Language is a place. We cannot see or know that for which we do not have at least some language, and so the language that we speak maps the boundaries of our world. Because we can see and know only what we can speak of, every new facility with language that we gain, whether a new word or a trick of syntax, expands not just what we have available to us to make sense of the world—it expands the world itself, for us. In contrast, when our language is shallow, enervated, or insufficient for our needs, so is the world we inhabit. We grope for what we need in speaking, or even thinking, and we do not find it. We depend upon terms that cannot do the work we need them to do. And we are changed: a diminished language diminishes us.
Login to read more
Sign in or create a free account to access Subscriber-only content.
Topics:
