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Types of dialogue: Echo, deaf, and dialectical

Article  in  Semiotica · January 2013

DOI: 10.1515/sem-2013-0033

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DOI 10.1515/sem-2013-0033    Semiotica 2013; aop

David Fishelov
Types of dialogue: Echo, deaf, and
dialectical
Abstract: In order to offer a typology of dialogue that captures the complex and
multifaceted nature of dialogues, we should take into account two factors: (1) the
basic kind of interaction between the two interlocutors; the wide variety of spe-
cific interactions can be grouped under three general headings: echo-dialogue,
whereby one participant repeats what the other has said; dialogue-of-the-deaf,
whereby the two participants neither listen to nor understand one another; and
dialectical-dialogue, in which the two participants are able to listen to and under-
stand one another, albeit representing different points of view or sentiments. (2)
The second factor is the distinction between the outer and the inner level of dia-
logue. This distinction characterizes any semiotic phenomenon, and derives from
the distinction between linguistic form and content. The article argues that there
is no automatic correspondence between the kind of interaction that occurs on
one level and that taking place on the other. By using only these two factors
we gain a systematic and elegant typology of dialogues that enables us to offer
nuanced descriptions of a wide range of dialogical interactions in literary texts,
notably in drama – as illustrated in the article.

Keywords: dialogue; represented dialogue; conversation; drama; dramatic genres

David Fishelov: Hebrew University of Jerusalem. E-mail: fishelov@mscc.huji.ac.il

1 Dialogue: Three kinds, two layers

Discussions on dialogue tend to focus on either the deep philosophical meanings
associated with the term (e.g., Buber’s notion of I-Thou dialogue as opposed to
I-It) or on a linguistic discourse analysis (e.g., Tannen’s work on repetition in
conversation).1 This article sets out to fill the gap between these two approaches

1 For some important discussions from a primarily philosophical perspective see, for example,
Buber (1970), Dascal (1992), Searle (1992), Weigand (1995). For discussions from the point of view
of linguistic discourse see, for example, Tannen (1989), Kerbrat-Orecchioni (1990), Person (1999).
Some discussions, notably those of Bakhtin and his followers, cross the boundaries of tradi-
tional disciplines, combining philosophical, anthropological, linguistic, and literary perspec-
tives: see, for example, Bakhtin (1981), Morson (1986), Todorov (1984), Holquist (1990).

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2    David Fishelov

by proposing a typology of dialogues, applicable to everyday conversations as

well as to dialogues represented in literary texts, notably in drama.2 In order to
offer a typology that captures the complex, multifaceted nature of dialogue and
enables us to describe a variety of cases, we should take into account two aspects
present in every dialogue.3
The first aspect is that of the basic kind of interaction between the two inter-
locutors. The wide variety of specific interactions can be grouped under three
general headings: (1) echo-dialogue, whereby one participant repeats what the
other has said, either verbatim or with some variations. This could also be de-
scribed as a duo-monologue; (2) dialogue-of-the-deaf, whereby the two partici-
pants neither listen to nor understand one another. This kind, which is diametri-
cally opposed to echoing, can be described as two parallel monologues; and, in
between these two, there is a third kind – (3) dialectical-dialogue, in which the
two participants are able to listen to and understand one another, albeit repre-
senting different points of view, and are preferably engaged in some form of give-
and-take (of sentiments, beliefs, etc). Whereas echo-dialogue and dialogue-of-
the-deaf are considered deficient qua dialogue, dialectical-dialogue can represent
the desired, ideal form of human communication.
This tripartite division of dialogical kinds is a result of a simple logical con-
sideration: the discourse of the two interlocutors (A and B) can either overlap one
another to a great extent (echo-dialogue), or be unrelated (dialogue-of-the-deaf),
or be partly overlapping (dialectical-dialogue), as Figure 1 illustrates.
As Figure 1 suggests, the distinction between the three kinds is not exclusive
but gradated: to label a specific dialogue as belonging to one of the three does not
mean that the other two possibilities are absent; rather, that one kind of relation
is predominant in this specific case. Furthermore, since every human interaction
is dynamic, a dialogue that starts as predominantly one kind can easily evolve
into another (e.g., a dialectical-dialogue can turn sour and become a dialogue-of-
the-deaf).

2 With a slight metaphorical extension, this typology is also applicable to “dialogues” between
literary works, as suggested in Fishelov (2010).
3 This article elaborates on some principles introduced in Fishelov (2008a, 2008b, and 2010:
especially 3–13). Since my main focus in these works was on the dialogue between literary texts
(in the form of allusion, adaptation, translation, parody, etc.), they outlined in very general
terms the three kinds of dialogue and the dual-layer principle. The present discussion, on the
other hand, systematically examines how these general principles can be applied to the analysis
of specific dialogues within literary works. To avoid unnecessary evaluative implications, I use in
the present discussion the term “dialectical-dialogue” for what was termed in my previous works
“genuine-dialogue.”

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 Types of dialogue: Echo, deaf, and dialectical    3

Fig. 1: A graphic representation of the three basic kinds of dialogical interaction

The second dimension that needs to be introduced in our typology of dia-

logues is that between the outer and the inner level of dialogue. The distinction
between these two layers characterizes any semiotic phenomenon, and derives
from the basic distinction between linguistic form and content, or from what is
described as the double articulation or duality of language.4 When applied to dia-
logue, we address the outer layer by answering questions such as: How long does
the dialogue go on? Which of the two participants is more talkative? With what
intonation are the words uttered? Are the same words used by both interlocutors?
To describe the inner layer, however, we must address a different set of questions,
such as: Do the two participants share a common ground or a similar agenda? Do
they truly listen to one another? Do they understand each other? Do they respond
to what the other has just said? Are they involved in any real give-and-take (of
point of view or emotions) beyond the requirements of etiquette?
By calling attention to the dual layer of dialogue, we are reminded that the
different kinds of interaction – echo, deaf, and dialectical – can be manifested on
either of these two levels. Furthermore, there is no automatic or necessary corre-
spondence between the kind of interaction that occurs on one level and that tak-
ing place on the other. What sounds like a dialectical-dialogue on the outer level
can be revealed to be an echo-dialogue on the inner one, because it is possible to
resonate the same sentiments or point of view of one’s interlocutor without re-
peating a single word of what one has heard. By the same token, one can repeat
the words heard (hence outer echo-dialogue), but imbue them with different,
even opposing meanings (hence inner dialectical-dialogue). Whereas such dis-
crepancies can sometimes cause misunderstanding (“If you agree with me, why
don’t you simply say so?!”), they are part of the ineradicable complexity of human
communication, and offer a versatile means for creating nuanced effects for both
participants and listeners. By using only two factors – the three kinds of inter­
action and the two layers of discourse – the typology of dialogues offered here

4 For a thorough discussion of these pairs, see Lyons (1968: 53) and Lyons (1970: 12).

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4    David Fishelov

enables us to describe and analyze the dialogical dynamics of a wide range of

specific cases.
As far as the outer level of dialogue is concerned, it is a relatively easy task to
decide what kind of interaction dominates a specific case. All we have to do is to
establish a criterion and then systematically apply it. We can decide, for example,
that a repetition of more than seventy percent of a discourse qualifies it as echo-
dialogue; of less than ten percent as a dialogue-of-the-deaf; and what falls in be-
tween as a dialectical-dialogue. Needless to say, such a crude quantitative crite-
rion has an arbitrary element and there will be many borderline cases, especially
if we factor in not only repetition of words but also of grammatical structures,
intonation patterns, etc. Nonetheless, the moment we have established our crite-
ria, the description of a specific case should not cause major problems.
When we move to the inner level, however, the task of describing a specific
dialogue as one of the three major types becomes more complicated, because it
relies on our interpretation of the situation. In order to determine whether an in-
terlocutor is, for example, echoing the other’s ideas or sentiments, or sarcasti-
cally refuting them, a wide range of relevant information might be involved. As
part of our act of interpretation, we might activate background knowledge about
the relationship between the interlocutors (a boss and an employee? two friends?),
about preceding verbal interactions between the two (is it the beginning or the
conclusion of a dialogical sequence?), about the social setting in which it takes
place (a formal interview? an informal chat?), etc. Our background knowledge or
guess work regarding such relevant information might influence the way we de-
scribe the inner dialogical dynamics. Let us look at a simple, short exchange of
words between John and Henry concerning the weather:

John: It’s quite hot and lovely weather today, isn’t it?
Henry: Yes, well, it’s quite hot today.

Should we take Henry’s response as echoing John’s liking of hot weather or per-
haps Henry is in fact expressing his reservation, and thus we witness an inner
dialectical-dialogue (or, according to intonation, even an inner dialogue-of-the-
deaf)? If we know that John is Henry’s boss this might affect our reading of his
response, and if we know that Henry in fact likes cool weather (the poor fellow
sweats incessantly), we might understand his response as a polite way to express
disagreement, hence inner dialectical-dialogue. If we have no prior knowledge of
Henry’s weather preferences, we might try to look for clues in the situation (into-
nation, social setting), and if no such information is available we might leave it as
an ambiguous case, hovering between inner echo-dialogue and dialectical-­
dialogue.

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 Types of dialogue: Echo, deaf, and dialectical   5

No matter what our final conclusion might be, even such a seemingly simple
exchange of words illustrates how the description of the inner dialogical relations
requires an act of interpretation. Awareness of the crucial role of interpretation in
the description of the inner level should not, however, deter us from using the
three categories: interpretation does not equate arbitrariness or subjectivity (“for
me it is echo-dialogue, for you it is dialogue-of-the-deaf and we’re both equally
right; it is all in the eyes of the beholder”); for, nonetheless, some interpretations
are more valid or plausible than others.
In the following sections I illustrate some variations of the three basic types
of dialogue in several plays. By highlighting the specific kind of dialogical rela-
tions we can gain new insights into a specific scene, an entire play, or even a
whole generic tradition. As a literary scholar I am interested, first and foremost,
in dialogues represented in literary texts, and since drama is usually constituted
of dialogue, the majority of my examples will be drawn from classical plays.
­Occasionally, I provide examples too from literary narratives, and from TV shows
in which real people meet and talk, albeit mediated by a producer, a director, and
a cameraman.
Represented dialogues differ of course in some respects from everyday con-
versations, with perhaps the most conspicuous difference being that the former is
more stylized than the latter.5 There is nonetheless no reason to assume that
­everyday conversation differs from represented dialogue with regard to the three
basic types or to the principle of the dual layers.6 Furthermore, when we analyze
represented dialogues in literary texts, we rely on our intuitive, tacit knowledge of
how everyday conversations are carried on, and this knowledge guarantees that
we properly understand them. Like any other linguistic or communicative phe-
nomenon, while we can expect literary texts to use dialogical modes in richer and
sometimes unexpected ways compared to their everyday counterpart, the basic
dynamics in both fields remains the same. Herman has persuasively made this
argument in her analysis of dramatic discourse: “The principles, norms and con-
ventions of use which underlie spontaneous communication in everyday life are
precisely those which are exploited and manipulated by dramatists in their con-
structions of speech types and forms in plays” (Herman 1995: 6). Thus, with only
a few modifications, the same basic principles and categories can apply to both
everyday conversations and represented dialogues.

5 For a discussion of some differences between everyday conversations and dialogues in literary
texts, especially in novels, see, for example, Person (1999).
6 In addition to the verbal interaction between the literary characters, we should note that in
literary texts there is always another level of “dialogue”: that between author and reader. My
­focus here, however, is on analysis of dialogues in the represented, fictive world.

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6    David Fishelov

The analysis of represented dialogues even has an advantage over analyzing

everyday conversations. Since the latter often contain considerable redundancy
(“hmmm, what was I going to say . . . hmmm, well, never mind . . . hmmm, actu-
ally maybe I’ll tell you after all . . .”), represented dialogues make it easier to de-
tect the basic dynamics occurring between interlocutors.

2 Echo-dialogue: Some variations

Let us first take a look at a very short example in which two characters echo one
another, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern addressing Hamlet:

Guildenstern: My honoured lord!

Rosencrantz: My most dear lord! (2.2.215–216; Shakespeare 2003: 140)

These two characters repeat almost exactly the same words and express the same
attitude, thus exemplifying a simple case of echo-dialogue in which the inner and
outer levels converge. It should not surprise us that, when Hamlet hears the two
echoing men address him, he does not distinguish between them and seems even
to confuse them:

Hamlet: My excellent good friends! How dost thou, Guildenstern? Ah, Rosencrantz!
Good lads, how do you both? (2.2.217–218; Shakespeare 2003: 140)

Furthermore, when the King and Queen address Rosencrantz and Guildenstern
earlier, they too seem to be echoing one another, as if echoing is contagious:

King: Thanks, Rosencrantz and gentle Guildenstern.

Queen: Thanks Guildenstern and gentle Rosencrantz. (2.2.33–34; Shakespeare 2003: 132)7

Minor characters in a play, especially those of a similar type (e.g., servants, mes-
sengers, couriers) tend to illustrate straightforward cases of echo-dialogue to the
point that they are perceived as interchangeable. In Molière’s L’École des femmes
(School for Wives), for example, it is sometimes difficult to distinguish between
Alain and Georgette, the two incompetent servants of Arnolphe. Here is how they
welcome Arnolphe when he returns home:

7 These examples of verbal repetition from a play are representative of a pervasive phenomenon
in everyday conversations. For a thorough and enlightening discussion of forms, patterns, and
functions of verbal repetition in day-to-day conversation, see Tannen (1989: 36–97).

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 Types of dialogue: Echo, deaf, and dialectical    7

Arnolphe: Open the door. I think everybody’s going to be so pleased to see me after an
­absence of ten days.
Alain: Who is it?
Arnolphe: Me.
Alain: Georgette?
Georgette: What?
Alain: Go and open the door.
Georgette: Go yourself.
Alain: No, you go.
Georgette: I’m not going.
Alain: I’m not going neither.
Arnolphe: This is a fine carry on, leaving me standing out here like this. Hey! Excuse me!
Georgette: Who’s that knocking?
Arnolphe: Your master.
Georgette: Alain?
Alain: What?
Georgette: It’s the master. Quick, open the door!
Alain: Open it yourself! (L’École des femmes 2.2; Molière 2000: 11–12)

Note how easily it would be to put Alain’s words in Georgette’s mouth and vice
versa: both of them use similar words and express the same attitude: namely,
they are extremely unhappy about Arnolphe’s homecoming. It is little wonder
that at some point they even form a small “chorus,” which can be described as an
extreme case of echoing: “Alain and Georgette (together): Oo–er!” (Molière 2000:
18)
The repetition of words or phrases by two characters, however, does not nec-
essarily mean that one is embracing the other’s attitude, sentiment or point of
view. A character may sometimes repeat the words or phrases or even the intona-
tion of their interlocutor (outer echoing) not in order to express consent or unison
(inner echoing) but rather to deliberately highlight disagreement.8 When Harp-
agon tells his daughter Élise in Molière’s L’Avare (The Miser) that he has a plan for
marrying her to Seigneur Anselme, a quick exchange of words ensues:

Élise: Seigneur Anselme?

Harpagon: Yes. He’s a man of experience, careful and sober, no more than fifty and said to
be extremely rich.
Élise (curtseying): If you please father, I have no inclination to be married.

8 Tannen’s emphasis on repetition as a means for re-enforcing a sense of communality among

interlocutors, does not pay enough attention to the divisive function that it can also serve. Her
discussion of humor as one function of repetition (Tannen 1989: 63–64) focuses only on amica-
ble humor and ignores repetition as part of a biting irony or even an acerbic sarcasm.

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8    David Fishelov

Harpagon (imitating her): And if my little girl, my precious, pleases, I have an inclination
that she shall be married.
Élise: I’m sorry father . . .
Harpagon: No, I’m sorry, daughter.
Élise: I am Seigneur Anselme’s most humble servant but, if you don’t mind, I shan’t marry
him.
Harpagon: I am your most humble servant. But, if you don’t mind, you shall marry him.
(L’Avare 1.4; Molière 2000: 164)

What might sound like a partial echo-dialogue (“I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry . . . If you
don’t mind . . . If you don’t mind”) in fact expresses sarcasm, part of a rhetorical
tactic to underline discord through distorted imitation. Cases in which words are
repeated in order to convey different meanings or attitude – what can be de-
scribed as pseudo-echo-dialogues – are frequent, and the dual layer approach to
dialogues is especially useful for analyzing such cases.
It is instructive in this context to read a particular story about echoing from
which the very term “echo” derives its meaning: the story of Echo and Narcissus
in Ovid’s Metamorphoses. The nymph Echo was punished by Juno, who made her
able to repeat only the last words of whatever she heard. Thus, when Echo falls in
love with Narcissus she cannot express her feelings or develop any real conversa-
tion with him. Her mechanical repetition of the last words she hears nevertheless
conveys a whole array of meanings, attitudes, and emotions; sometimes these
meanings resemble those expressed by Narcissus, sometimes they are totally
­different:

By chance, the boy [=Narcissus], separated from his faithful band of followers, had called
out “Is anyone here?” and “Here” Echo replied. He is astonished, and glances everywhere,
and shouts in a loud voice “Come to me!” She calls as he calls. He looks back, and no-one
appearing behind, asks “Why do you run from me?” and receives the same words as he
speaks. He stands still, and deceived by the likeness to an answering voice, says “Here, let
us meet together.” And, never answering to another sound more gladly, Echo replies “To-
gether,” and to assist her words comes out of the woods to put her arms around his neck, in
longing. He runs from her, and running cries “Away with these encircling hands! May I die
before what’s mine is yours.” She answers, only “What’s mine is yours!” (Ovid)

Note especially the bitter irony of the last exchange of words: while Narcissus
expresses his aversion to Echo and the desire to chase her away, her echoing
words express love and communion. Thus, the repeated words (outer echo-­
dialogue) express a diametrically opposed sentiment (inner dialogue-of-the-
deaf).
The discrepancy between the outer and the inner layers in this scene is part
of the tragic story of Echo, who is unable to establish any real communication

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 Types of dialogue: Echo, deaf, and dialectical    9

with her beloved. Such discrepancies, however, are not always associated with
tragic effects. Most often they create playful, humorous effects, especially in the
form of puns or paronomasia. Furthermore, while our hearts might ache for Echo,
we still can smile when we catch Ovid’s ingenious echoing wordplay.
The comic, playful effect associated with such pseudo-echoing is well dem-
onstrated in Jonathan Swift’s “A Gentle Echo on Woman.” Here are a few lines
from Swift’s parody of bucolic poetry:

Shepherd: What most moves women when we them address?

  Echo: A dress.
Shepherd: Say, what can keep her chaste whom I adore?
  Echo: A door.
Shepherd: If music softens rocks, love tunes my lyre.
  Echo: Liar.
Shepherd: Then teach me, Echo, how shall I come by her?
  Echo: Buy her . . .
Shepherd: Is there no way to moderate her anger?
  Echo: Hang her. (Swift 1751: 180–181)

In this parody, Swift exploits the humorous possibilities of linguistic homophones

(or partial homonyms). Thus, whereas verbal repetition or outer echoing usually
constitute “a shared universe of discourse” (Tannen 1989: 52), a speaker can use
repetition in order to undermine or subvert precisely this sense of a shared uni-
verse of discourse. In order to describe such cases, we therefore need the distinc-
tion between outer and inner layers of dialogues.
A discrepancy between outer and inner level in echo-dialogue can also be
found when someone echoes the beliefs and sentiments of their interlocutor but
chooses different words to do so. This dual structure is the standard modus
­operandi of the sophisticated flatterer: although the latter echoes (usually with
amplification) the elevated self-image of the flattered person, an openly verbal
repetition would quickly expose what they were doing, and this is something that
the cunning flatterer prefers to conceal. Consider, for example, the opening scene
of Plautus’ The Swaggering Soldier:

Pyrgopolynices: My shield, there – have it burnished brighter than the bright splendour of
the sun on any summer’s day. Next time I have occasion to use it in the press of battle, it
must flash defiance into the eyes of the opposing foe. My sword, too, I see, is pining for
attention; poor chap, he’s quite disheartened and cast down, hanging idly at my side so
long; he’s simply itching to get at an enemy and carve him into little pieces . . . Where’s
Artotrogus?
Artotrogus: Here, at his master’s heels, close to his hero, his brave, his blessed, his royal, his
doughty warrior – whose valour Mars himself could hardly challenge or outshine.

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10    David Fishelov

Pyrgopolynices [reminiscent]: Ay – what of the man whose life I save on the Curculionean
field, where the enemy was led by Bumbomachides Clytomestoridysarchides, a grandson
of Neptune?
Artotrogus: I remember it well. I remember his golden armour, and how you scattered his
legions with a puff of breath, like a wind sweeping up leaves or lifting the thatch from a roof.
Pyrgopolynices [modestly]: It was nothing much, after all. (Plautus 1983: 153)

The hyperbole used in this dialogue is a sure clue that we are listening to a flatter-
ing parasite (Artotrogus) and a conceited braggart (Pyrgopolynices). And if we
might have been misled for a moment into thinking that Artotrogos really believes
what he is saying, in the next lines his aside reveals his true beliefs9:

Oh, to be sure, nothing to the many more famous deeds you did – [aside] or never did. [He
comes down, leaving the Captain attending to his men.] If anyone ever saw a bigger liar or
more conceited braggart than this one, he can have me for keeps. (Plautus 1983: 154)

What we have already suspected becomes clear: Artotrogus, like any good flat-
terer, is not necessarily echoing the words of Pyrgopolynices but, rather, the self-
perception of the latter. Had he repeated verbatim the words of the swaggering
soldier, Artotrogus’ flattery would have become too blatant and the braggart,
dumb as he is, might nonetheless have perceived the flatterer’s true goal – ­namely,
to get a free lunch. When we understand the inner dynamics between the two
(and we grasp this quite quickly) we realize that what sounds like a dialectical-
dialogue (very partial repetition of words) functions in fact as echo-dialogue – at
least from the perspective of Pyrgopolynices.10 Artotrogos’s flattery is truly exag-
gerated, but in principle his tactic resembles many a conversation between a boss
and a clever yes-man.
Let us look at another example of the dynamics between a clever flatterer and
a flattered person: Frosine, the go-between in Molière’s L’Avare, is trying to win
Harpagon’s favor by praising his appearance, promising him that his old age will

9 According to the theatrical convention of the aside, a character can speak its thoughts out loud
while the other characters on stage do not hear what the audience hears. Although there is no
simple real-life parallel to this convention, the aside is still rooted in our everyday experience:
situations in which we silently speak to ourselves or when we talk to someone but try to conceal
this from other people present by whispering or by talking in a foreign language (the latter is a
practice familiar to many parents when they wish to communicate something that they do not
want their children to understand).
10 Note that Artotrogus wants to create the impression that he is echoing the beliefs of the swag-
gering soldier but in fact he does not share these beliefs, as the above cited aside makes clear. For
this double perspective, see also the following analysis of the dialogue between Frosine and
Harpagon in Molière’s L’Avare 2.5.

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 Types of dialogue: Echo, deaf, and dialectical    11

not pose any problem for the arranged marriage to Mariane because, according to
Frosine, Harpagon is the embodiment of longevity:

Frosine: You’ll live to be more than a hundred and twenty!

Harpagon: No! Is it possible?
Frosine: You’ll have to be put down, I tell you. You’ll bury your children and your children’s
children. (L’Avare 2.5; Molière 2000: 175)

When Harpagon contradicts her (“No!”), it sounds as if the two are arguing, but
in fact Frosine is echoing Harpagon’s barely hidden inflated self-image, his belief
that he is a good match, and that his old age is insignificant or even an asset.
However, as in the earlier case of The Swaggering Soldier, both Frosine and the
audience know that her series of compliments are lies, intended to procure Harp-
agon’s favor and payment. Thus, what sounds like a dialectical-dialogue, a de-
bate between the two, turns out to be, at least from Harpagon’s perspective, an
inner echoing.
It is important here to note the two perspectives involved. For Harpagon,
­Frosine’s words function as inner echoing. Froisine, together with the audience,
does not share Harpagon’s elevated self-image and from this perspective we can
describe the scene as an inner dialogue-of-the-deaf because the two interlocutors
do not share any belief or similar agenda. Thus, while the outer level sounds like
a dialectical-dialogue, there is a split on the inner level: for Harpagon it is echo-
dialogue but for Frosine (and the audience) it is dialogue-of-the-deaf. Accord­
ingly, when we describe the inner dynamics of a dialogue we should also be aware
that the two participants may experience the inner layer differently, especially
when one of them is not honest. The offered typology, with its awareness of the
complexity of the inner level that involves the participants’ intentions and be-
liefs, is flexible enough to accommodate such variations.
I conclude this section with a scene from Shaw’s Pygmalion in which Profes-
sor Higgins and Colonel Pickering share with Mrs. Higgins their impression of
Eliza’s progress. Note that the stage instructions (as well as the print layout),
­explicitly state that the two speak together:

Pickering: We have taken her to classical concerts and to music

Higgins: Continental dialects, African dialects, Hottentot
Pickering: hall; and it’s all the same to her: she plays everything
Higgins: clicks, things it took me years to get hold of; and
Pickering: she hears right off when she comes home, whether it’s
Higgins: she picks them up like a shot, right away, as if she had
Pickering: Beethoven and Brahms or Lehar and Lionel Monckton;
Higgins: been at it all her life.
Pickering: though six months ago, she’d never as much as touched a piano – (Shaw 1980:
53–54)

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12    David Fishelov

To an outside listener, this sounds like a typical dialogue-of-the-deaf: the two

speak together, do not listen to one another, and simultaneously pursue two dis-
tinct monologues: Higgins about Eliza’s linguistic proficiency and Pickering
about her musical talents. It is no surprise that Mrs. Higgins reacts by “putting
her  fingers in her ears, as they are by this time shouting one another down
with  an  intolerable noise” (Shaw 1980: 54). Still, it is evident that, despite the
outer ­cacophony, the two express the same attitude: they are both enthusiastic
about Eliza’s achievements and proud of their own success in making it happen.
Thus, we witness an inner echo-dialogue, wrapped in an outer dialogue-of-the-
deaf.

3 Dialogue-of-the-deaf: Some variations

The term dialogue-of-the-deaf can cover a wide variety of phenomena, with the
first and simplest example being that of when the term is used literally, i.e. when
one participant suffers from deafness or hearing difficulties. A short dialogue be-
tween Ferapont, an old porter from the county office and Andrey, the brother in
Chekhov’s Three Sisters, illustrates such a simple case. Andrey asks Ferapont for
the reason for his visit at such a late hour and the following exchange of words
takes place:

Andrey. Incidentally, why have you come so late? It’s gone eight already.
Ferapont. What’s that?
Andrey [raising his voice]. I said, why have you come so late? It’s gone eight already.
Ferapont. That’s right. It was still daylight when I came first, but they wouldn’t let me see
you. The master’s engaged, they said. Well, if you’re engaged, you’re engaged. I’m not in
a hurry. [Thinking that ANDREY has said something.] What’s that?
Andrey. Nothing. [Turns over the pages of the register.] Tomorrow’s Friday, there’s no meet-
ing, but I’ll go to the office just the same . . . do some work. I’m so bored at home! . . . [A
pause.] Yes, my dear old fellow, how things do change, what a fraud life is! So strange!
Today I picked up this book, just out of boredom, because I hadn’t anything to do. It’s a
copy of some lectures I attended at the University . . . Good Heavens! Just think – I’m sec-
retary of the local council now, and Protopopov’s chair-man, and the most I can ever
hope for is to become a member of the council myself! I – a member of the local council!
I, who dream every night that I’m a professor in Moscow University, a famous academi-
cian, the pride of all Russia!
Ferapont. I’m sorry, I can’t tell you. I don’t hear very well.
Andrey. If you could hear properly I don’t think I’d be talking to you like this. I must talk to
someone, but my wife doesn’t seem to understand me, and as for my sisters . . . I’m afraid
of them for some reason or other, I’m afraid of them laughing at me and pulling my leg. . .
(Chekhov 1954: 274)

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 Types of dialogue: Echo, deaf, and dialectical    13

At face value, we witness here a simple case of dialogue-of-the-deaf caused by

Ferapont’s hearing difficulties. A more attentive listening, however, reveals that
the situation is not that simple. Usually, when one participant is hearing impaired
it will bring the conversation to a halt; after all, if your interlocutor cannot hear
what you are saying, there is no point in saying it. Here, however, Ferapont’s
deafness paradoxically encourages Andrey to keep talking and to openly express
his innermost feelings, aspirations, and frustrations. Thanks to Ferapont’s deaf-
ness, Andrey is able to articulate his monologue.11 The gloomy implication of this
scene is that some people are capable of expressing themselves only when no one
else is listening.
The brief exchange of words between Ferapont and Andrey implies an even
deeper irony: whereas Ferapont simply cannot hear what Andrey is saying, the
latter is also deaf to what Ferapont is saying. Andrey’s deafness, however, is not
physical: he is so self-absorbed in illusions of grandeur mixed with self-pity that
he is incapable of listening to others. The way he does not pay attention to Fera-
pont is symptomatic of the way he shuts himself off from reality, inattentive to the
people closest to him, especially his three sisters, who need his support. Thus,
Ferapont’s physical deafness mirrors and highlights Andrey’s mental deafness,
and we will not be surprised to learn later that Andrey is not only (mentally) deaf
but also blind to the fact that his wife is cheating on him. Ferapont’s repeated
“What’s that?” has a comic effect, but Chekhov instills sadness into our smile
when we think of Andrey’s loneliness. And while we might empathize with
­Andrey’s sense of isolation – a person capable of opening his heart only when no
one is listening – we also criticize him for shutting himself off from the people
close to him.
In addition to physical deafness, simple cases of dialogue-of-the-deaf emerge
when there are other sorts of obstacles to normal communication. One obvious
case is when the two interlocutors do not share the same language or cultural
code. Some of the funniest incidents in the BBC series Fawlty Towers, for exam-
ple, are caused by the fact that Manuel, the Spanish bell boy from Barcelona, has
a limited grasp of the English language. His willingness to please his employer
makes him repeat the phrases si (yes) and que? (what?) regardless of what the
situation calls for. And while the misunderstandings that ensue from the lack of
common language are a source of constant frustration for Basil Fawlty, the hotel
owner, they are an endless source of comic effects for the audience. The exam-
ple  of Manuel’s linguistic deafness in Fawlty Towers highlights the fact that

11 Alongside straightforward monologue, in which a character openly and consistently express-

es its sentiments and thoughts, there are cases in which an outer monologue (only one voice is
heard) in fact expresses an inner dialogue (e.g., Hamlet’s famous “To be or not to be” soliloquy).

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14    David Fishelov

­ ialogues-of-the-deaf are usually associated with a comic effect. The reason for
d
this association is that every dialogue-of-the-deaf exposes a discrepancy between
­appearance (they are talking to one another) and reality (but without hearing
one another) – establishing a fertile ground for laughter, irony, and other comic
effects.12
The comic effect can nonetheless be accompanied by serious overtones, as
we saw in Chekhov, and sometimes even associated with ominous insinuations,
as our next example from Ionesco’s The Lesson shows. The professor in The Les-
son conducts a series of exercise in calculus with a young pupil. As far as addition
is concerned, the pupil is doing just fine, but when the professor tries to move on
to subtraction he encounters an unexpected impediment. Despite all his efforts
and didactic skills, the pupil keeps producing the wrong answer and at some
point the dialogue seems to hit a dead end:

Professor: At addition you are a past master. Now, let’s look at subtraction. Tell me, if you
are not exhausted, how many are four minus three?
Pupil: Four minus three? . . . Four minus three?
Professor: Yes, I mean to say: subtract three from four.
Pupil: That makes. . . seven?
Professor: I am sorry but I’m obliged to contradict you. Four minus three does not make
seven. You are confused: four plus three makes seven, four minus three does not make
seven. . . This is not addition anymore, we must subtract now.
Pupil [trying to understand]: Yes . . . yes . . .
Professor: Four minus three makes . . . How many? . . . How many?
Pupil: Four?
Professor: No, miss, that not it.
Pupil: Three, then.
Professor: Not that either, miss . . . Pardon, I’m sorry . . . I ought to say, that not it . . . excuse
me.
Pupil: Four minus three . . . Four minus three . . . Four minus three? . . . But now doesn’t that
make ten?
Professor: Oh, certainly not, miss. It’s not a matter of guessing, you’ve got to think it out.
(Ionesco 1958: 52–53)

Theoretically, this dialogue-of-the-deaf could have continued ad infinitum. De-

spite the fact that the two participants have no hearing difficulties and both speak
the same language, they are still unable to communicate. The source of this dia-
logue-of-the-deaf can be diagnosed as a cognitive block or mismatch: the pupil
simply cannot grasp the concept of subtraction. This miscommunication esca-

12 This is true as long as deafness, which leads to a miscommunication, does not engender
truly harmful consequences.

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 Types of dialogue: Echo, deaf, and dialectical   15

lates later and towards the end of the play we will witness how the professor’s
frustration transforms into a murderous rage and the dialogical dead end pro-
duces a dead body. With hindsight, we realize that the entire dynamics between
the two, which ends up in a murder, is part of the professor’s daily routine. This
specific pupil is just one of many (the fortieth of that day!), and the professor is in
fact a serial killer. The professor’s politeness in the scene only conceals his mur-
derous impulse, and elements that seemed at first innocuous (e.g., at some point
he introduces a hypothetical eating of an ear to illustrate subtraction), acquire
menacing meanings on second reading. Moreover, what was perceived as a mere
cognitive obstacle that caused frustration (on the part of the participants) and
laughter (on the part of the audience) is revealed to be a fatal gap between the
totally different “agendas” of the two participants: whereas the pupil has come to
study, the professor receives her as prey.
Although Ionesco’s sense of the macabre would appear to be quite alien to
producers and moderators of political talk shows, some of them, perhaps inad-
vertently, seem to encourage the dynamics of a dialogue-of-the-deaf when they
deliberately assemble a panel of radical speakers. Representatives of extreme
right-wing and left-wing politics, for example, are invited to the studio not in
­order to listen to each other but rather to give “a good show” propelled by ani-
mosity and ideological deafness. Moreover, whereas TV talk shows fortunately do
not end up as Ionesco’s The Lesson does, heated debates in front of the studio
camera can illustrate the unbridgeable ideological, moral, and conceptual gaps
between the discussants.13
The dynamics of the dialogue-of-the-deaf appear not only in the Theatre of
the Absurd or in intense debates on talk-shows, but even in civilized interview
with politicians, especially when they are presented with questions that they
wish to evade. One famous case is Jeremy Paxman’s grilling of Michael Howard
on the BBC, first broadcast on May 13, 1997, in which Paxman asked Howard the
same question twelve times (Paxman 1997). Throughout the entire sequence Mr.
Howard repeatedly evades Paxman’s direct question (“Did you threaten to over-
rule him [Lewis]?”), not because of any loss of hearing or cognitive disability but
simply because he does not like the question. He is more than happy of course to
volunteer an answer to a different question, one that has not been asked but that
he considers to be more “relevant.” This interview, remembered as one of the

13 Israeli political talk-shows such as Popolitika (Pop+Politics) or Mo’etzet ha-khakhamim (The

Sages’ Council) are notorious for heated discussions in which the moderator’s major task is to
calm down the panelists so that the audience at home will be able to hear what they are saying;
without such intervention, the debate would turn into a complete cacophony.

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16    David Fishelov

toughest political interviews ever conducted, serves to illustrate a quite common

practice among politicians who seek to evade tough questions from journalists,
and when tackled with such questions, they resort to “playing deaf.” While such
a political interview might sound like a typical dialogue-of-the-deaf, beneath the
surface the two participants not only do indeed hear one another but they also
understand one another perfectly well. Each of them conveys a clear message
to both their interlocutor and the audience: “I will choose what question to ask
and by not answering my question you tacitly admit that its content is true”
­(Paxman); as opposed to: “You cannot force me to answer a question that I deem
irrelevant and my evasion is not an admittance of its content” (Howard). When
we realize these implications, we can argue that on an inner level these two do
pursue a dialectical-dialogue, albeit in what sounds like a simple dialogue-of-
the-deaf.
To play deaf is to refuse to contribute to what Grice has called the “coopera-
tive principle”: “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” (Grice 1975: 45). Whereas in a political interview the
politician’s evasion tactics are usually quite limited and mostly irritating (for
­interviewer and audience alike), writers of comedy are more inventive in demon-
strating such tactics, as we can see in the following dialogue between Harpagon
and the go-between Frosine in Molière’s L’Avare. Frosine is trying to cash in on her
efforts to promote a match between the elderly Harpagon and Mariane, the young
woman in love with Cléante, Harpagon’s son. Harpagon gladly acknowledges his
debt of gratitude to Frosine, but when she asks for financial help he suddenly
turns deaf:

Harpagon: You’ve done me a very good turn Frosine, and I confess I am very much in your
debt.
Frosine: Please sir, will you help me out as I asked? (Harpagon looks stern again.) It would
put me on my feet again and I’d be eternally grateful to you.
Harpagon: Goodbye. I’ve some correspondence to see to.
Frosine: I do assure you sir, I’m in the most urgent need of your help.
Harpagon: I’ll go and give instructions from my carriage to be got ready to take you all to the
fair. (L’Avare 2.5; Molière 2000: 179)

Frosine’s efforts to soften Harpagon’s heart are futile because his attachment to
money is much stronger than her manipulative skills. True, there is always a con-
flict of interests between a provider and a procurer of services, but the two usu-
ally share the basic assumption that services rendered should be compensated.
Harpagon, though aware of this principle in theory, finds difficulty in applying it.
Frosine, confident of her ability to manipulate Harpagon, learns to her dismay

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   17
Types of dialogue: Echo, deaf, and dialectical 

that she is dealing here with a tough nut to crack. When she hints at the sup­
posedly shared principle, Harpagon pretends that he does not hear or under-
stand her; he evades her pleas, and the interaction ends up as a dialogue-of-the-
deaf.
Ferapont in Chekhov’s Three Sisters, Manuel in Fawlty Towers, the pupil in
Ionesco’s The Lesson – all illustrate cases of a dialogue-of-the-deaf that stem from
a participant’s inability to hear or understand what they are being told (hearing
difficulties, limited grasp of English, cognitive lacuna – respectively). In addition
to physical disability and linguistic or cognitive obstacles, a dialogue-of-the-deaf
can emerge, as noted above, when one interlocutor decides to play deaf, as Mr.
Howard’s BBC interview and Harpagon’s reaction to Frosine’s pleas in Molière’s
L’Avare illustrate. In such cases, someone is unwilling to listen to the other’s ques-
tion, need, or point of view, which brings these dialogues-of-the-deaf close to
breaching the “cooperative principle,” and usually concludes the act of commu-
nication. Andrey’s mental “deafness” in Chekhov’s Three Sisters presents an in-
teresting case, particularly because it is not clear whether he is unable or unwill-
ing to listen to the people around him. In order to decide which of the two
interpretations is correct, we must probe more deeply into the play in an attempt
to better understand Andrey’s beliefs, his mental state, and assumed psychologi-
cal makeup – highlighting the tight connection between the description of a dia-
logue as a specific type and the act of interpretation. Furthermore, although the
interaction between Andrey and Ferapont is totally unsuccessful qua dialogue,
this neither seems to bother Andrey nor to lead to a conclusion of the dialogue
but, rather, simply encourages him to keep talking.
Participants in a dialogue may sometimes believe that they are conducting a
dialectical-dialogue, that they are talking about the same thing, and understand
each other perfectly well, whereas such an assumption is baseless. Since comedy
is a good place to find different variations of the dialogue-of-the-deaf, let us
take a look at another scene from Molière’s L’Avare, this time a dialogue between
Harpagon and Valère, who is secretly engaged to Élise, Harpagon’s daughter.
Harpagon is distraught by the theft of his money and believes that Valère is re-
sponsible, while Valère is convinced that Harpagon is talking about the “theft” of
his daughter; and thus they continue for a while with their hilarious dialogue-of-
the-deaf:

Valère: We are promised to each other and have sworn never to be parted.
Harpagon: Promised? How wonderful! And this commitment to each other is very amusing!
Valère: We are committed to each other for ever!
Harpagon: I’ll put a stop to it, believe me.
Valère: Only death can separate us!
Harpagon: That’s taking love of my money a bit far! (L’Avare 5.3; Molière 2000: 208)

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18    David Fishelov

Only in the last line of the above quotation does Harpagon finally refer explicitly
to what he had been talking about during their exchange of words, and both then
realize that they had been talking at odds, about two distinct objects (Élise; and a
money chest) while using similar terms to address them (something dear; some-
thing one is attached to). The audience is fully aware of course of this misunder-
standing and laughs at Harpagon’s miserliness which leads him to treat money as
if it was a beloved woman. The laughter reveals a serious source of human mis-
communication: language allows us not only the use of words with different
meanings to refer to the same object (as Frege [1892] has shown) but also the use
of words with similar meanings to refer to different objects. Luckily for Harpagon
and Valère, their misunderstandings, based on the fact that there is no necessary
connection between sense and reference (sinn and bedeutung), is resolved. Fur-
thermore, the happy ending of the play allows them to unite with their beloved
objects (Harpagon with his money; Valère with Élise).

4 Dialectical-dialogue: Some variations

Unlike echo-dialogue, in which the two interlocutors merely repeat one another,
and unlike dialogue-of-the-deaf, in which the two participants neither listen to
nor understand one another, in dialectical-dialogue the two interlocutors, while
maintaining different positions, do listen to, understand, and relate to one an-
other. Of the three basic types of dialogue, dialectical-dialogue is probably the
most respected, and when attempting to imagine a desired, ideal dialogue, it will
undoubtedly be a variation of this type. Compared to dialectical-dialogue, the
other two types are judged as deficient: in echo-dialogue only one voice is truly
heard, and in dialogue-of-the-deaf we are faced with two voices that do not truly
interact. The fact that an interaction may start out as a dialectical-dialogue, how-
ever, does not guarantee that it will continue as such, and it can easily evolve into
one of the other two types. When one interlocutor becomes dominant, it can turn
into an echo-dialogue, whereas when the differences between the participants
overshadow their common ground, it can turn into dialogue-of-the-deaf. Some-
times the dynamics of a dialectical-dialogue leads to a happy medium, a synthe-
sis, or a new ground acceptable to both parties. Such felicitous conclusions are of
course most welcome, but if we expect every dialectical-dialogue to end in a hap-
py resolution, we will be left with a very small number of cases. Rather than pos-
tulating a happy conclusion as a sine qua non for dialectical-dialogues, suffice it
to postulate that the two participants listen, understand, and relate respectfully
to one another.

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 Types of dialogue: Echo, deaf, and dialectical   19

Keeping this in mind, let us turn now to our first example of a dialectical-­
dialogue, taken from Sophocles’ Antigone, in which Creon accuses Antigone of
wanting to bury her brother, Polynices, against Creon’s explicit orders:

Creon: And you are not only alone, but unashamed.

Antigone: There is no shame in honouring my brother.
Creon: Was not his enemy, who died with him, your brother?
Antigone: Yes, both were brothers, both of the same parents.
Creon: You honour one, and so insult the other.
Antigone: He that is dead will not accuse me of that.
Creon: He will, if you honour him no more than the traitor.
Antigone: It was not a slave, but his brother, that died with him.
Creon: Attacking his country, while the other defended it.
Antigone: Even so, we have a duty to the dead.
Creon: Not to give equal honor to good and bad.
Antigone: Who knows? In the country of the dead that may be the law. (Sophocles 1974: 140)

The encounter between the play’s two protagonists is highly charged and focuses
on the question of whether or not to bury the body of Polynices, despite the fact
that he had fought against Thebes, his own polis-state. Creon and Antigone each
represent an opposing set of values or ideologies: to abide by the polis-state’s
laws which guarantee society’s cohesion (Creon); or to respect familial bonds and
the gods’ laws (Antigone). The debate between the two is not academic and the
stakes are high: in defying Creon’s explicit orders Antigone risks a death sen-
tence, while Creon risks not only the loss of a future daughter-in-law (Antigone is
betrothed to his son Haemon), but also a tragic rift with his own son.
One might argue that the ideological gap between Creon and Antigone is so
deep that the dialogue between the two should be described as dialogue-of-the-
deaf. Despite their ideological differences, however, the two are nonetheless en-
gaged in a dialectical-dialogue, for two reasons. First, as stated earlier, there is no
prerequisite that participants in a dialectical-dialogue reach a happy resolution.
For a dialogue to qualify as dialectical, only two conditions must be met: the two
participants should represent different stands, beliefs, sentiments, or ideology,
as otherwise the dialogue will quickly move into the realm of echo-dialogue; and
they must also be able to understand the other’s point of view and relate to it.
On both these fronts, the encounter between Creon and Antigone qualifies as a
dialectical-dialogue. Furthermore, as we have seen earlier, dialogues-of-the-deaf
stem from the fact that neither participant can hear or understand the other (e.g.,
Ferapont in Three Sisters, Manuel in Fawlty Towers), or when one plays deaf in
order to evade the “cooperative principle” altogether (Harpagon and Frosine in
L’Avare 2.5). As we have seen, although such typical dialogues-of-the-deaf are in-
timately connected to comic effects, when a character understands perfectly well

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20    David Fishelov

the other’s point of view, but decides to openly oppose it, the situation acquires
more serious overtones.
To clarify the difference between a heated debate, which is still part of a dia-
lectical-dialogue, and a dialogue-of-the-deaf, let us go back for a moment to the
dialogue between the professor and the pupil in Ionesco’s The Lesson. There, the
pupil simply cannot understand what the professor is asking her to do (to sub-
tract). Furthermore, these two participants do not even share a basic understand-
ing of the nature of their encounter: for the pupil it is a lesson, an educational
experience of exercise in calculus (and later in philology), whereas for the profes-
sor it is an exercise in murder. Creon and Antigone, however, do understand one
another and also share a basic grasp of the nature of their encounter: an attempt
to discuss their opposing points of view. Thus, if we do not require a happy reso-
lution, there is no reason to exclude the encounter between Creon and Antigone
from the field of dialectical-dialogue.
Moreover, as Sophocles’ Antigone reaches its end, it becomes clear that, theo-
retically at least, the gap between the two protagonists could have been bridged,
and that the conflict between them is not logically irresolvable. The concluding
lines in the play are given to the Chorus:

Of happiness the crown

And chiefest part
Is wisdom, and to hold
The gods in awe.
This is the law
That, seeing the stricken heart
Of pride brought down,
We learn when we are old. (Sophocles 1974: 162)

The Chorus, which represents to a certain degree the playwright and the target
audience’s norms and position, chastises Creon for not being wise and flexible
enough to find a way to accommodate gods’ laws while protecting the polis. The
tragic ending, with Antigone and Haemon dead, is presented as a direct result of
Creon’s hubris. Although Antigone’s own prideful attitude, as well as her latent
death-wish, have contributed to the destructive dynamics that lead to the tragic
ending, the play does not foster the impression that this tragic ending is a neces-
sary outcome of a clash between the ideological “languages” that Creon and
­Antigone speak.
Let us turn now to another scene from Antigone. This time Creon talks to his
son Haemon, betrothed to Antigone, after she has been sentenced to death. The
dialogue starts with peaceful, harmonic tones, momentarily creating the impres-
sion that we are witnessing a variation of an echo-dialogue:

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 Types of dialogue: Echo, deaf, and dialectical    21

Creon: Son, you have heard, I think, our final judgment

On your late betrothed. No angry words, I hope?
Still friends, in spite of everything, my son?
Haemon: I am your son, sir; by your wise decisions
My life is ruled, and them I shall always obey.
I cannot value any marriage-tie
Above your own good guidance.
Creon:       Rightly said.
Your father’s will should have your heart’s first place. (Sophocles 1974: 143)

This seemingly idyllic atmosphere between father and son gradually changes,
and when Haemon criticizes his father’s decision to execute Antigone – unwise
even from Creon’s own interests as a ruler – the amicable tone breaks down en-
tirely. The more the dialogue progresses, the more we realize that Haemon had
adopted the obedient tone at the beginning only as a tactical move aimed at soft-
ening his father’s heart. Haemon’s good sense and his attempts to prove his ­father
wrong and to save Antigone, however, are unsuccessful, as he has failed to esti-
mate correctly the depth of Creon’s pride and stubbornness. For Creon, as is so
often the case with autocratic rulers, “If you are not with me, you are against me!”
And despite the fact that Haemon has some good arguments to support his plea
to save Antigone, Creon is unwilling to alter his deeply entrenched position. Thus,
what started out as a bonding dialogue between father and son ends up as a bitter
feud, in which Creon is willing to escalate the crisis with his son (or so he believes
at that moment):

Creon: You’ll never marry her this side of death.

Haemon: Then, if she dies, she does not die alone.
Creon: Is that a threat, you impudent –
Haemon: Is it a threat
To try to argue against wrong-headedness?
Creon: You’ll learn what wrong-headedness is, my friend, to your cost.
Haemon: O father, I could call you mad, were you not my father.
Creon: Don’t toady me, boy; keep that to your lady-love.
Haemon: You mean to have the last word, then?
Creon: I do.
And what is more, by all the gods in heaven,
I’ll make you sorry for your impudence. (Sophocles 1974: 146–147)

The die is cast and the tragic outcome will soon follow: Haemon, seeing his be-
loved Antigone dead, will take his own life, thus giving unexpected, concrete
meaning to Creon’s words said in the heat of the moment (“You’ll never marry her
this side of death”) and Creon will learn, alas too late, the full cost of his prideful
rigidity.

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22    David Fishelov

Another tense dialogue between an authoritative father and his child that
leads to a tragic conclusion also is to be found in the opening scene of Shake-
speare’s King Lear. As with the conversation between Creon and Haemon, so
too with the interaction between Lear and Cordelia, in which the main respon­
sibility for the disastrous outcome seems to lie with the stubborn pride of the
­father:

Lear: To thee and thine hereditary ever

Remain this ample third of our fair kingdom,
No less in space, validity, and pleasure
Than that conferred on Gonerill. Now our joy,
Although our last and least, to whose young love
The vines of France and milk of Burgundy
Strive to be interessed. What can you say to draw
A third more opulent than your sisters? Speak.
Cordelia: Nothing, my lord.
Lear: Nothing?
Cordelia: Nothing.
Lear: Nothing can come of nothing. Speak again.
Cordelia: Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave
My heart into my mouth. I love your Majesty
According to my bond; no more nor less. (King Lear 1.1.74–88; Shakespeare 2005
103–104)

The similarity between the pair Creon-Haemon and Lear-Cordelia is striking

but incomplete. In Antigone, Haemon, after trying to soften Creon’s heart with a
seemingly echo-dialogue, engages in an open debate with his father over the
right decision. Cordelia, in contrast, decides to stick to laconic, cryptic answers,
hoping that Lear will read in her brief ironic retorts the true state of affairs: that
her flattering sisters are deceiving him and that only she is the true loving daugh-
ter. Her decision not to stoop to an open debate with her father is a sign of her own
pride (like father, like child), something that further inflames the charged situ­
ation and blocks any possibility of reconciliation. In that respect, Cordelia’s
pride is reminiscent of Antigone’s, which had contributed to the destructive dy-
namics in her dialogue with Creon. Like Creon in Antigone, Lear too will only dis­
cover who had truly loved him and whom he himself had loved most, when it is
too late.
Despite Cordelia’s enigmatic language and despite the passionate emotions
involved – both Lear and Cordelia feel deeply insulted – the dialogue between the
two is not a dialogue-of-the-deaf but rather an intense, passionate version of a
dialectical-dialogue where differences and hurt feelings are mixed with father
and child intimacy.

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   23
Types of dialogue: Echo, deaf, and dialectical 

5 Dialogues, power-structure, literature, and

literary genres

Before concluding, I would like to draw attention to some interesting correlations

between certain kinds of dialogues and types of social power-structures, and
­several literary genres.
The term echo-dialogue implies not only repetition but also asymmetry be-
tween the two interlocutors: one of them is perceived as primary, original, source
or leader, while the other is subordinate – repeating either verbatim or in differ-
ent words what the dominant figure has said. The two can of course exchange
roles during the conversation, but the principle of a-symmetry characterizing
echo-dialogue will be maintained. The asymmetry of echo-dialogue is thus
­closely related to a specific power-structure between the two interlocutors. In
both everyday conversations and represented dialogues, we would therefore ex-
pect to find echo-dialogues between a boss and an employee, a servant and a
master, a flatterer and a flattered, an officer and a subordinate, a mentor and a
disciple.
Whereas in real life conversations such social hierarchies are usually main-
tained throughout the dialogue (unless an employee switches to frank dialectical-
dialogue and takes the risk of being fired), literary works sometimes use echo-
dialogue in order to expose the problems associated with such social hierarchies
or to subvert them. When the ardent followers of Brian, in Monty Python’s The
Life of Brian, take him to be the Messiah, they repeat everything he is saying, thus
exemplifying a typical echo-dialogue between mentor and disciples. Waking up
at home in the morning, Brian discovers that a crowd of his followers are sitting
next to the house, waiting for him to deliver his message to them. He is horrified
and tries to convince them to leave him alone, to abandon the crowd mentality, to
adopt independent, individual thinking. Their response shows how naive he is in
expecting a crowd of believers to listen and absorb words of wisdom, even when
they come from the mouth of the very man they suppose themselves to believe in.
And when Brian desperately shouts: “You’ve got to think for yourselves. You’re all
individuals,” the crowd responds enthusiastically and unanimously: “Yes, we’re
all individuals!” We find this scene funny precisely because, while maintaining
the appearance of an echo-dialogue, the specific content subverts the principles
assumed by mentor–disciple relationships: namely, that the former wants to
lead, that he has some hidden, deep truth to spread, and that the latter make a
free, informed decision to follow.
The parodic echo-dialogue in Monty Python, introduced in order to expose
problems of mentor–disciple relationships, is representative of many literary

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24    David Fishelov

works in which social hierarchies are questioned or subverted. In many comedies

we find a servant responding to the master in what sounds like an echo-dialogue,
but which in fact conveys to the audience the master’s inadequacies; the ironic
servant (the eiron) exposes the alazon’s social superiority as hollow. The comic
tradition can provide us not only with ample examples of parodic use of echo-
dialogue (e.g., Swift’s “Gentle Echo to Woman”) but also with a wide variety of
dialogues-of-the-deaf, as some of the above examples from Molière have illus-
trated. The fact that we can find many dialogues-of-the-deaf in comedy is unsur-
prising, for the mistakes and misunderstandings on which this type of dialogue is
built are a common source of comic effects (Thompson 1960: 197–198).
It is interesting to note, however, that while many comic scenes are based on
the principle of dialogues-of-the-deaf – exemplifying people’s failure to commu-
nicate effectively – the overall comic plot celebrates human cooperation. Before
the traditional happy ending of comedy arrives, and the main characters unite in
a typical wedding and/or banquet scene, the characters experience almost every
sort of situation in which the “cooperative principle” is breached and a dialogue-
of-the-deaf reigns. Thus, the final stop of comedy, namely, the celebration of
­social harmony and cooperation, stands in tense opposition to almost everything
that has preceded it.
Furthermore, whereas comedy illustrates how dialogues-of-the-deaf can fi-
nally lead to a happy cooperation, its antipode, tragedy, can illustrate an interest-
ing inversion: as the examples discussed earlier from Antigone and King Lear
show, frank and intense dialectical-dialogues do not necessarily lead to happy
cooperation but can, rather, be the source of insult, hurt feelings, and a tragic
ending. Whereas in comedy the “inferior,” “defective” dialogues-of-the-deaf, ex-
emplifying the failures of human communication, are finally resolved in human
cooperation, in tragedy the celebrated mode of dialectical-dialogue, supposedly
the epitome of human collaboration, leads to death.14 Thus, these two genres
might teach us an important lesson about the complex relationship between dia-
logical modes and the overall contexts in which they appear. We should thus not
hasten to embrace dialectical-dialogues and reject dialogues-of-the-deaf under
all circumstances, regardless of context. When two stubborn, prideful people or
characters conduct a dialectical-dialogue, the outcome might be disastrous;
while, complementarily, when people or fictive characters are committed to
­affirming love and cooperation, we should not worry if they engage en route in
dialogues-of-the-deaf. Thus, a typology of dialogues enables us not only to offer a

14 These characteristics can be found in several prototypical cases of tragedy and comedy. For
the concept of a prototypical member of a genre, see Fishelov (1993, especially 62–65).

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   25
Types of dialogue: Echo, deaf, and dialectical 

nuanced description of specific scenes in plays, but might also draw our attention
to some interesting correlations between types of dialogue and certain generic
traditions.

6 A concluding table

In conclusion, I present the nine categories that can emerge from crossing the
three kinds of interaction with the dual-layer structure of dialogue. Next to each
category I refer to an example provided earlier in the text; and next to the tech­
nical designation of some categories I have added a label that encapsulates a
conspicuous feature of that category. The two left columns feature the following
abbreviations: E-D = Echo-Dialogue; D-D = Dialectical-Dialogue; D-F = Dialogue-
of-the-Deaf:

Table 1: The three types of dialogue crossed with the outer and inner layers

Outer Inner Emerging Category and an Example

E-D E-D Typical Echo-Dialogue

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern (Shakespeare, Hamlet)
E-D D-F Echo-like Dialogue-of the-Deaf (Sarcastic Dialogue)
Harpagon and Élise (Molière, L’Avare 1.4)
E-D D-D Echo-like Dialectical-Dialogue
Narcissus and Echo (Ovid, Metamorphoses)
D-F D-F Typical Dialogue-of-the-Deaf
Andrey and Ferapont (Chekhov, Three Sisters)
D-F E-D Deaf-like Echo-Dialogue
Higgins and Pickering (Shaw, Pygmalion)
D-F D-D Deaf-like Dialectical-Dialogue (Politician’s Evasion)
Jeremy Paxman and Michael Howard (BBC)
D-D D-D Typical Dialectical-Dialogue
Creon and Antigone (Sophocles, Antigone)
D-D E-D Dialectical-like Echo-Dialogue (The Clever Flatterer)
Artotrogos and Pyrgopolynices (Plautus, The Swaggering Soldier)
D-D D-F Dialectical-like Dialogue-of-the-Deaf (Referential Confusion)
Valère and Harpagon (Molière, L’Avare 5.3)

Two clarifications are necessary in regard to the Table. First, certain of the above
combinations are more common than others. It is reasonable to assume that the
three typical options whereby outer and inner levels converge are more ­frequently
exercised than others. Nonetheless, any typology must allow for all the options,
and any description of specific cases should take both layers into account.

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26    David Fishelov

Finally, better examples might perhaps be found with which to illustrate the
above categories, and probably some of the above examples might be open to
debate because, as I have emphasized throughout, descriptions rely on interpre-
tation. The above basic coordinates and categories nonetheless offer a useful map
for in-depth and nuanced descriptions of the structure and dynamics of many
specific dialogues –both in literature and in life.

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Bionote
David Fishelov (b. 1954) is an associate professor at the Hebrew University of
­Jerusalem 〈fishelov@mscc.huji.ac.il〉. His research interests include genre theory,
poetic simile, adaptations of biblical Samson, and intertextuality. His publica-
tions include Metaphors of genre: The role of analogies in genre theory (1993); Like
a rainfall: Studies in poetic simile (in Hebrew, 1996); Samson’s locks: The trans­
formations of biblical Samson (in Hebrew, 2000); and Dialogues with/and great
books: The dynamics of canon formation (2010).

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