Is conversation dying? Stephen Miller would have us believe it is, as the subtitle of his 2006 book, Conversation: A History of a Declining Art, states so unequivocally. According to Miller, “Rescuing conversation [in our time] may be an impossible task in a culture that admires both angry self-expression and nonjudgmental ‘supportive’ assent. Yet perhaps some people may be persuaded to pay more attention to their ‘conversation life’ if they come to realize that they will get more pleasure out of life if they do so. Johnson says (and Addison, Hume, Swift, and Fielding would agree) that ‘there is in this world no real delight (excepting those of sensuality), but exchange of ideas in conversation.’” As Miller’s list of writers makes clear, and as his book illustrates, eighteenth-century Europe was much taken with conversation and its pros and cons. Jonathan Swift (1667-1745) wrote “Hints Towards An Essay On Conversation” in 1713, although it remained unpublished during his lifetime. “I have observed few obvious subjects to have been so seldom, or, at least, so slightly handled as this;” mused the great satirist, “and, indeed, I know few so difficult to be treated as it ought, nor yet upon which there seemeth so much to be said” finding it strange “to reflect that so useful and innocent a pleasure, so fitted for every period and condition of life, and so much in all men’s power, should be so much neglected and abused.” Henry Fielding (1707-1754) wrote “An Essay on Conversation” around 1741, where he asserted “it seems to me amazing that this grand business of our lives, the foundation of everything either useful or pleasant, should have been so slightly treated of, that, while there is scarce a profession or handicraft in life, however mean and contemptible, which is not abundantly furnished with proper rules to the attaining its perfection, men should be left almost totally in the dark, and without the least light to direct, or any guide to conduct them, in the proper exerting of those talents which are the noblest privilege of human nature and productive of all rational happiness…”

I have been thinking a lot about conversation lately, not least because, for the last two years or so, the spaces and possibilities of conversation had been quite severely curtailed. Even those fortunate enough to possess the ability to engage in verbal interactions with others, through means electronic or otherwise, found the possibility of conversation significantly reduced during the extended periods of isolation imposed by the pandemic. But now that we are slowly limping back to something resembling pre-Covid normalcy, I have begun to appreciate anew the joys and benefits of something I took for granted for most of my life. ‘Conversation’, we are told, derives from the Latin, conversationem, which, in turn, comes from conversor, which means ‘abide, keep company with’, indicating the fundamentally social nature of conversation. A conversation may or may not be focussed on a single issue, but — at least for me — an intrinsic part of any conversation has to do with the meandering, inchoate nature of the thing. This was brought home to me recently when, after a class, a few students wanted to discuss something that I had mentioned in passing during the course of my talk. What started out as a specific set of questions (asked by the students) to which, presumably, they wanted answers (from me), soon turned into something rather more complex; a free-flowing, freewheeling conversation among some five of us, where, fairly soon into our exchanges, the usual hierarchies of the academy were put aside as we pursued ideas and expressed opinions that were quite far removed from what had started off the discussion in the first place. Such an exchange — commonplace in pre-Covid times — had all but disappeared during the years when classes and lectures and seminars were held online, and even though there may have been questions and answers, these were never in the nature of a conversation simply because such exchanges had, more often than not, involved just two people — the person asking the question, and the person responding to it — and not the multiplicity of individuals that brings the variety and richness that is the lifeblood of any conversation. Perhaps more importantly, in such virtual exchanges, the many kinds of non-verbal response that are so vital to any conversation were almost wholly absent; a loss that I felt keenly whenever I was a part of such interactions.

Of course, a conversation need not involve three or more people, although the best conversations typically do. Sometimes, a conversation can be between two individuals, but even then, the basic character of a conversation, that of a meandering exchange that can veer off into unexpected directions, holds true. Otherwise, such an exchange becomes a debate, or, worse, a diatribe on the part of one individual that the other has, perforce, to put up with. A friend with whom I was discussing such matters — largely because we were interacting in person after a long interval of time — said that some of the best conversations she has had have been with herself. Conversation, for her, brings in multiple perspectives, and even when the conversation is with oneself, it allows for self-reflection and self-criticism, which is why, for her, “conversation is as important as breathing.”

Irrespective of whether a conversation is taking place between a group of people, or a couple, or just within one’s own head, there seem to me to be two essential qualities that should form the bedrock of a conversation. One is a sense of humour, or, at the very least, politeness; and the second, allied to the first, an ability to listen to a variety of — perhaps opposed, perhaps just different — opinions. As we lead more and more of our lives attached to devices that allow us to air our opinions without bothering to pay heed to others’; as we judge the worth of our ideas on the number of ‘likes’ our tweets or posts or memes garner; as we become habituated to inhabiting echo chambers that allow the magnification of our views from others like us; as, in other words, our existence becomes even more solipsistic than before, perhaps it is time we thought of making a conscious effort to resuscitate conversation and return it to its rightful place as a vital component of our lives as social beings. But perhaps that is just too much to ask of our e-infatuated, self-obsessed selves.

Samantak Das is professor of Comparative Literature and pro-vice-chancellor, Jadavpur University.
Views expressed are personal.