The Two Languages of Thought: Why Some Verbs Are More Equal Than Others in Writing Feedback

Years ago, I found myself in a heated debate with a close colleague for whom I had great respect when we were collaborating on an accreditation application for the Reading Specialist credential to submit to the California Commission on Teacher Credentialing. At issue was how our proposed revised curriculum would cover the topic of orthography in two different courses, one focused on assessing and tutoring struggling readers in the early grades, the other focused on writing process instruction. The specific sticking point was invented spelling.

At one point, my colleague said, "I think your approach is flawed." What I heard was "I feel skeptical about your approach to letting children make up spellings." Immediately, I felt my heart rate increase and began citing studies showing improvement in phonological processing through invented spelling.

"No, that's not what I meant," they said. "I've analyzed your verbiage in the draft and found inconsistencies between the wording you use to explain your rationale and the wording of the Commission standard. I personally see no problem with invented spelling."

This linguistic confusion taught me something about giving and getting feedback on writing. Our language contains two fundamentally different ways of talking about writing, each pointing to entirely different realms of consciousness. Expressing a subjective state of mind as feedback can be treacherous. If the feedback is positive, neither the giver nor the getter understands why the writing worked. If the feedback is negative, chances of confusion are even greater.

The Divided Mind in Writing Feedback

Our lexicon for describing mental activity falls generally into two broad categories. They emerge from different modes of being. I've conjured up the phrase "internal thought verbs" for the personal plane of existence and "rhetorical thought verbs" for the interpersonal plane, each serving distinct functions when we receive and provide feedback on writing.

Internal thought verbs (believe, feel, wonder, doubt, imagine) reference states of mind that exist within individual consciousness, inaccessible to direct observation. When providing writing feedback, these verbs signal a reader's subjective experience: "I feel confused by this paragraph" or "I believe your argument lacks coherence." These verbs gesture toward a reality that is, by definition, private; they are linguistic attempts to externalize what philosopher John Searle called the "first-person ontology" of consciousness.

When we use these terms in feedback, we're attempting to translate qualia, i.e., the raw, subjective experience of reading, into the shared symbolic medium of language. This translation is always approximate, always incomplete. The word "believe" doesn't capture the felt experience of believing any more than saying "I feel confused by your introduction" captures the actual experience of confusion. These verbs evolved not as precise descriptors but as pragmatic flotation devices across the explanatory gap that separates individual minds.

Rhetorical thought verbs (analyze, demonstrate, conclude, infer, deduce) reference activities grounded in our collective cognitive ecosystem. In feedback contexts, these verbs point to observable features in the text: "This paragraph demonstrates logical inconsistency" or "Your evidence supports a different conclusion." They don't point inward to private states but outward to socially established procedures with publicly verifiable results.

These verbs emerged alongside what neuroscientist Merlin Donald calls "theoretical culture." He posits that the human brain is specifically adapted to function within a complex symbolic culture and cannot realize its full potential without immersion in a distributed communication network largely dependent on the externalization of memory and reasoning that began with writing systems.

When we use rhetorical thought verbs in feedback, we describe not how the writing feels from within but how it functions within communities of minds. When an editor says a piece "proves" a point, the validity of this action doesn't depend on subjective experience but on adherence to intersubjective standards refined over centuries of collective intellectual development in writing and rhetoric.

This linguistic bifurcation reflects the duality of human consciousness itself, an isolated theater of private experience and a node in a vast cultural network of distributed cognition, a duality that creates persistent challenges in writing feedback. We exist as subjects with unreachable inner lives and as participants in what philosopher Andy Clark calls the "extended mind." Cognition transcends individual brains to access external symbolic systems and social practices.

Our language of thought captures this paradox: we speak both of mental states that no one else can directly access ("I found your essay moving") and of thinking processes that exist primarily in the space between minds rather than within them ("Your essay establishes clear causal relationships"). The most effective writing feedback navigates both realms.

The distinction helps explain why feedback discussions can lead to misunderstanding. When we use internal thought verbs in feedback, we're attempting something philosophically impossible: the direct communication of consciousness itself. When we use rhetorical thought verbs, we're participating in a collective enterprise with established conventions that transcend individual subjectivity. The former points to the aspects of mind that remain irreducibly our own; the latter to the ways our thinking about writing has always been social.

The Simulated Third Way: Artificial Subjectivity in Writing Feedback

AI systems like ChatGPT introduce a fascinating third category to this philosophical landscape of writing feedback: simulated subjectivity. These systems produce language that mimics both internal and rhetorical thought, but through a categorically different process than human consciousness. When an AI system says "I believe your introduction is effective," it references neither a private subjective state (it has none) nor a participation in intersubjective norms (it doesn't participate in human communities).

Instead, it simulates these references through statistical patterns derived from human language about writing. This creates what philosopher Daniel Dennett called a "heterophenomenological" entity, something that speaks as if it has subjective experiences without actually having them. The AI becomes a mirror reflecting our linguistic patterns of expressing consciousness without the underlying phenomena that gives those expressions meaning in humans, a mirror increasingly used in writing feedback contexts.

The philosophical implications for writing feedback are mind-boggling. AI systems demonstrate that the appearance of referring to subjective states can be entirely separated from the reality of having them. This suggests that our everyday attributions of mental states to others based on their linguistic behavior in feedback scenarios might rest on shakier ground than we assume. When a writing instructor says "I find this confusing," are they accurately reporting an internal state, or performing a conventional feedback ritual?

The Ethical Dimension: Respecting What Cannot Be Shared in Writing Feedback

Understanding this distinction reveals ethical dimensions to our communication about writing. When we use internal thought verbs in feedback, we're making claims about a domain that others cannot directly verify. This creates both opportunities for authentic connection and for manipulation. Writing feedback in academic and professional contexts often deliberately blurs the line between subjective claims ("I believe your argument is weak") and intersubjective ones ("Analysis demonstrates your argument lacks sufficient evidence"), exploiting our tendency to treat all thought-references as equally valid.

Learning to distinguish between these different modes of thought-reference allows us to engage more ethically with others' minds when providing writing feedback. Recognize that internal thought claims deserve a certain epistemic modesty; no one can claim authority over another's subjective experience of a text. Acknowledge that rhetorical thought claims must meet communal standards of evidence and reasoning about effective writing. Understand that simulated thought claims from AI require a unique interpretive framework that neither grants them the authority of human intersubjectivity nor attributes to them the authenticity of human subjectivity when responding to writing.

The Existential Significance: Being-with-Others Through Writing

This linguistic distinction also points to what Martin Heidegger called our "being-with-others" (Mitsein), a condition made concrete through the act of writing or receiving feedback. Humans exist simultaneously as isolated subjects and as participants in a shared world. Internal thought verbs reflect our existential solitude; aspects of consciousness remain irreducibly our own, even as we respond to writing. Rhetorical thought verbs reflect our existential sociality; our thinking about texts is always already embedded in collective practices.

The tension between these modes is not a problem to be solved but the defining condition of human consciousness as it engages with writing. We are beings whose minds exist both as private theaters of experience and as nodes in a vast intersubjective network of written communication. When we say "I think this paragraph needs revision," we are simultaneously making a claim about our isolated subjective state and participating in a collective cognitive enterprise with roots stretching back to the birth of language and writing. The most important communication skill in writing and receiving feedback may not be choosing the right verbs but developing the wisdom to navigate this paradox with grace, acknowledging both the unbridgeable gap between minds and the sturdy bridges language sometimes builds across it.

The Language of Feedback

My initial misunderstanding with my colleague reveals our dual consciousness status. When they said, "I think your approach is flawed," I immediately interpreted this as a subjective feeling of skepticism about my position on invented spelling. But they were actually practicing rhetorical thought verbs; they had analyzed my draft and found specific inconsistencies with commission standards. This linguistic confusion illustrates the challenges we face when giving and receiving feedback on writing.

When providing feedback, expressing a subjective state of mind can be treacherous. Positive subjective feedback ("I like this") fails to help either party understand why the writing worked, while negative subjective feedback ("I feel confused by this") can lead to even greater misunderstanding. Effective writing feedback requires awareness of this linguistic divide. When we frame our responses using internal thought verbs alone ("I feel," "I believe"), we risk trapping our feedback within the inaccessible space of our individual consciousness. The writer receives an emotional reaction but no clear path forward. Conversely, when we employ rhetorical thought verbs exclusively ("This demonstrates," "This contradicts"), we may appear coldly analytical, disconnected from the human dimension of communication.

The most valuable feedback navigates both realms with intention. It acknowledges the subjective experience ("This opening made me curious") while connecting it to rhetorical effectiveness ("because it establishes a clear tension that drives the narrative forward"). This approach bridges the explanatory gap between minds, and it connects the private experience of reading with the shared standards of effective writing.

For writers receiving feedback, understanding this distinction enables a more productive response. When someone offers feedback grounded in internal thought verbs, we can recognize its inherent limitations. It tells us about their subjective experience but not necessarily about objective qualities in our writing. When someone offers feedback using rhetorical thought verbs, we can engage with specific, actionable insights while still recognizing that all rhetorical judgments emerge from communal standards that in themselves leave room for subjectivity.

Giving effective feedback requires a certain epistemic restraint. We must recognize the privacy of our subjective responses and the socially constructed nature of our rhetorical judgments. The best feedback acknowledges this paradox and respects the unbridgeable gap between minds while still attempting to build those sturdy bridges that expert use of language sometimes creates across it.