of expectancy
violations. While not losing interest in nonverbal communication, she now
applies the theory to what’s said in emotional, marital, and intercultural com-
munication as well. Consistent with this broad sweep, she has dropped the non-
verbal qualifi er and refers to her theory as “expectancy violations theory,” or EVT.
From this point on, so will I.
What does EVT predict? Burgoon sums up her empirically driven conclu-
sions in a single paragraph. I hope that my long narrative of the theory’s devel-
opment will help you appreciate the 30 years of work that lie behind these
simple lines.
Expectancies exert signifi cant infl uence on people’s interaction patterns, on their
impressions of one another, and on the outcomes of their interactions. Violations of
expectations in turn may arouse and distract their recipients, shifting greater atten-
tion to the violator and the meaning of the violation itself. People who can assume
that they are well regarded by their audience are safer engaging in violations and
more likely to profi t from doing so than are those who are poorly regarded. When
the violation act is one that is likely to be ambiguous in its meaning or to carry
multiple interpretations that are not uniformly positive or negative, then the
reward valence of the communicator can be especially signifi cant in moderating
interpretations, evaluations, and subsequent outcomes.  .  .  .  In other cases, violations
Arousal, relational
A heightened state of
awareness, orienting re-
sponse, or mental alert-
ness that stimulates a
review of the relationship.
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86 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
have relatively consensual meanings and valences associated with them, so that
engaging in them produces similar effects for positive- and negative-valenced
communicators. 7
CORE CONCEPTS OF EVT
A close reading of Burgoon’s summary suggests that EVT offers a “soft determin-
ism” rather than hard-core universal laws (see Chapter 2). The qualifying terms
may, more likely, can be, and relatively refl ect her belief that too many factors affect
communication to ever allow us to discover simple cause-and-effect relation-
ships. She does, however, hope to show a link among surprising interpersonal
behavior and attraction, credibility, infl uence, and involvement. These are the
potential outcomes of expectancy violation that Burgoon and her students
explore. In order for us to appreciate the connection, we need to understand
three core concepts of EVT: expectancy, violation valence, and communicator reward
valence. I’ll illustrate these three variables by referring back to my students’ prox-
emic behavior and to another form of nonverbal communication—touch.
Expectancy
When I was a kid, my mother frequently gave notice that she expected me to be
on my best behavior. I considered her words to be a wish or a warning rather
than a forecast of my future actions. That’s not how Burgoon uses the word. She
and her colleagues “prefer to reserve the term expectancy for what is predicted
to occur rather than what is desired.” 8 Figure 7–1 shows that I anticipated con-
versations with students to take place at a distance of 2½ to 6 feet. How did this
expectation arise? Burgoon suggests that I processed the context, type of relation-
ship, and characteristics of the others automatically in my mind so that I could
gauge what they might do.
Context begins with cultural norms. Three feet is too close in England or
Germany yet too far removed in Saudi Arabia, where you can’t trust people who
won’t let you smell their breath. Context also includes the setting of the conver-
sation. A classroom environment dictates a greater speaking distance than would
be appropriate for a private chat in my offi ce.
Relationship factors include similarity, familiarity, liking, and relative status.
In one study, Burgoon discovered that people of all ages and stations in life
anticipate that lower-status people will keep their distance. Because of our age
difference and teacher–student relationship, I was more surprised by Andre’s
and Belinda’s invasion of my personal space than I was by Charlie’s and Dawn’s
remote location.
Communicator characteristics include all of the age/sex/place-of-birth demo-
graphic facts requested on applications, but they also include personal features
that may affect expectation even more—physical appearance, personality, and
communication style. Dawn’s warm smile was a counterpoint to Belinda’s caus-
tic comments. Given this difference, I would have assumed that Dawn would be
the one to draw close and Belinda the one to keep her distance. That’s why I
was especially curious when each woman’s spatial “transgression” was the
opposite of what I would have predicted.
We can do a similar analysis of my expectation for touch in that classroom
situation. Edward Hall claimed that the United States is a “noncontact culture,”
Expectancy
What people predict will
happen, rather than what
they desire.
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CHAPTER 7: EXPECTANCY VIOLATIONS THEORY 87
so I wouldn’t anticipate touch during the course of normal conversation. 9 Does
this mean that Latin American or Southern European “contact cultures” wouldn’t
have tight expectations for nonverbal interaction? By no means; Burgoon is con-
vinced that all cultures have a similar structure of expected communication
behavior, but that the content of those expectations can differ markedly from
culture to culture. Touch is fraught with meaning in every society, but the who,
when, where, and how of touching are a matter of culture-specifi c standards and
customs.
As a male in a role relationship, it never occurred to me that students might
make physical contact while voicing their requests. If it had, Dawn would have
been the likely candidate. But at her chosen distance of 25 feet, she’d need to be
a bionic woman to reach me. As it was, I would have been shocked if she’d
violated my expectation and walked over to give me a hug. (As a lead-in to the
next two sections, note that I didn’t say I would have been disturbed, distressed,
or disgusted.)
Violation Valence
The term violation valence refers to the positive or negative value we place on a
specifi c unexpected behavior, regardless of who does it. Do we fi nd the act itself
pleasing or distressing, and to what extent? With her commitment to the scien-
tifi c method, Burgoon may have borrowed the concept of valence from chemis-
try, where the valence of a substance is indicated by a number and its sign
(13 or 22, for example). The term net worth from the fi eld of accounting seems
to capture the same idea.
We usually give others a bit of wiggle room to deviate from what we regard
as standard operating procedure. But once we deal with someone who acts out-
side the range of expected behavior, we switch into evaluation mode. According
to Burgoon, we fi rst try to interpret the meaning of the violation, and then fi gure
out whether we like it.
The meaning of some violations is easy to spot. As a case in point, no one
would agonize over how to interpret a purposeful poke in the eye with a sharp
stick. It’s a hostile act, and if it happened to us, we’d be livid. Many nonverbal
behaviors are that straightforward. For example, moderate to prolonged eye con-
tact in Western cultures usually communicates awareness, interest, affection, and
trust. A level gaze is welcome; shifty eyes are not. With the exception of a rivet-
ing stare, we value eye contact. Even Emerson, a man of letters, wrote, “The eyes
of men converse as much as their tongues, with the advantage that the ocular
dialect needs no dictionary.  .  .  .” 10
When a behavior has a socially recognized meaning, communicators can
usually fi gure out whether to go beyond what others expect. If the valence is
negative, do less than expected. If the valence is positive, go further. Burgoon
validated this advice when she studied the effect of expectancy on marital sat-
isfaction. 11 She questioned people about how much intimate communication they
expected from their partner compared to how much focused conversation they
actually got. Not surprisingly, intimacy was ranked as positive. Partners who
received about as much intimacy as they expected were moderately satisfi ed
with their marriages. But people were highly satisfi ed with their marriages when
they had more good talks with their husbands or wives than they originally
thought they would.
Violation valence
The perceived positive or
negative value assigned
to a breach of expecta-
tions, regardless of who
the violator is.
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88 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
On the other hand, many expectancy violations are ambiguous and open to
multiple interpretations. For example, the meaning of unexpected touch can be
puzzling. Is it a mark of total involvement in the conversation, a sign of warmth
and affection, a display of dominance, or a sexual move? Distance violations can
also be confusing. Andre isn’t from the Middle East, so why was he standing so
close? I don’t bark or bite, so why did Dawn issue her invitation from across the
room? According to EVT, it’s at times like these that we consider the reward
valence of the communicator as well as the valence of the violation.
Before we look at the way communicator reward valence fi ts into the theory,
you should know that Burgoon has found few nonverbal behaviors that are
ambiguous when seen in a larger context. A touch on the arm might be enigmatic
in isolation, but when experienced along with close proximity, forward body
lean, a direct gaze, facial animation, and verbal fl uency, almost everyone inter-
prets the physical contact as a sign of high involvement in the conversation. 12
Or consider actor Eric Idle’s words and nonverbal manner in a Monty Python
sketch. He punctuates his question about Terry Gilliam’s wife with a burlesque
wink, a leering tone of voice, and gestures to accompany his words: “Nudge
nudge. Know what I mean? Say no more . . . know what I mean?” 13 Taken alone,
an exaggerated wink or a dig with the elbow might have many possible mean-
ings, but as part of a coordinated routine, both gestures clearly transform a ques-
tionable remark into a lewd comment.
There are times, however, when nonverbal expectancy violations are truly
equivocal. The personal space deviations of my students are cases in point. Perhaps
I just wasn’t sensitive enough to pick up the cues that would help me make sense
of their proxemic violations. But when the meaning of an action is unclear, EVT
says that we interpret the violation in light of how the violator can affect our lives.
Communicator Reward Valence
EVT is not the only theory that describes the tendency to size up other people in
terms of the potential rewards they have to offer. Social penetration theory suggests
that we live in an interpersonal economy in which we all “take stock” of the
relational value of others we meet (see Chapter 8). The questions What can you do
for me? and What can you do to me? often cross our minds. Burgoon is not a cynic,
but she thinks the issue of reward potential moves from the background to the
foreground of our minds when someone violates our expectation and there’s no
social consensus on the meaning of the act. She uses the term communicator reward
valence to label the results of our mental audit of likely gains and losses.
The reward valence of a communicator is the sum of the positive and nega-
tive attributes the person brings to the encounter plus the potential he or she
has to reward or punish in the future. The resulting perception is usually a mix
of good and bad and falls somewhere on a scale between those two poles. I’ll
illustrate communicator characteristics that Burgoon frequently mentions by
reviewing one feature of each student that I thought about immediately after
their perplexing spatial violations.
Andre was a brilliant student. Although writing recommendations is low on
my list of fun things to do, I would bask in refl ected glory if he were accepted
into a top graduate program.
Belinda had a razor-sharp mind and a tongue to match. I’d already felt the
sting of her verbal barbs and thought that thinly veiled criticism in the future
was a distinct possibility.
Communicator reward
valence
The sum of positive and
negative attributes brought
to the encounter plus the
potential to reward or
punish in the future.
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CHAPTER 7: EXPECTANCY VIOLATIONS THEORY 89
Charlie was the classic goof-off—seldom in class and never prepared. I try to be
evenhanded with everyone who signs up for my classes, but in Charlie’s case I had
to struggle not to take his casual attitude toward the course as a personal snub.
Dawn was a beautiful young woman with a warm smile. I felt great pleasure
when she openly announced that I was her favorite teacher.
My views of Andre, Belinda, Charlie, and Dawn probably say more about me
than they do about the four students. I’m not particularly proud of my stereotyped
assessments, but apparently I have plenty of company in the criteria I used. Burgoon
notes that the features that impressed me also weigh heavily with others when they
compute a reward valence for someone who is violating their expectations. Status,
ability, and good looks are standard “goodies” that enhance the other person’s
reward potential. The thrust of the conversation is even more important. Most of us
value words that communicate acceptance, liking, appreciation, and trust. We’re
turned off by talk that conveys disinterest, disapproval, distrust, and rejection.
Why does Burgoon think that the expectancy violator’s power to reward or
punish is so crucial? Because puzzling violations force victims to search the social
context for clues to their meaning. 14 Thus, an ambiguous violation embedded in
a host of relationally warm signals takes on a positive cast. An equivocal viola-
tion from a punishing communicator stiffens our resistance.
Now that I’ve outlined EVT’s core concepts of expectancy, violation valence,
and communicator reward valence, you can better understand the bottom-line
advice that Burgoon’s theory offers. Should you communicate in a totally unex-
pected way? If you’re certain that the novelty will be a pleasant surprise, the
answer is yes. But if you know that your outlandish behavior will offend, don’t
do it.
When you aren’t sure how others will interpret your far-out behavior, let
their overall attitude toward you dictate your verbal and nonverbal actions. So
if, like Belinda and Charlie, you have reason to suspect a strained relationship,
and the meaning of a violation might be unclear, stifl e your deviant tendencies
and do your best to conform to expectations. But when you know
you’ve already created a positive personal impression (like Andre or Dawn), a
surprise move is not only safe, it will probably enhance the positive effect of
your message.
INTERACTION ADAPTATION—ADJUSTING EXPECTATIONS
As evidence of its predictive power, EVT has been used to explain and predict
attitudes and behaviors in a wide variety of communication contexts. These
include students’ perceptions of their instructors, patients’ responses to health
care providers, and individuals’ actions in romantic relationships. For example,
Arizona State University communication professor Paul Mongeau has studied
men’s and women’s expectations for fi rst dates and compared those expectations
with their actual experiences. 15 He discovered that men are pleasantly surprised
when a woman initiates a fi rst date, and that they usually interpret such a request
as a sign that she’s interested in sexual activity. But there’s a second surprise in
store for most of these guys when it turns out that they have less physical
intimacy than they do on the traditional male-initiated fi rst date. We might
expect that the men’s disappointment would put a damper on future dates
together but, surprisingly, it doesn’t.
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90 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
For Mongeau, EVT explains how dating partners’ expectations are affected
by who asks out whom. Yet unlike early tests of EVT, Mongeau’s work considers
how one person’s actions might reshape a dating partner’s perceptions after their
time together—a morning-after-the-night-before adjustment of expectations. In
the same way, Burgoon has reassessed EVT’s single-sided view and now favors
a dyadic model of adaptation. That’s because she regards conversations as more
akin to duets than solos. Interpersonal interactions involve synchronized actions
rather than unilateral moves. Along with her former students Lesa Stern and
Leesa Dillman, Burgoon has crafted interaction adaptation theory (IAT) as an exten-
sion and expansion of EVT. 16
Burgoon states that human beings are predisposed to adapt to each other.
That’s often necessary, she says, because another person’s actions may not
square with the thoughts and feelings we bring to the interaction. She sees this
initial interaction position as made up of three factors: requirements, expectations,
and desires. Requirements (R) are the outcomes that fulfi ll our basic needs to
survive, be safe, belong, and have a sense of self-worth. These are the panhu-
man motivations that Abraham Maslow outlined in his famous hierarchy of
needs. 17 As opposed to requirements that represent what we need to happen,
expectations (E) as defi ned in EVT are what we think really will happen. Finally,
desires (D) are what we personally would like to see happen. These RED factors
coalesce or meld into our interaction position of what’s needed, anticipated, and
preferred. I’ll continue to use touch behavior to show how Burgoon uses this
composite mindset to predict how we adjust to another person’s behavior.
In her course application log, Lindi briefl y describes a roommate’s unantici-
pated interaction with a casual friend:
At the end of last year my roommate was hanging out with a bunch of our
friends late at night and one of the guys started playing with her hair and contin-
ued to do so for the rest of the night. This unexpected violation of her personal
space surprised her, but turned out to be a very pleasant experience. She was
forced then to reevaluate their relationship. Even though they didn’t develop a
romantic relationship, this violation brought them closer together and helped them
redefi ne their friendship.
Although details are sparse, it’s possible to approximate the roommate’s
interactional position at the start of the evening. Her willingness to spend the
night hanging around with a group of friends suggests that she has a high need
or requirement for affi liation and belongingness (R). Given her surprise at the
fellow fi ddling with her hair, we can assume that this ongoing touch was defi –
nitely not the behavioral norm of the group, nor what she expected based on the
guy’s past behavior (E). Yet her pleasure with this fellow’s continual touch indi-
cates that she had a strong desire for this kind of personal attention from him
(D). Her initial interaction position would therefore be an amalgam of what she
needed, expected, and preferred.
With the help of hindsight, we can see that the valence of the guy playing
with her hair was more positive than her interaction position. According to IAT,
the pattern of response would therefore be one of reciprocity or convergence.
Reciprocity would mean that she then ran her fi ngers through his hair. There’s
no hint that this happened. Yet since the whole group of friends could monitor
her response, it’s unlikely he would have continued with this form of touch
unless she encouraged him with a smile or words indicating pleasure. That
Interaction adaptation
theory
A systematic analysis of
how people adjust their
approach when another’s
behavior doesn’t mesh
with what’s needed, an-
ticipated, or preferred.
Interaction position
A person’s initial stance
toward an interaction as
determined by a blend of
personal requirements,
expectations, and desires
(RED).
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CHAPTER 7: EXPECTANCY VIOLATIONS THEORY 91
would be convergence. If, on the other hand, the valence she assigned to him
messing with her hair was more negative than her interaction position, Bur-
goon predicts some form of compensation or divergent behavior. She might lean
away from him, excuse herself to comb her hair, or simply look at him and say,
“Cut it out.” Unlike EVT, IAT addresses how people adjust their behavior when
others violate their expectations.
Burgoon outlined two shortcomings of expectancy violations theory that she
found particularly troubling:
First, EVT does not fully account for the overwhelming prevalence of reciproc-
ity that has been found in interpersonal interactions. Second, it is silent on
whether communicator reward valence supersedes behavior valence or vice
versa when the two are incongruent (such as when a disliked partner engages
in a positive violation). 18
Interaction adaptation theory is Burgoon’s attempt to address these problems
within the broader framework of ongoing behavioral adjustments. There’s obvi-
ously more to the theory than I’ve been able to present, but hopefully this brief
sketch lets you see that for Burgoon, one theory leads to another.
CRITIQUE: A WELL-REGARDED WORK IN PROGRESS
I have a friend who fi xes my all-terrain cycle whenever I bend it or break it.
“What do you think?” I ask Bill. “Can it be repaired?” His response is always
the same: “Man made it. Man can fi x it!”
Judee Burgoon shows the same resolve as she seeks to adjust and redesign
an expectancy violations model that never quite works as well in practice as its
theoretical blueprint says it should. Almost every empirical test she runs seems
to yield mixed results. For example, her early work on physical contact sug-
gested that touch violations were often ambiguous. However, a sophisticated
experiment she ran in 1992 showed that unexpected touch in a problem-solving
situation was almost always welcomed as a positive violation, regardless of the
status, gender, or attractiveness of the violator.
Do repeated failures to predict outcomes when a person stands far away,
moves in too close, or reaches out to touch someone imply that Burgoon ought
to trade in her expectancy violations theory for a new model? Does IAT render
EVT obsolete? From my perspective, the answer is no.
Taken as a whole, Burgoon’s expectancy violations theory continues to meet
fi ve of the six criteria of a good scientifi c theory as presented in Chapter 3. Her
theory advances a reasonable explanation for the effects of expectancy violations
during communication. The explanation she offers is relatively simple and has
actually become less complex over time. The theory has testable hypotheses that
the theorist is willing to adjust when her quantitative research doesn’t support the
prediction. Finally, the model offers practical advice on how to better achieve
important communication goals of increased credibility, infl uence, and attraction.
Could we ask for anything more? Of course.
We could wish for predictions that prove more reliable than the Farmer’s Almanac
long-range forecast of weather trends. A review of expectancy violations research
suggests that EVT may have reached that point. For example, a comparative empir-
ical study tested how well three leading theories predict interpersonal responses to
Reciprocity
A strong human ten-
dency to respond to an-
other’s action with
similar behavior.
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92 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
ETHICAL REFLECTION: KANT’S CATEGORICAL IMPERATIVE
EVT focuses on what’s effective . But, according to German philosopher Immanuel
Kant, before we knowingly violate another’s expectation we should consider what’s
ethical . Kant believed that any time we speak or act, we have a moral obligation to
be truthful. He wrote that “truthfulness in statements which cannot be avoided is
the formal duty of an individual to everyone, however great may be the disadvan-
tage accruing to himself or another.” 20 Others might wink at white lies, justify decep-
tion for the other’s own good, or warn of the dire consequences that can result from
total honesty. But from Kant’s perspective, there are no mitigating circumstances.
Lying is wrong—always. So is breaking a promise. He’d regard nonverbal deception
the same way.
Kant came to this absolutist position through the logic of his categorical
imperative, a term that means duty without exception. He stated the categorical
imperative as an ethical absolute: “Act only on that maxim which you can will
to become a universal law.” 21 In terms of EVT, Kant would have us look at the
violation we are considering and ask, What if everybody did that all the time? If
we don’t like the answer, we have a solemn duty not to do the deed.
The categorical imperative is a method of determining right from wrong by
thinking through the ethical valence of an act, regardless of motive. Suppose
we’re thinking about touching someone in a way he or she doesn’t expect and
hasn’t clearly let us know is welcome. Perhaps the other person, like Lindi’s
roommate, might be pleasantly surprised. But unless we can embrace the idea
of everyone—no matter what their communication reward valence—having that
kind of unbidden access to everybody, the categorical imperative says don’t do
it. No exceptions. In the words of a sports-minded colleague who teaches ethics,
“Kant plays ethical hardball without a mitt.” If we say, I “Kant” play in that league,
what ethical scorecard will we use in place of his categorical imperative?
QUESTIONS TO SHARPEN YOUR FOCUS
1. What proxemic advice would you give to communicators who believe they
are seen as unrewarding?
2. EVT suggests that violation valence is especially important when it’s clearly
positive or negative. What verbal or nonverbal expectancy violations would
be confusing to you even when experienced in context?
3. Using the concepts of expectancy, violation valence, and communicator reward
valence, can you explain how the fi nal version of EVT accurately predicts Em’s
response to the four requests made by Andre, Belinda, Charlie, and Dawn?
4. EVT and coordinated management of meaning (see Chapter 6) hold diver-
gent views about the nature of ways of knowing, human nature, and communi-
cation research. Can you spot the different assumptions?
Categorical imperative
Duty without exception;
act only on that maxim
which you can will to
become a universal law.
nonverbal immediacy—close proximity, touch, direct gaze, direct body orientation,
and forward lean. 19 None of the theories proved to be right all of the time, but EVT
did better than the other two. And based on what a revised EVT now predicts, the
scoreboard for my responses to the proxemic violations of Andre, Belinda, Charlie,
and Dawn shows four hits and no misses.
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CHAPTER 7: EXPECTANCY VIOLATIONS THEORY 93
A SECOND LOOK Recommended resource: Judee K. Burgoon and Jerold Hale, “Nonverbal Expectancy
Violations: Model Elaboration and Application to Immediacy Behaviors,” Communication
Monographs, Vol. 55, 1988, pp. 58–79.
Original model: Judee K. Burgoon, “A Communication Model of Personal Space
Violations: Explication and an Initial Test,” Human Communication Research, Vol. 4, 1978,
pp. 129–142.
Expectancy: Judee K. Burgoon and Beth A. LePoire, “Effects of Communication Expec-
tancies, Actual Communication, and Expectancy Disconfi rmation on Evaluations of Com-
municators and Their Communication Behavior,” Human Communication Research, Vol. 20,
1993, pp. 67–96.
Communicator reward valence: Judee K. Burgoon, “Relational Message Interpretations
of Touch, Conversational Distance, and Posture,” Journal of Nonverbal Behavior, Vol. 15,
1991, pp. 233–259.
Extension of the theory: Walid A. Afi fi and Judee K. Burgoon, “The Impact of Violations
on Uncertainty and the Consequences for Attractiveness,” Human Communication Research,
Vol. 26, 2000, pp. 203–233.
Cultural violations: Judee K. Burgoon and Amy Ebesu Hubbard, “Cross-Cultural and
Intercultural Applications of Expectancy Violations Theory and Interaction Adaptation
Theory,” in Theorizing About Intercultural Communication, William B. Gudykunst (ed.),
Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 2004, pp. 149–171.
Interaction adaptation theory: Judee K. Burgoon, Lesa Stern, and Leesa Dillman, Inter-
personal Adaptation: Dyadic Interaction Patterns, Cambridge University, Cambridge, 1995.
Interaction adaptation theory application: Keri K. Stephens, Marian L. Houser, and Renee
L. Cowan, “R U Able to Meat Me: The Impact of Students’ Overly Casual Email Messages
to Instructors,” Communication Education, Vol. 58, 2009, pp. 303–326.
Explanation and comparison of EVT and IAT: Cindy H. White, “Expectancy Violations
Theory and Interaction Adaptation Theory: From Expectations to Adaptation,” in Engag-
ing Theories in Interpersonal Communication: Multiple Perspectives, Leslie A. Baxter and
Dawn O. Braithwaite (eds.), Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 2008, pp. 189–202.
Kant’s categorical imperative: Immanuel Kant, Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals,
H. J. Paton (trans.), Harper Torchbooks, New York, 1964, pp. 60–88.
Critique: Peter A. Andersen, Laura K. Guerrero, David B. Buller, and Peter F. Jorgensen,
“An Empirical Comparison of Three Theories of Nonverbal Immediacy Exchange,” Human
Communication Research, Vol. 24, 1998, pp. 501–535.
View this segment online at
www.mhhe.com/griffi n9e or
www.afi rstlook.com.
CONVERSATIONS
A few minutes into my discussion with Judee Burgoon, you’ll notice that
one of us violates a communication expectation of the other. See if you
think the violation is accidental or strategic. How does this event affect the
rest of the conversation? Burgoon’s love of theory is apparent throughout
the segment. Do you think her enthusiasm is bolstered by a view of theories
as systematic hunches rather than timeless principles chiseled in stone? As a
scientist, Burgoon believes that much of human behavior is genetically pro-
grammed, yet she insists that communication is also a choice-driven, strate-
gic behavior. As you watch, decide whether you think these beliefs are
compatible.
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94
R e l a t i o n s h i p D e v e l o p m e n t
Think about your closest personal relationship. Is it one of “strong, frequent and
diverse interdependence that lasts over a considerable period of time?”1 That’s
how UCLA psychologist Harold Kelley and eight co-authors defi ned the concept
of close relationship. Though their defi nition could apply to parties who don’t
even like each other, most theorists reserve the term close for relationships that
include a positive bond—usually romantic, friend, and family. All three types
of intimacy can provide enjoyment, trust, sharing of confi dences, respect, mutual
assistance, and spontaneity.2 The question is, How do we develop a close relationship?
Two distinct approaches have dominated the theory and practice of rela-
tional development. One experiential approach is typifi ed by humanistic psycholo-
gist Carl Rogers. Based upon his years of nondirective counseling, Rogers
described three necessary and suffi cient conditions for relationship growth.
When partners perceived (1) congruence; (2) unconditional positive regard; and
(3) empathic understanding of each other, they could and would draw closer.3
Congruence is the match or fi t between an individual’s inner feelings and
outer display. The congruent person is genuine, real, integrated, whole, trans-
parent. The noncongruent person tries to impress, plays a role, puts up a front,
hides behind a facade. “In my relationship with persons,” Rogers wrote, “I’ve
found that it does not help, in the long run, to act as though I was something
I was not.”4
Unconditional positive regard is an attitude of acceptance that isn’t contingent
upon performance. Rogers asked, “Can I let myself experience positive attitudes
toward this other person—attitudes of warmth, caring, liking, interest, and
respect?”5 When the answer was yes, both he and his clients matured as human
beings. They also liked each other.
Empathic understanding is the caring skill of temporarily laying aside our
views and values and entering into another’s world without prejudice. It is an
active process of seeking to hear the other’s thoughts, feelings, tones, and mean-
ings as if they were our own. Rogers thought it was a waste of time to be suspi-
cious or to wonder, What does she really mean? He believed that we help people
most when we accept what they say at face value. We should assume that they
describe their world as it really appears to them.
Rogerian ideas have permeated the textbooks and teaching of interper-
sonal communication.6 The topics of self-disclosure, nonverbal warmth,
empathic listening, and trust are mainstays of an introductory course.
The other approach assumes that relationship behavior is shaped by the
rewards and costs of interaction. In 1992, University of Chicago economist Gary
Becker won the Nobel Prize in economics on the basis of his application of
supply-and-demand market models to predict the behavior of everyday living,
including love and marriage.7 News commentators expressed skepticism that
matters of the heart could be reduced to cold numbers, but the economic meta-
phor has dominated social science discussions of interpersonal attraction and
behavior for the last fi ve decades. It’s also the approach of popular dating web-
sites like eHarmony, where customers complete a questionnaire that matches
them to “singles who have been prescreened on 29 Dimensions of Compatibility:
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RELATIONSHIP DEVELOPMENT 95
scientifi c predictors of long-term relationship success.”8 Like such dating services,
the basic assumption of many relational theorists is that people interact with
others in a way that maximizes their personal benefi ts and minimizes their
personal costs.
Numerous parallels exist between the stock market and relationship market:
Law of supply and demand. A rare, desirable characteristic commands higher
value on the exchange.
Courting a buyer. Most parties in the market prepare a prospectus that
highlights their assets and downplays their liabilities.
Laissez-faire rules. Let the buyer beware. All’s fair in love and war. It’s a
jungle out there.
Investors and traders. Investors commit for the long haul; traders try to
make an overnight killing.
Even from these brief summaries, you can tell that a humanistic model of rela-
tional development is quite different from an economic model of social exchange.
Yet both models affect each of the theories presented in this section.
All three theories regard communication as the means by which people can
draw close to one another. Each considers instant intimacy a myth; relationships
take time to develop and they don’t always proceed on a straight-line trajectory
toward that goal. In fact, most relationships never even get close. Yet some peo-
ple do have deep, satisfying, long-lasting relationships. Why do they develop
close ties when others don’t? Each of the theories in this section offers an answer.
“I’ve done the numbers, and I will marry you.”
© William Hamilton/The New Yorker Collection/www.cartoonbank.com
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96
Social Penetration Theory
of Irwin Altman & Dalmas Taylor
A friend in need is a friend indeed.
Neither a borrower nor a lender be.
A soft answer turns away wrath.
Don’t get mad, get even.
To know him is to love him.
Familiarity breeds contempt.
Proverbs are the wisdom of the ages boiled down into short, easy-to-remember
phrases. There are probably more maxims about interpersonal relationships than
about any other topic. But are these truisms dependable? As we can see in the
pairings above, the advice they give often seems contradictory.
Consider the plight of Pete, a freshman at a residential college, as he enters
the dorm to meet his roommate face-to-face for the fi rst time. Pete has just waved
good-bye to his folks and already feels pangs of loneliness as he thinks of his
girlfriend back home. He worries how she’ll feel about him when he goes home
at Thanksgiving. Will she illustrate the reliability of the old adage “absence
makes the heart grow fonder,” or will “out of sight, out of mind” be a better
way to describe the next few months?
Pete fi nds his room and immediately spots the familiar shape of a lacrosse
stick. He’s initially encouraged by what appears to be a common interest, but he
also can’t forget that his roommate’s Facebook profi le expressed enthusiasm for
several candidates on the opposite end of the political spectrum from Pete. Will
“birds of a feather fl ock together” hold true in their relationship, or will “oppo-
sites attract” better describe their interaction?
Just then Jon, his roommate, comes in. For a few minutes they trade the stock
phrases that give them a chance to size up each other. Something in Pete makes
him want to tell Jon how much he misses his girlfriend, but a deeper sense of
what is an appropriate topic of conversation when fi rst meeting someone pre-
vents him from sharing his feelings. On a subconscious level, perhaps even a
conscious one, Pete is torn between acting on the old adage “misery loves com-
pany” or on the more macho “big boys don’t cry.”
8C H A P T E R Objective Interpretive
Socio-psychological tradition
●
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CHAPTER 8: SOCIAL PENETRATION THEORY 97
Pete obviously needs something more than pithy proverbs to help him under-
stand relational dynamics. More than two decades before Pete was born, social
psychologists Irwin Altman and Dalmas Taylor proposed a social penetration pro-
cess that explains how relational closeness develops. Altman is distinguished pro-
fessor emeritus of psychology at the University of Utah, and Taylor, now deceased,
was provost and professor of psychology at Lincoln University in Pennsylvania.
They predicted that Pete and Jon would end up best friends only if they pro-
ceeded in a “gradual and orderly fashion from superfi cial to intimate levels of
exchange as a function of both immediate and forecast outcomes.” 1 In order to
capture the process, we fi rst have to understand the complexity of people.
Social penetration
The process of develop-
ing deeper intimacy with
another person through
mutual self-disclosure
and other forms of
vulnerability.
Altman and Taylor compared people to onions. This isn’t a commentary on the
human capacity to offend. Like the self-description that the ogre in Shrek shares
with his donkey sidekick in the original fi lm, it is a depiction of the multilayered
structure of personality. Peel the outer skin from an onion, and you’ll fi nd another
beneath it. Remove that layer and you’ll expose a third, and so on. Pete’s outer
layer is his public self that’s accessible to anyone who cares to look. The outer
layer includes a myriad of details that certainly help describe who he is but are
held in common with others at the school. On the surface, people see a tall,
18-year-old male business major from Michigan who lifts weights and gets lots
of Facebook posts from friends back home. If Jon can look beneath the surface,
he’ll discover the semiprivate attitudes that Pete reveals only to some people.
Pete is sympathetic to liberal social causes, deeply religious, and prejudiced
against overweight people.
Pete’s inner core is made up of his values, self-concept, unresolved confl icts,
and deeply felt emotions—things he’d never dream of posting on Facebook. This
is his unique private domain, which is invisible to the world but has a signifi cant
impact on the areas of his life that are closer to the surface. Perhaps not even his
girlfriend or parents know his most closely guarded secrets about himself.
Personality structure
Onion-like layers of be-
liefs and feelings about
self, others, and the
world; deeper layers
are more vulnerable,
protected, and central
to self-image.
PERSONALITY STRUCTURE: A MULTILAYERED ONION
CLOSENESS THROUGH SELF-DISCLOSURE
Pete becomes accessible to others as he relaxes the tight boundaries that protect
him and makes himself vulnerable. This can be a scary process, but Altman and
Taylor believed it’s only by allowing Jon to penetrate well below the surface that
Pete can truly draw close to his roommate. Nonverbal paths to closeness include
mock roughhousing, eye contact, and smiling. But the main route to deep social
penetration is through verbal self-disclosure .
Figure 8–1 illustrates a wedge being pulled into an onion. It’s as if a strong
magnetic force were drawing it toward the center. The depth of penetration
represents the degree of personal disclosure. To get to the center, the wedge must
fi rst separate the outer layers. Altman and Taylor claimed that on the surface
level this kind of biographical information exchange takes place easily, perhaps
at the fi rst meeting. But they pictured the layers of onion skin tougher and more
tightly wrapped as the wedge nears the center.
Recall that Pete is hesitant to share his longing for his girlfriend with Jon.
If he admits these feelings, he’s opening himself up for some heavy-handed
Self-disclosure
The voluntary sharing of
personal history, prefer-
ences, attitudes, feel-
ings, values, secrets,
etc., with another per-
son; transparency.
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98 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
kidding or emotional blackmail. In addition, once the wedge has penetrated
deeply, it will have cut a passage through which it can return again and again with
little resistance. Future privacy will be diffi cult. Realizing both of these factors, Pete
may be extra cautious about exposing his true feelings. Perhaps he’ll fence off this
part of his life for the whole school term. According to social penetration theory,
a permanent guard will limit the closeness these two young men can achieve.
FIGURE 8–1 Penetration of Pete’s Personality Structure
Goals, aspirations
taste
s
stu
di
es

w
o
rl
d
vi
ew

Concept of self
Deeply held fears and fantasies
Religious convictions
Preferences in clothes, food, and music
dating
Biographical data
THE DEPTH AND BREADTH OF SELF-DISCLOSURE
The depth of penetration is the degree of intimacy. Although Altman and Taylor’s
penetration analogy strikes some readers as sexual, this was not their intent. The
analogy applies equally to intimacy in friendship and romance. Figure 8–1 dia-
grams the closeness Jon gains if he and Pete become friends during the year. In
their framework of social penetration theory, Altman and Taylor outlined four
observations about the process that will bring Pete and Jon to this point:
1. Peripheral items are exchanged sooner and more frequently than private information.
When the sharp edge of the wedge has barely reached the intimate area, the
thicker part has cut a wide path through the outer rings. The relationship is
still at a relatively impersonal level (“big boys don’t cry”). University of
Connecticut communication professor Arthur VanLear analyzed the content
of conversations in developing relationships. His study showed that 14 per-
cent of talk revealed nothing about the speaker, 65 percent dwelled on pub-
lic items, 19 percent shared semiprivate details, and only 2 percent disclosed
intimate confi dences. 2 Further penetration will bring Pete to the point where
he can share deeper feelings (“misery loves company”).
Depth of penetration  
The degree of disclosure
in a specific area of an
individual’s life.
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CHAPTER 8: SOCIAL PENETRATION THEORY 99
2. Self-disclosure is reciprocal, especially in the early stages of relationship development.
The theory predicts that new acquaintances like Pete and Jon will reach
roughly equal levels of openness, but it doesn’t explain why. Pete’s vulnerabil-
ity could make him seem more trustworthy, or perhaps his initial openness
makes transparency seem more attractive. The young men might also feel a
need for emotional equity, so a disclosure by Pete leaves Jon feeling uneasy
until he’s balanced the account with his own payment—a give-and-take
exchange in which each party is sharing deeper levels of feeling with the other.
Whatever the reason, social penetration theory asserts a law of reciprocity .
3. Penetration is rapid at the start but slows down quickly as the tightly wrapped inner
layers are reached. Instant intimacy is a myth. Not only is there internal resis-
tance to quick forays into the soul, but there are societal norms against tell-
ing too much too fast. Most relationships stall before a stable intimate
exchange is established. For this reason, these relationships fade or die easily
after a separation or a slight strain. A comfortable sharing of positive and
negative reactions is rare. When it is achieved, relationships become more
important to both parties, more meaningful, and more enduring.
4. Depenetration is a gradual process of layer-by-layer withdrawal. A warm friend-
ship between Pete and Jon will deteriorate if they begin to close off areas
of their lives that had previously been opened. Relational retreat is a sort
of taking back of what has already been exchanged in the building of a
relationship. Altman and Taylor compared the process to a movie shown in
reverse. Surface talk still goes on long after deep disclosure is avoided.
Relationships are likely to terminate not in an explosive fl ash of anger but
in a gradual cooling off of enjoyment and care.
While depth is crucial to the process of social penetration, breadth is equally
important. Note that in Figure 8–1 I have segmented the onion much like an
orange to represent how Pete’s life is cut into different areas—dating, studies,
and so forth. It’s quite possible for Pete to be candid about every intimate detail
of his romance yet remain secretive about his father’s alcoholism or his own
minor dyslexia. Because only one area is accessed, the relationship depicted in
the onion drawing is typical of a summer romance—depth without breadth. Of
course, breadth without depth describes the typical “Hi, how are you?” casual
friendship. A model of true intimacy would show multiple wedges inserted
deeply into every area.
Law of reciprocity  
A paced and orderly pro-
cess in which openness
in one person leads to
openness in the other;
“You tell me your dream;
I’ll tell you mine.”
Breadth of penetration  
The range of areas in an
individual’s life over
which disclosure takes
place.
REGULATING CLOSENESS ON THE BASIS OF REWARDS AND COSTS
Will Pete and Jon become good friends? To answer that question, Altman and
Taylor borrowed ideas from another theory called social exchange theory, devel-
oped by psychologists John Thibaut (University of North Carolina at Chapel
Hill) and Harold Kelley (University of California, Los Angeles). 3 If you want to
know more about social exchange theory, I encourage you to visit www. afi rstlook
.com to read a chapter on the theory from a previous edition of this book. Here,
I’ll focus on the ideas from the theory that Altman and Taylor thought are useful
for understanding the process of self-disclosure.
Investors choose where to put their money in the stock market. College fresh-
men like Pete and Jon choose where to put their time in friendships. Social
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100 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
exchange theory claims we make both decisions in similar ways. Whether fi nance
or friendship, we want a good return on our investment, so we do a cost- benefi t
analysis beforehand. For the fi nancial investor, that might involve combing the
pages of The Wall Street Journal for tips about which stocks might increase in
value. Pete and Jon don’t have a newspaper with that kind of expert interper-
sonal advice, so instead they’ll think about whether they’ll enjoy interacting in
the future. Right after their fi rst encounter, Pete will sort out the pluses and
minuses of friendship with Jon, computing a bottom-line index of relational sat-
isfaction. Jon will do the same regarding Pete. If the perceived mutual benefi ts
outweigh the costs of greater vulnerability, the process of social penetration will
proceed.
Social exchange theory identifi es three key components of this mental calcu-
lation: relational outcome, relational satisfaction, and relational stability. Altman
and Taylor agreed these factors are important, and therefore included them in
social penetration theory. I’ll describe each of the three concepts below.
Relational Outcome: Rewards Minus Costs
Thibaut and Kelley suggested that people try to predict the outcome of an interac-
tion before it takes place. Thus, when Pete fi rst meets his roommate, he mentally
gauges the potential rewards and costs of friendship with Jon. He perceives a
number of benefi ts. As a newcomer to campus, Pete strongly desires someone to
talk to, eat with, and just hang out with when he’s not in class or studying. His
roommate’s interest in lacrosse, easy laugh, and laid-back style make Jon an
attractive candidate.
Pete is also aware that there’s a potential downside to getting to know each
other better. If he reveals some of his inner life, his roommate may scoff at his
faith in God or ridicule his liberal “do-gooder” values. Pete isn’t ashamed of his
convictions, but he hates to argue, and he regards the risk of confl ict as real.
Factoring in all the likely pluses and minuses, reaching out in friendship to Jon
strikes Pete as net positive, so he makes the fi rst move.
The idea of totaling potential benefi ts and losses to determine behavior isn’t
new. Since the nineteenth century, when philosopher John Stuart Mill fi rst stated
his principle of utility, 4 there’s been a compelling logic to the minimax principle
of human behavior . The minimax principle claims that people seek to maximize
their benefi ts and minimize their costs. Thus, the higher we rate a relational
outcome, the more attractive we fi nd the behavior that might make it happen.
Social exchange theorists assume that we can accurately gauge the payoffs
of a variety of interactions and that we have the good sense to choose the action
that will provide the best result. Altman and Taylor weren’t sure that we always
base such decisions on reliable information, but that’s not the issue. What mat-
tered to them is that we decide to open up with another person using the per-
ceived benefi t-minus-cost outcome.
Lee, a former student of Em’s, shared how he calculated cost–benefi t ratios
in one of his friendships. For him, self-disclosure has a higher emotional cost
than it does for the average person:
Self-disclosure makes me uncomfortable. However, the medium of music makes
me a bit more comfortable and my desire to write a good song forces me to open
up in ways I wouldn’t otherwise. For example, I wrote a song for my friend John’s
birthday party where I put together a series of verses that commemorated all the
Social exchange
Relationship behavior
and status regulated by
both parties’ evaluations
of perceived rewards and
costs of interaction with
each other.
Outcome
The perceived rewards
minus the costs of inter-
personal interaction.
Minimax principle
of human behavior
People seek to maximize
their benefits and mini-
mize their costs.
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CHAPTER 8: SOCIAL PENETRATION THEORY 101
things in the last year that John and I shared or thought were funny. John and I
still had a relatively superfi cial relationship at that point, but I think by showing
that I cared through the song, another layer of the onion was peeled away.
Early in a relationship, we tend to see physical appearance, similar back-
grounds, and mutual agreement as benefi ts (“birds of a feather fl ock together”).
Disagreement and deviance from the norm are negatives. But as the relationship
changes, so does the nature of interaction that friends fi nd rewarding. Deeper
friendships thrive on common values and spoken appreciation, and we can even
enjoy surface diversity (“opposites attract”).
If Pete sees much more benefi t than cost in a relationship with Jon, he’ll start
to reveal more of who he is. If the negatives outweigh the positives, he’ll try to
avoid contact with Jon as much as possible. Even though they’re stuck together
physically in the same dorm room, a negative assessment could cause him to
hold back emotionally for the rest of the year.
Gauging Relational Satisfaction—The Comparison Level (CL)
Evaluating outcomes is a tricky business. Even if we mentally convert intangible
benefi ts and costs into a bottom-line measure of overall effect, its psychological
impact upon us may vary. A relational result has meaning only when we contrast
CLOSE TO HOME © John McPherson. Reprinted with permission of UNIVERSAL UCLICK. All rights reserved.
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102 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
it with other real or imagined outcomes. Social exchange theory offers two stan-
dards of comparison that Pete and others use to evaluate their interpersonal
outcomes. The fi rst point of reference deals with relative satisfaction —how happy
or sad an interpersonal outcome makes a participant feel. Thibaut and Kelley
called this the comparison level.
A person’s comparison level (CL) is the threshold above which an outcome
seems attractive. Suppose, for example, that Pete is looking forward to his regu-
lar Sunday night phone call with his girlfriend. Since they usually talk for about
a half hour, 30 minutes is Pete’s comparison level for what makes a pleasing
conversation. If he’s not in a hurry, a 45-minute call will seem especially gratify-
ing, while a 15-minute chat would be quite disappointing. Of course, the length
of the call is only one factor that affects Pete’s positive or negative feelings when
he hangs up the phone. He has also developed expectations for the topics they’ll
discuss, his girlfriend’s tone of voice, and the warmth of her words when she
says good-bye. These are benchmarks that Pete uses to gauge his relative satis-
faction with the interaction.
To a big extent, our relational history establishes our CLs for friendship,
romance, and family ties. We judge the value of a relationship by comparing it
to the baseline of past experience. If Pete had little history of close friendship in
high school, a relationship with Jon would look quite attractive. If, on the other
hand, he’s accustomed to being part of a close-knit group of intimate friends,
hanging out with Jon could pale by comparison.
Sequence plays a large part in evaluating a relationship. The result from
each interaction is stored in the individual’s memory. Experiences that take place
early in a relationship can have a huge impact because they make up a large
proportion of the total relational history. One unpleasant experience out of 10
is merely troublesome, but 1 out of 2 can end a relationship before it really begins.
Trends are also important. If Pete fi rst senses coolness from Jon yet later feels
warmth and approval, the shift will raise Jon’s attractiveness to a level higher
than it would be if Pete had perceived positive vibes from the very beginning.
Gauging Relational Stability—The Comparison Level of Alternatives (CLalt)
Thibaut and Kelley suggested that there is a second standard by which we eval-
uate the outcomes we receive. They called it the comparison level of alternatives
(CL alt ). Don’t let the similarity of the names confuse you—CL and CL alt are two
entirely different concepts. CL is your overall standard for a specifi c type of
relationship, and it remains fairly stable over time. In contrast, CL alt represents
your evaluation of other relational options at the moment. For Pete, it’s the result
of thinking about his interactions with other people in his dorm. As he considers
whether to invest his limited time in getting to know Jon, he’ll ask, Would my
relational payoffs be better with another person? His CL alt is his best available alterna-
tive to a friendship with Jon. If CL alt is less than Pete’s current outcomes, his
friendship with Jon will be stable. But if more attractive friendship possibilities
become available, or roommate squabbles drive his outcomes below the estab-
lished CL alt , the instability of their friendship will increase.
Taken together, CL and CL alt explain why some people remain in relation-
ships that aren’t satisfying. For example, social workers describe the plight of a
physically abused wife as “high cost, low reward.” Despite her anguish, the
woman feels trapped in the distressing situation because being alone in the
Comparison level (CL)
The threshold above
which an interpersonal
outcome seems attrac-
tive; a standard for rela-
tional satisfaction.
Comparison level of
alternatives (CL alt )
The best outcome avail-
able in other relation-
ships; a standard for
relational stability.
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CHAPTER 8: SOCIAL PENETRATION THEORY 103
The minimax principle that undergirds social exchange theory—and therefore
social penetration theory as well—is also referred to as psychological egoism . The
term refl ects many social scientists’ conviction that all of us are motivated by
self-interest. Unlike most social scientists who limit their study to what is rather
than what ought to be, ethical egoists claim we should act selfi shly. It’s right and
it’s good for us to look out for number one.
Epicurus, a Greek philosopher who wrote a few years after Aristotle’s death,
defi ned the good life as getting as much pleasure as possible: “I spit on the noble
and its idle admirers when it contains no element of pleasure.” 5 Although his
position is often associated with the adage “Eat, drink, and be merry,” Epicurus
actually emphasized the passive pleasures of friendship and good digestion, and
above all, the absence of pain. He cautioned that “no pleasure is in itself evil,
but the things which produce certain pleasures entail annoyances many times
greater than the pleasures themselves.” 6 The Greek philosopher put lying in that
category. He said that the wise person is prepared to lie if there is no risk of
detection, but since we can never be certain our falsehoods won’t be discovered,
he didn’t recommend deception.
A few other philosophers have echoed the Epicurean call for selfi sh concern.
Thomas Hobbes described life as “nasty, brutish and short” and advocated polit-
ical trade-offs that would gain a measure of security. Adam Smith, the spiritual
father of capitalism, advised every person to seek his or her own profi t. Friedrich
Nietzsche announced the death of God and stated that the noble soul has rever-
ence for itself. Egoist writer Ayn Rand dedicated her novel The Fountainhead to
“the exultation of man’s self-esteem and the sacredness of his happiness on
earth.” 7 Of course, the moral advice of Epicurus, Hobbes, Nietzsche, and Rand
may be suspect. If their counsel consistently refl ects their beliefs, their words are
spoken for their own benefi t, not ours.
Most ethical and religious thinkers denounce the selfi shness of egoism as
morally repugnant. How can one embrace a philosophy that advocates terrorism
Ethical egoism
The belief that individu-
als should live their lives
so as to maximize their
own pleasure and mini-
mize their own pain.
world appears even worse. As dreadful as her outcomes are, she can’t imagine
a better alternative. She won’t leave until she perceives an outside alternative
that promises a better life. Her relationship is very unsatisfying because her
outcomes are far below her CL, but also quite stable because her outcomes are
above her CLalt.
The relative values of outcome, CL, and CL alt go a long way in determining
whether a person is willing to become vulnerable in order to have a deeper
relationship. The optimum situation is when both parties fi nd
Outcome . CL alt . CL
Using Pete as an example, this notation shows that he forecasts a friendship with
Jon that will be more than satisfying. The tie with Jon will be stable because there’s
no other relationship on campus that is more attractive. Yet Pete won’t feel
trapped, because he has other satisfying options available should this one turn
sour. We see, therefore, that social exchange theory explains why Pete is primed
for social penetration. If Jon’s calculations are similar, the roommates will begin
the process of mutual vulnerability that Altman and Taylor described, and recip-
rocal self-disclosure will draw them close.
ETHICAL REFLECTION: EPICURUS’ ETHICAL EGOISM
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104 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
Viewing increased self-disclosure as the path to intimacy is a simple idea—one
that’s easily portrayed in the onion model of Figure 8–1 . It can also be summa-
rized in less than 40 words:
Interpersonal closeness proceeds in a gradual and orderly fashion from superfi cial
to intimate levels of exchange, motivated by current and projected future out-
comes. Lasting intimacy requires continual and mutual vulnerability through
breadth and depth of self-disclosure.
But Altman later had second thoughts about his basic assumption that openness
is the predominant quality of relationship development. He began to speculate
that the desire for privacy may counteract what he fi rst thought was a unidi-
rectional quest for intimacy. He now proposes a dialectical model, which assumes
that “human social relationships are characterized by openness or contact and
closedness or separateness between participants.” 8 He believes that the tension
between openness and closedness results in cycles of disclosure or withdrawal.
Altman also identifi es the environment as a factor in social penetration. 9
Sometimes the environment guides our decision to disclose—a quiet, dimly lit
sit-down restaurant might make us more willing to open up than when sitting
on stools under the harsh lights of a noisy fast food joint. Other times we actively
manipulate our environment to meet our privacy and disclosure goals. Thus, we
might choose a quiet booth in the corner if we don’t want others to overhear a
sensitive conversation.
Pete and Jon face choices about how to manage their room’s environment.
For Altman, this is more than just deciding whether to put a mini-fridge under
the desk or next to the bed. He believes the way the two manage their dorm
room says a lot about their relationship with each other and with their peers.
Will they keep the door open on weeknights? Will they lock the room when
they’re away? Will they split the room down the middle, or will their possessions
intermingle? Each decision shapes how the roommates manage the ongoing ten-
sion between openness and closedness during the year.
Because college freshmen face so many decisions about disclosure, privacy,
and their physical environment, Altman studied social penetration in dorm liv-
ing at the University of Utah. 10 He asked college freshmen how they used their
environment to seek out and avoid others. To probe deeper into how students
managed their space, he visited their rooms and photographed the wall above
their beds. Two years later he examined school records to see if students’ choices
about their physical space predicted success and satisfaction at college. Overall,
Altman found that students were more likely to remain at the university when
they honored their need for territoriality, the human (and animalistic) tendency
to claim a physical location or object as our own. This need shows that the onion
of social penetration includes both our mind and our physical space.
Dialectical model
The assumption that peo-
ple want both privacy
and intimacy in their so-
cial relationships; they
experience a tension be-
tween disclosure and
withdrawal.
as long as it brings joy to the terrorist? When the egoistic pleasure principle is
compared to a life lived to reduce the suffering of others, as with the late Mother
Teresa, ethical egoism seems to be no ethic at all. Yet the egoist would claim that
the Nobel Peace Prize winner was leading a sacrifi cial life because she took
pleasure in serving the poor. If charity becomes a burden, she should stop.
DIALECTICS AND THE ENVIRONMENT
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CHAPTER 8: SOCIAL PENETRATION THEORY 105
Some students in Altman’s study crafted a dorm room environment that
welcomed others. They kept their doors open, invited others to visit, and even
used music to draw people into the room. Their wall decorations promoted
mutual self-disclosure by showing multiple facets of their identity, ranging from
calendars and schedules to hobbies and photographs of friends. Just like verbal
disclosure, environmental disclosure can vary in its breadth. If Pete and Jon
decorate their room with several facets of their identities, the law of reciprocity
suggests that visitors might feel more comfortable disclosing verbally as well.
The students who created this kind of warm atmosphere tended to succeed at
college.
The students who later dropped out used wall decorations that didn’t reveal
a range of interests, like one student who only displayed ballet-related images,
or another with only ski posters. Such students tended to shut out potential
visitors and play loud music that discouraged discussion. Also, students who
eventually left the university didn’t honor their need for personal territory. Com-
pared to those who remained, they were less likely to arrange the furniture to
create some private spaces or occasionally retreat from the dorm room for time
alone. To explain this curious fi nding, Altman reasoned that “the dormitory envi-
ronment inherently provides many opportunities for social contact,” and therefore
“it may be more important to develop effective avoidance techniques in such
a setting.” 11 Consequently, Pete and Jon would be wise to recognize each oth-
er ’s need for clearly defi ned territory. Each of them might be unwilling to let
the other penetrate his physical space until they’ve fi rst penetrated each other ’s
psychological space—their onion.
Altman’s results demonstrate the importance of both psychological and
territorial boundaries in the process of social penetration. Students who were
successful at college honored their dialectical needs for both contact and separ-
ateness. Sandra Petronio, a communication theorist at Indiana University–Purdue
University Indianapolis, was intrigued by Altman’s use of territoriality to explain
dialectical forces. She later crafted communication privacy management theory to
further explain the intricate ways people manage boundaries around their per-
sonal information. You can read about her insights in Chapter 12.
Territoriality
The tendency to claim a
physical location or ob-
ject as our own.
Social penetration theory is an established and familiar explanation of how close-
ness develops in ongoing relationships. Altman and Taylor’s image of multiple
wedges penetrating deeply into a multilayered onion has proved to be a helpful
model of growing intimacy. But just as these theorists described people continu-
ally reappraising their relationships in light of new experiences, it makes sense
for us to reconsider the basic assumptions and claims of their theory. Social
penetration theory has many critics.
As you will read in Chapter 12, Petronio challenges some core assumptions
of social penetration theory. She thinks it’s simplistic to equate self-disclosure
with relational closeness. It can lead to intimacy, but a person may reveal private
information merely to express oneself, to release tension, or to gain relational
control. In these cases the speaker doesn’t necessarily desire nor achieve a stronger
bond with the confi dant. And if the listener is turned off or disgusted by what
was said, depenetration can be swift. Petronio also questions Altman and Taylor’s
view of personality structure. The onion-layer model of social penetration theory
CRITIQUE: PULLING BACK FROM SOCIAL PENETRATION
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106 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
posits fi xed boundaries that become increasingly thick as one penetrates toward
the inner core of personality. In contrast, for Petronio, our privacy boundaries are
personally created, often shifting, and frequently permeable.
Other personal relationship scholars are uncomfortable with Altman and
Taylor’s wholesale use of a reward–cost analysis to explain the differential drive
for penetration. Can a complex blend of advantages and disadvantages be
reduced to a single numerical index? And assuming that we can forecast the
value of relational outcomes, are we so consistently selfi sh that we always opt
for what we calculate is in our own best interest? Julia Wood, a communication
theorist associated with standpoint theory (see Chapter 35), is skeptical. She
argues, “The focus in exchange theories is one’s own gains and outcomes; this
focus is incapable of addressing matters such as compassion, caring, altruism,
fairness, and other ethical issues that should be central to personal relation-
ships.” 12 To her and like-minded scholars, relational life has a human core that
pure economic calculus cannot touch.
University of North Dakota psychologist Paul Wright believes Pete and Jon
could draw close enough that their relationship would no longer be driven by
a self-centered concern for personal gain. When friendships have what Wright
calls “an intrinsic, end-in-themselves quality,” people regard good things hap-
pening to their friends as rewards in themselves. 13 When that happens, Jon
would get just as excited if Pete had a successful employment interview as if
he himself had been offered the job. This rare kind of selfl ess love involves a
relational transformation, not just more self-disclosure. 14 Altman and Taylor ’s
theory doesn’t speak about the transition from me to we, but that apparently
takes place only after an extended process of social penetration.
QUESTIONS TO SHARPEN YOUR FOCUS
1. The onion model in Figure 8–1 is sectioned into eight parts, representing the
breadth of a person’s life. How would you label eight regions of interest in
your life?
2. Jesus said, “There is no greater love than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s
friends.” 15 Given the minimax principle of human behavior used in a social
exchange analysis, how is such a sacrifi ce possible?
3. Altman conducted his study of fi rst-year students in the 1970s. How have
subsequent technological advances changed the ways students manage con-
tact and privacy in their personal territory?
4. The romantic truism “to know her is to love her” seems to contradict the
relational adage “familiarity breeds contempt.” Given the principles of social
penetration theory, can you think of a way both statements might be true?
A SECOND LOOK Recommended resource: Irwin Altman and Dalmas Taylor, Social Penetration: The Devel-
opment of Interpersonal Relationships, Holt, New York, 1973.
Altman’s refl ective research summary: Irwin Altman, “Toward a Transactional Perspec-
tive: A Personal Journey,” in Environment and Behavior Studies: Emergence of Intellectual
Traditions: Advances in Theory and Research, Vol. 11, Human Behavior and Environment, Envi-
ronment and Behavior Studies, Irwin Altman and Kathleen Christensen (eds.), Plenum, New
York, 1990, pp. 225–255.
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CHAPTER 8: SOCIAL PENETRATION THEORY 107
Social penetration in intercultural and interracial friendships: Yea-Wen Chen and Masato
Nakazawa, “Infl uences of Culture on Self-Disclosure as Relationally Situated in Intercul-
tural and Interracial Friendships from a Social Penetration Perspective,” Journal of Inter-
cultural Communication Research, Vol. 38, 2009, pp. 77–98.
Social exchange theory: John W. Thibaut and Harold H. Kelley, The Social Psychology of
Groups, John Wiley & Sons, New York, 1952.
Dialectic revision: Irwin Altman, Anne Vinsel, and Barbara Brown, “Dialectic Concep-
tions in Social Psychology: An Application to Social Penetration and Privacy Regulation,”
in Advances in Experimental Social Psychology, Vol. 14, Leonard Berkowitz (ed.), Academic
Press, New York, 1981, pp. 107–160.
Cost-benefi t analysis: Dalmas Taylor and Irwin Altman, “Self-Disclosure as a Function
of Reward–Cost Outcomes,” Sociometry, Vol. 38, 1975, pp. 18–31.
Online self-disclosure in the United States, Japan, and South Korea: Young-ok Yum and
Kazuya Hara, “Computer-Mediated Relationship Development: A Cross-Cultural Com-
parison,” Journal of Computer-Mediated Communication, Vol. 11, 2005, pp. 133–152.
Effects of environment on relationship closeness: Carol Werner, Irwin Altman, and Barbara
B. Brown, “A Transactional Approach to Interpersonal Relations: Physical Environment,
Social Context and Temporal Qualities,” Journal of Social and Personal Relationships, Vol. 9,
1992, pp. 297–323.
Environmental study of fi rst-year roommates: Anne Vinsel, Barbara B. Brown, Irwin
Altman, and Carolyn Foss, “Privacy Regulation, Territorial Displays, and Effectiveness
of Individual Functioning,” Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, Vol. 39, 1980,
pp. 1104–1115.
Ethical egoism: Edward Gegis, “What Is Ethical Egoism?” Ethics, Vol. 91, 1980,
pp. 50–62.
To access a chapter on social exchange driven by rewards and costs,
click on Social Exchange Theory in Archive under Theory Resources at
www.afi rstlook.com.
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108
9C H A P T E R
Uncertainty Reduction
Theory
of Charles Berger
No matter how close two people eventually become, they always begin as strang-
ers. Let’s say you’ve just taken a job as a driver for a delivery service over the
winter break. After talking with the other drivers, you conclude that your income
and peace of mind will depend on working out a good relationship with Heather,
the radio dispatcher. All you know for sure about Heather is her attachment to
Hannah, a 100-pound Labrador retriever that never lets Heather out of her sight.
The veteran drivers joke that it’s hard to tell the difference between the voices
of Heather and Hannah over the radio. With some qualms you make arrange-
ments to meet Heather (and Hannah) over coffee and donuts before your fi rst
day of work. You really have no idea what to expect.
Chuck Berger believes it’s natural to have doubts about our ability to predict
the outcome of initial encounters. Berger, professor emeritus of communication at
the University of California, Davis, notes that “the beginnings of personal rela-
tionships are fraught with uncertainties.” 1 Unlike social penetration theory, which
tries to forecast the future of a relationship on the basis of projected rewards and
costs (see Chapter 8), Berger’s uncertainty reduction theory (URT) focuses on how
human communication is used to gain knowledge and create understanding.
Central to the present theory is the assumption that when strangers meet, their pri-
mary concern is one of uncertainty reduction or increasing predictability about the
behavior of both themselves and others in the interaction. 2
Interpersonal ignorance is not bliss; it’s frustrating! Berger contends that our
drive to reduce uncertainty about new acquaintances gets a boost from any of
three prior conditions: 3
1. Anticipation of future interaction: We know we will see them again.
2. Incentive value: They have something we want.
3. Deviance: They act in a weird way.
Heather hooks you on all three counts. You know you’re going to be dealing
with her for the next few weeks, she can make or break you fi nancially according
Objective Interpretive
Socio-psychological tradition
●
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CHAPTER 9: UNCERTAINTY REDUCTION THEORY 109
to the routes she assigns, and she has this strange attachment to Hannah. Accord-
ing to Berger, when you add these three factors to your natural curiosity, you’ll
really want to solve the puzzle of who she is.
Berger believes that our main purpose in talking to people is to “make sense”
of our interpersonal world. That’s why you’re having breakfast with a stranger
and her dog. If you brought your own hound to the meeting, chances are the
two dogs would circle and sniff each other, trying to get some idea of what their
counterpart was like. Humans are no different; we’re just a bit more subtle, using
symbols instead of smells to reach our conclusions.
Berger focuses on predictability, which he sees as the opposite of uncertainty.
“As the ability of persons to predict which alternative or alternatives are likely
to occur next decreases, uncertainty increases.” 4 He owes a debt to Fritz Heider’s
view of people as intuitive psychologists. Heider, the father of attribution theory ,
believed that we constantly draw inferences about why people do what they do. 5
We need to predict and explain. If Heather’s going to bark at you on the radio,
you want to understand why.
Berger notes that there are at least two kinds of uncertainty you face as
you set out for your fi rst meeting with Heather. Because you aren’t sure how you
Attribution theory
A systematic explanation
of how people draw in-
ferences about the char-
acter of others based
upon observed behavior.
UNCERTAINTY REDUCTION: TO PREDICT AND EXPLAIN
“What say we fi nd another way to say hello?”
© Peter Steiner/The New Yorker Collection/www.cartoonbank.com
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110 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
should act, one kind of uncertainty deals with behavioral questions. Should you
shake hands? Who pays for the donuts? Do you pet the dog? Often there are
accepted procedural protocols to ease the stress that behavioral uncertainty can
cause. Good manners go beyond common sense.
A second kind of uncertainty focuses on cognitive questions aimed at discover-
ing who the other person is as a unique individual. What does Heather like about
her job? What makes her glad, sad, or mad? Does she have other friends, or does
she lavish all her attention on Hannah? When you fi rst meet a person, your mind
may conjure up a wild mix of potential traits and characteristics. Reducing cogni-
tive uncertainty means acquiring information that allows you to discard many of
these possibilities. That’s the kind of uncertainty reduction Berger ’s theory
addresses—cognitive rather than behavioral uncertainty.
Uncertainty reduction
Increased knowledge of
what kind of person an-
other is, which provides
an improved forecast of
how a future interaction
will turn out.
AN AXIOMATIC THEORY: CERTAINTY ABOUT UNCERTAINTY
Berger proposes a series of axioms to explain the connection between his cen-
tral concept of uncertainty and eight key variables of relationship develop-
ment: verbal communication, nonverbal warmth, information seeking, self-disclosure,
reciprocity, similarity, liking, and shared networks. 6 Axioms are traditionally
regarded as self-evident truths that require no additional proof. (All people
are created equal. The shortest distance between two points is a straight line.
What goes up must come down.) Here are Berger ’s eight truths about initial
uncertainty.
Axiom 1, Verbal Communication: Given the high level of uncertainty present at
the onset of the entry phase, as the amount of verbal communication between
strangers increases, the level of uncertainty for each interactant in the relation-
ship will decrease. As uncertainty is further reduced, the amount of verbal com-
munication will increase.
When you fi rst sit down with Heather, the conversation will be halting and
somewhat stilted. But as words begin to fl ow, you’ll discover things about each
other that make you feel more confi dent in each other’s presence. When your
comfort level rises, the pace of the conversation will pick up.
Axiom 2, Nonverbal Warmth: As nonverbal affi liative expressiveness increases, uncer-
tainty levels will decrease in an initial interaction situation. In addition, decreases in
uncertainty level will cause increases in nonverbal affi liative expressiveness.
When initial stiffness gives way to head nods and tentative smiles, you’ll have
a better idea of who Heather is. This assurance leads to further signs of warmth,
such as prolonged eye contact, forward body lean, and pleasant tone of voice.
Axiom 3, Information Seeking: High levels of uncertainty cause increases in
information-seeking behavior. As uncertainty levels decline, information-seeking
behavior decreases.
What is it about Heather that prompted the other drivers to warn you not
to start off on the wrong foot? You simply have no idea. Like a bug with its
antennae twitching, you carefully monitor what she says and how she acts in
order to gather clues about her personality. But you become less vigilant after
she explains that her pet peeve is drivers who complain about their assignments
on the radio. Whether or not you think her irritation is justifi ed, you begin to
relax because you have a better idea of how to stay on her good side.
Axiom
A self-evident truth that
requires no additional
proof.
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CHAPTER 9: UNCERTAINTY REDUCTION THEORY 111
Axiom 4, Self-Disclosure: High levels of uncertainty in a relationship cause
decreases in the intimacy level of communication content. Low levels of uncer-
tainty produce high levels of intimacy.
Like Altman and Taylor (see Chapter 8), Berger equates intimacy of communi-
cation with depth of self-disclosure. Demographic data revealing that Heather was
raised in Toledo and that you are a communication major are relatively noninti-
mate. They typify the opening gambits of new acquaintances who are still feeling
each other out. But Heather’s comment that she feels more loyalty from Hannah
than from any person she knows is a gutsy admission that raises the intimacy level
of the conversation to a new plane. Most people wait to express attitudes, values,
and feelings until they have a good idea what the listener’s response will be.
Axiom 5, Reciprocity: High levels of uncertainty produce high rates of reciprocity.
Low levels of uncertainty produce low levels of reciprocity.
Self-disclosure research confi rms the notion that people tend to mete out the
personal details of their lives at a rate that closely matches their partner’s will-
ingness to share intimate information. 7 Reciprocal vulnerability is especially
important in the early stages of a relationship. The issue seems to be one of
power. When knowledge of each other is minimal, we’re careful not to let the
other person one-up us by being the exclusive holder of potentially embarrassing
information. But when we already know some of the ups and downs of a per-
son’s life, an even fl ow of information seems less crucial. Berger would not
anticipate long monologues at your fi rst get-together with Heather; future meet-
ings might be a different story.
Axiom 6, Similarity: Similarities between persons reduce uncertainty, while dissim-
ilarities produce increases in uncertainty.
The more points of contact you establish with Heather, the more you’ll feel
you understand her inside and out. If you are a dog lover, the two of you will
click. If, however, you are partial to purring kittens, Heather’s devotion to this
servile beast will cause you to wonder if you’ll ever be able to fi gure out what
makes her tick.
Axiom 7, Liking: Increases in uncertainty level produce decreases in liking;
decreases in uncertainty produce increases in liking.
This axiom suggests that the more you fi nd out about Heather, the more
you’ll appreciate who she is. It directly contradicts the cynical opinion that “ famil-
iarity breeds contempt” and affi rms instead the relational maxim that “ to know her
is to love her. ”
Axiom 8, Shared Networks: Shared communication networks reduce uncertainty,
while lack of shared networks increases uncertainty.
This axiom was not part of Berger ’s original theory, but his ideas triggered
extensive research by other communication scholars who soon moved uncer-
tainty reduction theory beyond the confi nes of two strangers meeting for the
fi rst time. Berger applauds this extension: “The broadening of the theory’s
scope suggests the potential usefulness of reconceptualizing and extending
the original formulation.” 8 For example, Malcolm Parks (University of
Washington) and Mara Adelman (Seattle University) discovered that men and
women who communicate more often with their romantic partners’ family and
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112 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
friends have less uncertainty about the person they love than do those whose
relationships exist in relative isolation. 9 Networking couples also tend to stay
together. On the basis of these fi ndings, Berger incorporated this axiom into
his formal design.
FIGURE 9–1 Theorems of Uncertainty Reduction Theory
Adapted from Berger and Calabrese, “Some Explorations in Initial Interaction and Beyond”
Ax 1
Verbal
Communication
Ax 2
Nonverbal
Warmth
Ax 4
Self-
Disclosure
Ax 3
Information
Seeking
Ax 5
Reciprocity
Ax 7
Liking
Ax 6
Similarity
Ax 8
Shared
Networks
Ax 1
Verbal
Communication
Ax 2
Nonverbal
Warmth
Ax 4
Self-
Disclosure
Ax 3
Information
Seeking
Ax 5
Reciprocity
Ax 7
Liking
Ax 6
Similarity
Ax 8
Shared
Networks
1
72
83 12
94 13 16
105 14 17 19
116 15 18 20 21
2322 24 25 26 27 28
+
++
–– –
–– – +
++ + – –
+ + + – – +
++ + – – + +
THEOREMS: THE LOGICAL FORCE OF UNCERTAINTY AXIOMS
Once we grant the validity of the eight axioms, it makes sense to pair two of
them together to produce additional insight into relational dynamics. The com-
bined axioms yield an inevitable conclusion when inserted in the well-known
pattern of deductive logic:
If A 5 B
and B 5 C
then A 5 C
Berger does this for all possible combinations, thereby generating 28 theorems—
for example:
If similarity reduces uncertainty (axiom 6)
and reduced uncertainty increases liking (axiom 7)
then similarity and liking are positively related (theorem 21)
In this case, the result isn’t exactly earthshaking. The connection between similar-
ity and liking is a long-established fi nding in research on interpersonal attrac-
tion. 10 When viewed as a whole, however, these 28 logical extensions sketch out
a rather comprehensive theory of interpersonal development—all based on the
importance of reducing uncertainty in human interaction.
Instead of listing all 28 theorems, I’ve plotted the relationships they predict
in Figure 9–1 . The chart reads like a mileage table you might fi nd in a road atlas.
Theorem
A proposition that logi-
cally and necessarily fol-
lows from two axioms.
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CHAPTER 9: UNCERTAINTY REDUCTION THEORY 113
FIGURE 9–2 A Hierarchical Plan of Goal-Directed Communication
Be Professional
Overall Strategy:
Build relationship
with dispatcher
Goal:
Maximize Income
Wear clean,
pressed uniform
Arrive on time
Reveal knowledge
of neighborhood
Be Friendly
Hold
eye contact
Smile Admire dog
Select one axiom along the bottom and another down the side. The intersection
between the two shows the number of Berger’s theorem and the type of correlation
it asserts. A plus sign (1) shows that the two interpersonal variables rise or fall
together. A minus sign (2) indicates that as one increases, the other decreases.
Will the warmth of Heather’s nonverbal communication increase as the intimacy
of her self-disclosure deepens? Theorem 7 says it will. Suppose you grow fond
of Heather as a friend. Will you seek to fi nd out more about her? Theorem 17
makes the surprising prediction that you won’t (more on this later).
Recall from Malcolm Parks’ research that good friends who have overlap-
ping social networks communicate more frequently with each other than those
who don’t have those connections (see the cybernetic tradition in Chapter 4). You
and Heather aren’t good friends, but suppose you unexpectedly discover that
her parents and your folks attend the same church service and sometimes play
cards together. Does URT predict you’ll be talking with each other more in the
future? Check the intersection between axioms 1 and 8 on the chart for Berger’s
prediction.
MESSAGE PLANS TO COPE WITH UNCERTAIN RESPONSES
Berger believes most social interaction is goal-driven; we have reasons for say-
ing what we say. So after developing the core axioms and theorems of uncer-
tainty reduction theory, he devoted his attention to explaining how we
communicate to reduce uncertainty. Berger labeled his work “A Plan-Based
Theory of Strategic Communication” because he was convinced we continually
construct cognitive plans to guide our communication. 11 According to Berger,
“ plans are mental representations of action sequences that may be used to
achieve goals.” 12 Figure 9–2 offers a possible example of a strategic plan for your
breakfast with Heather.
Your main reason for getting together with the dispatcher is to maximize
your income over the holidays. Your overall strategy to reach that goal is
to build a good working relationship with Heather, since she assigns the routes.
The term overall is appropriate because Berger claims that plans are “hierarchi-
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114 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
cally organized with abstract action representations at the top of the hierarchy
and progressively more concrete representations toward the bottom.” 13
In order to build that relationship, you intend to converse in a friendly and
professional manner. In this case, friendly means smiling, holding eye contact
when she speaks, and admiring her dog. You’ll show professionalism by arriv-
ing on time; wearing a clean, pressed uniform; and revealing knowledge of the
neighborhood.
If you switch strategies at the top—seeking pity for a poor, struggling
college student in the midst of a recession, for example—the alteration will cas-
cade down the hierarchy, requiring changes in many of the behaviors below.
Thus, a top-down revision of an action plan requires great amounts of cognitive
capacity.
Even if you think carefully about your plan, Berger claims you can’t be sure
you’ll reach your goal. You may have a great plan but execute it poorly. Heather
may interpret words that you meant one way to mean something else. Or she
may have her own goals and plans that will inevitably thwart yours. Berger has
come to the conclusion that uncertainty is central to all social interaction: “The
probability of perfect communication is zero.” 14 Thus he asks, “How do indi-
viduals cope with the inevitable uncertainties they must face when constructing
messages?” 15 The following strategies are some of his answers.
Seeking Information . Uncertainty reduction theorists have outlined
four approaches we can use to reduce uncertainty. Using a passive strategy,
we unobtrusively observe others from a distance. This fl y-on-the-wall tactic
works best when we spot others reacting to people in informal, or “backstage,”
settings. (The strategy sounds like normal “scoping” behavior on any college
campus.) Unless Heather lives in your neighborhood or hangs out in the same
places, you might not have an opportunity to simply observe her behavior.
In an active strategy, we ask a third party for information. We realize that our
mutual acquaintance will probably give a somewhat slanted view, but most of
us have confi dence in our ability to fi lter out the bias and gain valuable informa-
tion. Regarding Heather, you’ve already used the active strategy by querying
other drivers for their opinions about her.
With an interactive strategy, we talk face-to-face with the other person and
ask specifi c questions—just what you’re planning to do with Heather. This is the
quickest route to reducing uncertainty, but continual probing in social settings
begins to take on the feel of a cross-examination or the third degree. Our own
self-disclosure offers an alternative way to elicit information from others without
seeming to pry. By being transparent, we create a safe atmosphere for others to
respond in kind—something the “law of reciprocity” suggests they will do (see
Chapter 8).
When I (Andrew) told my 5-year-old daughter I was working on this
chapter, I asked what she thought was the best way to fi nd information about
someone. Her answer demonstrates she’s a child of the 21st century: “Check
on Facebook!” Clearly she’s already learned the extractive strategy of searching
for information online. Although this method was not part of Berger ’s original
three uncertainty reduction strategies, Art Ramirez (University of South
Florida) believes the Internet creates a new way for us to reduce uncertainty.
Sometimes a name is all that’s necessary to search for blogs, archived newspaper
articles, tweets, and more—an unobtrusive process that is something like
Passive strategy
Impression formation by
observing a person inter-
acting with others.
Active strategy
Impression formation by
asking a third party about
a person.
Interactive strategy
Impression formation
through face-to-face
discussion with a person.
Extractive strategy
Impression formation
by searching the Internet
for information about a
person.
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CHAPTER 9: UNCERTAINTY REDUCTION THEORY 115
“conducting a personalized background check.”16 If you discover Heather
writes a blog about her dog, you might reduce a lot of uncertainty even before
you meet.
Choosing Plan Complexity . The complexity of a message plan is measured
in two ways—the level of detail the plan includes and the number of contingency
plans prepared in case the original one doesn’t work. If it’s crucial that you make
top dollar in your holiday delivery job, you’re likely to draw upon a plan from
memory or create a new one far more complex than the sample shown in
Figure  9–2 . You’re also likely to have a fallback plan in case the fi rst one fails.
On the other hand, you don’t know much about Heather’s goals or feelings, and
high uncertainty argues for a less complex plan that you can adjust in the
moment, once you get a feel for who she is and what she wants. This simpler
approach is preferred for another reason. Enacting a complex plan takes so much
cognitive effort that there’s usually a deterioration in verbal and nonverbal fl u-
ency, with a resultant loss in credibility. Jeff, a student athlete, used an interactive
strategy that has low complexity:
I thought of URT this afternoon in the trainer’s room where I again made eye con-
tact with a girl I’d never met. We were the only two people in the room and I real-
ized I needed a plan of action. I quickly ran through several strategies to reduce
uncertainty. I chose a tried-and-true icebreaker line: “Hi, I know I’ve seen you
around a ton of times, but I don’t think I’ve ever met you. What’s your name?” I
hoped for the best, but prepared for a negative reaction. My contingency plan was
to simply end the attempt at conversation and seem preoccupied with my treat-
ment. Fortunately she responded with a look of relief, her name, and then a smile.
Let the conversation begin. As Berger said, “Uncertainty is central to all social
interaction.” It sure makes life interesting.
Hedging. The possibility of plan failure suggests the wisdom of provid-
ing ways for both parties to save face when at least one of them has miscalcu-
lated. Berger catalogs a series of planned hedges that allow a somewhat gracious
retreat. For instance, you may be quite certain about what you want to accom-
plish in your meeting with Heather, yet choose words that are ambiguous so as
not to tip your hand before you fi nd out more about her. You might also choose
to be equivocal in order to avoid the embarrassment that would come from
her refusing your specifi c request for preferred treatment in route assignment.
Humor can provide the same way out. You could blatantly propose to use a
portion of the saved time and good tips that come from prime assignments to
stop at the butcher shop for a juicy bone for Hannah—but make the offer in a
joking tone of voice. If Heather takes offense, you can respond, “Hey, I was
just kidding.”
The Hierarchy Hypothesis. What happens to action choices when plans
are frustrated? Berger ’s hierarchy hypothesis asserts that “when individuals are
thwarted in their attempts to achieve goals, their fi rst tendency is to alter lower
level elements of their message.” 17 For example, when it’s obvious the person
we’re talking to has failed to grasp what we are saying, our inclination is to
repeat the same message—but this time louder. The tactic seldom works, but
it takes less mental effort than altering strategic features higher up in the action
plan. Berger describes people as “cognitive misers” who would rather try a
Plan complexity
A characteristic of a mes-
sage plan based on the
level of detail it provides
and the number of con-
tingencies it covers.
Hedging
Use of strategic ambiguity
and humor to provide a
way for both parties to
save face when a message
fails to achieve its goal.
Hierarchy hypothesis
The prediction that when
people are thwarted in
their attempts to achieve
goals, their first tendency
is to alter lower-level ele-
ments of their message.
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116 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
quick fi x than expend the effort to repair faulty plans. 18 There’s no doubt that
in-the-moment modifi cations are taxing, but when the issue is important, the
chance to be effective makes it worth the effort. An additional hedge against
failure is to practice in front of a friend who will critique your action plan
before you put it into effect. 19 As a Hebrew proverb warns, “Without counsel,
plans go wrong.” 20
THE RELATIONAL TURBULENCE MODEL
Berger developed uncertainty reduction theory to explain fi rst-time encounters.
Can uncertainty also wreak havoc in ongoing relationships? Leanne Knobloch
at the University of Illinois believes the answer is yes, although the uncertainty
differs from what we experience with new acquaintances. After the get-to-know-
you phase has passed, we’re unlikely to wonder about someone’s age, hobbies, or
hometown. Instead, uncertainty in close relationships arises from whether we’re
sure about our own thoughts ( Am I really in love?), those of the other person ( Does
he really enjoy spending time together?), and the future of the relationship (Are we
headed for a breakup?). 21 Since Knobloch’s work has focused on romantic relationships,
I’ll describe such relational uncertainty in that context, although we can experience
uncertainty with friends and family, too.
Like the common cold, romantic partners might “catch” relational uncer-
tainty at any time. But just as colds occur more often in cooler weather and
enclosed spaces, some life circumstances tend to generate relational uncertainty.
Knobloch’s initial research focused on romantic couples’ transition from casual
to serious dating—a time when couples negotiate what the relationship means
and whether it’s likely to continue. 22 Not only can this phase produce feelings of
uncertainty, but couples also experience partner interference as they learn to coor-
dinate their individual goals, plans, and activities in ways that don’t annoy each
other. The learning process isn’t always smooth.
Knobloch believes uncertainty leads close partners to experience relational
turbulence. If you’ve fl own in an airplane, you’ve probably felt the bumps and
lurches caused by turbulent air. Knobloch thinks that’s a good metaphor for
partners facing uncertainty and interference:
When an aircraft encounters a dramatic change in weather conditions, passengers
feel turbulence as the plane is jostled, jerked, and jolted erratically. Similarly, when
a [couple] undergoes a period of transition that alters the climate of the relation-
ship, partners experience turbulence as sudden intense reactions to their circum-
stances. Just as turbulence during a fl ight may make passengers [reconsider] their
safety, fear a crash, or grip their seat, turbulence in a relationship may make
partners ruminate about hurt, cry over jealousy, or scream during confl ict. 23
In times of relational turbulence, we’re likely to feel unsettling emotions
like anger, sadness, and fear. It’s a bumpy emotional ride that makes us more
reactive, or sensitive, to our partner ’s actions. Let’s say your dating partner asks
you to pick up a candy bar while you’re at the store. If you forget, your part-
ner might be bothered but probably won’t make a big deal about the brief lapse
in memory. When couples are already experiencing relational turbulence,
however, the same gaffe could ignite a ridiculously big argument. Over time,
Relational uncertainty
Doubts about our own
thoughts, the thoughts of
the other person, or the
future of the relationship.
Partner interference
Occurs when a relational
partner hinders goals,
plans, and activities.
Relational turbulence
Negative emotions aris-
ing from perceived prob-
lems in a close
relationship.
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CHAPTER 9: UNCERTAINTY REDUCTION THEORY 117
Within the communication discipline, Berger’s uncertainty reduction theory was
an early prototype of what an objective theory should be and it continues to
inspire a new generation of scholars today. His theory makes specific testable
predictions, and offers the human need to reduce interpersonal uncertainty as
the engine that drives its axioms. Although combining the axioms generates a
slew of theorems, they are straightforward, logically consistent, and simple to
understand. As for practical utility, readers interested in promoting interpersonal
ties can regard the linkages the theorems describe as a blueprint for constructing
solid relationships. Subsequent survey and experimental research supports most
of URT’s axioms and has expanded the scope of the theory to cover development
of established relationships. There are, however, continuing questions about
Berger’s reliance on the concept of uncertainty and his assumption that we’re
motivated to reduce it.
A dozen years after publishing the theory, Berger admitted that his original
statement contained “some propositions of dubious validity.”27 Critics quickly
point to theorem 17, which predicts that the more you like people, the less you’ll
seek information about them.
Frankly, it is not clear why information-seeking would decrease as liking increased
other than being required by deductive inference from the axiomatic structure of
uncertainty reduction theory. In fact, it seems more reasonable to suggest that per-
sons will seek information about and from those they like rather than those they
dislike.28
That’s the blunt assessment of Kathy Kellermann at ComCon consulting, who orig-
inally participated in Berger’s research program. We might be willing to dismiss
this apparent error as only one glitch out of 28 theorems, but the tight logical
structure that is the genius of the theory doesn’t give us that option. Theorem
17 is dictated by axioms 3 and 7. If the theorem is wrong, one of the axioms
is suspect. Kellermann targets the motivational assumption of axiom 3 as
the problem.
Axiom 3 assumes that lack of information triggers a search for knowledge.
But as Kellermann and Rodney Reynolds at California Lutheran University dis-
covered when they studied motivation to reduce uncertainty in more than a
turbulence leads to even more uncertainty and interference, which then creates
more turbulence—a vicious cycle that could threaten the health of the
relationship.
Knobloch’s research supports her relational turbulence model across many
types of romantic relationships, ranging from couples facing clinical depres-
sion 24 to military spouses returning from deployment. 25 Throughout these
studies, Knobloch has focused more on diagnosing the causes and symptoms
of relational uncertainty than prescribing a cure. Like Berger, she suspects
direct attempts to reduce uncertainty (such as the interactive strategy) may
help resolve relational turbulence. She believes we’re most likely to talk directly
when the relationship has high intimacy and equal power. The talk still may
produce pain, but intimacy and power equality provide stability in the face of
relational turbulence. 26
CRITIQUE: NAGGING DOUBTS ABOUT UNCERTAINTY
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118 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
thousand students at 10 universities, “wanting knowledge rather than lacking
knowledge is what promotes information-seeking in initial encounters with
others.”29 The distinction is illustrated by the story of a teacher who asked a boy,
“What’s the difference between ignorance and apathy?” The student replied, “I
don’t know, and I don’t care.” (He was right.)
Kellermann and Reynolds also failed to find that anticipated future interac-
tion, incentive value, or deviance gave any motivational kick to information
seeking, as Berger claimed they would. Thus, it seems that Berger’s suggestion
of a universal drive to reduce uncertainty during initial interaction is question-
able at best. Yet along with the suspect third axiom, it, too, remains part of
the theory.
Another attack on the theory comes from Michael Sunnafrank at the Univer-
sity of Minnesota Duluth. He challenges Berger’s claim that uncertainty reduc-
tion is the key to understanding early encounters. Consistent with Altman and
Taylor’s social penetration model (see Chapter 8) is Sunnafrank’s insistence that
the early course of a relationship is guided by its predicted outcome value (POV).30
He’s convinced that the primary goal of our initial interaction with another is
maximizing our relational outcomes rather than fi nding out who he or she is. If
this is true, you’ll be more concerned with establishing a smooth working rela-
tionship with Heather at your initial meeting than you will be in figuring out
why she does what she does.
Who’s right—Berger or Sunnafrank? Berger thinks there’s no contest. He
maintains that any predictions you make about the rewards and costs of working
with Heather are only as good as the quality of your current knowledge. To the
extent that you are uncertain of how an action will affect the relationship, pre-
dicted outcome value has no meaning. Walid Afi fi (University of Iowa) thinks
both theories are too narrow.31 In his theory of motivated information management, he
suggests we’re most motivated to reduce anxiety rather than uncertainty. So when
uncertainty doesn’t make us feel anxious, we won’t seek to reduce it—like a
couple enjoying the mystery of a date planned by one person for the other.
As relational dialectics suggests (see Chapter 11), complete certainty is complete
boredom.
Even though the validity of Berger’s theory is in question, his analysis of
initial interaction is a major contribution to communication scholarship. Berger
notes that “the fi eld of communication has been suffering and continues to suffer
from an intellectual trade defi cit with respect to related disciplines; the fi eld
imports much more than it exports.”32 Uncertainty reduction theory was an early
attempt by a scholar trained within the discipline to reverse that trend. His suc-
cess at stimulating critical thinking among his peers can be seen in the fact that
every scholar cited in this chapter has been a member of a communication faculty.
Although some of Berger’s axioms may not perfectly refl ect the acquaintance
process, his focus on the issue of reducing uncertainty is at the heart of com-
munication inquiry. Appealing for further dialogue and modifi cation rather than
wholesale rejection of the theory, Berger asks:
What could be more basic to the study of communication than the propositions
that (1) adaptation is essential for survival, (2) adaptation is only possible through
the reduction of uncertainty, and (3) uncertainty can be both reduced and produced
by communicative activity? 33
It’s a sound rhetorical question.
Predicted outcome
value
A forecast of future
benefits and costs of
interaction based on
limited experience with
the other.
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CHAPTER 9: UNCERTAINTY REDUCTION THEORY 119
CONVERSATIONS
View this segment online at
www.mhhe.com/griffi n9e or
www.afi rstlook.com.
Chuck Berger would not be surprised if you were confused by the mid-chapter
switch from axioms of uncertainty reduction to plan-based strategic communi-
cation. In his conversation with Em he describes why he originally viewed the
two lines of research as separate but now sees them as tightly linked. Many
students fi nd this interview especially fascinating because of Berger’s strongly
stated opinions. For example, he dismisses CMM’s idea of co-creation of social
reality (see Chapter 6) because it offers a “total amnesia model.” He also criti-
cizes social scientists who purposely create ambiguity so that they can never be
proved wrong. Berger’s explicit and forthright statements show that he’s will-
ing to take that risk.
Recommended resource: Leanne K. Knobloch, “Uncertainty Reduction Theory,” in
Engaging Theories in Interpersonal Communication: Multiple Perspectives, Leslie A. Baxter and
Dawn O. Braithwaite (eds.), Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 2008, pp. 133–144.
Original statement: Charles R. Berger and Richard Calabrese, “Some Explorations in
Initial Interaction and Beyond: Toward a Developmental Theory of Interpersonal Com-
munication,” Human Communication Research, Vol. 1, 1975, pp. 99–112.
Comparison with other uncertainty theories: Walid A. Afi fi , “Uncertainty and Information
Management in Interpersonal Contexts,” in New Directions in Interpersonal Communication
Research, Sandi W. Smith and Steven R. Wilson (eds.), Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 2010,
pp. 94–114.
Uncertainty reduction and online dating: Jennifer L. Gibbs, Nicole B. Ellison, and
Chih-Hui Lai, “First Comes Love, Then Comes Google: An Investigation of Uncertainty
Reduction Strategies and Self-Disclosure in Online Dating,” Communication Research, Vol.
38, 2011, pp. 70–100.
Goals and plans in message production: Charles R. Berger, “Message Production
Skill in Social Interaction,” in Handbook of Communication and Social Interaction Skills,
John O. Greene and Brant R. Burleson (eds.), Lawrence Erlbaum, Mahwah, NJ, 2003,
pp. 257–290.
Uncertainty reduction in close relationships: Leanne K. Knobloch and Denise H. Solomon,
“Information Seeking Beyond Initial Interaction: Negotiating Relational Uncertainty
Within Close Relationships,” Human Communication Research, Vol. 28, 2002, pp. 243–257.
A SECOND LOOK
1. An axiom is a self-evident truth. Which one of Berger’s axioms seems least
self-evident to you?
2. Check out theorem 13 in Figure 9–1 . Does the predicted relationship between
self-disclosure and reciprocity match the forecast of social penetration theory?
3. What is your goal for the class period when uncertainty reduction theory will
be discussed? What is your hierarchical action plan to achieve that goal?
4. When are you most likely to feel relational turbulence in your close relation-
ships? Does anything other than partner interference or relational uncertainty
help explain why you experience a bumpy emotional ride?
QUESTIONS TO SHARPEN YOUR FOCUS
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120 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
Relational turbulence and military couples: Leanne K. Knobloch and Jennifer A. Theiss,
“Experiences of U.S. Military Couples During the Post-Deployment Transition: Applying
the Relational Turbulence Model,” Journal of Social and Personal Relationships, Vol. 29, 2012,
pp. 423–450.
Critique of axiom 3: Kathy Kellermann and Rodney Reynolds, “When Ignorance Is
Bliss: The Role of Motivation to Reduce Uncertainty in Uncertainty Reduction Theory,”
Human Communication Research, Vol. 17, 1990, pp. 5–75.
Predicted outcome value theory: Artemio Ramirez Jr., Michael Sunnafrank, and Ryan
Goei, “Predicted Outcome Value Theory in Ongoing Relationships,” Communication
Monographs, Vol. 77, 2010, pp. 27–50.
To access a chapter on reducing uncertainty when communicating
across cultures, click on Anxiety/Uncertainty Management Theory
in Archive under Theory Resources at
www.afi rstlook.com.
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121
10C H A P T E R
Social Information
Processing Theory
of Joseph Walther
As depicted in the hit movie The Social Network, in 2003 Mark Zuckerberg created
“Facemash”—a website allowing Harvard students to compare the physical
attractiveness of their female peers.1 Although Harvard’s administration quickly
shut down Facemash and nearly expelled Zuckerberg, Facemash soon led to
Facebook, now by far the most popular social networking site. According to a
Pew Internet & American Life Project survey, 65 percent of online adults use
social networking sites such as Facebook, Twitter, and LinkedIn, with 43 percent
having accessed a site in the last day.2 Young and middle-aged adults are par-
ticularly avid users, but even 33 percent of adults over 65 use social networking
sites. Why does social networking have such appeal? A separate Pew study sug-
gests much of the motivation is social—commenting on another person’s post is
the most frequent daily Facebook activity.3
Chances are, social networking is part of your life, too. Consider the techno-
logical changes you’ve seen in your lifetime. If you’re a typical college student,
you probably remember a time when you didn’t have text messaging or Face-
book to get ahold of a friend. Perhaps you used instant messaging or email, but
you probably have relatives who remember when those technologies weren’t
available either. From telephone to smartphone, the rapid changes in communi-
cation technology have frustrated communication scholars seeking to understand
what all of this means for interpersonal relationships.
Amid this fl ood of cyber-innovation, Joe Walther’s social information process-
ing (SIP) theory has stood the test of time. Building on social penetration theory
(Chapter 8), uncertainty reduction theory (Chapter 9), and other relationship devel-
opment theories, the Michigan State University communication professor initially
developed SIP to explain how people form relationships across the communica-
tion technologies that became popular in the early 1990s, such as email. Now,
even after two decades of rapid technological development, the theory remains
one of the most helpful explanations for why and how people form relationships
online. To appreciate the theory’s staying power, we need to review its history.
Objective Interpretive
Socio-psychological tradition
●
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122 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
A BRIEF HISTORY OF SIP THEORY
From the 1980s through the early 1990s, many communication scholars
expressed strong skepticism about building close relationships online through
computer-mediated communication (CMC). They thought CMC might be fi ne
for task-related purposes such as data processing, news dissemination, and long-
distance business conferencing. But as a place to bond with others, cyberspace
seemed like a relational wasteland—stark and barren. Scholars who studied new
electronic media had a lready offered a variety of theories to explain the inherent
differences between CMC and face-to-face communication. I’ll mention three.
Social presence theory suggests that text-based messages deprive CMC users
of the sense that other warm bodies are jointly involved in the interaction. 4 To
the extent that we no longer feel that anyone is there, our communication becomes
more impersonal, individualistic, and task-oriented.
Media richness theory classifi es each communication medium according to the
complexity of the messages it can handle effi ciently. 5 For example, the theory
suggests that face-to-face communication provides a rich mix of verbal and non-
verbal cue systems that can convey highly nuanced emotions, and even double
meanings. By contrast, the limited bandwidth of CMC makes it rather lean—
appropriate for transacting everyday business, but not for negotiating social
relations.
A third theory concentrates on the lack of social context cues in online commu-
nication. 6 It claims CMC users have no clue as to their relative status, and norms
for interaction aren’t clear, so people tend to become more self-absorbed and less
inhibited. The result is increased fl aming —hostile language that zings its target
and creates a toxic climate for relational growth on the Internet. Early in The
Social Network, Mark Zuckerberg writes a blog post criticizing his ex-girlfriend’s
last name and bra size. Though it may be a fi ctional or exaggerated account of
what actually happened, one suspects he wouldn’t have had the gall to say those
things face-to-face.
All of these theories share a cues fi ltered out interpretation of CMC. In other
words, they assume that most online communication is text-only, without visual
or auditory cues, which limits its usefulness for developing interpersonal
relationships. 7 To users accustomed to watching YouTube videos, browsing Pin-
terest boards, or playing the latest multiplayer game on Xbox LIVE, this no doubt
sounds like a strange assumption. But in the early 1990s, text ruled the online
world. At that time, the Internet was the province of scientifi c and academic
users—the relatively few home users connected with slow dial-up modems that
couldn’t transmit images or sound quickly. In this historical context, it’s not
surprising that users and communication theorists were skeptical about close
relationships online.
Yet in 1992, Walther countered this conventional wisdom with social infor-
mation processing theory. He claimed CMC users can adapt to cue-limited
media and use them effectively to develop close relationships. He argued that
given the opportunity for a suffi cient exchange of social messages and subse-
quent relational growth, as goes face-to-face communication, so goes CMC. Although
many technologies you use today weren’t invented when Walther fi rst devel-
oped the theory, communication scholars have found SIP quite useful for under-
standing why and how people use cell phones, instant messaging, and social
networking sites to build close relationships.
CMC
Computer-mediated
communication, often
referring to text-based
messages, which filter
out nonverbal cues.
Social presence theory
Suggests that CMC de-
prives users of the sense
that another actual per-
son is involved in the
interaction.
Media richness theory
Purports that CMC band-
width is too narrow to
convey rich relational
messages.
Cues filtered out
Interpretation of CMC
that regards lack of non-
verbal cues as a fatal
flaw for using the me-
dium for relationship
development.
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CHAPTER 10: SOCIAL INFORMATION PROCESSING THEORY 123
CMC VERSUS FACE-TO-FACE: A SIP INSTEAD OF A GULP
Michelle is one of my (Andrew) wife’s close college friends. I didn’t meet her
until we moved to my fi rst full-time job in Ohio, where Michelle lived just two
hours away. It was close enough to eat dinner together a few times, but far
enough that we didn’t see her often. By the time she moved overseas, I’d dis-
covered a bit about her from our handful of meals, such as her Tennessee roots
and passion for studying chemistry. I enjoyed those face-to-face meetings, but
still felt like I had a lot more to learn about her before I could consider her a
good friend. Since our future communication would be through Facebook, I
wasn’t sure how our friendship would progress when she moved away. Accord-
ing to Walther’s SIP, not a problem.
Walther labeled his theory social information processing because he believes
relationships grow only to the extent that parties fi rst gain information about
each other and use that information to form interpersonal impressions of who
they are. In taking this view, SIP theory is consistent with social penetration theory
and uncertainty reduction theory (see Chapters 8 and 9). With these more or less
defi ned impressions in mind, the interacting parties draw closer if they both like
the image of the other that they’ve formed. SIP focuses on the fi rst link of the
chain—the personal information available through CMC and its effect on the
composite mental image of the other that each one creates.
Social
Information
➞
Impression
Formation
➞
Relationship
Development
At its heart, the theory recognizes that the information we receive depends
on the communication medium we’re using. When I fi rst met Michelle face-to-
face, we had a range of nonverbal cues available to form impressions of each
other. When she moved to England, we began connecting exclusively through
Facebook, and those cues disappeared from our communication. On Facebook,
we can’t observe each other ’s physical context, facial expression, tone of voice,
interpersonal distance, body position, appearance, gestures, or smell. According
to the cues fi ltered out interpretation, that should mean interpersonal disaster.
Walther disagrees. He doesn’t think the loss of nonverbal cues is necessar-
ily fatal or even injurious to a well-defi ned impression of the other or the
relational development it triggers. Walther highlights two features of CMC that
provide a rationale for SIP theory: 8
1. Verbal cues. When motivated to form impressions and develop relation-
ships, communicators employ any cue system that’s available. Thus, CMC
users can create fully formed impressions of others based solely on the lin-
guistic content of online messages. Because Michelle posts frequently on
Facebook, I’ve learned more about her on many topics, ranging from her
love of travel to her adventures in learning to cook.
2. Extended time. The exchange of social information through text-only CMC
is much slower than it is face-to-face, so communicators form impres-
sions at a reduced rate. Yet given enough time, there’s no reason to
believe that CMC relationships will be weaker or more fragile than those
developed with the benefi t of nonverbal cues.
The SIP acronym suggests a liquid analogy that can help us understand
Walther ’s thinking. 9 Suppose someone hands you a 12-ounce glass of water,
Impression formation
The composite mental
image one person forms
of another.
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124 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
cola, or beer—whatever drink you fi nd refreshing. You could hoist the glass
and chug the contents in a matter of seconds. That big gulp is similar to being
face-to-face with someone you’ve just met and want to know better. For just a
few hours of face-to-face meetings in Ohio over the course of two years,
Michelle and I had this large amount of social information available.
But what if you had to drink your beverage through a straw—one sip at a
time? You’d still be able to drain the entire 12 ounces, however, it would take
much longer. That’s the situation for CMC users who are thirsty for social
information. They end up with the same quantity and quality of interpersonal
knowledge, but it accumulates at a slower rate. It’s been three years since
Michelle left the country. Since then, our Facebook conversations have ranged
from political debates to discussions about Asian cuisine. I now consider her
a good friend and, although I’m sure we could’ve built the same depth of
friendship more quickly face-to-face, Facebook messages have worked just fi ne
over a longer period of time.
Walther claims that the human need for affi liation is just as active when people
communicate online as when they are face-to-face. For example, a Nielsen report
found that the average American teenager sends 3,339 text messages per month—
more than 100 per day.10 Evidently, teens believe a deluge of 160-character mes-
sages can quench their thirst for social information, even without the nonverbal
cues that typically signal friendship or romantic attraction.
When it comes to building impressions of others, Walther is convinced
that verbal and nonverbal cues can be used interchangeably. If this claim
strikes you as far-fetched, remember that prior to electronic communication,
people developed pen-pal relationships by discovering similarities and
expressing affection through the written word alone. Long-distance romantic
relationships thrived as the casual exchange of friendly notes progressed to a
stream of passionate love letters. During World War II, postal letters so pow-
erfully boosted soldier morale that the United States government launched a
campaign encouraging citizens to write to loved ones serving abroad. When
the mass of letters became too expensive to transport, a technology known as
v-mail reduced letters to small pieces of fi lm that were expanded to readable
size upon reaching soldiers. 11 History supports SIP’s claim that people cre-
atively adapt their communication to connect across cue-limited media.
Experimental Support for a Counterintuitive Idea
The examples of teen texters and soldiers abroad suggest that people can express
affi nity just as well through a digital medium as when face-to-face. But as a
communication theorist steeped in the socio-psychological tradition, Walther
isn’t content to rely on such anecdotes to support his theory. Over the course of
the past two decades, he’s performed numerous controlled experiments (see
Chapter 3) to put his ideas to the test. After reading my description of the fol-
lowing study, see if you can identify how it provides evidence that humans are
creative communicators, able to use text-only channels to convey a level of rela-
tional warmth that can equal face-to-face communication.12
VERBAL CUES OF AFFINITY REPLACE NONVERBAL CUES
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CHAPTER 10: SOCIAL INFORMATION PROCESSING THEORY 125
Walther asked 28 pairs of students who didn’t know each other to discuss
moral dilemmas—a communication task used in many previous experiments.
Half the pairs talked face-to-face, while the other half communicated online.
In both cases, one member of each pair was a student accomplice—someone
the researchers recruited ahead of time. Half of these confederates were asked
to communicate in a friendly, positive way, while the other half were told to
act unfriendly. During the experiment, video cameras recorded the face-to-
face conversations from behind a one-way mirror, and all computer messages
were saved. Afterward, trained raters categorized the different ways confed-
erates communicated both verbal and nonverbal emotion. The naïve partici-
pants rated their partners on the degree of affection expressed during the
discussion.
Results of the experiment indicated that the method of communication made
no difference in the emotional tone perceived by naïve participants. Any discrep-
ancy in warmth was due to the intention of each confederate—nice confederates
successfully conveyed warmth, and grouchy confederates were perceived as
mean. What verbal behaviors did confederates use in CMC to show they were
friendly? As you might expect, self-disclosure, praise, and statements of affection
topped the list. These are core strategies of making an impression by reducing
uncertainty and drawing close through social penetration. Yet surprisingly, indi-
rect disagreement, a change of subject, and compliments offered while proposing
a contrasting idea were also associated with friendliness. When discussing a
controversial topic, each of these verbal techniques allows a partner to save face
and defuse potential confl ict.
Of course, face-to-face confederates could have used these same verbal
behaviors—and indeed, some of them did. But what confederates said when
physically present seemed insignifi cant compared to how they showed it non-
verbally. Consistent with previous research, confederates relied on facial expres-
sion, eye contact, tone of voice, body position, and other nonverbal cues to
convey how they felt about their partners. 13 Walther believes these results sup-
port SIP’s claim that people meeting online can begin a relationship just as
effectively as if they had met face-to-face, using the words they write rather
than nonverbal cues.
EXTENDED TIME: THE CRUCIAL VARIABLE IN CMC
Our closest relationships, such as with a best friend, tend to be multimodal, mean-
ing we use a variety of media to sustain them. But like my friendship with
Michelle, you may have friends you communicate with only through one
medium. In such relationships, Walther is convinced that the length of time CMC
users have to send their messages is the key factor that determines whether
their online messages can achieve the level of intimacy that others develop
face-to-face.
Over an extended period, the issue is not the amount of social information
that can be conveyed online; rather, it’s the rate at which that information mounts
up. Because typing is slower than talking, text-based messages take longer to
compose. How much longer? Walther fi nds that any message spoken in person
will take at least four times longer to say through CMC. 14 This four-to-one time
differential explains why many early experiments seemed to show that CMC is
Multimodal
Using multiple media to
maintain a relationship.
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126 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
task-oriented and impersonal. In the experiment described above, Walther
compared 10 minutes of face-to-face time with 40 minutes of CMC. There was
no difference in partner affi nity between the two modes.
As a senior Nielsen executive notes, “Despite the almost unlimited nature
of what you can do on the Web, nearly half of U.S. online time is spent on three
activities—social networking, playing games and e-mailing.”15 Perhaps the addi-
tional time necessary to convey an impression explains why people invest so
much time in online socializing. Since CMC conveys social information more
slowly than face-to-face communication does, Walther advises online users to
make up for the rate difference by sending messages more often. Not only does
this practice help impression formation in personal relationships, but it’s also
reassuring to virtual group partners who naturally wonder who their colleagues
are, what they’re thinking, and if they’re going to do the work they’ve promised.
I’ve found this to make a critical difference in my friendship with Michelle. We
each update our Facebook status at least once a day. Without those updates, I
doubt our friendship would’ve grown much closer.
Two other time factors can contribute to intimacy on the Internet—antici-
pated future interaction and chronemic cues. Anticipated future interaction wasn’t
part of Walther’s original conception of SIP, but he now sees it as a way of extend-
ing psychological time. Recall that Chuck Berger claims our drive to reduce uncer-
tainty about someone we’ve just met gets an added boost when we think we’re
going to see each other again (see Chapter 9). Through his empirical research,
Walther’s discovered that members of an online conference or task group start to
trade relational messages when they are scheduled for multiple meetings. It’s as
if the “shadow of the future” motivates them to encounter others on a personal
level. 16
Chronemics is the label nonverbal researchers use to describe how people
perceive, use, and respond to issues of time in their interaction with others.
Unlike other nonverbal cues, no form of online communication can completely
fi lter out time. A recipient can note the time of day a message was sent and then
gauge the elapsed time until the reply. Does this knowledge really affect a rela-
tionship? Walther ’s work inspired me to investigate how college students eval-
uate email reply rate between friends. In the study, participants read an email
message and a reply to that message. The text of the email exchange was the
same for each participant, but the time stamp varied randomly. The study
revealed that replying quickly (such as within an hour) yielded the most positive
impressions, with some evidence that women are more attuned to reply rate
than are men. 17 So if you want to convey a positive impression, a fast reply is
probably best.
You now have the basic predictions of social information processing theory. SIP
claims that CMC users can get to know each other and develop a mutual affi n-
ity by using the medium’s available cues to manage relational development. The
process will probably take longer than face-to-face bonding, but there’s no reason
to believe the relationship will be any less personal. After offering a similar sum-
mary, Walther asks, “Is this the best that one can hope to attain when commu-
nicating electronically—the mere potential for intimacy where time permits?” 18
His answer is no—sometimes, CMC actually surpasses the quality of relational
communication that’s available when parties talk face-to-face. Walther’s hyper-
personal perspective shows how this works.
Anticipated future
interaction
A way of extending psy-
chological time; the
likelihood of future
interaction motivates
CMC users to develop
a relationship.
Chronemics
The study of people’s sys-
tematic handling of time
in their interaction with
others.
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CHAPTER 10: SOCIAL INFORMATION PROCESSING THEORY 127
HYPERPERSONAL PERSPECTIVE: CLOSER THROUGH CMC THAN IN PERSON
Walther uses the term hyperpersonal to label CMC relationships that are more
intimate than if partners were physically together. Under the familiar sender-
receiver-channel-feedback categories, he classifi es four types of media effects that
occur precisely because CMC users aren’t face-to-face and don’t have a full
range of nonverbal cues available. In an interview with fellow CMC researcher
Nicole Ellison at the University of Michigan, Walther explained how these
four characteristics shape the nature of online dating—a method more than
20 percent of Americans believe is a good way to fi nd a signifi cant other.19
I’ll draw on his insights as I explain the four elements of the hyperpersonal
perspective.
Sender: Selective Self-Presentation
Walther claims that through selective self-presentation, people who meet online
have an opportunity to make and sustain an overwhelmingly positive impres-
sion. That’s because they can write about their most attractive traits, accomplish-
ments, and actions without fear of contradiction from their physical appearance,
their inconsistent actions, or the objections of third parties who know their dark
side. As a relationship develops, they can carefully edit the breadth and depth
of their self-disclosure to conform to their cyber image, without worrying that
nonverbal leakage will shatter their projected persona For dating site users,
Walther notes that “selective self-presentation is a process that is probably very
much involved in how people put together the profi le” because they want peo-
ple to fi nd them attractive.20 But Walther ’s colleague Jeff Hancock at Cornell
University notes that the viewer of the profi le sees it as a promise—and if online
self-presentation differs too much from offl ine reality, partners will be disap-
pointed if they meet face-to-face.21
Receiver: Overattribution of Similarity
Attribution is a perceptual process whereby we observe what people do and
then try to fi gure out what they’re really like. Our basic interpretive bias is to
assume that the specifi c action we see refl ects the personality of the person
who did it. People who do things like that are like that. But when it comes to
reading a text message or tweet, we have very little to go on. Our only basis
for judgment is the verbal behavior of the person who sent the message.
Walther says the absence of other cues doesn’t keep us from jumping to conclu-
sions. On the contrary, someone viewing an online dating profi le will tend to
overattribute the information on the profi le and create an idealized image of
the owner.
My student Taylor described how a new boyfriend’s Facebook and text mes-
sages helped her build a positive impression of him:
Joseph Walther claims that communicators use whatever cues are available to form
an impression, and I could tell by the frequency with which my boyfriend talked
about his family and music that those were two things he really cared about.
Because he was always on Facebook and quickly responded to my texts, I knew he
was just as excited to talk to me as I was to talk to him, and his insightful ques-
tions meant he really was interested in who I was as a person.
Hyperpersonal
perspective 
The claim that CMC rela-
tionships are often more
intimate than those de-
veloped when partners
are physically together.
Selective self-
presentation
An online positive
portrayal without fear of
contradiction, which
enables people to create
an overwhelmingly favor-
able impression.
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128 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
Channel: Communicating on Your Own Time
Many forms of interpersonal communication require that parties synchronize
their schedules in order to talk with each other. Although face-to-face interac-
tion and phone conversations offer a sense of immediacy, co-presence is achieved
at a high price. One partner ’s desire to communicate often comes at a bad time
for the other. Parties may make a date to talk, of course, but locking in a time
for communication raises expectations for signifi cance that may be hard
to meet.
In contrast, many forms of online communication are asynchronous channels
of communication, meaning that parties can use them nonsimultaneously—at
different times. With time constraints relaxed, CMC users are free to write when
they are able to do so, knowing that the recipient will read the message at a
convenient time. That’s a big plus, especially when they are communicating
across time zones or their waking hours are out of sync. Even within the same
time zone, online communication helps busy people maximize their time, as
Glenn’s daughter Jordan described when explaining how she and her boyfriend
met through online dating: “How do you get a date when you know about four
people in town and have to spend most of your ‘free’ time studying or working?
Asynchronous channel
A nonsimultaneous me-
dium of communication
that each individual
can use when he or she
desires.
“I can’t wait to see what you’re like online.”
© Paul Noth/The New Yorker Collection/www.cartoonbank.com
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CHAPTER 10: SOCIAL INFORMATION PROCESSING THEORY 129
We were both totally alone in a new city and had precious few avenues to
meet people who shared our values. This is what led us to seek romance on the
Internet.”
Walther notes an added benefi t of nonsimultaneous CMC over face-to-face
communication: “In asynchronous interaction one may plan, contemplate, and
edit one’s comments more mindfully and deliberatively than one can in more
spontaneous, simultaneous talk.” 22 This is a tremendous advantage when deal-
ing with touchy issues, misunderstandings, or confl ict between parties.
Feedback: Self-Fulfilling Prophecy
Self-fulfi lling prophecy is the tendency for a person’s expectation of others to evoke
a response from them that confi rms what he or she anticipated. Believing it’s so
can make it so. This process creates hyperpersonal relationships only if CMC
parties fi rst form highly favorable impressions of each other. When an online
romantic relationship doesn’t work out, daters might use that feedback to further
revise their profi les with an eye toward better self-presentation. Then the process
starts again: Senders self-select what they reveal, receivers create an idealized
image of their partner, and the channel lets users express themselves the way
they want, when they want. What’s not to like?
Beyond online dating, Walther suggests hyperpersonal communication may
improve relationships between groups with a strong history of tension and con-
fl ict, such as Israeli Jews and Palestinian Muslims. As Walther asks, “In CMC,
when the turban and the yarmulke need not be visible during interactions, can
[similarities] be made more [meaningful] than differences?” 23 A recent test in the
Israeli education system suggests the answer can be yes, as one Jewish student
reported after spending more than a year communicating online in a multicul-
tural course: “This coming year, I will begin teaching  .  .  .  and when I use the
word ‘Arab’ in my class, it will sound different than it would have before the
course.” 24 Walther also points to similar successful online interaction between
hostile groups in Northern Ireland.25
Of course, CMC itself isn’t a magical cure for intergroup hostility. For CMC
to ease tensions, Walther recommends focusing on common tasks rather
than group differences, allowing plenty of time for communication, and
exclusively using text-only channels.26 If that last suggestion surprises you,
remember Walther’s claim that fewer nonverbal cues means more positive sender
self- presentation and receiver attribution. Walther hopes hyperpersonal effects
might change the attitudes of hostile groups toward each other—changes that
could persist even when they eventually communicate offl ine.
Self-fulfilling prophecy
The tendency for a per-
son’s expectation of oth-
ers to evoke a response
from them that confirms
what was originally
anticipated.
THE WARRANTING VALUE OF INFORMATION: WHAT TO TRUST?
Walther’s recent work examines how people process social information on social
networking sites. One thing that sets social networking sites apart from other
CMC forms is the ability to add information to other people’s pages—other users
can supplement, or even contradict, the account owner’s claims. For Facebook
users, such added information might include friends’ comments on posts or tags
on pictures and videos. In other words, sites such as Facebook display two types
of information—that controlled by the profi le owner and that beyond the owner’s
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130 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
direct control. Walther believes this is a difference that truly makes a difference
in how Facebook users process social information.
As an example, let’s say you view a new classmate’s Facebook profi le for
the fi rst time. The classmate describes herself as “quiet and studious,” lists her
interests as “reading philosophy” and “playing solitaire,” and is part of a group
titled “I’d rather stay in and read a good book.” Yet many of her friends’ com-
ments describe her as “the life of the party,” with tags on photographs of her
socializing with large groups of people. If you think these messages contradict
each other, who are you likely to believe—your classmate or her friends? Answer-
ing this question is at the heart of Walther’s investigation of the warranting value
of personal information, or what he describes as “the perceived validity of infor-
mation presented online with respect to illuminating someone’s offl ine charac-
teristics.” 27 For both Walther and scholars of debate, the word “warrant” has a
similar meaning to the word “reason”: If the information we’re reading has war-
ranting value, then it gives us reason to believe the information is true.
If communicating via CMC is like sipping through a straw, SIP has assumed
that “all water passing through the [straw] is the same sort of water.” 28 But now
Walther believes Facebook lets users sip two different kinds of liquid at the same
time. Like email messages, whose content is under the sole control of the sender,
information posted by a profi le owner is low warrant information because he or
she can manipulate it with ease. Walther argues that we may not trust this infor-
mation: “Because online impressions are controllable, they are often suspect.” 29
Since the profi le owner can’t as easily manipulate what’s posted by friends, we’re
more likely to accept such high warrant information as true. As Walther notes, this
happens offl ine, too: You might believe a classmate who says he’ll work hard
with you on a group project, but you’ll probably give even greater weight to the
testimony of his lab partner last term. For the purpose of impression formation,
low warrant information is like a sip of grape juice, but high warrant information
is like a taste of fi ne wine.
Walther and his colleagues have tested warranting value through a series of
experiments, with participants randomly assigned to view different versions of
fake Facebook profi les. These experiments confi rm that people trust high warrant
information. In one study, the content of friends’ posts altered evaluations of the
profi le owner’s credibility and social attractiveness.30 Another experiment directly
compared low and high warrant information, fi nding that friends’ comments
overrode the profi le owner ’s claims when forming impressions of physical
attractiveness and extroversion. 31 These studies suggest that, unlike email,
interpersonal information on Facebook comes from both the self and other site
users. An outside observer won’t give those two sources equal weight.
Warranting value 
Reason to believe that
information is accurate,
typically because the
target of the information
cannot manipulate it.
CRITIQUE: WALTHER’S CANDID ASSESSMENT
Because technology changes so rapidly, a valid CMC theory is diffi cult to craft
and defend. Just as theorists begin to understand one technology, along comes
the next. 32 Yet in this train of high-tech innovation, Walther ’s theory stands
strong. SIP remains popular among communication scholars because it stacks
up well against all the criteria for a good social science theory (Chapter 3). It
offers specifi c, quantitatively testable hypotheses about a relatively simple set of
variables. It clearly explains differences and similarities between face-to-face
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CHAPTER 10: SOCIAL INFORMATION PROCESSING THEORY 131
and online communication. The theory predicts communication behavior across
media that didn’t even exist when the theory was born, and SIP’s advice is
useful to many, ranging from spatially separated soulmates to international
business partners.
However, communication theorists Tom Postmes (University of Groningen)
and Nancy Baym (Microsoft Research, New England) believe SIP possesses two
weaknesses. 33 First, they argue that the theory falls into the common socio-
psychological ideology of determinism. If our interpersonal relationships are
simply a product of the number of nonverbal cues afforded by the communica-
tion medium, are we really free to choose how and with whom we develop
relationships? Second, they argue that the theory does not fully account for how
group identifi cation structures CMC relationship development.
Walther’s response to these critiques suggests he’s willing to consider the
possibility that some elements of technology are deterministic. He takes Postmes
and Baym to task for “accusing other approaches of determinism as though
determinism is something to scrape off one’s shoe,” and argues that they “have
ignored scrutiny of methodological features among studies” that might suggest
how both intergroup and interpersonal processes explain CMC relationship
development. 34 Clearly, Walther is committed to discovering cause-and-effect
relationships, while Postmes and Baym are committed to human choice. Their
debate may remind you of the tension between determinism and free will (see
Chapter 2), and your reaction to their claims probably has something to do with
whether you prefer an objective or interpretive worldview.
But perhaps the harshest critic of Walther’s theory is Walther himself. For
all the theory’s success, he openly admits the existence of gaps and weaknesses
in his analysis of CMC. For example, when referencing his four-factor hyperper-
sonal perspective, Walther takes pains to label the sender-receiver-channel-feedback
model a perspective rather than a theory. As a rigorous social scientist, he under-
stands that a good theory should offer a central explanatory mechanism to drive
a synthesis of the observed effects. Walther doesn’t believe the hyperpersonal
perspective has reached that state, because “certain aspects of the model remain
underresearched,” including how the components of the model fi t together and
why feedback increases attraction.35 Two recent experiments have begun to test
the associations among the components of the hyperpersonal perspective, with
results providing support for the model.36 Nevertheless, Walther candidly
acknowledges that only additional work can discover the theoretical glue
that would bind the hyperpersonal perspective’s four components into a
coherent whole.
Walther’s exploration of warranting value represents one attempt to expand
SIP to newer forms of CMC. Like the core of SIP, a strength of Walther’s war-
ranting work is its relative simplicity—but perhaps it is too simple. One series
of experiments suggests warranting may differ depending on the kind of infor-
mation under scrutiny. For example, Walther speculates that warranting might
depend on the information’s social desirability, or value in the eyes of society.
Physical attractiveness is one such socially desirable trait, and so we may suspect
some Facebook members alter their profi le pictures, erasing wrinkles and facial
blemishes. 37 But society doesn’t care as much about other characteristics, like
favorite restaurants or TV shows. For such qualities, Walther suspects that “the
warranting principle may not as strongly apply.” 38 And so the idea of warranting
remains a work in progress.
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132 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
Rather than being disheartened by Walther’s assessment of his theory, I’m
encouraged by his candor:
CMC research has generated a good amount of information about how groups of rel-
ative strangers can be coaxed into quite positive relationships. The challenge remains
to integrate and synthesize the research  .  .  .  and ultimately propose strategies that
facilitate the use of sociotechnical arrangements to overcoming animosity, and apply
generalizable theoretically-based strategies in applied contexts of dire importance.39
All theories have fl aws and limitations. Walther’s honest evaluation gives
me confi dence in his optimistic belief that computer technology can help build
truly human relationships.
View this segment online at
www.mhhe.com/griffi n9e or
www.afi rstlook.com.
QUESTIONS TO SHARPEN YOUR FOCUS
1. SIP proposes that CMC conveys relational information just as well as face-to-face
communication, with only one difference. What is that difference?
2. Recall a time when you felt particularly drawn to another person when com-
municating through email, Facebook, or some other type of CMC. Why did
you feel drawn to this person? Does the presence (or absence) of verbal cues
or extended time explain your attraction?
3. The hyperpersonal perspective suggests that CMC effects of sender, receiver, chan-
nel, and feedback promote greater intimacy. Which factor do you think has the
greatest relational impact? Which has the least?
4. Your online partner seems wonderful—but, because it’s possible to create a
fi ctitious persona through CMC, you want to make sure he or she is “for real.”
How would you fi nd out? What might the warranting principle suggest you
do to get trustworthy information?
CONVERSATIONS Most of Em’s conversation with Joe Walther centers on CMC users who have a
great affi nity for the Internet. Granted, they can develop strong impressions of
others online, but does true intimacy require face-to-face communication? Are
heavy CMC users more in love with the medium than with their partners?
Can those who are socially shy develop better relationships through CMC?
What code of ethical online behavior would Walther suggest? Walther offers
advice to CMC partners who want to meet in person. He also discusses the
scope of SIP and how building theory is a risky business.
A SECOND LOOK Recommended resource: Joseph B. Walther, “Social Information Processing Theory:
Impressions and Relationship Development Online,” in Engaging Theories in Interpersonal
Communication: Multiple Perspectives, Leslie A. Baxter and Dawn O. Braithwaite (eds.),
Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 2008, pp. 391–404.
Original statement: Joseph B. Walther, “Interpersonal Effects in Computer-Mediated
Interaction: A Relational Perspective,” Communication Research, Vol. 19, 1992, pp. 52–90.
Hyperpersonal perspective: Joseph B. Walther, “Computer-Mediated Communication:
Impersonal, Interpersonal, and Hyperpersonal Interaction,” Communication Research,
Vol. 23, 1996, pp. 3–43.
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CHAPTER 10: SOCIAL INFORMATION PROCESSING THEORY 133
Overview of major CMC theories: Joseph B. Walther, “Theories of Computer-Mediated
Communication and Interpersonal Relations,” in The Handbook of Interpersonal Communica-
tion, 4th ed., Mark L. Knapp and John A. Daly (eds.), Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 2011,
pp. 443–479.
Testing hyperpersonal communication: L. Crystal Jiang, Natalie N. Bazarova, and Jeffrey
T. Hancock, “The Disclosure-Intimacy Link in Computer-Mediated Communication: An
Attributional Extension of the Hyperpersonal Model,” Human Communication Research,
Vol. 37, 2011, pp. 58–77.
Verbal cues of affection in CMC: Joseph B. Walther, Tracy Loh, and Laura Granka, “The
Interchange of Verbal and Nonverbal Cues in Computer-Mediated and Face-to-Face Affi n-
ity,” Journal of Language and Social Psychology, Vol. 24, 2005, pp. 36–65.
Time effects in CMC: Joseph B. Walther, “Time Effects in Computer-Mediated Groups:
Past, Present, and Future,” in Distributed Work, Pamela J. Hinds and Sara Kiesler (eds.),
MIT, Cambridge, MA, 2002, pp. 235–257.
Warranting: Joseph B. Walther, Brandon Van Der Heide, Lauren M. Hamel, and Hillary
C. Shulman, “Self-Generated Versus Other-Generated Statements and Impressions in
Computer-Mediated Communication: A Test of Warranting Theory Using Facebook,”
Communication Research, Vol. 36, 2009, pp. 229–253.
CMC and group confl ict: Joseph B. Walther, “Computer-Mediated Communication and
Virtual Groups: Applications to Interethnic Confl ict,” Journal of Applied Communication
Research, Vol. 37, 2009, pp. 225–238.
Online dating: Catalina L. Toma, Jeffrey T. Hancock, and Nicole B. Ellison, “Separat-
ing Fact from Fiction: Deceptive Self-Presentation in Online Dating Profi les,” Personality
and Social Psychology Bulletin, Vol. 34, 2008, pp. 1023–1036.
For self-scoring quizzes for this and all other chapters, click on
Self-Help Quizzes under Theory Resources at
www.afi rstlook.com.
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134
R e l a t i o n s h i p M a i n t e n a n c e
The term maintenance may call to mind an auto repair shop where workers with
oil-stained coveralls and grease under their fi ngernails struggle to service or fi x
a well-worn engine. The work is hard, the conditions are messy, and the repair
is best performed by mechanics who have a good idea what they’re doing.
This image of rugged work is appropriate when thinking about the ongoing
effort required to maintain a close relationship. Forming a relational bond is often
easier than sustaining it. The beginning stages of intimacy are typically fi lled
with excitement at discovering another human being who sees the world as we
do, with the added touch of wonder that the person we like likes us as well. As
the relationship becomes more established, however, irritating habits, confl ict,
jealousy, and boredom can be the friction that threatens to pull the engine apart.
The owner’s manual of a new “Intimacy” should warn that periodic maintenance
is necessary for friends, romantic partners, and even blood relatives to make it
for the long haul.
Of course, personal relationships aren’t inanimate machines with interchange-
able parts that can be adjusted with a wrench. Expanding the maintenance metaphor
to living organisms underscores the importance of individualized attention in
relational health. Humanist communication writer John Stewart refers to a pair ’s
“They’re a perfect match—she’s high-maintenance, and he can fi x anything.”
© Edward Koren/The New Yorker Collection/www.cartoonbank.com
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RELATIONSHIP MAINTENANCE 135
personal relationship as a “spiritual child,” born as the result of their coming
together.1 His analogy stresses that a relationship requires continual care and nur-
ture for sustained growth. Stewart thinks it’s impossible to totally kill a relationship
as long as one of the “parents” is still alive. Yet when people ignore or abuse the
spiritual children they’ve created, the results are stunted or maimed relationships.
What does a healthy relationship look like? Through an extensive research
program on relationship maintenance, Dan Canary (Arizona State University) and
Laura Stafford (Bowling Green State University) conclude that long-term satisfy-
ing relationships have at least four characteristics—liking, trust, commitment, and
control mutuality.2 The fi rst three seem like old relational friends. But control
mutuality is a less familiar concept. According to Canary and Stafford, it is “the
degree to which partners agree about which of them should decide relational
goals and behavioral routines.”3 They may have an egalitarian relationship, or
perhaps one person regularly defers to the other but is genuinely happy to do
so. Either way, they could each embrace the following statement: Both of us are
satisfi ed with the way we handle decisions.
Stafford and Canary surveyed 662 people involved in extended romantic
relationships to fi nd out what maintenance behaviors promoted liking, trust,
commitment, and control mutuality. They discovered fi ve interpersonal actions
that contribute to long-term relational satisfaction:4
Positivity—Cheerful, courteous talk, avoiding criticism.
Openness—Self-disclosure and frank talk about their relationship.
Assurances—Affi rming talk about the future of their relationship.
Networking—Spending time together with mutual friends and family.
Sharing tasks—Working together on routine jobs, chores, and assignments.
Researchers have found that friends and family members use these mainte-
nance behaviors, too. 5 But why do we maintain some relationships and not
others? Scholars have suggested two possible answers. First, the exchange- oriented
perspective appeals to social exchange theory (see Chapter 9). Theorists in this
tradition, including Canary and Stafford, believe we maintain relationships when
costs and rewards are distributed fairly between partners. In contrast, the
communally oriented perspective argues that maintenance doesn’t involve such
economic calculations. Rather, theorists in this tradition believe we maintain
relationships when we see the other person as part of who we are—cost/reward
ratio doesn’t infl uence that choice. 6
I (Andrew) recently conducted a study comparing the exchange and
communal explanations. The results weren’t simple—although communal
orientation was the strongest predictor of couples’ maintenance communication,
cost/reward ratio was a signifi cant predictor as well. 7 How could rewards and
costs matter to partners, yet also not matter to them? It’s a theoretical puzzle that
wouldn’t surprise the scholars who developed the three theories presented in
this section. All three theories claim that the essence of relational maintenance
is dialogue about me, you, and we. Sometimes that dialogue involves contradic-
tion, confusion, and frustration—in other words, balancing relational needs is
harder than balancing tires. Although maintaining relationships is tricky, these
theorists agree that smooth-running, long-lasting relationships are worth
the effort.
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136
11C H A P T E R
Relational Dialectics
of Leslie Baxter &
Barbara Montgomery
Leslie Baxter and Barbara Montgomery are central fi gures in a growing group
of scholars who study how communication creates and constantly changes close
relationships. Baxter directs an extensive program of research at the University
of Iowa. Montgomery is former provost and vice president for academic affairs
at Colorado State University–Pueblo.
The fi rst time Baxter conducted a series of in-depth interviews with peo-
ple about their personal relationships, she quickly gave up any hope of dis-
covering scientifi c laws that neatly ordered the experiences of friends and
lovers.
I was struck by the contradictions, contingencies, non-rationalities, and multiple
realities to which people gave voice in their narrative sense-making of their rela-
tional lives. 1
Baxter saw no law of gravitational pull to predict interpersonal attraction, no
coeffi cient of friction that would explain human confl ict. She found, instead,
people struggling to interpret the mixed messages about their relationship that
they both spoke and heard. Although Montgomery worked independently of
Baxter, her experience was much the same.
Baxter and Montgomery each analyzed tensions inherent in romantic rela-
tionships and began to catalog the contradictions that couples voiced. They soon
recognized the commonality of their work and co-authored a book on relating
based on the premise that personal relationships are indeterminate processes of
ongoing fl ux. 2
Both scholars make it clear that the forces that strain romantic relationships
are also at work among close friends and family members. They applaud the
work of William Rawlins at Ohio University, who concentrates on the “commu-
nicative predicaments of friendship,” and the narrative analysis of Art Bochner
at the University of South Florida, who focuses on the complex contradictions
within family systems. Whatever the form of intimacy, Baxter and Montgomery’s
basic claim is that “social life is a dynamic knot of contradictions, a ceaseless
interplay between contrary or opposing tendencies.” 3
Objective Interpretive
Phenomenological tradition
●
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CHAPTER 11: RELATIONAL DIALECTICS 137
Relational dialectics highlight the tension, struggle, and general messiness of
close personal ties. According to Baxter, the best way we can grasp relational dia-
lectics is to look at a narrative in which competing discourses are etched in bold
relief. The popular movie Bend It Like Beckham is especially helpful in illustrating
tensions within family, friendship, and romantic ties. Audiences of all ages and
every ethnicity can identify with the relational struggles of Jesminder Bhamra
(who goes by “Jess”), an Indian teenage girl brought up in the west end of London.
Like many British teenage males, Jess is passionate about soccer, but she’s
better than any of the guys she plays with in pickup games at the park. A poster
of England’s football superstar David Beckham hangs on her bedroom wall and
she often talks to his image about her game and her life. In the close-knit Indian
expat community, Jess is at an age where girls are supposed to focus on marry-
ing a well-regarded Indian boy—a union often arranged by their parents. Her
mother insists that Jess quit “running around half-naked in front of men.” Her
dad reluctantly agrees. “Jess, your mother’s right. It’s not nice. You must start
behaving as a proper woman. OK ?”
Jules, an English girl who sees Jess play, recruits her to play for an amateur
women’s soccer team. Jess and Jules quickly become “mates,” bonded together
by their goal-scoring ability and joint efforts to keep Jess’ participation a secret
from her mom and dad. Their friendship is soon ruptured by Jules’ jealousy over
a romantic interest between Jess and Joe, the team’s coach. Of course, that kind
of relationship is out of bounds for Jess. The resulting tensions in Jess’ conversa-
tions with her dad, best friend, and admired coach allow us to see the opposi-
tional pull of contrasting forces, which is relational dialectics at work.
Some viewers might assume that Jess’ up-again, down-again relationships with Joe,
Jules, and her dad are due to her age, sex, birth order, ethnicity, or obsession with
soccer. But Baxter and Montgomery caution us not to look at demographics or per-
sonal traits when we want to understand the nature of close relationships. Neither
biology nor biography can account for the struggle of contradictory tendencies that
Jess and her signifi cant others experience in this story. The tensions they face are
common to all personal relationships, and those opposing pulls never quit.
Contradiction is a core concept of relational dialectics. Contradiction refers to
“the dynamic interplay between unifi ed oppositions.” 4 A contradiction is formed
“whenever two tendencies or forces are interdependent (the dialectical principle
of unity) yet mutually negate one another (the dialectical principle of negation).” 5
According to Baxter, every personal relationship faces the same tension. Rather
than bemoaning this relational fact of life, Baxter and Montgomery suggest that
couples take advantage of the opportunity it provides: “From a relational dialectics
perspective, bonding occurs in both interdependence with the other and indepen-
dence from the other.” 6 One without the other diminishes the relationship.
Baxter and Montgomery draw heavily on the thinking of Mikhail Bakhtin, a
Russian intellectual who survived the Stalinist regime. Bakhtin saw dialectical
tension as the “deep structure” of all human experience. On the one hand, a
centripetal, or centralizing, force pulls us together with others. On the other
hand, a centrifugal, or decentralizing, force pushes us apart.
In order to picture Bakhtin’s simultaneous and confl icting forces, imagine
yourself playing “crack the whip” while skating with a group of friends. You
Relational dialectics
A dynamic knot of con-
tradictions in personal
relationships; an unceas-
ing interplay between
contrary or opposing
tendencies.
THE TUG-OF-WAR DIALECTICS OF CLOSE RELATIONSHIPS
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138 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
volunteer to be the outermost person on a pinwheeling chain of skaters. As you
accelerate, you feel the centripetal pull from the skater beside you, who has a
viselike grip on your wrist. You also feel the opposing centrifugal force that
threatens to rip you from your friend’s grasp and slingshot you away from the
group. Skill at skating doesn’t reduce the confl icting pressures. In fact, the more
speed you can handle, the greater the opposing forces.
Baxter emphasizes that Bakhtin’s fusion-fi ssion opposites have no ultimate
resolution. Unlike the thesis-antithesis-synthesis stages of Hegelian or Marxist
dialectics, there is no fi nal synthesis or end stage of equilibrium. Relationships
are always in fl ux; the only certainty is certain change. For Bakhtin, this wasn’t
bad news. He saw dialectical tension as providing an opportunity for dialogue,
an occasion when partners could work out ways to mutually embrace the confl ict
between unity with and differentiation from each other.
Many Westerners are bothered by the idea of paradox, so Baxter and Mont-
gomery work hard to translate the concept into familiar terms. At the start of
her research interviews, Baxter introduces a dialectical perspective without ever
using the phrase itself. She talks about people experiencing certain “pulls” or
“tugs” in different directions. Her words call up the image of parties engaged in
an ongoing tug-of-war created through their conversations. Within this metaphor,
their communication exerts simultaneous pulls on both ends of a taut line—a
relational rope under tension.
It’s important to understand that when Baxter uses the term relational
dialectics, she is not referring to being of two minds —the cognitive dilemma within
the head of an individual who is grappling with confl icting desires. Instead, she’s
describing the contradictions that are “located in the relationship between par-
ties, produced and reproduced through the parties’ joint communicative activity.” 7
So dialectical tension is the natural product or unavoidable result of our con-
versations rather than the motive force guiding what we say in them. And
despite the fact that we tend to think of any kind of confl ict as detrimental to
our relationships, Baxter and Montgomery believe these contradictions can be
constructive. That’s fortunate, because these theorists are convinced that dialec-
tics in relationships are inevitable.
While listening to hundreds of people talk about their relationships, Baxter spot-
ted three recurring contradictions that challenge the traditional wisdom of the
theories described in the relationship development section. Recall that Rogers’
phenomenological approach assumes that closeness is the relational ideal, Berg-
er’s uncertainty reduction theory posits a quest for interpersonal certainty, and
Altman and Taylor’s social penetration theory valorizes the transparent or open
self (see the introduction to Relationship Development, Chapter 9, and Chapter 8).
But from the accounts she heard, Baxter concluded that these pursuits are only
part of the story.
Although most of us embrace the traditional ideals of closeness, certainty,
and openness in our relationships, our actual communication within family,
friendship, and romance seldom follows a straight path toward these goals.
Baxter and Montgomery believe this is the case because we are also drawn toward
the exact opposite—autonomy, novelty, and privacy. These confl icting forces
can’t be resolved by simple “either/or” decisions. The “both/and” nature of
THREE DIALECTICS THAT AFFECT RELATIONSHIPS
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CHAPTER 11: RELATIONAL DIALECTICS 139
dialectical pressures guarantees that our relationships will be complex, messy,
and always somewhat on edge.
Baxter and Montgomery’s research has focused on three overarching relational
dialectics that affect almost every close relationship: integration–separation,
stability–change, and expression–nonexpression. These oppositional pairs are listed on
the left side of Figure 11–1. The terms within the chart label these contrasting forces
as they are experienced in two different contexts. The Internal Dialectic column
describes the three dialectics as they play out within a relationship. The External
Dialectic column lists similar pulls that cause tension between a couple and their com-
munity. Unlike a typical Hollywood love story, the portrayals of Jess’ key relation-
ships in Bend It Like Beckham are credible due to each pair’s continual struggles
with these contradictions. Since Baxter insists that dialectics are created through
conversation, I’ll quote extensively from the characters’ dialogue in the fi lm.
Most researchers who explore contradictions in close relationships agree that
there is no fi nite list of relational dialectics. This is a very important point, and the
dialectical theorists mentioned in this chapter would be disappointed if you
thought the three tensions in Figure 11-1 were an exhaustive inventory. Accord-
ingly, the ragged edge at the bottom of the fi gure suggests that these opposing
forces are just the start of a longer list of contradictions that confront partners as
they live out their relationship in real time and space. For example, Rawlins fi nds
that friends continually have to deal with the paradox of judgment and acceptance.
In this section, however, I’ll limit my review to the “Big Three” contradictions that
Baxter and Montgomery discuss.
Integration and Separation
Baxter and Montgomery regard the contradiction between connection and
autonomy as a primary strain within all relationships. If one side wins this me–we
tug-of-war, the relationship loses:
No relationship can exist by defi nition unless the parties sacrifi ce some individual
autonomy. However, too much connection paradoxically destroys the relationship
because the individual identities become lost. 8
Integration –
Separation
Stability –
Change
Expression –
Nonexpression
Connection – Autonomy
Certainty – Uncertainty
Openness – Closedness
Inclusion – Seclusion
External Dialectic
(between couple and community)
Internal Dialectic
(within the relationship)
Conventionality – Uniqueness
Revelation – Concealment
FIGURE 11–1 Typical Dialectical Tensions Experienced by Relational Partners
Based on Baxter and Montgomery, Relating: Dialogues and Dialectics
Internal dialectics
Ongoing tensions played
out within a relationship.
External dialectics
Ongoing tensions
between a couple and
their community.
Integration–separation
A class of relational
dialectics that includes
connection–autonomy,
inclusion–seclusion, and
intimacy–independence.
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140 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
Throughout Bend It Like Beckham , Jess and her father portray a “stay-away close”
ambivalence toward each other that illustrates the connection–autonomy dialectic.
Through much of the story she defi es his “no soccer” ban, going so far as taking a
stealthy overnight trip with the team to play in Germany. As for her father, his words
to her suggest that he’s more worried about what the Indian community thinks than
he is about her—an external dialectic. Yet when an Indian friend offers to rush her
away from her sister’s wedding reception to play in the championship game, Jess
turns to her father and says, “Dad, it doesn’t matter. This is much more important.
I don’t want to spoil the day for you.” He in turn tells her to go and “play well
and make us proud.” Later that night at home with the extended family, he strength-
ens his connection with Jess by defending his decision to his irate wife: “Maybe
you could handle her long face. I could not. I didn’t have the heart to stop her.”
Bakhtin wrote that dialectical moments are occasions for dialogue. Perhaps the
best example in the fi lm comes after Jess receives a red card penalty in a tourna-
ment game for retaliating against an opponent who fouled her. Although her short-
handed team holds on to win, Joe reads her the riot act in the locker room: “What
the hell is wrong with you, Bhamra? I don’t ever want to see anything like that
from you ever again. Do you hear me?” Without waiting for an answer, he turns
and marches out. Jess runs after him and their dialogue refl ects the ongoing ten-
sion between connection and autonomy in their relationship:
Jess: Why did you yell at me like that? You knew that the ref was out of order.
Joe: You could have cost us the tournament.
Jess: But it wasn’t my fault! You didn’t have to shout at me.
Joe: Jess, I am your coach. I have to treat you the same as everyone else. Look, Jess, I
saw it. She fouled you. She tugged your shirt. You just overreacted. That’s all.
Jess: That’s not all. She called me a Paki, but I guess you wouldn’t understand what
that feels like, would you?
Joe: Jess, I’m Irish. Of course I’d understand what that feels like. [ Joe then holds a sob-
bing Jess against his chest, a long hug witnessed by her father.]
Baxter and Montgomery maintain that even as partners struggle with the
stresses of intimacy in their relationship vis-à-vis each other, as a couple they
also face parallel yin–yang tensions with people in their social networks. The
seclusion of private togetherness that is necessary for a relationship to gel runs
counter to the inclusion of the couple with others in the community. The observed
embrace certainly complicates Jess and Joe’s relationship. And unless they fi nd
a way to work through the dilemma between inclusion with outsiders and seclu-
sion for themselves, the future of their relationship is in doubt. These opposing
external forces surface again when Jess runs into Joe’s arms on a dimly lit soccer
fi eld to tell him that her parents will allow her to go to an American university
on a soccer scholarship. But as Joe seeks their fi rst kiss, she stops him, saying,
“I’m sorry, Joe. I can’t.” To a baffl ed Joe she explains, “Letting me go is a really
big step for my mum and dad. I don’t know how they’d survive if I told them
about you.”
Stability and Change
Berger’s uncertainty reduction theory makes a strong case for the idea that peo-
ple strive for predictability in their relationships (see Chapter 9). Baxter and
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CHAPTER 11: RELATIONAL DIALECTICS 141
Montgomery don’t question our human search for interpersonal certainty, but
they are convinced that Berger makes a mistake by ignoring our simultaneous
efforts toward its opposite: novelty. We seek the bit of mystery, the touch of
spontaneity, the occasional surprise that is necessary for having fun. Without the
spice of variety to season our time together, the relationship becomes bland,
boring, and, ultimately, emotionally dead.
Early in their friendship, Jess asks about Jules’ romantic interest in Joe. Their
brief conversation can be seen as a novel fantasy expressed in the imagery of the
familiar —a conventional marriage to a partner who is out of bounds:
Jess: Jules . . . you know Joe, do you like him?
Jules: Nah, he’d get sacked if he was caught shagging one of his players.
Jess: Really?
Jules: I wish I could fi nd a bloke like him. Everyone I know is a prat. They think girls
can’t play as well as them, except Joe of course.
Jess: Yeah, I hope I marry an Indian boy like him, too.
The girls then laugh together—a tension release—and hug before they part.
But dealing with dialectics is always tenuous. When the romantically unthink-
able becomes possible for Jess, Jules lashes out: “You knew he was off-limits.
Don’t pretend to be so innocent. . . . You’ve really hurt me, Jess! . . . You’ve
betrayed me.”
It would be easy to see Jess’ family relationships as a simplistic face-off
between the conventionality of life in their culture versus the shocking uniqueness
Stability–change
A class of relational
dialectics that includes
certainty–uncertainty,
conventionality–
uniqueness, predictability–
surprise, and
routine–novelty.
“Would you guys mind if I slept alone for a change?”
Copyright by Don Orehek, reproduced by permission.
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142 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
of an Indian girl playing soccer. That’s because so much of what Jesminder’s
sister and parents say reproduces time-honored Indian norms and practices.
As her sister warns, “Look, Jess . . . do you want to be the one that everyone
stares at, at every family [gathering], ’cause you’ve married the English bloke?”
And Jess’ dream to go to college in California, play pro soccer, and have the
freedom to fall in love with her Irish coach seem a unifi ed pull in the opposite
direction.
But neither Jess nor her father speak in a single voice. In conversations with
friends, Jess depicts herself as a dutiful daughter who gets top grades and doesn’t
sleep around with guys. She also describes her parents’ real care for her, her desire
not to hurt them, and her fear that her dad might no longer talk with her.
And despite his apparently fi rm stance against Jess playing English football,
her father goes to watch her play and says he doesn’t want to see her disap-
pointed. In compelling drama and in real life, the contradictory forces created
through dialogue are quite complex.
Expression and Nonexpression
Recall that Irwin Altman, one of the founders of social penetration theory, ulti-
mately came to the conclusion that self-disclosure and privacy operate in a
cyclical, or wavelike, fashion over time. 9 Baxter and Montgomery pick up on
Altman’s recognition that relationships aren’t on a straight-line path to intimacy.
They see the pressures for openness and closedness waxing and waning like
phases of the moon. If Jess’ communication to her parents seems somewhat
schizophrenic, it’s because the dialectical forces for transparency and discretion
are hard to juggle.
Through most of the movie, Jess is closemouthed with her parents about the
extent of her soccer playing and her romantic attraction to Joe, even after her
dad discovers both secrets. But on the night following her sister’s wedding (and
the tournament fi nal) she decides to come clean about one of them:
Mum, Dad . . . I played in the fi nal today, and we won! . . . I played the best
ever. And I was happy because I wasn’t sneaking off and lying to you. . . . Any-
way, there was a scout from America today, and he’s offered me a place at a top
university with a free scholarship and a chance to play football professionally.
And I really want to go. And if I can’t tell you what I want now then I’ll never
be happy whatever I do.
Just as the openness–closedness dialectic is a source of ongoing tension within
a relationship, a couple also faces the revelation and concealment dilemma of what
to tell others. Baxter and Montgomery note that each possible advantage of
“going public” is offset by a corresponding potential danger. For example, public
disclosure is a relational rite of passage signaling partners and others that the
tie that binds them together is strong. Jess seems to sense this relational fact of
life when she tells Joe on the soccer fi eld that her parents wouldn’t be able to handle
the news of their attraction for each other. She doesn’t buy much time for their
romance to develop because she’s leaving for school, and Joe can’t stand
the uncertainty. As Jess and Jules say goodbye to their families before boarding the
plane to America, Joe comes running down the concourse calling to Jess.
They move a few feet away from the others and Joe implores, “Look. I can’t let
you go without knowin’. . . . that even with the distance—and the concerns of
Expression–nonexpression
A class of relational
dialectics that includes
openness–closedness,
revelation–concealment,
candor–secrecy, and
transparency–privacy.
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CHAPTER 11: RELATIONAL DIALECTICS 143
your family—we still might have something. Don’t you think?” She gives Joe
(and her parents, if they turn to look) the answer through a long fi rst kiss. At
this climactic point in the fi lm, the viewer realizes that the force fi eld of dialectics
has irrevocably changed, but will never disappear.
Baxter says theories are like relationships—they aren’t stagnant. The good ones
change and mature over time. As you know, Baxter ’s early emphasis with
Montgomery was on contradictory forces inherent in all relationships. But with-
out abandoning anything said so far, Baxter now backgrounds the language of
contradiction and dialectics, even to the point of referring to the second genera-
tion of the theory as RDT 2.0 rather than relational dialectics.
In her recent book Voicing Relationships: A Dialogic Perspective, Baxter focuses
on the relational implications of Mikhail Bakhtin’s concept of dialogue. She
explains that she uses the verb form of the word voice in the title “to suggest
that relationships achieve meaning through the active interplay of multiple, com-
peting discourses or voices.”10 RDT 2.0 highlights fi ve dialogic strands within
Bakhtin’s thought, as the Russian writer insisted that without dialogue, there is
no relationship.
Dialogue as Constitutive—Relationships in Communication
Baxter states that a “constitutive approach to communication asks how commu-
nication defi nes or constructs the social world, including our selves and our
personal relationships.” 11 This dialogical notion is akin to the core commitments
of symbolic interactionism and coordinated management of meaning (see Chapters 5
and 6). Recall that Mead claimed our concept of self is formed by interaction
with others. Pearce and Cronen state that persons-in-conversation co-construct
their own social realities and are simultaneously shaped by the worlds they cre-
ate. If Baxter and these other theorists are right, it’s confusing to talk about
“communication in relationships,” as if communication were just a feature of a
couple’s relationship. A constitutive approach suggests that it works the other
way around—communication creates and sustains the relationship. If a pair’s
communication practices change, so does their relationship.
Perhaps nowhere is the constitutive nature of dialogue more fascinating
than in the study of interpersonal similarities and differences. 12 Traditional
scholarship concentrates on similarities, regarding common attitudes, back-
grounds, and interests as the positive glue that helps people stick together.
(“My idea of an agreeable person is a person who agrees with me.”) Within
this framework, self-disclosure is seen as the most valuable form of communi-
cation because, by mutual revelation, people can discover similarities that
already exist.
In contrast, a dialogic view considers differences to be just as important as
similarities and claims that both are created and evaluated through a couple’s
dialogue. For example, a relative of mine married a man who is 20 years older
than she is. The difference in their age is a chronological fact. But whether she
and her husband regard their diverse dates of birth as a difference that makes
a difference is the result of the language they use to talk about it. So is the extent
Dialogue
Communication that is
constitutive, always in
flux, capable of achiev-
ing aesthetic moments.
Constitutive dialogue
Communication that
creates, sustains, and
alters relationships and
the social world; social
construction.
RDT 2.0: DRILLING DOWN ON BAKHTIN’S CONCEPT OF DIALOGUE
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144 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
to which they see that age gap as either positive or negative. Meaning is created
through dialogue. Amber, a student in my communication theory class, gives
voice to the tension created by confl icting discourses.
My boyfriend Tyler is on the swim team and I know most of the guys well. The
exceptions are the new freshmen, who Tyler said refer to me as “the girlfriend.”
When I heard this I was surprised how much it irritated me. I obviously value my
connection with him, otherwise we wouldn’t be dating. But as I told Tyler, I also
have my own separate, independent identity outside of our relationship. This has
become a very real tension.
Dialogue as Utterance Chain—Building Block of Meaning
An utterance is what a person says in one conversational turn. For example,
we’ve already looked at the statement Jess makes to her friend Jules about her
coach, Joe: “I hope I marry an Indian boy like him.” According to Bakhtin and
Baxter, that’s an utterance. But it isn’t simply a statement refl ecting her autono-
mous desire for a certain type of man. The utterance is embedded in an utterance
chain that includes things Jess has heard in the past and responses she anticipates
hearing in the future. In that sense, the utterance chain that Baxter describes
looks something like the CMM serpentine model of communication shown on
page 71. Baxter highlights four links on the chain where the struggle of compet-
ing discourses can be heard.
1. Cultural ideologies (throughout Jess’ past):
Collectivism says, Marry an Indian man; honor your family’s wishes.
Individualism says, It’s your choice; marry the man who makes you happy.
Romanticism says, Marry for love; only one man is right for you.
Rationalism says, Cross-cultural marriages are risky; don’t be impulsive.
2. Relational history (from the immediate past):
Jules is a friend, a valued teammate.
Jules is a co-conspirator, keeping your soccer secret from your folks.
Jules is your rival for Joe’s affection.
3. Not-yet spoken response of partner to utterance (immediate future):
Jules says I’m silly and laughs at me.
Jules tells me to stay away from Joe.
Jules swears that she’ll keep my secrets.
Jules shares her frustration that Joe is off-limits.
4. Normative evaluation of third party to utterance (further in future):
Mother may say, Jesminder was selfi sh.
Sister may say, Jess was setting herself up for a fall.
Her children may say, Jess was courageous.
All of these competing voices within the utterance chain are in play with
Jess’ statement about the man she hopes to marry. It’s as if she’s had an inner
dialogue with all of these discourses, probably listening more to some than to
others. Baxter regards the utterance chain as the basic building block in the con-
struction project of creating meaning through dialogue. That’s why she says,
“The core premise of dialogically grounded RDT is that meanings are wrought
from the struggle of competing, often contradictory discourses.”13
Utterance chains
The central building
blocks of meaning-
making, where utterances
are linked to competing
discourses already heard
as well as those yet to be
spoken.
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CHAPTER 11: RELATIONAL DIALECTICS 145
Dialogue as Dialectical Flux—The Complexity of Close Relationships
We’ve already explored Bakhtin’s and Baxter’s conviction that all social life is the
product of “a contradiction-ridden, tension-fi lled unity of two embattled tenden-
cies.” 14 The existence of these contrasting forces means that developing and sus-
taining a relationship is bound to be an unpredictable, unfi nalizable, indeterminate
process—more like playing improvisational jazz than following the score of a
familiar song. Since a relationship is created through dialogue that’s always in
fl ux, Baxter thinks we shouldn’t be surprised that the construction project moves
“by fi ts and starts, in what can be an erratic process of backward-forward, up-
and-down motion.” 15 It’s messy.
Figure 11–2 is an attempt to capture the complexity of relationships as seen
through the lens of dialectical fl ux. Note that each of the relational forces dis-
cussed in the chapter is shown in tension with every other pole. For example,
autonomy is in opposition not only with connection but also with certainty and all
the other relational forces. This chaotic jumble of contradictions is far removed
from such idyllic notions of communication as a one-way route to interpersonal
closeness, shared meaning, or increased certainty.
Simultaneous expression of opposing voices is the exception rather than the
rule, according to Baxter. At any given time, most relationship partners bring
one voice to the foreground while pushing the other one to the background.
Baxter and Montgomery have identifi ed two typical conversational strategies for
responding to relational dialectics:
1. Spiraling inversion is switching back and forth across time between two
contrasting voices, responding fi rst to one pull, then the other. This spiraling
shift describes the inconsistency of Jess’ communication with her family. Her
lies about what she’s doing are followed by incredible candor. Her open
admissions precede times of silence and deception.
2. Segmentation is a compartmentalizing tactic by which partners isolate dif-
ferent aspects of their relationship. Some issues and activities resonate with
one dialectical tug, while other concerns and actions resonate with the oppos-
ing pull. For example, Joe seeks to separate his roles as coach and boyfriend,
a distinction Jess tries to duplicate. His “I am your coach” statement makes
a clear-cut distinction. When Jules asks Jess whether Joe is treating her too
hard, her response is more mixed. “He was really nice. Just really profes-
sional.” Viewers may smile at this mixed message, but from a dialogical per-
spective, her answer is a healthy refl ection of the multiple discourses that
create her ever-changing relationship with Joe.
certainty
connection
openness autonomy
uncertainty
conventionality
seclusion
closedness
inclusion revelation
uniqueness
concealment
FIGURE 11–2 The Messiness of Personal Relationships
Dialectical flux
The unpredictable, unfi-
nalizable, indeterminate
nature of personal
relationships.
Spiraling inversion
Switching back and forth
between two contrasting
voices, responding first to
one pull, then the other.
Segmentation
A compartmentalizing
tactic by which partners
isolate different aspects
of their relationship.
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146 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
Dialogue as Aesthetic Moment—Creating Unity in Diversity
Taking her lead from Bakhtin’s work, Baxter describes dialogue as an aesthetic
accomplishment, “a momentary sense of unity through a profound respect for the
disparate voices in dialogue.” 16 Parties are fully aware of their discursive strug-
gle and create something new out of it. That mutual sense of completion or whole-
ness in the midst of fragmented experience doesn’t last. It’s a fl eeting moment that
can’t be sustained. Yet memories of that magic moment can support a couple
through the turbulence that goes with the territory of any close relationship.
For romantic partners, turning points such as the relationship-defi ning talk or
the fi rst time they make love may be aesthetic moments. Baxter suggests that a
meaningful ritual can be an aesthetic moment for all participants because it’s “a
joint performance in which competing, contradictory voices in everyday social life
are brought together simultaneously.” 17 For example, a marriage renewal cere-
mony where a couple exchanges newly crafted vows is often the occasion of an
aesthetic moment for all participants. 18 So too the communion rail where people with
diverse beliefs and practices may feel that they are one before the same God.
The turning point in Bend It Like Beckham occurs in a moving scene in the
Bhamra home after Jess has fervently made known her dream of playing soccer
in America. Hers is a desire that clearly rejects the traditional role of women in
this close-knit Indian enclave—a role that her sister enthusiastically embraced in
her wedding earlier that day. As one family friend whispers to another after Jess’
declaration, “She’s dead meat.” Yet the sisters’ father takes these polar-opposite
visions of life and integrates them into a unifi ed whole. He recounts a story of his
own timidity and suffering when he experienced rejection, and then says:
I don’t want Jessie to suffer. I don’t want her to make the same mistakes her father
made of accepting life, or accepting situations. I want her to fi ght. I want her to
win. Because I’ve seen her playing. She’s—She’s brilliant. I don’t think anybody
has the right stopping her. Two daughters made happy on one day. What else
could a father ask for?
Dialogue as Critical Sensibility—A Critique of Dominant Voices
The fi fth sense of dialogue is an obligation to critique dominant voices, especially
those that suppress opposing viewpoints. Bakhtin’s analysis of a medieval car-
nival laid the groundwork for Baxter’s understanding of this function. 19 Much
like the court jester, the carnivalesque eye is characterized by “mockery of all
serious, ‘closed’ attitudes about the world.” 20 Power imbalances, hierarchal rela-
tionships, and judgments are set aside. The lofty and low, the wise and the foolish
all mix together. Competing discourses are still present, but opposition is temporar-
ily suspended in a playful quality of interplay.
Within the scholarly study of personal relationships, Baxter believes that a
critical sensitivity provides a needed correction to the theories of relationship
development presented in Chapters 8 through 10. Each of these theories offers a
single path to romance, friendship, or close family ties. And within relational
practice, she is critical of those who regard their partners as objects of infl uence.
This manipulative mindset frames a relationship as one of power and domination,
which then ridicules or silences opposing points of view.21 Baxter opposes any
communication practice that ignores or gags another’s voice.
Critical sensibility
An obligation to critique
dominant voices,
especially those that sup-
press opposing view-
points; a responsibility to
advocate for those who
are muted.
Aesthetic moment
A fleeting sense of unity
through a profound
respect for disparate
voices in dialogue.
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CHAPTER 11: RELATIONAL DIALECTICS 147
Consistent with this multivocal emphasis, the entirety of Bend It Like Beckham
can be seen as the triumphant story of a young girl who resists traditional forces
that would keep her silenced—a journey from monologue to dialogue. The direc-
tor and co-writer of the fi lm, Gurinder Chadha, admits it’s autobiographical. She
notes that “Beckham’s uncanny ability to ‘bend’ the ball around a wall of play-
ers into the goal is a great metaphor for what young girls (and fi lm directors)
go through. You see your goal, you know where you want to go, but you’ve got
to twist and turn and bend the rules to get there.” 22
CRITIQUE: MEETING THE CRITERIA FOR A GOOD INTERPRETIVE THEORY
Some communication scholars question whether relational dialectics should be
considered a theory at all:
It lacks the structural intricacies of formal theories of prediction and explanation; it
offers no extensive hierarchical array of axiomatic or propositional arguments. It
does not represent a single unitary statement of generalizable predictions. 26
You may be surprised that Baxter and Montgomery agree with that judgment. In
fact, they’re the ones who wrote those words. That’s because the traditional goals
of a scientifi c theory that they mention are not at all what these theorists are try-
ing to accomplish. They don’t even think these goals are plausible when theorizing
about relationships. Instead, they offer relational dialectics as a sensitizing theory,
one that should be judged on the basis of its ability to help us see close relation-
ships in a new light. 27 So an appropriate critique of their theory should apply the
standards for evaluating an interpretive theory that I introduced in Chapter 3. As
Principle of veracity
Truthful statements are
preferable to lies in the
absence of special cir-
cumstances that overcome
the negative weight.
ETHICAL REFLECTION: SISSELA BOK’S PRINCIPLE OF VERACITY
Does lying only bend the rules, or does it break and trash them as well? By
looking at lies from the perspective of all who are affected by them, philosopher
Sissela Bok hopes to establish when, or if, lies can be justifi ed.
Bok rejects an absolute prohibition of lying. She believes that “there are at
least some circumstances which warrant a lie . . . foremost among them, when
innocent lives are at stake, and where only a lie can defl ect the danger.” 23 But
she also rejects consequentialist ethics , which judge acts on the basis of whether
we think they will result in harm or benefi t. That approach represents a kind
of bottom-line accounting that treats an act as morally neutral until we fi gure
out if it will have positive or negative outcomes. Bok doesn’t view lies as
neutral. She is convinced that all lies drag around an initial negative weight
that must be factored into any ethical equation. Her principle of veracity asserts
that “truthful statements are preferable to lies in the absence of special
considerations.” 24
Bok contends that we need the principle of veracity because liars engage in
a tragic self-delusion. When they count the cost of deceit, they usually anticipate
only their own short-term losses. Liars downplay the impact of their falsehood
on the persons deceived and almost always ignore the long-term effects on them-
selves and everyone else. Bok warns, “Trust and integrity are precious resources,
easily squandered, hard to regain. They can thrive only on a foundation of
respect for veracity.” 25 Jess may not be dead meat, but the things she says to her
folks in the future might be tough for them to swallow.
Consequentialist ethics
Judging actions solely
on the basis of their
beneficial or harmful
outcomes.
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148 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
I briefl y address these six criteria, you’ll fi nd that I think relational dialectics
stacks up quite well.
1. A new understanding of people. Baxter and Montgomery offer read-
ers a whole new way to make sense of their close relationships. I fi nd that
many students feel a tremendous sense of relief when they read about
relational dialectics. That’s because the theory helps them realize that the
ongoing tensions they experience with their friend, family member, or roman-
tic partner are an inevitable part of relational life. Competing discourses
aren’t necessarily a warning sign that something is terribly wrong with their
partner or themselves.
2. A community of agreement. Leslie Baxter’s two decades of work in
relational dialectics has received high acclaim from scholars who study close
personal ties. The International Association for Relationship Research designated
her monograph “Relationships as Dialogues” as its 2004 Distinguished Scholar
Article, an honor bestowed only once a year. Baxter’s research has changed the
landscape within the fi eld of study known as personal relationships.
3. Clarifi cation of values. By encouraging a diverse group of people to
talk about their relationships, and taking what they say seriously, Baxter and
Montgomery model the high value that Bakhtin placed on hearing multiple
voices. Yet Baxter continues to critique her own research for heavy reliance on
self-report data from surveys and interviews, and she laments the relative lack
of dialogue studies focusing on talk between relational parties. Given her increas-
ing emphasis on dialogue, however, this disconnect between theory and research
methodology will hopefully soon be bridged.28
4. Reform of society. Not only does Baxter listen to multiple voices, but
her theory seeks to carve out a space where muted or ignored voices can be
heard. Relational dialectics creates a critical sensibility that encourages dialogue
rather than monologue. In this way the theory is a force for change—not only
in personal relationships, but in the public sphere as well.
5. Qualitative research. The fi rst version of the theory employed a variety
of methodological approaches. In contrast, RDT 2.0 emphasizes the importance
of qualitative work when using the theory. In fact, Baxter’s 2011 book includes
an entire chapter that explains how to analyze the discourses present in relation-
ship talk. The theory takes the power and potential of qualitative research
seriously.
6. Aesthetic appeal. Figure 11–2 illustrates the diffi culty of crafting an artis-
tic representation when the objects of study—in this case, relationships—are
inherently messy. Baxter’s task becomes even more diffi cult given her commit-
ment to unraveling Bakhtin’s multistranded conception of dialogue. Since the
Russian philosopher wrote in his native language, it’s diffi cult to translate his
nuanced ideas into English in an elegant way. Accuracy has to come before
artistry. Baxter’s Voicing Relationships is a tough read as well. Yet in describing
fl eeting moments of wholeness, Baxter holds out the promise of an aesthetic ideal to
which all of us can aspire—an image that could make slogging through the
morass of relational contradictions feel less frustrating. And Montgomery’s
imagery suggests that dealing with dialectics can actually be fun:
I have been told that riding a unicycle becomes enjoyable when you accept
that you are constantly in the process of falling. The task then becomes one of
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CHAPTER 11: RELATIONAL DIALECTICS 149
A SECOND LOOK Recommended resource: Leslie A. Baxter and Barbara M. Montgomery, Relating:
Dialogues and Dialectics, Guilford, New York, 1996.
RDT 2.0: Leslie A. Baxter, Voicing Relationships: A Dialogical Perspective, Sage, Thousand
Oaks, CA, 2011.
Dialogue: Leslie A. Baxter, “Relationships as Dialogues,” Personal Relationships, Vol. 11,
2004, pp. 1–22.
SELF-QUIZ For chapter self-quizzes, go to the book’s Online Learning Center at
www.mhhe.com/griffi n9e
CONVERSATIONS At the start of her conversation with Em, Leslie Baxter states that all
communication involves the interplay of differences, which are often
competing or in opposition to each other. She explains why this dialectic
tension isn’t a problem to be solved, but an occasion for a relationship to
change and grow. Baxter cautions that we’ve been seduced into thinking
relating is easy, when in fact it’s hard work. Most of our discussion centers
on ways to cope with the interplay of differences we experience. She urges
partners to refl ect carefully on rituals that celebrate both their unity and
diversity, and offers other practical suggestions as well.
View this segment online at
www.mhhe.com/griffi n9e or
www.afi rstlook.com.
QUESTIONS TO SHARPEN YOUR FOCUS
1. How many different synonyms and equivalent phrases can you list that
come close to capturing what Baxter and Montgomery mean by the word
dialectic? What do these words have in common?
2. Which of the six theories discussed in previous chapters would Baxter and
Montgomery consider simplistic or nondialogical?
3. What confl icting pulls place the most strain on your closest personal rela-
tionship? To what extent do you and your partner use spiraling inversion,
segmentation, and dialogue to deal with that tension?
4. Why wouldn’t typical scale items like the following reveal opposing dis-
courses in a close relationship, even if they exist?
What characterizes your relationship?
Intimacy :____:____:____:____:____:____:____: Independence
continually playing one force against another, countering one pull with an
opposing motion and adapting the wheel under you so that you remain in
movement by maintaining and controlling the fall. If successful, one is propelled
along in a state of sustained imbalance that is sometimes awkward and
sometimes elegant. From a dialectical perspective, sustaining a relationship
seems to be a very similar process. 29
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150 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
Summary statement: Leslie A. Baxter and Dawn O. Braithwaite, “Relational Dialectics
Theory,” in Engaging Theories in Interpersonal Communication: Multiple Perspectives, Leslie
A. Baxter and Dawn O. Braithwaite (eds.), Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 2008, pp. 349–361.
Personal narrative of the theory’s development: Leslie A. Baxter, “A Tale of Two Voices,”
Journal of Family Communication, Vol. 4, 2004, pp. 181–192.
Bakhtin on dialectics: Mikhail Bakhtin, “Discourse in the Novel,” in The Dialogic
Imagination: Four Essays by M. M. Bakhtin, Cary Emerson and Michael Holquist (trans.),
University of Texas, Austin, TX, 1981, pp. 259–422.
Bakhtin on utterance chains: Mikhail Bakhtin, “The Problem of Speech Genres,” in
Speech Genres & Other Late Essays, Caryl Emerson and Michael Holquist (eds.), V. W.
McGee (trans.), University of Texas, Austin, TX, 1986, pp. 60–102.
Friendship dialectics: William Rawlins, Friendship Matters: Communication, Dialectics, and
the Life Course, Aldine de Gruyter, New York, 1992.
Comparing and contrasting different dialectical approaches: Leslie A. Baxter and Dawn O.
Braithwaite, “Social Dialectics: The Contradictions of Relating,” in Explaining Communica-
tion: Contemporary Theories and Exemplars, Bryan B. Whaley and Wendy Samter (eds.),
Lawrence Erlbaum, Mahwah, NJ, 2007, pp. 305–324.
Critique: Leslie A. Baxter, “Relational Dialectics Theory: Multivocal Dialogues of
Family Communication,” in Engaging Theories in Family Communication: Multiple Perspec-
tives, Dawn O. Braithwaite and Leslie A. Baxter (eds.), Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 2006,
pp. 130–145.
To access scenes from feature fi lms that illustrate Relational Dialectics,
click on Suggested Movie Clips under Theory Resources at
www.afi rstlook.com.
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151
12C H A P T E R
Communication Privacy
Management Theory
of Sandra Petronio
Altman and Taylor ’s social penetration theory focused on self-disclosure as the
primary way to develop close relationships (see Chapter 8). Yet Altman, as well as
Baxter and Montgomery, eventually concluded that openness is only part of
the story. We also have a desire for privacy (see Chapter 11). Suppose you visit
your school’s health center because you’re concerned about abnormal bleeding
or a suspicious lump below the belt. Upon careful examination, the doctor says
that you may have cervical or testicular cancer; exploratory surgery will be nec-
essary. While not life-threatening if caught in time, it is cancer, and you fear that
it could put at risk your ability to have children. Who will you tell right away—
an immediate family member, a romantic partner, a good friend, maybe all three,
or perhaps none of them?
Sandra Petronio, a communication professor at Indiana University–Purdue
University Indianapolis, agrees with Altman that revealing this private informa-
tion might strengthen your relationships with signifi cant people in your life. The
disclosure would also give them a chance to offer you comfort and perhaps help
you fi gure out a course of action to deal with the disturbing diagnosis. However,
disclosing your medical condition could stress your relationships if it turns out
that people can’t handle your scary and potentially embarrassing news, or if they
carelessly blab about it to others. And even if people you confi de in respond well,
sharing confi dential information always reduces your privacy.
Petronio sees communication privacy management theory (CPM) as a description
of a privacy management system that contains three main parts. The fi rst part of
the system, privacy ownership, contains our privacy boundaries that encompass
information we have but others don’t know. Privacy boundaries can range from
thin and porous fi lters to thick, impenetrable barriers that shield deep, dark secrets.
Privacy control, the second part of the system, involves our decision to share
private information with another person. Petronio considers this the engine of
privacy management. Decisions to share information or relinquish some control
also reshape the boundaries contained in the privacy ownership part of the system.
Privacy boundaries
A metaphor to show how
people think of the bor-
ders between private and
public information.
Objective Interpretive
Socio-cultural tradition
Cybernetic tradition
●
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152 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
Privacy turbulence, the third part of the privacy management system, comes
into play when managing private information doesn’t go the way we expect.1
Perhaps your friend revealed your secret after you laid down a strict-confi dence
rule. The decisions you make in the aftermath of the breach are directed at reduc-
ing turbulence. Having a mental image of these three parts of the privacy man-
agement system is helpful in understanding the fi ve core principles of Petronio’s
CPM.2 The fi rst four principles deal with issues of privacy ownership and control;
the fi fth involves privacy turbulence—the turmoil that erupts when rules are bro-
ken. The principles are:
1. People believe they own and have a right to control their private
information.
2. People control their private information through the use of personal
privacy rules.
3. When others are told or given access to a person’s private information,
they become co-owners of that information.
4. Co-owners of private information need to negotiate mutually agreeable
privacy rules about telling others.
5. When co-owners of private information don’t effectively negotiate
and follow mutually held privacy rules, boundary turbulence is the
likely result.
Although these fi ve statements seem deceptively simple, the management
processes they describe are often quite complex. In the rest of the chapter I’ll
unpack the mental considerations and communication behaviors that each prin-
ciple summarizes. The evidence for their validity comes from more than 100
research studies over a wide range of face-to-face situations where there’s a dia-
lectical tension between privacy and disclosure. Since Petronio’s own research
has cut across interpersonal, family, and health communication contexts, I’ll con-
tinue to use a variety of medical issues to illustrate how people manage their
private information.
1. OWNERSHIP AND CONTROL OF PRIVATE INFORMATION
People believe they own and have a right to control their private information.
Instead of talking about self-disclosure as many relational theorists do, Petronio
refers to the disclosure of private information . There are four reasons she favors this
term. In the fi rst place, a lot of the private information we tell others isn’t about
ourselves. The revelation may be about other people or convey news of an
impersonal nature. Another reason she avoids the self-disclosure label is that it’s
usually associated with interpersonal intimacy. For example, all three theories in
the Relationship Development section assume that self-disclosure is a primary
way to develop close personal ties (see Chapters 8–10). Yet Petronio notes that
there are many other motives for disclosing private information. 3 For example,
we could desire to relieve a burden, prevent a wrong, make an impression, gain
control, or simply enjoy self-expression.
A third reason Petronio chooses to talk about the disclosure of private information
is that the phrase has a neutral connotation, as opposed to self – disclosure , which
has a positive feel. The outcome of disclosing private information may turn out
Private information 
The content of potential
disclosures; information
that can be owned.
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CHAPTER 12: COMMUNICATION PRIVACY MANAGEMENT THEORY 153
well, but as bartenders and hairdressers can attest, it might be unwelcome—
a real downer. Finally, while the term self-disclosure focuses on the unilateral act
of the discloser, Petronio’s preferred description directs attention to the content
of what’s said and how the confi dant handles this now not-so-private information.
In that sense it’s a more complete communication theory.
How do we regard the private information we manage? The fi rst principle
of communication privacy management theory is quite clear: We see it as ours;
we believe it belongs to us. Whether that perception is accurate isn’t the issue.
Our conviction is so strong that Petronio defi nes privacy as “the feeling one has
the right to own private information.” 4 You may feel that way about your over-
all GPA or even the grade you get in this course.
Ownership conveys rights as well as obligations. Privacy bolsters our sense
of autonomy and makes us feel less vulnerable. That’s the upside. But Petronio
also suggests that ownership of private information can be a liability. She claims
that when we are privy to something others don’t know, we understand that we
are responsible for that information and will be held accountable for how we
handle it. That’s why we seek to control who else gets to know.
Within the context of medical privacy, probably no group faces more pres-
sure for disclosure than those who have an observable stigma. For example,
complete strangers often ask intrusive questions of those who are paralyzed that
they wouldn’t think of asking an able-bodied person. In a research study entitled
“Just How Much Did That Wheelchair Cost?” University of Nebraska commu-
nication professor Dawn Braithwaite reports how the physically disabled man-
age their privacy boundaries. She found that in most cases paraplegics will
answer a question if they deem it appropriate to the discussion or if it’s posed
by a kid. But if they think the question comes out of sheer nosiness or morbid
curiosity, they avoid answering or respond with anger. One person confi ned to
a wheelchair admitted, “I’m not beyond rolling over toes, really. I have been in
situations where . . . there’s really no other alternative.” 5
The people Braithwaite interviewed obviously believe they own their private
information, and they actively work to maintain control of what, when, and with
whom it is shared. The fi rst principle of CPM says that’s true for all of us. Our
sense of ownership motivates us to create boundaries that will control the spread
of what we know. The second principle of CPM addresses how thick those
boundaries might be.
Privacy
The feeling that one has
the right to own private
information.
2. RULES FOR CONCEALING AND REVEALING
People control their private information through the use of personal privacy rules.
Petronio refers to communication privacy management theory as a rule-based
theory. 6 An easy way to grasp what she means is to remember that people
usually have rules for managing their private information. When Petronio
spots a pattern of disclosure within a group of people and these folks offer
similar explanations for their actions, she articulates the internalized rules that
appear to guide their decisions. These rules are guides for interpretation rather
than ironclad laws. Yet in practice, they help people feel they have control
over their private information.
CPM maintains that fi ve factors play into the way we develop our own
privacy rules: culture, gender, motivation, context, and risk/benefi t ratios. These
Rule-based theory
A theory that assumes we
can best understand peo-
ple’s freely chosen ac-
tions if we study the
system of rules they use
to interpret and manage
their lives.
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154 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
foundational criteria are evident in a study Petronio conducted among children
and adolescents who reported that they were victims of sexual abuse. 7 After
gaining permission from their parents, Petronio asked 38 victims between the
ages of 7 and 18 to describe how they made the decision to tell someone what
had happened. I’ll draw upon her fi ndings to illustrate the fi ve constants in
rule-making for privacy.
Culture. Cultures differ on the value of openness and disclosure. The
United States is a patchwork of many subcultures, but Petronio notes that, over-
all, U.S. citizens are highly individualistic. This means they have a bias toward
locking doors, keeping secrets, and preserving privacy. Regarding victims of
sexual abuse, there’s no fi rm evidence among Anglos, Hispanics, African Amer-
icans, or Asians that one group is more at risk than the others. But other research-
ers have found that there is a difference when it comes to who suffers in silence.
Presumably because of the Asian emphasis on submissiveness, obedience, family
loyalty, and sex-talk taboos, Asian American children who are sexually abused
are less likely than other kids to tell their mothers. 8
Gender. Popular wisdom suggests that women disclose more than men,
yet research on this issue is mixed at best. What is clear, however, is that both
men and women more easily reveal private information to a woman than to a
man. 9 Perhaps this is especially true when a young girl is sexually abused by an
older man. As one female victim explained why she chose to tell her mother,
“She’s my mom and she’s a grown-up, you know, and she’s a girl.” 10
Motivation. Petronio emphasizes attraction and liking as interpersonal
motives that can loosen privacy boundaries that could not otherwise be breached.
That’s certainly the case when a sexual perpetrator has sworn the victim to
secrecy under threat of dire consequences. Some victims lowered their barriers
and provided access when they felt the additional force of reciprocity. As one
girl reported, “A sudden bond formed between [us by] her saying, you know,
’I was molested’ and knowing that all of a sudden I wasn’t all by myself. . . .
I could trust her because I knew that she could feel the scariness. . . .” 11
Context. Traumatic events can temporarily or permanently disrupt the
infl uence of culture, gender, and motivation when people craft their rules for
privacy. Petronio has in mind the diagnosis of AIDS, the suicide or murder of a
loved one, the loss of a limb, physical paralysis, experiencing the carnage of war
or natural disaster, and sexual abuse as a child. Any of these events can generate
privacy boundaries that are initially impenetrable. The sufferer fi rst struggles to
cope; talk may come later. The abused children who spoke to Petronio often
shared what it took for them to feel secure before they were willing to be open
about their experience. The abuser had to be away from the home or out of the
car and doors had to be locked, with just the abused child and confi dant together.
Disclosure usually came while doing ordinary things together such as cooking,
washing dishes, watching TV, or shopping. These mundane activities, which
require no eye contact, seemed to offer the child a sense of normalcy and control
that made a very abnormal conversation possible.
Risk/benefi t ratio. Think back to the mental calculations that social exchange
theory claims we make before deciding how we’ll act (see Chapter 8). We add
up the benefi ts and subtract the costs of each option in order to do what we
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CHAPTER 12: COMMUNICATION PRIVACY MANAGEMENT THEORY 155
think will have the best outcome. Risk/benefi t ratios do the math for revealing
as well as concealing private information. Typical benefi ts for revealing are relief
from stress, gaining social support, drawing closer to the person we tell, and
the chance to infl uence others. Realistic risks are embarrassment, rejection, dimin-
ished power, and everyone fi nding out our secret. All of these benefi ts and risks
can come into play when sexually abused children adopt a rule that will guide
their decision to speak out or keep silent. Because the stakes are high and it’s so
hard for them to know what response they’ll get, many of these kids use partial
disclosure to test the waters before fully diving in. For example, one girl in
Petronio’s study said to her mother, “Mom, I’ve got to tell you something. He’s been
walking around the house with no clothes on.” 12 When the mother showed that
she believed her daughter, the girl then told her what her stepfather had done.
3. DISCLOSURE CREATES A CONFIDANT AND CO-OWNER
When others are told or discover a person’s private information, they become co-owners
of that information.
Sandra Petronio regards CPM as a full-fl edged communication theory. By this
she means that a person can’t just consider self in deciding whether to conceal
or reveal. The act of disclosing private information creates a confi dant and draws
that person into a collective privacy boundary , whether willingly or reluctantly.
What does co-ownership mean? First, the discloser must realize that the
personal privacy boundary encompassing the information has morphed into a
collective boundary that seldom shrinks back to being solely personal. That
would only be possible if the confi dant were to die or suffer loss of memory.
Once you let the cat out of the bag, it’s hard to stuff him back in. Thus, those
who own private information should consider carefully before sharing it with
others. Second, as co-owners, people tend to feel a sense of responsibility for
the information. That doesn’t mean, however, that they perceive an equal
responsibility. For example, the original owner may still feel like the sole
titleholder and assume that others will follow his or her lead when access to
the information is an issue. Despite this perception, “once the information is
known, others ‘in the know’ may have their own interpretation of how the
information should be managed.” 13 Finally, those who had the information
foisted upon them may be much more casual about protecting it than those who
sought it.
Communication professors Paige Toller (University of Nebraska Omaha) and
Chad McBride (Creighton University) explored the complexities of co-owning
private information within families. Specifi cally, they studied how parents man-
age privacy boundaries with their children when a family member dies or has
a terminal illness.14 Based on their interviews, they found that parents usually
wanted to share information about a family member’s death or illness with a
young child in the interest of being open and honest. On the other hand, they
often withheld information out of concern for the child’s emotional welfare. They
also concealed the news because they were afraid that their children might not
make the most responsible judgments as co-owners of the information. Parents
who choose to share sensitive information with a young child often discover that
their own privacy boundary may be thick, but the child’s is paper-thin or
nonexistent.
Collective privacy
boundary
An intersection of per-
sonal privacy boundaries
of co-owners of private
information, all of whom
are responsible for the
information.
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156 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
This pivotal fourth principle of CPM is where Petronio moves from being descrip-
tive to prescriptive. With the fi rst three principles she’s been mapping out how
people handle their private information—they think they own it and they control
it (Principle 1) through the use of privacy rules (Principle 2). If they disclose some
of that private information, the recipients become co-owners of a patch of common
informational territory, which entails rights as well as responsibilities (Principle 3).
Principle 4 assumes that the privacy boundaries co-owners place around this par-
ticular piece of information won’t necessarily look the same. But Petronio thinks
that for the sake of relational harmony they ought to be congruent, so this prin-
ciple is a plea for co-owners to negotiate mutual privacy boundaries . Or, using the
map metaphor, she urges parties to collaboratively draw the same borders around
their common piece of informational real estate. If you receive private information
from someone, Petronio believes it’s best to think of yourself as a good steward
or protective guardian over that information. This way, there’s less of a chance for
disagreement about how the information gets handled. Just as good real estate
stewards protect the property entrusted to them, good stewards over private infor-
mation are on guard to protect that information from falling into the wrong hands.
The overall process of co-managing collective boundaries that Petronio envi-
sions isn’t simple. These negotiations focus on boundary ownership, boundary
linkage, and boundary permeability . In order to illustrate what’s involved in coor-
dinating boundary management rules, I’ll use the privacy/disclosure issue
that’s received the most attention from health communication practitioners and
scholars—HIV status.
Mutual privacy
boundary
A synchronized collec-
tive privacy boundary
that co-owners share
because they have nego-
tiated common privacy
rules.
4. COORDINATING MUTUAL PRIVACY BOUNDARIES
Co-owners of private information need to negotiate mutually agreeable privacy rules about
telling others.
© Eric Lewis/The New Yorker Collection/www.cartoonbank.com
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CHAPTER 12: COMMUNICATION PRIVACY MANAGEMENT THEORY 157
Consider the plight of Nate, who goes to see his doctor because of a persis-
tent fever and swollen glands. After running a series of tests, the doctor regret-
fully informs Nate that he’s HIV positive. She assures Nate that this isn’t a death
sentence. With the advent of HAART—highly active anti-retroviral therapy—
Nate may never have to experience the worsening, telltale symptoms of AIDS.
But the news comes as a real blow. When he was in college, Nate engaged in
risky sexual behavior that his wife, Becky, knows nothing about. He’s embar-
rassed and dreads telling her. Yet even if his state didn’t have a mandatory
partner notifi cation program, he feels morally bound to tell her if for no other
reason than she needs to be tested and protected from his infection. He believes
Becky will “stand by her man,” but fears rejection from anyone else who hears
about his condition. He doesn’t want his extended family, friends, or co-workers
to fi nd out. But once he tells Becky, she may have different ideas about who else
should hear and how much they should be told. For the sake of their relation-
ship, Petronio believes they need to synchronize their privacy rules.
You might be wondering about the question of timing. Should Nate try to
get Becky to agree about who she can or can’t share the news with before he
drops the bombshell, or does he need to share the news fi rst and trust that after-
ward they can reach an agreement on how to handle the information? Petronio
isn’t too concerned about the timing. Whether the rules are worked out before
or after the information is shared, she thinks Nate and Becky’s relationship will
be healthier whenever they reach a mutual agreement about how to handle the
private information.
Boundary Ownership—Who Should Decide?
We’ve already seen that co-ownership of private information involves a joint
responsibility for its containment or release. But not all boundary ownership
is 50–50. One person may have a greater stake in how the information is handled
or fee l that he or she should have total control of how it’s used. If so, that person
is usually the original owner. When the confi dant agrees that the original owner
has the right to call the shots, Petronio refers to that recipient as a shareholder
who is “fully vested in keeping the information according to the original owner’s
privacy rules.” 15 Nate obviously hopes this will be the case, but it doesn’t seem
that Becky fi ts well into the shareholder role. So if Nate clings to the belief that
he alone should make the rules about how to manage the information, he will
lose the chance to negotiate a mutually satisfying agreement with Becky, almost
guaranteeing a turbulent future.
Petronio’s description of how a person becomes a confi dant sheds light on
the degree of control this recipient has. 16 The deliberate confi dant intentionally seeks
private information, often in order to help others out. For example, doctors, coun-
selors, attorneys, and clergy solicit personal information only after they assure
clients that they have a privacy policy that severely limits their right to reveal the
information to others. As a general rule of thumb, the more eager people are
to take on the role of confi dant, the less control they have over what they hear.
Conversely, a reluctant confi dant doesn’t want the disclosure, doesn’t expect
it, and may fi nd the revealed information an unwelcome burden. Picture the
hapless airplane travelers who must listen to their seatmates’ life stories. This
sort of reluctant confi dant usually doesn’t feel a strong obligation to follow the
privacy guidelines of the discloser. If the reluctant recipient comes across the
Boundary ownership
The rights and responsi-
bilities that co-owners of
private information have
to control its spread.
Shareholder
A confidant fully com-
mitted to handling
private information ac-
cording to the original
owner’s privacy rules.
Deliberate confidant
A recipient who sought
out private information.
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158 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
information by accident, he or she will be even less likely to cede control of
revealing/concealing to the original owner. So if someone comes across our pri-
vate thoughts jotted in a journal or encoded in an email, those thoughts may
become quite public.
As for Becky, her role as Nate’s confi dant probably shifts when he makes his
startling revelation. She didn’t initiate this health conversation and, like many
long-term partners, she may at fi rst listen with half an ear out of a sense of
obligation. But once he drops the bombshell, she’ll be all ears and deliberately
probe for more details. Given Becky’s probable fear, hurt, and anger that Nate
never told her of his possible exposure to HIV, we might expect her to follow
her own privacy rules rather than be constrained by his. If she later discovers
that Nate has infected her with HIV, his rules will be history.
Boundary Linkage—Who Else Gets to Know?
Boundary linkage is the process of the confi dant being linked into the privacy
boundary of the person who revealed the information. When Nate discloses his
HIV status to Becky, she’ll share responsibility for what happens in the future
with that information. As for Nate, his privacy boundary will morph into an
expanded, joint boundary of a different shape. He clearly wants his condition to
remain the couple’s secret, but will that happen?
The major consideration in boundary linkage is the nature of the pair’s rela-
tionship. When the revealer and recipient have a close, trusting relationship,
there’s a good chance that the recipient will deal with the new information the
way the discloser wants. But even though Nate and Becky would both say
they’ve had fi ve years of a loving marriage, news that her husband is HIV pos-
itive is likely to rock Becky’s world. Her fi rst question will probably be, How did
this happen? and she won’t be satisfi ed with a vague answer or a claim that it
came from a blood transfusion. As Nate reveals a sexual past that he always felt
he alone owned, Becky’s trust in Nate may take a big hit. From her perspective,
she had a right to know about anything that could so profoundly affect her life
and their relationship. She might indeed be committed to stay with Nate “in
sickness and in health as long as we both shall live,” but that doesn’t mean she’ll
agree to a shroud of secrecy.
If the couple follows Petronio’s advice to negotiate who else gets to know,
they might bring up the following considerations, each of which is supported
by research on the privacy and disclosure of HIV status. 17 Becky might insist
that she can’t live with the stress of keeping Nate’s infection secret; she’s willing
to keep her father in the dark but needs to tell her mother. She also wants the
ongoing social support of at least one close friend who knows what she’s living
with and can help her cope.
For his part, Nate voices his fear of the prejudice that he knows HIV victims
encounter. 18 When people fi nd out he has HIV, he’s apt to lose his job, his insur-
ance, his buddies, and the respect of others. He can’t possibly tell his folks about
the diagnosis because they know nothing of his sexual past. Nate imagines his
shocked father bemoaning, “I can’t even think about this,” and then slamming
the door on him forever. As for Becky telling her mother, he’s seen her close-knit
family in action. If his mother-in-law fi nds out, he’s sure the rest of the family
will know by the end of the day. At this point, Nate and Becky aren’t even close
to agreeing on who else can know what they know.
Reluctant confidant
A co-owner of private in-
formation who did not
seek it nor want it.
Boundary linkage
An alliance formed by
co-owners of private in-
formation as to who else
should be able to know.
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CHAPTER 12: COMMUNICATION PRIVACY MANAGEMENT THEORY 159
Boundary Permeability—How Much Information Can Flow?
Boundary permeability refers to the degree that privacy boundaries are porous.
Some boundaries are protected by ironclad rules, with those in the know sworn
to secrecy. These barriers are impervious to penetration. Petronio refers to such
informational barriers as closed, thick, or stretched tight . Often that information is
quarantined because public revelation would be highly embarrassing for those
in the inner circle.
At the other extreme, some boundaries are quite porous. Petronio describes
them as open, thin, or loosely held . Information permeates them easily. As bar-
riers to disclosure, they are a façade. To the extent that privacy rules are
supposed to check the fl ow of insider information, they are honored in the
breach. As the movie Mean Girls illustrates, some confi dences are meant to
be spread.
Permeability is a matter of degree. Many coordinated access rules are crafted
to be fi lters, letting some private information seep through, while other related
facts are closely guarded. You may wonder how this could apply to Nate and
Becky’s situation. Isn’t HIV infection like pregnancy—an either/or thing? Bio-
logically, yes, but Petronio describes a number of ways that disclosure could be
partial. For example, Nate might talk about movies that sympathetically portray
AIDS victims, enthusing about the Oscar-winning performance of Sean Penn in
Milk . Or, similar to the sexually abused children that Petronio interviewed, he
could drop hints about his condition and watch for signs that others would
handle further disclosure well. Along that line, some gay and lesbian victims
reveal their sexual orientation to others fi rst, later speaking of their HIV status
only if the response to the fi rst disclosure is nonjudgmental. As with boundary
linkage and boundary ownership, collaborative boundary permeability doesn’t
happen by accident.
Boundary permeability
The extent to which a
boundary permits private
information to flow to
third parties.
5. BOUNDARY TURBULENCE—RELATIONSHIPS AT RISK
When co-owners of private information don’t effectively negotiate and follow jointly held
privacy rules, boundary turbulence is the likely result.
When boundary coordination fails, turbulence is the result. Petronio uses the
metaphor of boundary turbulence to refer to “disruptions in the way that co-
owners control and regulate the fl ow of private information to third parties.” 19
The examples she offers make it clear that turbulence can quickly destroy the
trust between revealers and recipients that has built up over time. Petronio likes
to describe turbulence with a boat metaphor. Imagine sitting in a sailboat on a
placid lake. A speedboat passes by and creates a wake that smacks the side of
your boat and rocks it back and forth. Similarly, boundary turbulence can rock
your relationships with the havoc it creates. Just as you might seek to steady the
boat’s rocking while hanging on to keep your balance, Petronio predicts that
people will react to turbulence in an attempt to regulate the disturbed relation-
ships left in its wake.
Petronio lists a variety of factors that can lead to boundary turbulence, which
I’ll lump into three categories—fuzzy boundaries, intentional breaches, and mis-
takes. 20 I’ll illustrate the fi rst two from research she’s conducted on family and
friends as health care advocates—the triangular interactions that occur when
patients bring someone with them to their doctor appointments. 21
Boundary turbulence
Disruption of privacy
management and rela-
tional trust that occurs
when collective privacy
boundaries aren’t
synchronized.
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160 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
Fuzzy Boundaries
Petronio has found that patients and the advocates they bring with them have
rarely discussed what can and can’t be revealed—typical of many interactions
where private information is shared. She places the onus on the friend or family
member: “Curiously, these informal advocates did not appear to confer with the
patient before entering the medical situation to fi nd out when or if the advocate
should disclose private medical information.” 22 Having no recognized mutual
boundaries and only a vague idea of the patient’s expectations, advocates resort
to using their own privacy rules to guide what they say. The result is turbulence
and a patient who is often embarrassed or unhappy.
In like manner, doctor–patient confi dentiality can be compromised. As one
doctor admitted, “When the patient is accompanied by a friend or relative,
we’re often unclear about that companion’s function in the interview.” 23 From
the legal standpoint, once the patient invites someone else into the mix, the
physician no longer has to be concerned about confi dentiality. But the patient
may be shocked when his wife hears the doctor reveal alarming test results,
offer a depressing prognosis, or refer to a previous medical condition she knew
nothing about.
Intentional Breaches
Sometimes those who are now in the know understand that the original owner
will be horrifi ed if they blab the secret about, yet they reveal it anyway. They
may do so to purposely hurt the original owner or simply because breaking the
confi dence works to their personal advantage. A painful romantic breakup is the
classic case when the spurned partner lashes out by revealing intimate details
that make the other look bad. Petronio didn’t run across disloyal breaches in her
study of unoffi cial health advocates, but she did discover intentional boundary
crossings when advocates faced a confi dentiality dilemma . These occurred when
patients said things to their doctor that advocates knew weren’t true or avoided
revealing embarrassing medical information that advocates knew was important
for the physician to know.
Petronio cites the example of a man who tells his cardiologist that he quit
smoking after his heart surgery. His daughter who’s present is in a quandary.
She could respect her father’s privacy but by her silence put his health at risk.
Or she could violate family privacy rules by revealing his continued smoking so
that the doctor can make an informed medical decision. She faces a tragic moral
choice where whatever she does is wrong. Petronio found that advocates placed
in this position opt for health over privacy, and speculates, “Perhaps in cases
when safety or well-being is at stake, privacy issues seem less signifi cant for
those trying to help.” 24 In support of this interpretation, she notes that one man
poignantly explained why he breached his wife’s privacy boundary —because I
did not want my wife to die.
Mistakes
Not all boundary and relational turbulence comes from privacy rules out of sync
or the intentional breach of boundaries. Sometimes people create turmoil by
making mistakes, such as letting secrets slip out when their guard is down or
Confidentiality dilemma
The tragic moral choice
confidants face when
they must breach a col-
lective privacy boundary
in order to promote the
original owner’s welfare.
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CHAPTER 12: COMMUNICATION PRIVACY MANAGEMENT THEORY 161
simply forgetting who might have access to the information. Many young
Facebook users have gone back to their pages in a panic, attempting to scrub a
piece of information they posted for their friends without thinking about the fact
that their parents could also see the post. Other users make errors of judgment
by discussing private information in the public arena of many Facebook friends.
Another kind of mistake is a miscalculation in timing. Doctors and nurses have
been known to phone people in the middle of the workday to tell them that they
have cancer. There’s no good way to deliver that devastating news. But to do it
at a time when the person may be interacting with co-workers takes away the
chance to process the stark reality in private.
David’s application log suggests that it may not make much difference
whether a barrier breach is a mistake or intentional. The harm is done and the
relationship suffers.
When I was a freshman I had just broken up with my longtime girlfriend
and it was affecting my play on the football fi eld. The quarterback coach called
me into his offi ce and asked me what was wrong. As I didn’t have anyone else
to confi de in, I told him the situation. I expected our privacy boundaries to
be ruled by player–coach confi dentiality. However, that same day at practice,
he created boundary turbulence after I threw a bad pass. He asked me if I was
“thinking about my girlfriend taking body shots off frat boys while doing keg
stands.” He said this in front of everyone. I can’t say if it was an intentional
breach or a mistake, but I now refuse to disclose any of my private information
to that man.
CRITIQUE: KEEN DIAGNOSIS, GOOD PRESCRIPTION, LESS AMBIGUITY
CPM nicely fulfi lls fi ve of the six criteria for a good interpretive theory. Petronio
painstakingly maps out the different ways people handle private information and
discerns why they make the choices they do. This understanding of people is
furthered by the qualitative research she and other communication scholars conduct
to expand their knowledge of privacy management. Typically their research takes
the form of open-ended interviews such as those Petronio conducted with sexu-
ally abused children, but Petronio also draws on the results of quantitative
research to support the theory’s conclusions. This extensive research and the fact
that CPM provides a needed focus on privacy, where there was previously a
theoretical void, has created a community of agreement on the worth of the theory
among communication scholars. In medical terms, CPM provides an astute diag-
nosis of the use and abuse of privacy rules.
As for clarifi cation of values , CPM presents privacy as valuable in its own
right, not relationally inferior to openness, transparency, or self-disclosure.
Additionally, Petronio upholds mutually coordinated privacy rules as the best
way to establish effective boundaries that protect co-owned private informa-
tion. It’s a bit of a stretch to say that the theory calls for a radical reform of
society the way some critical theories do, but Petronio clearly believes that
healthy relationships within a community depend on trust and that they’ll be
less at risk when people follow her research-based prescription for the preven-
tion of turbulence.
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162 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
The interpretive criterion that CPM does not meet well is aesthetic appeal,
which is a matter of both style and clarity. Petronio’s organizational style is one
of arranging insights into multiple lists that result in a confusing array of clas-
sifi cations. Clarity is a problem as well. For example, in Principle 4 and through-
out much of her writing, Petronio indicates that people who co-own private
information should negotiate mutual privacy rules. Yet in another summary
version of CPM, Petronio seems to directly contradict this principle. She
writes, “As co-owners, the recipients have a responsibility to care for the infor-
mation in the way that the original owner desires.” 25 That sounds more like
acquiescence or submission than negotiation. It’s also confusing, as is Petronio’s
frequent use of qualifi ers such as may be, tend to be, possibly, perhaps, and
sometimes.
Petronio is aware of these problems. In her 35 years of work with the theory,
she’s acknowledged its ambiguities26 and repackaged concepts for improved
clarity. Her efforts have made writing this chapter easier.27 In 2013, an entire
issue of the Journal of Family Communication was devoted to CPM. In a preview
to the issue’s articles, Petronio provided a brief status report on the theory, not-
ing the trend in CPM research to make “theoretical refi nements.”28 We hope this
trend continues and results in more clarity and less ambiguity.
Two gaps in the theory coverage bear mentioning. Petronio writes convinc-
ingly about the value of co-owner negotiation and how quickly trust can be lost
when privacy rules are breached.29 Yet she doesn’t offer insight on how to conduct
those negotiations, nor does she describe after-the-fact remedies for the mis-
trust that boundary turbulence stirs up. Petronio needs to expand CPM to
suggest how to effectively negotiate mutual boundaries, and to offer ways and
means to settle the turbulence that occurs when collective privacy boundaries
are violated. She’s been working on a new book about CPM that she promises
will address these thorny issues. Petronio has a habit, however, of responding
to the theory’s critics by encouraging them to wait around for improvement.
In 2004 she instructed readers to “please stand by,”30 and in her 2013
report she encouraged us to “stay tuned.”31 Hopefully, after the next revision
appears, there will be less need for a “new and improved” version of CPM.
1. In Principle 2, Petronio cites fi ve foundational criteria that affect our personal
privacy rules . Which factor most shapes the rules you adopt? Is there one
factor that seems to include or trump the other four?
2. Petronio states that ownership and control of private information don’t always
go together. Can you imagine a situation where you are the sole owner of a
secret yet have no control over its disclosure or discovery?
3. CPM states that those who are privy to private information can avoid bound-
ary turbulence by negotiating mutual privacy rules . Why do you think many
disclosers and their confi dants fail to have this discussion?
4. CPM is a rules theory that is supported by qualitative research . Why would a
quantitative researcher have a problem testing the theory using an experimen-
tal design?
QUESTIONS TO SHARPEN YOUR FOCUS
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CHAPTER 12: COMMUNICATION PRIVACY MANAGEMENT THEORY 163
A SECOND LOOK Recommended resource: Sandra Petronio, Boundaries of Privacy: Dialectics of Discourse,
State University of New York, Albany, NY, 2002.
Summary statement: Sandra Petronio, “Communication Privacy Management Theory,”
in Engaging Theories in Interpersonal Communication: Multiple Perspectives, Leslie A. Baxter
and Dawn O. Braithwaite (eds.), Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 2008, pp. 309–322.
Summary statement: Mary Claire Morr Serewicz and Sandra Petronio, “Communica-
tion Privacy Management Theory,” in Explaining Communication: Contemporary Theories and
Exemplars, Bryan Whaley and Wendy Samter (eds.), Lawrence Erlbaum, Mahwah, NJ,
2007, pp. 257–273.
Current state of the art: Special Issue on Communication Privacy Management Theory,
Journal of Family Communication, Vol. 13, 2013, pp. 1–75.
Five principles of CPM applied: Ashley Duggan and Sandra Petronio, “When Your Child
Is in Crisis: Navigating Medical Needs with Issues of Privacy Management,” in Parent
and Children Communicating with Society, Thomas J. Socha (ed.), Routledge, New York,
2009, pp. 117–132.
Initial version: Sandra Petronio, “Communication Boundary Management: A Theo-
retical Model of Managing Disclosure of Private Information Between Married Couples,”
Communication Theory, Vol. 1, 1991, pp. 311–335.
Research review on secrecy: Sandra Petronio (ed.), Balancing the Secrets of Private
Disclosure, Lawrence Erlbaum, Mahwah, NJ, 2000.
Development of CPM: Sandra Petronio, “Road to Developing Communication Privacy
Management Theory: Narrative in Process, Please Stand By,” Journal of Family Communica-
tion, Vol. 4, 2004, pp. 193–207.
Confi dants: Sandra Petronio and Jennifer Reierson, “Regulating the Privacy of Confi –
dentiality: Grasping the Complexities through Communication Privacy Management
Theory,” in Uncertainty, Information Management, and Disclosure Decisions: Theories and
Applications , Tamara D. Afi fi and Walid A. Afi fi (eds.), Routledge, New York, 2009,
pp. 365–383.
CONVERSATIONS In her conversation with Glenn, Sandra Petronio says that people believe they
own and control their private information. When information is shared, it’s
crucial for the original owner to set expectations and negotiate with the co-
owner as to how that information ought to be managed. When those expecta-
tions are violated or aren’t negotiated at all, turbulence results. Petronio
refl ects on how turbulence can sometimes lead to complete privacy break-
downs, and how diffi cult it can be to manage relationships after that occurs.
She also shares what she thinks is missing from the theory.
View this segment online at
www.mhhe.com/griffi n9e or
www.afi rstlook.com.
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164
13C H A P T E R
The Interactional View
of Paul Watzlawick
The Franklin family is in trouble. A perceptive observer could spot their diffi cul-
ties despite their successful façade. Sonia Franklin is an accomplished pianist
who teaches advanced music theory and keyboard technique in her home. Her
husband, Stan, will soon become a partner in a Big Four accounting fi rm. Their
daughter, Laurie, is an honor student, an offi cer in her high school class, and the
number two player on the tennis team. But Laurie’s younger brother, Mike, has
dropped all pretense of interest in studies, sports, or social life. His only passion
is drinking beer and smoking pot.
Each of the Franklins reacts to Mike’s substance abuse in different but less
than helpful ways. Stan denies that his son has a problem. Boys will be boys,
and he’s sure Mike will grow out of this phase. The only time he and Mike
actually talked about the problem, Stan said, “I want you to cut back on your
drinking—not for me and your mother—but for your own sake.”
Laurie has always felt responsible for her kid brother and is scared because
Mike is getting wasted every few days. She makes him promise he’ll quit using,
and continues to introduce him to her straightlaced friends in the hope that he’ll
get in with a good crowd.
Sonia worries that alcohol and drugs will ruin her son’s future. One weekday
morning when he woke up with a hangover, she wrote a note to the school say-
ing Mike had the fl u. She also called a lawyer to help Mike when he was stopped
for drunk driving. Although she promised never to tell his father about these
incidents, she chides Stan for his lack of concern. The more she nags, the more
he withdraws.
Mike feels caught in a vicious circle. Smoking pot helps him relax, but then
his family gets more upset, which makes him want to smoke more, which. . . .
During a tense dinner-table discussion he lashes out: “You want to know why I
use? Go look in a mirror.” Although the rest of the family sees Mike as “the
problem,” psychotherapist Paul Watzlawick would have described the whole
family system as disturbed. He formed his theory of social interaction by looking
at dysfunctional patterns within families in order to gain insight into healthy
communication.
Objective Interpretive
Cybernetic tradition
Socio-cultural tradition
●
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CHAPTER 13: THE INTERACTIONAL VIEW 165
Picture a family as a mobile suspended from the ceiling. Each fi gure is connected
to the rest of the structure by a strong thread tied at exactly the right place to keep
the system in balance. Tug on any string and the force sends a shock wave through-
out the whole network. Sever a thread and the entire system tilts in disequilibrium.
The threads in the mobile analogy represent communication rules that hold
the family together. Paul Watzlawick believed that in order to understand the
movement of any single fi gure in the family system, one has to examine the com-
munication patterns among all its members. He regarded the communication
that family members have among themselves about their relationships as espe-
cially important.
Watzlawick (pronounced VAHT-sla-vick) was a senior research fellow at the
Mental Research Institute of Palo Alto, California, and clinical professor of psy-
chiatry at Stanford University. He was one of about 20 scholars and therapists who
were inspired by and worked with anthropologist Gregory Bateson. The common
denominator that continues to draw the Palo Alto Group together is a commitment
to studying interpersonal interaction as part of an entire system. This sets their
thinking apart from the widespread conception that communication is a linear
process of a source sending a message through a channel to a receiver. In place of
that transmission model, they picture communication as akin to an orchestra play-
ing without a conductor.1 Each person plays a part, affecting and being affected
by all the others. It’s impossible to isolate what causes what. It’s interactional—so
Watzlawick and his colleagues referred to their theory as the interactional view.
This systems approach suggests that interpersonal relationships are com-
plicated, defying simplistic explanations of why family members do what they
do. The Palo Alto Group rejects the notion that individual motives, personality
traits, or DNA determines the nature of communication within a family or with
others. In fact, these therapists care little about why a person acts a certain way,
but they have great interest in how that behavior affects everyone in the group.
For example, some pop psychology books on body language claim that a lis-
tener standing in a hands-on-hips position is skeptical about what the speaker
is saying. Watzlawick was certainly interested in the reaction others have to this
posture, but he didn’t think that a particular way of standing should be viewed
as part of a cause-and-effect chain of events:
a → b → c → d
Relationships are not simple, nor are they “things,” as suggested by the
statement “We have a good relationship.” Relationships are complex functions
in the same sense that mathematical functions link multiple variables:
x 5 b2 1
2c
a 2 5d
Just as x will be affected by the value of a, b, c, or d, so the hands-on-hips stance can
be due to a variety of attitudes, emotions, or physical conditions. Maybe the stance
does show skepticism. But it also might refl ect boredom, a feeling of awkwardness,
aching shoulder muscles, or self-consciousness about middle-aged love handles.
Watzlawick used the math metaphor throughout his book Pragmatics of
Human Communication. 2 Along with co-authors Janet Beavin Bavelas and Don
Family system
A self-regulating, interde-
pendent network of
feedback loops guided
by members’ rules; the
behavior of each person
affects and is affected by
the behavior of another.
THE FAMILY AS A SYSTEM
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166 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
Jackson, he presented key axioms that describe the “tentative calculus of human
communication.” These axioms make up the grammar of conversation, or, to use
another analogy that runs through the book, the rules of the game.
There is nothing particularly playful about the game the Franklins are play-
ing. Psychologist Alan Watts said that “life is a game where rule No. 1 is: This
is no game, this is serious.” 3 Watzlawick defi ned games as sequences of behavior
governed by rules. Even though Sonia and Stan are involved in an unhealthy
game without end of nag-withdrawal-nag-withdrawal, they continue to play
because it serves a function for both of them. (Sonia feels superior; Stan avoids
hassles with his son.) Neither party may recognize what’s going on, but their
rules are a something-for-something bargain. Mike’s drinking and his family’s
distress may fi t into the same category. (Getting drunk not only relieves tension
temporarily, it’s also a great excuse for sidestepping the pressure to excel, which
is the name of the game in the Franklin family.)
Lest we be tempted to see the Franklins’ relationships as typical of all families
dealing with addiction, Watzlawick warned that each family plays a one-of-a-kind
game with homemade rules. Just as CMM claims that persons-in-conversation
co-construct their own social worlds (see Chapter 6), the Palo Alto Group insists
that each family system creates its own reality. That conviction shapes its approach
to family therapy:
In the systemic approach, we try to understand as quickly as possible the function-
ing of this system: What kind of reality has this particular system constructed for
itself? Incidentally, this rules out categorizations because one of the basic principles
of systems theory is that “every system is its own best explanation.” 4
Games
Sequences of behavior
governed by rules.
AXIOMS OF INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATIONS
As therapists who met with a wide variety of clients, the Palo Alto Group
spotted regularly occurring features of communication among family members.
Watzlawick stated these interactional trends in the form of axioms—the preferred
way to present academic scholarship 50 years ago. He cautioned that these
maxims were tentative and open for revision after further study. Despite the
preliminary nature of these axioms, their publication played a key role in launching
the study of interpersonal communication within our discipline.5
One Cannot Not Communicate
You’ve undoubtedly been caught in situations where you’ve felt obliged to talk
but would rather avoid the commitment to respond that’s inherent in all com-
munication. Perhaps you currently need to study but your roommate wants to
chat. In an attempt to avoid communication, you could bluntly state that your
test tomorrow morning makes studying more important than socializing. But
voicing your desire for privacy can stretch the rules of good behavior and result
in awkward silence that speaks loudly about the relationship.
Or what if you come home from a date or a party and your mother meets
you inside the door and says, “Tell me all about it.” You could fl ood her with a
torrent of meaningless words about the evening, merely say it was “fi ne” as you
duck into your room, or plead fatigue, a headache, or a sore throat. Watzlawick
called this the symptom strategy and said it suggests, “ I wouldn’t mind talking to
you, but something stronger than I, for which I cannot be blamed, prevents me.”
Symptom strategy
Ascribing our silence to
something beyond our
control that renders com-
munication justifiably
impossible—sleepiness,
headache, drunkenness,
etc.
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CHAPTER 13: THE INTERACTIONAL VIEW 167
Whatever you do, however, it would be naïve not to realize that your mother will
analyze your behavior for clues about the evening’s activities. His face an immo-
bile mask, Mike Franklin may mutely encounter his parents. But he communicates
in spite of himself by his facial expression and his silence. Communication is
inevitable. Those nonverbal messages will obviously have an impact on the rest
of his family. A corollary to the fi rst axiom is that “one cannot not infl uence.” 6
Communication = Content + Relationship
The heading is a shorthand version of the formal axiom “Every communication
has a content and relationship aspect such that the latter classifi es the former
and is therefore metacommunication.” 7 Watzlawick chose to rename the two
aspects of communication that Gregory Bateson had originally called report and
command. Report, or content, is what is said. Command, or relationship, is how
it’s said. Edna Rogers, University of Utah communication professor emerita and
early interpreter of the interactional view, illustrates the difference with a two-
word message:
The content level provides information based on what the message is about, while
the relational level “gives off” information on how the message is to be interpreted.
For example, the content of the comment “You’re late” refers to time, but at the
relational level the comment typically implies a form of criticism of the other’s lack
of responsibility or concern. 8
Figure 13–1 outlines the content–relationship distinction that is crucial to the
interactional model. Yet neither the equation in the heading above nor the terms
in the fi gure quite capture the way relationship surrounds content and provides
a context, frame, or atmosphere for interpretation. It’s the difference between
data fed into a computer and the program that directs how the data should be
processed. In written communication, punctuation gives direction as to how the
words should be understood. Shifting a question mark to an exclamation point
alters the meaning of the message. Right? Right! In spoken communication, how-
ever, tone of voice, emphasis on certain words, facial cues, and so forth direct
how the message was meant to be interpreted.
Watzlawick referred to the relational aspect of interaction as metacommunica-
tion. It’s communication about communication. Metacommunication says, “This
is how I see myself, this is how I see you, this is how I see you seeing me. . . .”
According to Watzlawick, relationship messages are always the most important
Relationship
The command part of the
message; how it’s said
nonverbally.
Content
The report part of a mes-
sage; what is said verbally.
Metacommunication
Communication about
communication.
FIGURE 13–1 The Content and Relationship Levels of Communication
Report
What is said
Computer data
Words
Verbal channel
Command
RelationshipContent
How it is said
Computer program
Punctuation
Nonverbal channel
MetacommunicationCommunication
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168 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
element in any communication—healthy or otherwise. But when a family is in
trouble, metacommunication dominates the discussion. Mike Franklin’s dinner-
table outburst is an example of pathological metacommunication that shakes the
entire family system. The Palo Alto Group is convinced it would be a mistake
for the Franklins to ignore Mike’s attack in the hope that the tension will go
away. Sick family relationships get better only when family members are willing
to talk with each other about their patterns of communication.
The Nature of a Relationship Depends on How Both Parties
Punctuate the Communication Sequence
Watzlawick uses the term punctuate to refer to the mental process of interpreting
an ongoing sequence of events, labeling one event as the cause and the following
event as the response. The fact that participants might view the sequence radi-
cally differently is captured in a classic cartoon displayed in many experimental
psychology labs. One rat in a cage brags to another, “I’ve got my experimenter
trained. Whenever I push this lever he gives me food.”
In human relationships, divergent views of what-causes-what can give rise
to great confl ict. Consider the contrasting realities refl ected in a typical argument
between Sonia and Stan.
Sonia: Talk to Mike. The boy needs a father.
Stan: Mike’s going to be OK.
Sonia: Don’t be so passive. You’d never do anything if I didn’t push you.
Stan: Quit harping on me all the time. It’s because you nag that I withdraw.
Sonia: It’s because you withdraw that I nag.
An outsider who observes the interaction diagrammed below will spot a recipro-
cal pattern of nagging and withdrawal that has no beginning or end. But Sonia, who
is enmeshed in the system, punctuates or cleaves the sequence with P, R, or T as the
starting point. She’s convinced that Stan’s passivity is the cause of her nagging.
Equally ensnared in the system, Stan punctuates the sequence by designating
Sonia’s nagging at point Q or S as the initial event. He’s quite sure that her
constant scolding is the reason he backs away. Asking either of them Who started
it? wouldn’t help because the question merely feeds into their fruitless struggle
for control.
Watzlawick suggested that “what is typical about the sequence and makes
it a problem of punctuation is that the individual concerned conceives of him or
herself only as reacting to, but not as provoking, these attitudes.” 9 Stan sees
himself detaching from Sonia and Mike only because of his wife’s constant nag-
ging. Sonia feels certain that she wouldn’t harp on the issue if Stan would face
the problem of Mike’s drinking. The couple will be trapped in this vicious circle
Punctuate
Interpreting an ongoing
sequence of events by
labeling one event as the
cause and the following
event as the response.
RQ. . . P U . . . S T
His
withdrawal
His
withdrawal
Her
nagging
Her
nagging
Her
nagging
His
withdrawal
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CHAPTER 13: THE INTERACTIONAL VIEW 169
until they engage in a better brand of metacommunication—communication
about their communication.
All Communication Is Either Symmetrical or Complementary
This axiom continues to focus on metacommunication. While defi nitions of rela-
tionships include the issues of belongingness, affection, trust, and intimacy, the
interactional view pays particular attention to questions of control, status, and
power. Remember that Bateson’s original label for relationship communication
was command. According to Watzlawick, symmetrical interchange is based on
equal power; complementary communication is based on differences in power. He
makes no attempt to label one type as good and the other as bad. Healthy rela-
tionships have both kinds of communication.
In terms of ability, the women in the Franklin family have a symmetrical
relationship; neither one tries to control the other. Sonia has expertise on the
piano; Laurie excels on the tennis court. Each of them performs without the
other claiming dominance. Fortunately, their skills are in separate arenas. Too
much similarity can set the stage for an anything-you-can-do-I-can-do-better
competition.
Sonia’s relationship with Mike is complementary. Her type of mothering
is strong on control. She hides the extent of Mike’s drinking from his father,
lies to school offi cials, and hires a lawyer on the sly to bail her son out of trouble
with the police. By continuing to treat Mike as a child, she maintains their
dominant–submissive relationship. Although complementary relationships
aren’t always destructive, the status difference between Mike and the rest of the
Franklins is stressing the family system.
The interactional view holds that there is no way to label a relationship on
the basis of a single verbal statement. Judgments that an interaction is either
symmetrical or complementary require a sequence of at least two messages—a
statement from one person and a response from the other. While at Michigan
State University, communication researchers Edna Rogers and Richard Farace
devised a coding scheme to categorize ongoing marital interaction on the crucial
issue of who controls the relationship.
One-up communication ( ) is movement to gain control of the exchange. A bid
for dominance includes messages that instruct, order, interrupt, contradict,
change topics, or fail to support what the other person said. One-down communi-
cation ( ) is movement to yield control of the exchange. The bid for submission is
evidenced by agreement with what the other person said. Despite Watzlawick’s
contention that all discourse is either symmetrical or complementary, Rogers and
Farace code one-across communication ( ) as well. They defi ne it as transitory com-
munication that moves toward neutralizing control.
Figure 13–2 presents the matrix of possible relational transactions. The pairs
that are circled show a symmetrical interaction. The pairs in triangles indicate
complementary relations. The pairs in squares reveal transitory communication.
As Rogers’ later research shows, bids for dominance ( ) don’t necessarily result
in successful control of the interaction ( ). 10 Matt, a student in my comm theory
class, gained new insight about his relationship with his mother when he read
this section:
I’m really pumped on the interactional view. What makes me wide-eyed is
how Watzlawick breaks down family communication into symmetrical and
Symmetrical interchange
Interaction based on
equal power.
Complementary
interchange
Interaction based on
accepted differences
of power.
One-up communication
A conversational move
to gain control of the
exchange; attempted
domination.
One-down
communication
A conversational move
to yield control of the
exchange; attempted
submission.
One-across
communication
A conversational move to
neutralize or level control
within the exchange;
when just one party uses
it, the interchange is
labeled transitory.
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170 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
Family systems are highly resistant to change. This inertia is especially apparent in
a home where someone has an addiction. Each family member occupies a role that
serves the status quo. In the Franklin family, Mike, of course, is the one with “the
problem.” With the best of intentions, Sonia is the enabler who cushions Mike from
feeling the pain caused by his chemical abuse. Stan is the “denier,” while Laurie is
the family “hero” who compensates for her brother’s failure. Family therapists note
that when one person in a distressed family gets better, another member often gets
worse. If Mike stopped drinking and using pot, Laurie might quit the tennis team,
ignore her studies, or start smoking marijuana herself. Dysfunctional families con-
fi rm the adage “The more things change, the more they stay the same.”
Watzlawick saw family members as often caught in the double bind of mutu-
ally exclusive expectations, which Bateson originally described. Parental mes-
sages such as “You ought to love me” or “Be spontaneous” place children in an
untenable position. The children are bound to violate some aspect of the injunc-
tion no matter how they respond. (Love can only be freely given; spontaneity
on demand is impossible.) The paradox of the double bind is that the high-status
party in a complementary relationship insists that the low-status person act as
if the relationship were symmetrical—which it isn’t. Stan’s demand that his son
stay sober for his own sake places Mike in a no-win situation. He can’t obey his
dad and be autonomous at the same time.
FIGURE 13–2 Matrix of Transactional Types
Adapted from Rogers and Farace, “Analysis of Relational Communication in Dyads: New Measurement
Procedures”
One-up
One-up
One-across
One-down
Response to Message
One-across
One-down
Initial
Message
= SymmetricalKey:
= Transitory
= Complementary
Enabler
Within addiction culture,
a person whose
nonassertive behavior
allows others to continue
in their substance abuse.
Double bind
A person trapped under
mutually exclusive
expectations; specifically,
the powerful party in
a complementary
relationship insists that
the low-power party act
as if it were symmetrical.
TRAPPED IN A SYSTEM WITH NO PLACE TO GO
complementary. It brings to mind a statement my father would often say: “You and
your mother have heated arguments because you are so similar.” I usually dis-
missed this idea as baloney. I’d respond, “What, Mom and I similar? Yeah, right—
look how often we disagree!” Looking back through the eyes of Watzlawick, Dad
was right. Mom and I were both shooting out one-up messages, thus forming an
ongoing symmetrical interaction that wasn’t very comfortable.
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CHAPTER 13: THE INTERACTIONAL VIEW 171
Reframing
The process of instituting
change by stepping
outside of a situation and
reinterpreting what it
means.
REFRAMING: CHANGING THE GAME BY CHANGING THE RULES
How can the members of the Franklin family break out of their never-ending
game and experience real change in the way they relate to each other? According
to Watzlawick, effective change for the whole family will come about only when
members are helped to step outside the system and see the self-defeating nature
of the rules under which they’re playing. He calls this process reframing:
To reframe . . . means to change the conceptual and/or emotional setting or view-
point in relation to which a situation is experienced and to place it in another frame
which fi ts the “facts” of the same concrete situation equally well or even better, and
thereby changes its entire meaning. 11
Watzlawick compared reframing to the process of waking up from a bad
dream. He pointed out that during a nightmare you may run, hide, fi ght, scream,
jump off a cliff, or try dozens of other things to make the situation better, but
nothing really changes. Relief comes only when you step outside the system by
waking up. Without the intervention of a timely alarm clock or a caring room-
mate, relief can be a long time coming.
Reframing is the sudden “aha” of looking at things in a new light. Suppose
you could talk with Watzlawick about your struggles to keep up with the assign-
ments for your comm theory class. You’ve chosen to be a communication major,
so you believe you ought to like studying the material. Since you don’t, you think
there’s something wrong with you. You also know that your family is making a
fi nancial sacrifi ce for you to be in college, so you feel guilty that you aren’t get-
ting good grades or experiencing deep gratitude for their help. In fact, you resent
having to be grateful.
If you described these dilemmas to Watzlawick, he would want you to
reframe your attitudes as unrealistic and immature —nightmarish interpretations
for most college students. Even under the best of circumstances, he’d explain,
studying is an unpleasant necessity and to believe that it should be fun is
ridiculous. As far as your folks are concerned, they have a right to your grati-
tude, but that doesn’t mean you have to enjoy being thankful. So it’s up to you.
You can “continue in these immature outlooks or have the adult courage to
reject them and to begin to look at life as a mixture of pleasant and unpleasant
things.” 12 The facts haven’t changed, but he’s given you a new way to interpret
them. If you accept Watzlawick’s frame, you’ll probably cope better and feel
less pain.
For the Franklins, reframing means they must radically change their perspec-
tive. One way to do this is by adopting the view of Alcoholics Anonymous (AA)
that Mike’s addiction is a disease over which he has no control. His drinking is
not a sign of moral weakness or an intentional rebuff of his family’s values—
he drinks because he’s an alcoholic. The AA interpretation would imply that the
Franklins need to abandon their fruitless search for someone to blame. Despite
Mike’s look-in-the-mirror accusation, the members of his family aren’t respon-
sible for his addiction. They didn’t cause it, they can’t cure it, and they can’t
control it. It’s a disease. Does that mean Mike’s not responsible for being chem-
ically dependent? Right . . . but he is responsible for putting all of his energy
into getting well.
Accepting a new frame implies rejecting the old one. The Franklins must
admit that their so-called solutions are as much a problem as their son’s drinking.
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172 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
Mike will never seek treatment for his illness as long as his family continues to
shield him from the consequences of his behavior. Reframing will help Sonia see
that writing excuses and hiring lawyers may be less caring than letting her son
get kicked out of school or allowing his driver’s license to be suspended.
Adopting a tough-love perspective or any new interpretive frame is usually
accomplished only with outside help. For Watzlawick, that meant therapy. As a
social constructionist, he wouldn’t try to discover the “real” reason Mike drinks
or worry if it’s “true” that some people are genetically predisposed to addiction.
In his view, the main goal of therapy is to reduce pain. He would regard the
disease model of addiction as an alternative construction—a fi ction, perhaps, but
for the Franklin family a useful and less painful one. 13
“Instead of ‘It sucks’ you could say, ‘It doesn’t speak to me.’”
© Mike Twohy/The New Yorker Collection/www.cartoonbank.com
CRITIQUE: ADJUSTMENTS NEEDED WITHIN THE SYSTEM
Janet Beavin Bavelas co-authored Pragmatics of Human Communication with Wat-
zlawick in 1967. Twenty-fi ve years later, she reviewed the status of the axioms
that are the central focus of the interactional view. 14 (Recall they were labeled as
tentative.) Based on the research program she conducted at the University of
Victoria in Canada, Bavelas recommends modifying some axioms of the theory.
Her proposal serves as an informed critique of the original theory.
The fi rst axiom claims that we cannot not communicate. Perhaps because of
the catchy way it’s stated, this axiom has been both challenged and defended
more than the others. Although Bavelas is fascinated by the way people avoid
eye contact or physically position themselves to communicate that they don’t
want to communicate, she now concedes that not all nonverbal behavior is
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CHAPTER 13: THE INTERACTIONAL VIEW 173
communication. Observers may draw inferences from what they see, but in the
absence of a sender–receiver relationship and the intentional use of a shared
code, Bavelas would describe nonverbal behavior as informative rather than
communicative.
As Figure 13–1 shows, the Palo Alto Group treated the verbal and nonver-
bal channels as providing different kinds of information. Bavelas now thinks
that the notion of functionally separate channels dedicated to different uses is
wrong. She suggests a whole-message model that treats verbal and nonverbal acts
as completely integrated and often interchangeable. In effect, she has erased
the broken vertical line that divides Figure 13–1 down the middle—a major
shift in thinking.
The content/relationship distinction of another axiom is still viable for
Bavelas. As did Watzlawick, she continues to believe that the content of com-
munication is always embedded in the relationship environment. Looking
back, however, she thinks they confused readers by sometimes equating the
term metacommunication with all communication about a relationship. She now
wants to reserve the word for explicit communication about the process of com-
municating. Examples of metacommunication narrowly defi ned would be Lau-
rie Franklin telling her brother, “Don’t talk to me like a kid,” and Mike’s
response, “What do you mean by that?” Laurie’s raised eyebrows and Mike’s
angry tone of voice would also be part of their tightly integrated packages of
meaning.
Despite Bavelas’ second thoughts, I’m impressed with the lasting impact that
Watzlawick and his associates have had on the fi eld of interpersonal communi-
cation. The publication of Pragmatics of Human Communication marked the begin-
ning of widespread study of the way communication patterns sustain or destroy
relationships. The interactional view has also encouraged communication schol-
ars to go beyond narrow cause-and-effect assumptions. The entanglements Wat-
zlawick described refl ect the complexities of real-life relationships that most of
us know. In that way, the interactional view is similar to the other two interpre-
tive theories covered in this section on relationship maintenance. All of them
major in description of communication rather than prediction.
Whole-message model
Regards verbal and
nonverbal components
of a message as com-
pletely integrated and
often interchangeable.
QUESTIONS TO SHARPEN YOUR FOCUS
1. Systems theorists compare the family system to a mobile. What part of
the mobile represents metacommunication? If you were constructing a mobile
to model your family, how would you depict symmetrical and complementary
relationships?
2. For decades, the United States and the former Soviet Union were engaged
in a nuclear arms race. How does Watzlawick’s axiom about the punctuation
of communication sequences explain the belligerence of both nations?
3. Can you make up something your instructor might say that would place you
in a double bind? Under what conditions would this be merely laughable
rather than frustrating?
4. At the start of this chapter, the interactional view is charted as a
highly interpretive theory coming from the cybernetic tradition—a tradition
mapped as relatively objective in Chapter 4. Can you resolve this apparent
contradiction?
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174 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
Recommended resource: Paul Watzlawick, Janet Beavin Bavelas, and Don Jackson, Prag-
matics of Human Communication, W. W. Norton, New York, 1967.
Commitments of the Palo Alto Group: Codruta Porcar and Cristian Hainic, “The Interac-
tive Dimension of Communication: The Pragmatics of the Palo Alto Group,” Journal for
Communication and Culture, Vol. 1, No. 2, 2011, pp. 4–19.
Original conception of the theory: Gregory Bateson, “Information and Codifi cation,” in
Communication, Jurgen Ruesch and Gregory Bateson (eds.), W. W. Norton, New York, 1951,
pp. 168–211.
System theory: B. Aubrey Fisher, “The Pragmatic Perspective of Human Communica-
tion: A View from System Theory,” in Human Communication Theory, Frank E. X. Dance
(ed.), Harper & Row, New York, 1982, pp. 192–219.
Relational control: L. Edna Rogers and Richard Farace, “Analysis of Relational Com-
munication in Dyads: New Measurement Procedures,” Human Communication Research,
Vol. 1, 1975, pp. 222–239.
Relational control in families: L. Edna Rogers, “Relational Communication Theory: An
Interactional Family Theory,” in Engaging Theories in Family Communication: Multiple Per-
spectives, Dawn O. Braithwaite and Leslie A. Baxter (eds.), Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 2006,
pp. 115–129.
Reframing: Paul Watzlawick, John H. Weakland, and Richard Fisch, Change, W. W.
Norton, New York, 1974, pp. 92–160.
Whether one cannot not communicate: Theodore Clevenger Jr., “Can One Not Commu-
nicate? A Confl ict of Models,” Communication Studies, Vol. 42, 1991, pp. 340–353.
Social construction approach to therapy: Paul Watzlawick and Michael Hoyt, “Construct-
ing Therapeutic Realities: A Conversation with Paul Watzlawick,” in Handbook of Construc-
tive Therapies, Michael Hoyt (ed.), Jossey-Bass, San Francisco, CA, 1997, pp. 183–196.
Theory adjustments: Janet Beavin Bavelas, “Research into the Pragmatics of Human
Communication,” Journal of Strategic and Systemic Therapies, Vol. 11, No. 2, 1992, pp. 15–29.
Current face of the theory: L. Edna Rogers and Valentin Escudero (eds.), Relational
Communication: An Interactional Perspective to Study Process and Form, Lawrence Erlbaum,
Mahwah, NJ, 2004.
Critique: Carol Wilder, “The Palo Alto Group: Diffi culties and Directions of the Interac-
tional View for Human Communication Research,” Human Communication Research, Vol. 5,
1979, pp. 171–186.
For additional scholarly and artistic resources, click on
Further Resources under Theory Resources at
www.afi rstlook.com.
A SECOND LOOK
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175
I n f l u e n c e
Getting a person to play a role in an unfamiliar situation can be a powerful
method of infl uence. To explore its effectiveness, Yale social psychologists
Irving Janis and Leon Mann surveyed students at a women’s college to fi nd
out their attitudes and behavior toward smoking—a practice quite resistant to
change. 1 They later asked many who smoked to take part in a role play that
supposedly assessed their acting ability. Each woman was to take the role of a
patient who had gone to the doctor because of a continual cough. She was now
back in his offi ce to get the results of a battery of tests the doctor had ordered.
She had no script to follow and could respond to the other actor in whatever
way she desired. 2
One researcher then ushered her into a room that was decked out with a
scale, sterilizer, fl uorescent light for reading X-rays, and a medical school diploma
on the wall. The room even smelled of disinfectant. The second experimenter
wore a white lab coat with a stethoscope around his neck. Speaking in an author-
itative tone of voice, the “doctor” came right to the point. Her chest X-ray gave
a positive indication of lung cancer and the diagnosis was confi rmed by lab tests.
Without question, this condition had developed over a long time. He then paused
to let the young woman respond. Often she would say that she’d been smoking
too much. Most students eventually asked what they could do.
The doctor wasn’t optimistic: “We need to operate immediately. Can you be
prepared to check into the hospital tomorrow afternoon?” The surgery only had
a 50–50 chance of success of stopping the cancer ’s spread. At this point the
minidrama could go in a number of directions. The student might express fear
for her life, anguish over broken plans for graduation, hesitancy over what to
tell her parents or fi ancé, anger at God, or disbelief that it was happening to her.
No matter how the dialogue went, the young woman got caught up in the situ-
ation and emotionally involved with the link between smoking and cancer.
Janis and Mann waited two weeks for the effects of the role play to take hold
and then rechecked attitudes toward cigarette smoking. They found that role-
play students expressed less favorable opinions toward smoking than they had
before. They also discovered that the average cigarettes-per-day habit had
dropped from 24 (more than a pack a day) to 14—a dramatic decrease in actual
smoking behavior. The attitudes of smokers in the control group who didn’t have
the role-play experience remained the same as before. So did their 24 cigarettes-
per-day habit.
Relapse is common when smokers try to cut back or quit cold turkey. Many
fi nd the force of nicotine addiction, cigarette advertising, and friends who smoke
hard to resist. Yet after eight months the slippage was slight. On average, those
who participated in the emotional role play lit up 15 times a day—only one
cigarette more.
Why is role play so effective in this case? In their book, New Techniques of
Persuasion, the late Gerald Miller (Michigan State University) and Michael Burgoon
(University of Arizona) suggested three possibilities. Role play makes for imme-
diacy. The cigarette–cancer connection becomes more real to the smoker when
she can’t get the image of the doctor delivering bad news out of her mind.
There’s also personal involvement. The smoker can no longer stand aloof from the
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176 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
threat of cancer when she’s actively stating her fears to the doctor. Finally, Miller
and Burgoon suggested we consider the effect of nonverbal messages, such as the
doctor pointing to the patient’s X-ray. “The impact of this simple behavioral
sequence may well transcend the effects of an extended medical lecture on the
dangers of cigarette smoking.” 3
We’ve recounted this experiment because it illustrates and measures what
infl uence theorists, researchers, and many practitioners value. Will a persuasive
approach change people’s inner attitudes—their beliefs, their emotional response,
and what they intend to do? Will that shift in attitude be matched by a change
in actual behavior? Are these changes so deep-seated that they will resist forces
that tend to draw them back into old patterns of thinking and behavior? And
will they last over time? The three theories that follow suggest different routes
to this kind of effective interpersonal infl uence and, most important, explain
why they work.
“I’m through playing doctor.
With insurance forms, co-payments,
and malpractice suits, it’s just no fun!”
© Chris Wildt. Reprinted by permission of
www.CartoonStock.com
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177
14C H A P T E R
Social Judgment Theory
of Muzafer Sherif
My son, Jim, is an airline pilot—a job that has changed dramatically since
the terrorist acts of September 11, 2001. When he walks through the airport he
overhears a variety of comments about the safety of air travel. I’ve listed
11 statements that refl ect the range of attitudes he’s heard expressed. Read
through these opinions and consider the diversity of viewpoints they represent.
a. Airlines aren’t willing to spend money on tight security.
b. All life is risk. Flying is like anything else.
c. Anyone willing to die for a cause can hijack an airplane.
d. Air marshals with guns can deter terrorists.
e. There are old pilots and bold pilots; there are no old, bold pilots.
f. Pilots drink before they fl y to quell their fears of skyjacking.
g. Getting there by plane is safer than taking the train or bus.
h. American pilots are trained to handle any in-fl ight emergency.
i. It’s easy to get into the cockpit of a jet airplane.
j. Passenger screening is better with full-body scanners in place.
k. The odds of a plane crash are 1 in 10 million.
Take a few minutes to mark your reactions to these statements. If you follow
each instruction before jumping ahead to the next one, you’ll have a chance to
experience what social judgment theory predicts.
1. To begin, read through the items again and underline the single statement
that most closely represents your point of view.
2. Now look and see whether any other items seem reasonable. Circle the
letters in front of those acceptable statements.
3. Reread the remaining statements and cross out the letters in front of any
that are objectionable to you. After you cross out these unreasonable ideas,
you may have marked all 11 statements one way or another. It’s also pos-
sible that you’ll leave some items unmarked.
●
Objective Interpretive
Socio-psychological tradition
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178 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
THREE LATITUDES: ACCEPTANCE, REJECTION, AND NONCOMMITMENT
I’ve just taken you on paper through what social judgment theory says happens
in our heads. We hear a message and immediately judge where it should be
placed on the attitude scale in our minds. According to the late Muzafer Sherif,
a social psychologist at the University of Oklahoma, this subconscious sorting
of ideas occurs at the instant of perception. We weigh every new idea by com-
paring it with our present point of view. He called his analysis of attitudes the
social judgment–involvement approach, but most scholars refer to it simply as social
judgment theory.
Sherif believed that the three responses you made on the previous page are
necessary to determine your attitude toward airline safety, or any other attitude
structure. In all probability you circled a range of statements that seemed reason-
able to you and crossed out a number of opinions you couldn’t accept. That’s
why Sherif would see your attitude as a latitude rather than any single statement
you underlined. He wrote that an “individual’s stand is not represented ade-
quately as a point along a continuum. Different persons espousing the same
position may differ considerably in their tolerance around this point.” 1
He saw an attitude as an amalgam of three zones. The fi rst zone is called the
latitude of acceptance. It’s made up of the item you underlined and any others you
circled as acceptable. A second zone is the latitude of rejection. It consists of the
opinions you crossed out as objectionable. The leftover statements, if any, defi ne
the latitude of noncommitment. These were the items you found neither objectionable
nor acceptable. They’re akin to marking undecided or no opinion on a traditional
attitude survey. Sherif said we need to know the location and width of each of these
interrelated latitudes in order to describe a person’s attitude structure.
Suppose Jim encounters Ned, a man in the airport who is complaining about
the dangers of fl ight as evidenced by 9/11 terrorism. Assume Jim would like to
persuade Ned that fl ying is absolutely safe, or at least much less risky than anxious
Ned believes. Social judgment theory recommends that Jim try to fi gure out the
location and breadth of the man’s three latitudes before presenting his case.
Figure 14–1 shows where Ned places those 11 statements along the mental yard-
stick he uses to gauge safety. As you will discover in the next few pages, if my
son has a good idea of this cognitive map, he’ll have a much better chance of
crafting a message that will persuade Ned to be more optimistic about fl ying.
Social judgment–
involvement  
Perception and evaluation
of an idea by comparing
it with current attitudes.
Latitude of acceptance  
The range of ideas that a
person sees as reason-
able or worthy of consid-
eration.
Latitude of rejection  
The range of ideas that a
person sees as unreason-
able or objectionable.
Latitude of
noncommitment  
The range of ideas that
a person sees as neither
acceptable nor
objectionable.
EGO-INVOLVEMENT: HOW MUCH DO YOU CARE?
There’s one other thing about Ned’s attitude structure that Jim needs to know—
how important the issue of air safety is in Ned’s life. Sherif called this concept
ego-involvement. Ego-involvement refers to how crucial an issue is in our lives. Is
it central to our well-being? Do we think about it a lot? Does our attitude on the
matter go a long way toward defi ning who we are? In Figure 14–1 , I’ve used an
anchor to represent the position that most closely represents Ned’s point of
view—that fl ying is dangerous because fanatics are willing to die for their cause.
Sherif said that’s what our favored position does; it anchors all our other thoughts
about the topic.
If air safety were only a casual concern for Ned, it would be fi tting to rep-
resent his stance with a small anchor that could easily be dragged to a new
position. That’s probably the case for some of the nonfl iers in the terminal who
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CHAPTER 14: SOCIAL JUDGMENT THEORY 179
are simply picking up a rental car, dropping off Aunt Juanita for her fl ight, or
perhaps retrieving a lost bag for a friend. These folks are for safe fl ights and
against crashes, but air safety doesn’t present a major personal concern.
Despite the fact that images of airplanes slamming into the twin towers of
the World Trade Center are stenciled into most people’s minds, not everyone
who fl ies dwells on the topic. Those people don’t argue about it, stew over it,
or get sweaty palms when their jet roars down the runway. As long as everything
seems normal, their ego-involvement is moderate.
But for Ned and others like him, the issue is crucial. They are fearful fl iers
who swap horror stories of knowing someone who died on a hijacked plane.
They experience panic when three swarthy men board their fl ight to Chicago.
Others may experience only passing anxiety about fl ying, but since Ned’s fear
is deep-seated, the hefty anchor shown in Figure 14–1 is appropriate.
People with attitude profi les similar to Ned’s are highly ego-involved. Some
join the International Air Safety Association (IASA), an airline passenger asso-
ciation that lobbies for stricter safety regulations. One way Sherif defi ned high
ego-involvement was membership in a group with a known stand. My son’s pilot’s
license, Air Line Pilots Association union card, and employment with a major
airline are indications that he’s at least as ego-involved in the issue as Ned. Of
course, his confi dence in airline safety is at the other end of the spectrum.
Three features of Ned’s attitude structure are typical of people with high
ego-involvement in an issue. The fi rst indication is that his latitude of noncom-
mitment is almost nonexistent. People who don’t care about an issue usually
have a wide latitude of noncommitment, but Ned has only one statement in that
category. He may not be sure about old, bold pilots, but he has defi nite opinions
on everything else.
Second, Ned rejects all fi ve statements that offer assurances of safety. Accord-
ing to social judgment theory, a wide latitude of rejection is a typical sign of high
ego-involvement. Ned has intense feelings about the potential dangers of fl ying;
Ego-involvement
The importance or cen-
trality of an issue to a
person’s life, often dem-
onstrated by membership
in a group with a known
stand.
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11
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FIGURE 14–1 Ned’s Cognitive Map Regarding Air Safety
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180 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
he sees safety as a black-and-white issue. People with low ego-involvement
would probably see more gray area.
Finally, people who hold extreme opinions on either side of an issue almost
always care deeply. While it’s possible to feel passionate about middle-of-the-
road positions, social judgment researchers fi nd that massive attitude anchors
are usually located toward the ends of the scale. Extreme positions and high
ego-involvement go together. That’s why religion, sex, and politics are tradition-
ally taboo topics in the wardroom of a U.S. Navy ship at sea. When passions run
deep, radical opinions are common, and there’s little tolerance for diversity.
Steven Spielberg’s fi lm Lincoln illustrates Sherif’s concepts of ego-involvement
and attitudes as latitudes. 2 Against the advice of his cabinet, the president pushes
Congress to pass a constitutional amendment abolishing slavery. A yes vote falls
somewhere within each Republican’s latitude of acceptance. But to get the
needed two-thirds majority, Lincoln needs to switch the votes of 20 Democrats,
whose party publicly opposes the amendment. Abolition appears to fall within
their latitude of rejection.
Yet Lincoln’s men see a window of opportunity. Leaving Congress are 39
lame-duck Democrats who now have weaker party ties. With that lower ego-
involvement, these 39 men may have a wider latitude of noncommitment toward
the amendment and could be encouraged to abstain rather than vote no. Some
might be swayed to broaden their latitude of acceptance, making a yes vote pos-
sible. The fi lm shows Lincoln’s political operatives in the House balcony noting
which Democrats are sweating or at least not cheering when their leaders lam-
bast the amendment. The aides then use Lincoln’s popularity, moral arguments,
job offers, threats, and bribes to induce latitude change. The amendment passes
and slavery is abolished by a two-vote margin.
Everything I’ve presented up to this point deals with the way social judg-
ment theory describes the cognitive structure of a person’s attitude. We now turn
to the two-step mental process that Sherif said is triggered when a person hears
or reads a message. Ned will fi rst evaluate the content of the message to see
where it falls vis-à-vis his own position—how far it is from his anchor. That’s
the judgment phase of social judgment theory. In the second stage of the process,
Ned will adjust his anchored attitude toward or away from the message he’s just
encountered. The next two sections explain the way Sherif said the two stages
of this infl uence process work.
Sherif claimed that we use our own anchored attitude as a comparison point when
we hear a discrepant message. He believed there’s a parallel between systematic
biases in the judgments we make in the physical world and the way we determine
other people’s attitudes. I recently set up three pails of water in my class to illus-
trate this principle. Even though the contents looked the same, the water in the
left bucket was just above freezing, the water in the right bucket was just below
scalding, and the water in the middle bucket was lukewarm. A student volun-
teered to plunge her left hand into the left bucket and her right hand into the right
bucket at the same time. Twenty seconds was about all she could take. I then asked
her to plunge both hands into the middle bucket and judge the temperature of the
water. Of course, this produced a baffl ing experience, because her left hand told
her the water was hot, while her right hand sent a message that it was cold.
JUDGING THE MESSAGE: CONTRAST AND ASSIMILATION ERRORS
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CHAPTER 14: SOCIAL JUDGMENT THEORY 181
Sherif hypothesized a similar contrast effect when people who are hot for an
idea hear a message on the topic that doesn’t have the same fi re. Judged by their
standard, even warm messages strike them as cold. Sherif’s social judgment–
involvement label nicely captures the idea of a link between ego-involvement and
perception. Highly committed people have large latitudes of rejection. Any mes-
sage that falls within that range will be perceived by them as more discrepant
from their anchor than it really is. The message is mentally pushed away to a
position that is farther out—not within the latitude of acceptance. So the hearer
doesn’t have to deal with it as a viable option.
All of this is bad news for Jim as he tries to dispel Ned’s fears. He’ll prob-
ably address Ned’s concerns head on:
Look, Ned, statistics show you’re much safer fl ying than taking the train or bus.
In fact, the most dangerous part of fl ying is the drive to the airport. I know you
worry about terrorists, but with the new full-body scanners the TSA is using,
there’s no way that guns, knives, or explosives can get on board. And you should
know there’s been an undercover air marshal riding shotgun back in coach on my
last three trips.
Jim hopes these points will be reassuring. If Ned hears them as they were
intended, they will register at 7, 8, and 9 on his mental scale, where a 1 represents
total danger and an 11 indicates complete safety. However, social judgment the-
ory says Ned won’t hear them that way. Because the message falls within Ned’s
latitude of rejection, he’s likely to judge the words as even farther from his
anchor, perhaps at 9, 10, and 11. The words will strike Ned as unbelievable, self-
serving, pilot propaganda—a false guarantee of safety that he’ll be quick to reject.
Contrast is a perceptual distortion that leads to polarization of ideas. But
according to Sherif, it happens only when a message falls within the latitude of
rejection. Assimilation is the opposite error of judgment. It’s the rubberband effect
that draws an idea toward the hearer ’s anchor so it seems that she and the
speaker share the same opinion. Assimilation takes place when a message falls
within the latitude of acceptance. For example, suppose Jim tells Ned that his
airline isn’t willing to spend money on effective security. Although that message
is at 4 on Ned’s cognitive map, he will hear it as more similar to his anchoring
attitude than it really is, perhaps at 3.
Sherif was unclear about how people judge a message that falls within their
latitude of noncommitment. Most interpreters assume that perceptual bias will
not kick in and that the message will be heard roughly as intended.
Contrast
A perceptual error
whereby people judge
messages that fall within
their latitude of rejection
as farther from their an-
chor than they really are.
Assimilation
A perceptual error
whereby people judge
messages that fall within
their latitude of accep-
tance as less discrepant
from their anchor than
they really are.
Judging how close or how far a message is from our own anchored position is
the fi rst stage of attitude change. Shifting our anchor in response is the second.
Sherif thought that both stages of the infl uence process usually take place below
the level of consciousness.
According to social judgment theory, once we’ve judged a new message to
be within our latitude of acceptance, we will adjust our attitude somewhat to
accommodate the new input. The persuasive effect will be positive but partial.
We won’t travel the whole distance, but there will be some measurable move-
ment toward the speaker ’s perceived position. How much movement? Sherif
wasn’t specifi c, but he did claim that the greater the discrepancy, the more hearers
DISCREPANCY AND ATTITUDE CHANGE
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182 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
will adjust their attitudes. Thus, the message that persuades the most is the one
that is most discrepant from the listener’s position yet falls within his or her
latitude of acceptance or latitude of noncommitment.
If we’ve judged a message to be within our latitude of rejection, we will also
adjust our attitude, but in this case away from what we think the speaker is advo-
cating. Since people who are highly ego-involved in a topic have a broad range of
rejection, most messages aimed to persuade them are in danger of actually driv-
ing them further away. This predicted boomerang effect suggests that people are
often driven rather than drawn to the attitude positions they occupy.
The mental processes Sherif described are automatic. He reduced interpersonal
infl uence to the issue of the distance between the message and the hearer’s position:
Stripped to its bare essential, the problem of attitude change is the problem of the
degree of discrepancy from communication and the felt necessity of coping with
the discrepancy. 3
So the only space for volition in social judgment theory is the choice of alterna-
tive messages available to the person who’s trying to persuade.
Boomerang effect
Attitude change in the
opposite direction of
what the message advo-
cates; listeners driven
away from rather than
drawn to an idea.
PRACTICAL ADVICE FOR THE PERSUADER
Sherif would have advised Jim to avoid messages that claim fl ying is safer than
taking the bus or train. Ned simply won’t believe them, and they may push him
deeper into his anti-aviation stance. To make sure his words have a positive
“We think you could gain much wider support simply by re-languaging your bigotry.”
© William Haefeli/The New Yorker Collection/www.cartoonbank.com
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CHAPTER 14: SOCIAL JUDGMENT THEORY 183
effect, Jim should select a message that falls at the edge of Ned’s latitude of
acceptance. Even after the perceptual process of assimilation kicks in, Ned will
still judge Jim’s message to be discrepant from his point of view and shift his
attitude slightly in that direction.
Ned, you’re right. For years the airlines—mine included—didn’t invest the money
it takes to successfully screen passengers. But 9/11 has changed all that. Every
ticket you buy has a surcharge to pay for tight security. And the days of the
cowboy pilot are over. Because it’s my job to protect hundreds of lives in a
$100 million airplane, I do it by the book every fl ight. I know that if I get my
butt there safely, yours will get there that way too.
Jim might try a riskier strategy to produce greater attitude shift. He could
use the vague statement about there being no old, bold pilots, since ambiguity
can often serve better than clarity. When George W. Bush started campaigning
for president, he called himself a “compassionate conservative.” Nobody knew
exactly what the label meant, so the term stayed out of voters’ latitude of rejec-
tion. If Jim goes that route and Ned presses for clarifi cation on the absence of
old, bold pilots, Jim can explain that rigorous cockpit checkrides weeded out
those who take chances. But this approach could backfi re and feed Ned’s fears
if the statement calls to mind an image of reckless pilots about to crash
and burn.
The idea of crafting a message to fall within Ned’s latitude of acceptance or
noncommitment is frustrating to Jim. He wants more change than these strategies
offer. But according to social judgment theory, limited change is all he can get in
a one-shot attempt. If he were talking to an open-minded person with wide lati-
tudes of acceptance and noncommitment, a bigger shift would be possible. Toby,
a student in my class, saw himself that way over a broad range of issues:
Time and time again I fi nd myself easily persuaded. Afterward I wonder, How
did I get talked into this one? Credit it to my fl exibility, willingness to try, or
naïve trust in people’s motives. I always pay attention to advice given by a
friend or an expert. Social judgment theory would say that I simply have a
wide latitude of noncommitment. That’s because I have low ego-involvement
most of the time. The situation is not a hill to die on, so why should I get my
pride involved?
Toby isn’t typical. We’re more likely to encounter people who are dogmatic
on every issue. “Don’t confuse me with the facts,” they say. “My mind is made
up.” These cantankerous souls have wide latitudes of rejection. This probably
doesn’t describe Ned. His deeply skeptical attitude is likely limited to fear of
fl ying. But when Jim is dealing with a highly ego-involved traveler, he has
to work within a narrow range. True conversion from one end of the scale
to the other is a rare phenomenon. The only way to stimulate large-scale change
is through a series of small, successive movements. Persuasion is a gradual
process.
It’s also a social process. The lack of an interpersonal bond between Jim and
Ned limits the amount of infl uence that’s possible. If Ned heard strong reassur-
ances of airline safety from his friends and family, it might occasion a major shift.
Sherif noted that “most dramatic cases of attitude change, the most widespread
and enduring, are those involving changes in reference groups with differing
values.” 4
Reference groups  
Groups that members use
to define their identity.
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184 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
Research on the predictions of social judgment theory (SJT) requires highly ego-
involving issues where strong resistance to some persuasive messages is likely.
The topics of suffi cient sleep, alcohol consumption, and asking for money seem
ripe for assessing the theory’s validity.
Suffi cient sleep. In an early experiment testing social judgment theory,
psychologists Stephen Bochner (University of New South Wales) and Chester
Insko (University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill) queried college students about
how much sleep they thought a person should get each night. 5 Before the study,
most college students accepted the conventional wisdom that the human body
functions best with eight hours of sleep. They then read an article written by an
expert in the fi eld that claimed young adults actually need much less. The mes-
sage was the same for all with one crucial difference. Some students were told
they needed eight hours, some seven, some six, and so on, right down the line.
The fi nal group actually read that humans need no sleep at all! Then each group
had a chance to give their opinions.
Sherif’s theory suggests that the fewer hours recommended, the more stu-
dents will be swayed, until they begin to regard the message as patently ridic-
ulous. The results shown in Figure 14–2 confi rm this prediction. Persuasion
increased as the hours advocated were reduced to 3, a message that caused
students to revise their estimate of optimum sleep down to 6.3 hours. Any-
thing less than 3 hours apparently fell outside their latitude of acceptance and
became progressively ineffective. But a highly credible speaker can shrink the
hearer ’s latitude of rejection. When the “expert” in the sleep study was a
Nobel Prize-winning physiologist rather than a YMCA director, persuasion
increased.
ATTITUDES ON SLEEP, BOOZE, AND MONEY: EVIDENCE SUPPORTING SJT
FIGURE 14–2 Sleep Study Results
Adapted from Bochner and Insko, “Communicator Discrepancy, Source Credibility and
Opinion Change”
8
6.0
6.2
6.4
6.6
6.8
Students’
postmessage
opinion of
sleep needed
(in hours)
Optimal sleep advocated by expert
(in hours)
7.0
7.2
7.4
7.6
7.8
7 6 5 4 3 2 1 0
z z z
z z z
z z
z
z z
z
z z
z
z
z
z
z
z
z z
z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z z
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CHAPTER 14: SOCIAL JUDGMENT THEORY 185
Alcohol consumption. In the fall of 2004, Michigan State University com-
munication professors Sandi Smith, Charles Atkin, and three other university
colleagues measured students’ perception of drinking behavior at the school. 6
They found a campus wide pluralistic ignorance of the actual amount of booze
consumed by students who drink at a party. Whereas reported alcohol con-
sumption averaged 5.3 drinks—with 63 percent downing fi ve drinks or less—
students thought the norm was closer to six drinks (5.9 percent). This
gap concerned health center offi cials because perceived social norms affect
behavior—in this case, the idea encouraged risky binge drinking. In preparation
for a campus wide social norm campaign to correct the misperception and
publicize the actual norm, Smith and Atkin measured student body latitudes
of acceptance, noncommitment, and rejection of various messages. Based on
their research they selected the following true phrase to be included in every
communication about student drinking behavior: “Most (63 percent) drink zero
to fi ve when they party.” The message fell within most students’ latitude of
noncommitment—as discrepant from campus opinion as possible while still
being believable.
The intensive, three-month campaign involved posters across campus,
table tents in the cafeteria, and multiple ads in the campus newspaper and in
a news magazine handed out at orientation. Almost all students reported see-
ing the zero-to-fi ve-drinks message many times. The campaign was a success.
When Smith and Atkin measured perception of drinking in the spring, they
found that students had lowered their estimate to 4.9—one drink less than they
had thought in the fall. Even more impressive, the average of number of drinks
consumed at a party during that time span fell from 5.3 to 4.5—almost a full
glass or mug. Like the lung-cancer role-play experiment reported in the
introduction to this section, this research validates an effective strategy to
induce lasting change in beliefs and behavior, even when the issue is highly
ego-involving.
Asking for money. An anecdotal story of SJT in action comes from a uni-
versity development director I know who was making a call on a rich
alumnus. He anticipated that the prospective donor would give as much as
$10,000. He made his pitch and asked what the wealthy businessman could
do. The man protested that it had been a lean year and that times were tough—
he couldn’t possibly contribute more than $20,000. The fundraiser fi gured that
he had seriously underestimated the giver ’s latitude of acceptance and that
$20,000 was on the low end of that range. Without missing a beat he replied,
“Trevor, do you really think that’s enough?” The alumnus wrote a check for
$25,000.
How do you feel about the fundraising ploy just described? The persuasive
technique obviously worked, but the application of social judgment theory raises
some thorny ethical questions. Is it OK for fundraisers to alter their pitch based
on a potential donor’s latitude of acceptance? Is it all right for politicians to be
intentionally vague so that their message has broad appeal? Or consider my
son’s genuine desire to allay the fears of the fl ying public. The theory claims Jim
will be more effective by presenting a soft-sell message at mid scale rather than
stating his genuine conviction that fl ying is safer than driving. Are these choices
you want to make, or want others to make when they try to infl uence you?
Pluralistic ignorance
The mistaken idea that
everyone else is doing
or thinking something
that they aren’t.
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186 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
The social norm campaign on alcohol consumption and the college fundraiser’s
appeal for a generous contribution demonstrate that social judgment theory has
practical utility —one of the six criteria of a good scientifi c theory. The trick for
the infl uence practitioner is fi guring out where the other person’s latitudes of
acceptance, noncommitment, and rejection lie. That’s what audience analysis,
market research, and focus groups are all about, but it’s hard to imagine Jim
handing a questionnaire to every jittery traveler in the departure lounge.
Social judgment theory offers specifi c predictions about what happens in the
mind of someone who hears or reads a message that falls within his or her lati-
tude of acceptance or rejection. Sherif’s appeal to the perceptual distortions of
assimilation and contrast, as well as the crucial role of ego-involvement, offer a
compelling explanation of what goes on behind the eyes. Yet like all cognitive
explanations put forth in this section of the book, these mental structures and
processes can’t be seen. We can only infer what’s going on inside the head by
observing the input and the output—the message and a person’s response. The
SJT explanation of persuasion is complex, but given Sherif’s claim that an atti-
tude can’t be identifi ed by a single point on a continuum, it’s hard to imagine a
simpler account of what’s happening.
As the studies I’ve described demonstrate, social judgment theory requires
quantitative research, and that’s the kind social scientists have designed. But com-
pared to the hundreds of empirical studies run to test and refi ne other leading
theories of persuasion, the research base of SJT is relatively small. That may be
because it’s hard to locate a wide range of experimental subjects who run the
gamut of high to low ego-involvement and hold widely different opinions on
the same topic. And once they are willing to participate, the process of locating
their three latitudes can be tedious for everyone involved. Even so, specifi c pre-
dictions of SJT are testable; some have been supported and a few found to fail.
For example, Bochner and Insko’s sleep experiment confi rms that as long as a
message remains outside people’s latitudes of rejection, the more discrepant it is
from the anchor, the greater the attitude shift in the desired direction will be. On
the other hand, the boomerang effect that SJT predicts can happen when a mes-
sage is delivered in the latitude of rejection is not often found. (Students who
read the bizarre claim that the body thrives with zero hours of sleep per night
didn’t then decide that eight hours were too few.)
Despite the questions that surround social judgment theory, it is an elegant
conception of the persuasion process that falls well within my latitude of accep-
tance. There’s an intuitive appeal to the idea of crafting a message just short of
the latitude of rejection in order to be as effectively discrepant as possible. That
would be my message to Jim as he confronts a variety of air travelers. I wonder
in what latitude of attitude my advice will fall?
CRITIQUE: A THEORY WELL WITHIN THE LATITUDE OF ACCEPTANCE
1. How does the concept of attitudes as latitudes help you understand your atti-
tude toward the various requirements of this course?
2. Suppose you fi nd out that the fellow sitting next to you is highly ego-involved
in the issue of gun control. Based on social judgment theory, what three
predictions about his attitude structure would be reasonable to make?
QUESTIONS TO SHARPEN YOUR FOCUS
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CHAPTER 14: SOCIAL JUDGMENT THEORY 187
3. What practical advice does social judgment theory offer if you want to ask
your boss for a raise?
4. Do you have any ethical qualms about applying the wisdom of social judg-
ment theory? Why or why not?
A SECOND LOOK Recommended resources: Donald Granberg, “Social Judgment Theory,” in Communication
Yearbook 6, Michael Burgoon (ed.), Sage, Beverly Hills, CA, 1982, pp. 304–329; Daniel J.
O’Keefe, “Social Judgment Theory,” in Persuasion: Theory and Research, Sage, Newbury
Park, CA, 1990, pp. 29–44.
Original conception: Muzafer Sherif and Carl Hovland, Social Judgment: Assimilation
and Contrast Effects in Communication and Attitude Change, Yale University, New Haven,
CT, 1961.
Further development: Carolyn Sherif, Muzafer Sherif, and Roger Nebergall, Attitude and
Attitude Change: The Social Judgment–Involvement Approach, W. B. Saunders, Philadelphia,
PA, 1965.
Attitudes as latitudes: Kenneth Sereno and Edward Bodaken, “Ego-Involvement and
Attitude Change: Toward a Reconceptualization of Persuasive Effect,” Speech Monographs,
Vol. 39, 1972, pp. 151–158.
Ego-involvement: William W. Wilmot, “Ego-Involvement: A Confusing Variable in
Speech Communication Research,” Quarterly Journal of Speech, Vol. 57, 1971, pp. 429–436.
Assimilation and contrast: Alison Ledgerwood and Shelly Chaiken, “Priming Us and
Them: Automatic Assimilation and Contrast in Group Attitudes,” Journal of Personality and
Social Psychology , Vol. 93, 2007, pp. 940–956.
Message discrepancy: Stan Kaplowitz and Edward Fink, “Message Discrepancy and
Persuasion,” in Progress in Communication Sciences: Advances in Persuasion, Vol. 13, George
Barnett and Frank Boster (eds.), Ablex, Greenwich, CT, 1997, pp. 75–106.
Boomerang effect: Hilobumi Sakaki, “Experimental Studies of Boomerang Effects
Following Persuasive Communication,” Psychologia, Vol. 27, No. 2, 1984, pp. 84–88.
Sleep study: Stephen Bochner and Chester Insko, “Communicator Discrepancy,
Source Credibility and Opinion Change,” Journal of Personality and Social Psychology,
Vol. 4, 1966, pp. 614–621.
Changing social norms for drinking on campus: Sandi Smith, Charles Atkin, Dennis Martell,
Rebecca Allen, and Larry Hembroff, “A Social Judgment Theory Approach to Conducting
Formative Research in a Social Norms Campaign,” Communication Theory , Vol. 16, 2006,
pp. 141–152.
Critique: Hee Sun Park, Timothy Levine, Catherine Y. K. Waterman, Tierney Oregon, and
Sarah Forager, “The Effects of Argument Quality and Involvement Type on Attitude Forma-
tion and Attitude Change,” Human Communication Research, Vol. 33, 2007, pp. 81–102.
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188
15C H A P T E R
Elaboration Likelihood
Model
of Richard Petty & John Cacioppo
Like a number of women whose children are out of the home, Rita Francisco has
gone back to college. Her program isn’t an aimless sampling of classes to fi ll
empty hours—she has enrolled in every course that will help her become a more
persuasive advocate. Rita is a woman on a mission.
Rita’s teenage daughter was killed when the car she was riding in
smashed into a stone wall. After drinking three cans of beer at a party, the girl’s
18-year-old boyfriend lost control on a curve while driving 80 miles per hour.
Rita’s son walks with a permanent limp as a result of injuries sustained when a
high school girl plowed through the parking lot of a 7-Eleven on a Friday night.
When the county prosecutor obtained a DUI (driving under the infl uence)
conviction, it only fueled Rita’s resolve to get young drinking drivers off
the road. She has become active with Mothers Against Drunk Driving and
works to convince anyone who will listen that zero-tolerance laws, which
make it illegal for drivers under the age of 21 to have any measurable amount
of alcohol in their system, should be strictly enforced. Rita also wants to
persuade others that young adults caught driving with more than 0.02 percent
blood alcohol content should automatically lose their driver ’s licenses until
they are 21.
This is a tough sell on most college campuses. While her classmates can
appreciate the tragic reasons underlying her fervor, few subscribe to what they
believe is a drastic solution. As a nontraditional, older student, Rita realizes that
her younger classmates could easily dismiss her campaign as the ranting of a
hysterical parent. She’s determined to develop the most effective persuasive
strategy possible and wonders if she would have the most success by presenting
well-reasoned arguments for enforcing zero-tolerance laws. Then again, couldn’t
she sway students more by lining up highly credible people to endorse her
proposal?

Objective Interpretive
Socio-psychological tradition
●
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CHAPTER 15: ELABORATION LIKELIHOOD MODEL 189
Ohio State psychologist Richard Petty thinks Rita is asking the right questions.
He conducted his Ph.D. dissertation study using the topic of teenage driving to
test the relative effectiveness of strong-message arguments and high source cred-
ibility. He found that the results varied depending on which of two mental routes
to attitude change a listener happened to use. Petty labeled the two cognitive
processes the central route and the peripheral route. He sees the distinction as help-
ful in reconciling much of the confl icting data of persuasion research. Along with
his University of Chicago colleague John Cacioppo, he launched an intensive
program of study to discover the best way for a persuader to activate each route.
The central route involves message elaboration. Elaboration is “the extent to
which a person carefully thinks about issue-relevant arguments contained in a
persuasive communication.” 1 In an attempt to process new information ratio-
nally, people using the central route carefully scrutinize the ideas, try to fi gure
out if they have true merit, and mull over their implications. Similar to Berger’s
characterization of strategic message plans, elaboration requires high levels of
cognitive effort (see Chapter 9).
The peripheral route offers a mental shortcut path to accepting or rejecting
a message “without any active thinking about the attributes of the issue or
the object of consideration.” 2 Instead of doing extensive cognitive work, recipi-
ents rely on a variety of cues that allow them to make quick decisions. Robert
Cialdini of Arizona State University lists six cues that trigger a “click, whirr”
programmed response. 3 These cues allow people hearing a persuasive appeal to
fl y the peripheral route on automatic pilot:
1. Reciprocation—“You owe me.”
2. Consistency—“We’ve always done it that way.”
3. Social proof—“Everybody’s doing it.”
4. Liking—“Love me, love my ideas.”
5. Authority—“Just because I say so.”
6. Scarcity—“Quick, before they’re all gone.”
Figure 15–1 shows a simplifi ed version of Petty and Cacioppo’s elaboration
likelihood model (ELM) as it applies to Rita’s situation. Although their model’s
twin-route metaphor seems to suggest two mutually exclusive paths to persua-
sion, the theorists stress that the central route and the peripheral route are poles
on a cognitive processing continuum that shows the degree of mental effort a
person exerts when evaluating a message. 4 The elaboration scale at the top rep-
resents effortful scrutiny of arguments on the left-hand side and mindless reli-
ance on noncontent cues on the right. Most messages receive middle-ground
attention between these poles, but there’s always a trade-off. The more Rita’s
listeners work to discern the merits of strict zero-tolerance enforcement, the less
they’ll be infl uenced by peripheral factors such as their friends’ scoffi ng laughter
at her suggestion. Conversely, the more her hearers are affected by content-
irrelevant factors such as Rita’s age, accent, or appearance, the less they will be
affected by her ideas. We’ll work down the model one level at a time in order
to understand Petty and Cacioppo’s predictions about the likelihood of Rita’s
message being scrutinized by students at her college.
Central route
Message elaboration; the
path of cognitive process-
ing that involves scrutiny
of message content.
Message elaboration
The extent to which a
person carefully thinks
about issue-relevant argu-
ments contained in a per-
suasive communication.
Peripheral route
A mental shortcut process
that accepts or rejects a
message based on irrel-
evant cues as opposed to
actively thinking about
the issue.
THE CENTRAL AND PERIPHERAL ROUTES TO PERSUASION
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190 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
PERSUASIVE COMMUNICATION
Enforce “Zero Tolerance”
Central Route
(message elaboration)
Peripheral Route
(no message elaboration)
MOTIVATED TO PROCESS?
Personal relevance
Need for cognition
ABLE TO PROCESS?
Free from distraction
Sufficient knowledge
PERIPHERAL CUES
Speaker credibility
Reaction of others
External rewardsTYPE OF COGNITIVE
PROCESSING
Argument quality
Initial attitude
STRONG POSITIVE
ATTITUDE CHANGE
Enduring, resistant,
predicts behavior
STRONG NEGATIVE
ATTITUDE CHANGE
Enduring, resistant,
predicts behavior
WEAK ATTITUDE
CHANGE
Temporary, vulnerable,
does not predict behavior
NO CHANGE
OF ATTITUDE
MENTAL EFFORTMENTAL EFFORTHIGHHIGH LOWLOW
No
No
No
Favorable case Unfavorable case
Yes
Yes
Yes
Neutral case
FIGURE 15–1 The Elaboration Likelihood Model
Adapted from Petty and Cacioppo, “The Elaboration Likelihood Model: Current Status and
Controversies”
Petty and Cacioppo assume that people are motivated to hold correct attitudes.
The authors admit that we aren’t always logical, but they think we make a good
effort not to kid ourselves in our search for truth. We want to maintain reason-
able positions.
But a person can examine only a limited number of ideas. We are exposed
to so many persuasive messages that we would experience a tremendous infor-
mation overload if we tried to interact with every variant idea we heard or read
about. The only way to solve this problem is by being “lazy” toward most issues
in life. Petty and Cacioppo claim we have a large-mesh mental fi lter that allows
items we regard as less important to fl ow through without being carefully pro-
cessed. But statements about things that are personally relevant get trapped and
tested. In the terminology of social judgment theory (see Chapter 14), we’re
motivated to elaborate only ideas with which we are highly ego-involved.
There are few things in life more important to young Americans than the
right to drive. A license is the closest thing our society has to an adolescent rite
MOTIVATION FOR ELABORATION: IS IT WORTH THE EFFORT?
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CHAPTER 15: ELABORATION LIKELIHOOD MODEL 191
of passage; for some it is a passport to freedom. It seems unlikely, therefore,
that students would regard Rita’s zero-tolerance proposal as trivial. Yet threat-
ening the loss of license may have less personal relevance to students who don’t
drink, or to those who already make sure they don’t drive when they drink.
And if students over 21 aren’t worried about who’s driving on the road, they
too may feel that Rita’s proposal has little to do with them. So ELM’s authors
would regard teenage students who drive after drinking a few beers as espe-
cially motivated to grapple with arguments about automatic driver ’s license
suspension.
Petty and Cacioppo maintain that as long as people have a personal stake
in accepting or rejecting an idea, they will be much more infl uenced by what a
message says than by the characteristics of the person who says it. But when a
topic is no longer relevant, it gets sidetracked to the periphery of the mind,
where credibility cues take on greater importance. Without the motivation of
personal relevance, there probably will be little elaboration.
The theorists do recognize, however, that some people have a need for cog-
nitive clarity, regardless of the issue. In fact, they’ve developed a Need for Cogni-
tion Scale to identify individuals who are most likely to carefully consider message
arguments. 5 Four of the items state:
I really enjoy a task that involves coming up with new solutions to problems.
I prefer my life to be fi lled with puzzles that I must solve.
I like tasks that require little thought once I’ve learned them.
Thinking is not my idea of fun.
If you substantially agree with the fi rst two statements and take issue with the
last two, Petty and Cacioppo would anticipate that you’d be a person who works
through many of the ideas and arguments you hear.
ABILITY FOR ELABORATION: CAN THEY DO IT?
Once people have shown an inclination to think about the content of a message
(motivation), the next issue is whether they are able to do so. Since Rita’s imme-
diate audience consists of young men and women who have duly impressed a
college admissions offi cer with their ability to think, you would imagine that the
question of ability would be moot. But issue-relevant thinking (elaboration) takes
more than intelligence. It also requires concentration.
Distraction disrupts elaboration. Rita’s classmates will be hard-pressed to
think about her point of view if it’s expressed amid the din of a student union
snack bar where you can’t hear yourself think. Or perhaps she presents her solu-
tion for highway safety when students are trying to concentrate on something
else—an upcoming exam, a letter from home, or a mental replay of the winning
shot in an intramural basketball game.
Rita may face the same challenge as television advertisers who have only
the fl eeting attention of viewers. Like them, Rita can use repetition to ensure that
her main point comes across, but too much commotion will short-circuit a rea-
soned consideration of the message, no matter how much repetition is used. In
that case, students will use the peripheral route and judge the message by cues
that indicate whether Rita is a competent and trustworthy person.
Need for cognition
Desire for cognitive clar-
ity; an enjoyment of
thinking through ideas
even when they aren’t
personally relevant.
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192 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
TYPE OF ELABORATION: OBJECTIVE VERSUS BIASED THINKING
As you can see from the downward fl ow in the central path of their model
( Figure 15–1 ), Petty and Cacioppo believe motivation and ability strongly increase
the likelihood that a message will be elaborated in the minds of listeners. Yet as
social judgment theory suggests, they may not process the information in a fair
and objective manner. Rita might have the undivided attention of students who
care deeply about the right to drive, but discover that they’ve already built up
an organized structure of knowledge concerning the issue.
When Rita claims that the alcohol-related fatal crash rate for young drivers is
double that of drivers over 21, a student may counter with the fact that teenagers
drive twice as many miles and are therefore just as safe as adults. Whether or not
the statistics are true or the argument is valid isn’t the issue. The point is that those
who have already thought a lot about drinking and driving safety will probably
have made up their minds and be biased in the way they process Rita’s message.
Petty and Cacioppo refer to biased elaboration as top-down thinking in
which a predetermined conclusion colors the supporting data underneath. They
contrast this with objective elaboration, or bottom-up thinking, which lets facts
speak for themselves. Biased elaboration merely bolsters previous ideas.
Perhaps you’ve seen a picture of Rodin’s famous statue The Thinker, a man
sitting with his head propped in one hand. If the thinker already has a set of
beliefs to contemplate, Petty and Cacioppo’s research shows that additional
thought will merely fi x them in stone. Rita shouldn’t assume that audience
elaboration will always help her cause; it depends on whether it’s biased
elaboration or objective elaboration. It also depends on the quality of her
arguments.
Biased elaboration
Top-down thinking in
which predetermined
conclusions color the
supporting data.
Objective elaboration
Bottom-up thinking
in which facts are
scrutinized without bias;
seeking truth wherever
it might lead.
ELABORATED ARGUMENTS: STRONG, WEAK, AND NEUTRAL
If Rita manages to win an unbiased hearing from students at her school, Petty
and Cacioppo say her cause will rise or fall on the perceived strength of her
arguments. The two theorists have no absolute standard for what distinguishes
a cogent argument from one that’s specious. They simply defi ne a strong mes-
sage as one that generates favorable thoughts when it’s heard and scrutinized.
Petty and Cacioppo predict that thoughtful consideration of strong argu-
ments will produce major shifts in attitude in the direction desired by the per-
suader. Suppose Rita states the following:
National Safety Council statistics show that drivers in the 16–20 age group account
for 15 percent of the miles driven in the United States, yet they are responsible for
25 percent of the highway deaths that involve alcohol.
This evidence could give students cause for pause. They may not be comfortable
with the facts, but some of them might fi nd the statistics compelling and a rea-
son to reconsider their stance. According to ELM, the enhanced thinking of those
who respond favorably will cause their change in position to persist over time ,
resist counterpersuasion , and predict future behavior —the “triple crown” of interper-
sonal infl uence.
However, persuasive attempts that are processed through the central
route can have dramatically negative effects as well. If, despite her strong
convictions, Rita isn’t able to come up with a strong argument for changing
Strong arguments
Claims that generate
favorable thoughts
when examined.
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CHAPTER 15: ELABORATION LIKELIHOOD MODEL 193
the current law, her persuasive attempt might actually backfi re. For example,
suppose she makes this argument:
When underage drinkers are arrested for violating zero-tolerance rules of the road,
automatic suspension of their licenses would allow the secretary of state’s offi ce to
reduce its backlog of work. This would give government offi cials time to check
driving records so that they could keep dangerous motorists off the road.
This weak argument is guaranteed to offend the sensibilities of anyone who
thinks about it. Rather than compelling listeners to enlist in Rita’s cause, it will
only give them a reason to oppose her point of view more vigorously. The elabo-
rated idea will cause a boomerang effect that will last over time, defy other efforts
to change it, and affect subsequent behavior. These are the same signifi cant effects
that the elaborated strong argument produces, but in the opposite direction.
Rita’s ideas could also produce an ambivalent reaction. Listeners who carefully
examine her ideas may end up feeling neither pro nor con toward her evidence. Their
neutral or mixed response obviously means that they won’t change their attitudes as
a result of processing through the central route. For them, thinking about the pros
and cons of the issue reinforces their original attitudes, whatever they may be.
PERIPHERAL CUES: AN ALTERNATIVE ROUTE OF INFLUENCE
Although the majority of this chapter has dealt with the central cognitive route
to attitude change, most messages are processed on the less-effortful peripheral
path. Signposts along the way direct the hearer to favor or oppose the persuad-
er’s point of view without ever engaging in what Petty and Cacioppo call “issue-
relevant thinking.” 6 There is no inner dialogue about the merits of the proposal.
As explained earlier, the hearer who uses the peripheral route relies on a variety
of cues as an aid in reaching a quick decision. The most obvious cues are tangible
rewards linked to agreement with the advocate’s position. Food, sex, and money are
traditional inducements to change. I once overheard the conclusion of a transaction
between a young man and a college senior who was trying to persuade him to
donate blood in order to fulfi ll her class assignment. “Ok, it’s agreed,” she said. “You
give blood for me today, and I’ll have you over to my place for dinner tomorrow
night.” Although this type of social exchange has been going on for centuries, Petty
and Cacioppo would still describe it as peripheral. Public compliance to the request
for blood? Yes. Private acceptance of its importance? Not likely.
For many students of persuasion, source credibility is the most interesting
cue on the peripheral route. Four decades of research confi rm that people who
are likable and have expertise on the issue in question can have a persuasive
impact regardless of what arguments they present. Rita’s appearance, manner of
talking, and background credentials will speak so loudly that some students
won’t really hear what she says. Which students? According to Petty and
Cacioppo, those students who are unmotivated or unable to scrutinize her mes-
sage and therefore switch to the peripheral path.
Listeners who believe that Rita’s twin tragedies have given her wisdom
beyond their own will shift to a position more sympathetic to her point of view.
The same holds true for those who see her as pleasant and warm. But there are
students who will regard her grammatical mistakes as a sign of ignorance, or
they’ll be turned off by a maternal manner that reminds them of a lecture from
mom. These peripheral route critics will become more skeptical of Rita’s position.
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194 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
Note that attitude change on this outside track can be either positive or negative,
but it lacks the robust persistence, invulnerability, or link to behavior we see in
change that comes from message elaboration.
Nicely illustrating the fragility of peripheral route change, Holly wrote the
following entry in her application log:
In his short story “Salvation,” Langston Hughes recounts his childhood experi-
ence at a religious revival in his town. For days the old ladies of the church had
been praying for the conversion of all the “little lambs” of the congregation.
After working the congregation to a fever pitch, the preacher gave an altar call
aimed at the children, and one after another they cried and went forward to be
saved from hell. The author and his friend didn’t feel anything, but after what
seemed like forever, his friend went up so all the hubbub would fi nally stop.
Langston knew that his friend hadn’t really been converted, but since God
didn’t smite him for lying, he fi gured it would be safe for him to fake it as well,
which he did. When the revival was over, the congregation calmed down and
everyone went home praising the Lord. Langston says that was the day he
stopped believing in God.
“In the interest of streamlining the judicial process, we’ll skip the evidence
and go directly to sentencing.”
© J.B. Handelsman/The New Yorker Collection/www.cartoonbank.com
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CHAPTER 15: ELABORATION LIKELIHOOD MODEL 195
The preacher relied on peripheral cues. Langston went forward because of the
expectation of authority fi gures, heightened emotion, and conformity pressure. But
there was no elaboration of the message, no grappling with the issue, and certainly
no encounter with God. The result of this peripheral route processing was as ELM
predicts—his “salvation” didn’t even last through the night.
Understanding the importance of role models for persuasion, Rita scans the
pages of Rolling Stone to see if singer Dave Matthews might have said something
about teenage drivers. The music of the Dave Matthews Band is widely acclaimed
by students at her college, and Matthews recently put on a live concert near the
school. By somehow associating her message with credible people, she can
achieve change in many students’ attitudes. But it probably won’t last long, stand
up to attack, or affect their behavior. Petty and Cacioppo say a fragile change is
all that can be expected through the peripheral route.
Yet what if Dave Matthews’ tour bus were run off the road by a drunk teen-
age fan, and a band member met the same fate as Rita’s daughter? Would that
tragic death and Matthews’ avowal that “friends don’t let friends drive drunk”
cue students to a permanent shift in attitude and behavior? Fortunately, the band
is still intact, but a high-profi le tragedy in the sports world suggests that even
the effect of powerful peripheral cues is short-lived at best.
In 1991, basketball superstar Magic Johnson held a candid press conference
to announce that he had tested positive for HIV. At the time, such a diagnosis
seemed like a death sentence; the story dominated network news coverage for
days. University of South Florida psychologists Louis Penner and Barbara Fritzsche
had just completed a study showing that many people had little sympathy for
AIDS victims who had contracted the disease through sexual transmission. When
asked to volunteer a few hours to help a patient stay in school, a little more than
half of the women and none of the men in the study volunteered. Penner and
Fritzsche extended their study when they heard of Magic Johnson’s illness. 7 They
wondered if the tragedy that had befallen this popular star and his pledge to
become an advocate for those with the disease would cause students to react
more positively toward people with AIDS.
For a while it did. The week after Johnson’s announcement, 80 percent of
the men offered assistance. That number tapered off to 30 percent, however,
within a few months. The proportion of women helping dipped below 40 percent
in the same period. Penner and Fritzsche observed that people didn’t grapple
with the substance of Magic Johnson’s message; rather, they paid attention to
the man who was presenting it. Consistent with ELM’s main thesis, the research-
ers concluded that “changes that occur because of ‘peripheral cues’ such as . . .
being a well liked celebrity are less permanent than those that occur because of
the substantive content of the persuasion attempt.” 8
Penner and Fritzsche could have added that the effects of star performer
endorsements are subject to the sharp ups and downs of celebrity status. For
example, the Dave Matthews Band has been so environmentally green that a Ben
and Jerry’s fl avor of ice cream was named after one of the band’s songs. Yet that
image was besmirched when their tour bus dumped 80 gallons of human waste
PUSHING THE LIMITS OF PERIPHERAL POWER
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196 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
through a grated bridge over the Chicago River. Much of the foul-smelling
sewage doused tourists having dinner on the deck of a sightseeing boat passing
under the bridge. So any comment by Matthews on safe and sane driving might
be treated with derision rather than help Rita’s cause. 9 Nike feared the same
reaction when Tiger Woods publicly fell from grace.
Although most ELM research has measured the effects of peripheral cues
by studying credibility, a speaker ’s competence or character could also be a
stimulus for effortful message elaboration. For example, the high regard that
millions of sports fans had for Magic Johnson might for the fi rst time have
made it possible to scrutinize proposals for the prevention and treatment of
AIDS without a moral stigma biasing each idea. Or the fact that Johnson’s
magic wasn’t strong enough to repel HIV might cause someone to think deeply,
“If it happened to a guy like Magic, it could happen to me.” Even though
Figure 15–1 identifi es speaker credibility, reaction of others, and external rewards as
variables that promote mindless acceptance via the peripheral route, Petty and
Cacioppo emphasize that it’s impossible to compile a list of cues that are
strictly peripheral. 10
To illustrate this point, consider the multiple roles that the mood of the person
listening to Rita’s message might play in her attempt to persuade. Rita assumes
that her classmate Sam will be a more sympathetic audience if she can present
her ideas when he’s in a good mood. And she’s right, as long as Sam processes
her message through the peripheral route without thinking too hard about what
she’s saying. His positive outlook prompts him to see her proposal in a favorable
light.
Yet if Sam is somewhat willing and able to work through her arguments
(moderate elaboration), his upbeat mood could actually turn out to be a disad-
vantage. He was feeling up, but he becomes depressed when he thinks about
the death and disfi gurement Rita describes. The loss of warm feelings could
bias him against Rita’s arguments. Petty suggests that Sam might process her
arguments more objectively if his original mood had matched the down-
beat nature of Rita’s experience. 11 Many variables like perceived credibility or the
mood of the listener can act as peripheral cues. Yet if one of them motivates
listeners to scrutinize the message or affects their evaluation of arguments, it
no longer serves as a no-brainer. There is no variable that’s always a shortcut
on the peripheral route.
Speaker credibility
Audience perception of
the message source’s ex-
pertise, character, and
dynamism; typically a
peripheral cue.
CHOOSING A ROUTE: PRACTICAL ADVICE FOR THE PERSUADER
Petty and Cacioppo’s advice for Rita (and the rest of us) is clear. She needs to
determine the likelihood that her listeners will give their undivided attention to
evaluating her proposal. If it appears that they have the motivation and ability
to elaborate the message, she had best come armed with facts and fi gures to
support her case. A pleasant smile, an emotional appeal, or the loss of her daugh-
ter won’t make any difference.
Since it’s only by thoughtful consideration that her listeners can experience
a lasting change in attitude, Rita probably hopes they can go the central route.
But even if they do, it’s still diffi cult to build a compelling persuasive case. If
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CHAPTER 15: ELABORATION LIKELIHOOD MODEL 197
she fails to do her homework and presents weak arguments, the people who are
ready to think will shift their attitude to a more antagonistic position.
If Rita determines that her hearers are unable or unwilling to think through
the details of her plan, she’ll be more successful choosing a delivery strategy that
emphasizes the package rather than the contents. This could include a heartrend-
ing account of her daughter ’s death, a smooth presentation, and an ongoing
effort to build friendships with the students. Perhaps bringing homemade cook-
ies to class or offering rides to the mall would aid in making her an attractive
source. But as we’ve already seen, the effects will probably be temporary.
It’s not likely that Rita will get many people to elaborate her message in a
way that ends up favorable for her cause. Most persuaders avoid the central
route because the audience won’t go with them or they fi nd it too diffi cult to
generate compelling arguments. But Rita really doesn’t have a choice.
Driver’s licenses (and perhaps beer) are so important to most of these stu-
dents that they’ll be ready to dissect every part of her plan. They won’t be won
over by a friendly smile. Rita will have to develop thoughtful and well-reasoned
arguments if she is to change their minds. Given the depth of her conviction,
she thinks it’s worth a try.
ETHICAL REFLECTION: NILSEN’S SIGNIFICANT CHOICE
ELM describes persuasion that’s effective. University of Washington professor
emeritus Thomas Nilsen is concerned with what’s ethical. Consistent with the
democratic values of a free society, he proposes that persuasive speech is ethical
to the extent that it maximizes people’s ability to exercise free choice. Since many
political, religious, and commercial messages are routinely designed to bypass
rather than appeal to a listener’s rational faculties, Nilsen upholds the value of
signifi cant choice in unequivocal terms:
When we communicate to infl uence the attitudes, beliefs, and actions of others,
the ethical touchstone is the degree of free, informed, rational and critical
choice—signifi cant choice—that is fostered by our speaking. 12
For Nilsen, truly free choice is the test of ethical infl uence because “only a self-
determining being can be a moral being; without signifi cant choice, there is no
morality.” 13 To support his claim, he cites two classic essays on the freedom of
speech. John Milton’s Areopagitica 14 argues against prior restraint of any ideas,
no matter how heretical. John Stuart Mill’s On Liberty 15 advocates a free market-
place of ideas because the only way to test an argument is to hear it presented
by a true believer who defends it in earnest.
Philosophers and rhetoricians have compared persuasion to a lover making
fervent appeals to his beloved—wooing an audience, for example. Nilsen’s ethic
of signifi cant choice is nicely captured in the courtship analogy because true love
cannot be coerced; it must be freely given. Inspired by Danish philosopher Søren
Kierkegaard’s description of the ethical religious persuader as lover, 16 I have
elsewhere presented a typology of false (unethical) lovers: 17
Smother lovers won’t take no for an answer; their persistence is obnoxious.
Legalistic lovers have a set image of what the other should be.
Flirts are in love with love; they value response, not the other person.
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198 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
CRITIQUE: ELABORATING THE MODEL
For the last 20 years, ELM has been a leading, if not the leading, theory of per-
suasion and attitude change. Petty, Cacioppo, and their students have published
more than 100 articles on the model, and the dual-process conception has stim-
ulated additional research, application, and critique that go beyond what I’m
able to capture in a short chapter. Since the time they introduced the theory, Petty
and Cacioppo have made it more complex, less predictive, and less able to offer
defi nitive advice to the infl uence practitioner. This is not the direction in which
a scientifi c theory wants to go.
Arizona State University communication researcher Paul Mongeau and
communication consultant James Stiff illustrate one of the specifi c problems with
the theory when they charge that “descriptions of the ELM are suffi ciently impre-
cise and ambiguous as to prevent an adequate test of the entire model.” 18 For
example, ELM views strong arguments as strong if people are persuaded, but
weak if folks remain unmoved. There’s no way apart from the persuasive out-
come to know whether an argument is strong or weak. Like my childhood friend
described in Chapter 3, ELM seems to have its own “never-miss shot.” Petty and
Cacioppo would say that they never intended to focus on defi ning factors like
strong and weak arguments, high and low source credibility, or highly attractive
or unattractive persuaders. 19 That may be true, but it doesn’t help much in
testing the theory. Objective theories that can’t be clearly tested lose some of
their  luster.
Despite the criticisms, ELM is impressive because it pulls together and makes
sense out of diverse research results that have puzzled communication theorists
for years. For example, why do most people pay less attention to the communi-
cation than they do to the communicator? And if speaker credibility is so impor-
tant, why does its effect dissipate so quickly? ELM’s explanation is that few
listeners are motivated and able to do the mental work required for a major shift
in attitude. The two-path hypothesis also helps clarify why good evidence and
reasoning can sometimes have a life-changing impact, but usually make no dif-
ference at all.
Attitude-change research often yields results that seem confusing or contra-
dictory. Petty and Cacioppo’s ELM takes many disjointed fi ndings and pulls
them together into a unifi ed whole. This integrative function makes it a valuable
theory of infl uence.
Seducers try deception and fl attery to entice the other to submit.
Rapists use force of threats, guilt, or conformity pressure to have their way.
In differing degrees, all fi ve types of unethical persuader violate the human dignity
of the people they pursue by taking away choice that is informed and free.
Nilsen obviously would approve of persuasive appeals that encourage mes-
sage elaboration through ELM’s central route. But his standard of signifi cant
choice is not always easy to apply. Do emotional appeals seductively short-circuit
our ability to make rational choices, or does heightened emotion actually free us
to consider new options? Signifi cant choice, like beauty and credibility, may be
in the eye of the beholder.
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CHAPTER 15: ELABORATION LIKELIHOOD MODEL 199
A SECOND LOOK Recommended resource: Richard E. Petty, John T. Cacioppo, Alan J. Strathman, and
Joseph R. Priester, “To Think or Not to Think: Exploring Two Routes to Persuasion,” in
Persuasion: Psychological Insights and Perspectives, 2 nd ed., Timothy Brock and Melanie
Green (eds.), Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 2005, pp. 81–116.
Full statement: Richard E. Petty and John T. Cacioppo, Communication and Persuasion:
Central and Peripheral Routes to Attitude Change, Springer-Verlag, New York, 1986.
Major developments in the history of ELM: Richard E. Petty and Pablo Briñol, “The
Elaboration Likelihood Model,” in Handbook of Theories of Social Psychology, Vol. 1, Paul
van Lange and Arie Kruglanski (eds.), Sage, London, England, 2012, pp. 224–245.
Effect of involvement: Richard E. Petty and John T. Cacioppo, “Involvement and Per-
suasion: Tradition Versus Integration,” Psychological Bulletin, Vol. 107, 1990, pp. 367–374.
Postulates and research: Richard E. Petty and John T. Cacioppo, “The Elaboration Like-
lihood Model of Persuasion,” in Advances in Experimental Social Psychology, Vol. 19, Leon-
ard Berkowitz (ed.), Academic Press, Orlando, FL, 1986, pp. 124–205.
Message arguments versus source credibility: Richard E. Petty, John T. Cacioppo, and
R. Goldman, “Personal Involvement as a Determinant of Argument-Based Persuasion,”
Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, Vol. 41, 1981, pp. 847–855.
Effects of evidence: John Reinard, “The Empirical Study of the Persuasive Effects of Evidence:
The Status After Fifty Years of Research,” Human Communication Research, Vol. 15, 1988, pp. 3–59.
Effects of credibility: Richard E. Petty, “Multiple Roles for Source Credibility Under
High Elaboration: It’s All in the Timing,” Social Cognition, Vol. 25, 2007, pp. 536–552.
Mindless cues: Robert B. Cialdini, Infl uence: Science and Practice, 4 th ed., Allyn and
Bacon, Needham Heights, MA, 2001.
Cues that affect elaboration: Duane Wegener and Richard E. Petty, “Understanding
Effects of Mood Through the Elaboration Likelihood and Flexible Correction Models,” in
Theories of Mood and Cognition: A User’s Guidebook, L. L. Martin and G. L. Clore (eds.),
Lawrence Erlbaum, Mahwah, NJ, 2001, pp. 177–210.
Status and controversies: Richard E. Petty and Duane Wegener, “The Elaboration Like-
lihood Model: Current Status and Controversies,” in Shelly Chaiken and Yaacov Trope
(eds.), Dual Process Theories in Social Psychology, Guilford, New York, 1999, pp. 41–72.
Critiques of ELM: “Forum: Specifying the ELM,” Communication Theory, Vol. 3, 1993.
(Paul Mongeau and James Stiff, “Specifying Causal Relationships in the Elaboration Likeli-
hood Model,” pp. 65–72; Mike Allen and Rodney Reynolds, “The Elaboration Likelihood
Model and the Sleeper Effect: An Assessment of Attitude Change over Time,” pp. 73–82.)
1. Can you think of fi ve different words or phrases that capture the idea of
message elaboration?
2. What peripheral cues do you usually monitor when someone is trying to infl u-
ence you?
3. Petty and Cacioppo want to persuade you that their elaboration likelihood
model is a mirror of reality. Do you process their arguments for its accuracy
closer to your central route or your peripheral route? Why not the other way?
4. Students of persuasion often wonder whether high credibility or strong
arguments sway people more. How would ELM theorists respond to that
question?
QUESTIONS TO SHARPEN YOUR FOCUS
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200
HEALTH-CONSCIOUS SMOKERS: DEALING WITH DISSONANCE
When Festinger fi rst published his theory in 1957, he chose the topic of smoking
to illustrate the concept of dissonance. Although authoritative medical reports
on the link between smoking and lung cancer were just beginning to surface,
DISSONANCE: DISCORD BETWEEN BEHAVIOR AND BELIEF
Aesop’s fable is the source of the phrase sour grapes. The story illustrates what
former Stanford University social psychologist Leon Festinger called cognitive
dissonance. It is the distressing mental state that people feel when they “fi nd
themselves doing things that don’t fi t with what they know, or having opinions
that do not fi t with other opinions they hold.” 2
The fox’s retreat from the grape arbor clashed with his knowledge that the
grapes were tasty. By changing his attitude toward the grapes, he provided an
acceptable explanation for abandoning his efforts to reach them.
Festinger considered the need to avoid dissonance to be just as basic as the
need for safety or the need to satisfy hunger. It is an aversive drive that goads us
to be consistent. The tension of dissonance motivates us to change either our
behavior or our belief in an effort to avoid that distressing feeling. The more
important the issue and the greater the discrepancy between our behavior and our
belief, the higher the magnitude of dissonance we will feel. In extreme cases cog-
nitive dissonance is like our cringing response to fi ngernails being scraped on a
blackboard—we’ll do anything to get away from the awful sound.
C ognitive dissonance
The distressing mental
state caused by inconsis-
tency between a person’s
two beliefs or a belief
and an action.
16C H A P T E R
Cognitive Dissonance
Theory
of Leon Festinger
Aesop told a story about a fox that tried in vain to reach a cluster of grapes
dangling from a vine above his head. The fox leaped high to grasp the grapes, but
the delicious-looking fruit remained just out of reach of his snapping jaws. After
a few attempts the fox gave up and said to himself, “These grapes are sour, and
if I had some I would not eat them.” 1
Objective Interpretive
Socio-psychological tradition
●
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CHAPTER 16: COGNITIVE DISSONANCE THEORY 201
there was already general concern across the United States that cigarette smoking
might cause cancer. Ten years prior, country-and-western singer Tex Williams
recorded Capitol Records’ fi rst million-seller, “Smoke! Smoke! Smoke! (That
Cigarette).” The gravelly voiced vocalist expressed doubt that smoking would
affect his health, but the chorus was unambiguous:
Smoke, smoke, smoke that cigarette
Puff, puff, puff until you smoke yourself to death
Tell St. Peter at the Golden Gate
That you hate to make him wait
But you just gotta have another cigarette. 3
At the time, many smokers and nonsmokers alike laughingly referred to ciga-
rettes as “coffi n nails.” But as the number and certainty of medical reports link-
ing smoking with lung cancer, emphysema, and heart disease increased,
humorous references to cigarettes no longer seemed funny. For the fi rst time in
their lives, a hundred million Americans had to grapple with two incompatible
cognitions:
1. Smoking is dangerous to my health.
2. I smoke cigarettes.
Consider the plight of Cliff, a habitual smoker confronted by medical claims
that smoking is hazardous to his health—an idea that strongly confl icts with his
pack-a-day practice. Festinger said the contradiction is so clear and uncomfort-
able that something has to give—either the use of cigarettes or the belief that
smoking will hurt him. “Whether the behavior or the cognition changes will be
determined by which has the weakest resistance to change.” 4 For Cliff it’s no
contest. He lights up and dismisses the health risk. In his discussion of smoking,
Festinger suggested a number of mental gymnastics that Cliff might use to avoid
dissonance while he smokes. 5
Perhaps the most typical way for the smoker to avoid mental anguish
is to trivialize or simply deny the link between smoking and cancer. I think the
research is sketchy, the results are mixed, and the warnings are based on junk
science. After the surgeon general’s report on smoking was issued in 1964, denial
became an uphill cognitive path to climb, but many smokers continue to go that
route.
Smokers may counter thoughts of scary health consequences by reminding
themselves of other effects they see as positive. Smoking helps me relax, I like the
taste, and it gives me a look of sophistication. These were the motives cigarette adver-
tising appealed to when Festinger fi rst published his theory. For example, Old
Gold was the primary radio sponsor for Chicago Cubs baseball: “We’re tobacco
men, not medicine men,” their ads proclaimed. “For a treat instead of a treat-
ment, try Old Gold. . . . There’s not a cough in a carload.”
Although it’s hard for smokers to pretend they aren’t lighting up, they can
elude nagging thoughts of trauma by telling themselves that the dire warnings
don’t apply to them since they are moderate smokers, or because they’ll soon quit .
My boyfriend is a chain smoker, but I smoke less than a pack a day. As soon as I fi nish
school, I’ll have no problem stopping. Conversely, other smokers manage dissonance
by disclaiming any ongoing responsibility for a habit they can’t kick. Let’s face
it, cigarettes are addictive. I’m hooked. To be sure, most behaviors are not as diffi cult
to change as the habit of smoking, but Festinger noted that almost all of our
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202 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
actions are more entrenched than the thoughts we have about them. Thus, the
focus of his theory is on the belief and attitude changes that take place because
of cognitive dissonance.
Festinger hypothesized three mental mechanisms people use to ensure that their
actions and attitudes are in harmony. Dissonance researchers refer to them as
selective exposure, postdecision dissonance, and minimal justifi cation. I’ll continue to
illustrate these cognitive processes by referring to the practice of smoking, but they
are equally applicable to other forms of substance abuse or addiction—alcohol,
drugs, food, sex, pornography, gambling, money, shopping, work. Most of us can
spot at least one topic on that list where we struggle with an inconsistency between
our thoughts and our actions. So if smoking isn’t an issue for you, apply these
ways of reducing dissonance in an area that is.
Hypothesis 1: Selective Exposure Prevents Dissonance
Festinger claimed that people avoid information that’s likely to increase
dissonance. 6 This selective exposure hypothesis explains why staunch political con-
servatives watch Sean Hannity on Fox News whereas stalwart liberals catch
Rachel Maddow on MSNBC. Not only do we tend to listen to opinions and select
reading materials that are consistent with our existing beliefs, we usually choose
to be with people who are like us. By taking care to “stick with our own kind,”
we can maintain the relative comfort of the status quo. Like-minded people buf-
fer us from ideas that could cause discomfort. In that sense, the process of mak-
ing friends is a way to select our own propaganda.
Two communication researchers looked back over 18 experiments where people
were put in dissonant situations and then had to choose what kind of information
they would listen to or read. Dave D’Alessio (University of Connecticut–Stamford)
and Mike Allen (University of Wisconsin–Milwaukee) discovered that the results
consistently supported the selective exposure hypothesis. 7 People tended to select
information that lined up with what they already believed and ignored facts or
ideas that ran counter to those beliefs. But the strength of this tendency was rela-
tively small. Selective exposure explained only about 5 percent of why they chose
the information they did. That leaves 95 percent unexplained.
That modest fi nding hasn’t deterred the sponsors of two media persuasion
campaigns from taking the power of selective exposure quite seriously. A Uni-
versity of California–San Francisco survey taken in 2006 documented that
75  percent of Hollywood fi lms show attractive actors smoking, and that this
modeling encourages young teens raised in smoke-free homes to adopt the prac-
tice. With some success, Harvard School of Public Health researchers are now
proactively challenging directors not to introduce smoking into their fi lms. Nev-
ertheless, a follow-up study by the same University of California group found
that smoking incidences increased by 36 percent in 2011 for movies rated PG-13
and below. That includes more than 50 smoking incidents apiece in hit movies
such as The Help, Rango, and X-Men: First Class.8
Entertainment is a tried-and-true way to get around people’s selective expo-
sure fi lters. Another way is humor. The “Don’t Pass Gas” broadcast campaign
S elective exposure
T he tendency people
have to avoid informa-
tion that would create
cognitive dissonance be-
cause it’s incompatible
with their current beliefs.
REDUCING DISSONANCE BETWEEN ACTIONS AND ATTITUDES
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CHAPTER 16: COGNITIVE DISSONANCE THEORY 203
of the American Legacy Foundation uses barnyard comedy to convince the
public of the intrusiveness of putrid gas. Presented in the style of a Dr. Seuss
rhyme, one ad goes:
I will not pass gas on a train. I will not pass gas on a plane.
I will not pass gas in my house. I will not pass gas near my spouse.
I will not pass gas in a bar. I will not pass gas in a car.
I will not pass gas where little ones are, no matter how near or how far.
I will not pass gas in your face, because the gas I pass is worse than mace. 9
Only after listeners are either laughing or totally grossed out by the image of
passing gas are they told that the limerick refers to secondhand smoke. It’s a
message most people would tune out had it not been for the use of humor with
a twist.
German psychologist Dieter Frey surveyed all the pertinent research on
selective exposure and concluded that even when we know we’re going to
hear discrepant ideas, the avoidance mechanism doesn’t kick in if we don’t
regard the dissonant information as a threat.10 Warm personal relationships are
probably the best guarantee that we’ll consider ideas that would otherwise seem
threatening.
Hypothesis 2: Postdecision Dissonance Creates a Need for Reassurance
According to Festinger, close-call decisions can generate huge amounts of inter-
nal tension after the decision has been made. Three conditions heighten postdeci-
sion dissonance : (1) the more important the issue, (2) the longer an individual
delays in choosing between two equally attractive options, and (3) the greater
the diffi culty involved in reversing the decision once it’s been made. To the
extent that these conditions are present, the person will agonize over whether
he or she made the right choice. 11 Sometimes referred to as “morning-after-the-night-
before” regrets, the misgivings or second thoughts that plague us after a tough
choice motivate us to seek reassuring information and social support for our
decision.
A classic example of postdecision dissonance is the mental turmoil a person
experiences after signing a contract to buy a new car. The cost is high, there are
many competing models from which to choose, and the down payment commits
the customer to go through with the purchase. It’s not unusual to fi nd a customer
examining Consumer Reports auto ratings after placing an order. The buyer is
seeking information that confi rms the decision already made and quiets nagging
doubts.
Many who recover from multiple addictions testify that quitting smoking
is harder than giving up booze. Just as countless alcoholics turn to Alcoholics
Anonymous for social support, people who try to give up tobacco often need
at least one friend, family member, romantic partner, or co-worker who’s also
going through the pangs of withdrawal. They can remind each other that it’s
worth the effort. Of course, the decision to stop smoking doesn’t fulfi ll
Festinger ’s third condition of a once-and-for-all, no-going-back, fi nal choice.
One can always go back to smoking. In fact, those who swear off cigarettes
typically have a few lapses, and total relapses are common. Encouragement and
social support are necessary to tamp down the doubts and fears that follow this
tough decision.
Postdecision dissonance
Strong doubts experi-
enced after making an
important, close-call de-
cision that is difficult to
reverse.
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204 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
Smokers who consciously decide not to quit face similar qualms and anxiet-
ies. They are bombarded with messages telling them they are putting their health
at risk. People who care for them deeply urge them to stop, and nonsmokers
look down on them because they don’t. University of Kentucky communication
professor Alan DeSantis describes the camaraderie he found among regular cus-
tomers at a Kentucky cigar shop. Just as smoke from cigars drives some folks
away, DeSantis concludes that the friendship and collective rationalization of
those who smoke cigars together hold postdecision dissonance at bay. He also
sees Cigar Afi cionado as serving the same function. He writes that although the
magazine professes to simply celebrate the good life, it actually serves “to relieve
the cognitive dissonance associated with the consumption of a potentially dan-
gerous product by adding cognitions, trivializing dissonant information, selec-
tively exposing readers to pro-smoking information, and creating a social support
network of fellow cigar smokers.” 12
Hypothesis 3: Minimal Justification for Action Induces Attitude Change
Suppose someone wanted to persuade an ex-smoker who is dying of lung
cancer to stop publicly bashing the tobacco industry and to respect cigarette
companies’ right to market their product. That is one of the assignments given
to Nick Naylor, chief spokesman for tobacco companies in the movie Thank You
for Smoking . His job is to convince “Big Tobacco’s” former advertising icon—the
Marlboro Man—to switch from outspoken critic to silent partner. Before cogni-
tive dissonance theory, conventional wisdom would have suggested that
Naylor work fi rst to change the bitter man’s attitude toward the industry. If he
could convince the cowboy that the cigarette companies are well-intentioned,
then the man would change his communication behavior. It seemed natural to
think of attitude and behavior as the beginning and end of a cause-and-effect
sequence.
Attitude → Behavior
But Festinger’s minimal justifi cation hypothesis reversed the sequence. This hypoth-
esis suggests that the best way for Naylor to change the Marlboro Man’s attitude
toward his former employers is to get him to quit speaking out against them.
Behavior → Attitude
Festinger attached one important condition, however. Instead of giving the cow-
boy massive incentives to abandon his public critique ($100,000 in cash, lifetime
health care for his wife, or a threat to harm his kids), Naylor should offer the
minimum enticement necessary to induce him to quietly step off his soapbox.
Festinger concluded:
Thus if one wanted to obtain private change in addition to mere public compli-
ance, the best way to do this would be to offer just enough reward or punishment
to elicit overt compliance. 13
Naylor doesn’t follow Festinger’s advice. Instead, he does it the old-fashioned
way by throwing lots of money at the Marlboro Man. He goes to his rundown
Minimal justification
hypothesis
A claim that the best way
to stimulate an attitude
change in others is to of-
fer just enough incentive
to elicit counterattitudinal
behavior.
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CHAPTER 16: COGNITIVE DISSONANCE THEORY 205
ranch with a briefcase fi lled with bundles of hundred-dollar bills, which he
pours out on the fl oor. He labels the money a gift rather than a bribe, but makes
it clear that the cowboy can’t keep the money if he continues to denounce the
tobacco companies. As it turns out, the offer is more than enough because the
dying man is worried about how his family will manage after he’s gone. So
the Marlboro Man takes both the money and a vow of silence, but his antago-
nistic attitude toward his former employers hasn’t changed. Compliance without
inner conviction. For Naylor, that’s enough.
There is, however, a brief moment in their discussion that suggests the
potential of a minimal justifi cation strategy. When the Marlboro Man looks long-
ingly at the cash, he wonders out loud if he might keep half the money and still
denounce the tobacco companies. His question reveals that somewhere between
50 percent and 100 percent of the cash on the fl oor there’s a tipping point where
the cowboy becomes willing to be bought off. Festinger predicted that if Naylor
were to offer that “just-enough” amount, not only would the Marlboro Man alter
his communication behavior, but the dissonance he would feel would also cause
him to be less angry at the cigarette companies. Festinger ’s startling $1/$20
experiment shows how this might work.
C ompliance
Public conformity to an-
other’s expectation with-
out necessarily having a
private conviction that
matches the behavior.
A CLASSIC EXPERIMENT: “WOULD I LIE FOR A DOLLAR?”
There is nothing particularly radical about Festinger’s fi rst two hypotheses. His
selective exposure prediction nicely explains why political rallies attract the party
faithful and why the audience for religious radio and television tends to be made
up of committed believers. As for postdecision dissonance, all of us have tried
to convince ourselves that we’ve made the right choice after facing a close-call
decision. But Festinger’s minimal justifi cation hypothesis is counterintuitive. Will
a small incentive to act really induce a corresponding attitude change when
heaping on the benefi ts won’t? Festinger’s famous $1/$20 experiment supported
his claim that it will.
Festinger and social psychologist James Carlsmith recruited Stanford Uni-
versity men to participate in a psychological study supposedly investigating
industrial relations. 14 As each man arrived at the lab, he was assigned the
boring and repetitive task of sorting a large batch of spools into sets of 12 and
turning square pegs a quarter turn to the right. The procedure was designed
to be both monotonous and tiring. At the end of an hour the experimenter
approached the subject and made a request. He claimed that a student assis-
tant had failed to show up and that he needed someone to fi ll in. The exper-
imenter wanted the subject to tell a potential female subject in the waiting
room how much fun the experiment was. Dissonance researchers call this
counterattitudinal advocacy . We’d call it lying.
Some of the men were promised $20 to express enthusiasm about the task;
others were offered only $1. After adjusting for infl ation, that’s $160 or $8 today.15
It’s comforting to know that six of the men refused to take part in the deception,
but most students tried to recruit the young woman. The gist of the typical con-
versation was similar for both payment conditions:
She: “I heard it was boring.”
He: “Oh no, it’s really quite fun.”
Counterattitudinal
advocacy
Publicly urging others to
believe or do something
that is opposed to what
the advocate actually
believes.
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206 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
What differed were the men’s privately expressed attitudes after the study was
over. Students who lied for $20 later confessed that they thought the task of
sorting spools was dull. Those who lied for $1 maintained that it was quite
enjoyable. (Festinger and Carlsmith practiced their own form of deception in the
study—subjects never received the promised money.)
By now you should have a pretty good idea how Festinger analyzed the
results. He noted that $20 was a huge sum of money at the time. If a student
felt qualms about telling a “white lie,” the cash was a ready justifi cation. Thus,
the student felt little or no tension between his action and his attitude. But the
men who lied for a dollar had lots of cognitive work to do. The logical incon-
sistency of saying a boring task was interesting had to be explained away through
an internal dialogue:
I’m a Stanford man. Am I the kind of guy who would lie for a dollar? No way.
Actually, what I told the girl was true. The experiment was a lot of fun.
Festinger said that $1 was just barely enough to induce compliance to the exper-
imenter’s request, and so the students had to create another justifi cation. They
changed their attitude toward the task to bring it into line with their behavior—
in other words, to eliminate dissonance.
THREE STATE-OF-THE-ART REVISIONS: THE CAUSE AND EFFECT OF DISSONANCE
The $1/$20 study has been replicated and modifi ed many times in an effort to
fi gure out what creates dissonance and how people reduce it. Based on hundreds
of experimental studies, most persuasion researchers today subscribe to one of
three revisions of Festinger’s original theory.
To illustrate these revisions, we’ll consider the most famous American to
struggle recently with smoking: President Barack Obama. Obama put away his
cigarettes before his 2008 presidential bid, but relapsed during the campaign and
his fi rst two years in offi ce. In 2011, however, Obama’s doctors declared that he
had broken his 30-year cigarette habit. 16 According to First Lady Michelle Obama,
it seems that dissonance caused the president’s decision to stop: “I think he didn’t
want to look his girls in the eye and tell them that they shouldn’t do something
that he was still doing.” 17 That sounds like a straightforward explanation, but for
cognitive dissonance theorists it isn’t enough—they want to know what’s going
on in the mind of the president that generates and eliminates dissonance.
In order to understand each of the options described in the following sec-
tions, it will help you to picture the overall dissonance arousal and reduction
process. Figure 16–1 shows that four-step sequence. So far we’ve discussed
Festinger’s belief that we experience dissonance when we face logical inconsis-
FIGURE 16–1 Festinger’s Process Model of Cognitive Dissonance
Based on Festinger, Cognitive Dissonance Theory
Attitude/Behavior
Inconsistency
Dissonance
Created
A B
Attitude
Change
C
Dissonance
Reduced
D
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CHAPTER 16: COGNITIVE DISSONANCE THEORY 207
tency, or beliefs and behaviors that don’t quite add up. (I value my health. My
cigarette habit damages my health.) That’s a claim about the A  →  B link in the
fi gure. Festinger further asserted that the way to reduce dissonance was to
remove the logical inconsistency (point D). The three revisions question these
assumptions, and each provides a somewhat different explanation for why
Obama fi nally kicked his smoking habit.
1. Self-Consistency: The Rationalizing Animal
One of Festinger’s early graduate students, University of California social psy-
chologist Elliot Aronson, wasn’t convinced that logical inconsistency produces
dissonance. He noted that we sometimes fi nd such inconsistencies curious or
even amusing. For example, Andrew once received a university parking ticket
in the mail dated several months after he’d graduated and moved out of the
state. Two thoughts crossed his mind: ( 1) I was not parked at the University of
Kansas in October and (2) I have a parking ticket that says I was. That’s a logical
inconsistency, and it made him feel mildly annoyed—but that’s not the aversive
discomfort Aronson claims is at the heart of dissonance.
Instead, Aronson thinks what produces dissonance is an inconsistency
between a cognition and our self-concept —how we perceive ourselves. He inter-
prets the $1/$20 experiment as a study of self-presentation.18 The Stanford men
were in a bind because they regarded themselves as decent, truthful human
beings, in contrast to their deceptive behavior. In fact, the higher their opinion
of their honesty, the more dissonance they would feel when they told the waiting
woman that the study was fun. Conversely, if they had seen themselves as liars,
cheats, or jerks, they would have felt no tension. As Aronson puts it, “If a person
conceives of himself as a ‘schnook,’ he will be expected to behave like a
‘schnook.’”19
Andrew’s student Caitlin, a vegetarian, wrote about her feelings of guilt after
eating meat. Clearly, she perceived that her choice was inconsistent with her
self-concept:
DILBERT © Scott Adams. Used by permission of UNIVERSAL UCLICK. All rights reserved.
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208 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
When I ate meat for the fi rst time in a year, I was at a hibachi grill where the chef
gave each of us a sample of steak. At fi rst I tried just one piece, but that provoked
my decision to order fried rice and steak. This choice violated my vegetarian
beliefs, but I justifi ed it because it was only a small amount of meat. The day after,
I experienced postdecision dissonance: I had strong doubts, a guilty conscience
about my decision, and a very upset stomach.
If Aronson is right, what’s the best way to persuade someone like President
Obama to stop smoking? Showing him studies of tobacco’s negative health
effects might not be the route to go. Even if Obama acknowledges that his ciga-
rette use is inconsistent with that information, Aronson doesn’t think logical
inconsistency is enough. The president will only feel dissonance if he sees smok-
ing as inconsistent with his self-concept. Given the fi rst lady’s explanation (“I
think he didn’t want to look his girls in the eye .  .  .”), Aronson might suggest
that the president perceived an inconsistency between his smoking and his
fatherly image. Maybe Obama also thought that lighting up contradicted his
appearance as a health-conscious person who regularly exercises through pickup
basketball games. Throwing away his cigarettes reduced dissonance by removing
those psychological inconsistencies.
2. Personal Responsibility for Bad Outcomes (the New Look)
For Princeton psychologist Joel Cooper, both Festinger and Aronson miss the
true cause of dissonance. He doesn’t think inconsistency—whether logical or
psychological—is the main motivating factor. In his new look model of cognitive
dissonance, Cooper argues that we experience dissonance when we believe our
actions have unnecessarily hurt another person. For example, in the minimal
justifi cation condition of the $1/$20 experiment, the Stanford men willingly
“duped a fellow student to look forward to an exciting experience” while know-
ing “full well that the waiting participant was in for an immense letdown.” 20
Cooper concludes that dissonance is “a state of arousal caused by behaving
in such a way as to feel personally responsible for bringing about an aversive
event.” 21 Note that the acceptance of personal responsibility requires that the per-
son know ahead of time that his or her action will have negative consequences
for someone else, and yet still choose to do the dirty deed. The reactions of
participants in minimal justifi cation experiments show that they often feel bad
about the potential effects of their messages.
Purdue University social psychologists Richard Heslin and Michael Amo used
a pro-smoking message prepared for junior high kids, but in this case the setup
was more involving and potentially more harmful. The researchers encouraged
college students in public speaking classes to deliver impromptu speeches to per-
suade uninformed and uncommitted seventh grade kids that smoking pot wouldn’t
hurt them. The speakers saw their recorded speeches and were reminded that
they’d be identifi ed as actually having pro-marijuana sentiments. The speakers
were quite aware that their message might harm kids. One speaker pleaded, “Please
don’t use my speech. I don’t want the course credit; just don’t use my speech!” 22
Clearly they felt dissonance, and new look theorists would argue that’s because
they perceived their actions as harmful (rather than inconsistent). Nevertheless, the
speakers actually changed their attitude in the direction of their advocacy—
dissonance reduction by concluding that their actions weren’t all that harmful.
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CHAPTER 16: COGNITIVE DISSONANCE THEORY 209
New look theorists don’t think inconsistency is enough to persuade someone
like Obama to stop smoking. Sure, he may perceive that his actions are logically
inconsistent with scientifi c research or psychologically inconsistent with his self-
image. But if he only lights up in private—and he’s never smoked publicly while
president—he might believe his actions don’t hurt anyone else. For Cooper, the
fi rst lady’s explanation might suggest that the president thought his smoking
could hurt their daughters. If Obama quit smoking because he was afraid Malia
and Sasha would imitate him, or because he was concerned about their exposure
to secondhand smoke, that’s the new look in action.
3. Self-Affirmation to Dissipate Dissonance
While the revisions offered by Aronson (self-consistency) and Cooper (new look)
address dissonance creation at the front end of Festinger’s model (the link from
A to B in Figure 16-1), Stanford psychologist Claude Steele’s self-affi rmation
approach speaks to the question of dissonance reduction at the back end of the
model—point D of the fi gure. Steele doesn’t assume that dissonance always
drives people to justify their actions by changing their attitudes. He thinks
some fortunate people can call up a host of positive thoughts about themselves
that will blot out a concern for restoring consistency. If he’s right, high self-
esteem is a resource for dissonance reduction.
According to Steele, most people are greatly motivated to maintain an over-
all self-image of moral adequacy. For a participant in the $1/$20 experiment,
there’s no question that lying to a fellow student makes it harder to preserve
that favorable self-concept. But if the guy ignores the ethical slip and focuses
instead on his good grades, athletic ability, social skills, and helpfulness to
friends who are hurting, the dissonance will be only a blip on the radar screen
of his mind and will quickly fade away. Thus, Steele believes that denial, for-
getfulness, and trivialization of the incident are alternatives to attitude change,
but only for the person who already has high self-esteem.
According to Steele’s self-affi rmation approach, Obama might have excused
his smoking by reminding himself of his esteem-raising qualities, which include
“gifted orator, award winning author, and proven intellect who was the
fi rst black president of the Harvard Law Review, ” 23 not to mention president of
the United States, winner of a Nobel Peace Prize, and the commander in chief
who stopped Osama bin Laden for good. In light of these accomplishments,
Obama might regard relapse as a minor inconsistency rather than a major con-
tradiction. In Steele’s view, the fi rst lady’s comment suggests that the president
eventually couldn’t rationalize that way anymore. As the son of a man who
ignored his family obligations, perhaps Obama came to believe that smoking is
a parenting fl aw for which career success can’t compensate.
Aronson, Cooper, and Steele offer their respective revisions as more accurate
accounts of what goes on in people’s heads than Festinger’s original theory pro-
vided. But we don’t have to pick one and trash the others. Self-consistency,
personal responsibility for bad outcomes, and self-affi rmation aren’t mutually
exclusive explanations. As Cooper suggests, “They each describe a distinct and
important piece of the overall dissonance process and, in doing so, make a
unique contribution to our understanding of how cognitions about the self medi-
ate cognitive dissonance and arousal and reduction.” 24
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210 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
THEORY INTO PRACTICE: PERSUASION THROUGH DISSONANCE
I’ve placed this chapter in the section on interpersonal infl uence because Festinger
and his followers focused on attitude change as an end product of dissonance.
Suppose you know someone named Sam who holds an opinion that you’re con-
vinced is harmful or wrong. What practical advice does the theory offer that
might help you alter Sam’s conviction?
For openers, don’t promise lavish benefi ts if Sam abandons that attitude or
warn of dire consequences if he doesn’t. A massive reward–punishment strategy
may gain behavioral compliance, but the hard sell seldom wins the heart or
mind of the person being bribed or pressured. Instead, work to develop a
friendly relationship with Sam. That way your own position will tend to bypass
the selective exposure screen that Sam and the rest of us put up to avoid threaten-
ing ideas. And if Sam eventually adopts your viewpoint, an ongoing bond means
you’ll be around to offer reassurance when postdecision dissonance kicks in.
To be an effective agent of change, you should offer just enough encourage-
ment (minimal justifi cation) for Sam to try out novel behavior that departs from
his usual way of thinking. Avoid making an offer that Sam can’t refuse. As long
as counterattitudinal actions are freely chosen and publicly taken, people are more
likely to adopt beliefs that support what they’ve done. The greater the effort
involved in acting this way, the greater the chance that their attitudes will change
to match their actions.
Finally, as you seek to induce compliance, try to get Sam to count the cost of
doing what you want and to grasp the potential downside of that behavior for
others (personal responsibility for negative outcomes). That kind of understanding
will increase the probability that Sam’s attitude will shift to be consistent with his
actions. And if things turn sour, your relationship won’t.
CRITIQUE: DISSONANCE OVER DISSONANCE
When Festinger died in 1989, his obituary in American Psychologist testifi ed to the
impact of his work:
Like Dostoyevski and like Picasso, Festinger set in motion a style of research and
theory in the social sciences that is now the common property of all creative work-
ers in the fi eld. . . . Leon is to social psychology what Freud is to clinical psychol-
ogy and Piaget to developmental psychology. 25
As the Dilbert cartoon in this chapter suggests, cognitive dissonance is one of the
few theories in this book that has achieved name recognition within popular
culture. Yet despite this wide infl uence, Festinger’s original theory and its con-
temporary revisions contain a serious fl aw. Like my boyhood friend’s never-miss
shot in his driveway basketball court (see Chapter 3), it’s hard to think of a way
the theory can be proved wrong.
Look again at the four stages of the dissonance process diagram in
Figure 16–1 . Almost all the creative efforts of dissonance researchers have been
aimed at inducing counterattitudinal advocacy at point A—getting people to say
something in public that is inconsistent with what they believe in private. When
researchers fi nd an attitude shift at point C, they automatically assume that dis-
sonance was built up at point B and is gone by point D. But they don’t test to
see whether dissonance is actually there.
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CHAPTER 16: COGNITIVE DISSONANCE THEORY 211
Festinger never specifi ed a reliable way to detect the degree of dissonance a
person experiences, if any. Psychologist Patricia Devine and her University of
Wisconsin–Madison colleagues refer to such an instrument as a dissonance ther-
mometer. They applaud researchers’ occasional attempts to gauge the arousal com-
ponent of dissonance through physiological measures such as galvanic skin
response. (When our drive state increases, we have sweaty palms.) But they are
even more encouraged at the possibility of assessing the psychological discomfort
component of dissonance by means of a self-report measure of affect. Until some
kind of dissonance thermometer is a standard part of dissonance research, we
will never know if the distressing mental state is for real.
Cornell University psychologist Daryl Bem doesn’t think it is. He agrees that
attitudes change when people act counter to their beliefs with minimal justifi –
cation, but he claims that self-perception is a much simpler explanation than
cognitive dissonance. He believes we judge our internal dispositions the same
way others do—by observing our behavior.
Bem ran his own $1/$20 study to test his alternative explanation. 26 People
heard a recording of a Stanford man’s enthusiastic account of the spool-sorting,
peg-turning task. Some listeners were told he received $1 for recruiting the
female subject. Since he had little obvious reason to lie, they assumed he really
liked the task. Other listeners were told the man received $20 to recruit the
woman. These folks assumed the man was bored with the task and was lying
to get the money. Bem’s subjects didn’t speculate about what was going on inside
the Stanford man’s head. They simply judged his attitude by looking at what he
did under the circumstances. If people don’t need an understanding of cognitive
dissonance to forecast how the men would react, Bem asks, why should social
scientists? Bem is convinced that cognitive dissonance theory is like the mouse-
trap pictured on page 26—much too convoluted. He opts for simplicity.
Advocates of cognitive dissonance in the fi eld of communication counter
that nothing about mental processes is simple. When we deal with what goes on
behind the eyes, we should expect and appreciate complexity. Festinger ’s theory
has energized scientifi cally oriented communication scholars for more than
50 years. I feel no dissonance by including cognitive dissonance theory in this text.
QUESTIONS TO SHARPEN YOUR FOCUS
1. Cognitive dissonance is a distressing mental state. When did you last experi-
ence this aversive drive? Why might you have trouble answering that
question?
2. The results of Festinger’s famous $1/$20 experiment can be explained in a
number of different ways. Which explanation do you fi nd most satisfying?
3. Suppose you want your friends to change their sexist attitudes. What advice
does the minimal justifi cation hypothesis offer?
4. I see cognitive dissonance theory as a “never-miss shot.” What would it take
to make the theory testable?
A SECOND LOOK Recommended resource: Joel Cooper, Cognitive Dissonance: 50 Years of a Classic Theory,
Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 2007, (see especially Chapter 1, “Cognitive Dissonance: In the
Beginning,” pp. 1–27, and Chapter 3, “The Motivational Property of Dissonance,”
pp. 42–61).
Self-perception theory
The claim that we deter-
mine our attitudes the
same way outside ob-
servers do—by observ-
ing our behavior; an
alternative to cognitive
dissonance theory.
Dissonance thermometer
A hypothetical, reliable
gauge of the dissonance
a person feels as a result
of inconsistency.
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212 INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
Original statement: Leon Festinger, A Theory of Cognitive Dissonance, Stanford University,
Stanford, CA, 1957.
Toward a dissonance thermometer: Patricia G. Devine, John M. Turner, et al., “Moving
Beyond Attitude Change in the Study of Dissonance Related Processes,” Eddie Harmon-
Jones and Judson Mills (eds.), Cognitive Dissonance: Progress on a Pivotal Theory in Social
Psychology, American Psychological Association, Washington, DC, 1999, pp. 297-323.
Engaging account of theory’s development: Elliot Aronson, “The Evolution of Cognitive
Dissonance Theory: A Personal Appraisal,” in The Science of Social Infl uence: Advances and
Future Progress, Anthon Prankanis (ed.), Psychology Press, New York, 2007, pp. 115–135.
Selective exposure: Silvia Knobloch-Westerwick and Jingbo Meng, “Looking the Other
Way: Selective Exposure to Attitude-Consistent and Counterattitudinal Political Informa-
tion,” Communication Research, Vol. 36, 2009, pp. 426–448.
Postdecision dissonance: Dave D’Alessio and Mike Allen, “Selective Exposure and Dis-
sonance after Decisions,” Psychological Reports, Vol. 91, 2002, pp. 527–532.
$1/$20 experiment: Leon Festinger and James Carlsmith, “Cognitive Consequences of
Forced Compliance,” Journal of Abnormal and Social Psychology, Vol. 58, 1959,
pp. 203–210.
Self-consistency revision: Ruth Thibodeau and Elliot Aronson, “Taking a Closer Look:
Reasserting the Role of the Self-Concept in Dissonance Theory,” Personality and Social
Psychology Bulletin, Vol. 18, 1992, pp. 591–602.
New-look revision: Joel Cooper and Russell Fazio, “A New Look at Dissonance Theory,”
in Advances in Experimental Social Psychology, Vol. 17, Leonard Berkowitz (ed.), Academic
Press, Orlando, FL, 1984, pp. 229–262.
Self-affi rmation revision: Claude Steele, “The Psychology of Self-Affi rmation: Sustain-
ing the Integrity of the Self,” in Advances in Experimental Social Psychology, Vol. 21, Leonard
Berkowitz (ed.), Lawrence Erlbaum, Hillsdale, NJ, 1988, pp. 261–302.
Role of weapons of mass destruction and dissonance in the invasion of Iraq: Jeff Stone and
Nicholas Fernandez, “How Behavior Shapes Attitudes: Cognitive Dissonance Processes,”
in Attitudes and Attitude Change, William Crano and Radmila Prislin (eds.), Psychology
Press, New York, 2008, pp. 313–334.
Critique: Daryl Bem, “Self-Perception: An Alternative Interpretation of Cognitive
Dissonance Phenomena,” Psychological Review, Vol. 74, 1967, pp. 183–200.
Critique: Daniel O’Keefe, “Cognitive Dissonance Theory,” in Persuasion: Theory and
Research, 2 nd ed., Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 2002, pp. 77–100.
Experiencing cognitive dissonance may require a strong need for esteem.
To access a chapter on Abraham Maslow’s theory of motivation,
click on Hierarchy of Needs in Archive under Theory Resources at
www.afi rstlook.com .
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213
DIVISION THREE
Group and Public
Communication
GROUP COMMUNICATION
CHAPTER 17. Functional Perspective on Group Decision Making (Hirokawa & Gouran)
CHAPTER 18. Symbolic Convergence Theory (Bormann)
ORGANIZATIONAL COMMUNICATION
CHAPTER 19. Cultural Approach to Organizations (Geertz & Pacanowsky)
CHAPTER 20. Communicative Constitution of Organizations (McPhee)
CHAPTER 21. Critical Theory of Communication in Organizations (Deetz)
PUBLIC RHETORIC
CHAPTER 22. The Rhetoric (Aristotle)
CHAPTER 23. Dramatism (Burke)
CHAPTER 24. Narrative Paradigm (Fisher)
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214
G r o u p C o m m u n i c a t i o n
On the morning of January 28, 1986, the space shuttle Challenger blasted off from
the Kennedy Space Center in Florida. For the fi rst time, the fl ight carried a civil-
ian schoolteacher, Christa McAuliffe, as part of the crew. Seventy-three seconds
after liftoff, millions of schoolchildren watched on television as the rocket disin-
tegrated in a fi ery explosion, and the capsule with its crew of seven plunged into
the Atlantic Ocean. For many Americans, the Challenger disaster marked the end
of a love affair with space. As they learned in the months that followed, the
tragedy could have been—and should have been—avoided.
An independent presidential commission identifi ed the primary cause of the
accident as failure in an O-ring that was supposed to seal a joint, thus allowing
volatile rocket fuel to spew out during the “burn.” But the commission also
concluded that a highly fl awed decision process was an important contributing
cause of the disaster. Communication, as well as combustion, was responsible
for the tragedy. The day before the launch, rocket engineers had talked about
the fl ight being risky. They worried that the O-ring seals had never been tested
below 53 degrees Fahrenheit. As one of them later testifi ed, with launch-time
temperature in the 20s, getting the O-rings to seal gaps would be like “trying to
shove a brick into a crack versus a sponge.”1 Yet during the fi nal “go/no-go”
conference, all agreed that the rocket was ready to fl y.
Yale social psychologist Irving Janis was convinced that this grievous error
wasn’t an isolated incident. He had spotted the same group dynamic in other
tragic government and corporate decisions. Janis didn’t regard chief executives
or their advisors as stupid, lazy, or evil. Rather he saw them as victims of “group-
think.” He defi ned groupthink as “a mode of thinking that people engage in when
they are deeply involved in a cohesive in-group, when the members’ strivings
for unanimity override their motivation to realistically appraise alternative
courses of action.”2 This concurrence-seeking tendency emerges only when the
group is characterized by “a warm clubby atmosphere” in which members desire
to maintain relationships within the group at all costs. As a result, they auto-
matically apply the “preserve group harmony” test to every decision they face.3
Janis maintained that the superglue of solidarity that bonds people together can
also cause their mental processes to get stuck.
Janis’ concept of groupthink highlights the accepted wisdom in the fi eld that
there are two functions communication needs to address in any group—a task
function and a relationship function. Task-focused communication moves the group
along toward its goal; relational communication holds the group together. Some
people concentrate on getting the job done, while others are much more con-
cerned about relationships within the group. Task-oriented individuals are the
pistons that drive the group machine. Relationship-oriented members are the
lubricant that prevents excessive friction from destroying the group. Good groups
require both kinds of people.
Harvard social psychologist Robert Bales was an early theorist who formally
made the connection between specifi c types of communication and accom-
plishing these two functions.4 Bales said group locomotion won’t happen unless
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GROUP COMMUNICATION 215
members ask for as well as offer information, opinions, and suggestions on how
the group should proceed. Bales claimed that the most effective groups are those in
which the verbal requests and responses are roughly equal in number. If every-
one is asking and nobody’s offering answers, the group won’t make progress
toward the goal. If, on the other hand, no one asks and everyone declares, the
group will still be stuck.
As for socio-emotional communication (Bales’ label for relational concern), he
regarded showing agreement, showing solidarity, and reducing tension by
storytelling as positive forms of communication that make the group cohesive.
He saw showing disagreement, antagonism, and tension as negative moves that
tend to pull the group apart. Yet Bales found that groups make better decisions
when there are a few negative voices. That squares with Janis’ recommendation.
He suggests that skepticism and blunt critiques are correctives to groupthink.
That kind of communication might have saved the lives of the Challenger crew
and Americans’ support for the space shuttle program.5
“Now, let’s hear it for good old Al, whose idea this Group Think was in the fi rst place.”
© Whitney Darrow, Jr./The New Yorker Collection/www.cartoonbank.com
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216
Objective Interpretive
Socio-psychological tradition
Cybernetic tradition
●
Functional Perspective
on Group
Decision Making
of Randy Hirokawa & Dennis Gouran
A cynic once said that a camel is a horse put together by a committee. Others
upset by their experience with group decision making give voice to their frustra-
tion with equally disparaging quips: 1
“If you want something done, do it yourself.”
“Too many cooks spoil the broth.”
“A committee is a group that keeps minutes and wastes hours.”
“Committees lure fresh ideas down a cul-de-sac and quietly strangle them.”
Randy Hirokawa (dean of liberal arts, University of Hawaii at Hilo) and
Dennis Gouran (professor of communication, Pennsylvania State University)
believe that these pessimistic views are unwarranted. Assuming that group
members care about the issue, are reasonably intelligent, and face a challenging
task that calls for more facts, new ideas, or clear thinking, Hirokawa and Gouran
are convinced that group interaction has a positive effect on the fi nal decision.
Hirokawa seeks quality solutions. 2 Gouran desires decisions that are appropriate . 3
Both scholars regard talk as the social tool that helps groups reach better conclu-
sions than they otherwise would. As the Hebrew proverb suggests, “Without
counsel plans go wrong, but with many advisers they succeed.” 4
The functional perspective specifi es what communication must accomplish for
jointly made decisions to be wise. Gouran laid the groundwork for the theory with
his early writing on group decision making. Hirokawa developed the core prin-
ciples of the theory during his graduate studies, and for 20 years his research tested
and refi ned the theory. On the chance that you would be intrigued by a behind-
the-scenes look at real-life group decisions made by college students living together,
I’ll illustrate the functional perspective by drawing on my experience conducting
a two-week off-campus class that students called the “Island Course.”
Functional perspective
A prescriptive approach
that describes and pre-
dicts task-group perfor-
mance when four
communication func-
tions are fulfilled.
17C H A P T E R
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CHAPTER 17: FUNCTIONAL PERSPECTIVE ON GROUP DECISION MAKING 217
For 20 years I taught a group dynamics seminar limited to eight students on
a remote island in northern Lake Michigan. Travel to and from the island was
by a single-engine airplane, and we lived together in a cabin—the only structure
on the island. Except when a few of us fl ew off the island to the mainland to get
food, our sole communication was with each other. There’s no cell phone service
or Internet access on the island. Course alumni look back and consider our iso-
lation as similar to Survivor , yet with a cooperative rather than a competitive
agenda. No one was ever voted off the island.
The island course was primarily a venture in experiential education. We
learned about group dynamics by studying our own interaction. I asked students
to adopt the role of participant-observer. Whatever happened among us became
a subject for group discussion. Still, the course maintained traditional academic
features—four hours of class per day, assigned readings, and fi nal grades. Within
that hybrid framework, class members had to decide on a daily schedule, who
would do each job necessary for group living, how limited funds for food and
fuel would be spent, and on what basis I would assign grades. They understood
that they had to live with their decisions for the fi rst half of the course, but could
change things for the second week.
As for my role, I let them know that I wouldn’t be an active participant in
the choices they made—they were free to decide as they saw fi t. I’d provide any
information they asked for, with the exception of revealing how other island-
course groups had handled these issues or disclosing my own personal prefer-
ences. In the survey that alums fi lled out up to two decades after the course,
Kelly’s response refl ected the general consensus:
I remember Em’s role best for what he didn’t do. It was my fi rst real experience
with a leader who laid back intentionally so that we had to come to our own
conclusion—a real democracy. It was refreshing to deal with someone in charge
who didn’t give all the answers. We were responsible for how things turned out.
As Hirokawa and Gouran predict, how things turned out hinged on the absence
or presence of four types of communication.
FOUR FUNCTIONS OF EFFECTIVE DECISION MAKING
Consistent with the approach of Bales and other pioneer researchers, Hirokawa
and Gouran draw an analogy between small groups and biological systems.
Complex living organisms must satisfy a number of functions, such as respira-
tion, circulation, digestion, and elimination of bodily waste, if they are to survive
and thrive in an ever-changing environment. In like manner, Hirokawa and
Gouran see the group decision-making process as needing to fulfi ll four task
requirements if members are to reach a high-quality solution. They refer to these
conditions as requisite functions of effective decision making—thus the “func-
tional perspective” label. 5 The four functions are (1) problem analysis, (2) goal
setting, (3) identifi cation of alternatives, and (4) evaluation of positive and nega-
tive characteristics of each alternative.
1. Analysis of the Problem
Is something going on that requires improvement or change? To answer that ques-
tion, group members must take a realistic look at current conditions. Defenders of
Requisite functions
Requirements for positive
group outcome; problem
analysis, goal setting,
identification of alterna-
tives, and evaluation of
pluses and minuses for
each.
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218 GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
the status quo are fond of saying, “If it ain’t broke, don’t fi x it.” But, as Hirokawa
warns, any misunderstanding of the situation tends to be compounded when the
members make their fi nal decision. He also notes that the clearest example of
faulty analysis is the failure to recognize a potential threat when one really exists. 6
After people acknowledge a need to be addressed, they still must fi gure out the
nature, extent, and probable cause(s) of the problem that confronts the group.
The fi rst night on the island, students faced the task of drawing up a daily
schedule. Because that decision affected other choices, I’ll describe how two
groups in different summers handled problem analysis and how they fulfi lled
the other three requisite functions that Hirokawa and Gouran identify. I’ll refer
to them as the blue group and the green group .
The blue group never did any overt problem analysis. To them, scheduling
seemed a simple matter. They jumped to pooling suggestions for what would
make the two weeks ideal without ever considering the unique problems that
island living posed. Their conversation centered on building in as much time
as possible to go outside to enjoy the island during the day and each other at
night. Most class members noted that sleeping in late was also an idea with
great appeal.
Conversely, the green group started out by exploring what situational limita-
tions they had to factor into their decision. The close quarters of the small cabin
proved to be a problem because it provided no aural—and very little visual—
privacy. A few light sleepers admitted that it would be impossible for them to get
to sleep at night, or to stay asleep in the morning, if someone was talking or walk-
ing around. Before budgeting their limited funds for food and fuel, they also fi gured
out the cost for each member to ride the all-terrain cycle (ATC) around the island
for 30 minutes a day—something all were eager to do. Their fi gures showed that
they’d run out of money before the end of the course unless they could limit the
use of the diesel generator to no more than 10 hours a day. This problem analysis
strongly informed the schedule they fi nally worked out.
2. Goal Setting
Because group members need to be clear on what they are trying to accomplish,
Hirokawa and Gouran regard discussion of goals and objectives as the second
requisite function of decision making. A group needs to establish criteria by
which to judge proposed solutions. These criteria must set forth the minimal
qualities that an acceptable solution must possess. If the group fails to satisfy
this task requirement, it’s likely that the decision will be driven by power or
passion rather than reason. 7
Even before they began discussing alternatives, the green group reached a
consensus on the specifi c criteria their schedule had to meet. They agreed that the
schedule should include four hours of class as well as windows wide enough for
students to prepare and enjoy decent meals and clean up afterward. Members
insisted that there be a minimum of six hours of free time to play, study, or chill
out. They also specifi ed a nighttime block of at least seven hours for sleeping,
where both the generator and conversation in the cabin would be turned off.
And based on their problem analysis, they wanted to craft an energy-sensitive
schedule that wouldn’t require the generator to be used for more than 10 hours a
day. With the possible exceptions of decent meals and energy sensitive, these were
measurable goals that could be used to gauge the quality of their fi nal decision.
Problem analysis
Determining the nature,
extent, and cause(s) of
the problem facing the
group.
Goal setting
Establishing criteria by
which to judge proposed
solutions.
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CHAPTER 17: FUNCTIONAL PERSPECTIVE ON GROUP DECISION MAKING 219
Unlike the green group, the blue group never spoke of goals, objectives,
standards, targets, or criteria. Their discussion made it clear that fun in the sun
and lots of casual time together were high priorities. But these overlapping
desires are quite subjective and open to multiple interpretations. With no defi n-
itive goals to focus their discussion, it’s diffi cult for group members to know
whether they’re making an appropriate decision. Or, as sports enthusiasts put it,
You don’t know you’re winning if you don’t keep score.
3. Identification of Alternatives
Hirokawa and Gouran stress the importance of marshaling a number of alterna-
tive solutions from which group members can choose:
If no one calls attention to the need for generating as many alternatives as is
realistically possible, then relatively few may be introduced, and the corresponding
possibility of fi nding the acceptable answer will be low. 8
Both island-course groups wanted to schedule time when they could enjoy
the island. Swimming, sunbathing, stone skipping, playing volleyball or soccer,
Identification of
alternatives
Generation of options to
sufficiently solve the
problem.
“Gentlemen, the fact that all my horses and all my men couldn’t put Humpty together again
simply proves to me that I must have more horses and more men.”
© Dana Fradon/The New Yorker Collection/www.cartoonbank.com
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220 GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
trailblazing, riding the ATC, treasure hunting, bird watching, picking wild rasp-
berries, building tree forts in the woods, and just lolling in the hammock were
a few of the daylight activities suggested by blue and green course members
alike. But the groups varied greatly on the number of options they generated for
scheduling class and meals. The blue group seemed to have tunnel vision and
could only picture a schedule with two hours of class in the morning and two
hours at night. No other options were seriously considered. They were equally
locked into the traditional practice of lunch at noon and dinner at six. One ten-
tatively suggested alternative was shot down before it could be explained.
A girl in the green group had read an article on brainstorming before the
course and urged classmates, “Let’s see how many different ideas we can think
of for when we’ll eat.” They took her up on it and suggested a dozen meal plans:
late breakfast; no breakfast; brunch instead of breakfast and lunch; one big meal
a day at noon; dinner at noon and light supper in the evening; a picnic snack to
eat in the afternoon; four light meals a day; and a mix of these options.
The green group wasn’t quite as creative with alternatives for class, yet they
went beyond the two-hours-in-the-morning-and-two-at-night plan that seemed
written in stone for the blue group. Different class members suggested three
hours in the morning and one at night; four hours in the morning with two
breaks; three class sessions of 80 minutes in the morning, afternoon, and night;
three hours of class at night when the generator would be on anyway; all classes
during daylight hours so the generator wouldn’t have to be on. Their fi nal deci-
sion turned out to be a combination of these ideas.
4. Evaluation of Positive and Negative Characteristics
After a group has identifi ed alternative solutions, the participants must take care
to test the relative merits of each option against the criteria they believe are
important. This point-by-point comparison doesn’t take place automatically.
Hirokawa and Gouran warn that groups get sloppy and often need one member
to remind the others to consider both the positive and negative features of each
alternative.
Because blue group members concentrated on only one schedule option,
their evaluation of its characteristics was rather brief. They did a nice job of
articulating the benefi ts they saw in their plan—a similarity to campus schedule,
afternoons free for outdoor recreation, late-night opportunity to strengthen rela-
tionships, and a chance to sleep in before a late morning class. What’s not to
like? The blue group never addressed that issue. Hirokawa notes that some
group tasks have a negative bias in that spotting the downside of each alternative
is more important than identifying its positive qualities. 9 Since students were
new to island living, it turned out that focusing on the disadvantages inherent
in any plan would have been time well spent.
The green group discussed the pluses and minuses of every alternative. They
concluded that late-night activity came at the cost of money they’d rather spend
on food. They also saw that long class sessions in this idyllic setting could result
in boredom and resentment. And for many of the meal plans they were consid-
ering, the amount of time spent in preparation, eating, and cleanup struck them
as excessive. These realizations led them to adopt the novel schedule displayed
on the bottom of Figure 17–1 . Note that the three shorter classes meet in daylight
hours. Since there are only two sit-down meals with prep and cleanup, there’s
Evaluation of positive
and negative
characteristics
Testing the relative merits
of each option against
the criteria selected;
weighing the benefits
and costs.
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CHAPTER 17: FUNCTIONAL PERSPECTIVE ON GROUP DECISION MAKING 221
more free time for whatever people want to do. And there are more than eight
hours of darkness for course members and the generator to be at rest.
When the green group members fi rst looked at their schedule shown in
Figure 17–1 , some had second thoughts. For them, it seemed bizarre to be going
to bed at 10 p.m., with some folks rising at 6:30 in the morning. But one girl
suggested advancing all clocks, watches, and times on the schedule ahead by
one hour. “We’ll feel better about going to bed at 11, and our schedule will still
be in sync with the sun,” she explained. The others were intrigued by the elegant
simplicity of her idea, so before turning in that night, we switched to Island
Daylight Saving Time. Our body clocks were quick to adjust as well.
Predictable Outcomes
So what difference did Hirokawa and Gouran’s four requisite functions make
for these two island groups? Over the course of two weeks, how did these con-
trasting schedules turn out in practice? Both groups stuck to their plan for the
fi rst week, but by the fi fth day, the class that didn’t address the four functions
was struggling. No one in the blue group went to sleep before midnight, and
once someone got up early in the morning, no one else could sleep. Students
slept only six or seven hours, and those who planned to sleep in were irritated
at others who woke them up. The two-hour class at night became a real drag;
no one looked forward to that time together.
Perhaps the biggest problem triggered by the blue group’s decision was pro-
longed use of the generator. Extended activity in the cabin resulted in the gen-
erator running more than 12 hours a day, at a cost that took a big bite out of the
food budget. The blue group made some adjustments the second week, but the
menu for our last few meals seemed to consist of grubs and yucca roots. And
there was no gas for the ATC.
On the other hand, the eight students in the green group were quite satisfi ed
with the schedule they crafted. They saved time and energy by eating only two
meals in the cabin, holding all classes during daylight hours, and preparing the
afternoon picnic snack and the brunch at the same time. They had more time for
fun in the sun than the blue group did, and looked forward to the abbreviated
evening class as a lead-in to a relaxed dinner.
The well-rested green group took great pride in limiting generator use to
eight hours per day and celebrated with a T-bone steak dinner the last night with
the money they’d saved. In addition, there was enough room in the budget to
guarantee unlimited rides on the ATC. As Hirokawa and Gouran suggest, it took
B
LU
E
G
R
O
U
P
G
R
E
E
N
G
R
O
U
P
Sleep in
Generator on
when needed
Breakfast
Class
(2 hours)
Class
(90 min)
Class
(90 min)
Class
(1 hour)
Complete
brunch
Coffee
Tea
Cocoa
Class
(2 hours)
Lights
out
Lunch Free time
Free time
Picnic at leisure
[The Green Group time line depicts their proposal before advancing it an hour to “Island Daylight Saving Time.”]
Dinner Free time
Lights
out
Dinner
Free
time
7 8 9 10 11 12 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12
FIGURE 17–1 Blue and Green Group Schedules for the Island Course
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222 GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
discussion of all four requisite functions to hammer out a quality solution that
was appropriate for the island course.
PRIORITIZING THE FOUR FUNCTIONS
The word prioritizing refers to addressing the four requisite functions in a logical
progression. Hirokawa originally thought that no one sequence or group agenda
does the job better. As long as the group ends up dealing with all four functions,
the route its members take won’t make much difference. Yet he’s discovered the
groups that successfully resolve especially diffi cult problems usually take a com-
mon decision-making path. 10
The term prioritizing in the heading also refers to the question of which function
is most important in order for a group to maximize the probability of a high-
quality decision. Hirokawa and Gouran originally thought that no single function
is inherently more important than any of the others. 11 But as Hirokawa admits, in
a paper entitled, “To Err Is Human, To Correct for It Divine,” they were wrong.
The paper reports on a meta-analysis of 60 empirical research studies on the func-
tional perspective. The study concludes that of the four functions, evaluation of
negative consequences of alternative solutions is by far the most crucial to ensure a
quality decision. 12 Perhaps to stress its importance, Hirokawa now splits up the
evaluation of alternatives function into positive outcomes and negative outcomes
for each option, and speaks of fi ve requisite functions rather than four.
Figure 17–2 portrays the path that seems to offer the best problem-solving
progression. Groups start with problem analysis, then deal with goal setting
and identifying alternatives, and end by evaluating the positive and negative
characteristics of each alternative before making a fi nal choice. This decision-
making fl ow parallels the advice I once heard on National Public Radio’s Car Talk.
Asked how car owners should handle close-call decisions on auto repair,
mechanics Tom and Ray Magliozzi (“Click and Clack, the Tappet Brothers”)
gave a street-smart answer that ran something like this:
First, fi gure out what’s broke. Then, make up your mind how good you want to fi x
it. Or before that ask your mechanic to list the choices you’ve got. Either way, you
gotta do both. Finally, weigh the bang-for-the-buck that each job gives. Then decide.
FIGURE 17–2 An Effective Decision-Making Path from the Functional Perspective
EVALUATION OF
POSITIVES AND
NEGATIVES
HIGH-
QUALITY
DECISION
PROBLEM
ANALYSIS
IDENTIFICATION
OF
ALTERNATIVES
GOAL SETTING
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CHAPTER 17: FUNCTIONAL PERSPECTIVE ON GROUP DECISION MAKING 223
THE ROLE OF COMMUNICATION IN FULFILLING THE FUNCTIONS
Most communication scholars believe that discussion among members has a sig-
nifi cant effect on the quality of group decisions. Traditional wisdom suggests
that talk is the medium, channel, or conduit through which information travels
between participants. 13 Verbal interaction makes it possible for members to (1) dis-
tribute and pool information, (2) catch and remedy errors, and (3) infl uence each
other. But distractions and nonproductive conversation create channel noise
causing a loss of information. Group researcher Ivan Steiner claimed that 14
Actual Group
5
Potential
2
Losses Due
Productivity Productivity to Processes
It follows that communication is best when it doesn’t obstruct or distort the free
fl ow of ideas.
While not rejecting this traditional view, Hirokawa believes that communica-
tion plays a more active role in crafting quality decisions. Like social construc-
tionists (see Chapters 6, 11, and 13), he regards group discussion as a tool or
instrument that group members use to create the social reality in which decisions
are made. 15 Discussion exerts its own impact on the end product of the
group.
How does this work in practice? Think of the dark, wide lines in Figure 17–2
as safe trails through a dense thicket—paths that connect the four key task functions
and lead ultimately to the goal of a high-quality group decision. Members can eas-
ily wander off that goal path and get caught up in a tangle of prickerbushes that
thwart the group’s progress. The bushes in this analogy represent distractions or
barriers that hinder movement toward the goal. Hirokawa and Gouran list a
number of thorny obstacles—ignorance of the issue, faulty facts, misguided
assumptions, sloppy evaluation of options, illogical inferences, disregard of pro-
cedural norms, and undue infl uence by powerful members. They believe that
people go astray through talk, but they also believe that communication has the
power to pull them back onto the goal-directed path.
Consistent with these convictions, Hirokawa and Gouran outline three types
of communication in decision-making groups:
1. Promotive—interaction that moves the group along the goal path by calling
attention to one of the four requisite decision-making functions.
2. Disruptive—interaction that diverts, hinders or frustrates group members’ abil-
ity to achieve the four task functions.
3. Counteractive—interaction that members use to get the group back on track.
Hirokawa and Gouran suggest that most comments from group members
disrupt rather than promote progress toward the goal. They conclude, therefore,
that “effective group decision-making is perhaps best understood as a conse-
quence of the exercise of counteractive infl uence.” 16 In other words, someone has
to say something that will get the group back on track. After reading about these
three types of communication in her comm theory course, Lydia recognized that
her comments had been disruptive rather than counteractive during a crucial
discussion:
I think group decision making is important, even vital, yet I am the worst at it.
When I was in high school, I applied to be a foreign exchange student to
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224 GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
Germany. For our final selection task the six finalists had to come up with a
solution to a problem, then present it to the directors. Based on the group process,
the directors would select the four of us who would go. Judging by Hirokawa and
Gouran’s theory, I see why I never went to Germany. I’d like to say it’s because I
tend to promote different alternatives, however, I can see how my smart/sarcastic
comments tend to disrupt and take away from the task of problem analysis and
goal setting. I wish I had a chance to do it over—after my big personality change,
of course.
Hirokawa has made repeated efforts to develop a conversational coding sys-
tem that classifi es the function of specifi c statements. Much like Bales’ interaction
categories outlined in the introduction to group communication, Hirokawa’s
Function-Oriented Interaction Coding System (FOICS) requires researchers to cate-
gorize each functional utterance, which is “an uninterrupted statement of a single
member that appears to perform a specifi ed function within the group interaction
process.” 17
Figure 17–3 shows a FOICS checklist that researchers might use to analyze
communication within a group. As you can see, raters are asked to make two
judgments: (1) Which of the four requisite functions, if any, does an utterance
address? and (2) Does the remark facilitate ( promote ), inhibit ( disrupt ), or redirect
( counteract ) the group’s focus on that function? Ideally, this 4 3 3 classifi cation
scheme provides 12 discrete categories of group discussion. With that informa-
tion, researchers could determine the effect of communication on the quality of
the decision the group makes.
In practice, however, analyzing the content of group discussion is fraught
with diffi culty. In the fi rst place, independent raters fi nd it hard to agree on how a
statement should be coded. Extensive training boosts the reliability of their judg-
ments, but Hirokawa is keenly aware that a single comment may serve multiple
functions. In addition, words that appear helpful on the surface may have hidden
power to disrupt, or vice versa. The process of coding comments has turned out
to be an ongoing problem for all researchers who want to study the nature and
effects of group communication.
FOICS
Function-Oriented Inter-
action Coding System; a
tool to record and clas-
sify the function of utter-
ances during a group’s
discussion.
Functional utterance
An uninterrupted state-
ment of a single member
that appears to perform a
specific function.
FIGURE 17–3 Function-Oriented Interaction Coding System (FOICS) Checklist
Promote
Disrupt
Counteract
Problem
Analysis
Goal
Setting
Evaluation of
Positives/Negatives
Identification
of Alternatives
THOUGHTFUL ADVICE FOR THOSE WHO KNOW THEY ARE RIGHT
How can you and I use the functional perspective to facilitate better group deci-
sions? We can start with a healthy dose of humility concerning the wisdom of
our own opinions. Hirokawa and Gouran report that groups often abandon the
rational path due to the persuasive efforts of members who are convinced that
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CHAPTER 17: FUNCTIONAL PERSPECTIVE ON GROUP DECISION MAKING 225
they alone have the right answer. Their discussion style proclaims, “Don’t confuse
me with the facts; my mind’s made up,” and they wear down the opposition. We
can make sure we don’t come to the table with the sort of closed-minded attitude
that torpedoes honest discussion. Additionally, we should be wary of pushing any
“intuitive hunch” or “gut feeling” that we can’t back up with reasonable evidence.
These are errors to avoid.
We can also take proactive measures to promote clear thinking within the
group. In almost every article they write, Hirokawa and Gouran acknowledge
their intellectual debt to early-twentieth-century American pragmatist philoso-
pher John Dewey. 18 Dewey’s pragmatism was based on the hopeful assumption
that practical decisions can be brought under more intelligent control through
the process of rational inquiry. 19 He advocated a six-step process of refl ective
thinking that parallels a doctor’s approach to treating a patient: 20
1. Recognize symptoms of illness.
2. Diagnose the cause of the ailment.
3. Establish criteria for wellness.
4. Consider possible remedies.
5. Test to determine which solutions will work.
6. Implement or prescribe the best solution.
Note that Hirokawa and Gouran’s four requisite functions are almost exact rep-
licas of steps 2, 3, 4, and 5 in Dewey’s refl ective-thinking process. Both lists
recommend that group members discuss issues in a way that promotes problem
analysis, goal setting, discovery of alternatives, and evaluation of these options.
When we’re tempted to make remarks that will detract from the process, Hiro-
kawa and Gouran suggest we bite our tongues. And when others say things
that sidetrack the group from fulfi lling the four functional requisites, the
theorists urge us to counter with a comment aimed at getting the group back
on a rational path.
You may be hesitant to counteract the dubious logic of a powerful leader or
a high-status member of the group, but Hirokawa and Gouran don’t advocate
direct criticism. Instead, they recommend a strategy of insisting on a careful
process. By raising questions, calling for more alternatives, and urging a thor-
ough evaluation of evidence, a low-status member can have a high-power impact
on the quality of the fi nal decision.
Reflective thinking
Thinking that favors ra-
tional consideration over
intuitive hunches or pres-
sure from those with
clout.
ETHICAL REFLECTION: HABERMAS’ DISCOURSE ETHICS
German philosopher Jürgen Habermas suggests a rational group process through
which people can determine right from wrong—a different kind of decision than
Hirokawa and Gouran usually study. In order to develop guidelines for ethical
action, the Frankfurt School critical theorist pictures a diverse group of people
engaged in public discourse. Habermas’ ethical approach seeks an after-the-fact
discussion about what we did in a particular situation and why we decided to
do it. Being ethical means being accountable. 21
Habermas assumes that people within a given culture or community can
pretty much agree on the good they want to accomplish, and that over time
they’ve built up practical wisdom on how to achieve it. For example, your cam-
pus newspaper reporters assume that it’s good for students to know more about
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226 GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
what’s going on within the school’s administration (“the people’s right to know”)
and that guaranteeing confi dentiality to insiders is the best way to fi nd out
(“protecting their sources”). This newsroom common sense is a good place to
start doing journalistic ethics, but reporters’ justifi cation of the practice typically
lacks refl ective rigor. It often doesn’t take into account the interests of everyone
affected by their stories.
Habermas’ discourse ethics sets up a discursive test for the validity of any
moral claim. The person who performed an act must be prepared to discuss in
an open forum what he or she did and why he or she did it. This deliberative
process is a two-stage process of justifi cation and application. The actor must
reveal the general ethical principle that he or she used to justify the action and
then show why it was the appropriate thing to do in those particular circum-
stances. Habermas imagines an ideal speech situation where participants are free
to listen to reason and speak their minds without fear of constraint or control. 22
He’s convinced that the validity of any ethical consensus can be reached only to
the extent that three requirements are met: 23
1. Requirement for access. All people affected by the ethical norm being
debated can attend and be heard, regardless of their status. That means
donors, administrators, professors, students, and minimum-wage staff
at the school are welcome at the table without prejudice.
2. Requirement for argument. All participants are expected to exchange their
points of view in the spirit of genuine reciprocity and mutual under-
standing. They aren’t merely trying to advance their own interests but
are trying to fi gure out whether an action serves the common good.
3. Requirement for justifi cation. Everyone is committed to a standard of uni-
versalization. What makes ethical claims legitimate is their “acceptance
not only among those who agree to live with and by them but by
anyone affected by them.” 24
Habermas understands that thoroughly noncoercive dialogue is a utopian
dream, yet he fi nds his conception of the ideal speech situation helpful in gauging
the degree to which a discussion is rational. This, of course, is a major goal of
Hirokawa’s, Gouran’s, and Dewey’s. The trick is getting group members to do it.
Discourse ethics
Jürgen Habermas’ vision
of the ideal speech situa-
tion in which diverse
participants could ra-
tionally reach a consensus
on universal ethical
standards.
Ideal speech situation
A discourse on ethical
accountability in which
discussants represent all
who will be affected by
the decision, pursue dis-
course in a spirit of seek-
ing the common good,
and are committed to find-
ing universal standards.
CRITIQUE: IS RATIONALITY OVERRATED?
In their review of small-group communication literature, John Cragan and David
Wright conclude that there are three leading theories. 25 One is Bormann’s sym-
bolic convergence theory, discussed in the next chapter. The second is Scott Poole’s
adaptive structuration theory, which you can read about in the theory list section
of www.afi rstlook.com . The third is Hirokawa and Gouran’s functional perspective.
In their critique of the functional perspective, communication professors
Cynthia Stohl (University of California Santa Barbara) and Michael Holmes
(Ball State University) explain why it is so highly regarded:
The basic premise of the perspective, that communication serves task functions and
the accomplishment of those functions should be associated with effective group
decisions, is intuitively appealing and sensible. It also meets the standards of an
objective theory in that it explains, is testable, simple, and practical. 26
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CHAPTER 17: FUNCTIONAL PERSPECTIVE ON GROUP DECISION MAKING 227
As a result, many communication scholars endorse the theory as a model for
group discussion and decision making. One of my students is so convinced that
he wrote, “A list of the four functions should be woven into the carpet of every
committee room.”
Yet Hirokawa’s exclusive focus on rational talk may be the reason research-
ers get mixed results when they test his theory’s predictions. 27 Note that the
FOICS method of coding conversation all but ignores comments about relation-
ships inside or outside the group. By treating relational statements as a distrac-
tion, Hirokawa commits the same mistake that the late Aubrey Fisher admitted
he made in his own task-focused research: 28
The original purpose of the investigation . . . was to observe verbal task behavior
free from the confounding variables of the socioemotional dimension. That pur-
pose, of course, was doomed to failure. The two dimensions are interdependent. 29
Stohl and Holmes’ critique frames the same issue in a slightly different way.
They contend that most real-life groups have a prior decision-making history
and are embedded within a larger organization. They advocate adding a histori-
cal function that requires the group to talk about how past decisions were made.
They also recommend an institutional function that is satisfi ed when members
discuss the reality of power brokers and stakeholders who aren’t at the table,
but whose views clearly affect and are affected by the group decision.
Dennis Gouran has recently raised doubts about how useful the functional
perspective may be for many small-group discussions. 30 He notes that almost all
group dynamics research has dealt with decision making and problem solving.
Although he and Hirokawa attempted to craft a one-size-fi ts-all model for group
communication, he now believes it’s benefi cial for members to fulfi ll the four
requisite functions only when they are addressing questions of policy. That’s not
always the case.
Investigative panels and juries deal with questions of fact such as “What
happened?” or “Who’s responsible?” College admission boards and product
design teams face questions of conjecture, trying to fi gure out what’s likely to
happen in an uncertain future without any current way of knowing if their
predictions are right. Religious groups and addiction recovery support groups
face emotionally loaded questions of value, with members sharing or debating
what they believe is acceptable, appropriate, ethical, or morally right. None of
these questions has a discernable “right” or “high-quality” answer. Gouran
doesn’t believe that these alternative group goals invalidate the functional per-
spective, but he does suggest their existence shows that the theory isn’t relevant
in every situation. The scope of the functional perspective is more limited
than fi rst believed.
1. Hirokawa and Gouran claim that small groups are like living systems. Do
you see parallels between the four functional requisites of task groups and the
body’s need for respiration, circulation, digestion, and elimination?
2. Given that the functional theory focuses on decision-making and problem-
solving groups, why is its silence on relationship issues a problem?
QUESTIONS TO SHARPEN YOUR FOCUS
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228 GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
A SECOND LOOK Recommended resource: Dennis Gouran, Randy Hirokawa, Kelly Julian, and Geoff
Leatham, “The Evolution and Current Status of the Functional Perspective on Communi-
cation in Decision-Making and Problem-Solving Groups,” in Communication Yearbook 16,
Stanley Deetz (ed.), Sage, Newbury Park, CA, 1993, pp. 573–600.
Original statement: Dennis Gouran and Randy Hirokawa, “The Role of Communica-
tion in Decision-Making Groups: A Functional Perspective,” in Communications in Transi-
tion, Mary Mander (ed.), Praeger, New York, 1983, pp. 168–185.
Research review: Randy Hirokawa, “From the Tiny Pond to the Big Ocean: Studying
Communication and Group Decision-Making Effectiveness from a Functional Perspec-
tive,” 1999 B. Aubrey Fisher Memorial Lecture, Department of Communication, Univer-
sity of Utah, Salt Lake City, UT.
Role of communication: Randy Hirokawa and Dirk Scheerhorn, “Communication in
Faulty Group Decision-Making,” in Communication and Group Decision-Making, Randy
Hirokawa and M. Scott Poole (eds.), Sage, Beverly Hills, CA, 1986, pp. 63–80.
Coding group interaction: Randy Hirokawa, “Functional Approaches to the Study of
Group Discussion,” Small Group Research, Vol. 25, 1994, pp. 542–550.
Additional propositions: Dennis Gouran and Randy Hirokawa, “Effective Decision
Making and Problem Solving in Groups: A Functional Perspective,” in Small Group Com-
munication: Theory and Practice, 8 th ed., Randy Hirokawa, Robert Cathcart, et al. (eds.),
Roxbury, Los Angeles, CA, 2003, pp. 27–38.
For chapter self-quizzes, go to the book’s Online Learning Center at
www.mhhe.com/griffi n9e
SELF-QUIZ
CONVERSATIONS As you might expect from an objective theorist discussing a rational theory,
Randy Hirokawa gives clear, concise responses to my opening questions
about group decision making. Is it possible he will fi nd a yet undiscovered
requisite function? Are jokes a form of disruptive communication? But as the
conversation continues, Hirokawa voices ideas not usually heard from thor-
oughgoing empiricists. He refers to the irony of questionable motives produc-
ing benefi cial actions, a subjective standard to determine whether a decision
is good, and his belief that there are no guarantees in life. Many students
consider this conversation the best of the bunch.
View this segment online at
www.mhhe.com/griffi n9e or
www.afi rstlook.com.
3. Think of a time when you’ve been part of a task group that strayed from the
goal path. What counteractive statement could you have made that might have
brought it back on track?
4. Why might you fi nd it frustrating to use Hirokawa’s Function-Oriented
Interaction Coding System (FOICS) to analyze a group discussion?
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CHAPTER 17: FUNCTIONAL PERSPECTIVE ON GROUP DECISION MAKING 229
Survey of group theories taking a functional perspective: Andrea B. Hollingshead, Gwen
Wittenbaum, et al., “A Look at Groups from the Functional Perspective,” in Theories of
Small Groups: Interdisciplinary Perspectives, M. Scott Poole and Andrea B. Hollingshead
(eds.), Sage, London, 2005, pp. 21–62.
Requisite functions accomplished face-to-face vs. CMC: Shu-Chu Sarrina Li, “Computer-
Mediated Communication and Group Decision Making: A Functional Perspective,” Small
Group Research, Vol. 38, 2007, pp. 593–614.
Equivocal evidence that communication changes group decisions: Dean E. Hewes, “The
Infl uence of Communication Processes on Group Outcomes: Antithesis and Thesis,”
Human Communication Research, Vol. 35, 2009, pp. 249–271.
Critique: Cynthia Stohl and Michael Holmes, “A Functional Perspective for Bona Fide
Groups,” Communication Yearbook 16, 1993, pp. 601–614.
Theorist’s assessment of limited scope: Dennis Gouran, “Refl ections on the Type of Ques-
tion as a Determinant of the Form of Interaction in Decision-Making and Problem-Solving
Discussions,” Communication Quarterly, Vol. 53, 2003, pp. 111–125.
To access a chapter on Irving Janis’ Groupthink,
click on Archive under Theory Resources at
www.afi rstlook.com.
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230
Objective Interpretive
Rhetorical tradition
Socio-psychological tradition
●
Symbolic Convergence
Theory
of Ernest Bormann
In the introduction to this section on group communication, I refer to Harvard
social psychologist Robert Bales’ work to categorize comments made in small-
group discussions. On the basis of his research with zero-history problem-solving
groups in his lab, Bales discovered that dramatizing was a signifi cant type of
communication that often fostered group cohesiveness. 1 The late University of
Minnesota communication professor Ernest Bormann picked up on Bales’ fi nd-
ing and undertook a more extensive study of newly formed groups to examine
leadership emergence, decision making, norms, cohesiveness, and a number of
other features of group life. 2
Similar to Bales, Bormann and his team of colleagues observed that group
members often dramatized events happening outside the group, things that took
place at previous meetings, or what might possibly occur among them in the
future. Sometimes these stories fell fl at and the discussion moved in a different
direction. But at other times group members responded enthusiastically by adding
on to the story or chiming in with their own matching narratives. When the drama
was enhanced in this way, members developed a common group consciousness
and drew closer together. On the basis of extensive case studies, Bormann set forth
the central explanatory principle of symbolic convergence theory (SCT):
Sharing group fantasies creates symbolic convergence. 3
When she read about Bormann’s theory, Maggie had no diffi culty illustrating
this core claim. Two weeks before her communication course began, she served
as a student leader in the Wheaton Passage program for new freshmen that’s
held at a camp in Wisconsin’s Northwoods. One of the stated goals of this
optional offering is to build intentional community. In her application log, Maggie
wrote of unplanned communication that achieved this end.
Cabin 8 was the rustic, run-down cabin that my group of Passage students was
assigned to live in for the week. My co-leader and I decked the cabin out with
decorations by hanging Christmas lights and origami doves, yet there was no
18C H A P T E R
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CHAPTER 18: SYMBOLIC CONVERGENCE THEORY 231
escaping the massive holes in the screens, sticky messes in the drawers, and the
spiders residing in the rafters. The night students arrived, we walked our group of
girls past the brand new cabins, arrived at our old cabin, and presented Cabin 8—
their home for a week. Needless to say, they were less than pleased.
The next day as our group was trekking to our morning activity, one of the girls
brought up what she thought the perfect cabin would look like. Others jumped in
with their ideas. For 10 minutes, each girl contributed something to the discussion
of the fantasy cabin. Hot tubs, screened-in porches, soft carpet, lounge chairs, and a
glass roof for stargazing were all mentioned as features in their ideal cabin. Look-
ing back on this experience, I see how this shared fantasy played a role in our
cabin bonding. As the week went on, our dream cabin became a running joke
within our group that helped students develop a sense of closeness—what they
deemed “hardcoreness.” While living in the crummy cabin, they frequently revis-
ited the image of the ideal cabin they created in their conversation.
DRAMATIZING MESSAGES: CREATIVE INTERPRETATIONS OF THERE-AND-THEN
Many comments in task-oriented discussion groups offer lines of argument, fac-
tual information, members’ opinions, and suggestions for how the group should
proceed. That’s the kind of member contribution Hirokawa and Gouran’s func-
tional perspective values (see Chapter 17). Advocates of rational discussion
believe it’s usually disruptive and counterproductive when someone cracks a
joke, describes a movie, or starts talking about plans for the upcoming weekend.
Not so for Bormann. SCT classifi es these examples and many other forms of
speaking as dramatizing messages and believes that conversations about things
outside of what’s going on right now can often serve the group well.
A dramatizing message is one that contains imaginative language such as a
pun or other wordplay, fi gure of speech (e.g., metaphor, simile, personifi cation),
analogy, anecdote, allegory, fable, narrative, story, or other creative expression of
ideas. Whatever the form, the dramatizing message describes events occurring
somewhere else and/or at some time other than the here-and-now. 4
Notice fi rst that a group member’s words must paint a picture or call to
mind an image in order to be labeled a dramatizing message. A comment that
groups need confl ict in order to make good decisions might stimulate discussion
among members, but that’s not dramatizing in the way Bormann used the term.
Second, a vivid message qualifi es as dramatizing if it either describes something
outside the group or portrays an event that has happened within the group in
the past or might happen to the group in the future. Comments that have no
imagery or those that refer to what’s currently going on in the group make up
the bulk of most group discussions. They aren’t dramatizing messages.
When Maggie’s girls started to verbally construct their ideal cabin, they were
using imaginative language to talk about what they’d like to see in the future,
probably wishing it would magically appear that night. If in a darker tone one
of the girls expressed her hope that someone would set fi re to the cabin before
they returned, that message would also be dramatizing. But if the group of girls
sat around in the cabin grousing about the spiders, mosquitoes, and sticky goo
in the drawers, those comments would be about the here-and-now and wouldn’t
be defi ned as dramatizing messages.
Why is this distinction so important to Bormann and SCT advocates? Because
dramatizing messages are interpretive. They aren’t knee-jerk responses to
Dramatizing message
Imaginative language by
a group member describ-
ing past, future, or out-
side events; creative
interpretations of there-
and-then.
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232 GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
experiences of the moment. “Dramatizing accounts of past occurrences artisti-
cally organize what are usually more complex, ambiguous, and chaotic experi-
ences.” 5 They help the speaker, and sometimes the listeners, make sense out of a
confusing situation or bring some clarity to an uncertain future. Whether or not
other group members connect with their imagery, dramatizing messages are cre-
ative interpretations of the there-and-then.
Some people use the term fantasy to refer to children’s literature, sexual desire,
or things “not true.” Bormann, however, reserved the term fantasy for dramatiz-
ing messages that are enthusiastically embraced by the whole group. Most dra-
matizing messages don’t get that kind of reaction. They often fall on deaf ears,
or group members listen but take a ho-hum attitude toward what was said. Of
course, an embarrassing silence or a quick change of subject makes it obvious
that the dramatizing message has fallen fl at. As the cartoon below illustrates,
there may even be group members who openly oppose what was said. Yet as
Bormann noted, “Some dramatizing messages cause a symbolic explosion in the
form of a chain reaction in which members join in until the entire group comes
alive.” 6 He described what he had seen when a fantasy chains out in this way:
The tempo of the conversation would pick up. People would grow excited, inter-
rupt one another, blush, laugh, forget their self-consciousness. The tone of the
meeting, often quiet and tense immediately prior to the dramatizing, would
FANTASY CHAIN REACTIONS: UNPREDICTABLE SYMBOLIC EXPLOSIONS
“Pardon us, Harrison, if the board fails to share your enthusiasm for the foliage up in Darien.”
© Jack Ziegler/The New Yorker Collection/www.cartoonbank.com
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CHAPTER 18: SYMBOLIC CONVERGENCE THEORY 233
become lively, animated, and boisterous, the chaining process, involving both the
verbal and nonverbal communication, indicating participation in the drama. 7
A concrete example of a fantasy chain and its results may be helpful. Uni-
versity of Kentucky communication professor Alan DeSantis asks us to picture
a group of Kentucky-born, middle-aged white guys sitting around a cigar store
smoking hand-rolled imported cigars. As the topic shifts from college basketball
to the risk of smoking, the owner tells the story of a heart surgeon who came
into the shop after having been on duty for 36 hours. After lighting up, the doc-
tor blew out a big mouthful of smoke and said, “This is the most relaxed I have
felt in days. Now how can that be bad for you?” 8
Whether or not the doctor really said this isn’t the issue. Symbolic conver-
gence theory is concerned with the group’s response to the tale. In this case the
patrons chuckle in appreciation, nod in agreement, or say “You’ve got it!” to
punctuate the narrative. Some vie to tell their own stories that dismiss the harm
of cigar smoking, a pastime they consider a benign hobby. Bormann said that
we can spot a fantasy chain through a common response to the imagery. DeSan-
tis, who was a cigar-smoking participant-observer among the shop’s regular cus-
tomers, affi rms that the group’s response to the owner ’s story paralleled
Bormann’s description above.
Symbolic convergence researchers have had little success predicting when a
fantasy will ignite and trigger a chain reaction. They’ve found there’s a better
chance of a fantasy chaining out when the group is frustrated (as were Maggie’s
girls) or when they are bogged down in an effort to solve a thorny problem.
Also, members with rhetorical skill seem to have a better chance of providing
the spark, but there’s no guarantee that their words will ignite others. And even
when a skillful image-maker does spark a fantasy chain, he or she has little
control over where the conversation will go. Fantasy chains seem to have a life
of their own. But once a fantasy chain catches fi re, symbolic convergence theory
predicts that the group will converge around a fantasy theme.
Fantasy chain
A symbolic explosion of
lively agreement within
a group in response to a
member’s dramatizing
message.
FANTASY THEMES—CONTENT, MOTIVES, CUES, TYPES
Bormann’s technical defi nition of fantasy is “the creative and imaginative shared
interpretation of events that fulfi lls a group’s psychological or rhetorical needs.” 9
Think of a fantasy theme as the content of the dramatizing message that suc-
cessfully sparks a fantasy chain. As such, it’s the theory’s basic unit of analysis.
Because fantasy themes refl ect and create a group’s culture, all SCT researchers
seek to identify the fantasy theme or themes that group members share. When
spotted, fantasy themes are consistently ordered, always interpretive, and they
inevitably put the group’s slant on things. That is, fantasy themes act as a rhe-
torical means to sway doubters or naysayers.
When a fantasy chains out among core patrons in the cigar store, we would
expect to see that same theme run throughout multiple narratives . Perhaps the
hero of every man’s account is a famous cigar smoker who lived into old age
without ill effects—think George Burns, Winston Churchill, or Fidel Castro. Or
maybe each image refl ects a meddling government bureaucrat who wants to
limit their right to enjoy a cigar in a public place. Along with examples of long-
lived smokers, group fantasies might focus on the difference between cigars and
cigarettes, safety in moderation, inconsistent scientifi c fi ndings concerning
Fantasy
The creative and imagi-
native shared interpreta-
tion of events that fulfills
a group’s psychological
or rhetorical needs.
Fantasy theme
Content of the fantasy
that has chained out
within a group; SCT’s
basic unit of analysis.
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234 GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
cancer, the greater risks of everyday living, and the health benefi ts of relaxation
that come from smoking a good cigar. All of these fantasies have the same basic
theme— cigar smoking is safe .
Bormann suggested that group members’ meanings, emotions, motives, and
actions are apparent in their fantasy themes. We can see all four of these in
DeSantis’ description of the angst that the core group of patrons experienced at
the premature death of their friend Greg. Like the rest of the store’s regulars who
sat around smoking, Greg had scoffed at the health risks of their practice. Now
they were confronted with the sobering fact of his fatal heart attack. Within a
week of the funeral, however, his smoking buddies had constructed a verbal
collage of images depicting Greg’s stressful lifestyle. The store owner voiced their
consensus: “Smoking had nothing to do with his death. He lived, drank and
played hard and it took a toll on him at the end.” 10   Meaning: Hard living killed
Greg. Emotion: Reduction of fear; relief. Motive: Desire to smoke with buddies.
Action: Not going to quit. Fantasy themes create a group’s social reality.
Bormann and symbolic convergence theory advocates have found that many
fantasy themes are indexed by a symbolic cue . A symbolic cue is “an agreed-upon
trigger that sets off the group members to respond as they did when they fi rst
shared the fantasy.” 11 It could be a code word, nonverbal gesture, phrase, slogan,
inside joke, bumper sticker, or any shorthand way of re-establishing the full force
of shared fantasy. In the Kentucky smoke shop where these fantasy themes were
voiced, any mention of criticism of cigar smoking from family or friends was the
cue that set off a new round of protest among store regulars. Their emotional
reaction was captured on a T-shirt sold at the store that satirized the surgeon
general’s cautionary statement: “Warning—Harassing me about my smoking can
be hazardous to your health.” 12
The meaning of a given fantasy theme is quite specifi c. Since clusters of
related fantasy themes sometimes surface again and again in different groups,
Bormann found it helpful to have a label to classify this phenomenon when it
occurs. He used the term fantasy type to describe these well-worn symbolic paths.
Fantasy types are “greater abstractions incorporating several concrete fantasy
themes” and they exist “when shared meaning is taken for granted.” 13 The cigar
store group’s fantasy theme of family and friends criticizing their smoking could
be considered part of a larger “get-off-my-case” fantasy type. Perhaps that’s a
fantasy type that you and your friends have drawn upon when talking about
your lifestyle, even if you’ve never smoked a cigar. Or students at your school
may share stock fantasy types about Saturday night parties, the food on campus,
professors who never seem to be in their offi ces, or the guy who always bails
out at the last minute on a group project.
Symbolic cue
An agreed-upon trigger
that sets off group mem-
bers to respond as they
did when they first
shared the fantasy.
Fantasy type
A cluster of related fan-
tasy themes; greater ab-
stractions incorporating
several concrete fantasy
themes that exist when
shared meaning is taken
for granted.
SYMBOLIC CONVERGENCE: GROUP CONSCIOUSNESS AND OFTEN COHESIVENESS
The discussion of dramatizing messages, fantasy chains, and fantasy themes has
dealt with the fi rst part of SCT’s core principle: Sharing group fantasies creates
symbolic convergence. We’re now ready to look at what that sharing creates—
symbolic convergence. For Bormann, symbolic convergence meant the way in
which “two or more private symbol worlds incline toward each other, come more
closely together, or even overlap.” 14 As those worlds intersect, group members
develop a unique group consciousness. No longer do members think in terms of
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CHAPTER 18: SYMBOLIC CONVERGENCE THEORY 235
I, me, and mine. As symbolic overlap takes place, they begin to think and speak
about we, us, and ours .
Do shared fantasies really cause this group transformation? Bormann insisted
they do. Some limited commonality of words and images may naturally occur
when group members interact often enough over a long period of time. But the
process is accelerated and extended way beyond what otherwise might happen
when members participate in one or more fantasy chains that create joint fantasy
themes. Bormann used a variety of terms to portray the effect of group con-
sciousness— common ground, meeting of the minds, mutual understanding, groupiness,
common social reality, and empathic communion.
Once a group experiences symbolic convergence, Bormann suggested it’s
important for members to memorialize their group consciousness with a name
and recorded history ( saga ) that recalls moments when fantasies chained out. He
did that with his University of Minnesota colleagues who met in the Bormann
home every Wednesday night to discuss the ideas that make up symbolic con-
vergence theory. They called themselves the Turtle Racers —presumably based on
an illustrated poster with the caption “Behold the turtle who makes progress
only when he sticks his neck out.” The image of a turtle race seemed doubly
appropriate to their history of theory building when Bormann described the
work going forward in fi ts and starts.
Symbolic convergence usually results in heightened group cohesiveness —
members attracted to each other and sticking together through thick and thin.
But not always. Bormann regarded symbolic convergence as usually a necessary
but not suffi cient cause of cohesiveness.
Groups that do little fantasizing are seldom highly attractive and cohesive. Such
groups tend to be boring and ordinary. The cohesive groups have usually done
considerable fantasizing, but not all groups that fantasize a lot are rewarding and
cohesive. The fantasies that chain may contribute to creating a social reality that is
warm, friendly and hard working, that provides the group with a strong identity
and self image, and that gives members a sense of purpose and meaning for their
group’s work. On the other hand, the fantasies may develop a group climate that
is fascinating, frustrating, and punishing. 15
Bormann went on to say that fantasy themes in those negative groups are
riddled with confl ict and that the humor expressed tends to be satire, ridicule,
or sarcasm. I was in such a group my sophomore year of college, and he was
right—it was fascinating. Fortunately I had enough sense to bail out.
Symbolic convergence
Two or more private
symbol worlds incline to-
ward each other, come
more closely together, or
even overlap; group con-
sciousness, cohesiveness.
RHETORICAL VISION: A COMPOSITE DRAMA SHARED BY A RHETORICAL COMMUNITY
Up to this point in the chapter, my description and illustration of symbolic con-
vergence theory has focused on shared fantasies in small-group settings. That’s
where SCT was spawned. But early in the theory’s development, the Turtle Rac-
ers discovered that shared fantasies weren’t confi ned to a small-group context.
As Bormann explained, “Fantasies that begin in small groups often are worked
into public speeches, become picked up by mass media and ‘spread out across
larger publics.’” 16 Once attuned to the basic concepts of SCT, these scholars spot-
ted swirling batches of related fantasy themes and types in all sorts of commu-
nication texts. Bormann coined the term rhetorical vision to designate “a
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236 GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
composite drama that catches up large groups of people into a common symbolic
reality.” 17 He called the wide-ranging body of people who share that reality a
rhetorical community .
The majority of research conducted using SCT has been aimed at capturing
the rhetorical visions of dispersed rhetorical communities and fi guring out how
their communication created their unifi ed fantasies. Researchers don’t have the
benefi t of sitting in a room with the whole community while waiting for a fan-
tasy to chain out as evidence of a fantasy theme. So Bormann and his colleagues
developed a procedure called fantasy theme analysis to discover fantasy themes
and rhetorical visions that have already been created.
Fantasy Theme Analysis
Fantasy theme analysis is a specifi c type of rhetorical criticism that’s built on two
basic assumptions. First, people create their social reality—a premise shared by
many interpretive theorists (see Chapters 5, 6, 11, and 13). Second, people’s
meanings, motives, and emotions can be seen in their rhetoric. So when a dis-
persed community embraces the same rhetorical vision, that’s reality for them.
They aren’t pretending.
A rhetorical critic using fantasy theme analysis looks for recurring fantasy
themes in the text. If found, the critic should then discern if these shared fanta-
sies are woven together into a rhetorical vision. In addition to using the basic
SCT concepts already discussed, Bormann suggested that the critic look for at
least four features that are present in all rhetorical visions. 18
1. Characters: Are there heroes to root for and villains to despise?
2. Plot lines: Do characters act in a way consistent with the rhetorical vision?
3. Scene: How do descriptions of time and place increase the drama’s impact?
4. Sanctioning agent: Who or what legitimates the rhetorical vision?
I’ll describe a fantasy theme analysis of Internet websites to demonstrate how
these tools can reveal a rhetorical vision and show how that vision is created
and sustained within a dispersed rhetorical community.
The Symbolic Creation of a Pro-Eating Disorder Rhetorical Vision
For those who are anorexic and/or bulimic, the world of face-to-face commu-
nication can be a lonely place. Afraid of condemnation if they reveal their
eating disorder, they often live a life of secrecy, deception, and guilt. Although
12-step programs extend social support to those who want to overcome their
disease, not all people with food disorders want to change. The Internet offers
hundreds of pro-eating disorder websites where those who resist recovery can
anonymously interact with like-minded others. Wayne State University com-
munication professor Jessi McCabe conducted a fantasy theme analysis to
“explore how group exchanges on these websites redefi ne a reality largely
rejected by the cultural norm and what elements contribute to creating this
worldview.” 19 She chose the 12 most active pro-food disorder sites for her
analysis. The message boards on the three most popular sites—Blue Dragon
Fly, Pro-Ana Suicide Society, and Fragile Innocence—had a combined member-
ship of more than 25,000 users.
Rhetorical vision
A composite drama that
catches up large groups
of people into a common
symbolic reality.
Fantasy theme analysis
A type of rhetorical criti-
cism used to detect fan-
tasy themes and rhetorical
visions; the interpretive
methodology of SCT.
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CHAPTER 18: SYMBOLIC CONVERGENCE THEORY 237
Fantasy types are an SCT category midway between specifi c fantasy themes
and an overall rhetorical vision. McCabe found that two contrasting fantasy types
emerged in her analysis—a positive one and a negative one. She labeled the positive
fantasy type “The humorous world of Ana and Mia.” Within this world, fantasy
chains reinforce site users’ eating habits and shared reality. Across the message
boards, members personify their disorders as characters in an ongoing drama.
Members depict their own goals, struggles, and emotions through the personifi cation
of Ana and Mia. Anorexia and bulimia are given life and attributed human-like
emotions and qualities, which are justifi ed by the sanctioning agent, humor. The most
favorable depiction is a girl named Ana (anorexia), who represents the goal of the group,
the idolization of perfection in this reality. Perfection is about having self-control and
being thin. Personifi ed through Ana is a yearning for being untouchable and perfect. 20
Message-board users write about Ana as their hero. (“Ana knows what to say to
make me feel better.” 21 ) They also confess lapses and seek her forgiveness. (“Dear
Ana, I am sorry that I failed you.  .  .  .  Not only did I fail you but I binged.”22)
Unlike Ana, Mia (bulimia) isn’t seen as perfect. Her role in the drama is to
stir up the emotions users feel as they struggle to get down to the elusive perfect
weight. Site users rarely describe Mia in positive terms. One post complains,
“Mia is SO loud and annoying . . . my Mom heard Mia because she can’t keep
her [stinking] mouth shut!”23 Yet other messages reluctantly suggest Mia is
needed. “Sometimes she is all right . . . she lets me eat . . . keeps my body pure.”24
The third character in this ongoing drama is the villainous ED (eating disorder).
He represents the social norm of moderation and recovery from addiction. McCabe
explains why he’s so feared: “Members not only try to avoid ED for fear of recov-
ery but the group knows that accepting ED means a loss of community and a
reentry into a reality in which eating disorders are a negative attribute.” 25
The discussion of these three characters constructs an alternative world
where high-risk dieters aren’t hassled. Despite the lurking presence of ED, who
reminds everyone of another reality “out there,” this positive fantasy type is a
closed world where anorexics and bulimics feel safe. McCabe sees humor as the
sanctioning agent that makes this constructed reality legitimate for site users. The
satirical exchange of experiences turns discussion of a deadly disease into a game
that validates what these users are doing, saying, and living.
Conversely, the negative fantasy type portrayed on these message boards is
“Surviving encounters with The Real World,” a distressing place for those who
visit these websites. McCabe notes that almost all users log on to get tips on
“safe” foods and how to hide their eating habits and symptoms from friends and
family. The scene of the struggle in “the real world” is almost always part of this
fantasy type. Many posts include references to time and space.
I hate coming home at night.  .  .  .  I am with Ana all day and I cannot eat  .  .  .  but
when I get home Ana stays at the door and I just binge. 26
How can I live with Mia if we are sharing community bathrooms in our dorm? 27
McCabe doesn’t explicitly address plot lines in her fantasy theme analysis,
but from her rich description two plots seem paramount. The fi rst is acting in
multiple ways to reduce weight—dieting, exercising, and purging. The second
plot is doing whatever one has to do to keep the extent of this obsession with
food a secret from those who don’t share it.
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238 GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
McCabe concludes that the rhetorical vision of the pro-eating disorder com-
munity is the uneasy coexistence of these two contrasting fantasy types— The
humorous world of Ana and Mia and Surviving encounters with The Real World. She
writes, “The rhetorical vision shared by this group is the effort to maintain a
disease within settings where their belief is challenged and get back to the state
where the personifi cation of the disease can proliferate.” 28
THEORY INTO PRACTICE: ADVICE TO IMPROVE YOUR COLLEGE EXPERIENCE
As you’ve gained an understanding of symbolic convergence theory, you’ve
hopefully thought about its implications for a group in which you take part. No
matter what your role in the group, Bormann has offered the following advice: 29
• When the group begins to share a drama that in your opinion would con-
tribute to a healthy culture, you should pick up the drama and feed the
chain.
• If the fantasies are destructive, creating group paranoia or depression, cut
the chain off whenever possible.
• To build cohesiveness, use personifi cation to identify your group.
• Be sure to encourage the sharing of dramas depicting your group history
early in your meetings.
• Remember that a conscious rhetorical effort on your part can succeed in
igniting a chain reaction, but the fantasy may take an unexpected turn.
Bormann and his followers have also used fantasy theme analysis to improve
organizational communication, conduct market research, and assess public opinion.
To illustrate the pragmatic value of the methodology, John Cragan (University of
St. Thomas—Minnesota) and Donald Shields (University of Missouri–St. Louis)
require students in their applied research classes to analyze the way high school
seniors talk about college. They fi nd that most rhetorical visions employ one of
three competing master analogues—a righteous vision, a social vision, or a prag-
matic vision. 30
Potential applicants who embrace a righteous vision are interested in a school’s
academic excellence, the reputation of its faculty, and special programs it offers.
Those who adopt a social vision view college as a means of getting away from
home, meeting new friends, and joining others in a variety of social activities.
High school seniors who buy into a pragmatic vision are looking for a marketable
degree that will help them get a good job. (What was your vision when you
entered college?) Knowledge of these distinct visions could help admissions offi –
cers at your school develop a strategy to appeal to prospective students who
would most appreciate the character of your campus. That knowledge could also
help you fi gure out if you’re at a school that can best meet your needs.
CRITIQUE: JUDGING SCT AS BOTH A SCIENTIFIC AND INTERPRETIVE THEORY
Ernest Bormann claimed that symbolic convergence theory is both objective and
interpretive. The theory’s basic explanatory hypothesis— sharing group fantasies cre-
ates symbolic convergence— is framed as a universal principle that holds for all peo-
ple, in any culture, at any time, in any communication context. 31 Defi nitely
objective. But the methodology of determining fantasy themes, fantasy types, and
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CHAPTER 18: SYMBOLIC CONVERGENCE THEORY 239
rhetorical visions is rhetorical criticism—a humanistic approach that’s undeniably
interpretive. Perhaps this unusual mix has stimulated many of the 1,000 original
research studies that have examined and applied the theory over the last 40 years. 32
Bormann wryly noted that one positive result from SCT has been the collaboration
between “muddleheaded anecdotalists and hardheaded empiricists.” 33 When the
six standards for judging a social science theory and the six criteria for evaluating
an interpretive theory are applied to SCT, the theory stacks up remarkably well.
I’ll single out four of these benchmarks for further discussion.
1. A good objective theory explains what occurs and why it happened. The concept
of symbolic convergence can help us make sense of chaotic group discussions.
Even though group leaders urge members to speak one at a time and stick to the
point , participants often go off on verbal tangents. According to SCT, graphic
digressions and boisterous talk aren’t signs of a fl awed process; rather, they are
evidence that the group is chaining out a fantasy and developing a group con-
sciousness. This explanation of how groups become cohesive is a strength of the
theory. However, University of Oklahoma communication professor James Olu-
fowote doesn’t believe Bormann’s explanation goes far enough. In a sympathetic
critique aimed at making the theory better, he contends that “SCT does not suf-
fi ciently explain why humans are predisposed to dramatizing reality and sharing
fantasy in the fi rst place.” 34
2. A good objective theory predicts what’s going to happen. SCT clearly predicts that
when a fantasy chain erupts among members, symbolic convergence will occur.
The theory even suggests that without shared fantasies, there will be little or no
cohesiveness. But as discussed earlier in the chapter, SCT researchers have had
minimal success predicting when a dramatizing message will trigger a chain reac-
tion. On that point, Bormann noted that uncertainty about the future isn’t bother-
some in other scientifi c theories. He saw symbolic convergence theory as similar to
Darwin’s biological theory of evolution in that respect.
An evolutionary theory can explain the way modern humans evolved from earlier
humanoid individuals. But, such theories cannot predict the future path of evolu-
tion.  .  .  .  SCT involves a careful cataloguing of group consciousness through time.
The theory also includes a description of the dynamic forces that provide a neces-
sary and suffi cient set of causes to explain the discovered communication patterns.
For an evolution theory the dynamic may be the survival of the fi ttest. For SCT the
dynamic is the process of group sharing. 35
3. A good interpretive theory clarifi es people’s values. There’s no doubt that fantasy
theme analysis uncovers the values of a rhetorical community. It does that well.
But Olufowote is concerned about the unexamined values that undergird SCT. 36
One concern is an ideology of convergence. The terms that describe its effects—
common ground, meeting of the minds, empathic communion, etc.—make it clear that
the theory has a pro-social bias. Shall we look at the convergence of hate groups
or pro-eating disorder websites as a positive outcome?
A second concern Olufowote expresses is an egalitarian assumption that
ignores issues of power within groups. For example, do all members of a group
benefi t equally when a fantasy chains out? Does an inside joke become a sym-
bolic cue at the expense of one of the members? A fi nal concern is about the
way members of a rhetorical community are characterized. The communities
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240 GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
described come across as confl ict-free. Differences among members are ignored,
and there’s little discussion of the inner tension a member feels when the
multiple rhetorical visions he or she embraces don’t mesh.
4. A good interpretive theory offers a new understanding of people. SCT’s method of
fantasy theme analysis does this exceptionally well by directing rhetorical critics
to focus on symbolic language. A few scholars charge that the best fantasy theme
analyses are the result of critics’ astute perception or acumen rather than the
method they use. 37 Bormann acknowledged that some critics do it better than
others. But he noted that regardless of how perceptive the critic, the method used
makes a huge difference. For example, a Marxist critique looks for economic
exploitation; a feminist critique looks for patterns of male dominance. Think how
different the analyses of cigar store smokers or pro-eating disorder message-
board users would be if DeSantis or McCabe hadn’t zeroed in on imaginative
language. With that lens in place, fantasy theme analysts uncover rhetorical
visions as varied as the communities they study. When I read a well-written
fantasy theme analysis, I gain a greater appreciation for the fascinating diversity
within the human race.
1. As a rhetorically sensitive scholar, Bormann defi ned SCT terms carefully. Can
you distinguish between dramatizing messages and fantasies ? Do you under-
stand why it’s a difference that makes a difference?
2. Some critics dismiss SCT as a cookie-cutter approach to group analysis.
Could this be said of most social science theories? Bormann regarded the
charge as a compliment. 38 Can you fi gure out why he was pleased rather
than offended?
3. Bormann insisted that SCT is an objective theory that’s valid any time and in
any culture, but that its methodology, fantasy theme analysis, is interpretive.
Do you regard SCT as a better objective or interpretive theory? Why?
4. Bormann was intrigued with a T-shirt that proclaims, “I have given up my
search for truth. Now I want to fi nd a good fantasy.” 39 Based on what you’ve
read, does this slogan refl ect the symbolic world of SCT advocates? Does it
refl ect yours?
QUESTIONS TO SHARPEN YOUR FOCUS
A SECOND LOOK Recommended resource: Ernest G. Bormann, John Cragan, and Donald Shields, “Three
Decades of Developing, Grounding, and Using Symbolic Convergence Theory (SCT),” in
Communication Yearbook 25, William Gudykunst (ed.), Lawrence Erlbaum, Mahwah, NJ,
2001, pp. 271–313.
Brief summary: Ernest Bormann, “Symbolic Convergence Theory,” in Small Group Com-
munication Theory & Practice: An Anthology, 8 th ed., Randy Hirokawa, Robert Cathcart,
Larry Samovar, and Linda Henman (eds.), Roxbury, Los Angeles, CA, 2003, pp. 39–47.
Early statement of the theory: Ernest G. Bormann, “Fantasy and Rhetorical Vision:
The Rhetorical Criticism of Social Reality,” Quarterly Journal of Speech, Vol. 58, 1972,
pp. 396–407.
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CHAPTER 18: SYMBOLIC CONVERGENCE THEORY 241
Small-group context: Ernest G. Bormann and Nancy C. Bormann, Effective Small Group
Communication, 5 th ed., Burgess, Edina, MN, 1992, pp. 105–126.
Organizational context: Ernest G. Bormann, “Symbolic Convergence: Organizational
Communication and Culture,” in Communication and Organizations: An Interpretive Approach,
Linda Putnam and Michael Pacanowsky (eds.), Sage, Beverly Hills, CA, 1983, pp. 99–122.
Fantasy theme analysis: Sonja K. Foss, Rhetorical Criticism: Exploration and Practice,
4 th ed., Waveland, Prospect Heights, IL, 2009, pp. 97–136.
Practical applications of assessing rhetorical visions: John F. Cragan and Donald C.
Shields, Symbolic Theories in Applied Communication Research: Bormann, Burke, and Fisher,
Hampton, Cresskill, NJ, 1995, pp. 161–198.
Cigar store ethnography: Alan D. DeSantis, “Smoke Screen: An Ethnographic Study of a
Cigar Shop’s Collective Rationalization,” Health Communication, Vol. 14, 2002, pp. 167–198.
Symbolic convergence in a neighborhood watch group: Cheryl Broom and Susan Avanzino,
“The Communication of Community Collaboration: When Rhetorical Visions Collide,” Com-
munication Quarterly, Vol. 58, 2010, pp. 480–501.
Pro-eating disorder website analysis: Jessi McCabe, “Resisting Alienation: The Social
Construction of Internet Communities Supporting Eating Disorders,” Communication Stud-
ies, Vol. 60, 2009, pp. 1–15.
Small-group fantasies becoming rhetorical visions: Ernest Bormann, “The Critical Analy-
sis of Seminal American Fantasies,” in The Force of Fantasy: Restoring the American Dream,
Southern Illinois University, Carbondale, IL, 2001, pp. 1–25.
Early critique: G. P. Mohrmann, “An Essay on Fantasy Theme Criticism” and “Fantasy
Theme Criticism: A Peroration,” Quarterly Journal of Speech, Vol. 68, 1982, pp. 109–132,
306–313.
Response to early critics: Ernest G. Bormann, John Cragan, and Donald Shields, “In
Defense of Symbolic Convergence Theory: A Look at the Theory and Its Criticisms After
Two Decades,” Communication Theory, Vol. 4, 1994, pp. 259–294.
Contemporary critique: James O. Olufowote, “Rousing and Redirecting a Sleeping
Giant: Symbolic Convergence Theory and Complexities in the Communicative Constitu-
tion of Collective Action,” Management Communication Quarterly, Vol. 19, 2006, pp. 451–492.
Will our group stay like this or will it change?
Poole’s Adaptive Structuration Theory answers this question.
Click on Archive under Theory Resources at
www.afi rstlook.com.
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242
O r g a n i z a t i o n a l C o m m u n i c a t i o n
What do the following organizations have in common—the United States Navy,
McDonald’s, General Motors, and the Green Bay Packers ? The fi rst three are gigantic
organizations, the middle two sell a tangible product, and the last three are pub-
licly owned corporations that try to make a profi t. But in terms of organizational
communication, their most important common feature is that each is a prime
example of classical management theory in action. Figure OC–1 lists some of the
principles of this traditional approach to management.
Classical management theory places a premium on productivity, precision,
and effi ciency. As York University (Toronto) professor Gareth Morgan notes,
these are the very qualities you expect from a well-designed, smoothly running
machine. Morgan uses the mechanistic metaphor because he fi nds signifi cant
parallels between mechanical devices and the way managers traditionally think
about their organizations. 1 In classical management theory, workers are seen as
cogs in vast machines that function smoothly as long as their range of motion is
clearly defi ned and their actions are lubricated with an adequate hourly wage.
Machines repeat straightforward, repetitive tasks, just as McDonald’s work-
ers have cooked billions of hamburgers, each one in exactly the same way.
Machines have interchangeable parts that can be replaced when broken or worn
out, just as a National Football League coach can insert a new player into the tight-
end slot when the current starter is injured or begins to slow down. A new Chevy
Tahoe comes with a thick operator’s manual that specifi es how the van should be
driven, but the GM employee handbook is thicker and contains even more detailed
instructions on how things are done within the company. As for the U.S. Navy, the
fl eet is an integral part of the country’s war machine, and offi cers at every level are
most comfortable when it runs like one.
FIGURE OC–1 Selected Principles of Classical Management Theory
Excerpted from Gareth Morgan, “Organizations as Machines,” in Images of Organizations
Unity of command—an employee should receive orders from only one superior.
Scalar chain—the line of authority from superior to subordinate, which runs from top to
bottom of the organization; this chain, which results from the unity-of-command principle,
should be used as a channel for communication and decision making.
Division of work—management should aim to achieve a degree of specialization designed
to achieve the goal of the organization in an efficient manner.
Authority and responsibility—attention should be paid to the right to give orders and to
exact obedience; an appropriate balance between authority and responsibility should be
achieved.
Discipline—obedience, application, energy, behavior, and outward marks of respect in
accordance with agreed rules and customs.
Subordination of individual interest to general interest—through firmness, example,
fair agreements, and constant supervision.
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ORGANIZATIONAL COMMUNICATION 243
The three theories in this section view classical management theory as out-
moded and reject the idea that organization members are like replaceable parts.
Each approach searches for ways of thinking about organizations other than as
machines. The cultural approach looks for stories and shared meanings that are
unique to a given organization. The constitutive approach believes communication
itself is the essence of any organization. And the critical approach looks at orga-
nizations as political systems where confl ict and power should be negotiated
openly. Above all, the theorists who employ these approaches are committed to
developing humane ways of talking about people and the organizational tasks
they do.
© Mick Stevens/The New Yorker Collection/www.cartoonbank.com
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244
19C H A P T E R
Cultural Approach
to Organizations
of Clifford Geertz &
Michael Pacanowsky
The late Princeton anthropologist Clifford Geertz wrote that “man is an animal
suspended in webs of signifi cance that he himself has spun.” 1 He pictured cul-
ture as those webs. In order to travel across the strands toward the center of the
web, an outsider must discover the common interpretations that hold the web
together. Culture is shared meaning, shared understanding, shared sensemaking.
Geertz conducted fi eld research in the islands of Indonesia and on the Moroc-
can highlands, rural settings remote from industrial activity. His best-known
monograph is an in-depth symbolic analysis of the Balinese cockfi ght. Geertz
never wrote a treatise on the bottom line, never tried to decipher the signifi cance
of the offi ce Christmas party, and never met a payroll—a disqualifying sin in the
eyes of many business professionals. Despite his silence on the topic of big busi-
ness, Geertz’ interpretive approach has proved useful in making sense of orga-
nizational activity.
In the fi eld of communication, former University of Colorado professor
Michael Pacanowsky has applied Geertz’ cultural insights to organizational life.
He says that if culture consists of webs of meaning that people have spun, and
if spun webs imply the act of spinning, “then we need to concern ourselves not
only with the structures of cultural webs, but with the process of their spinning
as well.” 2 That process is communication. It is communication that “creates and
constitutes the taken-for-granted reality of the world.” 3
CULTURE AS A METAPHOR OF ORGANIZATIONAL LIFE
The use of culture as a root metaphor was undoubtedly stimulated by Western
fascination with the economic success of Japanese corporations in the 1970s and
1980s. Back then, when American business leaders traveled to the Far East to study
methods of production, they discovered that the superior quantity and quality of
●
Objective Interpretive
Socio-cultural tradition
Semiotic tradition
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CHAPTER 19: CULTURAL APPROACH TO ORGANIZATIONS 245
Japan’s industrial output had less to do with technology than with workers’
shared cultural value of loyalty to each other and to their corporation. Organiza-
tions look radically different depending on how people in the host culture struc-
ture meaning. Communal face-saving in Japan is foreign to the class antagonism
of Great Britain or the we’re-number-one competitive mindset of the United States.
Today the term corporate culture means different things to different people.
Some observers use the phrase to describe the surrounding environment that
constrains a company’s freedom of action. (U.S. workers would scoff at singing
a corporate anthem at the start of their working day.) Others use the term to
refer to a quality or property of the organization. (Acme Gizmo is a friendly
place to work.) They speak of culture as synonymous with image, character, or
climate . But Pacanowsky is committed to Geertz’ symbolic approach and thus
considers culture as more than a single variable in organizational research:
Organizational culture is not just another piece of the puzzle; it is the puzzle. From
our point of view, culture is not something an organization has; a culture is some-
thing an organization is. 4
WHAT CULTURE IS; WHAT CULTURE IS NOT
Geertz admitted that the concept of culture as systems of shared meaning is some-
what vague and diffi cult to grasp. Though popular usage equates culture with
concerts and art museums, he refused to use the word to signify less primitive .
No modern anthropologist would fall into the trap of classifying people as high-
or low-culture.
Culture is not whole or undivided. Geertz pointed out that even close-knit
societies have subcultures and countercultures within their boundaries. For
example, employees in the sales and accounting departments of the same com-
pany may eye each other warily—the fi rst group calling the accountants number
crunchers and bean counters , the accountants in turn labeling members of the sales
force fast talkers and glad-handers . Despite their differences, both groups may
regard the blue-collar bowling night of the production workers as a strange
ritual compared with their own weekend ritual of a round of golf.
For Pacanowsky, the web of organizational culture is the residue of employ-
ees’ performance—“those very actions by which members constitute and reveal
their culture to themselves and to others.” 5 He notes that job performance may
play only a minor role in the enactment of corporate culture.
People do get the job done, true (though probably not with the singleminded task-
orientation communication texts would have us believe); but people in organiza-
tions also gossip, joke, knife one another, initiate romantic involvements, cue new
employees to ways of doing the least amount of work that still avoids hassles from
a supervisor, talk sports, arrange picnics. 6
Geertz called these cultural performances “an ensemble of texts . . . which
the anthropologist strains to read over the shoulder of those to whom they prop-
erly belong.” 7 The elusive nature of culture prompted Geertz to label its study
a soft science . It is “not an experimental science in search of law, but an interpre-
tive one in search of meaning.” 8 The corporate observer is one part scientist, one
part drama critic.
Culture
Webs of significance; sys-
tems of shared meaning.
Cultural performance
Actions by which mem-
bers constitute and re-
veal their culture to
themselves and others;
an ensemble of texts.
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246 GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
The fact that symbolic expression requires interpretation is nicely captured
in a story about Pablo Picasso recorded by York University (Toronto) professor
Gareth Morgan. 9 A man commissioned Picasso to paint a portrait of his wife.
Startled by the nonrepresentational image on the canvas, the woman’s husband
complained, “It isn’t how she really looks.” When asked by the painter how she
really looked, the man produced a photograph from his wallet. Picasso’s com-
ment: “Small, isn’t she?”
THICK DESCRIPTION: WHAT ETHNOGRAPHERS DO
Geertz referred to himself as an ethnographer, one whose job is to sort out the
symbolic meanings of people’s actions within their culture. Just as geographers
chart the physical territory, ethnographers map out social discourse. They do this
“to discover who people think they are, what they think they are doing, and to
what end they think they are doing it.” 10 There’s no shortcut for the months of
participant observation required to collect an exhaustive account of interaction.
Without that raw material, there would be nothing to interpret.
Geertz spent years in Indonesia and Morocco, developing his deep descrip-
tion of separate cultures. Pacanowsky initially invested nine months with
W. L. Gore & Associates, best known for its Gore-Tex line of sports clothing and
equipment. Like Geertz, he was completely open about his research goals, and
during the last fi ve months of his research he participated fully in problem-
solving conferences at the company. Later, Pacanowsky spent additional time
at the W. L. Gore plants in Delaware as a consultant. In order to become inti-
mately familiar with an organization as members experience it , ethnographers
must commit to the long haul. Pacanowsky did commit to the long haul of
working full time at Gore, this despite his earlier caution against “going
native.” He had previously advised ethnographers to assume an attitude of
“radical naïveté” that would make it possible for them to “experience organi-
zational life as ‘strange.’” This stance of wonder would help them get past
taken-for-granted interpretations of what’s going on and what it means to
insiders. When Pacanowsky went to work for Gore, he no longer had that
opportunity.11
The daily written accounts of intensive observation invariably fi ll the pages of
many ethnographic notebooks. The visual image of these journals stacked on top
of each other would be suffi cient justifi cation for Geertz to refer to ethnography as
thick description . The term, however, describes the intertwined layers of common
meaning that underlie what a particular people say and do. Thick descriptions are
powerful reconstructions, not just detailed observations.12 After Geertz popular-
ized the concept, most ethnographers realized their task is to:
1. Accurately describe talk and actions and the context in which they occur.
2. Capture the thoughts, emotions, and web of social interactions.
3. Assign motivation, intention, or purpose to what people say and do.
4. Artfully write this up so readers feel they’ve experienced the events.
5. Interpret what happened; explain what it means within this culture.13
Thick description is tracing the many strands of a cultural web and tracking
evolving meaning. No matter how high the stack of an ethnographer’s notes,
without interpretation, they would still be thin description.
Ethnography
Mapping out social dis-
course; discovering who
people within a culture
think they are, what they
think they are doing, and
to what end they think
they are doing it.
Thick description
A record of the inter-
twined layers of common
meaning that underlie
what a particular people
say and do.
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CHAPTER 19: CULTURAL APPROACH TO ORGANIZATIONS 247
Thick description starts with a state of bewilderment. What the devil’s going
on? Geertz asked himself as he waded into a new culture. The only way to reduce
the puzzlement is to observe as if one were a stranger in a foreign land. This can
be diffi cult for a manager who is already enmeshed in a specifi c corporate culture.
He or she might overlook many of the signs that point to common interpretation.
Worse, the manager might assume that offi ce humor or the company grapevine
has the same signifi cance for people in this culture as it does for those in a previ-
ous place of employment. Geertz said it will always be different.
Behaviorists would probably consider employee trips to the offi ce water-
cooler or coffee machine of little interest. If they did regard these breaks worth
studying, they would tend to note the number of trips and length of stay for each
worker. Ethnographers would be more interested in the signifi cance this seemingly
mundane activity had for these particular employees. Instead of a neat statistical
summary, they’d record pages of dialogue while workers were standing around
with a cup in their hands. Pacanowsky fears that a frequency count would only
bleach human behavior of the very properties that interest him. Classifying perfor-
mances across organizations would yield superfi cial generalizations at the cost of
localized insight. He’d rather fi nd out what makes a particular tribal culture unique.
Although Pacanowsky would pay attention to all cultural performances, he
would be particularly sensitive to the imaginative language members used, the
stories they told, and the nonverbal rites and rituals they practiced. Taken
together, these three forms of communication provide helpful access to the
unique shared meanings within an organization.
METAPHORS: TAKING LANGUAGE SERIOUSLY
When used by members throughout an organization (and not just management),
metaphors can offer the ethnographer a starting place for accessing the shared
meaning of a corporate culture. Pacanowsky records a number of prominent met-
aphors used at W. L. Gore & Associates, none more signifi cant than the oft-heard
reference within the company to Gore as a lattice organization . 14 If one tried to graph
the lines of communication at Gore, the map would look like a lattice rather than
the traditional pyramid-shaped organizational chart. The crosshatched lines would
show the importance of one-on-one communication and refl ect the fact that no
person within the company needs permission to talk to anyone else. Easy access
to others is facilitated by an average plant size of 150 employees and a variety of
electronic media that encourage quick responses.
This lack of hierarchical authority within the lattice organization is captured
in the egalitarian title of associate given to every worker. People do have differ-
ential status at Gore, but it comes from technical expertise, a track record of good
judgment, and evidence of follow-through that leads to accomplishment.
The company’s stated objective (singular) is “to make money and have fun.” 15
The founder, Bill Gore, was famous for popping into associates’ offi ces and ask-
ing, “Did you make any money today? Did you have any fun today?” But work
at Gore is not frivolous. The waterline operating principle makes it clear that
associates should check with others before making signifi cant decisions:
Each of us will consult with appropriate Associates who will share the responsibil-
ity of taking any action that has the potential of serious harm to the reputation,
success, or survival of the Enterprise. The analogy is that our Enterprise is like a
Metaphor
Clarifies what is unknown
or confusing by equating
it with an image that’s
more familiar or vivid.
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248 GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
ship that we are all in together. Boring holes above the waterline is not serious, but
below the waterline, holes could sink us. 16
When Kevin read about the emphasis Pacanowsky placed on metaphors, he
analyzed their use among fellow computer-savvy student employees at Wheaton:
As a student worker at ResNet, the technical support branch of our campus Internet
service provider, I have become aware of our corporate culture. One thing I have
noticed is we often talk about our department using the metaphor of a fortress wall.
Computing Services makes decisions and institutes policy, and it’s our responsibility
to handle the waves of students with resulting problems. We talk about “stemming
the fl ow” of students with problems and “manning the phones” or “manning the
desk.” We also talk about how we “take the blow” for the decisions of our superiors.
This realization later served Kevin and Wheaton students well when, after grad-
uation, Kevin was hired as manager of the ResNet program. Desiring to change
the fortress mentality that had permeated the organization, Kevin in effect “low-
ered the drawbridge” to give students easy access to computer help. He extended
hours into the evening, established help desks in each of the dorms, and did
away with the keypad locked door that had prevented face-to-face contact with
frustrated users. Two years later, ResNet workers talked about themselves as
guiding students on paths through a jungle—a more proactive metaphor that
suggests the culture has changed.
Pacanowsky suggests that “fi ctional descriptions, by the very nature of their
implicitness and impressionism can fully capture . . . both the bold outlines and
the crucial nuances of cultural ethos.”17 Many TV critics believe the show Mad Men
reliably refl ects the culture of a 1960s New York advertising agency, not just in the
retro style of clothing and cars, but in the dialogue. If so, the metaphors these men
employ should reveal the shared meaning within their organizational culture.
In the very fi rst episode of the series, Pete Campbell, a junior account exec-
utive, sucks up to Don Draper, creative director at the Sterling Cooper ad agency:
“A man like you, I’d follow you into combat blindfolded and I wouldn’t be the
fi rst. Am I right, buddy?” Don responds, “Let’s take it a little slower. I don’t
want to wake up pregnant.”18 The obvious meaning is for Pete to back off, and
Pete’s muttered curse as Don walks away shows he gets the message. But there
are overlapping layers of meaning within the wake-up-pregnant imagery that
refl ect the underlying culture that’s Sterling Cooper.
Sexual allusions are present in almost every conversation among men at the
agency, regardless of whether women are present. So is power. The self-described
mad men are all highly competitive. Despite a surface backslapping camaraderie,
in this ad game, it’s every man for himself. Men at Sterling Cooper score by
winning the multimillion dollar account or sleeping with a pretty associate. Los-
ing is getting pregnant, which doesn’t happen to men. And if it happens to you
physically or metaphorically, you’re on your own. So a guy has to be on guard
lest he come to the offi ce one morning and discover he’s been screwed.
Can these multiple meanings really be teased out of a single metaphor heard
only once? Probably not without other symbolic clues to collaborate the inter-
pretation. Yet regular viewers of Mad Men who listen and watch with an ethnog-
rapher’s mindset can look back on this fi rst episode and realize that Draper’s
wake-up-pregnant metaphor is both a lens into the culture they’ve come to know
and an artifact of it.
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CHAPTER 19: CULTURAL APPROACH TO ORGANIZATIONS 249
Stories that are told over and over provide a convenient window through which
to view corporate webs of signifi cance. Pacanowsky asks, “Has a good story
been told that takes you to the heart of the matter?” 19 He focuses on the scriptlike
qualities of narratives that portray an employee’s part in the company play.
Although workers have room to improvise, the anecdotes provide clues to what
it means to perform a task in this particular theater. Stories capture memorable
performances and convey the passion the actor felt at the time.
Pacanowsky suggests three types of narrative that dramatize organizational
life. Corporate stories carry the ideology of management and reinforce company
policy. Every McDonald’s franchisee hears about the late Ray Kroc, who, when
he was chairman of the board, picked up trash from the parking lot when he’d
visit a store.
Personal stories are those that employees tell about themselves, often defi ning
how they would like to be seen within the organization. If you’ve seen reruns
of NBC’s The Offi ce , you’ve witnessed Dwight Schrute’s interviews with the cam-
era crew. During these interviews, he talks about his excellence as an employee
and how he deserves the respect of others in the Dunder Miffl in paper company.
These are Dwight’s personal accounts.
Collegial stories are positive or negative anecdotes told about others in the
organization. When the camera crew interviews Dwight’s colleagues Jim and Pam,
we hear stories of Dwight’s eccentricity and lack of basic social awareness. These
collegial stories describe Dwight as someone who is not to be taken seriously.
Since these tales aren’t usually sanctioned by management, collegial accounts
convey how the organization “really works.”
Stories at Dixie
Throughout most of my life, I’ve had access to some of the cultural lore of Dixie
Communications, a medium-size corporation that operates a newspaper and a
television station in a Southern city. Like so many other regional companies,
Dixie has been taken over by an out-of-state corporation that has no local ties.
The following three narratives are shorthand versions of stories heard again and
again throughout the company.
Although the original publisher has been dead for many years, old-timers fondly
recall how he would spend Christmas Eve with the workers in the press room.
Their account is invariably linked with reminders that he initiated health benefi ts
and profi t sharing prior to any union demand. (Corporate story)
The current comptroller is the highest-ranking “local boy” in the corporation. He
often tells the story about the fi rst annual audit he performed long before computers
were installed. Puzzled when he ran across a bill for 50 pounds of pigeon feed, he
discovered that the company used homing pigeons to send in news copy and circula-
tion orders from a town across the bay. The story usually concludes with an editorial
comment about pigeons being more reliable than the new machines. His self-presentation
reminds listeners that he has always been cost-conscious, yet it also aligns him with
the human side of the “warm people versus cold machines” issue. (Personal story)
Shortly after the takeover, a department head encouraged the new publisher to
meet with his people for a few minutes at the end of the day. The new boss
Corporate stories
Tales that carry manage-
ment ideology and rein-
force company policy.
Personal stories
Tales told by employees
that put them in a favor-
able light.
Collegial stories
Positive or negative an-
ecdotes about others in
the organization; de-
scriptions of how things
“really work.”
THE SYMBOLIC INTERPRETATION OF STORY
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250 GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
declined the invitation on the grounds of effi ciency: “To be quite candid, I don’t
want to know about a woman’s sick child or a man’s vacation plans. That kind of
information makes it harder to fi re a person.” Spoken in a cold, superior tone, the
words quite candid are always part of the story. (Collegial story)
Both Geertz and Pacanowsky caution against any analysis that says, “This story
means. . . .” Narratives contain a mosaic of signifi cance and defy a simplistic,
one-on-one translation of symbols. Yet taken as a whole, the three stories reveal
an uneasiness with the new management. This interpretation is consistent with
repeated metaphorical references to the old Dixie as family and the new Dixie as
a faceless computer .
RITUAL: THIS IS THE WAY IT’S ALWAYS BEEN AND ALWAYS WILL BE
Geertz wrote about the Balinese rite of cockfi ghting because the contest repre-
sented more than a game. “It is only apparently cocks that are fi ghting there.
Actually it is men.” The cockfi ght is a dramatization of status. “Its function is
interpretive: It is a Balinese reading of Balinese experience, a story they tell them-
selves about themselves.” 20
Pacanowsky agrees with Geertz that some rituals (like the Balinese cockfi ght)
are “texts” that articulate multiple aspects of cultural life. 21 These rituals are nearly
sacred, and any attempt to change them meets with strong resistance. Although
the emphasis on improvisation and novelty reduces the importance of ritual at
Gore, organizational rites at more traditional companies weave together many
threads of corporate culture.
More than a generation ago, workers in the classifi ed advertising department
at Dixie created an integrative rite that survives to the present. The department is
staffed by more than 50 telephone sales representatives who work out of a large
common room. At Dixie, these representatives not only take the “two lines/two
days/two dollars” personal ads over the phone, they also initiate callbacks to fi nd
out if customers were successful and might want to sell other items. Despite the
advent of eBay and other online sites for buying and selling, classifi ed advertising
at Dixie is a major profi t center with low employee turnover. The department con-
tinues to have the family atmosphere of premerger Dixie. Most of the phone repre-
sentatives are women under the age of 40. They regard Max, the male manager who
has held his position for 35 years, as a father confessor —a warm, nonjudgmental
person who has genuine concern for their lives. Whenever a female employee has
a baby, Max visits her in the hospital and offers help to those at home preparing
for her return. Women announce their pregnancy by taping a dime within a large
picture frame on the outer wall of Max’ offi ce, inscribing their name and anticipated
day of delivery. This rite of integration serves multiple functions for the women:
At a time of potential anxiety, it is an occasion for public affi rmation from the
larger community.
The rite is a point of contact between work and those outside Dixie. Employees
often take pride in describing the ritual to customers and friends.
Although the dime-on-the-wall practice originated with the workers, the autho-
rized chronicle of decades of expected births proclaims a sense of permanence. It
says, in effect: “The company doesn’t consider motherhood a liability; your job will
be here when you get back.”
Ritual
Texts that articulate mul-
tiple aspects of cultural
life, often marking rites of
passage or life transitions.
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CHAPTER 19: CULTURAL APPROACH TO ORGANIZATIONS 251
DILBERT © Scott Adams. Used by permission of UNIVERSAL UCLICK. All rights reserved.
From the management’s standpoint, the rite ensures there will be no sur-
prises. Max has plenty of time to schedule the employee’s maternity leave,
arrange for another salesperson to cover her accounts, and anticipate stresses she
might be encountering.
It is tempting to read economic signifi cance into the fact that employees use
dimes to symbolize this major change in their lives. But the women involved refer
to the small size of the token rather than its monetary value. Geertz and Pacanowsky
would caution that this is their story; we should listen to their interpretation.
CAN THE MANAGER BE AN AGENT OF CULTURAL CHANGE?
The popularity of the cultural metaphor when it was fi rst introduced to the
corporate world in the 1980s was undoubtedly due to business leaders’ desire
to shape interpretation within the organization. Symbols are the tools of manage-
ment. Executives don’t operate forklifts or produce widgets; they cast vision,
state goals, process information, send memos, and engage in other symbolic
behavior. If they believe culture is the key to worker commitment, productivity,
and sales, the possibility of changing culture becomes a seductive idea. Creating
favorable metaphors, planting organizational stories, and establishing rites
would seem an ideal way to create a corporate myth that would serve manage-
rial interests.
But once a corporate culture exists, can it be altered by a manager? Geertz
regarded shared interpretations as naturally emerging from all members of a group
rather than consciously engineered by leaders. In The Offi ce , Jim, Pam, Stanley, and
Phyllis all play a part in developing their corporate culture. And you’ll notice that,
despite his best efforts, manager Michael Scott can’t alter it single-handedly. Man-
agers may articulate a new vision in a fresh vocabulary, but it is the workers who
smile, sigh, snicker, or scoff. For example, Martin Luther King’s “I Have a Dream”
speech, which will be discussed in Chapter 22, was powerful because he struck a
chord that was already vibrating within millions of listeners.
Shared meanings are hard to dispel. Symbol watchers within a company
quickly discount the words of management if they don’t square with performance.
But even if culture could be changed, there still remains the question of whether it
should be. Symbolic anthropologists have traditionally adopted a nonintrusive style
appropriate to examining fi ne crystal—look, admire, but don’t touch. So managers
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252 GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
who regard themselves as agents of cultural change create bull-in-a-china-shop
fears for ethnographers who have ethical concerns about how their corporate
analyses might be used. University of Massachusetts management professor Linda
Smircich notes that ethnographers would draw back in horror at the idea of using
their data to extend a tribal priest’s control over the population, yet most com-
munication consultants are hired by top management to do just that. 22
CRITIQUE: IS THE CULTURAL APPROACH USEFUL?
The cultural approach adopts and refi nes the qualitative research methodology
of ethnography to gain a new understanding of a specifi c group of people. A
crucial part of that understanding is a clarifi cation of values within the culture
under study. Today, however, there isn’t the excitement about the cultural
approach to organizations that there was when interpretive scholars introduced
it in the 1980s. Perhaps that’s because many researchers trained in organizational
communication are hired as consultants by corporate managers who are looking
for change. By now you understand that Geertz would regard the quest to alter
culture as both inappropriate and virtually impossible. This purist position
exposes him and his admirers within our discipline to criticism from corporate
consultants who not only desire to understand organizational communication,
but also want to infl uence it. That was certainly Kevin’s ambition when he was
hired to manage the ResNet technical support program at Wheaton.
If a thick description of the web of meanings within an organization can’t
be used to change the culture, how can the cost in time and money of an ethno-
graphic study be justifi ed? Better employee recruitment is one answer. Tradition-
ally, companies stress their attractive features and downplay characteristics that
potential hires would fi nd disturbing. So it’s only after the fi rm has spent about
$15,000 to recruit, assess, orient, and train a new employee that the newcomer
fi nds out if he or she is suited for the job. Early resignations are costly and leave
everyone disgruntled.
Managers are learning that they can cut costs and avoid hassles by providing
a realistic job preview right from the start.23 Offering recruits a sensitive analysis
of the culture they’d be entering gives potential hires the chance to make an
informed decision as to whether they will fi t within it or not. And for those who
take the plunge, the shared knowledge of what means what within the organiza-
tion will reduce mistakes and misunderstandings. W. C. Gore’s subsequent hir-
ing of Pacanowsky shows the high regard the founder placed on the theorist’s
thick description.
A different kind of objection comes from critical theorists who fault the cul-
tural approach because interpretive scholars like Geertz and Pacanowsky refuse
to evaluate the customs they portray. For example, if Pacanowsky were to dis-
cover that female associates at Gore hit a glass ceiling when they try to advance,
these advocates insist he should expose and deplore this injustice rather than
merely describe and interpret it for readers. 24 For researchers who take a cultural
approach to organizational life, this criticism misses the point of their work. The
purpose of ethnography is not to pass moral judgment or reform society. The goal
of symbolic analysis is to create a better understanding of what it takes to function
effectively within a culture.
Anthropologist Adam Kuper is critical of Geertz for his emphasis on inter-
pretation rather than behavioral observation. Because if, as Geertz claimed, “we
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CHAPTER 19: CULTURAL APPROACH TO ORGANIZATIONS 253
Recommended resource: Clifford Geertz, The Interpretation of Cultures, Basic Books, New
York, 1973. (See especially “Thick Description: Toward an Interpretive Theory of Culture,”
pp. 3–30; and “Deep Play: Notes on the Balinese Cockfi ght,” pp. 412–453.)
Culture as performance: Michael Pacanowsky and Nick O’Donnell-Trujillo, “Organiza-
tional Communication as Cultural Performance,” Communication Monographs, Vol. 50, 1983,
pp. 127–147.
Nonmanagerial orientation: Michael Pacanowsky and Nick O’Donnell-Trujillo,
“Communication and Organizational Cultures,” Western Journal of Speech Communication ,
Vol. 46, 1982, pp. 115–130.
A SECOND LOOK
begin with our own interpretations of what our informants are up to or think they
are up to and then systematize those,”25 who’s to say the meaning assigned by
the ethnographer is right?26 Kuper is afraid that the past experiences and biases
of interpretive researchers will shape the conclusions they reach. But for Geertz,
members within the culture are the ones who verify a thick description. Participant-
observers need to check out their interpretation with the “natives” in their study.
It’s their culture. They should recognize the “truth” of the story told about them.27 In
organizational research, that means members affi rming the ethnographer ’s
construction of what’s going on. (Right. You’ve got it. That’s what this means.)
There might be another reason why interest in the cultural approach has
waned in recent years. In Chapter 3, I cited aesthetic appeal as one of the cri-
teria for a good interpretive theory. The force of an ethnographic analysis
depends in large measure on the prose in which it’s couched. In the Times
Literary Supplement (U.K.), T. M. Luhrmann gives testimony to the compelling
power of Geertz’ writing: “Rarely has there been a social scientist who has
also been so acute a writer; perhaps there has never been one so quotable.” 28
Indeed, Geertz’ interpretation of a Balinese cockfi ght reads like an engrossing
novel that the reader can’t put down. Though Pacanowsky writes well, it may
not be until a perceptive ethnographer with Geertz’ compelling way with
words focuses on organizational life that the cultural approach to organiza-
tions will spark renewed interest.
For chapter self-quizzes, go to the book’s Online Learning Center at
www.mhhe.com/griffi n9e
SELF-QUIZ
QUESTIONS TO SHARPEN YOUR FOCUS
1. Based on the concept of organizational culture as a system of shared meaning ,
how would you describe the culture at your school to a prospective student?
2. Anthropologists say, “We don’t know who discovered water, but we know
it wasn’t the fi sh.” Does this adage suggest that it’s foolish to ask members
of a culture to verify or challenge an ethnographer’s interpretation?
3. Think of your extended family as an organizational culture. What family ritual
might you analyze to interpret the webs of signifi cance you share for someone
visiting your home?
4. What favorite story do you tell others about your most recent place of
employment? Is it a corporate, personal, or collegial narrative?
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254 GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
Thick description: Joseph G. Ponterotto, “Brief Note on the Origins, Evolution, and
Meaning of the Qualitative Research Concept ‘Thick Description,’” The Qualitative Report,
Vol. 11, 2006, pp. 538–549.
Cultural metaphor: Gareth Morgan, “Creating Social Reality: Organizations as Cul-
tures,” in Images of Organization, Sage, Newbury Park, CA, 1986, pp. 111–140.
Corporate ethnography: Michael Pacanowsky, “Communication in the Empowering
Organization,” in Communication Yearbook 11, James Anderson (ed.), Sage, Newbury Park,
CA, 1988, pp. 356–379.
Corporate stories: Joanne Martin, Martha Feldman, Mary Jo Hatch, and Sim Sitkin,
“The Uniqueness Paradox in Organizational Stories,” Administrative Science Quarterly, Vol.
28, 1983, pp. 438–453.
Rites: Harrison Trice and Janice Beyer, “Studying Organizational Cultures Through
Rites and Ceremonials,” Academy of Management Review, Vol. 9, 1984, pp. 653–669.
Interpretive vs. objective approach: Linda L. Putnam, “The Interpretive Perspective: An
Alternative to Functionalism,” in Communication and Organizations: An Interpretive Approach,
Linda L. Putnam and Michael Pacanowsky (eds.), Sage, Newbury Park, CA, 1982,
pp. 31–54.
Brief autobiography: Clifford Geertz, “A Life of Learning” (ACLS Occasional Paper No.
45), American Council of Learned Societies, New York, 1999.
Webs of shared meaning in sports: Nick Trujillo, “Refl ections on Communication
and Sport: On Ethnography and Organizations,” Communication and Sport, Vol. 1, 2013,
pp. 68–75.
Fiction as scholarship: Michael Pacanowsky, “Slouching Towards Chicago,” Quarterly
Journal of Speech, Vol. 74, 1988, pp. 453–469.
Interpretive research: Bryan Taylor and Nick Trujillo, “Qualitative Research Methods,”
in The New Handbook of Organizational Communication, Fredric Jablin and Linda L. Putnam
(eds.), Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 2001, pp. 161–194.
History and critique of Geertz: Adam Kuper, Culture: The Anthropologists’ Account, Harvard
University, Cambridge, MA, 1999, pp. 75–121.
For links to relavant websites and YouTube videos,
click on Links under Theory Resources at
www.afi rstlook.com.
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255
C H A P T E R 20
Communicative
Constitution of
Organizations
of Robert McPhee
Valve Corporation has achieved a reputation as one of the most innovative pub-
lishers in the video game industry. If you’re a video gamer like me (Andrew),
you’ve probably heard of Valve. It has produced Portal, a physics-based puzzle
game so artistic that the Smithsonian American Art Museum showcased it for
several months. Millions of players have battled online opponents in hit games
like Counter-Strike and Half-Life, or purchased classic games from Valve’s popular
Steam download service. Valve’s success has earned more than a reputation, with
one industry analyst estimating Valve’s worth at $2.5 billion. 1 By comparison,
that’s about a half billion higher than the value of Wendy’s fast-food restaurants. 2
Although Valve leads in the video game industry, it isn’t clear who leads
Valve. Among its 300 employees, the company insists that no one holds the title
of manager, supervisor, boss, or head honcho. In fact, the company handbook
even describes founder Gabe Newell this way: “Of all the people at this company
who aren’t your boss, Gabe is the MOST not your boss, if you get what we’re
saying.” 3 Instead of a manager dictating priorities, all employees possess the
freedom to initiate projects they believe will benefi t the company. Although Valve
believes such an environment unleashes employees’ creative potential, it’s unset-
tling to those who’ve spent a career working in traditional organizations. For
this reason, the new employee handbook bluntly describes its purpose: “Mainly,
it’s about how not to freak out now that you’re here.” 4
Robert McPhee and other communicative constitution of organizations (CCO)
theorists believe that Valve’s business practices arise from the daily interactions
of the organization’s members. Their conclusion isn’t based on the unusual struc-
ture of the company. They insist any company is what it is because communica-
tion brings the organization into existence. In other words, like CMM theorists,
they believe that persons-in-conversation co-construct their social worlds (see
Objective Interpretive
Socio-cultural tradition
●
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256 GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
In the introduction to this section on organizational communication, we examined
classical management theory’s claim that organizations are like machines and work-
ers are its cogs. McPhee thinks that’s precisely the wrong metaphor. Employees
are not a set of lifeless parts. Rather, people create an organization like General
Motors, the American Red Cross, or the Internal Revenue Service through their
actions—especially their communication. One CCO theorist defines constitution in
five simple words: “Communication calls organization into being.” 5
In trying to help us understand exactly how communication does this,
McPhee acknowledges his intellectual debt to Karl Weick’s information systems
approach. According to Weick, organizations are like organisms—active beings
who must continually process information to survive. 6 But the diet of informa-
tion an organization has on its plate is often equivocal, meaning a given message
has at least two equally possible interpretations. When faced with such equivo-
cality, Weick encouraged organizations to engage in sensemaking —communica-
tion behavior designed to reduce ambiguity. His advice is summarized in his
famous question, “How can I know what I think till I see what I say?” 7
To illustrate Weick’s advice, imagine Valve employees gathered in a meeting
room, trying to decide what video game to make next. They have the results of an
extensive marketing survey in front of them, suggesting that 55 percent of respon-
dents would like a new Portal sequel. Weick would be concerned if Valve jumped
into designing a new game based on this information alone. He’d insist the infor-
mation is equivocal because it raises several new questions: What about the other
45 percent? Is there a difference between male and female respondents? Teenagers
and adults? How much profi t did Valve make on the last Portal game? Would a
new game fl ood the market with too much Portal and lead to boredom with the
franchise? When employees discuss such questions, they’re sensemaking—
“squeezing” meaning out of ambiguous data.
McPhee goes a step further. He thinks communication doesn’t just reduce
ambiguity—it creates organization itself. But it’s one thing to observe that
communication creates organization; it’s much harder to explain exactly how that
happens. McPhee’s answer to this big CCO question is four specifi c forms of
communication, or fl ows, that accomplish this. He wouldn’t be surprised if
Valve’s game-planning conversation revealed that they need to hire new employ-
ees ( membership negotiation), change the relationships among current workers
Constitution
Communication that
calls organization into
being.
Sensemaking
Communication behavior
that reduces ambiguity
and equivocality.
Chapter 6)—and in this case, those worlds are organizations. They also agree
with Pacanowsky (see Chapter 19) and Deetz (see Chapter 21) that an organiza-
tion isn’t a set of buildings, a stack of handbooks, or even a group of people
with a common purpose. Although these are important ingredients, they believe
only communication can bind them into an organization.
McPhee, a communication professor at Arizona State University, has devoted
much of his career to understanding four types of communication—or communi-
cation fl ows —that constitute organizations. Before we consider McPhee’s four
fl ows and four principles that guide them, we’ll take a closer look at what
McPhee and other CCO theorists mean when they say that communication
creates—or constitutes—an organization. McPhee believes that CCO theory can
help us see order in Valve’s chaos—or, rather, that any organization’s chaos has
an underlying order.
COMMUNICATION: THE ESSENCE OF AN ORGANIZATION
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CHAPTER 20: COMMUNICATIVE CONSTITUTION OF ORGANIZATIONS 257
( self – structuring), alter the daily work schedule ( activity coordination), or launch
an ad campaign against a competing company ( institutional positioning ). Each of
those possible conclusions represents one of the four fl ows, and McPhee thinks
each fl ow literally creates the company as members talk. We’ll examine each fl ow
in more detail. But as you read, McPhee wouldn’t want you to think of the fl ows
as something an organization does. Rather, these four fl ows, functioning together,
are what an organization is.
THE FOUR FLOWS OF CCO
The ancient Greek philosopher Heraclitus once said, “You cannot step twice into
the same river, for other waters and yet others go ever flowing on.” 8 CCO theorists
believe organizations are like a river—always changing, always active, and some-
times violent. And although water constitutes a river, the mere presence of H 2 O
isn’t enough. After all, no one would claim that Lake Michigan, the Pacific Ocean,
or an Aquafina bottle is a river. Likewise, just because people are talking to each
other doesn’t mean they are an organization.
To talk an organization into being, McPhee believes the communication must
occur in four fl ows, or “circulating systems or fi elds of messages.” 9 Specifi cally,
these four fl ows concern who is a member of the organization, how these mem-
bers structure their working relationships, how they coordinate their work, and
how the organization positions itself with other people and organizations. It’s
worth noting that not all communication between organization members involves
the four fl ows. Co-workers may swap stories about their weekends, share photos
of the kids, and discuss the news, but the four fl ows don’t appear in that kind
of talk. What sets the four fl ows apart is that they are necessary for creating the
organization itself. We can imagine a workplace where co-workers don’t share
kid photos, but McPhee thinks it’s impossible to imagine a workplace that
doesn’t regularly address all of the four fl ows.
I will describe each of these fl ows as they occur at Valve but, probably like
you, working at a multibillion-dollar video game company is outside the range
of my experience. To connect the fl ows more directly to your life and mine, I’ll
also describe them in the context of campus Greek organizations (a.k.a. social
fraternities and sororities). About 800 North American universities have social
Greek life, with membership estimated at approximately 600,000 students—so
chances are that if you aren’t a member, you probably know someone who is. 10
Although a fraternity or sorority’s purpose is much different than a company
like Valve’s, McPhee believes communication constitutes both.
Membership Negotiation: Joining and Learning the Ropes
All organizations regulate who is a member and who is not. If you’ve ever held
a job, it’s likely you’ve been through an interview process—but probably not like
Valve’s. Because Valve’s unusual structure gives employees considerable power
over the direction of the company, the company handbook remarks that “hiring is
the single most important thing you will ever do at Valve. Any time you interview
a potential hire, you need to ask yourself . . . if they’re capable of literally running
this company, because they will be.” 11
Although the details of Valve’s intense interview process aren’t public
knowledge, Google is another tech company that carefully vets potential hires.
Flows
Circulating fields of
messages that constitute
organization.
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258 GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
Google famously asks tough questions during interviews, such as, “Using only
a four-minute hourglass and a seven-minute hourglass, measure exactly nine
minutes—without the process taking longer than nine minutes.” 12 McPhee would
see such communication as one part of the membership negotiation fl ow. For
Google and Valve, such questions constitute a rigorous, competitive, and intel-
lectual workplace.
But Texas A&M University communication professor Kevin Barge reminds
us that membership negotiation doesn’t end after accepting a job offer. The next
step of membership negotiation is socialization, or learning what it means to be
a member of the organization. With David Schlueter (Baylor University), Barge
asked people who had started jobs in the previous two years to recall memo-
rable messages about adjusting to the new workplace. They discovered that mes-
sages addressed a variety of topics, including standards for professional
behavior, offi ce politics, and the importance of customer service. Strikingly, only
about a quarter of participants received the memorable message during formal
training, while 63 percent received the message during informal conversation. 13
For McPhee, this supports his claim that everyday conversations constitute an
organization. For you, it suggests that occasional breakroom chats with col-
leagues will help you adjust to a new job.
Sororities and fraternities also engage in membership negotiation, although
they do it differently than a company does. Maybe you’ve seen college women
lined up outside sorority houses early in the semester, waiting to participate in
recruitment (sometimes called rush). At most campuses, recruitment involves
attending social events with current Greek members and viewing presentations
and skits about each house. After each house meets privately to decide whom
to invite, prospective members participate in secret rituals that formally admit
them into the Greek organization. That secrecy hasn’t prevented the attention of
parents and law enforcement concerned about hazing. Many Greek organizations
take hazing laws seriously and may dismiss members who violate hazing
policies—another form of membership negotiation.
Self-Structuring: Figuring Out Who’s Who in the Organization
My wife once worked as a business attorney in a small-town law firm. Part of her
work involved drafting the documents that legally bring a business into being.
Documents such as the company charter, bylaws, and constitution—a word with
double meaning for CCO theorists—define what the organization is and how it
operates. To McPhee, they’re communication acts that birth an organization, and
such communication self-structures the organization.
After the organization’s founding, self-structuring continues through the
writing of procedures manuals, memos, and sometimes a chart that specifi es the
relationships among employees. Typically, the CEO is at the top of the chart
along with the rest of upper management. Middle management lies further
down the chart, and so on, until you get to clerks and call center employees at
the bottom.
You won’t fi nd such a chart at a fl at organization like Valve, but that doesn’t
mean the company doesn’t engage in self-structuring. At any given time, Valve
structures itself into cabals, or work teams assigned to accomplish a goal (such
as developing new levels for a game or updating the Steam distribution website).
When any employee has an idea, he or she can start a cabal and recruit others
Membership negotiation
Communication that reg-
ulates the extent to
which a person is an
organization member.
Self-structuring
Communication that
shapes the relationships
among an organization’s
members.
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CHAPTER 20: COMMUNICATIVE CONSTITUTION OF ORGANIZATIONS 259
to join. Because this cabal structure is ever-changing, all desks have wheels,
allowing cabals to form and re-form at any time. Each cabal collectively decides
what each member will do, and a person’s assignment “changes as requirements
change, but the temporary structure provides a shared understanding of what
to expect from each other.” 14 Through talk, members gather around a task, initi-
ate work, and solidify the cabal’s structure. As Valve’s employee handbook con-
stitutes it: “Structure happens.” 15
Even in more traditional organizations, McPhee reminds us that the offi cial
chart isn’t the fi nal word on structure. In early seasons of NBC’s The Offi ce, a
chart of the Dunder Miffl in Paper Company might have placed regional manager
Michael Scott at the top and receptionist Pam Beesly near the bottom. Neverthe-
less, if you’re familiar with the TV show that ran for nine seasons, you know
that Michael’s trust in Pam gave her infl uence over him that other employees
lacked. Although The Offi ce is fi ction, I’ve often heard that the receptionist is one
of the most powerful employees. He or she may have a lot of infl uence over the
organization’s resources and key decision makers, and that kind of informal
structuring tends to trump the formal chart.
Greek organizations self-structure too, but face an additional challenge: they
must constitute the organization’s values and practices across dozens of geo-
graphically separated campuses. The U.S. military and megacorporations like
Apple must also confront distance. How can workers align their activities when
they’re so far apart? CCO theorists François Cooren (University of Montreal) and
Gail Fairhurst (University of Cincinnati) believe this is no small question. To
answer it, they point out that we seek closure, or a sense of shared understanding
that emerges in back-and-forth interaction. 16 Sensemaking doesn’t happen until
such closure occurs.
In many Greek organizations, chapters communicate with local alumni about
how to maintain the chapter’s traditions, and consult documents about the orga-
nization’s history—this is closure across time. Meanwhile, the organization’s
headquarters sets goals and establishes policies for all chapters—this is closure
across space. Through these mediated interactions and shared texts, each chap-
ter’s local communication refl ects, re-creates, and sometimes deviates from struc-
ture established at different times and places.
Activity Coordination: Getting the Job Done
McPhee believes all organizations have goals. Schools teach students, soup
kitchens serve the hungry, political parties elect candidates, and Valve sells
“award-winning games, leading-edge technologies, and a groundbreaking social
entertainment platform.” 17 Such a defined purpose separates an organization
from a crowd of people. Most important to CCO theorists, members communi-
cate to accomplish the organization’s day-to-day work toward their goals—a flow
McPhee terms activity coordination.
The activity coordination fl ow presumes the existence of the self-structuring
fl ow. It’s hard to get work done unless members know who is doing what. But
once people settle into their roles, they may need to adjust their work. A member
may grow bored with a task or fi nd that his or her skills aren’t well suited to it.
Or, members who enjoy their work may come down with the fl u and ask some-
one to fi ll in for a shift or two. Mundane communication about such things is
activity coordination in action.
Closure
A sense of shared
understanding that
emerges in back-and-
forth interaction.
Activity coordination
Communication that
accomplishes the organi-
zation’s work toward
goals.
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260 GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
Activity coordination becomes quite complex at any organization with more
than a handful of employees. At most companies, departments as diverse as
accounting, sales and marketing, shipping, quality control, production, and
human resources must coordinate their activities to achieve the organization’s
mission. Although Valve lacks such clear departmental structure, the employee
handbook has no ambiguity about Valve’s core activity: “The core of the
software-building process is engineering. As in, writing [computer] code.” 18 They
urge noncoders to become as familiar as they can with programming. At the
same time, they encourage programmers to familiarize themselves with the “cre-
ative, legal, fi nancial, even psychological” workers at the fi rm. 19 In contrast to
the high degree of specialization found at most companies, Valve believes broad
expertise streamlines activity coordination.
In some organizations, effective activity coordination can save lives. McPhee’s
Arizona State University colleague Sarah Tracy examined activity coordination
among 911 operators, fi refi ghters, and correctional offi cers—workers whose
activity coordination frequently involves diffi cult, disgusting, and dangerous
experiences. Her interviews and fi eld observations revealed that workers fre-
quently used humor to cope with their jobs. For example, 911 operators some-
times laughed together while replaying tapes of strange calls, and fi refi ghters
joked about “frequent fl yers” who called the fi re department for regular medical
care. 20 Although such humor often had a dark tone, Tracy believes that “by jok-
ing about aberrant and shocking duties, our participants sustained the notion
that they were .  .  . capable of doing the demanding work.” 21
Campus Greek organizations coordinate a variety of activities, too. Many
members particularly value social activities, and thus the social coordinator is
often one of the most infl uential members of the chapter. Although parties and
formals are probably the most well-known Greek activities, fraternities and soror-
ities also plan service events. I once served as a consultant for a prominent national
sorority’s membership satisfaction survey. Results indicated that philanthropic
service was one of members’ favorite parts of Greek life—even more than social
events. 22 Overall, fraternities and sororities devote more than 3 million hours and
$17 million per year to philanthropic aims. 23 When members communicate to
arrange a reading event for underprivileged children or a fundraising drive to
benefi t the sick, they’re engaging in worthwhile activity coordination. Such part-
nerships with local libraries, hospitals, and charities engage the next fl ow, as well.
Institutional Positioning: Dealing with Other People and Organizations
Greek houses aren’t the only organizations interested in community service. Many
for-profit businesses partner with philanthropies. St. Jude Children’s Research
Hospital, for example, lists dozens of corporate sponsors, ranging from AutoZone
to Zynga. 24 According to Northwestern University communication professor
Michelle Shumate, such corporate–nonprofit alliances possess value only if cus-
tomers and investors perceive the corporation as socially responsible. For instance,
although a nonprofit may have many corporate sponsors, most corporations make
their charitable work memorable by partnering with a limited set of nonprofits. 25
This is one form of institutional positioning, or communication between an organi-
zation and external entities—other organizations and people.
No organization survives on its own. Even small organizations must interact
with banks, insurance providers, labor unions, government regulators, and so
Institutional positioning
Communication between
an organization and
external entities.
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CHAPTER 20: COMMUNICATIVE CONSTITUTION OF ORGANIZATIONS 261
forth. This includes navigating the legal environment—a big deal for many orga-
nizations. As an entertainment company whose software is easy to copy, some
of Valve’s institutional positioning has involved intellectual property lawsuits.
In the company’s early years, Valve published its software through Vivendi
Entertainment. When Vivendi began distributing Valve’s games in Internet cafés,
Valve sued for copyright infringement. After three years of lawsuits and counter-
lawsuits, the court ruled in Valve’s favor. 26 Of course, such legal wrangling isn’t
Valve’s only institutional positioning. Other examples include coordinating with
Microsoft to release Portal 2 on the Xbox LIVE store—or, like any for-profi t com-
pany, jockeying against competitors for the customer’s dollar.
Greek organizations also compete with each other (for popularity and for
members) and collaborate (for social events and service work). But their most
fundamental institutional positioning is with universities and colleges. Most
schools have an entire department dedicated to overseeing student organiza-
tions. Just before writing this section, I spent some time reviewing Texas Chris-
tian University’s (TCU) regulations for the communication honor society Lambda
Pi Eta—a set of rules applicable to social Greek groups as well. Many of these
rules aim to manage legal risk (such as all events must end by midnight and off-
campus drivers must switch every two hours ). McPhee would see that as institutional
positioning with lawyers and insurance providers. Chronic violation of the rules
can lead to a different type of institutional positioning on the part of TCU—
removal of the group from campus.
“I just think it undermines our organization’s fi ery rhetoric when
you close your Internet postings with a smiley face.”
© Alex Gregory/The New Yorker Connection/ www.cartoonbank.com
FOUR PRINCIPLES OF THE FOUR FLOWS
In summary, McPhee claims that communication constitutes organization through
the four flows of membership negotiation, self-structuring, activity coordination,
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262 GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
and institutional positioning. He would be disappointed if you thought of these
flows as containers for different types of communication. After all, contained
water doesn’t flow, and over time it becomes stagnant. It’s the intersection of the
four flows, mixing and blending together, that constitutes organization. To help
you understand how the four flows are separate yet function together, we’ll take a
look at four principles that direct the four flows.
1. All four fl ows are necessary for organization. On September 17, 2011,
Occupy Wall Street protesters began camping out in New York’s Zuccotti Park.
Soon, the Occupy movement spread to cities throughout the United States and
the world. After the initial wave of excitement, Occupy protesters tried to orga-
nize themselves more cohesively. Although many of them cared about income
inequality, commentators noted that the movement lacked guiding principles
and clear demands. Consequently, the protests drew all sorts of disgruntled folks.
Competing bids for leadership created bitter rivalries that reduced the size and
strength of the protests. 27 Although the social movement still exists as of this
writing, it hasn’t achieved the membership negotiation and self-structuring nec-
essary for organization. Activity coordination (through meetings) and institu-
tional positioning (against Wall Street) alone weren’t enough.
2. Different fl ows happen in different places. At the start of spring, the
minds of many sports fans turn to major league baseball. If you attend the open-
ing game of your home team, you’ll focus on the strength of the batters, the
strategy of the pitchers, and the errors of the outfi elders as each team strives to
beat the other. That’s institutional positioning, and there’s plenty of it in the
ballpark. However, you probably won’t see the other fl ows taking place on the
fi eld. That’s because space and time often separate the four fl ows. In other words,
“contract negotiations for a baseball player don’t occur too often in the dugout
during a game.” 28 Likewise, the general manager’s offi ce and the team locker
room contain different fl ows than the baseball diamond.
3. The same message can address multiple fl ows. Note that McPhee says
space often separates the fl ows. That’s an important qualifi er. He also observes that
a single message can belong to more than one fl ow. For example, my department
is currently hiring two new communication professors. Clearly, that’s membership
negotiation. But conversations about the hires have also led us to discuss the
courses we offer in our department (activity coordination) and how those courses
compare to other nearby communication programs (institutional positioning). CCO
theorist Larry Browning (University of Texas) goes a step further than McPhee.
For Browning, the intersection of fl ows in a single message isn’t just a possibility,
but the very essence of organizing itself. 29 In other words, if our hiring didn’t
involve the other fl ows, we might question whether we’re really an organization.
4. Different fl ows address different audiences. Notre Dame versus USC.
Alabama versus Auburn. Oklahoma versus Texas. Some students choose their
college for a fi rsthand view of these classic football rivalries. Many of my stu-
dents care passionately about TCU’s historic rivalry with Baylor University.
Those same students probably don’t worry much about the workfl ow of Baylor’s
provost’s offi ce—or, for that matter, TCU’s. Likewise, they’re probably less inter-
ested in how TCU hires new professors (see the previous principle) than changes
in graduation requirements. That’s because different fl ows deal with different
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CHAPTER 20: COMMUNICATIVE CONSTITUTION OF ORGANIZATIONS 263
audiences. Self-structuring is of little interest to those outside an organization.
Membership negotiation targets new members or those who may be leaving. Activ-
ity coordination addresses specifi c groups within an organization, and institutional
positioning focuses on external organizations. 30
DIVERTING THE FLOW: CRAFTING SOLUTIONS TO ORGANIZATIONAL PROBLEMS
At this point, you may think that McPhee’s CCO theory describes organizations but
doesn’t tell us how to change them. After all, objective as well as interpretive schol-
ars have critiqued Pacanowsky’s cultural approach for that reason (see Chapter
19). Recall, however, that one goal of an interpretive theory is to foster new under-
standing of people, and describing an organization’s four flows is a good place
to start. Some CCO scholars are pragmatists who try to use such insights to fix
organizational problems.
One such CCO scholar is Pamela Lutgen-Sandvik (North Dakota State Uni-
versity). Along with colleague Virginia McDermott, she used the four fl ows to
examine employee-abusive organizations— places where “workers experience per-
sistent emotional abuse and hostile communication they perceive as unfair,
unjust, and unwanted” and consequently “suffer heightened fear, dread, and job
insecurity.” 31 She notes that in a school context, we’d call that bullying. It’s just
as destructive in the workplace.
These researchers examined a community women’s center with a toxic work
environment. Ironically, this safe haven for abused women was anything but for
the center’s employees. Much of the abuse arose from the head manager—the
researchers gave her the pseudonym “Sue.” Based on extensive interviews and
ethnographic observation, Lutgen-Sandvik was convinced that each of the four
fl ows constituted the center’s abusive climate.
After working at the women’s center for several years, Sue followed the
founder as only the second head manager. Although she had no previous man-
agerial history, she had plenty of negative experiences with other center workers.
When those struggles led to fi rings, employees in charge of hiring began to ask
questions designed to screen applicants who couldn’t take the heat: “Tell me
about a time when you had to deal with a controlling manager. How did you
handle that situation?” 32 If hired, current employees soon told collegial stories
(see Chapter 19) about Sue “standing over people as they cleaned out their desks,
publicly screaming at employees, and humiliating staff in front of clients and
co-workers.” 33
These alterations to the membership negotiation fl ow enabled Sue’s abuse.
So did the center’s self-structuring. On paper, a board of directors controlled the
center, but that board was reluctant to do anything about Sue. Rather than con-
fronting her directly, they sent her to external training that often emphasized the
importance of managerial control. 34 Ironically, this led Sue to develop even more
authoritarian rules.
In the face of a hesistant board and an unsympathetic manager, workers
remained silent about Sue’s abuse of power in the regular course of activity
coordination. As other managers focused on securing grant funds, employees
performed the center’s grunt work with clients in need. With employees being
overworked, underpaid, and abused, it’s not surprising the center struggled to
retain workers.
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264 GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
Eventually, the board fi red Sue as a fi rst step to healing the center. But as
CCO theorists, Lutgen-Sandvik and McDermott don’t think solving a widespread
organizational problem is as simple as removing one problem member. After all,
shutting down a polluting factory is just a fi rst step to cleaning up a river—it
doesn’t remove the contamination that’s already in the fl ow. So in addition to
fi ring Sue, the center increased communication between the board and staff by
self-structuring a new liaison between them. They also introduced an evaluation
system for the supervisor as part of regular activity coordination. And to attract
the most qualifi ed manager, they increased the salary to a more competitive
level. Eventually, word got out that the organization’s culture had changed, and
some former employees even returned to the center. Lutgen-Sandvik credits
these improvements to members changing the four fl ows.
CRITIQUE: IS CONSTITUTION REALLY SO SIMPLE?
For a communication scholar, what’s not to like about a theory that claims commu-
nication is the essence of organization? Assuming that’s not a rhetorical question,
we might point out that organizations and communication are both incredibly
complex. Trying to unite the two might just produce a big theoretical migraine.
That’s the genius of McPhee’s approach—by identifying four clear flows, he’s pro-
vided a degree of relative simplicity that few interpretive theories possess. But that
simplicity doesn’t appeal to everybody.
For decades, communication professor James Taylor (University of Montreal)
led one of the world’s most visible CCO research programs. Taylor shares
McPhee’s belief that communication constitutes organizations. 35 Despite this
foundational agreement, Taylor suspects McPhee’s view is too simplistic. He also
thinks it starts from the wrong place. McPhee’s theory takes a top-down approach
to organizing—it’s a bit like fl ying over a river and seeing the structure of its
tributaries and inlets. It gives you the big picture, but you miss the messy details
you’d see by putting on your boots and wading into the riverbank. That’s the
kind of approach Taylor prefers—from the ground up. And that ground is every-
day conversation.
To Taylor, McPhee’s theory isn’t precise enough to explain how a chat at the
watercooler can shape the structure of an organization. He places some of the
blame on McPhee’s vague defi nition of fl ow. Although the liquid analogy cap-
tures the fl uid nature of organizing, Taylor notes that it’s never clear precisely
what the metaphor represents. He asks, “What exactly is a ‘fl ow,’ for example:
a sequence of communication interactions or episodes? A pattern of activities? A
history? And what are the properties of fl ow that explain the genesis of organi-
zation?” 36 If McPhee’s theory can’t answer these questions, then Taylor thinks it
can’t account for how communication constitutes organization.
Taylor provides his own description of constitution through a masterful yet
dizzying appeal to linguists such as Chomsky, Greimas, Husserl, and Latour. 37
He argues that conversations organize when members engage in co-orientation,
or communication “wherein two or more actors are entwined in relation to an
object.” 38 Such an object may be a fi nancial report, new product idea, or contract
negotiation. Over time, these conversations are the glue that binds organizations
across time and space. If organizing occurs in such specifi c conversations, then
McPhee’s looking in the wrong place when he searches for higher-order com-
munication patterns (like the four fl ows).
Co-orientation
Communication wherein
two or more people
focus on a common
object.
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CHAPTER 20: COMMUNICATIVE CONSTITUTION OF ORGANIZATIONS 265
So which is best—McPhee’s top-down approach or Taylor ’s from-the-
bottom-up? University of Oklahoma communication professor Ryan Bisel values
both approaches while also believing they share a common fault. According to
Bisel, Taylor assumes that co-orientation is a suffi cient condition for organizing.
That means the very presence of co-orientating conversations is enough to cre-
ate an organization. Likewise, McPhee believes his four fl ows are such suffi cient
conditions. But Bisel thinks both are only necessary conditions. In other words,
such communicative patterns mean that organization can occur, not that it will
occur. He supports his claim with words that resonate with anyone who has
worked in a team or seen an episode of The Offi ce: “Empirical observations and
anecdotal experiences indicate that poor workplace talk can lead to ineffi cien-
cies, errors, and an inability to interrelate heedfully.” 39 Communication can
disorganize, too.
I don’t fi nd these debates discouraging. On the contrary, I think they’re the
mark of a relatively young theory that has energized a new generation of orga-
nizational communication scholars. Although they may disagree on the details,
CCO theorists share a broad community of agreement —a community convinced
that communication is the most important element binding any organization
together. For all who take communication seriously, any brand of CCO is well
worth considering.
Sufficient conditions
Conditions under which
something will occur.
Necessary conditions
Conditions under which
something can occur.
1. The phrase communication constitutes organizations comes out of the socio-
cultural tradition of communication theory. How might a cybernetic scholar
describe the essence of organizations? A critical scholar?
2. According to McPhee, the four flows constitute an organization. Using this def-
inition, is a family an organization? A religious congregation? A group of close
friends? Your communication theory course?
3. Your school is an organization. What memorable messages do you remember
from your membership negotiation? Did you receive different messages from
members versus nonmembers?
4. Some research investigates the challenges of organizations that function at a
distance using communication technology. Which flow do you think is most
difficult to sustain when workers can’t meet face-to-face?
QUESTIONS TO SHARPEN YOUR FOCUS
A SECOND LOOK Recommended resource: Linda L. Putnam and Anne Maydan Nicotera (eds.), Building
Theories of Organization: The Constitutive Role of Communication, Routledge, New York,
NY, 2009.
Original statement: Robert D. McPhee and Pamela Zaug, “The Communicative Con-
stitution of Organizations: A Framework for Explanation,” Electronic Journal of Communica-
tion, Vol. 10, 2000, http://www.cios.org/EJCPUBLIC/010/1/01017.html .
Taylor’s view of CCO: James R. Taylor and Elizabeth J. Van Every, The Emergent Orga-
nization: Communication As Its Site and Surface, Lawrence Erlbaum, Mahwah, NJ, 2000.
Membership negotiation and the millennial generation: Karen K. Myers and Kamyab
Sadaghiani, “Millennials in the Workplace: A Communication Perspective on Millennials’
Organizational Relationships and Performance,” Journal of Business and Psychology, Vol. 25,
2010, pp. 225–238.
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266 GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
Institutional positioning with nonprofi t organizations: Michelle Shumate and Amy
O’Connor, “Corporate Reporting of Cross-Sector Alliances: The Portfolio of NGO Part-
ners Communicated on Corporate Websites,” Communication Monographs, Vol. 77, 2010,
pp. 207–230.
Constitution and corporate scandals: Timothy Kuhn and Karen Lee Ashcraft, “Corporate
Scandal and the Theory of the Firm: Formulating the Contributions of Organizational
Communication Studies,” Management Communication Quarterly, Vol. 17, 2003, pp. 20–57.
Discourse and organizations: Gail T. Fairhurst and Linda Putnam, “Organizations as
Discursive Constructions,” Communication Theory, Vol. 14, 2004, pp. 5–26.
Critique: Special Forum in Management Communication Quarterly, Vol. 24, 2010. See
articles by Ryan Bisel, John A. A. Sillince, Graham Sewell, Mike Reed, Linda Putnam, and
Anne Maydan Nicotera.
To access a chapter on Karl Weick’s concept of sensemaking,
click on Information Systems Approach in the
Archive under Theory Resorses at
www.afi rstlook.com .
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267
Critical Theory of
Communication in
Organizations
of Stanley Deetz
University of Colorado professor Stan Deetz seeks to unmask what he considers
unjust and unwise communication practices within organizations. Deetz deplores
the increasing overt and covert control that corporate managers exert in the name
of doing “good business.” But unlike many critical theorists, Deetz is not only
explicit about what he’s against, he’s also clear about what he’s for. He calls it
“stakeholder participation.” He believes that everyone who will be signifi cantly
affected by a corporate policy should have a voice in the decision-making pro-
cess. His critical theory of communication in organizations presents the rationale for
that obligation.
●
Objective Interpretive
Critical tradition
Phenomenological tradition
21 C H A P T E R
CORPORATE COLONIZATION AND CONTROL OF EVERYDAY LIFE
If you’ve never worked in a large corporation, you may be tempted to dismiss
Deetz’ theory as having little to do with your life. Big mistake. As Deetz points
out, multinational corporations such as GM, AT&T, Apple, Time Warner, Disney,
and Microsoft are the dominant force in society—more powerful than the church,
state, or family in their ability to infl uence the lives of individuals. For example,
over 90 percent of the mass media outlets—newspaper, broadcast, cable, telephone,
and satellite—are owned by just a handful of corporations. 1 Deetz notes that
hourly reports of the Dow-Jones Industrial Average underscore the absence of
an equivalent index of quality in the arts, health care, or the environment. Even
in a media account of blatant corporate greed or fraud, it would be naïve to
assume that the story doesn’t refl ect a pro-business bias.
The corporate executive suite is the place where most decisions are made
regarding the use of natural resources, development of new technologies, prod-
uct availability, and working relations among people. Deetz says that corpora-
tions “control and colonize” modern life in ways that no government or public
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268 GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
body since the feudal era ever thought possible. 2 Yet the fallout of corporate
control is a sharp decrease in quality of life for the vast majority of citizens.
Within the lifetime of most of today’s college students, the average American
workweek has increased from 40 to 50 hours, and leisure time has declined by
a corresponding 10 hours. Despite the fact that 85 percent of families with chil-
dren now have mothers working outside the home, their real standard of living
has decreased over the last two decades. The number of full-time workers whose
income has fallen below the poverty line has doubled, yet compensation for chief
executive offi cers (CEOs) has risen from 42 times to 354 times that of the average
worker. 3 Deetz suggests that “we need to consider in depth what type of ‘busi-
ness’ this is, who the moral claimants are, how privilege is organized, and what
the possible democratic responses are.” 4
Deetz’ theory of communication is critical in that he wants to reveal the easy
assumption that “what’s good for General Motors is good for the country” has
a downside both for GM and the country. Specifi cally, he wants to examine com-
munication practices in organizations that undermine fully representative deci-
sion making and thus reduce the quality, innovation, and fairness of business
decisions.
Corporate colonization
Encroachment of modern
corporations into every
area of life outside the
workplace.
INFORMATION OR COMMUNICATION: TRANSMISSION OR THE CREATION OF MEANING
Deetz begins his analysis by challenging the view that communication is the
transmission of information. Even though a majority of human communication
scholars now dismiss the familiar source → message → channel → receiver con-
ception of communication, the conduit model is still taken for granted in orga-
nizations and in everyday life. There’s an intuitive appeal in the idea that words
refer to real things—that by using the right words we can express state-of-the-art
knowledge. As Deetz notes, “Clearly, the public really wants to believe in an
independent reality.” 5 He warns, however, that as long as we accept the notion
that communication is merely the transmission of information, we will continue
to perpetuate corporate dominance over every aspect of our lives.
Consider a company’s annual report. The sanitized numbers present them-
selves as facts compiled and categorized according to “standard accounting pro-
cedures.” But Deetz contends that each line item is constitutive —created by
corporate decision makers who have the power to make their decisions stick.
What seems to be value-free information is really meaning in formation . The end-
of-the-year audit is not fact—it’s artifact. All corporate information is an outcome
of political processes that are usually undemocratic, with consequences that usu-
ally hurt democracy.
In place of the information model of messages, Deetz presents a communication
model that regards language as the principal medium through which social real-
ity is created and sustained. He states that “language does not represent things
that already exist. In fact, language is a part of the production of the thing that
we treat as being self-evident and natural within the society.” 6 Humanists like I. A.
Richards have long pointed out that meanings are in people, not in words (see
Chapter 4). But Deetz moves even further away from a representational view of
language when he raises the question, Whose meanings are in people? Once we
accept that organizational forms are continually produced and reproduced
through language, we’ll understand that corporations produce not only goods
and services, but also meaning.
Information model
A view that communica-
tion is merely a conduit
for the transmission of in-
formation about thereal-
world.
Communication model
A view that language is
the principal medium
through which social
reality is created and
sustained.
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CHAPTER 21: CRITICAL THEORY OF COMMUNICATION IN ORGANIZATIONS 269
FIGURE 21–1 Two Approaches to Organizational Practice
Based on Deetz, Transforming Communication, Transforming Business, Chapter 7
INFORMATION
MODEL
Managerial Control
Codetermination
COMMUNICATION
MODEL
Strategy
Involvement
Consent
Participation
People who adopt the lingo of big business may not be aware that they
are putting corporate values into play. For example, the bottom line on a
profi t-and-loss statement is only that—the last line on the fi nancial report. But
a CEO’s continual use of the term bottom line to justify all managerial deci-
sions produces a perceived reality that shuts out nonfinancial considerations.
When ordinary citizens begin to use this economic idiom to characterize the
deciding or crucial factor in their own family decisions, they reinforce and
expand the infl uence of corporate thinking in life without even realizing they
are doing so.
Figure 21–1 contrasts Deetz’ communication approach to organizational
practices with an information approach that regards language as neutral
and neutered. Like Pearce and Cronen (see Chapter 6), Deetz considers
communication the ongoing social construction of meaning. But his critical the-
ory differs from CMM in that he thinks the issue of power runs through all
language and communication. He believes managerial control often takes prece-
dence over representation of confl icting interests and long-term company and
community health.
The fundamental issue in my analysis is control and how different groups are rep-
resented in decision making. . . . Since industrialization, managers in American
corporations have primarily operated from a philosophy of control. 7
The upper level of Figure 21–1 represents corporate decision processes that
systematically exclude the voices of people who are directly affected by the deci-
sions. Deetz labels this practice managerial control . The bottom half of the fi gure
pictures decision processes that invite open dialogue among all stakeholders.
Deetz calls this practice codetermination . When coupled with the constitutive view
of communication, codetermination represents the “collaborative collective con-
structions of self, other, and the world” 8 that Deetz believes are the product of
participatory democracy.
Codetermination
Collaborative decision
making; participatory de-
mocracy in the workplace.
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270 GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
The 2 3 2 nature of Figure 21–1 yields four different ways in which public
decisions—including corporate ones—can be made: strategy, consent, involvement,
and participation. Deetz’ analysis of these four corporate practices provides the
core of his critique of managerialism.
STRATEGY: OVERT MANAGERIAL MOVES TO EXTEND CONTROL
Deetz doesn’t portray individual managers as scoundrels in his saga of corporate
control. He makes it clear that managers are not the problem—the real culprit is
managerialism . Deetz describes managerialism as discourse based on “a kind of
systematic logic, a set of routine practices, and ideology” that values control
above all else. 9 Stockholders want profi ts and workers desire freedom, but
management craves control.
Whenever there’s a corporate disaster or scandal, the public and media look
for a scapegoat or “bad apple” who’s responsible. Deetz thinks that’s short-
sighted because it diverts attention away from a failed managerial system based
on control. He cites social psychologist Philip Zimbardo’s book The Lucifer Effect,
which suggests we’d do well to stop talking about a few bad apples and look
at the consequences of what happens when you put good people in bad barrels.10
No matter what their job, workers around the world often experience the same
dictatorial style in the expressed and implied messages that come from the top:
“Because I’m the boss.”
“Because I say so.”
“If you don’t like it, quit.”
“It’s my way or the highway.”
Some employees do object by saying, in effect, “Take this job and shove it,” but
that doesn’t increase representation. Choice is often limited to loyalty or exit—“love
it or leave it.” Without a voice, workers have no say in the decisions that affect them
during the majority of their waking hours. Deetz argues that while control of this
sort is disappearing in most enlightened corporations, new forms of control based
in communication systems impede any real worker voice in structuring their work.
Stockholders face the same either/or dilemma. They can choose to hold their
shares or sell them, but neither option offers a way to infl uence corporate policy.
Although management presents itself as making decisions on behalf of stockholders
(the owners), Deetz says that the interests of the two groups are often at odds.
Because of stock options and “golden parachutes,” top management has benefi ted
more than any other group from the merger mania and cost-cutting strategies of
the last two decades. Whereas long-term growth would help the average investor,
quick profi ts and tight control of costs are the manager’s ticket up the corporate
ladder. Regardless of a company’s product line or service, “control is the manage-
ment product and is most clearly the one on which individual advancement rests.” 11
Initially, managers may regard effi ciency as a means to the end of higher profi ts.
Deetz is convinced, however, that the desire for control soon becomes a valued
end in itself. That desire can even exceed the desire for corporate performance.
Talking in terms of money is often more for control than for effi ciency or profi ts.
The control drive of managerialism seeks the medium of its extension, and money
is it. . . . Everything that cannot be adequately translated into money is implicitly
suppressed, and all competing rights of decisions regarding one’s life are made
marginal. 12
Managerialism
A systematic logic, set
of routine practices, and
ideology that values
control over all other
concerns.
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CHAPTER 21: CRITICAL THEORY OF COMMUNICATION IN ORGANIZATIONS 271
Nowhere is this quest for control more apparent than in corporate aversion to
public confl ict. The managerial rule of thumb seems to be that confl ict is to be
“dealt with” rather than openly discussed. Managers are rewarded for “putting
out fi res,” “running a tight ship,” or “making things run smoothly.” The imper-
sonal nature of these metaphors suggests that executives should place responsibil-
ity to the company ahead of personal feelings or ethical concerns. In the corporate
context, claims of “company policy” and “just doing my job” provide suffi cient
moral justifi cation for suppressing almost any act of employee resistance or dissent.
Deetz argues there is little evidence that strategic control has benefi cial
effects beyond accelerating advancement on the managerial career path. He
claims that most corporate successes (or failures) are the result of factors beyond
managerial control. 13 Control does have distinct disadvantages, however. The cost is
high, and workers resent the constant surveillance. Frequent references to “clear-
ing out the deadwood” or “trimming the fat” create an understandable jumpi-
ness among employees, and sometimes their fear is acted out in covert rebellion.
Since dominance creates this kind of resistance, most modern managers prefer
to maintain control through the voluntary consent of the worker rather than
the strategic use of raw power.
CONSENT: UNWITTING ALLEGIANCE TO COVERT CONTROL
Deetz believes in capitalism, but he’s convinced that corporations are unreason-
able. “They expect more than a fair day’s work for a fair day’s pay; they want
love, respect, and above all loyalty.” 14 Even though the company gets the work-
ers’ most rested, alert, and chemical-free portion of the day, apparently that’s not
enough. Management insists that allegiance to the company should come before
family, friends, church, and community. Through the process Deetz calls consent ,
most employees willingly give that loyalty without getting much in return.
“Consent is the term I use to designate the variety of situations and processes
in which someone actively, though unknowingly, accomplishes the interests of
others in the faulty attempt to fulfi ll his or her own interests. The person is
complicit in her or his own victimization.” 15
Lynn, a former student of mine, wrote an application log entry for Deetz’
critical theory that poignantly captures the human cost of consent:
My father was very loyal to his company in the interest of moving up the ladder
for pay increases. When my brother and I were babies and toddlers, my family
lived in four different places in three years because the company required that we
move. Later on, my father spent much of his time traveling and lived in New York
for over six months while the rest of us lived in Baltimore. During my high school
years, he worked until about eight or nine o’clock in the evening even though it
wasn’t demanded of him. His entire department was often there because it was
common practice to spend that much time getting the job done.
I would love to see the ideal world where employees have a lot more power in
their communication within a large company. I think that it would possibly save
families like mine from growing up without a full-time father.
I can see further implications. If employees, especially men, feel like they have
more power in the workplace, they will be less likely to come home and feel the
need to prove their power at home by demeaning their wives in many different
ways. I think that if Deetz’ proposals ever worked on a wide scale, our country
would see a decrease in domestic violence.
Consent
The process by which
employees actively,
though unknowingly, ac-
complish managerial in-
terests in a faulty attempt
to fulfill their own.
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272 GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
How do companies manage to strike such an unfair bargain with their
employees? It’s tempting to point to the workaholism of Lynn’s father as the core
of the problem, but Deetz lays more of the blame on managerial control of work-
place language, information, forms, symbols, rituals, and stories. Although these
are the practices that Pacanowsky and other interpretive scholars treat as indica-
tors of a given organizational culture (see Chapter 19), Deetz views them as
attempts to produce and reproduce a culture that is sympathetic to managerial
interests. As McPhee’s CCO states, all corporations have their own sets of con-
stitutive practices. The question Deetz asks is not What do these mean? Rather, it
is Whose meanings are these?
Managerialism promotes workers’ unwitting consent through a process of
systematically distorted communication. Unlike strategic control, which is open and
deliberate, systematically distorted communication operates under the radar.
When this happens, expectations and norms within a group setting restrict what
can be openly expressed or even thought. Deetz emphasizes that the workers
deceive themselves because they believe they are interacting freely, while in real-
ity only certain  options are available. As an example, Deetz notes that arbitrary
authority relations within an organization may be disguised as legitimate divi-
sions of labor. That way any talk about power relations must assume the valid-
ity of the status quo, thus reproducing the organizational hierarchy rather than
challenging it. Real interactive decisions can’t be made in such a context.
Systematically distorted communication requires suppression of potential con-
fl ict. This process, which Deetz calls discursive closure, occurs in a variety of ways.
For example, certain groups of people within an organization may be classifi ed as
“disqualifi ed” to speak on important issues. Arbitrary defi nitions can be labeled
“natural” to avoid further discussion. The values that guided a manager’s judgment
call may be kept hidden so that it appears to be an objective decision (see Chapter 20).
A group may discourage members from talking about certain subjects. Or the orga-
nization may allow the discussion of a topic such as gender-linked job classifi cation
or pay differences but discount its importance or quickly divert attention to
other issues.
Systematically distorted
communication
Operating outside of
employees’ awareness,
a form of discourse that
restricts what can be said
or even considered.
DILBERT © Scott Adams. Used by permission of UNIVERSAL UCLICK. All rights reserved.
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CHAPTER 21: CRITICAL THEORY OF COMMUNICATION IN ORGANIZATIONS 273
INVOLVEMENT: FREE EXPRESSION OF IDEAS, BUT NO VOICE
For anyone who has a stake in corporate decisions (all of us), shifting from
managerial control at the top of Figure 21–1 to involvement at the bottom is a
crucial move. In political terms, it represents a switch from autocracy to liberal
democracy—from managerial decisions made behind closed doors to open dis-
cussions where all have the opportunity to express their opinions.
Employee involvement in corporate choices began with a suggestion box
mounted on a wall. In some companies, this invitation for expression evolved
over decades into open forums that look like early-American town meetings. At
their best, these attempts at corporate democracy are based on a commitment to
free speech and the value of an open marketplace of ideas (see Nilsen’s ethic of
signifi cant choice, pp. 197–198).
Deetz claims that liberal eighteenth-century Jeffersonian democracy was
based on three notions about communication: (1) freedom of speech guaranteed
equitable participation in decision making; (2) persuasion and advocacy were the
best ways to reach a good decision; and (3) autonomous individuals could then
make up their own minds. Taken together, this meant truth would emerge from
the free fl ow of information in an open marketplace of ideas. As long as people
shared the same values, an information-transfer model of communication worked
well.16 But not in today’s society. Freedom of speech doesn’t mean the right to
be in on the decision. Adversarial posturing doesn’t lend itself to creative con-
sensus. And consent conditions make autonomy rare.
Organizations in the twenty-fi rst century must operate in a pluralistic and
interdependent world. People have always been different, but it used to be that
mountains and oceans made it possible to stick with your own kind. Today in
business and government, that’s almost impossible. You can’t expect much
empathy from a person raised in a different culture, who has had radically dif-
ferent experiences, and who holds a worldview that you might fi nd disturbing.
And isolation is no longer an option. As the worldwide economic meltdown in
2008, the 2010 BP Gulf oil spill, and bankrupt European economies in 2012 illus-
trate, whatever happens up the road or overseas will surely affect us all. Deetz
is convinced that if Thomas Jefferson lived downwind or downstream from a
factory hog farm, the Declaration of Independence he wrote would be a different
document.17 It might well have been a Declaraton of Interdependence.
As Deetz surveys present-day corporate communication practices, he con-
cludes that “the right of expression appears more central than the right to be
informed or to have an effect.” 18 Through involvement in discussions of com-
pany policy, employees have a chance to air their grievances, state their desires,
Involvement
Stakeholders’ free ex-
pression of ideas that
may, or may not, affect
managerial decisions.
Deetz suggests that the force of an organizational practice is strongest when
no one even thinks about it. If someone were to question such a routine, em-
ployees would be hard-pressed to explain why it is standard operating procedure.
The best response they could muster would be a nonanswer: “That’s the way
it’s done around here.” Practices that have this taken-for-granted quality are
often equated with common sense. Without a clear understanding that commu-
nication produces rather than refl ects reality (the right side of Figure 21–1),
employees will unknowingly consent to the managerial mentality that wants to
expand corporate control.
Discursive closure
Suppression of conflict
without employees real-
izing that they are com-
plicit in their own
censorship.
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274 GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
and recommend alternative ways of working. Many managers use these sessions
as a way to give employees a chance to let off steam. But advocacy is not nego-
tiation. If workers fi nd out their ideas aren’t represented in the fi nal decision,
they quickly become cynical about the process. And when consent is present, the
right to freely express ideas is only the right to express the meanings belonging
to someone else.
In national politics as well as corporate governance, meaningful democracy
requires that people not only have a chance to discuss the issues, but also have
a voice in the fi nal outcome. Forums provide the opportunity for involvement,
yet voice is not just having a say. It means expressing interests that are freely and
openly formed, and then having those interests refl ected in joint decisions. That’s
real participation. Deetz says it’s only possible when all stakeholders realize that
their communication creates reality rather than merely describing it.
PARTICIPATION: STAKEHOLDER DEMOCRACY IN ACTION
Deetz’ theory of communication is critical, but not just negative. While he strongly
criticizes the managerial strategy of increasing control over workers, engineering
their consent, and granting them free expression without giving them a voice in
decisions, he also believes that joint, open decisions in the workplace are pos-
sible. Deetz is convinced that “meaningful democratic participation creates better
citizens and better social choices, and provides important economic benefi ts.” 19
One of the goals of his theory is to reclaim the possibility of open negotiations
of power. He calls it stakeholder democracy .
The fi rst move Deetz makes is to expand the list of people who should
have a say in how a corporation is run. Besides managers, he sees at least six
groups of stakeholders with multiple needs and desires. 20
Investors seek security of principal and a decent return on their investment.
Workers seek a reasonable wage, safe working conditions, a chance to take pride in
their labor, security of employment, and time for their families.
Consumers seek quality goods and services at a fair price.
Suppliers seek a stable demand for their resource with timely payment upon delivery.
Host communities seek payment for services provided, stable employment, environmental
care, and the quality of family and public life enhanced rather than diminished.
Greater society and the world community seek environmental care, economic stability, over-
all civility, and fair treatment of all constituent groups (racial, ethnic, gender).
Deetz notes that some stakeholders have taken greater risks and made
longer-term investments in a company than typical owners of stock or top-level
managers. 21 He believes it’s imperative that those who are affected by corporate
decisions have a say in how such decisions are made. Of course, this stance runs
counter to traditional notions of exclusive stockholder rights or managerial
prerogatives, but Deetz says there’s no legitimate basis for privileging one group
of stakeholders over another. He reminds us that nature did not make
corporations—we did. “The rights and responsibilities of people are not given
in advance by nature or by a privileged, universal value structure, but are nego-
tiated through interaction.” 22
Participation
Stakeholder democracy;
the process by which all
stakeholders in an orga-
nization negotiate power
and openly reach collab-
orative decisions.
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CHAPTER 21: CRITICAL THEORY OF COMMUNICATION IN ORGANIZATIONS 275
As you scan the list of stakeholders and their interests, it’s obvious that current
corporate governance is not set up to address their social, fi nancial, and ecological
goals. In light of the widespread corporate greed and corruption that led to the
fi nancial meltdown and Great Recession we’ve been through, relying on managerial
goodwill would seem a joke. Some would expect government to insert social
values into the marketplace but, except for brief periods of time following a
crisis, government policy is largely infl uenced by business leaders and lobbyists.
Free-enterprise advocates suggest that the unseen hand of the market will sort
things out, but that reduces all values to a matter of dollars and cents—and those
not equitably.
Deetz offers his appraisal and previews his solution: Taken together, corpo-
rate “stewardship, government regulation, and markets offer weak mechanisms
for value inclusion and virtually no support for communication processes that
create win/win situations where multiple stakeholders can successfully pursue
their mutual interests.”23 Rather than trying to leverage participatory governance
from the outside, Deetz believes building stakeholder values into corporate
decision-making practices is the route to go. In addition to his academic work,
he acts as a consultant to companies’ top management and their boards of
directors, showing why it’s in their long-term interest to initiate collaborative
practices themselves.
POLITICALLY ATTENTIVE RELATIONAL CONSTRUCTIONISM (PARC)
Deetz has recently proposed an extension of his critical theory that describes six
types of confl ict that must be addressed in organizations. He calls it politically
attentive relational constructionism (PARC).24 He suggests it can also serve as a
framework or metatheory within which to compare his theory with other orga-
nizational and/or critical theories. Although the four-word label to which PARC
refers may strike you as daunting, when split into two-word pairs you can see
that the phrase refl ects the communication model and codetermination features of
stakeholder participation shown in Figure 21–1.
Relational Constructionism
Deetz maintains that most organizational theories are based on some form of
social construction. That’s certainly the case with Pacanowsky’s cultural approach,
which looks at cultural artifacts and seeks to interpret what they mean (see
Chapter 19). It’s also true with McPhee’s version of CCO, which describes
the four fl ows constituted by communication within an organization (see
Chapter 20). Both theories focus on what has been created, not on how it was
done. Since Deetz is just as concerned with the process of construction as he is
with its end product, he uses the designation relational rather than the more
common term social. He makes this switch to signal that he differs from those
who think they’re looking at an already etched-in-stone culture or, conversely,
those who think they’re writing a blank slate. “Relational constructionism
asks us to return to explore the moments of co-constructions and the conditions
making particular constructions possible rather than accept the productions
as given.”25
PARC model
Politically attentive
relational constructionism;
a collaborative view of
communication based
in stakeholder conflict.
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276 GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
Deetz outlines nine conditions that must be met in order for diverse
stakeholders to successfully negotiate their needs and interests:26
1. Stakeholders have divergent interests, not set positions.
2. Stakeholders possess roughly the same level of communication skill.
3. Authority relationships and power positions are set aside.
4. All stakeholders have an equal opportunity to express themselves.
5. Stakeholders’ wants are openly investigated in order to determine their interests.
6. Participants transparently share information and how decisions are made.
7. Facts and knowledge claims are revisited to see how they were created.
8. Focus on outcomes and interests rather than bargaining on rival solutions.
9. Stakeholders jointly make decisions rather than just having “their say.”
This batch of preconditions might seem impossible to meet, but those trained in
the art of negotiation and confl ict mediation are quite familiar with most of the
requirements and are committed to using them for the benefi t of all parties. It’s
not surprising that Deetz, director of peace and confl ict studies at his university,
fi nds them useful in his PARC model.
Politically Attentive
Deetz uses the term “political” to refer to the presence of power dynamics in
relationships. He’s convinced that the world is “fundamentally based on confl ict
and tension rather than consensus and order,”27 so all communication is political
and we should be frequently aware of that fact. Recall that one of Watzlawick’s
axioms in the interactional view is Communication 5 Content 1 Relationship, and
that our relationship tells us how to classify or interpret the content (see Chapter 13).
Deetz sees power as an ever-present part of our relationships—certainly so in
our organizational lives. To be politically attentive means to honestly explore the
power in play behind so-called neutral facts and taken-for-granted positions.
In corporations, for example, political awareness might lead us to examine
specifi c “standard accounting practices” to uncover how they came to be—who
benefi ted and who suffered loss by their adoption. Deetz isn’t bothered that the
world is political, but he thinks it’s disingenuous and deceptive when managers
pretend it isn’t. An organization’s stakeholders need to recover the confl ict that
was repressed so that all interests are on the table and openly discussed. Only
in this way can fair and benefi cial negotiations take place.
Deetz would have managers take the role of mediators rather than persuad-
ers, manipulators, or dictators. They would coordinate the confl icting interests
of all parties affected by corporate decisions. He understands that even those
who are committed to open dialogue will feel insecure as they relinquish control.
He suggests a good way for them to start is to “complicate” their perceptions of
subordinates and other stakeholders by being around them, talking with them,
and learning their hopes, dreams, fears, values, and needs. And when stakehold-
ers come together to discuss corporate policy, managers should make sure all
areas of confl ict are considered. PARC suggests six that are almost always
an issue.28
Inner life:  What feelings are present and possible?  What organizational
practices are necessary for those feelings to surface?
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CHAPTER 21: CRITICAL THEORY OF COMMUNICATION IN ORGANIZATIONS 277
AVOIDING MELTDOWN—PUTTING THEORY INTO PRACTICE
Given entrenched managerial power and privilege in corporations, most eco-
nomic observers are skeptical that the workplace participation Deetz advocates
will become reality. But Deetz’ recent work with the International Atomic Energy
Agency (IAEA) might give naysayers cause for pause. The agency invited Deetz
to join a working group of international experts, nuclear plant supervisors, and
government regulators concerned with creating “cultures of safety” around the
construction and operation of atomic generating sites. Although anything involv-
ing radiation is always a concern, fears of power-plant disasters skyrocketed
after the 2011 Fukushima meltdown following an earthquake and subsequent
tsunami. The chairman of the independent commission that investigated the acci-
dent made it clear this wasn’t a natural disaster:
What must be admitted—very painfully—is that this was a disaster “Made in Japan.”
Its fundamental causes are to be found in the ingrained conventions of Japanese cul-
ture: our reflexive obedience; our reluctance to question authority; our devotion to
‘sticking with the program’; our groupism; and our insularity.29
Deetz would call this consent actively reproduced at work. The nuclear com-
munity was shocked the meltdown took place in a technologically sophisticated
nation known for quality control and a highly skilled workforce. If this could hap-
pen in Japan, how much more risk will atomic energy pose in less developed coun-
tries such as Mexico, Poland, or Vietnam, where plans are quickly moving ahead?
Most members of IAEA admit that a check-list approach to safety isn’t work-
ing and that nuclear engineers know little about the human side of organizational
dynamics. This is why communication experts looking at the consent production
and change process need to be involved. Deetz, of course, advocates bringing the
workers into the process, with places for active participatory dialogue. (See a link
to his presentation at the IAEA 2012 annual meeting in the Second Look bibliog-
raphy.) Members of his working group realize that people welding pipe know
things that people who aren’t welding pipe don’t know. So if welders are part of
the decision-making process, the decision will be based on on better information.
Imagine Deetz on a video conference call with nuclear plant managers
around the world.
Supervisor #1: I have a lot of trouble at these safety meetings getting people to
pay attention, listen, or even care.
Supervisor #2: You know, I just don’t let that happen. I get in their face and tell
them to pay attention and listen.
Identity and recognition:  Who are the people involved? Given their identi-
ties, what rights and responsibilities do they have?
Social order:  What behaviors, actions, and ways of talking are considered
appropriate?  What norms and rules support these?
Truth:  What do members think is true?  How do they back up these claims?
What are the processes for resolving different views?
Life narratives:  How does the world work for them?  What would a good
and beautiful future look like?
Justice: What is fair? How should limited goods and services be distributed?
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278 GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
Deetz: Have you ever asked them why they’re not paying attention—what there is
about this that makes it seem unworthy of them? You might ask them what con-
versations about safety they’d want to turn off their cell phones to be part of.30
Deetz says you’ll never know unless you ask and then treat their answers
as valuable. You may fi nd out that workers believe safety is just managerial lip
service because what their boss really wants is the job done fast. Perhaps a lot
of the crew thinks everything in the building of these plants is overengineered.
They’re pouring twice as much concrete as needed, so cutting a few corners
doesn’t seem dangerous. Or you might pick up a machismo swagger that sees
caution as unmanly. Only when the discussion turns to the safety of one’s fam-
ily or the chance of radiation rendering a guy sterile does there seem to be a
reason to turn off the cell phone.
Stan Deetz is not naïve. He knows atomic energy is not just an alternative
way to boil water. Moving toward an industry culture of safety through stake-
holder participation is a complex and diffi cult process, and there aren’t enough
regulators to look over the shoulder of every worker eight hours a day. So the
goal is to reach a point where all stakeholders voluntarily do the right thing
because they see it’s in their own interest or the interests of those they love. But
if D eetz is wrong—or managers ignore his advice—you might learn about it fi rst
on the evening news.
CRITIQUE: IS WORKPLACE DEMOCRACY JUST A DREAM?
Deetz’ approach to corporate decision making is inherently attractive because
it is built on values that many of us in the fi eld of communication share. By
reserving a seat at the decision-making table for every class of stakeholders,
Deetz affi rms the importance of democratic participation, fairness, equality,
diversity, and cooperation.
Without question, Deetz’ insistence on the constitutive nature of all commu-
nication can help us understand consent practices in the workplace. Yet his advo-
cacy of stakeholder rights and participatory democracy isn’t necessarily furthered
by his constructionist view of communication. In fact, his reform agenda could be
hindered. If, contrary to the U.S. Declaration of Independence, there are no self-
evident truths on which to stand, everything is in play and it doesn’t make much
sense to assume we have a right to participate in decisions that affect us. And his
pragmatic criteria that the reduction of systematically distorted communication
leads to more creativity and better business and social decisions may not seem as
important to many as a right of free speech.
Political realism may be another problem. As applied to corporate life, Deetz’
theory is a critique of managerialism. Arizona State University communication
professor Robert McPhee offers a somewhat tongue-in-cheek summary: “If we
just didn’t fi nd it natural and right and unavoidable to hand power over to
managers, everything would be very different and our problems would be
solved.” 31 Although a caricature, this capsule statement underscores the prob-
lematic nature of the stakeholder negotiations Deetz pictures and the incredible
challenge of getting all parties to sit at the table as equals. But the increased
number of problems like those faced in nuclear power plants may put the forces
of a changing world on Deetz’ side. The old system was built for the old world.
We may need a new system.
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CHAPTER 21: CRITICAL THEORY OF COMMUNICATION IN ORGANIZATIONS 279
CONVERSATIONS In this eight-minute segment, critical theorist Stan Deetz offers a host of pithy
opinions. Here’s a sample. On communication : “The fi eld for a long time
argued that meanings were in people. I raise the opposite kind of question:
Whose meanings are in people?” On management : “A lot of managers talk about
thinking out of the box, but they don’t understand . . . that you do not think out
of the box by commanding the box.” On corporate assets : “Their primary assets
are not what investors gave them, but what employees gave them. . . . Their
primary assets go down the elevator every night.” And there are lots more.
Watch and discover your favorites.
View this segment online at
www.mhhe.com.griffi n9e or
www.afi rstlook.com.
QUESTIONS TO SHARPEN YOUR FOCUS
1. Deetz contrasts information models that assume language refl ects reality with
communication models that assume reality emerges out of a relationship among
self, others, language, and the world. What other theories already covered
fi t the communication model?
2. Managers use strategy and consent to maintain control over subordinates.
According to Deetz, which practice is more effective? Why?
3. The stakeholder model requires participation , not just involvement . What is the
difference between the two practices?
4. To what extent do you agree with the following statement: “Autocracy at
work is the price we pay for democracy after hours”? Does it apply equally
to work in the classroom?
Deetz admits that a positive alternative to managerialism is at times diffi cult
to work out in conception and in practice.32 Moving from the dark quadrant of
consent to the clear quadrant of participation in Figure 21–1 is a quantum leap.
The PARC model moves critical theory to a higher level of conceptual sophistica-
tion. As for stakeholder participation in practice, Deetz fi nds that businesses increas-
ingly recognize they must work with others. He cites cases where resources are
scarce—river basin governance, mineral extraction, environmental choices, as
well as social and economic development. Stakeholders at the table often include
governmental agencies, businesses, nongovernmental organizations, special-
interest groups, and community members. Deetz reports that “critical theories
work to increase equality by surfacing unnecessary and harmful control mecha-
nisms, showing the importance of different forms of knowledge and values, and
building interaction processes that make this greater equality meaningful and
productive.”33
Moving from the theory to the theorist, Deetz insists that critical scholars be
“fi lled with care, thought, and good humor.” 34 That third quality may surprise
you for, like prophets, critical theorists have the reputation of being a rather grim
bunch. But Deetz suggests that with good humor we can smile at our inconsis-
tencies, contradictions, and bruised pride. We are to take the plight of the
oppressed—but not ourselves—seriously. “The righteousness and pretense is
gone, we must act without knowing for sure. The grand narratives are dead, but
there is meaning and pleasure in the little ones. The pleasure embarrasses us but
also gives us energy and a smile at ourselves.” 35
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280 GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
Recommended resource: Stanley Deetz, Transforming Communication, Transforming Busi-
ness: Building Responsive and Responsible Workplaces, Hampton, Cresskill, NJ, 1995.
Critical foundation: Stanley Deetz, Democracy in an Age of Corporate Colonization: Devel-
opments in Communication and the Politics of Everyday Life, State University of New York,
Albany, NY, 1992.
Critique of communication theory and practice: Stanley Deetz, “Critical Theory,” in Engag-
ing Organizational Communication Theory: Multiple Perspectives, S. May and Dennis Mumby
(eds.), Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 2004, pp. 85–111.
Organizational politics: “Interests, Confl ict, and Power: Organizations as Political Sys-
tems,” in Gareth Morgan, Images of Organization, 2 nd ed., Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 1997,
pp. 153–213.
PARC model compared to McPhee’s CCO: Stanley Deetz and Elizabeth K. Eger, “Devel-
oping a Metatheoretical Perspective for Organizational Communication Studies,” in The
New Handbook of Organizational Communication: Advances in Theory, Research, and Methods,
2nd ed., Fredrick Jablin and Linda L. Putnam (eds.), Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 2013.
PARC model compared to CMM: Stanley Deetz, “Power and the Possibility of Genera-
tive Community Dialogue,” in The Coordinated Management of Meaning: A Festschrift in
Honor of W. Barnett Pearce, Stephen Littlejohn (ed.), Fairleigh Dickinson, Madison, NJ, 2013.
PARC model compared to Habermas’ theory of communicative action: Stanley Deetz, “Polit-
ically Attentive Relational Constructionism (PARC) and Making a Difference in a Plural-
istic, Independent World,” in Distinctive Qualities in Communication Research, Donal
Carbaugh and Patrice M. Buzzanell (eds.), Routledge, New York, 2010, pp. 32–51.
Deetz’ IAEA paper on creating a safe nuclear culture: http://gnssn.iaea.org/NSNI/SC/
SCPoP/Papers prepared for meeting/Stanley Deetz_Being Transformative – How Hearts,
Minds and Souls All Matter_Paper
Review and critique: Branislav Kovačić, “The Democracy and Organizational Com-
munication Theories of Deetz, Mumby, and Associates,” in Watershed Research Traditions
in Communication Theory, Donald Cushman and Branislav Kovačić (eds.), State University
of New York, Albany, NY, 1995, pp. 211–238.
To access scenes from feature fi lms that illustrate the
Critical Theory of Communication in Organizations, click on
Suggested Movie Clips under Theory Resources at
www.afi rstlook.com.
A SE COND LOOK
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281
P u b l i c R h e t o r i c
Aristotle defi ned rhetoric as “an ability, in each particular case, to see the available
means of persuasion.” 1 That designation centers attention on the intentional act of
using words to have an effect. I use the term public rhetoric in this section to refer to
a speaking context in which the orator has an opportunity to monitor and adjust
to the response of his or her immediate audience.
For citizens of ancient Greece, knowing how to speak in public was part of
their democratic responsibility. Later on, when Rome ruled the world, rhetori-
cal ability was a survival skill in the rough-and-tumble politics of the forum.
Rhetoricians have always had a special interest in judicial argument, legislative de-
bate, political rallies, religious sermons, and speeches given at celebrations. In each
setting, teachers and practitioners champion the art of rhetoric as a means of
ensuring that speakers of truth are not at a disadvantage when trying to win the
hearts and minds of an audience.
The Greeks and Romans distinguished fi ve parts, or divisions, of the study
of rhetoric:
1. Invention —discovery of convincing arguments
2. Arrangement —organization of material for best impact
3. Style —selection of compelling and appropriate language
4. Delivery —coordination of voice and gestures
5. Memory —mastery and rehearsal of content
With the possible exception of memory, these concerns of rhetoric require
that a speaker fi rst analyze and then adapt to a specifi c group of listeners. We
can, of course, react to the idea of audience adaptation in two different ways. If
we view speakers who adjust their message to fi t a specifi c audience in a posi-
tive light, we’ll praise their rhetorical sensitivity and fl exibility. If we view them
negatively, we’ll condemn them for their pandering and lack of commitment
to  the truth. Rhetorical thought across history swings back and forth between
these two confl icting poles. The words of most rhetoricians refl ect the tension
they feel between “telling it like it is” and telling it in such a way that the audi-
ence will listen.
Greek philosopher Plato regarded rhetoric as mostly fl attery. Far from seeing
it as an art, he described rhetoric as a knack —similar to the clever use of cosmetics.
Both are attempts to make things seem better than they really are. 2 In spite of his
scorn, Plato imagined an ideal rhetoric based on a speaker’s understanding of
listeners with different natures and dispositions.
Plato’s ideal discourse was an elite form of dialogue meant for private, rather
than public, consumption. This philosophic, one-on-one mode of communica-
tion is known as dialectic (a different meaning for the term than its use in Baxter
and Montgomery’s relational dialectics). Unlike typical oratory in Athens, where
speakers addressed large audiences on civic issues, Plato’s dialectic focused on
exploring eternal Truths in an intimate setting.
Although Plato hoped that philosophic dialectic would supplant public rhetoric,
his best student, Aristotle, rejuvenated public rhetoric as a serious academic subject.
More than 2,000 years ago, Aristotle’s Rhetoric systematically explored the topics
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282 GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
of speaker, message, and audience. His ideas have stood the test of time and form
a large portion of the advice presented in contemporary public speaking texts. But
even though Aristotle defi ned rhetoric as the art of discovering all available means
of persuasion, this conception doesn’t solve the problem of how to get audiences to
listen to hard truths.
Religious rhetors face the same paradox. In many ways the apostle Paul seemed
to personify the lover of diverse souls that Plato had earlier described. In his fi rst letter
to the Corinthians, Paul reminds the people of Corinth that he made a conscious deci-
sion to let his message speak for itself: “My speech and my proclamation were not
with plausible words of wisdom.” 3 Yet further on in the same letter he outlines a
conscious rhetorical strategy: “I have become all things to all people, that I might by
all means save some.” 4 Four centuries later, Augustine continued to justify the con-
scious use of rhetoric by the church. Why, he asked, should defenders of truth be
long-winded, confusing, and boring, when the speech of liars was brief, clear, and
persuasive?
The tension between the logic of a message and the appeal it has for an audience
isn’t easily resolved. British philosopher Francis Bacon sought to integrate the two
concerns when he wrote that “the duty of rhetoric is to apply Reason to Imagination
for the better moving of the will.” 5
The three rhetoricians I introduce in this section face the dilemma that rhetori-
cians have struggled with since Plato: “How do you move an audience without
changing your message or losing your integrity?” As you read, see which theorist
comes up with an answer that is most satisfying for you.
“I found the old format much more exciting.”
© Arnie Levin/The New Yorker Collection/www.cartoonbank.com
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283
22C H A P T E R
The Rhetoric
of Aristotle
Aristotle was a student of Plato’s in the golden age of Greek civilization, four
centuries before the birth of Christ. He became a respected instructor at Plato’s
Academy but disagreed with his mentor over the place of public speaking in
Athenian life.
Ancient Greece was known for its traveling speech teachers called Soph-
ists. Particularly in Athens, those teachers trained aspiring lawyers and politi-
cians to participate effectively in the courts and deliberative councils. In hindsight,
they appear to have been innovative educators who offered a needed and
wanted service. 1 But since their advice was underdeveloped theoretically, Plato
scoffed at the Sophists’ oratorical devices. His skepticism is mirrored today in
the negative way people use the term mere rhetoric to label the speech of tricky
lawyers, mealy-mouthed politicians, spellbinding preachers, and fast-talking
salespeople.
Aristotle, like Plato, deplored the demagoguery of speakers using their
skill to move an audience while showing a casual indifference to the truth. But
unlike Plato, he saw the tools of rhetoric as a neutral means by which the ora-
tor could either accomplish noble ends or further fraud: “. . . by using these
justly one would do the greatest good, and unjustly, the greatest harm.” 2 Aris-
totle believed truth has a moral superiority that makes it more acceptable than
falsehood. But unscrupulous opponents of the truth may fool a dull audience
unless an ethical speaker uses all possible means of persuasion to counter the
error. Speakers who neglect the art of rhetoric have only themselves
to blame when their hearers choose falsehood. Success requires wisdom and
eloquence.
Both the Politics and the Ethics of Aristotle are polished and well-organized
books compared with the rough prose and arrangement of his text on rhetoric.
The Rhetoric apparently consists of Aristotle’s reworked lecture notes for his
course at the academy. Despite the uneven nature of the writing, the Rhetoric is
a searching study of audience psychology. Aristotle raised rhetoric to a science
by systematically exploring the effects of the speaker, the speech, and the audi-
ence. He regarded the speaker’s use of this knowledge as an art. Quite likely,
the text your communication department uses for its public speaking classes is
basically a contemporary recasting of the audience analysis provided by Aristotle
more than two thousand years ago.
Objective Interpretive
Rhetorical tradition
●
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284 GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
RHETORIC: MAKING PERSUASION PROBABLE
Aristotle saw the function of rhetoric as the discovery in each case of “the avail-
able means of persuasion.” He never spelled out what he meant by persuasion,
but his concern with noncoercive methods makes it clear that he ruled out force
of law, torture, and war. His threefold classifi cation of speech situations accord-
ing to the nature of the audience shows that he had affairs of state in mind.
The fi rst in Aristotle’s classifi cation is courtroom (forensic) speaking, which
addresses judges who are trying to render a just decision about actions alleged to
have taken place in the past. The closing arguments presented by the prosecution
and defense in the trial of George Zimmerman for killing an unarmed Trayvon
Martin are examples of judicial rhetoric centered on guilt or innocence. The second,
ceremonial (epideictic) speaking, heaps praise or blame on another for the benefi t
of present-day audiences. For example, Rev. Al Sharpton’s eulogy for Michael
Jackson gave fans an opportunity to celebrate the life of the confl icted rock star.
The third, political (deliberative) speaking, attempts to infl uence legislators or vot-
ers who decide future policy. The 2012 presidential debates gave Barack Obama
and Mitt Romney a chance to sway undecided voters. These different temporal
orientations could call for diverse rhetorical appeals.
Because his students were familiar with the question-and-answer style of
Socratic dialogue, Aristotle classifi ed rhetoric as a counterpart or an offshoot of
dialectic. Dialectic is one-on-one discussion; rhetoric is one person addressing
many. Dialectic is a search for truth; rhetoric tries to demonstrate truth that’s
already been found. Dialectic answers general philosophical questions; rhetoric
addresses specifi c, practical ones. Dialectic deals with certainty; rhetoric deals
with probability. Aristotle saw this last distinction as particularly important:
rhetoric is the art of discovering ways to make truth seem more probable to an
audience that isn’t completely convinced.
Rhetoric
Discovering all possible
means of persuasion.
RHETORICAL PROOF: LOGOS, ETHOS, PATHOS
According to Aristotle, the available means of persuasion can be artistic or inar-
tistic. Inartistic or external proofs are those the speaker doesn’t create. They would
include testimonies of witnesses or documents such as letters and contracts.
Artistic or internal proofs are those the speaker creates. There are three kinds of
artistic proofs: logical ( logos ), ethical ( ethos ), and emotional ( pathos ). Logical proof
comes from the line of argument in the speech, ethical proof is the way the speaker’s
character is revealed through the message, and emotional proof is the feeling the
speech draws out of the hearers. Some form of logos, ethos, and pathos is present
in every public presentation, but perhaps no other modern-day speech has brought
all three appeals together as effectively as Martin Luther King Jr.’s “I Have a
Dream,” delivered in 1963 to civil rights marchers in Washington, DC. In the year
2000, American public address scholars selected King’s “I Have a Dream” as the
greatest speech of the twentieth century. We’ll look at this artistic speech through-
out the rest of the chapter to illustrate Aristotle’s rhetorical theory.
Case Study: “I Have a Dream”
At the end of August 1963, a quarter of a million people assembled at the Lin-
coln Memorial in a united march on Washington. The rally capped a long, hot
summer of sit-ins protesting racial discrimination in the South. (The fi lm
Inartistic proofs
External evidence
the speaker doesn’t
create.
Artistic proofs
Internal proofs that
contain logical, ethical,
or emotional appeals.
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CHAPTER 22: THE RHETORIC 285
Mississippi Burning portrays one of the tragic racial confl icts of that year.) Two
months before the march, President John F. Kennedy submitted a civil rights
bill to Congress that would begin to rectify segregation and other racial injus-
tices, but its passage was seriously in doubt. The organizers of the march hoped
it would put pressure on Congress to outlaw segregation in the South, but they
also wanted the demonstration to raise the national consciousness about eco-
nomic exploitation of blacks around the country.
Martin Luther King shared the platform with a dozen civil rights leaders, each
limited to a fi ve-minute presentation. King’s successful Montgomery bus boycott,
freedom rides across the South, and solitary confi nement in a Birmingham jail set
him apart in the eyes of demonstrators and TV viewers. The last of the group to
speak, King had a dual purpose. In the face of a Black Muslim call for violence,
he urged blacks to continue their nonviolent struggle without hatred. He also
implored white people to get involved in the quest for freedom and equality, to
be part of a dream fulfi lled rather than contribute to an unjust nightmare.
A few years after King’s assassination, I experienced the impact his speech
continued to have upon the African-American community. Teaching public
address in a volunteer street academy, I read the speech out loud to illustrate
matters of style. The students needed no written text. As I came to the last third
of the speech, they recited the eloquent “I have a dream” portion word for word
with great passion. When we fi nished, all of us were teary-eyed.
David Garrow, author of the Pulitzer Prize–winning biography of King,
called the speech the “rhetorical achievement of a lifetime, the clarion call that
conveyed the moral power of the movement’s cause to the millions who watched
the live national network coverage.” 3 King shifted the burden of proof onto those
who opposed racial equality. Aristotle’s three rhetorical proofs can help us
understand how King made the status quo of segregation an ugly option for the
moral listener.
Logical Proof: Lines of Argument That Make Sense
Aristotle focused on two forms of logos —the enthymeme and the example. He regarded
the enthymeme as “the strongest of the proofs.” 4 An enthymeme is merely an
incomplete version of a formal deductive syllogism. To illustrate, logicians might
create the following syllogism out of one of King’s lines of reasoning:
Major or general premise: All people are created equal.
Minor or specifi c premise: I am a person.
Conclusion: I am equal to other people.
Typical enthymemes, however, leave out a premise that is already accepted by the
audience. All people are created equal. . . . I am equal to other people. In terms of style,
the enthymeme is more artistic than a stilted syllogistic argument. But as University
of Wisconsin rhetorician Lloyd Bitzer notes, Aristotle had a greater reason for advis-
ing the speaker to suppress the statement of a premise the listeners already believe.
Because they are jointly produced by the audience, enthymemes intuitively unite
speaker and audience and provide the strongest possible proof. . . . The audience
itself helps construct the proof by which it is persuaded. 5
Most rhetorical analysis looks for enthymemes embedded in one or two lines
of text. In the case of “I Have a Dream,” the whole speech is one giant enthymeme.
Logos
Logical proof, which
comes from the line of
argument in a speech.
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286 GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
If the logic of the speech were to be expressed as a syllogism, the reasoning
would be as follows:
Major premise: God will reward nonviolence.
Minor premise: We are pursuing our dream nonviolently.
Conclusion: God will grant us our dream.
King used the fi rst two-thirds of the speech to establish the validity of the
minor premise. White listeners are reminded that blacks have been “battered by
the storms of persecution and staggered by winds of police brutality.” They have
“come fresh from narrow jail cells” and are “veterans of creative suffering.”
Blacks are urged to meet “physical force with soul force,” not to allow “creative
protest to degenerate into physical violence,” and never to “satisfy our thirst for
freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred.” The movement is
to continue to be nonviolent.
King used the last third of the speech to establish his conclusion; he painted
the dream in vivid color. It included King’s hope that his four children would
not be “judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.”
He pictured an Alabama where “little black boys and black girls will be able to
join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.” And
in a swirling climax, he shared a vision of all God’s children singing, “Free at
last, free at last. Thank God Almighty, we are free at last.” But he never articu-
lated the major premise. He didn’t need to.
King and his audience were already committed to the truth of the major
premise—that God would reward their commitment to nonviolence. Aristotle
stressed that audience analysis is crucial to the effective use of the enthymeme.
The centrality of the church in American black history, the religious roots of the
civil rights protest, and the crowd’s frequent response of “My Lord” suggest that
King knew his audience well. He never stated what to them was obvious, and
this strengthened rather than weakened his logical appeal.
The enthymeme uses deductive logic—moving from global principle to spe-
cifi c truth. Arguing by example uses inductive reasoning—drawing a fi nal con-
clusion from specifi c cases. Since King mentioned few examples of discrimination,
it might appear that he failed to use all possible means of logical persuasion. But
pictures of snarling police dogs, electric cattle prods used on peaceful demonstra-
tors, and signs over drinking fountains stating “Whites only” appeared nightly
on TV news. As with the missing major premise of the enthymeme, King’s audi-
ence supplied its own vivid images.
Ethical Proof: Perceived Source Credibility
According to Aristotle, it’s not enough for a speech to contain plausible argument.
The speaker must seem credible as well. Many audience impressions are formed
before the speaker even begins. As poet Ralph Waldo Emerson cautioned more than
a century ago, “Use what language you will, you can never say anything but what
you are.” 6 Some who watched Martin Luther King on television undoubtedly tuned
him out because he was black. But surprisingly, Aristotle said little about a speak-
er’s background or reputation. He was more interested in audience perceptions that
are shaped by what the speaker does or doesn’t say. In the Rhetoric he identifi ed
three qualities that build high source credibility— intelligence , character , and goodwill .
1. Perceived Intelligence. The quality of intelligence has more to do with
practical wisdom (phronesis) and shared values than it does with training at
Enthymeme
An incomplete version
of a formal deductive
syllogism that is created
by leaving out a premise
already accepted by the
audience or by leaving
an obvious conclusion
unstated.
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CHAPTER 22: THE RHETORIC 287
Plato’s Academy. Audiences judge intelligence by the overlap between their
beliefs and the speaker’s ideas. (“My idea of an agreeable speaker is one who
agrees with me.”) King quoted the Bible, the United States Constitution, the
patriotic hymn “My Country, ’Tis of Thee,” Shakespeare’s King Lear , and the
Negro spiritual “We Shall Overcome.” With the exception of violent terrorists
and racial bigots, it’s hard to imagine anyone with whom he didn’t establish
strong value identifi cation.
2. Virtuous Character. Character has to do with the speaker’s image as a
good and honest person. Even though he and other blacks were victims of
“unspeakable horrors of police brutality,” King warned against a “distrust of all
white people” and against “drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred.” It
would be diffi cult to maintain an image of the speaker as an evil racist while he
was being charitable toward his enemies and optimistic about the future.
3. Goodwill. Goodwill is a positive judgment of the speaker ’s intention
toward the audience. Aristotle thought it possible for an orator to possess
extraordinary intelligence and sterling character yet still not have the listeners’
best interest at heart. King was obviously not trying to reach “the vicious rac-
ists” of Alabama, but no one was given reason to think he bore them ill will. His
dream included “black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and
Catholics.”
Although Aristotle’s comments on ethos were stated in a few brief sentences,
no other portion of his Rhetoric has received such close scientifi c scrutiny. The
results of sophisticated testing of audience attitudes show that his three-factor
Ethos
Perceived credibility,
which comes from the
speaker’s intelligence,
character, and goodwill
toward the audience, as
these personal character-
istics are revealed
through the message.
“Trust me, at this point it’s the only way we can boost your numbers on likability.”
© David Sipress/The New Yorker Collection/www.cartoonbank.com
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288 GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
theory of source credibility stands up remarkably well. 7 Listeners defi nitely think
in terms of competence (intelligence), trustworthiness (character), and care (good-
will). As Martin Luther King spoke in front of the Lincoln Memorial, most listen-
ers perceived him as strong in all three.
Emotional Proof: Striking a Responsive Chord
Recent scholarship suggests that Aristotle was quite skeptical about the emotion-
laden public oratory typical of his era. 8 He preferred the reason-based discussion
characteristic of relatively small councils and executive deliberative bodies. Yet
he understood that public rhetoric, if practiced ethically, benefi ts society. Thus,
Aristotle set forth a theory of pathos . He offered it not to take advantage of an
audience’s destructive emotions, but as a corrective measure that could help a
speaker craft emotional appeals that inspire reasoned civic decision making. To
this end, he cataloged a series of opposite feelings, then explained the conditions
under which each mood is experienced, and fi nally described how the speaker
can get an audience to feel that way. Aristotle scholar and translator George
Kennedy claims that this analysis of pathos is “the earliest systematic discussion
of human psychology.” 9 If Aristotle’s advice sounds familiar, it may be a sign
that human nature hasn’t changed much in the last 2,300 years.
Anger versus Mildness. Aristotle’s discussion of anger was an early ver-
sion of Freud’s frustration–aggression hypothesis. People feel angry when they
are thwarted in their attempt to fulfi ll a need. Remind them of interpersonal
slights, and they’ll become irate. Show them that the offender is sorry, deserves
praise, or has great power, and the audience will calm down.
Love or Friendship versus Hatred. Consistent with present-day research on
attraction, Aristotle considered similarity the key to mutual warmth. The speaker
should point out common goals, experiences, attitudes, and desires. In the absence
of these positive forces, a common enemy can be used to create solidarity.
Fear versus Confi dence. Fear comes from a mental image of potential
disaster. The speaker should paint a vivid word picture of the tragedy, showing
that its occurrence is probable. Confi dence can be built up by describing the
danger as remote.
Indignation versus Pity. We all have a built-in sense of fairness. As the
producers of 60 Minutes prove weekly, it’s easy to arouse a sense of injustice by
describing an arbitrary use of power upon those who are helpless.
Admiration versus Envy. People admire moral virtue, power, wealth, and
beauty. By demonstrating that an individual has acquired life’s goods through
hard work rather than mere luck, admiration will increase.
Pathos
Emotional proof, which
comes from the feelings
the speech draws out of
those who hear it.
THE FIVE CANONS OF RHETORIC
Although the organization of Aristotle’s Rhetoric is somewhat puzzling, scholars
and practitioners synthesize his words into four distinct standards for measuring
the quality of a speaker: the construction of an argument (invention), ordering
of material (arrangement), selection of language (style), and techniques of deliv-
ery. Later writers add memory to the list of skills the accomplished speaker must
master. As previewed in the introduction to this section on public rhetoric, the
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CHAPTER 22: THE RHETORIC 289
fi ve canons of rhetoric have set the agenda of public address instruction for more
than 2,000 years. Aristotle’s advice strikes most students of public speaking as
surprisingly up-to-date.
Invention. To generate effective enthymemes and examples, the speaker
draws on both specialized knowledge about the subject and general lines of
reasoning common to all kinds of speeches. Imagining the mind as a storehouse
of wisdom or an informational landscape, Aristotle called these stock argu-
ments topoi , a Greek term that can be translated as “topics” or “places.” As
Cornell University literature professor Lane Cooper explained, “In these special
regions the orator hunts for arguments as a hunter hunts for game.” 10 When
King argued, “We refuse to believe that there are insuffi cient funds in the great
vaults of opportunity of this nation,” he marshaled the specifi c American topic
or premise that the United States is a land of opportunity. When he contended
that “many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today,
have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny,” he estab-
lished a causal connection that draws from Aristotle’s general topics of cause/
effect and motive.
Arrangement. According to Aristotle, you should avoid complicated
schemes of organization. “There are two parts to a speech; for it is necessary fi rst
to state the subject and then to demonstrate it.” 11 The introduction should cap-
ture attention, establish your credibility, and make clear the purpose of the
speech. The conclusion should remind listeners what you’ve said and leave them
feeling good about you and your ideas. Like public address teachers today,
Aristotle decried starting with jokes that have nothing to do with the topic,
insisting on three-point outlines, and waiting until the end of the speech to reveal
the main point.
Style. Aristotle’s treatment of style in the Rhetoric focuses on metaphor. He
believed that “to learn easily is naturally pleasant to all people” and that “met-
aphor most brings about learning.” 12 Furthermore, he taught that “metaphor espe-
cially has clarity and sweetness and strangeness.” 13 But for Aristotle, metaphors
were more than aids for comprehension or aesthetic appreciation. Metaphors
help an audience visualize—a “bringing-before-the-eyes” process that energizes
listeners and moves them to action. 14 King was a master of metaphor:
The Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material
prosperity.
To rise from the dark and desolate valleys of segregation to the sunlit path of racial
justice.
King’s use of metaphor was not restricted to images drawn from nature. Perhaps
his most convincing imagery was an extended analogy picturing the march on
Washington as people of color going to the federal bank to cash a check written
by the Founding Fathers. America had defaulted on the promissory note and
had sent back the check marked “insuffi cient funds.” But the marchers refused
to believe that the bank of justice was bankrupt, that the vaults of opportunity
were empty. These persuasive images gathered listeners’ knowledge of racial
discrimination into a powerful fl ood of reason:
Let justice roll down like waters
and righteousness like a mighty stream. 15
Canons of rhetoric
The principle divisions of
the art of persuasion
established by ancient
rhetoricians—invention,
arrangement, style,
delivery, and memory.
Invention
A speaker’s “hunt” for
arguments that will be
effective in a particular
speech.
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290 GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
Delivery. Audiences reject delivery that seems planned or staged. Natural-
ness is persuasive; artifi ce just the opposite. Any form of presentation that calls
attention to itself takes away from the speaker’s proofs.
Memory. Aristotle’s students needed no reminder that good speakers are
able to draw upon a collection of ideas and phrases stored in the mind. Still,
Roman teachers of rhetoric found it necessary to stress the importance of
memory. In our present age of word processing and teleprompters, memory
seems to be a lost art. Yet the stirring I-have-a-dream litany at the end of
King’s speech departed from his prepared text and effectively pulled together
lines he had used before. Unlike King and many Athenian orators, most of us
aren’t speaking in public every day. For us, the modern equivalent of memory
is rehearsal.
ETHICAL REFLECTION: ARISTOTLE’S GOLDEN MEAN
Aristotle’s Rhetoric is the fi rst known systematic treatise on audience analysis and
adaptation. His work therefore begs the same question discussed in the introduc-
tion to this section on public rhetoric: Is it ethical to alter a message to make it more
acceptable for a particular audience?
The way I’ve phrased the question refl ects a Western bias for linking moral-
ity with behavior. Does an act produce benefi t or harm? Is it right or wrong to
do a certain deed? Aristotle, however, spoke of ethics in terms of character
rather than conduct, inward disposition instead of outward behavior. He took
the Greek admiration for moderation and elevated it to a theory of virtue.
When Barry Goldwater was selected as the Republican Party’s nominee for
president in 1964, he boldly stated, “Extremism in the defense of liberty is no
vice . . . moderation in the pursuit of justice is not virtue.” 16 Aristotle would have
strongly disagreed. He assumed virtue stands between the two vices. 17 Aristotle
saw wisdom in the person who avoids excess on either side. Moderation is best;
virtue develops habits that seek to walk an intermediate path. This middle way
is known as the golden mean . That’s because out of the four cardinal virtues—
courage, justice, temperance, and practical wisdom—temperance is the one that
explains the three others.
As for audience adaptation, Aristotle would have counseled against the prac-
tice of telling people only what they want to hear, pandering to the crowd, or
“wimping out” by not stating what we really think. He would be equally against
a disregard of audience sensitivities, riding roughshod over listeners’ beliefs, or
adopting a take-no-prisoners, lay-waste-the-town rhetorical belligerence. The
golden mean would lie in winsome straight talk, gentle assertiveness, and
adaptation.
Whether the issue is truth-telling, self-disclosure, or risk-taking when mak-
ing decisions, Aristotle’s golden mean suggests other middle-way communica-
tion practices:
Extreme Golden Mean Extreme
Lies Truthful statements Brutal honesty
Secrecy Transparency Soul-baring
Cowardice Courage Recklessness
Golden mean
The virtue of moderation;
the virtuous person
develops habits that
avoid extremes.
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CHAPTER 22: THE RHETORIC 291
CRITIQUE: STANDING THE TEST OF TIME
For many teachers of public speaking, criticizing Aristotle’s Rhetoric is like doubt-
ing Einstein’s theory of relativity or belittling Shakespeare’s King Lear. Yet the
Greek philosopher often seems less clear than he urged his students to be. Schol-
ars are puzzled by Aristotle’s failure to defi ne the exact meaning of enthymeme ,
his confusing system of classifying metaphor according to type, and the blurred
distinctions he made between deliberative (political) and epideictic (ceremonial)
speaking. At the beginning of the Rhetoric , Aristotle promised a systematic study
of logos, ethos, and pathos , but he failed to follow that three-part plan. Instead, it
appears that he grouped the material in a speech-audience-speaker order. Even
those who claim there’s a conceptual unity to Aristotle’s theory admit the book
is “an editorial jumble.” 18 We must remember, however, that Aristotle’s Rhetoric
consists of lecture notes rather than a treatise prepared for the public. To recon-
struct Aristotle’s meaning, scholars must consult his other writings on philoso-
phy, politics, ethics, drama, and biology. Such detective work is inherently
imprecise.
Some present-day critics are bothered by the Rhetoric’s view of the audience
as passive. Speakers in Aristotle’s world seem to be able to accomplish any
goal as long as they prepare their speeches with careful thought and accurate
audience analysis. Other critics wish Aristotle had considered a fourth compo-
nent of rhetoric—the situation. Any analysis of King’s address apart from the
context of the march on Washington would certainly be incomplete.
Referring to Aristotle’s manuscript in a rare moment of sincere appreciation,
French skeptic Voltaire declared what many communication teachers would
echo today: “I do not believe there is a single refi nement of the art that escapes
him.” 19 Despite the shortcomings and perplexities of this work, it remains a
foundational text of our discipline—a starting point for social scientists and
rhetoricians alike.
1. For most people today, the term rhetoric has unfavorable associations. What
synonym or phrase captures what Aristotle meant yet doesn’t carry a nega-
tive connotation?
2. What enthymemes have advocates on each side of the abortion issue employed
in their public deliberative rhetoric ?
3. Aristotle divided ethos into issues of intelligence, character, and goodwill . Which
quality is most important to you when you hear a campaign address,
sermon, or other public speech?
4. Most scholars who defi ne themselves as rhetoricians identify with the
humanities rather than the sciences. Can you support the claim that Aristotle
took a scientifi c approach to rhetoric ?
QUESTIONS TO SHARPEN YOUR FOCUS
The golden mean will often prove to be the best way to persuade others. But
for Aristotle, that was not the ethical issue. Aristotle advocated the middle way
because it is the well-worn path taken by virtuous people.
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292 GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
Recommended resource: Aristotle, On Rhetoric: A Theory of Civil Discourse, George A.
Kennedy (ed. and trans.), Oxford University, New York, 1991.
Key scholarship: Richard Leo Enos and Lois Peters Agnew (eds.), Landmark Essays on
Aristotelian Rhetoric, Lawrence Erlbaum, Mahwah, NJ, 1998.
Rhetoric as art: George A. Kennedy, “Philosophical Rhetoric,” in Classical Rhetoric,
University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill, NC, 1980, pp. 41–85.
Rhetoric as science: James L. Golden, Goodwin F. Berquist, and William E. Coleman,
The Rhetoric of Western Thought, Kendall/Hunt, Dubuque, IA, 1976, pp. 25–39.
Twenty-fi rst-century interpretation: Alan Gross and Arthur Walzer (eds.), Rereading Aris-
totle’s Rhetoric, Southern Illinois University, Carbondale, IL, 2000.
Enthymeme: Lloyd F. Bitzer, “Aristotle’s Enthymeme Revisited,” Quarterly Journal of
Speech, Vol. 45, 1959, pp. 399–409; also in Enos and Agnew, pp. 179–191.
Metaphor: Sara Newman, “Aristotle’s Notion of ‘Bringing-Before-the-Eyes’: Its Con-
tributions to Aristotelian and Contemporary Conceptualizations of Metaphor, Style, and
Audience,” Rhetorica, Vol. 20, 2002, pp. 1–23.
Measuring ethos: James McCroskey and Jason Teven, “Goodwill: A Reexamination
of the Construct and Its Measurement,” Communication Monographs, Vol. 66, 1999,
pp. 90–103.
Ethos and oral morality: Charles Marsh, “Aristotelian Ethos and the New Orality:
Implications for Media Literacy and Media Ethics,” Journal of Mass Media Ethics, Vol. 21,
2006, pp. 338–352.
Rhetoric and ethics: Eugene Garver, Aristotle’s Rhetoric: An Art of Character, University
of Chicago, Chicago, IL, 1994.
History of rhetoric: Thomas Conley, Rhetoric in the European Tradition, Longman, New
York, 1990.
Analysis of King’s speech: Alexandra Alvarez, “Martin Luther King’s ‘I Have a Dream, ’”
Journal of Black Studies, Vol. 18, 1988, pp. 337–357.
March on Washington: David J. Garrow, Bearing the Cross, William Morrow, New York,
1986, pp. 231–286.
For a twentieth century theory of rhetoric, click on
I. A. Richards’ Meaning of Meaning in
Archive under Theory Resources at
www.afi rstlook.com.
A SECOND LOOK
www.mhhe.com/griffi n9eSELF-QUIZ
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293
C H A P T E R 23
Dramatism
of Kenneth Burke
Kenneth Burke was a twentieth-century rhetorical critic. He carefully analyzed
the language that speakers and authors used so he could discern the motivation
behind their message. He considered clusters of words as dances of attitudes.
According to Burke, the critic’s job is to figure out why a writer or speaker selected
the words that were choreographed into the message. The critic’s task is ultimately
one of assessing motives.
Burke coined the umbrella term dramatism to describe both his rhetorical
theory and his research methodology because the two were tightly bound
together. He defi ned dramatism as “a technique of analysis of language and
thought as basically modes of action rather than as means of conveying informa-
tion.” 1 Note that like Barnett Pearce in CMM and Stan Deetz in his critical theory
of communication, Burke rejected the commonly held notion that communication
is primarily a process of message transmission. (See Chapters 6 and 21.) He
insisted instead that anything freely said for a reason is a rhetorical act—an actor
choosing to perform a dramatic action for a purpose. 2
Until his death in 1993 at the age of 96, Burke picked his way through the
human “motivational jungle” by using the tools of philosophy, literature, psy-
chology, economics, linguistics, sociology, and communication. He spent his
young adult years in Greenwich Village, a New York bohemian community that
included E. E. Cummings and Edna St. Vincent Millay. Like many intellectuals
during the Depression of the 1930s, Burke fl irted with communism but was
disillusioned by Stalin’s intolerance and brutality. Although he never earned a
college degree, he taught for 15 years at Bennington College in Vermont and
fi lled visiting lectureships at Harvard, Princeton, Northwestern, and the Univer-
sity of Chicago. Burke’s writing shows an intellectual breadth and depth that
leads admirers to refer to him as a Renaissance man. He called himself a “gypsy
scholar” and responded to questions about his fi eld of interest by asking, “What
am I but a word man?” 3
As Burke viewed the human scene, life is not like a drama; life is drama.
Almost every public utterance speaks to a moral confl ict where something has
gone wrong or might soon go awry. The late Harry Chapin (who happened to
be Burke’s grandson) captured some of the tragedy and comedy of everyday life
by putting words to music in story songs. My personal favorite is “Cat’s in the
Dramatism
A technique of analysis
of language and thought
as basically modes of
action rather than as
means of conveying
information.
Objective Interpretive
Rhetorical tradition
●
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294 GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
Burke’s dramatistic pentad is his best-known method to figure out the motive
behind a message. This five-pronged tool provides a way for the critic to dig
beneath surface impressions in order to identify the sometimes complex motives
of a speaker or writer. As Burke says, it’s a shorthand way the rhetorical critic can
“talk about their talk about” in a meaningful way.
In a well-rounded statement about motives, you must have some word that names
the act (names what took place in thought or deed), and another that names the scene
(the background of the act, the situation in which it occurred); also you must indicate
what person or kind of person (agent) performed the act, what means or instruments
he used (agency), and the purpose. 5
By suggesting that the critic must specifi cally name the act, scene, agent, agency,
and purpose of the speech or publication, Burke’s advice seems deceptively sim-
ilar to the questions that journalism students are taught to answer in the lead
paragraph of their story: Who (agent)? What (act)? Where and when (scene)?
How (agency)? Why (purpose)? But most reporters claim they are reporting the
facts. Critics know they are interpreting the drama.
God-term. Although Burke was an advocate of creativity, he believed the
critic’s choice of labels for the fi ve categories should be constrained by the lan-
guage the speaker actually selects. He recommended beginning with a content
analysis that identifi es key terms on the basis of their frequency and intensity of
use. For example, in his celebrated “I Have a Dream” speech, Martin Luther King
Jr. used the word freedom 20 times, each time with passion. 6 So freedom is King’s
god-term, and that word names the purpose of the civil rights movement . Once
critics discover this key term, they should avoid dictionary defi nitions as a way
Dramatistic pentad
A tool critics can use to
discern the motives of a
speaker or writer by
labeling five key elements
of the human drama: act,
scene, agent, agency, and
purpose.
Cradle,” the timeless tale of a father too busy to spend time with his son. Any
male who hears the song realizes that he has a part in the drama rather than the
role of passive listener.
The latest Taylor Swift lyrics or any other “somebody-done-somebody-
wrong” country song make it clear that a critic’s skills could be helpful in under-
standing human motivation. But it wasn’t until 1952 that University of Illinois
rhetorician Marie Hochmuth Nichols alerted the fi eld of communication to the
promises of Burke’s dramatistic methodology. 4 Since that time, thousands of
communication scholars have used his dramatistic tools to gain a deeper under-
standing of public discourse and other forms of symbolic action. In this chapter
I introduce four key features of his theory that focus on how language works.
An example is Bill Clinton’s speech at the 2012 Democratic National Conven-
tion, which both Republicans and Democrats regarded as the most effective
political speech of the presidential campaign. What motivated Clinton? Did he
truly admire President Obama? Was he trying to build political capital to help
his wife, Hillary, run for offi ce in 2016? Or was he working to reestablish per-
sonal credibility lost during the impeachment trial in his second term as presi-
dent? Burke claimed that dramatistic critics could determine what drove Clinton
from the words he chose. Burke’s devotees would claim his methodology would
be equally effective in uncovering the motivation of Occupy Wall Street demon-
strators based on the protest signs they waved.
THE DRAMATISTIC PENTAD: A LENS FOR INTERPRETING VERBAL ACTION
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CHAPTER 23: DRAMATISM 295
of determining its exact meaning. A speaker’s god-term is best understood by
other words that cluster around it—known by the company it keeps. In King’s
speech, multiple references to dream and justice in the same context add depth
and breadth to the meaning of freedom.
Devil-term. In like fashion, the critic should seek a devil-term that sums up
all that a speaker regards as bad, wrong, or evil. For example, in his nationally
broadcast address to a joint session of Congress following the attacks of 9/11,
President George W. Bush used the word terror or terrorist 34 times. 7 It was in
that speech that the president declared a “War on Terror,” and more than a
decade later this terminology continues to shape much of the country’s human
rights policy. Al – Qaeda agents are labeled as terrorists and therefore don’t receive
the legal protections granted to suspected criminals.
The fi ve elements of the pentad usually refer to the act described within the
speech rather than the act of giving the speech. Just for fun, however, we could
turn the tables on Burke and do a content analysis of Burke’s own rhetoric—
“Burking Burke,” we might call it. As I read through the theorist’s extensive
writing, I fi nd he repeatedly comes down hard on laboratory experiments,
cause-and-effect claims, empiricism, behaviorism, and almost everything else
associated with the research performed by objective scholars. For Burke, science
is a devil-term. In Figure 23–1 we can see how Burke takes language seriously
when he asks readers to contrast his pentad with a parallel fi ve-point scheme
constructed from a scientifi c perspective. Both sets of words point to the same
fi ve issues, but the terms used refl ect vastly different ways of viewing the
world. The dramatistic pentad on the top assumes a world of intentional action,
whereas the scientifi c terms on the bottom describe motion without intention
or purpose.
Philosophical assumptions. More than any other theorist featured in this
text, Burke drew hundreds of connections between his theoretical ideas and a
wide sweep of literature, history, politics, sociology, philosophy, and religion. As
for a pentadic analysis, he claimed that each of the fi ve terms has a linguistic
affi nity with a different school of philosophy. When a message foregrounds one
of the fi ve terms at the expense of the other four, the critic can assume that
knowingly or unconsciously, the speaker shares the language and assumptions
of a corresponding philosophy: 8
Act. A critic’s label for the act illustrates what was done. Multiple acts form
the plot of the drama. A speech that features dramatic verbs demonstrates a
commitment to realism.
Scene. Public speaking that emphasizes setting and circumstance, downplays
free will, and reflects an attitude of situational determinism.
Agent. Some messages are filled with references to self, mind, spirit, and
personal responsibility. This focus on character and the actor as instigator is
consistent with philosophical idealism.
God-term
The word a speaker uses
to which all other
positive words are
subservient.
Devil-term
The term that sums up all
that a speaker regards as
bad, wrong, or evil.
FIGURE 23–1 Dramatistic Terms as Opposed to the Language of Science
Act Scene Agent Agency Purpose
TargetStimulusSubjectSituationResponseScientific observation
Dramatistic pentad
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296 GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
Agency. A long description of methods or technique reflects a “get-the-job-
done” approach that springs from the speaker’s mindset of pragmatism.
Purpose. An extended discussion of purpose within the message shows a
strong desire on the part of the speaker for unity or ultimate meaning in life,
which are common concerns of mysticism.
Ratio. After the critic has labeled the act, scene, agent, agency, and purpose
of the message, the next step is to discern the relative importance that the speaker
or writer gives to each of these fi ve categories. Burke does this by looking at the
ratio or the relationship between any two of the pentadic terms. 9 For example, if
a speaker places equal stress on both sides of the act–agent ratio when telling a
woman’s story, we could conclude that what she did is consistent with her char-
acter. Conversely, if an author goes to great length to describe the circumstances
under which he performed a harmful act, the scene–act ratio suggests he was
compelled to do the dirty deed. In effect, he’s saying, Due to circumstances beyond
my control, I could do no other. There are ten possible pair combinations. By iden-
tifying the most prominent or prevailing ratio of pentadic terms within a message,
the critic can determine which element of the drama provides the best clue to the
motives of the speaker or author.
Ratio
The relative importance
of any two terms of the
pentad as determined by
their relationship.
LANGUAGE AS THE GENESIS OF GUILT
Burke regarded human beings as symbol-using animals and was obviously in
love with language. He examined words, defined words, played with words, and
made up his own words. But Burke also regarded our creation of language as the
source of our downfall. That’s because language introduced the negative— no, not,
nothing, never, and prefixes such as un-, dis-, and non – that negate the meaning of
other words. 10 Even our definitions of words are dependent on the negative. As
Burke said, “You can go on forever saying what a thing is not.” 11
There are no negatives in nature; things just are. But man-made language
gives us the capacity to create rules and standards for behavior that Burke
called the “thou shalt nots” of life. 12 These shoulds and oughts inevitably produce
guilt in us when we fail to live up to their moral imperatives. Burke uses guilt
as his catchall term to cover every form of tension, anxiety, embarrassment,
shame, disgust, and other noxious feelings he believed inherent in human
symbol-using activity. Burke’s Defi nition of Man below is a discouraging coun-
terpoint to the optimism of Carl Rogers outlined in the introduction to the
Relationship Development section on page 94. Like most writers of an earlier
generation, Burke used the word man to designate both men and women.
Given his record of using words to startle and stretch his readers, if he were
writing today, I wonder if he might recast his defi nition in exclusively feminine
symbols. But in order to remain faithful to what he wrote, I won’t alter his
gender-loaded references.
Man is
the symbol-using inventor of the negative
separated from his natural condition by instruments
of his own making
goaded by the spirit of hierarchy
and rotten with perfection. 13
Guilt
Burke’s catchall term to
cover every form of
tension, anxiety, embar-
rassment, shame, disgust,
and other noxious
feelings intrinsic to the
human condition.
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CHAPTER 23: DRAMATISM 297
Burke started out by acknowledging our animal nature, but like Mead (see
Chapter 5), he emphasized the uniquely human ability to create, use, and abuse
language. The rest of his defi nition makes it clear that the capacity to manipulate
symbols is not an unmixed blessing. The remaining lines suggest three linguistic
causes for the sense of inner pollution.
By writing “inventor of the negative,” Burke reiterated that it’s only through
man-made language that the possibility of choice comes into being. In a world
without human beings, there are no negative commands, no prohibitions. It’s
only when humans come into the world and begin to act symbolically that the
possibility of No! Don’t do it! arrives.
The phrase “separated from his natural condition by instruments of his
own making” bounces off the traditional description of humans as tool-using
animals. Here again, Burke suggested that our inventions—language and all
the tools developed with language—cause us grief. Murphy’s Law states that
anything that can go wrong will. 14 When it comes to relations among people,
Burke would say Murphy was an optimist. That’s because language is morally
loaded.
Burke wrote extensively about hierarchies, bureaucracies, and other ordered
systems that rank how well people observe society’s negative rules. He was
convinced that no matter how high you climb on the performance ladder, you’ll
always feel a strong sense of embarrassment for not having achieved perfection.
A perfect 10 on the ladder of esteem, privilege, or power is exceedingly rare, and
if ever achieved, fl eeting. The guilt-inducing high priests of the hierarchy are the
professional symbol users of society—teachers, lawyers, journalists, artists, and
advertisers.
The fi nal phrase, “rotten with perfection,” is an example of what Burke
called perspective by incongruity. 15 The device calls attention to a truth by linking
two incongruous words. In his description of human nature, Burke uses this
technique to suggest that our seemingly admirable drive to do things perfectly
can hurt us and others in the process. Thus our greatest strength is also our
greatest weakness. Both our successes and our failures heighten our desire to
fi nd someone on whom we can dump our load of guilt.
Perspective by
incongruity
Calling attention to a
truth by linking two
dissonant or discrepant
terms.
THE GUILT–REDEMPTION CYCLE: A UNIVERSAL MOTIVE FOR RHETORIC
Whatever private purpose a speaker or writer has, Burke believed that getting rid
of guilt is the ultimate motive for public rhetoric. He saw the quest for redemption
as the basic plot of the human drama, even if the rhetor is unaware of its force.
Rhetoric is the public search for a perfect scapegoat.
Those who have rejected or never had a religious commitment may be impa-
tient with Burke’s use of theological terms. Surprisingly, he made no claim to be
a man of faith, nor did he ask his readers to believe in God. Regardless of
whether you accept the Christian doctrine of human sin, purifi cation through
the death of Jesus, and divine redemption, Burke claimed that the “purely social
terminology of human relations cannot do better than to hover about that accu-
rate and succinct theological formula.” 16 He regarded theology as a fi eld that has
fi ne-tuned its use of language, and he urged the social critic to look for secular
equivalents of the major religious themes of guilt, purifi cation, and redemption.
That’s because he regarded almost every rhetorical act as part of a continual
pattern of redemption through victimage.
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298 GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
Burke said that the speaker or author has two possible ways of offl oading
guilt. The fi rst option is to purge guilt through self-blame. Described theologi-
cally as mortifi cation, this route requires confession of sin and a request for
forgiveness. 17 As demonstrated by sports stars Lance Armstrong, Sammy Sosa,
and Manti Te’o in 2013, those who are obvious candidates fi nd it excruciatingly
diffi cult to admit publicly that they are the cause of their own grief. Since it’s
much easier for people to blame their problems on someone else—the second
option—Burke suggested we look for signs of victimage in every rhetorical act. 18
He was sure we would fi nd them.
Victimage is the process of designating an external enemy as the source of
all ills. The list of possibilities is limited only by our imagination—Eastern
liberals, Tea Party fanatics, al-Qaeda, the Colombian drug cartel, Wall Street
bankers, socialists, blacks, Jews, Muslims, gays, chauvinistic males, the police,
religious fundamentalists, billionaire capitalists, illegal immigrants. For Ameri-
cans, the massively callous act of terrorism on 9/11 made Osama bin Laden
seem like the personifi cation of evil and the obvious candidate for a scapegoat.
Perfect guilt requires a perfect victim. God-terms are only as powerful as the
devil-terms they oppose. That seems to be why President Obama believed that
bin Laden’s death would assuage some of the guilt Americans were feeling
during the country’s Great Recession. In turn, many right-wing Republicans
saw Obama as the perfect scapegoat to blame for all that had happened and all
they feared.
Burke was not an advocate of redemption through victimization, but he
said he couldn’t ignore the historical pattern of people uniting against a com-
mon enemy (“congregation through segregation” 19 ). His most famous rhetorical
analysis was of Hitler ’s Mein Kampf, a book that blamed Jews for all of
Germany’s problems. 20 This symbolic victimage was followed by extermination
in death camps.
Mortification
Confession of guilt and
request for forgiveness.
Victimization
The process of naming
an external enemy as the
source of all personal or
public ills; scapegoating.
IDENTIFICATION: WITHOUT IT, THERE IS NO PERSUASION
How can a public speaker convince an audience to embrace his or her viewpoint
and enter into the guilt–redemption cycle? Although he was a great admirer of
Aristotle’s Rhetoric, Burke was less concerned with enthymeme and example than
he was with a speaker’s overall ability to identify with the audience.
The key term for the “old rhetoric” was persuasion and its stress upon deliberative
design. The key term for the “new rhetoric” is identification and this may include par-
tially unconscious factors in its appeal. 21
Identifi cation is the common ground that exists between speaker and audi-
ence. Burke used the word substance to describe a person’s physical characteris-
tics, talents, occupation, friends, experiences, personality, beliefs, and attitudes.
The more overlap between the substance of the speaker and the substance of the
listener, the greater the identifi cation. Behavioral scientists have used the term
homophily to describe perceived similarity between speaker and listener, 22 but
again, Burke preferred religious language rather than scientifi c jargon. Borrowing
from Martin Luther’s description of what takes place at the communion table,
Burke said identifi cation is consubstantiality. 23 This religious term calls to mind
the oft-quoted Old Testament passage where Ruth pledges solidarity with her
mother-in-law, Naomi: “For where you go I will go, and where you lodge I will
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CHAPTER 23: DRAMATISM 299
lodge; your people shall be my people, and your God my God.” 24 That’s iden-
tifi cation. It’s also part of Ruth and Naomi’s story that we’ll revisit in Chapter 24,
Walter Fisher’s narrative paradigm.
One of the most common ways for an orator to identify with an audience
is to lash out at whatever or whomever people fear. (“My friend is one who
hates what I hate.”) But audiences sense a joining of interests through style as
much as through content. Burke said that the effective communicator can show
consubstantiality by giving signs in language and delivery that his or her prop-
erties are the same as theirs. The style of a typical street preacher probably turns
off cosmopolitan New Yorkers more than does the content of the message. The
mood and manner of revival-style preaching signals a deep division between
the evangelist and urbane listeners. To the extent that the speaker could alter
the delivery to match the hearers’ sophisticated style, they’d think the speaker
was “talking sense.”
Burke said that identifi cation works both ways. Audience adaptation not only
gives the evangelist a chance to sway the audience, it also helps the preacher fi t
into the cultural mainstream. But identifi cation in either direction will never be
complete. If nothing else, our tennis elbow or clogged sinuses constantly remind
us that each of us is separate from the rest of the human race. But without some
kind of division in the fi rst place, there would be no need for identifi cation. And
without identifi cation, there is no persuasion.
Identification
The common ground
between speaker and
audience; overlap of
physical characteristics,
talents, occupation,
friends, experiences,
personality, beliefs,
and attitudes; consub-
stantiation.
A RHETORICAL CRITIQUE USING DRAMATISTIC INSIGHT
Many rhetorical critics in communication have adopted Burke’s techniques of
literary criticism to inform their understanding of specific public address events.
I asked Ken Chase, a colleague at Wheaton, and Glen McClish at San Diego State
University to perform a Burkean analysis of Malcolm X’s famous speech “The
Ballot or the Bullet.” 25 The brief critique that follows is the result of their combined
insight.
“My fellow victims. . .”
© Peter Steiner/The New Yorker Collection/www.cartoonbank.com
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300 GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
Malcolm X, “The Ballot or the Bullet”
Often paired with Martin Luther King Jr., Malcolm X was one of the most influen-
tial civil rights speakers of the 1960s. Malcolm’s rhetoric, though, was more militant
and angry, and for many African Americans, more realistic than the idealism of
King’s “I Have a Dream.” Malcolm delivered his famous speech “The Ballot or the
Bullet” in April 1964, only 11 months before his assassination.
By viewing public rhetoric as an attempt to build a particular social order,
Kenneth Burke helped reveal the power of “The Ballot or the Bullet.” Malcolm’s
address portrays America as a nation that promises full equality, dignity, and
freedom for all its citizens, yet African Americans have never received their
birthright. Epitomizing his commitment to Black Nationalism, Malcolm urged
his brothers and sisters to start their own businesses and elect their own leaders.
At the same time he attacked white politicians who impede civil rights. The
audience at the Corey Methodist Church in Cleveland, Ohio, interrupted Malcolm
X with applause and laughter more than 150 times during the lengthy oration.
Malcolm asserted that the struggle for civil rights is not only the work of his
fellow Black Muslims, but is shared by all concerned African Americans. By stra-
tegically aligning himself with Christian ministers like King and Congressman
Adam Clayton Powell, he minimized the alienation his Islamic faith could poten-
tially create. He emphasized the shared heritage of all African Americans: “Our
mothers and fathers invested sweat and blood. Three hundred and ten years we
worked in this country without a dime in return.  .  .  .” In this way, Malcolm cre-
ated a strong sense of identifi cation as he coaxed his audience to share his social
purpose and his means of achieving it.
The title of the speech, “The Ballot or the Bullet,” refers to the means, or
agency, by which the agents —African Americans—can act as citizens to accom-
plish the purpose of equality, dignity, and freedom. Malcolm strategically placed
his audience within the larger context of American history and the international
struggle for human rights. It is this scene that motivates the militant message that
African Americans will proclaim—“We’ve got to fi ght until we overcome.”
Malcolm’s emphasis on the means to achieve his purpose (“by whatever
means necessary”) results in a high agency–purpose ratio—an indicator of his
pragmatic motivation. The ballot enforces civil rights legislation; the bullet
defends blacks from white violence. The bullet also warns white society that
equality must not be delayed: “Give it to us now. Don’t wait for next year. Give
it to us yesterday, and that’s not fast enough.”
Malcolm criticized his brothers and sisters for failing to show the courage,
knowledge, and maturity necessary to reap the full benefi ts of citizenship. It is
the white man, however, who has enslaved, lynched, and oppressed the Africans
living on American soil, and it is he who must bear the brunt of collective guilt.
Through victimage, the white man and his society become the scapegoat that must
be sacrifi ced for the redemption of blacks. Within the drama of African-American
life, “Black Nationalism” serves as the god-term that embodies the spirit of the
movement. Conversely, “white man” is the devil-term that epitomizes all who
oppose equality, dignity, and freedom for all.
CRITIQUE: EVALUATING THE CRITIC’S ANALYSIS
Kenneth Burke was perhaps the foremost rhetorician of the twentieth century.
Burke wrote about rhetoric; other rhetoricians write about Burke. Universities offer
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CHAPTER 23: DRAMATISM 301
entire courses on Burkean analysis. On two occasions the National Communication
Association featured the man and his ideas at its national convention. The Kenneth
Burke Society holds conferences and competitions that give his followers the oppor-
tunity to discuss and delight over his wide-ranging thoughts. KB Journal exists solely
to explain, clarify, and critique Burke’s ideas. He obviously had something to say.
The problem for the beginning student is that he said it in such a roundabout
way. Burke was closely tied to symbolic interactionism (see Chapter 5), and
complexity seems to be characteristic of much of the writing within that tradi-
tion. Even advocates like Nichols have felt compelled to explain why Burke was
frequently confusing and sometimes obscure: “In part the diffi culty arises from
the numerous vocabularies he employs. His words in isolation are usually simple
enough, but he often uses them in new contexts.” 26 Clarity is compromised fur-
ther by Burke’s tendency to fl ood his text with literary allusions. Unless a student
is prepared to grapple with Coleridge’s “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner,”
Augustine’s Confessions, and Freud’s The Psychopathology of Everyday Life —all on
the same page—Burke’s mental leaps and breadth of scholarship will prove more
frustrating than informative.
Yet Burke enthusiasts insist that the process of discovery is half the fun. Like
a choice enthymeme, Burke’s writing invites active reader participation as he
surrounds an idea. And no matter what aspect of rhetoric that idea addresses,
the reader will never again be able to dismiss words as “mere rhetoric.” Burke
has done us all a favor by celebrating the life-giving quality of language.
Without question, the dramatistic pentad is the feature of Burke’s writing
that has gained the most approval. Many rhetorical critics use this tool to pin-
point a speaker’s motivation and the way the speech serves that need or desire.
Burke’s concept of rhetoric as identifi cation was also a major advance in a
fi eld of knowledge that many scholars had thought complete. Rather than oppos-
ing Aristotle’s defi nition, he gave it a contemporary luster by showing that com-
mon ground is the foundation of emotional appeal. Communication scientists can’t
test Burke’s claim that unconscious identifi cation produces behavior and attitude
change, but they can confi rm that perceived similarity facilitates persuasion.
Of all Burke’s motivational principles, his strategies of redemption are the most
controversial. Perhaps that’s because his “secular religion” takes God too seriously
for those who don’t believe, yet not seriously enough for those who do. Both camps
have trouble with Burke’s unsubstantiated assumption that guilt is the primary
human emotion that underlies all symbolic action. There’s no doubt that Malcolm X’s
“The Ballot or the Bullet” exploited a guilt–scapegoat linkage, but whether the
same drama is played out in every public address or essay is another matter.
As for me, I appreciate Burke’s commitment to an ethical stance that refuses
to let desirable ends justify unfair means. He urged speakers not to make a vic-
tim out of someone else in order to become unifi ed with the audience. True
believers in dramatistic theory and practice maintain that it’s unwise to talk about
communication without some understanding of Burke. The inclusion of this
chapter is my response to their claim.
1. Apply the dramatistic pentad to the typical nonverbal rhetoric of a Friday night
party on campus. Which of the five elements of the pentad would you stress to
capture the meaning of that human drama?
QUESTIONS TO SHARPEN YOUR FOCUS
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302 GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
A SECOND LOOK Recommended resource: Sonja Foss, Karen Foss, and Robert Trapp, Contemporary Per-
spectives on Rhetoric, 3 rd ed., Waveland, Prospect Heights, IL, 2002, pp. 187–232.
Dramatism: Kenneth Burke, “Dramatism,” in The International Encyclopedia of the Social
Sciences, Vol. 7, David L. Sills (ed.), Macmillan, New York, 1968, pp. 445–451.
Summary of key concepts: Edward Appel, Language, Life, Literature, Rhetoric and Compo-
sition as Dramatic Action: A Burkean Primer, Oar Press, Leola, PA, 2012, pp. 265–271 .
Key scholarship: Barry Brummet (ed.), Landmark Essays on Kenneth Burke, Hermagoras,
Davis, CA, 1993.
Identifi cation: Kenneth Burke, A Rhetoric of Motives, University of California, Berkeley,
1969, pp. 20–46.
Dramatistic pentad: Kenneth Burke, A Grammar of Motives, University of California,
Berkeley, 1969, pp. xv–xxiii.
Guilt–redemption cycle: Kenneth Burke, “On Human Behavior Considered ‘Dramatisti-
cally,’ ” in Permanence and Change, Bobbs-Merrill, Indianapolis, IN, 1965, pp. 274–294.
Human nature: Kenneth Burke, “Defi nition of Man,” in Language as Symbolic Action,
University of California, Berkeley, 1966, pp. 3–24.
Burkean analysis of King’s “I Have a Dream”: David Bobbitt, The Rhetoric of Redemption:
Kenneth Burke’s Redemption Drama and Martin Luther King Jr.’s “I Have a Dream” Speech,
Rowman & Littlefi eld, Lanham, MD, 2004.
Dramatism within a larger context: Charles Edgley, “The Dramaturgical Genre,” in
Handbook of Symbolic Interactionism, Larry Reynolds and Nancy Herman-Kinney (eds.),
AltaMira, Walnut Creek, CA, 2003, pp. 141–172.
Limits of dramatism: James W. Chesebro, “Extensions of the Burkean System,” Quar-
terly Journal of Speech, Vol. 78, 1992, pp. 356–368.
Explication and critique of guilt–redemption cycle: Kristy Maddux, “Finding Comedy in
Theology: A Hopeful Supplement to Kenneth Burke’s Logology,” Philosophy and Rhetoric,
Vol. 39, 2006, pp. 208–232.
Feminist critique: Celeste Michelle Condit, “Post-Burke: Transcending the Substance
of Dramatism,” Quarterly Journal of Speech, Vol. 78, 1992, pp. 349–355; also in Brummet,
pp. 3–18.

2. Despite the fact that Burke is a rhetorical critic who describes himself as a
“word man,” he’s convinced that the creation of language began the downfall
of the human race. Why?
3. Burke claims that all rhetoric ultimately expiates guilt through victimage.
If he’s right, is it the guilt of the speaker, the listener, or the victim that is being
purged?
4. Burke says that without identification, there is no persuasion. A number of the
theories already covered deal with ideas or principles akin to identification.
Can you name five?
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303
24C H A P T E R
Narrative Paradigm
of Walter Fisher
People are storytelling animals. This simple assertion is Walter Fisher’s answer
to the philosophical question What is the essence of human nature?
Many of the theorists discussed in preceding chapters offer different answers
to this key question of human existence. For example, Thibaut and Kelley’s social
exchange theory operates on the premise that humans are rational creatures.
Berger’s uncertainty reduction theory assumes that people are basically curious.
More pertinent for students of communication, Mead’s symbolic interactionism
insists that our ability to use symbols is what makes us uniquely human. (See
Chapters 8, 9, and 5.)
Fisher doesn’t argue against any of these ideas, but he thinks that human
communication reveals something more basic than rationality, curiosity, or even
symbol-using capacity. He is convinced that we are narrative beings who “experi-
ence and comprehend life as a series of ongoing narratives, as confl icts, characters,
beginnings, middles, and ends.” 1 If this is true, then all forms of human commu-
nication that appeal to our reason need to be seen fundamentally as stories. 2
Walter Fisher is a professor emeritus at the University of Southern Califor-
nia’s Annenberg School of Communication. Throughout his professional life he
has been uncomfortable with the prevailing view that rhetoric is only a matter
of evidence, facts, arguments, reason, and logic that has its highest expression in
courts of law, legislatures, and other deliberative bodies. In 1978, he introduced
the concept of good reasons, which led to his proposal of the narrative paradigm
in 1984. 3 He proposed that offering good reasons has more to do with telling a
compelling story than it does with piling up evidence or constructing a tight
argument.
Fisher soon became convinced that all forms of communication that appeal
to our reason are best viewed as stories shaped by history, culture, and character.
When we hear the word story , most of us tend to think of novels, plays, movies,
TV sitcoms, and yarns told sitting around a campfi re. Some of us also call to
mind accounts of our past—tales we tell to others in which we are the central
character. But with the exception of jokes, Hi, How are you? greetings, and other
forms of phatic communication , Fisher regards almost all types of communication
as story. Obviously, he sees differences in form between a Robert Frost poem, a
Harry Potter book, or a performance of As You Like It on the one hand, and a
philosophical essay, historical report, political debate, theological discussion, or
Phatic communication
Communication aimed at
maintaining relationships
rather than passing along
information or saying
something new.
Objective Interpretive
Rhetorical tradition
●
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304 GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
scientifi c treatise on the other. But if we want to know whether we should believe
the “truth” each of these genres proclaims, Fisher maintains that all of them can
and should be viewed as narrative. He uses the term narrative paradigm to high-
light his belief that there is no communication of ideas that is purely descriptive
or didactic.
TELLING A COMPELLING STORY
Most religious traditions are passed on from generation to generation through the
retelling of stories. The faithful are urged to “tell the old, old story” to encourage
believers and convince those in doubt. American writer Frederick Buechner takes
a fresh approach to passing on religious story. His book Peculiar Treasures retells
the twelfth-century b.c. biblical story of Ruth’s devotion to Naomi, her mother-in-
law, in twenty-fi rst-century style. 4 Buechner’s account of true friendship provides
a vehicle for examining Fisher’s narrative paradigm in the rest of this chapter. The
story begins after the death of Naomi’s husband and two sons:
Ruth was a Moabite girl who married into a family of Israelite transplants living in
Moab because there was a famine going on at home. When her young husband
died, her mother-in-law, Naomi, decided to pull up stakes and head back for Israel
where she belonged. The famine was over by then, and there was no longer any-
thing to hold her where she was, her own husband having died about the same
time that Ruth’s had. She advised Ruth to stay put right there in Moab and to try
to snag herself another man from among her own people.
She was a strong-willed old party, and when Ruth said she wanted to go to Israel
with her, she tried to talk her out of it. Even if by some gynecological fl uke she man-
aged to produce another son for Ruth to marry, she said, by the time he was old
enough, Ruth would be ready for the geriatric ward. But Ruth had a mind of her
own too, besides which they’d been through a lot together what with one thing and
another, and home to her was wherever Naomi was. “Where you go, I go, and where
you live, I live,” Ruth told her, “and if your God is Yahweh, then my God is Yahweh
too” ( Ruth 2:10–17 ). So Naomi gave in, and when the two of them pulled in to Bethle-
hem, Naomi’s home town, there was a brass band to meet them at the station.
Ruth had a spring in her step and a fascinating Moabite accent, and it wasn’t long
before she caught the eye of a well-heeled farmer named Boaz. He was a little long
in the tooth, but he still knew a pretty girl when he saw one, and before long, in a
fatherly kind of way, he took her under his wing. He told the hired hands not to give
her any trouble. He helped her in the fi elds. He had her over for a meal. And when
she asked him one day in her disarming Moabite way why he was being so nice to
her, he said he’d heard how good she’d been to Naomi, who happened to be a dis-
tant cousin of his, and as far as he was concerned, she deserved nothing but the best.
Naomi was nobody’s fool and saw which way the wind was blowing long
before Ruth did. She was dead-set on Ruth’s making a good catch for herself, and
since it was obvious she’d already hooked old Boaz whether she realized it or not,
all she had to do was fi nd the right way to reel him in. Naomi gave her instruc-
tions. As soon as Boaz had a good supper under his belt and had polished off a
nightcap or two, he’d go to the barn and hit the sack. Around midnight, she said,
Ruth should slip out to the barn and hit the sack too. If Boaz’s feet just happened
to be uncovered somehow, and if she just happened to be close enough to keep
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CHAPTER 24: NARRATIVE PARADIGM 305
them warm, that probably wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world either ( Ruth
3:1–5 ). But she wasn’t to go too far. Back in Jericho, Boaz’s mother, Rahab, had had
a rather seamy reputation for going too far professionally, and anything that
reminded him of that might scare him off permanently.
Ruth followed her mother-in-law’s advice to the letter, and it worked like a
charm. Boaz was so overwhelmed that she’d pay attention to an old crock like him
when there were so many young bucks running around in tight-fi tting jeans that
he fell for her hook, line and sinker, and after a few legal matters were taken care
of, made her his lawful wedded wife.
They had a son named Obed after a while, and Naomi came to take care of
him and stayed on for the rest of her life. Then in time Obed had a son of his
own named Jesse, and Jesse in turn had seven sons, the seventh of whom was
named David and ended up as the greatest king Israel ever had. With Ruth for
his great-grandmother and Naomi for his grandfather ’s nurse, it was hardly a
wonder. 5
NARRATION AND PARADIGM: DEFINING THE TERMS
Fisher defi nes narration as “symbolic actions—words and/or deeds—that have
sequence and meaning for those who live, create, or interpret them.” 6 Ruth’s life
and Buechner’s account of it clearly qualify as narrative. But Fisher’s defi nition
is broad and is especially notable for what it doesn’t exclude. On the basis of his
further elaboration, 7 I offer this expanded paraphrase of his defi nition:
Narration is communication rooted in time and space. It covers every aspect of our
lives and the lives of others in regard to character, motive, and action. The term
also refers to every verbal or nonverbal bid for a person to believe or act in a cer-
tain way. Even when a message seems abstract—devoid of imagery—it is narration
because it is embedded in the speaker’s ongoing story that has a beginning, mid-
dle, and end, and it invites listeners to interpret its meaning and assess its value
for their own lives.
Under this expanded defi nition, Ruth’s my God is Yahweh statement is as much
a story of love and trust as it is a declaration of belief. Framed in the context
of King David’s genealogy, it is also an early episode in the Greatest Story Ever
Told . Those who identify with the human love, trust, loyalty, and commitment
described in the narrative can’t help but feel the solidarity of an extended family
of faith.
Fisher uses the term paradigm to refer to a conceptual framework —a widely
shared perceptual fi lter. Perception is not so much a matter of the physics of
sight and sound as it is one of interpretation. Meaning isn’t inherent in events;
it’s attached at the workbench of the mind. A paradigm is a universal model
that calls for people to view events through a common interpretive lens.
In The Structure of Scientifi c Revolutions , Thomas Kuhn argues that an accepted
paradigm is the mark of a mature science. 8 Responding to this challenge,
communication scientists in the 1970s sought to discover a universal model that
would explain communication behavior. Fisher’s narrative paradigm is an inter-
pretive counterpart to their efforts. Fisher offers a way to understand all
communication and to direct rhetorical inquiry. He doesn’t regard the narrative
paradigm as a specifi c rhetoric. Rather, he sees it as “the foundation on which a
Narration
Symbolic actions—words
and/or deeds—that have
sequence and meaning
for those who live, cre-
ate, or interpret them.
Paradigm
A conceptual framework;
a universal model that
calls for people to view
events through a com-
mon interpretive lens.
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306 GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
complete rhetoric needs to be built. This structure would provide a comprehen-
sive explanation of the creation, composition, adaptation, presentation, and
reception of symbolic messages.” 9
PARADIGM SHIFT: FROM A RATIONAL-WORLD PARADIGM TO A NARRATIVE ONE
Fisher begins his book Human Communication as Narration with a reference to the
opening line of the Gospel of John: “In the beginning was the word ( logos ).” He
notes that the Greek word logos originally included story, reason, rationale, con-
ception, discourse, thought—all forms of human communication. Imagination
and thought were not yet distinct. So the story of Naomi and Ruth was logos .
According to Fisher, the writings of Plato and Aristotle refl ect the early evo-
lution from a generic to a specifi c use of logos —from story to statement. Logos
had already begun to refer only to philosophical discourse, a lofty enterprise that
relegated imagination, poetry, and other aesthetic concerns to second-class status.
Rhetoric fell somewhere between logos and mythos . As opposed to the abstract
discourse of philosophy, it was practical speech—the secular combination of pure
logic on the one hand and emotional stories that stir up passions on the other.
The Greek citizen concerned with truth alone should steer clear of rhetoric and
consult an expert on wisdom—the philosopher.
Fisher says that 2,000 years later the scientifi c revolution dethroned the
philosopher–king. In the last few centuries, the only knowledge that seems to be
worth knowing in academia is that which can be spotted in the physical world.
The person who wants to understand the way things are needs to check with a
doctor, a scientist, an engineer, or another technical expert. Despite the elevation
of technology and the demotion of philosophy, both modes of decision making
are similar in their elitist tendencies to “place that which is not formally logical
or which is not characterized by expertise within a somehow subhuman framework
of behavior.” 10 Fisher sees philosophical and technical discussion as scholars’
standard approach to knowledge. He calls this mindset the rational-world paradigm .
Hirokawa and Gouran’s functional perspective on group decision making is a
perfect example (see Chapter 17).
Fisher lists fi ve assumptions of the prevailing rational-world paradigm. See
if they match what you’ve been taught all along in school. 11
1. People are essentially rational.
2. We make decisions on the basis of arguments.
3. The type of speaking situation (legal, scientifi c, legislative) determines
the course of our argument.
4. Rationality is determined by how much we know and how well we argue.
5. The world is a set of logical puzzles that we can solve through rational
analysis.
Viewed through the rational-world paradigm, the story of Ruth is suspect.
Ruth ignores Naomi’s argument, which is based on uncontestable biological facts
of life. Nor does Ruth offer any compelling rationale for leaving Moab or for wor-
shiping Yahweh. Once they are back in Israel, Naomi’s scheme for Ruth to “reel
in” Boaz has nothing to do with logic and everything to do with emotional bonds.
Other than the Old Testament passage, the author offers no evidence that Naomi
and Ruth are historical characters, that any kind of god exists, or that a book about
Rational-world paradigm
A scientific or philosoph-
ical approach to
knowledge that assumes
people are logical,
making decisions on the
basis of evidence and
lines of argument.
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CHAPTER 24: NARRATIVE PARADIGM 307
friendship, kinship, and romance deserves a place in the Old Testament canon.
Thus, from a rational-world perspective, the story makes little sense.
Fisher is convinced that the assumptions of the rational-world paradigm are
too limited. He calls for a new conceptual framework (a paradigm shift) in order
to better understand human communication. His narrative paradigm is built on
fi ve assumptions similar in form to the rational-world paradigm, but quite dif-
ferent in content. 12
1. People are essentially storytellers.
2. We make decisions on the basis of good reasons, which vary depending
on the communication situation, media, and genre (philosophical, tech-
nical, rhetorical, or artistic).
3. History, biography, culture, and character determine what we consider
good reasons.
4. Narrative rationality is determined by the coherence and fi delity of our
stories.
5. The world is a set of stories from which we choose, and thus constantly
re-create, our lives.
Viewing human beings as storytellers who reason in various ways is a major
conceptual shift. For example, in a logical system, values are emotional nonsense.
From the narrative perspective, however, values are the stuff of stories. Working
from a strictly logical standpoint, aesthetic proof is irrelevant, but within a narra-
tive framework, style and beauty play a pivotal role in determining whether we
get into a story. Perhaps the biggest shift in thinking has to do with who is quali-
fi ed to assess the quality of communication. Whereas the rational-world model
holds that only experts are capable of presenting or discerning sound arguments,
the narrative paradigm maintains that, armed with a bit of common sense, almost
any of us can see the point of a good story and judge its merits as the basis for
belief and action. No one taught us how to do this. It’s an inherent awareness that’s
honed by life experience. Fisher would say that each of us will make a judgment
about Buechner’s account of Ruth (or any story) based upon narrative rationality .
Narrative paradigm
A theoretical framework
that views narrative as
the basis of all human
communication.
NARRATIVE RATIONALITY: COHERENCE AND FIDELITY
According to Fisher, not all stories are equally good. Even though there’s no
guarantee that people won’t adopt a bad story, he thinks everybody applies the
same standards of narrative rationality to whatever stories they hear: “The opera-
tive principle of narrative rationality is identifi cation rather than deliberation.”13
Will we accept a cross-cultural tale of a young widow’s total commitment to her
mother-in-law and of Naomi’s enthusiastic efforts to help Ruth remarry and have
children by another man? Fisher believes that our answer depends on whether
Buechner’s account meets the twin tests of narrative coherence and narrative fi delity.
Together they are measures of a story’s truthfulness and humanity.
Narrative Coherence: Does the Story Hang Together?
Narrative coherence has to do with how probable the story sounds to the hearer.
Does the narrative hang together ? Do the people and events it portrays seem to be of
one piece? Are they part of an organic whole or are there obvious contradictions
among them? Do the characters act consistently?
Narrative rationality
A way to evaluate the
worth of stories based on
the twin standards of nar-
rative coherence and
narrative fidelity.
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308 GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
Narrative coherence
Internal consistency with
characters acting in a re-
liable fashion; the story
hangs together.
Buechner’s version of Ruth and Naomi’s relationship translates an ancient tale
of interpersonal commitment into a contemporary setting. To the extent that his
modern-day references to a brass band at the station, polishing off a nightcap, and
young bucks running around in tight-fi tting jeans consistently portray the present,
the story has structural integrity. Fisher regards the internal consistency of a nar-
rative as similar to lines of argument in a rational-world paradigm. In that sense,
his narrative paradigm doesn’t discount or replace logic. Instead, Fisher lists the
test of reason as one, but only one, of the factors that affect narrative coherence.
Stories hang together when we’re convinced that the narrator hasn’t left out
important details, fudged the facts, or ignored other plausible interpretations.
Although the TV series Lost and the re-imagined Battlestar Galactica garnered
critical acclaim throughout their runs, their fi nal episodes were roundly panned
by fans and critics because they didn’t meet those criteria. At the end, both shows
lacked narrative coherence.
We often judge the coherence of a narrative by comparing it with other sto-
ries we’ve heard that deal with the same theme. How does Buechner’s account
of feminine wiles used to move an older man toward marriage without going
“too far” stack up against the blatant seduction scenes in the TV series House of
Lies or the typical daytime soap opera? To the extent that Ruth’s ploy seems more
believable, we’ll credit Buechner’s biblical update with coherence.
For Fisher, the ultimate test of narrative coherence is whether we can count
on the characters to act in a reliable manner. We are suspicious of accounts where
characters behave uncharacteristically. We tend to trust stories of people who
show continuity of thought, motive, and action. Whether you regard Buechner’s
Naomi as a wise matchmaker or an overcontrolling mother-in-law, her consistent
concern that Ruth fi nd a man to marry is a thread that gives the fabric of the
story a tight weave.
“I know what you’re thinking, but let me offer a competing narrative.”
© Harry Bliss/The New Yorker Collection/www.cartoonbank.com
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CHAPTER 24: NARRATIVE PARADIGM 309
Narrative Fidelity: Does the Story Ring True and Humane?
Narrative fi delity is the quality of a story that causes the words to strike a respon-
sive chord in the life of the listener. A story has fi delity when it rings true with the
hearers’ experiences—it squares with the stories they might tell about themselves. 14
Have we, like Boaz, done special favors for a person we found especially
attractive? Like Naomi, have we stretched the rules of decorum to help make a
match? Or, like Ruth, have we ever experienced a bond with a relative that goes
beyond obligation to family? To the extent that the details of this 3,000-year-old
story portray the world we live in today, the narrative has fi delity.
Fisher’s book Human Communication as Narration has the subtitle Toward a
Philosophy of Reason, Value, and Action. He believes a story has fi delity when it
provides good reasons to guide our future actions. When we buy into a story,
we buy into the type of character we should be. Thus, values are what set the
narrative paradigm’s logic of good reasons apart from the rational-world para-
digm’s mere logic of reasons.
The logic of good reasons centers on fi ve value-related issues. Fisher says we
are  concerned with (1) the values embedded in the message, (2) the relevance of
those values to decisions made, (3) the consequence of adhering to those values,
(4) the overlap with the worldview of the audience, and (5) conformity with what
the audience members believe is “an ideal basis for conduct.” 15 The last two
concerns—congruity with the listeners’ values and the actions they think best—form
the basis of Fisher’s contention that people tend to prefer accounts that fi t with what
they view as truthful and humane. But what specifi c values guide audiences as they
gauge a story’s truth or fi delity? Fisher suggests there is an ideal audience or perma-
nent public that identifi es the humane values a good story embodies:
It appears that there is a permanent public, an actual community existing over time,
that believes in the values of truth, the good, beauty, health, wisdom, courage, tem-
perance, justice, harmony, order, communion, friendship, and oneness with the
Cosmos—as variously as those values may be defi ned or practiced in “real” life. 16
Fisher admits that other communities are possible—ones based on greed or
power, for example. But he maintains that when people are confronted by “the
better part of themselves,” these less-idealistic value systems won’t be “entirely
coherent or true to their whole lives, or to the life that they would most like to
live.” 17 Fisher believes, then, that the humane virtues of the ideal audience shape
our logic of good reasons. They help us pick which stories are reliable and trust-
worthy. If we are convinced that this audience of good people would scoff at Boaz’
protection of Ruth or squirm in discomfort at her midnight visit to the barn, Buech-
ner’s version of the biblical narrative will lack fi delity. But inasmuch as we think
that these ideal auditors would applaud Ruth’s rarifi ed devotion to Naomi—while
appreciating the older woman’s down-to-earth approach to courtship—Buechner’s
words will have the ring of truthfulness and humanity.
According to Fisher, when we judge a story to have fi delity, we are not
merely affi rming shared values. We are ultimately opening ourselves to the pos-
sibility that those values will infl uence our beliefs and actions. For example,
many engaged couples for whom the love of Ruth rings true have adopted her
words to Naomi as a model for their wedding vows:
I will go wherever you go and live wherever you live.
Your people will be my people, and your God will be my God. 18
Narrative fidelity
Congruence between
values embedded in a
message and what listen-
ers regard as truthful and
humane; the story strikes
a responsive chord.
Ideal audience
An actual community
existing over time that
believes in the values of
truth, the good, beauty,
health, wisdom, courage,
temperance, justice,
harmony, order,
communion, friendship,
and oneness with the
cosmos.
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310 GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
CRITIQUE: DOES FISHER’S STORY HAVE COHERENCE AND FIDELITY?
Fisher ’s narrative paradigm offers a fresh reworking of Aristotelian analysis,
which has dominated rhetorical thinking in the fi eld of communication. His
approach is strongly democratic—people usually don’t need specialized training
or expertise to fi gure out if a story holds together or offers good reasons for
believing it to be true. There’s still a place for experts to provide information
and explanation in specialized fi elds, but when it comes to evaluating coherence
and fi delity, people with ordinary common sense are competent rhetorical critics.
In Human Communication as Narration , Fisher applies the principles of narra-
tive coherence and narrative fi delity to analyze various types of communication.
He explains why a sometimes illogical President Ronald Reagan was aptly
known as “The Great Communicator.” He examines the false values of Willy
Loman that lead to his downfall in Death of a Salesman . And he explores the
consequences of adopting the rival philosophies embedded in the stories of two
Greek thinkers—Socrates and Callicles. According to Fisher, the fact that the
narrative paradigm can be applied to this wide range of communication genres
provides strong evidence for its acceptance. And unlike a value-neutral scientifi c
or rational-world approach, Fisher ’s narrative paradigm is clear about the
motives, actions, and outcomes that make a story good.
Of course, Fisher’s theory is itself a story, and as you might expect, not every-
one accepts his tale. For example, many critics charge that he is overly optimistic
when, similar to Aristotle, he argues that people have a natural tendency to pre-
fer the true and the just. Challenging Fisher’s upbeat view of human nature,
rhetorical critic Barbara Warnick at the University of Pittsburgh calls attention to
the great communicative power of evil or wrongheaded stories such as Hitler’s
Mein Kampf . Fisher declares that Hitler’s opus “must be judged a bad story,” 19
but as Warnick notes, it “struck a chord in an alienated, disunited, and despair-
ing people.” 20 Hitler’s success in scapegoating the Jews ranks as one of history’s
most notorious acts of rhetoric, yet in its time and place it achieved both coherence
I have employed the age-old story of Ruth to illustrate features of the narrative
paradigm. In like manner, most of my students—like Chris below—pick a book
or a fi lm to demonstrate their application of Fisher’s theory.
Beginning with The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe in The Chronicles of Narnia,
C.  S. Lewis presents a coherent set of stories. While the characters, places, and
events may not be “of this world”—the rational world we live in—Lewis has
constructed a set of relationships and rules so consistent that it makes the fi ctional
world seem plausible. The stories also have fi delity because Lewis skillfully creates
parallels to our common human reality. The characters relate directly to people in
my life (including me). For instance, I can identify with “doubting” Susan as she
grows out of her childlike faith. Yet I long for the innocent passion of Lucy and the
nobleness of Peter.
A good story is a powerful means of persuasion. Fisher would remind us, how-
ever, that almost all communication is narrative, and that we evaluate it on that
basis. This chapter and all the others in this book are story. According to his
narrative paradigm, you can (and will) judge whether they hang together and
ring true to the values held by the people who make up your ideal audience.
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CHAPTER 24: NARRATIVE PARADIGM 311
and fi delity. Fisher thinks Warnick is confusing Hitler’s effective discourse with
the good discourse people tend to prefer. But he grants that evil can overwhelm
that tendency and thinks that’s all the more reason to identify and promote the
humane values described by the narrative paradigm.
William Kirkwood at East Tennessee State University claims there is another
problem with the logic of good reasons. Kirkwood says a standard of narrative
rationality implies that good stories cannot and perhaps should not go beyond
what people already believe and value. He charges that the logic of good reasons
encourages writers and speakers to adjust their ideas to people rather than peo-
ple to their ideas, and thus denies the “rhetoric of possibility,” the chance to be
swayed by that which is unfamiliar or radically different.21
University of Rhode Island communication professor Kevin McClure agrees
with Kirkwood, and argues that Fisher’s understanding of probability and fi del-
ity are too tightly linked with normative concepts of rationality. He reminds us
that Fisher wrote that “the operative principle of narrative rationality is identi-
fi cation.”22 If Fisher would concentrate on Kenneth Burke’s understanding of
identifi cation as “an aesthetic and poetic experience, and thus a relational expe-
rience or encounter with the symbolic rather than an encounter with rational
argument,” McClure believes the narrative paradigm could easily explain how
improbable stories that “lack a sense of fi delity are accepted and acted on.”23
Fisher thinks these critiques are ridiculous. He explicitly states that people
have the capacity to “formulate and adopt new stories that better account for their
lives or the mystery of life itself.”24 In a somewhat wry fashion, Fisher credits his
detractors for demonstrating the wisdom of the narrative paradigm:
I want to thank my critics, for they cannot but substantiate the soundness of my
position. They do this in two ways: whatever line of attack they may take, they
end up criticizing either the coherence or fi delity of my position, or both. And
whatever objections they may make, the foundation for their objections will be a
rival story, which, of course, they assume to be coherent and which has fi delity. 25
Is most communication story, and do we judge every message we hear on
the basis of whether it hangs together and rings true with our values? If you
take Fisher’s ideas seriously, you won’t need me or a trained rhetorician to give
you the fi nal word. Like everyone else, you can spot the difference between a
good story and a bad one.
QUESTIONS TO SHARPEN YOUR FOCUS
1. Using Fisher’s defi nition of narration , can you think of any types of com-
munication other than jokes or phatic communication that don’t fi t within
the narrative paradigm ?
2. Fisher claims that the rational-world paradigm dominates Western education.
Can you list college courses you’ve taken that adopt the assumptions of this
conceptual framework?
3. What is the difference between narrative coherence and narrative fi delity ?
4. You apply a logic of good reasons to the stories you hear. What are the values
undergirding Buechner’s story of Ruth? Which one do you most admire? What
values do you hold that cause you to ultimately accept or reject his narrative?
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312 GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
Recommended resource: Walter R. Fisher, Human Communication as Narration: Toward a
Philosophy of Reason, Value, and Action, University of South Carolina, Columbia, 1987.
Original statement: Walter R. Fisher, “Narration as a Human Communication Paradigm:
The Case of Public Moral Argument,” Communication Monographs, Vol. 51, 1984, pp. 1–22.
Storytelling and narrativity in communication research: Journal of Communication, Vol. 35,
No. 4, 1985, entire issue.
Scientifi c communication as story: Walter R. Fisher, “Narration, Knowledge, and the
Possibility of Wisdom,” in Rethinking Knowledge: Refl ections Across the Disciplines, Robert
F. Goodman and Walter R. Fisher (eds.), State University of New York, Albany, 1995,
pp. 169–197.
Narrative ethics: Walter R. Fisher, “The Ethic(s) of Argument and Practical Wisdom,”
in Argument at Century’s End, Thomas Hollihan (ed.), National Communication Associa-
tion, Annandale, VA, 1999, pp. 1–15.
Telling the old story in a new way: Frederick Buechner, Peculiar Treasures, Harper & Row,
New York, 1979.
Coherent life stories: Dan McAdams, “The Problem of Narrative Coherence,” Journal of
Constructivist Psychology, Vol. 19, 2006, pp. 109–125.
Ethics as story: Richard Johannesen, “A Rational World Ethic Versus a Narrative Ethic
for Political Communication,” in Ethics in Human Communication, 6 th ed., Waveland, Pros-
pect Heights, IL, 2008, pp. 254–262.
Empirical measure of believability: Robert Yale, “Measuring Narrative Believability:
Development and Validation of the Narrative Believability Scale (NBS-12),” Journal of
Communication, Vol. 63, 2013, pp. 578–599.
Critique: Barbara Warnick, “The Narrative Paradigm: Another Story,” Quarterly Journal
of Speech, Vol. 73, 1987, pp. 172–182.
Critique: Robert Rowland, “On Limiting the Narrative Paradigm: Three Case Studies,”
Communication Monographs, Vol. 56, 1989, pp. 39–54.
Response to critics: Walter R. Fisher, “Clarifying the Narrative Paradigm,” Communica-
tion Monographs, Vol. 56, 1989, pp. 55–58.
Suggested revision: Kevin McClure, “Resurrecting the Narrative Paradigm: Identifi ca-
tion and the Case of Young Earth Creationism,” Rhetoric Society Quarterly, Vol. 39, 2009,
pp. 189–211.
Are you convinced you can detect when a story is false?
Click on Interpersonal Deception Theory in
Archive under Theory Resources at
www.afi rstlook.com.
A SECOND LOOK
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313
DIVISION FOUR
Mass Communication
MEDIA AND CULTURE
CHAPTER 25. Media Ecology (McLuhan)
CHAPTER 26. Semiotics (Barthes)
CHAPTER 27. Cultural Studies (Hall)
MEDIA EFFECTS
CHAPTER 28. Uses and Gratifi cations (Katz)
CHAPTER 29. Cultivation Theory (Gerbner)
CHAPTER 30. Agenda-Setting Theory (McCombs & Shaw)
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314
M e d i a a n d C u l t u r e
Students who begin to learn about the relationship between media and culture
quickly run across multiple references to postmodernism . While most of us under-
stand that this term refers to many elements of contemporary Western society,
we may be hard-pressed to explain the specifi c values or practices that distin-
guish a postmodern culture from others. Since media expression is at the heart
of postmodernism, I’ll illustrate six of its defi ning features.1
1. Postmodern describes a period of time when the promise of modernism
no longer seems justifi ed. The modernistic ideologies that postmodernism rejects
include the Industrial Revolution, nationalistic imperialism, the rationality of the
Enlightenment, faith in science, and any sense that the world is on an upward
trajectory. In his essay “On Nihilism,” Jean Baudrillard, a leading French post-
modernist, claims that he and his colleagues are neither optimistic nor pessimistic.
Yet the absence of meaning he describes strikes most readers as devoid of hope.
I have the impression with postmodernism that there is an attempt to rediscover a
certain pleasure in the irony of things. Right now one can tumble into total
hopelessness—all the defi nitions, everything, it’s all been done. What can one do?
What can one become? And postmodernity is the attempt . . . to reach a point
where one can live with what is left. It is more a survival amongst the remnants
than anything else.2
2. We have become tools of our tools. Canadian Marshall McLuhan surveyed
the history of media technology and observed that we shape our tools and they in
turn shape us. According to McLuhan, when we continually use a communication
technology, it alters our symbolic environment—the socially constructed, sensory
world of meanings that shapes our perceptions, experiences, attitudes, and
behavior. If we concentrate on analyzing the content of media messages or strive
to resist their impact, we miss the fact that the medium itself is the “message”
that shapes us .
3. In a postmodern world, any claim of truth or moral certainty is suspect.
In his book The Postmodern Condition , Baudrillard’s countryman Jean-François
Lyotard was the fi rst to popularize the use of the term postmodern to describe
our culture. “Simplifying to the extreme,” wrote Lyotard, “I defi ne postmodern as
incredulity towards metanarratives.” 3 He was referring specifi cally to any systems
of thought that claimed to be true for all people, such as Marxism, Freudianism,
or Christianity. But the relativity of knowledge applies to any assertion of truth.
In postmodern thinking, there are no facts, only interpretations. We can’t know
anything for certain. (As you ponder this idea, you might wonder how certain
we can be that we can’t know anything for certain.) In the world of art, post-
modernism ignores universal principles of aesthetic beauty. There are no stan-
dard rules for creating a painting, sculpture, movie, or concerto.
4. Images become more important than what they represent. Postmodernists
are convinced that recurrent media images take on a hyperreality —they are more
real than reality. Our mental pictures of the perfect body, house, meal, vacation,
and sexual relationship have been created through exposure to constantly
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MEDIA AND CULTURE 315
recycled media depictions that have no basis in fact—but it is these images that
shape our expectations. As Baudrillard suggested, “It’s not TV as a mirror of
society but just the reverse: it’s society as the mirror of television. ” 4 For postmodern-
ists, the issue is not whether media distort reality. In today’s world, media have
become reality—the only one we have.
5. With a media assist, we can mix and match diverse styles and tastes
to create a unique identity. Lyotard regarded this kind of eclecticism as the
norm for postmodern culture. “One listens to reggae, watches a Western, eats
McDonald’s food for lunch and local cuisine for dinner, wears Paris perfume
in Tokyo and ‘retro’ clothes in Hong Kong; knowledge is a matter for TV
games.” 5 The possibilities of identity construction are endless in an urban set-
ting with thousands of cable channels and high-speed Internet to provide infi –
nite variety. Postmodernism is an age of individualism rather than one of
community.
6. Postmodernism can also be seen as a new kind of economic order—a
consumer society based on multinational capitalism. In a postmodern society,
information rather than production is the key to profi ts. Money is especially
important in a consumer society because people are what they consume.
Operating from a neo-Marxist perspective, Duke University literature profes-
sor Fredric Jameson is a high-profi le postmodernist who takes this economic
view. He sees in our current era “the emergence of a new type of social life and
a new economic order,” 6 specifi cally a late stage of capitalism. He is not sur-
prised to see the erosion of the old distinction between high culture and so-called
popular culture. In the absence of aesthetic standards, profi ts become the mea-
sure of whether art is good or bad. Thus, media conglomerates such as Disney
and Time Warner cannot help but work in the interest of those who already have
fi nancial control.
The theorists featured in this section don’t identify themselves as postmod-
ernists, but their analysis of media and culture certainly places them in that
camp. Their highly interpretive methodological approach is in sharp contrast
with the empirical approach that marks the scientifi c media theorists featured in
the section following this one.
CALVIN AND HOBBES © Watterson. Reprinted with permission of UNIVERSAL UCLICK. All rights reserved.
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316
Media Ecology
of Marshall McLuhan
Rachael Dretzin, an award-winning documentary fi lmmaker and journalist,
began her 2010 PBS documentary, Digital Nation,1 with a personal observation:
So it really hit me one night not that long ago. I was in the kitchen and I was cooking
dinner, chopping vegetables—and my husband was in the next room on his laptop
and across the table from my husband was my oldest son—who was also on a laptop
doing his homework—and my younger kids had picked up my iPhone and were
playing a game on it or something and it just hit me. We’re all in the same house but
we’re also in other worlds—and it just kind of snuck up on us. I didn’t see it coming.
The heart of Dretzin’s insight is the fact that her entire home environment
had changed dramatically due to electronic media—a change she’d never noticed
until that one evening chopping vegetables.
Dretzin’s realization highlights what media ecologists study. You’re probably
familiar with the word ecology because it comes up in discussions about global
warming, recycling garbage, and saving rain forests. Ecologists study the envi-
ronment, how people interact with it, and the way these interactions result in
change. Media ecologists study media environments. They seek to understand
how people interact with media and how those interactions shape our culture
and our daily experiences. If Marshall McLuhan could have heard Dretzin’s com-
ment, he would have probably smiled knowingly. At the same time McLuhan
claimed to understand the changes media bring, he also confi dently theorized
about why most of us are oblivious to those changes.
In the 1960s, Marshall McLuhan was an English professor at the University of
Toronto. He burst onto the public scene by asking questions about the relationship
between media and culture. His book Understanding Media was a surprise hit that
generated both admiration and dissension. His theory suggests that media should
be understood ecologically. Changes in technology alter the symbolic environment ––
the socially constructed, sensory world of meanings that in turn shapes our percep-
tions, experiences, attitudes, and behavior.
Symbolic environment
The socially constructed,
sensory world of meanings.
Objective Interpretive
Socio-cultural tradition
25C H A P T E R ●
THE MEDIUM IS THE MESSAGE
McLuhan’s theory of media ecology is best captured in his famous aphorism
“The medium is the message.” This pithy statement is meant to upset our
expectations. We’re accustomed to thinking that people change because of the
messages they consume. The whole fi eld of persuasion revolves around message
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CHAPTER 25: MEDIA ECOLOGY 317
content (see Chapter 15). We think of media as mere channels of message deliv-
ery that play a minor role in effecting change.
When McLuhan said, “the medium is the message,” he wanted us to see that
media—regardless of content—reshape human experience and exert far more
change in our world than the sum total of the messages they contain. He made
this point forcefully in a famous interview with Playboy magazine in 1969: “The
content or message of any particular medium has about as much importance as
the stenciling on the casing of an atomic bomb.”2
McLuhan loved using metaphors to explain theoretical concepts. He was
convinced that when we consider the cultural infl uence of media, we are usually
misled by the illusion of content. One metaphor that he used to make this point
was particularly colorful. He wrote, “For the ‘content’ of a medium is like the
juicy piece of meat carried by the burglar to distract the watchdog of the mind.” 3
We focus on the content and overlook the medium ––even though content doesn’t
exist outside of the way it’s mediated. Moby Dick is a book. Moby Dick is a movie.
Moby Dick is an oral tale. These are different stories. For this reason, we shouldn’t
complain that a movie is not like the book, because a movie can never be like a
book. A movie can only be a movie.
Whether a TV show is about killer whales, current events, crime scene inves-
tigations, the next American pop star, or The Real Housewives of New Jersey,
the message is always television. It is the distinct experience of TV that alters the
symbolic environment. From the perspective of media ecology, the Clydesdale
ad discussed in Chapter  2 is important not for its content but because it offered
a shared media experience that captured the time and attention of millions of
people. It also triggered nearly 3 million visits to YouTube to watch the ad again.4
Media ecologists might point out that neither Glenn nor Marty even mentioned
these features in their analysis.
After reading about McLuhan’s theory, John had no problem recognizing the
message of a medium. In his application log, he wrote:
Instant messaging is a recent fad as society moves deeper into the digital age. I
don’t regard IM as necessary for exchanging information. Emails and phone calls
can take care of that. For me, instant messages are a sign of affection; they are
“fl irtatious.” I’ve got a crush on Ashley, and when I see that I have an instant
message from her, I can’t help but smile—this even before I read the message.
Overshadowed by a media form that signifi es intimacy and fondness, the content
seems irrelevant. The medium is the message.
Media
Generic term for all
human-invented technol-
ogy that extends the
range, speed, or chan-
nels of communication.
Medium
A specific type of media;
for example, a book,
newspaper, radio, televi-
sion, telephone, film,
website, or email.
THE CHALLENGE OF MEDIA ECOLOGY
Any understanding of social and cultural change is impossible without a knowl-
edge of the way media work as environments. 5 But evaluating the ecology of media
is a diffi cult enterprise because all environments are inherently intangible and
interrelated. An environment is not a thing to identify; rather, it is the intricate
association of many things. By defi nition, these things are part of the background.
They are everything and no thing. McLuhan noted that “their ground rules,
pervasive structure, and overall patterns elude easy perception.” 6
Invisibility of Environments
McLuhan was fond of quoting the mantra of anthropologists: “We don’t know
who discovered water, but we’re pretty sure it wasn’t the fi sh.” In the same way,
Media ecology
The study of different
personal and social envi-
ronments created by the
use of different commu-
nication technologies.
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318 MASS COMMUNICATION
we have trouble recognizing “the way media work as environments” because
we are so immersed in them.
McLuhan’s theory of media differs from the traditional warnings against
technological advances. The tales of Frankenstein, Blade Runner, Jurassic Park, and
The Matrix posit technology gone awry and turning on its maker. These fantastical
threats prove terribly obvious. As long as our technologies are not chasing after
us, we are supposedly safe from the consequences of our creations.
According to McLuhan, it’s not technological abnormality that demands our
attention, since it’s hard not to notice the new and different. Instead, we need to
focus on our everyday experience of technology. A medium shapes us because we
partake of it over and over until it becomes an extension of ourselves. Because
every medium emphasizes different senses and encourages different habits, engag-
ing a medium day after day conditions the senses to take in some stimuli and not
register others. A medium that emphasizes the ear over the eye alters the ratios
of sense perception. Like a blind man who begins to develop a heightened sense
of hearing, society is shaped in accordance with the dominant medium of the day.
It’s the ordinariness of media that makes them invisible. When a new medium
enters society, there’s a period of time in which we’re aware of its novelty. It’s
only when it fades into the background of our lives that we’re truly subjected
to its patterns––that is, its environmental infl uence. In the same way that a girl
growing up in California may unconsciously absorb a West Coast attitude, a boy
growing up in our electronic age may unconsciously absorb a digital attitude.
Rachael Dretzin noted that the media changes that had transformed her family’s
home environment had “snuck up” on them.
Complexity of Environments
If you surveyed the landscape of media research, you’d discover plenty of mate-
rial devoted to the effects of content. You’d also discover numerous studies focus-
ing instead on specifi c media such as television, computers, and iPhones, as well
as applications like Facebook and Twitter. In contrast, research on media ecology
is rather sparse because it takes up the challenge of trying to understand the
interplay between all of these things in a culture that changes at blazing speed.
McLuhan believed it took a special ability to stand back from the action and
take in the big picture. Dretzin realized what was going on inside her home only
when she was able to assume the role of a sideline observer preparing dinner.
One way McLuhan tried to gain a broader perspective was by stepping outside
the moment and considering all of human history. He found it helpful to trace
the major ecological shifts in media over thousands of years. That grand his-
torical perspective is the foundation of McLuhan’s theory.
Technology
According to McLuhan,
human inventions that
enhance communication.
A MEDIA ANALYSIS OF HUMAN HISTORY
McLuhan was critical of social observers who analyzed the Western world but
bypassed the effects of symbolic environments, be they oral, print, or electronic.
He specifi cally accused modern scholars of being “ostrichlike” in refusing to
acknowledge the revolutionary impact of electronic media on the sensory expe-
rience of contemporary society.
As Figure 25–1 shows, McLuhan divided all human history into four periods,
or epochs—a tribal age, a literate age, a print age, and an electronic age. Accord-
ing to McLuhan, the crucial inventions that changed life on this planet were the
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CHAPTER 25: MEDIA ECOLOGY 319
phonetic alphabet, the printing press, and the telegraph. In each case the world
was wrenched from one era into the next because of new developments in media
technology. Those of us born in the twentieth century are living through one of
those turbulent transitions—from the tail end of the print age to the very begin-
ning of the electronic age. McLuhan believed the transitions (shaded in gray in
Figure 25–1) took 300 to 400 years to complete. While you might think you’re
living in the electronic age right now, you’re not there yet. The full transition
will take another two centuries.
1. The Tribal Age: An Acoustic Place in History
According to McLuhan, the tribal village was an acoustic place where the senses
of hearing, touch, taste, and smell were developed far beyond the ability to
visualize. In untamed settings, hearing is more valuable than seeing because it
FIGURE 25–1 Marshall McLuhan’s Media Map of History
Invention of
Phonetic Alphabet
(2000–1500 B.C.)
Technological
Development
Dominant
Sense
Receptors
Historical
Era
Tribal
Age
Literate
Age
Print
Age
Electronic
Age
Invention of
Printing Press
(1450)
Invention of
Telegraph
(1850)
You are
here
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320 MASS COMMUNICATION
allows you to be more immediately aware of your surroundings. With sight, we
are limited to direction and distance. We can only sense what is clearly in front
of us. If a preying animal is behind us or hidden by a tree, we are hopelessly
unaware without a sensitivity to sound or smell. Hearing and smelling provide
a sense of that which we cannot see, a crucial ability in the tribal age.
The omnidirectional quality of sound also enhances community. The spoken
word is primarily a communal experience. To tell a secret, we must whisper or
speak directly in someone’s ear or make sure no one else is listening. The sense
of sound works against privatization. Listening to someone speak in a group is
a unifying act. Everyone hears at the same time.
The spoken word is also immediate and alive. It exists only at the moment it
is heard. There is no sense of the word as something that is fi xed or objectifi ed.
Spoken words lack materiality. In order to keep an idea or an event alive, it must
constantly be shared and reiterated and passed down. The ethereal quality of
speech doesn’t allow for detached analysis. In a tribal age, hearing is believing.
McLuhan claimed that “primitive” people led richer and more complex lives
than their literate descendants because the ear, unlike the eye, encourages a more
holistic sense of the world. There is a deeper feeling of community and greater
awareness of the surrounding existence. The acoustic environment also fosters
more passion and spontaneity. In that world of surround sound, everything is
more immediate, more present, and more actual.
Then someone invented the alphabet.
2. The Age of Literacy: A Visual Point of View
Turning sounds into visible objects radically altered the symbolic environment.
Suddenly, the eye became the heir apparent. Hearing diminished in value and
quality. To disagree with this assessment merely illustrates McLuhan’s belief that
a private, left-brain “point of view” becomes possible in a world that encourages
the visual practice of reading texts.
Words fi xed on a page detach meaning from the immediacy of context. In
an acoustic environment, taking something out of context is nearly impossible.
In the age of literacy, it’s a reality. Both writer and reader are always separate
from the text. Words are no longer alive and immediate. They can be read and
reread. They can be thoroughly analyzed. Hearing no longer becomes trustworthy.
“Seeing it in writing” becomes proof that it’s true.
Literacy also jarred people out of collective tribal involvement into “civilized”
private detachment. Reading words, instead of hearing them, transforms group
members into individuals. Even though the words may be the same, the act of
reading a text is an individual one. It requires singular focus. A tribe no longer
needs to come together to get information. Proximity becomes less important.
McLuhan also claimed that the phonetic alphabet established the line as the
organizing principle in life. In writing, letter follows letter in a connected, orderly
line. Logic is modeled on that step-by-step linear progression. According to
McLuhan, when literate people say, “I don’t follow you,” they mean, “I don’t
think you are logical.” He alleged that the invention of the alphabet fostered the
sudden emergence of mathematics, science, and philosophy in ancient Greece.
He cited the political upheaval in colonial Africa as twentieth -century evidence
that literacy triggers an ear-to-eye switch that isolates the reader. When oppressed
people learned to read, they became independent thinkers.
Tribal age
An acoustic era; a time
of community because
the ear is the dominant
sense organ.
Literary age
A visual era; a time of
private detachment
because the eye is the
dominant sense organ.
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CHAPTER 25: MEDIA ECOLOGY 321
3. The Print Age: Prototype of the Industrial Revolution
If the phonetic alphabet made visual dependence possible, the printing press
made it widespread. In The Gutenberg Galaxy, McLuhan argued that the most
important aspect of movable type was its ability to reproduce the same text over
and over again, and a press run of 100,000 copies of Understanding Media suggests
he was right. Because the print revolution demonstrated mass production of
identical products, McLuhan called it the forerunner of the industrial revolution.
He saw other unintended side effects of Gutenberg’s invention. The homog-
enization of fl uid regional tongues into a fi xed national language was followed
closely by the rise of nationalism. Concurring with this new sense of unifi cation
was a countering sense of separation and aloneness.
Printing, a ditto device, confi rmed and extended the new visual stress. It created
the portable book, which men could read in privacy and in isolation from others. 7
Many libraries have the words “The truth will set you free” carved in stone
above the main entrance. 8 From McLuhan’s perspective, libraries provide readers
with the freedom to be alienated from others and from the immediacy of their
surroundings.
4. The Electronic Age: The Rise of the Global Village
With the tap-tap-tap of the telegraph, the power of the printed word lost its
bearings. Of course, Samuel Morse’s invention was only the fi rst of the
new electronic media devices that would make the corner Radio Shack seem, to
previous generations, like a magic shop.
Telegraph Radio Telephone
Film projector Phonograph TV
Photocopier Tape recorder Answering machine
VCR Computer CD
Cell phone Fax Video game
Internet DVD MP3 Smart phone Tablet
McLuhan insisted that electronic media are retribalizing the human race.
Instant communication has returned us to a pre-alphabetic oral tradition where
sound and touch are more important than sight. We’ve gone “back to the
future” to become a village unlike any other previous village. We’re now a
global village.
Electronic media bring us in touch with everyone, everywhere, instanta-
neously. Whereas the book extended the eye, electronic circuitry extends the
central nervous system. 9 Constant contact with the world becomes a daily reality.
All-at-once-ness is our state of being. Closed human systems no longer exist. The
rumble of empty stomachs in Bangladesh and of roadside bombs in Baghdad
vibrate in the living rooms of Boston. For us, the fi rst postliterate generation,
privacy is either a luxury or a curse of the past. The planet is like a general store
where nosy people keep track of everyone else’s business—a 12-way party line
or a “Dear Abby” column writ large. “The new tribalism is one where everyone’s
buiness is everyone else’s and where we all are somewhat testy.” 10 Citizens of
the world are back in acoustic space.
Print age
A visual era; mass-
produced books usher in
the industrial revolution
and nationalism, yet in-
dividuals are isolated.
Electronic age
An era of instant commu-
nication; a return to the
global village with all-at-
once sound and touch.
Global village
A worldwide electronic
community where every-
one knows everyone’s
business and all are
somewhat testy.
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322 MASS COMMUNICATION
Linear logic is useless in the electronic society McLuhan described. Acoustic
people no longer inquire, “Do you see my point?” Instead we ask, “How does
that grab you?” What we feel is more important than what we think.
5. The Digital Age? Rewiring the Global Village
When Wired, a magazine on digital culture, was launched in 1992, the editors declared
Marshall McLuhan the magazine’s “patron saint.” There was a sense that another
revolution was looming, and many returned to the words of McLuhan for guidance.
However, digital technology doesn’t pull the plug on the electronic age, because,
quite frankly, it still needs its power source. The digital age is wholly electronic.
With that said, there’s no doubt that the introduction of digital technology
is altering the electronic environment. The mass age of electronic media is
“You see, Dad, Professor McLuhan says the environment that man creates becomes his medium
for defining his role in it. The invention of type created linear, or sequential, thought,
separating thought from action. Now, with TV and folk singing, thought
and action are closer and social involvement is greater.
We again live in a village. Get it?”
© Alan Dunn/The New Yorker Collection/www.cartoonbank.com
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CHAPTER 25: MEDIA ECOLOGY 323
Digital age
A possible fifth era of spe-
cialized electronic tribes
contentious over diverse
beliefs and values.
becoming increasingly personalized. Instead of one unifi ed electronic tribe, we
have a growing number of digital tribes forming around the most specialized
ideas, beliefs, values, interests, and fetishes. Instead of mass consciousness, which
McLuhan viewed rather favorably, we have the emergence of a tribal warfare
mentality. Despite the contentious nature of this tribalization of differences, many
see benefi t in the resulting decentralization of power and control.
Were he alive today (he died in 1980), McLuhan undoubtedly would have
spotted other ways that digital media are altering our present environment.
And he would probably speculate on whether the electronic environment is the
destiny of humankind, or if there’s another media force waiting to upset the
ecology of the previous century.
ETHICAL REFLECTION: POSTMAN’S FAUSTIAN BARGAIN
McLuhan’s probes stimulated others to ponder whether specifi c media environments
were benefi cial or destructive for those immersed in them. Neil Postman founded
the media ecology program at New York University and was regarded by many as
McLuhan’s heir apparent. Like McLuhan, Postman believed that the forms of media
regulate and even dictate what kind of content the form of a given medium can
carry. 11 For example, smoke signals implicitly discourage philosophical argument.
Puffs of smoke are insuffi ciently complex to express ideas on the nature of exis-
tence and even if they were not, a Cherokee philosopher would run short of either
wood or blankets long before he reached his second axiom. You cannot use smoke
to do philosophy. Its form excludes the content. 12
But unlike McLuhan, Postman believed that the primary task of media ecology
is to make moral judgments. “To be quite honest about it,” he once proclaimed,
“I don’t see any point in studying media unless one does so within a moral or
ethical context.” 13
According to Postman, a new technology always presents us with a Faustian
bargain —a potential deal with the devil. As Postman was fond of saying, “Tech-
nology giveth and technology taketh away. . . . A new technology sometimes
creates more than it destroys. Sometimes, it destroys more than it creates. But it
is never one-sided.” 14 His media ecology approach asks, What are the moral impli-
cations of this bargain? Are the consequences more humanistic or antihumanistic? Do
we, as a society, gain more than we lose, or do we lose more than we gain?
As for television, Postman argued that society lost more than it gained. He
believed whatever advantages TV offers are more than offset by the fact that it
has led to the loss of serious public discourse. Television changes the form of
information “from discursive to nondiscursive, from propositional to presenta-
tional, from rationalistic to emotive.”15 He explicated this argument in his popu-
lar book Amusing Ourselves to Death, which argues that TV has transformed our
culture into one that is focused too heavily on entertainment.
Postman died in 2003, just before social media exploded in American culture.
Had he been here to witness this change, he could have easily cast his analysis
in terms of the Faustian bargain. Social media offers unprecedented opportunities
to maintain electronic connections with family and friends. At the same
time, relying on virtual interaction may sabotage the kind of intimacy that only
comes by being in the physical presence of others. Have we gained more than
we’ve lost?
Faustian bargain
A deal with the devil;
selling your soul for tem-
porary earthly gain.
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324 MASS COMMUNICATION
Like McLuhan, Postman preferred questions to answers, so it is fi tting that his
legacy be defi ned by three questions he urged us to ask about any new technology:
1. What is the problem to which this technology is a solution?
2. Whose problem is it, actually?
3. If there is a legitimate problem to be solved, what other problems will be
created by my using this technology?
Postman certainly considered these questions when he thought about the
coming age of computer technology. He questioned if we were yielding too eas-
ily to the “authority” of computation and the values of effi ciency and quantifi ca-
tion. He pondered whether the quest for technological progress was becoming
increasingly more important than being humane. He wondered if information
was an acceptable substitute for wisdom. While Postman was primarily con-
cerned with the ecology of television, his work set a precedent for considering
the moral consequences of all symbolic environments.
CRITIQUE: HOW COULD HE BE RIGHT? BUT WHAT IF HE WAS?
McLuhan likened himself to “Louis Pasteur telling doctors that their greatest
enemy is quite invisible, and quite unrecognized by them.” 16 Of course, the
major difference is that Pasteur was a scientist who ultimately gave tangible
evidence for his germ theory. The problem with McLuhan’s theory is that it sug-
gests objectivity without scientifi c evidence. In other words, he used the subjec-
tive approach to make objective claims.
McLuhan faced harsh criticism from the scholarly community. He was one
of the fi rst academic superstars of the TV era, so perhaps his enormous popular-
ity gave added impetus to critics’ scorn for his methods and message. The pages
of McLuhan: Hot & Cool and McLuhan: Pro & Con denounce his ideas and the
way he expressed them:
[McLuhan] prefers to rape our attention rather than seduce our understanding. 17
He has looted all culture from cave painting to Mad magazine for fragments to
shore up his system against ruin. 18
The style . . . is a viscous fog through which loom stumbling metaphors. 19
George Gordon, then chairman of the department of communication at
Fordham University, labeled McLuhan’s work “McLuhanacy” and dismissed it
as worthless. Gordon stated, “Not one bit of sustained and replicated scientifi c
evidence, inductive or deductive, has to date justifi ed any one of McLuhan’s
most famous slogans, metaphors, or dicta.” 20 Indeed, it is hard to know how one
could prove that the phonetic alphabet created Greek philosophy, that the print-
ing press fostered nationalism, or that television is a tactile medium.
It is also hard to say he was wrong, because it’s diffi cult to be certain what
he said. As a writer, McLuhan often abandoned the linearity and order that he
claimed were the legacy of print technology. As a speaker, he was superb at
crafting memorable phrases and 10-second sound bites, but his truths were
enigmatic and seldom woven into a comprehensive system. He preferred to
offer theoretical punch lines for people to accept or reject at face value.
A different attack on McLuhan comes from those who lament that he merely
explored rather than publicly deplored the effects of electronic media on public
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CHAPTER 25: MEDIA ECOLOGY 325
morals. His biographers agree that he held a deep faith in God as represented
by the Roman Catholic Church; he was well read in theology and attended Mass
almost every day. Yet he believed that as a professor, he should keep his per-
sonal beliefs private.21 In a letter to anthropologist Edward Hall, he wrote,
“I deliberately keep Christianity out of these discussions lest perception be
diverted from structural processes by doctrinal sectarian passions.”22 But as a
comment he made during a radio interview reveals, his scholarship informed his
faith and his faith informed his scholarship. “In Jesus Christ, there is no distance
or separation between the medium and the message: it is the one case where we
can say that the medium and the message are fully one and the same.”23
For those who regard falsifi ability as a mark of a good theory, McLuhan’s
leaps of faith make it diffi cult to take his ideas seriously. However, history is
littered with theories that were ahead of their time and couldn’t immediately be
tested. Journalist Tom Wolfe reverses the question: “What if he’s right? Suppose
he is what he sounds like, the most important thinker since Newton, Darwin,
Freud, Einstein and Pavlov?” 24
You might wonder how Wolfe could say McLuhan sounds like such an
important thinker when so many others have nothing but derisive comments to
offer. One answer to that question revolves around McLuhan’s habit of “explain-
ing” things that people already know to be true. He used his perspective to shed
light on all sorts of cultural phenomena that, while easy to observe, are no less
bewildering. These include the rise in drug abuse, shortened attention spans,
decline in standardized test scores, popularity of rock music and tattoos, and the
success and failure of specifi c political candidates. It’s diffi cult to deny the intu-
itive appeal of many of McLuhan’s explanations, even if that appeal is accom-
panied by a healthy dose of skepticism.
McLuhan’s historical analysis has heightened awareness of the possible cul-
tural effects of new media technologies. Other scholars have been more tempered
in their statements and more rigorous in their documentation, but none has
raised media consciousness to the level achieved by McLuhan with his catchy
statements and dramatic metaphors.
The late economist Kenneth Boulding, who headed the Institute of Behav-
ioral Sciences at the University of Colorado, captured both the pro and con reac-
tions to McLuhan by using a metaphor of his own: “It is perhaps typical of very
creative minds that they hit very large nails not quite on the head.” 25
1. What would McLuhan say about the impact of the Internet on the global village?
Consider the fact that civic, political, and religious participation are declining
in America. 26 Has electronic technology increased social connectedness?
2. How are portable media devices such as smart phones, iPads, and handheld
video games altering the media environment? How are these devices shaping
sensibilities?
3. Beyond changes in content, what are the differences in experiencing a book
and its translations into fi lm or television?
4. Can you conceive of any way that McLuhan’s idea of media ecology could be
proved false?
QUESTIONS TO SHARPEN YOUR FOCUS
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326 MASS COMMUNICATION
A SECOND LOOK Recommended resource: Marshall McLuhan, “ Playboy Interview: A Candid Conversa-
tion with the High Priest of Popcult and Metaphysician of Media,” March 1969, p. 53ff.
Reprinted in Essential McLuhan, Eric McLuhan and Frank Zingrone (eds.), BasicBooks,
New York, 1995, pp. 233–269.
McLuhan primer: Marshall McLuhan and Quentin Fiore, The Medium Is the Massage,
Gingko, Corte Madera, CA, 2005.
Impact of print media: Marshall McLuhan, The Gutenberg Galaxy, University of Toronto,
Toronto, 1962.
Impact of electronic media: Marshall McLuhan, Understanding Media, McGraw-Hill, New
York, 1964.
Impact of digital media à la McLuhan: Paul Levinson, Digital McLuhan: A Guide to the
Information Millennium, Routledge, London, 1999.
Early vs. late McLuhan: Bruce E. Gronbeck, “McLuhan as Rhetorical Theorist,” Journal
of Communication, Vol. 31, 1981, pp. 117–128.
Intellectual roots: Harold Innis, The Bias of Communication, University of Toronto,
Toronto, 1964.
Methodology: Paul Levinson, “McLuhan and Rationality,” Journal of Communication,
Vol. 31, 1981, pp. 179–188.
Scientifi c claims: Marshall McLuhan and Eric McLuhan, Laws of Media: The New Science,
University of Toronto, Toronto, 1988.
Recent scholarship: Eric McLuhan and Marshall McLuhan, Theories of Communication,
Peter Lang, New York, 2010.
Rethinking McLuhan through critical theory: Paul Grosswiler, Method Is the Message,
Black Rose, Montreal, 1998.
Postmodern connections: Gary Genosko, “McLuhan’s Legacy of Indiscipline,” in Undis-
ciplined Theory, Sage, London, 1998, pp. 154–182.
Brief interpretive biography: Douglas Coupland, Extraordinary Canadians: Marshall
McLuhan, Penguin, Viking Canada, 2010.
Legacy of McLuhan: Lance Strate and Edward Wachtel (eds.), The Legacy of McLuhan,
Hampton, Cresskill, NJ, 2005, Chapters 1–4.
Neil Postman’s ethical view of new media: Neil Postman, Amusing Ourselves to Death:
Public Discourse in the Age of Show Business, Viking, NY, 1985; Neil Postman, Technopoly:
The Surrender of Culture to Technology, Knopf, New York, 1992.
Critique: Gerald Stearn (ed.), McLuhan: Hot & Cool, Dial, New York, 1967.
Do we respond to people and digital media in the same way?
Click on The Media Equation in Archive
under Theory Resources at
www.afi rstlook.com.
www.mhhe.com/griffi n9eSELF-QUIZ
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327
26C H A P T E R
Semiotics
of Roland Barthes
French literary critic and semiologist Roland Barthes (rhymes with “smart”)
wrote that for him, semiotics was not a cause, a science, a discipline, a school, a
movement, nor presumably even a theory. “It is,” he claimed, “an adventure.” 1
The goal of semiotics is interpreting both verbal and nonverbal signs . The verbal
side of the fi eld is called linguistics. Barthes, however, was mainly interested in
the nonverbal side—multifaceted visual signs just waiting to be read. Barthes
held the chair of literary semiology at the College of France when he was struck
and killed by a laundry truck in 1980. In his highly regarded book Mythologies ,
Barthes sought to decipher the cultural meaning of a wide variety of visual
signs—from sweat on the faces of actors in the fi lm Julius Caesar to a magazine
photograph of a young African soldier saluting the French fl ag.
Unlike most intellectuals, Barthes frequently wrote for the popular press
and occasionally appeared on television to comment on the foibles of the
French middle class. His academic colleagues found his statements witty, dis-
turbing, fl ashy, overstated, or profound—but never dull. He obviously made
them think. With the exception of Aristotle, the four-volume International Ency-
clopedia of Communication refers to Barthes more than to any other theorist in
this book. 2
Semiology (or semiotics, as it is better known in America) is concerned with
anything that can stand for something else. Italian semiologist and novelist Umberto
Eco has a clever way of expressing that focus. Semiotics, he says, is “the disci-
pline studying everything which can be used in order to lie, because if some-
thing cannot be used to tell a lie, conversely it cannot be used to tell the truth;
it cannot, in fact, be used to tell at all.” 3 Barthes was interested in signs that are
seemingly straightforward but that subtly communicate ideological or connota-
tive meaning and perpetuate the dominant values of society. As such, they are
deceptive.
Barthes was a mercurial thinker who changed his mind about the way signs
work more than once over the course of his career. Yet most current practitioners
of semiotics follow the basic analytical concepts of his original theory. His
approach provides great insight into the use of signs, particularly those chan-
neled through the mass media.
Semiotics (semiology)
The study of the social
production of meaning
from sign systems;
the analysis of anything
that can stand for
something else.
Objective Interpretive
Semiotic tradition
●
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328 MASS COMMUNICATION
Barthes initially described his semiotic theory as an explanation of myth . He later
substituted the term connotation to label the ideological baggage that signs carry
wherever they go, and most students of Barthes’ work regard connotation as a
better word choice to convey his true concern.
Barthes’ theory of connotative meaning won’t make sense to us, however,
unless we fi rst understand the way he viewed the structure of signs. His think-
ing was strongly infl uenced by the work of Swiss linguist Ferdinand de Sau-
ssure, who coined the term semiology and advocated its study. 4 To illustrate
Barthes’ core principles I’ll feature portions of his essay on professional wrestling
entertainment.
1. A Sign Is the Combination of Its Signifier and Signified
The distinction between signifi er and signifi ed can be seen in Barthes’ graphic
description of the body of a French wrestler who was selected by the promoter
because he typifi ed the repulsive slob:
As soon as the adversaries are in the ring, the public is overwhelmed with the obvi-
ousness of the roles. As in the theatre, each physical type expresses to excess the
part which has been assigned to the contestant. Thauvin, a fi fty-year-old with an
obese and sagging body . . . displays in his fl esh the characters of baseness. . . .
The physique of the wrestlers therefore constitutes a basic sign, which like a seed
contains the whole fi ght. 5
According to Barthes, the image of the wrestler’s physique is the signifi er . The
concept of baseness is the signifi ed . The combination of the two—the villainous
body—is the sign .
This way of defi ning a sign differs from our customary use of the word. We
would probably say the wrestler’s body is a sign of his baseness—or whatever
else comes to mind. But Barthes considered the wrestler’s body just part of the
overall sign; it’s the signifi er. The other part is the concept of hideous baseness.
The signifi er isn’t a sign of the signifi ed. Rather, they work together in an insep-
arable bond to form a unifi ed sign.
Barthes’ description of a sign as the correlation between the signifi er and the
signifi ed came directly from Saussure. The Swiss linguist visualized a sign as a
piece of paper with writing on both sides—the signifi er on one side, the signifi ed
on the other. If you cut off part of one side, an equal amount of the other side
automatically goes with it.
Using a similar metaphor, I see signs as coins. For example, the image of
a country’s president is stamped on the “heads” side of a gold coin—the signi-
fi er. It’s only on the fl ip side of the coin that we see its value in the United
States of America is $1—the signifi ed. The signifi er and the signifi ed can’t be
separated. They are combined in our reference to that monetary sign as a U.S.
gold dollar.
Is there any logical connection between the image of the signifi er and the
content of the signifi ed? Saussure insisted the relationship is arbitrary—one of
correlation rather than cause and effect. Barthes wasn’t so sure. He was willing
to grant the claim of Saussure that words have no inherent meaning. For exam-
ple, there is nothing about the word referee that makes it stand for the third party
Myth
The connotative meaning
that signs carry wherever
they go; myth makes
what is cultural seem
natural.
Sign
The inseparable combi-
nation of the signifier
and the signified.
Signifier
The physical form of the
sign as we perceive it
through our senses; an
image.
Signified
The meaning we associ-
ate with the sign.
WRESTLING WITH SIGNS
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CHAPTER 26: SEMIOTICS 329
in the ring who is inept at making Thauvin follow the rules. But nonverbal sig-
nifi ers seem to have a natural affi nity with their signifi eds. Barthes noted that
Thauvin’s body was so repugnant that it provoked nausea. He classifi ed the
relationship between signifi ers and signifi eds as “quasi-arbitrary.” After all,
Thauvin really did strike the crowd as vileness personifi ed.
2. A Sign Does Not Stand on Its Own: It Is Part of a System
Barthes entitled his essay “The World of Wrestling” because, like all other semi-
otic systems, wrestling creates its own separate world of interrelated signs:
Each moment in wrestling is therefore like an algebra which instantaneously unveils
the relationship between a cause and its represented effect. Wrestling fans certainly
experience a kind of intellectual pleasure in seeing the moral mechanism function so
perfectly. . . . A wrestler can irritate or disgust, he never disappoints, for he always
accomplishes completely, by a progressive solidifi cation of signs, what the public
expects of him. 6
Barthes noted that the grapplers’ roles are tightly drawn. There is little room
for innovation; the men in the ring work within a closed system of signs. By
responding to the unwavering expectation of the crowd, the wrestlers are as
much spectators as the fans who cheer or jeer on cue.
Wrestling is just one of many semiotic systems. Barthes also explored the
cultural meaning of designer clothes, French cooking, automobiles, Japanese
gift giving, household furniture, urban layout, and public displays of sexuality.
He attempted to defi ne and classify the features common to all semiotic sys-
tems. This kind of structural analysis is called taxonomy , and Barthes’ book
Elements of Semiology is a “veritable frenzy of classifi cations.” 7 Barthes later
admitted that his taxonomy “risked being tedious,” but the project strength-
ened his conviction that all semiotic systems function the same way, despite
their apparent diversity.
Barthes believed that the signifi cant semiotic systems of a culture lock in the
status quo. The mythology that surrounds a society’s crucial signs displays the
world as it is today—however chaotic and unjust—as natural, inevitable, and eter-
nal . The function of myth is to bless the mess. We now turn to Barthes’ theory
of connotation, or myth, which suggests how a seemingly neutral or inanimate
sign can accomplish so much.
THE YELLOW RIBBON TRANSFORMATION: FROM FORGIVENESS TO PRIDE
According to Barthes, not all semiological systems are mythic. Not every sign
carries ideological baggage. How is it that one sign can remain emotionally neu-
tral  while other signs acquire powerful infl ections or connotations that suck
people into a specifi c worldview? Barthes contended that a mythic or connotative
system is a second-order semiological system —built off a preexisting sign system.
The sign of the fi rst system becomes the signifi er of the second. A concrete exam-
ple will help us understand Barthes’ explanation.
In an American Journal of Semiotics article, Donald and Virginia Fry of
Emerson College examined the widespread American practice of displaying
yellow ribbons during the 1980 Iranian hostage crisis, 8 which began with the
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330 MASS COMMUNICATION
storming of the U.S. embassy vividly portrayed in the Academy Award–winning
fi lm Argo. They traced the transformation of this straightforward yellow symbol
into an ideological sign. Americans’ lavish display of yellow ribbons during Oper-
ation Desert Storm in 1991 and the occupation of Iraq that began in 2003 adds a
new twist to the Frys’ analysis. I’ll update their yellow ribbon example to illus-
trate Barthes’ semiotic theory.
“Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Ole Oak Tree” was the best-selling pop song
of 1972 in the United States. 9 Sung by Tony Orlando and Dawn, the lyrics express
the thoughts of a convict in prison who is writing to the woman he loves. After
three years in jail, the man is about to be released and will travel home by bus.
Fearing her possible rejection, he devises a plan that will give her a way to signal
her intentions without the potential embarrassment of a face-to-face confrontation.
Since he’ll be able to see the huge oak planted in front of her house when
the bus passes through town, he asks her to use the tree as a message board. If
she still loves him, wants him back, and can overlook the past, she should tie a
yellow ribbon around the trunk of the tree. He will know that all is forgiven and
join her in rebuilding a life together. But if this bright sign of reconciliation isn’t
there, he’ll stay on the bus, accept the blame for a failed relationship, and try to
get on with his life without her.
The yellow ribbon is obviously a sign of acceptance, but one not casually
offered. There’s a taint on the relationship, hurts to be healed. Donald and Vir-
ginia Fry labeled the original meaning of the yellow ribbon in the song as “for-
giveness of a stigma.”
Yellow ribbons in 1991 continued to carry a “we want you back” message
when U.S. armed forces fought in Operation Desert Storm. Whether tied to trees,
worn in hair, or pinned to lapels, yellow ribbons still proclaimed, “Welcome
home.” But there was no longer any sense of shameful acts to be forgiven or
disgrace to be overcome. Vietnam was ancient history and America was the
leader of the “new world order.” Hail the conquering heroes.
The mood surrounding the yellow ribbon had become one of triumph, pride,
and even arrogance. After all, hadn’t we intercepted Scud missiles in the air,
guided “smart bombs” into air-conditioning shafts, and “kicked Saddam
Hussein’s butt across the desert”? People were swept up in a tide of “yellow
fever.” More than 90 percent of U.S. citizens approved of America’s actions in
the Persian Gulf. The simple yellow ribbon of personal reconciliation now served
as a blatant sign of nationalism.
The yellow-ribbon sign functioned the same way for about
three years after the 2003 U.S. invasion of Iraq, which was the
centerpiece of America’s “War on Terror.” Millions of citizens
displayed yellow-ribbon decals and magnets on their cars and
trucks that urged all to “Support Our Troops.” The ribbon called
up feelings of national pride and memories of the shock-and-
awe attack on Baghdad that had squashed immediate resistance;
Saddam Hussein had been driven from offi ce, his statue top-
pled; democracy was being established; and President George
W. Bush had dramatically landed a fi ghter jet on an aircraft
carrier proclaiming “Mission Accomplished.” The yellow ribbon
continued to signify that the soldiers’ return would be joyous,
but its message held no sense of shame. What had originally signifi ed forgive-
ness of a stigma now symbolized pride in victory.
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CHAPTER 26: SEMIOTICS 331
THE MAKING OF MYTH: STRIPPING THE SIGN OF ITS HISTORY
According to Barthes’ theory, the shift from “forgiveness of stigma” to “pride in
victory” followed a typical semiotic pattern. Figure 26–1 shows how it’s done.
Barthes claimed that every ideological sign is the result of two intercon-
nected sign systems. The fi rst system represented by the smaller coins is strictly
descriptive—the signifi er image and the signifi ed concept combining to produce
a denotative sign. The three elements of the sign system based on the “Tie a
Yellow Ribbon . . .” lyrics are marked with Arabic numerals on the three images
of the smaller coins. The three segments of the connotative system are marked
with Roman numerals on the images of the larger coins. Note that the sign of
the fi rst system does double duty as the signifi er of the Iraqi war connotative
system. According to Barthes, this lateral shift, or connotative sidestep, is the key
to transforming a neutral sign into an ideological tool. Follow his thinking step-
by-step through the diagram.
The signifi er (1) of the denotative sign system is the image of a yellow ribbon
that forms in the mind of the person who hears the 1972 song. The content of the
signifi ed (2) includes the stigma that comes from the conviction of a crime, a term
in jail, the prisoner’s willingness to take responsibility for the three-year separa-
tion, and the explosive release of tension when the Greyhound passengers cheer
Denotative sign system
A descriptive sign with-
out ideological content.
FIGURE 26–1 Connotation as a Second-Order Semiotic System
Based on Barthes, “Myth Today”
D
E
N
O
TA
T
IV
E
S
Y
S
T
E
M
C
O
N
N
O
TA
T
IV
E
S
Y
S
T
E
M
Welcome-home
yellow ribbon
(forgiveness
of stigma)
Guided smart bombs
Intercepted Scud missiles
Shock and awe
Toppled Saddam
Mission accomplished
Welcome-home
yellow ribbon
(pride in victory)
Convicted
Prison term
Repentant
Forgiven
Relief
1.
Signifier
3. Sign
2.
Signified
I. SIGNIFIER
II. SIGNIFIED
III. SIGN
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332 MASS COMMUNICATION
at the sight of the oak tree awash in yellow ribbons. The corresponding denotative
sign (3) is “forgiveness of a stigma.” For those who heard the song on the radio,
the yellow-ribbon sign spoke for itself. It was a sign rich in regret and relief.
Current usage takes over the sign of the denotative system and makes it the
signifi er (I) of a secondary (connotative) system. The “welcome-home” yellow
ribbon is paired with the mythic content of a signifi ed (II) that shouts to the
world, “Our technology can beat up your technology.” But as the symbol of
the yellow ribbon is expropriated to support the myth of American nationalism,
the sign loses its historical grounding.
As a mere signifi er of the connotative sign system , the yellow ribbon is no
longer rooted in the details of the song. It ceases to stand for three years of hard
time in prison, repentance, wrongdoing, or forgiveness that gains meaning
because there is so much to be forgiven. Now in the service of the mythic semi-
otic system, the yellow ribbon becomes empty and timeless, a form without
substance. But according to Barthes, the meaning of the original denotative sign
is not completely lost:
The essential point in all this is that the form does not suppress the meaning, it only
impoverishes it, it puts it at a distance. . . . One believes that the meaning is going
to die, but it is a death with reprieve; the meaning loses its value, but keeps its life,
from which . . . the myth will draw its nourishment. 10
In the connotative system, the generalized image of a yellow ribbon is now
paired with the signifi ed content of victory in the Iraqi wars as seen on television.
But since the signifi er can’t call up a historical or cultural past, the mythic sign (III)
of which it is a part carries the “crust of falsity.” 11 For example, there was no sense
of American culpability in supplying arms to Saddam Hussein until he invaded
Kuwait, no confession that a post-war plan for peace hadn’t been prepared, and no
shame for allowing the abuse of prisoners at Abu Ghraib. And since mythic com-
munication is unable to imagine anything alien, novel, or other, the sign sweeps
away second thoughts about civilian deaths in Baghdad. The transformed yellow
ribbon is now a lofty sign that allows no room for nagging doubts that love of oil
may have been our country’s prime motivation for championing the United Nations’
“humanitarian” intervention.
As a semiologist who relished uncovering the ideological subtext in appar-
ently straightforward signs, Barthes might also note that the support-our-troops
yellow ribbon is not merely an appeal to write encouraging letters, pray for
their safety, and praise them for their service when they come home. In effect,
the exhortation makes it unpatriotic to openly criticize George W. Bush’s deci-
sion to invade Iraq. The juxtaposition of yellow ribbons with Bush-Cheney
bumper stickers prior to the 2004 election, as well as the conservative stance
of websites selling the magnets, makes it clear that these are not neutral
denotative signs.
Connotative sign system
A mythic sign that has
lost its historical referent;
form without substance.
UNMASKING THE MYTH OF A HOMOGENEOUS SOCIETY
Barthes was convinced that only those with semiotic savvy can spot the hollow-
ness of connotative signs. For most Americans, the yellow ribbon will continue
to elicit an unrefl ective “we’re number one” feeling of national pride. Of course,
it goes without saying that people will love their country. But that’s precisely
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CHAPTER 26: SEMIOTICS 333
the problem with mythic signs. They go without saying . They don’t explain, they
don’t defend, and they certainly don’t raise questions. So it’s up to the semiolo-
gist to expose or deconstruct the mythic system.
Throughout his life, Roland Barthes deciphered and labeled the ideologies
foisted upon naïve consumers of images. Although the starting-point signifi ers
varied, Barthes concluded that society’s connotative spin always ends up the
same. Mythic signs reinforce the dominant values of their culture. For example, the
wrestling match we examined earlier seems at fi rst glance to be no more than a
harmless Saturday night diversion. Under Barthes’ watchful eye, however, it was
the site of dangerous mythmaking. He explained that the honorable wrestler’s
eventual triumph over the rule-breaking villain signifi es a make-believe ideology
of pure “justice.” The “good guys win” simplicity of the spectacle provides false
comfort for an audience that lives in a world of dubious morality and inherent
inequality.
According to Barthes, ideological signs enlist support for the status quo by
trans forming history into nature—pretending that current conditions are the
natural order of things. As with the ribbons and the wrestling match, everything
that is personal, conditional, cultural, and temporal disappears. We are left with
Deconstruction
The process of unmask-
ing contradictions within
a text; debunking.
Ideology
Knowledge presented as
common sense or natu-
ral, especially when its
social construction is
ignored or suppressed.
© Roz Chast/The New Yorker Collection/www.cartoonbank.com
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334 MASS COMMUNICATION
a sign that makes the world seem inevitable and eternal. Barthes’ analysis calls
to mind the fi nal words of the “Gloria Patri,” a choral response that many Chris-
tians sing in worship:
As it was in the beginning,
Is now and ever shall be,
World without end. Amen. Amen.
For believers, singing these words about anything or anyone but God would be
unthinkable. Barthes wouldn’t grant even that exception. All his semiotic efforts
were directed at unmasking what he considered the heresy of those who con-
trolled the images of society—the naturalizing of history.
THE SEMIOTICS OF MASS COMMUNICATION: “I’D LIKE TO BE LIKE MIKE”
Like wrestlers and ribbons, most semiotic signs gain cultural prominence when
broadcast through the electronic and print media. Because signs—as well as
issues of power and dominance—are integral to mass communication, Barthes’
semiotic analysis has become a seminal media theory. As Kyong Kim, author of
a book on semiotics, concludes:
Information delivered by mass media is no longer information. It is a commodity
saturated by fantasized themes. Mass audiences are nothing more than consumers
of such commodities. One should not forget that, unlike nature, the media’s reality
is always political. The mass signifi cation arising in response to signs pouring from
the mass media is not a natural process. Rather it is an artifi cial effect calculated
and induced by the mass media to achieve something else. 12
The advertisements that make commercial television so profi table also
create layers of connotation that reaffi rm the status quo. During the 1998 NBA
playoffs, one of the most frequently aired spots featured Chicago Bulls’ super-
star Michael Jordan slam-dunking the basketball over a variety of helpless
defenders. He then gulps down Gatorade while a host of celebrity and everyday
admirers croon his praises. The most memorable of these adoring fans is a
preschool African American boy, who stares up in awe at the towering Jordan.
“Sometimes I dream,” we hear him sing, “that he is me.” He really wants to be
like Mike.
Obviously, the commercial is designed to sell Gatorade by linking it to the
virtually unlimited achievement of basketball’s greatest player. To partake of this
liquid is to reach for the stars. In that sense, the little boy, rather than MJ himself,
becomes the spot’s crucial sign. Within this denotative system, the youngster’s
rapt gaze is the signifi er, and his dream of becoming a famous athlete is the
signifi ed. The resultant denotative sign—a look of yearning—has the potential
to move cartons of Gatorade off the shelf. But as the signifi er of a secondary
connotative system, it has greater cultural impact.
At the connotative level, the original “look of yearning” suggests a new
second-order signifi ed—a more general kind of dreaming about one’s future in
which the ad’s audience is invited to participate. Viewers are encouraged to wish
for careers and goals that are virtually unattainable, even in the best of circum-
stances. The CEO of Microsoft, the conductor of the New York Philharmonic,
Hollywood’s greatest star, the president of the United States, and the world’s
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CHAPTER 26: SEMIOTICS 335
leading AIDS researcher constitute the lofty heights surveyed by the gaze that the
connotative shift implies.
With its attractive visuals, uplifting soundtrack, and good-natured humor, the
commercial functions as a glorifi cation of unfulfi lled desire , the very essence of its
second-order sign. This is America, after all, so think big, aim high, and don’t be
satisfi ed with anything but the top. Do what it takes—and purchase what is
required—to be the very best. Ideologically speaking, it is this kind of naturalized
longing that enslaves the average citizen and fuels the capitalist system. Although
the commercial evokes a warm, fuzzy reaction from the viewer, it surreptitiously
enforces our fundamental cultural myths about unlimited possibilities for success,
myths that—according to Barthes—maintain the dominance of those who hold the
reins of commerce and power.
Furthermore, Barthes would no doubt seek to expose the semiotic sleight of
hand that subtly drains the second-order connotative system of the historical
reality implicit in the original sign. At this denotative level, the African American
boy’s fi xation with MJ is necessarily embedded in a long history of racial injus-
tice and economic hardship. Michael Jordan’s accomplishments, as well as the
dream of his pint-sized fan, exist in a world in which African Americans must
strive particularly hard to succeed. As the documentary Hoop Dreams brilliantly
portrays, the desire-fi lled faces of the kids who populate the rough basketball
courts of urban America also refl ect the poverty, substance abuse, shattered
families, and harsh, big-city surroundings that constantly threaten to engulf
them. Nonetheless, the yearning connoted by the second-order system gener-
ated by the commercial is utterly stripped of this rather grim social reality. The
boy, his life, and his dream are deftly co-opted by the system. Or so Barthes
would argue.
Katherine, a student who read the semiotic analysis above, was inspired to look
for another connotative sign system involving Michael Jordan and his admirers.
Michael Jordan played most of his games (especially his slam dunks) with
his mouth hanging wide and his tongue wagging. This came to signify talent,
expectation of greatness, and pride. Jordan wannabes across the country picked
up this little quirk. For them, keeping their mouth open signifi es Michael Jordan
and, therefore, being cool, talented, and better than everyone else. The image of
superiority, however, is not derived from any comparable history of success or
talent of their own; it’s based on myth.
She could have added that since his retirement from the Bulls in 1999, some
less talented NBA players have adopted the Jordanesque tongue wag to signal
great skill when sinking even a routine shot.
SEMIOTICS GOES TO THE MOVIES
More than 100 years ago, when Ferdinand de Saussure was describing a sign as
the combination of the signifi er and signifi ed, American philosopher Charles Sand-
ers Peirce (pronounced “purse“) was independently developing his own model
of how signs work. Similar to Barthes, but unlike Saussure whose concern was
with spoken and written words, Peirce included nonverbal signs in his semiotic
theorizing right from the start. He classifi ed signs by type based on their relation-
ship to what they represent.
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336 MASS COMMUNICATION
CRITIQUE: DO MYTHIC SIGNS ALWAYS REAFFIRM THE STATUS QUO?
Symbolic signs bear no resemblance to the objects to which they refer. The
association is arbitrary and must be learned within the culture as a matter of con-
vention. Examples: almost all words; mathematical symbols; the meaning of a red
light on a traffi c signal; a yellow ribbon.
Iconic signs have a perceived resemblance with the objects they portray. They
look, sound, taste, smell, or feel similar to their referents. Examples: cartoon art;
metaphors; onomatopoeic words like slush or ring; shadows; a wrestler’s ignoble
body.
Indexical signs are directly connected with their referents spatially, temporally,
or by cause and effect. Like an index fi nger, they point to the object, action, or
idea to which they refer. Examples: smoke as a sign of fi re; fever as a sign of
illness; a wind sock as a sign of the direction and speed of the wind; a wrinkled
brow as a sign of confusion.
Cinesemiotics, a branch of semiotics that informs fi lmmaking, draws upon
Peirce’s distinctions among signs.13 Symbolic signs are usually quite obvious—
religious fi lms that use the sign of the cross; courtroom dramas that show the
scales of justice; adventure thrillers that quickly train audiences to associate a
particular musical score with impending disaster. (Zombie movies, anyone?)
Directors known for realism draw upon signs that index, but fi lm them spar-
ingly. They foreground natural scenes and actions rather than scripted images.
Their aim is for the fi lm to reveal the world as it is rather than for what it signi-
fi es. They believe that indexical connections should be captured rather than
created or contrived. That way the movie evokes reality instead of an imaginary
world. The fi lm classic Bicycle Thieves exemplifi es the use of indexical signs.
Expressionistic directors use iconic signs to create a fantasy world of their own
choosing. When artfully done, the choices they make present an interpretation of
life that’s diffi cult for viewers to resist. The fi lm Avatar did this well. Not many
viewers left the theater convinced that the need for minerals justifi ed displacing
or dispatching human beings.
Roland Barthes’ semiotics fulfi lls fi ve of the criteria of a good interpretive theory
(see Chapter 3) exceedingly well. His qualitative analyses of middle-class values
and practices are fascinating and well-written. As readers of his essays, we
chuckle with new understanding at how consumers of mediated images are
taken in, and only belatedly realize that Barthes was describing us. More than
most interpretive scholars, Barthes intended that this new realization would
inoculate us against being sucked into thinking that life should not, and could
not, be altered. He wanted to change the world.
When it comes to the good-theory standard of a community of agreement,
however, semiotics doesn’t quite deliver. Barthes spoke and wrote for wide audi-
ences, so he can’t be accused of presenting his ideas only to true believers. But
are connotative systems always ideological, and do they inevitably uphold the
values of the dominant class? Many who study the theory are dubious. For them,
Barthes’ monolithic Marxist approach to mythmaking borders on being a con-
spiracy theory. These critics are unwilling to accept the idea that all represen-
tation is a capitalistic plot, or that familiar visual signs can’t be used to promote
resistance to dominant cultural values.
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CHAPTER 26: SEMIOTICS 337
Perhaps there are signifi cant semiotic systems that suggest divergent per-
spectives or support alternative voices. University of Pennsylvania political
scientist Anne Norton expands Barthes’ semiotic approach to account for other
possibilities. For example, she argues that Madonna’s MTV persona signifi es
an autonomous, independent sexuality that inspires young girls to control—
rather than be controlled by—their environment. 14 In the same vein, UCLA
media scholar Douglas Kellner suggests that Madonna’s provocative outfi ts
and unabashed eroticism may seem at fi rst glance to reinforce traditionally
patriarchal views of women, but her onstage character refi gures her body  as
“the means to her wealth” and recasts her sexuality as “a form of feminine
power.” 15
Or consider Lauren’s faithful application of Barthes’ theory to her own self-
presentation. Does the semiotic shift she describes below reinforce the dominant
values of our society?
My senior year in high school, I thought classmates with a lanyard hanging out of
their pocket were very cool. In this denotative sign system, the signifi er was the
lanyard itself. To me, it signifi ed that the guy or gal had a set of car keys and rich
parents. Or perhaps the lanyard advertised acceptance at a great college or deep
attachment to a successful sports team. Any of these things meant the person was
popular.
Here at Wheaton I’ve decided to sport a lanyard from Honey Rock, where I
counseled last summer. For me the signifi er of the secondary connotative sign sys-
tem is the cool lanyard of status, which was the sign of the denotative system. The
signifi ed is higher self-esteem and popularity. I realize that in this connotative
system the sign has lost its history. I don’t have a car or a record of great achieve-
ment, so I just attach the lanyard to my wallet. But I feel the epitome of cool when
I see my shadow with the prestigious loop swinging as I walk from my apartment
to campus.
Whether or not we accept Barthes’ claim that all connotative signs reinforce
dominant values, his semiotic approach to imagery remains a core theoretical
perspective for a wide variety of communication scholars, particularly those who
emphasize media and culture. For example, cultural studies guru Stuart Hall
builds directly on Barthes’ analysis of myth to establish his critique of the “hege-
monic” effects of mass communication. 16 Hall’s innovative analysis, though,
deserves a chapter all its own.
QUESTIONS TO SHARPEN YOUR FOCUS
1. What are the signifi er and signifi ed of an engagement ring? Can you think of
a way that this sign has already been stripped of history ?
2. Why did Barthes think it was crucial to unmask or deconstruct the original
denotation of a sign?
3. Identify two or more distinct nonverbal signifi ers from different reality TV
shows that have basically the same signifi ed—“You’re out of here.”
4. “It’s not over ’til the fat lady sings”: what are the denotative signifi er,
signifi ed, and sign to which this statement originally referred? When spoken
about a baseball game, what connotative shift has altered the meaning of the
original sign?
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338 MASS COMMUNICATION
A SECOND LOOK Recommended resource: Roland Barthes, Mythologies , Annette Lavers (trans.), Hill and
Wang, New York, 1972, especially “The World of Wrestling” and “Myth Today,” pp. 15–25,
109–159.
Barthes’ structuralism : Annette Lavers, Roland Barthes: Structuralism and After , Harvard
University, Cambridge, MA, 1982.
Essays on semiotics : Roland Barthes, The Semiotic Challenge , Richard Howard (trans.),
Hill and Wang, New York, 1988.
Saussure on signs: Ferdinand de Saussure, A Course in General Linguistics, McGraw-
Hill, New York, 1966.
Introduction to semiotics: Daniel Chandler, Semiotics: The Basics, 2nd ed., Routledge,
London, 2002.
Intermediate semiotics: Kyong Kim, Caged in Our Own Signs: A Book About Semiotics ,
Ablex, Norwood, NJ, 1996.
Applied semiotics: Wendy Leeds-Hurwitz, Semiotics and Communication: Signs, Codes,
Cultures, Lawrence Erlbaum, Hillsdale, NJ, 1993.
Yellow ribbon in a second-order semiotic system: Donald Fry and Virginia Fry, “Continu-
ing the Conversation Regarding Myth and Culture: An Alternative Reading of Barthes,”
American Journal of Semiotics, Vol. 6, No. 2/3, 1989, pp. 183–197.
Autobiography : Roland Barthes by Roland Barthes, Richard Howard (trans)., Hill and Wang,
New York, 1977.
Barthes’ critique of his own theory: Roland Barthes, “Inaugural Lecture, College de France,”
in A Barthes Reader, Susan Sontag (ed.), Hill and Wang, New York, 1982, pp. 457–478.
Barthes’ Semiotics is a theory about connotation. To access
a theory on denotation, click on General Semantics in
Archive under Theory Resources at
www.afi rstlook.com.
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339
27C H A P T E R
Cultural Studies
of Stuart Hall
Stuart Hall was a Jamaican-born emeritus professor of sociology at the Open
University in the U.K. He died in February of 2014. In previous pages you read
about the ideas of the Frankfurt School sociologists, Stanley Deetz, and Roland
Barthes (see Chapters 4, 21, and 26). Hall joins this group of critical scholars who
attack “mainstream” communication research that is empirical, quantitative, and
narrowly focused on discovering cause-and-effect relationships. In particular,
Hall doubted social scientists’ ability to fi nd useful answers to important questions
about media infl uence. He rejected the “body counts” of survey research, which
are “consistently translating matters that have to do with signifi cation, meaning,
language, and symbolization into crude behavioral indicators.” For Hall, the
question is not what percentage of Americans now favor Obamacare—a law that
provides affordable insurance for 32 million previously uninsured U.S. citizens.
Rather, the critical issue is how the media swayed public opinion after the law
passed, so that only 42 percent of the nation favored the law just before the Fall
2013 website registration fi asco put the program in jeopardy.1
Objective Interpretive

Critical tradition
●
CULTURAL STUDIES VERSUS MEDIA STUDIES: AN IDEOLOGICAL DIFFERENCE
Hall believed the mass media maintain the dominance of those already in posi-
tions of power. Broadcast and print outlets serve the Warren Buffetts, Michael
Bloombergs, and Bill Gateses of this world. Conversely, the media exploit the poor
and powerless. Hall charged that the fi eld of communication continues to be
“stubbornly sociologically innocent.” He was “deeply suspicious of and hostile
to empirical work that has no ideas because that simply means that it does not
know the ideas it has.”2 Noncritical researchers represent their work as pure sci-
ence with no presuppositions, but every media theory by its very nature has
ideological content. Hall defi ned ideologies as “the mental frameworks—the lan-
guages, the concepts, categories, imagery of thought, and the representation—
which different classes and social groups deploy in order to make sense of, defi ne,
fi gure out and render intelligible the way society works.”3 Most of us are unaware
of our ideologies and the tremendous impact they can have on our lives.
As for mainstream mass communication research in the United States, Hall
believed that it serves the myth of democratic pluralism —the pretense that society
is held together by common norms, including equal opportunity, respect for
Ideology
The mental frameworks
different classes and
social groups deploy in
order to make sense of
the way society works.
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340 MASS COMMUNICATION
diversity, one person–one vote, individual rights, and rule of law. The usual
fi nding that media messages have little effect celebrates the political claim that
democracy works. Such research claims that the American dream has been
empirically verifi ed, and science beckons developing countries to become “fully
paid-up members of the consensus club.”
Hall believed that typical research on individual voting behavior, brand loy-
alty, or response to dramatic violence fails to uncover the struggle for power that
the media mask. He thought it was a mistake to treat communication as a separate
academic discipline (a view that may or may not endear him to your instructor).
Academic isolation tends to separate messages from the culture they inhabit:
All the repetition and incantation of the sanitized term information , with its cleans-
ing cybernetic properties, cannot wash away or obliterate the fundamentally dirty,
semiotic, semantic, discursive character of the media in their cultural dimensions. 4
Therefore, Hall referred to his work as cultural studies rather than media studies,
and in the 1970s he directed the Center for Contemporary Cultural Studies
(CCCS) at the University of Birmingham in the U.K. Under Hall, the staff and
graduate students at CCCS sought to articulate their perceptions of the cultural
struggle between the haves and the have-nots. Hall used the term articulate in
the dual sense of speaking out on oppression and linking that subjugation with
the communication media because they provide the terrain where meaning is
shaped. He said he didn’t seek to be a “ventriloquist” for the masses, but he did
desire to “win some space” where their voices can be heard.5 The effort to jar
people loose from their entrenched power positions often requires harsh words,
but a “cozy chat among consenting scholars” won’t dissolve the ideology that is
the glue binding together most communication study.
Since one of Hall’s stated aims was to unmask the power imbalances within
society, he said the cultural studies approach is valid if it “deconstructs” the
current structure of a media research establishment that fails to deal with ideol-
ogy. Just as Deetz wants to give a meaningful voice to stakeholders affected by
corporate decisions (see Chapter 21), Hall wanted to liberate people from an
unknowing acquiescence to the dominant ideology of the culture. Obviously,
critical theory and cultural studies are close relatives. However, Hall placed less
emphasis on rationality and more emphasis on resistance. As far as he was con-
cerned, the truth of cultural studies is established by its ability to raise our con-
sciousness of the media’s role in preserving the status quo.
Hall was suspicious of any cultural analysis that ignores power relationships.
That’s because he believed the purpose of theory and research is to empower
people who live on the margins of society, people who have little say in the
direction of their lives and who are scrambling to survive. He took the epitaph
on Karl Marx’ tombstone as a mission statement for cultural studies: “The phi-
losophers have only interpreted the world in various ways; the point, however is
to change it.”
Democratic pluralism
The myth that society is
held together by com-
mon norms such as equal
opportunity, respect for
diversity, one person–one
vote, individual rights,
and rule of law.
Articulate
The process of speaking
out on oppression and
linking that subjugation
with media representa-
tions; the work of cul-
tural studies.
Cultural studies
A neo-Marxist critique
that sets forth the posi-
tion that mass media
manufacture consent for
dominant ideologies.
HEGEMONY: MARXISM WITHOUT GUARANTEES
Stuart Hall owed an intellectual debt to Karl Marx. Of course, for many students
in the West, the word Marxist conjures up images of failed Communist states,
repressive dictators, and the Tiananmen Square massacre. Marxism, however,
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CHAPTER 27: CULTURAL STUDIES 341
is at root a theory of economics and power. At the risk of oversimplifying, the
Marxist golden rule suggests that he who has the gold, rules. Because workers lack
capital or the means of production, they must sell their labor to live. Therefore,
in a capitalistic society, people who own the means of production gain more
wealth by extracting labor from workers, who get no extra benefi t from the
wealth created by their work. So the rich get richer and the poor get poorer.
Great wealth comes to the privileged few who did little to create it. According
to Marx, as the gap between the managerial class and the working class grows
ever larger, desperate workers will overthrow the owners and create a classless
society.
Although Hall was strongly infl uenced by Marxist thought, he didn’t sub-
scribe to the hard-line brand of economic determinism that sees all economic,
political, and social relationships as ultimately based on money. He thought that
would be an oversimplifi cation. As a Jamaican person of color who immigrated
to England as a young adult, Hall found that his physical appearance was often
as important as his economic class in the way people reacted to him. Nor was
he convinced that the masses will inevitably revolt against those who control the
means of production in a capitalistic society. Instead, he adopted a Marxism
without guarantees. He realized that his theory was not pure, but he preferred
to be “right but not rigorous” than “rigorous but wrong.”6
Hall drew upon Italian political theorist Antonio Gramsci’s concept of hege-
mony to explain why the revolution Marx predicted hasn’t occurred in any
industrial society.7 On the international scene, hegemony usually refers to the
preponderant infl uence or domination of one nation over another. The word is
little used by Americans, perhaps because it describes how many countries see
the United States. In a specifi c cultural context, Hall employed the term to
describe the subtle sway of society’s haves over its have-nots . He emphasized that
media hegemony is not a conscious plot, it’s not overtly coercive, and its effects
are not total. The broadcast and print media present a variety of ideas, but then
they tend to prop up the status quo by privileging the already-accepted inter-
pretation of reality. The result is that the role of mass media turns out to be
production of consent rather than a refl ection of consensus that already exists.
Recall that Stan Deetz uses the term consent to describe how workers unwit-
tingly accomplish the desires of management in the faulty attempt to fulfi ll their
own interests. They are complicit in their own victimization (see Chapter 21).
In the same way, Hall believed that the consent-making function of the mass
media is to convince readers and viewers that they share the same interests as
those who hold the reins of power. Because the media’s hegemonic infl uence
has been relatively successful, it’s played an important role in maintaining
worker unrest at the level of moaning and groaning rather than escalating into
revolutionary fervor.
Economic determinism
The belief that human
behavior and relation-
ships are ultimately
caused by differences in
financial resources and
the disparity in power
that those gaps create.
Hegemony
The subtle sway of soci-
ety’s haves over its have-
nots.
MAKING MEANING THROUGH DISCOURSE
In his book Representation , Hall stated that the primary function of discourse is
to make meaning . Many students of communication would agree that words and
other signs contain no intrinsic meaning. A catchy way of stating this reality is
“Words don’t mean; people mean.” But Hall asked us to push further and ask,
Where do people get their meanings? After all, humans don’t come equipped with
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342 MASS COMMUNICATION
ready-made meanings, either. Hall’s answer was that they learn what signs mean
through discourse—through communication and culture.
Primarily, culture is concerned with the production and exchange of meanings—
”the giving and taking of meaning”—between the members of a society or group.
To say that two people belong to the same culture is to say that they interpret the
world in roughly the same ways and can express themselves, their thoughts and
feelings about the world in ways that will be understood by each other. 8
To illustrate that meaning comes through discourse, Hall asked his readers
how they know that a red light means stop and a green light means go . The
answer is that someone, many years ago, told them so. The process is the same
when we consider signs such as a picture of a cigarette covered by a circle slash,
the golden arches, or the word terrorist . But it is not enough to simply recognize
that meaning is created in discourse. We must also examine the sources of that
discourse, especially the originators or “speakers” of it.
Hall was struck by French philosopher Michel Foucault’s extensive study of
mental illness, sexuality, and criminality in different historical eras. Foucault con-
centrated on what people were saying, what people were not saying, and who got
to say it. As you might suspect, he discovered that throughout history, not every-
one in society had an equal voice or power. That’s certainly true in America today.
Undoubtedly, CNN founder Ted Turner has more discursive power than I have.
But, due to the fact that I’m an author of a college textbook, I’m aware that
I have more power to frame meaning than do many of the students who read it.
In terms of mental illness, Foucault found that the defi nition of what consti-
tutes insanity and what to do about it have changed dramatically over time. 9
People with power drew arbitrary lines between the normal and the abnormal,
and these distinctions became discursive formations that had real, physical effects
on those deemed to belong to each group. 10 Over time, these unquestioned and
seemingly natural ways of interpreting the world became ideologies, which then
perpetuated themselves through further discourse. The right to make meaning
can literally be the power to make others crazy.
Discourse
Frameworks of interpre-
tation.
Discursive formation
The process by which
unquestioned and seem-
ingly natural ways of in-
terpreting the world
become ideologies.
CORPORATE CONTROL OF MASS COMMUNICATION
Hall worked to move the study of communication away from the compartmen-
talized areas refl ected in the organization of this text: relationship development,
infl uence, media effects, and so on. He believed we should be studying the
unifying atmosphere in which they all occur and from which they emanate—
human culture. Consistent with Marxist theory, he also insisted that communi-
cation scholarship should examine power relations and social structures. For
Hall, stripping the study of communication away from the cultural context in
which it is found and ignoring the realities of unequal power distribution in
society have weakened our fi eld and made it less theoretically relevant.
Scholars who follow Hall’s lead wish to place the academic spotlight directly
on the ways media representations of culture reproduce social inequalities and
keep the average person more or less powerless to do anything but operate
within a corporatized, commodifi ed world. At least within the United States, the
vast majority of information we receive is produced and distributed by corpora-
tions. If your family-room television is tuned to CNN, and the table beneath it
holds a copy of Sports Illustrated ( SI ), your home is a virtual advertisement for a
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CHAPTER 27: CULTURAL STUDIES 343
media conglomerate. Time Warner owns SI , CNN, and most likely the cable
company that brings the signal to your house. And if you switch channels to
HBO to watch a fl ick produced by the largest Hollywood studio, you’ll get a
double dose of meanings produced and sponsored by Time Warner.
As long as subscription rates don’t go up, what difference does monopoly
ownership make? Hall would answer that corporate control of such infl uential
information sources prevents many stories from being told. Consider the plight
of the vast majority of the people in Africa. Except for your knowledge of the
scourge of HIV/AIDS across the continent and news of pirates hijacking ships
off the coast of Somalia, that may be hard for you to do. For example, there’s
almost no reporting of decades of genocide in Sudan. It’s not the subject of a
television drama and it rarely makes the evening news. On the few occasions
when the atrocities are mentioned, they are paired with the issue of who will
control the country’s oil reserves. That linkage squares with Hall’s belief that
news comes with a spin refl ecting the interests of Western multinational corpora-
tions. A growing economy and rising stock prices are good news. A labor strike
for higher wages is bad news. The ultimate issue for cultural studies is not what
information is presented but whose information it is.
“What about business—which branch is that?”
© David Sipress/The New Yorker Collection/www.cartoonbank.com
CULTURAL FACTORS THAT AFFECT THE SELECTION OF NEWS
Hall saw corporate clout as only one reason broadcast and print journalism support
the status quo. Consistent with his brand of Marxism without guarantees, he believed
a number of cultural factors also infl uence the selection of news that furthers the
interests of those who already have money and power. While Hall was articulating
his theory at CCCS in Great Britain, an extensive study of national news organiza-
tions in the United States gave credence to his cultural studies approach.
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344 MASS COMMUNICATION
Over an eight-year period, Herbert Gans of Northwestern University’s Medill
School of Journalism conducted a content analysis of newscasts at CBS and NBC
along with the coverage of two news magazines—Newsweek and Time. He spent
additional months observing and talking with reporters and editors in the news-
rooms of these organization.11 Gans discovered multiple values, procedures, and
publishing realities that ensure their stories favor people who already have
power, fame, and fortune. These same factors help explain why media consum-
ers saw and heard mostly negative news about Obamacare after it became law.
Ethnocentrism. Like reporters in other nations, American journalists value
their own country over others. They don’t want the United States to look bad.
So even though infant mortality in America is higher than in 33 other countries,12
claims that Americans receive the best medical care are seldom challenged. The
exorbitant cost of health care in the United States isn’t ignored, but it’s often
framed as the price of getting expert medical attention, a benefi t assumed not to
be available in the managed care systems of Canada, England, or Russia. As a
result, the need for health care reform is downplayed.
Source of news. The bulk of broadcast and print news comes from those
who already have power. Government offi cials, corporate CEOs, trade associa-
tions, and Washington think tanks issue frequent press releases and hold news
conferences. Given the time pressure of deadlines and management’s insistence
on cutting costs, a reporter is more likely to draw upon these resources than go
into the fi eld to discover the plight or opinion of a “nobody.” Powerful and well-
heeled business, medical, and political pressure groups have lobbied against
Obamacare, but those who can’t get, or can’t afford, medical insurance have less
chance to get their story across to reporters on a regular basis.
Objectivity. Most journalists have a strong commitment to report the news
without bias—objective reporting of facts without taking sides. The desire to be
fair is reinforced by editors and lawyers who fear the fl ak that comes from
groups who perceive media bias. This effort to be impartial, however, often leads
to “on the one hand . . . on the other” type reporting. That leaves the impression
that the truth value of all ideas is equal. One argument fl oated by opponents of
Obamacare is the claim that even before the law went into effect, more doctors
were refusing to accept new Medicare patients. Therefore, the reform won’t
work. Yet the Department of Health and Human Services reports a four-year
trend showing a 35 percent increase in physicians accepting Medicare.13 A
detached, balanced approach suggests that both claims have equal validity, so
there’s no impetus for either camp to abandon the status quo.
Individualism. Americans value individual effort. Part of the American
myth is the “rugged individual” who is a “self-made” man or woman. News
stories are usually framed around a single person. Time magazine regularly fea-
tures a single face on its weekly cover. With the exception of major criminals and
their victims, almost all people covered in the news are powerful, wealthy peo-
ple. (How many people living in poverty can you name?) Doctors who discover
new diseases or invent new medical procedures are heroes. None of these mod-
els are depicted as relying on the government for help—even if they received it
in the form of tax breaks or grants. It’s therefore not surprising that the news
reported would run counter to the idea of the rich giving up some of their wealth
to fund medical services for the poor. The idea that the government would vio-
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CHAPTER 27: CULTURAL STUDIES 345
EXTREME MAKEOVER: THE IDEOLOGICAL WORK OF REALITY TV
Not all of the media’s ideological work is accomplished through the presentation
of news. Luke Winslow, a business communication lecturer at the University of
Texas at Austin, claims that the representation of ordinary people on reality TV
“offers its viewer more explicit ‘guidelines for living’ than other television
genres.”15 Specifi cally, he analyzes Extreme Makeover: Home Edition to show how
it reinforces the myth of the American Dream.
From 2003 to 2012, the Sunday-night show featured the fairytale story of a
down-and-out family living in a decrepit house and then having it transformed
into a dream home in seven days, at no cost to them.16 But as Winslow notes,
the weekly feel-good program didn’t “become ABC’s top-rated series and the
winner of back-to-back Emmy awards because it is concerned with concrete and
drywall.”17 The real focus is on a deserving family that has suffered misfortune
and on their restoration to a perfect life.
Although the show spotlights a different family each week, they have much
in common. The producers intentionally sought out all-American families whose
moral character, love for each other, and demonstrated care for others make it
clear that they are worthy recipients. In the fi rst segment of the show we meet
the family and hear their story. Through his questions and comments, host Ty
Pennington assures his team that these are good folks who play by the rules. In
the second segment we learn that, through no fault of their own, the family has
fallen on hard times made much worse by the dump they live in. Whether vic-
tims of heinous crime, survivors of a natural disaster, or those who suffer from
medical problems that insurance companies refuse to cover, they’ve all hit rock
bottom. The combination of their moral goodness and tragic circumstances con-
vinces Ty and his viewers that these are deserving people—truly worthy of being
chosen to get an extreme makeover or a brand new home.
late our “God-given freedom” by requiring us to do so comes across as even
more outrageous.
Democratic process. Gans found that reporters are committed to democ-
racy. They believe that Americans will more often elect better representatives if
they honor the “public’s right to know” and reveal the confl ict and corruptions
most people don’t see. But journalists frame every election or dispute in terms
of who won and who lost rather than on the basis of the sometimes complex
issues. Even the label “Obamacare” was coined by opponents of the original
“Affordable Care Act” who wanted to personalize the fi ght. When the press
latched onto the term, the issue ceased to be expanding health care versus saving
money. It was treated as President Obama versus his many critics, a frame that
locked people into fi xed positions.
In post-recession Great Britain, Hall believed that a whole list of changes
hurting the working poor, people of color, and immigrants have been furthered
by the way these people are represented (or not represented) through the media.
These negative outcomes include massive layoffs; wage freezes; pension cuts;
support for the vulnerable whittled away; college students building lifelong
debt; the closing of libraries, parks, and museums; and a distinct decline in the
quality of life for all but the wealthy. The list looks quite familiar on this side of
the Atlantic as well.14
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346 MASS COMMUNICATION
The rest of the show chronicles the ingenuity and commitment of the design-
ers, contractors, and volunteers as they frantically race against time. We learn to
appreciate ABC and other major corporations that donate materials and services
to make this extreme makeover possible. Meanwhile, the family has been sent
away for an all-expenses-paid week of vacation. At the end of the show they are
brought back in a stretch limousine to see their new home, but their view is inten-
tionally blocked by a bus. Then Ty and the whole crew yell to the driver, “Move
that bus!” When they can see their new home, family members are blown away
by the total transformation. Amid tears of joy they tell Ty that it’s unbelievable, mirac-
ulous, an answer to prayer. As for television viewers, their belief that good things
happen to good people is reinforced and reaffi rmed. All’s right with the world.18
Perhaps you’ve already anticipated Winslow’s cultural critique of the show.
He believes the real work done in Extreme Makeover is on the audience rather
than the house. Each episode is a mini morality play that suggests wealth goes
only to those who deserve it. These good people deserved a decent house and
they got it. The system works. Winslow cites Stuart Hall when he summarizes
the message that’s enacted every week:
The result is a reduced and simplifi ed ideology regarding the connection between
morality and economics: who should be poor and who should not, and, more
importantly, frameworks of thinking about how the social world works, what the
viewers’ place is in it, and what they ought to do. We not only learn who deserves
to be rich, and who deserves to be poor, but also how each should be treated.19
Winslow’s critique is typical of scholarship done under the banner of Hall’s
cultural studies. As he explains, “Ultimately, a primary goal of ideological schol-
arship is to bring comfort to the affl icted and [to] affl ict the comfortable by
questioning taken-for-granted assumptions, giving voice to the voiceless, and
bringing in those on the margins of society.”20
Although many intellectuals dismiss the study of popular culture as frivo-
lous, Hall sees it as a key site where the struggle for power between the haves
and the have-nots takes place. “That’s why ‘popular culture’ matters,” he writes.
“Otherwise, to tell you the truth, I don’t give a damn about it.”21
AN OBSTINATE AUDIENCE
The fact that the media present a preferred interpretation of human events is no
reason to assume that the audience will correctly “take in” the offered ideology.
Hall held out the possibility that the powerless may be obstinate, resist the dom-
inant ideology, and translate the message in a way that’s more congenial to their
own interests. He outlined three decoding options:
1. Operating inside the dominant code. The media produce the message; the
masses consume it. The audience reading coincides with the preferred reading.
2. Applying a negotiable code. The audience assimilates the leading ideology
in general but opposes its application in specifi c cases.
3. Substituting an oppositional code. The audience sees through the establish-
ment bias in the media presentation and mounts an organized effort to
demythologize the news.
With all the channels of mass communication in the unwitting service of the
dominant ideology, Hall had trouble believing that the powerless can change the
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CHAPTER 27: CULTURAL STUDIES 347
system. He called this his “pessimism of the intellect.”22 Yet he was determined
to do everything he could to expose and alter the media’s structuring of reality.
He referred to this as his “optimism of the will.” Hall had genuine respect for
the ability of people to resist the dominant code. He didn’t regard the masses as
cultural dupes who are easily manipulated by those who control the media, but
he was unable to predict when and where resistance will spring up.
Of all the programs on American television, the satires of Jon Stewart on The
Daily Show and Stephen Colbert on The Colbert Report seem to offer the most
effective challenge to the dominant political ideology. Both programs mock the
pretentious statements of people in power and ridicule the positions of television
commentators. Stewart’s and Colbert’s humor are highly popular, so network
heads and advertisers don’t have the option of canceling or censoring their
shows. And surprisingly, not only is The Daily Show rated‚ “the most trusted
source for political news on television,” but viewers who only watch Stewart
have proved to be better informed on domestic and international affairs than
viewers who only get their news from Fox News, CNN, or MSNBC.23
Despite Stewart’s and Colbert’s withering parodies of those in power,
two University of Illinois professors suggest that both shows may actually
support the hegemony their stars skewer with their wit. James Anderson
(Urbana–Champaign campus) and Amie Kincaid (Springfi eld campus) point out
the paradox of satire used by Stewart and Colbert.24 In order to lampoon an idea or
practice, the satirists have to make sure the audience knows what they’re
knocking. Their very exposure and reiteration of the dominant ideology may
make it more acceptable. And some in the audience may miss the satire and
think Stewart or Colbert are advocating the position they voice. At the very
least, talking about an idea or practice increases the chance that viewers will
recall it in the future.
Anderson and Kincaid also point out that after getting their laughs, both
comedians fail to offer a better way of thinking or acting. Without naming a
viable alternative, the dominant ideology will have no rival and seem to be
natural. All of this suggests that hegemony is never total, but effective resistance
is never easy.
Hall cited one small victory by activists in the organized struggle to establish
that black is beautiful. By insisting on the term black rather than Negro or colored ,
people of African heritage began to give dignity in the 1970s to what was once a
racial slur. Jesse Jackson’s call for an African American identity is a continuing
effort to control the use of symbols. This is not a matter of “mere” semantics, as
some would charge. Although there is nothing inherently positive or negative in
any of these racial designations, the connotative difference is important because
the effects are real. The ideological fi ght is a struggle to capture language. Hall
saw those on the margins of society doing semantic battle on a media playing fi eld
that will never be quite level. In her cultural studies application log, Sharon
depicts a clear winner in the linguistic struggle within the abortion debate:
The media seems to favor those with “pro-choice” beliefs. I wish copywriters
would even the debate by referring to the other side as “pro-life” rather than
“anti-abortion.” This would be a sign that pro-life groups are seen as reasonable,
positive people. Up to this point, they haven’t been able to make that label stick
in the public arena. The media gives an ideological spin by the use of connotative
language.
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348 MASS COMMUNICATION
CRITIQUE: YOUR JUDGMENT WILL DEPEND ON YOUR IDEOLOGY
In his early work, Marshall McLuhan was highly critical of television. Hall
accused McLuhan of being co-opted by the media establishment in his later
years. He characterized McLuhan’s fi nal position as one of “lying back and let-
ting the media roll over him; he celebrated the very things he had most bitterly
attacked.”32 No one has ever accused Stuart Hall of selling out to the dominant
ideology of Western society. Many communication scholars, however, question
the wisdom of performing scholarship under an ideological banner.
Do such explicit value commitments inevitably compromise the integrity of
research? Former surgeon general C. Everett Koop lamented that pro-choice
researchers always conclude that abortion does no psychological harm to the
mother, whereas pro-life psychologists invariably discover that abortion leaves
long-term emotional scars. In like manner, the fi ndings of the economically
conservative American Enterprise Institute in Washington, DC, differ greatly
ETHICAL REFLECTION: WEST’S PROPHETIC PRAGMATISM
Cornel West is a pragmatist philosopher and a professor at Union Theological
Seminary. Like well-known American pragmatist John Dewey (see Chapter 17),
West regards pragmatism as “a mode of cultural critical action that focuses on
the ways and means by which human beings have, do, and can overcome obsta-
cles, dispose predicaments, and settle problematic situations.”25 The moral obsta-
cle West wants to overcome is the institutional oppression of “the disadvantaged,
degraded, and dejected” people who struggle on the margins of society.26 They
face racism, sexual discrimination, and economic injustice. West agrees with the
analysis of Christian realist Reinhold Niebuhr, who deplored the inhuman treat-
ment of workers in Henry Ford’s auto factory.27 Both men said that these evils
exist not just because of ignorance or apathy—they are the result of pervasive
human sin.
West is also sympathetic to a Marxist critique of capitalism,28 but his own
brand of pragmatism is deeply rooted in the narratives of the Scriptures:
I have dubbed it “prophetic” in that it harks back to the Jewish and Christian
tradition of prophets who brought urgent and compassionate critique to bear on
the evils of their day. The mark of the prophet is to speak the truth in love with
courage—come what may.29
For example, Hebrew prophets like Amos demanded social justice for the
powerless; Jesus’ parable of the Good Samaritan reminds believers that they are
responsible to help those who are hurting, whoever and wherever they are.30
Claire Alexander is the editor of a special edition of Cultural Studies exploring
“Stuart Hall and Race.” She describes attending the “Race Matters” conference at
Princeton University held in honor of Cornel West and attended by a who’s who
of black intellectuals. Following the fi rst panel discussion, the chair invited ques-
tions and comments. The fi rst person who came to the microphone simply intro-
duced himself, “Stuart Hall, the Open University.” The packed room exploded in
applause. When Alexander later mentioned to West that she’d never seen a per-
son get this kind of response just by saying his or her name, he explained: “The
thing you have to understand, Claire, is that we all grew up reading Stuart. We
wouldn’t be here without him. We all stand on his shoulders.”31
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CHAPTER 27: CULTURAL STUDIES 349
from the conclusions reached at the Center for Contemporary Cultural Studies
under the direction of Hall. Ever since Copernicus thought the unthinkable, that
the earth is not the center of the universe, truth has prospered by investigating
what is, separately from what we think it ought to be. Hall seemed to blur that
distinction.
Although Hall is recognized as a founding fi gure of cultural studies, there
are those who work within this fast-growing fi eld who are critical of his leader-
ship. While appreciating his advocacy for ethnic minorities and the poor, many
women decried his relative silence on their plight as equal victims of the hege-
mony he railed against. Hall belatedly became an advocate for women and
acquiesced to their demand for shared power at the Birmingham Center. But his
now-famous description of the feminist entry into British cultural studies shows
that for him the necessary change was painful and messy: “As the thief in the
night, it broke in; interrupted, made an unseemly noise, seized the time, crapped
on the table of cultural studies.” 33
The most often heard criticism of Hall’s work is that he didn’t offer specifi c
remedies for the problems he identifi ed. While it’s true that he had no grand
action agenda for defusing the media’s infl uence on behalf of the powerful elite,
he worked hard to expose racism that’s reinforced by press reporting. For exam-
ple, Hall served as a key member of a commission that issued an infl uential
report in 2000 on the future of a multiethnic Britain. The following excerpt is a
sample of Hall’s impact on the commission’s call for a change in the way ethnic
groups are represented in the media.
A study by the Guardian of its own coverage of Islam in a particular period in 1999
found that the adjective “Islamic” was joined with “militants” 16 times, “extrem-
ists” 15 times, “fundamentalism” eight times and “terrorism” six times; in the same
period the adjective “Christian” was joined, in so far as it appeared at all, to posi-
tive words and notions or to neutral ones such as tradition or belief. 34
Hall’s most positive contribution to mass communication study is his con-
stant reminder that it’s futile to talk about meaning without considering power
at the same time. Cliff Christians, former director of the Institute for Communi-
cations Research at the University of Illinois and a leading writer in the fi eld of
media ethics, agrees with Hall that the existence of an idealistic communication
situation where no power circulates is a myth. Christians is lavish in his praise
of Hall’s essay “Ideology and Communication Theory,” which I’ve listed as a
Second Look resource: “His essay, like the Taj Mahal, is an artistic masterpiece
inviting a pilgrimage.” 35
Stuart Hall has attracted tremendous interest and a large following. Samuel
Becker, former chair of the communication studies department at the University of
Iowa, described himself as a besieged empiricist and noted the irony of Hall’s attack.
Hall knocked the dominant ideology of communication studies, yet he “may him-
self be the most dominant or infl uential fi gure in communication studies today.” 36
QUESTIONS TO SHARPEN YOUR FOCUS
1. Hegemony is not a household word in the United States. How would you
explain what the term means to your roommate? Can you think of a meta-
phor or an analogy that would clarify this critical concept?
2. What is the nature of Hall’s complaint about American media scholarship ?
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350 MASS COMMUNICATION
3. Hall said that the media encode the dominant ideology of our culture . If you don’t
agree with his thesis, what evidence could he have mustered that would convince
you he’s right? What evidence would you provide to counter his argument?
4. In what way is Roland Barthes’ semiotic perspective (see Chapter 26) similar
to Hall’s cultural studies? How do they differ?
A SECOND LOOK Recommended resource: Stuart Hall, “Introduction” and “The Work of Representation,”
in Representation: Cultural Representations and Signifying Practices, Stuart Hall (ed.), Sage,
London, 1997, pp. 1–64.
Intellectual biography: Helen Davis, Understanding Stuart Hall, Sage, Thousand Oaks,
CA, 2004.
Anthology of theory and practice: Rhonda Hammer and Douglas Kellner (eds.), Media/
Cultural Studies, Peter Lang, New York, NY, 2009.
Hall’s critique of the dominant communication paradigm: Stuart Hall, “Ideology and Com-
munication Theory,” in Rethinking Communication Theory: Vol. 1, Brenda Dervin, Lawrence
Grossberg, Barbara O’Keefe, and Ellen Wartella (eds.), Sage, Newbury Park, CA, 1989,
pp. 40–52. (See also multiple reactions following.)
Hegemony, ideology, Marxism, and postmodernism: Journal of Communication Inquiry, Vol. 10,
No. 2, 1986. The entire issue addresses Stuart Hall’s cultural studies.
Marxist interpretations: Samuel Becker, “Marxist Approaches to Media Studies: The
British Experience,” Critical Studies in Mass Communication, Vol. 1, 1984, pp. 66–80.
Race and ethnicity: Cultural Studies, Vol. 23, No. 4, 2009. The entire issue addresses
Stuart Hall and race.
Historical perspective: Stuart Hall, “Cultural Studies and Its Theoretical Legacies,” in
Cultural Studies, Lawrence Grossberg, Cary Nelson, and Paula Treichler (eds.), Routledge,
New York, 1992, pp. 277–294.
Autobiographical account of work at CCCS: Stuart Hall, “Stuart Hall Interview—2 June
2011,” Cultural Studies, Vol. 27, 2013, pp. 757–777; available at http://www.tandfonline.com/
doi/abs/10.1080/09502386.2013.773674?af=R#.Ui36lMasiSo, accessed September 9, 2013.
Ideology in reality TV: Luke Winslow, “Comforting the Comfortable: Extreme Makeover:
Home Edition’s Ideological Conquest,” Critical Studies in Mass Communication, Vol. 27, 2010,
pp. 267–290.
Appreciative retrospective: Paul Gilroy, Lawrence Grossberg, and Angela McRobbie
(eds.), Without Guarantees: In Honour of Stuart Hall, Verso, London, 2000.
Critical retrospective: Chris Rojek, Stuart Hall, Polity, Cambridge, 2003.
Critique from quantitative perspective: Justin Lewis, “What Counts in Cultural Studies?”
Media, Culture & Society, Vol. 19, 1997, pp. 83–97.
Critique from qualitative perspective: Patrick Murphy, “Media Cultural Studies’ Uncomfort-
able Embrace of Ethnography,” Journal of Communication Inquiry, Vol. 23, 1999, pp. 205–221.
To learn more about your book’s authors, click on Em Griffi n,
Andrew Ledbetter, or Glenn Sparks on the Home Page of
www.afi rstlook.com.
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351
M e d i a E f f e c t s
In 1940, before the era of television, a team of researchers from Columbia Univer-
sity, headed by Paul Lazarsfeld, descended on Erie County, Ohio, an area that had
refl ected national voting patterns in every twentieth-century presidential elec-
tion. By surveying people once a month from June to November, the interviewers
sought to determine how the press and radio affected the people’s choice for the
upcoming presidential election. 1
Contrary to the then-accepted magic-bullet model of direct media infl uence,
the researchers found little evidence that voters were swayed by what they read
or heard. Political conversions were rare. The media seemed merely to reinforce
the decisions of those who had already made up their minds.
Lazarsfeld attributed the lack of media effect to selective exposure (see Chapter 16).
Republicans avoided articles and programs that were favorable to President
Franklin Roosevelt; Democrats bypassed news stories and features sympathetic to
Republican Wendell Willkie. The principle of selective exposure didn’t always test
out in the laboratory, where people’s attention was virtually guaranteed, but in a
free marketplace of ideas it accounted for the limited, short-term effects of mass
communication.
The Erie County results forced media analysts to recognize that friends and
family affect the impact of media messages. They concluded that print and elec-
tronic media infl uence masses of people only through an indirect two-step fl ow of
communication . The fi rst stage is the direct transmission of information to a small
group of people who stay well informed. In the second stage, those opinion lead-
ers pass on and interpret the messages to others in face-to-face discussion.
The two-step fl ow theory surfaced at a time of rapid scientifi c advancement
in the fi elds of medicine and agriculture. The model accurately described the
diffusion of innovation among American doctors and farmers in the 1950s, but
the present era of saturation television and Internet news has made alterations
necessary. The fi rst step of the revised two-step theory of media infl uence is the
transmission of information to a mass audience. The second step is validation of
the message by people the viewer respects. 2
By the 1970s, empirical studies on viewer response to television had re-
established belief in a powerful-effects model of media infl uence, and the explana-
tory links between the two were becoming clear. The possible connection between
violence on the screen and subsequent viewer aggression was of particular inter-
est to media theorists, and remains an important research focus today.
In the 1980s and 1990s, theorists continued to study how media content
affects behavior, but expanded their focus to include thoughts and feelings. Dolf
Zillmann, professor emeritus at the University of Alabama, used his excitation
transfer theory to highlight the role of physiological arousal when we react to
media.3 According to the theory, emotional reactions like fear, anger, joy, and lust
all generate heightened arousal that takes a while to dissipate after media expo-
sure. The leftover excitation can amplify any mood we feel afterward. If a man
becomes angry at his wife, the arousal he experiences from watching televised
aggression can fuel his anger and lead to domestic violence. But Zillmann says
that arousal from an erotic bedroom scene or a protagonist’s joyful triumph can
cause the same effect.
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352 MASS COMMUNICATION
Excitation transfer can account for violent acts performed immediately after
TV viewing. But Stanford psychologist Albert Bandura’s social learning theory
takes the fi ndings a step further and predicts that the use of force modeled on
television today may erupt in antisocial behavior years later. 4 Although Bandura’s
theory can explain imitation in many contexts, most students of his work apply it
specifi cally to the vicarious learning of aggression through television.
Social learning theory postulates three necessary stages in the causal link
between television and the actual physical harm we might infl ict on another
some time in the future. The three-step process is attention, retention, and
motivation. Video violence grabs our attention because it’s simple, distinctive,
prevalent, useful, and depicted positively. If you doubt that last quality, remem-
ber that television draws in viewers by placing attractive people in front of the
camera. There are very few overweight bodies or pimply faces on TV. When
the winsome star roughs up a few hoods to rescue the lovely young woman,
aggression is given a positive cast.
Without any risk to ourselves, watching media violence can expand our rep-
ertoire of behavioral options far beyond what we’d discover on our own through
trial-and-error learning. For example, we see a knife fi ghter holding a switchblade
at an inclined angle of 45 degrees and that he jabs up rather than lunging down.
This kind of street smarts is mentally fi led away as a visual image. But Bandura
says retention is strongest when we also encode vicarious learning into words:
Hold the pistol with both hands. Don’t jerk the trigger; squeeze it. Aim six inches low to
compensate for recoil.
Without suffi cient motivation, we may never imitate the violence we saw and
remember. But years later we may be convinced that we won’t go to jail for shoot-
ing a prowler lurking in our backyard or that we might gain status by punching
out a jerk who is hassling a friend. If so, what we learned earlier and stored in our
memory bank is now at our disposal.
Communication scholars are playing catch-up trying to document the effects
of the rapid changes brought by new media technology. We need to be patient
before a strong consensus forms about some of the effects. A few researchers
blame Facebook content for increasing feelings of depression,5 while others fi nd
no such relationship.6 Still others tout the social network’s benefi ts for keeping
us closely connected to friends.7 Theorists are busy attempting to scope out the
conditions that might explain these divergent fi ndings.

CALVIN AND HOBBES 1995 © Watterson. Distributed by Universal UCLICK. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
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353
28C H A P T E R
Objective Interpretive
Socio-psychological tradition
●
Uses and Gratifi cations
of Elihu Katz
Paul and Alex are college sophomores who have roomed together since freshman
year. At the end of their fi rst year, Paul notices that Alex is spending more and
more time playing Call of Duty: Modern Warfare, an online game in which many
players join together in a common mission. During their second year, the gaming
gets even more intense. Paul becomes concerned that his roommate’s game play-
ing is draining time from his studies and ruining his social life.
Thinking about Alex, Paul remembers what he heard in his media class about
the case of Lien Wen-cheng. The 27-year-old Taiwanese man died of exhaustion
in 2002 after playing a video game for 32 straight hours. 1 And in 2005 in South
Korea, a man died after playing a game for 50 consecutive hours. Authorities said
the man had hardly eaten during his game playing and hadn’t slept. 2 While Paul
knows that these deaths happened in Asian countries where addiction to video
games has been a greater problem than in the United States, 3 he wonders if he
should try to have a serious talk with Alex about his game playing. He feels
especially motivated to talk with Alex after reading about Chris Staniforth, the
20-year-old British man who died in 2011 after playing Halo on his Xbox. Stani-
forth sat for 12 hours straight while playing the game and developed a blood clot
in his leg that eventually hit his heart and killed him.4
Whether or not you spend time playing video games like Alex does, you do
make daily choices to consume different types of media. In the late 1950s, when
communication scholar Elihu Katz began his work on uses and gratifi cations
theory (commonly referred to as uses & grats ), no one was playing video games
on campus. But newspapers, magazines, radio, and movies were well established,
and 80 percent of American households had a TV. There were plenty of media to
choose from.
Katz thought studying all of those media choices was so important that it
could save the entire fi eld of communication.5 He made his argument about sav-
ing the fi eld in response to another communication scholar, Bernard Berelson,
who had just published an infl uential essay arguing that the future of communi-
cation research was bleak. 6 Berelson based his case on the study of the persuasive
power of radio during the 1940 presidential campaign 7 —research described in the
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354 MASS COMMUNICATION
introduction to this section. The study showed that media didn’t do anything to
change people’s attitudes. Berelson reasoned that if media weren’t persuasive, the
fi eld of communication research would simply wither away.
Katz, who is now a professor emeritus of both sociology and communication
at The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, introduced a different logic. In order to
prevent the disintegration of the fi eld, he suggested that scholars change the
question used to generate their research. Instead of asking, “What do media do
to people?” Katz fl ipped the question around to ask, “What do people do with
media?” 8 In retrospect, the fi eld of communication was hardly on its deathbed.
Berelson’s perspective was overly pessimistic and, by focusing only on media
effects, it was overly narrow as well. Though Katz’ theory didn’t “save” the
discipline, it was still valuable because it encouraged scholars to think about
mass communication in a different way. As it turns out, uses & grats has endured
for more than 50 years and still inspires cutting-edge research.
The theory attempts to make sense of the fact that people consume a dizzy-
ing array of media messages for all sorts of reasons, and that the effect of a given
message is unlikely to be the same for everyone. The driving mechanism of the
theory is need gratifi cation. By understanding the particular needs of media
consumers, the reasons for media consumption become clear. Particular media
effects, or lack of effects, can also be clarifi ed. For example, radio listeners in
1940 may have been so loyal to their political party that they had little need to
listen to the opposing party’s campaign ads. If they didn’t attend to the ads, the
ads couldn’t have any effect. Let’s look more closely at the fi ve key assumptions
that underlie uses & grats.
PEOPLE USE MEDIA FOR THEIR OWN PARTICULAR PURPOSES
The theory’s fundamental assumption was revolutionary at the time Katz pro-
posed it: The study of how media affect people must take account of the fact that people
deliberately use media for particular purposes . Prior to this proposal, scholars thought
that audiences were passive targets waiting to be hit by a magic bullet (the media
message) that would affect everyone in the same way. In uses & grats, audiences
are seen as anything but passive. They decide which media they want to use
and what effects they want the media to have.
Consider an example: When Game 6 of the 2010 NHL Stanley Cup Finals
was on TV, I (Glenn) wanted to watch it in hopes of seeing the Chicago Black-
hawks become hockey champions. I wasn’t a big fan of the sport, but after talk-
ing with Em, a hockey afi cionado, I got sucked into the series. When I sat down
to watch I was already prepared to celebrate. My wife, Cheri, who would ordi-
narily choose to watch anything instead of hockey, decided that the clacking of
hockey sticks was exactly what she needed to prevent her from stumbling upon
the depressing CNN videos of oil gushing into the Gulf of Mexico from the
exploded BP oil well. So we decided to watch the game together—each for very
different reasons and with very different effects. For me, watching the game
resulted in happiness as I basked in the Blackhawks’ victory. For her, the game
provided a boring, but safe, distraction from unpleasant news she wanted to
avoid. According to uses & grats, audiences are strong; they play a pivotal role
in determining how any infl uence of media will play out. When Cheri and I each
decided to watch that hockey game for different reasons, we behaved in a way
that was consistent with the theory.
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CHAPTER 28: USES AND GRATIFICATIONS 355
Fast-forward to 2013 with the Blackhawks again trying to win the Stanley
Cup in Game 6 but trailing the Boston Bruins 2 to 1 with just 76 seconds left in
the game. When the Hawks scored two goals in 17 seconds to win the champi-
onship, I was once again basking in their success. But this time around, Cheri
wasn’t viewing just to hear the clack of hockey sticks. She had become a fan and
her excitement for the Blackhawks matched mine. This illustrates an underlying
premise of uses and gratifi cations theory: reasons to consume media— even the
same type of media—can change over time.
In the history of media theory, uses & grats is known for its deliberate shift
away from the notion that powerful media messages have uniform effects on
large audiences (passive receivers). Instead, the theory emphasizes the personal
media choices consumers make to fulfi ll different purposes at different times.
The uniform-effects model does not easily account for Paul’s and Alex’ very differ-
ent behavior surrounding video games. But uses & grats assumes that the two
roommates make deliberate choices that result in different patterns of media use
and different effects. The uniform-effects view of media evokes the image of a
parent who force-feeds the kids with a prepared formula that’s guaranteed to
have the same effect on each child. Uses & grats rejects that image and replaces
it with one of adults in a cafeteria deciding what to eat based on individual
yearnings at particular times. You might compare Alex’ obsession with playing
video games to someone craving the same food for every meal.
Uniform-effects model
The view that exposure to
a media message affects
everyone in the audience
in the same way; often
referred to as the “magic-
bullet” or “hypodermic-
needle” model of mass
communication.
PEOPLE SEEK TO GRATIFY NEEDS
Just as people eat in order to satisfy certain cravings, uses & grats assumes people
have needs that they seek to gratify through media use. 9 Note the close connection
between the concepts of media use and gratifi cation from media . The deliberate
choices people make in using media are presumably based on the gratifi cations
they seek from those media. Thus, uses and gratifi cations are inextricably linked.
By taking this position, Katz was swimming against the tide of media theory at
the time. In 1974, he wrote an essay with Jay Blumler and Michael Gurevitch, two
scholars often considered co-creators of the theory. The essay states:
In the mass communication process much initiative in linking need gratifi cation and
media choice lies with the audience member. This places a strong limitation on theoriz-
ing about any form of straight-line effect of media content on attitudes and behavior. 10
A straight-line effect of media is a specifi c effect on behavior that is predicted
from media content alone, with little consideration of the differences in people
who consume that content. A theory predicting this sort of effect might guess
that both Cheri and I would have become excited watching the Blackhawks win
the Stanley Cup in 2010. But Katz thought the key to understanding media
depended upon which need(s) a person was trying to satisfy when selecting a
media message. One reason that hockey game affected Cheri and I differently is
that we were watching the game to satisfy different needs.
Straight-line effect
of media
A specific effect on
behavior that is predicted
from media content
alone, with little consid-
eration of the differences
in people who consume
that content.
MEDIA COMPETE FOR YOUR ATTENTION AND TIME
One of Paul’s concerns as he watches Alex spend so much time playing video
games is that gaming is ruining Alex’ social life. From Paul’s perspective, the
technology that permits Alex to interact with other gamers online is competing
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356 MASS COMMUNICATION
with opportunities to interact with peers on campus. The uses & grats approach
directly acknowledges the competition. Not only do media compete with each
other for your time, they compete with other activities that don’t involve media
exposure.
While Paul evaluates Alex’ situation as unhealthy, uses & grats fi rst attempts
to understand exactly what needs motivate Alex’ use of video games. Why does
he choose to spend his time gaming instead of socializing with Paul and the
other guys who live in the dorm? Some of the more recent attempts to under-
stand these sorts of choices might provide an answer. Uses & grats researchers
have discovered that some people experience high levels of anxiety when they
think about talking face-to-face; they don’t enjoy these sorts of interactions or
fi nd them rewarding. 11 Meeting in person just doesn’t gratify their needs. In
contrast, extroverts express a clear preference for one-on-one conversations over
spending time with media. 12
The notion that media compete for attention and time is only an initial step
in understanding the choices people eventually make. The more interesting ques-
tion is why some people choose to watch TV while others decide to play a video
game or read a book, and still others decide to have coffee with a friend. On any
given day, the number of ways we can choose to spend our time is nearly limit-
less. According to uses & grats, we won’t understand the media choices we make
unless we fi rst recognize the underlying needs that motivate our behavior. Paul’s
well-intentioned concern might cause him to overlook the needs Alex has that
are gratifi ed by playing video games. Helping Alex get a good grasp of the rea-
sons he plays may be the key to helping him alter his behavior.
MEDIA AFFECT DIFFERENT PEOPLE DIFFERENTLY
One of the core concepts of uses and gratifi cations theory is that the same media
message doesn’t necessarily affect everyone the same way. That’s because media
audiences are made up of people who are not identical to each other. In terms
of media effects, the differences matter.
My own studies on the effects of frightening media have confi rmed this
central tenet of uses & grats. Assuming that Hollywood makes so many scary
movies because of the popularity of the genre, journalists often ask me, “Why
do people enjoy watching scary movies?” My fi rst response to this question is
always the same and echoes the fundamental point of uses & grats: Not everyone
does enjoy scary movies. Some people systematically avoid them and can suffer
for days if they become emotionally upset from what they see in a fi lm.
As it turns out, few people voluntarily expose themselves to scary movies
in order to experience fear. Fear is a negative emotion and, in general, people
want to avoid it. However, some people are willing to tolerate fear in order to ooh
and aah at high-tech special effects they can’t see anywhere else. Others are willing
to endure fear to experience a sense of mastery over something threatening—
much like the effect of riding a roller coaster. Still others might actually enjoy
the adrenaline rush that accompanies a scary movie and the intense relief that
comes when the fi lm is over. 13 Current research seeks to understand the factors
that lead some individuals to shun frightening entertainment and others to seek
it out. Media effects scholarship lends strong support to the uses & grats claim
that media affect different people differently.
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CHAPTER 28: USES AND GRATIFICATIONS 357
A TYPOLOGY OF USES AND GRATIFICATIONS
What are the reasons people give for their media consumption? For the last 50
years, uses & grats researchers have compiled various lists of the motives people
report. These studies are designed to construct a typology of the major reasons
why people voluntarily expose themselves to different media. A typology is sim-
ply a classifi cation scheme that attempts to sort a large number of specifi c
instances into a more manageable set of categories.
One of the most comprehensive typologies of media uses and gratifi cations
was proposed by communication scholar Alan Rubin in 1981. 16 Rubin claims that
his typology of eight motivations can account for most explanations people give
for why they watch television. Notice that each category describes both a reason
for TV use as well as a potential gratifi cation experienced from that use.
1. Passing time. Consider the waiting room at the doctor’s offi ce. The pri-
mary reason for watching TV is to simply pass the time until you’re called
in for your appointment.
2. Companionship. When sports fans get together to watch the big game,
some fans are there primarily for the chance to get together with friends.
Watching the game is secondary.
3. Escape. Instead of focusing on that anxiety-causing term paper due in
two weeks, a college student might just turn on the tube to escape the
pressure.
4. Enjoyment. Many report that the main reason they watch a TV show is
that they fi nd the whole experience enjoyable. This might be the most
basic motivation to consume any media.
PEOPLE CAN ACCURATELY REPORT THEIR MEDIA USE AND MOTIVATION
If uses & grats was to have any future as a theory, researchers had to fi nd a way
to uncover the media that people consumed and the reasons they consumed it.
For these purposes, the most obvious way to collect data involved asking people
directly and recording their answers. There is now a long tradition in mass
communication research that asks people to report the amount of time they
devote to different kinds of media. The early research on uses & grats can take
a good deal of the credit for starting that practice. 14
The controversial aspect of this measurement strategy is whether or not
people are truly capable of discerning the reasons for their media consumption.
It may be easy for us to report the reason why we watch a local weather forecast,
but it might be more diffi cult to know exactly why we’re so willing to kill a few
hours each day playing a game like Angry Birds on our smart phones.
If Paul were to ask Alex why he spends so much time playing video games,
Alex might simply say, “Because I like it.” Scholars attempting to arrive at the
best scientifi c explanation for Alex’ behavior might question that response. Is it
possible, for example, that Alex is playing the games to avoid having to talk with
others face-to-face? If so, would he necessarily be aware of that motivation?
While some scholars have attempted to show that we can trust people’s reports
of the reasons for their media consumption, 15 this assumption of the theory con-
tinues to be debated. Sometimes assumptions turn out to be wrong.
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358 MASS COMMUNICATION
5. Social interaction. TV viewing provides a basis for connecting to others. If
I make sure to watch the most recent episode of a series like Game of
Thrones, I may fi nd that I  have more opportunities to start a conversation
with someone else who saw the same show.
6. Relaxation. After working all day, many people report that they fi nd
watching TV to be relaxing. Today, many households have at least one
bedroom with a TV set. People sometimes report that watching TV relaxes
them so much that they have diffi culty falling asleep any other way.
7. Information. News junkies report that watching TV is all about keeping
up with the latest information of the day. If they don’t get to watch TV for
several days, they report feeling uncomfortable about the information they
know they’ve missed.
8. Excitement. Sometimes media consumers are after an intense sense of
excitement. This could be one reason why media violence is a staple of TV
entertainment. Confl ict and violence generate a sense of excitement that
few other dramatic devices can match.
When you look at Rubin’s eight categories, it’s easy to see that the examples
fi led under any one label don’t have to be identical. While some people look for
violence to gratify their need for excitement, others, like Alex, look for a com-
petitive online game. Still others might seek out a movie with erotic content in
order to provide a sense of sexual excitement. Excitement can be subdivided into
sexual excitement, competitive excitement, and excitement that arises from a
suspenseful story line. But if each of Rubin’s eight categories were subdivided
into three more, the resulting typology of 24 categories would seem unwieldy
and inelegant. Remember that relative simplicity is a valuable asset for objective
theories.
Rubin claims that his typology captures most of the explanations people give
for their media consumption. There may well be others. When Bradley Greenberg
studied uses and gratifi cations among British children back in 1974, he discovered
that many kids reported they watched TV simply because they had developed a
habit of doing so that was diffi cult to break. 17 Rubin discussed habitual viewing
under the “passing time” category. If he were doing his research today, he’d fi nd
habitual texting or Facebook use as common activities. Of course, kids aren’t the
only ones who cite habit as the main reason they use media. In “Television
Typology
A classification scheme
that attempts to sort a
large number of specific
instances into a more
manageable set of
categories.
CALVIN AND HOBBES © Watterson. Reprinted with permission of UNIVERSAL UCLICK. All rights reserved.
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CHAPTER 28: USES AND GRATIFICATIONS 359
Addiction Is No Mere Metaphor,” a 2002 Scientifi c American cover story, commu-
nication researchers Robert Kubey and Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi present hard
evidence of TV’s habit-forming nature. 18 Maintaining that habit feels good. Break-
ing it is agony. Paul may realize that if he asks Alex to simply stop playing video
games, his roommate will balk at the request. Alex may have developed a habit-
ual behavior that is no longer volitional.
PARASOCIAL RELATIONSHIPS: USING MEDIA TO HAVE A FANTASY FRIEND
Using media to gratify a habitual urge may not be the only motivation to con-
sider as an additional category for Rubin’s typology. Years ago, actor Robert
Young played the lead role in the hit TV series Marcus Welby, M.D . As the ideal
physician who combined kindness with authority and expertise, he attracted
millions of weekly viewers who were curious about how Dr. Welby would solve
the next medical mystery. As the popularity of the series grew, something strange
started to happen—the actor began receiving personal letters from viewers ask-
ing him for medical advice. In fact, according to one researcher who wrote a
book on the “psychology of fame and celebrity,” Robert Young received more
than 250,000 such letters during the fi rst fi ve years of the program. 19 Why did
so many viewers come to believe that a Hollywood actor with no medical cre-
dentials was a good source of medical advice?
The answer to that intriguing question is now best understood in terms of
what researchers refer to as the parasocial relationship . According to Rubin, a para-
social relationship is basically a sense of friendship or emotional attachment that
develops between TV viewers and media personalities. This relationship can be
measured by asking viewers some basic questions about their involvement with
popular characters. Rubin says these relationships are experienced in different
ways, including “. . . seeking guidance from a media persona, seeing media per-
sonalities as friends, imagining being part of a favorite program’s social world,
and desiring to meet media performers.” 20 While Rubin doesn’t suggest that
desire for a parasocial relationship might count as another category in his typol-
ogy, it certainly seems to be a candidate.
Knowing which media consumers will form parasocial relationships can help
researchers predict how media will affect different viewers in different ways. An
illustration is found in the surprising aftermath of an episode of the old TV series
Happy Days . 21 Shortly after the episode where “The Fonz” applied for a library
card was broadcast, library card applications around the country increased 500
percent. By applying uses & grats, a researcher might hypothesize that viewers
who were more deeply involved in a parasocial relationship with The Fonz
would be the ones most likely to apply for a card.
In the same way that uses & grats could be used to analyze TV viewing, it
also holds potential for studying social media. For example, the theory could be
applied to make sense of the huge number of people who felt the urge to share
their grief online after the death of Cory Monteith in July 2013. Monteith, a star
on the TV show Glee, died suddenly and tragically from a lethal mix of heroin
and alcohol. Weeks later, tribute pages with thousands of followers continued to
percolate with activity. In fact, Monteith’s followers on Twitter increased by over
a half million after he was gone.22 Who would start subscribing to the Twitter feed
of a dead person? A uses & grats theorist might suggest that signing up for the
Twitter feed is a way of expressing a deep parasocial involvement with Monteith.
Parasocial relationship
A sense of friendship or
emotional attachment
that develops between
TV viewers and media
personalities.
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360 MASS COMMUNICATION
CRITIQUE: HEAVY ON DESCRIPTION AND LIGHT ON PREDICTION?
In Chapter 3 you read that a good objective theory explains the past and present
and predicts the future. These two criteria are called the “twin objectives of
scientifi c knowledge.” One criticism of uses & grats is that its major contribution
is a descriptive typology of media uses and gratifi cations. For some, the emphasis
on description rather than explanation and prediction is one of the theory’s weak
spots. This criticism might be countered by pointing out that studies such as the
one on reactions to reports of Magic Johnson’s contracting HIV offer more than
just description; they enable researchers to predict which media will affect con-
sumers in particular ways, and they offer an explanation for the data observed.
Jiyeon So, a communication professor at the University of Georgia, recently
published an article that tackles the “description–prediction” critique head-on.25
She notes that uses and gratifi cations theory was never intended to be merely
descriptive; it was originally designed to offer specifi c predictions about media
effects. But for whatever reason, the research on uses & grats has emphasized
description. She goes on to explain that the theory can be used to predict differ-
ent media effects by fi rst understanding why people are consuming a particular
media message. If her article helps set a new course for uses & grats research,
the standard critique about prediction should fade away.
How well does uses & grats measure up against the other criteria mentioned
in Chapter 3: relative simplicity, testability, practical utility , and quantitative research?
There’s nothing overly complex about the theory. The propositions that people
use media to gratify particular needs and that those needs can be succinctly
described using eight categories have the ring of relative simplicity . On the other
hand, scholars continue to question the extent to which people can accurately
report the reasons for their media use. 26 If they can’t, the theory’s testability is
jeopardized. While people may be able to report with reasonable accuracy what
media they consume, who is to say why they consume it? Depth psychologists
from Freud to present-day therapists would suggest that the average media user
is probably in one of the worst positions to explain his or her choices. There may
also be a logical contradiction between the habit motive for consuming media and
Although fans who feel attached to celebrities aren’t able to express their
grief by going to the funeral and hugging grieving family members, they are able
to use social media to show they care. Following the Twitter feed of the deceased
may serve the same function as paying respects at the funeral home to the fam-
ily members of a personal acquaintance. In both cases, the expression shows
appropriate concern.
In his review of some of the current directions of research on uses & grats,
Rubin notes several studies that utilize the existence of parasocial relationships
to predict differential effects of media content on viewers. 23 For example, after
basketball star Magic Johnson announced in 1991 that he had tested positive for
HIV, one study compared college students who may have had a parasocial rela-
tionship with Johnson to those who said they had only heard of him. News
reports of Johnson’s disease affected the two groups differently. Those who may
have had a parasocial relationship said they were more concerned about HIV
among heterosexuals and expressed an intention to reduce risky sexual behavior.
Students who had only heard of Magic Johnson weren’t affected by the news
reports in the same way. 24
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CHAPTER 28: USES AND GRATIFICATIONS 361
1. To what extent can we give an accurate report of the media content we con-
sume? Are we always aware of the reasons we choose the media we do?
Why or why not?
2. Consider Facebook and other social networking sites. Have you heard others
express reasons for using Facebook that aren’t refl ected in the typology pro-
posed by Alan Rubin?
3. Do you think many people have parasocial relationships with media charac-
ters? Were the people who wrote letters to Robert Young seeking medical
advice genuinely confused about whether he was an actor or a doctor?
4. Think of a specifi c example of how two individuals might use media content
to gratify different needs. How will those individuals experience very differ-
ent media effects?
QUESTIONS TO SHARPEN YOUR FOCUS
the theory’s notion that media choices are conscious and deliberate. To the extent
that Alex plays video games out of a deeply ingrained habit, he may not refl ect
on how he spends his time before he sits down to play. If so, his failure to refl ect
creates a problem for testing a theory that takes such refl ection for granted.
To their credit, uses & grats scholars don’t just dig in and defend the theory.
They’ve tried to respond to critics by making changes. Instead of staying with
the simple assertion that media audiences are uniformly active and making con-
scious choices, Rubin modifi ed uses & grats by claiming that activity is actually
a variable in the theory.27 Though some consumers exemplify the highly active
audience member described in early versions of the theory, others consume
media passively, out of habit, or with little conscious deliberation. Still others fall
somewhere in between—or even at different points of the continuum at different
times or in different situations. When Alex returns from class and unthinkingly
slumps into his chair to play Call of Duty, he’s on the passive end of the con-
tinuum. When he makes arrangements with his friends to meet online to play
the game together, he’s much more active.
As a student of communication theory and an expert in your own personal
media consumption, you may be in the best position to evaluate the practical
utility of uses & grats. What implications does the theory have for you ? At the
very least, you might think of uses & grats as raising your own personal con-
sciousness about the media you consume and the reasons you consume it. By
refl ecting on your media use, you could come to a new realization of your needs
and how you choose to gratify them. And this self-awareness can lead to more
satisfying choices in the long run. If Alex realizes his game playing is based on
a habitual urge that’s threatening his health, he might be more inclined to take
the advice of a concerned friend like Paul and seek help to curtail his habit.
Katz’ notion in the 1950s that the theory of uses and gratifi cations could save
the entire fi eld of communication turned out to be an extreme exaggeration.
Perhaps that was his way of getting scholars to pay attention to a new idea. A
view that emphasizes what people do with media instead of what media do to
people seemed like a strange theoretical twist. But despite the fact that Katz may
have initially overplayed his hand, the theory has fared well. Uses & grats has
generated a large body of quantitative research. It’s also poised to serve as one of
the main theories guiding media research well into the twenty-fi rst century.
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362 MASS COMMUNICATION
A SECOND LOOK Recommended resource: Elihu Katz, Jay G. Blumler, and Michael Gurevitch, “Utilization
of Mass Communication by the Individual,” in The Uses of Mass Communications: Current
Perspectives on Gratifi cations Research, Jay G. Blumler and Elihu Katz (eds.), Sage, Beverly
Hills, CA, 1974, pp. 19–32.
Current update and overview: Alan M. Rubin, “Uses-And-Gratifi cations Perspective on
Media Effects,” in Media Effects: Advances in Theory and Research, 3 rd ed., Jennings Bryant
and Mary Beth Oliver (eds.), Lawrence Erlbaum, New York, 2009, pp. 165–184.
Parasocial relationships: Alan M. Rubin and Mary M. Step, “Impact of Motivation,
Attraction, and Parasocial Interaction on Talk Radio Listening,” Journal of Broadcasting &
Electronic Media, Vol. 44, 2000, pp. 635–654.
Using media as a substitute for face-to-face relationships: Will Miller and Glenn Sparks, Refrig-
erator Rights: Creating Connections and Restoring Relationships, Perigree, New York, 2002.
Validity of self-reports in uses & grats research: Jack M. McLeod and Lee B. Becker, “Test-
ing the Validity of Gratifi cation Measures Through Political Effects Analysis,” in The Uses
of  Mass Communications, pp. 137–164.
Related theory: Dolf Zillmann, “Mood Management: Using Entertainment to Full Advan-
tage,” Communication, Social Cognition, and Affect, Lewis Donohew, Howard E. Sypher,
and E. Tory Higgins (eds.), Lawrence Erlbaum, Hillsdale, NJ, 1988.
Gender differences in media use: Silvia Knobloch-Westerwick, “Gender Differences in
Selective Media Use for Mood Management and Mood Adjustment,” Journal of Broadcast-
ing & Electronic Media, Vol. 51, 2007, pp. 73–92.
New media: Isolde Anderson, “The Uses and Gratifi cations of Online Care Pages: A
Study of CaringBridge,” Health Communication, Vol. 26, 2011, pp. 546–559.
Policy implications: Harold Mendelsohn, “Some Policy Implications of the Uses and
Gratifi cations Paradigm,” in The Uses of Mass Communications, pp. 303–318.
Comprehensive critique: Philip Elliott, “Uses and Gratifi cations Research: A Critique
and a Sociological Alternative,” in The Uses of Mass Communications, pp. 249–268.
Uses & grats is a theory describing needs and interests.
For another theory of motivation, click on Hierarchy of Needs
in Archive under Theory Resources at
www.afi rstlook.com.
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363
29C H A P T E R
Cultivation Theory
of George Gerbner
What are the odds that you’ll be involved in some kind of violent act within the
next seven days? 1 out of 10? 1 out of 100? 1 out of 1,000? 1 out of 10,000?
According to Hungarian-born George Gerbner, the answer you give may
have more to do with how much TV you watch than with the actual risk you
face in the week to come. Gerbner, who died in 2005, was dean emeritus of the
Annenberg School for Communication at the University of Pennsylvania and
founder of the Cultural Environment Movement. He claimed that because TV
contains so much violence, people who spend the most time in front of the tube
develop an exaggerated belief in a mean and scary world. The violence they see
on the screen can cultivate a social paranoia that counters notions of trustworthy
people or safe surroundings.
Like Marshall McLuhan, Gerbner regarded television as the dominant force
in shaping modern society. But unlike McLuhan, who viewed the medium as the
message, Gerbner was convinced that TV’s power comes from the symbolic con-
tent of the real-life drama shown hour after hour, week after week. At its root,
television is society’s institutional storyteller, and a society’s stories give “a
coherent picture of what exists, what is important, what is related to what, and
what is right.” 1
Until the advent of broadcast media, the two acceptable storytellers outside
the home were schools and faith communities. Today, the TV set is a key mem-
ber of the household, with virtually unlimited access to every person in the
family. Television dominates the environment of symbols, telling most of the
stories, most of the time. Gerbner claimed that people now watch television
as they might attend church, “except that most people watch television more
religiously.” 2
What do they see in their daily devotions? According to Gerbner, violence
is one of the major staples of the TV world. He wrote that violence “is the sim-
plest and cheapest dramatic means to demonstrate who wins in the game of life
and the rules by which the game is played.” 3 Those who are immersed in the
world of TV drama learn these “facts of life” better than occasional viewers do.
Most people who decry violence on television are worried that it affects
receptive young viewers by encouraging aggressive behavior. Gerbner was more
concerned that it affects viewers’ beliefs about the world around them and the
feelings connected to those beliefs. If viewers come to believe that the world
Objective Interpretive
Socio-psychological tradition
Socio-cultural tradition
●
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364 MASS COMMUNICATION
around them is fi lled with crime, they’re also likely to feel scared about the
prospect of engaging in that crime-fi lled world. Gerbner thought that watching
television violence might result in viewers wanting to own guard dogs, double-
bolt locks, and home security systems. He was concerned that television violence
convinces viewers that it is indeed “a jungle out there.”
Gerbner ’s general expertise in the fi eld of communication was widely
acknowledged. He served as editor of the Journal of Communication, and for
almost two decades he spearheaded an extensive research program that moni-
tored the level of violence on television, classifi ed people according to how much
TV they watch, and compiled measures of how viewers perceive the world
around them. He was especially interested in how viewers’ consumption of TV
violence increased their perceptions of risk for crime, and most of his research
sought to gather support for that idea.
But cultivation theory isn’t limited to TV violence. Other scholars have used
it to theorize about how TV affects perceptions about the health risks of smoking,
the popularity of various political positions, and appropriate gender roles. The
ways that TV might affect views of social reality are probably too many to count.
Partly because of Gerbner’s credentials and partly because of the intuitive appeal
of the theory itself, his cultivation explanation of his research fi ndings remains
one of the most popular and controversial theories of mass communication.
Gerbner introduced the theory of cultivation as part of his “cultural indica-
tors” paradigm. As you’ll recall from Fisher’s narrative paradigm (see Chapter 24),
a paradigm is a conceptual framework that calls for people to view events
through a common interpretive lens. You might think of Gerbner’s framework
as a three-pronged plug leading to a TV set, with each of the prongs uniquely
equipped to tell us something different about the world of TV. 4 Each of the three
prongs is associated with a particular type of analysis that Gerbner considers a
critical component in understanding the effects of television on its viewers.
INSTITUTIONAL PROCESS ANALYSIS—THE FIRST PRONG
The fi rst prong of the plug represents scholars’ concern for the reasons why
media produce the messages they do. Gerbner labeled the research addressing
this concern institutional process analysis . Scholars who do this type of research
penetrate behind the scenes of media organizations in an effort to understand
what policies or practices might be lurking there. For example, Gerbner believed
that one reason there is so much violence on TV is that Hollywood is mainly
concerned with how to export its product globally for maximum profi t at mini-
mum cost. Since violence is cheap to produce and speaks in a language that is
universally understood, studios adopt policies that call for their shows to include
lots of violent content.
It would be diffi cult for a scholar to discover institutional policy without
conducting in-depth interviews with media producers, accountants, and stu-
dio executives. When scholars conduct these sorts of interviews, they are engag-
ing in institutional process analysis. Gerbner was fond of promoting his own
views about the inner workings of Hollywood, but it isn’t always clear whether
those views were based on systematic scholarship. Cultivation theory is far
better known for the concerns represented by the second and third prongs of
the plug.
Institutional process
analysis
Scholarship that pene-
trates behind the scenes
of media organizations in
an effort to understand
what policies or practices
might be lurking there.
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CHAPTER 29: CULTIVATION THEORY 365
If TV cultivates perceptions of social reality among viewers, it becomes essential
to know exactly what messages TV transmits. The only way to know for sure
is to undertake careful, systematic study of TV content— message system analysis.
For Gerbner, that involved employing the method of quantitative content analy-
sis, which resulted in numerical reports of exactly what the world of television
contained.
While Gerbner designed most of his content analyses to reveal how much
violence was on TV and how that violence was depicted, this method can be used
to focus on any type of TV content. For example, scholars who thought that TV
cultivated perceptions about smoking behavior and appropriate gender roles used
content analysis to document the prevalence of smoking and the different roles
played by males and females in prime time. Other researchers have examined
depictions of marriage and work, attitudes about science, depictions of the para-
normal, treatment of various political views, and ways environmental issues are
handled. Before one can examine how certain messages might affect perceptions of
social reality, however, it’s important to know exactly what those messages contain.
An Index of Violence
As the opening paragraphs of the chapter reveal, Gerbner devoted most of his
research to studying the cultivating impact of media violence. His content
analysis was designed to uncover exactly how violence was depicted on TV.
Of course, that required Gerbner to clearly specify what he meant by violence.
He defi ned dramatic violence as “the overt expression of physical force (with or
without a weapon, against self or others) compelling action against one’s will
on pain of being hurt and/or killed or threatened to be so victimized as part
of the plot.” 5
The defi nition rules out verbal abuse, idle threats, and pie-in-the-face slap-
stick. But it includes the physical abuse presented in a cartoon format. When
the coyote pursuing the roadrunner is fl attened by a steamroller or the Mighty
Morphin Power Rangers crush their enemies, Gerbner would label the scene vio-
lent. He also counted auto crashes and natural disasters. From an artistic point
of view, these events are no accident. The screenwriter inserted the trauma for
dramatic effect. Characters die or are maimed just as effectively as if they’d
taken a bullet in the chest.
For more than two decades, Gerbner’s team of researchers randomly selected
a week during the fall season and videotaped every prime-time (8 to 11 p.m. )
network show. They also recorded programming for children on Saturday and
Sunday (8 a.m. to 2 p.m. ). After counting up the incidents that fi t their descrip-
tion, they gauged the overall level of violence with a formula that included the
ratio of programs that scripted violence, the rate of violence in those programs,
and the percentage of characters involved in physical harm and killing. They
found that the annual index was both remarkably stable and alarmingly high.
Equal Violence, Unequal Risk
One indisputable fact to emerge from Gerbner’s analysis is that the cumulative
portrayal of violence varies little from year to year. More than half of prime-time
programs contain actual bodily harm or threatened violence. The Big Bang Theory
Message system analysis
Scholarship that involves
careful, systematic study
of TV content, usually
employing content anal-
ysis as a research
method.
Dramatic violence
The overt expression or
serious threat of physical
force as part of the plot.
MESSAGE SYSTEM ANALYSIS—THE SECOND PRONG
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366 MASS COMMUNICATION
and Two and a Half Men are not typical. Dramas that include violence average
fi ve traumatic incidents per viewing hour. Almost all the weekend children’s
shows major in mayhem. They average 20 cases an hour. By the time the typical
TV viewer graduates from high school, he or she has observed 13,000 violent
deaths.
On any given week, two-thirds of the major characters are caught up in some
kind of violence. Heroes are just as involved as villains, yet there is great inequal-
ity as to the age, race, and gender of those on the receiving end of physical force.
Old people and children are harmed at a much greater rate than are young or
middle-aged adults. In the pecking order of “victimage,” African Americans and
Hispanics are killed or beaten more than their Caucasian counterparts. Gerbner
noted that it’s risky to be “other than clearly white.” It’s also dangerous to be
female. The opening lady-in-distress scene is a favorite dramatic device to gal-
vanize the hero into action. And fi nally, blue-collar workers “get it in the neck”
more often than do white-collar executives.
The symbolic vulnerability of minority-group members is striking, given
their gross underrepresentation in TV drama. Gerbner’s analysis of the world of
television recorded that 50 percent of the characters are white, middle-class
males, and women are outnumbered by men 3 to 1. Although one-third of our
society is made up of children and teenagers, they appear as only 10 percent of
the characters on prime-time shows. Two-thirds of the United States labor force
have blue-collar or service jobs, yet that group constitutes a mere 10 percent of
the players on television. African Americans and Hispanics are only occasional
fi gures, but the elderly are by far the most excluded minority. Less than 3 percent
of the dramatic roles are fi lled by actors over the age of 65. If insurance compa-
nies kept actuarial tables on the life expectancy of television characters, they’d
discover that the chance of a poor, elderly black woman’s avoiding harm for the
entire hour is almost nil.
“You do lovely needlepoint, grandma, but . . .”
Reproduced by permission of Punch Ltd., www.punch.co.uk
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CHAPTER 29: CULTIVATION THEORY 367
In sum, Gerbner ’s content analyses reveal that people on the margins of
American society are put in symbolic double jeopardy. Their existence is under-
stated, but at the same time their vulnerability to violence is overplayed. When
written into the script, they are often made visible in order to be victims. Not
surprisingly, these are the very people who exhibit the most fear of violence
when the TV set is turned off.
CULTIVATION ANALYSIS—THE THIRD PRONG
Most devotees of cultivation theory subscribe to the notion that message system
analysis is a prerequisite to the third prong of the plug: cultivation analysis. It’s
important to recognize the difference between the two. Message system analysis
deals with the content of TV; cultivation analysis deals with how TV’s content
might affect viewers—particularly the viewers who spend lots of time glued to
the tube.
It might be helpful to think of cultivation analysis as the prong that carries
the most electrical current in the theory. This is the part of the paradigm where
most of the action takes place. Gerbner’s research associates, Michael Morgan,
James Shanahan, and Nancy Signorielli, offer a clear defi nition of cultivation:
The concept of “cultivation” thus refers to the independent contribution television
viewing makes to audience members’ conceptions of social reality. Television view-
ing cultivates ways of seeing the world—those who spend more time “living” in the
world of television are more likely to see the “real world” in terms of the images,
values, portrayals and ideologies that emerge through the lens of television. 6
After watching an episode of Law & Order: Special Victims Unit, Em’s student
Jeremy found the idea of cultivation perfectly plausible when it comes to watch-
ing media violence and developing a fear of real-world crime. His description
of the episode and his conclusion about cultivation are worth noting:
In the episode, a child found the dead bodies of both his nanny and his mom. His
nanny was killed by someone she met online and his mom was killed by his dad a
few days later because she was having an affair and wanted to leave him. At the
end of the episode, a detective and the wife of another detective were in a car acci-
dent. Of the nine central characters in the episode, three were victims of violent
crime and two were perpetrators of violent crime. Two of the four remaining char-
acters were involved in the car crash, so only two people made it out of the epi-
sode unscathed. I can see how heavy viewers of such shows would get the idea
that the world is mean and scary.
Cultivation analysis
Research designed to
find support for the no-
tion that those who
spend more time watch-
ing TV are more likely to
see the “real world”
through TV’s lens.
CULTIVATION WORKS LIKE A MAGNETIC OR GRAVITATIONAL FIELD
If Gerbner is right that heavy TV watching infl uences viewers’ beliefs about the
world, how can we understand exactly how this happens? It’s tempting to think
of cultivation as a linear push process, where TV content infl uences viewers much
like the cue ball on a billiard table pushes the other balls to new locations upon
impact. But cultivation researchers aren’t fond of that metaphor. Michael Morgan
and his co-authors point out that the cultivation process is much more like the
pull of a gravitational fi eld. 7
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368 MASS COMMUNICATION
As a researcher who majors in media effects and has published research on
media cultivation,8 I (Glenn) like to extend the metaphor of gravity to magne-
tism. Imagine a table of billiard balls that are made of metal, with the cue ball
(representing TV) possessing powerful magnetic properties. Regardless of where
the other balls (representing individual viewers) are positioned on the table, they
will be affected by the magnetic pull of the cue ball and tend to move closer to
it. Depending on the initial position of the balls on the table, they won’t all move
toward the magnetic cue ball at the same angle and at the same speed—but they
will all be susceptible to the pull of the magnet to some degree. In the same way,
although the magnitude of TV’s infl uence is not the same for every viewer, all
are affected by it.
While metaphors like the magnetic cue ball can shed light on a theoretical
process like cultivation, some scholars see them as limited in terms of explaining
what’s really going on. L. J. Shrum, a professor of marketing at the University of
Texas at San Antonio, offers insight into the “black box” of the mind so we can
better understand how watching TV affects judgments of the world around us.
Shrum relies on the accessibility principle in explaining TV’s cultivating impact. 9
This principle states that when people make judgments about the world around
them, they rely on the smallest bits of information that come to mind most
quickly—the information that is most accessible.
For those who consume lots of TV, the most accessible information for mak-
ing judgments is more likely to come from TV shows than anywhere else. Heavy
TV viewing keeps messages from the screen at the top of the mind’s vast bin of
information. If you’re a heavy TV viewer and someone asks you about your odds
of being involved in a violent act, the most accessible information about crime
that you will use to construct your answer could come from your steady diet
of CSI.
Gerbner seemed content to leave scholars like Shrum with the task of explain-
ing exactly how the cultivation process works. In the meantime, he was busy
spinning out more specifi c propositions to test. The two main propositions that
guided his thinking about cultivation were mainstreaming and resonance.
Accessibility principle
When people make judg-
ments about the world
around them, they rely
on the smallest bits of in-
formation that come to
mind most quickly.
MAINSTREAMING: BLURRING, BLENDING, AND BENDING OF ATTITUDES
Mainstreaming is Gerbner’s term to describe the process of “blurring, blending,
and bending” that those with heavy viewing habits undergo. He thought that
through constant exposure to the same images and labels, heavy viewers develop
a commonality of outlook that doesn’t happen with radio. Radio stations seg-
ment the audience to the point where programming for left-handed truck drivers
who bowl on Friday nights is a distinct possibility. But instead of narrowcasting
their programs, TV producers broadcast in that they seek to “attract the largest
possible audience by celebrating the moderation of the mainstream.” 10 Television
homogenizes its audience so that those with heavy viewing habits share the same
orientations, perspectives, and meanings with each other.
Think of the metaphor of the metal billiard balls scattered on the pool table
and visualize the magnetic cue ball in the center. Despite the fact that the indi-
vidual metal balls are located in many different positions on the table, each one
is drawn closer to the magnetic cue ball and, in the process, all of the balls
become closer to each other—assuming positions on the table that are more alike
than before the magnet had its effect. In a similar way, as TV mainstreams
Mainstreaming
The blurring, blending,
and bending process by
which heavy TV viewers
from disparate groups
develop a common out-
look through constant
exposure to the same im-
ages and labels.
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CHAPTER 29: CULTIVATION THEORY 369
people, it pulls those who might initially be different from each other into a
common perception of reality that resembles the TV world. We needn’t ask how
close this common perception of the way the world works is to the mainstream
of culture. According to Gerbner, the “television answer” is the mainstream.
Gerbner illustrated the mainstreaming effect by showing how heavy TV
viewers blur economic and political distinctions. TV glorifi es the middle class,
and those with heavy viewing habits assume that label, no matter what their
income. But those with light viewing habits who have blue-collar jobs accurately
describe themselves as working-class people.
In like fashion, those with heavy viewing habits label themselves political
moderates. Most characters in TV dramas frown on political extremism—right or
left. This nonextremist ethic is apparently picked up by the constant viewer. It’s
only from the ranks of sporadic TV users that Gerbner found people who actu-
ally label themselves liberal or conservative.
Social scientists have come to expect political differences between rich and
poor, blacks and whites, Catholics and Protestants, city dwellers and farmers.
Those distinctions still emerge when sporadic television viewers respond to the
survey. But Gerbner reported that traditional differences diminish among those
with heavy viewing habits. It’s as if the light from the TV set washes out any
sharp features that would set them apart.
Even though those with heavy viewing habits call themselves moderates,
Gerbner and his associates studying cultural indicators noted that their posi-
tions on social issues are decidedly conservative. Heavy viewers consistently
voice opinions in favor of lower taxes, more police protection, and stronger
national defense. They are against big government, free speech, the Equal Rights
Amendment, abortion, open-housing legislation, and affi rmative action. The
mainstream is not middle of the road. The magnetic cue ball isn’t sitting in the
middle of the table—it’s distinctly skewed to the right.
RESONANCE: THE TV WORLD LOOKS LIKE MY WORLD, SO IT MUST BE TRUE
To understand the resonance process, consider again the billiard metaphor. The
balls closest to the magnetic cue ball are like TV viewers whose real-world envi-
ronment is very much like the world of TV. They might be viewers who live in
the inner city and are accustomed to violent attacks, police chases, and losing
friends to violent crime. The balls farthest away from the cue ball are like view-
ers who live in a world that doesn’t resemble TV at all. Which of the balls on
the table are most affected by the magnetic cue ball? If you remember how
magnets behave and you have a clear image of the billiard table, the answer is
clear: the closest balls are the ones that will be most affected. In fact, if they are
extremely close to the cue ball, they will be pulled in quickly and end up fi rmly
attached. Although Gerbner didn’t use this metaphor, I think he would have seen
it as illustrative of the resonance process. He thought the cultivating power of
TV’s messages would be especially strong over viewers who perceived that the
world depicted on TV was a world very much like their own. He thought of
these viewers as ones who get a “double dose” of the same message. 11
For three years Em was a volunteer advocate in a low-income housing proj-
ect. Although he felt relatively safe walking through the project, police and social
workers told stories of shootings and stabbings. Even peace-loving residents
Resonance
The condition that exists
when viewers’ real-life
environment is like the
world of TV; these view-
ers are especially suscep-
tible to TV’s cultivating
power.
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370 MASS COMMUNICATION
were no strangers to violence. Em can’t recall ever entering an apartment where
the TV was turned off. Gerbner would expect that the daily diet of symbolic
savagery would reinforce people’s experience of doorstep violence, making life
even more frightening. The hesitation of most tenants to venture outside their
apartments is consistent with his resonance assumption.
RESEARCH ON CULTIVATION ANALYSIS
Cultivation takes time. Gerbner viewed the process as one that unfolds gradually
through the steady accumulation of TV’s messages. Consequently, he shunned
the experimental method many researchers used to study the effects of TV vio-
lence on aggressive behavior. According to Gerbner, these experiments couldn’t
possibly detect the sort of changes he sought to document. Change due to cul-
tivation takes place over months and years; most experiments measure change
that takes place over 30 or 60 minutes. That’s why the strategy for performing
cultivation analysis relies on surveys instead of experiments.
Gerbner’s basic prediction was that heavy TV viewers would be more likely
than light viewers to see the social world as resembling the world depicted on
TV. The strategy for testing this notion was simple. Survey respondents were
asked two types of questions: one type focused on reports of TV exposure so
that Gerbner could distinguish between heavy and light viewers; the second
focused on perceptions of social reality that he thought media might cultivate.
Once measured, the responses could be correlated to fi nd out if heavy viewers
perceive the world as a scarier place than light viewers do.
Based on the data from survey questionnaires on TV viewing, most of
Gerbner ’s work established a self-report of two hours a day as the upper limit
of light viewing. He labeled heavy viewers as those who watch four hours or
more. He also referred to the heavy viewer as the television type, a more benign
term than couch potato with its allusion to either a steady diet of television and
potato chips or a vegetable with many eyes. There are more heavy viewers than
light viewers, but each group makes up about one-fourth of the general popula-
tion. People whose viewing habits are in the two- to four-hour midrange make
up the other half, but Gerbner wanted to compare people with distinctly differ-
ent patterns of television exposure.
Heavy viewers
TV viewers who report
that they watch at least
four hours per day; tele-
vision types.
THE MAJOR FINDINGS OF CULTIVATION ANALYSIS
Believing that violence is the backbone of TV drama and knowing that people
differ in how much TV they watch, Gerbner sought to discover the cultivation
differential. That’s his term for “the difference in the percent giving the ‘television
answer’ within comparable groups of light and heavy viewers.” 12 He referred to cul-
tivation differential rather than media effects because the latter term implies a com-
parison between before -TV exposure and after -TV exposure. Gerbner believed
there is no before-television condition. Television enters people’s lives in infancy.
His surveys have revealed some provocative fi ndings:
1. Positive correlation between TV viewing and fear of criminal victimization . In most
of the surveys Gerbner conducted, the results reveal a small but statistically
signifi cant relationship between TV consumption and fear about becoming
the victim of a crime. The question at the start of the chapter is illustrative:
Cultivation differential
The difference in the
percentage giving the
“television answer”
within comparable
groups of light and
heavy TV viewers.
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CHAPTER 29: CULTIVATION THEORY 371
Those with light viewing habits predict their weekly odds of being a victim
are 1 out of 100; those with heavy viewing habits fear the risk to be 1 out of
10. Actual crime statistics indicate that 1 out of 10,000 is more realistic. Not
surprisingly, more women than men are afraid of dark streets. But for both
sexes, the fear of victimization correlates with time spent in front of the tube.
People with heavy viewing habits tend to overestimate criminal activity,
believing it to be 10 times worse than it really is. In actuality, muggers on
the street pose less bodily threat to pedestrians than does injury from cars.
Because so many cultivation studies have been published, it is possible
to compute an overall average effect based on the correlations from all the
individual surveys. Such a study is called a meta-analysis. One meta-analysis
estimated the average correlation over 82 different studies to be consistently
small, but positive ( r 5 10.09)—indicating that as TV viewing increases,
there is a tendency for fear of victimization to increase as well. 13 Since correla-
tions can range from 0.0 to 1.0, a value of 0.09 is certainly on the small side.
But in most of the studies, the correlation was large enough to conclude
that the relationship was not just a chance fi nding. TV viewing is defi nitely
related to fear of criminal victimization.
2. Perceived activity of police. People with heavy viewing habits believe that
5 percent of society is involved in law enforcement. Their video world is
populated with police offi cers, judges, and government agents. People with
light viewing habits estimate a more realistic 1 percent. Gerbner’s television
type assumes that cops draw their guns almost every day, which isn’t true.
3. General mistrust of people. Those with heavy viewing habits are suspicious of
other people’s motives. They subscribe to statements that warn people to
expect the worst:
“Most people are just looking out for themselves.”
“In dealing with others, you can’t be too careful.”
“Do unto others before they do unto you.”
Gerbner called this cynical mindset the mean world syndrome. The evidence sug-
gests that the minds of heavy TV viewers are fertile ground for sowing thoughts
of danger.
Meta-analysis
A statistical procedure
that blends the results of
multiple empirical and
independent research
studies exploring the
same relationship be-
tween two variables
(e.g., TV viewing and
fear of violence).
Mean world syndrome
The cynical mindset of
general mistrust of others
subscribed to by heavy
TV viewers.
CRITIQUE: HOW STRONG IS THE EVIDENCE IN FAVOR OF THE THEORY?
For most observers, Gerbner’s claim that the dramatic content of television cre-
ates a fearful climate makes sense. How could the habitual viewer watch so
much violence without it having a lasting effect? Yet over the last 30 years, com-
munication journals have been fi lled with the sometimes bitter charges and coun-
tercharges of critics and supporters. Opponents have challenged Gerbner ’s
defi nition of violence, the programs he selected for content analysis, his decision
to lump together all types of dramatic programs (action, soap operas, sitcoms,
and so on), his assumption that there is always a consistent television answer,
his nonrandom methods of selecting respondents, his simple hours-per-day stan-
dard of categorizing viewers as light or heavy, his multiple-choice technique of
measuring their perceived risk of being mugged, his statistical method of analyz-
ing the data, and his interpretation of correlational data.
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372 MASS COMMUNICATION
Perhaps the most daunting issue to haunt cultivation research is how to
clearly establish the causal claim that heavy TV viewing leads a person to per-
ceive the world as mean and scary. Because cultivation researchers shun the
experimental method in favor of the survey, they are stuck with a method that
is incapable of establishing clear evidence of causality. Critics are quick to point
out that the correlation between TV viewing and fear of criminal victimization
can be interpreted plausibly in more than one way. The correlation could indi-
cate, as Gerbner contended, that TV viewing cultivates or causes fear of crime.
But it could make just as much sense to interpret the relationship the other
way—fear of crime causes people to watch more TV. After all, most TV shows
depict a just world in which the bad guys get caught in the end. Perhaps those
most afraid of crime are the ones most motivated to tune in to TV to become
assured that justice will ultimately triumph.
With correlational data, the only way to distinguish what causes what is
to collect data from the same people on more than one occasion over a longer
period of time. Longitudinal studies like these can help determine which of the
two variables comes before the other. Unfortunately, longitudinal research typ-
ically takes many months or years to complete. Scholars who live by the adage
“publish or perish” are not usually attracted to projects that require them to
wait around that long to collect data. As a result, cultivation studies of this
type are virtually nonexistent. This state of affairs causes some critics to give
cultivation theory low marks on the criterion of testability that you read about
in Chapter 3.
Another possibility is that the relationship between TV viewing and fear of
crime is like the relationship between a runny nose and a sore throat. Neither
one causes the other—they are both caused by something else. Just as the cold
virus is a common cause of runny noses and sore throats, some critics suggest
that the neighborhoods people live in could be the common cause of TV viewing
and fear of crime. 14 People who live in high-crime areas may fear crime for good
reason. They also tend to stay inside to avoid victimization. While indoors, they
pass the time by watching TV. In contrast, people who live in low-crime areas
don’t fear crime as much and so they tend to go outside more frequently, which
leads to less TV consumption. If researchers ignore where people live—and most
cultivation researchers do—they might miss the role played by this variable or
others that weren’t included in their questionnaires.
Scholars have another reservation about the evidence: cultivation effects tend
to be statistically small. Imagine an entire pie that represents all the fear of crime
that is measured in a cultivation questionnaire. The amount of the pie that
researchers can attribute to watching TV might be just a single bite. On the other
hand, champions of the theory point out that tiny statistical effects can be crucial.
Consider the fact that a 1 percent swing in voting patterns in 3 of the last 14
presidential elections would have resulted in a different person being elected
(Kennedy–Nixon in 1960; Nixon–Humphrey in 1968; Bush–Gore in 2000). Or
refl ect on the fact that a change in the average temperature of just a single degree
could have catastrophic consequences for our planet.
Issues of statistical size aside, Gerbner ’s defenders would emphasize the
importance of the issue at hand. Fear of violence is a paralyzing emotion. As
Gerbner repeatedly pointed out, worry can make people prisoners in their own
homes, change the way they vote, affect how they feel about themselves, and
dramatically lower their quality of life. Even if the effect of TV viewing on these
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CHAPTER 29: CULTIVATION THEORY 373
factors is relatively small, the consequences at stake make TV’s message one that
we should be concerned about.
But what is TV’s message? When Gerbner formulated his theory decades
ago, there were only three major networks. The vast offerings of today’s cable
and satellite menu were unimaginable. Critics contend that Gerbner’s original
assumption that TV viewers are constantly exposed to the same images and
labels is no longer true. While there may not yet be a channel for left-handed
truck drivers who bowl on Friday nights, the TV environment seems to be mov-
ing in that direction. The choices between such channels as the Food Network,
the Golf Channel, and C-SPAN permit a level of viewing selectivity that cultiva-
tion theory doesn’t acknowledge. If the theory is to continue to exert infl uence,
many critics maintain that it will have to adapt to the new media environment.
Compared to most of the other theories in this text, the “critique” section of
cultivation theory is much longer. Does this mean it’s a bad theory? Not neces-
sarily. Consider the fact that cultivation theory has generated research for almost
a half-century. Theories that have been around that long sustain more attacks
than ones recently hatched. It’s also important to keep in mind that amid all the
criticism, few theories in the area of mass communication have generated as
many studies. In addition to its tremendous contribution to research, the theory
has infl uenced at least three generations of scholars to think about media in a
particular way. Most theorists would love to have even a fraction of the recogni-
tion that cultivation theory has managed to garner.
As for Gerbner, in 1996 he founded the Cultural Environment Movement, a
coalition of organizations and social activists who believe it’s vitally important
who gets to tell the stories within a culture, and whose stories don’t get told.
They are committed to changing the stories that American television tells and
are convinced this will happen only when the public wrests control of the air-
waves from media conglomerates. Gerbner underscored the movement’s agenda
with repeated references to a line from Scottish patriot Andrew Fletcher:
“If a man were permitted to make all the ballads, he need not care who should
make the laws of a nation.” 15
1. How would you change Gerbner’s defi nition of dramatic violence so that his
index of TV violence would measure what you think is important?
2. What types of people are underrepresented in television drama? What types
of people are overrepresented? Who are the victims of symbolic violence on
the screen?
3. How do your political and social values differ from, or coincide with, the
mainstream attitudes of Gerbner’s television type?
4. The meta-analysis fi nding of a 10.09 relationship between TV exposure and
worldview can be seen as signifi cant, small, and/or important. How do these
interpretations differ? Which impresses you most?
QUESTIONS TO SHARPEN YOUR FOCUS
A SECOND LOOK Recommended resource: Michael Morgan, James Shanahan, and Nancy Signorielli,
“Growing Up with Television,” in Media Effects: Advances in Theory & Research, 3 rd ed.,
Jennings Bryant and Mary Beth Oliver (eds.), Routledge, New York, 2009, pp. 34–49.
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374 MASS COMMUNICATION
Primary sources: Michael Morgan (ed.), Against the Mainstream: The Selected Works of
George Gerbner, Peter Lang, New York, 2002.
Violence index: George Gerbner, Larry Gross, Marilyn Jackson-Beeck, Suzanne Jeffries-
Fox, and Nancy Signorielli, “Cultural Indicators: Violence Profi le No. 9,” Journal of Com-
munication, Vol. 28, No. 3, 1978, pp. 176–207.
Violence update: Amir Hetsroni, “Four Decades of Violent Content on Prime-Time
Network Programming: A Longitudinal Meta-Analytic Review,” Journal of Communication,
Vol. 57, No. 4, 2007, pp. 759–784.
Introduction to key concepts: George Gerbner, “Cultivation Analysis: An Overview,”
Mass Communication & Society, Vol. 1, 1998, pp. 175–194.
Profi le of Gerbner: Scott Stossel, “The Man Who Counts the Killings,” Atlantic, May 1997,
pp. 86–104.
Mainstreaming and resonance: George Gerbner, Larry Gross, Michael Morgan, and
Nancy Signorielli, “The ‘Mainstreaming’ of America: Violence Profi le No. 11,” Journal of
Communication, Vol. 30, No. 3, 1980, pp. 10–29.
Mainstreaming and resonance research: L. J. Shrum and Valerie D. Bischak, “Mainstream-
ing, Resonance, and Impersonal Impact: Testing Moderators of the Cultivation Effect for
Estimates of Crime Risk,” Human Communication Research, Vol. 27, 2001, pp. 187–215.
Research review and meta-analysis: Michael Morgan and James Shanahan, “Two Decades
of Cultivation Research: An Appraisal and a Meta-Analysis,” in Communication Yearbook 20,
Brant Burleson (ed.), Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 1997, pp. 1–45.
Television news violence: Daniel Romer, Kathleen Hall Jamieson, and Sean Aday, “Tele-
vision News and the Cultivation of Fear of Crime,” Journal of Communication, Vol. 53, 2003,
pp. 88–104.
Computer game violence: Dmitri Williams, “Virtual Cultivation: Online Worlds, Offl ine
Perceptions,” Journal of Communication, Vol. 56, 2006, pp. 69–87.
Causality with correlation data: Constanze Rossmann and Hans-Bernd Brosius, “The
Problem of Causality in Cultivation Research,” Communications, Vol. 29, 2004, pp. 379–397.
How Cultivation Works: L. J. Shrum, Jaehoon Lee, James Burroughs, and Aric Rind-
fl eisch, “An Online Process Model of Second-Order Cultivation Effects: How Television
Cultivates Materialism and Its Consequences for Life Satisfaction,” Human Communication
Research, Vol. 37, No. 1, 2011, pp. 34–57.
Critique: Dolf Zillmann and Jacob Wakshlag, “Fear of Victimization and the Appeal
of Crime Drama,” in Selective Exposure to Communication, Dolf Zillmann and Jennings
Bryant (eds.), Lawrence Erlbaum, Hillsdale, NJ, 1985, pp. 141–156.
To access a chapter that predicts when and how viewers will
imitate TV violence, click on Social Learning Theory
in Archive under Theory Resources at
www.afi rstlook.com.
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375
30C H A P T E R
Agenda-Setting Theory
of Maxwell McCombs & Donald Shaw
For some unexplained reason, in June 1972, fi ve unknown men broke into the
Democratic National Committee headquarters looking for undetermined infor-
mation. It was the sort of local crime story that rated two paragraphs on page
17 of The Washington Post. Yet editor Ben Bradlee and reporters Bob Woodward
and Carl Bernstein gave the story repeatedly high visibility even though the
public initially seemed to regard the incident as trivial.
President Nixon dismissed the break-in as a “third-rate burglary,” but over
the following year Americans showed an increasing public awareness of Water-
gate’s signifi cance. Half the country became familiar with the word Watergate
over the summer of 1972. By April 1973, that fi gure had risen to 90 percent. When
television began gavel-to-gavel coverage of the Senate hearings on the matter a
year after the break-in, virtually every adult in the United States knew what
Watergate was about. Six months after the hearings President Nixon still protested,
“I am not a crook.” But by the spring of 1974, he was forced from offi ce because
the majority of citizens and their representatives had decided that he was.
THE ORIGINAL AGENDA: NOT WHAT TO THINK, BUT WHAT TO THINK ABOUT
Journalism professors Maxwell McCombs and Donald Shaw regard Watergate as a
perfect example of the agenda-setting function of the mass media. They were not
surprised that the Watergate issue caught fi re after months on the front page of The
Washington Post. McCombs and Shaw believe that the “mass media have the ability
to transfer the salience of items on their news agendas to the public agenda.” 1 They
aren’t suggesting that broadcast and print personnel make a deliberate attempt to
infl uence listener, viewer, or reader opinion on the issues. Most reporters in the free
world have a deserved reputation for independence and fairness. But McCombs
and Shaw say that we look to news professionals for cues on where to focus our
attention. “ We judge as important what the media judge as important.” 2
Although McCombs and Shaw fi rst referred to the agenda-setting function
of the media in 1972, the idea that people desire media assistance in determining
political reality had already been voiced by a number of current events analysts.
In an attempt to explain how the United States had been drawn into World War
I, Pulitzer Prize–winning author Walter Lippmann claimed that the media act as
a mediator between “the world outside and the pictures in our heads.” 3 McCombs
Objective Interpretive
Socio-psychological tradition
●
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376 MASS COMMUNICATION
and Shaw also quote University of Wisconsin political scientist Bernard Cohen’s
observation concerning the specifi c function the media serve: “The press may
not be successful much of the time in telling people what to think, but it is stun-
ningly successful in telling its readers what to think about.” 4
Starting with the Kennedy–Nixon contest in 1960, political analyst Theodore
White wrote the defi nitive account of four presidential elections. Independent of
McCombs and Shaw, and in opposition to then-current wisdom that mass com-
munication had limited effects upon its audience, White came to the conclusion
that the media shaped those election campaigns:
The power of the press in America is a primordial one. It sets the agenda of public
discussion; and this sweeping political power is unrestrained by any law. It deter-
mines what people will talk and think about—an authority that in other nations is
reserved for tyrants, priests, parties and mandarins. 5
Agenda-setting
hypothesis
The mass media have
the ability to transfer the
salience of issues on
their news agenda to the
public agenda.
A THEORY WHOSE TIME HAD COME
McCombs and Shaw’s agenda-setting theory found an appreciative audience
among mass communication researchers. The prevailing selective-exposure hypoth-
esis claimed that people would attend only to news and views that didn’t threaten
their established beliefs. The media were seen as merely stroking preexistent atti-
tudes. After two decades of downplaying the infl uence of newspapers, magazines,
radio, and television, the fi eld was disenchanted with this limited-effects approach.
Agenda-setting theory boasted two attractive features: it reaffi rmed the power of
the press while maintaining that individuals were free to choose.
McCombs and Shaw’s agenda-setting theory represents a back-to-the-basics
approach to mass communication research. Like the initial Erie County voting
studies, 6 the focus is on election campaigns. The hypothesis predicts a cause-and-
effect relationship between media content and voter perception. Although later
work explores the conditions under which media priorities are most infl uential,
the theory rises or falls on its ability to show a match between the media’s agenda
and the public’s agenda later on. McCombs and Shaw supported their main
hypothesis with results from surveys they took while working together at the
University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. 7 (McCombs is now at the University
of Texas.) Their analysis of the 1968 race for president between Richard Nixon
and Hubert Humphrey set the pattern for later agenda-setting research. The
study provides an opportunity to examine in detail the type of quantitative sur-
vey research that Stuart Hall and other critical theorists so strongly oppose.
MEDIA AGENDA AND PUBLIC AGENDA: A CLOSE MATCH
McCombs and Shaw’s fi rst task was to measure the media agenda. They determined
that Chapel Hill residents relied on a mix of nine print and broadcast sources for
political news—two Raleigh papers, two Durham papers, Time, Newsweek, the out-
of-state edition of The New York Times, and the CBS and NBC evening news.
They established position and length of story as the two main criteria of prom-
inence. For newspapers, the front-page headline story, a three-column story on
an inside page, and the lead editorial were all counted as evidence of signifi cant
focus on an issue. For news magazines, the requirement was an opening story
in the news section or any political issue to which the editors devoted a full
Media agenda
The pattern of news cover-
age across major print and
broadcast media as mea-
sured by the prominence
and length of stories.
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CHAPTER 30: AGENDA-SETTING THEORY 377
column. Prominence in the television news format was defi ned by placement as
one of the fi rst three news items or any discussion that lasted more than 45 seconds.
Because the agenda-setting hypothesis refers to substantive issues, the re-
searchers discarded news items about campaign strategy, position in the polls, and
the personalities of the candidates. The remaining stories were then sorted into 15
subject categories, which were later boiled down into 5 major issues. A composite
index of media prominence revealed the following order of importance: foreign
policy, law and order, fi scal policy, public welfare, and civil rights.
In order to measure the public’s agenda, McCombs and Shaw asked Chapel
Hill voters to outline what each one considered the key issue of the campaign,
regardless of what the candidates might be saying. People who were already
committed to a candidate were dropped from the pool of respondents. The
researchers assigned the specifi c answers to the same broad categories used for
media analysis. They then compared the aggregate data from undecided voters
with the composite description of media content. The rank of the fi ve issues on
both lists was nearly identical.
Public agenda
The most important pub-
lic issues as measured by
public opinion surveys.
WHAT CAUSES WHAT?
McCombs and Shaw believe that the hypothesized agenda-setting function of
the media is responsible for the almost perfect correlation they found between
the media and public ordering of priorities:
Media Agenda ➞ Voters’ Agenda
But as critics of cultivation theory remind us, correlation is not causation. It’s
possible that newspaper and television coverage simply refl ects public concerns
that already exist:
Voters’ Agenda ➞ Media Agenda
The results of the Chapel Hill study could be interpreted as providing support
for the notion that the media are just as market-driven in their news coverage as
they are in programming entertainment. By themselves, McCombs and Shaw’s
fi ndings were impressive, but equivocal. A true test of the agenda-setting hypoth-
esis must be able to show that public priorities lag behind the media agenda. I’ll
briefl y describe two research studies that provide evidence that the media agenda
is, in fact, the cause, while the public agenda is its somewhat delayed effect.
Critics have suggested that both the media agenda and the public agenda
merely refl ect current events as they unfold; it’s just that news professionals
become aware of what’s happening sooner than the rest of us do. To examine
that possibility, communication researcher Ray Funkhouser, now retired from
Pennsylvania State University, undertook an extensive historical review of stories
in news magazines from 1960 to 1970. 8 He charted the rise and fall of media
attention on issues and compared these trends with annual Gallup poll responses
to a question about “the most important problem facing America.” Funkhouser’s
results make it clear that the twin agendas aren’t mere refl ections of reality. For
example, the number of American troops in Vietnam increased until 1968, but
news coverage peaked two years before that. The same was true of urban vio-
lence and campus unrest. Press interest cooled down while cities and colleges
were still heating up. It appears that Walter Lippmann was right—the actual
environment and the pictures in our mind are two different worlds.
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378 MASS COMMUNICATION
This historical study provides strong support for McCombs and Shaw’s basic
agenda-setting hypothesis. But it took a tightly controlled experiment run by Yale
researchers to establish a cause-and-effect chain of infl uence from the media agenda
to the public agenda. 9 Political scientists Shanto Iyengar, Mark Peters, and Donald
Kinder spliced previously aired news features into tapes of current network news-
casts. For four days straight, three groups of New Haven residents came together
to watch the evening news and fi ll out a questionnaire about their own concerns.
Each group saw a different version—one version contained a daily story on envi-
ronmental pollution, another had a daily feature on national defense, and a third
offered a daily dose of news about economic infl ation. Viewers who saw the media
agendas that focused on pollution and defense elevated those issues on their own
lists of concerns—defi nite confi rmation of a cause-and-effect relationship between
the media agenda and the public agenda. (As it turned out, infl ation was already
an important topic for most participants, so there wasn’t any room for that issue
to move up on the third group’s agenda.)
WHO IS MOST AFFECTED BY THE MEDIA AGENDA?
FRAMING: TRANSFERRING THE SALIENCE OF ATTRIBUTES
Even in their original Chapel Hill study, McCombs and Shaw understood that
“people are not automatons waiting to be programmed by the news media.” 10 They
suspected that some viewers might be more resistant to the media’s political pri-
orities than others—that’s why they fi ltered out the responses of voters who were
already committed to a candidate. In follow-up studies, McCombs and Shaw turned
to the uses and gratifi cations approach, which suggests that viewers are selective in
the kinds of TV programs they watch (see Chapter 28). The theorists sought to
discover exactly what kind of person is most susceptible to the media agenda. They
concluded that people who have a willingness to let the media shape their thinking
have a high need for orientation. Others refer to it as an index of curiosity.
Need for orientation arises from high relevance and uncertainty. For exam-
ple, because I’m a dog and cat owner, any story about cruelty to animals always
catches my attention (high relevance). However, I don’t really know the extent
to which medical advances require experimentation on live animals (high
uncertainty). According to McCombs and Shaw, this combination would make
me a likely candidate to be infl uenced by media stories about vivisection. If
the news editors of Time and ABC think it’s important, I probably will too.
Index of curiosity
A measure of the extent
to which individuals’
need for orientation
motivates them to let the
media shape their views.
Until the 1990s, almost every article about the theory included a reiteration of the
agenda-setting mantra— the media aren’t very successful in telling us what to think, but
they are stunningly successful in telling us what to think about. In other words, the
media make some issues more salient. We pay greater attention to those issues and
regard them as more important. By the mid-1990s, however, McCombs was saying
that the media do more than that. They do, in fact, infl uence the way we think. The
specifi c process he cites is one that many media scholars discuss— framing.
James Tankard, one of the leading writers on mass communication theory,
defi nes a media frame as “the central organizing idea for news content that sup-
plies a context and suggests what the issue is through the use of selection, empha-
sis, exclusion, and elaboration. ” 11 The fi nal four nouns in that sentence suggest that
the media not only set the agenda for what issues, events, or candidates are most
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CHAPTER 30: AGENDA-SETTING THEORY 379
important, they also transfer the salience of specifi c attributes belonging to those
potential objects of interest. My own “fi nal four” experience may help explain
the distinction.
I’m writing this section while visiting relatives in St. Petersburg, Florida. The
St. Petersburg Times is fi lled with stories about the fi nals of the NCAA men’s
basketball tournament that starts here tomorrow. The fi eld of 64 teams has now
been narrowed to 4, and it’s hard to imagine anything the newspaper or televi-
sion stations could do to make this Final Four event more prominent for local
residents. No one seems to talk about anything else.
What is it about the Final Four extravaganza that captures people’s atten-
tion? For some it’s the high quality of basketball play they expect to see. For
others it’s a rooting interest for a particular team. But beyond these inherent
characteristics of a basketball tournament, there are many other potential features
of the event that might come to mind:
Gambling—there’s more money bet on this game than on the Super Bowl.
Party scene—a guy leans out the window and yells, “This is where it’s at.”
Local economy—this is the weekend that could keep Florida green.
Exploitation of players—how many of these guys will ever graduate?
Beach forecast—it will be sunny and warm both today and tomorrow.
“Your royal command has been obeyed, Highness. Every town crier in the land is crying: ‘Old
King Cole is a merry ole soul.’ Before nightfall we’ll have them all believing it.”
Cartoon by Ed Frascino. Reprinted by permission.
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380 MASS COMMUNICATION
The morning paper carried separate stories on each of these features, but coverage
on benefi ts to the local economy and the gambling angle were front-page features
that ran fi ve times as long as the brief article on player exploitation buried inside.
We see, therefore, that there are two levels of agenda setting. The fi rst level,
according to McCombs, is the transfer of salience of an attitude object in the mass
media’s pictures of the world to a prominent place among the pictures in our
head. The Final Four becomes important to us. This is the agenda-setting func-
tion that survey researchers have traditionally studied.
The second level of agenda setting is the transfer of salience of a dominant
set of attributes that the media associate with an attitude object to the specifi c
features of the image projected on the walls of our minds. 12 Now when I think
of the Final Four, I imagine money changing hands for a variety of reasons. I
don’t think about GPAs or diplomas. According to McCombs, the agenda setting
of attributes mirrors the process of framing that Robert Entman describes in his
article clarifying the concept:
To frame is to select some aspects of a perceived reality and make them more
salient in a communication text, in such a way as to promote a particular problem
defi nition, causal interpretation, moral evaluation and/or treatment recommenda-
tion for the item described. 13
Framing
The selection of a
restricted number of
thematically related
attributes for inclusion
on the media agenda
when a particular object
or issue is discussed.
NOT JUST WHAT TO THINK ABOUT, BUT HOW TO THINK ABOUT IT
Is there evidence that the process of framing as defi ned by agenda-setting theo-
rists actually alters the pictures in the minds of people when they read the news-
paper or tune in to broadcast news? Does the media’s construction of an agenda
with a cluster of related attributes create a coherent image in the minds of sub-
scribers, listeners, and viewers? McCombs cites national election studies in Spain,
Japan, and Mexico that show this is how framing works.14 I also fi nd compelling
evidence in another framing study conducted by Salma Ghanem for her doctoral
dissertation under McCombs’ supervision at the University of Texas. 15
Ghanem, now dean of communication at Central Michigan University,
analyzed the changing percentage of Texans who ranked crime as the most
important problem facing the country between 1992 and 1995. The fi gure rose
steadily from 2 percent of respondents in 1992 to 37 percent in 1994, and then
dipped down to a still high 21 percent a year later. Ironically, even as public
concern about crime was on the rise the fi rst two years, the actual frequency
and severity of unlawful acts were going down. On the basis of many fi rst-level
agenda-setting studies like the Chapel Hill research, Ghanem assumed that the
increased salience of crime was driven by media that featured crime stories
prominently and often. She found a high correlation (+0.70) between the amount
of media coverage and the depth of public concern.
Ghanem was more interested in tracking the transfer of salience of specifi c
crime attributes—the second level of agenda setting. Of the dozen or so media
frames for stories about crime, two bundles of attributes were strongly linked to
the public’s increasing alarm. The most powerful frame was one that cast crime
as something that could happen to anyone. The stories noted that the robbery took
place in broad daylight, or the shooting was random and without provocation.
The second frame was where the crime took place. Out-of-state problems
were of casual interest, but when a reported felony occurred locally or in the
state of Texas, concern rose quickly. Note that both frames were features of news
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CHAPTER 30: AGENDA-SETTING THEORY 381
stories that shrank the psychological distance between the crimes they described
and the average citizens who read or heard about them. Many concluded, “I
could be next.” The high correlations (+0.78, +0.73) between these media frames
and the subsequent public concern suggest that attribute frames make compel-
ling arguments for the choices people make after exposure to the news.
Framing is not an option. Reporters inevitably frame a story with the per-
sonal attributes of public fi gures they select to describe. For example, the media
continually reported on the “youthful vigor” of John F. Kennedy while he was
alive but made no mention of his extramarital affairs, which were well known
to the White House press corps. The 1988 presidential race was all but over after
Time framed the contest between George H. W. Bush and Michael Dukakis as
“the Nice Man vs. the Ice Man.” In 1996 Republican spin doctors fought an uphill
battle positioning their candidate once media stories focused on Bob Dole’s lack
of passion—“Dead Man Walking” was the quip of commentator Mark Shields.
And the press picked up on George W. Bush’s claim to be a “compassionate
conservative” in the 2000 presidential election, whereas Senator John Kerry, his
opponent in 2004, was repeatedly described as “fl ip-fl opping” on the issues. In
all of these cases it’s easy to spot the affective tone of the attribute.
For the last decade, researchers seeking to determine the public’s agenda
during an election campaign have asked potential voters, “Suppose one of your
friends has been away a long time and knows nothing about the candidates. . . .
What would you tell your friend about ___________?” They take note of each
attribute mentioned and later sort them into content categories such as experi-
ence, competence, personality, and morality. They then code each attribute as
positive, neutral, or negative. Summing all of these affective aspects of attributes
gives researchers a reliable measure of voters’ attitudes toward the candidate. In
most studies, the voters’ agenda mirrors the media’s agenda in substance and in
tone, and also predicts the outcome of the election.16
McCombs and Shaw no longer subscribe to Bernard Cohen’s classic remark
about the media’s limited agenda-setting role. They now headline their work
with a revised and expanded version that describes agenda setting as a much
more powerful media function:
The media may not only tell us what to think about, they also may tell us how
and what to think about it, and perhaps even what to do about it. 17
BEYOND OPINION: THE BEHAVIORAL EFFECT OF THE MEDIA’S AGENDA
Most of the research studies on agenda setting have measured the effect of media
agendas on public opinion. But some intriguing fi ndings suggest that media pri-
orities also affect people’s behavior. Craig Trumbo, a professor of journalism and
technical communication at Colorado State University, monitored the headlines
for stories about the fl u virus in 32 different newspapers between 2002 and
2008.18 He also had access to the regular fl u reports issued by the Centers for
Disease Control and Prevention. Those reports showed the number of visits to
doctors for fl u-like symptoms as well as the actual number of cases of the fl u. It
would certainly make sense that with more actual fl u cases, doctor visits would
increase and journalists would be more likely to cover the story. But Trumbo
found that even when he took account of the actual fl u cases, there was still an
agenda-setting effect. The amount of media coverage on the fl u during one week
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382 MASS COMMUNICATION
predicted the number of doctor visits the next week. There was no evidence of
a reverse effect. Patient visits to the doctor for fl u symptoms didn’t predict later
media coverage about the virus. Trumbo’s study provides evidence that the
agenda-setting effect extends to behavior.
Nowhere is the behavioral effect of the media agenda more apparent than in
the business of professional sports. In his book The Ultimate Assist, John Fortunato
explores the commercial partnership between network television’s agenda and
the National Basketball Association’s (NBA). 19 Television dramatically raised the
salience of the sport (the fi rst level of agenda setting) by scheduling games in
prime-time viewing slots. It also put basketball’s best attributes forward (the
second level of agenda setting) by selecting the teams with the premier com-
petitors to play in those games and focusing on those players. During the peak
years of Michael Jordan’s basketball career, it was “all Michael, all the time.”
Television shaped an attractive picture of the NBA in viewers’ minds through
a series of off-court frames. Interviews with select players and coaches, color
commentary, graphics, and instant replays of players’ spectacular moves all cre-
ated a positive image of the NBA. As for the rape accusation against L.A. Lakers
superstar Kobe Bryant, and later his feud with teammate Shaquille O’Neal that
split the team, the media cooperated in downplaying those attributes that tarnish
the NBA’s image. As McCombs and other researchers have discovered by analyz-
ing multiple presidential elections, it’s the cumulative effect of long-term attri-
bute salience that can alter attitudes and behavior.20
This 30-year effort to shape the public agenda has not only had a spectacular
effect on fan behavior, it has also altered the face of popular culture. From 1970 to
2000, the number of NBA teams and the number of games doubled. The number
of fans going to games quadrupled. But the astronomical difference is in the money.
In 1970, television provided $10 million in revenue to the NBA. In 2000, the payout
was $2 billion, and in 2012 it was $5 billion—no small change. McCombs’ comment:
“Agenda setting the theory can also be agenda setting the business plan.” 21
WHO SETS THE AGENDA FOR THE AGENDA SETTERS?
News doesn’t select itself. So who sets the agenda for the agenda setters? One view
regards a handful of news editors as the guardians, or “gatekeepers,” of political
dialogue. Nothing gets put on the political agenda without the concurrence of a
few select people—the operations chiefs of the Associated Press, The New York
Times, The Washington Post, Time, Newsweek, ABC, NBC, CBS, CNN, Fox, and
MSNBC. Although there is no evidence to support right-wing conservative charges
that the editors are part of a liberal, eastern-establishment conspiracy, when one
of them features an issue, the rest of the nation’s media tend to pick up the story.
An alternative view regards candidates and offi ce holders themselves as the
ultimate source of issue salience. George H. W. Bush put the tax issue on the table
with his famous statement “Read my lips: no new taxes.” But he was unable to
get the issue off the table when he broke that pledge. He also tried to dismiss the
economic recession as a “mild technical adjustment.” The press and the populace
decided it was major.
Current thinking on news selection focuses on the crucial role of public rela-
tions professionals working for government agencies, corporations, and interest
groups. Even prestigious newspapers with large investigative staffs such as The
Washington Post and The New York Times get more than half of what they print
straight from press releases and press conferences. 22
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CHAPTER 30: AGENDA-SETTING THEORY 383
Interest aggregations are becoming increasingly adept at creating news that must
be reported. This term refers to clusters of people who demand center stage for
their one overriding concern, whatever it might be—anti-abortion, antiwar, anti-
communism, antipollution, anti-immigration, anti-same-sex-marriage. As the exam-
ples indicate, these groups usually rally around a specifi c action that they oppose.
They stage demonstrations, marches, and other media events so that television and
the press will be forced to cover their issue. The prominence of the Tea Party’s
campaign against government spending and taxes is a striking example. The media
seem to pay attention to those who grab it.
On rare occasions, news events are so compelling that editors have no choice
but to feature them for extended periods of time. The month-long Florida recount
in 2000 to determine whether George W. Bush or Al Gore would be president
was one such case. And, of course, the 9/11 terrorist attack totally dominated
U.S. print and broadcast news, pushing almost every other story off the front
page and television screen for the rest of the year. Stories like these clearly reveal
what McCombs has referred to recently as intermedia agenda setting. Editors at
most newspapers are infl uenced to some extent by what other news outlets are
covering. When many news sources continue to feature the same story, it’s tough
for an editor to ignore the trend. There’s more than one answer to the question
of who sets the agenda for the agenda setters. The gatekeepers, interest aggrega-
tions, and the media themselves all play a role.23
Interest aggregations
Clusters of people who
demand center stage for
their one overriding con-
cern; pressure groups.
WILL NEW MEDIA STILL SHAPE THE AGENDA, OPINIONS, AND BEHAVIOR?
Ironically, the power of agenda setting that McCombs and Shaw describe may be
on the wane. In a creative experiment, University of Illinois researchers Scott Althaus
and David Tewksbury predicted that traditional print media would be more effec-
tive than new electronic media in setting a reader’s agenda. 24 They reasoned that
people who are reading a newspaper know that editors consider a long, front-page
article under a banner headline more important than a short story buried on an
inside page. Not only are these comparative cues absent on the computer screen,
but online readers can click on links to similar stories and never see accounts of
events that paper readers see as they thumb through the pages.
Althaus and Tewksbury recruited students to spend 30 to 60 minutes a day for
5 days reading either a print version or an online version of The New York Times
under controlled conditions. For both groups it was their only exposure to news
that week. On the sixth day, the researchers tested recognition and recall of the
week’s stories and assessed which problems facing the country students personally
regarded as most important. Not only did those who read the traditional paper
remember more content, they also selected a higher percentage of international
issues as more important to them, thus aligning closer to the prioritized agenda of
the Times’ editors. The researchers concluded that “by providing users with more
content choices and control over exposure, new technologies may allow people to
create personalized information environments that shut them off from larger fl ows
of public information in a society.” 25 Abby’s application log illustrates this point.
I confess to being an online newsreader who only clicks on links that interest me.
I easily bypass information and headlines on my computer that I couldn’t avoid
when reading a print version of the news. This caught up with me in my class in
American politics. Our assignment was to stay informed about worldwide current
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384 MASS COMMUNICATION
events by reading The New York Times. I chose to read the paper online—to my det-
riment. I found myself clicking on stories of personal interest and didn’t even
notice headlines on other issues. My weekly quiz grades let me know that my
study agenda didn’t match the media agenda.
McCombs wouldn’t be surprised that Abby chose to get news online rather
than through newspapers or news broadcasts. In a study reported in 2007, he and
Renita Coleman, a colleague at the University of Texas, found that most of the
younger generation (18 to 34) relied on the Internet for news, middle-aged viewers
(35 to 54) tended to favor TV, and older readers (55+) preferred newspapers. The
correlation between the media agenda and the younger generation was somewhat
lower than for boomers or the older generation, but at 0.70, it was still high. These
results are consistent with a 2013 study by Adam Shehata and Jesper Strömbäck,
media professors at Mid Sweden University. While these researchers discovered
that the size of the agenda-setting effect is shrinking as people rely more on a
variety of online news outlets, it certainly hasn’t vanished.26 McCombs thinks that’s
because “most Internet news sources are subsidiaries of traditional news media,
and there is a high degree of redundancy in the media agendas even on diverse
media.”27 He does note, however, that young adults are also learning what’s impor-
tant from late-night comedians like Jon Stewart on The Daily Show. It’s not yet clear
if the news they parody parallels the agenda of other media outlets.
ETHICAL REFLECTION: CHRISTIANS’ COMMUNITARIAN ETHICS
Clifford Christians is the former director of the Institute of Communications
Research at the University of Illinois at Urbana–Champaign and the lead author
of Good News: Social Ethics and the Press. 28 Although he values free speech, he
doesn’t share the near-absolute devotion to the First Amendment that seems to
be the sole ethical commitment of many journalists. Christians rejects reporters’
and editors’ insistence on an absolute right of free expression that is based on
the individualistic rationalism of John Locke and other Enlightenment thinkers.
In our age of ethical relativism where continue the conversation is the best that
philosophy has to offer, 29 Christians believes that discovering the truth is still
possible if we are willing to examine the nature of our humanity. The human
nature he perceives is, at root, personhood in community. 30
Christians agrees with Martin Buber that the relation is the cradle of life. (“In
the beginning is the relation.” 31 ) He is convinced, therefore, that mutuality is the
essence of humanness. People are most fully human as “persons-in-relation”
who live simultaneously for others and for themselves.
A moral community demonstrates more than mere interdependence; it is character-
ized by mutuality, a will-to-community, a genuine concern for the other apart from
immediate self-interest. . . . An act is morally right when compelled by the intention
to maintain the community of persons; it is wrong if driven by self-centeredness. 32
Christians understands that a commitment to mutuality would signifi cantly
alter media culture and mission. His communitarian ethics establish civic transfor-
mation rather than objective information as the primary goal of the press. Report-
ers’ aim would thus become a revitalized citizenship shaped by community
norms—morally literate and active participants, not just readers and audiences
provided with data. 33 Editors, publishers, and owners—the gatekeepers of the
media agenda—would be held to the same standard. Christians insists that
Communitarian ethics
A moral responsibility to
promote community,
mutuality, and persons-
in-relation who live
simultaneously for others
and for themselves.
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CHAPTER 30: AGENDA-SETTING THEORY 385
media criticism must be willing to reestablish the idea of moral right and wrong.
Selfi sh practices aimed at splintering community are not merely misguided; they
are evil. 34
Christians’ communitarian ethics are based on the Christian tradition of
agape love—an unconditional love for others because they were created in the
image of God. He believes journalists have a social responsibility to promote
the sacredness of life by respecting human dignity, truthtelling, and doing no
harm to innocents. 35 With an emphasis on establishing communal bonds, alien-
ated people on the margins of society receive special attention from communi-
tarians. Christians ultimately judges journalists on the basis of how well they
use the media’s power to champion the goal of social justice. For example,
Christians asks:
Is the press a voice for the unemployed, food-stamp recipients, Appalachian min-
ers, the urban poor, Hispanics in rural shacks, the elderly, women discriminated
against in hiring and promotion, ethnic minorities with no future in North Ameri-
ca’s downsizing economy? 36
If the media sets that kind of agenda and features attributes that promote com-
munity, he believes they are fulfi lling their communitarian responsibility.
Agape love
An unconditional love
for others because they
were created in the
image of God.
CRITIQUE: ARE THE EFFECTS TOO LIMITED, THE SCOPE TOO WIDE?
When McCombs and Shaw fi rst proposed the agenda-setting hypothesis, they
saw it as a sharp break from the limited-effects model that had held sway in
media research since Paul Lazarsfeld introduced the concept of selective exposure
(see the introduction to Media Effects). Although not reverting to the old magic-
bullet conception of media infl uence, McCombs and Shaw ascribed to broadcast
and print journalism the signifi cant power to set the public’s political priorities.
As years of careful research have shown, however, agenda setting doesn’t always
work. Perhaps the best that could be said until the mid-1990s was that the media
agenda affects the salience of some issues for some people some of the time. So
in 1994, McCombs suggested that “agenda setting is a theory of limited media
effects.” 37 That would be quite a comedown from its original promise.
The new dimension of framing reasserts a powerful media-effects model. As
Ohio State University journalism professor Gerald Kosicki states,
Media “gatekeepers” do not merely keep watch over information, shuffl ing it here
and there. Instead, they engage in active construction of the messages, emphasizing
certain aspects of an issue and not others. 38
But Kosicki questions whether framing is even a legitimate topic of study under
an agenda-setting banner. He sees nothing in McCombs and Shaw’s original
model that anticipates the importance of interpretive frames.
As McCombs is fond of pointing out, the evidence is there. In the lead arti-
cle of a 1977 book that he and Shaw edited, they clearly previewed the current
“New Frontiers” of agendas of attributes and framing:
Agenda setting as a concept is not limited to the correspondence between salience of
topics for the media and the audience. We can also consider the saliency of various
attributes of these objects (topics, issues, persons or whatever) reported in the media.
To what extent is our view of an object shaped or infl uenced by the picture sketched
in the media, especially by those attributes which the media deem newsworthy? 39
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386 MASS COMMUNICATION
McCombs’ defi nition of framing appears to be quite specifi c: “Framing is the
selection of a restricted number of thematically related attributes for inclusion on
the media agenda when a particular object is discussed.” 40 In contrast, the popular-
ity of framing as an interpretive construct in media studies has resulted in diverse
and ambiguous meanings. The way Stuart Hall and other critical theorists use the
term is so elastic that the word seems to refer to anything they don’t like. Thus, I
regard a narrow view of framing as a distinct advantage for empirically based
media-effects research.
As for the six criteria for evaluating a social science theory, agenda setting
fares well. It predicts that the public’s agenda for the salience of attitude objects
and key attributes will follow the media’s lead, and it explains why some people
are more susceptible to media infl uence than others. Those predictions are testable
by using content analysis to establish the media agenda, surveys to determine
public opinion, and quantitative statistical tests to determine the overlap. More
than 400 empirical studies have supported and refi ned the theory. Even with the
theorists’ added concern for the affective tone of attributes, their theory remains
relatively simple. And as for practical utility, agenda setting tells journalists,
advertisers, political operatives, and media scholars not only what to look for,
but how they might alter the pictures in the heads of those who read, view, or
listen to the news.
QUESTIONS TO SHARPEN YOUR FOCUS
1. If the media aren’t telling you what to think, why is their ability to tell you
what to think about so important?
2. What type of person under what type of circumstances is most susceptible to
the media’s agenda-setting function?
3. Sarah Palin is one of the most controversial public fi gures in America. What
dominant set of attributes could you use to frame her visit to a children’s
hospital to make her look good? How could you make her look bad?
4. Is there a recent issue that news reporters and commentators are now talking
about daily that you and the people you know don’t care about? Do you
think you’ll still be unconcerned two months from now?
CONVERSATIONS In our conversation, Max McCombs discusses the process of framing and how
this concept has changed the scope of his theory. He also answers questions
posed by my students: How many issues can a person focus on at one time?
If he ran the classic Chapel Hill study today, would he use CNN as a media
outlet that sets the public agenda? Do TV entertainment shows have an agenda-
setting function? I wanted to know how he saw potential media bias. Are
all news stories delivered with a spin? Does he see anything sinister about
intentionally framing a story? Is there a liberal bias in the national media? I
think you’ll be surprised by his direct responses.
View this segment online at
www.mhhe.com/griffi n9e or
www.afi rstlook.com.
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CHAPTER 30: AGENDA-SETTING THEORY 387
Recommended resource: Maxwell McCombs and Amy Reynolds, “How the News Shapes
our Civic Agenda,” in Media Effects: Advances in Theory and Research, Jennings Bryant and
Dolf Zillmann (eds.), Routledge, New York, 2009, pp. 1–16.
Comprehensive summary of theory and research: Maxwell McCombs, Setting the Agenda,
Polity, Cambridge, UK, 2004.
Historical development: Maxwell McCombs and Tamara Bell, “The Agenda-Setting Role of
Mass Communication,” in An Integrated Approach to Communication Theory and Research, Michael
Salwen and Donald Stacks (eds.), Lawrence Erlbaum, Hillsdale, NJ, 1996, pp. 93–110.
Five stages of agenda-setting research and development: Maxwell McCombs, “A Look at
Agenda-Setting: Past, Present and Future,” Journalism Studies, Vol. 6, 2005, pp. 543–557.
Prototype election study: Maxwell McCombs and Donald Shaw, “The Agenda-Setting
Function of the Mass Media,” Public Opinion Quarterly, Vol. 36, 1972, pp. 176–187.
Framing: Maxwell McCombs and Salma Ghanem, “The Convergence of Agenda Set-
ting and Framing,” in Framing Public Life, Stephen Reese, Oscar Gandy Jr., and August
Grant (eds.), Lawrence Erlbaum, Mahwah, NJ, 2001, pp. 67–81.
Relationship among agenda setting, framing, and priming: Dietram Scheufele and David
Tewksbury, “Framing, Agenda Setting, and Priming: The Evolution of Three Media Effects
Models,” Journal of Communication, Vol. 57, 2007, pp. 9–20.
Bundles of attributes: Maxwell McCombs, “New Frontiers in Agenda Setting: Agendas
of Attributes and Frames,” Mass Comm Review, Vol. 24, 1997, pp. 4–24.
Anthology of earlier agenda-setting research: Maxwell McCombs, Donald Shaw, and
David Weaver, Communication and Democracy: Exploring the Intellectual Frontiers in Agenda-
Setting Theory, Lawrence Erlbaum, Mahwah, NJ, 1997.
Israeli election study: Meital Balmas and Tamir Sheafer, “Candidate Image in Election
Campaigns: Attribute Agenda Setting, Affective Priming, and Voting Intentions,” Interna-
tional Journal of Public Opinion Research, Vol. 22, 2010, pp. 204–229.
Focus on the theorist: William Davie and T. Michael Maher, “Maxwell McCombs: Agenda-
Setting Explorer,” Journal of Broadcasting and Electronic Media, Vol. 50, 2006, pp. 358–364.
Critique: Gerald Kosicki, “Problems and Opportunities in Agenda-Setting Research,”
Journal of Communication, Vol. 43, No. 2, 1993, pp. 100–127.
For a theory that explains the role of media in shaping public opinion,
click on Spiral of Silence in Archive under Theory Resources in
www.afi rstlook.com.
A SECOND LOOK
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388
DIVISION FIVE
INTERCULTURAL COMMUNICATION
CHAPTER 31. Communication Accommodation Theory (Giles)
CHAPTER 32. Face-Negotiation Theory (Ting-Toomey)
CHAPTER 33. Speech Codes Theory (Philipsen)
GENDER AND COMMUNICATION
CHAPTER 34. Genderlect Styles (Tannen)
CHAPTER 35. Standpoint Theory (Harding & Wood)
CHAPTER 36. Muted Group Theory (Kramarae)
Cultural Context
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389
I n t e r c u l t u r a l C o m m u n i c a t i o n
When we think of culture, most of us picture a place—the South American
culture of Brazil, the Middle Eastern culture of Saudi Arabia, or the Far East-
ern culture of Japan. But Gerry Philipsen, a professor of communication at the
University of Washington who specializes in intercultural communication, says
that culture is not basically geographical. Nor is it essentially political or a
matter of race. Philipsen describes culture as “a socially constructed and histori-
cally transmitted pattern of symbols, meanings, premises, and rules.” 1 At root,
culture is a code.
Ethnographers study the speech and nonverbal communication of people in
order to crack that code. We’ve already looked at Mead’s reliance on participant
observation (see Chapter 5) and Geertz’ use of thick description (see Chapter 19)
to unravel the complex web of meanings that people share within a society or cul-
ture. In like manner, Philipsen spent multiple years conducting two ethnographic
studies. The fi rst study revealed what it was like to “speak like a man” in a mul-
tiethnic, blue-collar Chicago neighborhood he called “Teamsterville.” He discov-
ered that men used talk primarily to show solidarity with friends who were part
of the neighborhood.2 The second study identifi ed the communication patterns
of a large group of people dispersed around the United States whom he dubbed
the “Nacirema” (American spelled backward). He regarded the live audience for the
television talk show Donahue—a forerunner of Oprah—as typical members of
the Nacirema culture. He and Donal Carbaugh (University of Massachusetts)
found that any appeal to a universal standard of ethical conduct was considered
by members of that culture to be an infringement of their right to be an individual.3
Philipsen selected these two American subcultures for study in part because
he saw their communication practices as so different from one another. Is there a
way he could have measured the extent of their discrepancy—or for that matter, the
cultural variability of any two countries across the globe? From a study of multi-
national corporations in more than 50 countries, Dutch researcher Geert Hofstede
concluded that there are four crucial dimensions on which to compare cultures. 4
1. Power distance —the extent to which the less powerful members of
society accept that power is distributed unequally (Americans—low;
Japanese—medium)
2. Masculinity —clearly defi ned gender roles, with male values of success,
money, and possessions dominant in society (Americans—high;
Japanese—extremely high)
3. Uncertainty avoidance —the extent to which people feel threatened by
ambiguity and create beliefs and institutions to try to avoid it (Americans—
low; Japanese—extremely high)
4. Individualism —people look out for themselves and their immediate fami-
lies as opposed to identifying with a larger group that is responsible for
taking care of them in exchange for group loyalty (Americans—extremely
high; Japanese—low)
Many researchers agree that Hofstede’s distinction between individualism
and collectivism is the crucial dimension of cultural variability. The we-centered
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390 CULTURAL CONTEXT
focus of Teamsterville sets it apart from individualistic American society in gen-
eral, and from the extremely I-centered preoccupation of the Nacirema subculture
in particular. Cultural anthropologist Edward Hall was the fi rst to label the com-
munication style of collectivistic cultures as high-context and the style of individu-
alistic cultures as low-context. The designation divides groups of people on the
basis of how they interpret messages.
A high-context communication or message is one in which most of the information
is either in the physical context or internalized in the person, while very little is in
the coded, explicit part of the message. A low-context communication is just the
opposite, i.e., the mass of information is vested in the explicit code. 5
Hall contrasted American and Japanese cultures to illustrate the differences between
collectivistic societies that have a message- context orientation and individualistic
societies that rely more on message content. 6
Americans believe in straight talk. Assertiveness is saying what you mean;
honesty is meaning what you say. Both are highly prized. Perhaps the highest art
form of explicit communication is the legal contract. A U.S. lawyer’s dream is to
prepare a verbal document that allows no room for interpretation. Hall said that
Japanese communication is more subtle. Bluntness is regarded as rude; patience
and indirection are the marks of a civilized person. What is said is less important
than how it is said and who did the saying. Meaning is embedded in the setting
and the nonverbal code. In Japan, the highest form of communication competency
is empathy—the ability to sense what others are thinking and feeling without
their having to spell it out for you.
Co-author Glenn Sparks experienced these distinctions when he—a typically
low-context American—worked with high-context Africans in Ethiopia.
When I was in Ethiopia, I worked daily with various folks at the university.
I came to learn that about half the time, a lunch appointment, a promise to have
a key for a room at a certain time, or a commitment to make copies of a reading
for the class just didn’t pan out. But all of these commitments were made with
kindness and politeness. Ethiopians were much more attuned to the overall tenor
of an interaction than they were to the actual words that were said.7
Glenn is a quick study. By reminding himself of the crucial contextual issue that
Hall identifi ed, he was able to reduce his frustration. Hopefully, in turn, his Ethio-
pian hosts gave him a “visitor’s pass” for misinterpreting what they had “said.”
© ZITS 1997 Zits Partnership, Dist. by King Features
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391
Communication
Accommodation Theory
of Howard Giles
I was born, raised, and educated in the Great Lakes region of the United States.
During my sophomore year of college, my folks moved from the south side of
Chicago to the Deep South, a region where the style of speech was foreign to
my ear. When speaking with other college students I met there over summer
vacation, I noticed that I started to talk slower, pause longer, maintain less eye
contact, and drop the fi nal g off of words ending with -ing (“Nice talkin’ with
you”). Although I didn’t adopt a southern drawl, I defi nitely adjusted my
style of speaking to better match that of those I met. As an outsider, I wanted
to fi t in.
Although I couldn’t lose my Chicago twang, one of the guys I met
commented on my go-along-to-get-along effort. “You’re beginnin’ to talk just
like us,” he said. His smile suggested appreciation rather than scorn. Not so
my older sister when I drove her from San Antonio, Texas, to Anniston,
Alabama, the following Christmas. “You sound ridiculous,” was her disdain-
ful reaction when she heard me talk to people in restaurants and motels along
the way.
In 1973, Welsh social psychologist Howard Giles suggested that my experi-
ence was typical. Now a professor of communication at the University of Califor-
nia, Santa Barbara, Giles claimed that when two people from different ethnic or
cultural groups interact, they tend to accommodate each other in the way they
speak in order to gain the other’s approval. 1 He specifi cally focused on the non-
verbal adjustments of speech rate, accent, and pauses. Based on the principle that
we tend to like others who strike us as similar, Giles claimed that speech accom-
modation is a frequently used strategy to gain the appreciation of people who are
from different groups or cultures. This process of seeking approval by meshing
with another’s style of speaking is at the core of what he then labeled speech
accommodation theory.
31C H A P T E R
Objective Interpretive
Socio-psychological tradition
●
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392 CULTURAL CONTEXT
A SIMPLE NOTION BECOMES A COMPREHENSIVE COMMUNICATION THEORY
COMMUNICATION ACCOMMODATION STRATEGIES
Throughout the theory’s extensive development, Giles has consistently con-
trasted two strategic forms of communication that diverse people use when they
interact— convergence and divergence. He sees both types of behavior as accom-
modation because they each involve constant movement toward or away from
others through a change in communicative behavior.
Convergence
Convergence is a strategy by which you adapt your communication behavior in
such a way as to become more similar to another person. As we’ve already seen,
one way to do this is to adjust your speaking style to approximate that of your
Giles and his colleagues launched an extensive program of lab and fi eld research
to answer the questions that the practice of speech accommodation raises. For
example:
Are there times we don’t adjust our speech style to match that of others?
If so, what is our motive for not accommodating?
How do groups with which we identify affect our accommodation choices?
Is accommodation always conscious?
Do others accurately perceive our intent when we shift our speech style?
To what extent do we adjust what we say as well as the way we say it?
What are the social consequences if we overaccommodate?
Because the answers to these questions led Giles to communication issues that go
far beyond the narrow issue of accent mobility, pauses, and pronunciation, the scope
of the theory expanded dramatically. In 1987, Giles changed the name of the the-
ory to communication accommodation theory ( CAT ) and offered it as “a theory of
intercultural communication that actually attends to communication.” 2
The early research of Giles and his colleagues centered on interethnic com-
munication, often between two bilingual groups in the same country. In the last
two decades, however, CAT researchers have also shown consistent interest in
exploring communication accommodation in an intergenerational context. They
broadly defi ne young communicators as those who are teenagers up to adults in
their 40s or even 50s. They defi ne old or elderly communicators as those who are
65 and over. 3 To what extent do members of these two groups adjust their com-
munication when talking to someone of the other generation?
Since the vast majority of this book’s readers fall within that younger clas-
sifi cation, I’ll use intergenerational communication to illustrate the main predic-
tions of the theory. That way you’ll have a personal stake in understanding the
theory’s claims. So will I. In the spirit of full disclosure, you should know that
for the past 11 years I’ve qualifi ed as a member of the elder group. Of course,
this means that every time I walk into a college classroom it becomes a potential
laboratory to explore intergenerational communication. I also have a lot of expe-
rience in the other direction. For years, my centenarian mother-in-law lived with
us until she passed away.
Accommodation
The constant movement
toward or away from
others by changing your
communicative behavior.
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CHAPTER 31: COMMUNICATION ACCOMMODATION THEORY 393
conversational partner. If you’re talking with an octogenarian man who speaks
in short phrases delivered in a gravelly voice, you could abandon smoothly
fl owing sentences in favor of brief, raspy responses. You wouldn’t try to mimic
his voice, but you’d try to get closer to its sound and cadence. If the elderly man
desires to converge toward your speaking style, he might need to speak with
more energy, display greater facial expression, and increase vocal variety.
Another way you could converge toward the elderly gentleman would be to
talk in a way that would make it easier for him to grasp what you’re saying. If
you notice that he’s hard of hearing, convergence would involve speaking one
notch louder, while clearly enunciating consonants. Or if he seems to have
trouble tracking with abstract ideas, you could aid his comprehension by using
examples to illustrate what you’re saying. For his part, he might help you inter-
pret what he’s saying by not assuming you know the political background of the
Korean War or singer Pat Boone’s biggest hits.
An additional way to bridge the generation gap can be through discourse
management —the sensitive selection of topics to discuss. Giles and Angie Williams
(Cardiff University, Wales) elicited college students’ retrospective accounts of
both satisfying and frustrating intergenerational conversations. They found that
young people greatly appreciated the elderly when they discerned what stories
the students wanted to hear. For example, one girl wrote, “She just talked about
the history of the team and all that she knew. . . . I stayed and listened to her stories,
which were fascinating.” 4 They also appreciated elders who sensed when not
to pry: “I’m glad she didn’t ask anything about Bekki and my relationship. . . . I would
have felt awkward.” 5
As Brittany’s application log describes, some parties converge to facilitate
communication. When they do, mutual appreciation is often a byproduct.
Some family members on my father’s side are deaf. Some of my family members
who can hear know how to sign and some of those who can’t hear are able to read
lips. I’ve learned to sign a bit so I can communicate more effectively with those
who can’t hear. I also slow my speech down and try to enunciate my words more
clearly so they can more easily understand what I’m saying. They’ve told me that
they appreciate my willingness to reach out to them. In the same way, I appreciate
their convergence when they sign slower and also lip words so that I can catch
what they’re saying.
Divergence
Divergence is a communication strategy of accentuating the differences between
you and another person. In interethnic encounters, you might insist on using a
language or dialect with which the other is uncomfortable. In terms of speech
style, you could diverge by employing a thicker accent, adopting a rate of speak-
ing distinct from that used by the other person, or speaking in either a monotone
or with exaggerated animation. Linguistically, divergence could be signaled by
a deliberate substitution of words. Giles offers an example where a young speaker
fl ippantly says to an elderly man, “Okay, mate, let’s get it together at my place
around 3:30 tomorrow.” The disdainful elder might reply, “Fine, young man,
we’ll meet again at 15:30, at your house tomorrow.” 6 All of these communication
moves are examples of counter-accommodation—direct ways of maximizing the
differences between two speakers.
Convergence
A strategy of adapting
your communication be-
havior in such a way as
to become more similar
to another person.
Divergence
A communication strat-
egy of accentuating the
differences between you
and another person.
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394 CULTURAL CONTEXT
During intergenerational encounters, CAT researchers have found that diver-
gence is the norm and convergence the exception, especially when the two aren’t
members of the same family. Young people typically characterize the elderly as
closed-minded, out of touch, angry, complaining, and negatively stereotyping youth. 7 The
elderly often increase the social distance through the process of self – handicapping —a
defensive, face-saving strategy that uses age as a reason for not performing well.
For example, University of Arizona communication professor Jake Harwood and
two colleagues discovered that many of the ways the elderly talk continually
remind younger listeners that their grandparents are old. 8
1. Talk about age: You’re so young. I turn 70 next December.
2. Talk about health: They warned of blood clots with my hip replacement surgery.
3. Don’t understand the world today: Are Facebook and texting the same?
4. Patronizing: You kids today don’t know the meaning of hard work.
5. Painful self-disclosure: I cried when she said that to me. It still hurts.
6. Diffi culty hearing: Please speak up and try not to mumble.
7. Mental confusion: I can’t think of the word. What were we talking about?
Self-handicapping
For the elderly, a face-
saving strategy that in-
vokes age as a reason for
not performing well.
“Hey, Gramps, is ‘deathbed’ one word or two?”
© Jack Ziegler/The New Yorker Collection/www.cartoonbank.com
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CHAPTER 31: COMMUNICATION ACCOMMODATION THEORY 395
These features consistently make the speakers’ age salient (or noticeable) to the
listener, and all seven leave a negative impression. They might as well tattoo
GZR on their forehead.
Giles and his colleagues describe two other strategies similar to divergence
that are a bit more subtle. Maintenance is the strategy of persisting in your orig-
inal communication style regardless of the communication behavior of the other.
Giles offers a college student’s recollections of a dissatisfying conversation with
a senior citizen as a description of maintenance: “He did most of the talking and
did not really seem to care about what I said. . . . He appeared to be so closed minded
and unreceptive to new ideas.” 9 Conversely, an older person is likely to feel
woefully underaccommodated if she shares a fear or frustration and then only
hears a quick, “I know exactly how you feel,” before the younger person changes
the topic. 10
The other strategy that’s similar to divergence is overaccommodation , which
may be well-intended, but has the effect of making the recipient feel worse. Giles
describes overaccommodation as “demeaning or patronizing talk . . . when excessive
concern is paid to vocal clarity or [amplifi cation], message simplifi cation, or rep-
etition” 11 Often characterized as “baby talk,” this way of speaking can frustrate
the elderly, thus leading to a perception that they are irritable or grumpy. Alter-
natively, frequent overaccommodation from caregivers can not only make the
recipient feel less competent, it can actually talk them into becoming less com-
petent (see Chapter 5).
If overaccommodating communication is often counterproductive and some-
times harmful, why do younger folks talk that way? For that matter, other than
sheer obstinacy, why would old or young people opt for any kind of divergent
strategy rather than one that’s convergent? The next section shows that the
motivation for these contrasting behaviors is tied to people’s concern for their
identity.
Maintenance
Persisting in your original
communication style re-
gardless of the communi-
cation behavior of the
other; similar to
divergence.
Overaccommodation
Demeaning or patronizing
talk; excessive concern
paid to vocal clarity or
amplification, message
simplification, or
repetition; similar to
divergence.
DIFFERENT MOTIVATIONS FOR CONVERGENCE AND DIVERGENCE
As the fi rst page of this chapter indicates, CAT theorists have always regarded
desire for social approval as the main motivation for convergence. You meet a per-
son different from you and you’d like him or her to think well of you, respect
you, or fi nd you attractive. As one of the theorems of uncertainty reduction
theory states, there’s a positive relationship between similarity and attraction
(see Chapter 9). So you identify with the other person by adjusting what you
say and the way you say it in order to appear more similar. As long as you’re
both acting as unique individuals who are shaping their own personal identities
and relationships, representing convergence as a two-step, cause-and-effect rela-
tionship seems justifi ed:
Desire for approval (personal identity) ➞ Convergence ➞ Positive response
There are two problems, however. First, this motivational sequence can’t
explain why we frequently communicate in a divergent way, and second, the
causal chain doesn’t take into account the fact that we often act as a representa-
tive of a group. Giles and other CAT theorists draw upon social identity theory,
the work of Henri Tajfel (University of Bristol, UK) and John Turner (Australian
National University) to solve that problem. 12
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396 CULTURAL CONTEXT
Social Identity Theory
Tajfel and Turner suggested that we often communicate not as individual actors,
but as representatives of groups that help defi ne who we are. Our social identity
is based upon our intergroup behavior. As Jake Harwood puts it, “We are not
random individuals wandering the planet with no connections to others, and
our connections to others cannot be understood purely as a function of
individual phenomena.” 13 Our group memberships—whether formal associa-
tions or allegiances only in our minds—can greatly affect our communication.
As a case in point, if you click on “Em Griffi n” at the bottom of the home
page of www.afi rstlook.com, you’ll fi nd that I identify with groups of communica-
tion professors, confl ict mediators, people of faith, pilots, an extended Griffi n
family, and those who work for economic justice in the developing world. By
accident of birth, I also have at least four other group identifi cations: I’m an
older, white, American male. According to Tajfel and Turner, whenever any of
these associations comes to mind in talking with others, my motivation will be
to reinforce and defend my ties to those groups. After all, they make up my
social identity. And when these groups are salient at the start of an interaction
with someone different, CAT claims that my communication will diverge away
from my partner’s speech rather than converge toward it.
Tajfel and Turner pictured a motivational continuum with personal identity on
one end of the scale and social identity at the other pole. As long as both parties
consider themselves and their conversational partner to be unencumbered, auton-
omous individuals acting for themselves, the theorists believed the desire for
approval → convergence → positive response sequence is what takes place. But if one
(or both) of the interactants regards self or other as a representative of a group
of people, Tajfel and Turner said that their communication will likely become
divergent because of their need to emphasize their distinctiveness. So when group
identity is salient, the two-step, cause-and-effect sequence is quite different:
Need for distinctiveness (social identity) ➞ Divergence ➞ Negative response
Giles and his colleagues believe that this alternative sequence occurs quite
frequently. They hold out the possibility that a person could seek approval and
distinctiveness within the same conversation when their personal and social
identities are both salient. For example, consider an interracial friendship
where buddies never lose sight of their ethnicity. Or think of a loving marriage
in which both husband and wife are keenly aware of their gender roles. Your
fi rst look at communication accommodation theory will come into focus
more easily, however, if we stick with Tajfel and Turner ’s either/or conception
of one of the two motivations holding sway in a given interaction. To the
extent that their theory is accurate, how can we predict whether concerns for
personal identity or social identity will kick in? According to Giles there’s
no hard-and-fast rule. But a person’s initial orientation is a somewhat reliable
predictor.
Initial Orientation
Initial orientation is the predisposition a person has toward focusing on either
individual identity or group identity. Predicting which route a person will take
is diffi cult, but the additive presence of fi ve factors increases the odds that a
Social identity
Group memberships
and social categories that
we use to define who
we are.
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CHAPTER 31: COMMUNICATION ACCOMMODATION THEORY 397
communicator will see the conversation as an intergroup encounter. I’ll continue
to illustrate these factors by referring to intergenerational communication.
1. Collectivistic cultural context. As noted in the introduction to the inter-
cultural communication section, the distinction between collectivistic and indi-
vidualistic cultures is probably the crucial dimension of cultural variability. The
we-centered focus of collectivism emphasizes similarity and mutual concern
within the culture—defi nitely oriented toward social identity. Their communica-
tion toward out-group members is often divergent. The I-centered focus of indi-
vidualistic cultures valorizes the individual actor—defi nitely oriented toward
individual identity. As for intergenerational relationships, despite the cultural
value of respect for elders shared among East Asian cultures, there’s strong evi-
dence that Pacifi c Rim young people and their Western counterparts both regard
the elderly as a group apart. 14 Age transcends ethnic culture.
2. Distressing history of interaction. If previous interactions were uncom-
fortable, competitive, or hostile, both interactants will tend to ascribe that out-
come to the other person’s social identity. (Men are like that. The poor are lazy.
Presbyterians are God’s frozen people.) If the previous time together was positive,
the result is often ascribed to the individual rather than to a group or class to
which he or she belongs. (By the end I felt good knowing that not all older people
hate the younger generation. . . . Every other elder I’ve talked to has made me fear or want to
avoid getting old.) 15
3. Stereotypes. The more specifi c and negative the images people have of
an out-group, the more likely they are to think of the other in terms of social
identity and then resort to divergent communication. This is a big factor in inter-
generational communication. The young tend to stereotype the elderly as irri-
table, nagging, grouchy, verbose, and addled. 16 Conversely, the elderly stereotype
“youth today” as spoiled , an accusation often introduced with the phrase, Why,
when I was your age . . . . These rigid group stereotypes make convergent communica-
tion across generations a rare and diffi cult achievement.
4. Norms for treatment of groups. Norms can be defi ned as “expectations
about behavior that members of a community feel should (or should not) occur in
particular situations.” 17 These expectations can affect whether a member of one
group regards a person from another group as an individual or as “one of them.”
The oft-stated rule to “respect your elders” suggests that the elderly are a group of
people who deserve high regard because they’ve stayed alive, rather than because
they have individual worth. The result of that group norm may be young adults
showing deference to an elderly person, but biting their tongue and not talking back ,
a process that could build resentment toward a group they may join someday.
5. High group-solidarity / high group-dependence. Picture Lucile, a 70-year-
old widow living in a small retirement village where residents rely on each other
for social, emotional, and even physical well-being. As the organizer of a success-
ful food co-op, she’s at the nexus of communication and has a higher status
among her neighbors than she’s ever had before. When a young county health
department offi cial questions the co-op’s food handling practices, Lucile goes to
talk with him in what she regards as an us-against-them encounter. Giles would
predict that she would have an initial intergroup orientation because of her strong
identifi cation with the group and her high dependence on it for relational warmth
and a sense of worth. 18
Initial orientation
Communicators’ predis-
position to focus on ei-
ther their individual
identity or group identity
during a conversation.
Norms
Expectations about
behavior that members
of a community feel
should (or should not)
occur in particular
situations.
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398 CULTURAL CONTEXT
No single factor determines a person’s initial orientation, but if all fi ve fac-
tors line up in the direction of public identity, it’s almost certain that a commu-
nicator will approach a conversation with an intergroup mindset. That seems to
be the case in most intergenerational interactions. Giles would note, however,
that a person may change orientations during a conversation.
RECIPIENT EVALUATION OF CONVERGENCE AND DIVERGENCE
Let’s start with the bottom line. After 35 years of multiple revisions, restatements,
and research studies, Giles and his colleagues continue to believe what he wrote
about accommodation in his fi rst major article—that listeners regard convergence
as positive and divergence as negative. Specifi cally, converging speakers are
viewed as more competent, attractive, warm, and cooperative. 19 On the other hand,
“divergence is often seen by its recipients as insulting, impolite, or downright
hostile.” 20 But CAT researchers are quick to remind us that accommodation is in
the eyes and ears of the beholder. What’s ultimately important is not how the
communicator converged or diverged, but how the other perceived the commu-
nicator’s behavior.
Objective Versus Subjective Accommodation
Early in his research, Giles realized that there was a disconnect between the
communication behavior that he and other neutral researchers observed and
what participants heard and saw. He described the gap as the difference between
objective and subjective accommodation. For example, a speaker ’s accent, rate,
pitch, and length of pauses could actually be shifting toward a conversational
partner’s style of speaking, but the partner might regard it as divergent. In light
of this discrepancy, Giles says it’s recipients’ subjective evaluation that really
matters, because that’s what will shape their response.
Speakers who desire to seek approval by converging with the other’s way
of speaking may also misperceive what that style really is. From an objective
point of view, what strikes them as the other group’s preferred style of commu-
nication may woefully miss the mark. For example, a granddad might try to
identify with his grandkids by using phrases like right on, really hep, or that’s
square , not realizing that these phrases were more typical of teenagers in the late
1960s than of teens today. Giles notes that “one does not converge toward (or
diverge from) the actual speech of the recipient, but toward (or from) one’s ste-
reotype about the recipient’s speech.” 21
Attribution Theory
Our response to others’ communication hinges not only on the behavior we
perceive, but also on the intention or motive we ascribe to them for speaking
that way. Giles draws from attribution theory to cast light on how we’ll interpret
our conversational partners’ convergent or divergent behavior. In two different
versions of attribution theory, social psychologists Fritz Heider (University of
Kansas) and Harold Kelley (UCLA) suggested that we attribute an internal dis-
position to the behavior we see another enact. 22 As amateur psychologists, our
default assumption is that people who do things like that are like that . Yet three
Attribution
The perceptual process
by which we observe
what people do and then
try to figure out their in-
tent or disposition.
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CHAPTER 31: COMMUNICATION ACCOMMODATION THEORY 399
mitigating factors may come into play: (1) the other’s ability, (2) external con-
straints, and (3) the effort expended.
Suppose you’re talking with an elderly man who continually asks you to
repeat what you’ve said. If you know that his hearing is good (high ability) and
the room is quiet (no external constraints), yet he’s not paying much attention
(low effort), you’ll attribute his divergent behavior to lack of respect for you.
You’ll be more understanding if you know he’s hard of hearing (low ability).
But as one research study shows, you’ll still be irritated by his lack of consid-
eration if he freely chooses not to wear a hearing aid (low effort). 23 What if you
know he’s almost deaf (low ability), the room is noisy (environmental con-
straint), and he’s wearing a hearing aid and still struggling to catch your words
(high effort)? You’ll probably appreciate the fact that he cares about what you’re
saying and wants to understand, even if you fi nd the conversation tiring or
uncomfortable.
Overall, listeners who interpret convergence as a speaker ’s desire to
break down cultural barriers react quite favorably. 24 That response is at the core
of CAT. But because there’s a societal constraint or norm that those with less
power (workers, patients, students, immigrants) ought to accommodate to the
communication practices of those with higher status (bosses, doctors, professors,
citizens), upward convergers don’t get as much credit as when status is relatively
equal. Still, this moderate reaction is much more favorable than the response
toward a low-power person who adopts a divergent strategy. As a case in point,
consider the anger of many Anglo Americans toward Latino immigrants who
“refuse” to become bilingual.
There are benefi ts and costs to both convergent and divergent strategies. CAT
research continues to document the positive interpersonal relationship develop-
ment that can result from appropriate convergence. The practice also facilitates
better comprehension and understanding. But these gains come at the potential
risk of offending other in-group members, just as my sister was disgusted by my
attempt to talk like a “down-home” southerner. They may feel that converging
toward an out-group is diverging from them. And, of course, the one who accom-
modates may also feel a sense of inauthenticity.
The interpersonal tension created by divergence or maintenance can
certainly block the formation of intergroup or intercultural relationships and
understanding. But the upside for the communicator is the reaffi rmed social
identity and solidarity that comes from enacting a divergent strategy. In that
sense, divergence is an accommodation strategy just as much as convergence is,
but it’s accommodation to the in-group rather than members of the out-group.
APPLYING CAT TO POLICE OFFICER–CITIZEN INTERACTION
My extensive discussion of intergenerational communication may have given you
the idea that the scope of communication accommodation theory is limited to
conversations between the young and the elderly. Not so. CAT can be applied to
any intercultural or intergroup situation where the differences between
people are apparent and signifi cant. Since Giles is a retired chaplain and reserve
lieutenant in the Santa Barbara Police Department, he’s found it helpful to
apply CAT to the interaction between police offi cers and citizens during routine
traffi c stops.
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400 CULTURAL CONTEXT
At one time or another, most of us have been pulled over by a police offi cer
for a possible driving infraction. Giles describes these encounters as “potentially
negatively valenced, emotionally charged interactions” in which our group
membership may be particularly salient and the uncertainty of the outcome can
cause great anxiety.25 If you’ve been stopped by a cop, you know the feeling.
What you might not realize is that the event is also fraught with danger for the
offi cer—as one top FBI offi cial remarks, “Every stop can be potentially fatal.”
Statistics back up that claim, with police offi cer deaths rising by 25 percent from
2010 to 2011.26 Police offi cers are trained to stay on guard throughout the process,
a mindset that could affect the quality of communication in the police–citizen
interaction.
Tensions in this already stressful interaction may escalate when the issue of
race comes into play. For example, civil rights advocates suggest that cops often
treat blacks more harshly than whites. The goal of one CAT study was “to move
beyond casual assumptions to systematically investigate the extent to which the
race of interactants might infl uence the nature of police–civilian communication.”27
Giles was part of a team of researchers that viewed 313 randomly selected
video recordings from police cars during traffi c stops in Cincinnati, Ohio. The
research team analyzed the verbal and nonverbal interaction of offi cer and driver
in each encounter to determine the extent of convergence or divergence. For offi –
cers, approachability, listening to the driver’s explanation, and showing respect
were the marks of accommodation. Indifference, dismissive behavior, and an air
of superiority were scored as non-accommodative. Drivers who were courteous,
apologetic, pleasant, and who showed respect were rated as accommodating. Driv-
ers who were belligerent were regarded as non-accommodating.
Based on communication accommodation theory, the Cincinnati study pre-
dicted that interracial interactions would be less accommodating than those
where the offi cer and driver were of the same race. Researchers anticipated this
outcome because a mixed-race interaction in this high-pressure context would
make each party’s ethnic-group identity signifi cant for them during the encoun-
ter. With that mind-set, they would no longer act as independent agents; they
would see themselves as representatives of their race and speak in a way that
accentuates their differences.
The videotapes confi rmed the accommodation prediction for the police.
When the cop and driver were the same race, the offi cer’s communication was
viewed by objective judges as convergent. When the cop was white and the
driver was black, or the cop was black and the driver was white, the offi cer’s
communication was judged as divergent. But the videotape evidence did not
support the prediction of similar adjustments in the drivers’ communication.
Although Giles still suggests that “accommodating civilians may be less suscep-
tible to harsh penalties and reprimands from offi cers,”28 that’s not a guaranteed
prescription for avoiding a ticket if a cop pulls you over.
CRITIQUE: ENORMOUS SCOPE AT THE COST OF CLARITY
From a modest beginning as a narrowly conceived theory of social psychology,
communication accommodation theory has morphed into a communication the-
ory of enormous scope. Giles’ adoption of social identity theory of group behavior
and attribution theory, which are essential to CAT’s explanation of accommoda-
tion, demonstrates that Giles’ theory hasn’t abandoned its social psych roots. It’s
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CHAPTER 31: COMMUNICATION ACCOMMODATION THEORY 401
appropriate, therefore, to evaluate CAT by using the six criteria for good social
science theories presented at the start of the book.
1. Explanation of data. CAT not only describes communication behavior, it
explains why it happens. The dual theoretical engines of desire for approval and
need to maintain a distinctive social identity are compelling reasons for two very
different communication strategies. Further, Giles and his colleagues offer multiple
factors to clarify which motivation will kick in at any given time.
2. Prediction of the future. Giles doesn’t shy away from forecasting what
will happen in specifi c situations. As the scope of the theory has expanded, he’s
found it necessary to alter or qualify many of these predictions, but CAT places
its bets ahead of time. As a communication scholar who was fi rst trained in
experimental methodology, I fi nd this put-up-or-shut-up approach appealing. I
also appreciate Giles’ movement toward qualitative methods as he attempts to
predict how recipients will interpret accommodating behavior.
3. Relative simplicity. CAT is an extraordinarily complex theory presented
in multiple versions that are sometimes offered simultaneously. As Cindy
Gallois (University of Queensland, Australia), Tania Ogay (University of Fri-
bourg, Switzerland), and Giles admit in a summary chapter, CAT’s “structure
and the underlying terminology are not always represented consistently in texts
and propositions.” 29 Even the meaning of accommodation within the theory is
slippery. Sometimes the term seems to be synonymous with convergence (as
opposed to divergence), while other times it’s used to refer to any adjustment
of communication behavior. Gallois, Ogay, and Giles take on the challenge of
“explaining the increased propositional complexity in terms of a parsimonious
and unique set of integrative principles.” 30 The end result of this attempt to
simplify is not for the faint of heart. In fairness, the authors could respond,
“Intercultural communication is devilishly complicated. Let’s not pretend
it isn’t.”
4. Testable hypotheses. The complexity problem also spills over into the
possibility of being able to demonstrate that the theory is false. In 1998, Gallois
and Giles wrote:
CAT has become very complex, so that the theory as a whole probably cannot be
tested at one time. This means that researchers using CAT must develop mini-
theories to suit the contexts in which they work, while at the same time keeping
the whole of the theory in mind. 31
Looking back over four decades of theory development, Giles and his colleagues
admit that it’s not clear what “the whole of the theory” actually is.32 If they aren’t
sure, it’s hard for others to know. Falsifi able it isn’t.
5. Quantitative research. Many alterations and additions to Giles’ original
theory have been made in response to fi eld research that shows that communica-
tion accommodation is more complicated than originally thought. Studies using
surveys and interviews are the norm; experiments are rare. As illustrated by the
Cincinnati traffi c-stop study, the frequency of responses is tabulated, but fi guring
out what the behavior means depends on how the people themselves interpret
their own actions. Many scholars appreciate this mix of quantitative and qualita-
tive methodology, but it’s surprising to fi nd it in a theory rooted in social
psychology.
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402 CULTURAL CONTEXT
6. Practical utility. As Giles noted in a recent review of the published
research, researchers have used CAT to understand communication in many
important contexts—the family, the doctor’s offi ce, the classroom, the workplace,
and many more.33 Clearly, the theory provides practical insight into many situa-
tions where people from different groups or cultures come into contact.
QUESTIONS TO SHARPEN YOUR FOCUS
1. Can you think of a time when you found another’s divergence in speech style
delightful or another’s convergence distressing?
2. To what extent is it possible to interact with another person and not have age,
gender, race, nationality, sexual orientation, religious commitment, or political ideol-
ogy be salient when you know that one or more of these differs from your own?
3. In what way might you overaccommodate to the stereotypical image you hold
of opposite-sex communication behavior?
4. As you read about the actions and reactions of young people cited from
intergenerational research , with which strategies and responses do you iden-
tify? Which do you believe are uncharacteristic of you?
Recommended resource: Howard Giles and Tania Ogay, “Communication Accommoda-
tion Theory,” in Explaining Communication: Contemporary Theories and Exemplars,
Bryan B. Whaley and Wendy Samter (eds.), Lawrence Erlbaum, Mahwah, NJ, 2007,
pp. 293–310.
Original statement of speech accommodation theory: Howard Giles, “Accent Mobility: A
Model and Some Data,” Anthropological Linguistics, Vol. 15, 1973, pp. 87–109.
SAT expanded and renamed CAT: Howard Giles, Anthony Mulac, James Bradac, and
Patricia Johnson, “Speech Accommodation Theory: The First Decade and Beyond,” in
Communication Yearbook 10 , Margaret L. McLaughlin (ed.), Sage, Newbury Park, CA, 1987,
pp. 13–48.
Propositional synthesis: Cindy Gallois, Tania Ogay, and Howard Giles, “Communica-
tion Accommodation Theory: A Look Back and a Look Ahead,” in Theorizing About Inter-
cultural Communication , William Gudykunst (ed.), Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 2005,
pp. 121–148.
Social identity theory: Henri Tajfel and John C. Turner, “The Social Identity Theory of
Intergroup Behavior,” in The Psychology of Intergroup Relations, L. Worchel and W. Austin
(eds.), Nelson Hall, Chicago, IL, 1986, pp. 7–24.
A SECOND LOOK
CONVERSATIONS In his interview with Andrew, Howie Giles doesn’t just explain how his inter-
est in different accents led to the development of CAT—he acts those accents
out. Giles also provides advice informed by CAT: fi rst to Andrew about mov-
ing from the northern United States to the South, and then to students who
might be pulled over by a cop. You might consider how his advice compares
with what other intercultural communication theories might say. To conclude
the interview, Andrew asks Giles whether his knowledge of CAT makes him
communicate strategically rather than authentically. As a communication the-
ory student, you’ll probably empathize with his candid response.
View this segment online at
www.mhhe.com/griffi n9e or
www.afi rstlook.com.
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CHAPTER 31: COMMUNICATION ACCOMMODATION THEORY 403
Importance of social identity: Jake Harwood, “Communication as Social Identity,” in
Communication as . . . Perspectives on Theory, Gregory Shepherd, Jeffrey St. John, and Ted
Striphas (eds.), Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 2006, pp. 84–90.
Intergenerational communication between grandparents and grandchildren: Karen Ander-
son, Jake Harwood, and Mary Lee Hummert, “The Grandparent–Grandchild Relation-
ship: Implications for Models of Intergenerational Communication,” Human Communication
Research, Vol. 31, 2005, pp. 268–294.
Accommodation in multiracial/ethnic families: Jordan Soliz, Allison R. Thorson, and
Christine E. Rittenour, “Communicative Correlates of Satisfaction, Family Identity, and
Group Salience in Multiracial/Ethnic Families,” Journal of Marriage and Family, Vol. 71,
2009, pp. 819–832.
Accommodation in the workplace: Robert M. McCann and Howard Giles, “Communica-
tion With People of Different Ages in the Workplace: Thai and American Data,” Human
Communication Research, Vol. 32, 2006, pp. 74–108.
Police–citizen interaction and simplifi ed propositions: Howard Giles, Michael Willemyns,
Cindy Gallois, and M. C. Anderson, “Accommodating a New Frontier: The Context of
Law Enforcement,” in Social Communication, Klaus Fiedler (ed.), Psychology Press, New
York, 2007, pp. 129–162.
Application to law enforcement: Howard Giles, Charles W. Choi, Travis L. Dixon,
“Police–Civilian Encounters,” in The Dynamics of Intergroup Communication, Howard Giles,
Scott A. Reid, and Jake Harwood (eds.), Peter Lang, New York, 2010, pp. 65–75.
To access a different theory of intercultural communication,
click on Anxiety/Uncertainty Management Theory
in Archive under Theory Resources at
www.afi rstlook.com.
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404
32C H A P T E R
Face-Negotiation Theory
of Stella Ting-Toomey
For the past two decades I’ve served as a volunteer mediator at a metropolitan
center for confl ict resolution. My role as a mediator is to help people in confl ict
reach a voluntary agreement that satisfi es both sides. I’m neither a judge nor a
counselor, and I work hard not to make moral judgments about who’s right and
who’s wrong. As a mediator, I’m a neutral third party whose sole job is to facil-
itate the process of negotiation. That doesn’t mean it’s easy.
Most disputants come to the center in a last-ditch effort to avoid the cost
and intimidation of a day in court. The service is free, and we do everything
possible to take the threat out of the proceedings. But after failing or refusing to
work out their differences on their own, people walk in the door feeling various
degrees of anger, hurt, fear, confusion, and shame. On the one hand, they hope
that the mediation will help resolve their dispute. On the other hand, they doubt
that talk around a table will soften hard feelings and change responses that seem
to be set in stone.
The professional staff at the center instructs volunteers in a model of nego-
tiation that maximizes the chance of people’s reaching a mutually acceptable
agreement. From the fi rst day of training, the staff insists that “the mediator
controls the process, not the outcome.” Figure 32–1 lists some of the techniques
that mediators use to ensure progress without suggesting the shape of the solu-
tion. Used artfully, the techniques work well. The majority of the negotiations
end in freely signed and mutually kept agreements.
This model of negotiation doesn’t work equally well for everyone, however.
Although the center serves a multiethnic urban area, my colleagues and I have
noticed that the number of people of Asian origin seeking confl ict mediation is
disproportionately small. On rare occasions when Japanese, Vietnamese, Chinese,
or Koreans come to the offi ce, they’re more embarrassed than angry. If they do
reach agreement, they seem more relieved that the conversation is over than
pleased with the solution.
Stella Ting-Toomey’s face-negotiation theory helps explain cultural differences
in responses to confl ict. A communication professor at California State Univer-
sity, Fullerton, Ting-Toomey assumes that people of every culture are always
negotiating face. The term is a metaphor for our public self-image, the way we
want others to see us and treat us. Facework refers to “specifi c verbal and non-
verbal messages that help to maintain and restore face loss, and to uphold and
Objective Interpretive
Socio-psychological tradition
●
Face
The projected image of
one’s self in a relational
situation.
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CHAPTER 32: FACE-NEGOTIATION THEORY 405
honor face gain.” 1 Our identity can always be called into question, and the anx-
iety and uncertainty churned up by confl ict make us especially vulnerable. Face-
negotiation theory postulates that the facework of people from individualistic
cultures like the United States or Germany will be strikingly different from the
facework of people from collectivistic cultures like Japan or China. Ting- Toomey’s
face-negotiation theory suggests that face maintenance is the crucial intervening
variable that ties culture to people’s ways of handling confl ict. In the following
sections of this chapter, I’ll unpack the meaning of the four concepts that are
linked together in the causal chain:
Type of
➞
Type of Self-
➞
Type of Face
➞
Type of Confl ict
Culture Construal Maintenance Management
Assure impartiality: “Since neither of you has met me before, I have no stake in what you decide.”
Guarantee confidentiality: “What you say today is strictly between us. I’ll rip up my notes before you
go.”
Display disputant equality: “Nate, thanks for not interrupting while Beth was telling her story. Now it’s
your turn. What do you want to tell me?”
Avoid “why” questions: Harmful—“Why did you do that?” Helpful—“What would you like to see
happen?”
Acknowledge emotions while defusing their force: “I can understand that you were bothered when
you found the bike was broken.”
Summarize frequently: “I’d like to tell you what I’ve heard you say. If I don’t get it right, fill me in.”
Hold individual private conferences: “I wanted to meet privately with you to see if there’s anything
you want to tell me in confidence that you didn’t feel you could say with Beth in the room.”
Reframe issues of “right” and “wrong” into interests: “Beth, I’m not sure I understand. Tell me, how
will Nate’s going to jail give you what you need?”
Brainstorm: “Let’s see how many different solutions you can think of that might solve the problem. Just
throw out any ideas you have and we’ll sort through them later.”
Perform a reality check: “Have you checked to see if the bike can be put back in mint condition?”
Consider the alternative: “What are you going to do if you don’t reach an agreement today?”
Move toward agreement: “You’ve already agreed on a number of important issues. I’m going to begin
to write them down.”
FIGURE 32–1 Selected Techniques of Third-Party Mediation
COLLECTIVISTIC AND INDIVIDUALISTIC CULTURES
Ting-Toomey bases her face-negotiation theory on the distinction between
collectivism and individualism. The most extensive differentiation between the two
types of cultures has been made by University of Illinois emeritus psychology
professor Harry Triandis. He says that the three important distinctions between
collectivistic and individualistic cultures are the different ways members per-
ceive self, goals, and duty. 2
Consider a man named Em. Collectivistic Em might think of himself as a
father, Christian, and teacher. Individualistic Em would probably defi ne himself
simply as Em, independent of any group affi liation. Collectivistic Em wouldn’t
go against group goals, but his individualistic counterpart would naturally
Facework
Specific verbal and non-
verbal messages that help
to maintain and restore
face loss, and to uphold
and honor face gain.
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406 CULTURAL CONTEXT
pursue personal interests. Collectivistic Em would have been socialized to enjoy
duty that requires sacrifi ce in the service of others; individualistic Em would
employ the minimax principle to determine a course of action that he would see
as enjoyable and personally rewarding (see Chapter 8).
More than two-thirds of the world’s people are born into collectivistic
cultures, while less than one-third of the population lives in individualistic cul-
tures. 3 To help you draw a clearer mental picture of the distinctions, I’ll follow
the lead of cross-cultural researchers who cite Japan and the United States as
classic examples of collectivistic and individualistic cultures, respectively. Note
that it would be equally appropriate to use most countries in Asia, Africa, the
Middle East, or Latin America to represent a collectivistic perspective. I could
also insert Australia, Germany, Switzerland, or one of the Scandinavian societies
as the model of an individualistic approach. It is Ting-Toomey’s grouping of
national cultures within the collectivistic and individualistic categories that
separates her theory of confl ict management from a mere listing of national
characteristics.
Triandis says that the Japanese value collective needs and goals over indi-
vidual needs and goals. They assume that in the long run, each individual
decision affects everyone in the group. Therefore, a person’s behavior is controlled
by the norms of the group. This we -identity of the Japanese is quite foreign to
the I -identity of the American who values individual needs and goals over group
needs and goals. The American’s behavior is governed by the personal rules of
a freewheeling self that is concerned with individual rights rather than group
responsibilities. Marching to a different drummer is the rule in the United States,
not the exception.
Triandis claims that the strong in-group identity of the Japanese people leads
them to perceive others in us–them categories. It is more important for the
Japanese to identify an outsider ’s background and group affi liation than the
person’s attitudes or feelings—not because they don’t care about their guest, but
because unique individual differences seem less important than group-based
information. People raised in the United States show a different curiosity. They
are fi lled with questions about the interior life of visitors from other cultures.
What do they think? What do they feel? What do they plan to do? Americans
assume that every person is unique, and they reduce uncertainty by asking ques-
tions to the point of cross-examination.
With this understanding of the differences between collectivistic and indi-
vidualistic cultures in mind, read through the description of mediation tech-
niques in Figure 32–1. Taken as a whole, the list provides a reliable window to
the values that guide this type of confl ict resolution. Participants who come to
the confl ict center are treated as responsible individuals who can make up their
own minds about what they want. The mediator encourages antagonists to deal
directly with their differences and keeps the conversation focused on the pos-
sibility of a fi nal agreement. While the mediator is careful never to pressure
clients to reach an accord, the climate of immediacy suggests this is their best
chance to put the whole mess behind them in an acceptable way and get on with
their lives. The mediator works hard to make sure that the individual rights of
both parties are respected.
Whether or not disputants reach an agreement, the mediation approach out-
lined in Figure 32–1 offers a safe place where no one need feel embarrassed—at
least no one from an individualistic American culture. As it turns out, the open
Collectivistic culture
Wherein people identify
with a larger group that is
responsible for providing
care in exchange for
group loyalty; we-identity;
a high-context culture.
Individualistic culture
Wherein people look out
for themselves and their
immediate families;
I-identity; a low-context
culture.
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CHAPTER 32: FACE-NEGOTIATION THEORY 407
discussion of confl ict, the encouragement to voice specifi c needs and interests,
and the explicit language used to document any agreement all make the process
quite uncomfortable for people raised in a high-context culture. No wonder
potential clients from collectivistic cultures often stay away or leave dissatisfi ed.
SELF-CONSTRUAL: VARIED SELF-IMAGES WITHIN A CULTURE
People aren’t cultural clones, however. Just as cultures vary along a scale anchored
by individualistic or collectivistic orientations, so, too, do their members. Ting-
Toomey emphasizes that people within a culture differ on the relative emphasis
they place on individual self-suffi ciency or group solidarity. She uses the terms
independent and interdependent self to refer to “the degree to which people con-
ceive of themselves as relatively autonomous from, or connected to, others.” 4
Psychologists Hazel Markus and Shinobu Kitayama call this dimension self-
construal, or the more familiar term self-image. 5
The independent self values I -identity and is more self-face oriented, so this
concept of self is prevalent within individualistic cultures like the United States.
Yet due to the ethnic diversity of American society, there are people raised in the
United States who are highly interdependent. The interdependent self values
we -identity and emphasizes relational connectedness, and is therefore closely
aligned with collectivism. But again, it would be dangerous to stereotype all
members of a collectivist society as having the same self-construal. Culture is an
overall framework for face concern, but individuals within a culture have differ-
ent images of self as well as varied views on the degree to which they give others
face or restore their own face in confl ict situations.
The relational reality of self-image differences within two cultures is repre-
sented in the following diagram. Each circle (●) stands for the self-construal of
a person raised in a collectivistic society that socializes its members to be inter-
dependent and includes everyone in face concerns. Each triangle (▲) stands for
the self-construal of a person raised in an individualistic culture that stresses
independence and self-reliance. The cultures are obviously different. But the over-
lap shows that an American might have a self-image more interdependent than
that of a person raised in Japan with a relatively high independent self-construal.
As you will see in the following sections, Ting-Toomey built her theory on
the foundational idea that people from collectivistic/high-context cultures are
noticeably different in the way they manage face and confl ict situations than
people from individualistic/low-context cultures. In dozens of scholarly articles
she has defended that basic conviction. Yet more recently, Ting-Toomey and col-
league John Oetzel at the University of Waikato in New Zealand have discovered
that “self-construal is a better predictor of confl ict styles than ethnic/cultural
background.” 6 You can now see why face-negotiation theory is “in progress,”
and Ting-Toomey writes that “more theorizing effort is needed to ‘decategorize’
the colossal concepts of ‘individualism’ and ‘collectivism’ . . . into fi ner culture-
level, explanatory-categories.” 7
Self-construal
Self-image; the degree to
which people conceive of
themselves as relatively
autonomous from, or
connected to, others.
Interdependent
Self-Image
Independent
Self-Image
Collectivistic Culture (Japan)
Individualistic Culture (United States)
• • • • • • • • • • • • • •
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408 CULTURAL CONTEXT
Ting-Toomey and Oetzel identify people’s self-construal by asking them to
respond to surveys about real or imagined confl ict situations. Strong agreement
with the fi rst two of the following four statements indicates an independent self-
image. Endorsing the last two shows an interdependent self-image. 8
“It was important for me to be able to act as a free and independent person.”
“I tried not to depend on others.”
“I sacrifi ced my self-interest for the benefi t of our relationship.”
“I was sensitive to the wishes of the other person.”
The distinction between collectivistic and individualistic cultures is still
important because culture has a strong effect on an individual’s self-construal.
But that sense of individual identity is one step closer to the person’s preferred
style of dealing with confl ict, so it predicts dispute behavior better than general-
ized culture does.
THE MULTIPLE FACES OF FACE
Although popular Western wisdom regards face as an Asian preoccupation, Ting-
Toomey and other relational researchers fi nd it to be a universal concern. That’s
because face is an extension of self-concept: a vulnerable, identity-based resource.
As Ting-Toomey notes, most of us blush. It’s a telltale sign that we feel awkward,
embarrassed, ashamed, or proud—all face-related issues. 9 In their well- developed
theory of politeness, Penelope Brown and Stephen Levinson (Max Planck Insti-
tute for Psycholinguistics, the Netherlands) defi ne face as “the public self-image
that every member of society wants to claim for himself/herself.” 10 Many West-
ern writers regard face as an almost tangible good that can rise or fall like
soybean futures on the commodity exchange at the Board of Trade. Taiwanese
writer Lin Yutang called face “a psychological image that can be granted and
lost and fought for and presented as a gift.” 11 The term includes the patrician
concern for dignity, honor, and status. It also covers the effect of trash talk after
a slam dunk on the basketball court—”in your face!” Ting-Toomey simply refers
to face as “the projected image of one’s self in a relational situation.” 12
Although an overall view of face as public self-image is straightforward and
consistent with Mead’s concept of the generalized other (see Chapter 5), Ting-
Toomey highlights several issues that turn face into a multifaceted object of
study. Face means different things to different people, depending fi rst on their
culture, and second on how they construe their personal identities.
The question Whose face are you trying to save? may seem ridiculous to most
Americans or members of other individualistic cultures. The answer is obvious:
mine. Yet Ting-Toomey reminds us that in over two-thirds of the world, face
concerns focus on the other person. Even in the midst of confl ict, people in these
collectivistic cultures pay more attention to maintaining the face of the other
party than they do to preserving their own. Their answer to the face-concern
question would honestly be an altruistic yours.
But self-face and other-face concerns don’t exhaust the possibilities. Ting-
Toomey describes a third orientation in which there’s equal concern for both
parties’ images, as well as the public image of their relationship. She calls this a
mutual-face concern, and people who have it would answer the Whose face . . . ?
question with ours.
Face concern
Regard for self-face, other-
face, or mutual-face.
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CHAPTER 32: FACE-NEGOTIATION THEORY 409
JoLynda applied the concept of mutual-face concern to what she learned
about a desert nomadic culture:
A Bedouin tradition that exemplifi es concern for honor and mutual-face is one of
raiding. In order to properly raid a village you had to raid it early in the morning
in order to give the villagers all day to recover the animals. It gave the other tribe
a chance to show their strength and save face by regaining what livestock they
may have lost. Also, if an enemy asked for hospitality, you were required to treat
him as the guest of honor for three days. If he had not left by that time you were
allowed to do what you wanted to him. It would be his fault. The only reason an
enemy would ask for hospitality is if he were injured or weak. You would then
be in charge of healing him and giving him a fair chance in a fi ght.
Self-concerned face-restoration is the facework strategy used to stake out a
unique place in life, preserve autonomy, and defend against loss of personal
freedom. Not surprisingly, face-restoration is the typical face strategy across indi-
vidualistic cultures. Face-giving out of concern for others is the facework strategy
used to defend and support another person’s need for inclusion. It means taking
care not to embarrass or humiliate the other in public. Face-giving is the char-
acteristic face strategy across collectivistic cultures.
Of course, collectivism and individualism aren’t all-or-nothing categories.
The difference between other-face and self-face concerns is not absolute. Just as
relational dialectics insists that everyone wants connection and autonomy in a
close relationship (see Chapter 11), so, too, all people desire affi liation and auton-
omy within their particular society. People raised in Japan or other Asian coun-
tries do have personal wants and needs; Americans and northern Europeans still
desire to be part of a larger group. The cultural difference is always a matter of
degree.
Yet when push comes to shove, most people from a collectivistic culture tend
to privilege other-face or mutual-face over self-face. In like manner, people raised
in an individualistic culture are normally more concerned with self-face than
with other-face.
Face-restoration
The self-concerned
facework strategy used to
preserve autonomy and
defend against loss of
personal freedom.
Face-giving
The other-concerned
facework strategy used
to defend and support
another person’s need
for inclusion.
PREDICTABLE STYLES OF CONFLICT MANAGEMENT
Based on the work of M. Afzalur Rahim, professor of management at Western
Kentucky University, Ting-Toomey initially identifi ed fi ve distinct responses to
situations where there is an incompatibility of needs, interests, or goals. The fi ve
styles are avoiding (withdrawing), obliging (giving in), compromising (negotiating),
dominating (competing), and integrating (problem solving) . 13 Most Western writers
refer to the same fi ve styles of confl ict, although they often use the labels that
are in parentheses. 14
Suppose, for example, that you are the leader of a group of students working
together on a class research project. Your instructor will assign the same grade
to all of you based on the quality of the group’s work, and that project evalua-
tion will count for two-thirds of your fi nal grade in the course. As often happens
in such cases, one member of the group has just brought in a shoddy piece of
work, and you have only three days to go until the project is due. You don’t
know this group member well, but you do know that it will take 72 hours of
round-the-clock effort to fi x this part of the project. What mode of confl ict man-
agement will you adopt?
Avoiding
Responding to conflict
by withdrawing from
open discussion.
Obliging
Accommodating or giving
in to the wishes of another
in a conflict situation.
Compromising
Conflict management by
negotiating or bargaining;
seeking a middle way.
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410 CULTURAL CONTEXT
Avoiding: “I would avoid discussing my differences with the group member.”
Obliging: “I would give in to the wishes of the group member.”
Compromising: “I would use give-and-take so that a compromise could be made.”
Dominating: “I would be fi rm in pursuing my side of the issue.”
Integrating: “I would exchange accurate information with the group mem-
ber to solve the problem together.”
These fi ve styles of confl ict management have been discussed and researched
so often that they almost seem chiseled in stone. Yet Ting-Toomey and Oetzel
remind us that these styles have surfaced in work situations in Western coun-
tries. Using an ethnically diverse sample, they have identifi ed three additional
styles of confl ict management that American, individualistic-based scholarship
has missed. The styles are emotional expression, passive aggressive, and third-party
help. 15 In the student-project example, these styles might be expressed in the fol-
lowing ways:
Emotional expression: “Whatever my ‘gut’ and my ‘heart’ tell me, I would
let these feelings show.”
Passive aggressive: “Without actually accusing anyone of being lazy, I’d try
to make him or her feel guilty.”
Third-party help: “I would enlist the professor to aid us in solving the confl ict.”
Dominating
Competing to win when
people’s interests conflict.
Integrating
Problem solving through
open discussion; collab-
orating for a win–win
resolution of conflict.
Emotional expression
Managing conflict by
disclosure or venting of
feelings.
Passive aggressive
Making indirect accusa-
tions, showing resent-
ment, procrastination,
and other behaviors
aimed at thwarting anoth-
er’s resolution of conflict.
“We realize it’s a win-win, Jenkins—we’re trying
to fi gure out a way to make it a win-lose.”
© Matthew Diffee/The New Yorker Collection/www.cartoonbank.com
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CHAPTER 32: FACE-NEGOTIATION THEORY 411
Figure 32–2 charts Ting-Toomey and Oetzel’s map of confl ict styles, arranged
according to their culture-related face concern. The chart plots self-face concern
on the horizontal axis and other-face concern on the vertical axis. For example,
obliging is the behavior of choice for people who are concerned for another’s
public image, but not their own. Conversely, dominating is the act of someone
who is concerned with his or her own face repair but doesn’t care about promot-
ing or honoring another’s reputation. The smaller, shaded area on the right side
depicts individualistic cultures that usually spawn confl ict styles of emotional
expression, passive aggression, and attempts to dominate. The larger, clear area
on the left side refl ects collectivistic cultures where obliging, avoiding, compro-
mising, third-party help, and integrating are more the norm. Several explana-
tions are in order.
You might be surprised to see avoiding rating almost as high as obliging on
concern for the other person’s face. Isn’t withdrawing showing a casual disregard
for the issue or your conversational partner? Ting-Toomey would disagree:
It should be noted that in U.S. confl ict management literature, obliging and avoid-
ing confl ict styles often take on a Western slant of being negatively disengaged (i.e.,
“placating” or “fl ight”) from the confl ict scene. However, collectivists do not per-
ceive obliging and avoiding confl ict styles as negative. These two styles are typically
employed to maintain mutual-face interests and relational network interests. 16
Ting-Toomey would also point out that third-party help as practiced in a collec-
tivistic culture is quite different from the interest-based mediation I described at the
start of the chapter. In these societies, parties in confl ict voluntarily go to someone
they greatly admire who has a good relationship with both of them. In order to “give
face” to this wise elder or high-status person, they may be willing to follow his or
her advice and in the process honor each other’s image as well. 17 Perhaps that’s why
third-party help is sought out by confl icting parties in collectivistic cultures, but the
FIGURE 32–2 A Cultural Map of Eight Confl ict-Management Styles
Based on Stella Ting-Toomey and John Oetzel, Managing Intercultural Confl ict Effectively
Obliging
Avoiding
Compromising
Third Party
Help
Emotional
Expression
Dominating
Passive
Aggression
O
T
H
E
R
-F
A
C
E
C
O
N
C
E
R
N
SELF-FACE CONCERNLow High
Lo
w
H
ig
h
Integrating
Collectivism
Individualism
KEY
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412 CULTURAL CONTEXT
vast majority of Western-style mediations are court-ordered. Most people with an
independent self-construal think fi rst of getting a lawyer.
Of course, the entire fi gure assumes that people from a given culture construe
their self-image consistent with the collectivistic or individualistic nature of their
society. In one multiethnic study, Ting-Toomey and Oetzel identifi ed some people
whose self-image embraced both interdependence and independence. The research-
ers now believe that these “biconstrual” individuals possess a wider repertoire of
behavioral options to use in different confl ict situations. 18 Face-negotiation theory
predicts that regardless of his or her culture of origin, “the biconstrual type is
associated positively with compromising/integrating confl ict style.” 19
Given that an integrating, or win–win, style of confl ict resolution is extolled
among theorists and practitioners in the West, why does the cultural map place
it across the border in the land of collectivists? 20 Ting-Toomey suggests that
collectivists who adopt this interpersonal style focus on relational-level collabo-
ration, whereas individualists concentrate on solving the task in a way that
brings closure. 21 “Problem solving,” the alternative label, has a distinctly imper-
sonal tone.
Figure 32–2 is a freeze-frame snapshot of what people in different cultures
report they do, and, according to face-negotiation theory, why they do it. Yet as
summarized near the start of the chapter, the theory lays out a multiple-stage pro-
cess that captures the dynamics of response to confl ict, and shows where the crucial
matter of face concern fi ts in that fl ow. Using basically the same information that
informed the map just discussed, Figure 32–3 depicts the comparative fl ow of the
Dominating/
Competing
Emotional
Expression
Passive
Aggressive
Compromising/
Integrating
Third-Party
Help
Avoiding/
Obliging
CULTURE SELF-CONSTRUAL FACE CONCERN CONFLICT STYLE
IndependentIndividualistic
Other-Face
Maintenance
InterdependentCollectivistic
Self-Face
Maintenance
Mutual-Face
Maintenance
FIGURE 32–3 Face-Negotiation Model
Based on Ting-Toomey’s hypotheses in “The Matrix of Face: An Updated Face-Negotiation Theory”
Third-party help
A method of conflict man-
agement in which disput-
ing parties seek the aid of
a mediator, arbitrator, or
respected neutral party to
help them resolve their
differences.
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CHAPTER 32: FACE-NEGOTIATION THEORY 413
parallel processes for people with different face concerns. It incorporates most of
the 24 propositions that form the backbone of Stella Ting-Toomey’s theory.
COMPLICATING FACTORS: POWER DISTANCE AND PERCEIVED THREATS
Figure 32-3 and the discussion that led up to it seem to indicate that the
individualism–collectivism variable is the sole factor that shapes cross-cultural dif-
ferences in managing confl ict. Ting-Toomey suggests, however, that power distance
complicates the situation. Power distance refers to “the way a culture deals with
status differences and social hierarchies.”22 Large power-distance cultures tend to
accept unequal power as natural; small power-distance cultures value equality and
regard most differences based on status as unjust.
Individualistic values and small power distance usually go together. That mix
is exemplifi ed in the Scandinavian countries, Ireland, and Israel, where concern for
personal freedom and equality are paramount. The United States, Canada, Great
Britain, Germany, and Australia tend to share that concern, although their power
distance isn’t as small.
Collectivistic values and the acceptance of large power distance is com-
mon in Central and South America, Asia, and Africa. In these cultures, the
sense of obligation to others and acceptance of inequality go hand-in-hand.
Those who have little power hope that those who have much will act in a
benevolent way.
But there are exceptions to these two clusters of cultural values. Ting-
Toomey reports that Costa Rica is a country that combines small power distance
with collectivistic values, as do feminist subcultures and the Kibbutz movement
in Israel. Conversely, Italy and France are individualistic countries where great
differences in power are accepted if they are earned. The United States and
Great Britain share some of this status-through-achievement appreciation. If all
of this seems somewhat confusing, that’s because it’s not simple in practice. The
collectivism–individualism distinction becomes more complicated when power
distance is taken into consideration. Ting-Toomey says that power-distance val-
ues affect responses to confl ict, but she doesn’t offer specifi c predictions in the
latest version of the theory.23
Ting-Toomey also says that specifi c face threats can affect your face concern and
the type of facework you do. She lists seven additive factors that increase the level
of threat you perceive. The more . . .
a. central the violated-facework rule is in your culture
b. cultural difference causes mistrust between you
c. important the topic under dispute is to you
d. power the other has over you
e. harm that will be done when the threat is carried out
f. you view the other as responsible for initiating the confl ict
g. you regard the other as an out-group member
. . . the more severe the threat to your face will seem. When a threat looms large,
almost everyone uses a face-defending strategy. Those raised in individualistic
cultures usually turn aggressive; collectivists typically opt for avoidance.24
Power distance
The way a culture deals
with status differences
and social hierarchies; the
degree to which low-
power members accept
unequal power as natural.
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414 CULTURAL CONTEXT
APPLICATION: COMPETENT INTERCULTURAL FACEWORK
Ting-Toomey’s ultimate goal for her theory goes beyond merely identifying the
ways people in different cultures negotiate face or handle confl ict. She believes that
cultural knowledge, mindfulness, and facework interaction skill are the three require-
ments for effectively communicating across cultures. Imagine that you are a
Japanese student in a U.S. college. As the appointed leader of the class research proj-
ect, you feel it is your uncomfortable duty to talk with the unproductive American
member of the group. How might you achieve competent intercultural facework?
Knowledge is the most important dimension of facework competence. It’s
hard to be culturally sensitive unless you have some idea of the ways you might
differ from your classmate. Ting-Toomey’s theory offers basic insights into col-
lectivistic and individualistic cultures, self-construals, face concerns, and confl ict
styles, all of which could help you understand the American student’s perspec-
tive, and vice versa. If you’ve read this chapter carefully, this knowledge will
stand you in good stead.
Mindfulness shows a recognition that things are not always what they seem.
It’s a conscious choice to seek multiple perspectives on the same event. Perhaps
the other’s inferior work is not due to laziness but is the best he or she can do
in this situation. The student might have a learning disability, an emotional prob-
lem, a lack of clarity about the assignment, or a desire to merely pass the course.
Of course, your initiation of a conversation to discuss the project is also open to
multiple interpretations. Ting-Toomey writes:
Mindfulness means being particularly aware of our own assumptions, viewpoints,
and ethnocentric tendencies in entering any unfamiliar situation. Simultaneously,
mindfulness means paying attention to the perspectives and interpretive lenses of
dissimilar others in viewing an intercultural episode. 25
When you are mindful, you mentally switch off automatic pilot and process the
situation and conversation through the central route of the mind, as ELM suggests
(see Chapter 15). But you are also freed up to empathize with the other student
and approach the discussion with a fresh or creative mindset. The result might be
a novel solution that takes advantage of your different ways of thinking.
Interaction skill is your ability to communicate appropriately, effectively, and
adaptively in a given situation. Perhaps you are studying communication to gain
that type of competence. Hopefully your department offers a course in interper-
sonal or intercultural communication that includes structured exercises, role plays,
or simulations. Without hands-on learning and feedback from others on how
you’re doing, it’s hard to improve.
Mindfulness
Recognizing that things
are not always what they
seem, and therefore seek-
ing multiple perspectives
in conflict situations.
CRITIQUE: PASSING THE TEST WITH A GOOD GRADE
Most cross-cultural researchers analyze different cultures from a highly interpre-
tive perspective. Ting-Toomey and her co-researcher, John Oetzel, are different
because they are committed to an objective social science research agenda that
looks for measurable commonalities across cultures. They then link these trans-
cultural similarities (individualism or collectivism) to subsequent behavioral
outcomes—in this case, response to others in confl ict situations. In the course of
this chapter you’ve seen that face-negotiation theory uses the concept of face
concern to explain, predict, and ultimately advise. The theory’s value therefore
rests on the extent to which it can be tested, and whether it can withstand that
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CHAPTER 32: FACE-NEGOTIATION THEORY 415
FIGURE 32–4 A Four-Culture Test of Face-Negotiation Theory
Based on Oetzel and Ting-Toomey, “Face Concerns in Interpersonal Confl ict: A Cross-Cultural
Empirical Test of Face-Negotiation Theory”
Independent
Self
Cultural I–C Integrating
Self-Face
Other-Face
Dominating
Avoiding
Interdependent
Self
close scrutiny. Like all objective social science theories, it ultimately has to meet
the “put-up-or-shut-up” test.
In 2003, Oetzel and Ting-Toomey conducted a four-nation survey to test the
core of the theory. 26 More than 700 students from collectivistic cultures (China and
Japan) and individualistic cultures (United States and Germany) responded to
scales that reliably measure self-construal. The students then recounted a specifi c
case of confl ict with someone from their country and fi lled out scales that tapped
into the face concern they felt and the way they acted in that situation. The test
was simplifi ed in that mutual-face wasn’t factored in and the researchers measured
only the three primary confl ict styles— dominating, integrating, and avoiding.
Figure 32–4 shows the links that were examined. All of the solid lines rep-
resent signifi cant relationships among variables that were validated by the data.
The results were suffi ciently strong that they couldn’t be explained away as mere
chance fi ndings. The two dotted lines represent predicted relationships that
didn’t materialize. Despite these two failures, I regard the overwhelmingly pos-
itive results as clear support for the theory.
The fi ndings regarding face concern were especially impressive. In earlier
critiques of the theory I had questioned whether knowing a person’s face
concern would actually improve the model’s prediction of confl ict behavior. Note
that the lines running directly from the individualistic–collectivistic (I–C) cultures
at the beginning of the process to the three confl ict styles at the end represent a
way to fi nd out if cutting out face concern would create a model that fi t the data
better. It did not. The results showed the culture → self-construal → face concern →
confl ict style paths provided a better prediction of what people reported than did
the culture → confl ict style direct route. In fact, when people scored high in self-face
(“I was concerned with protecting my self-image”), they always took a dominat-
ing stance (“I insisted my position be accepted during the confl ict”).
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416 CULTURAL CONTEXT
Yet Oetzel and Ting-Toomey’s procedures and fi ndings still provide some
cause for pause. As a mediator who highly values the goal of integrating, col-
laborating, and a win–win outcome, I’m bothered by the questions that suppos-
edly assessed this confl ict-resolution behavior. The survey items used referred to
“meeting the other person halfway,” proposing a “middle ground,” and “‘give
and take’ so that a compromise could be made.” These items would seem to be
a great way to assess compromising, but they don’t measure what I and other
mediators mean by integrating. Nor do I believe they do justice to what Ting-
Toomey describes as behavior springing from high other-face and high self-face
concerns. The following statements would more accurately assess integration:
“We worked together to fi nd a solution we could both be proud of” or “I sought
to reach an agreement that met both of our needs and preserved our relationship.”
Finally, the researchers report that “both individualistic and collectivistic
samples had more independence and self-face tendencies than interdependence
and other-face tendencies.” 27 They suggest that college students in a collectivistic
culture may be more competitive (or selfi sh?) than the rest of the population. This
admission that the “individualistic–collectivistic” distinction may not explain
everyone’s behavior equally well resonates strongly with Gerry Philipsen’s cri-
tique (see Chapter 33). Ting-Toomey uses the term culture to refer to groups that
live in different places. Philipsen objects: “I do not . . . speak of being a ‘member
of’ a culture, but rather speak of someone who ‘uses,’ ‘deploys,’ or ‘experiences’
a particular cultural code.”28 Ting-Toomey’s recent writing shows signs of respond-
ing to this objection. She’s investigating how “Asian/Caucasians” negotiate their
identity as members of both individualistic and collectivistic cultures.29 Her tentative
s olution focuses heavily on “complex lived experience”—understanding
how people navigate the many cultural and situational factors that shape their
identities. While this explanation adds insight, it also increases the theory’s com-
plexity and makes it more diffi cult to offer clear predictions.
I’m impressed by the ambitious research program that Ting-Toomey has
headed, and I also admire her willingness to adjust face-negotiation theory when
confronted by unanticipated results. To create and test a theory that’s later sup-
ported by empirical evidence obviously creates face within the research com-
munity. So does revising the theory when parts of it are disconfi rmed. Stella
Ting-Toomey has done both well. I look forward to the next edition of her theory.
QUESTIONS TO SHARPEN YOUR FOCUS
1. Based upon what you know about Afghanistan, is the culture individualistic
or collectivistic? Does the society have a large or small power distance? What
clues do you have?
2. Do you see yourself as having more of an independent or an interdependent
self? Does this go with the fl ow of your culture, or are you swimming against
the tide?
3. What face concern ( self-face, other-face, mutual-face ) does your religious faith, polit-
ical ideology, or personal set of values embrace? To what extent is the facework
you do in your relationships with others consistent with that face concern?
4. What style of confl ict management would you use with the group member who
did poor work? Do you think that your response is based on your culture,
self-construal, gender, or status? What other factors affect your decision?
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CHAPTER 32: FACE-NEGOTIATION THEORY 417
CONVERSATIONS While talking with Stella Ting-Toomey, I raise the embarrassing possibility that
our students may be bored while watching our discussion. If so, both she and
I have some serious facework to do. Ting-Toomey shows how she, a child of a
collectivistic culture, might give face to students. She then role-plays how I, the
product of an individualistic culture, might save face. Later in the conversation
I ask if she’s bothered that self-construal has turned out to be a better predictor
of confl ict style than cultural origin—a potentially face-threatening question. You
then get to see Ting-Toomey’s real-life facework.
View this segment online at
www.mhhe.com/griffi n9e or
www.afi rstlook.com.
A SECOND LOOK Recommended resource: Stella Ting-Toomey, “The Matrix of Face: An Updated Face-
Negotiation Theory,” in Theorizing About Intercultural Communication, William Gudykunst
(ed.), Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 2005, pp. 71–92.
Original theory: Stella Ting-Toomey, “Intercultural Confl ict Styles: A Face-Negotiation
Theory,” in Theories in Intercultural Communication, Young Yun Kim and William Gudykunst
(eds.), Sage, Newbury Park, CA, 1988, pp. 213–235.
Progression of the theory: Stella Ting-Toomey and Atsuko Kurogi, “Facework Compe-
tence in Intercultural Confl ict: An Updated Face-Negotiation Theory,” International Journal
of Intercultural Relations, Vol. 22, 1998, pp. 187–225.
Literature review: Stella Ting-Toomey and John Oetzel, “Cross-Cultural Face Con-
cerns and Confl ict Styles,” in Handbook of International and Intercultural Communication,
2 nd ed., William Gudykunst and Bella Mody (eds.), Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 2002,
pp.  143–163.
Comprehensive treatment of face: Stella Ting-Toomey (ed.), The Challenge of Facework,
State University of New York, Albany, 1994.
Collectivistic/individualistic culture: Harry C. Triandis, Individualism & Collectivism,
Westview, Boulder, CO, 1995.
Theory into practice: Stella Ting-Toomey, “Translating Confl ict Face-Negotiation Theory
into Practice,” in Handbook of Intercultural Training, 3rd ed., Dan Landis, Jane Bennett, and
Milton Bennett (eds.), Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 2004, pp. 217–248.
Confl ict in intercultural communication: Stella Ting-Toomey and John Oetzel, Managing
Intercultural Confl ict Effectively, Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 2001.
Face-negotiation in the context of other theories of confl ict: Stella Ting-Toomey and Jiro Takai,
“Explaining Intercultural Confl ict: Promising Approaches and Directions,” in The SAGE
Handbook of Confl ict Communication: Integrating Theory, Research, and Practice, John G. Oetzel
and Stella Ting-Toomey (eds.), Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 2006, pp. 691–723.
A personal account of face: Stella Ting-Toomey, “An Intercultural Journey: The Four
Seasons,” in Working at the Interface of Cultures: Eighteen Lives in Social Science, Michael
Bond (ed.), Routledge, New York, 1997, pp. 202–215.
Test and critique of the theory: John Oetzel and Stella Ting-Toomey, “Face Concerns in
Interpersonal Confl ict: A Cross-Cultural Empirical Test of the Face-Negotiation Theory,”
Communication Research, Vol. 36, 2003, pp. 599–624.
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418
Speech Codes Theory
of Gerry Philipsen
After three years on the staff of a youth organization, I resigned to pursue full-
time graduate work in communication at Northwestern University. Gerry Phil-
ipsen was one of my classmates. When I fi nished my Ph.D. course work, the
labor market was tight; I felt fortunate to receive an offer to teach at Wheaton
College. A while later I heard Gerry was doing youth work on the south side of
Chicago. I remember thinking that while my career was progressing, Gerry’s was
going backward. How wrong I was. As articles in the Quarterly Journal of Speech
soon made evident, Gerry Philipsen was doing ethnography. 1
While at Northwestern, Philipsen read an article by University of Virginia
anthropologist and linguist Dell Hymes, “The Ethnography of Speaking.”
Hymes called for a “close to the ground” study of the great variety of com-
munication practices around the world. 2 Philipsen decided to start in the Chi-
cago community where he worked, a place he dubbed “Teamsterville,” since
driving a truck was the typical job for men in the community. For three years
Philipsen talked to kids on street corners, women on front porches, men
in corner bars, and everyone at the settlement house where he worked so
that he would be able to describe the speech code of Teamsterville residents.
By speech code, Philipsen means “a historically enacted, socially constructed
system of terms, meanings, premises, and rules pertaining to communicative
conduct.” 3
Even though the people of Teamsterville spoke English, Philipsen noted that
their whole pattern of speaking was radically different from the speech code he
knew and heard practiced within his own family of origin, by his friends at
school, and across many talk shows on radio and TV. The stark contrast moti-
vated him to conduct a second, multiyear ethnographic study, which began while
he was teaching communication at the University of California, Santa Barbara, and
continued when he moved on to the University of Washington. Although most
of his “cultural informants” were from Santa Barbara or Seattle, the speech code
community from which they were drawn was not confi ned to the West Coast of
the United States. He labeled them the “Nacirema” ( American spelled backward),
because their way of using language was intelligible to, and practiced by, a
majority of Americans. Typical Nacirema speech is a “generalized U.S. conversa-
tion that is carried out at the public level (on televised talk shows) and at the
Ethnography
The work of a naturalist
who watches, listens,
and records communica-
tive conduct in its natural
setting in order to under-
stand a culture’s complex
web of meanings.
33C H A P T E R
Objective Interpretive
Socio-cultural tradition
●
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CHAPTER 33: SPEECH CODES THEORY 419
interpersonal level in face-to-face interaction.” 4 For Philipsen, me, and many
reading this text, “Nacirema are us.”
Philipsen defi nes the Nacirema culture by speech practices rather than geo-
graphical boundaries or ethnic background. It’s a style of speaking about self,
relationships, and communication itself that emerged for Philipsen as he spent
hundreds of hours listening to tapes of dinner-table conversations, life stories,
and ethnographic interviews. Just as cultural markers emerge gradually for the
ethnographer, so the defi ning features of the Nacirema code will become more
clear as you read the rest of the chapter. But for starters, one characteristic feature
of that speech code is a preoccupation with metacommunication—their talk
about talk. 5
As Philipsen intended, the Teamsterville and Nacirema ethnographic studies
provided rich comparative data on two distinct cultures. But he also wanted to
go beyond mere description of interesting local practices. His ultimate goal was
to develop a general theory that would capture the relationship between com-
munication and culture. Such a theory would guide cultural researchers and
practitioners in knowing what to look for and would offer clues on how to
interpret the way people speak.
Based on the suggestion of Hymes, Philipsen fi rst referred to his emerging
theory as the ethnography of communication. He has found, however, that many
people can’t get past the idea of ethnography as simply a research method, so
now that his theory has moved from description to explanation, Philipsen labels
his work speech codes theory. Specifi cally, the theory seeks to answer questions
about the existence of speech codes, their substance, the way they can be discov-
ered, and their force upon people within a culture.
Philipsen outlines the core of speech codes theory in the following six gen-
eral propositions. He is hopeful, however, that their presentation can be inter-
twined with the story of his fi eldwork and the contributions of other scholars
that stimulated the conceptual development of the theory. I’ve tried to capture
that narrative mix within the limited space of this chapter.
Speech code
A historically enacted,
socially constructed sys-
tem of terms, meanings,
premises, and rules per-
taining to communicative
conduct.
THE DISTINCTIVENESS OF SPEECH CODES
Proposition 1: Wherever there is a distinctive culture, there is to be found a distinc-
tive speech code.
Philipsen describes an ethnographer of speaking as “a naturalist who watches,
listens, and records communicative conduct in its natural setting.” 6 When he
entered the working-class, ethnic world of Teamsterville, Philipsen found pat-
terns of speech that were strange to his ears. After many months in the com-
munity, he was less struck by the pronunciation and grammar that was
characteristic of then Chicago mayor Richard J. Daley than he was by the practice
of “infusing a concern with place into every conversation.” 7 He realized that
Teamsterville residents say little until they’ve confi rmed the nationality, ethnicity,
social status, and place of residence of the person with whom they’re speaking.
Most conversations start (and end) with the question Where are you from and
what’s your nationality?
Philipsen gradually found out that discussion of “place” is related to the
issue of whether a person is from “the neighborhood.” This concern isn’t
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420 CULTURAL CONTEXT
merely a matter of physical location. Whether or not a person turns
out to be from “around here” is a matter of cultural solidarity. Unlike Mister
Rogers’ Neighborhood , Teamsterville does not welcome diversity. As Philipsen
heard when he fi rst entered a corner tavern, “We don’t want no yahoos
around here.”
While Philipsen discovered that Teamsterville conversation is laced with
assurances of common place among those in the neighborhood, he found that
speech among the Nacirema is a way to express and celebrate psychological
uniqueness. Dinnertime is a speech event where all family members are
encouraged to have their say. Everyone has “something to contribute,” and each
person’s ideas are treated as “uniquely valuable.”
In Teamsterville, children are “to be seen, not heard.” Among the Nacirema,
however, it would be wrong to try to keep a child quiet at the dinner table.
Communication is the route by which kids develop “a positive self-image,” a
way to “feel good about themselves.” Through speech, family members “can
manifest their equality and demonstrate that they pay little heed to differences
in status—practices and beliefs that would puzzle and offend a proper Teamster-
viller.” 8
Philipsen was raised in a largely Nacirema speech community, but until his
research in Teamsterville, he hadn’t thought of his family’s communication as a
particular cultural practice. Its taken-for-granted quality illustrates the saying
that’s common among ethnographers: “We don’t know who discovered water,
but we’re pretty sure it wasn’t the fi sh.”
THE MULTIPLICITY OF SPEECH CODES
Proposition 2: In any given speech community, multiple speech codes are deployed.
Philipsen later added this proposition to the fi ve he fi rst stated in 1997. 9 He did
so because he and his students now observe times when people recognize and
are affected by other codes or employ dual codes at the same time. In his Team-
sterville ethnography, Philipsen stressed the unifi ed nature of their neighborhood
speech patterns. Yet he noticed that the men gauge their relative worth by com-
paring their style of talk with that of residents in other city neighborhoods. They
respect, yet resent, middle-class northside residents who speak Standard English.
On the other hand, they are reassured by their perceived ability to speak better
than those whom they refer to as lower-class “Hillbillies, Mexicans, and Afri-
cans.” Any attempt a man makes to “improve” his speech is regarded as an act
of disloyalty that alienates him from his friends. Thus, the men defi ne their way
of speaking by contrasting it with other codes.
The awareness of another speech code is equally strong among the Nacirema.
Their repeated references to the importance of “a good talk” or “meaningful
dialogue” distinguish speech that they value from “mere talk,” or what today is
parodied as “blah, blah, blah.” As Philipsen notes, the Nacirema character-
ized “their present way of speaking (‘really communicating’) by reference to
another way of speaking and another communicative conduct that they had
now discarded.” 10
Dell Hymes suggested that there may be more than one code operating
within a speech community. 11 Some doctors, lawyers, clergy, and teachers have
been socialized to follow a professional code of language use in public, but
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CHAPTER 33: SPEECH CODES THEORY 421
recognize and use different rules of speech when talking with others in a locker
room, kitchen, or garage. In his book The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life,
pioneer ethnographer Erving Goffman referred to this code-switching as
backstage behavior and documented the discrepancies in restaurants, schools, and
mental institutions.12
THE SUBSTANCE OF SPEECH CODES
Proposition 3: A speech code involves a culturally distinctive psychology, sociology,
and rhetoric.
With this proposition, Philipsen takes a step back from the cultural relativism
that characterizes most ethnographers. He continues to maintain that every cul-
ture has its own unique speech code; there’s no danger we’ll mistake a Nacirema
discussion of personal worth with Teamsterville talk of neighborhood solidarity.
But this third proposition asserts that whatever the culture, the speech code
reveals structures of self, society, and strategic action.
Psychology. According to Philipsen, every speech code contains the notion
of what it means to be a person within that speech community—the nature of
the self. The Teamsterville code defi nes people as a bundle of social roles. In the
Nacirema code, however, the individual is conceptualized as unique—someone
whose essence is defi ned from the inside out.
Sociology. Philipsen writes that “a speech code provides a system of
answers about what linkages between self and others can properly be sought,
and what symbolic resources can properly and effi caciously be employed in
seeking those linkages.” 13 According to the unwritten code of Teamsterville,
speech is not a valued resource for dealing with people of lower status—wives,
children, or persons from outside the neighborhood who are lower on the social
hierarchy. Nor is speech a resource for encounters with bosses, city offi cials, or
other higher-status outsiders. In cases where the latter kind of contact is neces-
sary, a man draws on his personal connections with a highly placed intermediary
who will state his case. Speech is reserved for symmetrical relationships with
people matched in age, gender, ethnicity, occupational status, and neighborhood
location. Words fl ow freely with friends.
Rhetoric. Philipsen uses the term rhetoric in the double sense of discovery of
truth and persuasive appeal. Both concepts come together in the way Teamsterville
men talk about women. To raise doubts about the personal hygiene or sexual
purity of a man’s wife, mother, or sister is to attack his honor. Honor is a code
that grants worth to an individual on the basis of adherence to community val-
ues. The language of the streets in Teamsterville makes it clear that a man’s social
identity is strongly affected by the women he’s related to by blood or marriage.
“If she is sexually permissive, talks too much, or lacks in personal appearance,
any of these directly refl ects on the man and thus, in turn, directly affects his
honor.” 14 In contrast, Philipsen discovered that a verbalized code of dignity holds
sway among the Nacirema. Dignity refers to the worth that an individual has by
virtue of being a human being. Within a code of dignity, personal experience is
given a moral weight greater than logical argument or appeal to authority. Com-
munication is a resource to establish an individual’s uniqueness. 15
Rhetoric
Both the discovery of
truth and a persuasive
appeal.
Honor
A code that grants worth
to an individual on the
basis of adherence to
community values.
Dignity
The worth an individual
has by virtue of being a
human being.
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422 CULTURAL CONTEXT
THE INTERPRETATION OF SPEECH CODES
Proposition 4: The signifi cance of speaking depends on the speech codes used by
speakers and listeners to create and interpret their communication.
Proposition 4 can be seen as a speech code extension of I. A. Richards’ maxim that
words don’t mean; people mean (see Chapter 4). If we want to understand the sig-
nifi cance of a prominent speech practice within a culture, we must listen to the way
people talk about it and respond to it. It’s their practice; they decide what it means.
No speech practice is more important among the Nacirema than the way
they use the term communication. Philipsen and Tamar Katriel (University of
Haifa, Israel) have shown that the Nacirema use this key word as a shorthand
way of referring to close, open, supportive speech. 16 These three dimensions set
communication apart from speech that the Nacirema dismiss as mere communi-
cation, small talk, or normal chitchat.
Close relationships contrast with distant affi liations, where others are “kept
at arm’s length.”
Open relationships, in which parties listen and demonstrate a willingness
to change, are distinct from routine associations, where people are stagnant.
Supportive relationships, in which people are totally “for” the other person,
stand in opposition to neutral interactions, where positive response is con-
ditional.
You may have noticed my not-so-subtle switch from a description of communication
to a discussion of relationships. Philipsen and Katriel say that Nacirema speakers
use the two words almost interchangeably. In Burkean terms (see Chapter 23),
when not qualifi ed by the adjective casual, communication and relationship are “god-
terms” of the Nacirema. References to self have the same sacred status.
Although the people of Teamsterville know and occasionally use the word
communication, it holds none of the potency that it has for the Nacirema. To the
contrary, for a Teamsterville male involved in a relationship with someone of
higher or lower status, communicating is considered an unmanly thing to do.
Philipsen fi rst discovered this part of the Teamsterville speech code through his
work with youth at the community center. He ruefully recalls, “When I spoke to
unruly Teamsterville boys in order to discipline them I was judged by them to
be unmanly because, in such circumstances, I spoke.” 17 The guys “naturally”
expected this older male to use power or physical force to bring them in line.
They were confused when Philipsen, consistent with his Nacirema speech code,
sat down with them to “talk things out.” The only explanation that made sense
to them was that their youth leader was gay. Not until much later did their
conclusion get back to him.
Proposition 5: The terms, rules, and premises of a speech code are inextricably
woven into speaking itself.
How can we spot the speech code of a given culture—our own or anyone else’s?
The basic answer is to listen for the traces of culture woven into everyday
THE SITE OF SPEECH CODES
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CHAPTER 33: SPEECH CODES THEORY 423
CATHY © Cathy Guisewite. Reprinted with permission of UNIVERSAL UCLICK. All rights reserved.
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424 CULTURAL CONTEXT
talk. Especially be on the lookout for words or phrases about communication
behavior—the metacommunication that Watzlawick’s interactional view deems so
important (see Chapter 13). This process of discovery takes time and a person
with patience who is willing to listen and watch without preconceived notions.
Michelle’s application log suggests that, with a little help from her friend, she
was a quick learner.
I see speech code differences when I visit my friend’s extended family in rural
Michigan. Sometimes I express an opinion or ask a question and am reproached by
my friend with, “We don’t talk about that.” At the dinner table, the adults talk and
consider it disrespectful for the kids to try to join the conversation, especially when
they don’t know much about the topic or they ask questions. The code violation
isn’t expressed, but I notice looks pass or short answers given. There’s an unwrit-
ten list of topics to talk about—the farm, people in town, other relatives, motorcy-
cles, and topics where it’s assumed everyone agrees, like conservative politics. It
would be strange for someone to bring up the economy in China or something
that isn’t perceived as directly affecting the family. When I try to adapt, I fi t in bet-
ter and enjoy getting to know people from a different background.
Philipsen is not a fan of assuming a culture is either individualistic or collec-
tivistic. He believes speech communities are more nuanced than that simple clas-
sifi cation and their subtleties will be missed or blotted out by dichotomous labels.
Philipsen also focuses on highly structured cultural forms that often display
the cultural signifi cance of symbols and meanings, premises, and rules that
might not be accessible through normal conversation. For example, social dramas
are public confrontations in which one party invokes a moral rule to challenge
the conduct of another. The response from the person criticized offers a way of
testing and validating the legitimacy of the “rules of life” that are embedded in
a particular speech code.
Philipsen analyzed Mayor Daley’s reply in the city council to charges of
nepotism—in this case the appointment of his best friend’s son to a political
position. 18 By all accounts, Daley went ballistic. Most reporters regarded the
speech as an irrational diatribe, yet his appeal to place, honor, and traditional
gender roles resonated with the values of Teamsterville. When Philipsen asked
people in the neighborhood if it was right for Daley to favor his friends, they
responded, “Who should he appoint, his enemies?”
Totemizing rituals offer another window to a culture’s speech code. They
involve a careful performance of a structured sequence of actions that pays
homage to a sacred object. Philipsen and Katriel spotted a communication ritual
among the Nacirema that honors the sacred trinity of self, communication, and
relationships. 19 Known as “a good talk,” the topic is often a variation on the
theme of how to be a unique, independent self yet still receive validation from
close others. The purpose of the ritual is not problem solving per se. Instead,
people come together to express their individuality, affi rm each other’s identity,
and experience intimacy.
The communication ritual follows a typical sequence:
1. Initiation—a friend voices a need to work through an interpersonal
problem.
2. Acknowledgment—the confi dant validates the importance of the issue
by a willingness to “sit down and talk.”
Totemizing ritual
A careful performance of
a structured sequence of
actions that pays homage
to a sacred object.
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CHAPTER 33: SPEECH CODES THEORY 425
THE FORCE OF SPEECH CODES IN DISCUSSIONS
Proposition 6: The artful use of a shared speech code is a suffi cient condition for
predicting, explaining, and controlling the form of discourse about the intelligibil-
ity, prudence, and morality of communication conduct.
Does the knowledge of people’s speech codes in a given situation help an
observer or a participant predict or control what others will say and how they’ll
interpret what is said? Philipsen thinks it does. It’s important, however, to under-
stand clearly what Philipsen is not saying.
Let’s assume that Philipsen is again working with youth in Teamsterville
and now knows the code of when a man should speak. Proposition 6 does not
claim he should or could keep an unruly kid in line with a smack on the head.
Speech codes theory deals with only one type of human behavior—speech acts.
Nor does it claim that fathers in Nacirema homes will always encourage their
kids to talk at the dinner table. Even when people give voice to a speech
code, they still have the power, and sometimes the desire, to resist it. Perhaps
the father had a bad day and wants some peace and quiet. Proposition
6 does suggest, however, that by a thoughtful use of shared speech codes,
participants can guide metacommunication—the talk about talk. This is no
small matter.
The dad-at-the-dinner-table example can help us see how prediction and
control might work. Suppose a Nacirema father growls at his kids to fi nish their
dinner without saying another word. Inasmuch as we understand the speech
code of the family, we can confi dently predict that his children will say that his
demand is unfair, and his wife will object to his verbal behavior. As for artful
control, she could choose to pursue the matter in private so that her husband
wouldn’t lose face in front of the children. She might also tie her objection to
shared values: “If you don’t communicate with our kids, they’re going to grow
up bitter and end up not liking you.” In this way she would tap into issues that
her husband would recognize as legitimate and would set the moral agenda for
the rest of the discussion about the way he talks with the kids.
The dinner-table example I’ve sketched is based on an actual incident discussed
by Philipsen. 20 He uses it to demonstrate the rhetorical force of appealing to shared
speech codes. While the scope of Proposition 6 is limited to metacommunication,
talk about the clarity, appropriateness, and ethics of a person’s communication is
an important feature of everyday life. In the vernacular of the Nacirema, “It’s a big
deal.” For people who study communication, it’s even bigger.
3. Negotiation—the friend self-discloses, the confi dant listens in an
empathic and nonjudgmental way, the friend in turn shows openness to
feedback and change.
4. Reaffi rmation—both the friend and the confi dant try to minimize
different views, and they reiterate appreciation and commitment to
each other.
By performing the communication ritual correctly, both parties celebrate the cen-
tral tenet of the Nacirema code: “Whatever the problem, communication is the
answer.”
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426 CULTURAL CONTEXT
In an extension and critique of the style of ethnography that Philipsen conducts,
some researchers have stopped talking about doing ethnography in favor of
performing ethnography. Much like Philipsen, Dwight Conquergood, a former
Northwestern University performance ethnographer, spent several years with
teenagers in the “Little Beirut” district of Chicago. Conquergood lived in a multi-
ethnic tenement and performed participant observation among local street gangs.
Performance ethnography is more than a research tool; it is grounded in several
theoretical principles.
The fi rst principle is that performance is both the subject and the method
of performance ethnography. All social interactions are performance because,
as Philipsen notes, speech not only refl ects but also alters the world.
Thus, Conquergood viewed the daily conversations of gang members who were
hangin’ on the street corner as performances. Of particular interest to Conquer-
good were rituals, festivals, spectacles, dramas, games, and other metaperfor-
mances. The ritualistic handshakes and elaborate graffi ti enacted by the
gangs are examples of metaperformance because the gang members themselves
recognized the actions as symbolic. Neither fi ction nor farce, metaperformances
are reminders that life consists of “performances about performances about
performances.” 21
These researchers also consider their work performative. Fieldwork is per-
formance because it involves suspension of disbelief on the part of both the
participant observer and the host culture. In the act of embodied learning,
researchers recognize that they are doing ethnography with rather than of a peo-
ple group—they are co-performers. Conquergood didn’t merely observe the
greetings of gang members on the street; he greeted them.
In reporting their fi eldwork, performance ethnographers are no less con-
cerned about performance. They consider the thick descriptions traditionally
produced to be a bit thin. By taking speech acts out of dialogues and dialogues
out of context, published ethnographies smooth all the voices of the fi eld “into
the expository prose of more or less interchangeable ‘informants.’” 22 Thus, the
goal of performance ethnographies is to produce actable ethnographies. As
Conquergood wrote, “What makes good theatre makes more sensitive and
politically committed anthropological writing.” 23
Conquergood performed his ethnographies through public reading and even
acting the part of a gang member. This kind of performance enables the ethnog-
rapher to recognize the limitations of, and uncover the cultural bias in, his or
her written work. For those participating as audience members, performance
presents complex characters and situations eliciting understanding that’s respon-
sive rather than passive.
Performance ethnography almost always takes place among marginalized
groups. The theoretical rationale underlying this fact is that oppressed people
are not passive but create and sustain their culture and dignity. In the face of
daily humiliations, they create “subtle, complex, and amazingly nuanced perfor-
mances that subversively key the events and critique the hierarchy of power.” 24
Conquergood was committed to chronicling the performances of the oppressed
in order to give them a voice in the larger society.
Performance
ethnography
A research methodology
committed to perfor-
mance as both the sub-
ject and method of
research, to researchers’
work being performance,
and to reports of field-
work being actable.
PERFORMANCE ETHNOGRAPHY
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CHAPTER 33: SPEECH CODES THEORY 427
CRITIQUE: DIFFERENT SPEECH CODES IN COMMUNICATION THEORY
A favorite grad school professor of mine was fond of saying, “You know you’re
in the wrong place on an issue if you aren’t getting well roasted from all sides.”
By this “golden mean” standard, Gerry Philipsen is on the right academic path.
Most interpretive scholars applaud Philipsen’s commitment to long-term par-
ticipant observation and his perceptive interpretations, but they are critical of his
efforts to generalize across cultures. Granted, he doesn’t reduce cultural variation
to a single issue such as an individualistic–collectivistic dichotomy. Philipsen’s
critics recoil, however, when he talks about explanation, prediction, and control—
the traditional goals of science. Any theory that adopts these aims, no matter how
limited its scope, strikes them as reductionist.
Theorists who operate from a feminist, critical, or cultural studies perspective
(see Chapters 35–36, 21, and 27, respectively) charge that Philipsen is silent and
perhaps naïve about power relationships. His description of the Nacirema speech
code fails to unmask patterns of domination, and he doesn’t speak out against
male hegemony in Teamsterville. In response, Philipsen says the practice of eth-
nography that he recommends gives voice to the people who are observed. He
offers this advice to critical scholars:
1. Look and listen for the variety and particularity in what people do; it is
not all, or only, power that energizes human action.
2. Look at and listen to the concrete details of what people say before you
interpret their conduct, even with those people whom you have been
taught to think of as the usual suspects.
3. Try to learn what words and other symbols mean to those who use
them, because sometimes such open inquiry will surprise you.25
If power is an issue—as it was in Mayor Daley’s city council speech—Philipsen
believes it will be evident in the way people speak. If it’s not an issue, the eth-
nographer shouldn’t make it one.
Stella Ting-Toomey’s face-negotiation theory suggests that Philipsen’s inter-
pretive approach is needlessly drawn out and almost guarantees that the person
crossing cultural boundaries will experience culture shock.26 It can take years to
do the sort of ethnography that’s central to speech codes theory. Without some
sort of cultural map as a guide, the sojourner will likely be overwhelmed with
new impressions, many of them ultimately leading nowhere. And once the anal-
ysis is complete, the inquirer only has a handle on the communication patterns
and meanings of, for example, men in a corner bar or students in a particular
school—local knowledge not transferable to other communities.
Ting-Toomey offers a tool kit of cultural variables for strangers to use, headed
by the value dimensions of collectivism–independence and small power
differences–large power differences already validated by social scientists. Unlike
ethnographic interpretations, these two sliding-scale issues provide security and
predictability early in intercultural encounters and can be used to compare
national cultures, not just local knowledge. But Philipsen remains skeptical of
this cultural cookie-cutter approach. He believes a priori labeling causes those
trying to understand another culture to ignore perceptions that don’t square with
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428 CULTURAL CONTEXT
Recommended resource: Gerry Philipsen, “Speech Codes Theory: Traces of Culture in
Interpersonal Communication,” in Engaging Theories of Interpersonal Communication, Leslie
A. Baxter and Dawn O. Braithwaite (eds.) Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 2008, pp. 269–280.
Systematic statement and Teamsterville/Nacirema ethnographies: Gerry Philipsen, Speaking
Culturally: Explorations in Social Communication, State University of New York, Albany, 1992.
Revision and update: Gerry Philipsen, Lisa M. Coutu, and Patricia Covarrubias, “Speech
Codes Theory: Restatement, Revisions, and Response to Criticisms,” in Theorizing About
Intercultural Communication, William Gudykunst (ed.), Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 2005,
pp. 55–68.
A SECOND LOOK
CONVERSATIONS My conversation with Gerry Philipsen is an exploration of contrasts. Philipsen
highlights differences in cultures by listing topics that a Sioux interpersonal
communication textbook would cover as opposed to the typical Nacirema
text, which emphasizes self-disclosure. He then distinguishes between the
ethnography of communication and his theory of speech codes. Philipsen goes
on to suggest why the potential of using a culture’s speech code to explain,
predict, and even control people’s behavior isn’t at odds with the interpretive
approach of ethnography. Finally, he discusses the fi ne line he draws between
learning to understand and appreciate how other people see the world and still
embrace his own ethical standards. View this segment online at
www.mhhe.com/griffi n9e or
www.afi rstlook.com.
preconceived ideas or to miss nuances that are unique to a given speech com-
munity.27 As for the theory’s scope of coverage, researchers trained in speech
codes theory and methodologies have published ethnographies conducted in
Colombia, Finland, Germany, Israel, Mexico, Spain, as well as in the United
States and other countries.
Philipsen does offer a reminder, however, that the scope of his theory is
limited to communication behavior. Those of us immersed in the Nacirema
speech code may quickly affi rm that good communication is the most important
thing to create and nurture successful relationships. But Philipsen cautions that
“carefulness in making and keeping romantic and marital vows, self-sacrifi ce in
consideration of the other’s well-being . . . or fi delity to a partner” may be as
important or more important than self-disclosure or other forms of speech we
might favor.28 I appreciate his interpretation. To me it sounds right.
QUESTIONS TO SHARPEN YOUR FOCUS
1. Most of speech code s theory is concerned with cross-cultural rather than
intercultural communication. What is the difference? Which incidents
described in the chapter are examples of intercultural encounters?
2. Which propositions of the theory suggest a scientifi c approach to the study of
speech codes?
3. Many scholars still think of Philipsen’s work as the ethnography of communi-
cation. Why do you (or don’t you) think speech codes theory is a better name?
4. Philipsen says that the Nacirema way of talking is the prevailing speech code
in the United States. What research cited in this chapter supports his claim?
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CHAPTER 33: SPEECH CODES THEORY 429
The 2008 NCA Carroll C. Arnold distinguished lecture: Gerry Philipsen, “Coming to
Terms with Cultures,” Allyn & Bacon, Boston, MA, 2010.
Review of scholarship on culture and communication: Gerry Philipsen, “Cultural
Communication,” in Handbook of International and Intercultural Communication, 2 nd ed.,
William Gudykunst and Bella Mody (eds.), Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 2002, pp. 51–67.
How to understand a culture: Gerry Philipsen, “Some Thoughts on How to Approach
Finding One’s Feet in Unfamiliar Cultural Terrain,” Communication Monographs, Vol. 77,
2010, pp.160–168.
Original call for ethnography of communication: Dell Hymes, “The Ethnography of
Speaking,” in Anthropology and Human Behavior, T. Gladwin and W. C. Sturtevant (eds.),
Anthropological Society of Washington, Washington, DC, 1962, pp. 13–53.
Differences among interpretive and social sciences approaches to culture: Stella Ting-Toomey,
“Applying Dimensional Values in Understanding Intercultural Communication,”
Communication Monographs, Vol. 77, 2010, pp. 169–180.
Performance ethnography: Dwight Conquergood, “Homeboys and Hoods: Gang
Communication and Cultural Space,” in Group Communication in Context, Lawrence Frey
(ed.), Lawrence Erlbaum, Hillsdale, NJ, 1994, pp. 23–55.
Critique: John Stewart, “Developing Communication Theories,” in Developing Com-
munication Theories, Gerry Philipsen and Terrance Albrecht (eds.), State University of New
York, Albany, 1997, pp. 183–186.
For a theory that claims the emotional meaning of language is
constant across cultures, click on Mediational Theory of Meaning
in Archive under Theory Resources at
www.afi rstlook.com.

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430
Most of us believe that women and men interact differently. When we think
about the differences (and most of us think about them a lot), we usually draw
on the rich data of our lives to construct our own minitheories of masculine–
feminine communication.
For example, I remember sitting from 9 a.m. to 4 p.m. in a large room at the fed-
eral courthouse with a hundred other prospective jurors. We entered as strangers,
but by midmorning the women were sitting in clusters of three to seven, engrossed
in lively discussions. All the men sat by themselves. I thought about that stark dif-
ference as I went to my interpersonal communication class. Reviewing the class list,
I realized that 70 percent of the students who took the course as an elective were
female. Conversely, two-thirds of those who opted for my persuasion course were
male. On the basis of this limited personal experience, I jumped to the conclusion
that women talk more than men do and that their communication goal is connection
rather than infl uence.
But stereotyping is a risky business. The distinction between women’s focus
on intimacy and men’s concern for power has held up well under scrutiny by
communication researchers. But most studies of gender differences show that
women actually talk less than men do in mixed groups.
Linguist Robin Lakoff of the University of California, Berkeley, was one of
the fi rst scholars who attempted to classify regularities of women’s speech that
differentiate “women-talk” from “men-talk.”1 Lakoff claimed that women’s con-
versation is marked by tentativeness and submission. Unfortunately, this con-
clusion and others were based mainly on her personal refl ection and anecdotal
evidence—much like my courthouse and classroom theorizing. Almost four
decades of systematic research offers at least three cautions.
1. There are more similarities among men and women than there are dif-
ferences. After conducting a meta-analysis of hundreds of research studies that
reported gender differences on topics such as talk time, self-disclosure, and styles
of confl ict management, University of Wisconsin–Milwaukee communication
professor Kathryn Dindia found that the differences were actually quite small.
She parodies the popular belief that men and women come from two different
planets in the way she summarizes her fi ndings: “Men are from North Dakota,
Women are from South Dakota.”2 (Can you really see a difference?) If I tell you
that Pat talks fast, uses big words, and holds eye contact, your chances of guess-
ing whether Pat is male or female are just slightly better than 50/50.3
2. Greater variability of communication style exists among women and
among men than between the two groups. Scores on the Sex-Role Inventory, devel-
oped by former Cornell University psychologist Sandra Lipsitz Bem, illustrate this
within-group diversity.4 Bem asks people to rate themselves on a series of gender-
related descriptions—many related to speech. A person who marks soft-spoken,
eager to soothe hurt feelings, and does not use harsh language ranks high in femininity.
A person who marks assertive, defends own beliefs, and willing to take a stand ranks
high in masculinity. As you might expect, males tend to fi t masculine sex roles
and females tend to fi t feminine sex roles, but the scores from a group of people
of the same sex are typically all over the map. Sometimes individuals—male or
G e n d e r a n d C o m m u n i c a t i o n
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GENDER AND COMMUNICATION 431
female—score high on both scales. Bem regards this combination as the best of
both worlds and refers to people with blended identities as androgynous. Obvi-
ously, gender-related speech isn’t an either/or proposition.
3. Sex is a fact; gender is an idea.5 Within the literature of the fi eld, the
sex-related terms male and female are typically used to categorize people bio-
logically, as they do at the Olympics—by chromosomes and genitalia. On the
other hand, the terms men and women or masculine and feminine are usually
employed to describe an idea that’s been learned from and reinforced by others.
When we forget that our concept of gender is a human construction, we fall into
the trap of thinking that there is a real-in-nature category called masculine—an
early Clint Eastwood archetype who smokes Marlboros, doesn’t eat quiche,
won’t cry, and lives by the code that a man’s got to do what a man’s got to do. Sex
is a given, but we negotiate, or work out, our concept of gender with others
throughout our lives.
“How is it gendered?”
© Edward Koren/The New Yorker Collection/www.cartoonbank.com
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432
“Male–female conversation is cross-cultural communication.” 1 This simple
statement is the basic premise of Deborah Tannen’s You Just Don’t Understand,
a book that seeks to explain why men and women often talk past each other.
Tannen is a linguistics professor at Georgetown University, and her research
specialty is conversational style—not what people say but the way they say it.
In her fi rst book on conversational style she offers a microanalysis of six friends
talking together during a two-and-a-half-hour Thanksgiving dinner. 2 Tannen
introduces this sociolinguistic study with a quote from E. M. Forster’s novel A
Passage to India: “A pause in the wrong place, an intonation misunderstood, and
a whole conversation went awry.” 3 Forster’s novel illustrates how people of good-
will from different cultures can grossly misunderstand each other’s intentions.
Tannen is convinced that similar miscommunication occurs all the time
between women and men. The effect may be more insidious, however, because
the parties usually don’t realize that they are in a cross-cultural encounter. At
least when we cross a geographical border we anticipate the need to bridge a
communication gap. In conversing with members of the opposite sex, Tannen
notes, our failure to acknowledge different conversational styles can get us in
big trouble. Most men and women don’t grasp that “talking through their prob-
lems” with each other will only make things worse if it’s their divergent ways
of talking that are causing the trouble in the fi rst place.
Tannen’s writing is fi lled with imagery that underscores the mutually alien
nature of male and female conversation styles. When she compared the style of
boys and girls who were in second grade, she felt she was looking at the dis-
course of “two different species.” For example, two girls could sit comfortably
face-to-face and carry on a serious conversation about people they knew. But
when boys were asked to talk about “something serious,” they were restless,
never looked at each other, jumped from topic to topic, and talked about games
and competition. These stylistic differences showed up in older kids as well.
Tannen notes that “moving from the sixth-grade boys to the girls of the same
age is like moving to another planet.” 4 There is no evidence that we grow out
of these differences as we grow up. She describes adult men and women as
speaking “different words from different worlds,” and even when they use the
same terms, they are “tuned to different frequencies.”
34C H A P T E R
Genderlect Styles
of Deborah Tannen
Objective Interpretive
Semiotic tradition
Socio-cultural tradition
●
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CHAPTER 34: GENDERLECT STYLES 433
Tannen’s cross-cultural approach to gender differences departs from much
of feminist scholarship that claims conversations between men and women
refl ect men’s efforts to dominate women. She assumes that male and female
conversational styles are equally valid: “We try to talk to each other honestly,
but it seems at times that we are speaking different languages—or at least
different genderlects.” 5 Although the word genderlect is not original with Tannen,
the term nicely captures her belief that masculine and feminine styles of
discourse are best viewed as two distinct cultural dialects rather than as inferior
or superior ways of speaking.
Tannen realizes that categorizing people and their communication according to
gender is offensive to many women and men. None of us like to be told, “Oh, you’re
talking just like a (wo)man.” Each of us regards himself or herself as a unique indi-
vidual. But at the risk of reinforcing a simplistic reductionism that claims biology is
destiny, Tannen insists there are gender differences in the ways we speak.
Despite these dangers, I am joining the growing dialogue on gender and language
because the risk of ignoring differences is greater than the danger of naming them. 6
Genderlect
A term suggesting that
masculine and feminine
styles of discourse are
best viewed as two dis-
tinct cultural dialects.
WOMEN’S DESIRE FOR CONNECTION VS. MEN’S DESIRE FOR STATUS
RAPPORT TALK VS. REPORT TALK
Tannen says that, more than anything else, women seek human connection, whereas
men are concerned mainly with status. While women are focused on cultivating
a sense that they’re in touch, men are working hard to preserve their independence
as they jockey for position on a hierarchy of competitive accomplishment. When
they’re together, women’s longing for intimacy threatens men’s desire for freedom
and sidetracks the masculine quest to be one up in all relationships.
Tannen does believe that some men are open to intimacy, just as some women
have a concern for power. You’ll recall that Baxter and Montgomery’s relational
dialectics assumes that all people feel a tension between connection and auton-
omy in their relationships (see Chapter 11). Tannen agrees that many men and
women would like to have intimacy and independence in every situation if they
could, but she doesn’t think it’s possible. As a result, these differences in priority
tend to give men and women differing views of the same situation.
Girls and women feel it is crucial that they be liked by their peers, a form of
involvement that focuses on symmetrical connection. Boys and men feel it is
crucial that they be respected by their peers, a form of involvement that focuses
on asymmetrical status. 7
Why is Tannen so certain that women focus on connection while men focus on
status? Her answer is that she listens to men and women talk. Just as an ethno-
grapher pores over the words of native informants to discover what has meaning
within their society, so Tannen scrutinizes the conversation of representative speakers
from the feminine culture and the masculine culture to determine their core values.
She offers numerous examples of the divergent styles she observes in everyday com-
munication. These linguistic differences give her confi dence that the connection–
status distinction structures every verbal contact between women and men.
Julia Wood, communication professor at the University of North Carolina
and co-author of standpoint theory (Chapter 35), thinks that Tannen’s
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434 CULTURAL CONTEXT
observations have merit and that the connection–status distinction is evident
even in childhood. In her book Gendered Lives,8 Wood draws upon research with
children9 to highlight the different rules10 that girls and boys learn as they grow
up. Understanding those rules provides insight for some of the key differences
that Tannen believes characterize the genderlect styles at the root of much of
the miscommunication between men and women. Three of the key rules boys
learn are:
1. Communicate to assert your ideas, opinions, and identity.
2. Use talk to solve problems or develop a strategy.
3. Speak in a way that attracts attention to yourself.
In contrast to these rules, girls learn to:
1. Use communication to create and maintain relationships.
2. Involve others in conversations and respond to their ideas.
3. Show sensitivity to others and to relationships.
Consider the following types of talk. Each of these speech forms shows that
women value rapport talk, while men value report talk.
1. Private Speaking vs. Public Speaking
Folk wisdom suggests that women talk more than men. Tannen cites a ver-
sion of an old joke that has a wife complaining to her husband, “For the past
10 years you’ve never told me what you’re thinking.” Her husband causti-
cally replies, “I didn’t want to interrupt you.” Tannen grants the validity of
the wordy-woman–mute-male stereotype as it applies to a couple alone. She
finds that women talk more than men do in private conversations, and she
endorses Alice Walker ’s notion that a woman falls in love with a man because
she sees in him “a giant ear.” 11 In The Female Brain, Louann Brizendine, clin-
ical professor of psychiatry at the University of California, San Francisco,
provides hard data that bolsters Tannen’s position. According to Brizendine,
women speak an average of 20,000 words per day. Men speak about 7,000.12
But according to Tannen, that huge disparity is built up mainly in private
conversations. In the public arena, men vie for ascendancy and speak much
more than women do.
I (Glenn) believe that if Tannen studied the talk of professors at faculty meet-
ings, she’d gather a wealth of data to support her claim that men are more likely
to engage in report rather than rapport talk. Tannen says men use talk as a
weapon. The function of the long explanations they employ is to command atten-
tion, convey information, and insist on agreement. In my 30-plus years of attend-
ing faculty meetings, I’ve witnessed countless examples of men who hold the
fl oor with their talk in order to win a point or badger colleagues into reluctant
agreement. It’s not surprising that faculty members who bristle the most at male
monologues are women. In most cases, they’re more concerned with building
faculty rapport by seeking input from others. My perception of this difference
between male and female faculty members conforms well to the conversational
rules summarized by Julia Wood. Girls learn to involve others in conversations,
while boys learn to use communication to assert their own ideas and draw atten-
tion to themselves.
Rapport talk
The typical conversa-
tional style of women,
which seeks to establish
connection with others.
Report talk
The typical monologic
style of men, which
seeks to command atten-
tion, convey information,
and win arguments.
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CHAPTER 34: GENDERLECT STYLES 435
2. Telling a Story
Along with theorists Clifford Geertz, Michael Pacanowsky, and Walter Fisher (see
Chapters 19 and 24), Tannen recognizes that the stories people tell reveal a great
deal about their hopes, needs, and values. Consistent with men’s focus on status,
Tannen notes that men tell more stories than women do—especially jokes. Telling
jokes is a masculine way to negotiate status. Men’s humorous stories have a
can-you-top-this? fl avor that holds attention and elevates the storyteller above his
audience.
When men aren’t trying to be funny, they tell stories in which they are
heroes, often acting alone to overcome great obstacles. On the other hand, women
tend to express their desire for community by telling stories about others. On
rarer occasions when a woman is a character in her own narrative, she usually
describes herself as doing something foolish rather than acting in a clever man-
ner. This downplaying of self puts her on the same level with her hearers, thus
strengthening her network of support.
3. Listening
A woman listening to a story or an explanation tends to hold eye contact, offer
head nods, and react with yeah, uh-huh, mmmn, right, or other responses that
indicate I’m listening or I’m with you. For a man concerned with status, that overt
style of active listening means I agree with you, so he avoids putting himself in a
submissive, or one-down, stance. Women, of course, conclude that men aren’t
listening, which is not necessarily true.
When a woman who is listening starts to speak before the other person is
fi nished, she usually does so to add a word of agreement, to show support, or
to fi nish a sentence with what she thinks the speaker will say. Tannen labels this
cooperative overlap. She says that from a woman’s perspective, cooperative over-
lap is a sign of rapport rather than a competitive ploy to control the conversation.
She also recognizes that men don’t see it that way. Men regard any interruption
as a power move to take control of the conversation, because in their world that’s
how it’s done. Those who win the conversational game can take a don’t-talk-
while-I’m-interrupting-you stance and make it stick. Tannen concludes that these
different styles of conversation management are the source of continuing irrita-
tion in cross-gender talk. “Whereas women’s cooperative overlaps frequently
annoy men by seeming to co-opt their topic, men frequently annoy women by
usurping or switching the topic.” 13
4. Asking Questions
Tannen thinks that men and women also annoy each other with their different
ways of asking questions—or of not asking them. When we were fi rst married,
my wife Cheri and I set out on a trip from Chicago to Muskegon, Michigan, to
visit friends. I glanced at a map before the trip—today’s GPS was the stuff of
science fi ction back then—and noted that I needed to take I-94. About an hour
into the trip, Cheri encouraged me to stop and ask for directions because the
road we were on didn’t seem familiar to her. Knowing that we were on I-94, I
confi dently declined her request. But when I saw signs for Milwaukee, Wiscon-
sin, I was fi nally persuaded to stop at a gas station. To my horror, I discovered
that I-94 went up both sides of Lake Michigan. I was driving up the wrong side.
Cooperative overlap
A supportive interruption
often meant to show
agreement and solidarity
with the speaker.
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436 CULTURAL CONTEXT
Cheri and I can laugh now about our late arrival in Muskegon, but when she
tells the story, she always emphasizes my stubborn refusal to stop and ask for
directions.
According to Tannen, men don’t ask for that kind of help. Every admission
of ignorance whittles away at the image of self-suffi ciency that is so important
to a man. “If self-respect is bought at the cost of a few extra minutes of travel
time, it is well worth the price,” she explains. 14 In my case, I gained no self-
respect at a cost of several hours of travel time. But I’m still not fond of asking
others for directions.
Women ask questions to establish a connection with others. Even a fi ve-minute
stop at a gas station to check the best route can create a sense of community,
however brief. Tannen notes that when women state their opinions, they often tag
them with a question at the end of the sentence: “That was a good movie, don’t
you think ?” Tag questions soften the sting of potential disagreement that might drive
people apart. They are also invitations to participate in open, friendly dialogue.
But to men, they make the speaker seem wishy-washy.
Ever since You Just Don’t Understand was published, Tannen has entertained
questions during television interviews, radio call-in shows, and discussions fol-
lowing lectures. Women almost always seek more information or offer their own
experiences that validate her insights. That’s now true for men as well. But when
the book was riding high on best-seller lists, men would often pose questions
that seemed designed to bring her down from her high horse or to establish their
own expertise. Even though she understands that public face is crucial to men,
she identifi es with the words of a wife in a short story: “I’d have been upset
about making the mistake—but not about people knowing. That part’s not a big
deal to me.” Her husband replied, “Oh, is it ever a big deal to me.” 15
5. Conflict
After his divorce, Rob Reiner decided to direct the fi lm When Harry Met Sally, a
humorous depiction of the relationship between a man (Billy Crystal) and a
woman (Meg Ryan). Nora Ephron wrote the script and, after interviewing
Reiner, used him as the inspiration for Harry’s character. The fi lm became a
classic after its release in 1989, and is listed among Bravo’s “100 Funniest Mov-
ies.” Reiner ’s divorce provided the grist for an argument between Harry and
Sally, in which Harry blows up at their friends Jess and Marie and then storms
out of the room. After making an excuse for his behavior, Sally goes to him to
try to calm him down.
Harry: I know, I know, I shouldn’t have done it.
Sally: Harry, you’re going to have to try and fi nd a way of not expressing every
feeling that you have every moment that you have them.
Harry: Oh, really?
Sally: Yes, there are times and places for things.
Harry: Well the next time you’re giving a lecture series on social graces, would
you let me know, ’cause I’ll sign up.
Sally: Hey. You don’t have to take your anger out on me.
Harry: Oh, I think I’m entitled to throw a little anger your way. Especially when
I’m being told how to live my life by Miss Hospital Corners.
Tag question
A short question at the
end of a declarative state-
ment, often used by
women to soften the sting
of potential disagreement
or invite open, friendly
dialogue.
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CHAPTER 34: GENDERLECT STYLES 437
Sally: What’s that supposed to mean?
Harry: I mean, nothing bothers you. You never get upset about anything.
This scene illustrates Tannen’s description of much male–female strife. Since they
see life as a contest, many men are more comfortable with confl ict and are there-
fore less likely to hold themselves in check. By trying to placate Harry and excuse
his anger toward their friends, Sally responds in what Tannen believes is an
equally typical fashion. “To most women, confl ict is a threat to connection—to
be avoided at all costs.” 16
The dialogue illustrates another feature of confl ict between men and women.
As often happens, Sally’s attempt to avert a similar outburst in the future sparks
new confl ict with Harry. Tannen says men have an early warning system that’s
geared to detect signs that they are being told what to do. Harry bristles at the
thought that Sally is trying to limit his autonomy, so her efforts backfi re.
6. Nonverbal Communication
Curiously, Tannen doesn’t extend the connection–status distinction to the ways
in which men and women communicate nonverbally. Susan Pease Gadoua, a
licensed marriage counselor with a column in Psychology Today magazine, fi nds
it diffi cult to analyze the way men and women talk to each other without includ-
ing the nonverbal component. Based on her years of experience helping married
couples, she’s learned to anticipate a common scenario when she sees a man and
a woman trying to get over a serious fi ght or navigate a rift in their relationship.
Each partner has a different way of wanting to resolve the problem: women want
to talk things out and perhaps make love later (when they feel more connected);
men want to connect by making love and (maybe) talking later.17
Gadoua recalls one husband who told her that all of his marital problems
would be solved if only he and his wife could go away for a whole weekend
and dedicate the entire time to sex. His wife saw this solution as a superfi cial
gesture that wouldn’t solve anything. Deborah Tannen might see it as a way for
the husband to score in a never-ending game of who’s on top. The husband’s
solution seems like a classic acting out of one of the early rules that boys learn
at play—communicate to assert your identity. The wife’s solution refl ects one of
the rules girls learn—connect through conversation. Sadly, Gadoua observes that
when women want to connect and men want to have sex, it’s often the case that
neither activity takes place.
MEN AND WOMEN GROW UP IN DIFFERENT SPEECH COMMUNITIES
Do men and women really live in different worlds? Tannen cites dialogue from
Anne Tyler ’s The Accidental Tourist, Ingmar Bergman’s Scenes from a Marriage,
Alice Walker’s The Temple of My Familiar, Erica Jong’s Fear of Flying, and Jules
Feiffer’s Grown Ups to support her claim that the different ways women and men
talk refl ect their separate cultures. If these fi ctional examples depict an accurate
view of the separate worlds of real men and women, it makes sense to fi nd out
how and when these worlds formed.
When Tannen witnessed dramatic differences in conversational style between
second-grade boys and girls, she concluded that the origins of speaking in
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438 CULTURAL CONTEXT
genderlect must be traced back to early childhood. Is it plausible to suggest that
boys and girls as young as 7 are already segregated and using conversation styles
that will follow them into adult life? Many linguists and communication scholars
believe the answer to that question is yes. They refer to the segregated groups
to which boys and girls belong as speech communities.18
Julia Wood summarized the concept of a speech community this way: “[A]
speech community exists when people share understandings about goals of com-
munication, strategies for enacting those goals, and ways of interpreting com-
munication.”19 Tannen’s conclusion that the second-grade boys and girls she
observed were “two different species” certainly matches up with the idea that
they were from distinct speech communities. But these communities don’t appear
out of thin air. To get insight into their origins, we need to look back to the
preschool years.
Louise Cherry Wilkinson, professor of education, psychology, and commu-
nication sciences at Syracuse University, suggests that separate speech communi-
ties begin with the conversations young boys and girls have with their mothers.
She reached this conclusion when she studied the interactions between moms
and kids during a free-play session. She recruited mothers with a 2-year-old
daughter or son to take part, giving no instructions as to what they should talk
about. Along with her colleague Michael Lewis, Wilkinson transcribed the inter-
actions that took place and trained coders to analyze the words that were used.
The coders didn’t know whether they were coding interactions between a mother
and daughter or a mother and son.20
Wilkinson and Lewis discovered that mothers of girls talked more, asked more
questions, used longer sentences, and were more likely to verbally acknowledge
their daughters’ comments than mothers of boys. Mothers of boys were more likely
to use directives—telling their sons what to do—than mothers of girls. Wilkinson
and Lewis speculated that these sorts of differences could set early expectations in
males and females about what type of conversation is most appropriate for them.
The fi ndings suggest that the differences Tannen sees between adult male and
female speech have their roots in the early socialization of children.
Speech community
A community of people
who share understand-
ings about goals of com-
munication, strategies for
enacting those goals, and
ways of interpreting com-
munication.
“NOW YOU’RE BEGINNING TO UNDERSTAND”
What if Tannen is right and all conversation between men and women is best
understood as cross-cultural communication? Does that mean genderlect can
be taught, like French, Swahili, or any other foreign language? Tannen offers a
qualifi ed yes. She regards sensitivity training as an effort to teach men how to
speak in a feminine voice, while assertiveness training is an effort to teach
women how to speak in a masculine voice. But she’s aware of our ethnocentric
tendency to think it’s the other person who needs fi xing, so she expresses only
guarded hope that men and women will alter their linguistic styles.
Tannen has much more confi dence in the benefi ts of multicultural under-
standing. She believes that understanding each other’s style, and the motives
behind it, is the fi rst step in overcoming destructive responses.
The answer is for both men and women to try to take each other on their own
terms rather than applying the standards of one group to the behavior of the
other. . . . Understanding style differences for what they are takes the sting out
of them. 21
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CHAPTER 34: GENDERLECT STYLES 439
Tannen suggests that one way to measure whether we are gaining cross-gender
insight is a drop in the frequency of the oft-heard lament You just don’t understand.
I can personally testify to the validity of this standard. While I certainly make
no claim to have arrived at a complete understanding of Cheri or her conversa-
tional style, I’ve only heard her say, “You just don’t understand,” in the early
stages of our 38 years together. She’d say the same about me. It’s diffi cult for a
marriage to survive and thrive without partners gaining insight into each other’s
conversational style.
“And do you, Deborah Tannen, think they know what they’re talking about?”
© Peter Steiner/The New Yorker Collection/www.cartoonbank.com
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440 CULTURAL CONTEXT
ETHICAL REFLECTION: GILLIGAN’S DIFFERENT VOICE
CRITIQUE: IS TANNEN SOFT ON RESEARCH—AND MEN?
Is male–female conversation really cross-cultural communication? Tannen sug-
gests we use the aha factor to test the validity of her two-culture hypothesis:
If my interpretation is correct, then readers, on hearing my explanation, will
exclaim within their heads, “Aha!” Something they have intuitively sensed will be
made explicit. . . . When the subject of analysis is human interaction—a process
that we engage in, all our lives—each reader can measure interpretation against
her/his own experience. 27
Aha factor
A subjective standard
ascribing validity to an
idea when it resonates
with one’s personal
experience.
For more than 30 years, Carol Gilligan was a professor of education in the Harvard
Graduate School of Education. Her book In a Different Voice presents a theory of moral
development claiming that women tend to think and speak in an ethical voice dif-
ferent from that of men. 22 Gilligan’s view of gender differences parallels Deborah
Tannen’s analysis of men as wanting independence and women as desiring human
connection. Gilligan is convinced that most men seek autonomy and think of moral
maturity in terms of justice . She’s equally certain that women desire to be linked with
others and that they regard their ultimate ethical responsibility as one of care .
On the basis of the quantity and quality of feminine relationships, Gilligan
contrasts women who care with men who are fair . Individual rights, equality before
the law, fair play, a square deal—all these masculine ethical goals can be pursued
without intimate ties to others. Justice is impersonal. But women’s moral judg-
ment is more contextual, more immersed in the details of relationships and nar-
ratives. 23 Sensitivity to others, loyalty, self-sacrifi ce, and peacemaking all refl ect
interpersonal involvement.
Gilligan’s work arose in response to the theory of moral development of her
Harvard colleague Lawrence Kohlberg, who identifi ed increasing levels of ethical
maturity by analyzing responses to hypothetical moral dilemmas. 24 According to
his justice-based scoring system, the average young adult female was a full stage
behind her male counterpart. Women were rated as less morally mature than men
because they were less concerned about abstract concepts like justice, truth, and
freedom. Instead, they based their ethical decisions on considerations of compas-
sion, loyalty, and a strong sense of responsibility to prevent pain and alleviate
suffering. Their moral reasoning was more likely to refl ect Buber’s call for genuine
I–Thou relationships than Kant’s categorical imperative (see Chapters 6 and 7).
Gilligan is comfortable with the idea that men and women speak in different
ethical voices. But she’s disturbed that when women don’t follow the normative
path laid out by men, “the conclusion has generally been that something is
wrong with women.” 25 She points out “the unfair paradox that the very traits
that have traditionally defi ned the ‘goodness’ of women are those that mark
them as defi cient in moral development.” 26
Although Gilligan’s theory is more descriptive than prescriptive, the under-
lying assumption is that the way things are refl ects the way things ought to be.
Most ethical theorists are bothered by the idea of a double standard—justice from
some, care from others. Traditional moral philosophy has never suggested dif-
ferent ethics for different groups. Yet readers of both sexes report that Gilligan’s
theory resonates with their personal experience.
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CHAPTER 34: GENDERLECT STYLES 441
If we agree to this subjective standard of validity, Tannen easily makes her
case. For example, in the book You Just Don’t Understand, she describes how
women who verbally share problems with men are often frustrated by the mas-
culine tendency to offer solutions. According to Tannen, women don’t want
advice; they’re looking for the gift of understanding. When Em fi rst read her
book, he had the kind of aha reaction that Tannen says validates her theory. He
says, “I realized that her words described me. Anytime my wife, Jean, tells me
about a problem she’s facing, I either turn coldly analytic or dive in and try to
fi x things for the woman I love. I now know that Jean would rather have me
just listen or voice some version of I feel your pain. ”
Brittany’s application log suggests that she’s convinced. Perhaps her mascu-
line upbringing explains why she experienced the aha factor even before she
read about Tannen’s theory.
From ages 4 to 11, I was raised by my single father. During this developmental time
in my life, I conversed mainly with Dad, and therefore adopted the kind of report
talk that Tannen characterizes as primarily male. Whenever we had confl ict, we dealt
with it right away. Most of  my friends were boys and I had diffi culties making con-
nections with girls my age. After my dad eventually remarried and I had a step-
mother to talk with, I began to develop friendships with girls in high school. During
a conversation one of them said, “You always try to think of a solution rather than
just listen.” I understand now that I picked up this communication trait from my
dad. Whenever we faced confl ict in our home, we immediately addressed it and fi g-
ured out how we should deal with it. As I have developed more relationships with
women I feel my genderlect style has moved towards rapport talk, which Tannen cat-
egorizes as primarily female. Sometimes though, I’ll have a conversation with a close
guy friend back home who will say, “You are the only girl who I’ve ever been able
to talk with like this.”
Apparently, Tannen’s analysis of common misunderstandings between men
and women has struck a responsive chord in a million other readers. You Just
Don’t Understand was on the best-seller list for most of the 1990s. And in that
decade it was rated by hundreds of mental health professionals as the best of 1,000
self-help books. 28 But does a chorus of ahas mean that she is right? Astrologer and
psychic Jeane Dixon might have made 10 predictions, and if only one came true,
that’s the prophecy people remembered and lauded her for. They forgot that the
other nine turned out to be wrong. According to many social scientists, Tannen’s
“proof” may be like that.
Perhaps using selective data is the only way to support a reductionist claim
that women are one way and men are another. Tannen’s theme of intimacy
versus independence echoes one of the dialectics Leslie Baxter and Barbara
Montgomery observe in Chapter 11. However, Tannen suggests none of the
fl ux, internal contradiction, or ongoing complexity of human existence that
relational dialectics describes. Tannen’s women are programmed within their
gendered culture to embrace connection and deny any desire for autonomy.
Her men seek autonomy but avoid connection. Neither group feels any sense
of internal contradiction. Saying it’s so may eventually make it so—
self- fulfi lling prophecy is a powerful force. But as stated in the introduction to
this section, most gender researchers spot more diversity within each gender
than between them.
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442 CULTURAL CONTEXT
Adrianne Kunkel (University of Kansas) and Brant Burleson (Purdue
University) directly challenged the different-cultures perspective that is at the
heart of Tannen’s genderlect theory. According to Tannen’s two-culture world-
view, verbal support should be highly desired in the world of women but of
little value in the competitive world of men. Kunkel and Burleson’s empirical
research doesn’t bear out Tannen’s claim. They said while it’s true that women
often do it better, both sexes place an equally high value on comforting
communication:
Both men and women view highly person-centered comforting messages as most
sensitive and effective; both see messages low in person-centeredness as relatively
insensitive and ineffective. . . . Both sexes view comforting skills as important in
the context of various personal relationships and as substantially more important
than instrumentally focused communication skills. 29
On the basis of this shared meaning, Kunkel and Burleson rejected the different-
cultures perspective. They believed it was a myth that had lost its narrative force.
Men and women do understand.
A very different critique comes from feminist scholars. For example, German
linguist Senta Troemel-Ploetz accuses Tannen of having written a dishonest book
that ignores issues of male dominance, control, power, sexism, discrimination,
sexual harassment, and verbal insults. “If you leave out power,” she says, “you
do not understand talk.” 30 The two genderlects are anything but equal. “Men are
used to dominating women; they do it especially in conversations. . . . Women
are trained to please; they have to please also in conversations.” 31
Contrary to Tannen’s thesis that mutual understanding will bridge the cul-
ture gap between the sexes, Troemel-Ploetz believes that “men understand quite
well what women want but they give only when it suits them. In many situations
they refuse to give and women cannot make them give.” 32 She thinks it’s ridiculous
to assume that men will give up power voluntarily. To prove her point, she sug-
gests doing a follow-up study on men who read Tannen’s best seller. Noting that
many women readers of You Just Don’t Understand give the book to their hus-
bands to peruse, Troemel-Ploetz states that if Tannen’s theory is true, a follow-up
study should show that these men are now putting down their papers at the
breakfast table and talking empathetically with their wives. She doesn’t think it
will happen.
QUESTIONS TO SHARPEN YOUR FOCUS
1. Apart from the topics of nonverbal communication, confl ict, questions, lis-
tening, storytelling, and public vs. private speaking, can you come up with
your own examples of how rapport talk is different from report talk?
2. What are the practical implications for you if talk with members of the oppo-
site sex is, indeed, cross-cultural communication?
3. What might be the most effective ways for men and women to gain insight
into how their conversational styles affect their relationships?
4. Tannen’s aha factor is similar to Carl Rogers’ standard of basing our knowl-
edge on personal experience (see Chapter 4). What are the dangers of relying
solely on the aha factor?
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CHAPTER 34: GENDERLECT STYLES 443
A SECOND LOOK Recommended resource: Deborah Tannen, You Just Don’t Understand, Ballantine, New
York, 1990.
Conversational style: Deborah Tannen, That’s Not What I Meant! William Morrow, New
York, 1986.
Linguistic microanalysis of conversation: Deborah Tannen, Conversational Style: Analyzing
Talk Among Friends, Ablex, Norwood, NJ, 1984.
Gender differences in children’s talk: Deborah Tannen, “Gender Differences in Topical
Coherence: Creating Involvement in Best Friends’ Talk,” Discourse Processes, Vol. 13, 1990,
pp. 73–90.
Discourse analysis: Deborah Tannen, Gender and Discourse, Oxford University, Oxford,
UK, 1994/96.
Gendered language in the workplace: Deborah Tannen, Talking from 9 to 5: Women and
Men at Work—Language, Sex, and Power, Avon, New York, 1994.
Gendered language in the family: Deborah Tannen, I Only Say This Because I Love You:
Talking in Families, Ballantine, New York, 2002.
Support of two-culture hypothesis: Anthony Mulac, James Bradac, and Pamela Gib-
bons, “Empirical Support for the Gender-as-Culture Hypothesis: An Intercultural Anal-
ysis of Male/Female Language Differences,” Human Communication Research, Vol. 27,
2001, pp. 121–152.
Communication scholars’ dialogue on two-culture hypothesis: “Refl ections on the Different
Cultures Hypothesis: A Scholars’ Symposium,” Sandra Metts (ed.), Personal Relationships,
Vol. 4, 1997, pp. 201–253.
Critique of two-culture hypothesis: Adrianne Kunkel and Brant Burleson, “Social Sup-
port and the Emotional Lives of Men and Women: An Assessment of the Different Cul-
tures Perspective,” in Sex Differences and Similarities in Communication, Daniel Canary and
Kathryn Dindia (eds.), Lawrence Erlbaum, Mahwah, NJ, 1998, pp. 101–125.
Critique centering on power discrepancy: Senta Troemel-Ploetz, “Review Essay: Selling
the Apolitical,” Discourse and Society, Vol. 2, 1991, pp. 489–502.
For a chapter on Carol Gilligan’s theory, click on Different Voice
in Archive under Theory Resources in
www.afi rstlook.com.
www.mhhe.com/griffi n9e SELF-QUIZ
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444
35C H A P T E R
Standpoint Theory
of Sandra Harding & Julia T. Wood
As you’ve seen throughout the book, many communication theories raise ques-
tions about knowledge. For example,
How does a person develop a concept of self?
What’s the best way to reduce uncertainty about someone you’ve just met?
Does the “bottom line” in an annual report refl ect corporate reality?
How can we fi nd out whether television has a powerful effect?
Are men and women from different cultures?
If you’re interested in communication, you’ll want to fi nd the answers. (“Inquiring
minds want to know.”) Standpoint theorists Sandra Harding and Julia Wood claim
that one of the best ways to discover how the world works is to start the inquiry
from the standpoint of women and other groups on the margins of society.
A standpoint is a place from which to view the world around us. Whatever
our vantage point, its location tends to focus our attention on some features of
the natural and social landscape while obscuring others. Synonyms for standpoint
include viewpoint, perspective, outlook, and position. Note that each of these words
suggests a specifi c location in time and space where observation takes place,
while also referring to values or attitudes. Sandra Harding and Julia Wood think
the connection is no accident. As standpoint theorists, they claim that “the social
groups within which we are located powerfully shape what we experience and
know as well as how we understand and communicate with ourselves, others,
and the world.” 1 Our standpoint affects our worldview.
Harding is a philosopher of science who holds joint appointments in wom-
en’s studies, education, and philosophy at the University of California, Los
Angeles. To illustrate the effect of standpoint, she asks us to imagine looking into
a pond and seeing a stick that appears to be bent. 2 But is it really? If we walk
around to a different location, the stick seems to be straight—which it actually
is. Physicists have developed a theory of light refraction that explains why this
visual distortion occurs. In like manner, a variety of standpoint theorists from
different disciplines suggest that we can use the inequalities of gender, race,
class, and sexual orientation to observe how different locations within the social
hierarchy tend to generate distinctive accounts of nature and social relationships.
Standpoint
A place from which to
critically view the world
around us.
Objective Interpretive
Critical tradition
●
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CHAPTER 35: STANDPOINT THEORY 445
All of them concentrate on the relationship between power and knowledge. Spe-
cifi cally, Harding claims that “when people speak from the opposite sides of
power relations, the perspective from the lives of the less powerful can provide
a more objective view than the perspective from the lives of the more powerful.” 3
Her main focus is the standpoint of women who are marginalized.
Just as Harding is recognized as the philosopher who has most advanced
the standpoint theory of knowledge among feminist scholars, 4 Julia Wood, a
professor of communication at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill,
has championed and consistently applied standpoint logic within the fi eld of
communication. She regards all perspectives as partial, but she insists that some
standpoints are “more partial than others since different locations within social
hierarchies affect what is likely to be seen.” 5 For communication researchers,
taking women’s location seriously means heeding Wood’s call to choose research
topics that are responsive to women’s concerns:
Abiding concern with oppression leads many feminist scholars to criticize some of
the topics that dominate research on relationships. When four women are battered
to death by intimate partners every day in North America, study of how abusive
relationships are created and sustained seems more compelling than research on
heterosexual college students’ romances. Is it more signifi cant to study friendships
among economically comfortable adolescents or social practices that normalize sex-
ual harassment and rape? 6
As a male researcher who has studied romance and friendship on a private
college campus, I am compelled to explore the logic of Harding and Wood’s
standpoint agenda. But their standpoint epistemology raises other questions. Do
all women share a common standpoint? Why do Harding and Wood believe a
feminist standpoint is more objective or less partial than other starting points for
inquiry? Would grounding future research in the lives of women compel me to
regard every report of feminine experience as equally true? Should we disregard
what men have to say? The rest of this chapter will explore these issues and
other questions raised by standpoint theory. The answers to these questions will
make more sense if we understand the varied intellectual resources standpoint
theorists have drawn upon to inform their analyses.
A FEMINIST STANDPOINT ROOTED IN PHILOSOPHIES
In 1807, German philosopher Georg Hegel analyzed the master–slave relation-
ship to show that what people “know” about themselves, others, and society
depends on which group they are in. 7 For example, those in captivity have a
decidedly different perspective on the meaning of chains, laws, childbirth, and
punishment than do their captors who participate in the same “reality.” But since
masters are backed by the established structure of their society, it is they who
have the power to make their view of the world stick. They are the ones who
write the history books.
Following Hegel’s lead, Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels referred to the
proletarian standpoint. They suggested that the impoverished poor who provide
sweat equity are society’s ideal knowers, as long as they understand the class
struggle in which they are involved. 8 Harding notes that standpoint theory “was
a project ‘straining at the bit’ to emerge from feminist social theorists who were
familiar with Marxian epistemology.” 9 By substituting women for proletariat, and
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446 CULTURAL CONTEXT
gender discrimination for class struggle, early feminist standpoint theorists had a
ready-made framework for advocating women’s way of knowing.
As opposed to the economic determinism of Marx, George Herbert Mead
claimed that culture “gets into individuals” through communication (see Chapter 5).
Drawing on this key principle of symbolic interactionism, Wood maintains that
gender is a cultural construction rather than a biological characteristic. “More
than a variable, gender is a system of meanings that sculpts individuals’ stand-
points by positioning most males and females in disparate material, social and
symbolic circumstances.” 10
Strains of postmodernism also weave throughout standpoint theory. When
Jean-François Lyotard announced an “incredulity toward metanarratives,” he
included Enlightenment rationality and Western science. 11 Since many feminists
regard these two enterprises as dominated by men who refuse to acknowledge
their male-centered bias, they embrace a postmodern critique. In reciprocal fash-
ion, postmodernists applaud the standpoint emphasis on knowledge as locally
situated, though they push the idea to the point where there is no basis for
favoring one perspective over another. As we will see, Harding and Wood reject
that kind of absolute relativism.
Harding and Wood have drawn upon these somewhat confl icting intellectual
traditions without letting any one of them dictate the shape or substance of their
standpoint approach. The resulting theory might seem a bewildering crosshatch
of ideas were it not for their repeated emphasis on starting all scholarly inquiry
from the lives of women and others who are marginalized. In order to honor
this central tenet of standpoint theory and to illustrate the way of knowing that
Harding and Wood propose, I’ve excerpted events and dialogue from Kathryn
Stockett’s best-selling novel The Help.12 The story was also portrayed in the 2011
movie of the same name that garnered an Oscar nomination for best picture of
the year. The title refers to the term that Southern white families used for the
African American women who cooked their meals, cleaned their homes, and
served as nursemaids to raise their children.
THE HELP: STORIES FROM THE LIVES OF MARGINALIZED WOMEN
The setting for The Help is early 1960s Jackson, Mississippi, before Congress over-
turned Jim Crow laws that guaranteed racial segregation. Of the three women
who narrate the tale, Skeeter is the one who hails from a family of privilege.
She’s a young white college grad who double majored in English and journalism
and now longs for a career as a serious writer. But she can only fi nd a part-time
job ghostwriting a weekly “Miss Myrna” advice column in a local newspaper.
Skeeter describes her reaction to a typical question from a reader:
“Dear Miss Myrna,” I read, “how do I remove the rings from my fat slovenly hus-
band’s shirt collar when he is such a pig and . . . sweats like one too. . . .”
Wonderful. A column on cleaning and relationships. Two things I know abso-
lutely nothing about. 13
In desperation, Skeeter seeks help from Aibileen, the black maid working for
one of Skeeter’s friends. Aibileen, the second narrator, has decades of experience
serving white families—cleaning their homes, cooking their meals, raising their
kids. She is warm, wise, and sought out by other maids in her church who
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CHAPTER 35: STANDPOINT THEORY 447
believe her prayers have special power. High on her prayer list is Mae Mobley,
her 17th child, the 3-year-old daughter of her current employer.
Soon as I walk in her nursery, Mae Mobley smile at me, reach out her fat little
arms.
“You already up, Baby Girl? Why didn’t you holler for me?”
She laugh, dance a little happy jig waiting on me to get her out. I give her a
good hug. I reckon she don’t get too many good hugs like this after I go home.
Ever so often, I come to work and fi nd her bawling in her crib. Miss Leefolt busy
on the sewing machine rolling her eyes like it’s a stray cat stuck in the screen door.
. . . You see her in the Jitney 14 grocery, you never think she go and leave her baby
crying in her crib like that. But the help always know.14
Those last fi ve words capture the essence of standpoint theory. The looked-down-
upon members of society have a clearer vantage point than those with status
and power. If you want to know how things work, start your research with the
lives of those on the margins. In The Help, that means listening to the stories of
dirt-poor, African American women.
Listening to Aibileen, Skeeter catches a glimpse of Mississippi life that she’s
never seen. She’s convinced that fi rsthand accounts of anonymous Southern
maids’ experiences with their white “families” would make a fascinating book.
After much hesitation, and despite the danger, Aibileen agrees to tell her story.
She also recruits her best friend Minny to take part in the project.
Minny, the third narrator, is “perhaps the sassiest woman in Mississippi. She
can cook like nobody’s business, but she can’t mind her own tongue, so she’s
lost yet another job.”15 After reading about Minny, Skeeter’s New York editor
calls her “every Southern white woman’s nightmare. I adore her.”16 Octavia
Spencer won an Academy Award for best supporting actress as the outspoken
Minny. I’ll continue to cite passages from The Help that reinforce the principles
of Harding and Wood’s feminist standpoint theory.
I‘m well aware of the irony of a white male professor (me) using a novel
authored by a white woman (Stockett) who has created a white fi ctional char-
acter (Skeeter) who represents the lives of African American maids. Biracial
communication professor Rachael Griffi n at Southern Illinois University ques-
tions whether any of these three privileged Caucasian characters could possi-
bly get it right—a fair critique.17 But since my reason for using the fi lm is to
illustrate how diverse standpoints provide differing degrees of objectivity, I
believe the power discrepancies that The Help portrays will help you better
grasp the theory.
WOMEN AS A MARGINALIZED GROUP
Standpoint theorists see important differences between men and women. Wood
uses the relational dialectic of autonomy–connectedness as a case in point (see
Chapter 11): “While all humans seem to seek both autonomy and connectedness,
the relative amount of each that is preferred appears to differ rather consistently
between genders.” 18 Men tend to want more autonomy; women tend to want
more connection. This difference is evident in each group’s communication. The
masculine community uses speech to accomplish tasks, assert self, and gain
power. The feminine community uses speech to build relationships, include oth-
ers, and show responsiveness. 19
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448 CULTURAL CONTEXT
Wood does not attribute gender differences to biology, maternal instinct, or
women’s intuition. To the extent that women are distinct from men, she sees the
difference largely as a result of cultural expectations and the treatment that each
group receives from the other. For example, otherness in Minny is engendered
through segregation rules crafted by white men before she was born. “Negroes
and whites are not allowed to share water fountains, movie houses, public rest-
rooms, ballparks, phone booths, circus shows.”20 That’s during the day. At night
with her husband it’s worse.
Leroy screamed at me all night, threw the sugar bowl upside my head, threw my
clothes out on the porch. I mean, when he’s drinking the Thunderbird, it’s one
thing, but . . . oh. The shame is so heavy I think it might pull me to the fl oor.
Leroy, he wasn’t on the Thunderbird this time. This time he beat me stone-cold
sober. . . . He was just beating me for the pure pleasure of it.21
What Minny describes also refl ects the power discrepancies that Harding and
Wood say are found in all societies: “A culture is not experienced identically by all
members. Cultures are hierarchically ordered so that different groups within them
offer dissimilar power, opportunities, and experiences to members.” 22 Along these
lines, feminist standpoint theorists suggest that women are underadvantaged and,
thus, men are overadvantaged—a gender difference that makes a huge difference.
Harding and Wood are quick to warn against thinking of women as a mono-
lithic group. They point out that not all women share the same standpoint, nor
for that matter do all men. Besides the issue of gender, Harding stresses eco-
nomic condition, race, and sexual orientation as additional cultural identities that
can either draw people to the center of society or push them out to the fringes.
Thus, an intersection of minority positions creates a highly looked-down-upon
location in the social hierarchy. Impoverished African American lesbian women
are almost always marginalized. On the other hand, positions of high status and
power are overwhelmingly “manned” by wealthy, white, heterosexual males.
Even more than Harding, Wood is troubled by the tendency of some femi-
nists to talk as if there were an “essence of women,” then to “valorize” that
quality. She believes that Carol Gilligan makes this mistake by claiming that
women, as opposed to men, speak in an ethical voice of care (see Chapter 34).
For Wood, biology is not destiny. She fears that “championing any singular
model of womanhood creates a mold into which not all women may comfortably
fi t.” 23 Yet as an unapologetic feminist committed to the equal value of all human
life, Wood understands that a sense of solidarity is politically necessary if women
are to effectively critique an androcentric world.
This awareness of feminine solidarity can be seen in Skeeter’s growing real-
ization after her book revealing the experiences of Mississippi maids was pub-
lished. “Wasn’t that the point of the book? For women to realize, We are just two
people. Not that much separates us. Not nearly as much as I’d thought.”24
Standpoint theorists emphasize the importance of social location because
they are convinced that people at the top of the societal hierarchy are the
ones privileged to defi ne what it means to be female, male, or anything else
in a given culture. This power is starkly portrayed in The Help when Aibileen
overhears the pronouncement of Hilly—the wife of a Mississippi legislator—who
wants to physically ensure colored maids know their place:
“All these houses they’re building without maid’s quarters? It’s just plain danger-
ous. Everybody knows they carry different kinds of diseases than we do. . . .
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CHAPTER 35: STANDPOINT THEORY 449
That’s exactly why I’ve designed the Home Help Sanitation Initiative,” Miss Hilly
say. “As a disease preventive measure. . . . A bill that requires every white home to
have a separate bathroom for the colored help. I’ve even notifi ed the surgeon gen-
eral of Mississippi to see if he’ll endorse the idea.”25
KNOWLEDGE FROM NOWHERE VERSUS LOCAL KNOWLEDGE
Why is standpoint so important? Because, Harding argues, “the social group
that gets the chance to defi ne the important problematics, concepts, assump-
tions, and hypotheses in a fi eld will end up leaving its social fi ngerprints on
the picture of the world that emerges from the results of that fi eld’s research
process.” 26 Imagine how different a book entitled Maids by Hilly would be from
one of the same title written from the standpoint of Aibileen or Minny. The
texts would surely differ in starting point, method, and conclusion.
Harding’s insistence on local knowledge contrasts sharply with the claim of
traditional Western science that it can discover “Truth” that is value-free and
accessible to any objective observer. In her book Whose Science? Whose Knowl-
edge? Harding refers to empiricism’s claims of disembodied truths as “views
from nowhere.” Feminist writer Donna Haraway calls such pronouncements the
God trick, which Harding describes as “speaking authoritatively about everything
in the world from no particular location or human perspective at all.”27 As for
the notion of value-free science, Harding characterizes the claim as promoting
“Actually, Lou, I think it was more than just my being in the right place at the right time. I think
it was my being the right race, the right religion, the right sex, the right socioeconomic group,
having the right accent, the right clothes, going to the right schools . . .”
© Warren Miller/The New Yorker Collection/www.cartoonbank.com
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450 CULTURAL CONTEXT
“a fast gun for hire” and chides detached scientists that “it cannot be value-free
to describe such social events as poverty, misery, torture, or cruelty in a value-
free way.” 28 Even Galileo’s democratic ideal of interchangeable knowers is open
to question. His statement Anyone can see through my telescope has been inter-
preted by empirical scientists as dismissing concern for any relationship between
the knower and the known.
Harding and other standpoint theorists insist there is no possibility of an
unbiased perspective that is disinterested, impartial, value-free, or detached
from a particular historical situation. The physical and the social sciences are
always situated in time and place. She writes that “each person can achieve only
a partial view of reality from the perspective of his or her own position in the
social hierarchy.” 29 Unlike postmodernists, however, she is unwilling to aban-
don the search for reality. She simply thinks that the search for it should begin
from the lives of those in the underclass.
Neither Harding nor Wood claims that the standpoint of women or any other
marginalized group gives them a clear view of the way things are. Situated
knowledge —the only kind there is—will always be partial. Standpoint theorists do
maintain, however, that “the perspectives of subordinate groups are more com-
plete and thus, better than those of privileged groups in a society.” 30 They recog-
nize that this is a controversial claim. U.S. Supreme Court Justice Sonia Sotomayor
voiced the same idea in a 2001 lecture on law and multicultural diversity: “I
would hope that a wise Latina woman with the richness of her experiences would
more often than not reach a better conclusion than a white male who hasn’t lived
that life.”31 That one remark was the stated reason why many white male con-
gressmen voted against her confi rmation to the U.S. Supreme Court in 2009.
Local knowledge
Knowledge situated in
time, place, experience,
and relative power, as
opposed to knowledge
from nowhere that’s sup-
posedly value-free.
STRONG OBJECTIVITY: LESS PARTIAL VIEWS FROM THE STANDPOINT OF WOMEN
Harding uses the term strong objectivity to refer to the strategy of starting research
from the lives of women and other marginalized groups whose concerns and
experience are usually ignored. 32 Her choice of label not only suggests the wis-
dom of taking all perspectives into account but also suggests that knowledge
generated from the standpoint of dominant groups offers, by contrast, only a
weak objectivity. To illustrate this claim, she speaks directly of the oppositional
standpoints of slaves and their masters a century ago: “It is absurd to imagine
that U.S. slaveowners’ views of Africans’ and African Americans’ lives could
outweigh in impartiality, disinterestedness, impersonality, and objectivity their
slaves’ view of their own and slaveowners’ lives.” 33
Why should the standpoints of women and other marginalized groups be
less partial, less distorted, or less false than the perspectives of men who are in
dominant positions? Wood offers two explanations: “First, people with subordi-
nate status have greater motivation to understand the perspective of more pow-
erful groups than vice versa.” 34 Even if the meek don’t inherit the earth, they
have a special interest in fi guring out what makes it turn. Taking the role of the
other is a survival skill for those who have little control over their own lives.
Lacking this motivation, those who wield power seem to have less reason to
wonder how the “other half” views the world.
Wood’s second reason for favoring the standpoint of groups that are con-
stantly put down is that they have little reason to defend the status quo. Not so
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CHAPTER 35: STANDPOINT THEORY 451
for those who have power. She asserts that “groups that are advantaged by the
prevailing system have a vested interest in not perceiving social inequities that
benefi t them at the expense of others.” 35
Robbie, a student in my class, expressed a new realization of the link between
a standpoint of privilege and the tunnel vision that may go with it.
This is a hard theory to write on. I am an upper-middle-class white male and this
theory deals with the marginalized and underappreciated, particularly women.
I struggled to think of any way the theory related to me. But then I got it. My
standpoint made it diffi cult for me to apply the theory. I was born into the domi-
nant culture and have been taught to maintain the status quo. Our opinion is
the “right” one because it follows the “rules” (rules that we wrote, by the way).
Admittedly, my standpoint is probably one of the least objective of all, and what’s
worse, I have been taught to think that it is objective.
Robbie’s words are unusual coming from a privileged white man with much to
lose if the status quo is shattered. Most of his contemporaries would resist grap-
pling with the theory. For those with money, status, and power, ignorance of
perspectives on the margin is bliss, so it’s folly to be wise. Robbie’s new insight
is perhaps a testimony to the power of feminist standpoint theory to change the
world one mind at a time. Yet Harding wouldn’t want Robbie or us to auto-
matically accept the testimony of African American maids as coming from a
more objective standpoint. She insists it’s the “objective perspective from women’s
lives” that provides a preferred starting place from which to generate research
projects, hypotheses, and interpretations.36 And even that starting point doesn’t
guarantee strong objectivity.
Harding and Wood emphasize that a woman’s location on the margin of
society is a necessary, but not suffi cient, condition to attain a feminist standpoint.
It is only through critical refl ection on unjust power relations and working to
resist this oppression that a feminist standpoint is formed. A feminist standpoint
is an achievement rather than a piece of territory automatically inherited by virtue
of being a woman.37 Within The Help, Aibileen, Minny, and the other maids who
told their stories to Skeeter qualify on both counts. By the end of the novel, so
does Skeeter. She writes:
the responsibility of the project lays on my shoulders and I see it in their hard-
working, lined faces, how much the maids want this book to be published. They
are scared, looking at the back door every ten minutes, afraid they’ll get caught
talking to me. Afraid they’ll be beaten like Louvenia’s grandson, or, hell, blud-
geoned in their front yard like Medgar Evers. The risk they’re taking is proof they
want this to get printed and they want it bad.38
Strong objectivity
The strategy of starting
research from the lives of
women and other mar-
ginalized groups, which
upon critical refl ection
and resistance provides
them with a less false
view of reality.
THEORY TO PRACTICE: COMMUNICATION RESEARCH BASED ON WOMEN’S LIVES
If we want to see a model of communication research that starts from the lives
of women, a good place to begin is Julia Wood’s in-depth study of caregiving in
the United States. Consistent with standpoint theory’s insistence that all knowl-
edge is situated in a time and place, the fi rst chapter of Wood’s Who Cares?
Women, Care, and Culture describes her own situation as a white, heterosexual,
professional woman who for nine years took on the consuming responsibility of
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452 CULTURAL CONTEXT
caring for her infi rm parents until they died. Her experience squared with her
subsequent research fi ndings:
First, it seems that caring can be healthy and enriching when it is informed, freely
chosen, and practiced within a context that recognizes and values caring and those
who do it. On the other hand, existing studies also suggest that caring can be quite
damaging to caregivers if they are unaware of dangers to their identities, if they
have unrealistic expectations of themselves, and/or if caring occurs within contexts
that fail to recognize its importance and value. 39
Wood discovered that gendered communication practices refl ect and rein-
force our societal expectation that caregiving is women’s work. After rejecting
his daughter ’s proposal to hire a part-time nurse, her father mused, “It’s funny,
Julia. I used to wish I had sons, but now I’m glad I have daughters, because I
couldn’t ask a son to take this kind of time away from his own work just to
take care of me.” 40 She heard similar messages that devalued caregiving from
male colleagues at her university. While praising Wood for her sacrifi ce, they
reassured a fellow professor that he had taken the proper action by placing his
mother in a nursing home: “Well, she surely understood that as busy as you
are with your work you couldn’t be expected to take on that responsibility.” 41
Wood says these comments reveal the opposing, gender-based privileges
and restraints in our society. As illustrated in the book/fi lm One True Thing,
women are given the freedom to make caregiving a priority but are denied the
right to put their work fi rst and still be a “good woman.” Men are given the
freedom to make their work a priority but are deprived of the right to focus on
caregiving and still be a “good man.”
Wood suggests that a standpoint approach is practical to the extent that it
generates an effective critique of unjust practices. She believes that “our culture
itself must be reformed in ways that dissociate caring from its historical affi li-
ations with women and private relationships and redefi ne it as a centrally
important and integral part of our collective public life.” 42 Perhaps a proposal
in President Clinton’s 1999 State of the Union address was a fi rst step. He
endorsed a $1,000 tax write-off for families taking care of an incapacitated
relative in their homes. A male network news commentator dismissed the
idea  as “more symbolic than signifi cant.” The female cohost chided that the
symbolic recognition of worth was quite signifi cant. She shared Wood’s
standpoint.
THE STANDPOINT OF BLACK FEMINIST THOUGHT
Consistent with the description of maids’ experience in The Help, Patricia Hill
Collins, an African American sociologist at the University of Maryland, claims
that the patterns of “intersecting oppressions” that black women in the United
States have experienced puts them in a different marginalized place in society
than is occupied by either white women or black men. “Countless numbers of
Black women have ridden buses to their white ‘families’ where they not only
cooked, cleaned, and executed other domestic duties, but where they also nur-
tured their ‘other’ children, shrewdly offered guidance to their employers, and
frequently became honorary members of their white ‘families.’”43 She refers to
this social location as that of an “outsider within,” a status that provides a
privileged view of white society, yet one in which a black woman will never
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CHAPTER 35: STANDPOINT THEORY 453
belong. She agrees with other black feminists that “we have to see clearly that
we are a unique group set undeniably apart because of race and sex with a
unique set of challenges.”44 That different social location means that black
women’s way of knowing is different from Harding and Wood’s standpoint
epistemology.
I’ll use Collins’ words from her book Black Feminist Thought to describe the
four ways she says black women collectively validate what they know:45
1. Lived experience as a criterion of meaning. For most African American
women, individuals who have lived through the experience about
which they claim to be experts are more believable and credible than
those who have merely read or thought about such experiences.
2. The use of dialogue in assessing knowledge claims. For ideas to be tested
and validated, everyone in the group must participate. To refuse to join
in, especially if one really disagrees with what has been said, is seen as
“cheating.”
3. The ethic of caring. Emotion indicates that a speaker believes in the valid-
ity of an argument. The sound of what is being said is as important as
the words themselves, in what is, in a sense, a dialogue of reason and
emotion.
4. The ethic of personal accountability. Assessments of an individual’s knowl-
edge claims simultaneously evaluate an individual’s character, values,
and ethics.
Collins doesn’t claim that a black feminist standpoint epistemology provides
African American women with the best view of how the social world works. She
rejects an additive model of oppression that would claim that poor, black, lesbian
women are more oppressed than any other marginalized group. But when the
same ideas are validated through black feminist thought and from the standpoints
of other oppressed groups as well, those ideas become the least partial, most “objec-
tive” truths available.
ETHICAL REFLECTION: BENHABIB’S INTERACTIVE UNIVERSALISM
Seyla Benhabib has undertaken a formidable task. Recall that Enlightenment
thinkers such as Kant, Locke, and Habermas believed “that reason is a natural
disposition of the human mind, which when governed by proper education can
discover certain truths.” 46 Benhabib, who is a professor of political science and
philosophy at Yale University, wants to maintain that a universal ethical standard
is a viable possibility. But she also feels the force of three major attacks on
Enlightenment rationality in general, and Habermas’ discourse ethics in particu-
lar (see pages 225–226). Thus, she sets out to “defend the tradition of universal-
ism in the face of this triple-pronged critique by engaging the claims of feminism,
communitarianism, and postmodernism.” 47 At the same time, she wants to learn
from these theories and incorporate their insights into her interactive universal-
ism. I’ll discuss these charges in reverse order.
Postmodern critique. Recall that in his widely discussed 1984 treatise The
Postmodern Condition , Jean-François Lyotard declares that there are no longer any
grand narratives on which to base a universal version of truth. 48 Postmodernists
dismiss any a priori assumptions, or givens, that attempt to legitimate the moral
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454 CULTURAL CONTEXT
ideals of the Enlightenment and Western liberal democracy. They are suspicious
of consensus and Habermas’ attempt to legislate rationality. Benhabib sums up
the postmodern critique: “Transcendental guarantees of truth are dead . . . there
is only the endless struggle of local narratives vying with one another for legit-
imization.” 49 She appreciates the postmodern insistence that a moral point of
view is an accomplishment rather than a discovery, but she is not “content with
singing the swan-song of normative thinking in general.” 50 Benhabib holds out
the possibility that instead of reaching a consensus on how everyone should act ,
interacting individuals can align themselves with a common good .
Communitarian critique. If there is one commitment that draws commu-
nitarians and postmodernists together, it is the “critique of Western rationality
as seen from the perspective of the margins, from the standpoint of what and
whom it excludes, suppresses, delegitimatizes, renders mad, imbecilic or child-
ish.” 51 Benhabib realizes the danger of pressing a global moral template onto a
local situation. If we regard people as disembodied moral agents devoid of his-
tory, relationships, or obligations, we’ll be unable to deal with the messiness of
real-life contexts. To avoid this error, Benhabib insists that any panhuman ethic
be achieved through interaction with collective concrete others—ordinary people
who live in community—rather than imposed on them by a rational elite.
Feminist critique. Carol Gilligan, Deborah Tannen, Sandra Harding, Julia
Wood, and Cheris Kramarae (see Chapter 36) all agree that women’s experi-
ences and the way they talk about them are different from men’s. But, typical
of rationalistic approaches, Habermas virtually ignores gender distinctions. His
conception of discourse ethics speaks to issues of political and economic justice
in the masculine-dominated public sphere. Think about the activities to which
women have historically been confi ned—rearing children, housekeeping, satis-
fying the emotional and sexual needs of the male, tending to the sick and the
elderly. Habermas relegates these actions to a private sphere where norms of
freedom, equality, and reciprocity don’t seem to apply. 52 Because of its empha-
sis on open dialogue in which no topics are regarded as trivial, interactive
universalism would avoid privatizing women’s experiences.
Despite these three critiques, Benhabib believes that a new breed of universal
ethic is possible. “Such a universalism would be interactive not legislative, cog-
nizant of gender differences, not gender blind, contextually sensitive and not
situation indifferent.” 53 It would be a moral framework that values the diversity
of human beliefs without thinking that every difference is ethically signifi cant. 54
Perhaps it would include a commitment to help all people survive and thrive.
CRITIQUE: DO STANDPOINTS ON THE MARGINS GIVE A LESS FALSE VIEW?
Standpoint theory was originally developed to better appreciate the value of
women’s perspective. But other marginalized groups see the theory as offering
a rationale for privileging their experience and giving traction to their voice. For
example, Patricia Collins combines multiple standpoints of gender, ethnicity,
class, and sexuality to fashion a powerful critique of mainstream society’s ver-
sion of the way things are. The problem is that the more specifi c we become
about the standpoints from which people communicate, the more dubious
becomes the claim of group solidarity that’s at the heart of the theory. Julia Wood
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CHAPTER 35: STANDPOINT THEORY 455
says the concept of women as a single group is politically useful to bring about
needed reform, but is this core idea a reality or just a fi ction?
Feminist scholars such as Susan Hekman and Nancy Hirschmann are con-
cerned that Harding’s version of standpoint theory underestimates the role of
language in expressing one’s sense of self and view of the world. 55 As theorists
throughout this book have maintained, people’s communication choices are never
neutral or value-free, so people can’t separate their standpoint from the language
they use to describe it. The words they choose are inevitably infl uenced by their
cultural and societal fi lters. This critique of standpoint theory doesn’t negate the
importance of situated knowledge, but it complicates our reception of anyone’s
take on reality, whether it comes from the center or the margins of the social
fabric. In fact, voices from the edge might be particularly diffi cult to express, since
linguistic conventions traditionally are controlled by the privileged. This point is
developed in the context of muted group theory in the next chapter.
Finally, other critics dismiss the concept of strong objectivity as contradic-
tory.56 Harding and Wood propose that the oppressed are less biased or more
impartial than the privileged. Yet they argue that standpoints are relative and
can’t be evaluated by any absolute criteria. This appears to bring universal stan-
dards of judgment back into play. Thus, on the matter of transcendental truths,
the theory seems to want to have it both ways.
Despite these diffi culties, I fi nd the logic of standpoint theory appealing. If all
knowledge is tainted by the social location of the knower, then we would do well
to start our search for truth from the perspective of people who are most sensitive
to inequities of power. They will have the least to lose if fi ndings challenge the
status quo. Wood acknowledges that we may have trouble fi guring out which
social groups are more marginalized than others. As a white, professional woman,
is Wood lower on the social hierarchy than her African American male colleague
who has attained the same faculty rank at the university? Standpoint theory
doesn’t say, but it clearly suggests that we should question much of the received
wisdom that comes from a male-dominated, Western European research establish-
ment and replace it when a strong objectivity provides a more complete picture of
the world. (Pay close attention to the experiences of people like Aibileen and
Minny.) The idea energizes Idaho State University rhetorician Lynn Worsham and
others who believe that minority standpoints can be a partial corrective to the
biased knowledge that now passes for truth:
In what I consider, in all sincerity, to be a heroic and marvelous conception, Hard-
ing turns the tables on philosophy and the sciences and constructs a sort of femi-
nist alchemy in which the idea of standpoint, revamped by postmodern philosophy,
becomes the philosophers’ stone capable of transforming the West’s base materials
into resources for producing a more “generally useful account of the world.” 57
QUESTIONS TO SHARPEN YOUR FOCUS
1. What is common to the standpoints of women, African Americans, the poor, and
homosexuals that may provide them with a less false view of the way society
works?
2. How could we test the claim that strong objectivity from women’s lives provides
a more accurate view of the world than knowledge generated by a pre-
dominantly male research establishment?
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456 CULTURAL CONTEXT
A SECOND LOOK Recommended resource: Julia T. Wood, Communication Theories in Action, 3 rd ed.,
Wadsworth, Belmont, CA, 2004, pp. 212–220.
Comprehensive statement: Sandra Harding, Whose Science? Whose Knowledge? Thinking
from Women’s Lives, Cornell University Press, Ithaca, NY, 1991.
Diverse forms of standpoint theory: Sandra Harding (ed.), The Feminist Standpoint Theory
Reader: Intellectual and Political Controversies, Routledge, New York, 2004.
Explanation and defense of strong objectivity: Sandra Harding, “Rethinking Stand-
point Epistemology: What Is ‘Strong Objectivity’?” in The Feminist Standpoint Theory
Reader, pp. 127–140.
Reconstruction of scientifi c objectivity: Sandra Harding, Is Science Multicultural? Postco-
lonialisms, Feminisms and Epistemologies, Indiana University, Bloomington, 1998.
Standpoint critique of science: Sandra Harding, Science and Social Inequality: Feminist and
Postcolonial Issues , University of Illinois, Urbana, 2006, pp. 80–97.
Avoiding essentialism: Julia T. Wood, “Gender and Moral Voice: Moving from Woman’s
Nature to Standpoint Epistemology,” Women’s Studies in Communication, Vol. 15, 1993, pp. 1–24.
Women and care: Julia T. Wood, Who Cares? Women, Care, and Culture, Southern Illinois
University Press, Carbondale, 1994.
Standpoint of women in communication discipline: Lynn O’Brien Hallstein (ed.), Women’s
Studies in Communication, Vol. 23, Spring 2000 (special issue on standpoint theories).
Black feminist thought: Patricia Hill Collins, Black Feminist Thought: Knowledge, Con-
sciousness, and the Politics of Empowerment, 2 nd ed., Routledge, New York, 2000.
Collins’ stand on standpoint theory: Patricia Hill Collins, Fighting Words: Black Women
and the Search for Justice, University of Minnesota, Minneapolis, 1998, pp. 201–228.
Comparing two feminist theories: Julia T. Wood, “Feminist Standpoint Theory and
Muted Group Theory: Commonalities and Divergences,” Women and Language, Vol. 28,
2005, pp. 61–64.
Interactive universalism: Seyla Benhabib, Situating the Self: Gender, Community and Post-
modernism in Contemporary Ethics, Routledge, New York, 1992.
Feminist critiques: Susan Hekman, “Truth and Method: Feminist Standpoint Theory
Revisited” in The Feminist Standpoint Theory Reader, pp. 225–241; Lynn Worsham, “Romanc-
ing the Stones: My Movie Date with Sandra Harding,” Journal of Advanced Composition,
Vol. 15, 1995, pp. 565–571.

3. Andrew, Glenn, and I are privileged white males who decided which theo-
ries would be covered in this book. Suppose we were disadvantaged African
American women. What theories might we drop and which might we keep?
Why might this be a ridiculous question?
4. Standpoint epistemology draws on insights from Marxism, symbolic interaction-
ism, and postmodernism. Based on what you’ve read in this chapter, which of
these intellectual infl uences do you see as strongest? Why?
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457
36C H A P T E R
Muted Group Theory
of Cheris Kramarae
Cheris Kramarae maintains that language is literally a man -made construction.
The language of a particular culture does not serve all its speakers equally, for not
all speakers contribute in an equal fashion to its formulation. Women (and mem-
bers of other subordinate groups) are not as free or as able as men are to say what
they wish, when and where they wish, because the words and the norms for their
use have been formulated by the dominant group, men. 1
According to Kramarae and other feminist theorists, women’s words are dis-
counted in our society; women’s thoughts are devalued. When women try to
overcome this inequity, the masculine control of communication places them at
a tremendous disadvantage. Man-made language “aids in defi ning, depreciating
and excluding women.” 2 Women are thus a muted group.
For many years Kramarae was a professor of speech communication and
sociology at the University of Illinois. She has also served as a dean for the
International Women’s University in Germany and is now a visiting professor at
the Center for the Study of Women in Society at the University of Oregon. She
began her research career in 1974 when she conducted a systematic study of the
way women were portrayed in cartoons. 3 She found that women were notable
mostly by their absence. A quick survey of the cartoon art we’ve used in this
book will show that little has changed since Kramarae’s study. Less than half of
the 52 cartoons contain female characters, and only 14 of these women speak.
All but two of the cartoonists are men.
Kramarae discovered that women in cartoons were usually depicted
as emotional, apologetic, or just plain wishy-washy. Compared with the simple,
forceful statements voiced by cartoon males, the words assigned to female
characters were vague, fl owery, and peppered with adjectives like nice and
pretty. Kramarae noted at the time that women who don’t appreciate this form
of comic put-down are often accused by men of having no sense of humor
or simply told to “lighten up.” According to Kramarae, this type of male dom-
inance is just one of the many ways that women are rendered inarticulate
in our society. For the last 40 years Kramarae has been a leader in the effort
to explain and alter the muted status of women and other marginalized
groups.
Objective Interpretive
Critical tradition
Phenomenological tradition
●
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458 CULTURAL CONTEXT
MUTED GROUPS: BLACK HOLES IN SOMEONE ELSE’S UNIVERSE
The idea of women as a muted group was fi rst proposed by Oxford University
social anthropologist Edwin Ardener. In his monograph “Belief and the Problem
of Women,” Ardener noted the strange tendency of many ethnographers to claim
to have “cracked the code” of a culture without ever making any direct reference
to the half of society made up of women. Field researchers often justify this
omission by reporting the diffi culty of using women as cultural informants.
Females “giggle when young, snort when old, reject the question, laugh at the
topic,” and generally make life diffi cult for scholars trained in the scientifi c (mas-
culine) method of inquiry. 4 Ardener acknowledged the challenge, but he also
reminded his colleagues how suspicious they’d be of an anthropologist who
wrote about the men of a tribe on the sole basis of talking to the women.
Ardener initially assumed that inattention to women’s experience was a prob-
lem of gender unique to social anthropology. But along with his Oxford co-worker
and wife Shirley Ardener, he began to realize that mutedness is due to the lack
of power that besets any group occupying the low end of the totem pole. Muted-
ness doesn’t mean that low-power groups are completely silent.5 The issue is
whether people can say what they want to say when and where they want to say
it. Muted groups must change their language when communicating in the public
domain, and thus cannot fully share their true thoughts.6 As a result, they are
often overlooked, muffl ed, and rendered invisible—“mere black holes in someone
else’s universe.”7
Cheris Kramarae believes that men’s dominant power position in society
limits women’s access to communication in public spaces. Her extension of the
Ardeners’ initial concept offers insight into why women are muted and what can
be done to loosen men’s lock on public modes of communication. Kramarae
argues that the ever-prevalent public–private distinction in language is a conve-
nient way to exaggerate gender differences and pose separate sexual spheres of
activity. This is, of course, a pitfall into which Deborah Tannen virtually leaps
(see Chapter 34). Within the logic of a two-sphere assumption, women speak
often in the home—a “small world” of interpersonal communication. But their
words appear less often in the “large world” of signifi cant public debate—a place
where the words of men resonate.
Elizabeth, who is now a grad student at Purdue University preparing to
become a professor of critical rhetoric, describes how men’s public discourse
shapes the meaning of one of her favorite activities:
I am a passionate knitter. In the dominant communication code, knitting is associ-
ated with domestic women. I cannot count the number of times when men have
made jokes or comments about me preparing to be a good wife, or looking for a
husband, while I am knitting. But I knit because I enjoy it. I love working with my
hands and knitting makes a good change from schoolwork. My choice to knit has
nothing to do with fi nding a husband or preparing to be a housewife. Still, even
though knitting is an activity that is primarily engaged in by women, it is men
who defi ne its meaning.
Kramarae wonders what it would be like if there were a word that pointed
to the connection of public and private communication. If there were such a word
in everyone’s speaking vocabulary, its use would establish the idea that both
spheres have equal worth and that similarities between women and men are more
Muted group
People belonging to low-
power groups who must
change their language
when communicating
publicly, thus, their ideas
are often overlooked;
e.g., women.
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CHAPTER 36: MUTED GROUP THEORY 459
important than their differences. Since there is no such word in our lexicon, I think
of this textbook as a public mode of communication. I am male, as are the other
two authors of this book. I realize that in the process of trying to present muted
group theory with integrity, I may unconsciously put a masculine spin on Kra-
marae’s ideas and the perceptions of women. In an effort to minimize this bias, I
will quote extensively from Kramarae and other feminist scholars. Kramarae is
just one of many communication professionals who seek to unmask the systematic
silencing of a feminine voice. I’ll also draw freely on the words and experiences
of other women to illustrate the communication double bind that Kramarae says
is a feminine fact of life. This reliance on personal narrative is consistent with a
feminist research agenda that takes women’s experiences seriously.
THE MASCULINE POWER TO NAME EXPERIENCE
Kramarae starts with the assumption that “women perceive the world differently
from men because of women’s and men’s different experience and activities
rooted in the division of labor.” 8 Kramarae rejects Freud’s simplistic notion that
“anatomy is destiny.” She is certain, however, that power discrepancies between
the sexes ensure that women will view the world in a way different from men.
While women vary in many ways, in most cultures, if not all, women’s talk is
subject to male control and censorship. French existentialist Simone de Beauvoir
underscored this common feminine experience when she declared, “‘I am
woman’: on this truth must be based all further discussion.” 9
The problem facing women, according to Kramarae, is that further discussions
about how the world works never take place on a level playing fi eld. “Because of
their political dominance, the men’s system of perception is dominant, impeding
the free expression of the women’s alternative models of the world.” 10
Note that my phrase level playing fi eld is a metaphor drawn from competitive
team sports—historically, an experience familiar to more men than women. This
is precisely Kramarae’s point. As possessors of the public mode of expression,
men frame the discussion. If a man wants to contest the point about a tilted
playing fi eld, he can argue in the familiar idiom of sports. But a woman who
takes issue with the metaphor of competition has to contest it with stereotypi-
cally masculine linguistic terms.
Mead’s symbolic interactionist perspective asserts that the extent of knowing
is the extent of naming (see Chapter 5). If this is true, whoever has the ability to
make names stick possesses an awesome power. Kramarae notes that men’s con-
trol of the dominant mode of expression has produced a vast stock of derogatory,
gender-specifi c terms to refer to women’s talking— catty, bitchy, shrill, cackling,
gossipy, chitchat, sharp-tongued, and so forth. There is no corresponding vocabu-
lary to disparage men’s conversation.
In case you think this lexical bias is limited to descriptions of speech, consider
the variety of terms in the English language to describe sexually promiscuous
individuals. By one count, there are 22 gender-related words to label men who are
sexually loose— playboy, stud, rake, gigolo, player, Don Juan, lothario, womanizer, and
so on. There are more than 200 words that label sexually loose women— slut, whore,
hooker, prostitute, trollop, mistress, harlot, Jezebel, hussy, concubine, streetwalker, strum-
pet, easy lay, and the like. 11 Since most surveys of sexual activity show that more
men than women have multiple sexual partners, there’s no doubt that the inordi-
nate number of terms describing women serves the interests of men.
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460 CULTURAL CONTEXT
Under the socio-cultural tradition in Chapter 4, we introduced the Sapir-Whorf
hypothesis, which claims that language shapes our perception of reality. Kramarae
suggests that women are often silenced by not having a publicly recognized
vocabulary through which to express their experience. She says that “words
constantly ignored may eventually come to be unspoken and perhaps even
unthought.” 12 After a while, muted women may even come to doubt the validity
of their experience and the legitimacy of their feelings.
SPEAKING WOMEN’S TRUTH IN MEN’S TALK: THE PROBLEM OF TRANSLATION
MEN AS THE GATEKEEPERS OF COMMUNICATION
Even if the public mode of expression contained a rich vocabulary to describe
feminine experience, women would still be muted if their modes of expression
were ignored or ridiculed. Indeed, Kramarae describes a “good-ole-boys” cul-
tural establishment of gatekeepers that virtually excludes women’s art, poetry,
plays, fi lm scripts, public address, and scholarly essays from society’s mass
media. She notes that women were locked out of the publishing business for
500 years. It wasn’t until the 1970s and the establishment of women’s presses in
the Western world that women could exercise ongoing infl uence through the
print medium. The electronic age provides women with additional opportunities
to publish on blogs and wikis. Of course, most people look for information
through search engines such as Google—and the vast majority of technology
companies are led by men. Overall, Kramarae sees traditional mainstream mass
media as malestream expression.
Long before Edwin Ardener noted women’s absence in anthropological
research, Virginia Woolf protested women’s nonplace in recorded history. The
British novelist detected an incongruity between the way men characterize women
in fi ction and how women concurrently appear in history books. “Imaginatively
she is of the highest importance; practically she is completely insignifi cant. She
pervades poetry from cover to cover; she is all but absent from history.” 13
Feminist writer Dorothy Smith claims that women’s absence from history is
a result of closed-circuit masculine scholarship.
Men attend to and treat as signifi cant only what men say. The circle of men whose
writing and talk was signifi cant to each other extends backwards in time as far as
our records reach. What men were doing was relevant to men, was written by men
about men for men. Men listened and listen to what one another said. 14
As an example of men’s control of the public record, Cheris Kramarae cites
the facts surrounding her change of name. When she was married in Ohio, the
law required her to take the name of her husband. So at the direction of the state,
she became Cheris Rae Kramer. Later, when it became legal for her to choose her
own name, she reordered the sounds and spelling to Cheris Kramarae. Many
people questioned Kramarae about whether her name change was either loving or
wise. Yet no one asked her husband why he kept his name. Kramarae points out
that both the law and the conventions of proper etiquette have served men well.
Gatekeepers
Editors and other arbiters
of culture who determine
which books, essays,
poems, plays, film
scripts, etc. will appear
in the mass media.
Assuming masculine dominance of public communication to be a current reality,
Kramarae concludes that “in order to participate in society women must trans-
form their own models in terms of the received male system of expression.” 15
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CHAPTER 36: MUTED GROUP THEORY 461
Like speaking a second language, this translation process requires constant effort
and usually leaves a woman wondering whether she’s said it “just right.” One
woman writer said men can “tell it straight.” Women have to “tell it slant.” 16
Think back again to Mead’s symbolic interactionism (see Chapter 5). His
theory describes minding as an automatic pause before we speak in order to
consider how those who are listening might respond. These periods of hesitation
grow longer when we feel linguistically impoverished. According to Kramarae,
women have to choose their words carefully in a public forum. “What women
want to say and can say best cannot be said easily because the language template
is not of their own making.” 17
I have gained a new appreciation of the diffi culty women face in translating
their experiences into man-made language by discussing Kramarae’s ideas with
three female friends. Marsha, Kathy, and Susan have consciously sought and
achieved positions of leadership in professions where women are rarely seen
or  heard.
Marsha is a litigation attorney who was the fi rst female president of the
Hillsborough County Bar Association (Florida) and was chair of a branch of the
Federal Reserve Board. Marsha attributes her success to a conscious shifting of
gears when she addresses the law.
I’ve learned to talk like a man. I consciously lower my voice, speak more slowly,
think bigger, and use sports analogies. I care about my appearance, but a woman
who is too attractive or too homely has a problem. A man can be drop-dead gor-
geous or ugly as sin and get along OK. I’ve been told that I’m the most feared and
respected attorney in the fi rm, but that’s not the person I live with day by day. After
work I go home and make reindeer pins out of dog biscuits with my daughters.
Kathy is an ordained minister who works with high school students and
young adults. She is the best speaker I’ve ever heard in a public address class.
Working in an organization that traditionally excludes women from up-front
speaking roles, Kathy is recognized as a star communicator. Like Marsha, she
feels women have little margin for error when they speak in public.
Women have to work both sides to pull it off. I let my appearance and delivery say
feminine—jewelry, lipstick, warm soft voice. But I plan my content to appeal to men
as well. I can’t get away with just winging it. I prepare carefully, know my script, use
lots of imagery from the world of guys. Girls learn to be interested in whatever men
want to talk about, but men aren’t used to listening to the things that interest women.
I rarely refer to cooking or movies that might be dismissed as “chick fl icks.”
Susan is the academic dean of a professional school within a university.
When her former college closed, Susan orchestrated the transfer of her entire
program and faculty to another university. She’s received the Professional of the
Year award in her fi eld. When she fi rst attended her national deans’ association,
only 8 out of 50 members were women.
I was very silent. I hated being there. If you didn’t communicate by the men’s
rules you were invisible. The star performers were male and they came on strong.
But no one was listening; everyone was preparing their own response. The meet-
ing oozed one-upmanship. At the reception it was all “Hail fellow well met.” You
wouldn’t dare say, “Look, I’m having this rough situation I’m dealing with. Have
you ever faced this problem?” It was only when some of the women got together
for coffee or went shopping that I could be open about my experiences.
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462 CULTURAL CONTEXT
Although their status and abilities clearly show that Marsha, Kathy, and Susan
are remarkable individuals, their experience as women in male hierarchical struc-
tures supports muted group theory. Kramarae says that “men have structured a
value system and a language that refl ects that value system. Women have had
to work through the system organized by men.” 18 For women with less skill and
self-confi dence than Marsha, Kathy, or Susan, that prospect can be daunting.
“The committee on women’s rights will now come to order.”
Reproduced by permission of Punch Ltd., www.punch.co.uk
SPEAKING OUT IN PRIVATE: NETWORKING WITH WOMEN
Susan’s relief at the chance to talk freely with other female deans illustrates a
central tenet of muted group theory. Kramarae states that “females are likely to
fi nd ways to express themselves outside the dominant public modes of expression
used by males in both their verbal conventions and their nonverbal behavior.” 19
Kramarae lists a variety of back-channel routes that women use to discuss
their experiences—diaries, journals, letters, oral histories, folklore, gossip, chants,
art, graffi ti, poetry, songs, nonverbal parodies, gynecological handbooks passed
between women for centuries, and a “mass of ‘noncanonized’ writers whose rich-
ness and diversity we are only just beginning to comprehend.” 20 She labels these
outlets the female “sub-version” that runs beneath the surface of male orthodoxy.
Today, Pinterest posts may be the latest version of these back channels.
Although the popular, visually oriented social media site is available to men, so
far they’ve shown little interest in it.21 That wouldn’t surprise Kramarae—she
notes that men are often oblivious to the shared meanings women communicate
through alternative channels. In fact, Kramarae is convinced that “males have
more diffi culty than females in understanding what members of the other gender
mean.” 22 She doesn’t ascribe men’s bewilderment to biological differences
between the sexes or to women’s attempts to conceal their experience. Rather,
she suggests that when men don’t have a clue about what women want, think,
or feel, it’s because they haven’t made the effort to fi nd out.
When British author Dale Spender was editor of Women’s Studies International
Quarterly, she offered a further interpretation of men’s ignorance. She proposed
that many men realize that a commitment to listen to women would necessarily
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CHAPTER 36: MUTED GROUP THEORY 463
ENRICHING THE LEXICON: A FEMINIST DICTIONARY
Like other forms of critical theory, feminist theory is not content to merely point
out asymmetries in power. The ultimate goal of muted group theory is to change
the man-made linguistic system that keeps women “in their place.” According
to Kramarae, reform includes challenging dictionaries that “ignore the words
and defi nitions created by women and which also include many sexist defi ni-
tions and examples.” 24 Traditional dictionaries pose as authoritative guides to
proper language use, but, because of their reliance on male literary sources,
lexicographers systematically exclude words coined by women.
Kramarae and Paula Treichler have compiled a feminist dictionary that offers
defi nitions for women’s words that don’t appear in Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate
Dictionary and presents alternative feminine readings of words that do. The dic-
tionary “places women at the center and rethinks language from that crucially
different perspective.”25 Kramarae and Treichler don’t claim that all women use
words the same way, nor do they believe women constitute a single, unifi ed
group. But they include women’s defi nitions of approximately 2,500 words in
order to illustrate women’s linguistic creativity and to help empower women to
change their muted status. Figure 36–1 provides a sample of brief entries and
acknowledges their origin.
SEXUAL HARASSMENT: COINING A TERM TO LABEL EXPERIENCE
Perhaps more than any other single entry in the Kramarae and Treichler diction-
ary, the inclusion of sexual harassment illustrates a major achievement of feminist
communication scholarship—encoding women’s experience into the received
language of society. Although stories of unwanted sexual attention on the job are
legion, women haven’t always had a common term to label what has been an
ongoing fact of feminine life.
In 1992, the Journal of Applied Communication Research published 30 stories of
communication students and professionals who had been sexually embarrassed,
humiliated, or traumatized by a person who was in a position of academic power.
All but 2 of the 30 accounts came from women. As Kramarae notes, “Sexual harass-
ment is rampant but not random.” 26 One woman wrote this account of her attempt
to talk to a senior professor who had made an unsolicited sexual advance:
I was at a disadvantage in our “open talk,” because I approached it as a chance to
clarify feelings while he used it as an occasion to reinterpret and redefi ne what
was happening in ways that suited his purposes. I told him I didn’t feel right
“being so friendly” with him. He replied that I was over-reacting and, further, that
my small-town southern upbringing was showing. . . . I told him I was concerned
that he wasn’t being objective about my work, but was praising it because he
wanted to be “friends” with me; he twisted this, explaining he was judging my
work fairly, BUT that being “friends” did increase his interest in helping me pro-
fessionally. No matter what I said, he had a response that defi ned my feelings as
inappropriate. 27
Sexual harassment
An unwanted imposition
of sexual requirements in
the context of a relation-
ship of unequal power.
involve a renunciation of their privileged position. “The crucial issue here is that
if women cease to be muted, men cease to be so dominant and to some males
this may seem unfair because it represents a loss of rights.” 23 A man can dodge
that equalizing bullet by claiming, “I’ll never understand women.”
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464 CULTURAL CONTEXT
FIGURE 36–1 Excerpts from Kramarae and Treichler’s Feminist Dictionary
Kramarae and Treichler, A Feminist Dictionary: Amazons, Bluestockings and Crones
Appearance: A woman’s appearance is her work uniform. . . . A woman’s concern with her appearance
is not a result of brainwashing; it is a reaction to necessity. (A Redstockings Sister)
Cuckold: The husband of an unfaithful wife. The wife of an unfaithful husband is just called a wife.
(Cheris Kramarae)
Depression: A psychiatric label that . . . hides the social fact of the housewife’s loneliness, low
self-esteem, and work dissatisfaction. (Ann Oakley)
Doll: A toy playmate given to, or made by children. Some adult males continue their childhood by
labeling adult female companions “dolls.” (Cheris Kramarae)
Family man: Refers to a man who shows more concern with members of the family than is normal.
There is no label family woman, since that would be heard as redundancy. (Cheris Kramarae)
Feminist: “I myself have never been able to find out precisely what feminism is: I only know that people
call me a feminist whenever I express sentiments that differentiate me from a doormat.” (Rebecca West)
Gossip: A way of talking between women in their roles as women, intimate in style, personal and
domestic in topic and setting; a female cultural event which springs from and perpetuates the restrictions
of the female role, but also gives the comfort of validation. (Deborah Jones)
Guilt: The emotion that stops women from doing what they may need to do to take care of themselves
as opposed to everyone else. (Mary Ellen Shanesey)
Herstory: The human story as told by women and about women. . . . (Anne Forfreedom)
Ms.: A form of address being adopted by women who want to be recognized as individuals rather than
being identified by their relationship with a man. (Midge Lennert and Norma Wilson)
One of the boys: Means NOT one of the girls. (Cheris Kramarae)
Parenthood: A condition which often brings dramatic changes to new mothers — “loss of job, income,
and status; severing of networks and social contacts; and adjustments to being a ‘housewife.’ Most new
fathers do not report similar social dislocations.” (Lorna McKee and Margaret O’Brien)
Pornography: Pornography is the theory and rape is the practice. (Andrea Dworkin)
Sexual harassment: Refers to the unwanted imposition of sexual requirements in the context of a
relationship of unequal power. (Catharine MacKinnon)
Silence: Is not golden. “There is no agony like bearing an untold story inside you.” (Zora Neale Hurston)
“In a world where language and naming are power, silence is oppressive, is violence.” (Adrienne Rich)
Muted group theory can explain this woman’s sense of confusion and lack of
power. Her story is as much about a struggle for language as it is a struggle over
sexual conduct. As long as the professor can defi ne his actions as “being friendly,”
the female student’s feelings are discounted—even by herself. Had she been
equipped with the linguistic tool of “sexual harassment,” she could have validated
her feelings and labeled the professor’s advances as both inappropriate and illegal.
Communication professor Ann Burnett (North Dakota State University)
identifi es similar confusion and powerlessness regarding date rape—an acute
form of sexual harassment often directed at college women. Although students
possess a relatively clear understanding of stranger rape, they have diffi culty
even defi ning date rape. That confusion is only hei ghtened by rape myths com-
mon on campuses. (“All guys expect sex on a fi rst date.” “Women who dress a
certain way are just asking for it.”) Burnett notes that although universities offer
programs addressing drug and alcohol abuse, few similar programs exist regard-
ing date rape. There’s further uncertainty when a woman tries to say no, because
men and women often don’t agree on what constitutes sexual consent. After a
Date rape
Unwanted sexual activity
with an acquaintance,
friend, or romantic
partner.
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CHAPTER 36: MUTED GROUP THEORY 465
date rape, the lack of clarity makes the victim feel confused and uncertain about
what she’s experienced. Talking about the incident with friends doesn’t always
help: “After the rape occurs, both women and male acquaintances blame the
victim for not being more ‘sensible.’ This vicious circle mutes women by making
them feel badly for not ‘doing enough’ to protect themselves, but sadly, the
ambiguity arises, what is ‘enough’?”28 This uncertainty favors men—and mutes
women—before, during, and after date rape.
According to Kramarae, when sexual harassment was fi rst used in a court case
in the late 1970s, it was the only legal term defi ned by women. Although date rape
and rape culture are beginning to enter our cultural vocabulary, research like Bur-
nett’s indicates that many men don’t understand what women mean by these terms.
For muted group theory, the struggle to contest man-made language continues.
CO-CULTURAL THEORY: HOW MUTED GROUPS TALK TO DOMINANT GROUPS
Kramarae acknowledges that women aren’t the only muted group. Western
Michigan University professor Mark Orbe agrees. His co-cultural theory extends
Kramarae’s work to understand how members of any muted group cope with
their status when communicating with dominant groups. From interviews with
“people of color, women, gay/lesbian/bisexuals, and those from a lower socio-
economic status,” he discovered that the way members of muted groups com-
municate with the dominant culture depends on their preferred outcome, or goal,
for the interaction.29 Specifi cally, Orbe found three common goals.
One goal is assimilation, or blending in with the domin ant group. When Brit-
ish author Joanne Rowling wrote her fi rst fantasy novel for kids, her publisher
insisted on printing the book using initials rather than her fi rst name, fearing
boys wouldn’t read a story written by a woman.30 This is not an isolated incident.
Throughout literary history, many women have suppressed their feminine
identity to satisfy the demands of a gatekeeper. In the end, the author of Harry
Potter became one of the wealthiest women in the world. In other cases, such a
go-along-to-get-along approach may be unsatisfying if the dominant group sim-
ply ignores the unique identity of the muted group.
A second option is separation, or minimizing any contact with the dominant
group. For more than a century this has been the approach of the Amish in the
northeastern United States. Their technologically simple lifestyle includes only
limited contact with the world beyond their community.
A third approach is accommodation, or trying to persuade the dominant cul-
ture to “change the rules so that they incorporate the life experiences” of muted
groups.31 In U.S. history, the movements for women’s suffrage, African American
civil rights, and same-sex marriage are all examples of the accommodation
approach.
On college campuses, Orbe’s research has identifi ed fi rst-generation college
students as a muted group.32 First-generation students encounter an unfamiliar
world of syllabi, fraternities, sports, dorms, and, of course, complex theories and
ideas. It’s an especially rough transition for students whose relatives can’t fully
understand the experience. Some family members might express skepticism in the
value of “book learning.” In addition, many fi rst-generation students come from
a position of lower socioeconomic status than their peers. To manage their con-
stant feeling of difference, some students assimilate by avoiding topics that would
reveal their family’s educational background. Other students accommodate by
Preferred outcome
A co-culture’s goal for
interaction with the
dominant group.
Assimilation
Blending in with the
dominant group.
Separation
Minimizing contact with
the dominant group.
Accommodation
Persuading the dominant
group to incorporate
the experiences of the
co-cultural group.
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466 CULTURAL CONTEXT
sharing their fi rst-generation status with a few people they can trust. Orbe found
that fi rst-generation students especially benefi t when they fi nd trusted mentors
who provide academic advice and emotional support. Of course, separation is
another option. Statistics gathered by the U.S. Department of Education reveal
many fi rst-generation students do just that—they are more than twice as likely to
drop out as students whose parents attended college.33
Orbe’s theory has yielded insights into several co-cultural groups, ranging
from ethnic minorities to physically disabled workers.34 As an interpretive the-
ory, co-cultural theory does not prescribe which of the three goals is most effec-
tive. Rather, the theory recognizes that the best choice depends on the unique
circumstances of the co-culture.
CRITIQUE: DO MEN MEAN TO MUTE?
In 2005, a group of scholars met at George Mason University to celebrate muted
group theory’s insight into how people use language to shape power relations.
Convention speakers from two continents addressed the theory’s relevance not only
for women, but also for any group at the margins of society. The convention
refl ected the theory’s broad community of agreement, and their words, later published
in a special issue of the journal Women and Language, revealed their dedication to
understanding people, clarifying values, and reforming society.35 Muted group theory
stands up well to these criteria for good critical scholarship (see Chapter 3).
Feminist scholars insist that “the key communication activities of women’s
experiences—their rituals, vocabularies, metaphors, and stories—are an important
part of the data for study.” 36 In this chapter I’ve presented the words of 30 women
who give voice to the mutedness they’ve experienced because they aren’t men. I
could have easily cited hundreds more. It strikes me that ignoring or discounting
women’s testimony would be the ultimate confi rmation of Kramarae’s muted
group thesis.
Readers might be uncomfortable with muted group theory’s characterization
of men as oppressors and women as the oppressed. Kramarae addresses this
issue:
Some people using the theory have boxed oppression within discrete, binary cat-
egories, e.g., women/men; AfricanAmericans/EuroAmericans. A focus only on the
categories of women and men, or white and non-white, for example, is simplistic
and ignores other forms of struggle. . . .37
Kramarae acknowledges that oppression is more complex than identifi cation
with any one group. Yet she also states that “fi xing names to the ones we call
‘oppressors’ may be necessary in order to have clear discussions” about oppres-
sive power differences.38 How can we name an oppressive group without speak-
ing in terms of demographic categories? The theory’s lack of clarity regarding
this thorny question may frustrate activists looking for practical answers.
The question of men’s motives is also problematic. Tannen criticizes feminist
scholars like Kramarae for assuming that men are trying to control women. Tannen
acknowledges that differences in male and female communication styles some-
times lead to imbalances of power, but, unlike Kramarae, she is willing to assume
that the problems are caused primarily by men’s and women’s “different styles.”
Tannen cautions that “bad feelings and imputation of bad motives or bad charac-
ter can come about when there was no intention to dominate.” 39
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CHAPTER 36: MUTED GROUP THEORY 467
Kramarae thinks Tannen’s apology for men’s abuse of power is too simple.
She notes that men often ignore or ridicule women’s statements about the prob-
lems of being heard in a male-dominated society. Rather than blaming style dif-
ferences, Kramarae points to the many ways that our political, educational,
religious, legal, and media systems support gender, race, and class hierarchies.
Your response to muted group theory may well depend on whether you are a
benefi ciary or a victim of these systems.
For men and women who are willing to hear what Kramarae has to say, the
consciousness-raising fostered by muted group theory can prod them to quit
using words in a way that preserves inequities of power. The term sexual harass-
ment is just one example of how women’s words can be levered into the public
lexicon and give voice to women’s collective experience. Phrases like glass ceiling
and date rape weren’t even around when Kramarae and Treichler compiled their
feminist dictionary in 1985, but now these terms are available to label social and
professional injustices that women face. Cheris Kramarae’s insights and declara-
tions of women as a group muted by men have helped shake up traditional
patterns of communication between the sexes.
QUESTIONS TO SHARPEN YOUR FOCUS
1. What words do you use with your same-sex friends that you don’t use with
members of the opposite sex? Does this usage support Kramarae’s hypoth-
esis of male control of the public mode of expression?
2. In a journal article about dictionary bias, Kramarae wrote the sentence “I
vaginated on that for a while.” 40 Can you explain her wordplay in light of
the principles of muted group theory? How does the meaning of the sentence
change when you replace her provocative term with alternative verbs?
3. Given a defi nition of sexual harassment as “unwanted imposition of sexual
requirements in the context of a relationship of unequal power,” can you think
of a time you harassed or were harassed in this way by someone?
4. Do you tend to agree more with Tannen’s genderlect perspective or Krama-
rae’s muted group theory? To what extent is your choice infl uenced by the
fact that you are a male or a female?
In my conversation with Cheris Kramarae, she suggests that the creation of
university departments of women’s studies is an encouraging sign that women
aren’t doomed to remain muted. When I asked if there should also be a “men’s
studies” program, her unexpected response not only made me laugh but also
underscored the rationale for her theory. Describing her Encyclopedia of Women’s
Experience entry on witches, she gives a fascinating account of how the meaning
of that word has changed to women’s disadvantage. I conclude the interview by
asking Kramarae to look back on our conversation to see if I had said or done
something that constrained what she said. See if you agree with her assessment.
CONVERSATIONS
View this segment online at
www.mhhe.com/griffi n9e or
www.afi rstlook.com.
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468 CULTURAL CONTEXT
A SECOND LOOK Recommended resource: “Cheris Kramarae,” in Feminist Rhetorical Theories, Karen A.
Foss, Sonja K. Foss, and Cindy L. Griffi n, Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 1999, pp. 38–68.
Comprehensive statement: Cheris Kramarae, Women and Men Speaking, Newbury House,
Rowley, MA, 1981, pp. v–ix, 1–63.
Original concept of mutedness: Edwin Ardener, “Belief and the Problem of Women”
and “The ‘Problem’ Revisited,” in Perceiving Women, Shirley Ardener (ed.), Malaby,
London, 1975, pp. 1–27.
Kramarae’s refl ection on her theory: Cheris Kramarae, “Muted Group Theory and Com-
munication: Asking Dangerous Questions,” Women and Language, Vol. 22, 2005, pp. 55–61.
Dictionary of women’s words: Cheris Kramarae and Paula Treichler, A Feminist Diction-
ary: Amazons, Bluestockings and Crones, 2 nd ed., Pandora, London, 1992.
Worldwide feminist scholarship: Cheris Kramarae and Dale Spender (eds.), Routledge
International Encyclopedia of Women: Global Women’s Issues and Knowledge (4 vol.), Rout-
ledge, New York, 2000.
Sexual harassment: Julia T. Wood (ed.), “Special Section—‘Telling Our Stories’: Sexual
Harassment in the Communication Discipline,” Journal of Applied Communication Research,
Vol. 20, 1992, pp. 349–418.
Date rape and muting: Ann Burnett, Jody L. Mattern, Liliana L. Herakova, David H.
Kahl Jr., Cloy Tobola, and Susan E. Bornsen, “Communicating/Muting Date Rape: A Co-
Cultural Theoretical Analysis of Communication Factors Related to Rape Culture on a
College Campus,” Journal of Applied Communication Research, Vol. 37, 2009, pp. 465–485.
Alternative interpretations of gender differences in discourse: Candace West, Michelle M.
Lazar, and Cheris Kramarae, “Gender in Discourse,” in Discourse as Social Interaction, Vol.
2, Teun van Dijk (ed.), Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 1997, pp. 119–143.
Foundational statement of co-cultural theory: Mark P. Orbe, “From the Standpoint(s) of
Traditionally Muted Groups: Explicating a Co-Cultural Communication Theoretical
Model,” Communication Theory, Vol. 8, 1998, pp. 1–26.
Recent application of co-cultural theory to the college experience: Cerise L. Glenn and Dante
L. Johnson, “‘What They See as Acceptable:’ A Co-Cultural Theoretical Analysis of Black
Male Students at a Predominantly White Institution,” Howard Journal of Communications,
Vol. 23, 2012, pp. 351–368.
Critique: Celia J. Wall and Pat Gannon-Leary, “A Sentence Made by Men: Muted
Group Theory Revisited,” European Journal of Women’s Studies, Vol. 6, 1999, pp. 21–29.
To discover scenes from feature fi lms that illustrate Muted Group Theory,
click on Suggested Movie Clips under Theory Resources at
www.afi rstlook.com.

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469
DIVISION SIX
Integration
CHAPTER 37. Common Threads in Comm Theories
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470
By the end of the term, most students have decided which type of theory they
favor—objective or interpretive. If you’ve made your choice, consider four distinct
ways you can respond to classmates, instructors, or others who don’t share your
preference.
1. Reject inferior scholarship. Objective as well as interpretive scholars
who take this position believe it’s ridiculous to say the other side has something
to offer. For example, University of Kentucky communication professors Robert
Bostrom and Lewis Donohew who search for objective truth launch a blistering
attack against theorists like Barnett Pearce, Roland Barthes, Paul Watzlawick, and
Stuart Hall. They claim the interpretive approach represents “an intellectual
nihilism” that leads to “theoretical anarchy and the substitution of pseudo-
explanation for scientifi c explanation.”1 Hall in turn is “deeply suspicious and
hostile” to the work of behavioral scientists who focus solely on outward behavior
while “consistently translating matters of signifi cation, meaning, language, and
symbolization into crude behavioral indicators.”2 You could follow their lead by
criticizing the views of misguided others.
2. Respect differences. Princeton University philosophical pragmatist
Richard Rorty comes down equally hard on objective and interpretive theorists
when either group claims that only their approach has value. He admits, how-
ever, that there are irreconcilable differences between the two camps. Both groups
are self-sealing language communities that don’t—and really can’t—talk to each
other. The questions posed in one approach have no answers in the other
approach. For this reason, Rorty says the debates between the sciences and
humanities about human nature, knowledge, and methodology are “not issues
to be resolved, only . . . differences to be lived with.”3
Clinical psychology is a discipline in which this response is common. The
behavioral, humanist, and psychoanalytic schools of counseling differ in starting
point, method, and conclusion. Most counselors choose to be trained in one
approach and then stick to it in their practice. Yet they respect any form of ther-
apy that helps a hurting person get better. Similarly, you could respect any
approach that helps people communicate more effectively.
3. Explore the other side. We tend to like what’s familiar and not really
know what we’re missing. You may favor an objective approach because of your
interest in interpersonal communication, a fi eld where most theory and research
is crafted from a social science perspective. But you might fi nd that taking a
course in the qualitative methods of conducting ethnography, discourse analysis,
and focus groups could attach faces and feelings to the people behind your sta-
tistics. In like manner, if public speaking, debate, and rhetorical criticism are your
passion, you might be pleasantly surprised to fi nd that a controlled experiment
described in a research design course could confi rm or cast doubt on your
hunches about what sways an audience.
If you pursue an advanced degree in communication, there’s no doubt you’ll
be asked to narrow your focus. But starting your studies or career track with a
narrow focus could cause you to miss out on a variety of ideas and possibilities.
I n t e g r a t i o n
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INTEGRATION 471
Exploring the best of the social sciences and humanities can be enjoyable now
and reap unexpected rewards in the future. There will be time to specialize later.
4. Cooperate with colleagues. Cultivation theorist George Gerbner pic-
tures a symbiotic relationship between two worldviews, whereby scientists and
artists help each other fulfi ll a promise that can’t be reached by either approach
alone.4 When dealing with communication theory, what would a collaborative
relationship between objective and interpretive communication majors look like?
Studying together for exams in courses that investigate both approaches
could be a fi rst step. Collaborating on a research project with someone who holds
a different worldview is another possibility. Perhaps a creative student in fi lm
studies could shoot and edit a video on binge drinking across campus. Another
student trained in empirical research could perform a before-and-after study of
alcohol consumption of students who watched the video. Or a social scientist
among you could test one of the theories in this book, while an interpretive
scholar concentrates on its implications and applied practice. However you
might work together, rhetorician Marie Hochmuth Nichols insists that the
sciences and humanities need each other: “The humanities without science are
blind, but science without the humanities may be vicious.”5
Reject. Respect. Explore. Cooperate. Which response do you choose?
© Michael Maslin/The New Yorker Collection/www.cartoonbank.com
“You realize I’m taking an enormous personal as well as
professional risk just being seen with you.”
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472
Common Threads
in Comm Theories
37C H A P T E R
The first four chapters in this book laid the groundwork for understanding the
relationship among the wide range of theories you would study. Chapter 1 presented
a working definition of both theory and communication. Chapter 2 introduced the
objective–interpretive distinction, and Chapter 3 outlined separate lists of six criteria
for evaluating these two types of theories. Chapter 4 mapped out seven distinct
traditions of theory within our discipline. Hopefully these integrative tools have
helped you compare and contrast the theories throughout the course.
In this final chapter, I present another approach to identifying similarities
and differences among the theories, which wouldn’t have made sense before you
read about them. I identify 10 recurring principles that in one form or another
appear in multiple theories. I refer to these as threads because each strand weaves
in and out of theories that might otherwise seem unrelated.
These threads represent key concepts in other communication courses so they
may be quite familiar. In order to qualify as a thread in the tapestry of communication
theory, I’ve decided that the principle or concept must be a significant feature of
at least six different theories covered in the text. The feature could be the engine
that drives a theory, a common characteristic of messages, a variable that’s related
to the process of communication, or the outcome of an interaction.
Each thread is introduced with a shorthand label followed by a summary
statement set in boldface. I first illustrate the principle with an exemplar theory
that’s clearly entwined with that thread, and then describe how other theorists
employ this key idea, which is sometimes at odds with how it’s used in the
exemplar. That’s the contrast of this compare-and-contrast integration. Consistent
with the critique sections that close each theory chapter of the text, I end each
thread discussion with a cause-for-pause reservation that those who warmly
embrace the thread might ponder.
Unraveling these threads isn’t intended to exhaust all possibilities—nor to
be exhausting. I cite every theory covered in the book at least once, but never
more than twice. With one exception, I limit the number of theories tied into a
thread to three or four. You or your instructor can think of multiple examples
for each thread that I don’t mention.
Students tell me that working through the threads helps them make new
connections between the theories, and also serves as a comprehensive course
review. I hope it does both of these for you.
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CHAPTER 37: COMMON THREADS IN COMM THEORIES 473
1. MOTIVATION
Communication is motivated by our basic social need for affi liation, achievement,
and control, as well as our strong desire to reduce our uncertainty and anxiety.
Social exchange theory holds that relationships develop based upon the per-
ceived benefi ts and costs of interaction. Recall that in social penetration theory,
Altman and Taylor adopt the principle of social exchange to predict when people
will become more vulnerable in their depth and breadth of self-disclosure
(Ch. 8). The greater the probable outcome (benefi ts minus costs), the more trans-
parent a person will be. Of course, potential rewards and costs are in the eye of
the beholder. As Katz’ uses and gratifi cations maintains, people act to gratify their
felt needs, but those needs vary from person to person (Ch. 28). It follows, there-
fore, that the rewards and costs that satisfy those needs can be quite diverse.
Despite this range of potential motives, almost every theory you’ve read about
in the book invokes at least one of the fi ve motives named in the thread. I’ve
selected fi ve different theories to illustrate the strong pull that these fi ve different
needs exert.
Need for affi liation. Social penetration theory is based on a strong human need
for affi liation, which is satisfi ed through mutual self-disclosure (Ch. 8).
Need for achievement. Hirokawa and Gouran’s functional perspective on group
decision making assumes that people in problem-solving groups want to achieve
a high-quality solution. Any comment that doesn’t analyze the problem, set goals,
identify alternatives, or evaluate the relative merits of each option is considered
a distraction that disrupts the group’s effort to achieve their goal (Ch. 17).
Need for control. Hall’s cultural studies is based on a broad Marxist interpre-
tation of history that claims money is power. Society’s haves exercise hegemonic
control over the have-nots in an effort to maintain the status quo. Corporately
controlled media shape the dominant discourse of the day that frames the inter-
pretation of events. (Ch. 27).
Need to reduce uncertainty. Berger’s uncertainty reduction theory suggests that
the motive for most communication is to gain knowledge and create understand-
ing in order to increase our ability to predict how future interaction with others
will go (Ch. 9). Our desire to reduce uncertainty is especially high when we
know we’ll meet again, the other has something we want, or the person is acting
in a weird way.
Need to reduce anxiety. Burke’s “Defi nition of Man” suggests that the lan-
guage of perfection makes us all feel guilty that we aren’t better than we are. Guilt
is his catchall term to cover every form of anxiety, tension, embarrassment, shame,
and disgust intrinsic to the human condition. Dramatism claims the only way to
get rid of this noxious feeling is through mortifi cation or victimage (Ch. 23).
Cause for pause: If it’s true that all of my communication—including this
book—is undertaken solely to meet my own personal needs and interests, then
it strikes me that I am a totally selfi sh person. I don’t doubt that my desire for
affi liation, achievement, and control shapes much of my conversation, as does my
desire to reduce my levels of doubt and fear. But there are times when I could
(and should) say no to the pull of these needs out of concern for others or a sense
of ethical responsibility. To the extent that any theory of motivation suggests I
have no choice, I choose to be skeptical.
Motivation
Needs and desires that
drive or draw us to think,
feel, and act as we do.
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474 INTEGRATION
2. SELF-IMAGE
Communication affects and is affected by our sense of identity, which is
strongly shaped within the context of our culture.
Mead’s symbolic interactionism claims that our concept of self is formed
through communication (Ch. 5). By taking the role of the other and seeing how
we look to them, we develop our sense of identity. In turn, this looking-glass
self shapes how we think and act within the community. According to Aronson
and Cooper ’s revisions of cognitive dissonance theory, dissonance negatively
impacts our self-image until we fi nd a way to dissipate this distressing feeling
(Ch. 16).
Ting-Toomey’s face-negotiation theory defi nes face as our public self-image
(Ch. 32). She says that people raised in individualistic cultures tend to have an
I – identity and are concerned with saving face. People born into collectivistic
cultures almost always have a we – identity and are mainly concerned with giving
face to others.
Cause for pause: Accepted wisdom in our discipline suggests that most of us
have been put down by others and need to fi nd ways to boost our self-esteem.
As a counterpoint to this concern, social psychologists have identifi ed a funda-
mental attribution error—a basic perceptual bias we consistently show. 1 When
we have success, we interpret it as the result of our hard work and ability, but
when others have that same success, we tend to think of them as lucky. Con-
versely, when others fail, we consider it their own fault, but when we fail, we
blame others or curse the fi ckle fi nger of fate. As a corrective to this biased
perception, perhaps we should consider giving others the benefi t of the doubt
while holding ourselves to a more rigorous standard of accountability.
Self-image
Identity; a mental picture
of who I see myself to
be, which is greatly influ-
enced by the way others
respond to me.
3. CREDIBILITY
Our verbal and nonverbal messages are validated or discounted by others’
perception of our competence and character.
More than 2,000 years ago, The Rhetoric of Aristotle used the term ethical proof
( ethos ) to describe the credibility of a speaker, which affects the probability that the
speech will be persuasive. Aristotle defi ned ethos as a combination of the speaker’s
perceived intelligence or competence, character or trustworthiness, and goodwill
toward the audience (Ch. 22). Since credibility is in the eye of the beholder,
audience perceptions of the speaker’s ability, virtue, and concern for their
well-being can change while he or she is speaking.
In election studies based on recent versions of McCombs and Shaw’s agenda-
setting theory, researchers not only monitor the frequency of candidate attributes
mentioned by the media, but also note the affective tone of these references. The
way the media frame a public fi gure’s competence, personality, and morality clearly
affects voters’ perception of a candidate’s credibility and therefore has a major effect
on the election (Ch. 30).
Harding and Wood’s standpoint theory recognizes that women, racial minor-
ities, and others on the margins of society have low credibility in the eyes of
those with higher status. The irony of this negative judgment is that the power-
less occupy a position that affords them a less false view of social reality than is
available to the overprivileged who look down on them (Ch. 35).
Cause for pause: The theories cited in this thread regard perceived credibil-
ity as a valuable asset in the communication process. But our focus on the
Credibility
The intelligence, character,
and goodwill that
audience members
perceive in a message
source.
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CHAPTER 37: COMMON THREADS IN COMM THEORIES 475
source of a message may cause us to lose sight of the intrinsic value of what’s
being said. Before embracing the speaker ’s point of view, we might ask
ourselves, “Would I think this was such a good idea if it were presented by
someone less attractive, sexy, or popular?” We might also ask, “Just because an
idea is voiced by a creep I can’t stand, does that mean it’s totally wrong and
without merit?”
4. EXPECTATION
What we expect to hear or see will affect our perception, interpretation, and
response during an interaction.
Burgoon’s expectancy violations theory defi nes expectation as what we
anticipate will happen rather than what we might desire (Ch. 7). In interpersonal
encounters, our expectations are shaped by the cultural and situational context;
communicator characteristics such as age, gender, appearance, personality, and
style of speaking; and the nature of our relationship. When our expectations are
violated, we react either positively or negatively depending on the violation
valence and the communicator’s reward valence. And according to Burgoon’s
subsequent interaction adaptation theory, we change our interaction position as a
result of our expectations.
Expectation is integral to other interpersonal theories as well. Berger’s uncer-
tainty reduction theory states that the expectation of future interaction increases
our motivation to reduce uncertainty (Ch. 9). This prediction is echoed in Wal-
ther’s social information processing theory. According to his hyperpersonal perspective
extension of SIP, anticipation of future interaction coupled with an exaggerated
sense of similarity results in a self-fulfi lling prophecy. The person who is per-
ceived through CMC to be wonderful starts acting that way (Ch. 10).
Theories introduced in the media effects section classify expectation as a
crucial variable. Gerbner ’s cultivation theory maintains that a steady diet of sym-
bolic violence on television creates an exaggerated fear that the viewer will be
physically threatened, mugged, raped, or killed. This expectation causes heavy
viewers to have a general mistrust of others, which leads them to urge more
restrictions and the use of force against those whom they fear (Ch. 29).
Cause for pause: Perceptions are interpretations of sensory experiences
occurring in the present. Expectations are projections of our perceptions into the
future—we anticipate a repeat performance. The two concepts are easy to
confuse and tricky to measure. Since we can never know for sure what another
person experiences, theories that appeal to the concept of expectation may sound
more defi nitive than they really are.
Expectation
In human interaction,
our anticipation of how
others will act or react
toward us.
5. AUDIENCE ADAPTATION
By mindfully creating a person-centered message specifi c to the situation, we
increase the possibility of achieving our communication goals.
Sherif’s social judgment theory predicts that those who want to infl uence
others should try to fi gure out their latitudes of acceptance, rejection, and non-
commitment on a particular issue. Based on this audience analysis, the persuader
can craft a message that falls at the edge of a person’s latitude of acceptance—an
adaptation that offers the best chance of desired attitude change (Ch. 14). Petty
and Cacioppo’s elaboration likelihood model suggests the persuader fi rst assess
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476 INTEGRATION
6. SOCIAL CONSTRUCTION
Persons-in-conversation co-construct their own social realities and are simul-
taneously shaped by the worlds they create.
This statement of social construction is taken directly from Pearce and
Cronen’s coordinated management of meaning (Ch. 6). They see themselves as
curious participants in a pluralistic world as opposed to social scientists who they
describe as detached observers trying to discover singular Truth. Because CMM
claims that people jointly create the social worlds in which they live, the theorists
urge us to ask, “What are we doing? What are we making together? How can we
make better social worlds?”
McPhee’s communicative constitution of organizations clearly indicates that an
organization is what it is because communication has brought it into existence—
a particular type of social construction. It’s hard to imagine a workplace without
four fl ows of ongoing talk about membership negotiation, self-structuring, activ-
ity coordination, and institutional positioning (Ch. 20).
Watzlawick’s interactional view sees every family as playing a one-of-a-kind
game with homemade rules that create the family’s own reality—one that’s often
destructive. He regards the function of therapy as helping members frame
an alternative social reality in which they can survive, and perhaps even thrive
(Ch. 13).
Social construction
The communal creation
of the social world in
which we live.
whether the target audience is ready and able to think through issue-relevant
arguments that support the advocate’s position. If not, the persuader can still
achieve a temporary change of attitude by focusing attention on peripheral cues
(Ch. 15).
Burke’s dramatism is concerned with the speaker ’s ability to successfully
identify with the audience. Without identifi cation there is no persuasion. To the
extent that the speaker can establish common ground by demonstrating a similar
background, personality, speaking style, and belief and value system, the speech
will be successful (Ch. 23).
In an intercultural setting, Giles’ communication accommodation theory focuses
on parties’ adjustment of their speech styles. CAT regards convergence of speak-
ing styles as a natural outcome of wanting to be accepted by the other, usually
drawing a positive response. Divergence—accentuating differences through
manner of speech—occurs when the communicator is concerned with maintain-
ing his or her distinctive group identity (Ch. 31). As each theory in this thread
would predict, divergence induces a negative response from the other person.
Cause for pause: All of these theories suggest that for maximum effectiveness,
we should consciously adapt our message to the attitudes, actions, or abilities of
the audience. Makes sense. There is, however, a danger that in doing so
we’ll lose the authenticity of our message or the integrity of our own beliefs.
Adjusting becomes pandering when we say whatever others want to hear.
Raymond Bauer’s article “The Obstinate Audience” suggests an intriguing third
possibility—that audience adaptation ends up changing the speaker more than
the speaker changing the audience. 2 If so, the counterattitudinal advocacy
studies of Festinger ’s cognitive dissonance theory might explain this surprising
prediction (Ch. 16).
Audience adaptation
The strategic creation or
adjustment of a message
in light of the audience
characteristics and
specific setting.
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CHAPTER 37: COMMON THREADS IN COMM THEORIES 477
7. SHARED MEANING
Our communication is successful to the extent that we share a common inter-
pretation of the signs we use.
Geertz and Pacanowsky’s cultural approach to organizations describes
culture as webs of signifi cance—systems of shared meaning. In light of this
defi nition, Geertz said we should concern ourselves not only with the struc-
tures of cultural webs, but also with the process of their spinning—communi-
cation. Applying Geertz’ ideas to organizations, Pacanowsky focuses on the
collective interpretation of stories, metaphors, and rituals (Ch. 19). Philipsen
defi nes a speech code as a historically enacted, socially constructed system of
terms, meanings, premises, and rules pertaining to communicative conduct
(Ch. 33). He champions ethnography—participant observation within the
community—as the way to determine what a speech code means to those
who use it.
On the other hand, the road to common understanding is sometimes
devious. Barthes’ semiotics regards the mass media as powerful ideological tools
Shared meaning
People’s common
interpretation or mutual
understanding of what
a verbal or nonverbal
message signifies.
McLuhan’s media ecology describes a more subtle construction process, sum-
marized in his statement that we shape our tools and they in turn shape us
(Ch. 25). McLuhan claimed that television and other communication inventions
change the sensory environment in which we live. In this mass age, the medium
is the message, and also the massage.
Cause for pause: The range of theories just cited shows that the idea of social
construction is well established in the fi eld of communication. But is there a foun-
dational reality that language can describe, however poorly? As I asked at the
end of the chapter on CMM, are you willing to give up the notion of a Truth you
can count on for a linguistically created social reality that has no existence apart
from how it’s talked about?
© Drew Dernavich/The New Yorker Collection/www.cartoonbank.com
“You’ll have to phrase it another way. They have no word for ‘fetch.’”
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478 INTEGRATION
8. NARRATIVE
We respond favorably to stories and dramatic imagery with which we can
identify.
Fisher ’s narrative paradigm claims that people are essentially storytellers.
We experience life as a series of ongoing narratives—as confl icts, characters,
beginnings, middles, and ends (Ch. 24). Almost all communication is story that
we judge by its narrative coherence and narrative fi delity. We continually
ponder, does that story hang together? Does it ring true? Bormann’s symbolic
convergence theory can’t predict when a story or other dramatizing message
will catch fi re among group members. But when it does, the resultant fantasy
chain shows that it not only rings true, but also creates a symbolic explosion.
When a group’s fantasies are shared this way, the result is symbolic
convergence—a common group consciousness and often a greater cohesiveness
(Ch. 18).
Gerbner ’s cultivation theory says that television has become the dominant
force in our society because it tells most of the stories, most of the time. Because
the stories that TV runs are fi lled with symbolic violence, the world it creates
for heavy viewers is a mean and scary place. These stories gradually cultivate
fear by slowly changing viewers’ perception of their social environment
(Ch. 29).
Tannen observes that the disparity between men’s and women’s genderlect
styles can be seen in how they tell a story. As the heroes of their own stories,
men try to elevate their status. By telling stories about others, or downplaying
their role in their narratives, women seek connection (Ch. 34).
Cause for pause: I believe stories are both fascinating and powerful. Through-
out the book I’ve used extended examples to make theories come alive. But as
Warnick reminds us in her commentary on the narrative paradigm, there are bad
stories that can effectively lead people astray or destroy them. Unless we fi lter
narratives through the values of justice, goodness, and integrity that Fisher and
the National Communication Association Credo for Ethical Communication
advocate, we could embrace a lie or perpetuate error. Well-told tales are inher-
ently attractive, but they might not all be good.
Narrative
Story; words and deeds
that have sequence and
meaning for those who
live, create, or interpret
them.
that frame interpretation of events for the benefi t of the haves over the have-nots.
The media take a denotative sign and use it as a signifi er to be paired with a
different signifi ed. The result is a new connotative sign that looks like the
original sign but has lost its historical meaning (Ch. 26). Its effect is to affi rm the
status quo.
Cause for pause: The idea that it’s people rather than words that mean suggests
that texts don’t interpret themselves. If that’s true, shared interpretation is an
accomplishment of the audience rather than of the clarity of the message. Pushed
to an extreme, however, the meaning-in-persons idea implies that what is said
or written is wide open for any interpretation, no matter what the communicator
intended. As an author, I’m uneasy about this notion. I take words and images
seriously and try to choose them carefully. When I write about a theory, my aim
is to create a mutual understanding that’s consistent with what I had in mind.
To the extent that this takes place, I see communication as successful. Of course,
you’re then free to respond as you choose.
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CHAPTER 37: COMMON THREADS IN COMM THEORIES 479
9. CONFLICT
Unjust communication stifl es needed confl ict; healthy communication can
make confl ict productive.
Deetz’ critical theory of communication in organizations describes managerial
efforts to suppress confl ict through discursive closure rather than address legitimate
disagreements through open discussion (Ch. 21). He believes that corporations and
their stakeholders would be well served by more confl ict rather than less when
decisions are made. The managerial quest for greater control counters any attempt
to establish democracy in the workplace. Opportunities for employees to voice
complaints are a chance to let off steam but rarely lead to meaningful participation
in the decisions that affect their lives.
Theories of face-to-face interaction also deal with the use of power to quell
confl ict rather than work through differences. The double bind that Watzlawick
describes in his interactional view is a classic case of the dominant person in a com-
plementary relationship insisting that the low-power person act as if the relation-
ship were symmetrical (Ch. 13).
Some theories suggest that confl ict must be headed off by proactively talking
about the potential problem. A core principle of Petronio’s communication privacy
management theory warns that when co-owners of private information don’t effec-
tively negotiate and follow mutually held privacy rules, boundary turbulence is
the likely result (Ch. 12).
Cause for pause: As a mediator, I try to facilitate straight talk between parties
in confl ict. Confronting the problem but not the person is a well-accepted prin-
ciple of confl ict resolution in the West. But, in her face-negotiation theory,
Ting-Toomey warns that a free and open discussion of confl icting needs and
interests within a collectivistic society is counterproductive (Ch. 32). In societies
where giving face to others is the cultural norm, straight talk creates great embar-
rassment. Those of us from Western individualistic cultures need to appreciate
and employ subtlety when we’re together with people from the East.
Conflict
The struggle between
people who are contesting
over scarce resources or
who perceive that they
have incompatible values
and goals.
10. DIALOGUE
Dialogue is transparent conversation that often creates unanticipated rela-
tional outcomes due to parties’ profound respect for disparate voices.
Drawing upon Bakhtin’s conception of dialogue, Baxter ’s second generation
of relational dialectics describes dialogue as an aesthetic accomplishment that
produces fl eeting moments of unity through a profound respect for disparate
voices (Ch. 11). Baxter stresses that dialogue doesn’t bring resolution to the
contradictions that parties experience in close relationships. But dialogue and
relationship rituals that honor multiple voices provide assurance that living
within changing tensions can be exhilarating—never boring.
In their coordinated management of meaning, Pearce and Cronen adopt Buber’s
view of dialogue, which is more optimistic than Bakhtin’s. The theorists agree
that dialogue can’t be produced on demand, but they think we can experience
it if we seek and prepare for it. Buber said dialogue takes place only in I–Thou
relationships where we regard our partner as the very one we are. We stand our
own ground yet are profoundly open to the other. Pearce believed that dialogic
communication is learnable, teachable, and contagious (Ch. 6).
Dialogue
Transparent conversation
that often creates
unanticipated relational
outcomes due to parties’
profound respect for
disparate voices.
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480 INTEGRATION
In muted group theory, Kramarae suggests that it’s diffi cult for women to par-
ticipate as equal partners in a dialogue while speaking in a man-made language in
which the rules for use are frequently controlled by men. Because women are often
muted in the public sphere, they’ve developed back-channel routes to openly share
their experiences with other women  (Ch.  36).
Cause for pause: In the communication discipline, dialogue is a term that’s
often used and highly favored, yet advocates have a tough time describing what
it is or how to achieve it. The boldfaced statement at the beginning of the thread
is my best effort to put the concept into words, but I’m not sure I’ve captured
the essence of what many theorists mean when they use the term.
In practice, dialogue is also exceedingly rare. Whatever criteria we use, prob-
ably less than 1 in 1,000 conversations would qualify as dialogue. That suggests
a full-blown theory of relational communication must also take into account
legitimate authority, jealousies, boredom, insecurities, interruptions, distractions,
time pressures, headaches, and all the other “complications” that make everyday
communication less than ideal.
CALVIN AND HOBBES 1987 © Watterson. Distributed by Universal UCLICK. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
UNRAVELING THE THREADS
At this point the 10 threads may be tangled together in your mind like pieces of
string intertwined in a drawer. If so, Figure 37–1 helps unravel the threads. The
labeled threads are stretched out vertically and crosshatched with the theories
featured in the text. Each black dot is like a knot showing a theory tied into a
specific thread. I’ve identified only some of the possible intersections. Whether
with classmates, your instructor, or on your own, I encourage you to identify
other knots. Adding dots on the chart is like finishing a crossword puzzle or
putting numbers into a sudoku matrix.
The sense of discovery that comes from figuring out where to place additional
knots can be quite satisfying, and it has practical benefits as well. It’s a great
way to study for a final exam, and any insights you gain now will serve you
well in future courses. So if you’ve studied 15 to 20 theories over the term, try
to identify at least one additional knot for each thread. If your instructor assigned
all of the theories, see if you can tie in two more theories per thread. By working
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CHAPTER 37: COMMON THREADS IN COMM THEORIES 481
through this integrative exercise, you’ll increase your odds of remembering the
practical advice a theory offers when you find yourself in a crucial communication
situation. That’s been our hope all along—that you’ll use the thoughts of the
theorists you’ve studied to enrich your life and the lives of those around you.
Symbolic Interactionism
M
O
TI
VA
TI
O
N
SE
LF
-IM
AG
E
CR
ED
IB
IL
IT
Y
SO
CI
AL
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O
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IO
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SH
AR
ED
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EA
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IN
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AR
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CO
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A
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AT
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AT
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N
Coordinated Management of Meaning
Expectancy Violations Theory
Relational Dialectics
Social Penetration Theory
Uncertainty Reduction Theory
Social Information Processing Theory
Communication Privacy Management Theory
The Interactional View
Social Judgment Theory
Elaboration Likelihood Model
Cognitive Dissonance Theory
Functional Perspective on Group Decision Making
Symbolic Convergence Theory
Cultural Approach to Organizations
Critical Theory of Communication in Organizations
Communicative Constitution of Organizations
The Rhetoric
Dramatism
Narrative Paradigm
Media Ecology
Semiotics
Cultural Studies
Uses and Gratifications
Cultivation Theory
Agenda-Setting Theory
Communication Accommodation Theory
Face-Negotiation Theory
Speech Codes Theory
Genderlect Styles
Standpoint Theory
Muted Group Theory
• •
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
•
FIGURE 37–1 Common Threads That Run Through Communication Theories
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482 INTEGRATION
QUESTIONS TO SHARPEN YOUR FOCUS
1. Which thread most intrigues you? Are the theories it connects objective or
interpretive? What communication principle that you’ve learned or discovered
isn’t represented in this chapter? Why do you think it’s missing?
2. Which fi ve theories presented in this book are your personal favorites?
Do  they tend to line up with a thread or principle, come out of a single schol-
arly tradition, or address a particular communication context?
3. Can you think of a few theories that could be tied into at least fi ve of the
threads discussed? If so, what do they have in common?
4. What questions do you have about communication that weren’t addressed
by the theories covered in this book? Under what communication contexts
would theories that speak to these issues fi t best?
A SECOND LOOK Motivation: David C. McClelland, Human Motivation, Cambridge University,
Cambridge, UK, 1988.
Self – image: Bruce Bracken (ed.), Handbook of Self-Concept: Developmental, Social, and
Clinical Considerations, Wiley, New York, 1995.
Credibility: Charles Self, “Credibility,” in An Integrated Approach to Communication
Theory and Research, Michael Salwen and Don Stacks (eds.), Lawrence Erlbaum, Mahwah,
NJ, 1996, pp. 421–441.
Expectation: Robert Rosenthal, “Interpersonal Expectancy Effects: A 30-Year Perspec-
tive,” Current Directions in Psychological Science, Vol. 3, No. 6, 1994, pp. 176–179.
Audience adaptation: Charles Berger, “Message Production Skill in Social Interaction,”
in Handbook of Communication and Social Interaction Skills, John O. Greene and Brant
Burleson (eds.), Lawrence Erlbaum, Mahwah, NJ, 2003, pp. 257–289.
Social construction: Kenneth Gergen, An Invitation to Social Construction, Sage, Thousand
Oaks, CA, 1999.
Shared meaning: Steve Duck, Meaningful Relationships: Talking, Sense, and Relating, Sage,
Thousand Oaks, CA, 1994.
Narrative: Eric Peterson and Kristin M. Langellier, “Communication as Storytelling,”
in Communication as . . . Perspectives on Theory, Gregory Shepherd, Jeffrey St. John, and Ted
Striphas (eds.), Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 2006, pp. 123–131.
Confl ict: W. Barnett Pearce and Stephen Littlejohn, Moral Confl ict: When Social Worlds
Collide, Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 1997.
Dialogue: Rob Anderson, Leslie A. Baxter, and Kenneth Cissna (eds.), Dialogue: Theoriz-
ing Difference in Communication Studies, Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 2003.
The fi eld is wide open for new ideas. There’s no reason you have to stop
with a fi rst look at communication theory or settle for a secondhand glance.
You’ve probably been mulling over an idea not suggested in these pages. Per-
haps that notion could be developed and become the focus of a new chapter in
a revised edition of this book. Choose the theoretical perspective or communica-
tion context that fascinates you, and switch from casual observation to an inten-
sive gaze. Keep looking.
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A-1
What follows are brief summaries of the 32 theories featured in the book. There’s
potential danger, of course, in trying to capture the gist of a theory in a few cryptic
lines, but we didn’t craft the abstracts to convey new concepts. Instead, these cap-
sule statements are designed to jog your memory of ideas already considered. The
abstracts are arranged in the same order as the theories appear in the text. At the
end of each summary, we’ve labeled the communication theory tradition or tradi-
tions that undergird each theorist’s thought. We hope you’ll fi nd the summaries
as well as their intellectual roots helpful.
Interpersonal Communication
Mead’s symbolic interactionism: Humans act toward people, things, and events on
the basis of the meanings they assign to them. Once people defi ne a situation as
real, it has very real consequences. Without language there would be no thought,
no sense of self, and no socializing presence of society within the individual.
(Socio-cultural tradition)
Pearce and Cronen’s coordinated management of meaning: Persons-in-conversation
co-construct their own social realities and are shaped by the worlds they create.
Communication is a two-sided process of making and managing meaning and coor-
dinating our actions. What we say matters because we get what we make. If we get
the pattern right, the best possible things will happen. (Socio-cultural and phenom-
enological traditions)
Burgoon’s expectancy violations theory: Violating another person’s interpersonal
expectations can be a superior strategy to conformity. When the meaning of a vio-
lation is ambiguous, communicators with a high reward valence can enhance their
attractiveness, credibility, and persuasiveness by doing the unexpected. When the
violation valence or reward valence is negative, they should act in a socially ap-
propriate way. (Socio-psychological tradition)
Altman and Taylor’s social penetration theory: Interpersonal closeness proceeds
in a gradual and orderly fashion from superfi cial to intimate levels of exchange
as a function of anticipated present and future outcomes. Lasting intimacy
requires continual and mutual vulnerability through breadth and depth of self-
disclosure. (Socio-psychological tradition)
Berger’s uncertainty reduction theory: When people meet, their primary con-
cern is to reduce uncertainty about each other and their relationship. As verbal
output, nonverbal warmth, self-disclosure, similarity, and shared communication
networks increase, uncertainty decreases—and vice versa. Information seeking
and reciprocity are positively correlated with uncertainty. (Socio-psychological
tradition)
Walther’s social information processing theory: Based solely on the information
available via computer-mediated communication (CMC), parties who meet online
APPENDIX A
Abstracts of Theories
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A-2 APPENDIX A: ABSTRACTS OF THEORIES
can develop relationships that are just as close as those formed face-to-face—
though it takes longer. Because online senders select, receivers magnify, channels
promote, and feedback enhances favorable impressions, CMC may create hyper-
personal relationships. (Socio-psychological tradition)
Baxter and Montgomery’s relational dialectics: Social life is a dynamic knot of con-
tradictions, a ceaseless interplay between contradictory or opposing tendencies such
as integration–separation, stability–change, and expression–nonexpression. Quality
relationships are constituted through dialogue, which is an aesthetic accomplish-
ment that produces fl eeting moments of unity through a profound respect for the
disparate voices. (Phenomenological tradition)
Petronio’s communication privacy management theory: People believe they own
and have a right to control their private information; they do so by using personal
privacy rules. When others are told, they become co-owners of the information.
If co-owners don’t effectively negotiate mutually agreeable privacy rules about
telling third parties, boundary turbulence is the likely result. (Socio-cultural and
cybernetic traditions)
Watzlawick’s interactional view: Relationships within a family system are in-
terconnected and highly resistant to change. Communication among members
has a content component and a relationship component that centers on issues of
control. The system can be transformed only when members receive outside help
to reframe their metacommunication. (Cybernetic tradition)
Sherif’s social judgment theory: The larger the discrepancy between a speaker’s
position and a listener’s point of view, the greater the change in attitude—as
long as the message doesn’t fall within the hearer’s latitude of rejection. High ego-
involvement usually indicates a wide latitude of rejection. Messages that fall there
may have a boomerang effect. (Socio-psychological tradition)
Reproduced by permission of Punch Ltd., www.punch.co.uk
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APPENDIX A: ABSTRACTS OF THEORIES A-3
Petty and Cacioppo’s elaboration likelihood model: Message elaboration is the
central route of persuasion that produces major positive attitude change. It occurs
when unbiased listeners are motivated and able to scrutinize arguments they con-
sider strong. Message-irrelevant factors hold sway on the peripheral path, a more
common route that produces fragile shifts in attitude. (Socio-psychological tradition)
Festinger’s cognitive dissonance theory: Cognitive dissonance is an aversive
drive that causes people to (1) avoid opposing viewpoints, (2) seek reassurance
after making a tough decision, and (3) change private beliefs to match public be-
havior when there is minimal justifi cation for an action. Self-consistency, a sense
of personal responsibility, or self-affi rmation can explain dissonance reduction.
(Socio-psychological tradition)
Group and Public Communication
Hirokawa and Gouran’s functional perspective on group decision making: Groups
make high-quality decisions when members fulfi ll four requisite functions:
(1)  problem analysis, (2) goal setting, (3) identifi cation of alternatives, and
(4)  evaluation of positive and negative consequences. Most group commu-
nication disrupts progress toward accomplishing these functional tasks, but
counteractive communication can bring people back to rational inquiry. (Socio-
psychological and cybernetic traditions)
Bormann’s symbolic convergence theory: Dramatizing messages are group
members’ expressed interpretations of events other than those in the here-and-
now. Message content becomes a group fantasy theme when it spontaneously
chains out among members. The sharing of group fantasies creates symbolic
convergence—group consciousness and often cohesiveness. Fantasy theme
analysis across groups can reveal a rhetorical vision. (Rhetorical and socio-
psychological traditions)
Geertz and Pacanowsky’s cultural approach to organizations: Humans are animals
suspended in webs of signifi cance that they themselves have spun. An organiza-
tion doesn’t have a culture, it is a culture—a unique system of shared meanings. A
nonintrusive ethnographic approach interprets stories, rites, and other symbolism
to make sense of corporate culture. (Socio-cultural tradition)
McPhee’s communicative constitution of organizations: Communication calls
organization into being. Such constitutive communication is patterned into
four fl ows: membership negotiation, self-structuring, activity coordination,
and institutional positioning. All four fl ows are necessary for organization to
occur, although time and space often separate where each fl ow appears. (Socio-
cultural tradition)
Deetz’ critical theory of communication in organizations: The naïve notion that
communication is merely the transmission of information perpetuates mana-
gerialism, discursive closure, and the corporate colonization of everyday life.
Language is the principal medium through which social reality is produced and
reproduced. Managers can further a company’s health and democratic values by
coordinating stakeholder participation in corporate decisions. (Critical and phe-
nomenological traditions)
Aristotle’s rhetoric: Rhetoric is the art of discovering all available means of
persuasion. A speaker supports the probability of a message by logical, ethical,
and emotional proofs. Accurate audience analysis results in effective invention,
arrangement, style, delivery, and, presumably, memory. (Rhetorical tradition)
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A-4 APPENDIX A: ABSTRACTS OF THEORIES
Burke’s dramatism: Life is drama. The dramatistic pentad of act, scene, agent,
agency, and purpose is the critic’s tool for discovering a speaker’s motives. The
ultimate motive of rhetoric is the purging of guilt. Without audience identifi cation
with the speaker, there is no persuasion. (Rhetorical and semiotic traditions)
Fisher’s narrative paradigm: People are storytelling animals; almost all forms of
human communication are fundamentally narrative. Listeners judge a story by
whether it hangs together and rings true with the values of an ideal audience. Thus,
narrative rationality is a matter of coherence and fi delity. (Rhetorical tradition)
Mass Communication
McLuhan’s media ecology: The media must be understood ecologically. Changes
in communication technology alter the symbolic environment––the socially con-
structed, sensory world of meanings. We shaped our tools—the phonetic alpha-
bet, printing press, and telegraph—and they in turn have shaped our perceptions,
experiences, attitudes, and behavior. Thus, the medium is the message. (Socio-
cultural tradition)
Barthes’ semiotics: The signifi cant visual sign systems of a culture affi rm the
status quo by suggesting that the world as it is today is natural, inevitable, and
eternal. Mythmakers do this by co-opting neutral denotative signs to become
signifi ers without historical grounding in second-order connotative semiotic sys-
tems. (Semiotic tradition)
Hall’s cultural studies: The mass media function to maintain the ideology of
those who already have power. Corporately controlled media provide the domi-
nant discourse of the day that frames interpretation of events. Critics should seek
not only to interpret culture, but to change it. Media audiences do have the capac-
ity to resist hegemony. (Critical tradition)
Katz’ uses and gratifi cations: The media-effects tradition focuses on what media
do to people. Uses & grats focuses on what people do with media. Media con-
sumption is a deliberate choice designed to satisfy particular needs. Media don’t
have uniform effects on the audience; effects vary according to the individual
reasons for media use. (Socio-psychological tradition)
Gerbner’s cultivation theory: Television has become society’s storyteller. Heavy
television viewers see a vast quantity of dramatic violence, which cultivates an
exaggerated belief in a mean and scary world. Mainstreaming and resonance
are two of the processes that create a homogeneous and fearful populace. (Socio-
cultural and socio-psychological traditions)
McCombs and Shaw’s agenda-setting theory: The media tell us (1) what to think
about and (2) how to think about it. The fi rst process (agenda setting) transfers the
salience of items on their news agenda to our agenda. The second process (fram-
ing) transfers the salience of selected attributes to prominence among the pictures
in our heads. (Socio-psychological tradition)
Cultural Context
Giles’ communication accommodation theory: People in intercultural encounters who
see themselves as unique individuals will adjust their speech style and content
to mesh with others whose approval they seek. People who want to reinforce a
strong group identifi cation will interact with those outside the group in a way that
accentuates their differences. (Socio-psychological tradition)
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APPENDIX A: ABSTRACTS OF THEORIES A-5
Ting-Toomey’s face-negotiation theory: People who have an interdependent
self-image in a collectivistic culture are concerned with giving other-face or
mutual-face, so they adopt a confl ict style of avoiding or integrating. People who
have an independent self-image in an individualistic culture are concerned with
protecting self-face, so they adopt a confl ict style of dominating. (Socio-cultural and
socio-psychological traditions)
Philipsen’s speech codes theory: Through ethnography of communication, we
know all cultures have multiple speech codes that involve a distinctive psychol-
ogy, sociology, and rhetoric. The meaning of a speech code is determined by
speakers and listeners, and is woven into speech itself. Artful use of the code can
explain, predict, and control talk about talk. (Socio-cultural tradition)
Tannen’s genderlect styles: Male–female conversation is cross-cultural commu-
nication. Masculine and feminine styles of discourse are best viewed as two dis-
tinct cultural dialects rather than as inferior or superior ways of speaking. Men’s
report talk focuses on status and independence; women’s rapport talk seeks
human connection. (Semiotic and socio-cultural traditions)
Harding and Wood’s standpoint theory: Different locations within the social
hierarchy affect what is seen. The standpoints of marginalized people provide
less false views of the world than do the privileged perspectives of the powerful.
Strong objectivity requires that scientifi c research start from the lives of women,
the poor, gays and lesbians, and racial minorities. (Critical tradition)
Kramarae’s muted group theory: Man-made language aids in defi ning, depre-
ciating, and excluding women. Because men have primarily shaped language,
women frequently struggle to make their voices heard in the public sphere. As
women cease to be muted, men will no longer maintain their position of domi-
nance in society. (Critical and phenomenological traditions)
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A-6
Interpersonal Messages
The Miracle Worker (general)
Pygmalion / My Fair Lady (symbolic interactionism)
Nell (symbolic interactionism)
American Teen (symbolic interactionism)
Precious* (symbolic interactionism)
Black Like Me (symbolic interactionism)
The Color Purple (symbolic interactionism)
Mask (symbolic interactionism)
The Perks of Being a Wallfl ower (symbolic interactionism)
Stand and Deliver (symbolic interactionism)
She’s All That (symbolic interactionism)
Lars and the Real Girl (CMM)
Pay It Forward (CMM)
Chocolat (CMM)
Don Juan DeMarco (CMM)
Life Is Beautiful (CMM)
Anger Management (CMM)
Atonement* (expectancy violations)
The Intouchables* (expectancy violations)
Almost Famous* (expectancy violations)
How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days (expectancy violations)
Crash* [2004] (expectancy violations)
Ferris Bueller’s Day Off (expectancy violations)
The Sting (expectancy violations)
Relationship Development
Good Will Hunting* (general)
Annie Hall (general)
Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner (general)
Brothers McMullen* (general)
Bridget Jones’s Diary* (general)
The Perks of Being a Wallfl ower (social penetration)
Before Sunrise* / Before Sunset* (social penetration)
Get Low (social penetration)
Shrek (social penetration)
Coming Home* (social penetration)
Waitress (social penetration)
The Breakfast Club* (social penetration)
Driving Miss Daisy (uncertainty reduction)
My Big Fat Greek Wedding (uncertainty reduction)
Witness* (uncertainty reduction)
Knocked Up* (uncertainty reduction)
Down in the Delta (uncertainty reduction)
Sideways* (uncertainty reduction)
The Chosen [1982] (uncertainty reduction)
The Social Network (SIP)
Trust* (SIP)
Catfi sh (SIP)
American Teen (SIP)
You’ve Got Mail (SIP)
Sleepless in Seattle (SIP)
Relationship Maintenance
Breaking Away (general)
(500) Days of Summer (relational dialectics)
Children of a Lesser God* (relational dialectics)
Cyrus* (relational dialectics)
Knocked Up* (relational dialectics)
Bend It Like Beckham (relational dialectics)
Like Crazy (relational dialectics)
The Story of Us* (relational dialectics)
Whale Rider (relational dialectics)
Brave (relational dialectics)
Dead Man Walking* (CPM)
I’ve Loved You So Long (CPM)
Blue Jasmine (CPM)
The Darjeeling Limited* (CPM)
Trust* (CPM)
Rachel Getting Married* (interactional view)
Silver Linings Playbook* (interactional view)
Little Miss Sunshine* (interactional view)
City Island (interactional view)
Soul Food* (interactional view)
Ordinary People* (interactional view)
Pieces of April (interactional view)
Parenthood* (interactional view)
What’s Eating Gilbert Grape (interactional view)
When a Man Loves a Woman* (interactional view)
One True Thing* (interactional view)
Infl uence
Norma Rae (general)
Dead Man Walking* (social judgment)
The Great Debaters (social judgment)
A Civil Action (social judgment)
Hotel Rwanda (social judgment)
Schindler’s List* (social judgment)
An Inconvenient Truth (ELM)
12 Angry Men (ELM)
My Cousin Vinny* (ELM)
Up in the Air* (cognitive dissonance)
Swing Kids (cognitive dissonance)
Thank You for Smoking* (cognitive dissonance)
10 Things I Hate About You (cognitive dissonance)
Casablanca (cognitive dissonance)
APPENDIX B
Feature Films That Illustrate
Communication Theories
(With a strong assist from our cinematic colleagues and friends Russ Proctor, Ron Adler, and Darin Garard)
*Asterisk indicates movie is rated R.
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APPENDIX B: FEATURE FILMS THAT ILLUSTRATE COMMUNICATION THEORIES A-7
Group Communication
O Brother, Where Art Thou? (general)
Fantastic Mr. Fox (general)
Stagecoach [1939] (general)
Argo (functional perspective)
Apollo 13 (functional perspective)
Flight of the Phoenix (functional perspective)
Poseidon [2006] (functional perspective)
Alien* (functional perspective)
The 40-Year-Old Virgin* (symbolic convergence)
The Breakfast Club* (symbolic convergence)
Dead Poets Society (symbolic convergence)
Paper Clips (symbolic convergence)
Organizational Communication
Offi ce Space* (general)
Moneyball (cultural approach)
Gung Ho (cultural approach)
Morning Glory (cultural approach)
Outsourced (cultural approach)
Friday Night Lights (cultural approach)
For Love or Money (cultural approach)
Good Morning, Vietnam* (cultural approach)
Up the Down Staircase (cultural approach)
The Firm* (cultural approach)
A Few Good Men* (cultural approach)
The Social Network (CCO)
Erin Brockovich* (critical theory)
The Devil Wears Prada (critical theory)
The Corporation (critical theory)
North Country* (critical theory)
Roger & Me* (critical theory)
The Insider* (critical theory)
Silkwood* (critical theory)
Public Rhetoric
The King’s Speech* (general)
Clarence Darrow (general)
Inherit the Wind (general)
Judgment at Nuremberg (general)
Lincoln (rhetoric)
The Great Debaters (rhetoric)
The Apostle (rhetoric)
My Cousin Vinny* (rhetoric)
The Verdict* (rhetoric)
Amistad* (rhetoric)
Nixon* (dramatism)
Malcolm X (dramatism)
Julius Caesar (dramatism)
Snow Falling on Cedars (dramatism)
The Widow of St. Pierre* (dramatism)
Stories We Tell* (narrative paradigm)
Lars and the Real Girl (narrative paradigm)
Smoke* (narrative paradigm)
Big Fish (narrative paradigm)
Forrest Gump (narrative paradigm)
Media and Culture
Blade Runner* (media ecology)
Network* (media ecology)
Broadcast News* (media ecology)
Medium Cool* (media ecology)
Being There (media ecology)
Amarcord* (semiotics)
The Manchurian Candidate [1962] (semiotics)
Stardust Memories (semiotics)
The Seventh Seal* (semiotics)
The Year of Living Dangerously (cultural studies)
The Hunger Games (cultural studies)
Bamboozled* (cultural studies)
Good Night and Good Luck (cultural studies)
Lee Daniels’ The Butler (cultural studies)
Blood Diamond* (cultural studies)
Fahrenheit 9/11* (cultural studies)
Media Effects
Network* (general)
The Candidate (general)
Nurse Betty* (uses & grats)
Avalon (cultivation)
Being There (cultivation)
All the President’s Men (agenda-setting)
Wag the Dog* (agenda-setting)
Absence of Malice (agenda-setting)
Quiz Show (agenda-setting)
Intercultural Communication
A Passage to India (general)
Do the Right Thing* (general)
Tsotsi* (general)
Beasts of the Southern Wild (CAT)
Lone Star (general)
Crash* [2004] (CAT)
Redhook Summer (CAT)
The Right Stuff (CAT)
Zelig (CAT)
Win Win* (face-negotiation)
The Joy Luck Club* (face-negotiation)
42 (face-negotiation)
Iron and Silk (face-negotiation)
Easy A (face-negotiation)
Antz (face-negotiation)
Gung Ho (face-negotiation)
Shall We Dance? [1997] (face-negotiation)
Gran Torino* (speech codes)
Dances with Wolves (speech codes)
Kramer vs. Kramer (speech codes)
Hoop Dreams (speech codes)
Billy Elliot (speech codes)
Mean Girls (speech codes)
Clueless (speech codes)
Working Girl* (speech codes)
Gender and Communication
When Harry Met Sally* (genderlect styles)
The Break-Up (genderlect styles)
Sleepless in Seattle (genderlect styles)
Diner* (genderlect styles)
Steel Magnolias (genderlect styles)
The Help (standpoint)
Slumdog Millionaire* (standpoint)
12 Years a Slave* (standpoint)
The Cider House Rules (standpoint)
Waiting to Exhale* (standpoint)
White Man’s Burden* (standpoint)
North Country* (muted group)
The Little Mermaid (muted group)
Fried Green Tomatoes (muted group)
Maria Full of Grace* (muted group)
Zero Dark Thirty* (muted group)
Tootsie (muted group)
Legally Blonde (muted group)
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A-8
APPENDIX C
NCA Credo for
Ethical Communication
Questions of right and wrong arise whenever people communicate. Ethical communi-
cation is fundamental to responsible thinking, decision making, and the development
of relationships and communities within and across contexts, cultures, channels, and
media. Moreover, ethical communication enhances human worth and dignity by fos-
tering truthfulness, fairness, responsibility, personal integrity, and respect for self and
others. We believe that unethical communication threatens the quality of all commu-
nication and consequently the well-being of individuals and the society in which we
live. Therefore, we, the members of the National Communication Association, endorse
and are committed to practicing the following principles of ethical communication.
We advocate truthfulness, accuracy, honesty, and reason as essential
to the integrity of communication.
We endorse freedom of expression, diversity of perspective, and tolerance
of dissent to achieve the informed and responsible decision making
fundamental to a civil society.
We strive to understand and respect other communicators before
evaluating and responding to their messages.
We promote access to communication resources and opportunities
as necessary to fulfi ll human potential and contribute to the well-being
of families, communities, and society.
We promote communication climates of caring and mutual understanding that
respect the unique needs and characteristics of individual communicators.
We condemn communication that degrades individuals and humanity
through distortion, intimidation, coercion, and violence and through
the expression of intolerance and hatred.
We are committed to the courageous expression of personal convictions
in pursuit of fairness and justice.
We advocate sharing information, opinions, and feelings when facing
signifi cant choices while also respecting privacy and confi dentiality.
We accept responsibility for the short- and long-term consequences
of our own communication and expect the same of others.
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APPENDIX C: NCA CREDO FOR ETHICAL COMMUNICATION A-9
CALVIN AND HOBBES © Watterson. Reprinted with permission of UNIVERSAL UCLICK. All rights reserved.
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Chapter 1: Launching Your Study of Communication Theory
1 Judee Burgoon, “Expectancy Violations Theory,” in
Conversations with Communication T heorists, 2.0, McGraw-
Hill, 2006. (DVD) Band 2; also available at http://www
.afirstlook.com/edition_7/theory_resources/view_by_
type, accessed January 23, 2013.
2 Ernest Bormann, Communication Theory, Sheffi eld, Salem,
WI, 1989, p. 25.
3 Burgoon, Conversations. . . .
4 Fred Casmir, Building Communication Theories: A Socio/
Cultural Approach, Lawrence Erlbaum, Hillsdale, NJ, 1994,
p. 27.
5 Sir Karl Popper, The Logic of Scientifi c Discovery, Hutchin-
son, London, 1959, p. 59.
6 See “General Semantics of Alfred Korzybski” in the The-
ory List at www.afi rstlook.com.
7 Frank E. X. Dance, “The Concept of Communication,”
Journal of Communication, Vol. 20, 1970, pp. 201–210.
8 Dance, p. 210.
9 Jennifer Daryl Slack, “Communication as Articulation,” in
Communication as . . . Perspectives on Theory, Gregory Shep-
herd, Jeffrey St. John, and Ted Striphas (eds.), Sage, Thou-
sand Oaks, CA, 2006, p. 223.
10 Robert T. Craig, “Communication as a Practice,” in Com-
munication as . . . Perspectives on Theory, p. 39.
11 For further discussion of Blumer and this statement, see
Chapter 5.
12 Wendell Johnson, People in Quandaries, Harper, New York,
1946, p. 26.
13 Celeste Condit, “Communication as Relationality,” in
Communication as . . . Perspectives on Theory, p. 3.
14 Frank E. X. Dance, “Toward a Theory of Human Commu-
nication,” in Human Communication Theory: Original Es-
says, Holt, Rinehart, and Winston, 1967, p. 289.
Chapter 2: Talk About Theory
1 http://www.nfl .com/videos/nfl -super-bowl-commercials/
0ap2000000134659/Brotherhood, accessed September 12,
2013.
2 Ken Wheaton, “Super Bowl Ad Review: The Good, the Bad,
the Clydesdales,” Advertising Age, February 4, 2013, p. 20.
3 http://www.gazette.net/article/20130204/NEWS/
130209706/-1/ravens-nope-x2014-clydesdales-eke-out-
super-bowl-victory&template=gazette, accessed February
11, 2013.
4 Tony Schwartz, The Responsive Chord, Doubleday, New
York, 1973, pp. 1–40.
5 C. G. Jung, The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious,
2nd ed., Princeton University, Princeton, NJ, 1981.
6 Michael Osborn, “The Evolution of the Archetypal Sea in
Rhetoric and Poetic,” Quarterly Journal of Speech, Vol. 63,
1977, pp. 347–363.
7 James A. Anderson, Communication Theory: Epistemological
Foundations, Guilford, New York, 1996, p. 27.
8 Anderson, p. 120.
9 Philosophers call this a question of ontology—the study of
existence.
10 William Henley, “Invictus,” in The Columbia Anthology of
British Poetry, Carl Woodring and James Shapiro (eds.),
Columbia University, New York, 1995, p. 685.
11 Anderson, p. 133.
12 C. S. Lewis, The Abolition of Man, Macmillan, New York,
1944, p. 309.
13 Philosophers call this a question of axiology—the study of
ethical criteria.
14 George C. Homans, The Nature of Social Science, Harcourt,
New York, 1967, p. 4.
15 William Melody and Robin Mansell, “The Debate over
Critical vs. Administrative Research: Circularity or Chal-
lenge,” Journal of Communication, Vol. 33, No. 3, 1983, p. 112.
16 Stan Deetz, “Fundamental Issues in Communication
Studies,” unpublished paper distributed to students en-
rolled in his communication theory class.
17 Robert Ivie, “The Social Relevance of Rhetorical Scholar-
ship,” Quarterly Journal of Speech, Vol. 81, No. 2, 1995, p. 138a.
Chapter 3: Weighing the Words
1 Abraham Kaplan, The Conduct of Inquiry, Chandler, San
Francisco, CA, 1964, p. 295.
2 James McCroskey, “Validity of the PRCA as an Index of
Communication Apprehension,” Communication Mono-
graphs, Vol. 45, 1978, pp. 192–203.
3 Walter Mischel, “Personality Dispositions Revisited and
Revised: A View After Three Decades,” in Handbook of Per-
sonality: Theory and Research, Lawrence Pervin (ed.), Guil-
ford, New York, NY, 1990, pp. 111–134.
4 Francis Hylighen, “Occam’s Razor,” Principia Cybernetica
Web, http://pespmc1.vub.ac.be/OCCAMRAZ.html, ac-
cessed September 16, 2013.
5 http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/a/albert_
einstein.html, accessed September 16, 2013.
6 Karl Popper, Conjectures and Refutations: The Growth of
Scientifi c Knowledge, Harper & Row, New York, 1965,
pp. 36–37.
7 David Hume, An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding,
Tom L. Deauchamp (ed.), Oxford University, London,
1999, p. 211.
8 Donn Byrne, “An Overview (and Underview) of Research
and Theory within the Attraction Paradigm,” Journal of
Social and Personal Relationships, Vol. 14, 1997, pp. 417–431.
9 See Chapter 29: “Cultivation Theory of George Gerbner.”
10 Eric Rothenbuhler, “Communication as Ritual,” in Com-
munication as . . . Perspectives on Theory, Gregory Shepherd,
Jeffrey St. John, and Ted Striphas (eds.), Sage, Thousand
Oaks, CA, 2006, p. 19.
11 Klaus Krippendorff, “The Ethics of Constructing Commu-
nication,” in Rethinking Communication, Vol. 1: Paradigm
Issues, Brenda Dervin, Lawrence Grossberg, Barbara J.
O’Keefe, and Ellen Wartella (eds.), Sage, Newbury Park,
CA, 1989, p. 88.
12 William H. Melody and Robin Mansell, “The Debate
over Critical vs. Administrative Research: Circularity or
Challenge,” Journal of Communication, Vol. 33, No. 3, 1983,
p. 103.
13 Ernest G. Bormann, Communication Theory, Sheffi eld, Sa-
lem, WI, 1989, p. 214.
14 Krippendorff, “The Ethics of Constructing Communica-
tion,” p. 83.
15 Barbara Warnick, “Left in Context: What Is the
Critic’s Role?” Quarterly Journal of Speech, Vol. 78, 1992,
pp. 232–237.
ENDNOTES
E-1
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E-2 ENDNOTES
16 Edwin Black, “Gettysburg and Silence,” Quarterly Journal
of Speech, Vol. 80, 1994, pp. 21–36.
17 David Zarefsky, “Approaching Lincoln’s Second Inaugural
Address,” in The Practice of Rhetorical Criticism, 2nd ed.,
James R. Andrews (ed.), Longman, New York, 1990, p. 69.
18 John Stewart, “A Postmodern Look at Traditional
Communication Postulates,” Western Journal of Speech
Communication, Vol. 55, 1991, p. 374.
19 Kenneth Gergen, Toward Transformation in Social Knowledge,
Springer-Verlag, New York, 1982, p. 109.
20 Norman K. Denzin and Yvonna S. Lincoln, “Introduction:
The Discipline and Practice of Qualitative Research,” in
Handbook of Qualitative Research, 2nd ed., Norman K. Den-
zin and Yvonna S. Lincoln (eds.), Sage, Thousand Oaks,
CA, p. 3.
21 http://rescomp.stanford.edu/~cheshire/EinsteinQuotes
.html, accessed September 16, 2013.
22 David J. Garrow, Bearing the Cross, William Morrow, New
York, 1986, pp. 231–286.
23 Clifford Geertz, “Thick Description: Toward an Interpre-
tive Theory of Culture,” in The Interpretation of Cultures,
Basic Books, New York, 1973, p. 5.
24 Bernie Miklasz, “A perfect union: Stan The Man and
St. Louis,” St. Louis Post-Dispatch, January 20, 2013, http://www
.stltoday.com/sports/columns/bernie-miklasz/a-perfect-
union-stan-the-man-and-st-louis/article_1f42f8b6-a9da-
530f-9492-2a767479bd19.html, accessed January 27, 2013.
25 Isabel Briggs Myers, Introduction to Type, Consulting
Psychologists, Palo Alto, CA, p. 5.
26 Gregory Bateson, Mind and Nature: A Necessary Unity,
Bantam, New York, 1979, p. 242.
27 Marie Hochmuth Nichols, Rhetoric and Criticism, Louisiana
State University, Baton Rouge, LA, 1963, p. 18.
Chapter 4: Mapping the Territory
1 Robert T. Craig, “Communication Theory as a Field,”
Communication Theory, Vol. 9, 1999, p. 122.
2 Robert T. Craig, “Communication as a Practical Disci-
pline,” in Rethinking Communication, Vol. 1: Paradigm
Issues, Brenda Dervin, Lawrence Grossberg, Barbara
J. O’Keefe, and Ellen Wartella (eds.), Sage, Newbury Park,
CA, 1989, pp. 97–122.
3 Craig, “Communication Theory as a Field,” p. 120.
4 Ibid., p. 130.
5 The identifi cation and titles of the seven traditions are
taken from Craig (see note 3). I have altered his order of
presentation to match the conceptual plan of Figure 4–1.
The boldfaced defi nitions of communication within each
tradition are a paraphrase of, and consistent with, Craig’s
conception. The selection of a particular research study for
each tradition was my decision and refl ects the features of
the tradition I chose to emphasize.
6 Em Griffi n and Glenn G. Sparks, “Friends Forever: A Lon-
gitudinal Exploration of Intimacy in Same-Sex Friends
and Platonic Pairs,” Journal of Social and Personal Relation-
ships, Vol. 7, 1990, pp. 29–46.
7 Harold H. Kelley, Ellen Berscheid, Andrew Christensen,
John Harvey, Ted Huston, George Levinger, Evie Mc-
Clintock, Letitia Anne Peplau, and Donald Peterson, Close
Relationships, W. H. Freeman, New York, 1983, p. 38.
8 Andrew M. Ledbetter, Em Griffi n, and Glenn G. Sparks,
“Forecasting ‘Friends Forever’: A Longitudinal Investiga-
tion of Sustained Closeness between Best Friends,” Per-
sonal Relationships, Vol. 14, 2007, pp. 343–350.
9 Norbert Wiener, The Human Use of Human Beings, Avon,
New York, 1967, p. 23.
10 Malcolm Parks, Personal Relationships and Personal
Networks, Lawrence Erlbaum, Mahwah, NJ, 2007, pp. 87–96.
11 Cicero, De Oratore, E. W. Sutton and H. Rackham (trans.),
Harvard University, Cambridge, MA, 1942, p. 25.
12 Aristotle, On Rhetoric: A Theory of Civic Discourse, 2nd ed.,
George A. Kennedy (trans.), Oxford University Press,
New York, 2007, 2.4.2.
13 Ibid., 2.4.26.
14 Bill Withers, “Lean on Me,” 1972.
15 Eugene Garver, Aristotle’s Rhetoric: An Art of Character,
University of Chicago, Chicago, IL, 1994, pp. 104–138.
16 Em Griffi n, Making Friends (and Making Them Count), Inter-
Varsity Press, Downers Grove, IL, 1987.
17 Michael Monsour, “Meanings of Intimacy in Cross- and
Same-Sex Friendships,” Journal of Social and Personal Rela-
tionships, Vol. 9, 1992, pp. 277–295.
18 Paul Kay and Willet Kempton, “What Is the Sapir–Whorf
Hypothesis?” American Anthropologist, Vol. 86, 1984, pp. 65–79.
19 Edward Sapir, “The Status of Linguistics as a Science,” in
Selected Writings, David Mandelbaum (ed.), University of
California, Berkeley, CA, 1951 (1929), p. 160.
20 James Carey, Communication as Culture, Unwin Hyman,
Boston, MA, 1989, p. 23.
21 For an extended discussion of the socio-cultural concept,
see Chapter 6: “Coordinated Management of Meaning of
W. Barnett Pearce & Vernon Cronen.”
22 Patricia M. Sias, Renee Heath, Tara Perry, Deborah Silva,
and Bryan Fix, “Narratives of Workplace Friendship
Deterioration,” Journal of Social and Personal Relationships,
Vol. 21, 2004, pp. 323–324.
23 Ibid., p. 337.
24 Kathy Werking, “Cross-Sex Friendship Research as
Ideological Practice,” Handbook of Personal Relationships,
2nd ed., Steve Duck (ed.), John Wiley & Sons, New York,
1997, pp. 391–410.
25 Ibid., p. 397.
26 Ibid.
27 Carl Rogers, “This Is Me,” in On Becoming a Person,
Houghton Miffl in, Boston, MA, 1961, p. 24.
28 William K. Rawlins, The Compass of Friendship: Narratives,
Identities, and Dialogues, Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 2009,
p. 72.
29 Ibid., pp. 94–95.
30 Ibid., p. 95.
31 Ibid., p. 72.
32 Robert T. Craig and Heidi L. Muller (eds.), Theorizing Com-
munication: Readings Across Traditions, Sage, Thousand
Oaks, CA, 2007, p. 499.
33 Richard L. Johannesen, “Communication Ethics: Central-
ity, Trends, and Controversies,” in Communication Yearbook
25, William B. Gudykunst (ed.), Lawrence Erlbaum, Mah-
wah, NJ, 2001, pp. 201–235.
34 “NCA Credo for Ethical Communication,” National Com-
munication Association, Washington, DC, http://www
.natcom.org/uploadedFiles/About_NCA/Leadership_
and_Governance/Public_Policy_Platform/PDF-Policy-
Platform-NCA_Credo_for_Ethical_Communication ,
accessed September 16, 2013.
35 Philosophers refer to these three approaches as (1) teleo-
logical ethics, (2) deontological ethics, and (3) virtue ethics.
36 Rawlins, pp. 175–184.
Interpersonal Messages
1 An earlier version of these game metaphors appeared in
Em Griffi n, Making Friends, InterVarsity Press, Downers
Grove, IL, 1987, pp. 12–18.
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ENDNOTES E-3
Chapter 5: Symbolic Interactionism
1 George Herbert Mead, Mind, Self, and Society, University
of Chicago, Chicago, IL, [1934] 1962.
2 The three premises are found in Herbert Blumer, Symbolic
Interactionism, Prentice-Hall, Englewood Cliffs, NJ, 1969,
p. 2. I’ve paraphrased the principles for stylistic consis-
tency and to avoid gender-specifi c language.
3 Gil Musolf, “The Chicago School,” in Larry T. Reynolds
and Nancy J. Herman-Kinney (eds.), Handbook of Symbolic
Interactionism, AltaMira, Walnut Creek, CA, 2003, p. 93.
4 Jane Wagner, The Search for Signs of Intelligent Life in the
Universe, Harper Perennial, New York, 1990, pp. 15, 18.
5 Musolf, pp. 97–98.
6 For a fascinating account of a gorilla that developed these
symbolic associations with the word kitten, see Francine
Patterson, Koko’s Kitten, Scholastic, New York, 1985. Mead
wouldn’t have been troubled by the existence of an animal
that can communicate hundreds of symbols in American
Sign Language. He regarded the symbol-using difference
between humans and other primates as one of great magni-
tude—a quantitative rather than a qualitative distinction.
7 Peter M. Hall, “Structuring Symbolic Interaction: Commu-
nication and Power” in Communication Yearbook 4, Dan
Nimmo (ed.), Transaction, New Brunswick, NJ, 1980, p. 50.
8 Jodi O’Brien, The Production of Reality, 5th ed., Pine Forge,
Thousand Oaks, CA, 2011, p. 54.
9 Douglas Hofstadter, “Changes in Default Words and Im-
ages Engendered by Rising Consciousness,” in The Produc-
tion of Reality, 3rd ed., Jodi O’Brien and Peter Kollock (eds.),
Pine Forge, Thousand Oaks, CA, 2001, p. 158.
10 Mead, p. 43.
11 Peter Kollock and Jodi O’Brien (eds.), The Production of Re-
ality, 2nd ed., Pine Forge, Thousand Oaks, CA, 1994, p. 63.
12 Kingsley Davis, “Final Note on a Case of Extreme Isola-
tion,” in The Production of Reality, 5th ed., pp. 75–80.
13 Oliver Sacks, Seeing Voices: A Journey Into the World of the
Deaf, Vintage, New York, 2000.
14 Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird, Warner, New York, 1982,
p. 282.
15 Ralph Waldo Emerson, “Astraea,” The Works of Ralph
Waldo Emerson, Vol. III, Nottingham Society, Philadelphia,
PA, n.d., p. 121.
16 David Lundgren, “Social Feedback and Self-Appraisals:
Current Status of the Mead-Cooley Hypothesis,” Symbolic
Interaction, Vol. 27, 2004, p. 267.
17 Gregory Shepherd, “Transcendence,” in Communication as
. . . Perspectives on Theory, Gregory Shepherd, Jeffrey St.
John, and Ted Striphas (eds.), Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA,
2006, p. 24.
18 Andrew Weigert and Viktor Gecas, “Self,” in Handbook of
Symbolic Interactionism, p. 267.
19 George Herbert Mead, “The Social Self,” Journal of Philoso-
phy, Psychology and Scientifi c Methods, Vol. 10, 1913, p. 375.
20 Mead, Mind, Self, and Society, p. 174.
21 Thomas Scheff, “A Theory of Genius,” in The Production of
Reality, 5th ed., Jodi O’Brien (ed.), Pine Forge, Thousand
Oaks, CA, 2011, p. 137.
22 Shanyang Zhao, “The Digital Self: Through the Looking
Glass of Telepresent Others,” Symbolic Interaction, Vol. 28,
2005, pp. 387–405.
23 Kollock and O’Brien, 2nd ed., p. 63.
24 Michael Katovich and David Mains, “Society,” in Hand-
book of Symbolic Interactionism, p. 292.
25 William Shakespeare, As You Like It, Act II, Scene VII,
line 139, in The Riverside Shakespeare, G. Blakemore Evans
(ed.), Houghton Miffl in, Boston, MA, 1974, p. 381.
26 Erving Goffman, The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life,
Doubleday Anchor, Garden City, NY, 1959.
27 Ibid., p. 56.
28 Joan P. Emerson, “Behavior in Private Places: Sustaining
Defi nitions of Reality in Gynecological Examinations,” in The
Production of Reality, 4th ed., pp. 201–214.
29 Jean Mizer, “Cipher in the Snow,” Today’s Education,
Vol. 53, November 1964, pp. 8–10.
30 George Bernard Shaw, “Pygmalion,” Selected Plays, Dodd,
Mead, New York, 1948, p. 270.
31 Saul Alinsky, Reveille for Radicals, Vintage, New York, 1969
(1946), pp. 77–78.
32 Ronald Arnett, “Emmanuel Levinas: Priority of the
Other,” in Ethical Communication: Moral Stances in Human
Dialogue I, Clifford Christians and John Merrill (eds.), Uni-
versity of Missouri, Columbia, MO, 2009, p. 203.
33 Quoted in James H. Olthius, “Face-to Face: Ethical Asym-
metry or the Symmetry of Mutuality,” in Knowing the
Other-wise, James H. Olthuis (ed.), Fordham, New York,
1997, p. 139.
34 Arnett, p. 205.
35 Ibid., p. 200.
36 Sheldon Stryker, “From Mead to a Structural Symbolic
Interactionism and Beyond,” Annual Review of Sociology,
Vol. 34, 2008, p. 18.
37 Ibid., p. 16.
38 Lundgren, p. 267.
39 Randall Collins, “Toward a Neo-Meadian Sociology of
Mind,” Symbolic Interaction, Vol. 12, 1989, p. 1.
Chapter 6: Coordinated Management of Meaning (CMM)
1 Kimberly Pearce, Compassionate Communicating Because
Moments Matter: Poetry, Prose, and Practices, Lulu, 2012, p. 33.
2 W. Barnett Pearce, Interpersonal Communication: Making So-
cial Worlds, HarperCollins, New York, 1994, p 366.
3 Ibid, p. 19.
4 W. Barnett Pearce, “‘Listening for the Wisdom in the Pub-
lic’s Whining’ or ‘Working to Construct Patterns of Public
Communication,’” unpublished manuscript.
5 W. Barnett Pearce and Kimberly A. Pearce, “Transcendent
Storytelling: Abilities for Systemic Practitioners and Their
Clients,” Human Systems: The Journal of Systemic Consulta-
tion & Management, Vol. 9, 1998, pp. 178–179.
6 W. Barnett Pearce, Interpersonal Communication, p. 75.
7 W. Barnett Pearce, “A Sailing Guide for Social Construc-
tionists,” in Social Approaches to Human Communication,
Wendy Leeds-Hurwitz (ed.), Guilford, New York, 1995,
pp. 88–113.
8 W. Barnett Pearce, Making Social Worlds: A Communication
Perspective, Blackwell, Malden, MA, 2007, pp. 210–213.
9 Kimberly Pearce, Compassionate Communicating, p. 55.
10 Ibid., p. 56.
11 W. Barnett Pearce, “Glossary,” Human Systems: The Journal
of Systemic Consultation & Management, Vol. 15, 2004, p. 9.
12 Vernon Cronen and W. Barnett Pearce, “Logical Force in
Interpersonal Communication: A New Concept of the ‘Ne-
cessity’ in Social Behavior,” Communication, Vol. 6, 1981,
pp. 5–67.
13 Vernon Cronen, W. Barnett Pearce, and Lonna Snavely, “A
Theory of Rule-Structure and Types of Episodes and a
Study of Perceived Enmeshment in Undesired Repetitive
Patterns (‘URPs’),” in Communication Yearbook 3, Dan
Nimmo (ed.), Transaction Books, New Brunswick, NJ,
1979, pp. 225–240.
14 W. Barnett Pearce, Stephen W. Littlejohn, and Alison
Alexander, “The Quixotic Quest for Civility: Patterns of
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E-4 ENDNOTES
Interaction Between the New Christian Right and Secular
Humanists,” in Secularization and Fundamentalism Recon-
sidered, Jeffrey K. Hadden and Anson Shupe (eds.), Para-
gon, New York, 1989, pp. 152–177.
15 W. Barnett Pearce, Communication and the Human Condi-
tion, Southern Illinois University, Carbondale, IL, 1989,
pp. 32–33.
16 Kimberly Pearce, Compassionate Communicating, p. 33.
17 W. Barnett Pearce, “At Home in the Universe with Mira-
cles and Horizons: Refl ections on Personal and Social Evo-
lution,” in The Coordinated Management of Meaning: A
Festschrift in Honor of W. Barnett Pearce, Stephen Littlejohn
(ed.), Fairleigh Dickinson University, Madison, NJ, 2013,
p. 26.
18 Kimberly Pearce, Compassionate Communicating, p. 40.
19 Digest of Educational Statistics, http://nces.ed.gov/
programs/digest/d11/ta; accessed December 19, 2011.
20 W. Barnett Pearce, “At Home in the Universe,” p. 39.
21 Ibid, p. 43; Kimberly Pearce, Compassionate Communicat-
ing, p. 3.
22 Kimberly Pearce, p. 10.
23 Kimberly Pearce, pp. 3, 46, 70–71.
24 W. Barnett Pearce, “The Theory and Practice of Transform-
ing Communication,” lecture presented to the Hugh
Downs School of Human Communication, Arizona State
University, Tempe, AZ, April 16, 2008.
25 Tina Fey, Bossypants, Little, Brown & Co., New York, NY,
2011, p. 84.
26 W. Barnett Pearce, Interpersonal Communication, p. 366.
27 W. Barnett Pearce and Kimberly A. Pearce, “Combining
Passions and Abilities: Toward Dialogic Virtuosity,” South-
ern Communication Journal, Vol. 65, 2000, p. 172.
28 Kimberly Pearce, “On the Signifi cance of ‘The 7th Miracle’
for Personal and Social Evolution,” in Festschrift, p. 26.
29 W. Barnett Pearce and Stephen W. Littlejohn, Moral Con-
fl ict: When Social Worlds Collide, Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA,
1997, p. 37.
30 Martin Buber, I and Thou, 2nd ed., R. G. Smith (trans.),
Scribner’s, New York, 1958, pp. 60, 69.
31 Martin Buber, Between Man and Man, Macmillan, New
York, 1965, p. 204.
32 Ronald Arnett, Communication and Community, Southern
Illinois University, Carbondale, IL, 1986, p. 37.
33 Robert T. Craig and Heidi L. Muller, “Concluding Re-
marks,” in Theorizing Communication: Readings Across Tra-
ditions, Robert T. Craig and Heidi L. Muller (eds.), Sage,
Thousand Oaks, CA, 2007, pp. 499–500.
34 http://publicdialogue.org; http://www.cmminstitute.net
35 W. Barnett Pearce, “At Home in the Universe,” p. 36.
36 J. Kevin Barge and W. Barnett Pearce, “A Reconnaissance of
CMM Research,” Human Systems, Vol. 15, 2004, pp. 13–32.
37 J. Kevin Barge, “Articulating CMM as a Practical Theory,”
Human Systems, Vol. 15, 2004, pp. 193–204.
38 Gabrielle Parker, “CMM: Reports from Users,” p. 43,
http://www.pearceassociates.com/essays/reports_
from_users , accessed March 7, 2013.
39 Kimberly Pearce, Compassionate Communicating, pp. 30–45.
Chapter 7: Expectancy Violations Theory
1 Judee K. Burgoon, “A Communication Model of Personal
Space Violations: Explication and an Initial Test,” Human
Communication Research, Vol. 4, 1978, pp. 129–142.
2 Ibid., p. 130.
3 Edward T. Hall, The Hidden Dimension, Doubleday, Garden
City, NY, 1966, p. 1.
4 W. H. Auden, “Prologue: The Birth of Architecture,” in
About the House, Random House, New York, 1966, p. 14.
5 Judee K. Burgoon and Jerold Hale, “Nonverbal Expec-
tancy Violations: Model Elaboration and Application to
Immediacy Behaviors,” Communication Monographs, Vol.
55, 1988, p. 58.
6 Random House Webster’s Electronic Dictionary and Thesau-
rus, College Edition, WordPerfect, Orem, UT, 1994.
7 Judee K. Burgoon, “Cross-Cultural and Intercultural Ap-
plications of Expectancy Violations Theory,” in Intercul-
tural Communication Theory, Richard Wiseman (ed.), Sage,
Thousand Oaks, CA, 1995, pp. 194–214.
8 Judee K. Burgoon and Joseph Walther, “Nonverbal Expec-
tancies and the Evaluative Consequences of Violations,”
Human Communication Research, Vol. 17, 1990, p. 236.
9 Edward Hall, “A System of Notation of Proxemic Behav-
ior,” American Anthropologist, Vol. 41, 1963, pp. 1003–1026.
10 Cited in Judee K. Burgoon, Valerie Manusov, Paul Mineo,
and Jerold Hale, “Effects of Gaze on Hiring, Credibility,
Attraction, and Relational Message Interpretation,” Jour-
nal of Nonverbal Behavior, Vol. 9, 1985, p. 133.
11 Douglas Kelley and Judee K. Burgoon, “Understanding
Marital Satisfaction and Couple Type as Functions of Rela-
tional Expectations,” Human Communication Research, Vol.
18, 1991, pp. 40–69.
12 Beth A. LePoire and Judee K. Burgoon, “Two Contrasting
Explanations of Involvement Violations: Expectancy Vio-
lations Theory Versus Discrepancy Arousal Theory,” Hu-
man Communication Research, Vol. 20, 1994, pp. 560–591.
13 Graham Chapman, John Cleese, Terry Gilliam, Eric Idle,
Terry Jones, and Michael Palin, The Complete Monty Py-
thon’s Flying Circus: All the Words, Volume One, Pantheon,
New York, 1989, p. 40.
14 Judee K. Burgoon, “Nonverbal Violations of Expecta-
tions,” in Nonverbal Interaction, John Wiemann and Randall
P. Harrison (eds.), Sage, Beverly Hills, CA, 1983, p. 101.
15 Paul A. Mongeau, Colleen Carey, and Mary Lynn Wil-
liams, “First Date Initiation and Enactment: An Expec-
tancy Violation Approach,” in Differences and Similarities in
Communication, Daniel J. Canary and Kathryn Dindia
(eds.), Lawrence Erlbaum, Mahwah, NJ, 1998, pp. 413–426.
16 Judee K. Burgoon, Lesa Stern, and Leesa Dillman, Interper-
sonal Adaptation: Dyadic Interaction Patterns, Cambridge
University, Cambridge, UK, 1995.
17 For Em Griffi n’s treatment of Abraham Maslow’s hierarchy
of needs, go to www.afi rstlook.com and click on Theory List.
18 Burgoon, “Cross-Cultural and Intercultural Applica-
tions,” p. 209.
19 Peter A. Andersen, Laura K. Guerrero, David B. Buller,
and Peter F. Jorgensen, “An Empirical Comparison of
Three Theories of Nonverbal Immediacy Exchange,” Hu-
man Communication Research, Vol. 24, 1998, pp. 501–535.
20 Immanuel Kant, “On a Supposed Right to Lie from Altru-
istic Motives,” in Critique of Practical Reason and Other Writ-
ings in Moral Philosophy, Lewis White Beck (trans. and ed.),
University of Chicago, Chicago, IL, 1964, p. 346.
21 Immanuel Kant, Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals,
H. J. Paton (trans.), Harper Torchbooks, New York, 1964,
p. 88.
Relationship Development
1 Harold H. Kelley, Ellen Berscheid, Andrew Christensen,
John Harvey, Ted Huston, George Levinger, Evie
McClintock, Letitia Anne Peplau, and Donald Peterson,
Close Relationships, W. H. Freeman, New York, 1983, p. 38.
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ENDNOTES E-5
2 Keith Davis and Michael Todd, “Friendship and Love Re-
lationships” in Advances in Descriptive Psychology, Vol. 2,
Keith Davis (ed.), JAI, Greenwich, CT, 1982, pp. 79–122.
3 Carl Rogers, “The Necessary and Suffi cient Conditions of
Therapeutic Personality Change,” Journal of Consulting
Psychology, Vol. 21, 1957, pp. 95–103.
4 Carl Rogers, “This Is Me,” in On Becoming a Person,
Houghton Miffl in, Boston, MA, 1961, p. 16.
5 Carl Rogers, “The Characteristics of a Helping Relation-
ship,” in On Becoming a Person, p. 52.
6 See Ron Adler and Russell Proctor II, Looking Out/Looking In,
13th ed., Wadsworth, Belmont, CA, 2011; and John Stewart,
Bridges Not Walls, 11th ed., McGraw-Hill, New York, 2011.
7 Gary S. Becker, The Economic Approach to Human Behavior,
University of Chicago, Chicago, IL, 1976.
8 http://www.eharmony.com/why, accessed March 12, 2013.
Chapter 8: Social Penetration Theory
1 Dalmas Taylor and Irwin Altman, “Communication in In-
terpersonal Relationships: Social Penetration Processes,”
in Interpersonal Processes: New Directions in Communication
Research, Michael Roloff and Gerald Miller (eds.), Sage,
Newbury Park, CA, 1987, p. 259.
2 C. Arthur VanLear, “The Formation of Social Relation-
ships: A Longitudinal Study of Social Penetration,” Hu-
man Communication Research, Vol. 13, 1987, pp. 299–322.
3 Harold H. Kelley and John W. Thibaut, Interpersonal Rela-
tionships, John Wiley & Sons, New York, 1978.
4 John Stuart Mill, A System of Logic, J. W. Parker, London,
1843, Book VI, Chapter XII.
5 J. M. Rist, Epicurus: An Introduction, Cambridge Univer-
sity, Cambridge, England, 1972, p. 124.
6 Epicurus, “Leading Doctrines, 8,” cited in R. D. Hicks, Stoic
and Epicurean, Charles Scribner’s Sons, New York, 1910, p. 183.
7 Ayn Rand, The Fountainhead, Signet, New York, 1971, p. x.
8 Irwin Altman, Anne Vinsel, and Barbara Brown, “Dialecti-
cal Conceptions in Social Psychology: An Application to
Social Penetration and Privacy Regulation,” in Advances in
Experimental Social Psychology, Vol. 14, Leonard Berkowitz
(ed.), Academic Press, New York, 1981, p. 139.
9 Irwin Altman, “Toward a Transactional Perspective: A
Personal Journey,” in Human Behavior and Environment:
Advances in Theory and Research, Volume 13: Environment
and Behavior Studies, Irwin Altman and Kathleen Chris-
tensen (eds.), Plenum, New York, 1990, pp. 225–255.
10 Anne Vinsel, Barbara B. Brown, Irwin Altman, and Caro-
lyn Foss, “Privacy Regulation, Territorial Displays, and
Effectiveness of Individual Functioning,” Journal of Person-
ality and Social Psychology, Vol. 39, 1980, pp. 1104–1115.
11 Ibid, p. 1114.
12 Julia T. Wood, “Ethics, Justice, and the ‘Private Sphere,’”
Women’s Studies in Communication, Vol. 21, 1998, p. 145.
13 Paul H. Wright, “Self-Referent Motivation and the Intrin-
sic Quality of Friendship,” Journal of Social and Personal
Relationships, Vol. 1, 1984, pp. 115–130.
14 Richard Conville, Relational Transitions: The Evolution of
Personal Relationships, Praeger, New York, 1991, pp. 19–40.
15 John 15:13, The New American Bible, J. P. Kennedy & Sons,
New York, 1970.
Chapter 9: Uncertainty Reduction Theory
1 Charles R. Berger, “Uncertainty and Information Ex-
change in Developing Relationships,” in Handbook of Per-
sonal Relationships, Steve Duck (ed.), Wiley, New York,
1988, p. 244.
2 Charles R. Berger and Richard Calabrese, “Some Explora-
tions in Initial Interaction and Beyond: Toward a Develop-
mental Theory of Interpersonal Communication,” Human
Communication Research, Vol. 1, 1975, p. 100.
3 Charles R. Berger, “Beyond Initial Interaction: Uncer-
tainty, Understanding, and the Development of Interper-
sonal Relationships,” in Language and Social Psychology,
H. Giles and R. St. Clair (eds.), Basil Blackwell, Oxford,
UK, 1979, pp. 122–144.
4 Charles R. Berger and William B. Gudykunst, “Uncer-
tainty and Communication,” in Progress in Communication
Sciences, Vol. X, Brenda Dervin and Melvin Voigt (eds.),
Ablex, Norwood, NJ, 1991, p. 23.
5 For an excellent introduction to attribution theory, see
Kelly Shaver, An Introduction to Attribution Processes, Law-
rence Erlbaum, Hillsdale, NJ, 1983. Heider’s theory is also
described in the fi rst two editions of this text (1991, 1994);
click on Theory List at www.afi rstlook.com.
6 Berger and Calabrese, pp. 99–112.
7 Joseph Cappella, “Mutual Infl uence in Expressive Behav-
ior: Adult–Adult and Infant–Adult Dyadic Interaction,”
Psychological Bulletin, Vol. 89, 1981, pp. 101–132.
8 Berger and Gudykunst, p. 25.
9 Malcolm Parks and Mara Adelman, “Communication
Networks and the Development of Romantic Relation-
ships: An Extension of Uncertainty Reduction Theory,”
Human Communication Research, Vol. 10, 1983, pp. 55–79.
10 Ellen Berscheid and Elaine Walster, Interpersonal
Attraction, 2nd ed., Addison-Wesley, Reading, MA, 1978,
pp. 61–89.
11 Charles R. Berger, Planning Strategic Interaction, Lawrence
Erlbaum, Mahwah, NJ, 1997, p. 17.
12 Charles R. Berger, “Goals, Plans, and Mutual Understand-
ing in Relationships,” in Individuals in Relationships, Steve
Duck (ed.), Sage, Newbury Park, CA, 1993, p. 34.
13 Charles R. Berger, “Message Production Under Uncer-
tainty,” in Developing Communication Theories, Gerry Phil-
ipsen and Terrance Albrecht (eds.), State University of
New York, Albany, NY, 1997, p. 39.
14 Charles R. Berger, “Producing Messages Under Uncer-
tainty,” in Message Production: Advances in Communication
Theory, John O. Greene (ed.), Lawrence Erlbaum, Mahwah,
NJ, 1997, p. 222.
15 Personal correspondence from Charles Berger to Em Griffi n.
16 Artemio Ramirez Jr., Joseph B. Walther, Judee K. Burgoon,
and Michael Sunnafrank, “Information-Seeking Strate-
gies, Uncertainty, and Computer-Mediated Communica-
tion: Toward a Conceptual Model,” Human Communication
Research, Vol. 28, 2002, p. 220.
17 Berger, “Message Production Under Uncertainty,” p. 39.
18 Charles R. Berger, “Inscrutable Goals, Uncertain Plans,
and the Production of Communicative Action,” in
Communication and Social Infl uence Processes, Charles R.
Berger and Michael Burgoon (eds.), Michigan State Uni-
versity, East Lansing, MI, 1995, p. 17.
19 Berger, Planning Strategic Interaction, pp. 132–135.
20 Proverbs 15:22, New Revised Standard Version of the
Bible.
21 Leanne K. Knobloch and Denise H. Solomon, “Measuring
the Sources and Content of Relational Uncertainty,” Com-
munication Studies, Vol. 50, 1999, pp. 261–278.
22 Denise H. Solomon and Leanne K. Knobloch, “A Model of
Relational Turbulence: The Role of Intimacy, Relational
Uncertainty, and Interference from Partners in Appraisals
of Irritations,” Journal of Social and Personal Relationships,
Vol. 21, 2004, pp. 795–816.
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E-6 ENDNOTES
23 Leanne K. Knobloch and Jennifer A. Theiss, “An Actor–
Partner Interdependence Model of Relational Turbulence:
Cognitions and Emotions,” Journal of Social and Personal
Relationships, Vol. 27, 2010, pp. 596–597.
24 Leanne K. Knobloch and Amy L. Delaney, “Themes of Re-
lational Uncertainty and Interference from Partners in De-
pression,” Health Communication, 2012, pp. 1–16.
25 Leanne K. Knobloch and Jennifer A. Theiss, “Experiences of
U.S. Military Couples During the Post-Deployment Transi-
tion: Applying the Relational Turbulence Model,” Journal of
Social and Personal Relationships, Vol. 29, 2012, pp. 423–450.
26 Leanne K. Knobloch and Denise H. Solomon, “Informa-
tion Seeking Beyond Initial Interaction: Negotiating Rela-
tional Uncertainty Within Close Relationships,” Human
Communication Research, Vol. 28, 2002, pp. 243–257.
27 Charles R. Berger, “Communicating Under Uncertainty,”
in Interpersonal Processes: New Directions in Communication
Research, Michael Roloff and Gerald Miller (eds.), Sage,
Newbury Park, CA, 1987, p. 40.
28 Kathy Kellermann and Rodney Reynolds, “When Igno-
rance Is Bliss: The Role of Motivation to Reduce Uncer-
tainty in Uncertainty Reduction Theory,” Human
Communication Research, Vol. 17, 1990, p. 7.
29 Ibid., p. 71.
30 Michael Sunnafrank, “Predicted Outcome Value During
Initial Interaction: A Reformulation of Uncertainty Reduc-
tion Theory,” Human Communication Research, Vol. 13,
1986, pp. 3–33.
31 Walid A. Afi fi and Judith L. Weiner, “Toward a Theory of
Motivated Information Management,” Communication
Theory, Vol. 14, 2004, pp. 167–190.
32 Charles R. Berger, “Communication Theories and
Other Curios,” Communication Monographs, Vol. 58, 1991,
p. 102.
33 Berger, “Communicating Under Uncertainty,” p. 58.
Chapter 10: Social Information Processing Theory
1 The Social Network, Columbia Pictures, 2010.
2 Mary Madden and Kathryn Zickuhr, “65% of Online
Adults Use Social Networking Sites,” Pew Internet &
American Life Project, 2011, http://pewinternet.org/
Reports/2011/Social-Networking-Sites.aspx, accessed Sep-
tember 23, 2013.
3 Keith Hampton, Lauren S. Goulet, Cameron Marlow, and
Lee Rainie, “Why Most Facebook Users Get More Than
They Give,” Pew Internet & American Life Project, 2012,
http://pewinternet.org/Reports/2012/Facebook-users
.aspx, accessed September 23, 2013.
4 John Short, Ederyn Williams, and Bruce Christie, The Social
Psychology of Telecommunications, John Wiley, London, 1976.
5 Richard Daft, Robert Lengel, and Linda K. Trevino,
“Message Equivocality, Media Selection, and Manager
Performance: Implications for Information Systems,” MIS
Quarterly, Vol. 11, 1987, pp. 355–365.
6 Lee Sproull and Sara Kiesler, “Reducing Social Context
Cues: Electronic Mail in Organizational Communication,”
Managerial Science, Vol. 32, 1986, pp. 1492–1512.
7 Mary J. Culnan and M. Lynne Markus, “Information Tech-
nologies,” in Handbook of Organizational Communication,
Fredric Jablin, Linda L. Putnam, Karlene H. Roberts, and
Lyman Porter (eds.), Sage, Newbury Park, CA, 1987, pp.
420–443.
8 Joseph B. Walther, “Interpersonal Effects in Computer-
Mediated Interaction: A Relational Perspective,” Commu-
nication Research, Vol. 19, 1992, pp. 52–90.
9 The fl uid dynamics analogy was suggested by University
of Washington communication professor Malcolm Parks
at the National Communication Association meeting at
Miami Beach, November 2003, on the occasion of Walther
receiving the 2002 Woolbert Award.
10 “U.S. Teen Mobile Report: Calling Yesterday, Texting To-
day, Using Apps Tomorrow,” Nielsenwire, 2010, http://
b l o g . n i e l s e n . c o m / n i e l s e n w i r e / o n l i n e _ m o b i l e /
u-s-teen-mobile-report-calling-yesterday-texting-today-
using-apps-tomorrow/, accessed September 23, 2013.
11 Judy B. Litoff and David C. Smith, “‘Will He Get My
Letter?’ Popular Portrayals of Mail and Morale During
World War II,” Journal of Popular Culture, Vol. 23, 1990,
pp. 21–43.
12 Joseph B. Walther, Tracy Loh, and Laura Granka, “The In-
terchange of Verbal and Nonverbal Cues in Computer-
Mediated and Face-to-Face Affi nity,” Journal of Language
and Social Psychology, Vol. 24, 2005, pp. 36–65.
13 For a brief synthesis of the impact of nonverbal cues, see
Judee K. Burgoon and Gregory D. Hoobler, “Nonverbal
Signals,” in Handbook of Interpersonal Communication, 3rd ed.,
Mark L. Knapp and John A. Daly (eds.), Sage, Thousand
Oaks, CA, 2002, pp. 240–299.
14 Joseph B. Walther, “Relational Aspects of Computer-
Mediated Communication: Experimental Observations
Over Time,” Organization Science, Vol. 6, 1995, pp. 186–202;
Joseph B. Walther, “Time Effects in Computer-Mediated
Groups: Past, Present, and Future,” in Distributed Work,
Pamela J. Hinds and Sara Kiesler (eds.), MIT, Cambridge,
MA, 2002, pp. 235–257.
15 Jon Swartz, “Time Spent on Facebook, Twitter, YouTube
Grows,” USA Today online, August, 1, 2010, http://www
.usatoday.com/tech/news/2010-08-02-networking02_
ST_N.htm, accessed September 23, 2013.
16 Walther, “Time Effects,” p. 248.
17 Andrew M. Ledbetter, “Chronemic Cues and Sex Differ-
ences in Relational E-mail: Perceiving Immediacy and
Supportive Message Quality,” Social Science Computer Re-
view, Vol. 26, 2008, pp. 466–482.
18 Joseph B. Walther and Lisa C. Tidwell, “Computer- Mediated
Communication: Interpersonal Interaction On-Line,” in
Making Connections: Readings in Relational Communication,
2 ed., Kathleen M. Galvin and Pamela J. Cooper (eds.),
Roxbury, Los Angeles, 2000, p. 326.
19 “New Global Poll Suggests Wide Enthusiasm for Online
Dating,” BBC World Service Press, February 13, 2010,
http://www.bbc.co.uk/pressoffice/pressreleases/
stories/2010/02_february/13/poll.shtml, accessed Sep-
tember 23, 2013.
20 Joseph Walther, “Symposium on Relationships and the In-
ternet: Interview 1 with Joseph Walther,” Oxford Internet
Institute, December 10, 2011, http://webcast.oii.ox.ac.uk/
?view=Webcast&ID=20111210_412, accessed September
23, 2013.
21 Jeff Hancock, “Symposium on Relationships and the Inter-
net: Interview 3 with Jeff Hancock,” Oxford Internet Insti-
tute, December 10, 2011, http://webcast.oii.ox.ac.uk/?view=
Webcast&ID=20111210_414, accessed September 23, 2013.
The original research report is by Catalina L. Toma, Jeffrey
T. Hancock, and Nicole B. Ellison, “Separating Fact from
Fiction: Deceptive Self-Presentation in Online Dating Pro-
fi les,” Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin, Vol. 34,
2008, pp. 1023–1036.
22 Joseph B. Walther, “Computer-Mediated Communication:
Impersonal, Interpersonal, and Hyperpersonal Interac-
tion,” Communication Research, Vol. 23, 1996, p. 26.
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ENDNOTES E-7
23 Joseph B. Walther, “Language and Communication Tech-
nology: An Introduction to the Special Issue,” Journal of
Language and Social Psychology, Vol. 23, 2004, p. 393.
24 Elaine Hoter, Miri Shonfeld, and Asmaa Ganayim, “Infor-
mation and Communication Technology (ICT) in the Ser-
vice of Multiculturalism,” The International Review of
Research in Open and Distance Learning, Vol. 10, 2009, p. 9,
http://www.irrodl.org/index.php/irrodl/article/view/
601/1207, accessed September 23, 2013.
25 Roger Austin, “ICT and Citizenship in Northern Ireland:
A Critique of Experience Since the 1998 Good Friday
Agreement,” in Young Citizens in the Digital Age: Political
Engagement, Young People and New Media, Brian D. Loader
(ed.), Routledge, New York, NY, 2007, pp. 143–157.
26 Joseph B. Walther, “Computer-Mediated Communication
and Virtual Groups: Applications to Interethnic Confl ict,”
Journal of Applied Communication Research, Vol. 37, 2009,
pp. 225–238.
27 Joseph B. Walther, Brandon Van Der Heide, Sang-Yeon Kim,
David Westerman, and Stephanie T. Tong, “The Role of
Friends’ Appearance and Behavior on Evaluations of Indi-
viduals on Facebook: Are We Known by the Company We
Keep?” Human Communication Research, Vol. 34, 2008, p. 32.
28 David K. Westerman, Brandon Van Der Heide, Katherine
A. Klein, and Joseph B. Walther, “How Do People Really
Seek Information About Others? Information Seeking
Across Internet and Traditional Communication Chan-
nels,” Journal of Computer-Mediated Communication, Vol. 13,
2008, p. 763.
29 Walther, Van Der Heide, Kim, Westerman, and Tong, p. 32.
30 Ibid.
31 Joseph B. Walther, Brandon Van Der Heide, Lauren M.
Hamel, and Hillary C. Shulman, “Self-Generated Versus
Other-Generated Statements and Impressions in
Computer-Mediated Communication: A Test of Warrant-
ing Theory Using Facebook,” Communication Research,
Vol. 36, 2009, pp. 229–253.
32 Harmeet Sawhney, “Strategies for Increasing the Concep-
tual Yield of New Technologies Research,” Communication
Monographs, Vol. 74, 2007, pp. 395–401.
33 Tom Postmes and Nancy Baym, “Intergroup Dimensions
of the Internet,” in Intergroup Communication: Multiple Per-
spectives, Jake Harwood and Howard Giles (eds.), Peter
Lang, New York, NY, 2005, pp. 213–238.
34 Joseph B. Walther, “Theories, Boundaries, and All of the
Above,” in Journal of Computer-Mediated Communication,
Vol. 14, 2009, p. 750.
35 Joseph B. Walther, “Theories of Computer-Mediated Com-
munication and Interpersonal Relations,” in The Handbook
of Interpersonal Communication, 4th ed., Mark L. Knapp and
John A. Daly (eds.), Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 2011, p. 460.
36 L. Crystal Jiang, Natalie N. Bazarova, and Jeffrey T. Hancock,
“The Disclosure–Intimacy Link in Computer-Mediated
Communication: An Attributional Extension of the Hy-
perpersonal Model,” Human Communication Research, Vol.
37, 2011, pp. 58–77. See also Joseph B. Walther et al., “The
Effect of Feedback on Identity Shift in Computer-
Mediated Communication,” Media Psychology, Vol. 14,
2011, pp. 1–26.
37 Jeffrey T. Hancock and Catalina L. Toma, “Putting
Your Best Face Forward: The Accuracy of Online Dating
Photographs,” Journal of Communication, Vol. 59, 2009,
pp. 367–386.
38 Walther, Van Der Heide, Hamel, and Shulman, p. 248.
39 Walther, “Computer-Mediated Communication and
Virtual Groups,” p. 227.
Relationship Maintenance
1 John Stewart, “Interpersonal Communication: Contact
Between Persons,” Bridges Not Walls, 5th ed., John Stewart
(ed.), McGraw-Hill, New York, 1990, pp. 13–30.
2 Daniel Canary and Laura Stafford, “Maintaining Relation-
ships through Strategic and Routine Interaction,” in Com-
munication and Relational Maintenance, Daniel Canary and
Laura Stafford (eds.), Academic Press, San Diego, CA,
1994, pp. 3–22.
3 Laura Stafford and Daniel Canary, “Maintenance Strate-
gies and Romantic Relationship Type, Gender and Rela-
tional Characteristics,” Journal of Social and Personal
Relationships, Vol. 8, 1991, p. 224.
4 Ibid., pp. 217–242.
5 Andrew M. Ledbetter, “Family Communication Patterns
and Relational Maintenance Behavior: Direct and Medi-
ated Associations with Friendship Closeness,” Human
Communication Research, Vol. 35, 2009, pp. 130–147; Scott A.
Myers and Natica P. Glover, “Emerging Adults’ Use of Re-
lational Maintenance Behaviors with Their Parents,” Com-
munication Research Reports, Vol. 24, 2007, pp. 257–264.
6 Margaret S. Clark and Judson Mills, “Interpersonal Attrac-
tion in Exchange and Communal Relationships,” Journal of
Personality and Social Psychology, Vol. 37, 1979, pp. 12–24.
7 Andrew M. Ledbetter, Heather M. Stassen-Ferrara, and
Megan M. Down, “Comparing Equity and Self-Expansion
Theory Approaches to Relational Maintenance,” Personal
Relationships, Vol. 20, 2013, pp. 38–51.
Chapter 11: Relational Dialectics
1 Leslie A. Baxter, “Interpersonal Communication as
Dialogue: A Response to the ‘Social Approaches’ Forum,”
Communication Theory, Vol. 2, 1992, p. 330.
2 Ibid., p. 335.
3 Leslie A. Baxter and Barbara Montgomery, Relating: Dia-
logues and Dialectics, Guilford, New York, 1996, p. 3.
4 Baxter and Montgomery, p. 8.
5 Leslie A. Baxter, “A Dialectical Perspective on Communi-
cation Strategies in Relationship Development,” in A
Handbook of Personal Relationships, Steve Duck (ed.), John
Wiley & Sons, New York, 1988, p. 258.
6 Baxter and Montgomery, p. 43.
7 Leslie A. Baxter, “Relationships as Dialogues,” Personal
Relationships, Vol. 11, 2004, p. 14.
8 Baxter, “A Dialectical Perspective,” p. 259.
9 Irwin Altman, Anne Vinsel, and Barbara Brown, “Dialectic
Conceptions in Social Psychology: An Application to So-
cial Penetration and Privacy Regulation,” in Advances in
Experimental Social Psychology, Vol. 14, Leonard Berkowitz
(ed.), Academic Press, New York, 1981, pp. 107–160.
10 Leslie A. Baxter, Voicing Relationships: A Dialogical Perspec-
tive, Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 2011, p. 5.
11 Baxter, “Relationships as Dialogues,” p. 3.
12 Leslie A. Baxter and Lee West, “Couple Perceptions of
Their Similarities and Differences: A Dialectical Perspec-
tive,” Journal of Social and Personal Relationships, Vol. 20,
2003, pp. 491–514.
13 Baxter, Voicing, p. 2.
14 Mikhail Bakhtin, Four Essays by M. M. Bakhtin, M. Holquist
(ed.), C. Emerson and M. Holquist (trans.), University of
Texas, Austin, TX, 1981, p. 272.
15 Baxter, “Relationships as Dialogues,” p. 11.
16 Ibid., p. 12.
17 Ibid., p. 13.
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E-8 ENDNOTES
18 Leslie A. Baxter and Dawn O. Braithwaite, “Performing
Marriage: The Marriage Renewal Ritual as Cultural Per-
formance,” Southern Communication Journal, Vol. 67, 2002,
pp. 94–109.
19 Mikhail Bakhtin, Problems of Dostoevsky’s Poetics, C. Emer-
son (ed. & trans.), University of Minnesota, Minneapolis,
MN, 1984, pp. 122–126.
20 G. Morson and C. Emerson, Mikhail Bakhtin: Creation
of a Prosaics, Stanford University, Palo Alto, CA, 1990,
p. 443.
21 Leslie A. Baxter and Carma Byland, “Social Infl uence in
Close Relationships,” in Perspectives on Persuasion, Social
Infl uence, and Compliance Gaining, John Seiter and Robert
Gass (eds.), Pearson, Boston, MA, 2004, pp. 317–336.
22 FLM Magazine, Landmark Theatres, 2003.
23 Sissela Bok, Lying: Moral Choice in Public and Private Life,
Vintage, New York, 1979, p. 48.
24 Ibid., p. 32.
25 Ibid., p. 263.
26 Leslie A. Baxter and Barbara Montgomery, “Rethinking
Communication in Personal Relationships from a Dialecti-
cal Perspective,” in Handbook of Personal Relationships,
2nd ed., Steve Duck (ed.), John Wiley & Sons, New York,
p. 326.
27 Baxter, “Relationships as Dialogues,” p. 17.
28 Baxter, “A Tale of Two Voices,” Journal of Family Communi-
cation, Vol. 4, 2004, p. 189; Baxter, Voicing, p. 122.
29 Barbara Montgomery, “Relationship Maintenance Versus
Relationship Change: A Dialectical Dilemma,” Journal of
Social and Personal Relationships, Vol. 10, 1993, p. 221.
Chapter 12: Communication Privacy Management Theory
1 Sandra Petronio, “Brief Status Report on Communication
Privacy Management Theory,” Journal of Family Communi-
cation, Vol. 13, 2013, pp. 6–14.
2 The rules are paraphrased and abridged from Ashley
Duggan and Sandra Petronio, “When Your Child Is in Cri-
sis: Navigating Medical Needs with Issues of Privacy
Management,” in Parent and Children Communicating with
Society, Thomas J. Socha (ed.), Routledge, New York, 2009,
p. 122; and Sandra Petronio and Jennifer Reierson, “Regu-
lating the Privacy of Confi dentiality: Grasping the Com-
plexities through Communication Privacy Management
Theory,” in Uncertainty, Information Management, and Dis-
closure Decisions: Theories and Applications, Tamara D. Afi fi
and Walid A. Afi fi (eds.), Routledge, New York, 2009, pp.
366–367.
3 Sandra Petronio, Boundaries of Privacy: Dialectics of
Discourse, State University of New York, Albany, NY, 2002,
p. 6.
4 Mary Claire Morr Serewicz and Sandra Petronio, “Com-
munication Privacy Management Theory,” in Explaining
Communication: Contemporary Theories and Exemplars,
Bryan Whaley and Wendy Samter (eds.), Lawrence Erl-
baum, Mahwah, NJ, 2007, p. 258.
5 Dawn O. Braithwaite, “‘Just How Much Did That Wheel-
chair Cost?’ Management of Privacy Boundaries by Per-
sons with Disabilities,” Western Journal of Speech
Communication, Vol. 55, 1991, pp. 258, 266.
6 Serewicz and Petronio, p. 258.
7 Sandra Petronio, Heidi Reeder, Michael Hecht, and Teresa
Mon’t Ros-Mendoza, “Disclosure of Sexual Abuse by
Children and Adolescents,” Journal of Applied Communica-
tion Research, Vol. 24, 1996, pp. 181–199; Sandra Petronio,
Lisa Flores, and Michael Hecht, Western Journal of Commu-
nication, Vol. 61, 1997, pp. 101–113.
8 Maureen Kenny and Adriana McEachern, “Racial, Ethnic,
and Cultural Factors of Childhood Sexual Abuse:
A Selected Review of the Literature,” Clinical Psychology
Review, Vol. 20, 2000, pp. 905–922.
9 Kathryn Dindia and Mike Allen, “Sex Differences in Self-
Disclosure: A Meta-Analysis,” Psychological Bulletin, Vol.
112, 1992, pp. 106–128.
10 Petronio, Flores, et al., p. 101.
11 Petronio, Reeder, et al., p. 188.
12 Ibid., p. 191.
13 Petronio and Reierson, p. 368.
14 Paige Toller and Chad McBride, “Enacting Privacy Rules
and Protecting Disclosure Recipients: Parents’ Communi-
cation with Children Following the Death of a Family
Member,” Journal of Family Communication, Vol. 13, 2013,
pp. 32–45.
15 Petronio and Reierson, pp. 373–374.
16 Duggan and Petronio, p. 124.
17 Kathryn Greene, Valerian Derlega, Gust Yep, and Sandra
Petronio, Privacy and Disclosure of HIV in Interpersonal Rela-
tionships: A Sourcebook for Researchers and Practitioners,
Lawrence Erlbaum, Mahwah, NJ, 2003, pp. 36–83.
18 Mark Leary and Lisa Schreindorfer, “The Stigmatization
of HIV and AIDS: Rubbing Salt in the Wound,” in HIV and
Social Interaction, Valerian Derlega and Anita Barbee (eds.),
Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 1998, pp. 18–19.
19 Petronio and Reierson, pp. 366–367.
20 Petronio, Boundaries of Privacy, pp. 177–190.
21 Sandra Petronio, Jack Sargent, Laura Andea, Peggy Rega-
nis, and David Cichocki, “Family and Friends as Health-
care Advocates: Dilemmas of Confi dentiality and Privacy,”
Journal of Social and Personal Relationships, Vol. 21, 2004,
pp. 33–52.
22 Ibid., p. 49.
23 Frederick Platt and Geoffrey Gordon, Field Guide to the Dif-
fi cult Patient Interview, Lippincott Williams and Wilkins,
Philadelphia, PA, 1999, p. 176.
24 Petronio, Sargent, et al., p. 43.
25 Sandra Petronio, “The Moral Imperative of Privacy Manage-
ment,” handout at the “Negotiating Moralities in Personal
Relationships” preconference, National Communication As-
sociation Annual Convention, November 2009, Chicago.
26 Sandra Petronio, “Road to Developing Communication
Privacy Management Theory: Narrative in Process, Please
Stand By,” Journal of Family Communication, Vol. 4, 2004,
p. 200.
27 Duggan and Petronio, p. 124.
28 Petronio, “Brief Status Report,” p. 6.
29 Petronio, Boundaries of Privacy, pp. 178–182.
30 Petronio, “Road to Developing,” p. 193.
31 Petronio, “Brief Status Report,” p. 12.
Chapter 13: The Interactional View
1 Codruta Porcar and Cristian Hainic, “The Interactive
Dimension of Communication: The Pragmatics of the Palo
Alto Group,” Journal for Communication and Culture, Vol. 1,
No. 2, 2011, pp. 4–19.
2 Paul Watzlawick, Janet Beavin, and Don Jackson, Pragmat-
ics of Human Communication, W. W. Norton, New York,
1967, pp. 19–32.
3 Alan Watts, The Book, Pantheon, New York, 1966, p. 65. For
other examples of Watts’ use of the life-as-a-game meta-
phor, see Alan Watts, “The Game of Black-and-White,” in
The Book, pp. 22–46; and Alan Watts, “The Counter Game,”
in Psychology East & West, Ballantine, New York, 1969,
pp. 144–185.
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ENDNOTES E-9
4 Paul Watzlawick, “The Construction of Clinical ‘Reali-
ties,’” in The Evolution of Psychotherapy: The Second Confer-
ence, Jeffrey Zeig (ed.), Brunner/Mazel, New York, 1992,
p. 64.
5 Watzlawick, Beavin, and Jackson, Pragmatics of Communi-
cation, pp. 48–71. The authors list an additional axiom stat-
ing that human beings communicate both digitally and
analogically. They are referring to the difference between
verbal and nonverbal communication. Since the verbal/
nonverbaI distinction is covered in the fi rst two axioms
and most readers fi nd the digital/analogical labels confus-
ing, I’ve chosen not to present this axiom.
6 Paul Watzlawick, The Language of Change, W. W. Norton,
New York, 1978, p. 11.
7 Watzlawick, Beavin, and Jackson, Pragmatics of Human
Communication, p. 54.
8 L. Edna Rogers, “Relational Communication Theory: An
Interactional Family Theory,” in Engaging Theories in Fam-
ily Communication: Multiple Perspectives, Dawn O. Braith-
waite and Leslie A. Baxter (eds.), Sage, Thousand Oaks,
CA, 2006, p. 119.
9 Watzlawick, Beavin, and Jackson, p. 99.
10 L. Edna Rogers and Frank E. Millar III, “Domineeringness
and Dominance: A Transactional View,” Human Communi-
cation Research, Vol. 5, 1979, pp. 238–245.
11 Paul Watzlawick, John H. Weakland, and Richard Fisch,
Change, W. W. Norton, New York, 1974, p. 95.
12 Watzlawick, Language of Change, p. 122.
13 Watzlawick, “The Construction of Clinical ‘Realities,’” p. 61.
14 Janet Beavin Bavelas, “Research into the Pragmatics of
Human Communication,” Journal of Strategic and Systemic
Therapies, Vol. 11, No. 2, 1992, pp. 15–29.
Infl uence
1 Irving Janis and Leon Mann, “Effectiveness of Emotional
Roleplaying in Modifying Smoking Habits and Atti-
tudes,” Journal of Experiential Research in Personality, Vol. 1,
1965, pp. 84–90.
2 An earlier version of this description appeared in Em Grif-
fi n, “Role Play,” in The Mind Changers, Tyndale House,
Carol Stream, IL, 1976, pp. 79–94.
3 Gerald R. Miller and Michael Burgoon, New Techniques of
Persuasion, Harper and Row, New York, 1973, p. 57.
Chapter 14: Social Judgment Theory
1 Carolyn Sherif, Muzafer Sherif, and Roger Nebergall,
Attitude and Attitude Change: The Social Judgment–Involvement
Approach, W. B. Saunders, Philadelphia, PA, 1965, p. 222.
2 Lincoln, DreamWorks , 2012.
3 Sherif, Sherif, and Nebergall, p. 225.
4 Ibid., p. 214.
5 Stephen Bochner and Chester Insko, “Communicator
Discrepancy, Source Credibility and Opinion Change,”
Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, Vol. 4, 1966,
pp. 614–621.
6 Sandi Smith, Charles Atkin, Dennis Martell, Rebecca Al-
len, and Larry Hembroff, “A Social Judgment Theory Ap-
proach to Conducting Formative Research in a Social
Norms Campaign,” Communication Theory, Vol. 16, 2006,
pp. 141–152.
Chapter 15: Elaboration Likelihood Model
1 Ric hard E. Petty and John T. Cacioppo, Communication and
Persuasion: Central and Peripheral Routes to Attitude Change,
Springer-Verlag, New York, 1986, p. 7.
2 Richard E. Petty and John T. Cacioppo, Attitudes and Per-
suasion: Classic and Contemporary Approaches, Wm. C.
Brown, Dubuque, IA, 1981, p. 256.
3 Robert B. Cialdini, Infl uence: Science and Practice, 4th ed.,
Allyn and Bacon, Needham Heights, MA, 2001.
4 Richard E. Petty and Duane Wegener, “The Elaboration
Likelihood Model: Current Status and Controversies,” in
Dual Process Theories in Social Psychology, Shelly Chaiken
and Yaacov Trope (eds.), Guilford, New York, 1999,
pp. 44–48.
5 John T. Cacioppo et al., “Dispositional Differences in Cog-
nitive Motivation: The Life and Times of Individuals Vary-
ing in Need for Cognition,” Psychological Bulletin, Vol. 119,
1996, pp. 197–253.
6 Richard E. Petty and John T. Cacioppo, “The Elaboration
Likelihood Model of Persuasion,” in Advances in Experi-
mental Social Psychology, Vol. 19, Leonard Berkowitz (ed.),
Academic Press, Orlando, FL, 1986, p. 129.
7 Louis Penner and Barbara Fritzsche, “Magic Johnson and
Reactions to People with AIDS: A Natural Experiment,” Jour-
nal of Applied Social Psychology, Vol. 23, 1993, pp. 1035–1050.
8 Ibid., p. 1048.
9 Michael Hawthorne, “Madigan: Video Busts Band’s Bus in
Dumping,” Chicago Tribune, August 25, 2004, sec. 1, p. 1.
10 Petty and Wegener, pp. 51–52.
11 Duane Wegener and Richard E. Petty, “Understanding Ef-
fects of Mood Through the Elaboration Likelihood and
Flexible Correction Models,” in Theories of Mood and Cogni-
tion: A User’s Guidebook, L. L. Martin and G. L. Clore (eds.),
Lawrence Erlbaum, Mahwah, NJ, 2001, pp. 177–210.
12 Thomas R. Nilsen, Ethics of Speech Communication, Bobbs-
Merrill, Indianapolis, IN, 1966, p. 38.
13 Ibid., p. 35.
14 John Milton, Areopagitica, John Hales (ed.), with introduction
and notes, 3rd ed., revised, Clarendon, Oxford, UK, 1882.
15 John Stuart Mill, On Liberty, Gateway, Chicago, IL, 1955.
16 Søren Kierkegaard, Philosophical Fragments, Princeton Uni-
versity, Princeton, NJ, pp. 17–28.
17 Em Griffi n, The Mind Changers, Tyndale, Carol Stream, IL,
1976, pp. 27–41; Em Griffi n, Getting Together, InterVarsity
Press, Downers Grove, IL, 1982, pp. 159–167.
18 Paul Mongeau and James Stiff, “Specifying Causal Rela-
tionships in the Elaboration Likelihood Model,” Communi-
cation Theory, Vol. 3, 1993, pp. 67–68.
19 In a personal communication with Richard Petty on March
13, 2013, he pointed out that “the ELM is about a myriad
of persuasion variables indicating when and why they
work.” His position is that ELM never intended to focus
on defi ning strong and weak arguments, nor does it focus
on defi ning high and low credibility or any other message
variable.
Chapter 16: Cognitive Dissonance Theory
1 Aesop, “The Fox and the Grapes,” in Aesop, Five Centuries
of Illustrated Fables, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New
York, 1964, p. 12.
2 Leon Festinger, A Theory of Cognitive Dissonance, Stanford
University, Stanford, CA, 1957, p. 4.
3 “Smoke! Smoke! Smoke! (That Cigarette),” Merle Travis,
performed by Tex Williams, Capitol Records, 1947.
4 Leon Festinger, “Social Communication and Cognition: A
Very Preliminary and Highly Tentative Draft,” in Cognitive
Dissonance: Progress on a Pivotal Theory in Social Psychology,
Eddie Harmon-Jones and Judson Mills (eds.), American
Psychological Association, Washington, DC, 1999, p. 361.
5 Festinger, A Theory of Cognitive Dissonance, pp. 5–6.
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E-10 ENDNOTES
6 Ibid., pp. 84–97.
7 Dave D’Alessio and Mike Allen, “Selective Exposure and
Dissonance After Decisions,” Psychological Reports, Vol. 91,
2002, pp. 527–532.
8 Elizabeth Fernandez, “Smoking in Movies Increases in
2011, Reverses Five Years of Progress,” University of Cali-
fornia, San Francisco, http://www.ucsf.edu/news/2012/
09/12812/smoking-movies-increases-2011-reverses-fi ve-
years-progress, accessed December 31, 2012. The story re-
ports on Stanton A. Glantz, Anne Iaccopucci, Kori Titus,
and Jonathan R. Polansky, “Smoking in Top-Grossing US
Movies, 2011,” Preventing Chronic Disease, Vol. 9, http://
www.cdc.gov/pcd/issues/2012/pdf/12_0170 , accessed
December 31, 2012.
9 http://multivu.prnewswire.com/mnr/adcouncil/25956/,
accessed June 7, 2013. For the text of the entire poem, see
http://usmellfunneh.deviantart.com/art/A-stinky-poem-
135349319, accessed June 7, 2013.
10 Dieter Frey, “Recent Research on Selective Exposure to In-
formation,” in Advances in Experimental Social Psychology:
Vol. 19, Leonard Berkowitz (ed.), Academic Press, Or-
lando, FL, 1986, pp. 41–80.
11 Festinger, A Theory of Cognitive Dissonance, pp. 32–47.
12 Alan DeSantis and Susan E. Morgan, “Sometimes a Cigar
[Magazine] Is More Than Just a Cigar [Magazine]: Pro-
Smoking Arguments in Cigar Afi cionado, 1992–2000,”
Health Communication, Vol. 15, 2003, p. 460.
13 Festinger, A Theory of Cognitive Dissonance, p. 95.
14 Leon Festinger and James Carlsmith, “Cognitive Conse-
quences of Forced Compliance,” Journal of Abnormal and
Social Psychology, Vol. 58, 1959, pp. 203–210.
15 CPI Infl ation Calculator, United States Bureau of Labor Sta-
tistics, http://data.bls.gov/cgi-bin/cpicalc.pl, accessed
December 31, 2012.
16 “Barack Obama Quits Smoking After 30 Years,” The Tele-
graph, February 9, 2011, http://www.telegraph.co.uk/
news/worldnews/barackobama/8314049/Barack-
Obama-quits-smoking-after-30-years.html, accessed De-
cember 31, 2012.
17 Amie Parnes, “Obama’s Reason to Stop Smoking: His
Daughters,” The Hill, August 22, 2012, http://thehill.com/
blogs/blog-briefi ng-room/news/244859-obamas-reason-
to-stop-smoking-his-daughters, accessed December 31, 2012.
18 Elliot Aronson, “The Theory of Cognitive Dissonance: A
Current Perspective,” in Advances in Experimental Social
Psychology, Vol. 4, Leonard Berkowitz (ed.), Academic
Press, New York, 1969, p. 27.
19 Ibid., pp. 26–27.
20 Joel Cooper, “Unwanted Consequences and the Self: In
Search of the Motivation for Dissonance Reduction,”
in Cognitive Dissonance, Harmon-Jones and Mills (eds.), p. 153.
21 Ibid., p. 151.
22 Richard Heslin and Michael Amo, “Detailed Test of the
Reinforcement–Dissonance Controversy in the Counterat-
titudinal Advocacy Situation,” Journal of Personality and
Social Psychology, Vol. 23, 1972, pp. 234–242.
23 Anne E. Kornblut, “But Will They Love Him Tomorrow?”
The New York Times, Nation, March 19, 2006, sec. 4, p. 1.
24 Jeff Stone and Joel Cooper, “A Self-Standards Model of
Cognitive Dissonance,” Journal of Experimental Social Psy-
chology, Vol. 37, 2001, p. 231.
25 R. B. Zajonc, “Leon Festinger (1919–1989),” American Psy-
chologist, Vol. 45, 1990, p. 661.
26 Daryl Bem, “Self-Perception: An Alternative Interpreta-
tion of Cognitive Dissonance Phenomena,” Psychological
Review, Vol. 74, 1947, pp. 183–200.
Group Communication
1 Report of the Presidential Commission on the Space Shuttle
Challenger Disaster (5 vols.), Government Printing Offi ce,
Washington, DC, p. 1414.
2 Irving Janis, Victims of Groupthink, Houghton Miffl in,
Boston, MA, 1972, p. 9.
3 Irving Janis, Crucial Decisions: Leadership in Policymaking
and Crisis Management, Free Press, New York, 1989, p. 60.
4 Robert F. Bales, Interaction Process Analysis, Addison-
Wesley, Reading, MA, 1950; Robert F. Bales, Personality and
Interpersonal Behavior, Holt, Rinehart, & Winston, New
York, 1970.
5 Won-Woo Park, “A Review of Research on Groupthink,”
Journal of Behavioral Decision Making, Vol. 3, 1990, pp. 229–245.
Chapter 17: Functional Perspective on Group Decision Making
1 Some scholars also question the effi cacy of commun ica-
tion in group decision making. See Dean E. Hewes, “Small
Group Communication May Not Infl uence Decision
Making: An Amplifi cation of Socio-Egocentric Theory,” in
Communication and Group Decision Making, 2nd ed., Randy
Hirokawa and Marshall Scott Poole (eds.), Sage, Thou-
sand Oaks, CA, 1996, pp. 179–212 .
2 Randy Hirokawa, “Avoiding Camels: Lessons Learned in
the Facilitation of High-Quality Group Decision Making
Through Effective Discussion,” Van Zelst Lecture in Com-
munication, Northwestern University School of Speech,
Evanston, IL, May 24, 1993.
3 Dennis Gouran, “Group Decision Making: An Approach
to Integrative Research,” in A Handbook for the Study of Hu-
man Communication, Charles Tardy (ed.), Ablex, Norwood,
NJ, 1988, pp. 247–267.
4 Proverbs 15:22, Revised Standard Version of the Bible.
5 Dennis Gouran, Randy Hirokawa, Kelly Julian, and Geoff
Leatham, “The Evolution and Current Status of the Func-
tional Perspective on Communication in Decision-Making
and Problem-Solving Groups,” in Communication Yearbook 16,
Stanley Deetz (ed.), Sage, Newbury Park, CA, 1993, p. 591.
6 Randy Hirokawa and Dirk Scheerhorn, “Communication
in Faulty Group Decision-Making,” in Communication and
Group Decision Making, Randy Hirokawa and Marshall
Scott Poole (eds.), Sage, Beverly Hills, CA, 1986, p. 69.
7 Hirokawa bases the distinction between rational and
political logics on the work of Peter Senge, The Fifth
Discipline, Doubleday, New York, 1990, p. 60.
8 Dennis Gouran and Randy Hirokawa, “The Role of Com-
munication in Decision-Making Groups: A Functional Per-
spective” in Communications in Transition, Mary Mander
(ed.), Praeger, New York, 1983, p. 174.
9 Randy Hirokawa, “Understanding the Relationship
Between Group Communication and Group Decision-
Making Effectiveness from a Functional Perspective: Why
‘It’s Not All Bad’ Isn’t Quite ‘Good Enough,’” Thomas M.
Scheidel Lecture, University of Washington, Seattle, WA,
April 24, 1998.
10 Randy Hirokawa and Poppy McLeod, “Communication,
Decision Development, and Decision Quality in Small
Groups: An Integration of Two Approaches,” paper pre-
sented at the annual meeting of the Speech Communica-
tion Association, Miami, November 18–21, 1993.
11 Randy Hirokawa, “Functional Approaches to the Study
of Group Discussion,” Small Group Research, Vol. 25, 1994,
p. 546.
12 Marc Orlitzky and Randy Hirokawa, “To Err Is Human,
To Correct for It Divine: A Meta-Analysis of the Functional
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ENDNOTES E-11
29 B. Aubrey Fisher, Small Group Decision Making, 2nd ed.,
McGraw-Hill, New York, 1980, p. 149.
30 Dennis Gouran, “Refl ections on the Type of Question as a
Determinant of the Form of Interaction in Decision-
Making and Problem-Solving Discussions,” Communica-
tion Quarterly, Vol. 53, 2003, pp. 111–125.
Chapter 18 : Symbolic Convergence Theory
1 Robert Bales, Personality and Interpersonal Behavior, Holt,
Rinehart, and Winston, 1970.
2 Ernest G. Bormann, John Cragan, and Donald Shields,
“Three Decades of Developing, Grounding, and Using
Symbolic Convergence Theory (SCT),” Communication
Yearbook 25, William Gudykunst (ed.), Lawrence Erlbaum,
Mahwah, NJ, 2001, pp. 274–276.
3 Ernest G. Bormann, Small Group Communication: Theory
and Practice, 3rd ed., Harper & Row, New York, 1990, p. 122.
4 Ernest G. Bormann, John Cragan, and Donald Shields, “In
Defense of Symbolic Convergence Theory: A Look at the
Theory and Its Criticisms After Two Decades,” Communi-
cation Theory, Vol. 4, 1994, p. 280.
5 James Olufowote, “Rousing a Sleeping Giant: Symbolic
Convergence Theory and Complexities in the Communi-
cative Constitution of Collective Action,” Management
Communication Quarterly, Vol. 19, 2006, p. 455.
6 Ernest G. Bormann and Nancy C. Bormann, Effective Small
Group Communication, 5th ed., Burgess International,
Edina, MN, 1992, p. 124.
7 Ernest G. Bormann, “Fantasy and Rhetorical Vision: The
Rhetorical Criticism of Social Reality,” Quarterly Journal of
Speech, Vol. 58, 1972, p. 397.
8 Alan D. DeSantis, “Smoke Screen: An Ethnographic Study
of a Cigar Shop’s Collective Rationalization,” Health Com-
munication, Vol. 14, 2002, p. 185.
9 Ernest G. Bormann, “Symbolic Convergence Theory and
Communication in Group Decision Making,” Communica-
tion and Group Decision Making, Randy Hirokawa and
Marshall Scott Poole (eds.), Sage, Newbury Park, CA,
1986, p. 221.
10 DeSantis, “Smoke Screen,” p. 193.
11 Bormann and Bormann, p. 124.
12 Alan D. DeSantis, “A Couple of White Guys Sitting
Around Talking: The Collective Rationalization of Cigar
Smokers,” Journal of Contemporary Ethnography, Vol. 32,
2003, p. 462.
13 Olufowote, p. 456.
14 Bormann, “Symbolic Convergence Theory and Communi-
cation in Group Decision Making,” p. 222.
15 Bormann and Bormann, p. 119.
16 Bormann, Cragan, and Shields, “In Defense,” p. 290.
17 John Cragan and Donald Shields, Symbolic Theories in
Applied Communication Research: Bormann, Burke, and Fisher,
Hampton Press, Cresskill, NJ, 1995, p. 39.
18 Sonja K. Foss, Rhetorical Criticism: Exploration and Practice,
4th ed., Waveland, Prospect Heights, IL, 2009, pp. 97–136.
19 Jessi McCabe, “Resisting Alienation: The Social Construc-
tion of Internet Communities Supporting Eating Disor-
ders,” Communication Studies, Vol. 60, 2009, p. 3.
20 Ibid., p. 8.
21 Sanitarium (website), accessed 2004.
22 The Ana Hotline (website), accessed 2004.
23 Blue Dragon Fly (website), accessed 2004.
24 Sanitarium, accessed 2004.
25 Jessi McCabe, p. 11.
26 Pro-Ana Suicide Society (website), accessed 2004.
Theory of Group Decision-Making Effectiveness,” paper
presented at the annual meeting of the National Commu-
nication Association, Chicago, November 19–23, 1997.
13 See, for example, J. Richard Hackman, “Work Teams in
Organizations: An Orienting Framework,” in Groups That
Work (and Those That Don’t), J. Richard Hackman (ed.),
Jossey-Bass, San Francisco, CA, 1990, pp. 1–14.
14 Ivan Steiner, Group Process and Productivity, Academic
Press, New York, 1972, p. 9.
15 Randy Hirokawa, “Avoiding Camels,” p. 8.
16 Dennis Gouran and Randy Hirokawa, “Counteractive
Functions of Communication in Effective Group Decision-
Making,” in Communication and Group Decision Making,
p. 82.
17 Randy Hirokawa, “Group Communication and Problem-
Solving Effectiveness I: A Critical Review of Inconsistent
Findings,” Communication Quarterly, Vol. 30, 1982, p. 139.
18 Gouran, Hirokawa, Julian, and Leatham, pp. 574–579.
19 Robert Craig, “Treatments of Refl ective Thought in John
Dewey and Hans-Georg Gadamer,” paper presented at
the 1994 Convention of the International Communication
Association, Sydney, Australia, July 11–15, 1994.
20 John Dewey, How We Think, Heath, New York, 1910.
21 My analysis of Habermas’ discourse ethics has been
greatly informed by Theodore Glasser and James Ettema,
“Ethics and Eloquence in Journalism: A Study of the De-
mands of Press Accountability,” presented to the Media
Ethics Division of the Association for Education in Jour-
nalism and Mass Communication, Miami Beach, FL,
August 2002.
22 Sonja Foss, Karen Foss, and Robert Trapp, Contemporary
Perspectives on Rhetoric, Waveland Press, Prospect Heights,
IL, 1991, pp. 241–272. (Like all interpreters of Habermas,
Foss, Foss, and Trapp refer to his dense writing style. For
that reason, all citations in this ethical refl ection are from
secondary sources. For an overview of Habermas’ think-
ing, see Jane Braaten, Habermas’s Critical Theory of Society,
State University of New York, Albany, NY, 1991. For a pri-
mary source, see Jürgen Habermas, “Discourse Ethics:
Notes on a Program of Philosophical Justifi cation,” Shierry
Weber Nicholsen and Christian Lenhardt (trans.), in Com-
municative Ethics Controversy, Seyla Benhabib and Fred
Dallmayr (eds.), MIT Press, Cambridge, MA, 1990,
pp. 60–110.
23 Theodore Glasser, “Communicative Ethics and the Aim of
Accountability in Journalism,” Social Responsibility: Busi-
ness, Journalism, Law, Medicine, Vol. 21, Louis Hodges (ed.),
Washington & Lee University, Lexington, VA, 1995,
pp. 41–42.
24 Ibid., p. 49.
25 John Cragan and David Wright, “Small Group Communi-
cation Research of the 1980s: A Synthesis and Critique,”
Communication Studies, Vol. 41, 1990, pp. 212–236.
26 Cynthia Stohl and Michael Holmes, “A Functional
Perspective for Bona Fide Groups,” in Communication
Yearbook 16, Stanley Deetz (ed.), Sage, Newbury Park, CA,
1993, p. 601.
27 See John Cragan and David Wright, “The Functional The-
ory of Small Group Decision-Making: A Replication,”
Journal of Social Behavior and Personality, Vol. 7, 1992 (spe-
cial issue). Reprinted in John Cragan and David Wright
(eds.), Theory and Research in Small Group Communication,
Burgess International, Edina, MN, 1993, pp. 87–95.
28 B. Aubrey Fisher, “Decision Emergence: Phases in Group
Decision Making,” Speech Monographs, Vol. 37, 1970,
pp. 53–66.
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E-12 ENDNOTES
14 Michael Pacanowsky, “Communication in the Empowering
Organization,” in Communication Yearbook 11, James
Anderson (ed.), Sage, Newbury Park, CA, 1988, pp. 357,
362–364. For an update on the culture of W. L. Gore &
Associates two decades later, see Alan Deutschman, “The
Fabric of Creativity,” Fast Company, December 2004, pp. 54–62.
15 Ibid., p. 357.
16 Ibid., p. 358.
17 Michael Pacanowsky, “Slouching Towards Chicago,”
Quarterly Journal of Speech, Vol. 74, 1988, p. 454.
18 Mad Men, Lionsgate, AMC, 2007, Season 1, Disc 1.
19 Pacanowsky and O’Donnell-Trujillo, “Communication
and Organizational Cultures,” p. 123.
20 Geertz, “Deep Play,” pp. 5, 26.
21 Pacanowsky and O’Donnell-Trujillo, “Organizational
Communication,” p. 137.
22 Linda Smircich, “Concepts of Culture and Organizational
Analysis,” Administrative Science Quarterly, Vol. 28, 1983,
pp. 339–358.
23 William Gardner, Brian Reithel, et al., “Attraction to
Organizational Culture Profi les: Effects of Realistic Recruit-
ment and Vertical and Horizontal Individualism–
Collectivism,” Management Communication Quarterly, Vol. 22,
2009, pp. 437–472.
24 Bryan Taylor and Nick Trujillo, “Qualitative Research
Methods,” in The New Handbook of Organizational Commu-
nication, Fredric Jablin and Linda L. Putnam (eds.), Sage,
Thousand Oaks, CA, 2001, p. 169.
25 Geertz, The Interpretation of Cultures, p. 15.
26 Adam Kuper, Culture: The Anthropologists’ Account, Har-
vard University, Cambridge, MA, 1999, pp. 112–113.
27 Estelle Jorgensen, “On Thick Description and Narrative
Inquiry In Music Education,” Research Studies in Music
Education, Vol. 31, 2009, p. 71.
28 T. M. Luhrmann, “The Touch of the Real,” London Times
Literary Supplement, January 12, 2001, p. 3.
Chapter 20: Communicative Constitution of Organizations
1 Nick Wingfi eld, “Game Maker Without a Rule Book,” The
New York Times, September 9, 2012, p. BU1.
2 Wendy’s Company, “2012 Annual Report,” http://
ir.wendys.com/phoenix.zhtml?c=67548&p=irol-reports
annual, accessed October 7, 2013.
3 Valve Handbook for New Employees, Valve Press, Bellevue,
WA, 2012, p. 55.
4 Ibid., p. viii.
5 Ryan S. Bisel, “A Communicative Ontology of Organiza-
tion? A Description, History, and Critique of CCO Theo-
ries for Organization Science,” Management Communication
Quarterly, Vol. 24, 2010, pp. 124–131.
6 Karl Weick, Sensemaking in Organizations, Sage, Thousand
Oaks, CA, 1995, p. 12.
7 Ibid., p. 12. Weick attributes the story to Graham Wallas,
The Art of Thought, Harcourt Brace, New York, 1926, p. 106,
and repeatedly refers to it as the core idea of retrospective
sensemaking.
8 William Harris, Heraclitus: The Complete Fragments, http://
community.middlebury.edu/~harris/Philosophy/
heraclitus , accessed October 7, 2013.
9 Robert D. McPhee and Pamela Zaug, “The Communica-
tive Constitution of Organizations: A Framework for Ex-
planation,” in Building Theories of Organization: The
Constitutive Role of Communication, Linda L. Putnam and
Anne Maydan Nicotera (eds.), Routledge, New York,
2009, p. 29.
27 Ibid.
28 Jessi McCabe, p. 13.
29 Bormann, Small Group Communication, p. 123; Bormann
and Bormann, p. 122.
30 Cragan and Shields, pp. 46–47.
31 Ernest G. Bormann, Communication Theory, Sheffi eld,
Salem, WI, 1989, p. 254.
32 John Cragan, “Obituary #10694,” Communication, Research
and Theory Network, January 6, 2009, http://www.natcom
.org/CRTNET, accessed January 12, 2009.
33 Bormann, Communication Theory, p. 190.
34 Olufowote, p. 460.
35 Bormann, Cragan, and Shields, “In Defense,” p. 267.
36 Olufowote, pp. 460–461.
37 Bormann, Cragan, and Shields, “In Defense,” pp. 275–276.
38 Ibid., p. 282.
39 Bormann and Bormann, p. 122.
Organizational Communication
1 Gareth Morgan, “Organizations as Machines,” in Images of
Organization, 2nd ed., Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 1997,
pp. 11–31.
Chapter 19: Cultural Approach to Organizations
1 Clifford Geertz, “Thick Description: Toward an Interpre-
tive Theory of Culture,” in The Interpretation of Cultures,
Basic Books, New York, 1973, p. 5.
2 Michael Pacanowsky and Nick O’Donnell-Trujillo, “Orga-
nizational Communication as Cultural Performance,”
Communication Monographs, Vol. 50, 1983, p. 129. (Paca-
nowsky’s early work was co-authored with Nick
O’Donnell-Trujillo from the communication department
at Southern Methodist University. Because Pacanowsky
was the lead author in these articles and Trujillo’s scholar-
ship took a critical turn, I refer only to Pacanowsky. For an
example of critical ethnography, see Nick Trujillo, “Inter-
preting November 22: A Critical Ethnography of an Assas-
sination Site,” Quarterly Journal of Speech, Vol. 79, 1993,
pp. 447–466.)
3 Michael Pacanowsky and Nick O’Donnell-Trujillo, “Com-
munication and Organizational Cultures,” Western Journal
of Speech Communication, Vol. 46, 1982, p. 121.
4 Pacanowsky and O’Donnell-Trujillo, “Organizational
Communication,” p. 146.
5 Ibid., p. 131.
6 Pacanowsky and O’Donnell-Trujillo, “Communication
and Organizational Cultures,” p. 116.
7 Clifford Geertz, “Deep Play: Notes on the Balinese Cock-
fi ght,” in Myth, Symbol, and Culture, Norton, New York,
1971, p. 29.
8 Geertz, “Thick Description,” p. 5.
9 Gareth Morgan, Images of Organization, Sage, Newbury
Park, CA, 1986, pp. 130–131.
10 Clifford Geertz, “A Life of Learning” (ACLS Occasional
Paper No. 45), American Council of Learned Societies,
New York, 1999, p. 14.
11 Pacanowsky and O’Donnell-Trujillo, “Communication
and Organizational Cultures,” p. 127.
12 Jeffrey C. Alexander, “Clifford Geertz and the Strong Pro-
gram: The Human Sciences and Cultural Sociology,” Cul-
tural Sociology, Vol. 2, 2008, p. 166.
13 Joseph G. Ponterotto, “Brief Note on the Origins, Evolu-
tion, and Meaning of the Qualitative Research Concept
‘Thick Description,’” The Qualitative Report, Vol. 11, 2006,
pp. 538–549.
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ENDNOTES E-13
30 McPhee and Zaug, p. 29.
31 Pamela Lutgen-Sandvik and Virginia McDermott, “The
Constitution of Employee-Abusive Organizations: A
Communication Flows Theory,” Communication Theory,
Vol. 18, 2008, p. 304.
32 Ibid., p. 307, italics added for emphasis.
33 Ibid.
34 Ibid.
35 James R. Taylor, Rethinking the Theory of Organizational
Communication: How to Read an Organization, Ablex, Nor-
wood, NJ, 1993, p. ix. As quoted in François Cooren,
“Communication Theory at the Center: Ventriloquism and
the Communicative Constitution of Reality,” Communica-
tion Theory, Vol. 62, 2012, p. 4.
36 James R. Taylor, “Organizing From the Bottom Up? Refl ec-
tions on the Constitution of Organization in Communica-
tion,” in Building Theories of Organization, p. 154.
37 James R. Taylor and Elizabeth J. Van Every, The Emergent
Organization: Communication As Its Site and Surface, Law-
rence Erlbaum, Hillsdale, NJ, 2000.
38 Timothy Kuhn and Karen Lee Ashcraft, “Corporate Scandal
and the Theory of the Firm: Formulating the Contributions
of Organizational Communication Studies,” Management
Communication Quarterly, Vol. 17, 2003, p. 41. This defi nition
of co-orientation is very similar to Taylor and Van Every,
p. 50: “Two actors who are attitudinally related to some
object in the same way.”
39 Bisel, p. 128.
Chapter 21: Critical Theory of Communication in
Organizations
1 Stanley Deetz, Transforming Communication, Transforming
Business: Building Responsive and Responsible Workplaces,
Hampton, Cresskill, NJ, 1995, p. 33.
2 Stanley Deetz, Democracy in an Age of Corporate Colonization:
Developments in Communication and the Politics of Everyday
Life, State University of New York, Albany, NY, 1992,
p. 349.
3 http://www.afl cio.org/Corporate-Watch/CEO-Pay-and-
You, accessed May 1, 2013.
4 Deetz, Democracy, p. 43.
5 Deetz, Transforming Communication, p. 68.
6 Deetz, Democracy, p. 129.
7 Deetz, Transforming Communication, p. 4.
8 Stanley Deetz, “Future of the Discipline: The Challenges,
the Research, and the Social Contribution,” in Communica-
tion Yearbook 17, Stanley Deetz (ed.), Sage, Newbury Park,
CA, 1994, p. 577.
9 Deetz, Democracy, p. 222.
10 Philip Zimbardo, The Lucifer Effect: Understanding How
Good People Turn Evil, Random House, New York, 2008.
11 Deetz, Democracy, p. 217.
12 Ibid., p. 235.
13 Ibid., p. 310.
14 Deetz, Transforming Communication, p. 114.
15 Ibid., p. xv.
16 Ibid., p. 85.
17 Stanley Deetz, “The Rise of Stakeholder Governance Mod-
els and the Redesign of Communication Necessary for
Them,” in Revista Organicom 7: A Comunicação na Gestão
para Sustentabilidade das Organizações, M. Kunsch (ed.),
Difusão, São Paulo, Brazil, p. 2.
18 Deetz, Democracy, p. 47.
19 Deetz, Transforming Communication, p. 3.
20 Ibid., pp. 50–51.
10 The largest council for men’s Greek organizations is the
North American Interfraternity Conference. The National
Panhellenic Conference is the counterpart for women’s
Greek organizations. Statistics were obtained from the
websites of these organizations: http://www.nicindy.org/
press and https://www.npcwomen.org/resources/pdf/
Annual%20Report%202011 , accessed October 7, 2013.
11 Valve Handbook, p. 6.
12 William Poundstone, “Answers to Google Interview
Questions,” The Wall Street Journal online, December 24,
2011, http://online.wsj.com/article/SB1000142405297020
4552304577113003705089744.html, accessed October 7,
2013. According to Poundstone, the answer is, “Start both
hourglasses at 0 minutes. Flip over the four-minute glass
when it runs out (at 4:00); ditto for the seven-minute glass
(at 7:00). When the four-minute glass runs out the second
time (at 8:00), the seven-minute glass will then have one
minute of sand in its lower bulb. Flip the seven-minute
glass over again and let the minute of sand run back.
When the last grain falls, that will be nine minutes.”
13 J. Kevin Barge and David W. Schlueter, “Memorable Mes-
sages and Newcomer Socialization,” Western Journal of
Communication, Vol. 68, 2004, pp. 233–256.
14 Valve Handbook, p. 16.
15 Ibid.
16 François Cooren and Gail T. Fairhurst, “Speech Timing
and Spacing: The Phenomenon of Organizational Clo-
sure,” Organization, Vol. 11, No. 6, 2004, pp. 793–824.
17 Valve Corporation website, http://www.valvesoftware
.com/company/, accessed October 7, 2013.
18 Valve Handbook, p. 40.
19 Ibid., p. 39.
20 Sarah J. Tracy, Karen K. Myers, and Clifton W. Scott,
“Cracking Jokes and Crafting Selves: Sensemaking and
Identity Management Among Human Service Workers,”
Communication Monographs, Vol. 73, 2006, p. 302.
21 Ibid., p. 300.
22 “Friendship and Philanthropy Drive Pi Phi Satisfaction,”
The Arrow of Pi Beta Phi, Vol. 128, Fall 2011, p. 33.
23 Statistics obtained from the websites for the National In-
terfraternity Conference (http://www.nicindy.org/press)
and National Panhellenic Conference (https://www
.npcwomen.org/resources/pdf/Annual%20Report%202011
), accessed October 7, 2013.
24 St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital, http://www.stjude
.org/stjude/v/index.jsp?vgnextoid=56297ff0be118010Vgn
VCM1000000e2015acRCRD, accessed October 7, 2013.
25 Michelle Shumate and Amy O’Connor, “Corporate Re-
porting of Cross-Sector Alliances: The Portfolio of NGO
Partners Communicated on Corporate Websites,” Commu-
nication Monographs, Vol. 77, 2010, pp. 207–230.
26 Ken Fisher, “Valve Triumphs Over Vivendi with Settle-
ment,” Arstechnica, May 1, 2005, http://arstechnica.com/
uncategorized/2005/05/4868-2/, accessed October 7, 2013.
27 “One Year Later: Occupy in Disarray but Spirit Lives On,”
CBS News, September 16, 2012, http://www.cbsnews
.com/8301-201_162-57513826/one-year-later-occupy-in-
disarray-but-spirit-lives-on/, accessed October 7, 2013.
28 Robert D. McPhee and Joel Iverson, “Agents of Constitution
in Communidad: Constitutive Processes of Communication
in Organizations,” in Building Theories of Organization, p. 52.
29 Larry D. Browning, Ronald Walter Greene, S. B. Sitkin,
Kathleen M. Sutcliffe, and David Obstfeld, “Constitutive
Complexity: Military Entrepreneurs and the Synthetic
Character of Communication Flows,” in Building Theories
of Organization, pp. 89–116.
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E-14 ENDNOTES
21 Ibid., p. 2.
22 Deetz, Democracy, p. 169.
23 Deetz, “The Rise of Stakeholder Governance,” p. 4.
24 Ibid., p. 7.
25 Stanley Deetz, “Power and the Possibility of Generative
Community Dialogue,” in The Coordinated Management of
Meaning: A Festschrift in Honor of W. Barnett Pearce, Stephen
Littlejohn (ed.), Fairleigh Dickinson, Madison, NJ, 2013, in
press.
26 Deetz, “The Rise of Stakeholder Governance,” p. 8.
27 Stanley Deetz and Elizabeth K. Eger, “Developing a
Metatheoretical Perspective for Organizational Commu-
nication Studies,” in The New Handbook of Organizational
Communication: Advances in Theory, Research, and Methods,
2nd ed., Fredrick Jablin and Linda L. Putnam (eds.), Sage,
Thousand Oaks, CA, 2013, in press.
28 Tim Newton, Stan Deetz, and Mike Reed, “Responses to
Social Constructionism and Critical Realism in Organiza-
tional Studies,” Organizational Studies, Vol. 32, 2011, p. 22.
29 “Message from the Chairman,” The National Diet of Japan
Fukushima Nuclear Accident Independent Investigation Com-
mission, http://www.nirs.org/fukushima/naiic_report
, accessed May 7, 2013.
30 Personal conversation with Stan Deetz, April 22, 2013.
31 Robert McPhee, “Comments on Stanley Deetz’ Democracy
in an Age of Corporate Colonization,” paper presented at
the 1995 Annual Convention of the Speech Communication
Association, San Antonio, November 15–18, 1995.
32 Deetz, “Future of the Discipline,” p. 581.
33 Personal correspondence from Stanley Deetz, March 17,
2010.
34 Stanley Deetz, “Critical Theory,” in Engaging Organiza-
tional Communication Theory: Multiple Perspectives, S. May
and Dennis Mumby (eds.), Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA,
2004, p. 101.
35 Ibid., p. 103.
Public Rhetoric
1 Aristotle, On Rhetoric: A Theory of Civil Discourse, George
A. Kennedy (ed. and trans.), Oxford University Press,
New York, 1991, p. 36.
2 Plato, Gorgias, Lane Cooper (trans.), Oxford University
Press, New York, 1948, p. 122.
3 1 Corinthians 2:4, New Revised Standard Version of the
Bible.
4 1 Corinthians 9:22, New Revised Standard Version of the
Bible.
5 Hugh C. Dick (ed.), Selected Writings of Francis Bacon, Mod-
ern Library, New York, 1955, p. x.
Chapter 22: The Rhetoric
1 Clarke Rountree, “Sophist,” in Encyclopedia of Rhetoric and
Composition: Communication from Ancient Times to the Infor-
mation Age, Theresa Enos (ed.), Garland, New York, 1996,
p. 681.
2 Aristotle, On Rhetoric: A Theory of Civil Discourse, George
A. Kennedy (ed. and trans.), Oxford University Press,
New York, 1991, p. 35.
3 David J. Garrow, Bearing the Cross, William Morrow, New
York, 1986, p. 284.
4 Aristotle, p. 33.
5 Lloyd Bitzer, “Aristotle’s Enthymeme Revisited,” Quar-
terly Journal of Speech, Vol. 45, 1959, p. 409.
6 Attributed to Ralph Waldo Emerson by Dale Carnegie,
How to Win Friends and Infl uence People, Pocket Books, New
York, 1982, p. 29.
7 James McCroskey and Jason Teven, “Goodwill: A Reex-
amination of the Construct and Its Measurement,” Com-
munication Monographs, Vol. 66, 1999, pp. 90–103.
8 Jeffrey Walker, “Pathos and Katharsis in ‘Aristotelian’ Rhet-
oric: Some Implications,” in Rereading Aristotle’s Rhetoric,
Alan Gross and Arthur Walzer (eds.), Southern Illinois
University, Carbondale, IL, 2000, pp. 74–92.
9 Aristotle, p. 122.
10 Lane Cooper, The Rhetoric of Aristotle, Appleton-Century-
Crofts, New York, 1932, introduction.
11 Aristotle, p. 258.
12 Ibid., p. 244.
13 Ibid., p. 223.
14 Sara Newman, “Aristotle’s Notion of ‘Bringing-Before-
the-Eyes’: Its Contributions to Aristotelian and Contem-
porary Conceptualizations of Metaphor, Style, and
Audience,” Rhetorica, Vol. 20, 2002, pp. 1–23.
15 Amos 5:24, Revised Standard Version of the Bible.
16 Theodore White, The Making of the President, 1964, Athe-
neum, New York, 1 965, p. 288.
17 Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, H. Rackham (trans.), Har-
vard University, Cambridge, MA, 1934, book 4, chapter 7.
18 Alan Gross and Marcelo Dascal, “The Conceptual Unity of
Aristotle’s Rhetoric,” Philosophy and Rhetoric, Vol. 34, 2001,
p. 288.
19 Voltaire, Dictionnaire Philosophique, “Aristotle,” Oeuvres
Complètes de Voltaire, Vol. 17, Librairie Garnier, Paris,
p. 372.
Chapter 23: Dramatism
1 Kenneth Burke, “Dramatism,” in International Encyclopedia
of the Social Sciences, Vol. 7, David Sills (ed.), Macmillan/
Free, New York, NY, 1968, p. 446.
2 Edward C. Appel, Language, Life, Literature, Rhetoric and
Composition as Dramatic Action: A Burkean Primer, Oar
Press, Leola, PA, 2012, pp. 5–6.
3 Matthew Josephson, Life Among the Surrealists: A Memoir,
Holt, Rinehart and Winston, New York, 1962, p. 35.
4 Marie Hochmuth Nichols, “Kenneth Burke and the New
Rhetoric,” Quarterly Journal of Speech, Vol. 38, 1952,
pp. 133–144.
5 Kenneth Burke, A Grammar of Motives, University of Cali-
fornia, Berkeley, 1969, p. xv.
6 David Bobbitt, The Rhetoric of Redemption: Kenneth Burke’s
Redemption Drama and Martin Luther King Jr.’s “I Have a
Dream” Speech, Rowman & Littlefi eld, Lanham, MD, 2004,
p. 49.
7 http://www.americanrhetoric.com/speeches/gwbush911
jointsessionspeech.htm, accessed December 29, 2012.
8 Burke, Grammar of Motives, pp. 127–320.
9 Ibid., pp. 3–20.
10 Appel, p. 4.
11 Kenneth Burke, Rhetoric of Religion: Studies in Logology,
Beacon, Boston, 1969, p. 19.
12 Bobbitt, pp. 89–90.
13 Kenneth Burke, “Defi nition of Man,” in Language as Sym-
bolic Action: Essays on Life, Literature, and Method, Univer-
sity of California, Berkeley, 1966, p. 16.
14 Paul Dickson, The Offi cial Rules, Dell, New York, 1978,
p. 165.
15 Kenneth Burke, Permanence and Change: An Anatomy of
Purpose, Bobbs-Merrill, Indianapolis, IN, 1965, pp. 69–70,
also entire Part II; Burke, Attitudes Toward History, Hermes,
Los Altos, CA, 1959, pp. 308–314.
16 Burke, Permanence and Change, p. 283.
17 Burke, Rhetoric of Religion, pp. 190, 206.
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ENDNOTES E-15
Media and Culture
1 David Lyon, Postmodernity, 2nd ed., University of Minne-
sota, Minneapolis, 1999. For a fi ctional introduction to
postmodernism, see Arthur Asa Berger, Postmortem for a
Postmodernist, Alta Mira, Walnut Creek, CA, 1997.
2 Jean Baudrillard, “On Nihilism,” On the Beach, Vol. 6,
Spring 1984, pp. 38–39.
3 Jean-François Lyotard, The Postmodern Condition: A Report
on Knowledge, University of Minnesota, Minneapolis, 1984,
p. xxiv.
4 Jean Baudrillard, America, Verso, London, 1988, p. 166.
5 Lyotard, The Postmodern Condition, p. 76.
6 Fredric Jameson, “Postmodernism and Consumer
Society,” in The Anti-Aesthetic: Essays on Postmodern
Culture, H. Foster (ed.), Bay Press, Port Townsend, WA,
1983, p. 113.
Chapter 25: Media Ecology
1 Rachael Dretzin and Douglas Rushkoff (eds.), “Digital Na-
tion,” Frontline, WGBH, Boston, February 2, 2010.
2 Marshall McLuhan, “Playboy Interview: A Candid Con-
versation with the High Priest of Popcult and Metaphysi-
cian of Media,” March 1969, p. 53ff. Reprinted in Essential
McLuhan, Eric McLuhan and Frank Zingrone (eds.), Basic-
B ooks, New York, 1995, p. 238.
3 Marshall McLuhan, Understanding Media: The Extensions of
Man, Gingko, Corte Madera, CA, 2003, p. 31.
4 http://www.nfl .com/videos/nfl -super-bowl-commercials/
0ap2000000134659/Brotherhood, accessed June 5, 2013.
5 Marshall McLuhan and Quentin Fiore, The Medium Is the
Massage: An Inventory of Effects, Touchstone, New York,
1989, p. 26.
6 Ibid., pp. 84–85.
7 Ibid., p. 50.
8 John 8:32, New International Version of the Bible.
9 McLuhan and Fiore, p. 40.
10 Maurice Charland, “McLuhan and the Problematic of
Modernity: Riding the Maelstrom of Technological Media-
tion,” unpublished manuscript.
11 Neil Postman, Amusing Ourselves to Death, Penguin, New
York, 1985, p. 6.
12 Ibid., p. 7.
13 Neil Postman, “The Humanism of Media Ecology,” Key-
note Address, Inaugural Media Ecology Association Con-
vention, Fordham University, New York, June 2000.
Available at http://www.media-ecology.org/ publications/
MEA_proceedings/v1/humanism_of_media_ecology
.html, accessed November 20, 2010.
14 Neil Postman, “Informing Ourselves to Death,” German
Informatics Society, Stuttgart, Germany, October 11, 1990.
Available at http://w2.eff.org/Net_culture/Criticisms/
informing_ourselves_to_death.paper, accessed October 21,
2013.
15 Neil Postman, The Disappearance of Childhood, Vintage,
NewYork, 1994, p. 73.
16 McLuhan, Understanding Media, p. 17.
17 Dan M. Davin in McLuhan: Hot & Cool, Gerald Stearn (ed.),
Dial, New York, 1967, p. 185.
18 Dwight Macdonald in McLuhan: Hot & Cool, p. 203.
19 Christopher Ricks in McLuhan: Hot & Cool, p. 211.
20 George N. Gordon, “An End to McLuhanacy,” Educational
Technology, January 1982, p. 42.
21 Thomas W. Cooper, “The Medium Is the Mass: Marshall
McLuhan’s Catholicism and catholicism,” Journal of Media
and Religion, Vol. 5, 2006.
18 Kenneth Burke, Philosophy of Literary Form: Studies in
Symbolic Action, Berkeley, CA, 1973, pp. 39–40, 203;
see also Kenneth Burke, Language as Symbolic Action,
pp. 435, 478.
19 Daniel Aaron, “Thirty Years Later: Memories of the First
American Writers’ Congress,” American Scholar, Vol. 35,
1966, p. 499.
20 Adolf Hitler, Mein Kampf, Educa, Ottawa, Ontario, 2006.
21 Kenneth Burke, “Rhetoric—Old and New,” Journal of Gen-
eral Education, Vol. 5, 1951, p. 203.
22 See, for example, Marshall Prisbell and Janis Anderson,
“The Importance of Perceived Homophily, Levels of
Uncertainty, Feeling Good, Safety, and Self-Disclosure in
Interpersonal Relationships,” Communication Quarterly,
Vol. 28, 1980, No. 3, pp. 22–33.
23 Kenneth Burke, A Rhetoric of Motives, University of Cali-
fornia, Berkeley, 1969, p. 55.
24 Ruth 1:16, Revised Standard Version of the Bible.
25 Malcolm X, “The Ballot or the Bullet,” in Great Speakers and
Speeches, 2nd ed., John Lucaites and Lawrence Bernabo
(eds.), Kendall/Hunt, Dubuque, IA, 1992, pp. 277–286.
26 Nichols, p. 144.
Chapter 24: Narrative Paradigm
1 Walter R. Fisher, Human Communication as Narration:
Toward a Philosophy of Reason, Value, and Action, University
of South Carolina, Columbia, 1987, p. 24.
2 Ibid., p. xi.
3 Walter R. Fisher, “Toward a Logic of Good Reasons,”
Quarterly Journal of Speech, Vol. 64, 1978, pp. 376–384;
Walter R. Fisher, “Narration as a Human Communication
Paradigm: The Case of Public Moral Argument,” Commu-
nication Monographs, Vol. 51, 1984, pp. 1–22.
4 See the book of Ruth in the Torah or Old Testament.
5 Frederick Buechner, Peculiar Treasures, HarperCollins,
New York, 1979, pp. 166–168.
6 Fisher, Human Communication as Narration, p. 58.
7 Walter R. Fisher, “Clarifying the Narrative Paradigm,”
Communication Monographs, Vol. 56, 1989, pp. 55–58.
8 Thomas Kuhn, The Structure of Scientifi c Revolutions, Uni-
versity of Chicago, IL, 1962.
9 Fisher, Human Communication as Narration, p. 194.
10 Ibid., p. 20.
11 Ibid., pp. 59–62.
12 Ibid., pp. 62–69.
13 Ibid., p. 66.
14 Ibid, pp. 105–123.
15 Ibid., p. 109.
16 Ibid., pp. 187–188.
17 Ibid., p. 188.
18 Ruth 1:16, New Living Translation of the Bible.
19 Fisher, Human Communication as Narration, p. 76.
20 Barbara Warnick, “The Narrative Paradigm: Another
Story,” Quarterly Journal of Speech, Vol. 73, 1987, p. 176.
21 William G. Kirkwood, “Narration and the Rhetoric of
Possibility,” Communication Monographs, Vol. 59, 1992,
pp. 30–47.
22 Fisher, Human Communication as Narration, p. 66.
23 Kevin McClure, “Resurrecting the Narrative Paradigm:
Identifi cation and the Case of Young Earth Creationism,”
Rhetoric Society Quarterly, Vol. 39, 2009, pp. 197, 208.
24 Fisher, Human Communication as Narration, p. 67.
25 Walter R. Fisher, “The Narrative Paradigm: An Invitation,
Not a Demand; A Proposal, Not a Panacea,” paper pre-
sented at the Speech Communication Association Annual
Meeting, San Francisco, 1989.
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E-16 ENDNOTES
Brenda Dervin, Lawrence Grossberg, Barbara J. O’Keefe,
and Ellen Wartella (eds.), Sage, Newbury Park, CA, 1989,
p. 52.
3 Stuart Hall, “The Problem of Ideology—Marxism Without
Guarantees,” Journal of Communication Inquiry, Vol. 10,
No. 2, 1986, p. 29.
4 Jorge Larrain, “Stuart Hall and the Marxist Concept of
Ideology,” in Stuart Hall: Critical Dialogues in Cultural
Studies, David Morley and Kuan-Hsing Chen (eds.), Rout-
ledge, New York, 1996, p. 49.
5 Lawrence Grossberg, “History, Politics and Postmodern-
ism: Stuart Hall and Cultural Studies,” Journal of Commu-
nication Inquiry, Vol. 10, No. 2, 1986, p. 72.
6 Hall, “The Problem of Ideology,” pp. 28–44.
7 Antonio Gramsci, Selections from the Prison Notebooks of
Antonio Gramsci, Quintin Hoare and Geoffrey Nowell
Smith (eds. and trans.), International Publishers, New
York, 1971.
8 Stuart Hall, Representations: Cultural Representations and
Signifying Practices, Sage, London, 1997, p. 2.
9 Michel Foucault, Madness and Civilization: A History of In-
sanity in the Age of Reason, Random House, New York, 1965.
10 Michel Foucault, The Archaeology of Knowledge, Tavistock,
London, 1982, p. 46.
11 Herbert Gans, Deciding What’s News: A Study of CBS Eve-
ning News, NBC Nightly News, Newsweek, and Time,
Northwestern University, Evanston, IL, 1979.
12 From the CIA World Factbook shown in http://
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_countries_by_infant_
mortality_rate, accessed September 8, 2013.
13 http://www.usatoday.com/story/money/business/2013/
08/22/report-medicare-physician-access/2682301/, accessed
September 7, 2013.
14 Stuart Hall, “The Neo-Liberal Revolution,” Cultural Stud-
ies, Vol. 25, 2011, pp. 705–728.
15 Luke Winslow, “Comforting the Comfortable: Extreme
Makeover Home Edition’s Ideological Conquest,” Critical
Studies in Media Communication, Vol. 27, 2010, p. 269.
16 After a 10-year run, the fi nal program aired on
December 16, 2012. http://www.abc.go.com/shows/
extreme-makeover-home-edition/episode-guide, accessed
September 8, 2013.
17 Winslow, “Comforting the Comfortable,” p. 271.
18 Ibid., p. 276.
19 Ibid., p. 280.
20 Ibid., p. 286.
21 Stuart Hall, “Notes on Deconstructing ‘The Popular,’”
http://www.udel.edu/History/suisman/611_S05_
webpage/Hall_Notes-decon-popular , p. 453, accessed
September 3, 2013.
22 Grossberg, “History, Politics and Postmodernism,” p. 65.
23 James Anderson and Amie Kincaid, “Media Subservience
and Satirical Subversiveness: The Daily Show, The Colbert
Report, The Propaganda Model and the Paradox of Par-
ody,” Critical Studies in Media Communication, Vol. 30, 2013,
pp. 171–188.
24 Ibid.
25 Cornel West, The American Evasion of Philosophy: A Genea l-
ogy of Pragmatism, University of Wisconsin, Madison,
1989, p. 86.
26 Ibid., p. 239.
27 Reinhold Niebuhr, Christian Realism and Political Problems,
Charles Scribner’s Sons, New York, 1953, pp. 1–14.
28 See Cornel West, Prophecy Deliverance, Westminster Press,
Philadelphia, PA, 1982, pp. 95–127.
29 West, American Evasion, p. 233.
30 The Good Samaritan, Luke 10:25–37.
22 Marshall McLuhan, Letters of Marshall McLuhan, Matie
Molinaro, Corinne McLuhan, and William Toye (eds.),
Oxford University Press, Toronto, 1987, p. 384.
23 Marshall McLuhan, The Medium and the Light: Refl ections
on Religion, Eric McLuhan and Jacek Szklarek (eds.), Stod-
dart, Toronto, 1999, p. 103.
24 Tom Wolfe in McLuhan: Hot & Cool, p. 31.
25 Kenneth Boulding in McLuhan: Hot & Cool, p. 57.
26 Robert Putnam, “Bowling Alone: America’s Declining
Social Capital,” Journal of Democracy, Vol. 6, No. 1, 1995,
pp. 65–78.
Chapter 26: Semiotics
1 Roland Barthes, The Semiotic Challenge, Richard Howard
(trans.), University of California, Berkeley, 1994, p. 4.
2 James R. Beniger, “W ho Are the Most Important Theorists
of Communication?” Communication Research, Vol. 17,
1990, pp. 698–715.
3 Umberto Eco, A Theory of Semiotics, Indiana University,
Bloomington, 1976, p. 7.
4 Ferdinand de Saussure, Course in General Linguistics, Wade
Baskin (trans.), McGraw-Hill, New York, 1966, p. 16.
5 Roland Barthes, “The World of Wrestling,” in Mythologies,
Annette Lavers (trans.), Hill and Wang, New York, 1972, p. 17.
6 Ibid., pp. 19, 24.
7 See Barthes’ use of this phrase in The Semiotic Challenge,
p. 85. Barthes used these words to describe rhetoricians’
efforts to categorize fi gures of speech—alliteration,
hyperbole, irony, etc. The phrase is even more appropriate
to characterize his book Elements of Semiology, Annette
Lavers and Colin Smith (trans.), Jonathan Cape, London,
1967.
8 Donald Fry and Virginia Fry, “Continuing the Conversa-
tion Regarding Myth and Culture: An Alternative Reading
of Barthes,” American Journal of Semiotics, Vol. 6, No. 2/3,
1989, pp. 183–197.
9 Irwin Levine and L. Russell Brown, “Tie a Yellow Ribbon
Round the Ole Oak Tree,” Levine and Brown Music,
Inc., 1973.
10 Barthes, “Myth Today,” in Mythologies, p. 118.
11 W. Thomas Duncanson, “Issues of Transcendence and
Value in a Semiotic Frame,” paper presented to a joint ses-
sion of the Religious Speech Communication Association
and the Speech Communication Association Convention,
San Francisco, November 19, 1989, p. 29.
12 Kyong Kim, Caged in Our Own Signs: A Book about Semiot-
ics, Ablex, Norwood, NJ, 1996, p. 189.
13 Daniel Chandler, Semiotics: The Basics, 2nd ed., Routledge,
New York, 2007, pp. 13–57.
14 Anne Norton, Republic of Signs: Liberal Theory and American
Popular Culture, University of Chicago Press, Chicago,
1993, p. 60.
15 Douglas Kellner, “Cultural Studies, Multiculturalism, and
Media Culture,” in Gender, Race and Class in Media: A Text-
Reader, Gail Dines and Jan M. Humez (eds.), Sage, Thou-
sand Oaks, CA, 1996, p. 15.
16 Stuart Hall, “The Work of Representation,” in Representa-
tion: Cultural Representations and Signifying Practices, Stuart
Hall (ed.), Sage, London, pp. 13–74.
Chapter 27: Cultural Studies
1 www.rasmussenreports.com/public_content/politics/
current_events/healthcare/health_care_law, accessed
September 3, 2013.
2 Stuart Hall, “Ideology and Communication Theory,” in
Rethinking Communication Theory, Vol. 1: Paradigm Issues,
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ENDNOTES E-17
8 Werner J. Severin and James W. Tankard Jr., Communica-
tion Theories: Origins, Methods, and Uses in the Mass Media,
Longman, New York, 2001, pp. 293–294.
9 The core ideas of the theory detailed here are presented in
Alan M. Rubin, “Uses and Gratifi cations: An Evolving
Perspective of Media Effects,” in The Sage Handbook of Me-
dia Processes and Effects, Robin L. Nabi and Mary Beth Oli-
ver (eds.), Sage, Los Angeles, CA, 2009, pp. 147–159.
10 Elihu Katz, Jay G. Blumler, and Michael Gurevitch, “Utili-
zation of Mass Communication by the Individual,” in The
Uses of Mass Communications: Current Perspectives on Grati-
fi cations Research, Jay G. Blumler and Elihu Katz (eds.),
Sage, Beverly Hills, CA, 1974, p. 21.
11 Zizi Papacharissi and Alan M. Rubin, “Predictors of Inter-
net Use,” Journal of Broadcasting & Electronic Media, Vol. 44,
2000, pp. 175–196.
12 Seth Finn, “Origins of Media Exposure: Linking Personal-
ity Traits to TV, Radio, Print, and Film Use,” Communica-
tion Research, Vol. 24, 1997, pp. 507–529.
13 Glenn G. Sparks and Cheri W. Sparks, “Violence, Mayhem
and Horror,” in Media Entertainment: The Psychology of Its
Appeal, Dolf Zillmann and Peter Vorderer (eds.), Lawrence
Erlbaum, Mahwah, NJ, 2000, pp. 73–91.
14 Jay G. Blumler and Denis McQuail, Television in Politics,
University of Chicago Press, Chicago, IL, 1969.
15 Jack M. McLeod and Lee B. Becker, “Testing the Validity of
Gratifi cation Measures Through Political Effects Analy-
sis,” in The Uses of Mass Communications, pp. 137–164.
16 Alan M. Rubin, “An Examination of Television Viewing
Motives,” Communication Research, Vol. 8, 1981, pp. 141–165.
17 Bradley S. Greenberg, “Gratifi cations of Television View-
ing and Their Correlates for British Children,” in The Uses
of Mass Communications, pp. 71–92.
18 Robert Kubey and Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, “Television
Addiction Is No Mere Metaphor,” Scientifi c American, Vol.
286, No. 2, 2002, pp. 74–80.
19 David Giles, Illusions of Immortality: A Psychology of Fame
and Celebrity, Macmillan, London, 2000, p. 64.
20 Alan M. Rubin, Elizabeth M. Perse, and Robert A. Powell,
“Loneliness, Parasocial Interaction, and Local Television
News Viewing,” Human Communication Research, Vol. 12,
1985, pp. 155–180.
21 Public Broadcasting System, On Television: The Violence
Factor, video directed by Mary Magee, distributed by Cal-
ifornia Newsreel, San Francisco, CA, 1984.
22 Maane Khatchatourian, “The Memory of Cory Monteith
Lives On (and On) Via Social Media,” Variety, July 31,
2013, http://variety.com/2013/digital/news/the-
memory-of-cory-monteith-lives-on-and-on-on-social-
media-1200569547/, accessed August 13, 2013.
23 Alan M. Rubin, “Uses-and-Gratifi cations Perspective on
Media Effects,” in Media Effects: Advances in Theory and Re-
search, Jennings Bryant and Mary Beth Oliver (eds.), Law-
rence Erlbaum, New York, 2009, pp. 165–184.
24 William J. Brown and Michael D. Basil, “Media Celebrities
and Public Health: Responses to ‘Magic’ Johnson’s HIV
Disclosure and Its Impact on AIDS Risk and High-Risk Be-
haviors,” Health Communication, Vol. 7, 1995, pp. 345–370.
25 Jiyeon So, “Uses, Gratifi cations, and Beyond: Toward a
Model of Motivated Media Exposure and Its Effects on
Risk Perception,” Communication Theory, Vol. 22, No. 2,
2012, pp. 116–137.
26 Philip Elliott, “Uses and Gratifi cations Research: A Cri-
tique and a Sociological Alternative,” in The Uses of Mass
Communications, pp. 249–268.
27 Alan Rubin, “Ritualized and Instrumental Television View-
ing,” Journal of Communication, Vol. 34, No. 3, 1984, pp. 67–77.
31 Clair Alexander, “Introduction: Stuart Hall and ‘Race,’”
Cultural Studies, Vol. 23, 2009, p. 457.
32 Stuart Hall, “On Postmodernism and Articulation: An
Interview with Stuart Hall,” Lawrence Grossberg (ed.),
Journal of Communication Inquiry, Vol. 10, No. 2, 1986, p. 45.
33 Cited by Helen Davis, Understanding Stuart Hall, Sage,
Thousand Oaks, CA, 2004, p. 128.
34 Parekh Report of the Commission on the Future of Multi-Ethnic
Britain, Profi le/The Runnymede Trust, London, 2000, p. 169.
35 Clifford Christians, “Normativity as Catalyst,” in Rethink-
ing Communication Theory, p. 148.
36 Samuel Becker, “Communication Studies: Visions of the
Future,” in Rethinking Communication Theory, p. 126.
Media Effects
1 Paul Lazarsfeld, Bernard Berelson, and Hazel Gaudet, The
People’s Choice, Duell, Sloan and Pearce, New York, 1944.
2 A. W. van den Ban, “A Review of the Two-Step Flow of
Communication Hypothesis,” in Speech Communication Be-
havior, Larry L. Barker and Robert Kiebler (eds.), Prentice-
Hall, Englewood Cliffs, NJ, 1971, pp. 193–205.
3 Dolf Zillmann, “Excitation Transfer in Communication-
Mediated Aggressive Behavior,” Journal of Experimental
Social Psychology, Vol. 7, 1971, pp. 419–434.
4 Albert Bandura, Social Learning Theory, Prentice-Hall,
Englewood Cliffs, NJ, 1977.
5 Igor Pantic, Aleksandar Damjanovic, Jovana Todorovic,
Dubravka Topalovic, Dragana Bojovic-Jovic, Sinisa Ristic,
and Senka Pantic, “Association Between Online Social
Networking and Depression in High School Students: Be-
havioral Physiology Viewpoint,” Psychiatria Danubina,
Vol. 24, 2012, pp. 90–93.
6 Lauren Jelenchick, Jens Eickhoff, and Megan Moreno,
“‘Facebook Depression?’ Social Networking Site Use and
Depression in Older Adolescents,” Journal of Adolescent
Health, Vol. 52, 2013, pp. 128–130.
7 Maria Kalpidou, Dan Costin, and Jessica Morris, “The Re-
lationship Between Facebook and the Well-Being of Un-
dergraduate College Students,” Cyberpsychology, Behavior,
and Social Networking, Vol. 14, 2011, pp. 183–189.
Chapter 28: Uses and Gratifi cations
1 “Man Dies After Playing Video Game for 32 Hours,” The
Sydney Morning Herald, October 20, 2002, http://www
.smh.com.au/articles/2002/10/19/1034561356377.html,
accessed September 11, 2010.
2 “S Korean Dies After Games Session,” BBC News, August
10, 2005, http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/technology/4137782
.stm, accessed September 11, 2010.
3 Paul and Alex are hypothetical roommates invented for
this chapter, but the stories of the men who died playing
video games are well-documented, real-life cases.
4 Aliyah Shahid, “Xbox Addict, Chris Staniforth, Killed by
Blood Clot After Marathon Gaming Session in England,”
Daily News, July 30, 2011, http://www.nydailynews.com/
news/world/xbox-addict-chris-staniforth-killed-blood-
clot-marathon-gaming-session-england-article-1.162095,
accessed August 13, 2013.
5 Elihu Katz, “Mass Communication Research and the
Study of Popular Culture: An Editorial Note on a Possible
Future for This Journal,” Studies in Public Communication,
Vol. 2, 1959, pp. 1–6.
6 Bernard Berelson, “The State of Communication Research,”
Public Opinion Quarterly, Vol. 23, 1959, pp. 1–6.
7 Paul Lazarsfeld, Bernard Berelson, and Hazel Gaudet, The
People’s Choice, Columbia University Press, New York, 1948.
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E-18 ENDNOTES
9 Shanto Iyengar, Mark Peters, and Donald Kinder, “Experi-
mental Demonstrations of the ‘Not-So-Minimal’ Conse-
quences of Television News Programs,” American Political
Science Review, Vol. 76, 1982, pp. 848–858. The experiment
reported is only one of a series of studies conducted by
Iyengar and Kinder at Yale and the University of Michigan.
10 Maxwell McCombs and Tamara Bell, “The Agenda-
Setting Role of Mass Communication,” in An Integrated
Approach to Communication Theory and Research, Michael
Salwen and Donald Stacks (eds.), Lawrence Erlbaum, Hills-
dale, NJ, 1996, p. 100.
11 James Tankard et al., “Media Frames: Approaches to Con-
ceptualization and Measurement,” paper presented at the
annual meeting of the Association for Education in Jour-
nalism and Mass Communication, Boston, August 1991.
12 Maxwell McCombs, “New Frontiers in Agenda Setting:
Agendas of Attributes and Frames,” Mass Communication
Review, Vol. 24, 1997, pp. 32–52.
13 Robert Entman, “Framing: Toward Clarifi cation of a Frac-
tured Paradigm,” Journal of Communication, Vol. 43, No. 3,
1993, p. 52.
14 Maxwell McCombs, Esteban López-Escobar, and Juan
Pablo Llamas, “Setting the Agenda of Attributes in the
1996 Spanish General Election,” Journal of Communication,
Vol. 50, No. 2, 2000, pp. 77–92; Toshiro Takeshita and
Shunji Mikami, “A Study of Agenda Setting,” Keio Com-
munication Review, Vol. 17, 1995, pp. 27–41; Sebastián Va-
lenzuela and Maxwell McCombs, “Agenda-Setting Effects
on Vote Choice: Evidence from the 2006 Mexican Elec-
tion,” paper presented at the Political Communication Di-
vision of the International Communication Association,
San Francisco, CA, May 2007.
15 Salma Ghanem, “Media Coverage of Crime and Public
Opinion: An Explanation of the Second Level of Agenda
Setting,” unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of
Texas at Austin, 1996. The study is also described in Mc-
Combs, “New Frontiers in Agenda Setting,” pp. 11–12.
16 Kihan Kim and Maxwell McCombs, “News Story Descrip-
tions and the Public’s Opinions of Political Candidates,”
Journalism and Mass Communication Quarterly, Vol. 84, 2007,
pp. 299–314.
17 McCombs, “New Frontiers in Agenda Setting,” p. 48.
18 Craig Trumbo, “The Effect of Newspaper Coverage of In-
fl uenza on the Rate of Physician Visits for Infl uenza 2002–
2008,” Mass Communication and Society, Vol. 15, 2012,
pp. 718–738.
19 John Fortunato, The Ultimate Assist: The Relationship and
Broadcasting Strategies of the NBA and Television Networks,
Hampton, Cresskill, NJ, 2001.
20 Young Jun Son and David Weaver, “Another Look at What
Moves Public Opinion: Media Agenda Setting and Polls in
the 2000 U.S. Election,” International Journal of Public Opin-
ion Research, Vol. 18, 2006, pp. 174–197.
21 Maxwell McCombs, Setting the Agenda, Polity, Cambridge,
UK, 2004, p. 140.
22 McCombs, “News Infl uence,” p. 11.
23 Maxwell McCombs and Marcus Funk, “Shaping the
Agenda of Local Daily Newspapers: A Methodology
Merging the Agenda Setting and Community Structure
Perspectives,” Mass Communication and Society, Vol. 14,
2011, pp. 905–919.
24 Scott Althaus and David Tewksbury, “Agenda Setting and
the ‘New’ News: Patterns of Issue Importance Among
Readers of the Paper and Online Versions of The New York
Times,” Communication Research, Vol. 29, 2002, pp. 180–207.
25 Ibid., p. 197.
Chapter 29: Cultivation Theory
1 George Gerbner and Larry Gross, “Living with Television:
The Violence Profi le,” Journal of Communication, Vol. 26,
1976, No. 2, p. 76.
2 Ibid., p. 77.
3 Jerome H. Skolnick, The Politics of Protest, Simon and
Schuster, New York, 1969, pp. 3–24.
4 Michael Morgan, James Shanahan, and Nancy Signorielli,
“Growing Up With Television,” in Media Effects: Advances
in Theory & Research, Jennings Bryant and Mary Beth Oli-
ver (eds.), Routledge, New York, 2009, pp. 34–49.
5 George Gerbner, Larry Gross, Michael Morgan, and Nancy
Signorielli, “Charting the Mainstream: Television’s Con-
tributions to Political Orientations,” Journal of Communica-
tion, Vol. 32, No. 2, 1982, p. 103.
6 Morgan, Shanahan, and Signorielli, p. 35.
7 Ibid. , p. 38.
8 Glenn Sparks and Robert Ogles, “The Difference Between
Fear of Victimization and the Probability of Being Victim-
ized: Implications for Cultivation,” Journal of Broadcasting
& Electronic Media, Vol. 34, 1990, No. 3, pp. 351–358.
9 L. J. Shrum, “Media Consumption and Perceptions of So-
cial Reality: Effects and Underlying Processes,” in Media
Effects: Advances in Theory & Research, pp. 50–73.
10 Gerbner, Gross, Morgan, and Signorielli, p. 117.
11 George Gerbner, Larry Gross, Michael Morgan, and Nancy
Signorielli, “The ‘Mainstreaming’ of America: Violence
Profi le No. 11,” Journal of Communication, Vol. 30, No. 3,
1980, p. 15.
12 Gerbner, Gross, Morgan, and Signorielli, “Charting the
Mainstream,” p. 103.
13 Michael Morgan and James Shanahan, “Two Decades of
Cultivation Research: An Appraisal and a Meta-Analysis,”
in Communication Yearbook 20, Brant R. Burleson (ed.),
Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 1997, pp. 1–45.
14 Anthony Doob and Glenn Macdonald, “Television View-
ing and Fear of Victimization: Is the Relationship Causal?”
Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, Vol. 37, No. 2,
1979, pp. 170–179.
15 Morgan and Shanahan, p. 5.
Chapter 30: Agenda-Setting Theory
1 Maxwell McCombs, “News Infl uence on Our Pictures of
the World,” in Media Effects: Advances in Theory and Re-
search, Jennings Bryant and Dolf Zillmann (eds.), Law-
rence Erlbaum, Hillsdale, NJ, 1994, p. 4.
2 Maxwell McCombs and Donald Shaw, “A Progress Report
on Agenda-Setting Research,” paper presented to the As-
sociation for Education in Journalism and Mass Commu-
nication, Theory and Methodology Division, San Diego,
CA, April 18–27, 1974, p. 28.
3 Walter Lippmann, Public Opinion, Macmillan, New York,
1922, p. 3.
4 Bernard C. Cohen, The Press and Foreign Policy, Princeton
University, Princeton, NJ, 1963, p. 13.
5 Theodore White, The Making of the President, 1972, Bantam,
New York, 1973, p. 245.
6 Paul Lazarsfeld, Bernard Berelson, and Hazel Gaudet, The
People’s Choice, Duell, Sloan and Pearce, New York, 1944.
7 Maxwell McCombs and Donald Shaw, “The Agenda-
Setting Function of the Mass Media,” Public Opinion
Quarterly, Vol. 36, 1972, pp. 176–187.
8 Ray Funkhouser, “The Issues of the Sixties: An Explor-
atory Study in the Dynamics of Public Opinion,” Public
Opinion Quarterly, Vol. 37, 1973, pp. 62–75.
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ENDNOTES E-19
26 Adam Shehata and Jesper Strömbäck, “Not (Yet) a New
Era of Minimal Effects: A Study of Agenda Setting at the
Aggregate and Individual Levels,” Harvard International
Journal of Press Politics, Vol. 18, 2013, pp. 234–255.
27 Renita Coleman and Maxwell McCombs, “The Young and
Agenda-less? Exploring Age-Related Differences in
Agenda Setting on the Youngest Generation, Baby Boom-
ers, and the Civic Generation,” Journalism and Mass Com-
munication Quarterly, Vol. 84, 2007, p. 505.
28 Clifford Christians, John Ferré, and Mark Fackler, Good
News: Social Ethics and the Press, Oxford University Press,
New York, 1993.
29 Richard Rorty, Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature, Prince-
ton University, Princeton, NJ, 1979, p. 373.
30 Christians, Ferré, and Fackler, p. 192.
31 Martin Buber, I and Thou, 2nd ed., R. G. Smith (trans.),
Scribner’s, New York, 1958, pp. 60, 69.
32 Christians, Ferré, and Fackler, pp. 69, 73.
33 Ibid., p. 89.
34 Ibid., pp. 78, 111–113.
35 Clifford Christians and Kaarle Nordenstreng, “Social Re-
sponsibility Worldwide,” Journal of Mass Media Ethics, Vol.
19, 2004, pp. 3–28.
36 Christians, Ferré, and Fackler, p. 92.
37 McCombs, “News Infl uence,” p. 6.
38 Gerald Kosicki, “Problems and Opportunities in Agenda-
Setting Research,” Journal of Communication, Vol. 43, No. 2,
1993, p. 113.
39 Donald Shaw and Maxwell McCombs (eds.), The Emer-
gence of American Political Issues, West, St. Paul, MN, 1977,
p. 12.
40 McC ombs, “New Frontiers in Agenda Setting,” p. 9.
Intercultural Communication
1 Gerry Philipsen, Speaking Culturally: Exploration in Social
Communication, State University of New York, Albany,
1992, p. 7.
2 Gerry Philipsen, “Speaking ‘Like a Man’ in Teamsterville:
Cultural Patterns of Role Enactment in an Urban Neighbor-
hood,” Quarterly Journal of Speech, Vol. 61, 1975, pp. 13–22.
3 Donal Carbaugh, “Communication Rules in Donahue Dis-
course,” in Cultural Communication and Intercultural Con-
tact, Donal Carbaugh (ed.), Lawrence Erlbaum, Hillsdale,
NJ, 1990, pp. 119–149.
4 See chapter on cultural variability in William B. Gudykunst
and Stella Ting-Toomey, Culture and Interpersonal Commu-
nication, Sage, Newbury Park, CA, 1988, pp. 39–59.
5 Edward T. Hall, Beyond Culture, Anchor, New York, 1977,
p. 91.
6 Ibid., pp. 85–128.
7 Personal correspondence from Gerry Philipsen, August 2,
2009.
Chapter 31: Communication Accommodation Theory
1 Howard Giles, “Accent Mobility: A Model and Some
Data,” Anthropological Linguistics, Vol. 15, 1973, pp. 87–109.
2 Cindy Gallois, Tania Ogay, and Howard Giles, “Commu-
nication Accommodation Theory: A Look Back and a Look
Ahead,” in Theorizing About Intercultural Communication,
William B. Gudykunst (ed.), Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA,
2005, p. 123.
3 Nikolas Coupland, Justine Coupland, Howard Giles, and
Karen Henwood, “Accommodating the Elderly: Invoking
and Extending a Theory,” Language and Society, Vol. 17,
1988, p. 3.
4 Angie Williams and Howard Giles, “Intergenerational
Conversat ions: Young Adults’ Retrospective Accounts,”
Human Communication Research, Vol. 23, 1996, p. 237.
5 Ibid., p. 239.
6 Howard Giles, Nikolas Coupland, and Justine Coupland,
“Accommodation Theory: Communication, Context, and
Consequence,” in Contexts of Accommodation: Developments
in Applied Sociolinguistics, Howard Giles, Justine Coup-
land, and Nikolas Coupland (eds.), Cambridge University,
England, 1991, p. 10.
7 Howard Giles, Kimberly Noels, et al., “Intergenerational
Communication Across Cultures: Young People’s Percep-
tions of Conversations with Family Elders, Non-Family
Elders and Same-Age Peers,” Journal of Cross-Cultural
Gerontology, Vol. 18, 2003, p. 9.
8 Jake Harwood, Priya Raman, and Miles Hewstone, “The
Family and Communication Dynamics of Group Salience,”
Journal of Family Communication, Vol. 6, 2006, pp. 181–200.
9 Williams and Giles, “Intergenerational Conversations,” p. 233.
10 Giles, Coupland, and Coupland, “Accommodation The-
ory,” p. 46.
11 Ibid., p. 42.
12 Henri Tajfel and John C. Turner, “The Social Identity The-
ory of Intergroup Behavior,” in The Psychology of Intergroup
Relations, L. Worchel and W. Austin (eds.), Nelson Hall,
Chicago, IL, 1986, pp. 7–24.
13 Jake Harwood, “Communication as Social Identity,” in
Communication as . . . Perspectives on Theory, Gregory Shep-
herd, Jeffrey St. John, and Ted Striphas (eds.), Sage, Thou-
sand Oaks, CA, 2006, p. 89.
14 Giles, Noels, et al., “Intergenerational Communication,” p. 24.
15 Williams and Giles, “Intergenerational Conversations,” p. 238.
16 Ibid., p. 221.
17 Cynthia Gallois and Victor Callan, “Interethnic Accom-
modation: The Role of Norms,” in Contexts of Accommoda-
tion, p. 249.
18 Cynthia Gallois, Arlene Franklyn Stokes, et al., “Commu-
nication Accommodation in Intercultural Encounters,” in
Theories in Intercultural Communication, Young Yun Kim
and William B. Gudykunst (eds.), Sage, Newbury Park,
CA, 1988, p. 166.
19 Gallois, Ogay, and Giles, “Communication Accommoda-
tion Theory,” p. 128.
20 Giles, Coupland, and Coupland, “Accommodation The-
ory,” p. 28.
21 Gallois, Ogay, and Giles, “Communication Accommoda-
tion Theory,” p. 126.
22 Fritz Heider, The Psychology of Interpersonal Relations, John
Wiley, New York, 1958; Harold Kelley, “The Process of
Causal Attribution,” American Psychologist, Vol. 28, 1973,
pp. 107–128.
23 Ellen B. Ryan, Ann P. Anas, and Melissa Vuckovich, “The
Effects of Age, Hearing Loss, and Communication Diffi –
culty on First Impressions,” Communication Research
Reports, Vol. 24, 2007, pp. 13–19.
24 Howard Giles, Anthony Mulac, James Bradac, and Patricia
Johnson, “Speech Accommodation Theory: The First Decade
and Beyond,” in Communication Yearbook 10, Margaret L.
McLaughlin (ed.), Sage, Newbury Park, CA, 1987, p. 26.
25 Howard Giles, Michael Willemyns, Cindy Gallois, and
Michelle Chernikoff Anderson, “Accommodating a New
Frontier: The Context of Law Enforcement,” in Social Com-
munication, Klaus Fiedler (ed.), Psychology Press, New
York, 2007, p. 130.
26 Michael S. Schmidt and Joseph Goldstein, “Even as Vio-
lent Crime Falls, Killing of Offi cers Rises,” The New York
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E-20 ENDNOTES
Times, April 9, 2012, http://www.nytimes.com/2012/
04/10/us/defying-trends-killings-of-police-offi cers-are-
on-the-rise.html, accessed October 29, 2013. (Also pub-
lished on p. A1 of the April 10, 2012 edition, titled “Killing
of Police Continues Rising as Violence Falls.”)
27 Travis Dixon, Terry Schell, Howard Giles, and Kristin
Drogos, “The Infl uence of Race in Police–Civilian Interac-
tions: A Content Analysis of Videotaped Interactions
Taken During Cincinnati Police Traffi c Stops,” Journal of
Communication, Vol. 58, 2008, p. 530.
28 Giles, Willemyns, Gallois, and Anderson, p. 148.
29 Gallois, Ogay, and Giles, “Communication Accommoda-
tion Theory,” p. 134.
30 Ibid., p. 130.
31 Cindy Gallois and Howard Giles, “Accommodating Mu-
tual Infl uence in Intergroup Encounters,” in Progress in
Communication Sciences: Vol. 14, M. T. Palmer and G. A.
Barnett (eds.), Ablex, Stamford, UK, 1998, p. 158.
32 Gallois, Ogay, and Giles, “Communication Accommoda-
tion Theory,” p. 134.
33 Jordan Soliz and Howard Giles, “Relational and Identity
Processes in Communication: A Contextual and Meta-
Analytical Review of Communication Accommodation
Theory,” in Communication Yearbook 38, Elisia L. Cohen
(ed.), Thousand Oaks, CA, in press.
Chapter 32: Face-Negotiation Theory
1 Stella Ting-Toomey and Atsuko Kurogi, “Facework Com-
petence in Intercultural Confl ict: An Updated Face-
Negotiation Theory,” International Journal of Intercultural
Relations, Vol. 22, 1998, p. 190.
2 Harry C. Triandis, Individualism & Collectivism, Westview,
Boulder, CO, 1995, pp. 10–11.
3 Ting-Toomey and Kurogi, p. 190.
4 Ibid., p. 196.
5 Hazel Markus and Shinobu Kitayama, “Culture and the
Self: Implications for Cognition, Emotion, and Motiva-
tion,” Psychological Review, Vol. 2, 1991, pp. 224–253.
6 John Oetzel, “The Effects of Self-Construals and Ethnicity
on Self-Reported Confl ict Styles,” Communication Reports,
Vol. 11, 1998, p. 140. See also William B. Gudykunst et al.,
“The Infl uence of Cultural Individualism–Collectivism,
Self-Construals, and Individual Values on Communica-
tion Styles Across Cultures,” Human Communication Re-
search, Vol. 22, 1996, pp. 510–540.
7 Ting-Toomey and Kurogi, p. 218.
8 John Oetzel and Stella Ting-Toomey, “Face Concerns in
Interpersonal Confl ict: A Cross-Cultural Empirical Test of
the Face-Negotiation Theory,” Communication Research,
Vol. 30, 2003, p. 619.
9 Ting-Toomey and Kurogi, p. 187.
10 Penelope Brown and Stephen Levinson, “Universals in
Language Usage: Politeness Phenomenon,” in Questions
and Politeness: Strategies in Social Interaction, Esther N.
Goody (ed.), Cambridge University Press, Cambridge,
UK, 1978, p. 66.
11 Lin Yutang, My Country and My People, John Day, Taipei,
Republic of China, 1968, p. 199.
12 Stella Ting-Toomey, “Intercultural Confl ict Styles: A Face-
Negotiation Theory,” in Theories in Intercultural Communi-
cation, Young Yun Kim and William B. Gudykunst (eds.),
Sage, Newbury Park, CA, 1988, p. 215.
13 M. A. Rahim, “A Measure of Styles of Handling Interper-
sonal Confl ict,” Academy of Management Journal, Vol. 26,
1983, pp. 368–376.
14 Robert Blake and Jane Mouton, The Managerial Grid, Gulf,
Houston, 1964; Ralph Kilmann and Kenneth Thomas,
“Developing a Forced-Choice Measure of Confl ict-
Handling Behavior: The ‘Mode’ Instrument,” Educational
and Psychological Measurement, Vol. 37, 1977, pp. 309–325.
15 Stella Ting-Toomey, John Oetzel, and Kimberlie Yee-Jung,
“Self-Construal Types and Confl ict Management Styles,”
Communication Reports, Vol. 14, 2002, pp. 87–104.
16 Stella Ting-Toomey, “Translating Confl ict Face-Negotiation
Theory into Practice,” in Dan Landis, Jane Bennett, and
Milton Bennett (eds.), Handbook of Intercultural Training,
3rd ed., Sage, Thousand Oaks, 2004, pp. 229–230.
17 Ibid., p. 230.
18 Ting-Toomey, Oetzel, and Yee-Jung, pp. 87–104.
19 Stella Ting-Toomey, “The Matrix of Face: An Updated
Face-Negotiation Theory,” in Theorizing About Intercultural
Communication, William B. Gudykunst (ed.), Sage, Thou-
sand Oaks, CA, 2005, p. 86.
20 Roger Fisher, William Ury, and Bruce Patton, Getting to
Yes: Negotiating Agreement Without Giving In, 2nd ed., Pen-
guin, New York, 1991.
21 Ting-Toomey and Kurogi, p. 194.
22 Stella Ting-Toomey and Jiro Takai, “Explaining Intercul-
tural Confl ict: Promising Approaches and Directions,” in
The Sage Handbook of Confl ict Communication: Integrating
Theory, Research and Practice, John G. Oetzel and Stella Ting-
Toomey (eds.), Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 2006, p. 698.
23 Ting-Toomey, “The Matrix of Face.”
24 Ting-Toomey and Takai, p. 702.
25 Stella Ting-Toomey, Communicating Across Cultures, Guil-
ford, New York, 1999, p. vii.
26 Oetzel and Ting-Toomey, p. 599.
27 Ibid., p. 617.
28 Gerry Philipsen, “Some Thoughts on How to Approach
Finding One’s Feet in Unfamiliar Cultural Terrain,” Com-
munication Monographs, Vol. 77, 2013, pp. 160–168.
29 Adrian Toomey, Tenzin Dorjee, and Stella Ting-Toomey,
“Bicultural Identity Negotiation, Confl icts, and Inter-
group Communication Strategies,” Journal of Intercultural
Communication Research, Vol. 42, 2013, pp. 112–134.
Chapter 33: Speech Codes Theory
1 Gerry Philipsen, “Speaking ‘Like a Man’ in Teamsterville:
Culture Patterns of Role Enactment in an Urban Neigh-
borhood,” Quarterly Journal of Speech, Vol. 61, 1975,
pp. 13–22; Gerry Philipsen, “Places for Speaking in Team-
sterville,” Quarterly Journal of Speech, Vol. 62, 1976, pp. 15–25.
2 Dell Hymes, “The Ethnography of Speaking,” in T. Glad-
win and W. C. Sturtevant (eds.), Anthropology and Human
Behavior, Anthropological Society of Washington, Wash-
ington, DC, 1962, pp. 13–53.
3 Gerry Philipsen, “Cultural Communication,” in Handbook
of International and Intercultural Communication, 2nd ed.,
William B. Gudykunst and Bella Mody (eds.), Sage, Thou-
sand Oaks, CA, 2002, p. 56.
4 Ibid., p. 60.
5 Tamar Katriel and Gerry Philipsen, “‘What We Need Is
Communication’: Communication as a Cultural Category
in Some American Speech,” Communication Monographs,
Vol. 48, 1981, pp. 302–317.
6 Gerry Philipsen, Speaking Culturally: Explorations in Social
Communication, State University of New York, Albany,
1992, p. 7.
7 Ibid., p. 4.
8 Ibid., p. 6.
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ENDNOTES E-21
Chapter 34: Genderlect Styles
1 Deborah Tannen, You Just Don’t Understand, Ballantine,
New York, 1990, p. 42.
2 Deborah Tannen, Conversational Style: Analyzing Talk
Among Friends, Ablex, Norwood , NJ, 1984.
3 Ibid., p. vii.
4 Tannen, You Just Don’t Understand, p. 259.
5 Ibid., p. 279.
6 Ibid., p. 16.
7 Ibid., p. 108.
8 Julia Wood, Gendered Lives, Cengage, Boston, MA, 2009, p. 126.
9 Daniel Maltz and Ruth Borker, “A Cultural Approach to
Male–Female Miscommunication,” in Language and Social
Identity, John Gumperz (ed.), Cambridge University Press,
Cambridge, UK, 1982, pp. 196–216.
10 Wood, pp. 127–128.
11 Tannen, You Just Don’t Understand, p. 48.
12 Louann Brizendine, The Female Brain, Random House,
New York, NY, 2006.
13 Tannen, You Just Don’t Understand, p. 212.
14 Ibid., p. 62.
15 Ibid., p. 72.
16 Ibid., p. 150.
17 Susan Pease Gadoua, “To Connect, Women Want to Talk
and Men Want Sex—How Do Straight Couples Reconcile?”
Psychology Today, February 7, 2010, http://www.psychology
today.com/blog/contemplating-divorce/201002/connect-
women-want-talk-and-men-want-sex-how-do-straight-
couples-r, accessed September 24, 2013.
18 William Labov, Sociolinguistic Patterns, University of Penn-
sylvania Press, Philadelphia, 1972.
19 Wood, p. 126.
20 Louise Cherry and Michael Lewis, “Mothers and
Two-Year-Olds: A Study of Sex-Differentiated Aspects of
Verbal Interaction,” Developmental Psychology, Vol. 12,
1976, pp. 276–282.
21 Tannen, You Just Don’t Understand, pp. 120–121, 298.
22 Carol Gilligan, In a Different Voice: Psychological Theory and
Women’s Development, Harvard University, Cambridge,
MA, 1982.
23 Seyla Benhabib, “The Generalized and the Concrete Other:
The Kohlberg–Gilligan Controversy and Feminist The-
ory,” in Seyla Benhabib and Drucilla Cornell (eds.), Femi-
nism as Critique, University of Minnesota, Minneapolis,
1987, p. 78.
24 Lawrence Kohlberg, Essays on Moral Development, Volume 1:
The Philosophy of Moral Development, Harper & Row, San
Francisco, 1981, p. 12.
25 Gilligan, p. 18.
26 Carol Gilligan, “In a Different Voice: Women’s Concep-
tions of Self and Morality,” Harvard Educational Review,
Vol. 47, 1977, p. 484.
27 Tannen, Conversational Style, p. 38.
28 J. W. Santrock, A. M. Minnett, and B. D. Campbell, The Au-
thoritative Guide to Self-Help Books, Guilford, New York, 1994.
29 Adrianne W. Kunkel and Brant R. Burleson, “Social Sup-
port and the Emotional Lives of Men and Women: An As-
sessment of the Different Cultures Perspective,” in Sex
Differences and Similarities in Communication, Daniel Ca-
nary and Kathryn Dindia (eds.), Lawrence Erlbaum, Mah-
wah, NJ, 1998, p. 116.
30 Senta Troemel-Ploetz, “Review Essay: Selling the Apoliti-
cal,” Discourse & Society, Vol. 2, 1991, p. 497.
31 Ibid., p. 491.
32 Ibid., p. 495.
9 Gerry Philipsen, “A Theory of Speech Codes,” in Develop-
ing Communication Theory, Gerry Philipsen and Terrance
Albrecht (eds.), State University of New York, Albany,
1997, pp. 119–156.
10 Gerry Philipsen, Lisa M. Coutu, and Patricia Covarrubias,
“Speech Codes Theory: Restatement, Revisions, and Re-
sponse to Criticisms,” in Theorizing About Intercultural
Communication, William B. Gudykunst (ed.), Sage, Thou-
sand Oaks, CA, 2005, p. 59.
11 Dell Hymes, “Ways of Speaking,” in Explorations in the
Ethnography of Speaking, Richard Bauman and Joel Sherzer
(eds.), Cambridge University, London, 1974, pp. 433–451.
12 Erving Goffman, The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life,
Doubleday Anchor, Garden City, NY, 1959.
13 Philipsen, “A Theory of Speech Codes,” p. 139.
14 Philipsen, Speaking Culturally, p. 110.
15 Ibid., p. 113, citing P. Berger, B. Berger, and H. Kellner, The
Homeless Mind: Modernization and Consciousness, Vintage,
New York, 1973, p. 89.
16 Ibid., p. 76. See also Katriel and Philipsen, “‘What We
Need Is Communication,’” p. 308.
17 Philipsen, “A Theory of Speech Codes,” p. 140.
18 Philipsen, “Mayor Daley’s Council Speech,” in Speaking
Culturally, pp. 43–61.
19 Philipsen, Speaking Culturally, pp. 77–80.
20 Philipsen, “A Theory of Speech Codes,” p. 148.
21 Dwight Conquergood, “Poetics, Play, Process, and Power:
The Performance Turn in Anthropology,” Text and Perfor-
mance Quarterly, Vol. 1, 1989, pp. 82–95.
22 James Clifford, Predicament of Culture, Harvard University
Press, Cambridge, MA, p. 49.
23 Conquergood, p. 87.
24 Dwight Conquergood, “Ethnography, Rhetoric, and Per-
formance,” Quarterly Journal of Speech, Vol. 78, 1992, p. 90.
25 Gerry Philipsen, “Coming to Terms with Cultures,” 2008
NCA Carroll C. Arnold distinguished lecture, Allyn &
Bacon, Boston, MA, 2010, p. 7.
26 Stella Ting-Toomey, “Applying Dimensional Values in Un-
derstanding Intercultural Communication,” Communica-
tion Monographs, Vol. 77, 2010, pp. 169–180
27 Gerry Philipsen, “Speech Codes Theory: Traces of Culture
in Interpersonal Communication,” in Engaging Theories of
Interpersonal Communication, Leslie A. Baxter and Dawn O.
Braithwaite (eds.) Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 2008,
pp. 269–280.
28 Ibid., p. 278.
Gender and Communication
1 Robin Lakoff, Language and Women’s Place, Harper & Row,
New York, 1975.
2 Kathryn Dindia, “Men Are from North Dakota, Women
Are from South Dakota,” paper presented at the National
Communication Association convention, November
19–23, 1997.
3 Julia T. Wood and Kathryn Dindia, “What’s the Differ-
ence? A Dialogue About Differences and Similarities Be-
tween Women and Men,” in Sex Differences and Similarities
in Communication, Daniel Canary and Kathryn Dindia
(eds.), Lawrence Erlbaum, Mahwah, NJ, 1998, pp. 19–38.
4 Sandra L. Bem, “Androgyny vs. the Tight Little Lives of
Fluffy Women and Chesty Men,” Psychology Today, Vol. 9,
1975, pp. 58–62.
5 Cheris Kramarae, “Gender and Dominance,” in Communi-
cation Yearbook 15, Stanley Deetz (ed.), Sage, Newbury
Park, CA, 1992, pp. 469–474.
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E-22 ENDNOTES
Chapter 35: Standpoint Theory
1 Julia T. Wood, Communication Theories in Action, 1st ed.,
Wadsworth, Belmont, CA, 1997, p. 250.
2 Sandra Harding, “Comment on Hekman’s ‘Truth and
Method: Feminist Standpoint Theory Revisited’: Whose
Standpoint Needs the Regimes of Truth and Reality?” Signs:
Journal of Women in Culture and Society, Vol. 22, 1997, p. 384.
3 Sandra Harding, Whose Science? Whose Knowledge? Think-
ing from Women’s Lives, Cornell University Press, Ithaca,
NY, 1991, pp. 269–270.
4 Meenakshi Gigi Durham, “On the Relevance of Stand-
point Epistemology to the Practice of Journalism: The
Case for ‘Strong Objectivity,’” Communication Theory, Vol.
8, 1998, p. 117.
5 Julia T. Wood, “Gender and Moral Voice: Moving from
Woman’s Nature to Standpoint Epistemology,” Women’s
Studies in Communication, Vol. 15, 1993, p. 13.
6 Julia T. Wood, “Feminist Scholarship and the Study of
Relationships,” Journal of Social and Personal Relationships,
Vol. 12, 1995, p. 110.
7 Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, The Phenomenology of
Mind, Macmillan, New York, 1910, pp. 182–188.
8 Friedrich Engels, “Socialism: Utopian and Scientifi c,” and
“The Origin of the Family, Private Property, and the State,”
in The Marx–Engels Reader, Robert Tucker (ed.), W. W. Nor-
ton, New York, 1978, pp. 701–702, 734–736. See also San-
dra Harding, “The Instability of the Analytical Categories
of Feminist Theory,” in Sex and Scientifi c Inquiry, Sandra
Harding and Jean O’Barr (eds.), University of Chicago, IL,
1987, p. 292.
9 Harding, “Comment on Hekman’s ‘Truth and Method,’”
p. 389.
10 Wood, “Feminist Scholarship,” p. 111.
11 Jean-François Lyotard, The Postmodern Condition: A Report on
Knowledge, Geoff Bennington and Brian Massumi (trans.),
University of Minnesota Press, Minneapolis, 1984, p. xxiv.
12 Kathryn Stockett, The Help, Amy Einhorn Books/Putnam,
New York, 2009.
13 Ibid., pp. 79–80.
14 Ibid., p. 4.
15 Ibid., fl yleaf.
16 Ibid., p. 386.
17 Rachael A. Griffi n, “Problematic Representations of Pro-
gressive Whiteness (?) and Post Racial Pedagogy: A Criti-
cal Race Reading of The Help,” paper presented at the
Central States Communication Association Convention,
Kansas City, MO, April 3–7, 2013.
18 Julia T. Wood, “Engendered Relations: Interaction, Caring,
Power and Responsibility in Intimacy,” in Social Context
and Relationships, Steve Duck (ed.), Sage, Newbury Park,
CA, 1993, p. 37.
19 Wood, “Feminist Scholarship,” p. 112.
20 Stockett, p. 173.
21 Ibid., p. 304.
22 Julia T. Wood, Communication Theories in Action, 3rd ed.,
Wads worth, Belmont, CA, p. 212. See also Harding, Whose
Science? Whose Knowledge? p. 59.
23 Wood, “Gender and Moral Voice,” p. 8.
24 Stockett, p. 418.
25 Ibid., pp. 8–9.
26 Harding, Whose Science? Whose Knowledge? p. 192.
27 Donna Haraway, “Situated Knowledges: The Science
Question in Feminism and the Privilege of Partial Perspec-
tive,” Feminist Studies, Vol. 14, 1988, p. 3; Sandra Harding,
“Introduction: Standpoint Theory as a Site of Political,
Philosophic, and Scientifi c Debate,” in The Feminist
Standpoint Theory Reader, Sandra Harding (ed.), Routledge,
New York, 2004, p. 4.
28 Harding, Whose Science? Whose Knowledge? pp. 159, 58.
29 Ibid., p. 59.
30 Wood, Communication Theories in Action, 1st ed., p. 257.
31 http://www.nytimes.com/2009/05/15/us/politics/
15judge.text.html?pagewanted=5, accessed November
22, 2010.
32 Harding, Whose Science? Whose Knowledge? pp. 149–152.
33 Ibid., p. 270.
34 Wood, Communication Theories in Action, 1st ed., p. 254.
35 Ibid.
36 Harding, Whose Science? Whose Knowledge? p. 167.
37 Sandra Harding, “Introduction,” p. 9; Julia T. Wood,
“Feminist Standpoint Theory and Muted Group Theory:
Commonalities and Divergences,” Women and Language,
Vol. 28, 2005, pp. 61–64.
38 Stockett, p. 277.
39 Julia T. Wood, Who Cares? Women, Care, and Culture, South-
ern Illinois University Press, Carbondale, 1994, p. 4.
40 Ibid., p. 6.
41 Ibid., pp. 8–9.
42 Ibid., p. 163.
43 Patricia Hill Collins, “Learning from the Outsider Within:
The Sociological Signifi cance of Black Feminist Thought,”
in The Feminist Standpoint Reader, p. 103.
44 Pearl Cleage, Deals with the Devil and Other Reasons to Riot,
Ballantine, New York, 1993, pp. 55.
45 The wording of the four criteria of black feminist episte-
mology and the quotations that accompany them are from
Patricia Hill Collins, Black Feminist Thought: Knowledge,
Consciousness, and the Politics of Empowerment, 2nd ed.,
Routledge, New York, 2000, pp. 257–266.
46 Seyla Benhabib, Situating the Self: Gender, Community and
Postmodernism in Contemporary Ethics, Routledge, New
York, 1992, p. 4.
47 Ibid., p. 2.
48 Jean-François Lyotard, The Postmodern Condition: A Report
on Knowledge, 1984.
49 Benhabib, Situating the Self, p. 209.
50 Ibid., p. 229.
51 Ibid., p. 14.
52 Benhabib’s critique of Habermas draws on Nancy Fraser,
“Rethinking the Public Sphere,” in Justice Interruptus,
Routledge, New York, 1997, pp. 69–98.
53 Benhabib, Situating the Self, p. 3.
54 Benhabib, “The Generalized and the Concrete Other: The
Kohlberg–Gilligan Controversy and Feminist Theory,” in
Situating the Self, pp. 148–177.
55 Susan Hekman, “Truth and Method: Feminist Standpoint
Theory Revisited,” Signs, Vol. 22, 1997, pp. 341–365; Nancy
Hirschmann, “Feminist Standpoint as Postmodern Strat-
egy,” Women and Politics, Vol. 18, No. 3, 1997, pp. 73–92.
56 John Michael, “Making a Stand: Standpoint Epistemolo-
gies, Political Positions, Proposition 187,” Telos, Vol. 108,
1996, pp. 93–103.
57 Lynn Worsham, “Romancing the Stones: My Movie Date
with Sandra Harding,” Journal of Advanced Composition,
Vol. 15, 1995, p. 568.
Chapter 36: Muted Group Theory
1 Cheris Kramarae, Women and Men Speaking, Newbury
House, Rowley, MA, 1981, p. 1.
2 Barrie Thorne, Cheris Kramarae, and Nancy Henley (eds.),
Language, Gender and Society, Newbury House, Rowley,
MA, 1983, p. 9.
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ENDNOTES E-23
3 Cheris Kramarae, “Folklinguistics,” Psychology Today, Vol.
8, June 1974, pp. 82–85.
4 Edwin Ardener, “Belief and the Problem of Women,” in
Perceiving Women, Shirley Ardener (ed.), Malaby Press,
London, 1975, p. 2.
5 Shirley Ardener, “The Nature of Women in Society,” in
Defi ning Females, Halsted, New York, 1978, p. 21.
6 Edwin Ardener, “The ‘Problem’ Revisited,” in Perceiving
Women, p. 22.
7 Ibid., p. 25.
8 Kramarae, Women and Men Speaking, p. 3.
9 Simone de Beauvoir, The Second Sex, H. M. Parshley (ed.
and trans.), Bantam, New York, 1964, p. xv.
10 Kramarae, Women and Men Speaking, p. 3.
11 Julia P. Stanley, “Paradigmatic Women: The Prostitute,” in
Papers in Language Variation, David L. Shores and Carole P.
Hines (eds.), University of Alabama, Tuscaloosa, 1977, p. 7.
12 Kramarae, Women and Men Speaking, p. 1.
13 Virginia Woolf, A Room of One’s Own, Hogarth (Penguin
edition), 1928, p. 45.
14 Dorothy Smith, “A Peculiar Eclipsing: Women’s Exclusion
from Man’s Culture,” Women’s Studies International Quar-
terly, Vol. 1, 1978, p. 281.
15 Kramarae, Women and Men Speaking, p. 3.
16 Tillie Olsen, Silences, Delacorte/Seymour Lawrence, New
York, 1978, p. 23.
17 Kramarae, Women and Men Speaking, p. 19.
18 Ibid., p. 12.
19 Ibid., p. 4.
20 Cheris Kramarae and Paula Treichler, A Feminist Diction-
ary: Amazons, Bluestockings and Crones, 2nd ed., Pandora,
London, 1992, p. 17.
21 Keith Wagstaff, “Men Are from Google+, Women Are
from Pinterest,” Time magazine, http://techland.time
.com/2012/02/15/men-are-from-google-women-are-
from-pinterest/, accessed November 6, 2013.
22 Kramarae and Treichler, p. 4.
23 Dale Spender, Man Made Language, Routledge & Kegan,
London, 1980, p. 87.
24 Cheris Kramarae, “Punctuating the Dictionary,” Interna-
tional Journal of the Sociology of Language, Vol. 94, 1992, p. 135.
25 Kramarae and Treichler, p. 4.
26 Cheris Kramarae, “Harassment and Everyday Life,” in
Women Making Meaning: New Feminist Directions in Communi-
cation, Lana Rakow (ed.), Routledge, New York, 1992, p. 102.
27 Julia T. Wood (ed.), “Special Section—‘Telling Our Stories’:
Sexual Harassment in the Communication Discipline,”
Journal of Applied Communication Research, Vol. 20, 1992,
pp. 383–384.
28 Ann Burnett, Jody L. Mattern, Liliana L. Herakova, David
H. Kahl Jr., Cloy Tobola, and Susan E. Bornsen, “Commu-
nicating/Muting Date Rape: A Co-Cultural Theoretical
Analysis of Communication Factors Related to Rape Cul-
ture on a College Campus,” Journal of Applied Communica-
tion Research, Vol. 37, 2009, pp. 465–485.
29 Mark P. Orbe, “From the Standpoint(s) of Traditionally
Muted Groups: Explicating a Co-Cultural Communication
Theoretical Model,” Communication Theory, Vol. 8, 1998, p. 1.
30 “Biography,” J. K. Rowling’s website, http://www
.jkrowling.com/en_US/#/about-jk-rowling/accessed
August 23, 2013.
31 Orbe, p. 10.
32 Mark P. Orbe and Christopher R. Groscurth, “A Co-
Cultural Theoretical Analysis of Communicating on
Campus and at Home: Exploring the Negotiation
Strategies of First Generation College (FGC) Students,”
Qualitative Research Reports in Communication, Vol. 5, 2004,
pp. 41–47.
33 “First Generation Students in Postsecondary Education:
A Brief Portrait,” National Center for Education Statistics
of the U.S. Department of Education, http://nces
.ed.gov/ssbr/pages/postsec.asp, accessed November 6,
2013.
34 Christopher R. Groscurth and Mark P. Orbe, “The Opposi-
tional Nature of Civil Rights Discourse: Co-Cultural Com-
municative Practices that Speak Truth to Power,” Atlantic
Journal of Communication, Vol. 14, pp. 123–140; Marsha Co-
hen and Susan Avanzino, “We are People First: Framing
Organizational Assimilation Experiences of the Physically
Disabled Using Co-Cultural Theory,” Communication Stud-
ies, Vol. 61, 2010, pp. 272–303.
35 “Muted Group Theory Excerpts,” in Women and Language,
Vol. 28, 2005, p. 50.
36 Karen A. Foss and Sonja K. Foss, “Incorporating the Femi-
nist Perspective in Communication Scholarship: A Re-
search Commentary,” in Doing Research on Women’s
Communication: Perspectives on Theory and Method, Kathryn
Carter and Carole Spitzack (eds.), Ablex, Norwood, NJ,
1989, p. 72.
37 Cheris Kramarae, “Muted Group Theory and Communi-
cation: Asking Dangerous Questions,” in Women and Lan-
guage, Vol. 28, 2005, p. 58.
38 Ibid., p. 59.
39 Deborah Tannen, Conversational Style: Analyzing Talk
Among Friends, Ablex, Norwood, NJ, 1984, p. 43.
40 Kramarae, “Punctuating the Dictionary,” p. 146.
Integration
1 Robert Bostrom and Lewis Donohew, “The Case for
Empiricism: Clarifying Fundamental Issues in Communi-
cation Theory,” Communication Monographs, Vol. 59, 1992,
pp. 109, 127.
2 Stuart Hall, “Ideology and Communication Theory,” in
Rethinking Communication, Vol. 1, Brenda Dervin, Law-
rence Grossberg, Barbara O’Keefe, and Ellen Wartella
(eds.), Sage, Newbury Park, CA, 1989, pp. 52, 42.
3 Richard Rorty, Consequences of Pragmatism, University of
Minnesota, Minneapolis, 1982, p. 197.
4 George Gerbner, “The Importance of Being Critical—In
One’s Own Fashion,” Journal of Communication, Vol. 33,
No. 3, 1983, p. 361.
5 Marie Hochmuth Nichols, Rhetoric and Criticism, Louisi-
ana State University, Baton Rouge, 1963, p. 18.
Chapter 37: Common Threads in Comm Theories
1 To access a chapter on Heider ’s attribution theory that
appeared in a previous edition of this text, click on Theory
List at www.afi rstlook.com.
2 Raymond Bauer, “ The Obstinate Audience,” American
Psychologist, Vol. 19, 1964, pp. 319–328.
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Chapter 4
Page 48: “NCA Credo for Ethical Communication” reprinted
by permission of National Communication Association,
Washington, DC, www.natcom.org.
Interpersonal Messages
Page 52: Em Griffi n, “Game Metaphors” from Making Friends
(& Making Them Count), pp. 12–18. Copyright © 1987
Em Griffi n. Used by permission of InterVarsity Press, P.O.
Box 1400, Downers Grove, IL 60515, www.ivpress.com.
Chapter 5
Page 55: Jane Wagner, The Search For Signs of Intelligent Life in the
Universe, pp. 15, 18. Copyright © 1986 by Jane Wagner Inc.
Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers.
Chapter 6
Page 68: W. Barnett Pearce and Kimberly A. Pearce, “Transcen-
dent Storytelling: Abilities for Systemic Practitioners and
Their Clients,” Human Systems: The Journal of Systemic Con-
sultation & Management, Vol. 9, 1998, pp. 178–179. Used by
permission of the KCC Foundation and the Leeds Family
Therapy.
Page 69 (Fig 6–2): LUUUUTT Model from CMM Institute
for Personal and Social Evolution, www.cmminstitute.net.
© 2014 CMM Institute. All rights reserved. Used by
permission.
Chapter 7
Page 83: W. H. Auden, “Prologue: The Birth of Architecture.”
Copyright © 1965 by W. H. Auden; Collected Poems by
W. H. Auden. Used by permission of Random House,
an imprint of the Random House Publishing Group, a
division of Random House LLC; copyright © 1962 by
W. H. Auden, renewed. Reprinted by permission of Curtis
Brown, Ltd.
Chapter 9
Pages 108, 110–111: Axioms from Charles Berger and Richard
Calabrese, “Some Explorations in Initial Interaction and Be-
yond: Toward a Developmental Theory of Interpersonal
Communication,” Human Communication Research, Vol. 1,
1975, pp. 99–112. © 2013 International Communication As-
sociation. Reproduced by permission of Wiley Inc.
Page 112 (Fig 9–1): Theorems of Uncertainty Reduction Theory
adapted from Charles Berger and Richard Calabrese, “Some
Explorations in Initial Interaction and Beyond: Toward a
Developmental Theory of Interpersonal Communication,”
Human Communication Research, Vol. 1, 1975, p. 100. © 2013
International Communication Association. Reproduced by
permission of Wiley Inc.
Chapter 11
Pages 137, 140–142, 144–146: Gurinder Chadha, Guljit Bindra,
and Paul Mayeda Berges, Bend It Like Beckham, 2002, Kintop
Pictures. Used by permission.
Page 147: Gurinder Chadha, director and co-writer of Bend It
Like Beckham in FLM Magazine, 2003. Courtesy of Landmark
Theatres / FLM Magazine.
Chapter 13
Page 170 (Fig 13–2): Adapted from Edna Rogers and Richard
Farace, Matrix of Transactional Types, “Analysis of Rela-
tional Communication in Dyads: New Measurement Proce-
dures,” Human Communication Research, © 1975, Vol. 1,
p. 233. Reprinted and adapted by permission of Blackwell
Publishing, http://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1111/
j.1468-2958.1975.tb00270.x/abstract
Chapter 14
Page 184 (Fig. 14–2): Adapted from Stephen Bochner and Chester
Insko, “Communicator Discrepancy, Source Credibility, and
Opinion Change,” Journal of Personality and Social Psychology,
Vol. 4(6), 1966, pp. 614–622. Copyright © 1966 by the Ameri-
can Psychological Association. Adapted with permission. The
use of APA information does not imply endorsement by APA.
Chapter 15
Page 190 (Fig. 15–1): Adapted from Richard E. Petty and John T.
Cacioppo, “The Elaboration Likelihood Model of Persua-
sion,” Advances in Experimental Social Psychology, Leonard
Berkowitz (ed.), Academic Press, Orlando, Vol. 19, 1986,
p. 126. Reprinted with permission from Elsevier.
Chapter 16
Page 201: “Smoke! Smoke! Smoke! (That Cigarette),” words
and music by Merle Travis and Tex Williams © 1947
(Renewed) Unichappell Music Inc., Elvis Presley Music, Inc.
and Merle’s Girls Music. All rights on behalf of itself and
Elvis Presley Music, Inc. administered by Unichappell
Music, Inc. All rights for Merle’s Girls Music administered
by Warner-Tamerlane Publishing Corp. All rights reserved.
Used by permission of Alfred Music Publishing Co., Inc.
Page 203: Quoted from “I Will Not Pass Gas,” from the Ameri-
can Legacy Foundation and the Advertising Council. Re-
printed by permission.
Chapter 22
Pages 286–287, 289: Martin Luther King Jr., “I Have a Dream”
speech, delivered 1963 to civil rights marchers in Washing-
ton, DC. Reprinted by arrangement with The Heirs to the
Estate of Martin Luther King Jr., c/o Writers House as agent
for the proprietor New York, NY. Copyright 1963 Dr. Martin
Luther King Jr.; copyright renewed 1991 Coretta Scott King.
Chapter 24
Page 305: Frederick Buechner, Peculiar Treasures: A Biblical Who’s
Who, pp. 166–168. Copyright © 1979 by Frederick Buechner.
Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers.
Chapter 29
Page 366: Reproduced by permission of Punch Ltd., www
.punch.co.uk.
C-1
CREDITS AND
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
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C-2 CREDITS AND ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Chapter 30
Page 379: Cartoon from the Saturday Review of Literature, 1970.
© Ed Frascino. Reprinted by permission.
Chapter 34
Pages 432, 433, 435–438: Deborah Tannen, You Just Don’t Under-
stand: Men and Women in Conversation, pp. 16, 42, 62, 72, 108,
120–122, 150, 212, 259, 279, 298. Ballantine, 1990. Copyright
© 1990 by Deborah Tannen. Reprinted by permission of
HarperCollins Publishers, and by Virago, an imprint of Lit-
tle, Brown Book Group Ltd.
Chapter 35
Pages 446–449: Kathryn Stockett, The Help, copyright © 2009 by
Kathryn Stockett. Used by permission of G. P. Putnam’s
Sons, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. and by Pen-
guin Books Ltd.
Chapter 36
Page 462: Reproduced by permission of Punch Ltd., www
.punch.co.uk.
Pages 462–464: Cheris Kramarae and Paula Treichler, with as-
sistance from Ann Russo, The Feminist Dictionary 2e, Pan-
dora Press Routledge & Kegan Paul plc, London 1992. Used
by permission of the authors.
Appendix A
Page A–2: Reproduced by permission of Punch Ltd., www
.punch.co.uk.
Appendix C
Page A–8: “NCA Credo for Ethical Communication” reprinted
by permission of National Communication Association,
Washington, DC, www.natcom.org.
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I-1
INDEX
A
Ability, 63, 75, 89, 169, 281, 399, 462 ( See also Communication
competence)
to process messages, 56, 190–193, 197
Accent, 304, 391–392, 398, 402, 449
Acceptance, 94, 139, 226, 311, 330
Accessibility principle, 368
Accommodation, 393, 396, 398–401, 403, 465–466
Accuracy, 48, 361
Achievement, 77, 127, 209, 247, 397, 413, 433, 451, 463
Acoustic era, 319–321
Acquaintance, 58, 99, 111, 118
Act, of pentad, 293–296, 298, 300
Action(s), 14, 17, 29–30, 52, 55, 57, 60, 70–71, 89, 113–115,
119, 127, 153, 165, 170, 197, 202, 204, 206, 234, 246–247,
256, 277, 284, 293, 295, 297, 305, 307–310, 312, 322, 330,
365–366, 383, 402, 421, 427
Active strategy of reducing uncertainty, 114
Activity coordination, 257, 259–264
Adaptation, 90–91, 115, 118, 306, 392–393, 424 ( See also
Adjustment; Audience adaptation)
Adaptive structuration, theory of, 226, 241
Addiction, application to, 164, 166, 170–172, 202–204, 207,
227, 237, 325, 353, 359
Adelman, Mara, 111
Adjustment, 180, 182, 221, 258–259, 281, 391–392, 395,
400–401
Adler, Ron, A–6
Admission of ignorance, 436
Advertising, application to, 9, 13–15, 17, 19–20, 23, 44,
248–251, 297, 317, 334–335
Advice, 211, 215–216, 224, 256, 283, 359, 361, 402, 411, 427,
441, 466
Advocacy, 31, 159–160, 273–274
Aesop, 200
Aesthetic
appeal, standard for interpretive theory, 29, 31–32, 35,
64, 78, 148, 162, 246, 253, 300, 336
concerns, 306–307, 311, 314–315
moments, 143, 146, 148
Affection, 42, 125, 133, 169
Affi liation, need for, 82, 90, 124, 357, 409, 473
Afi fi , Walid, 93, 118–119
Agape love, 385
Age, chronological, 86, 143, 188, 233, 366, 384, 392,
394–395, 397, 402–403
Agency, of pentad, 294, 296, 298, 300
Agenda-setting theory, 22, 375–387, 474, A–4
Agent, of pentad, 294–296, 300
Aggression, 38, 351–352
Agnew, Lois Peters, 292
Agreement(s), 24, 71, 76, 143, 157, 233, 242, 405–407, 416,
424, 434
Aha response, 171, 440–442
Airline safety, application to, 177–183, 185–186
Alcohol consumption, 13, 184–186, 188–189, 192–193, 195,
197, 471
Alcoholics Anonymous (AA), 203
Alexander, Claire, 348
Alinsky, Saul, 62
Allen, Mike, 199, 202, 221
Althaus, Scott, 383
Altman, Irwin, 96–100, 103–107, 111, 118, 142, 151, A–1
Altruism, 106
Ambiguity, 42, 85, 88–89, 91–92, 115, 119, 140, 162, 185, 193,
198, 232, 256, 260, 324, 386, 389, 457, 465, 478
American culture, 323, 344, 389–390, 406, 408, 413–415,
418–422, 425–429
Amo, Michael, 208
Analogy, 52–53, 123, 135, 165–166, 173, 197, 217, 247, 349,
364, 367 ( See also Metaphor)
Andersen, Peter A., 93
Anderson, James, 12, 16, 18, 23, 36, 254, 347
Anderson, Karen, 403
Anderson, Rob, 482
Androgyny, 431
Anecdotal evidence, 265, 430
Anger, 69–71, 74, 116, 140, 153, 158, 351, 394, 399, 404
Anticipation of future interaction, 108, 118, 126
Anxiety, 118, 178–179, 181, 186, 234, 250, 255, 271, 276, 296,
400, 405, 473 ( See also Fear)
Anxiety/uncertainty management (AUM), theory of, 120, 403
Apology, 74, 400, 457, 467
Appearance, physical, 86, 101, 127, 189, 193, 198, 461, 464
Appel, Edward C., 302
Application logs, 10, 28, 56–57, 73, 90, 100–101, 115, 127,
144, 161, 169–170, 183, 194–195, 207, 223–224, 230–231,
248, 271, 310, 335, 337, 347, 367, 383–384, 393, 409, 424,
441, 451, 458
Appreciation, 89, 101, 111, 393, 428
Appropriateness, 96, 113–114, 153, 216, 219, 226–227, 252,
277, 360, 414, 425, 438
Approval, desire for, 395–396, 398, 401
Ardener, Edwin, 458, 460, 468
Ardener, Shirley, 458, 468
Areopagitica, 197
Arguments
interpersonal, 68, 100, 116, 168, 179, 436
message, 14, 20, 32, 147, 180, 188–193, 196–199, 226, 282,
284–286, 288–289, 303, 306–308, 344, 350, 421, 453 ( See
also Evidence)
Aristotle, 40, 48, 103, 281, 283–284, 286–292, 298, 301, 306,
310, 327, A–3
Arnett, Ronald, 63, 77
Aronson, Elliot, 65, 207–209, 212
Arousal, 84–85, 206, 208–209, 351, 356, 358
Arrangement, as rhetorical canon, 67–68, 281, 283, 289
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I-2 INDEX
Articulation, 340, 391
Artifacts, 33, 248, 268, 275
Artistry, 31, 232, 281–285, 288–289, 292, 307, 349, 365, 425
Ashcraft, Karen Lee, 266
Asking for directions, 435–436
Assertiveness, 390, 434
Assimilation
into dominant group, 465
perceptual bias, 180–181, 183, 186–187
Assumption(s), 21, 24, 28, 32, 34, 38, 43, 45, 47, 54, 56,
64, 84, 92, 104, 117, 122, 223, 225–226, 239, 295, 301,
306–307, 339, 346, 354, 393, 398, 400, 414, 424, 453, 458
Asynchronous channel, 128
Atkin, Charles, 185
Atomic energy, application, 277–278, 280
Attention, 70, 85, 90, 189, 191–192, 198, 277, 317–318, 324,
351–352, 361, 377–379, 399, 414, 434–435, 444
Attitude, 29, 48, 62, 84, 89, 94, 97, 111, 143, 168, 171, 176–186,
190, 194, 197, 200, 202, 204–206, 211, 217, 232, 246, 293,
295, 298, 316, 318, 351, 355, 365, 368–369, 379, 381–382,
406, 444
change, 181–187, 200, 202, 204–205, 208–211, 351, 354
scale, 178–183, 185–186
structure, 178–180, 182, 186–187
Attitudinal anchor, 178–181, 186
Attraction, 85–86, 91, 94, 100, 112, 124, 127, 131–132, 142,
154, 235, 304, 309, 395
Attractiveness, physical, 89, 102, 121, 130–131, 198, 398
Attribution
of disposition, 127, 129, 466
theory, 109, 398, 401
Auden, W. H., 83
Audience(s), 15, 31, 33, 52, 59, 197, 262–263, 298–301, 309,
346–347, 354–355, 361, 367–368, 384–385, 426, 470
adaptation, 40, 290, 299, 311, 414, 475–476, 482
analysis, 186, 281–283, 286, 288, 290–291
Augustine, 282
Authority, 60, 242, 247, 272, 276–277, 324, 359, 376
Automatic pilot, 75, 414
Autonomy, 138, 144, 153, 170, 273, 396, 407, 409, 433,
437, 440, 447 ( See also Independence; Connection–
autonomy dialectic)
Avanzino, Susan, 241
Aversive drive, 200, 211
Avoidance, 68–70, 73–74, 104–105, 153, 202, 354, 356–357,
424, 465
Avoiding style of confl ict management, 409–411, 413, 415
Awareness, 17, 70, 75, 82, 249, 272, 276, 307, 325, 357, 361,
375, 377, 414, 420
Axioms, 45, 110–113, 117–119, 166–169, 172–173, 276
B
Baby talk, 395
Back-channel routes, 462
Background, 115, 406, 424, 465
Backstage behavior, 421
Bakhtin, Mikhail, 137–138, 140, 143–146, 148, 150
Bales, Robert, 214–215, 217, 230
Balinese cockfi ght, 244, 250, 253
“The Ballot or the Bullet,” 299–301
Balmas, Meital, 387
Bandura, Albert, 352, 374
Barge, J. Kevin, 12, 80, 258
Barthes, Roland, 327–329, 331–339, 350, 477, A–4
Bateson, Gregory, 34, 65, 167, 169–170, 174
Baudrillard, Jean, 314–315
Bavelas, Janet Beavin, 165, 172–174
Baxter, Leslie A., 11, 93, 119, 132, 136–140, 142–151, 163,
174, 281, 428, 433, 441, 482, A–2
Baym, Geoffrey, 12, 23
Baym, Nancy, 131
Bazarova, Natalie, 133
Beatty, Michael, 36
Beauty, 277, 307, 309
Beauvoir, Simone de, 459
Beavin, Janet ( See Bavelas, Janet Beavin)
Becker, Gary, 94
Becker, Lee, 362
Becker, Samuel, 349–350
Behavior, 5, 14, 17, 20, 24–26, 39, 50, 73, 77, 81–82, 87, 89,
93–94, 100, 108, 114, 135, 165, 176, 185, 190, 192–195,
200–201, 204–208, 210–211, 242, 247, 277, 296, 306, 316,
340, 351–352, 354–355, 363, 381–382, 392, 395, 397–399,
401–402, 406, 416, 424, 428
Behavioral science, 13, 17–20, 24, 31, 55, 247, 295, 298, 470
( See also Empirical research)
Beliefs, 146, 176, 182, 185, 192, 194, 197, 200–202, 205, 210,
228, 238, 263, 298, 301, 305, 307, 309, 311, 320, 323, 325,
363, 367, 376, 426
Bell, Tamara, 387
Bem, Daryl, 211–212
Bem, Sandra Lipsitz, 430
Bend It Like Beckham, 137, 139–147
Benefi t, 48, 103, 147, 154, 283, 309, 311, 413, 467
Benhabib, Seyla, 453
Berelson, Bernard, 353–354
Berger, Charles R., 11, 23, 36, 108–115, 117–119, 126, 138,
141, 189, 303, 482, A–1
Berquist, Goodwin F., 292
Bias(es), 16, 18, 21, 61, 114, 127, 158, 180, 192, 196, 220, 253,
344, 346, 426, 446, 455, 459, 467
Bible ( See Scriptures, Judeo–Christian)
Biconstrual, 412
Bifurcation point, 74–75, 79
Bin Laden, Osama, 298
Biological factors, 17, 93, 137, 165, 217, 306, 431, 433, 446,
448, 459, 462
Bischak, Valerie D., 374
Bisel, Ryan, 266
Bitzer, Lloyd, 285
Black, Edwin, 31
Black feminist thought, 452–453, 456
Black Muslims, 300
Blame, 70, 171, 264, 284, 298, 330, 465
Blumer, Herbert, 7, 54–55, 57, 64–65
Blumler, Jay G., 355, 361
Bobbitt, David, 302
Bochner, Arthur, 23, 136
Bochner, Stephen, 184, 186
Body posture, 85, 88, 92–93, 110, 123, 125, 165
Bok, Sissela, 147
Bond of Union, 67 – 68 , 70, 79
Boomerang effect, 182, 186–187, 193
Boredom, 89, 118, 134, 141, 165, 211, 220, 256, 259, 282, 417
Bormann, Ernest, 2, 4, 31, 230–236, 238–241, A–3
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INDEX I-3
Bormann, Nancy, 240
Boster, Frank, 36, 187
Bostrom, Robert, 23, 470
Bottom-line accounting, 147, 244, 269, 444
Bottom-up thinking, 192, 265
Boulding, Kenneth, 325
Boundary(ies)
fuzzy, 159–160
intentional breach of, 159–160
linkage, 156, 158–162
permeability, 151, 156, 158–160
relational, 83–85
turbulence, 151, 157, 159–163
Bowling, communication as, 52–53
Bracken, Bruce, 482
Bradac, James J., 402, 443
Brain, 57–58, 320
Brainstorming, 220, 405
Braithwaite, Dawn O., 93, 119, 132, 150, 153, 174
Breadth and depth of self-disclosure, 98–99, 104, 106, 111, 127
Briñol, Pablo, 199
Brizendine, Louann, 434
Broadcast media, 267, 363
Broom, Cheryl, 241
Brosius, Hans-Bernd, 374
Brown, Barbara, 107
Brown, Penelope, 408
Browning, Larry, 262
Buber, Martin, 76–77, 80, 384, 440
Buechner, Frederick, 304–305, 307–309, 312
Buller, David, 93, 312
Burgoon, Judee, 2–4, 81-91, 93, 312, A–1
Burgoon, Michael, 175–176, 187
Burke, Kenneth, 11, 293–302, 311, A–4
Burleson, Brant R., 374, 442–443, 482
Burnett, Ann, 464–465, 468
Burroughs, James, 374
Bush, George H. W., 381–382
Bush, George W., 182–183, 295, 330, 332, 372, 383
C
Cacioppo, John, 188–193, 195–196, 198–199, A–3
Calabrese, Richard, 112, 119
Call of Duty: Modern Warfare, 353 , 361
Canary, Daniel, 135, 443
Canons of rhetoric, 281, 288–289
Capitalism, 19, 54, 103, 271, 275, 315, 335–336
Carbaugh, Donal, 280, 389
Care, 99, 101, 279, 345, 399, 440, 448
Caregiving, 63, 447, 451–452, 464
Caring, 42, 74–75, 77, 93–94, 101, 142, 172, 204, 279, 345,
399, 440, 448
Carlsmith, James, 205, 212
Carnivalesque view, 146
Casmir, Fred, 4
Categorical imperative, 92–93, 440
Categorization, 166, 230, 239, 357–358, 377, 407, 431, 433
( See also Classifi cation)
Cause-and-effect relationships, 17, 28, 30, 38, 55, 73, 83,
86, 131, 165, 168, 173, 204, 218, 235, 289, 295, 329, 336,
339, 351, 372, 374, 376–378, 381, 396
Cautions, 86, 430, 472
Cell phone, 7, 14, 122, 278
Censorship, 272, 347, 459
Center for Contemporary Cultural Studies, 340, 349
Central route of mind, 188–193, 195–199, 414
Centrifugal force, 137
Centripetal force, 137
Certainty, 79, 145, 284
Certainty–uncertainty dialectic, 138–141, 144
Chaffee, Steven, 36
Chaiken, Shelly, 187, 199
Challenger disaster, 214–215
Chandler, Daniel, 338
Change, 138, 140–141, 145, 149, 170–171, 217, 251, 257, 263,
316–323, 325, 340, 349, 361, 422, 426, 463
Channel of communication, 66, 125, 127–128, 132, 165, 173,
223, 242, 268, 317
Chapel Hill study, 376–378, 380
Characteristics, personal, 48, 75, 88, 95, 109, 196, 236–237,
245, 284, 296, 298, 303, 305, 435, 453, 466
Charades, communication as, 52–54
Chase, Kenneth, 299
Chicago School of Sociology, 62, 65
Choi, Charles W., 403
Choice, 5, 7, 17–19, 21, 60, 71, 131, 182, 197–198, 217–218,
222, 293, 297, 307, 361, 452, 458, 460, 470, 473 ( See also
Free will)
Christianity, 314, 325
Christians, Clifford, 349, 384–385
Cialdini, Robert, 189, 199
Cicero, 40
Circumstances, 83, 92, 116, 147, 226, 296, 319, 345, 386, 466
Cissna, Kenneth, 482
Civic transformation, 384
Civility, 74, 274
Civil rights, 300
Clarifi cation of values, standard for interpretive theory,
29–31, 35, 77, 148, 161, 239, 252
Clarity, 28, 31, 64, 74, 182, 228, 282, 300, 400, 425, 465–466
Class, economic, 245, 341, 369, 419, 445–446, 467
Classical management theory, 242–243
Classifi cation, 38, 162, 224, 284, 329, 335–337, 357, 381( See
also Categorization)
Clevenger, Theodore, 174
Clinton, Bill, 452
Close relationships, 38–45, 60, 94–95, 105, 107, 116, 119,
121–122, 125, 134–139, 145–146, 148–149, 151–152,
158, 409, 422–425 ( See also Intimacy; Personal
relationships)
Closed-mindedness, 225, 394–395
CMM Institute for Personal and Social Evolution, 66, 69,
78, 119, 166
Co-cultural theory, 465–466, 468
Code-switching, 421
Codetermination, 269, 275
Coding, 169, 224, 227, 385, 389–390, 419–421, 423, 425, 431,
438, 458
Cognitive dissonance theory, 22, 25, 200–211, 474, 476, A–3
Cognitive processing, 2, 57–58, 113, 115, 138, 161, 189–192,
197, 201–202, 204–206, 211 ( See also Thinking; Message
elaboration)
Cohen, Bernard, 376, 381
Coherence, narrative, 70, 307–312
Cohesiveness, 214, 230, 234–235, 238, 265, 397
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I-4 INDEX
Colbert, Stephen, 347
Coleman, Renita, 384
Coleman, William, 292
Collaboration, 71, 239, 269, 275, 412, 471
Collective unconscious, 15
Collectivism, 144, 235, 389, 397, 405–410, 412–417, 424, 427
Collectivism–independence, 427
Collegial stories, 249–250, 253
Collins, Patricia Hill, 452–455
Colonization, corporate, 267–268, 280
Command function of communication, 167, 169
Commitment, 40, 158, 181, 251, 305, 307, 376, 378, 390
Common
good, 35, 135, 454
ground, 235, 239, 298, 301 ( See also Shared experience)
sense, 226, 246, 273, 307, 333
threads in comm theories, 472–482
Communication
apprehension, 25–26
childhood, 434, 437–438, 443
competence, 11, 75, 169, 191, 196, 209, 233, 462
constitutive, 143, 243–245, 255–280 ( See also Social
construction)
defi nitions of, 6–9, 12, 38–39, 41, 43–45, 48, 66, 167, 422
discipline, 6–8, 33, 48–49, 117, 130, 166, 252, 283, 291, 340,
349, 418, 463, 471
fi eld of, 5–6, 37–50, 75, 118, 173, 294, 310, 342, 353–354,
361, 364, 472–482
fl ows of, 255–259, 261–265
models of, 52, 70, 77–78, 81–85, 165, 268–269, 273,
275–276, 279, 305, 335
as a practical discipline, 37–38, 48–50
practices, 270, 273, 275–276, 418–420, 422
rate of, 123–126
Communication accommodation theory, 22, 391–403, 476,
481, A–4
Communication privacy management theory, 22, 105,
151–163, 479, 481, A–2
Communicative action, theory of, 280
Communicative constitution of organization theory, 22,
255–266, 476, 481, A–3
Communicator reward valence, 84–86, 88–90
Communion, rite of, 309
Communism, 293
Communitarianism, 384–385, 453–454
Community, 57, 60, 67–68, 139, 230, 271, 309, 320, 384, 397,
435–436, 447, 454, 456
Community of agreement, standard for interpretive
theory, 29, 32, 35, 64, 77, 147, 161, 265, 336, 466
Comparison level (CL), 101–103
Comparison level of alternatives (CL alt ), 102–103
Compassion, 48, 70, 75, 77, 79, 106, 440
Competence, 191, 196, 390, 395, 398 ( See also Skill,
communication)
Competing discourses, 143–146, 149
Competition, 70–71, 73, 169, 248, 261, 355–356, 358, 397,
432–433, 435–436, 442, 459
Complementary communication, 169–170, 173
Complexity, 66, 68–71, 75–78, 115, 122, 139, 145, 165, 173,
232, 241, 260, 264, 276, 278, 289, 318, 320, 401, 416,
426, 466
Compliance, 193, 204–206, 210
Comprehension, 303, 393, 399
Compromise confl ict style, 24, 409–411, 416 ( See also
Negotiation)
Computer games, 126
Computer-mediated communication (CMC), 75,
121–133, 229
Computers, 39, 248, 250, 260, 316, 318, 321, 324 ( See also
Media, new)
Concealment ( See Secrecy)
Concurrence-seeking tendency, 214
Confi dant, 94, 151, 154–155, 157–158, 162
Confi dentiality, 157, 160, 162, 226, 405, 424–425, A–8
Confl ict, 19, 24, 38, 68, 70–71, 97, 100, 102, 125, 129, 133–136,
138, 143, 168, 231, 240, 243, 263, 269–272, 276, 285, 293,
303, 345, 358, 404–417, 436–437, 441–442, 470, 479, 482
Confl ict style, 407–411, 414–417, 430
Conformity, 82–83, 89, 186, 195, 198, 205, 309
Confusion, 135, 198, 361, 394, 404, 413, 464–465, 481
Congruence, interpersonal, 94
Conley, Thomas, 49, 292
Connection, 325, 358, 407, 433, 436–437, 440–441
Connection–autonomy dialectic, 139–140, 142–145,
409, 447
Connotation, 152, 327–329, 331–332, 334–337, 347
Connotative shift ( See Transformation)
Conquergood, Dwight, 426, 429
Consciousness-raising, 7, 340, 467
Consensus, 217, 239, 273, 276, 341, 454
Consent, 269–274, 277–279, 341, 464
Consequences, of communication, 48, 55, 79, 208, 223,
270, 309, 318, 323, 373, 392 ( See also Outcomes of
interaction)
Consequentialist ethics, 147
Consistency, 70, 94, 117, 189, 200–202, 206–210, 226, 296,
307–309, 401
Consubstantiation, 298
Contempt, 111
Content
analysis, 98, 294–295, 344–345, 365–367, 371, 374
aspect of communication, 167
media, 317–318, 363–370
message, 6–8, 52, 66, 68, 125, 153, 167, 177–178, 180–186,
189, 191, 197, 233, 276, 281, 299, 314, 355, 357–358,
360–361, 381, 383, 390, 461
Content–relationship distinction, 167
Context of communication, 12, 19, 33, 86, 88–89, 92, 122–123,
154, 246, 272, 281, 300, 390, 400, 426, 482 ( See also
Situation; Environment)
Contradiction(s), 96, 129–130, 135–146, 148, 162, 173,
201–202, 209, 279, 307, 360, 441, 455 ( See also
Relational dialectics, theory of)
Contrast, perceptual bias, 180–181, 186
Control, 44, 130, 135, 151–154, 156–157, 159, 162–163,
168–169, 171, 225, 267, 272, 274, 279, 296, 315, 323,
337, 404, 427–428, 435, 442, 450, 460
Convenient, time, 128
Conventionality–uniqueness dialectic, 138–140, 145
Convergence, 90–91, 392–402
Conversation, 52, 54, 57–58, 60, 67, 69–71, 73–74, 79, 86–88,
96, 98, 104–105, 110–111, 114–115, 138, 231–233, 256,
264, 384, 396, 398, 404, 414, 418–420, 432, 434–435,
437–438, 441–442, 465
Conversational style, 75, 432–439, 441–443
Conversational turns, 70–71, 73–75
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INDEX I-5
ideologies, 144, 245, 248
indicators, 364, 369, 374
norms, 82, 85–87, 236
studies, theory of, 22, 337, 339–350, 427, 473, 481
values, 245, 248
variation, 82, 86–88, 93, 389, 427
Culture, 43, 67–68, 244–254, 272, 303, 316–318, 322–323,
334, 342, 373
change of, 43, 251–252, 264
defi nition, 245, 389
shock, 427
theories of ( See Cultural approach to organizations,
theory of; Communication accommodation theory;
Face-negotiation theory; Speech codes theory;
Genderlect styles)
Curiosity, 34, 68, 70, 73, 77, 79, 109, 153, 303, 406
Cybernetic tradition, 39, 47, 49, 173, 265, A–2
D
The Daily Show, 347 , 384
D’Alessio, Dave, 202, 212
Dance, Frank E. X., 6, 9, 12
Darwin, Charles, 239, 325
Data, 29, 256, 434, 466
Davie, William, 387
Davis, Helen, 350
Deception, 48, 52, 92, 103, 147, 206, 236, 272, 276, 327 ( See
also Lying)
Decision making, 135, 153–154, 193, 203, 205, 214–215,
230–231, 242, 247, 259, 267–270, 272–278, 284,
306–307, 309
Decision-making path, 215, 222–223
Declaration of Independence, 273, 278
Deconstruction, 333, 337, 340
“Deep structure” of humanity, 137
Deetz, Stanley A., 11, 19, 228, 256, 267–280, 293, 339–341,
A–3
Default assumptions, of words, 56–57
“Defi nition of Man,” 296–297, 302
Defi nitions, 42, 55, 61, 264–265, 296, 380, 457–459, 463–464,
468 ( See also Communication, defi nitions of)
Deliberation, 57, 284
Delivery, as part of rhetorical canon, 40, 52, 281, 290, 299, 461
Democracy, 40, 197, 217, 268, 273, 275, 277–279, 339–340,
345, 450, 454
Demythologizing the news, 346
Denial, 164, 168, 171
Denotation, 331–332, 334, 337
Denzin, Norman, 36,
Depenetration from openness, 99, 105
Depression, 116, 196, 238, 352, 464
Dervin, Brenda, 36, 49, 350
DeSantis, Alan, 204, 233–234, 238, 241
Description, 173, 239, 246, 252, 264, 304, 360
Detachment, 320
Determinism, 17, 55, 86, 131, 295
Deviance, 82–84, 87, 89, 108, 118, 259
Devil terms, 295, 298, 300
Dewey, John, 54, 63, 225, 348
Dialect, language, 393, 433
Dialectic, philosophic, 281
Dialectical model, 104
Conversations with Communication Theorists, 2, 79, 93, 119,
132, 149, 163, 228, 279, 386, 402, 417, 428, 467
Cooley, Charles, 58
Cooper, Joel, 208, 211
Cooper, Lane, 289
Cooperation, 53, 278, 398, 435, 470
Coordinated management of meaning (CMM), 22, 66–80,
143, 255, 269, 293, 476, 479, 481, A–1
Coordination, 68, 70–72, 79, 257, 261, 265, 276
Cooren, François, 259
Co-ownership of information, 151–152, 155–160, 162–163
Copernicus, 349
Corporate
control, 342–343
culture, 245, 247–248, 250–251, 275
scandals, 266, 270
stories, 249, 253–254
Corporations, 267–278, 340, 342–343, 345, 382
Correlation, statistical, 370–372, 374, 377, 381, 385, 466–467
Corruption, 275, 345
Cosmopolitan communication, 299
Cost–benefi t analysis ( See Rewards and costs)
Counseling, application to, 94, 470
Counteractive group communication, 223–225
Counterattitudinal advocacy, 205–208, 210
Coupland, Douglas, 326
Courage, 48, 72, 76, 111, 300, 309, 348
Coutu, Lisa, 428
Covarrubias, Patricia, 428
Covering laws ( See Universal principles)
Co-workers, 40, 44, 157, 161, 256–257, 260, 265
Cragan, John, 226, 238, 240–241
Craig, Robert T., 6, 23, 37–38, 47–50, 78
Creativity, 31, 59, 220, 255, 260, 278, 294, 414, 463, 471
Credibility, 85–86, 91, 115, 130, 180, 183, 185, 188–191, 193,
196, 165–198, 286–289, 294, 312, 359, 382, 474–475, 482
Criteria, 225
for evaluating theory, 24–36
Critical approach, 16, 19, 23, 30, 32–33, 118, 161, 243, 252,
265, 267–280, 326, 339–350, 386, 448, 451–452, 463
Critical sensibility, dialogue as, 148
Critical theory of communication in organizations, 22,
267–280, 293, 340, 479, 481, A–3
Critical tradition, 44–45, 47, 49, A–5
Criticism, 89, 135, 167
Cronen, Vernon, 66, 68–71, 79, 143, 269, A–1
Cronkhite, Gary, 12
Cross-cultural communication, 307, 428, 432–433, 438–440,
442 ( See also Face-negotiation theory; Speech codes
theory; Genderlect styles)
Csikszentmihalyi, Mihaly, 359
C-SPAN, 373
Cues, 85, 234, 239, 248
fi ltered out (CMC), 122–124
peripheral, 189–191, 193–195, 199
Cultivation analysis, 367–371
Cultivation theory, 22, 363–374, 471, 475, 478, 481, A–4
Cultural
approach to organizations, theory of, 22, 243–254, 275,
477, A–3
differences, 137, 140–142, 146, 154, 273, 389, 391, 393,
404–405, 413–414
Environment Movement, 363, 373
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I-6 INDEX
Dworkin, Andrea, 464
Dynamism, 196, 221, 232
Dysfunctional relationships, 168
E
Eating disorder, 236–241
Eco, Umberto, 327
Ecology, 316–318, 322–323
Economic
determinism, 44, 341, 446
model of personal relationships, 94–95, 100–103, 106, 135
Economy, application to, 79, 369, 372, 379
Edgley, Charles, 302
Editors, 383–384, 460
Education, application to, 81–82, 84, 86, 88–89, 104–105,
171–172, 186, 195, 216–221, 225, 233–238, 240, 253,
261–262, 264, 297, 311, 325, 359, 363, 402, 404, 414, 416,
434, 452, 461, 463–467, 470
Effectiveness, 19, 52–53, 92, 197–198, 252, 311, 442
Effi ciency, 242, 250, 270, 324
Eger, Elizabeth K., 280
Ego-involvement, 175, 178–183, 185–187, 190 ( See also
Importance; Personal relevance; Salience)
Egoism, 77, 103–104
Einstein, Albert, 33, 325
Either/or decisions, 138, 431, 466
Elaboration likelihood model (ELM), 22, 188–199, 414, 475,
481, A–3
Elderly, 366, 392–394, 397, 399, 454
Elections, 345, 351, 353, 372, 375–377
Electronic age, 316, 318–319, 322–323, 326, 460
Electronic media, 124, 247, 334, 351
Elliott, Philip, 362
Ellison, Nicole B., 119, 127, 133
Email, 39, 68–70, 73–75, 121, 126, 128, 132, 158, 317
Emancipation, 18–19, 44, 346 ( See also Freedom)
Embarrassment, 151, 155, 157, 160, 296–297, 330, 406,
408–409, 417
Emerson, Joan, 61
Emerson, Ralph Waldo, 58, 87
Emotion(s), 14–15, 17, 25, 41, 46, 49, 75, 85, 97, 99, 116, 119,
125, 141, 155, 175–176, 195, 234, 236, 246, 284, 306–307,
356, 372, 400, 405, 453, 457, 464 ( See also Feelings)
Emotional
appeal (pathos), 284–288
expressiveness, 42, 110, 410–411
support, 435, 466
Empathic
communion, 239
understanding, 94, 235
Empathy, 273, 390, 414, 441–442
Empirical research, 13, 19, 23–24, 27, 39, 44, 85, 91, 126, 186,
222, 228, 239, 265, 295, 312, 315, 339–340, 349, 351, 371,
386, 442–443, 449, 471
Employee(s), 255–260, 262–263, 271–273, 278
recruitment and orientation, 242, 252, 255–256, 260
Empowerment, 340, 456, 463
Engels, Friedrich, 445
Engine, theoretical, 131, 151, 354, 401
Enjoyment, 76, 171, 218, 221, 247, 351, 357, 406
Enlightenment rationality, 314, 384, 446, 453
Enos, Richard Leo, 292
Dialectics, 82, 104–105, 107, 136–143, 145, 147–150, 152, 284
( See also Relational dialectics, theory of)
Dialogue, 30, 33, 45–46, 76–77, 80, 118, 135, 140, 143, 148,
150, 226, 247–248, 269, 276–277, 281, 426, 433–434, 436,
453, 479, 482
inner, 57–58, 60, 144, 206
Diction, 198
Dictionary, 463–465, 467
Differences, 70, 138, 143, 391, 393, 402, 427, 472
Different voice, 440, 443
Digital age, 317–318, 322–323, 326
Dignity, 76, 299–300, 385, 408, 421, 426
Dilemma, 140, 160, 171, 270
Dillman, Leesa, 90
Dindia, Kathryn, 430, 443
Disagreement, 125, 215, 436
Disaster, 214–215, 273, 277
Disclosure of information, 151–162, 239, 392
Discourse, 55, 143–146, 169, 246, 272, 306, 311, 340, 342,
425, 433
analysis, 225–226, 393, 443, 454, 470
Discrepancy, message, 180–187, 200, 297
Discursive closure, 272–273
Discussion, 226, 230–231, 234–235, 239, 272–273, 276, 278,
307, 376, 425, 430, 436, 459
Disease model of addiction, 172
Disruptive group communication, 223–225, 231
Dissonance ( See Cognitive dissonance theory)
Dissonance thermometer, 211–212
Distance
conversational, 81–88, 93
interpersonal, 114, 123, 142
Distraction, 44, 190–191, 223, 227, 231, 354
Distress, 69, 87, 211
Divergence, 392–402
Diversity, 63, 149, 240, 278, 420, A–8
Division of labor, 272, 459
Dixon, Travis, 403
Dogmatism, 183
Domestic violence, 102, 271, 351, 363, 445
Dominance, 169, 268, 270, 334, 427, 433, 442, 450
Dominant
group, 457, 459, 465
ideology, 44, 327, 336–337, 340, 346–350
mode of expression, 458–460, 462
Dominating (competing) confl ict style, 409–411, 413,
415, 470
Donohew, Lewis, 23, 362
“Don’t Pass Gas” campaign, 202–203
Dorm room, 104–105
Double bind, 170, 173, 459
Double standard, 440
Doubts, 116, 227, 233, 304, 310, 371, 454
Drama(s), 142, 237, 245, 249, 426
Dramatic violence, 340
Dramatism, theory of, 22, 293–302, 473, 476, 481, A–4
Dramatistic pentad, 294–296, 301
Dramatizing messages, 230–233, 238–240
Dramaturgical performance, 61
Dretzin, Rachael, 316
Dual-process model, 198
Duck, Steve, 482
Duggan, Ashley, 163
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INDEX I-7
Explanatory mechanism of a theory, 131, 151, 354, 401
Exploration, 470–471
Expression–nonexpression dialectic, 139, 142–143
Extractive strategy for reducing uncertainty, 114
Extreme Makeover, 345–347, 350
Eye contact, 85, 87–88, 92, 97, 113, 125, 435
F
Face (public self-image), 68, 408
Face concern, 404–405, 407–409, 411–416
Face of the other, 63
Facebook, 97, 114, 121, 123–124, 126, 129–133, 161, 318, 352,
358, 361, 394
Face-negotiation theory, 22, 404–417, 427, 474, 479, 481,
A–5
Face-to-face communication, 39–40, 114, 122–130,
132–133, 229, 248, 265, 278, 330, 351, 356–357, 362,
419, 432
Facework, 404–405, 413–414, 416–417
Facial expression, 85, 88–89, 97, 110, 113–114, 123, 167, 196,
261, 272, 317, 391, 393, 408
Facts, 55, 171, 192, 196, 216, 225, 268, 276, 294, 303
Fairhurst, Gail, 259, 265
Fairness, 271–272, 274, 277–278, 375, 440, 463, A–8 ( See also
Justice; Social justice)
Faith, 325
Falsehood, 283
Falsifi ability ( See Testability, standard for scientifi c theory)
Familiarity, 86
Family, 39–40, 60, 94, 102, 111, 113, 134–137, 140–147, 151,
154–155, 157–158, 160–162, 164–166, 168–171, 183, 250,
253, 265, 268–269, 271, 274, 278, 304–305, 307, 309, 335,
345, 351, 389, 393, 420, 424–425, 443, 452
systems, 136, 164–166, 168–174
Fantasy, 141, 232–233, 235, 238, 240
chain reaction, 232–233
theme analysis, 234, 236–241
themes, 233–238
type, 234–235, 237–238
Farace, Richard, 169–170, 174
Faustian bargain, 323
Fazio, Russell, 212
Fear, 15, 74, 116, 142, 158, 183, 185, 234, 252, 263, 351, 356,
363, 370–372, 374, 395, 404, 451 ( See also Anxiety)
Feature fi lms illustrating theory, A–6, A–7
Feedback, 39–40, 52, 59, 127, 129, 131–132, 165, 414, 425
Feelings, 29–30, 56, 90, 94, 98, 102, 111, 115, 153, 179, 196,
225, 276, 296, 322, 342, 351, 363, 404, 406, 460, 462–463
( See also Emotions)
Feldman, Martha, 254
Feminine
characteristics, 431, 433, 440, 461, 465
solidarity, 448
Feminist
approach, 33, 240, 302, 349, 427, 433, 442, 445, 448, 451,
453–457, 459, 463–464, 466–467
dictionary, 463–464
Fernandez, Nicholas, 212
Festinger, Leon, 200–212, A–3
Fey, Tina, 76
Fiction, 248, 254, 259, 460
Fictitious persona, 132
Ensemble of texts, 245
Entertainment, 201–202, 259, 261, 328, 356, 358, 362, 377, 386
Enthymeme, 285–286, 289, 291–292, 298, 301
Entman, Robert, 380
Environment, 17, 25, 104–105, 107, 217, 245, 267, 274, 279,
316–318, 322–323, 337, 342, 354, 363, 365, 369, 377, 387
( See also Context of communication)
Epicurus, 103
Epideictic speaking, 284
Epistemology, 16, 23, 55, 57, 444–445, 453 ( See also Knowing,
ways of)
Equality, 30, 45, 48, 99, 239, 278–279, 285, 299–300, 413, 420,
435, 454
Equilibrium, 138
Equivocality, 88, 256, 377
Erie County voter study, 376
Error, 214, 223, 225, 265
Escape, need for, 357
Escher, M. C., 67
Escudero, Valentin, 174
Essence of women, 448
Essentialism, 456
Ethical, 227
communication, NCA Credo for, 48, 479, A–8
concerns, 19, 30, 36, 48, 50, 106, 132, 157, 180, 185–186,
227, 252, 268, 271, 283, 285, 291, 297, 301, 312, 324, 326,
363, 380, 404, 424–425, 428, 440, 448, 453, 456
echo, 63
egoism, 103–104, 107
imperative, 30
proof (ethos), 284, 286–287, 290–291 ( See also Credibility)
refl ections, 49, 62, 76, 103, 197–198, 225–226, 290–291,
323–324, 348–349, 384–385, 440, 453–451
relativism, 17, 77, 384, 421, 446
tradition, 48–49
Ethnicity, 129, 419–420, 466
Ethnocentrism, 344, 438
Ethnography, 30, 33–34, 61, 63, 78, 241, 244, 246–248,
252–245, 389, 418–421, 426–429, 433, 458, 470
Evaluation, 84–85, 87, 99, 101, 130, 132, 178, 180, 214, 218,
223, 252, 264
of positive/negative consequences, 217, 220–225,
237–239, 241–242
Evidence, 19, 28, 124, 184, 192, 194, 198, 225, 229, 247, 303,
324, 350, 359, 372, 380, 382, 400, 430
Evil, 295, 310, 348, 385
Evolution, theory of, 239
Example, message, 31, 285, 298, 393
Excitation transfer theory, 351–352
Excitement, 232, 351, 358
Expectancy violations theory, 22, 81–93, 475, 481, A–1
Expectations, 60–62, 81–93, 128–129, 170, 205, 238, 272,
315–316, 329, 397, 438, 448, 452
Experience(s), 45, 61–62, 67, 79, 94, 137, 217, 246, 250, 253,
257, 298, 307, 316, 421, 436, 440, 450, 454, 465, 475
Experiments, 28–30, 38, 61, 84–85, 91, 117, 124–126, 130–131,
162, 175–176, 185–186, 202, 205, 295, 370, 372, 378, 383,
401, 470
Expertise, 183–184, 196, 247, 260, 306–307, 310, 359, 361, 436
Explanation, 78, 135, 153, 166, 200, 202, 206, 209, 211, 239,
300, 325, 357, 368, 400, 416, 422, 427–428, 434, 440, 470
of data, standard for scientifi c theory, 4, 13, 20, 25–26, 31,
35, 85, 89, 91, 109, 147, 176, 186, 360, 401, 414, 419, 425
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I-8 INDEX
Gatekeepers, 382–385, 460, 465
Gecas, Viktor, 65
Geertz, Clifford, 33, 244–247, 250–254, 389, 435, A–3
Gegis, Edward, 17
Gender, 21, 45, 56, 91, 137, 274, 366, 402, 416, 430–468
differences and similarities, 141, 154, 250, 348, 362, 371,
430–438, 440–443, 445–448, 453–455, 458–459, 461–462,
464, 467–468
roles, 146, 364–365, 389, 396, 420–425, 427, 430, 464
Genderlect styles, theory of, 22, 432–443, 478, 481, A–5
Generalized other, 60–61, 64–65, 408
Genosko, Gary, 326
Gerbner, George, 363–374, 471, A–4
Gergen, Kenneth, 32, 482
Gestures, 54, 88, 123, 281
Gettysburg Address, 31–32
Ghanem, Salma, 380, 387
Gibbons, Pamela, 443
Gibbs, Jennifer L., 119
Giles, Howard, 11, 391–393, 395, 397–403, A–4
Gilligan, Carol, 440, 443, 448, 454
Gilroy, Paul, 350
Giving face, 407, 409, 411, 417
Glass ceiling, 252, 467
Glenn, Cerise L., 468
Global
village, 325
warming, 372
Goal(s), 38, 41, 95, 104, 113–116, 118–119, 135, 147, 215, 223,
230, 237, 242, 251–252, 258–259, 278, 405–406, 409, 463,
465–466
path, 228
setting, 217–219, 222, 224–225, 235–236, 239–242
God, 53, 77, 103, 146, 175, 194–195, 286, 297, 299, 301,
304–306, 309, 322, 325, 334, 385
God terms, 294–295, 298, 300, 422
God trick, 449
Goffman, Erving, 61, 421
Goldberg, Rube, 26
Golden, James, 292
Golden mean, ethical principle, 290–291, 427
Golden rule, 33
Good reasons, logic of, 303, 309–311
Goodwill of speaker, 41, 286–287, 292
Google, 257–258
Gore, Al, 383
Gore, W. L. & Assoc., 246, 252
Gossip, 245, 464
Gouran, Dennis, 216–219, 221, 223–228, 231, 233–238,
241–246, A–3
Government, 267, 273, 275, 382, 344
Grace, 75, 77
Grammar, 116, 193, 419
Gramsci, Antonio, 341
Granberg, Donald, 187
Grand narratives, 279, 453
Granka, Laura, 133
Gratifi cation, 354–362
Greed, 267, 275, 309
Greek organizations, 257–261
Greene, John O., 482
Greimas, Algirdas, 264
Griffi n, Cindy L., 468
Fidelity, 428
Filmmaking, 335–336
Final Four, NCAA basketball, 378–379
Financial report, 268–269
Fiore, Quentin, 326
First Amendment of U.S. Constitution, 384
Fisch, Richard, 174
Fisher, Walter, 299, 303–312, 364, 435, A–4
Flaming (CMC), 122
Flat organization, 258–259
Flux, relational, 16, 136–138, 143, 145
Focus groups, 33, 186, 470
Forfreedom, Anne, 464
Forgiveness, 298, 329–332
Fortunato, John, 382
Foss, Karen, 23, 302, 468
Foss, Sonja, 23, 241, 302, 468
Foucault, Michel, 342
Four fl ows, 275
Framing, 5, 146, 167, 275, 305, 307, 345, 364, 378–381,
385–387, 407 ( See also Reframing)
Frankfurt School, 44, 225, 339
Fraternities, 257–261
Fraud, 267
Free will, 5, 17–19, 21, 98, 131, 198, 210, 295, 452 ( See also
Choice)
Freedom, 30, 59, 63, 142, 191, 245, 255, 285, 294, 299–300,
345, 409, 413, 433, 454, A–8
of speech, 197, 273–274, 276, 278, 351, 369, 384, 459
Freud, Sigmund, 45, 360, 459
Freudianism, 314
Frey, Dieter, 203
Friends, 60, 112–114, 125, 151–152, 157, 160–161, 183, 186,
194–195, 210–211, 238, 250, 265, 271, 298–299, 351, 361,
421, 425, 441, 443, 463
Friendship, 6–9, 33, 38–46, 48, 94–96, 102–103, 106–107,
123–126, 129–130, 134, 136, 139, 141, 144–145, 148, 150,
197, 307, 309, 359, 396, 432, 445, 447, 467
Fritzsche, Barbara, 195
Frustration, 135, 173, 183, 216, 233, 301, 390, 395
Frustration–aggression hypothesis, 288
Fry, Donald, 329, 338
Fry, Virginia, 329, 338
Functional perspective on group decision making, 22,
216–229, 231, 473, 481, A–3
Function-Oriented Interaction Coding System (FOICS),
224, 227–228, 244
Fundamental attribution error, 474
Fundraising, application to, 185–186, 260
Funkhouser, Ray, 377
G
Gadoua, Susan Pease, 437
Galanes, Gloria J., 79
Galileo, 16, 450
Gallois, Cindy, 401, 403
Game, 52–54, 60, 126, 141, 166, 171, 255–256, 259, 350, 361,
363, 423, 426
Gannon-Leary, Pat, 468
Gans, Herbert, 344–345
Garard, Darin, A–6
Garver, Eugene, 41
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INDEX I-9
Heslin, Richard, 208
Hewes, Dean, 229
Hewitt, John, 65
Hierarchy, 113–115, 146, 247, 272, 296–297, 413, 421, 433,
448, 462, 467
hypothesis, 115, 119
of needs, 212, 362
High-context culture, 390, 407
Hirokawa, Randy, 216–221, 223–228, 231, 233–245, A–3
Hirschmann, Nancy, 455
Historical function of group decision making, 227
History, 144, 238, 254, 259, 264, 303, 318–319, 325, 331–332,
334–335, 337, 342, 397, 445, 454, 460
human, 318–319, 325
Hitler, Adolf, 310
HIV/AIDS, 154
Hobbes, Thomas, 103
Hofstadter, Douglas, 56
Hofstede, Geert, 389
Holdsworth, Clare, 65
Hollywood fi lms, 202, 353, 364, A–6, A–7
Holmes, Michael, 226–227, 229
Homans, George, 19
Homophily, 298 ( See also Similarity)
Honesty, 48, 155, A–8
Honor, 76, 385, 408, 421
Hostility, 129, 263, 397–398
Housekeeping, 454
Houser, Marian, 93
Hovland, Carl, 49, 187
Hubbard, Amy Ebesu, 93
Hull, Peter, 65
Human
nature, 17–18, 20–21, 64, 92, 297, 302–303, 307, 310, 384,
470–471
rights, 300, 309–311
Humanistic approach, 16, 18–19, 23–24, 30, 34, 54, 64, 94,
134, 239–240, 243, 268, 323
Humanity, 58, 67, 307, 309
Hume, David, 28
Humiliation, 426
Humility, 48, 224
Hummert, Mary Lee, 403
Humor, 11, 19, 59, 101, 115, 201, 231–232, 234, 238–239, 245,
247, 260, 279, 289, 293, 299, 302–303, 311, 347, 365, 384,
434–437, 457
Hunches, theories as, 3–5, 12, 20, 55, 225
Hurston, Zora Neale, 464
Hurt, 71, 116, 158, 404
Husserl, Edmund, 264
Hymes, Dell, 418–420, 429
Hyperpersonal perspective, 126–129, 132–133
Hyperreality, 314
Hypodermic needle model ( See Powerful effects model of
mass media)
Hypotheses, 20, 27, 29, 31, 45, 62, 205, 359, 375–377, 401
( See also Prediction)
I
“I Have a Dream,” 33, 251, 284–292, 294, 299, 302
“I,” the self as, 58–59, 62, 65
I-centered focus, 390, 397
Griffi n, Em, 38–39
Griffi n, Rachel, 447
Gross, Alan, 292
Grossberg, Lawrence, 36, 49, 350, 374
Grounded research, 264
Group
communication, 214–241
confl ict, 133
consciousness, 230–231, 234–235, 239
decision making, 214, 233–245 ( See also Decision
making)
identity, 396, 399–400
membership, 179, 230–232, 234–235, 239–240,
396, 400
process, 214–215, 217, 222–223, 225, 239
solidarity, 397, 399, 407, 454, 465
task function, 122, 126, 135, 214, 218, 226, 234–235
Groupthink, 214
Gudykunst, William B., 50, 79, 93, 120, 240, 403, 417,
428–429
Guerrero, Laura K., 93
Guilt, 74, 198, 236, 284, 296–298, 302, 410, 464
Guilt–redemption cycle, 297–298, 301–302
Gurevitch, Michael, 355, 361
H
Habermas, Jürgen, 225, 280, 453–454
Habit, 7, 11, 43, 50, 62, 134, 201, 318, 358–361,
369, 371
Hainic, Cristian, 174
Hall, Edward T., 82–83, 86, 325, 390
Hall, Stuart, 337, 339–343, 345–350, 386, 470, A–4
Hammer, Rhonda, 350
Hancock, Jeffrey, 127, 133
Hang together, 307–308, 310–311
Happiness, 142, 146
Haraway, Donna, 449
Harding, Sandra, 444–446, 448–451, 453–456, A–5
Harm, 71, 116, 158, 208–210, 233, 247, 296–297, 365, 385,
395, 413
Harwood, Jake, 394, 403
Hate, 285, 299
Have-nots of society ( See Marginalized groups)
Health, application to, 14, 61, 71, 151, 153–160, 163,
175–176, 184–185, 195–196, 200–204, 207–209, 225,
233–234, 237–238, 267–269, 277–279, 339, 342, 344–345,
347–348, 351, 353, 359, 361, 364, 378, 381–382, 394,
402, 441
Healthy relationships, 164, 168–169
Hearing, 319–320
impairment, 57, 393–394, 399
Heavy television viewers, 367–371
Hedging, messages, 115
Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich, 445
Hegemony, 337, 340–341, 347, 349–350, 427
Heider, Fritz, 398
Hekman, Susan, 455
The Help, 446–449, 451–452, 455
Heraclitus, 8, 257
Here and now, 231
Heredity ( See Biological factors)
Herman-Kinney, Nancy J., 65, 302
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I-10 INDEX
Initial interaction, 108–111, 115–116, 118–119
Initial orientation, 396–398
Injustice, 21, 252, 263, 285, 467
Innis, Harold, 326
Insko, Chester, 184, 186
Instant messaging, 7–9, 122, 317
Institutional positioning, 257, 260–364
Institutional requisite function, 227
Integrating (problem-solving) confl ict style, 409–411, 415–416
Integration
rite, 132, 250
of theories, 13–50, 470–482
Integration–separation dialectic, 139–140
Integrity, 48, 147, 282, 308, 348, 459
Intelligence, 56, 191, 225
Intention, 246, 295, 361, 384, 395, 398, 432
Interaction(s), 52–53, 58, 60, 70, 84, 143, 255, 259, 355–356,
396, 400
Interaction position, 90
Interactional view, 22, 164–174, 276, 424, 476, 479, A–2
Interactive strategy, of reducing uncertainty, 114, 117
Interactive universalism, 453–455
Intercultural communication, 79, 85, 391–403, 414
Interdependence, 94, 137, 165, 227, 273, 384
Interest aggregations, as agenda setters, 382–383
Interethnic communication, 392–393, 396, 400
Intergenerational communication, 392–399, 403–404
Internet, 60, 114, 122, 129, 132, 236–237, 241–261, 315, 321,
325, 351, 384
Interpersonal
adaptation theory, 89–91, 93
deception theory, 312
infl uence, 38, 175–212
messages, 52–93 ( See also Intercultural communication)
relationships, 66, 68–71, 75–78
Interpretation, 314
of behavior, 55–56, 85, 87–89, 167, 171, 173
of experience, 45–46, 68, 171, 231–233, 246, 248, 250–251,
253, 275, 294, 305, 308, 336, 340, 342, 346, 372, 398,
401–402, 422, 427, 430, 434, 440, 462
of messages and signs, 7–8, 12, 19, 28, 32–33, 46, 52–53,
57, 64, 66, 69–70, 73–74, 114, 122, 136, 167–168, 171,
234, 248–250, 252, 256, 291, 305, 351, 377, 419, 422–423,
425, 427, 438, 450
Interpretive approach, 13–24, 29, 37, 47, 49, 63, 77, 131,
147, 173, 181, 236, 238–240, 244–246, 252–254, 272, 305,
315, 336, 414, 427–428, 466, 470 ( See also Humanistic
approach)
Interruption, 232, 434–435
Interview(s), 29, 33, 78, 136, 138, 148, 161, 257–258, 260,
364, 401 ( See also Survey research)
Intimacy, 25, 42, 84, 87, 94–95, 97, 102, 104–105, 111, 117,
125–127, 129, 132–136, 140, 142, 149, 152, 169, 317, 323,
430, 433, 440–441, 464 ( See also Close relationships)
Intimacy distance, 82
Introspection, 33, 58
Intuition, 33, 36, 57, 85, 186, 225, 440, 448
Invention, 281, 297
as rhetorical canon, 289
communication technology, 318–321
language, 297
Involvement, 85–86, 88, 269–270, 273–274, 279, 322, 433,
443 ( See also Ego-involvement)
Ideal
audience, 309–310
communication, 349
knowers, 445
speech situation, 226
Idealism, 295
Ideas, 216, 220, 223, 231, 251, 323, 339, 434, 482
Identifi cation, 13, 298–301, 307, 311–312, 389, 392, 395, 466
( See also Credibility)
Identifi cation of alternatives, 217, 219–220, 222–225,
237–239, 241–242
Identity, 45, 61, 63, 105, 144, 182, 235, 277, 315, 347,
395–398, 405, 408, 416, 421, 434, 437, 452
Ideology, 18–19, 21, 32, 44–45, 131, 239, 249, 270, 314,
339–340, 345–348, 350, 367, 416
Ideology, dominant, 327–333, 335–336
Ignorance, 108, 118, 223, 348, 462
I-identity, 406–407
I–It relationships, 76–77
Image(ry), 5, 7, 10, 12–13, 31, 37, 53, 56, 58, 69, 75, 81, 113,
122–123, 127, 141, 148, 152, 165, 182, 195, 209, 231–235,
237–240, 245–246, 248, 252, 305, 314–315, 328, 331,
333–334, 336–337, 339, 355, 367–368, 373, 375, 379–380,
382, 385, 432, 461
Imagination, 34, 58, 231, 233, 282
Imitation of behavior, 352
Immediacy, 92–93, 128, 175, 320–321, 406
Impartiality, 405, 422, 450, 455
Impersonal communication, 98, 122, 126
Implication, 361–362
Importance, 178, 190, 197, 200, 250, 257, 265, 363, 372–373,
377–378, 413, 442, 452, 460 ( See also Ego-involvement;
Responsibility; Salience)
Impression formation, 85, 89, 123, 125–127, 129–130,
132–133, 152, 395, 427
Improvisation, 76, 145, 249–250
Inartistic proofs, 284
Inclusion–seclusion dialectic, 138–140, 145
Incredulity toward metanarratives, 314, 446
Independence, 137, 149, 375, 433, 440–442 ( See also Autonomy)
Independent
self, 407–408, 411, 414–416, 424
variable, 29
Indeterminacy, 136
Index of curiosity, 378
Individualism, 122, 144, 235, 344, 389, 427
Individualistic, 45, 154, 384
Individualistic culture, 397, 405–417, 424
Industrial revolution, 314, 321
Inequality, 262, 333, 413, 442, 457, 463, 466–467
Inference, 109, 223
Infl uence, 85–86, 91, 167, 175–212, 223, 252, 259–260, 268,
270, 309, 317–318, 349, 351, 368, 373, 375, 378, 383,
385–386, 460 ( See also Persuasion)
Informants, 418, 426, 433, 458
Information, 19, 39, 67, 69, 100, 114, 117, 173, 189–190, 192,
215, 217, 224, 250–251, 256, 268, 272, 276–277, 293, 303,
320, 324, 334, 340, 342–343, 358, 368, 383–385, 390, 406,
434, 460
seeking, 110–114, 117–118, 135
systems approach, theory of, 256, 266
transfer model of communication, 8, 268–269, 273, 279
( See also Transmission model of communication)
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INDEX I-11
Knowledge from nowhere, 449
Kohlberg, Lawrence, 440
Koop, C. Everett, 348
Kosicki, Gerald, 385, 387
Kovačić, Branislav, 280
Kramarae, Cheris, 454, 457–468, A–5
Krippendorff, Klaus, 30–31, 36
Kruglanski, Arie, 199
Kubey, Robert, 359
Kuhn, Thomas, 266, 305
Kunkel, Adrianne, 442–443
Kuper, Adam, 252, 254
Kurogi, Atsuko, 417
L
Label, 368–369, 424, 428
Labeling, 169, 347, 427, 463
Lai, Chih-Hui, 119
Lambda Pi Eta, 261
Landis, Dan, 417
Langellier, Kristin M., 482
Language, 16–17, 28–31, 33, 40–41, 43–44, 50, 52, 54–58, 64,
73, 78, 122–123, 143, 148, 231, 240, 247, 268–269, 272,
279, 281, 293–302, 321, 347, 349, 364, 393, 401, 407, 418,
421, 433, 438, 443, 455, 457–466, 470 ( See also Signs;
Symbols; Words)
Latitude
of acceptance, 178–183, 185–187
of noncommitment, 178–187
of rejection, 178–187
Latour, Bruno, 264
Lavers, Annette, 338
Law and order, application to, 283–284, 297, 303, 364,
367–373, 380, 399–400, 402–403, 460–461
Lazar, Michelle M., 468
Lazarsfeld, Paul, 351, 385
Leadership, 230, 239, 251, 262, 299, 461
Ledbetter, Andrew, 39
Lee, Harper, 58
Lee, Jaehoon, 374
Leeds-Hurwitz, Wendy, 79, 338
Legislatures, 303
Length of story, 376
Lennert, Midge, 464
Lens(es), interpretive, 24, 43, 248, 305, 364, 367, 414
Less false view of reality, 455
Letters (mail), 39, 124
Levinas, Emmanuel, 62–65
Levinson, Paul, 326
Levinson, Stephen, 408
Lewin, Kurt, 28
Lewis, C. S., 18, 310
Light refraction, 444
Light television viewers, 370
Liking, 40, 86, 89, 110–112, 117, 126, 135, 189, 425
Limited effects model of mass media, 376, 385
Lincoln, Abraham, 31–32, 180
Lincoln, Yvonna, 36
Linear progression, 320
Linguistic relativity ( See Sapir–Whorf hypothesis of
linguistic relativity)
LinkedIn, 121
Irony, 314, 349, 447
Irreconcilable differences, 470
Island course, 233–238
Issue-relevant thinking, 189, 191–193, 196, 198
I–Thou relationships, 76–77, 80, 440
Ivie, Robert, 20
Iyengar, Shanto, 378
J
Jackson, Don, 166, 174
Jackson, Jesse, 347
Jackson-Beeck, Marilyn, 374
James, William, 63
Jameson, Frederic, 315
Janis, Irving, 49, 175, 214, 229
Japan, 277, 380, 405–406, 409, 413, 415
Japanese culture, 244–245, 389–390, 404
Jealousy, 116, 134, 137
Jefferson, Thomas, 273
Jeffries-Fox, Suzanne, 374
Jesus, 106, 297, 325
Jiang, L. Crystal, 133
Johannesen, Richard, 312
Johnson, Dante L., 468
Johnson, Patricia, 402
Jordan, Michael, 334–335, 382
Jorgensen, Peter, 93
Judgment, 89, 139, 155, 158, 247, 307, 311, 323, 368
of message, 180–183
Jung, Carl, 15
Justice, 48, 277, 289, 295, 309–310, 333, 372, 440, 454, A–8
Justifi cation, 209, 226, 252, 271, 301
K
Kant, Immanuel, 92, 440, 453
Kaplowitz, Stan, 187
Katovich, Michael, 65
Katriel, Tamar, 422
Katz, Elihu, 353–355, 361–362, A–4
KB Journal, 301
Kellermann, Kathy, 117–118
Kelley, Douglas, 303
Kelley, Harold, 39, 49, 94, 99, 102, 109, 399
Kellner, Douglas, 337, 350
Kennedy, George, 292
Kennedy, John F., 285, 372, 376
Kierkegaard, Søren, 197
Kim, Kyong, 334, 338
Kincaide, Amy, 347
Kinder, Donald, 378
Kindness, 359, 390
King, Martin Luther, Jr., 33, 251, 284–292, 294, 299, 302
Kirkwood, William, 311
Kitayama, Shinobu, 407
Knapp, Mark, 23, 133
Knee-jerk responses, 231
Knobloch, Leanne K., 116–117, 119–120
Knobloch-Westerwick, Silvia, 212, 362
Knowing, ways of, 16–19, 21, 92
Knowledge, 44, 54, 108, 111, 114, 118, 190, 192, 279, 300,
306, 314, 414, 444–445, 455, 470
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I-12 INDEX
Masculine
characteristics, 389, 430–431, 433, 435, 438, 440–441
dominance, 240, 389, 457–463, 466–467
Maslow, Abraham, 212
Mass consciousness, 323
Mass media, 235, 460, 467
Master analogues, 238
Master–slave relationship, 445
Math metaphor, 165–167
Mattern, Jody L., 468
McAdams, Dan, 312
McBride, Chad, 155
McCabe, Jessi, 236–238, 240–241
McCann, Robert M., 403
McClelland, David C., 482
McClish, Glen, 299
McClure, Kevin, 312
McCombs, Maxwell, 375–378, 380, 382–387, A–4
McCroskey, James, 292
McDermott, Virginia, 263–264
McKee, Lorna, 464
McLeod, Jack, 362
McLuhan, Eric, 326
McLuhan, Marshall, 314, 316–326, 348, 363, A–4
McPhee, Robert, 255–259, 262–265, 275, 278, A–3
McRobbie, Angela, 350
“Me,” the self as, 58–62, 64
Mead, George Herbert, 54–65, 143, 297, 303, 389, 408,
446, A–1
Mead–Cooley hypothesis, 58, 65
Mead’s symbolic interactionism, 303, 459, 461, A–1
Mean and scary world, 363–364, 371
Mean world syndrome, 371
Meaning(s), 5, 7–8, 15, 17, 19, 31, 33, 42–43, 54–55, 58, 60,
64, 87, 94, 144, 167, 171, 234–236, 248, 253, 256–257,
268, 272, 274, 292, 305, 314, 316, 327, 332, 340–342, 349,
368, 386, 389–390, 422–424, 433, 446, 453, 458, 467, 470
( See also Interpretation; Symbols)
making and managing, 66, 68, 71, 73–74, 79, 256–257
web of, 20, 389, 418
Means of production, 340
Means to an end, 77, 270
Mechanistic metaphor, 242, 249
Medhurst, Marty, 13–17, 19–20, 23, 317
Media, 235, 460, 467
agenda, 376–378, 385
choices, 353–357, 360–361
consumption, 353, 355–362
corporations, 342–343, 373
coverage, 381
and culture, 21, 314–350
ecology, theory of, 22, 316–326, 476, 481, A–4
effects, 21, 340, 351–387
new, 383
personalities, 359
research, 353, 356–361, 364, 370
richness theory, 122
Mediated communication, 8
Mediation, of confl ict, 276, 375, 396, 404–406, 411–412, 416
Medium
communication, 123, 128, 131
as message, 316–317, 325, 363
Meltzer, Bernard, 65
Lippmann, Walter, 375, 377
Listener, 40, 52, 196–197, 251, 298, 302, 309, 375
Listening, 34, 63, 144, 226, 232, 277, 281–282, 393, 400, 418,
422, 425, 427, 433–435, 442–443, 447, 460–461
Literate age, 318–320
Littlejohn, Stephen W., 80, 280, 482
Living organisms, 134, 256
Local knowledge, 31, 247, 380, 427, 446, 449
Location in time and space, 444–446, 448–450, 452–455
Locke, John, 384, 453
Logic, 55–56, 112, 117, 190, 209, 222, 225, 270, 285–286, 303,
306, 308–309, 320–321, 354
Logical force, 71, 112
Logical proof ( logos ), 282, 284–286, 306
Loh, Tracy, 133
Longitudinal research, 38–39, 372
Looking-glass self, 58, 60, 62, 64–65
Love, 41, 57, 75, 77, 94, 106, 116, 144, 170, 271, 348, 460 ( See
also Romance)
Low-context culture, 390, 407
Loyalty, 154, 270–271, 305, 440
Luhrmann, T. M., 253
Lundgren, David, 65
Lust, 351
Lutgen-Sandvik, Pamela, 263–264
LUUUUTT model, 69–70, 73–75, 77
Lying, 48, 92, 103, 147, 169, 194, 205–206, 211, 280, 327 ( See
also Deception)
Lyotard, Jean-François, 314–315, 446, 453
M
Machine metaphor for organizations, 256
MacKinnon, Catharine, 464
Mad Men, 248
Maddux, Kristy, 302
Madonna, 337
Magic bullet, 351, 355, 385 ( See also Powerful effects model
of mass media)
Magnetic fi eld, 367–369
Maher, T. Michael, 387
Maids, household, 409, 446–449, 451–452, 455
Maines, David, 65
Mainstreaming, 299, 367–368, 374
Maintenance, of communication styles, 395
Malcolm X, 299–301
Male research establishment, 455
Malestream expression, 460
Management, corporate, 242, 247–253, 258–259, 341, 366
Managerial control, 267, 269–274, 276–277, 279
Managerialism, 270, 272, 277–278
Manipulation, 77, 146, 276, 347
Mann, Leon, 175
Maps, communication theories as, 5–6, 47, 49, 112
Marginalized groups, 340, 346–348, 367, 426, 444–448,
450–452, 454–455, 457, 465
Markus, Hazel, 407
Marriage, 45, 85, 87, 94, 141, 157–158, 163, 308–309, 365,
396, 437, 439, 460, 465
Martin, Joanne, 254
Marx, Karl, 44, 340, 445–446
Marxism, 33, 240, 314–315, 336, 340–343, 348, 350, 456
without guarantees, 341, 343, 350
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INDEX I-13
Morgan, Gareth, 242, 246, 254, 280
Morgan, Michael, 367, 373
Morr, Mary Claire, 163
Morrow, Raymond, 49
Mortifi cation, 298
Mother Teresa, 104
Motivated information management theory, 118
Motivation, 7, 21, 48, 73, 92, 104, 117–118, 121, 123, 152,
154, 165, 200–201, 203, 209, 211, 214, 228, 233–234, 236,
246, 270, 293–294, 296–297, 301–302, 305, 308, 310, 352,
356–357, 359, 362, 371–372, 392, 395–396, 398, 401, 438,
450, 466, 470, 473, 482 ( See also Needs and interests)
to process messages, 190–196, 198
Movies ( See Hollywood fi lms)
Mulac, Anthony, 402, 443
Muller, Heidi L., 49
Musial, Stan, 33
Music, 100–101, 105
Musolf, Gil, 65
Muted group theory, 22, 457–468, 479, 481, A–5
Myers, David, 50
Myers–Briggs Type Indicator, 34
Mystery, 68–69, 74, 141
Mysticism, 296
Myth, 251, 306, 328–329, 331–337, 442
N
9/11 terrorism, 183, 298
Nacirema, 389, 418–422, 425, 427–429
Nag–withdrawal pattern, 164, 166, 168
Naming, 55–56, 62, 115, 235, 433, 459–460
Narrative, 10, 15, 44, 136–137, 150, 233, 249–250, 277, 435,
440, 478–479, 481 ( See also Stories; Storytelling)
coherence, 307–312
fi delity, 307–311
paradigm, theory of, 22, 299, 303–312, 364, 478, A–4
rationality, 307, 311
Narrow ridge of dialogic ethics, 77
Narrowcasting, 368, 373
National Basketball Association (NBA), 382
National Communication Association (NCA), 48, 300,
478, A–8
National cultures, 406
Nationalism, 321, 324, 330
Nature (Natural), 55, 268, 272, 274, 278, 296–297, 332–334,
336, 342, 422, 444
Nebergall, Roger, 187
Necessary and suffi cient conditions, 94, 235, 239, 257, 425
Necessary but not suffi cient conditions, 262, 265
Needs and interests, 90, 117, 135, 138, 238, 251, 269–276,
278, 287, 301, 323, 335, 354–356, 360, 383–384, 406–409,
435, 459, 462, A–8
Negative, 76, 137, 233, 235, 271, 296–297
Negotiation(s), 55, 61, 119, 152, 156–160, 162–163, 243, 262,
274, 276, 278, 425
Nets, theories as, 5, 12
Networking, 135, 165, 465, 462
Never-miss shot, 27, 211 ( See also Testability, standard for
scientifi c theory)
New look in dissonance, 208–209
New understanding of people, standard for interpretive
theory, 29–31, 35, 77, 148, 161, 240
Membership negotiation, 256–258, 261–265
Memory, 17, 20, 33, 102, 115–116, 155, 235, 264, 281, 285,
290, 352, 383, 481
Mendelsohn, Harold, 362
Meng, Jingbo, 212
Mental effort, 189–191, 193, 195–196, 206
Mental illness, 55, 57, 61–62, 70, 342
Mere rhetoric, 32, 40
Message(s), 6–8, 12, 14, 16, 20, 34, 52, 56, 125, 145, 165, 167,
169–170, 196, 248, 257–258, 262, 265, 268, 270, 282, 284,
290, 293, 296, 299, 306, 316–317, 324, 330, 353, 365, 390,
404, 442
creation of, 12, 66, 119, 178, 235
delivery, 52
elaboration, 189–199
interpretation of, 293–300, 390, 393
plans, 113–116, 119
system analysis, 365–367
Messiness of relationships, 70, 137, 139, 148, 454
Meta-analysis, 222, 371, 373, 430
Metacommunication, 44, 117, 167–169, 173, 419, 424–425
Metaperformance, 426
Metaphor(s), 5, 12, 16, 31, 47, 52, 77, 94, 116, 123, 134, 137–
138, 143, 145, 147–149, 156, 165, 171, 189, 242, 244–245,
247–251, 256, 264, 271, 289, 292, 317–318, 324–325, 328,
336, 348, 359, 364–370, 372, 404, 459, 466
Metatheory, 13–50, 272–287
Metts, Sandra, 443
Mill, John Stuart, 100
Miller, Gerald, 23, 175
Miller, Will, 362
Mills, Judson, 212
Milton, John, 197
Mind, 60, 65, 104, 178, 183, 186, 295, 368
Mindfulness, 4, 7, 12, 17, 75, 77, 79, 110, 129, 189, 191–192,
196–197, 226, 361, 414, 425
Minding, 57–58, 206, 461 ( See also Cognitive processing)
Minimal justifi cation hypothesis, 204–205, 208, 210–211
Minimax principle of human behavior, 95, 100, 103, 106,
113, 406
Mirror of reality, 199
Mistake, 159, 252, 436
Misunderstanding, 24, 129, 252, 432, 435, 439
Moderates, political, 268–269
Modernism, 314
Mody, Bella, 417, 429
Mohrmann, G. P., 241
Money, 184–186, 193, 206, 217, 221, 242, 247–248, 252, 255,
257, 260–261, 268, 270–272, 274–275, 289, 315, 328, 337,
340, 344–346, 364, 389, 451, 464
Mongeau, Paul, 89–90, 198–199
Monologue, 30, 77, 111, 147–148, 434
Monopoly ownership, 343
Monsour, Michael, 42–43
Montgomery, Barbara, 136–143, 145, 147–151, 281, 433,
441, A–2
Mood, 196, 199, 299
Mood management theory, 362
Moral development, theory of, 440 ( See also Ethical
concerns)
Morality, 80, 125, 147, 345–346, 384–385, 404,
425, 440
Morgan, David, 65
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I-14 INDEX
Onion, model of relationship, 97–100, 104–106
Online
dating, 119, 127–129, 133
messages, 107, 123–126, 128, 130–131
news, 383–384
relationships, 121–133
support, 362
Onomatopoeia, 336
Open-mindedness, 76, 183
Openness, 76, 99–100, 104, 138, 151, 154–155 ( See also
Self-disclosure)
Openness–closedness dialectic, 104, 138–139, 142, 145
Operation Desert Storm, 330
Opinion, 200, 202, 215, 224, 279, 351, 375, 434, 436 ( See also
Attitude)
Opposing forces, 139
Oppression, 19, 340, 445, 452–453, 455, 466
Orator, 41, 75, 281, 283
Orbe, Mark, 465–466, 468
Organizational chart, 247, 258
Organizational communication, 21, 242–280
Orientation, 245, 368, 378
Osborn, Michael, 15, 20
Other-face concern, 408–409, 411–412, 415–416
Outcomes of interaction, 78, 85, 91, 97, 100–104, 118, 152,
147, 208, 217, 221, 268, 274, 310, 381, 404, 465 ( See also
Consequences, of communication)
Outcomes, relational, 97, 101–104
Out-group members, 397, 399, 413
Outsider within, 452
Over-accommodation, 392, 395, 402
Ownership of information, 111, 151–158, 162–163
P
Pacanowsky, Michael, 244–254, 256, 263, 272, 275, 435, A–3
Pain, 103, 171–172
Palin, Sarah, 386
Palo Alto Group, 165–166, 168, 173–174
Paradigm, 305, 367
Paradigm shift, 306–307
Paradox, 46, 138–139, 170, 254, 440
Paranormal activity, 365
Parasocial relationship, 359–362
Parks, Malcolm, 39, 111, 113
Parsimony ( See Relative simplicity, standard for scientifi c
theory)
Partial view of reality, 445, 449–450, 453
Participant observation, 61, 75, 78, 217, 233, 246–247, 253,
389, 426–427 ( See also Ethnography)
Participation, 19, 267, 269–270, 273–279, 301, 436, 453, 460
Partner interference, 116–117
Passing time, need for, 357–358
Passion, 180, 285, 306, 310
Passive aggression, 410–411
Passive strategy, of reducing uncertainty, 114
Passivity, 168, 355, 361, 426
Patterns of communication, 30, 66–68, 70–71, 73–76, 78–79,
85, 153, 165, 173, 239, 264, 317–318, 389–390, 423–424,
427, 467
Paul the Apostle, 282
Pauses, 391, 398, 432
Pavlov, Ivan, 325
News
coverage, 257, 343–345, 351, 382
magazines, 376, 378, 382, 384–385
story prominence, 376–377
Newspaper, 249, 267, 353, 375–377, 379–380, 382–385, 446
Newton, Isaac, 325
Nichols, Marie Hochmuth, 294, 471
Nicotera, Ann Maydan, 265–266
Niebuhr, Reinhold, 348
Nietzsche, Friedrich, 103
Nilsen, Thomas, 197–198, 273
Nixon, Richard, 372, 375–376
Noncommitment, 74, 178–187
Nonjudgmental communication, 94, 250, 425
Nonverbal communication, 12, 17, 44, 52, 56–57, 82–94,
105, 110, 115, 122–125, 127, 129, 131–133, 165–167,
172–173, 176, 198, 232, 234, 247, 305, 329, 335–337, 383,
389, 391, 400, 404, 424, 426, 435, 437, 442, 462
Nonviolence, 285–286
Norms, 90, 99, 142, 185–186, 223, 230, 237, 272, 277, 339,
384, 397, 406, 411, 457
Norton, Anne, 337
Novelty, 138, 141, 220–221, 250, 414
Numbers, 94–95, 106, 268, 324, 365
O
$1/$20 experiment, 205–209, 211–217
Oakley, Ann, 464
Obama, Barack, 62, 206–209, 284, 294, 298, 345
Obamacare, 339, 344–345
Obedience, 154, 242, 277
Objective approach, 13–29, 31, 34–37, 47, 49, 63, 77–78, 117,
131, 173, 192, 196, 198, 226, 228, 238–240, 254, 263,
295, 414, 470 ( See also Empirical research; Scientifi c
approach)
Objective self, 58–59, 64
Objective–interpretive scale, 21–22, 49
Objectivity, 79, 192, 196, 324, 344, 398
strong, 445, 447, 450, 453, 455–456
Obligation, 48, 63, 71, 92, 157–158, 166, 405–406, 413, 454
Obliging (giving in) confl ict style, 409–411
O’Brien, Jodi, 65
O’Brien, Margaret, 464
Obstinate audience, 346
Occam’s razor, 26
Occupy Wall Street movement, 262
O’Connor, Amy, 266
O’Donnell-Trujillo, Nick, 254
Oetzel, John, 407–408, 410–412, 414–417
The Offi ce, 249 , 251, 259
Ogay, Tania, 401–403
Ogden, C. K., 49
O’Keefe, Barbara, 36, 49, 350
O’Keefe, Daniel J., 187, 212
Old Testament, 298, 307
Olufowote, James, 239, 241
On Liberty, 197
One-across communication, 169–170
One-down communication, 169–170, 435
One-up communication, 111, 169–170, 433
One-upmanship, 461
One-way model of communication, 52–53
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INDEX I-15
Place(s), 236, 310, 419
Plan-based theory of strategic communication, 391–395
Plato, 40–41, 48, 281–283, 306
Platonic friendships, 45
Pleasure principle, 103–104
Plot lines, 236, 365
Pluralistic ignorance, 185
Pluralistic society, 79, 273
Poetry, 306, 311
Politeness, 390, 408
Politically attentive relational constructivism (PARC),
275–277, 279–280
Politics, application to, 24, 71, 103, 173, 180, 185, 202, 205,
212, 274, 281, 284, 294, 312, 320, 330, 332, 339, 347,
351, 353, 364–365, 369–370, 375–378, 402, 424, 448
Ponterotto, Joseph, 254
Poole, Marshall Scott, 226, 228–229, 241
Popper, Karl, 5, 27
Popular culture, 210, 325, 345–346
Porcar, Codruta, 174
Pornography, 464
Portal, game of, 256
Post-decision dissonance, 202–205, 207, 210, 212
Postman, Neil, 323–324, 326
Postmes, Tom, 131
Postmodernism, 16, 23, 33, 48, 63, 314–315, 326, 350, 450,
453–454, 456
Postulates, 199
Poverty, 335, 339, 385, 340, 344, 346, 366, 445, 450
Power, 19, 30, 33, 62, 64, 84, 89, 111, 117, 155, 169–170, 225,
227, 253, 257, 267, 271–272, 274, 276, 297, 299, 309, 323,
334, 337, 339–344, 346–349, 363, 369, 375–378, 383, 385,
399, 413, 425, 427, 430, 433, 435, 442–443, 447, 451,
458–459, 463–464, 466–467
discrepancies, 445, 447–451, 455
distance, cultural variable, 389, 413, 416
imbalance, 44, 146, 376 ( See also Control; Dominance;
Hierarchy; Marginalized groups; Status)
Powerful effects model of mass media, 351, 355, 381,
385, 444
Practical
advice, 40, 182–184, 186–187, 210
discipline, communication as, 37–38, 48–50
theory, 69, 78–80
utility, standard for scientifi c theory, 20, 25, 28, 35, 54,
61, 69, 78–80, 91, 100, 131, 186, 226–227, 360–361, 386,
402, 414
wisdom, 154, 184, 225, 290, 312
Pragmatism, 47–48, 54, 63, 165, 173–174, 225, 263, 296,
470, 481
Pragmatist tradition, 47–48, 78
Praise, 61, 125, 250, 284, 435
Predictability–novelty dialectic ( See Certainty–uncertainty
dialectic)
Predicted outcome value (POV), 118 ( See also Rewards
and costs)
Prediction(s), 39, 52, 92, 94, 97, 103, 108–109, 112–113, 115,
118, 126, 135, 140, 173, 189, 192, 227, 233–234, 238, 244,
355, 359, 382, 392, 396–398, 400, 407–408, 413, 415–416,
427–428, 441
standard for scientifi c theory, 18, 20, 25–27, 35, 38, 63,
84–86, 89, 91, 109, 117, 147, 177, 182–184, 186, 198, 360,
370, 386, 401, 414
Pearce, Kimberly A., 66, 69, 73–80
Pearce, W. Barnett, 66–71, 73–80, 269, 280, 293, 470,
482, A–1
Peirce, Charles, 335–336
Penetration ( See Self-disclosure)
Penner, Louis, 195
Pentad ( See Dramatistic pentad)
Perception, 5, 43, 45, 85, 89–90, 153, 155, 178–181, 183–186,
192, 196, 198, 209, 240, 276, 298, 316–317, 325, 363–365,
370–371, 376, 392, 398, 427, 460
Perfection, 296–297
Performance, culture as, 245, 247, 249–251, 253, 402
Performance ethnography, 426, 429
Peripheral route, message processing, 188–191, 193–196,
199
Persistence, of attitude change, 190, 192–196, 198–199
Personal, 130
experience as validation, 40, 440, 442, 459
relationships, 39–40, 45, 106, 108, 135–137, 203 ( See also
Close relationships; Family; Friendship; Intimacy;
Romance)
relevance, 190–191 ( See also Ego-involvement;
Importance; Salience)
space, 81–86, 88, 90, 93, 105
stories, in organizations, 249, 253
Personality, 86, 110, 127, 298, 377 ( See also Traits, personality)
change, 224
structure, 97–99, 105–106
Person-centered messages, 442
Personifi cation, 237–238
Persons-in-conversation, 43, 67–68, 70, 77, 79, 143, 166, 255
Perspective(s), 17, 47, 58, 76, 131, 171, 368, 444, 463
Perspective by incongruity, 297
Perspective-taking ability ( See Taking the role of the other)
Persuader as lover, 197–198
Persuasion, 13, 20, 38, 85, 178, 182–193, 195–199, 204–206,
208–210, 224, 233, 273, 276, 281–289, 298–299, 302,
310, 316, 353–354, 421, 430, 465 ( See also Attitude
change; Elaboration likelihood model; Cognitive
dissonance theory; Infl uence; Social judgment
theory; Rhetoric, The )
Peters, Mark, 378
Peterson, Eric, 482
Petronio, Sandra, 105, 151–163, A–2
Petty, Richard, 188–193, 195–196, 198–199, A–3
Phatic communication, 303, 311
Phenomenological tradition, 45–47
Philipsen, Gerry, 416, 418–422, 424–429, A–5
Phone, 39, 321
Phonetic alphabet, 319–321
Photographs, 105, 257
Photos, 257
Physical
abuse, 448
appearance, 328–329, 340, 352, 421, 461, 464 ( See also
Appearance, physical)
contact, 43
disability, 153, 466
force, 286, 365, 369, 422, 425 ( See also Rape)
senses, 16, 34, 57, 64, 305, 318–321
Physiological measures, 211
Ping-Pong, communication as, 52
Pinterest, 462
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I-16 INDEX
Quantitative research, standard for scientifi c theory, 25,
28–29, 33, 35–36, 91, 130, 161–162, 186, 339, 350,
360–361, 376, 386, 401–402
Quantity of talk, 110, 112, 434, 438
Question(s), 2, 73, 114, 127, 153, 158, 215, 217, 227, 259, 278,
324, 333, 339, 424, 435–436, 442, 444–445, 470, 482
Quintillian, 40
R
Race, 209, 400
Racial discrimination, 274, 284–287, 289, 298–300, 335, 341,
347–350, 366, 396, 400, 402, 444, 446–449, 451–454,
465–467
Radio, 321, 351, 353–354, 418, 436
Rahim, M. Afzalur, 409
Ramirez, Art, 114
Rand, Ayn, 103
Rape, 445, 464–465, 467–468
Rapport talk, 433–435, 441–442
Rate of speaking, 391, 393, 398, 430, 461
Ratio, of pentad, 296, 303
Rational world paradigm, 306–312
Rationality, 198, 225–228, 231, 241–245, 303, 306–307, 314,
326, 340, 384, 454 ( See also Reason)
Rationalization, 204, 241
Rawlins, William, 46, 48, 136, 139, 150
Reaction, 55, 57, 70, 116, 168, 177, 189–190, 196, 211
Reagan, Ronald, 310
Realism, 278, 295, 336, 348
Reality(-ies), 5, 16, 19, 28, 34, 43, 47, 55, 61, 127, 136, 166,
168, 268, 273, 279, 310, 315, 334, 336, 347, 377, 445,
450, 455, 460
Reality TV, 337, 345–347
Reason, 28, 48, 282, 303, 305–309, 312, 354, 357, 361, 453,
A–8 ( See also Rationality)
Receiver, 66, 127, 132
Reciprocated diatribe, 71
Reciprocity, 63, 90–91, 99, 110–112, 119, 154, 168, 189, 454
law of, 99, 105
Redemption, 300–301
Redemption through victimage, 298
Redstocking Sister, 464
Reductionism, 427, 433, 441
Reed, Mike, 266
Referent of a symbol, 47
Refl ective thinking, 44, 225, 361 ( See also Mindfulness)
Refl exivity, 57–58, 68
Reform of society, standard for interpretive theory, 29, 32–33,
35, 64, 78, 148, 161, 252, 278, 336, 344, 455, 463, 466
Reframing, 171–172, 174, 405 ( See also Framing)
Reierson, Jennifer, 163
Reinard, John, 199
Reinforcement, 193, 431, 433, 452, 467
Rejection, 89, 118, 146, 155, 157, 236, 290, 311, 470–471
Relational
control, 105, 167, 174
dialectics, theory of, 22, 118, 136–150, 281, 409, 423, 433,
441, 447, 479, 481, A–2
turbulence, 116–117, 119, 146
Relationship ( See also Family; Friendship; Romance)
abusive, 445
breakup, 5, 43–44, 99, 116, 160
Pressure groups, 344
Pride, 221, 279, 329–332, 408
Priester, Joseph, 199
Priming, 387
Principle of veracity, 147
Print age, 318–319, 321, 326
Print media, 334, 351, 460
Printing press, 319, 321, 324
Priorities, 222, 385, 452
Privacy, 75, 82–83, 97–98, 104–105, 138, 142, 151, 218, 235,
320–321, 325, A–8
boundaries, 105–106, 151, 153–160 ( See also Secrecy)
rules, 152–154, 156–163, 165–166, 171
Private information, 98, 151–163
Private sphere, 454, 458, 462
Probability, 25, 114
Problem analysis, 217–218, 221, 224, 234–235, 239–242, 380
Problem solving, 54, 56, 63, 81, 134, 222, 227, 230, 233, 246,
263–264, 278, 324, 348, 395, 434, 441
Process, communication as, 8, 12, 53, 57, 66, 68
Pro-choice/pro-life debate, application to, 347–348
Proctor, Russell, A–6, A–7
Production and reproduction through language ( See Social
construction)
Proletarian standpoint, 445
Promise-keeping, 92
Promotive group communication, 223–224
Pronunciation, 419
Proof, 27, 285, 320, 441
rhetorical, 284–288
Propaganda, 181
Proper meaning superstition, 41
Prophetic pragmatism, 348
Propositions, 31, 117–118, 401, 403, 413, 419–420, 428
Proverbs, relational, 53, 96–97, 101, 106, 111, 166
Proxemics, 81–88, 91–92, 218, 320 ( See also Distance,
interpersonal)
Psychological egoism, 103
Public
address, 25, 40, 235, 461
agenda, 376–378, 381, 383, 385
discourse, 225, 294, 323
mode of expression, 458–461, 467
opinion, 387
rhetoric, 21, 281–312
speaking, 208, 282–286, 289–291, 395, 434, 470
sphere, 454
Public–private distinction, 442
Punctuation, 167–168, 173
Purpose, 246, 255–256, 259, 285, 294, 354–355 ( See also Goal)
of pentad, 293–297, 300
of theory, 20–21
Putnam, Linda, 254, 265–266, 280
Puzzle(s), 258, 306
Q
Qualitative research, standard for interpretive theory,
28–29, 33, 35–36, 54, 78, 148, 161–162, 224, 236, 252,
254, 336, 350, 401–402, 470
Quality control, 260, 277
Quality of decision, 216, 218–219, 221–224, 226–228,
233–245
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INDEX I-17
tradition, 40–41, 47, 49, A–3, A–4
vision, 235–241
Rich, Adrienne, 464
Richards, I. A., 41–42, 49, 268, 422
Rights, 156–157, 277, 406
Rigor of resentment, 34, 325, 341
Rindfl eisch, Aric, 374
Ringing true, message, 309, 311
Risk, 4, 103, 144, 154, 178, 183, 185, 214, 274, 363–365, 368,
371, 374, 433, 451, 471
Rittenour, Christine E., 403
Rituals/rites, 34, 142, 146, 149, 245, 247, 250–251, 253, 272,
425–426, 466
Rogers, Carl, 45, 49, 94, 138, 296
Rogers, Edna, 167, 169–170, 174
Role(s), 52, 60, 145, 170, 223, 259, 329, 404, 421
Role-play, 57, 175, 185, 414, 417
Role-taking, 58
Roloff, Michael, 23, 36
Romance, 7, 40, 45, 89, 98–99, 102, 111, 116–117, 124,
129, 134–137, 139–143, 145–146, 148, 151, 245, 307,
428, 445
Roosevelt, Franklin, 351
Rorty, Richard, 470
Rosenthal, Robert, 482
Roskos-Ewoldson, David, 23, 36
Rossmann, Constanze, 374
Rothenbuhler, Eric, 30
Rowland, Robert, 312
Rowling, Joanne, 465
Rubin, Alan M., 357, 360–361
Ruesch, Jurgen, 174
Rule-based theory, 153, 162
Rules of agreement, 52, 60, 76, 82, 147, 165–166, 242,
261, 277, 296–297, 309–310, 345, 363, 389, 424, 437,
451, 461
Ruth, biblical character, 298–299, 304–309
S
Sacks, Oliver, 57
Sacrifi ce, 106, 171, 406, 408, 428, 440, 452
Safety, application to, 188–199, 258, 271, 277–278, 366,
369–371
Salience, 396, 400, 402–403
of attributes, 378, 380–382, 386
of issues, 375, 380, 385
transfer of ( See Framing)
Same-sex marriage, 465
Samter, Wendy, 150, 163, 402
Sanctioning agent, fantasy theme analysis, 236–237
Sandy Hook massacre, 62
Sapir, Edward, 43
Sapir–Whorf hypothesis of linguistic relativity, 43
Sarcasm, 84, 224, 235
Satire, 234, 347
Saussure, Ferdinand de, 328, 335, 338
Saving face, 115, 125, 245, 394, 407, 409, 417
Scalar chain, 242
Scapegoat, 297–298, 300
Scapegoating, 310
Scarcity, as peripheral cue, 189
Scary movies, 356
development, 21, 94–133, 152, 434, 447
formation, 134
function, 227
long-lasting, 95
maintenance, 134–174, 303, 434
priority of, 384, 419, 422, 424, 440, 446–447
satisfaction, 100–102, 135
as a “spiritual child,” 135
stability, 49, 95, 99–100, 102, 112, 117, 140–141
Relationship-oriented communication, 167, 214–215, 227
Relative simplicity, standard for scientifi c theory, 25–27,
35, 91, 117, 130, 135, 186, 226, 264, 358, 360–361, 401
Relativism, 17, 77, 421, 446
Relativity, theory of, 314
Relevance, 190–191, 309, 378
Reliability, 308–309
Religion, 73, 180, 194, 205, 227, 250, 265, 282–283, 297–301,
305, 308, 324, 334, 349, 363, 396, 402, 416, 461
Repentance, 332
Repetition of main point, 191, 318
Report and command aspects of communication, 167
Report talk, 433–434, 441–442
Representation in media, 114, 268, 270, 336, 339, 342, 366, 373
Reputation, 14, 238, 279, 411
Requisite functions, 217–225, 228–229, 233–243
Research methodology, 39, 240, 293–294, 419 ( See also
Experiments; Ethnography; Survey research; Textual
analysis)
Resentment, 220, 271, 397
Resistance, 55, 97–98, 170, 271, 314, 336, 340, 347, 425, 451
to change, 190, 192–195, 197, 201, 250
Resonance, 368–370, 374
principle of communication, 14, 16–17
Respect, 31–35, 48, 94, 271, 399–400, 433, 461, 470–471, A–8
Response to communication, 48, 53–54, 57, 61–62, 66, 69,
74–75, 81, 83–84, 90, 114, 125, 144–145, 155, 178, 197,
215, 233–234, 391, 393, 395–396, 398, 402, 447, 461, 471
Responsibility, 19, 48, 57, 63, 153, 155–158, 167, 171, 201,
208–210, 217, 227, 242, 247, 271, 277, 281, 295, 348, 389,
413, 440, 451, 474
Responsive chord, 251, 309–310, 441
Responsive “I,” 63–65
Resurrection, 15
Revelation, 153, 155, 158–152, 217 ( See also Disclosure of
information)
Revelation–concealment dialectic, 139, 142, 145
Revised two-step fl ow theory, 351
Revolution, 322, 341
Rewards and costs, 88–89, 99–103, 118, 135, 147, 153–155,
180, 190, 193, 196, 204, 210, 218, 220–222, 252, 270–271,
276, 323, 364, 406, 471
of interaction, 94–95, 99–101, 106–107, 118
Reynolds, Amy, 387
Reynolds, Larry T., 65, 302
Reynolds, Rodney, 117–118, 199
Rhetoric, 40–41, 176, 281–286, 288–289, 291–293, 297–298,
300–307, 310, 326, 421
Rhetoric, The, 22, 283–292, 298, 474, A–3
Rhetorical, 307
approach, 13, 15–16, 20, 22, 30, 32
community, 236–237, 239
criticism, 7, 13, 15, 17, 19–20, 30–33, 35, 236, 240, 293–295,
297–301, 310, 470
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I-18 INDEX
Sequence
of behavior, 166, 176
of communication, 157, 168–170, 173, 176, 220, 222–225,
264, 303, 320, 424–425
of mental processes, 168, 206, 412, 415
of relational development, 102, 104, 106
Sereno, Kenneth, 187
Serpentine model of communication, 70–71, 73, 77, 144
Sewell, Graham, 266
Sex, 278, 431
Sex Role Inventory, 430
Sexual
abuse, 154, 445, 464–465, 467–468
arousal, 232, 356
behavior, 43, 45, 48, 88–89, 146, 154-155, 157–159, 161,
193, 195, 248, 278, 308, 337, 360, 381–382, 421, 438, 454,
459, 464
harassment, 442, 445, 464–468
orientation, 402, 422, 444, 448–449, 452–455
Shakespeare, William, 61
Shame, 59, 296, 330, 404, 408, 448
Shanahan, James, 367, 373
Shared experience, 101, 143, 317
Shared group fantasies, 230–237
Shared meanings, 41, 57, 76, 79, 145, 233–237, 239, 243–248,
251, 253–254, 298, 301, 418, 421–422, 425, 438, 462,
477–478, 482
Shared networks, 110–113
Shared understanding, 71, 252, 259
Shared values, 129
Shareholder, 157, 270
Shaw, Donald, 375–378, 385
Sheafer, Tamir, 387
Shepherd, Gregory, 12, 403, 482
Sherif, Carolyn, 187
Sherif, Muzafer, 177–184, 186–187, A–2
Sherry, John, 36
Shields, Donald, 238, 240–241
Shrum, L. J., 368, 374
Shumate, Michelle, 260, 266
Shyness, 132
Sias, Patricia, 43–44
Sign systems, 329, 331–337
Signifi cance, 20, 33, 245–247, 339, 422, 452, 460, 470
Signifi cant choice, ethic of, 197–198, 273
Signifi cant others, 58, 60, 137, 151
Signifi ed, of a sign, 328–337
Signifi er, of a sign, 328–329, 331–335, 337
Signing, 57, 339
Signorielli, Nancy, 367, 373–374
Signs, 17, 41, 298, 327–338, 341–342, 437
Silence, 32, 46, 53, 142, 155, 166–167, 204, 227, 232, 272, 423,
458–459, 461, 464
Sillence, John A. A., 266
Similarity, 29, 86, 110–112, 143, 170, 298, 301, 391–393, 395,
397, 430, 458
overattribution of, 127
Simplicity, 138, 141, 149, 152, 221, 386
Sin, 348
Situated knowledge, 450, 455
Situation, 19, 34, 61, 63, 69, 75, 102, 110, 171, 202, 218, 227,
271, 284, 306–307, 401, 414, 426, 454 ( See also Context
of communication)
Scene
fantasy theme analysis, 236–237
of pentad, 293–296, 298, 300
Schedules, island courses, 218–221
Scheerhorn, Dirk, 228
Scheff, Thomas, 59
Scheufele, Dietram, 387
Schlueter, David, 258
Schwartz, Tony, 14, 17
Scientifi c approach, 13, 15–16, 19, 21, 23–31, 34–36, 38, 47,
63, 81, 87, 94–95, 119, 136, 147, 186, 198, 210–211, 233,
239–240, 245, 283, 298, 301, 304–306, 310, 314, 324, 339,
360, 369, 414, 427–428, 441, 446, 449–450, 458, 470–471
( See also Empirical research; Objective approach)
Scope, of theory, 4, 85, 111, 117, 132, 162, 227–229, 385, 392,
399–401, 428
Scriptures, Judeo–Christian, 45, 56, 76, 116, 250, 289, 304,
306, 308–309, 321, 326, 348
Scrutiny, of arguments ( See Message elaboration;
Mindfulness)
The Search for Signs of Intelligent Life in the Universe, 55
Second generation of relational dialectics, 143–147
Second-order semiological system, 329
Secrecy, 97, 140, 142, 151–152, 154–155, 160, 236–237, 320,
423 ( See also Privacy)
Seeing, 319–321
Segmentation, of opposing tendencies, 145, 149
Selective exposure, 202–205, 210, 212, 351, 376, 378, 385
Selective self-presentation, 127, 129, 249
Self (I/me), 45, 58, 61, 65, 295, 405, 421, 447
as problematic, 103, 106, 144, 147, 165, 282, 371,
384–385, 394
Self, Charles, 482
Self-concept, 97, 209, 212, 408, 444
Self-construal, 405, 407–408, 411–412, 415–417 ( See also
Self-image)
Self-disclosure, 25, 42, 94, 97–101, 103–107, 110–114, 119,
125, 142–143, 151–153, 394, 422, 428, 430, 461 (See also
Openness)
Self-esteem, 59, 63, 103, 206–207, 209, 212, 217, 337, 372,
436, 462
Self-evident truths, 278 ( See also Axioms)
Self-face, 408–409, 415–416
concern, 404, 411–412
Self-fulfi lling prophecy, 62, 129, 441
Self-image, 58, 235, 404, 407–408, 410–411, 415, 420,
474, 482
Self-perception theory, 211–212
Self-referential imperative, 31
Self-report measure, 29, 211, 357, 360–362, 370
Self-structuring workers, 257–259, 261–263
Semantics, 41, 347
Semiotic tradition, 41–42, 47, 49, A–4, A–5
Semiotics (semiology), theory of, 22, 327–338, 340, 350,
477, 481, A–4
Sender–receiver–channel–feedback model, 127
Sense receptors, 318–321
Sense-making, 2, 33, 68, 88, 109, 136, 244, 256, 259, 339
Sensing, 25, 34, 36
Sensing–intuition scale, 34
Sensitivity, 116, 281, 434, 438, 440, 442
Sensitizing theory, 147
Separation, 104, 259, 321, 465–466
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INDEX I-19
Song(s), 293–294
Sophists, 283
Sororities, 257–261
Sotomayor, Sonia, 450
Source credibility ( See Credibility)
Source–message–channel–receiver ( See Transmission
model of communication)
Space, 104, 259, 262, 264, 305
Sparks, Glenn, 13–16, 19–20, 23, 39, 317, 362, 390
Speaker(s), 251, 282–286, 288–289, 293–294, 296, 298, 302
Speech, 251, 282–283
acts, 5, 48, 426
codes theory, 22, 77, 418–429, A–5
community, 31, 420, 423, 437–438
style, 391–393, 395, 397, 399, 420–421
Spender, Dale, 462, 468
Spiral of silence, 387
Spiraling inversion of opposing tendencies, 145, 149
Spontaneity, 58, 94, 129, 141, 170
Sports, application to, 254, 262, 354–355, 379–380, 382,
459, 461
St. John, Jeffrey, 12, 403, 482
Stability–change dialectic, 140–142
Stafford, Laura, 135
Stakeholder democracy, 267, 274–279
Stakeholders, 227, 273, 340
Standard accounting procedures, 268, 276
Standard operating procedure, 273
Standpoint epistemology, 456
Standpoint theory, 22, 106, 433, 444–456, 468, 474, 481, A–5
Statistical analysis, 370–373, 415, 470
Status, 56–57, 86, 89, 91, 99, 122, 169–170, 247, 250, 337,
352, 408, 411, 413, 416, 419–422, 433–435, 447–448, 451,
462, 464–465
Status quo, 202, 218, 272, 285, 329, 333–334, 336, 340–341,
343–344, 450–451, 465
Stearn, Gerald, 326
Steele, Claude, 209, 212
Steiner, Ivan, 223
Step, Mary M., 362
Stephens, Keri K., 93
Stereotypes, 89, 394, 397–398, 407, 430, 434, 459
Stern, Lesa, 90, 93
Stewart, Jon, 32, 134, 347, 384, 429
Stiff, James, 198–199
Stigma, 153, 330–331
Stimulus–response, 17, 25, 55
Stockett, Kathryn, 446–447
Stockholders, 274
Stohl, Cynthia, 226–227, 229
Stone, Jeff, 212
Stories, 31, 43, 45, 60, 68–71, 73, 75, 77–78, 138, 230, 233,
243, 247, 249–251, 253, 257, 272, 303–312, 317, 343, 363,
393, 447–478, 466
Storytelling, 78, 215, 249, 303, 307, 310, 363, 373, 435, 442
Stossel, Scott, 374
Straight-line effect, 355
Strangers, 108–110, 427
Strate, Lance, 326
Strategy, 7, 11, 33, 83, 93, 113–115, 119, 125, 145, 183, 185,
188, 197, 238, 269–270, 272, 274, 279, 392, 402, 409, 421,
434, 438, 450
Strathman, Alan, 199
Situational determinism, 295
Skepticism, 165, 183, 193, 215, 283, 465
Skill, communication, 75, 169, 209, 259, 414, 442, 462 ( See
also Communication competence)
Slack, Jennifer, 6
Slavery, 180, 445, 450
Sleep, 184, 186, 218, 220–221
Slogan, 316–318, 325–327
Smartphone, 121, 316, 318, 321, 325, 357
Smell, 86, 109, 123, 319–320
Smircich, Linda, 252
Smith, Adam, 103
Smith, Dorothy, 460
Smith, Sandi, 119, 185
Smoking, 160, 175–176, 200–209, 233–234, 240–241,
364–365,
So, Jiyeon, 360
Social
construction, 16, 32–33, 43–45, 54–55, 58, 61, 63–64,
66–68, 73, 78–80, 119, 138, 143, 172, 174, 223, 234, 236,
241, 255, 257, 268–270, 273, 275–276, 278, 314, 316, 327,
333, 385, 389, 418, 426, 431, 446, 457, 476–477, 482
exchange, theory of, 95, 99–103, 106–107, 135, 154, 193,
303, 473
hierarchy, 444–445, 448–449, 455
identity theory of group behavior, 395–397, 400–401, 403
information processing (SIP) theory, 22, 121–133, 475,
481, A–1
interaction, need for, 353, 355–356, 358
judgment theory, 22, 178–187, 190, 474, 481, A–2
justice, 54, 62, 64, 348, 396
learning theory, 352, 374
media, 60, 323, 359–360, 462
network, 39–40, 121–133, 140, 352, 361
penetration theory, 22, 88, 96–107, 118–119, 121, 142, 151,
473, 481, A–1
presence theory, 122
proof, 89 ( See also Conformity)
reality, 16, 20–21, 43–44, 55, 60, 94, 119, 143, 235–237, 254,
268, 364–365, 367, 369–370
responsibility of corporations, 260
stimulation, 57
support, 40, 43, 203, 236, 442
withdrawal, 46
Social worlds, 43, 143, 166, 255–256, 359, 364
bettering of, 74–75, 78–79
creation of, 67–68, 70–71, 73–77, 79–80, 223
Socialization, 54, 60, 258, 438
Society, 54–55, 60, 65, 323, 329, 340, 342, 363, 389, 408, 421,
426, 455, 460, A–8 ( See also Community)
Socio-cultural tradition, 43–44, 47, 49, 265, 460, A–1,
A–3, A–5
Socioeconomic status (SES), 369, 419–420, 444, 447–455,
465 ( See also Status)
Socio-emotional communication ( See Relationship-
oriented communication)
Socio-psychological tradition, 38–39, 47–49, 124, 131, A–1,
A–3, A–4, A–5
Software, 57, 260–261
Solidarity, group, 298, 397, 420, 454
Soliz, Jordan, 403
Solomon, Denise H., 119
Solution, 225
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I-20 INDEX
Taste, 319
Taxonomy, 329
Taylor, Dalmas, 96–100, 103, 106, 111, 118, 151, A–1
Taylor, James R., 264–265
Teamsterville, 389–390, 418–422, 424–425, 427, 429
Technology, communication, 121–122, 130, 259, 265, 306,
314, 316, 318–325, 383, 460, 465
Telegraph, 319, 321
Telephone, 121–122, 128, 267, 317, 321
Television, 60, 249, 285–286, 317–318, 321–324, 318, 321,
332, 345, 347–348, 352–353, 357–360, 363–367, 370–374,
376–378, 382, 384–386, 418, 436, 444
answer, 369, 371
newscasts, 202, 376–378, 382, 384–386
type, 373 ( See also Heavy television viewers)
Tension, 35, 69–70, 74, 76–77, 104–105, 129, 131, 136–142,
144–145, 148–149, 152, 166, 206, 240, 276, 281–282, 296,
331, 399, 433
Territoriality, 104–107
Terrorism, 103, 177–179, 181, 183, 295, 298
Testability, standard for scientifi c theory, 14–15, 19–20, 25,
27–28, 35, 63, 83–84, 91, 117, 119, 186, 198, 210, 226,
301, 324–325, 360–361, 386, 370, 372, 414–415
Teven, Jason, 292
Tewksbury, David, 383, 387
Text message, 6–9, 121–122, 124, 127, 235, 358, 393
Text(s), 7, 17, 19, 31–33, 236, 259, 285, 290, 380, 401,
460, 462
meaning of, 24
Text-based CMC messages, 7, 122
Text-only channels, 124, 129
Textual analysis, 7, 33, 78 ( See also Rhetorical criticism)
Theiss, Jennifer, A., 120
Theology, 297
Theorems, 112–113, 117
Theory
abstracts, A–1, A–2, A–3, A–4, A–5
construction of, 2, 4, 14, 26, 30–31, 35, 91, 130
criteria to evaluate, 24–36
defi nition of, 2–5, 12, 37, 143
development, 392, 402
grand/special, 5, 19, 37
as lens, 5, 12
as map, 5–6, 11–12
as net, 5, 12
purpose of, 21
There-and-then, interpretation of, 231–232
Thibaut, John, 99, 102, 107, 303
Thibodeau, Ruth, 212
Thick description, 246–247, 252–254, 389, 426
Thinking, 26, 66–67, 88, 102, 176, 178, 209, 211, 216, 225,
246, 273, 279, 320, 322, 325, 375–380, 386, 406, 414
( See also Cognitive processing)
Third-party help, 410–411
Third-party, neutral, 404
Thorson, Allison R., 403
Thought(s), 29–30, 90, 116, 209, 246, 272, 279, 293, 300, 306,
308, 322, 342, 351, 371, 458, 462 ( See also Cognitive
processing)
Threads, common, 472–482
Threat, 204, 218, 365
Threat threshold, 84–85
“Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Ole Oak Tree,” 330–331
Striphas, Ted, 12, 403, 482
Stromback, Jesper, 384
Strong objectivity, 445, 450
Structure, 255, 257, 259–260, 317
Stryker, Sheldon, 63, 65
Style
of communication, 31, 86, 125, 281, 285, 299, 307, 315,
324, 393, 430
as rhetorical canon, 289
Subjective accommodation, 398
Subjective self, 58–59
Subjectivity, 31–32, 77, 219, 228, 324, 441
Submissiveness, 154, 162, 169 ( See also One-down
communication)
Substance abuse, 164, 166, 168–172, 335, 448, 464
Substance of person, 298–299
Substance of speech codes, 421
Subtleness, 390, 479
Suicide, 154
Sunnafrank, Michael, 118
Surgeon general’s report on smoking, 201, 234
Surprises, 86–87, 89–90, 92, 113, 141, 250, 427, 471
Survey research, 28–30, 38, 45, 61, 117, 148, 178, 217,
256, 260, 339, 344, 351, 363, 365, 370–372, 386, 401,
457, 459
Survival, 314, 450, 454
Syllogisms, logical, 112, 285
Symbol(s), 15, 41–42, 55–58, 60, 62, 64–65, 109, 230–232,
234, 236, 240, 250–251, 272, 296–297, 303, 336, 339,
347, 363, 389, 421, 424, 427, 470 ( See also Meaning;
Signs; Words)
Symbolic action, 294, 298, 301, 305
Symbolic approach, 245, 251–252
Symbolic convergence
defi nition, 234–235
theory of, 22, 226, 230–241, 478, 481, A–3
Symbolic environment, 314, 316–318, 320, 324–325
Symbolic interaction, 30, 54–58, 64–65, 143, 297
Symbolic interactionism, theory of, 22, 54–65, 77, 79, 302,
446, 456, 474, A–1
Symmetrical communication, 169–170, 173, 433
Symmetrical relationships, 421
Symptom strategy, 166
Symptoms, 225
Synthesis, 138
Sypher, Howard, 362
System(s), 39, 60, 85, 243, 257, 418, 421, 467
Systematic hunches, 93
Systematic observation, 38
Systematically distorted communication, 272, 278
Systems approach, 4, 164–166, 168–174, 217, 227,
234, 278
T
Tajfel, Henri, 395–396, 403
Taken-for-granted reality/interpretations, 244, 246, 276
( See also Common sense)
Taking the role of the other, 58–59, 450
Tankard, James, 378
Tannen, Deborah, 432–443, 454, 458, 466–467, A–5
Task-oriented communication, 122, 126, 135, 214, 218,
226–228, 234–235
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INDEX I-21
Unconditional positive regard, 43, 94, 422
Unconscious, 298, 459
Understanding, 27–28, 31, 48, 79, 108, 111, 115, 244, 273,
399, 423, 425–426, 428, 432, 438–439, 441–443, 462
Understanding, standard for interpretive theory, 63, 252,
263, 466
Uniform effects model, 355
Uniqueness, 254, 420–421, 424, 453
Unity, 137–138, 145–146, 149, 242
Universal ethical standard, 63, 453–454
Universal principles, 19–20, 38, 86, 92, 118, 153, 226, 238,
240, 274, 314, 455
Unjust communication practices, 32, 44, 444, 448–449,
451–452
Unmask injustice, 427, 459
Unwanted repetitive pattern (URP), 71
Usefulness, 48, 131, 252
Uses and gratifi cations, theory of, 22, 353–362, 378, 473,
481, A–4
Utterance chain, dialogue as, 144, 150
V
Vaginated, 467
Validity, 14–16, 19, 29, 32, 117–118, 130, 152, 184, 226–227,
424, 427, 433–434, 436, 439, 441, 453, 460
Value-free knowledge, 449–450, 455
Values, 18–21, 44, 48, 77, 94, 100, 111, 171, 239, 259, 269,
272–273, 275, 279, 307–312, 314, 323–324, 336, 348, 367,
373, 406, 416, 435, 444, 453, 462
Valve corporation, 255, 257–261
Van Der Heide, Brandon, 133
Van Every, Elizabeth J., 265
VanLear, C. Arthur, 98
Variable, 361, 371–372
Verbal
acknowledgement, 438
behavior, 227, 425
channel, 167
communication, 110, 112–113, 167–169, 173
cues (CMC), 122–126, 132–133
fl uency, 88, 115, 432
Vicarious learning, 352
Vicious cycle, 164, 168
Victimage, 297–298, 299–300, 302, 341, 365–367, 370–374,
465, 467
Video games, 255–256, 335, 353, 355, 357, 359, 361, 374
Viewer(s), television, 363–365, 369–373, 375, 378
Viewpoint, 177–178, 414, 433, 444 ( See also Opinion;
Attitude)
Violation of expectations, 81, 83–93, 261, 424
Violence, media, 300, 351–352, 358, 363–367, 370–374, 386
( See also Physical force)
Vision, 71, 75, 251
V-mail, 124
Vocabulary, 47, 78, 251, 301, 430, 458–460, 463–466, 470
Vocalics ( See Tone of voice)
Voice, 30, 46, 62, 136, 142–148, 150, 216, 267, 269–270, 272,
274, 281, 337, 340, 342, 346, 426–427, 459, 467–468
contrasting, 144–146
Voluntary, 48, 278, 404, 442
Voting, 180, 340, 351, 372
Vulnerability, 97, 99–100, 103–104, 111, 153, 366–367
Time, 95, 123–126, 132–137, 161, 176, 183, 217–218, 221,
236–238, 246, 252, 259–260, 262, 264, 268, 271, 282, 284,
300, 305, 309, 314, 317–318, 353, 356–357, 361, 363–367,
370, 372–373, 430, 471
Ting-Toomey, Stella, 404–417, 427, 429, A–5
Toller, Paige, 155
Toma, Catalina, 133
Tone of voice, 74, 88, 102, 123, 125, 167, 175, 250–251, 393,
395, 432
Top-down thinking, 192, 263, 265
Topic selection, 393, 445
Topic, switching, 435
Torture, 284, 450
Total amnesia model, 119
Totemizing rituals, 424–425
Touch, 43, 85–88, 90–93, 97, 140, 143, 319, 324, 360, 426
Tough love, 172
Tracy, Sarah, 260
Traditional, 220, 223
Traditions, 259
Traditions of communication theory, 138
Traits, personality, 26, 110, 165, 440 ( See also
Characteristics, personal; Personality)
Transformation, 106, 235, 329–331, 333, 337, 346
Transitory communication, 169–170
Translation, 250, 460–461
Transmission model of communication, 66–67, 70, 127,
129, 165, 223, 268–269, 293, 351 ( See also Information
transfer model of communication)
Transparency, 94, 114, 138, 276 ( See also Openness;
Self-disclosure)
Trapp, Robert, 23, 302
Treichler, Paula, 350, 463, 467–468
Triandis, Harry, 405–406, 417
Tribal age, 319–320
Troemel-Ploetz, Senta, 442–443
True, 232, 310, 320, 442
Trujillo, Nick ( See O’Donnell-Trujillo, Nick)
Trumbo, Craig, 381
Trust, 43, 57, 89, 94, 135, 154, 158, 169, 191, 308–309, 320
Truth(s), 5, 16, 20, 23, 32, 47–48, 79, 92, 110, 147, 190, 192,
232, 240, 253, 277, 281–284, 304, 306–307, 309, 314,
327, 340, 344, 348–349, 384–385, 421, 442, 449, 453, 455,
459–460, 477, A–8
Tug-of-war model of relational dialectics, 137–139
Turbulence, relational, 116, 119, 159–161, 319
Turner, John C., 395–396, 403
Turner, Ted, 342
Twelve-step programs, 236
Twitter, 114, 121, 127, 318, 359–360
Two-culture hypothesis, 432–433, 437–438, 440,
442–444, 458
Two-stage process, 226
Two-stage theories, 180–181
Two-step fl ow of media infl uence, 351
Typology, 197 ( See also Categorization)
U
Uncertainty, 79, 108–120, 142, 375, 389, 400, 405, 465
Uncertainty reduction, 125–126, 444, A–1
Uncertainty reduction theory, 22, 108–121, 123, 303, 393,
473, 475, 481, A–1
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I-22 INDEX
Wilson, Steven R., 119
Winslow, Luke, 345–346, 350
Win-win solutions, 275, 410, 412, 416
Wisdom, 187, 193, 223–224, 283, 306, 309, 311–312, 324, 408,
455, 460
Witches, 467
Withdrawal, 46, 164
Within-group diversity, among sexes, 430–431
Witt, Paul, 48
Wittenbaum, Gwen, 229
Wolfe, Tom, 325
Women, battered, 445, 448
Women, lives of, 445–446, 450–451, 453–454, 459, 461
Women’s experience, 458–463, 466–467
Women’s ways of knowing, 446
Wood, Julia T., 106, 433–434, 444–446, 448, 450–456, A–5
Woolf, Virginia, 460
Words, 33, 41, 43, 47, 52, 55–56, 89, 125, 235, 253, 268, 282,
285, 296, 300–301, 302, 305–306, 320, 335–336, 340–341,
393, 422, 427, 433, 458–461, 463, 467
polysemic, 43 ( See also Language; Meaning; Signs;
Symbols; Vocabulary)
Workaholic, 271–272
Workers, 341, 366
Workplace, 467, 365–366, 403, 443
application to, 108–111, 115–116, 118–119, 257–262,
264–265, 268–279, 402
Worldview, 15–16, 22, 273, 295, 309, 329, 373, 444, 455,
459, 471
Worsham, Lynn, 455
Wrestling, as a sign system, 328–329, 333, 336
Wright, David, 226
Wright, Paul H., 106
Y
Yale, Robert, 312
Yellow ribbon, 329–332, 336
YouTube, 122
Yutang, Lin, 408
Z
Zarefsky, David, 32
Zaug, Pamela, 265
Zillmann, Dolf, 351, 362, 374, 387
Zimbardo, Philip, 270
Zuckerberg, Mark, 121–122
W
Wachtel, Edward, 326
Wagner, Jane, 55
Wakshlag, Jacob, 374
Walker, Alice, 434
Wall, Celia J., 468
Walther, Joseph, 11, 121–127, 129–133, A–1
Walzer, Arthur, 292
Warmth, interpersonal, 86, 88–89, 94, 102, 124–125,
250, 398
Warnick, Barbara, 31, 310–312
Warranting, 129–133
Wartella, Ellen, 36, 49, 350
Watergate, 375
Waterline operating principle, 247–248
Watts, Alan, 166
Watzlawick, Paul, 164–167, 169–174, 470, A–2
Weakland, John H., 174
Webs of signifi cance, 20, 244–246, 252–254, 389, 418
Website, 258, 332, 339
We-centered focus, 389, 397
Wegener, Duane, 199
Weick, Karl, 256, 266
We-identity, 406–407
Weigert, Andrew, 65
Well-being, 48, 178, 428
Werking, Kathy, 45
Werner, Carol, 107
West, Candace, 468
West, Cornel, 348
West, Rebecca, 464
Western science ( See Enlightenment rationality)
Whaley, Bryan, 150, 163, 402
Wheaton, Ken, 14
When Harry Met Sally, 436
White, Cindy H., 93
White, Theodore, 376
Whole-message model, 173
Whorf, Benjamin Lee, 43, 50
Wiener, Norbert, 39, 49
Wilder, Carol, 174
Wilkinson, Louise Cherry, 438
Wilkinson, Michael Lewis, 438
Willemyns, Michael, 403
Williams, Angie, 393
Williams, Dmitri, 374
Wilmot, William, 187
Wilson, Norma, 464
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Cover
Title
Copyright
Contents
Preface for Instructors
DIVISION ONE: OVERVIEW
CHAPTER 1 Launching Your Study of Communication Theory
CHAPTER 2 Talk About Theory
CHAPTER 3 Weighing the Words
CHAPTER 4 Mapping the Territory (Seven Traditions in the Field of Communication Theory)
DIVISION TWO: INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION
Interpersonal Messages
CHAPTER 5 Symbolic Interactionism of George Herbert Mead
CHAPTER 6 Coordinated Management of Meaning (CMM) of W. Barnett Pearce & Vernon Cronen
CHAPTER 7 Expectancy Violations Theory of Judee Burgoon
Relationship Development
CHAPTER 8 Social Penetration Theory of Irwin Altman & Dalmas Taylor
CHAPTER 9 Uncertainty Reduction Theory of Charles Berger
CHAPTER 10 Social Information Processing Theory of Joseph Walther
Relationship Maintenance
CHAPTER 11 Relational Dialectics of Leslie Baxter & Barbara Montgomery
CHAPTER 12 Communication Privacy Management Theory of Sandra Petronio
CHAPTER 13 The Interactional View of Paul Watzlawick
Influence
CHAPTER 14 Social Judgment Theory of Muzafer Sherif
CHAPTER 15 Elaboration Likelihood Model of Richard Petty & John Cacioppo
CHAPTER 16 Cognitive Dissonance Theory of Leon Festinger
DIVISION THREE: GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION
Group Communication
CHAPTER 17 Functional Perspective on Group Decision Making of Randy Hirokawa & Dennis Gouran
CHAPTER 18 Symbolic Convergence Theory of Ernest Bormann
Organizational Communication
CHAPTER 19 Cultural Approach to Organizations of Clifford Geertz & Michael Pacanowsky
CHAPTER 20 Communicative Constitution of Organizations of Robert McPhee
CHAPTER 21 Critical Theory of Communication in Organizations of Stanley Deetz
Public Rhetoric
CHAPTER 22 The Rhetoric of Aristotle
CHAPTER 23 Dramatism of Kenneth Burke
CHAPTER 24 Narrative Paradigm of Walter Fisher
DIVISION FOUR: MASS COMMUNICATION
Media and Culture
CHAPTER 25 Media Ecology of Marshall McLuhan
CHAPTER 26 Semiotics of Roland Barthes
CHAPTER 27 Cultural Studies of Stuart Hall
Media Effects
CHAPTER 28 Uses and Gratifications of Elihu Katz
CHAPTER 29 Cultivation Theory of George Gerbner
CHAPTER 30 Agenda-Setting Theory of Maxwell McCombs & Donald Shaw
DIVISION FIVE: CULTURAL CONTEXT
Intercultural Communication
CHAPTER 31 Communication Accommodation Theory of Howard Giles
CHAPTER 32 Face-Negotiation Theory of Stella Ting-Toomey
CHAPTER 33 Speech Codes Theory of Gerry Philipsen
Gender and Communication
CHAPTER 34 Genderlect Styles of Deborah Tannen
CHAPTER 35 Standpoint Theory of Sandra Harding & Julia T. Wood
CHAPTER 36 Muted Group Theory of Cheris Kramarae
DIVISION SIX: INTEGRATION
Integration
CHAPTER 37 Common Threads in Comm Theories
Appendix A: Abstracts of Theories
Appendix B: Feature Films That Illustrate Communication Theories
Appendix C: NCA Credo for Ethical Communication
Endnotes
Credits and Acknowledgments
Index
A
B
C
D
E
F
G
H
I
J
K
L
M
N
O
P
Q
R
S
T
U
V
W
Y
Z

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