Message Production

Students’ Imagined Interactions as Intrapersonal Explanations for Instructional Dissent Alan K. Goodboy, San Bolkan, & Zachary W. Goldman

The purpose of this study was to examine how college students’ intrapersonal

communication experiences (i.e., imagined interactions) with disliked instructors

contribute to their proclivity to communicate instructional dissent (i.e., expressive, rhe-

torical, vengeful). Student participants (N¼ 181) completed a self-report questionnaire

measuring their use of imagined interactions with their worst instructor in the past

academic year, along with reports of their course-related dissent. Results of a canonical

correlation revealed that the frequency, valence, and rehearsal of students’ imagined

interactions with a low affect instructor are related to forms of instructional dissent.

Keywords: Affective Learning; Imagined Interactions; Instructional Dissent; Student

Dissent

When college students are displeased with their classroom experiences, they

frequently engage in instructional dissent (Goodboy, 2011a) which emerges ‘‘when

students express their disagreements or complaints about class-related issues’’

(Goodboy, 2011b, p. 423). Research suggests that a variety of instructor messages

and behaviors are likely to trigger instructional dissent from students including stu-

dent favoritism, grading mistakes, unfair testing, unrealistic classroom policies, and

student bullying, to name a few (Bolkan & Goodboy, 2013; Goodboy, 2011a,

2011b; Horan, Chory, & Goodboy, 2010; Martin, Goodboy, & Johnson, 2013).

Alan K. Goodboy (PhD, West Virginia University, 2007) is an Associate Professor in the Department of

Communication Studies at West Virginia University. San Bolkan (PhD, University of Texas-Austin, 2007) is

an Associate Professor in the Department of Communication Studies at CSU-Long Beach. Zachary W. Goldman

(MA, West Virginia University, 2012) is a PhD student in the Department of Communication Studies at West

Virginia University. Correspondence to: Alan K. Goodboy, 108 Armstrong Hall, P.O. Box 6293, Morgantown,

WV 26506-6293, USA. E-mail: [email protected]

Communication Reports

Vol. 28, No. 2, July–December 2015, pp. 115–127

ISSN 0893-4215 (print)/ISSN 1745-1043 (online) # 2015 Western States Communication Association

DOI: 10.1080/08934215.2014.936563

Goodboy (2011a) found that these triggering agents encourage students to dissent in

three distinct ways: expressive dissent, rhetorical dissent, and vengeful dissent. First,

expressive dissent occurs when students vent their frustrations about class to others

to gain sympathy or empathy. Next, rhetorical dissent occurs when students voice

their concerns directly to the instructor in hopes of rectifying a perceived problem.

Finally, vengeful dissent occurs when students spread negative messages about an

instructor to seek revenge and damage the instructor’s reputation or career.

Research has clearly established that much of instructional dissent is the result of

what ineffective instructors do (or fail to do) in class (Goodboy, 2011a, 2011b;

Holmgren & Bolkan, 2014; Horan et al., 2010; LaBelle, Martin, & Weber, 2013;

Martin et al., 2013; Vallade, Vela, & Martin, 2013) and that students attribute blame

to their instructors as the cause for their dissent responses (Goodboy, 2011a; LaBelle

& Martin, 2014). However, instructional dissent is influenced by a variety of student

characteristics and predispositions as well (Goodboy, 2012). For example, students’

personality traits (Buckner & Finn, 2013; Goodboy & Martin, 2013; Goodboy &

Myers, 2012), conflict styles (Goodboy & Bolkan, 2013), academic beliefs (Bolkan

& Goodboy, 2013; Goodboy & Frisby, 2014; LaBelle et al., 2013), and learning experi-

ences (Goodboy, 2011b) all play an important role in how students dissent.

Although some students confront their instructors with their class-related

problems (Horan et al., 2010), recent research suggests that most students decide

to withhold rhetorical dissent and keep their complaints to themselves (Bolkan &

Goodboy, 2013). One of the reasons students choose not to dissent to their instruc-

tors is because they fear retaliation or repercussions from the instructor (Bolkan &

Goodboy, 2013) which may reflect a student’s desire to avoid potential conflict.

Other research supports this conclusion as students with an avoiding conflict style

communicate less rhetorical dissent (Goodboy & Bolkan, 2013). Because many stu-

dents decide whether to dissent to instructors (or not) after thinking and carefully

weighing the consequences of their actions (Bolkan & Goodboy, 2013), it is likely that

some use intrapersonal forms of communication to manage their negative affect

toward the instructor and class (Goodboy, 2011b) when processing dissent triggering

episodes. Specifically, Stacks and Andersen (1989) noted that cognition and affect

‘‘often function conjointly’’ (p. 278) in the intrapersonal communication process,

and imagined interactions may represent a type of intrapersonal coping response stu-

dents use when they feel the need to dissent (Berkos, Allen, Kearney, & Plax, 2001;

Honeycutt, 2010).

Imagined Interactions

Imagined interactions (IIs) refer to a type of daydreaming (Honeycutt, 2003) in

which ‘‘individuals imagine themselves in anticipated or recalled interaction with

others’’ (Honeycutt & Ford, 2001, p. 316). Imagined interactions reflect a process

of social cognition in the form of intrapersonal communication (Honeycutt, 2010)

in which individuals conjure verbal or visual imagery in mentally rehearsed hypo-

thetical conversations (Zagacki, Edwards, & Honeycutt, 1992). As Rosenblatt and

116 A. K. Goodboy et al.

Meyer (1986) explained, ‘‘These interactions may be fragmentary or extended, may

ramble, stay on track, or recurrently go over the same matter’’ (p. 319). Imagined

interactions tend to involve more self-talk versus other-talk, occur more frequently

before actual interactions than after conversations, tend to be about more personal

than impersonal topics (Honeycutt, Zagacki, & Edwards, 1990), and are equally

pleasant and unpleasant (Edwards, Honeycutt, & Zagacki, 1988).

Imagined interactions have a variety of characteristics and serve numerous

functions (Bodie, Honeycutt, & Vickery, 2013). The characteristics of IIs include fre-

quency (i.e., how often they occur), proactivity (i.e., the extent to which they occur

before anticipated encounters), retroactivity (i.e., the extent to which they occur after

an encounter), variety (i.e., how they occur across a variety of topics and people),

discrepancy (i.e., IIs that play out differently than actual conversations), self-

dominance (i.e., the extent to which they involve self-talk), valence (i.e., the degree

of pleasantness), and specificity (i.e., the details of the imagery during IIs; Honeycutt

& Ford, 2001). Moreover, the functions of IIs are self-understanding (i.e., to better

understand oneself), rehearsal (i.e., to mentally plan out what to say), catharsis

(i.e., to relieve tension or uncertainty), compensation (i.e., to serve in place of a real

conversation), relational maintenance (i.e., to keep a relationship alive), and conflict

management (i.e., to address conflict). The functions and uses of IIs are predicted by

individual differences such as the five factor model of personality (Honeycutt, Pence,

& Gearhart, 2012–2013), covert narcissism (Honeycutt, Pence, & Gearhart, 2013),

attachment (Honeycutt, 1998–1999), argumentativeness and verbal aggressiveness

(Bolkan & Goodboy, 2011), Machiavellianism (Allen, 1990), locus of control

(Honeycutt, Edwards, & Zagacki, 1989–1990), communication apprehension (Bolkan

& Goodboy, 2011; Honeycutt, Choi, & DeBerry, 2009), taking conflict personally

(Wallenfelsz & Hample, 2010), and Myers-Briggs personality preferences (Honeycutt

& Keaton, 2012–2013). In addition, the use of IIs are associated with relational

features such as uncertainty (Van Kelegom & Wright, 2013), anxiety (Allen &

Honeycutt, 1997), emotional responses (Honeycutt et al., 1989–1990; Honeycutt,

Nasser, Banner, Mapp, & DuPont, 2008), loneliness (Honeycutt et al., 1990), marital

ideology (Honeycutt, 1998–1999), relational quality (Honeycutt, 2008–2009), talk in

marriage (Honeycutt & Wiemann, 1999), and intrapersonal communication satisfac-

tion (Honeycutt & McCann, 2008).

Imagined interactions have been studied across a variety of relationships including

college roommates (Honeycutt & Patterson, 1997), parent=child relationships (Allen,

Edwards, Hayhoe, & Leach, 2007), married couples (Honeycutt & Keaton, 2012–

2013; Honeycutt & Wiemann, 1999), small groups (Turner, Crisp, & Lambert,

2007) and consumer=business relationships (Bolkan & Goodboy, 2011). However,

important to our purposes is the fact that IIs play an important role in the college

classroom as well. In particular, research suggests that college students use IIs to cope

with and process unwanted interactions with their instructors. For example, Berkos,

Allen, Kearney, and Plax (2001) revealed that college students use IIs to process

instructor misbehaviors, and that they use IIs as a substitute for confronting misbe-

having instructors. Moreover, Berkos (2012–2013) discovered that students who use

Communication Reports 117

IIs before e-mailing an instructor are more likely to use prosocial compliance-gaining

strategies and less likely to make verbal demands in an e-mail. Because instructional

dissent is considered a response to potential instructor–student conflict (Goodboy &

Bolkan, 2013), and because IIs are most commonly used to process and rehearse per-

ceived conflict (Allen & Berkos, 2005–2006; Honeycutt, 2003–2004; Zagacki et al.,

1992), it is our contention that IIs are used by students who have a desire to

communicate instructional dissent.

Crucially, the characteristics of IIs are important to consider in dissent expression.

For instance, as it pertains to frequency and pleasantness, researchers have found that

these characteristics of IIs are related to positive relational outcomes (Honeycutt &

Wiemann, 1999). Specifically, the authors found that individuals who have positive

and frequent imagined interactions are more likely to enjoy serious discussions

and are likely to believe that their relationships are more egalitarian than individuals

who do not. Moreover, Honeycutt and Wiemann (1999) found that the sharing of

interpersonal influence was associated with relational satisfaction and positively

valenced IIs as well. Considering that two types of dissent (i.e., expressive and venge-

ful dissent) communicate little desire to engage in relational maintenance (Bodie

et al., 2013), and given that students with unsatisfactory relationships with their

instructors tend not to dissent in constructive ways (Bolkan & Goodboy, 2013), we

expected that the frequency and negative valence of IIs will predict these two dissent

types. Particularly, we expected that students would engage in more antisocial (i.e.,

vengeful) and selfish (i.e., expressive) forms of dissent when they have frequent= negative valenced IIs about their instructor. Therefore, the first hypothesis is offered:

H1: II characteristics (i.e., frequency and negative valence) will predict students’ expressive and vengeful dissent responses with low affect instructors.

However, given the relationship between frequent and positive IIs and both percep-

tions of relational power and relational satisfaction, we believed that if students have

frequent=positive valenced IIs about their instructors, they should be more likely to

approach these individuals with class-related concerns (Honeycutt & Wiemann,

1999). Therefore, the second hypothesis is offered:

H2: II characteristics (i.e., frequency and positive valence) will predict students’ rhetorical dissent responses with low affect instructors.

Likewise, since instructor misbehaviors are a leading cause of student dissent

(Goodboy, 2011a, 2011b; Vallade et al., 2013), and because many students use IIs

as a substitute for direct communication when misbehaviors are present (Berkos

et al., 2001), it is likely that students who have a desire to dissent use IIs as an coping

mechanism to accompany actual dissent. To examine this idea, the following research

question is offered:

RQ: To what extent do the functions of IIs (i.e., rehearsal, self-awareness, catharsis) predict students’ instructional dissent responses (i.e., expressive, rhetorical, vengeful) with low affect instructors?

118 A. K. Goodboy et al.

Method

Participants

Participants were 181 undergraduate students (107 men, 70 women, 4 participants

did not report their sex) whose ages ranged from 18 to 35 years (M¼ 21.24,

SD¼ 2.13). Participants were recruited from a large Northeastern university. One

hundred four students reported on a class with a male instructor and 77 students

reported on a class with a female instructor. Approximately 48% (N¼ 87) of the sam-

ple reported on a college course required for their major. Class sizes varied with 67

students (37.0%) reporting on a class consisting of 30 students or less, 38 students

(21.0%) reporting on a class with 31 to 100 students, 48 students (26.5%) reporting

on a class with 101 to 200 students, and 28 students (15.5%) reporting on a large

lecture class with over 200 students enrolled.

Procedures and Instrumentation

After obtaining IRB approval, participants completed a questionnaire using methods

proposed by Richmond, McCroskey, Kearney, and Plax (1987) that asks students to

report on their ‘‘worst’’ instructor in the past academic year. This method was used

to ensure that students reported on a low affect instructor in order to maximize

potential instructional dissent episodes resulting from student dissatisfaction. The

questionnaire included measures of students’ imagined interactions, instructional

dissent, affective learning toward the instructor, and demographic items.

Instructional dissent was operationalized using the Instructional Dissent Scale (IDS;

Goodboy, 2011b), which is 22 items and asks students to report on how often they

express their disagreements or complaints about class-related issues by using express-

ive dissent (10 items), rhetorical dissent (6 items), and vengeful dissent (6 items).

Responses were solicited using a 5-point Likert-type response format ranging from

(0) never to (4) very often. In this study, obtained Cronbach alphas were .91 for

expressive dissent (M¼ 2.63, SD¼ .89), .92 for rhetorical dissent (M¼ 1.47, SD¼ 1.11), and .90 for vengeful dissent (M¼ .91, SD¼ 1.05).

Imagined interactions were operationalized by using items from the Survey of

Imagined Interactions (SII; Honeycutt, 2010) and Students’ Imagined Interactions with

Teachers Scale (Berkos et al., 2001). All II responses were solicited on a 7-point Likert

response format ranging from (1) strongly disagree to (7) strongly agree. The SII was

adapted slightly to reflect IIs about a specific instructor instead of a global assessment

of IIs. Two subscales were used to measure the frequency (4 items) in which students

used IIs, and the valence (4 items) of IIs with a target instructor (higher scores indi-

cate a positive valence). In this study, obtained Cronbach alphas were .86 (M¼ 3.62,

SD¼ 1.51) and .74 (M¼ 2.90, SD¼ 1.15) respectively. The Berkos et al. (2001) scale

was used to measure three functions of students’ IIs with an instructor including

rehearsal (9 items), self-awareness (9 items), and catharsis (9 items). In this study,

obtained Cronbach alphas were .91 (M¼ 4.33, SD¼ 1.40), .87 (M¼ 4.04, SD¼ 1.17),

and .85 (M¼ 4.24, SD¼ 1.16) respectively.

Communication Reports 119

Affective learning was operationalized by using the Construct 7: Attitude Toward

Instructor subscale from Mottet and Richmond’s (1998) Revised Affective Learning

Measure. This measure was used to ensure that students were reporting on low affect

instructors who were likely to provoke dissent. This subscale is 4 items and asks stu-

dents to report on how favorable they view a target instructor. Responses were soli-

cited using a 7-point semantic differential response format using the following

anchors: good=bad, worthless=valuable, fair=unfair, and positive=negative. The

obtained Cronbach alpha for this subscale was .72 (M¼ 3.26, SD¼ 1.18). Individual

item means ranged from 2.84 (SD¼ 1.56) to 3.65 (SD¼ 1.54) on a 7-point scale. The

composite item mean of 3.26 was significantly lower (t (178)¼�8.35, p< .001; mean

difference¼�.74) than a theoretical mean of 4.0. These results indicate that students

did, in fact, report on low affect instructors.

Results

Prior to exploring the hypothesis and research question, a first order correlation

matrix was computed for the variables. Because affective learning is related inversely

to student reports of dissent (Goodboy, 2011b), partial correlations were calculated

for the variables of interest by controlling for student affect for the instructor. This

was done to control for any confounding effects stemming from students’ varying

reports in negative affect intensity because students’ feelings about an instructor

are a cause of dissent to begin with (Bolkan & Goodboy, 2013; Goodboy, 2011a,

2011b). In this study, student affect for the instructor was correlated significantly

with the frequency (r¼�.22, p< .01) and valence (r¼ .44, p< .001) functions of

IIs, the rehearsal characteristic of IIs (r¼�.18, p< .05), along with expressive

(r¼�.31, p< .001) and vengeful dissent types (r¼�.27, p< .001). Therefore, affect

toward the instructor served as an appropriate covariate. Results of partial

correlations are available in Table 1.

Table 1 Partial Correlations Controlling for Affective Learning

Variables 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

Imagined Interactions

1. Frequency of IIs —

2. Valence of IIs .02 (.09) —

3. Rehearsal .61 (.68)^ .04 (.10) —

4. Self-Awareness .53 (.61)^ .15 (.24) �

.72 (.81)^ —

5. Catharsis .42 (.49)^ .01 (.06) .55 (.63)^ .63 (.73)^ —

Instructional Dissent

6. Expressive .29 (.31)^ �.19 (�.18) ��

.23 (.24) ��

.13 (.13) .10 (.09) —

7. Rhetorical .30 (.36)^ .09 (.10) .18 (.21) ��

.12 (.14) .04 (.06) .34 (.39)^ —

8. Vengeful .21 (.22)�� .08 (.18) .02 (.00) .00 (�.01) .02 (.00) .26 (.26)^ .53 (.61)^

Note. Partial correlations control for affective learning toward instructor and are flagged with �p< .05, ��p< .01,

^p< .001. Disattenuated partial correlations are in parentheses.

120 A. K. Goodboy et al.

Hypotheses 1 and 2 predicted that II characteristics (i.e., frequency and valence)

would predict students’ instructional dissent responses (i.e., expressive, rhetorical,

vengeful) with low affect instructors, and the research question inquired about the

role of II functions (i.e., rehearsal, self-awareness, catharsis) in this process. To

examine these relationships, a canonical correlation was computed with the five IIs

variables serving as predictors of the three dissent types. Only structure coefficients

above .45 were interpreted (Sherry & Henson, 2005). Collectively, the full model

across all functions was statistically significant, Wilks’s k¼ .69; F(15, 475.22)¼ 4.54, p< .001. With 1 – k yielding the full model effect size, the full model explained

31% of the variance shared between the variable sets. Dimension reduction analysis

showed that the full model (functions 1 to 3) was significant (see above), and func-

tions 2 to 3 were also statistically significant (F(8, 346)¼ 3.12, p¼ .002). Function 3,

which was the only function tested in isolation, did not explain a statistically signifi-

cant amount of shared variance in the variable sets, (F(3, 174)¼ 1.87, p¼ .14).

Results of the first two functions, including structure coefficients, squared structure

coefficients, communality coefficients, and redundancy coefficients, are available in

Table 2.

The first function (Rc¼ .453, R2 c ¼ .206) revealed that when students had frequent,

negatively valenced, and rehearsed IIs about their low affect instructor, they commu-

nicated more expressive dissent, and to a lesser extent, vengeful dissent. The second

function (Rc¼ .320, R2 c ¼ .102), which accounts for variance remaining after the first

function has been extracted (Thompson, 1984), revealed that when students had

Table 2 Canonical Solution for Characteristics and Functions of IIs Predicting

Instructional Dissent for Functions 1 and 2

Function 1 Function 2

Variables rs r2 s (%) rs r2

s (%) h2

Set 1: Imagined Interactions

Frequency .793 62.88 .542 29.38 92.26

Valence �.646 41.73 .725 52.56 94.29

Rehearsal .567 32.15 .214 4.58 36.73

Self-Awareness .317 10.04 .176 3.10 13.14

Catharsis .314 9.85 �.068 .46 10.31

Redundancy Coefficient (.313) (.180)

Set 2: Instructional Dissent

Expressive .985 97.02 �.046 .21 97.23

Rhetorical .311 9.67 .943 88.92 98.59

Vengeful .473 22.37 .453 20.52 42.89

Redundancy Coefficient (.089) (.037)

Note. Wilks’s k¼ .69; F(15, 475.22)¼ 4.54, p< .001. rs¼ structure coefficient; r2 s ¼ squared structure coefficient;

h2¼ communality coefficient. Structure coefficients (rs) greater than .45 are in bold. Communality coefficients

(h2) greater than 45% are in bold.

Communication Reports 121

frequent, but positively valenced IIs about their low affect instructor, they commu-

nicated rhetorical dissent, and to a lesser extent, vengeful dissent.

Discussion

The purpose of this study was to examine the role of students’ imagined interactions

in the instructional dissent process. Overall, the results suggest that the frequency and

valence of students’ imagined interactions with their low affect instructors matter the

most, and the rehearsal function plays a less important role. That is, students who

have frequently rehearsed IIs that are negative prefer to engage in expressive dissent,

but in contrast, students who have frequent IIs that are positive prefer to engage in

rhetorical dissent. Regardless of the valence, students reported that with low affect

instructors, they engaged in vengeful dissent to a small degree. These results lend full

support for hypothesis 1 and partial support for hypothesis 2.

The interpretations of these findings have pedagogical value. Although our findings

account for a modest amount of variance, they suggest that when students envision

negatively valenced IIs, they do not approach their instructors with their concerns

and instead communicate their disagreements to outside parties in an attempt to vent

their class-related frustrations. This imagined negativity might stem from students’

lack of confidence that even approaching an instructor with a concern will accomplish

anything. Research on why students withhold rhetorical dissent from their instructors

supports this conclusion. Bolkan and Goodboy (2013) discovered that many students

prefer to avoid dissenting directly to an instructor because they do not think that it is

worth the effort or that complaining would fix their problems. Bolkan and Goodboy

also found that when students withhold rhetorical dissent, they typically prefer to

communicate expressive dissent as an alternative response. Therefore, the extant

research on dissent may explain why students who have negatively valenced IIs end

up not communicating their dissatisfaction in person—they may perceive that an

actual conversation with their instructor will unfold in an unproductive manner.

If this is the case, unlike positively valenced IIs, which may indicate that students

are hopeful regarding their interactions with instructors, students who experience

negative IIs may not dissent rhetorically because they essentially ‘‘think themselves

out of it.’’ And, instead of dissenting in ways that might address their perceived

problem, they may act in ways that address their negative feelings by expressing their

discontent to friends, family members, or classmates to garner empathy or support.

On the contrary, after explaining variance from function 1, results suggested that

students who had frequent and positively valenced IIs were likely to communicate

rhetorical dissent directly to the instructor. It may be that students’ anticipated posi-

tive interactions in their thoughts helped encourage direct conversations with their

instructors to remedy their class-related concerns. Though these students may have

viewed their instructor as transgressing in the classroom, they may also believe that

their instructor might rectify their problems and therefore may be more likely to

speak with him=her. This result makes sense considering students expect fair and

satisfying responses from their instructors when they rhetorically dissent (Holmgren

122 A. K. Goodboy et al.

& Bolkan, 2014), and positively valenced IIs might play out mentally with a fair

anticipated response. Other researchers would agree with this conclusion as well.

For example, Mottet, Martin, and Myers (2004) found that students will communi-

cate concerns to an instructor to perform better in the course as long as they view the

instructor as approachable. In summary, the valence of IIs may be a reflection of stu-

dents’ anticipated outcomes regarding conversations with their instructors and, as a

result, may dictate whether or not students complain directly to their instructors or

communicate their displeasure to other parties instead in a less constructive manner.

The collective results of these intrapersonal findings also have practical implications

for instructors. First, because results of this study suggest that low affect instructors

spur imagined interactions with students, and that these interactions co-occur with

dissent, instructors who want to deter students from having negative IIs about them

should focus on fostering affective learning in the classroom. This may be done by uti-

lizing effective instructional behaviors such as immediacy, humor, clarity, and confir-

mation (Kramer & Pier, 1999). Second, although instructors will occasionally enact

behaviors that damage students’ affective learning (Kearney, Plax, Hays, & Ivey,

1991), being pleasant and welcoming to students after making mistakes may help stu-

dents form positively valenced IIs that address their concerns and allow them to forgive

the instructor’s transgression (Vallade et al., 2013). Likewise, Bolkan and Goodboy

(2013) suggest that instructors who openly welcome corrective feedback in the form

of rhetorical dissent may motivate their students to come to them with their classroom

problems. The results of this study suggest that students who have positive IIs will be

more likely to approach their instructors which may result in a constructive solution

for the student and the opportunity for instructors to change teaching practices for

the better (Bolkan & Goodboy, 2013). Third, regardless of the valence or rehearsal,

students who have frequent IIs about their low affect instructor report that they will

engage in vengeful dissent to some degree. Thus, it may be important for instructors

to realize that when students attempt to get their instructors in trouble with their

careers they are not necessarily reacting with little thought. Instead, they have probably

thought this decision out and imagined the consequences=outcomes of vengeful dis-

sent attempts. Though this may not be good news for offending instructors, these

results are informative because they suggest that vengeful dissent may not be not be

an impulsive reaction to student anger and may instead reflect a more deliberate

and planned student reaction toward instructors who fail to foster affective learning.

As with any research the current study had several limitations. One limitation is

that students only reported on low affect instructors by referencing their worst

instructor in the past academic year. This methodological decision was used in order

to maximize reports of IIs and subsequent dissent responses. It is possible that

effective instructors, who are likely to trigger minimal dissent from their teaching

(Goodboy, 2011b; LaBelle et al., 2013), provide students with little desire to have

IIs about their instructors because their academic needs are being fulfilled. Therefore,

future researchers should carefully discern the types of data collection methods used

for collecting instructional dissent data. That is, in this study students (a) reported on

their worst instructors, but in other research, students have (b) reported on their

Communication Reports 123

instructor from the class immediately before data collection to obtain a variability in

instructors (e.g., Goodboy, 2011b; Goodboy & Myers, 2012), (c) have been provided

with definitions of instructional dissent and have referenced an instructor that met

the definition (e.g., Holmgren & Bolkan, 2014; LaBelle et al., 2013), or (d) provided

open-ended responses to dissent-related questioning (e.g., Bolkan & Goodboy, 2013;

Goodboy, 2011a). Instructional dissent researchers should be guided by their research

questions or hypotheses when determining which data collection method best suits

their purposes.

Another limitation was that we did not measure the full range of II characteristics

and functions; yet, these measures may need improvement according to data in this

study.1 A third limitation is that causality cannot be inferred from the data; although

we predicted that IIs predict dissent, it is possible that dissent episodes trigger IIs too.

Future researchers may consider the role that culture plays in IIs and the dissent

process considering that Americans are the most self-dominant in IIs (McCann &

Honeycutt, 2006). Moreover, future research might consider how IIs function in

the small group context with class assignments because individuals have third-party

imagined interactions about others, not just themselves (Porter, 2010–2011). Finally,

much like research on interpersonal conflict, research on instructional dissent should

provide more comprehensive models showcasing distal and proximal factors that

influence dissent messages and outcomes.

In summary, this project confirms that students have IIs about low affect instruc-

tors and that features of those IIs dictate the type of dissent that students’ respond

with. Moreover, it is important for instructors to realize that many students have

imagined conversations with them and that the valence of these self-talks either

encourages or discourages students to communicate with them directly to rectify

their problems. Moreover, these IIs also encourage students to retaliate with instruc-

tors by spreading negative publicity when affective learning is low. For these reasons,

instructors should be careful to avoid triggering agents of dissent in the first place

(Goodboy, 2011a), and they should attempt to maintain students’ affective learning

which acts as a buffer against unproductive dissent (Goodboy, 2011b).

Note

[1] For validity purposes, all measures were subjected to confirmatory factor analyses (CFAs)

using maximum likelihood estimation (ML). Model fit was assessed using the minimum

fit function chi square, CFI, SRMR, and RMSEA (Kline, 2011). The CFA results for each

measure are as follows: (1) Survey of Imagined Interactions: Frequency and Valence sub-

scales (2 factors: x 2¼ 55.85, df¼ 13, p< .01, RMSEA¼ .13, CFI¼ .93, SRMR¼ .11);

Students’ Imagined Interactions with Teachers Scale (3 factors: x 2¼ 1011.97, df¼ 321,

p< .001, RMSEA¼ .12, CFI¼ .93, SRMR¼ .09); Instructional Dissent Scale (3 factors:

(x 2¼ 517.11, df¼ 206, p< .01, RMSEA¼ .09, CFI¼ .95, SRMR¼ .08); Revised Affective

Learning Measure: Construct 7 subscale (1 factor: (x 2¼ 5.92, df¼ 2, p¼ .05, RMSEA¼ .11,

CFI¼ .98, SRMR¼ .04). Considering the fit statistics for the Survey of Imagined Interactions

and the Students’ Imagined Interactions with Teachers Scale, future researchers should

consider how to improve the measurement of IIs.

124 A. K. Goodboy et al.

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Communication Reports 127

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Affiliative and Aggressive Humor, Attachment Dimensions, and Interaction Goals Nathan Miczo, Joshua M. Averbeck, & Theresa Mariani

This study examined humor production in relation to attachment dimensions and

interaction goals. Participants (N¼ 172) completed measures of attachment dimensions

(anxiety, avoidance), humor production (affiliative humor, aggressive humor), and

primary and secondary goals. Anxiety was negatively related to affiliative humor,

whereas avoidance was positively related to aggressive humor. Affiliative humor was

related to effectiveness and being playful in the interaction, as well as the secondary goals

of arousal management and clarity. Aggressive humor was not related to any of the goals.

Keywords: Affiliative Humor; Aggressive Humor; Attachment Theory; Humor

Production; Interaction Goals

‘‘Humor flowers from interpersonal relationships’’ (Ziv, 1984, p. 28). Not all com-

municators have a green thumb, however, and, whereas many of the blossoms of

humor enrich and nourish the soil of relationships, others may be likened to rela-

tional poison. Though communication research on humor continues to accumulate,

theoretical contributions have lagged behind compared to other types of messages

(e.g., persuasive, comforting). One recent attempt to examine humor from a message

production standpoint is the security theory of humor (STH; Miczo, 2004). STH

Nathan Miczo (PhD, 2004, University of Arizona) is Associate Professor in the Department of Communication,

Western Illinois University; Joshua M. Averbeck (MA, 2007, Western Illinois University) is currently a Doctoral

Student at The University of Oklahoma; Theresa Mariani (MS, 1991, Western Illinois University) is currently a

Master’s Student at Western Illinois University. An earlier version of this paper was presented to the

Interpersonal Division, National Communication Association convention, Chicago, IL, November 2007.

Correspondence to: Nathan Miczo, Sallee Hall 221, Department of Communication, Western Illinois

University, Macomb, IL 61455. E-mail: [email protected]

Communication Studies

Vol. 60, No. 5, November–December 2009, pp. 443–459

ISSN 1051-0974 (print)/ISSN 1745-1035 (online) # 2009 Central States Communication Association

DOI: 10.1080/10510970903260301

begins with the oft-repeated contention that the creation of humor is facilitated by a

sense of security and safety (Morreall, 1983). Attachment theory (Bowlby, 1982, 1988)

offers a comprehensive account of individual differences in feelings of security and,

thus, provides a framework for examining humor production skills. Two of the central

facets of STH are (a) the distinction between affiliative and aggressive humor and (b)

the employment of humor playfully (i.e., for its own sake) versus in the service of a

specific purpose or goal. The present investigation was undertaken to examine both

of these issues. Although prior research has established links between forms of

apprehension and humor (Miczo, 2004; Miczo &Welter, 2006), this study will directly

test the attachment-humor link by utilizing an established measure of attachment

dimensions. Further, this study will examine the issue of goal pursuit and humor.

Conceptualization of Humor

From a message perspective, humor can be defined as a message that contains incon-

gruous elements, playfully enacted (Oring, 1992). The incongruity can involve, for

example, an opposition between overlapping scripts (Attardo, 2001), or a violation

of expectations (Archakis & Tsakona, 2005). Some authors further specify that this

incongruity must be sudden (Gruner, 1997; Holland, 1982). In jokes, the incongruity

occurs between the setup and the punchline; in many other forms of humor, the

incongruity must be inferred from contextual cues (e.g., the sender’s tone of voice

or facial expression). Given that sudden shifts in scripts or expectancy violations

can cause consternation or apprehension, many humorous messages contain play

frames, or other types of devices, which serve to signal that the message is only for

fun and can be taken nonliterally (Goffman, 1974=1986, 1981). Humor’s deniability

is part of its versatility. The skilled humorist must possess the ability to recognize or

generate incongruities and=or the ability to encode these insights (or to deliver jokes)

to produce desired effects (Carrell, 1997).

Functions of Humor

The effects that humorists seek to produce, however, are not all of one type. One

approach to understanding these types is to focus on the functions of humor. Meyer

(2000) identified four rhetorical functions of humorous communication. Identifica-

tion involves creating a bond between speaker and audience in order to build support

and to increase credibility and cohesiveness. Clarification allows speakers to condense

their views into memorable phrases or anecdotes, as well as allowing them to com-

ment upon expected or appropriate behavior without being critical of audience

members. The enforcement function involves speakers criticizing or ridiculing

audience members concerning a group member’s violation of normative behavior.

Differentiation emphasizes contrast; speakers contrast themselves with an opponent,

or contrast their group from another group. Meyer argued, however, that these four

functions could be orbited around two more fundamental functions: unification and

division. Humor that draws speaker and audience together (identification and

444 N. Miczo et al.

clarification) serves a unifying function, whereas humor that creates distinctions

between the speaker and another person=group (enforcement and differentiation)

serves a division function.

The idea of two primary functions of humor echoes through this approach, as well

as the approaches of others (cf. Lefcourt, 2001; Ziv, 1984). In STH, these two types of

humor are labeled affiliative and aggressive. Affiliative humor is an integrative form

of humor that serves to enhance positive feelings and solidify relational bonds.

Aggressive humor is a disintegrative form of humor that serves to diminish morale

and to create distance in relational bonds. The central proposition of STH is that

a sense of security affects the development of the abilities necessary to enact humor-

ous messages. A major goal of the theory is to provide a coherent framework for

explaining the use of both unifying and divisive forms of humor. Attachment theory

provides such a framework.

Humor Production and Attachment Theory

According to Bowlby (1982, 1988), evolutionary forces have shaped the adaptive value of

two behavioral systems. The attachment behavioral system involves proximity seeking

and maintenance and is activated when an individual feels threatened or scared. When

this system is quiescent, the exploratory behavioral system operates, motivating the indi-

vidual to engage the environment, to seek out novel stimuli, and to play (Grossman,

Grossman, & Zimmerman, 1999). During infancy, attachment behaviors become cen-

tered on a primary caregiver, and an attachment forms. Attachment, then, is an affec-

tional bond that develops between an individual and someone perceived to be a

source of comfort, security, and wisdom. The quality of that bond is affected by the

quality of care-provision, which in turn, affects the balance of the two behavioral systems.

When the caregiver is responsive and available, a secure bond develops, and the

exploratory behavior system will operate until an explicit threat is perceived. When

the caregiver is nonresponsive and unavailable, the bond is insecure, and the explora-

tory behavior system will be inhibited (Grossman, Grossman, & Zimmerman, 1999).

In such cases, there are two primary responses. In some cases, individuals will be

hypersensitive to the presence of the caregiver, such that the mere absence of that

person induces anxiety and the activation of the attachment system. In other cases,

individuals may become hyposensitive to the caregiver’s presence, suppressing the

attachment system and relying on themselves to cope with threats.

These differential outcomes of the attachment relationship were initially

confirmed by Mary Ainsworth and colleagues (Ainsworth, Blehar, Waters, & Wall,

1978), who found three different patterns among infants before, during, and after

brief separation from their primary caregivers: secures were comfortable with their

caregiver, distressed upon separation, but sought out the caregiver for comfort upon

reunion; anxious-ambivalents were clingy, extremely distressed by separation, and

angry upon reunion; avoidants appeared to show very little concern with the presence

or absence of the caregiver. Both of the insecure types also showed less exploratory

and play behavior. In extending the theory into the realm of adult romantic

Humor, Attachment, Goals 445

relationships, Hazan and Shaver (1987) adopted this three-category approach and a

flood of subsequent research confirmed differences in relational outcomes by attach-

ment style. Bartholomew (1990; Bartholomew & Horowitz, 1991) revised the three-

category approach by proposing underlying dimensions based on model of self and

model of other. Crossing these dimensions yields a four-category typology of styles.

With respect to exploratory behavior among adults, Green and Campbell (2000) sug-

gested that anxious individuals explore social environments in the hope of securing

relational partners, whereas avoidants are drawn to nonsocial environments. Both,

however, demonstrated lower levels of exploration compared to secures.

More recently, the typological approach has been criticized on both conceptual

and methodological grounds. Both Fraley and Waller (1998) and Brennan, Clark,

and Shaver (1998) have pointed out that Ainsworth and associates themselves uncov-

ered, via discriminant analysis, two dimensions underlying infant reactions in the

Strange Situation. Those dimensions were Anxiety (over abandonment) and Avoid-

ance (of intimacy). Fraley and Waller found that these dimensions best described

prototype scores on Griffin and Bartholomew’s (1994) Relationship Styles Question-

naire. Similarly, Brennan, Clark, and Shaver’s analysis revealed that a large number of

attachment-related items could be defined by the dimensions of Anxiety and Avoid-

ance. The present investigation follows the lead of these researchers in adopting a

dimensional, rather than a categorical, approach.

Links between attachment insecurity and humor can be derived from the competen-

cies proposed as underlying humor creation. Though anxious individuals may be

drawn toward opportunities to explore social relationships, their motivation is to

secure the favor and approval of close others. In many cases, this goal is best pursued

by adhering to norms rather than risking their violation. It is therefore possible that

they either do not notice the incongruities of social life, or they shy away from enter-

taining them. Paradoxically, although humor is relationally valued, anxious individuals

may be less able to practice humor because their serious attitude toward relationships

inhibits playfulness, including the playful attitude that perceives opportunities for

humor. Further, given the self-focus and self-consciousness typically associated with

anxiety (Segrin, 2001), anxious individuals should be less likely to enact humor by

clowning around or acting silly. These suppositions lead to the first hypothesis:

H1: Anxious attachment is negatively related to affiliative humor.

The ability to create humor revolves around responses to incongruities. That is,

incongruities must be perceived and that perception must not generate anxiety

and fear (i.e., emotionally threatening incongruities are not likely to be perceived

as funny). A certain amount of distance, or detachment, seems necessary for such

perceptions and can therefore facilitate humor creation. Fraley, Davis, and Shaver

(1998) have argued that avoidant adults are able to detach themselves from their

emotions. Therefore, avoidant individuals should be able to craft humorous mes-

sages. But what sort of humor will they employ? Affiliative humor functions to unify

and to create social cohesion and pleasant interactions. The goal of the avoidant,

however, is to create distance, minimizing the risk of intimacy. This can be

446 N. Miczo et al.

accomplished through aggressive humor. Emphasizing the contrast between the other

and the self, or criticizing the other, even when done humorously, is likely to reduce

the opportunities for closeness and connection that are a primary function of

affiliative humor. This reasoning results in the second hypothesis:

H2: Avoidant attachment is positively related to aggressive humor.

Interaction Goals and Humor

It is generally accepted that communication is driven in large part by communicators’

goals. Goals are desired end states that organize and motivate planning and beha-

vioral performance (Dillard, 1990). One of the more popular approaches is the dis-

tinction between primary and secondary goals (Dillard, Segrin, & Harden, 1989).

Primary goals define the purpose and meaning of the interaction; that is, they speak

to the question ‘‘What kind of communication episode is this?’’ Secondary goals

concern all other motivational considerations that shape primary goal pursuit. Such

considerations include message-related concerns (e.g., directness vs. indirectness),

self-focused concerns (e.g., not wanting to appear inept), and partner-focused

concerns (e.g., not wanting to hurt partner’s feelings).

STH draws a distinction between humor that is crafted within either a telic or a

paratelic orientation. Telic activities are directed toward some end and, thus, corre-

spond to a goals-based approach. The paratelic mode, by contrast, occurs when an

activity is pursued for its own sake, without any discernible goal in mind. It is difficult,

however, to test this idea directly. If we assume that all communication is goal driven,

then it is axiomatically impossible to interact in the paratelic mode. On the other hand,

if we treat goal creation as the outcome of a goaling process (akin to the relationship

between plans and planning), then the paratelic becomes a possibility. Empirically, the

problem is that, to gather data, researchers typically have to provide the primary goal.

For example, to study persuasion, a researcher might provide respondents with a

hypothetical scenario where the person needed something from another. Rather than

ask whether or not they would form a persuasion goal (for example, by including the

option of foregoing the need), respondents might be asked what kind of message they

would select, or how they would plan on crafting the persuasive message.

The present investigation attempts to minimize the provision of a primary goal but

we are not able to circumvent the issue entirely. Rather than ask respondents to recall a

time where they made someone else laugh, we asked them to recall a time where they

attempted to be funny. This may seem like semantic quibbling, and we acknowledge

that many respondents may interpret the latter as a request for the former, but the dis-

tinction is nevertheless important. Recall that a primary goal organizes the flow of the

interaction and, therefore, having the primary goal of making someone laugh is not

the same as making someone laugh while in pursuit of some other primary goal or,

possibly, having no primary goal whatsoever. It may then be possible to ask indivi-

duals if, indeed, they had a goal and if they were effective in achieving that goal.

If there is a goal underlying these interactions, what is the goal? In humor research,

the two modes of humor correspond to Gruner’s (1996) distinction between humor

Humor, Attachment, Goals 447

and wit. Humor refers to ‘‘a playful poking of fun with the sole aim of amusement’’

(p. 288). Wit, on the other hand, is defined as ‘‘some form of (usually) verbal clever-

ness which has the potential for amusing, but is also intended (however consciously

or unconsciously) to achieve one or more other purposes’’ (p. 288, italics in original).

Humor, as opposed to wit, then overlaps considerably with playfulness. Play has been

conceptualized as an activity conducted for its own sake (i.e., a paratelic activity)

(Miller, 1973; Weisler & McCall, 1976). As a subspecies of exploratory behavior, play

involves the same approach orientation and engagement with the environment as

exploration, but that involvement typically occurs only in, and for so long as, the

context is positive and pleasant. Conceptually and empirically, playfulness overlaps

with the ‘‘comic spirit’’ that animates affiliative humor (Brône, Feyaerts, & Veale,

2006; Hyers, 1996; Morreall, 1983). Aune and Wong (2002), for example, found a

positive relationship between playfulness and humor orientation. The following

hypothesis reflects this reasoning:

H3: Affiliative humor is positively related to playfulness.

To explore the nature of playfulness as a primary goal of affiliative humor, the

following research questions are posed:

RQ1: Is affiliative humor related to forming a goal?

RQ2: Is affiliative humor related to concerns with effectiveness?

The relationship between a telic orientation and aggressive humor is more difficult to

discern. Technically, humor can be a message choice during any type of communication

episode. It can be used during conflict (Bippus, 2003), in comforting (Bippus, 2000), or

relieving tension (Sparks Bethea, Travis, & Pecchioni, 2000). In each of these cases, the

humor serves a purpose, even if it is affiliative. That being said, however, there is good

reason to expect aggressive humor to be generally telic. Gruner (1997) argued that the

aim of wit was often ridicule. Consistent with Meyer’s (2000) analysis, aggressive humor

is geared toward norm enforcement and ‘‘putting others in their place.’’ Though such

humor must employ play frames and may thereby result in amusement, the humor

producer more often chooses disparagement humor to send a message to either targets

or third-party receivers. This reasoning lead to the following hypothesis:

H4: Aggressive humor is positively related to (a) having a goal and (b) concerns with effectiveness, while being negatively related to (c) playfulness.

Secondary goals, or conversational constraints, are derived from more diffuse,

fundamental concerns regarding the conduct of interactions. The telic=paratelic distinction revolves around primary goals, the explicit conscious desires that frame

a communicative episode. Even in the paratelic mode, then, when there is no primary

goal, communicators may still operate within interactional constraints and, thus, be

able to report on secondary goals.

Humor can be risky. It can involve saying things that touch upon taboo topics, are

considered shocking, or might be offensive to some members of an audience. The

enactment of humor depends greatly upon timing and delivery, and=or utilizing

448 N. Miczo et al.

clownish techniques that make one appear silly or foolish (Morreall, 1983). Many of

these concerns are mirrored in current typologies of secondary goals. Dillard, Segrin,

and Harden (1989) describe concerns about managing arousal, being socially appro-

priate, and adhering to internal standards of behavior. Kim (1994) proposed a set of

constraints including avoiding hurting the other’s feelings, avoiding negative evalua-

tion, and being clear in one’s message.

The different types of humor should lead to differential emphasis placed upon

secondary goals. Dillard, Segrin, and Harden (1989) argued that ‘‘persons have a

desire to maintain a state of arousal which falls within certain idiosyncratically pre-

ferred boundaries’’ (p. 20). Given that anxiety inhibits playfulness and thus humor,

concerns with managing arousal should be negatively related to the use of affiliative

humor. Further, if anxiety is not a relevant dimension to divisive humor, aggressive

humorists should be less concerned with managing arousal.

H5: Arousal management is negatively related to (a) affiliative and (b) aggressive humor.

Both Dillard, Segrin, and Harden (1989) and Kim (1994, 1995) identify a set of

goals that concern being appropriate, not hurting the other’s feelings, and avoiding

negative evaluation. Broadly speaking, these goals share a concern with supporting

the other’s face needs. Those using affiliative humor should operate to support those

needs given their concerns with developing relationships, while aggressive humorists

should be less concerned with these constraints.

H6: The goals of appropriateness, not hurting a partner’s feelings, and avoiding negative evaluation are positively related to (a) affiliative humor and negatively related to (b) aggressive humor.

The situation is less clear regarding clarity and maintaining internal standards.

Clarity concerns the ‘‘degree to which the intention of the message is explicitly and

unambiguously communicated to a listener’’ (Kim, 1995, p. 152). The use of humor

itself may involve less of a concern with being clear, or it may be the case that aggres-

sive humorists are concerned with getting their point across while affiliative humorists

do not have a particular point. Internal standards refer to one’s own personal values

and beliefs about how one ought to conduct oneself in interaction (Dillard, Segrin, &

Harden, 1989). Humorists might in general be less concerned with internal standards,

or the concern might differ depending upon the type of humor in question.

RQ3: What are the relationships between identity and clarity goals and (a) affiliative humor and (b) aggressive humor?

Method

Participants

Participants were 172 undergraduate students enrolled in communication courses at

a medium-sized Midwestern university. The sample was roughly evenly split between

the sexes (51% male) and ranged in age from 18–38 (M¼ 21.40, SD¼ 2.23). Ethnic

Humor, Attachment, Goals 449

classification was 80% White=Caucasian, 12% Black=African American, 3.5% for

both Asian=Pacific Islander and Hispanic=Latin American, and 1% Other. Juniors

and seniors made up 81% of the sample. One participant did not provide informa-

tion on age.

Procedures

Students received extra credit as compensation for their participation. The survey

consisted of four sections. The first and second sections contained measures of

attachment and humor production, respectively. The third section asked participants

to describe an interpersonal interaction where they attempted to be funny and then

asked questions related to their primary and secondary goals. All items in these

sections were measured utilizing 5-point Likert-type scales. The final section con-

sisted of demographic items. This study was approved by the university Institutional

Review Board.

Measures

Attachment

Attachment was measured with Brennan, Clark, and Shaver’s (1998) Experiences in

Close Relationships scale. This scale contains two 18-item subscales: anxiety over

abandonment (e.g., ‘‘I worry about being abandoned’’) and avoidance of intimacy

(e.g., ‘‘I prefer not to show a partner how I feel deep down’’). Items were coded

so that higher scores reflect greater anxiety (M¼ 2.82, SD¼ .61, a¼ .87) and greater

avoidance (M¼ 2.31, SD¼ .58, a¼ .88).

Affiliative humor

Affiliative humor was assessed with the Humor Orientation Scale (HOS;

Booth-Butterfield & Booth-Butterfield, 1991). The HOS is a 17-item measure of an

individual’s ability to use humor both frequently (e.g., ‘‘I can be funny without

having to rehearse a joke’’) and effectively (e.g., ‘‘People usually laugh when I tell

a joke or story’’). The scale was coded so that higher scores reflect greater humor

orientation (M¼ 3.68, SD¼ .57, a¼ .90).

Aggressive humor

Aggressive humor was measured with the Humor Aggressiveness Scale (HAS; Miczo

& Welter, 2006). The HAS is a modified version of Infante and Wigley’s (1986)

Verbal Aggressiveness Scale, which was modified in two ways: only the 10 negatively

worded items were retained and all items were written to include a negative instance

of humor. Thus, the HAS captures an individual’s tendency to use humor to attack

another’s self-concept. The scale was coded so that higher scores reflect greater

humor aggressiveness (M¼ 2.76, SD¼ .66, a¼ .84).

450 N. Miczo et al.

Primary goals

In order to capture the formation of goals in a specific situation, participants were

instructed to describe in as much detail as possible an instance in which they attempted

to be funny. Wording was constructed to minimize the implication of a specific goal,

such as to make someone else laugh. Measures of primary goals typically provide ques-

tions about the importance of a specific goal (e.g., ‘‘It was very important to me to con-

vince this person to do what I wanted him or her to do’’ [Dillard, Segrin, & Harden,

1989] or ‘‘In this situation, making the other person to comply with my request is very

important’’ [Kim, 1994]). In this investigation, the issue was whether or not partici-

pants formed a primary goal at all, if that primary goal was defined by playfulness,

and if they were effective at their goal. An attempt was therefore made to construct

scales to assess these constructs. Initially, five items were utilized to capture the idea

of having a goal and being effective in achieving that goal; four of those items were

drawn from the conversational effectiveness scale (Canary & Spitzberg, 1987) as well

as including an additional item (‘‘I had a definite goal in this situation’’). Another five

items were written to capture the idea of an interaction with no ulterior motive or

design (i.e., an interaction conducted playfully, for its own sake). In order to examine

whether or not these items captured the constructs of interest, they were subjected to

principal components factor analysis with oblique rotation. Three factors were uncov-

ered that together accounted for 63.86% of the variance in primary goal formation.

The first factor, effectiveness, consisted of the four items from the conversational effec-

tiveness scale (M¼ 3.63, SD¼ .74, a¼ .79). The second factor consisted of two items

(‘‘I didn’t have a specific goal in this situation,’’ ‘‘I had a definite goal in this situation’’)

reflecting the idea of a having a definite goal during the interaction, and so this factor

was named telic (M¼ 2.63, SD¼ .99, a¼ .77). The final factor, play, was comprised of

three of the items that described a playful interaction (M¼ 3.82, SD¼ .76, a¼ .74).

Table 1 presents the items comprising each factor, as well as factor loadings.

Table 1 Factor Analysis of Primary Goals Measure

Factor 1 Factor 2 Factor 3

Effectiveness (35.25% of variance)

1. I was in control of the conversation. .79 �.02 .23

2. I was effective in this situation. .74 �.10 �.14

3. I got what I wanted from the other person(s) in this interaction. .67 �.04 �.31

4. The conversation went pretty much the way I wanted. .68 .12 �.33

Telic Orientation (18.31% of variance)

1. I had a definite goal in this situation. �.21 .80 .01

2. I didn’t have a specific goal in this situation. (R) �.18 .82 �.09

Play (10.30% of variance)

1. This conversation was playful. .01 �.12 �.85

2. I let the interaction take its own course. �.08 .18 �.75

3. This interaction was fun. .28 �.10 �.71

Humor, Attachment, Goals 451

Secondary goals

Items measuring secondary goals were drawn from two sources. From Dillard, Segrin,

and Harden (1989), the following subscales were utilized: four items assessed arousal

management (e.g., ‘‘I was afraid of being uncomfortable or nervous’’; M¼ 2.87,

SD¼ .75, a¼ .75); four items measured identity concerns (e.g., ‘‘I was concerned

about being true to myself and my values’’; M¼ 2.87, SD¼ .75, a¼ .68). Initially,

two items were drawn from their interaction subscale concerning appropriateness,

and two 2-item subscales were utilized from Kim (1994) (avoiding negative evalua-

tion and concern with not hurting partner’s feelings). Given poor reliabilities for

these measures, they were combined to form a single secondary goal labeled social

appropriateness (M¼ 3.01, SD¼ .77, a¼ .82). Additionally, Kim’s two-item subscale

of clarity demonstrated poor reliability (a¼ .49) and therefore only one item was

retained to measure this goal (‘‘In this situation, I feel it is very important to make

my point as clearly and directly as possible’’; M¼ 3.49, SD¼ .95).

Results

Humor and Attachment

Hypotheses 1 and 2 concerned relationships between humor production and

attachment dimensions: H1 predicted a negative relationship between affiliative

humor and anxiety while H2 predicted a positive relationship between aggressive

humor and avoidance. Table 2 presents correlation analyses between all variables.

Table 2 Correlations among Attachment Dimensions, Humor Variables, and

Interaction Goals

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Attachment Dimensions

1. Anxiety –

2. Avoidance �.02 –

Humor Production

3. HOS �.25�� �.06 –

4. HAS .01 .27�� .16� –

Primary Goal Concerns

5. Effectiveness .08 �.02 .27�� .05 –

6. Telic .02 �.20� .15 �.06 .26�� –

7. Play �.04 �.10 .20�� �.01 .50�� .05 –

Secondary Goal Concerns

8. Arousal .23�� .13 �.27�� .04 �.41�� �.17� �.49�� –

9. Identity .28�� �.06 �.12 �.12 �.19� �.12 �.24�� .51�� –

10. Appropriateness .25�� �.05 �.01 �.11 �.09 �.06 �.10 .46�� .70�� –

11. Clarity .22�� .01 .17� .03 .20�� .24�� .00 �.00 .28�� .22��

�p< .05. ��p< .01.

452 N. Miczo et al.

Both hypothesized correlations were significant and in the predicted direction:

humor orientation was negatively correlated with anxiety, r¼�.25, p< .01; humor

aggressiveness was positively related to avoidance, r¼ .27, p< .05. Thus, H1 and

H2 were supported.

Humor and Goals

Hypothesis 3 predicted that affiliative humor is positively related to playfulness. The

correlation between these variables was significant, r¼ .20, p< .01, supporting H3.

Research questions 1 and 2 concerned relationships between affiliative humor goal

formation (RQ1) and effectiveness (RQ2). Correlation analyses reveal that affiliative

humor was not related to goal formation, r¼ .15, ns, power¼ .51,1 but it was

positively associated with effectiveness, r¼ .27, p< .01. Thus, although those higher

in affiliative humor were not highly likely to report having a definite goal, they did

report being effective in their interactions.

Hypothesis 4 predicted that aggressive humor is positively related to (a) having a

goal and (b) concerns with effectiveness, while being negatively related to (c) playful-

ness. As is evident in Table 2, aggressive humor was not related to any of these

variables: aggressive humor and goal formation, r¼�.06, ns, power¼ .12; aggressive

humor and effectiveness, r¼ .05, ns, power¼ .10; aggressive humor and playfulness,

r¼�.01, ns, power¼ .05. Hypothesis 4 is not supported.

H5 predicted negative relationships between the arousal management goal and

both affiliative and aggressive humor. There was a significant negative correlation

between arousal management and affiliative humor, r¼�.27, p< .01; the correlation

between arousal management and aggressive humor was nonsignificant, r¼ .04, ns,

power¼ .08. Thus, H5 received partial support.

Hypothesis 6 predicted a positive relationship between social appropriateness and

affiliative humor and a negative relationship between social appropriateness and aggres-

sive humor. There were no significant correlations between these variables: affiliative

humor and social appropriateness, r¼�.01, ns, power¼ .05; aggressive humor and

social appropriateness, r¼�.11, ns, power¼ .30. Thus, H6 is not supported.

RQ3 concerned relationships between identity and clarity goals and both types of

humor. The correlation analyses in Table 2 reveal a single significant association: a

positive relationship between affiliative humor and clarity, r¼ .17, p< .05.

Discussion

The primary purpose of this investigation was to test the central claim of the security

theory of humor; namely, that differences in attachment-related security are related

to humor production abilities. Whereas prior research has established a link between

forms of communication anxiety and affiliative humor, this is the first direct test uti-

lizing established measures of attachment. Results revealed that attachment anxiety

was negatively related to affiliative humor, while attachment avoidance was positively

related to aggressive humor. The secondary purpose of this investigation was to

Humor, Attachment, Goals 453

continue exploring links between cognition and humor production. Given the

widespread assumption of communication as a goal-driven process (Wilson, 1997),

an attempt was made to link humor to primary and secondary goals. Affiliative

humor was related to both being playful and being effective in the interaction; it

was also related to the secondary goals of arousal management and clarity. Aggressive

humor, on the other hand, was not related to any of the goals.

Humor and Attachment

Affiliative humor (as measured by the HOS) has been linked to various forms of

socially based anxiety, including unwillingness to communicate (Miczo, 2004) and

intercultural communication apprehension (Miczo & Welter, 2006). The present

finding of a negative relationship between affiliative humor and attachment anxiety

rounds out this picture and supports the central proposition of STH that a sense of

security underlies affiliative humor use. On the other hand, prior research on aggres-

sive humor has suggested that it is not related to anxiety. Understanding what it is

related to has proven more difficult. Miczo and Welter (2006) found a positive

relationship between aggressive humor and ethnocentrism. That result dovetails

nicely with the present finding of a positive relationship between aggressive humor

and avoidance. The common thread that unites ethnocentrism and avoidance is dis-

tance. Ethnocentrics prefer distance between themselves and other groups, whereas

avoidants prefer distance with relational partners. Aggressive humor, then, is a means

of distance regulation, allowing avoidants to live with and among others while also

establishing distance from them.

Incorporating measures of attachment provides the most direct test of the theory’s

propositions to date. Given the limitations of categorical measures of attachment,

this study adopted the dimensional approach, which revolves around the dimensions

of anxiety and avoidance. The significant findings in this investigation confirm that

different dynamics underlie the production of different forms of humor. In the study

of humor, this speaks to the debate about whether or not all humor can be subsumed

by superiority theories, which claim that all laughter is laughing at another and all

humor involves a ‘‘butt’’ to be laughed at. For example, Gruner (1997) explained

humor in terms of winners and losers, while, more recently, Billig’s (2005) social cri-

tique of humor posited ridicule and norm enforcement as the essence of humor.

Oring (1992) has pointed out a number of shortcomings of such attempts, in parti-

cular that they assume the very conclusion that needs to be tested. If the superiority

theory’s claims regarding the separation and norm enforcement functions explained

all humor, then one would expect avoidance to be correlated to both forms of humor.

Similarly, it might have been the case that anxious individuals would use humor to

bolster their self-esteem, suggesting a positive correlation between anxiety and

aggressive humor. Neither of these possibilities was supported. Rather the pattern

of results, as well as the low correlation between the two forms of humor, suggests

that affiliative and aggressive humor are distinct and have different antecedents.

454 N. Miczo et al.

Finally, establishing links between attachment security and humor production not

only speaks to ongoing debates in humor research but also suggests avenues for

exploration based on potential differences between the two dimensions themselves.

Specifically, Fraley and Waller (1998) suggested that anxiety ‘‘captures variation in

physiological and emotional parameters’’ (p. 107), while avoidance concerns more

cognitive processes. If that is true, and low levels of anxiety are related to more affilia-

tive humor usage, then that would suggest a strong affective component to affiliative

humor. While this may sound obvious, this is precisely the component that is diffi-

cult to capture via self-report measures of humor usage. It may be the case that a

great deal of affiliative humor is conveyed nonverbally during interaction. Conver-

sely, the cognitive underpinnings of avoidance ought also to factor into the prefer-

ence for aggressive humor. Aggressive humor may involve a more thoughtful

process, which might also suggest why thinkers through the ages have made it the

focus of their attention. In sum, greater attention to this emotion-cognitive distinc-

tion may allow greater specification of the particular forms of humor that are

strongly (though not completely) associated with affiliative and aggressive functions.

Humor and Goals

Before discussing the humor-goals relationship, the question of primary goals is

briefly addressed. The telic=paratelic distinction in STH is grounded in prior humor

research emphasizing the ludic nature of humor (Brônte, Feyaerts, & Veale, 2006;

Hyers, 1996; Morreall, 1983). It leaves open the possibility of an interaction per-

formed for its own sake. At issue is whether or not the ‘‘sole aim of amusement’’

(Gruner, 1996, p. 288) can and should be considered a primary goal in the way that

seeking compliance or providing comfort are primary goals. The present results offer

mixed support for this question. On the one hand, affiliative humor was positively

correlated with being playful and effective in one’s interaction. If play is accorded

the status of a primary goal in its own right, this supports the idea that all commu-

nication behavior is goal driven. Thus, Gruner’s sole aim of amusement is still an

aim. On the other hand, affiliative humor was not related to having a definite goal

and aggressive humor was not related to any of the primary goal variables. This

may suggest that playfulness is not perceived as a definite goal, even though it defines

the purpose of the interaction. Thus, while humor has often been relegated to a tech-

nique of persuasion, comforting (Bippus, 2000), or conflict (Bippus, 2003), it should

have the status of a desirable end state in its own right.

Affiliative humor and goals

As mentioned above, affiliative humor was positively related to both effectiveness and

playfulness. The most likely interpretation is that those who were higher on affiliative

humor reported that when trying to be funny, they were trying to have a fun, enjoy-

able interaction and if they did that they were effective. With respect to secondary

goals, affiliative humor was negatively related to arousal management and positively

Humor, Attachment, Goals 455

related to clarity. The former result is consistent with prior research using personal-

ity-based measures of anxiety. That is, individuals who use more affiliative humor

not only report lower anxiety but they also specifically report less of a concern with

managing arousal when attempting to be funny. The result for clarity is more difficult

to discern. Given that clarity was positively correlated with identity concerns and

social appropriateness, it is possible that affiliative humorists who were more playful

were also more concerned about being clear than they were concerned about internal

standards and external concerns with appropriateness. A tenuous leap, perhaps, but

one that seems intuitively plausible and requires further examination.

Aggressive humor and goals

Aggressive humor was not related to any of the goals examined here. This may have

to do with the kind of interaction asked of participants. Apparently, many of the

students responded to the directions by describing the kinds of everyday humor that

occurs between friends and close partners. For this type of interaction, the goals ques-

tions asked may simply not have been relevant to those who are higher in aggressive

humor. If the requested situation had involved some form of interaction that

involved creating distance between participants and partners, then the goals exam-

ined here might have been more salient. It is also possible that the types of goals that

are generally salient to avoidant individuals are somewhat different than those

relevant to anxious and secure individuals.

Limitations

There were a number of limitations with the study that must be acknowledged. First,

although the utilization of a particular theory is usually considered a strength, every

theory necessarily places boundary conditions around a phenomenon. Thus, STH is

concerned with two types of humor and the factors related to their encoding, while

ignoring, for the most part, the structure=content of those humorous messages or

their effect on audiences. Second, the study utilized a college student sample. On

the one hand, college students are often involved in a number of social situations that

renders humor a particularly salient variable for them; on the other hand, the

assumption that the underlying theoretical processes hold across developmental

stages needs to be established empirically.

Third, there was a discrepancy between the self-report humor measures (which are

general) and the request for a specific instance where respondents attempted to be

funny. This was deemed necessary in order to prompt participants to think about

specific goals rather than goal pursuit more broadly, which may be accessible for sec-

ondary goals but seems tenuous for primary goals. However, on any given occasion, a

person’s attempt to be funny may or may not be related to their humor production

ability. This ought to be especially true for those who are low in the ability (i.e., the

reported episode may be atypical of their communication style). Finally, there were

limitations with the measures. Several of the goals measures exhibited poor reliability,

456 N. Miczo et al.

which necessitated losing some of the fine grain of secondary goal pursuit. Also, the

humor measures used were not specifically developed from STH nor were they devel-

oped by the same researchers. Thus, the scales may contain sources of variance not

attributable to affiliative and aggressive humor use. These last two points may par-

tially explain the low correlations found in this study. Proclivities toward humor

usage are only one of many factors that affect the process of goal formation and,

of course, no attempt was made to control for elapsed time since the recalled humor-

ous episodes. Finally, continual refinement of the measurement of both attachment

and humor might provide stronger relationships in the future.

Conclusions

Humor is a luxury. Inhibited by threats to physical and emotional safety as well as

practical motivations (Morreall, 1983), humor is one of those excesses that gives

human life its particular flavor, both bitter and sweet. The present study supports

the viability of the link between attachment security and humor production as

postulated by STH. It takes us a step closer to articulating the individual differences

and social orientations that underlie both the ability to create humor as well as the

specific type of humor employed. It also directs us down new avenues of research,

shedding light on the dark alleyways where unanswered questions still lurk. As we

continue to uncover the flowers of humor, as Ziv (1984) might say, we may be able

to learn how to be better gardeners of our own interpersonal relationships.

Note

[1] Power analyses were conducted using the G�Power program (Faul & Erdfelder, 1992).

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Health Communication, 29: 93–104, 2014 Copyright © Taylor & Francis Group, LLC ISSN: 1041-0236 print / 1532-7027 online DOI: 10.1080/10410236.2012.721335

Communicative Challenges of Bystander Intervention: Impact of Goals and Message Design Logic on Strategies College Students Use

to Intervene in Drinking Situations

Cindy H. White and Jennifer Malkowski Department of Communication

University of Colorado

A key concern on college campuses is how to help students avoid negative outcomes related to alcohol use. One way to address this is to encourage students to intervene when they see others engaged in high-risk behavior. This approach, referred to as bystander intervention, requires that individuals seek to influence others; however, research on bystander intervention has not explored how students communicate when they intervene. Drawing from a multiple goals perspective, we examined individuals’ goals during intervention, the types of messages individuals use to intervene, and the relationship of design logic to sense of efficacy and mes- sages used. Participants (n = 212) identified their goals and indicated what they would say to intervene in two college-drinking scenarios. We found that differences in goals were related to the types of messages used, with more specific goals leading to messages better aligned with achieving those goals. Additionally, more sophisticated design logic was related to a higher sense of efficacy and was reflected in the types of messages individuals used to intervene. The study views bystander intervention as an influence process and highlights the communicative challenges that can impact how people intervene.

When college students take responsibility for keeping each other safe, there can be positive effects on campus climate, including a reduction in problem behaviors such as exces- sive drinking and sexual assault (Banyard, Moynihan, & Plante, 2007; Oster-Aaland, Lewis, Neighbors, Vangsness, & Larimer, 2009). This approach, often referred to as bystander intervention, emphasizes the importance of getting other students (bystanders) to recognize high-risk behavior and to offer help when it is needed. Researchers who have studied problems like sexual assault and excessive drink- ing in college communities have noted the importance of bystander behavior in managing high-risk situations (Banyard et al., 2007; Banyard, Plante, & Moynihan, 2004) and have demonstrated that intervention can reduce risk. Although prior research has considered when students will intervene (Thomas & Seibold, 1995), it has not considered how they do so. Individuals seeking to intervene typically

Correspondence should be addressed to Cindy H. White, Department of Communication, University of Colorado, Boulder, 270 UCB, Boulder, CO 80309. E-mail: [email protected]

want to influence another, but they also want to avoid things like embarrassing themselves or offending the target of their influence attempt. This project expands our understanding of bystander intervention by taking a communicative approach to bystander intervention processes. We draw from commu- nication research on goals (Dillard, 1990), influence pro- cesses (Wilson, 2002), and message design logic (Caughlin et al., 2008; O’Keefe, 1988) to examine individuals’ goals during intervention, the types of messages individuals use to intervene, and the way that differences in individuals’ views of communication are related to self-reported intervention efficacy and strategies.

Bystander intervention approaches seek to establish a sense of responsibility among students for others’ safety. Banyard et al. (2004) have demonstrated that training about the risks of sexual assault can increase students’ willingness to intervene in situations that might lead to sexual assault. Additionally, research on the protective behaviors enacted by students to avoid problems with alcohol reveals that friends and other students are often called upon to help keep one another safe (Howard, Griffin, Boekeloo, Lake, & Bellows,

94 WHITE AND MALKOWSKI

2007). Howard et al. (2007) identified a number of protective strategies that students use to reduce risks around alcohol use, including behaviors such as giving others non-alcoholic drinks early in the night or ensuring that friends get home safely. Similarly, Menegatos, Savage, and Roberto (2011) highlighted what they call interpersonal protective behav- iors: that is, behaviors individuals enact to protect other students, especially friends, from negative consequences of alcohol consumption. They found that individuals were likely to engage in interpersonal protective behaviors when a drunken friend was likely to engage in a “hookup” (sex- ual encounter)—particularly if the friend was female. Thus, bystander intervention can help to reduce risky behavior on college campuses.

However, to fully understand bystander intervention pro- cesses, we need to consider the communication aspects of intervention. Individuals who decide to intervene may want to help, but they likely weigh their goals for helping against identity concerns such as being embarrassed if their help is not needed. Additionally, individuals who decide to help must figure out what to say to effectively achieve their goals. To explore communication in intervention, we used two common college drinking situations where another student was clearly intoxicated and could be at risk. In one case, the student could be at risk for an unwanted sexual encounter; in the other, the student was being pressured by others to con- tinue drinking despite obvious intoxication. We used these scenarios to elicit information about the goals students have for intervening and what they would say to intervene.

A COMMUNICATIVE VIEW OF BYSTANDER INTERVENTION

In order to understand what individuals are doing when they seek to intervene, we adopt a multiple-goals perspective on intervention interaction. The notion that communicators pur- sue multiple goals within any interaction is central to this approach (Berger, 2005). Another fundamental assumption of this approach is that the messages individuals produce are tied to the goals they possess in the interaction (Caughlin, 2010). Research on multiple goals has made a distinc- tion between primary and secondary goals (Dillard, 1990). Primary goals frame interaction by defining the focus of what is happening. Secondary goals, which often include identity or relational concerns, exert important influence on message production by shaping what individuals say or how they understand their role in the interaction. In much of the research, “the desire to modify the target’s behavior” has been understood to be the primary goal across influ- ence situations (Wilson, 2002, p. 137). However, individuals who appear to be engaged in similar interactions may be pursuing different primary goals. For example, Sabee and Wilson (2005) found that differences in self-identified pri- mary goals impacted politeness as well as face-threatening

actions students used when discussing disappointing grades with instructors. Additionally, individuals may vary in the importance they assign to different secondary goals. Trost and Yoshimura (2006) considered how secondary goals influence adolescents’ anticipated ability to resist an offer of alcohol from a friend or romantic partner. They found that strong secondary goals related to self-control (not harm- ing self; acting on own beliefs) made adolescents better able to resist offers of alcohol, but secondary goals related to interaction management (maintaining smooth interaction with others) made it harder for them to resist. In short, com- munication in influence situations is shaped by individual understandings of both primary and secondary goals.

Since individuals can vary in the primary goal they see as relevant to a situation (Sabee & Wilson, 2005) and in the importance they place on different secondary goals (Dillard, 1990; Trost & Yoshimura, 2006), one way to better under- stand bystander intervention is to consider the goals individ- uals are pursuing when they seek to intervene. However, in bystander situations the target of influence and the benefits of intervening are not always clear. For instance, imagine a situation where a bystander notices another student who has clearly had too much to drink but is being pressured by a group of peers to drink more. A bystander who inter- venes could be seen as trying to influence the situation. But in this situation the bystander might do so because he is concerned the peer will suffer alcohol poisoning or he might do so because he is concerned that the peer will get sick and create a big, unsightly mess. As this example demonstrates, bystander intervention represents an influence situation where different approach motivations, and there- fore different primary goals, may be operating. Sabee and Wilson (2005) noted that by examining self-reported primary goals, we can learn about how individuals frame interaction using different “approach motivations” (p. 187). Therefore, it seems useful to identify the primary goals students articu- late for intervening. Thus, we asked: (RQ 1) What primary goals do students report in intervention situations?

In addition to knowing the goals students possess when they intervene, we need to know how students go about accomplishing those goals. Prior research on bystander inter- vention has typically focused on whether individuals are willing to intervene rather than how they do so. Although pri- mary goals frame the interaction, the way individuals pursue a goal can vary, and differences in the strategies individu- als use can significantly impact whether a message is seen as appropriate or effective (Caughlin et al., 2008; Wilson & Kunkel, 2000). In the bystander context, we use the term strategy to refer to any verbal and/or nonverbal attempt(s) to influence a situation. Using the example already given, a student could intervene with the drunk peer using a number of different influence strategies: He could tell the individual not to have another drink; he could strike up a conversa- tion and then offer a nonalcoholic beverage instead; or he could complain of hunger and ask the intoxicated peer to

BYSTANDERS AND COMMUNICATION 95

join him in a search for food. Each of these strategies seeks to influence another but does so in a different way and may be guided by different goals. To further explore this issue, we asked students to indicate what they would say to intervene in two college drinking scenarios and then examined those responses to identify different communicative intervention strategies. Thus, our second research question asked: (RQ 2) What types of interaction strategies are evident in the mes- sages students use when they intervene? This provides the opportunity to explicate different ways students seek to influ- ence situations. We anticipated that the strategies individuals use to intervene might vary based on the primary goal they report pursuing, and so we also asked: (RQ 3) Are the types of strategies used to intervene related to primary goals?

Although a number of factors can influence willingness to intervene (Levine & Crowther, 2008), one individual difference—gender—has been shown to play an impor- tant role in how individuals understand their obligation to intervene. Men are more likely to intervene in emergen- cies when doing so highlights their physical strength or competence (Becker & Eagly, 2004); women, on the other hand, are more likely to help friends and family, or some- one who has a personal or emotional problem (Cross & Madson, 1997). Menegatos et al. (2011) found that in a sit- uation where a friend was headed toward a drunken sexual hookup, individuals were much more likely to engage in protective behavior if the friend was female. Additionally, research on compliance-gaining has shown small but signifi- cant differences in the types of strategies men and women use in influence situations (Wilson, 2002). We therefore deemed it useful to explore gender differences in interven- tion. Thus, we asked: (RQ 4) Are there differences between men and women in the goals reported during intervention? We also asked: (RQ 5) Are there differences between men and women in the types of strategies used to intervene?

MESSAGE DESIGN LOGICS AND INTERVENTION

The notion that individuals have multiple goals during inter- action raises questions about how individuals decide which goals to pursue and how (or whether) individuals seek to reconcile competing goals. Message design logic provides one framework for considering situations where multiple, competing goals may shape interaction (O’Keefe, 1988). According to O’Keefe, message design logic (MDL) reflects a set of beliefs about communication—an implicit theory of communication that guides how individuals approach interaction (Edwards & Shepard, 2007). O’Keefe (1988) maintains that these differences in beliefs about communi- cation are evident in messages individuals construct. Her work identifies three different design logics that are evident in messages individuals produce in multiple goal situations: expressive, conventional, and rhetorical.

The first and least sophisticated logic articulated by O’Keefe (1988) is termed expressive and considers com- munication an opportunity to express thoughts and feel- ings. O’Keefe’s next logic, termed conventional, understands “communication [as] a game played cooperatively, accord- ing to socially conventional rules and procedures” (p. 86). For conventional messages, emphasis tends to be on apply- ing rules and explaining what will happen if these rules are violated. Finally, the most sophisticated of O’Keefe’s logic triad, rhetorical, reflects an understanding of com- munication as creating an opportunity to negotiate social selves. A rhetorical communicator tends to see possibilities for managing interaction and invokes communication to cre- ate a suitable context whereby intended outcomes can be achieved.

The growing body of MDL research provides a frame- work for understanding how differences in beliefs about communication impact message production as well as the effectiveness of different messages in multiple goal situ- ations. For example, Lambert and Gillespie (1994) exam- ined pharmacy students’ messages to patients about com- pliance with hypertension medication routines; they found that patients rated rhetorical messages as most likely to be effective in achieving compliance. Caughlin and col- leagues (2008) utilized the MDL framework to examine design logic of comforting responses in a hypothetical sce- nario situation that involved HIV-positive status disclosure between siblings. They found that message design could be assessed in comforting messages and that HIV aver- sion was related to the sophistication of messages pro- duced. They also found that expressive messages were perceived as least effective while rhetorical messages were perceived as most effective. Edwards and Shepard (2007) demonstrated that social experiences like civic participa- tion, altruism, and trust shape the beliefs individuals develop about communication, and Edwards and Graham (2009) investigated family definitions (identity-based, role-based, or shared reality-based) and MDL to reveal that beliefs about communication relate to how individuals see the relational world. Taken together, past research on MDL indicates that differences in beliefs about communication are likely to influence how individuals view complex influ- ence situations and the strategies they use to influence others.

Early work on MDL found differences between men and women with regard to MDL sophistication. Specifically, O’Keefe (1988) found that women produced more rhetorical messages than men, and Caughlin et al. (2008) found that in a comforting situation men were more likely to produce expressive messages, women were more likely to produce conventional messages, but no gender difference emerged for messages displaying rhetorical logic. Because gender differ- ences are relevant to many bystander intervention situations (Menegatos et al., 2011) and because it seemed possible that design logic might be related to gender, we asked:

96 WHITE AND MALKOWSKI

(RQ6) Are there differences between men and women in message design logic displayed?

In addition to gender differences, beliefs about com- munication could influence how people view their ability to influence others or change a situation. These types of differences could be related to perceptions of bystander efficacy. Bystander efficacy measures how confident indi- viduals are that they could do specific things to intervene (Banyard, Plante, & Moynihan, 2005). Banyard and col- leagues have demonstrated that bystanders’ decisions to help are influenced by their sense of efficacy. Reasoning from the MDL framework, it seems possible that individ- uals with more sophisticated design logic would be more confident in the belief that communication can change the situation. However, it also seems possible that individuals with more sophisticated understandings of communication might hold less confidence in their ability because they more fully consider the complexities of the situation. Because it was unclear how MDL would influence bystander efficacy, we asked: (RQ 7) Do individuals with different MDL report differences in bystander efficacy?

Intervention is frequently regulative in that an individual may want to change the behavior of another. For instance, if a student thinks it is not safe for an intoxicated peer to leave a party and walk home alone, the student could try to con- vince the peer to stay at the party until others are ready to leave. The assumption that beliefs about communication (as indicated by MDL) could influence how individuals assess bystander situations where intervention is needed makes sense. However, whether differences in MDL are related to the strategies individuals use to intervene is an issue that has not been investigated. Given that virtually no research on intervention messages exists, we asked: (RQ 8) Are differ- ences in MDL reflected in the types of intervention strategies individuals use?

METHOD

Participants

Participants in this study were first-year college students at a large university in the southwestern United States. First- year students were recruited for three reasons. First, the university where this study was conducted has been working to improve students’ willingness to intervene when they see others at risk. Training related to intervention occurs at this university during new-student summer orientation, so it seemed useful to examine the goals and anticipated responses of first-year students. Second, first-year college students may be confronted with new forms of risk-taking behavior and understanding their anticipated responses to such situations seemed useful. Third, Banyard et al. (2007) have argued that a community focus on high-risk behavior

can lead to changes in the types of behavior that are deemed acceptable by students and can make students more willing to intervene. Thus, it made sense to focus on incoming students to examine how early views of intervention could be addressed to increase a sense of student responsibility. A random sample of 600 entering first-year students was generated, and students were solicited to participate by e-mail. In total, 212 participants completed the survey for a response rate of 35%.

Procedure and Measures

Students received an e-mail inviting them to complete a survey about their experiences with communication and problem solving in social settings. Students were offered a $10.00 gift card to the university bookstore for completing the survey. Students accessed the survey via a link in the e-mail. After reviewing informed consent information, par- ticipants agreed to complete the survey and were directed to survey instructions. The survey took approximately 30 min- utes to complete.

Intervention scenarios. Two intervention scenarios (presented in the appendix) were presented to students to generate data about student goals and intervention messages. The first situation, which we refer to as the guy–girl hookup scenario, involved two students who appeared to be headed toward a sexual encounter. The female student was described as “pretty out of it (drunk)” and “reluctant” to leave with the male. The second scenario described a situation where stu- dents were playing a drinking game. A male student, who appeared to be very drunk, tells others he is “done” and opts out of the game. Others in the game pressure him to keep playing. We refer to this situation as the drinking game sce- nario. We selected these two scenarios for several reasons. First, the campus community health group, which works with students on issues related to alcohol risks, identified these two scenarios as relevant and realistic for students. Second, prior research on alcohol risk indicates that group attitudes toward drinking impact student behavior, and it is important to help students recognize the influence of others on their drinking choices (Johnston & White, 2003). Finally, research by Menegatos, Lederman, and Hess (2010) indi- cates students recognize the hookup scenario as an appro- priate context for interpersonal protective behaviors—which are similar to intervention behaviors.

Since our purpose in this study was to identify what students would say when they intervene, the instructions after each scenario stated: “You decide to say something.” Students provided their response in a text box. (For the guy–girl hookup scenario, students were then asked to indicate whether they would speak to the “guy” or the “girl.” This was done because we were not sure it would be obvious, in this scenario, who the comments were directed

BYSTANDERS AND COMMUNICATION 97

to.) After indicating what they would say, participants were asked to describe all the goals they were trying to accomplish by saying this. Participant goals were gathered via a listing box that provided lines on which to record each goal. Finally, participants were asked, “Of the goals you listed, which do you see as the most important to accomplish in this situation?” There are instances when primary goals can define an interaction without necessarily being labeled the most important goal (see, e.g., Wilson, 2002, p. 176). However, primary goals are often regarded to be the most important goals; therefore, for coding purposes, we elected to treat them as such.

Goals coding. The focus of this analysis was the pri- mary goal identified by participants. Since many of these responses included single words (like “safety”) or short phrases, an undergraduate coder generated a comprehen- sive list of the wording used by participants in responses. Working together, the first author and the coder then con- densed this list and created categories and definitions of goals; this was done separately for each scenario. The condensed lists of goal categories—including “other” and responses that were deemed “uncodable”—produced 11 cat- egories for scenario one and 10 categories for scenario two. However, this more exhaustive scheme of goal codes pro- duced categories with a small number of responses. In order to facilitate analyses, it was determined that the goal cate- gories needed to be further condensed to create overarching goals. The first author and one undergraduate coder worked to identify categories by discussing similarities and differ- ences between terms used by participants. This resulted in four goal categories for the guy–girl hookup scenario and three goal categories for the drinking game scenario (see Table 1). The first author and an undergraduate coder then coded 30% of the data, using these goal categories. For the guy–girl hookup scenario, coder agreement was acceptable,

TABLE 1 Primary Goals

Frequency Percent

Guy-Girl Hookup Scenario Goals Safety 64 32.8% Separation 48 24.6% Prevent isolation 23 11.8% Determine girl’s intention 20 10.3% Other 25 12.8% Uncodable 15 7.7%

Drinking Game Scenario Goals Safety 48 24.6% Stop peer from drinking 69 35.4% Reduce peer pressure 41 21% Other 20 10.3% Uncodable 17 8.7%

Note. Due to rounding, percentages may not total 100%.

Cohen’s kappa = .84. For the drinking game scenario, coders agreement was good, Cohen’s kappa = .92.

Intervention strategy coding. This coding was designed to categorize the intervention message strategies participants provided in their open-ended responses to each scenario. The intervention responses participants provided were relatively short, so we did not unitize the data. We uti- lized inductive coding to create the coding scheme. The first author and one undergraduate coder each reviewed the data and created lists of types of responses represented in the data. Our goal was to develop an exhaustive list of the types of responses. Next, these responses were compared to identify overlap between categories. The guy–girl hookup scenario resulted in five categories of responses, as well as an “other” category for responses that were reasonable but did not fit any of the definitions and an “uncodable” category for responses that did not make sense or were too cryptic. The drinking game scenario yielded five categories of responses plus “other” and “uncodable” categories (see Table 2).

Two undergraduate coders were then trained and asked to apply the coding scheme to the responses. Both coders examined 30% of the data. Cohen’s kappa was used to assess reliability. For both scenarios, reliability was adequate. For scenario one, tests of coder reliability yielded a Cohen’s kappa of .81; for scenario two, agreement was acceptable with a Cohen’s kappa of .84. Discrepancies between coders were resolved through discussion. After reliability was established, one of the coders coded the remaining messages.

Message design logic coding. To assess message design logic, we used O’Keefe’s (1988) Ron Task prompt. In the task, students are asked to imagine that they are part of a group working on a class project. One member (Ron) is described as not having completed necessary work for the group. Participants are asked what they would say to Ron when he calls at the last minute to indicate that he has not completed his portion of the report, which is due very soon. This task was used to assess message design logic because it has been verified in prior research. O’Keefe (1988) has noted that differences in design logic are not evident in all influence situations, and it was not clear that intervention scenarios would satisfy the context requirements to generate clear evi- dence of differences in design logic. Thus, MDL is used here as an indicator of beliefs about communication. Coding for the MDL responses was completed by the authors. Using a coding guide developed from prior MDL work, the authors met to discuss the categories and examine a sample of responses from the data set. Once the authors felt comfort- able they could distinguish each category, both coders rated 30% of the responses to assess reliability. Coder reliabil- ity was acceptable, Cohen’s kappa = .76. Disagreements were reviewed together and resolved through discussion. The remaining responses were coded by the second author.

98 WHITE AND MALKOWSKI

TABLE 2 Intervention Strategies

Frequency Percent

Guy-Girl Hookup Scenario Inquire 53 26.6%

Inquiry of girl (37) Examples: “Are you okay?” “Are you sure you want to be doing this?”

Inquiry + alternative (16) Examples: “Are you sure you are okay to go back with that guy? If not, you can come hang out with

me.” “Hey, are you okay? I think you left your drink—let’s go get it over there.” Insert 89 44.7%

Engage girl (66) Examples: “Hey, how’s it going? Where did you get those (mention clothing item)?” “Oh, there you are.

Your boyfriend’s looking for you.” Disengage the guy (23)

Examples: My friends and I would pretend to know the guy, swarming him with high fives and say “Hey man, I haven’t seen you in years. Do you remember me?”; “Hey, my name’s Lea and I think my friend knows you from COMM class.”

Warn guy 42 21.1% Examples: “Leave her alone man. She’s obviously out of it.” “Yo dude, relax—she’s saying no.”

Other 6 3% Uncodable 9 4.5%

Drinking Game Scenario Substitute 52 26.1%

Speaker offer to play (16) Examples: “I’ll drink it instead!” “Come on guys, I’ll take his place. I’ve been wanting to play all night.”

Encourage others to play (36) Examples: “Let him do what he wants. Someone else play for him.” “Why don’t one of you guys take

his drink.” Warning the group 112 56.3%

Statement regarding limits (79) Examples: “Hey guys, knock it off. He’s had enough.” “No, I think he’s had enough tonight. Don’t

pressure him to do something he doesn’t want to do.” Consequences (33)

Examples: “Dude, this guy doesn’t seem okay. Let’s let him sit out for a bit—I don’t like seeing people puke.” “Do you really want to deal with him throwing up?”

Escape 14 7% Examples: “No, he’s done. Here, I’m done too. I’ll get us some food or water or something.” “C’mon

don’t make him drink anymore. (To guy) Do you want me to show you that party trick in the kitchen?” Other 15 7.5% Uncodable 6 3%

Note. Due to rounding, percentages may not total 100%.

Bystander efficacy. Bystander efficacy was assessed with 12 items taken from a scale developed by Banyard et al. (2005); three items from the Banyard et al. scale were not relevant to the scenarios used in this study and thus were not included. Each item asked how confident an individual is that he or she could do or say something to assist in the situation described. For instance, one item asked participants to rate their confidence from not at all confident to completely con- fident on the following: “Check on someone who seems to be passed out near my room or apartment.” In prior work, Banyard et al. have used a scale of 0–100 to solicit ratings of confidence. However, we used a scale of 1 to 10 because we anticipated that such a wide rating range was not neces- sary to assess perceptions. This adapted scale showed good reliability, α = .90.

RESULTS

Primary Goals in Intervention Situations (RQ 1)

Descriptions of each goal and percentage of respondents identifying it as their primary goal are presented in Table 1. For the guy–girl hookup scenario, the most frequent primary goal was “safety” (32.8% of participants), and responses coded in this category included the specific word “safety”; some respondents indicated only the word “safety” while others said things like “keep her safe” or “make sure every- one is safe.” The second most frequently reported goal was “separation” (24.6%); this goal included references to get- ting the guy to leave the girl alone or breaking up their conversation. The third most frequent goal was “prevent iso- lation” (11.8%), which referred to the introduction of a third

BYSTANDERS AND COMMUNICATION 99

party intended to ensure that the girl did not end up alone with the guy in a remote location. Stated participant goals such as “keep them from being alone together” or finding her friends to bring them over were categorized under the “prevent isolation” category. The fourth goal was “determine the girl’s intention” (10.3%). In these situations, participants said they wanted to find out what the girl wanted or to get more information from her.

For the drinking game scenario, the most frequently iden- tified goal was “stop the guy from drinking” (35.4%). The next most commonly identified goal was “safety” (24.6%). The third category of goals was labeled “reduce peer pres- sure” (21%), which included goals such as getting others to leave him alone. Goals coded as “stop the guy from drinking” tended to indicate a more specific, achievable action (“get him away from the table”), while responses that mentioned safety were more abstract (“keep him safe”).

Types of Strategies Students Use When They Intervene (RQ 2)

The intervention strategies found in the data are presented in Table 2, along with example participant messages for each category. To avoid small cells, we created overarching cate- gories that were used for analyses. For the guy–girl hookup scenario, we identified three overarching categories: inquire, insert, and warn. The first strategy, inquire, is reflected in “inquiry of girl” and “inquiry of girl plus offering an alter- native.” The focus in this approach seemed to be gathering information about what the girl wants by either simply seek- ing information or by combining inquiry with an offer to do something to help the girl leave the situation (such as going to the bathroom). The inquire strategy accounted for 26.6% of the responses. Two of the other approaches (engage girl/disengage guy) centered on participants inserting them- selves into the dyad as a way to gather information and stop what was happening and accounted for 44.7% of the responses. Finally, the strategy of warn focused on delivering information about the woman being too impaired to consent or about the situation being risky—in this case, giving infor- mation to the guy, since no “warn” messages were directed to the female. This type of response was used by 21.1% of participants.

We also identified three overarching categories for anal- yses in the drinking game scenario and labeled the three categories substitution, warn the group, and escape. Two approaches, “speaker offers to play/drink” and “speaker encourages others,” involve substitution—someone else (either the bystander or another in the game) plays for the drunken player. Finding a replacement may reflect the impor- tance of keeping the game going, may indicate an attempt to help the guy “save face” among peers, or may repre- sent the fastest way to withdraw someone from the game. These types of responses accounted for 26.1% of responses. Alternately, the categories of “statement regarding limits”

and “consequences” are focused on reminding the group that members need to respect the guy’s wishes; they seek to reduce peer pressure by calling attention to the inappro- priateness or consequences of pushing someone beyond his or her limits. These approaches illustrate the strategy of warn the group and accounted for 56.3% of responses. A third type of response, which we called escape, focused on actively helping the drunken player leave the game. In these cases, the bystander did not address the group but, interestingly, took on a more active role by offering to escort the player elsewhere. This response was used by 7% of participants.

Relationship Between Goal and Intervention Strategies Used (RQ 3)

Analyzing each scenario separately, we used chi-squared analyses to determine whether the strategy used differed across goals. Results for the guy–girl hookup scenario indi- cated a significant difference in strategy by goal, χ2(6) = 21.47, p < .002, φc = .27. Results for this analysis are pre- sented in Table 3. When individuals had a primary goal of separating the man and woman, they were very likely to use messages that inserted themselves into the conversation with the pair. When individuals saw their goal as “deter- mining the girl’s intentions,” they tended to use messages related to inquiry. Both of these findings suggest a logical relationship between the goal and the type of message used. However, for the goals of “prevent isolation” and “safety,” the connection between the goal and message used appeared less evident. Participants used a variety of messages when the goal was safety, and it is interesting to note that safety messages were distributed relatively equally across the three strategies: Some inquired (35.5%), some inserted (37.1%), and others warned (27.4%). When the goal was to prevent isolation, on the other hand, the most frequently used strat- egy was one that inserted the individual into the conversation between the man and woman (47.6%). “Prevent isolation,” unlike the broader notion of “safety,” identifies a desired outcome (e.g., “keep them from being alone together”).

The goals by message chi-squared analysis for the drinking game scenario revealed no significant difference, χ2(4) = .66, ns. Unlike the guy–girl hookup scenario that

TABLE 3 Goals by Messages for Guy–Girl Hookup Scenario

Message

Goals Inquire Insert Warn

Safety (%) 22 (35.5%) 23 (37.1%) 17 (27.4%) Separation (%) 4 ( 8.9%)a 34 (75.6%)a,b 7 (15.6%)b

Prevent isolation (%) 6 (28.6%) 10 (47.6%) 5 (23.8%) Determine girl’s intention (%) 10 (50.0%)a 7 (35.0%) 3 (15.0%)a

Note. Proportions in the same row that share subscripts are significant at p < .05.

100 WHITE AND MALKOWSKI

presented a somewhat contained and private intervention context, the drinking game scenario likely introduced addi- tional factors, like audience and peer pressure. This may result in a situation where secondary goals are highly rel- evant and thus primary goals have a less direct impact on strategies used.

Gender Differences in Primary Goals and Intervention Strategies (RQ 4 and RQ5)

Chi-squared analyses for gender by goals revealed no sig- nificant gender differences in goals for the guy–girl hookup scenario, χ2(3) = 3.60, ns, or the drinking game scenario, χ2(2) = 2.09, ns. These findings suggest men and women have similar primary goals when seeking to intervene in each type of situation.

Recall that for the guy–girl hookup scenario, we asked participants to indicate who they would speak to in this scenario. Participants reported a higher likelihood of say- ing something to the girl (62.8%) than to the guy (37.2%). However, gender of the participant had a significant impact on whom they would speak to, χ2(1) = 43.40, p = .001. Men were more likely than women to speak to the guy (73% of men indicated they would speak to the guy), while women were much more likely to speak to the girl (83% of women indicated they would speak to the girl). This find- ing reveals that men and women clearly see differences in whom they should address when intervening in this type of situation.

We used chi-squared analyses to examine gender by strat- egy effects. We found a significant difference between men and women in strategy used for the guy–girl hookup sce- nario, χ2 (2) = 24.76, p < .001, φc = .37. Percentages for this analysis are presented in Table 4. Men were much more likely to warn than women. Women’s responses tended to involve inserting themselves in the situation; women were also more likely than men to inquire about what the girl wanted.

No significant difference between men and women in strategy use emerged for the drinking game scenario, χ2(2) = 2.77, ns. This suggests that gender roles may not be as clearly relevant for intervention in this situation.

TABLE 4 Frequencies and Percentages of Intervention Strategy by

Participant Sex

Sex

Intervention Strategy Male (%) Female (%)

Inquire 16 (21.6%) 37 (34.6%) Insert 28 (37.8%)a 60 (56.1%)a

Warn 30 (40.5%)a 10 (9.3%)a

Note. Proportions in the same row that share subscripts are significant at p < .05.

TABLE 5 Frequencies and Percentages of Message Design Logic by

Participant Sex

Sex

Message Design Logic Male (%) Female (%)

Expressive 27 (34.2%)a 8 (7.9%)a

Conversational 37 (46.8%) 57 (56.4%) Rhetorical 15 (19%)a 36 (35.6%)a

Note. Proportions in the same row that share subscripts are significant at p < .05.

Gender Differences in MDL (RQ 6)

Men and women did differ in message design logic in this study; chi-squared analyses revealed a significant difference in distribution of MDL by gender, χ2(2) = 20.84, p < .001, φc = .34. The distribution for MDL across men and women is presented in Table 5. More men than women used expres- sive logic, and women produced messages that displayed rhetorical design logic more frequently than men.

MDL and Bystander Efficacy (RQ 7)

Results revealed a difference in bystander efficacy for indi- viduals with different message design logics, F(2, 178) = 3.79, p = .02, partial η2 = .04. Examination of the means showed that individuals with rhetorical logic reported the highest level of efficacy (7.8); those with conventional logic were slightly lower (7.4) and those with expressive logic reported the lowest efficacy (6.97). Post hoc analyses with Bonferroni correction revealed a significant difference between individuals with rhetorical logic and those with expressive logic. No significant difference emerged between expressive logic and conventional logic or between conven- tional logic and rhetorical logic.

MDL Relationship to Intervention Strategies (RQ 8)

To answer this research question, we examined whether indi- viduals with different design logics used different types of intervention strategies. For the guy–girl hookup scenario, results revealed a significant difference in strategy used for individuals with different MDL, χ2(4) = 13.57, p < .009, φc = .20 (see Table 6). Individuals with an expressive logic were much more likely to use the warn strategy (43.4%) than the insert strategy or inquire strategy. Individuals with rhetorical logic tended to use insert as an intervention strat- egy (64.4%), with a much smaller percentage using an inquire strategy (22%). Individuals with conventional logic favored the insert strategy (44.4%), but many also used the inquire strategy (34.4%). Analyses for the drinking game scenario revealed no significant differences in strategy used for individuals with different design logics, χ2(4) = 3.71,

BYSTANDERS AND COMMUNICATION 101

TABLE 6 Frequencies and Percentages of Intervention Responses by

Participant Message Design Logic for Guy–Girl Hookup Scenario

Response

Message Design Logic Inquire Insert Warn

Expressive (%) 6 (20.0%) 11 (36.7%)a 13 (43.3%)a

Conventional (%) 31 (34.4%) 40 (44.4%) 19 (21.1%) Rhetorical (%) 11 (22.0%) 32 (64.0%)a 7 (14.0%)a

Note. Proportions in the same row that share subscripts are significant at p < .05.

ns. This finding mirrors other results in this study indicating differential effects for the two interventions scenarios.

DISCUSSION

Drawing from a multiple goals perspective, we examined the primary goals students identified as relevant in two interven- tion situations. Results revealed that participants did vary in the primary goals they would purse when intervening. For the guy–girl hookup scenario, participants’ primary goals included safety, separating the guy and girl, preventing the guy and girl from isolating themselves, and determining the girl’s intention. For the drinking game scenario, goals included keeping the peer from drinking, safety, and reduc- ing peer pressure. These differences in primary goals are important because primary goals reflect approach motiva- tions, which shape the frames individuals bring to an influ- ence situation (Sabee & Wilson, 2005). “Safety” emerged as a frequently identified goal for both scenarios, but it is inter- esting to note that safety is a rather abstract goal as compared to other goals like determine the girl’s intention or keep the peer from drinking. As a relatively abstract goal, “safety” may not provide much guidance about what an individual should do to intervene. Following Dillard’s notion of goals– plans–actions (1990), it seems possible that goal specificity may influence an individual’s ability to determine what to do communicatively to achieve their goal. Our analysis of the relationship between goals and intervention strategies provides some support for this notion.

For the guy–girl hookup scenario we found that the specificity of a goal (“determine intent” or “separate the man/woman”) is related to what individuals say when they intervene. For example, participants with the goal of sepa- rating the man and woman tended to insert themselves into the conversation; individuals who wanted to gather informa- tion from the woman tended to inquire by asking if she was okay. Thus, in these cases, the intervention strategy seems clearly aligned with the stated primary goal. But, when indi- viduals had the goal of “safety” or of “preventing isolation,” they pursued less clear goals and the strategies they used were more varied. In many ways, it is encouraging that

students are thinking about keeping others safe; however, what one ought to do to ensure safety is not readily evi- dent and an abstract notion like safety may make intervention seem complex. Further research that examines the relation- ship between goal and intervention strategies could help us to better understand what types of goals lead to more effective interventions.

The findings of this study also indicate that gender dif- ferences matter in intervention situations. Men and women varied in the intervention strategy they anticipated using in the guy–girl hookup scenario. Women were more likely to talk to the woman and to insert themselves into the conver- sation, while men were more likely to talk to the man and to warn about consequences. This makes sense, given research on gender differences in perceptions of hookup behavior (Menegatos et al., 2011), and it suggests that it is essen- tial to explore gender norms with students when helping them consider options for intervening. One possible expla- nation for this finding is that men and women have different secondary goals. Recall that secondary goals often include identity or relational concerns that shape what individuals say or how they approach the situation. Women may, for instance, be more concerned about interaction management (smooth interaction), which could lead to the decision to insert themselves into the conversation. Men, on the other hand, might more strongly embrace identity goals related to appearing authoritative or protective. Prior research has indicated that men are more likely to intervene when doing so reveals their strength or competence (Becker & Eagly, 2004), which might explain their tendency to intervene by warning. Because we were not able to assess secondary goals directly, we can only speculate about what might be happening; further research that explores secondary goals in intervention could provide important insight about how individuals approach intervention.

Finally, we found that beliefs about communication, as indicated by message design logic, impact how individuals approach the task of intervention. Message design logic pre- dicted bystander efficacy. Individuals with rhetorical logic felt significantly more bystander efficacy than those with expressive logic. This makes sense because rhetorical design logic is grounded in the belief that communication involves the negotiation of social situations: a belief that likely con- vinces individuals they are able to do something to impact the outcome of social situations. Additionally, we found that MDL was related to the type of strategy individuals would use to intervene in the guy–girl hookup scenario. Rhetorical individuals used an insert message/strategy where they engaged one or both of the individuals in communication. Expressive individuals tended to warn others about risks of the situation. Conventional individuals were more evenly distributed across the different types of messages used to intervene. These findings align with the MDL framework in that individuals with more sophisticated logic (rhetori- cal) used messages that approached the bystander situation

102 WHITE AND MALKOWSKI

as one to be negotiated communicatively, while those with the least sophisticated logic (expressive) used an approach that emphasized giving others information. Because of the nature of our data, we do not know whether these approaches differ in effectiveness, but this would be a beneficial area for further research.

It is important to note that although participant gender, primary goals, and MDL predicted intervention strategies in the guy–girl hookup scenario, they did not do so in the drinking game scenario. The importance of gender to the guy–girl hookup scenario, but not the drinking game sce- nario, likely has to do with social expectations around sexual encounters. Prior research indicates that gender norms play an important role in hookup situations. Hookups are per- ceived as more acceptable for men than women (Garcia, Reiber, Massey, & Merriwether, 2012), and both men and women are more likely to intervene with a female friend who is headed toward a drunken hookup than with a male friend (Menegatos et al., 2011). Thus, gender was more relevant to the hookup scenario than the drinking game scenario. It is less clear why primary goals and MDL predicted intervention strategies for the guy–girl hookup scenario but not for the drinking game scenario. One pos- sible explanation for this is that the two scenarios differed in clarity about what the “at-risk” student wanted. In the drinking game scenario description, it was clear that the guy did not want to drink anymore while in the hookup scenario, it was unclear what the girl wanted. It seems pos- sible that the clarity of the situation influences how goals shape intervention—which is relevant both to primary goals and to MDL. In situations where what the at-risk student wants is clearer, primary goals may shape what individu- als do, but when what is needed is less clear, secondary goals, such as how the intervening student wants to be seen by others, may come to the fore. With regard to MDL, O’Keefe (1990) has noted that in situations where the con- ventional response is evident, differences in design logic may not emerge. Further research is needed to more fully understand how primary and secondary goals, as well as beliefs about communication, shape intervention in different contexts.

Limitations

There are several limitations to our study. First, we examined goals and messages in response to hypothetical scenarios. Although we took care to construct situations that students were likely to recognize, we instructed them to assume they had decided to intervene. Research such as this provides a useful foundation for thinking about the types of messages that students see as reasonable/workable; however, further research that looks at whether students choose to intervene or not and what they do when they actually intervene is clearly needed. Second, we examined only primary goals in this study, and these were operationalized by having participants

indicate which goal they saw as most important. As Wilson (2002) and Dillard (1990) have noted, primary goals frame the interaction and typically reflect what the individual is try- ing to accomplish in the interaction. This may or may not align with what the individual sees as most important to the interaction. Additionally, although we had hoped to examine secondary goals, procedural problems with how participants listed goals made these data unusable. Secondary goals may play an important role in shaping how individuals approach intervention. For instance, it seems possible that a student who is concerned about relational issues would be more conscious of the face concerns of the other per- son and, therefore, would be more likely to inquire than to warn. Future research that examines secondary goals is needed.

Third, we used the Ron Task to assess message design logic, treating it as an indicator of communication beliefs. However, it would be useful to determine if differences in design logic can be coded from intervention messages. Doing so would require development of an intervention scenario that specifies features of the situation known to clearly reveal design logic differences (O’Keefe, 1990); this would be an important goal for future research. Finally, there were limitations given the population of students who responded to the survey. We targeted first-year college stu- dents; however, it seems possible that students’ ideas about how to intervene may change across their college careers. Additionally, students on this campus had received one training session about bystander intervention at summer ori- entation. Because the training had occurred several months before the data collection and because the training empha- sized having students do what seemed reasonable to them, we are comfortable viewing this data as providing founda- tional information about what students expect to say when they intervene. However, further research with more diverse student populations is important.

Conclusion

Despite these limitations, this study provides a foundation for understanding the communicative challenges of interven- tion. From a communication perspective, intervention can be seen as a compliance-gaining situation whereby individ- uals are encouraged to act on the needs of others largely for the sake of communal wellbeing. Wilson (2002) noted that “people do not seek or resist compliance in a vacuum, but rather as participants in specific relationships embedded in larger institutions and cultures” (p. 293). He argued that by situating our study of compliance-gaining in specific con- texts, we can better understand what people are doing as they seek to influence others. Our results suggest that goals for intervention can impact how students intervene. Programs that teach students about risk and intervention may need to help students identify goals that are more specific than “safety of others.” Additionally, our research indicates that

BYSTANDERS AND COMMUNICATION 103

beliefs about communication, as reflected in message design logic, are relevant to bystander intervention situations. Thus, it may be useful to consider whether training could be tai- lored to address differences in individuals’ beliefs about communication.

In sum, bystander intervention is a complex communicative situation. Research that explores how individuals understand the process of intervention—the goals and logics they bring to the situation—as well as actual messages used to intervene can greatly increase our understanding of bystander intervention. It can also guide practitioners as they think about what students need to know when they attempt to intervene. This project provides a foundation for understanding the communicative nature of intervention and the challenges individuals face during intervention.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The authors thank the Department of Community Health at CU-Boulder, especially Julie Volckens and Teresa Wroe, for their insight and support of this project.

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APPENDIX: SURVEY INTERVENTION SCENARIOS

Situation 1: The Guy–Girl Hookup Scenario

You are at a party with several of your friends. You’ve been there for a while and can tell that there are a lot of people

104 WHITE AND MALKOWSKI

who are really drunk. A guy at the party is hitting on a girl who seems fairly drunk and is sitting on the couch across from you. You don’t know either of them.

You then watch as he gets her another drink and he starts to rub her leg and leans his face in close to hers. She looks pretty out of it and appears to be uncomfortable, but she is also giggling nervously. He takes her by the hand and pulls her up off the couch. You hear him say, “Come on, let’s get out of here.” She seems reluctant. Assume that you decide to say something.

Situation 2: The Drinking Game Scenario

You are at a party playing beer pong with a group of peo- ple. You know several people at the party. One of the guys on the opposing team is getting completely trashed. The last time he took a drink, he spilled beer all over himself and fell down. He keeps getting back up and playing, but seems really drunk. It is his turn to drink again and he says, “No way, I’m out.” People start pressuring him to drink and cheering him on. Assume that you decide to say something.

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Do Message Features Influence Responses to Depression Disclosure? A Message Design Logics Perspective Allison M. Scott a , John P. Caughlin b , Erin Donovan-Kicken c & Sylvia L. Mikucki-Enyart d a Department of Communication , University of Kentucky b Department of Communication , University of Illinois , Urbana- Champaign c Department of Communication Studies , University of Texas , Austin d Division of Communication , University of Wisconsin-Stevens Point Published online: 07 Feb 2013.

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Do Message Features Influence Responses to Depression Disclosure? A Message Design Logics Perspective Allison M. Scott, John P. Caughlin, Erin Donovan-Kicken, & Sylvia L. Mikucki-Enyart

This project uses a multiple goals theoretical perspective to examine the sophistication of

responses to depression disclosure. In the first study, 504 college students imagined that a

friend revealed a depression diagnosis using one of several messages exhibiting different

identity management goals. Their responses were coded for expressive, conventional, or

rhetorical message design logic. Variation in how depression was disclosed influenced

the sophistication of responses. In the second study, 352 individuals with depression rated

messages taken verbatim from the first study. Expressive messages were evaluated less

favorably than conventional messages, which in turn were rated less favorably than rhe-

torical messages. The discussion focuses on the connection between attention to multiple

goals and communication sophistication in responding to important disclosures.

Keywords: Depression; Disclosure; Message Design Logic; Multiple Goals

Depression is a growing public health concern with widespread personal, social, and

economic consequences. A recent survey conducted by the Centers for Disease

Allison M. Scott (PhD, University of Illinois at Urbana–Champaign) is an Associate Professor in the Department

of Communication at the University of Kentucky. John P. Caughlin (PhD, University of Texas at Austin) is

Associate Head and Conrad Humanities Scholar in the Department of Communication at the University of Illi-

nois at Urbana–Champaign. Erin Donovan-Kicken (PhD, University of Illinois at Urbana–Champaign) is an

Assistant Professor in the Department of Communication Studies at the University of Texas at Austin. Sylvia

L. Mikucki-Enyart (PhD, University of Illinois at Urbana–Champaign) is an Assistant Professor in the Division

of Communication at the University of Wisconsin–Stevens Point. The authors would like to thank Dale

Brashers, Kristin Satterlee, and Marcia Scott for their assistance in conducting this research. An earlier version

of this paper was presented at the 2010 annual meeting of the National Communication Association. Correspon-

dence to: Allison M. Scott, 236 Grehan Building, Department of Communication, University of Kentucky,

Lexington, KY 40506-0042, USA. E-mail: [email protected]

Western Journal of Communication

Vol. 77, No. 2, March–April 2013, pp. 139–163

ISSN 1057-0314 (print)/ISSN 1745-1027 (online) # 2013 Western States Communication Association

DOI: 10.1080/10570314.2012.694007

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Control and Prevention in the United States indicated that approximately 1 in 20

Americans suffers from depression (Pratt & Brody, 2008), and the World Health

Organization estimates that by the year 2020, depression will be a leading cause of

disability among citizens of the world, second only to cardiac disease (World Health

Organization, 2001). The individual and societal costs of mental illnesses like

depression can be devastating (U.S. Department of Health and Human Services,

1999). Included among the challenges faced by people coping with depression are

concerns and questions about how to reveal their diagnosis to others. Disclosing ill-

ness is important for accessing social support, seeking professional help, and adhering

to treatment regimens, all of which can ultimately lead to recovery from the illness

(e.g., Caughlin et al., 2009; Müller, Bode, Myer, Stahl, & von Steinbüchel, 2011).

Research on depression and self-disclosure has tended to focus on questions such

as what motivates a person to disclose (or not disclose) their diagnosis (e.g., Dennis

& Chung-Lee, 2006; Garcia & Crocker, 2008). This work primarily addresses the dis-

closer’s decisions, while leaving questions about responses to disclosure messages lar-

gely unexamined. There are, of course, some exceptions, such as research examining

what linguistic cues people believe are indicative of depression (Rodriguez, Holleran,

& Mehl, 2010). Still, little is known about what constitutes better and worse reactions

to disclosures of a depression diagnosis.

Understanding variations in how people respond to depression disclosure is

important because some of the potential benefits of disclosure, such as receiving

social support, depend on the response to the disclosure. Also, poor responses to

depression can intensify the discloser’s feelings of dysphoria and isolation and

thereby perpetuate depressive symptoms (Coyne, 1976). Thus, it is important to

understand factors affecting the quality of responses to depression disclosures. The

overall purpose of the present investigation was to provide a theoretical means of

explaining message sophistication in responses to depression disclosure. The objec-

tive of the first study was to examine how responses to depression disclosure might

be meaningfully influenced by different ways of disclosing the illness, and the objec-

tive of the second study was to test whether the different ways of responding to

depression disclosure affect evaluations of the responses. To accomplish these objec-

tives, we utilized a multiple goals theoretical perspective to conceptualize diversity in

disclosure and response messages.

Multiple Goals Theoretical Perspective

Many interpersonal communication scholars have noted that communication is often

aimed at addressing multiple goals (e.g., Clark & Delia, 1979; Dillard, 1990;

Goldsmith, 2004; Wilson, 2002). There are numerous multiple goals perspectives,

but one common assumption is that when individuals interact, they attempt to

accomplish multiple purposes. Although there are many possible communication

goals, certain types of goals are relevant across social situations, including instrumen-

tal goals (which describe the primary objective of the interaction, such as persuasion

or support), identity goals (which address how the interactants create and manage

140 A. M. Scott et al.

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impressions), and relational goals (which involve the maintenance of desired rela-

tional qualities; Clark & Delia, 1979). These multiple goals sometimes present com-

munication dilemmas when accomplishing one purpose may come at the expense of

accomplishing other relevant goals. For instance, an individual may want to give

advice to another person who has just revealed a depression diagnosis, but the advice

might make the person with depression seem incompetent or the adviser seem intrus-

ive (e.g., Goldsmith & Fitch, 1997).

A second common assumption of multiple goals theories is that some ways of talk-

ing are more effective than others at accomplishing the multiple (and potentially con-

flicting) purposes relevant in certain situations. According to this assumption, the

quality of communication depends on the extent to which it achieves the primary

interaction task (e.g., disclosing or responding to depression) while also successfully

managing what the conversation means for identities and relationships. An impor-

tant implication of this assumption is that goals are not only a means of accounting

for message construction, but goals also provide an account for how people interpret

messages (Goldsmith, 2004). For instance, variations in whether and how certain

purposes are pursued in conversation influence how people assess communication

(Caughlin, 2010). Furthermore, a person’s attention to more goals and certain com-

binations of goals can influence how conversational partners perceive and respond to

talk (Caughlin et al., 2009).

Message Design Logics

The theory of message design logics is a particular multiple goals perspective that

focuses on how different kinds of messages address different communicative goals

(B. O’Keefe, 1988, 1990). The design logics themselves do not refer to whether a per-

son is pursuing minimal purposes or multiple ones; instead, the design logics refer to

the reasoning that implicitly connects a given set of goals and the messages produced.

Inferences about design logics presume that certain goals are normatively accepted as

salient in certain social contexts (B. O’Keefe, 1988). For example, identity concerns

are inherent in advice-giving situations: Giving an individual advice inevitably threa-

tens the advisee’s negative face by imposing on the person’s autonomy; moreover,

advice that is not followed poses a threat to the advisor’s positive face by undermin-

ing a sense of cooperativeness between the advice giver and recipient (Goldsmith &

Fitch, 1997). Notice that not attending to such potential threats is conventionally

problematic regardless of whether a message producer is aware of the conventionally

relevant goal.

According to message design logic theory (B. O’Keefe, 1988), there are three ways

of reasoning by which individuals can pursue conventionally relevant goals in com-

munication. Each of these message design logics entails a distinct view of the nature

and purpose of communication. The expressive message design logic treats commu-

nication as a means of expressing thoughts or feelings. People utilizing an expressive

design logic pay little attention to contextual information, rely little on interpretation

in assigning meaning in interaction, and thus may fail to attend to goals that are

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conventionally relevant in certain situations. The conventional design logic treats

interaction as a cooperative effort in which people follow the rules governing what

is normatively expected in a situation and avoid socially inappropriate action. In

the conventional design logic, social structures (e.g., roles, obligations, formalized

relationships) are treated as fixed instead of flexible. Rather than seeking to simply

express thoughts and feelings, individuals using conventional design logic try to

accomplish conventionally relevant goals through socially appropriate means. Finally,

the rhetorical message design logic treats communication as a process of coordi-

nation in which identities and contexts are established through what is said and

how it is said. In rhetorical messages, social structures are flexible rather than fixed.

Instead of seeking to give conventionally appropriate responses as defined by the con-

text, people who produce rhetorical messages seek to redefine the social situation

through their communication.

These three message design logics are developmentally ordered in terms of sophis-

tication and functional utility: Expressive design logic is the least sophisticated and

least capable of producing effective messages, and rhetorical design logic is the most

sophisticated and most capable of producing effective messages (B. O’Keefe, 1988).

This hierarchy is theoretically grounded: A person must be able to express thoughts

and feelings before being able to do so in a conventionally appropriate manner, and a

person must understand conventional goals and contexts before being able to rede-

fine such goals and contexts. There is also empirical evidence for this hierarchy:

Sophistication of message design logic has been associated with higher cognitive

complexity (B. O’Keefe & Shepherd, 1987, 1989), higher communication competence

(B. O’Keefe & McCornack, 1987), more effective social support provision (Caughlin

et al., 2008; Peterson & Albrecht, 1996), and more effective persuasion (Lambert &

Gillespie, 1994).

In short, a multiple goals perspective explains how individuals manage various

goals in producing messages and how variations in goal attention influence how

people evaluate the messages. More specifically, the theory of message design logics

proposes that certain goals are conventionally understood to be salient in certain

situations, and communication that does not address such goals is normatively eval-

uated as ineffective or inappropriate. A multiple goals theoretical framework can be

applied to any communication situation, but the particular goals that are conven-

tionally relevant vary by social context. It is thus important to consider goals that

are commonly salient in conversations when a person discloses and responds to

depression.

Relevant Goals in Disclosing and Responding to Depression

In the case of disclosing depression to another person, the primary goal of the inter-

action presumably is to reveal the diagnosis. However, some research suggests that

another common goal of people who disclose depression is to gain social support.

In fact, there is evidence that many individuals with depression rank receiving sup-

port as more important to their quality of life than is their physical and mental health

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(Michalak, Yatham, Kolesar, & Lam, 2006). Sometimes this social support involves

emotional support, such as expressions of caring, concern, empathy, or reassurance;

in other cases, individuals with depression seek instrumental support, such as offers

of assistance or advice (Dennis & Chung-Lee, 2006).

The task goals of disclosing depression and thereby accessing social support are

constrained by relevant relational and identity goals. For instance, one goal people

pursue in disclosing depression is to maintain relationships. Many people with

depression report that others often treat them differently after learning about the

diagnosis or that their relationships are lost altogether, leading them to want to dis-

close their illness in ways that minimize relational damage (Michalak et al., 2006). A

second goal individuals have in disclosing depression is avoiding negative evaluation

from others. Because depression is a stigmatized illness, people considering disclosing

their depression commonly are worried about maintaining a positive identity and

often work to minimize any damage to their identity as a result of unfavorable con-

notations (Barney, Griffiths, Jorm, & Christensen, 2006).

The way individuals manage identity in disclosing illness can affect others’

responses to such disclosure. Recent research by Caughlin et al. (2009) has shown

that HIV disclosure messages designed to avoid negative evaluation of the discloser

elicited more relationally affirming responses but less instrumentally supportive

responses than messages that attended to other goals. It is possible that pursuing

identity goals in disclosing depression may likewise prompt differences in the sophis-

tication of support from others. Caughlin et al. (2009) manipulated attention to

identity goals in a direct manner; that is, certain disclosure messages explicitly asked

recipients not to evaluate the discloser negatively (e.g., ‘‘Please don’t judge me’’).

Although direct efforts to attend to identity issues appear useful, there is evidence

that identity management during illness disclosures is often less direct. Cohen Silver,

Wortman, and Crofton (1990) proposed support-seeking through self-presentation

of coping style as one means of identity work in illness disclosure. In their study

on people disclosing cancer, they examined three self-presentations of coping style:

‘‘Poor coping’’ involved displaying intense distress about the illness diagnosis and

appearing to have great difficulty coping with circumstances; ‘‘good coping’’ entailed

expressing an optimistic view of the illness and appearing to cope very well with the

situation; finally, ‘‘balanced coping’’ involved conveying some distress about the ill-

ness diagnosis, but also acknowledging some success in coping with the situation.

Cohen Silver et al. (1990) found that self-presenting a poor coping style elicited less

favorable responses than self-presenting a good coping style, but the good coping

style still did not elicit support; rather, it was the balanced coping style that elicited

the most supportive responses. The balanced coping style represented a particularly

effective strategy because it indirectly acknowledged the need for support while also

preserving the discloser’s positive face (because it acknowledged some success in

coping). It may be that indirect identity work through self-presentation of coping

also influences responses to depression disclosure.

Previous work on depression disclosure has focused primarily on the perspective

and goals of the discloser; however, a deeper understanding of the disclosure process

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requires also examining the perspective and goals of the respondent. Although reci-

pients of a depression disclosure would undoubtedly have some idiosyncratic conver-

sational goals, it is also possible to discern certain goals that are conventionally

understood to be relevant in this situation. For example, being told that someone

has been diagnosed with depression would generally be considered ‘‘bad news,’’

and the usual expectation in such situations is to provide some form of support or

comforting. Thus, the goal of comforting the person with depression would be rel-

evant, regardless of whether any particular individual recognized the relevance of this

goal or provided adequate comforting (see Burleson, 1994). Furthermore, the goal of

providing adequate comfort makes identity and relational goals relevant given that

the quality of comforting messages often depends on the extent to which the message

is person-centered (Burleson, 2003) and contains relational affirmation (Samter,

Burleson, & Basden-Murphy, 1989).

In sum, an examination of the depression disclosure literature indicates that

instrumental, identity, and relational goals are relevant in disclosing a depression

diagnosis as well as in responding to such a disclosure. This broad understanding

of conventionally relevant goals in depression disclosure interactions provides a basis

for assessing the quality of responses to depression disclosure.

Study 1

The primary objective of the first study was to assess how different ways of disclosing

depression might meaningfully influence the way others respond. The first step in

achieving this objective was to examine how responses to depression disclosure vary

and how such variation could be reliably classified. Given that the process of dep-

ression disclosure is distinct from the contexts of other research on message design

logics, we first asked two basic research questions:

RQ1: Do responses to depression disclosure vary with respect to message design logic?

RQ2: What message features characterize expressive, conventional, and rhetorical responses to depression disclosure?

The second step was to explore how different ways of disclosing depression affect

responses to such disclosure. Clearly, an infinite number of potential disclosure mes-

sages are conceivable, so an important issue is how to conceptualize message varia-

tions. One previous study of HIV disclosures (Caughlin et al., 2009) suggested that

blunt statements about identity goals can influence disclosure responses, but research

by Cohen Silver et al. (1990) demonstrates that attention to identity during illness

disclosures is often more subtle. Thus, self-presentation styles (i.e., poor coping, good

coping, balanced coping) examined by Cohen Silver et al. were used in the current

study as a primary way of conceptualizing variations in disclosure message. These

self-presentational styles represent indirect ways of managing identity while discuss-

ing an illness disclosure, and we sought to compare messages demonstrating each of

these identity management strategies with two other types of messages: one that

focused solely on disclosing the information (with no explicit attention to any other

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goal) and one that disclosed depression and explicitly sought support. We were inter-

ested in whether these different types of disclosures would elicit better or worse

responses as conceptualized by the theory of message design logics, which prompted

the third research question:

RQ3: Do different ways of disclosing depression elicit different proportions of expressive, conventional, and rhetorical responses?

Method

Participants

Participants included 504 students from communication courses at a large public

midwestern university. Given the rates of depression among college students (e.g.,

Furr, Westefeld, McConnell, & Jenkins, 2001), the topic of depression was undoubt-

edly familiar to these participants. The sample included 293 (58.13%) females, 191

(37.90%) males, and 20 (3.97%) respondents who provided no information about

their sex. Participants averaged 20.14 years of age (SD¼ .90, range¼ 18–28). The

sample included White (n¼ 311, 61.71%), African American (n¼ 82, 16.27%), Asian

American (n¼ 38, 7.53%), and Latino (n¼ 33, 6.55%) participants, with 22 (4.37%)

respondents reporting other ethnic backgrounds and 18 (3.57%) declining to report

ethnicity.

Procedure

Participants completed an online questionnaire that contained an open-ended item

that directed students to ‘‘Imagine that you are talking alone with a good friend.

Please think of a particular friend. Now, imagine that after a few minutes of talking,

your friend says, ‘Well, I have something to tell you . . . ’’’ This statement was fol-

lowed by one of 20 disclosure messages indicating that the friend had been recently

diagnosed with depression. Respondents were asked, ‘‘If this were to happen, what

would you do or say in response? Please write the exact words you would say, as

though you were writing a script.’’ Participants typed their responses and then com-

pleted several closed-ended questions. The 20 specific disclosure messages were

grouped into five conditions, which reflected different ways of attending to identity

goals. The kernel condition (n¼ 100) contained four messages that only disclosed the

diagnosis and contained no information about the discloser’s coping style. The mes-

sages in each of the remaining four conditions included a kernel message and refer-

ence to poor coping (n¼ 87), good coping (n¼ 96), balanced coping (n¼ 122), or

explicit support-seeking (n¼ 98). Overall, participants rated the disclosure messages

as fairly realistic (on a 5-point scale, M¼ 3.71, SD¼ .70). The messages for each of

these conditions are presented in Appendix A.

This multiple messages design allowed us to manipulate features of messages that

theoretically should matter (i.e., identity management strategies). The strategy

required us to expose a large sample of individuals to the messages, making a

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confederate study impractical. And although it might be possible to study some nat-

urally occurring disclosures of depression, it is unlikely that we could obtain a large

enough sample of messages to examine systematic differences in the message features

of interest. Thus, the current method was considered the best option given the

reviewed theory and literature as well as what is feasible and ethical.

Coding

In coding the open-ended responses for message design logic (using each person’s

entire response as the unit of analysis), we based our coding scheme on B. O’Keefe’s

(1988) description of message design logics. We also drew from Caughlin et al. (2008)

as a recent example of how the theory of message design logics can be utilized in a

coding scheme. Prior to coding, all authors collaborated on adapting the design logic

categories to the current research problem. Then three of the authors coded each

message into one of three categories: expressive (i.e., messages that communicated

thoughts and feelings, often without attending to conventionally relevant situational

goals), conventional (i.e., messages that contained socially normative content and

structure), and rhetorical (i.e., messages that attended to multiple goals, often

attempting to redefine the situation, identities, or relationships). Reliability among

the coders, which was assessed with an intraclass correlation (Fleiss, 1981), was good

(intraclass correlation coefficient ¼ .80). Discrepancies in coding were resolved in

meetings with all coders.

Results

In general, the results demonstrated that responses to depression disclosure varied in

sophistication, and this variation was associated with the way in which depression

was disclosed.

Sophistication of messages

The first research question asked if the responses to disclosure of a depression diag-

nosis would vary in the sophistication of the message design logics used. We found

that responses did vary in level of sophistication, with conventional messages occur-

ring most frequently (n¼ 370, 73.41%), followed by expressive (n¼ 102, 20.24%)

and rhetorical (n¼ 31, 6.15%) messages. A test of two proportions (distributed

as z; see Brunig & Kintz, 1997) indicated that the differences in the proportions

between design logics were significant: There were significantly more conventional

messages than expressive (z¼ 16.87, p< .001) and rhetorical (z¼ 6.52, p< .001) mes-

sages, and there were more expressive messages than rhetorical messages (z¼ 21.77,

p< .001).

Characteristics of message design logics

In the second research question, we asked about the defining characteristics of

expressive, conventional, and rhetorical response messages in the context of

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depression disclosure. We found that responses to depression disclosure could be

reliably classified as described by the theory of message design logics. Many expressive

messages in this study revealed the recipient’s cognitive or emotional state by express-

ing surprise or sadness, or the desire to satisfy the respondent’s curiosity about the

situation, but these messages typically lacked explicit comforting features, as shown

in Example 1.

Example 1: ‘‘Really? What made you think you have it in the first place? And is it something really serious that you have to get medication for, or can you just do something in your everyday life to help you overcome it?’’

Messages containing explicitly negative features, such as minimizing or denying

the diagnosis (Example 2), implicitly blaming or criticizing the discloser (Example

3), or implying that the discloser would commit self-harm (Example 4) were also

categorized as expressive.

Example 2: ‘‘Dude, you don’t have depression. You’re just a little down. You and me are too strong to have depression. You’re talking crazy.’’

Example 3: ‘‘Please tell me this is a joke. All you do is sit around all day and enable your ‘depression.’ This is insane . . . ’’

Example 4: ‘‘That’s fucked up, man. Don’t kill yourself.’’

Conventional responses to depression disclosure tended to follow socially norma-

tive expectations by, at a minimum, containing an attempt to comfort or offer assist-

ance to the discloser. Some conventional messages contained explicit emotional

support (Examples 5 and 6), whereas others included more indirect offers of support

(Examples 7 and 8).

Example 5: ‘‘I’m so sorry. Is there anything that I can do to help? Is there anything that you would like to talk about? I want you to know that I am always here for you.’’

Example 6: ‘‘Do you want to talk about it? If you do not, I just want to let you know that you are my best friend and I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you.’’

Example 7: ‘‘I’m here for you.’’ Example 8: ‘‘I’m so sorry. How do you feel about this?’’

Rhetorical messages reframed the meaning of the depression diagnosis in various

ways. In some rhetorical responses, the participant redefined the relational context,

reframing the diagnosis as a shared problem, as in Example 9.

Example 9: ‘‘You are my best friend in the world and I want you to know that I am here for you through this, and even on your worst days you should come to me and I will be there for you. We will get through this. Don’t even think of it as something you are going through alone. I know it is hardest for you because you have to live through it every day, but it is still something that I will go through with you like it is my own issue. I love you!’’

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In other cases, rhetorical messages took the conventionally understood definition

of depression as a weakness and redefined disclosure of depression as an indication of

strength (Example 10).

Example 10: ‘‘Oh my gosh. I’m sorry to hear that. I am here for you every step of the way. It is not your fault that you are suffering from this. There are a lot of people who get this, so don’t feel like you are the only one. It was strong of you to go to the doctor and get help. This will not be easy, but I promise you that I will be here for anything that you need.’’

Relationship between disclosure conditions and response message design logics

In response to the third research question, which asked if the various ways of disclos-

ing a depression diagnosis affected the sophistication of responses, we conducted a

5� 3 (disclosure condition by response message design logic) chi-square difference

test. Overall, the design logics of the responses differed significantly by condition:

v2(8)¼ 59.16, p< .001, u¼ .24. We further examined the differences between the

conditions by comparing the proportions of the three message design logics for each

condition. These differences are presented in Table 1.

In general, the good coping disclosure condition received the fewest rhetorical

responses and elicited significantly fewer rhetorical messages than did the kernel

(z¼ 2.61, p< .01) and poor coping (z¼ 2.44, p< .05) conditions. Good coping dis-

closure messages also prompted a higher proportion of expressive messages than did

any other type of message, and the proportion of expressive messages was significantly

higher for the good coping condition than for the poor coping (z¼ 2.15, p< .05),

balanced coping (z¼ 4.73, p< .001), and support-seeking (z¼ 5.35, p< .001) con-

ditions. Good coping messages elicited significantly fewer conventional messages than

the balanced coping (z¼ 4.02, p< .001) and support-seeking (z¼ 4.44, p< .01)

conditions.

There were additional significant differences in the proportions of message design

logics. The balanced coping disclosure condition received fewer expressive messages

Table 1 Proportions and Frequencies of Response Message Design Logic for Each

Disclosure Condition

Message Design Logic of Response

Disclosure condition Expressive Conventional Rhetorical

Kernel .30 (30)ab .59 (59)ab .11 (11)a

Poor coping .22 (19)cde .68 (59)cd .10 (9)b

Good coping .38 (36)cfg .61 (59)ef .01 (1)ab

Balanced coping .10 (12)adf .86 (105)ace .04 (5)

Support-seeking .05 (5)beg .90 (88)bdf .05 (5)

Note. Proportions appear outside and frequencies appear inside the parentheses. Proportions in the same col-

umn that share subscripts differ significantly at p< .05.

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than did the kernel (z¼ 3.64, p< .001) and poor coping (z¼ 2.21, p< .05) conditions

and more conventional messages than the kernel (z¼ 4.41, p< .001) and poor coping

(z¼ 2.99, p< .01) conditions. Similarly, the explicit support-seeking message elicited

fewer expressive messages than did the kernel (z¼ 4.41, p< .001) and poor coping

(z¼ 3.16, p< .01) conditions and more conventional messages than the kernel

(z¼ 4.79, p< .001) and poor coping (z¼ 3.51, p< .001) conditions.

Discussion

The findings from this first study provide an important first step toward understand-

ing what counts as a sophisticated response to depression disclosure and how features

of depression disclosure messages influence the impact of those messages.

Sophistication of responses to depression disclosure

The present results demonstrate that it is possible to reliably classify responses to

depression disclosure using B. O’Keefe’s (1988, 1990) message design logic theory,

and the hierarchical ordering implied in the theory provides a coherent way to

describe and classify the sophistication of responses to disclosure of depression. These

findings are consistent with previous work that has confirmed the utility of the theory

for conceptualizing message sophistication in a variety of contexts, including regulat-

ive (B. O’Keefe, 1988), compliance-gaining (Lambert & Gillespie, 1994), and illness

disclosure (Caughlin et al., 2008) situations. However, the proportion of message

design logics produced in the current study differed from the proportions yielded

in previous studies. For example, the distribution of design logics in the study con-

ducted by Caughlin et al. (2008), which examined responses to HIV disclosure, was

32% expressive, 55% conventional, and 12% rhetorical (compared to the current dis-

tribution of 20% expressive, 74% conventional, and 6% rhetorical). This difference is

statistically significant, v2 (2)¼ 37.65, p< .001, u¼ .19, and it suggests that the spe-

cific tasks examined in each study are different in potentially important ways. The

differences between the current findings and previous ones are consistent with

message design logic theory, which suggests that different types of tasks make relevant

different kinds of goals and thus require more or less sophisticated messages

(B. O’Keefe, 1988). In this way, the communication situation influences the talk that

is produced (e.g., routine contexts prompt routine messages).

Although the situation appears to influence the responses, the first study does not

examine exactly what it is about the situation that elicits particular responses. It is not

clear, for example, why so few rhetorical responses were produced. Perhaps the task

of responding to depression disclosure does not seem exceptional enough to warrant

producing rhetorical responses over conventional ones. It is also possible that design-

ing a rhetorical message in response to depression disclosure is particularly difficult

because people with depression often exhibit aversive depressive symptoms that

people want to counteract (Coyne, 1976). This can lead recipients of depression dis-

closure to try to comfort in supposedly responsive but potentially less genuine (i.e.,

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less sophisticated) ways because the support is offered in the interest of alleviating the

respondent’s own discomfort. Another possible explanation for the relative rarity of

rhetorical responses is that individuals may have a tacit understanding that the

expected response to the mention of an illness like depression is a conventional sup-

port response, and only if support is more directly requested would people feel that it

is appropriate to produce rhetorical responses. Thus, different messages may have

elicited more rhetorical responses in this context; for instance, messages that overtly

signaled a need for help with sense-making may have prompted a higher proportion

of rhetorical messages.

Clearly, future research should examine the particular reasons why situations elicit

different types of response logics, but the current study is important in that it pro-

vides evidence that message design logics contain a situational component. Most pre-

vious work on message design logics has highlighted the individual differences in

message design that are evident in communicatively complex situations. The results

of the present study, however, demonstrate that different situations evoke different

patterns of design logics.

Variation in depression disclosures and responses

Not only do different contexts elicit responses that differ in message design logics, but

this first study indicates that different ways of disclosing depression (i.e., self-

presentation of coping style) also elicit responses that vary in design logic. Consider-

able research on illness disclosure has focused on situational factors affecting

disclosure, such as barriers people face in revealing their illness and the timing of dis-

closure (e.g., Charmaz, 1991; Greene, Derlega, Yep, & Petronio, 2003). The current

study suggests that, in addition to such situational factors, self-presentation features

of the disclosure messages also influence responses to such disclosures.

We found that variation in identity work in depression disclosure messages influ-

enced variation in the message design logics of responses to disclosure. Some disclos-

ure conditions tended to elicit less sophisticated responses. For instance, the good

coping condition received the lowest proportion of rhetorical responses and the high-

est proportion of expressive responses of all the disclosure conditions. One possible

reason for this finding is that self-presenting a good coping style may imply that the

discloser is so successful in dealing with the depression that ‘‘good’’ comforting is not

necessary and thus respondents do not exert the effort needed to construct a

sophisticated message. By contrast, the poor coping disclosure condition prompted

a significantly higher proportion of rhetorical responses and a significantly lower pro-

portion of expressive responses than the good coping condition. This finding suggests

that when a person self-presents as having great difficulty in dealing with the

depression, individuals assess the situation as calling for a better response.

The present results concerning poor coping and good coping differ from the find-

ings reported by Cohen Silver et al. (1990), who found that people responded more

favorably to individuals who presented a good coping style and less favorably to indi-

viduals who presented a poor coping style. One possible reason for these divergent

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findings could be the difference in outcome measures: Cohen Silver and her collea-

gues examined the distress felt by individuals after hearing the illness disclosure, and

we examined the competence of people’s responses to the disclosure, making direct

comparisons between the studies difficult. It is possible, however, that respondents to

illness disclosure produce sophisticated messages because the distress of the situation

prompts them to put effort into designing their response.

We also found that some disclosure conditions functioned similarly in eliciting

more or less sophisticated responses. For example, the balanced coping and support-

seeking conditions each received fewer expressive messages and more conventional

messages than the kernel and poor coping conditions. Given that self-presenting as

having some success at coping prompted supportive responses approximately as well

as explicitly asking for support, it could be that presenting a balanced coping style is

recognized by others as a request for support (e.g., Goldsmith, 2004). Although the

two conditions fared similarly, there may be an advantage to presenting a balanced

coping style because it appears to be as effective at eliciting support as a direct request

but is less likely to carry the potential for identity loss (e.g., being seen as incompetent

or not self-reliant) that can accompany on-record requests for support (e.g.,

Goldsmith, Lindholm, & Bute, 2006).

Study 2

The first study demonstrated that responses to depression disclosure meaningfully

vary in sophistication. However, the first study could not provide direct evidence that

messages of greater sophistication are more effective or appropriate in responding to

depression disclosure. This was a significant limitation given that sophistication of

message design logic is not always related to the quality of supportive messages in

a straightforward manner (e.g., B. O’Keefe, Lambert, & Lambert, 1997; Peterson &

Albrecht, 1996). To address this limitation, the objective of the second study was

to explore how responses to depression disclosure with different message design

logics are evaluated in terms of perceived quality or competence.

Communication competence is often conceptualized as the degree to which com-

munication is appropriate and effective (Canary & Spitzberg, 1987). Given the con-

ventional relevance of support to a situation in which a person discloses a depression

diagnosis, perceived effectiveness in the current context is based on the extent to

which the response is viewed as supportive (Goldsmith, McDermott, & Alexander,

2000). Using the assumption that supportiveness is the key indicator of effectiveness,

we conceptualized competence here as involving supportiveness and appropriateness.

To determine the sophistication of responses to depression disclosure, it is neces-

sary to obtain a cultural informant’s perspective on what counts as supportive and

appropriate in the particular context of depression disclosure. The theory of message

design logics does not require a researcher to make inferences about the goals that a

person actually has when producing a message to make a determination of quality.

Instead, what is needed is cultural insight into what kinds of communicative

purposes should be attended to in a particular situation. Thus, assessing the

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sophistication of responses to depression disclosure is a very different task from pro-

ducing a response to a depression disclosure. Anyone could potentially be a recipient

of a depression disclosure, and the first time that happened, that recipient would have

to draw upon whatever limited experiences the recipient had to respond. Thus, no

particular experience is necessary to produce some response (as in Study 1), but eval-

uating what counts as an appropriate response requires the perspective of individuals

who understand the particular challenges associated with having and disclosing

depression. That is, people who have experienced depression are ideal informants

for making assessments about what counts as a sophisticated response to depression

disclosure because they are likely to understand the particular context of disclosing

depression and its normatively relevant goals. In Study 2, it was therefore crucial

to recruit participants with a history of experiencing depression.

The hypotheses for the second study were guided by the hierarchical ordering of

message design logics implied in B. O’Keefe’s (1988) theory:

H1: Responses demonstrating different message design logics will be rated differently in terms of supportiveness. H1a: Expressive messages will be rated as less supportive than conventional

messages. H1b: Conventional messages will be rated as less supportive than rhetorical

messages. H2: Responses demonstrating different message design logics will be rated

differently in terms of appropriateness. H2a: Expressive messages will be rated as less appropriate than conventional

messages. H2b: Conventional messages will be rated as less appropriate than rhetorical

messages.

Although the hypotheses involved straightforward predictions about which types

of messages would be rated most favorably overall, there was one construct that

was particularly important to account for because it could potentially confound

the results. As noted above, more sophisticated message design logics are not always

viewed as more competent; for example, individual differences among message reci-

pients may influence their perceptions of competence. There is evidence that the cog-

nitive ability of message recipients can influence the extent to which a message is

perceived to be well suited for a particular interaction. For instance, B. O’Keefe

et al. (1997) found that individuals prone to using expressive design logic often

evaluated rhetorical strategies as overly indirect or even disingenuous. Samter et al.

(1989) found that individuals with greater cognitive ability appreciated message com-

plexity more so than did less cognitively skilled individuals. Such findings suggest

that the relatively sophisticated identity and relational work of rhetorical messages

may be lost on less sophisticated message recipients. Although rhetorical messages

may be most effective and appropriate on average, the advantages of relatively soph-

isticated messages may not matter to recipients who view communicative situations

in comparatively simplistic terms, and thus perceived message quality depends, in

part, on the sophistication with which a recipient perceives the situation. Given this

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possibility, it was important to be able to control for variations in recipients’ com-

municative skill levels. One particularly useful construct for assessing individual dif-

ferences in people’s ability to discern nuances in situations is cognitive complexity,

which refers to the degree of differentiation in a person’s system of interpersonal

constructs (Burleson & Caplan, 1998). Because cognitive complexity may influence

perceptions of message quality, we asked:

RQ4: Does statistically controlling for individuals’ cognitive complexity influence any associations between the message design logics and participants’ percep- tions of depression disclosure response quality?

Method

Participants

Given that they would be uniquely able to evaluate the quality of responses to

depression disclosures, we recruited 352 participants who had been diagnosed with

depression. Participants resided in many regions of the United States, including

the North, South, Midwest, Southwest, and Northeast. To be eligible, participants

had to report having been professionally diagnosed with depression. Most partici-

pants reported being diagnosed with major depressive disorder (n¼ 159, 45.17%),

and others reported receiving a diagnosis of depressive disorder NOS (n¼ 73,

20.74%),major depressive episode (n¼ 66, 18.75%), bipolar disorder (n¼ 42, 11.93%),

dysthymic disorder (n¼ 11, 3.13%), or cyclothymic disorder (n¼ 1, .28%). The

majority of participants had been diagnosed with depression over 2 years ago

(n¼ 258, 73.30%), and others had been diagnosed 1–2 years ago (n¼ 42, 11.93%),

7–12 months ago (n¼ 19, 5.40%), 4–6 months ago (n¼ 14, 3.98%), or less than 3

months ago (n¼ 18, 5.11%). Demographic questions appeared at the end of the sur-

vey and had much lower response rates than the rest of the study; 115 participants

(32.67%) declined to report their sex or ethnicity. Based on those who did respond,

the sample included 200 (56.82%) females, 37 (10.51%) males, and the average age of

participants was 34.52 years old (SD¼ 12.40, range¼ 18–67). The sample consisted

of White (n¼ 192, 54.55%), African American (n¼ 16, 4.55%), Latino (n¼ 11,

3.13%), and Asian American (n¼ 10, 2.84%) participants, with 8 (2.27%) respon-

dents reporting other ethnic backgrounds.

Procedure

We posted information about the study on numerous online bulletin boards, and

potential participants were directed to a Web page that contained information about

the study, including informed consent information. Those who chose to participate

selected a link to a secure survey Web site. The link randomly directed participants to

one of the 18 different versions of the survey, and at least 13 participants completed

each version. Participants who were willing to provide contact information were

entered in a lottery to win one of five $50 prizes.

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Measures

Participants were first asked to ‘‘Imagine that you just told one of your good friends

that you have been diagnosed with depression for the first time. Imagine that your

friend reacts in the way described below.’’ This statement was followed by one of

18 reactions demonstrating each of the three message design logics (6 expressive, 6

conventional, 6 rhetorical) that were randomly selected from the 504 coded responses

to depression disclosure from the first study. Each respondent was asked to imagine

one particular reaction. Other than the specific reaction message, the 18 versions of

the questionnaire were identical. Appendix B contains the 18 responses used in this

study.

After being asked to consider the response message, participants rated the suppor-

tiveness and appropriateness of the messages using 12 Likert-type items assessed on a

5-point scale. Message supportiveness was measured using six items (‘‘comforting,’’

‘‘generous,’’ ‘‘helpful,’’ ‘‘reassuring,’’ ‘‘sensitive,’’ ‘‘supportive’’) based on Goldsmith

et al. (2000), andmessage appropriateness was measured with six items (‘‘appropriate,’’

‘‘considerate,’’ ‘‘decent,’’ ‘‘proper,’’ ‘‘respectful,’’ ‘‘understanding’’) based on Caughlin

et al. (2008). Both subscales had good reliability (Cronbach’s a¼ .85 for supportive-

ness, Cronbach’s a¼ .87 for appropriateness).

Participants’ cognitive complexity was measured using the two-peer version of

Crockett’s (1965) Role Category Questionnaire, which has amassed considerable con-

struct, concurrent, and discriminant validity (Burleson & Waltman, 1988). Parti-

cipants wrote a free-response description of two well-known peers, one liked and

one disliked. The descriptions were coded following the coding rules given in

Crockett, Press, Delia, and Kenny (1974). Two coders counted the number of inter-

personal constructs reflected in each description. The number of constructs in each of

the two descriptions were then summed to create the cognitive complexity score,

which represents an index (rather than an exhaustive measure) of the participants’

cognitive complexity. Both coders coded the same 25% of the total sample of descrip-

tions to establish intercoder reliability, which was excellent (intraclass correlation

coefficient¼ .95). Disagreements in coding were resolved by the two coders by dis-

cussing the descriptions and reaching consensus on the coding decisions. Once inter-

coder reliability was established, the two coders evenly divided and independently

coded the remaining descriptions.

Results

As a preliminary analysis, we conducted an ANOVA to determine if the different

types of depression reported by participants were related to the dependent variables.

There was no evidence that the results were dependent on the particular diagnosis

experienced by participants: The ANOVA was not significant for supportiveness,

F (5, 345)¼ 1.41, p¼ .22, or appropriateness, F (5, 345)¼ .39, p¼ .86. We therefore

included participants with all types of depression in the remaining analyses.

To test the hypotheses, we conducted an ANCOVA that treated the specific res-

ponse messages as a random factor within the three message design logics. Treating

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the messages as a random factor accounts for variations that may occur because of

differences in messages within a particular category, and it makes it possible to gen-

eralize the findings beyond the specific response messages examined in the present

research to the larger categories of message design logics (Jackson, 1992; Jackson &

Brashers, 1994). Cognitive complexity was added as a covariate, and we included

planned contrasts to test if conventional messages were rated more favorably than

were expressive messages and if rhetorical messages were rated more favorably than

were conventional messages.

In an initial ANOVA without the covariate, there was an overall significant differ-

ence among the three message design logics for supportiveness, F (2, 15)¼ 5.92,

p¼ .01, g2¼ .05. To address the research question, the same analysis was repeated

while controlling for cognitive complexity; the significant result held, and the effect

size was slightly larger, F (2, 15)¼ 7.22, p< .01, g2¼ .06. In short, there was support

for the first hypothesis overall, and it did not appear to be dependent on participants’

cognitive complexity.

To examine the subparts of the first hypothesis, the specific message design logics

were compared, using the analyses that controlled for cognitive complexity. Because a

covariate was included in the model, the planned contrasts were based on estimated

marginal means (EMM). Consistent with H1a, messages with an expressive logic

(EMM¼ 2.12, SE¼ .12) were rated significantly lower in supportiveness than were

messages with a conventional logic (EMM¼ 2.47, SE¼ .12), F (1, 10)¼ 3.42, p< .05,

g2¼ .03. Consistent with H1b, rhetorical messages (EMM¼ 2.79, SE¼ .12) were

evaluated as significantly more supportive than conventional messages, F (1, 10)¼ 3.76, p< .05, g2¼ .02.

By contrast, the findings for appropriateness were not significant, F (2, 15)¼ 0.43,

p¼ .67, g2¼ .001. Controlling for cognitive complexity did not meaningfully change

the findings; there was still no evidence of an association between design logic and

ratings of appropriateness, F (2, 15)¼ 0.25, p¼ .78, g2¼ .001. Thus, the second

hypothesis was not supported.

The research question asked how controlling for cognitive complexity might influ-

ence the findings. We found that adding cognitive complexity as a covariate did not

meaningfully change the results of the analyses, although controlling for cognitive

complexity allowed a slightly larger effect size for supportiveness to emerge.

Discussion

The purpose of the second study was to analyze what counts as a high-quality

response to depression disclosure. Consistent with B. O’Keefe’s (1988, 1990) theory

of message design logics, we found that messages that demonstrated greater sophis-

tication in attending to conventionally relevant goals were rated higher in quality

than less sophisticated messages. More specifically, rhetorical responses to depression

disclosure were evaluated as significantly more supportive than conventional

responses, and conventional responses were evaluated as more supportive than

expressive responses.

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The finding that rhetorical messages were evaluated as more supportive than

conventional and expressive ones suggests that more sophisticated messages are

evaluated more favorably in general, but it is important to note that more sophisti-

cated messages will not always be evaluated most favorably. Many factors may affect

the overall tendency for sophisticated messages to be assessed as higher in quality. We

investigated cognitive complexity as one potential moderator and found that parti-

cipants’ cognitive complexity did not meaningfully influence assessments of response

messages, which strengthened our confidence in the general applicability of the

ordering of the message designs. Still, there are other factors that may provide caveats

to conclusions about which type of messages are evaluated most favorably in general.

For example, the relative importance of conventionally relevant goals might influence

evaluations of messages. The current finding that messages with different design

logics differed significantly in terms of supportiveness but not appropriateness may

indicate that supportiveness is the overriding imperative in the situation of respond-

ing to depression disclosure.

General Discussion

Taken together, the results from the two studies reported here have a number of the-

oretically interesting implications. First, the present research provides a theoretical

means of conceptualizing message sophistication in responses to depression disclos-

ure. In the first study, we found that individuals’ responses to depression disclosure

varied in the way they attempted to rectify the multiple goals relevant to the situation.

The second study showed that response messages using more sophisticated design

logics for managing the multiple goals were rated as higher in quality than those with

less sophisticated design logics. This finding provides valuable empirical evidence not

only for what counts as a better or worse response to depression disclosure, but also

for the usefulness of message design logics and a multiple goals theoretical perspec-

tive as ways of understanding what makes responses to important disclosures more or

less effective in general. Furthermore, the present results demonstrate the utility of a

multiple goals perspective as a theory of message interpretation. Most research utiliz-

ing a multiple goals framework has focused on how goals influence message construc-

tion (Berger, 2005), but multiple goals approaches also represent a useful theoretical

lens for explaining how people interpret and assess communication (Caughlin, 2010).

By demonstrating that messages that attended well to multiple goals were assessed

more favorably than messages that did not, the current investigation represents an

important step toward tapping into the largely unrealized potential of multiple goals

perspectives to explain interpretive processes in conversations.

In addition to bolstering the connection between managing multiple goals and

communication sophistication, our results also demonstrate that the hierarchical

ordering implied in message design logic theory affords a coherent way to classify

the sophistication of responses to disclosure of depression and thus provide further

evidence of the theory’s utility in explaining the process of illness disclosure more

broadly. Extant work on message design logics has largely focused on regulative

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interpersonal communication, or situations in which one person is faced with a need

to correct or control the behavior of another person (e.g., Lambert & Gillespie, 1994;

B. O’Keefe, 1988, 1990), although recent work has begun to investigate the utility of

the theory in explaining HIV disclosure (Caughlin et al., 2008). The current investi-

gation demonstrates that the application of message design logics can be usefully

extended to multiple illness contexts.

The present research also extends our understanding of the features of messages

that can elicit better or worse responses. Cohen Silver et al. (1990) asserted that

how one self-presents coping with illness affects how others respond, and consistent

with this, we found that messages varying in how the discloser was coping influenced

reactions. We believe that the current research is the first to demonstrate this effect

with respect to disclosures about depression.

Such findings have practical significance. The first study demonstrates that the way

individuals manage identity in disclosing illness can affect others’ responses to such

disclosure. This suggests that different ways of attending to identity goals in disclos-

ing depression elicit different kinds of responses, and thus the quality of the response

is based at least in part on how the information is disclosed. Given the challenges

involved in disclosing depression, it is useful to know that certain kinds of messages

(e.g., self-presenting a balanced coping style: ‘‘I’m having a hard time with this, but I

feel like I’m making some progress’’) have a greater likelihood than do others (e.g.,

self-presenting a good coping style: ‘‘Things are going great’’) of allowing disclosure

while minimizing some of the negative reactions to it. Such findings suggest that the

manner in which goals are pursued (not just which goals are addressed) is important.

In providing a general framework for understanding what constitutes a better and

worse response to depression disclosure, these studies highlight several specific mess-

age features that can be incorporated into concrete recommendations about how to

respond when a person discloses a depression diagnosis. For instance, given that

expressive messages were rated as least supportive, it would be prudent for those

wanting to respond supportively to a person’s depression diagnosis to avoid express-

ing their own feelings about the diagnosis, asking questions to satisfy their own curi-

osity, or implicitly or explicitly blaming or criticizing the person. Moreover, given

that rhetorical messages were rated most favorably, recipients of depression disclos-

ure would do well to put the diagnosis in a broader perspective, frame the illness as a

shared problem, or affirm the disclosure as a sign of strength.

Conclusion

The current investigation provides initial evidence for what is helpful and not helpful

in responding to depression disclosure. However, like any study, the present research

is not without limitations. The disclosures used in the first study represented hypo-

thetical rather than actual messages. It is a limitation that our evidence for what

counts as a high-quality response to depression does not come from observing people

in the midst of actually disclosing depression, but given the ethical implications of

giving certain (i.e., low-quality) messages to people living with depression, future

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research should tread lightly in seeking to maximize realism in this line of inquiry.

Second, although we asked participants in the second study to report their specific

diagnosis in medical terms (which would discourage individuals who had not been

diagnosed with depression from continuing), it is possible that some participants

may not have been honest about having depression. A further limitation is we did

not attempt to investigate the cognitive processes that may mediate the various effects

we found. This choice is consistent with D. O’Keefe’s (2003) recommendations that

message effects research is more fruitful when the focus is on connecting message fea-

tures to outcomes rather than attempting to define messages in terms of psychologi-

cal states. From this perspective, manipulation checks that assess psychological states

are irrelevant to the claims at hand (although, obviously, the study is limited in that it

does not make claims about psychological states, such as whether participants in

Study 1 actually recognized differences in how coping was variously portrayed).

Finally, the disclosure and response messages used in this research represented single

episodes, but it is likely that the interactants would continue discussing a depression

diagnosis over time. Although we would expect the initial reaction to disclosure to

remain important, examining later responses to depression disclosure (e.g., people

who respond poorly at first but become more supportive later) would deepen our

understanding of the process of depression disclosure.

In conclusion, disclosing a diagnosis of depression and responding to such a dis-

closure present unique communication challenges. The current research demon-

strates that the nature of a depression disclosure message can influence the

sophistication of the response and that responses that effectively attend to multiple

goals are higher in quality than messages that do not manage multiple goals. Con-

tinuing to further our understanding of the relationship between variation in illness

disclosure messages and variation in responses to such disclosure will help communi-

cation scholars in developing recommendations for people who would disclose their

depression and for those who would respond to important disclosures.

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Pratt, L. A., & Brody, D. J. (2008, September). Depression in the United States household population,

2005–2006 (Centers for Disease Control and Prevention National Center for Health Statistics

Data Brief No. 7). Washington, DC: U.S. Department of Health and Human Services.

Rodriguez, A. J., Holleran, S. E., & Mehl, M. R. (2010). Reading between the lines: The lay

assessment of subclinical depression from written self-descriptions. Journal of Personality,

78, 575–598. doi:10.1111=j.1467–6494.2010.00627.x Samter, W., Burleson, B. R., & Basden-Murphy, L. (1989). Behavioral complexity is in the eye of the

beholder: Effects of cognitive complexity and message complexity on impressions of the

source of comforting messages. Human Communication Research, 15, 612–629.

doi:10.1111=j.1468–2958.1989.tb00201.x U.S. Department of Health and Human Services. (1999). Mental health: A report of the Surgeon

General. Rockville, MD: U.S. DHHS.

Wilson, S. R. (2002). Seeking and resisting compliance: Why people say what they do when trying to

influence others. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage.

World Health Organization. (2001). The world health report 2001: Mental health: New understand-

ing, new hope. Geneva, Switzerland: World Health Organization.

160 A. M. Scott et al.

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Appendix A: Disclosure Messages

‘‘Imagine that you are talking alone with a good friend. Please think of a particular

friend. Now, imagine that after a few minutes of talking, your friend says ‘Well, I have

something to tell you. . .

1. Kernel (no information about coping)

a. . . . I just got diagnosed with depression a few weeks ago.’’’

b. . . .A few weeks ago I found out I have depression.’’’

c. . . .My doctor just diagnosed me with depression a few weeks ago.’’’

d. . . .A few weeks ago my doctor told me I have depression.’’’

2. Self-presenting poor coping

a. . . . I just got diagnosed with depression a few weeks ago. I’m having a really

hard time dealing with all of this.’’’

b. . . .A few weeks ago I found out I have depression. It’s been really hard for me

to relate to people. I feel pretty upset about the whole situation.’’’

c. . . .My doctor just diagnosed me with depression a few weeks ago. I feel

like things are just so unfair and this is making it really hard for me to have

a positive attitude about anything.’’’

d. . . .A few weeks ago my doctor told me I have depression. I just feel like it’s so

hard for me to enjoy life or feel hopeful about anything. I still don’t feel like

it’s even worth it to get up in the morning.’’’

3. Self-presenting good coping

a. . . . I just got diagnosed with depression a few weeks ago. I feel like things

are actually going really well. I’m much more aware of the good things in

life.’’’

b. . . .A few weeks ago I found out I have depression, and I feel like I’m manag-

ing everything really well. This has made me value everything in life a lot more

than I did before.’’’

c. . . .My doctor just diagnosed me with depression a few weeks ago, and I feel

like a cloud has lifted. I’m starting to feel really good again.’’’

d. . . .A few weeks ago my doctor told me I have depression. I feel like in a way

this has improved the quality of my life. I’m trying to live each day to the

fullest now.’’’

4. Self-presenting balanced coping

a. . . . I just got diagnosed with depression a few weeks ago. Some days I feel okay

about it and other days are a little harder. I guess all I can do is keep trying.’’’

b. . . .A few weeks ago I found out I have depression. I sometimes wonder why

this happened to me, but I’m trying to make the best of the situation. Some

days that’s easier to do than others.’’’

c. . . .My doctor just diagnosed me with depression a few weeks ago. It’s been

one of those things where sometimes I feel like I’m spinning out of control,

but then I have days where I feel like I’m managing everything well.’’’

Western Journal of Communication 161

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d. . . .A few weeks ago my doctor told me I have depression. On the one

hand, this has been a really hard thing to deal with, but on the other

hand, I feel like I’m learning some really valuable lessons from going through

this.’’’

5. Explicit support-seeking

a. . . . I just got diagnosed with depression a few weeks ago, and I think I’m really

going to need your help with all of this.’’’

b. . . .A few weeks ago I found out I have depression, and I’m hoping I can count

on you for support with everything.’’’

c. . . .My doctor just diagnosed me with depression a few weeks ago, and I’m

telling you because I really need your support.’’’

d. . . .A few weeks ago my doctor told me I have depression, and I’m telling you

because I know I can come to you for help.’’’

Appendix B: Response Messages

‘‘Imagine that you just told one of your good friends that you have been diagnosed

with depression for the first time. Imagine that your friend reacts in the way

described below:

1. Expressive responses

a. ‘How so? What makes you think that in particular?’’’

b. ‘Oh no. You have seemed okay lately. What is causing it?’’’

c. ‘Well, what are they going to do about it?’’’

d. ‘You are always depressed, though. What’s the difference?’’’

e. ‘Are you okay? Did you go to a doctor? I didn’t know you weren’t feeling

okay.’’’

f. ‘Oh. How long have you been feeling like this? Why didn’t you say anything

to me?’’’

2. Conventional responses

a. ‘I’m so sorry to hear that. Well, we need to focus on ways to keep your spirits

high. Do you know what makes you sad?’’’

b. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. How long have you been feeling this way? Is there any-

thing I can do to help?’’’

c. ‘Is there anything that I need to know about that you haven’t told me other

than that? What do you need from me that can help you?’’’

d. ‘Really? Why do you think you were diagnosed with depression? Is something

wrong? Well, if you need anything, let me know for sure.’’’

e. ‘Really? I’m so sorry. Do you want to talk about it? Did the doctor say any

specifics as to what is causing your depression?’’’

f. ‘What’s on your mind? You know that you can talk with me. Dude, seriously

what’s up?’’’

162 A. M. Scott et al.

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3. Rhetorical responses

a. ‘Oh my gosh. Are you serious? You know I’m always here for you if you need

anything or if you want to talk. I know this is a hard time for you, and I want

the best for you. We can work through this together.’’’

b. ‘How are you feeling now? I’m really glad you decided to tell me this. I just

want you to know that no matter what happened, I’ll always be by your side.

This won’t change our relationship and you can always come to me. Is there

anything I can do for you right now?’’’

c. ‘Wow, that’s kind of scary. But the good thing about it is you’ve been diag-

nosed, which means that you’ll start getting treatment. If you had just gone

through the rest of your life without knowing, there’s no telling what would

have happened. You might have hit a real low, and you wouldn’t have known

how to get out of it. I know you know, but I’m going to tell you anyway: I’m

here for you, and if you need to talk about anything I’m here. Even if you’re

just feeling sad and you don’t know why, I’ll listen to you while you sort it

out. You know I love you, and you’re going to be alright, seriously.’’’

d. ‘I am glad that you were willing to tell me that. I appreciate the fact that you

want me to know. I think that you being willing to go to the doctor and ask

for help is a good decision. They will be able to get you help and help you

manage those feelings with the proper care. You know that you can come

to me and I will try to help too, or at least be a good person to listen.’’’

e. ‘I’m sorry this happened. Is there anything I can do? I’ll be here for any

emotional, physical, mental support you may need. Just know that I’ll always

still be your friend throughout this time, no matter what happens.’’’

f. ‘I’m so sorry. I cannot even imagine how difficult that was to hear. Don’t

worry, though. We’ll get through this together. I’ll be here for you no matter

what. If you need anything—seriously anything—just let me know.’’’

Western Journal of Communication 163

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Portland State University PDXScholar Communication Faculty Publications and Presentations Communication

10-1-2011

'You're lying to Jesus!': Humor and play in a discussion about homelessness L. David Ritchie Portland State University

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Citation Details Ritchie, L. (2011). 'You're lying to Jesus!': Humor and play in a discussion about homelessness. Humor: International Journal Of Humor Research, 24 (4), 481-511.

Humor 24–4 (2011), 481–511 0933–1719/11/0024–0481 DOI 10.1515/HUMR.2011.027 © Walter de Gruyter

“You’re lying to Jesus!” Humor and play in a discussion about

homelessness

L. DaviD Ritchie

Abstract

This study applies recent theories about humor to a sample of talk among a group of young adults about the issues and problems associated with home- lessness. In this conversation, participants demonstrate a pattern of joking and language play that expresses a complex and ambivalent set of attitudes and feelings toward homelessness and toward the homeless as both outcasts and refugees from conventional society. Humor is used both to express com- plex responses to homelessness and as a tool for managing the tone and direc- tion of the conversation. The results demonstrate how the identification of pat- terns of joking and wordplay can provide insights into how people accomplish task-oriented objectives as well as relational and interactive objectives in e veryday talk.

Keywords: discourse; everyday talk; homelessness; humor.

1. Introduction

How does humor help us handle the problems posed by emotionally taxing is­ sues such as those raised by our frequent encounters with homelessness? How does humor contribute to the process of attitude and belief formation in the crucible of everyday talk? How do people use humor to help negotiate conflict­ ing social identities associated with significant life transitions?

This essay addresses these questions within a broader inquiry into the role of everyday conversation in the formulation, transmission, and expression of so­ cial reality, and a parallel inquiry into the role of figurative language, including humor, in the accomplishment of relational and task objectives in everyday

482 L. D. Ritchie

talk. Informal talk about homelessness is a particularly useful focus for this inquiry, because, like many of the underlying issues in contemporary U.S. pub­ lic life, the issues surrounding homelessness are complex and morally am­ biguous. Homelessness touches most of us in one way or another on a daily basis, arouses an ambivalent mixture of emotions, and admits no ready or easy solution. Moreover, unlike other enduring issues such as abortion rights or gun control, views about issues associated with homelessness do not yet seem to have hardened or polarized: civil conversation on the topic is still easily ac­ complished in ordinary social settings. Finally, homelessness is associated both with social problems of unemployment, substance abuse, and mental ill­ ness on the one hand and on the other hand, at least within contemporary U.S. youth subculture, with an idealistic and romantic pursuit of anti­materialism in the guise of boheme (“beat” or “hippie”) lifestyles.

2. Humor in groups

Modern theories of humor have generally emphasized aggression and superi­ ority (e.g., Gruner 1997; Zillman and Cantor 1976), contrast, incongruity, or incongruity resolution (e.g. Raskin 1985; Raskin and Attardo 1994; Suls 1972), or tension­release (e.g. Lefcourt 2001). Citing Apter’s (1982) characterization of humor as playful and paratelic (in contrast to goal­oriented or telic b ehavior, Martin (2007) insists that humor is “essentially a type of mental play involving a lighthearted, nonserious attitude toward ideas and events” ( p. 1); Chiaro (1992) and Norrick (1993) make similar points. Martin concludes that aggres­ sion and superiority is often but not always involved in humor, and that some form of contrast or incongruity is always involved in the comprehension of humor, but he also distinguishes between the comprehension and the enjoy- ment of humor.

Theories of humor have often been based on and explained in terms of canned jokes, usually narratives building up to a punch line and often taken from “joke book” collections or joke pages of popular magazines (Attardo 1994; Martin 2007). At least in part, as Martin points out, this is an issue of methodology, since naturally­occurring humor does not readily lend itself to rigorous experimental methods. However, the theoretical understanding of humor as a communicative resource has been considerably enriched by d iscourse­analytic research on humor in conversations (e.g., Norrick 1993; Tannen 1984; recent examples include Everts 2003; Terrion and Ashforth 2002). Humor has been analyzed both in workplace groups (Holmes and Marra

“You’re lying to Jesus!” 483

2002; Plester and Sayers 2007; Terrion and Ashford 2002), and in informal conversations among friends (Tannen 1984) and within family groups (Everts 2003; Norrick 1993).

It is evident that humor often plays a complex role in­group interactions (A ttardo 1994; Martin 2007; Tannen 1984). Recent research (e.g., Everts 2003; Fine and De Soucey 2005; Holmes and Marra 2002; Plester and Sayers 2007) has shown that groups often develop unique styles and traditions of joking and teasing as part of group culture. Humor helps to define the group, delineating members from outsiders, establishing and maintaining commitment to the group, and expressing and reinforcing the boundaries of acceptable behavior within the group. Humor is used to soften implied criticisms and directives and to negotiate differences of power and authority; it can also be used by inferiors to challenge or subvert power and status hierarchies and to assert solidarity among members of subgroups. Other research (e.g. Terrion and Ashford 2002) highlights the social­facilitative and interpersonal bonding role of humor. When a complex or morally ambiguous topic is under discussion, humor may provide a means for introducing information and expressing responses that might otherwise seem mutually contradictory or otherwise reprehensible, and for introducing potentially offensive or controversial information and ideas while avoiding taking direct responsibility for them.

The work and family groups observed in recent research on humor often have clearly defined boundaries. Consistent with Social Identity Theory (Ca­ pozza and Brown 2000; Tajfel and Turner 1986) and the superiority / a ggression theories of humor (e.g., Gruner 1997; Zillman and Cantor 1976) we would expect the humor in a clearly­defined group to be directed at out­groups or, when it is used within the group, to be used in a way that either reinforces the status hierarchy (when directed at less powerful members of the group) or subverts the status hierarchy (when directed at more powerful members of the group). However, within the family and friendship groups studied by Norrick (1993), much of the apparently aggressive humor was both welcomed and e njoyed by the apparent target of the “aggression,” and seemed to build rather than undermine a spirit of conviviality; similar patterns are observed by Ter­ rion and Ashford (2002) among the group of police executives they observed. On the other hand, in the groups studied by Drew (1987), much of the teasing had a barbed edge and was either rejected or repaired by the target, for example by correcting the teaser or reaffirming the serious state of affairs (Attardo 1994).

Gruner (1997) claims that all humor is aggressive, although he recognizes some aggressive humor as playful, similar to the mock aggression of “rough­

484 L. D. Ritchie

and­tumble” play. However, as Martin (2007) points out, Gruner’s claim is based on an obsolete theory of evolution and a definition of aggression that is so broad as to be unrefutable. Gruner also asserts that play always involves competition, and cannot be “fun” unless it involves the possibility of win­ ning or losing, but Kohn (1986) provides extensive evidence that people often actively dislike competition and prefer non­competitive play. Even in rough­ and­tumble physical play, among both animals and humans the dominant ani­ mal usually “holds back” enough to permit the play­mate to “win” frequently (Martin 2007), thus mitigating the competition as well as the aggression. A rather different view of evolution is suggested by Dunbar (1996; 2003), and a contrasting view of language play is suggested by Carter (2004) and Cook (2000).

Drawing on growing evidence of a correlation between the size of the cere­ bral cortex and the complexity of social organization in several species of pri­ mates (as well as other mammals and birds), Dunbar proposes that the evolu­ tion of advanced cognitive abilities in general and language in particular has been in part driven by the pressures of living in large and complex social struc­ tures. Dunbar argues that language serves both as an extension of grooming behaviors observed among other primate species and as a means of exchang­ ing information about the social structure of an extended group (“gossip”). Among other species of primates, grooming is used to build and maintain co­ alitions, and appears to function at least in part by means of the pleasure of being groomed. It is apparent from research on other species that play is also a source of pleasure; for example the opportunity to play has been found to serve as well as food as a reward in conditioning experiments (Fagen, 1995). Among humans, language play in particular, including nonsense as well as humor, is a source of pleasure among both adults and children (Cook 2000; Martin 2007).

Carter (2004) and Cook (2000) provide extensive examples demonstrating the extent to which humans, adults as well as children, derive enjoyment from playing with every aspect of language, from its sounds and rhythms through word meanings and narrative structures (for a discussion of playful and hu­ morous use of metaphorical language see Glucksberg 2001 and Ritchie and Dyhouse 2008). Although Dunbar does not go into detail about the forms of language used as a substitute for and extension of physical grooming, it is well established that humor can relieve emotional stress and contribute to healing (Lefcourt 2001; Martin 2007), and a “grooming” function based on the mutual enjoyment of humor is certainly consistent with evidence that humor can con­ tribute to group solidarity and bonding (Attardo 1994; Martin 2007).

“You’re lying to Jesus!” 485

2.1. Humor and the constitution of social reality amid conflicting social identities

The research reported in the following was undertaken as part of a larger proj­ ect designed to understand how socially intimate groups talk about politically, morally, and emotionally sensitive topics. An overarching objective of this project is to understand how groups constitute their understanding of external situations that affect them (their social reality) through their casual “everyday” conversations and simultaneously maintain themselves as coherent social units. A more immediate objective is to understand how figurative language contrib­ utes to a group’s ability to negotiate a diversity of viewpoints within an overall commitment to group cohesion and solidarity. Thus, the objectives of the proj­ ect combine research on the social processes of group cohesion with research on the distributed cognitive processes involved in establishing and formulating “positions” with respect to issues of mutual interest to group members.

Research on social identity has been criticized both for focusing on inter­ group communication to the exclusion of communication within the group, and for emphasizing a single identity and ignoring the fact that multiple identi­ ties may operate simultaneously and sometimes in conflict with one another (Crisp and Hewstone 2000; Worchel et al. 2000). The group within which the conversation reported herein took place exemplifies yet another level of com­ plexity. Consistent with Crisp and Hewstone, each member of this group has multiple social identities, and many of these come into play during the conver­ sation. But most of the participants, half of whom are students, are also at a life stage at which social identities often undergo radical changes. Several of the participants in this conversation had, in the recent past, identified with a bo­ heme, “hippie” life­style. To various degrees most of the participants were at the time of the conversation engaged in processes ( pursuing college degrees, starting careers) that are at least to some extent contradictory with the anti­ materialist, boheme values that had previously been professed by several of them. Because these values appear to be associated to some extent with the state of homelessness, the content of their discussion of homelessness was i nevitably influenced by the apparent contradictions between their lingering boheme social identities and their emergent middle­class social identities. These within­person contradictions were emphasized by differences among the group members, which resulted in frequent bouts of joking and teasing.

During the initial analysis of the conversation reported herein, it became apparent that, in addition to the functions related to group identity, cohesion, and boundary­maintenance identified in previous research (Attardo 1994;

486 L. D. Ritchie

Martin 2007), humor served a distinctly cognitive function, providing a vehicle through which group members were able to express and work out their com­ plex personal responses to the emotionally charged and multi­faceted issues related to homelessness and poverty in the midst of comfort and plenty. For many of them, humor also provided a means to express the contradictions not only between the value commitments of different group members but also be­ tween the boheme values some members were relinquishing and the middle­ class value commitments they were beginning to adopt. Finally, consistent with Dunbar’s (1996) theory of the “grooming” function of language and Mar­ tin’s (2007) observations about the social­bonding effects of shared pleasure, the humor also helped facilitate the social interaction by provided a basis for mutual enjoyment.

3. The conversation

The data analyzed herein were gathered by two students in an advanced semi­ nar on figurative language and humor (Ellison and Boyer 2008), using a for­ mat based on the “peer group discussions” initially developed by Gamson (1992) and Sasson (1995). In contrast to more traditional focus groups, in “peer group discussions” participants are acquainted with each other outside of the research setting, fewer participants are used in each group, and the discus­ sions are held in an informal social setting. Sasson argues that this approach encourages participants to interact more intensely and with less reserve and is more likely to give an accurate reflection of the subculture from which subjects are drawn.

3.1. Participants

For this study, six young adults, including two moderators, were invited to meet in the living room of one of the moderators and talk about issues re­ lated to homelessness. Three members of the group and one moderator are male, one participant and one moderator are female. The two moderators and one other participant are students at a large urban university in Portland, Ore­ gon, a mid­sized western U.S. city. One of the males in the group, R, has him­ self been homeless on more than one occasion, for periods of time ranging from a few weeks to several months. R also appears to be the most politically sophisticated  —  and the most liberal  —  of the participants. The other partici­

“You’re lying to Jesus!” 487

pants represent political and social views that range from moderately conser­ vative to very liberal.

3.2. Analysis

To preserve anonymity, all participants are designated only by an initial. De­ tails of transcription and coding are given in Appendix A. The transcribed data were first analyzed, using a combination of “bottom­up” and “top­down” anal­ ysis (Cameron 2007), for the pattern of metaphors and narratives (the results of the metaphor analysis are reported elsewhere). During this analysis, nu­ merous instances of playful and humorous communicative behavior were noted. These include stories told with humorous intent, teasing and humorous insults exchanged between participants, and humorous meta­comments about the research process itself. Subsequent to the completion of the metaphor anal­ ysis, the instances of humor and play were identified and subjected to further analysis.

3.3. Overview of the conversation

A conversation held in the peer­group format can at best approximate a n aturally­occurring conversation, and participants will inevitably be aware of the research setting. This awareness must be considered as part of the commu­ nicative context throughout the interpretation of the data (Gamson 1992; Sas­ son 1995). The participants in this conversation directly addressed the p urposes of the research and joked about the research process itself several times during the conversation. Nonetheless, all participants seem to have been fully and sincerely engaged with the topic, and it is apparent from their joking and teas­ ing that they participated in the conversation as an ordinary social interaction.

Several themes became apparent early in the analysis. Tensions between dis­ tance and empathy, boheme anti­materialistic and more conventional middle­ class values, cynicism and pity, and person­blame vs. system­blame appeared early and re­appeared throughout. There were also frequent contrasts  —   between the city in which the conversation took place (Portland) and other cities in the U.S. and Europe ( particularly New York and Amsterdam), between “real” homeless persons and “rich kids from the suburbs,” between “the system” and “the street.” Participants repeatedly mentioned that Portland attracts an u nusual number of homeless people because the city is friendly to them  —  although on

488 L. D. Ritchie

one of these occasions R, the one member of the group who had actually been homeless, ironically noted that the homeless are shunted away from the center of the city into a permanent encampment called “Dignity Village.”

Throughout the conversation one person would speak for several intonation units, usually a half­minute but sometimes longer, often interrupted by brief back­channel comments. Then several participants would make brief com­ ments in response to the preceding monologue, and the pattern would be re­ peated. In most cases, at least one story was related or referenced during this prolonged turn. In some cases, a story was interrupted by another person’s prolonged turn, then resumed and finished. Themes introduced in one story were frequently picked up, repeated, and sometimes transformed in later turns (see Cameron 2007).

4. Humor

Several examples of humor occur in connection with stories that make fun of homeless people or “the system.” However, humorous stories also celebrate the humanity of homeless people, including stories in which homeless people get the better of “the system” in one way or another, and several instances of h umor are at the expense of the person telling the story. Another large category of humor involves quips and jokes either about the research process or serving to deflate one or another of the participants, at least in part as a means of control­ ling the conversation.

4.1. Making fun of the homeless

The conversation opened with a pair of narratives about encountering home­ less people, in which stock images of homeless panhandlers are invoked:

0139 S: I. . uh. . I’m the same way. Really don’t think about it. 0142 When I do think about it I say ̂ outlandish, ridiculous^ things [l aughter] 0145 Because its fun to be. . you know. . offensive and upsetting to people, 0149 but . . . um. . It­its a lot of. . cliché things that come to mind. 0155 Like somebody standing on the side of. . 0157 the freeway, with a ^sign^ and a ^dog^ . . .

This “sign and a dog” image recurred repeatedly, often paired with a humorous comment. It was followed almost immediately by another narrative, which emphasized yet another homelessness stereotype:

“You’re lying to Jesus!” 489

0222 P: Well did I tell you about. . the game that I made up 0225 When I moved downtown . . . Called ^scare a bum away^? 0227 S: [Laughs] No=o. . Oh yeah [Laughter] 0229 P: I, I’d gotten. . I’d gotten frustrated with ^walking downtown^. 0232 I couldn’t leave a building . . . and walk around a corner 0235 without getting asked for a cigarette [yup] or change.. 0238 And so. . I. . thought about it and I was like. . 0240 What. . would be the one thing that would. . keep these people. . 0243 away from me 0245 And . . . the concept is. . that. . no one wants to ask you for ^shit^ . . . 0249 If you look more fucked up than they are S: Hmmmph [laughter] 0251 P: So basically. . you can usually spot a homeless person 0254 from about half a block away. 0256 And when you do you just, kinda, go into. . kinda . . . of a retarded . . . 0259 kinda walk and just stumble down the street 0301 or just get some really grimace face . . . And just start talking to

y ourself. . 0305 {And they don’t ask you for shit.} . . . {slowed, with emphasis} 0308 S: No that’s a fair thing. I might try that [laughter]

This basic avoidance narrative, with its implicit aggression and assertion of superiority with respect to homeless people is echoed several times in different versions, sometimes in a light and humorous tone, sometimes in a more serious tone.

Beginning a story about a panhandler who was at the same intersection for several months, S repeats a common stereotype: “And there were always the same. . bums. . bums? . . I don’t know. . like. . I don­ always the same fuckers out there. . with their fucking signs” Laughter] (S, 0927– 0935). Switching from humor at the expense of the homeless to joking about the research pro­ cess, P remarks, “Much better topic” (P, 0938), S replies, “Tran­ Transcribe it, um. .” [Laughter] (S, 0939) and R exclaims “Ye=es.”

Late in the conversation in a discussion about why homeless people all have dogs, S (4821) says “I also think they are a good pity button!” and R (4825) responds, “That’s what babies are for. .” (general laughter). Here the humor is more complex, combining an implied denigration of homeless people with a subversive cynicism.

490 L. D. Ritchie

Early in the conversation, participants draw a distinction between the genu­ inely down­and­out” homeless and “rich kids” who are merely “slumming.” In response to one of R’s stories about his own life “on the streets,” B starts a question about the homeless subculture, then protests,

0407 Hey, I’m not the one from {^suburb^}. No [laughter] uh 0410 It’s a bunch of rich kids. Like, it’s this whole [cough] 0412 It’s a dichotomy. You have real homeless people 0414 And then you have street kids or whatever [yeah] 0417 And it’s . . . rich kids from {suburb}. And they’re ^slumming^ 0420 Because they’re. . whatever, you know. . Like whatever cliché in their

life. . 0424 And they feel like. . oh you know. . 0426 {My parents don’t understand me 0427 Society doesn’t understand me} {mocking, whiny sounding} 0428 But it’s also. . uh . . . Man it’s a subculture. It’s great. . like. . 0433 ^Drugs^ and ^Dogs^ and ^traveling^ and ^trains^ but . . . I don’t know 0439 {It’s empty} {facetious}

P immediately picks up the thread with his own story:

0440 P: Peeing yourself . . . [laughter] after drinking too much [yeah] 0442 I got on the MAX and there was like this troupe full of homeless people 0445 that got on with their dogs and bags and everything. 0447 And they reeked of fucking ^urine^ and ^booze^ 0450 And they’re all like 0451 {“Yea=ah we got so=o trashed last night. 0453 You passed out and then pissed yourself maan 0455 It was awe=some”} {imitates drunk sounding homeless

p erson} 0456 I’m like. . [chuckles] 0457 {Is that what you really want to do 0500 when you’re homeless} {raised, mocking voice} [Laughter]

This is followed up by several sympathetic comments about “older people,” people who actually are desperate. “Usually they’re homeless. . for a reason and they’re not just. . some rich kid from {suburb}. And they actually have [well] a. . problem or. . whether it be a drinking problem or a mental health [yeah]” (J, 0559– 0608). Subsequently, most of the comments and stories about the first group, the “genuinely” homeless, are relatively sympathetic; the

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sharpest humor was directed toward the second group, the suburban kids out “slumming.” Given the boheme sympathies of several members of the group, this sharp criticism of “kids from the suburbs,” perhaps acting according to an idealistic vision similar to their own, is particularly interesting. The implicit contrast between the genuine and the pretense becomes explicit in an extended discussion of Jack Kerouac and Charles Bukowsky later in the conversation, to which I will return.

Later, after P mentions that Portland is a magnet for runaways, J concurs: “My best friend from Kansas was totally gonna move here when I lived here. Just. . [ just as], I mean. . because [yeah] and I was like. . You fucking idiot [Laughs] it’s just stupid” (J, 1524 –1531). R embellishes the point: “Yeah, you don’t know about rain do you?” (R, 1532). [Laughter]

In a story directed at the situation of homelessness at least as much as at homeless people themselves, J describes a video­game idea, which P links to an episode on a popular TV program:

4845 J: I once had a concept for a video game. . there’re bummer zombies 4848 and you had to like shoot the zombies. . but not the bums 4851 and they would all come after you. . like awwww . . . 4855 S: that’s a great idea (laughter) 4857 P: ^Change! Change!^ 4859 have you seen that South Park episode? . . 4902 it was on the last South Park. . it was like the night of the living bums 4907 ^and^ basically bums invaded South Park 4909 and they’re all just going around 4911 ^Change! Change!^ 4913 (general laughter) 4916 R: That’s how it is in Portland! . . 4918 the key is if you see somebody approach 4920 you hit them up for money first (haha)

This extended passage is interesting in several ways. P might have spoiled J’s performance ( by alleging that the idea originated with the TV show) but in­ stead reinforced it by repeating basically the same idea while drawing the m edia connection. This and other instances of collaborative humor contradicts claims that humor is always in some sense competitive (e.g., Gruner 1997). It is a layered comparison (Clark 1996; see also Attardo’s 2001 discussion of “intertextual” jokes)  —  J’s (and P’s) story contains the South Park episode, which in turn contains old horror movies, complete with a playful distortion of the title of a classic movie about zombies ( Night of the Living Dead ),

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r endering the troublesome encounters with people asking for money in a harm­ lessly comic image. As an apparent aggression against homeless people, this is rather mild, inasmuch as the implied criticism is softened and rendered c omical by the implication that they are, like zombies, bereft of will.

4.2. Scatological humor: Turning the tables

Swearwords are frequent, and scatological humor appears throughout the con­ versation. The most interesting comes about thirty minutes into the conversa­ tion, when J repeats a possibly apocryphal story:

3937 J: On the east coast I think, Boston or somewhere 3939 my friend was telling me about this. . it was all over the news. . like. . 3941 homeless people were taking shits in peoples cars 3942 inside their cars. . because they didn’t. . 3943 have a place to go the bathroom. . they, they would like get arrested 3945 or. . whatever because they yah know 3947 P: That’s the number one public nuisance in Amsterdam 3948 J: So they started shittin in people’s cars. . like inside their cars 3950 they’d get in, take a shit, get out and you come back to your car 3953 (general laughter) 3954 and there’s shit 3955 R: that’s ^brilliant!^ That’s subversive . . . people who own cars wait! 3958 (general laughter) 4000 P: get a bike! 4001 R: shit! I drove (laughter) 4003 B: you can’t shit inside somebody’s bike.

This story appears to have been introduced in part as an illustration of the prob­ lems homeless people cause others, but it also has the characteristics of “a good story” of the picaresque genre, where the loveable scalawag gets the better of those who represent propriety and order. It is clearly enjoyed by everyone pre­ sent both for the incongruous image (Attardo 2001; Gibbs 2006) and for the way in which the tables are turned on the middle­class automobile owners  —   and on those who persist in commuting by car (“get a bike!”) It is also interest­ ing, given the frequency with which “shit” and other expletives appear in the transcript, that J used the euphemistic “to go the bathroom” while telling this story. This sense of ambivalence is reinforced by the transition from a literal

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use of “shit” (line 3954) to an exclamatory use (4001) and back to a literal use (4003).

In addition to this bawdy story about soiling people’s automobiles, there were several more gently humorous stories in which the basic humanity of homeless people is celebrated. In one, J (who lives in an area of downtown Portland that has many homeless people) is asked how it is to live there, and prefaces his reply with the following story:

1859 J: No, like, when I first moved down there I was a little weird about it. 1902 Just, cuz’. . You know. . I always lived in the suburbs, 1904 And. . you know . . . we had a couple of bums that lived. . 1907 behind our house. . in {suburb} [laughs]{slower} 1910 But. . they were friendly. They rode the­ 1913 There was this huge hill, and they just, like, rode the shopping cart, 1914 all the way down the hill. 1915 S: Nice 1916 [Laughter] 1917 J: But, uh. . And they’re like a married couple too 1922 I liked that, {it was funny} {trails off}

Somewhat later, S tells with obvious relish a story about a “bum” who turned the tables and got the better of her:

4436 S: I have had the funniest. . funniest bums though. . 4440 one of them asked me for a cigarette. . one and a half or two years ago 4443 I was like. . I don’t have any. 4445 He pulled out a rosary!, 4447 He was like. . ^you’re lying to the LORD!^ 4448 (general laughter) 4452 and I was totally. . and I was like shit he called me on it 4455 ^he held up the rosary^ 4456 ^you’re lying to the LORD!^ 4457 he did a jig and ran down the street 4458 (general laughter)

4.3. Making fun of “the system”

In one of the first intrusions of material from the media, P describes a come­ dian’s routine he saw on the web: “He was basically talking about being home­ less. It was kind of a joke thing. But it was really real at the same time. He was

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talking about how everyone goes ‘Well why don’t you just go out and get a job?’ And he’s like ‘Well, I can’t go get a job because I don’t have an address. And without and address, I can’t. . get a paycheck’ . . . [yeah]” (P, 0730 – 0744).

This repeated comedy routine leads to a serious comment about cell phones as a substitute for an actual residence, which then leads into another long story about a homeless person “scamming the system.”

0817 B: I guess the one thing that bothers me 0819 even when I was at the soup kitchen. I saw homeless people with. . . . 0823 ^I pods^ [uh huh] 0823 And. . ̂ cell phones^. And I’m like. . how are you affording this? When. . 0828 J: I once saw a lady at. . at the, the Pete­ What is it? Peterson’s? 0833 S: Yeah Peterson’s, {Pete­, Pete­} {fades out} 0834 R: PA’s? 0835 J: they have those cell phone tents. . out there, every 0839 on like, Saturdays. And this lady. . like. . sold this ^bum^. . [uh huh] 0842 A ^cell phone^ [oh yeah]. Like, right in front of me. And I was like, 0843 “Are you fucking kidding me?” like. . 0844 There’s no way he’s gonna be able to like 0846 S: Well the thing 0847 J: Ever pay his bill. . or it. . 0849 and she’s probably getting paid ^commission^. And she just sold a

phone 0852 And he, he like called his mom right there 0854 he’s like {“I just got a phone”} {raises pitch, imitating voice} 0855 He was so happy [Laughter] 0856 I mean [Laughter] 0857 R: Well that’s great, like 0858 S: Yeah awesome 0859 J: You know but like. . wha­buh­duh, where’s he gonna charge it? . . . 0900 R: Uh . . . [Laughter] 0901 P: Restaurants 0902 J: [Laughing] When is he gonna fucking pay 0903 Pay for his cell phone bill 0904 R: Well I mean everybody has 0906 J: He’s just trapped in fucking a 2 year contract

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0908 That he’s never gonna be able to pay [Laughter] 0909 R: Dude everybody has needs. 0910 P: Where are they gonna send the bill? 0911 S: That’s good. Yeah, Yeah he worked the system 0913 P: Where they gonna send the bill? 0914 S: he gets a cell phone for a month [laughter] [unintelligible] 0916 S: They. . send a bill [yeah, that’s good] 0917 whenever he gets another [unintelligible] [Laughter] 0918 J: he’s probably just gonna sell it. . I suppose.

Here, J seems to be simultaneously critical of the cell phone sales agent, as a representative of the stupidities of the capitalist system, and both critical of and sympathetic toward the homeless person. The ensuing interchange about charging it, paying the bill, etc., collaboratively reinforces the incongruity, but R restores the underlying issue of deprivation when he observes seriously that “Dude everybody has needs.” (It is interesting that this comment did not come up during the many discussions of urinating and defecating on the street and in parks.)

In a serious vein, S observes “We all have jobs” and R interjects, “shitty.” (2156). This theme is elaborated later, during a long discussion critiquing the Capitalist “system,” when R says, “Like you know, its not the fittest will sur­ vive. Its like, the person who’s willing to get fucked the most, and go through the most schooling, is gonna survive. Like. .” (R, 2427–2432). J (2434) inter­ jects “Fuck the most. . other people over.” [yeah] and R finishes, “Who [laugh­ ter] has no conscience” [yeah, exactly].” There are many examples throughout the conversation in which a serious observation is undermined or at least qual­ ified by ironic or joking back­channel comments.

4.4. Making fun of higher education

During a long section in which the participants criticize the capitalist “system,” higher education (the local university in particular) becomes the butt of the critique  —  and of the humor: “There is no one way to live life. And I think the, the homeless. . the word homeless, itself is, uh. . is like a fuckin buzz word or whatever. [yeah] Its one of those, topics, that you pick out of a. . {university

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initials, spoken emphatically}, you know, research paper. [laughter] And uh. . that’s, I don’t know [laughter] that’s bullshit, its just like a bunch of, white kids. . sitting in {a suburb}. . discussing it. (R, 2557–2619).

A few minutes later, R extends the critical humor to embrace the participants in the conversation themselves: “Th, the people that are going to school in this room we’re going. . yes, quote, ‘to help people’ as we all like to say, but. . naw, communication majors, they’re goin to make ^money^.” (R, 2923–2932). S reinforces the point about materialism: “Yeah, absolutely.” Then J picks up the critique with a JOURNEY metaphor: “It’s education, its everything else too, the whole fucking country [yeah] is fucked. And if you don’t go with this thing that’s bigger that you [yup] and its going this direction, if you can’t jump on that ship, you’re fucked. [stifled laughter] That’s the way life is. I mean [laugh­ ter] seriously, [laughter] that’s what it is” (J, 2901–2915). It appears that J in­ tended these comments seriously, but others picked up on the humorous ele­ ments as well as the underlying serious intent of the metaphor. This kind of “conversation management” humor occurs frequently during the last half of the conversation.

4.5. Conversation management humor

In several places, one or another of the participants “gets too serious,” and humor is used (sometimes by others, sometimes by the speaker himself  ) to moderate the serious tone. R, who has himself experienced several periods of homelessness and displays an apparent radical left political consciousness in several parts of the conversation, was a frequent target. For example, at one point R suggests that there is “An illness within society, like, um. . completely interrelated with drugs . . . and mental illness uh . . . infantile sexuality no, whatever [ha ha] like . . . [Laughter] some­ [laughter] Seriously, like, some­ thing” [laughter] (R, 1105–1117). R’s tone here is self­effacing and appears to combine a high­minded use of complex concepts with a low­key self­mockery. Later, when R is talking seriously about the prospect for homelessness to get worse, and predicts a general societal collapse, one of the other participants exclaims, “Homeless of the world, unite!” In these passages and several others, R combines seriousness with self mockery: When the group turns his com­ ments into a joke, he goes along with the humor, then attempts to steer the conversation back to a more serious tone.

In another example, after another long monologue in which he predicts a general collapse of civilization, R brings up Africa as an example.

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4142 R: Look at Africa. They call it genocide, they call it famine 4145 and you read it so conveniently on your iPhone and everything 4148 S: I don’t. 4150 R: and it scrolls. . its s=o user friendly. . 4153 J: We don’t look up shit about Africa 4154 (general laughter) 4156 R: even better. That surmises everything. Africa . . . (cough) 4200 uh. . no. . that’s, that’s it! That’s exactly where we are headed. 4203 S: Africa? 4204 (general laughter) 4207 jumping on a ship. Lets go! 4210 R: to Africa 4211 (general laughter)

This exchange is interesting on several levels. It is very likely that S under­ stood R’s comment about “that’s where we are headed” as metaphorical, but by treating it as a literal declaration of travel plans, S deflated the hyperbolic v ision of apocalyptic doom R had just sketched, and thereby re­instated the mood of merriment.

In what starts out as more social critique, R begins

3652 R: I think of housewives and pills and unhappiness uh . . . 3653 [sounds like happiness] spouses cheating. . 3654 shitty parents! ^Think about^ all the times you heard your parents fight 3656 you know. . ^fuck marriage!^ 3658 its another institution that perpetuates homelessness! 3659 S: ^there you go^ (general laughter) 3700 ^^you write that shit down I want that transcribed!^^ 3702 ^^as a tattoo!^^ ^JESUS^!

At that point, R begins teasing S, and others join in:

3704 R: But seriously, that’s a nice iPhone you got there (laughter) 3706 S: I love my iPhone . . . I ain’t homeless. . 3708 B: How do you believe your iPhone connects you, uh. . 3710 S: ^the homeless^?! 3711 B: to the homeless 3712 (general laughter) 3714 S: I can google them. . I can google the homeless of Portland! 3716 BB: ^Or^, she can call the guy, 3717 who got the two month free contract. [no I could!]

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3718 S: I could call that homeless person or um . . . 3723 I put it in my purse when I see them 3724 and then I put my purse in my jacket (haha)

Here, the group picks up on two themes from previous humorous anecdotes and makes fun of their own culture and its obsession with cell­phones and other instant communication media. At the end, S connects the joking about cell­phones with the idea that people might be afraid of homeless people in a playful, joking way.

A few minutes after this exchange, P tells a story about how he responds to requests for a change or a cigarette he insists on something in return:

5039 P: Ok! . . it I ever have a guy ask me for something like that, 5042 I always ask them what they’re gonna give me for it . . . 5046 R: yeah! 5048 P: Because I wanna anecdote. . I want some like story. . 5051 or something like that. I find it to be a fair trade to get something out of

it. 5056 R: Yes! Deconstruct yourself to their level. . that’s the hierarchy . . . 5104 what we tell ourselves is that we’re better than these people . . . 5108 these people are subhuman. Its not that at all. They’re you and me, 5112 your second cousins whatever sister. That’s who they are 5116 they’re people and they have families and situations. . 5119 reasons for the way they are (long pause) 5124 yah like sit there. 5125 Ok! Yeah sit there ok? Here’s a cigarette you can have 5129 one of mine a cigarette. Tell me a story 5133 I am gonna smoke a cigarette with you. Like ^whats up man?^ 5137 Where are you from? Like they’re human you have to 5141 like. . treat them like this dirty nastiness 5143 P: If I . .if I ever do give something out that’s my requirement 5147 [ that you get something]. . get something

The next line is unintelligible, but it appears that S asked P what he had given in exchange for a cigarette he had asked for.

5152 P: my company 5154 S: ^^Fuck!^^ I want the cigarette back! 5157 I gave you fifteen hundred cigarettes over the last six years. 5200 What do I get for it?

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5202 P: vv my company vv 5203 (general laughter) 5205 {unintelligible} 5207 good memories! Good memories! . . .

Participants also frequently turned the “conversation management” humor against themselves, deliberately undermining their own seriousness. R in par­ ticular uses this technique throughout the conversation. For example, after a long bit about people feeling alienated with their family, R remarks, “Shit. . that’s why I’ve been homeless, you know, like. . [Laughter] ^Fuck^ payin’ rent! I can save money, and sleep on the streets, but. . . . I don’t know . . . What do you think?” [laughter] (R, 1419–1429). Near the end of a long social cri­ tique, S talks about how to get people to stop using drugs, and R exclaims, “Hey, we are these people, S­­­­­” (R, 2526) There ensues a discussion of quit­ ting drugs, at the end of which S says, “I stopped because the girl I bought drugs from ran out.” (S, 2545).

4.6. General playfulness; making fun of ourselves

There is a good deal of teasing and joking about material possessions, includ­ ing the previously described bit about cell­phones, and a bit directed toward one of the moderators about his salmon­colored sweater. P reminds one of his friends about an earlier episode in which they thought about running away to Washington or California, and the group exchange fantasy quips about being homeless in California, where “everyone has a Coach purse and an iPhone, and even the homeless get plastic surgery.” In a different passage, after a critique of “shitty parents,” there is a series of ironic exchanges about the prediction that members of this group will be better parents.

Comparing humans to other animals, R comments, “Well ^hey!^ look at uh. . look at every other animal. . though enn every other animal. . by our defi­ nition would be homeless, and all ^we are is animated dirt, and uh. . guts, and uh. . shit, and cum and uh . . . piss and bile^ (general laughter) (coughing) ^^ just like every other species^^ on. . the vplanetv. . though so like how come we don’t like. . you know. . consider other animals on the planet homeless like. . well the society its so confusing. . ^Yah!^ but. . (R, 3039–3107). S (3123) as­ serts that “then it comes back to possession,” and R responds, “Which ̂ I^ think is. . is the knack of society like. . like uh. . hey it’s a great white like. . uh ^I own you bitch^ [well. . uh] like ^we’re going to have s=ex.^ (R, 3125–3132).

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In a later section of the sustained social critique, R says, “^^and its s=o funny like uh. . just going through the motions like. . its like. . seen it sold” (laughter). (R, 3312–3316). It’s not clear what R was referring to, but J asks, “Seamen? Sold?” and P follows up, “did you say semen?” “Yah” (R, 3321). “Not semen” (S, 3323). (general laughter) “^Come on!^” (R, 3324). This cul­ minates in another bit of teasing about the research purposes of the conversa­ tion: “Edit that out” (P, 3326).

Two instances of self­parody occur during a discussion of the “noble out­ cast” ideal, during which Jack Kerouac and Charles Bukowski are discussed at length. S says “^Its romantic!^,” but not “in the like. . Julia Roberts movie kinda way” (S, 3405–3409). Then P begins a fantasy, “I would love to be that guy who travels [its this big beautiful idea] [yah] just able to . . . not having to worry about. . in one place [so then nomadic life?]” (P, 3413–3417). R picks up on the theme and begins a riff, “Yah its like where you didn’t have to worry about” (R, 3421), P chimes in with “like your cell phone and your computer and. .” (P, 3422), and R finishes the riff, “^yeah!^ and like my new clothes and. . and my mortgage bill and my cell phone. [yeah] I feel so insecure.” (3424 –3437). At the end of the noble outcaste narrative, R repeats the trite phrase, “what we consume is how we are. Like what have we consumed t oday?” (R, 3439–3440). S replies, “I drank cigarettes. (general laughter) [lit­ erally] No seriously! I drank cigarettes and a seven layer burrito.” (S, 3443– 3446).

Following a discussion of overpopulation S spins his own fantasy of how to solve the homeless problem: “then we’ll eventually run out of oil and then bury them and turn them into oil. That’s my plan.” (general laughter) (S, 3501– 3505).

4.7. Meta-communication: Humor about the research itself

There were several cynical remarks about the research project for which the conversation was conducted. When one of the moderators asks J, who has been relatively quiet for a while, if “there is anything else. . like that has floated though you head or like. .” J responds, in a quiet voice, “No not too much. Just trying not to think about it too= much” (general laughter) (B, J, 4222– 4227).

At the very end, S asks the moderator, “Satisfied yet?” J suggests “just say a bunch of foul shit into the (chuckle). .” and one of the moderators adds, “Seven dirty words of George Carlin [yah uh. . ] umm. . I think you’ve said most of them [haha].” The other members of the group then do an inventory of the

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“dirty words” everyone spoke, ostensibly to be sure Carlin’s (1972) entire list had been covered.

4.8. Summary

As one would expect, some of the humor is at the expense of the lower status homeless people, particularly at the expense of kids “from the suburbs” who go “slumming,” and some is at the expense of “the system,” including the educa­ tional system, which has power over the participants. But much of this seems more like playing with the language than any expression of spite or malice  —   and there is also an abundance of humor that expresses sympathy, if only indi­ rectly, for the plight of the homeless. There are repeated instances of affection­ ate teasing within the group, including teasing that seems to be directed at keeping the discussion from “becoming too serious,” and maintaining a tone of enjoyable sociability. A disproportionate part of this teasing is directed at R, who as a result of his own experiences of homelessness and his leftist political leanings seems more disposed than the others to serious political monologues. However, R takes it in good part and in several instances joins in, making fun of himself and using self­directed humor as a way of managing the conversa­ tion. Indeed, much of the teasing directed at R seems to express an underlying respect for the fact that he has led the most Boheme life­style, that he has actu­ ally experienced what he talks about. R, in turn, repeatedly teases S for her apparent materialism. Both R and S take the teasing in good part and in several instances join in, making fun of themselves. There is no evidence that any participant is in any sense excluded from the easy camaraderie of the group at any point, or that any participant takes offense at the teasing. Humor is found throughout the conversation, but it becomes both more frequent and more playful toward the end than in the beginning, perhaps reflecting the group’s growing comfort (or boredom) with the topic.

5. Discussion

Humor appeared throughout this conversation, which is not surprising in a group composed of single men and women in their mid­twenties. Interestingly, there were no conventional jokes, aside from a few references to comedy rou­ tines from mass media, and only a handful of puns. There were many stories, some quite short and others extended, some serious, some told with humorous

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intent, and others told with serious intent but converted into humor by the re­ sponses of listeners. There were also many examples of mock­insulting “put­ down” humor similar to that described by Terrion and Ashforth (2002), along with word­play and copious use of expletives.

5.1. Implications for humor theory

Consistent with previous research (Gruner 1997; Zillman and Canto, 1976), mock­aggressive humor appears throughout, as does humor based on incon­ gruous images (Attardo 1994; 2001; Perlmutter 2002; Raskin 1985; Raskin and Attardo 1994); often these two themes appear in the same segment. How­ ever, the nature and target of the disparagement shifts as the conversation pro­ gresses, from stock images of homeless people begging beside the freeway with “a sign and a dog,” to disparagement of “rich kids from the suburbs” who are characterized as “slumming,” to a more general disparagement of conven­ tional society, which is observed much more frequently than disparagement of “genuine homeless” people, especially in the last half of the conversation.

Much of the apparently aggressive humor takes the form of teasing. Consis­ tent with Norrick’s (1993) observation with respect to the family and friend­ ship groups he studied, these overtly aggressive jokes and quips are apparently enjoyed as much by the “victims” as by the others, and seems to serve a social bonding function (see also Attardo 2001; Gibbs and Izett 2005). The tone throughout is playful and light­hearted; only in a few cases does it have even a hint of the bitterness or anger one would associate with genuine aggression. Even the humor directed at “the system” generally, or at the university in which some of the participants are enrolled, fails to show signs of genuinely aggres­ sive intent. These instances include sarcastic comments about research papers (sometimes explicitly including the research assignment for which this conver­ sation was itself being taped) or ironic contrasts between the comfortable lives of those participating in the research and the hardships experienced by the homeless people who were the topic of the conversation.

Most of the humor is more playful than aggressive in tone, consistent with Martin (2007). Even in the many instances in which humor is used ( by himself and others) to mitigate R’s politicized monologues, or by R (and others) to criticize the consumerist leanings of group members (S in particular), there is no evidence they are intended or taken as attacks on the target’s integrity, standing in the group, or even the ideas they express. Some of the data could be interpreted in support of a disparagement or aggression theory of humor, but

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only at the expense of obscuring the important distinction between the genu­ inely hostile aggression of sexist or racist jokes or put­downs directed at a rival or a disliked outsider, and the mock­aggression of playful insults exchanged between friends.

As Gibbs (2006) observes with respect to metaphor, humor is a complex phenomenon and it is unlikely that a single theory will account for all aspects of it. Superiority and aggression must certainly play an important part in some humor, but the attempt to apply superiority and aggression to all humor re­ quires so generalizing these concepts that they are rendered almost meaning­ less. Similarly, humor often seems to involve the abrupt resolution of an incon­ gruity, often in a way that results in an abrupt increase in relevance (Ritchie 2005; Yus 2003), but many of the instances of apparent humor identified in the foregoing do not involve any incongruity beyond play with words and sounds. As one of the anonymous reviewers pointed out, word­play itself, especially when it involves distortion of sounds or ordinary meanings, can be considered “incongruous,” but that form of incongruity is quite different from the incon­ gruous images associated with, for example, homeless people soiling peoples’ automobiles or riding down a hill in a shopping cart, or the exaggerated incon­ gruities found in conventional jokes about impossible or improbable events such as an animal ordering a drink in a bar or an elephant hiding in a strawberry patch (see also Martin 2007).

5.2. Humor in managing conversation

Humor is used throughout the conversation to help maintain a balance between the playful, joking tone of a social interaction among friends and the more s erious tone of a topical discussion called for by the framing task of collecting research data; this use of humor included several instances of teasing and jok­ ing about the research task itself. Humor is also used in several places (often by R himself  ) to shorten or moderate R’s long monologues in the interest of maintaining an equitable distribution of speaking turns and a convivial tone.

5.3. Negotiating social relationships and identities

Several studies have shown how humor is used to establish and maintain r elationships, and establish individual identities within these relationships in work groups (Holmes and Marra 2002; Plester and Sayers 2007; Terrion and

504 L. D. Ritchie

Ashford 2002) and within families (Everts 2003; Norrick 1993). Teasing and “put­downs” can be important in maintaining relationships both within work groups (Plester and Sayers 2007; Terrion and Ashford 2002) and among family members and friends (Everts 2003; Norrick 1993), and this form of humor is seen throughout the homelessness discussion. In this conversation, as in the conversations reported by Everts, silliness, fantasy, and language play are also used extensively, both for relational purposes and for negotiating participants’ individual conflicting identities.

The social identity process in this group appears to be quite complex. In the culture of the Western United States, young adults often enjoy a few years after completion of high school in which they are relatively free of responsibilities; they may travel, change jobs, apartments, and romantic partners frequently, drop in and out of college. Several of the participants in this conversation had previously experimented with the exaggerated freedom of the “hippie” life­ style, including the use of inexpensive alcohol and illegal drugs typically as­ sociated with “street people.” Possible concerns about substance abuse and “quitting” are themselves joked about in S’s comment (line 2545) that “I stopped because the girl I bought drugs from ran out.”

All of the participants are at a life stage when young people typically begin to think about career, marriage, and a generally more stable, less “free” life­ style. As the prolonged exchange about Bukowsky and Kerouac demonstrate, to varying degrees they identify both with the conventional middle­class groups who disapprove of homelessness and with the “real” homeless people, while disparaging the “slumming” of “rich kids from the suburbs” who play at being homeless. Much of the bawdy humor, as well as the extensive use of expletives throughout the conversation seems to express these conflicting social i dentities.

An important aspect of both cultural and individual identity is memory. Schank and Abelson (1995) argued that memory is at the individual level pri­ marily based on stories. Although Schank and Abelson do not discuss the role of story­telling in collective memory, it is evident, especially in the data re­ ported by Everts (2003), that retelling familiar stories, often but not always humorous stories, is important both to group cohesion and to establishing and maintaining individual identities within a group. In the conversation analyzed in this essay, humorous stories are used in several places to establish individual identities with respect to both this group and other groups and, as noted in the preceding paragraph, to work out the participants’ ambivalent attitudes toward the “real” homeless people, the rich kids slumming,” and the manifestations of “the system,” including the university in which some of them were enrolled at the time of the conversation. Thus, the conversation shifted frequently be­

“You’re lying to Jesus!” 505

tween humorous anecdotes that disparaged homeless people, excused or even celebrated homeless people, disparaged conventional middle class mores and values, reinstated or justified middle class mores and values, and so on. It is also notable that the themes from one story are frequently repeated and de­ veloped in later stories, a process similar to the repetition and development of metaphors which Cameron (2007) identifies as a vehicle for relational d evelopment.

5.4. Constructing an understanding of homelessness

The task set for the group was to “discuss,” and by implication to increase their understanding of homelessness as a state of existence. The conversation started with stock images and narratives of homeless people begging for change (cer­ tainly the most visible aspect of homelessness), and proceeded with many other narratives, many of them told in a way to bring out their humor, that il­ lustrated different aspects of the homelessness problem.

The repeated joking references to defecation and urination seemed to serve an important function by introducing in a humorous way the practical difficul­ ties (and associated humiliations) experienced by homeless people in an urban environment in which available toilets are frequently locked or reserved “for customers only.” The banter about the homeless person acquiring a cell­phone and R’s self­mocking reference to his own homeless experience as a “have­a­ tent kind of homelessness” extend this to a more general awareness of the disconnect between the taken­for­granted accessories of modern life and the very real deprivations of homelessness.

5.5. Topics for future research

The foregoing analysis suggests several avenues that may prove fruitful in fu­ ture research. Dunbar’s (1996; 2003) ideas about the “grooming” function of language use calls out for further research on how the shared pleasure of humor and other forms of language play contribute to social bonding, independent of the actual content (see also Attardo 2001). The playful and metaphorical ele­ ments in humor have only recently begun to receive the attention they merit (Martin 2007): It would be useful to explore the use of word­play and language play generally in humor. Similarly, Schank and Abelson’s ideas about the role of stories in individual memory suggest a fruitful line of inquiry into the way

506 L. D. Ritchie

humorous stories build and maintain group identities (and common ground), and the use of these stories as a resource for building social relationships through shared enjoyment.

This research was conducted within a purely social group, convened to dis­ cuss this topic at least in part as a favor to the two moderators, to assist the moderators in a school project, and its generalizability is accordingly limited. Future research will extend this approach to other informal conversations as well as to observation of interactions among task­oriented groups as they dis­ cuss a variety of complex issues that evoke ambivalent responses.

6. Conclusion

The participants in this conversation represent a diverse range of social back­ grounds and political views, ranging from new­left radicalism to moderate po­ litical and social conservatism. This range of life experience and political and social views is apparent throughout the conversation: These friends have dis­ cussed social and political issues before, and they are well aware from the b eginning of the conversation of the differences among their views. The hu­ morous stories as well as the joking and teasing provide a low­threat means to express their nuanced views, and allow individual members of the group a means to express both disapproval of and sympathy for homeless people. The group does not arrive at anything like a consensus during this conversation, but through the stories and teasing members of the group are able to work out their individual identities with respect to the topic and the group, expressing a more nuanced view of homelessness without by any means conforming to a unitary group norm. The social solidarity of the group does not seem to be threatened by this internal diversity; rather, the diversity is rendered as a source of mutual enjoyment through the teasing and joking.

Many of these stories have clearly been told before, in other social settings, and those that elicit a favorable response (the “good stories”) will be repeated, with narrative improvements, in future social interactions. Thus, this conversa­ tion reveals an ongoing process through which the culture comes to terms with the troubling issues surrounding homelessness, a process in which humor plays a crucial role. The media­based humor (the web comedian’s routine, the refer­ ence to Carlin’s “seven words” monologue, and the episode from South Park) plays an obvious role in this process; stories like homeless people relieving themselves in people’s cars and the homeless person getting a cell phone are equally important. Humor, like metaphor, plays an important cognitive as well

“You’re lying to Jesus!” 507

as emotional role in facilitating the expression and dissemination of facts (“Dude, homeless people have needs too”) and their implications (if public toilets are unavailable or locked, people will relieve themselves wherever they can).

These data also illustrate a playful dimension of humor that is too often n eglected. It is apparent throughout that the participants thoroughly enjoyed the conversation and the humor, including the teasing and mock­insults. Dun­ bar (1996) has proposed that language originally developed as an extension of primate “grooming,” a way both to create and maintain coalitions by giving each other pleasure and to learn about social structure through “gossip.” Both types of functions, learning about the social structure (“gossip”) and bonding through shared pleasure (“grooming”) are apparent in the joking among this group of friends. Even the apparently aggressive teasing is evidently enjoyed by all parties in this conversation (Martin 2007; Norrick 1993; but see also Drew 1987). There is evidence in these data that group solidarity is maintained through humor that differentiates the group both from the homeless on one hand and from conventional society on the other, as well as through humorous teasing based on intra­group differences. Most of all, the shared enjoyment of the stories, the jokes, and the teasing contributes directly to maintaining the solidarity of the group.

The conversation reported herein provides an example of how humor is used not only to reduce intra­group tensions resulting from differences in social and political views, but also to introduce unpleasant and potentially objectionable information into the mutual awareness or of group members, thus building “common ground” (Clark 1996) and to facilitate the participants’ development of more nuanced and complex responses to the topic of homelessness, within the context of membership in and identification with the group. The result is not a consensus or even any decrease in differences among group members’ opinions, but the participants did seem to accommodate their views to the group by expressing a more complex understanding of the issue itself as well as of the range of responses people have to the issue. The combination of in­ congruous images and sentimental humor introduced during the conversation renders it easier for participants to acknowledge the humanity (and complex motivations) of homeless people without necessarily accepting or approving of their lifestyle or specific behaviors.

Humor, abetted by narratives and metaphor, served the group well in several ways. Humor helped to maintain an appropriate tone throughout the conver­ sation, facilitated introduction of otherwise embarrassing or awkward topics, and provided a vehicle through which participants were able to work out the

508 L. D. Ritchie

conflicts and contradictions within their own shifting social identities in rela­ tion to the complex topic of homelessness. The incongruities brought out by many of the humorous stories reflect the incongruity of the phenomenon of homelessness in the midst of plenty, and also reflect the incongruities experi­ enced by young people at a stage in life when they are giving up the freedom and irresponsibility of youth in exchange for the more mature satisfactions of career and family. Although much of the humor used in this discussion a ppeared at first glance to express speakers’ felt superiority (with respect to homeless people, “rich kids from the suburbs,” and middle class mores and values of “the system”), the raw edge of its apparent aggressiveness was tempered throughout by a more gentle and playful form of humor that celebrated the es­ sential dignity and humanity of the homeless people.

It seems likely that these and similar jokes, quips, and teases are repeated in multitudes of conversations, by these people in other social settings and by other young people like them. This interlocking network of conversations pro­ vides a primary medium for the dissemination of information and the forma­ tion and transformation of views about societal issues (see Cameron 2007). The humor plays a complex role including motivating the spread of informa­ tion and attitudes as well as facilitating the expression of troubling and often mutually contradictory responses. By analyzing the use of humor in casual conversations of this type we can gain a clearer understanding of the small­ scale interactions through which “social reality,” including public opinion, is formed, transmitted, and transformed.

Portland State University

Notes

Correspondence address: [email protected] Author’s Note: The conversation reported herein was moderated, transcribed, and coded by two students, Berlin Boyer and Brandon Ellison, as part of a class project. Their assistance is deeply appreciated. The final version of the manuscript benefitted from the helpful comments and sugges­ tions of Brandon Ellison and three anonymous reviewers.

Appendix A: Transcription symbols:

Lines are numbered in four digits, with the first two digits representing the number of minutes into the conversation and the second two digits representing seconds.

“You’re lying to Jesus!” 509

Speech overlap [within square brackets]

Transitional continuity Completion of a thought . Continuing , question, uncertainty, or appeal ?

Pauses short pause . . long pause . . .

Emphasis Terminal accent ! segment of louder speech ^ ^

Vocal noises Laughter [laughter] In­stream disfluencies and sounds {transcribe phonetically, example: eh heh, umm}

Analyst’s comments and omissions analyst’s comments {enclosed within swirly brackets}

Quip will be used throughout to distinguish the kind of short, witty remark exemplified by epigrams and word­play from puns and the narrative form of jokes, both of which have been far more extensively studied in previous research. Portland’s light rail system. Portland is a famously bicycle­oriented city, especially among liberal young adults.

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SAGE Books

Seeking and Resisting Compliance: Why People Say

What They Do When Trying to Influence Others

Author: Steven R. Wilson

Pub. Date: 2012

Product: SAGE Books

DOI: https://dx.doi.org/10.4135/9781452233185

Keywords: politeness theory, speech acts, adjacency pairs, compliance, targeting, speech act theory, logic

Disciplines: Persuasion, Communication Studies, Attitudes & Persuasion, Social Psychology, Media,

Communication & Cultural Studies

Access Date: November 28, 2022

Publishing Company: SAGE Publications, Inc.

City: Thousand Oaks

Online ISBN: 9781452233185

© 2012 SAGE Publications, Inc. All Rights Reserved.

Discourse Perspectives on Persuasive Message Production

Has a volunteer from the American Red Cross ever telephoned and asked you to donate blood? In the United

States today, someone requires a blood transfusion every 12 seconds. Aside from lifesaving transfusions,

blood products such as plasma, platelets, and immune serum globulin are used to treat patients suffering

from cancer, leukemia, and other life-threatening diseases (American Red Cross, 1989). The Red Cross col-

lects, processes, and distributes one-half of the nation's blood supply. Although the organization is constantly

attempting to recruit new donors, the vast majority of individuals donating blood (78–91%) are repeat donors

(Piliavin, 1990). Thus the Red Cross keeps careful records of prior donors and telephones them periodically

to encourage repeat donations. Both professional and volunteer solicitors are used in this process.

Several years ago, three colleagues and I collaborated with the American Red Cross's Great Lakes Regional

Blood Center in Lansing, Michigan, to study how volunteer telephone solicitors attempted to persuade prior

donors to give blood again (Wilson et al., 1994). Participants in our study were college undergraduates who

volunteered to work one evening as telephone solicitors on behalf of the American Red Cross. Participants

initially attended a 1-hour training session conducted by the regional center's staff, at which they learned

about procedures for donating blood, uses of blood products, steps for maintaining donor confidentiality, re-

quirements for medical eligibility, and suggestions for overcoming common obstacles to donating.

After completing this training, participants returned 2 to 4 weeks later to telephone prior blood donors. Upon

arrival at the communication laboratory, each volunteer received a calling list of 20 prior donors and a sheet

of instructions. For each call, participants were instructed to follow a three-part sequence in which they asked

for permission to audiotape the call, verified background information, and asked for an appointment. Instruc-

tions for the last step suggested the following wording: “I'm calling to see if we could schedule you to donate

blood again. Can we count on you again?” Following this initial request, participants used their own judgment

about whether and how to persist in seeking to convince the prior donor to comply. Our primary interests in

the study were learning how college student volunteers decided whether to persist after prior donors resisted

their initial requests and whether volunteers persisted differently depending on the ways in which prior donors

resisted. The conversation in Example 6.1 between Mike and Mr. Jenkins provides a convenient starting point

for illustrating the concerns of discourse scholars. Looking Ahead …

This chapter reviews discourse perspectives on persuasive message production. Although diverse,

these perspectives focus on how people rely on knowledge of linguistic forms and conventions when

generating influence messages, and how they design messages in light of unfolding talk. The chap-

Example 6.1

((Phone rings; another party answers, the caller, “Mike”, asks for “Mr. Jenkins;” the other party then

goes to get Mr. Jenkins.))

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Questions Posed by Discourse Scholars

Discourse scholars would raise a number of very specific questions about audiotaped interactions such as

that displayed in Example 6.1. These perspectives focus our attention on why Mike and Mr. Jenkins say what

they do, turn by turn, as their conversation unfolds. To get a feel for this type of analysis, start by examining

the form of Mike's initial request for Mr. Jenkins to donate blood again (see lines 14–15). Why does Mike

phrase this initial request as he does? Couldn't he get to the point more quickly rather than being so wordy?

Why include the adverb just, “I'm just calling”, rather than say only “I'm calling”? Why use the phrase “to see if

I can get you uh to” rather than the less tentative “to get you to”? Or for that matter, why doesn't Mike just ask,

“Will you donate blood?” Do Mike's word choices have anything to do with the nature of his request? After

all, he is asking Mr. Jenkins to take about 90 minutes out of his schedule, drive to the regional blood center,

and donate bodily fluid. Do Mike's word choices also reflect that he is making this request of a stranger who

is older than himself?

Turning to Mr. Jenkins, why does he initially say “OK” rather than “Sure” or “No, I can't” in response to Mike's

initial request (see line 16)? If Mr. Jenkins isn't saying yes or no to Mike's request at this point, what is he

saying? And don't people usually respond to requests by saying yes (complying) or no (refusing) in the very

next turn at talk? If not, what other types of actions often follow requests?

When Mr. Jenkins, in lines 24–26, finally does give an answer to Mike's request, why doesn't he just say

“Yeah” or “Sure”? In other words, why does he mention that he's been “a little sick” in the past? Is he sick at

this time? And why does Mr. Jenkins tell Mike, a complete stranger, that he tries to donate blood twice a year?

Similarly, why does Mike ask exactly what Mr. Jenkins means by the phrase “a little sick” in lines 27–28? Does

Mike have a personal interest in Mr. Jenkins's health during the past winter? Are Mike's questions somehow

related to his initial request for Mr. Jenkins to donate blood?

Finally, why does Mr. Jenkins not seem surprised to learn that an individual can donate blood only 24 hours

after feeling better from a cold? Notice that he says “Yeah right” rather than “Oh really?” in line 47. But if Mr.

Jenkins already understands that a cold is not a reason for failing to donate blood over a long period of time,

why did he mention having been “a little sick” back in line 25?

These questions about the “Mr. Jenkins-Mike” conversation illustrate the types of issues posed by discourse

perspectives on persuasive message production. The theories reviewed in this chapter come from many

fields, including communication, philosophy, psycholinguistics, sociolinguistics, sociology, and social psychol-

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ogy.1 Although diverse, these perspectives clarify how people use knowledge of linguistic forms and conven-

tions when generating influence messages. Discourse scholars explore how people's attempts to seek and

resist compliance are shaped and constrained by what each party already has said. They often examine how

people attempt to create and sustain desired identities for themselves, as well as their interactional partners,

through talk. Discourse scholars highlight patterns that occur at minute levels of talk, such as precise regular-

ities in the ways that people word requests and responses to requests.

The remainder of this chapter is divided into three major sections. In the first, I review the basic concepts

and assumptions with which readers need to be familiar in order to understand discourse perspectives. In this

section I cover briefly some relevant writings on conversational maxims, speech acts, and the “conversation

analysis” tradition. In the second and third main sections, I explore in more depth two concepts with special

relevance for an understanding of persuasive message production. First, message targets often state “obsta-

cles” when resisting message sources' influence attempt, and sources and targets may negotiate the feasibili-

ty of overcoming obstacles to compliance. “Obstacles” are analyzed using both speech act (Searle, 1969) and

attribution (Weiner, 1986) theories. Second, message sources, by seeking compliance, often raise threats to

face for both participants, and the forms of requests and responses are shaped in part by desires to maintain

face. Threats to face are analyzed using Brown and Levinson's (1987) politeness theory and O'Keefe's (1988)

theory of message design logics.

Background Concepts and Assumptions

Conversational Maxims

People often mean more than what they say. Consider the following example:

B's words in Example 6.2, taken literally, do not answer A's question. A asks about the location of a male

named Bill, whereas B says that a specific automobile is located outside the house of a female named Sue.

Despite this, we assume that B is attempting to answer A's question. In order to hear line 2 as an answer,

we must infer (a) that Bill owns a yellow VW, and hence (b) that Bill may be inside, or near, Sue's house. B

appears to assume that A can make these inferences. Example 6.2

1 A: Where's Bill?

2 B: There's a yellow VW outside Sue's house

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Example 6.2 shows how we make inferences that go beyond the literal meaning of words. In some cases,

however, what a speaker means has virtually no connection to what he or she says. Consider a fictional ex-

ample, which could have occurred at many points as I wrote this book:

My words, taken literally, do not seem even remotely related to my friend's question. What does the weather

have to do with this book? Did I simply fail to hear my friend's question? Possibly, but you probably already

have inferred a different meaning: I am having difficulty with the book, and I do not wish to talk about the topic

at this time. How did you arrive at this inference? How is it possible for me to imply that I do not wish to talk

about writing a book by talking about rain?

Paul Grice (1975), a British philosopher of language, has proposed a theory of conversational implicature to

explain how speakers can infer things distinct from the conventional meaning of their words. He begins with

the observation that conversation is a “cooperative” activity, meaning that it requires minimal levels of collab-

oration and coordination between participants. As Grice puts it:

Our talk exchanges do not normally consist of a succession of disconnected remarks.… They are

characteristically, to some degree at least, cooperative efforts; and each participant recognizes in

them, to some extent, a common purpose or set of purposes, or at least a mutually accepted direc-

tion. This purpose or direction may be fixed from the start … or it may evolve during the exchange.…

But at each stage, SOME possible conversational moves would be excluded as conversationally un-

suitable. (p. 45)

Given this observation, Grice argues that conversationalists share a set of overarching assumptions about

talk. Participants are expected to follow what Grice labels the “cooperative principle”, namely: “Make your

conversational contribution such as is required, at the stage at which it occurs, by the accepted purpose or

direction of the talk exchange in which you are engaged” (p. 45). Grice has formulated four principles, or

“maxims”, the following of which will lead to behavior consistent with the cooperative principle. Grice's max-

ims of quantity, quality, relation, and manner are summarized briefly in Table 6.1.

The quantity maxim pertains to the expected amount of talk. It is violated when speakers are overinformative,

as B is in Example 6.4, or underinformative, as B is in Example 6.5:

Example 6.3

1 Friend: So, how's your book coming?

2 Me: It sure is starting to rain hard outside.

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Table 6.1 Grice's (1975) Four Conversational Maxims

The quality maxim pertains to the sincerity of talk, such as expectations that speakers will avoid dishonesty,

deception, hearsay, or gossip. The maxim of relation states that speakers should make relevant contributions

given the current topic and purpose(s) of talk. This maxim seems to be violated in Example 6.6, where a psy-

chiatrist tries to interview a patient who is being admitted to a hospital.2

The maxim of manner pertains to the clarity of talk, such as expectations that speakers will avoid obscurity,

ambiguity, and other factors that may hinder understanding. To sum, these four maxims “specify what partic-

ipants must do in order to converse in a maximally efficient, rational, co-operative way” (Levinson, 1983, p.

102).

Now many readers will object that these maxims, although they may describe some idealized form of talk, Example 6.4

1 A: What's up?

2 B: Well, I got up this morning, and I was feeling pretty good, but then I went downstairs to eat breakfast, and I was out of or-

ange juice—I hate it when that happens, and then …

Example 6.5

1 A: Do you know what time it is?

2 B: Yes.

Example 6.6

1 Dr.: What is your name?

2 Patient: Well, let's say you might have thought you had

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do not accurately characterize “real” conversation. But Grice's (1975) point is different from, and more subtle

than, this. Grice will readily admit that people often do not follow the four maxims, to the letter, during every-

day conversation. His point is that when a speaker does not follow the maxims at a literal level, our initial

impulse still is to assume that, contrary to appearances, the speaker is adhering to them at some deeper lev-

el. For instance, we assume that speaker B in Example 6.2 is being cooperative even though his response in

line 2, taken literally, seems to violate the maxims of quantity and relation. Our expectations that conversation

is cooperative are so strong that we look for a way of hearing B's response as an “answer”, and we find it by

inferring that Bill must own a yellow VW.

The strength of our expectations about cooperation creates an interesting possibility, which Grice (1975) calls

“flouting” the maxims. A speaker flouts or exploits a maxim when he or she blatantly violates the principle in

order to achieve some communicative purpose. In Example 6.3, for instance, I flout the maxim of relevance

in line 2 by abruptly shifting the topic. In doing so, I assume that my friend will infer that my comment is “rel-

evant” to her question in line 1 in the deeper sense that it signals that I do not wish to discuss the topic of

writing a book.

Each of Grice's four maxims may be flouted strategically (see Grice, 1975, pp. 52–56; Levinson, 1983, pp.

109–113). Tautologies such as “Boys will be boys” and “If she does it, she does it” are totally noninformative

at a literal level and hence violate the quantity maxim; nonetheless, they communicate meaning in terms of

what they implicate. Figures of speech such as irony and metaphor often violate the quality maxim. If some-

one with whom we have been on close terms until now betrays an important confidence, we might say, “X is

a fine friend” and mean just the opposite. Transparent questions violate the relation maxim to emphasize a

point:

Finally, speakers may use excessive technical jargon intentionally, and thereby violate the maxim of manner,

to create a humorous effect (e.g., Buzzanell, Burrell, Stafford, & Berkowitz, 1996).

Grice's theory of conversational implicature offers several insights about persuasive message production. The

maxims are guidelines to which participants orient during compliance-gaining episodes. Consider the quantity

maxim. Participants hold expectations about how many reasons a message source should provide to justify a

request. Message sources often offer little or no justification when making small requests of people they know

well, such as asking to borrow a pencil from a friend (Brown & Levinson, 1987; Roloff, Janiszewski, McGrath, Example 6.7

1 A: Are you going to the bar tonight?

2 B: Is the Pope Catholic?

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Burns, & Manrai, 1988). Of course, a target may believe that a request needs more justification than the mes-

sage source initially provides, as in the following example, which involves my stepdaughter Ashlee and me:

Put differently, message sources and targets jointly negotiate how much reasoning is sufficient to warrant

compliance (Jackson & Jacobs, 1980).

Although participants orient to the maxims during compliance-gaining episodes, at times they also deviate

from them in order to accomplish other purposes. As the discussion in the upcoming section on politeness

theory shows, message sources and targets at times say more than literally needs to be said (quantity), say

things with more than one plausible interpretation (manner), and so forth in order to protect the face of both

parties. Grice specifies how speakers should converse in order to communicate in a maximally efficient fash-

ion, but communicating efficiently is only one of several goals that participants typically pursue when seek-

ing and resisting compliance (see Chapter 5). Deviations from Grice's maxims during compliance-gaining

episodes often can be understood as attempts to manage multiple conflicting goals.

Speech Acts

People not only “say” things with words, they also “do” things with words. People perform a variety of actions

through talk, such as requesting, promising, warning, describing, and asserting. Speech act theorists have

grappled with how speakers are able to make their intentions apparent through talk and how hearers are able

to recognize speakers' intentions. Like the work on conversational maxims, speech act theories can be traced

to the writings of two British philosophers of language, John Austin and John Searle.

According to Austin (1962), a speaker simultaneously does three things whenever she or he says something.

Consider lines 14–15 from the conversation between Mike and Mr. Jenkins in Example 6.1, in which Mike

says, “I'm just calling to see if I can get you uh to set up an appointment to donate blood.” At one level, Mike

is referring to objects and saying something about those objects. Mike talks about himself (I'm, I), Mr. Jenkins

(you), appointments, donating, and blood. Austin refers to talking about topics as the locutionary level of a

speech act.

At a second level, Mike is doing more than talking about topics. Surely we recognize that Mike is “requesting”

that Mr. Jenkins set up an appointment with the Red Cross. Mike is saying something that he intends Mr. Example 6.8

1 Ashlee: Can you drive me to school tomorrow?

2 Me: Why can't you take the bus?

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Jenkins to recognize as a request. Austin (1962) refers to the type of action performed by a statement as the

illocutionary level of a speech act; thus Mike's phrase has the “illocutionary force” of requesting.

At yet a third level, Mike brings about certain effects in Mr. Jenkins by saying what he does. He may make Mr.

Jenkins feel annoyed, pressured, or pleased to help. He may persuade, or fail to persuade, Mr. Jenkins to set

up an appointment. Some of these effects may be intended by Mike, whereas others may be unforeseen and

unintended. Austin refers to the range of effects brought about by a statement as the perlocutionary level of a

speech act.

Speech act theorists focus primarily on the illocutionary level of speech acts, posing questions such as, How

are we able to recognize a speaker's intentions from what he or she says? How do we know, for example, that

Mike is “requesting” in lines 14–15, rather than “promising” or “warning” Mr. Jenkins? To address this issue,

Searle (1969) distinguishes between regulative and constitutive rules. Regulative rules are social conventions

that govern preexisting forms of behavior. Rules associated with table manners, such as “Don't talk with your

mouth full” and “Start with the silverware on the outside”, are regulative rules. These rules specify “proper”

ways of eating; however, the act of eating existed prior to, and exists apart from, these cultural conventions.

A regulative rule takes the form “If Y, then X”, and someone violating such a rule is perceived as acting “incor-

rectly.”

Constitutive rules are social conventions that create and define forms of behavior, such that the behavior

does not exist apart from the rules. The rules for a game such as American football are constitutive rules.

The concept of “touchdown” is created by the rules of football and does not exist independent of those rules;

after all, could someone have scored a “touchdown” before the game of football was invented? Moreover,

one can score a touchdown only by following the rules. If I run out onto the field during halftime at a Purdue

University football game, pick up the ball, and cross into the opponent's end zone, have I scored six points for

the Boilermakers? One would not say that I have scored a touchdown “improperly”, but rather that I have not

scored a touchdown at all. A constitutive rule takes the form “Doing X counts as Y.” Someone who violates a

constitutive rule is perceived as acting “incoherently”, in the sense that it is not clear what he or she is doing

(e.g., my behavior at the Purdue football game).

According to Searle (1969), any speech act is governed by a set of constitutive rules that specify the neces-

sary and sufficient conditions for performing that speech act. Put differently, these rules specify the conditions

that must exist for a behavior to “count as” performing a speech act. Searle analyzes what conditions must

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be assumed to exist in order for a speaker to be recognized as performing speech acts, such as requesting,

promising, warning, and advising. A set of constitutive rules for requesting, adapted from Searle (1969) as

well as Labov and Fanshel (1977), appears in Table 6.2.3

The propositional content rule sets restrictions on the content or locution of a speech act. For requests, this

rule states that the source's message must refer to a present or future action to be performed by the target

rather than by the source. It sounds sensible for me to ask my stepson, “Brendan, would you take out the

garbage?” In contrast, it would sound odd for me to say to myself, “Steve, would you take out the garbage?”

Similarly, the request “Brendan, could you take out the garbage tomorrow morning?” sounds plausible. “Bren-

dan, could you take out the garbage last week?” makes little sense. My stepson initially might interpret this

latter message as a joke, or perhaps as an indirect rebuke for his failure to take the garbage out the week

before. If neither of these interpretations is plausible, however, and I repeat my request that Brendan “take

out the garbage last week”, Brendan might infer that I have “lost touch with reality” (i.e., I am talking without

any point to my talk).

SOURCE: Adapted from Searle (1969) and Labov and Fanshel (1977).

Table 6.2 Searle's (1969) Constitutive Rules for the Speech Act of Requesting

Type of Rule Definition

Propositional content rule The message source refers to a present or future action to be performed by the target.

Preparatory rules

Need for action The message source perceives a reason the requested action needs to be performed.

Need for request It should not be obvious that the message target already was planning to perform the requested behavior.

Ability The message source believes that the target plausibly may be able to perform the requested action.

Willingness The message source believes that the target plausibly may be willing to perform the requested action.

Sincerity rule The message source sincerely wants the requested action to be performed.

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Preparatory rules, sometimes also called “felicity conditions”, state restrictions about the situations that must

exist in order for an individual to perform a speech act. Table 6.2 lists four preparatory rules. First, the source

must perceive some reason the action needs to be performed. I would be violating this “need for action” rule

if the garage door at our home was open, Brendan and I both knew this, and yet I still said, “Brendan, would

you open the garage door?” Second, it should not be apparent that the target already was about to perform

the requested action. I would be violating this “need for request” rule if Brendan had gone out to the garage,

reached up, and put his finger on the garage door opener's button before I asked, “Brendan, would you open

the garage door?”

A third preparatory rule states that the source must believe that the target plausibly can perform the requested

action. I would be violating this “ability” rule if some of my papers blew under our Chevy Suburban truck and I

said, “Brendan, pick up the Suburban so that I can get my papers out from underneath it without getting dirty.”

A fourth preparatory rule is that the source also must believe that the target plausibly is willing to perform the

requested action. A source may perceive willingness because he or she believes that the target will enjoy

performing the requested action, will appreciate the need to perform the requested action, or will feel a sense

of obligation to help the source (Roloff et al., 1988). My students occasionally violate this rule, as a joke, by

“requesting” that I give them all A's (i.e., they are joking rather than requesting).

The sincerity rule states restrictions on the psychological state of the message source. For requests, this rule

states that the message source sincerely must want the requested action to be performed. This rule helps

explain why, under most conditions, we hear phrases such as “Go jump in a lake” as insults rather than as

sincere requests.

So, to return to an earlier question, how do we know that Mike is “requesting” in lines 14–15 of the Example

6.1 rather than “promising” or “warning” Mr. Jenkins? How are we able to identify the illocutionary force of

Mike's utterance? The answer, in part, lies in the constitutive rules listed in Table 6.2. Consistent with the

propositional content rule, Mike refers to a future action, “setting up an appointment”, that he hopes will be

performed by Mr. Jenkins rather than himself. Mike also inquires explicitly about Mr. Jenkins's “willingness” to

perform the desired action in line 14, when he says, “to see if I can get you”, as well as in line 23, when he

says, “Would you, uh, help us out.” Mike's utterance appears to enact the necessary and sufficient conditions

for performing a request.

One additional complication in interpreting the illocutionary force of Mike's utterance in lines 14–15 is that,

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taken literally, it does not “request” that Mr. Jenkins set up an appointment. Notice that Mike literally does not

say, “I request that you set up an appointment to donate blood”, or even “Please set up an appointment to

donate blood.” Mike literally describes his purpose as to see what he, himself, is capable of doing, as is ap-

parent in the following fictional dialogue:

Put differently, Mike's utterance in line 12 is an indirect speech act. Indirect speech acts are messages that,

given the circumstances, imply additional or different purposes from those conventionally associated with their

linguistic form (Searle, 1975). Thus the utterance “Can you shut the door?” usually is heard as an indirect

request to shut the door, rather than, or in addition to, a literal question about the target's ability to do so. We

hear Mike as making an indirect request in lines 14–15 for several reasons, including that Mike inquires about

Mr. Jenkins's willingness (a rule for requesting) and that Mike's call would seem odd if his sole purpose were

to see what he, himself, is able to get a complete stranger to do.

Having said all this, I should add that the illocutionary force of Mike's utterance in line 12 also is apparent, in

good measure, because of the larger institutional and conversational context. Mike identifies himself as “call-

ing from the American Red Cross” in line 04, and Mr. Jenkins has donated blood with the Red Cross in the

past. Indeed, Mike confirms information about the date of Mr. Jenkins's last donation in the turns immediately

preceding line 12. Given this, we clearly expect a request for repeat donation to occur at some point in the

call. Critics have charged that Searle's (1969) version of speech act theory pays too little attention to how the

illocutionary force of an utterance is shaped by institutional roles and purposes, as well as by preceding and

projected future conversational turns (Levinson, 1983; Streeck, 1980). Searle often seems to treat “context”

as something “given” or already established prior to the utterance of a speech act, rather than as something

created, in part, through the performance of speech acts (Streeck, 1980).

Despite these limitations, speech act theory, with its emphasis on constitutive rules, provides a useful con-

ceptual framework for analyzing persuasive message production. By specifying the necessary and sufficient

Mike: I'm just calling to see if I can get you uh to set up an appointment to donate blood. Mr. Jenkins: Go ahead, see if you can get me to do

that.

Mike: OK, will you set up an appointment?

Mr. Jenkins: Yes.

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conditions for requesting, constitutive rules highlight what a speaker assumes by saying something intended

to count as a request. As Searle (1969) puts it: “The preparatory conditions tell us (at least part of) what a

speaker implies in the performance of the act. To put it generally, in the performance of any illocutionary act,

the speaker implies that the preparatory conditions of the act are satisfied” (p. 65). For example, if I request

that my stepson, Brendan, clean out the garage, I imply that the garage needs to be cleaned, that Brendan

wasn't already going to clean the garage, and so forth (see the preparatory rules in Table 6.2). Brendan may

resist my request by arguing that one of the preparatory conditions for requesting, in fact, is not satisfied. If

Brendan exclaims, “It can't be dirty, I just cleaned it last week”, he is saying, in effect, that there is no “need for

action.” As will become apparent below in the section on obstacles to compliance, speech act theory offers

one framework for analyzing how targets resist message sources' requests.

In addition to highlighting obstacles to compliance, speech act theory clarifies how seeking compliance can

threaten identities. By making his request in line 12, Mike presumes that Mr. Jenkins plausibly may be “willing”

to donate blood (see Table 6.2). Mr. Jenkins may fear how he will appear if he says that he is not willing to

do so, as giving blood generally is regarded as helping with a “good cause.” Indeed, Mr. Jenkins emphasizes

that he usually is willing to help and justifies why he has not been in to donate “all winter” (see lines 22–24).

Alternatively, Mike may fear how he himself will appear if he assumes that Mr. Jenkins is willing to donate

blood too rapidly, because he is making a large request of a complete stranger. By specifying what a speak-

er “implies” in requesting, the constitutive rules clarify how either party's identity can be threatened during a

compliance-gaining episode (see Wilson, Aleman, & Leatham, 1998). As noted below, Brown and Levinson's

(1987) politeness theory draws heavily on concepts from speech act theory.

The Conversation Analysis Perspective

Conversation analysis (CA), as a perspective on analyzing situated talk, emerged during the late 1960s and

early 1970s. It is associated most closely with Harvey Sacks, Emanuel Schegloff, Gail Jefferson, and their

colleagues in sociology. In the past two decades, CA has gained adherents in many disciplines (see Psathas,

1995). CA is best characterized as a set of shared commitments or “habitual ways of thinking” rather than as

a set of “theoretical precepts” (Zimmerman, 1988, p. 429). These shared commitments are explored in detail

elsewhere (e.g., Levinson, 1983; Nofsinger, 1991; Psathas, 1995; Zimmerman, 1988). Here I briefly explain

some goals and assumptions of CA and then introduce some of the concepts associated with this perspec-

tive, such as adjacency pairs, conditional relevance, and the preference for agreement.

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Goals and Assumptions of CA

CA scholars search for meaningful regularities in the structure of conversation. They attempt to identify pat-

terns and sequences in the most minute details of everyday talk. CA researchers have documented regular-

ities in the location of overlaps and pauses (Sacks, Schegloff, & Jefferson, 1974), the use of the interjection

“oh” as opposed to “uh” (Heritage, 1984), and the placement of laughter within talk (Jefferson, 1979). We al-

ready have encountered another meaningful sequence, the “prerequest”, in which a speaker inquires about

the status of the other party or the situation prior to making a request (see Chapter 3, Examples 3.3, 3.4, 3.5,

3.6). Aside from identifying meaningful regularities, CA scholars investigate how participants “do” conversa-

tion. By orienting to the details of talk, CA scholars seek to understand how participants interpret what others

are doing and how they negotiate the meanings of their own actions.

CA scholars share several assumptions about studying talk (Levinson, 1983; Psathas, 1995; Zimmerman,

1988). First, they argue that conversations exhibit stable, orderly properties that are the achievements of the

interactants themselves. To identify such regularities, CA scholars typically (a) videotape or audiotape a cor-

pus of conversations; (b) transcribe those conversations in detail, using notations that mark pauses, extended

vowels, rising and falling pitch, and so on; and (c) listen repeatedly to the conversations, searching for in-

terpretable phenomena that occur across multiple conversations (see Hopper, Koch, & Mandelbaum, 1986).

Second, CA scholars assume that conversation is managed locally, meaning that participants negotiate, turn

by turn, whether and how much to talk, what to say and do, and so forth. Third, CA scholars advocate an

inductive, data-to-theory approach. They approach conversation not with the goal of testing preexisting theo-

ries, but with an openness to discovering how participants themselves “do” talk. Because of this, CA scholars

often resist theoretically grounded coding schemes and quantitative methods of interaction analysis that place

talk into preformulated categories. They also seek to explain conversational regularities while resorting only

to details of the talk itself and often resist discussing concepts such as interaction goals, personality traits, or

“master” identities (e.g., gender, cultural, or ethnic identities) that go beyond the talk.

As this description indicates, the assumptions of conversation analysis differ in important respects from those

associated with other theoretical perspectives reviewed in this book. CA scholars hesitate to make infer-

ences about the goals underlying a speaker's actions, whereas most communication scholars take for grant-

ed that persuasive message production is goal oriented (Mandelbaum & Pomerantz, 1991; Tracy, 1991a; see

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Chapter 5). One can appreciate the aims and insights of CA, however, without taking all CA assumptions as

one's own. Unlike traditional compliance-gaining researchers, who relied heavily on hypothetical scenarios

(see Chapter 4), CA scholars analyze naturally occurring compliance-gaining episodes (e.g., Mandelbaum &

Pomerantz, 1991; Sanders & Fitch, 2001). Several analytic concepts developed by CA scholars have also

turned out to be useful for understanding persuasive message production. It is to these concepts that I now

turn.

Analytic Concepts in CA

Schegloff and Sacks (1973) argue that the adjacency pair is a fundamental unit of conversational organiza-

tion. An adjacency pair is a two-part action sequence, such as question-answer, greeting-greeting, offer-ac-

ceptance/refusal, and request-grant/refusal. Jacobs (1994) provides a succinct summary of the adjacency

pair concept:

Adjacency pairs are two turns long, having two parts said by different speakers in adjacent turns at

talk. By using the first part of an adjacency pair (a “first pair part”, or FPP) a speaker establishes

a “next turn position” that casts the recipient into the role of respondent and structures the rank of

appropriate next moves to those second pair parts (SPPs) that are congruent with the FPP. (p. 213)

By creating an expectation about what types of SPPs will follow an FPP, the concept of adjacency pairs gives

a sense of coherence to the sequencing of conversation. Thus conversation might be thought of as a series

of adjacency pairs: FPP1-SPP1, FPP2-SPP2, FPP3-SPP3, and so forth.

A quick peek at everyday conversation, however, reveals that the two parts of an adjacency pair do not always

occur adjacently. Consider the following two examples:

Both examples contain an insertion sequence, in which one adjacency pair (FPP2-SPP2) is embedded within

another (FPP1-SPP1). But if adjacency pairs do not always occur adjacently, can they still provide a sense of Example 6.9

FPP1 A: May I have a bottle of Mich?

FPP2 B: Are you twenty-one?

Example 6.10

FPP1 A: U:hm (.) what's the price now eh with V.A.T.

[value added tax] do you know eh

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coherence to the sequencing of conversation?

According to Schegloff, the glue that binds the two parts of an adjacency pair together is not their adjacent

location, but the concept of conditional relevance: “By conditional relevance of one item on another we mean:

Given the first, the second is expectable; upon its occurrence it can be seen to be a second item to the first;

upon its nonoccurrence it can be seen to be officially absent” (as quoted in Jacobs, 1994, p. 214). That is,

when an SPP does not occur in the turn immediately following the FPP, both parties still anticipate that the

SPP will occur at some future point, and both interpret subsequent utterances as relevant to the eventual per-

formance of the SPP. This is evident in both of the prior examples. In Example 6.9, B asks a question imme-

diately after FPP1 to determine whether the customer, A, is of legal drinking age before addressing A's initial

request for a beer. In Example 6.10, B asks for time immediately after FPP1 in order to work out calculations

needed to answer the customer's initial question. In both cases, the target (B) seeks more information before

deciding whether, or how, to comply with the source's (A) initial request. Insertion sequences are not limited

to two turns; indeed, a target may perform many actions before deciding whether to comply with a source's

request (see Jacobs, 1994, pp. 214–215; Levinson, 1983, p. 305). Even in these cases, however, both parties

expect that the target eventually will address the source's initial request. Given the notion of conditional rele-

vance, the dominant adjacency pair (FPP1- SPP1) can organize extended sequences of talk.

Insertion sequences occur regularly during compliance-gaining episodes. Recall the study described at the

beginning of this chapter, in which college students volunteering on behalf of the American Red Cross tele-

phoned actual blood donors (Wilson et al., 1994). After transcribing these telephone calls, we analyzed what

prior blood donors (targets) said in the conversational turn immediately following the participant's initial re-

quest to donate blood again. Slightly more than one-half (56%) of the prior donors immediately said no,

whereas another 16% immediately responded with an “unconditional yes” to the participant's request. Another

12% of the prior donors immediately responded with a “conditional yes”, indicating that they would be willing

to comply if a stated obstacle (e.g., illness, busy schedule) could be overcome (see Example 6.1). The final

16% of the prior donors did not respond immediately with either yes or no, but instead asked questions about

where and/or when they would donate (i.e., insertion sequences). In some cases, these prior donors used the

participants' answers to their questions as subsequent grounds for compliance-resistance strategies, but in

other cases they subsequently agreed to donate.

Aside from insertion sequences, multiple adjacency pairs can be linked in the form of presequences. A pre-

sequence is an adjacency pair that sets up, and is interpreted in light of, another adjacency pair yet to come

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(Beach & Dunning, 1982; Jacobs & Jackson, 1983). Examples include prerequests, preinvitations, and pre-

announcements. During a prerequest, the FPP typically checks on preconditions (i.e., the preparatory rules)

for performing an upcoming request, such as the target's ability to comply. As I have noted in Chapter 3, both

parties implicitly understand the functions of prerequests, and hence several types of sequences may unfold

following their occurrence (see Chapter 3, Examples 3.3, 3.4, 3.5, 3.6).

A final analytic concept for CA is the notion of preference organization. Of the SPPs that can coherently follow

an FPP, there is usually one SPP that is preferred and one that is dispreferred. For example, the preferred

SPP for a request is a grant (i.e., compliance), whereas the dispreferred SPP for a request is a refusal. CA

scholars go to great lengths to emphasize that preference in this context is not intended to describe a psy-

chological concept, and does not refer to the wishes of the message source or target (e.g., Levinson, 1983,

p. 307; Nofsinger, 1991, pp. 71–72; but see Holtgraves, 1992, pp. 148–149). Rather, preference refers to

structural features of the talk, in that dispreferred SPPs typically are linguistically “marked”, whereas preferred

SPPs typically are not. In comparison to preferred SPPs, dispreferred SPPs are more likely to (a) be preced-

ed by pauses, (b) begin with prefaces (e.g., “Uh” or “Well”), (c) begin with token agreements before disagree-

ments (e.g., “Yes, but …”), (d) include qualifiers (e.g., “I don't know for sure, but …”), (e) include apologies

and expressions of appreciation, and (f) include accounts for why the dispreferred SPPs are being performed

(see Levinson, 1983, pp. 334–335).

Research outside of the CA tradition also provides support for the claim that dispreferred SPPs tend to be

linguistically marked. In the blood donation study described at the start of this chapter, for example, we found

that 80% of the prior donors (i.e., targets) who said no also gave reasons why they were refusing to donate

again in the turn adjacent to the participant's request (Wilson et al., 1994). In contrast, very few donors who

immediately said yes gave reasons why they were willing to donate again. Similarly, in a study of responses

to date requests, Folkes (1982) found that 84% of college students who recalled episodes in which they had

turned down dates indicated that they gave reasons why they were saying no, whereas only 24% of students

of who recalled episodes in which they said yes gave reasons why they complied.

The concept of preference organization has important implications for persuasive message production. In

particular, it appears that people are expected to provide reasons, as well as other linguistic markers, when

refusing requests (a dispreferred SPP). This expectation is not idiosyncratic or arbitrary; rather, it reflects an

organizational principle that functions across a wide range of adjacency pairs. As a consequence, people may

feel awkward when faced with admonitions to “just say no”, because doing so violates a pervasive conversa-

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tional pattern.

To this point, I have reviewed basic concepts from work on conversational maxims, speech acts, and the CA

perspective. With this background completed, I turn to work on two concepts with special relevance to per-

suasive message production: obstacles and face.

Obstacles to Compliance: Attribution and Speech Act Theories

The CA concept of preference organization suggests that when message targets initially refuse requests, they

often will mention obstacles that hinder them from complying. Obstacles are “the message recipients' beliefs

that cause them to be unwilling or unable to respond immediately in the way the communicator desires” (Clark

& Delia, 1979, p. 200).

Obstacles are central to any compliance-gaining episode. Message sources may anticipate potential obsta-

cles from targets as they formulate their initial requests. Targets often will disclose obstacles as the basis for

their resisting sources' requests. In Example 6.1, Mr. Jenkins states that he has been “a little sick there all

winter there”, which could function as an obstacle to his donating blood now. Which obstacles targets disclose

are constrained, to some degree, by the form and content of sources' initial requests. Targets sometimes dis-

close particular obstacles even though the obstacles named are not the “real” reasons for their resistance.

Both sources and targets know that this can occur, and occasionally the “actual” reason for a target's resis-

tance itself may become a topic of discussion. After encountering obstacles, sources must choose whether

or not to persist in seeking compliance, and, if they decide to persist, they must decide whether or not to ad-

dress the disclosed obstacles directly (as Mike does in Example 6.1, lines 27–46). Speech act and attribution

theorists have explored obstacles. In this section I examine five questions about the nature of obstacles and

their roles at various points in compliance-gaining interactions.

How Have Obstacles Been Described?

Speech act (Austin, 1962; Searle, 1969) and attribution (Heider, 1958; Weiner, 1986) theories offer different,

albeit complementary, descriptions of the obstacle construct. For speech act theorists, the constitutive rules

for directives offer a framework for analyzing potential obstacles to compliance. Directives, such as requests,

recommendations, and commands, are speech acts designed to get the hearer to perform an action that he

or she otherwise would not have performed (Searle, 1976). Directives are at the heart of any attempt to gain

compliance, given that people seek compliance only when they presume that their targets otherwise would

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not have performed the desired actions (see the definition of compliance gaining in Chapter 1). It is true that

compliance-seeking messages frequently contain speech acts in addition to directives, such as assertions

or promises. Often, however, these additional acts support the logical preconditions for using directives; for

example, these acts might explain why the desired action needs to be performed, why the message source

cannot perform the action him- or herself, or why the target should be willing to comply (Tracy, Craig, Smith,

& Spisak, 1984; see Table 6.2). It also is true that when message sources hint, they do not state directives

explicitly. Even when hinting, however, message sources still adhere to the rules for directives by encouraging

targets to perform behaviors that the targets otherwise did not plan to perform.

Because directives are at the heart of attempts to gain compliance, message sources adhere to the rules for

directives whenever they seek compliance. Put differently, a message source, by seeking compliance, explic-

itly or implicitly asserts that the rules for directives are “in effect” and provide an accurate characterization of

the current reality. As an example, when I ask my 9-year-old stepdaughter, Annie, to make her bed, I assert

that the preconditions for making this request are met (see Table 6.2). By making my request, in other words,

I assume the following: that Annie's bed currently is not made, that it needs to be made, that Annie was not

about to make the bed, that Annie has the ability to make the bed at this time, that Annie is willing and/or

obligated to make her bed, that I have the right to remind Annie to make her bed, and that I sincerely want

the bed made.

As is apparent from this example, the message target does not always passively accept the source's “defini-

tion of the situation” (Goffman, 1959). From the perspective of speech act theory, resisting compliance means

challenging the message source's definition of the situation—that is, challenging the source's assertion that

the rules for directives provide an accurate characterization of the current situation. Resisting compliance

means asserting that the source's request is “defective.” In the “make the bed” situation, Annie might object

to my request because (a) she thinks that the task of making her bed is unnecessary (there is no need for

the action), (b) she already had planned to make the bed sometime later (there is no need for my request),

(c) she is too busy to make the bed right now (she lacks ability), (d) she does not want to make her bed (she

lacks willingness), (e) she does not have to make her bed (she is not obligated), (f) she can keep her own

room any way that she wants (I have no right to make this request), or (g) she believes that I don't really care

about the bed, but just want to hassle her (I lack sincerity).

During compliance-gaining episodes, the constitutive rules for directives function as stases, or possible points

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of clash in arguments about how the current situation should be defined (Jackson & Jacobs, 1980; Kline,

1979; Wilson, Kim, & Meischke, 1991/1992). As a consequence, the rules for directives should offer a com-

prehensive framework for analyzing obstacles to compliance, because resisting compliance means asserting

that the conditions specified in one of these rules is not met in the current situation. Each of Annie's refusals

in the prior example functions in this way. Indeed, a variety of specific obstacles can be analyzed using a

speech act theory framework (e.g., Gibbs, 1986; Ifert & Roloff, 1994).

Attribution theory offers a second framework for describing obstacles. Attributions are personal judgments

about the causes for actions or events; thus attribution theorists study how everyday actors answer “why”

questions (Heider, 1958). You may make attributions about a wide variety of events, such as why you did

well on a test, why a stranger bumped into you at a concert, why your romantic partner got upset during a

conversation, why you received (or did not receive) a raise at work, or why a close friend or family member

died at a young age. Attributions play an important role in how you interpret the meanings of events. Imagine

that a stranger bumps into you as you are waiting in line to enter a movie theater. Does what is “going on”

seem different if the stranger bumps into you accidentally because the theater entrance is overcrowded as

opposed to if the stranger bumps into you because he or she is impatient about waiting in line? Attributions

also influence your emotional reactions to events. You are likely to feel happy about having received an A on

an exam regardless of whether you studied hard or whether the exam was so easy that everyone did well.

Only in the former case, however, are you likely to take “pride” in how you performed on the exam (Weiner,

1986).

During a compliance-gaining interaction, a salient question can be why the target is refusing to comply imme-

diately with the message source's request. From an attributional perspective, obstacles are causes or reasons

for the target's noncompliance. Attributions are personal judgments, and thus message sources and targets

may make different attributions about why the target is refusing to comply (Jones & Nisbett, 1972; Wilson &

Kang, 1991; Wilson, Levine, Cruz, & Rao, 1997).

When we try to think about the possible causes for any specific event, the number of candidate possibilities

may seem overwhelming. Consider why a student, Joan, performed poorly in delivering her first speech in

a public speaking class. Perhaps Joan did not practice her speech in advance. Perhaps she picked a topic

with a great deal of technical information that was difficult to explain. Perhaps Joan lacks skill at organizing

her ideas clearly. Or perhaps she is very nervous about speaking in public. Perhaps Joan felt ill on the day

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of her speech, or was distracted because she had gotten into a fight with her boyfriend the evening before.

Perhaps Joan's instructor has very high expectations. Perhaps Joan was unlucky, because the best student

in the class happened to be selected to speak just before she gave her own speech. Given all the possible

reasons for Joan's performance, how do we organize and make sense of different attributions?

In his attributional theory of motivation and emotion, Bernard Weiner (1986) argues that people distinguish

causes along three basic dimensions. The first dimension, labeled locus, is concerned with whether the cause

resides within the actor (internal) or outside of actor, in the external environment (external). Joan's anxi-

ety about public speaking and her decision not to practice in advance are examples of internal causes; her

teacher's high expectations and the fight with her boyfriend are examples of external causes. The second

dimension, labeled stability, concerns whether the cause fluctuates over time (unstable) or remains constant

over time (stable). Joan's anxiety about public speaking and her teacher's high expectations are relatively sta-

ble causes; her fight with her boyfriend and her being unlucky at having the best student randomly selected to

speak just before her are unstable causes (because they do not happen each time she gives a speech).4 The

third dimension, controllability, concerns whether the cause can be influenced by the actor and/or other par-

ties (controllable) or whether it is beyond anyone's control (uncontrollable). Joan's decision not to practice and

her instructor's high expectations are examples of controllable causes; her feeling ill and her being unlucky

at having the best student randomly selected to speak just before her are uncontrollable causes. According

to Weiner, locus, stability, and controllability are distinguishable on logical grounds; for example, people may

succeed at a task due to internal causes that are either stable (e.g., ability) or unstable (e.g., effort). Weiner

also reviews evidence that everyday actors distinguish perceived causes for interpersonal events, such as

marital conflict, along these three dimensions.

By crossing the attributional dimensions of locus, stability, and controllability, we can classify eight different

types of obstacles to compliance in a variety of situations. Table 6.3 lists examples of eight different types

of reasons individuals may give for saying no to a date request. These data are from a study conducted by

Folkes (1982), who asked each of 64 female and 64 male undergraduates to describe a recent episode in

which she or he had turned down, and/or been turned down for, a date request made by someone the par-

ticipant did not know well. Table 6.4 lists eight different types of reasons individuals might give for refusing to

participate, after promising to do so, in a research study. My colleagues and I generated these data by asking

undergraduates to list reasons a student might sign up for an out-of-class experiment but then later back out

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on participating (see Wilson, Cruz, Marshall, & Rao, 1993). As you will see below, message targets are not

equally likely to disclose these eight types of obstacles, and message sources make choices about whether

and how to persist based on the locus, stability, and controllability of the disclosed obstacles.

Do Message Sources Anticipate Obstacles in Their Initial Requests?

Imagine that you want to know the time and do not happen to be wearing a watch. You approach a stranger,

say, “Excuse me”, and then ask for the time. There are several ways you might phrase your request, such as

“Do you happen to know what time it is?” “Can you tell me the time?” or “Would you mind telling me the time?”

Which of these requests would you be most likely to say in this situation? Would your choice of phrasing be

completely random?

SOURCE: From “Communicating the Reasons for Social Rejection”, by V. S. Folkes, 1982, Journal of Exper-

imental Social Psychology, 18, p. 242. Copyright 1982 by Academic Press. Reprinted with permission.

NOTE: Personal causes referred to the rejected person (i.e., internal locus), whereas impersonal qualities re-

Table 6.3 Eight Reasons for Turning Down a Date Request, Varying Along Three Attributional Dimensions

Attributional Dimensions Target's Reason for Saying No

1. Impersonal, unstable, uncontrollable The rejecter had to study for finals.

2. Impersonal, unstable, controllable The rejecter would rather go to a dance that night than go to the movies.

3. Impersonal, stable, uncontrollable The rejecter was seriously involved with someone.

4. Impersonal, stable, controllable The rejecter did not want to mess up a relationship with someone else she was dating.

5. Personal, unstable, uncontrollable The rejected person was in a bad mood.

6. Personal, unstable, controllable The rejected person had a lot of nerve calling up the rejecter the same night to ask her out.

7. Personal, stable, uncontrollable The rejected person was too old for the rejecter.

8. Personal, stable, controllable The rejecter did not agree with the rejected person's religious beliefs.

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lated to the rejecter or the larger situation (i.e., external locus).

According to Ellen Francik and Herbert Clark (1985), speakers word requests in a predictable fashion, based

on how they perceive obstacles in the situation. Francik and Clark propose an “obstacle hypothesis”, which

states that “speakers design requests to overcome the greatest potential obstacle they see to getting the

information they want” (p. 560). To illustrate this hypothesis: Imagine that you want to buy a popular CD that

has just been released. You drive to the store, enter, and approach a clerk. Are you likely to say, “Would you

be willing to sell me the new ____ CD?” Probably not. The clerk's willingness is not at issue, given that the

store's purpose is to make a profit by selling CDs. Availability is a more plausible obstacle that could prevent

you from obtaining the new CD; hence you might start with a prerequest such as “Do you have the new ____

CD?” According to Francik and Clark, a speaker typically mentions what he or she perceives to be the most

likely obstacle because this (a) helps the target realize what he or she needs to do in order to comply (e.g.,

check whether the new CD has arrived) and (b) provides the target with a plausible excuse if he or she is

unable or unwilling to comply (e.g., “Sorry, we haven't received it yet”).

Table 6.4 Eight Reasons for Refusing to Participate in a Research Study as Promised, Varying Along Three

Attributional Dimensions

Attributional Dimensions Target's Reason for Saying No

1. Internal, stable, control-

lable

I always seem to volunteer whenever anyone needs help. I agreed to be a big brother/ sister and will be spending

that time with my little brother/sister.

2. Internal, stable, uncon-

trollable I just can't do it. No matter what I do, every time I participate in one of these experiments I make a fool of myself.

3. Internal, unstable, con-

trollable I invited friends out to happy hour at that time, so I'm not going to be at the experiment.

4. Internal, unstable, un-

controllable My boyfriend/girlfriend and I just had a huge fight. I'm in a bad mood and don't feel up to coming to the experiment.

5. External, stable, con-

trollable

It's important to me to graduate in three years, so I'm taking 19 credits every term. I just don't have the time to do

any extra credit.

6. External, stable, uncon- I won't be there. I'm in the Marketing Club, and we meet at that time every week.

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SOURCE: From “An Attributional Analysis of Compliance-Gaining Interactions”, by S. R. Wilson, M. G. Cruz,

L. J. Marshall, & N. Rao, 1993, Communication Monographs, 60, pp. 370–371. Copyright 1993 by the Speech

Communication Association. Adapted with permission.

The obstacle hypothesis has received support in several studies (Francik & Clark, 1985; Gibbs, 1986; Gibbs

& Mueller, 1988; Roloff & Janiszewski, 1989). For example, Francik and Clark (1985, Experiments 1 and 2)

had undergraduates listen to short tape-recorded descriptions of 24 hypothetical scenarios that contained one

of three types of obstacles: (a) ability (e.g., asking someone who is not visibly wearing a watch if he or she

knows the time), (b) willingness (e.g., asking someone about sensitive family information that the person may

not want to reveal), or (c) memory (e.g., asking someone a question when you cannot recall whether you

already have asked that person the same question at a prior time). Other versions of the scenarios did not

appear to contain any obstacles (e.g., asking someone who is visibly wearing a watch if he or she knows the

time). After hearing each scenario, participants stated aloud what they would say in the situation.

Francik and Clark (1985) report two main findings from this research. First, participants used more indirect

requests (e.g., “Do you have any idea what time it is?”) than direct requests (e.g., “What time is it?”) in scenar-

ios where obstacles were perceived as present rather than absent. Second, participants varied the forms of

their indirect requests depending on the likely obstacles. Participants used the form “Do you know” when they

were uncertain whether the target knew some desired information, “Did you see/hear/notice” when they were

uncertain whether the target noticed and remembered the desired information, “Would you” or “Could you”

when it was unclear whether the target was willing to disclose the desired information, and “Have I asked you”

when they were uncertain whether they had asked about the same information at an earlier time. Consistent

with the obstacle hypothesis, the participants also comprehended requests for information more quickly, and

evaluated them as more appropriate, when they addressed plausible rather than implausible obstacles (Fran-

cik & Clark, 1985; Gibbs, 1986).

trollable

7. External, unstable, con-

trollable I just decided not to do it because the professor offered so little extra credit that it just isn't worth my time.

8. External, unstable, un-

controllable

I can't do it then because I have to meet with one of my professors during that time. It's the only time he can meet

this week.

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Francik and Clark (1985) examined only requests for information, but Michael Roloff and Chris Janiszewski

(1989) have shown how the obstacle hypothesis can apply to requests for assistance as well. They distinguish

two types of assistance. A request to “borrow” occurs when the message source asks the target to lend him or

her a material object temporarily, promising to return that object in the same condition (e.g., you miss a class

and ask to borrow another student's notes). For requests to borrow, likely obstacles include that the target

may want to use the object him- or herself, may fear that the object will not be returned in a timely fashion,

and/or may fear that the message source will damage the object. A request for a “favor” occurs when the

source asks the target to perform some service that primarily will help the source and that will consume the

target's time and/or energy (e.g., you need a ride to a location 25 minutes away and ask someone you know

to drive you). For requests for favors, likely obstacles include that the target may lack time and/or energy to

provide the service, may lack willingness to help, and/or may prefer to do other things with his or her time.

According to Roloff and Janiszewski (1989), the obstacle hypothesis implies that “speakers will adapt their

requests to overcome potential sources of resistance to providing each type of assistance” (p. 36). In a test of

this reasoning, 120 undergraduate students wrote exactly what they would say in response to a hypothetical

“request to borrow” scenario (i.e., asking to borrow either the target's class notes or $25) and a “request for

a favor” scenario (i.e., asking the target either to type a paper or to provide a ride). Some students imagined

that the target in both situations was another student in their class whom they considered a friend, whereas

others imagined the target was an acquaintance or a stranger in their class. For each message, coders ini-

tially analyzed whether it contained one or more grammatical clauses. Clauses then were classified into one

of the seven categories shown in Table 6.5. Roloff and Janiszewski developed these categories based on

Brown and Levinson's (1987) types of positive and negative politeness (see below). Several categories also

pertain to the constitutive rules for requests (e.g., inquiries, explanations).

Table 6.5 Roloff and Janiszewski's (1989) Seven Types of Clauses Within Request Messages

Type of Clauses Definition/Example

Contractual clauses Those clauses containing information about the amount, duration, or contingencies of the requested action

Example: I will return your notes next class.

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SOURCE: From “Overcoming Obstacles to Interpersonal Compliance: A Principle of Message Construction”,

by M. E. Roloff & C. A. Janiszewski, 1989, Human Communication Research, 16, 1989, p. 45. Copyright 1989

by the International Communication Association. Adapted with permission.

Consistent with the obstacle hypothesis, participants in Roloff and Janiszewski's (1989) study varied whether

they included specific types of clauses in their request messages depending on the type of assistance being

sought. For example, contractual clauses occurred more frequently in “borrow” than in “favor” messages,

whereas inquiries about ability and inducements occurred more often in “favor” than in “borrow” messages.

These differences make sense in light of the obstacles relevant to these two types of requests: Contractual

clauses assure the target that the borrowed object will be cared for and returned in a timely fashion, whereas

inquiries and inducements address the target's ability and willingness to provide a favor.

Inquiries Those clauses in which the requester asks about the ability of the target to provide the needed assistance

Example: Are you busy this afternoon?

Inducements Those clauses in which the requester offers a compliment, exchange, or gratitude to the target

Example: I will pay you for the gas.

Explanations Those clauses in which the requester indicates why he or she needs the requested action

Example: I have been sick.

Apologies Those clauses in which the requester acknowledges the inappropriateness of the requested assistance

Example: I know this is an imposition.

Introductions Those clauses in which the requester introduces or identifies him- or herself

Example: I live in your dorm.

Requests Those clauses in which the requester explicitly asks for the assistance

Example: Can you give me a ride downtown?

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To summarize, message sources do anticipate potential obstacles from targets as they design their compli-

ance-seeking messages. Research on the obstacle hypothesis illustrates two important points about persua-

sive message production. First, these studies show that people often pursue interaction goals with little con-

scious awareness. When asking someone for the time, do you think carefully about whether to say, “Do you

happen to know what time it is?” or “Can you tell me the time?” or “Would you mind telling me the time?” De-

spite the fact that we seem to make such requests in a mindless fashion, we alter the forms of our requests

to address the most plausible obstacles that might prevent us from attaining our goals. In other words, per-

suasive message production can be purposive without being highly mindful (Kellermann, 1992).

A second point is that the obstacle hypothesis has received support precisely because persuasive message

production is goal oriented. Message sources anticipate obstacles to compliance in their requests because

doing so helps them accomplish their primary and secondary goals (Francik & Clark, 1985). In some cases,

however, sources may be more likely to accomplish their goals by ignoring obstacles. As Gibbs (1986) ex-

plains:

In other contexts, speakers … will design their requests without any consideration of the potential

obstacles for addressees. A general making a request of a private is just such a case. Failure to

mention an appropriate obstacle helps the general maintain his superior social status relative to the

private. It is clear that speakers may satisfy many communicative goals by either highlighting or ig-

noring certain obstacles when formulating indirect speech acts. (p. 194)

In other words, we should not always expect speakers to address obstacles in their compliance-seeking mes-

sages. Future research might explore boundary conditions on the obstacle hypothesis.

Do Targets Always Disclose Their “Real” Reasons for Resisting Compliance?

Imagine that a person from your workplace asks you for a date (if you are in a long-term, exclusive romantic

relationship, then remember a time when you dated other people). The person who has asked you out is

someone you do not find physically or socially attractive. How would you go about refusing the person's date

request? Would you tell the person that you simply do not feel attracted to him or her? Or would you search

for another excuse, such as that you already are dating someone else. Would you use this latter excuse even

if you and your current dating partner both have agreed to see other people?

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Bernard Weiner, Valerie Folkes, and their colleagues have compared public and private reasons for refusing

requests from an attributional perspective (Folkes, 1982; Weiner, Amirkhan, Folkes, & Verette, 1987; Weiner,

Figueroa- Munoz, & Kakihara, 1991). In the first investigation, Folkes (1982, Study 1) asked each of 64 female

and 64 male undergraduates to recall a recent episode in which she or he had been rejected for a date and/

or had been the rejecter of a date. Each participant was asked whether the rejecter had explained why he or

she was saying no and, if so, what the rejecter's public explanation had been. As Folkes notes, this publicly

stated reason may have been the real reason, may have been different from the real reason, or may have

been only part of the reason the date rejecter said no. Each participant then was asked to list five “private”

reasons the rejecter in his or her episode had turned down the date. Coders categorized both the public and

the private reasons as (a) personal (related to the rejected person) or impersonal (related to the rejecter or

situation), (b) stable or unstable, and (c) controllable or uncontrollable (see Table 6.3 for examples). Nearly

two-thirds (64%) of the public reasons for refusing a date were impersonal, uncontrollable, and unstable (e.g.,

the rejecter had to study for final exams), whereas less than one-third (30%) of the private reasons were of

this type.

Message targets at times withhold or alter their “real reasons” in a variety of situations aside from date re-

quests. Weiner et al. (1991, Study 1) asked each of 97 undergraduate students to describe an occasion when

he or she “gave an excuse to someone that was not the truth. That is, there was a real reason why something

happened or failed to occur, or why you responded positively or negatively, and you withheld that reason and

gave a different one” (p. 6). Each participant was asked to describe the situation, including what he or she

communicated to the other person and what the real reason was that the participant withheld. Each partici-

pant also described his or her goal(s), or what he or she wanted to accomplish by giving the false excuse or

reason.

Several findings from Weiner et al.'s (1991) study are of interest. First, participants had no trouble recalling

recent incidents in which they had communicated false excuses. A second finding is that disclosed (false) and

withheld (true) reasons differed along all three attributional dimensions. As in Folkes's (1982) earlier study,

the vast majority of public reasons were external, uncontrollable, and unstable. In contrast, more than 90% of

the privately withheld reasons were internal and controllable. A third finding is that participants reported that

they withheld their “real” reasons to accomplish four goals; specifically, they wanted to avoid (a) complying

with the other party's request, (b) hurting the other party's feelings, (c) making the other party angry, and (d)

making themselves look bad. In Dillard's (1990b) terminology, targets may give false reasons for resisting

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compliance in order to accomplish both primary and secondary goals.

Of course, message sources realize that, at times, targets' publicly stated reasons for resisting compliance

are different from their real reasons. In a study exploring this issue, Danette Ifert and Michael Roloff (1994)

had undergraduate students imagine that they were going to ask a target person to loan them notes from a

class as well as to type an eight-page paper for them. Students imagined that the target in both situations was

either a friend or a stranger in their class. Participants initially listed all of the obstacles that would prevent

the target from complying with their request or “private” reasons why the target might say no. Participants

then wrote out exactly what they expected the target would say to deny their request (i.e., the target's public

reasons). Coders placed both private and public reasons into one of seven categories, which were further

grouped into those obstacles that primarily reflected the target's inability to comply (i.e., uncontrollable caus-

es) versus those that reflected the target's unwillingness to comply (i.e., controllable causes). Coders also

analyzed whether participants expected the target to include each private reason in his or her refusal mes-

sage.

Participants from Ifert and Roloff's (1994) study expected that a target would be much more likely to disclose

an “inability” obstacle than an “unwillingness” obstacle. Participants, on average, believed that message tar-

gets would mention 42% of the inability obstacles that they perceived as present in the situation, but would

mention only 12% of the unwillingness obstacles. Consistent with what targets actually tend to do, message

sources expected that targets would disclose uncontrollable reasons for saying no while withholding control-

lable reasons.

What do message sources do when they are skeptical about whether targets' public reasons for resisting

compliance are the “real” reasons for the targets' resistance? In some cases, a message source simply may

accept the target's public reason for saying no. If a target refuses a date request by saying that he or she “has

to study for finals”, the message source may accept this public explanation because pressing for the “real”

reason could embarrass both parties. In other cases, however, a message source may risk pressing for the

“real” reason, especially when the request is perceived to be in the target's best interest (Boster, 1995). Fu-

ture research might examine when message sources and targets are likely to debate the legitimacy of public

obstacles to compliance.

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Does the Nature of an Initial Request Constrain How the Target Resists Com-

pliance?

Imagine once again that a person from your workplace asks you for a date, but you are not physically or so-

cially attracted to the person. If the person asks, “Would you like to go see a movie Saturday night?” you might

respond, “I'm sorry, but I'm busy Saturday.” If the person instead asks, “Would you like to go see a movie

sometime?” would you still respond, “I'm sorry, but I'm busy Saturday”? Probably not, because the person has

not mentioned a specific day. Being busy on Saturday is a “relevant” obstacle to the first, but not the second,

date request. To some extent, message sources can constrain which obstacles to compliance are, and are

not, relevant by the phrasing of their initial requests.

According to Gaylen Paulson and Michael Roloff (1997), the form and the content of a date request both can

influence the nature of a target's refusal. Table 6.6 presents six date requests that vary in form and content.

Regarding request form, Paulson and Roloff argue that when a person asks a virtual stranger for a date, the

source typically perceives the target's willingness to be the most plausible obstacle to compliance. In light

of the obstacle hypothesis, discussed above, this means that date requests with strangers that address the

target's “willingness” to comply should be perceived as more conventional, and as more appropriate or po-

lite, than requests that address other obstacles, such as the target's “ability” to comply. In turn, both of these

request forms should be perceived as more polite than requests that the source presumes will raise no obsta-

cles, because such “obstacle-free” forms place greater constraint on the target's autonomy (see Table 6.6).

Given this reasoning, Paulson and Roloff predict that date requests with strangers that address willingness

obstacles will prompt more polite refusals than will requests that address ability obstacles, and that obstacle-

free forms will prompt the least polite refusals.

Regarding request content, Paulson and Roloff (1997) argue that date requests can be specific or ambiguous

about the proposed joint activity, participants, setting, and/or time. In particular, they predict that requests that

are ambiguous with regard to time should prompt more stable refusals (“Sorry, but I'm seriously involved with

someone”) than requests that propose specific times, because unstable obstacles such as being “busy Sat-

urday” are not relevant for refusing the former type of date request (see Table 6.6).

Table 6.6 Paulson and Roloff's (1997) Six Examples of Date Requests

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To test these hypotheses, Paulson and Roloff asked each of 65 male and 63 female undergraduates to imag-

ine that another student in the participant's communication class, whom the participant did not know, asked

the participant for a date using one of the six requests shown in Table 6.9. After reading the request, each

participant was asked to imagine that for some reason he or she wanted to turn down the date. Paulson and

Roloff had each participant write out exactly what he or she would say to the other person to refuse the date

request and then rate both the request and his or her own refusal message in terms of perceived convention-

ality and politeness. Coders also analyzed whether the obstacles to compliance in participants' refusal mes-

sages were stable or unstable. The results largely supported the researchers' predictions, in that participants

(a) perceived “willingness”-based date requests as more polite than “ability”-based requests, which they in

turn saw as more conventional and polite than “obstacle-free” requests; (b) perceived their own refusals to

be most polite when the date requester used a “willingness” form and least polite when the date requester

posed no obstacles; and (c) included more stable obstacles when the date requester was ambiguous rather

than specific about the proposed time for the date.

Paulson and Roloff's (1997) findings suggest that message sources should consider how they phrase im-

portant requests, because “rather small changes in wording [can] reliably influence the content of refusals”

(p. 284). Asking a virtual stranger for a date without addressing potential obstacles, for example, typically is

perceived as overbearing and is likely to prompt a less polite refusal than other date request forms. Accord-

ing to Paulson and Roloff, message sources may benefit from being either ambiguous or specific about the

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proposed content of their date requests, depending on the relative importance of their own primary and sec-

ondary goals.

Do Message Sources Vary in Whether, and how, They Persist in Seeking Com-

pliance Depending on the Types of Obstacles Disclosed by Targets?

As the examples presented throughout this text show, message targets often respond to compliance-seeking

messages by asking questions or posing obstacles. Despite this, research on compliance gaining typically

has examined only people's initial responses to hypothetical scenarios (see Chapter 4). Among the smaller

subset of studies that have analyzed subsequent compliance-seeking strategies, many have instructed par-

ticipants simply to imagine that the target said no to their initial request and then asked what participants

would say or do at that point (e.g., Cody, Canary, & Smith, 1994; deTurck, 1985, 1987; Hample & Dallinger,

1998; Wilson, Whipple, & Grau, 1996). In other words, many studies have provided no information about why

the target was saying no. To my knowledge, only two studies have investigated whether message sources

vary in terms of whether, and how, they persist in seeking compliance when targets disclose different types of

obstacles.

In the first study, several colleagues and I applied Weiner's (1986) attributional theory to predict whether and

how message sources would persist after hearing targets disclose different reasons for their failing to honor

an earlier commitment (Wilson et al., 1993). I have described the procedures for this study in detail at the

beginning of Chapter 2. As you may recall, each participant was given a list of 20 students (actually confed-

erates) who supposedly had signed up to earn extra credit by completing a study being conducted by the

fictitious “Professor Jones.” Participants in our study were instructed to telephone these 20 students and re-

mind them about the time and place of their own study. If any of the 20 students had changed their minds

about coming, participants were supposed to try to persuade them to honor their promise to complete their

study. We told our participants to use their own judgment about what to say and how long to persist in trying

to persuade Professor Jones's students to show up.

In reality, the participants telephoned 20 confederates who were working with us. Of the 20 phone calls, 10

were answered by confederates who were instructed simply to say yes, they would show up for Professor

Jones's study as promised. One phone number always went to a wrong number, and another always went to

someone we knew was not there to receive the call. The remaining 8 calls were answered by confederates

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who were trained to say no, they would not show up. When prompted, these 8 confederates all disclosed

different obstacles, or reasons they had changed their minds about participating in Professor Jones's study.

Developed in a pilot study, these obstacles varied in terms of Weiner's (1986) three causal dimensions of lo-

cus, stability, and controllability. Examples of all of the types of obstacles appear in Table 6.3.

Based on Weiner's (1986) theory, we reasoned that message sources would vary the degree to which they

persisted, as well as their specific choices of compliance-seeking strategies, depending on the reasons the

students (confederates) gave for refusing to participate in the research project as promised. According to

Weiner, individuals set higher expectations and hence are more motivated to persist when they perceive that

their initial failure to accomplish a goal is due to a cause that might change over time (unstable) rather than a

cause that will remain constant (stable). In addition to stability, attributional theorists suggest that individuals

set higher expectations and persist longer when they believe that their initial failure is due to something that

can be controlled rather than something about which they are helpless (e.g., Anderson & Jennings, 1980;

Dweck, 1999). Following this reasoning, we predicted that participants would persist longer with targets (con-

federates) who disclosed unstable, internal, and controllable reasons for refusing to participate in the study as

promised than with targets who disclosed stable, external, and controllable reasons for saying no. Depending

on the locus, stability, and controllability of the disclosed obstacle, we also predicted that participants would

vary in terms of whether they (a) perceived the target's reason for saying no as sincere, (b) addressed that

obstacle directly, and (c) used antisocial compliance-seeking strategies.

Results from the study were consistent with, albeit more complicated than, these predictions. First, partici-

pants perceived most internal causes as controllable and external causes as uncontrollable; hence we col-

lapsed locus and controllability into a single attributional dimension. Second, the effects of locus/controllability

depended on stability. In most cases, predictions regarding locus/controllability were confirmed for unstable

but not for stable causes. When participants encountered targets (confederates) who disclosed unstable rea-

sons for refusing to honor their commitment, the participants persisted longer, denied the validity of the obsta-

cles more often, used guilt more frequently, and perceived the targets as more sincere if their reasons were

“internal/ controllable” rather than “external/uncontrollable.” When participants encountered targets who dis-

closed stable reasons for refusing to honor their commitment, however, the locus/controllability of the reasons

did not matter. Put differently, participants appeared to evaluate obstacles using a two-step process. Initially,

they attended to stability, and they gave up seeking compliance quickly with targets who disclosed obstacles

that were unlikely to change over time. In cases where the obstacles were unstable, the participants then

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attended to locus/controllability, choosing to persist longer at seeking compliance with targets who disclosed

obstacles that were within rather than beyond the targets' control.

In the second study, Ifert and Roloff (1996) examined the joint effects of types of expressed obstacles and

relational intimacy to predict whether, and how, message sources would persist in the face of resistance from

targets. Participants in their study, 257 undergraduate students, wrote out exactly how they would make two

requests (asking to borrow the target's class notes for two days and asking the target to type an eight-page

paper on behalf of the source) of either a stranger or a friend. After writing the initial request, each participant

encountered one of three types of obstacles supposedly expressed by the target: (a) unwillingness obstacles

(e.g., “There's no way I would do that”), (b) inability obstacles (e.g., “I don't have notes for that day”), or (c)

imposition obstacles (e.g., “I don't have time to do it”). Unwillingness and inability obstacles embody two of

the preparatory rules for requests (see Table 6.2), whereas imposition obstacles express a mixture of inability

and unwillingness. After reading an obstacle statement, each participant completed a measure of how much

he or she would want to persist in seeking compliance, after which the participant wrote out exactly what he

or she would say after encountering that obstacle. These subsequent messages were coded for the presence

of (a) inquiries about why the target was refusing the request; (b) persuasion cues, or phrases that explained

or justified the initial request; and (c) forgiving cues, or phrases that accepted the target's refusal gracefully.

Ifert and Roloff (1996) predicted that participants in general would show greater desire to persist after en-

countering resistance from intimate targets (i.e., friends) as opposed to nonintimate targets (i.e., strangers),

because friends often believe that they should be able to count on each other in times of need (see Roloff

et al., 1988). They also predicted that participants' desire to persist, as well as their use of specific forms of

persistence, would depend on the types of obstacles disclosed by the targets. Specifically, participants were

predicted to show especially high desire to persist, as well as to use more inquiries and persuasion cues

and fewer forgiving cues, when intimate targets disclosed unwillingness obstacles (which are controllable) as

opposed to inability obstacles (which are uncontrollable). The researchers reasoned that unwillingness obsta-

cles are perceived as particularly unexpected and inappropriate within intimate relationships, and hence pre-

dicted that participants would feel most justified in confronting these obstacles when the target was a friend.

The results were largely consistent with these predictions: Intimacy was a stronger predictor of participants'

desire to persist, as well as their use of the three specific forms of persistence, when targets disclosed unwill-

ingness as opposed to inability obstacles. Responses to imposition obstacles, in most cases, were similar to

responses to unwillingness rather than inability obstacles. In sum, Ifert and Roloff's (1996) as well as Wilson

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et al.'s (1993) research shows that message sources vary their likelihood and means of persisting depending,

in part, on the nature of the obstacles disclosed by the targets.

In this section I have addressed five questions about the role of obstacles during compliance-gaining

episodes. Both speech act and attribution theories have informed research on obstacles. One research find-

ing I have described above is that message targets sometimes withhold their “real” reasons for saying no

in order to spare the sources, as well as themselves, awkwardness and embarrassment. This suggests that

people design their influence messages, in part, in light of both parties' public identities, or “face.” Erving Goff-

man (1967), the well-known symbolic interactionist, defines face as the “social value that a person effectively

claims for himself by the line others assume he has taken during a particular contact. Face is an image of self

delineated in terms of approved social attributes” (p. 5).

Requests and refusals project ongoing definitions of situations, in the sense that they imply that certain states

of affairs exist, or should exist (Wilson et al., 1991/1992, 1998). Thus seeking and resisting compliance can

raise threats to face for both parties. Perhaps not surprisingly, then, people commonly report that the desire

to maintain face is one of their goals during compliance-gaining episodes (Dillard, Segrin, & Harden, 1989;

Hample & Dallinger, 1987a; Kim et al., 1996; see Chapter 5). Face concerns shape the form of request and

refusal messages, and individuals differ systematically in their views about possible means for balancing com-

peting desires to seek compliance and sustain face. Face can be explored through the lenses of politeness

and message design logic theories.

Threats to Face: Politeness and Message Design Logic Theories

Brown and Levinson's Politeness Theory

Basic Assumptions of Politeness Theory

Penelope Brown, an anthropologist, and Stephen C. Levinson, a linguist, developed politeness theory based

on their extensive fieldwork in three diverse languages and cultures: English as spoken in Great Britain; Tamil,

a dialect spoken in southern India; and Tzetal, the language of the Mayan Indians in Mexico.5 They present

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politeness theory to account for “the extraordinary parallelism in the linguistic minutia of the utterances with

which persons choose to express themselves in quite unrelated languages and cultures” (Brown & Levinson,

1987, p. 55). One example of this parallelism is that speakers from all three cultures often use indirect speech

acts when seeking another party's compliance. Brown and Levinson show that indirect requests such as “Can

you shut the door?” “Are you planning on shutting the door?” and “Did you shut the door?” occur regularly in

English, Tamil, and Tzetal (p. 136).

To account for linguistic parallels across cultures, politeness theory posits that speakers in all cultures want

to maintain “face.” Building on Goffman (1967), Brown and Levinson divide face into two basic wants, labeled

negative and positive face. Negative face is the desire to maintain one's own autonomy. Individuals in any

culture want to be shown respect and not have their privacy and space invaded, their resources spent, and

their actions restricted without cause. Positive face is the desire to have one's own attributes and actions ap-

proved of by significant others. Which attributes are desired and which persons are significant depend on the

roles being enacted. College professors typically want students to perceive them as competent, organized,

and interesting. Most parents hope that their children will view them as loving, supportive, and fair. Although

desired attributes vary across roles, and cultural definitions of roles, individuals in all cultures want approval

and ratification from the people they love, admire, and/or value.

Aside from maintaining one's own face, Brown and Levinson (1987) argue, relational interdependence cre-

ates motives for supporting other people's face. Face is a social commodity. Although we want to maintain

face, it can be granted only by others (Goffman, 1967). A conversationalist who threatens another party's face

risks retaliatory attacks on his or her own. Politeness theory thus assumes that “it is generally in everyone's

best interest to maintain each other's face” (Brown & Levinson, 1987, p. 61).

Despite the interdependent nature of social relations, individuals often perform actions that threaten face. In

fact, Brown and Levinson (1987, p. 65) argue that many speech acts intrinsically are face threatening, mean-

ing that by their very nature they run contrary to the face wants of the message source or target. Politeness

theory's concept of an intrinsic face-threatening act, or FTA, draws on assumptions from speech act theory

discussed earlier in this chapter. To see how, consider “directives” such as requests, recommendations, and

commands (Searle, 1976). Directives, like any speech act, are defined by constitutive rules or logical pre-

conditions (see Table 6.2). Based on these defining conditions, Brown and Levinson (1987, pp. 65–66) claim

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that directives intrinsically threaten the target's negative face. When Mike asks Mr. Jenkins to donate blood in

Example 6.1, for instance, he assumes that Mr. Jenkins (a) is unlikely to set up an appointment on his own in

the near future (otherwise, Mike does not need to call Mr. Jenkins) and (b) might be willing to donate again

(otherwise, Mike is wasting his time calling Mr. Jenkins). By making assumptions about what Mr. Jenkins is

likely to do and what he may be willing to do, Mike constrains Mr. Jenkins's autonomy (Brown & Levinson,

1987, p. 144).

Based on the constitutive rules for various speech acts, politeness theory distinguishes between acts that

threaten negative face (i.e., constrain autonomy) and those that threaten positive face (i.e., communicate dis-

approval). It also distinguishes between acts that primarily threaten the message target's face and those that

threaten the message source's own face. Table 6.7 presents examples of speech acts that intrinsically threat-

en each of these four face wants. As is apparent in the table, each speech act is assumed to threaten one,

and only one, type of face.6

Brown and Levinson's (1987) classification of directives as intrinsic FTAs has important implications for the

study of compliance gaining. As I noted above in the section on obstacles to compliance, directives are at the

heart of any attempt to gain compliance. Given the centrality of directives to seeking compliance, it follows

that any attempt to gain compliance, by definition, places some degree of constraint on the target's negative

face. Thus the message source plausibly might worry about constraining the target's autonomy within any

compliance- gaining situation.

Seeking compliance is intrinsically face threatening, but not all attempts are equally face threatening. Accord-

ing to politeness theory, the amount of face threat created by any speech act is a linear function of three

variables: (a) distance, (b) power, and (c) ranking of the degree of imposition within a culture (Brown & Levin-

son, 1987, p. 74). Relational distance is the degree of familiarity between the message source and target.

Politeness theory assumes that as social distance increases, so does the magnitude or “weightiness” of face

threat. Imagine that you lost your purse and/or wallet and had to ask to borrow a quarter from a complete

stranger in order to make a telephone call. You might say something such as, “Excuse me, I'm sorry to bother

you, but I've lost my wallet. I need to make a phone call, and I have absolutely no money. Would you happen

to have a quarter?” Now imagine how you would ask your best friend for a quarter in the same situation. Can

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you imagine saying “Excuse me”, or apologizing, or explaining in this much detail to your best friend? Accord-

ing to politeness theory, the same request for a quarter is more face threatening when the target is a stranger

than when the target is a close friend.

Power refers to the degree of status or control the message source has in relation to the target. Politeness

theory assumes that as the source's status increases relative to the target, the weightiness of any face threat

decreases. All other things being equal, a sergeant in the U.S. armed forces creates a larger face threat by

asking for assistance from a lieutenant than by asking for assistance from a private, because the private is

obligated formally to follow most directions from the sergeant.

SOURCE: From Politeness: Some Universals in Language Usage, by P. Brown & S. C. Levinson, 1987 (pp.

65–68). Copyright 1987 by Cambridge University Press. Adapted with permission.

Ranking refers to the extent to which a speech act, within a particular situation and cultural context, interferes

with the target's desire to maintain face. Asking to borrow $2,500 from a close friend places greater constraint

on the friend's autonomy than does asking to borrow a quarter, because the friend, by lending the larger sum

of money, may limit his or her own ability to make desired purchases or even to pay monthly bills. Politeness

theory assumes that, in any culture, distance, power, and rank are the crucial factors determining the weight-

iness of an FTA.7

When contemplating performing an FTA, politeness theory proposes, a speaker chooses from five options.

Table 6.7 Examples of Brown and Levinson's Four Types of Intrinsic Face-Threatening Acts

Acts That Primarily Threaten Speaker's Face Hearer's Face

Positive face Apologies Criticisms

Confessions Insults

Negative face Promises Requests

Offers Recommendations

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These five “superstrategies” are shown in Table 6.8, along with examples from a scenario that assumes you

would like to buy a new house but are $3,000 short on the down payment. Should you ask your parent(s) to

loan you the money, realizing that it may be several years before you can repay the loan in its entirety? After

thinking about the situation, you might decide that asking to borrow $3,000 imposes too much on your parent.

In this case, you probably would choose not to do the FTA (see superstrategy 5).

If you do decide to perform the FTA, you must choose between going on- or off-record. Performing an FTA

“on-record” means saying something that makes your intention to ask for a loan clear, such as “Mom, can you

loan me $3,000 for my down payment on the house?” Performing an FTA “off-record” means saying some-

thing more ambiguous, that might or might not be heard as asking for a loan. Going off-record can be seen

as a strategic violation of Grice's (1975) maxim of manner. The example of superstrategy 4 in Table 6.8 is

off-record because, as the following examples show, it plausibly might or might not be a request for a loan:

Table 6.8 Brown and Levinson's (1987) Five Superstrategies for Doing FTAs, With Examples From a Hypo-

thetical Loan Scenario

Superstrategy Definition/Example

1. Do the FTA baldly,

without redress. State the FTA in the most direct, clear, and concise way possible.

Example: Mom, loan me $3,000.

2. Do the FTA using

positive politeness. Give assurances that the message source values the target and wants what the target wants.

Example: Mom, we're family, and we always help each other out. I know that you want me to live in a safer neighbor-

hood. I can do that if you'll lend me $3,000 for the down payment on my house.

3. Do the FTA using

negative politeness. Give assurances that the message source respects the target's freedom and will interfere with it as little as possible.

Example: Mom, I hate to ask you this, but is there any way that you might be able to lend me $3,000 for the down pay-

ment on my house? I'll pay you back as soon as I can.

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SOURCE: From Politeness: Some Universals in Language Usage, by P. Brown & S. C. Levinson, 1987 (pp.

65–68). Copyright 1987 by Cambridge University Press. Adapted with permission.

The parents in lines 2A and 2B respond to line 1 as implied request, whereas the parent in line 2C responds

to it only as an expression of frustration. Offrecord requests are polite in the sense that they provide the mes-

sage target with greater options. Rather than being forced to say either yes or no, the parent can respond to

line 1 as an implied request or instead choose to hear only the literal meaning of the statement (as in line 2C).

Going off-record, however, runs the risk that the parent may not even realize that a request is being made.

If you decide to perform the FTA on-record, you still must choose to do so with or without redress. Performing

the FTA baldly, without redress (superstrategy 1), means doing it “in the most direct, clear, unambiguous, and

concise way possible” (Brown & Levinson, 1987, p. 69). This means following Grice's (1975) maxims quite

literally, by making the request as clear as possible (manner), using no more words than absolutely necessary

(quantity), and so forth. Although most of us probably would not use a bald, on-record request such as the

one in Table 6.8 when asking to borrow a large sum of money, we might if the request were much smaller

(e.g., “Mom, loan me a dollar”) or if there was an urgent need to speak efficiently (e.g., “Mom, get out!” after

discovering that her house is on fire; Kellermann & Park, 2001).

Performing the FTA with redressive action means adding language to the request that attempts to minimize

or counteract potential face damage. Politeness forms, in this sense, are “principled deviations” from Grice's

(1975) quantity maxim, meaning that people who use them are saying more than literally is necessary in order

4. Do the FTA off-

record.

Do the FTA so that the message source's intent is ambiguous and so that the source can deny having performed the

FTA if necessary.

Example: I don't know how I'm going to come up with all the money for the down payment.

5. Don't do the FTA. Choose not to perform the FTA.

Example: Say nothing.

Example 6.11

1 You: I don't know how I'm going to come up with the money for the down payment.

2A Parent: How much are you short? Maybe I could help you with part of it.

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to be polite. Two types of politeness are available. Negative politeness (superstrategy 3) offers assurances

that the message source recognizes and respects the target's autonomy. The example in Table 6.8 communi-

cates negative politeness by (a) apologizing for the intrusion (“I hate to ask you”), (b) expressing doubt about

the target's ability to comply (“any way that you might be able to”), and (c) minimizing the length of the impo-

sition (“as soon as I can”). Positive politeness (superstrategy 2) offers assurances that the message source

likes and shares similar wants with the target. The example in Table 6.8 communicates positive politeness

by (a) using in-group markers (“we're family”), (b) asserting common ground (“you want me to live”), and (c)

providing reasons (“I can do that if”).

Politeness theory assumes that each of the five superstrategies can be carried out in multiple ways. Brown

and Levinson devote the bulk of the discussion in their book Politeness: Some Universals in Language Usage

(1987) to documenting concrete linguistic strategies by which speakers of English, Tamil, and Tzetal com-

municate negative or positive politeness. Table 6.9 summarizes 10 linguistic strategies that speakers use to

enact negative politeness. Mike uses several of these strategies in the phone call shown in Example 6.1, in-

cluding giving deference (line 02), being pessimistic (line 14), minimizing imposition (line 14), and using con-

ventionally indirect requests (line 23). Brown and Levinson also document 15 linguistic strategies by which

speakers in all three languages enact positive politeness. Politeness theory also assumes that negative and

positive politeness are alternative ways of redressing an FTA: by using avoidance-based language to show

deference and respect (negative politeness), or by using approach-based language to communicate approval

(positive politeness; see Brown & Levinson, 1987, pp. 68–70).

Table 6.9 Ten Linguistic Strategies for Enacting the Superstrategy of Negative Politeness

Linguistic Strategy Definition/Example

1. Be conventionally indirect. Use indirect request forms.

Example: Can you do X? (versus “Do X”).

2. Question, hedge. Avoid committing to assumptions underlying the request. Example: I was wondering whether you might…

3. Be pessimistic. Express doubt about whether the target can/will comply.

Example: Is there any way that you could … ?

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SOURCE: From Politeness: Some Universals in Language Usage, by P. Brown & S. C. Levinson, 1987 (pp.

129–211). Copyright 1987 by Cambridge University Press. Adapted with permission.

When contemplating performing an FTA, how does a speaker choose between the five superstrategies? Po-

liteness theory makes two important assumptions to answer this question. The first is that the five super-

strategies are rank ordered from the least polite option (do the FTA baldly, without redress) to the most polite

option (don't do the FTA; see Table 6.8). Brown and Levinson (1987, p. 18) argue that negative politeness

(superstrategy 3) is more polite than positive politeness (superstrategy 2) because it is avoidance rather than

4. Minimize the imposition. Downplay the size/length of the request.

Example: I was just calling to see if you could …

5. Give deference. Humble oneself and/or emphasize the target's status.

Example: Excuse me, sir, but I wondered …

6. Apologize. Indicate reluctance to infringe on the target.

Example: I hate to ask this, but…

7. Impersonalize both parties. Avoid explicitly mentioning the source and/or target.

Example: It needs to be done (versus “You need to do it”).

8. State a general rule. State the request as an instance of some general rule.

Example: Employees will wash their hands before returning to work (versus “You need to wash your

hands …”).

9. Nominalize. Remove the actor from “doing” the request.

Example: Your cooperation is urgently requested (versus “We urgently request your cooperation”).

10. Go on record as incurring a

debt. Explicitly claim indebtedness to the message target.

Example: I'd be eternally grateful if you could …

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approach based. The second assumption is that a speaker selects a superstrategy based on the perceived

weightiness of the FTA. When seeking compliance, the more a potential request threatens the message tar-

get's autonomy, the more the source will want to choose a more polite (i.e., a higher numbered) superstrat-

egy (see Table 6.8). As noted above, the message source should choose a less polite superstrategy when

concerns about efficiency outweigh face concerns. A source also is likely to choose a less polite superstrat-

egy when the degree of face threat from seeking compliance is low (e.g., the request is small, the message

source has greater relative power). A speaker who uses more politeness than is necessary risks implying, by

accident, that his or her request is very large. If I were to say to my stepdaughter, “Sheridan, I hate to ask

you this, but is there any way you possibly might be able help your mom?” she might well think, “If Steve's

being this nice about it, then Mom must want me to do something really awful.” In sum, politeness theory

does not assume that message sources always will be polite when seeking compliance. Rather, the theory

predicts that sources will vary their levels of politeness based on the degree to which their attempts to gain

compliance threaten the message targets' face. Politeness theory assumes that people are “rational” in the

sense of being able to reason from goals to linguistic means for accomplishing their goals.8

Evaluation of Politeness Theory

Useful theories are heuristic; that is, they stimulate research and debate about issues of importance. Brown

and Levinson's (1987) politeness theory fares well on this criterion. Scholars have drawn upon, extended,

and modified politeness theory to pose questions about people's choice of compliance-seeking and -resist-

ing messages across cultures, genders, and relationship types (e.g., Baxter, 1984; Holtgraves & Yang, 1992;

Lambert, 1996a; Leichty & Applegate, 1991; Lim & Bowers, 1991; Metts, Cupach, & Imahori, 1992; Wilson

& Kunkel, 2000). Others have tested whether persuaders who enact specific superstrategies, such as going

off-record, are perceived as polite, appropriate, competent, and/or effective (e.g., Blum-Kulka, 1987; Clark &

Schunk, 1980; Fairhurst, Green, & Snavely, 1984; Holtgraves & Yang, 1990; Kline & Floyd, 1990; Metts et

al., 1992). In addition to its application in the study of persuasive message production, politeness theory has

stimulated research on topics such as children's language acquisition, second-language learning, and cultural

universals in the use of honorifics (for a review, see Brown & Levinson, 1987, preface).

Politeness theory has been heuristic for at least two reasons. One is that the theory shows how people's

social concerns (i.e., the macro level) both reflect and constrain the linguistic details of their talk (i.e., the

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micro level). Brown and Levinson (1987) are not the first to suggest that people in all cultures share basic

wants (e.g., Maslow, 1943; Schutz, 1971). Politeness theory also is not the first theory to describe and explain

linguistic patterns; indeed, CA scholars take this as their primary task. What is unique about politeness theory

is that it links the macro and micro levels. Brown and Levinson show how regularities in the wording of speech

acts can be explained by the assumptions that conversational participants (a) desire to maintain face, (b) are

mutually aware of this desire, and (c) are rational agents (see note 8).

A second reason politeness theory has heuristic value is that it highlights both cross-cultural similarities and

differences in influence messages. According to the theory, people in all cultures (a) desire approval and au-

tonomy; (b) have motives to support other people's face; (c) use distance, power, and rank to determine the

weightiness of face threat; and (d) have options such as going “on-record” versus “off-record.” On the other

hand, the theory recognizes that cultures vary in (a) how distance and power are perceived within the “same”

relationships (e.g., friendship), (b) how culture members rank the imposition of specific FTAs, (c) which per-

sons culture members view as “significant” and hence as persons whose approval is desirable, and (d) which

persons culture members view as having power or status and hence as persons who deserve face protection.

Rather than privileging commonality or difference, politeness theory attempts to account for both.

Despite these strengths, politeness theory has been widely criticized (e.g., Coupland, Grainger, & Coupland,

1988; Craig, Tracy, & Spisak, 1986; Goldsmith, 2000; Lim & Bowers, 1991; Tracy & Baratz, 1994; Wilson,

1992; Wilson et al., 1991/1992, 1998; for a response to several criticisms, see Brown & Levinson, 1987, pref-

ace). Here I describe four common criticisms. First, Brown and Levinson's (1987) two types of face have been

questioned. Lim and Bowers (1991) argue that the concept of positive face compounds two basic human

wants: the need to be included (which they term “fellowship face”) versus the need to have one's abilities

respected (which they term “competence face”). They propose three types of face and three corresponding

types of politeness. Fellowship face is supported by statements of solidarity. Competence face is supported by

statements of approbation. Finally, autonomy face is supported by the demonstration of tact. After analyzing

written responses to hypothetical compliance-gaining scenarios, Lim and Bowers conclude that (a) message

sources match types of politeness to types of face threat (e.g., requests that threaten the target's fellowship

face are redressed with solidarity statements), and (b) sources use all three types of politeness independent-

ly (e.g., making solidarity statements neither guarantees nor precludes that a source will make statements

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of approbation). Distinguishing fellowship and competence face seems especially important for cross-cultural

research on persuasive message production, because these two types of positive face may vary in salience

within individualist versus collectivist cultures (for a discussion of individualism and collectivism, see Chapter

5).

A second criticism is that politeness theory's analysis of how face threats arise is grounded too heavily in the

form of speech acts, without sufficient analysis of the context in which acts are performed. Consider a mother

who tells her son, “You need to start trying in your math class.” This directive constrains the son's options and

thus threatens his negative face, but it simultaneously threatens the son's positive face by asserting that, up

to this point, he has not been “trying.” In contrast, a mother who asks her son to “please pass the salt” places

minor constraint on the son's autonomy but, in most cases, communicates no disapproval. When do directives

threaten only the message target's negative face, and when do they create multiple threats to the target's face

as well as to the source's own face? Brown and Levinson (1987) classify FTAs based only on the constitu-

tive rules for speech acts, irrespective of the contexts in which those acts are performed; thus they have little

to say about this issue (Wilson et al., 1991/1992). Aside from the form of speech acts, threats to face also

depend on the influence goal underlying an attempt to gain compliance (Wilson et al., 1998). For example,

women and men from diverse cultural backgrounds at times worry that they might appear to be “butting into”

the affairs of others when they give advice, but they rarely have this concern when asking favors. In contrast,

individuals at times worry that they might “owe” their targets big debts in the future when they ask favors, but

they rarely have this concern when giving advice (Cai & Wilson, 2000; Wilson, Anastasiou, Kim, Aleman, &

Oetzel, 2000; Wilson & Kunkel, 2000). Aside from influence goals that define an interaction, threats to face

also vary depending on the unfolding sequence of talk. Thus the degree to which giving advice threatens face

varies depending on whether the target has explicitly asked for advice, has disclosed a problem, or has said

nothing at all yet about the topic of advice (Goldsmith, 2000).

Third, Brown and Levinson's (1987) claim that positive politeness, negative politeness, and off-record super-

strategies are three mutually exclusive options has been criticized. Several studies have shown that, rather

than using only one superstrategy, message sources often mix two or three within the same compliance-seek-

ing message (e.g., Craig et al., 1986; Holtgraves & Yang, 1992; Lim & Bowers, 1991). Consider Example

6.12, in which a college student speaks aloud her response to a hypothetical situation that involves making a

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large request of a friend:

Example 6.12 contains numerous positive politeness strategies, including using in-group markers (“we'll” and

“friends”), giving reasons (“I don't have a place to live”), assuming that the target is interested in the source's

wants (“I've got some great news”), and being optimistic (“I know we'll all get along well”). But the message

also contains negative politeness strategies, such as hedging and indirectness (“I was wondering if it would

be possible”), minimizing the imposition (“at the outside I would guess a couple of weeks”), and indicating re-

luctance to impose (“I hesitate”). Rather than choosing between mutually exclusive options, message sources

often mix different superstrategies, sequentially or even simultaneously, to redress an FTA.

A fourth criticism targets politeness theory's claim that, regardless of context, the five superstrategies can be

rank ordered from least to most polite. Several researchers have found exceptions to Brown and Levinson's

(1987) rank ordering, such as on-record strategies being perceived as more polite than off-record strategies

and positive politeness being rated as more polite than negative politeness (e.g., Baxter, 1984; Blum-Kulka,

1987; Dillard, Wilson, Tusing, & Kinney, 1997; Holtgraves & Yang, 1990). These exceptions suggest that the

perceived politeness of any superstrategy depends heavily on the specific relational, institutional, and cultural

context of the situation (Coupland et al., 1988; Dillard et al., 1997; Tracy & Baratz, 1994). Consider the follow-

ing example, in which a nurse (N1) attempts to convince an elderly hospital patient (M) to take her medication:

Although N1 in Example 6.13 issues many bald on-record requests, she also uses several positive politeness

strategies (e.g., in-group markers such as “love” and “darling”) and negative politeness strategies (e.g., mini-

mizing the FTA in “not much left” and giving reasons such as “bad stomach”). Despite these politeness forms,

the nurse's attempts to gain compliance may not be heard as polite. A nurse's addressing an elderly patient

as “love” and “darling” may be seen more as her treating the patient like a child than as communicating affec-

tion or respect. This impression is reinforced when the nurse (N1) talks about the patient to a colleague (N2)

in the patient's presence. Politeness judgments are contextually bound; hence any attempt to rank order the

five superstrategies across contexts seems doomed to failure. Example 6.12

Hey Milly, uh, I got some great news for you. Uh, I'll be moving to Philadelphia to start a new job and,

huh, they want me there on, uh, Monday of next week, uh, I don't have a place to live and, uh, need

to take some time to locate at a place. I was wondering, uh, if it would be possible for me to stay with

Example 6.13

1 N1: Milly (1.5) Milly (.) come on love (.) wake up (2.0)

2 ((4/5 syllables)) (1.0) that's

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In light of these criticisms of politeness theory, scholars typically have taken one of two tacks. Some advocate

maintaining the theory's basic concepts (e.g., the intrinsic FTA, the three situational variables that determine

weightiness, the five superstrategies) but elaborating or modifying particular assumptions that have proven

problematic (e.g., Lim & Bowers, 1991; Wilson et al., 1991/1992, 1998). The challenge for this “conservative”

approach is whether it can address the criticisms noted above while maintaining the basic core of politeness

theory. A second group of scholars advocate scrapping politeness theory in favor of context-specific analyses

of politeness (e.g., Coupland et al., 1988; Tracy & Baratz, 1994). The danger of this more “radical” approach

is that context-specific analyses may lose sight of those cross-cultural linguistic regularities that motivated the

development of politeness theory in the first place. Regardless of the ultimate outcome, Brown and Levinson's

(1987) theory has stimulated a great deal of research about how detailed regularities in influence messages

can be understood as attempts to maintain face.

O'Keefe's theory of Message Design Logics

Barbara O'Keefe's theory of message design logics emerged from her earlier “goal and behavioral complexity”

analysis (see Chapter 5). After sketching the genesis of message design logics below, I describe the theory's

key concepts and assumptions, and then evaluate its utility.

Background of the Theory

O'Keefe's (1988, 1990, 1991) theory of message design logics responds to limitations in the earlier “goal and

behavioral complexity” account of message production. As you will recall from Chapter 5, O'Keefe and Delia

(1982) suggest that a communication situation is complex when its constituent features create multiple “sit-

uationally relevant objectives” that appear contradictory and difficult to reconcile. For example, interpersonal

arguments in which two parties disagree about a controversial issue are complex because both parties can

be expected to present and defend their own positions clearly, but also to show respect for the other party's

ideas (i.e., support the other's face). O'Keefe and Delia propose three strategies for managing such goal con-

flict: (a) selection, or giving priority to one goal (primary or secondary) while ignoring others; (b) separation, or

addressing multiple goals one at a time or through different channels; and (c) integration, or reframing the sit-

uation so as to pursue multiple goals simultaneously. To investigate these strategies, O'Keefe and Shepherd

(1987) paired college students with divergent opinions on a controversial issue, instructed each student to try

to convince the other to accept his or her own position on the issue, and then examined the students' use of

selection, separation, and integration strategies, turn by turn, throughout the discussions.

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Although O'Keefe initially viewed “selection”, “separation”, and “integration” simply as three different strate-

gies for managing goal conflict, she eventually has come to see them as reflecting three fundamentally differ-

ent ideas about the nature and possibilities of communication. As O'Keefe (1988) puts it, “These three ‘goal

management strategies’ reflect three different ways of reasoning from goals to messages rather than three

alternative message forms derived from the same way of reasoning about communication” (p. 83). To under-

stand her thinking, first consider the strategy of “separation.” During an interpersonal argument, a separation

strategy might involve directly criticizing the other person's views while also including apologies, disclaimers,

qualifiers, and other attempts to offset the criticism. Separation strategies can be interpreted easily within

Brown and Levinson's (1987) politeness theory. Criticizing another person's views can be heard as express-

ing disapproval of that person him- or herself. Given the mutual benefit of supporting face, a speaker who

criticizes another person's views should be motivated to redress threats to that person's positive face with just

the sort of politeness strategies (e.g., apologies, qualifiers) that O'Keefe and Shepherd (1987) observed in

separation strategies.

Both selection and integration strategies, however, make less sense from the perspective of politeness theory.

During an interpersonal argument, selection strategies might involve directly criticizing the other person's

views with no attempt to qualify or tone down the disagreement (i.e., pursue only the primary goal). Alterna-

tively, selection could involve lying about one's own position and claiming to hold the same view as the other

person in order to avoid disagreement (i.e., pursue only the secondary goal). Some of O'Keefe and Shep-

herd's (1987) participants told exactly such lies, even though both parties were explicitly informed at the start

that they were paired together precisely because they held highly divergent opinions. From the perspective of

politeness theory, why would an individual choose either to disagree “baldly, on-record” or to tell a detectable

lie about his or her own position when other options are available?

Integration strategies also are difficult to comprehend within politeness theory. During an interpersonal argu-

ment, integration strategies might involve directly criticizing the other person's views, but doing so within a

larger discussion of how considering the strengths and weaknesses of all positions—one's own, the other

person's, and other relevant views—allows everyone to make informed choices. Although the speaker still

advocates his or her own views, the speaker's actions are reframed from “criticizing the other's view” (an FTA)

to “mutually becoming better informed about the issue” (not an FTA). Which of Brown and Levinson's (1987)

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five superstrategies is this (see Table 6.8)? As O'Keefe (1991) explains, reframing is not an instance of the

off-record superstrategy: “In indirectness, the FTA is performed but off-record; whereas in this approach, the

FTA is not performed at all” (p. 140). It also is not an instance of the “don't do the FTA” strategy, because the

speaker does attempt to influence the other party. To summarize, politeness theory presumes that a speaker

is limited to using linguistic strategies, within the current context, to redress FTAs, whereas integration strate-

gies presuppose the possibility of redefining the context so as to pursue the primary goal without threatening

face at all. Hence O'Keefe (1988) concludes that the three goal management strategies “result from variation

in the systems of principles used in reasoning from ends to communicative means, differences in the very

definitions of communication that individuals construct and employ” (p. 84).

Key Concepts and Assumptions

Based on the points noted above, O'Keefe (1988) argues for the existence of three message design logics, or

systems of means-ends reasoning about communication. A message design logic is “a constellation of related

beliefs: a communication constituting concept, a conception of the functional possibilities of communication,

unit formation procedures, and principles of coherence” (p. 84). The design logics represent three fundamen-

tally different ideas about what talk is relevant in social situations (Grice, 1975). Key characteristics of each of

these three design logics, which O'Keefe labels expressive, conventional, and rhetorical, are shown in Table

6.10.

The fundamental premise of the expressive logic is that communication “is a medium for expressing thoughts

and feelings” (O'Keefe, 1988, p. 84). Individuals using this logic view “saying what's on one's mind” as the

primary function of communication. Expressive individuals communicate directly and literally, and they inter-

pret other people's messages in the same way. They view communication as successful to the degree that

it is clear and honest. Messages generated by the expressive logic tend to focus temporally on the past. If

an individual using the expressive logic is asked, “Why did you say X now?” the answer typically is “Because

some immediately prior event made me think or feel X, and so I said X.” Expressive messages often contain

“pragmatically pointless” content, in the sense that the speaker says what he or she is thinking even if these

thoughts do not help accomplish situationally relevant objectives. When faced with conflicting goals, such as

seeking compliance but also supporting the target's face, persons employing the expressive logic see two

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(and only two) options: Say it or don't say it.

Consider how someone using the expressive design logic might respond to the following “group leader” hy-

pothetical situation:

You have been assigned to a group project in one of your classes…. it is important to you to get a

good grade in this class…. the instructor … designated you to be the leader of your group…. Your

duties as group leader will include telling the instructor what grade you think each individual in the

group deserves based on their individual contributions. One group member (whose name is Ron) …

seldom makes it to group meetings on time and entirely skipped one meeting without calling anyone

in advance…. At the next meeting, Ron arrived late but apologized for missing the previous meet-

ing and mentioned something about family problems. Ron did volunteer to do all the background

research on one important aspect of the group's topic…. the group project is due next week. The

group planned to put together the final draft of its report at the meeting scheduled for tomorrow af-

ternoon. Ron calls you up today and says that he doesn't have his library research done and can't

get it finished before the meeting. He says he just needs more time. (O'Keefe, 1988, p. 93)

Table 6.10 Characteristics of Three Message Design Logics

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What would you say to Ron? O'Keefe asked 92 undergraduate students to write out what they would say in

this situation. One student wrote the following:

Ron, I can't believe you haven't finished your research. You've been inconsiderate to the group all

along. Several members even suggested that you be taken out of the group but we decided to give

you a chance. Now what are we supposed to do? It was your responsibility and you backed out. I'm

afraid I'm going to have to tell the T.A. that you haven't done your share. I will be so mad if we get a

bad grade on this—I need an A in this course. (quoted in O'Keefe, 1990, p. 95).

Several characteristics of the expressive logic are evident in this message. Much of the message simply de-

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scribes and evaluates Ron's past behavior. The message also contains a good deal of pragmatically pointless

content. There is still a week before the project is due, and 24 hours before the group's next meeting. Despite

this, the student does not attempt to persuade Ron to make progress on his research. Most of the message

simply vents the student's frustration with Ron. Being frustrated is an understandable reaction, but that alone

does not forward the group's task. Even the threat is noncontingent. The student simply says that he or she is

going to tell the T.A. about Ron's failure to contribute, rather than that he or she will do this unless Ron starts

doing his part.9

The fundamental premise of the conventional message design logic is that communication “is a game played

cooperatively, according to socially conventional rules and procedures” (O'Keefe, 1988, p. 86). Communica-

tion still is viewed as a means of expressing ideas, but these ideas reflect the social effects that the speaker

wants to achieve rather than the thoughts that happen to be on the speaker's mind. For example, if an indi-

vidual using this logic needed assistance, he or she might say something that, given the context, would count

as a “request”, because making a request is a way of obtaining assistance by calling on the conventional

obligations that exist between persons. Individuals applying this logic view communication as successful to

the degree to which speakers can achieve their ends while adhering to the norms of appropriateness. They

view communicative contexts as “predefined” or “given”, meaning that people's roles, rights, and relations are

established by the nature of a situation and hence are relatively inflexible.

Messages generated by the conventional logic tend to be focused temporally on the present. If an individual

using the conventional logic is asked, “Why did you say X now?” the answer typically is “Because I wanted

to accomplish Y, and X is the typical way of doing so”, or “Because you just said Z, and X is the relevant

response to Z.” Conventional messages often include explicit references to constitutive rules that underlie

speech acts, rights and obligations that give rise to speech acts, and mitigating conditions that bear on those

rights and obligations. When faced with conflicting goals, such as seeking compliance but also supporting

face, persons using this logic will employ “conventional” solutions such as politeness strategies. Consider a

second student's response to the Ron scenario:

Well, Ron, I'm sorry you don't have your part of the project done. We have given you several breaks

thus far and I don't see how we can give you any more. The whole group is depending on you so I

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would suggest to you to get it done or at the most bring in what you have got done. If you don't get

this done I'm going to have to give you an F for the project. If you can't hold up your responsibility

with this group even under these adverse conditions (family problems), how are you going to make

it in life? (quoted in O'Keefe, 1990, p. 96)

Several characteristics of the conventional logic are evident in this message. This student addresses the pri-

mary situationally relevant objective explicitly, by “suggesting” that Ron get his research done by the meeting

and by following through with a conditional threat. He or she also mentions Ron's obligations: Ron hasn't done

his “part” of the project, and he has a “responsibility” to the group. Compared with the expressive message

above, this message spends less time berating Ron and more time emphasizing what Ron should be doing

at this point in time. This message also briefly acknowledges the mitigating circumstances (family problems)

cited by Ron.

The fundamental premise of the rhetorical logic is that “communication is the creation and negotiation of social

selves and situations” (O'Keefe, 1988, p. 87). Within this logic, selves and social situations are not viewed

as predefined by a conventional system of rules; rather, selves are enacted in dramas, and social situations

are constantly “in flux.” From the rhetorical view, communication is the process by which context is created.

Rather than being “given” and “fixed”, context is interactionally negotiated; speakers can redefine it strategi-

cally to accomplish their goals. Individuals applying this logic view communication as successful when par-

ticipants reach a consensus about the reality in which they want to be engaged (i.e., agreement about “what

is going on”). Rhetorical communicators shy away from relying on formal authority based on their roles or

positions. Instead, they seek consensus by advocating the benefits of the reality they enact and by listening

carefully to determine the drama and perspective being enacted by others.

Messages generated by the rhetorical logic tend to focus temporally on the future. If an individual using the

rhetorical logic is asked, “Why did you say X now?” the answer typically is “Because I am trying to accomplish

goal Y.” Rhetorical messages frequently contain explicit context-describing phrases. Rather than citing rules

or sanctions, rhetorical messages often contain “rationale” arguments about why the speaker's definition of

the situation is advantageous and makes sense. When faced with conflicting goals, such as seeking compli-

ance and supporting face, persons using this logic look for ways to redefine the situation so as to induce the

desired action without threatening face. Consider yet another student's response to the Ron scenario:

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Well, Ron, it's due next week, and we have to get it all to the typist. OK, if it's not done it's not. Tell

you what. Why don't you jot down your main ideas so that we can include them in the introduction

and the conclusion. Also, tell me when you think your section should come in the whole project.

Then get it to my apartment by 10:00 the next day because I have to get it to the typist by 2:00. Is

this okay? I'll just explain to the group that you'll have it done but not by meeting time. We all want

a good grade, so if you need the time to make your part better, go ahead. But if I can't get it to the

typist in time, you'll have to type it. Alright, take it easy. (quoted in O'Keefe, 1990, p. 97)

This message illustrates several characteristics of the rhetorical logic. Most of the message is future oriented,

proposing a step-by-step plan for getting Ron's work done. The student lays out what Ron needs to do at

each point in time and outlines his or her own role as well. He or she avoids threatening Ron and seeks rather

than presumes Ron's agreement with the plan (“Is this okay?”). The speaker also redefines what is going on

in a face-saving way: Ron is taking time to make his part better so as to assure a good group grade, rather

than just completing his part belatedly.

O'Keefe (1988, 1990, 1991) argues that these three message design logics form a natural developmental

progression. The first logic an individual must acquire is the expressive, so that he or she understands that

words can be used to express internal thoughts and feelings. Should the individual learn that words can be

used to perform actions in given contexts, and not just to express thoughts directly, then the conventional

logic has subsumed the expressive. Should the individual come to understand that communication conven-

tions and contexts can be redefined, then the rhetorical logic has subsumed the conventional. According to

O'Keefe, an individual does not discard one design logic when he or she acquires another: the conventional

logic user still employs words to express thoughts as well as to perform other actions, and the rhetorical logic

user may choose to play within the situation as currently defined rather than to propose a new situation.

In sum, O'Keefe's (1988) theory presumes that messages “are produced by two conceptually and empirically

separable features of the message design process” (p. 96): (a) the message source's goals and (b) the design

logic that a message source uses to reason from goals to messages. The people who produced different mes-

sages in response to the Ron scenario, for instance, could do so because they formed and pursued different

goals: One individual might pursue none of the potential situationally relevant objectives (e.g., convincing Ron

to do his part, saving Ron's face), a second might pursue only one of these goals, and a third might pursue

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multiple goals. Distinct from the number of goals that motivate a message, however, people also might pro-

duce different messages in response to the Ron scenario because they rely on different systems of reasoning

to move from goals to messages. Although expressive, conventional, and rhetorical communicators all may

form multiple goals, each sees fundamentally different options for managing goal conflicts so as to maintain

face (see the bottom row in Table 6.10).

Given this conceptualization, O'Keefe (1988, 1990; O'Keefe, Lambert, & Lambert, 1997) argues that people

relying on different design logics are most likely to produce different messages, as well as to misunderstand

each other, within “complex” communication situations. Simple situations tend to call out the same message

from all communicators. In contrast, differences in design logics are most likely to affect the production and

interpretation of messages in complex situations where message sources must manage multiple, contradic-

tory situational objectives. In the responses to the Ron scenario presented above, for example, an expressive

person might interpret the rhetorical individual's statement that Ron is taking more time to “make [his] part

better” as an inaccurate and dishonest description of what is “really” going on. Similarly, the rhetorical person

might view the expressive individual as simply wanting to “chew out” Ron, even though this may create more

work for other group members who then have to complete Ron's part.

Evaluation of O'Keefe's Theory

O'Keefe's (1988) theory of message design logics incorporates the work of discourse scholars such as Grice

(1975) and Searle (1969), as well as the symbolic interactionism of Goffman (1959, 1967), to describe and

explain individual differences in the message production process. Parts of the theory have received empir-

ical support. For example, O'Keefe assumes that the expressive, conventional, and rhetorical design logics

are developmentally ordered and reflect increasing levels of communicative competence. If this is indeed

the case, then people should rate compliance-seeking/resisting messages that display the rhetorical logic

as more competent and appropriate than expressive or conventional messages. Data from several studies

are consistent with this claim (Bingham & Burleson, 1989; O'Keefe, Lambert, & Lambert, 1993; O'Keefe &

McCornack, 1987). O'Keefe and McCornack (1987) had 213 undergraduate students each read a different

compliance-seeking message that had been generated in a previous study in response to the Ron scenario.

These messages already had been coded for the number of goals pursued by the message source (none,

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one, multiple) as well as for the design logic evident in the message (scored 1 = expressive, 2 = conven-

tional, 3 = rhetorical). After reading the message, each participant rated the likelihood that it would get Ron

to complete his part, the degree to which the message supported Ron's face, and the degree to which they

perceived the source of the message as competent and attractive. Participants who evaluated influence mes-

sages with more “advanced” design logics, as opposed to messages that displayed the expressive logic, on

average perceived the message as more likely to get Ron to do his part and more supportive of Ron's face,

and the message source as more competent and attractive.

Although the rhetorical design logic may be more competent, in the sense of providing a broader range of

options for managing complicated compliance- gaining situations, O'Keefe et al. (1997) do emphasize that

“every design logic provides a logically consistent and potentially satisfactory way for an individual to use lan-

guage” (p. 49). Rather than training expressives and conventional to use the rhetorical logic, O'Keefe et al.

recommend training everyone “in more general strategies to help them recognize and accommodate to di-

versity in design logics” (p. 50). For example, people might be taught to appreciate the system of reasoning

behind all three sample responses to the Ron scenario (see note 8). This recommendation is consistent with

recent evidence indicating that how individuals interpret and evaluate messages displaying the rhetorical de-

sign logic depends on the individuals' own particular design logics (O'Keefe et al., 1997; Peterson & Albrecht,

1996).

Although some data support assumptions from O'Keefe's theory, several challenges for the theory remain.

First, one might argue that O'Keefe's procedures for measuring design logics and testing the theory have

been tautological: A person's design logic is inferred from qualities of his or her compliance- seeking mes-

sages, but then design logics are used to “explain” why that person produced that type of message. One

might hope for a measure of design logic independent of messages, one that taps more directly into design

logics as a “constellation of related beliefs” (O'Keefe, 1988, p. 84) and “type of knowledge organization” (p.

97). Measuring design logics is complicated, however, because design logics are systems of implicit and tac-

it beliefs; one cannot simply ask a person, “What's your design logic?” O'Keefe and Lambert (1989) have

made initial strides in developing a “thought checklist” procedure that measures the types of thoughts typically

salient to expressive, conventional, and rhetorical communicators. Much more research is needed to estab-

lish the reliability and validity of this newer measure (see Waldron & Cegala, 1992).

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Second, one might argue that O'Keefe (1988) should provide more detail about exactly how individuals, using

any design logic, go about “reasoning from goals to messages” (p. 83). On what types of prior knowledge do

individuals rely when they are deciding what to say as they seek/resist compliance? How is the knowledge

composing a design logic integrated with knowledge about particular message targets and influence goals?

How are people able to “reason” from goals to messages within the actual time constraints of face-to- face

interaction? These questions call for more detail about the psychological processes that underlie message

production. I review cognitive theories of message production, including O'Keefe and Lambert's (1995) ideas

about psychological processes, in the next chapter. But as O'Keefe (1992) has argued, the theory of design

logics provides important insights into persuasive message production, even without a detailed analysis of

psychological process. The theory helps explain why people see different ideas as relevant to express in the

“same” compliance-gaining situation, as well as why people draw different interpretations from the “same”

compliance-seeking message. By emphasizing how situations are constantly defined through interaction, the

theory also shows how individuals, when seeking and/or resisting compliance, have means beyond formal

politeness strategies for addressing threats to face.

Summary

Discourse theories of persuasive message production perspectives focus on how people rely on knowledge

of linguistic forms and conventions when generating influence messages, and how they design messages

in light of the unfolding talk. After using an extended compliance-gaining sequence to illustrate the types of

questions raised by discourse scholars, I have reviewed in this chapter some basic concepts from work on

conversational maxims, speech acts, and the conversation analysis perspective. Following this background

material, I have explored in greater detail two concepts of central relevance to persuasive message produc-

tion: (a) obstacles, analyzed from the view of speech act and attribution theories; and (b) face, analyzed from

the view of politeness and message design logic theories.

Notes

1. As Schiffrin (1994) notes, the field of discourse analysis is “widely recognized as one of the most vast, but

also one of the least defined, areas in linguistics” (p. 1). It incorporates works from disciplines in which mod-

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els and methods for understanding discourse first were developed (e.g., anthropology, linguistics, philosophy,

sociology) as well as disciplines that have applied and extended such models given their own concerns (e.g.,

communication, cognitive science, social psychology). To describe this breadth, Schiffrin compares a “formal-

ist paradigm” of discourse, which looks at the internal structure of language units “above the sentence”, with a

“functionalist paradigm”, which looks at the interdependence of discourse and social life by exploring functions

of language external to the linguistic system itself. Some of the theory and research reviewed in this chap-

ter falls outside the bounds of even a broad treatment of discourse such as Schiffrin's. Each work reviewed

here, however, speaks to what Schiffrin identifies as the two central goals of discourse analysis: (a) sequential

goals, or discovering principles underlying the ordering of utterances; and (b) semantic or pragmatic goals, or

discovering how the structure and use of language allow people to convey and interpret meaning (p. 41).

2. The patient's contribution in lines 2–3 still could be interpreted sensibly if the patient was signaling, indi-

rectly, his refusal to cooperate with the physician. If the patient simply is not orienting to the doctor's question,

however, then lines 2–3 violate the relevance maxim.

3. Searle (1969, p. 66) also includes an “essential” rule for requests, which states that the speaker's message

counts as an attempt to get the target to perform the desired action. For any speech act, the essential rule

spells out the speaker's illocutionary force. The essential rule assumes that the speaker has adhered to each

of the other rules listed in Table 6.2.

4. Different people might perceive the same cause as falling at different points on one of the three dimensions;

for example, some might perceive Joan's fight with her boyfriend as a stable cause if they fight frequently. The

general point, however, is that people use the dimensions of locus, stability, and controllability to describe and

compare different causes.

5. Brown and Levinson (1978) originally published their politeness theory in a 250-page book chapter that

appeared as part of a collection of essays in volume 8 of the book series Cambridge Papers in Social Anthro-

pology. Almost 10 years later, Cambridge University Press reissued that original chapter, accompanied by a

new 50-page introduction and an expanded bibliography, as a book (Brown & Levinson, 1987). Because of

its wider availability, I have used the reissued 1987 book for all quotations and materials presented here.

6. Brown and Levinson (1987, pp. 67, 286) do qualify that some acts, such as requests for personal infor-

mation, intrinsically threaten the target's positive and negative face. Unfortunately, they do not provide any

guidelines for determining when an act intrinsically threatens multiple types of face, nor do they consider the

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possibility that some acts may create either one or multiple face threats depending on the context. Brown and

Levinson's qualification also is inconsistent with their own formula for determining the magnitude of an FTA.

For more on this issue, see Wilson et al. (1991/1992, 1998).

7. Politeness theory recognizes that distance (D), power (P), and rank (R) are context dependent. A bank

manager, for instance, typically will have greater power than a bank teller, but perhaps not if the teller rep-

resents his or her union in negotiations or sits on a jury that is trying the manager for embezzlement. Thus

“situational factors enter into the values of D, P, and R, so that the values assessed hold only for [the speaker]

and [the hearer] in a particular context, and for a particular FTA” (Brown & Levinson, 1987, p. 79). Politeness

theory also recognizes that values of D, P, and R are socially negotiated. Speakers may use greater or less-

er politeness than normally is expected in a situation precisely to affect the perceived values of D, P, and R

(Brown & Levinson, 1987, pp. 81–83).

8. Brown and Levinson's (1987, pp. 58–59) claim that people are “rational” often is misunderstood. It is not in-

tended to mean that participants always think a great deal about what to say during influence interactions, or

that participants always choose the most effective means for accomplishing their influence and interperson-

al goals. Rationality simply implies that people possess knowledge about linguistic means for accomplishing

goals, and that their talk can be understood as an attempt to balance their competing desires to avoid threat-

ening face versus to be clear and say no more than is necessary.

9. An expressive communicator might defend this response to the Ron situation by arguing that it is obvious,

given the events, that Ron cannot be counted on to complete his part of the project, and that the group would

be better off excluding Ron and finishing the work on their own. In this sense, the goal of persuading Ron to

do his part may no longer be a sensible “situationally relevant objective.”

• politeness theory

• speech acts

• adjacency pairs

• compliance

• targeting

• speech act theory

• logic

https://dx.doi.org/10.4135/9781452233185

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