It’s fascinating to explore other cultures.
I’m reading a wonderful book called Don’t Sleep, There Are Snakes: Life and Language in the Amazonian Jungle, by Daniel L. Everett. The book is the author’s account of his decades with an isolated tribe called the Pirahã. He went to live with them as a missionary, but eventually converted to atheism while living with them. A linguist, he was the first person to translate Pirahã into any other language. No one in the tribe of 300 people spoke anything but Pirahã, and no one else spoke their language.
As he worked to bridge the communication gap between himself and the Pirahãs, Everett gained a great deal of insight into the effects of language on culture and vice versa. Pirahã culture is one of the last in the world that is virtually unaffected by modern society, and thus it’s full of surprises.
For example, the Pirahãs really don’t sleep for more than a few hours at a time and are as likely to go out fishing at 3:00 am as they are at 3:00 pm. And they’re virtually unique in that they have no theology—no creation story, and no storytelling at all except about things that happened to individuals who are still alive.
They do believe in spirits, though—so much that they’re able to see spirits that are invisible to Everett. At the beginning of the book, he recounts how his entire village was once standing on the banks of their river, shouting excitedly at the spirit they could see walking on the opposite bank. They were surprised he couldn’t see it.
I like this book for the same reason I like watching Star Trek and traveling to other countries. I like the new perspective I gain by visiting a culture that’s alien to me, stepping outside of my worldview and reexamining it.
Our language shapes how we experience the world.
One thing that caught my eye in Don’t Sleep: There are Snakes was Everett’s mention of a hypothesis that language and thought shape each other. This is the Whorf hypothesis, or sometimes the Whorf-Safir hypothesis. As Safir writes in “The Status of Linguistics as a Science” (1929):
Human beings do not live in the objective world alone…but are very much at the mercy of the particular language which has become the medium of expression for their society… No two languages are ever sufficiently similar to be considered as representing the same social reality. The worlds in which different societies live are distinct worlds, not merely the same worlds with different labels attached.
Everett explains: “I might say I saw a branch move and [the Pirahã] might say that they saw a spirit move the branch.” These two ways of describing the same event imply very different ways of thinking about it.
He also gives an example from our own culture: the effort in recent decades to change the gender pronouns we use. Older books and papers always use “he,” but more recent pieces use “s/he,” ”they,” or “she” at least some of the time. This is based on our acknowledgment that the way we speak affects the way we think, even in subtle ways. Making pronouns more gender-neutral includes and empowers women.
(In an Urban Planning class in graduate school, I noticed that the male professor used entirely feminine pronouns whenever he described a scenario to the class. In his hypothetical examples, every homeowner, attorney, and city planner was female. I was surprised at how deeply this gesture affected me. It made me feel moved and empowered in a deep-down way. In my life, I’d read countless old articles and books that used only “he” pronouns, but until now, I’d never heard anyone use “she” and “her” exclusively.)
Another language-thought example Everett gives is our concept of “right” and “left” as translated into Pirahã. Rather than “right” and “left,” the Pirahãs orient themselves towards the river and the jungle. Giving directions, they might say “turn downriver” or “turn into the jungle.” Describing the right and left hand, depending on where one is standing, they might say “the upriver hand” or “the downriver hand.”
Everett says this type of orientation—in relation to external features rather than to people’s bodies—is common in many world languages, and that it indicates a different way of thinking, in which the speakers must be constantly aware of their surroundings.
Language can change how we frame stories.
I remember noticing the way culture and language are intertwined when working with ELL students in AmeriCorps. This was the year after college, which I spent at Clackamas High School in Milwaukie, Oregon as an environmental educator and English Language Learners (ELL) tutor. Many of my students were from Spanish-speaking countries, so I became more fluent in Spanish as I tutored and mentored them.
One day, I was talking to a student about his missing the bus the previous day. “Se me fué el bus,” he lamented. That’s how you say, “I missed the bus,” in Spanish; it literally translates to “The bus went away from me.”
I smiled, noticing this, and pointed it out to him. “In English, we say, ‘I missed the bus,’ but in Spanish, it’s ‘The bus missed me.’ In English, it’s your fault; in Spanish, it’s the bus’s fault.”
We laughed. It seemed fitting—Americans tend to be direct, problem-solvers, and blame-oriented: when something goes wrong, we want to know who’s at fault. Saying “the bus missed me” is more of a shrug, an easygoing dismissal of blame. “It just happened to me, that’s all.”
New languages give us new ways of thinking.
Reading about how language affects worldview, I realized that this is a major reason I’m taking Arabic classes and a reason I hope to continue learning new languages throughout my life.
In class, I learn about Arab culture along with learning the language. My exercise book is full of tidbits, such as the way Arabs like to drink tea, and the way a guest should refuse tea the first couple times it’s offered, then accept the third time to be polite. (Arabs are not unlike Midwesterners in this respect.) And I learn from my classmates—a few of my fellow students are Muslim and have described their experience this month with Ramadan, breaking their daily fast by sharing dates with us as the sun goes down at 8:20.
But also, the language itself is a path to a new way of thinking, as are all languages.
I loved the way Spanish and Swahili shifted my perspective in subtle ways. After speaking Swahili for two years in Peace Corps, even now I miss certain words that just don’t translate into English, such as pole (POH-lay). You say pole after a misfortune, big or small: when someone sneezes or trips, when they lose their job, or when a relative dies. It roughly means, “I’m sorry that happened to you,” but it doesn’t carry any of the guilt that “sorry” implies in English. Even now, I constantly want to say “pole” to people around me. Instead, I’m forced to say the much lamer “That’s too bad,” or “Bummer!”
I’m still a beginner with Arabic. But I look forward to more of the same with this new language: learning the words, and thus the concepts, that just don’t translate into English. Learning new ways of saying things and new ways of thinking.
I really liked reading this 🙂 And I totally get what you mean with “pole.” I often say sorry in English to mean what pole does and I often get the response “well, it’s not your fault.” Yes, I know, that’s not what I meant. Hmmm, maybe I’ll just start saying pole. 🙂
I totally miss “pole” as well. I have started to just use it in America and explain to people its meaning. It’s my rouge way of trying to insert it into the English language. English is lacking and I want to fill that gap. The same is true in Swahili, where most everyone only used one word for positive expression (good) “nzuri.” But there was really no way of expressing more than just boring ‘ol “good.” There were so many times I wanted to say something was wonderful, fantastic, extraordinary, etc. and there were no words to translate these to. So I took to just adding very (“sana”) to good, sometimes multiple times (very, very, very, very good). The villagers thought I was hilarious, a real stand up comedian when I would do this. But I explained that good is really not that good, that things can be so much better than good.
If you think language shapes our culture, then if we change our language we can change our culture. We can make Americans a little more empathetic with “pole” and Swahili speakers more positive thinking with “excellent.” What do you think? Do we need rebel linguists?
Yes! I think rebel linguists is (are?) an excellent idea.
The people I’m closest to have been forced to learn “pole” as well, since I inadvertently say it aloud even now sometimes. That’s so funny about “good” vs. “very good” in Swahili.
I once spoke with an American man who was dating a Tanzanian woman, and he was frustrated with how emotionally unexpressive she was. I mused that maybe it had to do with the lack of emotional expressiveness in Swahili–only one word for like AND love (“penda”), only one word for good/wonderful/great/fantastic, only one word for bad/terrible/depressing.
The more languages we have, the more realities we hold in our minds. And that’s why it’s such a tragedy that half the world’s languages are going extinct: those languages represent thousands of realities that will disappear.
One intriguing aspect of the PirahÆ language is that PirahÆ do not utilize certain versions of past and future verb tense forms or words associated with time not anchored to the current moment. The PirahÆ only use the past, simple present, and future tenses to directly talk about immediate experiences because PirahÆ culture is only concerned with proximity between the language and the occurrences about which one is speaking. PirahÆ culture does not require such other nonsense words. This aspect of their language is displayed through PirahÆ beliefs that one should not plan to far into the future, one should not fear death or try to prevent death, and one does not dwell in the past or hold grudges. The PirahÆ “do not store food, do not plan more than one day at a time, do not talk about the distant future or the distant past, they seem to focus on now and their immediate experiences”(Everett, 132). In line with these beliefs, PirahÆ language does not need words, phrases, or extra tenses to communicate anything about the distant past or the distant future, except in extremely rare cases. These talks are unnecessary and meaningless most of the time, so the language follows this pattern of culture. One may wonder, does their culture affect their language or does their language carry over into their cultural beliefs? I stand firm that their culture, beliefs, and core values molded and shaped the needs of their language. In a language such as PirahÆ, “utterances contain only assertions related directly to the moment of speech, either experienced by the speaker, or witnessed by someone alive during the lifetime of the speaker” because the PirahÆ are not caught up in reveling or dwelling in the past or worrying and anticipating for the future (Everett, 132). From the outside looking in, this aspect of PirahÆ culture may seem unfathomable and can be misunderstood as too simple or not intricate enough for “proper” communication, but the PirahÆ just use what they need in language. If something is not happening, did not just happen, or is not going to happen right away, it is irrelevant and therefore does not need to be spoken of. The PirahÆ know what they need and what is necessary at that time and that is all about which they are concerned, so their language need only reflect that.
One intriguing aspect of the PirahÆ language is that the PirahÆ do not have specific past and future verb tense forms. The PirahÆ do not use unique past and future verb tenses to talk about occurrences in the future and the past because their culture does not elicit a need for them in their language. “They describe those occurrences of past and future within the context” (Daniel Everett Interview). PirahÆ culture is not concerned with the past or future because they are not a people to speculate about the past or to try to justify themselves through their past, or to worry or speculate about the future (Daniel Everett). They speak about immediate experiences because PirahÆ culture is only concerned with proximity between the language and the occurrences about which one is speaking. “Their culture gives them the ability to interpret without a unique past or future verb tense form” (Daniel Everett Interview). This aspect of the tenses in their language is displayed through PirahÆ beliefs that one should not plan too far into the future, one should not fear death or go to extreme lengths to prevent death, and one does not dwell in the past or use the past to determine the future. The PirahÆ “do not store food, do not plan more than one day at a time, do not talk about the distant future or the distant past, they seem to focus on now and their immediate experiences”(Everett, 132). In line with these beliefs, PirahÆ language does not need words, phrases, or extra tenses to communicate anything about the distant past or the distant future, except in extremely rare cases. These talks are unnecessary and meaningless most of the time, so the language follows this pattern of culture. One may wonder, does their culture affect their language or does their language carry over into their cultural beliefs? I stand firm that their culture, beliefs, and core values molded and shaped the aspects of their language. In a language such as PirahÆ, “utterances contain only assertions related directly to the moment of speech, either experienced by the speaker, or witnessed by someone alive during the lifetime of the speaker” because the PirahÆ are not caught up in reveling or dwelling in the past or worrying and anticipating for the future (Everett, 132). From the outside looking in, this aspect of PirahÆ culture may seem unfathomable and can be misunderstood as too simple or not intricate enough for “proper” communication, but the PirahÆ language is only made up of necessary elements to fit the mold of their cultural needs. Therefore, the PirahÆ can communicate about the past and future without actually using tenses specific to those elements of time due to the fact that their culture, beliefs, and values do not depend on the ability to speculate or worry about the future or to dwell in past occurrences.
Thanks for these insights, Ashley. But if only culture shapes language, and not the other way around, then how do you explain the frustration we English-speakers feel for not having a word like the Swahili “pole” in our language (discussed above)? That’s an example of a sentiment that is felt by us, and even recognized, but for which we don’t have an adequate word. But perhaps if your theory is correct then this is only a momentary lack, and in such cases a culture will soon find a word to express this feeling–like the few of us here integrating “pole” into our daily speech and hoping it catches on. It also makes me think of the urban dictionary, which is constantly being updated with new terms as people recognize the need for them. (“Mansplaining” is my current favorite. 🙂 ) Still, I think I’m inclined so far to believe the Whorf-Safir hypothesis Everett talks about, which as I understand says that culture and language each shape each other. And regardless, *I* stand firm that learning about other languages and cultures is one of my favorite pastimes! 🙂
In a class interview we recently had with Dr. Everett he discussed how language is a manifestation of culture, and how the culture exists within a context which is familiar to it’s speakers, but not necessarily to “outsiders”. I think it is interesting that you talk about learning new “concepts that don’t translate into English”. It seems to me that you are talking about learning new values through new language, which is similar to the idea of language being directly connected to culture. Certainly, that is one of the major ideas presented in Daniel Everett’s book. Consider the lack of words for numbers (other than one and many). If you live in an environment that does not present you with a need to speak about a specific amount of something, there is no need for words related to language. In that sense, I think the Western value of money (and the counting of money!) would be a useless and “untranslatable” concept in Pirahª. I would imagine that numbers are not the only “untranslatable” concept! In the book he mentions colors, certain phrases (like hello and goodnight), and one might assume that the Amazonian environment also creates concepts that would be novel for Westerners (such as being able to find your way in the Jungle, as if you were walking down the street). This likely also has to do with what elements of our social values we consider to be important, and in terms of what the Pirahª culture considers to be important (a hierarchy of values, if you will). If we consider the ability to discuss hunting in a way that does not scare off animals, then we are likely to create and use that language tool. This is probably why numbers and talking about the past are two concepts so ingrained into our society, but are “untranslatable” (i.e. not valuable or needed) into the Pirahª language. This is similar to the cultural value of the immediacy of experience that exists in the Pirahª culture that seems strange in the context of our values and our language. In our society we believe in things that we cannot see (such as a subatomic particles), whereas the Pirahª only believe things that they can see and experience. The distant past isn’t important culturally and doesn’t match up with the immediacy of experience, so it becomes untranslatable into Pirahª. I am intrigued about what changes will occur in the Pirahª language as a result of their exposure to electricity, Portuguese lessons, television and other “modern” concepts.
Like you mentioned in your post, the Pirahª do not use past or future tense which is definitely a unique aspect of the language. However, another aspect of the language that I had never thought common was the idea that the Pirahª have what was considered a musical language. The musical language used by the Pirahª, “can be whistled, hummed, yelled, or sung” (Everett, 182). Though the Pirahª have several aspects of the language that are difficult, the idea that their language could take a musical form interested me greatly. Since their language is tonal, the idea of a musical aspect of the language only seems natural, though an uncommon concept. When you use the musical language, whether it be through whistling or humming, you are no longer allowed to use words, thus making correct translation of the language extremely important. If you were to write out the musical form of the language it would look very much like a music sheet, with notes and symbols, though without staffs since the musical language does not require precise pitches (Everett, 183). Each note, like whole notes which represent the longest syllable type, stands for syllables of certain lengths (Everett, 182). By having a musical language, they are thus able to communicate with each other simply by whistling, which can come in handy, especially when the Pirahª go hunting and in Daniel Everett’s case, learning how to pronounce certain words correctly. As you mentioned in your post, I also came to wonder whether or not the culture influenced the language or whether the language influenced the culture. Was the musical language created because of the culture making it extremely useful when hunting animals? Or was it simply because that is how the language started and they now use the musical language to help them in hunting? Many early linguists believed that language was manifested by human culture (Daniel Everett Interview). I feel however that it is very likely that both culture and language affect each other because of how the Pirahª live. In an interview with Daniel Everett, he also mentions that language and culture are connected in a way that can’t be pulled apart (Daniel Everett Interview). How the Pirahª live has affected how they view many things including life and whether or not the language was influenced by that is unknown. Regardless, the Pirahª display how their language and culture intertwine together to form a very unique way of living and speaking.
My class on second language learning at the university I attend recently had the opportunity to participate in a Skype interview with Daniel Everett, and he was able to share some very helpful insights on his views and relationships with the Piraha language and people. As we know, Everett’s views on religion changed dramatically throughout his journey with the Piraha people. With this change, I believe that Everett began an overall lifestyle change, and was more inclined to fully immerse himself in the language, and in turn, make some controversial claims that challenged the way that most people view human language. Although this topic is not covered in the book that heavily, my class viewed the documentary titled “The Grammar of Happiness”, which gives a brief overview of the concepts in the book, while also expanding on Everett’s hypothesis that the Piraha language contains no evidence for recursion. What the book does not cover as thoroughly as the documentary does are the repercussions of Everett’s claims to his ability to return the Piraha people. I think that the fact that they Brazilian government banned Daniel Everett from returning to the Piraha for more fieldwork is a way for them remove themselves from the battle between these two ideas of human language. This development in the story shocked me, and made me really think about the consequences of this decision for the Piraha people and community. I knew that if I felt this strongly about the situation, Daniel Everett must feel it in a much more magnified way. In speaking with Everett through the interview, our class got to ask how he felt about this on a more personal level, and I think we all began to understand even more how important these people are to him, and who is his as a person. He highlighted how he felt that his departure and the insertion of the Brazilian government into the Piraha culture could, and probably would, change it in a way that he could not yet articulate. We could all tell by the sadness in his voice that this was extremely devastating for him, since he also stated that he has not yet been back to the Piraha since the documentary was filmed. Overall, I think that this book, as well as the documentary, most importantly highlights how unique and important indigenous languages are, and how dramatically they define a culture. The interview that we had with Daniel Everett really allowed us to see firsthand how his feelings related to ours as readers, and allowed me to appreciate the book in a more meaningful way.