I don’t think it takes a linguist to notice that the language we speak seems to shape the way we think, and how our brain works. Since the 1960s, though, we have pretty much accepted Chomsky’s idea of a universal grammar, or, to put it briefly, that the human brain is born language-ready, with an in-built program that is able to decipher the common rules underpinning any mother tongue.
Thanks to The virtual linguist, I found this very interesting article on the New Scientist about the ideas being put forward by linguists Nicholas Evans of the Australian National University in Canberra and Stephen Levinson of the Max Planck Institute for Psycholinguistics in Nijmegen, the Netherlands. They argue that
the brain of a child does not arrive pre-programmed with abstract linguistic rules. Instead, its initial setting is much simpler: the first job of the brain is to build a more complicated brain. This it does using any input that it gets, including language. This could mean that speakers of very different languages have quite different brains, says Levinson.
This could mean that what Chomsky and others see as “innate” is actually the product of a much simpler and less rigid form of hard-wiring. Evans and Levinson argue that there are no absolute language universals, but rather
a mix of strong and weak tendencies that characterises the “bio-cultural” hybrid we call language.
This means that there is more room for variation than we might expect. A very interesting passage points out how
humans are more diverse than we thought, with our brains having differences depending on the language environment in which we grew up.
I have to admit that Psycholinguistics and Neurolinguistics are two of the most fascinating fields of research for a language freak like me. But besides the curiosity, I think this kind of research often addresses many interesting points that can be very useful for translators to explain to the general public what translation is and to advance the understanding and recognition of our work. For example, we read that
Work in the past two decades has shown that several languages lack an open adverb class, which means the number of adverbs available is limited. […] More controversially, some linguists argue that a few languages, such as Straits Salish, spoken by indigenous people from north-western regions of North America, do not even have distinct nouns or verbs. Instead they have a single class of words to encompass events, entities and qualities.
This last point, however controversial, allows us to speculate on the implications it would have in terms of translation. How massively would we need to rework a text originally written in such a language, if we were to translate it into English? It’s one of those cases where an extreme example allows us to better understand the translation process and the skills needed in order to carry it out. And there is more. Apparently,
The Kiowa people of North America use a plural marker that means “of unexpected number”. Attached to “leg”, the marker means “one or more than two”. Attached to “stone”, it means “just two”.
Obviously, if we were to translate between Kiowa and English, we would need to enquire further in order to obtain extra information – does that man have one leg or more than two? Information that a Kiowa speaker won’t include in the expression but that is felt as necessary by the English-speaking mind, which won’t be content to know that someone has an “unexpected number” of legs.
The most fascinating example from the New Scientist article, though, is that of
“rawa-dawa”, from the Mundari language of the Indian subcontinent, meaning “the sensation of suddenly realising you can do something reprehensible, and no one is there to witness it”
It is worth pointing out that bridging such fundamental differences between languages is a translator’s daily task, and a perfect example to make people think about the skills needed to overcome the challenges we face in our often underpaid decoding and re-encoding efforts.
Smuggled Words 
We need that word in English: rawa-dawa.
I am fascinated by this idea of “(very?) different brains,” although I also shudder to think how it could be put to xenophobic aims quite readily.
We should just import it, I agree. It sounds great, too.
I understand your concern of possible distortion by xenophobes, but what should researchers do? I don’t think we should sacrifice knowledge on the altar of political correctness because of fear. A xenophobe will surely distort this kind of information. But, hey, they can turn skin pigmentation into a reason to discriminate. For centuries they said that turning Africans into slaves was ok because a guy from a fantasy book saw his father naked. 😉 What’s a scholar to do?
Hi Beppe,
It’s funny, I read this New Scientist article the other day and was wondering what you would make of it. I agree with mlynxqualey that although the article is fascinating it could lend itself to distortion by xenophobes or cultural supremacists. I mean, how easy would it be to proceed from the premise that learning a ‘complicated’ language – define it as you will – has neurological effects on brain development to the conclusion that people who speak ‘complicated’ languages – or many languages – are ‘smarter’. And as the thesis seems to shy away from universal grammar and towards ‘brain complexity’, what about the influence on the brain of learning music, art, dance, etc.?
For me, I can’t shake the idea that although it’s difficult to disentangle where language stops and thought begins thought is essentially free. As ‘The virtual linguist’ points out, “English has the sensation, just not the word” – hence, as thought is always dealing with sensation it has the luxury to contemplate linguistic alternatives – whether it is simply word selection, learning another language, or even ‘inventing’ words or languages.
Till next time,
Iian
Hello Iian,
Great to hear from you again. I understand your concern about a possible distortion, but what are researchers to do? Surely we shouldn’t sacrifice knowledge on the altar of political correctness to avoid the excesses of the ignorant, should we?
I would first like to address one of your points, that about ‘complicated languages’ or ‘many languages’ making people smarter. The notion of some languages being more complicated than others is very controversial, although some languages seem to be easier to learn than others, and that does make sense. If China becomes the next superpower, will everyone speak Mandarin like everyone speaks English today? Probably not. Are Chinese people smarter than English speakers? Of course not. Then, a xenophobe is a xenophobe, and will make what they want of this information. After all, skin pigmentation is enough for them to discriminate, so it’s a lost battle to try and not give them any ammo. They’ll use anything, and sometimes use nothing.
Speaking many languages, on the other hand, does indeed seem to make you smarter. This obviously does not mean that intelligence is a function of the number of languages spoken. All of our experiences contribute to it, but I certainly would be less smart if I hadn’t learned four languages. Of course, I would also be less smart if hadn’t learned to read, play guitar, cook, play football, use MS-DOS, ride a bike, grow basil, make cheese. You get the gist. Learning anything (especially as a child) will make you smarter. Language just seems to be one of the most powerful influences on brain development, as it’s the interface through which we define and categorise reality.
Moving on to “rawa-dawa”, you address another important point. In this case, yes, English has the sensation, just not the word. But I think about the Italian (and especially Sicilian) “omertà”, which is often translated with “code of silence”, but which identifies the feeling of a whole community not speaking out against organised crime. Would this word trigger the same feelings in an Englishman or a Swede that it does in an Italian? What we feel when we hear “a feeling of nostalgic longing for something or someone that one was fond of and which is lost” is probably not exactly what a Portuguese speaker feels when they hear “saudade”, is it? I agree with you when you say that though is essentially free, but language is its interface, without which we can’t express thought fully. Which in turns mean that if we don’t know – or have – the right words, it’s hard to formulate what we feel into a coherent thought. And it sounds all too familiar, unfortunately! 😉
Thanks for the thought-provoking comment, always a pleasure!
[…] 14, 2010 by Giuseppe Manuel Brescia A few days ago I discussed this article from New Scientist, and I linked the idea of language diversity that emerges from the […]