Language, Information, Data and Quality

Hat in a Puddle

Language is a slippery thing.  For many years I conducted my life in the firm belief that if I were only precise enough in my selection of vocabulary, clear enough in my choice of syntax, I could convey an idea without ambiguity to any audience.

I have frequently been disappointed with the result. There is a force at work that allows people in the audience to navigate their own way through the meaning of my language.
Those in the data and information industry are accustomed to thinking of meaning as the semantic of the data.  Nothing could be further from the truth.

The dictionaries are full of semantics.  We can choose from a rich set of words (semantic tokens) to describe the situation represented in the picture above.  Note that we can change the meaning of the set of semantic tokens by several non-verbal (without words) methods including tone and inflection.  For example "hat in a puddle" has a different meaning than "hat in a puddle" or "hat in a puddle."

When we talk about semantics, we mean the meaning denoted by the words.  Alas, as humans we must also deal with the connoted meaning that each of us associates with the words.  Words and collections of words invoke in us memories, hopes , desires that are not part of the semantic but are part of the meaning.

The situation is very much like the puddle above.  Most people will accept the puddle at "face value" and simply avoid it so as not to get wet or muddy.  Others will make assumptions and develop expectations based on their personal experience with puddles.  Some of these will not change course, especially if their experience and their current situation allows them to expect that they won't get muddy.  Note that a new dimension was just introduced--a temporal dimension that allows us to react differently now than we might have an hour ago.

All Meaning Not Apparent

A man walking along a road saw a hat in a puddle and recognized the hat as one usually worn by his neighbor.  He thought to pick it up and return it.  When he picked up the hat, however, he saw the face of his neighbor.  He asked whether the neighbor needed help.  "I'm all right.  I've got my horse under me," was the reply.

The face value of words (and appearances) is accepted by most people and used to support decisions of all kinds.

Poets understand that meaning is not conveyed by words.  "Wait a second!" you say, "Poetry is composed of words."  We're both correct.  The meaning of a poem (or a story) is created by all the images, memories, hopes, dreams and desires that those words evoke in us.  This is why everyone who makes rhymes is NOT a poet and why everyone who has a command of vocabulary and syntax is NOT an acclaimed author.

This is the world in which we attempt to improve data quality.  While we may aspire to improve the quality of the semantics, it seems clear that we will never influence the quality of meaning.  This is, perhaps, what "fit for intended purpose" tries to convey.  What if the semantic tokens were musical notes instead?  What if they were colors or smells?  Would we be as confident?

What if we ceased our attempts to control the perceptions of an audience and instead created ways for our audience to explore the boundary between semantics and meaning?

The Problem With Telepathy

The problem with telepathy is that we rely on it but it isn't real, or it's sort of real--well, you know what I mean.

I have noticed that over the past decade or two we (humans in the United States) have virtually abandoned communication as an active effort. The expectation today seems to be that whatever I received must be what what was transmitted. We commonly leave an interaction in one of two states:

1. we have more questions than we had prior to the interaction and we take the questions to others (who typically were not present and never even had the benefit of the transmission)
2. because we didn't understand what we received, we label the transmitter as a poor communicator (or an idiot) and assume that we don't really need to know what they were trying to say

It's the rare individual who actually takes an active role during the interaction to ask for clarification or context.

When someone says "like, you know" and we smile and nod, we are either relying on telepathy or intuition or body language or prior knowledge or we simply don't care and we just want to get away.

Obviously this isn't really a recent development--not even if you consider two decades "recent"--but it does seem to me that the problem is worsening. I sit in meetings and watch people. They get wrinkled brows briefly and then they disengage. I know that they should be engaged as stakeholders, but they aren't. What's the problem?

One thing that we could all work on is finding ways to ask questions that--but wait, that would be active communication.

One of Stephen R. Covey's 7 Habits is "Seek first to understand, then to be understood." [italics are mine] The other six are personal and could be honed by a hermit. This one actually assumes relationship. Relationship is a real thing, unlike telepathy. I'm going to be a lightening rod here but anyone whose idea of "working on a relationship" is based on the central idea, "You don't understand me." is going to be disappointed repeatedly. This applies to every kind of human to human relationship and is the essence of Covey's effectiveness habit.

Before I lose myself in this, I'd better stop. My advice to anyone is

• learn what active communication is (if you aren't participating, you aren't communicating)
• listening (actively) is probably 90% of communication
• ask questions when they arise and ask them of the right person
• be present in the communication

We're in this together and we are going to sink or swim together. Let's start acting like we know this.