Skip navigation
0

‘# 72 Superficial knowledge. He who speaks a bit of a foreign language has more delight in it than he who speaks it well: pleasure goes along with superficial knowledge’

 

# 96 A  little knowledge. A little knowledge is more successful than complete knowledge: it conceives things as simpler than they are, thus resulting in opinions that are more comprehensible and persuasive.’

 

Friedrich Nietzsche, 1878

 

 

Did Nietzsche ever struggle to buy a bus ticket on a foreign holiday with his limited yet pleasurable command of a foreign language? How did he ever find his way back to his hotel? What happened when he ordered the disgusting offal on the menu he couldn’t understand? Does this little sentence deserve more consideration? Probably.

 

It perhaps could be argued that the early days of learning a language are the most pleasurable. After all, progress is relatively fast as we are starting with little knowledge and maybe low expectations. Headway is more discernable and tangible than at any other time of learning giving extra satisfaction and encouragement. Then comes the long apprenticeship of the intermediate learner, where advances appear to grind to a halt. Where the beginner can communicate precisely what they need to say in a specific, the intermediate who wants to say more is frustrated by their inability to express themselves fully, though they possess more of the tools to do so. They know more, but not enough.

 

What is more, it is so difficult to express your personality truly in a second language; the twists of humour or sarcasm which might be so reliant on accent and intonation or even missing vocabulary. Maybe without total mastery of the language you even misrepresent yourself to others.

 

It seems that the quotes above are derivations of the ‘ignorance is bliss’ cliché. And of course there is an element of truth in this. However, surely there is more satisfaction in progressing as far as one can and fulfilling potential than there is pleasure in a limited command of the language. On what basis Nietzsche bases this opinion we don’t know; perhaps though it is the second quotation here which suggests little knowledge actually results in more persuasive and simple opinions. Certainly having a little knowledge simplifies things to their essentials. More knowledge results in more complexity and more nuances. Thinking like this you can see how knowledge might be a burden; trying to make sense of something too complex; thinking too deeply about things. Life certainly must be simpler with less knowledge.

 

So Nietzsche raises some interesting ideas, yet the desire to learn (as other thinkers have suggested) probably outweighs the pleasure lost as a result of more knowledge. And hopefully, pleasure can be gained along the way while learning new things; and the most pleasure through fulfilling potential. It doesn’t seem helpful to be as pessimistic as Nietzsche regarding knowing so much, though it is an interesting idea worthy of more thought.

 

 

 

10 June 2009

2

‘The limits of language are the limits of my world’ Ludwig Wittgenstein

 

 

 

This quotation from the eminent philosopher brings to mind the notion that the Inuit or Eskimo, those natives of the arctic circle, have many different words for snow. Although this idea is not clear cut – it in fact depends on how you define the Inuit, their languages, the inflections, compounds in the language, etc. – it is an interesting idea. Living in a place where snowfall occurs so frequently, one can only suppose it becomes necessary and useful to categorise what we have a generic word for. A native of the desert does not require this snow vocabulary because it is of little use or relevance to them. This idea brings Wittgenstein’s words into focus. We could equally flip this sentence so to read ‘The limits of my world are the limits of my language’.

 

 

Though of course, we can keep on learning language and keep on expanding our world. Each language gives us another way of thinking about things or gives us a window into the thinking of the speakers of those languages.

 

 

I remember learning the Spanish word ganas, which has no satisfactory equivalent translation in English. Used in various different ways as part of a phrase it could mean ‘to look forward to’, ‘feel like’ and so on. The word though has an essence that we can’t satisfactorily express in English – at least it seems to me. As English speakers, we don’t have a precise access to the meaning of this word. But despite not having the word, do we have its sentiment in our lives? Does access to this bit of language then unlock a feeling for us? (In fact I remember my colleagues and I bringing ganas into our English vocabulary.)

 

So in light of these thoughts it is interesting to think about how our teaching is affecting the minds of our students beyond the ability to communicate. Perhaps when learning another language, to some extent we are learning another way of thinking, expanding the limit of our world. Or is language only a way to communicate? Charlemagne, a Carolinigian king of medieval France is reported to have said that to possess a second language was to possess a second soul. Does this have a connection to what Wittgenstein is saying?

 

 

I’m told that in English we have remarkably few words to describe tastes and flavours. I’m also regularly told how awful English food is, bringing once again to mind the Inuit, natives of the desert and words for snow.

 

 

2 June 2009