Abbreviations are wonderful.
For the colonial British, abbreviations were utilitarian—they helped transform the South Indian city of Thiruvananthapuram into the much more manageable “Trivandrum.” For early English speakers, the type of abbreviation known as the contraction was convenient: it quickened speech by turning cumbersome phrases like “let us go” or “can not” into “let’s go” and “can’t.” And the world is much more efficient because we are fond of using abbreviations like acronyms (such as NASA, pronounced as a word), initialisms (such as the EU, pronounced as letters) and miscellaneous shortcuts (such as Tylenol, drawn from the chemical name N-acetyl-para-aminophenol).
Modern communicative tools like text messaging and social networking demand brevity, whether for speed or because of space constraints. Twitter limits us to 140 characters, barely three sentences. On Facebook, we compete to have the pithiest status in our network. Abbreviations help us meet these ends.
We often demand brevity in conversational speech, too, because our time is limited. Cultures stereotypically associated with more leisurely lifestyles—the American South, for example—are perceived to have slower accents. I grew up in a suburb of New York, so I have become accustomed to the quick, sharp speech common to New Jersey and Long Island residents. The breakneck speed of Mid-Atlantic life seems to require efficient interactions.
The shortcuts of our online world have begun to cross over into our face-to-face interactions. Once-utilitarian text abbreviations like “BRB,” “obvi,” “OMG” and “jeal” have become fashionable language accessories in the speech of many young people. These “abbrevs” have become in- and out-group markers, determinants of who is and isn’t cool. If you get it, you’re in. If you’re confused or don’t understand, you don’t belong—and you’re obvi jeal.
For others, the sarcastic use of abbreviations signifies membership in another group altogether: those who see speech shortcuts as foolish and un-hip.
But abbreviating our language, in text and in speech, often means that efficiency replaces subtlety. It’s hard to communicate complex thoughts in 140 characters or fewer. We are forced to distill our ideas into their bare parts. For some, this produces the best results, showcasing the smooth machinery of an efficient mind. For others, the elimination of nuance in speech eliminates nuance in thought, which can encourage dangerously simplistic thinking.
Two weekends ago at the Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear, Jon Stewart condemned the 24-hour cable news cycle for its reliance on abbreviated ideas. He slammed present-day pundits for boiling complex and subtle issues down to their simplest common denominator. And he implicitly rebuked Americans whose attention spans can’t now handle anything more taxing than a 30-second talking point.
Many people have begun to require brevity in their lives. How many of us can sit down and read a book for more than an hour at a time? How long can we make it into a conversation before impatiently checking our phones for text messages or e-mails? Because we are constantly stimulated by abbreviated sources—from our Gen Y friends to our half-minute media—we are encouraged to pursue and produce abbreviated experiences, too.
I’m worried that I find it difficult to concentrate for long periods of time. I’m afraid that as I get more “connected” to the world, my experiences will become shorter and less meaningful—efficient, yes, but not critical or thoughtful. I worry that I will exchange detail for speed. And I’m sure I’m not alone in my fear.
Perhaps it’s not an either-or situation, though. Language can sometimes be efficient and subtle. The Japanese haiku, for example, manages to condense soul-searching philosophy into just a few lines. Christian psalms, Hindu-Buddhist mantras, Muslim ayat and Jewish tfilot express deep religious sentiments in abbreviated forms, too.
Of course, we can’t always communicate to each other through haikus and prayers. But maybe we can learn from their example. Brevity for its own sake is silly. Lengthening only to avoid abbreviation is a waste of time. Each can be appropriate in the right context.
I’ll admit—the use of “abbrevs” in modern-day speech is best understood as an identity phenomenon rather than as a symptom of our tendency to abbreviate experiences. But our shortened attention span isn’t an issue of identity. Abbreviations are wonderful when they enhance understanding, not when they hinder it. Efficiency is worthwhile when it creates good products, not mediocre ones. I just hope that, despite everything, we can continue to see the difference.
“Abbreviation” / has too many syllables / for a nice haiku.
Sandeep is a Trinity senior and a Program II major examining the dynamics of language. His column usually runs every other Thursday.
Get The Chronicle straight to your inbox
Signup for our weekly newsletter. Cancel at any time.