How Did the 'Perfect' Artificial Language Eventually Lose Out to a Wildflower?

Don't you ever feel that learning a foreign language is quite a task? The endless vocabulary to memorise, the confusing grammar rules, and all those peculiar pronunciations. We put in immense effort, precisely because we wish to communicate with people from diverse cultural backgrounds and truly explore a wider world.

At such times, a thought might cross your mind: wouldn't it be wonderful if there existed a universal language that was incredibly simple, perfectly logical, and instantly graspable by everyone?

Interestingly enough, over a century ago, someone actually transformed this very idea into a reality. It's called 'Esperanto'.

Its creator was a Polish doctor, who had witnessed firsthand the myriad conflicts arising from misunderstandings between people speaking different languages. Consequently, he aimed to create a neutral, easy-to-learn language to bridge divides and connect the world.

This idea sounded absolutely flawless. Esperanto's grammar rules could reportedly be mastered in a single afternoon, and its vocabulary, largely derived from European languages, made it remarkably accessible for many.

Yet, over a century later, this 'perfect solution' has largely failed to gain widespread acceptance, remaining merely a niche hobby within circles of language enthusiasts.

Why?

The answer is simple: because it is like a meticulously designed plastic flower.

Perfect, Yet Devoid of Fragrance

Imagine a plastic flower. It's vibrant in colour, perfectly shaped, never wilts, and requires no watering or fertilising. From every angle, it fits the definition of a 'flower', perhaps even appearing more 'standard' than a real one.

But you will never truly fall in love with it. It lacks life, it lacks a soul. It carries no story of rooting itself in the soil through storms, nor does it possess the unique fragrance that attracts bees and butterflies.

Esperanto is precisely this plastic flower in the world of languages. Its grammar is perfectly regulated, its logic crystal clear, having meticulously removed all the 'irregular' complexities. Yet, language is never merely a cold tool for exchanging information.

The true lifeblood of language lies in its unique 'fragrance' – which is culture itself.

Why do we even bother to learn a new language?

We learn English not just to comprehend instruction manuals, but to grasp the lyrics of our favourite English songs, understand the latest Hollywood blockbusters, and truly appreciate their humour and ways of thinking.

We learn Japanese because we wish to personally experience the Summer Festivals depicted in anime, fathom the sense of solitude embedded in Haruki Murakami's writings, and truly feel the 'Takumi' (artisan spirit) deeply ingrained in Japanese culture.

Within Chinese, concepts like 'Jianghu' (a romanticised world of martial arts and informal society), 'Yuanfen' (predestined affinity), and 'Yanhuoqi' (the lively, down-to-earth essence of everyday life); and in English, words like 'Cozy' or 'Mindfulness' – each of these terms carries behind it centuries of accumulated history, myths, customs, and unique ways of life.

This is the true allure of language, the 'fragrance' that compels us to overcome numerous difficulties and embark on learning it.

Esperanto, this 'perfect flower' born in a laboratory, precisely lacks all of this. It carries no collective memory of a people, no co-existing literature, music, or cinema, and certainly no witty remarks or popular slang circulating in its streets and alleys.

It is perfect, yet it lacks flavour, it lacks character. People don't become fanatical about a mere tool, but they can be utterly captivated by a culture.

What We Need is Connection, Not Uniformity

So, was the dream of a 'globally interconnected world' flawed? No, the dream itself isn't wrong; it's merely the method of achieving it that needs an upgrade.

What we need is not to replace the myriad vibrant and diverse 'wildflowers' of the world with a single 'plastic flower', but rather to construct a bridge that connects all gardens. We certainly shouldn't sacrifice the unique culture and history behind each language for the sake of communicative convenience.

In the past, this might have seemed like a distant dream. But today, technology is transforming this aspiration into reality in a far more elegant way.

Tools like Lingogram serve as a prime example. It is a chat application with built-in AI translation, enabling you to communicate freely in your native language with anyone, anywhere in the world.

If you utter 'Yanhuoqi' in Chinese, the other person instantly receives the most appropriate translation and explanation. You don't need to become a language expert first; you can directly experience the authentic essence of the other person's culture.

It doesn't erase the unique 'fragrance' of each language; instead, it allows you to more directly and effortlessly perceive the rich aroma of another culture's 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 each other's unique identities.