Learning Hindi for a Second Time
A collage of Whiteheadian reflections on language
Inspired by an essay from Rohit Kumar
Language, Community, and the Fallacy of the Perfect Dictionary
The soul is not a thing.
—a soul is not a thing, it is not something which stands untouched by the events of your life. Your soul is the river of your life; it is the cumulative flow of your experience. But what do we experience? The world. Each other. So your soul is the cumulative flow of all of your relationships with everything and everyone around you. In a different image, we weave ourselves out of the threads of our relationships with everyone around us. But clearly, some people, some relationships, are the central threads of that weaving.
We don't just have souls, we become souls. Language helps us create the souls we are becoming.
As souls-in-process, we are forever experiencing and responding to our own pasts, both painful and joyful, and to the surrounding world. Our languages help us respond and, along the way, find that richness of experience or strength of beauty for which our minds and hearts yearn.
[Language is] the instrument whereby freedom of thought and of individual criticism finds its expression.
As language helps create our souls, we help create language, too. Nothing is static.
Languages consist of habits of speaking and hearing, writing and reading. These habits include the sounds and the meanings, all of which are contextual. The meanings emerge in context and can change over time. As contexts change, meanings change. Sometimes, in order to avoid confusion, people become literalistic. They assume that there is a perfect dictionary in which all meanings are well-defined. There is no perfect dictionary, not on earth or in heaven.
Oddly, the individual who can speak part of multiple languages may be better suited for communication in the modern society than an individual who has a substantial grasp of only one language. What is the use of knowing words such as depone or quixotic if no one else knows their meaning? Thus, an evolution of language seems to be occurring, in which the idea of translation—exchanging one signifier for another in order to describe an object—may eventually be replaced with the idea of synthesis—combining the most useful signifier from a variety of languages to piece together a multi-linguistic meaning. In the words of Alfred North Whitehead, “Human life is driven forward by its dim apprehension of notions too general for its existing language.”
Communities have souls, too. Language helps create the soul of a community. The soul of a community is always in process.
If two nations speak the same language, this emotional efficacy of words and phrases will in general differ for the two. What is familiar for one nation will be strange for the other nation; what is charged with intimate associations for the one is comparatively empty for the other.
The soul of a community is its inner ethos, its evolving collection of practices and subjective forms, its distinctive forms of beauty. Language helps create the soul of a community. The language need not be written; spoken language has a power of its own. Written language adds a quality of memory.
It is the function of language, working through literature and through the habitual phrases of early life, to foster this diffused feeling of the common possession of a treasure infinitely precious.
In the course of translating globalization to quanqiuhua (全球化) or elephant to daxiang (大象) or anger toshengqi (生气), words are not simply rendered to a new language. The cultural and historical tradition that shapes these words and manifests their meanings bears testament to the complexity and multifaceted uses of these terms. Thus, to translate is not only to attempt to transliterate signifiers, but it is also an attempt to transliterate culture.
Communities are both resilient and fragile. The control of language by an imperial power can diminish the soul of a community.
To rob people of their languages is to rob them of their souls. Language control is one one of the tools of colonialism. It is a crime, a sin, to rob people of their languages, especially if done in the name of "progress."
Unilateral power is woven deeply into our lives... But consider what it looks like in the extreme. Given the realities of the world, no person has complete power over anyone. But consider examples where people come very close to having absolute unilateral power over others. The starkest examples of this are deeply troubling: child abuse, slavery, rape, torture chambers, tyrants, and genocide. Unilateral power, in the extreme cases, shows itself as very dark, indeed.
Language loss among immigrant cultures is a symptom of many forces operating together, but I believe the root cause lies with the ugly legacy of Imperialism. Eliminating the language of a culture was a primary strategy used by colonialists to fragment and control peoples.
Still, learning a new language can be fun. In certain circumstances it can widen the mind and help create a fat soul.
People who know two or more languages know two or more "worlds" in which people can live. Their minds are just a little wider than those of us who know only one language. They can entertain multiple points of view. Their souls are just a little fatter.
By S-I-Z-E I mean the stature of [your] soul, the range and depth of [your] love, [your] capacity for relationships. I mean the volume of life you can take into your being and still maintain your integrity and individuality, the intensity and variety of outlook you can entertain in the unity of your being without feeling defensive or insecure. I mean the strength of your spirit to encourage others to become freer in the development of their diversity and uniqueness. I mean the power to sustain more complex and enriching tensions. I mean the magnanimity of concern to provide conditions that enable others to increase in stature.
“A beautiful soul is a large soul, one that can overcome the smallness and pettiness of our human condition. A really fat soul can welcome diverse people, ideas, and ways of being in the world without feeling threatened. A fat soul experiences the intensity of life in its fullness, even the painful side of life, and knows there is something still bigger.”
A poem, then, is an event in the world, which is composed of, and which evokes, a sense of multiplicity and contrast, the function of which is to make you feel things you might not otherwise feel, or to awaken you to things you already feel, but of which you were not consciously aware.
When we are afraid of something, that indicates we are disconnected with it. In other words, because of ignorance, we fear, we complain, we even fight like I “fought” with the birds. Thus conflicts can happen between humans and animals; between humans; between cultures and between human beings and nature. We have a saying: Everything on this planet has a soul（万物有灵)。By connecting our soul with that of the bird, the tree, the soil, etc., we can have more happiness, less misunderstanding, and less conflict in the future.
Learning Hindi for the Second Time
by Rohit Kumar
Reprinted from Huffington Post. Article originally published September 25, 2013. Click Here.
Most Indian children are eight years old when they start reading the Akbar and Birbal storybooks -- I was 24 years old when I started. As I strolled down the streets and sat at the chai shops in Mussoorie, one of India's northern hill stations, those who didn't know me would often look at me funny -- a full grown, bearded, well-dressed Indian man flipping through a stack of illustrated Hindi children's storybooks.
Besides being a popular summer tourist destination for Indians to escape the summer heat, Mussoorie is also the location of the Landour Language School, a well-known institution that teaches Hindi, Urdu and Sanskrit as second languages. I was carrying around the children's books as part of my homework. Like the other foreigners at the language school, I was in Landour to learn Hindi. But unlike most other students there, I was there to relearn what had been my first spoken language.
My parents raised me to speak Hindi as a child. But things changed when I started school. Early on, I remember a classroom atmosphere of condescension towards my Hindi language. I'm sure other schools were different, but that was most certainly the tone at my school. As I spent more time in that environment, I slowly began to lose Hindi fluency. Hindi eventually became a memory stored in the back of my mind. Like so many other children of immigrants in America, English became the only language I could speak fluently.
Language loss among immigrant cultures is a symptom of many forces operating together, but I believe the root cause lies with the ugly legacy of Imperialism. Eliminating the language of a culture was a primary strategy used by colonialists to fragment and control peoples. In India, the infamous Lord Macaulay introduced the English education system in order to create a class of Anglicized Indians that would be loyal administrators of British colonization. In the United States, Native Americans were taken from their tribes and placed in English schools where they were not allowed to speak their own language. The modern day language loss of so many immigrant children, like myself, shows that some element of that assimilationist attitude still exists in Western schools -- even if it's not as intentional or overt as before.
After I finished high school, I began studying politics at UC Berkeley. Driven by a desire to better understand my own ancestry, I focused on India and South Asia as much as I could. It was during this time that I became more and more committed to the idea that relearning my ancestral language was the key to understanding my ancestral culture. I had the feeling like something had been stripped from me in my childhood years -- my ability to speak with my own people in our own language -- and I wanted that back.
I first went to Landour Language School in 2006 at age 19. I was doing a half-year exchange program with the University of Delhi, and spending a month in Landour was part of the program. At the time, I could understand only very basic conversational Hindi, and I had no knowledge at all about the Devanagri script. I instantly fell in love with the language school and the Mussoorie Hill Station. The people greeted me with all the warmth of small town India. Unlike the capital city of Delhi, anyone you meet on the street in Landour greets you with a warm, "Namaste." I made many friends there.
After one month in Landour and six months at the University of Delhi, I became quite proficient in Hindi. What stayed with me the most were all the deep conversations I had with others in Hindi. I felt I could finally connect with my people on a different level -- like tuning in to a certain frequency.
After graduating from college, I still had the desire to learn even better Hindi. After working for a year, I was able to finance a trip back to Landour in 2010 at age 24. This time I stayed for nearly half a year. Namaste Rohit ji! The whole town of Landour and many in Mussoorie had come to know me. When I wasn't in class, I could be found flipping through my books at local shops, or chatting with some of the many friends I had made on my daily walks around town. I would always make it a point to have conversations every day in Hindi -- that was where the real learning took place. It's difficult for me to express how great it was to be there -- part of a real community. During this time when I was fully immersed in Hindi, even dreaming in Hindi, I felt how the rhythm of the language made the rhythm of my life different. Life was slower and more musical.
In the Hindi language, the words for tomorrow and yesterday are the same world: "kal." This reflects the Indian culture's cyclical view of time, in contrast to the Western conception of time as linear. Indian culture believes in rebirth, not only of people but of the universe itself. This understanding of the universe is conveyed through the very rhythm and tempo of the many languages of India. Just by speaking in Hindi, the very flow of existence is affected.
Language is like a programming for the mind -- it shapes our perception of ourselves and our world. It's a frequency that we can tune in to. As a community, I think the new generation of American-born Indians like myself would greatly benefit from connecting with their culture through language. It has been empowering for me. And I think it would be empowering for any American of immigrant ancestry to maintain this bond with their community.
There is no perfect dictionary. Literal approaches to language -- seeking to find perfect foundations for life -- are doomed to fail. They are afraid of metaphors.
A perfect dictionary would be one in which some set of words was unambiguously defined and all the others were defined in terms of them. We would then have the possibility of communicating univocally, that is, without the possibility of diverse understanding of what we mean. Whitehead’s point is that this is impossible, so that pressing for more and more exact meanings of terms reaches its limits. Sometimes we are reduced to appealing to others for an intuitive leap.
I have slid a bright morning before rain.
Let us sit lightly with our language, holding onto it with a relaxed grasp, letting metaphors be metaphors, and realizing that no one has the perfect way of speaking or being in the world. The world is enriched by a freedom from literalism and a freedom for intuitive leaps.
Forcing people to learn a language, even if ostensibly for their own good or the good of a nation, can breed resentment.
In China, education in foreign languages, mainly in English, rises at an unprecedented speed and scale in recent decades. According to a recent survey, at present, for students of different levels (from primary school pupils to doctoral students of universities), a course in a foreign language is compulsory; and English is compulsory for about 90% of those students. The number of primary and secondary school students who learn English as their compulsory foreign language course has reached a total of over two hundred million. If we consider those other than the students themselves who care about their learning -- their parents (two) and their grand parents (four) -- then the education of English as a foreign language is affecting the life of nearly one billion Chinese people.
However, the majority of the Chinese students, who do not feel any inner call for learning English, who do not have any interest in it, who do not find any necessity to know it or to use it in real life, or who do not like it or even hate it for various reasons, are forced to learn it just because it is a compulsory school course. They are deprived of the freedom to decide whether to learn it or not. Some of them are okay with the situation, which is a reasonable attitude as far as the unchangeable reality (at least to single individuals) is concerned. But some are strongly against being forced to learn it so that they never take any initiative to learn it, they refuse to follow the teachers’ instructions, they avoid practicing it in and out of class, they perform poor at tests, and so they hate English and even the English teachers…
Allowing people to learn a new language can be liberating, offering an opportunity for growth not otherwise known.
To me, the English language is nearly as important as the Chinese language - my mother tongue, if not more
Relearning a forgotten language can be also be enjoyable, too, renewing the soul in the splendor of new rhythms.
When I wasn't in class, I could be found flipping through my books at local shops, or chatting with some of the many friends I had made on my daily walks around town. I would always make it a point to have conversations every day in Hindi -- that was where the real learning took place. It's difficult for me to express how great it was to be there -- part of a real community. During this time when I was fully immersed in Hindi, even dreaming in Hindi, I felt how the rhythm of the language made the rhythm of my life different. Life was slower and more musical.
As a community, I think the new generation of American-born Indians like myself would greatly benefit from connecting with their culture through language. It has been empowering for me. And I think it would be empowering for any American of immigrant ancestry to maintain this bond with their community.
Everything depends on context.
If they choose to be with English of their own will, they will be responsible for their own learning, managing to meet challenges, tackle hardships, handle problems, enjoy achievements, etc. in the process of learning it. If they choose not to be with English, I think there is nothing wrong with it, and they will also be responsible for their own decisions. And, they can start at any time when they want to learn it.
Learning a language is an act of faith, rooted in gratitude for the multiplicities of life.
God is the unity of the universe as completed by the creativity of individuals and communities. The spirit of God at work in the world is the spirit of creative transformation. Wherever people are empowered to find greater strength of soul, through learning a new language or relearning a forgotten language, they are walking in the spirit of God. They trust in the availability of fresh possibilities and live from such trust. This trust is a form of faith.
The very plurality of languages --like the plurality of people and cultures, plants and animals, stars and planets, moods and ideas -- adds diversity to the life of God, apart from which the divine life is less complete. When languages function in healthy and life-affirming ways, they are music in God's ears. They add richness to God's experience and become part of God's glory. God needs the multiplicity in order to be one.
Thus the consequent nature of God is composed of a multiplicity of elements with individual self-realization. It is just as much a multiplicity as it is a unity...Thus the actuality of God must be understood as a multiplicity of actual components in a process of creation.