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Interrogating the soliloquist: does it really go without saying?

GULL: What is he [Hamlet] doing? (ROS repeats movement.)

ROS: Talking.

GUIL: To himself? (ROS starts to move. GUIL cuts in impatiently.) Is he alone?

ROS: No, he's with a soldier.

GULL: Then he's not talking to himself, is he?

ROS: Not by himself ...

--Tom Stoppard (1967)

In his The Feeling of What Happens, Antonio Damasio surveys the contemporary fields of neuroscience and cognitive neuroscience, observing they have belatedly but "finally endorsed emotion" in their investigations (1999, 40). According to Katherine Wider, this upgrading of emotions is critical to understanding how "the affective nature of consciousness ... makes all conscious states self-conscious" (2006, 70). Citing studies of people who have sustained neurological damage to areas associated with emotion, she notes that in such instances a diminution of the sense of self occurs. It is only the "emotional tinge," she argues, "that produces a sense of the self as the owner of one's present experience." Lacking this affective component, "there is no sense of the ownership of experience, and with it there is always at least a minimal sense of ownership" (65). Central to how we take possession of the self is our oral interaction with others. As Lance Strate argues, we "sound out" others in our initial formation of a self:
   The fundamental form of language is sound, and from the beginning
   we listen to the speech of others in our environment and make
   sounds of our own. Typically, this leads to speech acquisition. We
   learn language by speaking out loud and listening to others as they
   do the same. Only later do we internalize these voices as memory
   and other forms of thought. (2009, par. 36)


The origin of consciousness in our oral interactions suggests such speech can open a window into this interiorization process. In the figure of the soliloquist, we encounter the perfect clinical subject for obtaining what Damasio describes as a "sense of a self in the act of knowing" (1999, 308). Indeed, the work of discourse analysts and cognitive theorists, with their focus on the relationship between verbal behavior and cognitive processes, proves quite useful in this regard. Unfortunately, many literary critics would have us erase the earliest trace of this interiorization: speech itself. Although the clueless Rosencrantz and Guildenstern fail in their comic interrogations of Hamlet, we can at least credit them for having tried to sound him out from his lowest note to the top of his compass. Literary critics, on the contrary, have been altogether tone-deaf in this regard. Regarding their treatment of the soliloquy, what they offer is a veritable dumb show. James Hirsh, for example, separates speech from thought in claiming, "The words spoken by the actor do not represent words spoken by the character but words merely passing through the mind of the character" (2003, 13). Morris Arnold, too, poses a conundrum in describing the soliloquy "as a milieu for disclosing inaudible thoughts." Here, the audience is instructed to divorce the medium from the message:
   In that case, the soliloquizer is represented not as talking to
   himself but as thinking to himself, and we pass from the frank
   convention to one subtly suggestive. When this type of soliloquy is
   used with full effect ... the auditor forgets the medium of speech,
   merely realizing that he is becoming aware of the thoughts and the
   emotions of the soliloquizer. (1965, 21)


Attempts to split the soliloquy from its oral component by divorcing the actor's speech from "words merely passing through the mind of the character" hearken to Petrarch's privileging of interiority over speech. (One thinks, for instance, of St. Augustine's amazement over discovering Ambrose silently reading a book instead of following the usual practice of reading it aloud.) Noting a shift from Petrarch's privileging of interiority over speaking and eloquence, Robert Strozier identifies later humanists as assuming a "different theoretical position" in their belief that interior processes could be represented by the medium of language. Outward signs (verba) could be connected "to the unknown res: thought, intention, meaning, or the interiority of things in general" (2004, 203). "Oratory," Strozier opines, "is simply the final act of the production of the self" (201). For Strate, "oratory" in the form of reading aloud constitutes the first act in the production of the self:
   Central to my understanding of consciousness is the
   counterintuitive idea that consciousness begins with communication.
   This means that consciousness begins externally with interaction
   and then becomes internalized over time ... an example of
   internalization that you ought to remember occurs when we learn to
   read.

   Reading begins as an external process, as we sound out the letters
   to produce sounds, syllables, words, and sentences. After we learn
   to read out loud, we are then taught how to read silently, which is
   an internalization of reading .... Historically, silent reading was
   a rare and unusual practice in antiquity and the Middle Ages.
   (2009, par. 35)


In more contemporary terms, this separation of speech from thoughts and emotions overlooks important links among outer speech, private speech (talking aloud), and inner speech (for lack of a better term, labeled "verbal thought"). It places the soliloquy outside the purview of discourse analysts and neurophysiologists, who view inner speech as arising from a socialization process that offers important insights into the intramental components of the self and its internalized "other." Rather than rendering inner speech via mysterious mental airwaves, however, the soliloquy is more aligned with the phenomenon of private speech than has been acknowledged. Karen Junefelt describes private speech as "the last overtly verbally expressed outpost to inner speech and thinking" (2009, 84). As an important marker of this outpost, the soliloquy can serve as a useful model of the cognitive and psychological operations at work here. Indeed, the actor/character constituents comprising the soliloquist provide an essential framework for understanding the intramental components that arise from our interiorization of language.

The unrealistic portrayal of the soliloquy as a source of "soundless" and pure introspection reveals a bias against the oral expression of emotions. Damasio characterizes the Enlightenment and modern scientific establishments as viewing emotion itself as a "mere evolutionary vestige," the modern era finally relegating emotion "to the lower neural strata associated with ancestors whom no one worshiped" (1999, 39). David Rosenthal discusses a complex series of linkages in explaining the relative neglect of the emotions in past cognitive theory:
   The link in the case of cognitive states between consciousness and
   being verbally expressed has doubtless encouraged the idea that an
   essential connection holds between language and mind. And, since
   consciousness has traditionally been regarded as central to the
   mind, that link may also have led to the insistence by some that
   the lack of any such link between consciousness and the verbal
   expression of emotions may be partly responsible for the
   comparative neglect of the emotions in most theoretical treatments
   of the mind. (2005, 307)


Norbert Wiley demonstrates how this bias has been carried over into the modern period, arguing that Saussure's "speech-language distinction was meant to get rid of speech" given Saussure's focus on langue"as a self-enclosed system, explainable on its own, with no need to refer to the external world" (2006, 328). For Saussure, langue comprised its own differential system, all significations arising from the oppositions within langue. Referring to Saussure's concept of the sound image, Mary Klages notes Saussure intended not an actual sound but rather "a psychological imprint": "An illustration of this is talking to yourself-you don't make a sound, but you have an impression of what you're saying" (2001, par. 12). (More precisely, what Klages describes here is subvocalization, the moving of one's lips or related speech organs without making audible sounds, as found in the process of silent reading. Generally speaking, talking to oneself [private or egocentric speech] does involve audible sounds, particularly as witnessed in the private speech of children.) At any rate, such schizophrenic splitting would be diagnosed by neuropathologists as "hallucination of soliloquy." In this condition, the patient, "while having the experience of hearing his own voice, has a conviction that he speaks out aloud, without actually vocalizing" (Kobayashi, Toshiyuki, and Kato 2000, 531). As one patient describes it, "Neither am I speaking with my voice nor am I simply thinking. I feel I'm doing something in the middle. Anyway my privacy comes to light through it" (533). Our own critics' schizophrenic scenario of "thought broadcasting" seems to merit a similar diagnosis.

True Saussureans, many literary critics maintain that the soliloquy, when it goes at all, goes without saying. While admitting an original connection between outer and inner speech, some contemporary cognitive theorists also seem more than ready to pitch out the vocal element as quickly as possible. For example, Daniel C. Dennett speculates that "the greater virtues of sotto voce" talking might have led our ancestors to entirely silent talking, "maintain[ing] the loop of self-stimulation, but jettison[ing] the peripheral vocalization and audition portions of the process, which weren't contributing that much." He notes such an innovation would preserve "a certain privacy for the practice of autostimulation" (1991, 197). In Darwinian terms, the soliloquy may simply reflect a survival technique, a function we often find it still serving on stage, especially among those having to affect "an antic disposition" for safety's sake. Lev Vygotsky argues as well for private speech being merely an atrophied element of this initial bond: "If the developing structural and functional peculiarities of egocentric speech progressively isolate it from external speech, then its vocal aspect must fade away..." (1986, 230).

Wiley and Karen Junefelt both disagree with Dennett's claim that private speech is simply jettisoned in the shift to inner speech. Junefelt portrays egocentric (private) speech not as a developmental stage "but a form of dialogue with oneself, that occurs more or less frequently throughout one's lifetime" (2007, 90). We remark upon it less as adults, as it is considered "shameful behavior" (91). Junefelt considers the child's "egocentric" speech to be "a goldmine of information about 'the I', 'the self', 'the you', and 'the other', communication, cognition, thought, and mind" (90). Citing Valentin Voloshinov, she points out that he also argued "the units of which inner speech is constituted are certain whole entities, somewhat resembling a passage of monologic speech or whole utterances. But most of all, they resemble the alternating lines of dialogue" (84).

An internalized offshoot of social discourse, soliloquizing is not as far removed from ordinary speech situations as some would portray it. Discourse analyst Mary Louise Pratt identifies a variety of situations in which communication occurs between a "soliloquizer" and an audience, allowing the solitary speaker to hold the floor for an extended period, whether that audience is the reader of a novel or participants in everyday conversational situations. She argues for a "formal similarity between natural narrative and literary narrative" (1977, 114). She does so in the widest of contexts: conversational, story-telling, public speaking, dramatic performances, and more. Implicit rules and conventions govern both natural and literary narratives. Thus,
   the nonparticipant Audience role, which has been considered a key
   to literary response, is a familiar component of many other speech
   situations as well. The role is not part of the rhetoric of fiction
   but of the rhetoric of Audience-ship which is itself defined in
   relation to the rhetoric of conversation. (115-16) (1)


Referring to the asymmetrical relationship struck when one person takes the floor and turn-taking is suspended for an indeterminate period, she outlines an implicit set of rights and obligations now governing this special arrangement:
   Participants who become an Audience temporarily waive their access
   rights. The speaker who wishes to address an Audience must request
   and receive permission to do so; his request counts as an
   imposition on his interlocutors and thereby places him under
   obligation to them. (113)


We can note many similarities between the two formats in terms of implicit rules defining the specialized communication circuits and situations each one sets up. For example, the request for permission to hold the floor is implicit in the convention of the soliloquy. In a similar fashion, the soliloquy functions like a "communication switchboard" by redirecting communication from one character to another (dialogue) to an "exchange" between the character and an overhearing audience (soliloquy). Like the conversationalist embarking on a long narrative, the soliloquizer requires the other characters to "waive their access rights" in ceding the stage so that an uninterrupted speech can unfold. Those rights are transferred to the audience, which, in essence, assents to this replacing of the lively give and take of dialogue between speakers and hearers with this personalized "story-telling." The obligation imposed upon the conversationalist (and the actor) is no small burden:
   For the Audience, ratifying the speaker's request for unique floor
   access counts as a favor done and entitles the Audience, first, to
   expect the speaker will repay them via the special quality of what
   he says during his special floor time and, second, to pass judgment
   on his success when his turn is over. (113)


While actors who often speak of the awesome demands imposed by the soliloquy are referring in part to the rigors of delivering it alone, under the spotlight, Pratt suggests another dimension to the soliloquy's demands. Having imposed on their primary interlocutors (actors) and secondary interlocutors (Audience), soliloquizers bear a special burden to repay the audience, which has gained in assenting to this asymmetrical arrangement the right "to pass judgment." Pratt underscores the high tension endured by the speaker in these situations, noting that we often say a performer "acquitted himself" well in this cameo role, as though the performer had just defended himself at trial (116).

In its own turn, the soliloquy repays the "favor" to the audience in its special quality as a set piece with many rhetorical flourishes and a wealth of information. As an embedded discourse, the "To be, or not to be" soliloquy demonstrates the vertical prominence, rhetorical underlining, and foregrounding that Robert Longacre argues signal to the reader areas of a text more structurally significant than others (i.e., "peak-marking"). Here, we find plentiful examples of parallelism, paraphrase, tautology, and a marked lengthening, repetition, or slowing down of this section in contrast to the text in which it is embedded (1996, 39). Arnold points out that the soliloquies are the most extensively revised parts of Hamlet: Shakespeare "elaborates the thought, refines the diction, transforms jargon into music and infuses into every monolog a commingling of poetry and feeling which the world has styled genius" (36). The prevalence of simile and metaphor, personification, rhetorical questions, and numerous other poetic devices certainly mark the soliloquy as a "vertically" prominent high point of the drama. Other elements of rhetorical underlining and peak-marking involve "packing the line" with verbs. Shakespeare not only packs his soliloquies thus, but he also revels in doing so in a parallel fashion. Thus, in one line, Hamlet talks about what an actor would do if he had his own cue for passion: He would "drown the stage with tears," "cleave the general ear," "Make mad the guilty," "appall the free," "Confound the ignorant," and "amaze." Just a few lines later, he packs six more verbs into one line: "calls," "breaks," "Plucks," "blows," "Tweaks," and "gives." Hamlet is also not averse to loading adjectives onto a noun, as in "Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain!" As we will observe later, the soliloquy strives to convey the richness of inner speech in its own form of ut pictura noesis.

Even where the soliloquy may seem its most artificial and seemingly most in need of convention to justify it, we find that spectators are an implicit element here. In his prologue to The Double Dealer, William Congreve concedes, "for a man to talk to himself appears absurd and unnatural," but the playwrite does outline certain circumstances when talking to oneself does not violate good sense (for example, a villain planning aloud his misdeeds obviously intends to be overheard by the audience but not by the other actors). For Congreve, perhaps the most notable defender of the soliloquy in its post-Shakespearean decline, the soliloquy is permissible as long as the audience can "observe whether the person upon the stage takes any notice of them at all or no." (As a side-note, it is not always easy for an actor to ignore the audience. Thus, referring to the "To be, or not to be" soliloquy, Sir John Gielgud reported that "'frequently one can hear words and phrases being whispered by people in the front rows, just before one is going to speak them.'" Perhaps thought-broadcasting is not an absurd proposition after all! [Maher 2003, 9]). Congreve asserts that if the actor does take notice, such displays are "insufferable." He restricts the soliloquy to the function of moving the plot along through an imperfect medium:
   But otherwise, when a man in soliloquy reasons with himself, and
   "pros" and "cons", and weighs all his desibms, we ought not to
   imagine that this man either talks to us or to himself; he is only
   thinking, and thinking such matter as were inexcusable folly in him
   to speak. But because we are concealed spectators of the plot in
   agitation, and the poet finds it necessary to let us know the whole
   mystery of his contrivance, he is willing to inform us of this
   person's thoughts; and to that end is forced to make use of the
   expedient of speech, no other better way being yet invented for the
   communication of thought. (2008, par. 4)


Separating the "concealed spectators of the plot in agitation" from the soliloquizer overlooks how important even a concealed audience is as a sounding board for the dramatic production. As the Player in Stoppard's production plaintively asserts, "We're actors.... We pledged our identifies, secure in the conventions of our trade, that someone would be watching" (64). The meticulously fabricated game of hide-and-seek literary critics have foisted upon the actor and audience misses the subtleties at work here. For example, in the lead-up to his "O what a rogue and peasant slave" soliloquy, after all the actors have left the scene, Hamlet announces, "Now I am alone." This is hardly a necessary pronouncement for someone who is truly alone to make! In this regard, Strafe indicates that as consciousnesses we are never truly alone. He views consciousness as a group phenomenon: "it is through interaction with others, through communication that we are bound together in a community of consciousness" (2009, par. 33). This bonding, as we shall see, becomes part of our mental make-up. Even the soliloquist, in the seemingly most private moment, is part of a larger theater of consciousness, as Strate indicates: "We think with forms of communication that are community property. We think with tools that are not of our own devising. As much as we would like to think otherwise, our thoughts are not ours alone." Speaking from his own experience as an actor, Ben Kingsley notes of the audience: "They are part of a group consciousness that you address yourself to, that you share your dilemma with, but you don't include them in your dilemma. They're not part of it-it's not their fault. Yet you share it with them" (qtd. in Maher 2003, 73).

This notion of the theater as the staging place of a group consciousness finds support in other venues. In her "Distributing Cognition in the Globe," Evelyn Tribble argues our understanding of the repertory system of Shakespeare's day has "been distorted by a tendency to view cognition as individual rather than social" (2005, 139). She suggests one way out of this difficulty is to view cognition as "distributed across the entire system" (139). Tribble demonstrates how plot, prosody, and aural cues helped actors armed only with scrolls containing their own lines to navigate their individual ways about the play. Her concept of individual actors ensconced in a "surround" constituting both the physical and sociological milieu of the theater echoes Gail Paster's concept of the reciprocal nature of self and world in Early Modern thought. Like Dennett's Multiple Drafts model of consciousness, the interplay of individual parts in a larger organism both defines and is defined by that larger context. Tribble's focus on aural cues as an organizing feature here underscores the importance of the oral dimension in theatrical performances.

If the play is "the thing ... to catch the conscience of the king," then the soliloquy catches the consciousness of the soliloquist in this larger context. For example, what initiates the soliloquy, "O what a rogue and peasant slave am I," is an enactment of Aeneas' tale to Dido about the fall of Troy. During the play, the actor playing Pyrrhus becomes so overwrought with emotion that even the generally unobservant and less than empathetic Polonius is moved to exclaim, "Look whe'er he has not turn'd his color and has tears in 's eyes. Prithee no more" (2.2: 504-05). As "non-participant interlocutors," the audience may very well wonder what effect the performance of the fall of Troy has had on Hamlet. Moved by the actor playing Pyrrhus in a mere fiction, Hamlet laments his own inability to get worked up about (and to exact vengeance for) the murder of his father. The soliloquy demonstrates Hamlet in the process of attending to and processing the information supplied by the play-in almost a delayed-tape performance. This information could not be conveyed to the other characters; therefore, it is deflected, deferred, and relayed to the audience. Like the discourse analyst's interjection (or, in literary terminology, the apostrophe that often initiates it), the soliloquy mediates information state transitions in participation frameworks. As in Deborah Schiffrin's description of interjections, the soliloquy "indexes to prior text" (1996, 84). As a delayed response to such "prior text," the soliloquy incorporates the repairs, elaborations, and clarifications that normally mark the dialogue between two speakers. While the "participation" framework here involves overhearers--what Schiffrin would label passive listeners--the same protocols for dialogue remain in place. Indeed, we witness here another of Longacre's peak-marking effects, which he identifies as "slowing down the camera" (1985, 86). This occurs through a more lengthy and complicated sentence structure. "Camera action" certainly slows down and narrows in at these points in Hamlet, where the focus is on a single character, isolated, expounding his innermost thoughts. Elements of paraphrase run particularly deep in such expository soliloquies as "O that this too solid" and "O what a rogue." For instance, Alex Newell describes the final soliloquy as "mutely recapitulatory" (1991, 133). Longacre finds a maximum "information rate" during the peak. So often in his soliloquies, Hamlet not only paraphrases what has occurred but also offers a rich exposition of his feelings and responses to that preceding action.

Far from being solitary, the soliloquist here demonstrates just how important our interactions with others are in modeling and redirecting a self. Pyrrhus, also involved in avenging a dead father, acts in a fashion much more active than the dilatory Hamlet. Such role-playing or "antic dispositions" often serve as sounding boards for Hamlet as he works out a plan of action. Strate remarks upon how much our own interior processes are dependent upon such externalities:
   We also can internalize others when we imitate them and learn how
   to play roles. From the perspective of Mead, Hugh Duncan, and
   Erving Goffman, the internalization of role-playing is the way that
   we form a sense of self, or rather selves, for they see us as the
   sum of the roles that we play, the selves that we put on.... From
   this point of view, consciousness is an act we perform in the
   theater of the mind. Put another way, individual consciousness is
   an interiorization of collective consciousness, an internalization
   of our relationships with other pre-existing consciousnesses.
   (2009, par. 37)


Scaled-up from the interjection/apostrophe that often initiate it, the soliloquy serves as a reception marker. According to Andreas Jucker, such markers are more often used with strangers than friends and they
   not only provide the general acknowledgment that information was
   attended to and accepted but they provide differential feedback
   about the ease with which that information was integrated into the
   receiver's state of knowledge. One of the main functions of
   reception markers is to help the interlocutor create and update a
   model of the speaker's, current state of knowledge. (1998, 197)


What soliloquizer and audience engage in here is a delayed or deferred participation framework. The main difference is that now the "dialogue" represents an interiorized action and process whereby questioning of another becomes self-questioning and repairs are self-initiated rather than other-directed. Schiffrin offers an example of self-initiated repair in a transcribed segment in which a subject, Freda, discusses the possibility of her husband's having E.S.P. In the following mini-soliloquy, Freda, reasoning with herself, highlights how a repair can be subjectively oriented and yet "performed" before a non-participating audience:
   I mean ... he can almost foresee: ... eh::for instance with
   Nixon.... He said ... now he's not in a medical field my husband.
   He said coagulating his blood, ... uh thinning his--Nixon's blood
   ... will not be good for him, if he should be operated on. Oh maybe
   it's just knowledge. I don't know if that's E.S.P. or not in that
   c--in this case. (1996, 75)


Schiffrin points out how the "Oh" demonstrates Freda's "recategorizing" of her initial claim for her husband's prescience. At first ascribing it to some sort of psychic ability, she repairs her claim, conceding it may be "just knowledge." The hesitations, shifts, and corrections occurring in this monologue are features of self-management that mark the soliloquizer's own procedures in sorting out whatever issues have been brought up by the previous scene. Even though she is speaking aloud to herself, it is clear that her hesitations, shifts, and corrections signal an awareness of how listeners might be receiving her claim with some skepticism, thus explaining her hedging her claims.

Schiffrin sets forth the dual nature of such markers in mediating not only the communication between speakers but also the "communing" with oneself: "In sum, speaker orientation is not just objective recognition and receipt of information: it is also evaluation of the content of one's own talk, as well as the content of another's talk" (98). In similar fashion, Hamlet's own shifts to a "subjective orientation" involve him in evaluating his own talk. Thus, we witness Hamlet in the first soliloquy going through a process of self-management similar to Freda's:
   Why, she should hang on him
   As if increase of appetite had grown
   By what it fed on, and yet, within a month--
   Let me not think on't! Frailty, thy name is woman!--
   A little month, or ere those shoes were old
   With which she followed my father's body,
   Like Niobe, all tears--why, she, [even she]--
   O God, a beast that wants discourse of reason
   Would have mourn'd longer--married with my uncle....
                                          (1.2: 143-51)


Here, Hamlet reasons out his position. His own shift to a subjective orientation demonstrates his grappling with his emotions, sometimes in a staccato manner, as in"--why she, [even she]--O God...." As Lonnie Athens observes, people talk to themselves "elliptically" in a form of mental shorthand (1994, 524). For all its aesthetic, formal features, Hamlet's soliloquizing demonstrates some of the same elliptical shorthand. The discourse analyst's self-initiated repairs, clarifications, and elaborations are in full force here. As Athens points out, soliloquizing makes possible "self-portraitures" (527). Self-management is the halhnark of Hamlet's soliloquies. Of course, "self" here is a rather complex proposition. For example, Hamlet transitions us partway from private to inner speech when, in goading himself on to find a way forward in his revenge plot, he exclaims, "About my brains! Hum--"

Although inner speech is by and large idiosyncratic, Wiley argues that as "an offshoot or 'dialect' of outer speech," it can lend itself to a Saussurean investigation. This investigation may simply involve extrapolating from what we know to apply to the more inaccessible levels below. Rosenthal might argue that we are simply in a recursive loop here: "It is likely that we often assign content to our thoughts on the basis of what we say; in effect, we read back onto our thoughts the refined distinctions of content drawn so readily in speech" (2005, 253). For Damasio, reading back simply repackages inner speech via the instrument--language--that we employ. It can tell us little of inner speech itself. Others, though, find here more than a one-way proposition: language is implicated in thought and thought implicated in language. Thus, J. Leiber expresses the "sneaking suspicion language isn't something we invented but something we became, not something we constructed but something in which we created, and recreated, ourselves" (1991, 302). Vygotsky notes that "Thought development is determined by language, i.e., by the linguistic tools of thought and by the sociocultural experience of the child" (1986, 94). Voloshinov gives the most complete account of how much language is a communal property that can be individualized only with the greatest of efforts:
   The word in language is half someone else's. It becomes 'one's own'
   only when the speaker populates it with his own intention, his own
   accent, when he appropriates the word, adapting it to his own
   semantic and expressive intention. Prior to this moment of
   appropriation, the word does not exist in a neutral and impersonal
   language (it is not, after all, out of a dictionary that the
   speaker gets his words!), but rather it exists in other people's
   mouths, in other people's contexts, serving other people's
   intentions: it is from there one must take the word, and make it
   one's own. (1976, 90)


Such a position is echoed by Strate, who points out, "We think with forms of communication that are community property. We think with tools that are not of our own devising. As much as we would like to think otherwise, our thoughts are not ours alone" (2009, par. 34).

Opting not to downplay the contributions of vocalizations in the formation of inner speech, Wiley argues for an interface between outer speech and inner speech. Wiley finds inner speech to be "a distinct variation or dialect of ordinary language." Rather than a differential theory of meaning situated in langue, which "applies only weakly to inner speech," Wiley argues on behalf of a referential system for understanding its operations (2006, 336). In his view, the relationship between langue and parole finds its functional equivalent in that occurring between outer speech and inner speech. In inner speech, however, the binary is flipped. Thus, although outer speech provides some patterns and rules for inner speech, the highly private, elliptical, and idiosyncratic nature of inner speech still maintains some telling and overriding distinctions from outer speech:
   In sum, Saussure's two axes certainly do exist in inner speech. But
   not as he described them in outer speech. His syntagmatic and
   paradigmatic axes were heaped with meaning and complexity. In
   contrast, those of inner speech are both simpler and more complex.
   They are simpler in both semantics and syntax, using fewer words
   and fewer parts of speech. On the other hand they incorporate so
   many extra-linguistic elements-visual imagery, tactile sensations,
   emotion, kinesthetics, smells, tastes and sounds-that they are far
   more complex than Saussure's two axes. (323)


Interesting enough, while Hamlet professes to have that within which "passeth show," his speech in soliloquy is far less "abbreviated, shortcircuited, and economized" than that found in some of his more enigmatic outward pronouncements. This reversal is not as unusual as it may seem. Citing Vygotsky, Junefelt notes,
   There remains a constant interaction between outer and inner
   operations, one form effortlessly and frequently changing into the
   other and back again. Inner speech may come very close in form to
   external speech.... There is no sharp division between inner and
   external behavior, and each influences the other. (2007, 82)


Psychologically, at times, Hamlet seems like a man turned inside out. Thus, Stoppard's Rosencrantz may chance upon a sudden insight concerning Hamlet, but it hardly advances any reader's analysis: "ROS: Half of what he said meant something else, and the other half didn't mean anything at all" (1967, 57). Socially maladjusted--and for good reason--Hamlet turns inner speech inside out, with his idiosyncratic employment of outer speech more difficult to follow at times than his more polished soliloquizing. Playing the role of an "antic" or madman, Hamlet often engages in an inversion process whereby the filtering process that either excludes or refines inner speech is rendered inoperant. His private associations concerning "fishmongers" or "fathers as mothers" are injected into the public sphere, much to the confusion and consternation of other characters. The free associations and uncensored formulations of inner speech are given more play in these moments. In perhaps his only true moment of genuine insight, Polonius' ability to sense method in this madness suggests at least some parallel features between inner and outer speech. Claudius, too, can outline the situation here, as he does in summing up Hamlet's transformation to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern: "Sith nor th'exterior nor the inward man / Resembles that it was" (2.2: 6-7). Of course, while Claudius can clearly bear witness to the nature of the outer man, he can only hypothesize about the "inward man." Shielding the latter is the elliptical but audible inner speech that the audience can decode thanks to contextual clues supplied by the privately spoken soliloquy but appearing to the characters within the play as absurdities couched in emotional outbursts.

"Exteriorizing" his inward sell Hamlet's enigmatic pronouncements bear witness to Damasio's characterization of the difficulties of parsing inner speech. Thus, Damasio speculates about the possibility of entering another person's consciousness. He demurs, noting that even the most faithful representations of that brain's function cannot offer us the "separate sense of individual ownership and individual agency" of the person doing the experiencing (1999, 306). Referring to the "sealed off privacy" of inner speech, Wiley also sets forth a convincing case against a full rendering of its workings:
   if someone invented a window into consciousness, a mindreading
   machine, that could invade one's privacy, would they be able to
   understand the, now revealed, inner speech? I think not. They might
   be able to understand most of the words, but the non-linguistic or
   imagistic elements would be too much a personal script to follow.
   If this eavesdropper watched you, including your consciousness, for
   your whole life, had access to your memory and knew your way of
   combining non-linguistic representations with words, they might
   have your code, but this is another way of saying they would be
   another you. (337)


Polonius' inability to follow Hamlet's free-floating associative style might be viewed as a processing failure, a computation of "exteriorized" inner speech patterns at the rather pedestrian speeds of outer speech standards. Telegraphic and economical, with its omitted subject and a speed estimated at ten times the pace of outer speech, inner speech constitutes an "efficient cognitive resource" for those engaging in dialogue (229). Rather than occurring as intermental speech between individuals, however, such speech is intramental, "behind the scene":
   During outer speech or interaction all parties are simultaneously
   engaged in inner speech. This process interprets what has been said
   and rehearses what might be said. At these times inner speech
   probably runs the usual ten to one ratio, allowing it enough
   temporal play to digest and direct one's contribution to the
   conversation. (231)


Inner speech's facilitation of our dialogue indicates a comlection yet exists between the realms of outer and inner speech. Vygotsky and later investigators' contention that the movement from private to inner speech is rooted in the social discourse practices of the child's early experiences suggests that many elements of those practices may have been internalized or appropriated. Vygotsky argues that egocentric speech marks a transitional stage "from interpsychic to intrapsychic functioning, i.e., from the social, collective activity of the child to his more individualized activity...." For Vygotsky,
   Inner speech is something new brought in from the outside along
   with socialization. We believe that egocentric [private] speech
   stems from the insufficient individualization of primary social
   speech. Its culmination lies in the future. It develops into inner
   speech. (1986, 231)


It may well be that what constitutes sufficient individualization at the inner speech level is more complex than what even Vygotsky imagined. J. P. Lantolf finds private speech akin to "one half of a dialogue between individuals with a close personal relationship" (2000, 15). The soliloquy provides a staging place for consciousness as both a "presence to oneself" as well as an "orientation" to the world. Indeed, soliloquizing evokes what Anthony Dawson labels an "interiorized personhood" onstage (2001, 32).

Interrogating the soliloquist offers opportunities to investigate more fully the nature of this personhood. Artificial intelligence investigator John A. Barnden and cognitive theorist Harwood Fisher have turned to figurative language and tropes as possible windows or sensitive plates for looking into or schematizing inner speech. Barnden describes a prototype artificial intelligence system-ATT-Meta- capable of reasoning about mental states, "including metaphorically described ones." His project concerns itself "with propositional Attitudes and with Metaphor-based reasoning."

Barnden's system reveals a number of categories and linguistic indicators underpinning the soliloquizing practice. For example, it recognizes M1ND PARTS AS PERSONS formulations, such as "One part of Mike knows Sally has left for good" or "Part of Mike was insisting that Sally had left for good" (1998,169). Referring this latter category to Lakoff's multiple-selves metaphor, Barnden notes, in this instance,
   a person's mind is viewed as having "parts" that are themselves
   people-or, at least, complete minds. These inner persons have their
   own thoughts, hopes, emotions, and so forth. The inner persons can
   communicate in ordinary language ... there is no implication that
   the inner persons have any long-term existence or any special role
   in the mind: they can just be postulated by the speaker for the
   communication purposes of the moment. Different inner persons can
   have conflicting mental states, or a mental state held by one can
   fail to be held by another. (170)


In Hamlet's own self-adjurations, we also find similar metaphors at work in this parceling out process. Arnold observes in this respect: "Akin to the apostrophe of self is Hamlet's calling upon his heart and sinews (I, 5, 93-94), and again upon his heart and soul 0II, 2, 411,412)" (1965, 136).

This notion of talking to "our selves" suggests that the soliloquy incorporates many of the functions more commonly associated with communication among individuals in social interactions. Indeed, Barnden observes that the mixing of MIND PARTS AS PERSONS and IDEAS AS INTERNAL UTTERANCES "allows communication and other interaction between inner persons to take on the full complexity of real linguistic and social interaction" (1998, 171). As Junefelt argued earlier, inner speech thus mimics the situations of outer speech.

It is when Barnden explores the metaphor of IDEAS AS INTERNAL UTTERANCES that the problem of instrumentality arises. He offers the following examples of such speech, but with an important and telling proviso:

(1) Sally said to herself that Mike was u n trustworthy.

(2) Sally told herself, "Mike is untrustworthy."

(3) Sally thought, "Mike is untrustworthy."

All three examples involve a metaphor that "casts a thinking event as an event of 'internal speech.'" He stipulates, moreover, that "internal speech is not literally speech" and that these examples cease to represent INTERNAL SPEECH once they describe "out-loud speaking events" (169). They must remain within "the pale cast of thought." The prohibition against framing these examples in speech, which would break the cognitive loop in which they circulate, can be equated to Congreve's efforts to separate the character from the actor and, in poetic terms--the vehicle from the tenor. This bias for thought over speech demonstrates just how difficult it is to employ the instrumentality of language, whether the project involves conveying the "unspoken" but overheard thoughts of an actor or it involves teaching an artificial intelligence system how to translate such thoughts. As Claudius laments, this kind of separation is a damnable prospect: "My words fly up, my thoughts remain below: / Words without thoughts never to heaven go."

Barnden's "built-in metaphors" and inner persons "postulated by the speaker for communication purposes of the moment" recall Mead's definition of the self. Mead maintains that an individual "becomes a self in so far as he can take the attitude of another and act toward himself as others act" (1998, 171). As Mitchell Aboulafia observes, "Roles are complex sets of responses that we can learn only by taking the position of the other, and in doing so we learn to anticipate what the other will do and what is expected of us" (2001, 13). In his soliloquies, Hamlet is constantly matching his own actions against the norm of others' expectations. He refers to himself as a "John-a-dreams" or contrasts his own indecision with the boldness of the "delicate and tender prince" Fortinbras. In what Dennis Brisset and Charles Edgley describe as a dramaturgic transformation, he measures himself against the actor playing the role of Pyrrhus. Indeed, one possible proof that Hamlet is not insane lies in Robert Park's observation that "The individual whose conception of himself is not at all determined by the conceptions that other persons have of him is probably insane" (1952, 177). Hamlet constantly sees himself through the eyes of others. He addresses himself from other people's perspectives. In his apology to Laertes, for example, Hamlet displays a keen awareness of a distinction between his outer self and the madness that has made himself "the faction that is wronged":
   Was't Hamlet wrong'd Laertes? Never Hamlet!
   If Hamlet from himself be ta'en away,
   And when he's not himself does wrong Laertes,
   Then Hamlet does it not, Hamlet denies it.
   Who does it then? His madness. (5.2: 215-19)


In many respects, soliloquizing is the most social of speech actions. Athens contends that soliloquies are "by their nature multi-party dialogues, in which potential conflicts of opinion may always arise between our different interlocutors" (1994, 522). The "I" represents the impulse or inner urge to act, as well as the later expression of the impulse in overt action. The 'T' both calls out the "me" and responds to it. For Aboulafia, "The 'I' is the home of the individual's novel responses and the source of one's awareness of the social 'me'" (2001, 14). In his soliloquies, Hamlet generally signals an awareness of the opinions of this "social 'me,'" opinions he has internalized.

Mead distinguishes the "I"--"the response of the organism to the attitudes of the others"--from the "me"--"the organized set of attitudes of others which one himself assumes" (1934, 175; 177). He sees the self as "essentially a social process going on with these two distinguishable phases." As Dennis Brisset and Charles Edgley explain, selves do not comprise for Mead "facts that correspond to some objective internal reality of people's being." They are far more dynamic and non-essentialist than that:
   Because the self is a meaning and not an entity, it has a kind of
   fictional, constructed, consensually validated quality to it. One's
   interaction does not reflect, but rather establishes a self. Selves
   are fictions because each could have been constructed otherwise....
   (2006, 16)


With its "I" and "me" constructions, the soliloquy "impersonates'--literally, recreates the persons--found in the speaking situations of outer speech. Thus, Athens argues that the soliloquizer is never entirely alone, based on the very constitution of the self as a social construction:
   We take the attitudes of others by soliloquizing: we tell ourselves
   what others expect of us. The others, whose attitudes we may take,
   can be a single individual, or entire groups of individuals, or
   what [George Herbert] Mead ... calls the "generalized other," which
   for him ... represents: the attitude of the whole community."
   (1994, 522)


Athens maintains that "When soliloquizing we always converse with an interlocutor, even though it may deceivingly appear as if we are only speaking to ourselves."

Athens views the soliloquy as an internal give-and-take: "Everything that is said to us, including what we say to ourselves, some interlocutor tells us" (525). Labeling this interlocutor a "phantom other" or a "phantom community," Athens points out that our awareness of them is evoked "when we are caught up in the throes of dramatic personal change" (526). In this context, we do not have to look far for one of Hamlet's primary phantom others, the ghostly father whose mere appearance sets the Prince a-going:
   Do you not come your tardy son to chide,
   That, laps'd in time and passion, lets go by
   Th'important acting of your dread command?
   Oh, say! (3.4.106-09)


Athens does not argue for the actual existence of such spirits, although she does find that these internalized interlocutors do endow those enthused with them a certain uncanny prescience:
   What's more, our phantom others can produce in us what is aptly
   described as "exquisite emotional sensitivity" (Cuthbertson and
   Johnson 1992, pp. 156-8). While conversing with our phantom others,
   they tell us how an experience that we are undergoing will unfold
   before it actually ends, which creates in us a powerful self
   fulfilling prophesy. (1994, 527)


She points out further that these interlocutors can at times telescope "the projected endings of our experiences," as we witness in Hamlet's interview with the ghost: "O my Propheticke soule!" (527). Here, Hamlet's intuitions and suspicions about his uncle are brought to a head by his ghostly father, his phantom interlocutor. Hamlet's dialogues with his dead father, who speaks to no one else, are in reality soliloquies a la private speech, the results of an interiorization of that relationship. Strate is instructive in this regard:
   Especially significant is the fact that our relationships with
   others are interiorized as well. Eric Berne, founder of
   transactional analysis, argued that we all have an internalized
   parent as part of our own psyche.... Alternately, according to
   George Herbert Mead, we internalize not only specific others such
   as our parents but a generalized other through which we can try to
   see ourselves as others see us. In this way we gain a measure of
   self-reflexiveness, self-awareness, and self-consciousness. We also
   can internalize others when we imitate them and learn how to play
   roles. (2009, par. 37).


Often Hamlet engages in what George Herbert Mead would label a "retrospective act," demonstrating what Brissett and Edgley describe as the capacity of human beings "to see themselves as objects of their own experience and to note what they are now and compare it with what they used to be" (2006, 21). Wiley prefers the "I-you" distinction as a more logical formulation. Citing Peirce, he defines the "you" as "one's immediately future self as it is gradually approaching in the field of time)" (2006, 327). At any rate, self-management is the hallmark of Hamlet's soliloquies. Hamlet not only vents in his soliloquies, but he also seeks solutions and plans his next step (e.g., "The play's the thing / In which 1'11 catch the conscience of the king"). These last functions correlate to David Furrow's self-regulatory and Vera John-Steiner's procedural categories for private speech. These involve "utterances" that "refer to an event that might be immediately carried out" (148-49). For example, Hamlet offers a running commentary on his plan to kill a praying Claudius ("Now might I do it pat"). His private speech even allows the audience to witness how he talks himself out of the opportunity.

Wiley suggests that the construction of a self is intricately linked to inner speech, which he defines as "both the locus and platform for agency." For Damasio, the combination of thought and intense feeling is a necessary crucible for self-discovery: "You know you exist because the narrative exhibits you as a protagonist in the act of knowing" (1999, 172). Contained here, too, is a forward-looking thrust reminiscent of Peirce's notion of casting about for a "fully-formed dialogical self," a "future self." Not surprisingly, as Hamlet gains a sense of self-assurance, defying augury, he exercises an admirable control over all the tenses by which one measures oneself: "If it be [now], 'tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet it [will] come--the readiness is all" (5.2: 203-05).

Defining agency "as a shuttle between the self and the awareness of self," Fisher acknowledges there is a problem of circularity here (2009, 90). The way out leads him straight to the theater, as he claims "first-person self is in fact a third-person role" (92). By these (stage)lights, the soliloquy convention offers a scripting, blocking out, and staging of cognitive theorists and discourse analysts' own considerations of how outer, private, and inner speech relate to one another. Thus, Fisher's concept of the I-formation as a first- and third-person formulation is played out in the theatrical arena, where the character/actor formulation already supplies counters for testing his notions. The character's inner speech is voiced through the actor's private speech. They are, in effect, two sides of a single coin. The soliloquy, far from unnatural or mere convention, constitutes a reenactment and at least partial staging of the relationship between inner and private speech.

Fortunately, Fisher provides some means for sorting through the complex roles that constitute the evolving relationship between inner speech and the I-formation. He finds that, as we approach the question of inner speech, "the logical forms of thought are apparently coterminous with the nature of language and speech!" (88). For Fisher, "the 'I,' on a level above itself, thinks about itself' (92). Fisher defines the conscious state as "one in which the self is aware of (has a perspective on) itself as an actor":
   Another stretch of the reverse reduction would be to say that
   specification and separation of self from the objects of language
   results in the self 'as an observer.' With its linguistic and
   socially dependent signs--'I' and 'me'--the individual self can now
   observe itself as an object and observe other selves as objects.
   All this would depend on the linguistic signs a given self can
   regard as meaningful. But that given self, operating from a
   first-person position, would be acting in a third-person role by
   submitting her thoughts to the socially agreed upon signs and
   schematizations. (90)


Fisher employs set theory as a means of sorting through the various levels of the I-formation: "When the 'I' is a subsuming category, it can have itself as a subclass. In short, 'I' can make a judgment about 'I.' The reflexive relation between 'I' tire subject and itself as an object is a key feature of the constitutive form'" (32). In Fisher's hierarchy, we find the "I">S>A (the "I" supersedes the self which supersedes agency). The "I" can possess its own subsets; for example, Hamlet tells Horatio and the guards that in the future he will not be himself by putting on an "antic disposition." The I-formation representing Hamlet now includes the subset {antic disposition). Just a scene later, in Ophelia's drawing room, this subset will be enlarged: I U [{antic disposition} {distraught lover}]. Fisher applies the "classical set/subset hierarchies" to such dispositions; he argues there is a "logical calculus of something that has more than one version of itself or exists at more than one point in time or space [which] can be solved with markers such as subscripts" (108). Even Damasio, who argues for a one body/one mind approach to the self, acknowledges the skill of actors in convincing audiences "they have other minds and other selves" (1999, 142-43).

While Fisher's sets and subsets might seem a rather calculating way to approach the figure of Hamlet, they do reflect the operations of his l-formation. For example, the beginning of the soliloquy, "O what a rogue and peasant slave am I," reverses Fisher's formulation: S>A>"I." The "rogue and peasant slave" not only precedes the "I" but also threatens to make the "I" a subset of its own terms. Worse yet, the actor that Hamlet witnesses operates with a greater sense of agency (and feeling) even though he is only acting in a fiction. As Levy notes, Hamlet "demean[s] his own identity" in this passage. Levy finds further that at several points Hamlet has "a need not to be Hamlet: that is, to deny or escape his identity" (2002, 222).

Although no longer, in Ophelia's phrase, the very glass of fashion, Hamlet is certainly the glass of introspection. He can neither deny nor escape himself and the heavy emotional burden oppressing him. In the neurophysiologist's terms, the organism encounters itself as object and, spurred by a second order of feelings, an "internal simulation" occurs. For Damasio, "All emotions use the body as their theatre" and, as Wider observes, it is the affective nature of consciousness that sparks us into self-consciousness (1999, 51). Situating the soliloquy at the very crossroads of thought and emotion, Athens emphasizes its recuperative function in bridging the artificial divide our culture places between the two: "We simply lack words that can express both thought and emotion." As Wiley observes, "we probably emote more in inner speech to compensate for the restrictions on outer speech" (2006, 330). For Athens, there is no better staging ground and sounding board for expressing intense and divisive internal conflicts than the soliloquy:
   Soliloquizing transforms our raw, bodily sensations into emotions.
   The diffuse, amorphous feelings originating from sources either
   inside or outside our bodies, which we regularly experience,
   are transformed through our soliloquizing into the full-blown
   emotions that we subsequently identify as pride or shame, happiness
   or sadness, love or hate, tranquility or rage, etc. (1994, 525)


It is at his most intensely emotional moment that Hamlet feels "raw, bodily sensations [being transformed] into emotions": "Oh that this too, too sallied [solid] flesh would melt, / Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew!" Adieu, indeed! Wider argues that "in depression, the body feels heavy and the world dulled" (1997, 82). Bodily awareness and self-consciousness become an excruciating burden for Hamlet here.

What we arrive at here is the concept of higher-order thought: consciousness arises from the state of being aware of our own thought processes, of making our own thoughts the objects of our consideration. Levy, for example, observes that "Hamlet is always both the subject thinking and the emergent consequence of those thoughts" (2002, 230). Unlike the essentialist view of Aristotelian-Thomist thought, where "man thinks because it is his abiding and defining nature to do so," thought in Hamlet is "the means by which the thinker forges or 'shapes' his identity as a rational being." In Fisher's terms, the I, in a level above itself, thinks about itself, a self now formed secondarily as an object of its considerations. In terms of the soliloquy, what appears to be a split between the actor and character, thought and speech, is in truth a faithful representation of Fisher's model. Robert Weimann invokes theatrical convention in legitimizing the practice of soliloquy through a "bifold authority" that posits speech in the "actor-character." This bifold authority "is part of a dialogic situation in both the imaginary world of the play and the playing in a material theatre addressing and responding to spectators" (2000, 226).

If we delve more deeply into what constitutes this bifold authority, we will find that the soliloquy models the brain's "bifold" or dual-hemispheric make-up. In "Ego-Centric Speech and the Origin of Thought," Rhawn Joseph addresses the many perplexing questions posed by the phenomenon of egocentric (private) speech. Referring to the function of egocentric speech in which a speaker explains his actions to himself, Joseph points out the oddity that this speaker "acts as both audience and orator" (2000, 3). He then inquires: "who is explaining what to whom?" He finds that what we are witnessing is a "functional duality and in fact a functional multiplicity ... implied in the production and reception of thought" (3). He finds a curious splitting here:
   Assuming that the subject of thought originates in me, the thinker,
   and given that the organization of this often linear verbal
   arrangement is also a product of Self-generated activity, then it
   should be expected in some instances that "I" should know what 'T'
   am about to think prior to thinking it. "I" should also know the
   conclusion before it is communicated. In fact, often we do know
   (albeit non-verbally, tacitly) before we think (and while we
   think). (3)


Focusing on the brain's bicameral structure, Joseph speculates that one part of the brain "has access to the information which is to be verbally thought about, before it is thought about in a verbal form" (3). For Joseph, "thinking often serves in part as a means of organizing, interpreting, and explaining impulses which arise in the non-linguistic portions of the nervous system so that the language dependent regions may achieve understanding ..." (3). He argues that the child thinks out loud because he is "incapable of internally generating linguistic thoughts" at this point of his neurological development. Joseph offers a compelling explanation as to why the communication lag occurs:
   It is thus apparent that they are explaining their actions to their
   left hemisphere. Because the explanation occurs, initially, only
   after the behavior has been completed, [this] suggests that the
   left hemisphere did not have access to the behavioral plan or the
   motivation behind it, until after the act was completed; which is
   then explained as a verbal commentary.

      This suggests that the behavior being explained was therefore
   planned, initiated, or mediated, presumably, by the right
   hemisphere or limbic system. (2000, 13)


Thus, the left hemisphere must employ language to put into words--explain to itself--what the right hemisphere, operating in a different, non-linguistic mode, has set in motion! In order to attain to a bifold authority, the left hemisphere must "make sense of behavior initiated" by the right. Because the myelination process and the corpus callosum's commissures are "grossly incomplete," interhemispheric communication in the child is limited, thus the necessity for talking aloud. Of course, Hamlet is no child. More appropriately, his melancholic status in a play that marks the waning of the English Renaissance matches his soliloquizing practices to the private speech of older adults, particularly those in the throes of melancholy and helplessness, who revert to a self-denigrating form of private speech.

This intramental communication, expressed in the private speech of the soliloquy, often arises in times of great stress or cognitive challenge. The soliloquy's self-regulating and self-evaluating functions are everywhere apparent in Hamlet. Words spoken aloud permit a close scrutiny of language itself, as J. P. Lantolf argues "decoupling it from its normal communicative function" (2000, 92). The division of sound image from sound in some treatments of the soliloquy belies Bruce Smith's contention in noting, "Dico ergo sum: If Lacan is right, that is the most any of us can say with confidence. We speak ourselves into being" (1999, 246). It is not the "words, words, words" Hamlet reads but those he speaks that spark his progress towards tragic self-recognition. A public display of private speech, the soliloquy enacts the mental disposition of the speaker. In W. Frawley's estimation, such private speech "does not represent thought but is a symptom of it ... it is the style of control" (1997, 185). Studies of private speech and the soliloquy reveal much about that style as well as the mechanism of control at work here. Emerging more fully from the shadows, the "pale cast of thought" takes on a more definitive outline here.

UNIVERSITY OF DETROIT MERCY

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(1) Pratt capitalizes "Audience" as a means of underscoring their voluntary participation in this unique speaking situation.
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Author:Freeman, John C.
Publication:symploke
Article Type:Essay
Geographic Code:1USA
Date:Jan 1, 2010
Words:10657
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