The Forest and the Trees

by Allan Johnson

  The interplay between the details of speech, gesture, and behavior on the one hand and how social systems happen on the other operates in some way at every level and in every realm of social life. This interplay gives significance to everything we do and do not do and to the choices that shape how we do it. It is, ultimately, what connects us to a social reality larger than ourselves and our own experience, a reality shaped through our participation, which, at the same time, shapes who we are.

  6

  Things Are Not What They Seem

  Sociology is not simply a field of study, a discipline, or an intellectual pursuit. It is also a form of practice, a way of living in the world. As such, it can change how we see and experience reality by revealing assumptions and understandings that underlie everyday life. Many of these are rarely spoken or otherwise made explicit, and yet they operate in powerful ways to shape our perceptions, thoughts, feelings, and behavior. By going beneath the surface, sociology reveals a deeper and more complex reality.

  This happens on every level of human experience, from global politics to the most intimate relationship. What does it mean, for example, when someone says, “I love you”? Why does it matter so much when the ‘wrong’ person says it or the ‘right’ person does not?

  Or why do so many people not vote in U.S. elections? In a country that prides itself on its democracy, why does a lower percentage of people vote than almost anywhere else?

  Or why is poverty so pervasive and persistent in the wealthiest country in the world? Why do no solutions seem to work?

  And why is the fact that most violence is committed by men not identified as a key to understanding the epidemic of violence in the world? What makes men’s violence so invisible?

  “I Love You”

  To most of us, language is little more than a way to label the world, to represent symbolically what we perceive, think, and feel and to communicate it to other people. But as we saw in Chapter 2, it is much more than that. Language is also a shared medium for creating what we take to be reality in each social situation. As such, it acts as a powerful glue that holds social systems and our participation in them together. It allows us to assume basic outlines of what is real and what is not, without which social life could not happen.

  Of all the uses of language, one of the most intriguing and least studied is ‘performative language,’ expressions that count as actions in and of themselves. We often use language to describe what we’ve done, for example, or what we’re doing or intend to do. But while the words have meaning, saying them is not in itself a social action.

  I might say, for example, “I’ve been thinking about quitting my job,” but I haven’t done anything beyond saying some words to communicate what I think. If I go to my employer, however, and say, “I quit,” then I haven’t just used words to convey meaning but have also done something. I have actually quit my job by saying the words, and in that action I have changed a piece of social reality—my relation to my employer and the social system where I’m employed.

  Action is what makes performative language performative: the words are not just about some aspect of reality but are a meaningful action in and of themselves that changes reality. They are an action because the content of what is said is regarded as action beyond the mechanics of talk. In the same way, when I say, “I promise to pay you the money I owe,” I do not just communicate my intentions. I also do something by saying words that actually change my relationship to the person I’m saying them to. The words invoke a set of social expectations that bind me to certain actions and give others the right to hold me accountable to them. To say, “I promise” is to promise and has consequences that are no less concrete than any other social action. This is true for any kind of oath, from swearing to tell the truth in court to swearing loyalty to a government.

  Probably the best-known example of performative language is the “I do” spoken by people in the act of getting married. It is no accident that these two simple words are so often a source of tension and humor in movies as the audience waits breathlessly while a character stands there in silence, hesitating, holding onto the potential not to say them. All the other words in a marriage ceremony amount to nothing without these two. When spoken at the right moment, they have the social authority to literally transform the relationship between two people and their families and between them and such institutions as the state, whose approval is necessary to undo the effects of saying them.

  It is relatively easy to see how the phrases ‘I promise,’ ‘I quit,’ and ‘I do’ qualify as performative language, but a more interesting case is performative language that doesn’t stand out quite so clearly. When I say, “I’m sorry,” for example, I could simply be expressing sorrow for someone else’s loss or pain, regardless of whether I had anything to do with causing it. The words could also serve, however, as performative language that alters my relationship with someone else.

  If I hurt people, for example, by being insensitive to their feelings, I incur a social obligation to accept their anger because they are seen as having a right to it. I am also obliged to at least try to make it up to them in some way. One way to escape the anger and the obligation—to return the relationship to the way it was before—is to use ‘I’m sorry’ as performative language that can get me off the hook. I hurt their feelings, they get angry, and then I say, “I’m sorry.” When they persist in feeling angry, I ward them off with, “I said I was sorry, didn’t I?” If the words simply expressed my feelings, they would have relatively little effect (“You may feel sorry, but I’m still hurt!”). But as performative language, they can alter the relationship itself if the person no longer feels that they have the right to continue being angry and to hold me to my obligation to do something to make up for the injury I have caused, if only to endure their anger.

  This kind of performative language is powerful because we are unaware that it’s performative. The phrase ‘I love you’ is a prime example that may also be the single most potent (and dangerous) bit of hidden performative language there is.

  Since the emergence of romantic love in the European age of chivalry, ‘I love you’ has become one of the most important phrases people hope to hear or have occasion to say. Especially in Western societies (but increasingly elsewhere as well), there seems to be an obsession with love—getting it, having it, keeping it, and recovering from the loss of it. Love is everywhere, from literature and film to music, art, and the corridors of every high school. Few things in our lives seem to have as much power to shape our sense of well-being or our willingness to take risks that might make us look like fools as the quest to hear those three short words spoken by the right person at the right time.

  What, then, do the words mean? More importantly, what meaningful action does saying them perform?

  In the simplest sense, they work like any other words to convey information, except in this case the information takes on a high cultural value, given what it says about how one person perceives and feels about another. If this were all that ‘I love you’ was about, then we would all want to hear it as often as possible, especially in a society where people are obsessed with loving and being loved. But this is not the case, for the ‘wrong’ person saying, “I love you” can be just as much a problem as the ‘right’ person not saying it. Saying (and not saying), “I love you” is so problematic because the words do much more than communicate information about reality. They also play a key performative role in altering reality. This is why those three little words are the source of so much attention and trouble.

  We could, for example, see ‘I love you’ as a gift or a compliment. If we follow the norm of reciprocity,1 we feel obliged to complete the exchange by replying in kind:

  “I love you.”

  “Thank you. I love you, too.”

  We could also interpret saying, “I love you” as a way of showing vulnerability, of taking the risk of exposing our feelings to someone else to deepen our relationship. As with a gift, th
is interpretation also calls on the other person to reciprocate in some way. In either case, when we tell people that we love them—especially for the first time—we are hoping, if not expecting, that they will say they love us, too.

  If the words have gone back and forth between us over a long period, we might assume the response even if it isn’t actually spoken. But otherwise, if the reply falls short of “I love you, too,” we have a problem. Such responses as “That’s wonderful” or “Thank you for sharing that with me” or “It’s great that you love me” are likely to leave us feeling dissatisfied, exposed, foolish, vulnerable, or even humiliated (“I told him that I love him, and all he said was ‘Thank you’!”). Anyone who’s gone out on the ‘I love you’ limb knows the special agony of waiting for the response. And anyone who’s been on the receiving end without wanting to be knows how painfully awkward it is to feel obliged to reciprocate something you do not feel.

  But couldn’t we just fake a response to satisfy the obligation to reciprocate? People do this all the time in other situations:

  “You look great today.”

  “Thanks, so do you.”

  We certainly could fake it, but we do so at our peril, because unlike saying, “You look great, too,” ‘I love you’ is a powerful bit of performative language that amounts to far more than exchanging compliments and pleasant thoughts. In relationships that have a romantic potential (unlike, for example, the relationship between parents and children), saying, “I love you” for the first time is far more than a way to make someone feel good. It is also an invitation to alter a relationship. If we reciprocate with “I love you, too,” we have done something that changes our relationship to the other person. Suddenly the expectations and understandings that connect us shift. There might, for example, be an expectation of adding a sexual dimension to the relationship or a preference for and loyalty toward that person above everyone else in all kinds of situations. We might even be expected to form a longterm if not permanent relationship that involves living together or forming a marriage and a family.

  As performative language, the words do more than communicate, for they also act on social reality and transform it by altering our relationship with someone else. They are ‘I do’ on a less formally binding level and are important not simply for what they mean but for what they do. In this sense, all the positive feelings typically associated with saying, “I love you” are, without the performative words themselves, merely information without transformation:

  “You say I’m wonderful, attractive, sexy, smart, and funny, that I excite you, interest you, and move you, and that you want to be with me. But you’ve never said you love me.”

  The words are crucial and powerful because they signal the crossing of a structural boundary around the love relationship. This is why we are so careful about when and to whom we say them. It is one thing to use just the word ‘love,’ as when signing a letter to a friend, for example, but quite another to say, “I love you.” It is, in short, the difference between expressing a sentiment and declaring a relationship.

  Using the words can take us across the boundary into a new relationship that radically alters our responsibilities and obligations. This difference between love as feeling and love as relationship is beautifully illustrated in the cult classic film Harold and Maude, in which a young and suicidally depressed Harold falls in love with the elderly, free-spirited Maude. Unbeknownst to Harold, Maude has a long-standing plan to end her life on her eightieth birthday, having decided that this will be the right time for her to die. She takes a drug overdose, and when Harold finds out, he rushes her to the hospital. Desperate to save her, he protests that she cannot do this because “I love you. I love you!” But she will not join him in his definition of feeling as a binding relationship: “Oh, Harold,” she replies, “that’s wonderful! Go and love some more!”

  ‘I love you’ works as performative language in many situations other than romantic ones, with quite different dynamics and results. When parents say, “I love you” to their children, for example, it means something different from when children say the same words to their parents. This reflects a profound difference in the roles of parent and child. For the parent, the words typically convey not only loving feelings but also a commitment to their children’s well-being. The words are so closely tied to that commitment that they may not tell children much about how the parent actually feels toward them, which is why older children often make a distinction between being loved by parents and being liked. The role relationship between parents and children requires that parents love them in the sense of being committed to their care, but it does not require that parents like them.

  From children’s end of things, saying, “I love you” may not have much to do with how they actually feel toward parents, especially when they’re too young to know much about what love is. Instead, the words can be a way to elicit reassurance from parents that the relationship is sure and certain, as shown when the parent reciprocates by saying, “I love you, too.” This kind of ritual also works between adult partners as a shorthand way of signaling an ongoing commitment to the relationship.

  The power of performative language requires us to use it with care. If we do not, we risk punishment reserved for people who show too little respect for its cultural authority and the harm its misuse can do. Nothing makes us unfit for social relationships as quickly as the habit of abusing performative language—the person who lies, breaks promises, betrays a trust, dodges responsibility for injury and loss, or professes love falsely or casually. In this sense, language is far more than talk, and we, in using it, are far more than mere talkers. We create and transform, spinning the world, ourselves, and one another as we speak.

  Why Don’t People Vote?

  I’m writing this a few days before Election Day. As I think about what I plan to do this Tuesday, I am reminded that, if the past is any guide, tens of millions of eligible voters probably will not join me in exercising their constitutional right. Why they don’t is a puzzle, especially given how many billions of people around the world have no right to vote in the first place, and even more of a puzzle when I consider that we are much less likely to vote than people in Canada, Japan, Australia, South Korea, and most of Europe.2 What’s going on?

  If we look at the question sociologically, we have to begin with the principle that voting and not voting are two ways to participate in a political system. Given this idea, we have to ask how the political system is organized so that not voting appears as a path of least resistance for millions of people. Can a political system that celebrates democratic principles actually discourage people from voting?

  Yes, it can, and it does.

  To begin with, it is hard to register as a voter in the United States. Registration is automatic in Canada, for example, but in the United States you must apply in advance and be accepted as a voter. Recent laws make it possible to register as part of applying for a driver’s license, but the right to vote still is not something that comes automatically with the fact of citizenship. Since a fairly high percentage of registered voters do vote, it is reasonable to assume that the easier it is to register, the more participation there will be.

  That the United States is so reluctant to make registration easy reflects a long-standing cultural bias against the lower classes, newly arrived immigrants, and others who might use political power to disturb the status quo and the privilege of dominant groups. In the years following the revolution for independence that launched the great American ‘experiment in democracy,’ only white men who owned property were allowed to vote. The bias against voting continues today, as numerous states have enacted or proposed laws that would require people to show government-issued photo IDs to vote, a requirement that is especially difficult for the elderly and people living in poverty to meet.3

  If we go deeper into the structure of the political system, we find that it is put together in ways that discourage people from registering or voting by taking away
the potential for their vote to make a difference. Elections are organized on a winner-take-all principle, which means that to be represented in government, you must have a candidate who can win a majority of votes in a district. This requirement makes it impossible for minority points of view to be represented in state or federal legislatures unless the minority voters can put together a majority across an entire district, which is very hard to do. This situation appeared in a dramatic way in the decision to exclude third-party candidate Ross Perot from the 1996 presidential debates on the grounds that he didn’t have a ‘reasonable’ chance of winning a majority of the national vote.

  In contrast, most European parliaments apportion seats according to the percentage of the vote each party receives. If your party wins 5 percent of the vote, then your party gets 5 percent of the seats. But in the United States, a party could get as much as 49.99 percent of the vote without getting any seats. This means that if you support a candidate or party that cannot win a majority of all the votes in your district, it is easy to conclude that your vote won’t make a difference. You might feel some moral satisfaction from doing your civic duty or protest by voting for ‘none of the above’ or for a candidate who shares your views but cannot possibly win. But your vote cannot result in your views being represented in the government. In a similar way, if your candidate is supported by a large majority, your additional vote has no effect on the overall level of representation for your views. European voters, however, can go to the polls knowing that each vote they cast will have a real additive effect that builds a political party’s representation in the government.