On language
22/07/14 05:26
For many generations our people have believed that the words we choose to talk about life help shape our perception of reality. I suppose that the deepest origins of language are lost in antiquity, but one of the stories that has come down to us with our language is that an alphabetic language grew up in part out of the desire to talk about God. Prior to the rise of alphabetic languages, writing systems were mostly pictographic. People drew small pictures of the things that they wanted to communicate. Egyptian hieroglyphics are an excellent example. The sign for bird looks like a bird. The sign for snake is a toy snake. The sign for sun looks like the sun. As the language developed there were other signs such as dots and dashes that gained specific meanings and enabled more complex messages to be communicated.
An alphabetic language, on the other hand, starts with symbols. Individual letters are not literal depictions of anything. They do have correspondents with sounds that we make when speaking, but the process of reading is not a matter of decoding a series of pictures, but rather of using symbols that have a common meaning.
Researchers say that we begin to learn language before we are born. The sounds and rhythms of the mother’s speech are transmitted to the baby developing within her. The child is born with a slight predisposition to learning the specific language of the mother. Of course young children are capable of learning additional languages and when they are raised in a different culture, they make the language substitution apparently quite easily. Nonetheless, we seem to be born with a general sense of language. From the first moments, parents use words to sooth babies, even before the language is about communication of concepts. Reassurance, love and safety can be communicated before the baby has learned to speak.
We know from experience and scientific research that in general language centers are located in the left hemisphere of the brain. Strokes and other traumatic brain injuries can result in the loss of language. In severe cases the victim is left with no language, no memories, no way of evaluating time. Instead of thoughts as we experience them, these patients experience only sensory intake. A moment is either pleasant or not. And yet it seems that these people are capable of feeling basic emotions and experiencing life in a meaningful way. Joy and love do not seem to be dependent upon language to express them.
But for those of us who do experience the world through language, there is a continuing attempt to find expression of those emotions and experiences which seem to us to be most important. We read and write poetry in an attempt to use language to express things that seem to be almost beyond words. The key word in that previous sentence is “almost.” Just because an idea or an emotion is complex, or difficult to express doesn’t stop us from trying to express it.
David James Duncan wrote in “The River Why,” “People often don’t know what they’re talking about. When they talk about love, they really don’t know what they’re talking about.” The simple fact that love is more complex and more nuanced than our language doesn’t stop us from trying to talk about it. We make analogies. We write long, complex sentences and combine them into paragraphs. Still, for those who have experienced love, the desire to speak of it remains very strong.
There are lots of other times when we experience our words as falling short of reality. In the ancient stories of our people we can sense the experience of the beyond by reading the official words of sacred text. When Abraham comes close to the sacrifice of Isaac, we sense this huge relief when the ram is provided for the sacrifice. But if we read the story carefully, we find in it a major shift in the understanding of the world and the relationship between God and humans. This story begins to function in the lives of our people as a way to reach beyond ancient practices of sacrifice to new ways of showing commitment to the relationship with God. Never again in our scriptures do we read of God as demanding human sacrifice. Our story took a turn in a new direction. And no matter how many times we read or speak the story, we all understand that there is much more going on that the simple elements of gathering wood, sharpening the knife and going off to a remote place.
The descriptions of Pentecost in the book of Acts is similar in its descriptions. It is obvious that there is more going on than the metaphor-laden words of the story. “Divided tongues, as of fire,” is not the same thing as tongues of fire. “A loud sound, like the rush of a mighty wind,” is only a particle description. It is obvious that words alone fail to express the power of that experience. And yet words are the tools that we have to convey that experience to others. The story was repeated again and again in the early days of the church. We continue to tell it over and over, even though we know that the words fall short of the complete experience that was known to the eyewitnesses.
I feel a deep sense of gratitude at having the ability to use words. Even though many of the things I write fall short of being full or accurate description, language is a tool that helps me process the experiences of this life. I write because it is a way of processing what has happened and a way of expressing the deep meaning that I sense in the moments of my life. Part of that deep meaning is connection with others. I write in part because I sense that someone might read my words. It doesn’t seem as if I am writing for a particular audience, as is the case when I craft a sermon, but I do have some sense that the words are a way of reaching out to others.
Perhaps that is the real reason why we have language - to make connections with others and remind ourselves that we are not alone in the world. And that is a very good thing indeed.
An alphabetic language, on the other hand, starts with symbols. Individual letters are not literal depictions of anything. They do have correspondents with sounds that we make when speaking, but the process of reading is not a matter of decoding a series of pictures, but rather of using symbols that have a common meaning.
Researchers say that we begin to learn language before we are born. The sounds and rhythms of the mother’s speech are transmitted to the baby developing within her. The child is born with a slight predisposition to learning the specific language of the mother. Of course young children are capable of learning additional languages and when they are raised in a different culture, they make the language substitution apparently quite easily. Nonetheless, we seem to be born with a general sense of language. From the first moments, parents use words to sooth babies, even before the language is about communication of concepts. Reassurance, love and safety can be communicated before the baby has learned to speak.
We know from experience and scientific research that in general language centers are located in the left hemisphere of the brain. Strokes and other traumatic brain injuries can result in the loss of language. In severe cases the victim is left with no language, no memories, no way of evaluating time. Instead of thoughts as we experience them, these patients experience only sensory intake. A moment is either pleasant or not. And yet it seems that these people are capable of feeling basic emotions and experiencing life in a meaningful way. Joy and love do not seem to be dependent upon language to express them.
But for those of us who do experience the world through language, there is a continuing attempt to find expression of those emotions and experiences which seem to us to be most important. We read and write poetry in an attempt to use language to express things that seem to be almost beyond words. The key word in that previous sentence is “almost.” Just because an idea or an emotion is complex, or difficult to express doesn’t stop us from trying to express it.
David James Duncan wrote in “The River Why,” “People often don’t know what they’re talking about. When they talk about love, they really don’t know what they’re talking about.” The simple fact that love is more complex and more nuanced than our language doesn’t stop us from trying to talk about it. We make analogies. We write long, complex sentences and combine them into paragraphs. Still, for those who have experienced love, the desire to speak of it remains very strong.
There are lots of other times when we experience our words as falling short of reality. In the ancient stories of our people we can sense the experience of the beyond by reading the official words of sacred text. When Abraham comes close to the sacrifice of Isaac, we sense this huge relief when the ram is provided for the sacrifice. But if we read the story carefully, we find in it a major shift in the understanding of the world and the relationship between God and humans. This story begins to function in the lives of our people as a way to reach beyond ancient practices of sacrifice to new ways of showing commitment to the relationship with God. Never again in our scriptures do we read of God as demanding human sacrifice. Our story took a turn in a new direction. And no matter how many times we read or speak the story, we all understand that there is much more going on that the simple elements of gathering wood, sharpening the knife and going off to a remote place.
The descriptions of Pentecost in the book of Acts is similar in its descriptions. It is obvious that there is more going on than the metaphor-laden words of the story. “Divided tongues, as of fire,” is not the same thing as tongues of fire. “A loud sound, like the rush of a mighty wind,” is only a particle description. It is obvious that words alone fail to express the power of that experience. And yet words are the tools that we have to convey that experience to others. The story was repeated again and again in the early days of the church. We continue to tell it over and over, even though we know that the words fall short of the complete experience that was known to the eyewitnesses.
I feel a deep sense of gratitude at having the ability to use words. Even though many of the things I write fall short of being full or accurate description, language is a tool that helps me process the experiences of this life. I write because it is a way of processing what has happened and a way of expressing the deep meaning that I sense in the moments of my life. Part of that deep meaning is connection with others. I write in part because I sense that someone might read my words. It doesn’t seem as if I am writing for a particular audience, as is the case when I craft a sermon, but I do have some sense that the words are a way of reaching out to others.
Perhaps that is the real reason why we have language - to make connections with others and remind ourselves that we are not alone in the world. And that is a very good thing indeed.