Why Did a Constructed “Perfect Language” Ultimately Lose to a Wildflower?

Do you ever feel that learning a foreign language is incredibly difficult?

Endless vocabulary to memorize, grammar rules that make no sense, and all sorts of peculiar pronunciations. We pour our hearts into it, just hoping to communicate with people from different cultural backgrounds and see more of the world.

At times like these, a thought might pop into your head: Wouldn't it be amazing if there were a universal language that was incredibly simple, perfectly logical, and anyone could pick up instantly?

You know what? Over a hundred years ago, someone actually turned this very idea into a reality. It's called Esperanto.

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

This idea sounded absolutely perfect. Esperanto's grammar rules could supposedly be learned in a single afternoon, and its vocabulary largely stemmed from European languages, making it quite accessible to many.

However, over a century has passed, and this "perfect solution" has largely gone unnoticed, remaining a niche hobby among language enthusiasts.

Why?

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

Perfect, But Lacking Scent

Imagine a plastic flower. It's vividly colored, perfectly shaped, never wilts, and requires no watering or fertilizing. From any angle, it fits the definition of a "flower," perhaps even more "standard" than a real one.

But you'll never fall in love with it.

Because it has no life, no soul. It has no story of rooting itself in the soil through wind and rain, and certainly no unique fragrance to attract bees and butterflies.

Esperanto is that plastic flower in the world of languages. Its grammar is orderly, its logic clear, and it eliminates all the "troubles" of irregularity. 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 so to understand the lyrics of our favorite English songs, watch the latest Hollywood blockbusters, and grasp that sense of humor and way of thinking.

We learn Japanese to personally experience the summer festivals seen in anime, understand the sense of solitude in Haruki Murakami's writings, and feel the artisan spirit inherent in Japanese culture.

Chinese terms like "江湖" (jianghu), "缘分" (yuanfen), and "烟火气" (yanhuoqi), or English terms like "Cozy" and "Mindfulness"—behind all these words lie centuries of accumulated history, myths, customs, and ways of life.

This is the true charm of language, the "fragrance" that draws us to overcome immense difficulties to learn it.

Esperanto, this "perfect flower" born in a laboratory, precisely lacks all of this. It doesn't carry the collective memory of a nation, nor does it have co-existing literature, music, and films, and certainly no witty sayings or memes circulating in its streets and alleys.

It's perfect, but it has no flavor. People don't become fanatics for a tool, but they will be captivated by a culture.

What We Need Isn't Uniformity, But Connection

So, was that dream of "global interconnectedness" wrong?

No, the dream 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, diverse "wildflowers" with a "plastic flower," but to build a bridge that connects all gardens. We shouldn't sacrifice the unique culture and history behind each language for the sake of communication convenience.

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

Tools like Intent are an excellent example. It's a chat application with built-in AI translation, allowing you to communicate freely with anyone, anywhere in the world, using your native language.

If you say "烟火气" (yanhuoqi) in Chinese, the other person can instantly see the most fitting translation and explanation. You don't need to become a language expert first to 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 appreciate the scent of another flower.

This, perhaps, is a better way to connect the world: not by eliminating differences, but by embracing and understanding every distinction.

After all, true communication begins when we are willing to appreciate each other's differences.