The Spire of Babel

The Spire of Babel

Theories of linguistic relativity orbit the premise that the language one speaks has a tangible, measurable effect on how reality is perceived.

While we all, as humans, experience love, joy, dread, sadness, pain, boredom, the language we speak (or sign) adds hues, tints, tones, saturations, pigmentations, contrast; each of our personal universes is similar. But only similar.

Here is a simple example. In English we say “I am cold.” In Spanish we do not say “I-am-cold.” In Spanish we say “I have cold,” as in “I am experiencing the sensation of cold.” Saying “tengo frío” does not use the “to be” verb.

I suppose one could use the “to be” verb and literally say “I am cold,” but any Spanish speaker in the vicinity would instantly make a face at the odd expression. How can one “be” cold? Also, “Soy frío” simply sounds funny.

I’m being facetious, but this was meant to be a simple example of how language can affect how one perceives reality. And this was just in comparing one very simple, universal physical experience between two of the world’s most commonly spoken languages.

Now imagine the range of differences in perception of love, or joy, or sadness, concepts far more profound and fundamental, and how must those perceptions further vary among the over 7,000 recognized languages spoken in the world today. Can you imagine?

Literature written in a given language by non-native speakers frequently showcases words or phrases from their original language in an attempt to help the reader better understand their intended meaning. Why? Why is it difficult to recount a story involving my grandmother and the time she sang me songs while making a dish solely by hand entirely in English? Because the original experience happened in that other language, perceived in that other reality. Transcribing it using only English words would be like trying to describe the sun by using the light of a candle as an example. The writer wants you to understand, to feel it. That is the point of sharing stories and experiences.

But there is always the inverse. 

The story of the Tower of Babel is intended as a cautionary tale about not exceeding one’s grasp with impure intent. 

The story took place a mere 100 years after the biblical flood, when humanity was still one group of people. The story says God “confused” them for their pride and not a one of them could thereafter understand the other. 

Confused.

The story was written sometime in the 5th or 6th century BCE. It was enough to tell worshippers that from one moment to the next the people of the world suddenly spoke different languages, that despite desperation and anguish they could no longer communicate. It was enough explanation for my parents. It was enough explanation for me.

God confused their language because their hearts were full of pride, naughty naughty. 

But wait. He punished them. But did he simply make it so they couldn’t talk to one another? It seems that the intended effect was to disrupt the cooperative effort of the entire human race. But it is more sinister still. For not only did people no longer understand one another’s words, when we consider the linguistic relativity we were talking about earlier, their very perceptions of  reality changed.

The human race could no longer understand itself as a whole. God’s confusion, then, his punishment, is equivalent to the fracturing of the human experience. Was that His intent? Was the punishment meant to be so severe? Could this be why we feel separate from one another? And if I wrote this in a different language, how would this change?