Today was a rather tranquil day. I did a lot of writing, I sought out a restaurant that had internet access, I went to visit Vera Cruz parish, and did some additional surveying of the Basilica of Our Lady of Guadalupe before the decent of several million people begins tomorrow.
If you have downloaded Google Earth onto your computer, you can view the pictorial I made of Vera Cruz parish by clicking here.
Having no major event to reflect upon for today, it is an opportune moment for me to get out some of the final thoughts that I have had about my experience of being a pilgrim, particularly about language.
I never learned to speak another language in high school. I studied Latin and we merely had to be able to read the words on the page. We never had to learn how to have a conversation in Latin.
It wasn’t until I began working with people of Spanish decent that I began to learn how to speak a foreign language, and most of the people who were subjected to my exasperating attempts will gladly let you know how bad I was as a student. It wasn’t until now, at the age of 32, that I even became capable of speaking in Spanish.
What is great about the slow pace at which I learn is that I was able to analyze the process of learning as it was happening. I don’t feel as if individuals who become bilingual at a very early age are really aware of the process. They become so used to using words and phrases, that there is no consciousness developed about the process of replacing internalized concepts with words. I, on the other hand, was very aware that an unknown word was being used at the same time that a known experience was taking place. After numerous repetitions of the same word and same experience being used together, I began to associate the word with the experience. Eventually, I began to use the word, and to my surprise, others seemed to understand what I meant.
It got to the point where I felt as if I was thinking in experience and concept, and translating into words. That level of understanding exists beyond language. Language becomes a tool, only useful in the conventional expression of experience. At that point, I had, I had a new problem. I got frustrated when someone else could not understand the translation that I wanted to use. I remember distinctly talking to my sister, and I couldn’t express the concept I had in my brain very clearly. I knew the experience that I wanted to convey, but I knew that the words in Spanish more adequately articulated my experience than any words that I could think in English. I ended up saying, “Why don’t you speak Spanish? This is so much easier to say in Spanish!”
What I learned in the process of becoming bi-lingual was that words are basically relative. One language will be able to express the thought in a single word, while another language will use an entire phrase. Even then, the words might not accurately depict the concept that the speaker could more easily convey in the other language.
Modern thinkers have used this example to argue that there is no absolute meaning in the world. Words are arbitrary descriptions, reality is a lie, and everything is relative. I’ve never bought their arguments. I know very well the inefficacy of words, but the fact that the word “brick” is “relative” does nothing to stop the pain you feel when a brick hits you in the face. The word “sun” does not inform me to squint my eyes when I look into it. The word “food” does not cause my stomach to be hungry. There is a root experience which is antecedent to the words we use.
Sure, words may be relative. I have no problem in admitting that. In fact, I can identify the artificiality that words posses as I use them, but the experience to which the words relate are real, no matter how inadequate the words or language.
I promise that tomorrow I’ll stop having deep thoughts, and return to reflecting on the life of the Church that I encounter as a pilgrim.