I often find myself reflecting on how mysterious language truly is. Even when the meaning of each word and sentence is clear, there are many instances where the ultimate intent remains elusive. If language functions by arranging words into sentences, and sentences into a broader discourse, then given the sheer number of words available, the infinite ways to arrange them naturally lead to much that is incomprehensible.
As I have noted in previous posts, if we take an arbitrary common point as a beginning and another as an end, the movement between them is “repetition.” What arises through the overlap and deviation within that process is “difference.” It is my understanding that this difference shapes individual forms and gives rise to diversity. Whether in a sentence’s beginning or end, the starting point is a character or letter—defined as such simply because there is no other character next to it. Rules, such as top-to-bottom in Japanese or left-to-right in English, dictate the direction and flow. Of course, this raises many questions: Where do these rules come from? Why do we perceive direction? Why does “meaning” exist at all?
I previously mentioned that the use of language creates meaning through the act of “arranging.” But what of the meaning of the word itself, the smallest unit? Words can be expressed through letters or sounds. When we arrange sounds, the possibilities are vast. One can groan amidst the pitter-patter of rain or shout into the howling wind. We can align the sounds of the environment with the sounds we emit ourselves. Yet, this alone doesn’t explain why arranging creates meaning. While it creates a correlation or relationship between the environment and the self, it doesn’t explain how a specific meaning is “decided.”
For example, if one groans “Raaain!” during a downpour, the word “Rain” might be born. Such a determination was likely made, quite simply, because “there was no other option” at the time. A specific group decided it so, and that group happened to gain influence. While “decided by a group with power” sounds ominous, we see this same dynamic in schools and workplaces. Much like on global social media platforms, an “inside joke” shared among close friends can occasionally gain massive influence.
I suggested previously that the origin of language might be the “inside joke.” This is not to say that language is haphazard. Rather, I am proposing that language was forged through familiarity and empathy. To say language was shaped by these bonds is not to say it was built on “mere collusion” (nareai). What is born of familiarity and empathy can, at times, trigger fierce competition—precisely because there are so many diverse groups engaged in their own unique forms of solidarity.
