Searle, Grice and Pinter - The following analysis1 seeks to offer an insight into how the
apparatus of linguistic description just studied may be employed to give certain literary
critics' intuitions some linguistic underpinnings. The scope can -as a matter of choice- be
narrowed down to one single issue, that is, the apparent violation of the principles of
«ordinary», read «ideal» conversation.
The analysis, incidentally, seeks to take issue with the «optimistic», or rather «idealistic»
assumption of S.I. Hayakawa that the sole function of linguistic communication is to achieve
cooperation, and that the attempt to use language for aims contrary to this principle of human
solidarity is, somehow, a «misuse» of the linguistic medium.
I do not intend to develop an alternative, «pessimistic» view, but rather a complementary one,
by postulating first that language naturally functions equally well both as the instrument of
solidarity and cooperation and as the medium of power2 , discord and conflict; and
subsequently, that the difference between the two is a matter, not of being «linguistically
wrong» or «handicapped», but a matter of viewpoint and deliberate choice. The first claim
can be buttressed by a simple example: when I tell someone to pass me the salt (whether in
the guise of a direct or an indirect directive), Hayakawa will claim that thanks to language, I
get the addressee to collaborate with me in order to achieve my aim, that is, to obtain the saltshaker which I cannot reach. In other terms, by virtue of a principle of human cooperation, he
(quite literally) lends me a hand, presumably because my arm is too short to reach for the
shaker myself. However, the example might also be interpreted as my using language to
exert a certain amount of power over the addressee, that is, to cause him to do something
which I am too lazy to do myself. Recourse to directive language (particularly in the case of
orders and commands) often supposes a relationship where one interlocutor enjoys a certain
precedence or authority over the other. Thus, one and the same act can be interpreted
according to either hypothesis. Now it may be true that (in a moralistic view of language) one
view is preferable over the other, just as health is preferable to illness, wealth over poverty,
love over hate, or peace over war (Hayakawa is aware of this); but this preference is, after all,
a choice between possible linguistic alternatives: one can choose to adhere to the principles
of polite conversation just as one can choose to ignore them. A «social» grammar (i.e. an
account of sociolinguistic competence) will teach or describe which choices are deemed
appropriate in which circumstances.
For the linguist who seeks to approach issues of this kind, Harold Pinter's drama (albeit
fiction, not actual conversation) may constitute an altogether interesting corpus: the menacing
atmosphere of (potential or actual) conflict which critics have commented on in his plays , as
well as the presumed absurdity of some verbal exchanges seem to stem from his characters'
van Noppen, J.-P.: «Searle, Grice and Pinter: A Grammar of Non-Communication ?», in:
Michel, P. & Lee, E. (eds.): Papers of the Belgian Association of Anglicists in Higher
Education (BAAHE) 1988-89. Liège, Université de Liège, Département d'Anglais, 1989a, pp.
75-86.; Cf. also Fredholm, Th.: Conversation and Conflict. A Conversational Analysis of
Dialogue and Non-Dialogue in Some Plays by Harold Pinter. ULB, Undergraduate
Dissertation in Linguistics, 1987; E. Ryckx: A Sociolinguistic Investigation of Arguments in
Pinter's 'Betrayal'. Student Project, Eng. Dept. ULB, 1992, 5 pp.
2
according to Pascale Gaitet's Political Stylistics (London: Routledge, 1991), «all linguistic
production exists in a power framework mirroring that of social relations.» For an analytical
framework allowing to correlate lexis, grammar, and text structure with the subjacent power
relations, cf. N. Fairclough: Language and Power (London: Longman 1989), esp. Chapters 5
and 6.
1
making the «disharmonious» choices which turn their verbal exchanges into instances of
confrontation or non-communication. Linguistic analysis of their dialogues shows that
(according to the «idealistic» view) the characters fail to establish successful communication
because they fail to respect the basic rules governing social behaviour -of which linguistic
behaviour is only one, albeit essential, aspect.
But according to the opposite view, they are extremely successful in establishing and
strengthening the distance, the separation or even the conflict between them because they
deliberately forsake the conversational choices which might possibly lead to a meaningful
exchange and mutual understanding. All occasions for the establishment of harmonious
communication are ignored, missed or, even discarded.
This «mechanism of
noncommunication», which often amounts to a linguistics of rudeness or of verbal aggression
can be described in contrast to the principles of «ordinary» conversation. But then again, «to
sum up this state of affairs by labelling [some instances of Pinterian dialogue as] noncommunication misses the point of the matter: Pinter is far from wanting to say that language
is incapable of establishing true communication between human beings; he merely draws our
attention to the fact that in life human beings rarely make use of language for that purpose»3.
Two well-known passages from Pinter's plays may provide convenient illustration of how
disregard for the canons of successful conversation can, in very little time, establish an
atmosphere of confrontation. Let us first deal with the opening scene of The Homecoming:
MAX: What have you done with the scissors ?
Pause.
At the locutionary level, this may look like a plain inquiry about the place where Max can
find the scissors. However, he does not simply ask « Where are the scissors? », but implies
that Lenny has mislaid them. By virtue of the shared knowledge that the household counts
more than two members, this may be interpreted as a reproach at the illocutionary level. The
normal response to a question is an answer, but Lenny fails to respond. Since there is no
reason to believe that he has not heard the question, this means that Lenny from the outset
opts out of the Cooperative Principle. In conversation, silence where a response is normally
expected cannot be neutral. The absence of cooperation will be interpreted as a refusal, and
the breakdown in normal communication will be rated as a deliberate attempt to confront
Max.
I said I'm looking for the scissors. What have you done with them ?
Pause.
Max restates his point, breaking it up into components: he opens with an illocutionary force
indicating device («I said») which at the same time functions as an attention-drawing gambit
and as an indication that, contrary to normal expectations, Lenny has failed to respond. Note
that Max did not actually «say » that he was looking for the scissors, but this, of course, was
part of the obvious implicatures. «What have you done with them?» repeats his apparent
request for information, but also drives home the implied reproach that Lenny is responsible
for Max' not finding the scissors. Again, Lenny fails to respond, taking no notice of Max's
promptings, and thus leaving him talking «to a brick wall», which is one of the ways to spoil a
conversation.
MAX: Did you hear me ? I want to cut something out of the paper.
3
Esslin, M.: The Peopled Wound. London, Methuen, 1970, p. 198.
«Did you hear me?» as an ordinary question would constitute a violation of the principle of
relevance: it is only too obvious that Lenny did hear Max. We must view it as another
attempt to break through the wall of indifference. Of course the repeated questioning (which
Lenny may well interpret as aggressions) amounts to a «nagging» attitude. This is a natural,
but irritating manner of trying to force the interlocutor into responding. The addition of new
information ( «I want to cut something out of the paper») may be viewed as an attempt to
neutralise Max's earlier indictment, that is, to turn his claim for the scissors from a reproach
into an actual request for information.
LENNY: I'm reading the paper.
Lenny, at last, «picks up the point», but we may postulate two different readings according to
the intonation of the answer. The unmarked intonation, «I'm reading the paper», would rate
as an excuse for not answering, and therefore as a meaningful response to «did you hear me»,
but as an irrelevant answer to Max's renewed request about the scissors. The likelier
intonation, however, would be the marked «I'm reading the paper», or «I'm reading the
paper», i.e. an attempt by Lenny to turn what could have been a cooperative response into a
new, more explicit refusal: he will provide neither the scissors, nor the newspaper, and see
only to his own interests. While by Grice's standards, the response is true and clear, it is
incomplete and only partly relevant. But in an attempt to «keep the channels open» now that
the situation has -at least apparently- become unstuck, Max will accept the response as
relevant, but refute Lenny's interpretation:
MAX: Not that paper. I haven't even read that paper. I'm talking about last
Sunday's paper. I was just having a look at it in the kitchen.
Pause.
In ordinary circumstances, this additional qualification of the meaning which Max attributes
to the phrase «the paper» should invalidate Lenny's apparent objection. What remains, then,
(by virtue of the maxim of relevance) is the original request («since I am not challenging your
possession of today's paper, and therefore not disturbing you, tell me where you put the
scissors.») But this indirect request is ignored as were the earlier ones. Max must then
resume his nagging if he is to obtain a response:
MAX: Do you hear what I'm saying ? I'm talking to you ! Where's the scissors?
LENNY: (looking up quietly): Why don't you shut up, you daft prat ?
Here, our worst fears are confirmed. The failure to communicate is not an accident, but a
deliberate reluctance to observe conversational good manners. By (quite literally) adding
insult to injury, Lenny explicitly challenges Max's dignity, in violation of the conversational
rule that each participant is to respect the other's representation of the world 4 . Direct
confrontation is, presumably, «rude», as is the use of low-register items with a strong
derogatory connotation; but then again, Pinter's characters do not care much about social
graces.
MAX lifts his stick and points it at him.
MAX: Don't you talk to me like that. I'm warning you.
in technical terms, «face», cf. P. Trudgill : Introducing Language and Society.
Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1992, p. 32.
4
This explicit verbal assault forces Max to resort to a face-keeping device, using the
characteristic don't you + infinitive structure which is one of the carriers of aggressiveness.
At the illocutionary level we have an order on the one hand, and a commissive on the other:
«if you keep talking like that, then I'll deal with you as you deserve». This aspect is
strengthened by the illocutionary force indicating device «I'm warning you». Threats,
however, must be uttered from a position in which the speaker enjoys sufficient power or
strength to implement his threat (what Searle has called the preparatory conditions).
Although Max presumably speaks from the perspective of paternal authority, his actual
position is such that his threat amounts to very little, and even acquires comic value. But at
the conversational level, he has gone through the necessary motions. He will then add more
information to justify his earlier request, but at the same time pursue his nagging behaviour,
obviously with the same negative result.
He sits in a large armchair.
There's an advertisement in the paper about flannel vests.
Cut price. Navy surplus. I could do with a few of them.
Pause.
I think I'll have a fag. Give me a fag.
Pause.
I just asked you to give me a cigarette.
Pause.
Look what I'm lumbered with.
He takes a crumpled cigarette from his pocket.
I'm getting old, my word of honour.
We could argue that since the two purposes which Max sought to achieve have met with
failure, and since he has no other means to force Lenny to cooperate, Lenny has «won the
battle». The affirmation «I'm getting old, my word of honour» may, then, be read as an
indirect appeal for pity, or as an act of excusing his lack of authority to himself. If Max has
lost face in Lenny's eyes, he must at least keep up appearances in his own opinion of himself.
He will, then, seek to reestablish the lost authority, no longer through the risky strategies of
directing and committing (since both have proved unsuccessful), but by refurbishing his selfimage with memories of more glorious days. The following monologues, then, are not mere
reports, but illocutionary attempts at «saving face» and establishing himself as the partner
with the higher status. As pointed out, however, the perlocutionary effect is not under the
speaker's control: Lenny remains unimpressed, and once again challenges Max's authority.
In this scene, communication is foiled by Lenny's failure to respond meaningfully to Max's
repeated solicitations. But then again, Lenny's passive resistance is not altogether surprising
in view of Max's illocutionary aggressions, that is, his unjustified claims for authority.
In the following passage from A Night Out, there are none of the pauses which contribute to
the heavy atmosphere in The Homecoming: here, the aggression is to be found at the level of
implicature and presupposition: Before Albert's arrival, his office mates have been talking
about Albert's relationship with his possessive mother («I bet his Mum's combing his hair for
him, eh ?»). In their own terms, «he always gets a bit niggly when she's mentioned. A bit
touchy.» Kedge's question, then, may not be as innocuous as it may appear at a first sight:
KEDGE: How's your Mum, Albert ?
ALBERT: All right.
KEDGE: That's the idea.
On the face of it, the question sounds like an ordinary bit of phatic interaction which can be
inserted at any point in a lulling conversation, and it quite automatically elicits the
stereotyped response «all right», which is what anybody would answer in the same situation.
Coming from his mates, who feel Albert is a «mother's boy», the question may well be
intended as a provocation; asking a full-grown boy about his «Mum» (note the lexical choice,
«Mum», not «Mother») rather than, say, about his girl-friend, his football team or his
motorcycle, is not contrary to the rules of ordinary politeness, but may be fraught with
innuendo at the illocutionary level. But provocation dressed up as polite conversation is not
easily recognised. Only after his quasi-ritual response does Albert react to what must have
have been an oblique allusion to his particular situation:
ALBERT (quietly) : What do you mean, how's my Mum ?
Albert has risen to the bait, and reacts suspiciously. In terms of the cooperative principle,
«What do you mean ?» obviously does not ask for a restatement of the locutionary force, but
challenges the potentially aggressive intent at the illocutionary level. In this manner, even
an ordinary feedback question can strengthen confrontation. Kedge, however, does not meet
the challenge, and pretends his question was a plain, polite inquiry, which, after all, it might
have been in different circumstances, with different participants, that is, in a context where
«mothers» are not a sensitive issue.
KEDGE: I just asked how she was, that's all.
But while phatic talk plays a social role, its relevance to the situation is not always clear, and
this allows Albert to question the inquiry in terms of its relevance, i.e. by virtue of the
principle that Kedge would not be asking his question unless he had a specific reason for
doing so. By challenging Kedge's interest in his mother, Albert implies that his
inquisitiveness constitutes an aggression.
ALBERT: Why shouldn't she be all right ?
KEDGE: I didn't say she wasn't.
ALBERT: Well, she is.
KEDGE: Well, that's all right then, isn't it ?
ALBERT: What are you getting at ?
Now that Albert has risen to the bait, he is bound to lose one way or another. The only
manner in which he might have avoided confrontation was by pretending that the inquiry was
phatic, and by responding accordingly. It is easy for Kedge to claim that his question was a
mere phatic act. By suggesting that it is not, Albert is not only emphasising his own
touchiness but, moreover, suggesting that it is he, and not Kedge, who has been looking for
trouble.
KEDGE: I don't know what's the matter with you tonight,
Albert.
SEELEY (returning) : What's up now ?
ALBERT: Kedge here, suddenly asks how my mother is.
KEDGE: Just a friendly question, that's all. Gaw ! You can't even ask a bloke how
his mother is now without him getting niggly.
ALBERT: Well, why's he suddenly ask– ?
SEELEY: He was just asking a friendly question, mate.
What's the matter with you ?
(Pause)
ALBERT: Oh.
Albert realises that there is no honourable way out of the dispute for him, and opts out of the
confrontation, thereby admitting his own failure The exchange can then go on with everyone
present pretending that the conversation is phatic, and it soon ends with the members setting
off for a party.
In both passages, we witness how conversation is directed, not in terms of cooperation, but of
confrontation. The characters' failure to achieve verbal cooperation may be explained as
«misuses» of language, that is, «violations» of the conversational, cooperative principles.
This would be tantamount to saying that the cooperative principles are tarred with the same,
idealistic brush as Hayakawa's postulate. But it actually seems easier to achieve conflict than
harmony: all Lenny needs to do to spoil the conversation is keep reading his paper, and the
only thing Kedge does is ask an innocent-looking polite question. In both cases, one
participant is at the same time exploiting a weakness in the other, and using language to exert
power over him. The alternative view, then, would be that Pinter's characters simply do not
feel the need to make positive choices, and (here at least) consciously opt for a conflictcreating potential in language.
By and large, the same argument could be developed about the language's potential for
creating an atmosphere of mystery, of uncertainty, and of menace (think of the situation in
The Birthday Party, or of the absurdity of people talking «past each other» in Landscape, for
instance. Of course, within the perspective of the «optimistic postulate», this qualifies as nonlanguage; and as I hope to have shown, the principles governing so-called ordinary
conversation constitute a convenient instrument to describe what goes on in the dialogues.
But is it fair to speak of the «failure of communication» ? The final answer comes from
Pinter himself: «I believe the contrary. I think we communicate only too well, in our silence,
in what is unsaid, and that what takes place is continual evasion, desperate rearguard attempts
to keep ourselves to ourselves»5 .
5
Sunday Times, March 4, 1962.