Why Did the 'Perfect' Artificial Language Ultimately Lose Out to a Wildflower?

Ever feel like learning a foreign language is just too hard?

Endless vocab to memorise, confusing grammar rules, and all sorts of peculiar pronunciations. We put in all that effort because we hope to communicate with people from different cultural backgrounds and see a bigger world.

At times like that, a thought might pop into your head: wouldn't it be great if there was a super simple, perfectly logical, universal language that everyone could learn in a flash?

Well, believe it or not, over a century ago, someone actually turned that idea into a reality. It's called Esperanto.

Its creator was a Polish doctor who witnessed the conflicts that arose between people speaking different languages due to misunderstandings. So, he aimed to create a neutral, easy-to-learn language to break down barriers and connect the world.

This idea sounded absolutely perfect. Apparently, Esperanto's grammar rules could be learned in a single afternoon, and its vocabulary, mostly derived from European languages, was very user-friendly for many.

However, over a century on, this 'perfect solution' has largely gone unnoticed, becoming little more than a niche hobby for language enthusiasts.

Why?

The answer's simple: because it's like a perfectly designed plastic flower.

Perfect, But No Scent

Imagine a plastic flower. It's brightly coloured, perfectly formed, never wilts, and doesn't need watering or fertiliser. From every angle, it fits the definition of a 'flower' – arguably even more 'standard' than a real one.

But you'd never truly fall for it.

Because it has no life, no soul. It doesn't have the story of rooting itself in the soil through storms, and it certainly doesn't have that unique scent to attract bees and butterflies.

Esperanto is that plastic flower in the world of languages. Its grammar is neat, its logic crystal clear, having eliminated all 'irregular' hassles. But language has never been just a cold tool for exchanging information.

The true vitality of language lies in its unique 'scent' – which is culture.

Why do we bother learning a new language?

We learn English not just to understand instruction manuals, but more to grasp the lyrics of our favourite English songs, to follow the latest Hollywood blockbusters, and to truly get that humour and way of thinking.

We learn Japanese because we want to personally experience a summer festival from an anime, to comprehend that sense of solitude in Haruki Murakami's writing, and to truly appreciate the artisan spirit in Japanese culture.

Behind Chinese terms like 'jianghu' (江湖), 'yuanfen' (缘分), 'yanhuoqi' (烟火气), and English words like 'Cozy' or 'Mindfulness', lie centuries of history, myths, customs, and ways of life.

This is the real charm of language, the 'scent' that draws us to overcome numerous difficulties to learn it.

Esperanto, this 'perfect flower' born in a laboratory, precisely lacks all of this. It carries no shared memory of a nation, has no co-existing literature, music, or films, and certainly no witty banter or internet memes passed around in daily life.

It's perfect, but it's bland. People won't go wild for a tool, but they'll be captivated by a culture.

We Don't Need Uniformity, We Need Connection

So, was that dream of 'global mutual understanding' wrong?

No, the dream itself isn't wrong; it's just the approach to achieving it that needs an upgrade.

What we need isn't to replace the world's myriad, uniquely shaped 'wildflowers' with one 'plastic flower', but rather to build a bridge that connects all gardens. We shouldn't sacrifice the unique culture and history behind each language for the sake of communicative convenience.

In the past, this seemed out of reach. But today, technology is making this dream a reality in a much more wonderful way.

Tools like Lingogram are a prime example. It's a chat app with built-in AI translation, allowing you to freely communicate with anyone anywhere in the world using your own native language.

When you say 'yanhuoqi' (烟火气) in Chinese, the other person immediately sees the most accurate translation and explanation. You don't need to become a language expert first; you can directly experience the authentic flavour of the other person's culture.

It doesn't erase the unique 'scent' of each language; instead, it allows you to more directly and easily smell the fragrance of another flower.

Perhaps this is a better way to connect the world: not by erasing differences, but by embracing and understanding every distinction.

After all, true communication begins when we are willing to appreciate our differences.