Even when everyone uses a common spoken and written language, as humans, we have another rich mode of discourse.
Several years ago, I sat on a jury in Los Angeles. There was testimony to be given in several languages including English. Many of us on the jury were conversant to fluent in more than one of the languages of testimony.
The judge, however, was clear in her instruction: English was the language of evidence in the court. Testimony given in any language other than English would be translated by an official court interpreter. We were not to use our own understanding of the language to make evidentiary determinations. We were bound to the official English translation.
At the same time, she encouraged us to be aware of the demeanor of the witnesses. We were urged to observe the nonverbal cues of the witnesses and of the defendants to add to our judgments. We were expected to consider our own interpretations of the symbolic testimony of the witnesses as authoritative to our deliberations.
In short, the judge authorized two languages as proper to our judgments: English and the universal language of symbolic expression. I’m optimistic about how well humans cooperate when we learn to communicate in each others’ languages: spoken and symbolic.
Early in the morning of September 11, 2001, I drove over the Brooklyn Bridge and through lower Manhattan on my way to a Times Square hotel where I would be presenting this work. Among the horrors awaiting us two hours later, we would lose a former student of mine who was in attendance at another conference at Windows on the World.
I have no insight, understanding, nor wisdom to offer to that event.
However, what overwhelmed me as the day unfolded — as all of us in that city that day were enfolded in fear, grief, and uncertainty – was the elevation of civil order. Rather than devolving into disorder and chaos, my fellow citizens in the streets – representing all the cultural diversity of that great city — accessed a heightened level of what only can be described as good manners. There was a flowering of spoken politesse: please, thank you, excuse me, I’m sorry, I beg your pardon, do you mind, may I.
And visible everywhere was symbolic cooperation. Pedestrians and vehicles took turns at intersections. Citizens stood aside for one another, lined up, waved another forward, nodded thanks, looked each other in the eye with appreciation and acknowledgment. People who bumped or crowded another made gestures of respect and apology.
I left the city after sunset. As I drove out, many streets were closed, highway entrances and exits were limited, street and traffic lights were off the customary pattern. As I was paused at an intersection — making decision as to where to proceed in the darkness — I saw a bicyclist on a collision course with a taxi approaching at right angle. There was no opportunity to warn either. At the last moment, the driver saw the cyclist, screeched to a halt, and stopped right up against but not touching the cyclist.
Both apologized non-verbally with visible symbols of regret and forgiveness; then proceeded separately into the unknowable.